Harry Potter 1. The Gift

**The Gift**

Privet Drive was renown for its residents' composure. A street filled with identical houses populated by staunchly Tory middle class men who spent their evenings applauding Mrs Thatcher's attempts to turn the country around and break the communist traitors populating the unions, and nosy middle class housewives who knew better than to make a fuss, lest their neighbours get something new and undoubtedly embarrassing to spy on.

It was, therefore, somewhat unusual - but undeniably interesting and worth investigating through half-closed curtains - that a quiet, early November morning should be rudely interrupted by a piercing scream originating from Number Four, Privet Drive.

* * *

"We... We might have to, Vernon... But of course he won't take anything from our Dudders, we'll make sure of that-" Aunt Petunia paused, and took a closer look at her husband, who had, as of yet, not said a single word, and just looked at the boy curiously. "Vernon?"

Vernon Dursley kept looking at the boy. "We'll take him, Petunia."

Petunia let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't feeling particularly bad about her freak of a sister getting killed, but if what this 'Dumbledore' had written in the letter was true... It would be necessary. For her, for Vernon's and for her little Dudley's sake.

"Good. I think we've some space in the cupboard for the boy-"

"Cupboard? Why the cupboard?"

"For the boy, Vernon. Dudley has already got his bedroom and his playroom-"

"Nonsense, Petunia. The boy needs a proper place to sleep. I'm sure we can manage with two bedrooms for two boys."

Petunia just stared.

"I'm off to work - it'd be best if you get the room ready soon, and come the weekend, we'll get the boy some furniture."

"B- But Vernon-"

"No buts, Petunia! This..." and it was in this moment that Petunia realised that her dear Vernon wasn't planning to provide charity. The gleam in Vernon's eyes didn't imply kindness.

"This is a gift, Petunia. And it'll pay off tenfold."

It implied greed.

* * *

When Dudley and Harry were six years old, Vernon entered Dudley - the larger, heavier of the two boys - into the local wrestling club, to keep the boy from getting too round - 'Muscles, not fat, my boy!' as he liked to say. Dudley took some time to adjust to the notion that punching wasn't allowed, but eventually decided that slamming people was almost as fun.

Harry didn't think it very fun to spend entirely too much of his time pinned under Dudley, and was somewhat miffed that Uncle Vernon wouldn't let him join the football club, but Vernon praised his excellent grades at school well enough, and it did mean that Harry had a lot of time for himself, and playing with his friends in the park was almost as good as being in a football team. He did have a lot of friends - he was much less likely than Dudley to punch people, yet bullying him because of his weird scar was a really bad idea, too, because doing so invariably resulted in a free lesson in etiquette from Dudley. And everyone wanted to avoid those.

* * *

When Harry was seven years old, one of his teachers gave Dudley and Harry a thorough dressing down because Harry had let Dudley copy his homework after Dudley had had wrestling practice. Their teacher was pretty scary - as angry adults tend to be to seven-year olds - and his shouting distressed Harry, who knew that Uncle Vernon cared a lot about their schoolwork. That's when their teacher's wig turned blue.

Harry had no idea how this had happened, but when Uncle Vernon heard about it, he practically beamed and patted Harry on the back, telling him that supporting his relatives is important and that he was proud of him.

Harry didn't understand how he was supposed to have been responsible for turning his teacher's wig blue. He was certain that his teacher's wig had simply malfunctioned. Didn't this chemistry-stuff do such things every now and then? But he decided not to mention his doubts to Uncle Vernon, and just basked in his praise.

Aunt Petunia didn't speak to him for a week.

* * *

When Harry was nine years old, Uncle Vernon sat down with him in the living room and told him that he was a wizard. His parents, too, had been wizards, and they hadn't been killed in an IRA attack but by an evil wizard - though really, that was practically the same thing.

Harry was doubtful, but he had to admit that it _did_ explain the wig incident a few years back, as well as the floating tea set and how his favourite T-shirt still fit him perfectly even after three years. It also explained why he'd been able to talk to that viper in the park that he was now keeping as a pet and was the reason he had to clean up his room himself because Aunt Petunia refused to enter it.

Uncle Vernon explained to him that he'd have to keep his being a wizard - and his talking to snakes - secret from most people, and that they'd visit a place full of wizards next weekend so he could get a bit of an early start in his wizarding education.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips in what Harry knew was most severe disapproval, and Dudley asked his father why he wasn't a wizard and how he really wanted to be a wizard and turn his teachers' wigs blue, too, but Uncle Vernon explained that although Dudley wasn't a wizard, he was a very strong boy and that he and Harry both had their own strengths and weaknesses.

Dudley wasn't too happy about that, but he was mollified.

* * *

Diagon Alley had been awesome, or so Harry thought. Dudley had agreed with him (Though he'd spent half the time teasing Harry for the very unfashionable hat Uncle Vernon had forced him to wear to hide his scar), but Uncle Vernon had viewed it with a rather more practical outlook - even refusing to buy the boys icecream -, and Aunt Petunia had spent the entire trip looking disdainfully at everyone and everything.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been able to get a wand yet (Despite Uncle Vernon's near-tantrum at Ollivanders'), and that was a huge disappointment, but they'd bought a lot of books, and Harry, who was pretty studious in the first place, had started reading pretty much instantly.

Harry was surprised to learn that he was actually _in_ the books - well, in some of them, anyway -, and apparently a hero and icon of the wizarding world. It scared him a little.

He also found that the transfiguration book they'd bought didn't help him very much - he found that he was completely unable to do any of the things described in it. Harry supposed this was because he didn't have a wand.

Charms were a different matter. Harry _knew_ he'd performed levitation-, repair- and colour-changing charms before, but as it turned out, unless he was experiencing extreme distress, he couldn't perform them. For now, he resigned himself to learning their theory, though he promised Uncle Vernon that he'd manage to do at least one of them before he turned eleven and got his wand.

Uncle Vernon didn't look too happy about that, and Harry felt guilty. His Uncle had spent a lot of money on this and Harry had let him down. For all his being a die-hard Tory, Uncle Vernon loved to quote Marx on a single issue - 'The bourgeoisie has torn away from the family its sentimental veil, and has reduced the family relation to a mere money relation.' -, and Harry knew that his Uncle firmly believed this. Harry and Dudley didn't receive pocket money and presents as a matter of course, they received them as a reward for doing chores and for getting good grades. How was Harry supposed to repay his Uncle for all the money he'd spent on Harry if Harry couldn't learn magic quickly?

Fortunately, there was also Potions, and Harry didn't need a wand for that. Even better, making potions was almost like cooking, and while Harry knew his Aunt didn't like him, Harry nonetheless spent a lot of time helping her with cooking to earn himself some money. He was experienced. As experienced as a nine-year old could be, anyway.

This was how he could repay his Uncle!

* * *

"Petunia! Oh Tuney! Come here and let me kiss you!"

"Vernon?!" Aunt Petunia, who was in the process of baking a cheesecake with rather more raisins than Dudley would've liked, looked momentarily confused. "What's the matter, Vernon?"

Harry and Dudley both grimaced as Vernon slung his arms around Petunia and kissed her. Kissed her far too long to count as decent, especially to nine-year old boys.

"I've got the deal! Grunnings will expand!"

"Oh! That's so wonderful, Vernon - you must've been so convincing!"

"Oh yes. Our partner is most impressed. It's the Japs, you know - Mitsubishi. The slanteyes plan to build a new plant here, and we'll provide them with their drilling kit. Kicked the competition right into the curb, we did!"

Harry reflected that this was probably pretty easy to do when said competition was taking an extended nap immediately before the negotiations began.

Well. There was no denying that valerian sprigs worked as advertised.

* * *

Shortly after their tenth birthdays, Harry and Dudley were forced to endure what was probably the stuffiest party they'd ever had to endure - and for residents of Privet Drive, that said something. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon had insisted that they come, dressed like little gentlemen (Which neither of the two boys appreciated in any way), and noted that his big investor had a boy their own age for them to talk to, so if they could stop moping for a moment and actually return something to the family for once...

Harry and Dudley were relieved to learn that unlike every single adult in the Finch-Fletchley's obscenely large house, Justin was actually a pretty easygoing boy, though sufficiently aware of proper etiquette to not embarrass his parents in front of the whole crowd - he just slinked off into another room with Harry and Dudley in tow.

"So what did you do to be punished by having to come here?"

"Being Uncle Vernon's kids," Harry replied ruefully. "He's so happy, he's practically beside himself and tries to make us a part of his great leap forward."

Justin laughed as Dudley made a face, making it clear just how much he enjoyed being a part of this leap. "My parents mentioned him a few times during dinner - they don't much like your Uncle, I think. But they do like his success."

"He does have that," Harry agreed. "Trust me, we know - he won't stop talking about it."

"So... What do you want to do?"

Harry looked at Dudley, and vice versa. "Um... Dunno?"

"Hm. Ever heard of Risk?"

They had.

* * *

"So you're dentists? Well, Grunnings _does_ manufacture drills-"

The woman smiled indulgently at Uncle Vernon. "That's wonderful, but I'm afraid that we rely on rather more specialised, medical machinery."

Vernon laughed, hoping in vain that it sounded as unforced as he was trying to make it. "Of course, of course, Mrs Granger. Though, with our lovely host's investment, I wouldn't be surprised if we expand into that sector in a few years' time. But say-"

"Mum?"

Vernon looked somewhat irritated at the little girl that was tugging on Mrs Granger's dress. Mrs Granger's expression on the other hand, was considerably more kind. "Yes, Hermione, dear?"

"Would you mind if I go looking for the library?"

Jean Granger frowned. She loved her daughter dearly, but she felt she spent a little too much time with books and not enough time socialising. Though admittedly, a high-society gathering like this one - the presence of the Dursleys notwithstanding - wasn't exactly the place for an almost eleven years old girl to socialise, either.

Though, hadn't she seen some children earlier? She looked around, and recognised the door through which she thought they'd gone.

"Not a problem, Hermione. I think it's somewhere in the east wing, through that door, you see?"

"Yes mum!"

Jean Granger smiled as her daughter eagerly made her way towards the door, and managed to keep up her smile as she turned back to Vernon and Petunia Dursley. "Ah, children..."

* * *

"WhaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Hermione screamed as she opened the door, head turned back to look at her Mum and Dad still trying to find an excuse to get away from the Dursleys, and consequently didn't see the Risk board that sent her flying almost as if it'd been made of slippery ice.

Then she floated gently to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" three voices rang out.

Then everyone looked very confused at everyone else.

* * *

"Are you sure, Harry?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Dudley?"

"They all talked about accidents similar to what Harry used to have, dad. They must be wizards, too. They're all looking scrawny like Harry, too."

Vernon Dursley put one hand thoughtfully to his chin, while Petunia - disinclined to hear about even _more_ freaks - cleaned up the kitchen. Again.

Vernon knew that - although the Finch-Fletchleys stood by their deal -, he hadn't made the best of impressions. Actually, he suspected that his boys had made a better impression than he had, though he couldn't figure out how. If the boy - and that irritating girl that apparently belonged to the Finch-Fletchleys' dentists. Not relevant to his business interests as such, but if they were friends of the Finch-Fletchleys, including them would probably score him some points - really were wizards just like Harry, then him, Vernon Dursley, being integral in informing them ahead of the letter they'd get next summer, and giving them a head start ought to not just help fixing a few unfortunate impressions, but score huge points for the future.

Not to mention that the Dursley- and Finch-Fletchley families, supported by real wizards, should be able to make several fortunes in no time at all.

Oh yes. His investment in Harry was going to pay off _big time_.

"Very well. We should arrange a private visit in a week or two. And Harry?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

Vernon's voice became a whisper. "How far along are you with that love potion?"

Harry grimaced. Aunt Petunia had never shown him any love - granted, he understood by now that Uncle Vernon didn't exactly love him, either, but Uncle Vernon did at least _respect_ him, saw how he could be _useful_ - and as a consequence, he didn't see anything wrong with helping Uncle Vernon score with his secretary. But it was still icky. Like, adult icky.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm actually a witch!" Hermione exclaimed while stirring the concoction in her brand-new cauldron.

Next to her, Justin Finch-Fletchley just grinned. "Yeah..."

"Took your mum long enough to acknowledge it," Harry teased Justin while flipping through the legilimency book Uncle Vernon had stumbled upon and - after realising the implications - promptly bought him with a stern note to study it really hard.

Justin grimaced. "Uh... She did look a little unhappy, didn't she?"

"But you do have this gift - we all do -, and that means we've to use it. Anything else would be a waste." Hermione said with conviction. "And besides, she was probably more bothered about Harry making his snake dance over the living room desk than about your Eton prospects."

Both Justin's and Hermione's parents had been aware that their children sometimes did things that Should Not Happen, and when their children had told them that the Dursley's nephew was afflicted with the same and apparently knew what caused this, they'd agreed to a meeting quickly enough. Of course, neither set of parents had particularly believed Vernon and Harry when they'd explained about magic - that Harry didn't have a wand didn't help, either, although Harry was now able to make feathers levitate or turn them green maybe half the time that he attempted it if he concentrated _really_ hard for a few minutes.

Still, the books they'd brought with them - which would've been a pretty ridiculous effort to fake - convinced them to at least give visiting Diagon Alley a shot.

Two brand-new Gringotts accounts, two dozen books and an absurd amount of potions ingredients acquired at a discount since Vernon and the Apothecary's owner knew each other pretty well by this point later, they were back at the Finch-Fletchleys, and Justin's mum's... Reluctance had not been enough to stop Hermione and Justin from enthusiastically following Harry's example - maybe they didn't have a wand yet, but Harry had told them so much about what potions could do, they could hardly wait to unpack their kits and start brewing.

Admittedly, Hermione didn't think Harry's tale of how he and Dudley gave one of the boys in their class Maximum Turbo Farts Potion-laced muffins was _that_ funny, but there were more 'Mature' recipes that were more to Hermione's liking, too.

After this, the three met on most weekends, and Hermione in particular devoured the books she'd acquired at Flourish and Blotts at a frightening rate. It didn't take her long to repeat Harry's feats with a feather, either. Of course, by then she was already eleven in the first place.

* * *

"Hi, Uncle Vernon!"

"Hello, Mr Dursley."

"Hello, Mr Dursley."

"Vernon dear! How did your appointment with Volkswagen go?"

"Hello children! And it was fantastic, Tuney! You wouldn't believe the rates at which we can sell!"

Vernon planted a passionate kiss on Petunia's lips before marching upstairs to get changed after an afternoon of tense negotiations. "Oh, and Harry, how about a visit to the zoo next weekend? I'm sure your friends may want to come, too."

"Sure, Uncle Vernon!"

Harry reckoned that the champagne with a healthy dose of drowsiness potion had been a success. Well, Uncle Vernon had said the Germans deserved being treated like that for the war and all, so Harry figured it was alright.

* * *

"So you never learned Parseltongue? It was just... There?"

"Pretty much."

"Hm... And snakes don't have ears, so it must be a magical ability," mused Hermione.

"And that means that snakes are probably all magical creatures, too."

Harry and Hermione nodded. "Makes sense, Justin."

"So..." Hermione's eyes gleamed, and Harry gulped. He knew that gleam from Uncle Vernon. "It definitely can't be learned by non-magical people. But..."

Harry groaned.

* * *

"Harry! Harry!"

"Not so loud, Justin..." Harry was still tired. Who on Earth called at nine-thirty in the morning on a freaking Sunday? Even Hermione wouldn't do that. Granted, Uncle Vernon didn't think highly of sleeping in, and insisted on everyone being out by nine even on Sundays, but they'd been home late, cheering Dudley on in a wrestling competition (Dudley had won silver - 'The best birthday presents are the ones you win yourself!' Vernon had proudly exclaimed while patting his sweating, grinning son on the back), followed by a celebratory dinner that lasted until... Well, too late, anyway, so this particular Sunday was an exception.

"Professor McGonagall was here! From Hogwarts! With my letter! Apparently she is planning to visit Hermione next Saturday - I told her that we'd like to go together, and would meet her there."

"Ok." Harry really wanted to be excited for Justin, but since it was blatantly obvious that they'd get their letters this summer, it wasn't _that_ special.

"You're invited, too, of course! I didn't tell the Professor that I know you, of course - she was surprised enough when I asked about Hermione -, and I think her reaction to seeing you with us will be pretty funny. So, you coming?"

"Sure... Err, I guess you didn't tell her about the books and the potions kit and the potions you've already brewed?"

"Of course not. Where'd be the fun in that?"

Harry thought that was a valid point.

* * *

"Ah, Minerva. Done with visiting our muggleborns for next year?" Professor Dumbledore asked jovially as he entered Minerva McGonagalls office. It took him a moment to realise that Gryffindor's Head of House was slumped on her armchair and looking rather philosophically at a half-empty bottle of Loch Lomond.

"Almost, Albus, almost. Dean Thomas is the last one... And I certainly hope it'll be more... Normal than today."

Dumbledore conjured himself a rather brightly coloured beach chair and laid down. "You sound rather exhausted, Minerva. What happened? I could summon some sherbet lemons if you'd like..."

"No, thank you. And... You remember last week, when it turned out that Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hermione Granger already knew each other and their abilities?"

"Yes. We were all rather surprised, but well, their parents _have_ known each other for a while..."

Minerva sighed. "Yes. But Mr Finch-Fletchley wasn't entirely truthful with me. They didn't just know that they both had unusual abilities - they knew they were a witch and a wizard. They'd been in Diagon Alley for the first time almost a year ago, and while they couldn't acquire wands, they acquired a number of textbooks as well as a complete potions kit."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is unusual, although I guess that if their children found the Leaky Cauldron, it's not out of the ques-"

"Oh, that's not it, Albus." Minerva gave a hollow laugh. "They had help. You do of course remember the Dursleys?"

"I... Think I can see where this is going. Minerva..."

"Vernon Dursley and Harry Potter took it upon themselves to inform the Finch-Fletchleys and the Grangers of their children's magic once Harry had observed it during a visit to the Finch-Fletchleys. When we came to Diagon Alley today - and let me tell you, seeing Harry Potter chatting casually with the other two almost cost me my composure right then and there -, all three families already had Gringotts accounts and half their textbooks. All they needed were robes, wands, and some items to restock their potions ingredients-"

It was here that Albus Dumbledore perked up. "Minerva - did you say _restock_?"

"Yes." Minerva McGonagall replied while pouring first herself, and then the Headmaster another glass. "They couldn't get a wand until this summer, but potions don't require wands unless they're of N.E.W.T. level sophistication. Our returning Mr Potter has been brewing for almost two years, and Miss Granger and Mr Finch-Fletchley for almost one." She frowned. "I told you ten years ago that the Dursleys are the worst kind of muggle. I don't want to know what Vernon Dursley may have done with some of the potions Harry Potter has concocted."

Dumbledore frowned. "That is a matter of some concern. I'll have someone look into it."

Minerva looked relieved. "Thank you, Albus."

"Oh, and one more thing, Minerva."

The Professor looked up from her once again empty glass. "Yes?"

"Don't tell Severus."

* * *

**A/N: **The Vernon Dursley in this story is inspired by the Vernon Dursley in the story Enlightened! written by Rumour of an Alchemist.

Any and all HP characters, lines, locations, concepts, and trademarks borrowed for the purpose of this piece of user content are the property of their respective copyright holders, not me.


	2. To Hogwarts!

**To Hogwarts!**

Having waved their parents and uncles and one nephew goodbye, the three first years sat down in their compartment and relaxed.

Well, two of them did, anyway. Hermione took out the northern viper her parents had bought her and started hissing at her. Harry laughed. "You can barely say 'Hello!' to her, you know."

Hermione huffed. "At least I can say 'Hello' in Parseltongue without having to actually look at a snake."

That was true. During Hermione's very, very slow-going lessons, they'd found out that Harry couldn't actually distinguish between English and Parseltongue - and that he couldn't use it at will. Hermione's vocabulary on the other hand, was limited to a few dozen words, but she could use them at will, and never wasted an opportunity to point out that Harry's intuitional Parseltongue would be a problem if he ever wanted to use it casually. They'd resolved to deal with this problem and make Harry truly 'Fluent', but Harry didn't learn that any faster than Hermione did.

Justin, who was the only one who _didn't_ bring a snake with him, was stroking the snowy owl his parents had bought him - and which the three of them had determined to use together - and laughed. "And that's why I picked Gobbledegook instead. You're insane with your Parseltongue efforts - you heard McGonagall, hardly anyone speaks it!"

"And here I thought you picked Gobbledegook because your mother insisted that you know your way around the wizarding business world," Harry replied. "Anyway, Hermione's learning that one, too, isn't she?"

"I am. And it's _much_ less of a challenge than Parseltongue. To begin with, it's not an inherently magical language."

Justin rolled his eyes. "Leave it to Hermione to consider an easy to learn language a _bad_ thing."

* * *

It was an hour into the ride when a head covered in charcoal-coloured hair belonging to a girl no older than themselves popped into the compartment and invited itself in.

The girl was apparently called Lavender Brown, came from a family of Gryffindors, and left the compartment after realising that Hermione wasn't especially keen on her tips for making her hair less bushy and frizzy. Harry and Justin both smirked. "So, Gryffindor, wasn't it?"

Hermione grimaced. "Err. I guess there's other options. Really, apart from Slytherin, all the houses sound pretty good..."

* * *

"I heard Harry Potter is on this train. That wouldn't happen to be one of you?" the blonde boy asked. Harry thought that it'd been a good idea to endure Dudley's teasing and wear his 'Diagon Alley' hat after all.

"Alas, you've found me," Hermione deadpanned. "And you've found out my terrible secret. Harry Potter is really a girl!"

The blonde stared at her for a moment, then slid the compartment door shut again. Justin raised his eyebrows. "What was that all about?"

"He was being rude. Didn't introduce himself and appeared with two gorillas behind him," replied Hermione, primly. "So I got rid of him."

"Thanks." Harry wasn't especially keen on attracting groupies - that was Uncle Vernon's shtick (Not that Vernon was especially successful with this, barring the use of the love potions Harry had brewed him over the past year). If Hermione made sure they stayed away, well, all the better.

* * *

"Hello, hat!"

"Hello, Justin. My, aren't you an excitable one?"

"Err..." Justin flushed a little with embarrassment.

"No matter, no matter... Hm. No offence, but you don't seem especially brave. And you're definitely not into the kind of backdoor shenanigans Slytherin is into. But your parents have instilled you with a great attitude - appreciation of hard work and friendship. And you're not stupid, either - I see you come well-prepared indeed. I think you wouldn't do too badly in Ravenclaw, but the house that you'll truly appreciate is HUFFLEPUFF!"

* * *

"..."

"Hmm... Is this doubt? My, yes, I think this is doubt, Miss Granger. You were certain of yourself, but now that Miss Brown has been sorted..."

Hermione became a little pinker. "I'm sorry, but..."

"Oh, nothing to be sorry about. Just because people are different doesn't mean they're _bad_, and you understand this. Well, this does kind of rule Slytherin out for you. You _could_ do well in Gryffindor, but Ravenclaw would adore your bright mind, and Hufflepuff respect your work ethic and loyalty - so which one shall it be?"

Hermione bit her lip. Justin was already in Hufflepuff, and she really _did_ respect that house, but somewhere inside her there was a desire to be more... A desire to _shine_.

"Ah, what ambition! A pity you don't fit in with the rest of the Slytherin ethos. But there is nothing wrong with the desire to shine, and there is no doubt that your intellect will indeed shine in RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

"Hm... Interesting, Mr Potter. Your parents were textbook Gryffindors, but I really don't think the same can be said for you. You're not afraid of hard work, but it's not the dominant part of yourself, either. Your mind's great, and yet it's just a means to an end. But you're happy using people - your cousin was of great assistance during primary school, wasn't he? - and you're perfectly aware that the assistance you've rendered your Uncle isn't what is commonly considered kosher, either."

"Err, okay?"

"Well, Mr Potter. If it was anyone but you, I'd already have shouted SLYTHERIN by now - and Merlin knows, that house needs some examples of genuine cunning like yourself. But your history with that house is somewhat unique - indeed, given who I've already sorted, I think it is fair to say that Slytherin can be your path to greatness - or the path to your grave. So which one shall it be?"

Grave. Yeah, no. That wasn't going to fly with Harry. He'd already survived one assassination attempt - he wasn't keen on making it a list as long as Hitler's forty-two.

"Very well then. It'll not propel you to the greatness you could've achieved in Slytherin, but you're much more likely to actually survive the next seven years in RAVENCLAW!"

* * *

"Ah, yes... Harry Potter, our new... _Celebrity_."

Harry wasn't entirely surprised by his potions professor's venomous tone - he'd learned from Uncle Vernon to find out everything he possibly could about the people he'd have to deal with, particularly if they were his equals, let alone his superiors. Information was everything.

So Harry had done his research and already knew that Severus Snape had been a Death Eater who'd managed to avoid Azkaban because Dumbledore was apparently keen on covering Hogwarts in as many threats to his students as he possibly could, if his start of term notices were anything to go by. And that a former follower of Lord Voldemort would be a little peeved with Harry's appearance at Hogwarts really wasn't unexpected.

Of course, Harry wasn't entirely clear on how to deal with this. He just hoped that his brewing experience would at least last him through class without an assassination attempt or two.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,' Snape began what Harry already knew was his customary first-years-first-lesson speech from the older Ravenclaws. It sounded great, but not changing your speech even once in a decade did seem a little lazy. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry thought the 'Stopper Death' part was particularly interesting.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Err..." Wait, that'd been the potion he'd attempted for one of Uncle Vernon's French 'Partners' some months ago. He'd failed miserably, of course, and Uncle Vernon had spent a week sulking over how he didn't get to stick it to the French in the proud tradition of Waterloo and Trafalgar, but then again, it was on the 6th year syllabus, not the first year one. "Draught of the Living Death, sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that certain students show a keen interest in the means to sleep through their education." He paused, and Harry thought he heard Padma Patil whispering to Terry Boot somewhere in the back of the room. "Let's see whether you've covered topics not related to your leisure time. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

_Death Eater_, Harry thought. _Out to embarrass me._

"In my breast pocket, sir. But it's originally from the stomach of a goat."

"One point for cheek, Mr Potter. And that'll be five points unless you can actually present the bezoar in question within the next five seconds."

Harry did so, much to Snape's annoyance. "And why precisely _are_ you carrying a bezoar with you, Mr Potter?" the man asked, sneering at him.

"Well, you see, I've already had an attempt on my life ten years ago, and I thought I'd best be prepared just in case there's another one, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You believe your life is in danger at school, Mr Potter?"

"In a class taught by a former Death Eater? I wouldn't consider it out of the question, sir."

The silence that followed was absolute, and Severus Snape was, for the first time since he'd first taught at Hogwarts, at a loss for words.

* * *

Harry Potter was undeniably famous. He was the boy-who-lived, the boy who'd vanquished the Dark Lord at the tender age of one, the one who stood as a symbol for the peace that'd followed. He was the wizarding world's pride and joy.

But as far as the hallowed halls of Hogwarts and the students therein were concerned, all of this had been overshadowed and almost forgotten, a mere toddler's first steps, and pretty much small change compared to what had occurred in potions class that day.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was an abstract threat. He'd been gone for ten long, peaceful years, he was history - not something that could suddenly stand at your door and give you detention.

Severus Snape on the other hand, could do just that, and was the far more tangible danger to the student population of Hogwarts. That Harry Potter had managed to get away from him with only one point lost _and_ with a perfect Cure for Boils was just the icing on the cake.

Harry Potter had been a hero all his life. An abstract hero, more of a concept than a person.

This morning, he'd been made flesh.

* * *

"Hey! You! Potter!"

Harry, Hermione, Justin and Susan - a first-year Hufflepuff Justin had befriended and who was now studying with them - looked up to see the blonde boy from the train and his two gorillas approaching them.

Justin had put forward the theory that the two gorillas were indeed just that, and merely appeared human on account of a clever disillusionment charm, and after observing the two in Charms, Hermione found it difficult to argue against the idea.

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were Potter when I asked?"

"Hermione was faster."

The blonde looked at Hermione, who looked right back. "Yes, well, I guess that happens when one associates with mudbloods. But what I meant wa-OWWWWW!"

"Nice shot," said Harry appreciatively over Draco's howling. Susan blushed. "Thanks. Auntie always told me that we shouldn't rely entirely on magic. A good kick against the shin always works."

"Evidently so."

The two gorillas were also evident. In particular, they were evidently upset at Draco's pain, and began to advance menacingly at the group, only to be stopped by Aurora Sinistra rising from her seat at the head table and starting to walk towards them. The gorillas grunted and left, taking the cauldron cakes Justin had been feeding on with them.

"We'll be back!"

Hermione looked thoughtful as she watched them leave. "You know, for Slytherins, they're surprisingly aware of muggle popculture..."

"They'll soon be aware of something else, too."

"Hm?"

Justin grinned. "Remember when Harry told us about his use of Maximum Turbo Farts Potion?"

It was immature, but Hermione couldn't help smiling.

* * *

"Sherbet lemon?"

"Oh, my favourites! Thank you very much, sir."

"Ah... It's nice to hear we share the same taste, Harry." Albus Dumbledore leant back in his chair, eyes twinkling brightly. "So tell me, how has your first week at Hogwarts been?"

"Oh, it's been great, sir! Of course, I also came well prepared..."

"Ah, yes, I heard about that. I must say, it's not often that Professor McGonagall is left speechless by a student, but you managed it before you even enrolled. Quite the achievement! But of course, she's not been the only Professor you've left speechless..."

Harry thought the headmaster's eyes were now twinkling a little less. "Yes, sir. Actually, I was surprised, sir - I don't mean to pry, but I'm guessing it's not standard practice to hire, well..."

Dumbledore hesitated, and allowed silence to permeate the room for a moment. "Indeed it is not, Harry, but Severus is a... Special case. He has my absolute trust, and he should've yours, too."

Harry looked sceptical, and in a corner of the room, a phoenix trilled in agreement. Whether it was in agreement with Dumbledore or Harry was debatable, though.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know Severus is a difficult character, but I do wish for you give him a chance - and rest assured, I've told him to give you a chance, too."

"I'm sorry, sir, but when I get singled out by a former Death Eater the very first time we see each other, it rings a few alarm bells."

"That's understandable, and I'll not lie to you - there is a certain history between your family and Severus-" Harry was about to ask questions, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "It's not my place to elaborate on this. It is unfortunately true that he isn't especially fond of the Potters, but rest assured, this has nothing to do with Severus' temporary service for Lord Voldemort. And if nothing else..."

"... Yes?"

Dumbledore was now twinkling incessantly. "Well, with your experience in Potions, you may just be able to convince Severus that you deserve a chance."

* * *

_Dear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia (And Dudley, if you send him this letter!),_

_my first week at Hogwarts has been great. Hermione has been sorted into Ravenclaw with me, and Justin is in Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw is the house of the brainy ones, and Hufflepuff values a hands-on approach to things. Yes, I know you'd have liked me in Hufflepuff, Uncle Vernon._

_Classes have been interesting - I excel at potions, of course, though my teacher doesn't like me very much. All three of us are pretty great at Charms, but Hermione easily outdoes me and Justin in Transfiguration._

_History is taught by a ghost, and it's about as entertaining as you'd expect dead people to be._

_My Head of House is actually part goblin! I know you don't like them very much, Uncle Vernon, but I also know you respect their shrewd sense of business (That's what you called it, right?) and their uncompromising attitude._

_My housemates are a bit weirded out by me and Hermione talking to Apep and Wadjet (Okay, so whether one can actually call Hermione's helpless hissing 'Talking' is subject to debate), since Parselmouths don't exactly have the best reputation - but their curiosity is slowly getting the better of them, and Hermione being muggleborn makes them feel a little safer around us._

_Besides, it makes the Slytherins jealous, and everyone likes to stick it to the Slytherins, who are full of prats from what we've seen thus far._

_I hope the potions stocks I brewed for you aren't too depleted? I know it's only been a week, but I also know how fond you are of Pepperup Potion and the other ones I keep brewing for you, Uncle Vernon. Don't overdo it, it has to last until Christmas!_

_I hope Dudley didn't forget his stock of Maximum Turbo Farts Potion. I bet he'll be a hit at Smeltings!_

_Yours,_

_Harry_

All things considered, it was extremely fortunate that Snowy - Justin's owl - had the sense of propriety to not knock on the window to Uncle Vernon's office until after his lovepotion-contaminated intern got back up from under his desk.

**A/N:** Nothing to report here.


	3. Settling In

**Settling In**

Severus Snape looked somewhat dumbfounded at the owl that'd just landed in front of him. Since when did he get owls? He hardly ever got any owls.

Especially not owls with red letters.

The Potions Master resolved to ignore the owl and vanish the letter.

The owl pecked him.

So did the other owl that'd just landed next to the first, dropping another red envelope precariously close to his goblet.

A third owl determined that his shoulder was probably the ideal place to wait while Snape opened his letters.

Snape vanished those letters, too, determinedly ignoring the half curious, half amused glances his colleagues - and practically the entire student body - shot him.

Of course, by this point, there were a good two dozen owls circling over him and dropping their letters all over his breakfast, and Snape was a little too slow to vanish _all_ of them in time.

"... DEATH EATING SCUM, HOW DARE YOU TREATING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED LIKE THAT!"

"... SHOULD'VE BEEN KISSED, IF YOU ASK ME!"

"... WILL HAVE A GOOD LONG WORD WITH DUMBLEDORE! AND DON'T YOU THINK THAT..."

"I ALWAYS KNEW PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELF DON'T CHANGE! OFF TO AZKABAN, I SAY! AND..."

* * *

"You've to hand it to him, he's maintaining his composure even under duress," Anthony Goldstein noted, him being the only first year capable of maintaining an even expression while Snape was being doused in invectives by enraged parents. Next to him, Padma Patil was having some difficulty staying on her seat while giggling helplessly - a struggle Terry Boot had already lost.

"Well, after this, he's bound to leave you alone," Hermione opined, her expression a strange mix of deep satisfaction and despair.

Anthony looked thoughtful. "Either that, or he'll kill him."

Harry just glared at Anthony.

* * *

"...Why are Draco's gorillas cleaning up the fourth floor by hand?"

"Oh, apparently Snape gave them detention for 'Disrespectful flatulence in the presence of their Head of House.'"

Harry blinked at Justin, who beamed. "One of our sixth year prefects promised to buy me a whole month worth of cauldron cakes when he visits Hogsmeade next month. All for managing to make Snape give detentions to _Slytherins_ within a week of the term starting. Said Tonks would've been proud of me."

Hermione's look communicated her disapproval of the Hufflepuff prefects rather well. Harry on the other hand, was rather less concerned with the rules. "What's a 'Tonks'?"

"Oh, she finished her N.E.W.T.s last year. Hufflepuff, obviously, and practically a heroine of our house, judging by how the second years and up talk about her. I swear she's some kind of Hufflepuff patron saint."

"You know how Hufflepuff is considered the house of duffers by many?" asked Susan. Harry and Hermione both nodded - they didn't _agree_, of course, but they were well aware of Hufflepuff's reputation. "Well, apparently few people dared to say so openly while Tonks was here. She once broke into the Slytherin common room when some of them _did_ dare, and charmed its entire furniture yellow and black - _Finite_ wouldn't undo it, so they kept our colours for hours."

Harry snorted. "I guess Draco isn't the only prat in Slytherin history."

Susan nodded. "Well. I'm not saying _all_ of them are bad, but they do have a history."

* * *

"Sir?"

"Yes, Stephanie?" Vernon beamed at his intern, and congratulated himself to his exquisite taste - she was quite cute. And her pencil skirt was just barely shy of indecent.

"I've the Cooper orders right here. If you'd like a look...?"

"Ah, of course, my dear. Please leave them on the desk. I must say, Stephanie - you're making a most favourable impression."

Stephanie gave a remarkably genuine-looking smile. Had she been magical, she'd have made it into Slytherin with ease. "Thank you, sir. It's... Quite an experience to work for Grunnings."

"Of course, of course," Vernon supplied jovially. "Say, why won't you take a biscuit? It'll take some time to look through the orders, anyway..."

Stephanie hesitated, but eventually accepted. The memories of what'd happened the last time she'd accepted something from Vernon Dursley were... Not among her favourite ones. But at least biscuits weren't alcoholic. She should be safe.

* * *

Harry glared at his ash tray.

Then he glared at it some more. Then he jabbed at it with his wand.

It became a little more leathery, but it refused to stretch.

He looked to his left, where Justin was sitting next to Susan, and wasn't having any more success. Susan's was at least elongated, but completely lacking in leathery qualities.

To his right, Hermione was beaming happily at a brand-new pair of leather slippers and two well-earned points for Ravenclaw.

"They won't stay that way, just so you know," he hissed.

Hermione just smirked at him. "Jealous?"

* * *

**"Sssshe needssss to concentrate more on the hissssing."**

Hermione frowned. **"You can speak... To me, Apep. And I am... Doing the hissing. But I don't... Know why. Your language is magical, how does it... Matter what I say..."** She frowned some more and looked at Harry. "Audibly?"

**"Audibly."**

**"Audibly,"**she finished.

Wadjet was draped over both of Hermione's shoulders, and gave a hiss that Hermione had since learned was the snake version of a sigh. **"Let'ssss try this again..."**

* * *

Harry looked up from his transfiguration essay to where Padma, Mandy, and a couple second-years were staring at him.

He shook his head and concentrated on his essay again.

_For optimal results, it is not only important to visualise the result and to conduct the correct wand movement within the acceptable margin of error, but to make certain that one acts with deliberation, not haste. The arithmantic values forming the basis for shape-conform transfiguration are..._

They were still staring at him half an hour later.

* * *

The next morning, Harry noticed that it wasn't just the Ravenclaws staring at him. The Hufflepuffs did it as well. As did the Gryffindors, some of whom looked plain hostile.

The Slytherins were more varied, ranging from hostile like the Gryffindors to calculating like... Well, like Slytherins, to almost _reverent_, which weirded Harry out, given what he knew their Head of House thought of him.

* * *

"Okay. Maybe you can help, Justin. Everyone keeps staring at me as if I'm Jack the Ripper. _What's going on?_"

Justin looked a little uncomfortable, and it took one of Susan's elbows to finally get him to talk.

"Well. Um. You need to understand Harry, I didn't know people would react like this, or else I'd have kept my mouth shut-"

"_Justin..._"

Justin reddened slightly. "I, um, may have mentioned that your wand is, err..."

Harry groaned. It'd been difficult enough to convince people that his speaking Parseltongue didn't make him a Dark Lord...

* * *

Vernon Dursley cringed. This was not how he'd planned it. Not at all. This was bad. Really, really bad. Luckily he'd been alerted, but even so, this matter would be... Difficult to fix. If it could be fixed at all. "Of course, Mr Cooper. It'll not happen again."

"I certainly hope so, Dursley. We're relying on punctuality. And I don't just mean Cooper Ltd. - I mean Britain. We may have beaten the Argies, and we may have beaten the reds, but that's no reason to slack off. You're a patriot, aren't you, Mr Dursley?"

"Of course, sir. Please - I'll have this fixed in a day-"

"A day that'll cost me around ten thousand pounds, Dursley."

"Of course, sir. We're insured, and we'll be able to reimburse you-"

"Which will not help my reputation with my customers, Dursley."

"I'll... It'll never happen again, sir. I promise. And as a token of my sincere apologies, please accept..." Vernon nervously pulled on his case, and after several attempts punctuated by ever more disparaging remarks from Mr Cooper, finally managed to produce the bottle of champagne he'd brought with him to smooth things over a little bit.

Mr Cooper raised an eyebrow. "That bottle isn't worth ten thousand pounds, now is it, Dursley?"

By this point, large, glistening pearls of sweat were slowly running down Vernon's face. "Of course not, sir. Just as a-"

"I understood you the first time, Dursley. You may go and fix those... Mistakes, lest our business relationship is over. Is this understood?"

"Perfectly so, sir."

Finally out of Mr Coopers office, Vernon Dursley wiped the sweat off his forehead, and hoped with utmost sincerity that Forgetfulness Potion would work after being mixed with champagne.

* * *

The next couple potions classes went over without a hitch. Snape did his best to just ignore Harry's existence, and Harry, Hermione and Justin cruised happily along - though Harry and Justin were somewhat annoyed that the need to constantly observe the simmering fluids made it impossible to use the time brewing potions they could already do in their sleep to catch up on other subjects like they did in History of Magic. Merlin knew, Transfiguration could've used it.

Susan wasn't anywhere near as far as them when it came to Potions, and happily used the opportunity to study with them. Her desire to pursue the library wasn't quite on par with Hermione's, and she didn't exactly appear extraordinarily talented with potions, either, but she was obviously willing to make up for her shortcomings with sheer determination and effort. Having Justin sitting next to her helped, too.

Right now, she was looking through a supplemental text on ingredient preparation and dosing, in particular with regards to the cough potion Snape had told them they'd brew next week.

"Page 68, I think," Harry supplied helpfully.

Susan smiled. "Thanks. Say - how come you three are so far ahead of us in potions? I mean, I don't think muggleborns are inferior, but it's almost as if you've been brewing for years already!"

"We _have_ been brewing for years already," Hermione noted happily.

Susan's eyes went wide. "Really? I mean, the Improper Use of Magic Office doesn't usually come down on cases of underage magic before we even attend school, but that's unusual..."

Justin blinked. "Improper Use of Magic Office?"

Susan nodded. "Adult wizards are prohibited from using magic in front of muggles, and children are prohibited from using magic outside of school - though accidental magic doesn't count, of course."

"Huh."

"Well, our potions definitely weren't accidental," Harry chimed in while trying to ignore the bad, bad feeling developing in his stomach. "And that's silly. I mean, surely our families would want to see what we've learned at school?"

"Well... Magic can be pretty dangerous. Imagine a transfiguration gone wrong..." suggested Hermione, though she looked doubtful. Her potions had never been a problem, after all.

"Exactly," said Susan. "And not every magical parent is a qualified healer. I know Auntie isn't going to just let me wave my wand around at home, either."

* * *

"Ah, Mr Dursley! So happy to see you!" Mr Cooper beamed at Vernon, and patted him on the back like an old friend. "I must say, your prompt delivery has impressed me - my partners didn't lie, Grunnings really is ran quite brilliantly!"

Vernon beamed right back. "Well, for Queen and Country - it's through punctuality and quality that we've beaten the reds, isn't it?"

"Oh, it is indeed, my dear Vernon - champagne? - and we can both be proud of being a part of Great Britain. Most productive parts, too. Though, I must say, there's some strange inconsistencies in our books-" he noticed Vernon's face falling and quickly continued. "But no matter, no matter. I'll have to look for a new accountant, Jeffrey's slipping up. Doubtlessly his age. So anyway!" Mr Cooper's expression brightened like an expectant schoolboy's face on Christmas, and so did a very eager and just a little bit greedy Vernon Dursley. "Let us talk about our long term relationship..."

* * *

_Dear Uncle Vernon,_

_did you know there's an Improper Use of Magic Office? Apparently children aren't allowed to do magic outside of school. Seems like we all carry something called 'The Trace' and it can detect it when we use magic - at least that's what Susan Bones (One of Justin's housemates) told us, and her Aunt is running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so she should know. Hermione thinks it must be more complicated than that, but our Transfiguration and Charms essays are keeping us from looking it up._

_Apparently it's also illegal to leave magical artifacts with muggles BUT there are exceptions for muggle parents and guardians of magical children, so I think the harmless pepper-up and sleeping potions I've brewed at home aren't a problem. _

_Yours,_

_Harry_

* * *

Blaise gave Draco a long, contemplative look. Then he looked over the chess board at Theodore Nott, who was giving Draco precisely the same look.

Then he turned to look at Draco again.

"So... Let me get this straight. You want our help to 'Punish' Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, who is-"

Next to Blaise, Theo held up a finger.

"-the wizarding world's darling to the point that it bombarded our Head of House with howlers just for sneering at him-"

Theo held up a second finger.

"-who defeated the Dark Lord when he was just one year old-"

Theo held up a third finger.

"-who speaks Parseltongue - and just to remind you, of the four known Parselmouths in history, Herpo the Foul was the first Dark Lord, whose influence is felt to this day, Salazar Slytherin was one of the four legendary founders of Hogwarts, Paracelsus is widely considered the greatest healer and potioneer of his time, and the Dark Lord is, of course, the Dark Lord."

Theo held up a fourth finger.

"And last but not least, who, according to that mudblood Hufflepuff friend of his, carries the Dark Lord's brother wand."

Theo and Blaise gave Draco another long look, though this one was incredulous rather than contemplative. Finally, Theo spoke.

"Are you daft?"

* * *

**A/N:** Nott and Malfoy should be aware of the Gaunts' Parseltongue streak, but I imagine that their existence tends to be quietly omitted by pureblood supremacists as their breeding habits are a bit of an embarrassment.


	4. Merry Christmas!

**Merry Christmas!**

"Harry."

"Mhm?"

"Harry."

"Mo away."

"Harry!"

Harry finally looked over his blanket, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the indistinct human shape standing in front of him.

The shape eventually resolved into the somewhat more distinct shape of Terry Boot.

"_What?_" he finally asked.

"A good question. _What_ is the skeleton of a small rodent-like animal, possibly a mouse, doing in the Ravenclaw first year dorms?"

Harry looked at a spot near his bed Terry was now pointedly glaring at, and true enough, there was a tiny little skeleton.

He looked apologetically at Terry, and then shot a pointed look at Apep, who responded with a thoroughly unconcerned yawn, which only annoyed Terry further.

"Shouldn't northern vipers already be in hibernation by now? It's almost November, you know."

Harry shrugged. "The castle's warm enough. He usually does only four months at home - November to February."

Terry didn't look pleased.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley. I hope it's not inconvenient-"

Petunia blinked. There, in front of her, stood a gentleman whose choice of attire - complete with bowler hat and umbrella - practically begged her to identify him as John Steed.

With her luck, Emma Peel was just around the corner and making out with her husband.

"What do you want?" she finally spat out.

John Steed seemed a bit taken aback by Petunia's welcoming gesture, but quickly composed himself. "Well, you see, Mrs Dursley, my name is David Cunnington, and I'm here on an assignment by the Improper Use of Magic Office, and-"

And that was when David Cunnington had the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive slammed shut mere inches from his face.

* * *

"Please forgive me for the incident earlier. It's not well known, but I'm afraid my wife has had some traumatic experiences with magic in the past. I love her, but..."

"Of course, of course," David Cunnington told Vernon, displaying an oddly jovial mood and swinging his umbrella. "It happens, nothing to worry about."

"Excellent." Vernon practically beamed at him. "Now, how about a drink before we start?" He was already getting the bourbon, though he paused to throw a worried glance through the window and into the garden, where Petunia was occupying herself while their 'Guest' was inside.

"Oh, certainly." The umbrella stopped swinging and pointed at the bottle for the briefest of moments while Vernon produced glasses for the two of them. Apparently satisfied, Cunnington happily accepted his glass and took a sip. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but we've been informed that your nephew has performed a not inconsiderable amount of magic in your house?"

"Yes," replied Vernon, making a formidable impression of pride. "We supported him at every step, of course-" This, David Cunnington choose to doubt. Well, _Vernon Dursley_ might've, but his wife was evidently a different matter. "- nothing major of course. Safety first! But he did do some simple charms in the two months before the school year started, and he's been brewing for a little bit longer than that."

"A little indeed," David noted pleasantly. "Now, it's quite normal for students to experiment with their wands a bit after they get them, and that's certainly not something my office concerns itself with. Brewing for, ah, I understand it's been over a year, though? That's somewhat unusual. Would you still happen to store some of your nephew's potions?"

"But of course! They do come in handy, and since the boy enjoys brewing them, I figured there's nothing wrong with having a few on hand. Please, if you'd follow me-"

Once in the cellar, David reflected that it was a fairly impressive stash. Also a fairly inconspicuous one, basically just pepper-up potions and some sleeping draughts, a bit of burn-healing paste - which made sense for a first-time brewer -, plus a few pranking solutions - expected from an eleven year old boy - and that was it. No love potions, no hallucinogens, nothing to be concerned about.

"Well, that seems to be in order, Mr Dursley. Thank you for your cooperation - and my apologies for causing Mrs Dursley distress, but we do have to follow up on these things..."

Vernon's mood had been steadily improving throughout the visit, and he was only too happy to accommodate his guest's feelings. "Of course, of course. We're law abiding citizens, and always happy to help the authorities. Really, it's been a pleasure."

David Cunnington lifted his bowler hat and smiled. "The pleasure's been all mine, and I sincerely hope the next time we meet will be in a less official function. Good evening, Mr Dursley."

Having said that, he gave himself a little _twist_ and disappeared.

He never wondered why Vernon Dursley hadn't actually looked him directly in the eyes even once throughout his inspection.

* * *

Harry was sprawled on his bed and staring at the blue-and-bronze canopy, while Hermione was sitting next to him and going over a couple of charms texts. It was a matter of house pride for Ravenclaws to maintain straight 'O's in their Head of House's class, and Hermione being Hermione, she of course went the extra mile and was looking at material that Harry was pretty certain belonged to the second year curriculum.

"Seriously though. What was a troll doing inside the castle?"

"Well. It's a troll. I imagine it just knocked the doors off their hinges," Hermione replied distractedly before raising her wand and performing a series of complicated-looking motions. A moment later, Wadjet had turned an eye-searing shade of green.

**"Hey!"**

Hermione had the decency to blush. **"I'm sorry. Let me fix that..."**

Harry was pretty sure Wadjet's tail hadn't had a slightly pinkish hue before, but figured it was the gesture that counted. Colour charms were supposed to wear off after a couple hours, anyway.

"I just wish Flitwick had caught it. Have you seen his records on the duelling circuit? I wish he was our DADA teacher..."

"Just be happy it was caught before it stumbled over any students."

"Well, I wouldn't have minded watching... Even if it was McGonagall who took it down."

Hermione shot Harry a distinctly McGonagall-esque look. "Don't even think such a thing. We're first years, for Merlin's sake!"

* * *

_"Legilimens!"_

Susan and Justin were watching expectantly while Harry looked intently at Hermione.

"Well?"

Harry kept his wand pointed at Hermione, face contorted with effort and concentration.

"Um... Bunnies?"

Hermione giggled, and Harry's expression faltered. "Maybe it's still a little too early for me to try this..." He opened the book again and looked at the index as the four of them huddled around Hermione's bluebell flame. "It's so _complicated!_"

"That's probably why so few wizards even try," Susan suggested. "I know my Aunt can do it, but she didn't even try to learn it until her N.E.W.T. years."

"Yes, well, she was a _Hufflepuff_-" Harry didn't get the opportunity to finish that sentence, as he suddenly found himself in a decidedly unpleasant headlock while Hermione and Justin looked at him with 'You-Totally-Deserve-This' expressions.

"May I inquire as of what caused such a distinctly Gryffindor-ish commotion when there's not actually any member of that house present?"

Susan instantly let go of Harry's head, while Hermione and Justin immediately turned around to where Snape was standing and glaring at them, wearing his customary sneer. The four of them were wearing mildly guilty expressions. Harry had managed to get Snape to back off from specifically singling him out, but actual fights - even mock-fights - were a different matter.

"Potter. Of course."

Hermione bit her lip, though Harry wasn't sure why. Maybe she felt guilty for not having stopped him from attacking Draco's feather with his own during their last charms class... But really, how could he have known that it'd escalate into a full-blown aerial brawl with the Slytherins? And besides, Flitwick hadn't minded. He'd actually commented on how the need to defend oneself leads to quicker learning and only took points off when the wild feather-brawl over their heads threatened to spill over to the actual students and their choruses of _Wingardium Leviosa_.

It'd totally been worth the scolding he'd gotten from Hermione after class.

"And what is... This?" Snape asked, and Harry found himself pulled from his musings and back into the real world.

"This?" Harry asked, and followed Snape's look towards whatever he was looking at. It turned out to be the book he was holding: _Legilimency in Theory and Practice_.

"I'm sure you've a note of permission for having taken this from the library, Mr Potter?"

"Err. No, sir. It's mine."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "A receipt, then?"

"At home in Surrey, sir." Actually, the likelihood of Uncle Vernon having kept it was basically nil, but Harry doubted that Snape would visit Privet Drive to verify it. Though... Subjecting Aunt Petunia to yet another strange 'Freak' could be funny... Not to mention subjecting Snape to Aunt Petunia. Harry was certain Snape had never spent so much as a second of his life outside his vaunted pureblood circles - maybe it'd be a good learning experience for him. Or at least a decent punishment for existing.

Snape stared down at him. "That seems... Unlikely." Then he held out his hand. "The book."

Harry didn't let go.

"_Now._ I shall confer with the librarian to determine whether your... Tale... Is accurate."

Reluctantly, Harry let the book go. It was his, after all, and Madam Pince could confirm that there weren't any copies missing.

Snape turned to leave - limping while doing so, oddly enough -, before throwing Harry one more look. "Needless to say, if your tale turns out to be... Inaccurate, the appropriate measures for students breaking into the restricted section and stealing school property shall be taken, Mr Potter."

No sooner had Snape passed through the door that Harry let loose with a string of expletives that even Hermione's admonitions couldn't contain.

"He'll have to give it back, Harry. You know that. No need to-"

"I've looked him up in the yearbooks, Hermione. That bloody _git_ went to Hogwarts at the same time as my parents. And you know the kind of people he used to consort with. He probably still consorts with them, actually. I bet he sees my _mudblood_ mother in me. He's probably still bitter that he was forced to endure such an _impure_ presence in his classes, and that she managed to turn a _proper pureblood_ like my father away from the straight and narrow route towards his precious Dark Lord and towards actually being a decent person."

Harry spat.

"Riiiiiiiight," Justin finally said. "So, how about tomorrow's Quidditch match?"

* * *

Harry did have a talent for flying, and Madam Hooch had already told him that she expected him to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team next year, but the Gryffindor/ Slytherin match turned out to be torturous for the audience, as both sides' seekers were somewhat short of talented and fell only barely short of the four-hour mark in their quest for the snitch before the Slytherin seeker finally managed to grab hold of the little golden ball to the chattering teeth of the audience in the cold November air - an act that, unfortunately, didn't keep Slytherin from losing as Gryffindor's trio of chasers had already built a comfortable 270 : 90 lead by that point, leading to a final score line of 270 : 240.

Both teams' seekers avoided the rest of their housemates for the next week, and Harry - who'd originally been quite enthusiastic about the sport - was beginning to have second thoughts.

* * *

"Ah. There you are. Got your book back?" Hermione asked when Harry entered the common room after having spent a good five minutes trying to work out what that damnable eagle knocker had meant.

Harry walked over to her and allowed himself to plop down on the couch, which - as usual - didn't elicit even the hint of a reaction from Anthony, who was sitting next to Hermione and was apparently deep in thought over whatever it was that his book was about. It did contain illustrations, but Harry decided that he didn't care enough to identify them. Hermione did, though - apparently the two were amiably sharing the book in silence.

"Yes. Flitwick wasn't in the staff room, though. Only Filch and Snape."

That managed to get Hermione's attention for more than a handful of seconds. "Told you even he wouldn't be able to keep it for no reason."

"Yeah... Also, Filch was bandaging Snape's leg. Had a bunch of huge, bloody gashes on it. I thought he'd flip out and draw his wand on me when I saw it, but apparently he's learned some self control. Just levitated the book over and told me to get lost."

"I told you he can maintain his composure under duress," Anthony noted at this point, without taking his eyes from the book. Harry rolled his eyes.

* * *

Snape looked at the glass in his hand, the transparent-golden liquid therein beckoning him to let go of his inhibitions.

Best case scenario, he'd become more like McGonagall, and consequently, Gryffindor. He shuddered at the thought.

Worst case scenario, he'd become more like his father.

He closed his eyes, and allowed the liquid to spill onto the carpet. He'd vanish it later.

* * *

For all she didn't like Harry, Aunt Petunia was at least relieved to learn that Apep was going to spend the winter hibernating in the Hogwarts dungeons. It wasn't anywhere near the improvement she'd have liked, but it was a start.

Dudley had made the Smeltings wrestling team, and was practically beaming as he told his parents - both of them swelling with pride. Well, Vernon more so than Petunia - about how he'd actually managed to pin a second year during practice. Harry, who didn't want to interrupt the fragile family peace, and who was in any case a bit annoyed with how Uncle Vernon had basically ignored him during their drive home from London, choose not to make a big deal out of the goings-on at Hogwarts. He'd noticed the tension between Vernon and Petunia pretty much as soon as he'd stepped through the door, and felt it was best not to exert any additional pressure.

If nothing else, it wouldn't have been fair to Dudley.

Dudley on the other hand, turned out to be pretty outgoing. "Oh, by the way, Harry. If you could make some more potions - I already ran out of the farts one, and it'd be pretty great if you could do some others for variety!"

Harry groaned. So much for that plan. Dudley wasn't stupid, but his social literacy was, well...

Fortunately for everyone involved, Aunt Petunia managed to hold her forced smile, and Harry gave a quick affirmative, which actually seemed to surprise Vernon. It wasn't long after dinner that Vernon cornered Harry in his room.

"You told Dudley you can still make potions? I thought-"

Harry nodded. "Hermione did some research. Most potions just rely on my... I don't know... Innate magic to work? Something like that. I wouldn't be able to make something like Felix Felicis without using my wand, but the stuff I've been doing is not a problem. And the Office of So-and-So can only detect the active use of magic."

Uncle Vernon stroked his chin. "I see. Well, in that case, I guess you can get some done. Your wand is off limits, though?"

Harry nodded.

"Pity. Ah well - at least we still have potions. Someone from the Improper-" Vernon snorted. "-Use of Magic Office visited back in October. Fine gentleman, even if he had a strange sense of dress. Very British, though."

Harry blinked. He'd thought the letter he'd sent to his Uncle about that had been more of a just-in-case courtesy. That the Improper Use of Magic Office would be this sharp was... A little scary, actually.

His expression showed as much.

Uncle Vernon smiled genially. "Don't worry. They're not bothered about a few pepper-up and sleeping potions. Even your prank ones were fine, boy."

Well. Evidently his letter had made it just in time.

* * *

Comfortably situated around the oversized Christmas tree in the living room, Dudley got a couple Mega Drive games, an Iron Maiden CD and - despite Vernon's grumbling about the 'Damn Reds' - a VHS filled with Alexander Karelin highlights he later confided to Harry he'd been pushing for in half a dozen letters before his father had relented.

Harry got the complete _Tolkien_ set complete with a receipt that Vernon had failed to notice and stated in no uncertain terms that it'd been bought the day _after_ Harry had arrived home for Christmas.

Harry shrugged this little detail off. He probably should've written Uncle Vernon a letter about how the Improper Use of Magic Office wouldn't be able to detect his brewing before he'd boarded the train.

It was already dark outside, and everyone was seated in the living room, Harry reading, Dudley playing his videogames, Aunt Petunia knitting, and Uncle Vernon grumbling about immigrants, when, with a great amount of hooting, an owl dropped through the Dursley's chimney and - soot-covered as it was - landed on Harry's shoulder, looking indignant at having to take such an inconvenient route inside.

Aunt Petunia stood up and left the room without another word. Uncle Vernon looked after her, swore, and then followed her upstairs.

Harry sighed, and looked apologetically at Dudley, who shrugged. "She'll get over it one day."

Harry doubted this, but not having the means to do anything about Aunt Petunia, he resigned himself to submitting to the owl's incessant pecking and relieved it of its package before briefly opening a window for it to take off again.

"Go on. Open it already! I want to see what kinds of stuff wizards give as presents!"

It was a pretty awesome present, all things considered.

* * *

**A/N:** Wut?


	5. A Dog and Dragon Show

**A Dog and Dragon Show**

"So let me summarise," Hermione said, her withering look causing Harry and Justin wince. "Within a week of school starting again, you two were taking Harry's _very expensive and very rare cloak and family heirloom_ and using it for something as childish as sneaking around at night."

Harry thought the 'Childish' part was a bit unfair. They _were_ children, after all. "Err, yes. But that's not what-"

"Do you think your father would've approved, Harry? Do you think your father would've appreciated your use of such a priceless gift for something as profane as sneaking around at night?"

Okay, so now he felt a bit guilty. Damn Hermione for making him feel guilty.

"Come on, Hermione," Justin chimed in. "Harry's father was once eleven years old, too, you know."

"All I'm saying is that when he actually got the cloak from Harry's grandfather, he was most certainly using it much more sensibly than you two were yesterday night," Hermione responded primly. "Why didn't you two tell me or Susan about your plan in the first place?"

"Because you'd have stopped us."

Justin averted his eyes as soon as he said this, trying to escape the merciless look Hermione was shooting him.

"Indeed I've have," she finally said, after entirely too many seconds worth of awkward silence. "And I'd probably have saved your lives by doing so. Which brings us to the next point - you wilfully ignored Dumbledore's warning about the third-floor corridor, and were almost eaten in the process."

"Now you're exaggerating," Harry said, sounding mildly annoyed. "We spelled the door open, peeked in, and promptly closed it again. We weren't even close to being eaten."

"Certainly far less close than Snape," Justin added.

Hermione was about to deliver a scathing reply, but after a moment's thought, hesitated to do so. They did have a point there - Madam Pomfrey could've healed a few cuts in seconds. The was no reason for Snape to need the bandages Filch had given him before the holidays - not unless his wounds had been magically poisoned. And the Cerberus' saliva was known for being poisonous. In fact, its saliva was supposed to be the origin of the likewise poisonous wolfsbane used in some potions. A Cerberus bite _would_ cause the kind of injury magic couldn't treat in a matter of minutes.

But then again, Snape was the potions master, and there were all kinds of accidents that could explain what Harry had seen in the staff room.

"Maybe," Hermione finally said, deciding to compromise for the time being. "But that's merely luck, not an excuse. And you'll _not_ do this again."

Later that day, Harry and Justin quietly agreed that Hermione was spending entirely too much of her time in Transfiguration absorbing Professor McGonagall's personality.

* * *

The weeks flew by with classes, classes, and more classes and very little time spent outside during the cold of January. They covered Devil's Snare and fanged Geraniums in Herbology, where Hermione didn't particularly appreciate the former's grabby habits, and Hermione kept earning points in Transfiguration, a fact the entire Ravenclaw quarter of the year was determined to rub into the Slytherin's faces at every opportunity. Potions suffered accordingly as Snape's questionable point deductions and -awards allowed Slytherin to keep ahead of Ravenclaw in the race for the house cup by the tiniest of margins.

* * *

"So the Defence against the Dark Arts post has been jinxed for almost forty years?" asked Justin one of the Ravenclaw third years.

The third-year nodded. "Yes. The majority of the time they simply resign - old age, bored, want to be with the family, urgent appointment abroad, that kind of thing -, but there's plenty of times when it's, um, different."

"Different?" asked Hermione.

"You know. Tragically forgetting about the fake steps, unfortunate potions accidents after an argument with Snape about the appropriate syllabus, being an ex-Gryffindor and starting an inadvisable affair with a third-year Slytherin from an ancient and noble house, that kind of thing."

Hermione blanched. "Poor Quirrell..."

Harry looked worriedly at Hermione. "He hasn't started an affair with you, has he, Herm- OW!"

* * *

The DADA-Resignation betting pool was ran by a pair of excitable Gryffindor twins, who were sufficiently well-regarded that even the Slytherins were willing to trust them with running the whole affair - apparently, the betting pool tradition overrode even the strongest of house rivalries. Harry - who was still sporting a bright red cheek after his argument with Hermione concerning 'Appropriate Commentary during Serious Conversations' - threw in five galleons worth of Uncle Vernon's money in favour of a potions accident, and Justin added his own in favour of a scandalous affair with a vampire that'd catch up with Quirrell, no matter the amount of garlic he stuffed into his turban.

* * *

It was the first week of February. The next Quidditch match - Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin - was approaching, though excitement was limited. Hufflepuff's new seeker, a certain Cedric Diggory, had made short work of the Ravenclaw team back in November, making the upcoming match a match between the also-rans, while Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were, in all likelihood, going for the cup.

Given Gryffindor's lack of a decent seeker, Justin's and Susan's perpetually good mood over the matter was rather understandable.

It was also, of course, irritating Harry and Hermione. Harry because he wouldn't be able to try out for the team until next year, and Hermione because she was still reluctant to break the ten foot height barrier during flying lessons and didn't like being reminded of her... _Issues_ in this regard.

"Right," Hermione finally said determinedly when Justin was once again taking a break from his gobbledegook translations in favour of noting how the next match would basically decide the cup winner. "Apep and Wadjet should've come out of hibernation by now. Harry?"

"Coming!" Harry was only too happy to shout, leaving a snickering Justin and giggling Susan behind.

Technically speaking, the dungeons were Slytherin territory, but they were sizable enough that the probability of actually stumbling over one of them wasn't all that high. Besides, Harry and Hermione had found that the Slytherins were rather less confrontational with them than they were with Gryffindors and muggleborns other than Hermione - they suspected it had something to do with them sharing Salazar's gift , misleading though this was in the case of Hermione. Not that either of them felt the need to correct the misconception, of course.

Dark, damp and entirely too cold corridor after dark, damp and entirely too cold corridor. A statue of Salazar here, a portrait with a hibernating snake there, an iron virgin to the left serving as an impromptu door to a secret corridor, and a large, talkative tapestry covering the many exploits of Salazar Slytherin a few steps into the same. And finally, the unremarkable nook they'd left Apep and Wadjet in.

**"Springtime, you two! Awake yet?"** Harry hissed happily at them, a little too fast for Hermione to catch everything.

Low, annoyed hisses answered him.

**"That's a 'Yes',"** Harry determined. **"Right, up you two."**

**"Here, Wadjet,"** Hermione chimed in, holding out her arm.

**"Yours is far nicer than mine,"** Wadjet noted with no small amount of glee as she slithered up Hermione's arm and slung herself around her neck and shoulders. For his part, Harry was happy that Hermione was still far from being able to understand Apep's not exactly gentlemanly reply.

They walked back, chatting about how the winter had been and the presents they'd gotten.

**"Invisibility would be very useful to surprise rats... Maybe you could make invisibility cloaks for snakes?"**

**"I don't think we're that good with magic yet..."**

**"Well, that's why you're at school, right?"**

Harry and Hermione both laughed, though their snakes choose not to join in. Instead, they stiffened, forked tongues slipping out of their snouts more and more often. Hermione was the first to notice.

**"What are you...?"**

**"Duck. Hide. Now."**

Hermione looked confused. So did Harry.

And then a jet of green light seemed to appear out of nowhere. Harry managed to duck and roll behind a statue just in time, while Hermione just stared, shocked, in the direction the green light had come from, stone splinters cutting through her cheeks and Wadjet's skin.

"Hermione! Here! Run!" Harry shouted, and finally, Hermione started to move, too. For the briefest of moments, Harry could see the blood seeping out of her cut cheek and onto her robes, before turning forward again and running with her. Away from... Whoever this was.

Another jet of green light impacted behind them, missing Harry by an inch, and sending another cloud of stone splinters flying. They didn't hear any incantations, but Harry had read enough about that night in October, ten years ago. He knew what this was.

Curses behind them, both, the magical sort and the sort to let out one's frustration. The dungeons, practically a labyrinth. The frantic search for a way out.

Around a corner and another one, and finally, an older boy and girl behind a statue. Black robes and green ties and a skirt hitched up a little too far and wide, angry eyes staring at the unwelcome arrivals, but then they were already past them. Out of breath and scared out of their minds. The Slytherin common room was probably somewhere in the general area.

Another corner, another statue, and finally Harry and Hermione couldn't go on anymore, and sank to the ground, trying to nurse the stitches in their sides.

A minute passed before they heard steps coming towards them. Slow, heavy steps, interspersed with lighter, faster ones.

Snape turned around the corner, followed by a Slytherin prefect, the same one they'd passed earlier, though - Harry somehow managed to notice despite the recent attempt on his life, despite his lifelong nightmare of _that night_ catching up with him - her skirt was no longer hitched up.

Snape's dark eyes looked over the two for a moment, lingering for a few seconds over Hermione's bleeding cheek. "Hospital wing. Follow me."

* * *

"I'm impressed."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Anthony. "Impressed by what, exactly?"

"By Professor Snape, of course. He fails to kill you until you come far enough that there'd be witnesses to your murder, and then he marches you off to the hospital wing as if nothing has happened. The man has a composure to die for."

Harry looked incredulously at his fellow Ravenclaw. "Why, thank you for your concern, Anthony."

"Oh, come on! There's no evidence that it was Snape who tried to kill us!"

Now it was time for Hermione to receive an incredulous look from Harry. "Um, Hermione. _Supposedly_ former Death Eater. Who goes out of his way to make my life miserable. And then there's an attack in the dungeons, using a curse Death Eaters are _famous_ for using, targeting the student who vanquished the master of the Death Eaters and a muggleborn - who, you might recall, are the ones Voldemort wanted to get rid of. Is all that just a _coincidence_ to you?"

Hermione sighed. "I admit, it looks suspicious. But Dumbledore trusts him. And Professor Snape could've easily killed both of us and used a memory charm on his prefect-"

"Altered memories can be identified. It's not necessarily possible to restore the original memory, but the altered one can definitely be identified," Anthony noted at this point. Harry nodded. "_Legilimency in Theory and Practice_ says the same."

Hermione sighed again. "Well... Maybe. But we really don't have any evidence. In any case, Dumbledore has ordered us to never be in a group of less than four, and ideally, always close to a teacher-"

"Which includes Snape," Harry added pointedly.

* * *

"Mrs Dursley?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There has been an... Incident involving your nephew that we feel requires you being informed about in person."

Petunia hesitated, but at the very least, Mrs Bones looked a little more, well, _normal_ than David Cunnington had been. Well, barring the monocle. And who knew? Perhaps the freak had had a grievous accident? That'd be welcome news, at least.

She spent a short moment steeling herself against the assault of the _freakish_ her house was to endure once more.

"I... Oh, alright. Come in already, don't want anyone to stare."

* * *

Following 'The Incident', Ravenclaw did, predictably, become almost unbearably protective of Harry and Hermione, and it became almost impossible for them to have a conversation without half a dozen people listening in. It took them considerable effort and threats of violence to at least convince their 'Security Detail' to leave them alone in the lavatories. Their privacy probably would've been lost completely, if it hadn't been for Justin and Susan convincing people - again with the occasional threat of violence - that they really _were_ matching the minimum safe group size when outside the Ravenclaw tower.

Hufflepuff and Gryffindor weren't far behind. Hufflepuff felt that it was its duty to do its part because it was the right thing to do (That Harry and Hermione were friends with two Hufflepuffs and spent a fair bit of time in the Hufflepuff common room helped), and the Gryffindor ethos left that house no option other than to be fiercely protective of every non-Slytherin student under threat, anyway, as their first year 'Trio of Knights' consisting of Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Ron Weasley confided to Hermione one day.

Harry, Hermione, Justin and Susan found the probability of a bunch of first years stopping someone who threw nonverbal _Avada Kedavra_'s around like they were candy somewhat dubious, but fortunately, older students took part in their round-the-clock protection, too. Hermione even cherished it and bombarded the older students with questions whenever the opportunity arose.

Even more fortunately, it seemed that Professor Quirrell had taken up the duty to keep an eye on Snape, given how often the two could now be found in each other's vicinity. Privately, Harry and Hermione both doubted that Professor Quirrell would actually be able to beat Snape in a duel, but as Hermione pointed out, surely Quirrell was their DADA teacher for a reason.

For his part, Harry felt that the five galleons he'd bet on Quirrell suffering an unfortunate potions accident were a sound investment, though he'd have felt a lot better about it if his own life hadn't been a part of the gamble as well. He used one of their classes to advise Quirrell on carrying a bezoar with him at all times, though the Professor had only looked at him oddly.

Professor Flitwick made time to see them several times a day, just in case, and buried Harry and Hermione in additional coursework to keep them in the Ravenclaw Tower for as long as possible and preferably forever, but there was only so much time one could spend with drying, colour switching, hairdressing (One of the few times that Hermione wasn't the first one in their class to cast it successfully) and cutting charms, their theory and development, before getting bored, even if you were a Ravenclaw.

Sometimes they'd stroll outside, usually in the company of the gamekeeper, who'd apparently been a close friend of Harry's mum and dad, and who the Ravenclaw/ Hufflepuff quartet was quick to befriend.

* * *

"Petunia..."

"Vernon." Petunia didn't turn to look.

"Petunia, I..."

Petunia still didn't turn to look. "What is it, Vernon?"

"Petunia..." And now Vernon was directly behind her, and a bouquet of petunias was lying next to her on the kitchen counter. "Petunia, I... I want to apologise."

Petunia raised an eyebrow at the carrots she was slicing. "Is that so."

Vernon swallowed. "Yes. I..."

"Ran out of twenty-somethings at work, Vernon?"

Vernon remained silent for a minute. A long minute.

"I've... I've made mistakes, Petunia. I know this. And I know I've no right to demand that you forgive me, but... I'm sorry, Petunia."

The awkward silence stretched and stretched on, until finally, Vernon dared to plant a kiss on Petunia's cheek. She didn't move away.

"It won't happen again, Petunia."

Petunia hadn't moved away, but she didn't look happy, either. "You know that's not the only problem we have, Vernon."

"Yes... But it's just a little over six years, Petunia. Then he's gone. And we'll be rich and happy. And Dudley will have been groomed into being a worthy partner for me at Grunnings. All I ask for is for you to endure it for a few more years... And then you'll never have to deal with these things ever again."

Petunia closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "I'll... I'll try, Vernon."

* * *

"So what did they say?" asked Harry anxiously, eyes constantly darting between Hermione, Justin, and the letters each of them had received. Hermione and Justin looked at each other, and then at Harry and Susan. "They're... Worried." Hermione finally said, slowly.

"Understandable, after a murder attempt on you," Susan noted. "I take it my Aunt spoke to them, too?"

Hermione nodded. "And she's reassured them - I can stay. Though they also wrote that they're looking at potential alternatives. I'm sort of fluent in French, so Beauxbatons is on their list."

"And you, Justin?"

"My parents are scared out of their minds, of course - but they're satisfied with your Aunt's promise to station two Aurors at Hogwarts and look out for Harry and Hermione."

Hermione looked surprised. "Not looking for a different school?"

Justin shook his head. "I don't speak French. Just a bit of German. And Durmstrang doesn't accept muggleborns."

Hermione muttered something distinctly un-Hermione-like under her breath.

"Let's just hope the Aurors will find whoever's responsible for this mess," Susan eventually said, after recovering from the shock that was Hermione using that kind of language.

"As if we don't know," muttered Harry, only to earn a sharp look from Hermione. Though it certainly wasn't as sharp as it could've been.

* * *

"Say, Hagrid..."

"Yeh?"

"You're the gamekeeper, right?"

Hagrid puffed out his already enormous chest. "Tha' right. I've got a whole herd o' Hippogriffs, o' course, an' then there's the Thestral herd... Wish I had a dragon, too."

"Right," Harry nodded. "And a Cerberus, too, by any chance?"

Hagrid instantly stopped in his tracks, and looked suspiciously at the four first-years accompanying him. "How do yeh know?"

"We, err, might've stumbled over it," Justin offered, not actually looking at all apologetic about it.

For his part, Hagrid gave a good impression of Professor McGonagall's most disapproving gaze. "Yeh shouldn' do tha'! Fluffy's me pet, but he's not so gentle with strangers!"

"We, err, figured as much," Harry said. "We'd just been wondering why a giant, three-headed, and poisonous dog is in the castle."

"That's none o' yeh concern!" Hagrid replied hotly. "Dumbledore did this as a favour to Flamel, and tha' between them an' no one else!"

Hermione was about to say something, but Harry threw her a look. They had what they needed.

"That's only fair, Hagrid."

"Yeh jus' make sure to stay away from Fluffy." Hagrid said grumpily.

"Don't worry, we will." Susan replied. She wasn't even lying.

* * *

"Ah... Professor Snape, isn't it?"

Snape looked up at the two men who'd just entered his office, black cloaks billowing in what he considered to be a rather poor imitation of his own preferred method of entry. "Yes...?" he drawled, not bothering to rise from his armchair.

"Aurors Noble and Green. I'm sure the Headmaster has informed you about our stay in the castle for the duration of the investigation of the... Unfortunate incident a week ago?"

Snape nodded, not even bothering to reply properly. He was already getting annoyed, not to mention falling behind with covering his third-year Gryffindors' essays in scathing, bright-red notes. He still had to mark the twins down for their lavatory shenanigans two weeks ago.

Noble practically beamed. "Excellent. We'd like to re-examine your testimony - I'm sure you won't mind?"

"Not at all," Snape replied evenly, not bothering with any kind of honorific.

"Oh, wonderful. Of course, Auror Green will lead the re-examination. I believe you may know each other already?"

"Oh, yes." Auror Green, too, was practically beaming as he took a look at the essays on Snape's desk. "Oh, Gryffindor? My old house! Ah, the memories... I remember your potions class as if it was yesterday, sir - I mean Mr Snape."

Snape resisted the urge to rub his forehead. This was going to be a _long_ evening.

* * *

Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin turned out to be a thorough stinker of a game, pretty much on par with the decidedly subdued atmosphere before the match. In the end, Slytherin's thug tactics turned out to be no match for Ravenclaw's chasers, yet Terence Higgs was lucky with the snitch for the second time in a row (How he managed this despite being a distinctly mediocre seeker was anyone's guess), and ensured Slytherin's 240 : 180 win over Ravenclaw despite the astonishing six penalties awarded to the latter.

Nobody much cared, and people immediately started focussing on the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match that was widely believed to determine the overall winner of the season. Well, 'People'. Hermione was one of the sizable number of Ravenclaws too busy with revision for the (Still three months away) exams to notice there was such a thing as a Quidditch season.

The rest of the school, however, eagerly awaited the match, and they weren't disappointed - the snitch made itself scarce for the first hour, which Cedric Diggory used as an opportunity to show off the seeker's role in running interference with the opposing chasers, which in turn helped to bridge the gap between Gryffindor's trio and Hufflepuff's own chasers, resulting in a relatively evenly-matched scoreline of 110 : 90 in favour of Gryffindor by the time the snitch finally made an appearance.

It wasn't to be the last one, as the Gryffindor beaters turned out to be perfectly capable of blocking Cedric's attempts at catching the little golden ball, and adorning Hufflepuff's star with a number of bludger-induced bruises in the process. It wasn't until the 121st minute and the fifth snitch appearance of the game that Cedric finally managed to close his fist around the snitch and ending the game 230 : 320, causing the black-and-yellow adorned quarter of the stands to erupt in celebration, and Harry to avoid Justin and Susan for the next couple days.

Cedric Diggory celebrated in the hospital wing after receiving twin bludgers to the head a mere second after he'd caught the snitch.

* * *

"Aha!"

"Yes...?" Susan looked curiously at Hermione, who had her nose buried in an enormous tome called _Wizarding Wisdom: An Encyclopedia of Magic_.

"I've found him!"

"You've found whom?"

"Flamel!"

Susan raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to _keep_ Justin and Harry from doing irresponsible and outright dangerous things. Not _entice_ them."

"I, err..." Hermione blushed. "Well, they discovered a mystery, and I was interested. That doesn't mean I'll act like them and run off to get eaten by a giant, poisonous dog."

Though she had to admit, she'd _really_ like to get a look at the stone.

* * *

It was April, and the revision-epidemic was slowly but surely spreading throughout Ravenclaw, with Harry - who actually used 'I'm only here because the Hat said Slytherin would be too dangerous for me!' as an excuse when Hermione began pressuring him about it - being one of the few holdouts in the house who didn't let their nerves get the better of them.

Though that didn't make navigating the common room and the people perched on its chairs, armchairs, couches and desks, or just lying on the ground, half-buried in books and parchment and scribbling away any less difficult. Finally, Harry had had enough and dragged Hermione away from Anthony and outside, noting that 'Spring's coming and we should enjoy it!'.

They met Justin and Susan halfway towards the Quidditch pitch and chatted for a bit when Susan suddenly yelped and pointed at Hagrid's hut, from which smoke was emerging. Rather a lot of smoke, in fact.

"What in Merlin's..."

A minute later and they were there, frantically knocking on the door. There were a number of heavy THUNKS moving towards the door, which made everyone back away, before finally, the door opened to reveal a very old, if still fit-looking man.

Well, he'd have been fit-looking if it hadn't been for his wooden arm and legs, anyway.

"Who are you?" asked the man, curiously, if a little nervously.

"Err... We're Hagrid's friends, sir." Harry managed to reply after the initial shock and remembering what one of the Ravenclaw prefects had told him about the... Oddities that were part of the Hogwarts staff - Professor Trelawney, Professor Binns... And Professor Kettleburn. "We saw the smoke and..."

"Ah, it's yeh!" Hagrid's much deeper voice boomed from inside the hut. "They're fine, Silvanus. Let 'em in!"

"Very well, then," Professor Kettleburn said, and moved aside to allow the group to enter Hagrid's hut. "Would be a shame not to let the new generation experience the joy of such a majestic creature, right, Hagrid?"

"Righ' yeh are! Come 'ere an' look, kids!"

"It's magnificent! Nature's most noble, most awe-inspiring of creatures!" Kettleburn added, his wooden arm making a wide, sweeping motion, only to be set on fire by a burst of flame coming from the little baby dragon that was occupying the centre of the room and looking like it was in a rather bad mood.

Which was probably par for the course for dragons.

"Err... Admittedly, also rather temperamental creatures. But noble nonetheless!" Kettleburn said, waving his wand with his good arm and putting out the fire on his wooden one. "Can't have it burn out the enchantments, that'd be a bother..."

The foursome just gaped.

* * *

**A/N:** I feel Kettleburn is vastly underutilised. Hagrid needs someone who appreciates cute, fluffy animals just as much as he does.


	6. Mirror Mirror

**Mirror Mirror**

"The Forgetfulness Potion is among the most difficult potions you'll brew in first year. Instructions are on the board. You've two hours. Begin!" Snape bellowed, his mood even fouler than usual - though oddly enough, he managed to reign himself in instead of venting his ambient anger on the students in his class.

Harry wasn't the only one who figured that the pair of Aurors leaning casually against the wall next to the blackboard and observing the class probably had something to do with that.

* * *

"I just wish we could actually access the Philosopher's Stone - it'd be so fascinating just to see!" Hermione gushed.

"Yet alone to experiment upon, right?" Harry noted drily while tossing a quaffle against the wall of Justin's dormitory, where the foursome were presently seated. The 'puffs didn't seem to mind - if you were invited in, you were welcome to stay. Which really, wasn't all that different from how Ravenclaw handled it - as long as you could answer the riddle and behaved, you were welcome. Quite a contrast to the absurdly paranoid security the Gryffindors and Slytherins enforced... Though on second thought, it probably wasn't _that_ paranoid when you really _were_ engaged in a hex-on-sight house rivalry.

Hermione blushed. "Well, yes. If I was allowed to..."

Justin and Susan coughed. "As nice as that'd be, the stone is being guarded by a giant, poisonous, three-headed dog. I doubt we'd be allowed anywhere near it. Unless 'Fluffy'-" Justin snorted. "-likes house elf treats, you won't get to see it."

"I know..." Hermione looked genuinely crestfallen at that.

"Well, look at the bright side - at least it's not a dragon guarding it," Susan said.

"Well, that'd be far too dangerous. Dragons are much better off roaming the grounds," Justin replied with the straightest face he could manage. "But regardless... Transfiguration homework. Hermione?"

"... Hermione?"

Hermione was looking dreamily at the ceiling.

"Hermione!"

"Hm? Oh! Sorry... But you know..."

"The stone. We know," the other three chorused.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since the foursome had become aware of Hagrid's & Kettleburn's dragon, and Hagrid's hut was now constantly emitting a thick, billowing pillar of smoke, interspersed only by the occasional burst of fire or the roaring of the growing dragon within.

The Gryffindor twins had opened another betting pool, this one being about which limb Professor Kettleburn would lose next.

The Headmaster, who had made it a habit to stroll over the grounds near Hagrid's hut several times a day while clad in bright yellow robes displaying a constantly swirling sea of light blue stars, told everyone who cared to listen - and some who didn't - how happy he was that Hagrid was taking such an interest in improving his cooking skills. This was, incidentally, precisely the same reply he'd given in response to an inquiry by the board of governors. For some reason, the governors choose not to personally verify the headmaster's claim.

Another week later, the not-exactly-a-baby-anymore dragon burst through the ceiling of Hagrid's hut and, after a few minutes spent spewing six-foot jets of fire, flew off in the general direction of the forbidden forest after finding it impossible to break through the shield the Headmaster had cast to protect the gaping and cheering crowd of students - most of whom were Gryffindors - that'd likewise made it a habit of strolling or lounging in sight of - but a safe distance away from - Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid and Kettleburn escaped from what used to be Hagrid's hut covered in soot and putting out the parts of their clothes that were on fire, only to be welcomed by the rather stern-looking, yet madly twinkling Headmaster, who promptly admonished them and put Professor Kettleburn on the sixty-first probationary period of his career.

Harry, Hermione, Justin and Susan approached him and Hagrid soon after Dumbledore had left.

"So... Didn't work out quite as planned, did it?" asked Justin, trying to lighten the mood.

Not that this was strictly necessary, since Kettleburn didn't look particularly saddened. Certainly much less so than Hagrid, who was drying his eyes with a vaguely tent-sized handkerchief. "Alas, we knew we couldn't keep Narcissa forever. And we'll have Hagrid's hut fixed in a jiffy, my little friend."

"Narcissa?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. Hagrid wanted to call her Norbert, of course, but since she's a girl... And a girl with a temper, let me tell you."

He didn't need to. They'd all seen the temper in question.

"Reminded me of an old student of mine with that name, her temper did, so I thought it was fitting, and young Hagrid here agreed."

Hagrid was still trying to wipe away his pearl-sized tears. "Yeh..."

Hermione and Susan strongly doubted that any female would particularly appreciate having a dragon named after her for her temper, but opted not to say anything.

Meanwhile, Kettleburn was casting a quick Scourgify on himself and Hagrid, and Justin used the opportunity to surreptitiously look at Kettleburn's limbs - wooden and otherwise.

"Pro- Professor, what happened to..." Justin pointed at Kettleburn's wood-and-charcoal arm, which had a number of deep holes and cracks in it.

"Hm? Oh, Narcissa's temper. Pity, the poison ruined all the enchantments. And these things aren't cheap..." Kettleburn shrugged. "A good thing we've Flitwick in the castle. Extremely helpful, that old chap."

Justin looked appropriately grieved and sorry for a minute, only to beam brightly as soon as the Professor and Hagrid turned their backs to them. A moment later, he'd spotted the Gryffindor twins, and ran towards them, wildly waving his arms. "Hey! Here! You two! I woooon!"

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "Making money from gambling on another person's misfortune..."

"And he's a Hufflepuff," Harry quipped.

Susan groaned. "The shame!"

* * *

"The report you asked for, sir."

"Thank you, Stephanie."

Stephanie gave a brief, rather forced nod, and turned around to leave Vernon's office again, showcasing plenty of the charms Vernon had found worth spending more than one love potion on.

Vernon sighed. His body was reacting as he knew it would - as he was proud it did -, yet, he knew better than to give in to it again so soon. He'd indulged himself too much. It'd almost cost him a major business deal, almost cost him a fortune. And while Petunia was willing to forgive the occasional slip like the good and caring housewife she was supposed to be, making it a regular occurrence risked his family - and thereby the social status he'd worked for so hard to achieve.

This couldn't be allowed.

Magic was useful. He had no intention of stopping his use of potions anytime soon. Even the occasional love potion - he was a busy man, and needed relaxation every now and then, and if he was perfectly honest with himself, his body was no longer that of his weightlifting twenty-something self of old. Love potions certainly helped to... Smooth things over, given the circumstances.

But he'd have to learn some self-control. For his own sake.

* * *

"Oh, stop it, Harry!" Hermione muttered, and with a flick of her wand, sent Harry's breakdancing log flying from the desk before it could crash into her own two logs, which were waltzing in tune with Flitwick's conducting of Johann Strauss' _Homage to Queen Victoria of Great Britain_ - as played by a set of charmed porcelain dolls.

The Slytherins on the other side of the room were snickering, and Draco sent one of his own wooden logs after Harry's, followed closely by Crabbe's and Goyle's - or they would've followed closely if they hadn't stumbled over each other and tumbled all over the ground.

"Gentlemen!" Flitwick exclaimed. Draco's log made a good impression of a rude gesture at Harry before returning to its desk, which Harry's log promptly returned.

"Now see what you've done," Hermione muttered, though she was smirking.

* * *

Draco and his underlings hadn't had the best of introductions to Harry's little group of friends, but as it turned out, the budding conflict between them was, if not put on hold, then at least put in a distant second place by the traditional rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Sure, Harry and Draco sent each other's charmed objects to fight in charms class, but that was nothing compared to Draco and his gorillas and the self-proclaimed Gryffindor knights openly exchanging hexes in the corridors before being stopped by Professor Sprout.

It took Snape a great deal of effort to restore the points balance in Slytherin's favour, and Draco continued to receive anonymous letters advocating French cuisine involving slugs for the rest of the year.

* * *

"Killing _unicorns_?!"

Susan and Hermione stared, mouths agape, at Hagrid and Kettleburn in the latter's office, to which they'd been invited for a nice Saturday tea. Justin and Harry weren't quite as shocked, but they, too, had read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ - and killing unicorns just wasn't something people _did_. Not unless they were completely insane.

And evil. Can't forget evil.

Hagrid nodded grimly. "Tha' right. Haven't seen somethin' like this in all my time 'ere. 'course, the Aurors are helpin' me an' Fang now, trying to find out what's killin' them."

"Could it have been Narcissa?" Harry asked.

Kettleburn shook his head as he poured himself another cup of tea with his new arm, the inscription reading 'Try not to break it for a year. - Flitwick' still decipherable on it. "A dragon could catch an unicorn, certainly, but Narcissa's a Norwegian Ridgeback - they don't hunt in the woods. They nest in the mountains and hunt creatures there or in the water. The forest is something they fly over without otherwise bothering with it."

The Professor looked dreamily out of the window for a moment. "With a bit of luck, Narcissa will hunt in the black lake every now and then... Would be lovely to see her again..."

Harry, Hermione, Justin and Susan exchanged worried glances at that.

* * *

Hufflepuff crushed Slytherin almost effortlessly, ensuring a season-long winning streak and possession of the Inter-House Quidditch Cup trophy they hadn't held for almost two decades. Justin was impossibly smug for a week, though his example paled next to Professor Sprout's, as Justin and Susan witnessed when they saw Professor McGonagall approaching their Head of House immediately before their Herbology class with the Gryffindors.

"Lovely weather, isn't it, Pomona?"

"Why, yes, Minerva," Professor Sprout practically sang, eyes briefly flickering skyward. "Perfect conditions for Quidditch, don't you think?"

Professor McGonagall looked somewhat irritated. "Err, yes. I meant to ask - have you finished the exam questionnaires?"

"Oh, yes. Last night, in fact - I'd have finished them earlier, of course, but my Hufflepuffs kept me busy with the celebrations after the Quidditch match last weekend, you see. Some of the seventh years managed to spike the punch with firewhisky. Well, now that Tonks is gone, someone else has to take up the flag, of course. No need to lose sleep over it, I think it can be forgiven after winning the cup-"

By now, describing Professor McGonagall's expression as 'Irritated' was probably a bit of an understatement. "... I understand, Pomona. So if you could bring them to me this afternoon-"

"Oh, I'm afraid I've to leave for Hogsmeade this afternoon, the new seedlings should be arriving. I hope you can forgive me, Minerva - but you've the key to my office, don't you? The stack should be right next to the Quidditch cup, you can't miss it."

And with that, Pomona Sprout walked - correction, skipped like a schoolgirl - off to her greenhouses, still displaying the permanent, beaming smile that warmed everyone around her.

Well, almost everyone.

The students were somewhat taken aback when the normally strict, but fair and level-headed McGonagall took a total of fifty points and gave out two detentions during her next class.

Though unlike Snape, she rescinded most of these punishments later that afternoon.

* * *

"Ah... Thank you, Franklin," Vernon practically gushed as he accepted the rather expensive wine the Finch-Fletchleys had opted to open for their evening with the Dursleys and the Grangers.

"No matter, no matter," replied a jovial Franklin who, although he still didn't consider the Dursleys to be an especially pleasant family, was willing to overlook quite a few of their flaws. After all, their timely actions had been incredibly helpful for his son, not to mention his dentists' daughter, and he _did_ consider the Grangers to be genuine friends.

Plus, they actually behaved quite adequately this evening. Clearly just a matter of - admittedly late - socialisation. And Franklin Finch-Fletchley was nothing if not happy to lead by example. "So I heard Grunnings is still doing well? Our money's being put to good use?"

"Oh yes," Vernon practically gushed, pleased that the Finch-Fletchleys actually _paid attention _to his business, and therefore himself as well. "Really, it couldn't be any better." He hesitated. "Well, could, in a few years. It isn't the end of the road just yet, you know." He laughed, almost without a sign of his usual awkwardness around the Finch-Fletchleys, who were regarding him and Petunia with polite indulgence.

Their conversation went on, and Franklin Finch-Fletchley entertained everyone with a short speech in Gobbledegook - or what he hoped was Gobbledegook, anyway. "I'm an old man, I'm afraid, and it takes some effort for me to learn a language. But I've got the basic greetings and numbers down, at least. Should be quite useful in the long term."

Vernon raised his eyebrows. "Useful for what?"

"Investing in Gringotts, of course," Franklin replied, leaning back on his armchair and letting the wine swirl a little in his glass. "Since I can legally interact with the wizarding world, it'd be a waste not to. And from what I've heard, the Goblins are always looking for means to operate in the mundane world. They've... Squibs they're called, I think? to do it for them, of course, but I do believe that I'll be able to offer them opportunities they rarely get. I plan to make an appointment for this summer, when the children are home again."

Vernon pondered this. That wasn't a bad idea at all. Creepy and very much untrustworthy - even more so than immigrants or the French, which was saying something - though Goblins undoubtedly were, they were also businesspeople, and having a financial link to the wizarding world could open up all kinds of possibilities.

Certainly something to consider.

"But enough about money - what about the family? I hope your nephew has recovered from the shock he's received?" asked Jean Granger, who stuck to carbonated water herself - a habit her mother had brought over from France when she'd immigrated.

This confused Vernon. "S-?"

"Ah, yes-" Petunia replied smoothly before Vernon could say anything more. "It was quite the surprise, of course, but we felt that Mrs Bones' assurances were sufficient."

Vernon had to use all of the limited self-control he had to avoid losing his temper. "Ah, of... Of course, yes. Quite a shock, of course, but..." _But what about?!_ he wondered. Not that he could ask Petunia. Not here, where the Finch-Fletchleys could see and hear everything.

Jean Granger nodded. "Yes. To think, a school - and then a murder attempt on Harry and Hermione! I must say, I was close to fainting when I heard of it. But it seems the Aurors have it under control now - though they still haven't caught the culprit, which is... Worrisome, to say the least. We've been looking into alternative schools, of course, but Hermione seems happy at Hogwarts, and it'd be terrible to take her friends from her. Nonetheless..."

It was a good thing that Jean Granger spoke for so long - it allowed Vernon to wrap his head around the things he'd just heard. Assassination attempt? Well, he knew that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, which probably caused all kinds of low-lives to consider him a target - but he'd have thought that someone would at least have informed him about this!

Then he remembered what Petunia had said.

Someone _had_ been informed about this.

Finally, he regained the ability to at least speak again. "Yes, of course. Friends are important. And the Aurors - yes, I think we can trust them. Isolated incident."

He shot a look at Petunia, who looked straight back at him, not even trying to avert her eyes.

They had _a lot_ to talk about.

* * *

Harry stifled a yawn when he entered the common room, and carefully navigated his way through the maze of books and revision notes and students muttering incantations and practicing wand movements and occasionally flying about when one of the incantations and wand movements ended up hitting an unintended target.

The prefects had had the foresight to cover the walls and the floor with cushioning charms when the revision epidemic hit full swing - apparently this kind of thing was an annual occurrence. Harry used the opportunity to bounce up and down for a bit before spotting a tell-tale bunch of frizzy hair near the entrance to the common room, and making his way over to Hermione.

"Morning, Hermione."

Hermione's reply consisted of muttered incantations and of waving and jabbing her wand about without appearing to actually notice Harry's presence. A nearby third-year yelped after a particularly vigorous jab, looked around, and quickly went for another spot to sit down and go over his notes.

Next to Hermione, their fellow year mates were evidently trying their hardest to imitate her. Lisa Turpin and Padma Patil were charming a rope to dance to the newest Weird Sisters single, Michael Corner was panicking over his notes on Charms Theory, Terry Boot and Kevin Entwhistle were arguing about the proper pronunciation of locking-, unlocking and alerting charms, and Morag McDougal and Mandy Brocklehurst were debating the virtues of various household charms in terms of exams-relevance, their being taught in second- and third-year notwithstanding.

The only exception to this was Anthony Goldstein, who looked at the rest of his year mates with a rather bored expression. Realising that the probability of actually getting Hermione to talk to him before their charms exam was over was approximately zero, Harry opted for Mr Snape-is-my-Role-Model instead, and plopped down next to him. "No last minute revision?"

"No reason to. It's not like you'll actually remember the things you're trying to cram into your head at the last minute, and we've all revised repeatedly over the year, haven't we?"

Harry made a sweeping motion encompassing their classmates. "They seem to disagree."

Anthony shrugged. "And you seem to agree." He gave Harry a brief smile. "That's not very Ravenclaw, is it?"

Harry grinned. "As I've already told Hermione - I'm only here because the hat thought Slytherin is too dangerous for me, given my history."

"Hmm..." Anthony looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you've found a way to cheat?"

Harry laughed. "No. But you'll be the first I'll tell if I do find one."

* * *

One week - Saturday and Sunday included - filled with exams, with last-minute revision (Excepting Anthony and Harry, of course, much to their classmates' annoyance and occasional snappy comment during the few and precious moments not spent revising), with endless debates about the likely results and correct answers and of course with commiserations whenever someone failed some of the practical aspects and panicked (Mandy made her pineapple dance over the edge of Flitwick's desk, and Michael Corner's snuff-box still had a tail - McGonagall was unwilling to accept his argument that it was merely ornamental), and then it was over.

They were free.

Even the Ravenclaws were happy about this, and only too willing to spend the remaining week until the results came in relaxing at the lake, flying, or simply strolling about in between regular visits to the castle's kitchen to recover the weight lost during exam week - though the elves eventually banned Hermione from the kitchen after she repeatedly tried to pay them.

Harry was happy. His friends were happy. Everyone was happy. Even the Slytherins were less disagreeable than usual.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as over as everyone had thought.

* * *

One moment, Harry was on his way back from the kitchen, carrying a wide assortment of sweets for his fellow Ravenclaw first-years that he knew perfectly well would give Hermione's parents an aneurism.

The next moment, he saw a beam of red light flying towards him, and then everything went dark.

* * *

"-but really, a forgetfulness potion for exams? Imagine what could've happened if someone had melted their cauldron! Suddenly, all the revision - just _gone_!" Hermione gestured wildly for emphasis, almost hitting Anthony in the process. Lisa and Padma giggled.

"Well, be like that-" Hermione huffed.

"No, you're right, it's just..." Lisa began.

"... Do you often unintentionally slap your friends about?" Padma finished.

Hermione looked to her right, where Anthony was quietly reading, clearly unfazed by the whomping human sitting next to him. She blushed. "Oh... Sorry."

"Don't worry, it's fine."

"Toughens him up," Lisa said, then giggled again.

It was at this point that the door opened and a visibly distressed Susan entered. "Hermione! Come!"

"Wha-?"

"NOW! It's about Harry! And do you know where Flitwick is?"

"It's about time he comes back... How long can it take one person to get from the kitchens up to our tower?" Lisa grumbled.

* * *

The Cerberus - 'Fluffy', Hermione reminded herself - was snarling and growling and barely held back by its chains as she, Justin and Susan stared at it from the other side of the wide-open door. Below it, a trapdoor was visible, also wide open.

"Why in Merlin's name is no teacher around when you need one? Or the Aurors, given that we've two of them in the castle."

"The Aurors are in the forbidden forest with Hagrid, I think," Susan said.

"Not helpful."

"If only we hadn't stopped going everywhere together..." Justin commented, visibly distraught.

"Also not helpful."

Hermione sighed. At least Fluffy's saliva couldn't reach them - barely so. "If it was a normal dog, we could try bribing it, I suppose..."

There was silence, and then Susan visibly brightened. "Well, we could give it a try - Twinky!"

A house elf popped up next to them and glared briefly at Hermione before turning to the other two. "What can Twinky do for students?"

"Twinky, do you have some... Doggy treats in the kitchen?" Susan asked.

Twinky scrunched up her face. "Maybe... Twinky will look!"

And then she popped away.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "You know, we could've just asked her to pop us past the Cerberus..."

Justin shook his head. "You think the Gryffindor twins didn't already ask them to? They won't do it. Not sure if they can, but even if they can, they won't."

"Pity."

A light 'Pop' announced Twinky's return, this time while levitating several honey cakes next to her. "Twinky brought doggy treats!"

Susan smiled. "Thank you, Twinky."

Twinky beamed. "Twinky happy to serve you!"

And then she popped away again.

"Very well then..." Susan finally said, after a minute of silence. "Let's try this..."

* * *

Harry woke up in a large, and largely empty room, containing only a large mirror. He felt dizzy. "I... Wha-"

"Welcome back, Mr Potter. Don't worry, I will not need your services for very long. Now, if you'd please stand up and look into this very special mirror in front of you..."

Harry knew this voice... Well, sort of. He'd never heard it without a terrible, terrible stutter. "I... Professor Quirrell?"

In hindsight, the 'Professor' was probably an unnecessary honorific, given the circumstances.

"Yes, me. Now hurry up, Potter, we don't have all day. I was fortunate enough not to be spotted the first time I came here, but I'd rather not test my luck again. Finishing this before dawn would be rather nice."

Behind them, Harry could see a wall of black flames. Before him, just the mirror.

And then, he saw nothing in particular, he just felt. Pain. Unbelievable, unimaginable pain hitting every single nerve in his body, making him believe that his eyeballs were on fire, that his skin was melting, that his tongue was doused in acid, that every single muscle of his was tearing apart.

It felt like an eternity. In reality, it lasted for all of two seconds.

He fell on his back, moaning, panting. From far above him, he heard Quirrell's drawling voice. "As I said... We haven't got all day, Potter, and if you do not wish to be _Crucio_'d again, I suggest you get up and look into the mirror."

Harry rolled over, and got up to his knees, panting and struggling, trying to get up on his legs. It seemed like an eternity before finally, he stood.

"Very good, Potter. Now, look into the mirror. You see - this is the Mirror of Erised, and it contains the Phi-"

"-losopher's Stone..."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. "Correct. You figured that one out? Impressive... Nonetheless, let's not waste time. Look at it."

Harry did.

He saw himself, smiling, no, beaming with pride, and holding the Stone. He saw Hermione waving her wand over it, muttering incantations. He saw himself... Creating all the gold he'd ever need, all the gold Uncle Vernon would ever need. He saw himself as an adult, drinking the Elixir of Life... Remaining forever youthful.

His eyes were transfixed on the future the mirror was promising, occupying his every thought.

"Well, what is it?" Quirrell interrupted him, and then pointed his wand at Harry. "_Accio_ Philosopher's Stone!"

Nothing happened.

"What..." Quirrell looked thoughtful... But that thoughtfulness was quickly consumed by anger. "What did you see, Potter?" he finally spat.

Harry was frightened. Frightened because he'd been attacked and tortured. Frightened because he'd been attacked by a teacher who _wasn't_ Snape - was there no one he could trust? Frightened because it didn't take a whole lot of imagination to figure out who'd really attacked him and Hermione in the dungeons. Frightened because he knew that once he'd outlived his usefulness for Quirrell, he'd be killed.

And yet... Wasn't that better than the alternative? Better than the _Crucio_?

"I... I saw myself, holding the stone-"

"Yes, yes..." Quirrell muttered. "So you should have it..."

"And I saw myself using it..."

Quirrell blinked, then stared at the frightened little boy.

"... Making gold... And the Elixir of Life..."

Quirrell snarled in frustration. "That old fool! Going on and on about his pure champion of the light, the selfless boy who defeated the Dark Lord!"

Harry was confused. Not that he was complaining - every passing moment that he wasn't _Crucio_'d was a good moment.

It didn't last very long.

"_Crucio!_" snarled an angry, no, a mad Quirrell, though this time, Harry was ready, and avoided the curse, jumping to the side and then running straight behind the mirror.

"_Crucio!_" bellowed Quirrell, and Harry dodged again. But he couldn't do this forever, couldn't hope to-

In the corner of his eyes, Harry spotted movement within the black flames, saw a figure emerging from them.

Quirrell appeared to have noticed it too, and Harry made his decision, darting forward from behind the mirror, screaming and charging after Quirrell, who once again raised his wand to cast another curse at Harry.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Harry heard the figure shout, and he saw Quirrell's limbs snapping together and falling face-first to the ground.

He looked ahead, towards the wall of black fire, where the figure... Where Hermione was standing.

It wasn't a teacher, but he'd take what he could get.

"Hermione!" he shouted, happily, and started running towards her - only to stop again, panic rising in his chest.

Quirrell had thrown off Hermione's curse. In seconds.

A quick glance at Hermione showed that she, too, was panicking - she threw another two spells at Quirrell, but both were deflected with barely any effort. Quirrell smiled at her. "Best student of the year, judging by the exam results thus far... Impressive for someone of such unfortunate parentage. Such a tragic loss of potential..."

He deflected another curse, and then shot one back.

It found its target, and Hermione went down, screaming and clutching her belly. Harry launched himself at Quirrell, only to find himself thrown backwards some twenty feet, colliding with the wall, and promptly covered in quickly-conjured ropes.

"End of the road for you two. I wish I could stay for longer, but my time is limited..."

The last thing Harry saw before he lost consciousness was Quirrell raising his wand again, his lips parting to pronounce the next curse.

* * *

"So w-" Harry groaned. Magic was great for healing, but it wasn't perfect, nor was it necessarily instantaneous. He let himself fall back on his bed, and looked up at the concerned faces of Susan and Justin. In the next bed over, Hermione was doing the same thing. "What happened?"

"Well... Susan saw Quirrell stunning and then levitating you to the third floor corridor with Fluffy, so of course she went to look for teachers. But Dumbledore was in London, Sprout was in Hogsmeade, Flitwick was-"

"We get it, Justin," Hermione interrupted him.

"Ah... Sorry. So anyway, then she went and got me and Hermione, and we told our housemates to look out for teachers and tell them to check the corridor, and we followed Quirrell. We got past Fluffy by bribing him with cake-"

"WHAT?!"

Susan shrugged. "I took a bite, too. It _was_ delicious."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright then. Go on."

"And then there was the trapdoor you already knew about. There was some Devil's Snare, but that wasn't a problem."

Justin beamed. "Hufflepuffs and Herbology, you know."

"Then we had to catch a key - Justin and I did that together, since Hermione barely passed her flying class -, and then there was a giant chessboard we had to play across - some sort of no-flying jinx in the room. The troll was already dead-" Susan shuddered. It hadn't been a pleasant sight. "-and then Hermione solved a riddle and insisted on being the one to go past the fire first, and that was probably pretty stupid..."

"It saved my life," Harry said.

"... Or actually really quite brilliant, and then we saw Flitwick hurrying towards us - Penelope found him and sent him after us -, and we told him that Hermione was in the next chamber and we didn't really know what was going on. He had the potion to get through the fire with him, so he went in, and we were really scared for a few minutes, but then he returned with the two of you."

"You were lucky," Justin said, trying to once again wrestle control over the conversation from Susan.

"That we were," Harry replied.

"And why do you keep twitching?"

"_Cruciatus_ exposure. Causes the neurons to misfire for a while, or at least that's what Madam Pomfrey says."

"Oh Harry..." Hermione said, only to start coughing and retching immediately after saying it.

"It's okay..."

"So what did Flitwick do when he entered the last chamber?" Justin asked.

"I was unconscious when they fought..." Harry said, much to Justin's disappointment. "But he's talked to Dumbledore, and they visited earlier, and..." Harry hesitated. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but these were his friends. He'd introduced two of them to the wizarding world. He'd brewed with them... He trusted them. "... Look, nobody is supposed to know about this, so keep quiet about it, ok?"

They nodded, and he told them.

* * *

When the end of year feast came, everyone was whispering and staring and pointing at the now-infamous foursome. Snape had used the opportunity and deducted each of them twenty points the previous day - Harry for being out alone when the rules had clearly said to never be in groups of less than four, and the other three for going after him on their own rather than informing their prefects -, but that did nothing to quell the admiration their fellow students expressed.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "And another house cup to award to the students who've bravely withstood the attempts of their teachers to confer knowledge upon them. At present, the standings are... In fourth place, Gryffindor, with four-hundred and ninety-eight points. In third place, Hufflepuff, with five-hundred and twelve. In second place, Ravenclaw, with five-hundred and twenty-two, and in first place, Slytherin with five-hundred and seventy-one points."

A loud cheer rose up from the Slytherin table, while everyone else jeered.

"Gentlemen, Gentlemen... If you'd please quiet down for a moment. Thank you. Now... However, I've not yet taken into account the events of last Tuesday, which I believe everyone has already been informed about in considerable detail through the grapevine."

There was some laughter from the non-Slytherin tables, and Dumbledore continued.

"Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter have shown the commendable attributes of _all_ our honourable houses. Therefore, for displaying the courage and loyalty needed to safe a good friend from danger, and for displaying the cunning and quick wit needed to pass through your trials, I award each of you thirty points."

Harry could see Professor Snape snort while three quarters of the students started something barely short of a riot - he'd briefly considered apologising to him about suspecting him to be the one who'd tried to kill him, but the points Snape had deducted the other day had quickly put that idea to rest.

Well, it didn't matter. Ravenclaw had won the House Cup to the cheers of three quarters of the students, and his friends in Hufflepuff had the Quidditch cup. Several near-death experiences notwithstanding, it'd been a pretty decent year.

Though hopefully the next one wouldn't be quite as exciting.

* * *

**A/N:** I debated calling the dragon Bella instead of Narcissa, but the latter has greater potential for the future. And I imagine that even the cold and composed Narcissa had moodswings as a teenager, while Bella probably wasn't quite as unhinged during her Hogwarts years as she was later on.

Honey cakes to placate Cerberuses are canon according to _Cupid and Psyche_ by Apuleius, 2nd century A.D.


	7. Polyjuice Summer

**Polyjuice Summer**

"-and then he told me to look into the mirror, and I did."

"And what did you see, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"I... I saw the Philosopher's Stone, sir."

"But it didn't leave the mirror?"

"No, sir. I just saw myself and Hermione using it."

For a brief moment, the old man's eyes seemed to twinkle a little less than before. "You were very fortunate, Harry. And very lucky."

"Yes, sir."

"However-" Dumbledore raised his wand and cast a quick privacy charm around them. "-as much as I do not wish to burden an eleven year old with such grave matters, there are certain aspects to this affair that I'm afraid you're not yet aware of, yet need to know. Under the condition of strict confidentiality, of course."

Harry's eyes widened, and with a sigh, Dumbledore began to fill in the gaps.

The image faded, and Dumbledore rose from his Pensieve. He sighed and sat back down on his (Quite comfy) chair. Fawkes was perched next to him and pinching a sherbet lemon from a bowl filled with them and other sweets. "I don't know, Fawkes... He's not the Harry I expected..."

Fawkes looked at Dumbledore with its large, black eyes, and swallowed its sherbet lemon.

"... And yet, if it'd been the Harry I expected, Quirrell might well have been able to escape with the Stone."

Maybe defying expectations wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

* * *

"Ah... Good to have you lads back home, Dudley, Harry!" Vernon exclaimed happily. "Been an exciting year for both of you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, dad!"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." A little too exciting, Harry thought.

"Well then, show 'em, boys!"

Dudley's grades were adequate. Nothing revolutionary, but soundly in the top quarter of his class. And given that he'd made it into the Smeltings wrestling team and came home with a glowing report from his coach, well, Uncle Vernon wasn't going to hold it against his son.

A decent rain of Mega Drive games (Dudley rejected the notion of a 'Lame' Super Nintendo) and three tickets for the Greco-Roman wrestling events at the Olympics in Barcelona later, everyone was all smiles and sunshine.

Harry's report card on the other hand, puzzled Vernon. "That's an... Interesting grading system, Harry."

Harry grinned. "It does take some getting used to, Uncle Vernon."

Vernon huffed something about special snowflakes that Harry didn't exactly disagree with. After all, not being able to use pounds did tend to be rather inconvenient. Though on the other hand, Harry also knew that his uncle thoroughly approved of the wizarding world's rejection of the metric system - which he considered a dastardly plot by the French to usurp good, proper, _British_ measurements -, so maybe Vernon was a little hypocritical there.

"Very well, then... Astronomy, E... What's Astronomy good for, anyway?"

"I think it's important for Divination, and it's also really important for Herbology and some potions, Uncle Vernon."

"Hmm... I see. Well, it's something we Britons are known to be great at, so well done, boy." Which was Vernon-speak for 'I've read something about this famous Hawking bloke in the TV guide'. "Charms... O. That's the levitation and colour changing stuff, right?"

"Yes. And animating things. Lots of household spells are charms-" Harry saw his uncle scoffing at this. "-but Professor Flitwick said that charms are the basis of most duelling spells, too."

Vernon brightened at this. "Ah, very good then. Defence against the Dark Arts... E. Acceptable, I guess. Flying... O."

Harry beamed. "Yeah. Madam Hooch said I'm a natural - wants me to try out for the Quidditch team next year!"

"Hmm..." Vernon looked thoughtful for a moment. He'd always preferred to steer his nephew in the direction of academic achievements, the return of investment was better. But he was still a man - and he knew perfectly well what the gleam emanating from Harry's eyes meant.

If the boy brewed properly... Well, he'd figure something out later.

"Herbology is also an E... That's like gardening, right?"

"With plants that bite back or try to strangle you, yes."

Vernon and Dudley laughed at this. "Hey, can you bring some of those plants back home, Harry?"

Harry frowned at Dudley. "Err, I don't think that'd be legal... I'll look into it, though."

"Great!"

"History of Magic... A." Vernon frowned. "Not exactly an impressive grade for someone in the nerd house, is it?"

Harry looked apologetic. "Ah, well, you see, it's taught by a ghost-"

"Cool!" Dudley exclaimed.

"No, boring. Everyone falls asleep in his class. We basically just self-study for the O.W.L.s. Means we're barely passing for the first few years, but we'll be ready to ace our exams in fifth year. The prefects actually recommended this approach."

Harry choose not to mention that Hermione also thoroughly ignored this approach in favour of actually taking notes during class _and_ self-studying - and she wasn't even the only Ravenclaw in their year who did this. But his uncle didn't need to know that.

"Hm. Okay then, but your O.W.L.s better be impressive. Now let's see... Potions... O. And Transfiguration E. Hah! That's my boy!" Uncle Vernon beamed at Harry. "Well, you've earned your reward, boy."

Harry looked at the enormous tome his uncle gave him. He could smell the parchment, could imagine the candlelight illuminating the letters inside it as they were written...

Engraved on the cover were the words _Moste Potente Potions_.

* * *

Ah... The joys of summer. Snape almost felt like humming a cheery tune as he made his way towards the Diagon Alley apothecary. Not that he'd ever actually do so, of course - he had a reputation to maintain. But the temptation was there.

The reason for his cheerfulness? Why, the next two months, of course. The next two _blessed_ months without children, without potions accidents, without curses cast in the hallways (Well, he always felt a little pride when his Slytherins were doing the cursing), without Dungbombs or Weasleys or any thrice-cursed Potter spawns.

Heaven.

Merlin knew, he needed this summer more than ever. He'd actually been forced to cut down on putting those damnable Gryffindors (And Potters, who were obviously Gryffindors even if they somehow ended up wearing blue ties) in their place, lest Dumbledore wouldn't be able to guarantee his continued employment. Ridiculous! He knew only too well what happened to Gryffindors who _weren't_ put straight on a daily basis. They'd bully Slytherins, they'd steal the Slytherins' girlfriends... No, Gryffindors needed a heavy hand, just like his Slytherins needed protection from the Gryffindors' constant aggression. Only a strict diet of point deductions and detentions could ensure that at least _some_ Gryffindors would turn out to be decent people.

He'd learned these lessons early, and he'd never forgotten them. And yet, for the past year, he'd had to let those delinquents run wild! All because the bloody foolish wizarding world believed that the Potter brat needed to be treated with velvet gloves and flooded him, Severus Snape, with howlers on account of one bloody quiz and one bloody point deduction. A single point!

"Hey!"

Snape startled, and glowered at the pram-armed woman he'd almost ran into while having his internal monologue. The woman glowered back. "Watch where you're going!"

Snape didn't dignify her with a response. Instead, he entered the apothecary, his cloak billowing impressively behind him. The woman shouted something about manners, but by then Snape was already inside. Her spawn would probably end up in Hufflepuff, anyway - no point in paying attention.

By virtue of his interests as well as profession, Snape was a regular customer in the apothecary. Probably the biggest one it had. Needless to say, this came with certain benefits. He'd always get the highest quality ingredients, always at a discount. Controlled or restricted ingredients? The Hogwarts Potions Master had a free pass. Rare ingredients one came across maybe once in a decade? He'd be the first to get an owl informing him about the opportunity.

It was a remarkably pleasant situation, and Severus Snape appreciated it a great deal.

It was the beginning of summer, and the apothecary was appropriately empty. Certainly, potions were the only practical subject students were allowed to practice outside of school, but a student actually doing _work_? Actually _learning_? During the _holidays_?

Hah.

No, they'd waste away their time playing exploding snap and sleeping in instead. No reason for their parents to buy their ill-disciplined brats ingredients to practice with, yet alone for the children themselves to actually visit the apothecary and miraculously _learning_ something about the ingredients they kept melting their cauldrons with during his classes because they didn't bloody practice.

Hm. Well, that was a surprise. There actually _was_ a customer present - a large, moustached man in blatant muggle attire who was apparently haggling with the owner over some snake skins. Boomslang, by the looks of it.

Snape looked at the other ingredients on the counter. There were leeches and lacewing flies, eel eyes and horned slugs. A bottle of doxy poison, too.

Apparently the moustached man was done haggling - actually, from the snippets of their conversation that Snape had caught, they hadn't been haggling, but rather discussed the quality of the ingredients. A quick look confirmed that the large moustache had gotten himself some pretty high quality ware. The same Snape would've gotten for himself, too -, and paid.

Highly irregular. What was a muggle buying potions ingredients for? How did a muggle end up having a good enough relationship with the apothecary's owner to get such quality ingredients? And at a pretty decent price, too, though Snape was pleased to see that _his_ usual discount was even better.

Approaching a random stranger... Bad. Very bad. Very not-Snape-like. Not Snape-like at all.

On the other hand, potions. N.E.W.T. level potions, if the boomslang skin was any indication. And Severus Snape happened to like potions.

Conundrum.

He made his decision just as the large moustache turned around to leave. "It's rare to see people in here at this time of the year. Especially muggle customers."

The large moustache harrumphed. "That's why I prefer to do my purchases at this time. Avoids your more unpleasant folks."

Snape figured that the large moustache had probably come across Marcus Flint's parents or something like that, which - Slytherin pride notwithstanding - doubtlessly counted as unpleasant. Though judging by the muscles the man had - albeit occasionally concealed by the telltale signs of complacency with the good life -, the encounter might well have been more unpleasant for the Flints than for the large moustache. The Flints had never been famed for their swift wand work.

He gave a curt nod. "Understandable. I take it that your child is magical, Mr..."

"Dursley," the large moustache replied. "Bit of a potions prodigy, the boy, can't get enough of it."

A flicker of a smile appeared on Snape's face. "I dare say. Boomslang skin? I only know of N.E.W.T. level potions that require it... And only one that can be brewed without a wand."

Vernon had been careful not to mention that the child in question was merely his nephew, yet alone Harry Potter. The former could lead to people figuring out the latter, and the latter, well... He wanted to get his shopping done in a timely fashion. People could be incredibly nosy once they learned who his nephew was. But while he was wary... Well, this stranger didn't seem to be quite as bad as some of the other people he'd had the misfortune to meet in Diagon Alley.

"Indeed... You happen to be involved in the trade as well, Mr...?"

"Snape. Severus Snape. And yes, I am."

"A pleasure," Vernon replied.

Snape was moderately surprised by the lack of recognition in Vernon's voice. If this Dursley person had a magical child, then surely his child would've told him the name of its potions teacher? Or maybe he just had his emotions under control - a trait Snape appreciated.

Snape decided that he rather liked this Dursley person.

Though come to think of it, Snape didn't recognise the name 'Dursley' among any of his students. Curious, that. Maybe it was a Slytherin? Could be a halfblood whose parents divorced, or maybe the boy had gone with his mother's maiden name to avoid trouble with his housemates. Could be the Townsend boy in fourth year...

This was a matter well deserving of being looked into.

"I've some business to attend to," Snape said. "But do remind your son that the boomslang skin needs to be shredded to between one twenty-third and one twenty-ninth of an inch, and the..." He looked discreetly into the bag Vernon was holding. "... powdered bicorn should've the consistency of flour."

Now Vernon was practically beaming. Never mind this guy not being quite as bad as others - this Severus Snape was one of the most helpful and respectable wizards he'd ever met! "Ah, the boy will appreciate your help!"

Once again, Severus Snape allowed the flicker of a smile to appear on his sallow face. "Good luck to him."

* * *

Harry allowed his mind to wander for a bit, almost losing count of his counter clockwise stirs as he added armadillo bile to his wit-sharpening potion. The Polyjuice had been Hermione's idea - it didn't require a wand, it could be brewed in a little under a month, and it was bound to be _awesome_ to experiment with -, but that didn't mean they could get started right away. The Grangers had disappeared into the interior of France where, if her letter was anything to go by, Hermione kept dragging her parents from one magical site to the next, and the Finch-Fletchleys had decided to spend three weeks on the Bahamas. In short, it wouldn't be until late July that they could start brewing together.

Until then, Harry had to entertain himself without the aid of his Hogwarts friends. Broadly speaking, this involved him playing football with his old friends from primary school and laughing about how the Germans had managed to lose the Euro final to Denmark (Which hadn't even qualified for the tournament and somehow ended up in the final, anyway), playing Streets of Rage with Dudley (Or Pit-Fighter against him), and of course brewing.

He'd have added cooking to this, but Aunt Petunia flat-out refused to let him touch anything in the kitchen, which left Harry with even more brewing to do. Not that anyone complained, and as Dudley pointed out, Harry's wit-sharpening potion was bound to come in handy.

Harry sighed when he realised that he'd added two extra stirs, and that his potion was turning teal. With another year of experience under his belt, he felt confident enough in his fourth- and fifth year potions that he actually considered brewing them relaxing, rather than a challenge, but he was now beginning to realise just how dangerous it was to simply 'Relax' while brewing.

Well, at least he hadn't melted his cauldron yet.

Harry sighed again and added a healthy dose of flobberworm mucus to neutralise his bubbling concoction before it could turn corrosive, then looked for his flower heads. He'd have to restart his wit-sharpening potion, but he could still get a decent shampoo out of the mess he'd made.

* * *

The Finch-Fletchleys and the Grangers were talking animatedly about the developments in South Africa, and how the de Klerk administration was finally changing things towards the better, towards equality and civility. Vernon nodded politely, and wisely kept his own opinion - that Maggie Thatcher had been right when she'd called Mandela a terrorist - to himself. There were some things that you just didn't say in the wrong company.

In an adjacent room, two noticeably tanned twelve- and one much paler eleven year old were setting up their cauldrons for their biggest attempt yet, and chatted animatedly about their holiday experiences.

"Bibracte was fascinating, Harry - but of course, I already wrote you all about it-"

Harry blinked. "You did?"

"Of course. My third letter!" Hermione exclaimed, looking slightly affronted.

"I only ever got one, the one you wrote in Paris..."

Now it was Hermione's turn to blink.

"Harry... Did you get any of mine?" Justin asked before Hermione could say anything.

"Err..."

Hermione frowned and paused in her search for a pestle. "That's... Interesting."

"Weird, you mean," Harry said. "Maybe my brewing drove the owls away?"

Hermione scoffed. "Oh, don't be ridiculous."

"I always thought owls would be a bit unreliable," Justin supplied, which earned him a sharp peck from Snowy. "Ouch! Not you, Snowy. But we can't change it now. So... Polyjuice?"

"I reckon we should do a little practice potion first," Harry supplied. "We only have one attempt at this."

"True..." Hermione mused. "Ah, I've just the idea! A strengthening solution!"

Whether a fifth-year potion that took several days to brew could be considered 'Practice' was somewhat debatable, but the two boys evidently liked the idea. Harry promptly flipped through his textbook until he was on the right page. "Invented by Celtic druids of the Unelli tribe in the 1st century B.C. Salamander blood, powdered griffin claw, mistletoe..."

He frowned and looked at Hermione, who was giggling. "According to the French witches and wizards I've met, the Ministère de Magie has always taken a fairly relaxed approach to the Statute of Secrecy."

"That much seems obvious," Harry muttered.

* * *

Vernon, Petunia and Dudley were off to Barcelona, and as enjoyable as playing through Alien Storm with Dudley was, Harry found that the Sega Mega Drive just didn't hold a candle to brewing. _Difficult_ brewing to be specific. Finally a challenge again. Okay, Master Brain had been a challenge, too, but... It just wasn't the same.

While the Dursleys were watching very big men in tight suits grabbing each other all over, Harry was staying with the Finch-Fletchleys. He'd quietly explained that Aunt Petunia was a little nervous around magic, and that his uncle wanted her to relax, which was only possible when Harry wasn't around, and although Franklin and Fiona Finch-Fletchley had frowned at this (Franklin more so than Fiona, Harry noticed), they'd ultimately given him understanding nods, commended him for his maturity, and promised not to tell anyone.

Apep was very happy with this arrangement, since he vastly preferred the Finch-Fletchleys' large, and in parts semi-wild garden to the Dursley's little bit of sharply cut green. Hermione's Wadjet firmly agreed with this sentiment and stayed as well, and Hermione lived close enough for her to simply visit most days and team up with Justin to tease Harry about his 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defence Against the Dark Arts - she and Justin had both earned an 'Outstanding' since Dumbledore had decided that their passing through the obstacle course that'd protected the Philosopher's Stone counted for an automatic top mark.

* * *

Harry was watching his lacewing flies stew and hummed quietly to himself while consuming the cherries he'd nicked from the kitchen only to be suddenly startled by a sharp crack and a house elf appearing in front of him.

After a brief moment spent on regaining his composure (Anthony would be so proud), Harry finally calmed down again, and looked rather curiously at the elf, who looked back just as curiously. "I don't think I've ordered anything from the Hogwarts kitchens."

He paused for a moment in thought. "Actually... _Can_ I order from the Hogwarts kitchens even when I'm away from Hogwarts?"

The elf looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Well, as Hermione would say, a hypothesis is there to be tested. Twinky!"

There was a pop, and then a second house elf appeared. "What can Twinky do for Hogwarts student on holidays?"

Harry beamed. "Some treacle tart would be nice, Twinky."

"Twinky will be back in a moment, Hogwarts student sir!"

And then Twinky popped away again.

"This is great! Thanks for giving me the idea, err... Who are you, anyway?" Harry could tell this elf wasn't one of the Hogwarts elves - he wore a pillowcase, rather than a tea towel, and it didn't even have the Hogwarts crest.

The house elf was still looking at Harry with its huge, round eyes. "I'm Dobby, Harry Potter sir. Dobby has come to deliver important warning to Harry Potter sir!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, there was another pop, and a treacle tart in front of him. "Ah... Thank you, Twinky."

Twinky beamed, and apparently decided to stick around. Harry figured that she wanted to apparate the empty plate back to Hogwarts with her as soon as he was done, and started eating.

Then he turned back to Dobby. "What kind of warning, Dobby?"

Dobby looked nervously at Twinky, who stared back at him in a fashion Harry wasn't entirely sure _wasn't_ malevolent.

"Dobby can't say, sir. Dobby needs to be alone with Harry Potter sir!"

Harry swallowed a piece of his treacle tart and frowned. "Hm. Okay. Twinky, could you pop out for a few minutes?"

Twinky frowned as well, and threw Dobby a look that promised pain before she popped out.

Dobby looked relieved, and stared silently at Harry, his huge, round eyes focussed on the boy's scar.

"Well? Out with it!"

"Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts, Harry Potter sir!"

"That's not a warning, Dobby. That's an order." Harry frowned again. "Actually, I didn't know house elves could give orders..."

"We can when we sit little master, Harry Potter sir!"

"I'm almost a teenager, Dobby. And I'm not your master... I think. Am I?"

"No sir! Dobby's masters are-" The elf paused, and then launched himself against the next wall and repeatedly banged his head against it. Since the wall happened to belong to Justin's bedroom, Harry decided to let the elf go on until his desire for self-punishment had been satisfied.

Half a minute and some angry shouting from the other side of the wall later, Dobby was done. "Dobby almost betrayed Dobby's masters, Harry Potter sir! Dobby had to punish himself!"

Harry nodded. "I noticed. So, why are you suggesting that I do not attend Hogwarts in September, Dobby?"

"Terrible, terrible plot against Hogwarts, Harry Potter sir! Harry Potter must stay away for his own safety, Harry Potter sir!"

Harry thought about this for a moment. Given last year, the idea of a 'Terrible, terrible plot' wasn't exactly far-fetched.

"Okay. But shouldn't you tell this the headmaster, Dobby?"

Dobby's eyes did, if anything, get even bigger. Harry suspected the idea hadn't occurred to the elf. "Harry Potter will stay away from Hogwarts, Harry Potter sir? Harry Potter made Dobby happiest elf alive!"

That was rather missing the point, but there was a treacle tart waiting for Harry, and so Harry simply nodded.

Dobby beamed, and with a loud crack that elicited more shouting from Justin's bedroom, the elf disappeared.

Then he appeared again. The constant cracks were starting to ring in Harry's ears, and he could hear Justin yelling something he was sure Fiona would've given her son a mouth washing for if she'd heard it. "Dobby forgot. Your letters, Harry Potter sir!"

Harry scowled.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

Harry grinned, blew out all the candles, and looked at the pile of presents lying before him. His friends from primary school had sent him a pair of goalkeeper gloves with Peter Schmeichel's autograph (Never mind Harry being an Arsenal fan, not a Manchester United one), Dudley had gotten him _The Player of Games_ with a note saying that Harry's reading selection was in dire need of non-magical material and surely a book about games would satisfy this need (And could Harry tell Dudley whether the book mentioned the Mega Drive?), Hermione had gotten him _Advanced Charms Theory_ (Which apparently covered what she considered 'Light Reading'), and Justin a real zombie's hand he'd found in Nassau's magical district ("It's got a preservation charm on it, won't rot on you!").

Apep and Wadjet had each brought a dead mouse, which Harry accepted gracefully before levitating them into the trash.

Susan Bones, who'd arrived with her Aunt, had brought Harry a copy of _Quidditch through the Ages_ ('I know you're planning to try out this year... Not that you'd be able to beat us 'puffs, mind you. Reigning champions and all.').

The best present however, was the last one.

"Now, Harry," Franklin Finch-Fletchley said, rising from his armchair and walking over to one of the cabinets. "Your uncle isn't here, but he has, in fact, remembered your birthday - and your aspirations as well, it seems."

And then he took something out of the cabinet. Something all covered in gift wrap, and with a shape that left little to the imagination.

Harry didn't waste any time in removing the wrapping from his new broom.

"A Nimbus 1700, I'm told. Not that I'd know what that means," Franklin Finch-Fletchley explained, smiling.

Susan was only too eager to help out. "Racing broom. Introduced in 1987 - it's been superseded in the past two years, and the league doesn't fly it anymore, but it's still way better than the Comet and Cleansweep series the school teams fly!"

Harry blinked. "I didn't know you knew your brooms so well."

Amelia Bones did something rather at odds with her short, grey hair and the monocle she was wearing - she smirked. "She's quite interested in the players. Broom knowledge follows naturally."

Susan blushed bright red and squeaked out a mortified "Auntie!" before burying her head under some pillows.

* * *

Susan got her revenge by doing the same thing Justin and Hermione had already done since they'd returned, which was lording her DADA 'Outstanding' (And the treats she'd gotten from her delighted Aunt) over Harry.

Amelia Bones was rather more useful, since she had taken care to inform the Improper Use of Magic Office about her presence at the Finch-Fletchleys on 31st July, and that all magic occurring there on this day would be either hers, or done under her supervision. Needless to say, Justin, Harry and Hermione took full advantage of this state of affairs, much to the Grangers' and Finch-Fletchleys' delight.

The afternoon was spent demonstrating levitation-, colour changing and animation charms, eventually culminating in two ancient pieces of medieval armour the Finch-Fletchleys owned having an - admittedly poorly choreographed - swordfight in the living room. Hermione also transfigured some pillows into shields since the original ones where nowhere to be found.

By the time evening approached, and it became clear that Susan and her Aunt would be leaving in the foreseeable future, Harry - making sure that the adult Grangers and Finch-Fletchleys weren't around, given their habit of considering alternative schools - approached Amelia Bones about what he, Hermione and Justin had dubbed the 'Dobby Affair'.

Having listened to the whole story, Amelia frowned. "I understand your concern, Harry. After what happened last year... Well, everyone would be worried, especially after such a warning. But it's rather vague, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "I guess the house elf's binding doesn't allow him to be any more explicit."

"No doubt. Dobby, you said, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Amelia looked thoughtful for a moment. "I can't tell off the top of my head, but I'll look through the registries. We take a pretty hands-off approach, and nobody has to register their elves, but we do listen and collect information whenever it becomes available. And given your history, it won't be hard to convince Fudge to let Aurors Noble and Green continue their assignment at Hogwarts."

"Because that helped so much last year," Justin whispered to Susan while Hermione was in a state of limited approachability, scowling at the idea of house elves. Again. She'd been doing this a lot over the past few days, ever since Harry had developed a habit of ordering sweets straight from the Hogwarts kitchens.

Harry just nodded again. "Thank you, Mrs Bones," he said sincerely.

* * *

"It is quite unusual for mere muggles-" Ragnok sneered. "-to request a private audience at Gringotts. May I ask what caused this decision, Mr Finch-Fletchley?"

Apparently the books suggesting that the Goblins treated everyone and everything with disdain hadn't been wrong. "Certainly. I wish to develop a... Business relationship with Gringotts."

Ragnok raised two rather bushy eyebrows. "Gringotts is barred from dealing with muggles according to the 1865 Treaty of Mutual Recognition with the British Ministry of Magic, Mr Finch-Fletchley."

"With clauses granting exceptions to first generation squibs and mundane relations of wizards. I understand that you do, among other things, maintain relations with Lloyds Bank Ltd in this fashion - although maintaining relations with the muggle financial system by way of a squib teller is probably rather limiting."

Ragnok folded his tiny, greedy hands together and looked intently at Franklin. "Be that as it may, how do you intend to improve this situation to our benefit?"

"I'm a non-executive director in the Barclay PLC Board Audit Committee and hold some nineteen million pound sterling worth of Barclay PLC shares. The Finch-Fletchleys are also invested in N M Rothschild and the Deutsche Bank as far as the financial system is concerned, and we've recently branched out and placed substantial investments in AngloGold - I understand that mining and precious metals fall into the Goblin Nation's portfolio as well. I am of the belief that using my contacts and influence in these businesses to assist Gringotts' interests in the mundane world has the potential to be mutually beneficial and carries the promise of substantial profits."

To Ragnok's credit, he was apparently utterly unfazed by this. "This does indeed imply mutually beneficial synergies, Mr Finch-Fletchley. I shall inform my superiors of your intentions and potential services."

Franklin smiled. "Excellent. I trust that - should Gringotts deem my services to be of interest - the required means of communication are available?"

"Few wizards see any value in telecommunications when apparition, the floo network, and for the well-off, enchanted mirrors are available. However, Gringotts' interactions with muggle financial and transportation services require us to maintain such." Ragnok maintained a carefully neutral expression while saying this, not letting on whether he found this requirement distasteful or merely practical.

For his part, Franklin had expected as much - the Boneses, too, had a telephone available, chiefly on account of Amelia Bones' position requiring her to call muggle authorities on a regular basis, typically as a result of some idiot breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and the DMLE having to do damage control. A call to keep everyone on site before the Obliviators popped up could be immensely helpful.

"Excellent. Oh, one last thing - since we've established that I fall under an exception clause, I'd like to open a Gringotts account for myself. Equivalent to 200000 galleons, for the time being."

Ragnok gave the briefest, toothiest of smiles. "Of course, sir."

* * *

Harry looked through Hermione's bookshelves while Hermione gushed about their new textbooks. "Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, Order of Merlin, Second Class, and soooooo much experience!"

"You haven't even read his books yet, Hermione," Justin noted while looking interestedly at Lockhart's books - Hermione's, that is, since his mother had confiscated his own set to do some 'Much needed research' into the magical world, it's dangers and, crucially, its heroes. Justin's father had grimaced at that, though Justin wasn't entirely sure why. "All you've seen is the cover."

Hermione looked up from the cover in question, where a beaming Gilderoy Lockhart was waving at her, and glared at Justin. "Well, he'd hardly write our textbooks if he wasn't qualified, now would he?"

"Speaking of textbooks..." Harry interrupted them. He'd gotten past Hermione's collection of math textbooks - she was using the holidays to catch up on some muggle secondary school subjects, and was determined to make up for having only one month to do so compared to Harry's two by studying thrice as hard - and promptly found himself looking at a rather atypical section of Hermione's shelves. He pulled out one of the books. "_The Beast Within_?"

"What?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry picked up another tome, its cover showing a remarkably hairy, bare-chested, humanoid figure holding a somewhat scantily clad woman. "_Wolf's Heart_." He glanced at Hermione, whose face was now closely resembling a tomato. "What precisely are you studying with these?"

Instead of answering, Hermione let out a high-pitched shriek and launched herself at Harry, trying to wrestle the book from him.

Justin just laughed at Harry's predicament, and picked up _The Beast Within _to see what Hermione was so embarrassed about.

* * *

"Now, depending on how well we brewed it, it should last somewhere between a few minutes and twelve hours," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking at the muddy concoctions bubbling peacefully before them. "We probably shouldn't expect much more than an hour, seeing as this is our first time brewing Polyjuice Potion."

Harry simply nodded, and Justin looked excited. "Well, let's start right away! Any volunteers?"

Everyone's family was present - well, more or less present. Fiona Finch-Fletchley was reading _Voyages with Vampires_ and thus not entirely attentive, and Aunt Petunia had passed on participating altogether -, and sufficiently excited that it didn't take long.

Harry's hair turned his sample sky blue and made Dudley require glasses, while Dudley's hair turned it somewhere between grass- and radioactive green and gifted Harry with more muscle than he'd ever had before. Hermione's sample became a pleasant, light yellow, not too far off her mother's slightly darker one, and Justin's hair turned his concoction strawberry red, while his father 's was a deep indigo.

"You know, this isn't bad at all..." Jean Granger said after changing into some less ill-fitting clothes, admiring her brand-new Hermione body. "Though I think I'd prefer turning into Hermione once she is a few years older."

Jeanmione turned scarlet. "Mum!"

"If I had said that, she'd have slapped me," Justin muttered, remembering Hermione's violent reaction after she'd wrestled _Wolf's Heart_ from Harry and seen him flipping through _The Beast Within_.

Harry snickered and whispered back. "She's not likely to go over your knee after she slaps you. Her mum is a different matter altogether."

* * *

It was the beginning of the year staff meeting, and Snape was, as usual, in a sour mood, which wasn't helped at all by the Headmaster's visible pleasure when announcing a new year full of 'New students and more Weasley shenanigans' before going over their lesson plans and fixing the timetables.

Oh, and the thrice-cursed Aurors who'd made his life miserable last year were returning, too, for reasons Dumbledore was disinclined to share. What joy.

It were times like these that made him wonder whether he'd made the right choice when he'd betrayed the Dark Lord. Surely Azkaban wasn't _that_ bad.

Though, maybe there'd be the odd ray of hope breaking through the grey clouds of the coming year. The Townsend boy and potions prodigy, for example.

Which reminded him...

"Headmaster, a question before I take my leave - you wouldn't happen to know of any students related to a certain Dursley, would you?"

Dumbledore choked on his sherbet lemon. "N... No, not that I know of. Why do you ask, Severus?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Really? I met a muggle of that name in the apothecary. He was acquiring ingredients for his son, who is apparently a bit of a potions prodigy. And yet I failed to find any Dursleys enrolled at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore frowned, and Snape gave a tiny, triumphant smile. He'd got the old coot. He waited for a delicious moment, and just as Dumbledore was about to reply, he continued. "Now, I know that my house is... Not the most hospitable place for halfbloods, and using one's mother's maiden name instead of one's surname to avoid undue attention is a very Slytherin strategy - but surely I should be informed of such things beforehand?"

McGonagall, who'd been watching impassively until now, gave a snort which Snape ignored, and turned towards Flitwick, whispering something.

Dumbledore looked a lot more collected now, and smiled genially at Snape. "Your deductive reasoning is certainly worthy of your house, Severus, but I'm afraid that I really do not know of any Dursleys at school. It is of course possible that the boy comes from a divorced family, which would explain the discrepancy..."

Snape nodded. "That, too, has occurred to me-"

Just then, Flitwick toppled from the stack of books he was sitting on, trying very hard not to laugh. Next to him, McGonagall looked like her animagus form had just consumed a canary.

Snape glared at Flitwick. "If you wouldn't mind, Filius... We're trying to have a serious conversation here."

"Of course, of course... My apologies, Severus," Flitwick replied, only snickering a little bit.

Snape gave him a rather annoyed looking nod, and turned back towards Dumbledore, who was smiling just as genially as before. "As I just said, this has occurred to me as well, and I shall endeavour to determine the identity of the boy in question."

"Knowing you, I'm sure that you already have a number of suspects?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape nodded. "Michael Townsend. Fourth - now fifth - year. Slytherin, of course. I know he's living alone with his mother, and know nothing about his father. And WOULD YOU TWO PLEASE STOP GIGGLING LIKE TWO INFATUATED HUFFLEPUFFS?" Snape shot another glare at McGonagall and Flitwick.

"Our apologies, Severus." Not that McGonagall looked particularly contrite while saying this.

"Well then," Dumbledore said, folding his hands together. "I believe this concludes our staff meeting. We still have rather a lot to do in the few days we've left until September. Good luck to all of you."

Nods and thanks everywhere.

"Oh, and Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"I must say, I'm very proud of you and how you gave Mr Potter an Outstanding in your class. I always knew you wouldn't discriminate against students solely on account of their ancestry."

Snape stiffened. "The boy is just as insufferable as his father. Arrogant, completely incapable of recognising or obeying authority, and bending the rules wherever and whenever he can. But he _is_ an... Adequate potioneer, and I _do_ have my integrity as a potions master."

"Of course, Severus. Of course."

As the staff left Dumbledore's office, McGonagall and Flitwick both helped themselves to a few of the Headmaster's sherbet lemons.

"Just this once, Albus," McGonagall said as she popped the sweet in her mouth.

* * *

**A/N:** The books keep Polyjuice at a strict one-hour limit, but Pottermore goes with the up-to-twelve-hours variant. Since the latter implies that the quality of brewing matters beyond a binary 'Works/ Doesn't work', I tend to prefer it.

One reason this chapter took this long is that I subjected the previous six chapters to a bit of editing, fixing some spelling and rather more grammar, rephrasing some things to make them less painful to read, adding a sentence here and there, and fixing a couple descriptions. Nothing plot-relevant, but I think it's rather more enjoyable to read now.


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Humor