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Harry blinked the sleep out of hs eyes, squinting through the musty darkness, trying to orient himself. The aching hollow in his stomach and weakness of his limbs informed him he was half-starved. Again.The unique and hatefully familiar smell compounded of stale urine, old blood and fear overlaid with that disgusting not-lemon scented cleaner told him he was back in his cupboard. Again. Well, damn. It was probably shortly before his eleventh birthday again, too, given that's when he'd found himself last time. The day his Letter came and all the insanity that had marked both his lives had started.He sighed, staring sightlessly up into the darkness, and reviewed his second life - which had been even more an unmitigated disater than his first. Upon waking up, back in his cupboard after a few decades of comparatively happy family life, (once he'd accepted that he was back in a past he'd thought long-gone and had no idea why) he'd tried to end things faster, get the whole Voldie-Horcrux-martyr part of his life over and done. To say it hadn't gone well would be an understatement. He'd sent letters to both Molly Weasley and Madame Bones. Ms. Weasley to inform her that her son's pet was an animagus Death Eater who'd been sleeping with her kids for years (Molly was nothing if protective, and it wasn't even technically a lie) and that she needed to stun him and take him to the DMLE as soon as possible. And Madame Bones to inform her that Sirius Black had never had a trial and that proof of his innocence should be arriving with in a few days.Unfortunately, Molly, being her loud and rather explosive self, had not gone about it with any sort of subtlety and Scabbers had had enough fore-warning to slip away. Without the proof of his existence, Bones had dismissed the claim of Sirius' innocence, and with Pettigrew on the loose with nothing further to lose, Voldemort had been revived even earlier.Since Voldie hadn't known about the blood protection Harry's mother had left him, they'd either used a different ritual or gotten some other 'blood of the enemy' (it's not like ol' Voldie didn't have more than one) and the end of Harry's first year had exploded in a bloody, terrifying round of death and war no one had anticipated.And he'd gotten inescapable proof that Albus etc. etc. Dumbledore was absolutely not the genial, grandfatherly figure who deeply regretted the 'necessary sacrifices' made in the name of the Greater Good.No, Albus Dumbledore liked his secrets and Harry had known far too many of them. No longer the naive little puppet willingly dancing to Dumbledore's tune on Dumbledore's choice of stage with Dumbledore pulling the strings to tell the story Dumbledore wanted told, the old man had quickly declared Harry 'tainted' by the Horcrux in his scar - not that the Headmaster had used the word Horcrux, but it was obvious he'd known from the start what Harry was, and done nothing whatsoever about it.Voldie had eventually been defeated because Harry did know where and what all the other Horcruxes were, but he'd learned quick and hard that he couldn't trust any of the adults to be competent, or to give two shakes of a rat's tail about him. And now here he was, back in the past. Again. With just as little clue as to why as the first time. er... second time? First time trying to live his life a second time. Whatever.
He'd be playing things differently this time. It had become devastatingly clear that the adults were all idiots and couldn't be trusted with anything truly important. His classmates were still just kids - he'd made the mistake in his second life of treating them as the battle-hardened adults they'd grown into - and couldn't be counted on. So it was up to him. He'd have to make full use of every bit of courage and cunning he possessed, all his knowledge about the people, events (and items) involved and all the determination and hard work his emaciated body could manage (more than most people would think, to look at him) plus the small amounts of wandless magic he would be able to cast at this age.He was going to get this done and then live a good life, dammit!Aunt Petunia banged on the door and he reluctantly sighed and went to prepare breakfast.When the mail came, Harry slipped his letter under his cupboard door so Dudley couldn't see it to tell Uncle Vernon. There would be no fleeing-cross-country nonsense this time.Before his birthday had even rolled around a few days later, Harry was throroughly sick of the Dursleys and had thrown together the beginnings of a plan. He treated himself to an early birthday present and slipped out the door at midnight with extra clothes, food, a wad of cash from Uncle Vernon's wallet, and assorted small valuables and useful items tucked into the ratty backpack he sneaked out of Dudley's second bedroom. (Having even a small bit of Magic was so useful.)The trip to London took a few days, but Harry was more concerned with remaining undetected than with speed, and it's not like he hadn't learned a few things about camping and scavenging over his last two lives. It was warm enough to sleep in almost any moderately sheltered spot, and he spent more than one night on his journey in public libraries and churches that *should* have been inaccessible after hours. (Alohomora, Wingardium Leviosa and Protego were among the few spells he could reliably cast wandlessly at this point (the last due largely to the truly excessive amount of practice during his first life as an Auror), but all together they served his needs well.) With his body and magic so underdeveloped (again), and without a wand, he couldn't cast the full complement of wards and charms he and Hermione had used to ensure their safety the first time around, so he relied a lot on physically hiding and a lifetime or three of learning to walk silently and avoid attracting attention. But as he wasn't needing to avoid Death Eaters actively searching for him, either, the weak Disillusionment charm he could manage wandlessly was enough in a pinch, though it left him rather wrung out. (And all the practice he was getting was making him really really good at his small handful of wandless spells; he fully expected to have most of them wordless by the time September 1st rolled around. He was really looking forward to getting his wand, though.) Harry spent the last week of August camped out in the British Library a few blocks away from King's Cross, eating foods straight from the cans - tinned food being among the cheapest options he could carry without concern for spills - and washing up in the public restrooms after hours. He was used to cleaning up after himself and between looking utterly harmless and his magic, he slipped right past the notice of any and everyone.The money he'd pilfered from Vernon's 'emergency' funds was nearly gone by September 1st, but he'd rationed well enough to have a halfway decent breakfast of tinned peaches and cheap white bread before heading out early for King's Cross. (He'd eaten far better since leaving the Dursleys than he ever had under their roof.)He'd debated with himself whether or not to approach the Weasleys again before ultimately deciding that it would give him no particular benefit to meet them early. Without the bulky trunk and Hedwig's cage he'd been burdened with in his two previous lives, it was easy to slip through the crowds. The train ride was uneventful. He tucked himself into a corner and listened to the bustle in the corridors, his shabby clothes and 'shy' attitude dissuading the older Hufflepuffs who eventually settled into the compartment from bothering him much. They were polite enough and the makeup he'd stolen from Aunt Petunia served well enough to hide his all-too-recognizable scar. Hermione came by with Neville, looking for Trevor the toad again. Malfoy poked his head in and sneered, but the presence of the 'Puffs and lack of obvious 'Boy-Who-Lived' had him soon leaving.Lunch was the last of the bread and a tin of haricot beans. (It was easy to tell which 'Puffs were muggleborn - they were the ones not confused by a can opener.)At the end of the interminably long ride, when the time came to change, Harry slipped off to the washroom and Disillusioned himself. It would never do for some well-meaning 'Puff to ask about his lack of robes. Not that he'd be hiding the situation, but 'Puffs were likely to try to fix it and he had a different entrance into the Wizarding World planned. (Knowing too much had gotten him a short life and painful death last time. This time, he was going to play up his ignorance.) Hagrid was, as before, guiding the first years. He seemed slightly distracted, probably looking for Harry. The path down to the lake was every bit as dark and treacherous as he remembered, and Harry took advantage of the nervous jostling of the crowd to pick Ron's pocket. A pause in the darker shadows at the side of the path, a hard flick of his wrist and a few rubber bands later, Scabbers was a rat-burrito, coccooned in the empty bread bag at the bottom of his backpack. (Harry didn't really care if the rat suffocated. He knew from his time as an Auror that a dead Animagus would still revert to human form when hit with the appropriate spell. He'd send the rat off to the DMLE c/o Madame Amelia Bones at the first opportunity; he really needed Sirius free.) The first sight of the castle was as breathtaking as both other times he'd stood in this spot, and the boat ride was uneventful. Harry stayed to the back of the group when Hagrid presented the First Years to Professor McGonagall, a hitch in his voice as he murmured something too indistinctly for Harry to catch more than his own name. (Harry averted his eyes, trying not to think of the last time he'd seen McGonagall. Even the toughest witch could be taken down, and she'd fought like the Lioness she was till the very end.)
Predictably, Malfoy sneered about his lack of robes once they were left on their own. Harry had been rather counting on Malfoy, actually, to give him the perfect opening to introduce his story. Keeping his eyes down and posture slightly hunched - not quite enough to seem deferential, but slightly more than just 'shy', he spoke clearly, wanting as many people as possible to hear without making it seem like he was deliberately talking to anyone but Malfoy. "I don't have any robes. I got a letter with a long list of things, but no instructions on where to buy them."He could tell several of his yearmates were listening in - some more discretely than others - as Malfoy sneered about muggleborn stupidity. "I am not sure what a muggle born is or whether I am one, but ignorance is not the same as stupidity. Do you have the ability to read minds? Because I don't. And since nobody told me anything about where to go or how to pay for the things on the list, I fail to see how else I could have learned them." Hermione - the one constant in his first round of school years, the first, desperate hunt for Horcruxes, his friend who might never be - interjected, "Why didn't the professor who delivered your letter take you 'round Diagon Alley for shopping?" "The letter came by regular post. Was yours different?" "Oh, yes!" The floodgates opened and he (and everyone else around them) were treated to the start of a play-by-play description of 'it was so interesting and I got all these books and I can tell you all about...' She was interrupted by the usual shrieks as the castle Ghosts came through the walls on their way to the Great Hall. Harry flinched violently, playing up the muscle memory this body still had, and moved to put his back near the wall - even though it had just been made perfectly clear walls were no obstacle to ghosts. He was grateful when Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "It's ok. They won't hurt you. I read all about the House Ghosts in 'Hogwarts, A History'." Maybe she could be a friend again, once she lost those massive rose-colored glasses where books and authority figures were concerned. Still, she was looking at him with something akin to kindness. (He'd try to make sure she at least survived, this time.) He nodded and pushed away from the wall as Professor McGonagall came to lead them away.(Fortunately, between his deplorable state of dress, Hermione's monologue, and the ghosts, everyone was distracted enough to not think to ask how he knew about the train.)Mutterings and whispers started up again among the First Years as they walked to the Sorting. From what Harry could glean, the talk was fairly split between wonder for the Great Hall and its enchanted ceiling, nervousness over the impending Sorting, and gossip about him. Specifically the egregious oversight that had both wizard-raised (over his lack of decorum) and the muggleborns (over the lack of an escort and explanation) confused and upset. (His blatantly disingenuous comments about his family situation when Lavender Brown tried to extract some juicy bits of gossip had them looking quite concerned. Justin Finch-Fletchley even tried to find out his home address. Excellent.)
"Oh, what's your name?""I'm the Dursley Freak. You can call me Freak." he stated matter-of-factly. (He heard one of the Patil twins whisper frantically to the other "Is that normal for muggles?" "I don't know. Maybe it's like Harry, or Mary - a name that sounds like a different word?") "Wait, really?""It's what everyone but the teachers at school call me, so..." Harry trailed off uncertainly."Hmmm..." Justin looked at him consideringly, "and what do the teachers at school call you?""Harry Potter." (Yes, the swell in furious whispering was fully expected, and all of a sudden, even the Pureblood snobs who had been ignoring him were paying attention.)
"Abbott, Hannah." Professor McGonagall's voice interrupted any further questioning.
The Sorting proceeded as he remembered - and why would it not? There had been nothing to disrupt whatever expectations or influences had convinced the Hat to Sort them thus the first time.
"Potter, Harry."Harry meekly kept his head down and walked forward. He'd laid a foundation among his peers, now it was time to tweak the act just slightly for his Elders. Cowed but not Broken, standing despite his fears and traumas, wearing a mask to hide the mask that hid his true self, following three rules: never look someone in the eye (bonus: avoids Legilimency!), speak clearly when spoken to, apologize like everything is your fault. He was hoping to send off so many conflicting signals and blatant red flags that they'd buy whatever story he spun. (And if it didn't quite work, well, he'd spent years being reviled as a liar and hated by both sides of the conflict for some truly ludicrous reasons. He'd survive. He already had his education and just needed time to grow into it. All he needed was his Gringotts Key and he'd manage.)
(Speaking of Gringotts...)
McGonagall looked at him sternly over her glasses. "Where are your robes young man?" "I'm sorry, Mrs. McGonal, ma'am. I ..." Harry fumbled to pull out the letter from his stained, torn pack, "I got this letter, but it doesn't say where to buy these things. ...and I can't really afford them anyway. I thought I'd ask if there are some for lend? My Primary school always had a few extra textbooks, and the teachers were usually ok with me borrowing a pencil as long as I returned it. I promise I'm careful with things, ma'am, and since Dudley doesn't go here, there shouldn't be a problem with him stealing and breaking them."Professor McGonagall's lips pressed angrily into a thin line. "The correct form of address is Professor, not Mrs., Mr. Potter. Please sit down. Your Head of House will speak with you after the Sorting to make arrangements for your school supplies." Harry deliberately cringed back from displeasure evident in her voice, "Yes Mis- Professor McGonalgall, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." and hurried to take a seat.::hmmm... well, this is interesting. You've been here before and had quite the time of it.::
Harry almost chuckled, the Sorting Hat had said something similar last time as well. ::Yeah... I kinda want Hufflepuff, to be honest. I could use some trustworthy friends.::The Hat did chuckle. ::You'd eat them alive with your secrets and paranoia, and I'm afraid Griffindor simply won't suit you this time. You have outgrown the space you fit before. But don't worry. I'm sure you'll find reliable allies are just as useful as loyal friends and do well in:: "SLYTHERIN!"To be fair, he'd half expected that. Knowing that Snape had vowed to keep him safe didn't help much, but Harry now also knew that the less he reminded the man of James Potter, the more likely it was that he'd actually get some degree of grudging protection.
Dinner was ... interesting. He once more told his story of ignorance and poverty to explain his lack of proper robes. It was Pansy Parkinson, of all people he'd never expected, to exclaim that that was ridiculous! The Potters had been quite well off and it was well known that he'd been living in luxury.Harry shrank in on himself, inwardly chuckling at the chance to finally debunk those ridiculous storybooks. "I don't know why you'd think that. I didn't even know magic was real until I'd gotten my letter. I'm just the Freak. Nobody special." He focussed on his dinner for a while to avoid laughing in anyone's face while they tore into this new facet of his life vs his supposed 'history'. (Apparently Pansy had been quite a fan of the Little Harry's Adventures series, and Draco had read enough of them to actually contest the details with her. Who knew?)Throughout the table-wide debate, Harry kept a surreptitious eye on the head table. Dumbledore's confusion and displeasure were easy enough to see, now that he had two lifetimes worth of deciphering the old man's riddles and evasions. Quirrell glanced at him periodically, but didn't seem to be paying Harry any more attention than he did any other newly-sorted First Year. (All the better, in his mind.) Snape was watching. Harry wasn't sure whether the man always watched his new First Years with such intensity or whether it was merely the inclusion of his own unwelcome self that had the dour Potions Master's attention so riveted to the Slytherin table. He'd started out glaring at Harry, disdain in every twitch of his face, but as the meal progressed and Harry hunched over his plate, protecting it, as he flinched from raised voices and sudden movement, as he let hints of his life Under the Stairs slip into the conversation, the glares subsided into mild confusion and eventually what may have been concern.After the Feast, when everyone was dismissed to their dorms, Snape approached him. "Mr. Potter, a moment of your time, please."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Severus was not at all certain what was going on with the boy. There was an odd mix of utterly self-assured and completely cowed behaviour being exhibited by Potter's spawn. He'd shown up out of uniform and had stoicly stood up to Minerva's questions before the entirety of the Great Hall, speaking clearly and loudly enough to be heard at the High Table though his eyes had been kept fixed modestly on the ground. (and the explanation he'd given was ... concerning.) He'd been bold enough in filling his plate with food, but then had guarded it like an oft-starved dog. His body language was twitchy and evasive even as his verbal responses to the questions and accusations of his Housemates were straightforward and clearly enunciated. (There was the odd bit of evasion, but... well, the boy *had* been sorted Slytherin. Severus was more concerned by the casual way the boy simply gave out personal information than his occasional demurral.) The way he was constantly scanning his surroundings spoke of a habitual wariness of being ambushed and attacked, and the way he instinctively shied away from physical contact and tried to hide his winces at raised voices spoke of ingrained triggers. The assured posture and non-compliance to rules was quite expected, given who his father was. The rest... was not.The way the boy looked at him when approached - wary yet hopeful, but with a strange hint of familiarity - only deepened the conundrum. Not to mention..."Sir? Miss- um - Professor McGonganal said my Head of House would make arrangements for me to get school supplies. Is that you, sir?"The boy's question snapped him out of his momentary distraction. Right. That also needed to be done. "Yes, Mr. Potter. There is a brief meeting now of the Heads of House, and then I will be meeting with you all in our common room. I would like to speak with you privately after that. If I may ask one question, now?" He waited for the boy's hesitant nod. "You rather famously have a unique scar. I am wondering why -" the boy's head jerked up in evident surprise and, to Severus' own surprise, he faded from view. Severus drew his wand. "Hominem Revelio!" A bright glow showed the boy crouching on the floor, arms wrapped over his head. "Mr. Potter, stop that." The glow flinched. "Mr. Potter, you are not in trouble. I was merely curious why you had covered it. And now I am curious how you learned to Disillusion yourself."Potter faded into view, still limned with light, looking tentatively from beneath his elbows. "Sir? Disill- what?" Severus sighed and cancelled the Revealing spell. "You made yourself disappear. That is fairly advanced magic. I am curious where you learned it." The boy shifted uncomfortably, still hiding behind his arms in a defensive crouch. "The best way to avoid getting hit is to not be seen, Sir. I figured out that if I wish really hard to not be seen, sometimes I won't be. It doesn't always work, but I've gotten better the more I try."That was concerning. "And the scar?" Potter flinched again. "I hafta keep all my scars hidden. They're too ugly."Scars. Plural. It had nothing to do with the fame of the Boy-Who-Lived, and everything to do with avoiding notice in general. Someone had likely insisted that proof of abuse in the form of scars be hidden."I see. Thank you for indulging my curiosity." He'd be looking into the matter more, later. "Please go settle into your dorm, and I will speak with you after the House meeting regarding school supplies." ...and a few other little concerns."Yes sir. um... Where is the dorm, sir?"With a sigh, Severus called for a House Elf. "Vinsy, Please show Mr. Potter to the Slytherin dorms to settle in." With a nod to his new, and most confusing charge, who was looking intently at the elf, Severus turned and billowed down the hall. The staff meeting was going to be interesting.He walked in to find Filius and Pomona looking rather uncomfortable and Minerva scowling ferociously as she growled at Albus. "-tter shows up with no trunk, no books, no robes, no wand and neither the knowledge nor funds to purchase them! You said you'd assigned someone else to introduce him around, yet everyone here knows nothing of it. What in the blazing pits of hell 'appened, Albus?""hmmm..." Severus drawled, interrupting before the Headmaster could get started, "I'm more concerned why a boy you've spent the last decade assuring everyone was being raised in pampered luxury flinches like a beaten House Elf if someone even looks at him crosswise. Particularly as this is the child you demanded I vow to protect and watch over. You are all too cavalier about keeping your own promises, Albus, but I take great offense that you preemptively ensured mine would be broken as well."There was a brief moment of dead silence before Minerva growled, "I told you those muggles weren't fit to raise him! You insisted, and every time I asked after his well-being, you assured me you were keeping an eye on him. I repeat, what. in the blazing pits. of hell. is going on, Albus?""Now, now, Minerva," Albus soothed. "I have been keeping an eye on Harry's situation and everything is fine. They are family, after a-""Waitaminute," Severus interjected, "Family? Muggles? Do you mean to say you left that boy with Petunia Evans? She was an odious bitch who hated everything remotely connected to magic when I knew her, and I sincerely doubt her passionate love affair with holding grudges has abated since I saw her last. How did you ever get her to agree to take in a magical child?" Pomona shifted uncomfortably - Hufflepuff being the most common House for children with troubled homelives to end up in, she was well aware of the implications - and Severus was about ready to resort to the very muggle expedient of punching the old goat when Minerva exploded. "You 'explained it all in the letter', did you Albus? But you still left that wee bairn on the stoop like a forgotten package rather than hand him over as an expected addition to their family. You didn't do a damn thing to ensure anything, did ye? And then just walked away to avoid being questioned. Ye're a daft aul' fool, and I'm every bit as much one for believin' ye." She closed her eyes and huffed, before storming to the door. "I'm off. I canna sit here and listen to you attempt to justify yoursel'.""Well," Pomona said into the ringing silence left by the slamming door, "I don't think we'd have a very productive meeting tonight, and I do have a House Meet and Greet to conduct. As the time we usually set aside for touching base post-Sorting is nearly over anyway, I suggest we adjourn and fold the Sorting discussion into the First Week Review."Severus just grunted his assent and swept out.The next morning, Flitwick escorted Harry to the Infirmary after breakfast along with two Ravenclaws with the explanation that 'those raised primarily in the muggle world always get a check-up to make sure they've had all their magical vaccines and to take care of any of the annoying little muggle pests and parasites that can tag along. Dragon Pox is not something we want an outbreak of.' (Harry couldn't help but think 'huh??? since when?' In neither of his last lives had any of the muggle-raised Gryffindors had a checkup. Not him, not Hermione, not Dean... If not for the accompanying 'Claws, he'd have believed it a ruse. Eh, it would hopefully get him one thing he wanted without him having to twist things around to get it.)The medical scan by Madame Pomphrey revealed his chronic malnutrition and evidence of past abuse. Harry understoond (logically) he should not be ashamed of it, that it was not his fault. But he still preferred to deny being emotionally affected, and muscle memory was proving to be a weird thing - this younger body still reacted in ways he'd grown or trained himself out of during his first life. It was beyond annoying, if occasionally useful for the genuine reactions a child his age would have. Like now, when he flushed with embarrassment at his scars (and they weren't even nearly as bad as the scarring he'd been sporting after his first second year at Hogwarts, much less after a couple decades as an Auror). He hadn't really planned ahead for this situation, though, and his thoughts were racing as he tried to figure how to spin this - if he even should - before deciding it wasn't worth it. He'd already been dropping hints that there was something decidedly wrong with how he'd been raised. The abuse had been going to come out at some point and, though this was earlier than he'd wanted, he chose to let it be. He kept his face blank, letting himself flinch the way his body naturally wanted to when the Matron reached out toward him. It was easier to simply let his body react rather than think. It would get tiring enough playing a part - hiding the extent of his knowledge and abilities wasn't difficult yet, but 'accidentally' revealing things that called into question everything the Wizarding World thought they knew about The-Boy-Who-Lived and the end of Voldie's war without ending up in the Old Man's sights again was going to get tricky. At least he only had to (mostly) tell the truth; keeping track of lies would be exponentially worse. (And he kinda sucked at convoluted intrigue and lying in general anyway. (heh. it was ironic that old Fake-Moody's advice, 'play to your strengths', was still the best advice he'd ever been given. and there was another item for his to-do list. damn.))
He was disappointed, but not surprised, that Madame Pomphrey once again missed a rather significant issue. She had every other time he'd been to see her for two lives worth of above-average frequency and severities of injuries. Harry had only discovered it after nearly a decade as an Auror in his first life when he took a life-threateningly serious injury - his core still carried the bindings used by parents to limit a child's accidental magic outbursts, a necessity for him, given that they'd lived in a mixed muggle/magical village.¹ Much like the historic Chinese practice of foot-binding left people crippled and unable to walk, his core had been left warped and stunted for being bound the entirety of its growth and maturation. His second life, he'd tried to insist on it being removed early on, only for Madame Pomphrey to 'not see any such thing' when she ran a diagnostic scan. (Given everything else he'd gotten proof Dumbledore had done, he suspected there was more to it than mere lack of skill on her part. Then War had exploded early, and he'd never really had the chance to ask a different Healer and find out what else - if anything - might have been left to fester.) He couldn't think of a reasonable way to ask about Core Bindings this time, given his facade of extreme ignorance, so he set it aside. He'd just have to go with his original idea for dealing with it.Tales of Harry Potter's Sorting had flown to all corners of Wizarding Britain, carried on the wings of the owls taking letters to parents. Some letters were more factual than others. Some focused on the dismal mugglish rags he'd been wearing in lieu of proper school robes, some on his words. Some on the shape of what those words didn't say. A few expressed regret or anger over not managing to ingratiate themselves with the Boy-Who-Lived. Most expressed surprise that the Saviour of the Wizarding World was Slytherin, and a significant number of both writers and readers of the letters speculated what that meant about both Harry himself and Slytherin House as a whole.Consequently, when Harry was escorted to Diagon Alley by Professor Snape to purchase supplies and a wand, it was every bit as uncomfortable an experience as the first time he'd gone. Unlike Hagrid, Snape did prevent him from being mobbed. Unlike Hagrid, Snape stayed with him and answered questions, even about his parents - though he did defer most questions about James Potter to Professor McGonagall 'as his former Head of House would be better able to tell you'. Unlike Hagrid, Snape did not buy him ice cream, nor an owl. (But Harry was permitted to buy Hedwig for himself when he asked about the pets on the list.) The Gringotts carts were still brilliant and, as he hadn't completely pissed off the goblins since his first life, they were as politely surly as goblins ever were. And unlike Hagrid, Snape allowed him to keep his key. (He did make it very clear that - despite the existence of owl-orders - profligate spending on pointless trifles was foolish. Spending a little extra on quality goods, on the other hand, was encouraged.)
(And if Harry just happened to leave a polite note informing the goblins of the existence of a particular abomination residing in one of their vaults, and reminding them of the Treaty of 1357² which specifically prohibited goblin assistance of any sort to wizards engaging in Necromantic Rituals 'including storage of dangerous or volatile Ritual Components on behalf of the witch or wizard'... well, that should be one Horcrux sorted. Pity he'd slept through 99% of Binns' class that first life. Maybe he'd have been able to avoid riding a dragon. Then again, even Hermione hadn't had a better plan at the time, so... maybe not.)Harry was far more satisfied with his shopping this time around. Snape wasn't one for dallying and moved them along briskly, but did take time to inform Harry of some of the less-obvious options available and appropriate for students. It was a nice change from Hagrid's well-meaning bumbling insistence on 'just what's on the list'.Harry's new trunk came with built-in shrinking and featherlight charms (making it easy to carry and hide), separated spaces for clothing and school supplies, and a preservation compartment for potions ingredients (which could also hold food!). Harry also learned more that morning about choosing Potions ingredients for purchase than in his entire previous two Hogwarts educations. And Auror's career. Combined.It turned out Madame Malkin did far more than just school robes, and Harry replaced his entire wardrobe (if three changes of ratty clothes could be called such). He didn't splurge on the finer materials he'd occasionally indulged in during his first life, but Harry was quite content simply to once again have a selection of decent quality clothes that fit properly.
While in Flourish and Blotts, Snape directed him toward a set of books geared to explaining the Wizarding world, its laws and etiquette to muggleborns. (And Merlin, he wished he'd have known some of that stuff the first time around. At least with everyone aware of the depth of his ignorance this time, he would probably be excused a few faux pas. And he fully planned to take advantage of that by asking questions no one really wanted to answer.) He also didn't balk when Harry got a few fun extras - including a slightly advanced book on common hexes, jinxes and their counters.Once again, Ollivander had a grand time going through wand after wand after wand, seeking the 'perfect match'. When finally presented with his well-loved Holly and Phoenix wand, Harry flinched violently when it reacted, pressing a hand to his chest and breathing heavily even as Ollivander congratulated him gleefully. "Is it supposed to hurt? None of the others hurt. I'm not sure I want a wand that hurts." Ollivander hummed noncommittally, "Most peculiar." and watched Harry closely as Snape began flicking his wand in patterns Harry vaguely recognized as advanced diagnostic spells.³"Hmmm..." His new Head of House frowned at whatever he was seeing. "I believe we will need to fit in a trip to St. Mungos today as well. Fortunately, we were very nearly done with your school shopping. Pay for your wand and come along, Mr. Potter." (Harry was not at all displeased to leave without Ollivander's commentary on the connection with Voldemort's wand this time.)Harry kept close to Snape on their way through St. Mungos, eyes darting nervously back and forth, though not nearly as spooked as he probably appeared. Wizards and witches did manage to do the most bizarre things to themselves, and there was always something unusual to see here. (And shy away from - for now.) It was also kind of strange seeing the respect many of the older Healers treated Snape with. (Some of the younger ones sneered behind his back, and it took Harry a while to realize they would probably have had Snape as a teacher. ...Not that he couldn't understand the desire to hold a bit of a grudge against the man long after graduating, even if his own situation was a little bit different and a lot more complicated. He'd gotten over it eventually, though.) They didn't have to wait long once they got to the Pediatrics floor. Healer Robert Duncan was one of the older Healers; a tall, slender old man with a stiff brush of snow white hair and eyes that had seen too much. He recognized Harry, of course, but didn't make a fuss about it. As far as Harry could tell with his limited knowledge of Healing, Healer Duncan went through all of Madame Pomphrey's usual scans, and the same ones Snape had done before jumping off into far more powerful and comprehensive diagnostic spells than Harry had ever seen or felt. He shivered under the strange prickle of the magic moving under his skin and through him in ways he couldn't describe but which left him vaguely disturbed and uncomfortably itchy. The old man caught his hands when he started to scratch, though. "Now, now. none of that, lad. Focus on your breathing, count 100 heartbeats and think about everything s l o w i n g d o w n. You're uncommon powerful, and your magic got a bit unsettled to have the bars of a cage its gotten used to rattled like that. It's a peculiar situation, and will get a mite more uncomfortable for you before we're done, but you just keep your breathing steady and slow and you'll come out right in the end."Keeping Harry's hands gently folded in one of his own, Healer Duncan brought up ... presumably the results of the spells he'd cast. "See here lad, these are Parental blocks - the kind taught to Wizarding parents in pre-natal checkups during the last month or so of pregnancy. They keep infants from accessing their magic and knocking themselves on the head summoning a bottle or suchlike, and are meant to be removed completely once a child is old enough and their magic mature enough to begin learning conscious control - usually about five years old. However, if you look here, these are signs of those blocks having been bolstered at least twice - once when you were a bit over a year old, and again around age five or six. Bad form, that. By rights, these old blocks should have been removed completely and new ones - proper ones - cast to replace them, if you were having particular trouble with control. Especially if the recent rumors of you being muggle-raised hold any water. Accidental magic by a muggleborn that's loud enough to attract official attention and bring the Obliviators would result in a binding on the child's magic - but the bindings they use are a different configuration, designed to suppress sudden spikes of magical release that cause problematic incidents but allow a steady low-level flow and proper growth as their magic matures. They are designed to automatically break down with the onset of puberty - just about the time they receive their Letter." (And wasn't that an interesting little tidbit.) Harry growled, silently. One more thing the old goat had never bothered doing properly - right up there with any sort of actual, practical training.
"Alright then lad, no need to panic. This is all treatable. You just keep your hands still for a bit longer, keep breathing slow and steady. You're doing fine. I've got a bit of preparation to do that will take a few minutes, and then we'll get to fixing this mess someone left you in. I'll have an orderly bring you a spot of tea while you wait.
"Master Snape, if you'd be so kind, Healer Wicksmythe was saying something about the Alleviation Ointment having gone off. I think he's barking, but as you're here, a professional opinion would be appreciated. The lad should be fine for a few minutes on his own now, but I'm sure you'll want to head off once we're done."Severus wasn't surprised when Healer Duncan pulled them into an empty room after ordering the tea and put up a privacy bubble - Healer Wicksmythe was five years dead, after all. "There's more to it than just a misapplied binding."
"Aye. I find his adamant refusal to meet anyone's eyes concerning. There's shy, and then there's ... that. Even when he flicks a quick glance, there's never eye contact. It's often an intuitive defense by those who have had legilimency used against them roughly or repeatedly ...or when they were very young. Not the only possible reason, of course, but... well. There's an instinct to avoid what's caused pain in the past. Once bitten, twice shy and all that. What with the rumors that have been circulating about his upbringing and the timing..." He sighed heavily and gave Severus a significant look "You know, of course, that strengthening an existing spell subsumes the 'flavor' of the caster's magic into the original spell, making it all but impossible to tell who was involved. There is clear evidence of heavy physical abuse, and a tracker was part of the binding. Unusual, but not unheard of if there had been a need to keep track of what was triggering accidental outbursts. I doubt they are unrelated."
Severus nodded, suspicions raised in the aborted staff meeting solidifying. "Yes. I understand. Unfortunately, there is really only one person who could reasonably have done it - well two who could have had the opportunity, but only one who would have gotten away with it." The implications of the timing were suspicious - restraining the boy's magic before leaving him with a muggle family... yes, he could see a justification for that. But to further suppress it later... Albus had to have gone there in person, and Albus was somewhat notorious for his frequent and casual use of legilimancy. He had to have known what was going on, and, rather than remove Potter from a bad situation, had sapped his ability to protect himself. All because - if he'd understood the half-arsed excuse the Headmaster had been making - they are family. As if that meant anything to a child abuser! It was unconscionable to leave the situation as it was, but unbinding the boy would make outbursts likely and if Albus found out... he would probably reapply a binding because (as Severus knew all too well) he could justify anything for his 'Greater Good', and he alone knew what that Greater Good entailed.
Healer Duncan cleared his throat, interrupting Severus' thoughts. "Master Snape. I do not pretend to know what's going on in your mind, what connections you're seeing that I'm not, but there's more... The binding itself is straightforward to remove. We deal with those things all the time. However, there is something embedded in his scar. It reads as incredibly Dark and malevolent, but I have never seen its like and am hesitant to attempt to remove it without further study and preparation. I do not know how the binding on his core has affected his ability to deal with... whatever it is. It may be that it will be expelled immediately - and we'll have to deal with it, or his magic may be so used to it being there that there will be no change at all. Or something in between. I'd rather have a Senior Curse Breaker in on this and a proper containment circle. That'll take a bit more to set up, though and we've been gone from the room long enough. How much time do you have to spare today?"
"hmmm... Perhaps another 2-3 hours. We got an early start today and the boy was surprisingly disinclined to dither over his purchases, so we made good time. It has still been a full day, though, and Potter has sparked more than enough rumors and gossip without any of this getting around from something as mundane as being late to supper. If that's not enough time, we could say you got called away to an emergency and come back in a day or two - I doubt there would be sufficient change in the situation in that timeframe to cause problems."
The Healer nodded. "Hmmm... might be the better course. I'd like to rebind his core after - the proper ones, but weak. They'd be set to wear off naturally over a period of, oh, three months or so - he'll be at Hogwarts, learning to control his magic so there shouldn't be much else to do on that front. But he is rather powerful, and I think he might need a bit of help while his body adjusts to the new flow volume. It's perfectly safe to do so; there are times a Healer will recommend binding even an adult's core - cases of core exhaustion where the patient needs time to heal by not using much magic - similar to muggle Physical Therapy, start them at less than they can do safely and work up to full strength. In his case, start him off where he's used to and work up to his proper level through normal coursework and practical practice. Which you may need to arrange more of than the usual."He heaved himself off the wall. "Well, I'm off to that 'emergency', then. Talk to the boy about it, aye? Abuse like he's been put through is almost always accompanied with emotional and mental manipulations. Play straight with him, give him concrete choices; it'll serve you better than any Slytherin subtlety."
Severus snorted quietly. Given Potter's tendency to simply announce his deficiencies and ignorance, subtlety was probably a lost cause.Harry fumed as the two adults stepped out - it was obvious the Healer had things to say that 'were not for children's ears'. He'd be insulted, but was grateful for the time to think. The implications of his core binding having been altered multiple times wasn't lost on him, and was just one more thing in a sea of injustices that could be laid at the feet of Albus Dumbledore.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding, and Harry looked up as it was opened. Tea! Excellent!Pushy, star-struck orderly gawking at the Boy-Who-Lived... not so excellent.
Snape's scathingly acerbic dressing down when he returned to the room and found Harry crunched against the wall with the orderly all up in his space trying to get a better look at his (once again hidden) scar? Most Excellent. He was actually going to start to liking the Potions Master at this rate.Snape set a privacy bubble as soon as the orderly had left, and gave him a quick summary of what the Healer had said. Harry was surprised he'd be so open about both the Horcrux (and yay! there was someone else who had a clue and he wouldn't be left to deal with that shitshow all on his own. Maybe they could even get it taken care of without him dying this time. That would be a nice change.) and probable previous invasions of his mind. (it was weird to hear how the Healer had misinterpretted his attempt to play up the 'abused child' impression without being too blatant. He'd been planning to use the excuse that he'd been told it was rude to stare at people - even if he hadn't been - and 'Freaks shouldn't be rude!'. ...actually, he'd still use that excuse with his peers, but a Healer positing a legilimency-induced trauma response gave a different facet for the adults to gnaw at and worry over. One which should give him a bulwark against the 'Look at me when I'm talking to you!' thing so many adults liked to pull.)But Snape had barely touched on those topics - just enough to let Harry know there were concerns besides the Bindings. Most of his explanation was centered on the option of rebinding, why, and what it would mean. And, well... it made sense."So it's like a hose bib? Healer Duncan will set for a trickle, and I can open the valve a bit more at a time?""Essentially, yes. That is a fairly good comparison.""Healer Duncan said I was powerful, to feel so itchy after he did those spells. My Primary school had a safety day, and the Fire Department gave a presentation. They showed us how much water a fire hose sprays. They were Big hoses! with LOTS of water that went Everywhere - It wasn't like a garden hose at all. Is that what he meant? I have lots of magic and it's harder to control?" "Yes. Rather unexpectedly so. It also means that it will be much much easier for things you don't intend to happen anyway. Like accidentally ending up on the roof of your school, as you told Healer Duncan about. Hogwarts has much higher, much steeper, much slicker roofs than the average muggle Primary school. Ending up on one of them would be rather more dangerous.""...Oh. Sorry to be a bother, Sir. I'll try to keep it under control, Sir. I wouldn't want to be thrown around like that one firefighter when he lost his footing." "hmmm... There is also the danger you might throw someone else, if you got angry or badly startled. They might not end up on a roof, but getting slammed into a wall could be dangerous, too." Harry absently rubbed his shoulder, remembering the crunch of bone shattering from just such an occurence when facing off against Dolohov in his second life. He'd been lucky to survive that encounter, and his arm had never quite been the same after. There weren't many people he truly wished to hurt, but even then he'd rather it be on purpose. Deliberate. Measured. Limited. He'd prefer they die a painful death than a clean one, but torture for the sake of torture... he'd leave that to Bella. (Actually, she was one he'd rather see die before she got the chance to try.) "How long will it take for me to be strong enough? I think it's maybe a good idea. I don't want to hurt someone unless I really mean to because they really really really deserve it." Snape eyed the way the boy was unconsciously kneading his shoulder and wondered. Duncan's scans hadn't shown any particular trauma to that region, that he could recall, though it was entirely possible a lesser blow had pinched a nerve, making it loom larger in the boy's mind. "You would be at Hogwarts, learning to channel and control your magic from the basics, so the Healer thinks it should take no more than three months for you to adjust. He would want to check up on your progress each month, though I am capable of doing so myself if you'd prefer." Harry ducked his head. "Thank you, Sir. I'd like that. Sorry to be a burden, Sir."
"Seeing that you get proper treatment for something that should never have been allowed to become a problem is not a burden. And if it were, I'd be laying the blame of that burden squarely on the shoulders of ... whoever the ham-handed hack was that caused the problem in the first place."
...yeah, he was definitely going to end up liking Snape.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The first week of classes was... predictable, once he accounted for following the Slytherin schedule instead of Griffindor. Which was not a bad thing as it left him free to play up a few things and cement the image of a skittish, eager-to-please-but-woefully-unprepared well meaning ignoramus. It was fun, but tiring, to be deliberately underperforming and randomly really really bad at things. Or really really good - in the worst possible way. It helped that he'd been such good friends with the Weasley twins in his previous lives and could view it all as a grand prank. (Though he did miss having someone to share it with. ...another thing for later.) DADA was... well, DADA. A great class in theory (though they learned none) but a mess in practicality. Quirrell was still a stuttering, possessed mess. The occasional flare of pain in Harry's scar just kept him focussed on the need to get that whole mess taken care of.Just... not quite right yet. He had a stone to retrieve from a mirror, after all, and that would have to wait until after Christmas.
(Part of him wondered what he'd see in the Mirror this time.)
Blaise Zabini picked up on the fact that he had a headache after the class and walked with him to get a pain relief potion from Madame Pomphrey. He ('reluctantly') confessed to frequent headaches when pressed, but insisted they weren't really all that bad and he was used to them, sorry to be a bother, ma'am. In a listlessly rote sort of voice that should be setting off alarm bells as a lie told too frequently. If Madame Pomphrey didn't pick up on it, Zabini seemed like the sort who would.History was still boring. Harry owl-ordered copies of the actual treaties that ended the goblin rebellions Binns droned on and on and on about. They were very dense and very dry; not much more interesting than Binns himself, actually, but the thought of taking notes about the underlying causes of the rebellion in the margins of the treaties that had ended them was mildly amusing.
(And who knows, maybe one of them would end up being as useful as the treaty of 1357...)His notes were scribbled in the most atrocious scrawl possible, and only partly because he was pretending to be completely unfamiliar with a quill. With all the poncy highbrow types in Slytherin and Snape's unstated expectation that he'd be learning proper etiquette - including letter writing - this time around, he'd have to actually aim for better than merely legible handwriting. May as well play up the amount of progress needed. (and achieved)
hmmm... maybe he'd tag Malfoy for some tutoring. He'd already been hearing whispers among his housemates calling dibs on alleviating his gross ignorance on 'proper wizarding ways'. As much as the blond irked him, he did have elegant penmanship. And it was subject that wouldn't require him to put up with the git for all seven years. Not to mention a chance to ask some very impertinent questions in a relatively private context, and the fact that a Malfoy loved to brag about his family and a smug, gloating Malfoy was easy to get information from.
(He'd just have to rein in his natural impulses to hex the spoiled brat.)Herbology was still just gardening where every plant had the potential to be Poison Ivy (or worse). They shared the class with Ravenclaw, so he couldn't even partner with Neville and tout his genius to bolster his (hopefully) friend's confidence. It turned out Daphne Greengrass liked plants, though, and was willing to take pity on his poor ignorant persona and help him study.His childhood and first life had ensured he knew far more about foraging wild greens to stave off starvation than about cultivating delicate hothouse herbs. She found his occasional comments on the edibility of the more mundane plants interesting.
(Professor Sprout seemed mildly horrified, though. All the moreso when Crabbe tried eating something that was definitely not purslane after Harry commented that the leaves (and only the leaves) had a sort of resemblance.)
(Harry hadn't intended any such outcome and was profusely, and this time sincerely, apologetic.)
Astronomy. was. boring. Between the darkness and tiny writing on the star maps they were refencing, it was an excellent class to exaggerate his vision problems, though, so he supposed it was at least a little useful this time.
(While he was sure Snape would come up with an excuse for them to return to St. Mungos, Harry saw no reason not to provide one himself. Especially since he did, actually, want new glasses in the correct prescription and with the built in Unbreakable and Never-Lost charms Wizarding glasses came with.
...and maybe a couple others he'd learned about as an Auror.)
Potions was actually the best of the lot. He didn't have to pretend to be better or worse than he actually was because ingredient preparation techniques were practically identical between Potions and cooking. Almost all the magic happened once it was in the cauldron and it was, as Snape had said, subtle. Professor Snape was still a dramatic dungeon bat, though with him not going out of his way to humiliate Harry, it was easy to find that initial wonder he'd felt the first five minutes of the first day of his first class in his first life.
(Granted, the self-study and practice he and Hermione had done while on the run and needing to make their own everything really helped, too - he was actually somewhat good at brewing.) He felt extra sorry for Neville, though, without Snape's irrational hatred of Harry to take the brunt of the professor's attention and provide an alternate target for his vitriol. Not that any of the Gryffindors were exempt...
(He'd have to maybe do something about that. ...*sigh* yet another thing to add to his to-do list.)The classes that involved wands, however, were where he had the most fun. They were also the most tiring, as they took the most focus on maintaining the various deceptions he was running. Such as the minor pain he'd claimed to feel when connecting to - and therefore actively using - his wand.
He played it up a bit more in Charms, as Professor Flitwick spent very little time on explaining the theory in favor of extra time to practice, wincing (and 'hiding' it) every time he lifted his wand. His attempts at deliberately struggling with control made him actually lose control, overpowering the spell to the point it knocked him off his chair, sending him once again to Madame Pomphrey for a pain potion and some bruise salve.
At least Lumos/Nox was mostly harmless when overpowered.Transfiguration had always been a difficult subject for Harry. He had always struggled to hold a static image in his mind and ended up with partial transformations and muddy details for years. He'd never really understood the underlying theory, either. Still, he's eventually gotten proficient with the basics, as long as the end result didn't need to be elaborate. Which is precisely why turning a match into a needle went absolutely nowhere with much focused grimacing and pained wheezing on his part when he finally thunked his head on the table and quietly proclaimed his eternal despair.
{Hey, Malfoy wasn't the only one who could be dramatic! Not that he was trying to compete in out-drama-ing Draco 'Drama-Queen' Malfoy, but it did get Milicent Bulstrode - who was sharing the table with him - to roll her eyes.} Professor McGonagall kept him after class, and he apologized profusely for his disrespect and lack of talent while off-handedly mentioning then brushing aside his supposedly painful connection with his wand.
(It turned out she had just wanted to apologize for leaving him with the Dursleys. oops.)So, classes were going well enough. But oh, gods, he was looking forward to flying again. The next two weeks couldn't go fast enough.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Albus paced in his office. Harry Potter was not at all what he had expected. Minerva's angry rant the first day - not helped by Severus' ascerbic remarks; really, the boy was forgetting his place - had been reprised several times over the first week. There was already discontent among the staff over having the Philosopher's Stone in the castle, and having his placement of the young Potter portrayed as a careless mistake at best and callous senility at worst was not helping matters in the least. He'd given decades of his life ensuring the Wizarding World was protected, he'd counted on them to help him mold young minds to accept his guidance and embrace his vision of the Greater Good. They were questioning that, now, and having them turn against him would lose all that work.
Still. As expected or not, reluctant staff or not, he needed to get a handle on the boy and place himself as a trusted Authority Figure to ensure Harry would play his part for The Greater Good. Given the rumors about his childhood, it shouldn't be too difficult. Unlike young Tom, Harry wasn't closed off and belligerently wary. In a way, his open ignorance was a boon. It was unfortunate that said ignorance tended to be so candidly and casually exposed; Albus couldn't trust that anything he said or did wouldn't be as thoughtlessly bandied about.Still, there were ways around that. Especially if he could arrange for the boy to have a few friends whose loyalty was first and formeost to Albus Dumbledore. (And dissuade him from making the wrong friends, of course... most of whom were in the same house, which would make it a bit harder. Drat.)
Some insight to the boy's reactions to the Magical World would also be useful, but Severus had been less than forthcoming about Harry's trip to Diagon. When asked, he'd sneered that 'all the necessary equipment and supplies have been purchased at a great waste of my time which shouldn't have been necessary if you'd just done your duty to the boy in the first place.' Which, unhelpful though it was, really wasn't out of character for Severus.It really was most unfortunate that the boy had Sorted Slytherin. Severus was protective of his Snakes and having Harry among them guaranteed a double dose of that ascerbic (though formidable) care. Albus had been counting on Harry going to Gryffindor to mitigate the Vow he'd required of the man, giving the boy a measure of protection but no support, leaving Albus Dumbledore as the one he'd look up to and follow without question. As much as he trusted Severus (about as much as he truly trusted anyone besides himself), the Greater Good required the boy to have no divided loyalties.He'd simply have to take a more active role earlier than expected.Unaware of the Headmaster's thougts, Harry lay on his bed, considering how to get the rest of the Horcruxes (he was hoping to shortly be done with being one himself). The Diadem would be easy - it was right here in Hogwarts. And chances were pretty good Lucius Malfoy would send the diary right into his hands next year. (He'd have to try and get it before Ginny opened the Chamber.) ...and he should probably try to get an in with the Weasley twins. There were so many possibilities if he had those two on board, especially if they proved willing to part with the Map again. Not to mention the chance at rekindling a couple treasured friendships. He'd sent Scabbers in anonymously, and there hadn't been anything in the paper, yet, so he could only hope things were going well on that end.
Once Sirius was freed, he'd be able to get the locket. He could also try claiming Bellatrix's vault and check whether the goblins had destroyed the cup. The ring wasn't going anywhere so he could plan for that - maybe Sirius could help with that, too?
(Maybe counting so heavily on Sirius for so many Horcruces so quickly was not the best idea. He'd have to come up with at least a Plan B and C for each of them.) Nagini would be a problem. He was fairly certain she existed already, but had no idea where she might be. And she was dangerous in her own right, too.Not to mention he still needed a way to destroy them that didn't involve risking his own death. hmmm... Harry was looking forward to having Friday afternoon off. In his first life, he'd have gone to see Hagrid most Fridays, but that was not now... though he supposed he could wander the grounds 'exploring' and end up at Hagrid's anyway.hmmm... actually, that was not a bad idea. Maybe he could ask... who? He really couldn't see Draco or Daphne agreeing, and didn't really even have a way to ask Neville. Tracy Davis, perhaps? She seemed fairly nice, though they hadn't talked much, yet. Maybe get Crabbe and Goyle as well, make it a group thing. Draco had sort of teased Goyle about missing his cruppie, so maybe he'd enjoy meeting Fang. No, he should probably introduce them after he'd already met Fang himself.Or maybe he should ask someone from a different House. He was oh, so, oblivious to the lines drawn between them after all.His half-formed plans to 'accidentally' meet Hagrid were put on hold when a note requesting his presence in the Headmaster's office showed up at his plate at breakfast.
(Parkinson sneered about him being in trouble already. Even though he knew the probable reason behind the 'request', it really did feel like she was right.)
As his Friday class ended, Severus paused near one of the brewing stations. "Mr. Potter, stay after class a moment."
The boy flinched, but nodded, "Yes, Professor Snape, Sir." and finished cleaning up his workstation.
(As much as a petty, vindictive part of him enjoyed seeing the spitting image of his childhood tormentor flinch away from him in fear, Severus found himself hoping the boy would feel safe enough to stop it. Preferably soon.)
(Severus noticed Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley each giving Potter smug looks as they left the room. For all that the two were doggedly continuing their families' blood feud, they were remarkably similar... and that was a disturbing thought.) Once the door was closed, he turned his attention to the nervous child before him. "Be at my office at 7:30 sharp in the morning to go to St. Mungos. Don't bother eating breakfast, Healer Duncan owled me to say this procedure is best done on an empty stomach." Potter bit his lip and fidgetted. "Spit is out, Mr. Potter." "Yes, Sir, sorry, Sir. May... may I have a drink of water? Tomorrow morning?" Severus paused, taking in the tension in the boy's shoulders. "You may have one glass of water before we leave, and if your stomach isn't too upset afterward, we can stop for a light lunch." The Potter boy relaxed slightly. "Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that, Sir." "I will see you at half past seven tomorrow."Potter took that as the dismissal it was and left Severus alone with his thoughts and suppositions. Potter's pronounced malnourishment and laundry list of nutrient deficiencies was in the process of being dealt with, but... clearly there were concerns yet to be uncovered. After all, thirst set in much faster than hunger, and was much harder to ignore.Albus stood near the door, Disillusioned, when Harry Potter came in shortly after lunch. He really wanted to gauge the boy's attitudes and reactions, and hoped this would allow him to be able to figure how best to go about securing the boy's (unquestioning) loyalty. Would he quietly sit down in the chair before the desk and wait for Albus to appear? Would the various clicking, humming, spinning devices Albus had collected over the years (several of which were monitoring the boy) catch his eye and entice him to investigate? Fawkes was unfortunately close to a Burning Day and not at his best, but might still draw a curious lad's attention. Or would it, perhaps, be the rare books locked in the glass-fronted shelves that lined the walls of his office?
Much to his surprise, Harry timidly stood in the doorway. "Hello? Mr. Headmaster Dubbledore, Sir? I was told to come here?"
Albus waited, curious to see what the boy would do.
He looked around the room, and walked over to the shelves, keeping a wary eye on and giving a wide berth to Fawkes. Instead of looking at the books, though he addressed the least eye-catching artifact in the room.
"Hello again Mr. Hat! It must get boring sitting here on the shelf. Would you like me to clean you? I'm really good at cleaning things." When he received no response, he picked the hat up and swiftly dropped it on his head. It had barely settled before Albus had snatched it away and returned it to its proper place. It would never do for the boy to think he could simply treat the Voice of Hogwarts so proprietarily.
"What do you think you're doing?" The boy hunched in on himself. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't see anyone else in the room, Sir, and thought maybe he was the one who wanted to see me. He just seemed like such a nice Hat when I met him, and it would be interesting to be friends with a Hat. He didn't answer when I asked if he'd like to be cleaned, and I thought maybe he needs to be on someone's head to talk to them like at the Sorting." That... was not at all what Albus had expected. Nobody treated powerful artifacts so casually, much less tried to make friends with them. Respect them, yes. Fear them, yes. Want to take them apart to understand and/or recreate them, yes. "Ah. Did he talk to you, then?" "Yessir, a little. He said I wouldn't fit well in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. He didn't say anything about Ravenclaw, but I know I'm not very smart, so that makes sense." The boy was too tense. He would never learn to trust Albus if he was always on such high alert around him. Albus slowly meandered around his desk to stand by Fawkes, gently petting the phoenix.
"Interesting. And did he say why you wouldn't fit? I would have thought Gryffindor would suit you, given your parents." Could it really be that the boy's Sorting was more process of elimination than a true fit? Perhaps he should have let him talk with the Hat after all."...I never knew my parents, Sir, and I am my own self. The Hat Sorted me where I would fit, not where my parents would. Did."Well, so much for that idea. "Hmm... I suppose that is true. Would you like to meet Fawkes, here? I noticed you seemed leery of him earlier.""No thank you, Sir. He looks sick like the stray dog Mr. Number 10 called animal control for."
"Pardon?" What on earth did a stray dog have in common with a phoenix?
"There was a dog that looked all raggedy and sick like your bird, Sir. Aunt Petunia let me ride home from school in the car with Dudley and didn't even make me go out to weed the garden for the whole week it took them to catch it. It was sick with something that made it mean like Ripper. But since it could make people sick, too, Aunt Petunia thought the neighbors would talk if she made me go ouside where it could bite me, even though nobody talked when Ripper chased me up a tree."
...what? Fawkes was looking a little ragged around the tail, but surely not that bad. "I... assure you, my boy, that Fawkes will not bite you. He is not sick in that way."
"Sorry, Sir. I hope he feels better soon, Sir, but I'd still rather not get close while he's sick, Sir."
Harry left the Headmaster's office, slightly confused. He'd expected... he wasn't quite sure what he'd expected.Obviously, Dumbledore wanted to make sure he had his little pawn firmly under his thumb, but Harry was uncertain whether the old man had gotten what he'd wanted. Hopefully the brief moment the Sorting Hat had touched his head was enough for it to pick up on his urgent thoughts about pulling the Sword of Gryffindor in his first second year. Without slaying the basilisk (and he wasn't planning on facing off against that monster again) he wasn't sure it would destroy a horcrux, but he had no better ideas, yet.Clearly, becoming friends with Hagrid was a good idea. It would give Dumbledore a convenient spy for Harry to slip misinformation through, and should give the old man a false sense of security regarding Harry's side in his undeclared war. Harry didn't think he could actually manage the old man, but he could probably avoid being managed as much as the old man wanted. And despite being firmly in Dumbledore's pocket, Hagrid did tend to let information slip.Harry was prompt in presenting himself at Snape's office the next morning. The Potions Master even looked vaguely pleased. "Please Disillusion yourself, Mr. Potter.""Pardon, Sir?"Snape sighed, "Please 'wish really hard to not be seen'; I can easily excuse myself being called to St. Mungos, but it is better if you are not seen leaving with me.""Oh! Ok, Sir. Sorry Sir."Harry closed his eyes and scrunched his nose slightly in concentration. He counted to ten before casting his wordless, wandless Disillusionment Charm. It would never do to make it obvious that he didn't need the impetus of being threatened to do it."Very good, Mr. Potter."Impishly, Harry reached out and gently tugged Snape's sleeve.The Potions Master snorted. "Yes, I suppose talking would rather negate the entire point of being unseen. Come along, Mr. Potter. Stay right with me, don't bump into or trip over anyone or anything else, and do try not to get in the way of my robes - there is more than one way of being discovered, after all."Harry found himself not quite trotting to keep up with Snape's long strides, but he was used to moving quickly when necessary, and moving quietly was a long-ingrained habit.Snape slowed as he neared the gates. "Are you with me, Mr. Potter?"Harry tugged gently at his sleeve again. "Good. I will Apparate us as soon as we cross the Ward-line. Hold my arm firmly."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When they checked in at St. Mungos, the receptionist directed them to a different floor than Pediatrics. Healer Duncan met them at the door."Good morning, Master Snape, Mr. Potter. If you'll please follow me, we have things set up in one of our specially Warded treatment rooms."
The hallways felt colder than usual. Harry wasn't certain if it was because of the 'special Wards', his own nervous anticipation, or if they were just actually colder.
He was, however, fairly certain he was focussing on the question in an effort to distract himself from the nervous anticipation.
"Right in here. If you'll just strip completely down and change into the robe that's been laid out for you, Mr. Potter, and then rejoin us, we'll run through some diagnostics to make sure the runes will be properly harmonized, and then begin. Shouldn't take but a few minutes to have you right as rain."
The Healer smiled warmly at him; Harry wasn't sure what expression he made in return, but it wasn't a true smile. He had never really learned much Healing beyond battlefield triage and first aid - out of necessity - but he understood just enough to know this was likely to be a full Ritual Healing Circle. Runes were not commonly used in Healing outside of such, and the thin, undyed, linen robe set out for him just cemented that conclusion.
Not that he truly thought anything less than a full Ritual would do anything about the damned Horcrux, but it was definitely going to take more than 'a few minutes'. And that was not accounting for 'Potter Luck'.
Hopefully his damnable luck would fall on the side of an effective Ritual having been prepared, at least. Pretty much anything else he could probably work around and live with.
(He'd really prefer to not have to die again this time to get rid of Tom's unwanted garbage.)
Severus stood to one side and looked on while Healer Duncan and Barnaby Mulpepper - a Curse Breaker and Wardmaster who was contracted by St. Mungos for unusual curse damage and tricky cases - cast the full range of diagnostic spells Duncan had used previously, as well as several spells Severus couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of. As soon as they finished, they had erected a privacy bubble and discussed things at length.
Severus wasn't sure if that meant there was some unforeseen complication, or if it merely meant that this sort of Healing was always individualized.
(He was assuming the latter unless otherwise stated.)
Potter was clearly trying not to fidget as he lay still in the center of the Ritual circle, waiting. Severus had known the boy was smaller than his yearmates, but he'd somehow not truly realized just how small Potter actually was. The robe was light enough that it did nothing to hide how thin the boy was, either, and for the first time, Severus really looked at Pott- Harry, deliberately cataloguing all the ways the child before him differed from the bully in his memories. There was more of Lily in him than just his eyes, he realized. The overall shape of his face and jaw, and the messy dark hair were definitely from his father, but he had the slightly snub nose and softer browline of his mother. His hands were Lily's, too, with fine-boned, slender fingers rather than the heavier, blunt ones of his father.
(And a childhood far more like Severus' own than he truly wanted to examine.)Healer Duncan finished his discussion and moved to stand beside him while Master Mulpepper had Harry add three drops of blood to a vial of specially prepared ink and began delicately applying triple rings of runes around the contaminated scar while Harry tried valiantly not to twitch and wince and furrow his brow at the ticklish sensation of the brush. "The diagnostics have changed since last week." Duncan murmured. "Whatever residue is in his scar is reading as more active than before. It may be from just being in a higher concentration of magic than he is accustomed to, but... Wardmaster Mulpepper feels it prudent to add an extra rune sequence for strengthening the overall warding scheme. If you could also be ready to shield when I do remove the binding, that would be best. There may well be a surge of accidental magic, and there is no predicting how it may manifest. Also... After this is taken care of, we will need to speak with Mr. Potter at length. Depending on exactly what happens, he may need more help adjusting to having his magic unbound than just the checkups I'd originally recommended."
Severus merely nodded, and silently watched the careful scribing of dozens upon dozens of miniscule runes in concentric circles around the scar and carefully scribed lines down the boy's face and across his forehead.
Merlin help him, he hoped this went well.There was a brilliant, blinding flash and a skull-piercing shriek as a roiling wave of force threw them against the wall. Severus shook his head, trying to clear the dazzle from his vision.
Harry was thrashing weakly against invisible bonds holding him in the center of the elaborate Ritual Circle. The Rune-engraved crystal bauble which had been secured over his famous scar looked like it was trying to contain the looming fury of a midwinter blizzard in the boiling, black cloud forming in its center. The crashing gale of magic swirled around the room like a thunderstorm, eating away at the shield Healer Duncan had insisted he erect when Curse-Breaker Mulpepper began the Ritual. He could see someone slumped against the wall where he'd been thrown and Severus carefully dragged himself over to the older man, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Healer Duncan was unconscious and his shield had failed, so Severus extended his own shield slightly to cover both of them and began checking the Healer, and hoping the Curse-Breaker was faring better and Harry would come out of whatever the hell was happening whole.A new flare of brilliant gold light cast his shadow starkly upon the wall and he turned from his attempts at Healing to see what was happening. Harry lay still and silent, the crystal was glowing, almost incandescent, with the power being used to contain... he didn't even know what, though it was obvious that the 'residue' in that cursed scar was far more potent than a mere curse scar should be expected to hold a decade and more after it was formed.He watched in horror as the light flared again, sunshine gold and hellfire red and fiery blue; as tendrils of silver-white lightning crawled across the surface of the crystal; as the runes on the crystal burned an all-too familiar deadly green and the crystal shattered in a chaotic madness of fire and darkness, of swirling gold and blue and black and green.He hunched over the still-unconscious Healer to protect him from the barrage of tiny shards and poured what energy he had left into his wavering shield. The pain in his back from their impact was nothing to the conflagration that seared up his arm.Severus blacked out.Barnaby Mulpepper sipped the tea one of the St. Mungos elves had brought him to wash out the taste of the extra-strength pain relief potion he'd just downed. Thank God he'd decided to add those extra Rune sequences and an extra layer of containment... and thought to bind the poor child's body to the floor. Even restrained, he'd likely ended up giving himself a concussion from the unexpectedly violent removal of what was supposedly the tag-end of a rebounded curse.
(ok... given that the boy was Harry Potter, an impossibly rebounded Killing Curse, but still...)He looked over at the other two adults in the still-sealed Ritual room. Duncan was dazed and magically drained, but conscious and propped bonelessly against the wall, sipping his own cup of tea. Snape had sluggish bleeding from a plethora of minor injuries and cracked ribs, at the least, and would undoubtedly wake up with a headache. Duncan had directed him to roll the man into recovery position and leave him to wake on his own. Neither of them had the strength nor resources to do much more right now. He wasn't sure how the Potter boy was doing other than 'alive', since a shimmering golden shield had popped into existence in the wake of the explosion. Honestly, he was pretty sure the shield was what had caused the explosion - the boy's newly-unbound magic trying to expell whatever the hell sort of not-just-a-curse-residue had been in that scar, interacting with and bolstering the Containment and Purification Ritual and forming the shield in the process of basically chasing out the last of it. And overloading the containment crystal in the process. He'd barely managed to remain conscious at that point, but at least he'd managed to complete the Ritual. With that much power behind it, it could have been catastrophic if he'd faltered midway.
He was just waiting for the Unspeakables and Senior Curse Breaker he'd asked the elf to contact - he had no energy left to send a message himself - to come make sure there was no residue left to taint St. Mungos once they opened the room. He really, really hoped the ...'residue'... was destroyed in the blast and they wouldn't have to worry about it.
A groan of pain heralded the Potions Master's return to consciousness. He rolled onto his back and promptly swore. "Shit. That hurts. Duncan? Did anyone die?"
"No, but I'm not entirely certain we're alive, either, Master Snape." Barnaby answered.
"Fair. That was worse than a round or three of crucio. Duncan still out, then? Harry?"
Duncan coughed. "I'm ... out of it, but not out cold. Seeing double. The boy is... under a shield. Self-generated, as far as we can tell, though he's unconscious. Nothing I've ever seen. Zapped Barnaby when he touched it. Haven't dragged myself close enough to try, yet."
"Shit."
"Yeah."The elf popped in again. "Yous is being needing no-pain and tea. Seppy is bringing. No eatings until yous is properly checked, though. Master Pepper's friends is coming soon."
The Potions Master groaned again, but levered himself into a vaguely sitting position, slumped against the wall like the rest of them and accepted the vial and cup the elf proffered.
Barnaby waited until the grimace of pain had smoothed out as the potion took effect. Might as well get the ball rolling before they were taken off for their own Healing.
"I'll be honest with you. That... was something else. I've only seen a reaction that violent in reversing a possession, but none of the diagnostic scans showed signs of one. Still not sure what was going on, but you'll need to be keeping a close eye on him. There's likely some mental trauma from that thing being literally torn loose to go along with everything else he's dealing with from his past. Going off my extremely limited experience with post-possession patients, somewhat more experience with badly cursed patients, and Duncan's experience with abused and neglected children, depression is not unlikely, nor are outbursts of temper as he recovers and begins processing and coming to terms with being in a comparatively safe place. You may find it useful to give him explicit permission to release his feelings - loudly, crudely, destructively - in a designated safe space on a regular basis, and have some sort of signal for when he needs to leave a situation that is overwhelming or triggering. I do not know how often he will use it, but he has not been able to grow into his strength at all and the next several weeks, at least, are potentially quite dangerous if he feels threatened and instinctively tries to defend himself. I doubt merely Apparating to a nearby roof will be the worst possible outcome. Given what I've heard of his personality, accidentally killing - or just maiming - someone will quite possibly break him. Though you're in a better position than I to judge, Master Snape.""Hmm." Snape concurred, shifting his position to sit more upright and massaging his arm (and started a vague, niggling worry in the back of Barnaby's mind). He watched the swirling golden light of the shield protecting the boy contemplatively for a brief time before answering. "Accidentally... yes, possibly. Based on a previous conversation, I doubt deliberately harming someone who - in his words - 'really, really, really deserves it' will cause a serious break. Though I am not sure what criteria would make someone really, really, really deserving. I think... I truly hope he's more like his mother than his father in that regard.""Oh?"Snape grimaced. "Yes. His father was a spoilt bully who delighted in taking even the slightest of excuses to harm and humiliate others. His mother... Lily had a more finely honed sense of justice and it took..." He sighed, swallowing harshly. "It took a great deal of provocation for her to resort to anything approaching violence. She always tried to keep her retaliation somewhat proportionate to the offense."Duncan looked at him sympathetically. "You were on the receiving end of both, weren't you?"Snape just nodded, once, sharply. "How often and for how long do you think you will need to see the boy?"Barnaby exchanged a look with the Healer and sipped his tea, assessing the man before him. They'd need to bring up several matters regarding his own health, but ultimately allowed the redirection and discussed Harry Potter's health instead. It was clear that Snape's habitual bitterness was deeply rooted in a past they yet knew but little about. A decade of casual professional association was not enough to gain that sort of trust from the brilliant but closed-off younger man. So be it. They could help in other ways than prying the lid off that box of pain.Severus massaged his arm, trying to get rid of the pains still sparking along his nerves, and began running through a basic meditation as he checked his Occlumency shields. He must have hit his head harder than he thought if the slight reference to his falling out with Lily was upsetting him like this. He wouldn't be surprised if he had a concussion. That was a far more reasonable explanation for the ... oddness just before he'd fallen unconscious from the pain. He needed to make sure his mindscape hadn't been altered by the massive amounts of raw magic that had been unleashed before he could feel safe reviewing and dissecting the nuances of the memory.Fortunately, the Healer and Curse-Breaker were willing to allow him his silence.