The Dogfather

Harry watched Sirius approach from across the platform with a dull resignation. He’d been hoping to miss out on the mushy goodbye, considering Sirius would be teaching at Hogwarts this year. His godfather had accepted the Divination position after Trelawney’s sudden elopement to France.

“Hey, kiddo - let's talk, huh?” Sirius hopped into the compartment.

Harry sighed. “Is this what you and Mrs. Weasley were arguing about? Because you don’t have to explain anything to me - I know about contraception.”

While they’d been waiting outside the barrier, Sirius had delved into considerable detail about what Trelawney might be doing on her sabbatical. Needless to say Mrs. Weasley wasn’t thrilled. 

“I wasn’t - wait,” Sirius paled, “how?”

Harry shrugged, “public elementary school.”

“Hmm - oh well. Saves me an awkward conversation, yeah?” Sirius waved a hand, and the subject was dropped. “Anyways - that’s not what I came over here about. I wanted to talk to you about Hogwarts.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming - he almost would’ve preferred the sex talk.

“You’ve said this a million times already -”

“If you’re not in Gryffindor, Harry, I will disown you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“You think I’m kidding?” Sirius said menacingly. “I’m dead serious.”

Harry could not help himself, “well, I’d hope not -”

“This isn’t a joke. I have papers.” Sirius produced a sheath of documents from his back pocket and held them out at Harry.

Huh. So he was serious.

“You have muggle relatives who would be less than happy to take you in,” Sirius warned.

“Or I could live with the Weasleys,” Harry suggested, shrugging.

Sirius considered this. 

“True,” he conceded, “but that might complicate things when you eventually marry Ginny.”

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. Sirius had never shown signs of actually being a Seer.

Sirius scratched his chin. “I think I Saw it,” he said slowly, “when Dumbledore hired me, I started with crystal balls - figured I should acquaint myself with the curriculum, at least.”

“Where did you get the crystal balls?”

Sirius shrugged. “My mother kept all sorts of weird shit in the house.”

Harry decided that if the crystal balls were from Grimmauld place, they were probably about as accurate as a Magic 8 Ball, and thus he didn’t actually need to worry about someday marrying Ron’s little sister.

//

Moments after Sirius left, Harry was joined in the compartment by someone else.

Ron Weasley stopped in the doorway and glanced around awkwardly. Sirius had worked closely with Arthur Weasley at the Ministry, so Harry was fairly acquainted with the Weasley children. He’d never really spoken to Ron before, though.

“Hey,” Harry said. 

“Er - hi,” said Ron, making absolutely no effort to sit down.

Harry sighed - was the Voldemort thing not enough? Did he really need to be everyone’s hero?”

“Do you want to sit here?”

Ron bit his lip. “Only if its not taken -”

“It is,” said Harry.

Ron’s face fell. “By who?”

“You.” 

Ron rolled his eyes, but stored his trunk (with the help of Harry) and sat down across from him. They stared at one another blankly for a few moments, unsure what to say next.

“D’you remember what You-Know-Who looks like?” Ron blurted.

Okay, so he had absolutely no tact whatsoever.

“Seriously?” Harry said.

Ron shrugged and said nothing.

“No,” said Harry, “I don’t remember what Voldemort looks like.”

Ron cringed. “You shouldn’t say the name.”

“You shouldn’t ask people what they remember about the man who brutally murdered their parents the first day you speak to them,” Harry countered.

Ron’s face flushed the same color of his hair. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have - that was really stupid.”

“It was a very offensive question,” Harry insisted. 

Sirius had warned him this might happen - for the first ten years of his life, he’d managed to keep Harry relatively sheltered from the effects of his fame. Although he’d been told not to hesitate if an opportunity presented itself where it could be used to his advantage.

“I know. I should’ve listened to my mum - she told me not to ask you.”

Harry shrugged. “It's okay. I mean, I exaggerated a bit - my parents weren’t exactly brutally murdered. The killing curse doesn’t even leave a physical mark.” Harry saw Ron’s eyes travel up to his hairline and sighed. “If it works,” he added.

“Oh. Right.” Ron smiled sheepishly.

“Although I was fifteen months old at the time,” Harry pointed out, “my long-term memory was fairly underdeveloped.”

“Yeah - I guess I didn’t really think about that,” Ron amended.

“No one does,” said Harry.

At eleven on the dot, the train pulled out of the station. Ron went to the window to wave bye to Ginny and his mum, but Harry stayed put. He would be seeing Sirius in a few hours anyways. 

Once they were outside of London the compartment door swung open rather dramatically, and two of Harry’s fellow first years entered, entirely uninvited. 

“Uh, hi,” Harry said, slightly miffed. He was enjoying it being just him and Ron, who was quiet, but had potential.

“Hi,” said a girl with bushy hair, “I’m Hermione Granger, and this is -” she stopped, her eyes widening to a comical size, “Harry?” 

The boy who had entered the compartment with her frowned. “It’s Neville, actually -”

Harry stared at the girl blankly for a moment, trying to figure out how she knew him - this wasn’t the usual sort of reverence he got for being Harry Potter - until it clicked.

His mouth fell open. “Hermione?”

They’d gone to muggle school together in London. Sirius had insisted that Harry go because it was what Lily, who was muggle born, would have wanted him to do. Hermione obviously went because she was muggle born, but was apparently, not to mention inconveniently, NOT a muggle.

“So you’re that Harry Potter,” said Hermione, looking supremely disappointed. “I should have known the name wasn’t that common.”

“You never told me you were a witch!” Harry accused.

Hermione’s hands went sternly to her hips. “Well, I wasn’t exactly supposed to, was I?”

And Harry had thought he’d seen the last of her.

“God, I’m so dropping out,” he groaned, dropping his head back.

“I take it you two know each other?” Ron said.

“We went to primary school together in London,” explained Hermione, sounding much more patient this time, “obviously I didn’t know who Harry was -” 

“And I didn’t know she was a witch, or else I would have gone to Durmstrang,” said Harry.

“I hear they’re all ex-You-Know-Who supporters out there,” said Neville.

Harry shrugged. “I can put on an act.”

“You don’t speak Bulgarian, though,” Ron pointed out. 

“I could learn. Or I could get a translator.”

Hermione snorted with annoyance. “Boys. You are so impossible.” A large book slipped out of her overloaded bag and she bent down to pick it up.

Neville’s eyes fell on Harry. “Are you really Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

“He doesn’t remember his parents being murdered, or what You-Know-Who looks like,” Ron supplied helpfully.

Neville nodded. “Yeah - sorry about that.”

“I think I’m better off not remembering, no?” said Harry.

Hermione had retrieved her book and now stood upright, eyes boring holes into Harry. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she muttered distastefully.

“And I can’t believe it's you,” said Harry, “d’you know how pissed my godfather was when I got suspended last spring?”

“You deserved that!” Hermione shrieked. “You made the classroom smell like - like fecal matter, somehow!”

Across from Harry, Ron snickered. Harry smothered a grin of his own. “Dungbombs,” he explained, “they’re magic.”

“Whatever.”

“You didn’t have to tell,” Harry pressed.

Sirius had not been happy to have him home for those three days. As it happened, detentions were only ‘badass’ when they were issued at Hogwarts, and Sirius didn’t need to spend 45 minutes on the phone covering up the use of a magical pranking item.

“I said whatever,” Hermione grumbled, “c’mon, Neville, let’s find another compartment.”

She grabbed Neville by the arm and started to drag him away.

“Wait,” Ron cut in. Apparently he’d also caught the expression of hopeless despair on Neville’s face. “You can sit with us, Neville.”

Neville practically slumped with relief. “Thanks,” he said, dropping down beside Harry.

Hermione glared at Ron and crossed her arms. “And where am I supposed to go?” she demanded.

“Back to where you were before?” Harry suggested innocently.

“I can’t! We’ve been wandering the train this whole time, looking for someplace to sit!”

Perhaps he wasn’t entirely conscious of the privilege he held as the Boy Who Lived, but Harry had a hard time believing it was that difficult to find a compartment.

Ron looked as though he was about to say something that would get them in trouble, so Harry cut in. 

“You can sit with us too, then,” he offered, “I’m sorry. I completely deserved that three day suspension from muggle school.”

Ron directed a kick at Harry’s leg. “What’re you -”

“Wait a second,” Harry hissed.

Hermione looked slightly skeptical, but she sat down next to Ron, who looked less than thrilled with the seating arrangements. 

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, “even if you were just insanely rude to me.”

“You’re welcome!”

Hermione glanced around the compartment before she began. “So. Did you guys read through the textbooks yet? I’ve done most of them twice, except charms. I did that one three times. I also bought Hogwarts: A History and I’m in the middle of -”

Ron began rooting around in his bag, presumably for something to use as earplugs. Harry shook his head, and Ron stopped, staring at him as if he was insane -

“- you’re insane,” Ron  hissed.

Harry took his wand from his back pocket and pointed it discreetly at Hermione. “Muffliato,” he muttered. 

Hermione’s incessant rambling dropped down to a dull roar. Ron and Hermione stared at him, awe-struck.

“See? It’s like she’s not even there, and I get brownie points for inviting her to sit with us.” Harry said. 

Ron looked thoroughly impressed. “You’re a genius, Harry!”

“Won’t she notice that none of us are responding?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged, “I doubt she’d give us the chance.”

The conversation turned to quidditch. Naturally, Harry had learned to fly before he knew how to walk. It sounded like Ron was in a similar situation, only he obviously wasn’t QUITE as advanced as Harry. A couple of his brothers had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team in the past. Neville, at any rate, had never been allowed near a broom his entire life.

After quidditch got boring (Harry decided he’d heard enough after Ron announced his support for the Cannons) the new subject was Current Wizarding Events. Ron’s brother was a curse breaker, which was how he knew. Neville knew because his grandmother often read the Prophet aloud over breakfast.

“Did you hear about the robbery, Harry?” Ron asked.

“I wouldn’t call it a robbery,” said Harry. He had, in fact, heard about the break in from Sirius. “No one took anything.”

“Still - someone got in and out without getting caught. That’s pretty impressive,” said Ron.

“So call it a break in, not a robbery,” Harry insisted.

“Hermione was right,” said Neville, “you are impossible.”

“It’s just my personality, Neville. I can’t help it,” said Harry. “I inherited it from my father, and being raised by his equally obnoxious best friend certainly didn’t help. You know nurture versus nature?”

Neville nodded silently.

“Well, it wasn’t nurture versus nature in my case. It was nature assisting nature.”

Neville shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Harry shrugged, turning back to Ron, “anyways, yes, I know about the break in.”

“We gathered,” muttered Ron.

“It makes no sense. Why would someone break into Gringotts and not take anything?” Neville wondered.

“For the story, maybe,” Harry suggested.

//

The lunch trolley passed shortly after one. By then, Hermione had tired herself out from talking and was nose-deep in Hogwarts: A History. The rest of the train ride was promising to be fairly nondescript, until the compartment door swing open again.

“I heard Harry Potter was in this compartment,” announced a boy with blond hair and a rat face. He was flanked by two massive friends. The rat-faced boy’s eyes darted around the compartment before landing on Harry. He grinned maliciously.

Harry recognized Draco Malfoy immediately. Sirius and Narcissa still exchanged the occasional unfriendly Howler - it was family tradition.

Harry sighed deeply. So much for a peaceful commute. 

“Who told you that? No one has come in or out since we left the platform - except those two.” He nodded at Hermione and Neville.

“Yeah, and I don’t think any of my brothers would ever talk to you. Much less disclose my location,” added Ron.

“Sounds like stalking to me,” Harry concluded.

“I wasn’t stalking, Potter. You’re not invisible, you know,” said Malfoy, “people can see what compartment you walk into.”

“Who even are you?” blurted Neville. He turned to Harry and Ron. “Do you guys know him?”

“That’s Malfoy,” they both spat in unison, then looked at each other with matching shocked expressions, “how d’you know?”

“Sirius is cousins with his mom,” Harry explained.

“My dad is always trying to get his dad arrested,” shrugged Ron.

Malfoy scowled at this. “So you’re a Weasley then - I should’ve known. My father, who is always trying to avoid being detained by your father, says all the Weasleys have red hair and more kids than they can afford.”

Harry had to grab the back of Ron’s shirt to keep him from lunging. Malfoy smiled smugly.

“Your dad is a complete prick, Malfoy,” Harry pointed out.

“At least he’s not dead!” Malfoy shouted triumphantly. Harry made a mental note that Malfoy was willing to resort to orphan jokes 5 minutes into an argument. “Or a blood traitor!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re really coming off a bit dated, you know -”

“And your mum was a mudblood!”

“HEY!”

Harry released Ron’s shirt, and immediately all three of them, including Neville, were on their feet.

Hermione chose this moment to look up from Hogwarts: A History. “What’s going on?” she asked, staring at Malfoy.

“Jeez, Hermione, welcome back!” said Ron.

“Malfoy just called Harry’s mum something -” Neville began,

“- a mudblood,” Malfoy supplied.

Hermione stared at him. “What’s a mudblood?” Harry drew in a sharp breath. That was the wrong question to ask.

Malfoy snorted, looking at Hermione gleefully. “You must be one!”

“DON’T CALL HER THAT,” Ron roared, any previous dislike out the window.

“Dear God. You know, I just came down here for an autograph, Potter,” said Malfoy in mock offense, “I didn’t expect to be ambushed by your weird pack of friends.”

“Listen,” said Neville, sounding unsure, “I don’t really know you, but I get the feeling you shouldn’t have come down here at all.”

Malfoy scowled. “Can it, you.” 

Nevile shrugged innocently. Harry had to smother a small smile - he liked Neville. 

Malfoy rounded back on Harry. “So you won’t sign my robes or anything?” he demanded, “I actually wanted an autograph.”

Harry shook his head. “I would, but I don’t have a pen.”

Malfoy sighed deeply. “It’s fine - I was just gonna pawn it off to a Hufflepuff or someone. I could use a few galleons.”

“Aren’t your parents, like, really wealthy?” Ron asked.

Harry would have liked to hear Malfoy’s response, but he had another bone to pick. “You can’t resell my signature,” he told him, “it’s trademarked.”

“How?”

“Well, it's my name.” 

Malfoy waved him off. “You’re eleven - how good could your signature be?”

Harry was about to defend his handwriting - which was honestly decent, thanks to muggle primary school - when another thought struck him. “So why come down here in the first place? Why not forge my autograph and sell it?”

“To bother you - duh.”

“I -” Harry stopped, and decided this wasn’t worth his time. He still needed to change into his robes before the train got to Hogwarts. “Actually, you know what?” Harry took out his wand and pointed it at Malfoy. “Stupefy,” he said lazily.

Malfoy and his two massive friends (whom Harry had honestly forgotten were there) fell into the hallway. Harry jammed the door shut. That took care of that.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, “you’re not allowed to use magic before we get to school!”

“That’s what you’re worried about? Seriously?” said Ron, looking not at Hermione but at Harry with an expression of reverence.

“Well, he could get in trouble,” Hermione insisted. 

“You didn’t care about that when you had me suspended from year six,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, get OVER it, will you?” said Hermione. The compartment sat in stunned silence for a moment before, predictably, Hermione spoke again -

“What’s a mudblood anyways?”

“Don’t say that,” Ron snapped.

“Well, what does it mean?”

“It’s a really bad name for someone who’s parents are muggles,” Neville explained, “it’s like saying they have dirty blood.”

“Oh.” Hermione stared at the three unconscious bodies in the hallway. Harry watched her digest this new information.

“His friends were sort of stupid looking, weren’t they?” she remarked.