According to the books, the easiest way to become familiar with your magical core was meditation.
No wonder the spells on him had made him impulsive, restless. He never would have been able to do it, even if he'd had the urge.
With the spells gone, however, Harry found it easy to sink into his own mind, his breathing steady and his eyes closed. It was a little like the days back in his cupboard; falling into his imagination to pretend he was literally anywhere other than crammed under the Dursleys' staircase. Pretend he wasn't in pain, wasn't starving, wasn't cold.
Except the difference here was that he wasn't creating anything — his mind was empty and still. At least, he tried to be. It was hard, shoving away every little thought that crossed his mind. But after several days of dedicated practice before bed, he was starting to get the hang of it.
He relaxed his shoulders against the headboard, trying to sink deeper into his body. He could almost feel it, a warmth running through him, a spark. The book said he had to find that spark and follow it back to his core.
The book also said it was incredibly difficult, and took time.
Somewhere, Harry thought he could see a faint glow of light in the corner of his vision; a strange concept with his eyes closed. He tried to focus on it, draw it closer — and then, outside the room, there was a loud bang and a grumbled curse.
Harry's concentration was lost.
He scowled to himself, opening his eyes. When he glanced at his watch, he realised it was already nearly midnight — too late to try again. He'd just have to accept that progress for now, and keep trying tomorrow.
It wasn't going to happen overnight, he reminded himself. These things took practice.
But he couldn't help but feel like there was an hourglass somewhere, grains of sand running out far too quickly, counting down to the day when he would no longer have the freedom for practice and time.
Dumbledore — if it truly was Dumbledore, though he couldn't think of any other options — would eventually find out that Harry not only knew about the spells, but had broken them. He highly doubted he'd be able to play dumb until he was seventeen. Sometimes he doubted he'd be able to play dumb for more than a week after getting back to Hogwarts. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that he couldn't reveal his hand too early. He needed more information.
He needed to make sure no one could ever stifle his magic in the same way ever again.
Shuffling down to rest his head on the pillow, Harry closed his eyes, determination still tight in his jaw. It was too early for a plan yet — he still didn't know for sure who he was planning against — but he had time to prepare. He was only thirteen. No one would be expecting much of him yet.
That would be their mistake.
.-.-.
At long last, Harry's peace was broken by the arrival of the Weasleys and Hermione on the morning of August 31st. He found them outside of Fortescue's, ice creams in front of them while Harry wandered over from having just been in Flourish and Blotts again. Ron had even more freckles than usual, and Hermione's brown skin seemed to have darkened several shades.
They beamed at him, Hermione grabbing him in a tight hug as soon as he was close enough. "We wondered where you were, mate!" Ron exclaimed, patting him on the back as Harry sat down. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but Tom said you'd already left."
"I was just wandering," Harry said with a shrug. "Got all my school things last week, so I haven't had much else to do lately." He wasn't ready to tell his best friends about what he'd been up to in the last three weeks. Not until he knew who he could trust. "How was Egypt? And France?"
"Never mind that," Hermione waved off. "Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?"
"I didn't exactly do it on purpose," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "She's fine now. The ministry got it all sorted out." Of course Fudge wasn't going to expel him when some sort of madman was after his skin.
"It's not funny, Ron!" Hermione insisted, while Ron roared with laughter. "Harry could've been expelled!"
"Yeah, but he wasn't," Ron retorted, still grinning.
"What's with all the books, Hermione?" Harry asked, quickly changing the subject. She had a huge stack of books by her side; far more than should be on her school list. "Oh, well I'm taking more new subjects than you, aren't I?" she replied, pointing out which subject each book was for. Harry's jaw dropped.
"How is it even possible to take that many?" The form McGonagall had them fill out asked for two additional subjects, three at maximum. Hermione was taking five.
"I've got it all sorted out with Professor McGonagall, don't worry," Hermione said dismissively. "Now, Ron and I were just talking — I've still got some money left over from my parents, for an early birthday present, and I was thinking about getting an owl."
"There's a creature shop over there," Harry replied, pointing to the Magical Menagerie. He'd spent quite a bit of time in there, talking to the snakes.
"Perfect. I want to get something for Scabbers, too. He's been off since Egypt," Ron added, patting the lump in his front pocket. They all got to their feet, Harry helping Hermione with some of her many books.
"Are those new boots, Harry?" Hermione asked, making him glance down and realise he was wearing the dragonhide boots from Silverling's. He grimaced, hoping Ron didn't notice.
"Yeah. I got a bit bored around here, did some shopping. Dudley's shoes are never gonna fit me."
"They're very nice," she complimented. Luckily, Ron was already on his way to the menagerie.
"Are you two coming or not?" he called impatiently. Harry and Hermione hurried to follow, Hermione's books banging into their knees.
Perhaps Harry would buy her a bag from Twilfitt and Tattings for Christmas.
.-.-.-.
They returned to the Leaky Cauldron with Ron's rat tonic and Hermione's new cat — or maybe small tiger, Harry wasn't sure — and both Ron and Hermione in foul moods. Harry was already thinking longingly of his solitary days gone past. Of course, the rest of the Weasley family were there when they arrived, and Harry was sucked into the chaos like he'd never left. It was good to see them again, but it was all a bit much after so long by himself.
Harry was glad to head back to his room after dinner, sleepy from both the food and the social interaction. He could hear the muffled sounds of Ron and Percy finishing their packing next door, and just as he went to unbuckle his boots, his door swung open. Fred and George slipped in, quickly shutting it behind them. "Hiya, Harry, old chap. Don't mind if we hang out in here for a minute, do you?" Fred asked, sitting on the bed beside him while George took the other side.
"What've you done?" Harry asked flatly. Both twins put a hand to their heart as if struck.
"Us? Do something? Never," they said in unison.
"You're not going anywhere til I've found my badge!" Percy's indignant voice drifted through from next door. The twins shared a look, and Harry raised an eyebrow.
"…We might've stolen Percy's Head Boy badge," George admitted.
"But we've been improving it," Fred added, rummaging in his pocket. "Look!" He showed Harry the red and gold badge, which now read 'Bighead Boy'. Harry snorted.
"He's gonna kill you," he remarked, but didn't toss the twins out.
Gathering up all the miscellaneous things that had sprawled all over his room in his three week stay, Harry forgot about the book he'd been reading before bed until Fred picked it up off the bedside table. "'Wizarding Traditions and Pureblood Rites', hmm?" he read the cover, brows furrowed as he flicked it open. Harry's heart stopped. "Not your usual bedtime reading."
"I, uh," Harry started, frantically fumbling for some kind of excuse. George smirked, plucking the book from his twin's grasp.
"Is little Harrikins learning about his place in the world? Noble and Most Ancient Heir of Potter," he added teasingly, making Harry flinch.
"How do you know about that?"
"Not like there are any other Potters about, is there?" George replied. "We just didn't think you knew."
"The, uh— the goblins told me. When I went to Gringotts," Harry said eventually, praying the twins didn't dig any deeper than that. Surely that was a normal thing, right? The goblins informing someone about their inheritance. Neither redhead seemed perturbed by it, nodding as if it made total sense. "They're probably keen to have the Potter vaults open again," Fred mused. "Don't worry, Harry," he added, clearly sensing the fear rolling off the younger boy. "We won't tell Ron. Our little brother's a mite sensitive about these things."
"We can write to Bill and Charlie, if you like," George suggested. "They're the ones doing all the lordship stuff in our family. Although Weasley and Prewett might be Sacred 28, but we've let a lot of the traditions die, so I don't know how helpful they'd be."
"Sacred 28?" Harry had seen references to that in his books, but never had it actually explained to him.
"The 28 wizarding families who were true purebloods back in the 30s," Fred explained with a roll of his eyes that showed exactly what he thought of that. "As decided by some ponce who wrote a book about it. There's others, of course — the Potters are as pure as it gets, but they're not on the list because the author had it out for them. Said they don't count because they're not technically English pureblood. As if they're any less English than the Shafiqs or the Shacklebolts. But it's basically a bunch of old-blood wizarding families. You can probably find a book about it if you like. A better book than the original; there's bound to be one that tells you all of the old-blood families. All the Wizengamot seats. You can owl-order it to school."
Harry, who had been trying to find a book exactly like that, looked up hopefully. "I've never owl-ordered anything before."
"Oh, it's easy," George assured. "You just get the reference number off the catalogue, owl off with the money and they'll send it back to you. Angelina's got a Flourish and Blotts catalogue, I'm sure she'd let you borrow it at school."
"And if you ever want to order something without putting your name on it," Fred said.
"In case it's not something little Harry Potter should be looking at," George supplied knowingly.
"We'll be happy to put our names down for you," Fred finished, grinning. He glanced at his twin. "People have given up questioning what we buy."
Before Harry could answer, the door swung open again. Quick as a flash, George had the book shoved behind his back. "There you are, boys," Mrs Weasley greeted, sounding harassed. "Have you seen Percy's badge?"
"Not since he was flashing it around earlier, Mum," Fred said earnestly. Mrs Weasley eyed her sons with suspicion.
"I haven't seen it, Mrs Weasley," Harry piped up. "But I can help you look, if you like?" He went for wide-eyed innocence, and Mrs Weasley softened her smile.
"Oh, that's alright, Harry dear. You finish packing and go to bed, you've got a long day tomorrow! Fred, George, you as well. The Ministry is sending cars, so we can't be late!"
"Be out in a minute, Mum," George promised, and the Weasley matriarch left them be. George smirked. "Nice one, Harry."
"Seriously though, mate, if you ever need anything, just ask," Fred insisted, squeezing Harry's shoulder. "We're good at keeping quiet. When we need to," he added, no doubt thinking of the many explosions they regularly made.
"Thanks, guys. You too. Always happy to be an alibi." Harry winked, making the twins grin widely as they stood.
"Knew we could count on you, little brother!"
The twins bid their goodnights and left Harry by himself, a warmth brewing in his chest. It was nice to know he had at least two people on his side.
.-.-.-.
Harry was surprised the next morning when Mr Weasley pulled him aside in all the chaos at the platform to tell him about Sirius Black. He pretended it was new information, appropriately wide-eyed and fearful at the confirmation that oh, by the way, the mass-murderer that broke out of the most secure prison in the wizarding world? Wants you dead. He promised not to do anything rash — only half-meaning it — and then they were on their way. Harry wondered what he would have done if he hadn't bumped into Malfoy the week before. Why did Dumbledore think it was okay to keep something like that from him for so long? From what Mr Weasley said, the headmaster didn't even want him to know to begin with!
Ginny and the twins quickly ditched them to find their own friends, and when they were secure in the compartment with the sleeping new professor, Harry told his two best friends about Sirius Black. It was only fair, after all; if they were going to be hanging around him, they were in just as much danger. He was a little insulted at Hermione's assumption that he'd go seeking Black out, but then he remembered the compulsion charm the goblins had removed, and realised that before he probably would've done exactly that. Conversation soon turned to Hogsmeade, making Harry remember for the first time since getting to Diagon Alley that he never got his permission slip signed. He probably wouldn't be allowed to go even if he had.
As Ron and Hermione tried to cheer him up about not being able to go — well, Hermione tried, Ron mostly gushed about how great Hogsmeade was supposed to be — Harry let his thoughts wander, his gaze drifting to the man asleep opposite him. Professor R J Lupin. He looked familiar. Perhaps Harry had seen him around Diagon Alley? He couldn't place it, it was just a feeling, like he knew this man. Even as he got dragged back into conversation, he couldn't look away from him for long. Part of Harry hoped the professor would wake up, then he might be able to find out if they knew each other.
Then the dementor attacked, and Harry stopped caring about Professor Lupin at all.
He was still shaking when he finally got Madam Pomfrey to let him go back to the feast, barely sparing a thought to the sorting he'd miss, or even Hagrid's new teaching job. All he could think about was that awful, awful scream…
"Is it true, Potter? You actually fainted?" Malfoy jeered as they all headed for their dorms.
"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron said with a scowl. When Harry looked up, Malfoy's eyes met his. For the briefest moment it looked like he was actually concerned.
"I'm fine, Malfoy," he retorted acidly, turning away towards the staircase. No, he was seeing things. Just because they'd had one half-decent conversation, didn't mean Malfoy suddenly gave a damn about him.
.-.-.-.-.
When the feast was finally over, Remus rose from his seat at the head table, thinking longingly of his bed in his new quarters. First, however, he had to make one stop. He couldn't help himself. His feet led the way seemingly without his consent, his eyes roaming the all-too-familiar corridors. He never thought he'd be back at Hogwarts again. Certainly never thought he'd be allowed to teach. It was a dream come true.
He ignored the ache in his chest, the voices of times past — of friends past — echoing in his ears as he walked. Every corridor, every classroom, they all held memories. Even the good ones made him want to howl with pain.
He stopped outside a nondescript black door, taking a steadying breath before knocking. "Enter," a voice drawled, sending another stab of pain through Remus' heart. He pushed the door open, meeting stony black eyes. "Lupin." His name was spat like a curse, but he refused to flinch. If anything, it made him smile a little. Some things never changed. "What do you want?"
Remus edged into the office just far enough to shut the door behind him. Severus was sat behind his desk, a potions journal open in front of him. He didn't look particularly pleased to have been interrupted.
All throughout the feast Remus had forced himself not to look down the other end of the staff table. Now he couldn't bring himself to look away.
He hadn't seen Severus in over a decade. The other man had certainly aged far better than Remus had — going grey at the grand old age of thirty-three. Considering… everything, Severus looked good. Older, harder, his hair a little longer, but still Severus.
"Did you come here just to stare at me, or did you need something?" The words were biting, but Remus didn't avert his gaze. Severus was scowling at him, a familiar expression but for the lines a little deeper in his face. Remus tried not to think about the last time they saw each other. He definitely wasn't ready for that yet.
"I just wanted to thank you," Remus replied, his voice still a little hoarse. The last moon hadn't been a particularly pleasant one. Hopefully it'd be the last like that for a while. "For agreeing to provide the Wolfsbane potion while I'm working here. It means a lot to me."
"Dumbledore insisted," Severus said, lips pursed. "Don't think I did it out of the kindness of my own heart."
Remus actually chuckled. "Of course not, Severus," he replied easily. "I know you don't have one of those." The words could've been harsh, but they were fond if anything, and it made the Slytherin's scowl deepen.
"Is that it?"
"I'm going, I'm going," Remus assured. Even after all this time, the Potions Master's sharp tongue didn't quite cut the way it was supposed to. Not to say it didn't hurt, but… it was a different hurt. "I just thought I'd stop by and let you know how grateful I am." He paused, screwing up his Gryffindor courage for the minute. "It's good to see you again, Severus."
"Goodnight, Lupin," Severus replied flatly. He looked away, jaw clenched. Remus took a step back, knowing when he'd pushed too far. It had always been a delicate game, that. He could hardly believe he was playing it again; could hardly believe he wanted to. He hadn't been sure, until he'd seen the man. But yes, he wanted to. After all these years, he couldn't quite shake Severus Snape.
He left the office, finally retreating to his quarters, letting out a sigh of relief when he stretched out on his mattress. He closed his eyes, thoughts turning to the incident on the train. To the one student he hadn't been truly ready to meet yet.
He was so small. Certainly bigger than the last time Remus saw him, but still. James hadn't been that small at thirteen. Even Lily had been taller, he was pretty sure. Still, Harry Potter seemed happy enough. When he wasn't being attacked by dementors, at least.
Remus sighed, rolling over onto his side. The hollow spot in his chest ached, the faint howling in the back of his head mournful, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make it go away.
"I don't know if this was a good idea after all," he murmured to himself, knowing he'd be having nightmares that night.
It was going to be a long year, full of old memories and broken pack bonds in so many ways. Remus just hoped it would be worth it.
.-.-.-.
The start of term was certainly eventful.
Between everything with Buckbeak and Malfoy, and adjusting to his new classes, Harry hardly found any time by himself to work on his extra curricular studies. True to their word, the twins had borrowed Angelina's Flourish and Blotts catalogue, and Harry had sent off for a book about all the old pureblood families, as well as one about the duties of a pureblood heir. It was so much easier to find what he wanted when he had a nice handy list of them in the catalogue. He should've done this ages ago!
The night after his new books arrived, Harry left Ron playing chess with Ginny and scurried up to the dorm; if he was lucky, he'd have at least an hour before everyone started wanting to go to bed. He dug his new books from the side compartment in his new trunk, wondering which to read first.
The one about the duties of an heir was shorter, so he went with that. It was dry, as most of the books about pureblood stuff seemed to be; they certainly didn't want to make it easy for people to learn about it all!
"Harry?"
He jolted at the sudden noise, shoving his book under his pillow in a move that wasn't remotely subtle. Neville backed up a step, holding his hands out soothingly. "It's okay, I'm sorry, I thought you heard me come in."
"Sorry, Neville. You startled me."
"You're taking up your family seat?" Neville asked, and Harry blinked. Neville gestured at the book.
"What? How do you know about that stuff?"
Neville's answering smile was somewhat crooked. "Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, at your service," he declared, bowing in the way Harry had read was formal when one heir addressed another. Harry gaped.
"You… really?"
"Really," Neville confirmed. "My gran's got my proxy right now, but she'll pass things to me as soon as I'm old enough. Oh, this is great, Harry! The others will be so happy to hear you're taking up your heirship; we weren't sure, you see, when you never said anything."
"Wait, no!" Harry went wide-eyed in alarm. "You can't tell anyone, Neville." He didn't even know who these 'others' were, but if Dumbledore got wind of any of it…
"Harry, whatever Ron's told you, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Neville replied, sounding defensive. "The House of Potter has a great history, and being an heir is a huge honour."
"No, it's not that, I—" Harry faltered, letting out a sigh. Surely he could trust Neville, right? Especially if he was also an heir. Maybe he'd be able to help Harry out. "Come here."
He scooted up the bed to make room for Neville to sit opposite him, then closed the curtains, putting up one of the privacy charms he'd learned from A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know. Neville's eyebrows rose. "What I'm telling you, Neville, you can't tell anyone, okay?"
Neville nodded, brow furrowing in confusion. And Harry told him — all about his trip to Gringotts, and the block on his magic, and who he thought was responsible.
"I've been trying to learn everything I can since I found out," he said, gesturing to the books. "Bought a load of books. But there's so much I don't know, and I can't make things too obvious or Dumbledore will know I found out about the block."
"He blocked your family magics?" Neville's voice came out in a horrified whisper, his face pale. "He could get sent to Azkaban for that! That's so many different kinds of illegal!"
Harry winced. "Who's gonna believe me over him, though?" he said plaintively. "Even if they did, he'd find some way to convince everyone it's all for my own good, or some rot."
"That's awful." Neville squeezed Harry's shoulder supportively. "Do Ron and Hermione know?"
Harry shook his head. "I can't be sure they won't go to him over it. Or he might get to them somehow anyway." He couldn't speak quite so plainly as he wanted to, but Neville got the idea; he couldn't trust them yet.
"I'll write to my gran," Neville assured. "She taught me everything I know, she can help you too. Obviously she won't know all the stuff that's specific to the Potter family, but there's probably a book in your vault about that. Or for, uh, any of the other families. Merlin, Harry, Slytherin? That's insane! And Black, too — the House of Black is one of the oldest known pureblood lines in the world! How'd you get that one?"
"No idea," Harry said with a shrug. "I guess someone down the line named me their heir. Do you really think your gran could help?"
"She'd be honoured," Neville replied. "She loves all that stuff — can't wait til I'm old enough to get more involved. She can keep a secret, too." Neville paused, having a thought. "Harry, have you ever heard of Occlumency?"
"Can't say I have," Harry replied, running the strange word over in his head. "What is it?"
"It's a form of magic, just about every pureblood kid is taught it growing up. It protects your thoughts. See, there's this magic called Legilimency — that's reading peoples' thoughts. Getting into their minds, seeing their memories, all that. Occlumency is the prevention of that. It forms shields around your mind so that no one can get in and steal your secrets."
Harry's jaw dropped in horror. "People can read my mind?"
"Not everyone," Neville hastened to assure him. "It's a really rare skill. But Dumbledore is famous for it. There's rumours that Snape is really good at it, too. If you're going to be keeping secrets from Dumbledore, you'll want to learn Occlumency. I'll write to gran tomorrow, get you some books."
"Do you know it?"
"Oh, yeah, I learned before I came to Hogwarts," Neville said. "Every family needs to be able to protect their secrets. I'm not amazing at it — if someone was really trying, I probably wouldn't be able to keep them out. But, well, no one has needed to really try. Not yet, anyway."
"But what if Dumbledore's already read my mind?" Harry thought of all the times that could've been possible — during mealtimes, or even in lessons. How close did someone have to be to read minds?
"Legilimency needs eye contact. As long as you don't look him in the eye, you should be alright."
Harry let out a sigh of relief. Don't look him in the eye. He could do that. That also explained why the book said eye contact was a show of trust. "Thanks, Neville. God, there's still so much I don't know. It's gonna take me forever to catch up."
"You'll get there, Harry," Neville said supportively, squeezing his shoulder again. "D'you mind if I, uh, go? Only I've got homework, and…"
Harry belatedly realised his wards were still up, and waved his wand to cancel them. He pulled his curtains aside, and froze when he saw Ron sat on his own bed beside him. The redhead eyed the pair suspiciously. "What've you two been up to?"
Harry and Neville shared a look. "Studying," they both said eventually, Neville heading back towards his own bed. Ron stared at Harry for a bit longer, but let it go.
"Whatever. Harry, d'you think Scabbers has lost more weight? It's that bloody cat of Hermione's, he's got it out for him I swear." Scabbers was laid out on the bedspread in front of Ron, and Harry had to admit he'd definitely seen better days. Privately, he thought that was more due to him being old than anything Crookshanks was doing, but Ron wouldn't hear a word of it.
"Just keep up with the rat tonic," he replied. "I'm sure he'll perk up."
Ron didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't say anything more as Harry started getting ready for bed. Harry only felt guilty for a minute for excluding him. Ron wouldn't understand.
.-.-.-.
Everyone was excited for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. From what they'd heard around the school, Professor Lupin actually knew his stuff; no chance of another duffer like Lockhart. Harry hadn't properly spoken to him yet, but he still couldn't shake that strange feeling like the professor was familiar. It made something in his chest tie itself in knots, and had Harry squirming when he was sat behind his desk staring at the new professor.
The feeling was pushed aside when they were led to the staff room, Lupin gently suggesting that Snape vacate the area. The Defence professor seemed incredibly amused by Neville's boggart transformation. Maybe Snape had already pissed off the new staff member. Harry wouldn't put it past him.
Wand in hand, Harry braced himself to face the boggart, only for Lupin to step in front of him. The boggart turned into a floating silver orb, shining mysteriously — until Lupin turned it into a cockroach. Was that the moon? Why was Lupin afraid of the moon?
No one seemed to notice that Harry hadn't faced the Boggart, too busy chattering about their own vanquished fears. Harry almost said something to Lupin, stayed back and demanded answers, but he decided against it. Maybe he was overthinking things. Possibly class was just about to run over, and Lupin wanted to wrap things up. Harry kept to himself as he walked down to dinner, letting Ron and Hermione's bickering wash over him. Professor Lupin hadn't said anything about seeing Harry before, or knowing him from anywhere. Harry was probably imagining things.
Still, something didn't feel right. There was something about the man that Harry couldn't put his finger on.