Flobberworm, Interrupted
Hedwig was not a night owl, so Harry sent his letters off in the morning. He woke before dawn, the silencing spell he placed around his bed breaking against him like a wave. He'd have to redo it every evening, until he became skilled enough for a more permanent and nuanced solution.
The halls were silent, lined with sleeping portraits and restless ghosts. He took the winding staircase up to the owlery, where hundreds of owls slept. Only a handful were awake at this time, Hedwig among them. She watched as he approached, then flew to his arm. He carried her to the open wall.
"Wait for a reply," he said softly. "Remember what we said?"
She bit him, but not hard.
"I don't care how long it takes. Stay safe."
He felt where her disguise glasses hung from her neck, charmed invisible by Kreacher. Harry wasn't sure how elf magic and runic magic would mix, or how long it would last, but it seemed fine. He hoped to reverse engineer what Nette had done, when he was more fluent in runes. He wanted to make something better for her.
Gripping the letters, she launched from his arm, her wings a blinding arc against the clear morning sky.
Harry got back to his dorm room as his roommates were waking up.
“Where’ve you been?” Ron said, yawning.
“Just to see Hedwig,” he said.
Ron sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Did they forget to bring up your trunk?”
“What?” Harry looked around, then spotted his bag. “No, I had it in my bag.” He rummaged around inside, and pulled out his miniaturized trunk. He set it next to his bed and tapped it, rapidly resizing it.
“Whoa,” Ron said.
“It’s just a shrinking charm.”
“Is that a new bag, too?”
“Yeah, since we’re taking more subjects.”
Ron moved closer to touch it. “What’s it made out of? It looks like dragon skin.”
“No idea,” Harry said, then got his uniform out of his trunk and went to take a shower.
Once ready, Harry and Ron collected Hermione in the common room and went down to breakfast together. Malfoy was holding court at the Slytherin table, doing a dramatic reenactment of Harry’s dementor-induced blackout. He walked past their mocking shouts and laughter and found a seat next to the twins.
“I wish Neville hadn’t gone around and told everyone,” Harry said, taking his schedule from George.
They watched as Malfoy pretended to faint again. He looked like an idiot.
“He ran into our compartment last night, when the dementors came down to our end of the train,” George said.
“Nearly wet himself,” Fred added.
“Really?” Harry said.
Fred and George looked at each other. “Yeah, the little git.”
Harry stood up.
“What are you doing?” Hermione asked.
“Hey, Malfoy!”
“What, Potter?”
“Are the dementors coming, Potter?” a girl, Pansy Parkinson, shouted,
“Is it true you ran into a fifth year’s compartment and nearly wet yourself?” Harry shouted back.
Hermione grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down.
“Are you trying to get points taken from us on the first day? Don’t you remember what Professor McGonagall said?”
“What did McGonagall say?” Ron asked.
Harry leveled a look at Hermione. “I’m taking three more subjects, so I have to stay on top of my grades.”
“And we’re starting new subjects today,” Hermione said, reading her schedule.
Ron looked over her shoulder. “Your schedule’s wonky, they’ve got you down for three classes at the same time. You should get that fixed. Let me see yours, Harry.”
Before Harry could hand it over, Hagrid came in swinging a dead animal around, apparently related to their first lesson.
“We’ve got to be in the North Tower in ten minutes,” Ron said. “Ready, Harry?”
“Actually, I’ve dropped Divination, so it’s just you and Hermione. I’ve got Arithmancy.”
Harry stood up, gathering his things.
“Seriously?” Ron said, gaping at him. “I thought we’d all take the same classes!”
“It just isn’t for me,” Harry said apologetically. Harry had mixed success trying divination on his own, at least with reading tea leaves. He was glad to have changed subjects. “We’ve still got all the rest of our classes, and Care. And the classroom’s near the North Tower, we can walk there together. Then after class we can meet up for Transfiguration.”
“Fine,” Ron pouted, and they set off for their first classes of the year.
“Why is everyone staring at me?” Harry asked as they settled into Transfiguration.
“We did tea leaf readings today,” Hermione said. “Something happened with Ron’s. I’ll tell you later.”
“He does look pretty shaken up,” Harry said. Ron kept shooting him furtive looks, as did the rest of the class. Harry tried to ignore it.
The lecture was on animagi, though they were nowhere near doing animal to animal transfiguration, and human transfiguration was, in general, illegal. Animagi had to be registered with the Ministry, and faced Azkaban if they weren’t. Harry decided to become an animagus and simply not be caught. He stopped himself from raising his hand and asking about the process, not wanting to give the game away. McGonagall turned herself into a cat. Harry clapped, then stopped when no one else did. McGonagall transformed back into a human.
“What’s got into you all?”
“I’m sorry, professor," Hermione said. "We just had divination and Professor Trelwaney…”
“She said my closest friend would die,” Ron said numbly.
Harry turned to him and said, “I guess we can’t be friends anymore.”
Ron looked stricken. McGonagall was unimpressed.
“Sibyll predicts at least one death a year. It’s a tradition. Happily, the students are all still alive.”
“But there was a grim in my cup!” Ron protested. “My uncle Bilius saw a grim and—”
McGonagall held up a hand. “She always introduces a new class to death omens first. I wouldn’t be concerned. As I said, the chosen students are all alive and well.”
“You haven’t seen a big black dog anywhere, have you?” Ron whispered when McGonagall’s back was turned.
“I have, actually.”
Ron swayed in his seat.
After class, as they walked to lunch, the other kids in Divination went over more predictions made in that class. Hermione roundly dismissed it all as coincidence, and started arguing with Ron about it.
“So are you dropping Divination then?” Harry asked once they stopped.
“Of course not!”
“I think the predictive models Vector talked about would work better for you,” he mused.
“Yes, but those are NEWT level.”
“She hasn’t even been to Arithmancy,” Ron said, shaking his head. “She’s lost it.
Harry’s plan to talk to Hagrid after class was delayed as Malfoy had got himself gored by a tame hippogriff. It had been the highlight of an otherwise mediocre school day.
The entire Care of Magical Creatures class, from top to bottom, had been gold.
It started with Harry feeding some lunch leftovers to his book while the rest of the class went to war with theirs. Hagrid finally explained how to open the books by stroking the spine, which was easier but less fulfilling than Harry’s solution. Then Hagrid showed them the hippogriff paddock, and Harry knew it was going to be a disaster. He didn’t need divination to predict that. The chains and collars were not promising. Harry had read the book, and knew proud creatures like hippogriffs did not take well to being collared. The herd was clearly agitated, feathers and fur already flying.
Angry as they were, Harry sort of liked them. The hippogriffs were uniquely regal.
“If anyone wants to come nearer…” Hagrid said. The Slytherins, Malfoy especially, were already giving Hagrid a hard time, so Harry walked closer, Hermione and Ron not far behind.
Harry turned around and called, “Scared, Malfoy?”
“He’s scared of his own book,” Ron loudly added.
Hagrid cleared his throat and began his extremely short lecture.
Harry volunteered to go first, staring at Buckbeak until he bowed back. Next thing he knew, he was careening over the grounds on the back of a hippogriff. He wondered what his classmates were doing in the meantime, but it was at least fun for him.
When he landed, the rest of the class was split up to approach individual hippogriffs.
“Of course he’d pick Buckbeak, after I showed he was safe,” Harry said to himself, frowning at the scene. With unprecedented timing, Malfoy insulted the hippogriff and got clawed for his efforts. There was a lot of blood.
Hours later, Harry saw the light flicker in Hagrid’s hut. He’d already done his homework and was reading The Seasons. He’d folded a paper cover over it, like he’d done with his old primary school books. It would have to do until he learned how to cast an illusion over his books. He was concerned some of them might not be approved of.
The book had eight sections, for the eight seasonal festivals. The autumnal equinox was a few weeks away, and he was learning about its various traditions, harvest rites, and the end of summer.
Hermione had twice as much homework as he did, and Ron was procrastinating, so neither were finished yet. Both kept looking out of the tower window, towards Hagrid's hut.
Harry closed his book.
“I forgot I was supposed to see Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, grabbing his bag.
"Did you want me to go with?" Ron asked, looking up from his essay. "I could use a break."
"I can't stop thinking about Hagrid," Hermione said. "What a disaster..."
"It's somewhat private," Harry said. "But thanks. See you in a bit?"
Harry hurried out of the common room and to the hospital wing. He found Madam Pomfrey in her office.
"Mr. Potter, isn't it a bit early in the year for you? Are you experiencing any aftereffects from the dementors?"
"No. I feel fine, actually. I was hoping to get a copy of my medical file."
She sat up. "Of course, I can get it to you tomorrow. May I ask why?"
He was tempted to say no, but said, "It's for personal reasons. I've been in here a lot."
Madam Pomfrey looked skeptical, but thankfully didn't push. "Alright, then. Is there anything else you need?"
Harry hesitated, then asked, "Do you do check ups on muggleborn students?"
"I do. There are many magical contagions which muggleborn students aren't exposed to. Why do you ask?"
Harry's grip tightened on his bag. "I was raised by my muggle family."
Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I see. I'll have to look into that."
"Thank you," he said. "It's almost curfew, I need to get back to my dormitory."
"Have a good night, Mr. Potter."
Harry walked quickly out of the hospital wing, ducking into an empty classroom to don his invisibility cloak, then hurried through the halls and outside, making for Hagrid's hut. When he knocked, Hagrid called him in. Harry stopped on the threshold, taking in the situation.
Hagrid was fantastically drunk. Given his size, Harry could only imagine how much alcohol he required. Years of dealing with Vernon's drunken rages, and more recently Marge and the wretched end to that part of his summer, put Harry on edge. As far as he knew Hagrid would never hurt a fly, but he was a large, drunk man, at a school no less. And Harry was alone with him.
"I lasted a day," Hagrid slurred, hand on the bucket he was apparently using as a tankard.
"I doubt Dumbledore would fire you," Harry said gently, moving further in but not shutting the door. "Was Malfoy alright?"
"Madam Pomfrey fixed him up, but he was complaining, moaning…"
"I bet his father will hear about this," Harry said, trying for a joke.
"The school governors already know." Hagrid reached for his bucket. "Should've started with flobberworms…"
Harry grabbed the bucket and pulled it away, wrinkling his nose at the smell and quickly retreating. "The whole class saw what happened. Malfoy insulted Buckbeak on purpose. You explained what would happen if the hippogriffs were insulted. We'll back you up, the Gryffindors at least. And," Harry said, "if you make us study flobberworms I'll drop the class. I've read about them, I already know how boring they are."
Hagrid started crying. "You're a good lad, Harry. Just like your father. He used to come visit me, you know?"
"Him and his friends?" Harry prompted, setting down the bucket.
"Him, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Thick as thieves, that lot," Hagrid murmured. "Poor Peter, blown up like that…"
"Wasn't Sirius there the night You-Know-Who…"
Hagrid nodded. "Didn't want to hand you over, but I had Dumbledore's orders. Took his motorcycle too. Still got it in the shed—"
Hagrid froze, looking up at Harry, blinking slowly. "What are you doing on the grounds after dark?" He suddenly roared.
Harry backed away so fast he nearly tripped. The change in attitude was terrifying. Hagrid stood up with unnatural speed, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him back up to the castle. "And where are Ron and Hermione? They should be looking after you!"
His arm was starting to hurt, but Harry tried to keep calm, letting himself be pulled. "They had homework," he said lamely.
"You better not let me catch you out here after dark again! It's not worth your life."
Harry was deposited on the steps of the school. He watched Hagrid storm back to his hut. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking. He didn't remember being left on the Dursleys' front step, but this certainly felt familiar.
“I still can’t believe you visited Hagrid without us,” Hermione complained as they walked through the dungeons.
“We could start collecting testimony,” Harry said. “Or maybe find a solicitor for Hagrid. I’ve been hurt loads of times and the Board of Governors never said anything about it.”
“That’s different,” Hermione pointed out. “You’ve never been hurt in class.”
They took their seats in the potions classroom, scribbling notes as Snape droned through his lecture. Just as they got to actually making their potion, Malfoy showed up. After some simpering, he shoved his way between Harry and Ron, forcing them to separate.
“Sir, I need help with my daisy roots.”
“Weasley…”
As Ron butchered the daisy roots, Malfoy said, “Sir, I need help skinning my shrivelfigs.”
“Potter.”
“I’m not putting my hands anywhere near his shriveled figs, sir,” Harry said.
“Ten points from Gryffindor. Now, you will skin Mr. Malfoy’s shrivelfig or you will be serving detention.”
Harry skinned the offending fig, then, after a moment's deliberation, grabbed Malfoy’s arm. “Here’s your shrivelfig.”
“Unhand me, Potter,” he snapped.
“Didn’t that hurt?” Harry asked, letting go and wiping his hand off.
“How’s your friend Hagrid?” Malfoy said, readjusting his sling. “Father isn’t happy about my injury.”
“What injury?” Harry asked, reaching for his arm again. Malfoy yanked it away. “Seems fine to me.”
“Shut up and slice my caterpillars.”
There was some chaos going on with Neville, which Harry filtered out. It sounded like Hermione was helping fix whatever happened.
Seamus Finnegan borrowed Harry’s scales, without asking. “Have you heard Sirius Black’s been sighted?”
“Has he?” Harry asked, stirring his cauldron. He wondered when Malfoy would notice he switched out the caterpillars for sawfly larvae.
“A muggle saw him and called their hot line. It wasn’t too far from here.”
“Really,” Harry said. Malfoy was leaning close to him, so he scooted away.
“He was gone by the time the Ministry showed up.”
“Not too far from here,” Ron said, glancing at Harry. “What are you staring at, Malfoy?”
“Planning on catching Black single-handedly, Potter?” Malfoy asked.
“I think that’s more your style right now, Malfoy,” Harry said. “After all, isn’t he your cousin?”
Malfoy’s grin cracked. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Your mother is Narcissa Black, right?”
“What’s going on over here?” Snape said, looming over them. He looked into Malfoy’s cauldron, brow furrowed, but didn’t comment on the off color and moved on.
“You don’t even know what he did, do you?” Malfoy whispered angrily. “So don’t you dare talk about my family. At least they’re still alive!”
“Everyone,” Snape intoned, “it is time to test Longbottom’s potion on his toad…”
Harry watched Trevor become a tadpole, and Hermione get points taken off, and wondered what Sirius Black was supposed to have done. The worst possible thing would be if he was the Secret-Keeper Madam Gosling had mentioned, but if he was, why had he left Harry alive?
Harry stood at the back of the teacher’s lounge and watched an old wardrobe rattle. He raised his hand immediately, heart pounding.
“Yes, Harry?” Lupin asked, looking a little confused.
“I would prefer not to interact with the boggart,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“How did you know it was a boggart?”
“I ran into one this summer,” Harry said. Hermione and Ron both shot him looks.
“Do you mind explaining for the class what a boggart is?”
Harry took a deep breath. “It’s a shape-shifter that lives in dark spaces. It takes on the form of what you think is your worst fear. The trick is to turn it into something you think is funny using the spell riddikulus. It’s easier if you aren’t alone, because it can’t pick a shape to be. If it’s laughed at, or overwhelmed, it will retreat.”
“Excellent, ten points for Gryffindor.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d still like to sit this one out.”
Lupin looked over the class, then said, “Alright. Anyone who doesn’t feel up to it, please stand to the side and observe. Neville, would you like to try?”
Harry watched his classmates laugh as Snape stumbled around in Neville’s grandmother’s clothing, and a mummy tripped over its own bandages, and a banshee lost her voice, fascinated, in a sick way, at these rather banal fears. They laughed, and laughed, and the boggart burst into smoke, surely reforming in its wardrobe, and Harry watched.
Harry set the candle on his side table and lit it with a whispered incendio. He was getting better at it; he didn't melt the candles anymore. He sat on his bed with his legs crossed, and stared into the flame.
Harry didn't see shapes in the little fire, at least none that gave him any insight into the future. But he was making progress in picturing the flame in his mind. After a while he blew the candle out, drew the curtains closed, and murmured the silencing spell for his bed. He’d forgotten once, and woken to a frightened Ron shaking him.
Harry held his wand and thought, lumos.
Nothing happened.
He frowned, then tried picturing the spell in his head. Lumos.
A light flickered at the tip of his wand, and he smiled.
One Saturday Harry was in the library, working on his Ancient Runes assignment. Professor Babbling had them studying one rune a week; they were on uruz, or ura, and he was researching its different meanings. They wouldn’t start doing anything with the runes until almost the end of the year.
He was in the back of the library, in part to hide from Madame Pince, and in part to avoid Hermione’s growing stress. It was already obvious to anyone paying attention that something was going on with her. Her use of the Time-Turner was far from subtle. Harry only needed it once a week, when Arithmancy overlapped with Care, and was glad he only had to keep track of one of himself.
As for Madame Pince, he doubted she would appreciate him levitating books. One thing Walburga had emphasized was how people born in magical families grew up accustomed to magic. Everyday magic. For example, when a muggle lost something, they could spend hours searching. A witch or wizard could use a summoning charm. Harry had been practicing his accio, knowing it needed a lot of work after he’d emptied his entire trunk while trying to summon a pair of socks.
So he practiced doing simple tasks with magic, like turning the pages of a reference book while it bobbed in the air.
Growing bored of his essay, and feeling like he was going around in circles, Harry left the books hovering in midair and went in search of another book. He was curious about the thestrals, the reptilian horses with wings. He hadn’t seen them since the Welcoming Feast. He had wanted to ask Hagrid about them, but Hagrid was still upset about Harry visiting him when it was dark. They’d also been shoving lettuce into flobberworms for the past two lessons, and Harry hoped he, Hermione, and Ron would be able to talk Hagrid out of continuing that trend.
Harry searched through the section on magical creatures, not sure what kind of book thestrals would be in. He was about to give up and ask Madame Pince, when someone handed a book to him.
"I think your other books fell," the boy said quietly.
"Shit."
Harry hurried back to his table, heaving a sigh of relief that none of the books were damaged. He gathered them up in a stack and sat down. The book he had been handed was set in front of him. Surprisingly, the other boy had joined him.
Harry stared at him blankly.
"We've had classes together for two years," he said, watching Harry with dark eyes.
Harry glanced at his tie.
"Yes, I'm in Slytherin."
"To be fair," Harry said, face heating, "I don't know the names of most people in my own house."
The boy nodded.
"And I don't think we've ever spoken before."
"And I don't play quidditch."
Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. "Right. Okay." He looked up. "My name's Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."
"Theodore Nott," he said, smiling faintly. "Did you want to shake hands, too?"
Harry looked around.
"Afraid someone will see you with a Slytherin?" Nott asked lightly.
"No, I just don't want anyone to hear. I'm not a huge fan of touching people, or people touching me, but I don't want to offend them so I usually don't say anything."
"And why are you telling me something like that?"
Harry shrugged. There were a few reasons. Nott seemed like a quiet person. Harry knew most of the students who regularly antagonized him, and while Nott was a Slytherin Harry didn’t recall him joining in. And it wasn't really a big secret; people might be weird about it—Harry knew it was a weird thing—but if people knew it wouldn't be the end of the world. Not as bad as being a parselmouth. So it was a test of sorts.
"Thestrals," Harry said, opting to pick up the book. It didn't have a title, and he carefully paged through. It might not have been a library book at all.
"People think they bring bad luck," Nott said, watching Harry.
"Why's that?"
"Because only people touched by death can see them."
"Someone did famously try to kill me," Harry said, finding a gorgeous illustration of a thestral in full, crepuscular color. Its tattered wings unfolded and stretched out, and its mouth dripped with ruby blood.
"I don't mean literally touched by death."
"I can't imagine how something like this evolved…Oh, sorry. What did you mean?"
"Did you watch someone die?"
Nott had leaned slightly forward, a new intensity in his eyes.
"That's a bit personal. And macabre."
"Who was it?"
Harry frowned at him. "My mother, probably." He didn't want to talk about Quirrell. He avoided the third floor corridor. "What about you?"
"My mother as well."
Harry shut the book, thinking. He wasn't sure what Nott wanted from him, but he knew better than to outright ask.
"Do the dementors affect you too?"
Nott's eyebrow twitched. "You're not the only one who passed out on the train, even if Malfoy wants to pretend like it."
Harry picked up his pen and played with it, a terrible idea forming.
"Have you heard of the Patronus Charm?"
Hermione turned fourteen and gave Harry a hug for her signed copy of Hogwarts: A History. Ron was weird about it, especially when Hermione nearly fainted after receiving the errata personally compiled by Professor Bagshot.
There were a lot of abandoned classrooms, so they met in one.
“I brought a kind of book,” Harry said, handing it to Nott. “It’s from a family library. We can look at it together.”
“A family library?”
“Yes.”
Having read it before, Harry sat and twirled his wand slowly. It was becoming a bad habit. “There isn’t that much information on dementors that I’ve been able to find. Same with the Patronus Charm. What I’ve read says that the patronus requires a powerful happy memory.”
“And do you agree with that?” Nott asked, looking up.
“I don’t. Your class did boggarts?”
“We did, though a lot of us sat out. I heard you came up with that idea?”
Harry nodded. “I…encountered a boggart this summer. What it showed me was not something I could use riddikulus on.” Harry glanced at Nott, then looked to the side. “I ended up killing it. In a sense.”
“Because it’s a spirit.”
“Exactly.” Harry shook his head. “The point is there are alternatives. If someone doesn’t have a powerful happy memory, or happy memories at all, there’s probably another way to cast a patronus.”
Nott passed the book back to him, and he put it away.
“I know Lupin can cast a corporeal patronus," Harry said. "I asked him about it.”
“And you haven’t asked him for help?”
“No. I don’t think he’d agree to the kind of practice I want to do. Neither would my friends.”
Nott’s eyes widened. “You want to actually test this. Against dementors here at school.”
Harry smiled.
Over the next few weeks, Harry and Nott met up to practice spells, or work on Arithmancy once Harry realized they were in the same class, or runes when he realized Nott wasn’t in that class because it was something he grew up learning.
They had tried fabricating memories for their patronuses, and managed to produce a silvery mist. Most of the time it felt self-defeating, but they saw progress and continued.
They would have kept meeting a few times a week, but in early October Oliver Wood lost his mind.
Harry liked quidditch, but he wasn't sure he liked it enough to die for it. Wood was a demon in the air. The seventh-year fanatic hounded them across the pitch even as the weather turned and the nights grew colder. Harry’s older teammates cast drying charms so frequently he picked it up by accident.
One evening, as he limped into the common room, dried mud flaking from his uniform, he noticed a disturbance. There was a notice for the first Hogsmeade weekend, scheduled for Halloween, and the excitement was palpable. Even if he had permission, Harry didn't think he would go on that day.
His friends’ attempts to console him were interrupted by Crookshanks attacking Scabbers, sparking an argument between Ron and Hermione which Harry stayed out of.
The next day, during Transfiguration, Hermione put her foot in it again over a dead pet rabbit.
“I don’t think when someone’s pet dies is a good time for debunking divination,” Harry said to her, sitting awkwardly between her and a fuming Ron. Luckily, class started before she could respond.
“You should ask McGonagall now,” Ron said as they were packing up after the lecture. “About going to Hogsmeade.”
“Actually, I—”
Ron gave him a small push, then Harry was alone in the classroom with the professor.
“Did you have a question, Mr. Potter?”
“No about class, no.” He walked to the front of the room and stood in front of McGonagall, feeling on edge. “My aunt and uncle refused to sign my permission form.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “As I said, no form, no visiting the village.”
He clenched his hands. “There isn’t a situation in which they would have signed it. Aren’t there exceptions for people whose families…who have bad relationships with their families?”
“I’m sorry, Potter,” she said, gathering up her papers. “But that’s the rule.”
“You don’t sound very sorry,” he muttered.
She paused, turning to look down at him. “Excuse me? Care to repeat that?”
“It’s not fair to punish people for having families who hate them,” Harry said, glowering up at her. “You’re just doing their job for them.”
He spun around and stormed out, refusing to acknowledge when she took points from him. He didn’t even care about Hogsmeade.
Hedwig returned on Halloween, gone nearly a month this time. He didn’t send letters frequently; Walburga didn’t have hands, Kreacher was reticent on paper, and the dog was a dog. Hedwig did have a note with her, a piece of paper with a muddy paw print on it, which made Harry smile.
The school buzzed with the dual excitement of both Hogsmeade and the feast that evening. Harry was interested in neither. The day was a beacon for disaster.
He hadn’t known his parents had died on October 31st, not until Hagrid had made that passing comment when they first met. And while Harry had always known his parents were gone, visiting their grave had made it real, visceral in a way more profound than their absence. There was proof, written in stone and buried beneath.
Harry decided to wear one of Regulus’ old robes, the one with his constellation on it. It made him feel a little better when he found a chocolate frog in one of the pockets.
After a breakfast he barely touched, he walked his friends to the entrance hall, listening to their promises to bring him loot, ignoring Malfoy's jibes. He watched their fading figures for a while, then went for a walk around the castle. He was halfway to the owlery when someone called out to him.
“Harry?” Lupin said, peeking out of his office. “Why aren’t you at Hogsmeade with your friends?”
“Because my mother’s sister hates me and the rest of the world punishes me for that,” Harry stated bluntly.
Lupin was taken aback. “I see. Well…the grindylow for our next lesson just arrived. Would you like to see him?”
Harry shrugged, and followed Lupin into his office. He saw the tank immediately, lurking in one corner of the room. The grindylow bared his fangs and pounded against the glass.
“The trick is to break the grip,” Lupin said. “Their fingers are rather brittle.”
“That’s cruel,” Harry said, watching the creature. He looked angry, but Harry thought he was more afraid. “You could also stun them, or give them a fish, or avoid their bog entirely. They’re highly territorial.”
“You’re very interested in defense, aren’t you?” Lupin said, searching around his desk and coming up with a kettle. “Cup of tea?”
“Alright,” Harry said, taking a seat. “I think I have to be interested in defense.”
Lupin passed Harry a mug. “Are you worried about Sirius Black?”
“What?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Of course not. Are you?”
Lupin hesitated, then said, “I think it would be wise to be. I heard about your escapades this summer. You shouldn’t go haring off at your age. You said you ran into a boggart?”
Harry took a sip of his tea. “Yeah, in an old shed.”
“Where did you end up staying?” Lupin asked, voice too casual.
“Around,” Harry said. “Why do you care?”
“I am one of your teachers—”
“No, I mean, why you specifically?”
Lupin set down his cup. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Harry grit his teeth. If Lupin wasn’t going to say it, he wasn’t. “Don’t you have something to tell me, professor?”
Before Lupin could answer, there was a knock at the door and Snape swept in with a smoking goblet. His gaze lingered on Harry, then with a sneer he delivered the goblet to Lupin. Harry looked between them, mystified by their byplay. Whatever the potion was, it was ghastly. Harry could smell it from where he was seated, like a hot, rotting radish.
“Are you really drinking that?” he asked after Snape had made his cryptic remarks and left.
“I’ve been feeling under the weather.”
“Won’t that make you feel worse?”
Harry watched in morbid fascination as Lupin chugged the concoction down. Then Harry finished his tea and left.
Harry wandered to the library, planning on looking up Samhain rituals, if there were any books on it at all. He ran into Nott just leaving.
"Nice robe," Nott said, eyeing the design. "Where did you get it?"
"I inherited it," Harry said.
"Did you? Interesting." Harry had to be careful what he told him. Nott was too clever by half. "Why aren't you in Hogsmeade?"
"My relatives wouldn't sign the form," Harry said. They walked down the corridor together. Harry wasn't sure where they were going. "What about you?"
"The same. My father refused to sign it."
They continued in silence for a while. It was nice. Nott was someone Harry could talk to, but didn't have to talk to, and it wasn't awkward at all.
"Are you going to the feast?" Harry asked, jumping over a vanishing step.
"I usually spend the evening in seclusion," Nott said. "It's an old family tradition."
Harry looked at him with consideration. "It's the date of my parents' deaths," he finally said. "I didn't know that until a few years ago. I didn't know about Samhain either. I was planning on starting a fire or something."
Nott startled him by snorting. Harry hadn't heard the other boy laugh before. "What? Is it a stupid idea?"
"No, you just surprised me. Most people here just care about the feast."
Harry scratched his head, inadvertently mussing up his hair. "Yeah, well, I wanted to do something to remember them by. There are a lot of different traditions. I have no clue what my family would have done, but most of them seem to involve fire. And food," he added.
They passed by the Great Hall, and Harry paused, looking in. "I've got an idea."
"What is it?"
"Want to find the kitchens?"
Nott stopped next to him, “I heard the Hufflepuff common room is near the kitchens.”
“It would have to be near the Great Hall,” Harry said, looking around the entrance hall. The marble staircase dominated it, as did the doors to the Great Hall. “That’s usually how castles are set up, at least for muggles.”
“But we have magic,” Nott pointed out. “I’ve seen Hufflepuffs taking this door,” he said, walking to a boring looking door to the right of the staircase.
“May as well see where it goes,” Harry said, following.
The door opened to a flight of stone steps, which led to a bright stone corridor, lined with paintings of food.
“Why can’t the rest of the dungeons be like this?” Harry asked, regarding an unfortunately animated roast swan.
“The dungeons go deeper than this,” Nott said. “Parts are under the Black Lake.”
“Yeah, I’ve been in your common room before,” Harry said off-handedly.
“Have you really?”
The corridor ended with a stack of barrels.
“There is no reason to have a bunch of barrels down here,” Harry said. “I don’t think they’d use a painting as an entrance.”
“Why not?”
Harry smiled at him. “Because our common room’s behind a portrait. And I know Slytherin’s just a blank piece of wall. It makes sense each house would do something different.”
“The kitchen might be behind a painting,” Nott suggested. “Let’s go back.”
They took time examining the art. “I think we can ignore the smaller ones,” Harry said.
“This one’s odd,” Nott said, stopping in front of a large silver fruit bowl.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s a still life. Actually still.”
“That is strange,” Harry said, taking out his wand. “It smells a bit different here, too. Think there’s a password?”
“It could just open like a regular door,” Nott said, prying at the picture frame. “I think I see hinges.”
“Then where’s the door handle?” Harry prodded the painting with his wand. “Think we have to transfigure one?”
“Wait,” Nott said, “that one just moved.”
Harry poked the pear again, and it let out a light chuckle.
“That’s disturbing,” Nott said
“Muggles have these things called scratch and sniff stickers,” Harry said, reaching up to the pear. “I used to get them from teachers when I did well on an assignment.” He tried scratching the pear, and it started squirming and giggling, finally bulging out into a green door handle.
“Why couldn’t it be a regular door?” Harry asked, turning the handle. The painting swung open to a room as large as the Great Hall, a massive kitchen in the middle of preparing a feast for hundreds. Four long tables matched the tables above. A house-elf wearing a tea towel toga emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest approached them.
“How can Taran help the students?” she said, curtseying.
“Hello,” Harry said. He hadn’t been expecting an army of house-elves. He knew the castle ran on magic, but not…this. “I’m Harry Potter. This is Theodore Nott.”
“Theo.”
Harry smiled at him. “Theo, then. Do house-elves do all the chores around the castle?”
“We do,” Taran said eagerly.
“I assumed they did,” Theo said. “But this is a lot.”
“Thank you for your hard work,” Harry said, making Taran blush a flattering shade of green.
“Is there anything the Misters Potter and Nott need? We is preparing for the feast.”
Harry looked at Theo. “I’m not sure.”
“Could we have tea, please?” Theo said.
Harry found himself at a small table next to Theo with a large platter of biscuits, surrounded by bowing house-elves. He held his tea cup stiffly and smiled at them.
“For some reason I thought I’d be able to use the kitchen myself,” he said to Theo. “Or just get fruit or something.”
“Is there anything else Misters would like?” Taran asked.
“Are there any elves that worked here around twenty years ago?” Theo asked. “Who would know what foods Harry’s parents liked?”
“How long do house-elves usually live?” Harry asked, watching as Taran entered the horde.
“They can live hundreds of years,” Theo said. “It depends on how they’re treated.”
Taran came back with an elf that didn’t look much older than her. He bowed, and said, “Miss Lily Evans liked treacle tart.” Harry leaned back in his seat. “And Mister James Potter liked rice pudding.”
“Rice pudding?”
The elf nodded, then returned to work.
“I don’t believe it,” Harry said. “I hate rice pudding.” Turning to Theo, he asked, “What about your—”
“She went to Durmstrang,” he said. Theo gave him a careful look, then explained, “It’s in Scandinavia. Most people know it for teaching Dark Arts.”
Harry snapped a biscuit in half. “Maybe if I transfer there I’ll learn what that actually means.” He shook his head. “Rice pudding, honestly.”
Once finished with their tea, Harry asked the house-elves for a treacle tart and a bowl of rice pudding, which he levitated behind himself as they walked to the grounds.
“I was going to gather wood from the forest,” Harry said. “Have you been in it before?”
“Only for Care.”
“I went in with just me and Ron once, last year. We ran into a nest of acromantulas.”
“Are you trying to convince me to come or not?”
It was getting dark, and people were already trickling back from Hogsmeade. Harry had his wand out, and scanned the skies for dementors.
“I think we’ll be fine,” Harry said. “Dumbledore said the dementors were at the entrances, right? They aren’t roaming the grounds.”
Theo had his wand out too. “I don’t feel any worse than usual.”
Harry gave him a wry smile. “Come on, we won’t go that far in.”
It was full dark by the time they finished setting up their small fire. The wood was all wet, and Harry coaxed it to life with bursts of incendio, much stronger than it had been during summer. Theo scratched runes in the ground by wandlight. Harry didn't ask what they were, and Theo didn't explain.
When they were finished, they sat next to each other, staring into the flames.
"I'm not sure what to do now," Harry said softly.
"We think about the people we lost," Theo said. He pulled an apple out of his robes and took a bite. Harry sighed, and picked up the bowl of rice pudding. He put a spoonful in his mouth, and Theo laughed at the face he made.
"I don't know how he ate this," Harry said, gagging. He picked up the small tart instead. "It's funny. Treacle tart's my favorite too. I never knew I had anything in common with my mum."
Eventually, the fire died down, and they were starting to get cold.
"It's almost curfew," Theo said. "The feast should be over soon."
"You think we've been missed?"
"You, maybe."
Theo said this as if it were a matter of fact, but it gave Harry a sinking feeling. He reached out, not sure what he was doing, and gave Theo's wrist what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.
"What's that?" Theo said. Harry let go immediately, wand already in hand. "I thought I saw something moving towards the forest."
They stared intently into the dark, but nothing else moved.
"Let's get back inside," Harry said. They were halfway to the front entrance when several figures charged out. One spotted them, and veered to intercept.
"We’re fucked now," Harry said. "They don't want me on the grounds after dark."
"Because of Sirius Black?"
"Supposedly."
Theo started to say something, but was cut off by the arrival of a livid Professor Snape.
"Mr. Potter, causing trouble as usual. You have the whole castle searching for you." Snape gave a sniff, then turned to Theo and said, "I expected you to keep better company, Mr. Nott," before dismissing him entirely. Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder and pushed him to the castle. He turned to look back at Theo, but he was wrenched around and forced forward.
"But I didn't do anything," Harry protested. "It's not even curfew yet!"
"Be quiet! Sirius Black has broken into the castle and attacked the Fat Lady during the feast.”
Harry tripped up the steps, stunned. “No way.”
“Yes, Mr. Potter, and your little excursion on the grounds may have cost you your life! Now stay here,” he said, placing Harry against a wall, “and wait. I need to inform the headmaster you’ve been found. Mr. Nott,” Snape said, “join the rest of your house in the Great Hall. You’ll be sleeping there tonight.” Snape spun and strode away, leaving the two boys watching each other with wide eyes.
“Are you…okay?” Theo asked, taking a small step forward.
Harry rubbed his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. Strange for Sirius Black to break into our common room when everyone was at the feast.”
“It is,” Theo said. “Unless he wasn’t after you.”
Harry gave him a small smile. “You should probably go in before Snape gets back.”
Theo hesitated, then said, “Goodnight.”
A short time later, McGonagall came running up the steps, Dumbledore and Snape on her heels.
“Mr. Potter! Where have you been?”
“As I said, I spotted him on the grounds, Minerva.”
“Why weren’t you at the feast?”
Harry felt Dumbledore’s eyes on him, and fought the urge to look back.
“I didn’t feel like going to a feast on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths,” Harry said defensively. “It’s not like the feast is mandatory.”
“What were you doing on the grounds, Harry?” Dumbledore asked in a kind voice. Harry looked at his shoes.
“Taking a walk.”
“A likely story,” Snape said, leaning in.
“It’s true,” Harry insisted. “I was just by the forest, and was on my way back when Snape—”
“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore admonished.
Harry valiantly didn’t roll his eyes. “When Professor Snape saw me.”
“And did you happen to see anything?”
“No,” he said, looking briefly at Dumbledore. “I didn’t see anything.”
“I see,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “Minerva, please see Harry to his friends, I’m sure they are worried. Severus, please speak with the ghosts…”
“Come along, Potter,” McGonagall said. “I’m sure the headmaster will want to speak with you in the morning. For now, let’s put Granger and Weasley’s minds at ease.”
The Great Hall was a sea of purple sleeping bags. Harry looked around for his friends, spotting a bushy head of hair in one corner. He braced himself, and walked over.