Pointing Fingers and Safety in Green
Their walk to the Headmaster’s office was silent.
Within their group, at least.
The students around them were abuzz, running to friends and family in other houses to find out what happened, to spread the news, to share theories.
Harry stared resolutely ahead, ignoring the strange tickling of healing magic on his hand.
He couldn’t decide if he was pissed, or if he was just… done.
(He refused to think about the fact that he was mainly just scared.)
They reached the bottom of the spiral stairs, McGonagall muttering a password to the two gargoyles guarding the passage.
Harry looked up and swallowed harshly.
“Mr. Potter, if you wouldn’t mind going on up, I need to speak to Severus for a moment. The headmaster will be up shortly.” McGonagall gave him a stiff nod, which he returned, before turning and stepping into the staircase.
His movements were mechanical, almost detached as he climbed.
The Headmaster’s office was filled with trinkets, a constant array of noises as things shifted and chimed and tinkered.
He scanned the room, not truly recognizing anything, until his eyes fell on a golden bird stand, and the creature slowly grooming itself on a rung, stray feathers falling to the bottom.
His wand felt warm in the holster on his forearm.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he blindly reached into his bag for the first notebook he could grab as he watched the phoenix.
As he flipped open to a blank page, the phoenix looked back, chirping, a strange sad note that echoed in Harry’s chest.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Harry moved forward, scribbling notes. “Look at you. Not too colorful, are you close to your burning day?”
The phoenix warbled.
“Do you mind if I take a picture of you?” Harry pulled out the muggle camera Hermione (well, Dan) had gotten for him.
A happy note had Harry smile as he lifted the camera to take a picture. “Absolutely beautiful.”
The bird chirped again, going back to grooming.
At least, that’s what Harry thought, until the bird turned back to him, a feather in its beak, reaching out for him.
He couldn’t breathe. “Re-really? You want me to have this?”
Another happy chirp.
His hand shook as he reached forward, taking the feather gently. “I… Thank you.” He tucked it away into a side pocket of his bag. “I’ll keep it safe.”
The next moment, the phoenix began to make harsh noises, jerking violently.
Harry started writing again, eyes wide as he watched the bird burst into flames.
“Amazing.” He looked at the pile of ash, smiling softly at the pale, bald head that now peeked out. “To be reborn, and remember everything.” He reached a finger out, petting the head, which pecked at him playfully.
“And its ashes are a powerful thing.”
Harry spun around, letting out a sigh when he saw the Sorting Hat staring back at him. “Alastair. A pleasure to see you again.”
The hat chuckled. “Indeed. It has been many years since any student has known my name.”
“You’re an artifact of the founders. It’s only fitting to give you the respect you deserve.”
“You seem to be doing quite well in Slytherin, Mr. Potter.”
Harry stood a little taller. “I am. I do believe we were right in the assumption I would do better in Slytherin over Gryffindor. The lions, while they have their strengths, are a little too… brash for me. At least, now that I’ve realized my place in this world.”
“I agree. You are doing better. But, from what I can tell, you also are trying to do good, which is a rare thing for a child of your age, of your caliber.” The hat stared down, the felt forming a frown.
Harry’s brows furrowed. “Are you animated the entire year? How much do you retain?”
Alastair laughed. “More than I care to, young one. I suppose you could say I am in the same realm as the portraits. We know more than we remember, and when something similar arises, or we are asked, the information is brought back to the surface.”
“Interesting.” Harry scribbled some more, noting a few questions to research, or maybe to break back into the office to ask at a later time. He sighed again, looking back at the phoenix. “His name is Fawkes?”
“Yes. He is the headmaster’s companion, his familiar, if you will.”
“At least he’s not alone when he molts, then. An ending with a friend is better than suffering alone.”
“He may suffer for a few moments, Mr. Potter, but it yields a better future. Ashes may be known for their endings, but it yields the chance for a new beginning. While it is dangerous, fire can be… cleansing, of a sort. After the last tendril of smoke has faded, there is growth, that may not have emerged without the fire in the first place.”
Harry listened to the hat, reaching out to pet Fawkes again.
“Are you bound to the headmaster, Alastair?”
“Only in that he is the safekeeper of the castle. He holds no power over me beyond his duty to keep me safe as long as I perform the duties that the founders created me to do.”
Harry nodded, but before he could say anything else, the door to the office opened, and the headmaster walked through, McGonagall and Snape just behind.
“Mr. Potter.”
“Headmaster. Your phoenix has molted, and seems to be doing well.”
“Ah, finally. I’d been telling him for days that he’d do best to get it over with. But something kept him from burning. Perhaps he just wanted a new friend to witness.”
“I appreciate the chance. How long have you had him?”
McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Potter. Surely these questions can wait for another time.”
“All due respect, ma’am, my questions actually will yield answers, whereas the questions I believe the headmaster has for me won’t yield anything.”
Dumbledore looked at him over his half moon glasses. “Are you sure?”
The door was thrown open again, groaning as it grew to allow Hagrid through to the room. “Professor Dumbledore, sir!” He stopped in his tracks, eyes wide when he saw Harry shifting uncomfortably in front of the bird stand, Snape moving to stand beside him. “Harry?”
“Hiya, Hagrid. Albus here thinks I’ve had something to do with an accident that happened early today. Say, what do you know about phoenixes?”
“A student and a House ghost were found petrified about an hour ago. We simply have questions for Mr. Potter.” McGonagall sighed.
“He didn’ do it. I’d been watchin’ him fly at practice fer hours.”
“Yes, we are aware. We still have questions.”
Harry leaned around Snape’s form, eyes catching on what his friend was carrying. “Still having issues with the roosters, Hagrid?”
The man looked down, blinking at the reminder of why he had come up in the first place. “Aye, the new batch’a roosters killed, eggs smashed.”
Harry frowned, and looked back at the Headmaster. “What exactly do you let go on in this school, sir?”
Snape cleared his throat. “Perhaps we may allow Mr. Potter to answer whatever arbitrary questions he must so that I may see him safely returned to the Slytherin dorms.”
They all looked to the headmaster with expectant expressions, each with various levels of exhaustion.
“I’ll, uh. I’ll step outside.” Hagrid turned to squeeze back out of the door.
Albus steepled his fingers. “Harry, I must say that it was a bit of a surprise to hear that you possess the ability to speak with snakes. How long have you been able to do so?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “What, do you think a year in Slytherin has me doing Dark rituals in the basement to turn myself into Salazar Slytherin?” He lifted up an arm, dark skin almost glowing from the dozens of candles lit around the room. “I’m Indian, professor. I’m sure that if I were to reach out to my father’s family there, I’d find at least half a dozen people who share the talent, even if they don’t publicize the fact. Do not try to have me be ashamed of a family trait. I have quite a few other things to be ashamed of.”
Snape inhaled sharply behind him.
“Indeed.” Dumbledore smiled. “Anything that I can assist with? I am a resource for all of my students, Harry, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my many years, it’s how to listen.”
Harry bit back a sneer. “As many of the things I struggle with stem from the family you forced me to live with, I doubt that conversation would help either of us. Sir. Is there anything else? As I told Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite fit for company, and I have a stop to make before I can go back to my dorm.”
The headmaster sighed. “If you’re sure, Mr. Potter. My door is always open.”
Harry turned before the man could see him roll his eyes. Neither Snape nor McGonagall said a word. “Good evening, Professors.” He strolled out, Snape a step behind.
A few words with Hagrid, and Harry was strolling with a singular purpose.
Seeing Justin.
“You play a dangerous game, Mr. Potter,” Snape muttered as they cut through the faculty dorms to get to the hospital wing.
“I will not let that man control me more than he already does, Professor. He was attempting to use the injury of my friend as a manipulation tactic. How would you have me react?”
“With the subtlety that our House is known for. And the patience to know when to strike.”
Harry paused, staring at the doors of the infirmary at the other end of the hall. “Maybe if it wasn’t one of mine that I now have to see laid up for Morgana knows how long.”
The only thing Harry could think was that his hand was cold.
Harry traced the slightly confused expression, a slight surprise, maybe horror, on Justin’s face as Snape stood guard behind him.
“I realize that this won’t truly help the turmoil you must feel right now, Mr. Potter, but I need to remind you that he is fine. He lives, and in just a few short months, when the mandrakes mature, he will awake as if nothing happened.”
Harry set his jaw. “But something did happen. He’s losing months, missing classes, who knows if he’ll be required to repeat the year. And we still don’t know how this happened. For all we know, he was a hair’s breadth away from dying.” He turned to the professor, who’s expressionless face did little to comfort him. “Why are the Aurors not involved?”
Snape sighed. “I am not sure of the laws or charters involved, but the Headmaster’s reach may influence any such investigations.”
“Of course.” Harry took a deep breath. “I believe I may need to have a few conversations with my lawyer and my House proxy.”
“I wish you the best of luck in your family matters.” Snape tried to meet Harry’s eyes, and when he did, his eyebrow raised as he spoke. “I’m sure Counselor Flint is working tirelessly to prepare for the new case you’ve levied against Professor Lockhart.”
Harry smirked. “Of course, sir. And constant communication is crucial at such an early stage of the lawsuit. It helps that Marcus is such a friend, and doesn’t mind assisting his father with inquiries I might have.”
Snape’s mouth ticked. “Indeed. Now, come. It’s nearly time for dinner, and I’m sure your friends would appreciate the update on Mr. Finch-Fletchley.”
With one last sweep of his hand, Harry stood and left his friend in the Hospital Wing, a plan forming in his mind with each step separating them.
Harry shuffled through the stones and immediately spotted his friends at their usual fireplace. Hermione, as usual, was jumping between books and her extensive notes, scribbling with a pencil. Ron, however, was watching the room, and met Harry’s eyes as soon as he looked his way, and gestured him over.
“Hey, mate. How was the Headmaster?”
Harry weaved through other Slytherins, not bothering to wait to talk, not surprised that the news made it back to the Pit. “Well, he has a phoenix, which is really cool. Hagrid’s going to let me borrow a Creatures Collective that’s about Fawkes in particular. Snape was a little peeved that Albus didn’t ask for him to be present while he interrogated me. Not that Albus would admit that was what happened, especially since I had nothing to tell him. Snape was also a little peeved that I punched a wall, and that McGonagall was fine with letting me leave a blood trail up to the headmaster’s office.”
He ignored the curious (frustrated) looks that were shot his way as he worked his way to the empty cushions behind Hermione.
“Snape also took me to see Justin. Not that there was much to see, he’s petrified just like Creevey. Alive, stable, just… stone.”
They all grew quiet, Hermione fidgeting with her quill, Ron staring into the fire.
“Oh, and Snape seems to think that Albus might be watching letters in and out of the school, made some comment about writing about family matters and not the petrifications. Not sure how, unless he has a mail ward around the campus. Might need Marcus to go home at Yule and talk to his da.” He pushed aside the resentment he still carried and sighed. “In unrelated news, I’m dropping out of school.” Harry fell roughly onto the couch, jostling Hermione’s notes even as she rolled her eyes at his antics.
Ron, however, frowned with a nod. “Wouldn’t have to worry about Dumbledore then. Mum will kill us, but we could probably run off to Romania and hide with Charlie. Do you think Parseltongue works on dragons? We didn’t get a chance to really try with Norbert.”
Both Harry and Hermione froze at the idea before Harry sat up awkwardly from his half-collapse. “Do you think Griphook would know? Or if he does, actually tell me?”
Hermione quickly started shaking her head. “Hadrian James, you are not allowed to sneak down to the lower levels of Gringotts to find the dragon and try to talk to it. I doubt that’s covered in your contract and I don’t think even Griphook could get you out of that amount of trouble.”
“So I’ll work up to it.” He waved her off. “I’m not really hungry, but I think our presence in the Great Hall is necessary. Are we ready for dinner? And maybe the Nook after? I think I need to write a letter.”
Never before did Harry think silence could hold such violence.
Not even when Vernon was bubbling with fury, his lack of words was broken apart by the heavy breath of outrage.
But as Harry entered the Great Hall, and all whispering ceased as hundreds of students turned to look at him, he felt the tips of knives along his skin.
Until, however, Marcus grinned from the end of the table and gestured for him to join.
Without even having to ask, green robes scooted apart, older students letting Harry and his friends join them.
(Including a fierce Susan Bones, who pushed a terrified Ernie Macmillan’s hand away to bring a plate to the Slytherin table, right beside Harry, Hannah not far behind.)
Even when an older Ravenclaw started spouting vitriol from the table behind them, a seventh year Slytherin turned with a vicious glare and a threat.
Slytherin was loyal to their own, after all.
Especially when the threats came from outside the house.
Harry looked around their table in the Great Hall, at the people looking at him like he was a legend, like he was a ghost, like he was the next victim in a horror story.
These people who were half scared of him, but saw his green tie and pushed him behind themselves.
These people who glared at the other tables, people who, when Gryffindors would pass by hissing at Harry, they would turn around and hiss back.
These people who, when other houses were stupid enough to ask if Harry was actually the Heir of Slytherin, even those who would push him around in the common room would throw an arm around his shoulder and straighten their own green ties with a grin and a “Aren’t we all, that’s why we’re in his house.”
These people who even when they scoffed at Hermione and threw slurs at her behind closed doors, made sure she never walked alone in the halls.
These people. His people.
If they could claim him and his as theirs after all this, he supposed he should claim them as his.
Rule one, after all.
It was hard to pay attention in class.
Classes slowed, as fear escalated, and as the winter holidays crept closer.
Christmas trees popped up throughout the castle, much to the annoyance of anyone who followed the old traditions, or even those from different religions.
Harry decided to practice his transfiguration in a more practical way, and at every Christmas tree he came across, he made a menorah from a nearby sconce to sit alongside.
(Anthony was the first to see this and came up to shake Harry’s hand. A few other Jewish students chipped in to get Harry and Ron a large box of latkes to share before they left for break.)
Ron slunk into the common room one night, having been in the Badger Set (Harry was a bit too excited at correcting everyone who called it a den, because badgers lived in sets, and wasn’t that interesting terminology?) with Susan and Anthony, ignoring the pointed looks from other Hufflepuffs at his green robes. When he collapsed on the couch in the second year boy’s lounge, ruffling Ginny’s hair as he did, the sigh he let out was pained.
Harry exhaled while rubbing his eyes, turning away from a letter to Gerard. “What’s wrong? Any trouble with the badgers?”
Ron groaned. “No. For some horrifying reason, Percy has decided that the labyrinth is the best place to make out with his girlfriend.”
Ginny snickered, Pansy just rolling her eyes.
“What, does he just conveniently forget that Ginny and I are down here? Not to mention you and ‘Mione. The dungeon labyrinth is Slytherin territory. I don’t need to see that. It’s almost as bad as Marcus when he sneaks Oliver in here. Like, I’m happy that he has someone, but just… not in front of me.”
Harry turned to dig in his bag, looking for his quill-sharpener. “Mum’ll flip when she finds out,” he muttered, unthinking.
When his brain finally caught up to his mouth, Harry froze. “Uhhh…. I mean-”
Ron just gave him a happy grin.
Ginny popped up from her seat on the floor around the corner of the couch. “Please let me be there the first time you call her that to her face. She’ll cry.”
Pansy leaned against her with a sympathetic smile. “It’s not like it’s surprising, Hadrian. You write to her more than any of the Weasley kids. She tried to host you for the holiday. She sends you food when she’s trying new recipes. Why wouldn’t you call her mom?”
Ron turned with a glare. “She’s sending you food?”
Harry rolled his eyes, standing. “I’m going to see if Marcus wants to duel.”
“What has she sent? Do you have any now?”
Ginny rolled her eyes, pushing Ron off the couch, but he just stood and followed Harry out. “Why didn’t you share?”
Molly Weasley had, indeed, written directly to the headmaster to see if Harry would come to the Burrow for the break, but no amount of pleading from any mixture of Weasleys saw McGonagall and Dumbledore allow for it.
Harry was getting annoyed at the man’s meddling.
In solidarity, even Percy Weasley signed up to stay at the castle, and once again, as the masses left, the few students left were those cramming for OWLs or NEWTs, Weasleys, and Harry and Hermione.
And, for some reason, a few purebloods, including Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco Malfoy, who watched any Herald with a scowl.
(It turned out to be a good thing that the Weasleys stayed. With every stray spell that came Harry’s way from an upper year Gryffindor, a prank went off in the lions’ den, with identical grins coming from a variety of Weasleys.)
The dinner after the majority of the school left was a quiet affair, only a handful of students at each table, only a few professors on the dais.
McGonagall stood, face serious. “As you all know, the castle is still on high alert after the events of the past few weeks. Due to this, as a precaution, when not in the Great Hall for meals, you must be in a common room.”
Ignoring the groans from the students, she continued. “I realize that many of you are here studying. If that is the case, and you wish to utilize the library, all heads of houses will be implementing a ward alarm in the common rooms for you to engage, and they will escort you to the library. Madam Pince will assist you in collecting whatever books necessary, and you will be seated at tables near the front of the room.”
She dismissed them, moving to stand over the Gryffindor table, instantly engaged with a concerned Percy.
Harry stared at where she had stood with a frown, thinking.
Ron kept eating.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “They can’t actually think that announcement will stop anyone.”
After a moment of silence, she flicked Harry’s shoulder.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. I mean, we’ll be careful, but the twins already asked for our help figuring out gifts. So we’ll just take a few of the secret corridors up to the Den.”
Ginny slid a few seats closer, ditching a conversation with Preston Harper, the only other first year staying. He was clearly in the middle of a sentence when her attention turned away, but he just sighed and followed her down.
“Wait, you’re going to the Gryffindor tower? Can I come?” Ginny shot all three of them a pleading smile.
Ron immediately was on edge. “...why? We’re not causing trouble, we’ll get away with it easier if Dawn doesn’t tell McGonagall that we’re passing through, and she one hundred percent will if you start a prank war with Fred.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, flipping her hair right into Harper’s face. “I’m not going to do anything. I heard that one of the Gryffindor first years is the cousin of a chaser for the Harpies.”
Harper coughed as he pushed her hair out of his mouth. “You can’t just have asked during class? Jones was in our Potions double yesterday.”
She turned to glare at him. “Keep that up and I won’t invite you.”
“Why would I want to go hang out in the Gryffindor common room?”
“Because none of the others have.”
Harper thought for a second, and then shrugged. “Fair. When are we going?”
“Well, first, neither of you were invited, so just remember that when we help you sneak across the castle and into another common room.” Harry tugged a strand of Ginny’s hair before turning back to a bowl of treacle tart. “Second, we have to wait for the actual Gryffindors to leave. Dawn won’t let us in when the lounge is empty.”
An hour later, the portrait to the Gryffindor common room opened, and McGonagall ducked through.
She froze at the sheer number of green robes in the room.
Ginny had successfully cornered an amused Megan Jones, and the two were discussing the Harpies’ season with matching grins.
Hermione and Percy were discussing Hermione’s research on house elves and the department in the Ministry needed to start reform.
Ron had stolen an odd book from the singular shelf in the room, and was sprawled on a too-red couch reading a book on magical creature sightings in the muggle world, and how that led to cryptozoology.
Harry and the twins, having gotten distracted from last minute gift shopping within the first five minutes, were debating brewing techniques needed for their pranks.
Preston was awkwardly sitting halfway between Ginny and Harry, whom he had decided was the safest of the remaining options, and was listening in on the conversation with a rapt interest.
“George, I’m telling you, if you dice instead of mince, it’ll have a thicker consistency while still retaining most of the essence that you’re looking for. That will work better for the ooze that you’re going for.”
“But how much will the essence be diminished?” Fred chimed in, flipping through a potions book with a frown.
“I can’t know for sure, since you won’t tell me the ingredients you’re using. But you can always find something else to add to the structure to make sure it’s what you want.”
McGonagall sighed, glancing around the room.
No one looked back.
She moved to stand over Percy and Hermione, the two most logical in the room, looking down at the two of them with an exasperated huff.
Hermione’s eyes flickered up as a shadow fell over her notebook. “Good evening, Professor. We still have a bit before curfew, but we’ll leave soon.”
The Gryffindor Head turned to her prefect with an expectant brow raised. The boy swallowed harshly. “They are family, for the most part. And it is Yu-Christmas.” He coughed, looking back down before his face completely went red.
McGonagall looked back to Hermione, who simply shrugged. “It was never specified that the common room had to be ours.”
Unfortunately for the Slytherins, McGonagall insisted on escorting them back to the Snake Pit herself, and they filed into the common room with matching frowns.
“Next year I say we just post up in one of the rooms with everyone. Maybe Hufflepuff, they’ve got plenty of space for a sleepover,” Ron grumbled as he veered towards his usual spot, ignoring the shock of white hair that signaled Draco’s presence.
He did a double take when he realized there were two sets of nearly white blonde hair, both bent in a conversation over a chessboard.
“How’d you get in here, Lu?” He asked, turning back to sit on a couch closer to the Ravenclaw.
Harry just leaned down to buss her cheek on his way to the second year lounge.
Luna looked up with a wide grin and just shrugged before moving a piece.
Ginny plopped down beside her, ignoring the now-awkward expression of Draco, who watched her warily. “She’s in here all the time. More often than you lot, which, while not surprising, explains why you’ve not seen her here. Because you aren’t. Lu, did you get your dad’s nail polish?”
The next morning, Harry left his room to see Ginny and Luna dozing on the couch of the second year boy’s lounge, nails freshly painted with a shimmering polish.
(Apparently, the particular color they used was infused with a calming potion, and the two had to beat Harry away from the bottle with pillows so he didn’t try to deconstruct it. He did let them paint his nails, though.)
Harry watched them with a smile, before sitting down on the table in front of them.
“Ginny.” He shook her shoulder gently, pulling away as soon she inhaled sharply and opened an eye.
“Hmm?”
“It’s nearly ten. We’re about to go to brunch. Are you coming?”
She sighed tiredly, eyes falling closed again, before nodding.
“You wake up Lu, I’m going to go get Hermione, and then we’ll throw something in at Ron.” He only got a few steps away before Luna’s voice stopped him.
“She’s not there. She and Farley went to the library about an hour ago.”
Harry sighed before turning back to them. “Well, that’s her gone for the day. Ginny, go wake up your brother.”
Ginny gave him a look, eyebrows raised, and laughed, before getting up and pulling Luna towards the first year girls rooms. “Have fun, Potter.”
Harry stomped a foot with a groan and looked towards the sleeping Weasley’s door.
The group of them (minus Hermione, who, as Harry guessed, was yet to be seen), were huddled over various catalogs, doing last minute purchases, mainly for their families.
Harry, in particular, was trying to find something suitable for the adults in his life.
“What did you get Gerard and Andi?” Ron asked, leaning over a copy of Housewitch Home Helper.
“Gerard’s getting a list of things to focus on for the upcoming year. Making a concrete plan for Sirius Black, renegotiating contracts with family businesses in India, that sort of thing. He finds the impertinence amusing. I sent his wife a bottle of expensive wine from her favorite winery for having to deal with him.”
Harry ignored the laughter around him as he flipped a page with a frown. “Andi refused to accept any gifts, so I gave a donation to the children’s ward of St. Mungo’s in her and Ted’s name, and I’m sending them copies of photos of us from last year, because she made a subtle comment about missing out on my first year at school.”
“That’s really quite sweet, Harry.” Ginny gave him a grin, one he didn’t notice as he tapped his fingers on the table worriedly. “What is it?”
Harry bit his lip. “Do you think… Mum… would like this recipe book?” He flipped the catalog around to show the other Weasleys.
Ron and Fred caught each other’s eyes, grinning wildly.
Ginny just rolled her eyes.
George leaned forward, ruffling Harry’s hair.
“Yeah, I think she’ll love it, mate.”
Harry blushed, dark skin shining in the light as he swatted at George’s hand. “Shove off, Weasley.”
All the redheads in the vicinity instantly leaned closer, poking at him.
He groaned and stood, dodging from pointed fingers. “I’m going to send Hedwig off to order this. Hopefully she’ll make it in time so it won’t be late.” He took another bite of toast and headed out of the room.
They watched him go with a shared glee.
Ron Weasley was happy with his life.
He had a family that loved him for the way he was, friends who would burn the castle down if it meant keeping him safe. He was actually enjoying (most) of his classes, even when it meant Hermione was prodding him to do his work.
Maybe people outside of the Heralds, outside of the Slytherins that paid attention, maybe they didn’t think anything more of him than Harry Potter’s best friend.
Another Weasley, a lanky slacker who was always slouched, always leaning, never reaching his full potential, even with something as simple as his height.
But he could work with that.
He could tell how quickly he got looked over, people seeing his red hair and thinking it safe, not important.
That just meant no one thought twice before gossiping in front of him, no one even really focusing on him, eyes sliding right over.
But when he turned the corner from the Great Hall just in time to see Cormac McLaggen’s fist connect with his best friend’s face and then aim a kick at his stomach when he landed in a heap, Ron Weasley couldn’t help but uncurl, his spine straightening.
Most people didn’t realize how tall he really was.
He was easily taller than many of the third years, even some of the fourth.
So when his hands grabbed the collar of McLaggen’s robes, everyone in the vicinity took a step back, watching as he almost had the older boy dragging his toes on the marble floor.
Jaw set, blue eyes staring at the Gryffindor like ice, it wasn’t a surprise that more than a few students ran back into the Great Hall to get a professor.
Nor was it surprising that Harry was suddenly standing, ignoring the blood dripping from his nose, the pain in his side, the uncomfortable buzz of an oncoming panic attack tearing at the top of his chest, to put a gentle hand on Ron’s arm.
“Ron, no. You, out of all of us, are better than this.” Harry’s voice was low, hushed, but with how quiet the Entrance Hall was, almost everyone could hear. “You’re the level-headed one, remember?”
Ron turned to him, eyes flashing.
Just the sight of blood made him remember how… small Harry looked the year before, laying in the hospital bed after Draco dragged him out from the forbidden corridor.
“Not when it comes to you, Hadrian Potter. I would tear this world apart before I let some idiot hurt you.”
Harry gave him a wane smile. “That’ll come. We’ll have to tear it down to rebuild it. But not here. Not now. Not over McLaggen .”
A commotion at the doors distracted everyone enough for Harry to pull Ron away, just as the professors burst through to the hall, just as Cormac fell to the floor coughing.
“What in Merlin’s name is going on here?” McGonagall took in the scene with wide eyes.
Snape, as usual, appeared over Harry’s shoulder. “Mr. Potter, is there a particular reason that you are bleeding yet again?”
Harry turned a glare to McLaggan, and responded with a flat tone. “I tripped.”
“And Mr. McLaggan?” McGonagall looked between the three of them. “Are you well?”
McLaggan stared daggers at Harry, rubbing his throat, but looked away with a flush. “Last bit of food went down the wrong way. I’m fine.”
Snape pulled his snakes away before McGonagall could even attempt to refute the claim.
“Mr. Weasley, I really expected better from you,” he drawled as he led them back to the dungeons.
“Your expectations of me are not my problem,” Ron responded, eyes on a pained Harry.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned back. “Mr. Potter, do you require the infirmary?”
Harry groaned, leaning up against a wall as they stopped. “Merlin, please, no. She’ll have me there 'til Yule. Just some pain-relief potion, professor, and I’ll be fine.”
The potions master stared at him for a moment, before nodding and pulling out his wand. “I will do a basic diagnostic, and if nothing is broken, I will send you on your way.”
A minute later, Harry was sighing in relief, and Ron was tugging him towards the common room.
Christmas Day was a muted affair on many accounts.
The day started with Harry pleading to be let into the infirmary to see Justin and Colin, and a pitying Madam Pomfrey stepped aside to let the group through.
Harry sighed as he perched on Justin’s bed, patting his leg. “Maybe I should have let Snape bring me here the other day, at least it would have been easy to see you, mate.” He pulled out a photo frame adorned with a red ribbon. “Happy Christmas, Justin.” He turned away, leaving the framed moving picture of the Heralds in the middle of a game of tag, Justin laughing as he lunged for Susan, on the bedside table.
Harry patted Colin’s shoulder, leaving a wrapped box of new film next to him, and left the room, only Ginny pulling away to follow him.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
Harry paused, turning back to look at her over his shoulder. “Maybe. But it’s still my responsibility.”
“Hadrian, you’re twelve. Your only responsibility should be… school. Homework, and tag, and Quidditch, and buying adorably sweet presents for your family.” She moved forward, gently taking his hand in hers.
He gave her a wane smile. “That’s not how our world works, Gin, and you know it.”
She scanned his face. “Well, it is today. There are gifts, and new batches of Weasley sweaters, and possibly me punching Malfoy in the face. C’mon. Let’s get the others and drag the twins and Percy down to the Snake Pit.”
Harry laughed as she pulled him back towards the infirmary doors. “Percy would never.”
“Well, we might as well try.”
For the second year in a row, Harry stood over a pile of presents with an awed expression.
Even surrounded by it day after day, it was still hard to believe how many people actually cared for him now.
Luna laughed as she appeared in the room, pulling him down to the floor with her. As soon as she was settled, a pile of gifts appeared in front of her. “Thank you, Oddment!”
Harry shot her a look.
“Ravenclaw house elf. Since Anthony and Padma went home for the holidays, I asked if I could open my gifts here. She’s also sending a pudding along with whatever Tweak decides to make for you all.” Luna gave a dreamy grin and hugged Harry. “Happy Yule, Hadrian.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “You too, Luna.”
They were tackled fully to the floor by a flash of red.
“Ow, Ginny, why.”
The gifts were similar to the year prior, and Harry couldn’t have been more pleased.
Treacle tart from Hagrid, which was instantly placed in front of the fire to soften.
Ron got him Flying with the Cannons, and laughed when Harry flung it back at him.
Hermione had bought him a luxury eagle-feather quill in a dark emerald green.
A plum cake from Molly, and a round of sweaters for everyone, even Luna, who looked down at it with wide eyes, even as Ginny draped herself against her side.
Gerard, true to form, sent him an article dressing down Lockhart after news of Harry’s lawsuit about his injury hit the news.
And the finalized contract with Andi to go review and return.
Andi herself sent photos of his parents, including some of herself and Ted, of Sirius Black, ones he smiled widely at before tucking into the album he received the year before.
Marcus had sent a book on unusual seeker strategies, with a note scribbled in it reading Not that you need it, after that Gryffindor match.
Harry was thrilled that it had multiple chapters on the Caerphilly Caterpillars, and Dangerous Dai Llewellyn, who was quickly becoming his favorite Quidditch player of all time.
Odds and ends from the other Heralds; cards, candy, books, vouchers for his favorite haunts on Diagon.
Even Garrick Ollivander sent him a book concerning the centering of one’s magic.
Flick had sent a voucher to Flourish & Blotts, and a letter pleading for him to let her start sending out feelers on his behalf.
(His present to her was his permission, but only to see which way the wind was blowing, not to use his name in any way.)
Another letter, tucked under a pile of muggle candy from Dan and Emma, had him pausing.
The faint fragrance of spices wafted from the envelope, looping letters in a glittering red ink.
He opened it, struggling to breathe.
Dearest Hadrian,
You will most likely not have heard of me. But I have heard of you, if only through letters during your mother’s entire pregnancy.
Your father was so thrilled to meet you, which he made sure to mention at least once a week in his letters to me.
It is strange to say this, as we’ve never spoken, but I’m one of your aunts.
Your father’s favorite, as he loved to tell me.
In a perfect world, you would have spent half your days playing in my garden, eating fresh naan and learning all of my recipes.
I am so sorry you didn’t get that.
Your lawyer reached out to me, looking for anyone in Kalale that was connected to you.
The fact you are old enough to have a lawyer is astonishing.
The fact that you need one, even moreso.
I am so sorry for not seeking you out, my darling.
I had thought that it was your parents’ wish, when you weren’t placed with me after their deaths.
I see now that was wrong, and I hope to rectify my mistake.
Whenever you wish, whenever you can, my home is yours, Hadrian.
It isn’t much, but Kalale is a magic of its own making.
I hope to see you soon, little one. And please, feel free to write me. I would love to get to know the last bit of James left in this world.
More importantly, I would simply love to know you.
All my love in the world, Hadrian.
Your aunt,
Haide Potter
Yule always seemed to make him cry.