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Other People's Choices	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 24376 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twelve—Charcoal Beds and Coals of Fire
Harry eats a meal so thick with lettuce and tomatoes and bacon and potatoes and anything else he asks for that he starts asking for more, just to see if Mr. Nott’s house-elves will bring it to him.
They do. They’re fast and silent and efficient, but they don’t look unhappy the way Dobby did—or the way Harry used to when he was doing chores for the Dursleys. They watch their plates instead, and rush them to the table, and listen to what he wants, and then pop back to the kitchen without wringing their ears.
Harry pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth.
What did happen to Dobby?
He puts the fork down again, feeling a little sick that he hasn’t thought about that. Dobby helped him—well, he did what he thought was for the best—and Harry has just forgotten those things as if they meant nothing at all.
“Is something troubling you?”
Harry looks up quickly again when Mr. Nott comes into the room. He brought Harry to this huge dining room and sat him at the table and told him to eat whatever he wanted, but Harry hasn’t seen him since. The dining room is made of paneled wood, both on the floors and the walls, and it feels a lot more home-like than the bare stone room Harry first woke up in.
“I—I was thinking about a house-elf who tried to help me,” Harry says, and eats a couple of bites quickly. “I knew he was being punished by his family, but I sort of forgot about him after I was Sorted into Slytherin.”
“House-elves are meant to be forgotten.” Mr. Nott frowns at one who comes forwards now with the plate of treacle tart Harry requested five minutes ago. The house-elf squeaks and bows without looking up from the plate, or the table as it puts the plate on it. “I hope mine haven’t been troubling you.”
The way I was forgotten. Harry swallows the last of his ham and reaches for the treacle tart. He won’t let anything put him off his appetite, but he does have to realize that Mr. Nott isn’t all good, he supposes.
“This elf tried to help me.”
“Why?”
“He thought I was in danger at Hogwarts. And then he—he thought it would be for the best if I didn’t go back to Hogwarts. He said that he owed me a debt for—” Harry hesitates and touches the scar on his forehead.
“You can refer to him however you like, except by name,” says Mr. Nott. “You do not have to call him the Dark Lord, as I do. I can understand why you might not wish to. However, there are echoes here that will respond to the name. They are not wise to wake.”
Harry stares at him. “You mean that there’s a spell that will make—something wake up if I say the name Vol—” He stops himself in time.
“Not the first time. Not the second. But the third, and beyond? Oh, yes. He spent a lot of time here. He set spells that would catch some of his enemies, as his loyal followers would never be caught. Speak his name too much, and they will wake and come looking for you.”
Harry shivers. It sounds like what he’s read about Acromantulas and basilisks, only worse. He finishes his treacle tart and then asks, “Am I going to be able to see Theo?”
“When he gets off the Hogwarts Express. I imagine that won’t be long now. One of the elves will fetch him.”
Harry nods and traces a finger across the tabletop again. Then he says, “You said that you were—I think you were going to teach me magic.” It takes him a lot of courage to bring up, in case Mr. Nott is going to take it away again, but he doesn’t want to let the chance slip through his fingers, either.
“I am thinking about which kinds you need to learn most. Theo sent me a letter, although that was some time ago, during the term, that mentioned you are talented at Defense.”
“Maybe defending myself? We’ve had horrible professors, though.”
“We shall have to stand in you in front of my own Silver Hourglass and see what competencies it measures in you. I know you would have been tested before, but it happens too young for most children to remember much about it—”
“What’s a Silver Hourglass?”
Mr. Nott pauses, then says, “Ah, of course. Muggles.” But for some reason he looks cheerful right after he says that. “Then you will not have been tested, and should go in front of the Hourglass sooner rather than later.”
Harry swallows, feeling a little queasy. “All right.”
“Shall we?” Mr. Nott rises, and the house-elves immediately appear and begin to clean the plates off the tables. It’s not as wondrous as Hogwarts, where the dishes disappear on their own, but Harry reckons that it’s easier for a smaller group of elves.
He follows Mr. Nott, not sure he’s ready, down two twisting corridors that are lined with thick green panels. Harry can’t tell if they’re stone or wood, and he has no desire to touch them. But he does notice, as they enter a room that has a large pentacle in the middle with a raised platform in the middle of that, that his head is starting to feel stuffy. He hopes he’s not coming down with a cold.
“Notice that, then?”
Mr. Nott whips around. Harry jumps, and nods. Mr. Nott smiles. “That’s the magic in the room being deadened so that the Hourglass can more easily measure your own. It’s a sign of strength that you can feel it so clearly.”
Harry catches a glimpse of the thing on the platform behind him, which Mr. Nott was blocking from view at first. It is a giant silver hourglass, gleaming, at least twice as tall as Harry. It has no sand in it Harry can see, but there are runes carved all around the edges of the bulbs.
“How does it work?” Harry is starting to think that maybe it’s suspicious he’s never heard of this before or noticed anything about it in a book.
“You stand in front of it, and soon sand will flow into the hourglass,” Mr. Nott says calmly enough. He’s standing to one side and he doesn’t have his wand drawn. Harry hopes that’s a good sign. “The sand comes from the magic of the hourglass itself. It moves in certain patterns that indicate magical specialties or strengths. I’ll interpret them for you.”
Once again, Harry hesitates, but he’s already put this much trust in Mr. Nott. It’s a little late to start thinking that Theo’s dad shouldn’t know as much about what Harry can do.
Slowly, Harry steps in front of the hourglass. It shivers, and Harry can hear a deep chime that comes from somewhere. Golden sand fills it, sparkling hard against the silver hoops of the hourglass itself.
The sand crosses and crisscrosses. Harry can’t see many patterns in it, honestly. Now and then there’s a curve or an X, but they always dissolve back into the chaos of flowing gold. Harry decides to stand and look at how pretty it is and hope Mr. Nott can tell him something useful when it finally ends.
The hourglass finally chimes again. The sand all falls into the bottom bulb, which looks about half-full. Harry blinks and glances at Mr. Nott.
Who’s standing there with a faint smile on his face.
“You wouldn’t remember it if you have been tested by the Hourglass before, but I don’t think anyone who was there would have forgotten it,” Mr. Nott murmurs, moving closer. “That was incredible, Mr. Potter.”
“It was? Why?”
Mr. Nott flicks a finger at the sand in the bottom bulb. “The amount of sand indicates the power. Most wizards fill it a quarter of the way. Maybe a third. Half is very impressive.”
Harry folds his arms. “Does that mean you think you can train me in magic?”
“Certain kinds of magic.” Mr. Nott waves his wand, and a pattern forms in the air. It’s a brilliant blue, and Harry recognizes some of the twists and turns that the sand took when it was filling the hourglass. Not all of them, but on the other hand, he doesn’t really see what Mr. Nott would gain from lying about what he saw. “You have no talent for the Dark Arts at all, I’m sorry to say.”
Harry only shrugs, because he doesn’t know what the right response would be, but secretly he’s relieved.
“Defense, yes, that specialty is strong. And flying. And you have some possible untapped potential for spell creation, although you’d have to work to make it as strong as your Defense talent is.” Mr. Nott pauses and waves his wand again, and the whole configuration of blue light flips and twists over. Harry can see several small X’s in a row. He blinks. He certainly never saw them when the light was flying around. “Ah, now this. This is interesting. You’re a Parselmouth?”
“Yes,” Harry says, a little startled. He would have thought Theo would tell his dad that.
“You could have a talent for snake magic,” Mr. Nott says.
“Like—Care of Magical Creatures?”
“Nothing so plebian.” Mr. Nott consigns them to non-existence with an easy flip of his hand. “No, I mean the talent of reading the messages snakes send, as well as speaking to them. Even the magical serpents that we typically can’t work with or tame respond to a snake mage. They can perform magic that normally belongs to other branches, such as forming their bodies into runes that one may read, or into patterns that can predict the future.” He ends the image with a snap of his wrist and looks at Harry intently. “But that would also take work. And it would take more training than I could give you. You’d either need lots of books or more tutors.”
“I can afford the books.”
“I thought you would want the tutors.”
“I don’t think if it’s a good idea if everyone knows I’m here. What happens if one of the tutors supported Dumbledore and tried to take me back to him?”
Mr. Nott looks at him with raised eyebrows, which make Harry start to flush, certain it’s a stupid objection. Instead, though, he claps his hands together and nods. “And you may also have more of a talent for intrigue than I thought. Of course, that’s hardly something one could expect the Silver Hourglass to show.”
Harry tries a small smile. Mr. Nott goes on looking at him thoughtfully, then turns around and says, “Theo should be coming in soon. Let’s go meet him.”
*
The first thing Theo feels is relief at seeing Harry at all. He didn’t think Father would lock him up or experiment on him, but Father doesn’t always do the most sensible things. And Harry doesn’t look shaken or upset. Theo goes over and shakes his hand. “I’m glad you got here safely.’
“I did. Thanks for owling your father to rescue me.”
Harry looks at him intently the whole time as they turn to the dining room table. Theo wonders if Harry is thinking about the debt he owes. He has something to say to Harry about that, but it won’t do in front of his father.
He and Father eat. Harry nibbles on a bowl of custard the house-elves bring him. He obviously ate earlier. Well, if some of the things that Theo heard about the Muggles are true, food would be precious to him.
When they finish their meal—roast venison, for the most part, although with some fresh fruit and Theo’s favorite, candied oranges—Father leans over the table and says, “I tested Mr. Potter by the Silver Hourglass, since I wanted to know what his specialties were. He has talents for Defense and for snake magic.”
Theo swivels around to stare at Harry. “Snake magic?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I have it because I’m a Parselmouth?” Harry seems less cool and reserved now, shrugging as he turns red. “I don’t really know what to do with it.”
“You could talk to dragons,” Theo says, absolutely certain of this. Father had him read all about magical talents before he went to Hogwarts. The Silver Hourglass said Theo didn’t have a lot of them except a gift for Dark Arts, but it’s always useful to know what other families who could turn out to be your enemies have. “That’s the only way dragons work for us. Someone who has snake magic talks to them and they’re willing to do things he asks them to. But you can’t tame dragons. You can only persuade them.”
“I suspect talking to dragons may be even easier for Mr. Potter than it would for most,” Father says, cradling a cup of the nutty-smelling wine he’s said Theo can have when he’s fifteen. “After all, he is a Parselmouth, and dragons are related to snakes, although not closely.”
Theo shakes his head, just amazed. He wonders if Harry would ever have known about this if he’d stayed a Gryffindor. Probably not.
Which only makes it more exciting.
But when Theo looks at Harry, he doesn’t see excitement. He sees Harry frowning and looking back and forth between them.
Father seems to notice at the same time, because he puts down his cup of wine and leans forwards. “What is it, Mr. Potter?”
“The training in magic you promised me sounds great.” Harry’s voice is so cautious Theo is reminded of the time that Father trained him to walk on bones without making a sound. Theo probably wavered back and forth like that with his arms spread. “But Dumbledore’s not going to let me stay here, is he? Even if he can’t find me this summer, he’ll probably prevent me from coming back next summer.”
“He cannot,” Father says, and his voice and face are bright with malice. “He’ll have to give guardianship over to someone else.”
“Why?”
“Snake mages are considered dangerous around Muggles.” Father turns his head to the side, so he’s watching Harry with just a single eye. “Even though I can’t remember historical records of it happening, only legends, they’re afraid that snake mages will turn wild Muggle serpents against anyone who mistreats them. In fact, the Ministry is afraid of that happening when snake mages live in our world. Only then the creatures they are supposed to be able to command are magical, of course.” Father shrugs a little. “Only a very few wizards who have the libraries or can hire the tutors to give the training would be permitted to take care of you. I am one of them.”
Harry relaxes, but Theo keeps his steady gaze on Father. There’s something else, he can sense it. Some other reason Harry won’t be going back to the Dursleys, other than the reassuring truth Father told him.
Father meets his eyes. Theo doesn’t need writing to translate the message in his face.
Leave it alone.
And Theo will, for now. But he will also find out.
*
“Good morning, Mr. Potter.”
Severus uses the name deliberately. He isn’t going to call him Harry, not in front of Tarquinius. From the way that Harry’s eyes widen, though, the politeness has done much the same thing as calling him by his first name would have done.
Cursing silently, Severus nonetheless bows his head and looks once around the receiving room. It is made of thick black stone, the chairs big and bulky although not actually black. The fireplace flickers with a dim light.
“There will need to be a bit more light if Mr. Potter is to see the notes he will take on Potions, Tarquinius.”
“You do intend to teach the boy, then, Severus? Not simply remind him of the places that you would prefer he be?”
Harry’s eyes flicker like the fire for a moment, and then he says, “I’m the one who should decide that, surely.”
Severus stares at him. Tarquinius doesn’t appear as surprised, but perhaps the benefit of an extra day around the boy—
No. Not when it was the first day.
“Is Dumbledore searching for me?” Harry goes on, and faces Severus as if he has forgotten that such a person as Tarquinius Nott exists. Severus finds that satisfying for a number of reasons. He doesn’t try to untangle all of them now.
“Professor Dumbledore.”
Harry tosses that off with a flick of his hand. “Is he?”
“He certainly would like to know where you disappeared to.” Severus folds his fingers. “Do you want me to tell him?”
“Of course not. He thought I belonged with the Dursleys. With people who made me sleep in a cupboard. With people who were as happy not to feed me as feed me.” Harry leans forwards a little. “I’m never going back to them again.”
“Of course you are not.”
Something is in Tarquinius’s voice that is more than simple agreement with Harry. Severus cannot define what it is, but then, there is a reason that he was a good Death Eater, whether or not he could explain it. He turns to Tarquinius, and waits.
Tarquinius smiles a little, and produces a Daily Prophet. Severus tenses. It’s true he didn’t read the paper this morning, engaged in preparing for this meeting, but he would have seen something in the headlines pertaining to Harry. Enough other people read it around him.
Tarquinius flips to the third page, however, and holds it out. Severus stares without comprehension, until he finds the words that say, Death of Muggle Family. A smaller headline says, Magical creature believed responsible: Ministry investigation.
“You did not,” Severus says.
“I did not.”
Harry takes the paper, and neither Tarquinius nor Severus tries to stop him. They are too busy staring each other down. Harry makes a choking sound, and then says, “The Dursleys are dead?”
“Yes.” Severus moves a little nearer, as tenderly as he can. Despite Harry not wanting to return to his relatives, that is a long way from wishing them dead. Severus thinks he might need to catch him as he vomits or faints.
But instead, Harry looks up and says, “Good.”
*
phoenix-rob: Thank you! While we only got to see a few things in miniature here, I hope things like Severus's reaction were still satisfying.
Kain: Severus can't just grab Harry unless he wants one of Tarquinius's "pets" coming after him. He has to be more subtle than that. But you're right, he won't be telling Dumbledore unless he has to.
Hermione would be upset if she thought that Harry was becoming friends with Tarquiinius or believing what he does, but simply being indebted to a man like that is not a big deal. She does believe that Dumbledore has failed Harry; she wants Harry to be safe, and she doesn't think Tarquinius can provide safety. But if he does, then she'll put up with it unless Harry starts mouthing his beliefs.
Harry has his own thoughts about the Dursleys' deaths, more than what Severus sees going on in the final scene of this chapter. But that's going to wait for Chapter 13.
InvidiaRed: I'll take a look at it.
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