You can now access up to chapter 108 on p@treon: [email protected]/palevolt100
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Henry listened with genuine interest, chuckling at the right moments when Ron described the twins and leaning forward slightly when the enchanted Ford Anglia came up, which was all the encouragement Ron needed to keep going.
"Your house, with that many people all at once, it must be extraordinarily lively," Henry said, his tone simply curious about a way of life that was different from his own, without a trace of condescension in it.
"Too lively," Ron said, though he was grinning as he said it. "There's never a quiet moment. Mum's always calling out to someone, Fred and George are always in the middle of something they shouldn't be, and the old family owl practically falls face-first into whatever's on the table when he lands. But—" he paused, and something warmer moved into his voice "—well. It's not bad."
The longing in those last three words was unmistakable.
Henry nodded, his expression unhurried and genuine. "That sounds like a very warm place to grow up. Liveliness like that, a home that's always full of people and noise and affection is one of the rarer and more genuinely precious things there is."
Ron blinked, slightly caught off guard. This particular Slytherin appeared to actually understand what he was describing.
Henry let a small pause settle, then said, almost as an afterthought, "So at Hogwarts, where do you feel most at home?"
The question was simple and conversational, but it drew the focus gently from the distant Burrow back to the castle around them.
Harry answered before he had entirely finished thinking about it. "Hagrid's hut."
His face brightened immediately at the mention of it. "Hagrid is the gamekeeper, it's always warm there, with tea and these rock cakes he makes that are very—" he searched for the right word "—earnest. And he keeps animals. All sorts of them."
He was thinking of Fang, the enormous boarhound who was entirely convinced he was a lap dog.
"Hagrid," Henry said. "I remember him. He was the one who led the first-years across the lake on our first night."
Hermione supplied additional detail as a matter of instinct. "He oversees the grounds and the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he assists with Care of Magical Creatures. He's a very kind person, genuinely enthusiastic about everything he cares about."
"He's always been especially good to Harry," Ron added. "Like he's known him for years. We go to his hut fairly often. There are occasional complications, but it's always worth it."
"The edge of the Forbidden Forest," Henry said, with something that was clearly not performed curiosity. "You must encounter magical creatures there that you'd never see anywhere else. I've read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the subject genuinely interests me."
He said it lightly, almost in passing. The interest was entirely real, but mentioning it now was also laying groundwork.
"Hagrid loves animals," Harry said, warming further to the topic. "He knows the Forest better than almost anyone, centaurs, unicorns, all sorts of things that don't come near the castle. He's one of those people who can make the most extraordinary creatures seem like old friends."
Henry smiled quietly. "That sounds like a genuinely remarkable person. It's no small thing to have someone like that at Hogwarts with you, Harry."
The words found their mark. Hagrid had been one of the first people in the wizarding world to treat Harry as simply Harry, and hearing that acknowledged by someone who had no particular reason to say it made Harry feel, unexpectedly, as though he had known Henry Wales considerably longer than a few weeks.
Perhaps because of how easy the atmosphere had become, Harry extended the invitation almost before he had decided to.
"If you're ever interested, we could take you to Hagrid's hut sometime? He loves meeting new people, and anyone who's interested in the animals would make him very happy."
He had said it. He looked sideways at Hermione and Ron with an expression that was simultaneously hopeful and slightly uncertain.
Hermione considered it quickly. Henry had been unfailingly courteous, he had been the indirect cause of her being found in time the previous night, and his interest in Hagrid seemed straightforward rather than strategic.
Beyond that, she found herself thinking that introducing Hagrid to a Slytherin who was nothing like the template might not be an unwelcome thing.
She gave a small nod.
Ron's response was more physical than verbal: a frown, a jaw that moved slightly as if beginning a sentence and then reconsidering, and a brief internal struggle that was entirely visible on his face.
Bringing someone connected to Malfoy's circle to Hagrid's hut, one of their few places that felt entirely their own, was not a comfortable thought.
But he recalled the way Henry had listened to the Burrow story without a flicker of condescension, recalled Harry's expression, caught Hermione's quiet nod.
He produced an awkward sound that was technically neither agreement nor refusal, then added, with some firmness, "You'd have to not say anything unkind about Hagrid. Or his things."
Henry took in all three reactions before he replied.
"That's very kind of you, Harry. Though please don't make any special arrangements on my account, and certainly don't disrupt Hagrid's day. If an opportunity arises naturally, when it suits everyone and Hagrid himself is happy to have a visitor, I'd genuinely love to hear about the Forest and the creatures directly from someone who knows them. It would be considerably more vivid than anything written in a book."
He named no date, showed no urgency, and returned the entire decision to them, including, specifically, to Hagrid.
The last trace of Hermione's hesitation dissolved quietly. Ron's shoulders dropped about half an inch.
The conversation found its way back to Hogwarts life and stayed there, pleasantly, for the remainder of the tea.
Hermione and Henry discussed a detail from the history of magic that led to Henry quoting a passage from Hogwarts: A History from memory, which produced on Hermione's face the involuntary expression of someone who has just discovered a kindred spirit and is not entirely sure what to do about it.
At the other end of the table, Harry and Ron had fallen into a spirited disagreement about broomstick models, with Ron making a case for the Seven-Star Sweep's value-to-performance ratio that Harry was not prepared to concede.
In the pauses between his arguments, Ron watched Henry.
He watched him listen to Hermione with focused, unhurried attention. He watched the genuine enthusiasm that came into his face when the Quidditch discussion came back around.
He watched him receive the story of the chaotic, cramped, financially stretched Burrow with the same quiet interest he had brought to everything else, no polite tolerance, no concealed amusement, no trace of the sort of expression Malfoy would have worn in the same chair.
This Slytherin was different. That much was unavoidable.
Ron would never, not under any circumstances, not even under the influence of one of Fred and George's experimental sweets, admit out loud that Slytherin House had anything good to say for it.
Malfoy's face alone was sufficient evidence against the proposition.
But this particular Slytherin, sitting across from him with a pot of genuinely decent tea and an apparently sincere interest in hearing about a magically modified Ford Anglia, this one seemed to be something else.
He had saved Hermione, even if indirectly. He spoke as though he meant what he said.
He was not arrogant. The tea was good. The frosted cake had been excellent.
Ron was willing to concede, privately and entirely to himself, that the cake alone counted for a great deal.
Perhaps Slytherin was everything he had always thought it was, but Henry Wales was the exception.
NOTE: I will start using his real surname, Wales instead of Welsh from now on.