Initus

Initus

(noun. an approach, arrival, or advent.)

A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover

Part 4 of the Amalgamation Series

by Tannin & Tele

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters.

. . .

Warnings: Chapter includes mentioned character death, child abuse, child neglect and mild language.

The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's.

Chapter Four

. . .

December 22nd thru December 24th, 1991

During his four months stay under Professor Snape's care, Harry slowly became aware that despite the man's shrewd exterior and surly attitude, Snape cared very much for his Slytherins. While the man certainly didn't coddle them like Professor Sprout with the 'Puffs or allowed his students to get away with a lot of shite, Snape showed his affection in different ways.

It was no secret that Snape favored the Slytherins in his class, but outside of school hours, the man could also be found working with the upperclassman in seeking career and academic options. as well as assisting the younger students with their homework and homesickness, or - on the rare occasion - teaching them spells.

Due to the dungeons being only a few degrees above freezing, on the first day of the Yule holidays, a note could be found beside each remaining Slytherin's pillow, describing in avid detail the strongest, longest lasting, easily adjustable warming spell their Head of House could create. Harry had utilized it immediately, his ever-present chills and puffs of steamy breath abating quickly as he hurried up to the Great Hall to meet with Ron.

The days leading up to Christmas had come and gone faster than Harry had expected, the holiday thankfully lacking of what Draco called 'drama' or other injury-causing incidents. Snape, thankful for the reprieve, had even spared Harry a small nod of greeting during breakfast one day.

In spite of their original animosity, the man had marginally warmed up to the boy celebrity, due to the efforts of both Severus' godson and Harry's own unerring lack of recalcitrance. Their companionship had been particularly strengthened by Draco's incessant meddling; almost immediately after revealing his ailment, Draco was quick to drag Harry into Severus' office, begging the man to assist with Harry's dyslexia.

The man had been surprised, to say the most.

After assuring the validity of Draco's statement, Snape had been strangely accommodating - although he did scold Harry for not informing his teachers of his disability earlier. Harry was sheepish, reluctantly revealing that he wasn't used to anyone caring that his grades were poor.

With the thought of the late Mr. Luther in mind, Harry was almost afraid to get close to an another adult again; but, as expected, his worries were for naught.

During the evenings, Severus brought out some very familiar books for Harry to skim through, forcing the boy to practice his reading and recognition skills. You must remember that Harry had spent nearly three years out of school - tutoring and textbooks only did so much.

In anticipation of these headache-filled nights, Harry spent his days being stolen away to Gryffindor tower, having the best holiday of his life. Although, in hindsight, that didn't say very much. 

Upon rebuking Fred and George's many attempts at starting snowball fights - some of them even indoors - Harry and Ron found solace in the common room, the redhead excited to teach Harry chess. Unfortunately, the boy was complete pants at it. Harry amused himself with their good-natured bickering and competition, relaxing into the stuffed chaise with a long sigh as the borrowed chess pieces shouted at him to 'cease his stalling'.

Despite the noise, it was very easy for Harry to ignore Ron's chatter and the sentient strategy game; the Gryffindor common room was quite different from it's Slytherin counterpart, warm and inviting with it's ever present fire and crimson decorations. Harry often found himself lulled into a pleasant languor, a state that was marginally unavailable in the cold, lifeless dungeons.

Ron was oddly smug whenever Harry felt comfortable enough to fall asleep, although the redhead always woke him up in time for Snape's nightly lessons.

Harry wasn't ashamed to borrow Ron's red and gold scarf down into the dungeons, although he received many indulgent sighs and exasperated eye-rolls from the Slytherin upperclassman and their Head of House.

Unknown to Harry, very time he spotted that striped neckwear, Severus was painfully reminded of another lionhearted, clever, green eyed child. Severus wasn't oblivious to the boy's uncanny resemblance to his childhood friend, and he was probably the only teacher sharp enough to notice Harry's complete lack of likeness to James Potter. Although it undoubtedly relieved him, it also brought up far more questions than Severus was willing to handle. 

. . .

On the night of Christmas Eve, Harry gratefully settled into his four-poster bed, a pounding headache quickly abating as his head hit the feathered pillow.

He was surrounded by silence, as Blaise and Draco had both returned home for Christmas. It was a bit strange not to hear Blaise's snores or Draco's bed creaking as the picky blonde tried to get comfortable, and Harry found himself . . . missing them? How odd.

Harry found himself becoming acclimated to comforts and commodities - like friendship, and an actual bed - that a year ago, Harry never dreamed he'd have access to. The Dursleys had taught him how not to take things for granted, how to avoid hoping for better, and yet, during his very short time at Hogwarts, a childhood's worth of neglect and belittlement had gone to waste.

Harry now knew that magic existed, that a freak like himself could be happy; and all he could ask for Christmas was for his reality to stay that way. 

The Boy-Who-Lived never expected that he could find a home, a true family, and he was almost afraid that one day he'd awaken from this wonderful dream and be back in the cupboard under the stairs. He was often surprised in the mornings, awoken not by Petunia's shrill voice and a sharp tapping, but instead Blaise and Draco's meaningless bickering.

Sometimes, Harry felt the sudden need for someone to pinch him, just to assure him it was all still real. Draco took his odd request in stride, not asking questions but instead smirking at Harry's startled expression, which would always be followed by a sigh of relief.

Eventually, Harry knew he would return to the Dursleys - return to the oppression, the pain, the hunger, the darkness - but for now, he allowed himself to be content.

Burrowing beneath his blankets, Harry fell asleep with a small smile on his face, not expecting presents the next morning but merely anticipating a future full of love and friendship that he had once only dreamt of. Harry would never forget his past as Freak, but at least his future had a glimmer of light to look forward too:

He was sure of it.

December 25th, 1991

"Oh. My. God(s)," Harry muttered, tentatively sliding his feet to the cold stone floor.

He ignored the chill, tentatively tying on his robe as he stared at the small pile of wrapped . . . things at the end of his bed. Harry lifted a hand to his mouth, looking around just to make sure no one else was around. He reached a trembling hand to the first parcel, which was wrapped in thick brown paper. Written in a jerky scrawl was the words 'To Harry, from Hagrid'.

Harry unwrapped it carefully, almost reverently. Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute, obviously whittled by the half-giant himself. Tears springing into his eyes. Harry lifted it to his lips - it let out a strange call, often heard up in the Owlery.

Harry was immensely glad that he'd the foresight to send the Groundskeeper a present of his own. It hadn't been anything fancy, merely a stiffened parchment with the image of a hand-drawn troll, banging it's club systematically against the ground. Harry had asked an upperclassman to charm it, making the troll grunt the lyrics to 'The Gloucestershire Wassail'.

Harry thought Hagrid would enjoy it, although, staring at the handmade flute, Harry wondered if it was enough. Next year, he vowed to buy Hagrid a new crossbow or pelt, something of the like.

He took his time opening his next presents, getting tearful all over again as he opened Draco's photo album, Chocolate Frogs from Ron, Hogwarts, A History from Hermione and small gifts from Neville, Crabbe, Blaise, Daphne and several other Slytherin first-years. Thankful once more for the presents he'd handed out before holiday began, Harry deposited the new treasures into his trunk, a deep warmth within him fighting the dungeon's chill.

As he debated sneaking a bit of chocolate before breakfast, Harry jerked as a crimson-wrapped parcel suddenly popped onto his bed covers, a large eared house-elf bowing slightly before disappearing. Letting out a calming breath, Harry shuffled on his knees to touch the gift.

He unwrapped it carefully, eyes widening as he felt the soft, silvery gray material. It lay gleaming on the green blanket, a small note tucked beneath one of the thin folds. Written in narrow, loopy writing that caused his eyes to burn were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died.

It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.

There was no signature.

Harry stood, lifting the cloak so that it brushed the tops of his toes. Recognizing the design and color, Harry gaped in amazement.

"Draco would be so jealous," he muttered, wrapping the Invisibility Cloak around him. As Harry turned toward the wall mirror, he found himself surprised to see naught but a floating head bobbing midair as he breathed.

It's quality must have been very good for Harry's father to have owned it. According to Draco, most Invisibility Cloaks didn't last long due to the temperament of Demiguise hair, which eventually turned opaque and lost it's invisibility effects as time passed. The blonde had been whinging for weeks about his father's cloak, which had apparently worn out before he could inherit it. 

Thinking of his own father, Harry felt very strange wearing a dead man's cloak. He removed it quickly, deciding he'd test it later. 

As Harry began cleaning up the wrappings, he found a very tiny parcel peeking out from beneath his bed. His brow furrowed upon reading the note attached. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

Harry hadn't sent his relatives any message, having doubts that they'd appreciate being bothered during the holiday season. Guessing that protocol caused his Head of House to send word of Harry's stay, he unwrapped the gift tentatively, as if expecting explosives.

Inside, there was a small box made of velvet, likely once holding woman's earrings. Harry was instantly suspicious.

He clicked the box opened and dropped it quickly, as though it burnt him. Within the box was a newspaper snippet, a tiny picture of - a then alive - Christopher Luther, ex-primary school teacher and Harry's first confidante staring up at him. 

After regaining his bearings, Harry pinched a corner of the clipping, tears running free down his face. Grappling for his wand, Harry concentrated for a moment before casting the engorgement charm. The picture lengthened to the size of his hand, after which Harry placed into his brand new photo album.

Draco had said it was for 'new memories', but sometimes old ones deserved to be commemorated, too.

"I'll never forget you," Harry said quietly, pressing his fingers to Mr. Luther's genial smile. The man had died a few weeks before Christmas; the Dursleys might have been trying to be cruel, but instead they had only reminded Harry of what he was fighting for. A future, like what Mr. Luther had been trying to give him.

Harry wouldn't let the dead man's efforts go to waste.

Scrubbing his eyes and shutting the album, Harry's eyes eventually drifted to the innocent looking fabric glinting from within his trunk.

First things first; he wanted to test the efficiency of James Potter's so-called 'Invisibility Cloak'.

. . .

Harry quickly realized that there wasn't much point in 'sneaking around invisible' without the tiniest amount of risk involved. During the day, the students were free to wander as they pleased. At night, however, many possibilities awaited him.

After a grueling lesson with Professor Snape, who had grouched the entire time about his Christmas evening being 'ruined' - that is, until Harry presented the man with a brand-new set of crystal vials, bought by owl-order - Harry was very tired. However, remembering the Cloak, he suddenly felt quite awake. The whole of Hogwarts was open to him, secret passages and forbidden corridors - okay, perhaps not the forbidden corridor. Harry wasn't that reckless.

Excitement flooded through him as he cast Snape's warming charm and slipped the Cloak over his shoulders.

Harry crept out of the Slytherin dorms, blushing slightly as he saw two upperclassman draped over each other on the emerald green divan, breathing hotly. He hastened his footsteps, knowing that they were too involved with each other to hear him hurry past.

Harry was unsure, at first, where to go. Reminded of Draco's thoughtful present, Harry decided to do his friend a favor and research the Restricted Section for that 'Flamel' fellow. 

According to Draco's daily letters, Lucius and Narcissa weren't particularly forthcoming with an answer. He'd asked them in the least subtle way possible, blurting the question during one quiet evening. They acted very suspicious, apparently, his father choking on his tea before hustling out of the room for 'Ministry business'. Draco's mother had merely given the boy a sly smile before changing the subject to Quidditch, which everyone knows is Draco's vice.

Very suspicious, indeed.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie in the middle of the night. Harry debating lighting a lamp to see his way along the rows of books, but instead cast a dim Lumos, hoping the artificial light wouldn't attract any attention.

The Restricted Section was in the very the back of the library, near where Harry and his friends usually studied. Stepping carefully over the rope that half-heartedly blocked his way, Harry aimed his wand at the book spines. They didn't seem to be in any particular order, nor did their titles reveal much about the contents.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled as he heard a faint whispering coming from the books, similar to that of a serpent hissing. He couldn't catch the words, and was uncertain if he wanted to.

Harry spared a glance backwards before removing the cloak, crouching to check along the bottom shelf. A large black and silver volume caught his eye, and despite the warnings ringing in the back of his head, Harry balanced the tomb on his knee and peeled it open. A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence, a tortured face arching out of the pages.

Horrified, Harry slammed it shut, the sound echoing in his ears. Why would they have books like that in a school?!

Harry stiffened as he heard footsteps coming, silently damning his idiocy and lack of caution. He replaced the book, shuddering in memory of the scream, and ducked back beneath the Cloak. He passed Filch in the doorway, the caretaker's cursed pet sniffing suspiciously at his feet. 

Holding his breath, Harry slipped past them and vanished up the corridor. The darkness overwhelming him, Harry quickly found himself lost. He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor, wiping a sweaty hand at his mouth.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night. Just now, somebody's been in the library Restricted Section," Harry heard a scratchy voice from directly behind him. Filch was fast, he'd give him that. 

Harry ducked behind the armor, glaring at it slightly - just daring it to reveal his position - although knowing the suit couldn't see him.

A familiar voice replied, a tinge of exasperation in his tone. "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far. We'll catch them," Snape assured, his smooth voice echoing through the narrow corridor.

Harry backed away as quietly as he could, spotting an open door just to his left. 

He squeezed through it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. Reckless, foolish, rash - Snape's voice admonished in Harry's head. Harry leaned against the wall as he listened to their footsteps dying away.

Well. That had been an experience, Harry thought sardonically, once the adrenaline had worn off. 

Harry straightened his back, looking about the empty classroom he solely occupied. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, an upturned wastepaper basket sitting only a few feet away.

What drew his attention, however, was the large, ornate mirror that seemed very out of place. It was tall, nearly as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Harry's eyes crossed as he tried to decipher it, before shaking his head and focusing on his reflection. Despite wearing the Invisibility Cloak, Harry could very clearly see himself standing in the mirror, surrounded by several hazy images that shifted and moved sporadically. Stepping forward, Harry gasped in surprise as the images sharpened, revealing two figures standing right behind him.

After turning slowly to assure he was alone, Harry moved to touch the glass, green eyes fixed on another pair of tearful emerald orbs. Standing directly behind him (in the mirror), was a beautiful woman with long, crimson hair and a brilliant smile. She waved at him weakly, reaching out to press her fingers against Harry's. The boy so wished to overcome that thin piece of glass between them, joyful tears slipping from his eyes as he looked to the laid-back looking man beside her.

Harry's brows furrowed as he stared between the woman and the man, looking at the wedding rings shared between them. Glancing at himself, Harry could see many a similarities with himself and the pretty lady, but very few with the man. Despite the dark hair and glasses - which Harry only received due to 'retina damage', damn his Aunt Petunia's prowess at swinging frying pans - Harry was unsure if they were even related. Was this his father? 

"Mum?" he mouthed to the woman. She nodded silently, placing a hand on reflection-Harry's shoulder. He half expected to feel the ghost of touch on his arm, and found himself sorely disappointed.

The man - James Potter, he assumed - smiled solemnly at the pair before stepping out of the mirror, hurt jolting through Harry's chest. Lily squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and Harry looked at his reflection. A silver trail of tears were sliding down his cheeks, his cheeks flushed slightly with emotion. On a random urge, Harry swiped away his fringe, abruptly noticing his pale, blemish-free forehead.

"Oh," Harry's mouth parted as a few new figures stepped forward, looking exceedingly happier than his mother. Draco leaned down to settle his chin against Harry's other shoulder, giving the small boy a beaming smile. The Malfoy scion looked older, his hair longer, the curly blonde strands free from Draco's usual excessive amounts of hair gel.

Harry gave a tentative smile back, looking past his friend to several others - Ron, Hermione, a few other mates, and even Crabbe and Goyle. In the far back, Harry was surprised to see the foreboding form of Professor Snape, eyeing the crowd with his usual condescending sneer. Harry wiggled his fingers in greeting, earning an eye roll and an unmistakably fond smile from the man. 

The Boy-Who-Lived began to feel warm all over, his Cloak slipping off as he fell to his knees. He pressed both hands hard into the mirror and stared deeply, as if sheer exertion of will could force the looking glass to envelop him. So intent on his mother's glimmering eyes and Draco's solid presence beside him, Harry was blind to the growing storm clouds gathering, and a pair of sparkling, sky-blue eyes, staring down at him:

From within the mirror.

To be continued . . .