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Blood of the Enemy - Book I

Chapter Text




Cover Art for A Wicked Boy Everyone Knows series 




Nine-year-old Harry Potter stared at the roadkill that was crushed into the pavement.

He’d seen dead spiders before. He’d seen dead flies. But never roadkill. He wondered what a freshly-killed animal would look like. Would it be stiff or would it be still soft and furry? 


Reaching out with a stick in his hand, Harry poked at the carcass. A flurry of maggots burst from the swollen thing and slowly crawled up the stick he held. Instinctively, he dropped it and stood. 


That day, he realized dead things were interesting, but flesh-eating things weren’t. Harry wondered if other people had the same interests he did.

Probably not; he wasn’t normal. 


A couple of weeks later, he’d managed to piece together a slingshot without instructions. His eyes took in the Y-shaped stick and the rubber band, and he knew what to do.

Afterwards, Harry was out in Aunt Petunia’s garden on a hot, sweltering day, fiddling with his new makeshift toy. 

That’s when a bird fluttered down onto the lawn and hopped near where Harry sat, next to the roses. He stared at it and watched as its eyes looked glassy and as its head jerked forward as it walked. 

He wondered if its eyeballs would be a good counterpart to marbles. 

Aiming his slingshot, Harry pulled the band back, having supplied it with quite a sharp rock he’d found somewhere and let go. The rock hit the bird in the head rather meanly and it flopped to the ground, unmoving. 

A scary, unfamiliar thrill coursed through Harry’s body and he let out a soft laugh. 


He used the same rock to dig out the bird’s eyes and sever the nerves inside. He rolled them between his index finger and thumb, and paused for a moment. Maybe he’d give one to Dudley as a gag gift... but then he’d be punished, possibly more than usual. He might go without food for a week rather than three days, if he did give the eyeballs to his cousin.

If he wasn’t going to give it to Dudley, then that meant he had an extra. 

So, Harry crushed one of the eyeballs. It let out a strange squelch as the liquid inside burst all over his palm. He rubbed the goo between his fingers and for a moment, was tempted to lick it off. 


Nope. That’s not happening.
Harry scolded himself. You don’t know what’s in eyeball goo. 


That was the first time he encountered that thrill and he wondered where he could find more of it. 

Maybe if he took the eyeballs and kept them and they turned hard, like marbles... 

It could be his own personal trophy! 




Over the few years, now-eleven year-old Harry had collected a secret stash of eyeballs from small animals. Sometimes it was difficult to get the eyes out because the animal was slimy or too soft to hold still and they would explode. That frustrated him a little, but he’d always find another trophy to take him with him. 


He never did lick the goo, though. 


Last year, he’d gotten bored and had ransacked the second bedroom upstairs and eventually found a pocketknife and that amazing thrill surged through him again. 

It felt like he was greeting an old friend. 

That day, it was Dudley’s birthday. He had thirty-seven presents and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were to take him to the zoo in London. Mrs. Figg had broken her leg tripping over one of her cats and couldn’t take Harry under her wing. 

Somehow, Harry had managed to convince the Dursleys that he wouldn’t burn the house down while they were off. Yes, that right. He was allowed to stay home - unaccompanied - at the Dursleys home. 

When their car was out of sight, Harry picked his lock (he’d learned that not too long ago from secretly watching the telly one night), and ran outside. 

Immediately, he spotted a large, tabby cat sitting outside the white picket fence of the property. It had funny, square markings around its eyes and sat very still. 

Clearly, it wasn’t one of Mrs. Figg’s cats. 

Harry could tel it was well mannered, even for a cat, and it lived nicely as a pet. 


Surely, it wouldn’t hurt if a little girl lost their cat, right? (Each body he mutilated, he either hide or put it out for people and kids to find - that was his favorite part!) 

He checked to see if he beloved pocketknife was still in his pocket before beckoning the cat over to him. 

It didn’t budge. Clearly it had trust issues. 



What kind of cat is this?



Holding his hand out, he clucked his tongue and patted the ground, trying to get the cat closer. 

“I won’t hurt you.” He said, subtlety schooling his expression into something innocent. 

Slowly, the cat approached. 

He chuckled. “You have really pretty eyes, girl.” 

The cat bent its head, sniffing softly. 

Harry quietly drew his pocketknife and brought it to the view of the cat. Immediately it went still again. It took a step back. 

That caught Harry’s interest. “You’re not a normal cat, are you?” 

As they stared into each other’s eyes, Harry had a sudden realization. “You’re a freak like me, are you?” 

Swiftly, he lunged and managed to slice its whiskers before it bolted off with a speed no cat should have. It turned a corner and was out of sight. 

Harry growled, sitting back and and pocketing his weapon. “Damn it.”






Chapter Text



Harry never encountered that strange cat again. But he continued his collection. A couple of days after that damn cat missed his aim, Harry decided to move from small animals to bigger ones. 


The first time he’d taken a bigger animal’s eyes, he lured a dog from a unsuspecting couple and beckoned it to the woods nearby and had thrust his pocketknife, blade first, into the skull of the animal. 


It was difficult to get it all the way in, and by that time, the dog’s blood was gushing from the wound.


He made sure stay away from the flow, as to not get it on his clothes, but he got it all over his hands. 


With the eyes safely in a ripped piece of cloth, he’d wondered how he’d get the blood off. Obviously there was no water nearby and if anyone saw him, they’d freak. 


So Harry licked it off. He was hesitant at first, since he thought it was a bit deranged to lick off an dead animal’s blood of your hands, but at the first lick, the thrill surged through him and he moaned quietly. 


This would never get old.


The red fluid was shockingly warm, sticky and it dried quickly. He lapped it up like a man desperate for a spot of alcohol, and soon he was sated and felt all fuzzy inside. 

And his hands were clean. 

He left the body where it was, and exited the woods. He found the couple shouting “Winston!” and patting their knees and whistling for their missing dog. A quieter, more tired version of the thrill trickled through him and he smiled softly. 

His cousin kept asking why he was smiling so much, and Harry said a dog had gone missing. 




Harry lay on the floor in the shack that sat on a small island that sat in the middle of the sea. He traced a birthday cake with his name on it and looked at Dudley’s watch. 

(When his relatives had fled, he’d taken his special dog eyeballs with him and played with it in secret before he got bored.)


11:59 PM


12:00 AM


“Harry birthday to me...” Harry sang softly. 



He jumped up from his position as the Dursleys were startled awake and as Uncle Vernon came ambling downstairs with a shotgun in his hands. 

“I’m not afraid to use this!” He bellowed. 



Harry jumped again. What was happening?


Another resounding BOOM! before the door to the shack fell from it hinges and onto the floor. 

A giant of a man with a massive, scraggly beard stood at the doorway. Harry scrambled to his feet, subtly pocketing his eyeballs into the pockets of his worn jeans. 

The giant walked into the room and zoned in on the small boy. Said small boy flinched slightly. Being stared at was something he didn’t like very much. 


“Why, ya mus’ be little ‘Arry!” The man said in a deep, booming voice. 


“Hello... sir.” Harry replied. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Uncle Vernon roared angrily. “GET OUT!” He brandished his weapon at the man and the man simply gave it a curious look.


“‘Aven’t seen these in a while.” The man commented. 


Ambling over, he grabbed it by the barrel and twisted it into a knot, leaving Uncle Vernon a sputtering mess. 

Then he turned to Harry and reached into his massive leather coat. He pulled out a dented box.

“‘Ere ya go, ‘Arry. Happy birthday!” 

Harry took the box and opened it. Inside was a cake with green icing that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY. Harry smiled softly. A birthday cake! For him! Someone hadn’t forgotten his birthday! 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Bah! Enough with tha’ ‘sir’ mumbo jumbo. Call me ‘Agrid.” The man - Hagrid - chortled. 

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Uncle Vernon bellowed. 

“Oh, yeah! Harry, I’mma take ya ta Hogwarts!”

“Hog... Warts? What’s that?” Harry asked. 

“Er... Ya do know what Hogwarts is, righ’?” 

Harry shook his head. “No, sir. Er - Hagrid.” 

“Did ya two tell ‘im? ‘Bout Hogwarts?” Hagrid demanded, turning from Harry to the Dursleys. 

“YOU WILL NOT TELL HIM ANYTHING!” Uncle Vernon screeched, waving around his bent shotgun. 


“Tell me what?” Harry asked, curiosity spiking. He set the cake down onto where Dudley had slept and put his hands on his hips. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” 

Before Uncle Vernon could respond, Hagrid turned to Harry. “‘Arry, you’re a wizard.” 

Harry blinked. “I’m a what?” 

“A wizard. Did ya relatives nev’ah tell ya anythin’?” 

“I-I had no idea...” Harry stammered. 

“Of course,” the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia interrupted, “we wouldn’t tell you anything! My sister was just like you... a freak! And then she and her worthless husband got blown up!” 

“Blown up? You said they died in a car crash!” Harry cried. 

“Car crash!” Hagrid roared suddenly, “A car crash?” He turned to Harry again. “‘Arry, your parents were one of the smartest people I knew. A wizard killed ‘em.” 


“Oh, I’m not sayin’ ‘is name anytime soon! We beat be goin’ now. We gotta get’cha ta Diagon Alley!” 

“Diagon Alley?” 

”Yea’! Soon enough, you’ll meet Dumbledore! Good man, he is!” 

But before another word could be said, Uncle Vernon screamed again. “WE WILL NOT BE LETTING THE BOY BE TAUGHT BY SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL!” 

Immediately, Hagrid rounded in on the Dursleys and brandished his umbrella at them threateningly. “Don’t insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me...” He warned. 

Then the giant realized that Harry’s cousin had snuck off and was eating the cake Harry had set aside. With a flick of his umbrella, a zap of light shot from it and hit Dudley in the rear. 

Harry let out a giggle when he saw that Dudley had a pig tail. 

Ensue the screams! He thought wickedly to himself. 

Oh, if this was a dream, it was the best he ever had! 







Chapter Text




When Harry arrived at Diagon Alley, he’d been almost gobsmacked. There was magic everywhere! And the uses it could have! Harry’s mind began to whirl with ideas and made connections with the fact of how easily had get away with collecting his trophies. 

(After entering the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had wanted to lash out at the people who’d crowded around him after hearing his name. He felt panicked and attacked and his imagination wasn’t being very helpful. At least he didn’t want to actually hurt people, like he did with animals.


No, no, no...


That wasn’t happening.)


When he passed the wizarding pet shop, he’d gotten the urge to buy an animal solely for the purpose of stealing its eyes. Not even a moment after, he quickly discarded that thought. Harry was fine with taking other people’s pets for his collection, but to buy one for himself to later ‘discard’ it, that was just wrong. 


Harry had laughed quietly to himself, thinking of its irony. 


Hagrid had taken him to the wizarding bank, Gringotts, to make a withdrawal so he could buy his supplies. But Hagrid had mentioned a “top secret” item to nab at Vault 713.


Harry’s curiosity was neutralized when Hagrid had gone off to buy him a birthday present (Harry’s protests didn’t make him budge) while the boy was to purchase a wand.




“Ah, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry was startled out of his observations when a grey-eyed man with white hair that stuck up everywhere appeared behind the desk and smiled at him.


“Hello...” Harry mumbled warily, unnerved by the staring.

The man - Ollivander - frowned.


“Your magic... is different.” 


It was Harry’s turn to frown. “Different?” 

“You’ve done things...” Ollivander explained. 


Harry’s hand instinctively went to the pocket that stored the eyes of his last victim. 

He knew. 


“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” Harry deflected, trying to switch the subject to something more comfortable.

“Erm, don’t I need a wand?” 

Ollivander seemed to snap out of his stupor. “Oh, yes. Wands. I remember giving your parents their wands. Good for healing, charms, and transfiguration...” 

The wandmaker went behind a shelf and retrieved a relatively dustless box colored maroon. “Try this one. Oak and unicorn hair.” 


Harry took the wand and hesitated. Then he gave it an experimental wave, which sent a glass vase shattering. Ollivander plucked the wand from his fingers, muttering. 


“How about this one? Elder and dragon heartstring.” 

Harry had barely even flicked it when it was snatched out of his hands once again.

After many tries and many fails, there was wand boxes piled up past Harry’s head that sat on the wandmaker’s desk. Then, Ollivander went quiet. Muttering again, he descended to the very back of the shop and pulled out quite a dusty wand box, placed it on his desk and gently pulled the lid off. 


”Holly and Phoenix feather. Try it.” 


Harry took into his waiting hands and a rush of power filled his viens. It felt surreal, but not quite right. 

Ollivander looked curious. “Hm. It seems your magic has accepted the core but not the wood.” 

Harry gave the wand back to the man, and he set off to an obscure doorway in the back of the shop. Harry, confused, waited patiently while drumming his fingers on the desk, look around at the destruction and wondered if Ollivander would be able to fix it back up.



There was a quiet snick of a door closing, and Harry looked up from his hands to see Ollivander with an even dustier box. He set it down on the desk and already, Harry could feel it calling to him. 

“Twin wands are very rare.” Ollivander spoke, his voice hushed, “It is not often two wands share the same wood and core. It seems you and another wand match.” 

He paused. 

“And the twin gave you that scar.” He finished in a mysterious voice. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean... the wizard that killed my parents?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter. It seems you are more connected than ever before...” 


“Try it. Yew and Phoenix feather.” 

He’d opened the box and the wand was almost pouring in power and magic. The moment Harry touched it, a powerful breeze swept through the shop, rattling the windows and the door. It ruffled both of the males’ hair. 

Ollivander stared at Harry with his wide-eyed look. 

“You are destined for great things, Mr. Potter. Terrible, I do not know, but great... yes.”



Chapter Text






Hagrid had approached Ollivander’s shop and, to Harry’s dismay and delight, had purchased a snowy white owl. But strangely, Harry didn’t have any harmful urges. It seemed that Harry cared for the bird on sight. She seemed quite intelligent for a post-delivery owl and that suited Harry just fine. 


He ended up in Madam Malkin’s robe shop (for all occasions) and met a boy named Draco Malfoy. He talked about something called “Houses” and “Quidditch”, but those terms were alien to Harry. 


So, back at the Leaky Cauldron, where the two males sat and ate their meals for midday, Harry asked many questions about the Wizarding World. 

After a slightly uncomfortable silence, Harry asked, “Who was the wizard that killed my parents?” 


Hagrid tensed up. “Er... well, ‘e don’t say ‘is name.”


“You could write it down.” Harry supplied. 


“Don’ know ‘ow to spell it...” Hagrid grumbled. 


“It’s just a name. What’s so bad about it?” The boy pestered. 


The half-giant finally caved. “Oh alright...” He took a deep breath, “Voldemort.”

“Voldemort?” Harry echoed, a bit loudly. 

Hagrid quickly shushed him up, glancing around, making sure nobody heard. Harry didn’t understand. What was so bad about a name? It was just a word, and being afraid of a name just gives that person more power. 


He closed his eyes and remembered his nightmares about a flash of bright green light aiming towards him and horrible, inhuman screaming... He remembered his mother falling to the floor, dead. 

“Hagrid? Can bright green lights kill?” Harry asked quietly. 

Hagrid looked dumbfounded. “What?” 

“I remember the night my parents died,” Harry explained, feeling strangely calm. He could feel almost a parody of the thrill coursing through him, and it confused him, too.

“It’s a spell. One of the Unforgivables.” Hagrid explained. 

“Unforgivables?” Harry parroted. 


Hagrid looked around, seeming very uneasy. “‘Arry. Now’s not the time t’ be talkin’ ‘bout this... We’ve done ya shoppin’, so I think it’s best if we get goin’.” 

Harry was very curious, but he knew that sometimes curiosity can get carried away. So he shut his trap. They departed Leaky Cauldron and soon, Harry was back at Number Four, Privet Drive. 

He turned to Hagrid, who was looking at the street lamps in awe. 

“Well, I’ll see you... erm. When school starts...” Harry said. 

“Yea’ I know. I’ll be off an’ I’ll see ya when school starts.” Hagrid replied, looking from the street lamp to Harry. He handed Harry a ticket and it said Platform 9 and 3/4. 

“That’s the ticket t’ get t’ the ‘Ogwarts Express.” Hagrid explained. Harry looked down at the ticket, reading the words, but looked up to find that Hagrid had gone. Disappeared.

Well, that’s odd. 




Harry felt multiple emotions. Some part of him was childishly excited and couldn’t wait to see this Hogwarts and the Express. Another part of him felt eerily calm and sated. He felt like he could do anything, and wanted to learn all the spells he could find.


But the largest part of him was hungry; thirsty. 


He wanted that thrill. That sense of control and power. 

It’d been only several days since he’d been dropped off and since he’d officially moved into the second, smallest bedroom upstairs. His new belongings, unfortunately, had been locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

So, now he sat out in the garden, pulling roots and weeds from the ground. He was hyper aware of the precious pocketknife in the back of his worn jeans. 

“Boy!” Aunt Petunia roared suddenly, “get over here!” 

Harry quickly stood and went over to where his Aunt was standing at the front doorway. 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” 

“Vernon and I are going to have a special night tonight.” She started in her nasally voice, “Our anniversary is today and we don’t want you in the house until then. Understood?” 

”Yes, Aunt Petunia.” 

“So don’t dawdle around the house. Make sure no one sees you.” 

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” 

She stared at him calculatingly before giving a stiff nod and turning back into the house, slamming the door behind her. 

Harry sat back down and played with a strip of grass. So the Dursleys didn’t want Harry in their house tonight. Heck, he didn’t even know it was their anniversary! But he wasn’t surprised; he’d never celebrated anything except his birthday, and that was in secret. 

So, since he was stuck outside for the remaining hours of the day, he considered his options. 

He shifted and he felt the pocketknife shift inside his jeans. 

Oh, yes... 


Harry knew exactly what he was going to do.

But first, he needed a walk. 

Chapter Text





Harry stood from his spot on the ground, trying to hide his smile. 

The thrill was racking his body and he could hardly keep the shaking to a minimum. 

He opened the white picket gate (closing it behind him) and turned left, where he knew the park would be.


It wasn’t a long walk. Only about fifteen to twenty minutes. For a drive, it’d be five. 

And, boy! It was his lucky day! Many dogs of all sizes were prowling around, most unleashed, but some held back. The Muggles (it was a term for non-magical folk; Hagrid taught him the word) were fortunately oblivious to the little black-haired boy walking to the forest. 

Once he was deep enough where people would likely not step too near, he did a sharp turn and went back, but slightly to the left. There was small blonde dog, probably the size of a terrier, who was sniffing the ground at the very edge of the thickets. 

Kneeling, Harry whistled and the dog’s ears perked up. 

“C’mere...” Harry urged. 

The animal tilted its head and let out a small yip, bounding over to him in excitement.

Laughing softly, Harry pet the dog on the head, his smile widening. 

He then gently took ahold of the dog’s scruff and gently dragged it away from the unsuspecting people in the park. Once he reached the point where people would definitely not approach, he sat the dog down. 

“Stay,” he ordered.


The dog just looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

Those beautiful eyes...


He stood behind the dog, pulled out his pocketknife and held it at the dog’s neck. He hesitated, a small flash of guilt stirring deep from within, but angrily banished it. No use feeing guilty when this was what he wanted! 

Harry shifted his feet once before pulling back and then forward, plunging the pocketknife into the dog’s neck. It let out a weird gurgle as the blood flowed from the wound and as Harry held the pocketknife inside. 

He pulled out. 

The dog swayed for a moment, making odd choking noises as it drowned in its own blood, before falling onto a pool of said liquid with a loud splat. 

Harry towered over the body, staring at it as the blood flowed and sunk into the ground and stained it. 

He felt something wet sliding down his cheek and brought a hand to his face. A tear. 


He was crying. 


A burst of fury suddenly came from somewhere inside him and with a shout, he knelt and drove his pocketknife into the dead dog’s ribs. More tears were falling down his face. 

And he hated it. 


Trapped in his haze of anger, he he flipped the body onto its back and shoved his weapon into the cleft right below the ribs of the animal and dragged. 

He pulled the pocketknife downwards, thus tearing the skin open and splurges of blood splattered onto his face. Setting it aside, and using his bare hands, he took ahold of the torn slit and ripped it open. 

A horrible squelching sound tore into the silent air and the organs of the dog protruded from the wound and spilled out onto its fur and the grass. The intestines. The liver. The stomach. The bladder. 

Harry took ahold of the black, bloody rope of meat and hesitated. Again. 

Stop hesitating! Harry scolded. You want to do what you want to do! 


So Harry did. He did what he wanted to do. 

And it was as horrible and delicious as ever. 


Chapter Text






Harry knew he shouldn’t have done what he did. 

He didn’t go all way through with it, but scratched the surface of it. 

He didn’t regret it because he realized some new things about himself: 


Harry liked it when the light left their eyes. 

He liked it when the blood flowed.

Red might’ve been his new favorite color. 

Crimson. As deep and as dark as a rose. Like lipstick. Or a blood moon. 


He lay in his second bedroom, on his back, staring at the ceiling. It’s only been a few hours since he’d done what he did, and he’d buried the evidence. The unsuspecting couple would never find their dog. 

When he arrived at Number Four, long after the sun had set, he was covered in blood. And had a pair of eyeballs in his pocket. But his relatives weren’t there. Dudley had been snacking in front of the television and now lay on the recliner downstairs, knocked out. 

(Harry didn’t do it. Dudley was snoring away when Harry arrived.) 


Harry had gone upstairs to clean himself off. With his bloodied clothes on the white tiled floor, it looked like a crime scene. And the bathtub mixed with blood wasn’t any better. 

But he liked it. 

He liked how the deep, crimson red shouted out against the creamy, pearly white. 

(He made sure to clean it all up with bleach, too.)


As he lay comfortably on his rickety mattress, he listened to the pattering of rain that had begun not too long ago. He could smell it and it made him feel peaceful. 

He fell asleep and dreamed of someone holding him in his arms. 




Harry awoke with a smile. It finally felt like he could do anything. And that nothing would affect him.

Not even the Dursleys. 


Aunt Petunia’s rapping on the door interrupted his stupor, sat up from his mattress and dressed quietly.  Strangely, he felt still at peace. Like something had settled in his soul and finally stopped fighting. 

He was in too much of a daze to really be concerned about it. 



As he did his indoor chores, he heard Aunt Petunia talking under her breath to her husband. 

“It’s the second time a dog’s gone missing, Vernon! And someone’s leaving dead animals all over the place!” She complained, her voice getting louder. 

Harry, his hands in the sink that was filled with lukewarm water and bubbles, cracked a small, secret smile. 

“What am I supposed to do about that, Petunia?” Vernon demanded angrily, “I’m not the police!” 

“Well, I don’t think we should get Dudley a pet.” Aunt Petunia said, suddenly changing the subject. 

“Rubbish! Dudley is a growing boy! He needs someone other than his friends! He could finally be a responsible boy!” Vernon countered. Harry bit back a chuckle. Dudley? Responsible? Hardly.

“That... murderer... could kill Dudley’s pet, Vernon! I’m not allowing it!” 

Harry bristled at the word murderer. Surely, he killed, but wasn’t being called a murderer a bit far-fetched? Plus, it wasn’t people he hurt, it was animals.

If killing people made one a murderer then what did one who killed animals be made into?

Harry didn’t know. 

“Oh, alright!” Vernon caved. “We won’t get our boy a blasted pet!”

“Good!” Aunt Petunia huffed, “we hardly scrape by, even with the money that fool pays us!”


Harry perked up at that.


The last time he heard someone be called a fool was the Headmaster.

What was his name? Dumble... Dumbledore! 

But before he could take it any further, Aunt Petunia had rounded in on him and started shrieking at him. 

“Boy! You better be doing your chores or you won’t get any supper!” 

Harry reminded himself that curiosity sometimes bites back. 

Another time, then. 

Chapter Text





It was now September 1st, and Harry stood at the barrier (not that he knew where it was - which he didn’t) between Platform 9 and 10. 

He debated whether he should ask a Muggle where Platform 9 and 3/4 was, but realized that they didn’t know of magic, and that led to the conclusion that Platform 9 and 3/4 was hidden.


Of course.


Harry turned and looked at the sign that bore the number nine. Then, he turned to the one that bore the number ten. 

He scoffed. That brick wall with the sign of number ten was some sort of entryway to Platform 9 and 3/4...


 So, he just had to walk through it, right? 

Harry tightened his grip on the trolley and darted forward, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

But none came. 

Opening his eyes, he saw a scarlet steam engine with the gold words HOGWARTS EXPRESS etched onto the side. Other magical people tittered about; young ones with trolleys and robes, and parents giving their final farewells. 



He had arrived at Platform 9 and 3/4! 


He dragged his trolley to an open door of the Express and lifted his heavy trunk up onto the steps. An older student appeared from inside the train and grabbed the other end of Harry’s trunk, yanking it inside. 


He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

The student smiled. “No problem.”


Harry quickly found an empty compartment, closing and locking the sliding door, hoping no one barged in. He didn’t bother lifting his trunk to the shelf above the seats, so he simply stored his under the seat instead. 

He slumped down onto the seat that guarded his trunk, and heaved out a sigh.

He looked out the compartment window and watched as a sea of redheads moving about a bit frantically and saying words Harry couldn’t hear. He noticed a pair of twins and knew immediately that they’d be trouble. 

They probably had many aces up their sleeves and Harry didn’t want to encounter them at all.

The last of redheaded children boarded the train and he could hear faint, boisterous laughter coming from outside his compartment. He really didn’t want to encounter those twins. 


Suddenly, the compartment door slammed open, giving Harry quite a start. 


“Have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” A bushy-haired girl with rather large front teeth asked rudely. 

Quietly muttering a cursed bloody hell! under his breath, Harry shook his head. 

The girl’s eyes suddenly latched onto his forehead. Her eyes widened. “You’re Harry Potter!”


Very confused, Harry replied, “Er.. yeah. That’s me.”

“I’ve read all about you! In The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and—“

“I’m in books?” Harry interrupted with an incredulous tone. 

The girl looked annoyed at being interrupted, but prattled on. “Yes! You’re quite famous—“


Noticing the teary-eyed boy behind the girl, he asked, “Who’s that?”

The girl looked at the boy and said, “This is Neville Longbottom. Oh, and I’m Hermione Granger.” 

The boy squeezed past Hermione to stick out his hand. “Hello,” he mumbled, shyly. 

Harry shook his hand. “Harry Potter. Are you looking for your toad?”




Soon enough, they found Neville’s toad, who had been hiding in the boys’ lavatory. 

(Harry found out that the toad’s name was Trevor. 

He had stayed a moment too long staring at the toad, fingering his smuggled pocketknife.


He’d do it later...)


Neville thanked Harry and asked if he and Hermione could join him in the compartment. Harry tried to hide his reluctance, but invited them anyway. 

And after talking a bit about the Muggle world (thus indulging Neville in on its ways), eating candy the trio purchased from the cart of the trolley witch, putting on their robes once the driver announced they’d be arriving soon (giving each other some privacy, of course), they had finally arrived. 




Chapter Text





Harry, Hermione, and Neville departed the Express that had stopped at Hogsmeade Station, their trunks dragging behind them. They followed a lost clutter of young first years and came upon Hagrid, who was holding a large lantern. 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! Over here!” 

The giant inclined his head at Harry, who responded by inclining his own head. 

“Alright, y’all here? Good! Follow me!” 

Harry, along with his new friends, followed Hagrid down a worn path that had trees surrounded on the sides. It seemed dark past the tree line. 

Soon enough, they came upon a bank with boats gently lapping against the shore of a large, wide lake.

“Only four in a boat!” Hagrid said, stepping into his own boat that seemed to start sinking. 


Harry clambered onto a boat, along with Hermione and Neville and a strawberry blonde-haired girl with pigtails. They gave each other nervous smiles, but Neville looked a little green and Hermione was gripping the sides of the boat very tightly. 

“Y’all in? Alright then, FORWARD!” 

With a sudden lurch, the boats darted forward and floated down the lake, gently tipping from side to side. Harry leaned over and stared at his reflection. His eyes seemed to glow brightly in the night.

With a pang, he realized his eyes looked exactly like the green light he saw in nightmares. Green lights that could kill. 


“Duck!” Hagrid bellowed. 


Harry took the distraction (because his eyes looking like one of the Unforgivables - whatever those were - was highly unnerving) and moved away from his reflection, just in times to duck and miss the stone arch over his head.


Then, there was the castle. 

Its windows glowed with a dim, soft light and it felt so welcoming. 

Harry smiled. It felt like home. 


Soon, they had come upon a shoreline that marked their end of the journey across the lake. Harry jumped from his spot onto solid ground and felt much better. He didn’t like the rocking of the boats; it seemed as if they’d capsize at any moment. 

Hagrid walked to a small chamber where a tall, severe-looking woman stood in dark green robes. 

“The firs’ years, Professor.” Hagrid said.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” The woman said in a clipped Irish accent. “I will take it from here.”  Hagrid nodded and ambled off with his large lantern. 

(It was strange. The woman looked like someone not to cross, but at the same time looked eerily familiar. Her stiffness reminded him to something, but he couldn’t quite place it...)

The woman turned to them. “I am Professor McGonagall, deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Tonight you will be Sorted. Your House will be like your family for the years you are here during your education. You will sleep in the same dorms, loiter* in the same common room. So I suggest you smarten yourselves up before the ceremony.” 

She roamed her eyes over the students, stopping briefly at a redheaded boy with dirt on his nose, and Neville, who’d gotten his clasp wrong (he hurried to fix it). Harry took note of the redhead, recognizing the hand-me-downs and red hair. Neville had explained who the Weasleys were and Harry noticed they looked like the loud type. He rather liked quietness. 

Her eyes rested on him for an uncomfortable moment, seemingly calculating. He had the idea she’d didn’t like him, for some absurd reason. She gave a curt nod and left. 

Suddenly, a pointy-faced, white blonde-haired boy appeared in front of Harry and smirked. 

“I’m Draco Malfoy. I can help you around here; figure out the wrong sort of people unlike others I’ve met.” He ended his sentence in a sneer, looking pointedly at Hermione. 

He stuck out his hand, expecting Harry to shake it. 

He hadn’t seemed so bad at Madam Malkin’s, but now he was even worse. His was being discriminatory and far too snobbish for Harry’s liking. 

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.” He responded coolly.


Before Malfoy could respond, a scroll tapped on the shoulder from behind. Professor McGonagall had arrived. 

“Boys,” she scolded, “enough.” 


Malfoy gave Harry a glare before sauntering off to his large cronies, who - in Harry’s opinion - looked like a buffer version of his cousin, Dudley.

”The ceremony will begin now. Follow me.”

She led the first years to a large, wooden door and opened it. Harry had to stifle his gasp. 


Hundreds of floating candles hovered over the four large tables and a beautiful night sky replaced the ceiling of the Great Hall. Harry dimly heard Hermione say something about a book he hadn’t bothered to read, something about Hogwarts: A History.

Then he noticed the ratty-looking hat still on a rickety, wooden stool in front of the table that housed the teachers. 

Professor McGonagall went to stand beside the hat as it suddenly opened its brim and sang. It sang about House unity and what types of students the Houses it would Sort them into. 

“...For I am a Thinking Cap!” It concluded.

Professor McGonagall unrolled the scroll she had in her hands, while her other held the hat in the air, and called out, “Abbott, Hannah!” 

The pigtailed girl from the boats walked over to the hat in shaky legs and sat on the stool. The Professor placed the hat onto the girl’s head and after a moment, the hat cried, “HUFFLEPUFF!” 

Given the idea that a hat would Sort them, Harry quickly lost interest. But perked up at familiar names. Hermione got Ravenclaw and the Weasley boy, Ron, got Gryffindor. Neville’s Sorting took a long while but he eventually got Gryffindor also. 

Suddenly, he was snapped out of his daze at the call of: 


“Potter, Harry!” 


Chapter Text






Harry’s name had been called. 

Gulping, he stepped forward as the whispers rose. 


“The Harry Potter?”

“I can’t see his scar!”

“Looks kinda scrawny...” 


Harry quietly took his seat on the old stool and Professor McGonagall placed the hat onto his head, it being big enough to have it go past his eyes. He’s grateful for that, he didn’t want to see the craned necks and wide, curious eyes. For the first time in a long time, his confidence isn’t very high. 

What do we have here?
A tiny voice asked. 


Harry gripped the sides of the stool even tighter. Who are you?


Why, I’m the Sorting Hat! 



Your mind is so interesting! And, oh...OH. You’re much different... 


You know! Don’t tell anyone what I did! 

Your secrets are safe with me, Harry. Now, are you loyal enough for Hufflepuff? It was a rhetorical question, so Harry didn’t answer. He let the hat do its thing. 

No, definitely not. What about Gryffindor? Too loud? You think before you act, Harry, so that’s out. 

You’ve got smarts for Ravenclaw. You know what to do to clean the crime scene... But you’re Dark enough to be for Slytherin. Your past actions are a perfect candidate for the snake den. 

Harry smiled. Slytherin. 



Professor McGonagall pulled off the hat by the tip, and Harry gave her nod (noting that she looked like she’d swallowed a lemon) before hopping off the stool and making his way to the students clad in silver and green. 

As he was taking his seat, he realized how deathly silent it was.


A black-haired, brown-skinned girl girl with a bob as her hairdo started clapping and that seemed to snap everyone out of their stupor. Slowly, the rest of the Hall clapped along, with Slytherin being the loudest And most welcoming, but Gryffindor seeming hesitant.

Professor McGonagall silenced the Hall by calling the next name and Harry was left to introduce himself. 

The girl who’d been the first to start clapping turned to him. “Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson.” She stuck out her hand, and Harry shook it with a firm grip. 

“Harry Potter.”

She made a small noise. “Do you not know pureblood culture?” 

Harry blinked. “I don’t think so.” 

Pansy rose an eyebrow. “You don’t think so?” 

He looked down, blushing. “No. I don’t.” 

A seedy-looking boy leaned forward from beside Pansy. “Nott, Theodore Nott. Call me Theo.”

Harry noticed that they introduced themselves by last name first. “Potter, Harry Potter.” 

Malfoy, who had been beside Harry, cackled suddenly. “A Potter! In Slytherin! What’s next, he’s a Parselmouth?” 

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry grumbled. 

Malfoy shout him a glare. “Well, since we’re in the same House, I think we should be at least civil to each other, yes?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, fine.” 

Soon, the Sorting was over and the Headmaster had stood to stood behind his risen dias. 

“A new year begins! I have a few words to say and they are: Nitiwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak! Thank you!”

He sat down and immediately the table was groaning under the weight of so much food that had suddenly appeared onto the no longer empty dishes. Harry was amazed at the sheer capacity of the food. And the options!

He plucked a small, strange cupcake-looking sweet. He turned to Malfoy and asked, “What’s this?” 

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look before responding with, “Treacle tart.” 

Sounds yummy. Harry took a bite and a burst of flavor filled his mouth. He made a noise of contentment and Pansy looked at him weird. So did Theo.

“What?” Harry asked through the tart. 

Pansy made a disgusted expression. “Well need to teach you pureblood culture, Harry. You are very behind.”

Harry sighed. And then he realized: How was he going to do what he wanted to do without getting caught?

Another problem to deal with...

Chapter Text





Harry was enjoying his meal and spot of treacle tart, when he noticed he was being stared at. He looked up at the High Table and saw a greasy-haired, hooked-nosed, sallow-skinned man staring at him. Pansy took notice. 

“That’s Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but has always been going after Defense Against the Dark Arts.” She explained. 

He nodded absentmindedly as his eyes roamed to a purple-turbaned and suddenly, so unexpectedly - a sharp, hot pain shot across his scar and he clapped a hand to it, crying out. 


The Slytherins stopped their ministrations. “You alright?” Malfoy asked. 

“Yeah. It’s just... my scar.”

Malfoy frowned. “Your scar?” 

“It hurt for a moment...” He shook it off and turned his eyes to the High Table again. The Potions Professor was no longer staring at him. He was now in a uncomfortable conversation with the other professor.

”Who’s the one in the purple turban?”

”That’s Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense.” 


Harry watched Quirrell for a long moment, and it felt like something was stirring somewhere inside. It mildly disturbed him. Harry turned his eyes to the Headmaster, who was watching him with his blue, twinkling eyes. 

Then, there was a push. Somewhere in his head. Like someone was prodding a finger against his brain. 

It felt strange, and invasive. 

Harry looked away and the push was gone. 


He blinked for a moment. But then shook it off like he had with the pain in his scar and turned to his meal, but only to find it had vanished! He looked up and saw the Headmaster standing at his golden dias that had the spread-winged owl on the front. 

”I have a few words, now that we’re all fed and watered... First years should note that the Forest in the grounds to all pupils, and our older students will remember that as well...”

At that, the old man looked at a pair of redheaded twins Harry could guess they were a part of the Weasley clan. 

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used in between classes and in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the sound week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds for those who wish to not die a very painful death.”


“He’s joking.” Harry muttered. 

“I don’t think so,” Pansy commented. 

”Isn’t that kind of saying, ‘Hey I invite you a secret spot so you can probably die!’, right?”

”Well,” Pansy hummed, “Dumbledore has always been a bit senile.” 

”A bit?” Harry scoffed. Another thing to add on the oddities of the Headmaster...


“And now,” Dumbledore cheered, “we sing the school song!” 

An older student groaned, muttering, “Oh Merlin...” 


He flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon flew out of and floated above the table to twist itself, snake-like, into words. 

”Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!”

And the school, minus the first years, bellowed,


“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, 

Teach us something please, 

Whether we be old and bald, 

Or young with scabby knees, 

Our heads could do with filling, 

With some interesting stuff, 

For now they’re bare and full of air, 

Dead flies and bits of fluff, 

So teach us things worth knowing, 

Bring back what we’ve forgot, 

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest, 

And learn until our brains all rot.”


The Weasley twins were the last to finish, singing at a very slow funeral march. 

Harry was fighting not to laugh. That was the song? How atrocious!

Who made it? Elmo? 


“What was that?” Pansy snapped. “That’s not a song!”

Harry giggled behind his mouth. “I agree wholeheartedly!” 

“Ah, music,” Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes, “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime! Off you trot!”

Harry stood, wiping his hands and so did everyone else. He opted to follow the first years to wherever their common room was. A brown-haired girl wearing a shiny badge with the letter P on it appeared in front of them as the older students left. 


”I’m Farley, Gemma Farley. I am a Prefect and also Head Girl, so I will guide you ickle firsties through the night.” She smiled sweetly at them. A boy, also wearing the same badge, elbowed her in the ribs. 

”That’s enough, Farley.” 

Gemma pouted playfully. “Aw, but c’mon!” Sh smiled again and beckoned them over to her and the boy. “That’s Evan Farley, my brother. He’s a Prefect too, and Head Boy.” She beckoned again. “C’mon, follow me!” 

“Mudblood.” Malfoy grumbled. 

Pansy gasped. “Don’t say that!” 

”What?” Harry asked, genuinely curious, “What’s a Mudblood?” 

“A nasty name for students who have muggle parents. Muggleborns.” 

“So you’re against someone’s blood?” Harry said, frowning, “In the Muggle world, there are bigots against skin color.”


Skin color? That’s stupid.” Pansy scolded. 

”Yeah, so’s being called a Mudblood. It’s the same thing.” 

Pansy thought for a moment. “Hm. Interesting notation...”


“Alright, firsties, we’ve arrived!” Gemma announced, facing a stone wall that had the Slytherin crest atop it. 

“It’s a wall.” Harry deadpanned. 

“It’s the entrance.” An older student corrected. 

Gemma smiled again. Why was she smiling so much? Is she secretly Gryffindor? “The password will be changed every fortnight. This week’s password is pureblood.” 

Harry snickered. 

Immediately, the stone wall slid aside to reveal a dark, green-tinted common room. 

The Head Girl spread her arms dramatically. “Welcome to Slytherin!” 

”Hey,” her brother scolded, “that’s reserved for Professor Snape!” 

Chapter Text






As Harry walked in, he sensed a presence nearby. Frowning, he looked around, but couldn’t find the source. He stumbled to the middle of the common room and roamed his eyes over it.

There were dark oak desks in neat little corners, black leather couches in specific areas around the room, dimmed torches on the walls about, and a crackling fire place with a stone overhead that had the Slytherin crest carved into it. Right in front of him was three large windows that overtook nearly the entire wall, but stopped at the little nook where students could sit and gaze into the waters.

Harry hoped the windows never broke. That would be horrible. 

The strange bit of presence shifted and Harry was then able to narrow it down to a little crook in the wall where an near-invisible door stood. Harry craned his neck to see whoever was there. 

“Welcome to Slytherin.” A deep, cold voice said. 


Harry jumped. It was the Professor from earlier, the one who’d looked at him strangely. Harry realized he’d been hiding in that doorway, maybe to startle the first-years. Well, it worked. Harry silently complimented the Professor. 

“I am Professor Snape, Head of the Slytherin House.” He said, pacing. His black robes billowed out quite impressively and his arms were crossed in an intimidating manner.

“The rules,” he barked, “are that whatever problem you have stays in the common room; if you have a problem, you first approach a Prefect, and if it is an emergency, you come find me. If you are to woefully express yourself, do not get caught. We will only share our opinions inside the common room, not out. you will do your very best to not shame this House. We are already prejudiced enough, and I do not want more of it. As a Slytherin, you will be seen as a ‘slimy snake’, so be watchful on what you say, as to not lose House points. Are we clear?”

A quiet, meek chorus of “Yes sir,” was heard and Harry simply nodded his head, not trusting his voice for some reason. 

“Good. Now go. Your belongings are already beside the bed you will sleep in for the rest of the term.” He swept away with a flourish and was gone through the door that Harry had sensed. 


Gemma turned to the first years and smiled, albeit slightly strained. “The girls dorm is on the right, boys on the left. There are six Prefects in the Slytherin House and you come to use with a problem if you have one, as Professor Snape told you. Breakfast will be at seven thirty in the morning, so don’t be late! Curfew is at ten, so be in here or you’ll meet Filch! Announcements are on the bulletin board over there,” she pointed at a large board that had organized, unwrinkled paper taped to it with Spellotape. 


“Now, my brother will lead the boys to their dorms and I with the girls.” Gemma nodded once and ushered the girls over to her. Her brother, Evan turned to Harry and the boys and motioned them over. 

“C’mon, up we go.” They left the common room to a flight of stairs that went slightly up and they came upon a door with a plaque that said FIRST YEAR DORMS on it in fancy font. Evan opened the door and the first years stepped in. 


There was a window to Harry’s right, at the very end of the room. There were four large beds with dark green beddings and curtains for privacy, but the pillows were white and so were the sheets. At the right hand side of every bed was a dark oak nightstand with a small bulletin board to hang up papers and such. 


Evan pointed to a door past the window. “That door leads to the bathroom where you can shower in the morning. Your trunks are already here.” He inclined his head. “Goodnight.” And left. 

Harry found that his bed was right by the window that had the murky green water’s reflection shimmering on the carpeted floor. Malfoy was to right, with Goyle next in line and Crabbe at the last bed in the darkest corner. He liked it a lot. Sighing, he ditched his outer robe and flopped onto the bed, facedown. He snuggled close into the covers and smiled. And then noticed it was quiet. Too quiet.


He looked up and saw that his new dorm mates were staring at him. “What?”

“Have you never seen a bed before, Potter?” Malfoy asked, curiosity lacing his tone. 

Harry blushed. “Well, I slept on an old mattress.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You lived with Muggles, I presume?” 


“And how did they treat you?” Malfoy asked, seeming uncaring, before quickly adding, “I ask because you look like a nine-year-old. Small and scrawny. Thin, too. I noticed you didn’t eat much at the Feast.” 

Harry sat up from his comfortable position and sighed. “They didn’t like magic.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “Unbelievable.” 

Harry let out a doubtful laugh. “That wasn’t the worst of it.” 

Malfoy suddenly looked very interested. “What do you meant by that, Potter?” 

Harry looked away, mentally scolding himself. “Erm. Nothing. Just... I need some sleep, okay?” He stood and opened his trunk  to find a ratty Muggle shirt that Dudley used to own and a pair of sweatpants two sizes too big for him. He bundled them up into his arms and dashed to the bathroom, desperate for less attention. 

Well, now they’re going to keep asking. Harry sighed. This wasn’t what he wanted. 

But it was still nice to sleep in a large bed with soft covers instead of a rock-hard mattress. 


Chapter Text




Harry was in a large area, but it was all blurred, like his eyesight had gotten immensely worse. But he could tell it was lit by flames and they were coming from behind him. In front of him was a tall figure clad in dark-colored clothing. The figure was obviously a man and he had his back to him. 

And for the life of him, Harry simply could not figure out who it was. 

But, he did hear the snake-like hissing coming from the man. It seemed like he could almost understand it, but it was nearly  incoherent. Harry made his way around the man and found he was standing in front of a large, tall  mirror, but the mirror was blurred too.

He looked up at the face of the man and swore he saw a wicked smirk and a flash of crimson red before - 

Harry awoke with a gasp. He was coated in a layer of sweat and his bedclothes clung to him, as did his raven-colored hair. Blinking, he saw that his dorm mates were still sleeping. 

Eventually, he managed to calm himself down and regulate his breathing, and he laid back in his bed, confused.

He noticed that his scar was pulsing in beat with his heart and when he touched it gently, it stung. Wincing, he drew his hand back and sighed. What was that? Harry asked himself. 

Was that some sort of dream that was meant to tell him something?

He must’ve made a noise because he heard a curtain being drawn back and sleepy call of his name. 

“Oh,” Harry stammered, “I’m sorry - I’ll just... sleep now.”


He quickly draped his covers over himself and curled into a little ball. He closed his eyes. But he was wide awake. He heard the person - whoever it was - shuffle back into their bed and soon, snoring emitted from the spot.

Harry sighed and threw his legs over the side of his bed.

He looked at his nightstand. And the single drawer inside it. 

A slow smile made its way onto his lips. He reached over and slowly opened the drawer to reveal his Muggle pocketknife. Taking it out, he snapped open the blade and pressed it gently to the pad of his thumb, but not hard enough to draw blood. Sighing in content, he brought the blade to his cheek and dragged the cold, cool side of it downwards. 

A soft shudder of the thrill coursed through him. 

He wanted to. So badly. So, pocketing his blade, he dutifully got up from his bed and exited the dormitory. Keeping his footsteps light and quick, he made his way down to the common room and - he paused. 

If he left, and when he came back, he wouldn’t know the password, wouldn’t he? He’d have to ask for help. Well, he wasn’t sure if he’d have enough time to properly explore the castle during the day... Shaking his head, he walked up to the stone wall from where he’d entered and it opens up for him. 

It was that easy? He scoffed.

Quickly making his way down the right side of the corridor, and after a few sporadic turns, found himself in a courtyard with the crescent moon shining its light upon the grounds. 

And then he heard a quiet meow. 


Turning, he came face-to-face with a cat that bore dim, yellow, lamp-like eyes and slightly dirty brown fur. It meowed again and took a step toward him. Harry smiled. That’s right, he thought, trust is what I need. 

He knelt, but before he could do anything, he heard: “Are they near, my sweet?” 

Blanching, he stood and quickly realized that the caretaker, Filch was scouring the grounds! 




Harry bolted and made his way down the corridors, keeping his breathing shallow and soft. He stopped for a moment, trying to remember where’d he gone to fin himself in a courtyard. 


Oh no, his night couldn’t get any better. 

He turned and faced a angry Professor Snape, who was walking straight towards him. In black nightclothes, no less. 

”What are you doing at this ungodly hour? Explain!” The Professor demanded. 

“Er,” Harry said, “I-I was walking. I couldn’t sleep.” 

“That doesn’t mean you wander about past curfew! Fifteen points from Slytherin.” 


Harry winced. Yikes, his housemates weren’t going to be happy. 

Snape gave him one final glare and turned away. “Follow me.” 

Harry obeyed. 

Eventually, the duo found themselves in front of the stone wall Harry had exited from mere minutes ago. “The password has changed,” Snape explained, “since it is past midnight. Wolfsbane.” 

They entered and Snape gave Harry a sharp look. “Do not leave the Slytherin dungeons last curfew. This will be the last time. If you do it again, it will be detention. Understood?” 

Harry nodded. 

“Go. Now.” 

Harry obeyed. He darted into the dorms and dove into his bed, snuggling deeply into his pillow. He very nearly screamed into his pillow but punched it instead. 

He had to get in trouble on the first night! And he’d nearly killed Filch’s cat! 


Chapter Text





Somehow, the next morning, his new housemates had found out of his late-night stroll and the deduction of points. So it was a bit surprising to find that they were all ignoring him. 

He walked into the Great Hall and spotted Hermione waving at him frantically. He gave a timid wave back. 


"What are you doing?" Malfoy suddenly asked. 

"Um," Harry stammered, "waving to my friend...?" 

"She's a Mudblood, isn't she?" 

Harry glared at him. "Don't call her that." 

"Why not? It's true!" The boy protested. 

"My mother was a Muggleborn. Don't call her that."

Malfoy gave him a look that seemed to be searching him. Then he looked away. "Fine." 


Harry shifted in the seat in sat in, and grabbed a bit of bacon to put onto his plate. 

Pansy suddenly sat down from across the table and leaned forwards. "So..." she began, "I heard you lost us some points."

"I couldn't sleep." Harry growled. 

"I think getting detention  would be better than losing points, Potter." Malfoy said. Harry just grumbled under his breath. 


It wasn't much of his fault he lost the House points! It was mostly Snape's since he chose to dock points. Besides, he was thirsty! He wanted to do something fun and he was getting less and less of it. Suddenly, he saw the shadow of a tall person on his table and turned to find his Head of House looming over him. 

"Good morning, Professor Snape." Harry greeted. 

"Likewise, Potter." The man responded without emotion. He was holding a stack of parchment and handed one to Harry. "Here is your timetable for this week. Do not lose it." 

Harry took the timetable and peered at it as the professor handed out more of the parchment to the other first years. It seemed he had Herbology first with the Ravenclaws, Charms second with the Ravenclaws again, Potions third with the Gryffindors (oh that was going to be a pain in the arse), Defense Against the Dark Arts fourth with Hufflepuffs, and Transfiguration last with the Gryffindors again. They all lasted an hour and thirty minutes. Harry didn't know what happened after those classes (probably study time) or between those classes. 

Pansy poked him in the arm. "C'mon, let's go. Classes!"

Harry blinked, slightly bewildered. Had it gone that fast? He gathered his bookbag and clambered on with the first years. Abruptly, a Prefect stopped in front of them. It was Evan. 

"I'm here to escort you to your first class. Follow me." 

(He watched as Gemma led another set of first years to another corridor. It seemed the schedules changed...)


They left the Great Hall and made their way down several corridors. Then they came upon the moving staircases. Harry's eyes widened. 

Moving staircases? It seemed impossible to not get lost. Were there specific turns and such? At certain times? Harry didn't know. He wondered if he'd get away with shoving something - or rather, someone - living down those flights of stairs. He wondered what it'd look like upon impact. He wondered what it would look like all broken in pieces. He wondered, and wondered. 

He was snapped out of his contemplation when Pansy tugged at the sleeve of his robes and pulled him with the group of first years. Eventually they found themselves in front of a greenhouse with a long table they were supposed to stand behind. A heavyset witch in leather robes stood at the front of the table. Plants of many variations surrounded the walls and corners. He'd never seen any plant that actually moved on its own. 

"Come in!" cheered the heavyset witch, "Don't be shy!" 

Harry made his way next to Pansy and waited for the rest of the first years of that class to settle in. Once they did, the heavyset witch introduced herself as Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House. From then on, it was all theory to get what the idea of the term would be. Professor Sprout explained the uses of some easy-going plants and did demonstrations to show what to do. It was kind of fun, but mostly boring. He really wanted to do spells. The Ravenclaws that were with him and the Slytherin House shot him curious looks and maybe one or two dirty ones. 

Evan appeared suddenly at the end of class and escorted them to Charms. Professor Flitwick was a small, stout wizard who looked a bit like a goblin. Maybe he had goblin blood? Harry wanted to ask, but didn't because it'd probably sound really rude. The small professor explained the theory on spells and charms like Professor Sprout had done earlier. He announced that they'd start the Lumos charm next week, much to the disappointment of Harry and the first years. At rolecall, Professor Flitwick had fallen off of his stack of books at the call of Harry's name and said boy laughed quietly to himself as the professor righted himself. 


Potions was interesting. The father they went down the somewhat familiar dungeons, the more it got colder. 

Professor Snape had waltzed in with his black robes billowing and started spouting out questions to the Gryffindors and having them fail quite spectacularly. Harry was glad the professor hadn't asked him anything because he was actually one of the many students who hadn't cracked open their first year Potions book. The professor did explain some theory on Potions and explained vaguely of the abilities of it, such as stopping death and "ensnaring the senses". Of course, he ordered them to get their cauldrons and read the instructions on the board. 

And the class ended with a Gryffindor getting detention and another sent to the infirmary. The redhead Weasley boy had snarked at the professor and Harry had filed away those insults for later (he'd never use them against his teachers, but would most definitely  use it against bullies). Poor Longbottom had melted his cauldron and gotten boils all over himself. Professor Snape was not happy. 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Quirrell was a mess. And Harry hated it. He could hardly form a sentence and he stuttered at every. Single. Word he said. 

And that weird, snake-like feeling in his gut was back. It felt like it was actually moving, but quite sluggish and tired. Like it'd awoken from a long, long nap. And his scar... his scar would occasionally flash with pain and Harry would have to hide his noises caused by it and wipe his eyes multiple times to get them dry, even though he wasn't feeling emotional. And, unsurprisingly, Professor Quirrell had stuttered through an hour and thirty minutes of theory. It was absolutely agonizing. 


And then came the last class. 


Chapter Text




Hermione greets Harry as he enters the Transfiguration classroom. Draco makes a scoffing noise and Pansy sighs disappointingly. He doesn’t care. Hermione is his friend. Longbottom trails in after her and waves shyly. Harry waves back. 

He walks up near the desk to take his seat next to Pansy, when he freezes. 

There is a cat sitting on the desk. But it’s not an ordinary cat. 

It’s the one he’d tried to kill before he started school. They locked eyes and they’re trapped in a staring contest. 

“Pansy...” he turns to his friend, finally looking away, who’s busy pulling out a quill and parchment, and at her look, he continues, “who’s cat is that?” 

Pansy looked long and hard at the cat who hadn’t stopped looking at Harry with an accusatory look. 

”Don’t know,” she answered, “maybe it’s the Professor’s cat?” 

Before Harry could respond, the door to the classroom slammed open and a gasping Weasley and Seamus Finnigan come running in. Weasley laughs breathlessly. “Good thing the Professor isn’t here yet!” 


And right in front of Harry, the cat he tried to kill leapt off the desk and transformed in midair into Professor McGonagall. Harry sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes are wide.  

Oh no... that must be why she doesn’t like me! I attacked her! A teacher! 

He covers his mouth to hide his shock. He didn’t know how bad that was, having attacked a teacher, but he knew there’d be consequences. He hoped the teacher wouldn’t keep him after class! 

Professor McGonagall turns to the class, but before she spoke, she looked at Harry in the eyes. He stared right back. He felt like a mix of I’m dangerous and you know I have secrets! and Don’t call me out! Strange emotions churned inside him. He felt mostly satisfication for making her fear him, if she ever did. 

Then she broke the contact and turned her desk into a startled-looking pig and back again. Harry, glad for the distraction, was impressed, but learned that he and the class wouldn’t be making anything like that happen for a long while, so to his slight disappointment, they ended up turning matchsticks into needles.

After Professor McGonagall had passed along the matchsticks with a flick of her wand, Harry stared at the matchstick sitting innocently on his wooden desk. He raised his wand and imagined the magic coursing through taking a detour and passing through his arm and into his hand. He could almost feel the magic inside him. 

He cast the spell. 

The matchstick turned into a perfect needle. 

“Well done, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry jumped at the sound of the Professor’s voice. Turning slightly, he saw her looming over his desk, a strained smile upon her face. “Erm,” he stammered, “thanks.” 

She merely inclined her head and moved on the next student. 


At the end of class, he was only one to turn his matchstick into a needle, but Draco and Hermione were able to make a slight difference in their matchsticks. Professor McGonagall congratulated Harry and didn’t assign him any homework, but did for the students who hadn’t succeeded. 

Of course, Weasley had to snap about it being unfair after class. 

And, Harry was relieved that Professor McGonagall hadn’t called him after class. 





Professor Minerva McGonagall was surprised. And a little worried. 

There were only two students who had succeeded in transfiguring the matchstick into a needle during her career as a Transfiguration teacher: Harry Potter and Tom Riddle.

The unexpectedness of Harry’s success surprised her. 

What worried her was that Harry Potter was a little too similar to Tom Riddle. She didn’t know what had compelled her student to actually attack her that day, but she knew he was experienced.

What else had he done in the past? 

There was a small rumor about dead dogs turning up in random places (she sometimes kept Muggle rumors in check) and he worried that was little Harry’s doing. She hadn’t told the Headmaster of what had happened that June, and she doubted telling him because she’d been the witness of several questionable acts the Headmaster had done, all revolving around Harry Potter. 

She hoped that he wasn’t... well. Like him.

Professor McGonagall sat at her desk and waited for the next round of students. 

Chapter Text





Harry entered the Slytherin common room and sat down by a gaggle of first years that had just finished their own set of classes. They stopped talking and turned slowly to Harry, who didn’t anything. 

It’d been bugging him for hours that he hadn’t got a surge of the capital-T Thrill and he was itching for it. It was like withdrawal. It left him antsy and a little shaky. He thirsted for the sight of blood and maybe a little more...

He looked around and eventually got up and made his way to the dorm, ignoring the odd looks he got behind his back. He entered the room where he, Malfoy and his goons slept. Empty; good. He went to Goyle’s trunk and found it was unlocked. He opened the lid and rifled through the boy’s belongings, but no living things. 

Standing, the shaking worse, he moved to Crabbe’s trunk and suddenly froze. There was a rat in the trunk and it wasn’t doing anything. It was balding and looked old. One of its fingers were missing. 

Harry vaguely recalled a rat identical to this one that had been on the Weasley boy’s shoulder. 

Weird, Harry pondered, maybe it’d gotten lost? 

With his right hand, he reached into his pocket an clutched his pocketknife and with his left, he scooped up the rat, who had suddenly awoken at the jostling. 

It let out a squeak of surprise that seemed a little odd for an animal to do. 

“Are you one of those people who can turn into animals?” He asked softly, mostly to himself. The rat let out a shriek and leapt from Harry’s hand and the boy turned and let out a cry of frustration. He chased after the rat, but once he was back in the common room, he’d lost it. 

Once again ignoring the stares, he grumbled and returned to his dorm and sat on his bed, leg bouncing.

So that rat was a person... But who? He didn’t know any spells that would reverse the transformation or reveal the person. And why were they in their form? Were they hiding for some reason? Were they a spy? 

He decided to crack open a book of spells and read it. 


The Rennervate spell was supposed to wake someone up after they’d been Stunned. 

The Stupefy spell was the Stunning spell that knocked you out. The Rennervate spell was its counter. 

Expelliarmus was the spell that disarmed you. It knocked your wand out of your hand. 

Wingardium Leviosa was the Levitation spell. It made things float. 

Lumos was the lighting-up spell. It lit the end of your wand like a torch. Professor Flitwick mentioned they’d be learning that spell next week, along with the Levitation spell. 

But there wasn’t a spell for revealing someone out of their animal form. The book he was reading was a first-year book, so he was not surprised to not find it there. 




Harry was watching Ron feed the rat that had escaped Harry’s clutches earlier that day. Harry scowled. The rat person was definitely a spy of some sort. Maybe spying for Voldemort or something. Seemed highly likely. 


Theo tapped him on the shoulder. “Potter. What’s got you upset?” 

Harry pointed to the rat, explaining that he’d found it in his dormitory and it acted suspiciously human. He also mentioned that he was looking for a spell that revealed the person from the form. 


“Oh, you think it’s an Animagus?”

Harry blinked. “A what?”

“An Animagus,” Theo explained, “is someone who can change into an animal. It usually takes years of practice to be successful. Professor McGonagall is one.”  Harry narrowed his eyes at the rat sitting on the Weasley boy’s shoulder.

“Do you know any spells that reveals the person?” 

“No,” said Theo, “but I can research it in the library.” 

“I also think it’s a spy.” 

Theo choked on his meal. “What? Why?”

“I saw it with Weasley at the Sorting and in class with the Gryffindors. And then he disappears and winds up in the common room, my dorm no doubt, and then runs away when it realized it was caught when I asked if it was an Animagus. It freaked out and it seemed very odd.” 

Theo looked thoughtful. “Well, I don’t know much about that rat, but I’d keep an eye on it.” 

Harry nodded. “Alright. I’ll watch it.” He then turned to the rat upon Weasley’s shoulder and for a split second, the two seemed to make eye contact and the rat stiffened. Weasley, sensing its distress, petted it on its balding head. 

He would keep an eye on that rat. And, no, he won’t kill it just yet. 

Chapter Text





The next few days were pretty uneventful. He did his classes and learned new spells. He was one of the few to get the Lumos and Wingardium Leviosa spell in Professor Flitwick’s class (though he had overpowered his Lumos and nearly blinded himself), and in Professor McGonagall’s class, they continued with turning the matchsticks into needles, although Harry had moved to turning a marble into a quill. Hermione and Draco were still stuck on their matchsticks, but were still changing them slightly. 

He still kept an eye on the rat, but the Animagus stayed with Weasley almost the entire time. It annoyed him that the rat was too far out of reach, and he couldn’t sneak into the Gryffindor Tower and steal since he didn’t know the password and he was a ‘traitorous Slytherin’, based off of Weasley’s words after he thought Harry was glaring at him when he was actually glaring at the rat person one day. 

And then came the day of Flying lessons. With the Gryffindors. 

Harry was nervous, of course. In the Muggle world, broomsticks were used for cleaning, not for riding! He wasn’t a mess of nerves, but he was nervous enough to not have much of an appetite. 

“Eat!” Theo demanded, pushing a dish towards Harry’s plate. 

“I’m not hungry. And I wouldn’t want to throw up in the middle of class.”

Theo shrugged. “True, but you still gotta eat.” 

Harry, tired of the demands, snatched an apple from a basket that sat in the middle of the table and bit into it. “Happy?”

“Very.” Theo grinned. 

Harry grumbled. 





Madam Hooch was a scary-looking woman with yellow, hawk-like eyes that seemed to bore into their very souls. She instructed the first years of the two rival Houses to stand by the old school brooms and say, “UP!” while holding their hand over the broom. She added that confidence helped. 


Harry held his hand over the broom he stood by and cried, “UP!” 

Immediately, his broom shot into his hand from the ground. He grinned. Maybe he wasn’t as nervous as he thought. He realized that he was one of the very few to succeed.

Draco, bedside him, hadn’t gotten his broom into his hand yet. His friend muttered something under his breath. Harry leaned over and said quietly, “Confidence helps. You’ve been a wizard your whole life. Why stop now?”

“Shut up, Potter!” Malfoy snapped. Usually, when Draco used Harry’s surname in a sentence, that meant he wasn’t in a good mood. Harry giggled softly. 


After everyone managed to get their brooms into their hands (Hermione’s had just rolled on the ground, Longbottom’s didn’t move at all, and Weasley got a smack on the nose for being too forceful), Madam Hooch ordered them to mount their brooms. Harry noted gleefully that Draco had been doing it wrong for years. 

And then it was time for the takeoff, but before Madam Hooch could order them to float only a few feet off the ground, Longbottom had kicked off too early and fallen twenty feet from his broom only to break his wrist. Madam Hooch had ordered them to not go flying off like hooligans or they’d be packing their bags before they’d say ‘Quidditch’. 

There was a beat of silence before Malfoy crowed, “Did you see that great lump?” 

Parvati, one of the Patil Twins, snapped, “Shut up, Malfoy!”

Harry watched as Malfoy sneered. “Oooh,” he jeered, “Standing up for Longbottom? He’s nothing but a Squib!”

And to Harry’s surprise, Weasley suddenly walked up and socked Malfoy in the jaw. Well, Harry thought, that’s unexpected. His friend fell ungracefully to the ground, and Weasley pounced. Hermione rushed over to pry off the flailing redhead. 

Harry leaned back and just watched. He suddenly caught onto the sight of blood running down Weasley’s face and the Thrill surged through him, forcing him to bit his lip and stifle the noise that nearly passed his lips.

What in Merlin’s name...?

Suddenly, someone brushed past by him, shouting, “Mr. Weasley! Mr. Malfoy!” 

It was Professor McGonagall. She’d come to the rescue. Immediately, her stern tone sent the boys sprawling off of each other and standing, cupping their bleeding noses.

(Harry couldn’t help but lick his lips hungrily. Where the heck was this coming from?)

Malfoy pointed at Weasley; “He started it!” 

“Enough! Boys, with me.” She turned and made her way back to the castle. Weasley and Malfoy followed. There was another beat of silence, but was broken by a soft gasp from Hermione. Harry turned to see her lean down and pick up a shiny ball that glittered inside. 

Harry walked up to her. “What’s that?”

“It’s a Remembrall. Neville’s gran gave it to him during breakfast today.” Hermione explained, “It turns red if you’ve forgotten something.” 

Suddenly, Madam Hooch came bustling over and looked at them as if they were the worst delinquents she’d ever met. “Class dismissed.” At that, some of the Gryffindors gave a little cheer, but Harry and his Housemates didn’t say anything. 

They entered the castle and made their way to their common room. And then Harry realized that Weasley’s rat hadn’t been with him during the lesson. But his bit of hope faded when he realized that the rat was likely in the Gryffindor Tower. 

Harry sighed. Great. 


Chapter Text




It’d been two days since the fight between Draco and Weasley, and they were both still sporting black eyes. Harry was currently watching Weasley glare daggers at Draco, who was pretending that he hadn’t noticed. It was the dinner feast and Harry was trying to enjoy his meal without Weasley being a ponce and the rat just staring at Harry with its watery blue eyes. 

Suddenly there was a loud clatter and Harry had looked up to see Weasley storming from the Gryffindor table over to his House table. Weasley made his stop in front of Draco and said, quite loudly, that he was challenging Draco to a Wizarding duel at midnight. No contact, only wands. 

“Fine.” Draco snapped back, “the trophy room. The door’s always unlocked.”

“Neville’ll be my second, who’s yours?” 

“Harry.” Draco answered. 

“Me?” Harry squawked. “Why?”

Draco glared at him and Harry shut up. “Good,” said Weasley, oblivious, “Midnight it is.” And then he sauntered off back to his table and placed that blasted rat onto his shoulder again. 

“Why are you making me your second? What does that even mean?” Harry asked accusingly.

“A second is someone who replaces the first when they’re down. And we’re not going anyway...” at Harry’s confused look, he continued, “Why would we? We’d be caught by Filch in minutes!” 

Harry nodded, “That makes sense.” And he turned back to his meal. 


Harry was in the common room doing homework when Theo sidled up next to him, whispering, “I heard Draco and Weasley are going to do a Wizarding duel at midnight.” 


Harry sighed. “Yeah. In the trophy room.”

“I’m going. Wanna come?”

Harry blinked. “What? No thanks!”

Theo gave him puppy eyes. It freaked him out. “Please?”

Harry stared at Theo’s wide eyes before saying, “Fine. Don’t get us caught.” 





Harry waited until Draco was actually asleep before sneaking down to the common room at near midnight. Theo was already at the stone wall that was the entrance. He grinned devilishly at Harry when he arrived. 

“Do you know the password?” Harry asked, his voice a whisper. 

“Yeah.” Theo answered, “it’s Draught.

Harry nodded. Together they departed the common room and made their up the dungeons. 

Soon they came upon the corridor of the trophy room and saw Weasley there. Harry yanked Theo back before he could do anything stupid and watched as Weasley and Longbottom, along with Hermione stood around, waiting.


“They should be here!” Weasley cried.

“You’re the one who chose to leave after curfew!” Hermione scolded. 

“And you are the one who locked us out!” Weasley shot back. Longbottom didn’t say a word. 


Then they heard the telltale meow of Filch’s cat. And it was down the hall where Theo and Harry stood, but the sound was loud enough for all to hear it. Everyone panicked. 

Theo and a Harry ran down a corridor blindly, gasping and panting. They found a random door as Filch neared, asking his precious Mrs. Norris if the students were near. Theo fumbled for his wand and pointed it at the doorknob. “Alohamora!” 

It unlocked and they ran inside, barely missing Flich as he walked by.

Harry couldn’t help but notice the sudden stifling heat of the room. He also noticed that Theo was a gaping mess and looked up to see a monstrous beast blinking sleepily at them. It was a three-headed dog and it was quickly getting angry. Harry was able to somehow look down and see it’s paws standing over a trapdoor. Before Theo could scream, Harry clamped his hand over his friend’s mouth and opened the door. They stumbled out and closed the door just as the dog started barking.

Harry removed his hand, and Theo burst out. “What was that? A Cerberus? In Hogwarts?” 

“Did you see what standing on?” Harry asked. 

“No!” Theo wailed, “I was too busy looking at its teeth!” 

“It was standing on a trapdoor.”

All panic left Theo. “A trapdoor?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “it seemed to be guarding something.” 

Theo ran a hand over his face, sighing. “How about... we just deal with this tomorrow?” 

Harry nodded. He noticed how tired he was becoming. “Yeah. Okay. I agree.”

They quietly made their way back to the dorms without encountering Filch or his cat. 

Chapter Text





The Cerberus must’ve been a trigger for Harry because for the next few days, he was dying to see something bleed. The dog didn’t interest him much, probably because it was too risky and it would be a massive, gored mess. Over the days, he secretly kept fingering his pocketknife that was hidden in the pocket of his robes. 

So, one night, after much contemplation, Harry was able to weasel out the next password of the day from a Prefect and sneak out from the dorms and into the corridors. He was almost shaking with glee and anticipation. He made his way down from the castle past a wall of stone that reminded him of the Stone Hedge he’s heard about on the television one day. 

He’d placed several ground rules for himself before he was going to do what he wanted. 1) He’d clean himself with a helpful cleaning spell he’d learned recently, 2) He wouldn’t use his wand. He’d heard of the Trace and did want to get in trouble, and finally 3) do not get caught.

As he passed the wards that surrounded Hogwarts, he felt a prickly of magic race down his spine. Ignoring it, he found himself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, pocketknife out and exposed. 

After a moment of hesitation, he ventured into the forest, looking for animals to kill. It took a while, but he eventually found a deer dozing by a rather large tree. He approached it and brought his pocketknife closer. Just as the deer startled awake, he plunged it into the deer’s neck. Blood spurted out from the wound and Harry stepped aside as to not get it on his clothes.

The deer swayed for a moment and then it’s delicate head fell to the ground, its limbs going slack. 

Harry shook with adrenaline and a small, crazed cackle escaped his mouth. Pulling the blade out from the animal’s neck, and watching the blood flow more freely, he brought the pocketknife closer to his mouth and dragged his tongue over it, savoring the coppery taste.

He grabbed the deer, turned it to its stomach and slit it open. The organs popped out and blood pooled around the deer and Harry’s knees. Harry dug his hand inside and pulled out a strip of its large intestines. It was still warm and it seemed to pulse sluggishly. He sliced a piece off and wrapped it around his wrist like a bracelet.

Harry began to laugh. It was a cold, high-pitched sound and it echoed through the forest, sounding very insane. It grew into a crescendo and it poured through the trees and drove away many creatures of the forest. After a few minutes, Harry’s laughter died down and he was able to calm himself down. 

Little did he know, that his green eyes glowed like the Killing Curse, illuminating the night with eerie shadows. They glowed like flashlights and flickered every few moments.

He slid off the ‘bracelet’ and gave one, long lick over the piece of organs and blood pooled into his mouth. Harry gave a shudder and moaned quietly. His fingers crushed his midnight meal as he fought off the immense waves of pleasure. 




Little did he know, a certain Potions Master had witnessed it. 

Chapter Text





Severus Snape was in the Forbidden Forest searching for potions ingredients when he’d caught sight of the odd glow somewhere ahead of him.

Killing Curse green. 

He’d drawn his wand, ready to stun whoever had been casting the blasted Unforgivables in the Forest and on Hogwarts property, when he saw the glow move. 

Confused and interested, he’d moved closer, wand still drawn and came upon eyes that glowed Avada Kedavra green. The next thing he’d seen was the body of the dead deer splayed about and the hunched body that looked over it. Snape thought it was a wraith of Voldemort or the man himself, but caught sight of the school robes it wore.

Bloody hell, it was a student!

He noticed the shaggy black hair and the small frame and it rang alarm bells in his head and seemed very familiar... The Potions Master has stepped even closer, making sure he was somewhat behind a large tree and watched as the student scooped out a strip of the deer’s intestine and wrapped it around his small, boney wrist and started cackling. It was an eerie sound, and it sounded like a mix of Bellatrix and Voldemort laughing. 

And then the boy had turned his head towards him, thought he hadn’t been sighted, and Snape blanched quite violently, nearly tripping over a foot. 

 It was Harry bloody Potter! 

He watched in morbid fascination as brat licked the strip of meat wrapped around his wrist and moaned. He seemed to be fighting something he was experiencing. He writhed and shook, and was trying to keep himself quiet. Snape decided to leave right then and there, not wanting to get caught and not wanting to witness whatever the brat was going to do later. He decided to collect his ingredients another day.

The Professor had returned to his office, trying his best not to gag. It was rare he lost his composure, and that night was an outright example of it. 

He didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone nor talk to the boy about it at all. 

Chapter Text





Harry entered the Great Hall the next morning, giddy. His Slytherin friends immediately noticed the change and pondered him with questions. 


“What’s up with you, Potter?” Draco asked. “Why are you all smiley?” 

Harry’s grin widened. “I had fun last night.” 


Theo choked on his drink and struggled to breathe. Pansy gave him a good smack on the back to dislodge the stuff that had gone down the wrong pipe. Theo sucked in a breath. “You do realize what you’re implying, Harry?” He rasped. 

Harry frowned. “No.”


Pansy let out a childish giggle as Harry sat down next to Theo and Pansy, and across from Draco. Theo crooked a finger and Harry leaned in, only to have Theo whisper scandalously, “It means wanking, Harry.” 

Harry blushed to his roots. He buried his face into his hands. “Oh Merlin. That’s not what I meant!” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.” 

“I wasn’t in bed.” Harry countered. 

“You mean you were the bathroom.”  

“I was not!” He squawked. He really didn’t want to explain why he’d been out of bed last night, and he would take his darkest secrets to the grave. But he wanted to repair his dignity. 

“I went on a walk. In the Forbidden Forest.” 

Draco whistled. “You might’ve gotten in trouble if a teacher had caught you.”

“Well lucky me,” Harry snapped, “I’m still here, aren’t I?”


Harry dug into his meal and his friends didn’t question anything else about his nightly stroll. He was wiping his mouth with a handkerchief when he saw a shadow loom over him. He turned to see Professor Snape standing over him with a stack of timetables in his hand. 

He stared at Harry with an unreadable look in his face, before handing Harry his schedule. Then he turned and walked away. Draco frowned. “Well, that’s odd.” 

Theo frowned too. “It’s unusual he’d not say anything.” 

“Well it’s not that big of a deal, right?” Harry asked. 

Draco and Theo shrugged. 




The rest of the day was odd. The teachers seemed subdued and very quiet around him, but it could’ve been his imagination. Professor Quirrell seemed more attached to Harry and he swore he’d seen a flash of red in the Professor’s eyes at one point. It reminded him of something he’d seen, but he couldn’t quite place it...

But oddest of all, Snape hardly said anything to him during the Potions class. And the he’d asked him to stay after class, confusing him and his yearmates.

“Mr Potter.” Snape began, “are you well?” 

Harry frowned, his guard rising. “I’m well, Professor. Why?” 

“You seemed quite elated this morning.” His teacher said. 

Harry blushed a little. “Well, uh... I just. Slept well.”

“Ah. And what of your hands?” Snape gestured to his hands. Harry looked down and saw the underside of his nails were caked in dry blood. Harry’s face whitened. 

“Um. I was just...” 

“Do not tell me. It is your secret. But make sure to clean it off next time, Potter.” 

Harry was frozen. Had Snape known? This whole time? He really hoped not. And the he came to a realization that chilled him to his bones. 

“Professor? Did you... see me last night?”

Snape was silent for a long while. “I did.” When Harry opened his mouth to protest, he quickly added, “I will not tell anyone. But I do not condone your actions and I find them atrocious. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded. “I understand, sir.” Inside he was terrified. He did not want anyone to know what he’d done. He hoped Professor Snape wouldn’t tell a soul. 

”Good. Now go.” 

Harry fled. 

Chapter Text





The next few weeks were uneventful (except the rumor that Weasley got bitten by a dragon or something and that Gryffindor had lost a ton of points a couple of days later). Harry didn’t dare go sneaking out again, and Snape never mentioned that night again. His friends remained oblivious and he didn’t tell anyone. His classes remained the same and so did everything else.

The holidays were rather uneventful and he obviously chose to stay at Hogwarts. On Christmas morning, he gotten many sweets from his Slytherin friends. He was alone when he opened his presents. He’d also gotten a coat hanger from his relatives.

But a few days before the end of the year, Harry overheard a conversation (more like an argument) between some students and Professor McGonagall. 

Harry stayed hidden as the students - Hermione and someone else - mentioned the Philosopher’s Stone. And it seemed that Professor McGonagall had dropped her books, hastily explaining that Dumbledore was unavailable. And then she said to stop making things up about someone stealing the Stone and sent them on their way. 

Harry decided to follow them and once they’d made it to the door where the Cerberus slept in, he’d been caught. Hermione and Weasley were there, looking surprised to see him. They fought for a few minutes and Harry was able to glean out enough information about the dog to know what to do at the first step: the dog fell asleep at the sound of music. And someone was after the Stone - Hermione and Weasley thought it was Snape, but Harry disagreed.  

The trio entered but there was a harp already playing. Hermione opened the trapdoor he and Theo had spotted all those weeks ago, and they fell in to find themselves stuck in the Devil’s Snare. 

“We need fire! The Snare is flammable!” Hermione had shrieked. 

“Are you a witch or not?” Weasley had bellowed. 

That had gotten her moving and she used her wand to light up flames so they could escape. They fell deeper into the strange chamber and came upon a broomstick inside a room with many flying keys. Harry had gone and found that their exit was locked and concluded that they needed to find a specific key to unlock the door. 

Eventually, they spotted the bent-winged large key that floated feebly. Hermione refused to ride the broom because she had a fear of heights, and Ron didn’t have very much confidence in broom-riding. So, it was up to Harry. Nervous at first, he mounted the broom and took off. Almost instantaneously, he found that he was a natural. And he loved it. 

Harry, using his possibly-a-Seeker (maybe he’ll sign up next year!) skills, snatched the correct key from the air and successfully unlocked the door. The next task was a giant chessboard. And what unnerved Harry was that none of the chess pieces had faces. Soon, with Ron as a Knight and sacrificing himself (and getting himself knocked out, the idiot) Hermione and Harry were able to pass to the next obstacle. When they entered, black flames rose from the door they’d stepped through and purple flames rose from the door that held their final obstacle. On a small table sat several vials of potions and a note. 

Hermione was able to solve the riddle and she took the potion that sent her back. She mentioned it tasted like ice. Harry reluctantly took the potion that sent him forward. Harry agreed; it did taste like ice. Hermione gave Harry a final hug, as if saying goodbye, and wished him good luck. She left after that. 

Harry steeled himself and walked through the purple flames and into a large chamber. 





A figure clad in purple stood in front of a large mirror (it had the word desire backwards as the Mirror of Erised) It reminded Harry of something he’d seen before... but what was it?

“You?” Harry gasped.

Professor Quirrell smirked. “Me.” His annoying stutter was gone. He sounded pretty confident. 

“I honestly didn’t expect you to be after the Stone.” Harry said, almost causally. 

“Who would expect p-p-poor P-P-Professor Q-Q-Quirrell to be the one? Although, it’s not just for me...”

“Just for you? Who else would want it?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

“My Master...” Now Quirrell’s voice was uncertain. He brushed a hand over his turban. “He is... desperate.” 


Now Harry was confused. Who would want the Stone other than the man before him. And if he had a Master, where would he be? Harry took a couple of steps closer until he was almost side-by-side with the Professor. Said Professor was wringing his hands nervously. 

“I’m presenting it to my Master, but how do I get it? Should I break the mirror?”


Harry stared at his reflection and noticed two people standing behind him. One was a woman with fiery red hair, and the other was a man who looked eerily similar to him, but older. He even had the same glasses. He watched as his reflection suddenly smiled at him and pulled a blood-red stone from its pocket. It winked and put the Stone back into its pocket. At the same time, a weight dipped into his pocket. He’d gotten the Stone!

“What do you see?” Professor Quirrell asked. 

“I...” Harry felt that maybe he should lie. He didn’t know, it he felt Quirrell would use his honesty against him. “I’m... I’ve got the Quidditch Cup...” 

He lies...”

Harry jumped, looking around. “What was that?” It sounded hissy and very creepy. But his musings were broken by Quirrell’s sharp, “What do you see, boy? Tell me!” 

Harry, growing more and more alarmed, stammered, but couldn’t get anything out.

“Let me see him, meet him... face-to-face.”

Harry felt like ice was dripping onto his heart. That voice... was so familiar. He’d heard somewhere. 

“Master, you are not strong enough!” Quirrell protested. 

“I am strong enough... for this.” 

“For what?” Harry squeaked rather pathetically. 


Quirrell looked at Harry nervously, as if he knew he was going to regret what he was about to reveal. He turned to face the mirror and began unwrapping his turban. Harry’s eyes fixed onto as strips of purple fabric fell to the floor in heaps. Eventually, skin was revealed, but it wasn’t the back of his head. 

Harry gasped. 

It was a face. 

Ugly and serpentine, red eyes gleamed in the firelight and a smirk played across the lipless mouth. Harry fought not to gag. It was horrible. The face had clearly seen better days and he’d rather meet the face that he had before he mutilated it. 


“Harry Potter... see what I’ve become? Mere vapor...” 

A realization came crashing down on Harry. “V-Voldemort?”

“Yess... now, give me the Stone you have in your pocket...” 


Harry shook his head, putting a hand over said pocket. “No.” 

“No? Give me the Stone and I will bring back your parents...” 


Harry stifled a gasp. His eyes flickered to the mirror, where his parents inside stood, still smiling. But his parents were dead. They were never coming back. Should he grow to accept that? That people die everyday? He looked up at the face, who was still  smirking, and glared.


The face still smiled. “Think of all the power you will have... give me the Stone or your parents would have died in vain...”


White-hot fury suddenly coursed through his veins. “LIAR!” He screamed, his body beginning to shake. Voldemort’s face darkened and he ordered his servant to kill him. Quirrell made his way towards Harry and the boy made a split-second decision. If he was going to die, or if it was necessary to kill his teacher in some way, he’d go out with a bang.

He backed up and suddenly sprinted for Quirrell, who was now facing him, and jumped onto his front like a monkey and biting viciously into his neck like a vampire. Immediately, hot, thick blood spurted out from the bite and got all over Harry and Quirrell, but Harry just bit deeper. 

His teeth penetrated muscle and he felt them scrape against bone. Quirrell was letting out quickly-dying screams and there was smell of burning flesh and Harry’s scar was burning, burning, burning...

Quirrell fell, and Harry fell with him. But he did not stop biting as his vision darkened and blackened. He was shaking so much from pleasure or fear he did not know. He ripped a tendon out from the Professor’s neck and gladly chewed on it until it was mush. And then, he swallowed. It slid down like milk. And it was so good...

Harry fell to the side, a strange rushing noise in his ears, his face flushed... voices calling his name... and Harry finally fell unconscious. The last thing he saw was the mauled neck of one dead Professor. 

Chapter Text





Harry saw something flitting about in front of him, and he felt as if he needed it. He reached up and tried to grab it, but it went out of his reach. As his vision cleared, he noticed the object wasn’t just something he couldn’t see, but were his glasses. And the Headmaster was holding them above his face. 

The Headmaster gave him a smile and handed him his glasses. Harry put them on and everything cleared up and turned way less blurry. Harry took note that he was a bit tired and his scar was throbbing dully. Then, he remembered. The Stone, Quirrell and... and... he recalled attacking the Professor and... something... him eating something. 

Stone cold horror suddenly filled him. He’d eaten a part of the Professor! 

“Headmaster? Is the Stone safe?” Harry asked, his voice quiet. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore answered, “the Stone has been destroyed.” 

“Why destroyed?”

“It had uses that would make one immortal. It is called the Elixir of Life. It was too risky to keep it around. Nicholas Flamel agreed to have it destroyed. He and his wife will live long enough to put their affairs in order.” Dumbledore explained. 

“Oh.” Harry paused. “What about my friends?” He noticed the large stack of sweets sitting on the table to his right.

”Well, the Weasley twins sent you a toilet seat. Madam Pomphrey thought it was unsanitary and confiscated it.” Even though Harry didn’t know the twins very well, he still smiled a little. 


”She was able to escape and notify a teacher. Ron Weasley was mildly injured but he survived.” Harry didn’t particularly care for Weasley, but was still relieved. Good. He wasn’t going to be responsible for his friends’ deaths anytime soon. But the Professor... he’d killed him. 

”What about Quirrell? I think I burned him or something...”

”Your mother’s protection saved you. The night she died, her sacrifice invoked an ancient power that prevented the Killing Curse from hurting you.” Dumbledore explained. Harry nodded, unable to look at the Headmaster in the eyes. He wanted to know if anyone had seen what he’d done to the Professor, but at the same time didn’t want it mentioned at all. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to live with the consequences of his actions. 





Harry was just in time for the Leaving Feast. He told his friends about what had happened down below, but didn’t utter a word about what he’d done. He knew everyone would hate him for it. And he’d probably get arrested or even sent to prison!

He promised he would send letters unless they sent some back. They said farewell and parted ways at Kings Cross, where Harry’s relatives were waiting. Armed with new information and lessened morals, he knew he would have fun this summer...