Chapter 113 - 2

"Dear Merlin. Sweet child, you don't need to be sorted, you need a therapist." The funny, singing hat said the moment it had been placed on Harry's head. The rest of the hall was silent. Could they all hear the Sorting Hat cursing up a storm? It was rather awkward.

"It's alright, Mr. Hat. I know it looks a bit iffy but I'm very happy with my mama."

"Yes, I see that and that's good, but – dear heavens you must realize this is not normal? You are eleven years old and you have a horcrux of your repressed childhood trauma!"

"I don't mind. I like learning all sorts of magic."

"I see. Well, damn. Ravenclaw, I guess? How long have we been sitting here? I was so disturbed by the contents of your head I haven't even begun to sort you!"

"I am getting rather hungry, Mr. Hat." The Hat sighed. Ignoring all the pesky Black magic, Mr. Potter was a perfectly normal young lad. A bit smart, a bit ambitious, a bit hard-working - but honestly he was mostly rather stupid and daring to let himself get raised by a necromancer. The Hat really could not get over the necromancy thing. The gall of this child to roll with such a scenario.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

There was a very enthusiastic smattering of applause. This was because the students had long edged from excited to bored and people didn't care which house he went into, they were just glad to move on. Harry had baffled the Sorting Hat for almost twenty minutes - the Hat had spent about seventeen of those minutes cursing.

Professor Snape was having a terrible day. It was a terrible day because he was still alive and teaching students and Harry Potter was still alive and now he had to attend a meeting to meet Potter's elusive 'mama' instead of attempting to drink himself to death as any sane man would do on a Friday evening.

That the Boy-Who-Lived had been missing for four years had been a closely guarded secret among the members of the Order of the Phoenix. Albus had burst open the door to his office one summer day, his twinkling eyes un-twinkled and instead blazing with panic. Two nights later, the Order gathered in the Weasley's home and crowded around a muggle newspaper clipping. "WILD ANIMAL ATTACK LEAVES DOZENS DEAD – DETECTIVES STUMPED!" The deaths of Petunia and Dudley Dursley had been confirmed with the remains of Vernon Dursley hesitantly assumed to be some of the many pieces of flesh so mangled that the muggles could not accurately identify who was who anymore. There had been no sign of Harry Potter. Arabella Figg had felt strongly that they would not have brought Harry – but the first place Dumbledore had checked had been Harry's house. Nothing but a cramped cupboard under the stairs and the spiders and memories it housed. Snape had never seen Albus Dumbledore cry before, and he would pay a lot of money to never witness it again.

Snape had privately hoped the boy had not gone on that holiday but had instead taken advantage of the situation and ran from those horrible muggles.

Then he'd pulled a James and appeared among the group of first years. No note, no apologies, no "sorry I made you watch the headmaster cry," and all of Snape's sympathy disappeared.

And now his 'mama' kept him from his drink.

"Why do I have to be here?" He groaned.

Minerva showed up first with the Potter brat. He certainly looked fine and untraumatized – healthy and with that impish smile on his face! His shirt was tucked sloppily into his pants which were hemmed with dirt stains. His hair was as wild as his father's and his eyes – well Hagrid had always said when he'd carted the boy away to his relatives that his eyes had shone brightly in the night and looked just like Lily's. But Harry's eyes did not remind Snape of the soft blue-green of his mother – they looked rather like a radioactive glow, dangerous and wild. It unsettled him.

When the floo flared up, everyone leaned in a bit closer. The woman that popped through was both nothing and everything like he had expected. Her body was boxy, and she was dressed plainly (and rather muggle) in dragonhide boots, denim pants, and a black sweater. Her hair was straight and choppy around her waist as though she cut it herself. In contrast, her face, however, screamed pureblood – her pointed brow, thick lashes, and sculpted cheekbones left her looking rather like a Black. The only thing that stood out to contrast was the dainty pentagram inked under one acid-green eye. No, the tattoo matched her dangerous aura, a veil of darkness hidden under delicate features. She was an old photograph, captured in nothing but black and white (except those eyes she somehow shared with Potter). Her age was indeterminable - although her appearance implied she was in her late thirties, it felt like it was a guise, a snapshot of a singular moment captured in time. There was a weight and wisdom to her person that hinted at an age and history far surpassing her looks. Snape felt a foreboding sense of cold and darkness he'd not seen achieved in a person besides the Dark Lord.

Snape was impressed. One strived to achieve such an intimidating aura.

"Greetings, thank you for coming on short notice," Albus said, offering her a chair. "I don't believe we have met, I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

"Alabasandria Adams," she said. Her voice purred like car exhaust. "And no, we have not met. I did not have the privilege of attending Hogwarts in my youth."

"Ah, Beauxbatons, perhaps?"

"No, I was homeschooled. Harry, how are you, how are your lessons?" It was obvious she was not impressed with the Headmaster, ignoring them all entirely to focus on Potter, who had a manic grin at her attention.

"They are under the impression that you've kidnapped me or something, mama. Apparently, I have been missing for four years." The boy said flatly. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. Not an ounce of concern or surprise lined his face; the boy looked pleased with the whole situation. His guardian raised a sculpted brow and turned to Dumbledore calmly.

"Missing? Seriously?"

"Harry," Albus chided. "We are not accusing your guardian of kidnapping you. We were uncertain of your whereabouts after the tragic accident with your relatives and we are simply making sure you are safe. Are you aware of the fate of your relatives?"

 "They're dead." Potter said. "A tragic camping accident, yeah. Very sad." His voice was emotionless. The both of them acted as though this conversation was boring chit-chat about the weather.

"And you were not present at said accident?"

"Mr. Dumbledore, what is this? An interrogation?! Respectfully, I don't understand how you can be concerned as you clearly never looked for the boy. I've never hidden the fact that I had him. No one ever enquired about his safety or whereabouts."

"I apologize, I did not intend for it to come across as such." Dumbledore tried to assure her. "I was a friend of Harry's parents, you see and we were all so worried when he and the Dursley family went missing."

"How interesting that you only showed concern once he was not in your grasp. Who's idea was it to leave him with such awful muggles? I would assume James and Lily Potter did not approve of such a thing?"

"Ah, you see, when Lily Potter sacrificed her life for her son, a protective barrier of love surrounded Harry. To protect Harry from Lord Voldemort's followers it was decided that Harry should be placed with blood relatives to keep these protections."

"Love – you're saying that love – that is absurd." The woman looked at Albus and the first hint of emotion crossed her face – bafflement. Like Dumbledore was a particularly slow first-year student. "That makes no sense whatsoever. But it is not important anymore, the Dursleys are dead and so these wards are a moot point."

"If they were truly powered by love and not blood they never would have worked in the first place," Potter pointed out. "The Dursleys made it very clear they did not love me and it was mutual."

Dumbledore frowned, his twinkling eyes twitched at the boy's complete lack of care about the situation.

"Look," the child continued. "It's obvious what you're here for, so I'll tell you the story. For my cousin Dudley's seventh birthday he demanded to go camping. Uncle Vernon hated leaving me home alone because he was worried I would steal food, which to be fair I regularly had to do. But Dudley said me being there would ruin his birthday, so they locked me in the cupboard under the stairs while they were gone for the weekend. But then they never came back, and I started to get really worried and scared. I'm not sure how I did it, but at some point, I must have apparated to Diagon Alley. One moment I was in the cupboard thinking about how I was going to die in there and the next I found myself in the Alley. I walked around a bit and eventually ran into mama who gave me some food. When I told her what happened she said I wasn't going back and we found out a couple of weeks later about the bear attack. I've lived with her at her potions shop in Knockturn ever since."

Potter recounted his tale with a calm voice, never breaking or flinching away as he described the abuse. He looked up when he finished, frowning slightly at the horrified expressions surrounding him and shrugged. "It's alright. Like mama said, they're dead now. It doesn't matter." And the boy looked like he meant it, unperturbed by the entire situation. The both of them were rather blunt, truth be told. But was it something the boy was emulating or was he truly fine with the truth of what had happened? Was this denial, shock, disassociation, or apathy? His mother nodded in agreement at his callous words.

"I am very sorry to hear about that, Harry, my boy. And I am very happy to hear you are doing well now. But there is still the chance that a member of Voldemort's forces might still come after you."

"Are you implying that I cannot keep him safe, Mr. Dumbledore? I assure you, we have excellent wards."

"You must understand my concern, Ms. Adams, Harry has a target on his back -"

They began to argue in barely polite earnest. It was very clear they would have to pry custody of Mr. Potter out of her cold, dead hands.

Dumbledore's concern was valid, although he was pleased by her dedication to the boy. The Adams family was not from England, he was certain. He'd heard of some in America and some in Eastern Europe, but she likely had no ties to Britain. So what had brought her to England? Voldemort had not done much recruiting outside of the country, but it was possible she'd been sent over from Durmstrang, as they were Dark-aligned.

Still, it was obvious that Harry was happy and healthy under her care, already quite advanced in his classes and utterly pleased with her. The two would not be easily separated, and the poor boy had clearly suffered an awful time living with his blood relatives. He owed Harry some happiness. Not to mention that frankly, had she been a Death Eater, the boy would already be dead.

Harry had already made fast friends with the youngest Weasley son. If Dumbledore got any inkling Harry was being raised inappropriately, he could always have him removed into their care.

Harry had realized, quite swiftly, that he was not a normal child. In his defense, Luna had never said anything about his odd behavior, but it was clear that Ron and the other boys in their dorm had noticed his strangeness. It only took one incident for Harry to start changing in the bathroom so that he could avoid all their questions about his markings. Luckily, Neville of all people had known about rune tattoos being a religious practice (of nebulous origin and generally old fashioned, but not inherently Dark affiliation) and was able to help convince the others it was not a big deal and to please not tell people.

It was very hard to join in the getting to know each other. The other boys had not been raised in isolation with almost exclusively dead people for company. Thank Hades for Quidditch. All conversations could be redirected to discussions about sports.Harry really appreciated that about Ron and Neville in particular. He got the sense that they both realized when he was trying to avoid a subject and always let him talk about something else without fuss.

However, even in some of the more innocuous conversations where he felt he should have been able to contribute, Harry often put his foot in his mouth. He'd casually mentioned, in one of the discussions about magic they'd been able to practice before coming to Hogwarts, one of the many sacrificial rituals he'd performed. Everyone had stopped talking to stare at him, and Ron had turned him, exasperated, and said:

"He's talking about a goat, obviously. Like for a Beltane festival or something, right Harry?"

"Yeah, obviously. Um, murder is wrong and I have never committed it. So, Quidditch! Neville, you play any?"

He'd written to mama about the problem, but she'd been no help, simply advising him that he could avoid speaking to people or could come home, neither of which sounded like good options.

At the least, he was fairly certain people thought he was strange in the quirky, out-of-touch celebrity sort of way, and not in the secretly practicing illegal magic way. Mama had never made a big deal about him being famous. They would either glamor over his scar or he would wear a hat out in public, not to mention that they did most of their shopping in the muggle world - and so he had honestly forgotten how famous he really was. Harry learned quickly to lean into these assumptions. He couldn't talk too much about his private tutors growing up because they'd been sworn to secrecy for his protection. Death Eaters could always be listening, he told his yearmates in a calm voice, and so for everyone's safety, there were just some things he could not discuss with them.

Despite his inability to act normal, friendship came pretty easy to Harry. Ron, just like Luna had done years ago, had simply decided on his behalf that they were best friends. It was convenient to not have to try his hand at proper socialization, and Ron was genuinely pretty cool so Harry did not mind him. Mama had always insisted he kept busy, so it was nice to spend their first weekend at the castle camped out by the lake with a mountain of sandwiches and talking about nonsensical things. His twin older brothers let them borrow their brooms for the afternoon, and they dared each other to fly closer and closer to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. After a hearty dinner, they played chess by the fire.

No, Harry didn't think he would get bored here at Hogwarts, there was so much fun to be having! 

Despite feeling plenty fulfilled with his existing friend group of two, by Halloween, Harry had acquired another. Hermione Granger was rather bossy, in Ron's defense, but Harry had not minded her presence nearly as much. With her willing to answer every question in class, Harry was able to zone out completely and not worry about being called on.

Then, Quirrell fell to a dead faint in the Great Hall, and all the children started to scream in terror.

"Where's Hermione?" One of their classmates shouted over the chaos as the first years huddled together.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, looking rather sheepish. "Is she still crying in the bathroom about what I said?"

"Probably," Harry said. "It looks like she's going to die and it'll be your fault. Tough luck, mate."

Ron gave him a baffled look.

"Merlin's tits you're weird. Let's go find her, Harry, I don't want her to die just because she's annoying."

You didn't need to be a budding necromancer to find a troll. They could smell it from a corridor away, nowhere near the dungeons, thanks Quirrell. They heard a shrill scream from Hermione and began to run towards the sound. The girl's bathroom was half destroyed, and the girl was frozen in shock. Harry fired a blasting curse and then an incendio but with the troll's thick skin and high pain tolerance, it merely turned to look at the intruders in mild annoyance. Harry hesitated to use something stronger against the beast. He was a perfectly normal first year with two months of training under his belt, after all. He went for another shot of fire, aimed directly at its face. 

Ron meanwhile, had dragged Hermione away. They stood shaking behind Harry, shamelessly using him as a human shield with their wands out, unsure of how to contribute. Ron levitated bits of rubble to throw at the creature when it began to raise its arm to strike them.

"Ron - the club!" Hermione pointed to the troll's wooden club which was about as long and thick as the children themselves. While Harry kept the thing thoroughly distracted with his vaguely age-appropriate spells, the other two raised their arms as one and screamed.

" Wingardium Leviosa!" The club flew from its hand and crashed into the ceiling, then fell with a mighty bonk directly onto the troll's skull. It tipped over backwards and crashed into the sinks, spraying them with water. As Hermione and Ron began to laugh hysterically, Harry whispered the Killing Curse at the unconscious beast. The curse left no traces but the large bump on its head left a much more reasonable explanation how three school children had managed to take down the creature. When the professors found them, Harry's bashful, innocent smile fooled all of them. 

Clearly the other two children were not accustomed to near-death experiences, as they both followed him around like lost ducklings. Hermione, like the rest of his growing horde of minions, had declared herself a part of their group after Halloween. Somehow, her overbearing behavior became endearing, although she and the boys disagreed heartily on the subject of studying. Harry had been able to get by just fine completing all his essays last minute. Most of the material was review for him, and Harry couldn't bother to waste precious effort beyond the bare minimum for his homework. His brain could only hold so much focus, and that focus, was of course, better suited to goofing around.

She was very nice and funny when she wasn't hyperfocused on her books. With her being muggleborn, Ron a pureblood, and Harry raised largely outside of both cultures, they had many an interesting discussion about the differences between muggle and wixen societies. They made grand plans to spend a summer visiting cinemas and theme parks as well as ancient magical heritage spots like Stonehenge and the oldest magical districts in the Alps. 

They all agreed that exploring the castle in their spare moments was a good mix of exciting and educational, so that was how the students spent the majority of their time. Ron wanted to find the kitchens, Hermione wanted to sneak inside the Restricted Section and Harry (whose ideas had been vetoed immediately) wanted to explore the Forbidden Forest. Absolutely nothing dangerous or exciting happened up until one DADA class, when Harry, who was bored out of his mind, was trying to subtly influence Professor Quirrel with Dark magic. His goal was to make him talk about something more interesting than vampires for once and discovered the man was possessed by something, and his body and soul had mostly been consumed by the creature. (Oh, and he was drinking unicorn blood, which was not only gross, but an amateur move) That the cowardly professor was secretly a really shitty necromancer made things much more interesting, and Harry was ready to investigate.

Chapter 5: Harry Fucks Up His Professor's LivesNotes:not only was this not beta read, this was posted in one take at 2 am. please let me know if it is trash.

also im curring working 50 hours a week and i think i have adhd. motivation is nonexistant. ive got an outline but dont expect regular updates. i will get to it eventually. there should only be like 10 chapters max so not too much of a commitment, right?????

(this is the writer from the future, 10 chapter my ass)

Chapter TextAt the end of the lecture, Harry urged his friends to head off without him, claiming he had a question for their stuttering professor. Confused but not academically driven enough to stay and listen to more material, Ron happily dragged Hermione off with a promise to save him a seat at dinner.

Professor Quirrell didn't look up from where he was grading papers at his desk. Heavy darkness swirled around his head, the shadows bursting from his skull - an obvious sign of possession. Harry was a bit embarrassed to admit he hadn't realized the severity of the situation immediately – he'd just thought the man had been snacked on by a vampire and was shrouded in dark energy as the result. It would explain all the garlic. He was still very confused about the garlic. Did spirits eat garlic? Or was it a red herring?

Anyway, he had been unable to determine what sort of thing was possessing the man. It had to be fairly powerful to take over this much of his soul, so it could be a demon or a wraith. Harry wasn't very concerned either way. He'd helped in a few exorcisms before, and mama had sent over a long list of instructions and tips.

The apprentice rubbed a tattoo hidden underneath his school robes – seven equilateral triangles forming a circle around a rune. It would protect him from possession in case something went wrong - but it would not protect any of the other children, so Harry did have to focus carefully on this task. He couldn't bear the shame of his exorcism going bad and letting a dark shade loose in the castle. Thus, Harry had begrudgingly studied up on the ritual during Quirrell's class. 

Taking a deep breath, he let his magic wash over the room. The shadows shuddered and stiffened as he took hold of them. Their ends wrapped around his wrist and coiled and shifted with energy. It was as though he was now holding the leashes of several angry dogs ready to strike. As the room steadily grew darker, Harry pulled out his wand and silently cast to summon a vial of pure salt. A shadow curled around it and laid down a salt circle around the professor's desk. At that moment, Quirrell noticed the darkness as he drew the papers closer to his face to see clearer. Confused, he noticed the silent figure at the door of the classroom. Knowing the spirit was trapped only as long as the professor didn't break the circle, Harry began to chant the spell to remove the possessing being. 

Lord Voldemort was not an idiot of course, and immediately recognized the spell and began to panic. Well, no one heard him panic except for Quirrell, who was also panicking – but mostly because Voldemort was panicking – he figured if something was enough to startle Voldemort it had to be serious. The Dark Lord ushered his host into a counterspell which the man began to mutter as his shaking hands unwrapped his turban. The panicking had cost them though – neither noticed the swirling shadows or the line of salt completely encasing them inside it. 

Harry, meanwhile, was also a bit panicked. The twin faces protruding from one head was a disturbing image; the fact that he was casually exorcising Lord Voldemort was far creepier. What was with this man and residing inside people's heads? Did he not have anything better to do? Harry's incantation faltered only a moment as he quickly moved into action. He had the shadows wrap around the professor like vines, trapping him and keeping him from continuing his own magic. 

But Voldemort fought against the shadows with all his might. After a long moment of flailing and cursing, Quirrell released a great scream and collapsed, his body twitching and prone. Voldemort's shade began to ooze from his skin - his flesh stripped away like bubbling tar pushing through Quirrell's pores. His spirit now bounced freely around the perimeter of the circle, wailing and hissing Dark curses as he tried to flee. But the circle would not yield to Voldemort's incorporeal form, and Quirrell was too unconscious to be of much assistance. 

That didn't mean Voldemort was defenseless, however. He had been ripped out of Quirrell but the wizard was skilled in Dark magic just as much as Harry was. Although he was trapped, he could still counteract the necromancer's attempt to exorcise him. Harry's magic gripped onto the misty form of the spirit and with a harsh curse began to drag it towards the earth. His hands were raised as though in prayer and his eyes glowed in the wildly flickering light of the room. Shadows arched out of his palms and spread out around him, hissing and howling as they began to latch unto the spirit and drag it into hell. But Voldemort resisted, slipping and sliding through the metaphysical hands grasping at him. The shadows were unable to keep a hold of him. 

Desperate, Harry gathered all his strength. He made a scooping gesture with his arm and the room plunged into total darkness. A massive horde of shadows rushed at the spirit and, well, spirited it away – the chaos and power let the horde grip Voldemort enough to push him beyond the Hogwarts wards. It was not a proper exorcism – his shade was still out there – but it was at least weakened and not a direct threat to his fellow students. 

Voldemort's screams of pain and anger echoed across the grounds, and Harry suddenly realized he was in a particularly suspicious scenario. The candles flickered back to life, and the boy found himself next to a bloody body. A quick brush over the form with his magic confirmed that Quirrell had died and his soul had been ripped to pieces. Did he have time to do something with the body? Would that make it more or less suspicious, he wondered? It was extremely inconvenient for his professor to die. Did he have time to harvest his bones for divination? 

Deep scratches bore into the walls and a fine layer of salt covered the room like dust. No, it would take too long to clean everything up, and ironically enough, while the boy was great at necromancy, his repairo needed work. 

Harry felt twinges of exhaustion and a migraine begin but he mustered his strength and called forth the shadows once more. It was best he left as quickly as possible. He was grateful that wizards relied on soft candles and not bright fluorescents. There were very few places in the castle where Harry could not utilize the shadows. He draped himself in their darkness and shifted through it, landing in a dark corner near the Transfiguration classroom. Safely hidden for the moment, he murmured a long spell in Latin. A sensation came into focus as though his glasses had gone foggy for a moment and he was just regaining his vision. A mental door accessing Hogwarts' expansive flock of ravens and vultures clicked open. Through the bird's eyes, he followed his prey and saw Voldemort deep within the Forbidden Forest. He peered into the Great Hall and heard the loud murmur of chatter and the tapping of plates and cutlery. None of the Professors were wise to the fading screams coming from outdoors.

Harry shook his head, canceling the spell. He straightened his robes, put on an innocent face, and hurried down to dinner.

Quirrell's body was found the next morning when his first class walked in on the odd sight before them and the telltale stink of Dark magic in the air around the scene. At dinner, Dumbledore stood and announced that Quirrell had suffered an accident while practicing a spell. He rambled on a bit about how magic should always be taken seriously and that their DADA classes were temporarily canceled until a substitute professor could be found. The staff meeting that evening was full of arguing and confusion. The plans for the defense of the Sorcerer's Stone were quickly scrapped and rebuilt stronger than ever, but there was no need.

The first-years found Fluffy, of course. Tell a bunch of kids to not go near a suddenly forbidden corridor, and you will discover that said forbidden corridor becomes a hotspot. Hermione and Ron were much too preoccupied to notice any suspicious trapdoors, however, on account of Harry desperately trying to pet the big doggy. When they had finally dragged him from the room by his feet, (his hands were busy rubbing the face of one of the doggy's heads) Harry had given them a look of such sadness that they both found themselves apologizing profusely, despite the fact that Harry was an idiot. Ron was horrified that he had somehow befriended another Hagrid, and Hermione had to agree to visit the owlery with him so he could have pet something less deadly. Harry had to leave behind his large entourage of woodland critters he'd befriended at home (mama had put her foot down about a pet) and it was truly awful, to be separated from fuzzy animals.

It only solidified their friendship further, as the saner two declared their need to keep Harry from running straight into the forest to try his hand and befriending a werewolf or a centaur.

There was a small brush of excitement at Christmas. Harry and Alabasandria did not celebrate in the traditional manner but the winter weather lent a power boost to their Dark magic. There was an abundance of ancient rituals to perform. Harry's favorite was one where they both cut down a tree, set it on fire, bled over the flames, and received a powerful insight into the upcoming year. For Harry, he saw a large snake. On Christmas itself, he was pleased to see a large mountain of presents at the foot of his bed. From his mama, he received his very own broomstick (McGonagall had finally convinced her to let Harry join the Quidditch team) and a stack of books. He received a number of thoughtful gifts from his friends as well. He was particularly happy that Hagrid had sent him a photo album of his parents. Photos could be used in a variety of rituals to speak with the dead, and he had wanted to summon his parents for years now.

But the oddest of all, and the thing that truly made their Christmas exciting was the small package from an unknown person sitting at the bottom of his pile. Alabasandria had nearly foamed at the mouth when he joyously showed her the Invisibility Cloak. 

"It says it was your father's? That cannot be the Peverell Cloak. I had assumed one of the older brothers, but for you to be descended from the third?" She gaped at him, flabbergasted as she gingerly touched one corner of the shimmering fabric. It sparkled and rippled under her hand. 

"Harry, this is a priceless artifact. One-third of the Hallows! I'd always thought the desire for them was a bit of a copout for hard work and honest necromancy, only sought by those not powerful enough to accomplish anything on their own, but merciful Hades - The power that radiates from this thing! It is a gift from Death itself, a mark that you are an honored and treasured necromancer in Death's eyes." Harry was intrigued. From the very second he'd put it on, he'd felt warm and tingly like he was submerged in a hot bath. Gentle rolls of Dark magic radiated out of the fabric, vibrating as it bounced off the two necromancer's energy. It felt soothing and comforting, as though the Cloak was a living thing, choosing to work for Harry because it liked him.

"Imagine if you had all three," his mama whispered. "You'd be unstoppable. Not even Dumbledore or Voldemort would stand a chance against you." She gave him a warm smile. "My little apprentice, soon to be the most powerful mage in all of Europe!" 

Harry shrugged, bashful. 

"It's very neat. And I do really like its Dark energy, but I can already hide with my shadows, so what use is this thing, really? I don't need to turn invisible." 

"Harry!" She sighed. "This is the Cloak, from the Tale of the Three Brothers . It can hide you from anything, including Death itself. Do you not understand? Shadows are fickle things in comparison. It will keep you from being summoned, scryed, or located while it's yours. Even if you don't use it much, the prestige and power from simply owning it would be enough to certify you as a Dark Lord if you wanted! And again, for it to arrive here, no matter that it was sent to you by someone, means that it accepts you as its master. It is a gift from the Death Gods, one that you should respect and appreciate." 

Harry shrugged again. He didn't really understand a lot of the esoteric parts of necromancy, like his mama's insistence that Death was real, but he supposed it had to be a big deal for a powerful artifact like this to show up randomly at his house. It could be useful to pull pranks or sneak off to the library. He wasn't allowed to tell Luna or Hermione or Ron about his necromancy, so he couldn't travel via shadow around them anyway. And it felt nice and sort of sentient, like he had gained another friend. Harry decided he did like it.

He felt the Cloak warm under his hands as though it was pleased with his acceptance.

For Severus Snape, the rest of his year would not be quiet in the least. Severus hated a lot of things in life, but what he hated most of all was children. Happy children. Children living happy, spoiled childhoods reminded him painfully of his own tragic past. His parents who would not and could not spoil him. His father with a drunken hand raised - his mother with a wilted smile and a posture of fear. So when Potter came back from winter break with a handmade Weasley sweater under his robes and an illegal broomstick clumsily hidden and a too-large smile on his stupid face, Snape knew he had to ruin that energy for the lot of these stupid, ungrateful, spoiled brats. Didn't they see that the world was a cruel and horrible place?

Potter had nearly died in his cupboard under the stairs and he didn't look the least bit traumatized by it! Here he was, happily running down the halls and shouting after his friends like his parents had not been murdered by the Dark Lord! 

Potter's precious mama (how dare he replace Lily, wonderful, perfect Lily) insisted that the boy's potions abilities were beyond the rest of the first years, although Snape had refused to let the boy move up a level. They had worked out a compromise, or rather Albus had forced the issue and allowed Potter to "independently study" in the back of the classroom, leaving the two to not have to interact at all. While an improvement, Snape was certain leaving the boy alone would give him nothing but free time to mess around and pull pranks and other such nonsense that James would have done had he been granted such an opportunity. Thus Snape made it his mission to keep a very thorough eye on the brat to ensure he was behaving appropriately. 

Snape would not admit it to anyone, not even the Dark Lord under Cruciatus, but whenever he watched Potter, he got unnerved. There was something off about the boy. His eyes shone too brightly in an unnatural avada kedavra green. When the professor looked into them he saw Lily's body. He saw the dozens of faceless muggles he'd tormented at the Dark Lord's orders. The feeling left him shaky and haunted. An eleven-year-old child should not put out an effect like that of the Dementors. The strangeness of the Potter child only made Severus angrier. 

It was during a Potion's lesson that Snape snapped. 

The lesson ended with the bubbling remains of three exploded cauldrons burning holes into the flooring, a cowering Neville Longbottom trapped standing on his chair, ten children in tears – either in pain or in fear of Snape's rage, and six Gryffindors getting a month's detention. 

Two days later, Snape started going insane. 

"You know, I'll be the first to admit it, I was an ass. But like wow, dude. You let yourself go! What the hell is wrong with you, really? Like you just flat-out bully eleven-year-olds now. Did I give you childhood trauma? Are you messed up in the head because I showed off your underwear that one time?" 

Snape was in the bath, enjoying a soak and a bottle of tequila and the ghost of James Potter was floating above him. Snape wiped at his eyes in confusion, getting soap into them and making them burn. As he rubbed fiercely to stop the pain, he heard James Potter's loud laugh in his ears. 

"What the fuck?" Snape groaned. 

"Fair question," answered the please-God-don't-be-real ghost of his childhood nemesis. The dead man perched himself on the marble countertop, his feet swinging like a child. "I've come back to haunt you for being a dick." 

"Please tell me this isn't hell." 

"Unfortunately, you are alive." Potter gave him a pitying look. "And you're one to complain, I'm the guy unfortunate enough to have to see you naked." 

When Snape was alone, usually in the evenings while he was grading papers or trying to rest after a long day of teaching, Potter's ghost would appear to mock him. Snape had no proof if the man was even real or some potion-fume-addled figment of his imagination. He prayed for the latter. 

But his high never went away. Day after day, Potter haunted him, keeping him awake late into the night by knocking over glass bottles and other obnoxious behavior. He was truly a poltergeist after Peeves' own heart. He replaced all of Snapes' liquor with spoiled milk, he turned all his tap water a burning hot or cold and he kept rearranging the furniture in his quarters by half an inch so he would trip or smack his toes against them. He was miserable but it only kept escalating.

Once, he woke in a panic, and found Potter trying to suffocate him with his pillow. He also began to sabotage all of his potions. Unfortunately the man had been skilled enough at potion-making that he knew precisely what ingredients to throw in his cauldrons to make them unsalvageable. He also started following Snape around everywhere. No one else could see him, but Potter was always there. Remarking on his meal choices, mimicking him while he taught, making excruciating, uncomfortable eye-contact while he was in the bathroom. The ghost had no limits and nothing better to do but follow Snape around for weeks.

"Why on Earth does Dumbledore have you teaching, anyway? That seems really dumb. I get you have to atone for your crimes of getting me murdered or whatever, and I'm sure Dumbledore wants to keep his pet on a short leash, but why would anyone let you near children? I'm pretty sure you get off on bullying kids." 

"Shut your mouth!" Snape snapped. "Do not act as though you did not treat me the same!" He had made a vow to ignore Potter weeks ago but the constant comments coming from the ghost made him lose his cool often. 

"I was an immature child bullying another immature child. Which sucks, yeah, My fault on that bit. But you are now a grown-ass adult man abusing your position of power to bully defenseless children. How is that the same? Do you think Lily would honestly have ever liked you if she saw the way you're acting now?" 

"DO NOT say her name!" In a flash, he was standing, toe-to-toe with Potter and red in the face. But the man only smiled and disappeared. Confused, Snape made a circuit around his quarters, checking to see if anything had been tampered with when he felt the temperature of the drop by at least thirty degrees. 

"Severus." A soft voice whispered in his ear. Gooseflesh shivered down his body and the blood drained from his face. "Sev – er – us? Is that you?"

"Lily?" he croaked, eyes darting around the room. Silence. "Lily?"

"Yes, it's me." She appeared before him, looking exactly as she did the day she had died. Just like her husband, she didn't look dead and Severus had the urge to reach out and see if he could touch her. His hand trembled as he moved his hand to rest on her cheek. Just before he made contact, she flickered out of existence.

"No! Lily? Lily, please!" He realized with shame that he was crying, and prayed that Potter was not watching this.

Then she appeared across his room and Severus nearly tripped over his feet to stand.

"Severus. How could you?" The look of disappointment on her face had never been more intense. Not even during their argument in fifth year had she looked this upset. Severus flushed in shame.

"Lily, I'm sorry. I did not know the prophecy was about you - I never would have -"

"Answer this question, Severus. Would you feel guilty if it had not been me. Would you have continued to serve your lord if the prophecy had been about Frank and Alice?"

"I - I -"

"Because I think we both know the answer to that is no, you would not have cared. Do not lie to me and pretend you care for the rights of muggleborns, for the preservation of human rights, for peace, that I fought and died for. I was the only exception for you, the prettiest and kindest of the mudbloods. You would make an exception for me but not for the others. You begged your Dark Lord to save me, with not a CARE IN THE WORLD IF HE HURT MY SON? Do you think I would have ever forgiven you if that had worked?"

She waited for him to say something, to defend himself, but he had no words to explain his actions. He had been angry enough at James, his father, the world, that he had not cared who got hurt. It was true.

"Fine, don't answer me. Your silence speaks volumes, Severus. I can't even pretend that's what I truly care about, since that wasn't even the worst thing that you've done, is it? I did not come here to talk about me.

Did you not get enough retribution, when James died, when Harry was orphaned? Was that not enough pleasure for you? Must you still attack him? He is a child. He has never even met James. How dare you punish a child for the actions of his father.

It would be awful, but understandable I suppose, in the sense that you never got over your childhood trauma, if you were just unkind to Harry. But that is not the case. I have been watching you, these past weeks, and you have been cruel to several of the children. Little Neville is scared of you! Frank and Alice were my friends, they were kind to you as well, and this is how you treat their son? Does this please you, to be hated by children? To strike fear into their hearts? Do you like it, feeling like your father?" 

The words flowed from her mouth like a stream of water, rushing faster and heavier as she talked until by the end she was yelling and her vibrant red hair had burst into flames.

Severus had to be dead, because this was hell. This was a pain far worse than anything the Dark Lord had subjected him too. He begged for something as simple as the Cruciatus Curse instead of this. Lily, enraged; Lily, weeping.

"I'm sorry," was all he could muster, but she disappeared.

There were many types of ghosts which could haunt a man. Potter and Lily were both quite literal ones, pouring salt in his coffee every day for the rest of term and dumping buckets of water over his head right before his lessons. But the literal ones were not the type that could slowly kill a man. Instead, it was the deep, rotting shame of a man's actions that festered away at his soul. A man who had needed to feel wanted, supported, appreciated, powerful, and important at the cost of the one person to ever grant him those things willingly, without payment.

Severus wept.

Chapter 6: This Chapter Is Too Wholesome (brb literally crying rn)Chapter TextHarry giggled with glee, bouncing up and down as he stood in front of the altar of his parents. The photos he'd received of them alongside a grave-robbed bone or two and a dash of blood was all he needed to call forth his parents from the dead permanently as ghosts. His mama had initially been quite against the idea. It was very common for budding necromancers to lose their minds obsessing over the ghosts of loved ones. It was only after several tattoos, numerous long lectures about ghost theory, and her understanding of Harry's rather apathetic outlook that finally granted him permission to summon them. His insistence that he wanted to call forth his parents so they could haunt an annoying teacher rather than cry over what was lost was very reassuring to Alabasandria. She trusted that her apprentice was mature enough to handle the situation properly, and her divinations gave no inclination her protege would go mad (plus her disdain for the incompetent professor and his terrible potions books made her biased, how dare he ruin the fine art of potion making?) so when another letter filled with complaints about more detentions with the awful man arrived, she'd finally relented.

And thus Harry slowly spoke through the long incantation, dripped blood onto the bones and watched the hazy forms of his parents slowly appear before his eyes.

"Harry! My darling son, is that you?" Lily said. "But, you were just a baby when I last saw you, I'm confused. What year is it?"

"Hi mum," Harry said. "I'm eleven, not a baby. You've been dead for a while, sorry."

Lily burst into ghostly tears and tried to hug him which made him uncomfortable. He had never really been hugged as a child except by Luna and more recently Hermione, and ghost hugs just felt weird but he suffered through it with grace because it seemed rude to tell his dead mum to stop. It made his skin feel cold and dry and prickled at his senses until she finally released him. Then he suffered through one from his dad.

It took a few moments for his parents to be more grounded in reality as Harry fed more power into the ritual. Lily began to cry again when she remembered her own death. It took some time for ghosts to form and regain all their memories and feelings, but their bodies finally became more and more corporeal, their ghost-ness only noticeable if you saw they had no shadows, were not breathing and their footsteps made no noise.

"You're alright, aren't you Harry? How is it that we've appeared here?" James finally asked after his dead parents had calmed down. James picked at the corner of his bloodstained sweater, fascinated that he could somewhat feel the fabric beneath his fingers.

"I'm alright dad. There's no need to worry. I've been adopted by a wonderful mama and I've been doing well at Hogwarts. I'm in Gryffindor and I made the Quidditch team. I actually brought you here because I need you to haunt Professor Snape."

"Oh hell yeah!" James said. "Bloody brilliant idea!"

"James!" Lily said, glaring at him. "Absolutely not! Harry, sweetheart, please tell us about what's happened after we died. And do explain how you managed to raise us from the dead?"

So Harry quickly went through his life's story, then went through it again with more detail after his mother almost burned down the empty classroom he was hiding in through the intensity of her rage. Had the Dursleys still lived, she would have chased them down and haunted them viciously for the rest of their very short lives.

Ghosts were not the same as their human counterparts, with a more limited range of emotions and cognitive function. They often became a heightened, simplistic version of their final living moments. Thus, Lily having died with her maternal instincts on haywire, was not a regular ghost at all, but instead a violent, vengeful revenant. She had some control over the elements but couldn't interact with objects.

James, on the other hand, was clearly a poltergeist. A ghost brimming with unresolved anger and justice and a dash of mischief. Not like Peeves - Harry reckoned Peeves must have been a student when he died due to the nonviolent nature of his pranks and the fact that the professors had never exorcised him. No, James was a more traditional poltergeist. One that could interact with the world and did so out of malicious, mischievous intent. He would not just pelt people with water balloons or steal library books, he could kill if he wanted to.

And the two overwhelmed parents, taken before they could ensure their newborn's safety, very much wanted to get some revenge on behalf of their very strange but alive and healthy child.

"... so yeah, that's about it." Harry finished his tale. "Things haven't been very exciting once I got to Hogwarts. I haven't even been able to do much necromancy besides this and also when I exorcised Lord Voldemort out from my Professor's head. But really it's been quite boring. So if you could help me by haunting Snape that would be great."

"Harry, sweetheart, I think we might have other priorities like how you just said you exorcised You-Know-Who??" Lily complained.

"It's fine. I'm not worried about Voldemort. I just want to pass my potions exams. Mama's been teaching me but there's no point if Snape fails me anyway." His mother still looked uncertain, her instincts telling her to go after Voldemort or any of the other Death Eaters who could pose a threat to her son. "If you don't want to," Harry continued. "Then I could do it myself, I just don't want to expose my Black magic and get expelled from school or sent to Azkaban."

"Lily!" James begged, bouncing on his heels in excitement. "Please please please please please please please - "

"Christ," she muttered. "Alright, fine. But once we're done with Severus I'm going to find out who left you with my sister and I'm going to throw them off the astronomy tower."

"Yes dear," James agreed easily.

"And I would like to meet your mama, Harry love."

"Yes dear," Harry said. James cackled with delight as Lily shot him an unamused look. Then she rolled her eyes and smiled, leaning over to press the lightest imprint of a kiss onto Harry's forehead. Despite its cold feeling, Harry felt his face break out into a warm blush at the simple affection.

"Just like your father," she said in a wistful tone. "Alright boys, I'll show you a proper prank. I'm going to make Severus cry by the time I'm done with him!"

Harry stepped off the Hogwarts Express with a grin as he waved goodbye to his classmates.

"You should come visit over the holiday," Ron complained as the trio waited for the crowd to thin. "It'll be boring without you. I know mum would love to meet you."

"I'll see," Harry said. "But I think my mama will be keeping me busy this summer. I haven't been able to keep up with my apprenticeship while I was in school."

"Well, I'm not sure if Professor Snape will be back to teach Potions next year," Hermione said. "He's been acting very strange these past few months. The other Professors seem worried about him. I know your mum doesn't agree with his curriculum, maybe if he leaves, you won't have to catch up so much over break and we can at least meet up in Diagon at some point?"

"If Snape does finally lose it and quits, maybe your mum can be our new Potions Professor? You said she's a good teacher, right? Bound to be better than Snape." Ron said. Harry wondered if there was anything his mama would hate more than to be trapped in a castle with a bunch of children. He grinned at the thought of Malfoy or the other Slytherins being on the receiving end of her lectures.

"Or, if it would be easier, we could spend some time at your house, Harry. I wouldn't mind sitting in on some of your potion's lessons!"

"Oi! Speak for yourself on that one, Hermione!" Ignoring his bickering friends, Harry looked around the station, spotting his mama's shadowed form hiding in the corner, watching the other parents hugging and cooing over their children in horror.

"Oh!" Harry said. "That's her over there." He pointed.

"She looks… creepy," Ron said.

"Ronald!"

"What! She does. Sorry Harry."

"It's alright. She wouldn't be offended by that." Harry laughed and started to push his trunk in that direction. Before they could get close, they were accosted by a flock of Weasleys converging on their group.

Everyone was promptly hugged and pleasantries exchanged. Harry was a bit overwhelmed by the loud, maternal nature of Mrs. Weasley.

"- And of course Harry dear, you're more than welcome to come visit us over the summer, Ronald's told us so much about you in his letters. Where is your guardian? I'd love to meet her and we can arrange a time -"

Alabasandria appeared on the edge of their group without a sound. There was a brief moment where no one noticed her except Harry before Ron jumped in startled fear and began to curse. Mrs. Weasley began to berate him as the other Weasley children looked over the scene in confusion. Harry giggled at the mischief when an even funnier idea crossed his mind. All the other children were hugging their parents so why shouldn't Harry? It would be a perfect way to solidify their mother/son disguise in front of so many people. And Harry had been forced to suffer through many surprise hugs recently. It was only fair that he shared the horror with his mama.

Alabasandria recognized the impish grin adorning her charge's face but could not react to prevent Harry from wrapping his arms around her in a squeezing embrace.

"MAMA!" He shouted, laughing as she attempted to push him away with a hand thumping against his forehead. While she bristled at such a public and obvious display of affection, Alabasandria let out an indulgent eye-roll and gave him two single pats on the back. Harry obliged her and swept out of the hug, shooting her an innocent smile.

"Harry," she acknowledged with a curt tone.

There was a pregnant pause as their Weasley entourage processed their surroundings before Mrs. Weasley continued talking.

"Oh, you must be Harry's guardian, so lovely to meet you. I'm Molly Weasley, Ron's mother..." Mrs. Weasley carried on for a bit, having an entirely one-sided conversation. Harry bounced up and down excitedly at the thought of seeing his friends and tried to exude how much he wanted his mama to say yes through his frantic hopping.

"You are behind on your studies, Harry." Alabasandria admonished. "And Luna has already written to me to demand some of your time. Plus, you wanted to visit the British Museum, and that is our leisure activity for the summer."

Harry whined and complained and bargained and cajoled and like the spoiled Potter brat he was, his mama finally relented to having his friends over to visit.

"Right, is that everything?" Alabasandria asked, a stack of books under one arm.

"I think so," said Harry. "We've got the illegal books and the bone specimens locked away. I sent the ravens out to hunt. The shadows promised to behave. Mum and dad are bothering Professor Snape."

"Good. And I convinced the Grimm there were a lot of cats the next town over. I've reburied the inferi. Hmm - did you get the blood out of your bedroom carpet?"

"Yes. Did you buy the snacks and conjure the swimming pool?"

"Yes. I believe we have everything - oh shit I forgot about the bodies in the basement!"

"The Weasleys and Hermione will be here in ten minutes! Can't you vanish them away?"

"I'm not wasting a perfectly good corpse like that! Besides, it has to sit out a bit. I needed the rotting bones for something. I'll have to go hide it in the forest somewhere." She sighed. "I'll be right back. Take these -" she handed over the books on blood sacrifice - "and hide them somewhere. I should be back before your friends get here but if not, tell them I have… business things to do."

She apparated as Harry began to shove the books in between the couch cushions and in the back of the pantry and under some laundry. There was a knock on the door.

"Hello Harry!" Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley said when he opened it.

"Hi guys. It's good to see you, come on in."

"Is your mum not here?" Mr. Weasley asked politely.

"She's doing adult stuff. Business things," Harry lied confidently.

"Oh, yes, of course," Mr. Weasley said "That does happen. Well, tell her I said hello and thank her for letting Ron stay over. Owl us if you need anything. Behave, Ron." The adult nodded and left. Ron and Hermione looked around the dark cottage with raised eyebrows.

"Your mum has a lot of books," Hermione finally said, her tone hesitant but approving.

She sent Harry a warm smile, relieved when Harry seemed to relax and returned it. To be honest, however, Hermione was not exactly sure how she felt about Harry's house. It was in the middle of nowhere, first and foremost. There were no shops or cinemas or even other houses or people nearby! Just dense, thick trees reminiscent of the Forbidden Forest. The two-story cottage was made of dark wood and foggy windows, the only color being creeping dark green vines and plants winding up and down the walls as though the plant life was trying to reclaim the cottage to the forest. The inside was both more welcoming and more ominous. It left Hermione with a strange feeling of being inside a haunted house pulled straight from the horror films her parents loved. The ornate floral wallpaper was peeling, the lighting was moody, low creaking noises echoed across the rooms. It was just a touch too cold, leaving her with goosebumps despite the heat of the summer. The shadows were a touch too thick and present, sweeping the corners of the cluttered house into pure darkness. She felt a prickling sensation as though someone was watching her, though when she turned to look, there was never anybody there.

And yet, she couldn't help but find it a little cozy. As Harry prattled on, happy to show them around the dreary place, she noticed a well-worn couch piled high with colorful blankets. The kitchen, although made of more dark wood tones and not enough lights, had a charming collection of mismatched chairs around the table adorned with a bright red checkered tablecloth and a little vase of flowers. Even the study, with walls filled to the brim with bottles of potions ingredients and books and anatomical diagrams, lacked the uncomfortable atmosphere Professor Snape's classroom held. Everything was clean but charmingly cluttered making it look well lived in and the little potted plants covering every available surface brightened up and endeared her to the space.

Best of all, was Harry's room. He led them up the tight staircase with a note of nervousness to him and opened the door at the top, stepping aside so Ron and Hermione could inspect. His walls were a deep blue, hidden behind posters and drawings and photos covering almost every inch. Hermione hid a pleased smile and a wave of fondness at the enlarged photo of the three of them taken by Hagrid's hut at the end of the school year. There was also one of him at a Little League football game, grinning as he held up a trophy in his ugly lime uniform and knee-high socks. His blankets were bold Gryffindor colors, his sheets covered in dragons. There were jeans and shoes littering the floor and he had all sorts of trinkets and things on top of his dresser. His trunk was shoved in the corner, clearly not unpacked, and a plush loveseat, a shocking and ugly mustard yellow sat underneath the window, which was adorned in owl-patterned curtains.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked shyly.

"It suits you perfectly," she assured him, while Ron launched into a light-hearted argument about the Quidditch posters covering his walls.

Over time, the hint of dread slowly fell from her mind, though it never left completely. Hermione was able to focus on less disturbing things. Like how pleased Harry seemed to be about having guests over, making sure to offer them pop (which Ron instantly loved) and crisps and all sorts of sugary snacks looking out of place in the austere kitchen pantry. His frantic, bubbling energy was hard to escape and it pulled them in as the boys shouted about brooms.

Harry's mum made a brief appearance, announcing that she would be ordering pizza for dinner and that Harry's other friend Luna was coming by later in the afternoon. She said in a deadpan tone to not drown in the swimming pool and to not disturb her unless it was an emergency and then left them alone without a single introduction or anything, vanishing the second Hermione had turned away for just a moment. Harry's mum was admittedly very weird and a bit creepy and while she would never say that to Harry (it was so clear he adored his mama with all his heart) the dark shadows and frosty air seemed to dissipate once the strange woman had left and Hermione was able to breathe a bit easier and ignore the instinctual warning bells going off in the back of her mind.

Luna was also a bit odd, only a bit less than Harry could be, so Hermione was quite used to it at this point. She fit into their group without much fuss, able to talk books with Hermione, obscure magic with Harry, and was able to win over Ron with a discussion about dragons and other magical creatures. They spent the day swimming and playing under the hot sun.

It was as carefree and delightful as possible, the most fun any of them had ever had in their lives. Hermione had been unwilling to get her hair wet, and quickly she'd had both boys trying their damndest to pick her up and throw her into the pool. The lot of them were shrieking with laughter until Luna had snuck up from under the water and grabbed her by the ankles, tripping all three of them face-first into the water.

Harry had also shown them a precarious treehouse he and Luna had set up years ago in a willow tree. It had remained mostly intact despite being abandoned for a year, the structure being held together by ratty blankets, logs and weak sticking charms. One of his mama's only rules was that they were not allowed to bring food into the woods (Harry described an exciting encounter with a bear) but there were a bunch of board games and toys to play with.

Finally, it had gotten dark and the children were exhausted and hungry, so they stumbled back inside and ate the shit out of several pizzas.

Harry's nervousness was explained when he quietly admitted he'd never had a sleepover before. It had just been him and Luna before Hogwarts, and his mama had been strict about having guests over. Curled in blankets they'd arranged in a fort in the living room, grease dripping off their fingers from the pizza, Ron said with a stain of embarrassed red on his face that he'd only had his brothers before - all of them quickly growing too old to want to play with their little brother. Hermione offered him some muggle sour candy and told the story of how her parents had thrown her a huge party for her tenth birthday, and they'd invited her whole class and not a single kid had shown up. Suddenly it was like a floodgate had opened, and all of them had things gripping deep in their chests they whispered in the safety of their blanket fort. Harry told them in quiet tones about the Dursleys, Luna about her mother passing and father's subsequent distance, Ron about his insecurities about being the sixth Weasley son with big shoes to fill, Hermione about her parents' clear disappointment in her being a witch - their dreams of her being a doctor or a lawyer vanished as she abandoned it all for the wizarding world.

The four children gripped each other's hands under the blankets and fell asleep tangled in a pile of limbs.

Chapter 7: Harry Is Not Remotely SuspiciousChapter TextHarry arrived at Hogwarts late and with a strange-looking bird on his arm. Ron, Hermione and Luna had been very worried when he'd not shown up on the train. But he'd slipped into a seat with no warning or fanfare just as the first years lined up to be sorted.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Ron asked.

"Where on earth have you been?" Hermione scolded at the same time.

"This is my new familiar, Hedwig, and I missed the train. It was weird. Mama dropped me off at the station but I couldn't get through to the platform and then this house elf appeared and anyway, I'll tell you later."

Harry's eyes were wide and dilated, almost fully black with a ring of fluorescent green shining like he was a living flashlight. His hair looked thoroughly windswept and the shadows trailed even farther and darker behind him. Hermione decided not to ask how Harry had gotten to school on time. She eyed up the snowy owl which had jumped off Harry and stood unnaturally still next to him. Its eyes blazed the same vibrant green color as Harry's own. If she'd had to guess, she would have thought the thing was taxidermied if she had not seen it move. Hedwig did not blink, did not move, did not seem enticed by the scents of food wafting through the air. "She was a birthday gift from my mama," Harry continued, either ignoring or oblivious to his friend's unease. "I raised her all by myself so I think it's natural she became my familiar after that."

"Very nice," Hermione faltered after an awkward moment. "Now we'll be able to send letters over break, it'll be nice."

"Yes, nice," Ron agreed after another second. Silence as thick as Harry's unnatural shadows lingered in the air until McGonagall's "Lovegood, Luna" pulled the trio's attention to the sorting.

"Aw," Harry complained as she was instantly sent off to Ravenclaw. "I was hoping Luna would join us."

"Well Ravenclaw does suit her," Hermione said. "Ron, your sister looks extremely nervous. You didn't let Fred and George convince her she'd have to fight a troll, did you?"

When Ginny Weasley joined them, she stared at Harry for a long moment, her eyes wide and cheeks blushing. Then her expression shifted to confusion, she looked at him a little harder and a shiver forced its way up her spine.

She'd always imagined Harry Potter being this tall, brave boy with kind eyes and a wide smile. But instead he was… creepy. Weird. Off. He was fairly short, lanky and wild - his eyes glowed, his grin was manic, something about him just screamed danger bad go away! Like he was a wolf blending perfectly into sheep's clothing. She sat next to the twins instead, but the hint of dread didn't go away until she was finally up in her dorm.

Hopefully, Tom would be able to explain what she'd noticed.

Their first class, to everyone's disappointment, was double Potions. Even Harry, long exempt from suffering directly, was not excited. And Harry liked brewing potions, unlike most students. But it was simply too early to sit in a stuffy classroom and get yelled at for several hours. Besides, Snape refused to let him work the way his mama did. At home, Harry usually balanced at least two potions at once, so that while one was simmering he could work on the other one. (It had taken him getting bored, wandering off, instantly forgetting he was brewing, and having the room explode twice before his mama put her foot down.) Harry could already feel the walls closing in and his restlessness showing through as he bounced on the balls of his feet as they waited at the door for their professor to let them inside.

But Professor Snape was quiet. The class filed in, sat at their stations, and watched as the professor stared out into space for a long moment, eyes clouded. No one spoke until a hesitant Malfoy called out to him. Snape snapped back to reality, swished his wand to write instructions on the board, and then calmly walked into his office and shut the door behind him. The silence lingered for another second as the students sat there, stunned before frantic whispers broke out, growing louder and louder as no adult came to correct them.

While the rumors about Snape's odd behavior quickly moved to outlandish territory, including one first-year who was convinced the professor had been one of the Weasley twins under Polyjuice, Harry quietly slipped away from his friends after dinner and summoned his parents.

"So, I can move on to haunt someone else now?" Lily asked, the violent gleam in her eyes burned like fire and lit up the room in flickering red light. "Severus is very guilty for how he treated his students, I want to move on to some of the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy, perhaps?"

"Or one of the fuckers in prison?" 

"James! Not in front of our son!"

"Sweetheart," James protested. He'd gotten a Fanged Frisbee from somewhere and was juggling it, more focused on catching it than on the glare from his raging wife. "Our baby boy is a murderous apathetic necromancer. I think he'll survive if he hears a few naughty words."

"I've only killed a few people," Harry protested. "And not for fun or anything. And mama swears a lot, it's nothing I've never heard before."

Lily rolled her eyes and continued on. "Well, I think we ought to start with the people who caused the most trouble. Malfoy, the Lestranges -"

"I'd say Bellatrix Lestrange, but she's already insane, isn't she? Would she even notice, I wonder?" James asked.

"We won't haunt her like we did with Severus. It would be pointless to try. We could set her sheets on fire or drown her in the toilet. I don't know what the prisoners have access to but we can get creative."

"So our son can't hear a naughty word but he can hear you gush about drowning someone?"

Harry laughed at their easy bickering as he grasped at darkness. He didn't know exactly where Azkaban prison was, but he focused on it nonetheless and sent his parents off after their target. Despite having just finished dinner, his stomach grumbled again from the use of magic. Where were Ron and Hermione, he wondered. Was it too late to go to the Great Hall for a snack?

"Honestly Hermione! Why can't we just ask him?"

The girl sputtered. "Well! Because, Ronald, you don't just ask your friend if he is practicing Dark magic! It's illegal."

"Blimey, I know, I know! But I don't think he'd lie if we asked, he hasn't done a very good job of not acting creepy so far, has he?"

"I just - I'm worried about him," Hermione sighed, her face dropping onto her pile of books. They'd sequestered themselves in an alcove deep in the library, but none of the books mentioned a single thing about Harry's potential Dark magic and she was starting to feel hopeless. "What if someone else gets suspicious and he gets expelled ?!?" 

"I'm sure Harry will tell us when he's ready," Luna said calmly.

"You've known Harry for much longer than us, surely you must know something!" Hermione said.

"Hmm. Well, his house has a unique aura, doesn't it? The same as Ms. Adams, and Harry to a lesser extent."

"That's one way of putting it," Hermione said. "But yes, I noticed. It felt like… someone was watching me. The whole time I was there I had goosebumps."

"His mum gives me the creeps. I reckon whatever he's doing he's picked it up from her," Ron reasoned. They looked to Luna for more gossip, and she thought for a long moment.

"I'm not sure what she does for a living, but she and my mother used to talk about very high-concept experimental potions. Perhaps she is a researcher? They've mentioned having a potion shop somewhere, but I don't recall a single time either of them went there."

"Harry said she's a Potions Master?"

"But that's not a job," Ron explained. "That just means she did extra school and had an apprenticeship. Unless she's loaded, she'd still have to work somewhere. And I don't recognize the Adams family, not that I keep up with all the pureblood crap but usually they're like the Malfoys, unable to keep their family out of every conversation. I've never heard of her though." 

"Papa says she's from an old pureblood line from outside the country," Luna said.

"I'll do some research," Hermione said. "Can you think of anything else, Luna?"

"I also heard Papa muttering about their eyes. How they glow - that's not normal. It's indicative of very powerful magic."

"Remember when he came to school late? His eyes were dilated." Hermione started writing things down in a list. "Also, there is something wrong with his owl!"

"Like it's dead," Ron muttered. "It doesn't go to the owlery, it just sits there all day, dunnit? Have I seen him feed it?" He sighed, watching Hermione's list grow and grow with questions. "I haven't heard of the eye thing, except for Merlin. They say his eyes glowed when he did powerful spells." The three children pondered over things for a while.

"I still think we should just ask him!" Ron finally declared. "I mean he invited us over, didn't he? He doesn't act like someone with something to hide. And he's in Gryffindor, not one of those snakes. Even if he's involved in some shady stuff I reckon he's not a bad bloke."

"I wasn't trying to imply that Harry's a bad person. I'm just worried he's involved in something he doesn't understand. I know it's not really our business, but he's our friend and I'm worried, and I don't know what to do," Hermione admitted, her shoulders slumped in her misery.

"Well I don't think we should push him. Harry will tell us when he's ready," Luna repeated, patting the other girl on the back. As was typical of her, she did not seem particularly bothered by the situation. "For now, we should tell Harry we'll always be there for him if he needs us and try to dissuade any rumors about Harry being a Dark Wizard."

"Harry's a parselmouth? Bloody hell!" Ron looked over to Hermione, who had been gripping his arm in worry during the whole duel. Her shell-shocked face was more pensive than that of the other students. Theirs were coated in disgust and fear. Already, whispers started bouncing around the hall, each echo crashing into his ears like he was standing right at the edge of the beach and a tsunami of water was coming right for him. Ron felt his face flush as the sea of harsh looks and words followed his friend. Harry stood calm, but mildly confused as he took in his audience. Either Harry didn't know he was speaking to snakes, or Harry didn't know it was taboo. It was probably the latter. Harry could be pretty dense sometimes. 

"That doesn't match with any of my theories," Hermione whispered. She hadn't had much time lately to research the Adams family or Dark Magic with the Chamber of Secrets being a clearly more immediate concern and also Snape's sudden inability to teach left Hermione the unofficial Potions tutor for Gryffindor. 

"Welp, there goes Luna's plan to make him friendly and approachable," Ron sighed. "We'd better go rescue him from Snape and Lockhart." He paused, sparing another glance at the very worried girl. "Hey, Hermione, cmon. Everything's going to be fine. The rumors will die down. Let's focus on the Chamber of Secrets, once we find the real Heir, people will leave Harry alone." Ron wasn't sure if he believed his own words, but Hermione relaxed slightly and nodded.

They were pretty sure no one else had really noticed the oddness of Harry. That no one else had looked too hard into his nonchalant attitude towards his own parents' murder and other quick moments here and there that spoke of a worrisome lack of moral judgment. That no one had noticed the way shadows clung to him like a king's robe, that when they snuck down for midnight biscuits in the kitchens, Harry let them take the invisibility cloak, while he would just go. Never seen or heard by a teacher, appearing as though he'd apparated from one spot to the next. That Harry seemed to never sleep and his come-to-life taxidermied owl never seemed to eat. That Snape had hated Harry and now seemed a shadow of his former self, the reasoning behind which was unknown to all. 

But they noticed something. Maybe it was his aura, as Luna said. Ginny had asked him, quietly, a couple weeks into term how he put up with the cold and the feeling of eyes on his back. Harry radiated cold, even during the summer he always had a jumper on and it spread out in a halo of frost around him; it made the people around him shiver.

Ron wasn't sure how he got past it all or hadn't noticed until Ginny had brought it up. He did not recall noticing anything when he'd first met Harry, he'd been weird and secretive, but not this weird. He thought it might be getting stronger, building in slow increments such that those used to it don't notice like how a person gets smell-blinded by their own odors. Ron was just used to it now. McGonagall didn't notice, but Lockhart ignored Harry like the plague after only one interaction with his broken arm. Had touching Harry's arm scared him? Had he felt that creeping aura that told him to run? 

No, Harry wasn't popular by any means. Being the Boy-Who-Lived didn't help, being bizarrely cold didn't help, being unnerving didn't help, and being a parseltongue sure didn't contribute much either. 

Ron squeezed Hermione's arm in comfort as Harry jumped down to greet them, a questioning look in his eyes. Everything would be fine, he insisted to himself. And even if people did start to notice, they'd figure it out together.

Dear Harry, 

Thank you for the update. I am pleased to hear that your studies and Quidditch are both going well. However, it is interesting that I received an update directly from the school's mediwitch and not from yourself about your recent injury. Skelegro is truly a nasty potion, did you tell her to add lavender to counteract the taste of the troll toe? Next time you lose some bones, first of all, try to collect them, and secondly inform me of the injury as I know some less nauseating remedies than that potion. I am glad to hear you have recovered. Perhaps you should think about returning to muggle sports, however. They seem much less dangerous. I am concerned about the quality of education you are receiving. Your lackluster Potions training is bad enough but this Lockhart man appears to be completely incompetent. I will have to remedy your Defense studies over break. (Yes Ms Granger may look over those notes, as I know she will ask.) Why was he allowed to vanish your bones? I should have insisted you go to Durmstrang. 

About your first inquiry - you know I did not attend Hogwarts myself, I have never heard of the Chamber of Secrets before. I advise you to try to figure out when it was made or when the first rumors of its existence arose. Then perhaps you could interview someone who was there at the time. A first-hand account would be the most helpful in separating facts from rumors. You need to figure out what creature is in this Chamber. 

As for your second inquiry - it is truly a shock to me as well. I did not think you had the bloodline to inherit creature-speaking. There are very few bloodlines on the continent, in fact, which are known for such a thing. I had a great aunt who could communicate with cats, but she was the only one I have ever met. You should look into the Potter family history, it is likely that there was a marriage with some non-English wix in the recent past. I believe I've heard somewhere that there are Potters from India. I am excited to witness your new gift in action. Think of how much easier it will be to collect venom for your potions lessons. And no, before you ask, this does not mean you are allowed another pet. 

Enclosed are your usual apprenticeship projects and readings. I know you are busy, but if you finish them before the winter break, we can see about the extra-curricular project you mentioned in your last letter. It is an intriguing idea for sure, but might I remind you of its expensive cost. Will the recipients be comfortable with such a cost? 

I know you care about them, but I must also urge you to be discreet. As you've already noticed, Parseltongue is regarded as very Dark and evil magic by the populace. Eyes are watching you closely. Do not give anyone any reason to spread further rumors during this time. Keep your head low, focus on your studies, and assist the professors (safely) in catching the real culprit behind this. 

Please send me the heirloom ring I gave you. It is dangerous to keep it at school with all this drama. I know you would be devastated if you lost it. 

Have a peaceful rest of term, I will see you at Yule. 

A.A. 

"Oh Harry, don't let those insecure bullies get to you!" Hermione cried, frustrated as yet another person walked past their table, hissing and pointing at Harry.

"It's fine, Mione. Honestly, it doesn't bother me too much. It's not my fault they don't like an ability I was born with. It's like making fun of the color of my skin. They're just being snake-ist."

"Good. But I - or we, all of us, want you to know that we're here for you. If you need to talk. About anything. We don't care if you're a parselmouth and we don't care about anything else you might be dealing with -" She paused, ready for him to take the bait. He didn't. 

"Do you think maybe parseltongue is the reason why you're always so cold? Because snakes are cold-blooded animals? Or is it from something else?"

"I didn't realize I was always cold?" Harry frowned. He put a hand against his forehead.

"Never seen you without a jacket or a robe on, mate," Ron said.

"Huh," Harry said. "I guess so. I dunno."

Hermione frowned and pushed forward. 

"What about how your eyes are always glowing!?"

Harry hummed and looked at her, his face blank and not betraying anything.

"I dunno."

Harry shifted under her steely gaze. He felt bad about lying to his friends. He'd thought about telling them. Harry didn't think they would care too much, considering he was pretty open about using his less-than-legal abilities around them already, like shadow-traveling and his bond with Hedwig. But his mama's letter wouldn't leave his thoughts. He had to be careful, now that the school was suspicious of his parseltongue abilities. Everyone was accusing him of being the Heir of Slytherin. What if someone found out? What if someone went after mama? What if his friends didn't like that he had maybe killed a couple of people, resurrected many more, and had once possessed a government official just to make him violently pick his nose on public TV for a prank? Well, he was certain Ron at least would support the last one. But Hermione was a stickler for the rules. And Luna abhorred violence. And Ron did have strong morals. What if his friends left him?

Harry had a lot of people in his life. But the truth, he'd discovered, is that dead people couldn't compare to living ones. It was a part of why he had insisted on attending Hogwarts in the first place. The hugs from Lily were affectionate, but cold and non-corporeal. His mother wasn't his mother anymore. She was a simulacrum of what Lily Potter once was - a little too focused on death and violence and revenge to ever be able to help raise him. The Potters acted how Harry figured they should have acted, their personalities stitched together by Harry's limited knowledge of them. They were echoes of their final moments, not full people anymore. 

They were more like Hedwig, the ravens, his shadows, all sentient beings and his friends in an abstract sort of way. But the dead were dead. They didn't have personalities unless he wanted them to.

Harry wasn't sure if his mama, Alabasandria, counted as a real living person. Shadowed and frosted and apathetic to most things, older than any other wizard Harry had ever heard of. Lacking some endearing quality in living people that Harry couldn't quantify. She wasn't closed off - it was more so that she simply was not. Not warm and affectionate. She didn't understand how to be so, why such a quality was desirable. He didn't fault her for that, but it was a truth about her none the same. 

The living had this emotional, fiery quality to them that he wanted, needed, desired.

Harry couldn't lose his friends. 

"Mione," Ron murmured to Hermione, interrupting the interrogation and Harry's downward spiral. "Don't push it." Luna put her hand over Hermione's and the girls had a silent, heated argument for a moment, before Hermione huffed and let them carry on. Louder, he said. "Let's talk about something else. The Chamber, did your mum have any ideas on that, Harry?" 

"She recommended we talk to someone who was there when Slytherin made the thing," Harry explained. He sent Ron and Luna a grateful smile. He would tell them later, he promised himself. Maybe next year.

Ron gave him a nod of understanding back. Him and Luna were always cool about Harry's frantic avoidance of certain things. He loved that about his friends.

"But - but that was centuries ago! They're all long dead, I don't even think there are any ghosts that old!" Hermione cried.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe we could find someone from when it opened last time? That was only fifty years ago." Meanwhile, his head was buzzing with ideas. Why settle for talking to anyone other than Salazar Slytherin himself? But where would his body be?

She huffed. "Well, I'd better start researching then. Oh, but I hope the Heir is discovered soon. I'm getting awfully worried."

"Do you reckon it's Malfoy?" Ron suddenly asked. 

"I doubt it," said Luna. "He seems the sort to brag about that, isn't he? I don't think he'd be very good at keeping it a secret."

"Well that was my only lead," Ron said. "Don't worry, Hermione. After Christmas we'll figure something out. Try to enjoy the holiday, yeah? Even if you'll still be studying."