421Title: Feather and Glass
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Blaise, background mentions of others
Rating: R
Content Notes: AU (Harry is not the Boy-Who-Lived), grey Harry, present tense, grey Blaise, angst, drama, canonical child abuse, Parselmouth Harry Potter, short scenes, mentor Snape
Wordcount: This part 4200
Summary: AU. Harry isn't the Boy-Who-Lived, just a lonely orphan who goes to Hogwarts interested in learning Potions and making friends. But his Potions professor hates him, and Harry can make few friends when he has to conceal his snake familiar and his Parseltongue—and that he seems capable of bringing small animal constructs to life. Blaise Zabini is one of the few people invited into Harry's secrets, a relationship that grows to be more and more important to both of them as the years pass.
Author's Notes: This is a new WiP that will mostly update on Fridays. At the moment, I don't know for sure how long it will be.
Feather and Glass
Chapter One—Wish Magic
Harry lies in his cupboard, stomach aching from lack of food, and listens to Dudley laughing with Piers about something or other. They're always laughing. They're friends, and they keep Harry from being friends with other kids at his school, and he's so lonely.
Harry's eyes squeeze shut. He's a big boy, almost seven, and he shouldn't cry, but no one is here to see.
I wish I had friends, he thinks, and directs the thoughts at the boulder that sometimes seems to sit in his stomach, and sometimes bursts into fire and does weird, freaky things. I want to have friends. Give me friends.
Dudley's laughter fades behind the concentration that Harry is pushing at the boulder. He pushes, and pushes, and pushes. I want friends. I wish I had friends. I wish for friends. Give me friends, he thinks, over and over.
There's a sudden loud snapping sound, and the boulder bursts into fire and seems to burn out of him. Harry gasps and flops limply back on his cot. He doesn't know why, but he's breathing like he's been running from Dudley all day, and the bruises on his arms and legs from the Harry Hunting this morning have stopped aching. Or rather, his head and stomach ache so much that it's like the bruises don't matter.
The cupboard door flies open, and Aunt Petunia stands there, glaring at him. "What did you do, you little freak?" she snaps in an undertone, looking over her shoulder anxiously as if she thinks Dudley or Uncle Vernon or Piers is going to come into sight. "I heard something! What did you do?"
"I don't know, Aunt Petunia," Harry whimpers. And it's true. Pushing the boulder in his stomach to give him friends didn't seem to have any result. Waves of disappointment are sweeping over him.
Aunt Petunia studies him, and seems to believe him, maybe because Harry looks so miserable. "Don't do it again," she says, and slams the cupboard door shut. Harry hears her locking it.
Harry closes his eyes and rides out the pain. After a few long moments, it subsides the way it always does, and Harry rolls over and manages to drop into an uneasy sleep.
"Hello, young wizard."
Harry starts and looks wildly around. "Wizard" is one of those words that Uncle Vernon beats Harry if he hears him mentioning it. He even got upset with Dudley when Dudley brought a book home with a wizard on the cover.
Whispering it in the Dursleys' garden is a bad idea.
"Don't call me that," Harry whispers back as he pulls a stubborn weed from beside a rose. "I'm not a wizard."
"Yes, you are. Who but a wizard could speak to snakes?"
Harry watches with his mouth open as one of the roses sways aside and a snake comes crawling out from beneath it. She's about as long as his arm from the wrist to the elbow, and she has bright blue scales with stripes of white down the sides. She's really pretty. And she rears up and looks at him like he's interesting.
"You're a magic snake. You can speak English!"
The snake twists her neck so that her head overlaps her coils for a second. It seems to mean she thinks he's funny. "You are not speaking English. You are speaking Parseltongue."
"What's that?"
"The language of snakes." The snake comes closer to him, and seems to test the air around him with her tongue. Can snakes smell with their tongues? Harry thinks he remembers overhearing something like that from a program on the telly once when he was in his cupboard. "You have never spoken to a snake before?"
Harry shakes his head with a frown. He's seen a snake in Aunt Petunia's garden a few times, and once near the school. But all of them just went away, and Harry went the other way. They seemed scary, and if they talked to him, then he would have stayed and talked to them because he was so desperate for a friend.
Then Harry's eyes widen. "Are you my friend that my boulder brought?" he demands. Maybe the boulder in his stomach did something after all! He thought it didn't, but maybe it just needed some time to work!
"Your boulder?"
"There's something in my stomach that melts and burns sometimes. Sometimes I can make it do things, but sometimes it just does what it wants." Harry wrinkles his nose when he thinks about the time that he turned a teacher's hair blue. That just got him in trouble and didn't solve anything. "But last night I was wishing for friends, and now you're here, and I'm talking to you!"
"That sounds like magic to me, young wizard." The snake curls towards him and climbs his arm. Harry laughs at the feeling of scales brushing against his skin. She climbs up until she's so close to his face that Harry's eyes cross trying to see her. "And I am your friend, and we will be together from now on."
"But how can we?" Harry asks, with a wary glance back at the house. No one is yelling at him yet, but Aunt Petunia probably will soon. "My aunt and uncle hate—magic. And snakes. They'll try to hurt you."
"Do they have magic?"
"I—don't think so? They call me a freak and I've never seen them wish for anything that came true, so probably not?"
"I am pure magic," the snake says, and climbs up on his shoulder and loops herself around his neck. "I will show you when we go into the house. They will not be able to see me."
Harry swallows. He doesn't look forward to the yelling or the punishment in his cupboard that he'll get if she's wrong. But she's his first friend, the only one who's ever thought he was worth talking to. Even if she's not human. Even if she's here because of his—magic. He doesn't think she would lie to him.
"Okay."
"Boy! Get in here!"
Harry walks into the house, cringing a little. He knows that Aunt Petunia is going to turn around, see the snake, and shriek. He knows it even while he clings as hard as he can to the notion that his friend might be right and they won't.
What's her name, anyway?
Harry doesn't dare ask, because even if she's right and his relatives can't see her, they'll surely notice if he's talking to her.
Aunt Petunia turns around. Harry braces himself, but all she does is frown at him and hiss, "Start getting Dudley's lunch ready! No dawdling!" Then she unties her apron and flounces out of the kitchen. A second later, Harry hears the telly go on.
Harry releases a slow breath. He knows Aunt Petunia looked directly at him, and still she didn't stop or slow down. He reaches out to gently trace one of the pale stripes that run down his friend's body. "Thank you," he whispers, as he starts getting out ham and mustard and pickles and tomatoes and bacon and all the other ingredients for Dudley's sandwich.
"You are welcome." The snake twitches her tail. "Can I have some of the meat? I was not hunting before this."
Harry sneaks her a scrap of ham by cutting off the edge of a piece to make it look as if it's just naturally come that way. He eats half the scrap and gives her the other half. She tilts her head back to swallow, and Harry stares as he watches her jaw unhinge.
"Boy! I'd better hear you working in there!"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia!" Harry calls back, and begins to spread mustard on the bread. "What's your name?"
"I do not have one," the snake says. "You should find me one. We will find a name in books, perhaps? The things that you use to store knowledge? It should be the name of a great hunter."
Harry smiles and cuts another scrap off the ham for her. He doesn't even really care if his aunt finds out or if he has to spend more time cutting up the ham because he doesn't have enough for Dudley's sandwich. He has a friend.
It's everything he wished for when he was lying in his cupboard. A special friend, a magical friend, and one that no one can see or take away from him. She's always going to be with him. Harry knows that like he knows he can hear her.
He's so happy.
It takes a lot of reading to find a name for his friend. Harry has to wrestle books off the shelves in the public library, since the school is closed for the summer, and ask the librarian for help. Dudley doesn't really come in here, and neither do Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, so the librarian just think he's adorable and tells him the meanings of a lot of words. When Harry tells her that he's interested in hunting, she purses her lips, and for a second Harry cowers.
"Oh, no, it's all right," the librarian says, shaking her head at him so that her hair clicks. "It's just not a subject we have a lot of books on for children, that's all."
"Stories are fine," Harry says quickly. He knows all about the kinds of things that children aren't supposed to do. Like take away Dudley's toys or steal food or speak back to their aunts and uncles.
"Well, I do know a book of stories that has a bit to do with it…" the librarian murmurs, and goes off between the shelves with Harry following her. His friend talks from his shoulder about how she could chase the librarian's shoes to give herself hunting practice, and Harry has to work to stifle his laughter.
"Here we are!" the librarian says a minute later, and turns around with a large, brightly-illustrated book in her hand. Harry notes that the cover has a woman standing on what seems to be a crescent moon and holding a bow and arrow. "This is a set of stories that are older than I'd usually recommend for your age, but they do have hunting in them."
Harry takes the book and eyes the title. He knows a few of the words, but the long one makes him frown. "What's mite—myth—"
"Mythology," the librarian corrects him. "A set of linked stories and legends about—important people from other cultures." She's suddenly hesitant again, eyeing him. "Do you—attend church, Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, my family only goes sometimes," Harry says quickly. She doesn't need to know that Harry never goes with them. "I don't think my aunt likes it much."
The librarian relaxes. "These stories are about the concepts of gods in other cultures," she says. "If you go to church, you'll know a little about that. But do come and get me if you need more help with the words."
"Thanks," Harry says, beaming at her, and finds a table to open the book. He skims through the pictures until he finds the image from the cover of the woman standing on the crescent moon with the bow and arrow. He shows it to his friend. "See?" he whispers, careful to watch out for people over his shoulder. But he did slip up a few times in front of the Dursleys, and he's starting to think they can't hear him speak Parseltongue, either. "I think this woman hunts." There's another picture on the other page of a deer running away from dogs and the woman running after them. She has a white dress on that Harry thinks looks a little like the pale scales his friend has.
"A good hunter. What is her name?"
It takes a moment for Harry to find it. He doesn't understand all the words on the page, either, but then he notices that it's above her picture and blushes a little. He feels stupid for not seeing it right away. "Artemis."
"That is my name," his friend says firmly, and Harry smiles at her.
Having a friend makes everything so much better.
Well, all right, not everything. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon still yell at Harry and cuff him around the head and take food away from him and swing frying pans at him and lock him in the cupboard. Dudley and his friends still chase Harry and beat him up. Harry still doesn't have any friends at school because Dudley scares them all away.
But Artemis is always with him. He always has someone to talk to if he is locked in the cupboard. Artemis, who doesn't grow, is small enough to slip under the cupboard door and solid enough to bring back food from the kitchen for him. Sometimes Aunt Petunia notices it missing and extends Harry's punishment, but then Artemis just goes and steals more. No one can see her or stop her.
Harry has someone to make funny comments about the other students and teachers at the school, and if he has to control himself hard to avoid laughing, that's better than being alone.
They read a lot more, together. First Artemis wants to know more about the hunter she's named after, and they read those stories of mythology and go on to read others. Then they read stories that have covers that look mythological but aren't, and turn out to be fairy tales and fantasy. Then they read some history and some language and some animal books, and Harry understands things better when he has to read aloud to Artemis and translate for her.
It turns out that he was right, and non-magical people can't hear him speaking Parseltongue, either. They will hear Harry if he laughs, but they notice nothing when he's not speaking English. So Harry holds entire conversations with Artemis in the middle of the classroom, and if he doesn't seem to be paying attention and some of his teachers talk about that, well, they were never going to mark him fairly anyway. Not with Dudley in the same classes telling tales about Harry.
Sometimes, they lie in the cupboard together and speculate about how Harry came to live with the Dursleys and why he has magic when they don't.
"Your relatives said that your parents died in one of the metal monsters," Artemis says one evening when Harry is nine.
Harry strokes her scales, the feeling as comfortable and regular for him by now as the sounds of Parseltongue. "You know they're called cars, Artemis."
"I call them what they are."
Harry manages not to roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. Artemis adopts a word or term for something and goes on using it, no matter how much she learns or how much Harry scolds her. Harry uses the right names for things for the same reason, though. "And you don't think that's true?"
"No. Why would magical humans be riding in a metal monster instead of flying or swimming or walking on the earth like sensible people? And why would they leave you here instead of giving you to some other magical people?"
"That assumes my parents were magical, Artemis. Maybe they weren't. Maybe I'm the only magical person in the world."
Artemis slaps her tail against the inside of his arm. "That is arrogance talking."
"You're right, sorry." Harry rubs his wrist and grins at her. Sometimes he gets in one of these maudlin moods where he assumes that he'll never find anyone else like him, but Artemis is quick to bring him back to earth. "But where would we have to go to find the magical people?"
"We will have to wait until you are older," Artemis says, with something that's almost a whine. Harry has found that Parseltongue doesn't translate some things, but petulance gets through fine. "I do not like it. I do not like that we are staying here with these horrible people and you will not let me bite them."
"You know they might not even feel it. And besides, you aren't venomous."
"If they do not feel it, it will still make you happier to see me bite them, and that is enough reason to do it."
Harry laughs quietly and cups his hand around the back of Artemis's head. "I won't be nine forever. We'll find other magical people someday, and we'll travel, and we'll find people who like snakes and appreciate a Parselmouth." Artemis told him that's the name for people who can speak the magical snake language, although like so many other things, she doesn't know how she knows that.
She doesn't remember anything from before she woke up in the garden that day when he was six and found him, in fact. They've discussed whether that means Harry's magic actually made her up, but to Harry, it doesn't matter a lot. She's here. That's what matters.
Harry lies on the floor of a hut in the sea and tingles with anticipation. He managed to get hold of one letter and read the first part of the first page before Aunt Petunia snatched it away. It talked about a school of witchcraft and wizardry.
The other magical people are trying to contact him. Admittedly, Harry doesn't know if he'll ever manage to get hold of a letter. Can one get delivered to a rock in the middle of the sea? Will he be able to afford the fees for the school if they do? How expensive is a school that teaches magic? What will he learn besides Parseltongue? What—
A loud crash shakes the door, and Artemis hisses in fright. Harry raises his arm, and she darts down and coils up inside his shirt in his armpit. She often hides there, since it's warm and even if someone grabs Harry by the arm, they can't crush her.
Another crash comes, and Harry gasps aloud as Uncle Vernon dashes out holding a gun. He doesn't even know where Uncle Vernon got a gun, and he doesn't know what he should do next. Should he warn the magical person knocking at the door to go away? Can they resist bullets? Harry has no idea.
Then the door gives up and just falls inwards, and a huge man steps into the hut, beaming at Harry from over a beard so thick that it looks like it could hide a dozen Artemises.
"There you are, Harry!"
Harry feels a pulse of warmth travel through him. Another magical person who knows who he is! He smiles at him and says, "Hullo. Who are you?"
"Rubeus Hagrid, at your service." The giant bows so low that his beard scrapes the floor. "And I have your letter. Here you are." He takes a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket and hands it to Harry.
"Just wait a minute!" Uncle Vernon yells, his voice as loud as the shriek of a kettle. "We told—we're not paying for this! We're not going to send him to a ruddy magic school!"
Harry narrows his eyes at his uncle. He's suspected for a while that what the Dursleys called "freakishness" is all magic, even though he really hasn't had any more accidents since he met Artemis, and so they knew about magical people. But this is the first time that Uncle Vernon has ever said something that's confirmed he knew.
They're going to pay, even if I can't let Artemis bite them.
Aunt Petunia comes storming out then, and glares at Harry and Mr. Hagrid both together. "You are not going to take the boy! Just like my sister, going off and coming back with her pockets full of rabbits and doing tricks with that wand—"
"My mum was magical?" Harry demands.
"Of course she was!" Mr. Hagrid interrupts. "James and Lily Potter were two of the best students ever at Hogwarts, and they died like heroes, fighting the Dark wizards on the other side of the war!"
"War? Dark wizards?" Harry stares back and forth between Mr. Hagrid and his relatives. "Not a car crash, then?"
"I told you," Artemis says smugly from under his arm.
"Course not!" Mr. Hagrid says, sounding shocked. "A car crash never would have done for Lily and James Potter!"
Harry twists his head and stares at Aunt Petunia. She's looking pale, but she rallies. "We are not going to send the boy to the school! He'll be refusing!"
"Get out of here!" Uncle Vernon bellows, and levels his gun at Mr. Hagrid.
Before Harry can even worry if Mr. Hagrid is proof against bullets, he reaches out and just twists the barrel of the gun into a complicated knot of metal. Then he pulls it away from Uncle Vernon and tosses it into a corner.
"There," Mr. Hagrid says. "Now we can have a discussion like civilized people."
Uncle Vernon makes a meeping sound and sits down really suddenly on the couch. Aunt Petunia tugs on his arm and gets him moving, and they run back into the bedroom where they're sleeping with Dudley and shut the door behind them.
"Or maybe not," Mr. Hagrid says, shaking his head. "Well, a lot of the Muggles aren't civilized, exactly."
"What are Muggles?" Harry asks.
Mr. Hagrid tells him. They're non-magical people, and apparently there are a lot more of them in the world than magical people. Hogwarts is a hidden and secret school, and Harry's going to go there, and his parents were warriors in a war ended by the Boy-Who-Lived called Neville Longbottom, and they left him lots of gold and silver so that he could attend…
Harry smiles and smiles, and then Artemis hisses softly, "You will be able to do what you've always dreamed of. We didn't have to wait until you were an adult to find the other magical people after all."
"I know! It's exciting!" Harry hisses back.
Mr. Hagrid takes a deep breath like he's about to faint. Harry looks up and finds Mr. Hagrid blinking at him. He reaches up with a shaking hand and brushes his beard back from his lips.
"Did you just—hiss, Harry?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" Harry asks, his stomach sinking. He's so used to the non-magical people, the Muggles, ignoring him when he hisses that he forgot it might be different with someone who's magical.
"It sounded like you were hissing." Mr. Hagrid licks his lips. "The evil wizard I was telling you about, You-Know-Who? He talked to snakes. It's called Parseltongue and it's a really Dark Art. So it just—you wouldn't want to be a Parselmouth, that's all."
"It is not a Dark Art!" says the small indignant voice from Harry's armpit.
Harry doesn't respond this time. He nods. "No, Mr. Hagrid—"
"Just call me Hagrid, lad, everyone does."
"Oh, all right—Hagrid. I wasn't hissing. Sometimes my magic influences my voice, though." Harry tries to look embarrassed and a bit ashamed. "Kind of like—well, one time I turned my teacher's hair blue when I was angry at her—"
"Oh, that. That's just accidental magic, Harry." Hagrid relaxes and waves a huge hand. "You don't need to worry about that! Kids do it, that's all. But if the wrong person heard you hissing like that…"
"Yes, I see," Harry says. He winces a little. That probably means magical people can see Artemis, too, and he'll have to keep her hidden as much as possible when he goes to Hogwarts.
It's too bad. Harry really did hope he could have some human friends now. Artemis is great, and Harry will always choose her over everyone else, but knowing more people and getting to practice magic with them without Dudley around to chase them away…
Oh, well. Sometimes dreams have to be given up. Harry knows that.
"All right, Hagrid," Harry says. "Thanks for the advice."
When they're on the way back to land in the boat the next day, Harry manages to bend down and hiss to Artemis without Hagrid noticing while the giant reads the newspaper. "I promise that I don't want to abandon you and I don't think Parseltongue is Dark. We just have to be careful, that's all. We'll have to make sure that no one sees you."
"Fine. But you have to learn some invisibility spells. I'm not hiding in your robes all the time." Hagrid said that wizards and witches wear robes.
Harry smiles and nods, and sits up in time to ask a few questions of Hagrid about the Ministry of Magic.
This world is still the most exciting place Harry can imagine. He wishes it was a little less freaked-out about snakes and Parseltongue, but he'll go to school, and he'll learn invisibility spells, and he'll learn more about Parselmouths and snakes, and everything is going to be brilliant.