Chapter Text
“There were two sisters, side by side…”
Harry rocked side to side, in time with his hurdy-gurdy. After speaking with his dad, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Instead, he unearthed his instrument, tuned and rosined it, and spent the late hours teaching himself how to read sheet music. The low droning as he turned the wheel helped calm him down.
“I’ll be true unto my love, if he’ll be true to me…”
He didn’t know what time it was, only that it was early. The quality of the light had shifted, even in the heart of the dungeons. Harry knew he would have to get out of bed, eventually, and face the day. His fellow Slytherins supported him, but he knew which way the way blew.
“He never bought the eldest a single thing…”
Harry’s bed shook, and the notes faded away. It wasn’t a happy song, anyway.
Carefully setting his hurdy-gurdy aside, he opened his curtains to see Jasmine and Phoebe struggling under the shrieking, spitting swooping evil.
“Sister, I’ll not give you my hand,” Harry said, tugging his shirt down. “What are you two doing in here?”
“Help,” Phoebe squeaked, letting her head fall back and her tongue loll out.
“Should’ve listened to Astrid,” Jasmine wheezed.
“Lucky for you she’s marched everyone else to quidditch practice,” Harry said, releasing them from the clutches of the plush toy. “I need to automatize resetting this trap. Maybe stick him in the ceiling.”
Jasmine pushed herself up, patting her hair. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Not specifically you,” Harry said. “So, what’s going on?”
“We have to get you ready for your debut!” Phoebe said, getting to her feet with an alacrity inappropriate for such an early hour.
Jasmine seized his hand. “Chipped varnish! Unacceptable!”
Harry winced. It wasn't that bad.
“And must it be black?” Phoebe asked. “It does go with your whole…” she waved her hands around. “Thing.”
“Thanks.”
“What about mauve?” she suggested.
“No, he’s too pale for that,” Jasmine said, frowning at Harry’s paleness. “Same with orange.”
Harry blinked. “Orange. I recognize that word. It is a color I know.”
“He has that lovely cloak,” Phoebe said. “Forest green.”
“Green, yes, I recall seeing that color once before.”
“Just the once?” Jasmine asked, looking around at the extremely green furnishings of his dormitory.
Phoebe reached for his hair. Harry froze as she tugged on it, cooing over him. He shuddered at her expression.
“Okay, no, that’s enough,” Harry said, batting them away. “I’m not a doll you can dress up.”
Jasmine pouted at him. “Astrid won’t let us.”
“She bit me,” Phoebe boasted.
“That tracks,” Harry said. “Are you two staying in here, or am I allowed to get dressed on my own?”
“What are you wearing?” Jasmine demanded.
“Robes,” Harry said. “The same thing we all wear every day.”
“You should wear muggle clothes,” Phoebe said.
Harry closed his eyes, trying to work out what the two girls were thinking. He was the Hogwarts champion, he was a muggleborn. They knew what the opinions about Slytherin, and him in particular, were. There were going to be a lot of bruised feelings for the next few weeks, if not months. Until he killed a dragon, or whatever the first task was.
“You want me to lean into it,” Harry said. “The muggleborn champion.”
“Shove it in their stupid faces!” Phoebe declared, raising her fist. Poor Felipe, who she had been holding, made an unhappy, and very loud, sound that was startlingly similar to a yowling cat. “Sorry!”
Harry rubbed his face. “Fine. Since it’s the weekend, I will wear muggle clothes. I’m not going to be like Professor Burbage, though. I’d get points taken off if I went around looking like a muggle all the time.”
“Fair enough,” Jasmine said, taking out her wand. She tapped his hand, and the black varnish restored itself.
“I feel like Cinderella,” Harry said, watching her do the other hand.
“Who?” Phoebe asked.
“How long have you had that on?” Jasmine asked.
Harry scratched his head. “A year?”
Jasmine and Phoebe both gave him dumbfounded looks.
“Boys,” Phoebe said, shaking her head mournfully.
“Absolutely hopeless,” Jasmine agreed.
“Cheers,” Harry said insincerely. “Now clear off so I can get my muggle kit on.”
Harry stuck his hands in his pockets and strode into the Great Hall. It was early, and a Sunday morning, yet most of the castle was already up. They couldn’t miss the champions walking in.
The response from the Slytherin table was immediate. People were standing up, cheering, shouting his name. Harry smiled insouciantly and made his way to his people.
“Captain, Captain!” Tracey cried out. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Are those muggle clothes,” Jason Mulciber asked. The kid probably had never seen a muggle, unless it was one his family was torturing.
“Make way for the king!” Adrian shouted, still in his quidditch robes. Astrid had apparently ended practice early. “Our benevolent muggleborn overlord!”
“Not everything comes down to blood status,” Harry said, dropping into a seat next to him. “I do have a crown I got out of a cracker. Should I have worn it?”
“Yes!” Phoebe said, gripping the table. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Harry shrugged, scooting aside to let Lady Madeleine hop onto the bench. “What’s that you’ve got?”
“Mrph.”
Curious, Harry took the item from her mouth and held it up. It was another bracelet, braided with black hair.
“What is it?” Terence asked. “I can’t see anything.”
“That’s a good thing,” Harry said, slipping it on. He looked down the table, and saw Theodore Nott staring at him. At the bracelet. Harry grinned at him, and the boy blanched, quickly looking away.
“I can’t believe Potter,” Astrid said, gritting her teeth. She had kept her keeper gloves on, her hands balled into fists. It was a little scary, given how the gloves weren’t meant to do that. “First he steals snitches, then he steals the tournament. What next?”
Harry sighed, pouring himself coffee. The house-elves had put out a pretty ceramic cafetière, which gave Harry a pang of homesickness. They were too clever by half.
“Who cares about Potter?” Harry said. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”
Adrian laughed, slapping his back. “You’ll crush him like a pair of gobstones.”
“How do you think gobstones is played?”
“What’s the first task?” Terence asked.
“Don’t know,” Harry said. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing his wand, and cast a silent muffliato. “They wouldn’t tell us. Said it’s to test our courage.”
“Maybe you have to fight a boggart,” Jasmine suggested.
Harry’s blood ran cold. If they put a boggart in front of him… “That’s optimistic. A third-year could handle a boggart.”
“Maybe you have to rescue a beautiful prince,” Phoebe said dreamily.
“From his mother, maybe,” Harry muttered. “There’s no use speculating. It’s meant to be a surprise.”
“Meant to be?” Astrid asked, leaning forward. “You’ve already worked it out, haven’t you?”
“Of course he has, the bastard,” Adrian said, vigorously stabbing a sausage. “He’s Harry.”
Cassius cleared his throat. He had been oddly silent since Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. It was another reason Harry hadn’t wanted it. To give Cassius a chance. Even thinking that, Harry felt like a sh*t friend.
“Congratulations,” Cassius said evenly.
Harry shook his head. “You don’t have to.”
The table fell silent.
Jasmine sighed. “You really don’t.”
“I would have always wondered,” Cassius said. “I knew what they were up to.”
“You four aren’t exactly subtle,” Jasmine said.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Wondered what?”
“If your name hadn’t been in, which one of us it would have been,” Cassius said. “And now I know.”
“I want to know how they got away with it,” Jasmine said, looking between Astrid and Adrian.
“Is now the time for this?” Harry asked, just as Astrid and Adrian said, “Diggory.”
Harry sighed. “Is that why he keeps looking at me?”
“I Confunded him,” Adrian said proudly.
“Imperius,” Astrid said.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this a nightmare? Have I slipped into another coma?”
“Another?” Jasmine asked.
“Oh, dear,” Phoebe said. “Terence is not doing well.”
Terence was, indeed, having a minor fit.
“I can’t believe you said that, out loud,” Cassius said, shaking his head.
“Cas was trying to have a heart-to-heart with Harry!” Phoebe chastised.
“Said it?” Jasmine nearly shrieked. “I can’t believe she did it! Astrid, what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?”
Astrid huffed. “I wasn’t going to f*ck about, not after what that gobsh*te did.”
“What did Diggory do?” Adrian asked, glancing at Harry. “Did he do something to you, mate?”
“He’d be dead in the ground if he had,” Astrid said darkly.
“He doesn’t remember, anyway,” Harry said to her. “I Obliviated him.”
Astrid grinned. “Savage, Haz.”
“I’m sorry,” Jasmine said, putting her hands on the table. “Why are we openly discussing casting Unforgivables at breakfast?”
“Harry put up a silencing charm,” Cassius said, picking up his book. “And if Lupin can use it on fourth-years, why can’t we use it on Diggory?”
“We?” Jasmine said shrilly.
“We’re all culpable now,” Cassius said, smiling slightly. “Unless Harry Obliviates us.”
“Could you?” Terence asked, having recovered.
“I hate everything about this conversation,” Harry said. “But yes, if you really want me to muck about your mind, I could.”
“Do me first,” Jasmine said, exposing her neck. “I’m ready.”
“I’m not a vampire,” Harry said. He picked up his coffee and gave it a probing look. Had the house-elves laced it with something?
“Can we go back to Harry knowing what the first task is?” Phoebe asked. “Since Cassius refuses to bare his soul.”
“Why are you wearing muggle clothes?” Adrian asked.
“I asked him a question first!”
“I’m dispelling the charm,” Harry said over the incipient bickering, getting everyone’s attention. He turned to face the entrance to the Great Hall, through which a scrawny, speccy, glory hound had just sauntered. “We can talk more about how we’re all going to Azkaban later. It looks like the competition has arrived.”
Ron was already gone by the time Monty woke up.
“Small mercies,” he muttered, sliding his glasses on.
“You’re awake, Monty?” he heard Neville call out.
“Yeah, morning,” Monty said.
Hester flapped her wings. “Monty sad.”
“I’m not sad,” he hissed back.
“What was that?” Neville said.
Monty closed his eyes, focused on speaking English. “Nothing.” He unlatched Hester’s cage, and she climbed onto his arm.
“Owl.”
“No.”
“Bacon.”
“That’s better,” Monty said, shifting her to ride on his shoulder. “Has everyone else gone to breakfast already?”
“Yeah,” Neville said, appearing from around his own bed. “How are you feeling?”
Monty sighed. “Could be worse.”
“How?”
Monty laughed. “I’m glad someone believes me.”
Neville made a face like he was going to be ill, but he rallied. “You looked really happy when Evans’ name came out. I don’t think cheating to get in is something you’d do. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Thanks, Nev,” Monty said, relieved he still had one friend in Gryffindor. “Want to get breakfast? We can eat in the kitchens if it gets too bad.”
The few people in the common room broke into applause when they saw Monty. Monty smiled gamely, avoided eye contact with the frantically waving Creevey brothers, and a blushing Ginny. Hester’s claws sank into his shoulder.
“This is worse than when I win at quidditch,” Monty muttered.
“At least that’s something you’ve earned,” Neville pointed out.
“Yeah, well, they might not let me play this year,” he said.
“What?” Neville asked as they reached the portrait hole. “Why not?”
The portrait swung open, revealing Hermione. She was carrying a stack of toast.
“Morning,” Monty said, climbing out of the hole.
“I brought you this,” Hermione said, offering the toast.
Monty gave the bread an aggrieved look. “Thanks, but I don’t fancy cold toast for breakfast.” He’d had enough of that at the Dursleys.
He walked down the corridor with Neville, Hermione keeping pace.
“I thought we could go for a walk,” she said hurriedly.
“We are walking, Hermione,” Monty pointed out. “What's going on with you?”
“It’s just that, well, Ron’s at breakfast,” she said, nearly dropping the stack of toast.
“And?” Monty said, exchanging a look with Neville.
“He isn’t in the best mood,” Hermione said.
“What’s that got to do with the price of dragon livers?” Monty asked, drawing a startled laugh from Neville.
Hermione frowned. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Is he still going on about me entering myself?” Monty asked.
“A bit,” she admitted, quickly adding, “but he doesn’t believe that, not really.”
“Fantastic,” Monty said, striding across the entrance hall. “Then I don’t see the issue.”
“Monty, wait—”
As soon as he stepped foot into the Great Hall, the Gryffindor table exploded into applause. So did the Hufflepuff table next to them, and even some people at Ravenclaw. Monty stopped for a moment, stunned that Harry’s prediction had been exactly right. He saw Harry looking at him from the Slytherin table, raising an eyebrow as his house mates booed and hissed. He was wearing muggle clothes, a shirt with a large green seahorse on it. This small detail stood out to Monty as he tried to process what he had just walked in to.
“Do you want to go to the kitchens?” Neville quietly asked.
Hermione’s reluctant expression hardened. “You know where the kitchens are?”
“Too late for that, Nev,” Monty said, heading for the Gryffindor table. He saw Ron immediately, sitting with Dean and Seamus among the sixth-years. Ron wasn’t clapping.
“Petty,” Monty said, sitting at the table. Hermione slammed the toast down next to him. Neville grimaced, then sat on Monty’s other side.
“He’s not petty,” Hermione whispered harshly, sitting down. “He’s jealous!”
“That’s so much better,” Monty said, nodding at a few people who were still cheering. He wished they would shut up already.
“It’s because you get all the attention,” Hermione explained.
“I know why, Hermione,” Monty said, piling warm, fluffy eggs onto his plate. “I’m not stupid. I don’t like when you talk down to me.”
“I do not!” she said.
“Actually,” Neville began.
“No one asked you, Neville!”
Monty squeezed his eyes shut.
“Actually,” Neville repeated, more loudly. “You do talk down to people, Hermione. That’s why no one wanted to be your friend in first year.”
Monty opened his eyes again, giving Neville a small smile. He looked over at Hermione, and saw to his dismay that she was near tears. She stormed away without another word.
“Someone finally said it,” Lavender said. “She’s been driving me up the wall for years.”
“Let’s drop it, okay?” Monty said, not interested in slagging off Hermione with the girls in her dormitory. “Am I allowed to have breakfast?”
Lavender shrugged, and went back to talking to Parvati. Monty couldn’t imagine how awkward it was to share a room with a group of friends you were excluded from. He felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it aside. Hermione couldn’t dish out criticism and expect not to receive any in turn.
“Sorry, Monty,” Neville said morosely.
“Don’t be,” Monty said, pulling a plate of sausage to himself. “She wasn’t thinking about my feelings at all.”
“Hello, Monty. Hello, Neville.”
Luna appeared like a will-o-wisp in the place Hermione had vacated, her fine hair in a cornsilk halo around her head. She had forgotten to brush it.
“Can I call you Fleamont?” Luna asked. “No one ever does.”
“If you want,” Monty said, feeling lighter in her presence.
“What are we doing today?” she asked, making up a plate for herself.
“I wanted to go to the library,” Monty said. “But that’s where Hermione usually hides.”
“We could go to the greenhouses,” Neville suggested. “She never goes down there, except for class.”
Luna’s eyes lit up.
“We can even do our homework there,” Neville said. “Professor Sprout lets me, sometimes.”
Monty looked around the Great Hall. He didn’t want to be near any of them that day. Hester shifted on his shoulder, and he smiled to himself. He wrapped a few pieces of bacon in a napkin.
“Sounds grand.”
Dumbledore quietly observed the students in the Great Hall, while also showing a healthy appetite. Severus drank his coffee black and ate nothing. His already low opinion of the students plummeted to previously undelved depths.
Charity nudged him, nodding at the Hufflepuff table. “Look who wants to go crawling back to the boy he jilted.”
Severus took a sip of coffee so as to not sick up on the breakfast table. Cedric Diggory looked befuddled, and just so happened to be staring at Harry. Diggory had obviously been Confunded by someone heavy handed with their charms.
“I believe it was the other way around,” Severus said, frowning slightly. It was not something he would ever be interested in, the banal relationship drama the students bandied about, but that was his son she was referring to.
Charity nodded to herself. “Evans is a tough nut to crack.”
“For god’s sake,” Severus muttered.
“And he’s got on muggle clothes today,” she cheerily added. “Solidarity!”
“Foolish boy,” Severus said.
“You think so, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, not at all ashamed of eavesdropping. “I believe it’s rather the opposite.”
Severus scowled.
“Would you join me in my office?” Dumbledore asked, standing. “There are some matters I wish to discuss.”
“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” Charity teased.
“Your Scotch pancake Tower of Babel is collapsing,” Severus said, ignoring Charity’s cry of dismay as he stood to follow the headmaster.
They walked in silence through the castle, if one ignored Dumbledore humming to himself. Severus crossed his arms. He would have to share the information Harry gave to him with the headmaster. Harry had known that, had anticipated it. At sixteen, his son was already wiser than him.
When Severus had heard a prophecy, he had run straight to his master, with no thought of anything but what boon the Dark Lord might grant him. Harry had waited, for months, until circ*mstances forced his hand.
His son trusted him.
When they reached the headmaster’s office, Dumbledore forwent offering Severus a seat.
“I take it Mr. Evans did not enter himself willingly,” Dumbledore said, already knowing the answer.
“It was impressed upon me that his participation in the Triwizard Tournament would be beneficial,” Severus said, neither confirming nor denying that Harry’s house mates had magically manipulated another student into entering his son’s name.
Dumbledore sighed, then let it drop. “At least we can be certain of the motives there.”
“You wish to discuss Potter,” Severus said. “Very well. I have come across some pertinent information.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Have you?”
“Yes,” Severus said levelly. “It has been brought to my attention that Trelawney has been at it again. Among other minutia.”
The headmaster leaned forward, folding his hands together. “What has she Seen?”
