No Fortress Is So Strong, Chapter 12
Title: No Fortress Is So Strong
Summary: In 1981, the two Potter sons had their fates switched, and Nicolas Potter became a famous face. But there are those who know the truth, that the real Chosen One was the younger child. The Slytherin. Now, two brothers share a destiny.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes & Caveats: This is a rewrite of the fanfiction story Slytherin Serpent. The premise was originally thought up in 2004, rewritten in 2006, and rewritten again in 2009. This is the only complete version.
This chapter is as yet unbeta’ed for spelling, grammar, and brit-picking. I apologize for this in advance. If you spot any error, no matter how small, please tell me in a review so that I can fix it.
Many thanks to Micah, who examined this story for plot and continuity errors.
“When brothers agree, no fortress is so strong as their common life.” ~Antisthenes
Chapter Twelve: The Clock Strikes Midnight
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As November progressed into December, the weather continued to grow colder. In the dungeons, Snape kept their dorms and common room at a comfortable temperature, but one step outside the sheltering spells and the icy dungeon air bit into their hands and faces.
Midway through December, Harry and the rest of the Slytherins emerged from the dungeons to see that the grounds had been covered in a blanket of snow and the lake had frozen solid. Overenthusiastic students took this as an opportunity for magical snow fights. Harry nearly fell over laughing when the Weasley twins enchanted several snowballs to follow Quirrell around and bounce off the back of his turban.
Cold seemed to permeate the entire castle aside from the Great Hall and the common rooms, but the worst was Professor Snape’s class. For some reason he neglected to keep the classroom warm like he did the common room, and they were forced to huddle deeply into their winter cloaks and stand as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.
“I do feel so sorry,” Draco Malfoy said during one of these classes, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”
He was looking right at Harry as he said it, but Harry didn’t take offense. He wasn’t not wanted at home - he had no home to go to at all, and in fact had leapt at the chance to sign his name to the roster Professor Snape had passed around the common room the day before.
But then that evening at dinner Snape descended to the Slytherin table with a long white paper envelope grasped in his hand, the kind of business envelope so common in the Muggle world. He handed it to Harry with a brusque explanation - every once in a while a Muggle who didn’t know about the wizarding world would send a letter a witch or wizard at Hogwarts. These letters were addressed to a post office box in London, where they would be sent along by owl in bundles, to be distributed at the school.
Harry looked down at the envelope. His name was written on the front, as well as the relevant information. It was addressed to a London post office, and it was written in tight, cramped writing that was very familiar.
It was from Michael.
It read:
Dear Harry,
How are you? I hope your term is going well so far, and you are enjoying yourself a lot. I apologize for the lack of letters so far - life is very busy right now. I hope you are enjoying yourself at your new school, and staying out of trouble.
Moving on, however. Christmas is almost here! Have you thought a bit about what you would like?
Looking forward to your reply,
Michael
Harry laughed shakily. He’d never thought…and the act itself was serving to undo him. He’d thought he’d outgrown that desire to have a parental figure, but apparently not. Carefully, he folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope to reply to later.
The Great Hall was in the midst of being decorated, and it was going to be truly spectacular. Harry counted eleven - soon to be twelve - enormous trees around the Hall, all in various stages of decoration completion. They were draped with holly, tiny, non-melting icicles, and hundreds of real, twinkling fairies. Fascinated, Harry watched the miniscule fairies dart around on their assigned trees, chattering quietly at each other in their tiny musical voices.
After the students left on the train to London, Harry suddenly had the Slytherin first year dormitory to himself, and shared the common room with only a small handful of older students. He spent much of his time before Christmas in the library or with his brother, and once went to Professor Snape to give him a letter to send to Michael. He hadn’t written much, just a mild thanks-for-the-letter and that he was enjoying school and didn’t know what he wanted for Christmas, and a brusque but genuine enquiry after Michael’s health.
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Harry joined Nick and the Weasley twins for an impromptu Snow War, which they made as elaborate as possible.
“All right, so brothers against brothers, yes?” Fred(Harry thought it was Fred, but he couldn’t be sure) asked excitedly.
“Yes,” Nick replied.
“All right, let’s do this!” George yelled, and crouched down to scoop up a pile of snow and hurl it at Harry, but he was too late because Harry was already bounding through the snow with Nick on his heels.
“We need a fortress!” Nick said enthusiastically.
“A great big wall!” Harry rejoined, caught up in the excitement.
“All right, let’s push a bunch of snow up to a hill - look, I have this nifty Sweeping Charm that Hermione Granger taught me - ”
“Whoa!” Harry said, scrambling out of the way as the snow around them swept itself into a neat pile.
“Now packing spells!” Nick cried, and packed the snow down hard with another charm, then the two boys proceeded to shape the snow by hand until they had a serviceably thick wall of snow that reached over their heads.
“Snowballs,” Harry said, and started scooping up handfuls of snow. Then there was a whistling noise and a barrage of snowballs came from the other team and collapsed their wall into a pile of broken snow chunks. Harry and Nick yelped in outrage, then leapt to their feet and charged as one.
Harry caught a quick glimpse of Fred or George’s startled expression before he was on him, scooping up snow and dumping it down the other boy’s shirt. Nick was flinging snow as fast as he could onto the other twin’s face and hair and down the front of his shirt, until they were both shouting in protest and wriggling around to get the snow out.
Within moments they were all soaking wet and laughing too hard to breathe.
Harry went to bed that night exhausted and cheerful, expecting a present from his brother but no one else. That was why he was so surprised the next morning to wake up to a substantial pile of presents at the foot of his bed. Scrambling to sit up, Harry stared for a long moment, mouth open.
Then he tentatively reached for the first one, and searched for the tag. It was long and flat and it was from Michael.
Blinking, Harry tore off the shiny Muggle wrapper to reveal a fine pad of expensive drawing paper and a set of charcoal pieces. It took Harry back in a flash to his tenth birthday, when Michael had taken him from the Williamsons and he’d had to leave his birthday present - a drawing pad and coloured pencils - behind.
Harry fingered the paper lightly, feeling a little subdued, then set the paper and charcoal pieces carefully to the side.
The next package was lumpy and strangely shaped and rather clumsily wrapped. The tag said it was For Harry, from your friend, Hermione.
Blinking in surprise at that, Harry remembered that he’d told everyone he’d gone to the girls’ toilet to find Hermione, to warn her about the troll. That might warrant a Christmas present, Harry mused as he tore open the wrapper, if it had been true. Harry felt a tiny twinge of guilt for a moment before it faded. He mentally shrugged.
Hermione’s present was a package of Muggle candy. Harry’s eyes widened slightly, for although Muggle chocolate didn’t have anything on wizarding chocolate, Harry had missed boiled sweets quite badly.
The third gift was from Nick - a fine silver cloak pin, shaped into a snake with emeralds for eyes. Harry laughed at the gift - it was so Slytherin as to be un-Slytherin, and Nick was so very Gryffindor for buying it for him. Cradling the pin gently in his hand, Harry knew he’d wear it, and treasure it, for as long as it lasted, despite the inevitable mocking it would get him from others in his House.
There were just two presents left - one was from Zabini, an envelope with a gift coin to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and one more unmarked gift with no tag.
It was so light as to be almost weightless, and very soft. Gently pulling open the wrapping, Harry drew out a wad of silvery cloth. It was very strange, like material made from water, and when Harry drew his hand away he almost thought it should have been wet.
But it wasn’t. It was perfectly dry.
Harry stood up and shook the cloth out, and it billowed out in the form of a long, hooded cloak. It was kind of a strange colour, Harry thought with a twist of his lips. Did anyone really expect him to wear a silver cloak?
Regardless, Harry swung the cloak over his shoulders and stepped over to the mirror to see how it looked.
He froze, for he was just a head floating in mid-air.
He yanked the cloak off and threw it away from him to the corner of the room, where it fluttered down to the floor in a puddle of silvery fabric. Halfway there, a square piece of parchment drifted away from the folds and twirled to the floor.
Harry moved over and picked it up curiously.
Your father left this in my possession before he died, it read. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you.
It was unsigned.
Harry looked over at the strange cloak again, contemplating. If the letter was to be believed, then it had been Harry’s father’s.
Harry went over and picked it up, running his fingers over it. After a moment of consideration, he swung it over his shoulders again. This time he was expecting it, so he wasn’t startled by the abrupt disappearance of his body.
He flipped the hood over his head and watched his reflection vanish completely, and after a moment a satisfied feeling welled up in his chest. This could be fun.
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“Happy Christmas, Harry!” Nick called when Harry arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry smiled and waved back.
“Happy Christmas, Nicolas,” he replied when he sat down beside his brother. “Thank you for the pin, I love it.”
Sure enough, Harry had used the cloak pin to fasten his winter cloak, and the bright silver sparkled gently in the glow of the twelve trees. Nick flushed with pleasure.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, remarkably shy. “Thanks for the broom kit, it’s fantastic.”
“Thought you might like that,” Harry said offhandedly. “Quidditch fiend, and all.”
“Don’t start,” Nick warned playfully. “You’re well on your way, after all.”
“I don’t deny it,” Harry laughed. “What else did you get?”
“Candy from Hermione, a tissue from the family, a book on Quidditch from Jon, a pair of gloves from Katie, a snow globe from Leanne and a strategy book from Victoria. You?”
“Zabini got me a gift coin to Quality Quidditch, I got a drawing pad and pencils from my social worker Michael, candy from Hermione, and a cloak.”
“A cloak?” Nicked asked curiously, and Harry nodded.
“It’s really neat,” he explained. “I’ll show it to you later, after breakfast.”
Something in Harry’s voice warned his brother not to carry on the conversation here, and he looked painfully curious but nodded all the same.
After breakfast Harry darted down to the common room after telling Nick he’d meet up with him in the library. He carefully folded the thin, silvery cloak and placed it into his book bag, then hurried to the library.
“All right,” he said, slightly out of breath from his hurry. “Come on, let’s find somewhere private…”
They found an empty, unused classroom on the fourth floor. Harry closed the door and turned to grin at his brother as he pulled the cloak from his bag, shook it out, and swung it over his shoulders. As he flipped the hood over his head, he watched his brother’s jaw drop in abject surprise.
“Whoa,” Nick gasped. “Harry, where’d you go?”
“I’m here,” Harry said reassuringly. “It’s a cloak that makes you invisible. Look, here’s the note…”
“Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well,” Nick read out loud. “This was dad’s?”
“So it says,” Harry said, pushing the hood back down so his brother could see him. “I wonder why they gave it to me?”
“Dunno,” Nick shrugged.
“You can use it, if you need to,” Harry said generously.
“Thanks,” Nick said, looking brighter.
For much of the afternoon Harry and Nick wandered the castle - sans the silver cloak - discussing everything they could think of. They explored secret passageways and empty classrooms until, covered in dust, they returned to the Great Hall for the highly anticipated Christmas feast.
Harry had never seen so much food in his life, and that included the Halloween and Welcoming feasts. A dozen golden brown, gently sizzling turkeys were spaced across the single table, surrounded by tureens of fresh vegetables, platters of buttered potatoes, boats of rich, thick gravy, enormous hams and plates piled high with slices of roast, and wizard party crackers placed every few feet.
Harry and Nick both ate too much of the perfectly cooked turkey, and Harry went away from the table with a brand new chess set, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, a pair of one-size-fits-all wool socks, and a package of black licorice. Nick’s stash included a tall admiral’s hat, several white mice, a pair of silver cufflinks, and a package of cream-filled chocolate cauldrons.
Too full for anything strenuous, the two brothers wandered back up to the library for the remainder of the evening, where they both chose a book on Quidditch to read quietly until, both yawning, they said goodnight and Happy Christmas to each other and headed their separate ways to bed.
Harry climbed into his heavenly warm four-poster and drifted away immediately.
He woke in the early morning hours because of dark, restless dreams. His legs ached painfully as though he’d been walking for too long, or growing too fast, and his heart pounded strangely, almost as if he’d been startled. Kicking off his blankets, Harry got up and tapped a candle with his wand. The Ever-Ready candle flickered to life and Harry picked it up to cradle it restlessly in his hands.
His eyes flicked over to his trunk, where the silver cloak resided, folded safely at the bottom. The desire to use it grew rapidly out of control, and before Harry realized what he was doing he was going to his trunk and pulling it out. At the door, he swung it around his shoulders, then snuffed out the candle and slipped out into the corridor.
He wandered the castle in the vague direction of the library, thinking that this was an excellent time to explore the restricted section, something he’d been very keen to do ever since he’d been told it was off limits without a specific purpose and a note from a professor.
In the restricted section, there was the sound of very, very faint whispers. The sound sent an icy chill down Harry spine, freezing him in his tracks and his breath in his lungs.
For an endless, terror-ridden moment, Harry listened to the voices whispering.
Then, with a slow-coming realization, he looked at the books.
The books were speaking.
Entranced, Harry took a slow step forward, and then another, slowly reaching out a hand. In the dim light of a distant, softly-glowing torch, Harry’s hand looked pale yellow as he pressed two fingertips to the thick spine of one trembling book.
When nothing happened, Harry grasped it gently and withdrew it from the shelf. The movement seemed to disturb the other books, and with a strange rustle their whispers became more intense. Holding his breath in preparation of something violent, Harry cracked open the book to the first page.
He was right to be prepared, although nothing could truly have prepared him. The book screamed; a bloodcurdling, full-throated shriek of fury and hate. Harry flung the book away from him, turned, and bolted, fleeing the library and the screaming book behind him. He kept running, up and down staircases, down corridors, through tapestries until he was out of breath and his heart pounded so hard he thought it was going to jerk right out of his chest. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.
When he staggered to a halt, he was surrounded by portraits and suits of armour that were completely unfamiliar. He looked around, trying to orient himself - but it was no good.
He was lost.
Trembling from a mixture of overexertion and adrenaline, Harry leaned against the icy stone walls of the corridor and slid down to the floor, resting his head on the wall and giving his heart a chance to slow. When he felt sufficiently recovered enough to stand, he covered himself securely with the cloak and set off the way he had come, peeking into open doors as he went.
Then there was a voice, soft and indistinct with vaguely oily overtones. Filch, murmuring softly to someone. Harry was sure he was only talking to his cat, but then someone else replied, deeper and more distinct, with a lack of toothless slurring.
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face as he turned, dreading the sight behind him. Filch and Harry’s Head of House were just coming around the corner. Harry looked around wildly for an escape, and spotted a slightly open door a bit down the corridor, in the direction that Filch and Snape were coming from. On silent rubber soles, Harry ran as quietly as possible to the door, tugged the silver cloak around him tightly, held his breath, and squeezed into the open room just as Filch and Snape drew level with him.
Trembling again, Harry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, so it was several seconds before he spotted the mirror.
It was as tall as the ceiling and looked terribly out of place in the unused classroom Harry had stumbled upon. In the dimness of the dusty room the ornate golden frame gleamed softly, undimmed by dust or grime. The mirror stood on two clawed feet with an inscription carved in the gold on the top of the frame: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Latin, possibly? Harry wasn’t sure, having never taken latin lessons before. But then, the oyt looked bizarrely out of place, even to Harry, who freely admitted to almost no knowledge about Latin.
Curious, Harry stepped up to the mirror to have a closer look, glancing in it briefly.
He froze and had to strangle a scream in his mouth, and whipped around with his heart beating even harder than when the book had screamed - for he was surrounded on all sides by people.
Except he wasn’t. There was no one behind him.
Swallowing hard, Harry turned back to the mirror. There were at least ten people there - except…
“Nick?” Harry whispered, inching forward. “Nick, what…?”
Harry tried to still his trembling hands by pressing them hard onto the surface of the mirror. In its depths, Nick smiled at him, the expression stretching the scar across his eye on a face so similar to Harry’s own.
Harry didn’t understand. Was his brother inside the mirror? But Nick didn’t look distressed in any way - on the contrary, when Nick looked up at the people standing beside him, his face looked intensely happy.
Harry looked up at their faces, at a man and a woman. Harry reached out behind him and felt only empty air, despite the fact that in the mirror, she stood just behind Harry’s reflection.
She was beautiful, Harry noted, with dark red hair, and her eyes…just like Harry’s own.
“Mum?”Harry whispered, and his voice broke. “Mum.”
She smiled at him, tears falling from her green, green eyes. Harry pressed against the mirror’s surface as if he could fall through to them.
In the mirror, Nick leaned against the man’s side, and brought Harry’s attention to him. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and round glasses, like Nick’s. His facial structure was so similar to both boys as to be one of them in ten years, and his hair was black and messy. It stuck up all over the place, just like Harry’s did.
“Dad,” Harry choked, and his father smiled blindingly.
Harry looked and looked, and the reflections didn’t fade. There were people with eyes like his, and hair like his, and noses like his. For the first time in his life, Harry was looking at his family, his entire family, reunited within the mirror.
He could have stayed there for ever if a distant sound hadn’t startled him. He tore his gaze from his mother’s face and whispered, “I’ll be back.”
He didn’t dare look back as he hurried away, for fear he wouldn’t be able to leave at all.
By morning, Harry’s stomach was in knots, and he got to the Great Hall before Nick did. That in itself was a rarity - Nick was an early riser, product of his relatives’ treatment.
By the time Nick arrived, Harry was a fidgeting wreck, unable to eat or concentrate on anything. Before Nick was able to sit, Harry had leapt up, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him out of the hall.
“I want to show you something,” Harry explained in a rush. “Come on, come with me.”
“What the hell…?” Nick asked, bemused. “All right, I’m coming Harry.”
“This way,” Harry said, and led Nick on a winding path made of guesswork and half-remembered landmarks, often backtracking to take another path. Nick started to become impatient.
“What are we doing, Harry?” he asked irritably.
“Just wait, it’s here, I know it is - just - there!” It was a familiar-looking suit of armour, and just past it… “Yes, here, look.”
He pushed open the door and sure enough, there was the mirror.
“What is it?” Nick asked curiously, and Harry pulled him over to the mirror.
“Go ahead, look inside,” Harry said eagerly, and pushed Nick to stand before it. He knew when Nick had seen because his brother’s face went a stark, bloodless white and his mouth dropped open in shock.
“Is that…?” he began weakly.
“Yes,” Harry said breathlessly. “It’s our parents.”
“Mum?” Nick whispered, stepping closer to the mirror. “Dad?”
There was no audible reply, but Harry knew that their parents were smiling at them. Smiling and waving.
“You’re in the mirror, Harry,” Nick whispered, reaching out a hand to touch the surface. His other hand reached out to the side and clung to Harry’s elbow. Without thinking about it, Harry shuffled in until his side pressed up against his brother, a position that allowed them to both look inside. Their parents smiled at them, and Harry felt that terrible aching he’d felt the night before, part joy, part terrible grief. In the mirror, their parents waved and smiled and cried.
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The two boys tore themselves away for dinner, but returned late that night. They were both in such a hurry to get to the mirror that they forgot to pay attention to their surroundings, and so as they were scrunching themselves together to sit in front of the mirror, a voice spoke up from behind them, startling them into springing apart.
“So…back again, boys?”
Harry whirled around.
“Professor Dumbledore!” he breathed, heart pounding in surprise.
“We didn’t see you there, sir,” Nick said, clambering to his feet.
“No, no, sit,” Dumbledore said, and slipped off the desk to sit on the floor beside them. “So you have both discovered the secrets of the Mirror of Erised.”
“The Mirror of Erised?” Harry repeated.
“That’s what it’s called?” Nick asked curiously. “What does it mean?”
“Why, it means exactly what it shows you,” Professor Dumbledore said, smiling.
“It shows us our parents,” Harry said, scooting closer to Dumbledore.
“Yes, and it shows a child desperate for recognition in a position of great power, and an old man longing for normality a simple pair of socks. And a person who has everything they could ever want, and want for nothing…they see themselves exactly as they are. Do you understand?”
“It shows us what we want,” Harry murmured glumly.
“Whatever we want,” Nick echoed.
“Close. It shows us nothing more and nothing less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts.”
“Like our family,” Nick said hollowly.
“Exactly. However, it can be dangerous. Men have wasted away before it, driven mad by what they see, not sure if it’s real or even possible.”
Harry looked at his brother beside him, and Nick looked back with eyes large and dark in his pale face.
“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, boys,” Dumbledore said softly. “And I ask that you not go looking for it again. If you ever do stumble across it, however - you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered, and Nick echoed him.
“Now,” Dumbledore said, getting lightly to his feet. “Why don’t you cover yourselves with that fine cloak and run off back to bed?”
“Sir,” Harry started, getting to his feet. “Do you know who sent me the cloak?”
“Your father left it in my possession,” Dumbledore replied, smiling. “I had a hard time deciding who to trust it with - it was actually given to me to give to you, Nicolas, when your mother was still carrying you. Before Harry was even an inkling. Nonetheless, I feel in my heart that Harry will need it most, and I knew you would not begrudge him that, Nicolas.”
“No sir,” Nick said solemnly.
“Off to bed,” Dumbledore whispered, and Harry swung the cloak over their heads and they squeezed awkwardly through the door without another word.
Chapter Thirteen