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.

From Chapter 11 –

“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!”

. . .

Harry stiffened at the accusation, but before he had a chance to retort, the other two looked up in surprise at something behind him, and he turned to see Professors McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell all rush into the room. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall stared at Teddy and Harry. Harry had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.

“What on earth were you doing?” Her nostrils flared and Harry automatically took a step away.

Beside them, he saw Professor Snape straighten up from his examination and move slightly closer to where they were standing.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the furious glare from McGonagall shut him up and he edged farther away instead. He remembered that sort of anger from his uncle just before the man struck him, and he wanted no part of it here.

There was a slight flutter of black robes out of the corner of his eye, and then suddenly Snape was standing beside them. “Minerva,” he saw the man say.

“What!” The older woman hissed back, her teeth clenched as her eyes flashed in warning.

Their professor didn’t speak, but merely glanced at them pointedly.

Harry looked at Teddy and saw that his friend looked decidedly ill as he stood slightly behind him. Hermione was no better; standing beside the broken sinks with her arms wrapped securely around her centre.

He wondered if his fear was evident on his face as well. The mirrors beside him were smashed, and abruptly he remembered his aunt screaming at him over the seven years of bad luck that such a thing caused.

‘But I didn’t break it!’ He had tried to explain, ducking behind the sofa as she screamed and hurled dishes at his head. Dudley had done it when he had thrown a fit, but Harry had gotten the blame.

As always, he thought sourly.

McGonagall and Snape stared at one another for what felt like an interminable amount of time before the older woman broke eye contact with a huff.

“Now,” Snape said, turning his focus on them. “Someone will explain how the three of you came to be out after being expressly told to go straight to your dormitories.”

Harry was still contemplating what to say when Hermione answered for them.

“Please sir,” her eyes shining brightly even in the dim light of the now destroyed bathroom. “It’s m-my fault.”

Harry couldn’t hear the squeakiness of her voice, but he could see the terror in her face; the way her lower lip trembled and how her body was tensed far too tightly.

“Enlighten us,” McGonagall prompted; her face a hair softer as she gazed down at one of her own.

“I thought,” the girl hesitated and put her head down as her lip trembled wildly. Taking a deep breath, she looked up and tried again to explain. “I thought I could handle it, because I’d read all about them, you see.”

Harry blinked in surprise as he watched Hermione lie to two of their professors—well, three if he counted Quirrell (which he didn’t). He tried to ignore the way Professor Snape was staring at them all, especially him. It was almost as if he could feel his head of house’s eyes inside his head, seeking out the inner tendrils of his heart’s emotions.

“They must have heard me scream, because suddenly they were here, saving me.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Snape’s when Hermione mentioned that he had ‘heard.’

SHE KNOWS! His mind squawked loudly as they caught one another’s eye. Was it Harry’s imagination, or did Snape give a slight nod of understanding?

Can the man read minds? Is such a thing possible in the wizarding world? It was worth looking into. Maybe I should ask Moody.

“Miss Granger, you foolish girl,” McGonagall said, shaking her head. “How could you even think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?” Hermione hung her head in response as Teddy and Harry watched on in carefully hidden surprise.

“Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” McGonagall added, glancing at Snape as she spoke. “I shall leave you to punish your snakes as you see put,” she said, putting an arm to Hermione’s shoulder to lead her away.

Beside him, Professor Snape straightened slightly and moved closer to the two Gryffindors.

“Is there something else you’d like to say?” McGonagall asked, looking tiredly at him.

“I would think it prudent to keep the events of what happened here tonight to ourselves, Minerva,” he murmured, barely audible to those who were listening.

“Albus already knows,” McGonagall countered with a wry upturn of her lips.

“Of course he does,” Snape answered dourly. “However, it would be in the best interest of the school’s inhabitants if these students’ little misadventure did not become tomorrow’s front page of the Daily Prophet.” Harry shivered as he felt a subtle layer of magic drop down around them with his professor’s words.

Apparently McGonagall saw the truth of his statement, because she began nodding before he finished speaking.

A piece of rubble ground across the floor, and Harry looked across the room and saw Quirrell slowly making it to his feet. “Y-Yes, I th-th-think S-S-S-Severus is right,” the nervous looking man said, wringing his hands in his robes as they all turned their eyes on him.

“What do you propose?” McGonagall asked, shifting on her feet before them.

“A simple binding pact,” Snape answered smoothly, holding his wand out in front of his body. “I, Severus Snape, will not speak of tonight’s events with anyone outside of this room.” A light burned through his wand and then darkened.

At his professor’s nod, Harry repeated the sentiment, feeling a strange tingle move through his fingers as he made his promise as well. Slowly the others echoed the promise, each of their wands lighting up until only Hermione was left.

“But,” Hermione paused looking back and forth between McGonagall and Snape in bewilderment.

“We can talk tomorrow,” McGonagall answered. “Come on, Miss Granger. Get on with it.”

“I, Hermione Granger, will n-not speak of tonight’s events with anyone outside this room,” the girl answered slowly, a consternated expression on her face as she spoke. When she finished the agreement, all of their wands glowed briefly again, and then the light was gone.

“Come,” Snape said to Harry and Teddy. “I want a word with you two.”

Harry glanced at Teddy and raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t likely to be a pleasant conversation.

. . .

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold.

Harry reflected on the previous night’s conversation with Professor Snape and Teddy. The man had wanted the full details of what had happened, and after making sure they wouldn’t be punished any further for it, Harry had given him the truth. As it was, he and Teddy were given a week’s worth of detentions with Snape for the “reckless endangerment of their lives.”

“You should have come to me as soon as you realised Miss Granger’s predicament,” Snape had berated them.

On the other hand, after finding out that Harry’s signed magic had been so successful, the conversation had taken an upturn and they had spent the remaining time in Snape’s quarters, eating and talking about magical theory.

The next few weeks progressed very quickly. Harry and Teddy, with the help and guidance of Professor Snape, fought to stay at least a week ahead in all of their studies, if not more. They had chopped and sliced their way through most of their week of detention, but they had also—with Snape’s help—worked on that semester’s upcoming assignments in Potions.

Luckily, Flitwick was just as interested in Harry’s continued progress with signed magic as he was, and therefore had continued to tutor him whenever he had a spare moment. With the combined help of Flitwick and Snape, Harry and Teddy were now almost a full month ahead of their classmates in Charms.

In turn, Harry took what they learned from Snape to Neville, and occasionally Hermione—even though she usually didn’t need much help.

It was strange how they had gone from merely tolerating the girl’s presence to actually involving her in their everyday lives. Part of it was Neville; although he was still somewhat of an outcast within his own house, he at least had someone to talk to everyday thanks to Harry and Teddy. As he had become better established with them, he had come to realise just how desperately lonely the girl was, and being rather kind hearted, he had begun suggesting they include her in their study sessions.

“What could it hurt? You said she figured it out, and she’s not allowed to tell anyone,” Neville had argued quite logically.

Harry had finally agreed, but not only because of Neville’s wishes. The girl was smart, certainly; anyone with a handful of brain cells could ascertain that, but there was still something else about her that piqued his interest. She definitely had spunk; proving it by lying to both Snape and McGonagall for them.

McGonagall. He shook his head as he thought about the hard faced woman. He was sure as hell happy not to be in the woman’s house. He could only imagine what sort of state he would have been in if he had been forced to rely on her to help him out. He knew that both of his parents had been in Gryffindor and supposedly they’d been happy there, but the idea still made him itch.

Was he really so different from them? He’d heard stories about his father, but not very many about his mother. His mind wandered back to Snape’s reasons for giving them detention. They had gotten in trouble because they had been reckless. Had he inherited that sort of thing from his father? Or was that simply a result of growing up knowing no one gave a damn about what he did as long as it didn’t affect them?

“Does Quirrell make any of the rest of you feel odd?” He asked Teddy, Neville and Hermione one afternoon not long after the troll incident. They had just left defence and were headed to their next class. His head had hurt unbearably the entire class period, and he couldn’t help but think that the two were related.

Neville and Hermione shook their heads, but Teddy simply stared back at him in quiet consternation.

“Yeah, Teddy?” Harry prompted.

“Sometimes,” his friend started slowly, staring off down the hall, “I catch him staring at us, and there’s something different about his eyes then.” Abruptly the other boy shook himself and the distant expression faded from his face.

Harry nodded, clenching his jaw tightly until it ached and he forced himself to relax.

“You okay, Harry?” Neville turned and looked at him closely. “You’re not looking too good.”

Harry snorted bitterly at the question. “I never look good, Neville.”

The other boy only smiled sadly at him before reiterating his previous question. “You’re really pale. Have you eaten today? I got an apple in my bag if you want it.”

The idea of food made his head spin even worse than it had been. “No thanks, Nev,” he answered, waving a hand in refusal.
Someone shoved him, and Harry found himself looking up into the scowling face of the youngest Weasley. “I don’t blame him for not wanting anything from you, Longbottom,” Weasley sneered in greeting.

Weasley’s eyes moved to someone behind Harry, and then after a pause suddenly spat out, “And you can bugger off too, Granger!”

“Get out of my way, Weasel,” Harry growled, borrowing Malfoy’s commonly used insult.

“You’re not in the dungeons now, Rotter,” Weasley answered back, pointing his thin index finger into Harry’s chest. “No Snaky Snape to save you.” The other boys surrounding Weasley laughed and Harry quietly slipped his wand into his unoccupied hand.

Harry laughed out loud at the other boy’s words, causing Thomas and Finnigan to glance at him nervously.

“Don’t you know anything, Weasel?” He asked, adjusting his stance slightly. “Snape doesn’t save me. He saves you.” Harry brought his wand up into the narrow space between their bodies and jabbed it hard into Weasley’s sternum.

“Now, unless you want to start wearing your bones on the outside of your body,” Harry threatened with a dim smile, “I suggest you get the f— out of my way, got me?” He said, narrowing his eyes in silent warning.

“Bloody Slytherin!” Weasley hissed, grabbing Harry by the front of his robes and hoisting him up.

“Ronald Weasley! What in Merlin’s name are you doing!”

Hastily, Weasley dropped him and pushed himself around to look at the angry visage of Professor McGonagall. In the time in between dropping him and turning around, Harry managed to shove his wand back up into his sleeve and slump down over his crutch as though he had been hurt by Weasley’s manhandling.

“He was threatening me with a wand, ma’am!” Weasley said, pointing at Harry with a long skinny arm.

McGonagall’s eyes flicked at him briefly in silent evaluation.

“The only wand out is yours, Mr. Weasley,” she retorted.

Harry looked down and saw that Weasley’s wand was indeed in his hand, being held by a white knuckled fist.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said smoothly, ushering them into her classroom. “And detention with Professor Snape,” she added as they hurriedly sat down.

“That git threatens me, and I get detention!” Weasley spluttered, gesturing wildly at Harry.

“I did not see or hear him do such a thing,” McGonagall countered, lifting an eyebrow. “But if you do not calm yourself, it will be two nights. Do you understand?”

Harry felt Teddy twitch beside him, and he glanced at his friend to see that he was just barely managing to hold in his laughter. It was a rare sight and Harry smirked in appreciation.

The night before the first Quidditch game of the season, Harry awoke from a nightmare with a gasp, his heart pounding loud and fast in his ears as he shoved himself upright. Drawing his hands down his arms frantically, nearly choking on his tears, he tried to make sure he was still in one piece. He had dreamt that he was in the hospital; dreamt about the nurses coming to scrape off his dead burnt skin, leaving him open and raw in his pain. He had thought then, and sometimes afterwards, that he would have almost preferred to have been allowed to die than to suffer all of that. And he knew now that if he had to go through it again, he wouldn’t. They couldn’t make him.

“I’ll kill myself before that,” he muttered, swinging out of bed while wiping his face free of the leftover tears.

Pushing his stump into his artificial leg, he made it onto his feet, pulling the blanket after him as he went. Grabbing his glasses from the table beside him, he wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and picked up his bag. He did all of this by touch, not wanting to light anything for fear of waking Teddy. His friend had his own nightmares, although he didn’t usually let the other boy know he was awake during them.

Out in the common room once again, Harry headed for his favourite sofa. It was in the far corner of the room, facing outwards to both the main entrance of Slytherin, as well as the hallways that led to the dorm rooms themselves. At his back was the thick wall of magically enforced glass that separated the room from the lake. Tossing his bag on the seat beside him, he curled up into the corner of the cushions, unwrapping and rewrapping his blanket around him until he was satisfied.

His stump ached a bit, but it wasn’t too bad. It always hurt more when it was cold, and he knew without a doubt that it would hurt worse before it got better. It was only November, and he was prepared to be cold for a lot longer.

At least I’m inside this year, he thought ruefully as he rummaged through his bag.

A beautiful snow white owl had delivered a message from Moody that evening at dinner, but he hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. The owl had distracted him from eating much more, so as he pulled out the letter, he also pulled out a smaller bag that he had convinced Snape to magic with a preservation spell. In turn, Snape had made him promise to eat what was in the bag, or else he was going to start having to take two nutrition potions per day, instead of just the one he was currently eating with breakfast.

“Urgh,” he shuddered at the thought. Those things might make it easier for him to eat after imbibing them, but smelling it early in the morning was almost enough to put him off his feed for the rest of the day.

Munching on a roll and still feeling the phantom pains from his nightmare travelling up and down his body, he unrolled the missive from Moody and began to read.

‘Harry,’ it said in Moody’s left slanted script.

‘Glad you wrote. Meant I didn’t have to come up and check up on you.’

Harry grinned as he read Moody’s words. He would have liked to see Moody stomping through the hallways demanding to see him. It brought a warm glow to his stomach at the thought.

‘You have another dream like that, you ought to tell Snape. That’s what he’s there for. Don’t like the idea of you being all alone like that. I meant it when I said you could write anytime. Well, you can also firecall me if you need to. Ask Snape or your friend about how that works.’

For a moment, Harry stopped reading and curled his hands around his middle. Moody didn’t want him to be alone. It was such a foreign idea.

Hastily, he knuckled away the tears that were trying to escape from his left eye and continued reading.

‘Speaking of your friend, I’m glad you’ve made one. And your suspicions about him are dead on. His father, Tiberius Nott, has been in and out of Azkaban for the majority of his adult life. He has been arrested for crimes against muggles and wizards both, and we have long suspected him of having Death Eater ties. Unfortunately, we only had the word of one man to convict him, and we couldn’t hold him without better proof. He’s committed plenty of other documented crimes though.’

‘Tiberius Nott was a Slytherin too, but you know better’n me that not all Slytherins are bad. Took me a while to learn that lesson though. Course, your parents were betrayed by a Gryffindor, and that helped open me eyes a bit further.’

Harry numbly slumped back against the back of the sofa. He’d know his parents had been betrayed, but he hadn’t known it had been a Gryffindor that had done it. Maybe he could ask Snape.

He thought over what Moody had said about Teddy’s father. Was Nott Sr. in prison now? What was he like around his family? Uncle Vernon was a nasty man to be around, but he genuinely seemed to love his family. Maybe Teddy’s father was like that? He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he could ask.

‘Your bloody family disgusts me. I been thinking a lot on that lately, to tell you the truth. I still have connections in the Ministry, even though I been retired for some years now. I’m thinking a formal inquiry might be a good place to start, and if that don’t pan out, then maybe me and a few friends could visit them late one night.’

He blinked in surprise; not only because Moody was actually planning to do something, but because he had bothered to tell him about it.

‘It ain’t right to treat someone the way you’ve been treated. Makes my blood boil. I worked some with your father, back when he was just getting started. He was a good man, and he loved you and your mother more than words can describe. There used to be a saying ’round here: “Work for the Ministry and the Ministry works for you.”‘

‘Well, let me tell you that James Potter has been let down by the Ministry in the way old Al let you be raised. I don’t know what he was thinking putting you with those muggles that are your family . I did me some digging into Vernon Dursley’s history, and while it isn’t as violent as Nott Sr.’s, it’s still worth a read.’

‘His pa was a factory worker, but it looks like he spent a fair time drinking his wages as spending them on his family. Looks like Vernon got in trouble at nine for burning down an old condemned house that used to serve as the town’s hangout for the homeless and derelict. A little more digging and I found out that a couple of old prostitutes were killed in the fire, but he wasn’t charged with their deaths ’cause of his age.’

“Wow,” Harry breathed, his eyes flying over the paper. He had never heard anything about Vernon as a child, or any of his familial history—except for Marge—and he found it fascinating.

‘Him and that sister of his were known by name by every law enforcement official in that area. I visited there as a muggle agent and they all had stories about what Vernon and Marge did growing up. It seems that their mum was a bit of a drinker herself, and ultimately allowed them to run free. I asked why they weren’t removed from their home, and it turns out they were, several times, but the Dursleys would always sober up in time to get ’em back.’

‘Things came to a head when Vernon was fifteen or so. He stole a car, one with a baby in it. Apparently his mum made a complete spectacle of herself at his trial; ranting and screaming, tearing her hair and clothes. She had to be taken away and committed. As far as I can tell, she’s still there. It’s probably best for all involved, actually, considering what she was like. Mr. Dursley disappeared too, only to be later found in the house dead. He hung himself, or so everyone thought. There were a couple of older officers who told me that something was off about his death. They thought Marge had something to do with it, but couldn’t pin anything on her.’

Marge? A murderer? The thought, while a bit disturbing, wasn’t really all that surprising once he considered it a bit more. He remembered the way she had looked at him; as though he were nothing more than a piece of meat to be devoured by a hungry dog, and he shivered at the thought. Yeah, he could see her as a murderer.

He read over that part of the letter again, trying to imagine Moody tromping around in some backwater town, asking questions to mostly retired gentlemen about something that had happened so long ago.

“He didn’t just dig,” he mused aloud, albeit in a whisper. “He excavated.”

But why? Was it just curiosity on Moody’s part?

His eyes wandered back to the letter and he read on.

‘They found him guilty, but instead of prison or shipping him out to some farm, a man by the name of Peter Grunnings came forth and offered to foster them. There was some debate by the town officials over his not getting punished appropriately, but ultimately the deciding point was that Grunnings promised to keep him and his sister in line. And as far as I can tell, he did.’

Harry wondered exactly what that meant. Had Vernon learned his punishment techniques from Grunnings? Or was that just Vernon?

‘Speaking of keeping in line, I got notes from Snape about each of those fights you were in, and it looks like you were just responding the way you would to any muggle threat. Well, Snape told me what he told you, and though I’d hate to agree with the man, I can’t help but do so for once. I’m not saying I want you to get into fights if you can get out of them some other way, but if you have to go through with them, it’d be best to use your magic first.’

Harry dropped his head onto his hand. Well, there was no other way around it then. He needed to ask Snape for help with defence as well.

He thought of the headaches he’d been having and thought about when each of them had occurred. Something was wrong with Quirrell and it wasn’t just his damned stutter. Surely Snape saw it too? He wasn’t really sure; things that affected him seriously had never been validated by any adults when he had been living under the Dursley roof, and the idea that someone else might notice now nearly blew his mind.

“It’s not safe,” he whispered, clenching the fist that was missing the two fingers. “I trust in people, get it thrown back in my face. I believe what people say, and they throw it back in my face. I ask for help, and they don’t help me.”

But Snape made him want to believe differently. Snape seemed to really want him to trust him.

‘I protect my own,’ the man had told him more than once while working with him on his signed magic.

Harry shook his head. He wanted to believe him. He really did. He wanted so much that he could feel it aching inside his chest whenever Snape looked at him with those calm steady, dark eyes.

He looked back down at the letter, hoping that Moody’s words would help him decide. Moody had found him, had come to him where he was. Moody understood about being a freak in the midst of two-legged people.

‘That Weasley boy still giving you trouble? I suspect that Al is interfering in that family somehow. I can’t understand any other excuse for why that boy’d be so far off the mark from the rest of his clan.’

Meddling? Harry thought in confusion. What kind of meddling?

‘Seems that everyone knew how you were gonna be before you ever got to be. I think Al had it all planned out, and your getting sorted into Slytherin upended those plans.’

Oh.

Then he was even gladder that he was in Slytherin.

‘Keep up your friend making. I’m pretty fond of the disliked population as well. We seem to be more honest than those concerned with the polite machinations of civilized company. Speaking of making friends, this owl showed up on my doorstep a few mornings ago. She looked like she was trying to find something or someone, and trust me when I tell you I wasn’t it.’

‘Would you like to keep her?’

‘Moody’

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