mickume/alt_potterverse · Datasets at Hugging Face

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Harry hesitated, turning to look at the desk—but now even the ash and wax were gone, and Snape was putting away his wand, smirking. Git.
At that moment, they all heard a tapping.
"Come in, Headmaster," Snape said. But the door didn’t swing open, and the tapping continued.
"It’s an owl," McGonagall said, and she got up to open the window.
A cold draft blew in, carrying with it a tawny owl. It flapped its wings twice and landed before Harry, holding out its leg with a thick envelope attached.
Harry untied the envelope and opened it, pulling out a thick sheaf of parchment, barely noting the owl swooping back out the window. He read the cover letter.
Dear Mr Potter,
We have received intelligence that, at thirty-nine minutes past seven this evening, the deed to one goblin-made set of knives and associated hardware was burned beyond recognition by a Professor Severus Snape.
At the time of the deed’s destruction, our registry indicated that House Potter held title in this property. The Goblin-Made Property Ownership (Registration) (Amended) (Repealed) (Reinstated) (Re-Amended) Act 1832 requires you, as head of House Potter, to file for a replacement deed within seventy-two hours of its destruction. Please find attached information on the procedures you must follow and a schedule of associated fees.
Hoping you are well,
Yours sincerely,
Magical Land & Property Registry
Ministry of Magic
A wave of relief swept through Harry.
"Here," he said. "I think this will explain everything." And he handed her the letter.
She scanned the letter quickly, and as she did, her lips narrowed until they looked like a sharp line across her face. "Severus," she said stiffly, "what did you do?"
Snape looked up, startled.
A knock sounded on the door.
"What?" Snape shouted.
"May I come in?" Dumbledore’s voice said calmly.
Snape stiffened. "O-of course, Headmaster."
The door opened and Dumbledore walked in, keen blue eyes sweeping over the scene, taking in the hostility between McGonagall and Snape. "What is this?"
McGonagall turned away from Snape. "It seems that Mr. Potter has found a loophole in the dress code," McGonagall said, "which he believes allows him to carry knives at school. Title 17, Chapter 3—"
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said. "I was afraid he might." He crossed the room, taking a seat, and held out his hand. "May I see one of them, please?"
Silently, Harry drew the middle dagger, holding it out handle-first. Dumbledore took it and looked over it closely, running a finger down its length.
"Goblin-made," he said slowly, "of high grade goblin silver. Brand new, but heirloom-quality. Heavily enchanted, with several novel spells. The dragon is from your family crest, so this was a custom commission. The metalwork is sublime, and so is the leatherwork. There are few goblins alive who are good enough to have made this, and fewer who sell their services to wizards." Dumbledore shook his head. "You did do the thing properly, didn’t you?"
"Thank you, sir," Harry said.
"This must not have been cheap," Dumbledore said, his gaze returning to Harry. "I’m surprised you thought it worth the price."
"Do you know how much is in my trust vault?"
Snape snorted; McGonagall quelled him with a look.
"That doesn’t mean it should be spent," Dumbledore said reproachfully.
"That’s not what I mean, sir. The only reason I can think of for it to be so large is because my parents thought safety would be expensive."
"They feared you would be raised during a war, Harry," Dumbledore said.
"I know," Harry said. "Instead, I’m merely a nationally-famous political symbol, being taught in a school which seems to throw a dangerous situation at me every couple of months."
"Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain," Dumbledore said.
"And I’m the most endangered wizard in Britain," Harry answered. "Or at least I hope I am. In my first term, I’ve already nearly died twice. I can’t ignore that."
"But carrying weapons, Harry? Isn’t that a little excessive?"
"I don’t think so, sir. I’ve been looking at the history of Hogwarts, and when you’ve had students with special security needs, you’ve often made special accommodations—allowances for bodyguards, variances in the dress code to allow weapons and armor, tutoring for dangerous subjects, private quarters—"
"Of course Potter would want special privileges," Snape muttered.
"—none of which I want," Harry finished. "I don’t want you to make any exceptions for me, or cause any disruption to the school’s normal operations. I just want to follow the rules already on the books, in a way that doesn’t really impact anyone else, in order to protect myself."
Dumbledore turned the knife over in his hands. "This is still a lethal weapon, Harry."
"Professor, if you know of any defensive spells that a first year can learn and use in a real fight, I will gladly learn them. But I don’t have a lot of non-lethal options. And I do have experience with these."
"Hmm..." Dumbledore kept turning the knife, lost in thought for a long moment. Finally, he spoke: "Severus, by any chance do you have any Draught of Living Death in your stores?"
"Three small bottles," Snape replied. "Headmaster, I’m not certain—"
"Fetch a bottle, and a pipette, please?" Dumbledore requested.
Snape nodded stiffly and walked to the back of the room, unlocking a cabinet with his wand and withdrawing a thumb-sized bottle of perfectly clear fluid and a glass tube, both of which he handed to Dumbledore.
"Three drops for one hour?"
"Yes. Headmaster—"
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, turning back to Harry. "You may not know this, Harry, but goblin silver is prized for a very special property: it imbibes only that which strengthens it. That means that it never becomes dirty or tarnished." Dumbledore poured a few drops of the potion into the fuller; they smoked and hissed and quickly disappeared. "It also means that it absorbs useful qualities of the substances it’s exposed to. So this dagger will now put anyone cut by it into a deep magical sleep for one hour."
Dumbledore flipped the knife around, offering it to Harry, who needed a few seconds to stop gawking before he could take it back.
"I doubt a mere nick would be enough, but a shallow cut ought to do the trick. For a more resistant magical creature like a troll, you might need to penetrate deeper, but a limb should do."
"Headmaster," Snape ground out, "are you sure it’s wise to put such a powerful potion in the hands of a child?"
"Like it or not, Severus, he is going to have deadly force at his disposal. A less drastic option can only help. Now, Harry, you read the rule in full, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying to contain his giddiness. Was he actually going to pull this off?
"Then you recall that you are not allowed to harm or threaten anyone with your heirloom," he said gravely. "That rule will be strictly enforced—I recommend you leave those blades sheathed unless you have no other choice, and do not say or do anything that someone might construe as a physical threat. Minerva, would you please inform your House, and ask them to come to you if they observe any violations?"
"Of course, Albus."
"Is that acceptable, Harry?"
"Completely, sir." He was actually going to pull this off!
"Excellent!" he said, hands clapping together. "I always enjoy turning a strong-arming into an acceptable compromise." Dumbledore reached into his robe and withdrew a pocket watch with, from what Harry could see, far too many hands, and glanced at its face. "Now, shall we all return to the feast?"
"Actually, Albus, I believe the three of us need to discuss an issue of staff discipline," McGonagall said. "Potter, we’ll return this Ministry letter tomorrow?"
"That’s fine, Professor." Harry was unable to keep the grin from crossing his face as Snape sputtered.
"Then you’re dismissed, Potter. Stay out of trouble."
Harry ignored the murmurs that erupted as he entered the Great Hall, instead making a beeline for the Gryffindor table. He dropped down next to Hermione, who pushed a well-balanced dinner towards him.
"Whoa!" Seamus said, looking at the baldric across Harry’s chest.
"Wicked!" said Dean.
Ron simply paled a little, lowering his fork briefly.
"Cheers," Harry said to Hermione, digging in.
"So, I assume it went well?" Hermione asked.
"Better than I hoped." He stabbed a broccoli with his fork. "Professor Dumbledore poisoned one of them for me."
Harry woke up the next morning inexplicably craving bacon. Unfortunately, other people had other ideas.
He was trundling down the stairs from his dormitory, yawning, when the Weasley twins clapped him on either shoulder.
"Harry Potter!" said the one Harry arbitrarily decided was Fred for this conversation.
"Our benevolent benefactor!" said George.
"Catcher of Golden Snitches!" exclaimed Fred.
"Lender of useful things!" continued George.
"Giver of grippy gloves!" cried Fred.
"Thank you for those, by the way—Oliver’s never been happy with our aim when it’s raining," George said, more quietly.
"Of course, Oliver’s never happy with anything on the pitch," Fred pointed out.
"Too true, brother," George said.
"Guys," Harry said, rubbing his eye, "isn’t it a little early for this?"
The twins looked at each other. "Never!" they said in unison.
"Anyway," Fred said, "we came up with something you’re going to love. Step into our parlor and take a look."
Harry followed them into their dormitory. There were four beds, three of which were empty; Lee Jordan was in the fourth, laying on his back, his torso hanging off one side and his legs dangling from the other as he snored away.
"Is he okay?" Harry asked.
"Lee? Sure," Fred said.
"Sleeps like a log," said George.
"A weirdly misshapen log," Fred clarified.
"Which is being sawed in half," George pointed out.
"You were showing me something?" Harry interrupted.
"Right!" said Fred, and he pulled the shoebox Harry had sent them out from under his bed. "I present to you your new Sneakers!"
Harry opened the box and looked inside. "But...they’re still boots." And indeed they were—brown leather ankle boots, just as they were when he gave the box to Hedwig.
"Well, of course they’re still boots," George said. "But we call them Sneakers, because they’re for sneaking. Here, look." George picked up one of the boots, unlaced it, and stuck it as best he could (for it was too small) on Lee’s dangling foot—and the moment he did, Lee’s snores were silenced.
"Wow," Harry said, momentarily distracted from the thought of bacon.
"The Silencing Charm covers all incidental sounds," George explained. "Footfalls, squeaky leather, clothes rubbing together, and breathing—even when it’s as heavy as a snore."
"But it doesn’t stop sounds made with your voice," Fred pointed out, "so if you yell because you stubbed your toe, you’re on your own."
"They’re also charmed to not leave footprints or track dirt," George said.
"Personally, I’m thinking about adding that to all of my shoes just to get Mum off my back," Fred said.
"Good idea, brother," George said.
"Of course it is, it’s one of mine," Fred answered.
"They’re also charmed to suppress smells," George continued. "And when they’re under the Cloak, they’re Disillusioned in case it rides up a little bit."

Harry hesitated, turning to look at the desk—but now even the ash and wax were gone, and Snape was putting away his wand, smirking. Git.

At that moment, they all heard a tapping.

"Come in, Headmaster," Snape said. But the door didn’t swing open, and the tapping continued.

"It’s an owl," McGonagall said, and she got up to open the window.

A cold draft blew in, carrying with it a tawny owl. It flapped its wings twice and landed before Harry, holding out its leg with a thick envelope attached.

Harry untied the envelope and opened it, pulling out a thick sheaf of parchment, barely noting the owl swooping back out the window. He read the cover letter.

Dear Mr Potter,

We have received intelligence that, at thirty-nine minutes past seven this evening, the deed to one goblin-made set of knives and associated hardware was burned beyond recognition by a Professor Severus Snape.

At the time of the deed’s destruction, our registry indicated that House Potter held title in this property. The Goblin-Made Property Ownership (Registration) (Amended) (Repealed) (Reinstated) (Re-Amended) Act 1832 requires you, as head of House Potter, to file for a replacement deed within seventy-two hours of its destruction. Please find attached information on the procedures you must follow and a schedule of associated fees.

Hoping you are well,

Yours sincerely,

Magical Land & Property Registry

Ministry of Magic

A wave of relief swept through Harry.

"Here," he said. "I think this will explain everything." And he handed her the letter.

She scanned the letter quickly, and as she did, her lips narrowed until they looked like a sharp line across her face. "Severus," she said stiffly, "what did you do?"

Snape looked up, startled.

A knock sounded on the door.

"What?" Snape shouted.

"May I come in?" Dumbledore’s voice said calmly.

Snape stiffened. "O-of course, Headmaster."

The door opened and Dumbledore walked in, keen blue eyes sweeping over the scene, taking in the hostility between McGonagall and Snape. "What is this?"

McGonagall turned away from Snape. "It seems that Mr. Potter has found a loophole in the dress code," McGonagall said, "which he believes allows him to carry knives at school. Title 17, Chapter 3—"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said. "I was afraid he might." He crossed the room, taking a seat, and held out his hand. "May I see one of them, please?"

Silently, Harry drew the middle dagger, holding it out handle-first. Dumbledore took it and looked over it closely, running a finger down its length.

"Goblin-made," he said slowly, "of high grade goblin silver. Brand new, but heirloom-quality. Heavily enchanted, with several novel spells. The dragon is from your family crest, so this was a custom commission. The metalwork is sublime, and so is the leatherwork. There are few goblins alive who are good enough to have made this, and fewer who sell their services to wizards." Dumbledore shook his head. "You did do the thing properly, didn’t you?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

"This must not have been cheap," Dumbledore said, his gaze returning to Harry. "I’m surprised you thought it worth the price."

"Do you know how much is in my trust vault?"

Snape snorted; McGonagall quelled him with a look.

"That doesn’t mean it should be spent," Dumbledore said reproachfully.

"That’s not what I mean, sir. The only reason I can think of for it to be so large is because my parents thought safety would be expensive."

"They feared you would be raised during a war, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"I know," Harry said. "Instead, I’m merely a nationally-famous political symbol, being taught in a school which seems to throw a dangerous situation at me every couple of months."

"Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain," Dumbledore said.

"And I’m the most endangered wizard in Britain," Harry answered. "Or at least I hope I am. In my first term, I’ve already nearly died twice. I can’t ignore that."

"But carrying weapons, Harry? Isn’t that a little excessive?"

"I don’t think so, sir. I’ve been looking at the history of Hogwarts, and when you’ve had students with special security needs, you’ve often made special accommodations—allowances for bodyguards, variances in the dress code to allow weapons and armor, tutoring for dangerous subjects, private quarters—"

"Of course Potter would want special privileges," Snape muttered.

"—none of which I want," Harry finished. "I don’t want you to make any exceptions for me, or cause any disruption to the school’s normal operations. I just want to follow the rules already on the books, in a way that doesn’t really impact anyone else, in order to protect myself."

Dumbledore turned the knife over in his hands. "This is still a lethal weapon, Harry."

"Professor, if you know of any defensive spells that a first year can learn and use in a real fight, I will gladly learn them. But I don’t have a lot of non-lethal options. And I do have experience with these."

"Hmm..." Dumbledore kept turning the knife, lost in thought for a long moment. Finally, he spoke: "Severus, by any chance do you have any Draught of Living Death in your stores?"

"Three small bottles," Snape replied. "Headmaster, I’m not certain—"

"Fetch a bottle, and a pipette, please?" Dumbledore requested.

Snape nodded stiffly and walked to the back of the room, unlocking a cabinet with his wand and withdrawing a thumb-sized bottle of perfectly clear fluid and a glass tube, both of which he handed to Dumbledore.

"Three drops for one hour?"

"Yes. Headmaster—"

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, turning back to Harry. "You may not know this, Harry, but goblin silver is prized for a very special property: it imbibes only that which strengthens it. That means that it never becomes dirty or tarnished." Dumbledore poured a few drops of the potion into the fuller; they smoked and hissed and quickly disappeared. "It also means that it absorbs useful qualities of the substances it’s exposed to. So this dagger will now put anyone cut by it into a deep magical sleep for one hour."

Dumbledore flipped the knife around, offering it to Harry, who needed a few seconds to stop gawking before he could take it back.

"I doubt a mere nick would be enough, but a shallow cut ought to do the trick. For a more resistant magical creature like a troll, you might need to penetrate deeper, but a limb should do."

"Headmaster," Snape ground out, "are you sure it’s wise to put such a powerful potion in the hands of a child?"

"Like it or not, Severus, he is going to have deadly force at his disposal. A less drastic option can only help. Now, Harry, you read the rule in full, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, trying to contain his giddiness. Was he actually going to pull this off?

"Then you recall that you are not allowed to harm or threaten anyone with your heirloom," he said gravely. "That rule will be strictly enforced—I recommend you leave those blades sheathed unless you have no other choice, and do not say or do anything that someone might construe as a physical threat. Minerva, would you please inform your House, and ask them to come to you if they observe any violations?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Is that acceptable, Harry?"

"Completely, sir." He was actually going to pull this off!

"Excellent!" he said, hands clapping together. "I always enjoy turning a strong-arming into an acceptable compromise." Dumbledore reached into his robe and withdrew a pocket watch with, from what Harry could see, far too many hands, and glanced at its face. "Now, shall we all return to the feast?"

"Actually, Albus, I believe the three of us need to discuss an issue of staff discipline," McGonagall said. "Potter, we’ll return this Ministry letter tomorrow?"

"That’s fine, Professor." Harry was unable to keep the grin from crossing his face as Snape sputtered.

"Then you’re dismissed, Potter. Stay out of trouble."

Harry ignored the murmurs that erupted as he entered the Great Hall, instead making a beeline for the Gryffindor table. He dropped down next to Hermione, who pushed a well-balanced dinner towards him.

"Whoa!" Seamus said, looking at the baldric across Harry’s chest.

"Wicked!" said Dean.

Ron simply paled a little, lowering his fork briefly.

"Cheers," Harry said to Hermione, digging in.

"So, I assume it went well?" Hermione asked.

"Better than I hoped." He stabbed a broccoli with his fork. "Professor Dumbledore poisoned one of them for me."

Harry woke up the next morning inexplicably craving bacon. Unfortunately, other people had other ideas.

He was trundling down the stairs from his dormitory, yawning, when the Weasley twins clapped him on either shoulder.

"Harry Potter!" said the one Harry arbitrarily decided was Fred for this conversation.

"Our benevolent benefactor!" said George.

"Catcher of Golden Snitches!" exclaimed Fred.

"Lender of useful things!" continued George.

"Giver of grippy gloves!" cried Fred.

"Thank you for those, by the way—Oliver’s never been happy with our aim when it’s raining," George said, more quietly.

"Of course, Oliver’s never happy with anything on the pitch," Fred pointed out.

"Too true, brother," George said.

"Guys," Harry said, rubbing his eye, "isn’t it a little early for this?"

The twins looked at each other. "Never!" they said in unison.

"Anyway," Fred said, "we came up with something you’re going to love. Step into our parlor and take a look."

Harry followed them into their dormitory. There were four beds, three of which were empty; Lee Jordan was in the fourth, laying on his back, his torso hanging off one side and his legs dangling from the other as he snored away.

"Is he okay?" Harry asked.

"Lee? Sure," Fred said.

"Sleeps like a log," said George.

"A weirdly misshapen log," Fred clarified.

"Which is being sawed in half," George pointed out.

"You were showing me something?" Harry interrupted.

"Right!" said Fred, and he pulled the shoebox Harry had sent them out from under his bed. "I present to you your new Sneakers!"

Harry opened the box and looked inside. "But...they’re still boots." And indeed they were—brown leather ankle boots, just as they were when he gave the box to Hedwig.

"Well, of course they’re still boots," George said. "But we call them Sneakers, because they’re for sneaking. Here, look." George picked up one of the boots, unlaced it, and stuck it as best he could (for it was too small) on Lee’s dangling foot—and the moment he did, Lee’s snores were silenced.

"Wow," Harry said, momentarily distracted from the thought of bacon.

"The Silencing Charm covers all incidental sounds," George explained. "Footfalls, squeaky leather, clothes rubbing together, and breathing—even when it’s as heavy as a snore."

"But it doesn’t stop sounds made with your voice," Fred pointed out, "so if you yell because you stubbed your toe, you’re on your own."

"They’re also charmed to not leave footprints or track dirt," George said.

"Personally, I’m thinking about adding that to all of my shoes just to get Mum off my back," Fred said.

"Good idea, brother," George said.

"Of course it is, it’s one of mine," Fred answered.

"They’re also charmed to suppress smells," George continued. "And when they’re under the Cloak, they’re Disillusioned in case it rides up a little bit."