The Parent Trap - Chapter 3 - aspionage - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter Text

Harry stared, open-mouthed, unable to rip his eyes off Simon, who was currently being whispered to by Neville Longbottom. As ‘Turpin, Lisa’ was sorted into Ravenclaw, Simon looked up from Neville and straight at Harry. His green eyes widened with shock.

Both of them silently stared at each other until Ron was sorted into Gryffindor. Harry tore his eyes away as he was caught up in the crowd of happy Weasleys, all congratulating their brother. Ron sat down next to Harry and sighed with relief. Harry glanced back over at Simon, but he had looked away, so all Harry could make out was his dark hair - slightly longer than Harry's but the same colour, and the same untamed nightmare of a dozen different textures shooting off at all angles...

What on earth was going on here?

As ‘Zabini, Blaise’ was sorted into Slytherin, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and Harry concentrated all his attention on the Headmaster, trying to push the mystery from his mind so he could focus.

“Welcome!” Dumbledore said, beaming. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Now tuck in!”

“He’s a bit mad, isn’t he?” Harry remarked, unsure if he should laugh or not.

“Mad, but a genius,” Percy Weasley said. “Potatoes, Harry?”

The feast was somehow more glorious than what his mother and Aunt Mary had let on. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen so much food in his life, and he certainly hadn’t tasted food that was so wonderful. He was so focused on piling as much food onto his plate as possible that it took him a few minutes to remember Simon. Harry looked down the table and saw him currently tucking into a steak and kidney pie. Weird - that was one of Harry’s favourite meals...

Ron saw him staring and frowned. “You two are super similar-looking, aren’t you? Are you guys cousins or something?"

“No - my mum was the first witch in her family, and her sister isn’t magic,” Harry said, feeling very puzzled. “Maybe on my dad’s side, I guess…”

"You’d think you’d know about being related to the Boy-Who-Lived though, wouldn’t you?” Ron said.

Harry shrugged. Whether he thought he should or shouldn’t know was irrelevant because he certainly didn’t have a clue about what was going on here. Seeing as Simon was too far down the table to properly speak with, Harry decided he'd talk to Simon after the feast so he could figure out why they looked so much like each other. Instead, he focused his attention on talking with the students around him, who were discussing families.

“I’m half and half,” An Irish boy named Seamus said. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mam didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him when he found out!”

The others laughed.

“What about you, Evans?” Seamus asked.

“I’m not quite sure what I am,” Harry said. “It’s just me and Mum - she’s a muggleborn. I don’t know about my dad’s blood status - never met him.”

“Sounds a bit like me. I don’t know my dad, either, although my mum’s a muggle,” Dean said. “It was so weird finding out about magic! Professor McGonagall came to my house and turned a teapot into a tortoise, I thought Mum was gonna have a heart attack…”

As the others continued to talk, Harry looked up at the staff table. As he looked over the different professors, he accidentally made eye contact with a hook-nosed, greasy-haired man sitting next to a man in a purple turban. The man’s eyes widened with shock and he stared at Harry intently, like Harry was a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Moments later, Harry felt a sharp pain shoot through his skull. He clapped a hand to his forehead and hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.

“N-nothing,” Harry mumbled. The pain had gone almost as soon as it had come on.

“Who’s that teacher talking to the man in the turban?” Harry asked.

“That’s Professor Snape - he teaches Potions,” Percy explained. Harry brightened - he was excited for Potions! “He’s speaking with Professor Quirrell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Is he the one who spent a year in Albania and went round the twist?” Ron asked.

“Ronald!” Percy said in a scolding voice. “You shouldn’t talk about your Professors that way!”

“But yes,” Fred added helpfully.

“Went away for a year, came back a stuttering mess with a turban full of garlic,” George said. “We saw him in Diagon Alley this summer, it was madness – he wasn’t like that before!”

“We reckon he got on the wrong side of a vampire…”

As Fred and George continued to speak at length about what Professor Quirrell may or may not have encountered in Albania, Harry glanced to his right to where he knew Simon was sitting, only to find the other boy already staring at him. He immediately looked away when Harry made eye contact.

This is so weird…

Pudding appeared, and Harry was once again distracted. He hadn’t known he had more room in him after the feast, but he valiantly soldiered on in the name of treacle tart.

After those too had disappeared from the long tables, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and everyone instantly fell silent. “‘Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Harry saw the Weasley twins grin at the Headmaster. “I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

A couple of people laughed, but the majority of the Great Hall murmured nervously. Harry frowned - that didn’t sound good…

Finally, everyone sang the school song at various different tempos - it sounded terrible, but was weirdly fun - and Dumbledore at last dismissed them all for bed. Harry was so utterly exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes open as he followed Percy Weasley up a dozen staircases, just about able to make out Simon’s messy mop of hair at the front of the line…

Finally, they reached a portrait of a very large woman in a silk pink dress, who cleared her throat importantly. “Password?”

“Caput Draconis,” Percy said, and the portrait swung open, admitting them entry.

Harry barely had a chance to take in the common room - a cosy round room stuffed with squashy armchairs and a roaring fire - before Percy directed the girls up one staircase and the boys up another, where they found their dormitory at the top of a spiral staircase. The dormitory was rather like the common room - a round room, containing six beds hung with scarlet velvet drapes and a wide window. Percy shut the door and at last, Harry found himself face to face with Simon. As tired as the other boys in his year were, Harry could feel all of their eyes on the two of them. They’d clearly noticed the resemblance as well; it was impossible not to.

Simon crossed his arms and gave Harry a deeply suspicious look. “So what gives, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked.

“You think this is funny?” he asked, scowling. “So - how’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Harry was completely baffled about why the other boy looked so angry.

“Look like me!” Simon burst out. “What did you use, Polyjuice?”

“How would I get a bit of you for Polyjuice?” Harry asked exasperatedly. “I’ve never met you before today! Besides, if I was using Polyjuice, I’d have a scar on my cheek like you do.”

“You know an awful lot about Polyjuice for someone who claims to not be using it,” Simon said sceptically.

“Uh, yeah - my mum runs an apothecary?” he said, getting a bit annoyed by Simon’s accusatory tone. “I’ve been around potions since before I could talk, of course I know about Polyjuice.”

The suspicious look on Simon’s face didn’t fade. “Explain why you look like me, then.”

“Genetic lottery?” Harry suggested. “Maybe I should be asking why you look like me.”

Simon put his hands on his hips. “I’m watching you, Evans.”

“Watch all you want, I have nothing to hide!” he called as Simon stalked off and took a bed next to Neville, deliberately not looking at Harry. “This is just my face!”

“What’s his problem?” Ron mumbled sleepily.

When Harry woke up the next morning for his first day of classes, everything he had always thought was confirmed - magic was the best.

Charms was as wonderful as his mother had always told him - the squeaky, tiny Professor Flitwick, who taught atop a pile of books, had set off all sorts of bright lights from his wand and promised that they’d been able to manage all the spells he’d demonstrated by the end of the year. Harry had been the second in the class to manage the Wand-Lighting Charm, after only Hermione, and Professor Flitwick had excitedly told him that he took after his mother which pleased Harry to no end.

While Herbology and Astronomy were slightly less exciting, Harry still found them enjoyable - especially in comparison to History of Magic, which was taught by Professor Binns, the boring ghost who had been teaching History of Magic for all of living memory. In a way, Harry thought he was really rather talented; after all, it took skill to make the gloriously bloody goblin wars so dull and dreary.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was something that they’d all thought was supposed to be fun, but certainly didn’t end up that way with Professor Quirrell teaching it. He’d said something about fighting a zombie at the start of the lesson but after spending an hour with him, Harry wasn’t convinced the nervous professor could even fight a bunny rabbit if he was put to it.

Transfiguration, although horribly difficult, was endlessly fascinating - even though Harry didn’t manage to turn his matchstick into a needle, he decided to make a good effort at the subject after the excitement of Professor McGonagall turning her desk into a pig and then back again. Professor McGonagall herself was a bit of a strange woman, Harry decided. She was just as strict and clever as his mother and Mary had promised, but she always seemed to be watching Harry, for some odd reason. When he managed to make his matchstick a bit pointy, she stopped in front of his desk and said, “Good job Mr Pot - Er, Evans. Focus a bit more on the colour next time.”

She had hastily corrected herself, but Harry was certain she’d nearly called him Mr Potter. Simon, who had been sitting nearby, shot Harry a dark look at this error, as if Professor McGonagall misspeaking somehow condemned Harry of whatever evil plot he was supposedly engaged in.

Harry didn’t understand why Simon was so distrustful. As he had promised on the first night in Gryffindor, Simon had been watching Harry like a hawk - in class, in the common room as he sat with Ron, in the Great Hall… Harry had even caught Simon peering in his goblet as he walked past in the morning more than once, as if Harry just casually sipped on Polyjuice while he ate his toast.

After nearly a week of this, Harry vented his frustrations to Ron. “I just don’t get it! Why is he so suspicious of me? I’m not doing anything!”

“I know that, but you’ve got to admit it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Ron said. “You two looking exactly alike?”

“Yes, but doesn’t he think I’m just as confused as he is?” Harry huffed. “Why does he have to be so paranoid?"

“It’s probably a part of all that Boy-Who-Lived stuff,” Ron said. “Killing You-Know-Who has got to make you a lot of enemies. Besides, I think his dad is this big-time Auror, and you have to be pretty paranoid to become one of those. You looking exactly like him? He probably thinks it’s a part of some plot, or something.”

“I still think it’s ridiculous,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, well he’s weird. Now come on, I think we took the wrong turn again and I want to actually make it to breakfast for once…”

In that first week of Hogwarts, Harry hadn’t been able to properly get a read on Simon. Ron was right - he was quite weird. Sure, Simon could easily chat to people when they approached him, but he never really went looking for people to talk to - for someone who was supposed to be a celebrity, Simon was actually a bit shy. While the other Gryffindor first-years spent a lot of time chatting and laughing together, Simon tended to keep himself on the sidelines, watching and never really speaking unless he was spoken to. The only person who seemed to be the exception to this rule was Neville, oddly enough. From what he’d seen of them, Harry assumed they’d known each other before Hogwarts - you couldn’t get that close in a week.

The first time Harry saw a different, more confident side to Simon, however, was during their first Potions lesson.

Professor Snape taught with an air of authority which caused all students to fall silent in his presence. He started the class by calling the register - strangely enough, when he reached ‘Harry Evans’ there was a brief, almost imperceptible pause which Harry might not have noticed if not for the intense way in which the man’s black eyes were fixed upon him.

The only other time Professor Snape paused was when he reached Simon’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Simon Potter. Our new…celebrity.”

As Draco from the train and his two large friends began to snicker behind their hands, Harry got the unmistakable impression that Professor Snape didn’t like Simon very much. How? It was only the first week of term! Simon was so docile, he surely couldn’t have done anything…

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” Snape whispered. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach, of course...”

Harry, who had been enraptured by this little speech, jumped sharply as Snape stopped in front of Simon’s desk and barked, “Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Draught of Living Death, Harry’s brain supplied. He’d been banned from the apothecary for a week when his mother had gotten a big order of that, since it was so dangerous and powerful. He noticed Hermione had raised her hand, and Harry tentatively did the same. Ron’s jaw practically dropped as he did so.

“I don’t know,” Simon muttered.

Snape gave him a nasty smile. “Tut, tut - fame clearly isn’t everything.”

He ignored Harry and Hermione completely, and said, “Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Goat’s stomach, Harry thought, lowering his hand. Snape clearly wasn’t calling on them anytime soon, something Hermione didn’t seem to understand.

Simon scowled. “Aren’t you getting paid to teach this to us, sir?”

The class was all too shocked to laugh, waiting with baited breath to see how the stern Potions professor would respond.

Snape’s dark eyes flashed. “Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek.”

Everyone looked at each other in shock - no one had really lost any house points yet, and they certainly hadn’t expected Simon to be the first one to do so!

“Now, one final question - what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Hermione actually stood up at this point, her hand stretching towards the ceiling. Harry wasn’t quite sure about this one - neither, it seemed, was Simon.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

A couple of people did laugh this time, and Snape’s scowl deepened.

“For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

As they all scrambled for quills and parchment, Snape whispered, “Five more points from Gryffindor, Potter.”

Professor Snape’s irritated disposition continued throughout the whole lesson as he paired them up to make a cure for boils. Harry vastly preferred the more relaxed environment of the sunny back room of the apothecary, chopping nettles while his mother explained a potions process to him, in comparison to the dark dungeon containing an angry man circling the room and constantly looking for fault. Snape criticised almost everyone except for Draco Malfoy, who he seemed to like. He also kept stopping by Harry and Ron’s desk and carefully watching them brew, before scowling as Harry did something right, as if that annoyed him.

Harry was just wondering about this weird behaviour when he heard a loud shriek from behind him. Neville had somehow managed to turn Seamus’ cauldron into a twisted, steaming pile of metal and his potion was now spreading across the classroom floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Neville, for his part, was lying against the wall and moaning, covered in angry red welts.

“Idiot boy!” Snape shouted, waving his wand to vanish the ruined potion. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered slightly.

“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus.

“And that is why they shouldn’t use pewter cauldrons,” Harry muttered, more to himself than anything.

Surprisingly enough Snape, who had to have the hearing of a bat, heard this and stared at Harry for a moment. Harry didn't have a clue what he was thinking and swallowed nervously - was he about to get in trouble?

Snape didn't say anything to Harry, however. Instead, he rounded on Simon. “Potter! Why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another five points you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

All of the Gryffindors rankled at the unfairness of this, especially Simon, who looked like he could spit fire. He glared up at Snape and muttered, “You really are a greasy little git, aren’t you?”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what the significance of these words in that order was, but it certainly got under Snape’s skin. He seemed to swell to twice his normal size, turned rather red in the face and actually began to shake with rage.

“Detention, Potter,” he growled. “Get out of my classroom! Now!”

Simon gave Snape a mutinous look before snatching his backpack off the ground and storming away, slamming the classroom door behind him. In the ringing silence that followed, Snape straightened up and stared at them all, his black eyes dark and cold.

“I hope that will serve as a lesson for all of you,” he said softly, “that cheek will never be tolerated in my classroom. Now get back to work!”

Everyone quickly rushed back to stirring and chopping. Harry and Ron both exchanged wide-eyed looks.

When the bell finally rang, everyone rushed out, all chattering about what had just happened.

“First one to get sent out!”

“First detention, too!”

“You wouldn’t expect that from Simon, would you?”

“I know, right? He’s normally so quiet…”

“Snape was being really nasty to him, wasn’t he?” Ron said as they attempted to go in the direction of the Great Hall. “I wonder what that was about?”

“No clue,” Harry said. He got the impression that Snape was just a generally mean person. Why was all that nastiness being directed at Simon specifically, though?

None of them saw Simon at lunch, and since the first-years got Friday afternoons off, Harry and Ron decided to spend their time exploring the castle and the wider grounds, attempting to dedicate it to memory so they'd stop getting so lost trying to find their way around. They returned to Gryffindor Tower right before dinner, where Harry went up to the boys dormitory to grab something. He couldn’t have been more shocked by what he saw.

The contents of Harry’s trunk were strewn all over the floor - books, quills, clothes, everything. In the eye of the hurricane sat Simon, rummaging through Harry’s belongings with a look of utter focus on his face. When the door creaked as Harry opened it, he practically jumped out of his skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Harry shouted. “Why are you going through my stuff?”

“Just drop it with the innocent act already!” Simon said angrily. “I know you’re up to something, I know it, and I’m going to catch you, Evans.”

“As I’ve told you about a million times, I’m not doing anything!”

But Harry may as well have been arguing with a brick wall for all the good it did him. Simon simply scowled and spat, “I’m going to work it out. Mark my words…”

He roughly shouldered past Harry and started heading down the spiral staircase. The logical side of Harry’s mind told him that he should just leave it. Unfortunately, Harry had inherited his mother’s quick temper, and the state of his belongings had finally caused it to boil over. Harry stormed out right after Simon and followed him down to the common room.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” he shouted. “Come on, let’s have it out!”

“I already told you all I have to say!” Simon said, crossing his arms.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?!” Harry asked angrily. “Instead of rummaging through my things?”

“I’ll stop going through your stuff when I find out what you’re up to!”

“You are such a paranoid bastard!”

Still crackling with anger, Harry took a step forward and shoved Simon. He stumbled slightly before straightening up, eyes flashing. He shoved Harry back - much harder, to the point where Harry crashed onto the ground. He got back up to his feet, as several students chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

BANG!

The whole common room fell silent as Percy Weasley shot a noisy white firework out of his wand and stormed over to stand in between Harry and Simon.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “Both of you, with me, now! Professor McGonagall is going to deal with this!”

He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, then Simon's, and began to march them in the direction of the portrait hole. With a mutinous look at Simon and a slight shiver of nervous anticipation, Harry braced himself for some serious trouble.