End of Term
The night of the victory party passed in what felt like a blur to Harry - in truth, he remembered little of what took place during the party, other than a lot of laughing and yelling, Angelina kissing Fred, Alicia kissing a girl Harry only knew from sight, Percy confiscating some bottles from some of the seventh years, Scabbers nearly getting trampled at one point (much to Ron's and Percy's annoyance), the twins being loudly prohibited from serving snacks by the prefects, and Professor McGonagall showing up and joining in for a bit before sending everyone to bed around midnight.
The following morning, naturally, was a slow one, especially for the older Gryffindors, who were bemoaning headaches, stomach aches and were complaining about even the faintest of noises along with the usual tiredness that came from long nights.
'Take a good look at these idiots, Harry', Tom smugly counseled. 'That's what happens when you smuggle in high percentage firewhiskey and pretend that your liver is made of goblin steel.'
'And lemme guess, I am not to act like them under any circumstance?', Harry asked as he made his way down to Hagrid's hut. Today was the last day of school, with the end of year feast being this evening, and Harry wanted a chance to catch up with the half-giant who had introduced him to Hogwarts.
'Precisely', Tom confirmed. 'Sure, getting pickled may be fun in the moment, but the next morning is a nightmare, and your liver may end up hating you if overdo it.'
'Sounds like someone is speaking from experience there', Harry teased.
Tom sniffed in annoyance. 'I'll have you know that I have not had a drop of alcohol since I was fifteen.'
'In other words, you got piss drunk at some point before that and swore off alcohol after dealing with the consequences', Harry joked.
'Which one of us is the comedian now?'
'That's not a no.'
'It's not a yes either, you little pain.'
Harry simply smirked to himself as he knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. He heard Fang barking, and Hagrid rustling with the keys before the door swung open.
"Harry?", the large man exclaimed. "You-- but I thought--" He sniffled.
"Hey Hagrid", Harry replied and gave a quick wave. "You doing alright?"
"If Ah'm-- I shoul' be askin' you that!" Hagrid moved forward, and Harry with a sigh braced himself for a massive hug. He was not disappointed, even though he was still shocked by the distinct smell of alcohol on the half-giant - apparently, Hagrid had spent quite some time drinking.
'Explains why he wasn't at the match', Tom gathered. 'He was probably too busy drowning in brandy.'
"It - was - all - my - fault!", he sobbed. "I'm the one that told that wretched man how to get past Fluffy! Me, of all people! It were the only thing he didna know, and Ah tol'im!"
Harry awkwardly patted the large man on the back as he continued sobbing. "You coul've died, and just because Ah wanted a damn dragon egg! Ah ain' touching another glass, on my life! They shoul' just get rid o'me and force me to live as a muggle for this!"
"Hagrid, it wasn't your fault", Harry insisted as Hagrid kept sobbing. "Voldemort would've figured out how to get past Fluffy one way or another, and there was no way you could have known regardless."
"Don't", Hagrid gasped. "Don't use that damned name!"
"VOLDEMORT", Harry repeated, and Hagrid recoiled, finally letting go of Harry, who took a moment to catch his breath. "I saw him down there, and I will call him by that name. Please, Hagrid, calm down - it all worked out in the end, I knew what I was getting myself into, and Voldemort did not get the Stone, I made sure of that. None of the things that happened were because of what you told him, Hagrid."
Hagrid sniffled as he stood back up. "Thanks, 'Arry", he said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Ah don' deserve that, but thanks. Merlin, ye're just like ye're parents, not a bad bone in either of'em."
'I can't believe I'm actually saying that, but you're right', Tom chimed in. 'Voldemort would've figured out how to get past the pooch regardless of whether the big oaf could hold his tongue or not, and it's not like he was the idiot who blew you off when you tried to warn them about Quirrell.' He frowned. 'Although he really should learn when to quit drinking, if he has to spend his loan in a pub.'
'Wow, for a second there, it almost sounded like you said something nice about Hagrid', Harry snarked as Hagrid continued to sniffle.
'Don't get me wrong, Rubeus is an idiot, but he certainly holds no blame for this particular mess, and punishing him for it would just be wrong and lazy.'
"Actually, tha' reminds me", Hagrid said with a smile as he wiped his nose. "I meant to give ya somethin' a while back."
Harry raised a quizzical eyebrow as the half-giant disappeared inside his hut for a short moment, only to reemerge with a book of sorts in his hands.
"After findin' out 'bout your... relatives..., I sent a few owls to some o'your parents' old schoolmates, askin'em for pictures of Lily and James for you, since I figured you didna have any. Headmaster helped me compile'em into an album, here", he explained as he handed Harry the book - the photo album.
His face broke into a large smile. "Thanks, Hagrid", he said and hugged the half-giant.
'That was nice of him', Tom noted, sounding somewhat melancholic and just a bit guilty.
The feast at the end of year, as it turned out, was the only occasion when the student population wore the pointy black hats that had been listed in the acceptance letter - a tradition, Tom noted as he expressed surprise that it was still going strong. Personally, Harry could understand why his backseat driver was so amazed about this - the hats looked utterly ridiculous.
The Great Hall, meanwhile, was even more of a sight to behold, being decorated in in red and golden lion banners to celebrate Gryffindor - both for winning the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. Tom wasn't even mad about it, inspite of all the Slytherin bravado he spewed from time to time. 'You won the Cup fair and square, even I can see that', were his exact words when prompted.
"And once again, a term comes to an end!", Dumbledore began his speech. "And before we bury ourselves in a delicious feast, I must annoy you with the vapid words of an old man."
'At least he's self-concious about the noise he's making', Tom snarked.
"What a year this has been! I sure hope your heads are just a bit fuller than they were before", Dumbledore carried on. "At least now you have the entirety of summer to clear them out before the next term begins."
A few polite laughs were heard as the headmaster clapped, causing a heavy golden cup to appear. "Now then", he said as the laughs died down. "I understand that now, I must hand over the House Cup, and according to my table, the ranking is as follows: on fourth place, we have Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points; on third place, we have Slytherin with four hundred and eighteen points; on second place, we have Ravenclaw with four hundred and twenty-six points; and finally, on first place, we have Gryffindor with four hundred and sixty-two points!"
Applause could be heard for every house, initially more out of politeness, but especially the Gryffindor table celebrated like crazy when their final tally was read out aloud, and Harry allowed himself a content smile. An early worry of his had been that he would cock something up and drag his house down in the ranking, but that hadn't happened.
Not everyone was in such a jolly mood, though - a quick glance to the Slytherin table revealed the angry and disgusted glances which people threw Draco Malfoy, whose head hung low in shame. It was understandable why - before Draco had, for all intents and purposes, attempted to frame Harry, Hermione and Neville (and Hagrid) for possessing a dragon and trying to smuggle it out of the castle, Slytherin and Gryffindor had been head to head in the race for the cup. However, that little stunt had cost Slytherin seventy points, which they had been unable to recover, no matter how many points Snape had awarded them.
'The ferret gambled and lost', Tom commented. 'We'll see if he learns something from this.'
"Yes, yes, well done, Gryffindor", Dumbledore continued as he cheering died down. "Still, there are some recent events to be considered."
'Uh-oh', Tom voiced Harry's concern as he, Hermione and Neville exchanged nervous glances. Was their little nightly excursion going to cost them the House Cup, after all?
"I still have a few points to award", the headmaster said, and all three first years exhaled loud sighs of relief.
"First, Mister Neville Longbottom..." Neville perked up at the mention of his name - he had gained Gryffindor the least amount of points in his year, and had through what Harry perceived to be no fault of his own cost them quite a few, especially in potions. "For his impressively green thumb and his sharp ears, I award fifty points!"
The cheers were near deafening as Neville turned as crimson as his crest. "That's more points than I got the entire year combined", he mouthed as Ron and Seamus hugged him.
"Second, Miss Hermione Granger", Dumbledore continued as the cheers subsided. "For her willingness to conquer her fear, and her unwavering loyalty to her friends, and her sharp, deductive mind when faced with fire, I award fifty points!"
Once again, the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, as Hermione blushed. "It was already dead", she muttered barely loud enough for Harry to hear. "Not much to be afraid of when they're like that. I really didn't do all that much."
"And finally, Mister Harry Potter", Dumbledore said as the hall, once again, calmed down. "For his fearlessness and courage when faced with overwhelming odds, as well as his exceptional flying skills, I award fifty points!"
For the third time in a row, the Gryffindor table erupted in loud cheers, as the final tally was raised from four hundred and sixty-two to six hundred and twelve points. Harry meanwhile, simply buried his head in his hands to prevent his blush from being seen as Hermione, Neville and the others took turns hugging him.
'He just had to rub it in', Tom scoffed. 'Not that you don't deserve recognition, but really, that was unnecessary. I think the greasy bat is ready to murder you.'
'Eh, I could take Snape.'
'Not the point.'
"Now then, with these little semantics out of the way, enjoy your feast!", Dumbledore declared as he raised his goblet.
The trip back to London was enjoyable, Harry found, more enjoyable than he'd thought it'd be. He, Neville and Hermione all made plans to meet during the summer, with Neville promising that he'd talk to his grandmother about them visiting the Longbottom Estate for a few days. Not even the prospect of having to see the Dursleys again could wipe the grin off Harry's face, nor could the fact that apparently, they were prohibited from casting magic during the holidays.
'It's an idiotic rule anyway', Tom grumbled. 'And damn useless when visiting established magical families, there's so much magic going on in those areas that no one can tell if a twelve year old cast the spell or his mother did.'
'So I should get to Neville's place pronto, then?', Harry asked.
'Yup', Tom confirmed. 'Especially since the mare is bound to know about that rule. Of course, it may have changed since your mum went to school...'
'Was thinking the exact same thing', Harry replied with a smirk as Hermione hugged him goodbye.
"Promise me that you'll write me, alright?", she demanded.
"I will, I promise", Harry assured her as they made their way to the barrier.
"There he is, mum, look, there he is!", he heard a girl call out - Ron's little sister, as it turned out.
'Golly, that girl will be a pleasure to be around next year', Tom groaned. 'She's gonna faint if she keeps this up.'
'There's worse things', Harry commented as he reluctantly walked to Uncle Vernon, who simply grunted something for a greeting.
Hermione, as it turned out, was not yet done with him, as she pulled him into another hug. "I hope you enjoy your holidays", she said.
"I think I will", Harry replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You enjoy yours as well, Hermione."
Dean sighed contently as he leaned back in his seat in the kitchen. The Thomas' flat in its entirety was probably the same size as the Gryffindor Common Room, but to him, it was still more homely than the latter. No matter how awesome magic was, no matter the friends he'd made, there truly was no place like home.
"So, Dean, how was Hogwash?", Jane, his youngest sister, asked as she took a break from chomping down her dinner.
"Hogwarts", he corrected, much to the amusement of Alex and Grace, the other two Thomas children. "And it was awesome", he added with a grin.
"Did you turn a table into a pig, like that woman who came to visit did?", Alex asked with glee.
"Nah, that was too advanced for us", he admitted to his brother, whose shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I'm confident we'll learn it at some point, tho."
"Well, when you do, please don't try it out here", Michelle, his mum, said. "I'd hate to see our furniture run off and be turned into a steak."
The Thomas's all chuckled heartily at the image. "Yes, mum, I won't transfigure our apartment", Dean promised.
"Do they actually fly brooms in Hogwarts?", Grace asked. "It said that first years are forbidden from owning them, so I imagine they do... right?"
"Yup", Dean confirmed. "There's a whole sport called Quidditch that's played on brooms, you'd love it. It's got really weird rules, though."
"Awesome", Grace grinned. "I hope I get to go when I'm old enough, I wanna try it out."
"They didn't have football, though", Dean added as he laid down his cutlery and moved to clean up his plate.
Marcus, his (step)dad, gasped in shock. "No football? Are these wizard barmy or what?"
Jane rolled her eyes. "Not everyone cares about football, dad", she piped up. "I certainly don't."
"Betrayed by my own flesh and blood", Marcus exclaimed as he dramatically reached for his heart. "Dean, please tell me that you educated those stickwielders in the ways of football!"
Michelle rolled her eyes. "Calm down, dear, and finish your dinner."
Dean snickered. "Yes, dad, I made an effort to explain football to my housemates - not that most of them understood a thing, though."
Marcus gave an approving nod. "At least you made an effort, son", he said.
Alex opened his mouth for another question, but was interrupted by the doorbell. Dean, standing already, said "I'll get it!", and moved towards the door, opening it shortly thereafter.
Before him now stood a white man, maybe 1.78 meters in size, with necklong brown hair, a high forehead and thin lips, his somewhat cold blueish-gray eyes slightly enlarged by a pair of rectangular metal glasses, dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and black coat, his left hand resting on a black cane with silver lines. A large scar ran across his right cheek and split the lip, and Dean noted that his eyes had a thin, silvery looking circle between the iris and the pupil.
"Can I help you, Sir?", he asked, slightly unsure about the stranger.
"Yes, actually", the man said with a faint american accent. "I'm looking for a Michelle Thomas - I've been told that she lives somewhere around here."
Dean narrowed his eyes as he called out for his mother.
"What is it, Dean?", she asked as she exited the kitchen and approached him, before gasping loudly.
The man simply smirked, and Dean without thinking stepped in front of his mum as if to shield her from the stranger. "Look, man, we don't want any trouble here, so how about you get lost?", he challenged as he crossed his arms.
"What's going on here?", Marcus asked as he exited himself and moved decisively towards the door. "Listen, man, I don't know what you want, but--"
The stranger simply raised his hands. "I'm only here to talk with an old friend", he said. "I haven't seen Michelle in quite some time, and there is quite a bit I have to discuss with her."
"Ten years", Michelle said as she got her bearings back, causing Dean to look at his mum with concern. "You vanish for ten goddamn years, and now you say that 'you have quite a bit to discuss with me'?!"
The man pressed his lips together in annoyance. "I assure you, me being missing for the past decade was not my decision. Circumstances prevented me from returning before now, but there are things you and Dean must know."
"Wait, how do you know my name?", Dean asked just as his mother scoffed. "It's always circumstances with you, isn't it, Randy? In case you haven't noticed, I moved on - so please, just go."
The stranger - Randy - grit his teeth. "I can't", he admitted. "This is important, Michelle - it has to do with what happened at Hogwarts this year, and what may well happen in the near future. You need to hear what I have to say - Dean has to hear what I have to say."
"Michelle, who the hell is this guy?", Marcus asked rather agitated, just as Dean asked: "Mum, how does this weirdo know my name?"
Michelle sighed. "Marcus, Dean, this... this is Randy - Randolph. He's..." She swallowed. "He's Dean's biological father."
Dean felt his jaw fall to the ground as he looked at the man before him, inadvertedly searching for similarities, yet finding none. His dad meanwhile looked as though someone had just pulled the rug out from underneath him and he was in free fall, and Dean moved closer to him and further from this stranger.
His mum meanwhile glared at Randolph with a fury Dean had never before seen in his mum's eyes. "Fine - you have one hour. After that, I want you gone for good."