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Author: Ash Story: Harry Potter and the Year of the One Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 19 Words: 204,652
In addition to the wonderful help of my usual beta, Mmmusings, the re-writing of the end of this chapter came as a direct result from Melindaleo's feedback. Thanks to both of my friends and fellow writers! Without you both, this story would never have been written. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter Four: Untrebled, but Not Untroubled Harry slipped into the Tower and called out a greeting to his Polyjuice double. The Harry-that-was-Charlie turned around with a relieved expression and immediately crossed to him. "Harry!" He gave him a quick once-over and grasped him warmly by the shoulders. "You all right?" "Yeah. I'm fine." Charlie broke out in a wide, un-Harry-like grin. "If you ever answer that question any other way, I'll know something's really wrong." He clapped Harry once more on the shoulders and let him go. "So Madame Pomfrey got you all healed up, then?" "Yeah. I'm fine," Harry answered again, trying harder to sound upbeat. "Really." "Good." Then Charlie's face lost all traces of a smile. "But what the bloody hell happened? How could he stop you mid-Portkey?" Harry shook his head. "Dunno. Something to do with the connection, I think. But I broke free. It's fine." Charlie nodded but didn't relax his stance. "Listen, mate," he said, looking away briefly, "I don't know how to say this, but I don't think you're in for a very good year." Harry's stomach tensed as he stood and waited for the explanation that Charlie obviously didn't want to give. His look-alike fidgeted, then paced over to the window and stood staring out at the sky. This may have seemed strange to someone who didn't know the Weasleys as well as Harry did, but he knew this was merely evidence of the serious nature of Charlie's thoughts. Ron tended to deliberate in the same, slow way—if it was something that he was able to be unemotional about—and it often proved to be a strength. So Harry waited. And as he waited, he had a good view of the Weasley red that was starting to lighten the dark hair gathered at the nape of Charlie-as-Harry's neck. Harry stared at it, suddenly remembering the way Malfoy had looked as him, and remembering that Lucius often wore his hair pulled back in a ponytail. "I'm definitely getting my hair cut," Harry mumbled. "What?" Charlie said, turning round. "Nothing," Harry said quickly. "It's just . . . the only reason I let my hair grow out was because I couldn't get out of the house to get it cut. And now . . . seeing it on everyone else, I just . . . I just want to be me again." He stared at the floor, feeling foolish. Charlie brightened. "Oh. Well, that's an easy one to fix. I cut my own hair, you know? I can do yours easy." Harry looked up. "Really?" "Sure. I can even practice on my hair before it goes back. Watch." Charlie pulled his wand out from the back pocket of his jeans with a wink. "I make a good Harry Potter, don't you think?" Harry smiled and half-sighed, "You make a better one than I do." Charlie grinned. "It's a simple spell. All you do is fix the cut you want in your mind, wave the wand around your head three times, and say Abscissa Coma!" His mostly jet-black hair suddenly sprung free from its band and settled back into the familiarly messy, short style that Harry was used to seeing on himself. "There's all kinds of fancier spells, but no need for us blokes to use those. What d'you think?" Harry watched in amazement as Charlie's hair chose that moment to slowly turn red in a rippling wave and lay flat again. "You and Tonks would make quite a pair." Charlie looked startled. "What's that?" "Your hair's gone red again. Polyjuice Potion must be wearing off." Charlie lifted a hand to scruff through his hair. "Yeah, Nymphadora is . . . something else," Charlie said in an odd voice. Harry stared at him. "You'd better not let her hear you calling her that. She's a bit clumsy, but she can still land some pretty strong hexes." Charlie cleared his throat and straightened up, as if getting on with business. "Want me to fix your hair?" "Yeah, thanks!" Harry walked over and stood still as Charlie waved his wand around his head three times, closed his eyes and said "Abscissa Coma!" There was a tug all around his scalp and a lightness that made him want to run his fingers through his hair. But then an image of his father scruffing up his own hair on purpose popped into his mind and Harry stopped himself. He didn't ever want to get vain—not like that. "Thanks, Charlie. Now what were you going to say earlier, something about this year not being a good one for me?" Charlie's mouth set in a grim line and he shook his head. "I know it's always been a bit rough here for you, what with all the extra pressure and attention and all." He looked off at the window again. "But I don't think this kind attention is normal." He turned a greenish gaze to Harry that was meandering its way back to brown, suddenly reminding Harry of Ginny. "Maybe I just didn't know you were getting so many threats before. Were you?" Harry stared at him blankly. "Threats?" He searched his memory. "No. I mean, not beyond the Dursleys or Malfoy or his dad or . . . well, Tom, of course. But after that, it's just the occasional Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher going mad on me. Most people just stare or try to conceal things or occasionally accuse me of being Slytherin's Heir. Who threatened you?" Charlie shook his head and freckles broke on his widening nose. He scratched at them absently. "Who didn't? Bloody hell, Harry. Seems like everyone was either trying to get my autograph, or tell me how Voldemort was going to do me in and how they were going to help him, or trying to get into my pants." Harry blinked. "Who was trying into your pants?" Charlie grinned. "Your pants, mate. Not mine. And I'm not answering that question, as I'd have to incriminate several young witches who should have bloody well known better. Hopefully, I got my message across." Harry blinked again, not sure if he was exactly relieved to hear that Charlie had attempted to head off some admirers. Probably he should feel relieved. Yes, except for the kissing thing. Would it be possible to kiss a girl like that, someone who just knew his name and wanted to kiss him because he was famous? Possible, yeah, but maybe not so very nice. But at least he might get to kiss a girl that way. He was going to have to give this some thought. "I can see where your mind is stuck, Harry, and not that I blame you," Charlie said, slapping Harry on the shoulder, "but you should really be thinking more along the lines of who's threatening your life. I'm pretty sure it was all just intimidation tactics, probably typical stuff for Death Eaters-in-training, but I don't know. I'm going to talk to Dumbledore about it before I leave, give him all the names. Well, I mean, if I leave." "If?" "Yeah, something's making me want to hang around. I know the Order wanted me to work at some other stuff right now, but I dunno. Seems like I might be needed here." Harry's first impulse came and went. He knew better than to say he didn't need help. If it hadn't been for the Weasleys, he'd never have survived the summer. And Malfoy had already warned him of something about the Slytherins similar to what Charlie said. It couldn't hurt to have more eyes watching them. "It would be nice to have you around, Charlie." Charlie, whose bland Muggle sweatshirt was now stretching tight across his widening chest, looked surprised. "Guess we finally got through to you, eh? What with you being an honorary Weasley and all that. Good. I'll let you know what Dumbledore says." "Thanks, Charlie, for everything," Harry gave him a nod before turning toward the door. "I'd better get downstairs." "Yeah, mate, that feast smells fabulous! I think I'll have to work my way down to the kitchens and nick a few things." "Just tell Dobby that I sent you and he'll do you right." "Dobby?" "Yeah." "Got it. Thanks, mate." Harry turned and ran a hand through his hair, feeling its strange-but-familiar messiness. "Oy!" Harry dropped his hand self-consciously and turned. "You got your universal poison antidote with you, right?" Harry felt the bicep of his left arm where a thin leather band fit snugly. On the inside of his arm he found nestled the small vial given to him by Snape to counteract poison in any food he was served. "Yeah, it's there." "Good. Got mine, too!" Charlie tapped on his chest to indicate the vial concealed down underneath his sweatshirt, given to him as it was to all the widely known members of the Order of the Phoenix. With the rise of Voldemort's Death Eaters, they were now all in danger. "Happy eating!" Charlie called after him. Harry waved and walked to the stairs with his mind now set on unpleasant things. Here at Hogwarts, he wasn't planning on needing to use the antidote at every meal, but if something seemed amiss, or if he suddenly felt wrong after a meal, he was under strict orders to let a pellet of the crystallized potion melt on his tongue. Harry sighed. He'd worn the antidote band long enough that he'd forgotten about it until Charlie reminded him. Now he could feel it rubbing with every swing of his arm, reminding him of the agony he'd endured after eating that poisoned chocolate cake at the Dursleys and reminding him of the fact that he really, really didn't want to go through that again. Harry took the stairs as quickly as he could, fixing his mind on the familiar sights and sounds of the dark castle around him and letting his memories recede. After a few minutes, the tenderness of the bruises around his abdomen had trebled. He decided that he'd better get back to the infirmary later for that other healing potion he'd skipped out on. Better that than having to answer all the questions his roommates would have regarding his purpled torso. They were going to have enough questions about the antidote band and the wand holder strapped to his right forearm, as well as any rumors about his summer they'd heard. As Harry reached the last landing, a gentle roar of voices greeted him from the Great Hall. And for just a moment, the blossoming warmth of familiarity overtook him, and he felt like he was home. Giddiness filled him, an aura of excitement left over from his first year here and the new feelings of being cared for and liked. No matter what else happened, he would never forget the way this strange, magical place had welcomed him and given him sanctuary from such a miserable existence. But, he reminded himself with a slowly sobering face, things are changing, have already changed too much from that first year. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, needing to catch his breath, for he wasn't in optimum shape after his nearly deadly summer. He took the time to remember Charlie's words and Malfoy's warning. Hogwarts' castle wasn't really "home" and the other students weren't just neutral background noise. Each of them would have to choose a side in this war, if they hadn't already, and suffer the consequences of their choice. From what Charlie said, it sounded as if many of them already had—against the Boy-Who-Lived. But Harry knew that despite that, he wouldn't be alone in the fight against Tom. At least the D.A. might stand with him, and most of his own house. There was a core group among them that he could trust. But beyond that, until he knew for certain where someone stood, he would have to treat all the students with suspicion. This was a war, a war Tom had started, and Harry couldn't afford any more mistakes. With a resigned sigh, he picked up Moody's overused, but wise mantra: Constant Vigilance! He entered through the tall, oaken doors with a determined stride, taking in the bright lights, the babble of voices and the aroma of the coming feast as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. A vacant place had been left between Ron and Hermione, and he slid into his seat there, returning the bright smiles of those nearest him—all the brighter because they knew now it was really him. He saw relief in Ron's, Neville's and Hermione's eyes and mischief in Ginny's. He suddenly wondered what the small redhead been doing to poor Charlie-as-Harry. "Sorry about your summer, Harry," Neville said in a low voice. "And sorry I didn't make it to your birthday party." Harry was thrown for a moment, but then realized that most of the summer's happenings were not going to be kept secret since both sides knew of them. "Well, seeing as how we didn't really have a party, that's fine," Harry smiled easily. "There were a few too many extra guests around at the time." "Yeah," Neville said in an even lower voice, "Dementors. Sorry I wasn't there, Harry." Harry gave Neville a smile, feeling intuitively that here was someone he could trust with no qualms. Neville had stood by his side at the Department of Mysteries, braving even the Cruciatus curse to try to help him. But still, Harry shook his head. "I'm glad you weren't there, Neville. It was touch and go." "What's that, Harry?" Seamus was looking over at them from where he sat by Neville. "Somethin' about Dementors?" Seamus hadn't changed much over the summer, judging by the lively interest in his eyes, but his face had thickened and his jaw seemed heavier than before. "Oh, nothing, really," Ginny said airily, "Harry just fought off about two hundred Dementors this summer." Seamus' eyes widened. "They were attacking my house at the time." "I didn't fight them alone, Ginny," Harry corrected. "Your whole family and Hermione were there, too. And Dumbledore as well. Remember?" Ginny shrugged. "I remember fainting. I know I wasn't much help." "Two hundred?" Seamus asked, looking at Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry as if trying to decide where the joke lay. "Bugger," he said under his breath. Neville's face was fearful at first, but then resolve settled there. Harry waited for more questions, but none came. No one seemed to know what to say about that, but at least Seamus wasn't calling anyone a liar. That was a definite improvement over last year. Dean turned around the join the conversation and asked Seamus what was going on. Harry noticed that Dean seemed to be looking past Seamus on several occasions, toward Ginny. Ron took the moment to lean closer to Harry. "Good to see you, mate," Ron ventured. "I mean, really see you." Harry shook his head; Ron had said that far too loud. Seamus's sharp eyes were already on them again. "Didn't you see Harry on the train?" "Oh, Ron is Harry's official bodyguard now," Ginny put in quickly, "so he's always worried whenever he's out of eyesight." "Official, eh?" Dean spoke up. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Harry and I are going to have the same schedule," Ron said boldly, overdoing it a bit, "that's what it means. Dumbledore talked to me about it himself." Harry turned to stare at Ron beside him. "What?" "Shhh," Hermione whispered, gesturing to Dumbledore standing at the Teacher's Table. "He's getting ready to speak." "Ron," Harry said in a low, dangerous tone, "what exactly did Dumbledore say to you?" But Ron had turned to look at the front, ears flaming red at the tips. Harry held himself still, trying to breathe quietly. People were keeping secrets from him again and he didn't like it. If "official" meant that Ron was assigned duty to him, and was to take the fall for Harry if there was ever any danger—no. No way. That was not going to happen. But this was not the time to deal with it. Harry forced himself to take deep breaths and to restrain from giving Ron a good, hard thump. The hall around him had grown quiet, ready for the Headmaster to speak. "Welcome to Hogwarts for another year," Professor Dumbledore began with a smile. "It has been a summer full of activities for all of us, some more beneficial than others," and here he shot a look in Harry's direction. Harry slowly clenched his left hand into a fist and felt the antidote band tighten reassuringly against his bicep. "This year, we have a unique challenge set before us—but hold, what am I going on about? How the mind addles as the years pass. This is a time for Sorting and not for talking. Bring in the first years!" As Dumbledore returned to his seat, Harry took his first real look at the Teacher's Table and his gaze zeroed in on the middle-aged witch beside Hagrid. She had a soft, wrinkled face with a pleasantly lived-in sort of look, like a favorite sweater whose colors had faded in the wash. It was hard to see from this distance, but he thought she had pretty blue eyes. That would be Joanna Haverlime, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that Dumbledore had told him about. She wore no hat, only a bright blue turban that made Harry think of Quirrell. What was she hiding underneath that turban, he wondered. Ron leaned back and shifted his head so that he could speak quietly to Harry, "You don't think You-Know-Who's gone back to hiding on people's heads, do you?" Ron's eyes were trained on Haverlime. "He's too strong for that now. When he comes here next time, he won't be hiding." "Next time?" Ron turned full around to stare at Harry, his face pale. Harry knew that look; his friend had it whenever the Prophecy came up. Ron finally cursed under his breath and turned back around. "Can't he just leave people alone?" Then the doors opened slowly and Harry swung round to see Cho Chang leading in the first years toward the front where Professor McGonagall stood leaning on her cane. Harry spared a venomous thought for Dolores Umbridge, the reason McGonagall needed a cane, as Ginny leaned across the table to him. "Cho is Head Girl this year. Didn't we tell you?" Harry shook his head, startled, and looked back to the Asian girl. Cho hadn't even been a prefect the year before, had she? Along with badge on her chest, there was a new coldness in her face that Harry didn't like the look of, altering the simple beauty he'd once blushed over. She had changed. Behind her, the first years were clustered in a long, thin pack, most of them shivering and looking around apprehensively. Harry's gaze was drawn to a messy-haired, tow-headed boy near the front whose robes were too short for his long frame. He was a good deal taller than his fellow first years but in spite of that, there was a neglected air about him, and his large, dark eyes looked as if his wildest dreams and worst nightmares were coming true at the same time. Directly behind him were walking three short, brown-headed girls so alike that Harry felt he was seeing the same girl three times over. Ginny murmured something low under her breath and Harry turned to see her watching the girls go by with a nasty look on her face. A few more rows of students went by, of all shapes, sizes, and hair colors, and then the final student sauntered by—a tall, thin girl with short, spiky hair separated from the pack. Something about her face and hair reminded him of Madame Hooch. "Don't you think she looks a bit like Madame Hooch?" Neville asked in a puzzled tone. There were several murmured agreements. "Spooky, that is," Ron summed up. The Sorting Hat was already on its stool and began to sing as soon as the first years were gathered at the front of the room. "Welcome one and all to Hogwarts, listen well to all my rhymes. Though there have been years of import This one trumps them all with signs. Not since the founders split asunder Has this castle known such dread Not the rumbling of distant thunder But of drum beats for the dead. Gryffindor, you have the valor To prevail and guard the truth. Though your job is not to conquer But protect One 'neath your roof. Ravenclaw, re-think your thinking; Find a way to do things right. Knowledge just might be misleading, All the more, seek keen insight. Hufflepuff, there's none so loyal, Though you've lost, been bound by grief Break your shackles and show your strength Fight for dearly-held beliefs. Slytherin, you are divided, Split by power, fear and greed. Find your hope and use your cunning, Go when One who's worthy leads. Once four houses worked together I'm living proof; I cannot lie. Work as one, dear sister, brother. Unite as one, or you may die. Harry's mouth had fallen open and he shut it with a gentle snap. That was not what he'd been expecting. The shock of it made him angry as he swallowed to moisten his dry mouth. So it was going to be a bad year—so what? He already knew that three times over. But from the look of the changed faces around him, he knew that the Hat had made its point. Ron had his head in his hands. Ginny looked around. "Well, we'd better start taking up a collection, then," she said brightly. Harry stared at her, along with quite a few other people. "What for?" Ron finally asked. "Well, obviously, Dumbledore needs a new hat," she said with a sigh. "That one's gone positively mopey." There was a moment of stunned silence and then laughs broke out over the table. Harry smiled, watching Ginny grin her slow, mischievous grin, and suddenly had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her hand where it lay on the table. Where had that impulse come from? Hermione leaned against him, laughing a hiccupy laugh. "Oh, Harry, what are we going to do?" The first thing Harry thought was "we?" But he didn't have a leg to stand on with that old argument so he kept quiet. Once again, he had to remind himself that they knew the dangers of being his friend, of trying to fight Tom and they wanted to stand with him anyway. So it was Ron who answered her. "Don't worry, we'll think of something, 'Mione." Harry glanced over at Ginny and saw that she had been staring at him, a steely glint in her eyes. There, too, was someone he could trust. "Tuck her away someplace safe, Potter. She's your greatest liability." Harry turned away from Ginny, Malfoy's sly voice echoing in his mind. He could trust her, yes, but he had to watch out for her as well. If Malfoy was right, she was in grave danger, just because of her connection to him. Harry kept his gaze averted. The less the other students saw him looking at her, the better. ******
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