HP/SS: Multi: A Mother's Love: CH 2

[prowlingthunder]

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A MOTHER'S LOVE

 

Magus.

The word, the name, by itself meant absolutely nothing. It connoted nothing, had no strings, and could not be attributed to anything in the universe.

Nevertheless, Magus as a whole were unliked by the Saints Harry had grown up with his whole life. He hadn't asked why; Mother had kept him home one day when he should have been training, shortly after the owl had made it to his balcony. After Harry, laughingly, spent the day teasing his new brothers. Agora had not been pleased by the pink crack and somehow, Harry and the other five elder boys had been drawn up into a brawl.

Kiki had kept score.

Harry was positive he would be keeping score too, his mind trailing through the list of commands his mother had given him. Most of them were simple, basic things - don't drink or eat anything a Magus prepares or gives you - but the others were not so simple. Mother had been required to explain the difference between a simple Ritual and a Magus Ritual. And after shopping at Diagon Alley, the Silver Saint had yet another thing to add to his mass of studies.

Okay, a lot of things.

Really, that's part of what Harry was doing now; the scarlet train had not yet left the platform, but Harry had already begun to continue his studies. He had already read his year's books several times, even though he knew he would only be reading them again later on, and was instead reading through a book of supposed myths.

He wanted to play music, but without his brothers present, he know that would only serve to make him feel more lonely.

Even Nagini, the snake who had lived in Shaka's fruit tree, and Hedwig, the newfound family owl that had been bought for him to keep in touch, did not make him feel particularly sociable at the moment.

Harry glanced up from a page talking of a great Death Hound called a Grim to peer at the bird, who had perched on the windowsill and was watching the platform outside in curiosity. She was a sociable bird, and she and Nagini seemed to get along. She was also notoriously well-behaved for an owl.

It had to be an animal thing, he mused, and dropped his attention back down. Learning how to use a quill was difficult, but he was practicing by taking notes. Still, he felt he would likely be handing in papers marked in a calligraphy brush for some time. An inkstone, at least, stayed where you put it. He had to make sure his inkbottle was capped whenever he wasn't using it because the obscure thing spun in saucer-sized circles and bubbled at inopportune moments.

It bubbled again, dancing along the designs of his Clothbox, when he heard the door slide open; he looked up and was surprised to find two redheads toting a familiar black and silver trunk, and being followed by an equally-familiar blond.

"Now, little dragon, is this-" One redhead began, and Harry realized a bit belatedly that the twins were absolutely identical, in all but one thing. One was favoring his right arm a little.

"-your friend?" The other finished and practically preened when the blond nodded, hoisting the truck up to place it in the luggage rack.

Harry had left his Clothbox and trunk on the floor beneath the window, mostly because he was using them for tables then anything else. His ink bottle continued to dance; he picked it up and shook it absently, watching the newcomers. "Hello, Draco- who are your companions?"

"Harry, this is Fred and George. They're absolutely brilliant!"

"No, I'm Fred and he's George!" Favoring Right chirped, and Harry found himself amused by both as they proceeded to bicker over who was who. He wondered if they ever had identity issues.

"I am Harry," He offered, when at last the debate had settled over just which name belonged to who. Favoring Right ended up George.

"A wonderful-"

"Indescribable-"

"Pleasure to meet you, Harry!" The twins finished together, and Draco gave an offhand shrug when Harry looked to him. The blond couldn't be bothered to find sane people to carry his luggage?

Three minutes of conversation encompassed the four of them until the train's whistle blew and pulled from station, at which point the two excused themselves to go 'filch some knickers', effectively leaving Harry alone with a curious blond who wondered aloud why he was reading about Grims.

"Draco, what are 'knickers'?"

-x-x-x-

Harry could never sleep without dreaming. His mind insisted he must be aware and thus, he was. He always knew, instinctively, what was going on around him when something changed or something no longer seemed safe. And, to be thoroughly honest, he was surprised that he had fallen asleep in the large metal monstrosity at all. But some things still occurred as expected: he woke when something changed.

Draco had changed. He was busy fastening the heavy Hogwarts robes closed, and the young Saint nearly gagged at how pale they made him appear. Black was not a good color on him.

Harry rather thought it looked quite fetching on himself as he followed the boy's lead, amazed to learn that he had slept through the arrival of the snack trolley- more because a stranger had infiltrated his compartment then any other reason.

He felt he very much preferred his pale white cloak to the school's chosen attire, however. He had never been particular to dark colors, especially once he had started to research the other Gods. Athena's rival for Earth was Hades, the 'wicked' God of the Underworld. His warriors, the one hundred and eight Specters, wore dark armors known as Surplices.

Harry had studied Hades at six, and Mother had to explain to him that 'dark' was not synonymous with 'bad', or, harder, 'evil'.

Still, despite being an artist, he did not appreciate the beauty these colors possessed.

Besides, they didn't look quite swell with his Cloth on beneath. They produced a rather ominous shadow. Harry fingered his headband and decided to keep it on- it kept his bangs out of the way. They weren't enough to tie back with the rest of his hair.

The train pulled to a stop. Harry smiled privately to himself; it was time to face the world of the Magus.

-x-x-x-

Harry was as pale as a Banshee as Draco guided him up the stairs and into the Castle, the rocking of the boat had made him ill, moreso by the fact he had already been scared. Draco had complained about him crushing bones, but he had used the same hand to grab him by the sleeve and drag him up the stairs, so Harry was not inclined to believe him.

He suspected most of the blond's rant was an attempt to make him smile, and it was a success. It was getting his mind off the horrid deep water.

Harry had seen deep water only once, and that was in the Alps where he had struggled to attain his Cloth. That water had smelled and tasted like sulfur, and Harry had no great love for it, either. There was no such thing as pure water in Death Valley. But at least in Death Valley, Harry had not seen a Kracken.

Bloody lake his foot! Poseidon's child would not be in it naturally unless it were connected to one of the seven seas. At least Draco had been equally surprised to see it.

-x-x-x-

Now Harry was sure he'd seen everything. The mass of eleven-year olds had been left alone for all of fifteen minutes- which was a really long wait for Harry, still somewhat freaked out by his first Magus boatride and therefor about twice as jumpy as normal- which was long enough for him to realize Draco whimpered like his Mother during labor at the appearance of another fun Magus secret: Ghosts.

Transparent with only the vaguest hints of color, the ghosts could not be considered particularly atheistically pleasing, but they were rather sociable. One stopped for a moment to apologize to the frightened mob before continuing onward, and Harry himself was about ready to scream from stress.

Scylla -and- ghosts around preteens? He had heard Magus were Mad, but this took the cake!

He took that back several moments later when they were ushered inside an even larger room with no apparent ceiling- the Great Hall, he recalled reading- and an old tattered rag began to sing to them.

This most assuredly took the cake. And some Scarlettemper to boot!

Draco had calmed down by the stern catty woman called him - "Malfoy, Draco!" - and the rag's- hats?- sudden placement - "SLYTHERINE!", though it hadn't even touched his head- but Harry was still so wound and on alert that he right about jumped out of his skin when he heard his name, his old name, called shortly afterward.

"Potter, Harry!"

He shouldn't have been so surprised. It was the name his letter had come with, after all. He couldn't help it though. Even Mister and Missus Malfoy had deigned to call him proper, and Draco had conveniently forgotten his surname- it wasn't his name anymore, blast it!- about three minutes after they met.

Even the Goblins at the Bank had seemed happy to call him as he pleased.

A part of him had always known Hogwarts wouldn't though, not with him being some sort of celebrity to the Magus world.

Very slowly, like a wounded animal, Harry stepped out of the remaining crowd of children and his sharp senses caught the whispers they weren't meant to catch. From both the children and the faculty.

Nevertheless, he was determined not to show his fears to them, and stalked forward with the grace of a panthera, the great primal hunting cats. The candles that lit the Hall made the Chalice's headpiece glisten wetly and the ends of his robes and ties billowed and wafted like dark shadows and wisps of smoke. He was absolutely certain he was not supposed to catch the flash of concern in that white-haired old man's eyes as he sat down, and he made a mental note to keep an eye out when around him, just incase. And then the world went dark, the hat built for a full-grown wizard and not a fledgling.

Self control alone kept him from ripping it off when he felt it poking and prodding at his mental shields, but it didn't stop him from shuddering.

"Really now," The hat whispered to him, voice almost reassuring. "I wont know where to place you if you wont let me in."

This was going to take a while, Harry decided then and there.

-x-x-x-

Harry Potter's Sorting had everyone's undivided attention, but no one saw what Minevira saw.

A very obvious shudder.

The feline Animagus frowned in worry, a frown that steadily deepened as her godson spent longer and longer beneath the Sorting Hat. She let out a breath she hadn't been holding when the hat finally opened it's brim a whole twenty minutes later.

"SLYTHERINE!"

The tabby glanced up at the staff table and locked eyes with the Slytherine Head of House and Severus looked back at her with an expression of equal confusion.

She was beginning to believe what Dumbledore had said. This was going to be an interesting year indeed.

Turning, she ran her finger down the list again and called the next name as Harry practically glided to the green and silver table, slipping in next to Draco Malfoy.

Dinner went by easily enough for the most part, once the Headmaster got done informing them what they were not supposed to do and where they were not allowed to be. Harry had already known he was going to explore and commemorate the layout of the school to memory, but now he'd decided to pay special attention to both the forest- honestly, who drops a school in the middle of the woods to tempt then says 'do not go in'?- and the third floor corridor, which Harry was going to start on first thing in the morning.

Harry was not going to let these secrets be kept from him.

The only real trouble that occurred at dinner was one of the upperclassmen stealing his headpeice and finding that it weighted about a hundred pounds in his hands.

Harry gingerly picked it up from the crater in the table, settling it back upon it's rightful place on his head, before shooting the elder a bemused expression. "You should not touch what does not belong to you. Especially if it is mine."

-x-x-x-

Privately, Harry thought the Magus that was his 'Head of House'- whatever that was- could use a few pointers in good self-care and accessorizing, because slicked hair would look exceptionally better then simply greasy hair, and he could really due with a splash of color somewhere to draw attention. But then again, it was possible he was just colored blind and didn't want to stand out terribly, which meant, of course, that the man had a reason for being so... ugh.

Oh yes, Harry was so articulate tonight.

"That's Professor Snape," Draco offered from beside him, and the Silver Saint smiled privately; he had begun to worry, with Draco's silence during mealtime, that the blond would no longer speak to him. "He teaches potions."

Well, that explained the hair.

-x-x-x-

Slytherines lived in the dungeons, which resulted in much annoyance from the boy who came from the top of a mountain, made worse by the dark and damp decor, which drew the poor boy's brain to stories of Hades' abode. His nerves had been previously frazzled by the boatride, and neither the ghosts nor the singing, if it could be called such, of the school song had settled them, so by the time Harry saw the common room, the giant moving portrait that covered the far wall...

This was the first one he had seen, for there were no paintings between the Great Hall and the Common Room, so needless to say this did not do well to his state of mind. His Cloth was his mountain, the firm steps upon which he clung. Nothing the Magus could throw at him he could not overcome, for he had Athena's Blessing and support.

The painting spoke. Harry fainted.