Fellowship & Fairydust

By LastCrazyHorn

Word Count: 105891

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 28 –

“Sir? Where’s Harry?”

. . .

“That’s why I asked you to be here,” Snape answered in a monotone voice. With a wave of his wand, he summoned a chair over and sat down.

“Is he all right, at least?” Hermione’s voice trembled, but very bravely, she did not allow her tears to fall.

“He is alive, yes. He has not been . . . hurt, per se,” Snape allowed.

His lips pursed as he fought to find a way to explain what had happened, despite not yet understanding the situation in full himself.

“Where is he, sir?” Neville’s voice was quiet, but there was an underlying fissure of tension in it that made Snape look searchingly at the young boy.

“He’s on the grounds currently. He’s—well, blast it.”

All four students jerked in surprise at his use of a curse word—never mind how mild.

“He’s been turned into a dragon.”

“Pardon!?” Hermione’s shriek rung painfully in his ears.

He put a hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes shut.

“If I could explain it, I would.” He gave a wave toward the many piles of texts surrounding him and Teddy’s bedsides. “I’m sure that all of you are aware of Harry’s less than positive upbringing, yes?”

Millicent and Teddy glanced at one another as Hermione slowly nodded in the affirmative. Neville only stared at him, before opening his mouth.

“I’m not certain that we should talk about it without his presence,” The Longbottom heir stated slowly.

“Normally, I would agree with you, Mr Longbottom, but these are hardly normal situations. Harry’s state seems to be directly tied to his childhood, such as it was. Although I am currently not at liberty to tell you the details of how Harry came to be in his state, I can assure you that both myself and auror Moody are handling the situation as best as we may, given the situation.”

“But what is the situation?” Hermione pleaded. “How did Harry end up like this? Can you still communicate to him? He isn’t capable of talking somehow, is he? Is—?”

Snape put up a hand to stop the seemingly unending stream of questions.

“I believe that I already told you that I cannot discuss your first question. As for your second, let me say this. I have a found a way to mentally speak with him in a manner reminiscent to the muggles’ concept of telepathy.”

Only Hermione seemed shocked at this revelation. Teddy was already aware of the situation, and Neville and Millicent were uncertain of the term, ‘telepathy.’ After a quick explanation from Snape, their expressions slowly morphed into something resembling Hermione’s own.

“So, telepathy isn’t a normal thing in the wizarding world?” Hermione slowly asked.

Snape’s mouth creaked briefly upward at her question.

“No, it is not. There is a branch of magic that allows one to look into a person’s thoughts and memories, but it is not common. Nor, does it allow someone to transmit words across minds. Linked minds are somewhat unheard of, all told.”

Snape saw the gleam in Hermione’s eyes that was caused at his words. He had no doubt that she would head off to the library at the next nearest convenience. He would need to spell them under some sort of loyalty oath before they left the Infirmary. Most of the school already knew that something strange was happening near Hagrid’s cabin, but thankfully their privacy spells had managed to hold thus far. Maybe they would even be able to revert Harry to his normal state before being discovered by some student with fewer brains than guts, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. At least he knew that it wouldn’t be any of his Snakes doing such a foolish thing.

He hoped not, anyway.

“What can we do, sir?” Teddy asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

“I don’t think that there’s very much you can do at this point. Of course, an extra set of eyes might be helpful while we research, but I very much doubt you will find something where we have not,” He said, waving an arm over to where Pomfrey and Moody were still embroiled in several large books.

“Would it help if we were to try and talk with Harry?” Millicent’s question was softly spoken.

“I doubt he will be able to communicate with you at all. You would have to demonstrate everything with visuals, but he has already told me that his eyesight is just as bad—if not worse—than it was as a human.”

He glanced up at Hermione and raised a hand to hold off her impending question.

“Our biggest problem right now is finding a way to make Harry remember how to be human again. And perhaps even more importantly, we have to convince him that his life would be better off in his human form.”

“Is it, sir?” Neville’s question caused Hermione’s eyes to widen almost comically in surprise.

“I would hope that his future as a human is something to look forward to,” Snape answered slowly.

His heart ached at the thought of gaining a son only to lose him so soon after. But he kept that to himself. Not all things needed to be shared with the first years sitting in front of him.

. . .

“He’s asking for you,” Madame Pomfrey informed Moody several hours after Amelia Bones had finally made her departure.

Both of Moody’s eyes had narrowed and he’d given Severus a quick glance. Lately, the other man had a scowl permanently etched into his face, but the corners of his mouth managed to turn down even farther at this announcement.

“It could be a trap,” Severus suggested.

“I s’pect it’s too much to hope he’s suddenly developed a guilty conscience?” Moody bit out with a growl.

“Probably his ego is demanding a chance to be heard,” Severus nearly hissed.

“I’ll see if I can’t use it to our advantage then,” Moody nodded and stood up with a groan.

Merlin, he didn’t need to sit in one place for such long lengths of time.

“I will wait just outside the door,” Severus responded, dropping his wand into his hand.

. . .

“How is it possible?”

“How is what possible?” Moody grunted.

“How could he go against my will? I commanded him to stop and he did not. How is that possible?”

“Lad’s got a mind of his own,” Moody offered. If he could make Dumbledore talk, they might get some much needed answers, some non-coerced answers.

“It shouldn’t have mattered,” Albus whispered. “I made him. I am his creator.”

“What’re yeh on about now?”

Moody watched as Albus turned wild blue eyes his way.

The story that spilled from the headmaster’s lips was surreal. Under Veritaserum, he and Bones had gotten the bare bones of the story from him, but he knew that there was much more than what they had heard. A truth serum—even one as strong Snape’s—still required the use of the correct questions in order to find the answers. And as is often the situation, Albus’ answers had only caused more questions.

The tale that the headmaster told this time was much clearer and more complete.

It seemed that Flamel was not the only one involved. Moody had to wonder if the creator of the philosopher’s stone had known what Dumbledore had planned to do with the spell. Flamel had always been portrayed as neutral or light in the stories, but then again, so had Albus. Seemingly, they were all standing on a plateau of paradigm shifts. It seemed that Flamel had helped him fine tune the spell, but the original creation of it had come from Grindelwald himself.

Never before had he imagined their minds were so closely aligned. The past year was already making him re-evaluate everything he thought he had known of the old man. This was simply further proof that the man that he had once thought of as a friend no longer lived behind those familiar blue eyes.

With the theoretical help of the aforementioned wizards, Albus had performed a highly dark, a highly illegal ritual that used a pure emotion as its catalyst. Somewhat similar to Fiendfyre, it caused a physical manifestation to be borne out of the body that housed the emotion. According to Albus, humans were rarely used, given their conflicting feelings and complex natures.

However, Grindelwald and now Dumbledore—Moody refused to think of him as Albus anymore. Albus had been his friend. Dumbledore was someone—something else entirely. Essentially, Grindelwald and Dumbledore had theorized that a human could be used in the ritual of Puer Ignis provided that they were raised in some kind of environment that not only encouraged anger, but essentially gave no other alternative.

“And I s’pose the Dursleys fit right into this plan of yours?” Moody asked, his stomach churning at the implications.

He watched Dumbledore’s placid expression morph into a sneer not unlike one of Severus’ own.

“Until they lost him, they were quite adequate for the job,” Dumbledore stated crisply, his long gnarled hands twisting in the bed sheets. “But then again, Muggles never could quite understand the importance of wizarding affairs.”

Moody thought his eyebrows would permanently disappear into his hairline at this pronouncement.

“Though,” Dumbledore’s mouth morphed into a very frightening smile, “I suppose that they understand that fallacy now.”

“You—,” He found himself unable to voice it. “Even the boy?”

“I don’t care for leaving loose ends around. If I could go back and redo Harry’s early years, I would have never let him out of my sight.” Dumbledore frowned. “But that still does not explain why my command failed. Tell me, Alastor,” The man turned burning eyes in his direction. “What have you done to my weapon?”

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