Chapter 9
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warning: use of the word 'terrorist'

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IN VERY OBVIOUS WAYS, HARRY AND ADHARA WERE THE SAME.

Both lived similar childhoods, shaped by women with rough hands and even rougher words. The familiar feeling of being locked up was common to them both. There was a reason Harry and Adhara understood each other so well.

However, in ways even more obvious, Adhara and Harry were the complete opposite of one another.

Adhara hated the Furnace Room as much as Harry did the Cupboard Under the Stairs. But whereas Harry feared the enclosed space and being abandoned, Adhara feared the fire and being remembered.

Aunt Petunia could forget Harry, and he'd be stuck inside for too long.

Matron Hallewell would remember Adhara and lock her up for too long.

Harry and Adhara were the same as much as they were not. They were alike in their childhoods and the problems they faced. But they were different in how they confronted said problems.

Adhara dealt with her problems quite easily. She ignored them, she looked away from them, she pretended as though they didn't exist until they left her alone, bluntly cutting the threads of said problems.

And as much as Harry tried to ignore his problems, he didn't have enough patience for that. In no time, white-hot rage crawled up his throat whenever he faced someone, escaping from his mouth in the form of words until he ran out of them, until the knots in his throat untied.

Though both learned silence more out of necessity than chance, one befriended it and used it as her weapon, while the other saw it as an enemy and fought it until exhaustion overwhelmed him.

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With her thumb, Adhara skimmed over her father's handwriting, his words washing over her without her taking in any of it.

Usually, Adhara stayed engrossed in whatever Regulus ranted about in his diary. Today, however, the stifling atmosphere of the compartment prooved too distracting.

Adhara tried, though. She flicked through the journal, forcing herself to ignore the awkwardness that loomed over Harry and her. But that would be an impossible feat. The energy was too overbearing to take no notice. If they opened the door, Adhara had a feeling that anyone walking past their compartment would sense it as well.

Everyone inside did so anyway. Though Ron was asleep, head pillowed in Harry's lap as usual. But Adhara didn't doubt that Millie and Mione could feel the tension.

It wasn't that Harry was mad at her. Harry's anger took up space, too much space. It wasn't one that could be ignored. Everyone knew when his temper got the best of him.

But he wasn't speaking to her. In fact, over the month Adhara spent at the Grangers, he hadn't sent any letters, which was what surprised Adhara the most.

Harry had sent her letters every single day during the first half of summer, even though Adhara responded to none — the girl hadn't written a single letter since the end of third year. So, it couldn't be her lack of answers that pushed him away.

Adhara wasn't angry, either. There was absolutely no reason to be. They weren't fighting. Yet, there was this sort of discomfort that settled between them one day. Not that night after the World Cup, not when she escaped from Aleyne, and not even when Harry had snuck into the orphanage.

It appeared way, way before that. Adhara just couldn't tell when exactly or why.

Someone slammed open the compartment door. A head of red hair poked in.

"Sheesh! Who died?"

Adhara snapped the diary shut, standing up. She manoeuvred around the twin — whichever it was — and walked out of the compartment. She didn't look back, not to look at Harry's expression. Adhara didn't want to see it.

Millie followed her.

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Steps quick, Adhara walked directly to the end of the train, already knowing who she would find in the last compartment.

Millicent was following her, but the blonde hadn't said a word.

Adhara slid the door open with no hesitation. She took the seat across from Draco, ignoring his startled face.

Already, Adhara felt lighter. The pressure wasn't completely gone, however. A small fraction of it still resided in the back of her mind, enticing her to solve the problem. Whatever it was.

Adhara ignored it. She took out her father's diary and read.

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In his hand, the letter crumbled slightly under Harry's firm grip.

Realising his mistake, he winced. Harry laid down the letter back on the breakfast table, trying to flatten it back with his hands.

The letter left the boy confused. It was from Sirius; a heads up to tell Harry that the newspaper would be talking about him soon. Because his godfather decided to take up the title of Head of House for some reason. And from the looks of it, Adhara received the same letter.

Harry's brows pinched together. Based on Sirius' previous comments, it didn't sound like he wanted to have anything to do with his family. So, the sudden change of decision puzzled Harry more than anything.

A hand touched Harry's shoulder, demanding his attention. He turned around.

Professor McGonagall stared back.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

"Err — umm. Good morning?"

The woman smiled. "No need to worry, Potter. I'm simply here to give you my congratulations."

"Congratulations, Professor?" asked Harry.

"Yes. I quickly looked over my students' files this morning, and I saw that your residency address changed. You're living with your godfather, are you not?"

"Umm. Yeah? It was in the Prophet if I remember correctly."

McGonagall waved a hand. "I don't keep up with gossip magazines, Potter. I am, however, happy to see you with Sirius. Tell the lad to owl me sometimes, will you?"

Feeling awkward, Harry gave her a small smile, hoping that would be enough to finish off the weird conversation.

"Of — of course. I'll tell him that."

McGonagall didn't seem bothered by Harry's awkward reply. With a curt nod, she left.

Harry hoped that was the end of that. Whatever that was.

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Maybe it was because she spent most of her days with her nose buried inside one of her father's letters. Or perhaps it was because of her rising interest in his diary, Regulus' thoughts written so intricately yet smoothly that Adhara couldn't help but be fascinated by it.

The content of the journal was interesting in itself, evolving from more childish thoughts and complaints to a more careful understanding of society and its selfishness.

Where the letters Regulus wrote for his daughter were filled with advice and stories and love, through his diary, Adhara got to know the selfless coward that was his father.

Ultimately, maybe it was neither the diary nor the letters. Maybe, it was the bitter taste of injustice that Adhara knew too well that decided to slowly unfurl inside her. Maybe, it was all the abuse and discrimination she witnessed and read about that pushed her to pick up a quill.

Adhara remembered how liberating it felt to expose all of the werewolf prejudice last year instead of writing that essay Snape had assigned. To be able to finally be unafraid of speaking the truth.

Though, maybe, in reality, it was Regulus' tragic words, his captivating way of putting thought into parchment that inspired Adhara to start writing too.

However, perhaps. Perhaps it was simply out of spite.

Hence, when Hermione approached her one day, spewing ideas about Elf Rights, Adhara already had an idea of how she could help.

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The Hufflepuff table was quieter than expected. Adhara wondered if it was because two Slytherins were sitting with them today.

Judging from prior knowledge, though, Adhara knew that couldn't be the case. The Puffs were quite known for being inclusive of all houses, including the Snakes. Though, Midge and his cries were staring daggers in their direction. Even Diggory looked at them cautiously.

However, maybe that was simply because it wasn't the fact that it was a Slytherin, but because it was Adhara.

It would certainly explain why Midge was giving her the stink eye (and perhaps Diggory looked more confused than cautious). Midge still held some grudge against Harry, and so also Adhara in extension. Or it could also be because Adhara, Hermione, and Millicent were sitting with Roisin and her new friends, and he was currently still angry with the Korean girl for embarrassing him last year.

Or so Adhara had heard. She still doesn't know for sure what happened between the two, only that it resulted in Roisin suddenly growing a spine. She was, apparently, no longer friends with that boy and his foolish crowd of followers, choosing Lovegood and Weasley as a better company.

Which worked out well for Adhara. Now that Roisin moved on from Midge, Adhara's list of sitting options has expanded. Roisin didn't seem to mind, either. In fact, she looked rather delighted when Adhara approached her first.

It hit Adhara then that she hadn't seen the girl since her escape from the orphanage. She had no way to update Yaritza and Roisin on her situation, so they must've not even known if she was even alive or not.

Lovegood and Weasley were more puzzled about Adhara's presence. But whereas Lovegood was quick to accept the new members, Weasley looked more sceptical. The redhead was about to comment when Hermione stopped her, effectively steering the conversation elsewhere.

Adhara was already in a bad mood. She did not want to talk about why she felt like changing her sitting arrangement all of a sudden.

She huffed, rolling her eyes at no one in particular. It was still considered early for dinner since the food hadn't appeared yet. Though, a lot of students have already gathered.

Weasley still eyed her suspiciously, but Hermione was keeping her busy, so Adhara didn't care. The rest stayed quiet, which she appreciated because Adhara didn't think she could handle too much chattering right now.

With quidditch being cancelled this year, she hoped no other bad news would come her way. But alas, faith was not on her side. Although Sirius' reinstatement as Head of House Black wasn't bad news on a basis, the outcome of it was what made Adhara grit her teeth.

Snakes from left and right, from those who wore green to those who wore other colours, congratulated her nonstop. They wished her best, even though it was only last year that the same people were calling Adhara either filth or a terrorist — the fact that the term now had more than one reason behind it was almost laughable.

All this because they think, now with her uncle as the Head of House Black, Adhara would soon be declared as the Heir.

Which she didn't care about at all. All Adhara wanted was to be left alone. She did not particularly enjoy all the attention. She liked it better when it was directed at Harry. Though, he didn't like it any better.

Speaking of Harry, Adhara was still avoiding him. So, the Gryffindor's table wasn't an option today. And she knew no one from Ravenclaw.

"It's a load of rubbish, I think."

Finally getting out of her own thoughts, Adhara glanced at the others.

"The tournament, I meant," continued the redhead. "It cannot be as entertaining as quidditch. We can't even participate."

Millie smirked at Weasley's dismay. "Weren't you listening when Dumbledore explained it? People have died before in this tournament, which is why they had to cancel it. Sounds entertaining to me."

Weasley glared. "People die during quidditch, too. S'dangerous enough."

"Yes, but is it enough to cancel a traditional tournament that had been going on for centuries before?"

Weasley's anger seemed to only amuse Millicent even more.

Hermione intervened before anything could escalate. "You were talking about participation, Ginny. Did you want to take part in the tournament?"

Ginny looked indignant. "Course not. I meant quidditch. I had planned on trying out this year, finally. Guess that's not going to happen, anymore."

The mood shifted from then, with Hermione and Lovegood trying to comfort the redhead.

Adhara, on the other hand, being reminded of tryouts, could only think about future members of Slytherin's team.

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To describe Alastor Moody in a single word would be an impossible feat. Fearsome in his own way, he was another teacher that students wished to stay away from.

Snape was another professor students avoided. Though, whereas he struck fear like how standing on the edge of a cliff made one's stomach swoop, Moody was more like a wild animal no one wanted to approach.

His reminders to constantly stay vigilant only worked to make the kids wary of him.

The man was bizarre, Harry will give him that. But in some ways, Moody also sounded sort of sensible.

His first lesson would be one to remember, that was certain. Although Harry questioned the need to display all three unforgivables, he also couldn't help but agree with Moody about needing to know what they were up against.

A notion Harry agreed wholeheartedly with until the teacher cast the first spell.

"Oh? Think it's quite funny, do you? You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The whole class went quiet.

"Tricky spell, Imperio. Years ago, the Ministry found their hands quite full because of the spell. Witches and wizards claimed to have done You-Know-Who's biding under the influence of the Imperius Curse."

His gaze scanned over them all, one eye on one side of the classroom, and the fake one on the other. Moody moved and manipulated the spider like a puppet on strings.

"But how to sort out the liars?"

The Cruciatus Curse was next. The spider's legs twisted until they snapped off completely. Harry couldn't avert his eyes, watching the creature twitch and jerk in audible pain.

It was only Hermione's shout that pulled Harry back. She was not looking at the spider, but instead at Neville, who seemed to be stuck in a trance.

He held onto the desk, knuckles white.

Seeing the way the curses evolved, Harry knew the next one would be the worst.

And he was right. Because Professor Moody proceeded to show Harry the exact spell that took out his parents. In one flash of green, the spider was gone.

It was faster than blowing out a candle.

Ice settled in Harry's stomach. He stared at the dead spider, wondering if that was how his parents went. One minute, they were living, breathing, and the next, they were gone. Just like that.

Somehow, it all made it worse.

"There is no counter spell to the Killing Curse. Only one person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

That did not make Harry feel any better.

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A/N To those of you wondering, Adhara is not Muslim. She is Moroccan. But islamophobic people don't exactly stop and wonder if "the middle eastern looking kid" is actually Muslim or not. They just yell out slurs. (I know it's North African, I'm trying to make a point.)

Also, this isn't a hedric fic. As much as I like the ship, I don't like it happening when they're at Hogwarts. The  age difference doesn't feel right. Which is why I only read the ones (as in hedric fics) that are set after Hogwarts (so like fics where Cedric lives).