A/N: Well, here we go again...

The Unravelled Seam

Sometimes there is absolutely no difference at all
between salvation and damnation.

Stephen King

Chapter One – Bloodshot

Harry's trunk landed with a thunk against the dusty white gravel covering the main thoroughfare up to the castle. The vine-girdled wrought iron gates protecting Hogwarts stood ajar, welcoming, as beams of pleasant summer sun broke through the leafy green canopy of the less menacing Forbidden Forest trees bordering the road down to Hogsmeade.

Harry Potter himself appeared alongside the trunk, took a deep breath, swore he could smell the magic on the air, and drew his wand. With a practiced flick, he levitated his trunk to follow steadily behind him as he crossed the threshold of the castle grounds—as he returned home. Already the cold, creeping dementor-fog and the dreary, soot-strangled streets of Surrey felt as far behind mentally as they were physically. A wicked grin stole across his face.

Only two weeks spent sullen and sulking at the Dursleys in the summer before his sixth year—and one week of that spent in anticipation of returning earlier to Hogwarts today, with the summer barely begun. Harry flicked the coin-sized silver portkey bearing the Gryffindor crest into the air, caught it as deftly as any golden snitch, and let it fall into the pocket of his jacket.

He marched up to Hogwarts taller with every step, the woes and worries of the wider world beyond the castle gates, for the moment, a lighter burden.

"Potter?" Draco Malfoy scoffed, as Harry strolled into the opulent Governors Chamber just after sunset. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "They just let anyone dressed in Muggle rags into the advanced tutelage now? My father—"

"—is busy licking Voldemort's boots, Malfoy," Harry said, eliciting a steady echo of gasps from the other students in the room. "Good evening to everyone but Malfoy."

The Governors Chamber, located as an annex to the Hogwarts Library, was one of those rooms Harry had known existed but never had much cause to visit during the last five years at Hogwarts. A long, dark wood table stretched the length of the room, standing on plush purple and green carpet. The table was polished to a mirror sheen and weighted with fine silverware and empty serving dishes. Long silver drapes framed broad stained-glass windows along the eastern wall, overlooking the lake. Each window depicted one of the Founders.

Harry took a seat opposite Malfoy at the table, next to Justin Finch-Fletchley, placing the visage of Godric Gryffindor at his back, over his shoulder.

Around the table, which sat about fifteen, most of the chairs were occupied. Malfoy, of course, glaring at Harry before dismissing him for whatever was written on the parchment before him. Justin to his left, and next to him sat Katie Bell, then Theodore Nott. Around the head of the table was Colin Creevey, a fourth-year Gryffindor girl with black hair who Harry couldn't name, and along the further edge sat Cho Chang and Marcus Belby. Cho smiled and waved at him.

Skipping past Malfoy again, there was an empty seat, and then two kids who Harry thought may have been third years – a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin, though their names escaped him. Two final Ravenclaws sat at the far end of the table, Terry Boot and Padma Patil. Harry made a quick count – thirteen including himself, heavy on the Ravenlaws, with two empty seats.

"Nice to see you here, Harry," Justin said. "Any thoughts as to what you'll be studying?"

Harry wasn't the last to arrive, however, as the doors swung open and Daphne Greengrass, wearing blue robes that complemented her silver-blonde hair, swept into the room and cast a quick glance at them all. She nodded to Malfoy, the barest incline of her head, and let her mask slip just a moment when she regarded Harry. The others she ignored entirely and took a seat at the far end of the table, aloof and alone.

After Daphne, Harry grinned as Hermione entered the room, clutching a familiar stack of books to her breast. She glanced shyly around the room, eyes widening when she spotted Harry, then grinned to match his own.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, as Malfoy sighed loud enough to be heard. Hermione ignored him. "I'm surprised to see—that is, I'm glad you're here!"

With all the other seats taken, Hermione had to sit three down from Harry, but he offered her a solid thumbs-up as the grandfather clock nestled between bookshelves burdened with dusty tomes struck ten o'clock. The clock's pendulum drifting back and forth, Professor Dumbledore entered the Governors' Chamber. He wore a pair of colourful robes, hidden mostly by his beard, and looked every inch the headmaster of the most prestigious magical school in the nation—save for a strange silver glove he wore over his right hand, which to Harry seemed out of place.

"Good evening, students, good evening," Dumbledore said, stepping up to the table. He remained standing between Malfoy and Katie and gestured to them all. "And welcome to the advanced curriculum offered by the Hogwarts Professorial Exchange Program. The summer promises to be most educational, as we welcome professors from institutions such as Beauxbatons, Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, and the Durmstrang Institute to the castle."

Malfoy nodded to himself and sat a little taller at the mention of Durmstrang.

Dumbledore beamed at them all. "You students here tonight represent the best that Hogwarts has to offer, having achieved the highest academic standings possible in your various studies throughout the school year."

Harry tried not to squirm in his seat—he had achieved no such thing. Hermione being surprised to see him suddenly made a lot more sense. But during Professor Dumbledore's visit to Privet Drive two weeks ago he hadn't mentioned good grades as a summer school requirement, nor had he been wearing the odd silver glove. A younger Harry might not have questioned the omission, but here Harry had suspicions about the headmaster's motivations.

He kept his mouth shut for now.

"We have arranged a small function in the Scamander Hall next door, where you will have an opportunity to meet the visiting academics, learn about their areas of study, and—should you wish—apply for apprenticeship under their tutelage this summer. Some of my colleagues only accept one or two apprentices, while others may welcome you all." Dumbledore placed his silver-gloved right hand over his left. "I trust you with the reputation of our fine school, ladies and gentlemen. I am certain you will serve Hogwarts well."

The Scamander Hall was resplendent with glowing chandeliers, each crystal pendant making up the fall reflecting the orange torches burning on the stone walls in a cascade of fire. A long bar stretched against the far wall, and half a dozen tall tables were burdened with trays of canapes, finger foods, and floating candles.

Mingling among the tables were a dozen faces Harry didn't recognise, along with many familiar faces he did—Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, Charity Burbage the Professor of Muggle Studies, along with Professors Sprout and Madam Pomfrey. The Astronomy Professor chatted, drink in hand, with the Arithmancy teacher Professor Vector, and Snape lurked in a corner cradling a goblet of something that rose with a light green smoke. Everyone in the room wore robes of a more casual, if not stylish cut, which Harry found odd on his teachers.

All in all, the party seemed very adult to Harry.

"You never mentioned you were coming here over the summer in your last owl," Hermione tsked, giving him a crushing hug.

"Well neither did you," Harry countered, and kissed her cheek. "Anything to get away from the Dursleys, you know. And the way Dumbledore described it I figured it would just be me and one or two other's. This is a lot more impressive—did you know they ran this in the summers?"

Hermione nodded. "Not every year, apparently, and not for a few years—I think the last time it was offered was in our second year. Oh, I'm excited, Harry. Think of all the advanced knowledge and magic in this room! Look over there, at the bar, that's Lucas Faraday—Beauxbatons' Spellcrafter! And I think I saw Fernanda Oliveira who knows more about alchemy than just about anyone."

Harry let Hermione point and exclaim as the Hogwarts Professors began making introductions between the visiting academics and the students. Soft cassical music was piped in from somewhere—Harry suspected a strange device at the far end of the bar, all chimes and golden pipes—and he helped himself to a goblet of juice and set about enjoying the party. The night wore on, and he was swiftly separated from Hermione and taken through a whirlwind of names, faces, and handshakes.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said just after eleven. "Please allow me to introduce Professor Hoovian, who joins us from the Durmstrang Institute. Mathias, this is Harry Potter."

Hoovian was a tall man, dressed in the finest suit Harry had ever seen—though he was no real judge of such things. He wore the suit like a second skin, and Harry was reminded of muggle movie stars he had seen walking red carpets on the rare occasions the Dursleys let him watch television with them in the evenings. Hoovian seemed young for a professor, in his thirties if Harry had to guess, and his sharp blue eyes were bloodshot above cheeks covered in a rough, black stubble.

"The boy who keeps on living, yes." Hoovian said, though didn't offer his hand for Harry to shake. "If even half the stories are true, Professor Dumbledore has been letting you get into all sorts of mischief within—and without—these halls."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry has a knack for tackling some of our more… shall we say 'unexpected events', Harry?"

"The basilisk was pretty unexpected, yeah," Harry agreed.

Hoovian grunted a laugh.

"What do you teach, Professor?" Harry asked.

"I helm the Durmstrang Institute's Demonology College," Hoovian said, as if it were the most normal thing to helm in the world.

"Demon…ology." Harry paused. "Huh."

Hoovian grinned, his smile full of dazzling white teeth in neat, perfect rows. "Soul-splitting good fun, I can tell you. Now you tell me, Potter, have you ever heard of the Seam?"

"The seams on my robes are threaded after the patterns of the lovely purple and blue butterflies we get in the spring," Dumbledore said, offering his cuffs for inspection. "Harry, will you refresh Professor Hoovian's drink—and fetch me a tipple of something amber and aged? Gareth at the bar will know which one. Thank you."

Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one, so more bemused than anything he went and collected the drinks.

The night wore on, and just after midnight wound to a close.

Harry and Hermione spent an hour chatting in front of the fire in Gryffindor Tower—tomorrow they would be given private rooms closer to the staff wing, so they could assist with their apprenticeships, once they knew who had expressed an interest in them—before calling it a night.

Check out my official page: google 'joe ducie author'

Support me on P a treon . com (slash) joeducie

Or follow me on the twitter: joeducie