Chapter 1
Harry shivers as a cool morning breeze washes over him. He is sitting on the curb, poking absentmindedly at the asphalt with a stick while waiting for the arrival of Mr. Weasley. He is a bit weary, because he would swear that he saw a large black dog watching him intently from the nearby park. According to his watch, he still has 12 minutes left to wait and he’s pretty sure Snape is making him wait longer on purpose. They might be on better terms, but the professor can still be a git.
A pang of guilt follows that thought as Harry extracts a folded piece of lined paper from his pocket and smoothes it out. It has a list of names and school subjects, and some scrawled notes from the aforementioned Potion’s Master.
—
“You are abysmal at Transfiguration, you’ll want to set up tutoring for that. Percy Weasley, why aren’t you writing this down, Potter?” Harry had rushed to pull out a muggle notebook and pencil. “Percy Weasley tutors for a reasonable fee, it will be worth it for you. Just about every career path you consider will need transfiguration OWLS. Gemma Farley can help with History and Draco will be your best bet for Astronomy. All Slytherins are offered in-house rewards for tutoring, so there will be no cost or favor owed.”
Professor Snape had paused here and looked very intently at Harry before grimacing.
“You really need to broaden your horizons. Miss Granger possesses admirable study skills, but those don’t translate well to everyone. She’s too forceful, bossy, and cannot consider other learning styles. I’ve watched you for almost two weeks, and without ample breaks or changes in subject you simply stop absorbing new content. Her preferred method of berating and scolding you when your attention wanders doesn’t do anyone any favours. ”
Another long, serious look before he holds up a pale, slender hand and starts counting off.
“One, you need to socialize outside your immediate group. Learn more about your culture. Associate with other houses, learn about pureblood traditions, and learn about your place in our world. Two, Schedule bi-weekly tutoring sessions with the Slytherins, weekly with Mr. Weasley, and… talk to the Weasley twins about runes in your free time. They won’t be swayed with coin, but show them Gina. Hint about your journal. Barter for knowledge. And, finally, three… I can understand why you have been hesitant to rely on adults in the past. I implore you to let adults be just that. And, I promise you here and now, if you come to me with a problem I will do everything in my power to help.”
Harry had stood there, wide-eyed and mouth agape, after all of this. This was more information, more knowledge, and more advice than he had ever gotten from any source in all of his young life. As he started to stutter and attempt to express gratitude, Snape had turned in a sweep of black cloak and whisked away with a curt “it’s time.”
—-
Harry carefully folds the paper and puts it back in his pocket. He never imagined the day where he would be so grateful to Professor Snape. Just as he is starting to wonder if there is any way to extract a book from his trunk without removing the shrinking spell, a car backfires down the street. Harry sits up expectantly, as he knows that was, most likely, a disguised apparition POP. Sure enough, moments later, a tall red-headed man is walking down the street towards him.
“Harry!” He calls out and waves. “I’m so sorry your family had to leave to pick up your cousin from summer camp this morning! Terrible timing.”
Harry beams up at his friend’s dad. “Mr. Weasley! Thank you for picking me up!” He decides it’s best to simply not acknowledge the Dursley problem. Harry is a terrible liar, so he prefers omission.
Mr. Weasley lowers his voice conspiratorially “you’ll never guess what I passed on my way here! A sprinkleser in your neighbor's lawn! Tell me, how does it rotate? And where does the water come from?”
Harry stares dumbly at the man, but he continues on without pause as they walk towards the park where the large, black dog was earlier. Harry doesn’t see the animal, but he still feels a sense of unease prickling at the back of his neck.
“Alright there, Harry? Ready?”
Unthinking, Harry nods his assent. And then is promptly on the floor dry-heaving after experiencing the Wizarding World’s Worst Transportation for the second time. Just as the cursed thought goes through his head, could this moment get any worse?, an all-too-familiar voice drawls out above his head. Harry can barely make out something about weak stomachs and weak blood and something snarky about lions and hairballs before he’s hauled to his feet by a distracted Mr. Weasley.
“Uh, Harry?” The man asks as he shifts and looks around suspiciously. “What do you know about Sirius Black?”
—
As Harry settles into the compartment, warily eyeing the sleeping stranger, he catches Hermione shooting him another concerned glance. With a stern glare, she slumps and guiltily fiddles with the book in her lap. He bumps her foot and mouths ‘I’m ok. Thank you.” She smiles sadly and then turns towards the oblivious red headed boy seated next to her. Harry glances past the new professor out the window at the crowds of strangers on the platform. He once again thinks he sees the large black dog, but it’s gone a moment later. He knows he’s probably just imagining things, and goes over Mr. Weasley’s words again in his head.
Harry Potter shares everything with his two best friends. Having never had anything to share until 2 years ago, he revels in the feeling of camaraderie. The guilt of only telling Hermione is eating at him, but Ron tends to look at everything as an opportunity for adventure and fame. Mixed with his utter lack of tact, the orphaned boy really wasn’t looking forward to his insensitive take on this newest revelation. It had been on a whim that he’d grabbed Hermione aside and told her– knowing she’d keep it a secret if he asked and be the responsible voice of reason when it came time to speaking to an adult or not breaking the rules.
Opening the backpack at his feet, he pulls out his rune’s textbook and accompanying enchanted green notebook. The enchantments on his backpack and textbooks, another unprecedented kindness from Professor Snape, have improved his life significantly. During one of their quiet homework evenings, a question on his potion’s homework had prompted a counter-question from the Potion’s Master regarding herbology. After about 2 minutes of shuffling about in his backpack looking for the yellow notebook, the dour man had huffed out a heavy sigh and breathed out a low, threatening “Mr. Potter?”. Not long ago, that reaction would have had Harry scurrying off in fear. Instead, he’d learned that this was the man’s way of asking him to explain his end goal. Generally it meant there was some magical solution that the man would implement and, inevitably, change his life for the better.
“Uh, oh, sorry, sir.” He’d stammered out, instinctually falling back on polite address and a glimmer of fear. “I color coded my notebooks to make this easier, but I can never find anything in here. Hermione helped me place an extension charm to fit everything, but my muggle torch doesn’t work and I can’t tell each notebook by feel, only by color. She memorized where she put everything in hers, but I…well, I can never remember things like that.” He finishes with an embarrassed murmur. At the silence, he looks up through his lashes. The perpetually angry man is slumped slightly in his armchair, one hand on the bridge of his nose and the other making impatient ‘gimme’ motions. Harry carefully walks over, bag clutched tightly in his hands.
30 minutes later, the professor had removed the previous enchantments on the bag and added a plethora of long-lasting enchantments. After a vaguely ill look at the careful patches and reinforced stitching (that makes Harry feel a small rush of pride, he knows that look!), the man repairs and strengthens the bag. The teen smiles, thinking that the fact that he leaves Harry’s careful handiwork just goes to show that he really was impressed! Featherlight and muggle-repellent charms are added, along with a handy defensive reflection-spell that Harry has never heard of. His professor assures him it’s only really effective towards cutting hexes, small blasting curses, and transfiguration. Quickly dubbing it the ‘anti-bullying spell’, Harry asks if he can teach it to him. The Potion’s Master agrees with another slightly sick look. Harry beams.
It takes another 2 hours for them to complete the project and, upon hindsight, Harry never did figure out why the professor had looked at him with such a disgusted sneer and told him to look up Apiaceae in his herbology notes. It hardly matters now, though! The professor had shown him the enchantments for adding multiple extended sections into his bag and an incredibly useful binding spell that causes the accompanying notebook to be pulled out with each textbook. The new compartments were more shallow and wide, allowing for natural light to shine into the space more easily. They had added 4 of the compartments– Snape had added the first, demonstrating the spell, and then handed Harry his wand. It took a few tries and some not-so-patient directions from the professor, but Harry had created the next 3 on his own. Finally, the professor had pulled out a muggle Sharpie and given Harry a grimaced smirk.
The fine, felt tip marked easily on the faded brown lining of the bag as the professor carefully drew a small line of runes from memory. Each of the four expanded pockets and sections was marked and then the professor had ran his wand tip down them with a mutter that caused them to glow golden for a moment. Declaring them to stabilize and maintain the spells, he gave the bag back to Harry who, immediately, started asking about the runes. “No,” the man had replied. “This one, you’ll have to learn yourself. It’ll help you learn the importance of spell durability and I want you to start at the basics in class.” Accepting that easily, Harry had nodded vigorously and spent the rest of his evening before curfew organizing the compartments in his bag.
Blinking tired eyes, Harry pulled himself back into the present and looked over at his two best friends. They were in the middle of a heated, but whispered, argument. He caught the word ‘muggle’ and ‘should know’, and it reminded him of yet another conversation he’d had with his (previously) most hated professor. Not feeling all that bad about interrupting them, he leaned forward and quietly caught their attention. “Hermione?”
Stunned into silence, inquisitive brown and blue eyes both turned towards him simultaneously. “Can you tell me about receiving your Hogwarts letter?” Surprised, she immediately drops their argument (much to Ron’s relief) and starts off about the most exciting day of her pre-Hogwarts life. Gesticulating wildly and barely missing her seatmate, she begins the tale. “The knock on the door surprised us, of course. It was early on a Sunday and we weren’t expecting company. I know her now, of course, but there was this strict but kind looking woman on the porch. She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and said she was a representative from an exclusive boarding school. She asked me to call my parents so she could speak to them, and then they invited her in for tea.”
The excited girl barely takes a breath before continuing on. It’s probably for the best that she misses the horrified look on her best friend’s face as he compares the stark contrasts between their stories. “Well, we sit down and she pulls out these fliers and a big folder. She doesn’t hand them to us, yet, but conversationally starts about how the school is really exclusive and most people haven’t heard of it yet. My parents were proud, but skeptical, asking about credentials and how they knew about me. As they talked and Professor McGonagall mentioned some of my accomplishments, I was a bit confused. She didn’t seem to be talking about my academic results, and my parents seemed to get a bit nervous. I was getting a bit frustrated, but my mom leaned over and told me not to say anything yet.”
The bushy haired girl does pause at this point; whether for breath or dramatic effect, Harry isn’t sure. “My dad got into his serious mode and asked her if she was talking about what he thinks she is talking about. They look at each other for a moment, all serious, and then the professor confirms with a sharp nod. I’m even more confused now, of course. And then… they dismiss me! Can you believe it?!” Hermione is shaking her head fondly as she reminisces. “They talked for what felt like forever, but was probably only about 20 minutes and then they call me down. I’d been trying to eavesdrop, but couldn’t hear even a word. Professor McGonagall obviously cast a spell, which I know now, but I was so confused then. They call me back in and seat me between them, and she tells me about magic! She explained about Hogwarts, muggles vs the wizarding world, and so much more! She finally handed over the flier and folder, which had information about Diagon, platform 9 ¾, the schoolyear and holidays, an appointment with healers, basic etiquette that differs, and so much more! She explained that it can be harder for muggleborns but that she can tell I’m a ‘bright young witch’” Hermione says this part with air quotes and a shy grin. “We accepted, and she set a time to come back and take me to Diagon Alley with my parents.” She finishes her story with a flourish and looks at the two boys expectantly. Ron looks like he fell asleep midway through and Harry looks uncharacteristically horrified.
Officially losing both steam and excitement, she hesitantly inquires after her friend. “Harry?” He shakes his head and looks at her, aghast. She had heard a snippet or two regarding his story, but he shares the whole thing with her. By the end, she is also slack-jawed and horrified. Shaking Ron awake, she demands he share what it’s like to get your letter in a Wizarding household. He just shrugs and explains that you get your letter. It is a rite of passage, of sorts, so there usually is a dinner or some families have gifts or heirlooms they present you with as congratulations. With another shrug, he mumbles that being the 6th kid to receive your letter isn’t anything to celebrate, especially when it’s the same year Percy is made a Prefect. Before either can comment any further, the train starts slowing down.
—-------
Chocolate sitting heavily at the bottom of his otherwise empty stomach, Harry makes a futile effort to ignore the vicious laughter echoing in his head. Every time he blinks, he can clearly see the green light that has haunted him since childhood. A small hand grips his arm too tightly as it steers his numb body through the chill. He notices dark, obscured shapes in front of the carriages that seem to be shifting almost imperceptibly. He narrows his eyes and there is nothing there, but as he clamours into the conveyance, the shadows seem to shift and solidify again. Hermione’s unforgiving hold on his arm is the only thing anchoring him from the impending panic.Others pile in and the warm forms of his best friends bracket him on either side, slowly melting away the last tendrils of chill and despair left by the dementors.
The sorting passes in a blur and Harry wants nothing more than to crawl into his four poster bed and sleep away any memories of this awful day. He sees Snape looking at him intently a few times, but avoids eye contact. He isn’t sure why he feels such shame, probably because of the taunts from a seemingly unavoidable blond git, but he isn’t ready to face that yet. Instead, he determines to keep his head down and simply make it through until he’s safely in bed. Immediately betraying his own determination, he glances up and sees Snape whispering furiously to Professor McGonagall. He immediately feels bad for her, he can tell that Snape is livid about something from the way his shoulders are tensed and his hand is hidden under the table (gripped, knuckles white with contained stress). Head down again, Harry breathes a sigh of relief as the sea of students rise to exit.
“Mr. Potter, a moment, please.” His head of house’s voice cuts through the sea as they part for her. Feeling a mixture of betrayal and fear, he shuffles towards her. “Mr. Weasly, no not you, nor you, oh!” With a sharp point and beckon, Percy Weasley makes his way over with an air of importance. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley, please escort Mr. Potter here to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey is awaiting his arrival.” Turning towards Harry, whose mouth is already halfway open to protest, his stern professor gives him a soft, sad smile. “Non negotiable, I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. On your way, now.” Confused, he turns to follow his best friend’s older brother. He can’t figure out why she looked so… sad. She doesn’t know what he heard, does she? Is that why she’s sending him to the infirmary? Before his thoughts can completely spiral into a multitude of worst-case-scenarios, they arrive.
Eyeing the intimidating, empty room, Harry wonders if he can make a run for it. He hates the hospital wing, and he really isn’t sure why he’s here. Does McGonagall think he’s gone barmy?! He should have explained himself! “I’m not crazy, professor, I promise! I just heard the evil dark lord murdering my mom and her screams as she died in front of me and he laughed like an evil cartoon villain. I’m totally sane, promise!” Hmm, on second thought, maybe she is right and Harry has officially lost it. Resigned to his fate, he thanks Percy and asks him to reassure Ron & Hermione that he’s ok. Squaring his shoulders, eyes steeled, he turns to face his doom.
Rolling her eyes in clear exasperation, Madam Pomfrey doesn’t even hesitate to shoo him towards his regular bed. “Calm down, child. Goodness, it’s like you're here for your execution or something. I’ve been asked to do a checkup on you to ensure you’re not suffering from the exposure to dementors.” She gestures to his pajamas, already waiting at the foot of the bed, and activates the rune sequence on the side of the bed that provides privacy curtains. “Get changed and washed up, I’ll be back in 30.”
She hurries off, leaving Harry staring blankly at his favorite tee and sweats. “What?” he asks the empty room. As expected, he receives no response. 15 minutes later, he sits on the bed and fights off a wave of exhaustion. He worries, for a moment, that he might fall asleep before the matron returns. As he closes his eyes to a flash of green light and echoing screams, he snaps his eyes back open. Or not. He’s definitely wide awake after all, look at that! A firm knock that shouldn’t be possible when only surrounded by curtains has Harry allowing the matron re-entrance. She quirks an eyebrow at his surprised look. “You rarely take longer than 15 minutes on your nightly routine.” He grins at the broken tension before going stiff again as she pulls out her wand.
In her usual no-nonsense way, she tells him about dementors, their effects on people, and different side effects he could experience. She tells him about the 2 diagnostic spells she is about to cast and how they’ll tell her if he needs any potions for calming or dreamless sleep, any warming charms, and any other distress that needs to be addressed. After prompting him for consent, she casts the spells and hums neutrally. She taps the metal tray on the bedside table and three different potions appear. She taps two of them and they drop to half-doses. Turning back to her patient, she then explains the next step of the process and asks for his consent.
“Uhh, I don’t think I need that? I didn’t, like, fall or hurt myself or something.” She doesn’t say anything further and his nerves cause him to blather on. “Honestly, I’m here all the time, right? You would know if anything was wrong already. I’m fine. Can we, just, not?”
Her expression tightens and she taps an empty clipboard hanging near his bed. Frowning, taps it again, and then excuses herself. Utterly confused, Harry settles back into the bed to wait. He’s never seen Madam Pomfrey act like this before. Or McGonagall, now that he thinks about it. Reflecting on the whispered argument he witnessed over dinner, he suddenly wonders if this is Snape’s fault. It has to be, nobody has ever forced this kind of humiliation on him before! A small voice of reason that sounds surprisingly like Hermione scolds him for his thinking as the mediwitch bustles back in through the curtains she’d left open as she left. She appraises him with a frown and starts drilling him with questions, none of which he has satisfactory answers to, apparently.
“So, let me get this straight, Mr. Potter. You’ve never received your preventative potions for Dragon Pox, Non-hereditary Insania, Core Sickness, or Flobberworm Flu?” She checks something off as he shakes his head fearfully. “And, before Hogwarts, you have no medical records whatsoever, magical or muggle?” Another shake, no. “And, at no point during your two years here, did a single adult or responsible guardian request a yearly checkup?” As he opens his mouth to defend every magical adult he’d ever met, the stern mediwitch narrows her eyes dangerously.
“No, ma’am.”
She harrumphs before rapping the clipboard smartly and the single sheet of parchment disappears again. “Ok, young man, I need to run diagnostics and basic checkup spells on you to determine a care plan. This is something typical of all magical children and nothing to fear or be ashamed of. Without your preventative potions, you could unknowingly be subjecting your peers to danger. It is, technically, illegal to enter this school without them. The only exception is the muggleborns and, apparently, muggle raised. This is something that should have been scheduled in your first week of school. By accepting attendance, you and your magical guardian have, technically, consented to proper medical precautions. That being said, I still would rather you feel comfortable and be willing. Would you like me to summon your magical guardian?”
“Uh…I don’t have one?” At this point, Harry has stopped trying to even follow the plot. He just wishes he’d said yes and avoided all of this.
Harry has seen the stoic Madam Pomfrey knit brutal wounds, heal nasty curses, regrow bones, and save victims of poison. In all of his visit here, he has never seen her look angry, as she does now. Tensing up with an unexpected shiver of fear, Harry backs himself further into his pillows. What did he do, now?! Why is this night playing out to be such a disaster? As he takes a breath to… apologize? Ask her what he needs to do for her to never look angry again? She takes a calming breath and smiles at him sadly. Being the second sad smile of the night, he recovers from the fear and swings towards indignant. He feels himself bristling and she must see it on his face because she holds up a placating hand.
“All witches and wizards, by law, have a magical guardian. Muggleborns are under a proxy guardianship of their head of house. If…” she hesitates as if wanting to say something else. “If your parents didn’t assign a magical guardian and your muggle relatives haven’t, either, Professor McGonagal would be your proxy magical guardian. And, as it happens, she is the one that sent you to me for this checkup. If it is all right with you, Mr. Potter, we will cast the diagnostic tonight and then address your PPs” she smiles again here as he stifles a childish snort at the nickname for the Preventative Potions. “And any other medical concerns tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
Scrunching his nose at the idea, he nods. Immediately remembering Professor Snape’s obnoxious habit of requiring verbal answers, he tacks on a polite “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” She gives him a proud nod and then proceeds to cast several complicated looking spells. He feels a bit of a tickle after one, an uncomfortable heat in his gut with another, and absolutely nothing else. Taking his clipboard, she taps it a few times and he sees a small stack of parchment appear, shuffle a bit, and then disappear again.
“Rather painless in the end, wasn’t it, Mr. Potter?” He smiles sheepishly and she huffs a small laugh. Gesturing to the metal tray, she lets him know why he has this small buffet of potions to take. “Calming, as you’ve had a rather stressful evening an you may not feel it, but you are incredibly tense and still showing spikes of adrenaline. Dreamless sleep, generally a must after a close encounter with dementors so the dread doesn’t creep into your nightmares. And, finally, a stomach-soother. That will help keep the other potions down and allow the chocolate you ate to start countering the latent effects of the dementors. Any questions?” Her patient shakes his head and reaches without hesitation for the stomach soother. Severus would be proud! He proceeds to down each potion without complaint and only a small grimace. He barely has time to mumble out a thank you before slumping. A few quick spells move him to a prone position, adjust the pillows, and encase him in a soft blanket. She renews the warming charm on the blanket and sees a little more of the tension melt off his small frame.
Harry sleeps the deepest, most wonderful sleep of his entire life that night. Completely oblivious to the world around him, he doesn’t hear as Madame Pomfrey re-summons his charts, makes two copies of them, and storms (quietly, but also angrily) to her office floo. Tapping a small chart on the wall, she sets alerts on the single occupied bed and impatiently awaits the arrival of her two peers. She utilizes the metal tray on her desk, identical to the ones present on the bedside tables, and orders 3 calming draughts. Just as she is adjusting the dosage, the first of her guests arrives. Seeing the tray, the potion’s master huffs a sigh and sits heavily in one of the two waiting chairs. Without a word said, he reaches out for the potion and sets about steeling himself for the upcoming conversation. The two professionals sit in silence as they await the third.