Chapter 3
The rest of the train ride goes smoothly, with the four Gryffindors quietly chatting for the majority of the trip. Luna mostly kept to herself - barring the occasional odd comment - and read through her copy of the strange magazine she bought on board. First upside down, then right side up but in reverse, and then finally the normal way one reads a magazine.
All the while, she seemed blissfully unaware of the looks Hermione was sending her, with furrowed brows and pursed lips. Harry thought Hermione didn’t quite know what to make of the younger girl. Usually, when Hermione delivered one of her trademark set downs, it was done in such a logical and no nonsense manner, that whoever dared to spread information that was false - or just poorly researched, would be thoroughly scolded and ashamed.
In contrast, Luna didn’t give ‘Mione much of a chance to lecture her. Luna would say something outlandish and unprompted, Hermione would try and disagree, Luna would doe-eyed blink at her, and return to whatever article she was reading, ignoring Hermione completely.
The only time they saw any sort of strong reaction was when Hermione disparaged Luna’s reading material, stating that The Quibbler was full of nonsense, and everyone knew it.
“My father is the editor of The Quibbler, and is the primary author of all its articles. I can assure you it’s not “full of nonsense.” And despite it only being a monthly publication, its sales nearly surpass the total sales of Witch Weekly. Our readers are loyal to us, because The Quibbler provides honest and unbiased reporting, which has been lacking in The Daily Prophet for years now.”
Luna’s eyes had narrowed to a glare, and it looked strange on her fae like features, “We open our readers eyes to the hidden mysteries of the world. I would imagine you are simply too close minded to appreciate our investigative reporting.” And with a dismissive sniff that would do McGonagall proud, Luna returned to her edition of The Quibbler.
Over Hermione’s embarrassed sputtering, Harry thinks he’s the only one to notice how tightly Luna is gripping the magazine, now raised to cover all of her face and only allowing the very top of her wispy blond hair to show.
Other than this small hiccup, their carriage goes undisturbed for the entirety of the journey, thanks to a subtle notice-me-not charm Harry applied on the door shortly after Ron and Hermione had joined them.
When they estimate they’re about thirty minutes out from Hogsmeade station, the boys step outside the carriage to allow the girls to change into their uniforms.
Harry, outfit intentionally chosen for ease of changing this evening, snags his robes on the way out and pulls them on in the hallway. Balancing against the movement of the train, Harry leans against the wall and peers out the window to appreciate the view. The sun has sunk below the high peaks surrounding the valley that Hogwarts and Hogsmeade are nestled in, but the rays shining between the jagged cliffs sets the rolling lower hills ablaze with golden light.
Ron and Neville are talking quietly behind him, debating on what Snape will terrorize them with during their first lesson this year. Neville’s prediction is cut off when the door leading towards the back of the train slams open.
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry finds one of the last people he wanted to see and has to refrain from letting out a sigh.
Draco Malfoy eyes the three of them with a sneer, before giving Harry’s attire a second look. Crab and Goyle are hovering behind him like usual.
“Well, looks like someone was finally dragged into Twillfit and Tattlings. You almost look respectable Potter. I suppose that blood traitor Black is throwing away the family fortune now that he isn’t being hunted down by the Aurors.”
Malfoy paused here as if to allow for Harry’s usual rebuttal to his name calling. But instead of the rising anger he usually felt when confronted with Malfoy’s little ferret face, Harry felt nothing.
Well, not nothing. Mild irritation, exasperation, and a great deal of weariness. Harry was…tired of this back and forth with Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy, in comparison to the literal monster Harry had faced in the graveyard, was…a child. A spoiled, arrogant, child that had likely never faced a moment of true danger in his entire life. His bullying and carrying on was the acting out of a kid who had never had to deal with the harsher realities of life, because he was wealthy, a member of the elite class in their society, and had two parents that - for all their faults - loved their son.
And as Harry considered Malfoy now, he just didn’t feel like bothering with their usual song and dance - where Malfoy insults him and his friends, they get angry and insult him back, and inevitably wands get drawn and points taken.
Harry has already paused too long, has deviated from his usual role in this confrontation - normally he would have responded by now to Malfoy’s insults. Harry can read a split second of confusion on Malfoy’s face at the silence - and surely Ron and Neville are also sending him glances - before the Slytherin’s face forms a sneer again.
“Have you gone deaf over the summer, Potter? Or just as dumb as Longbottom?” Harry hears Neville’s flinch behind him, the sting landing, just as he hears Ron’s sharply drawn breath, which will surely result in insults thrown back to the other boy. Luckily, Harry also hears the carriage door begin to slide open indicating the girls have finished changing.
Thanking Merlin for the timing, Harry intervenes in a way that is sure to best irritate Malfoy:
Polite indifference.
Harry raises a single eyebrow, and tries his best to look down his nose at Malfoy, despite being an inch shorter. With a slight nod of his head, and a quiet, “Malfoy.” Harry turns sharply towards the carriage, and gestures forward to guide a glaring Ron and wide-eyed Neville towards where Hermione stands with a hand on the carriage door, holding it half open.
Neville hurries into the carriage without further prompting, happy to get away from Malfoy and his vitriol. Ron hesitates, glancing from Malfoy to Harry to Hermione, and then back to Harry. He tries to adopt a reassuring expression, something to tell Ron, “Just trust me” without having to actually say anything in front of Malfoy.
As a testament to their long history of sending wordless message, Ron shrugs slightly and moves forward, without saying anything to Malfoy. Harry follows closely behind him, hoping to get the door shut and locked before Malfoy gets over his surprise at their sudden attitudes of non confrontation.
No such luck.
“Just going to run away Potter. I hear that’s your usual tactic nowadays.”
The graveyard. He’s talking about the graveyard, Harry realizes. Just get inside before he says anything worse.
“Seems you’re lacking in the usual Gryffindor bravery. Maybe if you were more of a credit to your house, Diggory would still be alive.” Harry hears Hermione gasp, and can’t help himself when his steps forward - nearly over the carriage door threshold - slow to a stop. “And those muggles of yours. Perhaps they’d still have their souls too if you weren’t such a bloody coward.”
The thing is, Malfoy’s insults don’t even make sense. Harry knows he’s got plenty of bravery - at times, it’s too much bravery, and it shifts into sheer recklessness. Malfoy is just blindly throwing poisoned darts, hoping to hit Harry where he thinks it would hurt the most. Mentioning the Dursleys, mentioning Cedric, calling Harry’s bravery into question…all things that Malfoy has calculated as being the most likely to cut Harry the deepest. All things that Malfoy is hoping will cause a strong reaction.
And, if this had been a few months ago, they would have. Truthfully, Harry was still tempted to turn around with his wand in hand and a jinx on his lips.
But Harry spent the last few months reading up on Wixen culture.
Knows that for years, Malfoy and him have been dangerously close to causing a formal blood feud.
Knows that in the hierarchy of the British Wixen Lords and Ladies, the Black family outranks the Malfoy family. Meaning as Heir Black, Harry outranks Heir Malfoy.
Knows that even though his last name is Malfoy, the other boy is technically still part of the Black family through his mother.
He supposes he’s getting a taste of politics after all.
Harry turns to face Malfoy with a slight smile on his face.
“While we’re speaking of being credits to our houses Malfoy, how does your father justify it?”
Malfoy blinks, an unsure expression crossing his face.
“All the kneeling and subservience to Voldemort.” Harry is a bit smug to see Malfoy flinch slightly at the name. “After all, the Malfoy’s have been pure bloods for centuries, according to all the records. And yet, your father is kneeling for a half blood. A muggle raised half blood at that.”
“What are you talking about? You’re lying!” The other boy insists.
“I’m talking about your father’s Lord. Voldemort was born Tom Riddle, he’s a half blood and was raised in an orphanage in muggle London. That’s the man your father has committed crimes for, has risked your family’s legacy for, all while spouting pure blood supremacy. The man your father went crawling back to last June.”
“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about Potter. The Dark Lord is the heir of Slytherin.”
“Oh yes, I’m not arguing that. But why does that even matter? The founders created a lasting legacy in Hogwarts, but where are they now?” Harry asks airily, “Their lines didn’t last, certainly not in any way to retain real influence, or even just money and heirlooms. The Malfoy family has been an integral part of British Wixen society for five centuries, the Blacks for a thousand years. And you can claim both of those legacies. And yet here you are, here your father is, willing to fight and die for a man that goes against all of your professed beliefs just because at one point in his family line there was a particularly powerful individual.”
He thinks if he had picked up a stick and hit Malfoy on the head, the other boy would be making a similar face. Harry’s not sure what Malfoy is so confused and surprised about - the dismissive attitude Harry is taking about Voldemort, or the comments about the Malfoy family that could almost be taken as a compliment.
“If you were a real credit to your House - either Slytherin or Malfoy, you and your father would have ambitions of your own. You’d try and better your family name for your own sake. Not to grow the power and influence of another. Are you really that eager to do someone else’s bidding for the rest of your life?”
Deciding to retreat before Malfoy gets his feet back under him, Harry turns back to the carriage and is able to slide the door shut and lock it without any further comments from the Slytherin.
He’s faced with four equally surprised faces inside the carriage. Although Hermione’s is also tinged with pride.
(Luna is dreamily staring out the window, and Harry has to wonder if she payed any attention to the confrontation happening just a few feet from her.)
“Mate…what was that about?” Ron asks
Harry shrugs, “Trying something new with Malfoy, I guess. Fighting him doesn’t seem to do anything but get us detention. And honestly he’s not really worth the energy.”
“Do you think telling him about You-Know-Who’s blood status will impact anything?” Hermione asks, voice cautiously hopeful.
“I dunno. Can’t imagine Malfoy will just take it as fact, or have the stones to go against his daddy even if he does believe me. Crabbe and Goyle looked surprised too. Hopefully at least one of them will run their mouths and the rumor will spread in the dungeons.”
“And are we…going to help this rumor spread?” Ron questions
Huh. That was an idea, Harry realized. Not having really considered it seriously before now. He had been sitting on the truth of Voldemort’s blood status for two years, and hadn’t told anyone outside his circle. What would the pure bloods do, if they knew their leader was something they would normally turn their noses up at.
“Yeah…yeah I think we are. If Tom Riddle wants to hide behind a fake name, and a new noseless face, well. I think people should know who they’re signing up to follow before getting a giant tattoo on their arms, don’t you agree?”
“Mione, any chance you can do some research on his family?” Harry asks, “I think after the mess with the diary and the Chamber, Dumbledore said something about his parents being a muggle man and a witch from an old family - Gourd, or Gawd or something. I can’t remember.”
“Gaunt?” Neville asks, eyes wide “They’re an old family, and descended from Slytherin, but…”
When he trails off, Harry confirms, “Yeah, that could be the name. Sounds kind of familiar.”
“They’re…an interesting family. Most people think they died off a few decades ago. They took blood purity to the absolute extreme. Supposedly a few generations back they started only marrying each other - to keep their blood as pure as possible.”
“Ugh. That’s disgusting.” Ron interjects
“And incredibly unsafe.” Hermione says, “Inbreeding to that extent will lead to birth defects or even miscarriages and stillborns. Although I suppose maybe magic will help to avoid that?” She asks skeptically
“No. No magic definitely doesn’t solve that problem.” Neville tells them, “From what I can remember the line died off, and the last few surviving members of the family were pretty crazy I think. Or at least that’s the impression I got from Gran when she was teaching me about all the significant families of the last century.”
Harry, who has been listening quietly, can’t quite hold back his smile. “So, our best theory as to Voldemort’s heritage is that he came from inbred and insane wixen…and a muggle.” He laughs, “Oh we’re definitely spreading this around.”
“I’ll try and find some historical records - birth and death certificates, and the like to back things up. Although any muggle records will have to wait until Christmas holiday. Or maybe my mum can send me some files...maybe if she sends them to the post office in Hogsmeade…” Hermione muses, probably already plotting how to get a library’s worth of information sent to her.
“Daddy would be quite interested in a story like this, you know.” Luna offers “If you can find the records to authenticate it.”
Hermione sniffs once, but aquiesces, “Yes that might be a good idea to get the word out beyond Hogwarts.”
“It’s a shame we couldn’t get anything in The Prophet.”
“Er, well…” Hermione says in response to Ron’s comment. “There is that…one thing from earlier in the summer. You know.” She glances furtively at Neville, Ginny, and Luna, who look just as clueless as Harry.
“What thing?” He asks
“Oh. Well, I suppose I must have forgotten to tell you, what with everything else that happened this summer.” Hermione shifts on the bench, clearly uncomfortable. “You remember of course, all those horrid articles that were written last year - “
“Yes, by Rita Skeeter, the crazy bint.” Harry interrupts, speaking over Ron’s soft “Oh” as he apparently cottons on to whatever Hermione is referencing.
“Right, well. At the end of the year I figured out how she was getting all of her information for her stories. She um. Well, she’s an animagus. A bug animagus. A beetle actually. She was unregistered and would fly around getting the scoop on stories. It’s how she knew about so many private conversations - between me and Victor, and Hagrid and Madame Maxime, you remember?”
Ginny is quietly cursing the woman in the background, and even Luna looks disapproving.
“I managed to capture her t-the night of the third task.” Hermione glances away from Harry, unable to meet his eyes. “I caught her in the Hospital Wing.” Harry’s eyes widen, and he shudders as he thinks of everything Skeeter would have witnessed that night - the confrontation with Fudge, Sirius, Harry’s breakdown. All things that would have made for incendiary articles in The Prophet.
Just as Harry starts to wonder why none of it showed up in the newspaper over the summer, Hermione continues her explanation. “I had her captured for a few weeks - in a, um, in a jar.” Hermione throws another glance at the other three in the train carriage. Ginny looks thrilled, clearly happy with Hermione’s ruthlessness. Luna’s face is still dreamily blank, but Harry thinks he sees a hint of a smirk curling up one side of her lips. He supposes she would see Rita and The Prophet as competition with her fathers publication after all.
Rather unsurprisingly, Neville looks mildly terrified of Hermione.
“I had to let her out eventually.” Hermione confesses shamefully, looking for all the world like she wishes she still had an adult woman contained in a jar, “When I…went to stay with Ron’s family for the summer, I couldn’t bring her.” She looks meaningfully at Harry here, then glances again at Ron and Ginny - all those who knew the secret of Grimmauld Place. “Couldn’t bring her behind the wards. So I got a few binding promises from her, one of which was to register her animagus form so she couldn’t keep using it to get her stories, and then I had to let her go.”
“Damn, Hermione. Remind me not to piss you off.” Ginny says with a laugh, causing the rest of them to snort and chuckle as well.
“Anyways, I told her she owed me a few favors, or I’d look into what legal options I’d have for accusing her of eavesdropping before her registration. I could probably get her to write something. It might not make it in The Prophet, if they’re still kowtowing to the Ministry, but maybe a few other smaller publications. Along with The Quibbler that is.”
“It’s a good idea.” Harry tells her, “I’ll want to talk it over with Sirius, and probably our solicitor. But let’s get the research done so we’ve got that to back us up.”
Satisfied with the amount of scheming they’d accomplished, it was the girls’ turn to step out so Neville and Ron could swap out their casual clothes for their uniforms and robes. The train was slowing to a stop by the time they’d finished, so the three of them stepped out into the corridor and began making their way to the closest exit.
Hermione was hustling them towards the front of the crowd of students heading up to the castle, so she could arrive to the Great Hall early enough to fulfill her Prefect duties with the younger years.
As they left the open air platform, and headed towards the usual pick up spot for the horseless carriages, Harry stumbled to a stop.
What the actual fuck is that?
The carriages were no longer horseless. Instead, they were drawn by great beasts that looked like some sort of bat mixed with a horse. All of their leathery hides were a deep, colorless black, although he wondered if there would be some slight variation in color under direct sunlight, instead of the shadowed dusk they stood in now.
Most unsettling, however, were the white eyes gleaming out from their skeletal faces. There were no pupils, just a white eye that - if Harry hadn’t spent the last four years surrounded by magic and learning of magical creatures, he would assume an eye like this would be sightless. A signifier of blindness, or some other deformity. But the horse-bat-things could clearly see.
As the nearest one swung its head in his direction, Harry was reminded of something he had read years ago - a theory that prey animals had eyes on either side of their heads to have a larger scope of vision - to watch out for the predators, with their forward facing eyes, that might be hunting them.
These animals had forward facing eyes. Predator eyes.
And they had very, very sharp teeth that were on display whenever someone walked too close. He didn’t see any that were biting, they’d just bare their teeth at the nearby student or rustle their over large wings above them, and the students - without even spending an extra second looking at the behemoth beast next to them, would casually take a few steps away.
Harry glanced at the others, who had kept moving forward without pause. Hermione was almost to a carriage now, paying no attention to the creature that in front of it, standing perfectly still.
“Don’t worry. I can see them too.” A soft voice says quietly from just behind him, startling Harry out of his confused stare.
“Er - what?” He asks Luna, as she steps up next to him. She doesn’t look at him though, she’s also staring at the creatures that everyone else seems to be ignoring.
“They’re called thestrals. Don’t worry, they’re quite peaceful creatures. And very beautiful of course.”
Harry sends a doubtful glance at the animal - the thestral - that is still staring at him. It’s skeletal, and between the blank eyes and large jaw with those teeth, it honestly looks like some kind of demon straight out of a nightmare. Not something he’d call beautiful.
The thestral shuffles its feet and lowers its head, still staring Harry down, like it heard Harry’s skeptical thoughts. And Harry, despite feeling a bit silly, immediately corrects himself inside his mind.
Er, I guess they’re beautiful in a certain way. The way a raging ocean is beautiful, or a snowed out blizzard, or the graceful way that Hungarian Horntail had charged at him last year. Beautiful like something that can kill you.
And again, as if the animal had read the thoughts right out his mind, the thestral finally looked away. It threw its head back towards the carriage, where Ginny was just climbing in, and Hermione was peering out at Harry and Luna impatiently.
“Why’d they suddenly start having these things pull the carriages, instead of having them run themselves like always?” Harry asks Luna, as he cautiously starts walking towards the carriage again. He glances down the line of waiting carriages, all with thestrals patiently waiting and notices that a few others seem to be staring at him.
Although it’s hard to tell without a pupil in their eyes to judge exactly where they’re looking…but he feels their attention like a hand at the back of his neck.
“Oh, they’ve always pulled the carriages. I’ve seen them since second year so I went to ask Mr. Hagrid about them.”
“Why is everyone else just…ignoring them?” Harry knows he’s referred to them as the horseless carriages before, knows its come up in conversations with others. Why didn’t someone mention them then?
Luna pauses, and without thinking he stops walking too. They’re still a few meters from the carriage, not so far that they’re outside of a normal hearing range, but with the crowd that’s still flowing out of the train, Harry thinks the others probably won’t be able to make out what they’re saying.
“Most of the student body can’t see them, although I think it becomes more common as students grow older. You can only see them once you’ve met Death.” Luna tells him, voice soft.
Harry blinks. “Met death? Like almost died? I’m surprised I haven’t been seeing them the whole time then.”
“Close to death is not meeting Death.” Luna says, “Although I do not know everything that happened that night, I would guess your sight has been cleared because you watched Cedric Diggory’s murder.”
Harry flinches, unexpecting the disharmony of Luna’s melodic voice talking about something so brutal. She seems to realize that she’s brought up something he’d rather avoid, something in her expression - almost impossibly - turning gentler as she reaches out a hand and pats him on the arm consolingly.
“Don’t worry - like I said, the thestrals are gentle. They have many myths and superstitions surrounding them, and many fear them. But as long as they are treated with respect, they do no harm. I visit them sometimes in the forest and help feed them.”
As she speaks, Luna takes the last few steps forward needed to be in arms reach of the thestral, and it swings its head over to face them again. She reaches out and gives its nose some scratches, and laughs as its eyes drift half shut and its great big face drops to rub against her chest and stomach.
“Harry! Let’s go!” Ron shouts impatiently from the carriage.
Realizing he didn’t have the time to keep observing this new magical creature, Harry hurries to the carriage - keeping a careful distance from the thestral at its front and heaves himself up. Luna follows him in, but both are lost in their thoughts for much of the ride up to the castle.
*
Harry is ready for dinner and bed by the time they make it up to the castle. He’s hoping it’s a quick sorting, but the clump of first years that eventually make their way into the Great Hall seems bigger than ever.
Not the students themselves of course - the kids are tiny. If Harry didn’t know that you had to be eleven to attend Hogwarts, he’d swear there were some nine and ten year olds that snuck onto the train. Or maybe it’s just their expressions that make them look so young.
Wide eyed in awe, most are looking around in amazement that’s clearly tinged with nerves. It’s not just the muggleborns either - even those that grew up with wixen families would have heard stories about Hogwarts.
And no matter how many times the Great Hall ceiling can be described, there’s no way to really imagine it, and the way it appears as if it’s open entirely to the heavens. The sun is still going down, still early enough in fall that at a late dinner the ceiling above them displays the beginnings of a gorgeous sunset. Pinks and oranges and purples blaze across the ceiling like an abstract painting. In a few hours, the stars will come out and lend their light to the candles illuminating the tables. There’s no electric lights or pollution to dim the view so as long as the clouds are clear - which is rare once they really get into Autumn - the view of the night sky surpasses anything Harry has seen in his science textbooks from primary school, or what has been recreated in his astronomy books. After Gryffindor Tower and the Quidditch Pitch, the Great Hall is one of Harry’s favorite parts of the castle.
Except, truth be told, during Welcoming Feasts. It’s like over summer, people forget that The Boy Who Lived attended school with them. The first few weeks of the new term would have people staring and whispering all over again, until it died down a month or so into classes. At least until he did something that sparked the interest again.
Tonight was no exception, and was worse than ever. Harry had felt it when he first walked in, saw the heads turning and whispers hidden behind hands. Straightening his shoulders, Harry ignores them all and looks forward, trying to refocus on the Sorting Hat’s…interesting song this year.
“Blimey. Bit obvious with it this year, isn’t it.” Ron mutters
“I think it’s brilliant.” Hermione says sharply, “It’s about time something was done to better inter-house relations and increase school unity.”
Harry raises one eyebrow, “And you think the Sorting Hat’s song will do that?” Glancing around the room, it’s clear only a few are truly paying attention. Most of the students are too busy talking to their friends to notice the message being sung at them. “If it’ll make an impact on anyone, it’ll be the first years. They’re the only ones really listening.”
Ron nods in agreement, “And as soon as they get to their houses they’ll hear plenty from older students that disagree with the hat.”
Rather than responding, Hermione just sighs and looks back to the front of the room.
It is a shame though, Harry thinks. A shame that they’re divided and turned against each other almost the minute they walk into the halls of Hogwarts. Something that could be - and was maybe intended to be - a lighthearted competition between houses had, over the centuries, grown and mutated into something that continued to divide their community well after they left school.
They were labeled at eleven years old, before most of them had even really experienced anything beyond their families and close knit friends. Before they could stand on their own and develop their own opinions and ways of thought.
And besides, Harry himself was a great example of someone not fitting neatly into one of four boxes. The hat wanted him in Slytherin, and only reluctantly acquiesced to Harry’s wish to be a lion. How many other students could have gone to another house, or because of their experiences - even while still at Hogwarts - would better fit the nature of a house they were passed over for when they first came here.
It seemed silly really, that a people that were already so small in number (compared to muggles at least) would further carve up and section themselves off.
While Harry pondered this, the hat had fallen silent, and McGonagall was unrolling her parchment of names.
“Abercrombie, Euan.” McGonagall called in a clear voice, and a terrified boy stumbled out of the clump of first years. As the hat slipped over the boy's eyes, Harry heard the twins down the table placing bets on how many firsties would be going to each house.
“GRYFFINDOR!” Harry claps with the rest of his table as Abercombie slumps in relief and staggers over to them. Glancing out towards the rest of the Hall, Harry sees most of Hufflepuff clapping along with them. About half the Ravenclaw table is applauding politely, and, of course, the Slytherin table was still.
“Andrews, Eliana” went to the table of blue and bronze, “Barclay, Josiah” was another Gryffindor, and then “Briarcliff, Dorian” was the first to join the Slytherin table.
As his fellows Gryffendors went silent, refusing to clap for the new snake Harry took about one second to consider what his impulses were telling him to do, and then decided that he really didn’t care who he might piss off.
Besides, every other thing he did without thinking about it had worked out surprisingly well the last few months. Might as well see if that trend continued.
So Harry clapped. Quite loudly.
And then Harry continued clapping for every first year student as they joined their new houses. He saw the confused looks, heard the increased whispering, which only grew as his friends - like usual - followed his lead and began clapping along with him. They clapped the loudest for those joining the lions of course, but even those who were eventually seated all the way across the hall from him, amidst green ties and reserved expressions, received a cheerful welcome from Harry Potter.