Chapter 33 - First meeting
His food was extremely tasty, and while he was not used to eating this much, he supposed he could cut himself some slack for this one day.
And Sirius would like it that he was eating twice his usual appetite too.
One meal won't make me fat or sluggish.
He helped himself to another portion as his ears picked up more conversations from the Hufflepuff table nearby.
—don't think it's normal, do you?
His parents were both Gryffindors, I don't know he was sorted into—
—Hat might have seen something dark in him, maybe he's—
A myriad of curious, apprehensive, and pompous voices that all seemed fixated on dissecting him the moment he'd reached Hogwarts.
He resisted the urge to sigh.
Slytherins were a little more discreet with their whispers, but he still saw their glares and glances. They were certainly not subtle.
He was already getting tired of the gossip around him. So far, not a single person had tried to talk to him except Nott, and they were already judging him from afar.
He idly wondered how bad it would've been for him had he not had Sirius and Remus.
He imagined himself being absolutely lost and confused by everything and shuddered involuntarily. He hoped there were no versions of himself in alternate universes that were just suffering alone.
On to better topics! I can't dwell on those darker thoughts.
I shouldn't.
The feast was nothing like he'd ever experienced, that was for sure. After what Moony had described to him, he'd figured he'll at least find it all interesting, but it had so far surpassed all his expectations.
He sat back as he finished his plate, and decided not to eat anymore. He wanted to save some space for dessert too.
Looking around, he observed his housemates, none of whom had spoken a word to him yet. Gradually, his eyes came to rest on the pretty girl who was eating with an unusual amount of restraint.
He felt himself grow extremely curious.
Harry leaned slightly towards Nott, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial murmur that barely carried over the clinking of silver against china.
"Nott," he said, tilting his head almost imperceptibly toward the girl. "Is there a particular reason Greengrass has been attempting to dissect my soul with her eyes for the last ten minutes? Or is a 'menacing stare' simply her standard?"
Nott didn't look up from his plate, but a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face. He took a deliberate sip of his pumpkin juice before answering.
"Caught your eye, has she, Potter?" he teased, his tone dry enough to sound parched.
Harry felt a brief heat in his cheeks but suppressed it instantly with a mental flick. "She's glaring at me more than Malfoy."
"I suppose she is." Nott shrugged. "She's like that."
"You've met her before?"
Why am I jealous? I didn't sound jealous, did I?
"I have, twice. Greengrass is different," Nott chuckled, finally looking over at the girl who was eating and then back to Harry. "She doesn't do 'social.' My father has some business dealings with her father. He says they're all the aloof sort."
Harry said nothing, choosing just to observe the girl eat.
"Don't stare," Nott whispered.
"Why not?" Harry didn't want to take his eyes off her. "She can glare at me and I can't even stare?"
"If you don't want to get hexed," Nott shrugged.
Harry looked at him. "She's quick with a wand, is she?"
Nott shrugged, though his smirk didn't lessen.
I suppose I'll find out, eh.
~~ .
The stone wall slid shut behind him, sealing away the damp chill of the dungeons and replacing it with a different kind of cold.
The Prefects had found them immediately after Dumbledore's weird announcement about the Third Floor corridor.
To Harry, it had felt more like an invitation disguised as a challenge, than a warning. But then he remembered Sirius telling him how children his age are too easily scared.
He wondered if the old man really wanted no student to ever venture there or if it was a dare for a chosen few.
But then the winding corridors of the castle had begun to take its toll on his mind, and he'd begun to focus all of his attention on making sure he could learn the way. Which wasn't that hard, now that he looked at it in hindsight, as he'd been subjected to much more daunting tasks in his little life than remembering the way through a moody castle.
But mind paused at its conclusions the moment he was introduced to the Slytherin common room.
It was a study in subterranean grandeur, which did not have the warmth of the Great Hall, instead, it felt like cold and just a little more enduring to him.
Rough-hewn stone walls and ceiling were illuminated by round, greenish lamps hanging on long chains. A fire crackled under an elaborately carved mantelpiece, but its light was battling against the spectral, green glow filtering in through the tall windows that looked directly out into the belly of the Black Lake.
Most of classmates were silent, walking into the open space and looking around as the Prefects came around to speak to them about their dorms and what was the 'acceptable' behaviour of a Slytherin.
One thing that did make him grin was that they were supposed to resolve all arguments within the House itself, in order to present a united front to the rest of the school.
Which was perfect.
This was the thing that would enable him to assert his domination over his own House first, and do it without being seen by any others.
He could've planned and admired the common room a bit more if a dozen faces ranging from all ages had not turned towards him, whispering, analyzing, and judging him.
Some older years were already sprawled on the black leather button-backed sofas while others were huddled around the low, dark wood tables. The laughter and low murmurs had begun to fill the room, as if a ritual that most older years performed out of habit.
Harry let the warmth of the laughter around him seep into his skin, making him feel better at ignoring the whispers.
He offered them nothing. No smile, no glare, no acknowledgment of the celebrity status or even the unworthiness that they projected onto him.
"Potter," a voice sneered from the shadows, a fifth-year prefect by the look of him.
Harry paid him no mind. He wasn't worth it.
And in only a moment, his lips struggled to contain a smirk as he realized that the dismissal had been more insulting than any clever retort or curse he could have thrown.
Their group of first years had been standing there for a few minutes when the common room door opened with a bang and a tall man with a sallow face and dark hair that fell to the sides of his face as a curtain entered.
Harry immediately paid attention because he had an idea as to who this was.
"Welcome to Slytherin."
His low, unenthusiastic tone didn't feel like a welcome but Harry endured.
"My name is Professor Snape. I am your Head of House and the Master Potioneer of Hogwarts—"
Ten minutes later, his belly was full, his mind full of knowledge he wanted to process as he found the door—it was a plaque read First Years—and pushed it open.
The room was circular, furnished with four four-poster beds hung with green velvet curtains with silver tassels. His trunk was already at the foot of the bed nearest the window, which offered a murky view of the lake's depths. A giant squid drifted lazily past, a dark shadow against the gloom.
Zabini was already claiming a bed on the far side, while Malfoy took the one closest to the door. Nott had taken the one closest to him.
From whatever glares he'd been receiving from the blond boy, he knew he'd already made up his mind to not like Harry.
But that was a problem for another day.
As he moved to his space, unpacking his nightclothes with efficient, practiced movements, he placed his wand under his pillow, and closed the curtains around his bed.
He lay in the darkness, listening to the shifting and whispering of the other boys and the distant, muffled sound of the water pressing against the glass.
He was in the snake's pit now.
He felt himself drift into a peaceful slumber.
~~ .
His internal clock woke him at five o'clock sharp.
He had made a habit of rising early to get more practise done before breakfast, play with Zerina, and even get some sunlight in the process.
There was no way he was gonna break his habit in Hogwarts.
So in the next few minutes, his feet touched the cool rug and he began to stretch out of the kinks he'd attained in his restful sleep.
The dorm was silent, save for the soft snoring of Nott from the nearby bed.
Harry moved silently, quickly dressing in a lightweight tracksuit he'd brought from home, black, unmarked, and practical. He grabbed his wand, strapping the holster to his forearm, and slipped out of the room before the sun had even thought about rising.
The castle felt like a different beast in the morning.
The stone corridors were empty, the portraits snoozing in their frames.
Harry took to a staircase to find them quite sluggish, grinding slowly into place as if resenting the early hour.
He navigated them with ease though, his memory quite efficient at making sure he remembered the important corridors without fail.
He found the Great Hall's massive oak doors and slipped out onto the grounds.
The air was crisp, biting at his arms and he inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze filling his lungs immensely.
A thick mist clung to the grass, swirling around his ankles as he began to run.
It was both fun and a disciplined habit, and as he set a punishing pace, his breath puffing out in white clouds, his mind began to wander into speculating what awaited him for his first day at this majestic school.
He ran the perimeter of the Black Lake, the water like a sheet of dark glass. He ran past the greenhouses, their windows foggy with magical humidity. As he crested a small hill near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a massive shape loomed out of the mist.
Harry slowed, his hand twitching towards his wand, but before he recognized the figure, a booming voice startled him.
"Harry?" it cracked in the morning silence.
It was Hagrid.
The half-giant was carrying a massive crossbow over one shoulder and a dead ferret in the other hand. He looked comically large against the backdrop of the rising sun.
"Good morning, Mr. Hagrid," Harry said, coming to a halt, his breathing controlled.
"Blimey, Harry! It's you—call me Hagrid! Everyone does," the gamekeeper beamed, his beetle-black eyes crinkling. "Yer up early. First day an' all."
"I like to keep fit," Harry said neutrally.
"Good lad. Just like yer dad. James was always runnin' about, chasin' the Snitch or just causin' mischief." Hagrid's face softened, a genuine, uncomplicated warmth radiating from him. "Here, I was jus' makin' a pot o' tea. Strong stuff. Care for a cup? Rock cakes are gonn' be fresh out the oven too."
Harry hesitated. He looked at his watch once, and then accepted the invitation. "Thank you, Hagrid. I'd love to."
Hagrid's hut was a chaotic mess of hams, pheasants, and oversized furniture. Harry sat on the edge of a massive chair, sipping a bowl of tea and declining a rock cake just in time because it really looked lethal for his mouth.
"Last time I saw yeh," Hagrid continued, his voice growing thick as he poured more boiling water into the massive teapot, "yeh fit right in the palm o' me hand. Just a little bundle of blankets. Tryin' to grab me beard, yeh were."
He sat back, the timber chair groaning under his weight, and looked at Harry with a misty, unfocused gaze that seemed to see ghosts in the air between them.
He's emotional.
"Dumbledore gave the order. 'Get him out, Hagrid,' he said. 'Take him to his aunt and uncle.' Hardest thing I ever did." Hagrid sniffed loudly. "Flyin' on young Sirius's motorbike, and yeh fell asleep right in me arms. Didn't know... didn't know I wouldn't see yeh again for ten years."
Harry watched him over the rim of his bowl. He was accustomed to hearing about that night from Sirius, who recounted it with the sharp edges of trauma and rage, the betrayal, the chase, and the near false imprisonment.
But to hear it from Hagrid was to hear it stripped of politics. There was no agenda here, only sorrow.
Harry felt his throat grow hoarse.
And he didn't know what to say.
"Yeh are," Hagrid continued, a tear the size of a large beetle leaking from the corner of his eye. It tracked through his beard. "And lookin' just like James. Except the eyes. Yeh have Lily's eyes."
The half-giant let out a shuddering sigh, his massive shoulders slumping. "She was... she was the kindest soul I ever knew, Harry. People like me... well, people don't always look kindly on half-giants. But yer mum? She'd invite me in for tea. She'd ask 'bout me day. And James... brilliant wizard. A bit mad, yeah, but brave as a lion."
Hagrid pulled a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth from his moleskin coat pocket and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.
The hut seemed to vibrate as he did that, but Harry was lost in his words. "It jus' ain't fair. The best of us, gone. And leavin' yeh all alone."
He set his tea down on the rough wooden table and reached out. His hand, pale and thin, looked absurdly small as he patted Hagrid's forearm, which was as thick as a tree trunk.
"They are not gone, Hagrid," Harry said, his tone shifting from polite detachment to something softer, more deliberate. "They live on in my blood. And they would not want you to weep for them. They would want you to know that their sacrifice purchased my life. And I intend to make it worth the price."
Hagrid looked up, blinking through his tears. He stared at Harry, seeing the steel behind his glasses, the posture, the confidence, the lack of fear.
"Yeh speak older than yer years, Harry," Hagrid murmured, wiping his eyes. "Much older."
"I had to grow up quickly," Harry replied, standing up and brushing a crumb of rock cake from his tracksuit. "But it is good to know they had friends who remember them with such warmth. Thank you for the tea, Hagrid."
"Anytime, Harry. Anytime."
Harry left the hut, running back up the slope toward the castle.
Sirius was right, as usual. Hagrid is a good man, even if he wears his heart on his sleeve.
And Harry understood at all too well.
When children his age wanted to simply hide from the world and cry about the injustices done to them, he simply raged against them. He was too unlike his peers, and whenever he met someone like Hagrid, who openly displayed emotions to everyone, he felt a little uncomfortable.
Emotions were far too easy to manipulate. Manipulation for reserved for the weak.
And he was never gonna be weak.
~~ .
Even after returning from his latest excursion, the dorm was silent and no one had woken up. He smiled in satisfaction as he left for the bathroom to get ready for the day.
The common room was still largely empty. The green lamps still cast an eerie glow on the stone floor, and he realized just now that it was quite hard to know whether it was night or day from the dungeons.
He settled into a high-backed armchair near the fire, opening his book on Scale Transfigurations. He didn't read to learn the spells right now, although his mind did catalogue them, he just wanted to understand the depth of the information.
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps on stone announced another arrival.
Nott emerged from the dormitory hallway, stopping when he saw Harry. He didn't startle, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He was holding a heavy, leather-bound book: 'Moste Potente Potions'. It didn't look like first-year reading by any means.
Harry turned a page, looking up. "Morning, Nott."
"Potter," Nott replied, his voice cool and quiet. He walked to the chair opposite Harry and sat down, opening his own book.
For ten minutes, the only sound was the turning of parchment pages and the crackle of the fire. It was a comfortable silence, although, Harry did take some time to observe the boy beside him.
Finally, Nott snapped his book shut. He checked a silver pocket watch. "Shall we leave for breakfast?"
Harry closed his own book but didn't stand. "Should we not wait for the others?"
Nott formed a smirk. "Can't wait to see her first thing in the morning, eh Potter?"
Harry frowned, confused. "See who?"
Nott sat back down and crossed his legs. "As if you don't know."
"Oh," Harry said, his mind automatically forming a picture of a blonde-haired pretty face from yesterday. He barely kept a flush from giving him away.
He also couldn't fault his new friend for reminding him. "Is she a late riser?"
Nott shrugged. "How would I know?"
Harry sat back, opening his book back up. "Then we wait."
They didn't have to wait long.
Perhaps five minutes later, the click of a heel against stone echoed from the girls' staircase.
Harry looked up from his book. He didn't mean to stare, Sirius had taught him that staring was a sign of poor breeding and even vulnerability, but his eyes betrayed his training.
Daphne Greengrass descended the final steps with the poise of a queen entering her court, despite the fact that her court currently consisted of an almost empty common room.
But he did stare anyway.
Because she was immaculate.
Her robes were pressed to a razor's edge, her blonde hair was a cascade of silk that seemed to catch the dungeon's dim light and amplify it, and her expression was a mask of cool, detached boredom.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting the strap of her satchel. As she did, she felt the weight of the gaze upon her. Her eyes, the colour of blue ice, snapped towards the fireplace.
She locked eyes with him.
And Harry didn't look away.
He didn't blush, despite the heat rising in his neck. He simply let the book rest on his knee, his finger marking the page, and appreciated the view.
She was, objectively, the most perfect thing he had ever seen. It was kinda both marvellous and annoying.
Daphne's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She took two steps toward him, her chin tilting up.
"Is there something on my face, Potter?" she asked, her voice cool and crisp, like biting into a winter apple. "Or have you simply forgotten how to blink?"
Nott coughed into his hand, a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh.
Harry closed his book with a soft thud and stood up, offering her a lopsided grin that felt entirely too natural on his face.
It was a grin he'd seen in old photographs of his father, charming, arrogant, and asking for trouble.
"I was just admiring the view," Harry said smoothly.
Daphne blinked, stupefied.
Harry waited, because she clearly had been expecting an apology or a stutter. "Excuse me?"
"You, Princess," Harry said, his tone bordering on reverent insolence. "You look like you own the place. It's impressive for seven in the morning."
Daphne's porcelain skin flushed a faint pink. Her composure cracked, just a hairline fracture, before she sealed it back up with a glare that could have frozen the entire Black Lake solid.
"My name," she hissed, stepping closer so only he could hear, "is Greengrass. Or Heiress Greengrass. If you call me 'Princess' again, I will hex you into a toad, school rules be damned."
"Noted," Harry said, his grin not faltering. "Shall we walk to breakfast? Nott and I were just leaving."
"I would rather walk alone," she growled.
She spun on her heel, her exquisite blonde hair whipping through the air, and stormed towards the common room exit.
Harry watched her go, the grin widening.
"She likes me," Harry stated confidently.
Nott stood up, tucking his book under his arm.
He looked at the retreating girl, then at Harry, his expression dry. "She threatened you."
"Details, Nott. Details."
Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and set off after her, Nott trailing a few paces behind him.
They exited the common room, the stone wall grinding shut behind them. Daphne was already twenty paces ahead, walking with a brisk, angry speed that made her robes billow behind her.
Harry lengthened his stride. He didn't run, he didn't need to, as he could walk faster than her, despite them being the same height.
So he easily caught up to her just as they reached the first landing.
"Lovely morning for a walk, isn't it?" Harry chirped, falling into step beside her.
Daphne didn't look at him. She stared straight ahead, her jaw set. "Go away, Potter."
"It's Harry. Since we're housemates and all. And I can't really go away, we're going to the same place. Unless you plan on skipping breakfast? Unwise. The brain needs fuel for classes."
"I am not skipping breakfast," Daphne snapped, clutching her bag tighter. "I am simply trying to get there without a headache. You are the headache."
"I've been told I'm an acquired taste," Harry admitted cheerfully. "Like dark chocolate. Or firewhiskey."
"Or poison," Daphne muttered.
"Sirius says I take after my father," Harry continued, ignoring the insult. "Apparently, he had a similar effect on my mother for the first few years. She couldn't stand him. Called him an arrogant toe-rag."
Daphne stopped walking for a split second, turning to look at him with genuine incredulity. "Are you... are you actually comparing your harassment of me to your parents' tragic romance?"
"I'm just pointing out the historical precedent," Harry said innocently. "Hatred is often just passion mismanagement."
"You are delusional," Daphne said, shaking her head. She sped up, practically marching now.
Nott, walking five paces behind them, let out a soft snort. Daphne shot a glare over her shoulder that promised pain, but Nott merely looked at the ceiling, feigning innocence.
They reached the junction where the dungeon corridor met the main substructure of the castle.
Daphne, fuelled by irritation and a desire to put distance between herself and Harry, took the turn to the right with supreme confidence.
He saw her as she walked with purpose, her head high, clearly believing this was the route to the Great Hall.
And he stopped at the junction to watch her go for three steps. Four. Ten.
He glanced at Nott. Nott raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Greengrass," Harry called out.
She didn't stop.
"Daphne," Harry tried again, his voice echoing off the damp stones.
She marched on, her footsteps angry staccatos on the floor.
Harry sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "You're going the wrong way."
That stopped her.
Daphne froze mid-step. Her shoulders went rigid. For a long, agonizing moment, she didn't move.
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant drip of water.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she turned around. Her face was a mask of controlled fury, but her eyes darted to the left, then the right, searching for a landmark she might have missed.
"Excuse me?" she said, her voice dangerously quiet.
"The Great Hall," Harry said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards the left-hand staircase. "It's that way. Up the spiral stairs. Unless you really are planning on skipping breakfast?"
Daphne stared at the dark corridor behind her, then at the staircase Harry was indicating. She looked at Nott.
Nott didn't say a word. He simply nodded towards the stairs, his eyes dancing with mirth.
The flush on Daphne's cheeks deepened to a vivid crimson. She looked from the corridor to Harry, who was waiting with an expression of helpful patience that probably looked infinitely more annoying than if he had mocked her.
She took a deep breath, composed her features, and walked back toward them. She moved with as much dignity as someone could muster after marching confidently into a dead end.
As she passed Harry, she refused to make eye contact. "I was merely... exploring the corridor."
"Of course," Harry said solemnly. "The castle is beautiful."
"Shut up, Potter."
"After you, Heiress Greengrass." Harry swept his arm towards the stairs in a mocking bow.
She stormed past him, her nose in the air, stamping up the stairs.
Harry fell in behind her, and Nott brought up the rear. As they ascended the spiral steps, the sound of a suppressed giggle escaped Nott.
Daphne whipped her head around, glaring down at Nott.
"I didn't say anything," Nott said, his voice trembling with suppressed laughter. "Just clearing my throat."
"I hate you both," Daphne announced to the stairwell.
"See?" Harry whispered loudly to Nott. "She's already using emotional language. We're making progress."
Daphne's groan echoed all the way up to the Entrance Hall.
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