Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

Little Whinging, Surrey was what Americans would call the suburbs, inhabited by upper middle class people, most of them white, so boring and normal looking that all the nearly identical houses lacked was white picket fences. What was more, the residents of number 4 fit in well, one could even say abnormally well. Which, given that Petunia Dursley's sister (whom she kept secret) was anything but normal by the standards of the town, meant Petunia was probably overcompensating. Or maybe not. Be that as it may, the town didn't have a single abnormal bone in its metaphorical body.

So it was probably good that the most abnormal-looking man imaginable that appeared (at least by the poor imaginations of the neighborhood's residents) had come by dark of night. Looking like something out of a King Arthur movie, Professor Dumbledore magically made the area even darker with his silver, cigarette-lighter shaped Deluminator, and went over to number 4. When he got there, he was met by a cat.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Fancy seeing you here, Minerva.”

The cat changed into a rather austere woman, whose expression was of shock. “How did you--”

“--know it was you? Yes, well, I did read the Animagus registry after all. And even if I had not, you were far stiffer than any cat I have ever seen.”

“You'd be stiff too if you were sitting on a brick wall all day.”

“What, no parties for you on this frabjuous day?”

“Frabjuous?”

“Pardon me, I have been reading books by the muggle author Lewis Carroll, and I rather forgot you would not get the reference.”

Professor McGonagall blinked at him. “Anyway, Albus,” she said, recovering her composure, “is it true about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Yes, he really does seem to be gone. I do think he may return, but for now his power is broken.”

“And Lily and James?”

Dumbledore hung his head, his eyes behind their half-moon spectacles watering. “Both dead, I am sad to say.”

Her voice cracking with emotion, Minerva struggled to speak more. “And Harry?”

“It appears he did indeed somehow manage to survive the killing curse Voldemort aimed at him. How, we may never know.”

“All those people he killed, Albus, and he couldn't kill a little boy?” Dumbledore did not know what to say to that, so he decided to treat it as a rhetorical question and ignore it. Anyway, McGonagall was struggling to cry silently. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder for emotional support, but continued to say nothing.

When she once more regained composure, McGonagall asked, “So... so where is Harry? Is he with you?”

“Oh no, no no no. Harry is with Hagrid.”

“Do you think that wise? Hagrid--”

“Has my complete confidence. I would trust him with my life.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but the silent night was suddenly assaulted by the roaring of a motorcycle engine. The motorcycle generating the sound soon crashed onto its wheels from the sky; given the enormous size of the man riding it, no doubt magic prevented it from breaking apart under him.

“What the devil? Hagrid? Where did you get that motorbike?”

Hagrid turned off the bike and walked over to the two Hogwarts teachers. “Young Sirius Black lent it ter me, ter get young Harry here.”

“Is that him?” McGonagall asked. “The Potters have been in hiding so long, I don't think I've ever seen him before.”

She looked into the basket and saw a small black boy with bright green eyes and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was lighter in color than the rest of his skin.

“Yes,” she said, “I know he's only a baby, but I can see James in him. And of course, Lily's eyes. Yes, that has to be Harry.”

“Aye, Professor McGonagall ma'am, tha's Harry alrigh. I seen him meself tha day he was born, long with Sirius an' Peter an' Remus.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, and a magical scar forever marking him. I wonder if it will be as useful to him as the one I have, of the London Underground.”

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with an expression of confusion, but said nothing.

“Well,” Dumbledore said with a sigh, “give Harry to me, Hagrid, so we can leave him here.”

McGonagall blanched. “Here? Albus, you cannot seriously think of leaving him here , with these... these people . They're horrible! Worse muggles I doubt I've ever seen. And that bratty son of theirs was kicking his mother down the street, screaming for lollies. Harry Potter, come to live here ?”

“I have set up old magic here that will protect him for as long as he can call the place home. I have corresponded with Petunia in the past, and thus I have no doubt she will care for the boy. He is, after all, her sister's son.”

“Dumbledore, I don't think--”

“It is already done, Minerva. I am an excellent judge of character, I do know what I am doing. It may not be an ideal life, but he will be fine, I am certain.”

Though she still had her doubts, Professor McGonagall did not argue further. Dumbledore got out the letter for Petunia, putting it in the basket next to Harry, and Hagrid gave the small black boy a very whiskery kiss goodbye, before bawling his eyes out. While McGonagall shushed him, Dumbledore set Harry's basket down on the stoop. McGonagall noticed this and frowned.

“You're not leaving him out in the open, are you, Dumbledore? I mean to say, anybody could snatch him up. Or he might catch a cold or worse.”

“Relax, Minerva. Along with the old magic I told you of, I have placed a warming charm on the blankets, and I will be casting a spell that will keep him hidden from all eyes but ours and Petunia's until she lifts the basket up. He will be fine.”

“Well, it just seems odd to me, you going to all that work to protect him and then just leaving him on the stoop like a set of milk bottles.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Do you think me incapable of protecting him? Or unwilling to protect him?”

The austere woman looked uncertain. “Well, no. Of course not.”

“Then trust that he will be fine.”

She still looked uncertain.

“If it would put you at ease, Minerva, you could continue to stay here as a cat, and watch over him until the morning?”

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I think I will do that, Albus.”

“It's settled, then. Until later, Minerva.”

McGonagall nodded back, morphed once more into a cat, and retook her previous position on the wall, while Hagrid flew off on that noisy motorcycle, and Dumbledore returned the lights from his Deluminator, then disappeared with a small pop.

And so Harry lay in his warm basket, not knowing he was famous, not knowing that he and Professor McGonagall would soon be shocked awake by Petunia Dursley screaming like she'd been murdered when she found him on the doorstep, not knowing that a very tired McGonagall would reluctantly leave him to be pinched and prodded by his cousin Dudley, unwittingly leaving him to a life of abuse and neglect.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

Years later, Harry woke up to his cousin Dudley stomping on the stairs over his cupboard, having been interrupted from a very good dream. “Wake up, Potter! Wake up!”

Automatically, Harry came out and began making breakfast, as his aunt and uncle had insisted he cook for them since he was three years old. He quickly shut down memories of standing on a stepladder - crying as hot grease from the bacon burned his young skin, and went about his duties. It was Dudley's birthday, and he knew from painful experience that the slightest mistake would cost him dearly. Despite this, he did get brave enough to carefully pour the remaining bacon grease onto his plate after he was done, and put his toast on top of it, so he could get some protein for the day in the form of grease-soaked toast, since he wasn't allowed butter or jam. And since the Dursleys would not let him stay in the house unsupervised, he was looking forward to spending time with Mrs. Figg, the batty old cat-obsessed neighbor that was his occasional sitter. The smell of all those cats was difficult on his senses, but Mrs. Figg had a soft spot for him, and always fed him well whenever he was over, so he could endure the smell for her.

This was rather saying a lot more, for Harry, than it would of your typical boy. For the 10 year old black boy had an especially keen sense of smell. So keen that Petunia would call him a liar if he let slip that the smell of her flowers when she had a window open was giving him a headache, and Vernon – his uncle – would occasionally wallop him, to “give [him] something to have a real headache for.” But by now, Harry had gotten used to both his nose and his ears causing him headaches from excessive stimuli, and had taken to wandering far away from number 4 to earn money doing chores for other people whenever he could get away, just so he could buy pain reliever, which he hid in a hole in the wall inside his cupboard under the stairs, a hole he plugged with a piece of drywall he'd bought with some of his earnings.

Sitting down to eat with the others, Harry had to ensure his very loud cousin assaulting his ears with his fervent present unwrapping, and then his spoiled whines when he got fewer presents than last year, a tactic calculated to guilt trip his parents into getting him extra presents. Harry may not like his cousin very much, and Dudley may not be very book smart, but he was clever enough when he put his mind to it. The trouble was, he rarely put his cleverness to anything good.

The telephone rang, and Petunia got it. Shortly thereafter, she said, “It's no good, Vernon; Mrs. Figg is ill, she can't take him.”

“No! He can't come,” Dudley fake-wailed. “He r-ruins everyth-thing!”

Harry's stomach fell. As much as he hated the smell of her house, he liked Mrs. Figg a lot. “I could always take care of her. I wouldn't mind bringing her chicken soup, or bringing her a hot water bottle, or whatever.”

“And have you tracking home whatever damn bug she's caught, and getting Dudders sick,” Uncle Vernon growled at him. “I don't bloody think so.”

“Okay, then you could always let me stay here. I could stay in my cupboard and read.”

Vernon glared at Harry in a familiar way, a sneering way. It was part outrage over the thought of Harry staying behind, and part disdain for Harry's habit of reading.

“Reading,” Vernon sneered. “Like any normal boy reads for enjoyment. But you're not normal, are you boy? Of course not. Ugly, no-good, worthless... just like your horrible father. Why your damned mother had to marry someone... someone like him , I'll never understand.”

Harry ignored this rant; it was as familiar to him as Vernon's belt was to his backside. It was unpopular to be openly racist, so of course his uncle could not go right out and say what was really on his mind; he had to talk around it.

“And comb your hair!” he barked at Harry. Harry ignored this, too. Everyone present knew very well that nothing short of expensive hair treatment in a salon would have any hope of taming his wild hair. And the one time they'd given in and tried it, it hadn't worked. His aunt had even shaved him bald once – a style that looked horrible on him, no matter what his uncle said, and it had grown back by the next morning. The whipping he'd received for that still made him wince to think about.

“Vernon, what are we going to do with him?”

“What? Oh yes, thought you could change the subject, did you, boy? Well no siree. You are not staying here, either. I will not come home to the house destroyed, no I will not.”

“Well what about your sister?” Aunt Petunia asked him.

“Don't be ridiculous, Marge hates the boy more than we do. No, he'll have to come with us.”

Dudley, of course, did not like this one bit, and began to fake-cry and scream again. But the doorbell rang, which shut him up at once, because Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss was at the door, to join them in the trip to the zoo.

As Harry walked to the car, he stomach felt like it had snakes crawling through it. This was too good to be true; there was no way he was going to get to the zoo without something very bad happening. Predictably, Vernon gave him a stern lecture about 'no funny stuff' during the trip before letting him into the car. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew something was different about him other than being black and being mentally... he stopped himself from saying Vernon's favorite word, 'abnormal,' and instead thought mentally divergent , a word he had read in a book many weeks ago. It was a good word, a nice way of saying he wasn't like most boys. But there was more, of course; weird happenings centered around him that his aunt and uncle knew something about, something they were keeping a secret. What exactly that was, he wasn't sure. But he'd read an X-Men comic once, and ever since then he thought he might be a mutant. He knew it was a work of fiction, but it was the only explanation that made sense to him, for some of the weird things that had happened to him growing up.

The zoo trip was good, better than anything he'd had in his whole 10 years of life. He got a lemon ice lolly when the lady at the ice cream shop had asked him what he wanted before the Dursleys could get away, and when Dudley had a fit over his Knickerbocker Glory being too small, Harry got to finish it after Dudley got a replacement. And the whole time, the snakes in his belly grew more and more agitated. This was all going to go wrong somehow, it was just a matter of time. Knowing this, he could not relax. He had to remain vigilant, so he could spot the danger and prevent it.

When they got to the reptile house, Harry went away from the Dursleys and Piers so as to avoid trouble. Nervously looking around, he walked right up to a gigantic boa constrictor that Dudley had already gotten bored with. He barely noticed the snake, but it noticed him.

“You look scared,” it said, quite clearly in English. This did not help Harry's nerves, and he frantically looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Even when he saw that they hadn't, he barely calmed down at all. I cannot have a snake talking to me right now, he thought.

To his horror, he realized he had actually said that aloud. But again, nobody noticed.

“You understand me?”

Harry sighed, resting his head against the glass. If this was the other shoe dropping, he might as well earn it.

“Yes, it seems I do. Not sure how, though. Maybe I'm a mutant.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“It means-- no, never mind. It's too hard to explain. Anyway, where are you from?”

The snake jerked its head, directing Harry's eyes to the sign. Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

Resigned to the inevitable, Harry asked in a tone that was a little hysterically amused, “Was it nice there?”

The snake jerked its head again. Bred in captivity.

“Ah,” Harry said. “Well, we have something in common, then. I never knew my parents.”

“Is that unusual with your species?” the snake asked.

“Yeah, it is. You see--”

“DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! YOU'LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT THIS SNAKE IS DOING!” That shout was all the warning Harry had before Piers and Dudley shoved him out of the way. He felt a surge of anger as he glared at them, then did a double-take as the glass disappeared and the snake slithered out.

It was absolute bedlam. Everyone was screaming and running around, except for Harry, who was in shock. The snake slithered up to him and said, “Thanks, mate. I'm going to see if I can get to Brazil. Wish me luck!”

“Uh... good luck,” he said after the snake. Then the snakes in his belly turned to ice as he felt his uncle glaring at him knowingly.

That's it, Harry thought. I'm dead. He's going to murder me at last.

~

Vernon did not murder his nephew, but it was a close thing. Once they were safely home, the man was too angry to do more than lock Harry in his cupboard, but the next morning after breakfast, he summoned Harry to the living room and whipped Harry as hard as he could with the leather of his spare belt. Harry silently bore the punishment, even though it only angered his uncle more, because he refused to give Dudley any more ammunition against him than the spoiled brat already had.

What was far harder to deal with was being locked in his cupboard until the start of the summer holidays, and given even fewer meals than usual. It was a situation that called for a skill Harry had learned from a library book years ago. Using an old hairpin, Harry picked the lock on his cupboard door and snuck out in the dead of night to pick a few things out of the fridge that nobody would miss, especially given how much Dudley ate. Harry would say Dudley ate Harry's weight in food every day, but honestly, it was more like Dudley ate his own weight in food every day.

He chided himself silently for picking on Dudley for his weight. Dudley may pig out shamelessly, but there were lots of people who were overweight for reasons they had no control of. It was far more satisfying, anyway, to pick on Dudley for being a spoiled rotten waste of air.

Once he was let out of his cupboard, he immediately left the house to go to the library. Some of the books he'd gotten out were months overdue because of the snake incident, and he dreaded having to pay the fines. To his astonishment, though, the librarian took pity on him and waived the fines. He tried to pay her what little he had in his pockets, but she refused to take it. He decided, on balance, to not check any more books out, just in case he got in trouble again. Instead, he spent as much time as possible reading in the library.

Weeks later, while Aunt Petunia was dyeing some of Dudley's old clothes gray for what she claimed was the uniform at Harry's new school, Stonewall High, the mail came, and he was forced to get it. When he picked it up, he saw a strange letter written in glittering green ink, addressed to him. It even had his cupboard on it. Whatever it was, he knew if any of the Dursleys saw it, they would confiscate it from him and likely destroy it. Thinking quickly, he shoved it into his sock and handed the rest of the mail to his uncle. Then he went into his cupboard for his coat and left the house, heading for the library.

Harry loved the library not only because he loved reading and learning, but also because Dudley would never be caught dead in a library. In his favorite secluded corner, Harry retrieved the letter from his sock, opened it carefully, and read it. He had to re-read it several times to be sure it really said what it did. Even then, the had to put it down and think.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he whispered to himself. A school of magic. Did this mean he was a wizard? Did this mean all the weird stuff in his life – his hair growing back overnight, finding himself on a roof somehow, the incredible shrinking sweater, talking with a snake, disappearing glass, and more – was magic? Could it be? He thought back to the day of the snake incident, to what he'd said as he desperately tried to explain himself to his uncle. He had said “it was like magic,” and his uncle had nearly blown a gasket, shouting “there's no such thing as magic!” Almost like... he was trying to convince himself, as much as convince Harry?

But Magic was impossible, wasn't it? Still, he'd known something was unusual about him; he'd known for a long time. Was magic any more unbelievable than being a mutant? Could it really be magic? Or was this a practical joke? But who did he know who would bother with something like this, or had the brains to think of something this clever? No, hard as it was to believe, he believed. Or at least, he believed enough to decide to write back. He had no idea how to write back, but he reasoned that since it had come in the post, maybe the post office would take it. He would have to buy a stamp, though, even though there was no stamp on the letter.

The letter had been sent by Professor M. McGonagall, so he decided to address the letter to her. Pausing long enough to buy an envelope from one of the librarians, he went back to his corner and tried to think what to write. After long deliberation, he began.

Dear Professor M. McGonagall,

I was astonished by your letter, and honestly I am having difficulty believing it's real, but things have happened in my life that convince me you are being honest. I have a great many questions, but I have to start by saying that I don't think my aunt and uncle will let me come to Hogwarts. They hate magic and they hate me, and they are opposed to anything that would make me anything less than miserable. It was only from quick thinking that I was able to hide your letter to read it, I am certain they would have burned it if they'd found it first.

Also, I have no money, except what little I manage to secretly earn to pay for medication for headaches I'm prone to, so I would frankly be astonished if they paid my tuition, or paid for any of the things your letter says I'll need. So that's another obstacle to my coming. But if there is any way possible for me to come, I would love to get away from these people and come to Hogwarts.

Oh, and I don't think it would be wise to send me a reply in the post. The odds are high my aunt or uncle or even my cousin would get to it before I did, and doubtless burn it. What's more, if they found that I had hidden this first letter and sent you a reply, I know they would punish me, and I've only recently stopped being punished for the last weird thing that happened, in which I accidentally set a boa constrictor loose in the local zoo by accidentally making the glass vanish without a trace.

I have no good suggestions for how you should respond to this letter, unless by some chance you were willing to drop by, but if you do, you should be ready to defend yourself; my uncle gets very violent when he gets angry. He has a little more self control around adults than around me, but I don't know by how much.

Hoping to hear from you soon,

Harry Potter

Harry re-read the letter a few times to make sure he liked it. When he was satisfied, he started on the envelope, and was immediately stumped. The return address on the letter didn't even say what country Hogwarts was in; for all he knew, it was in China. So, thinking the whole time that this was a poorly thought out system, and that people who knew nothing of this Hogwarts ought to be sent a person to explain rather than a letter in the post, he just wrote “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” as the address. It felt silly to him; even Santa Claus had a better address than this school did.

He left the library and went to the post office, bought a single stamp, and dropped it in the box, hoping it wasn't a joke, hoping the letter would get through somehow, and wondering what would happen if it really were real and not an elaborate prank by person or persons unknown. And so it was that he spent the rest of the day lost in thought, nearly earning himself another whipping when he almost burned dinner, and later fell into a fitful sleep.

~

The next day seemed normal when Harry woke up, and his doubts tripled. He tried to push them down, though, and focus on his cooking. He wondered how long it would take the letter to reach Hogwarts, assuming it wasn't a bad dream or a trick. What he had not expected was for the doorbell to ring after breakfast, soon followed by Uncle Vernon roaring in rage and fear. Harry ran toward the sound of his uncle's anger, against every survival instinct he had, to see what was the matter. He found a very angry woman with black hair in a tight bun and an austere appearance waving what looked like a twig at Uncle Vernon like it was a weapon, and shouting at him to calm himself. Vernon – who would normally have been shoving her out the door by now – was regarding the twig like it was a gun pointed at his face, and backed off, letting the austere woman come into the house and close the door behind herself.

He regarded this woman with confusion. Figuring out that the twig must actually be a wand, he figured this must be a Hogwarts representative. But aside from the wand and her age, she didn't look like a witch to Harry. She was dressed in a black dress that looked a bit old fashioned, but was clearly not a... well, he didn't actually know what to call the clothing witches tended to wear in TV and movies. Robes, perhaps? No, this was clearly a dress. A dress from the turn of the century perhaps, but still a dress and not robes or a cloak or whatever.

“Ah, there you are Mister Potter. Yes, you look just like your father; Arabella wasn't lying, then. Not that I thought she was, but... oh yes, and your mother's eyes. Lily's eyes...”

“Vernon,” Aunt Petunia shouted, running into the room at last. “Vernon, what is...” she trailed off, staring blankly at the woman. Then she noticed the wand, and shrunk back. “WHO ARE YOU?” she demanded of the woman, “AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?”

The austere woman regarded his aunt with a frown over her glasses. “I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You are Petunia Dursley, I presume?”

“YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE,” Vernon shouted, his face turning puce. “LEAVE AT ONCE, YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY!”

“I will do no such thing. You let me into your house of your own accord.”

His uncle's face turned an even darker shade of puce. “UNDER THREAT OF INJURY!”

“Yes,” the woman said with derision. “Do you really wish to explain to a muggle policeman why you felt threatened by an elderly woman wielding a small piece of wood?”

Vernon opened his mouth to speak, but had no rebuttal. So Harry spoke instead, filling the silence.

“Muggle?”

“It is what we in the wizarding world call those who have no magic, at least the ones that do not live in the wizarding world.”

“There are non-magic people who live in your world? Why?”

“They are called squibs. Born to magical parents, they have no magic. The opposite of a muggle-born witch or wizard.”

“SHUT YOUR--” Vernon began, but Professor McGonagall wordlessly cast a spell on him that made his voice vanish, which she then did to Petunia as the horse-faced woman began to scream. This hadn't really helped matters, though, as the two were now gesticulating madly and trying to attack the professor, who had to keep them at bay with some other spell from her wand.

“WILL YOU TWO STOP BEHAVING LIKE A PAIR OF BABBOONS, OR AM I GOING TO HAVE TO MAKE YOUR SILENCE PERMANENT?”

At this, the two Dursleys blanched, but stopped moving, save to back away from the professor.

“Good heavens, I am getting too old for this kind of nonsense,” she said to herself. Then she turned to the Dursleys and said, “Please sit down, we have things to discuss. And if you refuse to sit down, then I shall turn you into rats.”

Terrified by the prospect of being something so dirty and disgusting as a rat, Petunia quickly sat down in the nearest chair, and Vernon followed suit, sitting in another chair. Harry and Professor McGonagall sat down across from them.

“Good. Now--”

She was interrupted this time by a knock on the door, a knock that rattled the house.

“Oh for goodness sake, Hagrid,” the professor shouted at the door as she got up to open it, “please do try to be more careful. I do not want to have to repair their home if I can help it.”

“Sorry bout tha, Professor,” said a very large voice from the door as an even larger man came inside. He was so vast that he had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

“Oh, it's fine, Hagrid. I didn't mean to snap at you, it's just these muggles are the worst I've ever met in thirty-five years of this job. Oh here, let me conjure you something to sit on in there, Hagrid. You'll never get in here unless I shrunk you.”

“Tha's okay, Professor. I can stand.”

But the older woman insisted on conjuring the giant man a chair, and so Harry saw his first proof of magic.

“It's REAL! Magic is REAL?”

The two new faces stared at him, agog, for a moment. Then Hagrid got angry and faced his aunt and uncle as best as he could from the entryway. “YEH MEAN TER TELL ME HE ENT EVEN BEEN TOLD NUTHIN BOUT OUR WORLD? HARRY JAMES POTTER, MOS' FAMOUS PERSON IN OUR WORLD, AN' HE'S NEVER BEEN TOLD ABOUT MAGIC?”

“Of course we didn't tell him,” Petunia snapped, surprised to find her voice returned. “My dratted sister being what she was. We swore, when we took him in, we'd put a stop to all that dangerous nonsense. And yet here you are anyway, breaking into our home, threatening us--”

“YEH THINK YEH BEEN THREATENED SO FAR DURSLEY, YEH'VE NO IDEA WHAT--”

“Hagrid, do please calm yourself!”

Hagrid's face was covered by his big shaggy beard, but his eyes looked abashed. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall.”

“It's quite alright, Hagrid, just try to remain calm.”

“Wait,” said Harry, rubbing his head. “Wait, I'm trying to think. But so much noise, I can't... god, my head...”

“A headache, Mister Potter? Like the ones you mentioned in your reply?”

“WHAT? Am I to understand, boy, that you've been writing these freaks?”

“And no doubt hiding his... his dratted acceptance letter from us too, Vernon.”

“Here, Mister Potter, Poppy – our school nurse – gave me a few vials of a headache cure after I showed her your letter. Drink one up, it will get rid of the pain.”

Harry took the proffered potion and drank it up. Now that he had seen proof of magic, he trusted this woman. Hard as it was for him to trust adults, he trusted her anyway for some reason.

“Thanks, that's better.”

“YOU NEVER ANSWERED US, BOY! DON'T THINK YOU CAN--”

“SHUT UP, DURSLEY, YOU GREAT PRUNE! DON'T MAKE ME COME OER THERE AN' INTRODUCE YEH TO YOUR OWN--”

“HAGRID! Calm yourself!”

Hagrid muttered an apology, glaring darkly at the Dursleys. Harry wondered, suddenly, where Dudley was in all this. Then he spotted his cousin far away, hiding but still watching the scene unfold.

“Anyway,” Harry said. “So, I don't know where to start. Wait, no, I do. You said I look like my dad?”

“Yeah,” Hagrid said before McGonagall could answer. “Yeah, now yeh mention it, yeh do look zactly like yer dad. But yeh got yer mum's eyes.” His own began to water, tears rolling down his beard.

“So you two knew my parents?”

McGonagall nodded, her own eyes tearing up. “Y-yes, Mister Potter. I've been teaching in Hogwarts since 1956. I taught your mother and father when they were in school. And Hagrid here has been keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts for 49 years, so he knew them as well.”

“An a better witch an wizard I ent never known. Kind, yer mum was. And yer dad, too, in 'is own way. Bit of a prankster, yer dad. Sad it was, when You-Know-'Oo kill--”

“I FORBID YOU TO SPEAK,” his uncle bellowed.

“I'D LIKE TER SEE YEH TRY AN STOP ME!”

Harry was confused and angry. He rounded on his aunt and uncle and shouted, “YOU TOLD ME MY PARENTS DIED IN A CAR CRASH!”

Hagrid stood up and left a divot in the ceiling with his head. “A CAR CRASH!? A CAR CRASH KILL LILY AN JAMES POTTER!? IT'S AN OUTRAGE! A SCANDAL! I'VE 'ALF A MIN' TER TIE YER LIMBS INTO A--”

“HAGRID!”

Hagrid, apparently, was too incensed to do more than growl. And Harry was starting to feel angry himself, from what he'd heard. But more pressing was his curiosity.

“Murdered? My parents were murdered? By who?”

Both Hogwarts representatives looked discomfited. McGonagall spoke first. “Well, Mister Potter, you see... just like muggles,” she gave the Dursleys a glower, “not all witches and wizards are good. Some go bad. The wizard who murdered your parents was the most powerful evil sorcerer in over 100 years. I don't know his real name, but he went by a pseudonym which is infamous; so infamous that, well... even though the war has been over for almost 11 years, most of us are still too terrified to speak that name. But, well, let me write it out for you.” She summoned a quill, ink, and parchment from nowhere, eliciting squeaks of fear from the Dursleys, wrote something on it, and handed it to him.

“Voldemort?” The reaction this name elicited in the two Hogwarts representatives was even more pronounced than the Dursley's reaction to the word 'magic.' Hagrid jumped so much in fear that the chair he was sitting on got flattened, and the house shook. And Professor McGonagall, her hand to her chest, looked like she was in danger of having a heart attack.

“Yes, that... that is correct, Mister Potter. Now if you please, I beg you not to say the name again.”

“Alright, I'll try.”

“Anyway, this... this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he went to your house on Halloween, and... and killed Lily and James. Then he tried to kill you, but for some reason that nobody knows, he couldn't. Scores of powerful witches and wizards he murdered, maybe even hundreds, and you, just a baby boy, somehow survived.”

Harry didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, just looked pensive.

“Yeah,” continued Hagrid from McGonagall, “an yer house blew up an all, too. Fished yeh outta the wreckage meself, an brought yeh here on Dumbledore's orders.”

Harry glared at these words. “Dumbledore is the reason I ended up here? Here with these people who hate me, who beat me, who don't feed me enough?”

Both of them had the decency to look very uncomfortable, at least.

“Er... Harry, yeh see... well I guess Dumbledore – an I can hardly believe I'm sayin this, but... I guess he misjudged yer aunt and uncle. I guess even Dumbledore can make mistakes. He swore up an down yeh'd be safe here, that the Dursleys would care fer ya like a son...” Hagrid stopped talking upon seeing the expression crossing Harry's face.

“Well they sure as--” he stopped himself saying something rude. “They didn't. Dudley is far from malnourished. Dudley has no burn scars, or scars from being whipped till he bled. Dudley isn't treated like a slave or worse. Dudley isn't hated so much that the word 'hatred' hardly seems strong enough.”

McGonagall looked shocked. She looked like the news was making her ill. Then she looked murderous. With deadly quiet, she said, “Harry, I promise you... I don't know what exactly I will do, but these... these monsters will pay for their crimes. I shall have you see Poppy after the Sorting, she can take a record of the abuse, that will be the first step. But please don't be angry with Professor Dumbledore; even I never would have dreamed anything like this would happen. I guess we're both too trusting, him and I.”

There was almost a whole minute of silence, before it was rudely broken.

“If you think I'm going to pay for some crackpot old fool to teach him magic tricks, I--” Vernon's surprise rant ended when Hagrid nearly put his head through the roof, and McGonagall pointed her wand at Vernon's heart, murder in her eyes.

“I warn you, Mister Dursley, if you insult Albus Dumbledore again, you will both live out your remaining days as seats in a very filthy public toilet. You would deserve far worse.”

At this, Vernon got very small, and both him and his wife turned a very sickly looking pale.

“HA! Couldn't 'ave said it better meself, Professor.”

“See, it's like I told you in my letter,” Harry said, pushing his feelings back down in order to charge ahead. “I haven't the money to go, and they're not going to let me.”

“Mister Potter, the laws of our world – of the wizarding world, I mean – clearly state that young witches and wizards must receive a magical education, to control their gifts. As you age, your power will only grow, and power without control could end up coming out very dangerously. There's no telling what could happen if you don't learn that control,” she said, pointedly looking at the Dursleys. “You could end up blowing the house up, or worse. Anyway, you do not have to go to Hogwarts for this education, as there are other schools, such as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, both on the European mainland. But you need to go somewhere to learn, and as Hogwarts has accepted you, if you wish to go, legally nobody can stop you from going.”

“And besides which, yeh've--”

“Hush, Hagrid,” she said, giving him a significant look. He looked perplexed for a moment. Then, understanding lit up his face and he nodded.

“Anyway, as I was about to say, there is a fund for students who cannot afford tuition and supplies. Since your guardians will not pay your way, the fund can pay your way through all seven years of your education.”

“Oh. Well that's one hurdle overcome, I guess,” he said. He looked at the Dursleys, then back at McGonagall. “But how will I get there? I doubt these two will take me.”

“I will have Hagrid here collect you on the first of September, if you wish to go. He will be authorized to get you to Hogwarts in any way that does not violate wizarding law. Well, except for magic.”

“Er, yeah,” Hagrid said. “Strictly speakin, I'm not allowed ter do magic. But nothin short of a dragon or a manticore could stop me gettin' yeh ter school, an yeh can bet on tha'.”

“Why aren't you allowed to do magic?”

“Er, Professor, have yeh told 'im bout Platform 9 and ¾ yet?”

“Platform WHAT?” exclaimed Mr. Dursley.

“Never you min', Dursley. Ent noneyer bin'niss.”

“Yes, good idea, Hagrid. At King's Cross Station, there will be what appears to be a blank wall between platforms 9 and 10. You run at it, with your eyes closed if it helps, and it will transport you to platform 9 and ¾.”

“Hold on, let me write that down,” he said, scribbling it down on a piece of spare paper.

“At any rate, Hagrid will also take you to Diagon Alley today to get your school supplies.”

“Today?”

“Yes, it's still plenty early enough. Hagrid, Albus gave me a pair of portkeys to give you for the trip. They both activate by a countdown from 3 while you're holding them in your hand.” She handed him a filthy rubber duck and a crushed McDonald's cup, to Harry's confusion. Hagrid took them and put them in his pocket.

“Understood, Professor McGonagall.”

“As for me, I will be returning home to have a nice long soak in a warm bath. It has been years since I had a day as stressful as this one. Well, Mister Potter, I shall see you on the first of September.”

“See you,” Harry said back.

Professor McGonagall stood up, got out her wand, turned on the spot, and disappeared with a loud CRACK that startled the Dursleys onto the floor.

“Harry, come over 'ere an put a hand on this,” he said, holding out one end of the crushed drink cup. Perplexed, Harry nonetheless did as instructed.

“Good, good. Ready? Good. Now three, two, one!”

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel, and the sensation of wind rushing past him for about 10 or 15 seconds, then fell over sideways into a table that hadn't been there before, knocking someone's beer over.

“Oy, watch it!”

“S-sorry,” Harry said. But the man had barely finished his exclamation before diving out of the way, barely missing getting crushed by Hagrid's immense form, which crushed the table instead.

The man passed out from terror, and a toothless, wizened old man came over and helped Hagrid up, then pointed a wand at the table and repaired it magically.

“Wh-where are we?”

“You're in the leaky cauldron,” the toothless old man said, pointing his wand at the passed-out man, waking him. “Next time, Hagrid, don't portkey into my pub?”

“Sorry bout that, Tom. Professor McGonagall forgot ter mention where tha portkey went ter.” He regarded the other one with great wariness. “Sure hope this 'un don't take us inter your house later, or somebody might hafter fish us outta the wreckage.” He put it back for now, and started to head toward the back of the pub, when a man in a purple turban came up to Harry.

“P-p-p-p-potter. P-p-p-p-pleased t-t-to m-m-meet you. I'm P-p-p-p-professor Quirrel.”

He shook the man's hand as Hagrid explained that Quirrel was the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher. And then Tom the barman made an exclamation about Harry, and suddenly every witch and wizard in the place was swarming him, trying to get a handshake or a word from him. And despite the headache cure McGonagall had given him, he felt it returning.

“Hagrid. T-too many p-people. Can we get out of here?”

“Okay, evryone, tha's quite enough. Poor lad's gettin' a headache, and we've got ter get his school things. BACK, I say!”

Tom, despite having started the ruckus, helped Hagrid calm it down, and Hagrid led Harry out the back to a brick wall.

“Here, Harry; before we go in, I got another headache potion for yeh. Poppy gave me a bunch, too, an told me how ter use em. Yeh can have up ter four in an hour, but best ter not do any more. She said it could make em worse past that point.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” he said, taking the potion and feeling relief speeding to his head. “Do you happen to know if there's any risk of drug interaction if I were to take my ibuprofen after that point?”

“Er, no idea, sorry. I don't know nothin bout muggle med'cine, an Poppy dinnit say nuffin bout it. Anyway, yeh better enough ter watch?”

“Yes.”

Hagrid nodded approvingly, then showed Harry how to open the entryway to Diagon Alley with a pink umbrella that Harry suspected was really a wand. He tapped a certain brick in the wall, and a hole opened up smoothly and quickly into an archway before them.

What lay before him was a wonder to behold, and he took a moment to feel the awe before going in. It was a good thing, too; after just a couple minutes, he began finding it harder and harder to enjoy Diagon Alley. There were lots of familiar sounds – animal screeches, bangs, cracks, and pops – that startled him ever few seconds, making his heart race and his airway constrict. He tried calming himself, but it was difficult; a difficulty made worse by the equally overwhelming visual noise. Without his glasses, he was probably legally blind, but that didn't mean his vision couldn't still be overwhelmed. It was all making him sick, and he had to lean against a wall, cover his ears, and shut his eyes to block it all out, and it still wasn't enough.

“Oy, them Dursleys really did a number on-- oh, sorry. I'll shush up.” Hagrid waited patiently, looking with great concern at Harry for several minutes, before saying, “Er... d'ya want me ter give yeh a piggyback ride?”

Harry looked up at Hagrid, thinking. They had things to do, and if he was stuck here trying to cope with the noise...

“Yes, please.”

Riding on Hagrid's shoulders helped, though he had to look into the sky to cut down on the visual noise. Before going to Gringott's, Hagrid stopped by at a small shop that sold earmuffs with a silencing charm on them. He put them over Harry's ears; Harry looked foolish wearing earmuffs in July, but he quickly recovered almost fully with the absolute silence that the earmuffs afforded him. At another shop, Hagrid added a pair of extra-dark sunglasses to Harry's sensory-coping arsenal. That done, they finally headed toward the giant white stone building that was the wizarding bank, Gringott's.

Harry took the sunglasses and earmuffs off inside, just to test the waters. The bank was busy, but much, much quieter than outside had been.

“Young Harry Potter wishes ter make a withdrawral,” Hagrid told one of the goblins. Harry tried to get a good look at the goblin without staring; he had no wish to be rude.

“And does young Harry Potter have his key?”

“Aye, got it right here. Oh, and there's something else as well. Important Hogwarts bin'niss.” Hagrid handed the goblin a very secretive looking piece of parchment, then whispered, “It's about the you-know-what in vault you-know-which.”

Harry supposed Hagrid thought Harry couldn't hear him, but with Harry's hearing being what it was, Hagrid might as well have been using his normal voice; the whisper was just as clear.

“Very well,” said the goblin. “Griphook!”

Another goblin, much younger than the first, grabbed a lantern and led them into a cart like the mine carts in old shows about the American 'wild west.'

“Hang on ter yer valubles, Harry, an yeh might want ter close yer eyes, this is gonna be a rough ride. Even I get sick on these damned carts.”

Harry nodded, and closed his eyes just in time for the cart to go whizzing off at breakneck speed, twisting and turning this way and that. Hagrid sounded very ill, but managed to keep his food in. Harry was not so lucky, managing to hold it in just long enough for the cart to jerk to a stop before tossing his breakfast over into the abyss below.

Luckily, the goblin patiently gave Harry a couple minutes to find his land legs again, and staggered over to the vault door. It was only then that he registered something that had been said earlier. “Wait, did you say I had a key? Where are we, Hagrid?”

The goblin answered instead. “Vault 687, held in trust for Harry James Potter, by his parents, Lily and James Potter.”

“My parents had a vault here?”

“Yes,” Griphook replied. “Very old wizarding family, the Potters. They go back all the way to the Peverells at least.”

Harry had no idea what that meant, so he just nodded. He watched the goblin place a small golden key into a lock and turn it, opening the vault door. Then he looked in, and began to gibber. Before his eyes was an enormous pile of gold, and smaller piles of silver and bronze. This was more money than he could ever have imagined. There was no way the Dursleys knew of this, and he wasn't going to tell them, ever; they would steal it from him, even if it meant coming into the wizarding world to do it.

“How... how much?”

“I don't know the exact figure off the top of my head, Mister Potter, but I would estimate at least fifteen million galleons. It is quite a large vault.”

“How much is that in pounds sterling?”

“At the current exchange rate, a galleon is worth about five pounds. A sickle is worth about 30 pence, and a knut is one pence.”

“I'm a millionaire?”

“Yes, Mister Potter,” Griphook said with a grin, “you are. Happy early birthday, Mister Potter.”

“From dirt poor to independently wealthy in less than a day. Wow.”

Using the information Griphook had given him, Harry took out 60 galleons, 100 sickles, and 25 knuts and put it in his bag. Then he asked the goblin, “You mentioned an exchange rate, so I take it that means I could exchange some of this for pounds?”

“Yes, Mister Potter. You can exchange money with any of the tellers upstairs.”

He nodded and got back into the cart. He and Hagrid then endured another ride to a deeper vault, vault 713. Harry barely had the presence of mind to pay attention to Griphook opening that door, but caught a glimpse inside. The only thing in that vault was a grubby little package, which Hagrid collected. He wondered what could be that valuable, that it would have its very own vault all the way down here.

“Er, don't mention this ter anybody, Harry; it's secret stuff. Come ter think on it, maybe I shouldn't have gotten it with you around.”

“Don't worry, Hagrid, your secret's safe with me.”

Apparently his word was good enough for Hagrid, and so he had a moment of cheerfulness before they had to endure the trip back up. By this point, Harry had nothing left in his stomach, so he was dry heaving over the side. They quickly got out, and as soon as the both of them got their land legs back, they went to the teller, where Harry got gave the goblin 4 galleons and some sickles, and got about 20 quid in muggle money in exchange. Then he put his earmuffs back on, but Hagrid was too woozy to trust himself to carry Harry, so instead, they went hand in hand to the Leaky Cauldron to get some soup and pumpkin juice for Harry, and an enormous tankard of ale for Hagrid.

“Drinking on the job?” Harry teased.

“Aye, jes a lil pick-me-up. Don' worry, I'm so big I'd haf ter drink at leas' four times this to even start ter get tipsy.” He drank half of it in one gulp before continuing, “Sides which, if I never got ter drink on the job, I wouldn't get ter drink very often.”

When they finished their meal and felt human again, Harry put his earmuffs on and braved Diagon Alley with Hagrid again. He found, with the earmuffs on, that the visual noise was tolerable, and so with relative ease they went all over the place, getting books, a cauldron, potions supplies, and more. Finally, the last thing was a wand.

“Listen, I'm gonna get yeh a birthday present. I know it's a bit early, but I won't be able to come round again til the first o' September. Don't look at me like that; I don't spect yeh've ever had a birthday present before with them Dursleys. It's me own money, an I want ter get yeh somfin. I know, I'll get yeh an owl. Dead useful they are, carry yer mail an all. Yeah, you get yer wand 'ere an I'll be back before three shake of a bowtruckle.”

Hagrid, humming happily, wandered off to find Harry an owl, and Harry went into Ollivander's and looked around.

“Hello?” he called out experimentally.

Suddenly, a pale-eyed old man rolled into view on a ladder. “Ah, Mister Potter, I wondered when I would meet you. Oh, and here's another customer, too. First come first serve, miss... uh, miss...”

“Granger, sir. Hermione Granger. And these are my parents,” said a black girl, her hair even wilder and bigger and bushier than his own, grinning back at her mother and father, both of whom were also black.

“Hmm, Granger, eh? Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger?”

“Doubtful, sir. I'm muggleborn.”

“Ah yes, good good. Well anyway, Miss Granger, Mister Potter was here first, so I shall tend to him first.”

She nodded, and the three of them sat down. Mister Ollivander began measuring him with a measuring tape that was moving of its own accord, while he looked through boxes. What followed was 15 minutes of trying one wand after another without luck. Instead of being frustrated by this as Harry was, Mr. Ollivander got more excited with every failed wand. Finally, though, he paused at one wand and said, “I wonder,” before picking it up and handing it to Harry to try. Harry swished the wand like all the others, not expecting anything to happen, and was pleasantly surprised to find it created sparks.

“Wonderful, wonderful! Here, let's get you paid up, and I'll box that up for you. After all, students are not allowed to do magic except in Hogwarts, at least until they come of age.”

As he took Harry's money, he muttered to himself. “Curious, very curious...”

“Sorry, but what's curious?”

Olivander eyes the Grangers briefly, then cast some sort of spell wandlessly.

“There, silencing charm. Now they can't hear us. What is curious, Mr. Potter, is that the phoenix whose tail feather comprises your wand's core gave only one other feather. Wands choose their wizards, Mr. Potter, so it is curious that you should be fated to this wand, when it's brother gave you that scar.

“Ah,” Harry said, feeling ill. “Are you sure they can't hear us?”

“I would not tell you something so grave and private if I thought there was any risk of another overhearing us, Mr. Potter; on that, you have my word.”

Swallowing a hard lump in his throat, Harry took his wand and moved away from the register. Hagrid still wasn't back yet, so Harry waited while Hermione got her wand. It only took Ollivander five tries to find her a wand. Where Harry's was made of holly wood with a phoenix feather core, Hermione's was vine wood and dragon heartstring.

Hagrid finally showed up, tapping the window gently to show he couldn't come in. He was holding a lovely snowy owl in a bronze-colored cage.

“Oooh, what a lovely owl,” Hermione exclaimed. “Oh mum, can I get an owl too?”

“No, dear, not this year anyway. Your father and I will think about it.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Hermione.”

“You too, Harry. See you on the train, I hope.”

Harry waved goodbye, put his earmuffs back on, and left with Hagrid. Before long, they were taking the rubber-duck portkey back. To both their relief, the portkey took them to a sheltered part of the Dursley's back yard. To their consternation, however, this startled Petunia, who was gardening, and she screamed, running into the house in terror.

Hagrid did not go right away. During their soup earlier, Harry had mentioned his cupboard under the stairs, so the giant man was going to have a few words with the Dursley's. Before he left, Harry was able to move all his things into Dudley's spare bedroom. With Hagrid's help, they cleared out all of Dudley's rubbish and chucked it in the bin, which caused a whole new ruckus. Eventually, though, Hagrid terrified the Dursleys into submission, and Harry watched Hagrid reuse the first portkey and vanish into thin air. Already, Harry began to count down the days til September the first.

~

Note: Don't worry, things will get better for Harry in the next chapter.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

Harry barricaded the door of his new bedroom after Hagrid left, fearful of his uncle getting retribution on him. Luckily, his uncle didn't come into his room that night; he was probably terrified of Harry, but Harry didn't know how long that would keep the man away, especially since they'd known all along he had magic. To try to take his mind off his worries, he opened his History of Magic textbook and began to read it. He found a name for his owl there, calling her Hedwig.

He was about to go to bed when an owl tapped on the window. He opened it and took the letter from its leg. It was from Professor McGonagall.

Dear Mr. Potter,

The incident today, and the things you told me, have been weighing on my mind all day long, and so I talked with Dumbledore about it. He then looked into what he could do. He is still investigating long-term solutions, but he agreed with me that your relatives cannot be trusted with your safety. I have sent this owl to warn you that I will be dropping by tonight, to relocate you to a place called The Burrow, where the Weasley family will keep you for the remainder of the summer holidays. They are well known and trusted, and are very warm and loving people. See you soon.

Yours sincerely,
Professor Minerva McGonagall

He had barely finished reading the letter when the doorbell rang, soon followed by his uncle bellowing.

“Who the BLOODY HELL is calling at this hour of the night?”

Harry stayed in his new room, not wanting to be anywhere near his uncle while this was happening. He did listen at the door, however, and heard the door slam open, his uncle begin to speak, and then fall dumb. Finally being curious enough to risk coming out of his room, he hung around at the top of the stairs.

"What are you back for? And at this late hour of the night, no less? Do you have any idea what TIME it is? No, I suppose you don't; your lot don't---"

"MISTER Dursley, IF you would be so kind as to shut up for a minute and let me in so I can explain, I would gladly do that. Unless you'd rather we wake up the whole neighborhood?"

Harry could not see his uncle from where he stood, but could hear the grinding of teeth, and could almost swear he heard the pounding of the vein in his uncle's temple. But he must have seen the wisdom in this, and reluctantly let McGonagall in, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you. Now, I'm sorry to be here so late at night, but after the appalling spectacle you put on earlier, and after some of the things Harry said, I had a talk with Professor Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster, and he quite agrees with me that it is unsafe for Harry here, at least for the time being. We have not made any permanent changes to the arrangements, and we're not even sure if we will or not. Dumbledore explained to me that he set up blood wards that protect Harry from You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters while he lives in this house, but if you have been mistreating him anywhere near as bad as--"

"We haven't done anything to the boy that he didn't deserve! Young hooligan, he should thank his lucky stars we haven't sent him to Saint Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal B--"

Harry peered down to see why Vernon had suddenly gone quiet, save for some whimpering, and saw that McGonagall was pointing her wand at his nose.

"That boy has not deserved any of the treatment you have given him. He is malnourished, was living in a cupboard under your staircase until Hagrid forced you to move him to a proper bedroom, he has been worked like a slave and treated like dirt by you and your whole family. And after I explained all that to Dumbledore, he was so upset with you that I am quite surprised he did not send you a Howler, which would have been a very rude awakening for you indeed. Right now the only thing standing between the Ministry turning you in to the Muggle authorities for child neglect and abuse are the blood wards I mentioned, and a thorough examination by a trained Healer for evidence. And if we can figure out a protection for Harry that does not involve the three of you being in charge of his welfare, you and your wife will go to prison.”

"HOW--"

"NO, not a single word, Mr. Dursley! You and your wife have let your anti-wizard bigotry and your... your... anti-Black racism - a ridiculous reason to hate someone, by the way - and have used it as an excuse to mistreat a relative of yours, a child who should have been loved and cared for. Frankly, on top of child abuse, you ought to also be charged with illegal slavery, as well.

"For the meantime, however, we are taking Harry off your hands for the remainder of the summer. A very nice wizarding family has volunteered to care for him until he can go to Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both very loyal to Dumbledore. So, Harry, why don't you pack your things, so we can leave this miserable lot to their own devices for now."

"Oh, uh... yes, sure. Be right back!"

It didn't take long; he hadn't actually unpacked his school things yet, so all he had to do was add his few other meager possessions to his trunk, and then drag the heavy trunk to the top of the stairs. When McGonagall saw how much trouble it was giving him, she charmed the trunk to float down the stairs.

"Um... thanks, Professor."

"It's no trouble, Mr. Potter."

"So how are we leaving, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore gave me a portkey," she said, pulling a battered looking teddy bear with a missing eye from her robes. Harry looked at it curiously.

"I'm unsure how good of a choice this one was, but it won't be a portkey once we get to the Burrow. Anyway, just let me send your trunk and owl along first." She pointed her wand at his trunk with Hedwig in her cage atop it, and they vanished with a small pop.

"Now, hold the bear with me."

He took the bear's leg, Vernon staring at the two of them like they were mad. "And three, two, one..."

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel and a rushing of wind as he and Professor McGonagall flew through a swirly, blurry space, then he landed hard on his bottom in grass, and the world re-formed around him. Straightening his glasses, he looked behind McGonagall and saw a tremendously tall house that looked like it had been a barn once before being added to again and again. It looked like it only remained standing because of magic. Which, he mused, was probably true.

"Welcome to the Burrow, home of the Weasley family. It's in a village called Ottery Saint Catchpole. By the way, Potter, your glasses have seen better days. May I...?"

"Um... may you what, Professor?"

"Repair them for you, of course."

"Oh, okay."

He was about to take them off and hand them to her when she pointed her wand at them and said "Oculus reparo."

The tape holding his glasses together vanished, but they stayed in place; his glasses had been repaired.

"Thanks. Hey, do you know if magic can correct eyesight?"

She blinked at him significantly. He wasn't great shakes at figuring out facial expressions, but he did notice she was wearing glasses.

"Oh. I take it that's a no."

"Not as yet, Mister Potter."

"Why not?”

"Hmm... well I don't know why we haven't figured it out yet, but maybe if you can figure out how to do it, you could make a name for yourself. Well, one you'd properly earned, rather than by accident of fate. Anyway, we need to get up to the Burrow."

Nobody was awake at the Burrow, with the exception of a plump, kindly woman with flaming red hair, and an apron hastily flung over her nightgown. "Professor McGonagall, how nice to see you again," the kindly woman beamed, holding her arms out. The two women hugged, which struck Harry as a little odd for the severe, rigid Professor McGonagall to do.

"Likewise, Molly."

"Ah, and this must be young Harry." She glanced briefly at the lightning-shaped scar on his head, pretending hastily she hadn't done so. Then she clucked disapprovingly. "You're skinny as a rail dear, what have those horrible people been feeding you, birdseed?"

"So I take it Dumbledore explained the situation to you, Molly?"

"Yes, he did. I hope you throw the book at those people, Minerva. And I hope it's a very large and heavy book at that. Have a safe trip back, Minerva. Anyway, Harry m'dear, I have some stew on the fire for you, leftover from earlier tonight."

"W-what? No no, that's okay. I ate earlier at the Leaky Cauldron, with Hagrid."

"Yes, dear, but that was hours ago," she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently along to the house. "You're a growing boy, you need food to fuel that growth."

"I don't want to be a burden," Harry said, practically whispering.

"Oh now don't talk like that, it's no trouble at all. Minerva may not have told you, but I have a very large family, so one more mouth won't be any bother at all. And anyway, even if it was, I'd manage. We Weasleys always do. Anything to help out a child in need."

Harry looked back as they got to the porch, and saw McGonagall disappear with a pop from where she had been standing, then looked forward again just in time to avoid tripping over the stoop. Not long after that, he was sitting at a large and battered table, and a bowl full of thick, beefy stew was flying through the air to land in front of him, a spoon quickly following it. It was only then that he realized Mrs. Weasley had been right; he was hungry. So with no other thought beyond that, he began to dig in.

"Anyway, Harry, I guess we weren't properly introduced," Mrs. Weasley said, sitting across from him. "But I'm Molly Weasley."

"Thanks for getting me away from the Dursleys."

"No problem, dear. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, putting you with those people, but at least he's now starting to see sense. I hope he won't be making you go back. I'll hex him myself before I let that happen. Anyway, in Dumbledore's letter he told me to tell you that Minerva will be back tomorrow to take you to Saint Mungo's to get looked at."

"Saint Mungo's?"

"Ah yes, you were raised by Muggles. Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, it's the local wizarding hospital. Their Healers will examine you for evidence of child abuse and neglect. Then it will be up to Dumbledore and McGonagall to figure out what to do with that evidence. And, I suppose, what to do with you over the summer. I hope they'll let you come here."

"McGonagall said there are blood wards at the Dursley's that protect me from the Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters? But You-Know-Who is gone, and most of his followers are in prison or abroad."

"Most?"

"Yes, well, a few of them escaped prison by claiming they'd been controlled. Problem is, there's a lot of people who were legitimately being controlled by You-Know-Who, but it's nearly impossible to tell who's lying and who's telling the truth. Anyway, you don't need to worry about them, they haven't made any trouble for 11 years, they're not about to start now. Eat, Harry, you-- oh, you're done? Well you're probably tired now. I'd normally put you in with Ron, but he's asleep right now, and I want to introduce the two of you before I put you with him. So just for tonight, I'll transfigure the sofa for you."

"You'll... what now?"

"Just you follow me and watch," she said. So he followed her into the living room, where she pointed her wand at the sofa, and it stretched out into a bed. With a couple flicks of her wand, she summoned sheets, a pillow, and a comforter from a cupboard and made the bed magically. She even summoned privacy curtains to go around it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled warmly at him. "You're welcome, Harry." She tucked him in, and he felt more loved than he could ever remember, even though she'd only just met him. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* - *

The smell of cooking woke him up, which was a novel experience for him. Usually Aunt Petunia's shrill voice woke him up, and cooking smells didn't start until he began cooking for the Dursleys. He sniffed as he opened his eyes, ignoring the blurriness of the world for the moment as he took in the smell of eggs, bacon, and toast. Then he looked around and saw what looked like a table, blurry as it was. He fumbled his hands on it for a while, looking for his glasses. He found them shortly, and put them on his face. As he did, he paused, his mind reeling from the sudden realization that in just three days, he'd gone from downtrodden abuse victim to finding out he was a wizard and living in a house where he was treated like a human being instead of a work horse.

A few minutes later, he walked into the kitchen/dining room to see seven bright-red heads around the table. He recognized Mrs. Weasley, and he thought the balding man might be Mr. Weasley, but he didn't know anyone else.

"Oh Harry, you're up. Everyone, this is Harry, he's our guest for the rest of the summer,” said Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking up curiously. "Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, dad, it is! See his scar!" one of two male twins said excitedly.

"Now Fred, don't be rude. He's a guest, not a museum exhibit."

"I'm Fred! He's George! Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother."

"Oh, sorry Fred."

"Ha! Only joking, I am George!"

"Oh now, stop that you too. Anyway, Harry, one of these two idiots is Fred, the other is George."

A younger boy, nearly as tall as the twins, waved at him. "I'm Ron. The one staring at you like a deer in wandlight is Ginny, my little sister."

"Hi Ron, Ginny. Fred, George."

An older boy, looking very serious, stood up and held a hand out to Harry pompously. "Welcome to the Burrow, Harry Potter. My name is Percy Weasley. How do you do?"

The others rolling their eyes at Percy, Harry took his hand and shook it. "Um, quite well. And you?"

"Oh yes, quite well indeed. Honor to meet you at last, of course."

"Likewise," said Harry, not knowing what else to say.

"Sit down, dear, and have some bacon and eggs," Mrs. Weasley said.

He did as she asked; he was practically starving, after all. After he'd eaten for a few minutes, Mr. Weasley said, "So, raised by Muggles, right? Muggles are fascinating. Tell me, Harry, do you know how an aeroplane stays in the air?"

"Oh come now, Arthur, he's 11, how's he supposed to--"

"Through a process called lift. Muggle scientists figured it out. The wings of the plane move the air in such a way that there's a vacuum above the wings, and wind swirls below the wing, pushing it up into the vacuum. And that's how huge metal devices can be supported by nothing more than air. Something similar happens with bird wings, but it's a slightly different process, since they flap their wings."

Everyone had gone quiet, looking rather impressed.

"Wow, Harry," one of the twins said, "you've got quite a brain on you. You'll probably be a Ravenclaw, brains like that. The teachers will love you."

"Except Snape, of course, but he hates everyone," said the other twin.

Harry shrugged. "My aunt, uncle, and cousin hate me, as in 'they truly despise me.' Dudley made sure I had no friends. My only friends were books. My uncle wouldn't let me get a library card, so I had to read everything in the library, but that didn't really do more than slow me down a little."

"Weh, iv oo wuv buks--"

"RONALD! Don't talk with your mouth full!"

Ron swallowed loudly, then said, "If you love books, Harry, you'll love Hogwarts. I hear they've got an enormous library."

"Yeah, and Flourish and Blotts, the biggest bookstore in Diagon Alley."

Harry beamed. "Yeah, I've been to Flourish and Blotts, with Hagrid. It was amazing! And since I discovered my parents left me... uh, some money, I bought a few extra. It was a great feeling, I'd never had money before then."

Ron balked. "What, none at all?"

"The Dursleys never let me have any."

Ron looked incredulous. "Wow, mate. I mean, we're not exactly... having a lot of money ourselves, but even I get pocket money to spend now and then."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, well, there's a lot I didn't have growing up. Heck, the only reason I have glasses is because I kept dropping things and bumping into stuff when they made me work, and eventually they figured out I wasn't doing it on purpose. But I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Yes, and that's all well and good here, but later when Minerva takes you to Saint Mungo's, they're going to need you to talk about it with them."

Harry nodded. "I think I can talk with doctor about it."

“Doctor? You mean those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, Saint Mungo's uses Healers.”

Harry shrugged. “Either way...”

Everyone nodded, and regular breakfast conversation started up again. Harry tuned it out, though, getting lost in his own thoughts. He didn't speak again until after he was done eating.

"Mrs. Weasley, do you know when Professor McGonagall is supposed to come pick me up?"

"Oh, not until around 2pm, dear."

Harry looked at the battered wristwatch that had briefly been Dudley's before his cousin chucked it out the window saying he didn't like the color; it was 9 AM. He had five hours.

"May I go out and explore the village? I never got much opportunity to leave the house with the Dursleys always wanting me to do stuff."

"Hmm... what do you think, Arthur?"

"Well... Percy? Could you go with him? I'd feel better if you were watching him."

"As much as I would love to oblige, father, I'm not of age yet and so I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school."

"Yes, but if you were defending Harry's life, they'd let you off."

"Hmm... well, I have all my homework done, so I guess I can do that."

"Can I come too?" asked Ron.

"Yeah, we can come as well, if you like," said one of the twins.

"If it's okay with your parents, I don't mind."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded. Mr. Weasley said, "The more, the better. More witnesses, if nothing else. But you all be back before 2, okay?"

"Right, mum, no problem."

A few minutes later, Harry and four of the Weasleys were walking to the village of Ottery Saint Catchpole, which wasn't very big and wasn't very interesting, but Harry was just glad to be able to have the freedom to be outside in the warm summer air. The whole time, Ron talked at him about Quidditch, and Hogwarts, and the wizarding world. The twins interjected now and then, but mostly it was Ron talking, which Harry was glad for. He didn't mind walking with the five Weasleys, but if all of them had been talking, he would have minded very much.

Naturally, Harry found the village's tiny library. He was not impressed, but browsed the shelves anyway with mild interest. The others seemed much more impressed, though; they'd never thought to come here before, with the exception of the twins, who were browsing the non-fiction section for books about Muggle magic tricks.

"A lot of wizards don't value Muggle learning, but we do," said either Fred or George. Harry had a hard enough time telling the other Weasleys apart, and the twins were impossible for him to differentiate.

"Yeah, we learned how to pick locks, and other useful things, by coming here. After all, we're underage wizards, we can't magically open locks when we're home, so we had to learn the Muggle way, which got us interested in other stuff."

Though it didn't have much in the way of books, the library did have a small periodicals section, which included some science magazines that Harry read with enthusiasm. Even Ron managed to get interested in reading; he was reading Muggle children's books with expressions ranging from amusement to confusion to one of being impressed.

After about an hour, someone else came into the small library, a blond girl about a year younger than Harry, who had a far-off expression on her face and wore a painfully yellow dress. Her hair was a little messy, and she was barefoot up until she got to the door, at which point she took some sandals out of her bag and put them on, under the watchful glare of the librarian.

"Ah," Ron said, looking up. "Loony Lovegood."

"Ronald," Percy said reprovingly, "her name is Luna."

"Yeah," said Harry. "Don't poke fun, it's not nice."

Ron's ears went red. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be sorry, be nice. Anyway, is she a Muggle?"

"No, she's a witch. Well, her father is a wizard, and I think I saw her do accidental magic once," said Ron. "Anyway, she won't be going to Hogwarts til next year, if she gets her letter, which I think she will."

"And she lives in the village?"

"Outskirts, like we do; only, the other side of the village. I've never seen it before, though."

Harry put a bookmark in the magazine, set it aside, and walked over. Ron and the Weasleys were nice enough, and maybe they'd become friends, but they were... well... they were neurotypical, a word he remembered from a book about Asperger's Syndrome, a condition he thought he had. And this girl, there was something different about her. He didn't know what, but he was drawn to her. Also, having never had friends before, now he could it made him a little... greedy? Yes, he was for friends.

He walked over to her and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Harry."

The odd girl looked up at him with mild curiosity in her face, Her eyes flicked to his scar. "Hello, Harry," she said in a dreamy, far-off voice. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Is your surname Potter?"

"Yes, it is."

"Ah. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I didn't know you lived in town."

"I don't. I'm staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer."

"Ah, good. I like the Weasleys, they're nice. Ron judges me a little, but he mostly keeps it to himself."

"Yes, I noticed that as well."

"So you like reading Muggle books too, then? It's always good to see wizards take an interest in Muggle writing. They've accomplished so many amazing things without magic. Did you know they've even been to the moon? Or at least they say they have. Some Muggles aren't so sure it actually happened."

"Uh, yes, I knew that. I was raised by Muggles. We learned about the moon landing in school."

"Wow," said either Fred or George, having overheard. "Muggles have been to the moon?"

"I wonder what would happen if you put a werewolf on the moon?" asked the other one.

"Well," Harry said, "unless they had a spacesuit on, they'd probably die from lack of air before they had a chance to transform."

"Yes, but what if they had a spacesuit on? Would they change? Would they be able to change, in the suit? Or would the suit rip and they'd die of lack of air?"

"No idea. Probably."

"My daddy thinks a werewolf on the moon would only change if they saw a full Earth in the sky. But he wouldn't want to try to find out, unless the werewolf volunteered. My daddy thinks lycanthropy should be treated like an illness, not like something dangerous. Werewolves are only dangerous during the full moon, after they've transformed. Now an umgubular slashkilter, those are dangerous all the time."

Harry stared at Luna, lost for words. Ron whispered in his ear, "Luna and her dad believe some weird things."

"No need to whisper, Ron," Luna said in her same dreamy voice, "I know what you're saying about me. But that's okay, I'm used to people talking about me behind my back. And even in front of me. I forgive you."

Ron looked embarrassed. His ears were red again, and he hung his head a little. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's alright. I know I'm unusual. But really, who isn't? And Harry's even more unusual than me, aren't you, Harry?"

"Um... am I?"

"Well you survived a killing curse from a very evil man, and your brain doesn't work the same way most other people's brains do, though those two things are not connected at all."

"Yeah, that's true. I tend to be mildly to moderately uncomfortable around other people. The Weasleys are nice, and I want to be friends with them and I think I will, but even they make me mildly uncomfortable. You don't, though. Something about you... you're the only person I've ever met that I think I could spend a lot of time with and not get my headaches."

"Really? Well that's nice of you to say. I wish I could go with you to Hogwarts this year, but sadly I'm not old enough yet. Next year, though. It will be nice to have friends before I even get there. I've never had friends before."

"Neither have I; my cousin wouldn't let me have any. Anyway, I'll write you when I get there. I have an owl now, named Hedwig. Do you... would you like to meet her?"

"That sounds wonderful. That is, if they Weasleys don't mind."

"Actually," Percy said, "I do think mother would be more comfortable if we went back. So yes, you may come with us, Luna. Harry, if you want to check out those magazines, get them on Fred or George's card."

Not long after that, they'd gotten their books and magazines checked out, and were walking back to the Burrow, Harry and Luna trailing behind. Luna was barefoot again, her eyes tracking something flying around them that only she could see.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asked.

"Oh, just a wrackspurt. I'm watching it in case it flies into one of our heads and makes our brains go fuzzy. Do you think that's weird?"

"No. Until recently, I didn't believe in magic, so who am I to say what does and doesn't exist? If I can have a conversation with a boa constrictor about Brazil, I don't see that wrackspurts would be any--"

"WHAT?" Ron shouted, whirling around. "What did you say?"

Harry frowned a little, a headache starting to threaten to manifest. "I said 'if I can have a conversation with a boa constrictor about Brazil'--"

"You can speak with snakes?"

"Well boa constrictors were snakes last I knew, so yes. Why?" Everyone was staring at him, even Luna. Admittedly, Luna was looking impressed, and everyone else was looking uncomfortable.

Percy spoke before Ron could. "Speaking with snakes is called parseltongue, Harry, and it is a rare gift. One that most wizards and witches associate with the dark arts."

"Oh that's silly," Luna said. "Snakes are just animals. Talking with them isn't a dark art. Animagi can speak with animals when they're in animal form. Just because Salazar Slytherin and the dark lord Vol--"

Everyone gasped. "--demort," she continued, "could speak with snakes doesn't make parseltongue a dark art."

"Well, I guess not," Percy said. "Harry doesn't strike me as being evil, at least. But still, Harry, you should keep that fact about yourself as secret as you can. A lot of people will judge you ill for it."

"And what about the rest of you?"

"What Percy said, mate," Fred or George said. "In fact, we think it's pretty cool."

Harry turned to Ron. Ron nodded. "A bit startling to hear someone just blurt it out like that, but I agree with Percy and Luna."

"Hmm... maybe I should get a pet snake, too?"

"You'd have to ask Professor McGonagall about it first. Only owls, cats, and toads are officially allowed at Hogwarts," said Percy. "I've seen a few other pets there, which were allowed. The official rules are in place merely so the school doesn't become a zoo or a menagerie. And also because some people have kept some very strange and even dangerous animals as pets, before."

"You mean like how Hagrid wishes he had a dragon?"

Percy nodded. "Yes, but even if Hogwarts rules allowed it, our laws forbid dragons being kept as pets. They're enormous, they breathe fire, and they cannot be tamed. It would be a serious breach of the International Statute of Secrecy. It's hard enough keeping Muggles ignorant of wild dragons in Britain and elsewhere without keeping them as pets in populated areas."

Harry's eyes went wide. "There are dragons in Britain?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Common Welsch Green and Hebridean Blacks."

"Anyway, all,” Percy interrupted, “we're here now."

"Lunchtime!" Ron shouted, running ahead. Harry checked his watch; it was 12:45.

Lunch was sandwiches and crisps - home made by the look of it. Luna tried to politely decline a sandwich, but Mrs. Weasley insisted, so Luna insisted on "paying" for her meal with a free copy of her father's magazine, the Quibbler. Mrs. Weasley merely rolled her eyes and sighed, but Harry took the copy and read it while eating. He found it nearly impossible to believe anything written in it, but he did try to keep an open mind about it. And so, like nearly everything else he read, he remembered it all, no matter how absurd it was.

After lunch, Harry introduced Luna to Hedwig, whom Luna called a “gorgeous owl.” Luna gave Hedwig an owl treat, and she and Harry talked for several minutes.

Eventually they got tired of standing, so they sat down in the sitting room and Harry dug out his Potions textbook and began to read, to relax himself as he waited for McGonagall to show up. Ron kept looking oddly at Harry as Harry read his book while still managing to add to the conversation now and then, and so did the other Weasleys to a lesser degree, but Luna acted like it was perfectly normal. In fact, she was reading her own copy of the Quibbler in the same manner Harry was reading his Potions book.

"Why are you doing schoolwork before school's even started?"

"To you, this is just schoolwork. To me, it's a fascinating look at a world I've only recently become aware of. Plus, I've always liked the learning part of school, even if I hated the bullying and the not having friends."

At 2pm on the dot, Professor McGonagall showed up to take Harry to Saint Mungo's with her. Luna waved goodbye and said she'd stay at the Burrow at least until he got back.

Harry managed to keep a headache away during the trip to Saint Mungo's by immersing himself in the Potions book, but did look up now and then to see where he was going and watch for threats. Given his apparent history, he thought it prudent to begin working on ways to pay attention to his surroundings without letting them overwhelm him, and this was an important first step.

The Saint Mungo's building itself was outwardly very mundane, appearing to be the front of a shop that was closed for remodeling, with some dummies modeling boring clothing. He was only mildly surprised when one of the mummies moved slightly, letting them in. Then the noise and fuss in the lobby threatened to overwhelm him again, so he tuned it out and kept reading his Potions book, all through McGonagall's explanation of what they were there for, the brief wait, and then all the way to the room one of the Healer's assistants led them to.

The Healer's assistant had Harry put his book down to get his weight, and let him go back to his book once that was done and some questions answered. He was very glad this room was quiet. When the Healer came in, he put the book down.

"Let's see, Harry James Potter," said the Healer, a kindly looking blond woman in her early 30's. "Ten years old until July 31st, African heritage. Hmm..." she said a few other things he barely registered, then began the examination. It was much like the few times he'd been to the doctor, but the magical equivalent of an x-ray was done by wand, and there were magical devices he didn't understand taking readings he couldn't fathom.

When the physical exam was done, she asked him a lot of questions, including some of a nature he hoped nobody outside this room would ever know he'd been asked; even McGonagall looked uncomfortable. By the time the Healer finished, she had to give him a potion for the headache he'd gotten.

"You were right, Professor McGonagall," the Healer told her. "He has indeed been abused and neglected. The physical abuse isn't as bad as I'd feared, after what you and Dumbledore said, but still bad enough. And he's very malnourished; I could feel his ribs too easily, and he's much too short for his age. If you want to press charges, there's more than enough here to convict."

"Thank you," Professor McGonagall said. "Please hold onto it for now. We still haven't figured out what to do about his security arrangements, and until we do, we have to wait. I hope we do figure out something, because I don't think he's actually safe there."

"Yes, given what I've observed, and what you reported, Mr. Potter, I'm frankly astonished you've turned out as well as you seem to have done. I would recommend a return visit to see a mental health specialist, because you have a lot of symptoms that could be PTSD - hardly surprising. But there appear to be other things going on as well, that I'm not qualified to diagnose."

"Thank you very much, Healer Green."

Harry thanked the Healer too, and followed McGonagall out, his nose once more in his Potions book.

Later, when she dropped him back off at the Burrow, he made the effort to bid Luna farewell, made easier by her picking up on his distress and accommodating it. More difficult was getting Ron to understand he needed some time alone to recover, but the twins helped him out in that regard, taking Ron outside for some Quidditch while Harry - whose things had been moved into Ron's room - went up to his bed and switched from the Potions book to History of Magic. At this rate, he was going to be well on his way to the top of his class by the time he got to Hogwart's.

Note: I mostly abhor the movies, at least from the third one and later, and mostly dislike the use of movie canon in fanfics (as opposed to book canon), but "oculus reparo" is one part of movie canon I like, and there are a few other details from the movies I prefer.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

The rest of his month-plus time at the Burrow was pretty easy, a mix of socializing with the Weasleys or Luna, and hiding away in Ron's room to recharge. It was a little hard with the painfully orange colors of Ron's Quidditch team everywhere in that room, but if Harry read under the blankets with a magical torch he'd gotten for his birthday, he could manage it without a problem. The earmuffs occasionally helped too, whenever Fred and George started making loud bangs in their room.

On the day before he was to leave for Hogwart's, Harry carefully packed everything up and put it by Ron's door. Because of this, he was the first person ready to go in the morning, which gave him time to help Ron get ready, including finding Ron's pet rat Scabbers, who was sleeping in one of the kitchen cupboards, apparently after gorging himself on biscuits. It was difficult dealing with the panicky lateness of the Weasleys, but Harry managed it by putting his earmuffs on and reading his Transfiguration book. He had switched to that one because he realized History of Magic would be easy for him, and Transfiguration not as easy, so he wanted to get a head start.

They made it to platform 9 and 3/4ths with several minutes to spare, but still had to hurry to get their things aboard. Ginny hid behind Mrs. Weasley's skirts. During his short stay there, the only person who did not yet know Ginny had a crush on Harry was Harry himself, who was oblivious to such things.

Ron opened the door to the compartment where Harry was with relief. "There you are. Been looking for you. Ah, nose in a book again, why'm I not surprised?" Ron was grinning in amusement at his friend's swottiness. He closed the door behind him and sat down. "You're gonna be top of our year at this rate. Bet you could already do spells if you put your mind to it. You know we're allowed to do magic on the train, right?"

"Oh, that's good to know. I've been excited to try, now I have a chance." Harry put his book away and got out his wand. "What spell should I try?"

Ron shrugged. "No idea. Only spell I know is one to turn Scabbers yellow, but I don't think it's a real spell. Fred and George taught me."

"Did it work for them?"

"Well, they couldn't do it out of school any more than I could."

"Go ahead and try it."

"Okay. 'Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow.'"

Nothing happened.

"Ah well, like I said, probably not a real spell."

A round faced boy came into the compartment just then, out of breath and looking woebegone. "Have either of you seen a toad named Trevor? He's missing."

Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head. "Sorry, we haven't seen any toads."

"He keeps getting away from me," the boy moaned.

"Well do you have a cage for him?"

"A cage that would keep a toad in but not break and be a danger to him? No."

"I think I read somewhere that glass can be enchanted to be unbreakable."

"Really? Well I'll look into that later. Assuming I ever find him." The boy closed the door, calling for his pet toad.

"Do toads come when called?" Harry asked.

"Regular toads, no; but magical toads might. Dunno."

A plump woman came by pushing a trolley full of food. "Anything off the trolley dears?"

Intrigued by the unusual treats, Harry bought a little of everything and shared with Ron, who was pleasantly surprised by Harry's wealth and generosity.

"When you said you had money from your parents, you weren't kidding."

"You think that's impressive..." Harry started, trailing off.

"Go on," Ron prompted.

"Well... I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or anything. But there was... well, I won't have to worry about money until after I graduate, at least."

"Makes sense, I guess. I think your mum and dad were Aurors. Not sure, though."

"Aurors?"

"Dark wizard catchers."

"Sounds like a cool job."

"Yeah it is." Ron looked at a Chocolate Frog card he'd gotten. “Dumbledore again. You want him? You can start collecting.”

Harry took it, and read the card:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling.

Harry was astonished that the photograph was moving, even more so when it left the frame to wander off. Ron assured him Dumbledore would be back later.

They were three-fourths the way through the huge pile of sweets when the compartment door opened and a bond boy with slicked-back hair and a smug expression came in, two thuggish cronies behind him. "I heard rumors Harry Potter was in here. So you're him, then?"

"Uh, yes." Harry held out his hand. "Harry Potter. And you?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," the boy said, shaking hands. Ron snorted with laughter, and Draco turned to glare at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No--"

"Don't be rude, Ron," Harry said, cutting off Draco.

"Yeah, Weasley, don't be rude," Draco sneered.

"Draco," Harry said warningly. “Don't you be rude either, please.”

"What? You'd tell me not to be rude to a blood tr--"

"I had enough enemies in my old schools, I don't want any here. But Ron is my friend, and I expect you two to at least be civil to one another, if you want to be my friend too."

Draco and Ron both looked affronted, but Draco remained quiet and pensive, regarding Harry with immense curiosity. "Yes, of course," Draco said, his whole manner changing to one of refinement and politeness. "My apologies; in all the excitement of going to Hogwarts at last, I quite forgot my manners. Please accept my apologies. To... both of you."

"Apology accepted," Harry said.

Ron grunted. Harry and Draco both accepted this.

"Anyway, these here are my associates, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

"A pleasure," Harry said. "And this is my friend, Ronald Weasley. His family took me in for the last part of the summer."

Draco sat down next to Harry. There wasn't enough room for Crabbe and Goyle, at least not without Ron making a scene, so Draco had them remain standing. He then turned back to Harry, the strain of thinking before speaking obvious on his pale face. "You stayed with them? May I inquire why?"

Harry thought about it. "Well, I don't like my aunt and uncle very much, and the feeling is mutual. They're Muggles, and terrified of magic. Let's just leave it at that."

"I see. Well, since you were raised by Muggles, I doubt you've heard of my family before. We are very wealthy and have connections in the Minstry of Magic, if ever you need a favor. My father would be delighted to perform a favor for the famous Harry Potter."

"A generous offer. I'll keep it in mind. Please give your father my greetings."

"Of course. And... and give Mr. and Mrs. Weasley my greetings as well."

"I shall."

Ron scowled. Draco gave Ron a slight sneer when Harry wasn't looking.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter. But I'm feeling a little peckish, so I'm going to go see if I can still get something off the trolley. Hope you're in Slytherin house with me, I could help you out much easier from there. Until later, Harry Potter."

"Likewise, Draco Malfoy."

Draco stood up and inclined his head at Harry. "Crabbe, Goyle, come." And with that, they left the compartment and closed the door behind them.

Ron got up and peeked through the door to watch them go. Once he was sure they were gone, he sat next to Harry (on Harry's other side so as to not get Malfoy cooties) and whispered, "What was that all about? Why are you being friendly with the Malfoys? His father was a Death Eater, one of the ones that avoided going to Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

"It's the wizard prison for Britain and Ireland. Don't change the subject."

"It's like I said before, I've had enough enemies in my life already without making new ones."

"But he thinks Muggles, Muggle-borns, and blood traitors - people who like Muggles and Muggle-borns - are all scum. His family hates my family."

"Well maybe I can change their minds. I've been a victim of bigotry all my life, I refuse to just accept it here in the wizarding world, too. Even if it's futile, I'm going to fight bigotry. And making friends with people like Draco stands a better chance of changing his mind that declaring war on him would. He's just a kid, like us; he's just parroting his father's beliefs. But it's not too late to change his mind, you see?"

"I guess."

"You gonna be civil around him?"

Ron gritted his teeth, but nodded. "Yes, if he's civil with me."

Harry shrugged. "It'll do."

Just then, the door to their compartment opened again, startling them both. Harry recognized the new person as the black girl from Ollivander's; she was already dressed in her school robes. "Oh, hi Harry!" she exclaimed.

"Hi Hermione!"

"You two met already?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "We met in Ollivander's. Hermione... Granger, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Nice to see you again. Who's your friend?"

Ron held out his hand. "Ron Weasley."

She shook his hand, smiling. "Oh, I almost forgot, have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

"Oh," said Harry, "so that's his name? He was here earlier, ran off before we could make introductions. Like we told him, we haven't seen Trevor yet."

"Oh, okay. Hey, who were those three boys in here earlier? They looked an unpleasant lot."

"Draco Malfoy was the blonde. The other two were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They were making introductions."

"Oh, well that's good. When I saw them, I was worried they were picking a fight or something." She looked at Ron. "Um... you have dirt on your nose, by the way. Right there. Ah, there, you got it. Anyway, I'm going to go help Neville some more. See you two later. Oh, and you should get changed, I have it on good authority we're almost there."

She left hurriedly, and Ron stared after her, bewildered. "Well that was an experience. But I reckon she's right, Harry, we should get changed. Even if she's wrong, it couldn't hurt."

Harry nodded, and so they got changed into their school robes and hats, the sky outside getting darker and darker. "Where is Hogwarts, anyway?"

"Dunno. Somewhere in Scotland. But they keep the exact location a secret, with magic. I know the village of Hogsmeade is nearby, cuz that's where the train stops, at Hogsmeade Station."

Thinking again, Harry sat down and began going through his books. One of the books he'd gotten was called "Hogwarts, A History." He silently chided himself for not reading this book sooner.

He only got to read for 20 minutes before the train stopped and everyone began getting out. They left their things on the train as instructed, since their things would go up separately, and followed Hagrid to a whole bunch of boats on the great black lake. Harry found himself wondering why they didn't just take the carriages up, as the older students were doing, but then he saw why: this route gave them a spectacular view of the castle for several minutes before it took them inside through a special access.

Grateful they were on dry land again, he trudged up the stairs with the others to the entrance hall just outside the Great Hall. McGonagall came to talk with them before long, talking about how the school houses would be like their families. Then she escorted them in, to stand in line before the Sorting Hat.

The old hat sang a song about the four school Houses first, Harry hanging on every word. Ravenclaw sounded excellent to him, and Griffindor sounded okay. He wasn't so sure about Slytherin, but was withholding judgment for now. He had no real preference at the moment, tough; he just wanted to end up wherever one or more of his two friends were.

Since their names were farther up the list than his, they both got placed before him. Both Hermione and Ron ended up in Griffindor, so Harry began to hope for Griffindor, too. He could still be friends with them in any House, but it would be easier in Griffindor. Also, he wasn't sure Ron would forgive him if he ended up in Slytherin.

Finally, it was his turn. The whole school went silent when his name was called, and then the mutterings began, about "the famous Harry Potter." He ignored it all and stepped forward, sitting on the stool. The hat was placed on his head.

"Difficult, difficult," said a voice in his mind, from the hat. "Plenty of brains, I see. Good heart, lots of bravery. Loyal, too, and hard working. Oh, and a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?"

Harry wasn't bothered too much where he went, of course, though it would be nice to be with Ron or Hermione, so he'd have at least one friend in his House; he concentrated on that.

"Ah yes, friends are important, Potter. Especially to someone who's never had them before. But you know, Slytherin would be an excellent fit for you as well; you could meet your true friends there."

He pondered that. He wasn't sure that was wise, given the House's reputation. Draco would be thrilled, of course, but that would complicate things too much. So he finally got firm about it, and decided not to go with Slytherin.

"Are you sure? You could be great, you know. It's all here, inside your head, and Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that."

No, that's alright. I want to be with my friends.

"Well if you're sure, better be... GRIFFINDOR!"

The last word was shouted, and there was so much cheering Harry fought to keep a headache away. He removed the hat and went to join Ron and Hermione, who were already sitting together.

Once everyone was sorted, Professor Dumbledore - who looked like Gandalf, if Gandalf had been flamboyantly gay, gave a very odd yet brief statement before letting them tuck in. Food magically appeared before them in the golden dishes, and everyone began to stuff themselves like they were Christmas turkeys.

Percy was nearby, too, and Harry listened to the conversation as he ate, sometimes joining in. Partway through the meal, his gaze went over to the teachers' table and fell on a man wearing a purple turban, and a sallow, hook-nosed man with greasy black hair next to him, who was glaring at Harry with an all too familiar look of utter hatred. And, at the same time, his scar burned with pain.

"Ow!" He cried out, unwittingly.

"'Samatta?" Ron asked through a mouth full of ham.

"Nothing, just another headache starting. Too many people in here." It was at least partially true, he was indeed fighting another headache.

"Hey Percy, who's that man next to the guy with the turban? For that matter, who are they both?"

"Oh, the man with the turban is Professor Quirrell," Percy said. "He teaches Defense Against The Dark Arts. And the other man is Professor Snape. Snape wants Quirrell's job, never gets it for some reason, though, despite the fact we go through one DADA teacher a year."

"What does Professor Snape teach, if not DADA?"

"He teaches Potions."

Harry groaned. It figured, the one class that sounded the most interesting was the one taught by a man who already didn't like him. He wondered why Snape hated him. He also wondered if there was any way to get the man to change his mind about that hatred.

There were some warnings and announcements after the feast was over, including a strange one about it being deadly to go to a forbidden corridor on the third floor. Harry made a mental note to learn where that was so he could avoid it. But before long, Percy - a prefect - began leading them all to the Griffindor common room, and up to their dormitories. Harry managed to get a dormitory with Ron, Neville, and one other boy named Seamus Finnegan. Their things were already there, fortuitously, so he changed into his pajamas and went to bed, falling asleep almost at once.

The first school day that next morning was very uncomfortable for Harry. He was just trying to find his way to classes in the confusing corridors, but people kept trying to look at him due to his unwanted fame. He ignored it best he could, though, so he could focus on the task of finding his way to classes.

Worse, though, was trying to write anything with quill and ink. Hadn't wizards ever heard of ballpoint pens and paper? He suspected they only used parchment because they made it magically; true parchment was a pain to make as well as to use, without magic. Harry kept messing up his page with ink blots, and whenever the ink didn't blot, it didn't come out at all.

By the end of the day, he was so frustrated that he went to Professor McGonagall, his head of house, to ask if he could use pen and paper.

She nodded after he explained. "Ah, Potter, you're far from the only Muggle-raised person to have that concern. We don't accept assignments on paper, of course, but here, I have something for you." She handed him a purple quill. "This quill is charmed to release ink more smoothly, and the tip has been transfigured to be rounded, as well as a hardening spell put on the tip and shaft to make them hard as metal. And there's a simple spell to put horizontal lines on a parchment. Watch me."

She pulled a piece of parchment from a pile, pointed her wand at it, and incanted, "Membranis linea."

"Cool," he said. "So this quill will work like a ballpoint pen, but on parchment?"

"Yes, it will. Oh, while you're here, here's a few spares. You can even give them to your Muggle-born friends like Miss Granger," she said, giving him a handful of spare purple quills. "Anyway, try the spell yourself."

Putting the quills in his bag first, he pointed his wand at a new piece of parchment, and incanted the spell, "Membranis linea." It worked.

"So I can turn parchments in with these lines still on them?"

"Yes, Potter, you can. Professor Snape may not like it, but if he says anything, let me know, and I will remind him of Professor Dumbledore's stance on it."

“Thank you. Oh, and what if I need to correct a mistake?”

“There's an erasure spell, lapsus delens, to erase a mistake completely, and lapsus rectus is used to fix a mistake by replacing it. For the second spell, you have to be concentrating on the word you wish to have replace the mistake with, when you say the incantation, which makes that one a little more difficult.”

He wrote down a sentence with a mistake made on purpose, then tried the more difficult correction spell first; it worked, erasing the mistaken word and replacing it with... well, it was an entirely different wrong word, but he'd practice with it later. He then tried the simpler erasing spell, and the word disappeared.

"Thanks a lot, Professor. I really appreciate it."

“You're welcome, Mister Potter.”

Having the special quills helped a lot. The parchment still felt weird under his fingers, but the quills worked perfectly, just as easy as a ballpoint pen, but better because it was refillable by dipping the tip into an ink pot. As McGonagall predicted, Hermione and a few other Muggle-borns in Griffindor appreciated them too. Before long, news of these quills spread, and by the end of the week, he saw people in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even a couple people in Slytherin using the purple quills. And even purebloods could be seen using the spell to make guidance lines on the parchments.

The classes themselves were a mixed bag. Harry wasn't sure what he thought of herbology; the magical plants were interesting, but working with them reminded him a bit too much of the yardwork Aunt Petunia often made him do.

History of Magic disappointed him; it was a fascinating subject, but Professor Binns made it extraordinarily dull with his monotonous lecturing. It was too much for Harry, and he didn't know how Hermione managed. It was so bad that he decided to try to find out if there were dictation quills that would take notes for him.

Charms was cool. Professor Flitwick was so short that Harry wondered if he was half goblin or something of the sort. The tiny wizard, standing on a pile of books to see over his desk, fell over with an excited squeak when he read Harry's name on the class register.

When Harry had guessed McGonagall would be strict, he had been right. But though she was strict, she was fair. After warning them to not mess around in her class, she demonstrated transfiguration by turning the furniture into a pig and back again. Their own task was much simpler, though: matchsticks into needles. By the end of the lesson, only Harry and Hermione had managed it. Having two students in the same class do so well the first day made Professor McGonagall beam with a rare grin, and they both got points for Griffindor from her.

Their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was a bad joke, as Professor Quirrell was a fraidy cat who stuttered a lot. The classes had him jumping at his own subject half the time, and he didn't seem to like to talk much about his personal experiences. Harry wondered why the man didn't transfer to something less frightening, or retire.

By Friday, Harry had figured out how to navigate to his classes, and even Ron had sorted it out. But it was also the day of their first Potions class with Professor Snape, a double period with the Slytherins. From what he'd heard over the week about Snape, Harry thought the man sounded worse than he'd feared. He would later realize he'd had no idea how bad the man was.

That morning in the Great Hall, Harry got a letter from Hagrid. It was not Harry's first letter, since he'd gotten one from Luna on Tuesday. This letter asked him (and his friends, too, if they wanted to) to come over to Hagrid's house after classes that day. That was good; he'd have something to look forward to, after Snape.

They waited down in the dungeons outside Snape's door, and before long he appeared, ushering them in. Then he, too, took roll call. When he got to Harry's name...

"Ah yes," Snape said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."

A few of the Slytherins sniggered, including Crabbe and Goyle. Draco motioned to them to shut up, though it looked like an afterthought. It seemed Draco had taken Harry's words to heart and was trying to stay on Harry's good side, though. It made sense; who wouldn't want the famous Harry Potter on their side? Well, except for Snape, of course.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is potion making," he began. He was barely louder than a whisper, but he had their complete attention and they caught every word. "There is little foolish wand waving or incantations in this class, so many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really comprehend the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death. If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry had already been interested, but Snape's speech had him absolutely enthralled. Hermione, too, was on the edge of her seat, eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He remembered this from his Potions book. Ignoring Hermione's outstretched arm, he said, "A sleeping potion so powerful it's called the Draught of Living Death."

Snape looked impressed, despite himself, and very annoyed about that fact.

"Lucky guess. Let's try another one: where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat, sir."

Snape seemed to be waiting for something. When Harry didn't continue, he made an impatient motion and said, "And what does a bezoar do, Potter?"

"It will save the person you use it on from most poisons."

The professor again looked very torn between a desire to continue hating Harry, and being impressed.

"So you opened a book before school started, did you? Trying to suck up, no doubt? Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione bouncing in her seat for attention was a little annoying, but he again ignored it. "There is no difference, Professor. It's the same plant, a flower that is also known as aconite, and is pretty common in England. It's also poisonous."

The look on Snape's face was beginning to resemble the angry look on Uncle Vernon's face. "Sit DOWN," he snapped at Hermione. "I see, Mister Potter, that you are every bit the arrogant know-it-all that your father was. Not only famous, but with a need to show off as well. Five points from Griffindor for your insolence, Potter."

Harry was getting angry with Snape, but years of experience taught him to hide that anger, so he did. Besides which, nothing would be served by adding rudeness atop perceived arrogance. Snape had clearly decided to hate him, for whatever reason, and since the reason did not appear to be anything Harry had done, he didn't think there was any more chance of changing Snape's mind than there was of changing his uncle's mind. The reference to his father seemed to mean it wasn't racism, at least, or not just that. Snape clearly had a personal vendetta against Harry's father. He decided to just do the best he could in class and not give Snape more reason than he already had, to single him out.

"As for the rest of you," Snape said to the class at large, "why aren't you writing all this down?"

At that, everyone hurried to get out their quills and write down Harry's answers to Snape's questions.

Things got little better in that class. They were paired up to work on a potion to cure boils, and Snape swept through the class like an angry vulture while they brewed it, glaring at everyone and criticizing everyone but Malfoy, who he seemed to have a soft spot for. He was praising Malfoy when Neville's cauldron melted in a noisy smoking mess, burning holes in things. Neville himself was drenched in it, moaning in pain.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the potion away with his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking it off the fire? Take him up to the hospital wing," he added to Seamus.

"Potter! You're so smart, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look even better if he got it wrong, did you? That's another three points from Griffindor!"

This was completely unfair, of course, but Harry was no stranger to being unfairly accused of things, so he let it slide, despite being angry about it.

"I don't know how you stayed so calm back there," Ron said later as they left the dungeons, "but it's a good thing you did. I hear Snape can get really nasty. But don't worry too much, Fred and George get points taken away from them all the time. Anyway, can I go with you to Hagrid's?"

"Yeah, he said you and Hermione could come over too if you wanted. Where is-- oh, there she is."

Hermione came running up at that moment to greet them and ask them about their day. Harry invited Hermione to join them real quick first, in case he forgot later.

At five the three of them went to Hagrid's house, a little wooden hut that was barely big enough for a normal person, let alone a giant of a man like Hagrid; he also had a big, cowardly dog named Fang living in there with him. While they were at his place, they found a copy of the Daily Prophet saying "Gringott's Break-In Latest," an article about a break-in at Gringott's on 31st July.

"That was my birthday! Hagrid, that was several days after we were there! I wonder what they were after."

“No idea. So, uh, how's your school week been, Harry?” Hagrid said. Harry immediately launched into an account of his week, especially about Snape.

After they left Hagrid's, Ron turned to Harry and said, "Hagrid sure was nervous about that Gringott's break-in. Every time it came up, he looked really uncomfortable."

"Did he?" asked Hermione. "I didn't notice."

"Nor did I,” said Harry. “I wonder why." He thought about it a moment. "Well, he did get some top-secret package from Gringott's the day he took me there, something tiny in a grubby package. I don't know what that was, but it could be whatever the would-be thieves were looking for, given how difficult it is to break into and out of Gringott's."

It was a mystery, a real mystery. And as Harry's librarian in Little Whinging could attest to, Harry loved a mystery.

Later Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in the Griffindor common room, talking. "I love these classes, except for Snape of course," Harry said, "but I miss Science. I even miss Maths. I'm not great shakes at Maths, but I still think it should be taught. Also Art. I'd like to know how to make drawings and paintings that move."

"What's Science?" asked Ron. Harry and Hermione stared at him incredulously. "What? It's a legitimate question."

"Science is the study of the way the world works. Things like the laws of motion, animal anatomy, how plants work, so on."

"How plants work? Well they just work with magic, don't they?"

"No Ron," Hermione said patiently, "they don't. Animals don't work with magic, either. If they did, there would be no Muggles."

"So how does a plant work, then, eh?" Ron asked, a slight challenge in his voice.

"Well first," Harry said, "All living things are made up of these things called cells."

"What, like prison cells?"

"Well, that is how they were named, but no. A cell is a tiny living thing, so small you have to use a microscope to see it."

"Microscope? Is that like, the opposite of a telescope?"

"Yes, actually, that's a good definition," Harry said. "I should bring a microscope into Hogwarts, one of the ones that just uses light, not an electric one. I could show you cells.

"Anyway," he continued, "the smallest living things are single-celled organisms called bacteria. But animals and plants are multi-celled organisms, so we're made of trillions upon trillions of cells."

"Bloody Hell!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yes. Now plant cells, at least the ones in the leaves, take in sunlight and use that sunlight and something called carbon dioxide - CO2 - from the air, and turn the CO2 into sugar. They store the sugar, then use oxygen to burn the sugar for energy when they need it."

"And they do that without magic?"

"Yes. It's a chemical reaction."

"Chemical reaction?"

Hermione defined a chemical reaction, which by necessity included explaining elements and atoms. Ron was so fascinated that they explained what atoms were made of, too. "Wow, that's impressive. So the whole world and everything in it is made of these tiny atoms? How small are they? Can they be seen?"

"I'm not sure if Muggle scientists have seen one yet," Harry admitted. "I'll have to check. But they're so small, they can't be observed directly."

"Wow."

"If you think all that's interesting, Ron," Hermione said, "I have more for you. Have you heard of electricity?"

"Yeah, that's what Muggles use to make lights and power a lot of their things. What about it?"

"Remember the electron?"

"Wait, are you saying Muggles know how to strip electrons off atoms and harness them?"

"Well, yes. Electrons aren't attached to atoms, they just orbit atoms. And they tend to move around in their orbits and between atoms anyway. Lightning is electricity."

"Really? COOL!"

"You know," said Harry, "maybe, since Hogwarts doesn't teach these things, we should make like, some kind of club where we study Science, Math, and other Muggle subjects. I suspect wizards could do a lot with Muggle learning, especially some of the higher sciences like quantum physics."

Before Ron could open his mouth, Hermione said, "Quantum physics is too hard to explain right now, even if I understood it myself."

"Yeah, same here. In fact, it kind of baffles even the scientists."

Ron looked almost stunned. "You know, if you wanted to start a club like that, I'd definitely join. It kind of makes me wonder what Muggle Studies is like, too, but we won't find out until third year, it's an elective course."

"Really?" Hermione said. "You'd think, with all these Muggle-borns, and with so many Ministry jobs involving working with Muggles, that Muggle Studies would be a required course, at least for anyone who isn't Muggle-born."

"Yeah, and I could really use Wizard Studies as a course. I've been in this world for a month and a few weeks, and I've already come across a bunch of cultural stuff wizards and witches all take for granted that I could really use some help with."

Hermione nodded. "Me too. Maybe we could ask McGonagall about it? Even if there isn't one yet, maybe they'd start one up if there was enough demand. We should find out who else is Muggle-born and have them talk with their heads of houses, too."

"Who teaches Muggle Studies? If they're any good at that class, they might understand Muggles enough to teach a Wizard Studies class."

Hermione pulled a piece of parchment out of her bag suddenly, and started writing down everything they'd said regarding Wizard Studies, so she could remember. Then, on another piece of parchment, wrote down ideas for the club they were thinking of making, for Science and Maths and so on.

"Back to that club idea," Hermione said, pulling her bushy hair back into an Afro puff to get it out of her face, "we need a name for it?"

They sat there, silently thinking about it for several minutes.

"Muggle Academia Club?" mused Harry.

"Ooh, I like that one. Because all subjects of learning are academia, and 'Muggle academia' would specify subjects in the Muggle world."

"I'll have to figure out how to buy Muggle science and maths books, among other subjects, via owl order."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Or, if that doesn't work, you could give a list to a willing adult, tell them where to go, and they could buy those things for you. They'd have to convert their gold to Muggle money first, of course, but they could do it.”

"We'll also have to find out how much the required books would cost, first."

They continued talking about that for another hour, before going up to bed. As Harry lay there trying to get to sleep, he mused that he now had three things to occupy his thoughts: Wizard Studies, the Muggle Academia Club, and the mystery of the thing Hagrid had taken from Gringott's on Dumbledore's orders. That made it very hard to get to sleep, but finally he managed it, those thoughts still going through his mind in his dreams.

Note: No, I am not a Harry/Draco shipper, so this will not be going that direction. I reserve the right for Draco's and Harry's tenuous acquaintence to fail at some point and become enemies, I just think this Harry has a hard enough time coping to make new enemies needlessly.

Also, I am aware that lapsis delens and lapsis rectis aren't canon. I looked through the official lists of canon spells and couldn't find any correction spells, so I made a couple up for this story. I don't know how good the Latin is, but considering that the canon spells are a mix of good Latin, pseudo-Latin, and non-Latin, I don't think that really matters.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

Note: A bit of harmless fanfic fun for no money, written by a fan who only WISHES she owned the Harry Potter rights.

Chapter 5: Discoveries

Harry was just getting into the swing of things when it was announced that Thursday would be flying lessons, with the first year Slytherins. Harry wasn't too pleased with the idea, said he'd make a fool of himself in front of all the Slytherins.

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," said Ron.

"Maybe not. But you have flying experience, and I don't. Closest I ever came was ending up on the school roof once. I had no idea how it happened back then, but of course now it must have been accidental magic."

"Really? Tell me more."

Harry described the experience in more detail, and Ron said, "Wow, sounds like you accidentally apparated--disappeared then reappeared elsewhere," he added by way of explanation.

"Well I wasn't fond of the height, and they had to open the roof access door to get me down. I'm not sure if I'll like flying."

"If you're worried about falling, you shouldn't. You might break a few bones or get a concussion, but between accidental magic and the magic of Hogwarts, I doubt you'd be hurt too bad to be fixed."

"Gee thanks, that's such a comfort."

Thursday morning in the Great Hall at breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting by Neville Longbottom, the round-faced, forgetful boy who'd lost his toad on the train. His grandmother had sent him a package. It contained a small glass ball that filled with red smoke the moment Neville touched it.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"It's a Remembrall!" Neville explained. "Gran knows I forget things - this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Only, it doesn't tell you... what you've forgotten."

"That doesn't sound very useful. I'm sure everyone's got something they've forgotten. I don't know much about magic yet, but surely if a device can detect you've forgotten something, it could be modified to tell you what you've forgotten."

Neville shrugged, and continued trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who'd been passing by, snatched it out of his hand to examine it.

Ron jumped up hotly, but Harry stayed seated, looking at Malfoy over his glasses. "Draco," he said warningly. Mrs. McGonagall started hustling over as well, her keen nose for trouble having alerted her. Struggling to suppress a scowl, Malfoy gave the Remembrall back.

"My apologies," he said with forced politeness. "I was just curious." He skulked off with Crabbe and Goyle.

At half past three in the afternoon, the Griffindors and Slytherins met outside for flying lessons with Ms. Hooch. The weather was perfectly calm and warm, great for flying.

The teacher, Ms. Hooch, looked a little like a hawk or owl with her grey hair and yellow eyes; Harry had never seen eye color like that on a human before, and wondered if it meant she was part-human. He didn't know how to find out, though, without being rude, so he set that thought aside.

She lined them all up and gave them directions for preparing their brooms. Harry's was one of the few that shot right into his hand when he commanded it to. Hermione's merely rolled around on the ground. After a brief explanation of what she wanted them to do, she counted down from three. Neville got ahead of her from nerves, and meandered into the air in an uncontrolled fashion. Then he shot around the courtyard and ended up falling and breaking his wrist.

Ms. Hooch commanded that nobody should enter the air while she took Neville to the hospital. But once she was gone, Malfoy walked over to where Neville had dropped his Remembrall, and picked it up, a look in his face signifying potential trouble brewing.

Harry sighed, and walked over to Malfoy. Giving the boy the benefit of the doubt, he said, "Ah, Neville's Remembrall. I'm in Neville's House, Draco, I can get his Remembrall back to him," and held out his hand for the ball.

Years of watching his uncle's facial expressions helped Harry see the internal battle in Draco's face as he fought between his desire to stay on Harry's good side, and his desire to bully Neville. Finally, though, the former won, and - sticking his nose up in the air like he was above it all, Draco handed the Remembrall to Harry, said "I quite agree," and walked away with exaggerated dignity and grace.

Harry worried that it was only a matter of time before Malfoy lost his self control and became a bully to Harry. He spent time thinking on this potential problem, and eventually decided he would have to give Malfoy something other than judgment of his behavior. Harry didn't know what he could do toward that end yet, but at least knowing what he didn't know yet was useful to him.

Draco wasn't the only thing on Harry's mind, other than schoolwork, not by far. He still occasionally mulled over the mystery of the grubby package. It was obvious to him that whatever it was had been brought to Hogwart's, and was in the forbidden third floor corridor. And while it might not have been the smartest thing ever, he had a powerful desire to know what exactly was guarding it. His initial thoughts were things like the traps in Indiana Jones movies, and he wondered how magic could make such traps and obstacles even more formidable, but he didn't get far.

He also tried finding a map of Hogwarts somewhere in "Hogwarts: A History" and other books, to no avail. In fact, he even found out that the castle was "unplottable," meaning it couldn't be put on a map. That seemed a little odd to him, seeing as the castle wasn't far from Hogsmeade, and unless the entire village was also unplottable, well... that would give potential enemies at least some idea where Hogwarts was.

The biggest problem was, there wasn't really an ideal time to go looking into the mystery of the forbidden corridor. Between students and teachers coming and going, Filch and his cat lurking about looking for troublemakers, Peeves the Poltergeist flying around causing mischief, and teachers patrolling the halls at night, Harry would have to be either mad or reckless or both to try to find the forbidden corridor at any time of the day or night.

He tried looking through the library for some way to do it, but the librarian - Ms. Pince - did not appear to have heard of a card catalog, let alone have one. A lot of things were fairly easy to find by way of how things were arranged on the shelves, but a lot more could have been there, there just wasn't any way to find it. Well, unless he asked the librarian, and she seemed to have an almost Filch-like dislike of children being in her precious library and touching her precious books.

In the end, all his careful planning turned out to be unnecessary, for one day he, Hermione, and Ron were talking and walking without paying attention, and just happened to wander up to the forbidden third floor corridor. It was dark when they entered, but torches lit up when they got there.

"This is the third floor corridor," Hermione said in a worried tone, flapping her hands in terror. "It's forbidden!"

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, ducking back in from having checked the exit. "I think I saw Mrs. Norris out there."

"Did she see you? Or smell you?"

"No, she was facing the other way. But what if she smells us?"

"I found a handy spell for that the other day," Harry said. He waved his wand, said an incantation, and air started flowing gently in from the exit. "There, now we're upwind of her. While we're here, I want to take a look around. Listen, just hide behind these statues if you're worried."

Harry examined the wooden door at the end of the corridor, with Ron and Hermione behind him. It seemed Hermione didn't want to be alone in another part of the hallway.

"Alohamora," Harry said at the door, and it unlocked. Cautiously, he peeked in. What he saw made his face turn as pale as his brown skin allowed, and he carefully closed the door and re-locked it. The other two heard great booming barks, muffled by the closing door, and also turned sickly looking.

"What? What was it?" Ron demanded.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said, his voice shaking. “Hominem revelio,” he intonated, casting another spell that was beyond his years.

"Okay, I don't detect Filch or any students," he said. "I don't know how to detect poltergeists or cats, though." He peeked out the door and saw no sign of either. He waited for the stone staircase to start to shake with pre-moving shakes, then gestured for the other two to follow him. They got on the staircase just before it began to move, and got off it at a safer area of the castle. Then, as nonchalantly as they could manage, they made their way back to the Griffindor common room.

When they got there, the common room was busy with people talking, so the three of them sat at a table and began to talk quietly amongst themselves.

"So what did you see?"

Harry inhaled for strength, then said, "A massive, three headed dog. Luckily, it was asleep. But it began to get up as I watched it, and I briefly saw a trapdoor under it." He was worried that they wouldn't believe him, but his voice was still shaking, and so were his hands, which seemed to give him more credibility.

Ron turned white, and Hermione's dark skin looked sickly. "What?" Ron whispered hoarsely. "A giant three-headed dog?"

"Yes. Given what I've read of Greek mythology, I'd guess it's called a Cerberus. Muggles know about a lot of magical creatures, probably from the days before the statute of secrecy. Only, most Muggles think those creatures are imaginary."

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a great beast like that locked up in the school?"

"I think that the grubby package Hagrid took from Gringott's is down there, under that trap door. Possibly with other stuff between the door and it, to make it even more difficult to get to. But I agree, something like this would not be done at a Muggle school; Muggle schools frown on putting kids at danger. And it wasn't exactly difficult to get in there. You'd think, at the very least, that they'd cover the corridor's entrance with a brick wall like the one in Diagon Alley."

"Well you could always go tell Dumbledore you think his security is lacking, if you don't mind getting expelled for breaking the rules," Hermione snapped. Harry was about to snap back angrily, but he noticed her eyes were watering and she was shaking. Harry wasn't great with most facial expressions, but he could read signs that obvious; she'd snapped at him out of fear.

"What if that dog had bitten you, Harry? You could have died! Or worse," she continued in the same terrified tone, "been expelled."

"I'm pretty sure death is worse than being expelled, Hermione," Ron said.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, look at Hagrid. He once told me, offhand, that he'd been expelled in his third year."

"When'd he tell you that?"

"Oh, I went to see him the other day. I couldn't find either of you at the time, and it came up in our chat. Anyway, we got off track. What could be so important you'd need a Cerberus guarding it?"

The discussion went on for over an hour, but none of them could agree on anything that fit, so eventually they gave up. Harry decided to do some schoolwork. Hermione did some reading, too, which left Ron with no choice but to work on his schoolwork, too.

Life at school went on, as it does, with no more real excitement beyond the interesting things in most classes. Snape continued to be very annoyed with Harry for being so good at potions, and so had to find other excuses to dock points from Griffindor unfairly. The fact that Harry just took the abuse without reacting seemed to infuriate Snape even more, but not enough to have any more excuses to bully him.

It wasn't until Halloween that anything else happened. The three of them went into the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, talking eagerly about Halloween. Hermione was explaining Muggle Halloween traditions to Ron. Ron's eyes went wide at her explanation.

"You mean to tell me that Muggle children dress up in costumes and go get candy from random strangers by going door to door? That's insane!"

"Now Ron, the kids have their parents with them, and the parents go through the candy first before they get to eat any, so it's safe."

"That's not what I mean," Ron explained. "In the wizarding world, we stay indoors on Halloween. It's said to be the one time of year that Dementors and other dark and dangerous creatures get to roam free. We put Jack-o-lanterns out to scare those kinds of creatures away. I was baffled by the feast until Hermione explained Muggle traditions; Dumbledore really likes Muggles, must be why our Halloween here is more Muggle like."

"What's a Dementor?" asked Harry.

"They're the guards of Azkaban prison," Ron said. "They're horrible. Tall, hooded figures that glide around like ghosts, and being around one makes you feel cold, and sucks all the happiness out of the room."

"Holy crud!" Harry exclaimed. "They have things like that guarding wizarding prisoners?"

"Yes. Dad says Dumbledore hates them, thinks they should be expelled from Azkaban."

"You know, the wizarding traditions for Halloween are very similar to old Halloween traditions I read about," Harry said. "Muggles used to do the same things, but they were scared of ghosts and monsters and stuff. And witches, too, come to think of it."

"Makes sense. Muggles can't see Dementors, so they'd have to be scared of something else. I wonder why their traditions changed and ours didn't?"

"They stopped believing in magic, obviously. For the most part."

Just then, Professor Quirrel ran into the hall, panic on his face. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS! Troll in the dungeons! Thought you ought to know," he finished, before fainting. Most people in the room began screaming and making a huge ruckus, which grated on Harry's nerves, but he also understood. He'd read about trolls, they sounded dangerous.

Dumbledore made some bangs come from his wand, getting everyone's silence and attention. "Please, everyone, you'll be safe here in the Great Hall. Prefects, please watch the other students while I and the other professors go take care of the troll. I will lock the doors so it cannot get in, if it wanders up here."

Everyone sat back down, and began talking anxiously about the troll. A few minutes in, Harry looked around in confusion.

"Where did Quirrel go?"

Ron looked at him. "What? Oh, I dunno. Prob'ly went off with the other teachers."

"That coward, going to face a troll? No, he's gone somewhere else, I'm sure. Last I saw him, he was on the floor. No idea when he snuck out."

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "there was a lot of noise. He may not have been sneaking around at all."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Hey wait, did anyone check to make sure nobody was caught out in the halls? Don't the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs have their dorms in the dungeons?"

"Hey Percy," Ron called to his brother. "What is it, Ron? I'm a little busy at the moment keeping an eye on you lot."

"Hi," Harry said. "I wanted to know if anyone checked to make sure nobody was caught out in the halls or dungeons."

"I've checked with the other Prefects, and everyone seems to be accounted for. At least, nobody appears to be missing anyone from their Houses."

"Well that's a relief," Harry said with a sigh.

About a half an hour later, the teachers returned. Dumbledore went up to the teacher's table and stood at his lectern. "You'll all be happy to know that the troll has been subdued and is even now being removed from the premises by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sinistra. If you have not felt comfortable eating during this trying time, I hope you will be able to continue the feast now."

Unlike a lot of other people, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not stopped eating during the crisis, and ended up leaving early. As they went back to Griffindor Tower, Harry spotted Snape on his way from the third floor to Filch's office; he was limping, and his leg was bloody. He pointed this out to the others.

"Wonder what happened to his leg?" Hermione asked.

"Dunno, but I hope it really hurts, the bullying git," Ron said vehemently.

"He was coming from the third floor. Which is where that Cerberus is."

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "You think he was trying to get past that massive mutt?"

"Oh come now, Harry, what would a teacher be doing trying to get past that giant dog?"

"I dunno, but if he got attacked, he can't have been there on official business."

Harry pondered the mystery silently all the rest of the way back to their common room. First Quirrel slipped out unnoticed in the midst of the chaos he stirred up, then Snape was coming from the forbidden third floor corridor with a bloody leg. It was too strange to be a coincidence. Sure, Hermione had a point that Quirrel could have just left without being sneaky, or may have gone with the other teachers, but they hadn't been making noise very long before Dumbledore silenced them, and Quirrel had supposedly fainted. He didn't know how long it took someone to recover from fainting, but it had to take longer than that. The mystery kept him awake for several hours in bed before his exhaustion finally took him to sleep.

The next day, the trio went down to Hagrid's hut to visit again. While they were there, they talked about the troll, which was a perfect opening to mention Snape's strange activities and bloody leg, and the fact that they'd accidentally found out about the massive three-headed dog. Harry also mentioned that Snape and/or Quirrel might be trying to steal whatever the Cerberus was guarding.

"Oh now, stop it yeh three," Hagrid said dismissively. "Snape's not tryin' ter steal nuthin, and neither is Quirrel; in fact, they're two o' the teachers protectin the--"

"Yes?"

"Never you mind. 's nunyer bizness wha Fluffy is guardin--"

Ron's eyes goggled. "You named it Fluffy? Massive, three-headed dog, and you name it Fluffy?"

"Well why shouldn't he?" asked Harry. "I read an etymology of the word 'Cerberus' once, since it appears in Greek mythology, and apparently it's the Greek word for 'Spotted.' IE, the official term for it is the Greek version of 'Spot,' one of the most popular dog names in the world."

Both Ron and Hermione goggled at that one, while Hagrid guffawed deeply.

"They named a great beast like that 'Spot'?"

"Now Ron, don' be mean ter Fluffy, he's jus a seriously misunderstood creature, he is."

They rolled their eyes at this; Hagrid and his monster obsession.

"But you're sure whatever Fluffy's guarding is safe?" asked Harry. "I mean, somebody got into Gringotts, and then out again, and that's supposed to be impossible. Makes me think a clever enough person could do the same here."

"Never you mind wha Fluffy's guardin, tha's strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nickolas Flamel."

"Ah, so someone named Nickolas Flamel is involved, is it?" said Ron.

Hagrid's face - what little of it could be seen with his bushy hair and beard - went white. "Forget I said tha, I shouldn't've said that. Damn, makes me wish I could do obliviate, tha does. You lot keep yer noses outta what ain't yer bizness, mind? Yer kids, yer not ter be meddlin in dangerous stuff like tha, you unnerstan?"

They all three nodded, and solemnly swore they would nose out, but all of them had their fingers crossed behind their backs.

As they walked back up to school, Ron started conversation. "Nickolas Flamel, huh? I wonder who that is."

"Well that's no mystery," Harry said.

"It's not?" Ron goggled. "How do you know something about the wizarding world I don't?"

"Because I remember reading that name, when reading about Dumbledore on my first Chocolate Frog card."

"Really?"

"Yes."

When they got back to the common room, Harry ran up to his trunk and brought down the card in question. "See, 'Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.'"

"Yeah," Ron said, "but that doesn't tell us who he is. Unless you read something else about him? Or you, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry nodded. "Nickolas Flamel is known to Muggles. I don't know if he predates the Statute of Secrecy or what, but the Muggles know about him. I read a book in the library once about him and some other alchemists. It's a topic of interest for Muggles because alchemists are considered to be some of the first scientists, at least according to Muggle sources. Isaac Newton was an alchemist, in fact."

"Who's Izak Nooden?" Ron asked.

"Isaac Newton. He was the first person to mathematically describe gravity, and he came up with a lot of really important laws of physics, like the law of conservation of energy."

"You do know what gravity--" Hermione began to ask.

"Of course I bloody well know what gravity is! It's what sticks us to the ground, keeps us from flying off toward the moon."

"Well that's a relief. Honestly, I wasn't sure, the state of science education in the wizarding world is absolutely horrendous, I wouldn't have been surprised if you hadn't been taught about gravity."

"Yeah, well, a few things leak in, prob'ly from Muggleborns and halfbloods. Anyway, so do you know why Flamel is important to the mystery?"

"Yes. Alchemy was concerned with creating the Philosopher's Stone, which supposedly could transmute any metal into solid gold, and make The Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal."

"Immortal?"

"It means you'll never die," Hermione explained.

"I know what it means!" Ron shot back hotly. "Anyway, no wonder Snape's after the stone, if it makes endless gold and makes you live forever. Who wouldn't want it?"

"I wouldn't have wanted to be immortal, if it'd meant spending any more time with the Dursleys. Though I suppose with all that gold, I could escape and live on my own... but no, that's too much power for one person to have. And put too much gold on the market and eventually it becomes worthless. A large part of why gold is worth so much is because it's not exactly common."

"Still, if you were careful not to make too much..." Ron trailed off.

Later that night, Harry again had trouble sleeping, the thought of Snape, that miserable git, being immortal and unbelievably wealthy haunting him. He very much hoped Hagrid was right, and that nobody could get the stone unless they were authorized to. Which, considering Dumbledore's partnership with Flamel, probably meant Dumbledore was the only one authorized to retrieve it. He fell into a fitful sleep that night.

Note one: I thought hard about the events of this chapter, and finally I decided that this Harry wouldn't care for the noise and commotion of Quidditch, and would think of Quidditch as a waste of time. If offered a position on the team he'd probably say something like "And waste all those hours I could be studying or reading? No thank you." He'll probably watch it at least once, just to see what the fuss is about, but I doubt he'll enjoy it. There are, of course, aspies that like sports, but this Harry is not one of them.

Note two: Yes, they discover Flamel earlier. No, it's not going to make the final battle with Professor Two-Face happen any faster.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

Note: A bit of harmless fanfic fun for no money, written by a fan who only WISHES she owned the Harry Potter rights.

Chapter Six: Erised Eluys Sam T'Sirhc

 

November sped by fast for Harry, what with schoolwork, helping Ron on his schoolwork, and working on preliminary details for a Muggle sciences club, and so very quickly the Christmas holidays crept up on Harry.

"Oh goody, Christmas," Harry said aloud with dread when he heard about it.

"You got something against Christmas, mate?"

"Just that I never got any presents for Christmas before, and, well..." he paused, not knowing if he wanted to continue or not, before continuing. "I more have a problem with the name and the reason for the season."

Ron stared blankly at him.

"What I mean is, Christmas comes from Christ mass, and it's Jesus Christ's birthday, supposedly. Actually, he was born in the spring, according to the Bible. But, well... the Dursleys went to church every Sunday. I never had to go, thank goodness; they didn't want to associate with me in public unless they had to. Also, they told me I was a lost cause, doomed to Hell no matter how hard I prayed. I never understood why, really, until now. I used to think they thought all black people were Hell-bound, but it might have more to do with the fact they knew I was a wizard."

"That's horrible, mate."

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's them that should be sorry. Anyway, Christmas in the wizarding world isn't like it is in the Muggle world, or at least according to Dad. He said something about the Old Ways being lost in the Muggle world."

"Old Ways?"

"Yeah, before Christianity came through Europe." Ron waved a hand vaguely. "Like, a lot of the old pagan ways survived in the wizarding world because of us being... well, because we had to keep secrets. Only, Christianity is mixed in there too somehow. I dunno, there's books on the subject that'd know more'n me."

This information lit a fire under Harry. He had never heard of any religion other than Christianity, Judaism, or Islam, and finding out about a religion that predated Christianity... the first opportunity he had, he went looking through the library for books about it.

According to the books he read about the subject, Ron was right; the wizarding world was a mix of old pagan paths and Christianity. In fact, most wizards these days believed in a hybrid of Christianity and paganism; very few were just one or the other.

It made sense to him; the wizarding world was socially behind the Muggle world in many ways, and given their need for secrecy for so long, even before the Statute of Secrecy, it made sense that the old ways would survive.

What survived to the modern wizarding era were largely the more acceptable parts of the old ways. Human sacrifice was gone, animal sacrifices were rare and when they did happen, usually only happened as part of a ritual meal where the sacrificed animal gets eaten; only the blood went to the gods.

What spoke to him the most was a description of pagan ways as revering nature, the divinity in all living creatures, and how the whole world was sacred, a church. Thinking back, Harry remembered all the times he'd gotten away from other people and gone to the park, how comforting it had been to be around trees and animals, even in the middle of a town like Little Whinging, where everything was landscaped to within an inch of its life. He even thought about gardening; not his favorite chore, but one of the ones he least minded, because it got him out of the house and usually got him away from the Dursleys, but also because he kind of liked making things grow.

Harry spent hours in the library every day reading up on the old ways, learning more and more. None of the gods or goddesses really spoke to him at first, but he was new; it would take time if any came, and they might not. There was also pantheism to consider, too.

Best of all, taking a path with no Christianity or other rule-centric religion stifling him meant that he could follow his own conscience, and it helped him with some of the anger against the Dursleys that was starting to seep into his consciousness more than ever. It wasn't a new emotion-- he'd been angry at them for years, but a lot of that anger had been directed at God, for letting the Dursleys abuse him. But if there were no all-powerful God that claimed to also be all-loving... if the world just is, and nobody was to blame for his life but the Dursleys and circumstance, then that was very liberating to him.

None of this made Christmas (or Yule as a lot of wizards also called it) come any slower, and Harry was worried about where he would go during the vacation. He expressed this worry to Ron one day while they were playing wizard chess together, and Ron's eyes went wide.

"Oh, sorry, Mum told me to invite you over weeks ago, didn't I tell you?"

That made Harry beam. "Thanks!" he hugged his friend.

"You're welcome. Anyway, given everything you've been reading, should I ask Mum to get the Yule log out?"

"Why, do your parents do Christmas rather than Yule?"

"Yeah, they're Christopagan," said Ron, using the term Harry had told him days ago for the hybrid between the old ways and Christianity. "So some years they do a Yule log, too, just for the heck of it."

"Well I'm still new to all this, but the old ways call to me. I think I've been a pagan all my life and never knew it til now."

"Cool. I'd better write Mum a letter before I forget," Ron said, pulling parchment and quill out to scribble off a letter really quick. "Gotta go find an owl now Harry, see ya!"

"See ya!" he shouted at Ron's retreating back.

 

Leaving for the Weasley's was a lot like leaving Hogwarts, but in the dead of winter, and with his trunk still in the castle. He'd brought along a rucksack full of clothes and another bag full of some reading material, though. Also, they weren't taking the train. Instead, they used something called The Knight Bus. It was a horrible experience, as the driver didn't so much drive as aim the bus in the general direction of where he was going and ride roughshod over the landscape while trees and buildings leapt out of the way. It made Harry very ill, and he'd had to shut his eyes for most of the ride to avoid getting a headache.

When he finally got off the bus, he vomited his bacon and eggs onto the side of the road. He wiped the sick from his mouth and wobbled in the direction of the Burrow's front door.

His experience was offset by Mrs. Weasley making them all a large lunch, for which Harry was very grateful. After lunch, instead of going upstairs to read, he bundled up and went outside. It was cold but beautiful, the snow virgin in most places. He was looking for someone though, as he had sent Luna an owl the day before.

"Hey, slow down mate, Mum wants us to come with you."

Harry looked up and saw Ron, Ginny, and Percy came running behind him.

"Oh, duh, I forgot. Thanks, guys."

It didn't take as long to find Luna as they'd thought it would, she had already been en route to the Burrow, and they met her at the edge of the property.

"Good," said Ron, shivering. "Now we can go back. I didn't know it was going to be quite this cold today."

"Luna!" Harry said excitedly, holding both hands out to her. She smiled and took his hands in hers. Ron looked askance at that, holding in a snort of laughter. Ginny turned red and turned away, and even Percy raised an eyebrow, but both Luna and Harry were oblivious. They walked arm in arm back to the Burrow, talking about the Old Ways, which Luna was very knowledgeable about, as her father was strictly pagan.

Sitting around the fire in the Weasley's living room, they continued their conversation, everyone nursing hot cocoa; everyone but Ginny, who had gone to her room.

When Luna got up to use the restroom, Harry finally noticed Ginny's absence.

"Where'd Ginny go?"

"To her room."

"Why?"

"Well, she fancies you, mate, and you're kinda stuck on Luna. I guess she got upset."

Harry's face turned red. "Luna and I are just friends."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, well, Ginny doesn't know that. I mean, you were holding hands and walking arm in arm."

"Yeah, but I... that doesn't mean..."

Ron said nothing, just sipped his cocoa again.

Harry was saved by Luna returning. He quickly forgot his embarrassment, getting caught up in conversation with her again. And in the process, forgot about what Ron had said.

 

The next day, Mrs. Weasley took the family to Diagon Alley in the family car, so everyone could do Christmas shopping, stopping at Gringott's first so they could get some more money.

Even though he was supposed to be shopping for others, he did find some books at Flourish and Blotts for himself, buying copies of some books about the old ways. He made sure to let the others know he'd done this, in case they were buying him books, so they wouldn't get him the same ones.

At one point, Harry dragged Ron away to go try to find something Luna might like. He'd already gotten her one thing, but thought it wasn't thoughtful enough, so he wanted to get her something else, too. Ron was smirking the whole time but not saying anything, beyond occasional suggestions that Harry kept shooting down. He knew he could have gotten her one of the books about Crumple-horned Snorkacks or whatever, but he felt like he should get Luna something else. After wandering around Diagon Alley for a half an hour, he finally found a place that might have what he was looking for.

Called Wyrd Wyrm Emporium, it was a place full of all kinds of odd-looking artifacts. A quick look around revealed that it was a magical cryptozoology store, with things like billiwig propellers, Specter-Specs, nargle repellant spray, and charms against wrackspurts.

"Yup," said Ron, "this is definitely the place to shop for Luna." He chuckled and started rifling through some of the objects for sale.

"Anything I can help you with, young man?" the proprietor asked Harry.

"I'm looking for something for a friend of mine. Luna Lovegood; do you know her?"

"Ah yes, the Lovegoods, they come in here a lot. Let's see..." he trailed off, looking around.

As he searched, he talked, mainly about what Luna and her father Xenophilius had been into recently, in a way that suggested he was thinking aloud. Harry thought it was a little like Ollivander trying to find him a wand earlier in the year, but more pleasant, as he listened to what the different things were.

Finally, though, they found something that Harry thought Luna would like (and didn't already have). He made sure Ron was out of hearing range before paying, as he didn't want his friend to know how much he was spending on Luna.

"So what'd you get her?"

"You'll find out later."

"Aw, cummon, can't I see now?"

"You'd laugh. Or tease. I'd rather put that off as long as possible."

Ron opened his mouth to object, but then stopped and shrugged. "Yeah, I probably would."

 

On Christmas morning, Ron woke up Harry with a cry of, "Oy, presents!"

Harry put his glasses on and looked around. "Where?"

"Well not here, of course. Under the tree, downstairs."

"Ah yeah, sorry."

When he got downstairs, he was surprised by the tree; it was a living tree, being kept watered, and was still a sapling without being too small. It was surprisingly bushy, too, and was decorated with candles and tinsel and popcorn. Mrs. Weasley noticed his surprise.

"Yes, dear, it's our tradition to plant our tree after it's done its duty inside. Of course, that means we have to keep it in the house until spring, but it sure does make the house smell great during the winter. Really livens up the place."

Harry grinned. He'd never liked the thought of cutting down a whole tree just to decorate its corpse for a single holiday. The Yule Log, on the other hand, was a sacrifice he could approve of, as it was from just a single branch cut from a tree (holly in this case), done with gratitude and apologies to the tree for its sacrifice, and the log was burned for the god of the forests as a fertility symbol, to help ensure spring came on time.

It was the best Yule/Christmas of his life. Surrounded by his surrogate family, with good food, songs, and presents. The presents, oh the presents. He got a chess set from Ron; Mrs. and Mr. Weasley got him a Weasley sweater and some sweets, he got some sugar-free candy from Hermione (since her parents were dentists), and a roughly-carved wooden flute from Hagrid. Luna wasn't there, because she and Harry had already agreed to exchange their presents the next day, since Luna was spending Yule with her father.

 

The next day, Luna came over, and she and Harry exchanged their gifts. Luna got Harry a magical artifact that clipped to the stem of one's glasses and, when you pushed the button, it would send a burst of soothing magic into your head, that Luna thought might be able to prevent at least some of Harry's headaches.

"Thanks a lot, Luna, this sounds awesome." He clipped the thing to his glasses and gave it a try. Of course, he wasn't feeling the need for it, so he didn't get the full effect, but it was doing something that felt good.

Ron and the twins craned their necks around to try to see what Harry had gotten Luna, which was annoying him, so he just told them to come in, which they did. Harry handed two small packages to Luna, and she opened up the first one with slow and deliberate care to not rip the packaging, even though Harry's attempt at wrapping was hardly neat. Very carefully, she took out a hand-held mirror, looking at it curiously.

"It's a two-way mirror. So we can talk to each other, instead of just owling back and forth. It'll be especially useful this winter, as Hedwig doesn't really like being out in the cold."

"Thank you, Harry, it's very thoughtful. I do miss having people to talk to. Ginny's nice, of course, but I miss you. And the more friends, the better."

She placed the mirror gently in a pocket of her trousers, and gently folded the wrapping and placed that in her pocket, too. Ron and the twins gave each other significant looks.

When the wrapping was put away, Luna took the other package and again carefully unwrapped it as though the paper itself was precious. A long golden chain slid out into her hand. Ron and the twins gave each other even more significant looks. Luna beamed, and held out the chain. There was something hanging from it, a glass marble held onto the chain with golden metal.

"It's a charm to repel wrackspurts," Harry explained. "Brand new type, Mr. Dunhaven swears you don't have one yet."

"Oooh, thank you Harry. Mr. Dunhaven was right. Wow," she said, trying to put the necklace on, "this is very thoughtful indeed."

"Here, let me help." Harry helped her with the necklace. As he did so, Ron let out a small snort of laughter, and one of the twins thwapped him on the back of the head for it. Ron glared at the culprit but didn't say anything. Luna beamed at the necklace, and thanked Harry with a hug.

Presents exchanged, Harry and Luna sat on the sofa by the fire together, watching the remains of the Yule log burn as they chatted about this and that.

"Come on, little brother," said Fred to Ron, "let's leave those two alone together. We can play some Quidditch outside together."

Ron looked back at Harry and Luna one last time before following them with a sigh. "I guess so. We might as well be furniture when they're together."

 

In January, everyone returned to Hogwarts with their gifts. Harry refused breakfast on the grounds that he didn't want to puke all over the Knight Bus, so Mrs. Weasley packed him a bagged breakfast. It was unnecessary, as the school would have food, but he nonetheless appreciated it. The Weasleys were what parents/guardians should be like, always putting their kids first, without spoiling them. He had offered, once, to help pay for his keeping, thoughts of the Dursley's complaints about how expensive he was to them bouncing in his head, but they had refused his money, no matter how hard he insisted.

Since it was still technically the holiday, and Harry wanted to take a break from reading, he and Ron spent the afternoon playing wizard chess. Harry had thought that using his own set for this game would have given him an advantage over Ron, since Ron's set was old and knew him well, but Ron remained good at the game even with the slight handicap of Harry's pieces not trusting him. Of course, they didn't trust Harry much either, so it wasn't much of a plan on Harry's part.

Just before dinner, Harry went up to his room and got a surprise when he pulled the covers back. There, on the bed where it had been under his covers, was a silvery package with a note pinned to it. Harry was just unpinning the note when Ron came in and saw it.

"What's that?"

"Dunno. The note says 'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.' But there's no name signed."

Harry handed the note to Ron so he could read it, too, and picked up the package. What unfolded was a long, silvery swath of cloth that felt like water woven into material.

"Woah," said Ron. "Is that... is that an invisibility cloak?"

Harry put it on, and everything but his head vanished.

"It is! Those are really rare, and really valuable."

"Wow, this used to be my dad's? Hmm..."

After looking at himself in the mirror, to see his disembodied head floating in midair, Harry started to think. He'd never been one to break school rules before, because years of living with the Dursleys meant you didn't break rules unless you were reasonably sure you could get away with it, or if circumstances were dire enough, such as raiding the fridge or pantry at night to hold off starvation. But an invisibility cloak? The possibilities were endless.

He thought about the cloak all through dinner in the Great Hall, and later in bed as he tried to sleep. As Ron snored and the other boys slept, he decided to try out his new cloak that very night. It had been his father's, so he decided to go alone this first time. He could take Ron later if he wanted to, but this time, he was going to go alone.

But where to go, exactly? What could he do at night that he couldn't do during the day? He thought about it, and decided he was curious what was in the Restricted Section of the library. Mere curiosity would not have been enough before, but now... as long as he didn't bump into anything, or make any noise, he would be fine.

A few minutes later, Harry was sneaking through the corridors. It was dark and creepy, but he could see well enough. Before long, he was in the library, and sneaking into the Restricted Section, looking at the old, creepy-looking books, trying to decide which to pick up. Using his wand as a light, he browsed them, but most did not seem to have titles. This was even worse than the usual lack of organization in the library. He ended up picking one at random.

He opened it, and immediately it began to scream. He slammed it closed and rammed it back in place, but it kept screaming. Running, he heard Filch approach, so he slowed down and snuck past the man. A little later, he heard Filch tell Snape that there was a student out of bed, that one of the books in the Restricted Section had been disturbed. So Harry ducked into an empty classroom to hide.

Only, the classroom wasn't empty; it had a huge, antique mirror standing in it, as though put there temporarily until a better place could be found to put it. It had writing on it, but the writing didn't make any sense. He moved closer to get a better look, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He should have been invisible, but the mirror was showing him standing there, and a whole bunch of other people were there as well. He spun around to look behind him, but nobody was there. He felt around, but felt nobody.

They're not really there, then, he worked out. So what are they?

Taking a closer look, he saw a man with brown eyes, dark brown skin, and Harry's exact wild, kinky hair. The man also had an older version of Harry's face, but not a lot older. The man couldn't have been more than 25 years old.

My dad! He realized. So that meant the woman... yes, the white woman with red hair had his exact same green eyes. So that had to be his mother. Which meant that all the other people behind them were his other family, from both sides of the family. He kept seeing familiar features, so that seemed right.

Family, he thought. Real, honest-to-goodness family. He stared, entranced, for who knew how long before a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He whispered to the mirror that he'd be back, then got back under the cloak, which had slipped off at some point, and began making his way back to the Griffindor dormitories.

 

The next night, he took Ron with him; Ron was excited to see Harry's family. It was a little more difficult with two of them under the cloak, especially with Harry being in a hurry and not knowing for sure where the room had been, but they made it. Making sure the door was closed, they took off the cloak and Harry had Ron look in the mirror.

Only, Ron didn't see the same thing. He instead saw himself as head boy and Quidditch captain, holding the Quidditch cup. This was so different from Harry's vision that Harry stood there, baffled, trying to think why there was a difference. But that thought didn't occupy him long, as it was swiftly supplanted by the desire to look in the mirror at his family again. He was filled with an uncharacteristic anger at Ron; Ron was spending so much time staring at his reflection, and what did it show? Only him being great. He had all the time in the world to be great, but Harry would never get another chance to see his family.

Naturally, they fought over whose turn it was, briefly, before another outside noise alerted them, and they got under the cloak. It was Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat. Worried that she would fetch Filch, as soon as she left they began hurriedly sneaking back to bed.

 

The next day, all Harry could think about was the weird mirror, interrupted only by a bit after classes where he got out the two-way mirror to talk with Luna about the other mirror.

"Hmm," said Luna in her slow, airy voice. "Well I understand wanting to use that mirror again, Harry; if I could see my mother again, that would be lovely. But from what you told me about what Ron saw, I don't think it's actually showing their spirits or anything like that, just using some sort of magic to pull their images from Earth's memory. So what you're seeing, I doubt it's real in the sense of being their souls. I don't know of any way of communicating with the dead. I don't even know if it's possible, Harry."

"Yeah, well, that's not the point. The point is, they're there. I can see them. Which I've never done before."

"Well, you told me Hagrid knew them. Maybe he can ask around among others who knew them and find you some photographs. Wizarding photographs move, you know."

"I did actually know that. But yeah, you've got a point."

"Good, Harry. In the meantime, I'll ask Daddy if he can help find photos of them."

"Thanks, Luna."

"You're very welcome, Harry."

 

Despite his assurances to Luna, however, Harry was once more drawn to the mirror, and that night he rushed into the room, throwing off the cloak so fast he didn't notice Dumbledore in the room with him. So when the old man spoke, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Back again, Harry?"

Oh shit, he thought. I'm in deep now.

"Um... Professor. Didn't, uh... didn't see you there," he said, lamely.

"Funny how short-sighted being invisible can make you," Dumbledore said. Harry noticed he was smiling, and his eyes were twinkling. Maybe he would get out of this trouble-free after all?

"I see you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised. Have you perchance worked out what it does, yet?"

"Um... well, it shows me my parents."

"And showed your friend Ron as head boy?"

"How did you---?"

"I don't need a cloak to make myself invisible, Harry."

Well that's disconcerting, Harry thought. He could be anywhere in the castle at any time, with a trick like that up his sleeves.

"Oh," he said simply.

"Do you have any idea at all what it shows us?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, I would give practically anything to have a proper family. And Ron always feels small and insignificant compared to his siblings, so... I suppose that means it shows us our heart's truest desire?"

"Right on the nose, Harry. But what's more, the happiest man alive could look in the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is."

"Ah, so it shows us our heart's truest, desperate desires. Desires borne out of, like, pain or frustration, and so on?"

"Indeed. But the Mirror of Erised gives us neither truth, nor wisdom. Men have wasted away, dreaming of the things it shows, but never striving to try to achieve them. Or, in cases like yours and--- well, in cases like yours, to overcome them. Dwelling on dreams, and forgetting to live, that is a dangerous road, Harry. Even more dangerous when the dreams you dwell on are impossible in this world."

Harry could only nod silently.

"The mirror will be moved later today, Harry, and I beg you to not go looking for it again. But if you should run into it again later, you will now at least be prepared, and able to understand it."

Harry nodded again, and started putting his invisibility cloak back on. "Sir? Before I go... if you don't mind, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

A small haunted look briefly crossed the headmaster's face, before returning to normal. "Me? I see myself wearing a pair of great woolen socks. So many people insist on getting me books, but sometimes it is the little things, Harry, that become the most precious, and my feet do tend to get cold at night. Anyway, Harry, you should run along back to bed now."

Harry later pondered Dumbledore's answer. Obviously he had lied, Harry felt silly for even asking; it was an incredibly personal question, and Dumbledore was a very old man. Whatever it was he saw in the mirror was probably pretty embarrassing.

 

 

 

Note: Rowling once made a tweet that said Wicca (and paganism in general by association) was "incompatable" with the wizarding world, which struck me as utter boloney, and offended me as a neo-pagan. So this is me rejecting her reality and substituting my own.

(Hey, a lot of what drives people to write fanfic is the desire to see people like themselves represented, in a world in which most media doesn't like to represent anyone who isn't straight, white, cisgender, Christian, and usually male.)

 

Note 2: Yes, I plan to "ship" Harry/Luna. Those two had far more chemistry together in canon than Harry ever had with Ginny, and Harry/Ginny always felt extremely forced to me.

 

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

(Transgender character introduced in chapter 7)

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

Note: A bit of harmless fanfic fun for no money, written by a fan who only WISHES she owned the Harry Potter rights.

Chapter 7: Quidditch and Dragons

~O~

Dumbledore had convinced Harry to not go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, but he had a hard time exorcising the desire to see it again from his mind. As Luna suggested, he did go to Hagrid and tell the large man about not having any pictures of his parents; Hagrid promised to look into it as soon as possible. In the mean time, Luna sent him an owl with a couple wizarding photos of his parents that her father had managed to track down for him. Having these comforted him, and helped him get over the mirror faster. Hermione, of course, disapproved of him going out and risking getting in trouble for no good reason, but eased up on him when he promised her he'd gotten meaningless night-time wandering out of his system.

The second game of Quidditch involving Griffindor was coming up. Harry hadn't watched the first match, not being interested and suspecting it might not be good for his head to do so, but so many people were still talking about Griffindor's narrow victory against Slytherin (beating them by only 10 points) that he decided to watch the Griffindor and Hufflepuff match just to see what all the fuss was about. Just before leaving for the match, Harry stuffed his invisibility cloak inside his robes for reasons even he didn't know, and was still trying to puzzle out as he got to the Quidditch stadium with Ron and Hermione. Hermione wasn't terribly interested in Quidditch either, but when Harry had expressed the desire to see what it was like, she had decided to go with them.

As Harry had suspected, the experience was a disaster for him. The noise of all the screaming and booing, and the press of the flesh of all those people stuffed into such a small area, conspired to give him a headache so bad that taking twice the usual dose of headache potion was barely helping. He'd been getting headaches so frequently that he'd finally mastered a simple yet strong headache remedy potion so he could brew his own, and wouldn't have to bother Ms. Pompfrey all the time.

What was worse than the headaches, though, was the panic attack at the danger of it all. His classmates, some of whom were friends, were up there, on both sides (he had been seeking friends in other houses lately), and seeing them all up in the air, with bludgers trying to unseat them, with them swooping around one another and risking life and limb for a stupid pointless sport was too much for him. Every time there was a near miss, his heart felt like he was going to have a coronary, and his stomach twisted into knots. His breathing got rapid and shallow. When he almost fainted and puked over the edge onto the pitch, Hermione got so concerned that she insisted he leave. She also insisted on escorting him off the bleachers.

Once he got off the bleachers, though, he insisted he could make it to the Hospital Wing just fine on his own, and she relented, returning to watch the rest of the game. So he proceeded to wobble in the general direction of the school.

He did not, however, go to the Hospital Wing. He'd experienced panic attacks before, so he had a small bottle of Calming Draught with him, that he downed. He then wobbled over to Hagrid's hut, thinking that spending time with his large friend and his friend's large and harmless dog Fang would be more soothing to him than a hospital bed with a distressed Matron Pompfrey hovering over him.

Knocking on the door, he did not hear Fang's booming bark. Hagrid did not answer the door. Harry sat down on Hagrid's stoop and leaned against the door, feeling the Calming Draught returning him to normal, then to even calmer than normal.

In fact, he was getting sleepy. The adrenaline wearing off artificially must have been the reason, but whatever the reason, Harry's drowsy brain wanted to nap but did not want to get up, and could not abide the sunlight in his eyes, so he pulled out his invisibility cloak and put it over himself, which made no sense, but he wasn't feeling particularly sensible. Despite this having little effect on the sunlight in his eyes, he nodded off anyway, his sleepy brain not having considered the possibility of Hagrid accidentally stepping on him.

Luckily, that didn't happen. What happened instead was a particularly loud bout of cheering from the stadium waking him up just enough and just long enough to register that everyone was flowing out of the stadium and back to the school. He watched this impassively, having no thoughts in his head at all about it, or about anything at all, really.

It was only when he spotted Snape and Quirrell moving toward the Forbidden Forest that he woke up completely, the gears in his brain whirring curiously. This was suspicious, the two men he suspected of trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone both heading off towards the secrecy of the Forbidden Forest together. He hurriedly got up, was momentarily surprised he was covered in the invisibility cloak, then shrugged and followed them, as quietly as he could manage.

Luckily, they did not go far. Even so, he got held up by enough underbrush that he only caught up to them in time to hear part of the conversation. From what he heard of it, Snape was asking Quirrell if he'd found out how to get past Fluffy yet, something about Quirrell's “bit of hocus pocus,” then said "You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell. Let me know when you decide where your loyalties lie." It wasn't much, and wasn't conclusive enough to rule either of them out as suspects, though it did make Snape a little more likely. Harry didn't buy Quirrell's stuttering, given his previous suspicions, but if it was a performance, it was convincing enough to fill Harry with more doubts than he'd previously had. Either Quirrell was innocent, or they were working together. And if they were working together, it sort of looked to Harry like it wasn't necessarily by Quirrell's choice.

Once they stopped talking and left, Harry waited for them to get ahead; it was unlikely they'd say more, and he didn't want to risk them hearing him. He had been lucky so far, but luck could only take one so far.

When he got back to the common room, Ron looked in surprise at him. "Ms. Pompfrey let you out of the hospital wing already? You looked like you were about to die out there, mate!"

"I didn't go to the hospital wing, I took a Calming Draught and leaned against Hagrid's door. But forget that for now," he said, and launched into a furtive explanation of what he'd seen and heard, and how he'd managed it.

"Well, Harry," said Hermione, "that makes it sound like Quirrell is being bullied into working for Snape."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "Snape could have been working on Quirrell from the start. Could've let the troll in as a diversion, had Quirrell run in as part of it, while Snape went looking for the troll."

"Yeah, and maybe Quirrell did sneak out, like I suspected. Ya know," he waved his hand vaguely, "to help Snape get past Fluffy. And ya know, this makes a lot of sense; I can't see someone like Quirrell doing this on his own, but I can totally see someone as cowardly and weak-willed as he is being bullied into helping Snape."

Hermione, who had been skeptical before, began to look thoughtful, her brown eyes pensive in a way that suggested she was beginning to believe this theory, despite herself.

"Oh wait," said Harry, remembering something. "There was another part of the conversation, Snape said something like 'We'll talk again, when you've had time to decide where your loyalties lie.'"

"Well that sounds like Quirrell's having second thoughts about helping Snape. Which kinda supports the whole 'he's being bullied into helping' theory. Sounds like he's grown enough of a spine to resist Snape a little."

Hermione finally spoke again. "Does that mean the stone is only safe as long as Professor Quirrell stands up to Snape?"

"It'll be gone by Tuesday," Ron said.

*

Quirrell must have been braver than they thought, however; either that, or they'd been wrong about him standing up to Snape, and was merely having a hard time figuring out how to get past Fluffy. Either way, there was no sign that anyone had gotten past Fluffy, and Quirrell didn't look any different than he usually did. Snape also kept stomping around the castle, looking angry about something. They thought of these as good signs.

One day, Ron walked into the library looking for Harry, and saw his friend talking with an older Slytherin girl at one of the tables. Either a second or third year, the girl was of apparent Indian descent, with long black hair, and she was tall for her age, about 5' 8''. Ron went somewhere he could watch Harry and the girl talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying. The conversation looked friendly, however, which Ron couldn't stand. First Malfoy, now this other Slytherin? Granted, Malfoy and Harry were merely civil, and not exactly friends, but this looked different; Harry was smiling now and then, odd in itself as Harry's default expression always made him look a little annoyed by something.

Finally, Ron couldn't take it anymore, and stepped into view.

"Oh hey Ron, come over here and let me introduce you to Antigone Dreyfuss."

The girl held out her hand for Ron. Ron just stared at it, then looked back at Harry. "She's a Slytherin, Harry."

"So?" said Harry. "Slytherin may be popular with Voldemort supporters and their kids, but that doesn't mean everyone in that House is like that."

Antigone frowned at Ron, and put her hand down. She folded her arms instead. "This must be Ron," she guessed.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, this is--"

"I heard her name. So, Antigone, is it? How did you two meet?"

"Here in the library," Antigone answered, surprisingly calmly, despite her gray eyes flashing dangerously. Ron glanced at Harry, who nodded.

"She saw me reading some third-year material, and since she's in the third year and hasn't gotten to that material yet, she was asking me about it."

"Yeah," she agreed, a little more friendly in tone now, "if there's someone smart enough to understand stuff two grades ahead of his own, you can bet that a smart Slytherin is going to want to pick his brain, get a little help ahead of time."

"Makes sense to me. We've met in here several times since November. Sometimes I help her, sometimes she helps me."

Ron bent over and whispered into Harry's ear. "But she's a Slytherin, Harry."

Answering Ron in normal volume, Harry said, "I don't like to judge people based on what others say about them. I had no friends growing up because of the things Dudley said about me."

Ron's ears went red, and he shut up and held his hand out tentatively for Antigone. She took it, and they shook hands.

"Glad to make your acquaintance," Antigone said politely yet without enthusiasm.

"Likewise," Ron responded in kind.

"Anyway," said Antigone, "this talk was fun, Harry, but I have to be going now. I wish I could stay, Ron, and help you see that some Slytherins are good people, but I promised Angela I'd help her on her Charms homework. See you, Harry!"

"See you, Antigone!"

When the Slytherin girl left, Ron sat down. They both noticed Hermione, who had apparently seen Antigone leave this table.

"Was that girl bothering you, Harry?" Hermione asked him.

Harry sighed. "You too? She's a friend, Hermione. I've been making friends in other houses. A few Hufflepuffs, like Justin Finch-Fletchley; a few Ravenclaws, and a couple of Slytherins so far."

"A COUPLE?" Ron said hotly. Ms. Pince glared at him, and he quieted down, whispering at Harry. "A couple of Slytherins? You have more than one Slytherin friend? Is the other one Malfoy?"

"Not yet. He's a tough nut to crack; all I've managed so far is some polite conversation with him. I think he wants to be friends with me, but we have such different beliefs that it's hard for him. But it's like I told Ron earlier, I don't like to take other people's word for what someone is like, having been on the short end of that stick myself most of my childhood."

"Well that's great, Harry," said Hermione. "I completely understand. I didn't have any friends in school, either. I've always been weird to most of them, and I struggled with simple social stuff. It was a lot easier connecting with you, Harry; you must be an aspie too."

"Harry's not a snake, he's a Griff--"

"Not an asp, Ron, an aspie. It's short for Asperger's Syndrome."

Ron stared blankly at her. "What's that mean?"

"Oh goodness, I'm not terribly surprised you don't know. It was Muggle scientists who figured it out, after all."

"Figured what out?"

"Asperger's Syndrome is a..." she pondered her words carefully before continuing, "Well, do you remember I told you animals and plants are made of cells?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well there are different kinds of cells. Liver cells, skin cells, bladder cells, muscle cells, and brain cells."

"Okay."

"The cells in the brain are a bit like a Muggle computer. Do you--"

"Those boxes that Muggles keep facts in? Some kind of thinking machine?"

"Well, yes. How did you know that?"

"I've been doing some Muggle Studies reading in my spare time. Anyway, go on."

"Okay, well, computers can only think about things they're programmed to think about. But the human brain is like a computer that can learn, and program itself by that learning."

"Okay..."

"And in computers, a major bit of programming is the operating system. It controls how the computer's thoughts interact with humans, how they interact with one another, and is kind of the, well, foundation of the whole computer; the other programs can't function without the right operating system."

"So a program is...?"

"A program is a set of instructions that do a certain task. Computers can do lots of different tasks, after all; they can do maths, or show pictures, or show text, and some programs can display text but can't let you edit the text, and other programs let you write or edit text."

"Wow, that's pretty cool. So... so if our brains are like these computers..." he struggled to think, and it looked difficult. "...then things like, like walking, or talking, or eating, are programs in our brains?"

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

"Wait, so, given what you said already... are you trying to say you and Harry have different... otterating systems, from other people?"

"Operating systems, but yes. Most people manage to have the same operating system as everyone else, but some people are born different, and their brains program themselves differently, with a slightly different operating system. It's still mostly the same, usually, or we wouldn't be able to understand each other at all, but still different."

"So 'azbee'---"

"'Aspie,' Ron."

Ron giggled. "That sounds like 'ass pee.'"

"Yes, well," Harry took over from Hermione, "'aspie' is short for 'a person with Asperger's Syndrome.'"

Ron stopped giggling, and asked, "Does that explain your headaches? Or is that something else?"

"Actually, you're right Ron. I get overwhelmed by my environment easier than other people, because my brain makes everything more... well, intense. Like, the brain filters out most of what its senses pick up, to avoid being overloaded. But my brain doesn't filter out as much as most brains do. And my emotions are set higher than other people's, too. Which is why I got ill earlier at the Quidditch pitch. I was feeling fear and worry about the friends of mine up in the air in this dangerous game, and the feelings were so overwhelming that I felt like I was dying."

"Of course, panic attacks like that are more of a sign of PTSD than Asperger's," Hemione said. “But intensified emotions would sure make that worse.”

"What's PTSD?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," explained Hermione. "People who live through traumatic events, especially as kids, tend to get emotionally damaged by the events; their brains self-programmed under stressful circumstances, and that can make a mess of how people respond to ordinary events."

"Ever seen me take a Calming Draught in Snape's classes before?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, a few times. Why?"

"Because he's an abuser, and I was abused by the Dursleys. A lot of what he does triggers panic attacks and other problems with me, and the Calming Draughts help with those."

"What about the headaches?"

"Well that's more to do with my being an aspie. My brain gets overwhelmed by stimuli like noises and visual stuff, which causes stress, which results in stress headaches. And going somewhere quiet, preferably also dark, helps too. Remove the offending stimulus, and the stress levels begin to go down."

Ron nodded. "I think I get it. And honestly, I'm beginning to get what you mean, my own head feels like it's overflowing right now."

They sat in silence, then, for several minutes while Ron put his head down, trying to sort through everything. He was still working through it when Hermione said, "Hagrid? What are you doing in the library?"

Ron's head shot up to look. Sure enough, Harry and Hermione were talking with Hagrid, who was hemming and hawing about what he was up to, and generally acting very suspicious. Since he was there, Harry and Hermione goaded him with what they knew about the mystery, revealing to him that they knew about the Philosopher's stone. He told them to shut up about it in the library, and to come see him later in his hut, before leaving.

When he left, Hermione got up. "I wonder what he was looking at."

A few minutes later, she came back. "Dragons," she whispered to them. "He was looking up stuff on dragons."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Harry said. "He told me once, he's always wanted one, ever since he was a kid."

Ron groaned. "Well he can't. Not legally, anyway. They're illegal to keep as pets. They can't be tamed, and they're too hard to hide, outside of dragon preserves. And even then..." he shrugged. "You should see the burns Charlie gets from the wild ones he works with in Romania."

Harry sighed very deeply, a long-suffering sigh. "Hagrid must have gotten his hands on a dragon, then. And he lives in a wooden house..."

"We'd better go to talk to him, then."

When they got to Hagrid's hut an hour later, the windows were covered in drapes, looking suspicious. The inside of the hut was boiling hot, too. They spoke with Hagrid about the stone, a subject he was very reluctant to say anything about despite the fact they already knew about it. They did, however, manage to get a little out of him: there were things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy. He didn't know what they were, which was probably a smart move on Dumbledore's part, but several of the teachers had contributed something to it; Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, and Quirrell had all contributed. They gave one another significant looks, since two different suspects were playing a role in protecting the stone. What's more, Snape had been working at the school for years, and doubtless had some idea what the other teachers might provide. In fact, things they'd overheard sounded like all Snape and Quirrell needed to get the stone was how to get past Fluffy.

"I still don't get why they didn't put up a wall to keep students out of there," Harry said. "We stumbled onto Fluffy, which is how we know about him?"

"WHA?" Hagrid nearly spilled his tea. "Yeh didn' get hurt, did yeh?"

"No. Admittedly, I had to get past a locked door, but that's not terribly secure, given that alohamora worked on it."

"Well yeh didn' go back, did yeh?"

"Of course not. Once was more than enough, seeing a beast like that."

"Hermione and I didn't see it," Ron said. "Glad I didn't. Might still be having nightmares if I had."

"Hagrid," Hermione said, fanning herself with a spell, "why is it so hot in here?"

It turned out, Hagrid was keeping a great black dragon egg in the heart of the fire. Since dragons blew fire on their eggs, he had to keep it hot in order to get it to hatch. Since dragon eggs were illegal, naturally they were curious about how Hagrid got one. He explained that a stranger in The Hog's Head had given it to him, after losing a game of cards to Hagrid. Harry thought that was highly suspicious, but didn't have the energy to really think about it, the heat was so stifling.

So now, on top of everything else, they had to worry about Hagrid getting in trouble for keeping a dragon. Harry also found himself annoyed by how slowly plans for his Muggle Academia Club and the possibility of a Wizard Studies Club. Frustrated by his lack of action on these, he asked Hermione about them one day. She had a few ideas for the MAC, and she'd sounded a few people out, but schoolwork and being a mere First Year had slowed her down. She told Harry he might have more luck.

"What about Wizard Studies?"

"Oh darn, I forgot about that entirely."

"Well let's talk to McGonagall later."

That afternoon, after classes but before dinner, they went to McGonagall's classroom and caught her before she left. She let them in, and they told her about their idea. She hadn't realized the need for it, but could see it was a great idea.

"Well Potter, Granger, I'll talk to Dumbledore about it. Knowing him, he'll likely support the idea. Frankly, I'm not sure why he didn't think of it himself. Anyway, it's almost dinner time, so we should get going."

"Thanks, Professor."

Of course, they could just start MAC with three students, but after he was done eating, he got Antigone's attention with a secret hand signal between them that meant 'Let's meet in the library in an hour.' She gave the affirmative symbol, so Harry went on to his other Slytherin friend, Danzia McCullough, with the same signal. After that was done, he went first to the Ravenclaw table to meet with his friends there, then to Hufflepuff, then back to his friends at his own House's table, giving them a similar message.

Harry had sent Antigone, Danzia, and Angela to the library, but everyone else to an unused classroom, mainly because he didn't have a hand signal for the unused classroom yet, and he didn't want to burn any bridges by going over to the Slytherin table in front of all these witnesses. Maybe later, but not yet.

He went into the library a little nervously. This would actually be the first time he'd met Angela. Screwing up his courage, he went in, and saw them at once. Antigone was sitting in her usual spot, her brown Indian skin looking great in the library's lighting, sitting next to a raven-haired girl of Asian descent that he assumed (correctly, as it turned out) was Angela.

Of course, he already knew the short, deceptively adorable strawberry-blond second-year Danzia, her blue eyes twinkling with potential mischief. It hadn't taken him long to classify her as being Slytherin House's answer to the Weasley twins, and smart enough to give most Ravenclaws a run for their money.

"Angela," Antigone said, "This is Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this is Angela Whitechapel."

They shook hands and smiled. "It's great to meet you at last, Harry,” she said.

"Great," said Antigone, with an air of eager impatience. "Now we've got that taken care of; you wanna come with, Angela?"

Angela cast her brown eyes down then back up again with a sigh. "Yes, I think I'm ready."

"Great, come on."

As he'd feared, Antigone, Danzia, and Angela were not well received by the collection of mostly Griffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs.

"What the--" Seamus Finnegan exclaimed. "What are you three snakes doing here?"

"Be nice to my friends, Seamus," said Harry, to almost everyone's surprise. Ron looked like he wanted to agree with Seamus, but couldn't see the point of it. Hermione was a little nervous; she'd never met a friendly Slytherin before, let alone three. Most of the Slytherins that deigned to communicate with other Houses were the bullying type. But everyone else was flabbergasted.

"You're friends with a trio of s--Slytherins?"

"Yes, Seamus. Well, technically, I've only just today met Angela, but whatever. Now I know there are a lot of unpleasant people in Slytherin, Antigone and Angela here will agree with you on that, but I didn't have any friends at all before Hogwarts, because of people judging me without bothering to get to know me, so I give everyone the same benefit of the doubt, regardless of House."

"Yeah," Danzia said, "and this whole thing about Slytherin being the only House to churn out dark wizards is just nonsense. And Slytherin House has its share of great and good people."

"Oh yeah?" Seamus asked. "Name one good famous Slytherin."

A smug grin crept onto the strawberry-blonde girl's face before she answered. "Merlin. Merlin was a Slytherin." She then pulled a book out of her bag, called 'Famous Slytherins Through History,' and opened it to the page about Merlin.

Everyone there was astonished, staring in disbelief at the evidence. Everyone but the two Slytherins and Harry, of course.

"Besides which," Harry said, "I was almost in Slytherin. I wouldn't have minded it if I'd gone there. Sure, some of the people there are unpleasant to others, but seeing how everyone treats Slytherins, I've been beginning to wonder how much of that is due to how Slytherins are treated."

The order erupted into a disarray of talking at various volumes, as this was a fact nobody quite knew how to deal with. Even Angela and Danzia looked astonished. Antigone seemed to have been told this already, though.

"Okay, you got us on Merlin," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, "and Harry here's a nice guy; if he almost got put in Slytherin, I'm willing to be open minded." He stood up and held out a hand to Danzia. "I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley. And you?"

She took his hand and shook it. "Danzia Victoria McCullough at your service."

"Charmed," Justin said, sounding genuine. "And you?" he asked Antigone, again offering his hand.

She took it. "Antigone Aconite Dreyfuss. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

He then held his hand out to Angela, who introduced herself as Angela Keiko Whitechapel.

"Oh yeah," said Antigone, "something else to make note of, about Slytherins. I'm a halfblood. My father, also a Slytherin, married a Muggle."

"And I'm Muggleborn," said Angela, "but please don't talk about that outside this group. I'm trying very hard to hide my blood status from the bigots."

Everyone turned to Danzia then. She grinned. "Both of my parents are wizards. I mean that literally; I have two dads, who I call Daddy and Papa. Both are halfbloods, if that means anything."

"Were you adopted?" asked Justin, curiosity writ large on his face.

"No. My biological mother is Papa's sister; I call her Aunt Rose, by her own insistence. Daddy is my biological father."

This was the proverbial straw that broke the back of bigotry; everyone got a lot more friendly to them, once they processed the idea of Slytherins with Muggle heritage.

"Good, now we've gotten that out of the way," Harry said, "we can start the meeting."

The meeting itself, largely to sound out interest in MAC and Wizard Studies, went fairly smoothly, and pretty well. Once Harry and Hermione started explaining some of the things Muggles had figured out, interest went from 'meh' to 'WOW!' Not everyone there thought they could make every meeting, once that was nailed down, especially this late into the school year, but even they were interested.

Naturally, all Harry's Muggleborn friends were deeply interested in Wizard Studies. Those who didn't need such a class volunteered to help out if they had to make it a club, too. And better yet, they all agreed to tell their heads of House about it, to drive up interest.

All in all, Harry was proud of what he'd accomplished that day. Ron was still a little weird about Antigone, Danzia, and Angela, but he had made a lot of progress already, so Harry felt confident he could get Ron to be friendly with his Slytherin friends.

It was good that he was making progress with MAC and Wizard Studies, because Hagrid's dragon egg was getting nearer and nearer hatching. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made a pact to not discuss the issue anywhere where anyone else could overhear, and Harry started reading up on spells for privacy. Even though he and Draco were civil to one another, he wasn't sure Draco could resist getting Hagrid in trouble if he found out.

Eventually, the dragon hatched, and their predicament only got worse. Harry talked with Luna on the two-way mirror about it. The stress of everything must have been getting to him, because she remembered something he'd mentioned before, and so was the one to suggest they involve Charlie, Ron's brother who worked with dragons, to get the dragon, whom Hagrid had christened Norbert.

He was in the library one day with Angela and Antigone, when Antigone said, "Harry, you look very worried about something. What's going on?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I... I can't talk about it here. Someone might hear, who shouldn't."

"Nonsense," the older girl said, casting several privacy spells. "There. Now nobody will be able to hear us, and they won't be able to read our lips, either; that last spell will blur our mouths."

"Wow. You're going to have to teach me those."

"Yeah, later. For now, what's going on?"

"Well, you know Hagrid, right?"

Antigone nodded enthusiastically. "I love Hagrid, he's awesome. Like a giant teddy bear. So what about him?"

"He... he has a dragon."

Both girls gasped, and tried talking at once, but Harry hushed them. "Yeah, I know, dragons are illegal. That's why I'm worried. He didn't seek it out, but once he got it, he hasn't been able to think about anything else. He's been neglecting his duties. And he's been calling himself it's mummy."

Antigone got an odd look on her face at this point, and quietly said, "Oh that poor dear soul." Then, snapping out of it, the Indian girl continued, "If you need help getting rid of it without Hagrid getting in trouble, let me know. Hagrid is awesome, I want him to stay here always."

"Thanks for the offer, but we have a plan. Somehow, we're going to cart Norbert - that's the dragon - from Hagrid's hut to the top of North Tower in the dead of night, under my invisibility cloak, and Ron's brother Charlie and some of his friends will take it to Romania for us."

"Wow, you have an invisibility cloak? Cool. Anyway, that sounds difficult. It'd be too difficult for me to be there in person, but I can teach you a spell to make the crate float. And silencing wards strong enough to be useful on a dragon. Oh, and the Disillusionment Charm, so you can't be seen if the cloak falls off. It would work on the crate, too."

"Wow, really? That's great! We have three days."

"Well, let's go to the MAC room, then, and get started."

Harry was very grateful for Antigone's help. By the last of their three days, Harry was accomplished enough at the charms she'd taught him that all they'd have to worry about was accidentally bumping into something, or maybe Mrs. Norris smelling them. Since Ron would not be happy about a Slytherin knowing about all this, Harry pretended he'd read about the spells.

The afternoon before their trek, the three of them visited Hagrid one last time. He was inconsolable, like a mother having her baby taken away from her.

Hagrid sniffed. "Th-thanks, the three of yeh, fer helpin me out. I shouldn' 've accepted Norbert's egg, I know, an I know I havter do the righ thing, buh tha' don' make it any easier."

"There, there, Hagrid," Harry patted the large man's arm, "he'll be with others of his own kind."

Hagrid burst into great sobs for several minutes. When he calmed down a little, he said, "An', an' as if it weren' bad enough Norbert's leaving, summat's been killin' the unicorns, poor sweet, innocent things. Been neglectin me duties, I'll have ter sort out wha's goin on tomorrah."

"What? Something's killing unicorns?" Ron asked incredulously. "What's fast enough to catch a unicorn?"

"Not much. Nothin tha's s'posed ter be in the forest, anyway." Hagrid began bawling again at that point, and they could get nothing more out of him.

As they walked away from Hagrid's hut and toward dinner, Harry said, "Something's killing unicorns, and it's nothing that should be there?"

"I know that look, Harry," Hermione said. "Please tell me you're not thinking of...” she looked around to see if anyone was in hearing range, “of going out to the forest at night."

"No, of course not," Harry lied. "The forest is no place for students."

"Good. Because there's no point endangering yourself for no good reason, alright?"

"Yes, you're right," Harry said.

Thanks to the spells Antigone had taught Harry, the trip from Hagrid's hut to North Tower went smoothly and efficiently. They ran into nobody, not even Mrs. Norris. Charlie and several of his friends on brooms arrived at midnight and carried Norbert off into the night, Charlie finding it weird to talk to a bunch of Disillusioned voices. When he left, they put the cloak on, even though it had largely been superfluous, and got safely back to the Griffindor common room, where they undid the Disillusionment Charm and went to bed.

Note: I have to admit, I've been putting a lot of myself in this Harry. After all, I'm autistic, I was bullied in school, and bullying is a form of abuse, so I know how abused people think. I wasn't abused by family, but I do have personal experience being abused by peers, and that gives me some insight. A lot more insight, apparently, than Rowling does; her Harry's personality doesn't make any sense at all, given the abuse he went through. Which is a large part of what made me decide to write this series.

Note #2: I really love the idea of good Slytherins, as my other story may attest to. Look forward to a few more of them popping up eventually; I even plan to have them be part of Dumbledore's Army, eventually. Oh and yes, if you're recognizing some names and traits of some of these Slytherin OCs from "We Are Not Death Eaters," I very much did that on purpose. But don't go thinking you know them; I may well change facts about their history.

Note #3: I have a secret in store about Antigone. But it's a secret. Just thought I'd give you a little warning, make you wonder what the secret is. It does not relate to note #2.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

"Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals"

By = Fayanora

 

Chapter 8: Fighting Voldemort

 

Note: Not mine. Fanfiction. No money made. Please do not sue.

 

Note two: My computer ate my first attempt at this chapter. Four or five hours of hard work, with me fully In The Zone, just lost to the aether. So I took that as a sign to go another way with it.

 

~O~

 

Despite the recklessness that his invisibility cloak seemed to inspire in him, and despite how well the Norbert mission went, Harry had second thoughts about going out again after Hagrid. The unicorn thing didn't really seem relevant to the Stone. Sure, it was a little coincidental, but it didn't seem relevant. So he was leaning very hard towards keeping his promise to Hermione.

However, he did talk about it with Antigone, Angela, and Danzia later, when they were working on helping Harry study for the end of year tests. He didn't think much of the conversation, as his mind was not really there, so he didn't notice his three Slytherin friends taking the mystery more seriously than he did.

Later, in their common room with privacy spells up so they could talk safely, the three Slytherin girls discussed the unicorn problem.

"Harry doesn't think it's relevant, of course, but that's a bit of a coincidence," said Antigone. "Unicorn blood has regenerative powers, I've read. Not many would want to risk it, since there's a curse that goes with it, but that's not far removed from the Philosopher's Stone in function."

"Do you think it might be You-Know-Who?"

"That's kind of a leap, Danzia. What makes you think that?"

"Well, his body was never found. Maybe he's really weak, maybe he's dying. Not sure how he's kept alive all these years if I'm right, but what if he's here now, using the unicorn blood until he gets what he really wants?"

She pondered her own words for a moment. "One conversation I had with Harry once, he said Hagrid figures Voldy-whatsit never died, just got really weak. Ever since I heard that, I kind of, well... I've been scared, since then, that he'd come back."

The others stared blankly, so she continued. "And now this whole Stone thing crops up. It's been safe for centuries, hasn't it? And now all of a sudden somebody is trying to steal it? You-Know-Who may be weak, but he's still going to be very knowledgeable. And Quirrell has been a bit stranger than he used to be, since he came back from his trip to wherever he went."

"Do you think he brought You-Know-Who back with him?"

"Let's just say it's something I've worried about recently. And now this whole unicorn thing... the man is a seriously dark wizard, he's probably not going to care about killing unicorns and drinking their blood, curse or no curse."

"I still think you guys are reaching. But, well... if there's any chance at all of a connection, maybe we should check it out."

 

The next night Antigone, Angela, and Danzia Disillusioned themselves and snuck out of the castle into the darkness towards Hagrid's hut. Luckily, he was there, crossbow in hand, so they followed him, silencing themselves as they went so Hagrid wouldn't hear them. It was difficult, not being able to see where they were going, since the moonlight was mostly obscured by the thick forest top-growth, but they managed. Fang, Hagrid's dog, kept looking back at them, and they silently berated themselves for not thinking about the dog.

They'd been out there for who knew how long before Hagrid stopped dead. They just narrowly avoided running into him, but somebody behind them ran into them, and they screamed. Hagrid spun around, aiming his crossbow in their direction. They ran, not having time to undo the spell.

"Harry, what're yeh doin out here?" Hagrid boomed, stopping them. They turned around, and sure enough there was Harry, his cloak falling off of him. He hemmed and hawed, then finally confessed that he had decided to see if the unicorn thing was relevant.

Antigone put a silencing ward up quickly. "Wish he'd told us he was going to go anyway."

"Was that you I ran into, Hagrid?"

"What? No, yeh didn' run inter me, Harry. Was that you screamin?"

"No. Sounded like some girls."

"Does that mean someone else is out here? Yeh don't think they have summat to do with this, do yeh?"

Antigone pulled her friends forward, undoing the Disillusionments. Hagrid and Harry both jumped.

Hagrid's eyes narrowed. "Bunch o' Slytherins out in the forest at night? What're yeh doin out here? You the ones killin the unicorns?"

"Relax, Hagrid, it's my friends. Remember? Antigone, Angela, and Danzia."

Hagrid squinted more, and Harry turned his wandlight on them. "Oh yeah," Hagrid said. "Hi there, Antigone. Blimey, I feel right foolish. Ain't seen you two yet, but Antigone an I go back a couple years. Anyway, you lot still ain't supposed to be out here. But it'd take too long ter get back now. Might as well come with me. I can keep yeh safe."

They did as he commanded, and helped him look. He showed them the unicorn blood, a bit like sticky mercury, but lighter, and they followed the path of the dying unicorn.

However, at one point the remaining unicorns stampeded between the kids and Hagrid, and they got so lost in the mass of panicking animals that they couldn't find Hagrid again. Not thinking terribly straight, Harry and his friends wandered off looking for the path of the wounded unicorn again, in hopes Hagrid would find them that way.

What they saw at the end of the path, however, made them go stock still. There was the unicorn, dead; something horrible, like a living cloak, bent over the unicorn, drinking its blood. The thing then looked up at them. Harry's scar began to burn like a red-hot poker was being held to it, and a headache unlike any other made him fall over in a daze.

"Harry, get up! That thing is coming this way!"

They were still struggling to get Harry back up when something jumped over the three of them; it was a beautiful albino centaur, nearly as white as the unicorn. The centaur reared, and the slithering cloak creature fled.

With the danger passed, the centaur approached them. "Harry Potter, you and your friends should not be out here. It is especially dangerous for you, Mister Potter."

"Thank you for saving me..." he trailed off, not knowing their savior's name.

"My name is Firenze. Come, you three; climb on my back. I will take you to safety."

The three of them climbed on Firenze's back and he trotted off.

"What was that thing you saved me from?"

Firenze opened his mouth to speak, but Danzia beat him to it. "Voldemort! That was Voldemort!"

"Wow," said Harry. "You said his name. I thought I was the only one who did that."

"Well, normally I don't, but I didn't want there to be any doubt."

As they rode to safety, Danzia explained why she thought it was Voldemort, and Firenze nodded.

"By the way," asked Antigone when Danzia had finished. "What pronouns should I use for you, Firenze?"

"Wow. Thank you very much for asking, instead of assuming. My people are almost always misgendered as male, given our anatomy and human assumptions. Especially vexing, as we do not understand this concept of 'gender.' It does not apply to us anyway; it is not possible to tell from looking at us which of us can bear foals."

"Oh. Really? So how do you... if it's not too personal a question... um..."

"That," Firenze explained, "is indeed personal. It is of nobody's concern unless two or more of us wish to produce foals. Those of us who can bear foals know who we are."

"Sorry," she said, embarrassed. "If it helps make up for it at all, I, uh... I rejected the gender assigned me at birth. With the aid of magic, I have come to fit my preferred gender."

"That was not necessary, but I appreciate the gesture all the same."

"So what pronouns should I use?"

"Use the feminine pronouns for me today, if you would. If we meet again, it may change."

Two more centaurs appeared in the forest ahead of them, looking angry. One had a chestnut body below the waist, the skin tone above the waist matching the fur perfectly. Though the beard and the hair atop the head were bright red. The other one was practically coal black all the way through, though that one's head hair and beard were even darker. The two centaurs were in such a temper over Firenze carrying them on her back that they didn't attempt to find out pronouns. They just quietly slipped off and watched the row.

Luckily, Hagrid showed up then. "Gallopin gargoyles, there yeh are. Come on, back to the castle with yeh. Get invisible, too. Sorry for the problem, Bane, Ronan, and Firenze. We'll be going."

"Yes," said Ronan. "Human foals should stay in the castle where they belong."

As they got out of range of the centaurs, Hagrid said, "Don't worry yerselves none about the centaurs; they'd never hurt foals--I mean kids."

"Hagrid, the unicorn is dead. Something was drinking its blood."

"It was You-Know-Who," exclaimed Danzia. “He's still alive, after a fashion. Barely alive, but still alive."

Hagrid turned white. "Well I hope this'll be a lesson to yeh, not to go out at night. Come on, we're almost there."

Under his cloak, Harry made it back to his dormitory. The girls, under their Disillusionment Charms, made it safely to theirs, too.

 

The next day, the six friends got together so Harry and the three Slytherin girls could relate the previous night's events to Ron and Hermione. Those who had seen Voldemort were terrified, trying to argue to the others that something needed to be done post-haste. Finally, they agreed that telling anyone yet was premature; Fluffy was still where he was supposed to be, awake and guarding his trapdoor (Harry had checked on his way back the night before).

With the stress of Voldemort possibly returning, Harry and the three Slytherin girls had a hard time focusing on the end-of-year tests. All that got them through it was checking every now and then on Fluffy. Quirrell and Snape remained unchanged, too, which helped.

Only after the last test was over did something finally clunk into place for Harry. In a hurry, he ran to Hagrid's, dragging Ron, Hermione, and Antigone behind him.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"I just realized something. Who carries dragon eggs around with them if they're illegal? Isn't it odd that Hagrid's dream was to have a dragon, and a stranger comes by who just happens to have an egg?"

"Shit," said Antigone. "Now you mention that, it is pretty odd."

"Hagrid," Harry said, having nearly run into him right outside the hut's door, "the stranger who gave you the dragon egg, what did he look like?"

"No idea. Kept his hood up. Well," he said when they looked flabbergasted, "it's not unusual in The Hog's Head. Bit of a fashion, really."

They gently interrogated him some more, and it turned out that the stranger had gotten Hagrid drunk and coaxed the secret to getting past Fluffy out of him; play Fluffy music, and he goes right to sleep. As Hagrid was berating himself for telling them that, they were running off back toward the school.

"Harry, Harry, wait," Antigone begged. "Slow down!"

"I can't, Voldemo--"

"Listen, Harry, think about it, how long ago did Hagrid get Norbert? Weeks ago, right? So in all that time, the stone's still been safe."

"Well yeah," Danzia said. "But Dumbledore's been here this whole time. Knowing how to get past Fluffy is easy compared to how to get past Dumbledore, and You-Know-Who feared Dumbledore, even when he was fully powered."

"So you reckon that stone's still safe?" Ron asked. "You don't think he could have taken it out from under Dumbledore's nose?"

"No. Dumbledore always seems to know what's going on. There've been little clues in the last few years, that he knows pretty much everything going on in the school."

"Might have something to do with not needing a cloak to be invisible."

"Yeah, I guess that would tend to help. That and an air of mystery. Anyway, we should talk to him, tell him what we know."

They tried to tell Dumbledore, but McGonagall waylaid them, and they found out that Dumbledore had been called away on Ministry business. This panicked them into revealing what they knew, which shocked McGonagall. She assurred them the stone was safe, and told them to go outside.

Of course, they didn't. They tried going to the third floor corridor, but McGonagall had headed them off, and threatened them with detention if they came back, so they left for the MAC classroom, where they agreed they had to meet later, after everyone had gone to bed; McGonagall wasn't going to stop guarding that corridor until all students were in bed.

 

That night, they set out very carefully, and met at Fluffy's door.

"Oh, you have a flute!" Angela quietly exclaimed. "I can play that."

With Angela playing the flute, the rest of them moved Fluffy's massive paw from the trapdoor and opened it. One by one they jumped down into the unknown, followed at last by Angela.

They landed on something soft, something that began to try to strangle them at once. "Devil's Snare!" Hermione and Antigone exclaimed at once. "I'll start a fire," said Antigone.

"But there isn't any wood!"

Antigone cast fire before anyone could respond to that, and the plant let them slip onto the stone floor underneath.

"No wood?" teased Ron. "Honestly..."

From there, they went into a new room, filled with hundreds of glittery birds. They walked to the other door and tried it, but it was locked. Alohamora didn't work on it, and neither did a Reductor curse from Antigone.

"You're not the only one ahead of your years, Harry, Hermione," she said. "Pity it didn't work."

"Hey you lot," Ron called. "I found six brooms. Dunno why."

Harry squinted at the 'birds.' "Because those aren't birds, they're keys."

"Oh. Well in that case, we'll need a rusty, old fashioned key, like the handle."

"There!" Harry pointed.

"Where?"

"There!"

"Harry, you have some really keen eyesight for someone who needs glasses."

They all climbed on the brooms, and spent several minutes trying to corner the key. Only the fact that it was wounded let them catch up to it in the end, wounding it more by pinning it to the wall. Then they flew back down and unlocked the door, tossing the key back as they left.

"That must have been Flitwick's," Danzia said. "First was Sprout's, of course. Unless Fluffy was the first? Anyway... what's this now?"

It was a giant chess set, with human-sized chess pieces made of stone, transfigured to be alive. They stood there, looking bored, until the six kids came in, at which point the pieces looked at them with interest.

"Oh shit," Ron said. "Yeah, I can do wizard's chess, but there's six of us. Dunno if I can protect all of you from harm. No idea how these guys will treat us."

Angela sighed. "Well, in that case, I can go back and use one of those brooms to see if I can go get Dumbledore."

"You giving up already?" Antigone asked.

Angela shrugged. "If I have to."

"No, no need for that yet." Ron stood there looking at the board, and then looking at his friends. "Harry needs to go. I need to be on the board, too. I think Hermione and Antigone can be on it too. Sorry, Danzia."

Danzia shrugged. "I'll live."

Harry took the place of a bishop, Antigone and Hermione took the rooks, and Ron was a knight, by Ron's decision. When they were in place, the others going back to the key room, the game began when white moved. Ron tested a hypothesis, and deliberately put a pawn in danger. The other pawn violently wrestled his pawn off the board and knocked it unconscious before returning to position.

"Well that answers that question," Ron said.

The next half hour (or was it an hour? It was hard to tell) was very tense, as Ron worked to win the giant chess game without endangering his friends. Somehow, he managed it, at least until the end.

"Yes," Ron said softly. "It's the only way. I've got to be taken."

"What?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Antigone. "He's going to sacrifice himself."

"No, you can't!" cried Hermione.

"There's no other way! Do you want to stop You-Know-Who getting the Stone or not?"

Hermione went quiet then.

"Good. Now, here I go," he said.

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced, dragging him away and knocking him out before returning to the right spot. At this, Harry went where Ron had told him, and checkmated the white king, who threw down his crown in defeat.

"Antigone, can you take Ron back to the key room with Danzia and Angela?" asked Harry.

"Sure thing, mate." The older girl was tall enough and, apparently, strong enough that she hoisted Ron up in a fireman's carry and hauled him back to the key room. When she came back, with assurances that the other two were taking care of Ron, the three of them continued on.

On the other side, they found a great stench and an even greater troll, already knocked out. They were all glad of that; they'd never fought a troll before, and had no idea what one had to do. So they continued on.

As soon as they crossed into the second-to-last room, purple fire rose up behind them, blocking their exit. The way forward was also blocked, but by black fire.

"Snape's," Harry said, pointing out the bottles. There was a rhyming riddle in a scroll there, too. The three of them read the riddle aloud. It basically said that three bottles were poison, one bottle would get you forward, and another would let you go back. The rest were harmless but useless.

"Don't look at me," Harry said. "I suck at riddles."

"Alright, we'll figure it out." The two girls proceeded to talk it out between them. Before long, they had it figured out: the smallest bottle let them go forward. Only...

"There's only enough for one. Harry, it'll have to be you."

"Wait, hold up," said Antigone. "Why him? If Moldywart is back there, the pain in Harry's scar is going to render him useless."

"Yeah, but I beat him once before."

"When you were a baby! And nobody knows how that happened!"

"Maybe I'll get lucky again. Maybe I've got some kind of protection against him?"

"You don't know that! And besides, I'm older than you."

"And we both know that if we were the same age, I'd far outstrip you in ability anyway. And that's almost true now."

"So?"

"Listen, Antigone, I get what you're trying to do. You're worried about me, I know. Ideally, all three of us would go in there, but we can't. I'm the one with some weird connection with Voldemort. If nothing else, maybe the fact that he failed to kill me will buy me some time. Anyway, we don't have time to argue about it!"

Antigone slumped. "Fine. Hermione and I will go back to the chess room and keep watch, make sure Moldy doesn't get out. Or try, anyway."

"No, you two go find the others. Get Ron to the hospital wing, and contact Dumbledore, tell him what's going on. Gah! I can't believe I forgot to do that before!"

"Fine, fine," she said, and the two girls took the potion for going back. Harry took the one to go forward, and they parted ways. Harry paused a moment, then Disillusioned himself before he stepped through the black flames, his wand out, and saw... Quirrell. No Snape, just Quirrell.

The man was examining the Mirror of Erised in frustration, trying to figure out how to get the stone out of it, and hadn't noticed Harry come in. (It helped that Harry was Disillusioned.) But someone knew he was there, because a horrible voice, weak but terrifying, said, "The boy is in this room, Quirrell. He is Disillusioned."

Harry crept about stealthily, drawing on his experience stealing food at the Dursley's to be quiet as possible. Quirrell had turned around to face the exit, his wand out, looking around in confusion.

"To your right, fool!" the horrible voice said.

"Incarcerous," Quirrell shouted, Harry ducking the ropes, but making enough sound in the process that Quirrell tried again, and got Harry's left hand, rendering the Disillusionment Charm moot. Trying to run and sever the ropes at the same time earned Harry a cut arm, giving the man another means by which to track him.

"Incarcerous--"

"Protego!" The ropes from Quirrell's wand bounced off his shield charm.

"You are very clever, Harry," the horrible voice said. "But not clever enough! I will subdue you, and you will help me, or you will die!"

"Never!" He shot a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Quirrell, then Expelliarmus, successfully disarming Quirrell, the man's wand flying into Harry's hand.

"ENOUGH!" the horrible voice screeched in anger, and pain flooded through Harry's scar. He downed a pain-relief potion quickly, which helped, and used Incarcerous and a stunner on Quirrell.

"I'm familiar with pain, Voldemort! It's not going to stop me!"

"Pain? I have not caused you any pain yet, boy, but rest assurred, I will."

Somehow, the ropes around Quirrell came undone, and the man stood up and lunged at Harry. Harry ducked, wondering how they knew where he was, but it wasn't enough; he was caught, the wands wrested from his hands, and was soon tied up, the Disillusionment Charm broken, and Quirrell dragged him over to the mirror.

"Tell me what you see!" demanded Quirrell.

Harry looked at the Mirror, against his better judgment. He saw his reflection wink at him and drop the Stone in his pocket. Then he felt the lump of the stone there.

"I refuse to cooperate. I'll die before I let you get the Stone!"

"He knows!" the horrid voice of Voldemort said. "He knows!"

"Give it to me, Potter!"

"Go to Hell!"

"Let me face him."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this."

Quirrell unbound Harry. Without his wand, Harry was helpless. He watched as Quirrell unwrapped his purple turban, exposing a second face jutting out of the back of the man's head. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"You see what I've become? Living off another to survive. Unicorn blood has sustained me, but I need the Stone to rebuild my body. Give it to me, and I will reward you greatly, Harry."

"You killed my parents! You tried to kill me, when I was just a baby. I'll never join you! Go to Hell!"

"GET HIM!"

Quirrell turned around and leapt forward, grabbing Harry. Without a wand, he was terrified about his prospects. Acting on instinct, he grabbed Quirrell's arm, trying to force it away. The skin on Quirrell's arm began to burn and bubble, causing the man pain; he let go of Harry and stared in disbelief and agony at his arms.

"What... what is this magic?"

"FOOL! GET THE STONE!!!"

Goaded on by his master, Quirrell tried again. Harry grabbed the man's face, and the same burning happened there. Quirrell could not touch him without burning. Harry grabbed the man's throat, and the burning spread there as well. Quirrell lay there gagging, dying, and as he did, Voldemort - little more than a ghost - came out of him. This Harry witnessed as the exhaustion took hold and he passed out.

 

He woke up later, a glint of gold over him. Someone had put his glasses on him, so he was able to make out the source of the gold, as the spectacles of Albus Dumbledore.

"Sir! The Stone, it was Quirrell! He might have it!"

"Relax, dear boy. Quirrell does not have the stone. He does not, in fact, even have his life anymore. He died a little bit ago. The Stone is safe."

"But who has it? Where---"

"Hush, please, before Madam Pompfrey kicks me out. The stone has been destroyed."

"Destroyed? But your friend Nicolas---"

"Ah, you know about Nicolas. Good. Harry, he and I discussed things, and we decided it was for the best that the stone was destroyed. Besides which, Nicolas and his wife have been alive so very long that they've grown tired of living. But they have enough elixir to set their affairs in order before they pass on."

"What?"

"Yes, I know. It may seem incredible to one so young, but to those of us who are old, life grows tiresome eventually. Everything is still so very new for you, but after decades of life, things like eating several times a day can get dull."

Harry nodded. He and Dumbledore discussed a lot of other things after that, but Harry's attention got more and more distracted the longer they talked. He was distracted by something. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, and spoke.

"Sir? What about this summer? What are we doing this summer?"

Dumbledore looked suddenly grave. "I'm glad you mentioned that, Harry. I never got a chance, before, to personally apologize to you for how you grew up. I really am very sorry about all that, I thought I had a better estimation of your aunt and uncle's personalities than that. I was absolutely astonished and horrified to hear about what you've gone through."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Anyway, Harry... that issue is a little... complicated. You see, when your mother died, she left you the protection that you used against Quirrell, and that protection was strengthened when I tied it to certain ancient magics. In short, as long as you can call the place where your mother's blood relatives live home - in this case the Dursley's house, since you have no other blood relatives - the protection remains. You have to spend only a few weeks a year there to keep the protection going, but if you don't... then the protection goes away."

"I see."

"That said, it is your choice whether or not to go back. But, because I feel the blood protection is necessary, I can offer you something that will make your stay with the Dursleys bearable. Obviously, they cannot be allowed to mistreat you or neglect you again."

"What is it you're offering?"

"I am offering to cast a number of spells on your family and their house, to ensure they cannot hurt you. One spell can grab them and prevent them from hitting you. Another can tie their tongues if they attempt to emotionally abuse you. And..." Dumbledore smiled. "I pulled a few strings at the ministry to let one of the school's house elves stay with you while you're there." He coughed once, then said in a commanding tone, "Netty."

A tiny, humanoid creature with giant floppy ears and eyes the size of dinnerplates appeared on the bed in front of Harry, making him jump. He'd never seen a house elf before; he tried not to stare, as he didn't want to be impolite.

"Harry, this is Netty the Hogwarts school house elf. She works in the kitchens here. If you accept my offer, she will be a sort of bodyguard for you at the Dursleys, and will ensure you get enough to eat, and that you are treated with civility."

Looking at the creature, who was wearing a tea towel as a toga, he had to suppress a giggle at the thought of how Aunt Petunia would react to this.

"So, what do you think of the offer?"

Harry smiled. "Well... I'd much rather not have to go there, but you're right; that blood protection saved my life, it might do so again. And I really want to see Aunt Petunia's reaction to Netty. I accept your offer."

"Good. Then I will meet you at the train station, and escort you to the Dursley house, where I will inform them of what I will be doing, and introduce Netty to them."

Harry laughed aloud at this. "Thanks."

"But first, formal introductions are in order. Netty, this is Harry Potter. He is the boy we discussed earlier, that you will be helping, if you are amenable to it."

In a squeaky little voice that he knew would grate on Petunia's nerves, Netty said, "Oh my, the famous Harry Potter! Netty is most honored to be helping the one who is defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, she is indeed! Of course Netty will help Harry Potter, Professor Dumbledore sir! And Netty will gladly keeps your secrets and her silence as well, Harry Potter sir!"

"Nice to meet you, Netty," Harry said, holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Oh my! Harry Potter is treating house elves as equals? You is even greater than they is saying, Harry Potter sir!" She shook his hand excitedly.

This summer is going to be fun, Harry thought to himself.

"Well, Harry, I think that's all for now. Anyway, I'm sure you'll want to see your friends. As you can see, they have left you many tokens of their admiration. Netty, you may return to the kitchens for now, or pack any belongings you may require. We shall call you later when we've explained things to his family."

"Righty-o, Professor Dumbledore sir!" Netty said, disappearing with a small pop.

"Wait, sir, before you go, I have one more thing to ask."

"And what would that be, my dear boy?"

"You said rumors are flying about what happened down there. Are you planning on telling the school anything about it?"

"Well, I was planning on a little something, yes. You stopped Voldemort from returning; that's something worthy of recognition."

"Could you... could you not? Or, or downplay it or something? I don't like a fuss being made over me. I don't think I could handle the whole school like, cheering for me or something. The very thought is giving me some anxiety."

"Well I can't guarantee you anything, Harry; I have to put the rumors to bed somehow. And you wouldn't be the sole recipient of acclaim anyway. Six of your friends were involved, too."

"Six? But only five of my friends were down there with me."

"You're forgetting Neville Longbottom."

"Neville? He tried to stop us."

"It took a lot of bravery to stand up to his friends, Harry. He felt you were endangering Griffindor's good standing, it took a lot for him to defy you."

"I... suppose. Well, just..."

"Don't worry, Harry. I think you'll like my speech."

Harry nodded, still thinking. When his friends came into the room after Dumbledore left, he smiled. He smiled even more on noticing that Ron was being almost as friendly with Angela, Antigone, and Danzia as he was with Hermione and himself.

They discussed the events as much as they could before the matron demanded Harry needed more rest. Before they left, he asked Ron to retrieve something for him from his trunk. A few minutes later, Ron returned with the two-way mirror, and Harry began to tell Luna what had happened; she was grateful for this... she'd heard somewhere that Harry was in the hospital wing, but hadn't been able to come out to visit him.

 

Later that evening, Harry got to go to the leaving feast; apparently Dumbledore had requested he be allowed to attend. When they'd all eaten, Dumbledore stood up and got their attention.

"It is now time to announce the winner of the inter-house championship." He read off the points, and it turned out there was a tie between Griffindor and Slytherin. There was a lot of cheering, and also a lot of booing, at this.

"Well done to both Houses, well done. Of course, we must break the tie somehow, mustn't we? Or must we?"

The cheering and booing turned to mutterings, at this point.

Dumbledore sighed. "In my day, the four Houses were friends, and the rivalry was friendly. But ever since Voldemort came to be a student here in Hogwarts - yes, he was a student here once - ever since he came here, the Houses have been more divided than ever. Largely it is Griffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw against Slytherin, but there's not as much inter-House unity among the other three Houses as there should be, either. And so we find this competition has become... not as friendly as it should be."

Harry sat up straighter, wondering where Dumbledore was going with this.

"It is only fitting, therefore, that the boy who somehow survived Voldemort's killing curse should start healing that wound, bridging that divide. For young Harry Potter has, this year, done something that few others outside of Slytherin House have done since Voldemort poisoned this school with his influence: Harry made friends among the Slytherin students."

There was briefly a great uproar over this, before Dumbledore got the room to order with loud crackers from his wand.

"Thank you. Yes, young Harry Potter saw something that few if any of the rest of you seemed to see; that there are those in Slytherin who are good, honest, hard working people. Being in Slytherin does not make you evil, and Harry saw this. It is about time more of you saw this, too.

"I must also address the rumors of what happened between Harry and Professor Quirrell. This, here, is the truth: that the Philosopher's Stone, capable of giving the user immortality, was kept away from the hands of a greatly weakened, barely alive Voldemort, by Harry Potter and five of his friends. Three of whom are Slytherins."

Dumbledore waited a few minutes this time for the uproar to die down before continuing, pausing every now and then for the inevitable cheering."Griffindor student Ron Weasley defeated Professor McGonagall's giant chess set to help Harry beat Quirrell to the Stone. Griffindor Hermione Granger used logic to solve a puzzle toward the same end. Slytherin student Antigone Dreyfuss got them past the Devil's Snare and got help when it was needed, along with Slytherin student Danzia McCullough, and those two girls taught Harry and the others spells that helped them out, and helped Harry evade Quirrell long enough to stay alive.

"Also, Slytherin student Angela Whitechapel got them past the giant cerberus guarding the labyrinth's entrance, with some very nice flute playing.

"But we should also not overlook Neville Longbottom. Not knowing what was going on, and fearing they would get Griffindor into trouble, Neville stood up to his friends... a far greater challenge than standing up to your enemies."

Neville looked stunned. He'd rarely been praised for anything, and now the whole school was cheering him.

"It falls to the headmaster, when there is a tie, to break that tie. But, I have made another decision. I am letting the tie stand; Griffindor and Slytherin will both share in the win, this year, for their show of inter-House unity. And all of the students I have named in this speech will be rewarded with awards for Special Services to the School."

He clapped his hands, and suddenly there appeared hangings of both Griffindor and Slytherin. This was met with... well, there was some cheering, but mostly bewilderment, and talk of how weird Dumbledore was. But most did seem to get the point that he'd been trying to make. How well that point would stick, time would only tell.

 

As they boarded the train the next day for home, Hagrid stopped to give him a present; the photo album he had promised Harry. Harry, tears in his eyes, thanked Hagrid and hugged him before boarding.

Harry and his friends all got a compartment together, and Harry was glad to see that Ron was treating the three Slytherins no differently than he did Harry or Hermione. Closing the door, Harry began to tell them all about Dumbledore's plan for the Dursleys, which had everyone cracking up, stitches in their sides from laughing so hard.

"The best part," Harry said, "is that the Dursleys don't know I'm not allowed to use magic out of school!"

Harry was right, this was going to be a great summer.

 

End of book 1.

 

Note: Because the numbering system got so messed up, I am going to be posting the second book of this series as its own story, so it will have proper numbering. Stay tuned for a link, here, to the second book.
      I actually copied the code straight from the AO3 version, and I forgot about this note when I did. So here on BigCloset, that note does not apply.

 

Note 2: Please leave feedback, I welcome your feedback! :-)

 

“Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book 2”

By = Fayanora

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

Note: Fanfiction. Not making money off this. J. K. Rowling gets all the credit for the Potterverse.

Book Two: Aspie Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Chapter One: My, How The Tables Have Turned

After getting off the school train at Platform 9 3/4^th, he went through the platform with his trunk and saw Dumbledore there. He was looking very odd in a three-piece purple velvet suit, shoes made of what looked like snakeskin but was clearly (to Harry) dragon hide, his beard trimmed so it went no farther than the middle of his silver tie with green stars.

“Nice suit sir,” Harry told him when he got in range.

“Why thank you, Harry. That's nice of you to say. Come, we are going to take a cab to The Leaky Cauldron before we go to your aunt and uncle's house.”

“You trimmed your beard,” Harry noted.

The old man chuckled. “Oh no, my dear boy; I didn't trim it. I...” he looked around carefully for eavesdroppers before continuing in a whisper, “I used magic on it, of course. It will return to normal later.”

“Well that's good. It's a fine, distinguished beard you have, sir.”

Dumbledore chuckled again and called a cab. Two cabs passed them by, their drivers almost crashing from staring at Dumbledore's suit, before one finally stopped. This man's jaw was open most of the time they got situated, and it was only with a mighty effort of will that he closed it again and forced himself to focus on the road as he drove them to their destination.

Once they got into The Leaky Cauldron, Dumbledore sent Harry's trunk ahead to his bedroom, and had Harry take his arm for side-along apparition.

“I warn you, Harry, the first trip usually makes people ill for a time.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Sure enough, when they found themselves in a familiar but unexpected house smelling of cats, Harry bent over sick. Luckily, there was a bucket right there, which he vomited into.

As he wiped the sick from his mouth, he said, “Lucky this bucket was here.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, Harry m'dear,” said a familiar female voice. “Dumbledore told me you were coming, and that it was your first apparition trip.”

Harry looked up, and was astonished to see Mrs. Figg in her slippers, navigating a living room floor full of cats to walk over to him.

“M-Mrs. Figg? You're a witch?”

“Me a witch? Ha! Don't I wish. I couldn't so much as transfigure a teabag, boy. I'm a squib, I am.”

“Oh. I thought squibs only lived in the wizarding world?”

“Oh no, no. Squibs are born to wizarding parents, it doesn't matter which world we live in. I live a little in both worlds, I guess you could say. Here, have some tea, get the nasty taste out of your mouth.”

Harry took it and sipped, recovering fully at last. The tea seemed to work mostly by replacing one disgusting taste with another, but at least this one was more tolerable. “Begging your pardon, both of you, but why are we here? Why didn't we just apparate into... wait, never mind. I answered my own question.” Suddenly appearing in the Dursley's house, with a loud crack? That would have been suicide.

“Yes, quite right, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “It is, of course, rude to apparate right into someone's house. Unless, of course, you call ahead and get permission first.”

“Well that's one reason,” Harry agreed. “I suppose this was only possible because you're a squib, Mrs. Figg? A wizarding household would have wards, I'm guessing.”

Mrs. Figg blinked, impressed. “You always surprise me with your intelligence, young man. Not that... oh dear.” she turned red.

“Oh don't worry about it,” Harry said, knowing what she was saying. “You were raised in a different culture, one with a different definition of racism. It's taken me a bit of getting used to myself.”

After he finished the horrid tea, Harry said his thanks, and he and Dumbledore left to go to the Dursley's. Harry felt very nervous about this, very worried despite everything. After all, he was going back to the house where he'd been abused for 10 years, and the precautions Dumbledore had promised were still abstract to him, Netty the house elf aside.

It was only then that he began to really think about the house elves. They were something he was going to have to do more research about. He wasn't sure what he thought about them, yet, except that he got the feeling they were an entire species of servants. He wondered if they got paid, and if so, how much?

When the door of the Dursley house opened up, Vernon's face went from 'oh it's you is it?' to 'whaaaa?' in two seconds flat, as he stared agog at Dumbledore.

“Greetings, Mr. Dursley. I am Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts. May we come in?”

Vernon said nothing; he didn't look like he could even think at the moment.

“I shall take that as a yes, then. Come, Harry.”

They stepped in, as Vernon gave no resistance.

“Vernon, who is it? Who's at the...” Petunia saw Dumbledore and she, too, imitated a Venus Flytrap with her mouth.

“Greetings, Mrs. Dursley. I am Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Mummy, what's going oaAAAAHHH,” Dudley shouted, running away from Dumbledore so fast he tripped over his own feet, and slammed his bedroom door shut. Dudley must have picked up on Dumbledore's wizardishness even through the weird suit.

“Dudders?” Petunia had been brought out of her fugue by her son's scream. “Dudders? Are you...” Confused, she turned back to Dumbledore, recognizing at last what she'd missed before. “You!” she snapped. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Your husband graciously let us in.”

Petunia looked at Vernon, who was snapping out of his own fugue at last, then turned back to Dumbledore with a look that could have broken glass.

“Anyway, as I said, I am Professor--”

“I heard you the first time,” she rudely interrupted.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled gleefully. “Good,” he said. “I was concerned; you seemed to have lost the ability of independent movement. Glad to hear that I needn't have worried.”

The idea that Dumbledore worried about them made strange, conflicted expressions cross both the Dursley's faces.

“Well, now that I am here, I can do as I told you in my letter I would do, and explain Harry's continuing arrangements. Please, sit down, both of you. Dudley,” he called across the house, “you will need to be here, too.”

Neither of them looked pleased to be ordered around in their own house, but complied all the same. Dudley poked his head out of his bedroom and shouted “NO!”

“Dudders,” Petunia said in a shaky voice. “Best do what he says, popkin.”

Dudley glared at Dumbledore, then slowly made his terrified way over, sitting next to his mother.

“Good,” Dumbledore said, sitting down himself. “Now, when I asked you two to watch over Harry like he was your own son--”

“You mean when you dropped him on our doorstep without so much as a by-your-leave?” Petunia shot back.

“Yes, sorry about that. But time was of the essence. The blood wards that protect Harry from Voldemort and his supporters while he lives here could only be put up within a limited time. And given our...
previous correspondence
Petunia, I naturally assumed the two of you would be fit for the job.”

“We almost didn't take him,” Petunia snapped. “I don't know why I did. Moment of weakness, I guess. Should have dropped him off at an orphanage.”

“Given what Harry has told me about his treatment here, and what Poppy has said about the scars she found in her examinations of him, it may have been better if you had.”

“ARE YOU ACCUSING US OF CHILD AB--”

“YES, Mister Dursley, I am indeed accusing you of child abuse,” Dumbledore snapped, the sparkles in his eyes gone and a tone of cold fury in his words. “And were it not for the blood wards and the threat of Voldemort returning, I would give him over to a kind and loving family like the Weasleys in a heartbeat. In fact, had I known what sort of a life he would have had here, I would never have left him here to begin with.”

He sighed, calming down a little in a way that reeked of sorrow. “But what's done is done. The wards have proven themselves invaluable, having saved Harry's life just a few days ago. Even so, when I offered Harry certain protections from the three of you while he lives here, a part of me hoped he would decline the offer. But rest assured, you will not be abusing or neglecting your nephew ever again. I have authorization from the Ministry of Magic to cast certain--”

“MINISTRY OF MAGIC?” roared Vernon. “Weirdos like you in the govern--”

“QUIET!” Dumbledore said so loudly and angrily that even Harry fell backwards in fright.

“Better,” he continued. “Now, as I was saying, I have been given authorization to cast certain spells on the house that will keep you three from hurting young Harry ever again.” He stood up, waved his wand a few times, and then sat down again.

“There. Let us test it, shall we. Mr. Dursley, if you would attempt to hit your nephew.”

Vernon glared suspiciously at Dumbledore, his desire to hit Harry fighting the knowledge that this was surely a trap. “Why should I? Not saying the little fr—EEK!” Mr. Dursley put his hands to his mouth in a panic, standing up and gesticulating madly. This set off Mrs. Dursley, but when she tried ranting angrily at Dumbledore, she did the same thing as her husband. Dudley took off running back to his room.

Harry laughed, remembering the tongue-tying hex Dumbledore had told him about, knowing this must be the result of the hex. Then he noticed that his uncle had been stopped from throwing things at Dumbledore by another spell, his arms being forced behind his back. Harry snorted with laughter at this, but refrained from more laughter out of habit.

“An excellent test, don't you think, Harry?”

“Quite, Professor.”

They waited while the Dursleys finally realized the futility of fighting, and stopped struggling, sitting down again once the spell eased up on them. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore made Dudley come zooming back into place as well. When the chaos died down again, he spoke.

“Good. Now, prepare yourselves, for I have someone I want you to meet. She will be Harry's bodyguard while he is here, making sure he gets enough to eat, and giving him a person to speak with, who doesn't hate him. Aside from friends he may wish to have over, of course.”

Both Dursleys no doubt wanted to say something, such as 'he has friends?' or 'over my dead body!' but they didn't dare, for fear their tongues would be tied again. So they just blanched, instead.

“I must also warn you not to have muggle visitors over,” he explained to the Dursleys. “For the being of whom I speak is not a human; she is a house elf.”

The Dursleys didn't know what to make of this, and it showed on their faces.

“You should call her, Harry, as she is your tertiary guardian now.”

“Um, okay Professor. Uh... Netty!”

A small pop and then screaming from the Dursleys announced the arrival of the short, green-skinned female elf with her large, batlike ears and large protruberant eyes; eyes that Harry finally noticed were bright, sky blue.

Luckily, the spells soon had the Dursleys down for the count and quiet. Netty was glaring at them and clucking her tongue disapprovingly momentarily, before turning to Harry. “Hello again, Harry Potter sir,” she said, bowing.

“There's no need for that, Netty,” Harry said uncomfortably.

She stood back up, looking uncertain. “Sorry, Harry Potter sir. Netty is not familiar with your ways, yet. Netty is doing better next time, sir.”

“Netty, relax. You're doing fine,” Harry said. “I know we barely know each other, but please, try to think of me as a friend. We're just friends, and you're just here helping out a friend.”

Netty raised an eyebrow. “Um... okay, Harry Potter sir.”

“And please, you can just call me Harry.”

The house elf's face contorted in confusion so badly that Harry was concerned briefly, before she said, “Begging your pardon, Harry Potter sir, but Netty is not feeling comfortable with that order. It is contradicting Netty's training.”

“It wasn't an order. Nothing I tell you is an order unless I specifically say it is, okay Netty?”

She relaxed at that. “Thank you, Harry Potter sir.”

“If you need to be more formal, then you can just shorten it to 'sir.' You don't have to say my name every time.”

Netty bowed again, stopping halfway as she remembered he didn't want that, and stood back up. “Understood, sir.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said with amusement. “Netty here is charged with keeping watch over young Harry here. She'll make sure you're feeding him enough and treating him, at the very least, with civility. She will not go anywhere she can be seen by your neighbors or any other muggles. But I warn you, she does have magic that she can employ if she needs it to do her job as I have defined it. So if you don't want to see any magic in the house, I suggest you do your duty as guardians.”

They made no response but to nod mutely, like their spirits had been broken.

“Good. Now, I must be off. Harry, Netty, I shall see you in September.”

“Fare well, Professor Dumbledore sir!”

“Bye, Professor!”

He twirled on the spot, and disappeared with a tiny, barely audible pop. Once he left, Netty looked around the house, inspecting it. Harry, not knowing what else to do, followed her.

“Netty is afraid she is going to get bored here, sir. This house is almost
too
clean. Is your family doing all this without magic, sir?”

“Yeah, my aunt is a bit of a neat freak. Cleans all the time, sometimes even if I'd already cleaned it. And sometimes... but never mind.”

“Well, this is going to be... ah, this is being much better,” Netty said, upon opening the door to his room. “Netty is having something to clean! Er... if it is being fine with you, sir?”

“Of course. Just make sure not to throw any papers out without consulting me first, unless I've already chucked it in the bin. And make sure I can find my stuff.”

He went over to his trunk and rifled through it for a book to read. It was late, and he'd had a long day. But then he set the book aside, and took out his two-way mirror instead. He spent the next hour or two telling Luna about the day, while Netty cleaned Hedwig's cage, got Hedwig some food, and did his laundry for him. Before that, though, she brought him sandwiches and some tomato soup and insisted he eat, for which he was grateful, and thanked her. She grinned and bowed just her head, then continued with the rest of her work.

Life at Privet Drive now was... interesting. He no longer had to worry about being hit, or yelled at. In fact, the Dursleys hardly said two words to him all week. Nor did they look directly at him, as though afraid they'd lose their self control if they did. But this was far from a problem for Harry, especially now that he had Netty to talk with.

The second week back, Harry invited Luna over to the house, just to meet there before going to the local library together. Netty didn't like them going off out of her sight, but he convinced her that he'd never run into trouble in Little Whinging before, so she didn't press the issue.

“You must be Netty,” Luna said when they first met. She held out a hand to the little elf. “I am most pleased to meet you, Netty. My name is Luna Lovegood.”

Netty took Luna's hand, grinning. “Netty is liking you, Luna Lovegood ma’am.”

“And I like you, too, Netty. Ready, Harry?”

Harry put his wand in his pocket just in case, and followed her out the door. “We'll be back by suppertime, Netty.”

“What? Is you not coming for lunch?”

“I've got money, we'll get something out. Don't worry about it, Netty.”

“Okay, if you is saying so.”

Harry rushed out the door, walking arm in arm with Luna. They talked about interesting things they'd read for a few minutes. It was only when they were well away from number 4 that Luna changed the subject.

“By the way, Harry, Ron wanted me to tell you he's still waiting for a reply to his last letter. I told him it's only been a week, but you know Ron.”

“What letter? I haven't received any letters from anyone yet.”

“Really? Well, we'll have to talk with Hedwig about it when we get back.”

“Are you sure he didn't use Errol? If he did, the poor bird probably passed out halfway here and is resting on a tree or something. That's assuming he's not an ex-owl.”

“If he's not an owl, what else would he be?” she asked curiously.

“Never mind, it was an obscure reference.”

When they got back from the library, they did indeed check with Hedwig. It was hard, but Luna thought Hedwig's exasperated and annoyed looks meant she'd been mysteriously losing his mail, and was really peeved about it. But with no better form of communication with her, they had no idea what was going on.

“I suppose I could ask Netty to look into it,” he said.

“Ah, good thinking, Harry.”

“Netty?”

Netty popped into place in front of him. “Yes, sir? You is wanting me for something?”

“We think someone's been intercepting my mail. Ron sent a letter that I should have received by now, and Hedwig informs us the mail has been vanishing en route. Is it possible you could investigate this for me, whenever you have spare time?”

She bowed her head a little, and said, “Yes, sir! Netty is looking into it right now!” Then she disapparated.

Over the next week, the mail kept getting intercepted, and Netty kept popping away to look into the matter. Harry had to resort to using Luna to relay messages to Ron. He had no idea about Hermione; did she have an owl? No, he remembered she didn't. But she hadn't phoned, either, and she had his number. He also hadn't heard anything from his three Slytherin friends or Hagrid, either.

Finally, halfway into the third week, Netty popped into place in front of Harry's bed, wrestling another house elf. This one was little like Netty. His eyes were green and shaped like tennis balls, and he was filthy, wearing a pillowcase that looked like it hadn't been washed in decades.

Netty is bringing you the culprit, sir!” she announced as she wrestled a stack of letters from Dobby and tossed them at Harry, who caught them and set them aside.

Harry got up and leaned over to look at the other house elf. When the elf saw him, he relaxed, and bowed his head at Harry. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir! The famous Harry Potter, who defeated the Dark Lord. Dobby--”

“Why did you steal my mail?” Harry asked, a lot more calmly than he felt.

“Oh sir, Dobby is terribly sorry. Dobby is come with a warning, sir. Dobby is overhearing something most dire, plans to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. And Dobby must keeps Harry Potter safe, for he is too precious--”

“That doesn't explain why you stole my mail.”

“Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts! It is very dangerous for him now. Dobby is thinking, if Harry Potter is not hearing back from his friends, that he may not want to go back.”

Harry actually laughed at this. “Oh my goodness... Dobby, if you knew what it was like here before I got Netty here to help me, you would understand. I hate it here! I'm only here to fulfill my part of a spell that protects me from Vold--”

Dobby and Netty both gasped.

“--emort,” Harry continued, “and his followers. Hogwarts is my home. Dangerous or not, I
am
going back. By the way, what
is
supposed to happen at Hogwarts? What's the danger?”

Dobby gritted his teeth. Still being held down by Netty, Dobby banged his head against the floor.

“What are you doing?” Harry shouted, horrified. “Stop it! Stop hurting yourself!”

To Harry's surprise (but not Netty's), Dobby stopped at once. “Sorry, Harry Potter sir. But Dobby is almost saying something he ought not, and had to punish himself.”

“Well I forbid you to punish yourself, Dobby.”

“Thank you, Harry Potter sir. You truly are greater than Dobby has heard.”

“Is there anything at all you can tell me about the danger?”

“Only that dark things are being plotted, sir.”

“Does this have anything to do with Vold-- sorry, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Harry asked, a tone of sarcasm in his voice.

Dobby looked strangely at Harry. “Not... not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, no.”

Something in the elf's behavior seemed to be trying to give him a clue. “Does he have a brother?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir.”

“Well if not him, I don't know who else could do horrible things at Hogwarts.”

Dobby was still behaving strangely. But whatever clue he was trying to indicate, Harry couldn't figure it out. He walked away to think a little, barely noticing Dobby and Netty discussing him; Netty told Dobby how Harry treated house elves with respect like equals, how polite and kind he was, and when Dobby asked about the rumors that Harry had faced Voldemort at the end of his first school year, Netty looked to Harry as if to ask him the same question.

“Yes, I did meet You-Know-Who a few weeks ago at the end of school.” At which Dobby began to wax poetic about how brave and bold Harry was. It was distracting him from thinking, though.

“Dobby, I don't care how dangerous it is, Hogwarts is my home. My true home.”

“Begging your pardon, sir?” said Netty. “But what is we to do with him?”

“Dobby, you work for someone else, right?”

“Yes. Dobby has a family, sir.”

“Then why do you look so filthy?”

“It is... it is how the family is wanting Dobby to be, Harry Potter sir.”

Harry examined the small elf. “Are those... are those bandages on your hands?”

Dobby sniffed. “Y-yes, sir. Dobby is not allowed to be out here, to be warning you. The only way Dobby is able to do it, is he had to iron his hands.”

Tears welled in Harry's eyes, and he knelt on the ground by the small elf, putting a comforting hand on Dobby's shoulder. “I'm sorry to hear that. I guess you and I have something in common.”

“W-what? What is you meaning, Harry Potter?”

“Before Netty came into my life, and the spells Dumbledore put on this house to make them behave, I... well, I spent 10 years of my childhood a slave in this house, beaten and abused, underfed and...” Harry shuddered, and was unable to continue. He had to take a few minutes to calm himself down from saying that much. He hadn't noticed before how bad these slips of his made him feel, but here with Dobby, he finally noticed. It was hard, talking about these things.

“Dobby is sorry to hear that, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is having no idea. Still, you is doing better now. And you is alive. You
must not go
to Hogwarts
.”

“You're not stopping me.”

Dobby surprised Netty and broke out of her grasp, running off to another part of the house. They ran after him, and found him in the kitchen hovering a crock pot in the air.

“Don't you dare, Dobby.”

“Sorry, sir, but I must.”

“Netty will catch it, Harry Potter sir!” she leapt up and it began to fall. She snapped her fingers and it slowed to a stop. But Dobby had vanished with a loud crack.

As she put the crock pot back, Harry looked bewildered. “What did he do that for? Why not just disapparate the moment he got free of you?”

“WHAT THE BLAZES WAS THAT?”

They turned, and saw Vernon Dursley standing in the door.

“Honestly, boy... one of those...
things
is bad enough, without two of the little ACK!” He growled and went to the living room to wait for his tongue to untie.

Harry and Netty shrugged. Harry resolved to ask Dobby what he'd been attempting to do if he ever saw the elf again, and went about his business.

Later that day, Netty was getting dinner ready when Harry came in. Noticing she was carrying a very large dish that obscured her vision, Harry said, “Here, Netty, let me help you with that.” He took it from her and set it on the table.

She sighed with relief as he followed her into the kitchen. “You is ever so polite and kind, Harry Potter sir. Netty is not knowing where you is getting it from,” she said, glaring behind her at the Dursleys. “But it is surely not coming from
them
.”

“Actually, it
is
from them, in a way,” he whispered. “I was their servant for 10 years. More like their slave, really. Being polite was expected of me.”

“Oh, Harry Potter sir, Netty is wishing she is knowing back then and is being able to help, she is. Being a servant is no place for a wizard, sir.”

This made him think about Dobby's words. “Netty, are house elves paid for their work?”

She shook her head very violently. “Oh no, Harry Potter sir. House elves is not paid, sir.”

“So you're slaves, then?”

“Well... some muggle-born wizards is thinking so, Harry Potter sir, but, well... I is not really supposed to say this, sir, but we house elves have long memories, we do. We is passing knowledge from one generation to the next, through the centuries, as well as training our children to work. One story tells of how house elves is once free, long ago.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she said, shuddering. “Freedom is being scary and dangerous for house elves, though. We is being even shorter when we is living free back then, and there is many things in the world that would eat house elves.”

“But you can do magic. Didn't that help?”

“We... we is having magic back then, yes... but that magic is being very weak, sir. The Story is telling how we is seeing wizards with many animals in their warm houses, protected from dangers by magic, and we Bargained with them one day. Wizards is getting loyal servants, and house elves is getting strong magic, protection, and food in exchange.”

“I see. So it's supposed to be a symbiosis—a mutually beneficial relationship?”

“Yes, Harry Potter sir. But, well... some wizards is forgetting that. Some wizards is taking us for granted, sir. They is knowing we dare not disobey.”

“And thus, poor souls like Dobby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So what do you want, if not freedom?”

“We is wanting kindness, compassion, good treatment, loyalty, appreciation for our own loyalty, and praise for our good work, sir.”

“Well I just want to tell you, in case I forget, that I do appreciate your work, and your loyalty.”

“Thank you, sir. Netty appreciates it.”

“Do you get treated well in Hogwarts?”

“Oh yes. Hogwarts house elves is very happy.”

“How many of you are there, in Hogwarts?”

“Well over one hundred, sir. Netty is not sure the exact number.”

He nodded. It was good to know, and made him feel a little better. They were sentient beings, and could talk, but their relationship with wizards was of a nature similar to that between dogs and humans. Still, he felt bad for Dobby; poor, mistreated Dobby.

“Dobby would probably take freedom, even if it meant his magic got weak,” Harry said.

“If Dobby were freed, sir, Dobby's magic would not get weak. He is only one house elf. As long as most house elves is working, sir, the magic remains. All of us would have to be freed for our magic to weaken, sir, and Netty is hoping that never happens.”

“Well if it means that much to your people, I have the same hope. I just wish there were something I could do for Dobby.”

“Netty too, sir; Netty too.”

[End of chapter 1]

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is a young and abused Black boy with Asperger's syndrome, and is hated by his guardians, the Dursleys. A little over a week before his birthday, he discovers that he is also a wizard, and the Dursleys knew all along. Not only is he a wizard, but he's also famous in the wizarding world! An AU fanfic.

Note: Fanfiction. Not making money off this. J. K. Rowling gets all the credit for the Potterverse.

Note 2: Italics means a private thought but "italics in quotes is parseltongue." Unless it's an incantation or emphasis.

The next day, Harry tested a theory, by sending a letter to Ron with Hedwig. If that didn't work, he would have to rely on Luna to get messages to Ron, and maybe she and Ron could owl the others. He hoped, though, that seeing Harry's resolution, Dobby would give up on trying to waylay his mail. He was relieved, and surprised, when a letter arrived for him late in the evening.

“Netty sees you has got a letter, sir. Dobby is hopefully gone home then.”

“I hope so too, Netty.”

He read the letter, which was apparently Ron trying to sum up the letters he'd tried sending before. Luckily, Harry would be going to the Weasley's again soon. But knowing that this letter got through, he wrote letters to Hermione, Danzia, Antigone, and Angela, updating them on everything. Then for good measure, he sent one to Hagrid as well. He had a hard time figuring out how to get all the letters on Hedwig's legs, and couldn't. But then he looked at Netty folding the last of his laundry, and had an idea.

“Hey Netty, do you think you could pop over to Hogwarts and borrow four school owls and bring them to me? I've got too much here for Hedwig to get alone.”

Netty jumped with joy at this and said, “Oh yes, sir! Netty is glad to be doing that for you. It is very interesting indeed.”

“Oh, and if you could deliver this one to Hagrid before you go to the owlery, that would save a sixth owl trip.”

Netty took Hagrid's letter and saluted. “Netty is being back soon, sir!” And with a crack, she vanished.

While he waited for her to get back, he tied his letter to Antigone to Hedwig's leg and told her who to send the letter to. She blinked her understanding and took off out the window.

Ten minutes later, another crack announced Netty's return. She looked very peculiar with an owl in each hand, one on her head, and another on one foot. He quickly relieved her of the feathery burdens, setting them on the bed.

“Thank you, Netty. You're awesome.”

“You is most welcome, sir. Netty has this for you too, sir.”

She pulled a letter from Hagrid out of her tea towel toga, which he took. Reading it, he saw it basically said that Hagrid was glad to know what was going on; he'd been worried Harry was snubbing him.

Soon, the four owls were flying away from the house, and Harry sat down to read a book he'd owl-ordered a week ago. An example of wizarding fiction, it was quite an interesting read. (Why Dobby had let that through, he didn't know, but that was a mystery for another day.) But this time, something in the book made him pause. It was a reference to a wand holster. Naturally, this made him think. Given all the things wands could do, and given that accidental magic was still possible with wands (especially if you moved the wand wrong or said the wrong incantation), it was remarkable that they weren't required safety equipment.

He couldn't let the idea go; he put the book down, and wrote a letter to Dumbledore. Since Hedwig had done so much lately already, especially with Dobby messing about, he decided to send it later. However, when Netty saw who he was writing to, she offered to take it to him. Shrugging internally, he let her do it, once it was finished.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I was reading a book just now that referenced wand holsters, and I realized that wands are very dangerous, and should probably have holsters. I don't yet know where I can buy one, but I intend to get one for myself, and I thought perhaps I'd bring it up with you as a school safety issue.

Since Netty has volunteered to take this letter to you, I'll save myself some more writing by having her explain what has happened with another house elf named Dobby here recently. Thank you for your time, sir.

Hoping you are well,
Harry J. Potter

It was a bit sparse of a letter, but he was tired of writing today, so he left it at that. He folded the letter and handed it to Netty, who vanished off to Hogwarts again to deliver the letter.

*

Albus Dumbledore was upset. It had been a whole year since he'd found out he was wrong about the Dursleys, but he had recently been to see them himself, which had finally made the situation real in a way it hadn't before. Seeing their behavior, in combination with the images in their minds he'd gotten from his legilimency, he felt very upset with them and with himself for so misjudging them. He prided himself on being a good judge of character, and he had failed. Granted, he'd never actually met Petunia or her husband in person before that day, merely corresponded with Petunia when she was a child. People change a lot when they grow up, he knew that better than most.

Of course, he was more upset with himself for trusting someone so precious to somebody he'd never actually met before. What had he been thinking? Had he been so impressed with his own cleverness at knowing how to strengthen the protection Harry's mother had given the young man, that he'd not even stopped to consider the foolishness of putting a child with someone he only knew from one letter when she was a child?

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. Yes, that had to be it, he thought. It was a known failing of his, that he sometimes got so caught up in his own cleverness, so excited that he could do a thing, without really stopping to consider if he should do it. But never before had this known failing resulted in something this bad. A child had been abused, and neglected. And considering how important this child was, and how important it was that Harry be whole and loving and good, it was a lucky thing indeed that he'd turned out as well as he had, under those circumstances. Sure, he had issues with headaches among other things, and some of that was due to his having what the Muggles called Asperger's syndrome – he'd seen that information in Harry's eyes, and his own research seemed to indicate it was accurate – but how much of that was nature, and how much was nurture (or lack thereof)? He didn't know.

Then Netty came with a letter from Harry, which he read. Then she told the story of Dobby and what he had been doing, and as much about the why of it as Dobby could say. This worried Dumbledore even more; what danger was coming to Hogwarts? There had already been danger last school year. Danger that had resulted in the passing of an old friend of his. Dumbledore sent Netty back, and continued to brood. When Dumbledore had told Nicolas that Voldemort had almost gotten the Stone, Nicolas had been so horrified, he'd insisted the Stone be destroyed. Albus had tried to dissuade his friend, tried to come up with alternatives for protecting it, but it had been to no avail. Nicolas and Perenell were adamant about it; they did not want someone as evil as Voldemort becoming immortal and unbelievably wealthy, and they were prepared to die for their convictions.

He cursed himself. What had he been thinking, bringing something like the Stone into a school? And bringing in a dangerous Cerberus and a troll to help guard it, no less! It seemed like madness, now. He could not figure out what he'd been thinking at the time.

Albus read over the letter again. Harry was more concerned with safety at almost 12 than he, the bloody headmaster, had been lately. And how? He'd been through a war, for Merlin's sake! He should be more concerned about safety than most.

“Fawkes, please tell Professor McGonagall to come to my office.”

The phoenix nodded, then vanished in a puff of flame, returning a few minutes later. Dumbledore waited patiently until there was a knock on his door.

“Come in, Minerva.”

The door opened, and sure enough, it was his deputy.

“What is so urgent, Headmaster?”

“Sit, please.”

She sat, looking expectant. He, however, stood and paced, arms behind his back.

“When you told me last year about Harry's situation, Minerva, I was shocked and upset. But it did not really become real to me until I saw things for myself recently. It has made me think. I was not sure what to do about these thoughts, however; not until I received this letter from young Mr. Potter.”

He handed the stern woman Harry's letter for her to read. She read over it carefully. When she opened her mouth to talk about the second part of the letter, he headed her off by telling her what Netty had told him.

“But that is not why I called you. Dobby's warning is cryptic and will need more time to work out. But I do believe young Harry is right, about wand holsters. I believe we should add them to the list of requirements for all students.”

“Yes, I see your point, Dumbledore, but have you seen Gilderoy's book list? The Weasleys and who knows who else are going to have a hard enough time paying for all that without wand holsters for,” she paused, thinking, “five children. And you know them, they don't take charity. They won't even take help from the Fund,” she said, referring to the fund that paid for materials and books for poor students.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Good point. Tell Gilderoy he is allowed no more than two required books on the syllabus. If the others are so important, he can use gemino to make copies of his own editions. Tell him he is to submit his revised list by no later than 4 o'clock tomorrow afternoon. And add wand holsters to the list of required equipment, please.”

She nodded. “I'll do that, Headmaster.”

He nodded at her in the way they both knew meant she was dismissed. But before she left, he said, “And if you can let the others know I shall be attending tomorrow's staff meeting, I would much appreciate it, Minerva.”

“Of course, Headmaster,” she said before leaving.

With her gone, he sat down again, lost in thought once more.

*

A couple days after Netty delivered the letter to Dumbledore, the man himself finally sent him a letter back.

Dear Harry,

This letter is to let you know that I will be coming to pick you up from the Dursleys at 5 o'clock tomorrow. Please have your things ready to go before then, and please warn your aunt and uncle of my arrival.

Yours sincerely,
Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore

P. S. = I received your letter, and we shall discuss it in person once we have arrived at the Burrow, as I feel a letter would be too impersonal.

Throwing the letter aside, he rushed to get his things together, but Netty couldn't stand him just tossing stuff in the trunk, and dug it out to organize it for him. He rolled his eyes and let her carry on. Instead, he focused on getting all his stuff onto the bed and letting her do it.

While she did that, Harry went downstairs and coughed to get his aunt and uncle's attention.

“What is it now, boy?” Vernon asked irritably.

“Professor Dumbledore is coming to pick me up tomorrow. He'll be taking me to a friend's house for the rest of the summer.”

“Good. What time is this... man... coming to get you?”

“Five PM, the letter says.”

“Well you let him know he'll be getting you and leaving, there'll be no mucking about, understand?”

“I understand. I'll tell him.”

Luckily, Hedwig had been back for over a day, having brought a letter from Antigone with her. He went back up to his room and wrote a quick reply.

“Got a letter for you, Hedwig. It's for Professor Dumbledore,” he said as he tied it to her leg. “Go on to Ron's place when you're done, I'll be there tomorrow in the afternoon. Ron can take care of you until then.” She blinked her understanding and flew out the window with it.

~
The next day, he spent switching between pacing his room and attempting to read, until he finally took his trunk down to wait for Dumbledore. His aunt and uncle were dressed in their best clothes, hoping to be a little intimidating.

At five o'clock exactly, the doorbell rang. Harry ran to get it. Dumbledore was wearing a completely different suit, one which was yellow with blue stars and looked like it was made of silk. He also wore a bright purple stetson.

It went surprisingly smoothly, considering his aunt and uncle could only stand there grimacing or biting their tongues. They weren't sure the enchantments prevented them from speaking their mind about Dumbledore in front of Harry, and they weren't about to test it. So Dumbledore came in, helped Harry with his trunk, and they left for Mrs. Figg's place to disapparate.

After getting to the Burrow but before anyone had noticed them, Dumbledore said to Harry, "The letter we shall discuss in front of the others. First, though... I think I know what Dobby was trying to do by dropping the crock pot."

"Oh? What's that, Professor?"

"I believe Dobby did not realize that Netty being there meant I had gotten number 4 added to the list of wizarding households, as part of the strings I pulled to make your circumstances there more bearable. Which means that Dobby was laboring under the misconception that doing magic in your aunt and uncle's house would get you in trouble with the Ministry."

"I don't quite understand, Professor."

"Well, the Trace can only detect magic done in the home or basic area of an underage witch or wizard, and cannot detect exactly who did the magic. So had your relatives' house still been listed as a Muggle household, Dobby's actions would have gotten you in trouble for using magic out of school."

"Do you mean, sir, that kids in wizarding households can do magic all they want and the Ministry would never know?"

"That is correct in essentials, yes. The Ministry relies on wizarding parents keeping their children in check."

"I suppose that makes sense, given the Statute of Secrecy. Still seems a little unfair to me, though. Without Netty there, there would have been no witnesses to what would have been a very odd situation of a house elf in a Muggle house."

"Yes. Luckily for you, Dobby's plan did not work. I believe Netty was a surprise to him."

They were approaching the house now, and Molly Weasley came running up to meet them. Harry prepared himself mentally for her to make some comment about how underfed he was, but she didn't this time. He wondered if that meant Netty's meals had helped him fill out a bit. Then too, their first week there, Netty had bemoaned the state of his hand-me-downs from Dudley, and with his permission, she had shrunk them so they fit him properly; so that may have helped his appearance, too.

When he got inside, he was only mildly surprised to see Luna calmly sitting at the table nursing a cup of tea. Hearing him come in, she stood up and held her arms open. Ginny, who had been at the table too, got up and left as Harry and Luna embraced.

"Harry!" Luna said. "It's been much too long since I've gotten to touch you. Touching someone you care about is the only way to keep away Voojles, you know."

"Voojles?" he asked curiously.

"Yes. They're related to Dementors, but they're tiny and invisible. They make you sad but they're not very dangerous."

"Well I'd be glad to help you ward off Voojles," he said, holding her hands.

Fred and George came in and wolf-whistled. Luna didn't react; Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Fred! George! That's enough of your teasing, both of you. Why don't you go outside, unless you'd rather I give you work to do?"

"Sorry Mum," they said in twin-stereo. "We'll be good," they said, slipping outside.

"Hmph," Mrs. Weasley said good-naturedly. "That'll be the day. Hello, Harry my dear, would you like some tea?"

"Yes please, Mrs. Weasley."

"Such a polite young man, you are. I know some people who could do with taking lessons from you."

As Molly bustled around the kitchen preparing Harry's tea, he and Luna got to talking. It was only after several minutes of this that they noticed Dumbledore had come in and was sitting down.

"Dumbledore!" Molly said, astounded. "Would you like some tea as well?"

"No thank you, Molly. My bladder would protest if I had anything else to drink right now. Anyway, Harry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I mentioned in my letter that I would discuss your recommendation with you here. If you're amenable to it, I should like to get that out of the way now so you can get on with spending time with the lovely Ms. Lovegood, even though the others are not present."

Harry blushed, his brown cheeks darkening from it, but he nodded.

"Well I thought it was an excellent suggestion, the wand holsters; Alastor, I know, would approve."

"Alastor?"

"Alastor Moody, an old colleague of mine, an Auror. Dark wizard catcher," he said when Harry looked confused. "Yes, he's always bemoaning the lack of wand safety. Which reminds me, I should inform him of this change, he'll be interested to know."

"Okay," Harry said, curious why Dumbledore hadn't said this in a letter.

"Dumbledore," Molly said, "did I hear you say something about wand holsters?"

"Yes, Molly. Wand holsters, thanks to Harry's suggestion, are now required equipment for all students."

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Excellent! I used to use one, but lately I've been using my wand so much I'm afraid I've lost track of it. Oh, let's see," she said, absent-mindedly setting down Harry's tea and wandering off talking to herself, "five wand holsters to buy now, and who knows what the book lists even look like yet..."

"Anyway, Harry, there is more I wish to discuss."

"Okay, sir."

"It seems you and your friends made some other suggestions, which came up in a staff meeting. Suggestions I very much agreed with. Thanks to you, Harry, there is now a Wizard Studies class for Muggleborn students."

"Wow, cool. Can I sign up?"

"Yes, I thought you might like to, given that while you're technically halfblood, you were raised by Muggles. Professor McGonagall assumed you would want to join."

"Who's teaching it, sir?"

"Why, I am, Harry."

Harry's and Luna's eyes both went wide. "You'll be teaching classes, Professor?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Why yes, Harry, I will. After all, I used to teach Transfiguration. But since that position is taken, and I have the necessary skills, I decided to take up the post."

"Well that sure will be different. I look forward to your classes, sir."

"Thank you for your kind words, Harry. Or, as I shall have to get used to saying again, Mr. Potter. And Ms. Lovegood," he said, nodding at her.

"Why thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled. "Now let's see... ah yes, and one other thing. Your Muggle Academia Club is also being given official club status, and as such, you will be allowed to put up signs about it on all the House notice boards."

"Cool, thanks! Sir."

"You are again welcome. Oh, and that reminds me, Muggle Studies will also be a required course for all wizard-raised students below NEWT level. We decided the NEWT students had quite enough to be going on with as it is."

Harry beamed. "Wow! Makes me almost wish I could go, if only to see Draco Malfoy's reactions."

The three of them laughed about that.

"So who's teaching Muggle Studies?"

"A kind and gentle soul named Charity Burbage; she has been our Muggle Studies teacher ever since Professor Quirrell switched to Defense Against The Dark Arts."

"That evil git, teaching Muggle Studies?"

"Yes, in hindsight maybe not the best choice, but he showed no signs of being evil until long after he returned from a sabbatical to study his new subject in person the summer before he taught.

"Anyway, Harry, I believe that is all. Feel free to tell the others these things, even though they will find out soon enough. I must be getting back to Hogwarts. I shall see you again in September, the both of you." He winked at them and left the room, saying goodbye to Mrs. Weasley before he left.

~

Harry had a good time at the Weasley's the rest of that summer. True, his news of a new required course that most of the Weasleys would have to take and he didn't caused a mixed response. Mr. Weasley, of course, was fascinated. It turned out Muggle Studies hadn't been offered in Hogwarts at all back in his day, or he would have been among those taking it. He was looking forward to learning second-hand from his children.

What caused a bit more controversy even than that, was Harry inviting his three Slytherin friends over to his birthday party. He had at least asked the Weasley's permission first, but it was only when he asked that he remembered that he'd never sent any letters to the Weasley's parents; it had never occurred to him to do so. And Ron had apparently forgotten to mention the three Slytherins, too. In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley decided to trust his judgment, but they were disappointingly wary of the three girls during the party, even after he'd explained their role in the adventures his previous year.

"Don't worry, Harry," Antigone had told him at one point. "We're used to it by now. And honestly, I'm kind of surprised they're taking it even this well. Our two Houses have been at odds... well, ever since Moldywart came to power. Maybe even before then."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it. There are bad people in every House, and good people too."

"Yeah, well... something else to work on, eh?"

He nodded his agreement, and continued eating his cake, trying to ignore the fact that either Mr. or Mrs. Weasley were always somewhere they could keep an eye out on the three Slytherins.

Of course, it didn't help that Danzia had brought a python to the party, wanting to see Harry's parseltongue firsthand. Not wanting to make Mrs. Weasley any more uncomfortable by revealing this gift of his to her or Mr. Weasley, he and the others - even Ron and Hermione, and even Ginny - snuck off to where they normally played Quidditch to watch.

"Her name's Circe," Danzia explained. "Go on, say something to her."

"Uh," he said, looking at the drowsy snake. "Hello. How are you?"

The snake looked up at him, as though astonished. "You speak our language?" it asked.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know how, I just do. So... how are you?"

The snake cocked its head. "Well, I suppose I'm fine. My human keeps me warm and fed. I guess my only complaint is that dark green room she takes me out in, in that one place. It's a bit creepy, and chilly."

"What'd she say?" Danzia asked impatiently.

"She's fine, mostly. Doesn't like the dark green room you take her out in."

"Dark green room?" Danzia said, thinking.

"The creepy, chilly one."

"Oh! The Slytherin common room! We have a view of the underside of the lake, the light coming through is dark green."

"Do you mean the room with the view from beneath water?"

The snake nodded. "Yes, that's the one."

"Looks like you're right. She agreed there's a watery view."

"Wow, this is so cool. I wish I could do that, too."

Harry continued practising parseltongue with Circe for another hour, before the snake grew tired. But it was long enough for Harry to begin recognizing when he was speaking parseltongue and when he wasn't. He'd even managed to look right at the snake and speak English at it. Of course, Ron was uncomfortable the whole time; he didn't like being reminded that his best friend had what was considered a dark gift.

~

Despite some friction, though, Harry enjoyed his stay, and was sad when it was drawing to an end. Also excited to be returning to Hogwarts, though, too. The Weasleys, Harry, Hagrid, Luna and her father, and Hermione all met up in Diagon Alley in the last fortnight of August to go school shopping.

Mr. Lovegood was... interesting. Strange like Luna, but more vivacious, unlike his daughter's calm and centered vibe. But his energy seemed to bring the same energy out in Luna, which Harry enjoyed seeing; for even then, something about her made her easy to be around.

The trip first took them to Ollivander's, where Luna got her first wand; everyone else was there, too, getting wand holsters. From there they went to get other equipment, potions supplies, and finally ended up in the bookstore, which was absolutely packed with people, because someone named Gilderoy Lockhart was signing books. Harry couldn't go in there, the noise was too much. He gave some gold to Luna, who had volunteered to get his books for him, and waited outside with Xenophilius, Luna's father, listening to him talk about crumple-horned snorcacks.

When Harry saw Draco Malfoy and his father go into the store, apparently having not noticed him, Harry got a vibe of potential trouble, and went inside, braving the noise. Mr. Lovegood followed him in, and so they both witnessed the elder Malfoy perusing one of Ginny's books just before the fight that broke out between him and Mr. Weasley, until Hagrid appeared and pulled them apart.

"Ere now, ere now," Hagrid said disapprovingly. "Yeh're both grown men! Why can't yeh be more like yer sons, eh? Harry and Draco ent too keen on each other, but at leas they're polite an civil ter one another!"

Harry glanced at Draco, who did indeed look embarrassed by his father's actions, and was glancing at Harry as if to gauge his reactions.

The two men gave pseudo-apologies and went their separate ways, just in time for--

"Did someone say Harry Potter?" A blond, handsome man with a face more gleaming teeth than skin came over. "It IS! It IS Harry Potter! Hey you, over here, let's get us both in the picture."

His eyes wide with horror, Harry tried to run for it, but the strange man grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a photo. The bright lights added to Harry's already growing sensory distress, and he felt a headache coming on. By habit, he tried to grab a headache cure potion, but the man's grip on him didn't let him. So the pain just grew as the man talked. Harry could scarcely make out what he was even saying, something about he was going to be teaching at Hogwarts? That thought made him even sicker.

And so it was that in front of dozens, maybe scores of witnesses, Harry puked all over the front of Gilderoy Lockhart's robes, due to his position at the time.

"Uh-oh!" Lockhart exclaimed. "Poor boy is just so excited to see me he tossed his cookies, poor lad. But no worries, my boy. Evanesco!" he said, causing both the sick and part of his robes to vanish. Seeing this, Harry ran the other way to get away and out the door. Those of his friends who could, followed him.

"Harry?" Luna asked. "Here, drink this, if you think you can keep it down," she said, handing him a bottle of headache cure potion. He took it with shaky hands and nodded, unwilling to risk opening his mouth just yet.

Ron glared toward the bookstore. "Malfoy - the one still in school I mean - was laughing fit to burst. Strange thing, though, I don't think he was laughing at you, not exactly anyway. I heard him say something like 'Did you see the look on that great git's face when Potter got sick all over him?' "

Harry shrugged, but said nothing. His head was still pounding, though, amping up towards more sick; since the only thing worse than the migraine he was having was puking with said migraine, he risked things long enough to down the headache potion. Thankfully, it did its job quickly and, now the pain was gone, it only took him a few more minutes to recover, Mrs. Weasley now fussing over him, taking his temperature with her hand.

Once Harry was feeling better, they went to the Leaky Cauldron, where he got something to eat before they finished up their shopping. Thankfully he was done, though others weren't, giving him time to look in on Quality Quidditch Supplies. Though he had no interest in playing Quidditch, he did remember how flying had felt, and decided it would be prudent to get himself a broomstick. So it was that he returned later with a Nimbus 2000 under his arm.

~

When it finally came time for them to leave for school, they rushed about making sure they had everything, it all fitting in the Ford Anglia Mr. Weasley owned because of magic expansions he'd done. The fact that they had to keep going back for things, including Ginny's diary, slowed them down considerably. They were almost late to the platform.

Everyone else having gone ahead, only Ron and Harry remained. They ran at the barrier like normal, and BOOM! They smashed right into it, causing chaos as books, clothes, and owl feathers flew everywhere, Hedwig squawking so loudly some people were talking about animal cruelty.

Getting their things together, trying to reassure the Muggles, they finally went off to the side, checking the barrier again a couple times.

"It's stuck, what're we gonna do? The train's leaving in... about 20 seconds!" Ron said, beginning to panic.

"Don't worry," Harry said. "We have options. This is probably Dobby's work, I'll bet anything. We've never had a problem before, have we?"

"Well no. What're you gonna do, though?"

Harry opened his trunk, hoping what he sought wasn't broken, and was delighted to find the two-way mirror intact.

"Luna?" he said at the mirror.

"Harry? Where are you? I saved you a seat."

"We have a bit of a problem. The barrier sealed us out. I suspect Dobby's interference."

"Oh. Well I'll tell the others, then. What are you going to do in the meantime?"

"I have someone I can call for help. She can get Dumbledore or someone to get me."

"Netty?" Luna asked.

"Yes, exactly."

"Well, I wish you luck then, Harry."

He bade her farewell as well, and then put the mirror in his pocket.

"Netty? You can't call a... her here, Harry! Not in front of all these Muggles!"

"I know that. Come, let's find somewhere safe."

After a few minutes of looking, they decided to leave the trunks and things by the car, Ron outside keeping watch. Harry climbed into the boot of the car and, Ron shielding the inside of the boot from view, Harry whispered, "Netty?"

A muffled pop came from the back of the magically expanded boot. "Young sir is calling for Netty?" the house elf asked.

"Yes. The barrier into the station at platform 9 and 3/4th sealed us out. We suspect Dobby."

"Is sir wishing Netty to unseal it?"

"No, it's too late for that now anyway. I was thinking more along the lines of alerting Dumbledore of the problem."

"That is being one possibility, sir. But Netty is having another idea."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Netty is thinking she could be be taking your things to the train, sirs. You could put the things in here, and Netty can get them on the train, then you and your friend could climb in for Netty to take you."

"Okay, I think that will work." Harry climbed out of the boot and the two of them put everything in. A few muffled pops signaled their stuff was in the train. Finally, they were ready. Harry climbed in first, then Ron.

"Netty is thinking, she can have words with Dobby when she is done here, if you would like, sir?"

"Well, if you can catch him, feel free to try."

She nodded. They each took one of her hands, and with a pop they appeared in the train compartment with the others, startling everyone and making Circe's cage almost fall to the floor.

Once Netty was gone, they started explaining what had happened, and their suspicions about who caused it.

"Blimey," Ron said at last. "Can you imagine if Harry didn't know Netty? We might've had to fly the car to school, or something equally barmy."

Harry shook his head. "No, we had Hedwig, too. Granted, Dobby's interfered with her before. But if nothing else, your parents would have returned to the car eventually."

With that little adventure over, Harry and his friends began to focus on enjoying the trip to school.

~

When they got off the train, Harry hugged Luna farewell before she went with the others on the boats. "See you at the Sorting," Harry whispered before they parted.

Following his older friends, Harry had his first ride in the horseless carriages that took everyone but the first-years up to school, glad that Dobby's foolish plans hadn't gotten him into any trouble. Before long, they were exiting the carriages and walking through the gates and on up toward the school.

As they walked, Harry's eyes turned toward movement, and saw a large tree in the distance swinging some of its branches around like fists, at something unseen.

"What's that?" he asked his older friends, pointing.

"Oh that," Antigone supplied. "That's the Whomping Willow. It punches things that get too near it, so don't go near it if you can avoid it."

"So noted," Harry said.

~

Harry excitedly watched the Sorting, despite his growing hunger. He was hoping Luna would end up in Griffindor, even if her family had a history of being in Ravenclaw. He barely paid attention to anyone else, even. But he clapped for everyone Sorted, even the Slytherins, which made Snape look at him with suspicion. Still, his example led others to do the same, even if their applause for Slytherin students was less than enthusiastic.

"Lovegood, Luna!" Professor McGonagall called, slipping the hat onto her head.

After a few minutes of deliberation, the hat finally cried out, "Ravenclaw!" Harry clapped, trying to hide his disappointment. A few minutes later, Ginny joined the Griffindor table.

The table filled up with food, and Harry began eating, stopping just long enough at one point to ask Percy if it was allowed to sit at other tables.

"Well," the older Weasley boy said, "it's generally expected to sit with your own House during the welcoming feast and other important feasts, and its considered a very rude faux pas to do otherwise at such times. During the rest of the school year, though, if you wish to join friends from other Houses for meals, it's generally acceptable, as long as you don't do it too frequently. People tend to think you're unfriendly if you avoid your own House too much."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Percy."

"Not a problem. Always glad to help out where I can."

"Oh Harry," said either Fred or George, "missing your girlfriend already? How sweet."

"You two knock it off," Percy chided.

"Yes, perfect prefect Percy," they said in twin-stereo.

Someone moved, and Harry's gaze turned toward the movement; it was Ginny, moving down the table more. He frowned, wondering what that was all about.

After the feast was over, Dumbledore gave some announcements, which filled them in a little on the new classes, including where Wizard Studies and Muggle Studies were taught at, for those not in the know. Naturally, there was a fair deal of dark muttering from the Slytherin table, at least until Antigone and her friends shushed them.

On his way out the hall, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall pulled him and Ron aside to discuss the incident with the barrier sealing them off. One of the happy takeaways from this was that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gotten back to their car just fine; mildly annoyed at the lid of the boot being left wide open, but as nothing had been in there to steal, they were forgiven.

And so Harry went to bed a little smug that Dobby's plans were failing so far, and fell into a relatively peaceful slumber.

--o--

“Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book 2”

By = Fayanora

 

Note: Fanfiction. Not making money off this. J. K. Rowling gets all the credit for the Potterverse.

 

Book Two: Aspie Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

 

Chapter 3: Rumors and Scary Voices

 

The next day they sat down at the Griffindor table and had breakfast, Harry's Slytherin friends popping over for a few minutes to catch up on things that had happened since the last letters they'd gotten from him, but eventually got ushered back to their own table by McGonagall, when it was time to hand out the class schedules. Harry looked at his and saw they had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

 

While walking over to Herbology, Harry spotted Lockhart, who was their new DADA teacher, and hastily Disillusioned himself so Lockhart wouldn't see him. Once they were safely inside greenhouse 3, and Lockhart was safely away, Harry undid the spell.

 

"Wow!" said one of the Hufflepuffs. "You're only in second year and you can do a Disillusionment charm?"

 

"Uh, yes. So can Ron and Hermione. I taught them."

 

"Cool! How'd you learn it so fast?"

 

"Actually, an older friend of mine taught me. Antigone Dreyfuss, a Slytherin."

 

The blond boy scrunched up his face. "You're friends with Slytherins?"

 

"Well yeah. They're good people, regardless of their house."

 

"Who are you?" Ron asked the boy, heat in his voice.

 

"Zacharias Smith. And who are you?"

 

"Ron Weasley. Anyway, didn't you hear Dumbledore at the end of last year? Antigone, Angela, and Danzia helped us keep the Philosopher's Stone away from You-Know-Who."

 

This shut the boy up, making him look slightly abashed. He opened his mouth apologetically, but couldn't say anything else because Professor Sprout was talking.

 

"Good, now I have all your attention, we'll be re-potting mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of a mandrake?"

 

Harry's and Hermione's hands were in the air so close to one another that Professor Sprout picked Harry apparently at random.

 

"Mandrake is a very potent restorative," Harry said. "It's used to do stuff like restoring petrified people to their normal state."

 

"Excellent; ten points to Griffindor." Hermione looked annoyed at Harry.

 

"Mandrakes are an essential part of most antidotes. They are dangerous, however. Can anyone tell me why? Yes, Hermione?"

 

"The cry of the mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it."

 

"Precisely. Ten more points to Griffindor. Now the mandrakes we'll be working with today are young, so their cries won't kill you yet, but as they will knock you out for several hours, it's best to take the same precautions.

 

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," she continued, and everyone scrambled to get a pair that weren't pink and fluffy. Neville didn't succeed, and looked very embarrassed. Harry, feeling bad for him, traded with him. Neville got a black pair, and Harry's brown skin contrasted his new pink earmuffs, making several people giggle. Harry didn't notice, though.

 

"Make sure, when you put them on, that your ears are completely covered. When it's safe to remove them, I will give you a thumbs up."

 

Professor Sprout put her own earmuffs on, and they all followed suit. Then she rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the plant by its base, and yanked up an ugly, pale green, mottled root-baby, which immediately began screaming and flailing about, struggling the whole time Professor Sprout fought to get it into a newer, larger pot, covering it with dirt. Finally, she gave the thumbs-up, and everyone took their earmuffs off. She began giving other instructions about them, and everyone started getting their things ready to do it themselves.

 

Since they were doing things four to a pot, it leant them some time for chatter. Another boy, whom Harry recognized but didn't know his name, came up and introduced himself.

 

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said. "I know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter. And Hermione Granger, one of the best students of our year." (Hermione smiled as he shook her hand, too.) "And Ron Weasley, right?"

 

"Er, yeah," Ron said, shaking Justin's hand.

 

"My name was up for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Mom was a little disappointed, of course, but I showed her the two Lockhart books assigned, and she came round to the usefulness of having a wizard in the family."

 

"Yeah," said Harry. "I think I know how you feel, about being excited to be here. I was raised by Muggles. I didn't know I was a wizard until I got my letter. Hogwarts is so much better than where my aunt and uncle were going to send me before I got my letter."

 

"What?" asked Zacharias Smith. "I heard you were raised in a castle!"

 

"Nope. I had no idea I was a wizard until shortly before my 11th birthday. Didn't know I was famous, either. And I was very startled to find my parents had left me some gold; I'd never had more than a few pounds at a time before then, and that I had to get by getting jobs behind my aunt and uncle's backs."

 

"What do you mean by 'pounds'?" asked Zacharias.

 

"That's what Muggles in Britain use for money," Justin said, showing the other boy a pound coin.

 

Though all the wizard-borns were fascinated by it, their gawking was cut short by needing to get back to work. It was very difficult work, fighting the dirty little humanoid roots into new pots, and they were all dirty by the end of the class, and had to wash up before going on to their next classes.

 

For the first time they could remember, the Griffindors were split up for their next class. Ron and other wizard-raised kids went to Muggle Studies, and Harry and Hermione and other Muggle-borns went to Wizard Studies instead.

 

The classroom that Wizard Studies was in was open when they got there, but empty, so they sat down and began to chat while they were there. The class was a mix of people from all four Houses. There were also first years in the class. A lot of the Griffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws were surprised to see a pair of Slytherins there; Angela Whitechapel and a first-year boy with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail; the boy had striking violet eyes as well. Many were surprised Harry was there, too, but they honed in on the Slytherins instead of him.

 

"Slytherins, in a Wizard Studies course?" someone asked incredulously.

 

"Yes, Mr. Thomas," said the calm, soothing voice of Dumbledore, who had suddenly appeared behind the teacher's desk at the front of the room. "And the blood status of these students is to be kept secret; Muggle-borns are not well thought of in Slytherin House, so it is a matter of their safety that nobody outside this room should know."

 

"Oh. Uh, yes, Professor Dumbledore," Dean said.

 

"Do I have the word of everyone else here?" Dumbledore asked. Harry finally noticed, as he asked, that the door had been closed.

 

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," everyone intoned.

 

"Good. I will hold you to that. Now, let us start the class today by having everyone introduce one another with your name, and something interesting about yourselves, like a hobby or an interesting birthmark or scar. I shall start. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, and I have a scar under my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground."

 

He then picked Dean Thomas to go next, and they went down the rows from there. The Slytherin boy, they found out, was named Willem Stone. Harry made a note to try to add Willem to his list of friends from other Houses.

 

Then it was Harry's turn. “Well, I'm Harry Potter. I like to read and I don't like loud noises and crowds. Um... that's it.” He motioned to the next person that it was their turn.

 

When they were done, Dumbledore beamed. "Good. Now that we all know one another's names, we may proceed. Welcome to Wizard Studies. This class was founded at the request of several students who felt they were struggling to navigate the rules and regulations of wizarding society's culture, as well as running into obstacles of understanding stemming from not knowing many of the things that wizard-raised children take for granted and don't think to explain to Muggle-borns, such as attitudes about giants, the rules of Quidditch, or facts about house elves."

 

He walked around the front of the classroom as he spoke, his arms behind his back. "I appointed myself teacher of this class for two reasons. First, I have long experience with the wizarding world, being immensely old as I am. Secondly, I am fond of Muggles, and have educated myself about them to a degree that many wizards and witches have not. While that trait would also make me a good Muggle Studies teacher, we have one of those already, and I feel this knowledge will help me understand what you need to know. But please, if you feel my knowledge has a hole in it, let me know. You're never too old to learn, and even at my age I still feel I do not know nearly as much as I should.

 

"Also, there are many popular wizarding-world beliefs I disagree with, such as the poor treatment of Muggles, and the prejudice against other magical creatures, even giants. So I will be able to teach you about these beliefs, I hope, in a way which will keep your minds open about whether you agree with them or not. For, just because somebody tells you something does not necessarily make it true. This goes for all things, even your classwork. On the whole, your teachers are right about what they teach, insofar as most magic has worked so well for so long that it barely changes over the centuries; most of our incantations today would be recognizable by ancient Roman wizards and witches. But there is, I wish to stress, always room to grow. There may be better ways of doing things. As Muggle-born or Muggle-raised individuals, hopefully your unique perspective on the wizarding world will help us to grow and change and expand.

 

"Anyway, my speech is done. Are there any questions?"

 

There was silence at first, but then Hermione raised her hand.

 

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

 

"I noticed there was no book for this class. Why is that?"

 

"Ah. Yes, that is because nobody has yet thought to write such a book. Perhaps, after you graduate, Ms. Granger, you could write one."

 

"So how will this class be structured?" she asked.

 

"In the weeks since I decided to make this course, I have been working on a syllabus for it. We shall start with a summation of important historical events, in case, uh, in case any of you were not paying attention in History of Magic."

 

There started a chatter at this, most of it boiling down to "Professor Binns is so dull he could bore a ghost to death," before Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.

 

"Yes, I am aware of Professor Binns's abysmal record. And the events that made me consider the changes I've already made to classes have made me also ponder removing poor Professor Binns and replacing him. But for now, I shall like us to begin."

 

After coughing a little to clear his throat, Dumbledore continued. First, he added that his summations of history would include recent history as well, to put the modern wizarding era in a proper context, before moving on to classes about various beliefs, cultural norms, manners, etc.

 

His summation of the events leading to the statute of secrecy was far more fascinating that the Binns version, and prompted questions from a curious class. They were still discussing it when the bell rang to go to their next class, and so had no homework from it yet. Harry felt sure he was going to enjoy that class very much.

 

Transfiguration was just as it usually was for Harry. He wasn't quite as good as Hermione, but at least he was better than Ron. He gently suggested to Ron that he spend at least 15 minutes of non-class time practicing so he could get better. Ron kept staring at his old, battered wand though, with a strange look on his face.

 

"What's wrong?" Harry finally asked.

 

"This wand is so old, I don't know how much life it's got left. It still works, but, well... I dunno. I've just been feeling, lately, like it's tired. Do wands age like people do?"

 

"I don't know. That's a question for Mr. Ollivander. Anyway, if you want a new wand, I'd be happy to--"

 

"No."

 

"But you didn't even--"

 

"If I get a new wand, I'll get it myself or get one from Mum and Dad somehow. Anyway, I'm probably imagining it. Just forget I said anything."

 

Harry didn't say anything else, but it did make him think. He realized that Ron was never able to get his to work as well as most students, and had been among the last to get the levitation charm to work last year; only Neville had done as poorly. In fact, thinking about Neville made Harry think he spotted a pattern. Ollivander said the wand chooses the wizard... Ron's wand was a hand-me-down, and Neville's wand used to be his dad's. He wondered if they were being held back by their wands. It was something to look into more.

 

The lunch bell rang; class was over. They went down to the Great Hall, where Harry started talking about seeing Luna, ignoring the smirk on Ron's face. When they got there, Ron and he split up, Harry going over to the Ravenclaw table, looking for Luna. He caught her before she sat down, and he invited her over to his table.

 

She stood there, pondering the question for a minute before deciding. "Well, okay. But I'm going to eat breakfast and possibly dinner at my own table, at least for now. Okay, Harry?"

 

"Sure thing."

 

As they left, a bunch of other Ravenclaws stared after them, and began muttering amongst themselves about how the famous Harry Potter was friends with that weird firsty; what was her name? Loony? Loony Lovegood?

 

These mutterings spread to Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables, too; even Griffindors were looking askance at the two of them sitting there, chatting and laughing; some of them whispered carefully, not wanting to offend the famous Potter boy.

 

On their way out the hall, they ran into another first-year, a small, mousey-haired, excitable boy holding what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera. When Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

 

"Hello, Colin," Luna said to him. He blinked at her, waving quietly back, then turned to Harry again.

 

"Hi Harry! I'm Colin Creevy," he said breathlessly, taking a step forward. "I'm a Griffindor, too. I wanted to know... I mean... could I get a picture?"

 

Harry's mind worked quickly. It was clear Colin was a Harry Potter fanboy. He had to head this off quickly. "I'd rather not, Colin. No offense, but I have sensory issues, and camera flashes make me ill." This wasn't entirely true; sure, the flash at Flourish and Blotts had been the proverbial straw breaking the camel's back, but he had no reason to think camera flashes would bother him on their own.

 

"Yeah," Ron said, supporting him. "You should've seen it in Flourish and Blotts, when Lockhart tried getting a photo with him; he puked all over the git's shirt!"

 

Harry frowned slightly. "Gee thanks, Ron, for telling him that. That's really something I want everyone to know. NOT."

 

"Oh," Colin said, his face falling. "I just wanted proof I've met you. Everyone's told me how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you, and how he's been gone ever since, and about the scar on your forehead from it" (his eyes raked Harry's hairline) "and a boy in my dormitory said how you can develop pictures in a potion that will make them move!"

 

Sensing he was going to keep going, Harry interrupted, "Yeah, well, from what Dumbledore told me last year, it wasn't anything I did. It was my mother dying to protect me that did it. She cast powerful magic with that self-sacrifice. And you know what?"

 

"What?" Colin asked excitedly.

 

"She was a Muggle-born. A Muggle-born witch's self-sacrifice defeated Vol-- er, You-Know-Who."

 

Colin's eyes went so wide Harry worried they'd pop out, and just said "Wooooowwww..."

 

"Oy," said Ron. "How come you never told me that?"

 

Harry shrugged. "It never came up before. Anyway, Colin, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Aside from the sensory issues, I... well, I'm still uncomfortable with being famous. Like I was telling someone earlier today, I was raised by Muggles and didn't know I was famous, or special, or important at all until after I got my letter. Professor McGonagall and Hagrid told me about it all the next day. People keep telling me I'm famous and stuff, and I just don't feel like anything but an ordinary kid. Well, aside from the magic. But otherwise, I'm just Harry."

 

"Wow, really?"

 

"Yeah. Imagine if it'd been you instead of me."

 

Colin stopped talking, lost in thought about going from a regular kid to someone famous overnight. Others in earshot looked thoughtful, too; even, Harry noticed, Draco Malfoy.

 

"So," Colin said, coming out of his thoughts, "you just want to be treated like a regular kid?"

 

"Exactly."

 

Colin nodded. "Will do, Harry. So... wanna be friends?"

 

"Sure. I like having friends. Never had any before I got my Hogwarts letter. Now, the more the merrier. Just as long as I don't have to deal with too many people at once. Crowds make me ill."

 

"Is that part of your sensory issues?"

 

"Right, Colin."

 

Just then, he saw Lockhart coming, and hastily pulled Colin away in a friendly gesture, attempting to be casual. "So, Colin, how you doing finding your classes? And you too, Luna, come on. I know I had trouble my first week, I can help you find things if you'd like."

 

"Thanks! That'd be great!"

 

"You're most kind, Harry," Luna agreed.

 

"Yeah, and I can show you some of the shortcuts, and places to look out for, and so on..." Harry said, continuing to talk as they got farther from Lockhart, while Ron and Hermione attempted to keep up with him.

 

 

Later, on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry told Ron and Hermione, "As much as I dislike Lockhart, it's a good thing he came by when he did."

 

"Why's that?"

 

"Because that thing I did, showing Colin and Luna the way to their next class, gave me an idea; we upper years should show the first-years around in depth; take them under our wings. Nobody did that for us, and we had so much trouble that first week or two. So I think we should help them."

 

"That's a great idea, Harry!" Hermione said. "We should tell other people, too. Get it spread around like your other ideas."

 

"Oh, speaking of that, we need to discuss MAC at a..." he trailed off, and sunk low in his chair as he could, for Lockhart had come in.

 

Harry didn't know how much more difficult it was to hide behind his books than it might have been, for he hadn't known that Lockhart had tried to get his entire collection on the book list. As it was, he'd only managed to get Voyages With Vampires and Holidays With Hags on the book list, having picked two at random when he'd been informed he couldn't have more than that.

 

The class with Lockhart was... interesting; but not for good reasons. After giving them a quiz on how well they'd read the two assigned books, he released a bunch of Cornish pixies into the room, tried to do a spell on them that did nothing, got his wand chucked out the window, and caused utter bedlam. It was only thanks to Hermione and Harry stunning them out of the air one at a time that order was finally restored. By then, Lockhart was long gone and the bell was ringing.

 

As they left, Ron and Harry complained loudly about how inept Lockhart was, and Hermione defended him.

 

"Listen, Hermione," Harry said, becoming irritated by her defense of the buffoon, "just because someone writes something in a book doesn't mean it's true, even if it's labeled non-fiction. Publishers exist to sell books, and they don't always care if what they're printing is truth or tripe."

 

"But he's a teacher!" she shot back, as though this made him a god.

 

"Teachers are just humans, like anyone else. Dumbledore told me even he makes mistakes; he admitted that sending me to the Dursleys was a mistake."

 

She looked unsure of her position, but still like she wanted to believe.

 

"Anyway," Ron added, "the position's cursed. We've known it for years; everyone says so. New DADA teacher every year for years, after all. And the last one actually died. There probably wasn't anyone else who wanted the job. And if the position's cursed, even certain other teachers might not be so keen on it now," he said, referring to Snape's desire to teach DADA.

 

"Well... I don't know," she admitted. "Those are good points."

 

"Trust me, Hermione. I read a lot of tripe in Muggle libraries too. It's a universal fact of life that you can't always believe what you read. If everything written in books claiming to be true were actually true, then the world would literally be like ten thousand years old, the planet would be flat and sitting on the back of a turtle or something like that, or other such rubbish that science has since disproved. And the fact he couldn't even handle pixies on his own is a scientific observation that makes me think he's rubbish and a liar."

 

She frowned, her worldview shattered. "Okay, okay, you convinced me. It's just... well, he's just so handsome."

 

The boys rolled their eyes.

 

~

 

It was lucky Harry had his new idea of helping out first-years to help him avoid Lockhart, because the git seemed intent on cornering him to chat him up. Probably knew, subconsciously, that Harry was more famous than him and wanted to smarm up to him, but Harry was having none of that.

 

When the weekend came, Harry and his friends in MAC gathered for their first meeting of the year, to discuss how they would do things this year. They'd already gotten permission to advertise on the House bulletin boards, so Angela - who was good at art - helped in that regard. Luna was there too, and she was at least as good as Angela in art, so they worked together. Harry was glad to see that Luna shared his enthusiasm for open-mindedness towards Slytherins, and got along quite well with Angela and the other Slytherins. Heck, she got along with them better than she did with almost anyone else in school, excepting himself, probably because they, too, knew what it was like to be outcasts.

 

Things had not been great for them, he found out, before last year's end of year speech by Dumbledore, and now the three Slytherins were having an even harder time of it this year than before, since they'd been known to have helped Harry. About their only saving grace, it seemed, had been the unexpected support of Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be taking his pro-Potter stance more seriously.

 

"That reminds me," Antigone said, "Draco wanted me to give you a message. He... how did he put it? Ah yes, he 'extends his hand in friendship, not mere civility.' He admits you and he may still have ideological differences, but he's interested in trying to overcome those. Apparently, he had ideas about you very similar to some of the others' ideas about you, like living in a castle and other rubbish."

 

"Well that's promising," Harry said. "I don't know how much I trust him and his two bodyguards, but I'm glad to hear this. If you see him, tell him I'll meet him in the library tomorrow after lunch, if he's free."

 

"Okay, will do."

 

While Angela and Luna were designing the MAC advertisements, Harry and Hermione discussed the syllabus for the club, aided by the fact that both of them had brought a bunch of Muggle books on various subjects with them, having bought them over the summer. This process was also aided by Ron, whom they looked to for his input as a wizard.

 

Just before they left, Ron promised to send an owl to his dad, asking for his input as well, since Mr. Weasley was fascinated by Muggles.

 

"There's no more time now," Harry said, "as it's almost dinnertime, but we need to work on other ways to spread interest. One idea I had was seeing if I could give a speech on the subject of Muggle academia to the Muggle Studies class. I figure, with my fame - as weird as that still is to me - they'd be more likely to listen to me."

 

"Good thinking, Harry. Do you want help writing it?"

 

"Sure, sounds good to me."

 

He wasn't looking forward to speaking in front of a class, but as long as it was just a class at a time, and as long as everyone was largely quiet, he felt he could do it.

 

The next day, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Luna went to Hagrid's after breakfast. It was the perfect excuse to avoid his cooking, after all. Luna, being polite, took a rock cake, and politely refused another after nearly breaking a tooth on it.

 

A little harder to do was refuse Hagrid's lunch offer, but they managed it without hurting his feelings and ate in the Great Hall as usual. Luna was still eating lunch with Harry every day and other meals with her own table, so they got to talk at lunch some before Harry's meeting with Malfoy.

 

Harry really wasn't sure what to expect at this meeting with Malfoy, and so just in case, he took his two-way mirror with him so he could call Luna and the others if need be. And so, screwing up his nerve, he went into the library.

 

Draco was sitting at a table in the back, alone and reading a book about Quidditch. When Harry came up to him, he looked up, put the book aside, and stood up, holding out his hand.

 

"Harry Potter," Draco said, his voice devoid of any bad attitude, "I apologize for my attitude and comments on the train last year. Such behavior is unbecoming of a Malfoy."

 

"Apology accepted," Harry said, shaking his hand. Having done this, Harry cast some privacy charms and the two sat down.

 

"Wow," Draco said with greed in his voice, "those charms are quite advanced for us second years. Can you teach me those?"

 

"Yeah, I can do that sometime. Not right now, of course."

 

Draco put his face and posture back to prim and proper. "Yes, of course, completely understandable. Naturally, you want to know why I asked to meet you."

 

"Antigone said something about a new overture of friendship?"

 

"Well, sort of. I understand we still have ideological differences, so maybe an acquaintanceship would work for now, maybe work our way up to friendship?"

 

Harry scratched his chin, thinking. "I can do that, on one condition."

 

Draco looked wary, but hopeful. "And what might that be?"

 

"You attend at least one meeting of our Muggle Academia Club. And actually pay attention and contribute to the conversation in a non-hateful way."

 

The blond boy's face momentarily contorted in disgust, but then changed to 'pensive,' before he got it back to a stoic mask. He did not immediately respond, and also scratched his chin.

 

"May I ask why you're asking this condition?" Draco asked, his annoyance barely masked.

 

"It's simple. You've been taught certain things about Muggles by your parents; parents who have likely never gotten to know anything about Muggles first-hand. I know you're being required to take Muggle Studies, but since even my friend Ron gained a newfound respect for Muggles after some of our discussions about Muggle science and academics, I decided this would be an excellent opportunity to expose you to the same information; it might help you expand your point of view on Muggles."

 

The other boy's face went from flabbergasted and annoyed to pensive. Then a sly grin split his face and he chuckled. "Potter," he said jovially, "you would make an excellent Slytherin."

 

Harry smiled. "Does that mean you accept?"

 

Draco held out his hand. "You have a deal, Potter." They shook hands. "So when is the next meeting of this... this club of yours?"

 

Getting out his notebook to check, Harry soon said, "We have one scheduled for Tuesday after dinner. Meet me at the library, and I'll guide you to the classroom we use for it from there."

 

"Tuesday after dinner," Draco said, writing it down in his own notebook. "Got it. I'll be there."

 

"So, in the meantime, did you want to talk about anything else?"

 

"Well," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "I am curious to hear the real story of what happened with Quirrell last year."

 

Harry nodded, smiling. "Okay then," he said, and launched into the tale from the very beginning.

 

 

Between MAC and Malfoy, Harry was having a great weekend. He spent so long speaking with Malfoy that it was almost curfew when they stopped, hurrying back to their dormitories without running.

 

As they walked out of the library, he heard a voice to chill the marrow.

 

"Come... come to me... Let me rip you... Let me tear you... Let me kill you..."

 

Harry jumped, looking around for the source of the voice.

 

"You okay, Potter?" Draco asked him. "You look like you've seen a monster."

 

"Did you hear something?" Harry asked, testing a theory without giving too much away.

 

"Hear what, Potter? There's nobody here but us. Are you going to be okay? I don't fancy telling any of the Professors I'm out after curfew because I had to walk you back to your dorm."

 

Harry forced his emotions under control. "No, sorry. Just... sudden noises make me jumpy, and I thought I heard something. I'll be fine."

 

Draco didn't look so sure, but after a pause, he shrugged and walked away. Harry watched him go. When he was out of sight, Harry ran for it, not caring if he got in trouble. He had to get away from that voice.

 

When he got into the common room, he went over to Hermione and Ron.

 

"Hi Har-- Harry, why are you out of breath? You been running, mate?"

 

Harry gestured for silence, then got out his wand and put up privacy wards around the three of them before sitting down. Even then, he had to catch his breath before he could say more than a few words. But finally, he explained what he'd heard.

 

"A voice only you could hear?" Ron said, looking at him like he was crazy. "Even in the wizarding world, mate, that's---"

 

"I thought you might say that. But I recognized it. I'd been practicing with Circe so much that I recognized it. It was parseltongue."

 

"Parseltongue? So you heard a snake?" Hermione asked. "Did you see any snakes in the area?"

 

"No, I didn't. So I've no idea where it might've been hiding, and I really wasn't keen on finding out. I got out of there as soon as I could."

 

"Well if it was a snake, it was probably just talking about..." Ron lowered his voice because Scabbers was in the room, "rats or mice or something. Y'know, cuz snakes eat them?"

 

"Maybe. But I've spoken with snakes before, and they sounded normal. This sounded... deeply evil. And big, and dangerous. I got the impression it was talking about killing humans."

 

"Harry," Hermione said in a pacifying tone, "snakes don't kill humans unless they feel threatened. Snakes aren't evil."

 

"I don't know if I believe that. Magic makes all kinds of thing possible. Couldn't magic make a snake smart enough to be evil? Maybe there's some kind of magical snake monster?"

 

"Harry, I know the voice must have been terrifying, but I've never heard of a magical snake creature that could be a threat to humans. I think you're overreacting."

 

"Yeah, mate. I haven't heard of anything like that either, and my brother Charlie was in Care of Magical Creatures, and he talked about his classes in his letters and over the summer all the time."

 

Harry put his head in his hands, letting the darkness calm him. Finally, when he came back up, he spoke.

 

"You're probably right. Given how big, drafty, and old this castle is, I guess I shouldn't be surprised I'm hearing snakes around. I've always wondered why there were so few mice and rats in a place like this, not counting pets."

 

"Well, lots of people bring cats, too. Toads are out of fashion, so that leaves rats, cats, and owls allowed for pets in school. And with Mrs. Norris hanging around, I doubt many people with rats let theirs run around loose."

 

The rest of the night Harry spent trying to forget the scary voice, but wasn't having great luck. It didn't surprise him that he had nightmares about a great venomous snake that night.

 

 

 

 

Note: I've had time to think about it, and I've decided that, given his attitude when forced into being a Death Eater, I believe most of Draco's racist behavior in the books was due to essentially hurt feelings when Harry rejected him. Oh sure, he was actually racist against Muggles at the start, but I believe he was largely just parroting his father; Harry rejecting him so completely and publicly just cemented Draco into his beliefs. Like, "Potter acted exactly as rude as father always said blood traitors do, thus father must be right." Whereas in this AU, Harry's response and Draco's subsequent response made him more open minded. He's still a spoiled rich kid, and will have lots of privilege to become aware of and hopefully attempt to take into account for in dealings with other people, but yeah, still open minded as regards blood traitors at the very least.

 

Note 2: Given that basilisks can only be made by hatching a chicken egg under a toad, can be killed by a rooster's crow, how they're basically the snake version of Voldemort, and they can only be controlled by a parselmouth, I figure they're rare enough that Hermione only found out about them in the canon books by looking through really obscure books about even more obscure monsters. So knowing it's a snake monster isn't going to help them much.

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Two.

Or, "Aspie Potter and the Chamber of Secrets."

 

Chapter 4: Halloween

 

Note: Sorry for the postspam, but I was very behind on posting chapters for this one, and I have a new one coming up soon.

"You did WHAT?" Ron exploded in the MAC classroom Monday afternoon. Harry had called an emergency meeting to inform them of what he'd forgotten in the midst of the scary voice the night before. "No way, that racist git? No bloody--"

"I think it's brilliant," Antigone said. "If Malfoy had any idea the kinds of things Muggle science has come up with, he'd never believe anyone calling Muggles stupid animals ever again!"

Ron opened his mouth and spluttered at her like a fish out of water, but then closed his mouth and admitted defeat by sulking.

"Yeah, Antigone, that was my thought as well. Anyway, we need to work on what to talk about in tomorrow's meeting."

 

~

 

The next day, after classes, Draco met Harry at the library and Harry led him to the MAC classroom. It didn't look so good to start with, as Draco sighed a lot and rolled his eyes at first. However, after several minutes of discussing Muggle science, the blond boy's expression began to change subtly, and after another few minutes, he sat up and began listening in earnest. Harry had to stop himself doing a happy dance when Draco actually started asking salient questions, questions that didn't sound forced. It was clear that Draco had gone into this meeting expecting it to be really horrible, but by the time the curfew was drawing near, it was difficult to tear him away. His attitude appeared to have completely changed. And as Harry had noticed Draco wasn't a very good liar (he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve), Harry believed it. Even Ron had to admit, later, that Draco seemed changed by the experience.

During the rest of that week, Draco kept finding Harry in the halls or at the meal tables, asking him in cautious words when the next MAC meeting was. They had a new member, an unexpected one at that.

The next week and a half boded well for MAC in general; the advertisements in the different Houses were bringing in a few new people, but it was Harry's speeches to the Muggle Studies classes that started bringing in even more people. Soon, MAC had Neville, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and Justin Finch-Fletchley (who missed Muggle classes), and many others would come into meetings as their schedules allowed. So it was that by the time October came around, MAC was one of the most popular extracurricular clubs in the school.

Harry noticed that Ginny had joined them, too. She looked ill, he noted. The weather was bad, cold and rainy, so a lot of people were coming down with colds; he wondered if she was, too.

On one of the weekend days when it wasn't raining, but had been, Harry decided to cure his cabin fever by taking his broom out and flying around the grounds. He mounted his Nimbus on the paved part of the path right in front of the steps, and flew off in a random direction. He looped the castle a few times, even the highest towers, then flew out over the black lake a little bit, but moved back to being over the ground before long, as he didn't fancy falling into the lake when he couldn't swim.

Not that it was safer to fly so high above the ground, of course, when there was nobody around to save him if he fell. But as long as he kept his consciousness, he felt he could summon his broom mid-fall or cast a feather-light charm on himself before he landed.

For hours he flew all around the grounds, even out over the Forbidden Forest and back. Then the weather changed suddenly, the rain returning. Harry aimed for the pavement, but ended up touching down in mud instead, having misjudged the spacing.

"Oh bloody hell," Harry said, his shoes and robes muddy. He knew the vanishing spell, of course, but he wasn't sure enough of his skills with it yet to risk vanishing the mud off his clothes. He might pull a Lockhart and vanish part of his clothes, or even part of his body. So he made muddy footprints along the path. He tried a cleaning spell, but cast it so badly it made the problem worse. Then he tried Vanishing the mud, and to his horror Vanished a hole in the stone.

"Ffff--" he started, holding himself back in case anyone heard. "Fudge." He had no idea how to fix that, so he just stopped trying and walked back into the castle.

When he walked in, he found the Griffindor ghost, Sir Nicolas. The ghost seemed to be in a bad mood, and had a letter in his hand. He and Harry spoke, and Harry found out that Nicolas had been denied a part of something called the Headless Hunt, and was very sore about it.

Then Mrs. Norris appeared, and ran off to tattle on him to Filch, however that worked. Harry tried getting out of there as fast as he could, but was too late; Filch, who had the flu, got mad at him and dragged Harry to his office.

While there, Harry tried to talk the man down. "Sir, if you're ill, shouldn't you be in the hospital wing? Why are you working when you're--"

"Well this castle isn't going to clean itself, boy! I can't afford to stop working, and you've just made my job a lot worse."

"Why not find one of the Professors, and ask them to Vanish the mud? I'd do it myself, but I don't have enough control of it yet."

"You know you little worms aren't allowed to do magic in the corridors!"

"Surely you'd make an exception for people cleaning up after themselves?"

"No, boy! Rules are rules. Now let's see, punishment, punishment..."

SLAM! came a noise from above.

"PEEVES!" Filch went off to find out what Peeves had done this time, leaving Harry in the office. Harry, not wanting his punishment to be any worse, just sat there, waiting. His gaze wandered around the room, and he spotted a purple envelope with silver lettering on the outside. He stood up and cocked his head to read it. It was for something called Kwikspell.

Curiosity warred with common sense, and despite images of Filch whipping him invading his mind, common sense lost the battle. Harry read the letter, figuring out from it that Filch wasn't a wizard, but was non-magic. It explained a lot, like his hatred of students, but raised many other questions, like Why do they have a non-magic person cleaning the school, when a witch or wizard could do it faster with a wand? And for that matter, why not have a house elf do it? They'd be glad to do it.

A noise got Harry's attention; Filch was coming back. He hastily put the letter back in the envelope and tried to put it back where it was. He managed to sit down just in time for Filch to come in complaining. Surreptitiously, Harry eyed the Kwikspell letter. It wasn't where it had been. But maybe he wouldn't notice?

Filch did notice, though, and turned white. Harry denied having read the letter when asked. Filch hemmed and hawed about it, tried to pretend it was for a friend; but finally - to Harry's astonishment - Filch let Harry go, on the promise he was to tell nobody. Harry swore he wouldn't. Filch didn't seem entirely satisfied, but let him go anyway.

 

Harry kept his promise to Filch; that was the kind of person he was. He even contemplated sending an apology letter to the man, but decided against it, as it might further anger him.

While it had been Peeves that broke the vanishing cabinet that got Filch out of there, Nicolas had put him up to it, probably feeling like his conversation had kept Harry from getting to safety in time. Very thankful for this, Harry had somehow gotten guilt-tripped into doing a favor for Nicolas in turn... he would be going to Nicolas's Death-Day party.

When he'd told his friends about it, Hermione and Luna had been fascinated. Ron thought it was weird to celebrate the day you died. His Slytherin friends had mixed reactions as well.

On Halloween, he was regretting his promise, but he went anyway. Ron, Hermione, and Luna went with him. Because it was a party, Luna wore a dress: neon blue with bright red polka dots. Harry wasn't the only one to get woozy looking directly at it, as the red polka dots wobbled around on the blue background.

The party itself was exactly as Ron had predicted: depressing. As they came in, Hermione pulled them all to one side. "I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle," she explained.

"Who?" asked Harry.

"She haunts a toilet in the girl's lavatory on the first floor," Hermione and Luna said in near synch.

"She haunts a toilet?" Ron said incredulously.

"Yes," said Hermione. "It's been out of order all year because she keeps flooding the place. I never went there anyway if I could avoid it, it's awful having to pee with her wailing at you."

"Look, food!" interrupted Ron.

It was food, yes, but rotten food, moldy food. Nobody had predicted that there'd be nothing here for them to eat. They supposed the food was let to spoil to give it a stronger flavor for the ghosts. Even so, they could only "almost" taste it.

"Well this won't do," Harry said. "Netty?"

The house elf appeared before them almost at once, her eyes growing wide at all the ghosts, and shivering a little in the cold.

"S-sir c-called N-Netty?"

"Yes. As you can see, this death day party has no food we can eat. I was wondering if you could get us some food from the kitchen? We'd go to the feast, but it would be rude to break a promise."

"M-Mister P-Potter is always s-so k-kind and c-considerate. N-Netty will be m-most glad to help." And without another word, she popped away.

Hermione looked at Harry. "So that's Netty?"

"Yes."

"House elves look kinda weird, don't they?" asked Ron. "Cute, though."

"I like her. I wish I'd gotten to introduce myself properly," Luna said.

"Your dress prob'ly scared her off. Between it and the spoiled food..."

"Ron," Harry said warningly.

Ron's ears went red. "Sorry. I'm hungry, and it's not helping my mood."

Hermione decided to change the subject. "I saw she had a Hogwarts crest on her... on her toga. She works for the school?"

"Yes. There's lots of house elves that work here. I think Netty said once that there are over 100."

"Over 100? How come we never see them?"

"They work in the kitchens by day, only come out to clean at night. Heh, kinda like those old fairy tales, in fact. I wonder if they're where those stories came from?"

Hermione looked affronted. "Do they at least get paid?"

"No. They seem to loathe the idea of getting paid."

Her eyes went wide. "You mean Hogwarts is using over 100 slaves?"

"Well, that's what I thought at first, too. But Netty explained that it's more like a mutually beneficial relationship, or at least it's supposed to be that way. There are exceptions, like Dobby, but on the whole, it's safer for them to work as servants to wizards than it is to fend for themselves in the wild."

"Well that doesn't mean they can't get paid."

"They don't value the same things we do. They don't value gold, or vacations. They value other things. If you want to do the equivalent of paying a house elf, Netty says to praise them for their work, appreciate them, treat them with kindness and compassion, and generally just be good to them. And uh, don't talk about wages or vacations or sick leave around them. They get very offended when others disrespect their values."

As Hermione digested that, Netty returned with two other house elves, who left several platters of food for them on a small table they'd brought along for the purpose. Ron and Harry praised them highly for their service, and even Hermione did so, though she was still pondering his words. Harry noticed her pull Netty aside and have a conversation with the elf, probably to confirm what he'd said. Luna drifted off to talk with one of the ghostly nuns, a sandwich in one hand and a glass of pumpkin juice in another.

Harry was eating some roast beef when Nicolas came over. "Ah, good thinking, Harry, good thinking. I can't believe I forgot to mention the lack of edible food here. My apologies, dear boy." Then he spotted something, and his whole mannerism changed. "Oh, pardon me, I er, I saw a friend of mine across the room. See you soon, Harry!" He floated away as fast as he could manage, almost at a run.

Ron looked curiously back at the ghost, too, but they didn't wonder about his motives for long. Peeves had drifted over, cackling. "Nibbles?" he asked, holding up some moldy peanuts.

"No thanks, Peeves. We've got some food."

Hermione came back, and Peeves grinned maliciously at her. "Heard you talking about poor Myrtle earlier. Rude you was to her, in fact." He then bellowed, "Oi! Myrtle!"

Hermione frantically tried to get him to stop, but it was too late. Myrtle came floating over, looking glum and morose as usual. The resulting conversation did not go well, despite Hermione's every attempt, because Peeves kept saying rude things, and soon Myrtle was running off in a tantrum.

The rest of the night went a little better. The headless hunt ghosts arrived, making a spectacle and embarrassing poor Nick at his own party. Harry, without prompting, told the leader how terrifying he thought Nick was, but they were unconvinced.

Between the chill of the dungeons and the way the party was going, they ended up leaving early, taking as much food with them as they could hold, leaving the rest to the house elves. Luna seemed reluctant to leave, but went with them anyway.

They were on their way to the entrance hall to see if they could join the feast in time for puddings, when Harry heard the horrifying voice again.

"... rip... tear... kill..."

He froze, grabbing the stone wall, looking around desperately for the source of the voice.

"Harry, what're you--"

"It's that voice again! Quiet, I'm trying to hear!"

"Soo hungry... for sooo long..."

"It'll sound like hissing to you. Any idea where it's coming from?"

"Kill... Time to kill..."

It was growing fainter, moving upward. He followed it, the others lagging behind.

"Harry, we don't hear anything," Hermione said.

"I smell blood... I SMELL BLOOD..."

"It's going to kill someone!" Ignoring them all, he ran up the stairs, and only stopped when confronted with a huge puddle of water. On the walls, written in what looked like blood, it said:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Even worse, Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, was hanging from a sconce by her tail.

"Oh shite," Harry said. "We need to get out of here."

It was too late, though. The feast had ended, and everyone was coming up this way to get to their dormitories. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, until they saw the scene before them and it all went dead.

"What's all this? What's all this now?" As if the situation couldn't get worse, that was Filch coming up to see what all the hubbub was about. Naturally, he had a freakout when he saw his cat petrified.

Filch was in the middle of putting the blame on Harry when the teachers arrived. Dumbledore and some of the other senior teachers were studying Mrs. Norris, while Lockhart made Filch cry by talking about what he thought killed her.

"She is not dead, Argus," Dumbledore said. "She has been petrified. But how, I cannot say."

"Ask him!" Filch said, pointing at Harry.

"Not even a second year of Harry's skill could have done this, Argus. I doubt if even a sixth year could. This is very, very dark magic indeed."

"He did it! I know he did! He saw my Kw--"

"I kept your secret, Mister Filch. Are you going to reveal it just to put the blame on me?" He began rubbing his head. "I didn't hurt your cat. I don't hurt animals; it's against my nature, especially having been hurt before myself..." he trailed off.

Changing tack, Filch leaned over to Dumbledore's ear. Harry was close enough he could just barely make out the word "Squib."

"If he's telling you what I suspect he's telling you, Professor Dumbledore, I don't care. I'm not a bigot. And I've never heard of this Chamber of Secrets before."

"Argus, Harry could not have done it. He says he did not do it, and I believe him, even if he could have done it somehow."

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape said, which could not possibly be good. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it is rather suspicious, the circumstances. What were you four doing so far from the rest of the students?"

"We were at a death-day party for Sir Nicolas," Harry said. "There were hundreds of ghosts there, they can all testify to us being there."

"Yes," Luna agreed dreamily. "And that lovely house elf, Netty, was there as well."

"A death day party? Really? I did not know they served food fit for human beings at such places."

"They don't. Netty was there because I called her to bring us some food, when I saw there wasn't any there. I didn't want to be rude to poor Nicolas, by leaving."

"How considerate of you," Snape said, sneering. "But that still doesn't explain why you were up here ahead of everyone else."

"It got too chilly for us in the dungeons, so we started coming back. Since we already had food, we decided to go back to our common room."

"Enough, Severus; I have already said Harry could not have done it."

"My cat has been petrified. I want to see some punishment!"

"We will be able to cure her, Argus. Professor Sprout has a wonderful crop of mandrakes even now. When they are done maturing, we will be able to make a restorative draught for Mrs. Norris, and she will be fine once more. Anyway, you four may go now."

Harry was tempted to ask his friends what a squib was, but as he had managed to keep Filch's secret despite Filch's own mistaken judgments, he didn't want to break his word now. Not when his friends would demand he explain. He decided to ask Dumbledore later, after Wizard Studies class, what it meant.

 

~

 

The school could talk of nothing but the Chamber of Secrets for the next few days, especially since Filch kept trying to scrub the words off the wall, to no avail, snapping at any student that happened by.

Ginny still looked ill, and to top it off, she was extremely disturbed by Mrs. Norris's fate. Fred and George didn't help matters, talking ill of the feline around her, until Percy snapped at them to stop.

Considering the situation they'd been found in, nobody who'd been attending MAC seemed to think Harry had anything to do with the situation, no matter what Filch said. And only some of the Slytherins seemed to believe it, or at least they teased Harry about it. But most of the school knew, either by being part of MAC or knowing someone who was, that Harry wasn't the type to attack people.

One day in History of Magic, Hermione actually interrupted Professor Binns and convinced him to tell them the tale of the Chamber of Secrets, of how Salazar Slytherin - who believed only wizard-born students should be admitted to Hogwarts - had a falling out with the others and supposedly made the Chamber of Secrets, in which he had hidden a monster. He made clear, however, that he considered the whole story errant nonsense.

"Obviously, wherever the Chamber is, if the monster's a magical snake of some sort," Harry said later under privacy wards, "then it stands to reason that the entrance is password-protected, and the password is something in parseltongue."

"Yeah, but we still don't know where it is," Ron said. "And all we know for sure is you heard parseltongue just before we found Mrs. Norris. Might be a coincidence."

"Maybe, but I doubt it."

"Well," said Hermione, "I've been reading in the library on magical creatures. It's amazing how many books there are about them. I haven't found anything yet. Whatever it is, it's either very obscure and rare, or something lost to history."

"Or you just haven't found the right book yet," Ron pointed out.

She shrugged. "I suppose. Well, I guess I'll just have to keep trying."

"I wonder if Draco knows anything about it."

Ron snorted. "Way he was raised, Harry, he might be the Heir of Slytherin for all we know. He could just be smarming up to you, pretending to play along with MAC meetings, to get close to you."

"That's a possibility. I doubt it's true, but it could be. And even if it isn't, I don't know how he'd react to knowing I'm a parseltongue. I can't tell him. Nobody but the core - you, Hermione, Luna, Angela, Antigone, and Danzia - can know."

"Percy knows too, remember? Of course, that was over a year ago, he might've forgotten. He's a self-centered git, so he probably forgot about it by the following morning, as it didn't really affect him."

"Does Dumbledore know?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't told him. He's such a good wizard, he might think less of me for knowing."

"I doubt it, Harry. Dumbledore doesn't strike me as the type to let one fact like that change his whole point of view on somebody. You should tell him."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, while secretly thinking there was no way in Hell he was going to take that risk.

A couple days later, while walking in the corridors, they happened upon the scene of the crime. Nobody was around for once, so they went in looking for clues. When they got in, Harry was surprised to find that it was Myrtle's lavatory.

"Oh, hi Myrtle. How're you?" Hermione asked.

Myrtle, who was floating over one of the toilet tanks, frowned over at them. "This is a girl's toilet, and they're not girls."

"We wanted to look around," Harry said. "And I wanted to ask you if you saw anything, on Halloween night."

"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention. Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to drown myself. Then of course, I remembered that I... that I'm..."

"Already dead?" supplied Ron. Harry glared at him. He was an aspie, and even he had more tact that that.

Myrtle understandably began crying again, and dived into the toilet, splashing them with water. Harry shuddered.

"Honestly, that was almost cheerful for her. But Ron, you need to learn some tact."

"What? I was just trying to help."

"You know, Hermione, sometimes I wonder if Ron's an aspie, too?"

"God, I hope not. Though it would explain a few things. After all, not all aspies are brainy; some are downright dumb. Just like anyone else, they come in all kinds."

"Hello, standing right here!" Ron shouted. This was a mistake, as it got the attention of Percy, who saw them come out of Myrtle's bathroom, and began giving them the third degree about it.

When they finally got away, they started talking again, this time about suspects. Ron brought up Draco Malfoy as a suspect.

"Ron, he's been going to MAC meetings. I doubt he's the heir."

"Yes," Harry said. "I doubt it too, but Ron did have a point the other day, Draco could be lying. I just wish there was some way to be sure..."

"Well, we could all sneak down to their common room while Disillusioned," Ron suggested. "Danzia or one of the others could let us in, on some pre-arranged signal, and we could listen in on Malfoy's conversations."

"That's a good plan, but I don't think it's quite good enough. We need some way of goading the information out of him, and we can't do that if we're invisible. We'd have to pretend to be friends of his, Slytherin friends. Like Crabbe and Goyle."

"And how do you propose we do that? We haven't done human transfiguration yet," Ron pointed out.

"We don't need to. There's something called Polyjuice Potion, Snape's mentioned it in class before; it lets us change into other people."

Harry stared at Hermione. "That sounds like a potion just begging to be abused in so many ways I don't even want to think about."

"Yes, well it is illegal to use it without Ministry approval. And we'd be breaking so many school rules, too."

"We've been a bad influence on you Hermione," Ron said. "Anyway, how do we make it? Potion that illegal, I doubt they have the recipe in school."

"Oh, but they do. It's in the restricted section. I know the book to get; Moste Potente Potions."

"But we'd need a teacher's permission to get it out. Remember when Harry tried sneaking in there at night? It didn't go so well. And any teacher we asked would want to know what it was for, unless they were a total idiot."

There was silence at these words, as they all knew what that meant.

"No," said Harry. "I'm not smarming up to that buffoon just for this. Listen, Dumbledore taught us in Wizard Studies class the other day how to owl-order stuff without sending gold in the mail, if we have Gringotts accounts. I can owl-order the book, and then later any ingredients we don't have access to. But I am not going to get any closer to Lockhart than I need to."

"Oh fine, be that way. Just make sure to have them send it fast, we can't afford to waste any time."

"I'll make out and send the form tonight, if that helps."

She nodded.

 

True to his word, Harry owl-ordered the book from Flourish & Blotts, with instructions to get the gold for it from his Gringotts account, as Dumbledore had shown them. The very next day, in the afternoon, an owl came in and dropped a package on the table in front of him, then took off again. Taking the package, unopened, to the MAC classroom, putting up privacy wards, they opened it up and Hermione read the instructions for the Polyjuice Potion.

"This is the most fiddly and complicated potion I've ever seen. Harry, you'll have to order a couple things. Boomslang skin and powdered horn of a bicorn look to be the only things on here we can't get from the store cupboards."

"Good. I'll put another order in tonight. Just write down how much we'll need..."

"That's good, Harry. Wow, this potion is difficult. If I'm understanding these directions right, it'll take a whole month to brew."

"A month! But if Malfoy is the Heir, he could attack half the muggleborns in the school by then."

"Yes, but it's the only plan we've got right now. Until we think of something better, we have to go with it."

Later, Harry filled Antigone, Luna, Angela, and Danzia in on what they were doing, Ron glaring at him the whole time, and asked the three Slytherin girls where the Slytherin common room was. Antigone told him, but...

"If this potion takes a month," Luna said in her dreamy voice, "then to use it, you'll have to stay here at Hogwarts over the Christmas break."

"That won't be a problem," Ron said. "My parents are going to visit Bill in Egypt this Christmas, so Harry and I will have to stay anyway."

"Oh. Well I'm sure my daddy would be thrilled to have you over, Harry."

Harry's face suddenly turned inexplicably hot at the thought of spending the Christmas in Luna's house. "Er, uh... well, I'd love that, but well, as you say, if it takes a month to brew... well..."

Luna sighed wistfully. "That's okay, Harry. I did want to show you my bedroom, but I guess that can wait til the summer."

His face grew even hotter at this, and for a time, he lost his ability to speak. Instead, he opened his mouth and made a strange sound, like a cross between a moan and the sound of a sick cow.

 

On Saturday, Harry woke up earlier than usual, but felt awake almost instantly, so he went down to get some breakfast, grabbing his Nimbus before he did. He knew, vaguely, that today was the Quidditch match between Griffindor and Slytherin, but as he wasn't on the team, and the only match he'd ever gone to made him literally sick from fear for his classmates, he decided to go flying around the grounds for a change, vowing to be much more wary of mud when he landed this time.

The first few hours of this were without incident. After a couple hours of flying high and fast, he switched to hovering low and slow in circles around the lake, staring out over the water, wondering what was beneath the lake's surface, other than the giant squid.

He was still looking out over the water when his eye caught movement. Something was flying in the air toward him. He sat up at attention on his broom, ready to fly away at a moment's notice, still trying to figure out what the darned thing was. Finally, he saw it well enough to recognize it from an old memory; it was one of the Quidditch balls; a bludger, if he wasn't mistaken.

Knowing that this could not possibly be good, he took off fast as an arrow in the other direction, but it was catching up to him. So he looped back toward the Forbidden Forest, passing it in such a way that it had to take extra time to change its trajectory to follow him.

As he approached the forest, he spotted a bunch of people on the ground, coming from the Quidditch pitch. He couldn't hear what they were shouting, but they were pointing at the bludger, so he figured they were looking for the rogue ball. He kept trying to dodge it, and it kept following him.

He was a little too slow at one point, and the bludger smashed into his arm, breaking it. But being no stranger to pain, he fought to hold on, continuing to try to get away from the bloody thing.

Getting an idea, he flew up higher, then looped back around slow enough for the ball to be able to follow him, then shot straight toward the ground at full tilt, leaning forward on his broom. This caused the other people to shout and scream in worry for his safety, but at the last possible second, he shot off in a completely different direction, the bludger smashing into the ground. Turning around instantly, as he'd been prepared to do, he cast a Vanishing Charm at it. Half the ball disappeared, and the remaining half shuddered and died.

Landing at last, he noticed who the others were. It was Hermione, Ron, his three Slytherin friends, and Lockhart. Dozens of other students had witnessed the past few minutes worth of the struggle as well. He lay there, clutching his broom in his good arm, and passed out.

He woke up to the glittering teeth of Lockhart. "Not you!" Harry said, trying to get away.

"Delusional lad, doesn't know what he's saying. Don't worry Harry, I can fix your arm. I've done it hundreds of times."

"No, I need to go to the hospital wing, see a trained Healer."

"Nonsense, boy. Just lie back, and I'll--"

But Harry had no intention of lying back. Having dropped his broomstick, he used his good arm to try to grab his wand, but it was on his other side, so by the time he got it in his hand, he heard Lockhart say an incantation, and felt his arm go limp. The git had removed all the bones in his arm.

"Uh, well, yes, that can sometimes happen. But no worries, Madam Pompfrey will be able to clear it all up."

Harry whipped his wand out and shouted a hex at the git. Fittingly, it caused the handsome teacher to break out in painful pox marks all over his face. The man felt his face in terror and ran screaming away, shouting "My face! My beautiful face!"

Then McGonagall was there, and he felt his stomach drop. "Professor. I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let my temper get the better--"

"Don't you worry yourself, Mister Potter," McGonagall said. "Your actions are understandable, given the circumstances. Just don't do it again, and you won't be in any trouble, if I can help it."

"Oh, good. Thank you, Professor." He put his wand away, and let her conjure a stretcher and float him up to the hospital wing.

 

Madam Pompfrey was very angry when she found out what had happened, and gave Lockhart the third degree about it, letting him suffer untreated pox marks while she tended to Harry. Only after she'd forced him to drink a truly horrible potion called Skele-Grow, and informed him of the rough night he had in store, did she finally heal Lockhart. She was so angry with him that, instead of insisting he stay the night (as she usually did), she kicked him out the moment he was spotless again; literally kicked him out.

After that, his friends came by to see how he was doing, and they talked for a time about the incident and various things, until Madam Pompfrey ushered them out as well so Harry could focus on getting better. But it was more difficult without people to distract him. He wished he had a book to read, but he didn't want to bother Netty. Getting to sleep was very difficult.

 

Hours later, he awoke with a start, to somebody sponging his forehead in the dark.

"Get off!" He shouted. "Wait, Dobby?"

Yes, it was the same golf-ball sized eyes, the same face, the same filthy pillow case in lieu of clothing. There was no doubt it was Dobby.

"Harry has come back to Hogwarts. Dobby warned and warned Harry, but Harry did not listen. Why did Harry not go back home when he missed the train?"

Harry sat up, forcing the sponge away. Something clicked in his brain at Dobby's words. "So I was right; the barrier was your doing."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir. Dobby hid and waited until the time was right, and then sealed the barrier. Dobby had to iron his hands for it."

Looking at his bandaged and blistered hands, Harry felt very little sympathy, given the circumstances.

"If you're here now, would it be correct to assume you fixed that bludger so it would go after me and kill me?"

"Not kill you, sir, never kill you!" Dobby said with horror. "Dobby is just wanting you maimed enough to go back home, where it is safe."

"Listen, Dobby, I appreciate that you think you're trying to save my life, but I do. Not. Want. Your. So-called. Help," he said, poking Dobby in the chest at each punctuation. "Hogwarts is my home. If I died, that's not going to change anything for you. Now go away before I strangle you."

"Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home." He paused to blow his nose on the filthy pillow case.

"Don't you ever wash that thing, Dobby? The house elves here all have clean towels every day."

"No, sir. Dobby's master is wanting Dobby to be filthy. He says it's Dobby's place to be like dirt."

Harry noted that he now knew the gender of the mysterious master, and was very careful not to mention to Dobby that he'd let that slip, in case the elf began hurting himself again.

"If you're going to try to send me home in pieces, Dobby, can't I at least know why?"

"Oh, sir, if only Dobby could. If only you knew what you mean to us dregs--"

"Cut the guilt tripping, it won't work. Just tell me what's going on and who's plotting it."

"Dobby can't, sir! Dobby cannot let the dark days return! But return they do. At Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps already happening, and Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more--"

Dobby froze, horror-struck. Harry grabbed him by the pillowcase and held him up before he could hurt himself with anything.

"So this does have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets? And it's been opened before? Tell me, Dobby, who opened it last?"

Dobby stretched a bony hand fruitlessly toward the water jug. Harry spoke again. "I'm not a Muggle-born, Dobby, how could I be in any danger? Are you sure this has nothing to do with Vol-- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Ask no more, Harry Potter!" Dobby whined. "Ask no more of poor Dobby! Just go home, Harry Potter!"

"I am home, Dobby. Hogwarts is my home, and my friends are my true family. I have no love of the Dursleys, no loyalty to them. But if something is going to happen here, and Muggle-borns are in danger, I will fight and I will die to protect my new family, if I have to. You might as well give up trying to save my life, Dobby, because I. Am. Not. Leaving!"

"Harry Potter risks his life for his friends! How noble! How valiant! But Harry Potter must leave this place, go back to the Dursleys, you simply--" They both heard a noise. Harry was unsurprised; Dobby was making a racket, and Harry had not put up any privacy wards.

"Dobby must go now, Harry Potter," the elf whispered, terror in his eyes. With a crack, he was gone. Harry silently cursed to himself and rolled over, feigning sleep, as someone was approaching the hospital wing.

Harry turned to watch as Dumbledore came in, wearing his night things and seeking the matron.

"What happened?" Madam Pompfrey asked.

"Another attack. Minerva found him on the stairs."

"We think he was bringing grapes to Potter," said McGonagall.

Harry silently watched in horror as Colin Creevy, a camera to his eye, was carried in, stiff as stone. A comment by the matron confirmed he was petrified. The teachers tried opening the camera to see if he'd gotten a picture of his attacker, but the puff of acrid smoke that resulted made that a no-go.

"Melted. What does this mean, Dumbledore?"

"It means the Chamber of Secrets is indeed open once more."

"But then, Albus, who?"

"Not who, but how," Dumbledore said cryptically. McGonagall clearly had no idea what he meant, either.

 

 

 

Note: I pronounce "Moste Potente Potions" with the e's at the end silent, unlike Steven Fry, and I will fight anyone who disagrees. :-D Call it an aspie thing.

 

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Two.

Or, "Aspie Potter and the Chamber of Secrets."

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

Note 3: Sorry for the postspam, but I was very behind on posting chapters for this one, and I have a new one coming up soon. This is the last one to catch us up, the new chapter won't be out til tomorrow or so.

 

 

Chapter 5: The Dueling Club

 

 

The next morning, Harry woke up in the hospital wing momentarily confused, before he remembered what happened. He glanced over at Colin. He didn't know the boy well, but he wondered what his parents were being told, if anything, as he was released and made his way to look for Ron and Hermione.

After speaking with Percy Weasley, he figured out they were in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, so he headed up there, finding them brewing the potion in a cauldron in a toilet, a waterproof fire under the cauldron.

"This is so unsanitary," Harry said. "But I suppose the fire takes care of any germs."

"Your arm all better?"

"Yeah. And guess what?"

"What?"

"It turns out Dobby did the bludger, supposedly to save my life. He wanted me maimed enough to be sent back to the Dursley's."

"Wow, mate. If he doesn't stop trying to save your life, he's going to kill you."

Harry nodded. "Oh, something else happened as well."

"You mean Colin?" Hermione asked. "We heard. The whole school knows."

"Oh, figures you would. But there's more. Dobby said the Chamber has been opened before!"

They stared at him a moment.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?” Hermione said.

"Well that settles it, Lucius must have opened it last time, and he taught Draco how to do it."

"I dunno... from things Dobby's said before, I don't think the Malfoys are involved. I once asked him if Vol--er, You-Know-Who was involved, and he said he wasn't, but he looked like he was trying to hint at something, like it might be connected to Voldy after all."

"Well Lucius was a Death Eater. One of You-Know-Who's followers," Ron explained. "He claimed he'd been under a spell, but my dad never believed it. Got out of Azkaban cuz of his money, Dad reckons. Anyway, Lucius being a Death Eater, that's a connection to You-Know-Who."

"Hmm... maybe. I asked Dobby if Voldy had a brother, and Dobby's response made me think I was getting warmer."

"Maybe You-Know-Who is a Malfoy?” Ron mused.

"Voldemort Malfoy?"

“No no, the name he uses can't be real, unless it's foreign. Which I suppose it could be. But anyway, he could be... his surname could be Malfoy."

“Well possibly. But they can't be brothers, or Dobby would have said yes to my question.”

"Yeah, but I think You-Know-Who is older than Lucius. Could be Lucius's father, or uncle. That'd explain Dobby trying to hint that you were getting warmer."

Harry pondered a moment. "If the monster in the chamber is some kind of snake, I think the Heir would have to be a parseltongue," he said thoughtfully.

"You've hidden yours pretty well, considering you were raised in the Muggle world. The Malfoys could be hiding their parseltongue gift."

"But Draco was with me when I heard the monster that first time. And if he's a parseltongue, he's a great actor; he didn't react at all to the voice I heard."

Ron looked uneasy. "He could've... given the creature a pre-arranged signal? Maybe? To take some of the suspicion off him, you know?"

"I guess..."

"Harry, I'm already making this potion,” Hermione said to him. “I might as well--"

The door opened then, and they all went quiet.

"Harry?" asked a familiar dreamy voice.

"Over here, Luna."

Harry saw Moaning Myrtle come up out of her stall and look at Luna. "Oh hi there, Luna," said the miserable ghost, sounding a little happier than usual.

"Hello, Myrtle. How are you today?"

"Miserable, of course. But it's nice to see you. I wish I'd known someone as nice as you when I was alive."

Ron rolled his eyes at the both of them. Luna and Mytle kept chatting quietly as Harry and the others continued brewing the Polyjuice Potion. When Luna and Myrtle finished talking, though, Luna came to talk with the three of them, and they filled her in on what they'd been talking about. When told about the possible Malfoy/Voldemort connection, she got all wide eyed.

“Oh yes,” she said excitedly. “I've heard that the Malfoys have been funding the Ministry's research into Imperio-Worms.”

“Imperio worms?” Ron asked, holding back laughter. “What the bloody hell are Imperio worms?”

“They crawl in your ear and take over your brain. Fudge wants them so he can make an army of soldiers that never disobey commands, and will die for him. You can read all about it in the latest edition of The Quibbler.”

“That sounds like the Imperious Curse, but with creatures” Hermione noted.

“Yes, that's where the name came from.”

“But the Imperious Curse is illegal. And even if it weren't, they wouldn't need creatures to do it, since the curse already exists.”

“Yes, but Imperious Curses can go wrong. They're difficult to do. Anyone can put an Imperio Worm in someone's ear, though.”

“Like I said, it's ill-”

“Yes, but 'illegal' just means the general public isn't allowed to use it. Governments have all the power, and power tends to corrupt. Add magic to the mix, that's basically absolute power. Which tends to corrupt absolutely. You should read what some of the Muggle governments do, Hermione. They have their own research into mind-controlled soldiers, and they don't even have magic. When you get back to the Muggle world, you should look up 'Project MK Ultra.' It'll open your eyes.”

Hermione looked to Harry for support against Luna's ravings, only to find Harry looking impressed. “What?” he asked. “I've heard of it, too. Years of reading anything I could find at the library, I've run into some weird things. But she's right, the American group called the CIA really has done experiments into mind control. So Luna's theory about these Imperio Worms could have merit.”

“Thank you, Harry, that was kind of you.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Just honest.”

Luna nodded vaguely. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to work on the potion.

 

~

 

The next few weeks passed without incident, aside from Ron giving Draco side-eyes every time they had a MAC meeting. The more such meetings they had, the more Harry was convinced Draco had nothing to do with this whole Chamber business, but he kept his mouth shut; they were brewing the potion already, and it was almost done. Might as well try it to see if the theory had any merit.

One day, they saw - pinned to the notice boards - something about a Duelling Club. Harry thought that was a great idea, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. Deciding it was useful, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all went, and convinced Luna to come with them as well.

At 8 o'clock that night, they hurried to the Great Hall, where all the House tables had been moved out of the way, and a golden stage put up in the middle of the room, presumably for demonstrations.

"I wonder who's teaching us? Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth, maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not--" Harry started, then groaned. Gilderoy Lockhart stepped out onto the stage, accompanied by Snape.

Lockhart waved for silence. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Great!

"Now Professor Dumbledore gave me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you up in case you have to defend yourselves, as I have done on many occasions. Blah blah blah blah," it sounded to Harry as he began tuning it out.

"Blah blah blah my assistant, Professor Snape," he continued to drone on in his insufferable voice. As if he needed that shite added to the press and noise of the crowd.

"Wouldn't it be good if they killed each other?" Ron muttered in Harry's ear.

Harry didn't react to that, but did twitch his lip in amusement at how much disgust and loathing Snape was directing at Lockhart; it was good to see Snape directing his loathing at someone other than himself, for once.

The demonstration duel between Lockhart and Snape went much as he'd expected: Lockhart being a bumbling fool, and Snape soundly knocking the dunce on his arse. Harry almost laughed aloud at Lockhart's poor attempt to demonstrate the Protego charm, feeling glad he knew how to do it already. Given the recent Chamber of Secrets stuff, he'd been spending some spare time every week practicing defensive spells.

When Lockhart finally noticed Snape's murderous facial expression, he started pairing them off. Ron and Harry were going to duel, but Snape split them up, putting Ron with Seamus and Harry with Draco, which did make some sense, since Ron's old wand had started doing odd things in the last couple weeks. Draco grinned at Harry, a hint of malicious glee there despite their budding civil acquaintance. Hermione got paired off with a Slytherin named Millicent Bulstrode, who was very sturdily built, and Luna got to spar with Angela.

Draco and Harry climbed onto the stage, Harry feeling very nervous. He didn't like being the center of attention one bit, and here he was in the middle of a crowd. He took a moment to take a sip of Calming Draught, which helped. It helped even more to focus on Draco instead of the crowd.

"Face your partners and bow," called Lockhart. "Wands at the ready!" he shouted.

"When I count to three," he continued, "cast your charms to disarm your opponents - only to disarm them. We don't want any accidents."

Harry had been thinking while Lockhart talked, and as the man counted up to three, was not surprised by Draco starting on two; it was a very Slytherin thing to do. He countered it with a shield charm, which impressed everyone in the room; even Snape looked impressed despite himself.

Almost the instant Draco's spell bounced off his shield, he shot back "Expelliarmus!" The blond boy's wand flew into the air and Harry caught it with his free hand. Draco did not look pleased.

Lockhart had him give Draco his wand back, and they tried again. Once more the count up to three. Draco tried going at one, but that didn't surprise Harry either. He shot a few things that bounced off Harry's shield, then Harry shot back with Expelliarmus again, even though Draco was shooting actual jinxes at him. But the other boy was managing to dodge Harry's spells or else snatch his wand out of the air whenever one of Harry's spells hit its mark.

Finally, one of Malfoy's jinxes got past Harry's defenses, and Harry was knocked back on his arse. That was the point where Harry grew tired of Malfoy ignoring the rules, and decided to ignore them himself. He shot back with several jinxes and hexes of his own, and soon it became a shooting match, Lockhart running around shouting at them, stopping them temporarily.

This time, before the count-up, Snape whispered something into Draco's ear, and Draco looked both gleeful and concerned, but nodded. When they went again, Harry once more did a shield charm, but it was unnecessary.

"Serpensortia!" Draco had bellowed.

Exploding out of the end of his wand came a long black snake with a hood; some kind of cobra? It looked very angry, and slithered toward Harry. Harry paused, not knowing what to do. He didn't want to talk to it, giving away his secret power; and speaking at all around a snake would require concentration to stay in English. But people were screaming. Harry stepped back a few steps.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said with an air of droll amusement. "I'll take care of it for you."

Harry had just enough time to wonder if Snape meant he was going to kill the snake, when Lockhart stepped in and tried taking care of it himself.

It was a disaster, of course. Whatever spell the imbecile had used made the snake fly into the air and land with a smack, making it go from angry to pissed the hell off. It reared and hissed at the nearest person it could see, ready to strike.

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry screamed out 'Stupefy!' in his mind, pointing his wand at the snake. It had been a long shot, as he didn't even know if it was possible to do spells without speaking, but it paid off; a burst of red light hit the snake and it fell over, passed out.

Everyone stared at him, even Snape, who looked dumbfounded. The looks were so stunned and impressed that he wondered if he'd invented some new technique on the fly. Taking advantage of their stunned silence, he walked forward and knelt down to look at the snake. Then he saw Antigone nearby, and got her attention.

"Antigone, do you know how to conjure a cage or something?"

"Wha? Oh, yeah... I think so."

She took her wand out and conjured a weird, flawed goldfish bowl with a metal lid. It looked equivalent in craftsmanship to a bowl he'd made in first grade art class once, but served well enough. He levitated the snake into the fishbowl and put the lid on, glad to see the lid had holes in it.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape asked derisively.

Harry looked up at Snape so he wouldn't accidentally slip into Parseltongue. "I'm rescuing this snake, sir. It's just an innocent animal, it never asked to be used as a weapon."

Snape sneered. "Potter, it is a spell snake. It isn't real."

"Water from a wand is real enough to drink. Chairs conjured with magic are real enough to burn. This snake is real enough to have instincts and feelings. So I'm rescuing it."

"Potter, I do realize your fame may be getting to your--"

"I don't care about my fame. I never knew I was famous until I got to school, and I've never liked being famous. I doubt I ever will. I can barely tolerate lots of people looking at me."

"Be that as it may, you cannot keep a venomous snake in your dormitory, Potter. It is a danger to other students."

Harry glared at the man. "Maybe you should have thought of the danger to the students before you told Draco to use that spell, Professor," he snapped at the man, who looked taken aback.

First pausing to take a breath, Harry said more calmly, "I will find somewhere safe to keep him, sir, while I try to figure out how to get him back to his natural environment. He won't be in the dormitories or the common room."

With that, he took the snake in its container off the stage, everyone giving him a wide berth to let him through. There was some muttering as he left, but he didn't care. He had seen himself in this snake - brought into this world he didn't understand suddenly, some people fearing him and others trying to hurt him. He wasn't going to let it be another victim.

He got as far as Griffindor Tower before he realized he had no idea where to put it. He needed help from someone who knew the castle better than he did. Suddenly, Netty came to mind.

"Netty," he said aloud.

With a crack, she appeared. "Sir is calling Netty, sir?"

"Ah yes, Netty. I need your help, if you can." He explained the situation to her as best he could, and what he wanted, not sure she could help. When he finished, she looked excited.

"Netty is knowing a place, sir. We call it the come-and-go room. Come, sir, Netty will show you!"

A few minutes later, they were on the seventh floor corridor by a tapestry of dancing ballet trolls, and Netty was teaching Harry how to get into the come-and-go room, also known as the Room of Requirement. He walked three times past the place, thinking of a place to keep a snake for an unknown amount of time. On the third time past, a door appeared in the previously blank wall, and he and Netty went in.

The room inside was mid-sized. It had a huge terrarium against one wall, and was full of branches for a snake to climb on and places to hide or nest, with magically-heated rocks to keep its cold blood warm. There were also comfy chairs for people to sit on and look at the terrarium.

Against another wall was a different, smaller terrarium made for rats, and several confused-looking rats stood around in there, exploring their new environment. Leaning next to that terrarium was a rat-trap on the end of a long wooden handle, which Harry guessed was to catch rats to feed the snake.

As he was levitating the snake into its terrarium, it began to stir. By the time it woke up completely, the lid was on the terrarium.

"Hi," he said to it in parseltongue. "Sorry about stunning you, but it was the only way I could save your life without revealing my status as a parselmouth to the whole school."

The snake looked up at him. "You... saved me? But I was going to attack you. And then I was going to attack that other human."

"It's okay, that wasn't your fault. The human that flung you into the air is an idiot. He was trying to kill you, I think, but did something else by accident. If you had bitten that boy you were hissing at, they would have destroyed you for sure."

"Then I thank you for saving my life."

"You're welcome. Are you hungry?"

"Not at the moment. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Do you have a name?"

"No. My people do not use names, usually."

"Do you want one?"

The snake looked thoughtful. "I suppose so."

"Are you a boy snake or a girl snake?"

"I have laid eggs before."

"Girl, then. Hmm... what do you think about the name Cleopatra? Cleo for short?"

"I like that. It sounds regal."

"Netty," he said to the elf, "I'm going to have to go back to my common room now. If you could keep an eye on Cleopatra here, just once in a while, I would appreciate it."

"Netty will do that, sir."

"Thanks."

He turned back to the snake. "I need to go to my own nest, Cleo. Netty will keep an eye on you now and then whenever I'm not here. I'll see you later, okay?"

"That is fine. It is warm in here, I shall sleep as well. I thank you again."

“You're welcome.”

Rushing out the door as soon as he could, he had to run to get back to the common room before curfew. He came in to see a lot of people staring at him. He ignored most of them and went over to Ron and Hermione.

"You rescued that snake, mate," Ron said. "Not quite as bad as it could've gone, I know, but people are still talking about it."

"Where is the snake now, Harry?"

"Her name is Cleopatra, and it's a long story where she is. She's locked up safe away from anyone else, though." He said that last loud enough for others around them to hear, which immediately set them off telling everyone else.

That out of the way, he cast privacy wards. "Now for the long story," he said, and launched into the story of the Room of Requirement.

"Woah!" Ron said, amazed. "That place sounds awesome!"

"Yes," Harry agreed, "it's quite cool. Might be useful as well. I think we should keep it a secret for now."

"For sure. Now tell us, why'd you save that snake?"

He sighed with annoyance. "I told Snape why, didn't you hear me?"

"But there's more to it, isn't there, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well, yeah. I empathized with her. You know, given what she said in the Room, I reckon she's real. An actual, live snake, summoned from who-knows-where."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She says she's laid eggs before. Which means she has memories from before today. And she has a personality."

"Hmm... well that's something else to look into. I don't know anything about that, but you had a point earlier that water from a wand is drinkable."

Harry nodded, and got his books out to do some schoolwork, with his earmuffs on to drown out the chatter in the rest of the room. But music would have worked better; he had always done his best work listening to an old cassette tape he'd played on one of Dudley's old Walkmans, that he'd broken and Harry had repaired. He began wondering if it was possible to make a portable magical music player, briefly, before getting back to work.

 

~

 

The next day, they awoke to find that a blizzard had come through, and the snow was so thick that Herbology had been canceled. So Harry went to the library to study and do some work. At the table next to his were a bunch of Hufflepuffs, including Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry worked quietly for a long time, the whole time also aware that the Hufflepuffs were talking quietly. It annoyed him mildly, but he ignored it.

Eventually, though, Justin came over and stood there like he wanted to say something. Harry looked up at him.

“Hi, Justin.”

“Hi Harry. Er... I wanted to thank you for saving me from that snake, last night. Even if you did rescue it as well. But you had a point, it's just an animal. And that spell of Lockhart's made it angry. Anyway, thanks,” he finished a little lamely, holding his hand out.

Taking and shaking the boy's hand, Harry said, “No problem.”

Another boy came over, holding out a hand and looking pompous. “Ernie McMillain,” he said. “That was an impressive bit of spellwork last night. Second year, and you not only did a stunning spell, but did it non-verbally, too! Stunning spell is a fourth-year spell. And the teachers don't start teaching non-verbal spells until sixth year.”

“Really? Well I knew about the stunning spell being advanced; I checked out some copies of the later-year spellbooks and read ahead for the stunning spell. Figured it would come in handy, what with You-Know-Who having been after me last year, and now this Chamber of Secrets business.

“As to the non-verbal spell, well...” he looked uncomfortable. “I didn't even know if it was possible, but that snake just appearing all of a sudden struck me dumb, and I just reacted without thinking. It's a bloody miracle it worked at all. I've tried a few other non-verbal spells since then, and nothing's happened.” This was true; he'd tried some last night before bed, and nothing had happened. “So it was a fluke.”

“Still impressive, though.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Justin smiled, then looked like he'd suddenly remembered something. “Oh, damn. I left my Charms book in my dormitory, I'd better go get it now, it'll take ages to get there and then to Charms. Well thanks again, Harry.”

“You're welcome, Justin.”

Justin waved as he left the library, and the other Hufflepuffs all sat back down to study again. But after a couple minutes, something occurred to him. Harry turned to them in concern.

“Should he be going out alone with the Chamber of Secrets monster on the loose?”

They all looked in horror at him, nodding fervently. So he and they grabbed their things and rushed out after Justin. But it was too late; they found him in a corridor, petrified. Even more alarming, Nearly-Headless Nick was petrified as well, and had turned pitch black, and smoky.

All the nervous talking and scared noises that broke out at this sight must have attracted Peeves, because he showed up, saw the scene, and started screaming at the top of his voice, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

Crash — crash — crash — door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out from classes that were in session. Harry and the Hufflepuffs gathered around Justin to keep him from being stepped on by the others, but some people managed to have the unsettling experience of standing inside Nearly-Headless Nick.

McGonagall made a loud crack from her wand for attention, and organized the students so Justin could be taken to the Hospital Wing, while one of the students was tasked with wafting Nearly-Headless Nick there with a fan.

With that done, she turned to Harry and the Hufflepuffs. “Did any of you witness the attack?” she asked hopefully.

“No Professor,” said Ernie. “Justin had gone to get his Charms book from his dorm, as he'd forgotten it. He was barely gone for three minutes when we rushed to get our things together and go after him...” he looked distraught. “I should have just left my stuff and rushed out! This is all my fault!”

Several others began saying things to the same effect, but McGonagall made more noise for attention.

“Now, boys and girls, don't lose your heads. This isn't your fault. If you'd left your things behind, you might've gotten attacked as well, and one of you might have died. So don't blame yourselves, any of you.”

She then noticed Harry. “Mr. Potter? Where were you during this?” Harry gulped, remembering how he'd been found by the first attack site.

“Harry was with us, Professor,” Ernie said. “He was the one who said he didn't think it was safe for Justin to go out alone.”

“Yes,” Hannah Abbot agreed. “And before that, Harry was studying at the table next to ours, then Justin was talking with him before he took off.”

“Oh. Well that's good. I didn't think Mr. Potter was to blame, and this seems to prove that. If Harry was with you the whole time, he could not possibly be responsible. I just wish we knew who was.”

Harry once more considered telling one of the teachers about the voice he'd heard before the first attack, but once again, he was too afraid to reveal such a hated and feared gift to anyone in a position of power, even if it might save lives. He knew it was kind of cowardly, but hey, he was only 12 years old, and who knew what the consequences of teachers having that information might be in the years to come? So, angry at himself, he continued to keep his silence.

 

~

 

This new, double attack had everyone scared, especially with what happened to Nick. What could do that to a ghost, after all? It was a real mystery, and a terrifying one at that. Harry was starting to wonder why the school wasn't being evacuated, given the circumstances. Granted, it was a bit different from his old schools, not the least of which reasons was it was a boarding school, but still... he wondered if the reason for the school still being open was some cultural difference of the wizarding world.

As Christmas approached, very few people were signing up to stay at the castle over the break; just Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. It was suspicious behavior from Malfoy; his parents doted on him, so why was he staying? But it was useful, since the potion wouldn't be ready until Christmas.

The day before everyone left for home, Harry was talking with Antigone, Ron, and Hermione in the MAC classroom. He was telling Antigone about the Polyjuice Potion and their theory.

“Ah, Polyjuice Potion. You got the bits of whoever you're changing into?”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “I'm drinking nothing with Crabbe's toenails in it!”

“You could pluck out a few hairs,” Antigone pointed out.

“Well that's better, I guess.”

“As a matter of fact,” Hermione said, holding a vial of hair up, “I have mine. Millicent Bulstrode. Got it off her robes at the dueling club the other day, when she was trying to strangle me.”

Antigone winced. “I wouldn't use that if I were you. Millicent has a cat in her dorm. Sheds all over everything, it does.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, tossing it in her bag. “Yeah, that would be bad.”

“Why? What would happen if you tried cat hair?”

“She'd look like a were-cat or something. It would take weeks for a Healer to undo that damage.”

Ron snickered. “I wouldn't mind seeing that, but I guess it's just as well.”

Antigone sighed. “I'd offer one of my hairs, or Angela's, or Danzia's, but we're known associates of yours, so Malfoy would never open up around us. Anyway, Harry, the newest password is,” she made a face, “
pure-blood.
”

They raised their eyebrows at her.

“Don't look at me like that, I sure as Hell didn't pick it. Dunno who did, in fact.”

She then spent some time drawing them a map of how to get to the Slytherin common room. It was a very good map, very detailed.

“Do you have a plan for getting Crabbe and Goyle's hairs?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “They're gluttons and idiots, they'll eat anything they find. So I plan to make some muffins with sleeping draught in them, and have these two float them somewhere for the lumps to find them.”

“Excellent plan. I can attest to their stupidity. Though they are clever in their own way, on some things. Nothing terribly useful for Hogwarts, though, best I can tell.”

A small sound caught Harry's attention, and he looked up. Luna was in the doorway, looking as though she'd wandered in by accident.

“Hi Luna!”

Antigone giggled and gave Ron a significant look, but he ignored her. Harry got up and went over to Luna.

“Well I might as well go,” Antigone said. “Let those two have some more time together before the break, since Harry's not leaving but she is.”

 

~

 

Though they'd been a bit worried that something might go wrong, when the day finally came to do the plan, everything went smoothly. Harry and Ron floated the muffins in the middle of the hall, and the two gluttonous idiots snatched them up, ate them right there, and passed out at once. They then took the larger boys' shoes, and went back to Myrtle's bathroom with them and a pair of larger uniforms to change into.

Hermione ladled out two doses of the potion, and Harry and Ron put their bits of Crabbe and Goyle in their potions, which hissed, frothed, and changed color. Crabbe's looked like boogers, while Goyle's looked like dark, murky brown mud.

Going into separate stalls to change out of their clothes and transform into Crabbe and Goyle, they drank their potions. Harry's tasted like overcooked cabbage. After some painful moments, their skin boiling and bubbling and their bodies aching as they grew in height and mass, finally it was over, and Harry looked into the mirror. He had to take his glasses off and put them in his pocket, since Goyle didn't need glasses. Pulling Goyle's shoes on, he then left the stall.

Hermione sighed, wishing them well as they left.

 

Antigone's map was a huge help, they found the place in short order and said the password, going through the hole in the wall that opened up. When they walked in, Draco looked up.

“Were you two in the Great Hall all this time? I was just about to go looking for you. I know we're all pure-bloods, but with no idea who the Heir is, it doesn't hurt to be too careful.”

They both stared, dumbfounded, at him. This must have been a common thing for them, though, because Draco didn't react to it. “Don't you have any ideas?” Harry said, hearing Goyle's voice as he did.

“Of course I don't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you? Father hasn't told me anything about the last time it was opened, as I'm not supposed to know about that. I heard somebody actually died that time, though.”

Despite all the time he'd been spending with Draco, Harry was surprised to hear a tone of slight sadness in the blond boy's words. As though sensing Harry's thoughts, Draco glared at him.

“I know what you're going to say, Goyle, and I don't care. Father's never had anything to do with Muggles, and I have, thanks to Potter. I'm not going to stop going to Potter's MAC meetings just because you don't like it. I'm not my father. If you don't like it, you can shove it up your backside. And that goes for you, too, Crabbe. You don't have to share my opinions, god knows you're too thick to get anything useful out of MAC, but what does it matter? The Dark Lord is dead. And I don't know if you've noticed or not, but the wizarding world isn't doing too well either. I reckon we could use some fresh blood. I'd rather we all became mudbloods than go extinct. Nobody would be around to keep the Muggles ignorant of magic if that happened, and even though they're not as bad as I thought they were, god only knows what would happen if they suddenly came face to face with unicorns or dragons or whatever. Probably hunt them to extinction.”

When they still didn't say anything, he continued. “Just face it, our parents are wrong. Not having had any real experience of Muggles, they make assumptions, rumors about them spread, and it's all just ignorance and misinformation. Then people like the Dark Lord feed on all that nonsense as a tool to get power.” He sighed. “You don't like it when people hate on us Slytherins just because they're ignorant of what we're really like, so I'd think you two would've thought at least a little about how Muggleborns feel.”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, and once more Draco interrupted. “Yeah, Crabbe, I know Salazar Slytherin didn't like Muggles or Muggleborns. But that was back when Muggles were killing witches and wizards, so his feelings made sense for the time. But that was hundreds of years ago, and a lot's changed since then. They've gotten a lot smarter, for one, thanks to their science. You know they actually make movies about magic now? Movies where magic is shown in a positive light, no less. I reckon most of them would be fine living with wizards and witches, these days.”

Finally recovering his wits, Harry asked, “D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?”

“Oh, yeah … whoever it was was expelled,” said Malfoy. “They’re probably still in Azkaban.”

“Azkaban?” said Harry, puzzled.

“Azkaban — the wizard prison, Goyle,” said Malfoy, looking at him in disbelief. “Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backward.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, you two, I'm going to bed now.”

With that, Draco left and went up the stairs, leaving the two of them to be silently impressed.

 

“You know, it's a real shame the real Crabbe and Goyle didn't hear all that,” Hermione said after they told her all about what Draco had said. “It would be good for them to hear it, even if they didn't listen.”

“I dunno, I kind of got the impression he was repeating things he's said before.”

“Ah well,” she said. “They're thick enough that repetition might be needed to get the message through to their brains.”

“I doubt that'd help,” Ron said.

That night, Harry lay in bed thinking about Draco's words, feeling warm inside that he had been right about Draco, and even more warm that he was the reason for the blond boy's change of heart. He had very happy dreams that night.

 

 

 

 

Note one: Since the Room of Requirement cannot make food, even for animals, the rats the room provided for Cleo had been loose in the castle, until the Room summoned them, which is why they looked confused. Just wild rats were used, though; no pets.

 

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Two.

Or, "Aspie Potter and the Chamber of Secrets."

By = Fayanora

 

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

 

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

 

(Genuinely new chapter!)

 

Chapter 6: Riddle Me This

 

The next day, Harry woke to find himself wondering what was going to happen with the Dueling Club. It seemed a shame for it to stop, just because it had an inept teacher. He decided to find out its status, and suggest a different teacher for it if it was still ongoing.

Standing up and going over the the mirror, he took off the satin 'bonnet' that protects his hair at night, and got to work trying to get his hair into some semblance of order.

 

At breakfast, still a small affair because of so few people being there the day after Christmas, Harry walked over to Dumbledore at the staff table and waited for the headmaster to finish his bite of scrambled eggs.

“Why hello there, Har-er, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, remembering he was teaching these days. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well I was just wondering if we could discuss the Dueling Club later, when we're both done eating.”

Dumbledore blinked. “Why of course, Har- Mr. Potter. You know where my office is, I take it?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Well, in that case, I do rather like lemon drops.”

Harry stared at him curiously.

“It's the password for the gargoyle,” Dumbledore explained quietly. “Lemon drops, I mean.”

“Ah. Okay. Thank you, sir.”

“You're quite welcome, young man.”

After breakfast, Harry went to the gargoyle, gave it the password, and went up the revolving steps to wait for Dumbledore. The room was empty still, but for a young bird with feathers that were starting to look very pretty, and – oddly – a pile of ash at the bottom of the cage. Surely Dumbledore didn't smoke, did he? And surely he wouldn't put his ashes out in his pet's cage? Harry was still regarding the ashes with confusion when Dumbledore came into the room.

“Ah, I see you have met Fawkes, my pet phoenix,” the old man said.

“Oh! Well that explains the ashes.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, he had a burning day recently. He's looking much better now than he did then, but still not to his usual glory. Anyway, Harry—er--oh nevermind... anyway, you wished to discuss the Dueling Club?”

“Yes. I was wondering if it was going to continue.”

“I had not been planning on it, no. Not after young Mr. Malfoy summoned a dangerous snake during a duel.”

“I believe that was Professor Snape's idea, sir. At least, he was whispering in Malfoy's ear just before it happened.”

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Thank you for telling me this, Harry. I will discuss it with Professor Snape.” He brightened suddenly. “So it seems we need to replace Professors Lockhart and Snape for the Dueling Club to continue. Did you have any suggestions?”

“Someone said Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth.”

“Yes, indeed he was. But that many students, we shall need at least two teachers to keep order.”

“What about yourself, sir? You defeated Grindelwald in a duel, and Voldemort still feared you, even at the height of his powers.”

“Me? Well, I suppose I do have the talent, and I do like to teach. One Dueling Club lesson a week should not be too much of an added burden to my Wizard Studies course.”

The headmaster thought for a moment. Then his eyes twinkled. “Yes, Harry, I believe I shall ask Professor Flitwick and perhaps also Professor McGonagall, if she's willing, to help me out. With Voldemort having tried to regain his body last year, and all this Chamber business this year, continuing the Dueling Club would not go amiss, with the right teachers. Ah, but I shall have to disappoint poor Gilderoy. Oh well, he will just have to live with it.

“So, with that all settled, was there anything else, Harry?”

Harry thought. “No, I think that's it for now.”

“Good. Now run along, enjoy your holiday.”

Harry nodded, and left the room.

 

~

 

The next several weeks went by without much of any note happening. Malfoy continued coming to MAC meetings, Wizard Studies class was very interesting, Dumbledore had indeed started the Dueling Club up again with Flitwick and McGonagall helping him ensure there were no more incidents, and the attacks had stopped for now.

About the only thing unusual in that time was that Malfoy's standing among most of the Slytherins seemed to be going down; he was no longer hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle, and started spending time with Angela, Antigone, Danzia, and Willem Stone instead, schedules permitting. The rest of the Slytherins gave him the cold shoulder, but he kept his head high and seemed happy with his new friends.

It wasn't until the final week of January that something else happened. Harry, Antigone, and Ron were on their way to the MAC classroom one day when they heard yelling from the bathroom of Moaning Myrtle.

“What the heck is Filch yelling about?” Antigone asked.

“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” said Ron tensely.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch’s voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

“...even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore!”

They kept listening, as they heard footsteps, and when they were sure he was gone, they went around the corner for a closer look. The corridor floor was flooded again, and Myrtle was wailing. Harry cast Impervious on his robes and shoes, and went inside. Antigone and Ron followed suit.

There was water everywhere; even the candles had been doused by the water. If Harry hadn't been so sure nobody ever used this bathroom because of Myrtle, he'd be more disgusted than he was.

“What's wrong, Myrtle?” Harry asked.

“Who’s that?” glugged Myrtle miserably. “Come to throw something else at me?”

“Why would I do that? That would be rude.”

“Don’t ask me,” Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. “Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me. …”

“But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” said Harry, reasonably. “I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?”

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, “Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound cruel. I'm not very good at this whole 'social' thing,” he explained. “So, er... who threw it at you?”

“I don’t know. … I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at them. “It’s over there, it got washed out. …”

The three of them looked where she pointed. A small, thin, shabby, wet book lay there. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

“What?” said Harry.

“Are you crazy?” said Ron. “It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” said Harry, confused. “Come off it, how could it be dangerous?”

“He's right,” Antigone said, nodding.

“Trust me, I know what I'm talking about,” said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. “Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated — Dad’s told me — there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And —”

“All right, I’ve got the point,” said Harry. “But what do we do about it, then?”

Antigone got out her wand and floated the book as close to her as she dared, turning it around in the air with her wand, even opening it that way. Then she cast several spells for revealing hidden magic, and got nothing.

“Okay, I know I'm only a 4^th year,” she said, her gray eyes regarding the book, “but it appears to be an ordinary book to me.”

Harry snatched it out of the air and flipped through it. He saw at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old. He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name “T. M. Riddle” in smudged ink.

“I wonder who this Riddle guy is?” Harry said. The others shrugged.

Harry flipped through it. There was nothing at all written on it, it seemed. If it had been written in, surely there would be some faded words somewhere; the whole thing couldn't wash out without leaving some sort of sign of having been used.

“Either he never wrote anything in it, or the words are hidden by magic,” Harry said.

“I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?” said Ron curiously.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

“He must’ve been Muggle-born,” said Harry thoughtfully. “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road. Or Muggle raised, like me.”

“Well, it’s not much use to you,” said Ron. He dropped his voice. “Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s nose.”

“Ron!” Antigone said in disapproval.

Harry, however, pocketed it.

 

For reasons even he didn't know, Harry was fascinated by the diary, carrying it around with him and opening it on occasion to look at it, even though it was blank. The name even sounded familiar, even though it wasn't possible, as he'd had no friends before Hogwarts thanks to Dudley. So he found himself going everywhere he could to find the name, and actually – by some miracle – managed to find it in the Trophy Room, where Riddle had two awards displayed; one for magical merit, another was an award for special services to the school.

When he was done looking at those, he went to the library to try to find some reference to Riddle in the archives, but he found nothing.

He even thought briefly about asking Dumbledore about Riddle, since the headmaster was old enough to have been teaching 50 years ago, but immediately part of his mind said that was silly, that Dumbledore had known too many students over the years to recognize the name, even if Riddle – whoever he was – had won a special award for services to the school the year the Chamber had last opened. Especially since he had no legitimate way of knowing that fact. And so he listened to that warning voice in his mind, and kept quiet.

After finding nothing more about Riddle, they took Riddle's diary to Hermione. But alas, this didn't help any, either. Her only unique contribution was to use something like an eraser called a Revealer, which did nothing to the diary.

“There has to be something written in it, hidden by magic somehow,” Harry said in frustration. “I doubt someone would throw away a blank, fifty year old diary, when we know the Chamber of Secrets was opened 50 years ago, and Riddle got an award for special services to the school at the same time. It can't be a coincidence. Gah! If only we knew why he got a special award.”

“Could’ve been anything,” said Ron. “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor.”

“That's not funny, Ron. Don't joke about murder.”

Ron turned red. “Sorry, mate.”

 

~

 

For whatever reason, as Valentine's Day approached, there still hadn't been any attacks. The mandrakes were getting closer to growing old enough to be used for the restorative potion, and between these facts and the sunlight starting to shine again, the mood in the castle was lifting.

Harry was focusing so much on MAC and his schoolwork that the only thing he had time left for were his friends, which was largely Ron and Luna because the others were studying as well, and some of them had extra-curricular activities, too.

In fact, he was so focused on school and friends that he was taken completely by surprise when, the morning of Valentine's Day, the Great Hall was bedecked in lurid pink flowers, heart-shaped confetti raining from the ceiling. Harry cast a spell to make the confetti blow sideways just enough to avoid getting all over the food, and even then he had to blow some off of his bacon, trying the whole time he ate to not wonder where that confetti had been before.

“Hello, Harry,” Luna said, sitting next to him and handing him a card. “Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Happy Valentine's Day, Luna,” Harry said, turning red. “I... well,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. “I got you something. Not a card, though. Should I have gotten a card, too?”

“Oh no, a gift is more than enough.”

He handed her the hastily-wrapped gift, and looked at the card she'd given him as she unwrapped her present, knowing she would do so slowly and deliberately, careful not to rip the wrapping.

The card was bright yellow, painfully so in fact, with an even more painfully red-and-blue heart on the front, the blue and red swirling together in a ghostly fashion suggesting movement and making him feel sick to his stomach with something like vertigo. He hastily opened the card, only to find it was neon orange with bright blue lettering, which was even worse.

“Can you read this to me, Luna? It's painful to look at, and is making me ill.”

“Oh,” she said, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I guess I forget not everyone shares my love of interesting color combinations. The card says, 'A brightly colored Valentine's Day card for you, because you brighten my life.'”

“Ah. Cool. Just... please don't use any of these colors around me in future, especially not together.”

“Sure thing, Harry. Ooooh!” She had opened the present at last, a silver friendship bracelet with 'H.J.P. & L.L.' inscribed on it.

“It's lovely, Harry,” she said, giving him a hug. “I got you a gift as well, I just didn't bring it with me. I can bring it to the MAC classroom later.”

“Okay. Before or after dinner?”

“Before, I think.”

Luna opened her mouth to say something else, but then Lockhart addressed them all, and introduced a bunch of surly-looking dwarfs as his 'friendly, card-carrying cupids,' available for anyone to send Valentine's to others. He also mentioned love potions, which had Harry frowning disapprovingly.

All day long, Harry kept eyeing the 'cupids' warily, half expecting one of them to try to give him a Valentine, but they didn't, much to his relief. He made it all the way to his meeting with Luna without being bothered by any of them.

Luna's gift for him turned out to be a book about the old pre-Christian holidays, and their modern wizarding equivalents, with explanations about how they differed from both the oldest ways and from modern Christian ways. She also changed the colors on his card to soft, gentle colors that soothed his eyes, and changed the text to read 'A gently colored card for a gentle soul I feel comfortable with.'

When he got back to the Griffindor common room, he was still looking at his card.

“Oooh, Harry,” Ron teased, “your girlfriend get you that? Can I see?”

Ron grabbed it, but Harry held on. They had a brief tug-of-war with it, and Harry got it back, but knocked a bottle of ink all over Riddle's diary in the process. Harry put the card away and cleaned the ink off the diary, noticing as he did that the ink was disappearing into the book. He looked at Ron, who was talking with Hermione and hadn't noticed. Harry put the diary in his pocket, and took his things up to his dorm.

He was about to try writing in the diary, when he saw a card on his bed. It was solid red with black ink. He opened it up curiously and looked at it. It was addressed to him, and read:

 

His eyes are as green as my envy,

Which cuts to the quick like a sword;

I wish he was mine, he's truly divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.

 

He blinked at these words, then turned the card all around, but there was no 'from' on it. He had a secret admirer, it seemed, and one who was in Griffindor, or knew someone in Griffindor willing to deliver it to his bed. But why speak of envy? He was single, after all. But this person seemed to think differently for some reason, and was upset about it. He wondered who it was, if only to ask why they thought he was dating someone, but ended up shrugging for now.

“One mystery at a time,” he said, as he put the mysterious card in his trunk to look at later, and sat down with Riddle's diary open.

He first tried a blot of ink on the page, which was sucked completely into the book when he tried it. 'Successful first experiment,' he thought.

Next he tried writing in it. He wrote, “Hello?”

Then, oozing out of the page in his very own ink, came words.

“Hello, stranger, my name is Tom Riddle. Who are you?”

'Yeah, not creepy at all,' he thought. But he was still intrigued. After all, for all he knew it could just be like a written-word version of one of the portraits, or a magical computer programmed to respond in certain ways.

“Hello, Tom Riddle. My name is Harry Potter,” he wrote back.

“Nice to meet you, Harry Potter. How did you come by my diary?”

“Someone tried flushing it down a toilet,” he wrote in reply.

“Good thing I recorded my memories into something more lasting than ink. But I always knew there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

“Why's that?” Harry asked it.

“Because this diary holds memories of terrible things that people tried covering up. Events that happened in this very school, bringing shame to those who ran it.”

Scribbling so fast it was barely legible, Harry replied, “I'm there now, at Hogwarts. Terrible things are happening again. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.”

Harry paused, thinking. 'So the victim was a girl. Interesting.'

Writing again, he said, “I had heard he wasn't imprisoned, but not who it was. Now there've been three attacks and nobody knows who's doing it. So who was it last time?”

“I can show you, if you like,” came Riddle’s reply. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.”

This confused Harry; he'd never heard of such a thing before.

“You could do that?” he asked Riddle in hasty scrawl. “How?”

“The how is not important, Harry, and would take too long to explain. May I show you?”

After hesitating for a moment, he wrote back, “Ok.”

The book's pages moved like they were in a high wind, stopping sometime in June. A little screen appeared on the page, so small he had to bend closer to see it. And as he did, he tipped forward and fell into the diary, landing after a rush of colors and shadows.

He looked around, and recognized the place as being the headmaster's office, but none of the signs of Dumbledore were there. Instead there was a man he'd never met before sitting behind the desk, a wizened, frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair; he was reading a letter by candlelight.

Figuring he was in Riddle's memory but needing to make sure, he waved his hand in front of the man's face. There was, of course, no reaction, which confirmed his suspicions.

A moment later, there was a knock on the door, and a second confirmation appeared in the form of a tall, 16 year old boy wearing a Prefect badge, who knocked and was let into the office. From what he knew of Riddle, Riddle had been a Prefect and Head Boy.

“Ah, Riddle,” said the headmaster, the final confirmation for Harry that he was in Riddle's memory.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. Even Harry could tell he was nervous.

What followed was an exchange in which he found out that Riddle, a half-blood orphan, lived at a Muggle orphanage, which seemed strange to Harry. The Ministry was always so keen on keeping the two worlds separate, so it seemed odd they would lose track of a wizarding-world orphan. Especially when the boy had such a strange middle name as Marvolo.

They continued talking, about Tom's request to stay the summer at Hogwarts. Harry got the impression that the place was worse than the Dursleys, at least to Riddle. But the headmaster had to refuse, because of the “unpleasantness” with the Chamber of Secrets, which included the death of a girl.

“Sir — if the person was caught — if it all stopped —”

“What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?”

“No, sir,” said Riddle quickly.

But Harry was sure Riddle wasn't being honest, that he knew something but for whatever reason wasn't telling.

This professor 'Dippet' was disappointed that Riddle didn't appear to know anything, and dismissed him. Harry followed Riddle out the door, sure the boy was going to go bust the person responsible.

On their way to wherever it was Tom was going, they ran into a much younger Dumbledore, with auburn hair and beard. He was so astonished that he almost didn't notice that it was odd to ask a Prefect why they were wandering out in the halls. But then, he supposed, maybe it wasn't Riddle's night to patrol? Or had they forbidden Prefects from patrolling, with the Chamber being open, in order to protect the students?

His mind was taken from these thoughts as Riddle continued down the steps to the dungeons. Harry blinked at this. Was Riddle a Slytherin, like his friends Antigone, Angela, and Danzia? He scoured Riddle's uniform for any sign of a Slytherin badge or colors, and found none. Of course in a standard uniform there wouldn't be, but some students liked to add scarves, pins, or other embellishments with a House crest or in House colors, to show off their House pride. Riddle, it seemed, was not among the people who did that.

Instead of going to the Slytherin common room, Riddle went to the dungeon that Snape taught Potions in. Riddle closed the door almost completely shut, then peered through the crack of the almost-closed door, waiting.

After a very long time, in which Harry spent a long time wondering why Riddle didn't just fast-forward to the good part, they saw someone else skulking about out in the corridor, passing the dungeon where they hid. Once the person had passed, Riddle sneaked out into the hall again, Harry following him.

Five minutes they walked, until the other person opened a door and started talking.

“C’mon … gotta get yeh outta here. … C’mon now … in the box …”

'Hagrid?' Harry thought, recognizing the voice. He frowned at Riddle, confused. But they boy wasn't aware of him, of course. Instead, he jumped around the corner. Harry followed him, and sure enough there was a much younger – but almost as vast – Hagrid, crouching near an open door, a large box next to it.

What followed was Riddle confronting Hagrid about how the monster he was keeping in here had killed someone, and Hagrid protesting that it hadn't. Then, without much warning, Riddle cast a bright spell that hit the door behind Hagrid, and out came an enormous spider that nearly bowled him over. Harry found himself screaming at this, though only he could hear it.

Then the scene fell apart in a swirl of mist, and Harry was at his desk again, the still-open diary now blank.

Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in.

“There you are,” he said. “Why you all sweaty, mate?”

Harry shook his head. He needed time to process things, to think, before he told anyone this story.

“I'll tell you later, Ron. Right now, I need to think.”

 

~

 

The next day, he gathered his core friends – Ron, Hermione, Luna, Antigone, Angela, and Danzia – after classes and told them to meet him at the MAC classroom. When they got there, he had them help him set up privacy wards and sweep for magical 'bugs.' Only when he was certain the room was secure did he tell them about what Riddle's diary had shown them.

Of all of them, the ones who were surest Hagrid was innocent were his Slytherin friends.

“But the attacks must have stopped after Hagrid was expelled,” Harry said, “or else Riddle wouldn't have gotten his award.”

“I dunno, though, Harry,” Antigone said. “He's facing the threat of going back to this orphanage, and just like that he knows who did it? Why didn't he tell someone sooner, if he thought it was Hagrid? Why wait? It just seems too suspicious to me.”

“What, d'ya reckon Riddle's the culprit himself?” Ron asked. “He was a Head Boy and a Prefect, doesn't sound to me like the type that would go around setting monsters on people.”

“Oh,” Danzia said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “I wasn't aware that you'd joined Hermione in thinking that all Authorities are pure and innocent souls who never do any wrong.”

“Hey!” Hermione protested, weakly.

Danzia opened her mouth to speak, but Ron interrupted. “No I don't, but come on! He sounds like Percy, obsessed with rules and stuff.”

“Then I repeat: why did he wait? Why not tell someone right away?”

“I dunno,” Ron admitted. “Maybe he didn't have any proof? Or maybe he knew Hagrid, didn't want to think he could be responsible?”

“Ron,” Danzia cut in before she could be interrupted again, “I dunno about you, but if I was the Heir of Slytherin, and if I was evil, what better way to disguise myself than to be a model student?”

“All we have is circumstantial evidence on Riddle,” Harry said. “And we're agreed that's all Riddle had on Hagrid, so let's not go jumping to conclusions. Besides, he could've just made a mistake. Maybe he honestly thought it was Hagrid. Doesn't mean he can't still be innocent himself.”

“So why did the attacks stop, then?”

“I dunno,” Harry admitted. “Maybe the Heir knew that Riddle knew something about it, and got scared, and stopped?”

“But why not go back to it later? We know Hagrid didn't go to Azkaban, not for long anyway. He was expelled, and now he's the gamekeeper. The Heir could have started up again when Hagrid got his job.”

“Yeah, but Hagrid was 13 when he got expelled, and Dumbledore wasn't headmaster then, that Dippet bloke was. He wasn't gonna get hired until he was 17 at least, and we don't even know when Dumbledore became headmaster, could've been ages later. The Heir prob'ly would've graduated by then, unless 'e was only 13 'imself when 'e did it,” Ron countered.

“Something to research, then,” Antigone said.

“I think we should ask Hagrid about it,” Luna said serenely, as though they were discussing Hagrid's favorite flavor of Every-Flavor Beans.

“Oh, that'd be a cheerful visit,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “ 'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?' ”

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. What was more, the mandrakes were almost ready to be used.

“I feel bad for Colin and Justin, missing out on so much schooling because of this,” Harry said one day.

“Oh, they'll probably be summer-schooled to get caught up. If not, we can help get them caught up,” Hermione assured him.

 

~

 

The second years had something new to think about, though; classes for next year. They would be getting new classes next year, and would get to pick them. This was something that Harry and Hermione were taking very seriously, as it would affect their future career possibilities. Ron, however, wasn't taking it so seriously, and had picked Care of Magical Creatures and Divination because he thought they'd be easy. Harry, however, had picked Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione had given up trying to pick, and just signed up for all of them.

Even though he didn't care for Quidditch himself, Harry still made note of the fact that Griffindor would be playing Hufflepuff on Saturday. Everyone would be there, because Griffindor had been doing pretty well this year and was ahead on points. One more match, and they'd win the Quidditch cup for the first time in a long time.

On the night before the match, Neville Longbottom came to find Harry and told him someone had trashed their dorm, focusing on Harry's stuff. Harry followed Neville up, and sure enough, the place was a mess; desk drawers were pulled out, the sheets on the bed undone, torn pages from books everywhere, and the pockets of his robes were turned out; whoever it was had been looking for something.

Only when he'd repaired everything he could and thrown away or straightened up the things he couldn't did he realize Riddle's diary was gone, and quietly told Ron.

They went downstairs to tell Hermione, who was reading a book about ancient runes. She was aghast when they told her, and pointed out that only a Griffindor could have done it.

It was only later that night that he noticed that the mysterious red valentine's day card he'd gotten was intact, not even bent. His card from Luna, however, was torn into four pieces, and he had to repair it with his wand.

 

~

 

Deciding he'd rather be with people when the Heir was running amok, even if it had been quiet lately, Harry decided he would put his special earmuffs and sunglasses on, closing his eyes as he sat with his friends. He had the sunglasses perched on his forehead and the earmuffs around his neck as he and his friends gathered to go to the match.

On the way downstairs, Harry heard that monstrous voice again.

“Kill this time … let me rip … tear …”

He shouted aloud and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.

“The voice!” said Harry, looking over his shoulder. “It's going to kill again! And now I'm absolutely certain it's Parseltongue.”

Hermione and Ron both looked very worried. “Let's get out of the castle now,” Ron said. Then he turned to Hermione. “You had any luck finding out about snake monsters?”

Hermione shook her head, her floofy hair threatening to pop out of the single large elastic holding it back. “It's like Nicolas Flamel all over again. The library here is such a mess! Especially compared to Muggle libraries. There's no card catalog, people keep putting the books back in the wrong places, half the books don't even have titles visible on the spines, and there are a bunch of books in languages I can't even identify. If I could find the right book, I'm sure I could find the monster, but finding it is the problem.”

“Have you tried asking the librarian?”

She snorted. “Yes. About as helpful as dry rot, that one.”

In the stands, Harry put his sunglasses on over his glasses as well, and closed his eyes. So it was that he had to be poked by Hermione to realize something had happened. Taking off his earmuffs and sunglasses, he realized McGonagall was informing them that the match was canceled, much to Oliver Wood's dismay, because someone else had been attacked. Harry looked around himself, and didn't see any of his friends missing. Still, he wondered who it was.

McGonagall came up to him.

“I'm glad to see you here, Mr. Potter,” she said. “With this being the second attack you've got a solid alibi for, I can cross you off my list of suspects completely, which is a relief. I just wish we knew who it was.”

“Oh. Thanks?” he said, a little annoyed that he'd been on her list at all after being with the Hufflepuffs during the last attack.

“Professor,” Danzia said, sounding panicked, “I don't know where Willem Stone is. Please, he wasn't the one attacked, was he?”

“No, Miss McCullough, Mr. Stone was not the one petrified. This attack was another double attack. One of the victims was a Ravenclaw Prefect by the name of Penelope Clearwater.”

“Penelope!” Percy shouted, standing up and rushing away.

“The other victim was a Slytherin Prefect, Miss Maki Yasu.”

Harry and the rest of his friends followed everyone else back into the castle. He was thinking about calling an emergency friend meeting in the MAC classroom, but soon McGonagall's voice rang throughout the school, informing them of new rules that included a 6 pm curfew, and teachers escorting kids through the halls.

While they were still together, Harry turned to Danzia and said, “We need to find out if we can get a look at these latest victims. Of the attacks so far, Colin had his eyes up to his camera at the time he was attacked, and I'm pretty sure Justin was looking at something or someone through Sir Nicolas. It may be important.”

“Gotcha. I'll pass it on.”

Then they went their separate ways to their own common rooms.

In the Griffindor common room, McGonagall was waiting, and went over the rules again, and also added that she thought the school would be shut down if the attacks didn't stop soon.

When she left, people started to talk.

“That’s one Gryffindor down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff,” said the Weasley twins’ friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin — why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared, to nods and scattered applause.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, “but the other victim of this latest attack was a Slytherin Prefect, Maki Yasu.”

That rather took the wind out of everyone's hate-sails.

“I don't know her blood status, having never met her before” he continued, “but there are half-blood and Muggle-born people in Slytherin, too. Not to mention blood traitors. They have to keep a low profile in Slytherin, but they exist.”

There were some mumbles of shame at this, which pleased Harry, but he was already moving on to speak with Ron and Hermione, casting privacy spells before sitting down.

“We need to do something,” Harry said. “The Heir is attacking Slytherins too, now. Whoever it is, is getting bolder.”

“But what are we supposed to do?” Hermione asked.

“I think we need to talk with Hagrid. I know it's a slim lead, but it's all we have.”

“Right,” said Ron. “Well let's hope it works out better than our last lead.”

“How, though? We're under curfew.”

“We'll have to use my dad's old cloak again,” Harry said.

“Just us, or do we invite anyone else along?”

“Well we don't have any way of communicating with Danzia and the others. I wish I'd thought to get them one or two magical two-way mirrors, but I didn't.”

“What about Luna?”

“I dunno. We'd have to swing by Ravenclaw tower to do that, and that increases our odds of getting caught. So just the three of us, this time.”

 

~

 

After waiting for everyone to go to bed, the three of them got under the invisibility cloak Harry had inherited from his father, and headed out into the castle. It was a lot more difficult this time than previous times, because there were far more adults in the corridors than usual, all watching out for signs of danger. Harry was glad, seeing this, that he'd decided not to invite Luna along.

They had a close call when they ran into somebody invisible just before the oak front doors, but the area was presently otherwise unoccupied.

“Ow, who's there?” Harry whispered.

“Harry? Is that you?”

“Antigone. Why am I surprised you're here?”

“Me and Angela are here, too,” said Danzia's voice.

“Of course you are. Well, let's get out of here before someone catches us,” Harry said, easing the large front doors open, then closed again when they all got out.

The six of them – three under the invisibility cloak, and three Disillusioned – made their way under the starry sky to Hagrid's hut. When they got there, the three under the cloak lifted it up so Hagrid would be able to see them, and knocked on his door.

The second they knocked, he flung the door open, crossbow in hand. Fang the boarhound barked at them.

“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon. “What're you three doin' here?”

“Six,” said Harry. “Antigone, Danzia, and Angela are Dis--”

“Not 'nough room fer six of yeh an' me too. Jes you three, in. Rest of yeh, sorry, but you need ter go back.”

“We'll stay out here,” they said as Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered Hagrid's hut.

He closed the door behind them.

“What's that for?” Harry asked, referring to the crossbow.

“Nuthin. Jes bin expectin'... but never mind. Don't matter none. Sit down, I'll make tea.”

But Hagrid was so nervous that he poured hot water into empty mugs, spilling most of it.

“Are you okay, Hagrid? Did you hear about those two Prefects?”

“Yeah, I heard, all righ',” he said, a slight break in his voice.

There was a loud knock at the door, making Hagrid drop some fruitcake. The three of them glanced at one another in near panic as Hagrid took up his crossbow again. Then they ducked under the invisibility cloak again, retreating into a corner.

When they were hidden, Hagrid opened his door. Standing there were two men: Dumbledore, and a man in a lime-green bowler hat. Ron gasped, whispering about that man being Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Three Muggle-borns and a Half-Blood petrified. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”

Hagrid protested, pleading his innocence in a terrified voice, begging not to be sent back to Azkaban. But despite Dumbledore's assurances of Hagrid's innocence, too, the Minister was adamant that he had to go back.

Then there was another knock on the door. Dumbledore answered it, and this time Harry gasped, recognizing Lucius Malfoy. Of course, Ron and Hermione knew him as well, both having been there at Flourish and Blotts when he and Mr. Weasley had fought.

The three of them watched as the elder Malfoy informed them that he'd come looking for Dumbledore, to show him that the School Governors had voted unanimously to boot him from his position, an action that Hagrid thought highly suspect. All the signatures were there, though, and despite even protestations from Fudge, Dumbledore had to step down.

“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered toward the corner where the three of them were hidden.

Nor was that the only mysterious thing said. As they all left with Hagrid in tow, Hagrid paused and gave a cryptic message about following the spiders, as well as saying someone would need to feed Fang.

The door banged shut and Ron pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.

“We’re in trouble now,” he said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.

Harry looked out the window very carefully, watching the three adults heading for the front gates. When they were gone, there was a knock at the door. He opened the door and let his three Slytherin friends inside.

“What's going on? Where's Hagrid going?” Angela asked.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron took turns recounting what they'd witnessed. The three girls echoed Ron's earlier sentiment about the results of Dumbledore's dismissal.

“So now what?”

“For now, we go back.”

And go back is exactly what they did, all of them making it safely back without getting caught.

 

 

 

End note 1: On a whim, I looked for pictures of gray-eyed Indian women, and even though I knew it was possible, I was pleased to see proof that there really are people who look like Antigone. I mean, I'd seen blue eyed Indian people before, and gray eyes are just a shade of blue eyes, but still cool to have proof.

 

End note 2: I Googled “painful color combinations” as research for this chapter, and now I regret it because I react to them the same way this fic's Harry does.

 

End note 3: I didn't know who the Slytherin Prefects for this year were, so I made a (this time minor) OC for the second victim of the second double attack. She is a half-blood, secretly a blood traitor but pretends to be a blood purist. She is in the same year as Penelope and Percy.

 

Dumbledore's removal from the school only made everyone's fear increase, because if Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort feared, how could they think the Heir of Slytherin would be any different? The Heir would have free reign now, or at least freer reign.

His removal also complicated other matters. Wizard Studies class was canceled for the time being, becoming a free study period, but with as paranoid as all the teachers were, everyone who'd been taking the class ended up in their dorm rooms during that period.

Luckily, though, McGonagall and Flitwick kept up the Dueling Club, despite the 6 o'clock curfew. At 7 PM, when it was over, they would escort everyone to their respective dorms, which let Harry, Ron, and Hermione see where the Hufflepuff dorms were at last: near the kitchens.

MAC was canceled for the foreseeable future, of course. This gave them very little time around Draco now. Draco's standing in Slytherin wasn't increasing any, though, as he kept complaining loudly about his father's “stupid decision” to remove Dumbledore.

“Yes, the man's eccentric,” they heard him saying in class once, “but he defeated Grindlewald in a duel, and he was the only one You-Know-Who feared. The Heir will be afraid of him too, I've no doubt. I've already sent an owl to father about his idiotic decision, but I haven't gotten a reply back.”

Another time, they heard him worrying aloud that he thought his father couldn't have heard yet about Draco's current standing in Slytherin, or that the Heir was attacking Slytherins now, too.

“And I'm a blood traitor now! I've been going to MAC, questioning father's ideology. I'm terrified to leave my dorm! I'm terrified to stay in my dorm, too; the Heir is surely a Slytherin, after all. I'm bound to be next! I explained all this in my letter to father; I wish he would hurry and write back.”

“Draco, try not to worry too much,” Harry told him. “Danzia, Willem, Antigone, and Angela are there with you, too. Power in numbers, and all that.”

Draco nodded, but didn't look very convinced.

They were having no luck figuring out what the monster was, either. Between the disorganized library and the librarian's unhelpfulness, it was still an uphill battle trying to figure that out. Nor was looking for the spiders helping, as they all seemed to have scarpered already.

In fact, it wasn't until Herbology class one day that Harry noticed some spiders fleeing, making a beeline for the Forbidden Forest. He pointed this out to Ron and Hermione.

“Forbidden Forest, right,” Ron said. “But with the teachers taking us from class to class now, and the curfew, there's no way we'll be able to get away!”

“Not without my father's cloak, anyway,” Harry said.

Hermione twisted her mouth uncertainly. “I see your point, Harry,” she said, “But that didn't go so well last time, remember? And what about that giant spider that was in Hagrid's box, in the vision Riddle showed you? It could be out there.”

“I think that's why Hagrid wants us to go there, to talk with it.”

Ron's eyes bugged out. “No way! No, I am not going to go talk with a giant talking spider!”

“Hermione and I will be there, too, Ron.”

“Yeah, but I came across something in one of those creature books the other day, about giant spiders called acromantulas. If that's what Hagrid had in that box, they grow to the size of cart horses and eat humans!”

“Well, maybe. But there's good things in there, too. Like the centaurs.”

Ron snorted. “I really doubt the centaurs and an acromantula are gonna live in the same parts of the forest.”

“Yeah, but they have weapons. And anyway, there's only one acromantula.”

“That we know of,” Ron snapped. “You know Hagrid as well as I do. I wouldn’t put it past him to have thought his pet giant spider was lonely, and gotten it a mate.”

“Hermione, do you know any spells against acromantulas?”

“Arania Exumai,” she said. “Not sure how effective it is, though.”

“Well if we're going into the Forest, we can take Fang with us,” Ron said.

“Fang is a coward though, remember?” Harry answered. “He'd be useless.”

“Oh, right.”

They had to stop talking, then, because class was over, and Professor Sprout had to escort them to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry used the time to think about the planned trip into the Forest.

“Don't worry too much, Harry,” Ron said when they sat down. “If we can somehow get your Slytherin friends in there with us, they'll know some more effective spells, since they're older.”

“I suppose so. Not sure how we're going to get a message to them, though.”

“If we survive this year, you should get some two-way mirrors or something from Diagon Alley.”

Harry nodded to this.

Just then, Professor Lockhart came in, looking for all the world like the world couldn't be more beautiful, as opposed to everyone else's fear. Harry barely listened as he expressed his certainty that Hagrid was the culprit; he didn't feel like getting in trouble for hexing a teacher. Not even one as idiotic as Lockhart. As it was, Harry had to stop Ron blabbing things they shouldn't be able to know, by kicking him under the desk.

At some point during class, Harry made a decision, and scrawled a pair of notes to Ron and Hermione, saying 'Let's do it tonight.'

Ron looked grim, but determined. Hermione looked unsure. She scribbled a note on the other side and passed it back to him. The note said, 'But the Slytherins?'

Grabbing another piece of parchment, he sent back another reply, which said, 'I'll give them a note at dinnertime.'

After reading the note, she nodded.

At dinnertime, Harry went over to Antigone, and passed her a note. Well, really it was more of a letter. He'd taken the precaution of writing most of it in invisible ink, too. If a teacher looked at it, it was just a short note saying he missed them, hoped the Heir problem would be solved soon so they could restart MAC, and contained a coded message (without being obvious) that instructed her to use a Revealer on the other side of the page. He hoped she would figure it out. Antigone being a quintessential Slytherin, it was hard to doubt she'd miss it, but he still worried.

Since it was so hard to get away from the common room these days, being as they had nowhere else to go because of the curfew, Harry ended up sitting on his cloak all night long, playing games with people to pass the time. But the place was so crowded and noisy, especially with games like Exploding Snap, that he started getting a headache after a couple hours, and after taking a headache cure, he put his earmuffs on and took to reading a Defense book of his instead.

Finally, though, the three of them were the last people in the common room, so they seized on the opportunity to slip away under the invisibility cloak and out the portrait hole. But getting through the hallways was difficult, as they were full of teachers and Prefects patrolling. While sensible, it was annoying, and it took almost a whole hour to slowly make their way out the front doors, where to nobody's surprise they bumped into Antigone, Angela, and Danzia, who were Disillusioned.

“Everyone here?” Harry whispered outside the door.

They answered in the affirmative, so he told them where they were going.

When they got into the Forbidden Forest, Harry and the other two Griffindors took off the cloak, and the three Slytherin girls undid their Disillusionment Charms so they could see each other as they followed the spiders. Then they all lit their wands - except for Ron, who feared his might explode if he did - and followed the little trail of arachnids.

By the light of five wands, they went deeper and deeper into the Forest, until they had to leave the forest path – something Hagrid had warned them not to do, but he'd also told them to follow the spiders. Reluctantly, the six of them continued through the ever-darkening forest after the thin trail of arachnids.

They walked for over an hour, according to Danzia's wristwatch, their robes getting snagged frequently on the thickening brush. Several times they had to stop for minutes at a time, either to find the spiders again, or to find a way past an especially thick patch of brambles or bushes that the spiders were just blithely going through or over, but every time they managed to find their little eight-legged leaders again. After a while, they noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

Antigone stopped them all with a raised arm and a whispered admonition. She'd heard something, and needed to listen.

“What is it?” Ron whimpered, clutching Hermione's arm.

Harry heard it too. Something large was coming through the thick woods, breaking branches as it moved through the brush.

“Oh, no,” said Ron. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh —”

“Shut up,” said Harry frantically. “It’ll hear you.”

The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they stood, terrified, waiting. But the sound was gone.

“We've lost the trail,” Antigone said quietly, searching the ground for spiders.

The others made to look with her, except for Harry, who was looking at Ron. Ron's face had gone pale as death, and he was staring at a point 10 feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry. It was plain that Ron was very close to pissing himself in terror.

With a sudden clicking noise, Harry found himself being hoisted into the air, hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, hearing more horrible clicking, he saw the legs of Ron and a few others being hoisted as well, while others were making a lot of terrified noise, not sure what was going on. Then he saw only darkness as whatever had him walked very fast away from the lights of the wands and into a hollow that had been cleared of trees. He had brief glimpses of giant hairy spider legs, and a massive structure made of webbing, and starlight overhead. They had found the acromantulas, then; Ron had been right, there was more than one. Who knew how many there were, after all these decades?

Craning his neck, he got a better image of the hollow, and what he saw made him want to wet himself. Hundreds of massive spiders, large as cart horses, as well as myriad other smaller spiders, all swarming over a massive area. From what he could tell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if there'd been 1000 or more of the horrible acromantulas living there, it was like a small domed city made of webbing.

What was worse, dozens – nay, scores – of the monsters were gathering around, clicking in excitement at Harry and whoever else had been caught. They released him and Ron, and he also saw Hermione at his other side. He felt mildly relieved, as it looked like there'd only been three of the giant spiders that found them, unless there were others that were being held up. He hoped that the three Slytherin girls, at least, had escaped. But at the same time, he was annoyed that they hadn't tried to fight the things, as far as he could remember from the chaos that the monsters had sown.

He took a better look at his two Griffindor friends. Ron's eyes were popping, his mouth in a silent scream, his whole body like a statue, except that he was quivering in terror. Hermione, too, looked utterly terrified, covering her eyes and weeping silently. Harry felt much the same; he wondered how bad he looked.

Harry forced himself to calm down a little, trying to think of what spells he could use to get out of this situation, as this clearly had been a horrible idea. But his thoughts were interrupted as he realized the spiders were speaking, saying over and over again the word “Aragog.” It had been hard to tell at first, because they clicked their pincers whenever they spoke.

And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind. He was clearly very old, too, which made Harry wonder if this was Hagrid's original pet, the one from the vision.

“What is it?” the old spider said, clicking his pincers rapidly.

“Humans,” clicked the spider that had been carrying Harry.

“Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely.

“Strangers,” clicked the spider who had brought Ron.

“Kill them,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping. …”

“We’re friends of Hagrid’s,” Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in his throat.

Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.

Aragog paused.

“Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he said slowly.

“Hagrid’s in trouble,” said Harry, breathing very fast. “That’s why we’ve come.”

“In trouble?” said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?”

Unable to trust himself to stand, he stayed seated, speaking as calmly as he could.

“They think he's the Heir of Slytherin. They think he's setting a monster on students, so they took him to Azkaban.”

“But that was years ago,” said Aragog fretfully. “Years and years ago. I remember it well. That’s why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free.”

“So it wasn't you?”

“I? No, I was not the monster they sought. Hagrid got me as an egg from a distant land. I never saw anything in the castle except for the box he kept me in until I had to escape, the night I was discovered.”

“You never attacked anyone?”

“Never,” croaked the old spider. “It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet. …”

“So... what did kill that girl?”

“We do not speak of it!” Aragog shouted to a backdrop of hundreds of angry clicks. “The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog, “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school. But do not ask me to speak more of it!”

Harry nodded, sensing he'd gotten all he could out of the spider, and beginning to plan an escape. But just in case it was reasonable, he spoke again.

“Thanks for that. We'll just go back now and tell the teachers that, so Hagrid can be released.”

“Go?” said Aragog slowly. “I think not.”

“So you don't want Hagrid released?”

Aragog paused, thinking.

“It matters not, one way or another,” the blind spider said. “I do care for Hagrid, but I have my family to care for now. There are many mouths to feed here in our hollow, and while I myself do not attack humans for Hagrid's sake, and my children do not harm Hagrid on my command, I cannot deny my sons and daughters fresh meat when it wanders so willingly into our midst. So farewell, friends of Hagrid.”

Harry stood up suddenly with his wand and shouted, “Arania Exumai!” at the nearest spiders. A burst of light hit the thing, but hardly did anything to the spider. The light itself had far more effect, as the spiders flinched away from it.

“LUMOS MAXIMA!” he shouted, blinding the spiders, causing an uproar of furious clicks.

“Dobby! Netty!” he said, as he grabbed Ron and Hermione.

The two house elves appeared with a loud crack, confused at first. They barely had time to regard the spiders with terror before Harry forced his friends' hands into the elves' hands and shouted, “GO! BACK TO THE CASTLE! TAKE THEM WITH YOU!”

With a loud crack, the four of them vanished, leaving Harry alone with the monsters. Hermione might have been useful, if she hadn't been nearly as catatonic as Ron had been, so he'd gotten them to safety instead.

He ran, shooting more bursts of light after him, but it was hopeless; the spiders were so fast that they would surely catch him at any moment, light or no light.

But then, he saw flashes of variously colored lights up ahead, and then heard shouts. He recognized the voices as Antigone, Angela, and Danzia. They hadn't run away after all, but were instead shooting various spells and hexes at nearby spiders.

Getting close enough for him to see her, Antigone jumped out and shot several bombarda spells at the nearest spiders, causing fiery explosions that not only made charbroiled, exploded spider guts fly everywhere, but also made bright lights. Harry did the same, using the spell for the first time ever. It didn't work the first couple times he tried, but on the third time he got it.

Danzia and Angela arrived, too, and he heard words like defodio, confringo, and expulso, which all had various destructive effects on the attacking spiders. He even saw one of them, with a shouted 'vocabo acidum,' send a torrent of burning acid at the acromantulas, resulting in a lot of inhuman screams of agony.

All these and more, poorly aimed because they were all running for their lives and firing blindly behind them, slowed down the giant spiders enough for Harry to call back Netty and Dobby. Dobby took Angela's and Antigone's robes, Netty took Harry's free hand, and they all Disapparated away, appearing in an unfamiliar dorm room with a view of the underside of the lake.

Harry collapsed, panting with exhaustion, trying to calm down his racing heart. They were bloody lucky to be alive. If he hadn't thought to call for the two elves, they'd probably be dead now.

“Where are we?” he asked when he finally calmed down enough to speak.

“This is our dorm room,” Antigone responded. “Angela's and mine.”

Dobby stood up on shaking legs, but Netty was still on the floor, crying and shaking. Dobby disappeared with a crack, and Harry didn't blame him. But a few minutes later, he reappeared, and handed Harry something, which he took in bewilderment.

“Dobby is finding Harry Potter's invisibility cloak, Sir,” the elf said by way of explanation.

“Thank you, Dobby. And Dobby, Netty, thank you both for saving our lives.”

“You is most welcome, Harry Potter sir,” said Dobby proudly. Netty merely nodded.

“Where are the others, Dobby?”

“Dobby is putting the two Griffindors back in Griffindor common room, Sir. The other Slytherin girl--”

Danzia burst into the room then, hugging Dobby thankfully.

“Is here, Sir,” Dobby explained unnecessarily.

She let go of Dobby, and moved on to hugging Netty. Free of her squeezing embrace, Dobby cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, “is Harry Potter wanting Dobby to take him back to the Griffindor common room?”

“Let me check something first. Antigone? Angela? You two okay?”

Angela nodded, but said nothing. She was crying, and holding her knees. Antigone nodded as well.

“And you, Danzia?”

“I may have nightmares about giant spiders for the next few months, but yeah, I'm fine.”

“Good. I better go reassure the others. Dobby, I'm ready.”

He took the elf's hand. No sooner had they reappeared in Griffindor Common Room than Hermione tackled him with a crushing bear hug, that Ron soon joined.

“Oh thank God you're alright! I was afraid you'd been eaten! What took you so long? How'd you get out of there?”

“Well I probably wouldn’t have escaped if not for Danzia and the others showing up, helping me slow down the acromantulas with various exploding spells and other destructive spells and curses, which bought time for Dobby and Netty to come back for us. They took us to Antigone's dorm room, and we had to recover a little before--”

Ron had spotted Dobby, and was giving the little elf a giant hug. Hermione, seeing this, joined in as well. The two Griffindors praised Dobby's bravery and help, which made the little elf grin ecstatically. Then Harry called Netty, and she appeared, looking like she was recovering, and they all praised her, too, before finally dismissing the two elves.

Harry and Ron had a hard time getting to sleep that night, understandably. It took over an hour of whispered conversation between the two friends before they started to drift off at last. But Harry sat up like a bolt just before falling asleep, and woke Ron up to tell him what he'd figured out.

Ron awoke with a yelp, looking frantically around for the danger, before seeing Harry just wanted to talk with him again.

“Ron — that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom,” said Harry, ignoring Neville’s snuffling snores from the corner. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still there?”

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too.

“You don’t think — not Moaning Myrtle?”

~

After relaying to Hermione the revelation about Moaning Myrtle being the girl who died, she gasped and slapped her own face, clearly thinking she should have put it together herself already. It was only a shame that not even Hermione could get away with using that bathroom anymore, what with it being the site of the first attack and the words in red on the wall still being stuck there, Filch unable to clean them off.

But something happened in Transfiguration that drove the Chamber out of the minds of everyone, for they found they were still having exams. The only person, to Harry's knowledge, who didn't look surprised by this was Hermione, and even she looked like she thought it might not be a great idea in the current climate. Even workaholic Hermione would doubtless find it hard to study while worrying about some giant monster attacking people at any time.

Ron took it worst of all, though; he looked as though he’d just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest.

“Can you imagine me taking exams with this?” he asked Harry, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

“If you let me buy you a new wand via owl order, it might arrive in time.”

“Maybe. But I dunno about that, either. 'The wand chooses the wizard,' remember? How can I trust some random wand that didn't pick me?”

“The wand you have now is hand-me-down, isn't it?”

“Yeah, but that's different. Family wands tend to be much more likely to accept new users from the same family. And even so, this one took me a few months to get the hang of. Everyone but me and Neville got the hang of theirs faster.”

Harry didn't know what to say to this.

Three days before their first exam, though, McGonagall announced some happy news: the mandrakes were almost ready to be made into a restorative draught, so they'd soon be finding out who the culprit was.

Harry glanced at the Slytherin table, and saw Draco looking relieved, and talking with Danzia.

“It won’t matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!” Ron said to Harry and Hermione during dinner. “I feel bad for the kids that missed most of the year, though; how're they gonna pass exams when they've missed so much?”

“Probably they'll be tutored to get caught up,” Hermione mused.

Just then, Ginny came up to Harry, looking very nervous.

“I have to tell you something,” she said to him. But she hesitated, looking worried and reluctant.

“Does this have something to do with the Chamber of Secrets?” he asked.

Before she could answer, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired and wan.

“If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving, I’ve only just come off patrol duty.”

Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. Harry rushed after her while Ron and Hermione berated Percy for his timing, but she disappeared in the crowded room, and he lost track of her. He continued trying to find her, asking people if they'd seen her. But she'd made a clean getaway. Given that the teachers were ushering them through the halls for everything, this worried him more than anything. He headed up to the staff table to talk with McGonagall.

“Professor McGonagall?”

“What is it, Potter? We're trying to eat dinner.”

“I know that, but I can't find Ginny Weasley anywhere. She was about to tell me something that I think was about the Chamber of Secrets, given her nervousness, but Percy scared her off, and she vanished into the crowd. I've been looking for several minutes, but nobody's seen her.”

McGonagall frowned a little. “She's probably still in the room, Potter. Nobody's allowed out into the halls without a teacher escort, you know.”

“I know, but I have an instinct that she's given whoever's at the door the slip.”

“You think she gave Professor Snape the slip?”

“If that's who's at the doors, then yes.”

“Whatever for?”

“It's hard to explain, but I think she might know who the Heir of Slytherin is. Or she at least saw somebody or something suspicious. I got that vibe from her, before she got spooked.”

The stern older woman sighed. “I'll have the Prefects look for her, then.”

“You might want to exclude Percy from that, since he spooked her.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Potter, I'll do that. Students shouldn't be wandering about, and if he's the reason for it, we can't chance her running away from him again.”

Harry nodded. She dismissed him, and he went back to Ron and Hermione to tell them what had happened.

Thankfully, because they still had exams to study for, Hermione was able to convince McGonagall to escort the Griffindors to the library after lunch one day. They wouldn’t be able to stay long, because of the curfew, but it gave the three of them the chance to check out a bunch more creature books to look through for a giant snake monster when they returned to the common room. McGonagall gave the three of them a weird look when she saw they were all carrying so many books they could barely see where they were going, but said nothing as she escorted them back.

The three of them had been there for less than an hour going through their books when Hermione stumbled on the right creature.

“Harry! Ron!” she whispered excitedly at them. “I found it!”

She pointed to the page in the book she had open, and Harry got there first, reading:

Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

“Wow, Hermione! I think you're right. It all fits! A giant snake, which explains how I can understand it, we knew that much already.”

“And you said you thought people were seeing it through things, right?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah. Colin through his camera, and Justin through Nick. But since Nick is already dead, he can't die. I don't know about the last one, though.”

“I do,” Hermione said. “I asked around, and the two Prefect girls who were attacked had been found with a mirror. From what I've heard of the two of them, the Slytherin Prefect was probably checking her hair, and Penelope Clearwater may also have been looking at the mirror, too.”

Ron’s jaw had dropped.

“And Mrs. Norris?” he whispered eagerly.

“The water,” Harry and Hermione said in stereo. Harry let Hermione continue.

“Mrs. Norris saw the basilisk's reflection in the water, Ron,” she finished. “Myrtle's bathroom was flooding, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

“'The crowing of the rooster is fatal to it,'” Harry read. “And Hagrid said his roosters had been killed. The Heir had to get them out of the way. Then 'spiders flee before it.' Even Aragog and the other acromantulas were terrified of this thing, like it was a monster You-Know-Who.”

“But how’s the basilisk been getting around the place?” said Ron. “A giant snake, someone would’ve seen it?”

“Pipes,” said Hermione with a smirk.

“It's been using the plumbing? Which is why Harry can hear it in the walls, and we didn't; Parseltongue sounds like hissing.”

“This means,” said Harry, “I can’t be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin’s one, too. That’s how he’s been controlling the basilisk.”

“Wait, Harry. Wasn't You-Know-Who a Parselmouth, too?” Hermione asked.

“So?”

“Well he might be old enough. Maybe he was in school the same time Tom Riddle was?”

“Damn. Wish I'd thought of that before. I could've asked Tom if he knew of any ugly snake-looking guys in school.”

“I doubt he looked like that in school, Harry. Guy without a nose would kinda stand out, right? Hard to think Riddle would suspect Hagrid when someone like that was about. So if it was You-Know-Who, then he could've looked like anything! Hell, he could be this Tom Riddle bloke for all we know. He could've set Hagrid up as a fall guy. You said Riddle didn't want to go back to that orphanage, right? He hears his plot is going to get him sent back there, he sets somebody up to take the blame so he can stay at Hogwarts.”

“But Riddle is handsome!”

“Think that matters? Dad said something once about dark magic often deforming the people who used it. He could've been handsome in his youth, but then the dark magic took his nose away, among other deformities, from what I've heard of him.”

“Could it really be Tom Riddle?” Harry asked Hermione.

“How should I know? But Ron might be right. I've never heard of a diary acting like that before. I mean, it could just be something similar to a pensieve – a sort of stone bowl to watch memories from. But, like, combined with something like a portrait, in writing? And if so, it would have the self awareness and memories to reopen the Chamber.”

“Yeah!” Ron said. “And it's really suspicious it just showed up here at the right time, just as the Chamber was open, to conveniently point the finger at Hagrid again.”

“I don't know,” Harry said, uncertain. “I got a malevolent vibe from You-Know-Who the first time, but Riddle seemed alright. Charming, even.”

“Well, Harry, I've heard serial killers are often charming. And You-Know-Who is basically a power-hungry, magical serial killer.”

“But the Voldemort I met by the Mirror of Erised wasn't charming. I think he was trying to be, but failing miserably. He was about as charming as something pale and slimy under a stone.”

“Yeah, Harry, but there were no attacks when you had the thing with you, and they started up again when it got nicked.”

“But if the diary is just a written-word portrait, how is it acting?”

“It must be using somebody,” Hermione said. “Using some living human as an accomplice, you know? It wouldn’t be able to act on its own, if it's like a portrait.”

“But doesn't that kinda leave us at square one? We have no idea who it's using, who the accomplice is. Unless...”

“Unless what, Harry?” Ron said.

“No, it couldn't be. Too much of a coincidence, two DADA teachers in a row being evil. But Quirrell pretended to be a stuttering coward; Lockhart could be pretending to be a total idiot.”

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. “Should we go straight to McGonagall?”

“Let’s go to the staffroom,” said Harry, jumping up. “She’ll be there in ten minutes. It’s nearly time for the next class.”

They ran out the portrait hole and over to the staff room. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in a corridor without an escort, the three of them went straight into the deserted staffroom. It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. The three Griffindors paced around it, too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal the next class never came.

Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified.

“All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please.”

“Not another attack, surely?” Hermione fretted.

“What’ll we do?” said Ron, aghast. “Go back to the dormitory?”

“No,” said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers’ cloaks. “In here. Let’s hear what it’s all about. Then we can tell them what we’ve found out.”

“I don't know about this, Harry,” Hermione said. “We might—”

“If we get in trouble, so what? We need to get this information to McGonagall, and I can't think of another way.”

Sighing with resignation, Hermione nodded. They hid themselves inside the wardrobe, which was a tight fit for three second year students, listened to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, before the staffroom door banged open. From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

From what they witnessed, there was indeed another attack, but this one was different. Nobody had been found. Instead, another message had been left by the Heir of Slytherin, saying 'Her body will rot in the chamber forever.' And what was worse, the student who had been abducted was Ginny Weasley. Ron slid to the bottom of the wardrobe in despair, and Hermione – barely visible in the dark – looked like she was trying very hard not to cry. It was hard, just then, but Harry continued listening, and there was talk about closing the school and sending the students home.

Then Lockhart came into the room, and he was beaming, clearly with no idea what was going on. This didn't make him any less a suspect in Harry's mind.

“So sorry — dozed off — what have I missed?”

He didn’t seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

“Just the man,” he said. “The very man. A girl has been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

The look that took over Lockhart's face almost made Harry want to laugh, as his beauty and happiness melted into ugly cowardice, and a weak chin. The rest of the conversation didn't fare much better for the man, as he got backed into a corner, metaphorically speaking. He had no choice but to agree to going after the monster, leaving the room quickly, looking utterly terrified.

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, “that’s got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories.”

The teachers rose and left, one by one.

How the three of them got back to the common room after that, they could never remember, they were all so dejected and terrified about Ginny being taken. They weren't alone, either; everyone in Griffindor was quiet for once, all of them feeling the same thing.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

“She knew something,” said Ron, speaking for the first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staffroom. “That’s why she was taken. You missed this when you looked for Ginny the other day, Harry, but I thought she'd seen Percy doing something embarrassing, and told him as much. But now it's clear I was wrong. It wasn’t some stupid thing about Percy at all. She’d found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was —” Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. “I mean, she's a pureblood. There can’t be any other reason.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and came to a decision.

“I think she's still alive. We have to go find her. We have to stop Lockhart, if it's him.”

“You think it's him? He looked like a coward, when the teachers sent him after Ginny.”

“Could be an act. He's convinced people all over the world to buy his stupid books, hasn't he?”

“Do you really think he's that clever?”

“After Quirrell, I won't dismiss the possibility so easily.”

“Good point. You coming too, Hermione?”

“Of course I am. You two in the Chamber alone? I shudder to think. But let's stop at Lockhart's office first, just in case you're wrong about him.”

“Alright, then,” Harry agreed, standing up.

Getting out of there was absurdly easy; nobody so much as looked at them as they left, all of them being lost in worry for Ginny. And the halls, despite everything, were almost deserted. He supposed the teachers were busy with plans to get the students out of there.

As they made their way to Lockhart's office, Harry's heart pained him, his mind having suddenly thought about Luna for the first time in days or longer, given everything that was going on. He made a mental note to go straight to her if he survived this, and hoped she was safe.

There was a flurry of activity in Lockhart's office, given all the noise. Noise that stopped suddenly the moment they knocked. The door opened a crack and they saw one of his blue eyes peer out at them.

“Oh, Misters Potter and Weasley, and Ms. Granger,” he said, opening the door a bit wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment, so please be quick.”

Harry turned his wand on the bewildered man.

“Tell the truth now,” Harry demanded, “are you the Heir of Slytherin?”

After a moment of gaping open-mouthed at Harry in bewilderment, Lockhart said, “Me? Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award, the Heir of Slytherin? Madness! Sheer lunacy! Your brain must be going, young man.”

“Yeah, okay, there's that, but our last DADA teacher was secretly evil, too. Pretended to be a coward. You say you've done all this stuff, but either you're a lying imbecile, or you're pretending to be a lying imbecile. Either way, I think it would be best if we accompany you to the Chamber of Secrets.”

The door suddenly closed, but Harry hit it with bombarda, blasting it to splinters. His friends stared at him in shock, but followed Harry inside, where Lockhart was freaking out and almost crying.

The room was almost completely stripped. Luggage lay open, as well. The man had clearly been packing.

“Going somewhere?” Harry asked.

“Er, well, yes,” said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. “Urgent call — unavoidable — got to go —”

“What about Ron's sister?” Hermione demanded.

“Well, as to that — most unfortunate —” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. “No one regrets more than I —”

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Hermione. “You can’t go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!”

“Well — I must say — when I took the job —” Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. “nothing in the job description — didn’t expect —”

“You mean you’re running away?” said Ron disbelievingly. “After all that stuff you did in your books —”

“Books can be misleading,” said Lockhart delicately.

“You wrote them!” Ron shouted.

“My dear boy,” said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a hairy chin. I mean, come on —”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” said Harry incredulously.

Lockhart started to explain, but Harry's head twinged.

“Enough! Villain or simpleton, I don't care. Let's go to the Chamber now.”

Lockhart lifted his wand then, taking Harry by surprise, but Hermione disarmed the teacher with a spell first. Ron caught the wand and tossed it out an open window.

“What d’you want me to do?” said Lockhart weakly. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re in luck,” said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. “We think we know where it is. And what’s inside it. Let’s go.”

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Upon opening the door, they saw Antigone and Danzia.

“Hi guys,” Harry said. “I know why we're here, what about you?”

“Figured out Moaning Myrtle was the girl killed,” Antigone answered.

“Us too. Where's Angela?”

“Too scared to join us, after the spiders.”

“Ah, okay. Probably best.”

“What's with him? Why are you keeping him at wandpoint?”

“I suspected he's working with the Heir. Only now, he's proving to be so useless that I think he's innocent, but I don't care. He couldn't even disarm second year students!”

“Yeah, that's incompetent alright, even if one of you is Hermione. Why's he here, though?”

“Human shield, at this point.”

“So where's the Chamber, d'ya reckon?”

“I dunno, let's ask Myrtle.”

“Someone's talking about me,” said the gloomy ghost, who was floating above one of the cubicles. “I don't like it when people talk about me behind my back. What are you all doing here?”

“To ask you how you died,” said Harry.

Myrtle’s whole aspect changed at once. She looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question.

“Ooooh, it was dreadful,” she said with relish. “It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —” Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. “I died.”

“How?” said Harry.

“No idea,” said Myrtle in hushed tones. “I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away. …” She looked dreamily at Harry. “And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“Where exactly did you see the eyes?” said Harry.

“Somewhere there,” said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Everyone looked where she pointed, except Lockhart, who was plainly terrified.

It looked like an ordinary sink. They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake.

“That tap’s never worked,” said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

“Harry,” said Ron. “Say something. Something in Parseltongue.”

Harry nodded; it made sense. Only, he wasn't sure he could do it without a real snake there. But he focused on the feeling of it, and spoke.

'Open,' he said.

At once the tap glowed with a brilliant white light and began to spin. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his mind what he was going to do.

“I’m going down there,” he said.

Ron nodded. “Me too.”

“And me,” Hermione said. “If there's any chance at all Ginny's still alive, we need to go.”

“Well you seem to have things covered, then, so I'll just be going now,” Lockhart said. He made for the door, but all five of their wands were pointed at him, which drove him toward the opening.

“Remember,” Harry said, “you're our human shield.”

“Me? But why?”

“Better you than us.”

“Um... good point there.”

Ron jabbed him with his wand, making the wand spark dangerously, and Lockhart fell hollering down the hole.

“Really quite disgusting down here,” they finally heard him comment.

Harry approached the lip of the pipe and sent a scourgify spell down there before jumping in. It didn't really help, as he got dirty anyway, but he cleaned himself off with his wand when he stood up, keeping a wary eye on Lockhart as he did.

He looked around as the others all took turns coming down, using his lit wand to see in the dark. It was indeed disgusting, with mud and slime and copious rat bones everywhere. They were a long way down, possibly under the lake.

Directing the others to be careful, and shutting their eyes the moment they saw any movement, they continued on through the debris of centuries of snake poop and/or snake vomit, with Lockhart in the lead.

When they turned a corner, they saw something that made them all freeze in terror, but it turned out to just be an enormous snake skin. But while they had their guard down, Lockhart grabbed Ron's wand and jumped back, shouting “Expelliarmus!” at them.

The old, dying wand exploded violently, rocks falling noisily, people screaming and trying to flee. When the dust settled, Harry and Antigone found themselves on one side of a wall of fallen rock.

“Ron! Hermione! Danzia! Are you okay?”

“We're fine,” said Danzia.

“Yeah, we're all fine,” Ron said. “Except for Lockhart, though. Git got blasted by the wand, and... oh shit.”

“What?”

“I... Harry, I think Lockhart is... wait, no, there's a pulse. But he's in a bad way, bleeding from his head.”

“Well... try to stop the bleeding, see if Danzia can help with that. Then try to clear some rocks away. We'll be back later, but we've got to continue on, rescue Ginny if we can. If we're not back in an hour...”

“Gotcha,” Danzia said. Ron repeated her.

“Come on,” Harry said to Antigone.

They continued on, Harry feeling a lot of dread about what would be at the end of the tunnel, but feeling better for having someone here with him. He couldn't see her well in the dark, even with his wand light, but he knew Antigone was there.

He and his friend turned another bend, and saw a solid wall with two entwined serpents there, looking very lifelike. He said 'Open' to them in Parseltongue, and the two halves of the wall split open. Harry, shaking with worry, stepped inside.

As soon as he entered, he turned his head barely in time to see Antigone Disillusion herself and vanish from his vision. She winked at him just before it happened, which made him realize she had a plan. Of course she has a plan, he thought, she's a Slytherin.

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

He worried that the basilisk might be behind a pillar somewhere, and found himself wishing he knew a spell to make himself temporarily blind. It didn't help his nerves that the columns looked like snakes, and all seemed to be alive.

Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

Every Griffindor instinct he had told him to run to her. But – whether because there was a friendly Slytherin in the room with him or something else, he decided to be more cautious. Remembering some TV shows he'd seen in the past, involving urban warfare, he emulated their behavior, hiding behind columns, looking around for the enemy, ready to shut his eyes at a moment's notice, before finally making it over to her pale body.

He checked for a pulse with his free hand, and while it was weak, it was there. He pointed his wand at her.

“Rennervate,” he incanted. But nothing happened.

“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees.

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him.

“Tom Riddle.”

The boy nodded.

“You're doing something to her, aren't you? My friends were right, you are the one opening the Chamber. You're Voldemort.”

“Very good, very good indeed. Yes, Potter, I am the boy who grew up to become the Dark Lord Voldemort. And yes, I am doing something to her. Poor little fool thought I was a mysterious magical friend in a diary, and so she poured her heart into my Diary, which was just what I needed. I fed her a bit of myself in turn, and used her like a puppet. Ginny daubed threatening messages on walls, Ginny killed the school roosters, and set the basilisk on the mudbloods. Or at least, her body did. Ginny had no idea what she was doing, of course. But when she suspected what was going on, she wrote about it to me. At least, until she realized I had something to do with it. Then she tried to get rid of the diary, but it ended up in your hands. Which was excellent, as I have been wanting to meet you for a very long time.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“So now, enough about me. I want to talk about you, Harry Potter.”

Harry considered Ginny, who was fading fast.

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?”

“You're probably going to ask me how I survived your killing curse, rendering the other you less than a ghost, right? Well I don't know the answer, and wouldn’t tell you if I did. BOMBARDA!”

The spell passed right through Riddle/Voldemort, doing nothing.

“Ouch, ouch, the pain the pain,” Riddle said in a flat, sarcastic tone. “How ever shall I manage?” Then he grinned viciously. “That won't do much until Ginny is dead, and by then it will be too late. Then you will be faced with the greatest sorcerer who ever lived!”

“No I won't.”

“Pardon?”

“You're not the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. That's Dumbledore.”

Riddle glared at Harry.

“You're trying to goad me, Harry Potter. But I will have that information from you, if I have to wait for Ginny to die so I can torture it out of you.”

“Okay, fine, so I fudged facts a little. Dumbledore said something about my mother dying to protect me being what saved me. But I don't know if that's all there is to it. If it was that simple, I wouldn’t be the first person to survive the killing curse, or even the 100th. I don't have any other explanation, though.”

“Hmm... well, that is enough for me to extrapolate what happened. But I shall be like you, and keep the information from you. You seem in a hurry to die, anyway, so I shall call the basilisk to kill you.”

He turned to the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin and said in Parseltongue, 'Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four, speak to me!'

Harry spotted the Diary, then, and grabbed it, tossing it somewhere where he could hit it with another bombarda spell. He hit it with the spell, but nothing happened.

“Foolish boy! That will not work! No spell you can squeeze out of your pitiful wand will hurt me!”

The statue's mouth was opening now, and Harry caught a glimpse of movement and something acid green, before he turned away, snatching up the Diary as he ran off. He wondered, as he hid from the basilisk, where Antigone had gone. He tried putting himself in her shoes, so to speak. She would want to observe the situation and then try to work out the best course of action. But what was that? He was only a second year student, and she was two years ahead of him. And what could a fourth year do in this situation? What could even a fully qualified wizard do against an old monster and his even older pet monster snake? About his only real hope was that Riddle was no more intelligent or skilled than he'd been at 16, but that assumed the elder Voldemort hadn't written in his Diary since then, to keep his younger self up to date.

Then there was a strange, ethereal birdsong, and a beautiful red and gold feathered bird flew into the room, dropping something on Harry before flying over to the basilisk and attacking it. At least, it sounded like an attack; Harry had his eyes closed, but he could hear inhuman screaming and wet sounds like talons through meat.

“NO!” Harry heard Riddle screaming. “LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM! KILL HIM!”

Harry opened his eyes to look at the basilisk, and saw that it was blinded. But he barely had time to process this fact before various destructive spells hit the basilisk's side from another place. He looked to the source and saw nobody, which told him Antigone was still Disillusioned. Smart, that; hard to hit a target you can't see.

But not smart enough. The basilisk was momentarily confused, probably smelling both him and Antigone, and not sure which to attack. But since her spells hadn't done more than annoy it, it went off in Harry's direction. He ran, holding the thing the bird (a phoenix?) had dropped on him, recognizing it as the Sorting Hat. That was absurd! The bird had at least blinded the basilisk, but what good was the Sorting Hat?

Well, information is power, and this hat contains the minds of the four House founders, so I guess I'll try that.

Harry found a place to hide, sliding between some bars that the basilisk wouldn’t be able to fit through, and put the Hat on his head.

Help me! Sorting Hat, you're here for a reason! I need help! Something, anything!

There was no answering voice. Instead, the hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly.

Something very hard and heavy thudded onto the top of Harry’s head, almost knocking him out. Stars winking in front of his eyes, he grabbed the top of the hat to pull it off and felt something long and hard beneath it.

A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

“This will do,” he said. Then, in a sudden inspiration, he crept over to the current source of Antigone's spells, and found her by bumping into her.

“Ow! Harry, what are you doing?”

“Put this on your head! It gave me a sword, maybe it'll give you something, too.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

“Fine, fine. Cover me.”

“Cover you?” he asked, confused.

“You know, cover fire?”

“Okay,” he said. And, taking her literally, cast fireballs at the basilisk. Which, of course, bounced right off its hide, and it ignored them, still sniffing for him. But it bought time for Antigone to put on the hat and presumably ask for help.

“Ouch! What the...?”

It was very weird seeing a hat floating on a Disillusioned person. It was even weirder seeing said person pull a plain-looking sword out of the hat, and toss the hat aside. But the sword, for all it looked normal, wasn't. In Antigone's hands, its blade glowed red-hot and caught fire.

“A flaming sword. Pretty awesome,” Antigone said. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

The two friends charged the basilisk, hacking pieces off the giant snake; the pieces Antigone hacked off became great burns on the creature's flank.

In rage, it turned its head and tried biting them, but that made its head their new target. One of them even managed to cut one of its enormous curved fangs off, where it went clattering away.

“You keep hacking its head, I have an idea,” Harry said.

“Okay.”

He stabbed the thing in the side and held on, remembering something he'd read in Dune by Frank Herbert, and hoping he wasn't just being an idiot. But sure enough, the basilisk turned its body away from the wound, pulling him up on top of it. Only then did he pull out the sword, and made his way up its length as best he could without falling over, up to the back of its head. It was a struggle, getting to the right spot, but when he did, he rammed the sword into the back of its neck, killing it. Antigone leapt backwards as its head fell.

“NOOOO!” Riddle screamed, at his snake being killed.

When Riddle calmed down, though, he sneered at them.

“No matter. Soon Ginny Weasley will be dead, and I will live again, then I will kill you both!”

Harry looked at the severed fang, and figured that any creature that could kill by looking at you might have venom powerful enough to destroy the undestroyable, so he grabbed the fang by its base, took out the Diary, and stabbed it with the fang.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then...

He had gone. Harry’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

“We should come back down here sometime,” Antigone said, after making herself visible again. “Basilisk venom, basilisk skin, and who knows what else... probably worth millions.”

Harry shrugged, being too keen on going over to check on Ginny, who was waking up. Antigone, in the meantime, was staring thoughtfully at the flaming sword, trying to figure out how to turn it off.

When Ginny sat up, she looked bemusedly at Harry and the dead basilisk, and the ink on Harry's hands from the dying diary. Then she looked over at Antigone, who had put the Sorting Hat back on to ask it how to turn the flaming sword off. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

“Harry — oh, Harry — I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy — it was me, Harry — but I — I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to — R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over — and — how did you kill that — that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary...”

“It’s all right,” said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C’mon, Ginny, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, short stuff,” Antigone said, the sword finally cooling down. “No lasting harm done. We're all alive.”

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet. “I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I’ll have to leave and — w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?”

“Probably be glad you're alive, I'd reckon.”

Harry urged Ginny up and over to the Chamber entrance, where the phoenix was waiting for them. When they got up to it, he thought he recognized something in its eyes.

“Fawkes?” he asked.

It sang in response, its eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's did. He took that as a yes.

So the three of them started their way out the Chamber and into the tunnel, back to where the others were waiting, lit only by the light of their wands, and light emanating from the phoenix's feathers.

When they heard the sound of rocks being shifted, Harry called out.

“Ron! Hermione! Danzia! I've got Ginny! All three of us are alive!”

They heard three cheers, and saw a huge hole in the fallen stones. Ron and the two girls had been clearing stone the whole time, though right now Danzia was casting spells to keep what they'd cleared from causing another collapse, strengthening the remaining stone.

“Ginny!” Ron ran to her and hugged her. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How — what — where did that bird come from?”

“He belongs to Dumbledore. Not sure how he knew to show up, but he was a life saver.”

“You've both got swords! How'd you get those?”

“From the Sorting Hat, oddly enough,” Antigone said. “Mine doesn't look like much, but when needed, it catches fire. A flaming sword! Biblical power! And it's got Slytherin's crest on it. Harry got what I think is Griffindor's sword, and I got Slytherin's sword.”

“We should get out of here, now. Where's Lockhart?”

“He's still where he was,” Hermione said as everyone passed back through the hole to the escape side. “We got the bleeding to stop, but he hasn't woken up yet. Rennervate didn't work, and I'm afraid to try again, or to move him. We need to get Madam Pomfrey down here. Is it... is it safe to leave him here for now?”

“Well the Heir and the basilisk are both dead, if that's what you mean. But someone should stay with him until we can get Pomfrey down here, just in case of like, rats or something.”

“I'll do it,” Danzia volunteered.

“Okay, the rest of us will go on. I'll be back for you two.”

“Understood.”

Ginny and the others continued on to the place where the pipe came out at.

“Damn. How're we gonna get out, mate?”

Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold …” said Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there.”

“Ronald, Fawkes is a phoenix,” Hermione said. “They can carry immensely heavy loads, and their tears have healing pow--”

“Okay okay, I got it. Thanks, 'mione.”

It took a bit of work, but they managed to daisy-chain themselves to the phoenix, who lifted them all up in such a way that Harry thought the bird had to have cast some sort of version of a feather-light charm.

When they alighted on the bathroom floor, Myrtle gasped.

“You're alive? Except... two of you are missing.”

“Lockhart is wounded, so Danzia is tending to him. I'll go back for them later. For now, we have to get Madam Pomfrey.”

“Why, Myrtle? You disappointed?”

“Well, I was just thinking, if you died, Harry, you're welcome to share my---”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Come on, let's go before the school is closed.”

“Where now?” said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny, who was still crying. Harry pointed.

Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor. They all strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office.

Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

For a moment, as the five of them stood there, covered in slime, dust, and – in Harry's case – ink, there was silence. Then there was a scream, as Mrs. Weasley – tearful with joyous relief, flung herself at her daughter, hugging her like she'd never let go again.

“You saved her! How?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall weakly.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary. Antigone followed him, putting her own sword down next to his.

It took an hour for the two of them to relate the tale of what had happened. As soon as they mentioned about Lockhart and Danzia being down there still – and how Harry had left the door open – McGonagall sent something silver out of the room, and soon Madam Pomfrey was there, being directed to where a patient was. She nodded, and left at once.

Then they got to the part of the story that included Ginny, and they both paused, looking at one another. How to tell the tale without implicating Ginny? But Antigone winked quickly at him and took over the tale, telling the truth but leaving out Ginny's involvement. Harry tried hard to keep his face from betraying his thoughts, which were that the story had a massive hole in it.

Instinctively, Harry looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half-moon spectacles.

“What interests me most,” said Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Antigone frowned at Harry as if to say 'Gee thanks, I go to all that trouble and you ruin it. Silly kid.' But Harry didn't mind. They would have pointed out the hole in the story eventually.

“W-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not … Ginny hasn’t been … has she?”

“It was this diary,” said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen. …”

Dumbledore picked up the diary, admiring the genius of it, which Harry thought a bit odd, but then, it was Dumbledore, who had always been odd. He listened with half his attention as the others put everything else together, about Riddle being Voldemort, and how that connected to the Diary.

Then Dumbledore was calling for Ginny to go to the hospital wing, and also mentioned that Madam Pomfrey had been in the process of giving the basilisk's victims Mandrake Restorative Draught when she'd been called away. Everyone was going to be okay!

After calling, also, for a celebratory feast, Dumbledore ushered the adults and Ginny out of the room.

“Misters Potter and Weasley,” he said. “Ms. Dreyfuss, and Ms. Granger. You and Ms. McCullough will all be receiving special awards for services to the school, for your brave acts today. And one hundred points apiece for the three Griffindors, I think. Also, one hundred and fifty points to each of the Slytherins, which evens things out, as there were only two this time around. Hmm... that puts Griffindor in the lead on points. We can't have that, can we? I'll give Ms. Whitechapel another 50 points to Slytherin, so we once more have a tie between the two houses, and a shared house cup once more. Which is only fitting, as it was a joint effort.”

Several of them cheered. Even Hermione, who hadn't cheered, beamed instead.

“Now, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, if you wouldn't mind going to the hospital wing too, just in case. There was a rockslide, after all.”

They nodded, and left. Dumbledore waited a few heartbeats after the door closed, then turned to Harry and Antigone.

“Sit down, you two, please.”

They did sit, feeling nervous about what they were going to be talking with Dumbledore about.

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you,” said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling again. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.”

He stroked the phoenix, which had fluttered down onto his knee. Harry grinned awkwardly as Dumbledore watched him.

“Secondly, I want to remark upon something else that happened down there in the chamber. It is no surprise to me that someone as brave as Harry called Griffindor's sword in an hour of need. But for all that Griffindor House focuses on bravery over other things, the other Houses value it as well. If that were not the case, Ms. Dreyfuss, the Flaming Sword of Slytherin would not have come to you.”

Antigone beamed.

“Of course, they are historical relics, and belong to the school, so you will not be getting them back.”

Harry nodded, fully expecting that. Antigone looked disappointed, though.

“Now, Ms. Dreyfuss, I would like to talk with Mr. Potter alone, if you please.”

“Um... Harry?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling, taking one last look at the currently inactive sword she'd pulled out of
the Hat before she did.

“So, Harry,” Dumbledore said when they were alone together. “You met Tom Riddle. I suspect he was rather eager to meet you.”

“Yes. He wanted to know how I survived as a baby. I told him what you told me, that it was my mother dying to save me.”

He briefly considered telling the man the rest of what he'd said, but decided that Dumbledore might not even know more himself, as unprecedented as the whole thing was.

“Did he make any other remarks? Did he, for instance, comment on your similarities?”

“Our similarities? What do you mean?”

“Well, you're both orphans, both half-bloods raised by Muggles, both highly intelligent, and when Riddle was young, his home situation was also rather less than ideal. Nobody at the orphanage ever liked him, you see, even as a small child. Even as a baby, the fact that he never cried rather disturbed a lot of people there, among other issues.”

Harry was confused.

“Yeah, those are all good points, but... well, I'm black and he's not, and I have autism and he doesn't. Though I wouldn't call him normal by any means. Pretty sure he's either a psychopath or a sociopath, but I don't know which; I always get those two confused. But now you mention it, there is something else as well.”

“What is that, Mr. Potter?”
“Well... I'm only telling you this because I get the sense you're wise enough to be discreet about it, and also it's been bugging me for a long time, the coincidence of it all, but... you see, I'm a Parselmouth.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I did wonder, given what I know of what Tom has been up to over the years, and given the intelligence I've received that your scar hurts you sometimes, if perhaps Tom accidentally transferred some of his powers to you. It is rather too coincidental to be coincidence, you two having that same ability, when none before you in your family's history had the same gift.”

“You knew my scar was hurting me?”

“Oh yes, I hear things here and there. I wasn't certain of it, though, until you confirmed it.”

“So he accidentally gave me one of his powers the night he tried to kill me? How does that work?”

“Ah, well, that is rather complicated I'm afraid, and contains information that I do not think appropriate for one so young as yourself just yet, Harry, but in time I will fill you in on what little I know of the situation, and the much greater amount that I have deduced about it. But not today, I'm afraid.”

Harry didn't like that much. He opened his mouth to argue, but then someone came into the room with a slam of the door and marched over to Dumbledore's desk. It was a white-blond man Harry instantly recognized as Draco's father. The man looked absolutely livid. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“You! So you've come back, have you? The governors suspended you, and yet you dare--”

“Yes, Lucius, I am back. When Ginny Weasley was taken into the Chamber of Secrets, the other governors seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. And very odd stories they told me, too; according to them, the only reason they voted me out to begin with was because you threatened their families if they did not comply.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So — have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile.

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see …” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry here” — Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look — “and his friends hadn’t discovered this book, why — Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will. …”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then. … The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns. … Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise. …”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

“Because you gave it to her,” said Harry. “In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you? I didn't witness it, but I heard about the fight you picked with Mr. Weasley.”

“Why don't you prove it!”

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you.”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

“We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him —

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly. “But hurry. The feast, remember. …”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

What happened next was both brilliant and kind of stupid. Brilliant, that part is obvious, but stupid that it worked. Mr. Malfoy took the diary out of the sock and – incredibly – he absent-mindedly tossed the sock to the side, and Dobby caught it. Which of course meant Dobby was free; and judging by Dobby's tone of voice and watering eyes when he said 'Dobby is free!' about himself, the elf was ecstatic about it.

Mr. Malfoy was, naturally, pissed as all Hell about it, and drew his wand, ready to hex Harry, but Dobby defended him with his elf magic, throwing the racist git to the ground and scaring him off at last. The man said something along the lines of “You haven't seen the last of me, you meddling kid” and took off in a huff.

Once Harry was safe from his old master, Dobby too took off, to enjoy his freedom. And Harry left for the impromptu feast Dumbledore had called for, wondering all the way there if the tie would persist until the end of term, then deciding Dumbledore would likely ensure it would.

As a school treat, and understandable given the circumstances of that year, Dumbledore canceled all the exams, leaving the rest of the term for everyone to enjoy and play in the sunshine until the Hogwarts Express would take them back home.

Professor Lockhart had suffered brain damage from the cave-in, and was still in a coma. Nobody knew if he would wake up, or when, or how he would be when he did. Lucius Malfoy had also been sacked as a school governor, for his part in the whole thing (the parts they could prove, anyway).

Ginny Weasley, on the other hand, was feeling a lot better. She had to see a mind healer because of the trauma of having her mind repeatedly violated, and then the stuff down in the chamber, but she was already doing a lot better by the end of the year.

Hagrid also came back from Azkaban, a little shaken up but otherwise unharmed.

On the train home, Harry found out why Percy had scared Ginny off when she was trying to tell Harry about her role in things, and also why Percy was so weird about it to Ron and Hermione; apparently he and the Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater were a couple, and Ginny had caught them snogging; Percy had thought Ginny was going to tell on him.

On a more positive note, Harry made sure to give his phone number to his friends, with instructions on how to use a phone for those who needed them, though he didn't think Dobby would be a problem anymore, and there was always Netty anyway.

Then, as they pulled into the station, he prepared himself for another summer with the Dursleys. He smiled when he saw Dumbledore at the platform waiting for him in another lurid three-piece suit that drew quite as much attention as the man's wizard robes would have, and took his headmaster's hand once they were somewhere safe to Apparate from. And with a twirl, they were away.

Endnote one: Vocabo acidum – the acid-conjuring spell – is my own creation, for this fic.

Endnote two: Sorry for the long wait. Hope the long chapter made up for it. :-)

At Number 4, Privet Drive, in Surrey, a nice young black man named Harry Potter, less than a month from being a teenager, was packing the few of his belongings he'd not already unpacked after a mere fortnight at home with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. He was glad for it, too; even with the spells in place to protect him from them, even with Netty around to make sure he was being fed enough, the Dursleys were always unpleasant, and had been even more so this time around, due to a phone call he'd received from his friend Ron Weasley his first week back.

Ron, being a wizard, didn't know how to use a phone, and had shouted into the mouthpiece so loudly Harry could hear it from the dining room. Naturally, his uncle had bellowed back. It was only the enchantments in place and Netty's presence that forced the beefy man's anger to be replaced by fear and remembering when he'd rounded on his nephew and come face to face with a house elf instead. His expression had frozen into a mix of the two emotions, then he'd stormed off without saying a word. Harry had been tolerating similar looks from all the Dursleys for the past week since then, so he was especially glad to be leaving.

As if that wasn't enough, he'd overheard the Dursleys discussing inviting Aunt Marge over for an extended stay. He was very glad that they were both agreed it was impossible until Harry was out of the house, and found himself very relieved to have Netty and Dumbledore's magic to protect him while he was here. Aunt Marge – who was Uncle Vernon's sister and so not a blood relative, thankfully – hated Harry worse than his aunt and uncle did, and never missed an opportunity to express this hatred. Harry had enough bad memories from her visits to last three lifetimes, so he was quite glad to be leaving long before she would be arriving. Not even a brief thought of revenge was enough to make him even consider staying behind a moment longer than he needed to. If that meant Aunt Marge would be convinced he had been sent back early to St. Brutus's School for Incurably Criminal Boys – the school the Dursleys told everyone he went to – for bad behavior, then so be it.

Hedwig – his owl – squawked in her cage, not liking to be cooped up.

“Sorry girl,” he said sympathetically, “but Dumbledore will be here soon to pick us up. Once we're at Ron's place, I'll let you fly free, okay?”

She blinked with annoyed acceptance of this, and settled down.

There was a ring of the doorbell. Harry went downstairs and heard arguments; his relatives didn't want to answer the door, knowing who it would be. So Netty finally shouted back at them in her high-pitched little voice.

“FINE! I IS GETTING THE DOOR THEN FOR THE DURSLEY FAMILY, THEN IS I?”

Before the Dursleys could protest, Harry heard the door open.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir. Welcome back. Come in, come in please, sir.”

“Thank you very much, Netty. You are most kind.”

Having confirmation that it was Dumbledore, Harry went back to his room to grab his trunk.

“Locomotor trunk,” he said, pointing his wand at his trunk, forgetting he wasn't technically allowed to do magic, and forgetting that there had been an exception put on this house for Netty and the protective spells. It was only when the Dursleys shrieked at his blatant display of magic, and he spotted Dumbledore again, that he remembered.

“Er... oops.”

“'Oops' what, Harry?” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I saw nothing unusual.”

Harry canceled the spell anyway, and let Netty grab the trunk and disapparate with it in tow, the loud CRACK! making the Dursleys jump in fright. Dudley took off running for his room.

“So, Harry, that was everything of yours in there?”

“Yes, sir. I've been ready to go since yesterday.”

“Good. Then take my hand, Harry, and we will leave your relatives alone.”

He did, and they twirled on the spot, disapparating with a soft pop. And Harry once more felt the sensation of being squeezed through a very tight tube before appearing in the grass outside the Burrow. Having purposefully foregone his most recent meal, his retching didn't bring much up.

Hedwig screeched at him the moment he stood up. He paused to wipe his mouth.

“Yes, girl, I'm coming. Hold your hippogriffs.”

When he opened her cage, she immediately flew out, looking very happy to be free, and went off hunting.

“Feeling better, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Dumbledore said. “Let us go find Molly now.”

Mrs. Weasley, and the other Weasleys, were all at the dinner table. Harry had arrived just as she was pouring stew into everyone's bowls. He was pleased to notice they'd set a place for him.

“Hello, Harry my dear!” Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully. “Go wash up and then you can sit down, you're just in time for dinner.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, then went off to the loo to wash up.

When he came back and sat down, the pot of stew magically tipped some stew into his bowl. It smelled delicious, and tasted even better than it smelled; Mrs. Weasley was an excellent cook. He wondered if she'd done well in Potions in school, since Potions is a lot like cooking.

As he ate, he was oblivious to the fact that Ginny was pointedly looking anywhere but at him. He was enjoying his meal far too much. But once he got enough food in his stomach, he started looking up, and noticed he was sitting right next to Percy. He began to talk with Percy. He liked talking with Percy; he had some suspicions about Percy having Asperger's as well, since the older boy liked to talk all about the things he'd achieved or was interested in to anyone who would hold still long enough, and didn't mind when Harry did the same thing back at him. But then, that was only one potential Asperger's trait, a trait that Asperger's shared with quite a few other conditions. And even neurotypical people could have that character trait, too.

Percy was currently talking all about his upcoming N.E.W.T.'s, the tests seventh years had to take to get good careers. Percy was taking a lot of subjects, and had a particular affinity for arithmancy, something that interested Harry as well, as he was going to take it this year. Harry always appreciated any chance to learn from older students, but a lot of what Percy was talking about was years ahead of him and made no sense to him as a result.

“Oh for goodness sake, Perce, shut up already,” one of the twins said, exasperated.

“Excuse you, but Percy was talking and I was listening.”

“You could stand to listen to that prattle?”

“It was a lot more interesting than a lot of what you go on about,” Harry snapped back.

“Oooh, Harry's defending Perce. Does Harry lurrrve Percy?”

Harry looked at him, confused. “What are you on about?”

“Yeah, Fred, that was lame. Everyone knows Harry and Luna are an item,” said George.

“Doesn't mean Harry can't be involved in a torrid love square.”

“Love square?” asked George.

“Yeah, a love square. Because if Harry fancies Luna and Percy, and Ginny fancies Harry, that's four people, so not a love triangle, but a love square.”

“'Love quadrangle' would fit the spirit of the term better, and would be more accurate,” Harry said. “But I'm not in love with anyone. Luna's a friend, and so is Percy. He listens to my prattle, so I listen to his. It's as simple as that.”

“And I am grateful, Harry,” said Percy pompously, “that there's someone in my life who gets as excited about things as I do, someone who listens to me.”

“What's a quadrangle?” asked Ron.

“Fancy-pants way of saying a square, Ronniekins,” said George.

“Yeah, triangle has three angles. Quadrangle has four.”

“Not all quadrangles are squares,” Harry said. “There's rectangles, for one. And diamonds, among others.”

“There we go, then; 'love rectangle.'” Fred said.

“Love diamond,” countered George.

“Oh for heaven's sake, would you lot just eat and stop arguing with each other?” Mrs. Weasley asked, exasperated.

With a few grumbles, they went back to eating. A few minutes passed before Harry and Percy went back to their discussion. Percy was talking with him now about entry-level arithmancy stuff, which Harry was having more luck with, as it was basically just primary-school level maths.

That night, in Ron's room, he got out his two-way mirror and used it to talk with Luna, as he'd done every day of the holidays. The two of them talked about many things, including about Harry visiting Luna at her house. He hadn't yet had a chance to meet her father or see her house.

And so the next morning, he ate quickly and then asked Mrs. Weasley about it.

“Mrs. Weasley? May I go visit Luna at her house?”

“Oh, I don't know, dear,” she said, thinking.

“You let me go to the village library last time I was here,” he pointed out. “She lives in the village.”

“Hmm... well, go ask Percy if he'll go with you again. If he will, then you can. If not, then no. Unless you can find someone else responsible like Percy.”

“Okay, Mrs. Weasley,” he said.

He went upstairs and knocked gently on Percy's door. The door opened sharply and an irate Percy looked out, but softened when he saw Harry.

“Oh, hello there, Harry. I thought you were Fred or George bothering me again.”

“Hi. I wanted to visit Luna at her house today, and your mum said I could only do it if I could get you or someone equally responsible to come with me.”

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but paused, thinking.

“Well, I was going to write another letter to Penny, but I daresay she's busy with things at the moment. I guess I can do it later.”

“Letters? You mean you and Penelope don't have a two-way mirror to talk with each other through?”

Percy turned red. “Yes, well, that would be nice, but you know, the expense of it. So we use letters.”

“Oh, okay. So, um... are you coming with me?”

“What? Oh, yes Harry. Yes I am. I'm interested to see Xeno's house, too.”

He and Percy went downstairs, where they met Ron and the twins. Percy scowled at the twins.

“You two going to the village, we hear? George and I might as well go with you, we want to stop at the library.”

Percy relaxed a little. “I suppose that's okay. And you, Ron? Are you coming, too?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I'm curious about Luna's house and her dad, too. Unless you and Luna want to be alone together?”

Harry's dark face went momentarily darker in embarrassment, “No, that's fine. Ron, you can come with Percy and me.”

And so a few minutes later, the five boys were headed off to Luna's house, Harry using the two-way mirror to get directions to it from Luna. Despite a few wrong turns, they found it. The twins, having decided they wanted to see the place before going to the library, were there.

“It looks like a giant chess rook,” Ron said.

The twins chuckled. “Oh yeah, this is the Lovegood house alright,” George said. “From what I've heard of the Lovegoods, this is exactly their style.”

There was a bush on the property as well, with floating fruits. A sign next to it indicated they were 'dirigible plums.' One other sign nearby identified Xenophilius Lovegood as the editor of a magazine called The Quibbler (which Harry remembered was an... interesting read), and another said 'Pick your own mistletoe.'

“Well, we've seen the place now, so Fred and I are heading off to the library,” George said. They waved the twins goodbye, and proceeded to the gate and opened it.

The path from the gate to the door was overgrown with a variety of plants, some of them possibly dangerous. They were all glad to see the door at last, which was thick, black, studded with iron nails, and had an eagle-head door knocker. Harry reached out and knocked three times with the knocker.

Harry had hardly let go of the knocker when the door opened, and Luna stood there in baby-blue robes, smiling at Harry.

“Harry, how nice to see you,” Luna said as though his appearance was a pleasant surprise. “Harry, Percy, Ron, please come in.”

The three boys entered the house, looking around curiously. They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls — the stove, the sink, and the cupboards — and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry thought he recognized Luna’s style: The effect, in such an enclosed space, was slightly overwhelming.

In the middle of the floor, a wrought-iron spiral staircase led to the upper levels. There was a great deal of clattering and banging coming from overhead. Harry wondered if Luna's father were making that noise, and what it was he was doing if so. But then a man in neon green robes walked in, and he was unmistakably Luna's father. His hair was long and white and looked like candyfloss, and one eye was pointed at his own nose, apparently stuck in that position. He beamed at Harry when he entered.

“This must be Harry Potter,” Xenophilius Lovegood said with excitement, shaking Harry's hand with great fervor. “My Luna has told me all about you, Mr. Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Likewise, sir,” Harry said politely.

“And who are these other two strapping lads? Hmm... red hair and freckles, are you Weasleys?”

Ron and Percy nodded. Percy held his hand out pompously for Mr. Lovegood to shake.

“Hello, Mr. Lovegood. Percy Weasley, seventh-year Griffindor Prefect. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, too, young Mr. Weasley. I've met your father, of course. Charming man, a connoisseur of everything Muggle.”

“Yes, that is our father indeed,” Percy answered.

“And you are... no, let me guess. You look to be Harry's age, so you must be Ronald Weasley. Correct?”

“Yes. Everyone calls me Ron, though.”

“Of course, Ron, of course. Anyway, pleasant as it is to meet you, I must go upstairs and stop the printing press before it goes overboard again. I daresay you'll want to spend time in a quiet house, as opposed to one with all this racket. Excuse me.”

Mr. Lovegood went up the spiral staircase and disappeared upstairs. A few seconds later, the clattering noise stopped, and the room was blessedly silent.

“Printing press?” Harry asked.

“Oh yes. My daddy is editor of The Quibbler. He prints it himself.”

“Ah yes, The Quibbler. How much for the new issue?”

“For you, Harry, you can have one free,” she said, pulling one off of a pile on a chair and handing it to him. “Just make sure to be seen reading it once we get to school. Harry Potter liking our magazine is good for sales.”

“Will do. I'll save reading it for later, then, so I don't have to pretend to be reading it.” He rolled it up and put it in his robe pockets.

She beamed at him. “Excellent. Now, I know it's nowhere near tea-time yet, but would anyone care for some tea?”

The three boys all agreed, and so she tapped a tea kettle with her wand, making it boil at once. Soon, they were all sitting down at the kitchen table and drinking tea. Harry was seated right next to Luna, and Ron giggled every once in a while as he caught the two of them holding hands.

“Luna my love,” her father said, carrying several large boxes in his hands, “could you get the door? I need to get these to the owl-post office.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, getting up at once and holding the door for him. Then she got the gate for him, leaving the front door open. Harry and the others watched as he turned on the spot and disapparated.

When she came back in, closing the door, and sat down again, she spoke.

“Daddy has been selling more copies lately. Not much more, but more. I think having seen you reading them has helped sales.”

“Speaking of which, I need to get a subscription. And I insist on paying for it.”

“Well, if you insist,” she said, and told him the price. He handed over the money.

“Daddy will be pleased,” she said, pulling a list out of a drawer and adding Harry's name to it.

As the rest of the afternoon unfolded, Ron and Percy were largely fifth wheels, since Harry and Luna were so engrossed in their own discussion. Though Percy did get to speak once in a while, as some of the things they talked about overlapped his own interests. But Ron was quickly very bored, and got up to look around the house, admiring Luna's art.

“Oh,” Luna said, spotting Ron examining her paintings. “That reminds me, Harry, I want to show you my bedroom.”

There was an awkward silence as Ron and Percy both looked at Luna. Percy was disapproving, but Ron was stifling giggles.

Perhaps picking up on their thoughts, Luna said, “You two can come as well. I have more art in there.”

Mollified, Percy stood up and smiled. Ron was still trying not to giggle, but it looked easier now.

“Lead the way, Luna,” Harry said.

She led them up the spiral staircase into a room much like a cross between a living room and a workspace. There were loads of piles of papers everywhere, as well as the wooden printing press that had been clattering earlier, and many models of strange creatures. But this wasn't her room. They continued up the stairs to the next level.

Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with three beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: Harry thought they breathed. They weren't alone, either; four more portraits were in varying states of completion. Of the four, only one was recognizable as anyone yet, and just barely looked like Ginny. Another was barely begun, and the other two were just empty rectangles. If he'd had to hazard a guess, the others would be Antigone, Angela, and Danzia. But that was just a guess.

What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: friends … friends … friends …

Harry felt a great rush of affection for Luna. He looked around the room. There was a large photograph beside the bed, of a young Luna and a woman who looked very like her. They were hugging. Luna looked rather better-groomed in this picture than Harry had ever seen her in life.

“My mother,” Luna explained. “She died when an experiment of hers backfired.”

Harry felt sad for Luna, and set the picture back down, hugging her fiercely.

Luna could have cried then, but she didn't. She just hugged Harry back, stroking his hair as though she were comforting him, not the other way around.

When they pulled apart at last, Luna spoke.

“Of course, this doesn't look the same as it did before Christmas. Harry's and Ron's portraits I did after meeting you before your first year in Hogwarts. I started Hermione's and Ginny's during the Christmas holidays, but only finished Hermione's a couple nights ago. Ginny's was barely recognizable at the time.”

“Who's gonna be in the others?” Harry asked.

“Angela, Antigone, and Danzia, of course,” she replied.

“Of course.”

“Shall we go back to get more tea?”

“Sure, I could have some more.”

“Luna,” Ron said, “these are amazing!” He indicated the paintings.

“Thank you, Ron.”

~

Harry wanted to visit Luna everyday, but between Percy having homework over break and Harry's own homework, he and Luna only saw one another once every two or three days. Sometimes she'd come over to the Burrow, other times he'd visit her at her house. The latter was made easier when Mr. Lovegood started coming over to fetch Harry, and then escorting him back after.

The whole summer looked to be going that way, until one day Mr. Weasley came back with the news that his family had won a ton of galleons from some Daily Prophet giveaway, and that they were going to go on a trip to Egypt. Harry was very excited for them, but at the same time, he was concerned. He didn't know if he would be allowed to go or not, and he didn't want to go back to the Dursley's any time soon.

He was worrying about this at dinnertime when Percy paused his babble and looked in concern at Harry.

“Harry? You haven't been listening, which is unusual for you. Are you alright?”

“What? Oh... yeah, I've been thinking.”

“About what?”

Harry paused. The words were right there in his brain, aching to get out. He need only say them. But he suddenly found speaking to be impossible. At first he was panicky; what was this? Had the pathway from his brain to his mouth collapsed? But then he remembered something he'd read once about Asperger's and realized that he was simply having a non-verbal incident. Some people with Asperger's or other conditions could find themselves unable to speak when under stress. Knowing this, and knowing that it would pass, he felt better. But he still couldn't speak.

Unable to speak, he scraped his fork back and forth across his plate. It made a noise that made everyone else grit their teeth, but something about the sound comforted him, relaxed him. And before Mrs. Weasley could tell him to stop it, he stopped it on his own and found his voice.

“I'm just wondering where I'm going to go while you're all in Egypt.”

“Oh Harry, sweetie,” Mrs. Weasley said comfortingly, “you're coming with us, of course.”

Harry perked up. “I am?”

“Well yes. We already talked with Dumbledore about it. He didn't see any reason not to. Death Eaters wouldn't think to look for you there, and even if you got lost, you could just call for Netty and she could help you.”

“You can call house elves from that far away?”

“According to Dumbledore, yes. He would know better than we would.”

“Wow! Thanks, Mrs. Weasley!”

“You're welcome, dear.”

~

For the next few days, while they got ready to go, Harry could speak of nothing else. When he wasn't packing, he was either reading about Egypt from Muggle library books or talking people's ears off about what he'd read. This exasperated most of them, even Ron, but Percy would just smile and listen, or add what he knew about wizarding Egypt to the conversation.

On the day they were to leave, all packed and dressed for Egypt, they walked into the International Wizarding Travel Agency office. Before they could get their portkey out, though, a man from the Daily Prophet insisted on taking a photo of them in front of a very large wizarding photo of Egypt, for the paper. Harry had to take some potions and do some meditating while standing before he was ready to be in the photo, but he managed to do it without being sick. Though now he was in a state to be paying attention, he noticed that the purple smoke the camera made when it went off smelled bad; very bad. Like rotten eggs mixed with week-old dirty diapers.

When that was done, they all went to a large room full of people leaving and returning by magic. They would be given all sorts of strange rubbish before leaving, and would leave behind weird rubbish upon their return.

“Portkeys,” Mr. Weasley said, spotting Harry's confused look. “They have to look like rubbish so Muggles won't go picking them up.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Then, after thinking about it for a moment, said, “Just one flaw in that plan; some Muggles pick up rubbish to make places look nicer, and because some kinds of rubbish are dangerous to animals.”

“Yes, well, it's not foolproof. Occasionally Muggles like that do have to have their memories modified. But most Muggles ignore rubbish, so it's the best option.”

Harry nodded.

When it was their turn to go, a bored man in a purple robe handed Mr. Weasley an old, beat-up, and bent golf club. The Weasleys all took hold of part of it; catching on quickly, so did Harry. He looked up at the man, who noticed his scar with the usual shock of recognition. But before the man could say anything, there was a jerk behind Harry's navel, and the world was swirling around him; he was being jostled against the bodies of the other Weasleys, too.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, they landed, falling down, and Harry hastily turned himself over so he could vomit without drowning himself.

Another equally bored-looking woman, a witch wearing a hijab, lazily cleaned up the sick with her wand, and took the golf club and tossed it into a box.

“Welcome to Egypt,” the woman said in what Harry guessed was an Egyptian accent. “Please enjoy your stay in our lovely country. In the next room, you will find the information kiosk and help desk. Have a lovely time.”

“That we shall, thank you.”

The next room was more than a kiosk, though; it was a large room filled with all sorts of brochures, maps, postcards, and souvenirs. Harry had never been in a gift shop before, but from what he'd seen on the telly, it was obvious that this was one.

Having already gotten money from Gringott's before leaving, they shopped around. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already had maps and brochures from previous trips, so they didn't need to buy any maps, but they looked around anyway.

There were books, too, he soon found; books about wizarding Egypt. He didn't even hesitate before buying one. Along with text, it had loads of wizarding photos of things like the pyramids, tombs from the Valley of the Kings, and reproductions of ancient wizarding Egyptian art, stuff the Muggles had never seen before. There was even a section in the book about how the “explorers” from Europe – Muggle and magical alike – had damaged or destroyed a lot of things back in the day, including everything from blasting the noses off statues to hide the fact that the ancient Egyptians were “negroid,” to how people used to ingest ground-up mummies for various odd reasons. It was all so fascinating that he decided he was going to add some of this information to his History of Magic essay.

“Hey Ron,” Harry said excitedly. “The ancient Egyptians were black, like me! Oldest human civilization on Earth that we know stuff about, and they were black!”

“Cool,” Ron said, lost in his own thoughts about what to buy.

Harry found another book, about modern-day Egypt and its people; the wizarding kind, anyway. Harry bought it, too, and made a mental note to himself to look into buying similar books from Muggle shops.

When they had bought everything they were going to in the gift shop, the Weasleys and Harry went on to a nearby wizarding inn. Its sign was in Arabic, but Harry had bought a pair of Translator Glasses in the gift shop; it looked like a set of opera glasses, but the eyepieces were much bigger. He held it up by the thicker stick it needed because of the extra weight, and looked at the sign through it.

'Pharaoh's Bones Inn' came the translation. Harry moved his eyes away from the Translator Glasses and noticed an image carved in stone over the name, of what looked like a pirate's skull and crossbones, but was wearing one of those colorful Pharaoh hats instead, and a Pharaoh beard. Also, the crossbones were the ancient Egyptian hook and flail that their kings always held in their art, and the skull's eye sockets had glittering stones in them that looked like the shiny, multi-colored surface you see on scarab beetles.

Harry could see the sign so well because it was up in the sunlight, whereas they were down in the shade. Harry was thankful for this, as the air was already hot enough that he was starting to wonder if brains could melt.

They went into the inn, which was much brighter and nicer looking than the Leaky Cauldron. It was also a lot larger on the inside than it had seemed to be on the outside. So much so that he was momentarily shocked, before he remembered that magic could do all sorts of cool things.

There were cooling charms on the inside of the building, of course, which meant Harry's thoughts were no longer slowed down by the sluggish feeling of one's brain melting in the heat. The inn also supplied them with magical white robes to wear outdoors, since these robes had built-in cooling charms. Apparently these robes were part of the travel package, as the Weasleys seemed to not recognize them.

After packing everything away, they had dinner, which was a buffet of familiar and foreign foods. Harry, thinking back to the Dursleys and how they refused to eat anything foreign, decided to take a mix of things both foreign and familiar so he could try some things and still have something to eat if he didn't like the things he tried. But he found that most of the things he tried were good; there were only a few things he tried that he didn't like.

After dinner, Harry and Ron talked for a while. Then Ron went to bed. Harry sat up reading for an hour before going to bed himself.

“This summer is going to be awesome,” he said to himself as he began to drift off.

~

The summer was indeed awesome for Harry. He still had issues being around crowds of people, still had headaches, and still carried helpful potions around on his person everywhere he went, but aside from that, he was having a blast. There were pyramids and ancient wizarding tombs full of mutant skeletons from the curses the wizards had left behind for unsuspecting tomb robbers. Fred and George tried locking Percy in a tomb, but Mrs. Weasley caught them, and Harry agreed that it was a horrible thing to do to someone, even a brother.

There were also other things to see; the Egyptian version of Diagon Alley; its name, translated into English, meant 'Wizarding Way.' ('Way' in the sense of a road.) There were all sorts of shops, more even than Diagon Alley, that sold a plethora of unfamiliar objects. The books came in different languages, and Harry had some fun reading the foreign-language books with the Translator Glasses. This set appeared to be best suited for Arabic-to-English translation; translating any other language than Arabic would usually end in hilarity as the words would be either complete or partial nonsense. Harry could've sworn he even saw, in one of the books, a phrase that got garble-translated into the words 'my hovercraft is full of eels.'

On July 31st, Harry awoke to the sound of owls. He hastily opened his window and let them in, and they carried in a large package. Neither of them seemed happy about the sand in their feathers, so he gave them some owl treats. One was a school owl, and the other was Hedwig. He took the Hogwarts letter from the school owl, and, fed and watered, it flew back out into the hot Egyptian morning.

The big package was a birthday present, the first he'd gotten on time since Netty had needed to steal his post back from Dobby the year before. There was also a birthday card. The gift and card were from Hermione. There was also a letter from her in there, too.

Dear Harry,

Happy 13th birthday! You're officially a teenager now!

I’m on holiday in France at the moment and I didn’t know how I was going to send this to you — what if they’d opened it at customs? — but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I’ve been getting it delivered; it’s so good to keep up with what’s going on in the wizarding world).

I'm so excited for you and Ron, going to Egypt. I bet you're learning loads. I’m really jealous — the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.

There’s some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I’ve rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I’ve found out. I hope it’s not too long — it’s two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.

Ron says you two will be in London in the last week of the holidays. Is that right? I hope it is. Either way, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September the 1st.

Love from

Hermione

PS. Ron says Percy’s Head Boy. I’ll bet Percy’s really pleased. Ron doesn’t seem too happy about it.

Harry wondered what was in the package. Knowing Hermione, it was probably a book. He opened it up carefully and looked inside. It was not a book at all, but was in fact a Muggle chemistry set. The set came with a book, though. Harry smiled; it was a bit like getting Potions stuff for his birthday, but different enough that he was fascinated. (Though his life experiences needing potions for things meant he wasn't shabby at Potions.) He'd heard all about chemistry sets before, of course, but there was no way Dudley would ever get one; it was too brainy for him, and even if he'd had an interest in it, Harry didn't like the thought of Dudley getting access to potentially dangerous chemicals.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said aloud.

There was another parcel that had been left, which he'd only just now noticed. He recognized Hagrid's untidy scrawl. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly — as though it had jaws.

“Shit,” he said, leaping back. He knew Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but the large man didn't have a normal idea of what constituted 'dangerous.'
Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs, and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.

Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.

And out fell — a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.

“Shit,” Harry said again.

Knowing he couldn't use his wand, in case whatever magic kept track of underage magic could work in Egypt, he snuck around behind it as it scuttled about, trying to catch it. He finally managed to coax it out into the open, where he jumped atop it, flattening it. As Hedwig watched with interest, he wrestled one of his spare belts around it. The monster book shuddered angrily, but could no longer snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid’s card.
 

Dear Harry,

Happy birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next  year.
Won’t say no more here. Tell you when I see you.

How's Egypt? Seen any interesting creatures there yet?

All the best,

Hagrid

 
Harry snorted with a mix of amusement and sarcasm. He very much hoped he wouldn't see any 'interesting creatures' as Hagrid called them, or 'monsters' as other people called them, on this trip. But Hagrid's question conjured up images of giant sandworms out in the desert swallowing unwary tourists whole, or some kind of man-eating crocodile/hippopotamus hybrid in the Nile's waters, or maybe some kind of magical beetle that lived in great big hives and swarmed over people, gnawing the meat off their bones while they screamed. Those were the sorts of things Hagrid thought were cute and cuddly and misunderstood.

He put Hagrid's card next to Hermione's, and moved on to the Hogwart's letter. Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read:
 

Dear Mr. Potter,

Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock.

Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.

A list of books for next year is enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

 
Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form? Especially since he was staying with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer? He didn't want to go back, even to ask them to sign something, and he doubted they'd want to sign it anyway, unless he told them it would be dangerous, which would be a lie, as far as he knew.

He considered asking the Weasley twins to forge Uncle Vernon's signature, or do it himself since he didn't think anyone at Hogwart's had ever seen the man's signature, but then how would he explain how he got the signature when he hadn't had a chance to get the real thing?

His thoughts were interrupted when Ron came in.

“Oh good, you're up. Happy birthday!” Ron said, handing him a gift and a birthday card.

The card just said 'Happy birthday, Harry' and Ron's signature. So he set it next to the others and opened the small gift. Out popped what looked like a top, a top that was always magically balanced on its point.

“It's a pocket sneakoscope,” Ron explained. “It's supposed to light up and spin and make noise when anyone untrustworthy is around. Though I don't know how good it is, it kept making noise the night I bought it, at dinner.”

“So that's what that sound was. Also explains why you ran off and came back a bit later.”

“Yeah. I reckon it was going off because of the twins. They were putting beetles in Percy's soup.”

Harry frowned at this. “That's not very nice.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So is it true that Percy is Head Boy?”

“Oh yeah, he got his letter ahead of the rest of us for some reason; his came in yesterday. Gave me time to mention it to Hermione. She responded already?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That's pretty fast for Errol. All the way from Egypt to Britain in less than a day?”

“Hermione isn't in Britain. She's on holiday in the south of France.”

“Oh. Well that explains it, then. He just had to fly over the Mediterranean, then over to France. I wonder when he'll be back.”

“I'd be more inclined to wonder if he'll come back. He can barely manage flights within Britain, but international flights? I hope he hasn't fallen into the sea.”

“Oh. Yeah, hadn't thought of that.”

A couple more owls arrived, then. He didn't recognize these, but when he took their loads from them, he recognized Danzia's handwriting, and Antigone's as well. He read the letters first, before opening the gifts.

“Danzia and her family are on holiday in the states. Oregon, to be specific. They have relatives there, apparently.”

“Oregon? Where's that?”

“West coast, between California and Washington state.”

“Oh. That doesn't really help me, but whatever. What does Antigone say?”

“She and her folks are in Rome.”

“Cool. Well, you gonna open your gifts?”

Harry nodded, and picked up Danzia's gift first, opening it. It was a slice of petrified wood about the size of his fist, and came with a booklet about the magical properties of petrified wood.

“Cool!”

He handed it to Ron so his friend could examine it, too, and moved on to Antigone's present. It was in a large, very fancy green box with silver ribbons. When he opened it, he found another box. Only, this was a silver lock-box encrusted with what looked like emeralds, and had very lifelike emerald serpents on it, with rubies for eyes.

“Bloody Hell! That must cost a fortune!” Ron exclaimed.

“Wow, Antigone...”

“She must fancy you, Harry.”

“Oh don't be silly, Ron; she's dating Angela. Hey, there's a note taped to the bottom.”

Harry,

This is something my father's family bought a century or two ago, as a curiosity. It's said to have belonged to Slytherin, but we both doubt it; it looks like his style but doesn't have his crest or markings anywhere on it. Also, the gems are all fake, and the silver is low quality. Probably a replica. Though whoever used to own it was likely a Parselmouth like Slytherin, as nobody's ever been able to open it, and there's no keyhole. When I told my dad I was trying to find a gift for you, well... given that I accidentally let slip about your gift once to him, and he remembered that fact, daddy suggested this. I thought it was too much, even if it is mostly fake, and maybe it is too much, but he insisted. Though he told me if there's anything inside when you open it, he wants the contents back so he can examine them. He's a historian, you see.

Anyway, happy birthday!

Your friend,

Antigone Dreyfuss

“Wow,” Harry repeated. Then, wanting to know if anything was in it, he switched to Parseltongue. 'Open,' he commanded.

There was a click, and the box opened up. Sadly, though, there didn't appear to be anything in it.

“Drat. I was hoping something cool would be in it. Oh well.”

“Check it for secret compartments.”

“A secret compartment in a box only a Parselmouth can open?”

Ron shrugged. “You never know.”

Harry felt around inside the box, and felt only the green felt it was lined with.

“If there's a secret compartment, it's well hidden. I'll keep trying, later.”

“Mr. Dreyfuss is going to be disappointed.”

“He's not the only one.”

Harry closed the box and put it in his trunk, along with Danzia's gift.

Yet another owl swooped through the window then. He took its burden from it, and saw it was from Luna. It had a great long letter from her, even though they'd been using the two-way mirror, as well as a card. He added the three new cards to his collection, and looked at the gift. It was smallish. He wondered what it could be.

“Well, open it.”

Before he could open it, two other owls flew in.

“A parliament of owls,” Harry said as he set Luna's gift aside to check these owls.

He was shocked to recognize one of them; it was Draco's eagle owl. There was no gift, just a letter and a card.

“You got something from Malfoy?” Ron said in bewilderment.

“Looks like it.”

“Careful, Harry!”

“Oh come now. He may not be a friend exactly, but he hangs out with us at MAC meetings, so he's not an enemy either.”

Contrary to Ron's fears, neither the card nor the letter were booby trapped. The card had a design of serpents on it, naturally. The inside of the card said simply, “Happy Birthday, Harry Potter, from your friend Draco Malfoy.”

He looked at the letter, and read it.

Dear Harry Potter,

Happy birthday to you, Mr. Potter. I apologize for the formal style of this letter and the card, but as I'm still unclear about the precise nature of our relationship, I decided that this level of formality was called for. I also apologize for not getting you a gift, but again, with the complicated nature of our relationship, I wasn't sure if I should. Nor would I know what to get you if I could. But I wanted to send you my regards on your birthday anyway, that much seemed only polite. Especially since you have opened my eyes and made me question the hatred my parents have for a people they don't even understand, the hatred I shared with them until you opened my eyes.

It has not been an easy thing, having my eyes opened. Many of my friends are not speaking to me anymore, and my parents do not understand. Father gets angry, but thankfully he restrains himself to yelling, being unable or unwilling to harm his only child and heir. But as much as I love my parents, it will be something of a relief to return to Hogwarts. At least I have been becoming friends with a few new people in Slytherin. You know them, of course: Antigone Dreyfuss, Angela Whitechapel, and Danzia McCullough.

But I did not write you to burden you with my problems. I wrote you to express my thanks for opening my eyes, for taking a chance on me, and also to wish you well on your birthday. Which I have now done. I hope the rest of your summer is fun and amazing.

Best wishes,

Draco Malfoy

PS = I have instructed my owl to wait for your reply, if you wish to reply, but if you would prefer not to, you may send him away instead. I will not be offended.

Harry handed Ron the letter to read himself, and went on to the last owl. It was another with a card, a gift, and a letter, this time from Angela. He set her card and Draco's with the others, and opened the gift. It turned out to be a candy sampler from Honeyduke's. There were ice mice, sugar quills, fizzing whizbees, and several varieties of chocolates. It reminded him of Ron's usual gifts of chocolates or other candy. He guessed candy was generally a good thing to send when you didn't know what to get the other person, or didn't have much money to spend. Unless it was fancy chocolates, for some reason.

Suddenly, he remembered Luna's gift, and picked it up from its spot on the bed. He opened it, and there was a small box in there, like a jewelry box. Ron watched him as he opened the box and took out some sort of weird-looking amulet on a chain. He grabbed Luna's letter and read it for clues.

Dear Harry,

Best wishes on your birthday, Harry!

Since you're probably wondering about the gift, I'll tell you. Unless you're reading this letter first, in which case you should open the gift before reading further. I'll wait for you.

Ready now? Good. So the amulet makes different sounds when you press the different jewels. When you press the green gem, it makes a musical tone that's supposed to chase away Scrabjabbles, which are creatures that hide out of sight and give people headaches. Play that tone and they will go away.

The blue gem, when you press it, emits a tone that humans can't hear. Animals can hear it, and it drives them wild, but humans, not even Animagi, can hear it. I don't know why they included that feature in the amulet, but maybe you'll find a use for it.

The purple gem emits a harsh, low tone like gravel being crushed sideways. I was told it is the mating call of the Lesser Bagrack; bagracks look like stones, and only move at night, so slowly you almost can't see it. If you can capture one, they will tell you three prophecies about your life in exchange for their freedom. If you don't let them go after they've given the prophecies, though, then when you die your soul will remain earthbound, which is worse even than leaving a ghost behind, so be careful. Because it's a Lesser Bagrack, they will range in size from pebbles to no larger than fist-sized.

As to the red gem, that one will scream very loudly if you press it. But don't worry about accidentally pressing it, because you have to press it very hard to get it to do it. I tried pressing it for hours, and only managed it once.

Well, I'll leave the rest for our talk later. Hope you enjoy your gift. :-)

Love from

Luna

Harry smiled. He put the weird amulet around his neck, and tried out the green gem. Sure enough, it played airy, tinkling music that did indeed sound very soothing. How it would sound when he had a headache, though, he didn't know.

He tried the blue gem. Immediately, all the owls went nuts, flapping and shrieking, so he stopped, and they began to calm down, giving him angry glares.

The purple gem did indeed sound like a bunch of gravel being crushed sideways by a larger piece of stone. It was soothing, in a way, relaxing, like the sound of silverware on plates was for him. He played it a few more times before Ron's glares made him decide to stop.

He decided to take Luna's word for what the red stone did. He slipped the amulet under his shirt, put his gifts and cards away, and decided to go to breakfast. He would write his friends thank you letters later.

Halfway through breakfast, Harry got out the amulet and tried the blue gem again. The shrieking of the owls in his room immediately carried all the way down to the table, though, so he stopped at once. Shaken, he reached over a sleeping Scabbers for some more eggs.

Later on, when they were going out again and he was thus far away from any animals, at least as far as he could tell, he played with the blue gem some more. No animals were around to react to it. But he noticed something else; it hadn't been noticeable before, due to the owls shrieking, but Harry could hear the sound. It was faint, but he could hear it. And it was mildly annoying to him, the sound.

“Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ron asked.

“This,” Harry said, pressing the button.

“No. Should I?”

“Humans aren't supposed to be able to hear it, Luna said. So why can I hear it? Granted, it's quiet to me, and only mildly annoying, but I can hear it.”

“No idea. Could it be cuz you've got Assburger's?”

“Asperger's,” Harry automatically corrected. “Maybe. Yeah, that must be it. We can have enhanced senses, sometimes more than one.”

~

On the 22nd of August, Harry surprised Percy by giving the older boy a birthday present.

“Harry, this is... you didn't need to get me anything.”

“I know I didn't need to. I wanted to. The way your siblings act around you, I thought you could use a gift.”

Percy stared at the unopened present.

“Are you going to open it?”

“Oh, yes.”

Percy opened the gift with a care that suggested he wasn't used to getting gifts, and pulled it out of the wrapping. His face scrunched up in confusion for a moment before he turned to Harry for an explanation.

“It's a set of two-way mirrors. Send one to Penelope, and you'll be able to talk face-to-face with her from great distances.”

“Wow. Harry... this is the most thoughtful gift I've ever gotten.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My parents usually get us jumpers and food for gifts. On the rare occasion I get something better, like Hermes, it's things I picked out. And my siblings just get me chocolates or candy. This is amazing. I'll send one to Penelope straight away, thank you!”

Percy shook Harry's hand with his free hand, smiling the whole time, then ran off to send his girlfriend her half of the set. Harry grinned at the boy's back, happy for him.

~

Harry was exhausted in a happy way when they returned on August 25th. This happiness was shared by all the Weasleys, but it didn't last long in the adults, for something was making them nervous and scared. Harry had no idea what was making them feel that way, though, and they wouldn't answer when he asked about it.

This frustrated him. But he paid attention, and noticed that their feelings seemed to be centered around newspapers, so he tried to get a hold of the Daily Prophet, but the adults always beat him to it. After a couple days, he got frustrated enough to send Hedwig off to the Daily Prophet to buy a subscription for himself.

The next morning, he got his first paper, and he saw what had them worried. A prisoner had escaped from some place called Azkaban, the wizarding prison that Hagrid had been sent to in the year previous, before being cleared and returned. A prisoner, moreover, who had been a prisoner for 12 years, who had apparently killed 13 people with a single curse.

But something bothered him about the man's face, there was something familiar in it. He couldn't figure out why, though.

For the next few days, he pondered on the problem every chance he got, talking to the other Weasley children – including Percy – when he could, even asking Luna about the man. But nobody knew anything.

It was after dinner that he got the idea. They were, after all, very good at doing things, and people tended to not take notice of them...

“Netty!”

With a small CRACK, Netty the house elf appeared before him.

“Harry Potter is calling Netty for something? What is it Netty can be getting for Harry Potter?”

“Hello, Netty. Thanks for coming. I was wondering if you could please find me information about this man, Sirius Black?”

Netty shuddered.

“You know something?”

“Well, yes, Harry Potter. Netty is hearing things, of course. Sirius Black is a bad man, they says. He is killing--”

“--thirteen people with a single curse, yes I know about that. I want to know about what he was doing before that. I want to know, if you can find out, why he killed all those people, as well. There's something familiar about the man, and I can't figure out why. I want to know why, so any information you can find about him would help me.”

“Netty can ask around among the other house elves, sir. They sometimes hears things that isn't secrets. We keeps our masters secrets and our silence, but some things we is able to speak about because they isn't secrets. I is seeing what I can find out for you, sir,” she said, bowing.

“Thank you, Netty.”

The disapparated with a CRACK, and Harry went back to thinking on the problem.

There was, of course, more to it than the familiarity of the man's face. There was also the fact that the adults seemed very worried for Harry in particular, and also unwilling to say anything about it. And given Harry's track record in the wizarding world so far, he suspected the man was after him in particular for some reason. Maybe he was in league with Voldemort during the last war? Harry didn't know why he would escape after 12 years, but then, maybe it took that long to work out how to do it. So the man might be wanting to help his old master? Or, if he thought his old master dead, maybe he wanted revenge on Harry? No matter what the reasons, though, he needed to know all he could, in case the man was a threat.

Since he was getting nowhere without more information, he decided to write thank-you letters to his friends. Deciding that gave him the idea, then, to ask them about Sirius Black. And, what they heck, why not ask Draco as well? Ron had said Mr. Malfoy had been a Death Eater, and his involvement with Tom Riddle's diary seemed to confirm that, so maybe he'd told Draco something about Sirius Black at some point.

Between asking about Black and telling about his time in Egypt, it took him all night to write his letters to his friends. In the end, there were so many of them that he ended up borrowing Errol and Hermes as well as using Hedwig, and even then it took a couple days to get all the letters sent off. He sent Hedwig to deliver his letter to Draco. That letter he'd written informally, to indicate that he was willing to count Draco as a budding friend. His hand was very cramped after he was done with the letters, so much so that he began thinking about buying a dictation quill. He wouldn't be able to use it for homework, of course, but it would be great for letters. He put one on his list for Diagon Alley before going to bed.

~

The day before their trip to Diagon Alley, Harry got back letters from his friends. Most of them didn't know anything more about Sirius Black than he did. But his idea to write Draco had paid off.

Dear Harry,

Thank you for your letter. It was a relief, to be honest. I've been avoiding my parents lately, except at meals, to avoid fights. So being able to have someone to communicate with, even by letter, is a pleasant relief.

Your trip to Egypt sounds amazing! I've been abroad myself, of course, but I don't think father has ever taken me to Egypt before. If he did, I don't remember it. We've been to France, Belgium, Italy, and even Greece, though.

As to Sirius Black, yes, I have heard something. Father made some snide remarks about the man when he read the news. I asked him about it, and despite our fights this summer, we had a remarkably civil conversation about Black. I think he was glad to have something to talk with me about that wouldn't end in shouting.

I don't even know if I should tell you this, because it might upset you, but you asked, and you should know. It shouldn't be kept from you. According to father, Sirius Black was your dad's best friend in school and later. He was even your father's best man at the wedding. The Ministry thinks the man was secretly a Death Eater and betrayed your parents to Voldemort. He says it's possible, but he doubts it; father was pretty high up the chain of command, and if Black was a Death Eater, the Dark Lord never told father about it, which would be odd because father was one of the Dark Lord's three most trusted lieutenants.

Anyway, apparently your parents were made aware of the Dark Lord's plans to kill them and you, so they went into hiding using something called the Fidelius Charm. This involves the hiding of a secret in a single human soul. Sirius Black was said to have been the Secret Keeper, i.e. the one in whose soul the secret was kept, and the only one who could tell anyone the secret. Since the Dark Lord was able to get in to kill your parents, it must be true that Black betrayed them. Father says he doesn't think there's any other way it could have happened.

As to the event he was imprisoned for, a man named Peter Pettigrew apparently went to confront Black about the betrayal, and Black blew the man to smithereens, which blew up the street and killed 12 Muggles as well. The biggest bit of Pettigrew the Ministry found was a single finger. With so many witnesses, they didn't even give the man a trial. Which father sneered about, since all the witnesses were Muggles, and therefore not reliable in his opinion. But with their memories modified, they can't be questioned again, so I see his point there.

Father also says that Minister Fudge and the rest of the Ministry thinks Black escaped to kill you and rejoin the Dark Lord. But... well, Black came from a family that was pretty vehement about blood purity, but he frequently and loudly rejected all that tosh, and got disowned as a result. I suppose it's possible he went back on his beliefs to rejoin the family, but he doesn't seem the type.

Well, that's all of what father told me. I hope you aren't too upset at me for telling me this.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

Harry set the letter down and sighed. Then he clenched his fists and pressed them against his eyes, silently crying. He'd been their friend? A friend of theirs had betrayed them? He tried to imagine Hermione or Ron betraying him like that, and couldn't. Had it been the same for his parents?

Standing up suddenly, Harry got out the photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year, and looked. After flipping through a dozen pages, he found it, the photos of the wedding. He presumed the laughing, handsome man with long black hair was Black, but that was a guess; the man in the photo looked nothing like the newspaper's photo, aside from the color of the hair and something about the face.

But there was doubt about his guilt. Mr. Malfoy sounded like he was pretty sure he'd know if Black had been a Death Eater, and there was all that stuff about being disowned by his pureblood-obsessed family. As upset as he was, he didn't know enough about this Fidelius Charm to know how it worked. Though Dumbledore was on the wizengamot... surely he'd have fought for a trial? The fact they didn't have a trial didn't mean he didn't fight for one. Dumbledore was a powerful man, but the Ministry had ignored his advice before. But it was still fishy.

Harry was just about to write another letter to Draco, to ask if he knew if there was any way to know for sure if someone was a Death Eater or not, but then he realized that tomorrow was the last day of August, and then the day after that was the Hogwart's train ride. He could ask Draco on the train. So instead, he just lay in bed, thinking about things until he finally stumbled into the arms of sleep.

~

Because they were going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron that night, they all had to make sure they brought their trunks and anything they wanted to take to Hogwart's with them. So it felt a lot like going to the train, just more sedate.

When they got everything packed into the car, they all got in and drove to London, parking in a special hidden car park for wizards so they could get their ridiculous amount of things out of the magically-expanded boot of the car without being spotted by Muggles. When all their stuff was settled into their rooms for the night, everyone went out the back into Diagon Alley to go to Gringott's, then do their shopping.

Harry had a hard time getting away from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and only managed it by agreeing to let Percy accompany them. But Percy was itching to leave and find Penelope, so he convinced the older boy to leave him be. Percy only agreed, though, when Ron and Hermione showed up.

With his two friends in tow, they went all over Diagon Alley. Harry spent a lot of time in the bookstores, looking for information that might help him with his questions about Black, among other subjects. He also went to Ollivander's to buy a spare wand to hide from view, surprise people trying to hurt him. Ron got a new wand as well, since his had exploded in the Chamber of Secrets the year before, and had been dying for a long time anyway.

Ron's rat Scabbers was also not doing well, he'd been getting thinner ever since they got back from Egypt, and for a rat that did nothing but eat and sleep all day, that was worrying. So they went to the Magical Menagerie as well, to get him some rat tonic.

While they were there, Harry looking at the many magical creatures in fascination, an ugly, flat-faced, bandy-legged cat named Crookshanks attacked Scabbers, driving Ron out of the shop. Harry went with his friend, but Hermione stayed behind. This was both good and bad; good because Hermione brought back the rat tonic Ron had forgotten, and bad because she bought Crookshanks instead of getting an owl as planned, which Ron was not happy about.

Dinner at the Leaky Cauldron was great that night. The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione sat at three tables and ate a five course meal. It wasn't as good as Mrs. Weasley's cooking, but it was close.

After dinner, they were packing so they'd be ready to go in the morning. The Weasleys were hoping that being in London would mean they could avoid the usual rush of almost being late for the train every time. In the midst of this, Percy had mislaid his Head Boy badge, but thought Ron had taken it, so he was making Ron help look for it. But since Ron had left his pet's rat tonic downstairs, and now couldn't go after it, Harry volunteered to fetch it for him.

On his way, he caught the two adult Weasleys talking about him from the parlor. Talking about how Black was after Harry, wanted to kill him. Even though he knew this already, he stayed, because this was verifying Draco's letter.

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s after Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said at one point.

There was a thud on wood, and Harry was sure Mr. Weasley had banged his fist on the table.

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts … he’s at Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who, and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that.”

He continued to listen, and found that Dumbledore didn't like the Azkaban guards at all. But soon after, the conversation ended, so Harry went back to fetching Ron's rat tonic.

The bottle of rat tonic was lying under the table they had sat at earlier. Harry waited until he heard Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s bedroom door close, then headed back upstairs with the bottle.

Fred and George were crouching in the shadows on the landing, heaving with laughter as they listened to Percy dismantling his and Ron’s room in search of his badge.

“We’ve got it,” Fred whispered to Harry. “We’ve been improving it.”

The badge now read Bighead Boy.

“That's not funny. He's very proud of his accomplishment, as well he should be. I don't know if you're jealous or what, but you're being bullies to him, and I should know, I was raised by a bunch of bullies.”

“You're comparing us to the Dursleys?”

“Yes. Bullying comes in all kinds. I even saw kids at school who were bullying victims become bullies themselves. Remove the enchantments from the badge and give it to me.”

The twins looked at one another, then at Harry, looking a little abashed. One of them – George, he thought – removed the enchantment from the badge, and handed it over.

“Thank you,” Harry said, going back upstairs.

“Percy,” he said when he got inside the room, “I rescued your badge from the twins.”

“You did? Oh thank you, Harry!”

“AHEM,” Ron said angrily. “I think somebody owes somebody else an apology.”

“I'm sorry I thought it was you, Ron. I should've known it was the twins. They didn't do anything to it, did they, Harry?”

“Yes, but I made them undo it. And they did, I saw it.”

“Thank you again,” Percy said, taking it back and pinning it to his robes.

Harry gave Ron back the rat tonic.

That night in bed, while listening to muffled shouts from the other room, Harry thought about Black, worrying on the problem like a dog with a bone. He was thinking, especially, about why the confirmation of Black being after him didn't scare him. But he'd faced down Voldemort himself, how much worse could one of his Death Eaters be?

Then, too, there was the question of Black's betrayal. It confused him. He tried imagining one of his friends betraying him, and couldn't manage it. Was his father just really bad at judging character? Or had Voldemort scared Black into betraying Harry's family?

But what was worse than that for Harry, just then, was that even if he could somehow have gotten the Dursleys to sign the Hogsmeade permission slip, the teachers would no doubt find some excuse to prevent him from going. If the Azkaban guards were going to be at the school, he doubted he'd ever be allowed to go. Not until Black was apprehended again.

He sighed, and rolled over to concentrate on getting to sleep.

~FAYANORA~

Note: Sorry this took so long. I got stuck trying to figure out if Harry should go with the Weasleys to Egypt or not. If this were my only fic, there'd have been no hesitation in letting him go with them, but he goes with them to Egypt in my other fic, “The Many Faces of Harry Potter,” so I didn't know what to do. But then I realized this Harry's experience of Egypt would be very different from the other's.

Also, I blame the summer heat. It turns me into a flobberworm.

Note two: Ah, so I don't know if you noticed or not, but shortly after introducing the concept of stress-induced non-verbal episodes, I introduced you to the concept of a stim. I don't recall if I've done this yet before or not, but here we are. Like myself, Harry has auditory stims. A stim is a sensory input that someone finds comforting. This makes sense, since many sensory inputs can irritate and frustrate myself and other aspies, so of course the opposite exists. A fork scraping on a plate is not one of my own stims, but it's one that makes sense, since there are sounds I and others find comforting that drive others crazy. I even heard, once, about an aspie whose stim (one of them) was styrofoam squeaking against styrofoam, which is a sound that I can't personally tolerate.

Chapter 2: Trapped

The next morning was exciting as usual on school train days, with all the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione getting ready. Harry figured he and Hermione held up the Weasleys with their hair care routines, since even wearing do-rags overnight (something the Dursleys had never let him do, because they said it made him look like more of a hooligan than usual, which just made his hair harder to manage), their hair took at least an hour to wrangle into some sort of order. Hermione just brushed hers out daily and washed it every 2 or 3 days, but Harry was starting to experiment with different hairstyles, made easier by some simple hair charms he was learning. Today he'd decided to go with dreadlocks, which – with a hair charm that Angelina Johnson had taught him – were pretty easy. Dreadlocks needed to be cleaned daily, but there was a hair-washing charm that would work without them losing their shape. Harry began wishing he'd thought of this the day before. One quick hair-washing charm and he'd have been ready to go already.

The fact that they were in London already helped speed things along, so there was some idleness and talking. Harry frowned as Mrs. Weasley told Ginny and Hermione about making a love potion when she was younger; he didn't like the sound of love potions, they sounded really creepy to him.

“I've got something to tell you,” Harry tried to tell Ron, but Ron was distracted; Percy had accused him of spilling tea on his picture of his girlfriend, and Ron was understandably sore about it. By the time Ron was paying attention again, the chaos of leaving was making it impossible to speak, so Harry decided to wait.

Once Hermione got Crookshanks inside the car in his cat basket and everyone got their trunks in the boot, everyone got inside the car. Even in the magically-expanded car, it was crowded with all of them in there. Especially since Ron and Percy had to sit together.

At the station, they took the barrier in pairs. Apparently remembering the incident of the barrier last year, Mr. Weasley went first with Harry, but there was no problem this year. Soon, the others joined them. Percy went looking for Penelope as soon as he came in. Harry focused on trying to keep a headache away as he helped get the trunks on the train.

When they got their stuff stowed in their compartment, they went back to say goodbye to the adults.

Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children, then Hermione, and finally, Harry. He was embarrassed, but really quite pleased, when she gave him an extra hug.

“Do take care, won’t you, Harry?” she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, “I’ve made you all sandwiches. … Here you are, Ron … no, they’re not corned beef. … Fred? Where’s Fred? Here you are, dear. …”

“Harry,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “come over here a moment.”

He jerked his head toward a pillar, and Harry followed him behind it, leaving the others crowded around Mrs. Weasley.

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you before you leave —” said Mr. Weasley, in a tense voice.

“It's fine. I already know what you're going to say.”

“You do? How could you?”

“Black is supposed to be after me, right? So yeah, I worked it out for myself,” Harry said, not wanting to admit he had overheard them. It was true, anyway. “You and Mrs. Weasley were so tense once we got back from Egypt, I knew something was up. You kept avoiding the papers, so I took out a subscription. And your worry seemed to be centered around me. So it wasn't difficult to work out. Plus, Draco confirmed it.”

Mr. Weasley's face turned stony. “Draco? You don't mean Draco Malfoy?”

“Yes. He's not like his father, Mr. Weasley, not anymore. He's my friend now, he's been going to MAC meetings, and he's been converted over to our side. His parents fight with him over it, and he's lost most of his previous friends because of it.”

“Oh. He told you, then? Well... it's not how I'd like you to find out.”

“It's fine,” Harry said. “I'm glad he did. He told me everything, you know. How Black betrayed my parents, supposedly.”

“He did betray them, Harry. He was their secret keeper.”

“Well Mr. Malfoy says that as far as he knew, Black wasn't a Death Eater, and Mr. Malfoy was one of Voldemort's top lieutenants, so he would know, wouldn't he?”

“Be that as it may, Harry, innocent men don't break out of prison. The Ministry thinks Black is after you, so you should avoid him if at all possible. Assume he is a threat, Harry.”

“I will be cautious, Mr. Weasley. I always am. And I never said I thought he was innocent, just that there's some doubt. Enough that he should have been given a trial, but apparently he never got one. Which tells me quite a lot about wizarding Britain's justice system, and nothing good.”

“Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, who was now shepherding the rest onto the train. “Arthur, what are you doing? It’s about to go!”

“He’s coming, Molly!” said Mr. Weasley, but he turned back to Harry, talking in a low and hurried voice. “Well unfair or not, avoid the man. He is still an escaped prisoner, been in Azkaban for 12 years, so he's bound to be a bit unhinged even if he is somehow innocent.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, I'll be cautious. I'll stay in the castle and be good. I promise.”

“Good. Now hurry, Harry!”

Harry nodded and hurried back into the train just before it started to move. The Weasley kids, Harry, and Hermione waved goodbye to the two Weasley adults as the train sped off, until they could no longer see the adults.

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione as the train picked up speed.

“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.

This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before, except for the witch who pushed the food cart.

The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard’s robes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray.

“Who d’you reckon he is?” Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats farthest away from the window.

“Professor R. J. Lupin,” whispered Hermione at once.

“How d’you know that?”

“It’s on his case,” she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

“Wonder what he teaches?” said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin’s pallid profile.

“That’s obvious,” whispered Hermione. “There’s only one vacancy, isn’t there? Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job was jinxed.

“Well, I hope he’s up to it,” said Ron doubtfully. “He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn’t he? Anyway …” He turned to Harry. “Are Luna and the others gonna join us?” he asked.

“No. Eight people in one compartment would a bit crowded. I'll tell Luna, Antigone, Angela, and Danzia later.

“Okay then. So what were you going to tell us?”

Harry explained about what he'd figured out, what Draco had told him, and the argument he'd overheard between the Weasley adults, since it had confirmed his suspicions, as well as Mr. Weasley's words just now.

When he was done, the looks on his friends faces were mixed.

“Yes?” he prompted, looking at Hermione first.

“Well... I mean, it is very unfair he wasn't given a trial, but I'm sure Dumbledore must have fought for one. Or, if he didn't, he must have thought the man's guilt was obvious. I mean, I don't know what this Fidelius Charm entails, but I'm sure Dumbledore does. And Mr. Weasley is right, if he broke out of prison, it must be for a reason. And you said Black had been saying 'He's at Hogwarts.' If Black didn't mean you, who could he possibly mean?”

“What if he thought Harry was his father?” Ron asked.

“Pardon?”

“If they were friends... well, everyone who knew your parents say you look like your dad. If Black has been in Azkaban for 12 years, he might indeed be crazy.”

“I wonder why he escaped?” Harry asked, thinking aloud.

“Well I think Dad's right, Harry, you should assume he's guilty. They probably should've given him a trial, yeah, but the fact they didn't must mean they knew it wasn't needed. They must have had proof. And he was their secret keeper.”

“Yes, people keep saying that. But I'm still going to keep an open mind. If it turns out he is guilty, then so be it. But I want to be sure first.”

“First?” Hermione asked. “What do you mean by 'first'?”

“I mean, before I condemn him. I'll be cautious, yes, but I'll withhold condemnation for now.”

“Good. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry.”

“I don't. Trouble usually finds me well enough on its own.”

“Yeah, Harry; I don't trust anything Malfoy says, to start with, and anyway, Black broke out of prison. If he didn't use some kind of dark magic, how'd he do it, huh? I don't think any decent wizard could do it.”

“I'll bet Dumbledore could.”

“Yeah, well, that's Dumbledore. He's a special case.”

“Ron's right, you know. Most wizards couldn't break out of there. And why did he break out, anyway? He was content to be there for 12 years, and then all of a sudden, he escapes? After saying 'He's at Hogwarts'? If he's not going after you for some reason, what did he escape for?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll never find out. But I'm not going to assume he's evil. I'll avoid him, just to be careful, though.”

“There's still the fact he was your parents' secret-keeper. Doesn't that anger you? Or make you upset?”

“I was upset at first, yes. But, well... there's a lot I don't know about the wizarding world. Most people think it's pretty certain he was their secret keeper, but how many of them know enough about the Fidelius Charm to really know for sure?”

“What gets me, Harry,” Ron said, “is that you're taking Malfoy at his word about all this. Now Draco might be on our side, I dunno, but his father sure isn't. He could have been lying to Draco, especially if he thought Draco was going to relay this information back to you, Harry.”

“That is a good point,” Harry conceded. “Still... I find it weird that someone who was so happy at my parents' wedding could have betrayed them. It's possible, I guess, but do you understand that I just want to be sure, before I condemn the man? I'm going to continue digging into this, without putting myself at risk. I promise you, I'm not going to go looking for Black.”

This, finally, appeared to mollify his two friends.

“What's that noise?” Ron said, suddenly, having only noticed it in the sudden silence.

A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all around the compartment. Harry cocked his head, tracing the source.

“It’s coming from your trunk, Harry,” said Ron, standing up and reaching into the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from between Harry’s robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron’s hand and glowing brilliantly.

“Is that a Sneakoscope?” said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better look.

“Yeah … mind you, it’s a very cheap one,” Ron said. “It went haywire at the dinner table the night I got it. But then, the twins were putting beetles in Percy's soup.”

Harry grabbed the noisy thing and shoved it in some old socks, then started digging through his trunk for a place to stow it. He spotted the box Antigone had given him. He wondered if he wanted to put it in there or not. It was tempting, but in the end, since he was the only person in Hogwarts who could open it, as far as he knew, he decided against it, in case it wasn't soundproofed. Besides, even if it was fake jewels, he didn't think flashing it on the train was a wise idea. He'd show Hermione later.

“What could be setting it off now, I wonder?” Harry asked himself as he put it away somewhere in his trunk where it couldn't be heard.

That was a stumper of a question, as it turned out. Harry trusted the other two with his life, and if Dumbledore trusted Professor Lupin, it couldn't be him. That just left Hedwig and Crookshanks, who were animals. Well, and Scabbers, another animal, but he'd been Ron's pet for years, so that couldn't be it, either.

Ron shrugged. “Dunno, mate. It's a cheap thing, probably not working right.”

But Harry wasn't sure. His magical translator glasses were still working alright, and even a cheap magical item surely couldn't be breaking already, could it? Or could it? Ron had been in this world longer than he had, so he must know better about these things. After all, what if their roles were reversed? What if Harry had gotten Ron a cheap plastic toy from a burger joint? Those things broke within minutes, sometimes.

“Yeah, that must be it,” Harry said.

Ron and Hermione went on to discuss their summers. Harry took out a book, but he was only pretending to read. He was, in fact, thinking about Sirius Black again, and how his father could have been fooled.

Intellectually, Harry knew his father had been human, and humans make mistakes. Heck, even non-human people made mistakes. It was life. But on an emotional level, he couldn't make heads or tails of it. If only there was someone to talk with about this, someone who wouldn't scoff or argue, someone who already was thinking along the same lines he was.

Then it came to him: Draco! He stood up, putting his book aside.

“You going somewhere, mate?”

“Yeah. Uh... the loo,” he said. It was a lie, yes, but he didn't want to hear Ron's arguments if he told the truth.

Ron nodded. Hermione looked sceptical. But Harry ignored her and left the compartment, searching the train for Draco.

After a few minutes, he literally ran into a nervous-looking Draco, both boys falling over from the impact.

“Ouch! Watch it, you--- Harry? Oh, sorry about that,” Draco said, blushing. With his skin as pale as it was, he lit up like a traffic light when he blushed. He stood up, and helped Harry to his feet.

“I'm sorry, too, Draco. I should've paid more attention to where I was going. Anyway, I was looking for you.”

“Good, good,” Draco said, distracted, looking back behind him with a worried expression on his face. “Let's find a compartment.”

“Every one I've checked so far was pretty much full. I think the emptiest one I saw was the one I'd been in with Ron and Hermione, and the new Defense teacher.”

“A teacher? On the train? Only adults I've ever seen on the train once we left was the witch pushing the trolley and the conductor.”

“Yeah, us too. But he's there. He's been sleeping the whole time, so far.”

Draco looked behind himself again, then back at Harry. “Okay, sure, let's go there.”

Harry sighed. “I'll have to explain this to Ron. He still doesn't really like or trust you.”

“Yes, well, that makes sense. Our families have so often been at odds. But still, let's go there anyway,” he said, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him along, despite not knowing which compartment Harry had been in.

“Draco!” Harry cried out, trying hard not to fall over. “Draco, slow down!”

“Which one is it, anyway?” Draco asked, looking around.

Harry pulled out of Draco's grasp. “What is your problem today?”

Draco sighed. “If you must know, I'm avoiding Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Why?”

“Well... it's complicated. But the short version is they're angry. And you know what they're like when they're angry.”

“Ah,” Harry said. “It's over here.”

Harry opened the door and the two boys ducked in.

“Oy, what's he doing here?”

“He's trying to escape Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry said, ignoring Draco's exasperated expression.

Ron looked about to say something scathing, but something made him stop and think instead. If he was remembering the same thing Harry was, he was about to realize that this made sense.

“Ah,” Ron said. “Alright then.”

With no more said, Draco sat down next to Harry.

“You said you were looking for me, Harry? What for?” Draco asked.

Ignoring Hermione's 'I was right' look, Harry said, “I was thinking about Black again. I was kind of wanting a private discussion with you.”

Hermione nudged Ron, who was in the middle of examining a Chocolate Frog card, to see if he had that one already or not.

“Oy, what'd you do that for?”

She just gave him a look.

“Fine, fine. I have to go to the loo myself anyway. For real.”

When the two friends left the compartment, Draco looked over at Professor Lupin with a brief look of curiosity at first, then disgust. At Harry's answering look of annoyance, though, Draco held his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Sorry. Old habits, you know. Not everyone can be as fortunate as a Malfoy, I know I shouldn't judge. Just...”

“Never mind that for now,” Harry said, in lieu of accepting the apology. “So, I was wondering what else you could tell me about Black. Or about the Death Eaters, anything might help.”

“Well, I don't know a lot about it. Father doesn't talk much about it. He's trying to keep up the pretense of innocence, after all. But he lets things slip sometimes. And I notice things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, little things. Like the way he talks about some of his friends, has made me suspect some of them were Death Eaters, too. Vincent's father, Gregory's father.”

“The elder Crabbe and Goyle, you mean?”

“Yes. Also MacNair, works at the ministry now, disposing of dangerous animals.”

“Sounds like a job a Death Eater might enjoy.”

“MacNair does seem to enjoy his job, yes. But going on, Knott's father was one too, I'll bet.”

“Any others?”

“Well, Aunt Bellatrix, but she's in prison now.”

“Aunt Bellatrix?” Harry asked, offering Draco a Bertie Bott's.

Draco took the proffered gift, opening it as he spoke. “Yeah. My mother's sister. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.”

“Wait, your mom and your aunt are related to this Sirius Black fellow?”

“Yeah. He's their brother. I guess that makes Sirius Black my uncle. Or it would have, if the family hadn't disowned him for being a Griffindor, and a blood traitor.”

“Blood traitor?”

“That's what the purebloods call other purebloods who are... who believe in equality for Muggle-borns, and fair treatment of Muggles.” Draco sighed. “Which makes me a blood traitor now, I guess.”

“Does that...” Harry trailed off. “Are your parents going to disown you?”

Draco snorted. “I doubt it. I'm their only child. The sole heir. And my parents were lucky to have me. Pureblood families tend to be large, lots of children. Well the Weasleys have that part down pat. And my mother, of course, had one sister, Aunt Bellatrix LeStrange nee Black. But try as they might, I have no siblings. I doubt either of them would dare to disown me, no matter what I did. Besides, mother loves me too dearly to do so, even if I had brothers and sisters.”

“Your mother was a Black? Any relation to Sirius Black?”

“Yes, Sirius Black is my mother's cousin. And he had a brother, Regulus Arcturus Black. Never met him, he died during the last war. He was a Death Eater, but he turned against the Dark Lord, supposedly. Though how he died, nobody knows. His body was never found.”

“Your family is fond of naming people after stars, it seems. Only your mother was named after something else, a flower in her case. Gives us something else in common. My mother was Lily.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, smiling wryly. “It's a Black family tradition, naming kids after stars or constellations.”

“Did you know that your father was responsible for the events of last year?” Harry asked him gently.

Draco's head jerked up to look at Harry. “He was? Seriously?”

“Yes. He slipped an old diary of Vol---er, of the Dark Lord's, into Ginny Weasley's cauldron at Flourish and Blotts before school started. It was ensorcelled somehow, seemed to have a piece of his mind inside it, or more. In the Chamber of Secrets, it was coming alive as it drained her of life. I killed it before he could return.”

The pale boy's face went even paler, which Harry hadn't thought possible, his grey eyes wide with terror. He clutched his head, and began trembling.

“The Dark Lord almost... almost returned?”

“Yes. But I stopped him. And used the dead diary to trick your father into freeing Dobby.”

“Dobby?” Draco said, regaining some of his composure. “What does our old house elf have to do with it?”

Harry explained briefly what had happened, how Dobby had kept warning him and trying to prevent him coming to school, then trying to get him injured enough to be sent home.

“He nearly killed you several times, and you rewarded him for it?”

“Yes, well, he was trying to save my life. And your father treated him terribly, kicking him right in front of Dumbledore and me.”

Draco sat there, many emotions crossing his face as he thought. If Harry had to guess, he'd say Draco was suppressing an urge to scoff at the pain of a creature like a house elf, then thought better of it. The blonde boy's series of emotions stopped at what looked like a reluctant thoughtfulness, like he hadn't really thought about it before, and still needed to do more thinking to sort out his feelings about a creature like Dobby, but recognizing Harry's feelings and trying to see his point of view.

“Ah, yes. I do remember that,” Draco said. “I wasn't very nice to Dobby either. I wouldn't blame him if he attacked me, now he's free. I was never as bad as Father, but not by a lot. I have a lot of my parents' garbage to clear out of my head. I'm glad I have someone to help me figure out what's garbage and what isn't.”

“You're welcome.”

“Anyway, we got off track, didn't we? We were discussing the Death Eaters. I almost forgot to mention one other thing; my father always wears long sleeves. Always. I've never seen his bare arms.”

“What's special about that?”

“On its own, nothing really. But I've noticed Father seems particularly keen on hiding his left arm for some reason. I don't know if it means anything or not, but it might.” Draco sat there thinking for another few moments before continuing. “Dobby might know something more. Dobby was Father's personal elf. We had others. Still do. Anyway, Dobby drew Father's bath and helped him in and out of his clothes. My own elf did the same for me, until the day I decided I didn't want anything looking at me nude, and insisted on doing it myself.”

“Well, I was assigned one of the Hogwarts house elves, to help protect me from the Dursleys while I'm staying there, and she comes when I call at other times, too. I could see if she can find Dobby and bring him to the castle for me to question.”

Draco was about to respond, when the door to the compartment opened, revealing Crabbe and Goyle, both cracking their knuckles. Draco stood up, hiding his fear behind a mask of bravado.

“You two!” he said sharply, like it was an insult.

“Malfoy,” Crabbe said. “You need to come with us now, so we can finish our talk.”

“Ha! Talk! As if!” Draco said, his knees shaking just visibly. “I'll go nowhere with you.”

“Now or later, Draco, you can't avoid us forever. We're in the same House.”

“It'll have to be later, then, because I was in the middle of a conversation with Harry here.”

“On a first name basis now, eh?” Goyle sneered. “Your blood traitor pal can't protect you forever, Malfoy!”

“Blood traitor or not, Goyle, if either of you lay a finger on me, my father will hear of this!”

“And what'll he do, exactly? Get us a detention?”

“Yeah,” Crabbe said. “Boo hoo, cry to yer daddy.”

“You dare not doing anything here, we're right in front of a teacher,” Draco pointed out, gesturing at Lupin.

This scared the two boys where Draco's bravado hadn't. Thick as they were, they knew better than to fight in front of a teacher.

“Fine. Later, then,” Goyle said, closing the door behind him as they left.

“Dare I ask?”

“I---”

“Your friends popped by, I see,” Ron said as he opened the door.

“They're not my friends anymore.”

“I know, we heard everything,” Ron said, sounding sympathetic. He sat down across from Draco. “I guess if Crabbe and Goyle want to beat you up, that means we're on the same side.”

“And I wasn't before?”

Hermione sat down next to Ron.

“Ron wasn't convinced, before. But you are now, I take it?” Hermione asked.

“Not completely. I'm still gonna keep an eye on you. But the evidence is in your favor.”

“I'm thrilled, of course,” Draco said, a bit of the old sneer returning to his voice.

“Anyway,” Ron said, opening another Chocolate Frog. “Were you two done, or did we need to go wander the train some more?”

Draco looked at Harry. Harry looked back at Draco, and shrugged. Draco shrugged at Ron.

“Good enough for me.” Ron said, cramming a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, and looking up at Professor Lupin.

Hermione's eyes went the same place as Ron's. “Good Heavens, is he still asleep?”

Ron swallowed his frog. “Is he asleep, though? He might be dead.”

“No, he's still breathing.”

“I wonder what's got him so tired he's sleeping on a noisy train full of people talking?” Draco wondered aloud.

“What, no snide comment about the state of his clothes?” Ron asked.

Draco did not dignify this with an answer. Merely took a Pumpkin Pasty and bit into it.

“So,” Draco said some minutes later, breaking the silence, “Hogsmeade sounds fun.”

“Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” asked Hermione keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain.

“I reckon it is,” Ron said, “but that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“Ah yes,” Draco said, with an air of remembering something pleasant. “Father's taken me there before, several years ago. It is quite nice. It was a little disappointing over the summer, when business is so poor it's a wonder they weren't shut for the season. I look forward to seeing it at its peak, with all the Hogwarts students inside it.”

“Honeydukes? What's that?” asked Hermione.

A sneer flickered across Draco's face, almost too fast to notice. But Ron noticed.

“It's a sweetshop,” Ron explained, his expression changing to one of bliss as he thought about it. “I've been there, too. They have everything! Pepper Imps — they make you smoke at the mouth — and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like you’re thinking what to write next.”

“If you use quills,” Harry said. “I'd use a pen and paper if I could. As it is, I had to get a special quill from McGonagall.”

“Pen and paper? You mean that Muggle stuff?”

“Oh, like a train isn't a Muggle thing. And Muggles used to wear robes too, you know,” Harry said.

“I wasn't saying anything bad about it. Just wanting to make sure I understood,” Draco said a little stiffly.

“Sorry. It's just, paper takes ink so much better than parchment. And Muggles gave up on parchment ages ago, because for them paper is so much easier to make and use. You know parchment is sheep skin, right? It's a wonder it takes ink at all. And you'd think the wizarding world would've gotten at least as far as a fountain pen. Has a quill-like tip, you see, and uses ink, but uses suction power to hold in a fair amount of ink, so you don't have to dip it in the ink very often.”

“Isn't that basically a Muggle version of the purple quills I've seen you and Granger using?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. I still prefer paper and ballpoint pen, though. I still use that for non-school stuff. With the money my folks left me, I got some nice metal ones. Ballpoint pens let the ink flow enough to write with, without making ink splotches, which you get with quills and fountain pens.”

“Muggle quills, maybe. Wizarding quills don't mess as much. Sure, there's the occasional blot when you're holding the pen up, thinking what to write, but beyond that, there are spells on our quills to keep them from making messes when writing with them. Also, they're charmed to hold more ink than Muggle quills. But since Muggles don't have magic, I guess they would need to come up with some sort of non-magical equivalent.”

“Oh, so you don't use random feathers for quills?” Harry asked.

“No self-respecting wizard uses random feathers for a quill, they buy them. Quills are cheap enough even W-- er, even those with very little to their names can buy them for 20 a knut. The spells on them are simple enough even a third year student could cast them, so they're not difficult to make.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, glaring at Draco, “but cheap quills don't last long before they start having the same problems as non-magic quills. The spells wear off.”

“So you re-cast the spells, Weasley. Problem solved.”

“Eh,” Harry said. “This is all moot. I use ballpoint pen and paper when I can, and the purple quills McGonagall gave me when I can't. It's what I'm used to.”

“Well, let me try it sometime, Harry,” Draco said. “Dipping a quill, even an expensive, long-lasting quill, gets tiresome at times. But tell me... how does one dip a ball point pen?”

“You don't. They have their own ink supplies, in little tubes of plastic or metal. The tubes last for weeks, even months. Years, if you don't use the pen often. And when the tube is empty, you replace it. At least, you do for the refillable kinds. The cheaper pens are disposable, you just throw them away when they run out of ink.”

“Throw them away? How wasteful.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But they're even cheaper than cheap quills. I don't know how much a knut is in Muggle money, off the top of my head, but for one pound you can get 20 disposable pens. Maybe even more.”

“Pound?” Ron asked. “What, it weighs a whole pound?”

“It's a unit of Muggle money, here in the UK. It doesn't have anything to do with the unit of weight, as far as I know of.”

“Well, actually,” Hermione began.

“Please don't, Hermione,” Ron said. Hermione huffed, but said nothing, and soon forgot her ire.

“Well that got off track,” Draco said. “Diverting, of course, but we were talking about Hogsmeade, I believe?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Hogsmeade’s a very interesting place, isn’t it? In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack’s supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britain!”

“Oh yeah,” Ron interrupted, “and Honeyduke's has these massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you’re sucking them.”

“Fizzing Whizbees, yes,” Draco said, looking enraptured.

Hermione looked around at Harry.

“Won’t it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?”

“ ’Spect it will,” said Harry heavily. “You’ll have to tell me when you’ve found out.”

“What d’you mean?” said Ron.

“I can’t go. The Dursleys didn’t sign my permission form. By the time I got the letter, I was in Egypt with you lot, and I never went back, did I? Anyway, I reckon I won't be allowed to come, what with Black out to kill me.”

“Harry Potter, not allowed to come to Hogsmeade?” Draco said, preempting Ron. “Even if you weren't famous, you're of an old family; that alone makes it a minor scandal, if they don't let you go. I could talk to my father for you. We haven't been getting along much lately, but... oh wait, you cost him his servant, I guess he wouldn't be too keen on helping you. Still an outrage, though. You should ask your head of House. Or Dumbledore, if you can reach him.”

Ron looked askance at Draco. “I thought you didn't like Dumbledore?”

“My father doesn't like him. I didn't either, when I parroted father's beliefs. Now... now, I don't know what I think of Dumbledore. I have to make up my own mind now, and I don't have enough information with which to form an opinion.”

“But if you're on our side, surely that means you like Dumbledore?”

Draco snorted. “I'm not going to put blind faith in a man just because we agree on a few things. He is a powerful man, but power tends to go to people's heads. Dumbledore may not be in the Ministry, but he's in the Wizengamot, and he's the headmaster of the only school of magic in the UK, as well as being a major player in the last war, fighting against the Dark Lord. It would be wise to be wary of powerful men. Even the best intentioned of them can make disastrous decisions.

“Anyway,” Draco said, turning to Harry. “If you want, I could fake a signature for you. If you're given permission by a guardian, they can't deny you without a good reason, like punishment for something.”

“I thought of that already. But I don't have any samples of his signature; I don't know if the school does or not either, so I don't know if they could compare it to something and prove me a liar. And if there was even the slightest doubt, given that I haven't had an opportunity to even ask them, the teachers could show up at their door and check to see if it was legitimate, and then I'd be in real trouble.”

“So you're just going to accept defeat?”

“Did I say that? No. I'll think of something.”

“But Harry, if Black is after you--”

“Yes, Hermione, I know your concern. But even if he is, there will be hundreds of students there, as well as teachers and other adults.”

Hermione didn't answer, but not for lack of wanting to. Instead, she fumbled with the straps of Crookshanks’s basket.

“Don’t let that thing out!” Ron said, but too late; Crookshanks leapt lightly from the basket, stretched, yawned, and sprang onto Ron’s knees; the lump in Ron’s pocket trembled and he shoved Crookshanks angrily away.

“Get out of here!”

“Ron, don’t!” said Hermione angrily.

Ron was about to answer back when Professor Lupin stirred. They watched him apprehensively, but he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and slept on.

Draco smirked at Ron. “Is Ronald Weasley afraid of a little cat?”

“Little? That thing is the size of a small lion,” Ron said. “But anyway, I'm not afraid for my sake, I'm afraid for Scabbers' sake. That beast keeps trying to eat Scabbers.”

“Oh,” said Draco. “Well Granger, maybe if you told your cat to leave other people's pets alone, he would?”

“Call me Hermione.”

“Of course, Hermione. And you may call me Draco.”

“Good. Anyway, Draco, I've already talked with him, he knows better.”

“Ah, well there you are, then.”

There was a silence, in which Draco finally leaned forward to get a better look at the cat. “That cat looks like he's run into a wall,” he said.

“Hey!” Ron snapped. “We're not good enough friends yet. Only I or Harry or one of the others can make fun of Hermione's cat!”

“Ron! I don't want anybody making fun of my cat!”

“My apologies,” Draco said, sounding sincere.

Hermione gawped at him. “Um... thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Something occurred to Draco then, and he smiled at Ron. “'We're not good enough friends,'” he repeated Ron's words. “Does this mean we are friends, then?”

“No it bloody well does not. We're acquaintances. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Ah, my mistake then,” Draco said, still smiling.

Ron mumbled something, which sounded to Harry like “I'll hit that smug look off your face if you're not quiet, Malfoy.” Draco looked like he heard too, but didn't respond, except to smirk even more.

~

The rest of the afternoon passed in reasonably good spirits, despite the stormy weather outside as they got closer to Hogwarts. They discussed this and that, mostly potential MAC meetings, the return of Wizard Studies since Dumbledore was back, and wondering what food would be at the feast. Once in a while, Ron tried to get Draco to say what Crabbe and Goyle were angry with him for, but Draco would go conveniently deaf at these times, so Ron gave up for a while. Crookshanks settled on Draco's lap, something Ron didn't seem to be able to decide what he felt about, but mostly seemed to look like he'd find it funny if the bandy-legged cat attacked Draco instead of Scabbers, for a change.

Harry got up at one point to find Luna, but she was in a crowded compartment with Neville, Ginny, Antigone, and Angela. He went looking for Danzia, and found her with the Slytherin boy, Willem Stone, whom Harry recognized from Wizard Studies. They were with several others Harry didn't know, but looked to be other friends of Willem.

Returning to the compartment with Ron, Draco, and Hermione in it, Harry stared out the window at the weather, thinking about what Draco had told him earlier.

“We must be nearly there,” said Ron after a time, leaning forward to look past Professor Lupin at the now completely black window.

The words had hardly left him when the train started to slow down.

“Great,” said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try and see outside. “I’m starving. I want to get to the feast.”

Draco frowned, and consulted a wristwatch. “We can't be there yet. It's too early by far.”

“Yes, Draco's right,” Hermione agreed, checking her own watch.

“Then why are we stopping?”

“I don't know. Should we speak with the driver?” Hermione wondered.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Harry got up, walked past Draco to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

“What’s going on?” said Ron’s voice from behind Harry.

“Ouch!” gasped Hermione. “Ron, that was my foot!”

Harry felt his way back to his seat.

“Harry, that's my hair, don't muss it up,” Draco said, batting his hand away.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“God, now I have to comb it again, and I don't have a mirror.”

“Vain, much?” Ron said. “It doesn't matter what you look like, you prat! If you haven't noticed, it's dark in here.”

“Thank you, Weasley, but I did notice the darkness, on account of my being unable to see.”

“Oh stop bickering, you two,” Harry said.

“D’you think we’ve broken down?” Hermione asked.

“Dunno …”

There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

“There’s something moving out there,” Ron said. “I think people are coming aboard.”

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell over onto Draco's lap.

“OUCH! Who is that? Who's there?”

“Malfoy?” Neville asked, incredulous. “Sorry, I was looking for Harry.”

“I'm over here, Neville.”

“Oh. Hi, Harry.”

Harry fumbled around to help Neville up, but Draco beat him to it.

“Here, Longbottom, I'll help you up. Don't give me that silence, it's not a trick. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine.”

“Thanks, Malfoy. Does anyone know what's happening?” Neville asked.

“No idea,” Harry answered. “Here, sit between Draco and me, I think there's just enough room.”

“Yes, don't mind me,” Draco said sincerely. “I used to ride the train with Crabbe and Goyle. Those two practically fill an entire compartment just by themselves.”

“Used to?”

“Not now, Neville. Sit down.”

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

“Ouch! Longbottom, you just made that cat scratch me!”

“Sorry, Malfoy.”

“I’m going to go and ask the driver what’s going on,” came Hermione’s voice. Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that?”

“Ginny?”

“Hermione?”

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for Ron —”

“Come in and sit down —”

“Not here!” said Harry hurriedly. “I’m here!”

“Ouch!” said Neville.

“There isn't room!” Draco practically shouted.

“Malfoy?” Ginny asked, incredulous.

“Why does everyone always sound so surprised I'm here?”

“Quiet!” said a hoarse voice suddenly.

Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements in his corner. None of them spoke.

There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames. They illuminated his tired, gray face, but his eyes looked alert and wary.

“Stay where you are,” he said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.

But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin’s hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry’s eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water.

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry’s gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak.

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart.

Harry’s eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn’t see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder...

And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn’t … a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him —

“Harry! Harry! Are you all right?”

Someone was slapping his face.

“Potter! You alive, Potter?”

“What's with the sudden formality, Draco?”

“I thought it would sound more familiar in your state.”

Harry opened his eyes, to see several familiar faces looking down at him. The lights were back on, too, he noticed. And the train was moving again. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron, Hermione, and Draco were kneeling over him; above them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. They all looked shaken, but Draco was pale and clammy. Suddenly, Harry realized Draco's voice had been full of anxiety, verging on panic.

“Good, he's awake. I'm going to go huddle in a ball in the corner now,” Draco said, leaving Harry's sight. The two remaining kneeling over him helped him up. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face.

Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked nervously.

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had vanished. “What happened? Where’s that — that thing? Who screamed?”

“That would be Malfoy,” Ron said.

“No, there was a woman screaming.”

“Like I said, that was Malfoy.”

“Har har. No, seriously, I heard a woman scream. She was screaming words, too.”

“No, the only screaming was Malfoy's. No joke,” he said, sounding worried.

Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale. Draco was in the corner, hugging his legs, staring and gibbering.

“But I heard screaming —”

A loud snap made them all jump. Draco squealed in fright. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces.

“Here,” he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. “Eat it. It’ll help.”

Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it.

“What was that thing?” he asked Lupin.

“A dementor,” said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. “One of the dementors of Azkaban.”

“Those things are the Azkaban guards?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Yes.”

Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket.

“Eat,” he repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me …”

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

“I don’t get it. … What happened?” said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

“I'm kinda curious myself, to be honest,” Ron said. “I thought you were having one of your headaches, at first, but then you slid to the floor and started twitching, having a fit of some kind.”

“And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and pulled out his wand,” said Hermione, “and he said, ‘None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.’ But the dementor didn’t move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away. …”

“It was horrible,” said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. “Did you feel how cold it got when it came in?”

“I felt weird,” said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. “Like I’d never be cheerful again.”

Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm around her. Neville stared at Draco, as if wondering if he should comfort the blond boy, then apparently thought better of it.

“But didn’t any of you — fall off your seats?” said Harry awkwardly.

“No,” said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. “Ginny was shaking like mad, though. And Malfoy was screaming and crying.”

Harry looked to Draco, who was too lost in his own emotions, apparently, to have a clever comeback against Ron.

Harry didn’t understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone to pieces like that, when no one else had? Well, not as bad as anyone else, anyway.

Professor Lupin had come back. He paused as he entered, looked around, and said, with a small smile, “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know. …”

Harry took a bite and to his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“We’ll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes,” said Professor Lupin. “Are you all right, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said, not asking how the man knew his name. He figured the scar gave it away. Given how pale his skin was, judging by his hand, the scar doubtless stood out like an angry wound.

“Why was that dementor here?”

“Looking for Sirius Black. Some of them are stationed at Hogsmeade, and around the school's perimeter. Dumbledore won't let them onto the grounds.”

“Thank goddess for that,” Harry said.

“Ah, so you're of the old religion?” Lupin asked, brightly.

“Yeah. Haven't done a lot, yet. Still doing reading.”

“Well I know of a few books in the library that will help with that. Books you might have overlooked, with Ms. Pince's... peculiar... system of organizing things. Did you know that Halloween is an important holiday in the old religion? Marked the de---er, the passing of one year into the next. And the end of the harvest season.”

“Really? Er... wasn't that also when my parents died?”

Lupin looked very sorrowful, suddenly. “Y-yes,” he said with a cracking voice. “It was. But Halloween, or Samhain as it was called, is also a time when the veil between the worlds is thinnest, when its said to be the best time to communicate with the spirits of the dead.”

“What's that word, 'Saw-when'?”

“Yes, that's how it's said. It's Welsh, I believe. Spelled S-A-M-H-A-I-N. A lot of people mispronounce it 'sam hayn,' but it's 'saw-when.' Anyway, you should eat more of that chocolate. I'll get you those books tomorrow.”

Nobody spoke the rest of the way. The only sounds came from the train itself, or animals like Neville's toad or Hermione's cat. When they stopped, there was a lot more noise as everyone clamored to get out. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

“Firs’ years this way!” called the familiar voice of Hagrid. Harry, Ron, and Hermione waved to him. Harry had to wave with his left hand, because his right was helping Draco, who was still in a near-catatonic state. Draco seemed to be doing better; by the time they reached the horseless carriages, he was standing and walking on his own, and looked a little calmer.

The four of them climbed into a carriage with Ginny. Harry was a bit annoyed that he hadn't had a chance to chat with Luna yet, but it's not like she'd be hard to find.

As the carriage trundled past the iron gates of the school, Harry saw two more of the towering, cloaked dementors, and felt a wave of cold sickness threatening to engulf him again. He was very glad when they were past, and parking up by the front doors of the castle.

“You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?”

Harry turned to look at the source of the voice, but was unsurprised to see Goyle. But somebody was surprised.

“He speaks?” Ginny said in wonderment. “That bipedal gorilla can speak?”

“Goyle isn't a gorilla, however much he may look like one. And smell like one. Gorillas are gentle creatures, usually.”

“Oh, my mistake. Should've known. He's more like a cross between a really fat flobberworm and a very small troll.”

“And you, Malfoy, screaming like a little girl, I hear,” said Goyle.

“Funny,” Harry said, turning to Ginny. “All that grunting; if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was language.”

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione began to guffaw or giggle. Even Draco smiled.

Harry grinned. Not being great at coming up with comebacks on the fly, Harry spent a lot of his free time running through various scenarios in his mind, rehearsing for social situations that might come up. And comebacks were a subset of such social situations. Harry was very clever when he was writing or thinking on his own, but in the presence of other people, that cleverness sometimes broke down. So he compensated for this by rehearsing, and it worked pretty well. By now, he had a whole litany of rehearsed lines he could use, even against Voldemort.

Either undaunted by Harry's wit, or – more likely – too thick to have worked out he was being insulted, Goyle kept on.

“Did you faint as well, Weasley?” said Goyle loudly. “Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?”

“Is there a problem?” said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage.

Goyle gave Lupin a dumb stare, as though a wildebeest in pajamas had just recited Shakespeare at him, and gave Lupin a good look up and down, taking in his shabby robes.

“Er...” Goyle said, having apparently burned through his week's supply of wit like a candle made of napalm. “No, Professor.”

“Then move along, please. The feast awaits.”

Hermione prodded Ron in the back to make him hurry, and the three of them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors, into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry followed the crowd toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!”

Harry and Hermione turned around, surprised. Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, was calling over the heads of the crowd. She was a stern-looking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of making him feel he must have done something wrong.

“There’s no need to look so worried — I just want a word in my office,” she told them. “Move along there, Weasley, Malfoy.”

McGonagall then did a double-take, apparently only now realizing Malfoy had been hanging out with the golden trio, but she said nothing about it.

Harry sighed, thinking he had an idea what this was about. Glancing back briefly at Ron and Draco, he went with McGonagall and Hermione.

As it turned out, he was right. Professor Lupin had sent an owl ahead about him, and now she and Madam Pomfrey were fussing over him. He insisted to them that he didn't need help, explaining about getting chocolate from Lupin. Harry didn't want to miss the Sorting. He got out of there fast as he could. McGonagall requested he stay to wait for Hermione, but as it wasn't an order (or at least it could be argued that it hadn't been an order), he went to the feast instead, sneaking in under a Disillusionment Charm. Little Professor Flitwick, who looked as short as a goblin, was in the middle of the Sorting. Everyone was so intent on the sorting that nobody noticed him making himself visible once he was sitting next to Ron. Not until he started clapping for all the new students, even the Slytherins, as was his custom; it made Ron jump and spin round to face him.

“Where's Hermione?”

“Still back with McGonagall, I suspect.”

Another Slytherin student got Sorted, so Harry clapped and cheered; he was the only one at the Griffindor table to do so. Though he noticed Luna, over at the Ravenclaw table, was doing the same thing he was.

When the Sorting was over and Flitwick began putting the Sorting Hat away, Hermione showed up, looking annoyed.

“You didn't wait for me!” she hissed at Harry.

“I didn't want to miss the Sorting. I'm the only Griffindor who ever applauds the Slytherins.”

She sighed. “Right. I guess I forgive you. But McGonagall wasn't happy, either.”

Sure enough, as the stern witch went up to her empty seat at the high table, she gave Harry a disapproving look.

“She didn't order me to stay, just requested I stay. I decided I'd rather not.”

Hermione sighed. “I wish she'd seen us after the feast. I wanted to see the Sorting.”

“So what was that all about?” Ron asked.

Harry started to explain in a whisper, but at that moment the headmaster stood up to speak, and he broke off.

“Welcome!” said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, “As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

He paused, and Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had said about Dumbledore not being happy with the dementors guarding the school.

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued, “and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — not even Disillusionment Charms, nor even Invisibility Cloaks,” he added blandly, and Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors,” he said.

Harry couldn't help notice Percy, who was Head Boy, puff up with pride. He smiled fondly for the older boy. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall, and nobody moved or made a sound.

“On a happier note,” he continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.

“Two?” Harry heard Ron say.

“First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry among them. Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.

“Look at Snape!” Ron hissed in Harry’s ear.

“Do I have to?” Professor Snape hated Harry for ridiculous and childish reasons, and the dislike was mutual. But he looked anyway.

He was astonished. He'd thought Snape hated him, but judging by the look the hook-nosed Potions Master was giving Lupin, Harry was simply an annoyance by comparison. He detested Lupin, loathed and despised him. If humans had the power to kill with a look, Lupin would be dropping dead before their eyes, and probably the wall behind him would be scorched as well.

“As to our second new appointment,” Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. “Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at one another, stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

“We should’ve known!” Ron roared, pounding the table. “Who else would have assigned us a biting book?”

Harry anticipated more speech, but Dumbledore was done. The feast had begun, and they all started loading up their plates.

“Well Hagrid will be thrilled. Though with his fondness for monsters, I'm not sure if we will,” Harry said honestly.

“I'm happy for him. I don't care how his classes are.”

“Don't get me wrong, I am too. But I think we should probably wear thick leather armor to his classes.”

“Shm wh dnt gd nny,” Ron uttered.

“Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron,” Hermione chided.

Ron swallowed. “I said, 'Shame we didn't get any.' Armor, I mean.”

“Oh, it'll be fine,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Madam Pomfrey can heal anything.”

The two boys snickered. Even Hermione found it hard not to smile.

~

After the feast, the three of them congratulated a joyous Hagrid, but also tried to warn him not to do anything too monstrous or spectacular for his first day. Draco might be on their side, but there were other Slytherins who weren't, and who knew what kind of trouble they might brew up.

As they left the Great Hall, though, they found out it wasn't just Slytherins they had to worry about. They overheard a blond Hufflepuff boy, Zacharias Smith, talking to someone else about Harry, and not in a good way.

“I don't care who you heard it from first, Longbottom was saying the same thing. Potter fainted on the train, had some kind of fit. He's always having funny turns, headaches. I think that curse may have addled his brains. He doesn't seem right, you know? Never looks you in the eye, have you noticed that? Instead, he looks at your mouth, like he's deaf.”

“You're being shallow, Smith,” the other boy responded.

“Am I? I haven't even started on his oddities. He twitches sometimes, in odd ways, like he's a snake trying to shed its skin and not having any luck. And speaking of snakes, befriending a snake in second year? Palling around with Slytherins, too. Even Malfoy has latched onto him now, if you can believe it. You know his father was a Death Eater, right? Probably trained his son in the dark arts, too.

“And as to Potter,” Smith continued, “all these Dementors are because of him, I've heard.”

“What? No way, where'd you hear that?”

“My father knows someone who works at the Ministry, and she says that Minister Fudge said that Sirius Black escaped to kill Potter.”

“I guess that makes sense...”

Whatever else they were saying got cut off, as the Hufflepuffs went down the stairs to their common room. Harry glared after Smith.

“Ignore him, Harry.”

“I'll try, Hermione.” He looked up. “Drat and blast, I missed Luna. She and the other Ravenclaws are already gone.”

“You'll see her later, Harry.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, I wish I'd gotten to talk with her on the train.”

“Well, you didn't talk with Danzia or the others on the train, either.”

“Gee, thanks for reminding me. At least I got to see Luna over the summer, a little.”

When they got to the Griffindor portrait hole, guarded by the Fat Lady, they stopped and waited for Percy to tell them all the password.

“Coming through, coming through!” Percy called from behind the crowd. “The new password’s ‘Fortuna Major’!”

“Oh no,” said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble remembering the passwords.

“It's Latin, Neville. Means 'Major Fortune.'”

“Thanks, Harry, but I don't think that will work.”

“Just try repeating it to yourself over and over again for a few minutes every now and then, or for an hour straight, until you remember it. Do it now and then for days if you have to. You repeat something often enough, you'll remember it.”

“Yeah, but I'm tired. I want to go to bed, and I'll forget by morning.”

“Well I'll wait up for you, tell you what it is in the morning, okay? Then you can repeat it in your mind on your way to breakfast, and while you eat.”

“I suppose so.”

Ron, Neville, and Harry went up to their dormitory and got ready for bed. Harry lay in bed thinking about Neville, and Ron. He knew, from Ron using a few simple spells to test his new wand at Ollivander's, that Ron was finding it much easier to cast magic with a new wand, with his own wand. How much of that was due to the ancient age of the dead wand, and how much of it was because this wand chose him? Ollivander had told him the wand chooses the wizard, but Ron's wand had been hand-me-down. So too was Neville's wand, it having been his father's wand, though it looked practically brand new. Was it a coincidence that the two boys, both with wands that hadn't chosen them, were bad at magic? Or was Ollivander more right than he'd let on?

Then another thought occurred to him. If Neville was using his dad's wand, when it looked in such perfect condition, why was he using his dad's wand? Ron had used Charlie's old wand because his family couldn't afford one for Ron. Charlie was presumably making enough money working with dragons to afford a brand new wand of his own, so had given his old, worn out wand to his brother. But why would Neville's father give a perfectly good wand to his son, rather than buy him a new one?

Harry remembered Neville lived with his Gran. He'd never heard the other boy mention his parents, except in connection to the wand, or when telling about how his Gran was disappointed at Neville not being more magical. No, he'd only ever talked about his Gran and Uncle Algae, specifically. Were Neville's parents dead? Did they die in the last war? Did Voldemort kill them? The few times he could remember Neville mentioning his parents, there was a strange sort of emotion on his face there, something like a mix of sadness, worry, and pride. Harry wondered what that meant.

Tired as Harry was, he kept thinking about Neville, and Ron, and wands, because he knew if he didn't, he'd think about Sirius Black. It was frustrating, thinking about that man. He didn't know what to think about Black. Part of him wanted the whole thing to have been a misunderstanding, for Black to be innocent somehow, so he could connect with his dad's best friend, anyone who had really known his parents as something other than a student at Hogwarts.

That part of him wanted Black to be innocent so he could stop having doubts about his own friends, or more accurately stop having doubts about his ability to judge their character. But that was hard; contrary to popular opinion, people with Asperger's don't generally lack empathy; Harry knew, from his own experience mostly, that he could tell what others were feeling just fine. What bewildered him a lot was why they felt the way they did. It had only been from years of hard work trying to imagine what it would be like in other people's shoes that Harry had managed to work out possible reasons. But it was a lot of work, required getting to know someone very well, and only had about a 75% success rate at best. It seemed to come naturally to other people; Harry, though, had to work hard at it, like he was compensating for a missing limb. But actually, it was like a missing part of his brain. It felt like... like he imagined it must feel to be blind, and trying to figure out what the world looked like to those who could see. Which was an easy metaphor to think of, for him; without his glasses, he was legally blind. He could make out rough shapes, and kind of work out enough details to recognize people before they spoke, but he couldn't read at all without them, and he shuddered to imagine himself driving or flying without them.

So yes, part of him wanted Black to be innocent somehow. Yet another part of Harry was convinced that Black must be guilty. Everyone seemed convinced that Black had been their secret-keeper, and if Black had gone to prison – without a trial, even – he presumed Dumbledore knew enough about the Fideleus Charm to say Black was guilty. There didn't seem to be any way Black was innocent, even if Mr. Malfoy didn't think Black had been a Death Eater. But Voldemort liked keeping secrets; it was possible Black had been Voldemort's secret weapon, something he kept even from his most trusted lieutenants, just in case one of them was spying on him for the opposition. After all, Regulus Black had turned against Voldemort, so they said. So it made sense Voldemort might be cautious in case of betrayal.

And of course, why break out after 12 years in prison? That was an important question. The answer to that question felt key, like it could tip the scales in Harry's head, make one outcome more likely than the other, transmute his doubt into certainty, one way or another.

Realizing he was thinking about Black after all, he was annoyed at himself, and started instead to focus on getting to sleep. He tried to think of nothing, to blank out his mind. Finding that too difficult, he switched to thinking about geometric shapes; circles, squares, polyhedrons, triangles, stars, and so on. He let the shapes swim in his mind's eye. They began to blend with the colors and patterns he saw when his eyes were closed in a dark room for long enough, until he was no longer thinking of them, but still seeing them.

Finally, he got to sleep.

Endnote: So I finally fixed the mistake I made where I had Draco claiming Sirius was his mother's brother, it now reads that Sirius is his mother's cousin, as it is in canon.

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.
Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

Chapter 3: Trouble Smith

Despite having a hard time getting to sleep the night before, Harry found himself awake much earlier than usual. He tried rolling over to go back to sleep, but he wasn't tired enough for it, so he gave up and started getting ready.

When he got to the Great Hall and found breakfast wasn't ready yet, he headed out the front door to take a walk around the grounds. The air was still warm, the grounds still beautiful. He walked around the lake, smiling at the giant squid's lazy tentacles coming out of the water, breathing in the fresh air.

He was farther from the school than he'd been in that direction before when he spotted movement in the trees. Wary, he got out his wand. But then whatever it was moved into the open. He thought it might be a large black wolf at first, but as it got closer, he saw it was just a dog. A skinny, sickly-looking dog with filthy fur.

“Aww, poor boy,” he said, getting closer.

The dog turned out to be happy and friendly despite being a stray. It came right up to him and sniffed him. He held out his hand and the dog licked it. He wasn't quite happy with this, but he let it happen. The dog, seeming to sense his mood, stopped and cocked its head at him. He wiped his hand off on his robes, then cleaned them properly with his wand.

“That's okay, boy. You're still a good pup.”

The dog wagged its tail excitedly.

“You must be hungry. You look like skin and bones. You know, when breakfast is ready, I'll bring you something, okay? Hmm... it should be ready soon. You stay here, I'll be back later.”

He scratched the dog behind its ears and took off. The dog lay down and watched him leave, tongue lolling out.

Harry ate as fast as he could without getting sick, squirreling away some bacon for the dog. A few minutes later, he was out there by the dog again. As he approached, it perked up and stood. He tore some of the bacon and tossed the pieces at the dog, which caught them in its mouth and ate them with great joy.

“If you meet me here later, I can bring you stuff from lunch and dinner, too.”

The dog barked softly and wagged its tail.

“You need a name. What should your name be?”

Naturally, the dog did not answer.

“Well I'll think about it. Wouldn’t do to rush these things.”

When all the bacon was gone, Harry sighed and checked his watch.

“I'd better get back. I have to get to class. I have Arithmancy first, and I still have to go get my things from Griffindor tower. See you at lunchtime, okay boy?”

The dog said “Whuff!” and appeared to smile, its tongue hanging out.

Harry left. After a minute, he turned around and saw that the dog was gone. He hoped it would be there later.

~

“Where were you?” Hermione asked him as he brought his bookbag with him to sit next to her.

“I woke up early, took a walk. Met a dog out by the lake, over by the wooded area. He was unhealthily thin, so I came back here, then took him some bacon.”

“Hey, Potter!” shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!”

Harry ignored her just long enough to show he was ignoring her, then turned toward the Ravenclaw table to look for Luna. She spotted him and waved. He waved back, then he looked over at Hermione, who was examining her schedule.

“Ooh, good, we’re starting some new subjects today,” she said happily.

“Hermione,” said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder, “they’ve messed up your schedule. Look — they’ve got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn’t enough time.”

“I’ll manage. I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“But look,” said Ron, laughing, “see this morning? Nine o’clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies. And” — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — “look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o’clock. I mean, I know you’re good, Hermione, but no one’s that good. How’re you supposed to be in three classes at once?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione shortly. “Of course I won’t be in three classes at once.”

“Well, then —”

“Pass the marmalade,” said Hermione.

“But —”

“Oh, Ron, what’s it to you if my schedule’s a bit full?” Hermione snapped. “I told you, I’ve fixed it all with Professor McGonagall.”

“You have Arithmancy? So do I.”

“Oh really, Harry? Doesn't it sound amazing?”

“It sounds interesting,” he conceded.

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

“All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five gettin’ everythin’ ready. … Hope it’s okay. … Me, a teacher … hones’ly. …”

He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.

The hall was starting to empty as people headed off toward their first lesson. Ron checked his course schedule.

“We’d better go, Hermione. Look, Divination’s at the top of North Tower. It’ll take us ten minutes to get there.”

Hermione suddenly looked between Ron and Harry, looking worried.

“Er, yes. Okay, Ron. See you later, Harry.”

He watched them leave. A few minutes later, he got up to go to Arithmancy. It was a lot closer than Divination, and he felt glad that he was taking this instead.

The door was already open, so he went in and sat down. Others filed in over the minutes. Then, to his utter astonishment, Hermione walked in, looking nervously at Harry. She sat next to him.

“I thought you had Divination.”

“Don't worry about it. Like I told Ron, I've got it taken care of with McGonagall.”

Harry nodded, saying nothing. But in his mind, he was already putting things together. Magic could do a lot of things; could it copy a human being and have them rejoin later? Or maybe they had some kind of time machine? No, on second thought, that last was absurd. If they had time machines, they could just go back and stop Voldemort before he'd gotten started. But clearly there was some kind of magic going on here. He would have to check with Ron later to see if she'd been in Divination with him.

The teacher came in at last. She had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a severe look to her, a little like Professor McGonagall.

“Good morning class, I am Professor Vector, your Arithmancy professor. Put your wands away, this class does not use much wandwork.”

They put their wands away. When that was done, she spoke again.

“For those of you who aren't sure what it is, Arithmancy is the use of numbers and maths to predict the future. Some of this is straight-forward enough, something even Muggles can do, things like using maths to predict the trajectories of flying or thrown objects and that sort. Others are more esoteric, which is a fancy way of saying 'magical.' There is much we can divine about the present and the future using maths.

“A question I often hear is 'how is this different from Divination class?' Well the main difference is that Divination class is really only useful for those who are Seers. Nobody else is going to get much out of it, so it really should be an N.E.W.T. or higher level class, or reserved for those who have the Sight. Whereas with Arithmancy, all you need is a knowledge of maths and how to apply them to making predictions. It is very scientific, very academic and logical, whereas Divination is more intuitive.

“Aside from the obvious applications, Arithmancy is also often used to predict or determine the effects of certain spells, charms, and other magic, especially how these magics interact with one another, and thus is very useful for magical artificers in their work of coming up with magical objects such as Pensieves, Secrecy Sensors, or Sneakoscopes. Arithmancy can also be used in repairing such items, by helping determine what is wrong with the item. Furthermore, it can also be applied to Healing, in determining the effects of mixed hexes or other spells upon the human body, or to potion making, for similar reasons. Thus, as you can see, it is a very useful subject for many magical careers later in life.

“A lot of it will be far beyond O.W.L. level, but that will come later. For the first few weeks, we will be taking a series of quizzes to see how much maths you already know, so we know where to begin to get everyone up to the same level. Do not worry that you haven't studied, these will not be graded. They are simply to determine how much you know. We shall start our first one after roll call. Then, when all the quizzes are done, we shall work on getting everyone up to the same level, so we can then move on to more complicated maths.”

Professor Vector did the roll call very quickly, barely pausing at Harry's name. When that was done, she pulled a large sheath of parchments from her bag and passed out the quizzes.

The quiz started out easy and got more difficult, but Harry still finished so quickly that the only person to finish before him was Hermione. When she saw they were done, Professor Vector came over and collected their quizzes, handing them another to do. By the end of class, Harry and Hermione had both gotten through four quizzes, most other people getting through only two. Harry left class feeling drained but pleased with himself. He knew he hadn't done very well on the last quiz before time had been up, but just the fact that he'd gotten to it was impressive enough.

When he remembered that Transfiguration was next, he groaned aloud. Two difficult classes in a row! Mondays were going to be horrible. Well, at least there was Care of Magical Creatures after lunch.

He had been intending to go to Transfiguration with Hermione, but when he looked around, she was nowhere to be seen. He popped his head back into the classroom to see if she was in there still, but she wasn't. So he shrugged at the minor mystery, and went on to class without her.

She showed up with Ron, the two of them getting in just barely on time. He found this odd, but said nothing, just filed it away with the other weird things about Hermione this year. Then he noticed that Ron was looking worried. He didn't get a chance to ask after him, though, because class was starting. But he noticed other people were looking worried, too. Many of them were looking at him and Ron like they knew the two of them had just been told their best friends were terminally ill. It made it very hard for him to concentrate on what McGonagall was saying about Animagi (wizards that could turn into animals). And he wasn't the only one. Even Hermione looked worried. Ron must have told her something when they'd met up on the way to class.

He was so distracted by their weird looks that he wasn’t even watching when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

“Please, Professor, we’ve just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and —”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her. Especially Harry, who was confused. Unless she hadn't meant to include herself in that, it seemed like she really was finding a way to be in two places at once.

“Er,” Hermione said. “Ron. And Harry.”

“Me? But I'm not even in that class.”

Professor McGonagall seemed surprised, too.

“Two students this time? She's outdoing herself this year. But you should know, Potter, Weasley, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues —”

Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney —”

She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”

Hermione laughed. So did Harry. Ron still looked worried, though. Lavender whispered something about Neville's cup, a reference Harry had obviously missed, but seemed to be significant.

When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch.

“Ron, cheer up,” said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward him. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.”

Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn’t start.

“Harry,” he said, in a low, serious voice, “you didn't say what color that dog was, earlier.”

“Well yeah, it was a large black dog. But it was just a stray. It was friendly. And nothing has happened to me yet.”

Ron let his fork fall with a clatter.

“Like Harry said, it's just a stray.”

“Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s — that’s bad,” he said. “My — my uncle Bilius saw one and — and he died twenty-four hours later!”

“Coincidence,” said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Ron, starting to get angry. “Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!”

“Ron, that sounds like the same kind of nonsense that used to be centered around black cats during the Black Death.”

Ron looked confused. “Whadda ya mean?”

“I don't know if it reached the wizarding world, but around the 14th century in Europe, in many countries black cats were thought to be spreading a disease called the Black Plague or Black Death, and they were outlawed and killed. Which just made the spread of the disease worse, because the going theory is that the disease was the Bubonic Plague, which was spread by rats.”

“They outlawed black cats? Why? Were they like Grims to Muggles?”

“Pretty sure Grims exist in Muggle lore, too. I seem to recall a story like that in elementary school. Anyway, cats were outlawed because they thought black cats were witches' familiars. Which, to their thinking, made black cats not cats, but cat-shaped demons.”

“But that's bollocks!”

“Yes it is. But it isn't any more absurd than the thing about Grims. It's just a superstition.”

“Maybe,” Ron conceded. “But that doesn't explain Uncle Billius.”

“He just saw the Grim and died of fright, probably,” said Hermione. “Making the Grim the cause of death, not an omen. And Harry’s still with us because he’s not stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I’d better kick the bucket then!”

Ron mouthed wordlessly at Hermione, who opened her bag, took out her new Arithmancy book, and propped it open against the juice jug.

“I think Divination seems very woolly,” she said, searching for her page. “A lot of guesswork, if you ask me.”

“But Neville's cup!”

“Oh come on, Ron, it doesn't take a seer to know Neville is clumsy, and goodness knows how much Snape complains about him in the teachers' staff-room. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy!”

“And she did tea-leaves for Harry even though he wasn't there, and she saw a Grim!”

“Harry gets into a lot of dangerous trouble, she probably didn't see a Grim at all. She just figured, logically, that predicting Harry's death was a safe bet.”

“She showed me the Grim, remember?”

“And you thought it looked like a sheep. Seamus thought it looked like a donkey. It's just guesswork.”

“Professor Trelawney said you didn’t have the right aura! You just don’t like being bad at something for a change!”

He had touched a nerve. Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table so hard that bits of meat and carrot flew everywhere.

“If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omens in a lump of tea leaves, I’m not sure I’ll be studying it much longer! That lesson was absolute rubbish compared with my Arithmancy class!”

She snatched up her bag and stalked away.

Ron frowned after her.

“What’s she talking about?” he said to Harry. “She can’t have been to an Arithmancy class yet. It's at the same time as Divination!”

“She was, though. She had it with me.”

“She did? Well maybe you can tell me how she's doing it, then.”

“I wish I could. It's a mystery to me, too. And whatever it is must not be common knowledge if you don't know, either. Or at least, not common knowledge for people our age.”

“If she was with you, why didn't she come to Transfiguration with you? Isn't the Arithmancy classroom closer to Transfiguration?”

“It is. But she disappeared when I wasn't looking. When I saw her with you, I assumed she had met up with you.”

“She and I went straight from Divination to Transfiguration, though.”

“There's still the fact she had two different classes, on different ends of the castle, in the same hour. Maybe she's got a clone?”

“Clone? What's a clone?”

“A copy of herself. Maybe McGonagall knows a spell that can copy a person, and then merge them back together again later. And maybe she taught it to Hermione.”

Ron snorted. “If anyone could master a spell like that, it'd be you or Hermione.”

“Anyway,” Harry said, gathering up the table scraps he'd collected for the stray dog. “I'm off to feed that dog.”

“I dunno, Harry. An ordinary dog getting into Hogwarts on its own?”

“It probably went through the Forbidden Forest or something. Or it could be a magical dog; Hogsmeade is an all-wizarding village, it might've gotten lost from there. Or abandoned. Anyway, catch you later.”

Before leaving the Great Hall, Harry checked for Luna. She was busy eating. He popped over and sat down next to her.

“Can't stay long, I found a stray dog today that's skin and bones, the poor thing.”

“Oooh, that's sad. Glad to hear you're helping it. Here, I'll help collect scraps for it, too.”

He stayed with her while she ate a little faster, setting bits of her meal into a napkin for the dog. When she was done, they left together.

*

The dog had been in the same place when they went looking, and it gobbled up the table scraps greedily, then wagged its tail. Harry spent a few minutes talking with Luna about this and that while he fed and then petted the dog, looking at his watch every now and then. When it finally was time to go to Care of Magical Creatures, he said goodbye to the dog and walked off toward Hagrid's hut with Luna, who split off to go back to the castle. Harry arrived at Hagrid's just in time to see the Slytherins from his year coming toward him. He groaned quietly, but perked up when Draco split away from the group with a sour look on his face and stood over next to Harry.

“Aww, the little blonde blood traitor is hiding behind his littler brown friend.”

“Shut up, Crabbe,” Draco snapped peevishly at him, stepping forward. “I'll take you on anytime. Wizard's duel.”

Crabbe went silent, glaring at Draco. He didn't dare accept the challenge; Draco was much more skilled at dueling than he was, and he knew it.

“That's what I thought,” Draco said, brushing his robes as though they had dust on them.

“'Nuf o' that, you lot,” Hagrid said, coming into view at last, just as Ron and Hermione arrived. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

Harry worried for a moment that they were going into the Forbidden Forest, but instead, Hagrid took them to a paddock around behind his hut. It was empty.

“Everyone gather ’round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books —”

“How?” Draco said, slipping into his old drawl. At Harry's look, he hastily added, “Professor.”

“What's that?” Hagrid asked.

“I mean, how do we open our books? They attack us when we try.”
He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took theirs out too; some, like Harry, had belted their book shut; others had crammed them inside tight bags or clamped them together with binder clips.

“Hasn’ — hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?” said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

The class all shook their heads.

“Yeh’ve got ter stroke ’em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look —”

He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

Draco's face turned sour, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Mumbling something about Professor Kettleburn, he stroked his own copy. Only when it shuddered and relaxed did he take the rope off. It remained relaxed.

“Oh what a laugh,” Goyle said sarcastically. “Books that attack us unless yeh stroke 'em. Har har.”

“I — I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

“It's okay, Hagrid, they are. You just should have included instructions in the letter,” Harry said.

“Righ’ then,” said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, “so — so yeh’ve got yer books an’ — an’ — now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on …”

He strode away from them into the forest and out of sight.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, and began talking in whispers. Harry caught the word 'Smith,' but nothing more. He had a suspicion, though, what the context was. He expected them to say something, but if Zacharias Smith was supplying their wit, they had run out of it, and since he wasn't in either of their Houses, he wasn't there to give them ideas.

“Oooooooh!” squealed Lavender Brown, pointing toward the opposite side of the paddock.

Trotting toward them were a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. The talons on their front legs were half a foot long and deadly looking. Each of the beasts had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

“Gee up, there!” he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs’ gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer —”

“Er,” he said quietly to Hagrid. “aren't they a bit, well, advanced for our first ever class?”

Hagrid's face fell a little, and he considered the hippogriffs. “Er, yeh may have a point there, Harry. But well, I wanted something impressive fer yer first class.”

Harry smiled wanly. Of course Hagrid would go for the impressive creatures first.

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do.”

Harry looked over at Crabbe and Goyle. Surprisingly, they seemed to be getting ideas. He could almost hear the grinding of gears and the smoke of burning oil from here.

“Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ’cause those talons hurt.

“Right — who wants ter go first?”

Most of the class backed farther away in answer. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had misgivings. The hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to like being tethered like this.

Harry turned to look at Draco. Draco snorted at him, saying without words 'You must be joking.'

“No one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

“I’ll do it,” said Harry.

There was an intake of breath from behind him. Parvati and Lavender said something about Trelawney's predictions. Harry ignored them.

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then — let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.

“Easy, now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink. … Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much. …”

“Eye contact?” Harry nearly shouted, panic-stricken. “No, no. Forget that, Hagrid. Sorry.” He backed away. He hated making eye contact with humans. He didn't think eye contact with a cruel-looking monster would be any better.

“No?” Hagrid said, sounding dispirited.

“S-sorry,” Harry said. “I don't like eye contact.”

Harry couldn't stand Hagrid looking so disappointed.

“Does it have to be direct eye contact?” Harry asked him. “Can't I look between his eyes or just above?”

Hagrid sighed. “No, Harry. He'll know the diff'rence, Beaky will.

Crabbe and Goyle said something to each other, snickering. Harry had a suspicion why.

“Well alrigh' then, I'll jes pick someone else, if there's no volunteers. Ron, yeh do it.”

“Me?” Ron said, sounding anxious.

“Yes you, Ron,” Hagrid said.

“Well, okay I guess.”

Harry watched as Ron nervously stepped forward, looking into the creature's eyes while also bowing, which looked very difficult. There was a moment where Hagrid thought Buckbeak was going to attack, but then it knelt in an unmistakable bow. Hagrid rewarded it with a dead ferret.

Ron seemed to feel better about this, and reached forward tentatively to pet it. The large animal seemed to enjoy it.

The class applauded, except for Crabbe and Goyle. Even Draco clapped, looking impressed, though somewhat disappointed that it hadn't attacked Ron.

“Righ' then, Ron, I reckon he might let yeh ride 'im now!” Hagrid said, pulling Ron up onto its back and hitting its backside.

Ron looked terrified as he clutched Buckbeak's neck to keep from falling off as it flew around. When Buckbeak landed again, Ron still looked scared, and scrambled to get off.

“Nothing like a broom,” Ron said. “Terrifying, that was. Thought I was gonna fall off.”

“Good work, Ron!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Crabbe, and Goyle cheered. “Okay, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Ron’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry watched, his fear of making eye contact with the hippogriffs excusing him.

Crabbe and Goyle took over Buckbeak, looking nervous as Ron had. Crabbe tried three times before giving up. Goyle tried twice, looking annoyed.

“Why you giving me trouble?” Goyle asked Buckbeak. “Just bow, you stupid beast!”

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Goyle let out a strangely high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Goyle, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

“I’m dyin'!” Goyle yelled as the class panicked. “I’m dyin', look at me! It’s killed me!”

Hagrid, reassuring Goyle that he wasn't dying, picked the large boy up as easily as lifting a suitcase and took him back to the castle in a fireman's carry. Meanwhile, the reaction of the class was mixed. Some people, even some of the Slytherins, thought it served Goyle right for insulting the creature. Others were upset and calling for Hagrid to lose his job.

“That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?” said Ron, looking worried. “Trust Goyle to mess things up for him.”

They were among the first to reach the Great Hall at dinnertime, hoping to see Hagrid, but he wasn’t there.

“They wouldn’t fire him, would they?” said Hermione anxiously, not touching her steak-and-kidney pudding.

“They’d better not,” said Ron, who wasn’t eating either.

Harry was watching the Slytherin table. A large group including Crabbe was huddled together, deep in conversation. Harry was sure they were cooking up their own version of how Goyle had been injured. Another group – Harry's friends – were glaring daggers at Crabbe.

At the end of dinner, Harry took more table scraps out to the dog. But since it was getting dark, Ron and Hermione insisted on coming with him. Luna followed along too, with her own contribution.

“So this is the dog, is it? You're right, Harry,” Ron said, “he really doesn't look like he's doing very well.”

“We shouldn't be out here after dark, Harry. What if Sirius Black comes looking for you?”

It may have been his imagination, but the dog looked sad at these words. Maybe it was just wondering what the hold-up was, re: food. Harry fed it, and it looked happier.

“Well if I run into Sirius Black, I'll get my wand out and be ready in case he attacks, but I'll ask him for his side of the story, and I'll listen. Oh look at that, he's loving the food. You like pork chop fat, do you boy?”

The dog's spirits were much higher than they'd been all day. If not for his matted fur and his skeletally thin appearance, he would almost be a normal, happy dog.

“I should ask Madam Pomfrey if I can get, like, some kind of potion for you, boy. You're probably malnourished.”

“He seems fond of my green beans,” Luna said.

“I hope nothing we feed him makes him sick.”

“Why would it make him sick?” Ron asked.

“Well aside from the fact that dogs can't have things like chocolate, I read somewhere that people and animals that are starving can get sick if they eat too much at once. I think it was called Refeeding Syndrome, and it can be deadly.”

Hermione nodded absently. She was looking off in the direction of Hagrid's hut. “There's a light on in Hagrid's window,” she said. “We should see how he's doing.”

“Yeah, I think it's still early enough. We should see if he's okay. Sorry boy, that's all of it. I'll bring you more tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Whuff!” said the dog.

He waved goodbye to the dog, and led his friends over to Hagrid's hut. When they reached it, they knocked, and a voice growled, “C’min.”

Hagrid was sitting in his shirtsleeves at his scrubbed wooden table; his boarhound, Fang, had his head in Hagrid’s lap. One look told them that Hagrid had been drinking a lot; there was a pewter tankard almost as big as a bucket in front of him, and he seemed to be having difficulty getting them into focus.

“ ’Spect it’s a record,” he said thickly, when he recognized them. “Don’ reckon they’ve ever had a teacher who lasted on’y a day before.”

“You haven’t been fired, Hagrid!” gasped Hermione.

“Not yet,” said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. “But ’s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it, after Goyle.”

The next few minutes passed with the three of them trying to convince Hagrid that it wasn't his fault, that Goyle was to blame, and that Goyle was lying when he said it still hurt. Harry felt sure that Smith had given Goyle that idea.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Hagrid,” said Hermione firmly. She took the tankard from the table and went outside to empty it.

“Ar, maybe she’s right,” said Hagrid, letting go of Harry and Ron, who both staggered away, rubbing their ribs. Hagrid heaved himself out of his chair and followed Hermione unsteadily outside. They heard a loud splash.

“What’s he done?” said Harry nervously as Hermione came back in with the empty tankard.

“Stuck his head in the water barrel,” said Hermione, putting the tankard away.

Hagrid came back, his long hair and beard sopping wet, wiping the water out of his eyes.

“Tha’s better,” he said, shaking his head like a dog and drenching them all. “Listen, it was good of yeh ter come an’ see me, I really —”

Hagrid stopped dead, staring at Harry as though he’d only just realized he was there.

“WHAT D’YEH THINK YOU’RE DOIN’, EH?” he roared, so suddenly that they jumped a foot in the air. “YEH’RE NOT TO GO WANDERIN’ AROUND AFTER DARK, HARRY! AN’ YOU THREE! LETTIN’ HIM!”

Hagrid strode over to Harry, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the door.

“That was quite loud,” Luna commented. Hagrid ignored her.

“C’mon!” Hagrid said angrily. “I’m takin’ yer all back up ter school, an’ don’ let me catch yeh walkin’ down ter see me after dark again. I’m not worth that!”

Guess I'm not going to get to feed that dog after dinner from now on, Harry thought miserably as Hagrid frog-marched them back up to the school.

*

The next morning, Harry fed the dog again. Luna, though she ate alone at breakfast, came out to help feed the dog, too.

“He needs a name,” Harry said.

Luna considered that. “How about Adalbert?”

“Adalbert?” Harry asked her.

“It means 'noble or intelligent.'”

The dog whined.

“He doesn't like Adalbert.”

“Hmm... Casnar? It means 'legendary nobleman.'”

Again, the dog whined.

“Strike two,” Harry said with a smile.

“Xanthus?” Luna suggested.

“What's that mean?”

“It means 'yellow, blonde.'”

Harry laughed. “He's black! No white or yellow on him at all.”

She shrugged. “I like the color yellow.”

“Well I can tell he doesn't like that either. You know what? I think I'll go for simple and call him Shadow.”

The dog woofed happily.

“Ah, he likes it. Shadow he is, then.”

They talked and petted Shadow for a few more minutes before heading back to the castle to go to class. He wondered, as he went to class, which class Luna had.

*

Goyle didn't come back to classes until Thursday, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He lumbered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling.

“How is it, Goyle?” simpered Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?”

“Yeah,” said Goyle, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe when Pansy had looked away.

“Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly.

Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention.

Because of his poor position in Slytherin, and an unpopularity in his own year, Draco had sat down next to Ron and Harry. Which turned out to be lucky, because Goyle glared at Draco like he'd taken the large boy's seat.

“Great lump probably wants someone to do his work for him,” Draco said. “Partnering with him is a nightmare, honestly. Crabbe and Goyle have the collective intelligence of a slug.”

Harry couldn't help notice that there was a note of sadness in his voice as he spoke.

“You miss their friendship, don't you?”

“Yeah. They're not big on talking, but they listen well. They didn't understand half or more of what I told them, but they still listened.”

“Well I hear you're getting new friends, though.”

“Yes, I am. Still...”

Snape glared at them, and looked at Draco with what looked like disappointment.

“Potter,” Snape snapped. “Five points from Griffindor for disrupting class. Keep quiet and focus on your work.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry answered.

Goyle had taken the seat behind them, though, something they only just now realized as Draco tapped them on the shoulders to point it out to them.

“Sir,” Goyle called, “sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, 'cuz of my arm —”

“Weasley, cut up Goyle's roots for him,” said Snape without looking up.

Ron went brick red.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Goyle.

Goyle glared at Ron. “Do it, Weasel. Or I'll give you a wounded arm to match mine.”

Ron seized his knife, pulled Goyle's roots toward him, and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

“Professor,” whined Goyle, “Weasley's doin' it wrong on purpose!”

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

“Change roots with Goyle, Weasley.”

“But, sir — !”

Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

“Now,” said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots to Goyle at the other table, then took up the knife again.

“And, sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned,” said Goyle.

“Potter, you can skin Goyle's shrivelfig,” said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry angrily resisted making a comment about kicking Goyle in the shrivelfig, and just went to work as Ron tried to repair his mangled daisy roots.

“How's your big pal?” Goyle asked maliciously.

“You mean Hagrid? Yes, I've seen him. What of it?”

“He's gonna be sacked soon, I figger,” Goyle said.

“I doubt it,” Harry said.

“Keep talking, Goyle, and I'll give you a real injury,” snarled Ron.

“My dad knows Draco's dad, you know. And Mr. Malfoy knows the minister, and the school gov'ners. My dad says Mr. Malfoy is talking with 'em all about my arm, for dad.”

“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. “To try to get Hagrid fired.”

“Partly, Potter,” said Goyle, “But there's other good things too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”

“Goyle, you overgrown gorilla,” Draco said to him, before turning back to Harry. “Don't worry, Harry, I'll talk to father for you.”

“Ain't gonna work, Draco,” Goyle said. “He don't listen to you no more.”

Draco grumbled at this, but didn't answer. Which was answer enough.

A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape made things ten times worse. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —

“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see. “Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

“Maybe be a halfway decent teacher?” Harry muttered just loud enough for Ron to hear. Ron fought to suppress his giggles.

Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.

“Please, sir,” said Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear.

“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione.

It became a tense class after that, with Hermione furtively helping Neville fix his potion. Personally, Harry wasn't sure it could be done, given how bad it was already. So he was surprised when Snape later gave the potion to Neville's toad, and it shrunk the toad down to a tadpole.

“That's not shrinking, that's de-aging,” Harry muttered.

The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

As they started getting ready to leave, Harry came up with an idea. Next potions class, he'd hopefully have things rearranged so he could partner Neville. Ron could take Draco; they didn't like each other much, but they could be civil to one another. And he and Neville would be nearby anyway, he vowed.

“Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn’t you lie, Hermione? You should’ve said Neville did it all by himself!”

Hermione didn’t answer. Ron looked around.

“Where is she?”

Harry turned too. They were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass them, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

“She was right behind us,” said Ron, frowning.

Harry frowned, too. More weirdness from Hermione to add to the list.

“Hey, there she is,” he said, spotting her.

Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

“How did you do that?” said Ron.

“What?” said Hermione, joining them.

“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again.”

“What?” Hermione looked slightly confused. “Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no —”

A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. Harry wasn’t surprised; he could see that it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books. Harry took his wand and repaired it for her.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” said Hermione breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”

“You should get a magically-expanded bookbag.” said Harry. “I think they sell them at the place we get our trunks.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Harry.”

“But —” Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon.”

“Oh yes,” said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag just the same. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving,” she added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.

“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron asked Harry.

“Yes. She must have a good reason, though.”

*

Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”

“Hope this goes better than the pixies last year,” Harry said, referring to their moronic DADA teacher from last year, and the memorable incident when he released wild pixies into the room.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

After a brief exchange with Peeves, who was ruder to Lupin than he usually was to teachers, Lupin showed them a spell that shot the gum up the poltergeist's nose, then led them on to their destination, which turned out to be the teachers' staff-room.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Neville went scarlet. Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a boggart in there.”

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?”

Hermione put up her hand.

“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. “So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.

“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

“Er, because there's so many of us, it won't know what it should turn into?”

“Exactly! It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.

“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please … riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” said the class together.

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”

Lupin asked Neville what his worst fear was, and after a false start, they found out it was Professor Snape. A bit more questioning about Neville's grandmother’s clothes, and Harry was starting to get an idea what was going to happen. He was not amused. When the boggart-Snape ended up in a dress, a woman's hat, and a handbag because of the Riddikulus charm, Harry alone did not laugh. He thought of Antigone, and how she would probably be mortified. He didn't know how many people knew her secret, after all. He didn't know who knew she was a trans girl.

After Neville, others took turns. But Harry's greatest fear was the dementors, and he had no idea how to make that funny. One by one they took turns, until finally it was Harry's turn. Lupin, however, moved in front of him, and the boggart became a glowing orb. Harry stared at it; it looked familiar, but he couldn't place it, in the brief time between its appearance and Lupin turning it into a cockroach.

Neville got a second crack at it, and this time he laughed at the boggart, which exploded into a thousand wisps of smoke before disappearing completely.

Lupin gave points to everyone who faced the boggart, and points to Harry and Hermione for answering his questions correctly. Harry, while glad he wasn't going to have to face another dementor, was annoyed that Lupin hadn't given him a chance to face the boggart. Did Lupin think, after the train incident, that he was too weak to face a boggart?

But no one else seemed to have noticed anything.

“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.

“And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.

“And Snape in that hat!”

“And my mummy!”

“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” said Lavender thoughtfully.

“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” said Ron excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags.

“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Hermione approvingly. “But I wish I could have had a turn with the boggart —”

“What would it have been for you?” said Ron, sniggering. “A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?”

*

Later that day, after dinner, Harry went back to Lupin's office and knocked on the man's door, hoping he was in there, since he hadn't been at the staff table. To his luck, the door creaked open and Professor Lupin looked out in astonishment at Harry.

“Harry? Is something wrong?”

“I want to talk with you.”

“Oh. Now?”

“Preferably. But I could come back later.”

“Oh no, now is fine. Come in, come in,” he said, opening the door wider. “I was taking my dinner in here tonight. I didn't feel like putting up with Sev---er, Professor Snape staring at me. Please, sit down.”

Harry sat down in front of Lupin's desk. The man did indeed have a dinner plate, his meal half finished, on his desk.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Well mainly... I, er... I wanted to say that the boggart-Snape wasn't very funny. We have students here that are transgender, and making fun of a man in a dress just strikes me as mean. Because, well... clothes are just clothes, for one. And also, some people might think trans girls are boys in dresses, and that boggart kinda supports that bigoted notion, whether that was the intention or not.”

Lupin blinked. “I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think of that possibility.”

“Plus, it was kinda mean to Snape. I'm not saying he doesn't deserve a bit of meanness in his direction at times, because he bullies Neville horribly in class, but, well... I can't see this helping at all. Word will get back to him. He'll be worse than ever to Neville.”

Lupin sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “You're right, of course Harry. It was stupid and childish of me. Severus and I... well, we went to school together, and we had a rivalry. I was one of your father's friends.”

“Ah,” Harry said, nodding. “That explains it. I figure Snape had to have known my dad, to hate him so much. At first, I thought he hated me because he was racist, but the way he talks about my dad... you don't talk that way unless you hate someone on a deeply personal level.”

“Yes, that's right. Your father and Professor Snape were enemies in school, and I was one of your father's friends, so I got... involved at times. Hence Professor Snape's hatred of me as well.”

“Okay. Well, just try not to do anything like the boggart-Snape again. It could hurt someone other than Snape.”

“I understand, and I agree to keep my childish ideas to myself from now on,” Lupin said with a grin.

Harry sat there a moment in thought before speaking again. “Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“If you were friends with my dad, you must have been friends with Sirius Black as well.”

Lupin's face turned pale. It was lucky he hadn't been eating or drinking.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well one of my friends is Draco Malfoy. Don't look at me like that, he's not like his father. He was at first, but I won him over. He's unlearning his bigotry. Anyway, he told me that he and his father discussed Black, and that as far as Lucius knew, Sirius wasn't a Death Eater. And Lucius was, apparently, right in Voldemort's inner circle, so if anyone would know, it'd be him, right?”

Lupin was frowning.

“Harry, what are you saying?”

“I'm saying I know all about how Black supposedly was my parents' secret-keeper, how he's said to have betrayed them. But he never had a trial, so he could be innocent.”

“I... Harry... I wanted him to be innocent, too. He was my second-best friend in Hogwarts, after all. But if you know that much, surely you know he murdered Peter Pettigrew, another friend of ours?”

“I know that part of the story, yes. But the only witnesses were Muggles, who don't know about magic. Maybe they didn't see what they thought they saw. Is there any way Peter could have gotten away? Maybe he was the traitor, and set up Black?”

A strange look came over Lupin's face then, sort of thoughtful but also something else. Then he shook his head. He looked like he was about to speak, but then he didn't. He was gaping like a fish out of water for a minute before closing his mouth.

“I... I'd have to think about that for a while, Harry. But... well... Peter wasn't the secret keeper.”

“Hmm... people keep saying that. But the Fidelius Charm sounds like a very complicated charm. If anyone could do it, the war wouldn't have gotten very far last time. Sounds like only someone like Dumbledore or Voldemort could do that charm. So can you really know?”

“Dumbledore gave evidence against Sirius, though. There wasn't a trial, of course, but there was a... some sort of meeting of important Ministry and Wizengamot people, about his case. Nothing official, mind you. But Dumbledore gave evidence that Sirius was your parents' secret-keeper. If anyone would know, it would be him. I think if there was any doubt, he would have mentioned it.”

“Maybe. It's just... weird. From what I know, Sirius was disowned by his family for going against their bigoted ways. And he looked so happy at their wedding. Not like he was plotting murder at all.”

“What does someone plotting murder look like, eh?”

“I don't know. But not like that.”

“Mmm. Well, Harry, there's also the fact that Sirius broke out of prison. Why'd he do that, then? And how, if not with dark magic?”

“I have no idea how. But the why... Draco says the Ministry thinks Black is after me. Wants to snuff me out. And just in case they're right, I'm avoiding the man and being careful. But something doesn't sit right about the whole thing.”

“You have a good heart, Harry. It's commendable to want to give people the benefit of the doubt. But Sirius Black was deranged when they brought him in. The whole street blown apart, and he was laughing like a maniac.”

“Yes... but there's lots of reasons people laugh. Not all of them are because they're amused. All they found of Pettigrew was a finger, and I just find it awfully weird that they stopped looking after that.”

“There was a hole in the street, Harry. And Muggle bodies everywhere. In... in pieces. If we weren't hiding from Muggles, maybe a more complete investigation could have been done, but as it was, most of the pieces of Peter were likely lost in the clean-up process.”

“Yeah, others have said that, too...”

“Anyway, Harry, this discussion is putting me off my dinner. Could we change the subject? Or better yet, talk another time? It's getting late, and you should probably head back to your common room and get a start on your homework.”

Harry sighed. “Okay. Sorry to put you off your food, Professor.”

“It's okay, Harry. My appetite will return. Now run along. It was nice getting to know you, by the way.”

“Can I ask one last thing before I go?”

“I suppose so. I retain the right to refuse to answer, though.”

“Agreed. So my last question was... er... how come I never heard anything from you when I was younger?”

“I would have contacted you at your aunt and uncle's house before, but, well... Dumbledore was keeping your mail held at Gringott's. The whole point of having you there, after all, was the keep you away from your fame. That, and protecting your life from Death Eaters. So nothing was getting through. Including, if I'm correct, an awful lot of fan mail.”

Harry's eyes went wide. “Fan mail?”

“Yes. In fact, I think most of your mail is still being held at Gringott's. Only mail from friends and the school are allowed through.”

“Sounds like I need to look into that.”

“You want to read all that fan mail?”

“No. But people might have sent gifts, too. And something should be done with it instead of just sitting around.”

“You'll have to take that up with Dumbledore, then. By the way, Harry, I have those books I mentioned before. Got them out for you from the library. Where are they? Ah, here they are,” he said, pulling half a dozen books from a shelf. “Here you are, Harry. Books about the old religions and the tradition of Samhain.”

“Wow, thanks! Professor,” he added hastily.

“Not a problem, Harry. Anyway, you should get going now.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Professor,” Harry said, carefully stowing the books under his arms.

“You're welcome, Harry.”

Harry nodded, and left the office.

*

The next morning at breakfast, Harry went around to the different House tables to talk with members of Muggle Academics Club, and to see if the posters they'd been putting up had been attracting any more members. He soon had a nice long list of members old and new. Along with Ron, Hermione, Draco, Luna, Antigone's lot, and himself, the members included Neville, Ginny, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Dean Thomas, Colin Creevy, several Ravenclaws whose names Harry barely knew, that Willem Stone boy from Slytherin, and another Slytherin girl he didn't know yet from first year, a girl named Qintar Contee. There were also a few other Hufflepuffs like Susan Bones and Ernie McMillain. Harry was quite pleased at the size of the group. The only problem was that they would have to switch to a larger classroom to get everyone inside it. He had contemplated using the Room of Requirement, but he wanted somewhere they could go without him in case he ended up in the hospital again. Plus, he was still keeping that snake from last year in there, and Netty was helping take care of it. Which reminded him that he should find somewhere to set the cobra free, which meant doing some research.

Between different Quidditch practices, classes, and other scheduling conflicts, the first MAC meeting was going to be Sunday after lunch. Not everyone would be able to make it even then, but most of them would be there. He spent most of his free time til then planning out what to do, and working out where they should move to.

On Sunday, they all met at the original classroom, where he explained they were going three doors down the corridor to a classroom three times the size of this one. They left a sign on the door for any stragglers, and then went over to the new classroom.

“Welcome, everyone, to Muggle Academics Club. I've decided this first meeting will start out with us all working out what to do first. I can run some ideas past everyone if need be. But before we do that, we should all go around introducing each other, with names and maybe one fact about ourselves. I'll start. I'm Harry Potter,” he said, as though they didn't already know. “I really like reading about dinosaurs, though I haven't for a couple years, now I think about it.”

From there they went on to Hermione, who told the room that her favorite class was Arithmancy. Ron went next, saying he wanted to know more about atoms. Luna then told everyone her name, and told the room that aside from being the editor of the Quibbler, her father was also a cryptozoologist. She had to define the term for everyone.

Then it was Antigone's turn.

“Antigone Dreyfuss,” she said. “Slytherin, fifth year student. Halfblood and blood traitor. Might have to stop coming to this later, I have O.W.L.'s later on. Anyway, my great-grandparents are from India, and I really like pomegranate ice cream. Angela?”

“Me?” the shy Asian girl asked. “Oh, okay. Angela Whitechapel. Also Slytherin, also fifth year. My mom's family are from Japan, my dad's side are white and British all the way back. I want to train to become an Artificer.”

“Are you in Arithmancy?” Harry asked.

“Yes. It's one of the required courses for becoming an Artificer.”

“Cool. Maybe you can help me with my homework when I get stuck. That is, if Hermione is also stuck.”

Laughter went around the room at that. Then Angela nudged Danzia, whose strawberry-blond head swiveled to look at Angela.

“Ah, me? Okay. Danzia McCullough. Slytherin, 4th year. Me and these two goofballs helped Harry, Ron, and Hermione against Quirrell in Harry's first year. But you knew that already, so... new fact... um... I wear reading glasses,” she said, pulling said glasses from a pocket in her robes to show people. “Not a huge fact, I know, but hey.” She shrugged.

Then they went around to Ginny and the other Griffindors, through the Hufflepuffs. Harry was anxious to get to the two Slytherins he didn't know well yet. His patience was eventually rewarded, though.

“Hi everyone,” Willem said. His brown hair was a little long, some of it going over his eyes; in the back, he had his hair in a ponytail. But Harry saw the boy's eyes well enough through the bangs to see that they were bright violet, which he understood to be quite a rare eye color in humans. The second-year boy still had a nice tan from the summer.

“So,” he continued, “I'm Willem Stone. Slytherin, second year. Fun fact about me: The Sorting Hat almost put me in Hufflepuff. Not sure quite why I ended up in Slytherin.” He shrugged, looking confused.

Even Harry picked up on something in Willem's manner of speaking that said 'Probably very gay.' Nobody was rude enough to comment on this, though.

Now, however, was time for the last new MAC member. She was very striking, a black girl with green eyes and red hair; the top of her hair was in cornrows, while the back was in Afro-puffs, which would have looked like pigtails except that her hair was naturally very bushy, like Hermione's. She also had freckles; most of her skin was hickory colored, while her freckles were much lighter, a tawny color.

“Is it my turn? Goody! It's been very hard, waiting so long. I'm Qintar Contee,” she said (her first name said 'kin-tar') in an American accent, “Slytherin first-year. My family moved here from the states recently, cuz my dad got a job here. Nobody in my family has ever been in Hogwarts before! My mom and her parents moved from Namibia to the states. My dad's family doesn't know their heritage, though, because their ancestors were, well... they were slaves. But I looked into it, and though we don't know what part of Africa they came from, my great-great grandparents bought their freedom and moved up to Maine to start a family. I'm Muslim, too, so you might see me doing prayers sometimes because we do them five times a day, plus another on Fridays. Um... and I really like puns.”

Her voice had been breathless and bubbly; she was clearly excited.

“Should I say something related to MAC?” she continued. “Well my dad is a contractor, and I'm really curious how wizards make buildings. Do they do it the same way? Or, well, probably with magic. But there might still be similarities. Though you probably don't build many buildings anymore, since yours are so old. But I dunno, maybe you do... too?” she trailed off, looking down at her feet in sudden embarrassment.

“What does your mom do?” Harry asked her amicably.

“What? Oh, she's a wandmaker.”

“Cool. So Ollivander's gonna have competition, then?”

“Harry,” Ron said, exasperated, “Ollivander already has competition. But he's the best. Er... unless Qintar's mum turns out to be better.”

“If you're a Muslim,” Ernie McMillain asked, “How come you don't have one of those head scarf things?”

“Well, it's because those are optional, and I decided not to wear one.”

“Oh,” Ernie said. “They are? Well. Okay. Live and learn.”

There was a lull in the conversation then, and one of the Ravenclaw girls said Qintar's name.

“Yes?” Qintar asked.

“Oh, I just wanted to say I adore your hair. Tell me, what charm do you use to color it?”

“None. I don't color my hair. This is my natural color.”

“Ah, okay,” said the girl, in a way that sounded very sarcastic even to Harry.

Qintar frowned. “I mean it, I don't color my hair. I was born with this hair color.”

“I believe you, Qintar,” Harry said. “Malcolm X – a famous black American – had light hair and freckles. It's not a very common color combo, I think, but it's natural. The dyes look much different than her hair does. I don't know how many of you were here before for the talk about DNA, but just like red hair and freckles in white people, red hair and freckles occurs in black people, too. There's a lot more color combos among humans than most people think. For instance, most black people have brown or hazel eyes, but Qintar and I both have green eyes. And there are black people with blue eyes. In non-white populations, blue or green eyes is usually a form of albinism that affects only the eyes.

“There's even people in China who have the usual Chinese facial features and skin colors, but have blond hair, and it's an entirely different mutation than blond hair in white people. Which means those Chinese blond people don't have any European heritage at all.”

“What's a mutation?”

“What's DNA?”

Harry smiled. “Okay, so this looks like a good direction to go in. Anyone who's already heard this, please bear with me. Maybe even help me if you can.”

And so the first MAC meeting got underway, as Harry began to explain about cells and molecules and atoms and DNA, and how that relates to coloration and 'race.'

*

After the meeting, Harry was practically all talked out, but he stuck around to speak with his Slytherin friends. Willem and Qintar not being more than acquaintances at this point slipped out, but he made a mental note to try to get to know them better.

It was a lot of fun getting back into the swing of things with Antigone and the other girls. They talked about Danzia's trip to Oregon, Antigone's trip to Rome, Hermione's trip to France, and Harry and Ron's trip to Egypt.

In the middle of a conversation, Angela let loose a very loud and smelly fart. Everyone hurried to stand up and get away from the smell as Angela – normally shy and quiet – guffawed at them.

When he was done gagging, Ron goggled at Angela. “You farted!”

She giggled. “Yes. Sorry.”

“And then you laughed like a lunatic!”

“Yes, I did.”

“But... but you're so quiet usually!”

“This is more what she's like in one of the dorms when we're together,” Antigone said. “She's shy and quiet until she gets to know you really well, then she starts to get louder and stinkier. You should see her part of her dorm, it's a mess. She's a right slob!”

“But you're always so organized and neat looking in public!” Ron said.

Angela shrugged. “I am a woman of many facets.”

“Yeah. And give her half a chance, once she's comfortable with you, and she'll talk your ears off about the things she loves. My little geode,” Antigone said, kissing Angela on the lips.

Ron's eyes got big, and he turned away, his face going beet red. “Oi!”

“Oh Ronald,” Hermione said, slapping his shoulder, “leave them be.”

“I don't care that they're, well... together. I just don't want to see it. And by 'it,' I mean people getting all kissy in front of others. Doesn't matter who it is.”

“Grow up, Ronald.”

Danzia was laughing so hard her eyes were watering. “Yeah, Ronald,” she teased, “get with the 20th century.”

Antigone and Angela looked from Ron to one another, then Angela flowed onto Antigone's lap and the two began to snog very heavily. Harry could feel the heat from Ron's face from feet away. Ron was pointedly not looking at them.

Danzia laughed at Ron again. He turned to look at her. “What, aren't you gonna snog someone in front of me, too? Everyone join in the laugh at my expense, why not?”

“Well A. I don't have a partner, and B. I don't have any interest in sex or romance. Cuddling I enjoy. But snogging or more... maybe I could enjoy those, too, but I don't have any interest.”

“None at all?” Ron asked.

“None whatsoever.”

“Don't you, y'know... get crushes on people?”

“Haven't so far, no.”

“Oh. Well... I mean, you're only 14, right?”

“Not til November 3rd.”

“Still...” Ron said, trailing off.

“I concede that things might change. But most people I know – including my older sister and older brother – were putting up pictures of people they fancied as young as 11. And here I'm almost 14, and I've never seen the appeal. Some people are easy on the eyes, I'll grant that, but I've never wanted to snog anyone before, nor date anyone. But I've definitely been visited by the puberty fairy. You can't see 'em well in these school robes, but I've got a nice pair of boobs growing. And I had my first period on my 11th birthday. So for now, I think it's just how I am.”

“But I've seen you flirt with people!”

She shrugged. “So? You think I'm gonna be a total antisocial cold fish or something just because I don't want to snog people? If that was true, little kids would be antisocial cold fish. I'm a people person, friendly. I flirt with them as a way of saying hello. But if anyone takes my flirting seriously, they're barking up the wrong tree.

“Anyway, it's entirely possible I might never get interested in sex or romance. My biological mom is exactly the same way in that regard. She and Papa only had sex cuz she's Daddy's sister and Papa and Daddy wanted a kid. Which, despite not being sexually attracted to anyone, is something she did for them three times.”

“Your mom doesn't want... you know... either, but she still did it?”

“Just because she's got no sexual desire for anyone doesn't mean she can't still have sex for whatever reasons. Hell, who knows? She might even enjoy it; I've never asked. And I like to flick my button on occasion. No idea if she does or not, though, since she doesn't live with us.”

“Eww, too much information! WAY too much information!”

Danzia laughed a great big belly laugh at Ron's discomfort.

“Oooh,” said Luna, wide-eyed and looking thoughtfully at Danzia. “You do that too, Danzia? And here was me thinking I'd found a new body part.”

“Okay, I'm going now. This is too much for me,” Ron said, his whole face red as a tomato.

“It wouldn't hurt us all to do research into sex education,” Harry said. “It's a very neglected area in our education.”

“'It's a very neglected area,'” Danzia quoted Harry. “That's what she said!”

Harry started at her, confused. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.

“Never mind, Harry. Bad joke.”

Harry looked over at Hermione, and saw – difficult as it was with her skin tone – that she, too, was red with embarrassment. But she wasn't trying to leave.

“Something to add to the growing list of things to research, then,” Harry said, taking out a piece of parchment and making a note of it, as Ron left.

“Hey Harry,” Angela said, from her position on Antigone's lap, “I just realized, where's Draco? I thought he was coming to these?”

Harry frowned in thought. “You're right. I know he was there when I was telling you lot about the meeting. He didn't show up.”

“Do you think he was late?”

“Even if he was, we left a sign.”

“Yeah... and Peeves could easily have removed the sign.”

“Damn,” Harry said, getting up and putting his things together.

“What are you doing?” Danzia asked him. “It's been hours since the meeting began. He might be back in the Slytherin common room, or his dorm. Who knows where he went when he missed the meeting.”

“Or why he missed it,” Hermione added. “Harry, don't you remember him saying he was having problems with Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Oh yeah. Damn,” he cussed again. “Let's go find him.”

It didn't take long. They found Draco in the previous MAC classroom.

“There you are, Potter,” Draco said, slipping into the formal again in his annoyance. “Where were you? Was the meeting canceled?”

“No. It was down the hall. Too many people for this room. Peeves must have removed the sign we left behind. Guess we should've left a person behind instead.”

“Oh. Well that explains it, Harry.” Draco said.

“You've been here this whole time?” Danzia asked.

Draco shrugged. “I waited without doing anything for about half an hour. Then I decided it must have been canceled. But I was already sitting at a desk, I already had my schoolbag with me, and going back to the common room meant avoiding Crabbe and Goyle, so I just stayed here doing homework.”

“Well let me show you to the room the meetings are in now, okay?”

“Okay. Just let me dry this ink out first,” Draco said, using his wand to dry the ink. He put his things away in his bag, put it over his shoulder, and stood up.

“Lead the way, Harry.”

Later, in the Griffindor common room, Harry found Ron sitting at a table doing homework. He sat next to his friend and began working on his own homework. Both boys were silent for several minutes before Ron broke the silence.

“I didn't want to say anything about it around them,” Ron said, “in case they got offended, but Danzia has put on some weight. She's still really pretty, just, well... she's filling out, and it's not just because of puberty.”

“So?” asked Harry, who was working on homework.

“Er... nothing, I guess. I dunno. Just something I noticed, is all.”

“It's her business, not anyone else's. But thanks for letting me know; if anyone tries making fun of her for it, I'll hex them.”

“I wasn't--”

“I know you weren't, Ron. Relax.”

“Good. Because I don't care if she's a little on the heavier side. I just... it's new. I mean, she's never exactly been, y'know, real skinny or anything. Just...” he trailed off.

Harry, not knowing what to say either, said nothing at first. Then something occurred to him, and he smiled.

“You're trying to picture her naked, aren't you?”

Ron's face went instantly fire-engine red, and he sputtered, unable to speak.

“I think Danzia would find it amusing. Heck, she might even be willing to give you a show if you ask nicely.”

Ron frowned, and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said 'shut up,' okay? I can't... this conversation...”

Harry patted Ron on the back. “Okay, Ron. I'll go back to my homework.”

“No, that's okay. Let's just change the subject.” Ron cast around in his mind for a topic. “Hey, where was Malfoy today?”

Harry sighed. “Peeves must have stolen the sign we left behind. It wasn't there, but Draco was. He waited for us for a while, then when nobody showed, instead of looking for us, he started doing homework.”

“What, in the classroom?”

“He didn't want to risk running into Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Ah, that explains it.” There was a pause of a few beats, before he continued, “He was still there? We must've been in there for hours. In fact,” he checked his watch. “Blimey, it's almost dinner!”

Ron hurried to put his things away. Harry was a little more careful with his own things, but he too put his things back in his room before following Ron to dinner. He realized with a pang of guilt that he hadn't fed the black dog since dinner the night before. He hoped it would still be there. He also knew he might get in trouble going out at night again, so he tucked his invisibility cloak into his robe pocket before leaving for dinner.

Keeping his scraps-gathering secret from the others wasn't easy, but he managed it. He left early, claiming to be going to get something at the library. As soon as the coast was clear, though, he whipped his cloak over his head and headed out the front door to the spot where he always met Shadow.

To his surprise and relief, the big black dog was there, waiting patiently. It couldn't see him, of course, but it began to sniff the air as he approached, plainly smelling the table scraps. Harry pulled the cloak off when he was still several feet away, so he wouldn't startle the dog. When it saw him, it said “Woof!” in a happy tone.

“Sorry I forgot breakfast and lunch today, boy. Hope you're not too hungry.”

“Woof!” Shadow barked, smiling his doggy smile. Then it turned its head up at the moon, then looked to one side of him.

Harry blinked. “Are you trying to tell me that Luna brought you food earlier today?”

“Woof!”

“Wow,” Harry said. He gave the dog a searching look. It stared impassively back, but kept glancing at the food in Harry's pocket. Harry wasn't sure how smart dogs were, so he didn't know if this was was normal for dogs or what. But he figured that even if it wasn't, it might be a magical dog, and magical creatures did tend to be smarter than Muggle animals.

Satisfied with that answer, Harry pulled the table scraps out of his pocket and began feeding Shadow a piece at a time.

When the dog was done eating, it woofed gently again, and jumped up to put its front paws on Harry's shoulders, putting its head on Harry's own, making Harry chuckle. He petted the dog, and it went back to all fours, its tail wagging. It then lowered its head and began to sniff Harry all around, focusing on Harry's other pocket.

“There's nothing for you in there, boy. No, really. No-- okay, fine, I'll show you. It's just my two-way mirror. I use it to communicate with Luna. She's in a different House than me. She's a Ravenclaw, I'm Griffindor.”

The dog climbed up on Harry again, sniffing his chest, then trying to sniff down the front of his robes.

Laughing, Harry pushed the dog gently aside. “What're you looking for? Oh there you go again. Fine, I'll pull that out, too.”

Harry pulled on the chain around his neck, showing Shadow the odd little necklace she'd given him for his birthday.

“It's a gift from Luna. Each stone plays a different tone. Here, this one supposedly chases away Scrabjabbles,” he said, pressing the green gem. Airy, tinkling music came from the necklace.

“And this stone, the purple one, I'll show you.”

Pressing the purple stone, it made a noise like rock grinding against rock. The dog regarded the sound curiously.

“You don't want to hear the red stone, trust me on that. That just leaves the blue one. You probably won't like that one, either. Animals don't like it.”

Harry pressed on the blue stone. The dog just looked curiously at the stone, then at him. Harry let go of the necklace.

“Er... didn't that bother you? It made my owl go nuts when I pressed it. Though I suppose it could be broken. Or... well... I don't think it works on all animals. Scabbers – that's Ron's pet rat – couldn't hear it either.”

Shadow immediately began barking, loudly, over and over again.

“Okay, okay, stop, I'm not supposed to be out here this late, stop please” Harry begged, managing to grab the dog's muzzle and hold it shut.

“Crap,” he said.

Harry had heard something from the castle. He tossed the invisibility cloak over himself and stood behind Shadow. The dog didn't follow Harry with its head, but instead whined, looking over at the front doors of the school, which were wide open. Filch was coming this way.

“Shit. Filch. See you later, Shadow.”

At Harry's words, the dog disappeared into the woods. Harry blinked at this in confusion before heading off towards Hagrid's hut, hoping he could get back inside the castle without running into either Filch or Mrs. Norris. He found himself wishing he knew how to become an Animagus, preferably something with wings, so he could fly back to the school.

If Mrs. Norris was with Filch, Harry couldn't see her anywhere. But she could still be in the building, waiting for someone to sneak in. Filch could've left the door open as a trap for miscreants; it was the sort of thing he would do.

Peeking inside, Harry didn't see Mrs. Norris anywhere. Figuring she must be out in the grass with her master, he made his way through the shortcuts he knew to get as close to the Griffindor common room as he could, looking around one more time before taking off his cloak and hiding it in his robes again. As nonchalantly as possible, he gave The Fat Lady the password and went inside, glad that he'd not gotten caught.

End note: I'm probably going to stop making Slytherin OC's now, after Qintar, except for the occasional minor character like relatives. But I reserve the right to change my mind later. :)

End note 2: Reminder that “snogging” is British for “making out; kissing passionately.”

End note 3: Yes, Danzia is asexual and aromantic. Also, while we're on the subject, Danzia reminds me of Amythest (from Steven Universe) in some ways, mostly personality-wise. She's also becoming a heavier girl. Taller than Amythest, though, I think. I don't think Amythest's height is established anywhere, really, beyond “She's short.”

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.
Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

Chapter 4: Shadows

Professor Lupin's classes ended up being the best Defense Against the Dark Arts classes – maybe even the best classes of any topic – ever. Everyone but Crabbe and Goyle and their friends liked Lupin. Every class was about another fascinating dark creature, from Red Caps to Hinkypunks, Kappas and others.

As predicted, Snape was worse than ever to Neville in Potions, but Harry mitigated this a little by partnering Neville. Ron and Draco ended up together, and Hermione partnered Seamus Finnigan, which was good because she kept him from blowing up the cauldrons by having him prepare ingredients while she put them in and did all the stirring and so on. Nobody was really happy about the arrangement, especially Ron, but Neville was happier with Harry. Harry's presence deflected some of Snape's wrath, and Harry just sat there and took the abuse. He'd dealt with much worse from the Dursleys, after all. And knowing that Snape's behavior was personal and childish helped him not be so angry.

Still, it was hard. He didn't let on much, but he did get angry, and it came out later in other ways and at other targets, but it was safer than letting Snape know how much he was getting to Harry. Though not letting on much had its own dangers; Snape was one of those people who was never really happy with any kind of reaction or lack thereof. Over the years at home, Harry had learned to play Vernon and Petunia almost like fiddles; he'd figured out what to say and do, and when/how to say and do it, in order to manage their feelings and reactions. Snape was a work in progress for Harry. Even after more than two years of classes with the man, Harry was still mostly observing, because the man was harder to read than most people. Harry's experiments in influencing Snape were few and far between at the moment because of it.

Arithmancy was a difficult but rewarding class. The teacher was still focusing on getting everyone to the same level. Since most people were far behind Hermione and Harry in maths, Professor Vector let them get a head start on some of the maths she'd be introducing to the others in class later. Aside from giving them something to do that wouldn't bore them, Harry suspected her plan was to have them help the others as tutors when the time came.

Dumbledore's Wizard Studies class was only once a week this year, and they didn't often have homework. There was a lot of discussion, mostly. What homework there was, was mostly reading books from the library about various topics. Some of it was wizarding-world literature.

Care of Magical Creatures wasn't much fun anymore. After the disaster Goyle had made of Hagrid's first lesson, the depressed large man was focusing on boring animals called flobberworms, which seemed to flourish best when left alone.

When Quidditch season started back up, the MAC meetings got smaller, as those who had practice found it harder and harder to come. The Griffindors and Slytherins especially were affected by this, given that theirs was the first match of the year. Harry heard rumors that Oliver Wood, the Griffindor Quidditch captain, was getting especially vehement about winning.

Harry was annoyed that he wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade yet, but the part of him that had doubts about the man's guilt was glad he hadn't been caught. Though he also wished the man would leave the country, so the security would be dropped and he could go to Hogsmeade.

Shadow the dog had taken to playing with Harry on the weekends. It had started after breakfast one Saturday morning. After eating all Harry's table scraps, the big dog – who was beginning to fill out a little at last – ran into the trees and brought out a stick, urging Harry to play Fetch with him.

“Oh fine,” he'd said with a slight grin, and had thrown the stick toward the trees.

The dog joyfully bounded off to hunt for the stick. The first few times, it came back quite quickly, ready for more. Around the seventh time, though, it took so long that Harry went deeper into the trees to see where Shadow had got to.

He'd found the dog still sniffing around for the stick. Shortly after finding Shadow, the dog saw him and found the stick soon after. He brought it back to Harry, but Harry was too tired to play again. He found a nice convenient rock to sit on, and petted Shadow's head instead. Shadow didn't appear to mind.

This began a pattern. Every Saturday or Sunday, depending on when MAC meetings were, Shadow took Harry into this same area. Harry liked the place; being of the old religion, even though he was still reading the books Lupin had given him, the little clear spot surrounded by a roof of tree canopy and the pillars of the tree trunks felt like a spiritual experience. He wondered if this is what it felt like for most people to be in church.

Harry liked the clearing so much that he sometimes went there before breakfast. Shadow seemed a little annoyed that there was no food, and that Harry had to leave and come back with food, but the dog was still happy enough.

“This is an amazing little place,” Harry said one of these times. “I'm glad you showed me this place, Shadow.”

Shadow was curled beside the rock, not asleep but resting. He gave a small “Whuff!” in response. It felt like the dog version of “You're welcome.”

Harry had taken his shoes and socks off and was sitting cross-legged on the sitting stone, which let him lean against a tree. He looked up into the canopy of the trees. The light that came through the canopy was grey, but still pleasant. It had been just on the cold side of cool on his way up here, but the trees kept the wind away, so this little spot of theirs was warmer. Harry still made a mental note to bring a cloak next time, or wear a sweater under his robes. The castle itself could get pretty cold too, even with fires and tapestries and warming charms.

Harry sighed. “Sorry I can't come here in the evenings anymore. It's this whole Sirius Black thing.”

Shadow's head lifted up and he looked curiously at Harry.

“Yeah. This guy named Sirius Black broke out of prison, supposedly to kill me. But the man never got a trial, and... well... it would be pointless to explain it to you, since you're just a dog, but something doesn't add up. I think it's possible the man is innocent.”

An inquisitive-sounding noise came from the dog, whose ears were perked up. Harry smiled at him.

“You're such a good listener. Well okay, why not go on? Okay, so he supposedly betrayed my parents, but the father of a friend of mine... it's complicated, but this friend's father was one of Voldemort's lot—”

“GRRRR,” Shadow growled.

“Calm down, boy. It's okay. My friend is alright. He was a bit of a bigoted berk at first, but I won him over to my side. He's working on his bigotry, rejecting this whole blood purity thing of his father's. He's gotten into huge rows with his parents about it. I trust him.”

The growl vanished as Shadow calmed down, looking curious again. And strangely, Harry thought the dog looked... pensive. Could a dog be pensive?

“Anyway, yeah. I'm not gonna go looking for this Sirius Black fellow, but if we run into each other, I'll listen to his side. I'll be wary, of course, but I'll listen.” He sighed. “Oh, why am I telling you this? It doesn't mean anything to you. It can't.”

He sighed again, closing his eyes. He just sat there, listening to the gentle sounds of nature around him. The breeze through the leaves, the few remaining insects and birds chirruping, and the creak of wood as the tree branches swayed in the breeze. It was very relaxing. So relaxing that he fell asleep where he sat.

Something wet on his hand woke him up. He blinked, and saw Shadow looking at him. Harry realized he had fallen asleep on the stone. He looked around and saw it was darker. Checking his watch, he saw it was just past 5.

“Well, I'd better get back to the castle, boy. Dinner isn't far away now.”

Shadow whined but wagged his tail as Harry scratched his ears.

“Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow with some breakfast for you.”

“Woof!”

Harry chuckled and waved, heading back to the castle. Shadow seemed very intelligent to Harry; the big dog never followed him once he said he was leaving, like it could understand English.

As he walked back, he huddled against the chill air. This made him wonder where Shadow would go during the winter. Which made him wonder if dogs would be allowed as pets in the castle. But he immediately dismissed this idea; Shadow was much too large to fit anywhere in the castle. But he was going to find somewhere for the stray to hide away from the winter cold. Maybe Hagrid knew somewhere. Not Hagrid's hut, of course; the hut was barely large enough for Hagrid and Fang without adding another large dog. But maybe he could build a little dog house for Shadow, cast warming charms on it. Or buy one, since he didn't know how to make one.

*

The Saturday before Halloween, Harry was going to go to see Shadow again, but on his way out the Great Hall, he ran into Draco, who grabbed his arm and began to pull him away.

“Sorry about this, Harry, but Crabbe and Goyle are after me. I just need you with me for a little while.”

Harry sighed. “Fine. But you need to figure something out. Get a new dorm room or something. Put up wards around your bed, that sort of thing.”

“Already did that. It's getting from the bed to other places that becomes problematic.”

“Still...”

“Yes, I'm working on it, okay?”

“Have you thought of mailing your father? Have him talk to their fathers? You may disagree with them, but that's no excuse for attacking the sole Malfoy heir.”

Draco paused, looking thoughtfully at Harry before walking again. “That's a good idea. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself.”

By the time Harry shook Draco off, he was outside Lupin's office. The door was open.

“Harry? Was young Mr. Malfoy bothering you?”

“What? Oh. No, Professor. We're friends. He just needed some help avoiding Crabbe and Goyle. Remember, Draco is a friend of mine.”

“Oh yes, I'd forgotten you told me you befriended Draco Malfoy. Sorry about that, I'll try to remember from now on.”

Harry nodded, about to go so he could meet Shadow again.

“Harry, come in a moment will you?”

“Oh. Er, okay Professor. Will this take long?”

Harry came in and took the same seat he had last time.

“No, I don't think it should take long. Unless you have plans I'm interrupting?”

“Oh, no. Nothing I can't do later.”

“Good, good. Care for some tea?”

“That sounds good.”

Harry cast around for something to say.

“What's that?” Harry asked, referring to a tank full of murky water and a sickly green creature with horns and long fingers.

“Grindylow. For our next lesson. Water demon,” said Lupin, surveying the grindylow thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t have much difficulty with him, not after the kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle.”

The grindylow bared its green teeth and then buried itself in a tangle of weeds in a corner.

Lupin tapped his kettle, and the water instantly boiled. He poured some into a cup with a teabag in it for himself and one for Harry.

“So, if it's not too forward of me, Harry, what plans did you have that got derailed?”

“Oh, I like to go out for a walk among the trees by the lake. The Forbidden Forest may be out of bounds, but that area isn't. I found a nice place to sit and listen to the trees.”

“That sounds lovely. That reminds me, how are you liking those books I got you?”

“Quite a lot, thank you. I may have to purchase copies of my own.”

“Glad to hear it. I'm always glad to help out a fellow member of the old religion.”

They sipped their tea.

“So what did you want to discuss, Professor?”

“I wanted to ask if you were worried at all about Professor Trelawney's predictions of your and Ron's demise.”

“You heard about that too, eh?”

Lupin grinned. “Yes. Professor McGonagall was complaining about it in the teacher's lounge. So, are you scared?”

Harry shook his head. “From what Hermione's told me, she's an old fraud, makes wild guesses.”

“That's what many of the other professors tell me as well.”

They sipped their tea again, Harry thinking as he did. Lupin had asked him if he was afraid. Did Lupin think he was a coward? After the Dementor, maybe he did.

Something of Harry’s thoughts seemed to have shown on his face, because Lupin said, “Anything worrying you, Harry?”

“No,” Harry lied. He drank a bit of tea and watched the grindylow brandishing a fist at him. “Yes,” he said suddenly, putting his tea down on Lupin’s desk. “You know that day we fought the boggart?

“Yes,” said Lupin slowly.

“Why didn’t you let me fight it?” said Harry abruptly.

Lupin raised his eyebrows.

“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” he said, sounding surprised.

Harry, who had expected Lupin to deny that he’d done any such thing, was taken aback.

“Why?” he said again.

“Well,” said Lupin, frowning slightly, “I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”

Harry stared. Not only was this the last answer he’d expected, but Lupin had said Voldemort’s name. The only person Harry had ever heard say the name aloud (apart from himself) was Professor Dumbledore.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” said Lupin, still frowning at Harry. “But I didn’t think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialize in the staffroom. I imagined that people would panic.”

“I didn’t think of Voldemort,” said Harry honestly. “I — I remembered those dementors.”

“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well … I’m impressed.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is — fear. Very wise, Harry.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, so he drank some more tea.

“So you’ve been thinking that I didn’t believe you capable of fighting the boggart?” said Lupin shrewdly.

“Well … yeah,” said Harry. He was suddenly feeling a lot happier. “Professor Lupin, you know the dementors —”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Lupin.

The door opened, and in came Snape, carrying a goblet that was smoking like mad. It looked like a Halloween decoration made of dry ice, only darker.

“Ah, Severus,” said Lupin, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?”

Snape set down the smoking goblet, his eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin.

“I was just showing Harry my grindylow,” said Lupin pleasantly, pointing at the tank.

“Fascinating,” said Snape, without looking at it. “You should drink that directly, Lupin.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” said Lupin.

“I made an entire cauldronful,” Snape continued. “If you need more.”

“I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus.”

“Not at all,” said Snape, but there was a look in his eye Harry didn’t like. He backed out of the room, unsmiling and watchful.

Harry looked curiously at the goblet. Lupin smiled.

“Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me,” he said. “I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex.” He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. “Pity sugar makes it useless,” he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

“Why — ?” Harry began. Lupin looked at him and answered the unfinished question.

“I’ve been feeling a bit off-color,” he said. “This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren’t many wizards who are up to making it.”

So whatever was ailing Lupin required a specialized potion to help with it. Harry wondered what Lupin had. He didn't seem to be any different from other people, except disheveled and tired a lot.

“So you trust him, then?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Harry, I do. Dumbledore trusts him, so I do too.”

“Well, Dumbledore also trusted the Dursleys, and that didn't turn out so well.”

“Er, yes, I suppose so.”

Lupin drank the rest of the potion and shuddered. “Disgusting.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but he got cut off.

“Well, Harry, I’d better get back to work. I’ll see you at the feast tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Harry, putting down his empty teacup.

The empty goblet was still smoking.

“One more question, first?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know a spell to find true north?”

*

On Halloween day, since he couldn't go to Hogsmeade, Harry returned to the clearing with food for Shadow in one pocket, and a candle in the other. The large dog greedily ate up the food, then jumped around excitedly for several minutes. Then it noticed Harry taking his shoes off, keeping his socks and thick cloak on. Shadow watched as Harry sat cross-legged on the sitting stone, setting the candle in front of him in a holder.

Sensing the solemnity of what Harry was doing, Shadow lay down and watched him quietly.

Harry stood back up. He took out his wand and stood in front of the stone. First, he put his wand in his open palm and said “Point me!” The wand jumped into the air an inch from his hand and swung around to point at north.

This information gathered, Harry took the wand in his hand again and moved to stand at the north side of the stone, facing outwards toward north. He then drew a five-pointed star shape in the air with his wand, the star inside a circle. It hung in the air in glowing red lines.

“Earth and soil, o elementals of the north, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

Walking clockwise from there, his wand tip facing outward and trailing a faint gray line, he stopped at east. He drew another star in the air, this one white, and said, “Wind and air, o elementals of the east, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

He walked around to the back of the tree that made the stone's back rest, and faced south. He drew an orange star in the air.

“Flame and heat, o elementals of the south, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

He went around to face west, drawing a blue star in the air.

“Water of the rivers, oceans, lakes, and rain, o elementals of the west, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen.”

He completed the circle at north again. He then used his wand to trace out an invisible star over his heart. “Soul and specter, o elementals of the spirit, please bless and protect this space with your power. Amen. And now the circle is complete. May nothing intending harm be able to cross the threshold. Amen.”

With these words, many things happened all at once: the gray circle became silver and significantly brighter, connecting the four colored stars together. The red star made a pebble appear and fall to the ground. The white star made a brief gust of wind blow outward. Behind the tree, the orange star created a flash of magical fire. And the blue star wet the ground under it.

Harry put his wand in its holster again, and sat down on the stone like he usually did. Shadow looked up as he did, apparently noticing that Harry had cast the circle to include him, before laying down again to quietly watch.

“Twelve years ago, on this night,” Harry began to say softly, even though it was still daylight, “my parents James Potter and Lilly Evans Potter, were murdered. I have come here in their memory, as their only son, hoping to communicate with them.”

Even while he said this, he had to hold back a snort. He knew from the books he'd read that any communication with them was going to be one-way only. There was no way to get messages from the dead, according to the books. And that was fine by him.

“So Mom, Dad, if you're out there, I hope you're listening.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts.

“I don't know you. I only know what you look like because of that Mirror of Erised thing, and the photo album Hagrid gave me. I wish I could have gotten to know you. I wonder what you'd think of me. What you'd think of the Dursleys having 'raised' me. I wonder what you'd make of my Slytherin friends. I'm hungry to know anything I can about you. I don't even know exactly how old you were when you died. But given how old I think Professor Lupin and Snape are, and they were in your year, I'm guessing in your early to mid twenties.”

Shadow whimpered very, very softly, as though to give Harry emotional support without disturbing him.

“And now there's this man, a friend of yours, who's supposed to have been involved. Everyone – the adults, anyway – are so convinced Sirius Black was responsible for betraying you to Voldemort. I just wish I knew what the truth was. I wish you could appear before me, and tell me the truth. Though I dunno, maybe you don't know the truth either. You got taken by surprise, after all.”

Harry began to hug his legs, and leaned his head against his knees, taking his glasses off first and pocketing them.

“I just wish I could have known love growing up,” he said, his voice quaking. “Your love. Not the hatred the Dursleys showed m-me.”

His last shred of self-control broke, and he began to cry.

He'd been crying for a few minutes when he felt Shadow's nose against his leg. He sat up again, still crying. He couldn't tell what the dog's expression was without his glasses, but he wouldn't have been able to see through the tears anyway. He moved the candle to the other side, then put his legs out. Shadow reared up against the stone and lay his head on Harry's lap consolingly.

Harry kept crying, secure in the knowledge that most of the students were at Hogsmeade, and stroked Shadow's fur as he did. As he did, he eventually noticed bumps on the dog's skin that felt disturbingly alive.

He sniffed. “Feels like I need to get you something against fleas and ticks. And whatever kind of magical bugs you might catch around here, Shadow.”

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve and put his glasses back on. The dog was looking at him placidly.

They sat there like that for hours, silent, the light of the circle spell still glowing around them. At some point, Harry started to very carefully burn some of the bigger bugs out of Shadow's fur with his wand. But when he noticed the sun getting low in the sky, he checked his watch.

“It's not quite time to go yet, boy, but I'd better anyway. I'll need to wash up before the feast. Gotta get up now, okay?”

Shadow pulled his head back and put all four feet back on the ground, watching Harry as he got up and went to stand at the blue star in the spell.

“Water of the rivers, oceans, lakes, and rain, o elementals of the west, thank you for your help and your protection. Go if you must, stay if you will. Amen.”

In backwards order, he dismissed the other elements at each point. The stars dimmed as he dismissed their elements, but remained visible.

After dismissing the final element, he kept his wand held out.

“The circle is open, but unbroken. Amen. Finite!” At that spell, the glowing circle and stars blinked out.

*

After washing up, he went right to the Great Hall for the feast. Among the first to arrive after him were Ron and Hermione, who had bought him loads of sweets from Honeyduke's sweet shop, and talked to him all about Hogsmeade.

The feast itself was delicious, too. Best of all, Luna and his friends from Slytherin came over to the Griffindor table halfway through to shoot the breeze while Harry and the others continued to eat. Antigone got into a discussion about Rowena Ravenclaw with Luna, and Danzia was entertaining others at the table by sticking licorice sticks out her mouth like tusks and pretending to be a walrus. Even Draco had come over, though he kept sneaking worried looks behind him to make sure Crabbe and Goyle weren't sneaking up on him, but they were too busy stuffing their faces to care about him.

Harry was very full and very happy when he returned to Griffindor tower that night, despite his earlier tears. He fell asleep quickly in the warm bed.

*

On that week's Friday, they met an unexpected sight during their Defense Against Dark Arts class; Lupin wasn't there, but Snape was. He was filling in, apparently. Harry felt annoyed and angry; it was bad enough they had to put up with this emotionally abusive, childish berk for Potions class without him subbing for his favorite class as well.

“Sit down and be quiet,” Snape snapped at the class. “Better. Now, as even the most dunder-headed among you should be able to figure out, Professor Lupin is ill today. Nothing life-threatening, I assure you,” he said as though sorry it wasn't.

“So since Lupin is unable to teach today, I have taken his place. I expect your behavior in this class to adhere to the same standards I expect in Potions class, do I make myself clear? Good. Now, I see Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered. So you will turn to page--”

“Please, sir, we’ve done boggarts, Red Caps, kappas, and grindylows,” said Hermione quickly, “and we’re just about to start —”

“Be quiet,” said Snape coldly. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin’s lack of organization.”

“He’s the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. Snape looked more menacing than ever.

“You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly overtaxing you — I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and grindylows. Today we shall discuss —”

Harry watched him flick through the textbook, to the very back chapter, which he must know they hadn’t covered.

“— werewolves,” said Snape.

“But, sir,” said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start hinkypunks —”

“Miss Granger,” said Snape in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I am teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page 394.” He glanced around again. “All of you! Now!”

With many bitter sidelong looks and some sullen muttering, the class opened their books. Harry stared at Hermione in puzzlement; he'd never seen her interrupt a teacher before.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, she looked back at him. He mouthed 'What are you doing? Don't antagonize him.' at her. Her response was a shrug.

“Can anyone tell me the differences between a werewolf and the true wolf?” Snape asked.

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Hermione, whose hand, as it so often did, had shot straight into the air. Harry, not having read the entire textbook, didn't know the answer. Something which must have shown in his face somehow, because Snape rounded on him.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. Since you were so knowledgeable in your first Potions class a couple years ago, perhaps you'd care to enlighten us on the differences between a werewolf and a true wolf?”

“I... I don't know, sir.”

“You don't know? But surely you've had plenty of time to read the textbook, Mr. Potter? You read the Potions textbook before school your first year, after all. Are you getting lazy now that you've gotten used to your fame, Potter?”

Harry's cheeks felt hot. “No, sir. I just haven't gotten that far in it yet. I have new classes this year, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.”

“Hmm... I see. Well maybe, Potter, if you would spend less time going outside before and after breakfast to take in the fresh air, you'd have more time to read your textbooks.”

Harry didn't know what to say. “Er... perhaps. But the, ah... the fresh air wakes me up. I'm groggy all morning otherwise.”

This had the benefit of being true, even if it wasn't why he went out anymore, for it had been why he'd started the practice.

“I see,” Snape said. “Well, Potter, I suppose after over two years of grading your work in my class, I came to expect better of you. Five points from Griffindor for failing to do your best work in this class.”

There was an instant uproar from the rest of the class, but Harry was too stunned to listen to it. It had been Snape's usual mean, nasty tone, but... well... had that been a... a compliment? He replayed the words in his head again. Yes, that was right; Snape had complimented him. Harry reeled a little. It was even stranger to him than the talking boa constrictor had been. It was like facing down an angry cobra and witnessing it bark like a dog and wag its tail. Or like hearing one of the Dursleys say they loved him.

When the bell rang at last, Snape held them back.

“You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.”

When he met Hermione at the door, he said, “Detention? Ron got a detention?”

“Weren't you paying attention? I spoke out of turn again, and Snape called me a... a know-it-all. Then Ron defended me, and he got a detention for it.”

“Snape’s never been like this with any of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, even if he did want the job,” Harry said to Hermione. “Why’s he got it in for Lupin? D’you think this is all because of the boggart?”

“I don’t know,” said Hermione pensively. “But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon. …”

Ron caught up with them five minutes later, in a towering rage.

“D’you know what that —” (he called Snape something that made Hermione say “Ron!”) “— is making me do? I’ve got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!” He was breathing deeply, his fists clenched.

*

The afternoon of the first Quidditch match of the season, Harry woke up to see that there was a downpour outside. His idea of getting Shadow a doghouse looked to be more important than ever. So he spent some time before breakfast in the library, getting in right as Ms. Pince opened it, and began looking through the books for ones about caring for dogs. While looking through one book, he found a spell for using your wand like an umbrella. With this knowledge, he decided that he might as well visit Shadow again, since not many people would be in the castle anyway. He went after breakfast, putting his new books in his room first.

He was taking more food with him for Shadow than usual because of the rain – sausages and some egg this time. He put a spell on his shoes to keep the water from the soggy ground out of them. The big black dog was waiting for him, wagging its tail happily, its mouth open like a smile.

He smiled as the dog ate the proffered food with gusto.

“I can stay for a few more hours again today. There's a Quidditch match on, but I don't want to see it,” he said as he led Shadow to his favorite stone seat.

Shadow cocked his head at Harry and made a little sound that put Harry in mind of the words 'Why not?'

“I get scared for my friends high up in the air like that. And the crowd noises overwhelm me and give me headaches.”

The dog whined in a sympathetic way and pressed himself up against Harry's leg. Harry smiled again and patted Shadow's head before sitting down cross-legged on his favorite rock to listen to the rain with his eyes closed.

Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, he heard the sounds of lots of excited people coming from the direction of the castle. He made a note of it and continued meditating.

Not long after that, though, he felt a sudden wave of coldness come over him, that startled his eyes open. He shivered, despite being dressed as warmly as possible in a sweater, sweatpants, robes, a winter cloak, and a woolen hat. Shadow was hiding behind the tree at Harry's back and shivering too, with his ears back and tail tucked between his legs. The dog was clearly terrified.

“What is it, boy?”

The cold spell passed, but then started up again, making Shadow whimper quietly in fear, and breaking Harry's umbrella spell. Luckily, they were under the trees and didn't get nearly as soaked as they might have. But these odd occurrences made Harry decide to look around. Soon, he saw a figure in the distance. It was clad in black and floated along like a ghost. He knew at once what it had to be. And there were others of its kind, too, he saw. At least a dozen, floating toward the Quidditch pitch.

“Crap! Sorry, boy, but my friends are in danger, I have to go help.”

He ran off without another word, not even knowing what he could do to help. Maybe he could warn people? He ran soaking wet through the downpour, not bothering with the umbrella spell so he could have his wand ready if he needed it. He had to stop soon, though, and put the Impervious spell on his glasses so he could see where he was going. Once he had them back on, and could see, he took off running again.

The cold increased as he got closer to the stadium. He climbed the steps hurriedly, looking for a teacher. But the cold was getting worse, and the sound of the rain was getting quieter and quieter. Harry glanced out toward the pitch, and saw nearly a hundred dementors out there, their hidden faces looking up at the airborne students.

It was as though freezing water were rising in his chest, cutting at his insides. And then he heard it again. … Someone was screaming, screaming inside his head … a woman …

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl … stand aside, now. …”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —”

Numbing, swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain. … What was he doing? Why was he flying? He needed to help her. … She was going to die. … She was going to be murdered. …

“Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy. …”

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and Harry knew no more.

He woke up to lights, and dry warmth. His world was all fuzzy, meaning his glasses were off. But he could see shapes well enough to guess he was in the hospital wing.

“What happened?” he asked.

The no-nonsense voice of Madam Pomfrey issued forth. “Oh you're awake at last, are you? Sit up then. You had another run-in with dementors and passed out again.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting up. His memory was returning. He frowned as Madam Pomfrey put some chocolate in his mouth, but only because he knew he'd witnessed his mother being murdered. How he could have remembered that, he didn't know, but then, magic could do all kinds of weird stuff.

“You have visitors,” Madam Pomfrey said. She didn't sound like she approved.

“Who is it?”

“Several Weasleys, that Granger girl, and several Slytherin students,” she said. “You can't all come in at once, you know. Mr. Potter, who would you like to invite in?”

“Which Weasleys and which Slytherins?”

“The twins, and your friend Ronald, for the Weasleys. Mr. Draco Malfoy and--”

“It's us!” Danzia called in. “Me and my lot of girls.”

Decisions, decisions, Harry thought. He put his glasses back on, and noticed they were cracked. Quite how that had happened, he didn't know. He took out his wand and repaired them with a spell.

“You may have up to four at once.”

“In that case, Ron, Hermione, Antigone, and... um... Draco.”

“Draco?” Ron said, disbelieving. “I know you two are pals now, but Draco over Danzia or Angela?”

“We don't mind,” Danzia and Angela said in stereo.

“Well you four, in you get. The rest of you wait out there.”

Ron got in first, followed by Hermione. Draco was next, followed by Antigone.

“Anyone know where Luna is?”

“She was out here earlier. She said she'd come in after the rest of us were done, if she could,” Antigone said. “She was concerned, of course, but once we found out you were okay, she wandered off, saying she'd be back later.”

“Prob'ly wants to give you a get-well kiss,” smirked Ron.

“Where were you earlier?” Hermione asked. “You weren't watching the game, as far as any of us could tell. You just showed up, and passed out.”

“I was in my special spot, listening to the rain. I was keeping dry until I sensed the dementors and ran to warn people.”

“Well mate, you were a bit late for that. Dumbledore had already noticed them. Just after you passed out, he shot something silver at them, and they took off,” said Ron.

“I've never seen Dumbledore so angry,” Hermione said, shuddering. “It was terrifying. No wonder you-know-who's scared of him, if he can look like that.”

“What, did he turn into a monster?” Harry asked.

“No. Just got extremely grim, and sort of... grew, with power. Not literally, just appeared to get taller and scarier.”

“What, like Gandalf?”

“Who's--”

“Yes, just like Gandalf,” Hermione agreed. “Ron, it's a story from a Muggle book. Gandalf was a wizard in that story.”

The conversation continued among them for several more minutes, until Madam Pomfrey urged them out of the hospital wing for Harry to interact with the next group. Then the same thing happened again, until Madam Pomfrey grudgingly let Luna in on her own, the Weasley twins making kissy noises at Harry as they left.

“I brought you something, Harry,” she said without preamble, handing him a book. It was about dementors. “I got it from the library.”

“Thank you, Luna. Maybe it'll have something in here about how to fight them.”

“I brought you something else, too. I had Neville get it for me,” she said, handing him something.

He took it and looked at it. It was his two-way mirror, half of the pair that let him talk with Luna when they were both in their respective towers.

“Thanks, Luna! This will help a lot.”

“You're welcome.”

He grinned. This would make the inevitable night spent in the hospital wing more bearable, by letting him talk with Luna.

*

On Monday, Professor Lupin was back at work. Most people complained about Snape assigning them homework. Lupin told them they didn't have to do it. Harry, who had already done the essay, raised his hand.

“Yes, Harry?”

“I've already done mine. If we've already done it, can we hand it in for extra credit?”

“Yes, Harry. Anyone who did Professor Snape's essay may hand it to me for extra credit.”

He and Hermione weren't the only ones to pass theirs up. In fact, roughly half the class had done it.

Just before turning his in, Harry wrote something on a margin: “Your boggart... I know what it is. Don't worry.”

Lupin froze, reading Harry's note on the essay. He then tapped it with his wand, and bent down next to Harry.

“You made a slight mistake here, Harry,” he said, pointing at the note. It now read 'See me after class.'

“Ah, so I did,” Harry said, erasing the words with his wand. “Nice catch, Professor.”

They spent the rest of the class learning about hinkypunks, little one-legged creatures who looked as though they were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless-looking.

“Lures travelers into bogs,” said Professor Lupin as they took notes. “You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —”

The hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass.

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door, Harry among them, but of course he had to stay behind. Lupin closed the door behind him, locked it, and put up silencing wards.

“Sit down, Harry.”

Harry took a seat. He would be worried if not for previous encounters with Lupin, and Lupin's pleasant expression.

“Don't want anyone overhearing our conversation,” Lupin explained.

“Understandable.”

“So, Harry, my boggart. You say you know what it is. So, what is it?”

“The full moon. You're a werewolf.”

“Correct on both counts. Snape's essay?”

“Yes. I figured out you were always ill during the full moon. But it was realizing that your boggart was the moon that let me finally put the pieces together. I assume Dumbledore knows?”

“Yes. Everyone on the staff knows.”

“How long have you had this illness?”

“Since I was a small child. Dumbledore let me come to Hogwarts despite it. You know the Whomping Willow?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“It was planted the year I came to Hogwarts. I used to go through a secret tunnel to the Shrieking Shack to change. Kept me away from humans, leaving me to have to bite and scratch myself instead of humans.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was. But now I have Professor Snape to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for me. You saw me drinking it once. It's very difficult to make, and I've never been very good at potions. Now, Harry, I must ask you to keep this a secret from the other students. I know, especially with Professor Snape dropping hints, that the secret will come out eventually, and when it does, I'll have to resign. Parents will not want a werewolf teaching their kids, even with me on the Wolfsbane Potion. But I would like to try to make it the whole year before resigning.”

“Your secret is safe with me, sir.”

“Good.”

“Sir? Did you hear about the match, too?”

“All those dementors, yes. I heard. Dumbledore was very angry. He was against them being brought here to begin with. If it were up to Dumbledore, they would all be taken away to a starvation colony in Siberia.”

“Starvation colony?”

“The only way to kill a dementor, that we know of, is to starve them to death. Which means taking them far away from people. Just a handful of wizards live at such places, in order to cast patronuses to keep the dementors from escaping. But they themselves are out of reach of the powers of the dementors.”

“Patronuses? What are those?”

“The Patronus Charm is the only defense wizards have against dementors. The charm summons a sort of anti-dementor, a projection of all the things dementors feed off, but they cannot feel despair as humans can, so the dementors have no power over them.”

“Is that what Dumbledore used against them at the match?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And you did it on the train, too, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Could you teach me that spell? With these dementors about, I don't want to be caught without a defense again. If I were to pass out, they could Kiss me.”

“Ah, so you know something about dementors?”

“My friend Luna got me a book from the library about them. I read about the Dementor's Kiss. It terrifies me, to think they can suck out souls.”

“As well it should. But Harry, I don't claim to be an expert. Far from it.”

“Yes, but you know how to do it. Sure, I could go to Dumbledore, but then I'd have to explain everything all over again, and... and the last time I passed out, I heard my mum being murdered.”

“Lily?” Lupin said, looking grim. “Okay, Harry. If it means so much to you, I'll do it. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays, and turning into a werewolf every month takes a lot out of me. Now, run along for now,” he said, unlocking the door.

With the promise of anti-dementor lessons, Harry's mood lifted a little. He still went outside to meet Shadow and speak to the dog about his dementor visions and the sadness they brought. Shadow continued to be a really good listener, even if he was starting to occasionally look preoccupied. Harry figured the dog was getting tired of listening, and wanted to play, so whenever he could, he started running around the wooded area, letting the large dog chase him.

Because it was getting colder, Harry had started to look into making a dog house for Shadow. Not being great shakes at transfiguration, he found it easier to ask Hagrid for help locating trees to get wood from. Since he didn't want to kill the trees, he picked ones with nice big branches to prune, explaining beforehand his intentions. Hagrid made a point of picking out trees that needed pruning anyway in case ice would hit, explaining that the heavy ice would damage the trees far more than pruning a few branches would.

The branches harvested, Harry looked up spells for woodworking, since he didn't have any woodworking tools, and was thus able to shape and treat the wood magically with his wand. Then Hagrid let him have some nails and a hammer to use. It took a lot of work, and occasionally he had to use his wand to remove the nails or repair the wood, but he managed to finish the doghouse a little before two weeks til the end of term. With help from Antigone, he carved runes into the wood and imbued them with the power of warming spells, a spell to keep wild animals away, and some security spells to protect Shadow.

He took the completed doghouse out to his rock by levitating it along with his wand. Shadow jumped around excitedly as Harry used a sticking charm to attach the doghouse to a large flat stone he'd discovered a little farther into the wooded area. He had dragged the flat stone closer to his favorite boulder. Even with his wand to help him, dragging that rock had been very difficult. But now it was close enough to see from his boulder, and the warming spells on the outside of the house would keep most of the snow away, so Shadow didn't get buried in the white stuff.

Miraculously, he had completed the project and set it in place just in time. The next morning he woke to an opaline white sky and frost all over the muddy ground. He checked on Shadow, and found that he was cozy and warm, still asleep inside the house Harry had built for him.

Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Both Ron and Hermione had decided to remain at Hogwarts, and though Ron said it was because he couldn’t stand two weeks with Percy, and Hermione insisted she needed to use the library, Harry wasn’t fooled; they were doing it to keep him company, and he was very grateful.

To everyone’s delight except Harry’s, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term.

“We can do all our Christmas shopping there!” said Hermione. “Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!”

Resigned to the fact that he would be the only third year staying behind again, Harry got out some catalogs he'd ordered so he could owl-order what presents he hadn't already bought for people. At least he could hang out with Luna, who was only a second-year, while the others went to Hogsmeade.

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to Ron and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed toward Ravenclaw Tower to look for Luna. Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet.

He was interrupted by a beckoning whisper from the Weasley twins, who beckoned him into a spare classroom beside a statue of a one-eyed witch.

“What's up? Why aren't you two off for one last trip to Zonko's?” Harry asked.

“Decided you could use an early Christmas present. Er, I mean Yule present. Forgot about that, sorry Harry.”

“It's fine. So what's this early Yule present?”

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stared at it.

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

“You're winding me up.”

“You wound us, Harry! When have we ever done you wrong?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Never mind that. We're serious, for once.”

“Yeah, this is no ordinary bit of parchment.”

And so Harry listened as they told the tale of finding the parchment in Filch's “confiscated and highly dangerous” cabinet, how Filch probably didn't know how to work it, and so on, without actually saying what it was.

“Okay, that's all interesting, but what is it?”

“Impatient, I see. Well, watch this,” said George.

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:
 
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present

THE MARAUDER’S MAP

 
It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Harry’s eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, he noticed something else.

“Secret passages,” he said.

“Yes. And these two go into Hogsmeade. Seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four” — he pointed them out — “but we’re sure we’re the only ones who know about these. Don’t bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it’s caved in — completely blocked. And we don’t reckon anyone’s ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow’s planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used it loads of times. And as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.”

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighed George, patting the heading of the map. “We owe them so much.”

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of law-breakers,” said Fred solemnly.

“Right,” said George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it —”

“— or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly.

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

“So, young Harry,” said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

“See you in Honeydukes,” said George, winking.

They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry stood there, gazing at the miraculous map. He watched the tiny ink Mrs. Norris turn left and pause to sniff at something on the floor. If Filch really didn’t know … he wouldn’t have to pass the dementors at all.

He briefly thought of something Mr. Weasley had said, 'Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.' But since Griffindors trusted something of that exact description every day – the portrait that guarded the entrance into their dorms – and there were scores of such portraits around, among all sorts of other similar thinking objects, it was pretty rubbish advice. And anyway, Fred and George had been using the thing for ages without it hurting them. And Riddle's diary had definitely felt far more alive than any portrait. This was, in fact, probably far less intelligent than any of the portraits.

Harry supposed the twins would have expected him to just shoot off on a whim, but it was cold outside, and he wasn't dressed for going out. So he wiped the map, stowed it in his pocket, and went up to Griffindor tower, where he retrieved his winter cloak and his money. And, since he'd seen a bunch of second-years hanging around, including Colin Creevy, he put his invisibility cloak over himself and used it to sneak away.

Just to be extra careful, he waited until somebody left through the portrait hole, following behind her. A first-year, she closed the door on his face, making him have to fight to not cry out. She glared curiously at the portrait. Seeming to decide the joints were stuck, she examined them.

“Anybody know a spell to make lubrication?” she called in.

As Harry left, he heard a fifth-year call back “Aren't you a bit young for a spell like that?” followed by laughter.

“Har har,” the girl said. “For the joints on the portrait, I mean!”

Harry didn't hear the rest of it, for he was too busy focusing on making it back to the one-eyed witch without bumping into anybody.

When he got there, he quietly activated the map again to make sure nobody was going to catch him at this. Also, he didn't know how to activate the secret exit. But the map, thankfully, could see him through the cloak, and showed him an image of himself tapping the hump and saying 'Dissendium.' So Harry did exactly that. The hump opened up, he checked one last time for Filch or Snape or any of the teachers, and when he saw nobody, he climbed in.

Once in, he lit his wand, wiped the map, and went along the passageway. It was long and twisty, and reminded him of a rabbit burrow. It took him ages to get to Hogsmeade, but finally he got to the end of the tunnel, where there was a trapdoor.

“Hominem revelio,” he said. The spell revealed someone coming toward the trapdoor, so he put the invisibility cloak on in case they came down it.

Several minutes passed, and he tried the spell again. Whoever it had been was gone. He couldn’t hear any sounds above him. Very slowly, he pushed the trapdoor open and peered over the edge.

He was in a cellar, which was full of wooden crates and boxes. Harry climbed out of the trapdoor and replaced it — it blended so perfectly with the dusty floor that it was impossible to tell it was there. Still, he decided to put some spells on the inside later to trap anyone other than himself that came down it. He was already compiling a list of such spells as he knew while he crept slowly toward the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Now he could definitely hear voices, not to mention the tinkle of a bell and the opening and shutting of a door.

Before long, he was up the stairs, still under the invisibility cloak in case someone caught him and asked why he was there. But he escaped, and soon had the cloak off. He had another thought, and looked around for a bathroom. There was a tiny one back there, single-occupancy only. He went in and locked the door.

Looking into the mirror, he used his wand to lengthen his fringe and fought to get it to go over his scar. He ended up having to hold it down with a Sticking Charm. But once he managed that feat, he changed his hair color to a light brown.

His glasses, though, were going to be a problem. He was still wearing the ugly old glasses his aunt and uncle had grudgingly gotten for him when they realized he wasn't banging into things on purpose. He made a mental note to get new ones. In the meantime, though, he changed their color to a dark blue, and squared off the lenses. He wasn't very confident in this, but if Clark Kent could be Superman with just a pair of glasses and parting his hair different... he shrugged, and put the glasses back on.

For one last disguise – and this was a tricky one because he couldn't have his glasses on when he did it, he changed his eyes' color to blue. He examined his handiwork in the mirror, with his glasses on. Yes, he looked different enough. They weren't strong transfigurations, so he'd revert to normal before supper, but that was plenty of time. He left the bathroom fairly confident nobody would recognize him until he spoke.

Harry waded through the mass of students, his eyes looking at all the amazing candies. He felt like he was in a Willy Wonka store. He half expected to see Everlasting Gobstoppers there.

Harry squeezed himself through a crowd of sixth years and saw a sign hanging in the farthest corner of the shop (UNUSUAL TASTES). Ron, Hermione, Antigone, and Danzia were standing underneath it, examining a tray of blood-flavored lollipops. Harry sneaked up behind them.

“Ugh, no, Harry won’t want one of those, they’re for vampires, I expect,” Hermione was saying.

“Ooh,” Danzia said, taking the jar. “I want to try one.”

“You're not a vampire!” Hermione exclaimed.

“So? I can't be curious?”

“How about these?” said Ron, shoving a jar of Cockroach Clusters under Hermione’s nose.

“Definitely not,” said Harry.

Ron nearly dropped the jar. Danzia burst out laughing at this.

“Harry!” squealed Hermione. “What are you doing here? How — how did you — ?”

“Wow!” said Ron, looking very impressed, “you’ve learned to Apparate!”

“Of course he hasn't,” Antigone said. “Though with Moldy's fixation on him, it wouldn't hurt to learn. You can't apparate in or out of the school unless you're a House Elf.”

“So, Troublemaker,” Danzia said, picking out a blood-flavored lollipop for herself and putting the jar back, “how'd you get past the dementors? Flying?”

“Didn't go over them, no. Doubt that would work anyway, they can fly. No, I went underneath them.”

He dropped his voice so that none of the sixth years could hear him and told them all about the Marauder’s Map.

“How come Fred and George never gave it to me!” said Ron, outraged. “I’m their brother!”

“You just answered your own question, Ron,” Danzia said with a smirk.

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” said Hermione, as though the idea were ludicrous. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

“No, I’m not!” said Harry.

“Yeah, why should he?” Danzia asked.

“Because of Sirius Black! He used to go to school here, you know. He could know about these passageways.”

“Which is why I intend to set some traps so only I can use the passageway into Honeyduke's. Filch knows about a bunch of them, and the only other one goes into the Shrieking Shack. I suppose you've heard that it's haunted?” Harry said. He had a hard time lying effectively, but this wasn't a lie, so it didn't count.

Hermione didn't look convinced.

“Don't fret, Hermione, I can help him out. I'll give him some runes and stuff he can use. Then we can work on the Hogwarts end of it later.”

“Well...”

“Plus,” Harry added, “the entrance is really hard to see. Blends in perfectly with the floor. I doubt even the owners know.”

“Yeah, and if Black broke in,” Ron said, “they'd hear. They live right over the shop.”

“Well okay, but what if Sirius Black comes to Hogsmeade to find Harry?”

“The whole town is swarming with dementors,” Danzia pointed out.

“And he's disguised. I barely recognize him even knowing it's him,” Antigone said.

“Also, there's loads of students here,” Ron said. “He'd get lost in the crowd.”

“I bet there's also aurors hanging around town, too,” Danzia added.

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said, exasperated. “I give in. But I don't like it.” She bit her lip, still worried.

“Are you going to report me?” Harry asked her, grinning.

“Oh — of course not — but honestly, Harry —”

“Seen the Fizzing Whizbees, Harry?” said Ron, grabbing him and leading him over to their barrel. “And the Jelly Slugs? And the Acid Pops? Fred gave me one of those when I was seven — it burnt a hole right through my tongue. I remember Mum walloping him with her broomstick.” Ron stared broodingly into the Acid Pop box. “Reckon Fred’d take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?”

Ron and the others took Harry around the store to look at everything. Among other things, Harry found something in a section for foreign imports. They were balls of some sort of bread with sesame seeds on the outside and a sort of bean curd on the inside. They were both sweet and savory. The owners gave him a free sample, and he liked it, so he bought a couple dozen.

Just like on the trolley, Harry ended up getting a bit of many different things. He wanted to get a bit of everything, but the store was so large that he doubted he'd ever be able to carry even one of everything, even if he skipped over the blood-flavored lollipops and other unusual tastes.

“Acid pops, honestly. Some of the things people like are weird,” Danzia said as she paid for her blood-flavored lollipop, a bit of cockroach cluster, and a dozen more normal candies.

“You're one to talk,” Ron muttered.

When they'd all paid for their sweets, the five of them left Honeydukes for the blizzard outside.

Hogsmeade looked like a Christmas card; the little thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees.

“That’s the post office —”

“Zonko’s is up there —”

“We could go up to the Shrieking Shack —”

“Tell you what,” said Ron, his teeth chattering, “shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?”

Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

“That’s Madam Rosmerta,” said Ron. “I’ll get the drinks, shall I?” he added, going slightly red. Harry noticed Antigone checking out Madam Rosmerta as well.

The rest of them made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.

“Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard.

Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak — Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

“Calm down, Jacob,” Antigone said to him, smirking. “You'll be fine.”

Hermione, apparently less convinced of the power of Harry's disguise, moved a Christmas tree in front of them with her wand.

Harry did his best to ignore the teachers and minister. It was hard, though, when their conversation was so loud. They ended up talking about Sirius Black, repeating the story Draco had told him. Hagrid clearly believed in Sirius's guilt, he was very vocally angry about it. There wasn't any new information in it, though, for Harry.

When the conversation ended and the teachers began heading back to the castle, he wondered if he should go back. The secret passage was long, and he had spells to cast. Resigned to such a short trip, he said his goodbyes and headed back to the secret passage.

End note 1: Yes, those of you in the know, Harry's Samhain ritual is a little unusual. I was taking into account the differences between the wizarding world and the Muggle world in this AU. I also took into account that Harry doesn't have any gods or goddesses yet, and might not ever. I haven't decided yet.

End note 2: Sorry this took so long. It's been like trying to get blood from a turnip lately with this story. That's on top of my usual depression and scheduled things I have to do.

End note 3: I wish I could remember which fanfic I originally read the idea of dementor starvation grounds in. But I've read so many HP fanfics they all kinda blend together. The only other things I remember about it was that Harry took a plane to Albania to study where Voldy had been hiding, and made friends with a young girl while there, then helped the Albanian government take away a dementor to Siberia.

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Neurotypicals: Book Three.
Or, "Aspie Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban."

Note: I do not own this. J. K. Rowling does. This is just fan fiction. No money is being made.

Note 2: There may be a few bits and pieces lifted word-for-word from the canon material. I tried to do that as little as possible, though.

Note 3: My writing has suffered from my fear of the Trump administration. :( As if I needed more things getting in the way of my writing. But that's why it's been so long between chapters.

Chapter 5: Yuletide Surprises

Harry woke up the next morning feeling blue. He hadn't gotten an invitation to spend Yule and Christmas with the Weasleys this year because Sirius Black was after him (and had been spotted a few times in the area), so the Burrow wouldn't be safe. Ron and Hermione had decided to stay behind, though. They gave excuses for why, but he knew the real reason was to be with him during the holidays, since he couldn't go to the Burrow. He appreciated it very much.

Sighing, he finally dragged himself out of bed and got ready to go down to breakfast. As usual, he squirreled away some spare food for Shadow the stray dog, and went out after breakfast to feed said stray. Since he knew he'd be doing this, he had carried his winter cloak with him to breakfast, shrugging it on before heading outside, with a woolen hat on over his head. He hated the texture of wool, it made him cringe, but it was a warm hat, so he tolerated it.

Shadow didn't come out to meet him as usual. Harry found him in the doghouse Harry had made, with its warming charms. He lured the dog out into the cold with sausage and bacon, and while Shadow ate the food, Harry renewed the warming charms. He hadn't yet gotten far enough in Ancient Runes to put any runes on the doghouse, as they were just learning the runes for the first half of the year. Shadow, shivering, went back into the dog house as soon as this was done and went back to sleep. Harry smiled, though he was a little disappointed.

Instead of moping, though, he got up and went back toward the castle. He met Ron and Hermione on the way there.

“Where're you two off to?” he asked.

“Hagrid's hut. We thought maybe you'd gone there.”

“Nope. Went off to feed Shadow. But going to Hagrid's sounds like a good idea.”

Ron nodded, and the three of them set off to Hagrid's hut, trailing a trench through the thick snow as they did, the only marks on the snow except for the trail from Shadow's doghouse.

When they got there, they knocked, but there wasn't any immediate answer. There was, however, an odd noise from within, that sounded like a wounded dog. Concerned, they knocked again, harder.

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

“Yeh’ve heard?” he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry’s neck.

Harry made a noise like a squirrel being trodden on. Having a man as huge as Hagrid hanging onto you when you were a 13 year old boy who could pass for 11 was not a fun experience, and soon Ron and Hermione were helping Harry out from under the massive man.

“Hagrid, what is it?” said Hermione, aghast.

Harry spotted an official-looking letter lying open on the table.

“What’s this, Hagrid?”

Hagrid’s sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:
 
Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

 
“Well, that’s okay then, Hagrid!” said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.
 
However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Goyle, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.
Yours in fellowship …

 
There followed a list of the school governors.

“Oh,” said Ron. “But you said Buckbeak isn’t a bad hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he’ll get off—”

“Yeh don’ know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures!” choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “They’ve got it in fer interestin’ creatures!”

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

“I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow!” choked Hagrid. “All on his own! At Christmas.”

They gave one another significant looks. Hagrid had a fixation on monstrous beasts. Though by Hagrid's usual standards, Buckbeak was a kitten.

“You’ll have to put up a good strong defense, Hagrid,” said Hermione, sitting down and laying a hand on Hagrid’s massive forearm. “I’m sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe.”

“Won’t make no diff’rence!” sobbed Hagrid. “Them Disposal devils, they’re all in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket! Scared o’ him! An’ if I lose the case, Buckbeak —”

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

“What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with it?” Harry asked, confused.

“He's friends with Goyle's father, remember?” Ron said.

“Oh yeah. And still evil. So, er... what about Dumbledore, Hagrid?” said Harry.

“He’s done more’n enough fer me already,” groaned Hagrid. “Got enough on his plate what with keepin’ them dementors outta the castle, an’ Sirius Black lurkin’ around —”

They continued to reassure Hagrid that they would do everything they could to help. Ron made everyone some tea as they talked. In the end, they got him to buck up. They began to speak of other things, then, like the boring flobberworms they'd had to do in class lately, which had all died from overfeeding. And, depressing as it was, the conversation turned to Azkaban, since Hagrid had to walk past the dementors to get to Hogsmeade for a drink. Harry briefly considered telling him about the secret passage into Honeydukes, but decided against it. Among other considerations, Hagrid would not have been able to fit through the entrance.

They assured Hagrid they would help him with research to defend Buckbeak, and tried to press on. But Hagrid was too depressed to be good at conversation today, so eventually they went back up to the castle and on to the library to do research for Hagrid's case.

They did a lot of research for Hagrid the week leading up to Christmas, with time-out on the 21st for Ron and Harry to do the ritual burning of the Yule Log, which Hermione watched on in fascination, her own parents being culturally Christian but not greatly religious. She'd never even heard of paganism still existing before Harry told her about it.

Shadow, when Harry visited him, was acting agitated for some reason. Harry would have said the dog was preoccupied, but he wasn't sure dogs could be preoccupied. But then, maybe Shadow was a magical dog; magical animals, be they owls, rats, or cats, tended to be more intelligent than Muggle animals. So for all he knew, the dog was preoccupied about something. He just wished he knew what it was.

About the only clue he had was that the dog seemed to get more agitated whenever Harry mentioned Ron. Something about Ron was bothering the dog. With this possibility in mind, Harry brought Ron over to Shadow one day, to see what the dog's reaction would be.

As they approached, Shadow appeared on a snowbank and looked curiously at them. When they got closer, he sniffed Ron with what looked like a concerned look in his eyes. He sniffed Ron's pockets the longest, with the most scrutiny, and even pawed at the pockets, but then looked disappointed when he didn't find whatever it was he was looking for.

“Oy, what's he sniffing me for?”

Harry shrugged. “No idea. Something's been bothering him for a while. Not sure what.”

“I don't have any food for you, boy, if that's what you're after,” Ron said.

But when Harry offered Shadow some sausage from breakfast, Shadow sniffed it, then took it and ate it with a reluctance that made Harry think the dog was disappointed, and was only settling for the offer.

“They didn't have any bacon today, sorry boy,” Harry said.

Shadow looked up at him as though to say 'Don't patronize me,' but then shook himself and looked a little more relaxed.

On the day before Christmas, Harry went out on his own to Shadow again, giving the dog some ham from breakfast. The dog still looked worried, but didn't move around as much, as though thinking. Harry appreciated the calmer energy, and cleared the snow off his favorite stone with his wand so he could sit down and watch Shadow pace back and forth a little. It was odd, but the pacing did make it seem like he was thinking.

After a few minutes, Harry got bored. Wondering what Hermione and Ron were doing, he got out the Marauder’s Map. When he said “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Shadow froze in place, his head snapping around and ears perking up. Then the dog came over and looked, goggle-eyed, at the Map.

“You like that, boy? Well just remember to look, not touch.”

The dog whined in a way Harry had a hard time identifying, and kept looking at the map, as though looking for something specific. Then the dog's gaze froze, looking at the Griffindor tower, and he whuffed several times, poking his nose at it.

“Oh yeah, that's my friend Ron. Wait a minute... what??”

Harry pulled the Map closer to his own eyes, to get a better look.

“Now that has to be a mistake. It says 'Peter Pettigrew.' But he's dead!”

Shadow barked at full volume several times.

“What's wrong, Shadow?”

The dog looked at Harry, then played dead, got back up, and ran off, before coming back, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry just looked confused. Shadow did it again.

“Yes, dead. That's what dead means. But dead people don't get back up again.”

Shadow did it yet again.

“I told you, dead people don't-- wait... unless he's not dead. Could he have faked his death? That would explain the oddity of only one finger and some robes being found. But that's silly. Even if he were alive, why would he fake his death? And he couldn't be here at Hogwarts.”

Shadow barked, then got up close to the Map again and pointed, whuffing, at McGonagall in her office.

“What? What about Professor McGonagall?”

Shadow began, then, to act like a cat. It was confusing Harry even more, even when Shadow would pause this cat behavior to bark and point at McGonagall.

And then he got it, and gasped. “Wait, McGonagall is an animagus. What if Pettigrew was one, too? SCABBERS! He's missing a toe! And didn't Ron say he's at least 12 years old? That's an... interesting number, given what happened 12 years ago. And rats don't live that long, normally.”

Shadow barked in a way that sounded like agreement.

Then Harry shrewdly looked at Shadow. “You know, if I didn't know a very clever cat, I'd almost suspect you were an animagus, too. But that would be a bit unbelievable.”

Something about Shadow's body language made Harry suspicious. Then several things clicked into place in his mind. It was impossible, surely? But then, this was the wizarding world. If Peter Pettigrew was an unregistered animagus...

“Shadow? If... well, if you are an animagus, you can reveal yourself to me. I think I know who you are, anyway.”

Shadow whined and cocked his head.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

The dog nodded, looked around to make sure they were alone, then, suddenly, was a man. Harry had to work at not flinching, even though he had been kinda expecting this. For right in front of him was Sirius Black, who was kneeling in the snow with his hands in the air. Harry got out his wand and pointed it at the man, more as a just-in-case measure.

“I'm sorry for the ruse, Harry,” said a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years, “but it's not safe for me out here. In fact, it's cold enough out here I won't be able to feel the dementors coming. I know somewhere we can talk in private, if you're willing to trust me.”

Harry didn't say anything at first. He was still trying to rearrange his thoughts. This morning, he had been talking to his pet dog. Now he was faced with the truth that his pet was actually a man. And as weird as that was, if Harry was right about Pettigrew, Ron was in an extremely creepy situation that made his own look like hilarious hijinks by comparison.

Finally, he said, “No, I don't know you enough to trust you. Yes, you could have killed me at any time this year, but still, I don't even know you.”

Sirius nodded. “I understand.”

“Good. Do you have a wand?”

Sirius gave an unhappy bark of laughter. “Of course not. It's still in Azkaban, or wherever it is they put prisoners' wands. I don't need a wand to transform, though.”

Harry nodded. “Immobulus,” he said, gluing the man to the ground with a spell. “So you can tell me why you're here, explain the situation to me best you can, as quickly as you can, then turn back to a dog.”

“Thank you. So, what happened. Well, to start, I wasn't your parents' secret keeper. I was going to be, but then I convinced your parents to switch to their other friend Peter at the last minute. I thought it was a great ruse. Nobody would suspect the weak, talentless Peter. The way the Fidelius Charm works, the secret keepers are chosen by the people who have to be hidden. We didn't even tell Dumbledore, who cast the spell, that we'd switched. The night it happened, I went to check on Peter, but he wasn't where he should have been. I'd had no idea til then that he was a traitor, but there was no sign of a struggle, so I figured it out. I rushed to your parents' house, but it was too late.

“Hagrid was there by the time I got there, collecting you from the debris. He told me Dumbledore said you were to go to your aunt and uncle's. I thought even then that was a stupid idea, but I trusted Dumbledore and Hagrid, and I was too beset by grief to object too strenuously. And then I made the second greatest mistake of my life, and went after Pettigrew without even telling Hagrid the truth. I could have; the house and two of its three occupants were dead, so the Fidelius Charm was not working anymore. But like I said, I wasn't thinking straight.

“I chased Pettigrew down, thinking to stop him and turn him in, telling Dumbledore the truth. But he called out for everyone to hear that I was the traitor, blasted the street apart, turned into a rat, and ran away. Between Peter outwitting me, the dead bodies and debris everywhere, and the fact I had almost no chance to find him after that, I had a bit of a mental breakdown and started laughing like mad. I think I was still laughing when they threw me in Azkaban.

“And then other things happened in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall. Several of his most loyal lieutenants went looking for him, and tortured the Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom for information. They went too far, driving the pair of them insane, because of course nobody but Voldemort knew where he was at that time. That drew so much outrage from the community that between that and the rest of the post-Voldemort chaos, they forgot about me, and I never got a trial as a result. I think there was some kind of unofficial hearing where Fudge testified against me, since he was there when I was arrested.

“Now, I didn't know any of this at the time, I've only pieced it together since then from newspapers and eavesdropping and other scattered news sources.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I have some questions. But before I ask them, we should go somewhere safer. You said you knew somewhere we could go?”

“Yes. But, er... it's daylight out. And there aren't as many students to keep track of. The entrance to the place I had in mind is kind of out in the open. You might want to go back for your father's cloak.”

“You know about--- of course you do, you were friends in school. But, er... it's kinda snowy out there, people might spot that.”

“Right. But from a window? When all the light is bouncing around? Anyway, I'll be in front of you as Shadow, that'll disguise it somewhat. I'll wait here for you in dog form.”

Sirius then turned into a dog again, and sat there waiting.

Harry wiped the Map, put it away, and went back up to the castle to fetch his invisibility cloak. He avoided the library, which he knew from looking at the Map before wiping it, was where Ron and Hermione were. Within 20 minutes, he was heading back to Shadow—er, Sirius with the Cloak in his pocket.

Shadow was there waiting. He waited for Harry to put the Cloak on, and then led the way. As soon as Harry saw they were heading toward the Whomping Willow, he had half a notion where they were going. Harry watched Shadow weave through the swinging branches and hit a knot, freezing them in place, allowing Harry to climb through the hole in the roots behind Shadow.

Once they were in and along the path enough to reasonably not be heard, Harry asked, “Where are we going?”

Shadow just whuffed in an annoyed sort of way.

“Oh yeah, changing in here might be a little painful. Sorry.”

As they went along, Harry's mind was going, processing the strange situation. You are trusting an escaped prisoner, who was accused of mass murder, and a name on a questionable magical artifact, it said.

Yes, but he could have killed me at any time. He could have torn my throat out and it would just seem like an animal attack.

His mind didn't have an answer to that one yet. So he knew he was trusting his own understanding of the situation, and not just an escaped prisoner charged with murder.

The tunnel began to rise, until it got to the end. Shadow did something, disappearing, and suddenly there was a square of dim light shining down from the ceiling. It was a trapdoor, and led into a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded up. He climbed up after Shadow/Sirius and shut the trapdoor behind him, very much aware as he did what Hermione and Ron would say if they knew he was here in what looked like the Shrieking Shack with Black.

Black, for his part, remained a dog until Harry was standing and had his wand out. When he turned back to a human, he was again kneeling and had his arms in the air in surrender. Though Harry realized now he only had the man's word that he was unarmed, and wasn't sure how good a wand would do against a 30-some year old Animagus. He stood back a bit from Black just in case.

“Expelliarmus!” he cast at the man just in case. Black was pushed back a bit, but managed to keep from falling over.

“Good thinking, Harry. Can't be too careful. I don't suppose you've learned the Summoning Charm yet?”

“Not yet. I am ahead of my year in a lot of things, but I haven't learned that one yet.”

“Ah. Well I'd tell you how to do it, but it might take even you a day or two to actually figure out how to cast it. But I assure you I don't have a wand. Where would I get one? They don't let prisoners have wands.”

“True. I believe you on that. Doesn't mean you couldn't have stolen one somehow. Anyway, I have some questions, as I said.”

“I'll try my best to answer them.”

“How did you escape Azkaban? For that matter, how did you keep your powers in Azkaban, after 12 years?”

“I'm not sure. But I think it's because I knew I was innocent. I stayed there because I felt I deserved it for convincing James and Lily to switch secret keepers to Peter, but that didn't change the fact I knew I was innocent. It wasn't a happy thought, so the dementors couldn't take it from me. So when things got to be too much, I would transform into a dog in my cell. Dementors are blind, sensing people by their emotions, and animal emotions are hard for them to sense.”

“How did you know where Peter Pettigrew was?”

“Only by luck. It can get boring in Azkaban if you're able to keep your mind like I did, so one day I asked Fudge for the paper when he was inspecting the place. I told him I wanted to do the crossword, but really I wanted news of you, since you're my godson and all that's left of my best friend and his wife. That's when I spotted... well, if you'll let me pull it out of my robes, it's a newspaper clipping, I assure you.”

“Go ahead.”

Black cautiously pulled out a newspaper clipping from his robes and showed it to Harry. It was a picture of himself and the Weasleys in front of a backdrop that looked like sand, from just before their trip to Egypt.

“Ah... Fudge said you were saying, 'He's at Hogwarts.' You recognized Pettigrew?”

“Yes, I did. And from what else it said, I knew he was in a position to hurt you if any hint of Voldemort rising again reached his ears. He's a coward. He ran not from me, but from the other Death Eaters who thought he was the reason Voldemort fell. But if Voldemort rises again and Peter takes you to Voldemort, who would dare say he betrayed the Death Eaters? So I was worried for you, with that traitor so close to you.”

“Makes sense. Now the biggest question: why are you and he unregistered Animagi?”

“It was because of a friend of ours in school, named Remus Lupin---”

“You know Professor Lupin?”

“Professor?” Black barked with laughter. “So Moony got a job as a teacher? Figures Dumbledore would let him. Not sure how he convinced the others, though.”

“Moony? Wait! Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?”

“Yes, we were the Marauders in our school days. We made that Map you were looking at earlier. Which is why I perked up when I heard you say the phrase that turns it on. We were rather clever in school. That Map took a lot of work; arithmancy, ancient runes, charms, even a potion or two. Took us longer than working out how to become Animagi.”

“And why did you and Pettigrew become--- wait, did you say you became an Animagus in school?”

“Yes. Took us most of three years to work it out, but we did. It was very dangerous and irresponsible of us to do, but we were young and full of ourselves at our cleverness. And we did it because we very quickly figured out that one of our best friends, Remus Lupin, was a... now, I don't want you to panic, but he's, well... a--.”

“--werewolf, I know. I figured it out not long after my first class with him.”

Sirius laughed again. “Why am I not surprised? You've got brains on both your mom and dad's sides, after all.”

“So how did you and Peter becoming Animagi help Lupin?”

“Wasn't just him and me. It was James as well. He was Prongs. I'm Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. Naturally, Lupin is Moony. So what's he teaching, anyway?”

“Defense Against The Dark Arts. And he's pretty good at it.”

“Oh boy. That means he'll be out by the end of the year. That position is cursed.”

“Yeah, I've heard that rumor, too.”

“Not a rumor. Dumbledore verified it to me and a few others. Voldemort cursed it after being refused the job, back before the war started.”

Harry's eyes went wide. “He wanted to teach here?”

“Yes. He wanted to use it as a recruiting tool. He might've gotten in if Dippet had been the headmaster still, but Dumbledore was headmaster by then, and saw right through Voldemort.”

“Wow... so, getting back on track, you, my dad, and Peter became unregistered Animagi to help Moony somehow? How did that help?”

“Well werewolves, when they transform, are driven to bite or scratch humans, to infect them. But animals are immune to the disease. So too are animagi. We could keep him company, which calmed him a lot. And Prongs and I were such big animals we could keep a werewolf in check if he got too rowdy. We did a lot of stupid things back then after that, running around the grounds with Moony along for the ride. He could have escaped and bitten someone, but we were too young and stupid and carried away with our cleverness to care at the time, even after several near misses. Anyway, we got to know the castle and grounds so well we made the Marauder's Map. It never lies, and can see through invisibility cloaks and animagus transformations. If Peter's on the Map, that means he's alive. And he's hiding as your friend Ron's pet Scabbers.”

Harry stood thinking, his wand wavering only a little. Then he slapped his face in sudden realization. “Luna's necklace!”

“Pardon?”

Harry reached under his robes and pulled out the necklace. “There's a button on this necklace Luna Lovegood, a friend of mine, gave me. The button in question drives animals nuts, but it never worked on Scabbers. Humans aren't supposed to be able to hear it either, but I can sort of hear it. It's not very annoying to me, at least not compared to what it does to animals.”

“Ah, yes. Even in our animal forms, there are some things animagi can't hear, that animals can. The transformation isn't complete, after all. If it were, we wouldn't be able to turn back, nor to think like humans. Granted, our thoughts are kind of simplified in animal form, but we're still damn clever as animals.”

“I noticed.”

Sirius nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry said. “So everything you've said so far makes sense, but there's the problem of proof; that is, you have none. Sure, you might be telling the truth that this Map was made by you and my dad, and that it never lies. But two other possibilities exist: you could be lying, and using a glitch in the map to give me a plausible excuse to get me in here. Or you really did help make the Map, and you can somehow affect it from a distance to make it lie for your benefit.”

“But I don't have a wand, so how would I do that?”

“You could be lying about having a wand.”

“True. But I'm a very large dog when I'm an Animagus. If I was trying to hurt you, I could have killed you that way.”

“Yes. And that's the main reason I've trusted you this much. The other reason being that I've always thought something was off about the story of the crime you were accused of. And your story fills in the missing pieces perfectly.”

“I swear to you, on my magic, that I didn't betray your parents. I as good as killed them by convincing them to switch to Peter, but I didn't know he was a traitor. I would have died rather than betray Lily and James. I would have been tortured into insanity rather than betray them.”

“Hmm... I know aspies don't have a reputation for being good with body language and emotions, but I lived with emotionally abusive guardians, so I'm pretty good at that stuff.”

“What's an aspie?”

“It's short for Asperger's Syndrome. It's a mental condition I have. It manifests differently in everyone who has it, but is usually characterized by social impairments, issues with certain sensory inputs, a hard time making and maintaining eye contact with others, a tendency towards honesty---even to a fault, obsessive interests, tendency towards rigid daily rituals, a tendency towards higher than average intelligence (but not necessarily so), and the ability to focus for hours at a time on tasks that others would consider monotonous and dull. There are other possible symptoms, but those are the big ones.”

“Oh. That must be something the Muggles worked out. They're a lot better than wizards at that sort of mind-healing stuff.”

“Yes, I read about it in the Diagnostic Statistical Manual at the library. Because the Dursleys don't like spending money on me, I don't have an official diagnosis, but I'm pretty confident in my self diagnosis. I'll get it confirmed as soon as I'm able. Though come to think of it, I could probably pay for the psychiatrist time from my Gringott's account.”

“Ah, okay. I don't know what else to say to that, for now. So, er... do you have any other questions for me?”

“Yes, I do in fact. I take it you escaped to save me from Pettigrew. But what do you intend to do about him, anyway?”

“I was thinking I'd capture him and commit the murder I was imprisoned for. His, I mean.”

“Well that wouldn't be very smart,” Harry said. “You'd still be on the run if you did. We need to capture him and force him to become human again, if that's even possible.”

“I don't know if it is or not, but Moony might know.”

“That's another thing; if Lupin knows you're an Animagus, how are you not captured yet?”

“I've been wondering the same thing myself. I'm sure you'll have to ask him yourself, but my guess is that he's feeling guilty about violating Dumbledore's trust when we were in school. He was always the goody-two-shoes of the group, though he always made excuses for not turning us in when he should have.”

“Okay. But you still have no proof. We have no proof. How should we proceed?”

“Well, we have to find a way to get proof. But we need allies for that. Unless you can capture Peter yourself.”

“I'm not sure how I'd do that. If he was just a rat, sure. But an Animagus? I'd need help with that.”

“Do you have any friends you can trust with this?”

“Hmm... I dunno. Ron and Hermione believe your guilt, they'd be harder to convince then me, and horrified I'd trusted you this much. Draco's on my side about being unsure of your guilt, so maybe he could help when he gets back after the holidays.”

“Draco? Is that the Malfoy boy?”

“Yes. He's on my side now. I think I told you, in fact, when I thought you were just a dog.”

“I remember. I don't like you trusting a Malfoy, but you're trusting me, so I'll withhold judgment of the Malfoy boy for now.”

“Good,” Harry said absently. “Well I don't have any plans at the moment, but I'll work on something. I have some other Slytherin friends who might believe me, too. But like Draco, they're all at home for the holidays. Something for later, then. In the meantime, I have another question.”

“What's that, Harry?”

“Have you been getting enough to eat? I can't imagine table scraps is enough for a full-grown man, and you're pretty large as a dog, too.”

“Oh, I've been supplementing my diet with rats and rabbits, the occasional snake. I know it's a bit risky, even as a dog, but I'll take the risk of parasites over the certainty of starving.”

“Well I can get you some more food easily enough by going to the kitchens and asking for some dog food for my pet dog.”

“Ah, well, I can't imagine it tastes very good, but has to be better than raw rats and other animals. But you know, wolves will often eat rats if they can't find larger prey, and they're surprisingly nutritious, at least in wild areas like this. I don't think even I could get hungry enough to eat city rats, though.

“By the way, Harry, I've been communicating with a bandy-legged Persian cat lately. He didn't trust me at first, but I've started to get through to him. He lives in Griffindor tower, I think. Might be an ally. He seems clever enough for humans to communicate with him, too.”

“You've been communicating with Crookshanks?”

“Oh, is that his name? I didn't know. Animal language is mostly body language, at least with cats and dogs. And I'll tell you, it's not easy for a cat and a dog to communicate; cat and dog languages are very different. Wagging a tail, for instance. In dog, that's happiness or excitement, but in cat language, that's the equivalent of 'sod off.'”

Harry laughed. “No wonder cats and dogs don't often get along with each other. I can just see it now, a cat watching a dog bounding toward it, the dog's tail saying 'sod off, sod off, sod off' from the cat's point of view. Must be pretty intimidating.”

“Yeah, it is. Which is why I was trying to speak Cat to Crookshanks before, but I think he must be part kneazle, because he knew I wasn't a dog from the off. I suspect he saw right through Peter's disguise, too.”

“Now that you mention it, Crookshanks did attack Scabbers in the Magical Menagerie, and continues to attack him every chance he gets. And it hadn't occurred to me before, but it now seems obvious to be that cats don't normally fixate on one animal like that. Especially with all the rats that must live in this castle.”

“Exactly.”

“By the way, what's a kneazle?”

“Magical creature a bit like a large cat with a lion-like tail. They're very loyal, intelligent, can detect untrustworthy people, and have an excellent sense of direction. But full-blooded kneazles tend to be aggressive, so they've got a triple-X rating from the Ministry when they're full-blooded. You need a special license to keep a full-blooded kneazle, so unless whoever owns Crookshanks has that, he must be at least half house cat.”

“Yeah, I think you're right. He's Hermione's cat. And now I think about it, the sneak-o-scope was going off around Scabbers. Ron thought it was broken, because it's a cheap one he got in Egypt, but now I don't think so.”

“You sound like you're coming around.”

“Well there's still no proof, of course, but it is the most logical explanation. I'll double-check your words on kneazles, and owl the Magical Menagerie about Crookshanks. That'll help ease my mind even more while I try to think of what to do about Scabbers. Anyway, I should be heading back. If you could guide me back to your doghouse so I can make it seem I was in there the whole time, that would be a big help.”

“Anything for my godson,” he said, turning back into a dog and heading back into the secret passage.

~

“Where've you been all morning?” Ron asked indignantly when Harry finally got in for lunch. “We were in the library researching stuff to save Buckbeak, we thought you were gonna join us after you fed Shadow.”

“Oh sorry, I was playing with him for a while and lost track of the time.”

“Well alright, but you can feed him again later. Help us in the library after lunch.”

He nodded, and they ate lunch. He asked them if they'd found anything yet, but they hadn't found a whole lot.

“I still reckon we should ask Dumbledore. Hagrid may not want to involve him, but it's worth at least asking him, isn't it?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. But later. Maybe we can find something in the library first.”

After lunch, they went together to the library, but Harry was having a hard time concentrating on researching animal attacks for Buckbeak's case, consumed as he was with the whole Sirius Black/Peter Pettigrew conundrum. Despite his words to Sirius, he was certain Sirius was right, because the whole story made too much sense to Harry to think otherwise, but the fact remained that they did still still need proof. The ultimate proof would be forcing Scabbers into his true form, but Harry didn't know how to do that, and it sounded like an N.E.W.T.-level spell at least. Plus, there was the matter of holding him down long enough to cast the spell without putting him in a cage.

If Harry had just needed to kill Pettigrew, it would be easy enough. Just take his pet snake out of the Room of Requirement and sic it on the rat; he'd just have to do it when Ron and Hermione were elsewhere in the castle. Those venomous fangs would take care of the little sod quick enough. But he couldn't risk using Cleopatra against Scabbers to capture him, because he wasn't sure Cleo would understand well enough to not bite the rat.

He wondered if he could enlist the Weasley twins in this. He momentarily thought it was very odd that they'd never spotted Peter on the Map, but usually there were too many people in Griffindor tower to spot one person in the chaos, and even when there were only a few people here, they might have thought it was a glitch in the Map, or else showing a ghost. Or maybe they didn't even use the Map during the holidays, when they were here?

Another possible ally was Lupin, of course. But he wasn't sure how his professor would take the news. Still, if he explained things properly, maybe Lupin wouldn't freak out. The only problem was that the full moon was approaching in a few days, and Lupin always started looking more ill than normal a few days before that. He didn't want to bother the professor during that time of the month.

He considered Dumbledore. Dumbledore would understand, and he had the suspicion the man had some way of knowing when he was being lied to, but it was still a daunting prospect, telling the headmaster. He had the power to sack Lupin and call in the minister and Aurors, if he didn't believe the story.

After a great deal of thought on the matter, Harry decided to talk with Lupin first, run some hypotheticals past the man. That would give him at least another week to think and plan even more.

Just before they gave up researching for the day, Harry asked Madam Pince for a few other books. He asked first about dog food recipes, then for anything about the Fidelius Charm, not caring if anyone knew that he knew about it. He could always say Draco told him about it, as it was the truth; he'd known about the Fidelius Charm since before school started, thanks to Draco's letter.

He also asked for books about Animagi, but Madam Pince refused flatly, saying that those books were in the Restricted Section. That made sense to Harry, but disappointed him. He had only wanted to see how likely it was for three Hogwarts students to be able to become Animagi on their own during school. But he didn't push it, since Lupin could confirm or deny the allegation.

“Whatcha got there?” Ron asked. “Dog food recipes and a book about the Fidelius Charm?”

“First book is for Shadow. He's a big dog, but it didn't occur to me to wonder how a few table scraps were making him gain so much weight, until I witnessed him eating rats. He's risking parasites that way, so I decided to see if I could get the house elves to make some dog food for him. I got the recipe book to see how nutritious the recipes are for dogs.”

“And the other book?” Hermione asked shrewdly.

“I got curious about what all is involved with the Fidelius Charm. Everyone seems so certain they know how it works, but just from reading the first chapter, I can tell you that it's such a complicated spell that they don't even teach it at N.E.W.T. level. It's the kind of spell only Charms Masters know, and even then only the best of the best. I hate to say it, but I'm not sure even Flitwick is that good.”

“What's that matter?”

“It matters, Ron, because it means not many people actually know how the spell works, so there may be something in here that contradicts the usual story about my parents' death.”

“Oh, that again. Why can't you just drop it?”

“I can't drop it for the same reason I couldn't drop the mystery of the philosopher's stone, or the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets. It's a mystery to me, doesn't sit right. I mean to say, what kind of spell only leaves one finger and a bit of robes but also blasts the street apart, killing 12 other people? And don't tell me 'some Dark spell,' Ron. It doesn't make any logical sense. Spells may be magic, but they have rules, we've been learning that in Arithmancy. And I've done a bit of reading ahead in Transfiguration, too, and there are rules there as well. Like, you can't transfigure edible food, and you can't actually turn one thing into something else, just into something that looks and acts like something else. To even begin to approach something that might conceivably be able to rearrange the actual atoms of an object, you have to go into Alchemy, and even that has its limits. Though that may be more a conceptual limit than anything else. Since most wizards don't know about atoms, I wonder if knowing about atoms might change the rules of transfiguration or alchemy? Hmm... I'll have to look into that later, in 6th or 7th year or beyond; if I can make breakthroughs in that area, I could become famous for something I actually achieved myself.”

“Whadda ya mean 'beyond'?”

“Well it is possible to stay in Hogwarts for longer than seven years, if you want to take some Mastery-level classes like Alchemy, from Dumbledore. You can't get an actual Mastery at Hogwarts, as N.E.W.T. is the highest qualification the school has, but you can get a head start on Mastery-level stuff here at Hogwarts, and finish up elsewhere.”

“And you want to be that much of a swot?”

“Hey, if I can expand the range of wizarding powers with knowledge from the Muggle world, not only will that get me in textbooks and other books, maybe even win me awards, it should also put a sizable hole in the whole pureblood mania thing. Plus, I'd go from being just the Boy-Who-Lived to someone more like Dumbledore. You know, famous for some actual accomplishment. Plus, it might help if Voldemort ever rises again.”

Ron flinched at the name. “Say You-Know-Who will you?”

Harry sighed in exasperation at Ron.

~~~

Dear Harry,

I don't remember if I told you this or not, but I wasn't looking forward to going home this Christmas. Well, seems I was right to dread it. I'm fine, but Father and I had another row. It was a bad one. Mother had to beg me not to run away from home, and she struggled to calm Father down. I suspect he'll be sending you a letter at some point demanding you stay away from me, but I want you to ignore him if he does. Not completely; you should still reply to him if he writes you. I don't know what you should say, but he'll be even angrier if you don't respond.

Anyway, I'm including my Yule gift to you in this package. Sorry it's late; I forgot until just yesterday that you don't really like Christmas. I hope you like it.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy

Harry set the letter aside and put Draco's package next to a small decorated Yule tree he'd bought at Hogsmeade. It was a sapling in a planter, and thus alive. He was planning to keep it until Spring and then plant it on the grounds somewhere, probably over near where Shadow's doghouse was. Sure, he preferred Yule, but since Christmas was what many of his friends celebrated instead, he didn't mind waiting to open his presents then.

As he set the present down with others from his friends, it occurred to him that Sirius had probably only used the doghouse to humor Harry, since he could get into the Shrieking Shack, which had to be a lot cozier than a doghouse, even if there were no warming charms there because of Sirius's lack of a wand. He made a mental note to cast some warming charms on the Shack the next time he was there.

He had finished reading through the book of dog food recipes. He had cross-referenced it with a book about what kinds of things dogs were allergic to. He didn't know if that would make a difference for an animagus or not, since transfiguration didn't really change what something was, just what it looked and acted like, but since he didn't know much about the animagus transformation yet, he decided it was better to be safe than sorry. He had found out enough, though, to come up with his own dog-food recipe that would hopefully taste better to Sirius.

Since he didn't want to be out past curfew, he called Netty the House Elf and asked her to give the recipe to the house elves, and why. Netty was only too pleased to help, as usual.

~ ~ ~

On Christmas, Ron and Hermione woke him up and the three of them opened gifts in their pajamas. Harry was pleased to note that his Slytherin friends Antigone, Angela, and Danzia had sent Ron and Hermione gifts as well. Even Draco had decided to give Ron and Hermione gifts as well. Harry was a little concerned about how Ron would react to this. Ron was suspicious, but after having Hermione do some tests on it with her wand, he opened it and looked to see what it was. He was surprised to find that Draco had sent him a brand-new Cleansweep 7 broomstick.

“WOW!” Ron said in awe. “My own broomstick! Hmm... maybe Draco isn't half bad after all.”

“This must be his way of apologizing for making fun of your family in the past,” Hermione said.

“Well if so, apology accepted. I'll have to send him a thank-you note.”

“He knew enough not to get you a really expensive broom, too, in case you didn't accept something so pricey.”

“Yeah. Wow, we'll have to take this to the grounds later so I can fly it. What'd he get you, Hermione?”

She searched around for her gift from Draco. As she did, Harry leaned over to Ron.

“You're not upset Draco got you such an expensive gift?” Harry asked Ron so only Ron could hear. “You don't usually like people to get you expensive gifts.”

“Yeah, well... it's only because he got me a broomstick my parents could afford, if I did something to earn one, like becoming Prefect. If he'd gotten me something pricier, I might have thought he was trying to rub in my face that he's rich, even if he's gotten better.”

“So if I had gotten it for you instead of him?”

Ron shrugged. “You could probably get me a Nimbus and I wouldn't have minded. It's you, after all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I'm trying to be better about that kind of thing. Try to not be so prideful.”

Harry blinked, surprised but pleased.

“Are you two done talking now? I was waiting to open my gift from Draco until you were done.”

“Sorry, 'mione, go ahead,” Ron said.

She nodded, and tore open the paper covering her gift from Draco, then opened the box. From inside, she pulled out... a book.

Ron chuckled. “He's got you pegged, 'mione.”

She pulled out the large tome and Harry caught the title. “'Advances in Modern Arithmancy' by Archimedes Lancaster,” Harry read aloud. “Oh yeah, you and Draco are the two top Arithmancy students in our year, aren't you?”

“Er, yes,” she said.

“What, Draco's doing better in a class than you, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “We can't all be good at everything. I struggle with maths. If I had a calculator that worked in Hogwarts, that would help me a lot. And I don't know how to use an abacus.”

“Really? Well I could teach you, if you'd like?”

“Sure thing, Hermione. That would be useful. Can I look at that book a little?”

“Of course, Harry. I still have my other gifts to open.”

Harry looked inside the large book. It was over 1000 pages long, and the pages were huge. He looked at some of the maths in it. He didn't understand any of it at all. But then, it looked to be Mastery level maths.

“This looks well past N.E.W.T. level, Hermione. Will you be able to understand it?”

“Probably not without help from Professor Vector. Even with her help, it'll likely be very challenging. But it'll be fascinating to try.”

“What'd he get you, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry opened his own gift from Draco. When he looked at it, he burst out laughing.

“Oy, what's funny?”

Harry managed to stop laughing, and took the gift out. It was a book.

“It's not really funny, it's just that I've been thinking lately about this subject.”

He held up the book. It was called “An Introduction to the Animagus Transformation” by Asena MacLir.

“Oooh!” Hermione cried out all of a sudden, from her examination of the book Draco had gotten her. “Lancaster is a Muggle-born, and all of the maths in this book are taken from higher-level Muggle maths from his time studying at Muggle university, which are well beyond anything wizards have yet on their own!”

Harry chuckled. “I guess that proves Draco is taking Muggles seriously now.”

“Anyway, Harry, is that book Draco got you about how to become an Animagus?”

“I think so. Hold on, there's a note.”

Harry, the note read, I had a hard time getting this book for you without Father or Mother finding out, but I figured with You-Know-Who after you that it might be useful later. I'm given to understand he's still a spirit right now, but if it's true that he can get a new body, then you might need this. As the title suggests, it is a book about how to become an Animagus. I wouldn't recommend doing it on your own, but I also wouldn't recommend going through the Ministry. You-Know-Who went after the Ministry last time, so it might be best to keep it a secret if you become an Animagus.

“Wow, this is a really good gift. I'll be giving Draco a thank-you note when he gets back.”

“What? Oh, right; his father might not appreciate us sending him things to his house. By the way, did you get him something?”

“Yeah. I gave it to him before he left.”

“Oh? Mind telling us what you got him?”

“A few books about Muggle subjects. A used science textbook, a book about the history of science, and a few Muggle novels.”

“Oh? Which novels?” Hermione asked with interest.

“Let's see... Orwell's 1984 and Animal Farm, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee, and 'White Fang' by Jack London.”

“Ooh, we should do Muggle classics in MAC! We could start with those.”

“Muggles write novels?”

“Yes. I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure they invented novels. I know about the people who invented novels, and they're probably all Muggles. They were all women, too, come to that.”

“They were?”

“Yes. Mary Shelley wrote the first science fiction novel. Then Baroness Orczy wrote the first superhero novel when she wrote 'The Scarlet Pimpernell.' And the first ever 'modern' novel was written in 1007 AD in Japan, by Murasaki Shikibu. It was called 'The Tale of Genji.' And I seem to recall, also, that there may have been one even older than that. Some woman, I forget her name, wrote a book back in like, Assyria or Mesopotamia. But I don't remember any more about it than that.”

“Wow, Harry,” Hermione said. “Even I didn't know all of that. I knew about Mary Shelley and Baroness Orczy, but I didn't know about 'The Tale of Genji.' I'll have to look into that later, just to see for myself.”

Harry shrugged. “The history of writing was a special interest of mine for a time.”

They went back to their Christmas/Yule gifts, then. From Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry got a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle, as well as a Weasley sweater. The Weasley twins got him a couple things from Zonko's. From Ron, he got a wizarding novel that took place back during the witch hunts in Europe. Hermione got him a copy of “The Handmaid's Tale” by Margaret Atwood.

The gifts he got from his other Slytherin friends came next. Antigone got him a catalog of magical glasses frames from a wizarding optometrist in Diagon Alley, which he appreciated because the cheap glasses he had, his aunt and uncle had only got him because he kept knocking over things and running into walls without them. It hadn't really occurred to him before to get new ones. Inside the catalog was a gift certificate for the place, in the amount of ten galleons. Harry thought that was a little pricey for glasses, but considering what some of the glasses in the catalog could do, the price made sense.

Angela had gotten Harry a nifty gadget that was like a portable Foe Glass crossed with a sneak-o-scope. According to the instructions, it would detect enemies like a Foe Glass and even showed them in a little mirror inside the device (which opened like a makeup compact), and would vibrate and heat up in his pocket if it detected they were close enough to see the whites of their eyes. It was so amazing and useful that Ron and Hermione both fawned over it, too.

He set that aside and opened his gift from Danzia. It was a box of 77% cacao dark chocolate, with a note inside saying 'I have it on good authority that dark chocolate makes a better dementor treatment than milk chocolate does. And it tastes better, too.'

Now there, all that was just was his gift from Luna. He opened the box and found a book about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and other such creatures from cryptomagizoology. He shrugged and looked through it anyway.

“Ooh,” Hermione said, looking at one of her own gifts; one from him, in fact. “Thank you for this, Harry!”

“Another book, 'mione? Between the two of you, you're going to have more books than the Hogwarts library before long,” Ron joked.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ron briefly, then eagerly opened up the book from Harry and began reading it.

Harry reflected on what Ron had said, though. It was true that his trunk was getting to the point where he had to shrink most of his books to fit them in there. He was going to have to get a better trunk at some point.

Now that all the gifts were exchanged that he could be seen exchanging, that just left a gift for Sirius. Other than the dog food, that was. There wasn't much he could do on such short notice, but he did harvest a couple of the mince pies and some of the nut brittle from Mrs. Weasley's present to regift to Sirius.

After gift-giving was done, they went down to breakfast, and as usual Harry went out to feed Shadow, but this time it was with dog food the house elves got for him, as well as an extra Christmas ham as a special treat for his dogfather, along with the fudge and a bar of the anti-dementor dark chocolate Danzia had given him. The dog-food he gave Shadow at the doghouse. The other gifts he gave Sirius at the Shrieking Shack.

“You got me gifts? Even though we don't have proof of Peter being alive?”

“Yes, well... I do believe you. And even if that turns out to be false, you haven't tried to hurt me, so what's the harm?”

“Harry, you're a good kid. Your parents would be proud of you.”

“Thanks. By the way, once term starts up again, Lupin is going to teach me to fight dementors. I gave it some thought last night, and I think I'll wait til the second lesson to tell him about Peter. I'll do it directly, by showing him the Map.”

“What if Peter gets lost in the mass of kids?”

“Oh. Yeah, that could be a problem.”

“Can't you show Moony the Map during the holidays?”

“I doubt it. The full moon is tonight.”

Sirius frowned, confused. “Are you sure? I managed to check a calendar before I came to Hogwarts and looked up the dates of the full moon, and I'm certain it's the 29th this month.”

“Really? Well the way he's been getting ill the last few days tells me it's tonight.”

“Now that is odd. Of course, I don't know where Hogwarts actually is. I know the castle is Unplottable. I think Hogsmeade is, too. Not sure how that would influence the full moon's timing, or if it would. I can't think why it should.”

“That is odd indeed. Maybe it's something related to the place being Unplottable?”

“I can't see how that would work. I know from my time in Hogwarts that the Unplottable spell messes up the times of the constellations rising to make it harder to find where Hogwarts is that way. But the moon is the same everywhere, as far as I know, so what would be the point to messing up when the moon is full?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's only really starting to get sick now, and I misread things?”

“Maybe. But the full moon ought to be four days away. I've never known Moony to get sick so far from the full moon. And you said he's been looking peakier than usual for a few days now?”

“Yes. Ever since I figured it out, I've been paying attention. He normally gets peaky a few days before the full moon. It was happening again, so I assumed it meant Christmas was the full moon.”

Sirius slapped his face suddenly.

“Yes?” Harry asked.

“I forgot something important. While the moon is technically only fully full for about a second or two, we can't tell without a telescope. The moon looks full for about three days.”

“Yes, but that would be the 28th through the 30th if your numbers are right. And he's been ill for...” he paused to count from memory. “Oh. Only two days now.”

“Counting today, or not?”

“Counting today. He started getting ill yesterday.”

“That's still four days before the moon starts looking full.”

“Does it make a different if it's only like, 75 or 85 percent full?”

“I think you'd have to ask Moony. It's been 12 years since I was around him enough to be paying attention. And who knows, maybe it gets worse as he gets older?”

“He's taking the Wolfsbane Potion. Would that influence it?”

Sirius shrugged. “No idea. It wasn't around when we were in school. In fact, I think it was invented while I was in Azkaban. Anyway, enough about that mystery. I, uh... I wanted to be able to say I got your a Christmas present, but I have no idea what you'd want. I've never seen you fly, so I figured I should find out about that before I assumed.”

“That was a good move. I don't really like flying, so a broomstick would be wasted on me. But how would you even get me anything? You're an escaped prisoner.”

“Oh, that's not a problem. I could take some money out of my Gringott's account by taking a signed request in as Shadow. The goblins don't care about wizarding legal matters enough to report money being taken from a known criminal's account as long as they can magically verify that the note was written by someone who's authorized to get into the account.”

“Really? That sounds ridiculous.”

“Well try to see it from their point of view. Would you care if a goblin who broke a goblin law having some business with you, as long as he or she was authorized and gave you some plausible deniability by not showing up in person?”

“Probably not. Ok, point taken.

“But back on track,” Harry continued. “You don't have to get me anything for Christmas.”

“I don't have to, but I would have liked to. I would have been getting you Christmas and birthday presents every year for the last 12 years if things had gone differently.”

“We'll worry about that when we get this Peter thing taken care of, okay?”

“Yeah. And whenever Lupin gets better, that's when I'll start.”

Then, struck by a sudden urge, Harry went over to Sirius and hugged the man, who – after looking shocked by the sudden show of trust – broke down crying.

Endnote: The idea for Draco's gift of the Arithmancy book by Archimedes Lancaster was inspired (vaguely) by an HP fanfic called “The Arithmancer” by White Squirrel, and the sequel, “Lady Archimedes.” I highly recommend both fics, as well as the fic that inspired them, titled “Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality” by Eliezer Yudkowsky (formerly under the pen name “Less Wrong.”). Slight trigger warning for HPMOR: character death, but it doesn't stick.

Endnote 2: The name of the author of the Animagus book Draco sent Harry is meaningful. I'll write a short fic taking place in this story's world for the first person to tell me what the correct significance is. If you win, feel free to give me a prompt for the short fic. It may or may not be considered canon to the main fic's story, depending on various factors.

Endnote 3: The books by women that Harry talks about in this chapter are true, to the best of my knowledge and Google skills.

Last endnote: Does anyone with better memory than me know if Harry got himself any decent Muggle clothes in this fic? My memory is crappy, my notes are disorganized and full of things that haven't happened yet or never came to pass, and I don't really feel like re-reading the whole thing to find out, so it would help me out. It's not for anything major, just curious. Feel free to ignore this request.