Chapter Text
Weirdly enough, it isn’t Madam Pomphrey, the headmaster, Dad, or even Snape that he sees upon opening his eyes in the hospital wing. It’s not even Daphne, Tracey, Millicent, Hermione, or Neville, or his quidditch teammates. It’s not Kaneshiro either.
It’s Theodore Nott.
Harry’s eyes flutter open as he groans softly, and his vision swims before focusing on the boy sitting in an uncomfortable chair by his bedside, swathed in the moonlight shining through the arched windows. Nott’s expression remains as blank as it always has, but he tilts his head appraisingly.
“...Nott?” Harry rasps. He coughs, throat parched.
As if reading his mind, Nott reaches over to the table beside him and grasps a cup of water that he’d somehow had waiting for him, bringing the straw to Harry’s lips. Harry eyes the boy warily, but accepts the help without any fuss. His body feels like lead, heavy as it sinks into the mattress, and it feels just as weak.
Harry pulls away, and Nott places the cup back on the table. “Thank you.” He says.
“You’re welcome.” Nott replies softly.
There’s a cricket somewhere in the hospital wing. It chirps rhythmically, breaking the silence that fills the space between the two young boys.
Harry finds a lot of solace in darkness. One could argue that it’s because of the nature of his magic, but his magic had nothing to do with the darkness of his cupboard, with the only light being what slipped through the vent Vernon installed in the door - the most considerate thing the Dursleys have ever done. Harry grew up in it, familiar with the unknown of what could lie within his small sanctuary. He knows that any spider that could crawl across his skin won’t bite if he doesn’t move, and he knew any monster that could be hiding above him would never hurt him more than his Uncle Vernon ever did.
Nott must feel similarly, since he seems more relaxed than Harry’s ever seen from him.
“You don’t make any sense.” Nott says. He keeps his voice low and soft, a contrast to his accusatory words.
“Sorry?”
Nott scoffs, though his lips twitch. “My father was a Death Eater.” He murmurs, almost as if he’s… ashamed. “Was one of Voldemort’s first followers, in fact.”
“Most of our housemates have Death Eater parents, Nott.” Harry says when Nott evidently waits for a response. He’s surprised Nott admitted it to the Boy-Who-Lived, but the affiliations of their parents are open secrets in their House if not the school or even the British Wixen World. “You’re hardly special.”
“You’re also a prat.” Nott glares at him without any heat.
“That’s not exactly a secret either.” Harry says.
“I suppose it isn’t.” Nott admits, rolling his eyes. Harry giggles weakly. “Look, Potter, I grew up with stories about you like most of our peers have, and apart from being told that you were an enemy of the Dark’s cause, I also grew up hearing mocking remarks about you being the Light’s prince, raised in luxury with people at your beck and call.”
Humour leaving him, Harry looks away with a frown marring his face. He hates being reminded of the lies that had been spread and the preconceptions everyone held of him, and the entire Slytherin House knows it - unless they’re still burying their heads in the sand and believe them like the rest of the sheep.
“So imagine my surprise when your name was called during the sorting, and I recognized the boy I saw at Madam Malkins. The boy that wore muggle rags, and was being escorted by the Hogswarts Groundskeeper.” Nott says.
Left stupefied, Harry has to think before he realizes what the boy is talking about. He pivots his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. “That was you ?”
“Yes. And imagine my surprise when you were sorted in Slytherin. When you relocate your shoulder like you’ve done it numerous times before. When you celebrate Samhain and adhere to pureblood customs.” Nott shakes his head.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now?” Harry asks.
“I’m loyal to the Dark, Potter. We need to preserve tradition and our magic. But my mother was betrothed to my father and married to him against her wishes, and when she was still alive she taught me that the Dark Lord wasn’t to be trusted. That he was only a madman in search of power, and if he were to ever return to power like Father believes he will, then we would fall to ruin.”
The necromancer swallows. “You want to be allies.”
“Father cannot learn that you and I are on… genial terms.” Nott says firmly, “not until I can be free of him, but yes.”
Slowly, Harry nods. They share a glance that communicates a thousand words and a single understanding, before looking away to train their gazes on the floor in Nott’s case or the ceiling in Harry’s.
“It was my mum that defeated Voldemort, Nott. Not me. No one’s willing to believe that the muggleborn witch took him down, but surely you know that makes more sense than an infant defeating him.” He whispers.
“Lily Potter isn’t here for me to approach.”
Harry snorts. “Point taken, I suppose.”
Nott nods his head before standing. “Go back to sleep, Potter. Something tells me you’ll need the rest.” He says.
Harry nods, and Nott silently drapes an invisibility cloak over himself. Harry notes how he can see the distortion of light it causes, unlike Death’s Cloak. The boy is light on his feet, however, as he strides out of the Hospital Wing, the door opening and closing.
Daphne. Millicent. Tracey. Neville. Hermione. Kaneshiro. Harry’s teammates. Harry has the respect of the Slytherins, but allies are sparse as a Snake. Especially for the Boy-Who-Lived, who has to contend with Slytherin prejudice and the blood purists and Voldemort supporters within his house. But now, it seems, he has another one.
Only time will tell what will come out of their tentative alliance.
Harry’s chest warms as the magic tied to the ink embedded in his chest surges in strength, and the boy sucks in a breath between his teeth in surprise. Dad’s spirit appears before him, seemingly sitting on the edge of the bed.
The spirit’s form is flickering and lagging, but not in agitation, but relief. “You did good, kid.”
“Yeah?” Harry slurs.
“Yeah. You survived like you always do. That will always be good enough for me, and for your mum.” Dad says. “But do us a favor? Maybe don’t taunt the man that wants to hurt you.”
“No promises,” is what Harry tries to say, but he’s already asleep.
---
Snape’s body is lined with tension as he stands a half-step behind Dumbledore. In the cold light of day, sunlight is pouring into the room, bathing those in the hospital wing and glinting off of their irises. It’s weird seeing Snape outside the shadows of the dungeons, but what’s more unusual is the anger Harry can see in his clenched jaw and his clasped hands.
Most would write it off as annoyance. After all, Snape is always annoyed, and the last thing he wants is to be talking to his bully’s son first thing in the morning. He’s done a well enough job of only interacting with Harry when he has to (i.e., when Harry is injured or in his classroom) and now he’s being forced to tend to the student again. But maybe that’s why Harry can see the difference. And, bloody hell, the man appears to be vibrating as he attempts to contain his anger.
“I trust that Poppy has explained your injuries to you.” Dumbledore says.
“Yes, sir.” Harry replies, staring at his hands to avoid the gaze of both men.
It’s a simple problem, one that he’s experienced a few times - when he was first learning how to heal his injuries - that being magical exhaustion. This time, however, it was caused by a physical enchantment on his person, tied and fueled by his magical core. An enchantment bestowed on him by his parents when he was not yet born, not that she knew that last part. It activated when Quirrell physically touched him with the intent to kill.
It’s a very specific activation requirement, but magic can only do so much. The knowledge of it was comforting to Harry in a rather sick way - Vernon, while his uncle, is not a blood relative, which is the only thing that would keep the enchantment from working. If for any reason the man decided that he’d prefer the boy dead…
Harry shakes himself to rid himself of the memory of Quirrell burning under his hands, the image of the same being done to Vernon. He’s also suffering from an ‘overload’ on his magical core from when Voldemort’s wraith phased through his body, better described as a disruption in his magic’s natural flow within his body. Being so attuned with his magic, Harry can feel how his magic - or what’s left of it - is writhing in agitation underneath his ribcage.
“Good, good.” Dumbledore murmurs. “Well, my boy, I hate to burden you so, but I must ask that you recount what happened with Quirrell after he took you.”
“Now? Shouldn’t we wait for the Aurors?” Harry asks in surprise. He knows that he isn’t surrounded by muggles, but surely they take statements like the police do. They have to perform their own investigations… “If I have to talk about it, sir, I’d prefer to do it just once.” He says.
“Ah, well, unfortunately to be questioned the Aurors need permission from your guardians, but with your guardians being muggles it complicates matters.”
Harry looks up at Snape in confusion, but the man only gives him a pointed glance.
It doesn’t make sense, Harry thinks as he looks down at his hands again. It’d make more sense if they refused to even speak to Aurors, let alone grant them permission, but it sounds as if they hadn’t tried to get permission at all due to whatever loopholes that may be in place. Something tells Harry that he’s missing information in this regard.
Despite that, he deems Snape’s look as a way to warn him off asking, and Harry trusts the man more than he’d ever trust Dumbledore. He begins speaking then, explaining what happened. When he gets to the part where Voldemort offered to let Harry join him only to receive rejection, Dumbledore sounds pleased as he asks Harry to continue.
He does.
“I feared that Voldemort may still be alive, even after all this time.” Dumbledore says gravely once Harry’s done.
“Why not look for what’s keeping him alive, then? Why not finish him off while he’s weak?” Harry asks bitterly.
The Headmaster doesn’t answer immediately, making Harry’s anger flare. Unbidden, the words of the centaurs springs to mind, and Harry takes deep, deep breaths to calm down before he does something he regrets. Something worse than asking a few pointed questions that reveals a hint of his unsavory feelings toward the man.
“I unfortunately wouldn’t know where to begin. I’m afraid he delved into magic that is beyond me.” Dumbledore placates.
“What about the stone?”
“Ah. That’s been destroyed, I’m afraid. It’s for the best.” Dumbledore says, “The Flamels and I have decided that it was too dangerous to keep during these times, and they’ll begin to age again once the magic wears away from their persons.
“They’ve lived long, happy lives. For them, death will just be another great adventure, so don’t worry about them, my boy.” He continues sagely.
Harry has to hold back a scoff.
“Now, I’m sure your friends will want to-”
“Wait!” Harry interrupts, making an aborted move to look up, and Dumbledore stops. “Will I be punished? For what I did?”
“No, my boy.”
“But I killed him.”
“Professor Quirrell died when Voldemort ejected himself from the man’s body.” Dumbledore lies, “the blame for his fate does not lie at your feet.”
Harry watches him go warily, but once he disappears behind the doorway and begins his stride down the outside corridor, Harry turns to Snape expectantly.
“Yes, yes - I know you have questions.” Snape drawls, holding up a hand. Thinking over his words carefully, he sighs and works his jaw. “As you may have deduced, having a cerberus in a castle full of students isn’t exactly legal, and Hogwarts is hardly meant to be used to protect valuable artifacts.”
“Is he covering up Quirrell’s death?” Harry asks incredulously. Snape rolls his eyes, giving him a look that perfectly communicates what the dour man thinks of that question. Harry blushes hotly, and promptly wishes he could shove the words back into his mouth.
“Hardly. Dumbledore is not particularly ethical, but he’s still… moral .” Snape sneers, “He’s holding off the Aurors because he thinks he’s protecting you from Ministry influence, and also because he doesn’t want you to tell them about why you were playing hostage. If he thought you trusted him, I imagine he’d try to convince you not to say anything by pushing you not to trust them.”
“But they do know I was taken?”
“Yes. In fact, everyone knows - they believe that Quirrell took up the Defense post to observe your magical prowess until he could finally avenge his master’s death. Miss Davis has been fueling the rumors to your benefit these last few days.”
“Oh.”
“Indeed. I apologize, Mr Potter, for allowing him to take you. I do not like you, but you are still one of my snakes, and it’s my responsibility to protect you all when you reside within these castle walls.” Snape says.
“Oh! Er, that’s alright.” Harry hastens to say.
“Yes, well, speaking of my responsibilities… ” Snape starts, and he takes a fortifying breath. “I couldn’t do anything before without alerting the headmaster, but now is as good a time as any.”
“Oh… kay…?”
“Mr Potter, there’s been a few of your peers that have approached me with some concerns about your life at home.”
“Oh.” Harry says dumbly.
Snape lifts a lone brow, “not going to try to deny it?” He asks. Harry shakes his head, meeting Snape’s eyes, and the man appraises him silently. Why try to deny something that’s true? Harry certainly isn’t going to outright lie. He isn’t a liar.
He is not a liar. No matter how many people believe it back home. Not like Aunt Petunia is.
Snape hums. Sighs. “Does your family call you names, perhaps? Raise their hands to you?”
Something about his tone makes Harry’s hackles raise, and the boy is already on edge from his talk with Dumbledore. “Vernon prefers his belt.” Harry says scathingly, teeth bared, almost like a challenge. He blanches, and regret washes over him like a wave. His hand flies towards his mouth to cover it.
“I… see .” Snape says blankly, “expect to hear from me soon, Potter.” He says. Snape then turns around and strides out of the hospital wing. Despite his words, Harry doesn’t dare to expect anything to be done, so he only shrugs with a grimace and settles further into the mattress with a heavy sigh.
---
Madam Pomphrey keeps him in the hospital wing for two more nights as he recovers his magic, his friends coming and going. Harry can appreciate it despite his mind-numbing boredom when Tracey sends him meaningful looks promising that interrogation she had mentioned Beltane night.
His friends tell him how everyone is taking the news. The Gryffindors have once again started to insist that Harry was missorted, while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are more concerned that they had a Death Eater in their midst without anyone any wiser, and the Slytherins have taken the news with a solemn disquiet if not annoyance that Quirrell failed to finish the job.
Harry has to decide whether or not he was going to tell them the truth - and therefore fill Hermione and Neville in on the other murder attempts - and… he does. If anything, he never explained what happened in the Forbidden Forest and what the centaurs had told him to the girls, and considering how worried they were, he feels obligated to. Plus, Harry doesn’t want to be the only one who knows that Voldemort isn’t dead.
(They don’t want to believe him, but in the end, they trust Harry. And while they’re scared of Voldemort, they hadn’t lived through the war like the adults did. They know the severity of the situation, but they don’t understand it.)
(Harry still doesn’t understand it, but now he understands it a little more.)
---
“Alright, Harry. Spill.” Tracey demands, still settling in her four poster bed as Daphne and Millicent pile onto their own.
Harry eyes the dorm’s door. “What about Parkinson and Moon?” He asks.
“They’re sitting in the main commons with the rest of their clique.” Tracey rolls her eyes.
As much as he trusts his friend, that isn’t enough for him to feel comfortable talking about his abilities. Taking a few steps to reach the door, reaching out to lay a hand flat against it. He calls his magic forward, silencing the door and locking it. Thinking, he doesn’t know if a simple alohomora will be enough to unlock it, and decides to put a wandless equivalent of a sonorous charm on the lock’s mechanism.
He feels drowsy, still technically recovering from his magical exhaustion, and he rubs his eyes to stave it off. Turning back to his friends, they’re staring at him with gazes curious enough to be deadly. Curiosity killed the cat, and all… that.
“ Harry .” Tracey urges impatiently.
“Alright, alright.” Harry placates, waving his hands, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, obviously.”
“Er.” Harry blinks tiredly. “You see, my mum and dad loved each other very, very much-”
Tracey throws a pillow as Millicent giggles into her hands. Daphne purses her lips, but she can’t help her smile either. Harry chuckles as the pillow hits his chest, “I told you guys I’m a necromancer. And a Morthemagus-”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yeah?” Harry begins uncertainly.
What follows mirrors Harry’s lessons growing up, but this time, Harry is the teacher.
It’s a little over an hour later when his friends exhaust all of their questions, and curfew is approaching. The Hogwarts’ Express will depart from Hogsmeade station in two weeks' time, and final examinations are near. They’ll be home in time for Litha, the Summer Solstice.
Harry hasn’t personally heard from Snape since their chat in their hospital wing. He expected it, but the thought is still hard to swallow.
But the whole situation has got him thinking. All year he’s been dreading returning to the Dursleys for the summer, but maybe he doesn’t have to. He’s the sole member of his family, and his family is both well-off and allied to the Goblins. His chances might be slim…
His chances might be slim, but maybe he can hide away until September first. No one would be able to force him back to Privet Drive if they don’t know where he is. The half-baked plan has been sitting comfortably in the back of his mind ever since it first formed, and the closer the deadline approaches the more determined he grows to see it through.
Moreso when he wakes up from his nightmares.
He didn’t have them at first, but that grace wasn’t afforded to him for long, and by now he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep the past three nights. Each time, Dad has been there to get him back to sleep, but it’s affecting his sleep regardless, and it shows in the eye bags that sit heavily on his youthful face.
“Hey, Dad?” Harry says one night, tears drying on his cheeks.
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
“I won’t have to go back to Uncle and Aunt Petunia, will I?” He tries to keep the desperation out of his tone, but he can’t help the dread he feels at the prospect. The question pours out of him, his worries suffocating him. “I just - I really don’t want to go back, even though I have a bedroom now.”
“ Fuck your bedroom, kid. Of course you’re not going back.” Dad says heatedly, and Harry starts at the derision in his voice, though he knows it isn’t aimed at him. “I thought I already told you that, kid, I’m sorry. Your mum would find a way to haunt her sister, for real this time, if you were forced back there.” Dad apologizes.
“Then what’s the plan?”
“You don’t need to worry about that, kiddo, it’s already in motion.”
“What?” Harry asks incredulously.
“Yeah,” Dad says. “I’d never thought I’d say this, but trust Snape. I know he hasn’t contacted you, but Lily insists that you’ll be fine.”
“Oh. Okay.” Harry yawns.
“Go to sleep, Haz.” Dad orders, smiling fondly, if not a little melancholy.
---
One-by-one, trunks are placed on the shelf overhead, the thud of the wood loud enough to be heard of the conversation and chatter of the students darting back and forth in the corridors as they settle in for the train ride home.
The end of term feast was held the night before. There were a lot of stares even after a few weeks since the incident, and Harry had to fight not to cower under the weight of their gazes as Dumbledore made some speech about overcoming adversity and taking action against evil before rewarding Harry another fifty points (despite that Slytherins already secured the House Cup) for ‘remarkable bravery in the face of danger’.
Should we remind him that you’re a Slytherin? Tracey had asked.
Whatever. The school year is over, and Harry won’t be returning to the Dursleys for the summer (though he’s still really skeptical about it). The reminder makes Harry smile wider as Terence turns away from the trunks.
“You guys are all set to leave. Don’t hesitate to come find us if you need anything, alright?”
Harry, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent all nod as Flint rolls his eyes from where he’s standing at the compartment’s door. “It’s a train ride, Terence; they’ll be fine.” He says.
Terence raises a brow, not saying a word in reply, but Flint scoffs before stalking off. “I better follow him.” He sighs. He waves one last goodbye, and the four friends sit in their seats.
Kaneshiro said her goodbye earlier, opting to disapparate from the station, and Harry found himself sad that she wouldn’t be in Hogwarts next year. He hopes that she’ll succeed as an Unspeakable like she was aiming for, and tries not to wonder when he’ll see her next. Similarly, Harry said goodbye to Nott as they left their dorm with their things, and the quidditch team harassed him on the way to Hogsmeade station.
Having so many people taking the time to say goodbye to him is… Harry’s chest feels fit to burst with the warm, content happiness that fills it.
“I can’t believe the school year’s already over.” Daphne says.
“Really? Because I was thinking that it was finally over.” Tracey replies, crossing her arms across her chest. Harry snorts and shakes his head. “When I came to Hogwarts I was expecting to be bored half the time and causing trouble the other half. What I got was boredom and death threats, a pissing contest, and trouble finding my new, secretly-a-Dark-wizard friend.”
“Tracey, that’s a secret.” Millicent chides gently.
“I said that! Literally this time!”
“Generally, secrets aren’t discussed on a busy train.” Harry deadpans, eyeing the compartment door warily. Silently, he casts the same silencing spell he uses on his cupboard and bed frame to talk to Dad. His friends are none the wiser. “I thought we were all Slytherins here.”
Tracey bites her lip, looking uncharacteristically chastised. Still, she teases, “debatable.”
Harry rolls his eyes.
“That’s going to grow old eventually.”
“ Anyways ,” Daphne butts in before Tracey can retort. “I think we can all agree that the year wasn’t what we anticipated.”
“Yeah… I’m really glad you were sorted in Slytherin, Harry, despite what everyone else thought. You’re a good friend.” Millicent says, and Harry ducks his head even as he smiles. “I’m going to miss you over the summer.” She adds.
“Oh, yeah, are… are you going to be okay with your relatives?” Tracey asks hesitantly, clearly thinking about the last time they discussed the Dursleys.
“I’ll be fine.” Harry says. He hopes he’s telling the truth.
Harry had asked Dumbledore if he could stay at the castle as a near-last resort, not wanting to put all his trust in his Head of House, but the Headmaster said no, stating that 4 Privet Drive is the safest place for him to be because of his mum’s ‘protection’. Of course, Harry wasn’t going to tell the Headmaster what it’s like to live with them, and Harry doesn’t have any faith that anything would happen if he did. There were so many years of adults writing him off as a liar that Harry doesn’t bother entertaining the idea.
(Now, Harry has to trust Snape, or he’ll be improvising.)
However, Harry did say that the Dursleys hated him. Dumbledore admitted that he knew that the Dursleys didn’t ‘treat him as well as they should’ but that they loved him enough that they took him in and took care of him over the years.
And suddenly Harry understood why Dad didn’t trust Dumbledore beyond his prejudice against Dark magic.
Did Dumbledore really think that because they took him in - instead of, what? Giving him away to an orphanage? Dropping him off at a police station? - that they love him? Harry doesn’t know why they hadn’t at first, but by now he’s useful to them. He cooks, cleans, and gardens for them, leaving Petunia to have tea with the other wifes who live on Privet Drive, or generally appearing as the perfect housewife for the others husbands to envy.
Does Dumbledore believe blood family incapable of violence against one another, or does he believe that the violence is just tough love?
What a dangerous mindset for a headmaster of a school to have. How many other students have returned to an abusive home, time and time again, because the man doesn’t believe it necessary to interfere?
Harry hadn’t thought of it that way at first, but when he admitted to asking the Headmaster to not go back to his friends, they all started ranting, and with three eleven year-olds putting their heads together some things had been put into perspective.
Worst comes to worst, then Harry will be stuck at the Dursleys, and he will survive like he always does. But he trusts Dad’s word.
“Will you owl us if you aren’t?” Millicent asks, knocking him out of his thoughts.
“... Maybe.” Harry says. He smiles, the corners of his lips pulled by hooks, and Harry knows it’s not convincing in the least.
“Harry…”
The boy sighs, “We have two months until second year starts, guys. I’ll be fine .”
Harry worries for a moment that they’ll press, but it seems they learned their lesson from the last time they talked about the Dursleys. Instead, Millicent pulls out Exploding Snap, and that’s what they do for the rest of the ride home.
And, hugging his friends goodbye, he knows that whether he’s stuck with the Dursleys or not this summer, he’ll be counting down the days until he can see them again.