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Catechism
By: Dreamfall
Summary: What if the Dursleys were smarter? Smart enough to turn Harry against magic- against himself. How long would it take anyone to realize how much damage was done, and once it was discovered how could they ever hope to fix it? A disturbing look at a Harry who has been taught from infancy to hate and fear everything he is.
Warnings: Quite disturbing. Various kinds of abuse. Harry with something of a house elf mentality. If you don't want to read it, don't.
Author's Notes: Feedback is welcome, constructive criticism particularly so. If it's spelling/grammar/etc e-mail is better than actual comments, but whatever. Specific spelling/grammar issues that are pointed out are corrected as immediately as I can arrange. Usually within 24 hours.
Additional Note: Thanks for bearing with me while I took some time off for NaNoWriMo and then time just getting away from me!
Review Response: I have a livejournal containing responses to reviews, update notices, and maybe other story stuff if I get around to it. The address is refusing to show up on here, but it is under homepage on my front page, or you can go to livejournal and it is username dreamfall(underscore)ff If I can figure out a way to make fanfiction just show the webpage I'll replace this with it in later. And if I can figure out how to make an underscore character show up, I'll replace the (underscore) with it:p.
Thanks: To Azelma, who has been granting me her time, patience, and understanding of children, for which I am duly grateful.
Chapter Eleven
Start of Classes
"Hm… Interesting…"
The mediwitch's voice made Harry look up nervously, but Madame Pomfrey smiled reassuringly as she put her wand away.
"Well, Mr. Potter, I'm not sure how it came about, but it seems that your little anemia problem has cleared right up. I shall have to tell Professor Snape that he needn't work on a potion for you after all," she added thoughtfully.
"Thank you, ma'am," he murmured, not sure what else to say.
"Yes, well, it's rather intriguing, actually. I'd expect it to clear up, but it seems so odd that it didn't do so earlier," she said, brows furrowing slightly. Then she shook her head sharply and smiled again. "But no matter! You don't have to worry about it any more, at any rate, because you appear to be well on your way to perfect health! How is the chasing after the Snitch going for you?"
Harry blinked, then offered, "It's going well, Madam Pomfrey."
"How often are you doing it? Are you breaking it up, or doing it all at once every day?"
"At first I was doing it in three sets, Madam Pomfrey," he admitted, remembering the sense that he couldn't take another step if he didn't, yet knowing that he should have been able to. "Now I'm doing it in two. I still can't do it all at once," he admitted, eyes on his feet, waiting for the blow that he knew, now, wouldn't come.
"That's not bad. Your muscle tone is already improving a good deal, and your heart and lungs are both sounding a bit stronger. Would you be willing to do three twenty-minute sets rather than fifteens for a time? Or two half-hour sets, if you're up to it. Once we've got you all set, you can ease back down, and eventually shouldn't need to do anything more than your general walking around if you don't want to. But I'd like to be sure that everything is well before then!"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered quickly, taking the suggestion as an order.
"Okay, then. I guess that's about it for now. Off with you!"
"Yes, ma'am," he repeated, then stood up, unable to prevent the instinctive glance at the cot to be sure he hadn't messed up the bedding too much. Hurriedly, he left the room, barely hearing the whoosh of flames and the nurse's strong voice calling out the Potions Master's name behind him.
Harry tried not to see the green light reflect on the wall in front of him and turned quickly to go back to his room. He thought longingly of the Snitch for a moment, knowing that the exhaustion chasing it brought would help him sleep more soundly. And given that tomorrow morning was the first day of classes, he would be grateful for the assistance. It took a couple moments for the realization to strike him that he had wanted to use the Snitch. Shivering, he refused to look at the little ball as he knelt on the cold stone beside the carpet and murmured his catechism.
When morning did come, Harry ate his breakfast at the head table, ignoring the students as much as he could. They seemed to have spent most of the previous day watching him as much as possible, although so far only Fred and George had actually gone to his room, as well. When he finished, pleased to find himself full after eating less than he had been recently, he begged permission of Professor Dumbledore to leave, and slipped out of the Great Hall, wanting to be out of the hallways before the students filled them entirely.
He moved quietly through the halls, avoiding the more obviously magical sections (especially the floating stairs) whenever he could, and passed only three small groups of students before he reached Professor Mungrove's classroom. The door was open, and the professor was not yet there, so he moved inside and took the seat he had used the previous week. He sat perfectly still, folding his hands and waiting nervously. He wasn't sure what to expect of the class or what would be expected of him. Professor Mungrove had made it fairly clear that she wasn't happy to have him, which he appreciated, but he couldn't figure out what, exactly, she wanted him to do. Professor Snape, at least, had been comfortingly plain in his instructions. He was alone in that.
Harry glanced over at the shelf of books, wondering if he should continue reading the one he had begun the previous week, but decided that touching a book without being specifically instructed to would be inappropriate. So he sat still, allowing his mind to wander over the familiar paths of what he ought to be doing and how he ought to be acting. The sessions with the hat were upsetting him. He couldn't decide how to react to its instructions. On the one hand, it was really convincing and perhaps even correct about how to deceive the professors into believing that he was failing rather than defying them. But it was teaching him magic, that much was certainly clear and could never be acceptable. His jaw clenched with the thought, and he forced it to relax almost before he noticed the tension.
Approaching footsteps drew his attention, and he waited uncertainly for the entrance of whoever was coming. He kept himself relaxed despite the hint of expectation that he would be punished for sitting down without an explicit instruction. But Professor Mungrove had told him the first time that he was to do so, and when he had not repeated it the next automatically, she had been upset. So he had decided that he must be intended to always enter and immediately take a seat, strange though that seemed.
The door seemed to almost explode inward, and he resisted the instinctive cringe back, barely jumping at the sound. It slammed back against the wall with a loud bang, which didn't seem to phase the children who streamed in. They were talking and laughing as they rushed into the room, eleven of them all at once and all wearing the yellow and black badge of Hufflepuff. One of them, a tall blond boy, stopped suddenly as he caught sight of Harry and waved the others to silence. "So, you're Harry Potter?"
"Yes," Harry said uncertainly.
The boy strode forward, one hand extended. "Zacharias Smith. Good to meet you."
Harry stared at the hand for a split second before raising his own and allowing it to be grasped and wrung.
"So what house do you expect to go into next year?"
"Oh, Zach, leave him alone," a girl with red-blonde hair and gray-green eyes said, edging him off slightly. "You're intimidating him."
Zacharias looked offended. "I'm doing nothing of the kind. I'm being polite. Friendly. Welcoming--"
"Intimidating," another girl, this one with brown hair and eyes, interjected. "Here he is surrounded by all members of one house, and you ask him what house he wants to be in?"
A couple more boys entered the room just in time to hear this, this time wearing Gryffindor badges, and one of them, a boy with wiry, brown hair, called out, "Fair question. Gryffindor all the way, eh, mate?" he asked cheerfully, crossing over to Harry and slapping him on the shoulder.
He relaxed slightly, obedient to all his old lessons, waiting for the next blow to come.
"Now why would he want--" Zacharias started, thrusting his jaw out slightly as he turned to glare at the taller boy.
"To be anything but Gryffindor?" the other newcomer asked, grinning. "Good question. C'mon, Cormac, pick a seat."
Harry sat still, eyes lowered, as he waited for the buffet to his shoulder to be repeated with violent force. It didn't happen. Nor did Zacharias, despite his furious glare at the other Gryffindor, make any move to punish either Harry or the other boy.
Before the blond boy could say anything further, several Gryffindor girls came in, followed almost immediately by a handful of boys. They looked curiously at the face-off, one of them loudly demanding to know what was going on.
Zacharias shrank slightly beneath the gaze of so many more eyes, and, shrugging angrily, threw himself into a seat on the far side of the room from Harry. The others, too, began settling into their chosen chairs, most of the Hufflepuffs taking the far side of the room and most of the Gryffindors the near.
"Is it so difficult to find chairs and seat yourselves in them?" Professor Mungrove's irritated question silenced all of the talking and laughter in the room, and the last few students scurried for the nearest seats. "I expect to find you all seated with your quills and parchment out and ready to take notes by the time class is scheduled to begin," she stated, the question followed by a rush of activity as the students grabbed for their materials.
Harry hesitated for a moment, waiting to be punished for not having anticipated the instruction and having his parchment and quill out, but, when she continued to ignore him, quickly fished them out of his knapsack and lay them out on the desk before him.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is the most important class taught at Hogwarts," she stated, glaring around, daring any of them to disagree. "For that reason, anything less than your best effort will not be accepted for any reason. You are expected to be in class on time and prepared. You will have any assignments ready to turn in the moment you enter this classroom. And you will pay attention and focus--" She turned a glare on a boy who was leaning over to pass a note to the one beside him. "You are?"
He smiled at her cheerfully, as though not even realizing that he'd been misbehaving. "Anthony Capers, ma'am. Sorry."
"Well, Mr. Capers, you have lost Gryffindor two points. That might well be the first of the year-- you would do well to stop being sorry and start acting like a student. Incendio," she added with a flick of her wand.
Anthony yelped and dropped the smoldering note as it disintegrated into ash. He shook his hand, and blew lightly on his fingertips.
Professor Mungrove snorted. "You're fine. And perhaps next time you will refrain from passing notes in my class. As I was saying. In this class, you will learn to protect yourself from the various dangers that you are likely to face in the Wizarding world. From the hexes and curses that might be cast your way by dark wizards to threats from magical beasts such as werewolves and vampires. Without what you should learn here, you could face a situation later on that will leave you badly injured-- or gruesomely dead. You will, therefore, be present, on time, and attentive. Is that understood?"
A murmur of affirmation answered her as she glared from one face to the next. When her eyes turned to him, Harry kept his gaze slightly down, his quill and parchment ready, and waited silently for whatever was to come next.
Finally, apparently satisfied with the effect her words had had, she nodded sharply and began to lecture on the most common varieties of shields. Harry took notes, trying as best he could to not actually learn anything of what she said.
He was startled to find that Anthony Capers was not the only one to draw her wrath over the course of the class period. And while the brown-haired Gryffindor girl, Katie Bell, did it by not answering her question quickly enough, two Hufflepuff students actually started holding a whispered conversation, which she'd clearly said not to do! He kept his horrified gaze down as she reprimanded them, and he tried not to think about what Uncle Vernon would have to say if he started simply talking about something else in the middle of a lesson. He couldn't stop the tiny shiver of response.
When the class finally ended, his hand was cramped from writing with the awkward quill, his back stiff from the chair, and his nerves frazzled from watching the students exchange whispers and rolled eyes whenever Professor's Mungrove's attention was on somebody else. It had, however, quickly become apparent that her attention could be in more than one place at once when she reprimanded them even when she had apparently been thoroughly involved with something else. And yet, they didn't stop! He couldn't understand it.
Harry slipped out with all the others when class was over, but quickly turned away and headed off down the hall, away from the moving stairs. Professor Dumbledore hadn't said that he had to start eating lunch with the others now that they were here, so he made his way to the kitchens and let himself in, made nervous, as always, by the fawning of the house-elves.
"Harry is here! And hungry, yes? Of course Harry is," Tozzy exclaimed joyfully upon seeing him.
"Yes, Tozzy," he admitted, ashamed of his weakness.
"Much good lunch we have made for Harry-- we have!" the house elf said, gesturing towards a little table that was loaded with sliced, fresh fruit, steaming bread with butter melting under a thick layer of preserves, a tall stack of thinly sliced beef, and lightly steamed vegetables half-drowning in more butter.
Obedient to the gesture, Harry moved in and sat down at the table with a murmured, "Thank you, Tozzy."
The house elf closed his eyes, shaking his head in amazement, and then moved to pour a tall glass of icy-cold pumpkin juice and set it before Harry. "Would Harry like milk, too?"
"No, thank you, Tozzy," he said softly, waiting for the elf to turn away before he began to quickly eat the meal, trying not to let himself taste it as he swallowed it down.
After lunch, he had to head up to the headmaster's office for his history class, and then over for reading and writing with Professor McGonagall. Both, he was relieved to discover, were far easier to spend time with now that they had specific lessons that they wanted him to learn. Both teachers did ask how he was doing and said that they had been sorry not to see him in the Great Hall at lunch, but they accepted his brief answers with less reluctance than usual and moved on to their lesson plans. Professor Dumbledore explained that he would be, over the course of the year, providing a brief overview of the history of the magical world, with a single exception. He would skip everything related to the Goblin Rebellion, since Professor Binns would cover that in remarkable detail later on. His eyes sparkled as he said it, and he grinned at Harry, who thanked him for the information and waited nervously for him to continue.
Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, began with a grammar book, explaining that she would not begin teaching him to compose essays until she was sure that he could compose a sentence, and began quizzing him on rules and details of grammar. Harry answered as best he could, but Aunt Petunia, who had taught him all of his lessons, had been more focused on the evils of magic than the rules of grammar, and he didn't know the answers to a good number of them. He admitted his failings apologetically, and was surprised when Professor McGonagall smiled, one of the warmest expressions he'd seen on her face to date.
"No need to apologize, Mr. Potter," she said. "Indeed, it shall be a luxury to have you to teach now, so that when you do begin handing in essays to me, they shall be slightly less atrocious than those of your classmates. So, then. Let us begin!"
And finally, he descended to the dungeons to find Professor Snape in his small, personal potions chamber for his math lesson. The man had looked up from his work with a goaded expression and snapped for Harry to sit at the desk that had been set up for him and begin the stack of quizzes, so that the professor would have some idea of just how deeply his ignorance was rooted. Harry immediately obeyed, beginning the first quiz, which was simple arithmetic, and moving on quickly from there. When he completed the last quiz, most of it blank, since for most of it he hadn't even known what the questions were asking, much less how to answer them, he found that there was still most of an hour remaining before the period ended. So he watched the potions professor for several minutes, learning the pattern that he was following, and then moved silently forward to assist him until the two hour class period was up.
The next morning, Harry entered the greenhouses nervously, and was met by Professor Sprout's soothing smile.
"Oh, Harry, dear, you're early! But I must call you Mr. Potter, of course, since we are now in actual classes," she corrected herself quickly. "How did you do yesterday? Are your classes starting out okay?"
"Yes, Professor Sprout," he said softly, edging forward and then pausing.
"Excellent. You had … Defense with the other students, wasn't it?" she asked, pausing for a moment to recall his schedule.
"Yes, ma'am."
"With the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Of course," she said, nodding. "How did Professor Mungrove begin?"
"With basic shields, ma'am."
"A good place to start," she said encouragingly. "And did the other students seem to enjoy it?"
Harry blinked uncertainly. He'd never been asked to gauge somebody else's enjoyment before-- it was his duty to be certain that anything that was wanted of him, he provided, but to guess what somebody else wanted…? "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know," he finally admitted.
"Did anything go wrong?"
He hesitated, not certain what he should say, but finally offered, "Some of the students weren't paying attention, and the professor got upset."
She chuckled. "Well, with first years, you can't expect to have their full attention all the time. You weren't one of the ones who caused her trouble, I expect!"
"No, ma'am!" he said quickly, shocked at the idea.
She smiled, but before she answered, the greenhouse door opened and a handful of children with Syltherin badges stalked in, led by a tall black boy who gazed down his nose as he glanced around, careful not to touch anything. "Ah, welcome," she said cheerfully. "The others should be along within the next few minutes, I should think, so come along in."
The others did, indeed, show up before too much longer, and soon the room was full of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. None of them spoke to Harry, but he felt their eyes on him a good deal, weighing him. He didn't know what they could be trying to decide about him, but it seemed like every move he made was measured by the other students. Harry ignored them as best he could and focused on the work Professor Sprout gave them to do, carefully packing earth into small pots, with a single tiny seed inserted into each one. The others got to work more or less cheerfully. A couple in each house appeared to be violently averse to actually touching the dirt with their hands; eventually, though, they all settled down.
Some time after Harry had lost himself in his work, a pot across the greenhouse from him exploded violently, showering the nearest students with dirt. One shard cut the face of the girl who had been handling it, and she yelped, dropping the remains, and clamping both hands over the cut.
Professor Sprout sighed. "And that," she said, "is, as I warned you, exactly what happens when you place more than one seed in a pot-- even if they're well away from each other. They need boundaries as well as space. Mr. Potter, you know the way to the infirmary, do you not?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"Please be so kind as to take Miss Aldridge there, would you? Madam Pomfrey will take care of her."
"Yes, ma'am," he repeated, turning uncertainly to the girl, who followed him quickly, hands pressed against her bleeding forehead, appearing to be near tears.
Once they got outside, she released the wound with one hand to scrub the back of her arm across her eyes, then put it back and looked over at him. "I didn't put two seeds in," she stated.
Harry looked at her uncertainly, not knowing what response could be expected of him.
"I didn't!" she said.
"Okay," he offered.
She sighed. "You don't believe me, but I really didn't. I wouldn't make that stupid a mistake. It was all that stupid Slytherin's fault. The tall one they're all mooning over. He threw an extra seed in just as I was starting to tamp in the dirt-- I didn't see it until it was too late to stop, and as soon as it was in there-- boom."
He suppressed the instinct to jump at her last word, startled by its intensity, and glanced at her sideways, uncertainly, wondering if he should apologize for insincerity, if she thought he didn't believe her.
"And now they'll all think that I can't follow simple instructions. And I can. Or that I can't do magical stuff 'cause I'm muggle-born-- and I totally can. I just-- he threw it in my pot and I couldn't react fast enough."
Harry cast her a sidelong look at the reference to herself.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, quickly looking away, horrified to have intruded.
"No, I'm sorry," she said, her voice suddenly softer. "I really am-- I'm just frustrated. I didn't mean to take it out on you. What were you wondering?"
Reluctantly, he voiced his question. "You're muggle-born?"
"Yeah," she said, shooting him an appraising look. "Does it matter? I know you're from one of those pureblood families, and some of them care."
He blinked, not certain how to answer her question. Because while of course it mattered since muggles were good, whereas wizards were bad, and so children of muggles had a better chance of one day being good themselves, he wasn't sure what he was allowed to say.
She looked at him for a moment and then laughed. The measuring look disappeared as she carefully removed one hand from her head, glanced at it, rubbed it on the side of her robe, and held it out to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. Just, some people have been really weird about the blood thing. I'm Leah Aldridge."
Reluctantly, he set his own hand in hers, and murmured, "It's good to meet you."
She shook it briefly, hardly more than a touch, and shrugged, returning it to her bleeding forehead. "I am sorry. I'm acting all obsessive and weird and I'm really usually not. Not really, anyway. It's just so weird being here, and I really, really want to do well. And so when things go wrong like this so soon, I get upset."
Harry noticed with relief that they were almost to the door. He had no idea what to say to the girl, and he was eager to have someone else for her to aim her questions at. Even if he was avoiding something unpleasant. He opened the door quickly, and Leah followed him inside, glancing around with a delighted smile.
Madam Pomfrey looked up at their entrance, and rose to her feet to hurry across the room, wand out before she'd fully reached them. "Oh what a mess! What happened?"
"Professor Sprout was having us plant Firefly Weed," the girl said. "My pot exploded."
"Two seeds in at once?" Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Never fails to happen to at least one student each year. Let's see how bad your cut is, then-- at least there's no burn this time! Thank you for bringing her, Harry. Tell Professor Sprout that her student will be just fine and isn't even likely to miss her afternoon classes!"
"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, and slipped back out of the room and down the hall.
He moved quickly back to the greenhouse, the trip back significantly shorter than the trip away had been. Going over, he hadn't been able to use the secret corridors without going against the order Remus had given him not to talk about them to anyone who didn't mention them first. Coming back was easier. He edged back into the room the others had been working in and found them just cleaning up their spaces and putting away their supplies.
Professor Sprout caught sight of him almost at once and cast him a smile. "You got back fast-- you didn't need to hurry, you know. Miss Aldridge is okay, then?"
He carefully relayed the nurse's message, and moved back to his stack of pots and the carefully separated seeds.
"Just clean up, your space-- it's lunch time," she said cheerfully.
He looked down at the unfinished work, and bit back the nearly-voiced objection. The realization of how close he had come to outright challenging an instruction was enough to banish his worry about the incomplete job as he cleaned up for it and moved quietly through the corridors towards the Great Hall.
Indeed, he was so wrapped up in thought that he didn't notice Fred and George Weasley coming up on either side of him until each set an arm around his shoulders. With cheerful greetings, they turned him from the head table, where he had been going, towards the Gryffindor table, and down between them onto the long bench.
"Hey, Harry, join us!" the slightly lighter tone he recognized as George's said cheerfully as they got him settled.
"Okay, George," he said diffidently, slipping into the seat he was pulled to. He saw the pair exchange a glance, but didn't know what to make of it, so he simply sat, eyes down, surrounded by Gryffindors.
"So you've been here five weeks, you said?" the other twin asked.
"Yes, Fred."
"Have you found anything…." he paused, and the other one finished, "Interesting?"
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," he said, leaving off a name, since he wasn't certain which one of them he should be addressing the answer to, the one who began the question or the one who finished. He looked up slightly as the table was abruptly set and reached forward to begin serving himself.
"You know. Anything--" Fred started, grabbing a roll off Harry's plate and setting it on his own.
"That might be useful," George continued, repeating the procedure with a couple slices of turkey breast.
"The cleaning supply closets?" he asked uncertainly, continuing to add food to his plate, as they continued to take it off.
The two stared at him with identical expressions of horror, and he bit off the automatic apology.
"No. You know. Like…"
"I dunno, maybe places--"
"Where you might be--"
"Able to get away from--"
"Someone like Filch?"
Each time one spoke, the other grabbed a food item off his plate and dropped it on their own. Wondering whether he should continue serving or if this was their subtle way of telling him that he was not to eat, Harry continued uncertainly adding food almost as quickly as it was taken away. "I don't understand," he admitted. "Why would I get away from Filch?"
Again, he was answered with identical looks of something between disgust and pity. "Harry."
He looked towards Fred, not quite raising his eyes to the older boy's face, waiting. "Yes, Fred?"
"Somebody has clearly been neglecting your education," he stated, as George scooped a large spoonful of potatoes and gravy off of Harry's plate and dropping it onto his own.
"You're missing the point here," George added, drawing Harry's attention while Fred took snatched a slab of buttered bread from Harry's plate and took a bite out of it.
"You are," Fred agreed, through the mouthful of bread. "Filch's job is to make students miserable."
"If he finds you, he will make you miserable," George agreed, taking a bite out of a chicken leg that had rested on Harry's plate a moment before.
"As a student, it is your right--"
"And your responsibility to take every opportunity--"
"To avoid, confuse--"
"Frustrate, discomfit--"
"Confound, distract--"
"Embarrass, bedevil--"
"And otherwise make Filch's life as miserable as humanly possible," Fred finished, gesturing dramatically with the nearly-bare chicken leg.
"And so we return to the question," George said, and for the first time Harry's plate was not lightened as he turned from one brother to the other.
"Of have you found anything--"
"Interesting!" they both finished together, as Harry finally set down his plate with a small amount of food on it.
Harry's eyes flicked nervously between them, and he finally admitted, "I'm sorry-- I still am not-- I don't know what you mean by interesting."
They both rolled their eyes at the exact same time, and he found himself actually watching the movement in fascination before realizing what he was doing and quickly dropping his gaze.
"You know! Interesting!" George said. He glanced warily around and dropped his voice slightly. "Say, a secret passage, for example? Old castle like this… you must have looked, didn't you?"
Harry blinked uncertainly. "Yes," he said uncertainly. "Professor Dumbledore told me to explore the castle."
They stared at him. "You mean he let you--" Fred started.
He broke off, and for once his brother didn't take over. Instead, they both stared at Harry in total shock. Finally, George shook his head. "It's not fair, Fred, that's it."
"I can't help but agree with you, George."
"All alone, with the teachers hardly paying attention, actually told to explore?"
"Totally and completely without any hint of fairness."
"So, did you--"
"Here, now, what are you two doing?"
All three of them looked up at the officious voice, and the twins glared at the interloper. He was taller and slimmer than they were, but had the same bright red hair and freckles. His robes were mended but carefully pressed, and he glared back at them through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.
"Ah, let be, Percy," Fred said.
"We're just keeping Harry, here--"
"Company. He doesn't--"
"Have any friends here--"
"Yet, you know."
"You are just being friendly?" the taller one, Percy, said doubtfully. "Trying to trick him into something, more like."
"Now, what would we trick him into?" Fred demanded.
"Trying one of your ghastly concoctions, perhaps. Honestly, I can't imagine, Fred, my mind could never be as convoluted as yours."
The twins exchanged a proud glance. "Thank you Percy, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to us," George stated.
"But I'm not Fred," Fred added. "I'm George."
Harry blinked uncertainly at the statement, not sure what it could mean.
Percy just waved one hand. "Does it matter? You might as well be the same person."
"No we mightn't!" George said, annoyed.
"Wouldn't be half so convenient," Fred agreed.
"Not being able to be in two places--"
"At the same time, would be--"
"Terribly troublesome."
"Well it would be a good deal better for the rest of us! Harry, although you are not officially a student here yet, it is absolutely essential that you begin as you intend to go on. And that means that if you fall in with these two ruffians, you will constantly--"
"Here, now, Percy!" a loud, cheerful voice interrupted. Harry looked up and had to resist the urge to shrink back as he saw yet another redhead, this one covered in so many freckles it was hard to see any paler skin. This one was the oldest yet, and grinned at him. "Leave the kid alone, huh? You're not a prefect yet. Besides, he's trying to eat his lunch."
"But--" Percy began.
"Thought you were having a potions test this afternoon?" the older boy added. "You completely ready? I thought you usually studied a bit extra on lunches."
Percy's eyes widened, he murmured a quick, "Tempus," and then bit back something else. He glanced at Harry again, looking divided, and then said, "Don't you let them lead you astray." Then he turned and hurried away.
The twins burst into gales of laughter. "Lead you astray?" George asked through his whoops.
"Nobody talks like that," Fred gasped back.
The older one rolled his eyes and offered Harry a wink. "Fred, George, I wanted to let you know that tryouts are this weekend-- you've got potential as Beaters, but don't think I'll give you the positions just because you're my brothers. Be there, be on time, and earn it."
Instantly sobered, the pair nodded. "Of course, Charlie!"
"Wouldn't miss it."
"And thanks for getting rid of Perfect Percy," Fred added, wrinkling his nose.
"He's not all bad," Charlie said, grinning at their disbelieving stares. "And besides, if you make him angry enough, he'll tell mum, and it'd be just like her to say you couldn't try out for Quidditch or something."
The two exchanged horrified looks. "She can't do that!"
"And if she did, she couldn't hold us to it!"
Charlie snorted. "Right. She'd make my life miserable if I let you on the team when she said you weren't to try out. And since I bloody well think the team needs you, what with Cam and Eric gone, I'd thank you to leave Percy alone 'till after tryouts!"
They nodded reluctant agreement, and the older boy nodded once and moved down the table to talk to a muscular blonde girl who nodded quickly every few seconds as he spoke. The twins turned back towards Harry, who had been quietly eating, watching the interactions. Before they could ask him anything else, however, a black boy with the strangest hair Harry had ever seen dashed into the room and whispered something to each of them. Wide grins crossed the twins faces, and all three of them glanced around, and then nonchalantly got up and left. All of which Harry watched in confused curiosity, though he reminded himself that he had no right to curiosity. He should simply understand those things relevant to him and keep his thoughts out of everything else.
As the lunch period ended, students hurried away singly and in pairs and groups, the twins among them, Harry apparently forgotten. When he had completed his own lunch, Harry got up and moved quietly towards the third floor supply closet, which was the one furthest from the busiest areas of the school. He had a free hour, and had been using his free time to slowly begin to clean the back rooms. He just had to be careful not to leave himself filthy and bedraggled, since he just had the hour and Professor McGonagall would be expecting him after that.
His afternoon classes passed relatively smoothly. None of them were shared with any of the other students, and he found the professors far easier to spend time with now that they had specific material that they were trying to get across to him, rather than simply time to fill and no other means to fill it than to talk to him.
The following morning, Harry edged his way cautiously into the potions classroom, trying not to meet the eyes of the curious students who moved in around him. He settled himself into a desk in the back corner, reluctantly setting down the parchment and quill that he'd been given to take notes with. The quill seemed large and awkward to his hands, the writing it made scratchy and thin. And without lines, it was hard to write regularly on the parchment. He'd far rather use his notebook paper and pens, but had been told that it wasn't appropriate here.
Keeping his eyes down, he waited in silence. The other students, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first years, chose their seats and began settling down. There was still a good deal of chatter and movement when the door slammed open again and Professor Snape swept into the room, silencing all the whispers with a single furious glare. Harry locked his attention on the professor, but didn't let his eyes drift up above the top button on the man's black robe.
He began with roll call, going through the full list of students before finally turning to Harry and saying softly, "And, of course, we have you. I shall remind you only once: If you touch a single potions ingredient without my express instruction, you might live to regret it. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Professor Snape," he said, face forward, eyes down, waiting. He could feel the other students' eyes on him and heard at least one muffled snicker, but when he didn't have anything he was supposed to do, remaining still and silent was always the best course of action.
"We shall see," the Potions Master finally stated. "As for the rest of you," he stated, returning his focus to the real students. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potions making." He spoke far more quietly than Professor Mungrove had, and everyone fell still and silent, trying to catch every word. "You will find few opportunities for foolish wand-waving here, so many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect any of you to actually 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 bungling blockheads as I usually have to teach."
The man glared around for a moment, making eye-contact with each of the real students, and finally nodded sharply and began lecturing on the properties of common potions ingredients, with special attention paid to ways in which brewing them could be dangerous. Harry took careful notes, not looking at his fellow-students or the professor, except when the man was demonstrating something visual. It seemed as though the students frequently upset the professor. Instead of being properly apologetic and trying to atone for their mistakes, though, many of them appeared to grow angry and caused still more problems. He tried not to watch them, focusing his attention firmly on the professor and the notes he was taking.
At long last, Professor Snape looked angrily around one last time, and then snapped, "Dismissed."
The children bolted for the door, several of them with their faces red or crumbling as though they were fighting back tears. Harry let them go first, and then followed them silently, slipping out of the room and then turning away from them to go the opposite way down the hall.
"Hey! Where're you going?" Leah, the girl he'd taken to the infirmary the previous day, demanded, turning suddenly towards him.
"The Great Hall," he said softly, wondering what he'd done wrong. "Professor Dumbledore said I should eat lunch there now."
She stared at him a long moment. "I thought the Great Hall was back this way?" she asked, pointing in the direction the other students were going.
"There are several ways to get there," he said.
She looked ready to say something else, but another girl, this one with long, straight, black hair and slightly-angled eyes, grabbed her hand and tugged. "Come on, Leah, we're gonna be late, and I really don't wanna miss lunch!"
Leah gave him one last measuring look and then turned and followed her friend at a half-jog through the hallways towards the great moving stairs that Harry tried to avoid.
Harry moved quietly down the passageway towards the tapestry of the night sky that hid a small staircase going up to the third floor. Just before he reached it, Mrs. Norris slipped out of the shadows and leapt up into his arms. He held her obediently, scratching her lightly behind the ears as he slipped in behind the tapestry and hurried up the steps of the narrow staircase. Her rumbling purr soothed some of the tension from his shoulders, where it had built up over the course of Professor Snape's class. Every time the man had shot a look his way, Harry had suppressed the instinct to tense up, at least enough that it only slowly coiled in his shoulders and didn't show in posture or carriage. Each time, he waited for an order or reprimand or punishment of some sort, but nothing further had ever come of it; Professor Snape had simply glared at him, expression unreadable beyond the all-too-obvious irritation, and moved on, quickly enough that the pauses on him were hardly noticeable.
None of the questions Professor Snape had snapped out during the class had been aimed at him, and the professor seemed content to have Harry simply remain silently in his corner, not making any sound or motion beyond scratching his notes out on parchment.
Keeping Remus's words in mind, Harry looked cautiously out through a peekhole in the wall before slipping out into the hallway on the third floor. He wasn't as out of breath as the climb would have made him even a couple of weeks ago. Instead, he felt only a slight burn in his calves and quickening of his breath. Mrs. Norris squirmed out of his arms as he made his way into the public hall, and he waited patiently a she looked at him for a long moment before turning and sauntering away. Once she was gone, he walked quietly through the hallways, occasionally seeing children, alone or in clusters that seemed to be larger for the younger ones. A lot of them seemed to be staring at him, and he carefully kept his gaze down, not meeting anyone's eyes.
He couldn't see it, but knew by now that if he stayed still, it would show itself again. He remained perfectly motionless, eyes lightly closed, patiently waiting as he listened for the soft whir that revealed its presence. At the sound, he opened his eyes and spun on his heel, and a flash of gold had him racing down the corridor again. It didn’t vanish this time, when it turned the corner, and he hurried after. Several minutes later, it paused, hovering at just a foot or two over his head, in the next intersection of corridors. Eyes narrowed with concentration, he leapt for it, hand closing on it just as a much larger hand closed around his.
He stared at it in horrified fascination, a large, muscular hand covered in freckles. Terrified, he turned his gaze up to find the older boy who the twins had called Charlie grinning down at him.
"Nice catch!" he exclaimed, releasing Harry's hand.
"Thank you," Harry whispered uncertainly, readying himself for a blow. "I-- I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" the older boy asked, brows raised. "Whatever for?" Before Harry continued, he added, "Wanna release it and try again? See who can grab it first? I've got the advantage, of course, on the ground-- longer legs and all. But let's see what you can do for yourself."
Obedient to the implicit order, Harry opened his hand. The Snitch flitted its wings a few times, hovering, then whizzed away, fast enough that they weren't even sure what direction it lay in. Harry fell perfectly still, waiting for it to reveal itself, and saw Charlie take a similar listening stance, eyes sweeping about, searching the corners and hallways. After a moment, Harry closed his eyes and listened.
He was moving the instant he heard the soft whir of wings, eyes opening only after he'd taken the first couple steps. Now that he was moving, he couldn't hear it, so he searched the area he'd heard it from, in front of him and low. A quickly-moving glint suddenly made him spin in place, leaping up, and his hand again closed around the feathery wings of the ball. The move threw him off balance, and he twisted, but knew it wouldn't be enough. Instants before he hit the hard floor, a pair of arms wrapped around him. He was pulled back into a hard, broad chest, and then set back on his feet by a grinning Charlie. Harry held himself perfectly still, eyes down, waiting for the reprimand or blow to follow.
"Very good! You must have ears like a bat!" His grin faded slightly as he added, "That jump was dangerous though-- if I hadn't caught you in time, you could have really hurt yourself, landing from that."
Harry kept his gaze fixed down, not answering since no question had been asked.
"You okay?"
"Yes, sir," he said softy, automatically.
A choked laugh answered him. "Charlie. Please. I'm definitely not a sir. Where'd you learn to hear the Snitch like that?"
Harry dared a glance up, trying to understand the question. "Here," he finally offered.
"How long have you been doing it?"
"Five weeks."
Charlie's eyes widened with something Harry didn't recognize. "Five weeks, huh. Any reason?" His voice sounded casual, but under that there was something else, something as unfamiliar with the look in his eyes.
"Yes, Charlie. Madam Pomfrey says it's for…" He hesitated a second, arranging the phrase in his head so he wouldn't stumble over it, "Cardiovascular fitness."
"So this is just exercise?"
"Yes, Charlie."
"Huh. How much do you do it?"
"An hour every weekday," he said, not allowing himself to wonder why he was being asked.
"Usually at about this time?"
"Yes, Charlie."
The redhead grinned at him. "How would you like a bit of competition?"
Harry paused, trying to understand the question. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. I don't understand."
"I've been feeling in need of a bit of cardiovascular fitness, myself," he explained. "Think I might join you, if you don't object. Do you?"
"No," he said quickly. "Of course not."
"Good," the older boy said with another of his broad grins. "Then how about you release the Snitch?"
"Of course," he murmured. "Sorry." And then it was in the air again, and, moments later, the two boys were racing through the hallways after it. Charlie was faster, but Harry usually noticed it first, and they traded off catches fairly evenly. They took a brief break between Harry's half-hour sessions, Charlie breathing easily and lounging back against the wall, eyes remaining steadily on the younger boy. Harry stayed still under the gaze, trying to recover his breath. Once it was coming a little more smoothly, Charlie began talking cheerfully and asking Harry questions, mostly about things like which house he expected to be in. He answered as best he could, mostly offering his uncertainty and Professor Dumbledore's statement that they wouldn't find out until next year. When Charlie pushed off from the wall after a few minutes, Harry rose. It hadn't been quite as long a break as he would have taken if left to himself, but it was no longer his decision to make. When Harry finally got to bed that night, he was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.