Chapter Text
Chapter Seven: Out of the Bag
The world was a blur until Harry grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. Amongst the sea of dark green and mahogany, blobs of peach and white focused into his panicked dormmates when they were securely on his nose. He jumped out of bed, and quickly shoved the niffler under his nightshirt to look for somewhere to hide it.
‘If anyone has any contraband, for Merlin’s sake, hide it!’ said Ashby.
Montague groaned. ‘Why did this have to be today?’
‘They always check in the first week, you know this.’
‘So, this is a usual thing?’ asked Harry. It had never happened in Gryffindor, that was for sure.
‘It was Riddle’s idea. Slughorn was all for it,’ grumbled Montague.
It appeared Slytherin just made up its own rules, and it was very disorienting. Harry could have put his head through a wall, but he held off. He could do that later, when he had sorted out his problem. His very disgruntled and squirming problem. He flinched when its sharp claws sunk into his chest.
Goyle was lining up his books in his cabinet with practised efficiency. Bletchley, on the other hand, was jumping up and down, trying to grab his blue-striped underwear as they circled the room like a bat. Montague came to his rescue and cast an immobulus. He sent him a withering glare, which was diluted by how uncomfortable he looked.
Harry searched everywhere for someplace to put the niffler. His trunk was out of the question, there was no space big enough for it as he had filled it with those massive library books. (Hermione would weep with pride.) His cabinet was also full, and his drawers were too small. Under his bed? Even if the prefects didn’t decide to check under there, it could crawl out. But where would they check? Harry had some ideas, but he couldn’t ask anyone else.
Instead, he watched Ashby shove something or other under his mattress. After getting his stuff nicked, he still used that spot?
Harry’s eyes landed on the bathroom door. Montague shouted as he opened the door and immediately stopped in his tracks. His eyes landed on Greengrass in front of the sink mirror.
Greengrass, half-awake and – his eyes widened – half-naked.
Topless. Braless. Bare-chested. Her pink nipples stared back at him, sat under the ends of her dark hair. Harry’s face warmed, and he shivered.
They were very nice.
Greengrass paused, one hand halfway through removing the metal curlers from her hair, and the other pulling up her skirt. Her eyes flicked to Harry, then the open door, and she grabbed her blouse to cover herself.
She was mortified, and she opened her mouth to yell at him. Harry looked away, and before he could apologise and stumble over his words, he was grabbed by his collar and yanked out of the bathroom.
Montague’s blue eyes were giving him the look of death. The rest of them crowded around, every one of them shocked. He let Harry go, shoving him away, while Ashby got up in the boy’s face, his head only meeting Montague’s neck.
‘What were you thinking? You brought her here, today?’
‘I forgot!’
Harry shook it off; he would need to apologise to Greengrass later. He still had to hide his niffler, and he was running out of time. Harry’s gaze followed Ashby as he shoved yesterday’s robes into the hamper and scurried over the second he left.
Harry slipped the niffler from his pyjama shirt and buried it in the clothes, taking care not to smother it. For good measure, he lay his dirty underwear on top to dissuade anyone from poking around.
By the time he was done, Greengrass had left the bathroom. It was the untidiest he had ever seen her, with her blouse only buttoned up some of the way and her skirt creased. She looked the most anxious out of everyone, but it didn’t distract her from shooting him a dirty look. Shoving on her heels, she hobbled to the door, but Montague held her back.
Ashby poked his head out the door, then quickly shut it. ‘Shit, they’ve just gone next door.’
‘You can’t leave now, they’ll see you,’ said Montague. Greengrass bolted for the bathroom, before thinking better of it, and instead let him push her towards the wardrobe.
The heels made it difficult, but Greengrass managed to cram herself inside, and Montague closed the door. Harry rolled his eyes and wondered at what point she snuck in – before or after he got back from his community service.
‘Are you wondering if they’re together?’ Bletchley slid up to him.
‘Aren’t they?’ he replied, taking the chance to get dressed before their guests arrived.
Harry really didn’t care all that much. It had nothing to do with him, ignoring that he had just seen a girl’s tits for the first time. The image returned to the forefront of his mind. Harry knew his body, so he quickly shook it away before the next disaster occurred.
Bletchley leaned in closer, lowering his voice. ‘No, not officially. She’s engaged, if you can believe it.’
‘Engaged?’
‘Montague as well. To a third-year, Rosaline Moon. Poor girl doesn’t have a clue, and no one’s inclined to tell her.’
‘Moon? Is she related to –’
‘The Minister? She’s his niece. Precarious position for our Christopher, isn’t it?’ grinned Bletchley.
‘Aren’t they afraid of…scandal or something?’ Harry didn’t know how it worked. It was difficult to make sense of Ron’s remarks on arbitrary pureblood etiquette.
‘Oh, they’ve attracted enough of that already. You’ll notice this isn’t the most popular dorm.’ He yawned. Harry hadn’t noticed, but that was neither here nor there. ‘This is Greengrass’ way of protesting to her parents. Break her chastity and persuade them to let her marry the man she loves, but Montague isn’t pureblood, so it’ll never happen regardless.’
Harry couldn’t imagine being engaged at his age, or even younger, in Rosaline Moon’s case. He certainly didn’t recall Draco Malfoy having one, but perhaps he needed to stop using one boy and his father as his sample for pureblood society. Not to say they weren’t the perfect example. Beyond Voldemort, the Malfoys embodied everything he hated about the wizarding world.
‘And people leave them alone despite all that?’
‘They’re a right spectacle, but what can we do? Riddle won’t take any action against them.’
‘What the hell does Riddle have to do with it?’ He was unable to sanitise his tone of his disdain.
Bletchley frowned. ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’
Both were taken out of their conversation by a clatter. Goyle was on the floor with an open bag, surrounded by his stupid sticks. He must have tripped, but he looked wholly unconcerned by it. Instead, his intent gaze flicked between the sticks scattered around him like he was solving a jigsaw. When Montague tried to help him, he smacked his hands away and picked them up himself.
When Harry heard several pairs of footsteps down the hallway, he grabbed a textbook and sat on his bed. He met Goyle’s urgent eyes from across the room the moment his scar started to tingle. The boy opened his mouth but closed it when the door opened.
Riddle marched in, flanked by a lofty Rosier, a bored Nott, and a fidgety Black. The latter didn’t glance Harry’s way as they entered. Harry stopped short of grimacing, spotting the green and silver prefect badge – a large P intertwined with the Slytherin serpent – pinned to Black’s lapel. It didn’t escape his notice that he wasn’t wearing it when they met. He suspected it wasn’t an entirely unconscious decision.
‘Morning, everyone. I hope you slept well,’ greeted Riddle, flashing them a smile.
‘Riddle.’ Ashby grinned. ‘How’s that book I lent you? Have you finished it yet?’
‘I haven’t opened it.’
‘Oh, you should! The chapter on the breaking point between House Fawley and Shafiq might be of particular interest to you –’
Riddle turned away, and Ashby’s mouth snapped shut. Nott snorted and shared a look with Rosier.
They each spanned out, covering all four corners of the room. Harry kept his eyes on the page to stop them from wandering, looking but not reading – his best deterrent against them straying toward the hamper.
The prefects didn’t stall as they did their rounds of the room, checking under beds and behind cabinets while keeping an eye out for any strewn robes. Black looked inside the bathroom and came out disgusted, with Bletchley’s juvenile underwear hovering over the tip of his wand. They were sopping wet. Did he try to hide them in the toilet?
The underwear freed itself from Black’s magic and resumed flapping around the room, flinging toilet water in every direction. Rosier looked Bletchley up and down and docked five house points. At least the boy had the decency to look ashamed. Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t so high-strung.
Good thing Greengrass didn’t hide in there, thought Harry, sneaking a glance at Montague. He looked almost constipated and was as white as his bedsheets – he looked guilty, and it appeared Riddle thought so too.
‘Is everything all right, Christopher?’
‘Feeling a little under the weather this morning.’
‘Oh dear. If it doesn’t feel like anything more than a cold, try a Pepperup potion.’ He glanced Nott’s way.
Immediately, the boy pulled out his wand and gave it a brief flick. The underwear landed in the middle of the floor with an abrupt splat.
There was a gleam in Riddle’s dark eyes. Montague tensed as he took hold of the wardrobe’s doorknob.
‘But if it’s the flu, sucking on a dittany leaf usually does the trick.’
No one dared breathe.
‘Give it an hour, then see Madam Merrick.’
The room was so silent, forget a pin, Harry could hear the dust settling on his trunk. Riddle flashed Montague a smile and whipped the door open. Greengrass froze when light flooded her hiding spot, and Montague winced.
‘Good morning, Anastasia,’ he smiled, as his Nott and Rosier snickered in the background. Black kept his eyes on the wall.
‘The wardrobe is a popular hiding spot,’ remarked Rosier.
‘Patently.’ He inclined his head for her to get out. Greengrass straightened her skirt, making the walk of shame out of the wardrobe. ‘Fifteen points from each of you. Alphard, escort Anastasia back to her dorm.’
Black gently took hold of Greengrass’s elbow and started guiding her to the door. The ginger boy’s eyes followed her, but she dared not meet them.
‘I was willing to overlook it before, but you two have turned this dormitory into the laughingstock of Slytherin. Pull yourselves together, this is your last warning. I don’t want to find you here again, do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Riddle,’ she mumbled with her head down as she passed by him.
It was quiet after that fiasco, and the prefects carried on with their rounds. Before he checked under his bed, Rosier flashed Harry a brief and unfocused smile, the kind given to a waiter in a restaurant. He then waved his wand at Harry’s trunk, which refused to open as usual. But all it got was an eyebrow raise before he moved on to Harry’s drawers.
However, Harry got suspicious when Rosier lingered. There was a subtle smirk on his lips as he dug under Harry’s mattress and pillows. But it vanished when he found nothing but an empty wrapper for an exploding bonbon. Rosier wasn’t as covert as he thought, as Harry caught his click of the tongue, followed by a revelio.
He’s looking for something, realised Harry. His eyes flicked to Riddle, who was watching Rosier with forbearing eyes. When he noticed Harry looking, his gaze shifted to something else in the room.
They couldn’t know about the niffler, could they? Harry recalled he saw Travers in the common room last night. Despite the embarrassment of being caught indulging in the leader’s chair, he could have noticed it under his robes like Goyle did. He had no reason not to report it to Riddle.
This whole inspection could be because of me, thought Harry, meeting Goyle’s stare. Over the top of his book, he flicked his eyes left. Harry frowned, and Goyle sent him an insistent look, and did it again.
After the prefects turned their backs, Harry followed the route of his gaze and stole a glance at the hamper. His panic was immediate. The pile was moving.
Harry itched for his wand tucked under his pillow and stopped when Riddle glanced his way. He met his eyes, and the other’s head tilted. Harry looked away, and his fidgety hands did their best to make it appear as if he was adjusting his pillow. When he glanced back, Goyle had cleared his throat and stolen his attention. Harry’s preoccupied mind blocked out what was said, but he noticed the sticks were involved.
Harry seized the opportunity and flicked his wand, casting his best non-verbal immobulus on the niffler. Nothing happened.
Riddle turned his head slightly, and Harry froze. Goyle shoved three sticks in Tom’s irritated face and pointed at each one. Harry tried the spell again on the pile of clothes instead. To his relief, the pile ceased its wobbling.
Harry shoved his wand up his sleeve the second Riddle turned his back on Goyle, reaching the end of his waning interest – or patience. Harry hoped that would be it, and the prefects would wrap up their search. The life of that newborn hope was cut short when Riddle crossed the room and approached his bed.
Riddle smiled and sat on the edge. ‘How are you settling in?’
Harry couldn’t stand that he was still spoken to like a first-year. His grip tightened on the edges of his textbook. ‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Have these lot been treating you well?’ He nodded to Harry’s roommates, who weren’t even trying to hide the fact they were listening. The tenseness in the room was so viscous it was like everyone was floating in a jar of molasses.
‘They have.’
‘Man of few words, aren’t you?’
Oh, Harry had plenty of words. It was just that the rest of them were too colourful in their crudity ever to be spoken aloud, no matter how much he wished he could let them run free.
‘Unfortunately, I will need more than a “yes” and a “no” for our next conversation. Could you follow me, please?’ Riddle stood up, left the room, and didn’t wait for Harry to follow.
A cold foreboding settled in Harry’s chest. He had no time to process it, but his body ran on autopilot, shutting the book and getting up. Rosier and Nott trailed close behind, escorting him out.
He was caught off guard when two somethings, both smooth and cold, landed in his right palm. He looked up to catch Goyle stashing his wand in his pocket before Rosier pushed him out of the door.
Harry’s heart rate picked up as he followed Riddle’s path, catching the boy’s tail end slip into the common room. From an outsider’s point-of-view, the scene must have looked a lot like Mary Stuart being escorted to the chopping block. It was easy to envision, as he felt like an outsider watching Harry James Potter be marched to his next succession of trouble. He caught a few faces peeking through the cracks in the doors. There was one pigface in particular who watched the happening with glee, not unlike a kid at the fun fair.
They hadn’t found the niffler, so Harry could claim all deniability and could make up any story he liked. It could be out in the forest. There could be no niffler at all. He could have no notion what they were talking about. If Riddle planned to confront him now, then teenage Voldemort wasn’t as astute as everyone gave him credit for. He didn’t know Harry, he had nothing on him to make him talk.
Maybe it was Harry’s mistake for thinking Riddle was done with him when he called Black off. I guess it’s time to see whether my efforts paid off, thought Harry.
They stopped in the middle of the empty common room. Black returned from the girls’ dormitory just in time and took his place behind his master, like a lapdog brought to heel. The boy shoved his hands in his pockets, holding Harry’s gaze with all the cold indifference suiting a Death Eater.
As Rosier whispered something into Riddle’s ear, Harry had a chance to glance down at his hand. The gold engravings of Alistair Rowle’s cufflinks glinted back at him.
Their clandestine conversation ended as quickly as it began, with Riddle turning to look down his nose at Harry. His mind ran a mile a minute. For whatever reason, Goyle felt it was urgent to give these to him when he said he would return them himself. What was he trying to tell him?
When he didn’t get an immediate reaction, he softly cleared his throat. Harry was brought back to earth, blinking green eyes landing on dark brown, like a realignment into the sun’s orbit.
‘Harry Evans, isn’t it?’
Merlin, there was something about Riddle speaking his name out loud like that. A shiver shot up Harry’s spine, and he blinked, glancing at his surroundings again to meet drab stone and low light and four waiting faces. Hearing it was a wake-up call. Another coarse reminder that he still wasn’t dreaming, unconscious in a bed in the hospital wing. Perhaps he still hadn’t accepted his reality, and that there was a part of his mind clinging to disillusionment. Harry couldn’t fault it. It was much sweeter to hold out hope that there was an Occam’s razor in all this, and that he would return to his wondrous world when his body was ready.
Truth be told, Harry had never known Tom Riddle. The real Tom Riddle, who lived a life before Lord Voldemort replaced him, had been an idea – a concept even, and nothing more than a distant memory of what was once a man.
But the reality was that Tom Riddle was no longer a phantom in a Pensieve or even a bodach in a diary. He was a real person who lived a life long before Harry, and now Harry was in it. A non-native fish in a pond. An anomaly.
‘Yeah.’
Riddle paused, giving him a once-over. ‘You haven’t been here long, so it’s no surprise you’re ignorant of how things are done here in Slytherin. You’ll learn quickly.’
It wasn’t a suggestion or statement; it was a command. His face was hard, and there was nothing behind his eyes. Harry tried not to look too long at them, though it was difficult. They were a pair of hollow black holes eager to consume everything around them until they one day burned red, satisfied in the aftermath of their havoc.
‘Though, regardless of their situation, I would assume that someone would be conscious enough not to steal from their roommate.’
Oh. That changed things.
Harry spoke the first words that came to mind. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got no idea what you’re going on about.’
‘Don’t you now?’
‘No.’
‘I heard from a concerned party that you stole Noah Ashby’s snakeweed cigars.’
They were still on that? Harry rolled the cufflinks around his palm, and before he realised it, his mouth had opened, and he was talking.
‘Ashby got upset, and thought I stole them.’ Riddle raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Stick to your spells, Harry, urged Ron. ‘So, I let him search my trunk and schoolbag.’
‘And if I searched you now, I wouldn’t find anything?’
He wouldn’t. Amongst the chaos, Harry had left them in the pocket of his pyjamas, and stuffed them down the side of the books in his trunk.
‘No. They’re with a niffler.’
‘A niffler?’ The disbelief in his voice was palpable.
‘You must have known they come into the castle to steal people’s belongings.’
‘Nifflers like shiny things,’ said Rosier, with a roll of his eyes.
‘They also like unique smells,’ he fired back, echoing Goyle’s words. He turned to Riddle. ‘Really, it’s my word against theirs.’
‘I’m inclined to believe theirs,’ he said, tapping his finger on his arm. ‘This all seems very neat and convenient, almost like you had a script prepared.’
Harry wanted to ask who this mystery person was, and if they really existed. The timing was a little too perfect, but everything concerning Riddle was. Harry wouldn’t be coloured shocked if running into him after Ancient Runes hadn’t been an accident either. But if Slytherin had taught him anything in the last week, it was to hoard his questions. He would play it safe, and stick to the facts – his facts.
‘You should ask Rowle if he’s lost anything recently.’
Riddle’s eyes sharpened, and his back straightened. The atmosphere in the room changed as soon as he held up the cufflinks for emphasis. He caught the way the edge of Black’s mouth turned slightly downwards, and the other two shifted. Riddle’s eyes flicked between Harry’s hand and his face.
Harry was winning. He could see his success on the horizon.
‘I’m not an instigator.’
‘That’s not up to you to decide. I won’t have anyone showing up at the start of the year, only to stir up trouble within the house.’
Ironic Riddle demanding that he not stir up trouble. Perhaps the students within Salazar’s own house were safe from the basilisk’s terror, but the issue still stood. Riddle didn’t have a leg to stand on.
‘So, where is this niffler now?’
He was listening now. Harry finally had his attention. Now to get rid of it.
‘I let it go and vanished them.’ Harry shrugged.
‘Where did you find it?’
‘In a bush at the edge of the forest.’
Riddle squinted, then glanced at Nott, and Harry watched the silent exchange that ended with Nott averting his eyes, rather meekly. Interesting.
Riddle brought his gaze back to Harry. ‘I don’t want to hear of this again.’
Harry swallowed back his indignation and allowed himself to meet Riddle’s eyes for what would be the first and last time he did so willingly. This a compromise, he told himself. There was nothing to be gained by making this mess even worse, and if he had to acquiesce to Riddle’s power trips, then he would bite the bubotuber just this once.
‘You can give those to me.’ He held out his hand like a king requesting tax from his newest subject.
Harry’s grip on the cufflinks tightened. Something told him to keep hold of them for now. If Harry was going to play the part of the subject, he could make his majesty’s life a little easier.
‘I wouldn't want to trouble you, I’ll return them.’ Harry smiled and Riddle’s lip twitched.
Maybe Harry could have a chat with Rowle while he was at it. After this, he had questions he wanted answered.
Riddle’s smile strained. ‘Then there’s nothing else to sort out.’
‘Am I free to go?’ Harry fought to keep his voice neutral.
Riddle hesitated. ‘You are.’
Harry left for his dormitory immediately, ignoring the itch of eyes tugging at the baby hairs on his neck. He almost flung himself through the door, and when he was met with four expectant faces, he wanted to flop onto his bed and close his curtains.
Ashby was the first to speak. ‘What did they want?’
‘To know where your cigars ran off to.’ He didn’t mean for it to come out as tart as it did. Ashby fiddled with his collar when the others side-eyed him. Harry knew he needed to be the one to say it. ‘No more of those things.’
‘Look –’
‘No more.’
Ashby looked to Goyle. ‘Fine, no more,’ he scoffed. Harry raised his eyebrows, and Ashby looked confused for a second. Then he looked down at the floor. ‘I’m sorry for the accusations…and all the trouble I caused you.’
It was miles from the best apology Harry had ever received, but he would accept it. He just wanted the whole farce put to bed. For good this time.
Harry wished he could say the rest of Sunday passed quietly, but it didn’t. The second the others went up for breakfast, Harry pulled the niffler out of the hamper, and not a second too soon, as the house-elves magic emptied it. The dungeons had never been warm, but it was concerning how the poor creature was shivering in his arms and trying to work its way under his armpit, so he dropped it into his pocket. He slipped on his Weasley jumper and his new scarf and made his way out of Slytherin.
Harry knocked on the staff room door and waited for someone to answer. To Harry’s relief, Professor Dumbledore appeared, clutching a cup and saucer of a dubious green tea that, quite frankly, smelt absolutely foul. His face was such a welcome sight after the litany of unpleasant ones in the last hour.
A smile grew on Dumbledore’s face. ‘Good morning, Harry.’
‘Hi, sir. Is Professor Kettleburn in there?’
‘You’ve just missed him, I’m afraid. Professor Kettleburn likes to spend his Sundays studying the local fauna in the forest. I believe he will be out there all day,’ said Professor Dumbledore, sipping his tea. ‘Thornbacks, he mentioned. I hear their numbers have been declining as of late.’
That name sounded distantly familiar. Maybe Hagrid mentioned them during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson, but Harry couldn't remember. Nonetheless, it gave him pause.
‘Thornbacks?’
‘Big spiders with a thick hide. A close relative of the acromantula. I fear students have been sneaking into the forest to use them for duelling practice.’
Harry turned over this new information, thinking back to his near brush with death. A thornback. That had to have been what chased him last night. ‘Nothing can be done about it?’
‘The forest is out of bounds for that reason and plenty more, but stricter measures may be needed.’ Harry caught the subdued sigh that escaped the professor’s mouth.
And yet, I get sent out there with no wand, thought Harry. Did any of the teachers know what Pringle had him doing?
‘But I suspect you’re anxious to solve your problem,’ he continued, and his light blue eyes fixed on Harry’s face with a glint he wouldn’t have noticed a year ago. Maybe this Dumbledore and his weren’t so different.
Harry slipped his hand into his robes and pulled out the niffler. It opened its black eyes when it was brought into the light, whining at being removed from the warmth of Harry’s pocket. Dumbledore looked it over with keen eyes.
‘None of my spells work,’ added Harry, rather unhelpfully.
‘I know a student who may be able to help you. If he’s finished with his breakfast, I imagine he’ll be out on the grounds on a fine day like this. I’ll introduce you.’ Dumbledore smiled and guided Harry away from the staff room.
‘You’re all right, sir. I’ll just wait for Professor Kettleburn to get back.’
‘I wouldn’t advise it, Harry,’ said Dumbledore, casting the niffler a serious look over his half-moon spectacles.
Harry resigned himself to following along when Professor Dumbledore held the door open for him with a benign smile. Through the castle's corridors, he escorted him outside onto the grounds.
It was sunny outside, despite the cool breeze that had Harry adjusting his scarf. Warm weather was a precious rarity in the Highlands, and while that morning wasn’t an exception, it was still mild for early Autumn. Summer was lingering, and seeping into September. People were leaving breakfast early to head outside and soak up the remainder of the sun. Some even ran out of the Great Hall with full plates and pitchers of pumpkin juice, transfiguring picnic blankets from napkins.
The grounds were a mix of browns, yellows and reds. More trees had begun to turn during the week, the birch leaves had turned yellow, scattering them across the surface of the Black Lake. Some of the Scots pine on the edge of the forest had browned as they usually did this time of year.
It was reminiscent of the first day. Merlin, it had been a week and a day since Harry arrived, and all he had managed in the way of getting home was identifying a couple of O.W.L. level runes.
Dumbledore led Harry in the direction of the lake. ‘How are your classes going?’
‘Lot of homework for the first week.’
‘A common complaint amongst sixth-years.’ Professor Dumbledore chuckled. ‘And how was your first week?’
‘Haven’t had much trouble finding my way around.’
‘And Slytherin? Made any friends yet?’ Dumbledore’s eyes were alight like they always were, but there was that intensity that Harry recognised from when they debriefed and deliberated at the end of their lessons.
Harry hesitated. ‘I’ve been getting on with Marjorie Abbott and William Perry. They’re both in my year, but neither of them are in Slytherin.’
At that, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Under the auburn moustache, his small smile grew into a wider one that Harry was far more familiar with. ‘I always encourage inter-house unity. There are boundless benefits to forming bonds with witches and wizards from all backgrounds.’
Harry hesitated again, debating his next words. ‘Professor, I don’t feel I fit in Slytherin.’
‘You think the hat made a mistake?’
‘Ye –’ He had been down this road before, hadn’t he? Back in second-year, the Sorting Hat was adamant that he would have flourished in Slytherin. Well, the hat finally got what it wanted. He licked his lips and started again. ‘I don’t know. I think I’m a fit for the house, but I’m not sure the house is a fit for me.’
Then, for reasons Harry couldn’t begin to fathom, Dumbledore looked proud. ‘We can’t run from who we are, Harry.’
Harry knew that. He wasn’t trying to! If anything, wasn’t he trying to run back to it? And what did that even mean, anyway? This whole absurdity was just one big accident, and it would be everyone back home who would suffer from it. Could be suffering already, and wasn’t not knowing the worst thing? But Harry couldn’t express all that, so he stayed quiet.
As the edge of the Black Lake came into view, Harry and Professor Dumbledore passed by a wooden veranda. That certainly wasn’t there in 1998, nor were all the pots of purple hydrangeas lined up around it. It was bolted onto the side of the castle, sticking out like a sore thumb.
‘Quite hideous, isn’t it?’ remarked Professor Dumbledore. ‘But the students seem to enjoy it.’
Professor Dumbledore was looking at it like it was a troublesome thistle and Harry absently wondered if he had anything to do with its disappearance between now and his first year. As if he needed any more punishing reminders that this wasn’t his Hogwarts.
Their walk was nearly over when Harry halted, spotting Hagrid at the edge of the Black Lake, where the path ended. Even as a third-year he was bigger than the seventh-years, and could easily pass for one. Near the Black Lake, he ripped off bits of toast, feeding something in the shallows while several greedy hens flocked around him, hoping he would be generous enough to share with them too.
Harry’s heart lurched. No way. No chance. This was dangerous.
Seeing Hagrid across the Great Hall was one thing. Being introduced was another entirely. Meeting Tom Riddle was terrible enough, but at least there was the plausible chance that Voldemort wouldn’t remember an unknown from his school days fifty years ago. This was different. Hagrid knew him.
‘Is anything the matter?’
He shouldn’t go over there. He should just find his cloak and brave the forest to find Kettleburn. And then you’ll have to explain why you’re in the out-of-bounds forest, remarked Ron. Marvellous plan that.
He couldn’t leave the grounds and find someone, who knew how long that would take, even if he was ready to attempt apparition in Hogsmeade with just a few measly lessons of hopping into hoops under his belt. Was Harry willing to take his chances and try to heal the niffler himself? All the spells he cast slid right off it, so where did he go from there?
‘If you’re concerned with Hagrid’s ancestry –’
Harry’s eyes widened, head snapping to Dumbledore. ‘No! No, that’s not a problem.’
Dumbledore’s head tilted, waiting for an explanation, and Harry sighed through his nose. He couldn’t think up an excuse under the professor’s scrutiny. Harry couldn’t let the creature die knowing he was the only one standing in his way, so he shook his head, alleviating Dumbledore of his frown.
Harry was led to the edge of the lake, and every step felt like a mistake, like he was walking across cracked ice. When they reached the end of the path, Harry got cold feet, ready to bolt, but before he could open his mouth, Dumbledore called out: ‘Good morning, Rubeus.’
Hagrid turned, and his face lit up at the arrival of his head of house. ‘Mornin’, Professor Dumbledore, sir.’
‘I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Harry Evans. Harry here is our newest addition to the sixth year. Harry, this is Rubeus Hagrid.’
Harry could tell the younger boy recognised him from the Great Hall, but he couldn’t prepare himself for the flat, mistrustful look on Hagrid’s face. ‘’ello...’
At that moment, his green and silver scarf felt like a curse. Hagrid looked at it like Harry had smuggled it out of Borgin and Burkes. He considered the risks of forgoing the Slytherin badge on his uniform and going houseless from now on.
‘Harry has a little problem that I think you can help him with.’ Dumbledore then turned to Harry. ‘I’m afraid I must go now. When I neglect my marking, the stack begins to call out to me. Can you hear it?’
Harry could hear a faint screeching from somewhere in the distance. ‘Thanks, sir.’
Dumbledore waved. ‘My door is still open if you feel like dropping by.’
His chest tightened, and never had the wall between him and Dumbledore felt so high. This would only work if he kept his mouth shut. It was a tough potion to swallow, but Harry was alone this time.
Harry turned back to Hagrid, to see the other waiting, mouth in an even flatter line. While Hagrid relaxed in the presence of his head, it was long gone now. Even Will wasn’t this standoffish on Harry’s first day, and Riddle hadn’t started his havoc yet. This had to be the Slytherin-Gryffindor divide.
‘Hi, Hagrid.’ Harry offered Hagrid a smile that wasn’t returned. He had trouble meeting Harry’s eyes, his hat hiding most of his face. ‘Dumbledore said you liked magical creatures.’
He didn’t, but Harry needed a segue. Hagrid shrugged. Giant fingers played with a clasp on his robes.
This was going well.
Harry let his actions speak for him when he pulled the baby niffler out of his pocket. It was awake again, sniffing at his hand, but very weak and in need of its bandages changing. Hagrid forgot any willingness to keep his distance and ran to Harry’s side.
‘What happened ter her?’
‘Her?’
‘That’s a girl, that is. This breed o’ niffler is sexually dichromatic, see the grey underbelly? Males are all black.’ Hagrid’s finger traced the baby’s stomach as it lay in Harry’s palms. ‘What happened?’ he repeated, firmer.
‘She got caught in one of Pringle’s bear traps.’
‘So, he’s the one whose been settin’ them up!’ Hagrid cast a look at the trees. So, Hagrid, even at thirteen, was already familiar with the forest.
‘You found them as well?’
‘I go out an’ destroy them, but they pop back up within the hour. Reckon they’re enchanted.’
So, ignoring the run-in with the thornback, it would have made little difference whether Harry had a wand with him or not. He should have known. He was so used to Mr Filch and Mrs Norris that dealing with a competent wizard had thrown him. He pitied the troublemakers of this era.
‘Mr Pringle had the foresight that someone would catch on,’ said Harry.
‘So, how’d yeh find this one then?’
‘Uh.’ Harry threw the options around in his head before he settled on honesty. Better Hagrid find out now rather than later, in case he ever needs help again – like if Pringle decided to leave him for dead one evening. ‘I have to serve community service. He had me empty the traps and collect whatever was in the pouches…along with the bodies. I found her alive.’
For a second, Hagrid looked reproachful. Harry reckoned his scarf certainly didn’t help, and for a second, it looked like Hagrid was about to demand Harry give him the niffler, and then tell him to bugger off. Instead, Hagrid held out his hands.
‘Haven’t had community, but had detention with Pringle. Made me clean all the bells in the clock tower by hand, it took hours. Wasn’t allowed back ter bed ‘til I was done, bugger curfew,’ said Hagrid, cradling the niffler in his burly arms after Harry handed her over.
‘At least you got to keep your wand,’ muttered Harry. Hagrid sent him an equally unnerved and pitying look. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve been trying to find someone who would know how to heal her. Dumbledore told me to come to you as all my healing spells had no effect. If the traps were enchanted, then maybe –’
‘Oh, this wasn’t the trap.’ Harry blinked, and Hagrid flushed and rushed to continue. ‘Niffler fur is like dragon hide, it’s resistant ter most spells. They’re adapted ter withstand them, seen as pests. The wizards in the Middle Ages used ter hunt them ter lower their populations on their land. They was a delicacy!’ His mouth downturned. ‘But, it doesn’t work in their favour when someone is trying ter heal them.’
‘Can you help her?’
Hagrid assessed the damage, feeling around the legs. ‘I reckon so. It’s going ter be a tricky job, the bear trap fractured both her legs. Got a clean beak on the left one just here, feel.’ Harry felt the sudden mountain under the skin and winced. ‘It’s going ter be a while until she’s able ter walk. Leave her with me, and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Thank you.’ Harry smiled, and it felt like a victory when one was mirrored on Hagrid’s round face, black beetle eyes crinkling in the corners.
‘Thanks for takin’ care o’ her up until now. With all those traps, the burrows will be abandoned before long.’
‘You think they’ll move out?’
‘They already are. Nifflers are very intelligent creatures. Everyone talks about their keen sense o’ findin’ an’ stealin’ treasure, but their survival skills are often overlooked. This has been goin’ on since last year. After losin’ so many o’ their colony, they’ll know the forest isn’t safe for them now. I saw their nests, some have moved on, so the rest will follow.’
‘Dumbledore said something similar about the thornbacks.’ At Hagrid’s curious look, he elaborated. ‘He thinks students have been using them for duelling practice.’
‘Some spit acidic venom. Good for mimickin’ spellfire,’ he said. Then quietly, ‘It’s barbaric. If people just opened their minds, they’d see that spiders aren’t as terrifyin’ as they’re made out ter be.’
Be careful, he wanted to say. More than that, he wished he could warn Hagrid, and if he couldn’t warn him, he wished he could urge him to keep Aragog far from the castle. But he couldn’t, because when Harry asked Hermione about her time-turner, she turned to him and said: it was a closed loop – everything that would happen had already happened.
Buckbeak had already been saved, so had Sirius, and Wormtail had already gotten away. Hagrid had already been blamed.
Harry glanced at the doors. ‘I should probably go now.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Hagrid blinked. After some hesitation, he said, ‘Want me ter come find yeh when she’s made a recovery?’
There was the kind Hagrid Harry knew. A tentative smile and an olive branch, and it felt like the frost was finally thawing.
‘That would be great. I’ll see you later, Hagrid.’ Harry offered one last smile and made his way back to the castle, able to take a breath for the first time that day.
I’ve survived the first week, thought Harry. Upon a quick self-assessment, he was doing well, all things considered. In spite of all that 1942 had thrown at him, he had faced it all head-on and was still standing, narrowly escaping death and an arrest. If he kept this up – and avoided spiders from this moment on – the year might just treat him fairly.
Now on to the next order of business. Despite the morning’s interruptions, Harry did have plans for the day. The current priority: find a secure space to work.
Harry was halfway up the path when someone called out to him. He stopped, recognising Marjorie’s voice calling his name over and over again. He followed it, spotting her bow, and Hufflepuff scarf sticking out amongst her companions. She waved him over when they made eye contact.
Harry hesitated, he needed to get started already, he didn’t have time for them. And after his morning, he had reached his limit and had no desire to be around more people. But he felt trapped now that he had acknowledged her.
Fine. He would greet them then excuse himself right after, he decided, and left the path, striding down the lawn back towards the lake.
Marjorie was sitting under the same beech tree where he saw his dad in Snape’s memory. In his mind, he had dubbed it the Marauder’s tree, despite the bitter realisations he had come to that day.
Harry’s gaze was drawn to the unfamiliar Hufflepuff girl beside Marjorie. She was younger, but she shared Marjorie’s features aside from her eyes, hers were blue whereas Marjorie’s were brown, and her face was sharper. After his eyes shifted to the Gryffindor boy next to her, he was unable to look away. The boy looked exceptionally familiar.
‘Good morning, Harry.’ Marjorie grinned and scooted over to make room in the rough circle.
A spot was freed up between her and the girl, with the Gryffindor directly opposite him. The boy immediately clutched the girl’s pale hand.
Harry tried not to stare, he really did, but it was so difficult. How could he not when he was standing across from his dad?
But this wasn’t his dad, he couldn’t be. He looked to be around the same age as the girl, and had a light dusting of freckles across his cheeks and Roman nose, above a masculine square jaw. His hair was a copy of Harry’s, black and untamed, and his skin the same shade. His eyes, however, were hazel like his dad’s, filtered through a pair of large, hexagonal glasses.
‘This is who I was talking about,’ said Marjorie to the Gryffindor, then turned to him. ‘Harry, this is Fleamont Potter, he’s in his fourth year. Fleamont, this is Harry Evans. Didn’t I say you two look alike?’
Fleamont Potter’s mouth pulled into a glower. His wide eyes locked on Harry as if he were witnessing the imminent fall of a dynasty.