Sticks and Spiders
KEYNOTE: I will be bringing in more Marvel at some point, this plot gets trippy ;)
Chapter 5 - Sticks and Spiders
Harry was so tired he just wanted to eat and collapse. No part of him wanted to socialize, but he was hungry enough that it was worth it.
"You ready?" Professor Flitwick asked.
No, he wasn't, but he was hungry, so he nodded.
He was a stress eater, or as his mom liked to say, a black hole disguised as a teenager.
He always blamed her for his fast metabolism, he trained harder than most professional athletes. Not that he minded, Harry enjoyed working out, loved being outdoors, and like an average boy, he did like sports. He also enjoyed being one of the best no matter what ring he jumped into.
The professor opened the doors to the Great Hall, and the noisy room fell silent.
Harry stared at the students, divided by four tables, a head table was adjacent to those tables at the back of the hall. The other professors and staff sat there, staring at him like the rest. The ceiling… the ceiling was nothing short of incredible, enchanted to reveal the starry sky with hundreds of candles suspended in the air.
Professor Flitwick sighed, then said in a projected volume, "Mr. Romanoff was sorted into Ravenclaw."
The room broke out in cheers and applause. Two redheads bellowed, "Dragon Jumper!"
Following the professor, Harry had no trouble locating the Ravenclaw table, as they were by far the loudest.
He heard one of student grouch from the far left table, "At least it wasn't Gryffindor. I can get behind a Ravenclaw champion."
Harry paused by a group of blue tied students that looked about his age, two pretty girls, one bushy-haired and the other with lush dark hair, parted to make a seat for him.
Professor Flitwick paused to give him a smile over his shoulder before continuing to the head table.
Sitting down, Harry tried to take in everything around him at once, it was difficult, he had been in crowds before, but he had never had the attention of so many people before while sitting down with them.
He noted that the line of students on the other side of this table weren't wearing black robes, but pale blue ones. The girl immidately across from him gave him a shrewd look and said, almost hostility, "Bonjour, my name is Fleur Delacour. I am the champion from the French School, Beauxbatons."
Her Parisian accent told him she was likely from a suburb in Paris, so he answered back in Parisian French, flavouring his words with a Russian lilt. It was kind of fun, and both languages were meant to be smooth, well as compared to English and German, "Je m'appelle Harry Romanoff. Enchantée." He held out her hand to her.
She blinked at him, then smiled beautifully, and shook his hand in a firm grip, "Enchanté, Monsieur Romanoff."
"You're French?" the girl to his right asked.
"Non," Fleur answered, "He's Russian."
He nodded, "And you are?"
The girl flushed, "Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you."
The girl on the other side of him said, "And I'm her best friend, Padma Patil."
Harry smiled at them both, "You wouldn't happen to be fourth years would you?"
Padma smirked, "We are, though Fleur isn't, she is a legal adult, seventeen year old in her final year."
Seventeen? Harry wondered.
"You weren't supposed to be able to compete unless you were of legal age," Hermione informed him, "Of course, your name showing up at all was odd. You're a legend."
"A dead legend," Padma muttered, "No one, well, except for the Potters, thought you were alive."
People around them starting to eat even as the twisted in the seats to stare at him and eavesdrop. He started pulling food on his own plate. He sipped from a glass of some orange liquid, it turned out to be pumpkin juice.
Interesting. But not bad, not bad at all.
"Why am I a legend?" he asked, then took a bit of a forkful of something warm and steamy. He tried very hard not scarf it down. Small, slow bites.
"You're the Boy Who Lived," Hermione said, sounding surprised he didn't know, "You survived the killing curse. No one survives the killing curse. Not ever. You're the only one, thus you became a legend."
Harry paused to stare at her, trying to picture the two people he met today spreading that rumour around.
He couldn't. Especially, since they had apparently survived it too.
"Is the scar really shaped like a lightning bolt?" a boy asked a few seats down.
Harry felt suddenly subconscious, "How do you know about the scar?"
The boy, who was leaning so far forward, he had only to turn his head to kiss the roasted chicken, said, "Well, it's on your forehead, isn't it?"
Harry frowned, and his expression must have been darker than he meant it to be because the boy apologized and sat back.
Fleur asked, "Ça va?"
He shook his head and turned back to Hermione, "So according to you, I'm a legend because I am the only person to survive the killing curse, and somehow, this legend includes that I have a scar on my face?" Despite the fact that the only person to know that should be my Mom, well my real mom, Natasha. His birth parents never saw him again after Voldemort cursed him. Well, his assains clearly knew he existed and had quite possibly seen his scar, but it hardly seemed likely that Voldemort's supporters would make Harry out to be some kind of hero. Which led him to another question, "Is Voldemort dead?"
He knew the Death Eaters didn't believe he was, but then they were all bat-shit.
Everyone around him gasped, a few people even looked as if they would faint. Hermione's face was the picture of shock, while Padma and Fleur watched him carefully.
"What?" he asked.
"You aren't supposed to say his name," Hermione entoned, as if it were some law he had just spat at.
"Why?" he asked, then teased, "Is it magic?"
"No, but he did such horrible things, that people still fear his name to this day," Padma explained.
He turned to her, "So what do you call him?"
"He Who Must Not Be Named, or You Know Who."
Harry kept his face neutral, but he thought that was next level stupid. Bad things happened in the world, not talking about them, not naming them, meant that they were never understood. Historically speaking, political campaigns, bloody and ugly, that were not understood, tended to repeat themselves.
"Right," he said, "but he is dead?
"Oui, that's why you are a legend," Fleur explained, "because you not only survived the killing curse, but you destroyed him."
"I destroyed the Dark Lord?" Harry repeated, his lips twitching.
"Yes, you did," Hermione told him, as if she were telling him some undeniable truth. "You saved the United Kingdoms, he would have destroyed the Wizarding World as well as the mug-"
Harry laughed aloud, he couldn't help it, maybe if he wasn't so tired... but jeez that was just too much. He knew the Wizarding World was weird but this was cracked.
Hermione crossed her arms, "What's so funny?"
Everyone was staring at him now, and the other Heads of House and Dumbledore were entering the room, his birth parents must have left.
He hoped they had, he didn't need another over-protective guardian.
The thought of having to tell his Mom about the Potters sobered him, but he still said, "It's not funny, it's hilarious that people believe a baby defeated a Dark Lord."
Hermione glared him, and he decided that she really didn't like to be told she was mistaken.
Tough shit, lady.
"That's why it's legendary. No one can explain it, but the facts remain that a baby survived a killing curse and You Know Who was vanquished, that's magic, magic in its rawest form," she said.
Harry shook his head, and took another bite of food, chewed, swallowed, and then said, "Or maybe, and this is a super far fetched, illogical thought, but maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the two adult magic users in the house. But I'm sure that can't possibly be it. It was definitely the baby."
Some kid behind him who had been eavesdropping chimed in, "But it had to be you! You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. You proved that today, facing a dragon without using magic, how else would you prove that?"
Harry felt like he had just landed on some alien planet from his mother's stories. Did that boy even hear himself? Harry wasn't even sure how to reason with that kind of dumb.
Fleur spoke up, clearly having read some of his thoughts on his expression, "I saw your trial, you did very well."
He smiled, "Thanks. It was kind of fun."
"Fun?" Padma asked.
"My mom and I do extreme hiking, trust me, magma can kill you just a surely as dragon fire."
"Your mom had you hiking on volcanoes?" Hermione asked.
He shrugged, "You never know when the earth will crack beneath your feet, it's a useful thing to know how to handle yourself around that kind of heat. Besides some of the most beautiful islands on the planet were created by volcanoes."
People were starting to get up and Harry made it point to finish his plate and get some dessert before curfew.
An older Ravenclaw boy came around to him, introducing himself as a. prefect, and began to explain to Harry some of the basic rules.
He tried paying attention, he really did, but when he was introduced to his new bed, he hardly had the energy to change into pyjamas before slipping between the sheets.
Tomorrow would be a rough day, the prospect of his first day of magical school not half so daunting as telling his mom his other mom was still alive.
He couldn't wait a week, he would have to tell her tomorrow night.
Remus was rather irked to receive the morning paper.
The NEWS was that not only was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, truly alive but he had competed in the Triwizard tournament, receiving the highest mark against a dragon. And apparently, he hadn't used magic either.
Nothing in the article speculated about Lily or James, they were probably saving that for the next issue of Family Reunited.
Remus apparated first to Sirius' place pounding on the door, then he crossed the hall to pound on James and Lily's flat door.
Sirius opened the door, looking tired.
"You couldn't have sent an owl? Anything?" Remus demanded.
Sirius shook his head, and said in a low voice, "They haven't slept, they haven't said a word. They just pace or stare off into space."
Remus pushed past him, it always surprised him how bad Sirius could be at handling emotional crises. He was actually pretty good in the moment, though there were those who would argue that, but afterwards? Afterwards, he was like a lost puppy looking for approval.
Lily was staring out the window, James standing in the kitchen, both looked like robots, disconnected from life.
"Harry's alive," Remus stated.
Sirius rolled his eyes, "You don't think I tried that. Also, while we're on the topic, I should mention, Pettigrew is dead."
Remus turned on him, "What did you say?"
"Pettigrew," Sirius repeated, locking the door behind him, "Is. Dead."
"How?"
"Harry killed him. Said the worm tried crawling up his leg and he killed that rat like a rat."
Remus gaped at him, poor Harry… "He must have been traumatized when he turned back into a human."
Sirius shrugged, "He seemed more pissed about it, to be honest with yo- Would you two wake up!?"
Neither Lily nor James so much as twitched a pinkie finger.
Sirius sighed, "I guess I should be grateful they didn't try going into work."
"Have they ever taken a day off?" Remus asked.
"Nope," he answered, popping the p, "Well, yes, but tracking Harry isn't exactly time off from work."
"So where was he?"
Sirius sighed again, disapparated, and when he returned he had a large bottle of alcohol with him and four glasses. "Now that he's safe, we can drink at the Potters," he said it triumphantly.
Remus frowned at him, "It is too early to drink."
"Speak for yourself," Sirius said, pouring himself a healthy measure, or an unhealthy measure, depending on how you looked at it, "I haven't slept a wink yet, neither have they. Lily-Flower!" He yelled suddenly, "James! Come have a drink or go the fuck to bed."
James seemed to partially come alive at this, and walked into the living room stiffly. Neither he nor Lily drank, fearing becoming alcoholics with the shit hand they had been dealt.
But now James took the glass Sirius offered him, and tipped it back in one gulp. He made a sour expression.
Remus thought it was from the taste and strength until, James said with such loathing in his voice it scared Remus, "Vodka."
"Do you not like Vodka?" Remus asked.
"It's Russian," James said, expression dark and distant.
"What's wrong with Russia?"
"Harry's Russian," Lily said, drifting over, and sitting down on the floor beside Sirius. She put her head on his shoulder and he put an arm around her.
"It's okay Lils, we'll convert him to our empire."
She shut her eyes, then said to Remus, "He wasn't just in Russia, he was everywhere, and all our tracking spells worked, we just missed him."
"Who took him?" Remus asked.
"A Russian," James spat.
Okay, Remus thought, "And have you met this Russian?"
Lily shook her head against Sirius's shoulder, "Natasha Romanoff. And he loves her."
"He took her name," James said angrily. "He says he's not a Potter, he's a Russian."
"You going to have to let the Russian thing go," Remus said jokingly, "It makes you sound like a nationalist."
James met his gaze, and Remus flinched, the look in those hazel eyes... "Our Harry said he is Harry Romanoff, he doesn't want anything to do with us."
"He didn't care that we were alive," Lily said so softly, Remus almost didn't hear her.
Sirius gave him a desperate look.
Remus stood up, "Alright, that's enough." He pulled his wand and disappeared the offending vodka.
"Hey!" Sirius protested.
Remus shook his head, "No, enough pity party. You three have been stuck in 1981 for the last thirteen years. Harry's alive, and despite being 'Russian,' he sounds like he's doing just fine."
Lily looked at him sadly, "He doesn't need us. He doesn't want us."
"Bullshit," Remus snapped.
James turned on him, "Don't you swear at her. You have no idea-"
"Did he know?"
"Did he know what?"
"Did he know you were alive and looking for him, or did you both drop down all this information on him without warning, claiming to be his real parents?"
James glared at him.
Remus sighed, "If his adoptive family loved him, then of course, he would be wary of you both. He isn't a little kid anymore, you both probably freaked him out. But no matter how happy his childhood was, every kid wants to know who their birth parents were or are."
Lily just shook her head.
"Stand up," Remus demanded, "Lily, stand up."
"Why?" she asked listlessly.
"We need to get this place cleaned up, and maybe go furniture shopping."
"Why?" Lily repeated.
"Because I have been in storage rooms with more personality than this flat. Do you really want to bring your son over here for dinner with the choice of a love seat sofa or an office chair to sit in? He's going to think your both dull workaholics."
"They are dull workaholics," Sirius said cheerfully.
James frowned at him, "No, we're not."
"Really?" Remus challenged, "Then find three objects in this apartment that aren't grey, black, or white."
Lily sat up, looking around, then pointed at the medium sized bookshelf.
"Lily dear," Remus said gently, "The books on that shelf that aren't spell books for tracking or potions, are handbooks for Aurors."
She frowned, then seemed to see where she had been living for the first time since leaving Godric's Hollow.
Her mouth seemed to open in a small 'O' of surprise.
It was a one bedroom apartment, with one couch, one bookshelf, two office desk with two lamps, and two office chairs. They were all some shade of grey, black, or white.
And they all knew that their clothes selection did not improve the matter. Their kitchen was clean but characterless. No decorations were hung on the walls, and the only pictures sat on their desks. One of baby Harry, one of the Dursely's, and the other two of their deceased parents.
"James?" Lily said, sounding lost, "I think we should move."
James sighed, "Whatever you say Lils."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a long look. This was going to be a long road. Even if Harry wanted to be with his birth parents, Lily and James weren't in any condition to take care of another person.
Remus didn't know if it would make things worse or better when they realized that for themselves.
Harry was somewhat of a deep sleeper, unless someone yelled or something touched him. His mom usually woke him, either by touching his hair or his ankle.
What he was not in any way used to was a stranger, grabbing his arm, shaking him, and yelling, "Wake up, Potter!"
The boy, whose name he learned later that morning was Michael Corner, ended up with a broken nose and bruised tailbone. Harry had dressed quickly in his new robes, then half helped, half carried, Corner to the medical wing.
Madam Pomfrey had greeted with, "Great, you're another James, just what this school didn't need. You stay away from the Weasley twins, you hear me?"
Harry didn't know what this meant, but having missed breakfast, he ran to his first class, taking two wrong turns, and just making it inside before the bell rang.
Professor McGonagall didn't acknowledge him as he slid into a seat beside Padma.
"Did you really attack Corner?" Hermione asked him after McGonagall gave her instructions.
Instructions, that to Harry's mind made no sense.
"I was deeply asleep," he muttered, pulling out his textbook and flipping to the right page. Hedgehog to Pincushion.
Harry frowned, the Latin made sense, the process of the magic did not. Harry had always imagined magic to be like an energy, a force to be wielded, but turning one living creature into an inanimate object?
Would the hedgehog die? What if he messed up? How did he even begin?
Harry didn't do transfiguration. He'd read about it, of course, but it seemed to be a magic, or at least the spells -this one included, that required a wand.
His mom had managed a few of these kinds of spells, but she did have a wand.
"Mr. Po-" Professor McGonagall stopped herself, "My apologies, you are the spitting image of your father. Mr. Romanoff, go ahead and try, there is no shame for mistakes here."
By the expressions on his classmates' faces, he very much doubted that. Taking one last look at the spell, he focused on his hedgehog, waved his hand over it.
The hedgehog sneezed.
Hermione and Padma giggled.
Harry gave the professor a sheepish smile, and batted his green eyes at her, hoping she would console his ego and leave him to his own devices.
But Professor McGonagall was not so easily charmed, "You're Latin is flawless, but without a wand you don't have the focus to manage the transition." She pulled out her own wand and demonstrated the spell and the correct wand movements. Harry memorized it, but still didn't quite understand the logistics of the magic.
She offered him her wand, "Try it, I'll speak with the Headmaster about getting you to Ollivander's shop soon."
Knowing it would be an insult to refuse such an offer, he gingerly took the wand, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room on him. That was going to get old fast.
The wand felt dangerous and unfriendly, he had been more comfortable holding poisonous snakes than this wand.
He felt its power, and he feared touching it with his own. Squaring his shoulders and bringing his breathing under control, he focused on the poor little hedgehog.
It was rather cute.
Harry said the words, following the demonstrated wand movements, but he felt it the moment his magic met the wand's magic.
And then he was being blown backward, only years of training had him rolling over the desk rather than crashing into it. The bang from the backlash of power rang in the room and the clatter of the wand, sounded like a pencil, a harmless stick settling on the floor.
Harry hated wands.
Professor McGonagall twisted her wrist, her wand coming to her hand like a puppy. "Are you alright, Mr. Romanoff?"
He stood, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein looking almost as worried as Hermione, but Padma, the witch, was holding a hand to her mouth trying not to laugh at him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Maybe for today," she said, accepting he was okay only after carefully watching him reclaim his seat without any signs of pain, "you should just watch, and perhaps read some older material. I have some spare first, second, and third year books."
Harry kept his expression controlled, and he said, "Thank you." The words almost came out in Russian, and he wondered to himself if maybe Russian was his default accent. He had never been in one place long enough to 'imprint' on a place and he was always aware of the accent he used.
But this was one of the first times he was making an effort to not sound like the people around him.
When Professor McGonagall moved on, Padma asked, "So Romanoff, do you think you you're going to keep Madam Pomfrey busy this term?"
He smiled at her, "Why would I need Madam Pomfrey when I have you, Ms. Patil?"
Harry didn't let his smile grow when she turned quickly back to her hedgehug, and she muttered, "Dunderhead."
People, Mother had taught him, were always easier to manipulate if they've never been flirted with before.
"Wow," Hermione noted at lunch, "you eat so politely I almost didn't notice how much food you put down."
"I missed breakfast," he said after swallowing a bite.
Corner glared at him from down the table.
"First day not going well?" Fleur asked too sweetly, batting her lashes at him.
He smiled back, "It's just peachy keen."
"Peachy keen?" she asked confused.
"American saying," he said.
"I thought you were Russian?" Hermione asked.
Padma answered before he could, "I don't think what our Romanoff is can be summed up in a word."
Harry couldn't tell if she meant it as a compliment or an insult, so he ignored it.
Potions was his next class and he was… completely lost.
Mom and he ate out, all the time. They had the money and food culture was a very real thing. They didn't often go out to fancy places, they found the local places, and when they were hiking they ate food packaged for carbs and vitamins.
Sure they bought fruit, vegetables, and bread, but Harry would hardly call a sandwich and an orange 'knowing how to cook.'
Thus, Harry read the textbook while Hermione did all the work.
"Aren't you going to help?" she asked.
"Do you want to fail?" he shot back.
This class they shared with the Hufflepuffs and in addition to doing all the work for their potion, Hermione was also helping out the group beside them.
A round faced boy with a sweet smile, after finishing up the various types of cutting and skinning, turned to Harry as his partner finished the final steps.
"Hi, I'm Neville Longbottom."
Harry shook his hand, "Harry Romanoff."
"My parents are friends with your parents," Neville informed him, "They come over for dinner a lot. They work in the same office."
Harry wasn't jealous that this boy knew his parents better than him, he told himself. His parents who were emotional wrecking balls that were going to rain all over his life.
His stomach tightened, he had been thinking about it all day, and he still didn't know how to break the news to Mom. He also needed to sneak out of the castle tonight, this wasn't exactly something he could put in a letter.
"You know," Neville said kindly, "It's not everyone who has two Auror parents like us."
Harry tilted his head, "What's an Auror?"
Neville's partner sneered, "You don't know what an Auror is? Guess you really were raised by a muggle."
"Shut up, Ernie," Neville said, "Don't mind him. Aurors are the wizard police."
Harry thought back to what he had said to his parents last night. Damn. He must have really hit some nerves. But still, why hadn't they gone to the magical police? It wasn't like a Death Eater would have raised him as their own, they all wanted him dead.
And he still didn't understand why people wanted him dead.
Speaking of Death Eaters, Professor Snape came around their tables, "Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Romanoff, your partners shall fail for the day if you do not participate."
Neville shot Harry a smile before rejoining Ernie. Harry went to Hermione's side, waiting for instruction, he wasn't even sure where she was in the cooking -brewing process.
Without looking up she said, "Add three leaves of dittany."
What the hell was dittany?
Picking up one of the green things on the table, he asked, "This?"
She glanced up before going back to her text, she nodded.
Tearing off three leaves Harry plopped them into the pinkish liquid, he watched them sink in, and his heart rate skyrocketed when the potion turned sickly orange and began to bubble like an overflowing washer in the laundromat.
Harry grabbed Hermione around the waist, yelled, "Everybody down!"
He turned, shielding Hermione with his body as the potion exploded with a loud metal bang.
The professor rushed over, wand raised, the potion disappeared, students raised up from under the tables warily.
Hermione pushed away from him, and asked angrily, "What did you do!?"
"What you told me to do," Harry said back, calmer but non-too happy himself. He held up the plant still in his hands, "Three leaves."
"Of dittany!" she exclaimed, "That's mallowsweet!"
He gritted his teeth, "I ask-"
"Mr. Potter," the professor called.
Harry spun on the man, "Romanoff, my name is Romanoff."
The man sneered, "Yet you're as arrogant as your father, Potter. Twenty points from Ravenclaw." He turned to look at the wide eyed Hufflepuffs, "it would appear, Mr. Longbottom, we have found a student whose sunk to a new level of abysmal, not even you have melted a cauldron before."
Neville didn't move, he looked like he was holding his breath.
Harry glared at the professor, wondering if he was an ex-Death Eater or spy. Harry didn't know much about the wizarding world, for instance, that 'Auror' was their word for police, but Harry knew what their skum looked like.
"Mr. Potter, if you do not improve by next class, then I will move you down to the first year class."
"Whatever you think is best," Harry said, knowing in this instance his accent likely made him sound stupid to their ears. A thought that confirmed by the pitying looks his classmates gave him and the mirthful light in those onyx eyes, "But my name is Romanoff."
"Ms. Granger, pack up your things, you're done for the day." He waved his wand at the cauldron which repaired itself.
Hermione glared at Harry and he was at a loss as to what to do. The bell rang not long after and he had to run to catch up to her.
"Hermione, wait," he said, "I'm sorry, that-"
"Was an embarrassing disaster, I have never messed up a potion until you."
And with that she stormed off.
Padma patted his shoulder, "Come on, Romanoff, she won't stay mad forever. It's only your first day, she will understand."
Yeah, and it wasn't going well.
After dinner, Professor Flitwick came to him, "Professor McGonagall set up a meeting with Mr. Ollivander for tonight, I think it is safe to say you need a wand?"
Harry nodded, though he thought maybe what he needed was to be with the first years. And he said as much.
Flitwick shook his head, "Your magic is too far developed, it will just be a learning curve I'm afraid."
"Wait?" Harry asked, "Are we going to London?"
Flitwick nodded, as they exited the castle.
"Yes," he answered, "We will apparate once we reach the border to Hogsmeade."
"Can my Mom come with us? She's staying at the Three Broomsticks."
"Of course," he said, smiling.
Filius was worried about Harry, from all accounts, his first day had not gone well. He wondered what his mother, who was supposedly a witch as well had taught him.
They found the witch in question at the bar, and she was not at all what Filius had expected. She was uncommonly beautiful, her hair a dark red, her eyes a cat green, not the emerald of Harry's and Lily's but still remarkable.
"Mom," Harry greeted, sounding relieved to see her and hugging her tightly. She hugged him back, kissing the top of his head.
The look she gave him when they parted, both loving and looking for injuries, told Filius better than any words could that she cared for him. That they cared for each other.
Any plans his birth parents or and Dumbledore had about separating them was a fool's game.
"Mom, this is my Charms professor Flitwick, he's also my Head of House, Ravenclaw. Professor Flitwick, this is my mom, Natasha Romanoff."
She shook her hand, and somehow, was able to make the gesture natural and respectful, despite the height difference.
Filius liked her already.
"We need to go to London, to get your son a wand."
She smiled, "Those, historically, have not worked well for him."
"Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor, had me borrow hers for a spell," Harry said.
"Did it work?" she asked.
He grinned, "Nope, it sent me flying backwards."
She smiled but shook her head, then asked, "How do we get to London? Harry said the train only runs four times a year."
Filius frowned, "We apparate."
"Apparate?" they asked together.
He was beginning to have doubts that she was a witch after all, "Teleportation."
They blinked at him and then a look of dawning comprehension came over their faces. "The popping!" they exclaimed.
"How do you do it?" Natasha asked.
"Well, they do offer classes in London at the Aurors office, you need a license."
"Can you apparate anywhere? And is there a way to get rid of the noise?" she asked.
Filius wasn't sure he liked her less, however, he was somewhat concerned about this line of questioning, "No, not anywhere, and I'm not sure about the noise. I've never thought about it."
"I would like directions to the Aurors office," she said.
"Aurors are the police," Harry informed her.
Filius had to ask, "Ms. Romanoff, I was under the impression you were a witch. Did you never attend school?"
She shook her head, "I didn't have magic until I found Harry."
That answer was deeply concerning. And it was odd, Filius could feel her energy, he wouldn't think she was so weak that she wouldn't know she was magical until taking in a child. And what did she mean exactly that she 'found' Harry.
"Well, tonight we have a meeting with Mr. Ollivanders." He wouldn't be giving her directions to the Aurors' office, he couldn't imagine what would happen if she walked into Lily or James's office.
Likely something explosive.
"How do we apparate?" Harry asked.
Filius held his hands out to each of them, "Merely take my hand, it will be side along apparition for you both."
They shared a look that seemed to say a lot with a little, and they took his hands.
Moments later they were standing outside of Ollivander's Wand shop, neither Harry nor Natasha looked ruffled by the trip.
Strong stomachs.
Mr. Ollivander greeted them with his usual invasiveness, though Harry corrected him, just as he corrected everyone else who tried to call him Mr. Potter.
"And this," Mr. Ollivander said, "is a friend of mine from Nigeria, he is also a wand maker of sorts, Mr. Bankole."
The big man nodded to them, and seemed to lean back to watch the show.
And show it was, because not only did wands seem not to work for Harry, but they seemed to actively dislike him.
His mother started spotting him to keep him from slamming into the walls.
"Alright, alright this wand, Holly, phoenix feather," Ollivander said, sounding peeved.
This wand was different than the others.
Instead of throwing Harry around the room or laying inert, it cracked up the centre.
With a yelp of pain, Harry dropped it and it burst into flame when it hit the ground.
Mr. Bankole began laughing and Natasha was glaring at Mr. Ollivander, who had the sense to stand well away from mother and son.
"I don't understand," the wandmaker muttered to himself.
Harry rubbed his hand that had red slashes across his palm and fingers. It hadn't broken the skin, but it didn't look pleasant.
"Was that supposed to happen?" Natasha asked harshly.
"No," Ollivander snapped, "No, it was not supposed to happen, I have never seen that before."
"I have," Mr. Bankole said in a deep sing song voice, "Mr. Romanoff, you wouldn't happen to be skilled with wandless magic would you?"
Harry nodded in affirmation.
"I brought some examples of my own work. I might not have your perfect fit with me, but if you find something that is more to your tastes, I can bring back more."
"They'll be pricey," Mr. Ollivander warned, "I'm guessing you brought your best work?"
The big man smiled, his white teeth a shock on his dark complexion, "Perhaps I did."
"I can afford it," Natasha said, "but if another one of these magical sticks throws my son across the room, I will throw you into the wall."
It sounded like she meant that literally, but Filius doubted that she could, what with her patchy magical training and her much smaller stature.
But Mr. Bankole seemed to take the threat seriously, nodding he said, "This won't toss him around. In most places on the African continent, we use raw magic and hand gestures, so our 'wands' are more focusing objects. They have less power of their own, though they are crafted to hold up against physical abuse as well as magical."
The first thing he gave Harry looked like a baton, and as Mr. Bankole had promised, it didn't throw him into a wall.
"Use it," Mr. Bankole commanded.
And Harry raised some of the objects on Mr. Ollivanders desk, a little shakily.
"Hmm," Mr. Bankole said, "I think you definitely need one of my creations, do you have any weapons you are skilled in?"
Weapons? Filius thought nervously.
"A bo staff," Natasha answered for him.
Mr. Bankole's smile was brilliant, "Those of have, let's see, you said money was no object, yes?"
She nodded.
He pulled out a wooden circle, with a swirling pattern inlaid with black metal, placing it in Harry's palm, it grew into a staff taller than Harry.
Harry clearly knew how to use the thing as a muggle weapon, because he spun in around himself, and snapped it against the floor in an impressive sequence of motions.
Then he tried using a spell, the staff came alive, and everything in the room but for the people floated.
Then at Harry's motion, set down just as they had been, he said only, "Oh yes."
"May I?" Natasha asked.
Mr. Bankole nodded, and though there was no magic when Natasha held the staff, she too, used it like the weapon it might have been.
Filius guessed that the training Harry had was more muggle than magical.
"It has no power for me," she said, handing it back to Harry who twisted his wrist and the staff became a just a pretty wooden bracelet around his wrist. "But it is a fine staff," and she sounded more pleased about that, as if she rated her muggle defence above the magical.
She pulled out a wallet, "How much?"
Mr. Bankole smiled smugly, and Mr. Ollivander looked irked.
In fact, Filius had never seen the wand maker look so annoyed.
Filius kept it to himself that the staff wouldn't be much help for his classes at Hogwarts, the boy looked like he just found a new friend.
Harry asked professor Flitwick for a private moment, who went on ahead to the school, Harry promising he could find his way back in dark.
"Mom," Harry began.
She sighed, "Just tell me. I know something has been upsetting you, and it has nothing to do with your first day of school, that you still haven't told me anything about."
"Mom," he tried again, then said it fast, "My birth parents are alive."
She blinked at him, "Harry, you're parents are dead, Death himself told me. I saw your mother's dead body, you saw her die."
"She didn't stay dead, neither did my father. Apparently, they've been looking for me. But as Aurors, they only used magical means."
"You're serious?" she asked, "But why- why then would Death give you to me? He said if I didn't take you, you would be dead before you graduated from school."
"I don't know," he said, "But I met them last night."
Her face shut down, "Harry… oh my God, Harry, I'm so, so sorr-"
"Don't, Mom," he took her hands in his, "you are always going to be my mother. You and me against the world. Nothing will ever change that."
"Harry I would never have separated you from your parents-"
"I know that, and there's nothing to ask forgiveness for, I don't regret anything about my life. If I could change the past, I wouldn't."
"Harry," she cupped his face, her eyes were wet, "I love you."
He hugged her, "I love you, too."
After a while they parted, and she rubbed at her eyes, looking hurt.
"Don't blame yourself for this, this isn't your fault," he said.
Her smile was wane and he knew no matter what he said, that would be how she felt.
"I love you," she said again, "you better get back in there, remember, one week, then I scale the walls."
He wanted to comfort her, but he knew this was something she would need to sort out on her own before anything he said would matter.
"I love you," he repeated before turning back to the castle, his heart heavy.
Natasha watched Harry disappear and wanted nothing more than to scream, to rage.
My birth parents are alive.
She was going to kill Death.
What kind of sick joke was this? Perhaps they were awful people unfit to be guardians? But Harry had met them last night and he would have mentioned if they were hateful people.
Natasha pulled on her hair, this couldn't be happening.
Unable to think she went for a run. She didn't know where her feet took her, but she did not pause. Keeping to the shadows, she circled that castle.
His parents were alive.
What did that make her? A kidnapper?
She entered the forest, her feet dancing over the fallen branches and leaves. She wasn't quiet, but she didn't trip.
How must his parents have felt? Waking up from a terrorist attack and finding their son, not dead, but missing? Too young to have left on his own, to fend in any way for himself, they must have been-
Suddenly, something with many legs, ran at her.
"Oh," it exclaimed, "dinner!"
Natasha's eyes had adjusted enough to see by the filtered moonlight. A giant talking spider approached her, wanting to eat her.
She smiled, and launched herself at it. It screamed when she ripped off one its legs and stabbed at its eyes with that limb.
More spiders came from the darkness, bigger spiders.
The monster inside her stretched like a cat, she pulled a blade. "Come and get it," she beckoned them.
Harry woke on his own in the morning, and finished his stretching routine before the other boys woke up.
He was determined that today would be a better one.
Hermione was still pissed at him during breakfast, but Fleur and Padma talked with him interestedly about his new 'wand.'
Their first class of the day was Care of Magical Creatures.
The professor of this class, a half-giant named Hagrid, was in tears when they showed up with the Hufflepuffs.
"What's wrong, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.
He blew into a tissue, "My spiders, my friends in the forest. Someone's killed them all, and the centaurs won't tell me whose murdered them."
"Spiders?" Harry asked.
"Acromantula," Hagrid said tearfully, "But that's not what class is on, we are starting off with-"
Padma shifted on her feet, she whispered to Harry, "Those eat humans."
"When were they killed?" Harry asked, interrupting the professor explaining what a blast-ended screwt was.
"Someone sliced them up last night. I don't know what kind of monster could have done such a thing. We won't have class in the forest this year until I know what it was."
"Oh, no," Padma said under her breath sarcastically, "I'm so disappointed."
Harry wasn't really concerned about the spiders, but he had a feeling he knew how his mother had taken the news.
At least he knew she wasn't keeping her feelings bottled up.
AN: Thoughts, reactions, ideas, or spiders? Please?