Hogwarts
The iron morning mist was fading but still clung to the green grass of the lowland fields of the estate, and the house elves worked among the carefully tended rows of what were soon to be potion ingredients. All the Norfolk land for a thousand acres was theirs, Greengrass land from time now far enough back to be considered immemorial to the wizarding families of the county. Greengrass's Thousand. The morning sun had yet to burn away the dew that clung to every leaf and blade of grass and the ancient manor house rose up from the grass in rustic weathered stone hung with purple-white wisteria in the light of the sun and shaded by tall trees.
Daphne, her rider's cloak streaming like a banner behind her, long golden hair and laughing face. She urged her pony ahead and called back to her brother, "You're getting slow, Henry! Come on Henry, do try to keep up!" She thundered past the wand wood groves (where colonies of peaceable, sharp, shy bowtruckles nestled in the branches. The twins' father had forbidden them from approaching the hiding places of the creatures, the trees too valuable to risk damage from their games) with him a gallop behind, hooves beating across the misty fields.
Henry pressed his heels into his pony's flanks. "Not fair! You got the faster one!" Daphne's laughter rode back to him on the wind. Both of them knew that she simply rode better, just as she climbed the ancient oak higher, and ran through the hedge maze faster, and outpaced him at flying too. "For now," he'd say in mock earnestness.
The whip cracking split the hazy morning air. Both twins pulled their ponies to a stop as they saw their father on his daily rounds. Randolph Greengrass astride his black stallion as his blond beard shone in the morning sun; supervising the elves as they harvested the moonflowers, his wand held forward, directing the whip that kept them working at a steady pace. Daphne steered toward him with Henry following, her face showing cold and attentive interest as he whipped an old elf who had stumbled and dropped several precious moonflower blooms. "Clumsy creature," he muttered across the still morning air.
"Father," Henry said, riding up. "Perhaps we should give them a rest."
Randolph regarded his son, his heir who he loved dearly and who he was convinced had read entirely too many books. Roland and Arthur and Amadis and Most Noble Orders of pure-blooded Knights. "They will rest when the work is done." He cracked the whip again, making Henry start. "The moonflowers must be harvested before the sun rises too high and their potency is lost. Surely you know that much? Or else what am I paying your tutors for?
"I learned that you must be firm with inferiors but also gentle." Henry's white cheeks reddened as he spoke to his father but he never cringed or looked away. He never did. Daphne's hand found Henry's when their ponies drew even, and their fingers intertwined.
"Our blood is the purest in the British Isles. Everyone is an inferior to us, not these wretched little creatures alone, but highborn Malfoys, and Blacks, and Lestranges, and we are not at leisure to be gentle with everybody. Continue your ride if you wish. Stay away from the western fields. We're harvesting venomous tentacula there."
The morning mist evaporated away as the twins followed a path they'd ridden countless times before, to the ancient gnarled oak where they'd spent so many summer afternoons. The breeze whistled through the leaves. Daphne sat with her back against the trunk, dangling her legs over the branch. She looked down to fields spread out in neat rows, the silver moonflowers, and the pale blue wispy willoweed, and the deep green of the venomous tentacula creating a patchwork of wild colors. "You'd catch me if I fell wouldn't you Henry?"
"Always." He sat close enough that their shoulders touched. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"I know," she murmured softly.
Pansy Parkinson shook her roughly. "Get up, Greengrass! You'll miss breakfast entirely." Pansy was fully dressed in her school robes and her tie of silver and green. Daphne yawned and stretched languidly. Back at Greengrass's Thousand, the house elves didn't wake her unless specifically ordered to do so, and her parents never bothered with such orders. She took her time as Pansy huffed impatiently. Finally Pansy gave up and left. Daphne dressed unhurriedly and made her way to the Great Hall. Henry would save her a seat. Their separation during sleeping hours had been strange after years of late night conversations at home or crawling into each other's beds on stormy nights.
There was Tracey Davis sitting there alone. Tracey, Tracey. Slytherin's new misfit Mudblood, first of her kind in nearly 3 centuries; how exotic! And looking adorable in robes like a real witch. Tell about it, Tracey, Tracey; what's it like being from Muggleland? How do they live there? Why do they live? Tell all about it to me, Tracey, for I'm a friend indeed. And Tracey noticed her looking and gave a hopeful half-smile, while Daphne smiled, giggled slightly, and sighed and she took her seat away from Tracey Davis.
Well, what did she care if their house had a new Mudblood mascot? It would be Henry whose Slytherin pride was hurt.
The clear crisp autumn sky showed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Daphne's attention was on Harry sitting across from them as he buttered his toast, those striking green eyes darting occasionally to the Gryffindor table and the red haired boy, the almost-friend.
The clear crisp autumn sky showed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Harry's green eyes occasionally darted to the Gryffindor table where Ron Weasley now sat with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Ron never looked Harry's way.
"History of Magic first," Theo said, consulting his schedule. "With Professor Binns."
"He's a ghost," an older student explained. "Congratulations on Slytherin, Potter; Adrian Pucey." He shook Harry's hand. "Died in his sleep in the staff room one day and then just kept on teaching. Most boring class you'll ever have though."
Harry walked between the Greengrass twins as they left the Great Hall and he had the curious thought that they were like one person in two bodies.
Professor Binns entered the classroom gliding through the blackboard. Without preamble, he began to lecture in a droning voice about Emeric the Evil and his reign of terror in something or other AD South Britain. Harry very quickly understood what Pucey had been warning them of. Binns' monotone made it nearly impossible to focus on the actual history. He found his attention wandering to his classmates instead. Theo rested his head on his arm but seemed like he was listening intently. Tracey Davis struggled to keep her eyes open, occasionally jerking upright when her head started to nod and looking around embarrassed. Malfoy had given up any pretense of paying attention and was passing notes with Pansy Parkinson, a girl with sleek black hair and an upturned nose.
Beside him, Daphne was sketching in her notebook - elegant flowing lines that gradually resolved into the shape of a horse galloping across the page. Her hand moving quickly and with casual grace, adding details without maybe having to think too much. On his other side, Henry appeared to be genuinely trying to listen, though his expression grew increasingly frustrated as Binns droned on.
"Emeric's rampage resulted in the deaths of no fewer than fifty-seven wizards and witches, not counting Muggles, before he was finally defeated by..." Binns paused. "Anyone? Anyone? Egbert the Egregious, yes. Egbert killed Emeric and took his wand. Now who can tell me the wood Emeric's wand, that which Egbert now possessed, was made from? Anyone? Anyone?..."
Harry observed the way the morning light caught Daphne's hair, turning it to pale gold. She glanced up from her drawing and gave him a slight smile and rolled her eyes at Binns' lecture. When the bell finally rang, they gathered their things with relief.
"That was dreadful," Malfoy announced to no one in particular as they left the class. "I'll talk to my father about having him sacked," he gallantly assured Pansy; she simpering appreciatively.
History of Magic had not been a practical class but it was quickly made clear to Harry that there was more, a lot more, to magic, then saying a few funny nonsense words and lazily waving your wand. On Thursday nights they had to walk out of the castle into the midnight darkness and study the night skies through their telescopes, studying the names of the stars and the courses of the planets. Three times a week they had Herbology, with the Ravenclaws in the warm and humid subtropical retreat from the crisp cool northern morning air. Professor Sprout was a dumpy little witch in a patched hat, and she taught them the use of strange plants and fungi.
Harry wiped the dirt from his hands as they left the Greenhouse at the end of the lesson, the comfortable warm air giving way to the crisp Scottish morning. Most people were hurrying back to the castle to clean up before their next class, Pansy Parkinson being particularly vocal about the state of her nails after working with the loamy soil.
Daphne lingered behind and examined her dirt-covered hands with interest. Her blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and she had a smudge of earth across one cheek.
"You really got into that," Harry commented, falling into step beside her.
"Oh, we grow all sorts of plants at home," she said." Father focuses on potion ingredients and wand woods mainly. But I've always loved working the earth." She frowned as Pansy walked by, still whining. "Parkinson seems to think it's beneath her dignity I suppose. But some of us learned to work with our hands."
"I used to do all the gardening for my aunt," Harry said. "Though it was just normal flowers and vegetables."
"The Muggles. Right. Do they… treat you well?" She looked at him intently.
"Not- No. They don't. They don't like magic."
"More like they're jealous of course. But you're with your own kind now, she said, as she bent forward and rubbed some dirt off his nose. You're where a wizard should be. Well we should get back to the castle. Don't want to be late for our first Charms lesson."
As they walked together, Daphne continued. "You know Harry, it would be no surprise to my father that you ended up in Slytherin. None at all."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"I can help you understand if you'd like. Come on; we'd better get to class."
They had Charms with tiny (Was there really a strain of Goblin blood as whispered?) Professor Flitwick, whose manner seemed to have none of the Goblin in it (from what Harry had seen of Goblins) and his enthusiasm (he'd given a excited squeak when he'd gotten to Harry's name on the roll call) was infectious as he demonstrated proper wand movements from the small tower of books he needed to see over his desk.
Professor McGonagall's classroom was again different and it was stricter than Flitwick's, with straight rows of desks standing at attention as she stood tall at the front. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again and they all were very impressed and eager to get started, but McGonagall set them to taking notes. It was only in the last fifteen minutes did she start them each on a match, and it was just near class's end that a small gasp from nearby caught Harry's attention and Daphne's match had been transformed into a proper silver needle. She held it to the light and studied it curiously.
"Excellent work, Miss Greengrass," Professor McGonagall said as she came over to their table. "See here, everyone - Miss Greengrass has achieved a complete transformation. Twenty points to Slytherin."
Daphne accepted the acknowledgment with a smile and the same serene composure she seemed to bring to everything. Next to her, Henry beamed with pride, while Theo studied her needle with an annoyed expression, as if trying to determine exactly what she'd done that he hadn't.
Defense Against the Dark Arts had been what everyone had really been looking forward to and were quickly disappointed by. Professor Quirrell's classroom smelled strongly, distractingly, of garlic. His stutter would have made it difficult to follow what he was saying except that his solution to every danger and every problem was simply to run away.
Friday morning and Harry had started to feel more settled into the routine of school life. He'd mastered the moving staircases, and was quite able to find his way to the Great Hall without getting lost. He was just finishing his breakfast when the mail arrived, carried by hundreds of owls streaming into the Great Hall and circling until they found their owners. Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything yet, though she sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and steal a bit of toast before heading off back to the owlery to sleep in the daytime. But today, she landed between the marmalade and sugar bowl, dropping a note on his plate.
Harry opened it and read the untidy scrawl:
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
Hagrid
Harry borrowed a quill from Henry and scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note. As Hedwig took off again, he wondered what Hagrid would think about him being in Slytherin. They hadn't actually spoken since the sorting.
"Double Potions this morning," Theo said, checking their schedule. "With the Gryffindors."
"Finally get to see what Professor Snape is really like," Harry said. He'd only glimpsed their Head of House at meals so far but the older students spoke of him with a mixture of respect and wariness.
They headed down to the dungeons after breakfast. The Potions classroom was colder and darker than the rest of the castle and pickled animals floated in glass jars displayed along the walls. Harry stopped and looked into a dead salamander's cloudy eyes. He found himself seated between Daphne and Theo, while Henry sat at the table behind them with Blaise Zabini. The Gryffindors filed in shortly after, clustering on the other side of the room. Ron Weasley carefully avoiding looking in Harry's direction. As Snape, pale with greasy black hair and hooked nose, began taking roll he paused at Harry's name and said softly, "Ah, Yes. Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity." Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind their hands, and then when he finished calling the names he looked up at the class, his black eyes like dark tunnels glaring at them all.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began in barely more than a whisper but in such a way that they caught every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, 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."
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry, startled, glanced at Daphne, whose face revealed nothing.
"I don't know sir," said Harry
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Fame clearly isn't everything. Perhaps you should have considered opening a book before coming to class. For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful as to be known as the Draught of Living Death. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Snape then paired them all up to make a simple potion to cure boils. Harry found himself working with Theo while Daphne and Henry paired up at the next table, barely needing to speak, passing ingredients back and forth as if reading each other's minds. Snape swept around the dungeon in his long black cloak looking like an overgrown bat, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, who could seem to do no wrong.
Harry leaned over their cauldron, watching as their potion simmered. Theo was beside him and crushed dried snake fangs with methodical precision. The dungeon air was thick with steam and the sharp scent of herbs.
"Three more counter-clockwise stirs," Theo murmured, not looking up from his work. "Then add the crushed fangs slowly - not all at once." His grey eyes were focused intently on the mortar and pestle as fine powder collected at the bottom.
Harry nodded and stirred carefully. The liquid changed from murky green to pale blue. "Bit at a time," Theo reminded him softly while Harry began to sprinkle the powder. "Watch the color - it should shift gradually. Too fast means you added too much powder."
Meanwhile, Snape was just telling everyone to observe the perfect way in which Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a hissing sound filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor had somehow managed to melt Seamus Finnigan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion now seeped across the stone floor, burning holes through people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools, and Neville, drenched when the cauldron had collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up on his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" Snape cleared the potion away with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville whimpered.
"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus Finnigan. Then he rounded on Ron. "You - Weasley - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Five points from Gryffindor."
Ron's mouth opened in shock.
An hour later, they filed out of the Potions classroom, Harry and Theo's potion having turned the exact shade of azure described in the book. Even Snape could find no fault with it, though he seemed to try.
Harry hung back watching Ron gather his things. This was his chance - they hadn't spoken since the sorting. "Ron," he called out, causing the redhead to freeze midway through shoving his textbook into his bag. "Wait up a minute?" Ron looked uncertain and glanced at Seamus and Dean who were waiting for him. He motioned for them to go on ahead.
Harry began. "I know the sorting wasn't exactly what either of us expected."
Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, bit of a shock that. Slytherin and all..." He paused awkwardly
"The hat wanted to put me there and I asked for anything else," Harry said quietly. "I tried to argue with it actually. But does it really make much difference what house we're in?"
"Suppose not. Just never thought I'd be friends with a Slytherin." He grinned weakly.
Perhaps Ron was quick to jump to conclusions but Harry was grateful he didn't seem to hold some strange grudge over something he couldn't even control. Maybe it wasn't a stillborn friendship after all. "I'm heading to Hagrid's for tea," Harry said. "He invited me earlier. Want to come?"
"Yeah, alright." Ron's smile was more natural now. "Better than doing Snape's essay anyway."
As Harry and Ron crossed the grounds, Harry spotted Tracey Davis walking alone near the greenhouses. She noticed them and stopped; glanced around uncertainly, then seemed to make up her mind and walk over.
"Harry, hi. She bit her lip. Are you… where are you headed? She seemed like she was trying to sound casual but there was a note of uncertainty. Harry didn't noticed that she'd made any friends since the first night.
"We're going to visit Hagrid - he's the gamekeeper. Would you… like to come with us?"
Tracey nodded. "I'd like that. If you're sure it's alright of course."
"Of course it is."
Harry introduced Ron and Tracey and The three of them made their way to Hagrid's hut. The late afternoon sun was bright after the dungeon dimness, and warm on their backs. Hagrid's hut sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and smoke rose from the chimney. The grass was still green in autumn, and the lake gleamed under the sun.
When Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, they heard a frantic scrambling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice saying, "Back, Fang - back." Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open. "Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang." He let them in as he struggled to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. The inside of Hagrid's house was a single room. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in a corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, finally letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Harry and started licking his ears.
"Hagrid, this is Ron Weasley and Tracey Davis." Hagrid looked at Harry curiously for a moment but he didn't bring it up; Slytherin.
He greeted Tracey, then he looked to Ron. "So, another Weasley, eh?" "How's yer brother Charlie? Always liked him. Great with creatures, that one."
"He's in Romania, now. Working with dragons at a sanctuary there. Mum wasn't too happy to hear that, or that he was going so far away, but he loves it there."
"Dragons?" Tracey asked. "Are there many in Britain?"
"Not anymore," Hagrid said, looking wistful as he set out four enormous mugs of tea and a plate of rock cakes which looked like lumps of granite studded with raisins. "Strict breeding laws, see. Hard to keep 'em hidden from Muggles too. Shame really - magnificent creatures, dragons. How're you finding Hogwarts, Harry?" Hagrid asked, hesitating slightly before adding, "Gettin' on alright in... in your house?"
"It's different than I expected," Harry said. "The Greengrass twins have been friendly. And Theo Nott. Though Malfoy's exactly what I thought he'd be."
"Ah, don't let Malfoy get to you," Hagrid said. "Some o' these old families think they're better'n everyone else because they're what yeh'd call "pure-blood." But it don't mean anything really. Look at your mum - she was Muggle-born and she was the best witch in her year."
Tracey looked up at this, and Harry remembered she was Muggle-born too. They called her Mudblood. He'd gathered quickly enough that at least in Slytherin that was not something you wanted to be. He didn't understand why it mattered.
"Oh, and Snape seemed to hate me."
Hagrid chuckled. "Don't worry about that. Snape hates all students just about the same."
"He seems to like Malfoy well enough," Harry said, remembering how Snape had praised everything the blond boy had done in potions.
"Ah, well, he would," said Hagrid darkly. "Known his father for years, hasn't he?"
Harry noticed a piece of paper lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
"Hang on," Harry said suddenly. "That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"
Hagrid didn't meet Harry's eyes. He grunted and offered them all more rock cakes.
"You were at Gringotts on that day?" Ron asked, looking at Harry.
"Yeah, Hagrid took me to get my school things," Harry said. "We visited my vault, and then Hagrid had to pick something up from another vault. Just a small package, but-" Harry broke off, thinking hard. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen. That's where we went."
"Now, don't go asking me about that," Hagrid said gruffly. "That's top secret Hogwarts business, that is. Dumbledore trusted me."
"But someone tried to steal it," Harry pressed on.
"They didn't get it," Hagrid said firmly. "That's all yeh need to worry about.
Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Tracey, but they silently agreed to drop the afternoon light was starting to fade when Fang suddenly lifted his head from Ron's lap and barked at a noise outside. Hagrid went to look out the window.
"Just some students heading back to the castle," he said. "Speaking of which, yeh lot should probably think about doing the same soon. Don't want to be out too late.
The walk back to the castle was pleasant in the evening air. The lake had turned golden in the sunset, and somewhere in the distance they could hear other students laughing and calling to each other across the grounds.
As they got up to leave, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Tracey was looking thoughtful.
"That package from Gringotts, Whatever it was, it must be really important if someone tried to steal it right? Well I was thinking, there might be something in the library about previous break-ins, or about what kind of things would be valuable enough to steal from Gringotts, right?""
Ron shook his head. "I don't think so. You'd have to be mad to try and rob Gringotts.
Harry and Tracey changed interested looks. "Still," Harry said, "the library might tell us something. We could look tomorrow after breakfast?"
"Sounds good to me," Ron said. "Gives us more time to ignore Snape's essay."
They reached the entrance hall, where they would need to split up - Ron heading up to Gryffindor tower, Harry and Tracey down to the dungeons. "Meet here tomorrow morning then?" Harry suggested.
Ron and Tracey nodded in agreement.
In the dim corridor, Tracey looked at her reflection in a darkened window. A girl in Slytherin colors. Was being born to people who couldn't do magic a bad thing? She loved her parents. How could it be all that bad when they weren't? While you are here, your house will be something like your family at Hogwarts. So why did the others hate her? Not all of them thankfully (hopefully). Harry seemed to be ok with her. What a relief that someone in her house was. Did everything in life depend on what other people thought of it and it wasn't bad if other people didn't think it was bad or at least if they didn't know it existed, because (well, too late for that if it was a possibility at any point) what they didn't know couldn't hurt her maybe? But no. She wouldn't hide it even if she could; wouldn't be ashamed.