Chapter Text
In the days leading up to the start of classes, Harry noticed the Slytherin common room practically buzzed with gossip.
On Monday morning, Harry strained his ears to try and hear what people were saying. His lips twitched when he heard a good majority were talking about what had transpired between him and Basil Burke.
Harry felt satisfied with the eyes that followed him through the room, chin tilted up and gaze trained forward. He had an image to build, and although Harry's little quarrel with Basil hadn't been planned, it certainly helped set the stage for him.
I can work with this, Harry thought.
Draco, a bit more uncomfortable under the scrutiny, trailed twitchily behind Harry. "You shouldn't have messed with Basil," the blonde whispered.
"Your faith in me is overwhelming, Draco." Harry shot Draco a bored look over his shoulder. "Truly."
"That's not what I meant." Draco ran a hand through his gelled hair, frustrated. "You've painted a target on your back and, by extension, on mine."
Awe. Poor little Malfoy, worried for his safety.
"You have nothing to fear." Harry slowed his pace, allowing Draco to fall into step next to him. Hesitantly, he placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder, ignoring the rush of nervous energy that filled him at the contact. "Trust me."
Harry may not have known as many spells as the upperclassmen, but he knew magic better. He understood its raw power and knew how to bend it to his will with enough tact and effort. He could get his point across with minimal damage if he was strategic. It was a balancing act, where he needed to make a statement loud enough to boost his rank in the hierarchy but not so loud that it drew unwanted attention. Following through with his plans would become much more difficult if he had the teachers sniffing around him.
Harry was a shrike of snakes. One of these serpents was not like the others, but if he alerted the mother snake, he'd be tossed from the nest.
On the topic of "mother snake…."
"Professor Snape is our Head of House, right?" Harry asked Draco as they stepped out of the common room and into the hall.
Draco's face lit up at the mention of the greasy-haired professor. "Yes, and he's absolutely brilliant! One of the youngest potions masters on record."
Harry hummed. "And your relation to him?"
Draco opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "My godfather," he finally admitted, before rushing to add, "but him being my family has nothing to do with–"
"It has everything to do with your perception of him," Harry interrupted with a loose smirk. "Facts will remain, but our affections undoubtedly sway our perceptions."
Walking through the long corridors of Hogwarts, Harry noted that it was still too early for most students to be up. Of those few that were wandering about, he saw a distinct lack of red robes. Blue and green mixed most prevalently with an occasional spot of yellow, but there was not a single lion in sight.
Harry needed to learn how to garner support from people of all walks and backgrounds to get to where he wanted to be in this life. He had a basic idea of what persuasions might work on all houses but one.
"I'll draw my own conclusions about Professor Snape soon enough," Harry dismissed the topic. "In the meantime, what can you tell me of Gryffindor?"
Similar to how they had when speaking of the Ministry, Draco's features pinched with disdain. "There's not much to say other than they're a brash sort. 'They're unrefined fools at the best of times,' as Father says."
"I'm not asking for your father's opinion, Draco," Harry scolded, pinning the blonde with a sharp look. "I'm asking for yours."
Undoubtedly, Lucius Malfoy had a hold on his son that promoted a toxic level of dependency. Although Harry liked what little he'd seen of Lucius so far, no human was faultless.
The current head of the Malfoy family had already made several critical mistakes in his life. His ability to claw himself out of the ashes of the last wizarding war was commendable, but that he was so close to losing it all made Harry… cautious.
The Malfoys were not known for having a subtle nature, but it was critical that Draco learned when to flaunt and when to fold. If the boy continued to hold so tightly to his father's coattails, Harry feared what might happen when Lucius inevitably slipped up again.
Draco would be dragged down with him. Harry frowned.
Opening the doors to the great hall, Harry's nose was assaulted by the varying scents of cooked meat, eggs, fruit, and tea. It made his stomach clench. He'd have given his left kidney for a crust of bread many times in his life, and now he had access to more than he could ever eat.
The two boys took a seat at their table, continuing their conversation as Draco piled his plate high and Harry started off with a triangle of buttered toast.
"So, to repeat my question," Harry spoke after swallowing his first bite, politely dusting his fingers off over his plate. "What is your opinion on Gryffindor, outside of your father's prejudice? What experiences have you personally had?"
Draco's chewing slowed, brows knit in contemplation. He glanced between his plate and Harry's patient gaze a few times before finally answering. "As I said before, they're definitely a brash sort. They often throw caution to the wind with matters that require a more delicate touch, but they are passionate and driven. In that sense, I guess they're similar to Slytherin: once they have a goal, they'll bend backward to achieve it."
"So Slytherins without tact," Harry smirked around the edge of his water goblet. After hearing Draco's opinions, he felt this was the perfect opportunity for a lesson. "Thank you for your honesty, Draco. We must never undervalue the usefulness of others. Sometimes, even your thought-to-be enemy can become your greatest asset, whether they are aware of it or not."
"Excuse me?"
Harry looked up at the soft voice that called to him. After his experience with Basil the previous evening, he couldn't help the glare of warning he pinned their new company with.
The boy was young, probably in his first or second year, with messy brown hair, yellow-accented robes, and doe-eyes that screamed of anxiety.
After several long seconds of complete silence, Harry grew impatient. "Yes?" He urged.
The boy fumbled for a minute, struggling to find something in the confines of his crumpled robes. He looked as though he'd just walked out of a fight, with a flush high on his pudgy cheeks and an awkwardness to his movements that suggested he was in pain. Magic from the altercation still clung to the boy's freckled skin. It was spiced, similar to pepper, and made Harry's nose itch.
Finally, after what felt like twenty minutes of scrambling about, the boy pulled a piece of folded parchment out of his robes. His hands shook as he handed it out to Harry. "I was asked to give this to you."
Harry glanced down at the offered letter, then at the Hufflepuff. "By whom?"
The boy's eyes widened as if he hadn't expected Harry to ask questions. He looked everywhere but in Harry's eyes, fearful. "I'm not supposed to–"
Harry nodded his understanding, not keen on tormenting this child more than he already had been. Besides, he had a pretty good idea of which pathetic coward would send someone else to deliver his mail, rather than face Harry himself.
"Set it down and have a seat," Harry ordered, gesturing to the space beside him.
The boy nearly tripped to comply, though he turned ghastly pale in the process.
"What's your name?" Harry asked. He ignored the confused look he was receiving from Draco, placing all of his attention on their meek company.
"Justin," the boy said. "Justin Finch-Fletchley."
Draco stiffened in his seat, and Harry could guess it was because Justin's last name was not of wizard origin. Such prejudice wouldn't do.
Although Harry wanted to see things changed so Pureblooded families, and all who wished, were free to practice whatever traditions and magic they so chose, he wouldn't stand to see wizards persecuted for the crime of their blood. Talent and blood were rarely correlated, in Harry's experience. Some of the most well-bred children in the muggle school Harry had attended were dumber than a box of rocks. Sure, they were pretty to look at, but they were still talentless nonetheless.
"Is there a problem, Draco?" Harry asked, daring the blonde with his eyes to say what was going through that thick skull. He was satisfied when Draco had enough sense to shake his head and continue his meal.
"Does Basil Burke have something to do with this?" Harry turned his attention back to Justin, shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs past his lips.
The jump of Justin's pulse and the jerky motions of his magic were answering enough.
"That's a yes, then." Harry couldn't help it when a bitter laugh escaped him.
"Please," Justin chanced a glance up at Harry through his lashes. "Basil is dangerous. We'll both be in trouble if you don't do what he asks."
Harry could think of many descriptors for Basil: cocky, woefully ignorant, a preener. 'Dangerous,' however, was not a word Harry would use. He'd seen many others like Basil in the past. They typically came from families with a high social standing and thought themselves untouchable because of their last names. But they all had one main thing in common; they were easy to break.
Cowardly kings upon crumbling thrones.
"Tell me, Justin," Harry ignored Justin's concerns in favor of his own curiosity. "Are you as loyal as your house would suggest?"
"I– What?" The question had completely thrown the Hufflepuff off.
Harry — now finished with his meal — wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin before setting it neatly on his plate. "I can help you with your Basil problem, but what can you do for me?"
Harry waited, giving Justin plenty of time to organize his thoughts. This was a good sign; if the boy had been too quick to make an offer, Harry wouldn't have trusted the weight of his promise. Only two kinds of people rushed into such agreements: dimwits and traitors. Harry had no tolerance for either.
After about five minutes, give or take, Justin finally spoke. "I wasn't raised in the wizard world, so I don't know much–" he trailed. "But, I'm a fast learner, and you could say I'm good with secrets."
"So what exactly are you offering me?" Harry asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.
"Information," Justin replied without skipping a beat. "My house is full of gossips. I can share everything I overhear, just…" his voice quieted until it was little more than a whisper. "Please get rid of Basil?"
Harry said nothing for a time, just sat silently with a pensive look as he processed Justin's oh-so-tempting offer. The boy was a Hufflepuff, and that house was full of social butterflies who had their little wings dipped into all of the school's juiciest drama. Although young and naive, Justin had the potential to be a marvelous fly on the wall.
Finally, mind made up, Harry nodded his understanding and turned his attention to Draco. The blonde was too lost in his conversation with Crabbe to notice the heavy gaze that had settled on him.
Harry flicked the edge of his goblet, causing it to let out a sharp ring that garnered both Draco's and Crabbe's attention. "What do you think, Draco?"
A light blush dusted Draco's cheeks when he realized he had missed something important. "About what?" He mumbled.
"I was considering enlisting Justin here to aid us," Harry said.
Draco scoffed. "What can he do that we can't?"
There was that ugly pride again. The kind that was poison.
Harry did his best to keep his face and magic calm, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He tapped his finger against the table's surface, trying to think of the best way to approach the situation. He certainly didn't want to push Draco away, but this sort of behavior could not last.
Harry cleared his throat, threading his fingers together to ground himself. Harry's voice was deathly calm, like the ocean before a storm, when he finally spoke. "We all have our strengths and weaknesses. I believe Justin has the potential to be an asset to us if given the opportunity."
"He is small, light on his feet, and unlike some of us, he does not hold a high standing in the wizarding world." Harry glanced pointedly at the Malfoy heir ring on Draco's finger. "He would be capable of moving much more discreetly about the castle, as he is less likely to have eyes following him wherever he goes. If you combine this with the fact that he is in the most gossip-heavy house at Hogwarts…."
"A spy?" Draco's eyes widened with the realization. He appeared scandalized as he leaned in and hissed lowly under his breath. "You want to enlist a Hufflepuff as a spy?"
"How can we be sure that the little rat won't go running around sharing our secrets too?" Crabbe spat out the question, even though Harry had not once addressed him or asked for input.
Harry resisted the urge to sigh and lay his head down on the table. Rome wasn't built in a day, but his patience could certainly crumble in one.
"Obviously I won't trust him implicitly," Harry said. "Trust has to be earned. However, while we are watching Basil, I have no doubts that Justin will keep our little deal a secret, right?"
Harry turned and regarded Justin with a look that dared the boy to make an enemy out of him. Although he often gave people more chances than they deserved, he could not stand disloyalty. That was a one-time offense that people never made again in Harry's presence.
"I won't tell anyone!" Justin shook his head back and forth rapidly, eyes comically wide. "I swear it, Harry."
Draco hissed at the casual use of Harry's first name – a social faux pa in pureblood society – but didn't say anything. It was good to know that the blonde was capable of learning quickly. It meant tweaking some of his misconceptions would be easier.
"M-may I call you Harry?" Justin stuttered, having clearly caught on to Draco's distaste. He looked at Harry as if he held the very stars in the sky, his savior from all the nasty bullies at school.
"If that pleases you," Harry nodded. When he moved to get up, Draco and Crabbe mirrored the action.
Justin looked frantic as Harry prepared to leave. "Where are you going? What am I supposed to do, exactly? What if Basil finds me and you aren't there?" The Hufflepuff rambled, face going pale.
Now standing, Harry stretched his spine until it gave a satisfying 'pop,' then turned his bored gaze back on Justin. "Now," he enunciated, "we hold up our ends of the bargain. Burke will come looking for me eventually, but I will not go to him unless he does something stupid. Crabbe will tell him you are off limits; that should be enough for now."
"In the meantime, you will use those ears of yours to start collecting all of the information you can on the students at this school. I want to know who stands out – for any reason – and if my name comes out of anyone's mouth, I want to know what is being said."
"I'll what?!" Crabbe squeaked.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Trust is earned, Crabbe. Remember? I care little about your last name. I want to see what you can offer me."
"What about Draco?!" Crabbe yelped when said blonde elbowed him in the ribs.
Harry didn't dignify that question with a response. It wasn't Draco Harry was worried about. Whenever the blonde looked at him, it was with pure reverence. Harry didn't know if this was due to his standing as the "Boy Who Lived" or because Draco was drawn to his magic. In any case, Harry could read Draco's aura, and it had given him no reason to believe the blonde had ill intentions.
Crabbe, on the other hand, possessed a very shifty sort of energy. It was the kind that showed he would be willing to hop fences the second he was cowed into doing so. Harry could handle the damage control that would come after, but he'd rather avoid the situation altogether. If he placed a target on Crabbe's back by using the boy as a glorified messenger for a while, then Crabbe would make enough enemies that he would need the protection Harry could offer him. Not to mention that taking a small part in everything Harry did would also incriminate Crabbe, making him less inclined to open his mouth.
"Justin is not to be touched," Harry reiterated firmly. "I would locate Burke quickly and relay this message if you wish to make it to your first class on time, Crabbe."
With the warning left to settle in the air, Harry quickly departed the Great Hall, leaving behind a grateful Justin, a smug Draco, and a terrified Crabbe.
—-----------------
Harry's first class of the day had been Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. He supposed it had gone well enough, but seeing as it was only their first lesson, they had yet to breach any of the subjects he was interested in.
Harry had made sure to struggle the first time he "tried" to turn the match he'd been given into a needle. He could tell Professor McGonagall already gave him wary looks, and it wouldn't do to have people too suspicious of him. That would only make things more difficult in the long run.
After Transfiguration had been Charms, where they had been taught something Harry had known how to do for years. Levitating objects with will alone had come easy to him, but he had to admit using a verbal spell, and a wand did make it fractionally easier. He'd gotten ample praise from Flitwick and a sharp glare from a bushy-haired Gryffindor who had been trying to show off all day.
Harry had been most pleased when that same girl received a tongue-lashing from Professor Snape in Potions for her shamelessness. That was where Harry had learned her name was Hermione Granger, a muggleborn witch who was all too desperate to prove herself. Gryffindor suited her well, but if not for her vaunting, she had all the makings of a Ravenclaw.
To be honest, potions had been Harry's favorite subject thus far. Despite the odd looks he received from Professor Snape – something he would need to investigate more later – he had actually learned things that his textbooks had failed to mention. He concluded that his Head of House was, indeed, a brilliant teacher, even if his poor attitude and lack of enthusiasm left much to be desired.
To say Harry had been thoroughly bored to death by the time he walked out of his fourth class of the day was an understatement. History of Magic with Professor Binns had been the most torturous lesson thus far, closely behind Charms. At least in Charms, he had been able to actually use magic, and at least Professor Flitwick didn't sound like a ruddy old vacuum cleaner when he spoke. On the contrary, the part-goblin had been a bit too excitable for Harry's liking.
Draco walked at Harry's side on their way to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He bowed his head to take in the sour look Harry was trying to hide beneath his fringe. "You look like you just ate a rotten-flavored Burtie Botts bean."
Harry glared at the blonde. "I am fine."
“You are bored,” Draco snickered. "What did you expect? That we'd be learning how to fight lords of magic by next Tuesday, then take over the wizarding world by Friday?"
"Of course not!" Harry scoffed indignantly. "I knew we would be starting with the basics; I just hoped our professors would make it more interesting. I would've strangled Professor Binns with my bare hands by the end of that lesson if he wasn't already dead. That, at least, might've spared us the torture of spending the entire year losing brain cells. Some of us don't have many left, as it is" Harry glanced pointedly at a redheaded boy who walked a few meters ahead of them.
On more than one occasion, Ronald Weasley had already proven himself to be a blubbering idiot with nary a conscious thought. Half the time, he was helplessly lost trying to keep up with their lessons. He was squabbling with his Slytherin peers when he wasn't scrabbling anxiously through his textbook.
The Slytherins constantly giggled at his plight, often antagonizing Ronald into turning around in his seat. His cheeks matched his hair whenever he fired some uninspired attempt at an insult. These outbursts usually ended with him embarrassing himself even more, and points were deducted from Gryffindor.
Harry had wrongfully thought Ronald would learn to compose himself after thirty points were deducted from his house, and on the first day of classes, no less. It was unfortunate for Gryffindor House that Weasley made it far too easy for others to exploit his hotheaded nature. Slytherins were opportunistic and would take any and every chance they could to sabotage others out of winning the House Cup at the end of the year.
"My family has been in a blood feud with his family for years." Draco's upper lip was curled with disgust. "They can barely support the kids they keep popping out, and to make matters worse, each Weasley born is more dimwitted than the last. I don't think we can expect great things from Ronald."
Harry couldn't help but smirk at the quip. He'd heard of the Weasley family, and what Draco had said lined up with his own thoughts. Perhaps, given a few years, Ronald might show more promise. As it was, Harry was not inclined to get involved with the boy whatsoever.
The two Slytherin boys walked into the DADA classroom, and the first thing Harry noticed was the pressure. He shivered under its familiar weight, suddenly reminded of who the professor for this class was.
Harry's gaze wandered the room as he sat down, trying to see if anyone else was as affected by Professor Cain's strong presence as he was. None of the other students batted an eyelash; however, they talked much quieter amongst themselves than they had in other classes. Their subconscious minds recognized Professor Cain as a powerful wizard, even if their conscious minds could not.
The man in question sat at the front of the room, writing something on a piece of parchment. He had yet to even look up from his work, let alone address them. The neat waves of his dark hair fell over his eyes, obscuring his face from Harry's view. His fingers were wrapped around an ornate quill of green and silver. Sharp knuckles bulged as they moved in a loopy scrawl, but a strong variant of a disillusionment charm had been cast on the parchment. It prevented Harry from seeing anything other than a blur of black ink, even when he enhanced his vision with magic.
Who was Sephtis Cain?
Harry had tried researching the man, among other things, during his few free days before classes started. Before the age of thirty, anything about Professor Cain's life had been stricken from public record, and even then, he was only spoken about for his amazing feats of magic. Nobody knew which family he hailed from nor which school he had attended. There was not a single personal detail about the man other than that he'd lived in Britain for most of his life.
From what Harry had seen while researching magical families and those within them, this lack of information wasn't normal, especially for someone who had reportedly accomplished so much. From slaying brutal beasts to inventing an innovative treatment for dragon pox, Professor Cain had certainly left his mark on their world. And yet, he was one of the littlest known individuals Harry had met thus far. He knew more about Granger's life and family, for Merlin's sake.
When the clock on the wall struck the new hour, Professor Cain stopped writing, neatly folded his parchment, set his quill back in its well, and finally regarded the class with a pleasant smile.
"Good afternoon," Professor Cain greeted them. As he spoke, a piece of chalk began writing on the board behind him. "Although Professor Dumbledore has already introduced me, I believe it is only proper to do so personally."
The chalk continued to scribble faster than Harry's eyes could track, but it wasn't as if he was really trying to. Like his peers, his attention was set firmly on the man who dominated the room.
"My name is Sephtis Cain. You may address me as Professor Cain, and whilst you are in my class, I expect all of you to speak only when called upon. I will not stand for flaunting." Professor Cain glanced at Hermione. "Ignorance." His gaze then tracked over Crabbe, Goyle, and Weasley. "Or whatever other displays of idiocy your feeble minds may produce. As it stands, I maintain a one-strike policy. Does anyone care to elaborate on what this means?"
Harry, recognizing a trap when he saw one, kept his hand in his lap, as did the rest of Slytherin House. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger was not as bright as she thought. Her hand shot straight in the air, her wirey body squirming in her seat as she struggled to outshine her classmates.
"Thank you, Miss Granger, for your demonstration."
For a moment, Hermione was glowing. She opened her mouth, assuming this was her sign to "demonstrate" her intelligence again. Before she could utter a word, however, Professor Cain interrupted.
"You may collect your bags and leave my class."
Hermione's jaw couldn't have dropped lower. Harry remembered stories kids at the orphanage would regale about how your face would freeze if it was silly enough. He almost thought such a thing had happened to Granger. It took her several, long seconds before she closed her mouth again, and only a second longer for her to begin protesting.
"Wha… But I– I only raised my hand to answer your question!" She scrabbled for words, looking increasingly pitiful the harder she tried.
"Thus breaking my first rule and demonstrating exactly what not to do in my class," Professor Cain deadpanned. "This world does not have patience for know-it-alls, Miss Granger, nor do I. Please, spare us your whining and leave while you still have a shred of dignity left."
Sitting in the seat beside Harry, Draco was shaking with the effort to not laugh. "This guy is worse than Snape," he choked out under his breath.
Harry was inclined to agree. This year may be more interesting than he thought.
After Hermione left, her eyes full of tears she struggled not to shed, Professor Cain began scanning the classroom with increased intensity. His gaze settled upon Harry a smidge longer than it did anyone else, but nobody except Harry himself seemed to notice.
"Does anybody else want to spend their first Defense class wishing they had kept their mouth shut?"
Not a soul so much as breathed too loudly. In fact, Harry was pretty sure many weren't breathing at all.
Soon, the deceptively warm smile was back on Professor Cain's face. "Brilliant. Please open your textbooks to chapter one. We will start class today by going over how to recognize dark spells before they are cast, then end the lesson with a demonstration of the smokescreen charm: a spell capable of hiding you from your foes long enough for you to escape them. Now, who can tell me the differences between a curse, jinx, and hex?"
This time, nobody raised their hand.
Professor Cain's smile broadened, but as it did, it took on a darker quality that Harry swore had the temperature in the room dropping by several degrees.
"I am pleased to see you all catch on quickly. Let's see, how about–" Professor Cain trailed off thoughtfully, but Harry could already tell he'd made his mind up about who to call upon. "Mr. Potter, what are the differences between a curse, a jinx, and a hex?"
Draco audibly swallowed. This was the first time Harry had been called on in class, and it was arguably the hardest question thus far. Those three spell types often got confused with one another, and even some of the more adept first years, like Draco, could have trouble differentiating them.
Harry pressed his lips in a thin line. He couldn't tell if Professor Cain was trying to set him up for failure. Did the man know Harry knew the answer, or was he hoping to humiliate him?
Harry struggled to reach out with his magic, trying to get a feel for whatever emotions might've been flowing through the professor. He was met with that same wall of angry kinetic energy, which ejected him almost as soon as he brushed it.
Professor Cain's brow arched, arms crossed as he leaned against the edge of his desk and awaited Harry's answer.
Meanwhile, Draco had begun to squirm in his seat. Even though the professor's attention was predominately settled on Harry, he struggled under that piercing gaze's weight. His body language practically begged Harry to just get on with it.
"Jinxes are relatively harmless," Harry spoke at last. The tension in the room had finally begun to dissipate, and several gasps of relief chorused. "They are meant to be annoyances more than anything else. Hexes are stronger – often more painful – but do not leave the victim with long-term effects. Curses, on the other hand, are… trickier."
Professor Cain nodded and gestured for Harry to continue.
Harry felt his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand, but he complied nonetheless.
"Curses are often meant to linger for a long duration of time, potentially even for generations. They can be placed upon almost anything, whereas hexes and jinxes can only be cast upon living things. They can range from minor effects, such as an irritation curse that could cause one's skin to itch for weeks, to severe and permanent maladies, including death."
Once he was finished, many Slytherins looked at Harry with pride and awe, while most of the Gryffindors looked either lost entirely or annoyed that he'd answered the question correctly. Regardless, all nearly jumped out of their skin when the sharp sound of Professor Cain's clapping hands filled the silent classroom.
"Twenty points to Slytherin," the professor declared. "You are well-read, Mr. Potter. I have met many wizards several times your age who could not give me the correct answer."
"Age does not necessarily equate to ignorance or intelligence, Professor," Harry shot back. "There are those willing to learn, those who aren't or are incapable of doing so, and then there are those who truly crave the power that knowledge can grant them."
"Indeed–" Professor Cain's tone lowered and took on a more ominous quality. "And which do you consider yourself?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders and simpered. "Who knows?"
For a moment, Harry thought he was about to get kicked out of class for his snark. Draco did, too, if the way the boy had gripped his sleeve, silently begging him to shut up, was anything to go by.
Instead of angrily dismissing Harry, however, Professor Cain's features cleared of all emotion, guarded once more. He gave Harry a curt nod before turning to face the chalkboard, ending the conversation.
The stub of chalk that had been writing nonstop since class started finally shuddered and fell back in its tray. It left behind a wide variety of information on recognizing dark spells that covered nearly the entire board.
"I want you all to copy what is written here, and then, the real fun can begin."
—-----------------
Over the following month, Harry adopted a solid routine: wake up, breakfast, classes, homework, personal studies, spell practice, dinner, sleep, repeat. Some would call it a boring life, as he rarely partook in the same extracurricular drivel his peers were fascinated with.
Harry didn't attend quidditch matches or titter over gossip with his friends at lunch. He didn't receive owls with care packages from home or spend time decorating his section of the dorm with fancy bedding and photographs. He didn't have a family to speak of who would send him gifts and letters; he didn't have any interest in quidditch, which pureblood girl was dating which muggleborn boy, or interior decorating. Harry only wanted to learn and grow.
Thanks to Justin holding up his end of their bargain, Harry could receive all the information he needed without sifting through the hogwash. Harry also kept his end of the deal, keeping an eye and ear out on Basil via Crabbe. There was no doubt the third-year was scheming something, but he was cautious about it. This left Harry with more time to spend in his own company, without the distraction of others.
Being in the presence of people had become… uncomfortable for Harry, to say the least. In recent weeks, he'd noticed his affinity for feeling out magicks and emotions had grown remarkably. He theorized it had something to do with the sudden exposure to mass amounts of magic after years with little to none in his environment. Since he was still unable to block these energies out, though, his gift was starting to evolve into more of a curse.
Headaches, nausea, vertigo, and near-constant irritation were just a few of the side effects Harry had grown used to ignoring. However, the most jarring addition to his abilities was that he could now hear some of his peer's fleeting thoughts. Having voices that were not his own in his head at all hours of the day was nearly unbearable, not to mention distracting.
On many occasions already, Harry had found himself accidentally responding to people's thoughts. As could be imagined, this made them more wary of him. He knew that if he didn't get ahold of whatever this thing was soon, he'd begin drawing unwanted attention to himself.
Because of this, Harry sat on the floor in the middle of an abandoned classroom, trying desperately to feel absolutely nothing. He knew, in some way, shape, or form, that his abilities were tethered tightly to his emotions. The more emotional Harry was, the more likely he was to lose control. If his abilities grew stronger because of this, then it only made sense that they would quiet down if he crushed whatever he felt into dust.
Meditation was the only thing Harry could think of to try and staunch the flow of emotion throughout his body. Whenever he thought or felt anything other than cool peace, he envisioned that woe falling into a stream and drifting away. It was a frustrating process, though.
It was one thing to envision the stream carrying his emotions away when he sat in a quiet place. However, when Harry tried to employ this same method amidst the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts' halls, he was unable to clear his mind.
Harry huffed as he felt irritation bubble in his chest. He rubbed at his face, feeling worn down from strain and sheer exhaustion.
"You're approaching it the wrong way."
Harry's head jerked up, fingers twitching near the pocket where he stored his wand. He relaxed, only fractionally, when he realized it was Professor Cain who had interrupted his practice session.
The light of dusk streamed in through a window behind Harry, illuminating curious strands of gold in the man's otherwise dark hair. Once Professor Cain had Harry's attention, he pushed off the doorframe he'd been leaning on.
The student was unsure how long he'd been standing there, silently observing Harry's fruitless efforts.
"Approaching what the wrong way, sir?" Harry quizzed. He wanted to know exactly how much Cain knew about his ability.
"Occlumency, of course." The professor wandered around the classroom, taking in all the random bauble that had been left behind. He glanced up at Harry from the sand of a gilded hourglass he'd turned over. "You're focusing so much on your emotions that you aren't paying attention to your magic. You need to learn to conquer the flow of both simultaneously, or you will never achieve the control you desire."
"Are my emotions and magic not already connected?"
"They are symbiotic, to an extent." Cain nodded. "Yet things can still be connected and exist as their own entities. Take this hourglass, for example." He flicked the edge of the hourglass, causing it to ring softly. "The sand works in connection with the shape of the glass to tell time. While neither can exist alone and still be referred to as an "hourglass," they are still separate elements that must be manipulated together to achieve the desired results. Occlumency is much the same."
Harry understood the analogy but tilted his head at the new term Professor Cain had already used twice. He'd never heard of occlumency before.
"I knew you were a natural legilimens when we first met in the Leaky Cauldron," the man continued. "When you reached out to my magic with your own, what did you feel?"
"A wall," Harry replied immediately.
"Precisely," Cain smirked. "Rather than ridding yourself of emotions as they arise – a tedious and exhausting method of approach – you must learn to control your flow of magic and emotion via conditional barriers that you construct."
Harry blinked, trying to figure out what the professor meant by setting up barriers. How did one go about creating a wall like the one Cain had? What were the conditions he had to place upon it? How could he lock away his magic but still use it at the same time?
After a moment of silence passed between them, where Harry tried to process his thoughts, the professor let out an exasperated sigh.
"Close your eyes," Cain demanded.
Harry hesitated. Everything in his body rebelled at the idea of allowing himself to be vulnerable in the presence of another. While unlikely to attack, the professor would be free to do anything, and Harry would be unaware. After another sharp look from Cain, though, he begrudgingly complied. As brilliant as Cain was as a teacher, he had very little patience.
"Legilimency is the art of connecting your magic to that of another in order to see, hear, and feel their memories, thoughts, and emotions," the professor instructed. "Now, you are a natural legilimens, Harry. That means you were born with this ability; you did not develop it. It also makes it imperative that you learn its opposite, occlumency. If you do not, you will be driven mad from constantly connecting to every unguarded mind in this school." He paused. "Do you understand, so far?"
Harry nodded along, both grateful that Cain was teaching him and disappointed that he needed the help in the first place.
"In simple terms, occlumency is the act of keeping one's magic blocked from others, effectively preventing anyone from entering your head. To protect your magic, however, you must also block your emotions, for they are tethers a legilimens could exploit."
Harry was beginning to understand. He thought of it a lot like a train station: the station itself was his mind, the trains were his magic, and his emotions were the tracks. If they intercepted it on the tracks, someone could still hop on a train leading directly into his mind. Essentially, he needed not to shut the station down completely, but to prevent access to it for anyone but himself.
"I think I get it!" Harry said excitedly.
"Good," Cain praised. "Are you ready to begin practicing it, then?"
Again, Harry nodded.
"I want you to picture everything that you are." Cain's footsteps were near-silent on the floor as he walked circles around Harry. "Envision everything that makes you – all of your pleasures, pains, desires, motives, resentments, magic – force them to take on a single, tangible form."
"What form?" Harry grunted.
"It does not matter." Cain's words were nearly hissed. "The point of manifesting your being into an image within your mind is so that you can then trap it."
Harry felt his magic flare up around him. It breathed in waves over the floor, pulsing away from his body. He envisioned it taking on a shape: something small and easily ensnared.
"You're focussing too much on your magic now, Harry." Cain's voice sounded distant as if he were speaking to Harry from the other side of a tunnel. “Feel everything! Let it hurt, let it burn, let it fill you. Relive your happiest memories and behold your darkest fears while letting your magic flow. Force all of it to bow – whittle it down until it exists only as one thing."
Harry strained, teeth clenched as he tried not to be swept away in a hurricane of his own making.
"Then, make it exist only for you."
Harry felt the breath of Cain's whispered command brush across the shell of his ear. He wasn't sure if the emotional turmoil caused it, but the scar on his forehead had begun to heat. It didn't hurt, but throbbed in tandem with his magic. He was doing it! His magic and emotions were pulsing to the same rhythm: ebbing and flowing like waves on a rocky shore.
Harry existed on that shore for a time. He could feel the sharp stones and shells digging into the pads of his feet. The ache of them was soothed by the cool lapping of the water, and his every memory was carried on the wind as whispers. Some gusts were so powerful in their terror that they stung, while others felt like little more than a feather against his cheek. This place was Harry.
He walked along the shore, staring out at the darkened horizon where the water met the sky. Stars glittered overhead, twinkling with the same cadence as his heartbeat. He inhaled the scents of brine and something peculiarly sweet, and was reminded of the time his orphanage had visited the eastern coast. This memory brushed by him as another gust of wind, his joyous laughter echoing in it.
Harry hummed, tilting his head back as he tried to imagine compiling all of this into one form. He envisioned the beach growing smaller, smaller, smaller. His brow crinkled in concentration, hands clasped tightly at the base of his spine.
One thing, one thing, one thing. Harry mentally chanted. He was startled when the chant echoed back at him in the breeze, sounding like a taunt. It prickled.
He tried again. Tried to see the beach shrinking down. Tried to bid farewell to the horizon, the water, and the shore so they could be reborn as something new.
"Freak!" The wind started howling as it resisted. "Murderer! It's all your fault!"
Harry's breaths picked up. He tried to endure the taunts of his memories, but they attacked like knives. His legs began to wobble beneath him, threatening to give out. His hands pressed harder together, nails digging into his flesh.
"You're going to burn in hell, brat!"
”I hate you!”
"What have you done?!"
"Oh god, please don't hurt me!"
”DEMON!”
Harry jolted back as the memories swirled around him faster and faster like a tornado. He turned around, prepared to run, but was stopped short. A familiar woman stood a foot away, her face twisted with the mockery of a smile.
"W-why are you…." Harry wanted to take a step away from the Abbess. He could still feel the echoes of her whipping cain on his body.
The Abbess' smile contorted into a snarl. "Tell me, child. What do you know of the devil inside you?"
Harry reared back at the sharp bite of those words. He shook his head, trying to banish them away.
"What do you know of the devil inside you?!"
"No!" Harry shouted. He ran. He didn't know where he was going besides away.
"What do you know of the devil inside you?!"
Harry choked on the sobs that swelled in the back of his throat. His legs ached as he forced himself to sprint as fast as he could. Rocks and shells sliced at his feet, creating red footprints on the shore.
"WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DEVIL INSIDE YOU?!"
"There isn't one!" Harry wailed.
"WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DEVIL INSIDE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DEVIL INSIDE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DEVIL INSIDE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DEVIL INSIDE YOU?! TELL ME! TELL ME NOW!"
Harry tripped and collapsed to his knees, hands clasping in the hair on either side of his head. He pulled, sobbed, and hit his head on the ground until blood trickled down his face in thick streams. Its coppery tang trickled into his mouth, choking him. Drowning him.
And then, he screamed.
“--rry”
It was all too much. He couldn't bare it.
"Harry!"
Harry jolted upwards, startled by Professor Cain's voice breaking through everything else. It took several long seconds before he realized he was no longer on the rocky shore but back in the classroom.
For the first time since Harry had met him, Professor Cain's face was contorted with genuine concern. His palms rested against Harry's cheeks, forcing the boy to make eye contact with him. When his hands came away, they were stained red.
Harry brought his own hand up to rub at a painful cut on his brow. Although he knew the events that transpired on that beach had all been in his mind, he must've hit his head trying to escape it all.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled. His voice sounded foreign in his own ears.
Professor Cain tsked. "If it was easy to master, then everyone would be capable of it, foolish boy."
Harry nodded. He felt disconnected from his body, still – numb.
"Though, I must admit, you did marvelously for a first attempt." The man wordlessly conjured a bowl of water and a cloth. "Out of curiosity, what form did your mind take on before you tried to compress it."
Harry winced as the wetted cloth was pressed to his head. "I was on a beach," he whispered. "It was nighttime, and it was beautiful. Until–" He flinched as the screams echoed in his ears. He couldn't go back there, not while he was still so fragile.
Professor Cain sighed as he wiped the last bits of blood off Harry's brow. He vanished the cloth and bowl before pinning Harry with an almost solemn look.
"We all have devils inside, child."
—----------------
Harry continued his lessons with Professor Cain in the same abandoned classroom every Friday night for weeks. Although Harry still had yet to tackle the beach into a form he could lock away, he'd progressed considerably. He could better block out unwanted thoughts from others, and their emotions no longer overwhelmed him as they once had.
Harry continued working hard, hoping that he'd once again know what peace felt like someday. And… well, he couldn't deny the warmth that flooded him when he received hard-won praise from Professor Cain. Harry had grown rather fond of the man, and for the first time in his life, he felt like there was someone out there who truly understood him. The Professor became somebody he could talk to without worrying about donning a mask.
As fall gave way to winter and the holiday break began rapidly nearing, Harry grew restless. He wasn't sure what Hogwarts' rules were regarding students staying on campus during breaks, but he knew he was not ready to return to the orphanage. He did not wish to see the Abbess again nor to be forced to withstand the resentment of muggles.
"Professor?" Harry paused his meditation, blinking his eyes open to regard his teacher.
Professor Cain was sprawled across an emerald-colored settee he'd conjured on their second night together. To Harry, he looked much like a cat perched on his cushioned throne.
Cain looked up from a paper he'd been grading, humming for Harry to continue.
"Do I have to go…" Harry couldn't say "home," he just couldn't. The orphanage was not his home; Hogwarts was. "Do I have to leave campus over the holiday?"
Professor Cain took a curiously long time to reply. He stared at Harry with this intense, unreadable look for a while. "Do you not wish to go home for the holiday?" He eventually asked.
Harry immediately shook his head. "No, sir. Not if I can help it."
"Why not?"
Harry looked down, embarrassed to admit the truth. It was one thing to admit you had baggage; everyone had something they weren't proud of. Acknowledging that he'd come to Hogwarts from a filthy muggle orphanage was another thing.
"The people I live with don't like me," Harry admitted. "They're muggles."
"Nasty creatures, muggles," Cain commented. His eyes darkened, and a far-off look appeared on his face. "I daresay our world would be far better off if they never existed."
Harry nodded, feeling much the same. He could not remember a time in his life when he'd had a good experience with muggles. He thought they must feel how he was different from them, and muggles feared anything that could not be explained.
"I used to live with my Aunt and Uncle," Harry began. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly he wanted to share his story with Professor Cain. Perhaps it was because he knew the man would listen without judgment. Or maybe Harry just needed somebody to talk to about it, and Cain was the only one he could trust.
"They were muggles, unlike my mother; she was the only witch in the Evans family." Harry tried to picture his mother's face. Sometimes, it felt like it was hovering on the edge of his vision, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone again. “They hated me. They kept me locked up in a cupboard under the stairs, only letting me out when they needed me to do the house chores."
"They treated you like a house elf." Cain bared his teeth with distaste.
Harry nodded with a hum. "I knew of their dislike for me and of the things I could do from a young age. They never missed an opportunity to torment me, and I eventually hit my breaking point." He shifted where he sat, resisting the urge to curl in on himself as memories of Dudley's torment played behind his eyes. "Like I said, I knew they didn't like me, but I never thought they'd–" he inhaled sharply. "I never thought they would just abandon me."
It was hard for Harry to hear the weakness in his own voice. He valued strength above most else – strength of the mind, strength in magic – but allowing himself to be vulnerable felt liberating.
"Where did they leave you?" Professor Cain asked.
"They left me at an orphanage about a month before my tenth birthday." Harry's fists clenched. "They just left me there! But not before filling the Abbess' head with stories of all the 'horrific' things I'd done over the years. No doubt they exaggerated every detail."
Harry sighed, scrubbing his brow to try to calm himself back down. "Every day in that orphanage felt like its own living hell. I suppose it was better than the Dursleys in some ways, but it was so much worse in others. I was still worked to the bone, starved, and afraid for my life constantly. Churches have their own ways of 'banishing evil.' I would've preferred the Dursleys over some of the things they did to me."
There was no denying that the Dursleys had treated Harry poorly, but the memories of his time at the orphanage harrowed him the most. Those same memories were what accounted for his struggle with learning occlumency.
"It's pretty pathetic, I know." Harry let out a bitter laugh.
"It is not."
Harry's attention snapped from the floor to Professor Cain.
"It is not pathetic, Harry," the man repeated. "The things you've experienced – all of your sufferings – have marked you a survivor. There is nothing 'pathetic' about that."
They sat in silence again, for a time, mostly because Harry feared what his voice might sound like if he tried to speak. His throat felt tight with a foreign feeling that he could not place; all he knew was that it was both good and bad in equal measure. More than anything, though, he had a new level of respect for Professor Cain.
"And to answer your prior question," Cain broke the silence. "The only time students must return to their residency is during the summer holiday. You will be allowed to stay here over the winter. I'll ensure it."
Harry's throat constricted even tighter to the point that all he could do was nod, mouth slightly agape.
"Now, seeing as how the winter holiday is almost upon us, I suggest you get back to your practicing before I have to start deducting points as a motivator."
Harry compiled immediately, not because of the threat of a point deduction but for fear of disappointing his professor. He was sure he was close to successfully condensing his mindscape.
Whatever creature or thing his brain was conjuring, Harry swore he heard it twitter that night.
—-------------
When Harry left his dorm room the morning after everyone returned from the holiday break, he immediately noticed something was amiss. As he walked past his Slytherin peers in the common room, whispers followed him like a wraith.
Before Harry could think to ask what was going on, he was pulled to the side by Draco. The blonde boy glanced around anxiously before deciding they were far enough away that nobody would hear.
"Draco," Harry chuckled. "What's…"
"Burke made his move," Draco whispered darkly.
The smile fell off Harry's face immediately. His features blanked on instinct, hiding his emotions behind a carefully constructed mask.
"What has he done?" Harry asked.
Draco looked everywhere but at Harry, bottom lip captured tightly between his teeth.
"Tell me, Draco," Harry growled.
"Why did you never tell me you came from a muggle orphanage?" Draco asked, barely audible.
Harry reared back as if he'd been slapped. How did Basil Burke, of all people, come by that information? The only person Harry had ever told was…
No! Harry did not want to believe Professor Cain would reveal his most carefully guarded secret. He couldn't – he wouldn't – right?
"So it's true?" Draco gaped.
Harry didn't wait long enough to see whatever emotion had plastered itself on his friend's face. He needed to find Cain first before he dealt with anything else.
He ignored Draco calling out his name behind him and the contemptuous glares he received from several of his peers.
He instantly blanched when he exited the Slytherin dorms and burst into the hall. On every wall in every corridor were flyers with his face on them. Upon reading one, he tore it down and crumpled it in his fist.
" Harry Potter: 'The Boy Who Lived' in a muggle orphanage!"
It was a gross parody of the title the Daily Prophet had given him. It pulled at something not quite healed inside him. Something painful.
Draco had warned Harry weeks ago that Basil would damage his image critically if he wasn't dealt with soon. But Harry had been so wrapped up in his occlumency training with Professor Cain that he had pushed everything else aside.
Harry took off in a sprint down the hall. He would find the Professor and demand answers from him, no matter how long it took.
—----------
When the sun started to lower in the sky, Harry found himself standing in front of Professor Dumbledore.
The headmaster was giving Harry a pitying look that, combined with Harry's frustration at not being able to locate Cain, had him biting back a snarl.
"I'm afraid I can't help you, my boy," Dumbledore said. "Professor Cain received an urgent letter from the ministry yesterday evening. As he was only a temporary fill for the Defense position, there was nothing I could do to persuade Fudge to allow him to stay."
"So–" Harry licked his lips, a sick feeling rising in the pit of his stomach. "So he's just gone?"
"I'm afraid so."
Dumbledore went on about how he would figure out who was behind the slanderous flyers covering the school walls. Harry just stood there, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to breathe. All he could think about was how Professor Cain, the only person that had ever seemed capable of understanding him, was gone. He was gone, and Harry had no way of knowing if the man had betrayed his confidence. Regardless of whether or not he had told Basil about the orphanage, though, Cain had still betrayed him. He'd left Harry. He'd left him without even saying goodbye.
In the darkness of an empty hallway, Harry slumped against a stone wall. He pulled his knees to his chest, wishing more than anything that he could block out the world around him. He felt like a bird -- a bird in a gilded cage that could not get free. Every time he made an attempt, he only succeeded in tearing himself apart further.
Harry's emotions and magic swirled fiercely around him, causing flames in the sconces upon the walls to flicker. They moved the same way Harry felt: with writhing agony.
"Let it hurt, let it burn, let it fill you."
The tears that fell down Harry's face slowly stopped. The fire contorting along the walls stilled. The ache in his chest subsided. Everything that made him – everything that he was – had been locked away in that cage. And for a moment, Harry swore he heard Professor Cain's voice hissing in his ear.
"Congratulations, Harry. You are now an occlumens."