Laocoon's Children - The Philosopher's Stone
Chapter 15
By copperbadge
AU. When Sirius and Remus go looking for Peter Pettigrew, they make a wrong turn and someone else finds him first. Eight years later, Sirius owns a book store and Remus manages it for him. When Harry stumbles into the store and they find out the truth, they decide it's time to be Stealing Harry. (SB/RL slash relationship in later chapters.)
In this chapter, I have used text verbatim from The Philosopher's Stone. In this instance, the card attached to Harry's cloak and the research Padma provides are quoted directly from canon.
That evening, the adults (minus Professor Snape, who said he had to at least put in an appearance at the Hogwarts Christmas dinner) talked and drank wine around
the fire. The boys played with their gifts for a while, until Harry whispered something to Neville and Draco, and they snuck away upstairs to his room. After he'd closed the door, Harry took out the
package Snape had given him earlier.
"I thought it said you should open it when you were alone," Neville said nervously.
"They didn't mean you," Harry scoffed. "You're my mates. They meant...grownups and all."
"How do you know?"
"Hush, Neville, I want to see what it is," Draco nudged him in the ribs as they watched Harry tear off the wrapping-paper. Shimmering cloth, thin and slick, spilled out over his hands. Draco
gasped.
"Is that really -- " he began, looking to Harry for permission before touching the fabric, carefully.
"Really what?" Harry asked.
"If it is, it's got to be worth a fortune," Draco continued. "My mum's been looking for one forever."
"What is it, Draco?" Neville asked.
Draco lifted the fabric out of Harry's hands. "Go on, stand up," he said, shaking it out. It looked like a cloak, large enough to fit a grown man; Harry stood obediently and Draco hung it on his
shoulders, then came around the front to close it at his throat.
"Merlin," Neville said reverently.
"Look down," Draco ordered, and Harry yelped.
"My body's gone!"
"That's an invisibility cloak!" Neville said delightedly. "Pull the hood up!"
Harry reached behind him and pulled the cowl of the cloak over his eyes.
"You've gone," Draco said. "Brilliant. They're really rare, Harry."
"Look, this fell out when you unwrapped the cloak," Neville said, picking up a slip of paper. "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A
Very Merry Christmas to you. No signature."
Harry lifted the cowl and took the cloak off, reverently, fingers slipping through the silky mass as he folded it.
"My father," he said, awed. "I haven't got hardly anything of his -- just photos Remus and Sirius gave me..."
"Got a lot more now," Neville said. "Just think of what you can do with that, Harry."
"No more running from Filch!" Draco laughed. "With that you could walk right past him and he'd never know."
"Who do you suppose sent it?" Neville mused. "Can't be Professor Snape, he hated your dad, I heard Andromeda say so -- "
"Quick, hide it," Draco said. "Someone's on the stairs."
Harry slipped the cloak under his school shirts in his trunk, just as there was a knock on the door.
"Harry?" Sirius called. "What're you doing up here, you're far too quiet!"
"Just getting my chessboard, Sirius!" Harry called, and Neville and Draco snickered.
"Oh splendid, shall we have a game?" Sirius asked, when Harry opened the door. "Who's it going to be, you and me? Or were you challenging Draco?"
"You and me," Harry said, grinning as he rummaged under his bed for the chessboard. The pieces complained loudly when he got to his feet and they rattled in their box.
"Good Christmas, then?" Sirius asked, following the boys down the stairs.
"Very good Christmas," Harry answered, firmly, thinking of the silver-grey cloak in his trunk upstairs.
***
Dear Harry, Neville, and Draco,
I hope you three are well. I am fine; it's been clear out lately so I've been escaping to the garden while Parvati distracts my family.
She says to say hello to Neville.
It was nice to see you and Mr&Ms Tonks and Mr Black and Mr Lupin last week at Diagon Alley.
Please tell Mr Black that the seeds I was buying have sprouted already. Also my mum likes him awfully, and Ms Tonks too.
Mr Lupin is very quiet, isn't he? Is he that quiet all the time, Harry?
Tell him thank you for showing me the little greenhouse in Madam Schaeffer's shop, it works very well.
I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. Thank you for the card and the sweets.
Parvati's already stolen some, but I got back at her by putting some of the licorice spiders in her bed.
If she wants sweets she can have them, right?
She just about jumped out of her nightclothes when one crawled up her leg. Thanks, Draco, I know those were your idea.
You'll never guess what I got for Christmas, so I won't tell you, but you'll know when you see me.
Are we meeting at the train station? If so would you please buy two new Ravenclaw ties and I'll pay you back, mine are all worn.
Please write back soon since it's awfully boring here,
Padma
***
They were late getting to the station for the train ride back to Hogwarts, since Neville's toad had got lost again. Half an hour of calling Trevor! all over the old town-house finally produced a
half-hearted croak from a kitchen cupboard, where Trevor had somehow managed to climb into a saucepan and was unable to get out. Sirius ran off with an overloaded trolley to get their luggage on the
train while Andromeda shooed the boys towards the tail-end of the boarding line and kissed them each goodbye, double-checking to make sure they had money for the snack trolley.
The train jolted into motion just as they found themselves in the corridor, and Neville, who had Trevor clutched in both hands, fell over onto Draco; Harry caught them both and pushed them upright,
checking to make sure Snake -- who had spent most of the last two months hibernating -- was still safe in his pocket. They stumbled down the rows of compartments until Harry caught sight of Padma in
an otherwise empty one, and they all piled inside.
"I almost thought you'd be left behind," she said, clutching a box on her lap, "and I had to be quite sharp with Nott to keep him from stealing the compartment."
"Thanks," Neville said, flopping down on the bench next to Padma while Draco and Harry arranged themselves on the facing seats. "Does it smell strange in here to you?"
Harry sniffed. "Sort of like a spice shop?" he suggested. Padma giggled. "What's so funny?"
Padma opened the box, and the strong scent of peppers and fire filled the compartment. Neville wrinkled his nose and put Trevor in his pocket, but Harry leaned forward interestedly.
Inside the box was a small, luminescent lizard, white with pale blue mottled spots, gnawing happily on a tiny red pepper. When Harry's shadow fell over it, it looked up and made a sort of crackling
noise. Padma scooped it up -- Draco winced as though she might burn herself -- and held it in the palm of her hand.
"He's a salamander," she said, as the small creature curled up on her palm and glowed. Harry thought if he looked hard enough he could see the red pepper in its tiny stomach. "I got him for
Christmas. Our parents said we could each get a pet for Christmas. Parvati got a kitten."
"Great," Neville muttered. "Anastasia Brott's cat already shreds my socks every time she brings it down to the common room."
"Is she the fifth-year with the pigtails?" Draco asked.
"That's her."
"Well, Elmo is much less trouble than a boring old kitten," Padma said affectionately. "Though he did keep setting fire to my ties, but he can't help it. When he gets nervous he gets all hot."
"I thought salamanders only lived inside fires," Neville said, leaning forward to put himself on eye level with the small creature.
"I've never seen a magical salamander," Harry said cautiously, "But most normal salamanders live in...wet logs and things."
"As long as he's not in his fire I have to keep feeding him peppers," Padma said. "I've got a little jar of fire mum charmed for me -- he's going to live there, when I get it set up in the dormitory
-- but I had to pack it in my trunk." She eased Elmo back into the box and shut the lid after giving him another pepper and a reassuring pat. "What'd you get, Neville -- is that a toad?"
"Oh, yeah," Neville said cheerfully, producing Trevor, who eyed Padma suspiciously and then licked his own eyeball. Harry and Draco, who had not yet tired of this trick, said "Yuck!"
enthusiastically.
"You can do all sorts of neat things with toads," Padma said approvingly. Neville looked vaguely worried at her tone. "I mean. They're very good familiars, is what I hear, since they don't get scared
easily."
"Oh," Neville said, relieved. "I thought you meant...bits of toads."
"Well, that too," Padma agreed. "Listen, did you find anything out while you were at home? You know, about...what we talked about?"
"Not much," Harry said glumly. "Draco found out that if you drink a unicorn's blood it'll save your life, but you'll be cursed. Then Sirius caught us looking at his old family tapestry and locked us
out."
"Such a shame," Padma said. Then she gave them a wicked grin and produced a sheet of parchment. The other three bent over it, reading.
The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces
the Elixir of Life, which will make any drinker immoral.
The only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet
life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty eight).
"It makes the drinker immoral?" Draco asked, confused.
"Sounds like firewhiskey," Harry grinned.
"Imm -- no," Padma said, snatching the sheet. "That should be immortal, sorry, I was copying in the dark. I had to sneak into Dad's study to find it, I tried looking in my mum's bookshelf but it's
all Eastern magic, there wasn't anything about the Philosopher's Stone at all."
"Eastern magic?" Draco inquired.
"Yeah, mum did an advanced degree. Lots of...'different' magic, meditation, that kind of thing," Padma said offhandedly. "She says she'd like to come teach a class at Hogwarts about it, only the
Board of Governors are dead set against it."
"Urgh, imagine having to take a class from your parents!" Neville said. "That'd be like...like having Andromeda teach us."
"Or Remus!" Harry laughed.
"Why's the Board of Governors against it?" Draco asked. "My mum's a member. She never goes, though."
"I think they don't like it because it doesn't fit," Padma said. "I mean, not using wands or Latin, or anything."
"Huh," Harry said. "Anyway, least now we know. S'cool, isn't it? I'd like to be immortal. Reckon we need to do some more research? Maybe there's another one somewhere."
"Done all the reading Professor Snape gave you?" Padma asked, grinning.
"Almost. It's really boring, though, and it's not about potions at all," Harry said.
"What's it about then?"
"This and that," Harry replied vaguely.
"Go on Harry, show her what you got for Christmas," Draco said, elbowing him. Harry stood up and reached for the small bag he'd brought on the train with him, drawing the invisibility cloak out.
Padma gasped as Harry pulled it on and vanished.
"No more sneaking around the corridors!" Neville announced happily.
"It is wonderful Harry, did your godfather give it to you?" Padma asked.
"That's the best part! It's a secret. The house-elves gave it to Professor Snape, who gave it to me, but the card didn't say who it was really from," Harry said, taking off the cloak and re-folding
it. "Go on and show her your hat, Draco."
Draco produced his house-elf hat, and Padma shrieked with laughter until one of the prefects had to tell them to settle down.
***
That night, after the feast and the homecoming and the settling-in, Harry sat on his bed, lost in thought. The other boys had gone to bed; Crabbe and Goyle gorged on the rich dinner, Theo out of
boredom since his two goons were snoring away, and Blaise after a few minutes' conversation with Harry about their respective holidays.
The moon outside was waxing, and would be full in about a week; he thought about Remus, who had undergone a Change just before Christmas, and how he ought to get started on another long letter. There
wouldn't be much to tell, but he'd fill at least fourteen inches of parchment somehow. Perhaps he could draw him a map of Hogwarts. Remus liked maps; back when they'd owned Sandust, he'd kept a
collection of vintage maps in a case in the back.
In fact, he could map out quite a lot of Hogwarts, if he could wander around at night, unseen...
He grinned and got off the bed, opening his bag quietly and removing the cloak. It swirled and settled over his shoulders lightly, and he pulled the cowl down low to hide his face. The edges of it
pooled in front of his feet, but if he hitched it up a little over his shoulders...
He turned to the mirror near the door; nothing. Not a ripple in the air or the blur of an outline to suggest where he might be. His father must have done this, once; up in the Gryffindor tower,
checking to make sure his feet didn't show underneath it. His father's cloak. He would have been happy if it had been just a Hogwarts school cloak, really; he would never have asked that something of
his father's would be so useful, as well.
He could go exploring all he wanted, and when he got back he'd draw Remus a map of where he'd been.
If his father had used this, maybe Remus and Sirius had too, once. The thought of them, sneaking around Hogwarts like he was about to do, made him grin happily and invisibly as he pushed the
dormitory door open and passed through the common room, out to the labyrinth of hallways in the dungeon. Light shone out from under the door in Professor Snape's rooms, and Harry was glad he hadn't
worn shoes.
He made his way up the stairs and into the ground-floor corridor, stopping in front of the main staircase. From here he could go anywhere; up to Gryffindor tower, back to the stairwell where they'd
encountered Fluffy, even right past Filch's office if he liked. Before he could decide, however, he heard footsteps on the stone behind him.
He hung back against a wall as Professor Snape came into view, carrying a lantern in one hand and his slim quill-and-ink case in the other. Innate curiosity combined with hero-worship was no match
for an eleven-year-old's sense of discretion, and he followed, almost running to keep up with Snape's long stride. By the time they reached Snape's apparent goal, the library, Harry was out of breath
and trying not to pant too loudly.
Another child might have balked, but Harry was at home in the unlit stacks; he had never understood why his fellow children found the darkened library frightening. Sandust had been the safest place
he'd ever lived. He stepped through the door in Snape's wake, and only hesitated when the professor strode without pause into the Restricted Section.
He watched as Snape slowed, walking down the aisle with deliberate patience, clearly looking for something. His pale fingers drifted over the covers of books without touching them, and in the dark
the three jagged marks on his right temple seemed almost black.
Harry stepped slowly into the off-limits area, and when no alarms sounded, inched his way down the aisle to peer under Snape's elbow. He'd found the 200s, and Harry cast his mind back to the
orientation on the Derwent Decimal System -- Magical Lore. He touched one binding, then shook his head and took the one next to it. Harry ducked away as he turned and moved to sit at a nearby study
table, opening the book and unrolling a narrow sheet of parchment from inside his quill-case. Harry moved closer, peering at the book.
Looking back on it later, he realised he must have been breathing hard, still, and hadn't noticed that he was not absolutely silent; he also didn't notice Snape's fingers creeping towards the wand
lying on the table next to the quill-case until Snape snatched it up and turned in his seat, shouting "Expelliarmus!"
Fortunately Snape's aim was wide, and Harry turned and fled while several books flew out of the nearby shelf and began to shriek. He heard Snape's boots on stone and knew he was being pursued; Filch
threw the door to the library open just before Harry reached it, and he dodged past the caretaker, bolting down the hallway as fast as he could go.
Behind him, Snape yelled something in alarm, and he glanced over his shoulder in time to see the two men tumble together into the hallway. Snape was up in an instant and following him, and Harry
gulped down the noise of his breathing, trying to run as lightly as possibly. Filch shouted and followed after; Harry came to a turn in the hallway and went left down the better-lit corridor, which
proved to be a mistake, as Snape saw the torches flicker in the rush of air as he ran past, and followed again.
Harry had no doubt that if he were caught this time, extra reading would be the least of his worries.
He darted up a flight of stairs but the boards creaked -- clearly invisibility wasn't everything -- and then down another dim hallway, this one unlit. A suit of armor loomed up on his left and he
slipped past it into the niche it was situated in, crouching behind tarnished silver kneeplates and trying not to make a sound. At the end of the hallway Snape stopped, listened intently, looked
around carefully, and then cursed violently. Filch's footsteps on the stone drowned out Harry's quick breaths for a moment, and then their conversation echoed back to him.
"We've lost it," Snape said, angrily. "Whatever it was."
"Spectre perhaps?"
"I doubt it. There's no reason for any of the ghosts, visible or not, to spy on my personal research."
"And it's dark times," Filch said dourly, as they began to walk back towards Harry. "A bad business, this. Shall I keep looking?"
"Very little point, now. I'll speak to the Headmaster in the morning."
"I don't like it. First that bloody troll, then someone upsetting Fluffy and a unicorn being killed in the forest -- "
"Two."
"Two?"
"Hagrid," and Snape's voice was lightly tinged with distaste for the fumbling, overly-large groundskeeper, "found another one. It managed to escape -- whoever was pursuing it -- but the wounds were
too great."
"And the attack on the Potter boy," Filch continued. "Not that that one couldn't use a -- "
"I would appreciate if you did not malign my students to my face," Snape said sharply, and Harry, clutching the stitch in his side, grinned just a little.
"I'll feel better when the last ward is in place on the Stone, is all. Bloody Flamel saddling us with this -- someone's sneakin' around after it, that much's clear."
"I'm handling the situation."
"Dumbledore ought'a -- "
"I'm handling the situation," Snape snapped. "I should think after ten years on the school staff my discretion and judgement would be trusted."
They turned the corner to head down the stairs again, and Harry didn't hear Filch's reply; he counted to two hundred, just in case, and then slowly slunk out of the little display niche, careful not
to disturb the armor at all.
He was in an unfamiliar corridor, perhaps a wing of the castle where the upper-level classes were taught; next to him was the doorway to what looked like an unused classroom, full of desks and chairs
piled together in a heap. There was a strange light on the ceiling, like the reflection off something shiny, and Harry peered through the doorway, looking for its source.
It turned out to be a tall, gold-framed mirror, shoved off into one corner. It was oval-shaped, and two small rods protruding from either side attached it to the stand, which looked like it was made
to resemble horse's legs, with hooves instead of the usual claw-feet one normally saw on old furniture.
There was a single word carved across the top:
Y N I T S E D
He was too far to one side to see his own reflection, but he could see part of the mirror itself; although it reflected light from the moonlit windows onto the ceiling, the glass surface was full of
black, roiling smoke, like thunderclouds ahead of the wind. Only on the edges did he see the reflections of things in the room -- a flicker of shadowy desk, or arched window.
He made his way across the floor, towards it, pulling off the cowl as he did so. He breathed easier when the fresh, cool air of the room hit his face, and turned fully to the mirror to see what his
floating head looked like. Instead, the smoke behind the glass began to shift frantically, as though it was conscious of his presence and frightened by it, and after a moment of furious movement, it
dissipated.
Harry gasped and clutched at his collarbone; the mirror had shown him his whole body, even though in reality most of it was still under the cloak. In the reflection his shirt was torn open, the old
scar Peter Pettigrew had left on his chest dribbling blood down over his skin --
His fingers, expecting warm blood, found only the slick chill of the invisibility cloak, and he pulled it off. Underneath his shirt was whole, and he shed that too, until he was looking down at his
own bare chest, where the scar was as thin and pale as ever. There was no blood.
He looked up at the mirror again, and the smoke whirled across once more; now he looked older somehow, taller and more lanky. His hands, held in front of him, now reflected back covered in blood,
though he could clearly see that his real hands were pale and clean. He turned them over, to be sure, and the mirror-Harry did likewise, a look of horror on his face that was not the reflection of
the curiosity on Harry's.
The smoke swirled again, slower now, and the image was less clear, as though he was seeing it without his glasses -- a crowd of people surrounding a young man, surrounding Harry grown to adulthood,
holding out their hands in welcome. Not Sirius, not any of the adults he knew, and before he could identify them, the smoke had filled the mirror again, and refused to show him any more.
He picked up his shirt, almost worried that the blood on his hands -- which was not actually on his hands -- would stain it, and pulled it on. He was suddenly desperate to escape this mirror,
desperate to get back to the safe Slytherin dormitory where Snake was hibernating and Goyle was probably snoring again. He pulled the cloak halfway round his shoulders and was already stepping out
into the corridor before he'd pulled his cowl up, walking quietly and cautiously back in the direction he'd come.
When he reached Slytherin dormitory unharmed, he locked the invisibility cloak in a small box in the bottom of his trunk, and promised himself not to use it unless he really needed it. Relic of his
father or not, it was clearly a dangerous tool, and one that could get him in heaps more trouble than he usually was in anyway.
***
The school term began the day after Harry's adventure with the mirror, and brought with it terrible weather and Quidditch. Even Marcus Flint, never the most motivated of captains during practice, put
them through their paces in the worst of the rain. If the next game had to be played in a storm -- athletics, with typical British educational equanimity, were never called on account of weather --
then Slytherin, at least, would be ready. Harry was just as grateful for the long hard practices -- his dreams had been unnerving lately, and he slept better when he was exhausted at the end of the
day. If his friends noticed, they didn't say anything, although Draco kept shooting Harry worried looks; still, Harry couldn't bring himself to talk about his dreams -- strange dark visions of the
scar on his collarbone dripping blood, and the memory of the unicorn screaming.
He almost wrote to Remus, because he knew Remus sometimes had suffered nightmares when Harry was young -- before Betwys Beddau -- but Remus would just fret and tell Sirius and then Sirius would fret,
and it wasn't as though anyone could do anything about it. Team practice -- and the ensuing exhaustion -- was a good and practical solution.
The Slytherins weren't the only team hoping to be prepared for anything, Harry discovered, as they passed the sopping, miserable returning Gryffindor team on their way out to the field one day. The
twins waved at Harry, who waved back, and all three were promptly shouted at by their teammates for fraternising with the enemy.
Slytherin's defeat of Gryffindor, earlier in the year, had put Slytherin square in first running to play in the Cup, but Gryffindor was playing Hufflepuff in the next game and even Draco would admit
that a win was pretty likely for the scarlet-and-gold. That would put Gryffindor and Slytherin up against each other for the championship. If Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff, Slytherin wouldn't even have
to play the Badgers -- they'd just play Ravenclaw, and the point spread would decide whether Gryffindor or Ravenclaw went against Slytherin. Gryffindor was favourite.
All of which meant that none of the House teams liked Slytherin very much, but Gryffindor had special reason for rivalry. Especially since Gryffindor and Slytherin had never been the most friendly to
begin with.
It all came to a head shortly after the Gryffindor win over Hufflepuff, and Neville was, as small clumsy boys sometimes are, the main casualty. The Slytherins disliked him on general grounds, but at
least the first-years could be controlled by Harry, and the higher years felt it was beneath their dignity to notice the firsties. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, felt that Neville was letting
the side down by hanging about with a Slytherin.
After it happened, Ron Weasley went to Harry with a solemn promise that none of the Gryffindor first-years had been involved, and Harry believed him; the Weasley twins -- jokesters but not bullies --
controlled everyone below third year, and they played fair. Besides, Neville had said that it was mostly fourth-years: old enough to be bitter and young enough to be unsubtle.
They caught Neville in the library on a warm afternoon before the Easter holiday, when he was fetching books to begin studying for end-of-term exams. Harry and Padma were expected momentarily, and
Draco after his conference (yet another one) with McGonagall, but for the moment Neville was alone.
Books and Neville did not agree, particularly. Oh, he was clever enough, at some things, but he was forgetful, and he never took notes properly, and he always seemed to miss the point until much
later, when it was too late. He didn't have Harry's love of reading or Padma's love of learning; books didn't comfort him like they did Draco. He thought perhaps it was because he was a Gryffindor
and Gryffindors had a certain reputation for obstinate bravery over intelligence. But he did his best, and he followed what the others said, and he fetched the books that Harry or Padma gave him in a
list.
He was carrying a list from Harry, scribbled over breakfast that morning, when the candles at the ends of the rows went out, and the stacks were plunged into darkness. On the far side of the library
were the windows, and he could press on, but Neville's greatest shame was that he was still afraid of the dark.
His gran had been killed in the dark.
He turned back towards the front of the library where he could still see the glow of lights, and caught a hand in the chest, pushing him back firmly against the shelf. The list fluttered to the
ground.
"Doing shopping for the Slytherin?" one of them asked -- four boys and a girl, all Gryffindors, most of whom he knew only passingly.
"He does shopping for him..." the girl said. "And he wears his jewellery..."
The boy holding him against the shelf took the bracelet off his wrist, and Neville reached out for it, protesting.
"Sounds like he belongs to Mr. Potter," said another boy.
"He belongs in Slytherin, with the other turncoats."
"Wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin."
"I hear some of them kept Muggles as pets."
"Maybe he's no better than a Muggle."
"He isn't very good with spells, that's for sure."
"Bet you he's a Squib."
"Harry Potter's pet Squib."
The boy who was holding Neville as he struggled finally spoke.
"Then maybe everyone ought to know he's not really a Gryffindor," he said, and he raised his wand, pointing it right between Neville's eyes.