It was later that night that Draco got a sinking feeling in his stomach as his Mother glanced up from over their dinner to give him a look he was more than familiar with. It was a 'you will do as you're told right now' thing that she only got on when she knew he wouldn't be happy with what she had to say.
It'd been the best day of the summer so far, given the rest of it was so dull and boring just writing a seemingly one-sided monologue into his enchanted journal when he could, and spending the rest of it practicing his heart out to be able to make the quidditch team this coming term. Shocking as it was to say, even he could sometimes get tired of quidditch when it was just him practicing alone for days on end—not even his Slytherin "friends" were much of a distraction as Blaise had gone to Italy for family business and Nott had flat out rejected hanging out with him, which didn't exactly shock anyone (he was slightly abashed he was even stupid enough to bother asking to be honest). He'd gotten his homework done pretty early at his mother's orders and continued being tutored in his areas of study here and there so to get a leg up for the coming year, but it wasn't that interesting and also took a lot less time than actually attending school.
He thought maybe he could've convinced Harry to visit several times over the break but clearly that hadn't worked out. Not only had the redhead barely responded to their journals, but every time Draco tried to steer the conversation (or what little there was of one) in the direction of implying an invitation, he'd been shut down pretty swiftly. He knew Harry's relatives didn't like magic and he was actually hiding the fact he was writing to him at all from his family, so he got the message pretty quickly that his guardians wouldn't let him go even if he had officially invited him.
But since most of his summer plans had been centered around Harry, this summer he'd been very, very bored.
And worried.
There was only so much worrying you could do alone though, and it'd eaten at him all break until he finally set eyes on Harry to see he wasn't dying in a puddle somewhere, but even though some of his fears were soothed it wasn't nearly as fixed as he thought it'd be. He just… wasn't sure how things were actually broken or how to go about fixing this thing that he couldn't put a finger on in the first place. Given his parents utter lack of commentary on meeting Harry earlier that day, he knew they were up to something as well but probably had way more awareness of the situation than him which was kind of annoying.
But… well, he had no plan for how to fix this, so he was willing to hear what they were up to first.
"Any particular plans for this school year, dear?" His mother asked blankly in that way of hers she had when she was almost blatantly being nonchalant. He admitted growing up he was a rather… gullible child, so she'd taken to being almost obvious in how casual she spoke as if to point out how suspicious it was and remind him to read between the lines.
He'd only been twelve a couple months at this point, but the tone still irritated him. He wasn't stupid enough to think he'd always been that good at picking up social clues, but he wasn't seven anymore, thanks Mother.
"Not particularly, aside from quidditch and that's decently under control right now." He responded obediently though. She was asking what plots he intended to develop and so to say he had none was acceptable for two reasons: one he wasn't back at Hogwarts to see the playing field to know what would be worthy going for, so it was okay to not have a decision right at this moment, and two, since he wasn't a first year anymore sharing everything with his parents probably wasn't a great idea. The sooner he stopped getting their help on everything he did the sooner Blaise would stop smirking at him from across the room as he wrote his letters home.
He didn't count the quidditch thing because both his parents were aware he'd been plotting to get onto the Slytherin team since Harry had made the Gryffindor one, and he was pretty sure he'd surprised his father by saying he didn't want to buy the whole team the new Nimbus 2001s as a bribe and subtle reminder of who his family was to ensure his spot. It was a very Malfoy thing to do after all, and he sure as hell wanted (and got) one, but he had a different idea.
An idea that had come to him pretty much day two of his time at Hogwarts when he realized just how hard actually being in Slytherin and also friends with Harry Potter was. It was just going to take him forever to get it to work, which was all right since Harry seemed able to handle himself just fine in the meantime.
He had not expected Harry to fully wreck Montague, but that had been absolutely awesome and made his day-to-day life in the snake house much easier, but there was the long term to consider too. Draco's method was far less aggressive and flashy than what the most Slytherin-like Gryffindor at Hogwarts had managed to come up with, and he hoped someday it'd work without anyone but maybe Harry ever realizing what he was doing. The thing was, he wouldn't know until it either paid off, or didn't. While waiting on it, he just had to keep plugging away and making calculated moves so as not to blow his cover, and unfortunately vast displays of wealth that would polarize the already destabilized Slytherin quidditch team would in no way be helpful.
The quidditch team was still entirely comprised of dark families after all, and despite being broken by Harry taking Montague out, their alliances were nothing to scoff at. And now that Draco was part of a grey family, despite being in not terrible standing in Slytherin thanks to Harry, he was still going into the year at a disadvantage.
But that seemed to be his position for his entire time at Hogwarts so far, so it was nothing new.
Harry had proved the quidditch team's strong alliances were, in fact, not unbreakable. Strong as hell, but they were Slytherins just the same as everyone else in their house and despite Montague being a not-so-small support beam of how their connection worked, they'd dropped him like a ton of bricks the second he'd started to sink. Who even knows how many broken deals and canceled favors got tossed around when cutting ties with him, and for snakes who took that stuff insanely seriously, that was going to be the center of their gossip and speculation for a long time yet.
If he were still aligned dark he probably could've gotten onto the team with just a simple demand at Flint's face, because clever or not the Malfoy name had power and getting him into the quidditch team alliance would've been good business for all involved. Terence Higgs, the current Slytherin seeker, was one of the weaker members who was really in it for quidditch than he was the alliance, and no one would've batted an eye if Flint kicked him off the team for Draco—had he provided the team new brooms on top of it, it was all but an assured thing.
But the Malfoys were no longer dark, and honestly Draco had always been a chaser despite being able to play any of the other positions decently well if need be. It worked out that Montague had been a chaser and now that spot was open, because despite what he said Harry was a reallygood seeker specifically and going head-to-head with him seeker-to-seeker was likely not going to go well. And if a chaser position was open "naturally", he could likely get it fair and square by the traditional way at try-outs.
And the fairer and more honest he could appear to be, the better.
Ignoring the fact Harry was the one to, ah… create that natural opportunity for him and everyone knew Harry had done it specifically for Draco in the first place. Not specifically for quidditch but as a lovely side effect.
Draco still wasn't over how awesome that whole thing had been, to be honest.
"No plans with Harry then?" He was brought sharply back to earth from his inner thoughts by his mother's voice, which reminded him he was still part of a conversation and also what did she mean by that?
"Harry?" He repeated as neutrally as possible, as soon as he said it also wondering when the hell she'd started calling him by his first name.
Unfortunately, his mother not only had a deadly poker face, but Draco never actually knew what she was thinking even if he could see underneath it. His father he sort of understood his reasoning and could predict what he'd say to a point in a certain situation—literally who knew what his mother would do though, and it was kind a terrifying thing when she was talking pointedly like he was missing something she thought should be obvious to him.
"Surely you weren't content with him handling your reputation in Slytherin?" His father chimed in, sounding vaguely amused and Draco instantly scowled.
"Of course not! He went crazy with it obviously, but I know what I'm doing with that too." He defended himself.
"Care to share?"
"Not until it works," he pouted, and luckily his father just seemed entertained by that as he went back to his dinner and let the matter drop.
"I was more referencing your conversation in the alley this afternoon," His mother cut back in pointedly, and Draco felt his ears get hot as something that should've been obvious hit him.
"You were listening in!?"
"Don't be thick Draco, of course we were." She sniffed delicately. "I'm asking what you planned to do about it."
"Do… about it?" He knew this was what he couldn't put his finger on but was embarrassed his parents clearly thought he should've realized it by now. Unfortunately, he just didn't, and he resigned himself to needing them to spell it out for him.
His mother sighed, not in an annoyed way but a very put-upon type way. "Clearly we've failed you as parents if you've entirely overlooked every warning sign that boy just gave you. You'll need to work on that if you want to make it farther as a Slytherin, dear." She chided, and Draco frowned as he thought that over.
"Or perhaps you were blinded as you believe you already understand this friend of yours?" His father raised one silver eyebrow, and Draco colored a bit again in embarrassment. Maybe he had fallen into the trap of thinking he could understand Harry, but he should've known that was a stupid thing to believe himself capable of.
To believe anyone capable of understanding the enigma that was Harry Potter, honestly.
"Well… what did I miss then?" He hedged and scowled when his parents exchange very obvious looks for how subtle they usually were with that. "What?" He demanded petulantly.
"He practically said it himself, you know. 'An orphan who grew up with muggles who hate magic'." His mother pointed out.
"…so?"
"Draco, there are some abominable muggles in this world. Muggles who fear those more powerful than them react in fear and aggression most often—that is why the statue of secrecy is important even if we are more powerful. Their sheer numbers and the kind of brilliant stupidity they can come up with when panicked and riled up is truly remarkable."
"Muggles are weaker, of course, but when magic-hating muggles—or fearing, more like—are handed a helpless wizard infant who is not yet at the point of being stronger than them, how do you think they'd react?" His father chorused, and Draco could only frown as he glanced between them, trying to follow and not liking what his suspicions were suggesting.
"Not… well."
"Correct, although the level of not well is as of yet undetermined. From Mr. Potter's reaction, he had been treated very poorly by his muggle relatives. I have observed that the more gruesome the detail and the stronger one's pride, the more silent they become. The boy got some of your pride in exchange for humbling you some this past year, so I can only imagine the gruesome details are not pleasant at all." Narcissa resumed picking at her meal while she spoke, almost too casually for how Draco's mind short circuited.
Poorly? I know he doesn't like them, I know he hides magic from them, which is kind of horrible but what…? Mother doesn't care about how others raise their kids, what does that even mean? Why would she bring it up now?
"Treated poorly? What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded even more grumpily at his lack of answers.
"I think that is what he was referencing when he said you have parents who love you. It's inconceivable that one of your guardians would take advantage of your youth and naivety as you've always had us to shelter you and teach you better. Mr. Potter, it seems, has not been so lucky. Even more reasons to why he should have been in Slytherin—most students with poor home lives often come out of it able to cleverly avoid trouble and with ambitions for a better life, which clearly he has in spades." His father explained lightly.
"He may be right dear, in that your childhoods are far too different. I doubt you will ever be able to understand the sort of upbringing this boy has had, and while he struggles with it you are likely not the best person to confide in when dealing with it." His mother concluded by way of explanation that really explained nothing much to Draco's frustration and growing stress.
"But…"
"It's kind of you to want to try, but you'll likely be of no help dear." She made an attempt at comfort however he was in no way comforted by that.
"Okay, honestly, I have no idea what you're talking about." He confessed bluntly, and his parents rolled their eyes almost in sync, but his father actually smiled slightly.
"Then we've done a good job of raising you safely. Blame us if you must for your lack of understanding but know we will not regret a thing even if you hate us for it."
Draco could only stare at him, dinner forgotten and just at a total loss of what to make of that. His parents didn't usually talk so deceptively with him at least, so this was uncharted territory for him.
He needed to back up a second and collect his thoughts, and luckily his parents just kept eating in silence so he could have a moment to think this over and formulate a response.
What did he know, at a basic level? Well for one, Harry wasn't okay, but he had no details on how not okay. What he'd learned from this conversation was that his parents did and were not going to tell him, and after their talk this afternoon he now knew Harry wasn't going to tell him either. That meant something was wrong, he didn't know what, and he couldn't know what, at least for now. Figuring out what was wrong was going to have to be a problem for another day since neither of his parents seemed confident in his ability to do it and he usually took their opinions seriously—he wasn't good enough to contradict them or prove them wrong so that would have to be a future-him issue.
For today, at this moment: there was a problem, he just didn't know what it was, but he was still obligated to try in fix it. Because his initial plan was to wait for Harry to come to him as requested, but by bringing this up his mother was implying he should be doing something right now—that there was something he could do, and Harry was a reckless Gryffindor who didn't get an opinion on the matter: if there was something he could do to fix this, he would be doing that.
So, he had a unknown problem he had to find a solution for.
Great.
Breaking it down to a basic level again, he was at least smart enough to know Harry didn't like his relatives. "Poor homelife", "treated poorly"—what did that even mean? He, Blaise, and Greengrass were the far outliers in Slytherin in that they actually liked their parents even remotely, so it wasn't new. Harry hadn't gone home for the holidays, but he had muggle relatives so what would even be the point of going at all? That wasn't odd, if he didn't like them and he had no pureblood traditions or responsibilities to tend to then of course he'd stay had Hogwarts.
Magic vs no magic? Wasn't even a question, now was it?
Harry was happy at Hogwarts and not happy when he was with his relatives. The obvious solution was that he shouldn't spend time with his relatives, which was such a trivially easy fix it really didn't warrant his mother bringing it up at dinner officially. Harry would just stay at Hogwarts for the holidays and next summer he could visit them here at Malfoy manor, or any of the many friends Harry had in all four houses—Longbottom, Bones, hell even Blaise might be willing to take him to Italy if it came up, because he was sure by next summer Harry would only further worm his way into the cold empty space where the Zabini's heart should've been. Or at least Blaise would love to torture him with dumping Harry into a foreign country and laughing as he sank or swam, though Draco suspected Harry would probably find a way to swim and even enjoy himself while he did it.
There was no point in bringing up something so easily fixed, so that probably wasn't it.
No, no, he was still thinking about problems he knew. He needed to find a way to fix a problem he didn't understand, which meant he had to think even more basic.
What did he know about Harry?
As soon as he asked himself that, he realized he already knew. Harry wanted to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, with whoever he wanted. He wanted to be free, to have the freedom of choice—to act and speak like he wanted with no repercussions. Which was selfish and unique and just so passionately alive that Draco had always loved it without ever realizing in so many words that's always been exactly what he loved about Harry.
No one was more greedy for life than him, and Draco both envied and stood in frozen, slightly awe-inspired fear of what his best friend was capable of in his search to be alive at all times.
Draco was willing to do or say anything to get what he wanted, but Harry was both that and also unrepentant about wanting everything and the moon right now. He could plan for the future while also doing whatever the hell he wanted right in the moment, and for some reason he could get away with it.
Or, on the most part. It would stand to say if Harry was unhappy, and unhappy in a way that his mother actually brought it up, then Draco could probably take a wild guess and say it was probably related to Harry not getting away with it in some way. He sure as hell had not been acting like himself this summer nor in this talk in the alley today, so for some reason he wasn't being allowed to be who he wanted to be or do what he wanted to do, and that was probably crushing him slowly.
Okay… that meant the solution to that would be to somehow make sure Harry could do what he wanted.
Am I expected to figure out what the hell he actually wants!? Draco thought in a slight panic, because he'd never quite been able to grab ahold of what the bloody hell his best friend actually wanted because it was all so strange and unexpected and he kind of liked the surprises but at the same time it made this ask all but impossible.No… even if could narrow it down, there's no saying it won't change tomorrow. Harry's WAY too unpredictable for that to be a good idea… I need to think of something more generic.
Who told Harry he couldn't do something? Going by historical evidence probably no one since he had never once hesitated in doing literally anything, but logically there was the authority figures in their lives. Teachers, which was unavoidable and probably not the issue since he was McGonagall's favorite and she'd protect him some, and parental figures, which was previously established as avoidable since he was going to just not go home. Who else? The Ministry? Dumbledore? They were so above the situation why would they even care to tell Harry not to do something? So far as he was aware Harry wasn't on a campaign to break school charter or the law and even if he were he was a Potter who'd been asking questions about his finances the last year, so he could probably handle that easily.
Maybe it wasn't in the realm of someone telling him he couldn't do something, and more the fact he was paying consequences for things he did do. Harry didn't hesitate, and he was a Gryffindor, so maybe unlike they'd originally thought he wasn't actually always thinking about the repercussions of the things he did, and maybe he was struggling with that instead. There was a lot of blood on their enchanted journals after all, Harry hadn't seemed all that concerned about injuring himself as a result of his actions, and literally everything about that set every nerve in Draco's body on edge.
Doing whatever the hell he wanted was one thing, accepting the consequences of his actions regardless of what they were was another, and it was honorable.
Accepting those consequences without no hesitation when Draco was no realizing how bad some of those consequences could be was a whole other quidditch pitch that he did not like.
He admitted that he'd always liked how Harry was unrepentant and accepted the ramifications of how he acted with never-ceasing grace, but now that Draco realized Harry would happily accept bodily harm instead of just alienating people or a detention or two, he wasn't sure it was so admirable anymore.
He doubted he could change the redhead's mind about it, nor was he at all interested in the impossible battle even broaching that argument would be (he still remembered the weeks of cold shoulder Harry was unafraid to give him for ever dare trying to get involved like that) but he couldn't just do nothing about it.
Harry was fine with consequences, but Draco wasn't. That meant he needed a way to make sure Harry didn't feel the consequences of his actions, but literally how the hell?
His face must've been a sight to behold because his parents were looking very entertained while they finished eating as he stewed over his thoughts. Draco had left his plate untouched as he chewed on this instead.
Okay, I don't have a plan for how the literal hell I'm supposed to do that, but at least now I know it's something to work for. I can start on it this year… somehow.
"Okay, I'll work on it." He finally gave up, and his mother smiled.
"It will help to keep him in an environment that is more easily controlled while you figure it out, to prevent more incidents before you find your solution. It sounds as if his position with Slytherin is pretty decent these days, so perhaps suggest his spend some time in your common room. It'll put him in a good, readily available position to trade his Transfiguration notes since you said that was his currency these days." Narcissa suggested, seeming pleased he'd grasped what she'd pointed out.
At her words though he snapped his head to the side to look at his father, who smiled wryly.
"I will talk to Severus. And our allied families as well, to make it easier on you."
Draco beamed, because that meant Harry could hang out with him a lot more this year if he were allowed in their common room. Good standing in the snake house or not, he had thought that would be pushing it a bit but now it actually seemed feasible and he was outright excited for it. He didn't even care his father was just doing it for him instead of letting him make his own deals, because this was too exciting to waste time on his still-developing negotiation skills.
"We'll be doing our own coordinating of course but do let us know if you'd like any help," His mother offered, leaving it open for him to talk about it now if he wished. When he was younger he definitely liked to talk through his thought process and lean on them while brainstorming, but this time he felt obligated to do it himself. Harry was his best friend, and his parents suddenly deciding to get involved or not, if he could do it himself he definitely wanted to.
So, he just nodded. "I will," he promised, leaving it at that. He would definitely lean on them again if he felt he was struggling because this was too important to screw up, but he should at least give it an honest go first. His parents let it go, seeming to understand that logic for themselves.
His mother smiled. "Good. Now finish your food," she reminded him, and he suddenly recalled that he still had a nearly full plate in front of him. He dug in again, enjoying the quiet as he began brainstorming his own ideas for how to start the coming school year off correctly with this new goal in mind.
000
Lucius and Narcissa would not know for several years just how badly Draco had totally missed the point of that conversation, but it would come as quite a nasty shock when it finally came to light.
000
It was impossible to actually put down into words all the good things about being free from the Dursleys, most of which were so obvious it wasn't worth mentioning, but one of the best things that also happened to be rather unexpected, was the ability to use magic without repercussion.
Harry already knew using it in Diagon was okay because thanks to his conversation with Axeclaw there was no way the Ministry would be able to know it was him specifically casting magic, and since the underage ward they used to monitor him was on the Dursley house, it was also okay in his Contrair Alley apartment. Technically the underage wizard's legal guardian was in charge of informing the Ministry of a change in location if there was one, and, as Axeclaw put it, many wizarding families conveniently forgot to file that paperwork if they were to go on vacation—only Ministry employees and their families had to do such a thing since clearly if they were taking vacation time and it was known they had underage children it was kind of highly suspicious.
Everyone else? If they didn't know it was a thing in the case of many muggleborn families, or just didn't do it as many pureblood and half-blood families didn't bother, there really was no repercussion if you didn't get caught. And not getting caught was pretty easy to do—muggleborns weren't aware it was a thing but typically assumed they were tracked everywhere so didn't use magic even on vacations, and pureblood families fixed it with simple privacy wards preventing the Ministry from peering into their business. And even if the Ministry could, due to their cheap wards they wouldn't be able to tell if it was the kids or the adults in the family performing the magic.
For Harry though? If the Dursleys didn't do their obligation as his guardians and no one else filed the paperwork instead, there was no reason that a newly rented single-room apartment in Contrair Alley would need to have underage magic warding incorporated into the documentation of it all. Without anyone pointing it out, the new lease wouldn't be suspicious at all.
Axeclaw had been very pointed in his wording of if no one else filed it, meaning it was possible for someone else to butt their noses into his business and file the warding notification on behalf of someone else (if they were a dick, apparently), which would mean nothing to most people.
Given how certain people seemed hell bent on butting in though, Harry had no problems paying the premium (which still wasn't much to him) to have Gringotts completely trick out his apartment with every privacy ward and beyond possible to put on a dwelling this tiny. He even double checked that Dumbledore still was not on his approved mailing list, which he was indeed not.
All this meant that so long as he wasn't blatantly doing it in the middle of the alleys where everyone could see and realize he was using magic underage when he wasn't supposed to and potentially snitch on him, he could practice all the magic he wanted without fear.
And he had unfortunately long-since completed all his homework since he'd had an abundance of free time this summer locked in a shed, as well as nearly completing all his saved-up textbooks cover-to-cover with associated journals of notes he'd taken on each one, so that really only left the textbooks for the coming year to read, and his new joke-Transfiguration book.
Draco had been right, this Gilderoy Lockhart fellow's books were total gibberish and more like adventure novels than actual textbooks, which was entertaining in their own way if you separated out the absurdity and vanity of how it was written. They were mildly amusing to peruse but Harry had picked up some better second-year level Defense books from Contrair Alley to actually, you know, learn something in the coming year.
Bethany, the muggleborn who ran Bethany's Books down in Contrair, was extremely nice and the oddest combination of Hermione Granger and Professor Sprout—very bookish and had memorized most of the books she was selling both academic and not, but also round-faced and cheery, like a long lost, slightly-too-nosy aunt or something. She called everyone sweetie and baby and remembered him from every time he'd ever set foot in her shop, even pushing a jar of sparkler lollies (lollipops that literally gave your sparkler breath) at him when he was checking out like she was trying to subtly mother him. She couldn't have even been thirty though, so she wasn't old, just really, really maternally jovial like that.
She was also a great sounding board on books to read, especially speaking to someone from a muggleborn-like background, and since she was fully aware of the DADA professor issue (meaning having a new one each year, none being too good since they were often scrambling to find someone both available and willing to take the cursed position rather than someone actually qualified) she'd done her own research into the official OWL and NEWT requirements so had her own running list of Defense textbooks to read by year-level. The list was posted right above the till when people checked out and clearly Harry had seen it—he'd looked at the books too and Bethany definitely took after Hermione in that they were weighty academic things that would be hard to get through, but they were solid. A quick conversation with her, which Bethany was almost more than happy to have, and you could even get some tips on the particular chapters that would be most helpful if you were preparing specifically for the OWLs someday. She literally had them all memorized so it was actually insanely helpful if you could make it through the extremely rambling, rather academic-heavy conversations with her.
She was not helpful when it came to History of Magic though, because if Harry thought she'd help him find textbooks that were more interesting to read, he was dead wrong. Her talking about it had somehow been worse than hearing Binns drone blankly about ancient history and Harry legitimately did not know how that was possible.
He'd leave that to when he was actually required to read something about that for a class instead of reading ahead, because he was not going to spend the rest of his break (or any time it was not strictly required) doing something that dull. Going with his theory that you only needed a niche skill to be successful, he was willing to take the loss on History of Magic—he just had to pass his OWL when it came to that so as to graduate Hogwarts, but he was fine with as low a grade as possible while still passing on that.
His other required textbooks were pretty standard, and he took some casual notes on the first couple chapters, despite the fact his wrist was still pretty messed up from whatever he'd done to it when getting out of the shed that day. All the other bruising he'd gotten was starting to fade, but his wrist remained a splotchy grey and purple at best, aching like crazy and stinging at random times too. He avoided using it in his exercising, but it was his writing hand so he took to wrapping it up tightly and being very ginger as he wrote, which was likely not helping the healing process but for lack of better option he just bore with it. He figured it'd heal eventually… he couldn't do anything now and Pomfrey would likely be able to tell how old a wound was and get mad at him, and it didn't hurt that badly, just annoying really so… it would probably eventually go away, he assumed. And hoped.
In the meantime he took pretty light notes to save his hand, but kept working so Draco couldn't yell at him for his Charms grades again. He wanted to be as prepared as a Slytherin going into the year (and he knew they all would be very prepared just to hold it over each other) and in that same line of thinking put even more effort into his Potions textbook than any other. Draco had even sent him a copy of his own notes on it in exchange for some of Harry's own on the first chapter of their Transfiguration textbook—which was so insanely trivial at this point in Harry's skill with the subject it was actually harder to cite his sources on the information he knew, rather than producing the information himself. And he knew he still needed to keep on top of his sources, one because he'd never win an argument against McGonagall again if he couldn't back up what he was saying with proof instead of 'I just know it somehow' to support himself, and two, using his work as trades with others would be worthless since McGonagall would know instantly they were just copying off his notes. If they cited themselves with outside texts, she wouldn't be able to say they were copying him, nor would she be able to prove Harry had given them the citations outright.
It was kind of funny that keeping track of his citations was the hard part at this point—his understanding of it all had gotten really, really good but he was no Hermione so he couldn't just flat out memorize the books word for word. Often times he knew the answer or could perform a spell automatically or on instinct, and then splitting out how he'd known it took him ten times as long, if not longer.
With this in mind he realized if he was going to keep leaning on Transfiguration like this, since actually learning it was not his issue, he'd need to work on making it sellable, meaning he needed to be better at breaking down his thought process for others. That meant, like with duro, he'd have to be much better at Arithmancy and have more resources to lean on to support himself, so he could do something, write it out, and trade/sell it more quickly than he currently could.
He stocked up on as many Transfiguration books as he could find in both Contrair and Diagon Alley and took a trip back to the Monroe vault to actually spend several full days in there combing through the books he'd inherited for anything useful (as well as a lot of other of the Monroe family artifacts, as it was all super interesting and made him feel better, getting lost in his adopted family's history). He ended up with way more books than he'd probably be able to read in his entire time at Hogwarts, 90% of it being above even his pay grade right now, but he had it on hand if he ever needed it and they were now taking up probably a huge chunk of his bottomless bag—which was not actually bottomless, just the volume of a quidditch pitch which was close enough, even with half a library's worth of books in it now.
He even visited the actual library in Contrair, though it had a lot of repeats of books he'd just bought, or at least seen in the Hogwarts library. While not useful for Transfiguration work now, it was good to know this library was well stocked for general use so he could probably come back to check it out if need be once he graduated and could no longer get access to the Hogwarts library.
What it was surprisingly good for though, was the wealth of muggle information in there are well as it was fully stocked for both muggle and magical topics, probably given it was run by muggleborns who likely were fed up with not being able to find normal fiction books or science books even. Given how important Arithmancy (muggle math in general) seemed to be in Transfiguration, and the fact he'd always had an interest in science topics before magic blew it out of the water, it was a welcome change he was happy to explore. He didn't buy or check out any of the math or science books, but he spent several afternoons looking through them, and the library even had a set of tutors happy to help anyone out if they asked for it. Doing that, he got several good explanations on the basic math principals he'd either learned and forgot in the year without a muggle education or had never known and the average muggle twelve-year-old probably should know by now. Thanks to his work with duro it wasn't the first time he'd heard any of it, but the refresher was nice, and he wondered what the best way to keep up on it would be. Self-teaching himself math was probably not going to work but he also didn't want to wait until he could start Arithmancy next year to get started, as he had a feeling muggle math was WAY more difficult and the late start would probably hurt a lot.
It was still summer break though, so he didn't spend too much time reviewing math or pondering how he'd keep learning math once the school year started, so he mostly shelved that thought for future-him to deal with.
The only thing that didn't actually feel like work was Transfiguration, especially when he decided to start with the joke book in practicing doing something and then citing his sources—the entire book was well within his range of ability and the spells were fun, light-hearted things so it was a great place to begin. He'd leafed through it and picked out the most interesting spells he saw, read the portions for each spell, either performed it outright or practiced until he could perform it, and then practiced breaking down the spell in a page in a journal to see if he could translate his work into written word that someone else could follow. From helping Daphne specifically, he knew a lot of the difficulty people had with Transfiguration spells was the power level, and the 'fall' motion which until he'd discovered it apparently no one knew about in the first place. Some spells required a deceptively small amount of power while others could only be done by sheer brute force—most textbooks didn't touch on power level of a spell at all, and even if it did it was mostly in the equation associated with Transfiguration spells, with numbers that meant nothing.
What did a power level of 16 even mean really? How would a student know what the hell 16 meant, compared to 37 or 1120? Instead, Harry liked to compare to other spells—like you'd need the power of two duros to perform a flower-conjuring spell, but half a beetle-to-button spell to change a feather to a worm, while there was no such thing as too much power when it came to the softening charm just so long as it was five times as strong as a match-to-needle transfiguration. Speaking in terms of spells that most first years learned relatively easily as a better gauge of power level might help, he thought. After all, Hermione was brilliant but the rare times he'd actually studied with her he knew her notes were as dry and unhelpful as just reading the textbook yourself; if he wanted his notes to be good trades, they needed to be way more accessible than that.
As for the 'fall'… that was a lot harder and he spent a lot of time sketching out the path his imagination took when picturing how a spell 'fell' after the completed wand movement—it wasn't an actual movement it was more an image in your head of where the magic was supposed to go with no attached corporeal form, so it was pretty hard to diagram but hoped he was doing a decent job. He probably wouldn't know for certain until he started trading these notes to see if it worked for people at all. He'd also probably have to tell people not to include these diagrams in their written work because while super helpful to learning how to perform a spell, McGonagall would know immediately it was his work for exactly the reason he'd wanted it to be unique in order to get at Montague. So, kind of inconvenient for the purposes of trading but it'd be good practice for when he finally got around to publishing this development of his, writing it out and testing it on people still learning Transfiguration to see if it was even intelligible.
Also… Draco's indignant expression, not just the past two times of them hanging out in the Alley but also at several points throughout the previous school year where Harry had not taken murder-attempts on his life seriously were haunting him almost as much as the nightmares that refused to go away if he didn't drown them with an excess of dreamless sleep potions. He was so happy getting lost in the wonderfulness that was Hogwarts, in his plotting and his friends and classes and quidditch… it was just so easy for even a cynical guy like him to think the adults will take care of it.
The adults will protect me.
His jaw flexed in something like anger, but also despair as that naïve thought mocked him from a dark corner inside himself. When had he ever trusted adults? When had he started? Clearly he'd fallen into that trap and clearly it hadn't worked. Even McGonagall, who he genuinely believed would've liked to protect him, hadn't been able to when it came down to it.
No one had, despite many people wanting to. Draco, Neville, McGonagall—hell even Snape who was a dick but still proved he didn't want his students to just flat out die—they'd all probably would've done something had they been there, but they hadn't. It had just been Harry in a dark hallway with a full-grown wizard and, unknowingly, the bloody dark lord.
Draco wanting to protect him hadn't actually done shit in the moment, and despite Harry also being cynical enough to not inherently trust anyone to have his back without a lot of effort on his part, that was also enough proof to him to realize that even if he did trust someone to want to help him, there was no way he could trust that they actually could.
Everyone involved was human. McGonagall, despite being his favorite adult and a genuinely strong witch, hadn't been able to do a thing.And the helplessness…
The helplessness had always been there. The harsh fact in front of him was that he was just a kid and there was a lot he didn't know, couldn't control, or wasn't old enough to have his opinion matter in. The way he'd been facing down a wizard with his wand in hand and it hadn't mattered if he were armed or not because he still couldn't do shit about it. The way a fucking muggle had locked him in a plain wooden shed he couldn't blow his way out of if he'd thought one stray spell wouldn't destroy his future, and not being able to do a bloody thing about it…
It was worse now, obviously, after everything in the past several months. But the helplessness had always been there.
And Harry hated the feeling so much he'd completely circled around, passing right by fear, anger, despair and coming out the other end in this ice-cold, blindingly clear understanding that he was helpless, and it was going to happen again if he couldn't do something fix this.
Because as much as he loved Draco and trusted McGonagall, love and trust would not save him in the end.
It all came back to the thing he'd always known: you were born with one ally, and it was yourself. If you weren't a good ally, or you abandoned yourself out of fear or weakness, you were absolutely screwed.
So, while Transfiguration was honestly fun and interesting, there was also that thought in the back of his mind that never went away as he turned a page and saw a new spell.
How could I use this to fight? What's the practical use?
Every new spell he learned, he did it again just to be sure it was perfect.
Is this good enough to use in a fight?
He did it sitting at his kitchen table and also standing up, using big movements and small movements and generally just moving while he worked to both continue keeping his exercise up but also expand how flexible the spell's uses could be.
Can I do it while running? Can I do it with my wand in my sleeve before someone notices? Maybe even behind my back? Can I do it without looking, while watching someone else for an attack?
So yeah, he was learning Transfiguration still but now he was learning it with a lot more running through his head then there used to be when he just wanted to understand. Now… now, it was about understanding and using.
Understanding would always be the best part, but the more he could use, then someday the feeling of helplessness wouldn't make him physically sick to his stomach every time it confronted him. Because hopefully next time he was placed in a situation like that he would at least had spells he could use running through his head, attempts he could make to save himself, instead of standing there with a wand and still being unable to do a damn thing.
In this way the days of summer wound down, and September first came a bit too quickly for Harry's liking even as he anticipated finally getting back to the castle. He was… better, if not still off kilter, but days of sparing no thoughts to what had happened and content to focus on Transfiguration work with a clinical-like eye, as well as tons of time immersing himself down in the Monroe vault to just learn more about his adopted history, he felt better.The less he could think about the things he was still taking dreamless potions to escape from, the better. The more he could escape reality by imagining himself amongst his Monroe ancestors, imagining he was actually blood related to them and their odd quirks might somehow be reflected in the mirror when he looked into it, the more he felt whole.
There was a lot going on in his head but remembering that Draco was still his best friend and the Monroe family was now his family, he figured out at least pieces of himself here and there that made all the gaping holes the summer had ripped from him feel a bit less hollow.
He wouldn't be able to recall his parents' faces if he weren't staring at the pictures in the scrapbook Hagrid had given him, but his mental image of Dell Monroe was crystal clear despite never actually having seen a picture of her. His mind's image of her shop, her neighbor who wrote her poetry, some tiny woman wearing all the same baubles Harry had clipped into his own hair or dangling from his wrist… it all felt so much more like him than Lily and James Potter. The connection to Dell was there, while he still knew so little about his parents they still felt like strangers he was bitter he never got to meet.
Dell wasn't a stranger, odd as it sounded given she died centuries before he was born. She was like a big sister, but more somehow since he'd spent over a year reading about her life through her eyes.
It made going through the Monroe vault all the more comforting somehow, picking through heirlooms from people Dell might've known, like her second cousins or her own parents or grandparents, and going through her eyes he felt as if they could be his grandparents and cousins too. Cousin Lisanna's prized embroidered handkerchiefs with complex flower patterns, Grandpa Maxi's enchanted singing coins, a ton of teacups from a grandniece that had a tea shop apparently, one distant cousin that was evidently a traveler who had what looked to be a full-on pirate ship plopped in the back of the vault filled with gold, old parchment maps, actual canons, and pretty much anything else Harry could've imagined would've been on a stereotypical pirate ship. That cousin's marker said he'd only died in 1899 though, which was quite a bit after the swashbuckling pirate era he was emulating here, so he was likely just weird as hell if not probably the life of the party.
Going through the vault he felt like he could actually picture these people and relate to them, which was way more than could be said for the Potter family. While bittersweet, it was a good thing in a way, because Harry wasn't feeling so hot being alone right now— having any family connection despite how unorthodox it all was, meant everything to him. It felt real, and that was all that mattered to his poor soul as battered as it was, and it gave him comfort, which was enough for now.
It did bring to mind though, the family he didn't have.
And so, it was only two days before the start of term that Harry finally mustered up the courage to visit Gringotts again—not for the Monroe vault, but another discussion with Axeclaw he was kind of terrified to hear the answer to.
But he needed to know.
"Are you illiterate?"
Now Harry was the one just staring at the goblin, realizing this was going even worse than he'd feared it would. How was that a stupid question!?
"Excuse me?" He blinked, and Axeclaw grumbled impatiently.
"There never was a will reading, and there won't be one unless you can't read or specifically request it. Will readings are an old practice put into place in case not all attendees were literate and needed to have it read to them. It's an ancient practice, and some wizards insist on it for some reason but on the most part those who are grieving a dead relative don't want to rehash it in public. Nor does Gringotts like the spending of time in such a way." He explained, and Harry calmed a little at the explanation.
"Oh."
"A copy of the will is sent to everyone named in it. You also received a copy, but it's filed in your account until the day you were old enough to ask for it. Technically you would not even be allowed access until you were of age, but by inheriting the Monroe name— who didn't have any age restrictions given they had no young children when they died out— technically you are classified as an outside party who inherited and is owed a copy of the will, not just as a descendant who also happens to be underage. There is no age restriction to that, although wizarding law on the topic is very nebulous on the matter." The goblin looked at him dryly over the papers on his desk. "I gather today is that day?"
"Yes. Apologies, I didn't know I was supposed to ask."
"It means little to me; just another paper to hold." Axeclaw dismissed as he hopped of his chair and walked from the room without another word, and Harry had to remind himself not to get angry.
Goblins. This is the remnants of my parents, it's not another piece of paper. But he couldn't actually remain frustrated with Axeclaw for long, as he'd always known the goblin didn't really care. He cared about the business of it all and always had, which Harry had always appreciated.
And he had given him a crate of calming potions, even if it came out of Harry's vault, but still. He'd cared enough to do that… but Harry was really just reaching for excuses not to get mad. Being mad was easier than sitting there in terror of what he was about to read while waiting for Axeclaw to get back—he kind of thought he'd need more time or that a real will reading would need to be arranged to something. That he'd just receive it out of nowhere and that this would be his parents' last words or…
Luckily his couldn't spiral too far into that train of thought, as Axeclaw returned with no preamble as he handed a blank folder over with a single piece of paper inside. He must've either seen Harry's face or been asked many times as he answered the unspoken question. "Not much is required in a magical will by way of written words—so long as it's carefully put most of it comes from the enchantments that were placed on the original piece of paper which remains in the Potter main family vault for safe keeping. That is just a copy of what it says for your reference. Additionally, in a time of war like it was when this was written, people tended to update them constantly on the fly so there were many iterations before this one, and unfortunately even then things changed too quickly for it to be updated before their death. You will see, when you read it." He hopped back up to his desk, and Harry couldn't really hesitate anymore as he looked down to see the painfully sparse words in front of him.
000
We, Lily June Potter nee. Evans and James Fleamont Potter, being of sound body and mind, do declare this our last will and testament under executor Sharpfang and witnessed by Sirius Orion Black and Marlene Hester McKinnon.
To those who miss us, wish us luck in our next adventure.
To the Eileen Prince foundation, we bequeath 7000 galleons for the continued education of students in need.
To Remus Lupin we bequeath the Longsgate property and the contents within.
To Peter Pettigrew we bequeath every share in Honeydukes we own, as well as 3000 galleons.
To Sirius Black, upon his request, we bequeath one knut, and the responsibility of raising our dearest son, Harry James Potter. We give custodian privileges of the Potter Trust fund to Marlene McKinnon.
Everything else in our possession, worldly or otherwise, we give to our son, Harry James Potter.
In this time of war, if for any reason one of the people listed within this will and testament is unable to fulfill their duties, we elect Frank and Alice Longbottom to provide support to those with their roles of guardians or custodians, or to take their place if need be. We pray it never comes to that.
Signed,
Lily June Potter
James Fleamont Potter
000
There was just… so little. Harry didn't know why he thought there'd be last words for him in here, but like Axeclaw implied… this was just a legal document, nothing more.
And he realized what Axeclaw meant. His parents couldn't have known is any of these people would be dead before they could inherit what was given to them, clearly since at the point they wrote this they still trusted Sirius Black which… was to be determined on if that was a good idea or not. He had no idea who or what Remus Lupin, Marline McKinnon, Peter Pettigrew or the Longsgate property was, but he did recognize one name.
"Longbottom?" He breathed, almost afraid to ask. Whether he was ready or not, Axeclaw seemed primed with an answer.
"Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and are no longer capable guardians in any form according to the mediwitches of St. Mungos. I believe their son is in the care of Augusta Longbottom, who did offer to take you in as well however since she was not listed in the will specifically, your care was reverted to your closest living relatives. A fault of the enchantments, I believe."
Harry put the will down and needed to breath for a couple seconds, and luckily Axeclaw just let him, even going back to the papers on his desk to give him a moment.
It was really hard to swallow all of a sudden.
He just… well obviously he'd never realized just how close he and Neville had come to being raised together. If his parents… if either of their parents… if neither of them had… they might've been brothers of a sort if not at least raised as friends if they'd lived in a better world where madmen and their followers didn't kill and torture people. If they weren't both orphans and their parents were just friends they got to see all the time.
Harry very suddenly and sharply remembered that day on the train almost exactly a year ago.
"You're Harry?" A very quiet, shy voice had asked him, almost as if realizing something.
Neville had recognized him like everyone eventually recognized him, but he hadn't said you're Harry Potter.
You're Harry?
He'd… he'd said his name like he'd known about Harry. Not the Boy Who Lived… but the boy who should've been raised right next to him. The boy he should've called a brother in another life.
Harry couldn't breathe.
"Oh god." He felt sick, and Axeclaw probably saw that as suddenly a calming drought was being placed on the desk in front of him, and he downed it without questioning where the goblin had produced that from.
Why hadn't Neville said anything!? He wondered wildly as soon as the potion took effect and actual thoughts started to form in his mind again instead of just whiting out in blind emotion.
No… no, that wasn't fair.
It wasn't like Harry had told Neville a thing about the Dursleys either. If the whole world didn't already know he was an orphan, he probably wouldn't exactly bring it up in casual conversation and there was no expectation for shy, gentle Neville to suddenly bring it up out of the blue like that either if Harry himself, as a self-proclaimed extrovert, definitely would not have had the roles been reversed. Neville had a right to his privacy, and Harry accepted that, even if this was so mind-boggling it still made him dizzy even with a calming draught churning in his uneasy stomach.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
His hands suddenly got cold, as he realized he recognized that name.
Draco's aunt. Narcissa Malfoy's sister.
Harry couldn't swallow, even though he was trying to. He couldn't… Draco's…
Don't ask me about the Malfoys.
Harry wanted to cry.
And he kind of did, as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he really tried to keep it together, but he just couldn't.
"Do you wish me to explain anything else?" Axeclaw prompted, probably hoping to distract him so he didn't have a crying wizard in his office. For a goblin that could only really snarl, he certainly sounded awkward enough.
"No," Harry choked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve hastily. "Th-thanks Axeclaw I think I'm g-good," he got up clumsily and fumbled for his copy of the will as he fled the room—and the goblin thankfully just let him go.
Yeah… that had definitely been even worse than he'd feared it would be.