Fellowship & Fairydust

By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count:

Rating: PG-13 for brief language, violence, and depictions of abuse

Summary: A disabled Harry comes to Hogwarts story. Everyone expects him to be like his dad, but how can he be with such a different past? A Slytherin Harry takes on Hogwarts in an unusual way.

“Filius, might I have a word with you?” Severus asked via his floo early the next morning.

“Now, Severus?” Filius questioned, looking at the clock.

“It’s rather important,” was all Severus said.

Filius nodded in understanding. If Severus Snape thought something was important, then by golly, it was.

“I’ll be right through.”

“Thank you,” Severus answered softly, before stepping out of the way for the little man to come through. Automatically, his eyes wandered over to Harry Potter. The boy was seated on his sofa, still dressed in his transfigured pyjamas; his eyes wide with worry over that morning’s imminent discussion.

Filius appeared a moment later; a dressing gown hastily thrown over his own pyjamas and fuzzy slippers adorning his feet.

“Oh, Mr. Potter! My, it does seem to be a morning for meetings, does it not?” Filius exclaimed by way of greeting.

“Yes sir,” the boy answered simply, his eyes watching each of his professors carefully.

“As Mr. Potter’s head of house,” Severus began, looking at Filius, “I feel that you should be brought into our confidence regarding some of the more . . .” Severus trailed off. “Problematic aspects of his academic career here.”

“Such as?” Flitwick asked; his eyes glinting sharply as he glanced back and forth between them both.

Severus looked at Harry. It had taken a lot to get the boy to agree to this meeting. Continued secrecy was a must in order to keep Harry safe.

“Before we go any further, I must ask for your word as a wizard that you will not discuss this topic with anyone else, including the headmaster,” Severus said.

Filius’ eyes widened slightly in surprise, but after a moment he nodded and said, “If you think it is necessary, Severus. I’ll trust your judgment. I swear that I will not speak of this to anyone outside those in this room.” A thrum of magic hummed through the room and then the binding promise was sealed.

“Thank you,” Severus said, inclining his head slightly. “Please have a seat; we have much to discuss.”

Severus gave a short rundown of Harry’s injuries, and explained the kind of hearing loss that Harry had sustained as a result of the accident.

“So that’s why you’ve been having difficulty in Charms,” Filius tutted, leaning back against the sofa cushion and kicking his legs idly as he thought through the implications of Harry’s situation.

“Indeed,” Severus said, answering for Harry.

“And what solutions have you come up with to work around this difficulty?”

At their surprised faces, Flitwick chuckled and said, “Surely that’s why I’m here, is it not? Go on, Mr. Potter,” he said, directing his question to the wide eyed boy beside him. “Tell me what you have developed in lieu of being able to speak the spells themselves.”

With a brief questioning glance at Severus, Harry opened his mouth and began to explain to his diminutive professor about his ideas for signing the spells.

“And do your ideas work?” Flitwick asked, feeling his excitement growing in leaps and bounds the more the boy talked.

“Yes sir,” Harry answered brightly, a shy smile completely unlike anything he usually expressed himself with upon his face.

Flitwick found himself quite liking this version of the boy.

It’s a shame that the creation of his other persona was needed.

“Your mother was quite talented at charms, Mr. Potter,” Flitwick admitted, smiling gently back at Harry.

“She was?”

Flitwick nodded. “A lovely girl your mother was. I think that, for her, charms simply came as naturally as breathing for you or me,” he said, looking up with a wry grin to Severus. “Or potion making for Professor Snape,” he added.

Severus cleared his throat with some discomfit at Flitwick’s sudden attention, but he did not argue the claim.

“Now show me what you have developed,” Flitwick suggested, moving them past the awkward moment with a skill borne of long time practice.

Wasting no time, Harry brought out his wand and with a swish and a flick, suddenly the pile of books on the coffee table in front of him was hovering above the ground.

With another motion, the pile was back where it had started, and just as suddenly, Flitwick could feel his mind whirring at the ideas such an unusual magic presented him with.

But first—”I say Mr. Potter! Quite well done.” Another shy smile from the child, and he found himself marvelling at the amount of difference some positive reinforcement caused in Harry’s demeanour. The boy was quite like a plant, bending and extending himself towards the sun.

Opening and growing, he mused to himself.

“I say,” Flitwick murmured, suddenly pensive in expression. “Can you speak the spell while you perform the . . .?”

“Signs, Filius,” Severus provided.

“Signs! Yes. Is it possible for you to do both at the same time?”

Harry felt a bit overwhelmed at the abrupt attention from his two professors. “I think so, sir,” he answered after a minute of thought.

“Try,” Flitwick suggested, an idea still forming in his mind.

Working it quickly out in his mind, Harry raised his wand, but before he had a chance to try, Severus put out a hand and stopped him.

“Try it first without your wand, Harry,” he suggested. “Just in case something should not work.”

Harry nodded and put his wand down. Then, putting his left hand into the sign for flying, he raised his right fist and swished and flicked his imaginary wand while intoning, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

To their great surprise, the books on the table jumped a bit and Harry saw Flitwick and Snape both turn and look appraisingly at him.

Flitwick was the first to speak. “Controlled wandless magic at your age, Mr. Potter,” he said, raising an appreciative eyebrow. “Very good. I think that perhaps you and Severus should consider working on that more in-depth, perhaps when you have more time?”

Severus nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Now, try the spell with your wand,” he prompted.

It took Harry three tries to get it perfectly, and at the end of those attempts, he turned back to his diminutive professor and asked, “What are you planning?” A speculative glint in his eye as he turned far too old eyes on Flitwick.

The small professor smiled and spread his hands out in the air before him. “I do my exams and tests in private sometimes. This way, no one will be the wiser should they overhear us.”

In the end, they all agreed that it was a good plan, and if anyone should ask about it—particularly another student—they would feign ignorance and pretend that there was nothing abnormal about Harry’s strange spell casting.

. . .

“Minerva,” Severus asked from his office floo later that morning. “Might I have a word?”

He had sent the boy onto breakfast after their meeting with Flitwick. Although Harry was not one to openly admit his feelings about very much, he could tell that his snake was comforted by the idea of having another ally on his side.

“Can this not wait?” Was her irritable reply.

“You don’t have any more classes until after lunch,” he chided. At her haughty, unyielding expression, he allowed himself a small silent sigh and then answered, “No. This cannot wait.”

“Then step back,” she snipped at him and he did as instructed; feeling no more than a student under her critical eye. Typically they had a better working relationship than this, but he knew how she be could when facing a situation she would have preferred to ignore.

He waited until she was seated inside his office; her eyes boring up at him as though she thought she could still scare him into submitting to her will.

Her will not to have this conversation,Severus thought with a touch of uneasiness.

“You have me here. What do you want?” She threw bluntly at him, her constantly moving fingers the only sign of the discomfort she felt from the impending conversation.

“Harry Potter,” Severus answered. He knew that straightforwardness was the best method for dealing with the Gryffindor head.

At least it is when I feel the need to get something done.

“A member of your house, I do believe. Not my concern,” she bit back harshly.

That was an unexpected answer.

“You feel that he should have been in Gryffindor,” Severus observed, seating himself in the chair beside her and gazing back speculatively.

“There has never been a sorting that long.”

“And what?” Severus raised an eyebrow. “Therefore it was a mistake?”

“Something happened, Severus.”

“Many things happened, Minerva. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“To the boy. Something has happened to the child. He is not . . .” she broke off, breaking her gaze with him for the first time since entering his office.

“He was not as anyone expected,” Severus answered, keeping his face free of any telling emotions.

“Albus took him to his relatives. They were to raise him in order to keep him out of the public eye.”

Severus wondered if he should share with her the information that Moody had shared with him.

“He was fine before. . .” she trailed off and shook her head. “Before the attack. He was fine. Something happened to him afterwards.”

“A car accident,” Severus supplied.

“Mentally,” Minerva clarified. “He is not . . .” she trailed off once more and Severus scowled.

“He is not what, Minerva?”

A pause and then the older woman hissed back, “He is not his father’s son. He is nothing like either of them.”

“He already shows great promise in charms, according to Filius. Just like Lily,” Severus argued, his voice hushed as he mentioned her name. “And transfiguration, if I am not mistaken.”

“He stares incessantly at me during class,” Minerva shot back, ignoring his remark.

“He is an attentive child,” Severus retorted.

“He is planning something. I can see it in his eyes,” she responded with a touch of distaste.

“As we all do,” Severus answered, narrowing his eyes as he tried to understand this side of his colleague.

“Not like this Severus. There is something wrong with the boy.”

“Wrong?” Was his mildly spoken answer.

“He didn’t work on transfiguring his matchstick to a needle. He just stared at it.”

An unpleasant realisation was beginning to dawn in Severus’ mind and he dearly hoped that he was wrong about what she thought.

“And what of the end of the class? He succeeded, did he not?”

Minerva’s face became incredulous. “You believe that story?”

“Should I not?”

“It’s clear that he cheated, Severus. No child is that talented.”

Severus could do little more than blink as she spoke the accusation aloud. “Lily was very talented,” he finally managed.

Minerva looked away. “Not like this,” she murmured. “Severus,” she finally said, turning back to stare into his face sharply. “There are those who believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not truly vanquished that night.”

He nodded. He knew the theories.

Another long and uncomfortable pause, and then Minerva asked, “What if Harry absorbed part of his spirit when he died?”

“That’s your explanation for his supposed odd behaviour?” Severus hissed back, feeling rather affronted at her harsh conjecture. Silently, he made himself unclench his fists.

“It would account for the strangeness of his demeanour,” she said coolly.

“There are other things that explain his behaviour as well.”

Not that I can speak to you about any of them.

Especially not after hearing that the woman thought his little snake was a cheater.

“And what of you?” Was her sharp reply.

“What of me?”

“You despised James Potter.”

“I have chosen not to place the sins of the father on his son,” was his delicately spoken answer.

“Because he is in your house,” was Minerva’s waspish reply. “There has not been a Potter in Slytherin in over three centuries, Severus,” she said, leaning forwards slightly.

“The boy was not raised by the Potters, Minerva. He is an orphan,” he spat back.

“As was You-Know-Who,” she answered with a cold smile.

Severus’ posture stiffened. “As is Melody Orgel. She is one of my students as well; does that automatically make her the next dark lord?”

“Don’t play the fool, Severus. She had nothing to do with the end of the reign of You-Know-Who.”

“And it was never conclusively proven that Harry did either.”

“He is the Boy-Who-Lived, Severus!”

“I never said that he was not, Minerva,” Severus answered crisply, feeling his patience quickly beginning to wane.

Clearly Minerva felt similar, for in the next instance, she was on her feet towering over him.

“I have better things to do than debate with you, Severus,” she said snidely.

Showing no reaction to her looming stance over him, Severus simply leaned his head back and spoke. “Has it not occurred to you that treating him like a potential dark lord is the same as laying the groundwork for him to become such?”

Something cold flashed in her eyes.

“It is worrying how blind you are to the darkness within the boy, Severus,” she responded harshly.

He stood at last, levelling his ebon gaze straight at her.

“It is equally disconcerting how you are purposely ignoring the good inside him, Minerva,” he answered.

For a moment they merely stared at one another, and then with a flash of tartan, Minerva strode over to his floo and barked her destination. Moments later she was gone and Severus slowly felt himself sinking back down into his just vacated seat.

Damn it, was his heartfelt thought.

. . .

It wasn’t until the next day that Harry was able to catch a moment alone with Neville Longbottom.

He and Teddy had been waiting in the corridor outside of the Potions classroom when the Gryffindor boy arrived. He looked somewhat nervous to be alone with two Slytherins, but truthfully, he had looked that way ever since their first flying lesson.

Harry suspected that Weasley had turned most of his destructive bullying attention over to Longbottom after being told off by Snape.

Yet another reason that I need to make a move.

With a very slight nod to Teddy, Harry ambled across the hall to where Neville was standing.

“Longbottom,” he nodded in greeting, trying to appear nonthreatening as he leaned on his crutch more than was strictly necessary.

“Oh um, hullo,” the round faced boy answered just barely above a whisper.

Slowly reaching into the inner pocket of his robes, Harry grasped the rescued Remembrall and then carefully held it out to the other boy.

Neville’s eyes went wide as though he had given up on ever seeing the trinket again.

“Weasley tried to steal it after you fell,” Harry explained calmly, still holding it out in front of his body. A pause and then, “Don’t you want it back?”

“You,” Neville licked his lips nervously, “You—How did you get it from Ron?”

“I asked,” Harry answered, baring his teeth for a brief enlightening moment.

The other boy didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cringe at Harry’s simple explanation. In the end, he settled for giving a slight cough, covering his mouth delicately with his hand.

“Why?” Was Neville’s next bewildered question.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He truly hadn’t expected Longbottom to be this analytical towards his actions.

More proof that I’ve picked the right person.

It was his turn to stare back silently.

“Because it wasn’t his to take,” he said finally, having dropped his hand back down to his side; the remembrall still held tightly in his fist.

“So you would have done that for anyone?” Was Neville’s incredulous answer.

Harry pursed his lips in distaste and instantly Neville cringed backwards. A wave of guilt fluttered in his stomach, and he tried to relax his face.

“No,” he admitted truthfully. “I wouldn’t.”

Neville’s stance was one of caution now, and Harry tried not to allow his annoyance at himself to show on his face.

“Then why me?” Neville asked, his voice having dropped back to a whisper.

“Because,” Harry floundered for a moment, not sure exactly how to put his beliefs into words. “Because you’re not like everyone else. You’re different, and I’m different. And Teddy over there is different,” he said, giving a nod to his patiently waiting friend.

He bit his lip pensively for a second and then launched back into his explanation. “And they don’t understand us because of it.”

“They?” Neville asked, eyes wide within his soft face.

Harry shrugged. “Everyone else. They think we don’t notice when they look at us differently, when they treat us differently, but we do. I do. Teddy does. And, and I think you do too.”

Neville didn’t say anything. He seemed to be more intent on staring at Harry as though he had never seen anything quite like him.

In order to cover up the discomfort Harry felt from such intense scrutiny, he held up the remembrall and pushed it into Neville’s loose hand.

“I asked Professor Snape to cast an unbreakable charm on it. So you don’t have to worry about it cracking or breaking should anyone try and grab it again.” Again, he shrugged and then without another word, he limped back over to where Teddy was waiting for him.

He stared at the floor thinking until Teddy lightly nudged him.

“-tter,” Neville was saying as he looked up.

“Call me Harry,” he said with an easy grin.

“Harry,” Neville said, swallowing hard. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, feeling relaxed.

“You’re right you know,” was Neville’s softly spoken addition.

“Yeah?”

“They think I don’t notice when they laugh at me,” a flicker of emotion passed through Neville’s face before fading into nothingness.

“Yeah well, they’re wrong,” Teddy interjected suddenly, speaking Harry’s thoughts out loud.

Neville nodded. “Sometimes it hurts,” he added in a very quiet voice.

“So we stick together,” Harry suggested, a determined sensation in his heart. Beside him, he was pleased to see Teddy nod his agreement.

A moment later, Neville nodded too and Harry gave them each a real smile.

. . .

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy, what with practicing signed magic three evenings a week with Professor Snape in addition to all his homework, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

Or anywhere else, was his constant additional thought as he walked to class with Teddy and occasionally Neville, when the opportunity presented itself.

They had added the Gryffindor boy to their study sessions together, and as a result, Neville was no longer exploding cauldrons with such regularity as before. Harry had a feeling that it was only for that reason alone that Snape was putting up with their liaison with Neville. Merlin knew that their professor certainly didn’t feel warmly towards Gryffindor, but it was also obvious that his opinion of Longbottom had at least risen to grudging acceptance.

Which is a lot, Harry thought with a smirk.

“If it works for you,” the round faced boy had said with a shrug, and then the topic had been dropped and not bothered with again.

It was also because of Neville that Harry and Teddy had perfected signed hexes. The idea, when Harry had presented it to Teddy during an interminable brewing session with the dunderheaded Gryffindor first years, was fairly simple. Since signing was often just a representation of the word they wanted to get across, then it made sense that something like, say a pinching hex, could be accomplished by just “pointing and shooting,” as Harry had written in the side margin of their notes.

“Like the wand is the direction and your hands are the firepower,” Harry had explained later when they had a chance to talk it out.

And really, that description was rather apt for all of his signed spells.

Harry had demonstrated more fully in Potions later that week, after Weasley had started needling Neville again for his miraculous improvement in their class.

Professor Snape of course had silenced the idiot redhead with a glare, but that hadn’t stopped Weasley from continuing to whisper snide things under his breath. Harry and Teddy had watched in angry silence as Neville’s face had gotten redder and redder with each passing moment, until they could wait no more.

With a slight shake of his head to Professor Snape—who had been just about to hex Weasley himself—Harry had ever so carefully brought out his wand and aimed it directly at the red haired boy. Then, thinking of what he wanted to happen, he brought his fingers together and sharply pinched the wood between his index finger and thumb.

Weasley had jumped up and howled, and Harry had deftly shoved his wand back up his sleeve into the wand holder that Snape had wisely given all of his first years.

“Mr. Weasley!” Snape had yelled out, striding over the idiotic boy in a dark flash of billowing robes. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for disturbing my class!”

“Something bit me!” The moron had yelled back.

And instantly a silence had descended upon their class as everyone waited with bated breath to see how their professor would react to something so foolish.

“Then perhaps you should be more careful about keeping your robes changed,” Snape had hissed in a dangerous tone back to the fool, his eyes travelling in disdain across Weasley’s food splattered front.

“I do!” Weasley had argued, his cheeks blazing nearly as red as his hair.

“Do not presume to speak back to me, Mr. Weasley!” Snape warned coldly. “Another twenty points from Gryffindor, and a zero for the day!” He growled, vanishing the contents of his cauldron with a hard slash of his wand.

They had watched as Weasley’s mouth had fallen open in dismay. Then the most amazing thing had happened; Neville had hissed across the room, “Shut it Ron! Before we lose any more points!”

The other Gryffindors had nodded as one and Seamus had even gone so far as to punch
Weasley’s arm in a decidedly unfriendly manner.

“Get out of my classroom. NOW!” Snape had yelled when Weasley hadn’t immediately moved.

. . .

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Harry had noticed that in exchange for his sense of hearing, his other remaining senses had in turn seemed to increase in strength. That day, the pumpkin smell followed him wherever they went, even after the others in his classes had stopped remarking on its presence.

Harry had been practicing with both Professors Snape and Flitwick on vocalizing his spells as he signed them, and finally he was going to have an opportunity to see if he could pull it off during a regular class.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Professor Snape had already forewarned Flitwick about appropriate partners for Harry (i.e. Teddy or Neville, since they already knew about Harry’s atypical spell methods). Therefore, it wasn’t any great surprise that he ended up working with Teddy that day. Harry grinned apologetically at Neville, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it.

Furthermore, he was prepared when Flitwick came towards them and cast a minor diversion charm on their table. None of the other students even seemed to notice Flitwick’s actions.

The tiny professor had explained it to Harry earlier that week.

“You see, Harry,” Flitwick had said, “This is a very mild charm that will keep the attention of your classmates away from us as you perform the spell for me. Anything more and it is likely that they will notice your absence.”

“You’re sure this will work?” Harry asked as Flitwick rounded the edge of their table.

“Unless someone is purposely watching, it should work fine. And,” the little man said, glancing around at the barely controlled chaos around them, “I think everyone is presently too embroiled in attempting to make their own magic work.”

Harry settled his anxiety by telling himself that Snape could just obliviate anyone who saw too much.

Then it was a simple matter of demonstrating the spell for Flitwick once more—his feather went all the way to the ceiling—before leaning back in relief and watching Teddy follow suit. It was only natural that his friend had also mastered the spell, especially considering the amount of time that Harry typically put in on practicing every day.

Flitwick cancelled the diversion spell before moving on to another pair of students, and Harry looked around to see how the others were doing. Beside them, Weasley was paired with Granger, and he took some delight in watching the red haired boy repeatedly failed attempts at mastering the spell.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Harry saw Granger snap. “It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Weasley snarled back.

Granger rolled up the sleeves of her robe, flicked her wand, and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it!”

Harry understood that their professor couldn’t draw attention to his success, but seeing the pleased smirk on Granger’s face made something in the pit of his stomach burn.

“You did better,” Teddy said quietly as they made their way out into the corridor following the end of class.

“He probably would have complimented you if not for all the bizarre hand waving you put into the spell,” Granger said, stepping up boldly into their midst.

“Pardon?” Harry asked mildly, feeling his palms already beginning to sweat.

Was it possible she had been watching? Why would she have been watching?

“I saw you perform the spell,” she answered smartly. “And really, you’re lucky it worked at all. You ought to be more careful with where you place your hands. If you don’t watch out, Flitwick will cut your grade for sure,” she added with a haughty expression.

“Just stay out of it Granger,” Teddy snarled, putting himself in-between Hermione and Harry once more.

“Flitwick is the professor and if he was okay with my spell work, then that’s all that matters!” Harry said back, feeling his anger begin to bubble up in his chest.

Why couldn’t she just mind her own business?

“I’m just trying to help,” she shot back, purposely not looking at Teddy.

“No, you’re trying to fix me, and trust me that you can’t!” Harry said angrily. Around them, Harry became aware that the other students had slowed to a stop and were now all intently staring at them.

Fighting off the urge to blush, he rounded on Hermione one final time.

“I don’t need help from you!” He said with a low growl.

Granger seemed to be lost for words, and Harry took that opportunity to grab Teddy’s sleeve and head to their next class.

It was only afterwards, after they had made their way up to the Great Hall for the Hallowe’en feast, that he saw some of the Gryffindor girls talking about how upset Granger apparently was.

“She didn’t show up to classes at all this afternoon,” he saw Parvati Patil telling Lavender Brown.

“What’s she saying?” Teddy asked as they sat down at the Slytherin table.

Harry shrugged, looking away from the Gryffindor table. “Granger seems to be crying in the bathroom.”

“Typical,” Teddy said with a shake of his head. “She can snark at others, but she can’t handle it in reverse.”

“Yeah,” Harry snorted, mentally trying to push away the lost look that Granger’s face had held when they left her standing in the middle of the hallway.

. . .

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.

Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know.” He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Bloody hell,” Teddy groused beside him.

“What?” Harry asked, purposely not looking at Dumbledore.

“Back to the dorms,” Teddy said with a shrug and stood up.

Around them, everyone was getting up and Harry could already see the two Slytherin prefects heading their way.

“Going for the firsties first,” Flint cackled a few feet away from them. “Don’t want you all to get lost in the hubbub,” the upperclassman said.

“Come on,” Harry said, ducking out of the entrance hall and heading back down the way they had just come. “Flint gives me the creeps,” he said when they were safely away from the leering older boy.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Teddy said with a shake of his head.

It wasn’t until they were already a couple of hallways over that Harry remembered what they had found out about Granger.

“Wait, woah hold on,” Harry said, pulling Teddy to the side slightly and out of the press of bodies swarming around them.

“What?”

“Granger. She doesn’t know. I never saw her come in,” Harry said, giving a piercing look to his best friend.

“Hell,” Teddy said, pushing a hand through his even brown hair. “This isn’t just you feeling guilty, is it?”

Harry shook his head. “I just—I dunno. I have a feeling about her, and I think this is one of those times I ought to listen to my gut.”

He had told Teddy a bit—a very small bit—about his time on the streets of London. If there had been one thing that he had taken away from that experience, it was that he needed to listen to his instincts when he could.

Teddy knew that, and Harry felt that was probably why his friend agreed to turn back against the crowd and go searching after the idiot Gryffindor girl.

. . .

Harry smelled it first. It was an awful smell; one that reminded him of his days cleaning up after his relatives and their pig-like ways.

“Agh, can you smell that?”

“Smell what?” Teddy asked, glancing at him with a strange expression.

“Like a toilet gone bad at the back of a locker room,” Harry said with a grimace. “I think that means we’re going the right way.”

A few corridors later and they could both smell it. By the time they saw the troll, Harry’s eyes were watering and he could feel a headache blossoming at the back of his skull.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

“Shite,” Harry muttered, looking wildly at Teddy. “That’s the girls’ toilet!”

Just then, Teddy froze and grabbed Harry’s arm with a near pinching grip.

“Someone just screamed from inside!” He explained before jogging towards the toilet, Harry just behind him.

Cautiously they entered the loo.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

“Bloody hell!” Teddy yelled.

The troll paused in its movement as though confused.

“Oy!” Harry yelled, grabbing at the idea of distracting the giant creature. He grabbed a pipe from the broken sink fixtures and threw it at the monster’s back. Beside him, Teddy did the same, still yelling curses as he went.

Harry quickly saw that the troll couldn’t even feel the pipes, but he could hear the noise and it was clear that he was being driven berserk by it. Running through his options in his head, Harry happened to glance towards Granger and was reminded once again why he didn’t like girls.

She was frozen against the wall; her mouth open with terror as the troll leaned its tiny head back and roared within the small room.

Or maybe it’s just Gryffindor girls, he amended as he pulled out his wand. He liked Millicent Bulstrode just fine. And somehow, he couldn’t imagine her screaming in terror as something monstrous tried to eat her.

Teddy was still yelling beside him and the troll didn’t seem to be able to make up its mind about which way to go.

Friend! Harry’s mind yammered at him. He didn’t know when Teddy had worked his way over from ally to friend within his thinking, but it didn’t matter. Teddy was his friend and nobody messed with something of his.

Instinctively putting his left hand into the sign for flying, his eyes alit on the troll’s giant club and without another thought he swished and flicked his wand at it. Instantly the club rose up into the air above the troll’s head and Harry immediately cancelled the spell. The massive club fell on the troll, knocking it out and dropping the monster’s body to the soaked floor. Harry imagined that it must have made a great huge noise, as even he could hear something indistinct as the ground rumbled with the impact and the stalls shook around them.

He watched as Granger hesitantly made it over to them, and asked, “Is it dead?”

“Still breathing, isn’t it?” Teddy answered, breathing hard himself.

Hermione didn’t say anything. She seemed to be intent on staring at Harry instead.

“Trying to figure out how to get out of saying thanks to a couple of Slytherins?” Teddy taunted angrily at her continued silence.

“I—,” she shook her head and looked down for a brief moment. “Thank you—both,” she glanced back at Harry then and frowned. “You did that spell silently.”

“You just couldn’t hear me,” Harry argued, shaking his head.

“Actually,” Hermione said, straightening suddenly as her eyes widened appreciatively. “That makes sense, really. It—,” she whirled towards Teddy. “You know about him!” She gasped, turning back towards Harry. “You’re deaf, aren’t you!”

Notes:

Certain quotes came from chapter 10 of J.K. Rowling’s “The Philosopher’s Stone.”

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