Switched

Dumbledore sighed, his head tipping toward one of his guest chairs on the student side of the desk. "Please, my dear boy, take a seat."

Harry did, taking the other one just to be contrary. Being called my dear boy just rubbed him the wrong way somehow.

The old man continued to stare at him, keeping his expression very solemn and impassive even as magic twisted around him, a silent, wandless charm that ghosted across the space between them and settled delicately around Harry's mind, seeking any weaknesses in his defences that it might exploit to establish contact between himself and the Headmaster. Not actually legilimency like Blaise and Snape did — when they did legilimency, it was just sort of a part of how their auras interacted with those of people around them, not an actual, shaped spell — but something designed to copy the effect, he was pretty sure.

"I'm not going to let you into my mind," he said, firming up his sense of where Harry ended and outside Harry began to resist the spell. He was pretty sure that if Dumbledore wanted to get in he could throw enough magic into the spell it would just crush his efforts to keep it out, but he wasn't going to just let him without a fight.

"I beg your pardon?" the Headmaster said, faking innocence.

"This spell, it's some mind-reading thing, right?" He pushed a little magic of his own into the pattern of the spell experimentally, not really sure how else to indicate it. He couldn't just point at it in physical space. Well, he could, but it wouldn't really be very specific, there were at least a dozen spells going on around them, shite to keep the air circulating and the right temperature and a handful to stop certain kinds of magic working through them — maybe whatever stopped people apparating here? — and half a dozen others he didn't have the slightest clue about. Trying to 'point out' the spell with magic did send a little pulse of energy through it, made it very clear what he was talking about...but also made it go sort of...wonky. It destabilised and fell apart almost immediately, some of the magic involved snapping back on Dumbledore. Pain flashed across his face. "Oops?" Maybe Dumbledore wouldn't just be able to break into Harry's head, if the spell was that easy to disrupt. "You can just ask me whatever you want to know, though."

The old man still didn't acknowledge that he'd been trying to read Harry's mind, but he didn't try again either. Instead, he gave a heavy sigh. "Tell me about yourself, my boy," he suggested, which wasn't very specific. It reminded him of Ollivander asking him to describe himself.

"Er... What do you want to know about me?"

Dumbledore gave him a kindly, lying smile. "Why, anything you'd like to share, dear boy. It is perhaps long overdue, but I feel I should get to know you."

Harry frowned at him. "Well, for one thing, sir, I don't like being called my dear boy. 'Harry' is fine. And I really don't know what you want me to say. I don't think I've ever deliberately gotten to know anyone, and I honestly don't know where to start."

The lying smile faltered briefly, but he recovered quickly. "Of course, Harry. My apologies. I am simply accustomed to— Well, never you mind. Hmmm... Where to start... How are you finding Hogwarts? And Magical Britain, generally? I understand it can be a bit overwhelming, especially when one has been raised outside the magical world."

"Oh. Well...I wouldn't say overwhelming. The wards, yes. The wards are overwhelming." Harry had been getting better at ignoring the magic going on in the background all the time, but there were still days when it gave him a headache. "Very pretty," he added quickly, "don't get me wrong, just...bright. And complicated. Loud."

"You can see magic?"

Harry shrugged. Wasn't that obvious from what he'd just said? Not to mention pointing out the mind-reading spell as he had. He nodded. "And...being around so many people, all the time. That's sort of overwhelming. That's half the reason I keep going off on my own, out in the Forest or playing with Tiny, here." The cerberus, exhausted by playing earlier and all the excitement of being miniaturised, had curled up on Harry's lap and two of the heads had closed their eyes. Righty was still awake, keeping watch over the others. He made a quick swipe at Harry's fingers with his tongue when he indicated the dog with a scratch on that head.

"What's the other half?" the old man asked, gentle amusement in his tone and every line of his face, which Harry found inexplicably off-putting.

"Oh, well...I get bored," he admitted. Not that it was really a secret. "I have way more free time here than I ever did at home." When Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched, he explained, "Muggle schools run from half past eight to half past three, with lessons all day and then homework after—" Harry usually finished everything that would be homework in lessons, but he usually spent at least an hour or two helping Dudley with his in the evening. "—and there was always something to do around the house with Dudley there making messes, or making dinner or breakfast or whatever. Weeding the gardens, you know."

Dumbledore nodded. "It can be difficult for students to adjust to entertaining themselves rather than having their days fully scheduled by parents and teachers — believe me, I'm well aware of that!" A smile tugged at his lips. A patronising smile that said he was not in fact aware of that, and very much wished his day weren't fully scheduled, silly boy, enjoy this freedom while it lasts! "Tell me, what do you do for fun at home?"

"Er..." Harry was sort of bad at having fun, or rather the things he thought were fun — exciting things like climbing buildings and racing bikes down the big hill at the end of Wisteria Walk and getting into scraps with the other boys (and playing with giant dogs) — were not the sort of things sane people did for fun. There was a group of older boys who sometimes played footie or rugby in the park, but they always said Harry was too small to join them when they were playing rugby, and they almost always had an even number already anyway. "Read novels and watch telly, mostly. But I can only sit around not doing something for so long. I spend a lot of time exploring on my own there, too. And here, I've been practising magic and working ahead a bit." He was most of the way through the first-year spells they'd be doing in class already, and even though he knew it would only make him more bored in the long run, he was seriously considering asking some of the older Ravenclaws for their second- and third-year notes. "I tried starting an Edificeering Club, but no one was interested, and I guess none of the professors have time to sponsor a Duelling Club."

"Edificeering?"

Harry nodded. "It's like mountaineering, but instead you climb buildings. It's definitely a thing."

"I...see. Have you been making many friends?"

Harry shrugged again. "I guess? I mean, not many, I think a lot of people were expecting something...different, from their precious Boy Who Lived. I'm sure you've read the Harry Potter novels where I'm like this ten-year-old magical M.I. Six agent raised in Nepal solving murder mysteries and also being super nice and friendly and helping little old squibs cross the road, and just...no. And sort of a lot of people act like I betrayed them by not being Saint Harry, Bane of the Dark. And also for telling them that my surname was Harrison and letting them think I was a girl when we first met. Mostly Draco and the Weasleys, I guess, but they're sort of...gossipy, I'm pretty sure everyone knows about that by now and most people think it makes me a jerk I just went along with it." And a lot of people were pretty clearly intimidated seeing Harry do...the most basic magic? Which, if they were going to expect him to be this great noble light law-enforcing do-gooder, he didn't know why they wouldn't expect him to be as 'absurdly' good at magic as a character in a kids' book. That was the most true-to-life aspect of the stupid Boy Who Lived character. "But I hang out with Blaise and Danny and their friends."

Dumbledore's face crumpled into a troubled frown, though Harry couldn't possibly guess why. "And how are you finding your lessons? Do you feel you've been keeping up with your peers? I realise it can be difficult, for those who are completely unfamiliar with magic..."

...

Harry just sort of blinked at the old man for a long few seconds, wondering if Dumbledore had never bothered to ask the professors or the accidental magic people about one of the two kids he was theoretically responsible for, or if he was screwing with him for some reason, or trying to... Harry didn't know. Judge something about his personality from how he responded, or whatever?

It didn't really matter, Harry didn't know what the Old Goat expected him to say, or how to make a good impression here, or whatever. It was just...really weird.

"Er...honestly?"

The old man nodded, his expression smoothing back into unreadable serenity. "Of course, my dear— Harry."

Well...fine, then. "I'm finding lessons boring. History is a joke. Defence is almost as much of a joke, and listening to Professor Quirrell talk makes me want to stab my own eardrums out with a quill or something. I don't even think that's a real stutter, it's completely inconsistent! All of the stuff we're doing in Charms and Transfiguration is so basic it barely even makes sense — I spend most of my time in lessons working ahead or fooling around altering charms and trying to work out how transfiguration spells are derived from the Basics, which Professor Flitwick keeps making a huge bloody deal out of, and Professor McGonagall hates but can't say anything else about unless she wants Danny's mum to come yell at her in person and maybe try to get her fired—"

"I will not be firing Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore assured him.

"Danny thinks you would if his mum convinced enough of the board to fire you if you didn't." Dumbledore scowled in a way that made Harry think Danny was absolutely right about that. "And we think Professor McGonagall must think so too, because she just ignores us now. Professor Snape lets me read other things in lessons as long as I pay enough attention to the lesson to answer questions when he calls on me, because explaining things to other people takes so long." Professor Sprout always gave them something to do with their hands while she lectured, re-potting or trimming dead leaves off a plant or dissecting and drawing flowers and fruits, and Sinistra actually made it interesting, listening to stories about constellations and the history of astronomy and how people discovered how the solar system worked, even though Harry already knew most of the basic facts, like that the earth went around the sun, so he actually didn't mind the pace of their lessons.

Dumbledore continued to frown. "Be that as it may, Harry, I'm sure you must understand how important it is that you thoroughly master the basics of a subject before moving on, no matter how 'boring' they might be."

Harry scowled right back. "You're not listening to me, sir. I'm telling you the 'basics' are so bloody obvious it's physically painful to sit there 'learning' them for hours and hours on end when I already get them. Maybe if they talked about how magic worked and why they're important to focus on it would be more interesting, but they don't, they just say, here, practise turning a matchstick into a needle for eight bloody hours. Or a few grams of copper into an equal mass of bronze. Don't try to figure out how to increase or decrease the mass, though, because supplemental integrated conjuration is an OWL topic and ickle firsties couldn't possibly manage it, except it's built into the spells, and really not that hard, Danny taught me in one double-period—" The increasing part, at least — integrated banishment to decrease the mass of an object was much more difficult, which was why shrinking a living cerberus to one or two thousandths of its usual size was really impressive. "—and practically exactly the same as the duplication charm, except with conjuration instead of illusion, which is really cool, and—"

"Unfortunately the pace of lessons cannot be adjusted to accommodate the desires of exceptional or gifted students without sacrificing the education of the majority," Dumbledore interrupted, with an aura of grave seriousness which Harry really didn't think was warranted.

He pouted at the old man. "I know that. I did spend six years going to school with Dudders. I didn't ask to be freakishly good at everything, or even for lessons to go faster. You asked me how I'm finding them and told me to be honest, and honestly I'm bored out of my mind."

"Would you prefer not to attend lessons?" the Headmaster asked...almost cautiously? which suggested that wasn't nearly as good an offer as it immediately sounded to Harry. Like, maybe not go to lessons and just teach himself everything he needed or wanted to know, or sit in on one of the older years' lessons? Obviously the seventh-years' astronomy course was well over his head, but if he could go to the third-years' lessons, like Madam Pince had put him in the 'intermediate' level muggle subjects study groups, that might be a lot better. (It had been suggested before that Aunt Petunia should have Harry tested to move ahead a year or two, and she always said no because it was important that Harry learn to socialise with children his own age — which, yes, he was admittedly very bad at that — but he lived with children his own age here — loads of them — so that shouldn't be a problem, right?)

Or, some of the noble kids had mentioned at one point or another that they had tutors before they started school. Draco, for example, claimed that he wasn't making it up that he'd almost hit a helicopter out flying once, and that he knew about helicopters not because he was a fan of muggle cinema (Shut up, Tonks!) but because his tutor had been muggleborn and identified the strange flying machine for him. According to Blaise, Draco and pureblood-supremacist nobles in general didn't tend to want to kill all the muggleborns, they just wanted to keep them 'in their place' — well away from the reins of government and positions of direct political influence. And that was more of a class thing than a blood thing. They hated Mira and Dumbledore (who were both up-jumped commoners) almost as much as they hated muggleborns who made it too far in the Ministry.

If Harry could have a tutor to teach him at his pace... Well, that was probably too much to hope for. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask. "You mean like just do self-study, or get a tutor? I could probably afford a private tutor, couldn't I?"

He hadn't managed to convince Firebloom to give him an account summary for the Potter Estate without confirming his identity with a blood test — which she'd very frankly advised him not to try. Since the Potters hadn't actually submitted a blood sample to identify him (just as well they hadn't, since he wasn't actually the original Harry Potter, but they'd been assuming that he was Lily and Sirius's kid at the time and that was the usual thing to do with bastards who were being claimed by a House), they'd have to compare him to James Potter — or even Charlus, James's father — and if Harry wasn't James's son by blood (which even over the summer he'd known he probably wasn't) he'd be opening himself up to accusations of impersonating Harry Potter. It was really much better to just use the key to access the Trust Vault it was associated with, and quietly ignore that that was just a small fraction of the Potter Fortune. It was still more money than he could imagine ever needing for anything, he'd gotten her to at least admit that much, because he hadn't wanted to waste too much on books and stuff without knowing how much money he actually had. Though, that reminded him...

"Speaking of which, Firebloom — she's this nice, mumsy goblin I talked to over the summer — said that I should ask you for a copy of my account history, since you're my guardian and they just owled you an update at the solstice. Or, well, I guess you probably got another update at the equinox? She said quarterly... Also, Aunt Petunia is still angry with you for making her pay for my upkeep out of pocket all these years. I mean, she's probably never going to not be angry at you about that, but apologising and offering to pay her back would probably help."

Dumbledore gave him a kindly smile. "I assure you, my– Harry, I am not concerned about any potential retribution from Petunia Dursley."

...Probably not the smartest position to take on the issue, especially since Aunt Petunia now knew how to contact other wizards. She might not be able to actually hurt Dumbledore, politically or whatever, but Harry was betting she could find ways to become a major annoyance for him, even without mentioning that she knew Harry wasn't her nephew. Even if he were the real Harry Potter, Dumbledore hadn't exactly done right by him, leaving him to be raised in complete ignorance by a muggle, and he had political enemies who would definitely use that against him if Aunt Petunia somehow managed to get in touch with them and Tell All. Which Harry suspected she definitely would, if only because harassing arsehole politicians she felt had wronged her repeatedly over the course of the past decade was exactly the sort of thing she would find entertaining, and taking up sculpting couldn't possibly occupy all of her newly Dudley-free hours.

"Your parents left that money to you," Well, no, they'd left it to Danny, actually... "not to her. If you choose to offer her financial compensation for fulfilling her familial duty when you come of age that is, of course, up to you, but I could not in good conscience choose to do so on your behalf." Harry very narrowly avoided snorting at 'familial duty'. "And children are not expected to deal with the burden of political and financial decisions until the age of thirteen, at the very earliest. You needn't concern yourself. I assure you, your inheritance has been preserved as it was when your parents..."

"...were murdered?"

"Er...quite. Your withdrawal for school supplies was the only outgoing transaction which has been authorised since October of Nineteen Eighty-One."

"Um. Good to know, I guess, but I'd really like to know how much money is in my trust vault. It is enough to hire a tutor, isn't it? I mean, I get probably no one gave me any options other than coming to school here because you're my guardian, but honestly, attending lessons is sort of a waste of time? I mean, I'm not complaining, I'm used to it, I wouldn't have brought it up if you hadn't asked because I know there's nothing to be done about lessons being painfully slow, I just have to find ways to entertain and educate myself that don't interfere with other students' learning. Which is fine, I've been doing that for years. I wish Professor Flitwick wouldn't draw attention to it so much, but now that Professor McGonagall has stopped torturing me trying to force me to learn at Neville Longbottom's pace, and I found a charm to temporarily deafen myself so I can actually stand to be in Professor Quirrell's presence without wanting to murder him every time he opens his mouth, I don't have a problem with any of the other classes. They're just...sort of a boring waste of time. But I'm bored almost all the time anyway, so I don't mind being bored in lessons rather than anywhere else, if you see what I mean.

"But if not attending lessons is an option, I'd definitely take it. And don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm being lazy or I don't want to learn magic — I definitely do! I like learning things, and learning magic is the most right thing I've ever done in my life — I'm just...not. Because the things we're supposed to learn in lessons are things I figured out for myself when I was about eight," he added frankly. "I can do literally every charm effect we've studied in class so far with totally not accidental magic, and people act like that's completely shocking, but none of the professors have thought maybe they should give me something to work on that's not a complete waste of my time."

Well, Snape, but he wasn't so much giving Harry direction on working ahead as pointing him at books that were tangentially related to what they were working on so he wouldn't get too far ahead. So now Harry knew a bit about how ingredients were sourced and the ritual elements of potion-brewing and the theoretical basis of witchcraft and elementary Alchemy that was sort of complementary to Potions, but that they were never going to cover in class at all, ever. (Which was actually really cool, even if it wasn't specifically useful in the sense of advancing a linear academic pathway, so Harry didn't consider it a waste of time to learn.) If the other professors would give him shite like that to study while everyone else was being slow and boring, he'd take it in a heartbeat. But they wouldn't. He'd asked Flitwick, who seemed like the most likely to be willing to, and he'd just encouraged Harry to keep experimenting with the spells they were doing in class and push the boundaries of what he could do with them.

"They just want me to sit there quietly and not be distracting, or even teach other kids, which is the most frustrating thing ever—" He could teach them, he'd had a lot of practice helping Dudders, and none of his yearmates were as bad at magic as his cousin was at maths, but he hated explaining things for other people. Especially so slowly, and again and again in slightly different ways until they got it. He really didn't have the patience for that shite, especially when he was tutoring people he didn't have any actual incentive to help (beyond not coming off as a complete wanker, obviously). Dudley was family, Harry had had to help him. Weasley, Longbottom, and Crabbe could all go die in a fire for all he cared. "—and that sucks. Going to lessons is just...completely pointless."

He would say it was holding him back, actually, but not going to lessons would just give him more free time to fill. It would be less frustrating, but he was already studying magic by himself for several hours a day. Yes, he could spend more time on it, if he had a concrete goal he was working toward, but he wasn't refraining from doing so simply because he didn't have time. It hadn't taken him that long to realise that he simply couldn't channel enough magic to keep progressing in the areas that most interested him (duelling and battlemagic) as quickly as he had been, and it was pretty difficult to practise more advanced combat and defence spells without a partner, and a lot of other areas he wanted to study, like healing charms and spycraft — and even things he'd just like to know more about theoretically, like high ritual or actual time travel — were restricted, so he couldn't study them here. He wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about spending ten or twelve hours a day on spells that just made daily life easier, or were completely useless for anything practical. He'd probably end up just spending more time out in the Forest or with the (still tiny) cerberus drooling on his knee or reading magical fiction and history books (which were basically fantasy novels, and no one could possibly convince him otherwise).

"I don't not want lessons, though. Attending more advanced lessons or having a tutor would be even better than just studying magic by myself."

And wasn't going to happen. Harry could tell just by the heavy sigh Dumbledore gave him, peering intensely over his specs. "I know how you feel, Harry, believe me—" Harry didn't believe him. If he knew how Harry felt, he wouldn't be warming up for a but, here... "—but—" Called it. "—a Hogwarts student cannot contract a personal tutor — I presume you would prefer to stay here, rather than return to your aunt's home...?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Ah, ah, but me no buts, young man! I may be your guardian, but I cannot be seen to favour you personally above any other student — and believe me, there have been many talented students who have passed through these halls who might have benefitted from more personal instruction — which means I cannot allow you to live here as a student while studying magic with a tutor not affiliated with the school. Nor can I allow you to be advanced to the second-year class ahead of your peers. However..." He steepled his fingers and fell into a long, contemplative silence, staring into the middle distance. Though, to be fair, the silence probably felt longer than it was, since he'd dropped it on such a cliff-hanger...

Harry didn't dare interrupt, despite his rabid curiosity about where, exactly, the Headmaster was going with this.

At long length, he resumed on what seemed a different note. "It seems to me that you have far too much free time on your hands, Harry." You don't say? "That your penchant for wandering into dangerous situations stems primarily from a lack of other outlets for an energetic young man such as yourself."

Harry shrugged, nodded, still uncertain where he was going with this. But he did have to note, "I don't wander into dangerous situations, though. I know it might seem like it. Playing with the dog or exploring out in the Forest or shopping in Knockturn alone might be dangerous for most kids, but I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," the old man said, with another annoyingly patronising smile. "And from Minerva's earlier frustration, I presume there is nothing I can say or do to dissuade you from continuing to climb the Castle walls or seeking out the company of Fluffy, there—" He nodded at the cerberus, eyes twinkling.

"His name is Fluffy?" Harry said, trying not to laugh. The dog perked up, all three heads blinking blearily at the sound of his name. It wasn't a bad name, he guessed. He was a shaggy dog — though far less so when he was this small. Inch-long hairs on a foot-tall dog somehow looked a lot shorter than eight-inch hairs on an eight-foot dog. Though if he'd ever been this small as an actual puppy, with eight-inch-long fur, he would have been a little brindled dandelion puff.

"Indeed."

"Huh. Okay. But, no. There's really not. I mean, detention and taking points are barely consequences, and if you expel me I guess that means I will be free to get a tutor, won't I? And I guess you could try to make me stay with Aunt Petunia and keep me from practising magic at all, but you'd have to literally kill me or lock me up with magic to stop me from running away and going somewhere I can do magic," he informed his so-called guardian. "Probably kill me, since if I just disappeared Blaise and Danny would wonder what happened to me, and their families would make your life hell until you let me go. So...no, you can't force me to stay away from your so-called dangerous situations like a good little boy. And to be completely honest, I don't think you actually want to see me when I've been trying to be good and unable to blow off steam for too long."

He grinned at the Headmaster's unease. Harry couldn't read minds, but he would be willing to bet that the old man was wondering exactly how much of Bellatrix's insanity was heritable right about now. After a moment, though, he shook it off. "Yes, well. With that being the case, it seems that the best solution to the problem before us is to find some more productive, less risky activity to occupy your spare time. Would you agree?"

Harry nodded, now even more curious where he was going with this.

"Tell me, Harry. I can see you're obviously fond of Fluffy, and you clearly have some talent with animals — I dare say you've won the beast over more thoroughly than I have, at the very least..." Probably not difficult, since Harry had never seen the Headmaster up in the Corridor of Very Painful Death. He probably didn't visit the dog very often at all, if ever. He was, after all, a very busy man. He gave a noncommittal shrug, waiting to hear the rest of what the Headmaster intended to say. Dumbledore, clearly encouraged, went on. "Tell me, how would you feel about...learning more about the Forest and the creatures which live there?"

"Cautiously enthusiastic," Harry decided promptly. "What's the catch?"

Dumbledore grinned. "No catch, my dear boy— Pardon me, Harry. Force of habit. In that case, I think I know just the thing to keep you more fully occupied. Come!"

He rose abruptly, striding to the door and leading Harry down the stairs, completely ignoring Harry's questions about what he was talking about and where they were going, chortling as though he was planning a great surprise.

Where they were going turned out to be the gamekeeper's cottage, a simple little hut built on the same scale as the gamekeeper himself, out by the edge of the Forest. Harry had avoided it every time he'd come out to explore because he hadn't wanted to get caught and dragged back inside.

"Hagrid!" the Headmaster called as they approached.

"'Round back, Professor!" the large man called from (presumably) the patch of giant pumpkins behind the house. Sure enough, when they reached him he was puttering around the garden, carefully rotating the gourds so they wouldn't have any ugly flat spots when they were finally picked. "Since you're here, sir, I've been thinking, what would you think of doing bigger pumpkins next year?" Harry felt his eyes go involuntarily wide at the idea of bigger pumpkins. The smallest one from this year's crop had to be at least two feet tall. "Got a friend in France, says he can get me a handful of Carriage Pumpkin seeds from this year's crop, if we want— Oh." The gamekeeper cut himself off with a scowl, noticing Harry. "What's he doing here?"

"Ah, Hagrid! This is Harry Potter, he—"

"I know who he is," the giant muttered gruffly. "He killed one of Aragog's children, whole Forest's talking about it. And what have you done to Fluffy?!" he demanded, stomping over and falling to his knees to examine the tiny cerberus. The dog clearly recognised him, but was equally clearly a bit intimidated by how very large he was at the moment, all three heads warily pressing back against Harry's chest.

"Nothing!" Harry snapped, glaring up at the man, who was still a good two feet taller than Harry kneeling. "I was just playing with him, and Professor McGonagall came in and stunned the middle head and shrank him! I wasn't going to leave him! And I haven't killed anyone!"

The gamekeeper's small, dark eyes, already nearly lost in the narrow space between his wild hair and equally unkempt beard, narrowed further yet, his scowl becoming even more pronounced. "You did so, you lying little git! One of the wilderfolk saw you do it! Stabbed 'im right through the thorax with a stick and then stood there laughing over the body like your thrice-cursed traitor father!"

Wait. Thorax? "This is about the bloody spider?! It tried to kill me first!" It had jumped him out of bloody nowhere, knocking him to the ground and nearly biting him with what Harry now knew were highly poisonous fangs before he managed to throw it off. "I'm pretty sure it was going to eat me!"

The book he'd found afterward did say that acromantulae were creatures of being-level intelligence, but their resolute determination to consider all other creatures and beings (including humans) as potential food meant they would never be considered beings in the same way as humans or goblins or even house elves. That had to be what it had been, there weren't that many giant talking spiders around. Most of them looked like oversized cellar spiders or wolf spiders, and were completely harmless (to humans — obviously they hunted smaller animals). Acromantulae were more like tarantulae. They never stopped growing and grew more intelligent as they aged and their brains increased in size and complexity, reaching a degree of sentience comparable to a young human child when the body (not counting the legs) was about two feet wide. The one Harry had killed had been relatively small, and probably only about as smart as a clever dog, but vicious. He had no doubt it had intended to kill and eat him.

"Well, you shouldn't've been in the Forest if you didn't want to be eaten! Everyone knows there's dangerous creatures in there! And they can't be expected not to act according to their nature if some stupid kid wanders into their territory!"

"Well, it shouldn't have been attacking unfamiliar kids in the Forest if it didn't want to be killed!" Harry shot back, only slightly mockingly. "Everyone knows there's dangerous creatures in there, and they can't be expected not to defend themselves from attempted murder!"

"You're the murderer!" the giant retorted. "Standing there laughing!"

"I'm sorry, have you ever been in a fight for your life before? Because I hadn't, and let me tell you, not dying is a hell of a rush!" It might actually have been the best feeling Harry had ever felt. Whenever he remembered it, that same slightly-feral, rage-filled part of himself that sometimes wanted to kill people for no reason or start fights with a bloody illusion — of himself, no less — for looking at him wrong, and felt more at home with Fluffy or Ripper or (he suspected) the Little Crow, was decidedly distracted by wanting to do it again.

Hagrid apparently had no response to that. He pushed himself to his feet to glare at Dumbledore rather than continue to loom over Harry and Tiny Fluffy (who did not like the shouting and was trying to bury all three of his noses in the crook of Harry's arm). "What's he doing here?" he demanded again.

"Yeah, I'd like to know that, too," Harry added, since he was pretty sure the half-bemused, half-concerned looking old man hadn't brought him out here to be accused of murdering a giant man-eating spider.

The Headmaster gave them another condescending smile. (Harry was really starting to hate that expression — the feral, instinctive part of him, so close to the surface talking about his fight with the spider, wanted to claw it off his face with his bare hands.) It shifted from Hagrid to Harry and back again before he said, "Well, Hagrid, I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favour. You see, Harry here has been getting into trouble sneaking out of bounds and befriending creatures best left alone—" Harry literally bit his tongue to avoid saying that Fluffy was most certainly not best left alone. "—and it occurred to me that what he really needs is a good influence in his life. One who could, perhaps, teach him more about the creatures of the Forest and the grounds as well as keeping him occupied doing useful work, rather than leaving him to his own devices for far too many hours a day. And I know your workload has been growing heavier as Silvanus has become more reliant on your assistance to corral the more excitable creatures. So it occurs to me that you might be able to find enough work to occupy an assistant of your own, say...twenty hours a week?"

"No," Hagrid said firmly.

Dumbledore obviously hadn't been expecting that. "No?"

"No. You know I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, Professor — you're a great man, and I owe you everything I have today. But please don't– don't make me look at him every day. He— I can't stand it— Poor little Jamie Potter, being betrayed like he was, and by Lily, too!"

The Headmaster gave his gamekeeper a disappointed sigh. "Hagrid," he chided him, "You cannot mean to hold this poor boy responsible for the sins of his parents."

"No, I don't... It's just... He's the spitting image of that traitor! You have to see it, too! And no, I know that's not his fault, but I can't help thinking on it when I look at him! And he's a vicious little monster in his own right, just like all the rest of them! I don't care if the spider attacked him first — a normal human child wouldn't've been able to fight him off, much less kill him!"

"So I'm a monster because I'm capable of defending myself?" What a load of rubbish.

"No, you're a monster because you're not even sorry! You enjoyed it, just like the rest of your twisted family!"

"Well, of course I'm not sorry!" Harry scoffed. "The stupid thing tried to kill me first! And I'm not going to apologise for that, or for liking how good it feels to not die! Why was the bloody spider even in the Forest in the first place? Acromantulae aren't native to Britain! They're tropical spiders!"

"They're...immigrants," Hagrid said defensively, throwing a shifty look at the Headmaster. "Refugees, like. Aragog's colony was murdered and he got kidnapped by a 'travelling cursebreaker' and sold to some wizard who kept him locked up, milking him for venom until he was big enough to escape. I found him near dead in the countryside days later, hurt and starving. I didn't have the heart to turn him in, the Ministry bastards would've killed him! And he don't deserve that! He never hurt nobody! So I brought him here with me, and when Riddle found out about him and tried to get him executed for killing that girl — he didn't, Riddle probably did it himself, lying shite — Dumbledore was good enough to give him asylum in the Forest!"

"Indeed." Dumbledore sighed. "I did not authorise the acquisition of a mate for him, but I allow them to remain on the condition that he and his family remain within their own territory. So long as they do, they harm no one. If I were to order the execution of every last one of them simply because of their species, I would be no better than them."

He sounded a little defensive about that, Harry thought. Maybe because the spiders, according to the centaurs — Harry had met two in the weeks since his encounter with the now-dead arachnid — claimed the acromantulae weren't staying in their territory, but trying to push outward, at the expense of something called wilderfolk (they were shy, he hadn't met one yet) and the centaurs themselves. Honestly, Harry didn't really blame the spiders — not being allowed to leave one particular area in the Forest was sort of like being trapped in a really big prison cell, or a zoo, or something. But saying they harmed no one was sort of underselling the effect they were having on the ecosystem, according to Ronan and Bianca. They would gladly see every last spider killed, Harry suspected. But Harry hadn't said anything about killing them all, so he wasn't entirely sure why Dumbledore had brought it up.

"O...kay? I wasn't trying to commit spider genocide, or whatever, I didn't kill it because it was a spider, I killed it because it tried to kill me first! I'm not going to apologise for defending myself. If anyone tries to kill me, I'm going to kill them first. And yes, I'm probably going to enjoy it, but who doesn't enjoy winning?"

"It's not a game! The poor little scamp was just acting according to his nature, and now he's dead!"

Harry really didn't get why someone dying would make a competition not a game, but he suspected that was one of those questionably sane demon-child questions he shouldn't ask about. And besides, "I don't suppose it occurred to you that I was acting according to my nature? Oh, wait, no, it did, but I'm a monster. But not the giant, venomous spider."

"You're human! You should know better! Killing people is wrong!" the giant bellowed, glaring down at him.

"Acromantulae are beings, too! Why shouldn't it have known better? Even if it had never seen a human before and had no idea I was a sapient being, it shouldn't have been hunting something as big as me on its own anyway! And—"

"Harry," the Headmaster intervened before Harry could point out that he certainly hadn't known what the spider was at the time. Obviously if he'd realised it was a person trying to kill him, he still would've killed it first, but saying he should know better because Killing People is Wrong was bloody stupid. "Hagrid. Please, calm down."

"But Professor—"

"Hagrid. I know that you are very upset on behalf of your friend. But surely Harry had a right to defend himself. And as for his obvious lack of remorse... I think it is clear that he desperately needs more good, moral influences in his life. That's one of the reasons I want you to take him on as an assistant. Teach him about the Forest and the peoples who live there. Teach him to care for them. People can change, Hagrid, and I've never seen you back down from befriending and taming even the most vicious of creatures out in the Forest." The enormous man was wavering, Harry could tell. So could Dumbledore. He gave him one of those lying, grandfatherly smiles. "Please, Hagrid. Give him a chance. For me."

The giant groaned. "Fine. I'll do it. But if he says or does one thing out of line, if he hurts anyone else, I'm done."

"Is anyone going to ask if I want to spend loads of time with someone who obviously hates me because he assumes that my mother cheated on her husband with his best mate, and said best mate turned around and got them murdered? Both of which are stupid assumptions, by the way. If I were Sirius's son, d'you think he would've set me up to get killed? And you don't know what went on in their bedroom. Maybe James and Sirius really did share everything. Did you ever think of that?"

Harry was guessing neither of them had. They exchanged a look over his head, both of them going rather red behind their whiskers. After a long, awkward pause (for them, Harry refused to find it awkward, especially since none of the people in question were actually his parents), the Headmaster cleared his throat. "Be that as it may—"

He was interrupted by the spell on Fluffy finally wearing off, the dog nearly as confused and terrified to suddenly be growing out of control as it had been to shrink. He gained weight quickly enough Harry barely had time to set him down before he could no longer hold him, and then he had to back away very quickly to avoid getting squished as the puppy danced uncomfortably in place, whining in distress. When it was done, though, he quickly regained the confidence which came from being probably the biggest creature on the grounds (...except maybe the giant squid, Harry guessed), bouncing and barking excitedly like he wanted to play.

"You left the ball, dummy," Harry reminded the dog, drawing its attention and earning him three very large noses poking at him, snuffling as though he might be hiding the football somewhere on his person, and one very large lick, right across the face. "Eugh! Damn it, Central!" he sputtered, trying to fight off the giant tongue. This did nothing but convince the dog that Lick Harry was an excellent new game, the object of which was to pin Harry to the ground and suffocate him with slobber. "No! Stop it! Damn you—"

After several long seconds wherein Harry tried to fight off a giant three-headed dog intent on smothering him with love and Dumbledore and Hagrid just sort of watched, he managed to kick all three heads away long enough to conjure a ball (it wasn't one of his best attempts, distracted as he was, so it wouldn't last long, but it didn't really need to) and hit it with a banishing charm, sending it flying and the dog bounding after it.

Watched and laughed, he realised, finally regaining his feet. "You could have helped me." He glared up at them, trying to regain some shred of dignity. (It was hopeless — his robes and hands and face were sticky with dog drool, and he was sure his hair was messed up worse than Danny's.)

The Headmaster's excuse was, "I find it instructive to see how young people handle problems for themselves, and it didn't seem as though the dog was hurting you..."

Hagrid didn't even bother trying to come up with one. "Well, at least Fluffy likes you," he said, with a judgmental harrumph. "Come back down after dinner, and we'll work out a schedule for you, talk a bit about what you'll be doing, and so on." Then he stumped off to capture the dog without waiting for a response.

So, apparently it didn't matter whether Harry wanted to be an apprentice groundskeeper or not. "Brill. If that's all, Headmaster, I'm going to take a shower."

"Yes, yes, my boy, you may go," the old man said, still chortling.

Harry barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. He hadn't been so much asking permission to go get cleaned up as taking his leave, but whatever. "Cheers. Good talk..."