Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Legilimens.”

Severus Snape’s voice cut coldly through the room, dark and sharp like a blade. His gaze remained fixed on Harry Potter, who barely had time to draw breath, let alone prepare himself.
“Come on, Potter,” Snape continued, the mockery in his voice unmistakable. “Defend yourself. It surely cannot be that difficult to drive me out of your thoughts.”
For weeks now, he had been condemned to teach this boy Occlumency on Dumbledore’s explicit orders. Weeks during which Snape asked himself anew each time what he had done to deserve this punishment.
No sooner had the spell touched Harry’s mind than the familiar, loathed sequence of images opened itself to Snape. Thoughts, memories, emotions — everything lay open before him, unorganised and painfully vivid. As always.
Snape suppressed an irritated snort. Potter had learned nothing. Not even remotely.

Of course, he neither wished nor had the patience to teach Harry Potter this art. It was not the task itself that embittered him so deeply. It was the boy.
Not because of his personality — at least not entirely — but because of his father.

James Potter.

The name alone was enough to tear open old, tightly sealed memories: mocking laughter, humiliations before the eyes of others. Spells that had never been meant harmlessly. James Potter had made sure that Severus Snape would never forget his school years — and never want to.
All to impress Lily.

That she had ultimately chosen James was something Severus still could not fully comprehend, even after all these years. And now her son stood before him. With the same eyes, the same arrogant expression — at least, that was how it appeared to Severus.
Harry Potter was the living echo of a past that had never entirely faded.

“I can’t, Professor,” Harry forced out. His voice was hoarse, his breathing shallow. “I… I don’t know how. I’m trying, honestly, but it just doesn’t work.”
For nearly an hour now, Snape had been rummaging through his thoughts. Harry’s head throbbed, his body felt as though every last ounce of strength had been drained from him. Each new attempt to resist failed more quickly than the last.
“Tsk.” Snape curled his lips disdainfully. “The Dark Lord does not grant pauses simply because you are exhausted.”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering, becoming dangerous.

“If I were the Dark Lord, I would know within two seconds whom you love most — and whom I would have to kill first in order to break you.”
Harry flinched involuntarily.
“So pull yourself together, Potter,” Snape finally hissed. “And now get out.”
It was not an order, but a mercy. Harry sprang to his feet, nearly stumbled over the chair, and left the room as quickly as though he could escape the words still echoing inside his head.
Snape remained behind. For a moment he stood motionless, then he shut the door with a sharp tug and ran a hand across his forehead.
Occlumency. Potter. Dumbledore.

As if his daily life were not irritating enough already.
He stepped through one of the portraits into his living quarters. The thought of having to teach Potter made his stomach tighten once more. Babysitter to a stubborn Gryffindor — exactly what had still been missing from his life. But there was nothing he could do against Dumbledore’s well-meaning, hare-brained decisions.

His gaze fell upon the desk. Of course. The Gryffindors’ homework.
Snape pulled a face. He could have marked every single one with a “D”; they rarely deserved more. He had already corrected the Slytherins’ assignments with genuine satisfaction — neat, precise, flawless. Each of them had received an “O”.
With the Lions, it was as always a torment. But duty remained duty.
Harry reached the Gryffindor common room with heavy steps. No sooner had he entered than Hermione intercepted him, studying him as though she could read his thoughts.
“Harry,” she began without preamble, “you need to concentrate better. Snape will torment you until he can tell Professor Dumbledore that you’ve understood it.”
Harry did not reply at once.

“Occlumency is difficult,” Hermione continued, somewhat more gently now. “But it is possible. Here.” She pressed several books into his hands. “I borrowed them from the library. They should help you make at least a little progress.”
Harry merely nodded. He knew when it was pointless to argue with Hermione.
Without another word, he went to his room.

Since this school year, he had one of his own. The other boys no longer wanted to sleep in a room with him — too many nightmares, too many screams in the night. Harry did not mind. After the Triwizard Tournament, he had learned who truly stood by his side and who only saw the fame.
Ron, unfortunately, belonged to the latter.

He dropped onto the bed and examined the books. “Occlumency – Legilimency: The Art of Reading and Seeing. Tips for Proper Application and Defence.”
It sounded… hopeful. Hermione always knew which book one needed — even when one did not know it oneself.
He glanced at the clock and decided he could manage one chapter, then opened the book and began to read as the shadow of the coming night slowly settled over Hogwarts.
Once more, Harry checked the time. Hours had passed since he had opened the book, and yet it felt as though hardly any time had gone by. The tips were genuinely good, and Harry knew he would have to try them out in the next Occlumency lesson. Snape certainly would not tell him how to proceed — which made the challenge all the more enticing.

With a sigh, he set the book aside, pulled the blanket over himself, and turned out the light. He sank heavily into the pillows, his thoughts still ensnared by the book’s instructions.
“You must concentrate on a wall. If someone tries to enter your mind, you must keep the wall stable and constantly repair it. If you wish to enter someone else’s mind, you must break that wall — and for that, you must find the right moment…”
Harry smiled faintly. The theory sounded interesting, even exciting. It could hardly go any worse, and Snape was already angry with him anyway, so an attempt could not hurt. With that thought, he drifted slowly into a light sleep.

DREAM

“Come on, Malio! I bet I can fly much higher than you!”

A childish voice tore Harry from the fog of sleep. He opened his eyes and found himself no longer in Hogwarts, nor in his bed. He stood in a wide meadow, surrounded by forest and colourful flowers. A broom was firmly clutched in his hand, and the sun bathed everything in a warm, golden light.
He rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed so vast, so alive. “Malio, what’s wrong? Don’t you feel like it?” another child’s voice called.
Harry looked up and saw a small blond boy on a broom flying towards him. The scene shifted before his eyes like a film. He could now see the two children fully, from the perspective of an observer.
The blond boy landed skilfully and now stood facing another boy. “Malio?” he asked softly, his brow furrowed as he tried to see his counterpart’s face.
“Boo!” Malio — a small, dark-haired boy — jumped forward and laughed as the blond boy startled and stepped back.
“Hahaha, Draco, you should have seen your face! That was really funny!” The dark-haired boy burst into laughter, and the blond could not help but laugh as well. The two children mounted their brooms again and chased each other across the meadow, laughing.
Harry could not suppress a smile. So this was how wizarding children grew up — already with brooms, with courage and joy, carefree laughter swirling through the air.
Suddenly, he heard a warning cry. “Draco, watch out — a tree!”

Harry wanted to shout as well, but no sound passed his lips. Seconds later, the blond boy crashed into a tree. Malio was immediately at his side, helping him up and checking whether he was all right. Harry remained frozen, wanting to help, but unable to move.
Draco… the name seemed familiar to him after a moment’s thought, and when Harry looked more closely, he recognised the fine facial features of Draco Lucius Malfoy. But why was he seeing him as a child? And why together with this Malio? Who was that, anyway? He had never heard that name at Hogwarts.
Before Harry could draw any further conclusions, he was abruptly pulled out of the scene, as though an invisible pulley had yanked him back into reality.

END

Harry opened his eyes. The darkness of the room still lay heavy over Hogwarts; it was clearly far too early to rise. Yet the image of the dream burned in his mind.
Why had he dreamed of Draco as a child? And who was this Malio? Harry knew the names of his classmates — at least those his own age — and he had never encountered a Malio.
More important, however, was something else. Was this a trap set by Voldemort? That made no sense. Why would he send him a vision of a childlike Malfoy?
He brooded for a few moments longer, considered possible scenarios, before slowly falling asleep again.
The dream would not let him go.

Chapter Text

All day long, Harry could barely think of anything else. Time and again, the strange dream flashed before his mind's eye.

The images of Draco as a child and the boy named Malio would not leave him. His gaze kept flicking across the Slytherins’ table, just to make sure that the blonde boy he had seen really was Draco.

But the similarities were far too striking to ignore. Every feature of his face, the look in his eyes, his posture—everything reminded Harry of the boy in his dream. He had even tried to catch the Slytherns’ names again in class, but the name Malio had never come up.

Apparently, the other boy didn’t attend Hogwarts, as he hadn’t heard the name in any of the other houses either.

“Harry, were you listening to me?” Hermione suddenly appeared beside him, her expression serious.

Harry jumped. “Oh no… sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“Honestly, Harry! I asked what interesting things you noticed about the Slytherins today. You’ve been staring at them all day like that.”

Harry shook his head and explained hesitantly, “I had a dream and wanted to see if I recognised anyone I saw in it.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just tell me? What’s his name? I’ve been helping Professor McGonagall with the student lists recently, and I know most of the names.”

Harry gave a weak smile.

Typical Hermione. “I don’t know his surname, but he’s called Malio. He should be roughly our age.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, then shook her head. “Malio? Aside from the fact we only have his first name, there’s no one here at Hogwarts by that name. Do you want to tell me exactly what happened in your dream?”

“No, Hermione, it was just a dream. Not important. But Malfoy and this Malio were in it, which is why I wanted to find out who he is.” Harry’s voice sounded pensive, almost a little lost.

Hermione nodded understandingly. “I don’t suppose there’s much you can do. Perhaps it was just a vision from… you know who?”

“Why would he send me something like that, Hermione?” Harry murmured. “It was just Malfoy, and it wasn’t a bad dream. They were simply flying on a broomstick through the air. That’s all. Oh, and thanks for the book. At least now I know how to try to defend myself. Snape wouldn’t explain it to me.”

Hermione smiled faintly; the change of topic was, of course, hardly subtle. “Read it carefully, Harry. You’ll need it.” She looked serious.

“Harry, a word, please.” Professor Dumbledore’s voice pulled Harry from his thoughts. Behind him stood Professor Snape, looking decidedly displeased. Harry swallowed and followed the two professors to the Headmaster’s office.

“So, Harry, my boy…” Dumbledore began kindly, but with a serious undertone. “I’ve spoken with Professor Snape, and it seems you’re not putting in enough effort. Since Professor Snape began teaching you, you’ve shown no progress. Occlumency is extremely important. We don’t want Voldemort exploiting your thoughts or learning of our plans. That could be very dangerous.”

“Yes, Professor, I’m trying, but…” Harry could barely finish before Dumbledore continued.

“I’ve agreed with Professor Snape that we shall increase your training sessions, for your own safety. That means you will practise Occlumency for one hour each evening. You must improve.”

Harry nodded silently. Dumbledore regarded him piercingly. “Now go, Harry. I imagine Hermione is waiting for you downstairs. And do speak to Ron again; I rarely see you two wandering the castle together these days.”

Harry made his way off, daring not to glance at Snape. The faint, hissed “19:00, sharp.” was enough to know that Snape was far from pleased about the extra sessions.

Together with Hermione, he arrived in the common room. There, he sat in a quiet corner, letting the events of the day replay in his mind. His eyes drifted over the book Hermione had given him. It really was time to improve. Every evening. He wouldn’t last long with Snape.

“Legilimens!”

Severus had wasted no time the moment Harry entered the classroom. The spell sparked in the air, cold and sharp, like an invisible blade seeking to penetrate Harry’s thoughts.

This time, Harry wanted to apply what he had learned. He formed a large, invisible wall around his memories, striving to strengthen it, to close every gap, to seal every crack. But hardly had he felt the wall was stable when Snape broke through with a simple spell in mere seconds, and everything shattered like glass.

Snape shook his head disdainfully. “A most feeble attempt, Potter. Do try harder, will you!”

Harry said nothing. Why bother? Snape wouldn’t listen anyway. He rebuilt the wall, this time with even greater care. He felt his thoughts strain, layer upon layer forming. Yet again, it shattered into a thousand pieces the moment Snape directed his wand at him.

The minutes dragged on painfully, each second a test of patience and strength. After precisely one hour, Severus threw Harry out of the classroom. “Enough for today,” he growled, and disappeared into his office.

No further word, no glance back. Only the faint, hissed reminder: “Tomorrow 19:00, sharp.” Having to rearrange his own plans, his supper, because of Potter, irritated him more than enough.

By the time he reached his study, a blonde man was already at the desk, examining the work Severus had left behind.

“Lucius, you’re not meant to be rifling through my papers, and certainly not picking out only Draco’s work,” Severus said, shaking his head, a small smile nonetheless on his lips.

“Severus, I wasn’t deliberately searching for Draco’s work. He shows it to me willingly when I wish to see it,” Lucius replied, slightly startled and a little caught out. He stood and approached Severus.

“I had to give Potter extra tutoring, hence the delay. I hope you waited,” Severus explained, as he planted a gentle kiss on Lucius’ cheek.

Lucius smiled. He knew full well that Severus had not wasted these hours on the Gryffindor boy voluntarily, nor did he mean to annoy him. “We did indeed wait. I’m here so you don’t have to go through the papers first and starve us, like last time.”

As Lucius spoke, they moved together to the fireplace, ready to travel to Malfoy Manor. Three guests were already waiting for dinner there.

No sooner had they left the fireplace than a tall, brown-reddish-haired man stepped before them. “I was just coming to hurry you along.”

“Apologies, Godric. I had to work with Potter on Dumbledore’s orders,” Severus replied, greeting the man politely.

“The old man even ruins my supper. Very well, then, to the dining room; the others are waiting.” Godric turned and led the way, without waiting for a reply.

“Oh, Godric, it’s always lovely when you visit,” Severus said, laughing, though shaking his head as he followed.

In the dining room, as Godric had said, the other two guests awaited: one silver-haired, the other black-haired, quietly conversing.

“Ah, there you are!” the silver-haired man greeted as the door opened.

“Good evening, Salazar, Tom,” Severus welcomed them warmly.

“That was quick, Dad. Did you drag them here by the ears, or did they arrive on time?” Tom teased.

“They made it on time. Don’t be so gleeful, or I’ll straighten your ears, my dear boy. But now, sit down; I’m hungry,” Godric said, settling beside Salazar.

Salazar, Lucius, and Severus merely shook their heads.

Godric was unique, yet hunger won over, and he had no desire to remind the others that they were merely guests.

They sat, and the dinner began.

As they took their seats, Severus allowed his thoughts to drift back to Potter. Occlumency, the wall, the shattered memories. Every hour spent with the boy was a battle of patience, frustration, and responsibility.

Chapter Text

Harry spent a long while reading the Occlumency book, even though his eyes were burning and the letters in front of him blurred.

Time and again, he read the same sentences, as if by repeating them they might eventually imprint themselves in his mind.

The thing with the wall hadn’t worked out the way he had imagined. In theory, it all made sense: organise your thoughts, separate your feelings, build a solid barrier. In practice, however, everything had blended together. His thoughts, his memories, his fear – all mixed into uncontrollable chaos. A wall made more of sand than stone.

Snape would probably have shattered it in seconds. And Snape was certainly no novice in Occlumency.

Harry sighed softly, closed the book, and let it sink beside him on the bed. Perhaps the problem was that he was trying to control everything at once. Maybe he needed to learn to separate his thoughts before he could even think about protecting them.

With that thought, he rolled onto his side, pulled the covers up to his chin, and felt exhaustion finally overtake him.

#Dream#

“Okay, wands up, both of you. And this time, really focus.”

Harry found himself in a sitting room. In front of him stood young Draco and Malio, looking up at the young woman before them with excitement and curiosity.
Harry recognised her almost immediately: Narcissa Malfoy.

He had met her before, but here she was smiling. He hadn’t thought the Malfoys could smile so warmly.

“And now, together, Lumos!” Narcissa said to the two boys.

“Lumos!” the boys shouted in unison. The tips of their wands lit up brightly at the same time.

“Zissa, look!” Draco exclaimed excitedly, holding his wand towards her. “It’s shining so bright.”

Malio grinned widely, his pride almost impossible to miss. Then he tilted his head. “Zissa… can we learn another spell too? One that’s a bit harder?”

“Absolutely!” Draco practically bounced with excitement, looking up pleadingly. “PLEEEEASE!”
Narcissa laughed quietly, a warm, genuine laugh that Harry had to look at twice before he believed it was really hers.

“Alright, we’ll try the levitation charm. But after that, we’ll practise Lumos some more – without words.”
The children nodded eagerly.

Harry watched fascinated as the two boys concentrated. The levitation charm worked surprisingly well for them, almost playfully.

But when Narcissa asked them to practise Lumos silently, their focus quickly faltered. After a few failed attempts, Draco lowered his wand in frustration.

At that moment, the door opened and a blonde man stepped in: Lucius Malfoy.

“Draco, Malio, were you successful?” he asked, genuinely interested.

Harry caught his breath again. That smile was soft, almost proud. He didn’t know Lucius Malfoy like this either.

“Dad, look!” Malio immediately called, raising his wand. “We can do Lumos and the levitation charm.”

He performed both spells, and Draco joined him.

Harry stared at the scene. Dad? Malio had actually called Lucius Malfoy Dad.
It made no sense. The Malfoys had only one child. And Malio had black hair.

Then a thought struck Harry: the Blacks. Black hair. Narcissa was a Black. That made sense.

Lucius praised both boys, then placed their wands high on a shelf. His gaze grew stern. “You never practise alone. Only in the presence of an adult. Understood?”

The children nodded, though it was clear they weren’t entirely happy with this.

Harry barely listened to the rest of the conversation; his thoughts were racing.

A second child? Malfoy has a brother, and this family… they laughed. They seemed warm. None of the coldness he had known from past encounters was present.

His gaze fell on a family photo. Four people. Lucius and another figure stood arm in arm, each holding a child: one blonde, clearly Draco… and then a black-haired child, who must be Malio.

But the second adult – Harry couldn’t make out their face. It was blurred, as if something was preventing him from seeing.

He stepped closer, the world flickered, and the next moment he was back in his bed, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Harry sat at the breakfast table, the warm morning sunlight streaming through the windows of the Great Hall, yet his mind was elsewhere.

He stared at the plate before him, thoughts still circling the dream he had experienced the night before.

Draco, Malio, Lucius, Narcissa… it all seemed too unreal to be true, merely a product of his imagination.

“Hermione…” he began without lifting his gaze. “I… I had that dream again.”
Hermione, sipping her tea, immediately focused fully on him. She knew Harry well enough to realise this was no ordinary dream.

“Tell me.”

Harry sighed, sliding a little closer to her, and began recounting every detail: the meadow, the spell practice, and the strange fact that Malio had called Lucius Malfoy “Dad.”

He didn’t want to carry the burden alone. Hermione could understand better than anyone how important such information could be, especially when it concerned family stories that were secret or incomplete.

“And… I just don’t understand,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Why does Malfoy call his mother by her first name and not ‘Mother’? He was really young. It’s not about pureblood etiquette. If it were, they wouldn’t have called Lucius ‘Dad,’ right?”

Hermione furrowed her brow, thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

“Harry, I don’t think we’ll get any information quickly. Malfoy’s father works at the Ministry. If anyone tried to dig into his family records, he would know immediately.”

Harry just nodded. That was exactly what he had feared. Hermione was right; he had to be careful. Every time Harry made a plan, something went wrong.

“But…” Harry pressed his hands to the table, “he has to appear on some Hogwarts list, right? Even if he’s dead or sent to Durmstrang, there must be a record somewhere, right?”

Hermione nodded again, this time with a slight expression. “Exactly. That’s what I thought too. The Malfoy files should contain the entire family for emergencies, even deceased members. So no one can steal or manipulate their identity. Professor McGonagall explained this to me while we were checking the lists.”

“Hey, Harry! Hermione!”
It was Ron. Harry’s first instinct was to roll his eyes. The red-haired boy, who had made it clear last year that he wanted nothing to do with them, now stood at the table looking almost innocent.

Harry turned to Hermione to avoid getting into a discussion immediately. “What do you want, Ron?” he asked cautiously.

Ron crossed his arms and smiled uncertainly. “I… I thought maybe we could talk again and perhaps do something together, like we used to.”

His voice sounded sincere, but Harry could feel his uncertainty. “I was jealous of you. I thought you deliberately put your name in the Goblet to get attention. Mum told me every day during the holidays how dangerous that tournament was and that you would never have entered willingly. And Dumbledore said someone put your name in so ‘you-know-who’ could try to kill you. So… I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

Harry remained silent. Part of him wanted to believe Ron meant it. But another part remembered all the disappointments and trouble Ron had caused him last year. A quick glance at Hermione confirmed that even she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Listen, Ron… I… I need to think about it, okay? I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Harry sighed and tried to keep his voice calm. “But thanks for at least thinking about it.”

He gently pulled Hermione out of the Hall, ignoring Ron’s reaction.

What they didn’t see: Ron rolled his eyes, annoyed but still friendly. Apparently, he would have to continue dealing with Potter – exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He only hoped Dumbledore would leave him alone soon so he could go back to his own life without Potter.

As they left the table, Harry continued thinking about the dreams involving Malio and Draco. Malio’s nonexistence and the apparent closeness to Malfoy raised questions he had no answers to.

The gaps in the information made him anxious, yet he felt these details, however small, were important.

“Hermione…” he began quietly, “we need to be careful, but maybe we can find a way to learn more.”
Hermione nodded, and a small smile crossed his face. Despite the secrets, despite the uncertainty, he no longer felt so alone.

Together, they would uncover the mysteries.

Chapter Text

Harry slumped on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, knees drawn up, hands buried in his face. The echo of the graveyard, the screaming, the terrible things he had seen—all weighed heavily on him.

The voices of the other students, gradually returning, echoed down the corridors into the dormitory, yet Harry barely noticed them. His heart was racing, his eyes red from crying, and every breath felt heavy.

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice broke through his thoughts. Harry barely lifted his head, unwilling to face anyone or talk about the graveyard, about Cedric, the tournament, or Voldemort’s return. He didn’t want to discuss anything that had happened that evening.

“Man, Harry, with Cedric… that was really… bad luck,” Ron began cautiously, but he didn’t let himself be deterred. “But now it’s over, you can probably tell me how you managed to take part. I mean… how did your name get into the Goblet?”

Harry gasped, his heart pounding. That question again. Misunderstandings, once more.

“Ron… I thought we’d already cleared that up. My name didn’t go into the Goblet voluntarily. It was Moody—or his double, more likely. He wanted me to meet Voldemort at the graveyard, so he could kill me.”

Ron’s brow furrowed, a mix of uncertainty and irritation showing on his face. “Yeah, sure… but you did everything alone? I mean, you managed all the tasks on your own?”

Harry’s eyes widened. The anger that had been building for months now erupted. “I didn’t do anything alone! I always had help! Otherwise, I’d be dead! Do you think I wanted to win? Do you think I wanted Cedric to die and Voldemort to return?” His voice trembled with despair.

Ron planted his hands on his hips, eyes flashing. “You know, I think you just wanted to show everyone again that you’re the great Harry Potter! So no one would forget you! Cedric was supposed to be the chosen one this year, and every school year, you make sure everyone knows about you. Always right in the middle of the adventures, and everyone’s watching. Always it’s Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that. If I hadn’t won the chess tournament in first year, you’d be dead—and who even talks about me?”

Harry stared at him, mouth open. “Are you insane, Ron? Voldemort’s back! And the best you can come up with is that I wanted all this to happen? You want people constantly saying: ‘Oh, there’s Harry Potter. Poor thing, his parents are dead.’ Do you think that’s great, always being reminded?”

His voice pitched higher, the tension of the past days exploding in a heated outburst. Surely the entire tower could hear the argument by now.

Ron pressed his hands to his face and shook his head. “You say he’s back, but where’s the proof? No one but you and Cedric saw him, and Cedric’s dead. You know, Potter… I’m fed up. I’m done chasing after you and only getting scraps of the truth.”

Harry stared at him, speechless. All these years he had trusted Ron, called him his best friend. Now it seemed everything he had believed was broken. Ron had made it clear that he thought it was all a fantasy, that he didn’t take Harry’s experiences seriously, and accused him of seeking fame.

Before Harry could even respond, Ron had already left the room; the door slammed shut behind him.

Slowly, Harry rose and made his way to the common room. The atmosphere had changed. Gryffindors looked at him with suspicion, some even sneered. Everyone seemed to have adopted Ron’s opinion: Harry had made it all up, exaggerated, perhaps even lied.

He didn’t even try to explain himself. Professor McGonagall appeared eventually, as the air in the House of Lions grew heavier. Her expression was stern, but without worry. She had observed the argument long enough, and after students had been complaining daily that Harry had started screaming at night, she decided it was best to give Harry his own room until everyone had calmed down.

Chapter Text

“Harry, do you think Ron means it seriously?” Hermione asked quietly, as they moved out of earshot of the other students. Harry shook his head.

“No, I don’t think so. Last year he made it pretty clear what he thinks of us. I think Dumbledore made that clear to him again. So far we’ve always gone up against… You-Know-Who as a trio. Maybe the Professor thinks we can defeat him better that way.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed, as they walked down the corridor together, heading towards the library. Harry was deep in thought, considering which clues from his dreams might really be important and how best to decipher them.

But as the two Gryffindors made their way, a certain blond boy noticed something that made him prick up his ears.

“Malfoy’s file,” Hermione whispered, barely audible, but Draco’s trained ears picked up every word.

He stopped, turned slightly, and followed the quiet voices as discreetly as he could. Draco Malfoy had learned to be observant; his name rarely came up except in conversations he wasn’t part of. Gryffindors talking about him could never be a good sign.

After a few metres, he cautiously peered around the corner and saw Harry and Hermione settle into a secluded corner of the library. Draco sank behind a tall shelf, out of sight but able to hear everything. He didn’t want to miss a single detail.

“Okay, nobody should hear us here,” Hermione said, sitting down on the floor. She glanced around briefly before continuing.

“If we get the files from the Ministry, Senior Malfoy will notice immediately. So we’re limited to the Hogwarts records. Those should be easier to access. We can’t ask Dumbledore, otherwise we’d have to tell him about your dreams, and I’m not ready for that yet. Until you find out why you’re having these dreams, it’s too risky. Still, it’ll be difficult to get Malfoy’s file.”

Harry nodded, frowning. “Then we’ll have to get Dad’s old Invisibility Cloak and try to get into the office. But won’t Dumbledore notice?”

“We can’t just take the files,” Hermione whispered. “When I helped Professor McGonagall, she explained to me that the files are secured. You can’t view them for more than two minutes without permission, or they close automatically. And even if we get in, who knows if Malfoy’s files are complete? His father works at the Ministry. It would be easy for him to alter information.”

Draco went pale. Why would Potter and Granger want to look at his file? If his father had tampered with the files, they probably wouldn’t notice—and if not… they would find out he wasn’t an only child. No one was allowed to know about Malio, his twin brother.

His heart tightened as he relived memories of his brother. He could now only vaguely remember Malio: the black hair, their shared laughter, the games they played together. But eleven years ago, Malio had been taken. Since then, silence had fallen, and every anniversary reminded the family of the lost child. Draco’s parents often locked themselves in Malio’s old nursery, mourning quietly, bringing small gifts on birthdays to show they had never forgotten him.

Draco knew Malio was alive. If he were dead, they would have received a message from Gringotts, and Draco himself would have felt the pull in his chest—a magical bond connecting siblings. For this reason alone, Potter could never find out that Malio existed. It was Draco’s greatest vulnerability, and he could not afford to reveal it.

A little angry at himself, unsure how to stop Potter and Granger, Draco decided not to involve his parents for now. He wanted to see how far they would go, what plans they pursued, and how they tried to uncover information about his family.

Harry continued whispering: “We have to be careful, Hermione. If we speak too loudly or make a mistake, Malfoy will notice everything. I just want the truth about Malio… why this boy is unknown to anyone.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed with worry. “And even if we could see the files, they could be incomplete. Malfoy’s father might have already manipulated some information. We have to proceed very cautiously.”

Draco buried his hands in his knees as he observed the scene. Potter was so determined, so curious… and yet so reckless. If only he knew the secrets the Malfoys were keeping, he would be more careful.

But Draco would never allow that.
Part of him wished Malio would reappear, that he could see his brother again. But reality was harsh: Malio was gone, and every step had to be considered. Draco had to maintain control, protect his family, and simultaneously figure out what Potter and Hermione were up to.

He continued watching, every sentence, every whisper, every careful move. Draco sensed it was only a matter of time before Potter and Hermione tried to access the Hogwarts records. Then he would have to act, cautiously but decisively.

He could not afford to lose any information—not about Malio, not about his parents, and above all, not about himself.

Harry had endured a full hour of Occlumency with Snape. Every single minute had dragged like chewing gum, each second marked by Snape’s cold gaze, sharp words, and constant intrusion into his mind. When Harry finally returned to the Gryffindor dormitory, his legs felt heavy, as if they had carried him all evening without obeying.

He barely changed, simply collapsed onto his bed, staring at the dark ceiling above him. His eyes burned with exhaustion, yet his mind kept turning. Walls. Thoughts. Concentration. None of it had worked today. Snape had broken through his defences as if they were made of thin glass.

With the thought that he needed to learn to separate his thoughts better, Harry finally drifted into sleep.

Dream

“Malio, Dad said we’re not allowed to go into his office alone.”

Draco’s voice sounded tense, almost a whisper. Harry found himself once more in the familiar scene, as if standing invisibly a few steps behind the two children. The corridor was dark, lit only by occasional torches, their light flickering on the stone walls.

“C’mon, Dray,” Malio hissed impatiently. “Dad’s at Hogwarts, he won’t even notice. And Dad isn’t coming in anyway. Neither are Tom and Sal.”

Malio moved forward determinedly, while Draco followed hesitantly. You could see how reluctant Draco was to be there, yet he wouldn’t leave his brother alone.

At a heavy door, Malio stopped, drew his wand from under his shirt, and murmured softly, “Alohomora.”

The door opened with a barely audible click.

“You brought your wand?” Draco asked quietly, his nervousness clear.
“Of course,” Malio replied without hesitation. “How else are we supposed to get into the lab?”

They crept inside carefully. Harry looked around and saw a room full of empty cauldrons, shelves with ingredients, and neatly stacked books. Everything seemed clean, controlled—a place clearly not meant for children.

Malio headed purposefully to a shelf, as if he knew exactly what he was looking for. Without searching long, he grabbed a small vial and held it up triumphantly. Inside were dark, bristly hairs.

“I told you Dad still had some,” Malio said, grinning satisfied.

Draco swallowed. “But he said Acromantula hairs aren’t safe,” he whispered. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“C’mon, Draco,” Malio said impatiently. “I read the book from Sal. So yes, I know what I’m doing.”

He stepped onto a small stool in front of a cauldron, just tall enough to see inside. The cauldron began to bubble lightly, shimmering a sickly green.

Harry was about to look further around the room when a strange feeling seized him. It was as if something grabbed him and pulled him back—a whirl of mist and pressure—only to place him back in the same spot. But now, something had changed.

Malio stood directly before the bubbling green cauldron, holding the vial aloft. Just as he was about to add the Acromantula hairs, the door burst open with a loud bang. An angry black-haired young man stood in the doorway.

In that moment, everything happened at once.

Malio was so startled that the vial slipped from his hand and fell directly into the cauldron. Draco stumbled backward, colliding with a shelf that toppled with a crash, scattering books across the floor. Malio lost his balance, fell from the stool, taking the cauldron with him. A deafening bang followed. Black smoke filled the room, stung Harry’s eyes, and blinded him. He could barely see, yet heard voices shouting frantically, in chaos, loudly:

“DAD, QUICK, MAKE THE POTION DISAPPEAR!”
“PA, LOOK AFTER MALIO!”
“I’LL GET DRACO!”
“LUCIUS, GET YOUR MAN OUT OF SCHOOL!”

Harry didn’t know whose voice it was, yet it sounded calm despite the chaos, oddly comforting.

Slowly, the smoke cleared. Harry could now see several people tending to the two children. Draco sat dazed on the floor, with nothing more than a scratch on his face. Malio, however, lay motionless, his body covered in large, red welts.

The door opened again and a man stepped in. He checked Draco briefly before kneeling beside Malio. Harry desperately tried to make out the man’s face, but it remained blurred, as if the dream deliberately withheld it.

That tug again. That whirl again.

Harry found himself in a nursery. Draco stood next to a bed, looking at his brother with wide, frightened eyes.

“Will he be okay?” Draco asked quietly.
“Of course, Draco,” said Lucius Malfoy calmly, also in the room. “He will only keep a scar. No lasting damage.”

Lucius sighed, looking seriously at his son. “But your Dad and I are really disappointed in you. You should never have gone into the lab. Dad, Sal, and Tom have told you often enough how dangerous it is for you.”

Dream End

What Draco replied, Harry never heard. The whirl swept him away again, hurling him back into darkness—and he woke in his bed. His heart raced, his mind filled with questions. More than ever.

Chapter Text

Harry had, of course, told Hermione everything about his dream. He had not left out a single detail — every scene, every word, every observation. Together, they had decided that while they would speak to Ron again, they would not tell him anything about the dreams for now. Their trust was still too fragile, too newly repaired, to share something so personal and dangerous.
“So,” Hermione began quietly as they walked side by side through the corridors towards the Great Hall, “Malfoy has two fathers and a brother. That completely changes my entire view of his family.” She frowned thoughtfully. “And it raises an incredible number of questions.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “It explains a lot. Why the family was so different from the way Malfoy presents himself at Hogwarts. Why there was so much… warmth.” He sighed softly. “But it still doesn’t explain why I’m dreaming about it. It has nothing to do with Voldemort. And really, nothing to do with me. So why am I seeing all of this?”

Hermione did not answer straight away. She opened the large doors to the hall, and the moment the buzz of voices, the clatter of cutlery and the smell of breakfast washed over them, both of them fell silent automatically. This was not a subject for unfamiliar ears.

They sat down at the Gryffindor table, where Ron was already sitting, just stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.

“Hey, Ron,” Harry said, taking a seat beside him.
Ron looked up in surprise, swallowed quickly, and then smiled. “Hey, Harry. Hey, Hermione.”
“Thanks,” Ron said a little awkwardly, “for giving me a second chance.”

Harry and Hermione merely nodded. Words were not necessary right now. Slowly, the conversation began to relax — cautiously at first, then a little more naturally. They talked about lessons, about trivial things, about matters that almost felt normal again — like before.
From the staff table, Albus Dumbledore watched the scene with twinkling eyes. Finally. Finally, the three of them were sitting together again. Without Ron, the flow of information around Harry Potter had dried up. No conversations, no casual remarks, no hints about dreams, visions or strange occurrences. But now… now he would hear again what was happening around Potter.

While the former Golden Trio were having breakfast, a blond Slytherin had very different worries.
Draco Malfoy had overheard the words by chance. Only fragments, only a few sentences, but it had been enough. Two fathers. A brother. His heart sank into his stomach. Without hesitation, he turned around and hurried down the corridor — away from the Great Hall, away from breakfast, straight to the place where he felt safe.

Without knocking, he burst into his Head of House’s office.

“Draco,” Severus Snape began in confusion, “what are you doing here? And why aren’t you at breakfast? And why are you not knocking before entering my office?”
“Dad,” Draco said hurriedly, still out of breath, “I overheard Potter and Granger. I don’t know how they know, but they know about Malio. And about the Malfoy secret.”

Severus froze. All colour drained from his face in an instant. “What?”

Draco swallowed. “I already heard them yesterday. They were trying to figure out how to get hold of my Hogwarts file. And this morning… on the way to the Great Hall… they knew. That I have two fathers. And a brother.” His voice trembled slightly. “But Potter doesn’t know if it’s true. And he doesn’t know why he’s dreaming about it.”

Severus closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath. “You should have come to me yesterday, Draco,” he murmured. “Then I could have already looked into Potter’s mind to see where he got this information from.” He opened his eyes again, his gaze now sharp and tense. “Now we have to wait two days until I am officially scheduled to practise Occlumency with him again.”

He turned away and paced the room. That Potter knew Malio existed was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. But even worse would be if he knew that Severus Tobias Snape was Draco Malfoy’s father. That he was married to Lucius. That this family existed.

Dumbledore must never find out.

Otherwise, everything would be lost.

The pain of losing Malio still ran deep, even after eleven years. There was still that emptiness, that tear that had never truly healed. Severus knew that Dumbledore was responsible — even if the old man had never known whose family he had attacked. He had always paid attention only to magical signatures, never to the people behind them.

Severus clenched his hands briefly. He would not allow his family to suffer again.

He went back to Draco, knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, little dragon,” he said quietly but firmly. “You don’t need to worry.”
Draco smiled weakly. He loved it when his parents used his nickname. It calmed him. He nodded, said goodbye, and finally made his way back to the Great Hall — after all, he still wanted to get something to eat.
The rest, he knew, his parents would handle.

Naturally, Ron, Harry and Hermione were asked what they had been up to lately.

But they had already agreed on what they would tell Ron — and what was better left unmentioned, especially the dreams about the Malfoy family. Things like that could not simply be brought up casually without immediately arousing suspicion.

For Ron, however, it was not particularly pleasant to hear that Harry had not experienced anything truly exciting recently. To him, it meant only one thing: that he would probably have to continue sharing his precious time with Potter and Granger for a while longer, even though it did not particularly suit him.
“Say, Harry, have you heard anything about You-Know-Who since the graveyard?” Ron asked.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a brief look, almost as if in silent agreement.

“No, not really. Not since this school year started. I actually thought I’d get visions of him, but nothing. Sometimes I dream about Cedric, but apart from that, Voldemort has been quiet,” Harry replied thoughtfully.
Now that he thought about it, it felt strange not to hear anything from Voldemort anymore. The dreams about the Malfoys had occupied his attention so much that he had not even considered why he was no longer experiencing dark visions. A strange feeling crept over him, one he could not quite place.

“Ron, have you finished your homework for Snape?” Hermione interrupted, and Harry felt a great sense of relief as the focus shifted. Talking about Voldemort right now would only have unsettled him further.
Of course, Ron had not even started the homework, which earned him only a quiet sigh from Hermione. Without another word, she grabbed both boys and marched them straight to the library, as determined as ever.

“Honestly, Hermione, I would definitely have forgotten about the homework if you hadn’t reminded me,” Ron muttered, unsure whether he should be grateful that the bossy witch had pointed out their obligations.
“Well, well — look who it is, the Golden Trio reunited,” Draco sneered when he spotted the three of them at a table in the library. As always, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson stood beside him. Crabbe and Goyle had been given the cold shoulder by the blond prince back in third year, after he had realised that the two of them were about as hollow as bread.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry replied flatly, giving the blond no further attention. But that did not sit well with Draco at all. A provocative glint flashed in his eyes — he wanted to push Potter and his entourage again, until they landed themselves in trouble.

“What is it, Weasley? Couldn’t cope without your swotty little friend? Or has your family run out of money and you need Potter as your sponsor again?”
Ron’s temper boiled over. Red-faced, he jumped to his feet and pulled out his wand. “Shut up, Malfoy! Or you’ll regret it!”

Draco laughed mockingly. “Well, well — a Weasley with not only red hair, but a red face to match. With a glow like that, you could probably light Potter’s way through the forest.”

What Draco said made little sense, but Ron did not care. He was not listening anyway, and now Harry and Hermione stood up as well, positioning themselves behind Ron like a protective wall.

“Densaugeo!” Ron shouted angrily. But before the spell could hit Draco, Snape suddenly appeared behind him. With a mere flick of his hand, the professor effortlessly deflected the curse.

“My office. Immediately. All three of you,” Snape said in an icy voice, glaring sternly at the Gryffindors.
Harry, Ron and Hermione hastily packed up their things and followed the professor at a brisk pace. They walked through the corridors in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry felt his heart beating faster — but this time not out of fear, rather from nervous tension over what Snape was about to say.

Draco, meanwhile, watched them go with a triumphant smile. Perhaps detention would help them find out where Potter had obtained information about the Malfoy family after all. A small, victorious thought crossed his mind as he noticed Blaise and Pansy looking at him in confusion.

The walk to detention felt longer than usual to Harry. Every step echoed through the silent corridors of Hogwarts, and although they would probably complete the punishment quickly, he sensed an underlying tension in the air. Hermione walked close beside him and gave him a reassuring look, while Ron trailed slightly behind, his head still faintly red from the encounter with Malfoy.

“Maybe we should prepare ourselves better,” Hermione murmured quietly as they climbed the stairs.
Harry merely nodded — but inwardly, his thoughts were still with the strange dreams about the Malfoys and Voldemort’s unusual silence. Everything seemed to be shifting in a strange way, and although he tried to focus on the detention ahead, he could not shake the gnawing feeling that something was coming — something that would affect them all.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Hermione now stood in Professor Snape’s office, where he regarded them with a piercing, furious stare.

“Perhaps you would care to explain what that little performance in the library was about,” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice, sharp as a blade cutting through the air.

“Sir, strictly speaking we—” Hermione began, but Snape’s increasingly severe look made her fall silent at once. The words caught in her throat as his gaze fixed on her.

“Miss Granger, as punishment you will assist Mister Filch this evening with cleaning the Trophy Room. Mister Weasley, by order of the Headmaster, you will complete your detention with him as well. And as for you, Mister Potter: you will report to my laboratory at six o’clock this evening. Do not be late.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he could protest, Ron beat him to it.
“You can’t do that! That’s not fair!” he burst out, his voice cracking with outrage.

“Isn’t it?” Snape replied softly, though Harry felt as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. The professor stepped out from behind his desk, his eyes locked firmly on Ron.

“Very well, Mister Weasley. In that case, I shall deduct a further ten house points from each of you for unauthorised spell-casting in the library. And now get out of my sight before it becomes fifty—for attacking a fellow student.”

Ron’s face burned as red as his hair, but he restrained himself at last and hurried out of the office together with Harry and Hermione.

No sooner had they entered the Gryffindor common room than Ron found his voice again.
“This is so unfair!” he swore loudly, dropping down in front of the fireplace, his shoulders slumped like a soaked cloak. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It’s Malfoy’s fault! He provoked me—why didn’t he get detention?”

“Well, strictly speaking,” Hermione began, sitting down beside him, “Malfoy has always done this. He insults other people’s families to provoke a reaction. Because he’s a pure-blood, he doesn’t receive point deductions or detentions. He’s taught from an early age, and the school isn’t allowed to punish students for how they were raised.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Hermione had explained the same thing to him once before, when he had asked exactly that question. Ron seemed about to argue further, but stopped, realising it would lead nowhere.
“Blimey, Harry, you’ll probably have to scrub cauldrons,” Ron said at last, trying to steer the conversation in a less heated direction.

“No, I think he’ll torture me with Occlumency again. That’s far more entertaining for him than making me scrub things,” Harry replied, and just thinking about it made his forehead ache.

“You still haven’t made any progress? I brought you that book so you could at least shield some of your thoughts,” Hermione said, her tone lightly reproachful but caring.

“I’ve already read it, ’Mione, but I just can’t manage it. If anything, it feels like my head’s about to explode whenever I try,” Harry sighed, sinking into an armchair.
“I’ll check the library again,” she said firmly, getting to her feet. “There has to be something that can help you.”

“So what exactly do you do in those sessions?” Ron asked curiously, sitting down beside Harry.
“Snape’s supposed to teach me Occlumency—every evening. He forces his way into my mind, and I’m meant to push him back out. So far it hasn’t worked. I really hope ’Mione finds a decent book, or I won’t last much longer,” Harry explained. Ron nodded in understanding.

To pass the time before their detentions, Ron and Harry sat down at one of the tables and played a few rounds of wizard chess, like old times. Harry lost every match, as usual, but a faint smile crossed his face. It was a brief moment of normality before the evening with Snape began.

Shortly before six o’clock, Harry made his way to Snape’s laboratory. Each step echoed through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, and although he tried to focus, his thoughts raced. What would Snape try tonight? Would he finally make progress—or would it be as grinding as ever, leaving him with nothing but another headache?

Harry took a deep breath, straightened his robes, and entered the laboratory with determined steps, ready to face whatever the infamous Professor Snape had prepared for him.

Ron, meanwhile, had set off straight for Professor Dumbledore’s office once Harry had left. After all, the Headmaster always liked to be kept informed when it came to Potter—and Ron had even managed to earn him a detention, ensuring he wouldn’t be bored.
He was just about to knock when the door opened and Snape swept past him, cloak billowing.

“Come in, Mister Weasley,” Ron heard Dumbledore say, and he immediately entered the Headmaster’s office.
“Good evening, Professor,” Ron said, taking the offered chair.

“Well, Ron, first of all, congratulations on managing to get Potter into detention so swiftly. I didn’t expect you to succeed quite so easily, but all the better. The boy needs to spend more time with Professor Snape,” Dumbledore said in a grandfatherly tone.

Ron nodded. Dumbledore had explained that Potter needed to spend a great deal of time with Snape this year—to strengthen something. “Professor, why does Harry need to spend so much time with Professor Snape?”

Dumbledore looked at his young accomplice seriously. “To Harry, Professor Snape represents one of the Death Eaters he so deeply despises. By having him practise Occlumency with Potter every evening, I gain insight into Harry’s mental state—and into any dreams he may no longer be sharing with us. At the same time, it reinforces the boy’s hatred of Voldemort and places the blame squarely on him. In the end, that ensures Potter will fight Voldemort—for us.”

Ron nodded. He didn’t fully understand it, but it wasn’t his role to question his mentor’s plans. His task was to regain Potter’s trust as quickly as possible, so Dumbledore could move on to phase two of his plans for the school year.

Even before Ron’s first year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had tasked him with befriending Potter, and Ron had been immensely proud to be given such a responsibility.

To maintain the appearance that Ron was serving detention with Dumbledore, the Headmaster handed him a book on Confundus Charms. Ron was to read it—he would surely find it useful one day.

Meanwhile, Harry had arrived punctually outside Snape’s classroom, waiting for the professor to appear. Snape, however, was late.

“Come along, Potter. The Headmaster objects to me having you scrub cauldrons with a toothbrush. He would prefer you spend your detention on Occlumency instead,” Snape sneered as he swept past Harry and headed for the classroom.

Harry stared. Snape really had intended to make him clean cauldrons—and only because of Dumbledore was he now being subjected to Occlumency once again.

There was no time to complain or pull a face. The moment Harry closed the door, Snape’s Legilimens struck him without warning, sending him stumbling backwards as his concentration shattered.

Severus had done it deliberately, giving the boy no chance to build even the smallest mental wall. He had noticed Potter trying to hide something—and this time, he intended to find out what it was.

Panic seized Harry when he couldn’t force Snape out of his mind. Slowly, Snape pushed deeper, into the dreams of the past few nights. Harry fought with everything he had, but it was too late.

Severus saw the dreams—saw the childhood of two people he knew all too well—and he was stunned.
Where had Potter got these dreams from?

He withdrew from Harry’s mind and looked at the boy with a mixture of grief, anger and confusion. He was just about to raise his wand to dismiss Potter from the room when Harry raised his own wand as well and cried,

“Legilimens.”

Chapter Text

Severus reacted in a flash and forcibly threw the student out of his mind.
“What do you think you’re doing, Potter? Fifty points from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight before I curse you.”
Harry didn’t hesitate. He bolted from the room as fast as his legs would carry him. Snape had expelled him from his thoughts, yet a tiny, fleeting image lingered behind. It had struck his mind like a sudden flash of lightning, refusing to fade. A restless mix of unease and curiosity set his heart racing.
Thoughts of Severus Snape
Harry had been startled when he slipped into Snape’s mind. He had assumed Snape would guard his thoughts carefully, as any true master of Occlumency should. But what Harry saw drained the colour from his face and stole his breath for a brief moment.
Severus Snape was seated in a tastefully furnished dining room, an almost unfamiliar gentleness softening his features. Beside him sat Lucius Malfoy, who looked equally relaxed. Both men had a child sitting on their laps as they ate cake together. Harry recognised the children instantly: Draco and Malio.
His gaze darted between Snape and Malio, disbelief flooding him. Not only did Snape appear far more composed and well-kept than he ever did at school, but Malio bore a striking resemblance to him—especially when Harry compared father and son side by side. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of the image. It was nothing like what he had believed about Snape until now.
Before Harry could see anything more, Snape abruptly expelled the Gryffindor from his mind.
End of Severus Snape’s thoughts
Before Snape could carry out his threat of hexing him into the next century, Harry sprinted down the stairs and out of the room. Snape’s furious voice echoed after him,
“Another hundred points from Gryffindor!”
Harry reached the upper corridors just as he spotted Hermione leaving the Trophy Room.
“Hermione, wait!” he called, hurrying towards her, his eyes wide with shock and excitement. He had to tell her immediately what had just happened.
“You mean Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy are the parents of that Malio Malfoy?” Hermione asked, stunned, her voice so quiet Harry could barely hear it.
Harry nodded faintly. He was just as shaken. Not only did Malfoy apparently have a second father, but Snape—of all people—had children. Everything Harry had ever believed about Snape, especially the idea that he despised children, now seemed questionable. A strange mix of curiosity and unease settled in his chest.
“Harry, maybe you’re seeing Snape’s dreams because he’s been rummaging through your mind for weeks,” Hermione suggested softly, her brow furrowed.
Harry nodded, his thoughts spinning.
“Harry! Hermione!” Ron suddenly called, appearing from a corner of the corridor before Harry could reply.
“Blimey, Harry, what happened in Snape’s office? He stormed into Dumbledore’s study absolutely furious and demanded that your Occlumency lessons be stopped immediately—and he said he took a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor!” Ron blurted out, eyes wide.
Harry swallowed. A hundred and fifty points—that was enormous. The thought alone made him pause.
“I fired the spell back at Snape,” Harry admitted quietly, barely above a whisper.
“And?” Ron asked eagerly. “Did you see anything?”
Harry shook his head. “No. He threw me out straight away.” Something inside him hesitated, warning him not to tell Ron everything—not yet.
Ron nodded slowly. “Shame. You might’ve seen whether Snape’s really a Death Eater.” There was a note of hope in his voice. Although Dumbledore trusted the Potions Master, he had never revealed everything, and Ron had harboured a cautious distrust of Snape for five years now.
The three Gryffindors made their way back to the common room, their heads full of questions. The lingering impressions of Snape’s thoughts still echoed in Harry’s mind. The corridors were silent, broken only by the soft sound of their footsteps. Harry wondered how much Snape truly knew—and how much of him remained hidden.

Chapter Text

After leaving the Headmaster’s office, Severus made his way to his own quarters as quickly as possible. His heart was still racing, and the images he had seen in Harry Potter’s mind replayed over and over again before his inner eye. He could not shake them — those strange, fleeting memories that had felt disturbingly real, as though Potter had lived them himself.

He saw his two sons, Malio and Draco, laughing as they flew on their tiny brooms. The sun shone brightly, their carefree laughter echoing through Severus’s thoughts. For a brief moment, it had almost felt as though Harry had been part of that memory himself. But that was impossible. Completely impossible.
Still lost in thought, Severus stepped through the fireplace and landed in the sitting room of his manor. Ash swirled around him, but he paid it no attention. All that mattered was the image from Potter’s mind — and the question of how the boy could possibly possess such memories.

Without sparing a thought for his dishevelled appearance or the ash he left behind, he moved through the manor.

With a forceful motion, he threw open the door to the salon — and came to an abrupt halt. He had walked straight into a gathering of lower-ranking Death Eaters. Black robes and masked faces filled the room, giving him pause for only a heartbeat. It was already too late. He had been seen.

The Dark Lord himself, cloaked in his serpentine illusion, rose and hissed an order for the Death Eaters to leave. Naturally, he placed a silencing charm upon them, ensuring that none would speak of the Hogwarts professor’s sudden appearance.

Lucius immediately crossed the room to Severus. The moment Severus had entered the salon, Lucius had gone pale, as though he had witnessed something dreadful.

“Severus, what is wrong?” Tom asked as he dismissed his illusion, fixing Severus with a serious gaze. “There must be a reason you are storming through your own manor like this.”

“Potter… Malio… thoughts… Draco…” Severus muttered, his voice strained and breathless.
Lucius gently guided him to one of the large, dark chairs and helped him sit down. The moment Severus spoke Malio’s name, Lucius sat beside him and took his hand.

“Slowly,” Lucius urged. “What about Potter? What about Malio? And what do you mean by thoughts — or Draco?”

Tom frowned. The fragments made little sense to him.
Severus conjured a Pensieve onto the table and pressed his wand to his temple. With careful precision, he drew out the memories of the past hour and placed them inside. Then he tapped the surface again, allowing the images to rise into the air like a shimmering projection.

Silence filled the room for several minutes. No one dared to speak as the images of Harry’s discovery regarding Malio and Draco hovered before them. At last, Tom broke the silence.

“As much as I regret saying this, no one except Draco and Malio could possess this memory. Which leaves the question — where did Potter get it from?”

“And not only that,” Narcissa added quietly. “It can only be Malio’s memory. Think of the beginning — he saw Draco, not the other way around.”

Severus nodded. He had thought the same, yet he could find no logical explanation for how Potter had gained access to such a memory.

“How do we find out where Potter got it?” Lucius asked softly, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

“He dreamed it,” Severus replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. “I saw that Potter had already gone to bed. These were his dreams. Draco also told me yesterday that Potter has been trying to learn more about the Malfoy family. I believe that is the reason. No one outside our circle knows about Malio. Potter knew Draco had a brother and likely wanted to find out what happened to him — curious and foolish as he is. But he has not told Dumbledore, otherwise the Headmaster would have questioned me long ago about what I see in Potter’s mind.”

“We all know how Malio disappeared,” Tom said after a long pause. “And we know Dumbledore is aware of it. But do you think… do you think Malio could be at Hogwarts after all? Where Dumbledore can see him — and keep him under control?”

By now, it was likely early morning. Severus was fortunate it was Saturday and he did not have to teach. But which student could possibly be their lost son?
“Ancestry Potion,” Salazar said suddenly.

He and Godric had arrived at Malfoy Manor two hours earlier, after Tom failed to appear at the Slytherin Manor as planned. When they entered the estate, they found four adults sitting in silence within the vast, cold salon, the same chain of memories looping endlessly through the air.

Severus looked at Salazar. The Ancestry Potion was an idea — but he could not force students to show him their results. And he knew full well that at least half of them would ruin the potion entirely.

“I dislike saying it,” Godric added thoughtfully, “but I believe the first successful potion will come from none other than Harry Potter. The memories came from him. We should start there. Give him detention for some reason, and do not allow him to leave until the potion is completed. But make sure Potter never sees the result.”

The others stared at him in shock.
Was he truly suggesting that Harry Potter might be Malio Snape Malfoy?

Chapter Text

Severus was far from comfortable with the plan the two Founders had devised. Every instinct in him rebelled against it, yet no better solution came to mind. Reluctantly, he gave in and sent an owl to Minerva, asking her to send Harry Potter to him for detention after lunch on Sunday.

Minerva knew perfectly well that Harry would not be pleased about this detention, but she agreed with Severus nonetheless. Harry had attacked a teacher, and consequences were unavoidable. She sighed quietly, thinking of how stubborn the boy could be, and set off to find him.

She spotted Harry in the Great Hall, sitting at the table and talking animatedly with Hermione and Ron. Minerva paused for a moment, mildly surprised to see Ron with them at all. After all, the two boys had been at odds since the end of the previous school year. Still, it was none of her concern. She stepped forward, her posture strict, though her voice carried a trace of care.
“Mr Potter, Professor Snape expects you in his laboratory after lunch for detention regarding Friday evening,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but a gentle nudge from Hermione stopped him. With a small nod, he accepted his fate. He had finished eating long ago and had only been waiting for Ron anyway. With mixed feelings, he got up and headed towards the dungeons, where the Slytherin common room was located and where Snape had both his office and his laboratory.

Harry suspected Snape practically lived down there.
He hesitated outside the classroom door and was just about to knock when a sharp “Enter!” echoed from inside. Harry stepped in and found himself in the Potions classroom. Snape was already there, arms folded, irritation written clearly across his face.

“Follow me, Potter,” Severus hissed, opening a door Harry had never noticed before. Harry obeyed without question. When they entered the room beyond, he stared in astonishment. It looked like another classroom—one filled with cauldrons, some empty, others bubbling, steaming, and hissing ominously.
“Since you clearly do not intend to take my Occlumency lessons seriously,” Snape began coldly, “I have prepared a more… suitable task for you. You will brew a perfect potion and remain here for as long as it takes. The recipe is on the board. Begin.”

Harry said nothing. He copied the recipe carefully and started gathering the ingredients. Snape moved calmly among the cauldrons, adding components, decanting potions, or beginning new brews. They worked side by side in complete silence.

When Harry reached the final steps of the potion, he was surprised. He had expected to be trapped there for days—his potions had never gone smoothly before. Yet this one looked flawless. All that remained was to let it settle for an hour.
Once Snape moved to another cauldron, Harry spoke carefully.

“Professor… I’m finished. It only needs time to settle.”
Snape raised an eyebrow and inspected the cauldron. “Then make yourself useful and clean the phials at the back. No magic.”
Harry nodded. He had expected nothing else. Still, the fact that Snape found no fault with the potion made him breathe a little easier. Either he had truly done everything right—or Snape was simply waiting to criticise it later.

The hour passed painfully slowly. Harry watched every movement Snape made, trying to memorise each precise gesture. Eventually, Snape called him back.
“Decant the potion into a phial. Then take a piece of parchment, drink the potion, and place three drops of blood onto the parchment.”

Harry complied, his hands trembling slightly. Snape might despise him, but he wouldn’t kill him… probably. He followed the instructions carefully. Snape took the parchment, examined it briefly, then set it aside on his desk.

“For once, you have done something correctly, Potter,” Snape said at last, his voice still sharp, though touched with reluctant approval. “Had the potion failed and the blood not vanished, we would have had a problem. You may go.”

Relief washed over Harry. Three hours in the dungeons had taken their toll, but he was finally free to return to Ron and Hermione. As he left, his legs felt heavy—but his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time. For once, he had done something right.

Chapter Text

After Harry had hastily left the room, Severus remained behind for a moment, alone. His thoughts were in turmoil. With an almost mechanical motion, he picked up the parchment without looking at it, slipped it into his cloak pocket, and left the laboratory. His footsteps echoed softly across the stone floor of the corridors as he made his way to his office, where the others were already waiting.

“There you are already,” Godric greeted him, surprised. “I thought the boy would need hours just to manage a single potion, and that we wouldn’t see you until much later.”

Severus gave a brief nod and carefully placed the parchment on the table. “He brewed the potion perfectly on the first attempt,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with disbelief. “In the past four years, he hasn’t managed to brew even a remotely correct potion. Don’t ask me why.”

Salazar frowned and turned the parchment over in his hand. “Don’t get your hopes up too much, Severus, Lucius. It was merely a thought, nothing more. He could simply be a Potter child. Nothing is certain, and he could be elsewhere. Please don’t be too disappointed if he isn’t the one.”

For a moment, a suffocating silence spread through the room. It was as if everyone’s thoughts had frozen—until Lucius’ quiet sob broke the stillness. The usually proud man stood trembling, tears streaming down his face as he clutched Severus’ cloak, as though holding on to keep himself from falling apart. It was obvious that he would not be letting go of him anytime soon.
“He was here the whole time,” Narcissa whispered, her voice barely audible as tears ran down her own cheeks. She tried to maintain her composure, but her emotions were stronger than reason.

Severus gently stroked Lucius’ back, trying to remain strong while offering him support, even as his own mind spun with thoughts, memories, and endless possibilities.

“So it is him after all,” Salazar finally murmured, his voice little more than a muted echo.
“Dumbledore has had him with him all this time. He was right under our noses, and none of us noticed.”

He carefully took the parchment, studying it as though it held the key to a long-lost world, reading the information written upon it:

Tested person: Harry Potter
Name of the person: Malio Severus (Snape) Malfoy
Date of birth: 5 June 1980
Status: Alive (concealed by a powerful illusion)
Parents: Severus Tobias Snape and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy
Status of parents: Alive
Sibling: Draco Lucius (Snape) Malfoy
Being: 50% demon, 30% Veela, 20% undetermined (to be completed through bonding with a partner)

The information struck the silence of the room like a thunderclap. After all these years of searching and doubt, they had finally found their little Malio. The realisation was both overwhelming and deeply relieving.

Lucius’ shoulders still shook as he struggled to suppress his tears. Narcissa gently placed a hand on his arm, while Severus continued to support him—a silent anchor in the midst of the emotional storm. Even Salazar and Godric held their breath, each lost in thought as the magnitude of the moment slowly sank in.

“We had him right under our noses all these years,” Severus said quietly, more to himself than to the others. “And no one noticed… no one.”
“And now?” Lucius finally asked, his voice still fragile with emotion. “What do we do now?”

Severus looked up, his brow slightly furrowed as he regarded the parchment. “First, we must ensure that he is protected. And that Dumbledore has no further opportunity to monitor him without our consent.”
“Severus, I…” Lucius’ voice broke again, and he turned his head away to hide his tears. “We had him before our eyes the entire time. Our son… and we didn’t know. Who knows what he’s been through—things we don’t even know about yet.”

“We know now,” Severus said calmly. “And we will not allow anything to happen to him again.”
For a brief moment, an almost tangible silence settled over the room. Everyone felt the weight of the moment—the burden of the past years, the uncertainty and fear that now slowly gave way to a hint of relief.
“We’ve finally found him,” Narcissa whispered, her voice filled with quiet hope as she looked at the parchment. “Our little Malio… he’s alive, and we have him.”

Severus nodded, his gaze fixed firmly on the page. After years of secrets, hiding, and countless worries, they finally had certainty. And although the path ahead would still be filled with challenges, this was the first moment in which hope truly began to take root in the hearts of the Malfoy family.

At last, after all these years, they had found their little Malio—and nothing could tarnish this moment.

Chapter Text

Lucius had spent the night with Severus at Hogwarts, while the others had taken their leave, giving the couple space. For now, they had decided not to tell Draco anything; he would not yet be able to understand the situation. Nor did they intend to tell Harry—Malio—anything. They had no idea how to explain the truth convincingly without him thinking they were lying. The weight of secrets pressed heavily on everyone involved, and the uncertainty of what their next steps should be lay like a silent shadow over Severus and Lucius.

The following morning in the Great Hall, Severus hoped for at least a small sense of relief, though he did not yet know whether it would work in their favour or against them. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting patterns across the polished wooden floor. Severus sat quietly at his place, barely eating, mechanically pushing his fork through his breakfast while his restless gaze shifted between Draco and Harry. He was grateful they had finally found Malio, yet at the same time a deep sorrow settled in his chest—for all the years their son had been forced to live without them, and for everything they had missed.

Lucius had already returned to Malfoy Manor, retreating into Malio’s old room as his thoughts circled endlessly around his sons. Five years earlier, Draco had written to them, deeply disappointed, explaining that he had tried to offer Harry his friendship—only to be rejected outright. Until yesterday, Lucius had never truly understood how much that rejection had hurt his son.
Now, the discovery they had made filled in that missing piece. And although the enchantment prevented Draco from consciously sensing Malio, the Veela magic within him had long since recognised the truth.

Severus’ thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud bang echoing through the Great Hall. Hovering above the Gryffindor table was the Sorting Hat, immediately drawing the attention of every student and teacher. Normally, the hat was only used during the Sorting Ceremony and otherwise remained forgotten and silent in Dumbledore’s office. Now, however, it began to speak, its voice reverberating through the vast hall.

“It has been a long time since my services were required twice within a single school year,” the hat began, enunciating its words carefully. “But even longer since I was tasked with re-sorting a student. Fifteen hundred years ago, there was a boy whose courage and actions earned him a place in Gryffindor. Today, it will be different. My task is to look into your mind—at every moment, every second, every hour. And though I believed it unnecessary, I must now withdraw the decision I made five years ago and choose again. This decision is final. My word is the will of Hogwarts. And therefore, Harry James Potter, from this moment on, you shall belong to the House of Slytherin. And perhaps, this will change the world.”

With another sharp bang, the hat vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. A collective murmur rippled through the hall as all eyes turned towards the young former Gryffindor, now sitting in green Slytherin robes. The silence that followed was almost tangible.

Dumbledore slowly rose from his seat. “Harry, would you please join the Slytherin table and come to my office after classes?” His voice was calm, yet the hall had never been so quiet. Hermine gave Harry an encouraging nod, and even Ron signalled his agreement—though Harry himself did not look particularly pleased.

Under the weight of a thousand stares, Harry stood and made his way towards the Slytherins. He sat down among his new classmates in fifth year, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. His gaze drifted to Draco, who was watching him calmly. Harry could not help but wonder how he was supposed to make his way back to Gryffindor. There was no way he intended to remain in the house of his enemy any longer than absolutely necessary.

Right in front of him, Draco was holding a piece of parchment. “Potter, after breakfast we’re going to Professor Snape’s office,” he said in a remarkably composed voice. “As Slytherin prefect, it’s my responsibility to make sure you receive your new books, and your room will be arranged. We’re excused from classes today, and your meeting with Dumbledore has been postponed until tomorrow afternoon.”

Harry nodded, surprised by Draco’s calm, almost authoritative manner—so different from the mockery and provocation he was used to. He watched the other Slytherins, who were quietly talking about him among themselves. Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy’s closest friends, summed it up in a low voice. “Alright… that was intense.” The others nodded in agreement. Harry was clearly the centre of attention, and it was obvious that his transfer had already begun to shift the dynamics within the house.

As he listened, Harry noticed how tightly Draco was gripping the parchment. The young Slytherin’s composed confidence made it clear that Harry was not only seen as a former Gryffindor—but as an intruder. At the same time, Harry’s resentment at having to remain in this house only continued to grow.

His thoughts raced as he considered his next move. He needed to find a way back to Gryffindor—without endangering his position or drawing even more unwanted attention. And though Draco continued to appear calm, Harry could feel it: Malfoy was watching him closely, analysing every movement.

It was a strange morning—one filled with tension, scrutiny, and unfamiliar emotions. The Sorting Hat’s decision had changed everything. Hogwarts was no longer the place Harry thought he knew. New rules, new dynamics, old enemies and old friendships were being reshuffled. And at the centre of it all sat Harry—now, officially, a Slytherin.

Chapter Text

Draco had, of course, taken Potter with him to Snape’s office, even though he would have much preferred not to fulfil this particular duty. As a prefect, however, he had no choice. He could neither afford to break the rules nor show weakness in front of the other Slytherins by refusing. So he walked ahead with a steady stride, Potter following him in silence.

When they reached Snape’s office, Draco knocked briefly and entered first. The moment he crossed the threshold, a familiar scent reached his nose. His eyes swept the room almost unconsciously, and without much thought he knew immediately that his father must have been there. Lucius’ perfume was unmistakable. It lingered in the air like a fine veil and made Draco pause for a brief moment.

Normally, his parents always sent for him whenever they were both at Hogwarts, usually for a short cup of tea or at least a few words. The fact that they had been here without him unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“Come in, Mister Potter, and don’t start growing roots out there,” Snape snapped sharply, without lifting his gaze from the papers on his desk. Draco flinched inwardly; he had been too distracted.

Harry stepped inside and stopped a little uncertainly. Snape finally looked up at him, his expression as cold and piercing as ever.

“Before you start entertaining foolish ideas about how to return to Gryffindor, you should know that there is no such possibility. The Sorting Hat has the final say in House placements. Not even the Headmaster can change that. No one is particularly pleased with the current situation, but it cannot be altered.”

Harry nodded slowly. He had already suspected as much, yet hearing it confirmed left a bitter taste in his mouth. If even Dumbledore could do nothing, then he would have to find his own way. And if that meant breaking rules, he would not shy away from it.

“Potter, listen to me,” Snape continued, as if he had guessed Harry’s thoughts. “You will be excused from lessons today along with Draco. You require new textbooks, and Mister Malfoy will explain how things function in Slytherin. Not everything works the same way it does in Gryffindor. Draco, your mother will arrive shortly before lunch and take you with her.”

Draco nodded briefly. So he would once again have to play the role of the obedient son in front of Narcissa. He had noticed that his father was being deliberately careful not to exchange any familiar glances or gestures.

“And what subjects do I even have now?” Harry asked, clearly irritated.
Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Mind your tone, Potter. Draco will explain everything you need to know. Now go. And do not forget your key for Gringotts. Schoolbooks cost money.”

That was the end of the conversation. Draco did not wait for Snape to throw them out explicitly; he turned on his heel and left, Harry close behind. Without another word, he led him through the dungeon corridors and finally to the entrance of the Slytherin common room.

“The password for this school year is Serpentes,” Draco said quietly. “Memorise it. And do not tell anyone.”

As they entered the common room, Harry paused and looked around. He had seen the room back in his second year, but a great deal had changed since then. The atmosphere was calmer, more structured. In one corner stood several tables with comfortable chairs, next to a large bookcase filled with various kinds of literature—none of which particularly interested Harry at the moment. On the opposite side were several seating areas arranged around a fireplace, its greenish flames flickering softly and bathing the room in dim light.

“There are certain internal House rules in Slytherin,” Draco began matter-of-factly. “We need them because we’re the most hated House. One of them is mutual respect. Conflicts are settled in the common room, not in the corridors. We go to meals together as a House and return together as well. That means we present ourselves as a united year group.”

Harry listened, even though every instinct in him resisted.

“We value good grades,” Draco continued. “Older students help the younger ones when they struggle. You’ll receive tutoring in Potions and Ancient Runes. You didn’t take Ancient Runes as a Gryffindor, so you’ll need new books for that.”

Harry pulled a slight face but still said nothing.
“No one forbids you from remaining friends with your friends,” Draco went on. “But you report to one of us from our year beforehand. We don’t wait around unnecessarily, and I’m not taking House point deductions because of you.”

Draco stopped briefly, then gestured towards one of the corridors.

“You’ll have your own room. No one volunteered to share with you. Besides, from sixth year onwards everyone gets a single room anyway. One was available, so Professor Snape ordered that you should have it.”

Harry merely nodded; the words washed over him without really registering.
“You have one hour to set up your room. The house-elves have already moved your belongings in. You can secure your room with a password. However, Professor Snape, myself, Blaise Zabini, and the other prefects from sixth and seventh year have access at all times—even without the password. There’s also a list of room rules inside.”

Harry stood up without looking at Draco and went into the room that had been indicated. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. The last few hours had been too much.

“Oh, Potter,” Draco called after him just before the door closed. “Don’t do anything stupid. Otherwise, you’ll see exactly what comes of it.”
The door shut, and Harry was left alone.

Chapter Text

Malfoy had been right — Harry’s belongings were already in the room, neatly placed beside the bed. Before putting anything away, however, Harry let his gaze wander around the space. A strange mix of relief and scepticism settled in his chest.

He had his own room. That alone was an advantage over Gryffindor, where he had almost always been forced to share, except for this year due to the severe conflicts with his dormmates. The room was decorated in dark wood tones, the furniture elegant and clearly expensive.

There was a large wardrobe, a wide desk with a comfortable chair, a broad bed, and even a small stove that seemed to heat itself automatically whenever the temperature dropped. One wall held a door leading to a private bathroom — his alone.

Harry sank onto the bed and took a deep breath. There was plenty of space; everything felt tidy and well maintained. The room was undeniably more luxurious than anything he had known in Gryffindor — he had to admit that much. When he glanced into his trunk, he immediately noticed that his robes and clothes now bore the green Slytherin crest instead of Gryffindor’s red and gold. A strange feeling washed over him, but he pushed it aside.

Time passed quickly as he unpacked. Eventually, there was a knock at the door and Draco stepped inside.
“Why aren’t you finished yet, Potter? You’ve had more than enough time,” he said, that familiar mix of arrogance and duty in his voice.

“I was looking around before unpacking, Malfoy,” Harry replied irritably.

Draco shrugged. “Then finish later. We’re supposed to go to Professor Snape now. My mother’s arrived and she’s taking us to Diagon Alley.”

Harry merely nodded. He had no desire to argue about Slytherin rules or hierarchies. He also knew that Narcissa Malfoy would be accompanying them — a type of family visit he couldn’t prepare for. And later, he would absolutely have to talk to Hermione, to see if there was any way back to Gryffindor.

Once in Diagon Alley, the Malfoys headed for Gringotts first so Harry could withdraw some Galleons for his books.

“I’ve got money with me — I don’t need more,” Harry said loudly, steering straight towards Flourish & Blotts. The Malfoys followed in silence, knowing there was little point in arguing.

Harry asked one of the shop assistants for the required books. The man disappeared into the back and returned shortly after with three thick volumes.
“Three books?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Yes, Potter,” Draco replied smugly. “One for the basics of runes, one on runes themselves, and one containing translations. That’s why we went to Gringotts first — I doubt you’ve got enough Galleons.”

“That will be fifteen Galleons, Mister Potter,” the shopkeeper said as he packed the books.
Harry hesitated for a moment. “Actually, I won’t take the basics book. That makes it ten Galleons,” he corrected, handing over the money.

That was all the money he had for the entire school year. Harry knew Dumbledore usually provided him with a certain allowance at the start of term — but the Malfoys couldn’t know that. They believed he was wealthy, just like everyone else assumed, as the son of the Potters.

“You need that book, Potter. It’s on the list for a reason,” Draco warned, but Harry ignored him and left the shop.

Narcissa merely shook her head. She had the distinct feeling that Harry managed his money carefully — and that he never had enough to buy everything at once. It was pure intuition.

Draco let the matter drop and paid for his own book on magical plants, a subject he found particularly interesting. Narcissa wrapped it for him and asked whether the boys needed anything else or wanted something to eat, but both declined immediately. She then brought them back to Severus’ office.

There, she handed the remaining book to Severus, who would issue it to Harry as a loan from House Slytherin. After that, Draco and Harry were sent back to the common room. A house-elf delivered their meal to Harry’s room, along with a summary of the morning’s lessons.

Harry fell back onto his bed, the book resting on the desk, and took another look around the room. Everything was perfect — and yet he felt a mixture of nervousness and defiance. He was a Slytherin now. He had his own books, his own room — and still, he felt like an outsider.

It would take time to grow used to this new reality.

After Harry had finally put away all his belongings in his new room, he went down to the common room. His plan was to find Hermione and tell her everything about the chaotic day he’d had. Just as he was about to pass through the door, Malfoy suddenly appeared.

The room had filled up by now; classes were long over, and students from all years moved about, laughing, talking, and heading back to their dormitories. Malfoy stepped in front of him, arms crossed, and studied him coolly.

“Where do you think you’re going, Potter?” he asked, his voice calm but sharp.
“Away,” Harry replied curtly, refusing to rise to the provocation.

Malfoy glared at him, clearly about to retort, but Harry ignored the angry “POTTER!” echoing through the room behind him and slipped through the crowd of students. His destination was the library — that’s where he expected to find Hermione.

His assumption proved correct. Hermione was sitting at one of the tables with Ron, deeply engrossed in a book. When she noticed Harry, her face immediately brightened.

“Harry!” she exclaimed happily, sliding over to make room for him. “How was your day? What happened?”
Harry willingly recounted the events — the strange encounters with Snape, the involuntary Potions lessons, the shocking house change, and the argument with Malfoy. He also mentioned his small financial problem and that he hadn’t been able to buy one of the required books.

Hermione nodded understandingly. “Don’t worry, Harry. We can look at the book together. Ancient Runes is a class Gryffindor and Slytherin have together anyway. You’ll manage.”

Harry started to form a question. “Hermione, have you ever—”
But she interrupted him, as she so often did, launching straight into the topic with her usual enthusiasm.
“Yes, Harry. The Sorting Hat used during the house selection was created by the four founders. It has determined every student’s house since their deaths. They used powerful magic — magic no longer known today — to ensure the hat could continue fulfilling its task. It stores the thoughts, emotions, and information of the students each school year, but only erases them once a student leaves Hogwarts. No teacher — not even Professor Dumbledore — can change that. The last time the hat reassigned a student to a different house was 1,500 years ago, and even then, it was a very special case…”

Hermione went on to explain that the hat had sent a boy to Gryffindor because of his courage, even though the circumstances hadn’t strictly required it. The boy had stood up for others, shown bravery, and the hat later confirmed that the decision had been the right one.

“Unfortunately, very little is known about that case,” Hermione continued, closing the book. “I also researched whether it’s possible to switch houses back, but no matter what you try, Harry — you have to stay in Slytherin.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Ron was the one to break it.

“Man, Harry, you’ve really got bad luck…”
“And what’s it like there?” Hermione asked at last, noticing that Harry seemed to be weighing how he would manage in Slytherin.

Harry explained that he’d been given his own room. Normally, Slytherins shared rooms in pairs, but no one had wanted to room with him — and honestly, he hadn’t wanted to either. Single rooms were common from sixth year onward. He also had his own private bathroom. However, there were numerous rules Malfoy had explained to him earlier.

Ron and Hermione listened attentively as Harry described every detail: the house rules, obligations toward younger students, tutoring in Potions and Ancient Runes, the password to his room, how to interact with friends from other houses, and the strict expectations of how a Slytherin was supposed to behave.
“So,” Harry concluded, “the Slytherins are… different. Much more organized. Almost strict.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Draco’s voice sounded behind him.

“Potter. You’re expected to follow the rules. We’re going to dinner now, and afterward you’re to report to Professor Snape about the book you didn’t buy.”
Harry sighed, irritated and exhausted. But there was no point arguing. With a sour mood and a dark expression, he followed Draco.

Another adventure in House Slytherin awaited him — and this time, he wouldn’t allow himself to be intimidated or talked down to.