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Chapter Text

The Potter family going to Diagon Ally is nothing short of a sensation. They may step out of the Floo in the early morning into an almost empty pub, but by the time they exit the Gringotts bank, they are surrounded by crowds; all desiring to see the Boy-Who-Lived shopping for his first year at Hogwarts.

At least the visit to the bank was interesting.

Aeron and Harry have long had a standing permission to explore the ancient family vault all they wanted as long as there is an adult with them. Far too many artefacts present a threat when handled, for the boys to be allowed to try and touch or be near any of them without supervision. They've learnt it the hard way when some old tome tried to bite Harry's hand off.

Over the years, Aeron has liberated a sword, several old robes, and a few old books of hexes and curses. He's tried to get away with some jewellery as well, all harmless to him, but James has decided it would be far too much of a publicity hit to see the Boy-Who-Lived carrying what are essentially Dark Arts artefacts.

Harry, on the other hand, the unimportant sibling, has not been as discouraged from bringing home a pile of Dark Arts books that one of their Potter ancestors deposited there to hide from the world, a regular dagger, an athame, three broken wands, and a snake egg from under a stasis spell.

They're in a rush today, going through everything as fast as possible without Aeron attracting too much attention. Harry is, in his humble opinion, rightfully disgruntled at the offence of not being allowed to browse through the vault again. And judging by Varran's annoyed hissing from under Harry's robe, he isn't the only one.

Aeron puts on a charming smile for the people. There's a reporter with a camera somewhere; they all notice the flashes. Aeron's presence itself is loud, calling attention to him, and he beams at the people, drawing them in. He knows Harry hates this: the crowds, the second-hand attention as Aeron's brother, even if the press hasn't managed to get a photo of him in solid five years. But it's also Harry who can control the crowds with his magic.

The crowd in front of the bank takes less than half a minute to annoy Harry, and he forces his magic and will upon the people, making them split to part and let his family through. He knows Lily will be cross with him later.

"Have you seen the witch in bright red?" Aeron remarks to Harry. "She practically scattered out of our way."

"I believe she was afraid that holding you back from obtaining educational materials would ensure the Dark Lord's return," Harry drawls with an expression Aeron knows to be amused.

Then a hand firmly clasps his shoulder. His mother.

"You oughtn't use this talent carelessly, Harry," Lily whispers.

"I'm sorry."

Harry isn't sorry. Both he and Aeron know Harry's powers could kill a person.

In hindsight, Harry's certain the boy was a Muggleborn. No muggles have ever put up any resistance to his suggestions. Still, the boy obediently took the knife Harry handed him, Aeron too petrified by fear, and ran it through his abdomen. The Muggle authorities ruled it a murder, but they have yet to catch the culprit.

Harry… he's never learnt regret, nor does he really care about the rights and wrongs of the world. Aeron knows that, and most times, he at least tries to act as Harry's conscience. But sometimes he, too, gets lost in the waves of Harry's magic, in the thrill that comes with power, and watches as his brother wreaks chaos all around.

Aeron does his best to shield Harry from the people as they advance through Diagon Ally. He knows well that their parents disapprove of Harry's powers. They never say it out loud, masking it as trying to be decent, but they dislike them. Aeron thinks it might be only for his benefit that Harry doesn't try to turn his magic against their parents; or maybe they are immune, and he has tried over and over, and never succeeded.

They go to the bookstore first. Acquiring their robes was the original plan, but James spotted the Malfoys lurking around, and none of them wanted a public fight.

The bookstore is cramped. Lily keeps insisting that Aeron doesn't need more than three extracurricular spellcasting books. Harry quietly picks a new book about Quidditch techniques by the seeker of the Japanese national team. He knows it's expected of Aeron and not him to become a Seeker, but he also knows his brother to be an absolute menace with the Beater bat.

When they leave the bookstore, Lily and the rest split; Lily heads to buy their astronomy and potion supplies, seeing as those didn't require the boys' direct input, and she was much better at picking up quality ingredients. At least the Malfoys were gone, and the robes shopping went without a hitch.

Even more than wand-shopping, Harry has dreaded the Eeylops Owl Emporium. He has heard of Garrick Ollivander's oddities, yes, but Harry has also been to a Muggle pet store before, and when the animals started freaking out there, he figured the magical ones would be even worse.

Harry leans against the wall just outside the store, leafing through the newest issue of Star Quidditch he's brought with him as he waits for his brother and father to return.

It serves as a distraction for a solid five minutes before he gets bored of moving pictures he can see but can't use magic on. With that, he turns his attention to the crowds passing.

Harry has kept his anonymity fairly well as compared to his brother, and people spare him no more than a few glances. It's entertaining to push people around with his gift. A woman carrying a large stack of books drops it at his nudge, another wizard stumbles and falls on his face, breaking his nose. A smile tugs at Harry's lips, threatening to break into a full smirk. There is a wizard across the street showing someone a new knife, and Harry wills him to stab it into that someone's throat with a sick sort of amusement.

Blood sprays everywhere, screams all around — Harry is in his element, savouring the kill and the chaos, and it takes him embarrassingly long to pull on a mask of a horrified child that has just seen someone get brutally murdered.

It doesn't take even thirty seconds before James comes rushing out of the store, wand drawn, in the show of a perfect Auror. He runs towards the scene.

Aeron walks out of the store holding a cage with a beautiful snowy owl just after James.

"We were gone for ten minutes, Harry," Aeron sighs.

Harry shrugs. "I was bored. And this is fun. Plus, it will make dad look all heroic and important if the guy makes it," he whispers.

Their mother appears too. She leaves her bags pm the ground mid-sprint, the contents spilling out, to have clear hands for her work. Lily is a trained healer; Harry watches her attempting to mend the injured wizard, while James apprehends the attacker until the on-duty unit arrives.

"You promised, Hadrian," Aeron hisses.

Harry levels his empty eyes at him. "I promised, yes, but only a Muggleborn, something about preserving your reputation, brother. That man? Pretty sure he was one of Richard Avery's cousins. I was free to act as I pleased."

Aeron knows Harry would grin at him, sharp and shark-like, if he didn't have to keep up the appearances of a rattled child.

"And don't even try to pretend you don't enjoy the show," Harry adds.

Aeron suppresses the urge to recoil, both at the harshness of Harry's tone and because Harry is right. For all Harry thrives in causing destruction, Aeron revels in the aftermath. It is an odd symbiotic relationship that has flourished with Harry sowing despair and Aeron drinking it in as he comes in as the prophesied Saviour.

More Aurors and Healers apparate on the scene. They take the man, the attacker, from James, and then they are gone. The corpse, for Harry can no longer feel the life in it, is taken away as well, by one of the healers. Someone starts casting cleaning charms on Lily and the street, hiding away any evidence of such a brutal attack.

That is, until both parents returned to their sons.

"We will go now to get your wands and return home as quickly as possible," Lily says sharply. "And do not think I will let you out of my sight,"

"Of course. Are you alright, mum?" Aeron asks. Harry takes his hand as is expected of the traumatised and insignificant brother.

"I will be," Lily says. "But the same cannot be said about your brother. I know what had happened."

She spoke in a quiet tone, yet it still cut like a blade. It's just so unfortunate that Harry was so close to the scene… Harry is certain he would have gotten away if he just waited a bit, let the suggestion simmer until the man was out of his sight.

"Mum, Harry couldn't…" Aeron says, immediately jumping to Harry's defence.

"We know that Harry's gifts are… strong," James interjects carefully.

"He doesn't have it in himself to kill," Aeron says as quietly as possible. Harry squeezes his hand in a silent thank you.

"I… I mean, if it was in a fight or something, but just like that?" Harry whispers, forcing his body with magic to pull tears into his eyes.

They don't discuss it any further as they enter Ollivander's shop.

Harry, per his habit, blends with the background as Aeron comes forward to choose his wand. Harry watches eagerly until Aeron ends up with a cypress and unicorn hair wand, eleven inches, supple.

Then it's his turn… The skin on his hand burns as wand after wand reject him, until he settles on a Holly wand with a Phoenix feather core, even though the wood turns into ash in his hand.

It's yet another complication. Ollivander promises he'll make a new wand for Harry with the right wood that has chosen him, but that means he'll have to go to Diagon Alley the next day too. Not that Harry himself minds, but Aeron is strongly against and, if their reactions and sighs are anything to go by, the Potter parents sere too.

Despite that, Harry is allowed to browse Ollivander's collection of wand woods. Eventually, he finds himself holding a small log of dark wood with an oddly light outer edge.

"Yew wood," Ollivander says, as if it were surprising. "A most interesting choice to come from you, Mr. Potter, most interesting. And I say that knowing that the wand materials choose the wizard and not the other way around… interesting indeed…"

Harry doesn't ask. He wants to, but it feels like it will only cause his parents to react negatively even more, should they overhear…

When they apparate home, the atmosphere is immediately all too stifling, and Harry wants nothing more than to go and hide in his room or maybe explore the forest with Aeron, now that at least his brother has a wand. But, of course, that freedom is not granted to him.

Lily sets down the bags of ingredients and astronomy supplies she retrieved from the cobbled street. No one expects most of them to still be intact or usable, but it would be rude and appear too chaotic and distracted if they just let them lie there.

"The blue parlour. Now," James says firmly, leaving no space for arguments. "We need to talk."

Harry still holds onto Aeron's hand as they move there. The boys cram together into one big armchair with their parents sitting across them on a leather sofa.

"We all know Harry can control people," Lily begins, "and there is nothing that shows that it wasn't Harry who caused the attack today."

"Do you think either of us could just murder some random guy?" Aeron snarls.

Harry huddles up closer to him, and Aeron wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"As the investigation continues, we might find out Harry had nothing to do with this…"

"Really, dad? So your first action is to blame him?" Aeron protests.

Harry would say something in his defence if he wasn't too busy reaching into his magic, pulling at the strings that still attached him to the stranger's mind, and he tugs, thinking of death and ends and the desperation that came with nothing good in sight. Come morning, the Diagon attacker will be dead by his own hands.

"Why else would anyone attack their wife in the middle of a busy street?" Lily asks.

"Maybe someone Obliviated him wrong?" Harry suggests, finally speaking up. "I don't know, but it sure wasn't me!"

It was him, both he and Aeron know that, but their parents can be kept out of the loop just fine.

"Harry, darling…" Lily says gently.

"I'm- … I'm not a murderer!" Harry screams even as fake tears ran down his cheeks, blurring his eyes and obscuring the lie behind. "It's fun poking at people, yes, but I'd not kill…"

Aeron stands up abruptly, taking Harry's hand into his again. "Come on, Harry. Let's explore the west side of the forest. Maybe we could convince the elves to give us the camping gear?"

When Aeron is certain they are out of their parents' reach, he fondly whispers: "Moron."

Harry gives him a weak smile and wipes away the tears. "I tried. Sorry for even starting this mess."

"As damn well you should be," Aeron sighs.

The next morning, Harry's godfather, Sirius, shows up for breakfast and loudly announces he will be taking the boys to Diagon Ally for their shopping, part two, since they didn't finish the day prior, and Harry has a wand to pick up.

Sirius, at least, puts Aeron under a glamour, so it looks like someone related to Neville goes along with Harry for the shopping.

They make a quick run for it. Astronomy supplies, Potions kits, robes, and finally, they are headed for Ollivander. Harry is nervous, to say the least. He has heard before that Voldemort's wand consisted of both yew and a phoenix feather; to think Harry has a similar combination… He wants no one else to know, even if Harry himself finds it fascinating.

The wand feels cold in Harry's hand, but not unpleasantly so. It's stark a contrast to all the wands from the previous day that left blisters all over his palm, that even charms and potions couldn't heal.

"Swish it," Ollivander suggests.

Aeron immediately jumps backwards as a large flame tongue flashes out of the wand's tip, almost setting his fringe on fire.

"That wand fits you perfectly, Mr Potter," Ollivander says, clearly delighted. "How curious it is, the phoenix that gave the feather to your wand also gave another… and it ended up in the one that gave your brother his famous scar."

Harry glance at Aeron — the jagged scar across his entire face stands out even more in the dim and directional light of the shop.

"Hilarious," Harry drawls.

It isn't hilarious. It's terrifying, actually, seeing as Sirius overheard it too. But Sirius has always had good faith in Harry; Sirius might not have even been informed about the events of the previous day, and hopefully, he will consider it a great joke, something to rub in James' face in the most inopportune moment. The brother of the supposed Boy-Who-Lived having the same wand as the Dark Lord is ironic, but to consider… that a powerful tool as his wand seems to be the same as Voldemort's … it feels like Harry's doom.

Sirius hands over the required amount of money, barely sparing a glance at Harry, before they leave. Aeron clings to Harry's arm with desperation.

As the last month before the twins left for Hogwarts progresses, Harry is left wondering if their parents fell for their own lies, for the shiny façade that Aeron wears with practised ease. How easy they make it look, how effortless it seems to ignore Harry as the 'other' and the 'broken'. It is interesting to observe, to say the least, and it gives Harry the space to hide in his room and study old and dark magics from the tome he took out of the family vault months prior.

Hiding away in his room means that Harry is mostly spared the tense atmosphere that permeates their home.

Waking up early on the 1st of September feels like a relief; mere hours left before the twins board the Hogwarts Express.

Chapter Text

Aeron Potter is going to Hogwarts.

Heads turn, children try to find and befriend him, the adults barely restrain them as they too want to take a bite out of the Boy-Who-Lived. Aeron knows only Harry's subtle suggestions and the threatening glares from Head Auror Potter keep them away.

Both boys did try asking their parents to arrive early at the platform to avoid the crowds and the unnecessary attention. Aeron suspects it's to show him off; 'oh, the beacon of hope is here and going to learn how to fight dark wizards'.

Eventually they manage to get to the train and find an empty compartment and Aeron is grateful when he feels Harry's magic spread over it like a protective layer. Or like a bog no one wants to step in.

He can't suppress a snicker.

"What?" Harry asks.

"Your magic's like a bog, Harry, no one wants to step into it."

"Makes you some kind of feral woodland creature, doesn't it," Harry replies with a smirk. "And Varran is the king of the forest."

"He doesn't even have a crown! He can't be a king," Aeron points out as Harry carefully pulls a snake from below his robes. "Actually never mind, he got damn big."

The long brown snake coils up in Harry's lap, hissing angrily.

"And he deserves it for dealing with travel and humans and being made to stay hidden," Harry drawls, stroking Varran's snake, hissing at him soothingly.

"Fair…" Aeron sighs. "How can he even hear you? I thought snake don't have ears?"

Harry seems to think about it for a moment. "You know what? It's magic. I'm not questioning it."

Aeron looks out the windows. Their parents are still there, talking with the Weasleys who just arrived. He turns back to Harry, suddenly unsure. "You said Ronald will be able to find us here?"

"Unless the blood you provided me with is someone else's?" Harry shrugs and pulls out a vial of bright red liquid. He plays with it for a second, catching Varran's attention. Harry has to stop when Varran tries to snatch it from the air.

"Will you do anything with it?" Aeron asks. "Or just it being is enough for him?"

Harry sneers at him. "I'll set it up now. You know I hold no affection for Ronald and you've said before he might react badly to Varran. "

"I'll take care of that, Harry, now cast the exception for him."

Harry still flips Aeron off, whispers an incantation and downs the vial in one go.

"Harry!" Aeron calls out, alarmed.

Harry holds out a hand for Aeron to wait, until he pulls water out of his bag and drinks some. "He needs to pass through my magic, so he will become part of it for a bit. A slightly different incantation is often used for tracking, even through wards!"

"Convenient," Aeron remarks, still looking at Harry full of doubt and worry.

Not even five minutes later Ron Weasley barges into their compartment. Harry's steady hand over Varran's coiled body is the only thing keeping him down, half hidden by Harry's robes, when he inevitably sensed Harry's restless magic and annoyance; as would any other familiar.

"Hey Air, hi Harry," Ron greets them, breathless, and walks to sit down next to Aeron.

"Any trouble finding us?" Aeron asks.

Ron glances at Harry, unnerved by the steady glare, before answering: "No, actually. Been fine, really."

Harry tunes him out and brings out a book on Obscure Arts that he liberated from the Potter Vault. Gently picking Varran up Harry placed him around his neck to make space for his book.

"Mate, that's a snake!" Ron shouts, drawing a wand. Harry doubts he can cast anything even remotely damaging with it.

"How astute, Ronald," Harry drawls. "He won't harm you."

Varran wants to harm them, he can feel Harry's annoyance and hisses insults and threats in Ron's direction. And Ron's rat.

'You eating the rat would annoy him and would be a good revenge,' Harry hisses at him.

'Perhapsss, I have not eaten in a while,' Varran replies.

Ignoring Ron's alarmed face, Harry pulls a handful of galleons out of his bag and practically force them into Ron's hand. And before Ron can do anything, Harry grabs his Rat and returns to his seat.

'Hunt!' he commands Varran and throws the rat towards him.

"Scabbers!" Ron screams when Varran catches the rat mid flight, venomous fangs plunging into it's flesh.

"I gave you money you can buy an owl with," Harry points out. He doesn't look away from Varran slowly devouring the rat, pleased smile on his lips.

"But he was mine, Harry! You can't just steal other people's pets!" Ron snaps. "And you, Aeron! Why aren't you mad."

"You were complaining about it for the past month, Ronald," Harry says and turns back to his book. Upon Varran's complaints Harry carefully picked him up and set him down on the leather seat.

"He's not really wrong, Ron," Aeron suggests, "and I would've tried to get you any pet you wanted if I knew you wouldn't protest. Now you don't really have an option, unless you spend the money on something else."

"It was still my pet."

Harry tunes them out in favour of his book. If Ronald wanted to keep Scabbers, there was no reason for whining about it before…

Draco Malfoy is, to put it crassly, pissed.

He spend half the train ride looking for Aeron Potter and there the boy is, laughing with a Weasley so hard about something their little boat looks like might flip. The third boy in that boat looks on the verge of despair.

Draco wonders if that is perhaps the elusive brother of Aeron Potter — Harry Potter. Over the years, there have been very little mentions of Aeron's brother and even less photos. Nonetheless, Draco finds it rather interesting, how the boy scolds the other two, face set into a cold, disdainful expression with sharp words Draco can't hear.

Yet they laugh again, and Draco thinks it might be what brotherly affection is like, or if his future lies with the other Potter.

He's distracted by the beauty of Hogwarts until the giant hands them over to an actual professor and then the opportunity strikes. They are left waiting in a side room until their sorting begins and Draco approaches Potter and his brother. Yes, so up close they look rather alike.

"Aeron Potter, didn't see you on the train," Draco addresses him. They've met before at official functions, but never really spoke.

"We flew here," the other Potter says, "my brother insisted on dramatics so parents caught us a pair of thestral to take here. Can't be bothered with the train like the… lesser."

Smirk plays on Potter lips as he's well aware how insulting that was to everyone else in the room. Unless, of course, he is lying. Except that Draco looked in every compartment and didn't find either Potter.

"We aren't even sorted, Harry, do you really need to start things already?" Aeron steps in. "I know it's Malfoy, but really?"

"So harsh, brother dearest," Harry drawls, before he turns back to Draco. "We might take thestrals next year, but for now there are ways to stay undetected."

The cold smile Harry gives him sends chills down Draco's spine.

But then the professor returns and leads them into the Great Hall. Then and there Draco decides to convince his parents to hide an enchanter to create the same magical ceiling if not in the dining room of the manor, then at least Draco's bedroom. He pays little attention to other students until his name is called. McGonagall places the dirty old hat on his head.

The Hat immediately screams "Slytherin!" and Draco's ears ring from the sheer volume of it.

But then Potter, Aeron is called. He walks up to get sorted with confidence in his step. The Hat takes it's time, but inevitably, it calls out "Gryffindor!" and the red and gold table cheers.

Draco pays more attention to Potter, Hadrian. Draco has noticed already the unnerving quiet about him, like a snake slithering in the grass to strike an unsuspecting wizard. His hair is neater than his brother's and black, unlike Aeron's red. Not to mention that… Draco is pulled out of his thoughts by the Hat yelling "Slytherin!" at the whole Great Hall.

Deafening quiet follows.

Potter hands the Hat to Professor McGonagall with a polite smile and walks over to the Slytherin table. Draco, with his self-preservation kicking in, is the first to start cheering. A few other reluctantly follow.

Potter makes his introductions. Draco, for some reason feeling exceptionally helpful, offers Potter the potatoes after he piled up some on his own plate.

"You can just call me Hadrian," Pott- Hadrian says and Draco knows it to be a good idea to offer his first name as well.

Draco wonders, for a second, if anyone else sees the impatient edge there is to Potter, but then it disappears, as if Hadrian someone knew what Draco was thinking.

But that's impossible, no first year would know how… and Draco knows basics of Occlumency.

The dinner carries on in a pleasant tone and Draco knows he's being nice and helpful and that's exactly what will make Hadrian like him.

Only when they reach their dorms the pleasant feeling slowly withdraws, replaced by heavy, suffocating threat.

"Will any of you mind if I let my familiar out here? Don't worry, he's perfectly trained," Hadrian asks and Draco's own body refuses to breathe no matter how much he wills it.

"Go ahead, Hadrian," Theo Nott shrugs, as he slowly unpacks his toiletries.

Then, to Draco's surprise and utter horror, Hadrian pulls a snake longer than Draco is tall from under his shirt.

"Meet Varran," Hadrian grins.

"How's Gryffindor?" Harry asks, when both he and Aeron grab food and bring it outside. They both already got their schedules and so they have no worry about being missed.

"Red and loud," Aeron replies. "How's Slytherin?"

"Green and gloomy and so very boring," Harry complains. "I think I might try to actually befriend them."

He spits the word 'befriend' as if it tastes bitter.

Aeron lets out an incredulous laugh. "That bad? Keep it up and you will become a genuinely decent person."

"Their minds offer no challenge and I would tire quickly of them," Harry shrugs. "This, at least, will keep me entertained for a while, before I decide they should start killing each other."

"Tell me when, I'll come watch," Aeron says and gives Harry a sharp grin.

Then his smile falters. "I wrote mum and dad, yesterday, about the Sorting. Had Percy send it for me."

Harry sighs. "Ten galleons dad will not send any letters until mum, you or Sirius make him?"

Aeron shakes his hand. "You're on."

Severus Snape has very little clue why Albus told him to be way of Hadrian Potter. More, at least, than Severus would be on his own already.

But there is nothing wrong with Potter. Only that he behaves like a proper Slytherin and not in the slightest like a child raised by James Potter. The brother, Aeron, is the quintessential Gryffindor, perhaps aside from the fact he still is around his Slytherin brother. Another thing, Severus is certain, James Potter's son wouldn't do.

But he keeps watching, as Albus instructed him, with an expression so grave one would've thought Hadrian Potter is the Dark Lord's rebirth. The boy is well-mannered, attentive in class and intelligent; Severus sees nothing of the insanity nor proclivity for cruelty he remembers from the Dark Lord.

Eventually, Severus decides Hadrian Potter's Slytherin sorting is the only reason for Albus' paranoia and let's it go.

Chapter Text

Aeron can't help himself but feel incredibly amused at the irony of Harry's complaining how the Slytherins are all boring and can be manipulated with no effort once he figured out their social rules, contrasted by Ron's ongoing feud with Draco Malfoy that is slowly bur surely reaching explosive heights.

He would actually find it even funnier if the friendship Harry has somehow cultivated with most of his Slytherin peers didn't mean Draco Malfoy is around more often than not. Aeron has only so much patience for pointless verbal squabbles with blood yet to be spilled. Hogwarts for all its charm and excitement can be terribly stifling; there is little Harry can do to keep them both entertained in such a tightly controlled environment.

Still, Aeron's fingers twitch as he yearns to draw his wand and throw a curse into Draco Malfoy's back who keeps insulting Ron and his family loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear. It would be so much easier if Harry forbade Draco from following him around at all times; other Slytherins have at least that much tact to stay away and avoid conflict whenever Ron Weasley is with Aeron.

Harry, smug smile playing on his lips, leans against the wall next to Aeron, pulls out a paper bag full of sandwiches out of the charmed pocket of his robe. "Want some?"

"Did you stop by the Great Hall?" Aeron asks and reaches to take a sandwich.

"Nah, got one of the older Slytherins to tell me where the kitchens are." Harry takes a bite of is sandwich. "Ugh, this one has fried egg in it."

"Give it," Aeron plucks the sandwich out of Harry's hand and before Harry starts to complain gives Harry the remaining half of his.

"Thanks. Before you ask, it was all my genuine and utterly charming self, no… suggestions," Harry drawls, checking his nails nonchalantly.

"And how is that going for you?" Aeron barely glances at Harry when he notices Malfoy insulting the structural integrity of the Burrow in a surprising detail and how the Weasleys can't afford more than one load bearing support, and have to hope it won't fall on all their ill-raised children.

"They're all mad, brother mine. All I have to do, is put on a smile or look like I'm about to cry and I don't even have to threaten them! I was so hoping to get into some violent altercation… They're weak-willed chess pieces," Harry complains. "Actually, Cynthia Flint, she's a sixth year, tried to get me into an argument about blood. Told her that her blood is dirtier than mine if it's spilled on the floor. I'm half sure she tries to get her younger brother to start something, but eh… actual violence is rather frowned upon."

"No shit, can't even draw a knife at someone without it being turned into a scene," Aeron agrees. "Had to threaten this third year, he kept on how I have to join the Quidditch team, how it's my destiny… I planned to try out next year! But he kept harassing me and then it turns out cutting him open was not allowed. But he's staying away since he returned from the infirmary."

Harry chuckles. He reaches into the bag and takes another sandwich, checking properly its contents. "Eggs and roasted peppers… want that one?"

"Eh… is there another without the peppers?" Aeron asks.

"No eggs left after that one," Harry says and hands him a different sandwich, before taking one more for himself; he checks it's filling anyway. "Did he bleed?"

"Beautifully. I think that's what did it, that it caused the scene. No one else saw the knife, so now everyone thinks my accidental magic is overprotective," Aeron grins.

Both Ron and Draco draw their wands.

"That's about to go awry," Harry notes with delight.

"We should stop them before a teacher sees us doing nothing," Aeron sighs. "Unless you can keep them away?"

"And risk having someone discover my gifts?" Harry snorts. He hands Aeron the sandwich bag and heads towards their friends.

Aeron takes the last pickle sandwich.

"That's enough, both of you," Harry says in the mind of quiet voice that makes people listen. He doesn't even try to feed it his usual suggestion to make them obey without fault. They still listen, their wands lowering.

"Are you out of your mind, initiating bloodshed in public like that?" Harry continues. "A teacher could see you. Ron, you know better than to rise to the bait, and Draco, that was entirely beneath you."

"What would you do if Malfoy kept insulting your family?" Ron retorts.

"Slytherins do not air their dirty laundry on a courtyard. Speaking of which, Draco, are you flaunting the inheritance you have yet to gain in such a careless manner? What would happen if your father heard about this?"

Aeron can no longer hold back and snickers.

"It's not my fault he keeps showing up with your brother!" Draco complains.

Harry takes in a deep breath.

"Aeron is my friend!" Ron argues.

"Then he will know it's his responsibility to teach you to control yourself," Harry drawls.

Aeron behind him sighs. "I will not cater to some odd Slytherin sensibilities."

"But you will cater to mine!" Harry grins. "Come on, Draco, I have no desire watch my brother get bloody with his friend while they talk it out."

Aeron never even tries to hurt Ron, despite Harry's continuous remarks, not that day or any time after. They both, however, agree to put effort into keeping Harry's growing circle of Slytherins and Aeron's Gryffindor friends separate. Harry suggests (once) that they bring all of them together to a remote dungeon room and finally have some proper entrainment in a form of decent bloodshed.

Aeron — reluctantly — shuts the idea down. The teachers are likely to find out something going wrong all too soon. As much as he craves the chaos, he needs to keep himself and especially Harry out of trouble. And Harry lets him.

That fragile peace, the illusion of respite, shatters on Halloween.

Harry hasn't told Aeron, but despite being able to gain some semblance of respect, even camaraderie, from the fellow first years in Slytherin, the older students are… there hasn't been an overt challenge; but Harry can feel the rising tension. It irritates his contained magic and he yearns to let it free, to let it cause chaos and bloodshed as he so desperately needs.

Halloween marks exactly a decade since Aeron Potter defeated the Dark Lord, and Harry hears the first threat made against his brother. Harry has become used to threats made by older Slytherins targeted against himself; he has way to fight back, even resorting to commanding Varran to attack would be acceptable to ensure his and Aeron's well-being, as much as he wishes to keep that ability quiet from most of Slytherin. Anything is permissible when it comes to their safety.

All bets are off, all of Harry's fragile restraint dissolves, when Quirrell, of all people, runs in panic into the Great Hall in the middle of their feast screaming about a troll. In the dungeons no less.

The students, all of them, are sent back to their dormitories. Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons, deeper even than the Hufflepuffs reside

Draco, shivering, is pressed to Harry's side as they walk deep into the dungeon corridors. Even Slytherins in such a time of distress act disorderly. Harry and Draco are pushed to the edge of the crowd. Theo Nott too, as he stumbles into Harry and takes his hand.

They smell the danger before they see it.

The troll rounds the corner, most students draw their wands, the ones at the back start backing away. Harry has a hard time hiding his glee as he sees his opportunity. He lets his magic grip the trolls mind. It's so easy, like a sturdy tree branch, like the club the troll carries. It doesn't bend to Harry's wishes but it follows his orders without even a sign of resistance.

The troll swings its club and throws it into the crowd of students. Only one of the seventh years raises a shield in time. Part of the club gets disintegrated into dust on impact, the rest of it — still covered in dirt and sharp branch stubs — falls on the students. The screams and sheer terror are a music to Harry's ears, a soothing touch to his magic.

In Harry's opinion and according to his observations, Gemma Fawley is a terrifying duellist. At one point Harry and most of the first years saw her duel another prefect over authority issues Harry felt no need to learn about, yet. Nevertheless, the other prefect ended up in infirmary after the incident and Harry decided to allocate some of his time to learn even more about duelling magic.

As it is, Gemma's skills means nothing as she's hit by the club and stumbles forward, disoriented.

'Tear!' Harry commands the troll.

Gemma barely manages to cast a single stupefy at the troll.

And the troll obeys.

Harry watches with utter fascination as it picks Gemma up by her right arm, her wand arm, and she flails in it's grasp, screaming. Everyone is frozen as if held by a spell or a whisperquiet suggestion in their minds.

The troll grasps Gemma's left leg, hindering her attempts to free herself, and pulls.

First there's the clear and loud snap as her clavicle breaks, then shoulder pops out of its socket, then elbows. Harry drinks in her screams and despair like the nectar of gods. Harry can spell the blood as her skin starts to tear.

It's an ugly sound as all gives out at once; skin and ligaments ripping, the joints pulled out of their sockets, blood spraying as her robes are tearing too, no longer obstructing the blood flow. If no one helps Gemma, she will die within minutes.

The troll throws her arm towards the students, there's blood still dripping from it; to Harry's delight, the stray droplets land across his face. He struggles to keep a wild grin from his face.

Gemma's limp body is thrown on the ground, she still makes faint sounds before loosing her consciousness.

The troll advances further, steps heavy and sluggish. Harry inhales in and out, slow and deliberate, and lets the crowd go free from his grasp, their will returning to them in a shockwave as the realisation hits.

Screams, wails, someone's bright voice screams a curse and yellow light hits the troll. It collapses.

Harry is still covered in the warm blood when the teachers show. Theo is pressed to his side, sobbing quietly. Harry blames him, if only a little. The sight would be considered rather gruesome for most and Harry expected the son of a Death Eater to handle blood better. Draco throws up on the spot.

As for Harry himself… he knows Aeron will be mad that he didn't get to watch; it's the only thing Harry himself is worried about.

The troll, now dead by the Hufflepuff Head Girl's hand, provided an excellent entertainment for the otherwise dreadful night. And a distraction; Harry hopes no one would dare to disturb the mourning by attacking him or even Aeron.

Still, he puts on an undisturbed, even entertained face, until the teachers start paying proper attention to him. He's looked all over, Snape casts a diagnostic charm at him to find nothing wrong and then he's send back to the dorms to take a shower and dispose of the stained robes. Even as dirty as he is, his the other Slytherins cling to him, seeking comfort in his indifference.

Harry lets the first year Slytherins stay close to him. They're like Aeron, requiring comfort after their first acts of violence until they finally learn to find pleasure in them. Aeron has, and they will too if they intend to stay close to Harry.

Some older Slytherins still glare at, though put off by the blood of their fallen friend and Harry's unbothered bearing. Gemma was a generally well liked prefect. The… enrichment aside, Harry considers Gemma's death to be almost a warning, an indirect declaration of war. All of Slytherin, no matter what they choose to believe in the end, will question whether Harry had anything to do with her death as close as he was, as unaffected by the blood and gore as he seems, as gleeful as some of them saw him. There will be rumours; Harry is counting on that. And when someone dares to strike… he will be more than ready.

Harry is the first to take the shower, covered in grime as he is. He locks himself there and lets the ice cold water wash away Gemma Fawley's blood, scrubbing his hair and face rigorously; the pinkish water disappears in the drain. Harry feels the tiredness creep in, then, the excitement gone and replaced only by the grim determination to deal with the enmity among Slytherins once and for all, and the need for a full night's sleep.

As expected, the next morning Harry can taste the tension permeating the Slytherin. Sadness, grief and anger a insufficient security, at Dumbledore because so many suspect he might try to keep it quiet. Harry would prefer if that were the case; at Hogwarts he can blend easily with the other Slytherins, the outcasts as it were. Would be easier to assuage any suspicion should the information stay confined to Hogwarts.

He's still deep in thought, barely paying attention to the quiet conversation of his classmates when Aeron accosts him just in front of the Great Hall.

"Harry!" he calls, grabbing his brother, pulling him away from others, looking him all over. "So glad you're okay."

"Not even a scratch," Harry says brightly, playing into Aeron's act of a worried brother.

"Still, I heard just rumours…"

They walk away, enough to that Aeron isn't heard. "You said you'd let me watch!" he whispers harshly.

"I would've if I had a good way to warn you!" Harry retorts. "It was a spur of a moment decision."

"You're in the clear, right? Nothing reckless like the last time?" Aeron asks, his worry feels genuine now.

"Worried, but it was a terrible tragedy…" Harry trails off; then smirks.

"Moron," Aeron sighs fondly and Harry allows him a hug.