The Child of the Seventh Month

7. Blood Kins

The next few weeks were remotely calm. Though Harry didn't manage to find a friend his age other than Neville, he often joined Hagrid in his shack for a cup of tea in between classes. Losing one of his milk teeth while taking the risk of eating the giant's bakings didn't discourage him from continuing their friendship.

Neither did listening to the endless stories about his dead parents, though he had to admit that he would've enjoyed them far more if not for the notorious mentions of Albus Dumbledore. Hagrid seemed very fond of the man and Harry had to forgive him for his naivety - after all, Dumbledore's involvement in his parents' deaths wasn't common knowledge.

It felt odd, listening to those tales, as he had never known those people, but at the same time it fueled his hatred for Albus Dumbledore. He didn't miss having parents, he had never craved it - but the lone idea that Dumbledore had dared to take anything from him was insulting enough.

He still hadn't found in himself the so-called 'people skills' but he preferred snakes anyway. And there were some ghosts he often spoke to, the Bloody Baron had taken a particular liking to him; they bonded over their mutual dislike for human interaction. And the Ravenclaw ghost, a solemn-looking young lady who had helped him find a way to class a few times when he had been running late after his usual visit at Hagrid's, appeared to be friendlier to him than most others were.

The lessons were also nice and interesting. No one ever hurt Harry for not knowing something, no matter how significant. Snape was mean but he couldn't criticize Harry for his potions as they were flawless most of the time. 

He had top marks in most subjects, but there was one person as good as him, and that was the bushy-haired witch from Gryffindor. Hermione Granger, whom Harry recognized for she always had an answer for every question any of their professors would ask before they even finished forming it. That rivalry only added to his resolve to study harder.

Harry's world seemed to widen and broaden with each day, each new piece of information, each new experience, and though he would hate to admit it, the time away from the Manor did him good.

But, also, with each day it was harder to restrain himself from reaching for a book about the Modern History of Dark Arts, or The Darkest Wizards of Twentieth Century, or even The Most Wicked of the Wicked, a historical fiction based on true events. He knew that most of it would be filled with lies, if not all of it, but it was getting difficult to ignore the nagging feeling of cluelessness. 

He wasn't happy, nor was he unhappy with the current state of affairs; he existed in the tiny space in-between. He missed home terribly but enjoyed the new challenges. Yet, the tranquility didn't last long.

It would be all too soon when Dumbledore made his move.

. . .

The alienation didn't hurt Neville as much as it did Harry, that much was obvious. He was rarely alone, spending most of his time with the red-haired boy from the train, despite the open hostility Harry displayed towards him. 

Being in different houses, Harry and Neville ate their meals at different tables - it was almost an unspoken rule not to sit at the wrong table at Hogwarts, and they decided to abide by it. Especially because they were a Slytherin and a Gryffindor.

But one morning, approximately three weeks into September, Neville ran over to Harry at the Slytherin table, his face pale with emotion, the breakfast forgotten.