December, 1991
The troll, Harry was sure, was a conspiracy.
It was Snape. Harry held no doubt about it –Hermione had told him she had seen their professor muttering an incantation while Harry had dangled over the edge of the Quidditch stands before Hagrid had pulled him back into solid ground. It had been terrifying —and the game had not even paused. Why Snape hated Harry so much was lost on him. Not to mention that he had unintentionally started a war with the man’s students –but that was after the quidditch match.
But Medea Malfoy’s vindictiveness was not his fault, he reaffirmed himself. Of course it wasn’t. Neville was being harassed by the snakes and had yet to find the courage to confront them. And Harry knew he could do it, especially after the incident between them the night before halloween. Neville could be brave. He could put his foot down.
-
“Come on Neville, we all know you’d sooner visit Snape than sneak out –so where are you headed?” As Ron nattered at Neville, Harry watched the boy turn bright red and splutter.
“Sn-Snape?” He did not, however, stop walking out of the dormitory.
Ron and Harry followed, curiosity burning in their minds. Where would Neville be going?
“Come on, Neville! We wouldn’t rat on you –just let us join.” Harry smiled, “It’s bound to be more fun than writing this Defense essay –there’s only so many ways to write about how vampires are not actually all that vulnerable to garlic.”
Neville did pause, then. His arm half extended as they had gotten through the common room and were all three huddled in the tunnel about to open the portrait from the inside. He looked at the two of them with fear, and trepidation, and Neville was shaking. After a moment, he took a deep breath and spoke.
“N-no.”
And then he scurried out of the common room.
It hadn’t been enough, of course —not for Harry Potter. Him and Ron had rushed after him for a while yet. After a mad dash around the castle, they had eventually been forced to acknowledge they had lost him near the astronomy tower.
-
It… wasn’t much, Harry had to admit. But it was more than nothing. Still. After Gryffindor lost to Slytherin at the match, something changed in Neville. He had been right next to Harry when they began feeling wind pull at them —more so than moments before. It caused Neville to hold onto his scarf and Harry stumbled. It had continued to grow in strength as Harry fought to keep his grip on the rail, until a single shove sent him lurching over the edge. Left to rely on his still too skinny arms to hold him up as he screamed. Harry had never been that high up before, not even on his broom during flying lessons, and he was sure that was the end of this new magical adventure he had found himself in.
Until Hermione gripped his wrist and screamed for more help —which drew Hagrid into action.
It was over in seconds. Horrible, excruciating, terrifying seconds. And Neville, who had been next to him, was crying. His concern had felt nice, but it was still an oddity to Harry —who had grown up without a modicum of love— and he wasn’t sure how to respond after being ditched by Neville just days prior.
Then it happened again, twenty minutes later, and Harry nearly tripped forward down a set of stairs. And fifteen after that, when he had turned and was pushed back further into the stands.
After the second time, Hermione had focused her eyes across the pitch —onto the teachers stands— and snatched Hagrid’s binoculars and gasped.
“It’s —its Snape!” She shoved the binoculars into Ron’s hands, “Look! He’s casting something! A jinx of some sort. He hasn’t taken his eyes from Harry.”
Hagrid had focused back in on the pitch, and when the third jinx came and Harry knocked into some upper classmen, there was a yelp from the teachers stands.
Snape was up and extinguishing a small fire that had bloomed on his robes. Quirrell was also standing and backing away.
And then the snitch was caught by some bloke in green and a single set of stands went wild—the other three a mix of outrage and devastation.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had begun to head back to the castle when Neville, standing alone and looking stricken, had caught their eye. He was looking at the girl Malfoy wrapped around one of the chasers for Slytherin. A boy with dark hair and tan skin. A remarkably attractive boy, if Harry was being honest. And then the boy pecked the Malfoy girl, and Harry realized all at once why Neville looked so stricken.
“Neville, do you fancy Malfoy?” Harry had surprised himself with the question, but nonetheless found he wanted an answer.
Neville jumped back, his eyes darting from the pair laughing and chatting back to the other lions. His face went red and he snapped his mouth closed before bolting past.
“Wait -Neville!” Hermione shouted, as Ron and Harry shared a grin and bolted after him, “Ron! Harry!”
“Neville —wait up!” Harry settled down once they had caught up to Neville, “Is that what you were doing? Meeting Malfoy —the night before Halloween?”
Neville yelped, “No! N-no! It’s not like that —I was — I was invited— it was—“ He paused, bit his lip, then sighed, “It was Samhain.”
Harry and Ron, unsurprisingly, did not understand. And then Neville continued, as if quoting a book.
“Samhain rites are for building magical strength and stamina. That’s… that was what I was trying to do that night.” Something crossed Neville’s face —defeat and disappointment about Malfoy, Harry guessed.
“Well, that fits then,” Harry said, before realizing he wasn’t quite sure what Samgain rites were but they seemed pretty important if that was the effect, “What are Samhain rites?”
Neville flinched but what really hit Harry was the look of disbelief on Ron’s face.
“You, Neville Longbottom, were going to participate in Samhain rights?” Ron couldn’t believe it.
Neville hesitantly nodded and Ron turned briefly away, rubbing his face.
“Neville, do you know what happens at those rites? Have you ever been to a pureblood ritual?”
“I was told it was terribly powerful, wonderfully beautiful, and not for the faint of heart.” Neville gave a wobbly smile as Ron just groaned.
“No. Neville, no. You’re talking about the old purebloods, yeah?” When Neville glanced back to the Malfoy girl, surrounded by the other Slytherins, Ron just knocked him on the head, “That’s a blood ritual. Blood. Like from a— well, I don’t know if it’s muggle or animal but it isn’t wizard!”
Neville’s face hardened, then. And he started agreeing, quickly and without much discussion, to everything Ron was saying. Harry had a bad feeling.
-
Harry, after Ron filled him in more on pureblooded rites, had felt indignation that Neville wanted to go. And then, on a morning trip to Hagrid’s —to once again grill him regarding Nicolas Flamel, Harry saw something odd. Something he had previously thought of as very muggle. There was a group of several firsties running along a makeshift track leading to the Black Lake. And, after watching for several moments, Harry realized they were all Slytherins —save for one chubby blonde headed boy that Harry recognized as Neville.
Then he spotted Medea Malfoy on the ground with her brother, their white blonde hair marking them undoubtedly.
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And so Harry, curious and nosy more than restrained and refined, decided to walk by the next morning. And the next. Until Harry had to admit Neville spent the same amount of time with Slytherins outside of class as with Gryffindors.
That was the moment Harry pieced together what had to be happening.
Medea Malfoy and her Slytherins were forcing Neville to do these things —these things that he hadn’t done before Hogwarts. And he wanted to know why.
So he followed her to the owlery, Neville in tow, unknowing the havoc he would reap.
-
Neville wouldn’t speak to him.
-
It took less than forty eight hours for him to understand that it was not him being clumsy, or careless, or unlucky. It was a Thursday afternoon when he actually saw Pansy Parkinson knock into him -only her robes were blue accented instead of green. It was the hushed, “Glacius pes.” And the chill that spread from his toes to his ankle that caused Harry to tumble down, sending his books skidding across the hall.
Really, Harry told himself, he should have noticed it sooner. The way Slytherins were smiling at him with a mix of thrill and pity. The way Hufflepuffs stopped to chat a bit more often, worry evident when he really thought about it. The way Ravenclaws looked at him with irritation. Gryffindors unchanged except for Neville.
The feeling of being unwanted was not unknown to Harry - he had, of course, been raised with the Dursleys. He barely had robes that fit currently, and none of his muggle clothes were bought for him. In fact, he had only just started to look like a proper boy his age thanks to the Hogwarts dinners being three times as regular as at Privet Drive. But this wasn’t the same feeling of being hated.
Not with the concern that radiated off some of the Hufflepuffs, or the pitying looks that Dorothea Spektor would send him. Not with the silence from Neville, the choked up way he would excuse himself to be with Dean and Seamus when Harry approached. But it was unsettling.
And irritating.
“Sod off, Greengrass!” Harry hissed when he caught the dark haired girl loitering with some of the other Slytherins by his potions table, one day, two weeks after he first noticed something was happening. Something that was causing him to be paranoid.
Just the day before, Professor Flitwick had taken off two points when Harry had tried to help Neville –only for Neville to shrink away and Flitwick to tell him he was causing a disruption to class. Gently of course, and with an amount of disappointment that hurt Harry. Flitwick seemed to think so highly of him up to that point.
She had simply smiled and wished him luck.
Nothing happened in that class, which fueled his paranoia in a new way.
How much is mind games? Harry hated this. Hogwarts was, at first, a new home. And now, it was slowly turning into his old home too.
No, Harry shook that thought away, he still had people on his side here. And it wasn’t as if Snape had ever been kind to him –or the Slytherins. It was just more now. That was fine. Harry could handle it.
-
December 12th was the last day a jinx was cast on Harry, and he hadn’t been able to tell it would be the last. He didn’t know he would be able to live the next week in peace. And the days slowly became brighter –despite the ice and snow– and he found himself in the last potions course of the term with a weight lifted off of his chest.
Until one of the Malfoy twins snorted behind him.
“Unwanted at home, unwanted at Hogwarts – where is the great Harry Potter, wanted?” It was Draco Malfoy, who had distinctly not been hexing Harry over the past six weeks. He had, however, been constantly sniping at Harry for anything he could think of. Which was often about how he looked or now, after the list of students staying behind had been released, how Harry was not going home. He was flanked by Parkinson and Goyle, and both had hateful smiles on their faces.
“Oh piss off, Malfoy,” Ron didn’t even stop what he was doing as he responded to Malfoy.
“Come off it, Weasley –you’re not much better. What? Mummy and daddy can’t be bothered to pick their brood up–” Malfoy was cut off abruptly by a lungeing Ron, who then abruptly stopped in his tracks when Snape walked into the class and focused his eyes directly on the boys.
“It is time.” He drawled, as he looked down his nose at Harry and Ron, “Mind your manners in my class, Me. Weasley. Mr. Potter.”
As the Slytherins smirked and sat down, Harry thought about how unjust the world was.
And it was proven even more so, when on the way out of potions that day, there was a large fir tree blocking the corridor. When he saw two enormous feet and heard a loud puffing sound from up high, he knew it was Hagrid lugging the tree.
“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.
“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.”
“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”
Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.
“WEASLEY!”
Ron let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.
“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”
Again, Harry thought to himself.
“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle snickered to themselves as they moved around the tree —not carefully, but with enough caution only a few nettles fell.
Harry heard them calling out for someone to wait, and Harry was sure it was Draco’s sister.
“I’ll get him,” said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, “one of these days, I’ll get him —”
“I hate them,” said Harry, irritation in his voice, “The Slytherins and Snape.”
Harry took a breath, steadying himself, “It wasn’t so bad a month ago.”
“Well…” Ron shifted awkwardly, “I heard they made a game of it, mate.”
“What?”
“Apparently one of ‘em was pissed at you, and set it up.”
“How do you know?”
“Fred and George were at Quidditch practice when they overheard on of Slytherin’s chasers snickering about it.”
“It must be the Malfoys,” Harry nodded to themselves and Ron snorted.
“Obviously, mate.”
That was when Hagrid cleared his throat, reminding the boys he was still there —holding the massive tree.
“C’mon boys, cheer up —let’s go ter the Great Hall. We’ll go an’ see the decorations. They’re a beauty.”
-
After spending time looking into Nicolas Flamel, Harry and Ron spent the time before Christmas happily —they were the only first years who stayed behind and so they could always be found in some of the more comfortable armchairs in the common room. Ron began teaching Harry wizards chess, Harry plotted how to get the Malfoys off his back and Neville to talk to him again, and soon enough it was Christmas.
After expecting no presents, he was thrilled to have found several at the foot of his bed when he awoke that morning.
A hand carved flute from Hagrid, chocolate frogs from Hermione, a wonderful sweater and fudge from Mrs. Weasley, a fifty pence coin from the Dursleys —how friendly—, and a magical cloak from someone unknown. It was silvery grey and it only took half a moment for Ron to realize it was an invisibility cloak. As if it had been awaiting Harry wrapped in the cloak, an owl began knocking on the window of their dormitory.
Harry, who had been feeling rather uneasy about the cloak, looked to Ron, before they both headed over to where a brown barn owl hovered outside. As soon as they opened the window, it swooped in and dropped a large envelope. It didn’t even wait for treats, the owl simply vanishing through the window once more. Harry picked up the letter and saw that it was addressed in professional script to:
The Boy Who Lived
First Year Gryffindor Dormitory
Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts
Curiously, he opened it to reveal a smaller envelope within and a folded letter with a black wax seal embossed with three letters ‘MOM’.
“Who do you think it’s from, mate?” Ron said as he peered down at the parcel that had turned into two.
“I have no idea. It can’t be— surely,” Harry said as he ran his fingers over the seal. Ron scrunched his nose and gently brought Harry back to reality.
“Well, we won’t know unless you open it.”
So Harry did. He slid his thumb under the wax seal and the letter popped open. He read it quickly the first time, the slowly the second, and by the third time he was still confused as he looked at the smaller envelope.
-
When your heart’s desire is taken from you, open the second parcel. Carry it with you, but show no others.
M. O. M.
-
Far away from the Hogwarts castle there was a girl, sitting with her friends and laughing. It was a mask.
Inside, she was getting ready to derail a world with a destined plot. One letter at a time.