Chapter Seven of 'That Glorious Strength'- Days of Firsts (Part One)
Chapter Six.
Chapter One.
Title: That Glorious Strength (7/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Background canon couples, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Massive AU (no Voldemort), blood prejudice, mentorship, angst, drama, violence, torture, gore
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Instead of becoming Voldemort, Tom Riddle established a school of “secondary importance” for Muggleborns, half-bloods, and Squibs. Since the school frees Hogwarts to continue drifting more towards the purebloods’ whims and wishes, they haven’t raised any large fuss. Besides, everyone knows that half-bloods and Muggleborns don’t have any real power. Just look at Riddle, who had ambitions that outpaced his magical strength. They don’t see the revolution coalescing under the surface.
Author’s Notes: This is a story idea I’ve been brewing in my mind for a long time, and finally decided to write. I don’t have any idea how long it will be at the moment. The title is a twist on “that hideous strength,” used as a title by C. S. Lewis and from a poem by David Lyndsay.
Thank you again for all the reviews! (This chapter grew too long to write all at once, so I’ll post the second half of it next week).
Chapter Seven-Days of Firsts (Part One)
“Welcome to Fortius Academy, Miss Granger.”
Hermione stood still while Professor Johnson stood calmly beside her, staring around at the buildings looming in every direction. It reminded her of some of the fantasy books she had read when she was younger, or a book picturing an idealized Athens. There was so much marble everywhere, and some of the buildings looked like temples.
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, and the wand in the holster strapped to her forearm gave a little throb, the way it had been doing constantly in the week since she’d bought it.
“It is, isn’t it?” Professor Johnson gave her a pleased smile, and invited Hermione further into the Academy’s grounds with a sweep of her hand.
Hermione followed her eagerly, eyes still darting in various directions. There was water everywhere, too, and green grass, and a kind of subtle light that seemed to cling to and shine on everything although the sky was cloudy today. With every step, her heart lifted. Even if that was the result of some magic like Cheering Charms that she’d read about, it still made her thrilled to the depths of her soul to be here.
“Where are we going first?” she asked, when she became aware that Professor Johnson was leading her down a particular white stone path that seemed to stab through the heart of the grounds like a motorway.
“I thought you would like to see the Houses, since you’ll be spending most of your time in one of them come the start of the school year.”
“Yes, please!” Hermione became aware that she was almost skipping alongside Professor Johnson, and tried to make herself stop. She didn’t want to look so absurdly young. “Can I be Sorted today?”
Professor Johnson smiled at her. “That will wait until your first proper day of school. But there’s no harm in looking around and seeing where you might like to be.”
“I mean-I thought we were Sorted based on magical affinities? That means we don’t really get to choose, doesn’t it?”
“To an extent. But the Headmaster created his Sorting system only based on Hogwarts’s system, not as identical to it.” Hermione stifled the urge to say that she knew that and she could read. “One thing he found particularly annoying is that the Hat Sorts based not just on personality traits, but the student’s family history and the like.”
“Why would it do that?”
“Most students do want to be Sorted into the same House as their family.” Professor Johnson paused next to a small white building with its door open, through which Hermione saw books. She immediately wanted to go inside, but she held still and looked into Professor Johnson’s face, because this seemed to be important. “On the other hand, the Hat seemed to consider their family history independently of that. Students’ own choices factored in, but not as much. In short, its decision was not transparent. Headmaster Riddle wanted to create a system that is.”
Hermione gnawed her lip, and nodded. “What House do you think I’ll be in, Professor?”
Professor Johnson’s face relaxed, and she laughed a little. “The system is transparent, but I can’t tell what your magical affinity is without some testing, Hermione. I don’t know right now.”
Hermione just nodded again. She supposed she would have to wait like everyone else. At least she could explore the grounds beforehand. She pointed at the library. “Can I go in there and borrow a few books?”
“Of course.” Professor Johnson’s eyes narrowed a little. “You should be aware that the books are spelled so that Muggles can’t see or touch them, and if any damage happens to them, even something as minor as a drop of tea being spilled on them, they immediately return to the library.”
Hermione stared at her. “People don’t take care of books when they’re at the table?”
Professor Johnson laughed abruptly. “I don’t think we need to worry about you,” she said, and ushered Hermione into the most wonderful library she had ever seen.
That was only partially because of the windows high on the walls, in the shape of small latticed curlicues and flowers, which ushered in soft cool draughts, or the deep wooden bookshelves that were carved with lions and dragons and gryphons that reached out protective claws towards the books. It was mostly because of the books themselves, which were about magic.
Hermione darted from shelf to shelf, speechless with delight, not sure what she wanted to look at first. Professor Johnson followed her down the aisles, quietly pointing out the sections on Transfiguration, Charms, Arithmancy, History of Magic, and all the other subjects Hermione knew she would be taking at Fortius.
It was enough to make Hermione want to move right onto the grounds and stay there until term began on the last day of August.
When her arms were stacked, mostly with history books, she backed around a corner to see the top of a high shelf and tripped over a stool.
“Ouch!” said the stool.
Hermione blinked and turned around. Even in the magical world, she couldn’t imagine that a lot of the stools were enchanted to speak.
The stool turned out to be a black-haired boy who glared up at her accusingly. He was sitting on a stool, but one that was barely high enough to keep his knees from folding up to his chin. On his lap was a huge leather book that Hermione immediately coveted, since it had a moving ink drawing of a dragon flexing its claws open and shut.
“Who are you?” the boy demanded.
“This is one of our new students, Hermione Granger,” said Professor Johnson, coming around the corner of the shelf. She waved her wand, and the stack of books floated out of Hermione’s arms and hovered safely in the air. Hermione wanted to learn that spell, too. “And this is Harry Potter, one of our students who will be in your year, Miss Granger.”
Hermione smiled and held out her hand, glad that Professor Johnson had taken the books. Potter studied her intently for a second. Then he shook her hand.
“Are you here with a professor, too?” Hermione asked politely, only for the boy to look shifty.
“I’m on the grounds for the summer,” Potter said, after a quick glance at Professor Johnson.
“Oh? Are your family with you? Are you one of the Muggleborns whose families wouldn’t let them come? I’m Muggleborn. I’m the first in my family to have magic, imagine. It’s tremendously exciting. What do you think you’ll want to study first? What House do you think you’ll be in? How do they determine magical affinity, do you know?”
Hermione slowed down when she saw the bewildered look on the boy’s face, and blushed a little. “Sorry. My mother says I tend to talk too much. And ask too many questions.”
“I think asking questions is a great thing,” said the boy, with emphasis that puzzled Hermione. He took another quick look at Professor Johnson, and then faced her again. “Well, I’m sort of Muggleborn. I grew up with Muggles. But my family didn’t want me to come, and it turns out my parents were a witch and wizard, so I came here.”
“They’re dead? Oh, no. I’m sorry. What happened to them?”
Potter hesitated again. Then he said, “Purebloods murdered them.”
Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth. Professor Johnson sighed. “I’m not sure that you needed to tell Miss Granger that, Mr. Potter.”
“Why? She asked!”
Hermione took a deep breath and sat down on the floor next to the little stool Potter was occupying. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, and then winced at the look Potter gave her. “No, really. I mean that. It’s important.”
“Why?” Potter canted his head to the side. He had the wildest hair. Hermione’s mum would tell him to hold still so she could brush it for him.
“Because Professor Riddle talked to me a little about how purebloods control the magical world and he wants to change that, but they haven’t threatened me. Except indirectly, when Mr. Malfoy came and talked about how I wouldn’t be happy at Hogwarts if I thought I was going to be as good as a pureblood and I had to learn to know my place. It’s good to remember how terrible they are, so we can rise up against them someday.”
Potter looked again at Professor Johnson, but this time, there was a sharp expression in his eyes. Hermione snorted and waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Professor Johnson is the one who told me about some of the plans they have for the uprising.”
Professor Johnson nodded and leaned against the nearest shelf, while Hermione’s books floated next to her. “The purpose of the school isn’t a secret to anyone who attends or teaches here, Mr. Potter, and it’s not something you need to guard.”
Potter blinked. “Okay.”
“What happened to your parents is awful,” Hermione said firmly, and reached out to shake Potter’s hand again. He seemed a little shocked, but he let her take it, and he let her go on holding it. “I hope that you’ll never have to go through anything like that again. But we know other kids will, so we have to stop them.”
“Sometimes I just want to-hurt them all.”
It was a whisper. Hermione thought Potter might have been about to say kill, but that wasn’t something that he would confess to a complete stranger.
She leaned forwards and said, “I know. So do I. But I think it would be better if we humiliated them and made them grovel the way they want us to do.”
Slowly, a smile bloomed across Potter’s face. Hermione thought that he might look less wild if he smiled more often. “You know, Hermione,” he said thoughtfully, “I think we’re going to be very good friends, you and I.”
*
“You know very well that you carry the family honor.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I don’t want to hear any reports from Hogwarts about you behaving in a way unfitting of a scion of the Malfoy line.”
Draco breathed in slowly and looked up at his father. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t as tall as a few of the other people who worked at the Ministry, but to Draco, that didn’t matter. He couldn’t remember a time when his father hadn’t loomed over his life. And that was right and proper and necessary. That was the only way he could preserve their legacy to pass it on, pure and untouched, to Draco. And now that the first day of his first year at Hogwarts had arrived, it was time for Draco to begin sharing the privilege and the burden.
“Yes, Father,” he said. “I promise that Professor Snape will find nothing to complain of in me.”
For a moment, he wondered if he should have said that, if he had been presumptuous in assuming that he would be Sorted into Slytherin. But Father smiled at him, and that was rare enough that Draco stood taller.
“Make friends with the right sort. Keep the Mudbloods in their place, but use grace and courtesy as much as you can. There is no reason to wield ugly weapons when beautiful ones will do.”
Draco bowed. “Of course, Father.”
“Magic embrace you, son,” Father murmured, and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, steering him towards the Hogwarts Express.
Draco sneered at the piece of Muggle shit as he climbed aboard, reluctantly, turning only once to wave to his parents. He knew all the reasons they needed to move slowly in purging such Muggle influences from their world. There were still people around who had supported Dumbledore and would get upset if changes happened too quickly.
But he longed for the day when the worlds would be entirely separate and when they would have solved the problem of Mudbloods.
He made his way to an empty compartment with a snake marked on the door and stepped in, nodding to the older Slytherins who nodded back to him. None of them spoke. As the Minister’s son, it was up to him to speak first. Draco placed his trunk in the overhead compartment and glanced once out the window. He was in time to see his eagle-owl, Regent, lift off from the platform. Regent was the sort of royal creature who preferred to fly to Hogwarts.
Then Draco went in search of future allies.
*
“Can you believe that we’re finally on our way to Hogwarts?”
Ron shook his head dazedly at Victoria, his twin sister, as they looked out the window at their madly waving family. Victoria waved back, but Ron didn’t. He didn’t want to move too quickly. He kept feeling they were in a dream that would shatter if he did.
His family had been poor for a long time before his birth. He knew that. But he also knew that they were purebloods, and that was what mattered.
Still, he had doubted whether they would be accepted to Hogwarts up until the moment when the owls with his and Victoria’s acceptance letters flew through the window. After all, Hogwarts was for the best of the best. Even Mudbloods could succeed there if they had good enough marks. Was blood enough to admit them?
It was. But Ron knew part of him would doubt until they got there.
The compartment door banged open, and Fred and George trotted in, grinning like madmen. Ron tried not to shrink back into his seat. Fred and George had always been allies for him and Victoria. They felt that, as the only two pairs of twins in the Weasley family, they should look out for each other.
But Fred and George had been at Hogwarts for two years now, getting good marks, and they were really funny, and everyone liked them. Ron wasn’t sure he could live up to the pressure.
Victoria didn’t care about that. She laughed at the sight of them. “Did you already get in trouble?”
“We might have got the toilet seat Ginny wanted,” George said.
“I think you’re the one who came up with the idea to send her that toilet seat.”
Ron slouched back on his seat and watched as Victoria laughed and joked with Fred and George. She was Ron’s twin, but she was more like their brothers than she was him. Ron tried to tell himself it would be different at Hogwarts and they would be seen as different, but he couldn’t be sure, especially when they would both be in Gryffindor with Fred, George, and Percy.
The door of the compartment was still open from where their brothers had come in, and Ron saw a flash of blond hair in it. Someone leaned around the door and beckoned to him.
Ron glanced at his siblings, but none of them had noticed. He swallowed and stood, edging around Fred, who was describing Lee Jordan’s tarantula, and towards the person who waited there.
He wasn’t really surprised when it turned out to be Minister Malfoy’s son, who Ron had seen a few times in photographs in the papers. Malfoy smiled at him and extended his hand. “Hullo. I’m Draco Malfoy.”
“Ron Weasley,” Ron said, and shook Malfoy’s hand carefully. The last thing they needed was for him to bruise the Minister’s son or something and end up in the papers for that.
Malfoy pulled his hand back and gave Ron a long, slow, considering glance. Ron knew he turned red, but he stood there and let himself be looked at. It probably wasn’t that far off the way Malfoy looked at anyone.
“You’re the youngest son, right?” Malfoy sounded thoughtful. “You have a twin sister and then two younger sisters.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Ron bit his tongue to avoid saying something else, but he was stunned that someone had bothered to notice.
Malfoy nodded. “Do you feel overshadowed by your older siblings?”
Ron jumped as if someone had cast a Stinging Charm on him, and then wished he hadn’t, as he watched Malfoy’s smile widen in amusement. But he took a deep breath and decided it would be stupider to ask how Malfoy had known that, or walk back into the compartment and pretend he’d never left. “Yeah, I do.”
“You have a brother who’s going into curse-breaking, and a brother who works with dragons, and a brother who’s a Gryffindor prefect, and two prankster brothers.” Malfoy was studying Ron as if he was reading writing carved on Ron’s bones. Ron had never felt so seen before. “What do you want to know? What are you going to be known for?”
“I don’t know.” Ron’s bitterness rushed to the surface, and he found himself saying the thing he couldn’t to the others, not even Victoria, who was the one who got new girl’s things first. “Everything I own is hand-me-downs. It won’t matter if I get good marks because Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George got them first. Even if I get on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, well, Charlie and Fred and George played there, too. And I’m not funny and I’m not popular and I’m not a prefect and I don’t know what to do.”
“Does it matter which way you stand out? If your family is angry at you for it or not?”
Ron blinked. He’d been so consumed with thoughts of never standing out that that question wasn’t one he’d thought about. “What do you mean?”
“It sounds to me as if you have ambition.” A small smile curled up the side of Malfoy’s mouth. “And there’s a specific House one goes into if they have ambition.”
Ron swallowed. That had never occurred to him. One of the reasons he’d been so sure that he would never stand out was that he would be just another Weasley in Gryffindor. But what if he wasn’t in Gryffindor? What if he went into another place where there weren’t half-a-dozen of him?
“I don’t think I can, though. The Sorting is done by families.”
“Not just that,” Malfoy said quickly. “My father explained to me how it works. He’s been called to the school a few times, you know, to deal with a Mudblood being Sorted into the wrong House or a pureblood not being happy with their House placement. The Sorting also takes your desires into consideration. And your character. It Sorts by families because a lot of families do have similar desires and personalities. Parents raise their children to value the things they value, after all. But if you want something different, if you want it badly enough to make the Sorting mechanism think about it…”
Ron felt a slow, delightful shiver creep down his spine. He’d never considered anything like that. But there was a lot of “never” going on today, and it didn’t mean it always had to be the same.
He did have one more thing to think about, though. “I want friends. Would anyone be friends with a Weasley who’s in Slytherin? A lot of the Dark pureblood families still despise us.”
“I would.”
Ron started and looked at Malfoy, who gave him a little nod that seemed to say he’d read the secrets on Ron’s bones and judged him worthy.
“Why, though?” Ron had to ask. His voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat and continued speaking. “I mean, you could be friends with anyone. The Minister’s son and all.”
“Perhaps,” Malfoy said, slowly, as if he needed to think about the right words before he said them, “I want to be friends with the first Weasley to be Sorted into Slytherin. Perhaps I think you’re different, and I want to know why.”
Ron felt his shoulders relax a little. That sounded like something he could believe. Not that he was special yet, but he could be. If he got into Slytherin. If he proved that he was worthy of friendship with the Minister for Magic’s son.
“All right,” he said. “Bargain.” And he felt himself fill with a mad, rearing excitement, the kind he usually only got when he listened to Chudley Cannon games on the wireless.
He was going to influence the Sorting-thing, whatever it was. He was going to be in Slytherin. The first Weasley ever. The first different Weasley, the first one to be known for his House and his ambition.
He was going to be special.
*
That, Draco thought as he watched Ron almost float back to his compartment, went very well indeed.
*
“Oof, watch where you’re going, won’t you?”
Harry blinked and turned around to face the boy he’d backed into. He had sandy hair and brown eyes and a disgruntled expression, and he was still sort of rocking where Harry had smashed into him when he backed up trying to see all the way to the top of the huge ball of crystal that sat in front of them.
“Sorry,” Harry said, and grinned a little at the boy. “I just wanted to see the top if I can. It must be hanging from something, right? Something lowered it down.” After a month at Fortius, Harry knew that he wouldn’t necessarily be able to see what had lowered it, but that didn’t stop him from looking at it.
The boy stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded and said, “Reasonable enough. Just don’t alter the queue.” He held out his hand. “Justin Finch-Fletchley.”
Harry remembered meeting someone with the same last name a fortnight or so back, but she had looked so sad that he didn’t like to ask if Justin was related to her. He just nodded and shook his hand. “Harry Potter.”
“I read something about Potters in Hogwarts, A History…”
“Yeah, a few of my ancestors were professors at the school. I’m a half-blood.” Harry studied the crystal globe again, wondering. He knew that it had something to do with their Sorting, but not what. The way students were Sorted at Hogwarts was kept secret from them, and it seemed Headmaster Riddle liked continuing part of the tradition at Fortius, too, even though the ways they were Sorted were different.
“Is this the queue where we stand to be Sorted?”
Harry grinned and glanced over. There was a tall dark-skinned boy hovering behind Justin. He already had his hand out, as if he assumed he would have to shake to get an answer. “Dean Thomas,” he introduced himself.
Harry shook his hand, too. “Yeah. I don’t know exactly how it happens, though. I’ve been here a month, and I’ve talked a lot to the Headmaster, but he wouldn’t tell me everything.”
“You’ve been here a month?” Thomas blinked. “Why?”
“My family didn’t want me to come.”
Harry was afraid that he would have to say more than that, but Thomas sighed. “Yeah. My mum was-she wasn’t going to forbid me to come, but when the Headmaster came and explained to her about the blood prejudice, she wasn’t impressed.”
“But you decided to come and study here anyway?” Finch-Fletchley asked. “Why?”
Thomas gave him a look that made Harry have to cough a little. “Are you mad? It’s magic.”
Finch-Fletchley looked as if he didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he was mad, but a sharp clapping noise echoed through the room, which was huge, round, made of stone, and otherwise empty except for the huge crystal bubble. Harry turned towards the doors they’d entered by and found Headmaster Riddle walking in. He wore a set of deep blue velvet robes trimmed with silver that Harry had never seen before.
There was a silver snake gliding along in front of him. It was the wrong color for Belasha, or Harry would have thought she’d been shrunk somehow. The serpent was still big, probably three meters or so, but Harry had to admit that he didn’t think any snakes were that threatening after seeing the basilisk.
“Why does he have a snake with him?” Thomas whispered.
“You didn’t read up on his history?” asked a voice Harry would have known anywhere, and Hermione elbowed her way to the front of the queue, ignoring Finch-Fletchley’s huff, or probably not hearing it at all. “He can speak Parseltongue. The language of snakes,” she added, when Thomas’s blank expression made it clear that didn’t explain anything to him. “It’s his pet, or his servant. He can control it.”
Thomas still looked nervous, but then Headmaster Riddle began to speak, and although his voice wasn’t loud, he gained the attention of all twenty-five of them instantly.
“Welcome to Fortius Academy.” Riddle wasn’t smiling, but Harry could see the warmth in his eyes. The silver snake rose and began to sway back and forth, and Riddle reached down to run his fingers absently over its head. “All of you have chosen to accept the invitation to explore further into the magical world than most purebloods would want you to go. All of you have courage and strength aplenty. But I would wager that most of you don’t know your magical affinity yet.”
No one disagreed with him. A girl next to Hermione shifted around, looking as if she was about to ask a question, and then didn’t. Riddle nodded at her anyway, and turned to face the huge crystal globe.
“At Hogwarts, a Sorting Hat looks into the mind of each student and chooses their House based on their personalities, their own desires, and the history of their families,” Riddle said calmly. “Fortius bases Sortings on magical affinity primarily. You will, of course, learn spells based on the kind of magic that you resonate with, as well as the element. But research has also shown that wizards and witches feel more comfortable around those with their magical affinity. And, of course, it is easier to cast as large ritual circles with those of the same affinity.”
“Why do we need to do that?” whispered Hermione, but Harry ignored her. He thought he knew. Large ritual circles meant more powerful spells, which meant more powerful weapons. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Riddle was making revolutionary covens within the Houses.
“A reminder of the affinities and the Houses,” Riddle said, and reached down to the snake at his side. It hissed a little, and reared up higher to meet him. A silver light spread down from Riddle’s wand to encompass it, and began to writhe and overlay the snake with different shapes.
“The House of the Gryphon represents earth, Transfiguration, and defensive magic.” For a moment, the snake was the proud creature with the eagle’s head and lion’s body that Harry had walked past each day for the last month on his way to the library.
“The House of the Phoenix represents fire, Charms, and the magic of creation.” The illusion around the snake grew wings and flames, and stretched both of them out as if to take flight in that moment.
“The House of the Dragon represents water, Divination, and offensive spells.” The snake snapped back to looking almost like itself, but this time with wings made of silver light and a crest of lifting horns on its head.
“And finally, the House of the Pegasus represents air, Herbology, and mind magic.” The wings of the dragon grew feathers, and the serpent was surrounded by the illusion of a wise, proud, rearing horse.
Riddle gestured with his wand again, and the illusion faded. The serpent coiled around his leg and flicked out its tongue as it watched them. If it was saying something to Riddle, then Harry couldn’t hear what it was.
“Are there equal numbers in every House, sir?” Hermione asked, sounding as if she thought they would need the answer to do well on some homework.
Riddle smiled at her. “An excellent question, Miss Granger.” Harry thought Hermione could have done without the preening that she did then. “The answer is that the numbers will be roughly equal overall. But each year usually contains uneven numbers.” He looked around. “Any other questions?”
The other students in the room were exchanging glances, though, and looked breathless with excitement. Harry was himself. He’d kept changing his mind as he read through the books in the library and learned more about elemental magic and the different kinds of spells and fields that existed. Sometimes he thought he knew for sure what House he would be in, and then he would feel he had no idea and it was impossible to know.
“Very well.” Riddle whirled towards the crystal globe and cast without speaking, a blue spell that launched itself from his wand and straight into the middle of the globe.
It fractured with a noise like music, and spirals of white light whirled up from inside it. Harry stared. He had seen nothing like this at Fortius so far, read about nothing like it in the library.
The spirals separated, and Harry saw silver flame dancing around each of them. And then they began to zip towards each student, pursuing zigzag paths and going in different directions, so Harry couldn’t tell just by watching where any one of them was going to move.
The first one he saw came to a stop chose to hover in front of Finch-Fletchley. The other boy looked like he was holding his breath while the spiral changed shapes. Then it melted into the same silver color that the illusion around Riddle’s snake had, and became a brilliant, hovering phoenix.
Finch-Fletchley laughed in what sounded like pleasure, and Harry turned around to find some of the other students already had silver animals in front of them. Phoenixes settled on shoulders, winged horses bowed their heads and scraped their hooves, dragons reared with their wings spread out, and gryphons clapped their wings together.
Restless, Harry turned back to find his own beast, wondering why it was taking so long to find him-
And discovered a white spiral hovering right in front of him. Harry caught his breath, and then had to let it out again. His heart was racing frantically. He clenched his hands and tried not to feel as if he was about to vomit.
As he watched, the spiral surged through several different shapes, before it grew feathered wings, and a gryphon landed in front of him and bowed.
Harry smiled. He hadn’t known where he was really going to go, but he had suspected Gryphon House was a strong possibility. The spells he’d liked best when he read the descriptions of them in the books were defensive ones. And he really wanted to learn to become an Animagus, so it would be great if he had an affinity for Transfiguration.
He looked around and found a winged horse in front of Thomas and a dragon gazing into the eyes of the girl who had stood on the other side of Hermione. But where was Hermione?
“Harry!”
Harry snapped his head up and saw Hermione with a silvery phoenix on her shoulder, pecking gently at her hair as if it was preening her. Harry grinned and trotted over to her, with the gryphon following him. “So you’re going to be good at spell creation, then?”
“I hope so! It sounds by far the most fascinating thing we’ll learn-”
Hermione gasped as the phoenix faded into white mist and hovered around her shoulders. Harry felt it himself in the next moment as his gryphon became the same kind of aura that he had seen around Angelina Johnson when she questioned Riddle on the day he’d arrived at Fortius. There were hints of claws and feathers and a beak here and there, but for the most part, it was a formless mass.
But warm. The magic lingered around him, holding him close. Harry knew without asking that if he needed it to, it would lash out in his defense, or alert him to danger. He beamed.
“Your beast of the Sorting will become a permanent protector to you,” Riddle said clearly, evidently because he thought that some people weren’t as smart as Harry and Hermione and might need the reassurance. “It can combine with the magic of others in your House to double your protection and help you in ritual magic, as well as increase the potency of your spells. Of course, you will be expected to stand on your own and not rely on its extra strength all your life, only in your first year when your spellcraft is unskilled.”
Riddle swept all of them with his gaze, and his face was radiant with pride. Harry found himself straightening his spine. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Riddle believed they could be strong and make a difference, and that was enough to make Harry believe it, too.
Riddle smiled, then. “Four Dragons, six Phoenixes, eleven Gryphons, and four Winged Horses,” he says. “I look forward to great things from all of you.”
And for the first time-stronger even than when he had picked up Riddle’s wand or got his own-Harry was sure that he could, too.
Chapter Eight.