Forty-Nine: It's Always Darkest
An Inevitable update! And with that, I must get to bed.
Inevitable Forty-Nine: It's Always Darkest
by Mhalachai
~~~~~~~
"Harry!"
"What?" Harry asked blearily, trying to roll away from the person who was shaking him. "G'way."
"Did you drop Transfiguration?" Seamus's voice percolated through Harry's stupor. "Your class starts in five minutes, you'd better get moving."
Class. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he saw Seamus looking down at him, a smirk on the boy's face. "What time is it?" Harry asked, pushing himself up and fumbling around for his glasses.
"Like I said, five minutes until Transfiguration," Seamus said, going back to over to his own bed. "Neville wondered where you were and I told him I'd look for you up here after breakfast."
"Oh, fuck," Harry swore, leaping out of bed. He'd fallen asleep still wearing his robes, reading the animagus book Dumbledore had given him. "McGonagall's going to kill me."
"Depends on how fast you can run," Seamus said, laughing. Harry shoved the animagus book into his bag along with his other school stuff, and bolted.
The previous year, Harry and Ron had clocked the distances between Gryffindor tower and their classrooms. McGonagall's class hadn't been the farthest, but Harry had never been able to make it there in under five minutes. Hoping that he wouldn't cross Filch's path, Harry ran as fast as he could.
The corridors passed in a blur. Harry bounded up a staircase three steps at a time, neatly ducking around a pair of startled Hufflepuff girls, and turned down the corridor to McGonagall's classroom. He slowed as he approached the open door, then peeked inside.
McGonagall's back was to the door, as she was writing on the chalkboard. The rest of the class was already seated.
Trying to breathe softly, Harry padded into the room and slipped into the first empty seat, beside Padma Patil. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then shook her head.
"As I was saying, today's shortened lesson is a review of what we learned last year," McGonagall said as she turned around. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Harry. He tried to give her an innocent smile. "Here is a list of the transfigurations you need to accomplish in the next two hours. Begin."
There was a scramble as students headed to the side of the classroom to collect objects. While Padma went to assemble their objects, Harry pulled his textbook out of his bag, looking around the room. Ron was sitting with Hermione in the front row. The redhead glanced around and locked eyes with Harry.
Harry deliberately broke the eye contact first. He remembered what Seamus said, that it had been Neville who wondered where Harry was. Not Ron.
Padma sat back down and laid a series of objects they needed to transfigure on top of the desk, then pulled out her wand.
"Don't you need the textbook?" Harry asked, flipping the pages to the section on transfiguring metal into a living creature.
"No, I don't," Padma said scathingly. "I actually know what I'm doing."
Harry paused, then turned in his seat to look at her. She sounded angry, but why? Harry hadn't done anything to her. They had barely seen each other since the Yule Ball in fourth year. "McGonagall knows how bad I am at this," Harry said, guessing that her attitude might have something to do with class. "If anything, I'll make you look good."
Padma glared at him. "This isn't about class."
"Then what is it?" Harry asked, lowering his voice so he couldn't be heard under the din of incantations.
Padma pointed her wand at the iron nail on the desk, watching as it wriggled and turned effortlessly into a kitten. "You tell that friend of yours that if he ever makes my sister cry again, I'll--"
"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted. "What are you talking about?"
Staring at the tiny grey kitten washing its paw with a pink tongue, Padma said, "I know Parvati gossips, but that's no excuse for Ron to scream at her over breakfast."
"Why would he do something like that?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Don't you know?"
"Ron and I haven't been, you know, talking," Harry said, stroking the kitten's head. "I wasn't at breakfast. But I'll talk to him."
"Good." Padma waited until Harry moved his hand, then turned the kitten back into an iron nail. She gave Harry a mildly conciliatory look. "Do you want to alternate, or work on the ones I've finished?"
"I'll go after you," Harry said with a tiny smile. "You can show me how it's done."
For some reason, that made Padma blush.
~*~
"Mr. Potter, please stay behind after class," Professor McGonagall's voice rose above the noise of students cleaning up.
"Brilliant," Harry muttered. Padma cast him a sympathetic glance as she left the room.
Draco Malfoy snorted as he walked past with Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin. Harry was saved from hexing Draco as McGonagall stepped up to his desk, a stern expression on her face. "Mr. Potter, if you will."
Obediently, Harry collected his books into his bag. He saw Ron and Hermione approaching, and concentrated on capping his ink bottle until his friends were gone.
He trailed along after McGonagall to the front of the room. She ushered him into a chair beside her desk, and swept her black robes neatly around her as she sat in her own chair.
Deciding to take the offensive, Harry said, "I'm sorry about being late to class, ma'am."
McGonagall fixed him with a glare. "I heard about yesterday's tardiness to Professor Hagrid's class, Mr. Potter. If this keeps up, I'll dock points from Gryffindor myself."
"Yes ma'am."
"Although you weren't late," she conceded. "But cutting it that fine will not be tolerated."
Harry wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. If she wasn't going to dress him down over being late, why had she kept him behind?
"Now, Mr. Potter, I am aware that you have Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow morning," McGonagall continued. "I would like Gryffindor to have a chance at the House Cup this year."
So this was about Snape. Harry took a steadying breath. "Then maybe I should change my class schedule," he said evenly.
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.
"I'm not being ridiculous!" Harry retorted. "Snape doesn't like me, no matter what I do!"
"Professor Snape, Potter," McGonagall corrected. "And Professor Snape usually has reason to deduct points from you, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry fixed his eyes on a birdcage on the far side of the classroom. He couldn't believe he had been called onto the mat to be told to behave himself. How old do they think I am? he thought indignantly.
"Potter," McGonagall said, drawing his attention back to her.
"I won't deliberately antagonize Professor Snape, ma'am," Harry said, as blankly as he could.
A wave of weariness passed over McGonagall's face, making Harry frown. He always forgot how old she was. She'd be Hagrid's age, and he was pushing
eighty. McGonagall always looked so formidable.
"You really are different from your father," McGonagall said, surprising Harry.
"How so?" he asked, forgetting his irritation at her, and leaning forward slightly.
She sat up straighter, as if she'd said too much. "Your father never would have apologized for being late to class, for starters," she said. "Now, we have a few minutes. Let's talk about Quidditch."
Harry bit down his protest. After six years, he knew that he'd never be able to get Professor McGonagall to talk about something she didn't want, and Harry suspected his similarities and differences with his father fell into that category.
"I was thinking," Harry said, "If we have the house tryouts next weekend, then we'll have enough time for everyone to practice..."
~*~
After fighting his way around a horde of first-year Ravenclaws all trying to eagerly enter McGonagall's class at once, Harry clattered down staircase after staircase, until he was outside of the portrait entrance to the kitchens. He reached up and tickled the painted pear, which promptly turned into a handle.
Turning the handle, Harry climbed into the kitchens, where over a hundred busy house elves hurried around, arranging plates on tables. A strangely clad house elf detached itself from the chaos and dashed over to Harry.
"It is Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed, his bulging green eyes wet with happy tears. Harry bent over to try and shush the ecstatic house elf, before he interrupted everyone else.
"Dobby, I need a favor," Harry said softly, going down on one knee.
Dobby whipped out an orange sock that looked suspiciously like the one Harry had given him the previous year for Christmas, some of Uncle Vernon's most foul hand-me-downs, and wiped his cheeks. "Harry Potter asks Dobby a favor!"
Harry winced. The last thing he needed was for Dobby to attract--
An old house elf, ancient and ugly, shuffled closer. "The master interrupts the work, nasty master boy," Kreacher muttered loudly under his breath.
Harry was not thrilled to see Kreacher, whose actions had led directly to Sirius's death. "Kreacher," he said sharply. The house elf's head bobbed from side to side, not looking up. "Kreacher, go stand over there for ten minutes," Harry ordered, pointing at the far side of the kitchen. He'd learned the hard way to be very specific with the orders he gave Kreacher.
Muttering the whole time, Kreacher shuffled away.
Harry turned back to Dobby, who was looking delighted at Kreacher's dismissal. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?"
"I'd like a snack," Harry said, then hastily amended, "A small one. I slept in."
Before Harry finished his sentence, Dobby had leapt away, returning in a few minutes with a paper-wrapped package. Harry shoved it into his bag, hoping nothing would leak.
"Thanks," Harry said. His voice wasn't loud, but he knew that all the house elves were listening in. "I'm sure it will be delicious."
"Harry Potter can come back any time!" Dobby said, escorting Harry to the door. The portrait closed on the kitchen bustle, and Harry was left alone in the silent corridor.
He let out a sigh, shaking off the anger at seeing Kreacher, then headed back for the stairs. His next class was Charms, just before dinner. If he played his cards right, he might be able to avoid seeing anyone until class.
Not anyone, just Ron, he clarified. What was wrong with Ron? Freaking out on Harry was one thing, even if it was over such a stupid thing, but yelling at Parvati in front of everyone at breakfast? It didn't make any sense.
Harry toyed with the idea of going up to the library, where he was sure not to encounter Ron, but he knew that if he tried to eat his snack in there, Madame Pince would turn him into a watering can. The Gryffindor common room was out, which left going outside. At least the weather was nice.
The morning break was over, and Harry encountered few students as he tromped out the front doors, opened wide to let in the sunshine. He found a convenient spot in the sun on the front steps, and settled down to investigate his snack.
Dobby had performed a miracle in those few minutes, having provided Harry with three large roast beef sandwiches, an apple, and something that might have been a slice of chocolate cake before it had been squished. Harry tucked into the sandwiches like a starving man.
It was only after he had almost finished the second sandwich that he realized he was no longer alone on the steps. Turning his head, Harry saw little Reece sitting on a lower step, staring at him.
"Can I help you?" Harry said, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
Reece shook his head. "We were supposed to have flying class, but it got cancelled," he explained. "I'm just waiting until lunch."
"Why did class get cancelled?" Harry asked, handing over his last sandwich to the boy.
"The professor had a student fall off his broom this morning," Reece said. He opened the sandwich up and ate the bits of meat off the bread as he spoke. "Does that happen often? Falling from so high up?"
Recognizing the nervousness in Reece's voice, Harry shook his head. "Nah, not hardly ever. I've been playing Quidditch for years, and I've only fallen off my broom once. Maybe twice."
Reece tried to smile. "I'd rather be running," he said softly.
"It's a whole different thing," Harry agreed. "Running's fun too."
Folding the now empty slices of bread back together, Reece snuck a sideways glance at Harry. "How long have you been one?" he asked.
"A w--" Harry cut himself off and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but just in case, he decided to be very careful about what he said about werewolves. "I'm not, not really."
Reece frowned. "But at the station... that lady..."
"That was my friend," Harry said quickly. "I got into a fight with... one of them, in the summer, but I didn't change."
"Oh." Reece looked so downcast, Harry tried to figure out what to say to make him feel better.
"But I changed a bit," he said. "Richard, he's the, um, uncle, he said I could go back and be their vargamour if I wanted." Reece had shifted the title 'Ulfric' into 'Uncle' the previous day, hadn't he?
Reece's jaw dropped. "They want you to be the vargamour?" he squeaked. "Our uncle said he didn't want one unless he was real powerful. Are you like that?"
"Sort of," Harry said, wondering if he was digging himself a deeper hole. "That family, it's a little... different."
"That is so neat," Reece said, still wide-eyed.
"So, how about you?" Harry asked, firmly turning the conversation away from him. "How long have you been... you?"
"Oh, since I was five," Reece said matter-of-factly, not noticing as Harry almost choked on a piece of apple. "Someone was mad at my dad, who's also like me, and something happened. So I'm like this."
"Did the person who was mad at your father do it?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. How could anyone attack and infect a child like that?
"No, he made my dad do it," Reece said, looking out at the lake. "My dad doesn't like talking about it."
Now Harry was beginning to feel distinctly ill. Making a werewolf infect his own child?
"But it's okay," Reece said. "Everyone was nice and protected me. It happened when I was just a little kid." The almost happy expression on his face faded. "It's different here."
"Different how?" Harry asked. "Is anyone bothering you in the dorm?"
"No, no," Reece said hastily. "They're all nice. It's just..." He looked down at an ink stain on his finger. "The beds are too cold," he mumbled.
"Too cold?" Harry considered that. For a werewolf, who was probably used to sleeping near other werewolves, the single beds in the Hogwarts dorms would probably feel downright freezing. "Have you met Professor Flitwick yet?"
Reece nodded. "We had Charms this morning."
"So find out when his office hours are, and ask him if he can show you a heating charm," Harry suggested.
"You can do that?" Reece exclaimed.
"Of course you can," Harry said. "It's magic, you can do almost anything."
Reece jumped to his feet. "Thanks!" he said. "I'll go see when he's free!"
Harry didn't have time to say anything before the boy darted off. Amused, Harry wrapped up his apple core and the sandwich wrappings. Hopefully I didn't just convince that kid to try and set his bed on fire, he thought.
Pausing with the wrapping in his hands, Harry tried to get his head around what Reece had just told him. His Ulfric sounded like a good guy, but Harry wondered how Reece's father felt about infecting his son. Richard felt bad enough about infecting me; what if I had been his son?
Harry was drawn back to himself as Hedwig landed beside him in a flutter of white feathers. He straightened his back and held out a hand. "Come here, girl."
The owl hopped gracefully onto the offered hand, then held out a letter to Harry. He took it and, feeding scraps of roast beef to Hedwig with one hand, opened the letter, which could only be from Mrs. Weasley.
Harry,
I'm sorry I missed you at the train station on the first. I'm glad to hear that you had a good summer. You are of course invited to the Burrow for Christmas; Arthur would love to see you.
I am rather curious about your companion from the train station. You didn't say where you met her. I had hoped to have a chat with her, but she seemed rather in a hurry.
Write back when you get a chance, dear. I would love to hear how your trip to America went.
Molly.
Harry folded the letter back over with a sigh. "Hedwig, what am I going to do with all these Weasleys?" he asked.
The bird glared at him out of one eye, and tossed her head. Harry stroked her head, then let her fly away.
What was he going to do? Ron wasn't speaking to him, Ginny was... well, Harry wasn't sure what Ginny was doing, and Mrs. Weasley was prying for details on Anita. She'd been a lot more tactful than in her letter to Ginny the previous day, but the thinly disguised demand for information set Harry's teeth on edge.
"You there!" Filch shouted from somewhere inside the doors. "Get off those steps!"
Harry grabbed his bag and stormed back into the castle. Suddenly, the library wasn't looking so bad.
~*~
"You comfortable down there?" Ginny asked, bending over the table to peer at Harry sprawled on the ground by the stone wall.
"Yeah," Harry said shortly. "The library needs to buy some new chairs."
Ginny smiled slyly at him. "Those chairs are older than Dumbledore."
"All the more reason." Harry pressed his back flat on the stone floor. Spending most of the morning in the library, then heading back to the same chair after Charms and before dinner had cramped his back up something awful. Being ignored by Ron at dinner did nothing to help his foul mood, either.
"Suit yourself," Ginny said, sitting back up to read her potions book.
Harry levitated another book and opened the pages. So far, the animagus book hadn't been very helpful. Elsa's vampire books were more interesting, and Harry would much rather have been reading those, but Professor Flitwick had assigned the seventh years a foot-long composition on illumination spells. Not remembering anything about such spells meant Harry had to reread his texts before he could even think to start writing.
The fact that starting his homework early distracted him from having to think about Voldemort's horcruxes was only a side-effect.
Harry read until his eyes began to cross, then he finally laid the book down at his side and closed his eyes. The stone floor was cool under his back, solid and real. He wondered if he could just lay here forever.
If I never move, I don't have to do to Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow, and maybe Snape will kick me out of the class, Harry thought hopefully.
The commotion in the common room grew as more students returned from dinner. Sheltered from the room by a sofa and Ginny's chair, Harry didn't bother moving.
Crookshanks wandered by, stepping up onto Harry's chest and sniffing at a spot of gravy on his robes, before settling down on his chest. It made Harry strangely happy, that Hermione's cat didn't mind him being different.
"You always know what's going on, don't you?" Harry murmured, letting the cat bat gently at his quill.
"Leave off, Ron!" Hermione's voice sounded, not loud, but nearby. Harry froze. He'd left Hermione and Ron down at dinner. But of course they would come back up here. He just couldn't see a damned thing from where he was lying.
"Hermione, he's acting weird!"
"He's acting weird?" Hermione snapped. From the sounds of things, she dropped onto the nearby sofa. Another person sat as well. Probably Ron.
"You two should know..." Ginny started. Harry reached out a hand and hit her in the leg, just as Ron shushed her.
"Ever since he came back from St. Louis, with its weird necromancers and freaky vampire children, it's like he'd got some kind of stick up his damned arse!" Ron continued.
"Ronald Weasley, you be quiet!" Hermione said, sounding very angry. "He's your friend, you're supposed to talk to him about these things, not just start jumping to conclusions--"
"What other kind of conclusions am I going to jump to?" Ron protested. "Necromancers are one thing, it's just magic, but he said he'd made friends with one of those-- those abominations!"
Harry stared up at the stone ceiling, almost hidden in shadows. Something twisted in his chest at Ron's words. All of a sudden, he didn't care what Ron wanted anymore, or why he was really mad at Harry.
All that mattered was that Ron kept saying these things about Harry's mother. Some things just didn't have any excuse.
Pushing Crookshanks to the side, Harry sprang to his feet from behind the sofa. Hermione squealed when Harry popped into view; Ron leapt off the sofa and nearly backed into a table.
"Do you want to see a picture of one of these people, these vampires children that you think are so dangerous?" Harry asked, digging his fingers into the back of the sofa. His heart was beating so hard it hurt his chest. He was a fraction away from losing control, from leaping at Ron and hitting him until he bled. But that was something Harry would not ever let himself do.
"What were you doing down there?" Ron demanded, face red.
"Harry--" Hermione tried to say something, but she wasn't part of this right now.
Prying his hands off the cushions, Harry turned and walked very deliberately over to the stairs to the dorm. The conversations of the other Gryffindor continued around him; Ron must not have been talking as loud as Harry had thought. It was loud enough for me. Harry didn't know if he'd ever get that horrible, ugly tone in Ron's voice out of his head.
Not thinking about why he was doing this, Harry pushed open the doors to his dorm and headed to his trunk. The picture album lay under his socks, and he pulled it out carefully. Opening the pages to the picture of his mother as a seventh year, Harry carefully detached it from the page. He lifted the photo closer to his face.
"Sorry, mum," he whispered. The image of Lily frowned slightly, then her face relaxed back into a smile.
There was nothing else to do. Holding the photo carefully, Harry shoved the album back into his trunk. His hand caught on the edge of the latch as he pulled back, scratching him so deeply that his hand began to bleed.
The sight of the blood stopped him. He made a fist, squeezing the blood out, feeling the pain in his hand as the skin around the wound stretched.
His blood. Lily's blood. Damian's blood.
Harry got to his feet. He could do this.
Ron was waiting when he got back down to the common room. He opened his mouth as Harry approached, but Harry spoke first.
"This is one those dangerous people," he said, tossing the photo face-down onto the sofa cushions. "One of your evil abominations."
Harry didn't stop, just kept walking toward the portrait hole. He might have made the decision to let the secret of Lily's parentage out, but he didn't think he was strong enough to see the look of disgust on Ron's face.
It was never easy, losing your best friend.
...to be continued
Inevitable Forty-Nine: It's Always Darkest
by Mhalachai
~~~~~~~
"Harry!"
"What?" Harry asked blearily, trying to roll away from the person who was shaking him. "G'way."
"Did you drop Transfiguration?" Seamus's voice percolated through Harry's stupor. "Your class starts in five minutes, you'd better get moving."
Class. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he saw Seamus looking down at him, a smirk on the boy's face. "What time is it?" Harry asked, pushing himself up and fumbling around for his glasses.
"Like I said, five minutes until Transfiguration," Seamus said, going back to over to his own bed. "Neville wondered where you were and I told him I'd look for you up here after breakfast."
"Oh, fuck," Harry swore, leaping out of bed. He'd fallen asleep still wearing his robes, reading the animagus book Dumbledore had given him. "McGonagall's going to kill me."
"Depends on how fast you can run," Seamus said, laughing. Harry shoved the animagus book into his bag along with his other school stuff, and bolted.
The previous year, Harry and Ron had clocked the distances between Gryffindor tower and their classrooms. McGonagall's class hadn't been the farthest, but Harry had never been able to make it there in under five minutes. Hoping that he wouldn't cross Filch's path, Harry ran as fast as he could.
The corridors passed in a blur. Harry bounded up a staircase three steps at a time, neatly ducking around a pair of startled Hufflepuff girls, and turned down the corridor to McGonagall's classroom. He slowed as he approached the open door, then peeked inside.
McGonagall's back was to the door, as she was writing on the chalkboard. The rest of the class was already seated.
Trying to breathe softly, Harry padded into the room and slipped into the first empty seat, beside Padma Patil. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then shook her head.
"As I was saying, today's shortened lesson is a review of what we learned last year," McGonagall said as she turned around. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Harry. He tried to give her an innocent smile. "Here is a list of the transfigurations you need to accomplish in the next two hours. Begin."
There was a scramble as students headed to the side of the classroom to collect objects. While Padma went to assemble their objects, Harry pulled his textbook out of his bag, looking around the room. Ron was sitting with Hermione in the front row. The redhead glanced around and locked eyes with Harry.
Harry deliberately broke the eye contact first. He remembered what Seamus said, that it had been Neville who wondered where Harry was. Not Ron.
Padma sat back down and laid a series of objects they needed to transfigure on top of the desk, then pulled out her wand.
"Don't you need the textbook?" Harry asked, flipping the pages to the section on transfiguring metal into a living creature.
"No, I don't," Padma said scathingly. "I actually know what I'm doing."
Harry paused, then turned in his seat to look at her. She sounded angry, but why? Harry hadn't done anything to her. They had barely seen each other since the Yule Ball in fourth year. "McGonagall knows how bad I am at this," Harry said, guessing that her attitude might have something to do with class. "If anything, I'll make you look good."
Padma glared at him. "This isn't about class."
"Then what is it?" Harry asked, lowering his voice so he couldn't be heard under the din of incantations.
Padma pointed her wand at the iron nail on the desk, watching as it wriggled and turned effortlessly into a kitten. "You tell that friend of yours that if he ever makes my sister cry again, I'll--"
"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted. "What are you talking about?"
Staring at the tiny grey kitten washing its paw with a pink tongue, Padma said, "I know Parvati gossips, but that's no excuse for Ron to scream at her over breakfast."
"Why would he do something like that?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"Don't you know?"
"Ron and I haven't been, you know, talking," Harry said, stroking the kitten's head. "I wasn't at breakfast. But I'll talk to him."
"Good." Padma waited until Harry moved his hand, then turned the kitten back into an iron nail. She gave Harry a mildly conciliatory look. "Do you want to alternate, or work on the ones I've finished?"
"I'll go after you," Harry said with a tiny smile. "You can show me how it's done."
For some reason, that made Padma blush.
~*~
"Mr. Potter, please stay behind after class," Professor McGonagall's voice rose above the noise of students cleaning up.
"Brilliant," Harry muttered. Padma cast him a sympathetic glance as she left the room.
Draco Malfoy snorted as he walked past with Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin. Harry was saved from hexing Draco as McGonagall stepped up to his desk, a stern expression on her face. "Mr. Potter, if you will."
Obediently, Harry collected his books into his bag. He saw Ron and Hermione approaching, and concentrated on capping his ink bottle until his friends were gone.
He trailed along after McGonagall to the front of the room. She ushered him into a chair beside her desk, and swept her black robes neatly around her as she sat in her own chair.
Deciding to take the offensive, Harry said, "I'm sorry about being late to class, ma'am."
McGonagall fixed him with a glare. "I heard about yesterday's tardiness to Professor Hagrid's class, Mr. Potter. If this keeps up, I'll dock points from Gryffindor myself."
"Yes ma'am."
"Although you weren't late," she conceded. "But cutting it that fine will not be tolerated."
Harry wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. If she wasn't going to dress him down over being late, why had she kept him behind?
"Now, Mr. Potter, I am aware that you have Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow morning," McGonagall continued. "I would like Gryffindor to have a chance at the House Cup this year."
So this was about Snape. Harry took a steadying breath. "Then maybe I should change my class schedule," he said evenly.
"Don't be ridiculous, Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.
"I'm not being ridiculous!" Harry retorted. "Snape doesn't like me, no matter what I do!"
"Professor Snape, Potter," McGonagall corrected. "And Professor Snape usually has reason to deduct points from you, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry fixed his eyes on a birdcage on the far side of the classroom. He couldn't believe he had been called onto the mat to be told to behave himself. How old do they think I am? he thought indignantly.
"Potter," McGonagall said, drawing his attention back to her.
"I won't deliberately antagonize Professor Snape, ma'am," Harry said, as blankly as he could.
A wave of weariness passed over McGonagall's face, making Harry frown. He always forgot how old she was. She'd be Hagrid's age, and he was pushing
eighty. McGonagall always looked so formidable.
"You really are different from your father," McGonagall said, surprising Harry.
"How so?" he asked, forgetting his irritation at her, and leaning forward slightly.
She sat up straighter, as if she'd said too much. "Your father never would have apologized for being late to class, for starters," she said. "Now, we have a few minutes. Let's talk about Quidditch."
Harry bit down his protest. After six years, he knew that he'd never be able to get Professor McGonagall to talk about something she didn't want, and Harry suspected his similarities and differences with his father fell into that category.
"I was thinking," Harry said, "If we have the house tryouts next weekend, then we'll have enough time for everyone to practice..."
~*~
After fighting his way around a horde of first-year Ravenclaws all trying to eagerly enter McGonagall's class at once, Harry clattered down staircase after staircase, until he was outside of the portrait entrance to the kitchens. He reached up and tickled the painted pear, which promptly turned into a handle.
Turning the handle, Harry climbed into the kitchens, where over a hundred busy house elves hurried around, arranging plates on tables. A strangely clad house elf detached itself from the chaos and dashed over to Harry.
"It is Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed, his bulging green eyes wet with happy tears. Harry bent over to try and shush the ecstatic house elf, before he interrupted everyone else.
"Dobby, I need a favor," Harry said softly, going down on one knee.
Dobby whipped out an orange sock that looked suspiciously like the one Harry had given him the previous year for Christmas, some of Uncle Vernon's most foul hand-me-downs, and wiped his cheeks. "Harry Potter asks Dobby a favor!"
Harry winced. The last thing he needed was for Dobby to attract--
An old house elf, ancient and ugly, shuffled closer. "The master interrupts the work, nasty master boy," Kreacher muttered loudly under his breath.
Harry was not thrilled to see Kreacher, whose actions had led directly to Sirius's death. "Kreacher," he said sharply. The house elf's head bobbed from side to side, not looking up. "Kreacher, go stand over there for ten minutes," Harry ordered, pointing at the far side of the kitchen. He'd learned the hard way to be very specific with the orders he gave Kreacher.
Muttering the whole time, Kreacher shuffled away.
Harry turned back to Dobby, who was looking delighted at Kreacher's dismissal. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?"
"I'd like a snack," Harry said, then hastily amended, "A small one. I slept in."
Before Harry finished his sentence, Dobby had leapt away, returning in a few minutes with a paper-wrapped package. Harry shoved it into his bag, hoping nothing would leak.
"Thanks," Harry said. His voice wasn't loud, but he knew that all the house elves were listening in. "I'm sure it will be delicious."
"Harry Potter can come back any time!" Dobby said, escorting Harry to the door. The portrait closed on the kitchen bustle, and Harry was left alone in the silent corridor.
He let out a sigh, shaking off the anger at seeing Kreacher, then headed back for the stairs. His next class was Charms, just before dinner. If he played his cards right, he might be able to avoid seeing anyone until class.
Not anyone, just Ron, he clarified. What was wrong with Ron? Freaking out on Harry was one thing, even if it was over such a stupid thing, but yelling at Parvati in front of everyone at breakfast? It didn't make any sense.
Harry toyed with the idea of going up to the library, where he was sure not to encounter Ron, but he knew that if he tried to eat his snack in there, Madame Pince would turn him into a watering can. The Gryffindor common room was out, which left going outside. At least the weather was nice.
The morning break was over, and Harry encountered few students as he tromped out the front doors, opened wide to let in the sunshine. He found a convenient spot in the sun on the front steps, and settled down to investigate his snack.
Dobby had performed a miracle in those few minutes, having provided Harry with three large roast beef sandwiches, an apple, and something that might have been a slice of chocolate cake before it had been squished. Harry tucked into the sandwiches like a starving man.
It was only after he had almost finished the second sandwich that he realized he was no longer alone on the steps. Turning his head, Harry saw little Reece sitting on a lower step, staring at him.
"Can I help you?" Harry said, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
Reece shook his head. "We were supposed to have flying class, but it got cancelled," he explained. "I'm just waiting until lunch."
"Why did class get cancelled?" Harry asked, handing over his last sandwich to the boy.
"The professor had a student fall off his broom this morning," Reece said. He opened the sandwich up and ate the bits of meat off the bread as he spoke. "Does that happen often? Falling from so high up?"
Recognizing the nervousness in Reece's voice, Harry shook his head. "Nah, not hardly ever. I've been playing Quidditch for years, and I've only fallen off my broom once. Maybe twice."
Reece tried to smile. "I'd rather be running," he said softly.
"It's a whole different thing," Harry agreed. "Running's fun too."
Folding the now empty slices of bread back together, Reece snuck a sideways glance at Harry. "How long have you been one?" he asked.
"A w--" Harry cut himself off and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but just in case, he decided to be very careful about what he said about werewolves. "I'm not, not really."
Reece frowned. "But at the station... that lady..."
"That was my friend," Harry said quickly. "I got into a fight with... one of them, in the summer, but I didn't change."
"Oh." Reece looked so downcast, Harry tried to figure out what to say to make him feel better.
"But I changed a bit," he said. "Richard, he's the, um, uncle, he said I could go back and be their vargamour if I wanted." Reece had shifted the title 'Ulfric' into 'Uncle' the previous day, hadn't he?
Reece's jaw dropped. "They want you to be the vargamour?" he squeaked. "Our uncle said he didn't want one unless he was real powerful. Are you like that?"
"Sort of," Harry said, wondering if he was digging himself a deeper hole. "That family, it's a little... different."
"That is so neat," Reece said, still wide-eyed.
"So, how about you?" Harry asked, firmly turning the conversation away from him. "How long have you been... you?"
"Oh, since I was five," Reece said matter-of-factly, not noticing as Harry almost choked on a piece of apple. "Someone was mad at my dad, who's also like me, and something happened. So I'm like this."
"Did the person who was mad at your father do it?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. How could anyone attack and infect a child like that?
"No, he made my dad do it," Reece said, looking out at the lake. "My dad doesn't like talking about it."
Now Harry was beginning to feel distinctly ill. Making a werewolf infect his own child?
"But it's okay," Reece said. "Everyone was nice and protected me. It happened when I was just a little kid." The almost happy expression on his face faded. "It's different here."
"Different how?" Harry asked. "Is anyone bothering you in the dorm?"
"No, no," Reece said hastily. "They're all nice. It's just..." He looked down at an ink stain on his finger. "The beds are too cold," he mumbled.
"Too cold?" Harry considered that. For a werewolf, who was probably used to sleeping near other werewolves, the single beds in the Hogwarts dorms would probably feel downright freezing. "Have you met Professor Flitwick yet?"
Reece nodded. "We had Charms this morning."
"So find out when his office hours are, and ask him if he can show you a heating charm," Harry suggested.
"You can do that?" Reece exclaimed.
"Of course you can," Harry said. "It's magic, you can do almost anything."
Reece jumped to his feet. "Thanks!" he said. "I'll go see when he's free!"
Harry didn't have time to say anything before the boy darted off. Amused, Harry wrapped up his apple core and the sandwich wrappings. Hopefully I didn't just convince that kid to try and set his bed on fire, he thought.
Pausing with the wrapping in his hands, Harry tried to get his head around what Reece had just told him. His Ulfric sounded like a good guy, but Harry wondered how Reece's father felt about infecting his son. Richard felt bad enough about infecting me; what if I had been his son?
Harry was drawn back to himself as Hedwig landed beside him in a flutter of white feathers. He straightened his back and held out a hand. "Come here, girl."
The owl hopped gracefully onto the offered hand, then held out a letter to Harry. He took it and, feeding scraps of roast beef to Hedwig with one hand, opened the letter, which could only be from Mrs. Weasley.
Harry,
I'm sorry I missed you at the train station on the first. I'm glad to hear that you had a good summer. You are of course invited to the Burrow for Christmas; Arthur would love to see you.
I am rather curious about your companion from the train station. You didn't say where you met her. I had hoped to have a chat with her, but she seemed rather in a hurry.
Write back when you get a chance, dear. I would love to hear how your trip to America went.
Molly.
Harry folded the letter back over with a sigh. "Hedwig, what am I going to do with all these Weasleys?" he asked.
The bird glared at him out of one eye, and tossed her head. Harry stroked her head, then let her fly away.
What was he going to do? Ron wasn't speaking to him, Ginny was... well, Harry wasn't sure what Ginny was doing, and Mrs. Weasley was prying for details on Anita. She'd been a lot more tactful than in her letter to Ginny the previous day, but the thinly disguised demand for information set Harry's teeth on edge.
"You there!" Filch shouted from somewhere inside the doors. "Get off those steps!"
Harry grabbed his bag and stormed back into the castle. Suddenly, the library wasn't looking so bad.
~*~
"You comfortable down there?" Ginny asked, bending over the table to peer at Harry sprawled on the ground by the stone wall.
"Yeah," Harry said shortly. "The library needs to buy some new chairs."
Ginny smiled slyly at him. "Those chairs are older than Dumbledore."
"All the more reason." Harry pressed his back flat on the stone floor. Spending most of the morning in the library, then heading back to the same chair after Charms and before dinner had cramped his back up something awful. Being ignored by Ron at dinner did nothing to help his foul mood, either.
"Suit yourself," Ginny said, sitting back up to read her potions book.
Harry levitated another book and opened the pages. So far, the animagus book hadn't been very helpful. Elsa's vampire books were more interesting, and Harry would much rather have been reading those, but Professor Flitwick had assigned the seventh years a foot-long composition on illumination spells. Not remembering anything about such spells meant Harry had to reread his texts before he could even think to start writing.
The fact that starting his homework early distracted him from having to think about Voldemort's horcruxes was only a side-effect.
Harry read until his eyes began to cross, then he finally laid the book down at his side and closed his eyes. The stone floor was cool under his back, solid and real. He wondered if he could just lay here forever.
If I never move, I don't have to do to Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow, and maybe Snape will kick me out of the class, Harry thought hopefully.
The commotion in the common room grew as more students returned from dinner. Sheltered from the room by a sofa and Ginny's chair, Harry didn't bother moving.
Crookshanks wandered by, stepping up onto Harry's chest and sniffing at a spot of gravy on his robes, before settling down on his chest. It made Harry strangely happy, that Hermione's cat didn't mind him being different.
"You always know what's going on, don't you?" Harry murmured, letting the cat bat gently at his quill.
"Leave off, Ron!" Hermione's voice sounded, not loud, but nearby. Harry froze. He'd left Hermione and Ron down at dinner. But of course they would come back up here. He just couldn't see a damned thing from where he was lying.
"Hermione, he's acting weird!"
"He's acting weird?" Hermione snapped. From the sounds of things, she dropped onto the nearby sofa. Another person sat as well. Probably Ron.
"You two should know..." Ginny started. Harry reached out a hand and hit her in the leg, just as Ron shushed her.
"Ever since he came back from St. Louis, with its weird necromancers and freaky vampire children, it's like he'd got some kind of stick up his damned arse!" Ron continued.
"Ronald Weasley, you be quiet!" Hermione said, sounding very angry. "He's your friend, you're supposed to talk to him about these things, not just start jumping to conclusions--"
"What other kind of conclusions am I going to jump to?" Ron protested. "Necromancers are one thing, it's just magic, but he said he'd made friends with one of those-- those abominations!"
Harry stared up at the stone ceiling, almost hidden in shadows. Something twisted in his chest at Ron's words. All of a sudden, he didn't care what Ron wanted anymore, or why he was really mad at Harry.
All that mattered was that Ron kept saying these things about Harry's mother. Some things just didn't have any excuse.
Pushing Crookshanks to the side, Harry sprang to his feet from behind the sofa. Hermione squealed when Harry popped into view; Ron leapt off the sofa and nearly backed into a table.
"Do you want to see a picture of one of these people, these vampires children that you think are so dangerous?" Harry asked, digging his fingers into the back of the sofa. His heart was beating so hard it hurt his chest. He was a fraction away from losing control, from leaping at Ron and hitting him until he bled. But that was something Harry would not ever let himself do.
"What were you doing down there?" Ron demanded, face red.
"Harry--" Hermione tried to say something, but she wasn't part of this right now.
Prying his hands off the cushions, Harry turned and walked very deliberately over to the stairs to the dorm. The conversations of the other Gryffindor continued around him; Ron must not have been talking as loud as Harry had thought. It was loud enough for me. Harry didn't know if he'd ever get that horrible, ugly tone in Ron's voice out of his head.
Not thinking about why he was doing this, Harry pushed open the doors to his dorm and headed to his trunk. The picture album lay under his socks, and he pulled it out carefully. Opening the pages to the picture of his mother as a seventh year, Harry carefully detached it from the page. He lifted the photo closer to his face.
"Sorry, mum," he whispered. The image of Lily frowned slightly, then her face relaxed back into a smile.
There was nothing else to do. Holding the photo carefully, Harry shoved the album back into his trunk. His hand caught on the edge of the latch as he pulled back, scratching him so deeply that his hand began to bleed.
The sight of the blood stopped him. He made a fist, squeezing the blood out, feeling the pain in his hand as the skin around the wound stretched.
His blood. Lily's blood. Damian's blood.
Harry got to his feet. He could do this.
Ron was waiting when he got back down to the common room. He opened his mouth as Harry approached, but Harry spoke first.
"This is one those dangerous people," he said, tossing the photo face-down onto the sofa cushions. "One of your evil abominations."
Harry didn't stop, just kept walking toward the portrait hole. He might have made the decision to let the secret of Lily's parentage out, but he didn't think he was strong enough to see the look of disgust on Ron's face.
It was never easy, losing your best friend.
...to be continued