Chapter Text
Harry heaves a sigh, feeling utterly drained from the ‘excitement’, as Dumbledore would call it, of the last day. Between almost having his soul sucked out by a dementor, to getting expelled from Hogwarts, to then be told that his expulsion would be pending the results of a nice little sojourn to the court house. He rolls his eyes. Honestly, the wizarding world rules made no sense to him sometimes.
Anyway, after all of that, and having being completely ignored after seeing Cedric die right in front of him, the adults in his life just magically decide to waltz back into his life and take him to ‘safety’. He muffles his snort at that thought. How stupid did these people think he was? ‘Pretty damn stupid’ was his inner thought, as he slowly walked through the dark and dank hallways of Grimmauld place. He feared making too much noise, after seeing that painting at the entrance shrieking louder than one of Mrs. Weasley’s howlers, and was worried about setting off something cursed which, looking around the depressing place, wouldn’t be completely out of the realm of possibilities.
He thoughtlessly reached up to the pendant hanging from his neck, hidden beneath one of Dudley’s old oversized shirts, that held some of his most prized belongings. ‘I wasn’t able to read as much as I thought this summer’ he thought to himself. It was one of his most well-kept secrets. At the end of first year, having faced Voldemort and feeling completely unprepared, he vowed that he would return to the alley to fix that mistake. Unfortunately, professor Dumbledore would not allow him to take out more than a certain amount from his vault (which was ridiculous considering the sheer amount of gold in that thing), so he had to scrounge for a solution that wouldn’t be too costly. Luckily for him, he found a shop selling used goods on the corner between Diagon and Horizont alley.
Between finding a shrinkable suitcase that had an extension charm to fit more inside, and gathering the few books he could, Harry had spent the entirety of his leftover gold. He had wanted to at least buy himself a new pair of shoes, since the ones he got from Dudley were not only too big but also had holes in them, allowing for the wet and cold to seep through to his toes. However, he’d known how to prioritize from a young age, knowing when to save food instead of eating it or prioritizing escaping a beating over whatever was left of his pride, so he knew that being better informed was the most important decision.
After that year, he knew that he could only rely on himself to get educated. Besides Ron’s whinging every time he sat down to study, or the vicious hit Hermione would always send him when she felt that she was no longer the smartest in the room, he had a feeling that no one expected him to be good in school. The golden boy was only meant to be good in Defense, and perhaps passable in Transfiguration due to his father having a knack for the art, but not much else. Now, Harry had learned to read his environment very well growing up, learning what the adults expected of him without being told in the hopes of avoiding further punishment. As the Boy-Who-Lived, this was what was expected of him: short-tempered, Gryffindor with a desperate need to do what was ‘right’, and complete blind faith in his friends and Dumbledore.
Of course that wasn’t the case, but he kept those thoughts locked tight, knowing that he had to bide his time. He had only two big concerns at the moment. First of all, while he was pretending to be abysmal in school before, he wasn’t sure if he could keep up the charade this year. The OWLs would go on his record and would affect which Mastery program he could get into, and despite his desperate need to fly under the radar, he did NOT want to jeopardize his future. On one hand, he could finally show the world how smart he was, would be able to no longer rely on ‘sheer dumb luck’ to get through the year. On the other, this could all blow up in his face. Besides his nosy and expectant friends, he had a brief thought to twinkly blue eyes, telling him that he shouldn’t ‘make up stories about your family my dear boy, I’m sure they love you very much’ and that ‘the blood wards are the only thing protecting you from Voldemort, we all must make sacrifices for the greater good’.
He snorts, this times quite loudly, but he doesn’t care. Yeah, it’s easy for you to say that while you sit in your ivory tower sucking on your fucking lemon drops, you old bastard. He should probably feel a little bad for thinking such things about his headmaster, as a little voice in his head keeps reminding him, but he doesn’t much care at the moment. His anger had been repressed for too long and now it was taking over all common sense. Either way he knew, crossing Dumbledore’s expectations of his precious golden boy would mean dire consequences, OWL grades or not. Something to ponder…
His other concern, was a rather stranger one. Ever since he’s entered Grimmauld place last night, there has been this strange tugging in his chest. At first he dismissed it, knowing his magic sometimes did odd things he couldn’t explain, but the tugging kept getting more insistent, so much so that he hadn’t slept a wink. Besides the distracting, and Ron’s abysmal snoring, the tugging was starting to feel almost painful today, and he was beginning to fear what this meant. He had brought his worry to Sirius this morning, but all he’d gotten was a severe frown and a rather strict order to not go digging through things he didn’t understand. “This house is full of dark and evil magic pup, your magic is probably repulsed by it. Don’t worry, just stick to you friends and don’t walk alone in here, you’ll be fine when you return to Hogwarts”
And true to his word, staying close to the Weasleys and Hermione did diminish the feeling, but it never fully disappeared. Furthermore, he knows when his magic is repulsed, he felt it when he faced Voldemort several times before, but this didn’t feel anything like it. In fact, his magic seemed attracted to something, oddly enough.
Harry startled violently when he was pulled out of his musings by the shriek of what he had come to know was Sirius’ mother. “MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS, SULLYING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS, BEGONE YOU FOUL THINGS! BEGONE!!” And then a “SHUT UP YOU OLD HAG!!” from his godfather as he probably attempted to close the dingy curtains over her portrait. Sure enough, as his foot landed on the last step of the stairs leading to the entrance, Sirius had just finished tugging the curtains closed, as a woman with the most outrageous looking pink hair was sheepishly righting the old troll’s foot next to the door.
“Dammit Tonks, how many time are ya gonna trip over that bloody thing?” said Mad-eye in a gruff voice, his magic eye rolling around like the paranoid maniac everyone knew he was. Tonks, a slight blush on her cheeks, apologized again, as they both headed to the kitchen. Sirius remained, grumbling and cursing under his breath, probably about his family, before he noticed him standing at the foot of the steps. His face immediately lit up, a complete 180 from his previous disposition, and Harry couldn’t smother a smile at that. No matter what, he’d been raised with too little love in his life to not be happy to receive such positive emotions so unabashedly from someone, even if he was angry.
“Hey pup! Are you alright? You haven’t gotten into anything cursed have you?” he said with a slightly worried expression, and the boy simply shakes his head in the negative. The older man seemed relived at that.
“Anyway, there’s an order meeting right now, so why don’t you go meet up with your friends alright?”
“But Sirius-“ he’s however interrupted before he could finish his question. “No Harry, we talked about this, you don’t need to worry about any of this until you’re older.” At that, he simply turns around and heads towards the silent kitchen, probably warded to keep both sounds and anyone not within the order out.
Suddenly, all positive feelings are wiped from him and he’s left reeling. What the hell qualifies them to decide what happens in my own damn life?! THEY weren’t the ones to face the snake bastard over and over again and survive!
He clenches his fists so tight his nails dig in to his skin, but the only thing he feels at the moment is the roiling rage inside him. How dare they?! How could they just ignore him and then expect him to save the day anyway, like some gullible weapon they put away on the shelf to gather dust until needed again. His angry thoughts consume him as he begins to pace the small area around the entrance, moving so swiftly he catches the drapes of Walburga’s portrait, catching the movement in the corner of his eye, stalling him in his furious march.
‘Huh, now there’s a thought’ He thinks as, slowly, a slightly manic grin splits his face. Sirius may not be willing to listen to him, but maybe someone else from the house of Black could. While she probably couldn’t fix the information issue about the order, perhaps the portrait could enlighten him about this god-awful tugging. He tried to stay near his friends, as angry as he still was with them, he really had! But it only took two instances of him accidentally walking in on Ron and Hermione snogging for him to bow out. Ugh, no way. Even through the anger, he couldn’t help his heart breaking just a little at the thought of his friends being so enamored with each other they did not think about him at all, despite everything they know he’s been through so far. It made him long to simply unshrink his suitcase and bury himself in his books indefinitely, though he knew he would get interrupted almost immediately, he always is.
Coming back to Walburga, if she started yelling, he highly doubted that his godfather would listen to a word she said, and he could claim innocence in having ‘accidentally’ awakened her.
Plan in place, he slowly crept closer to the crowded portrait, pausing an arm length away in hesitation. Gathering up his nerve, he slowly lifted the drapes, peeking at the older woman. He only received a glare and a sneer from the woman, one that would make Snape’s look like a toddler pouting, before she seemed to gather her breath, probably ready to begin yelling again.
Before that could happen, he whisper-begged: “Please don’t shout! Please, I need help and Sirius refuses to tell me anything, I don’t know who else to ask.” That stopped the woman short, and she eyed him curiously, an unreadable expression on her face.
Walburga was a proud woman. Proud of her heritage, of her accomplishments and her family. The thought of those she most reviled disgracing that pride so obviously had her enraged, and feeling helpless in her portrait. Looking down at the boy in front of her, she thinks that perhaps she may be able to at least have SOME intelligent conversation. If not, she was more than happy to send the annoyance packing. Sneering down at the little urchin, she replied “Well, what is it then?”
Despite her obvious disdain, at least the woman was willingly speaking to him, so he took that as a small victory. “Well, you see m’am, ever since I arrived here, there’s been this weird tugging in my chest, and it keeps getting worse! It’s almost painful, and it won’t let me sleep. Sirius said to stay near my friends, and while that does help a little, it’s still there. The curiosity is killing me and no one seems to want to give me answers of any kind. Please, it’s driving me insane” he begged in a pitiful tone, hoping to get some pity if nothing else.
Now Walburga was curious. The child in front of her did not seem particularly outstanding, and other than those brilliant Avada Kadavra green eyes hidden behind those abhorrent lenses, the brat was on the skinnier and shorter side, wearing what appeared to be rags and had a mop of horrendously unbrushed hair. Still, who was she to dispute family magics? Clearly, there was something about the brat that she couldn’t see, or this wouldn’t be happening. “What’s your name boy?”
“Harry Potter m’am” he replies, feeling hopeful for the first time this summer.
She narrows her eyes, remembering the brat that her waste of blood decided to name his godson. Well. That explains some things, though not all. “Ah yes, the Boy-Who-Lived, odd that the house is calling to you of all people, but then who am I to question magic?” she drawls. Harry simply blinks slowly, having more questions now than he did originally. But before he can open his mouth, she continues. “Tell me boy, do you know about your family magics?” At the wide-eyed shake of his head, she heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Oh honestly, what are they teaching you brats in heir training these days?! Completely disgraceful”
“Er…m’am? What is heir training exactly?” he asks hesitantly, to which her eyes bug out almost comically. “You’re the last of your line aren’t you? How is it that you haven’t learned this yet?! I knew this waste of my blood was absolutely useless but even I didn’t think his potions grade equated to his BLOODY IQ!” ‘She knows about IQ?’ Was the slightly unhinged thought going through his mind as her voice steadily rose through her rant. A thump from upstairs interrupted her thought, and he quickly turned to the staircase, wary or anyone coming down to look for him. Seeing no one there, yet still feeling rather jumpy, he turned around back to the old portrait. The woman was looking down on him with pursed lips and a rather unpleasant expression on her face.
“This is no place to converse about such things. You will go up to the library, and we shall continue this conversation. Ensure you come at a late enough time that we are not interrupted, perhaps I can remedy some of your abysmal upbringing” she replied with a sneer. The boy seemed to be completely uninformed, and while she usually disdained such children, she realized that this might be her only chance to salvage what was left of her family’s pride. If the boy was willing to learn, she would teach him, and despite his less-than-ideal pedigree, she would make a proper wizard out of him.
Nodding absentmindedly, he silently agreed with the plan. “Of course, thank you ma’m. But…no one has been able to find the library since we came here. Hermione has driven herself insane trying to get to it, and Mrs. Weasley says she wants to clean it out. Even Sirius can’t find it!” he realized he was rambling there towards the end, but the tugging, that had quietened over the past 10 minutes, was back with a vengeance and he was starting to go a little delirious at it.
Walburga simply rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Of course the mudblood and blood traitor won’t find it! The house has a way of protecting itself and the priceless books and heirlooms that are contained in it. The library will not appear to anyone that wishes it harm, including my waste of space of a son. If you want to find the library, simply ask.” She said, the disdain clear on her face, and he frowned at the mudblood comment. He definitely did NOT like that word, but it would be foolish to antagonize his only source of information at this point in time, so he remained quiet, until he thought back to what she just told him, and then he was confused. “Wait, ask? Ask who? I thought you said…” he stated questioningly, before being abruptly interrupted. “I won’t tell you everything you brat! Consider this your first test, we’ll see if you have more magic in you than a flobberworm.” At that, the dingy curtains around her portrait slammed shut, and Harry just stared confusedly.
Ask who? The magic? He thought to himself. It would make sense, if the house itself was conscious enough to hide a room based on the intentions of the people inhabiting it, logic dictates that his desire could be communicated to it. Somehow…
Before he could think more on this, he was interrupted by the raucous sound of steps on the main staircase, Hermione stepping loudly onto the landing, her face brightening upon seeing him. “Harry! There you are! Come on, I’m not letting you skive off your homework again! We have less than a month left before class starts.” She said enthusiastically, and he had to use the entirety of his skills at occlumency to smother his sneer. He had no issue with homework, in fact he was rather good at it. But not only did he have to keep his cover of the ‘Golden Boy’, but he also knew that the girl ensured that his homework was always worse than hers, in a less than subtle act to keep herself on top. He didn’t mind usually, as it made it easier for him, but this year it was grating on his last nerve. He refused to continue this charade and ruin the rest of his life and ambitions just to keep other people comfortable. Enough was enough.
Luckily for him, Ron interrupted before he could speak his mind. “Come on Hermione! We have a whole month, no need to harp on everyone.” He had arrived a few seconds into her rant and at that, she spun around and leveled him with her most heated glare. And here we go again. He thought as his friends started bickering again. Honestly, these two were like an old married couple. He could not help his eyeroll as he thought that.
As he followed the two up the stairs, he spared one last look at the old portrait. Knowledge is power, he though determinedly, and he wouldn’t let anyone use him anymore.