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Chapter Text

Harry could hardly believe it, when it all sank in.

He wasn’t expelled. He wasn’t even getting punished. He’d inflated Aunt Marge, and the Ministry wouldn’t even give him a slap on the wrist. But that wasn’t the best part.

There were still three weeks until school began, and he would be spending them in Diagon Alley. Alone. Unsupervised — at least, as unsupervised as the thirteen year-old saviour of the wizarding world could get — allowed to do whatever he pleased, as long as he stayed within the confines of the alley. No teachers keeping an eye on him ‘for his own safety’, no Dumbledore with his annoyingly knowing gaze, no Mrs Weasley herding him around like one of her own. Not even Ron and Hermione. He could go where he liked, and not have to explain his actions to anyone. 

He’d never had such freedom before. Harry couldn’t wait to make the most of it.

.-.-.-.-.

For the first few days, Harry didn’t push the boundaries. He spent most of his time sat at a sunny table sat outside Fortescue’s, doing his homework with a tall ice cream sundae at his side, charmed not to melt too quickly. It was a nice change from doing it under his blankets in the dead of night — and it let him see if anyone was actually keeping an eye on him. It was a perfect spot to people-watch, to keep track of anyone who might linger too long or look his way too often. He was noticed — of course he was noticed, he was Harry Potter — but no one seemed to be following him. Even when he left the ice cream parlour and went to explore, he couldn’t see anyone keeping watch. He stuck to places he would be expected to go, of course. Quality Quidditch Supplies, Flourish and Blotts, Gambol and Japes’. Normal haunts for a thirteen year-old wizard. 

Only after he’d finished all his homework, and made absolutely sure that he wasn’t being secretly supervised, did Harry start to widen his exploration. In the past, when he’d been to Diagon Alley, whichever adult was with him had just wanted to get school supplies and get out as quickly as possible. Honestly, Harry didn’t blame them, especially when he was with the whole Weasley family. But Diagon was so much bigger than he’d thought it was. There were all kinds of side-alleys with small shops and vendor stalls. Sure you could buy potion supplies, and spellbooks, and brooms — you could also buy enchanted jewellery and elaborate sweets and bespelled household objects, and a million other things in between. It made sense, Harry supposed; wizards didn’t have a lot of places to shop, and you couldn’t just conjure everything you needed. Diagon was like the biggest shopping centre wizards could go to. And it was all open to him, now. 

Harry couldn’t resist. With a bag of assorted sweets from Sugarplum’s in hand, he meticulously scoured every inch of the alley from one end to the other, determined to uncover all its hidden joys. He bought a practice snitch at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a self-inking quill from Scribbulus Writing Instruments. He spent almost an hour in the back of the Magical Menagerie, talking to the snakes and telling himself he couldn’t take them all home with him. He bought a new pair of glasses at a small stall next Madam Primpernelle’s — indestructible, self-adjusting prescription, with weather-repellent charms. Harry’s prescription hadn’t been adjusted since he’d first got his glasses aged seven, and he’d forgotten what it was like to actually see clearly. 

After a while, wandering the alley made his heart ache. All these new and wondrous things were items he probably would have grown up with, had he been raised in a wizarding family. No wonder Ron didn’t care about the alley; it was all old hat to him. He wondered if Hermione had ever come here without them, and done the same thing he was doing now. He doubted it — she would’ve talked his ear off about it if she had. But how could she not be curious? There were so many incredible things; things he would buy, if he had anywhere to put them. He imagined the look on Aunt Petunia’s face if he were to start filling his room with magical posters and enchanted clocks and a statue of a dragon that really breathed fire.

If he ever went back to Aunt Petunia. Minister Fudge might’ve said they were alright with taking him back at the end of the school year, but Harry doubted they were happy about it. Then again, he didn’t really have any other options. 

As he browsed the shelves of Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment, Harry absently daydreamed about what his bedroom might look like in a wizarding house — his parents’ house. Would it look more like Ron’s? He snorted to himself; hopefully far less orange than Ron’s. 

But would he have a favourite quidditch team, with posters on the wall? A shelf full of spellbooks, with little moving figurines on the ledges? A fancy perch for Hedwig, with a self-filling water bowl? Bedsheets that changed colour when they needed washing? (You really could get everything in Diagon Alley). 

He pushed the thought away, biting his lip against the unexpected swell of emotion. Desperate for a distraction, he turned his gaze to the display in front of him. 

Wand Holsters, for the canny witch or wizard — never worry about losing your wand again!

They were thin leather tubes, with straps to secure them at each end. They came in several different lengths and colours; at first Harry thought it was to adjust for the length of the wand, but upon reading the description realised they were either for the forearm or calf, depending on your preference. Apparently they would accept wands of any length, even if they were longer than the holster itself. 

He glanced down at his wand, sticking out of the pocket of his jeans. His mind flashed back to all the times he’d dropped it, or had it fall out of his pocket, or not had a comfortable pocket to stick it in. Perhaps buying one of these holster things wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

Harry kept reading the description. Each holster had in-built invisibility charms, and an anti-summoning ward once it had bonded with its owner. It claimed to keep the wand safe and accessible at all times — apparently, they were what aurors used on the job. Harry grinned to himself. That sounded pretty cool, if he was honest.

His grin faltered when he checked the price tag, and glanced inside his rapidly diminishing coin purse. He muttered a curse under his breath. “Why did I buy that stupid quill?” he hissed quietly, scowling. 

Turning away from the wand holsters with slumped shoulders, Harry froze. He was in Diagon Alley — Gringotts was right around the corner. He had heaps of gold that his parents had left him. He just had to go get it!

He left the shop with a spring in his step, making a beeline for the enormous white building at the end of the street. One of the desks was open when he arrived, and the goblin manning it glanced down his long, crooked nose at Harry. “How may I be of assistance?” he asked in a low, slightly croaky voice.

“I’d, uh, like to withdraw some money from my vault, please,” Harry requested, refusing to let his nerves get the better of him. He wondered if it was like a muggle bank account, where you could just get the money without having to go to the vault itself. He didn’t fancy going on one of those mine carts right now. Every time since, someone else had withdrawn money for him. “Oh, uh, Harry Potter. The Potter vaults,” he added belatedly. The goblin’s eyes flicked up to his forehead, as peoples’ often did when he said his name. 

“Vault key?” the goblin asked. Harry’s spirits fell. He didn’t have his key! Mrs Weasley was the last person to have it, he thought, but he was pretty sure she gave it back to Dumbledore when she was done. 

“Oh. I, um, don’t have my key on me. Is that… a problem?”

“We can confirm your identity in other ways,” the goblin assured him. “But it requires your consent to a scan of your magic.”

Harry hesitated for a second. A scan sounded fairly harmless. People probably did it all the time; surely they didn’t carry their vault keys with them everywhere? “Okay, that sounds fine. I consent.” 

The goblin nodded, then snapped his fingers and waved his hand towards Harry. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and he hummed, frowning. He snapped and waved a second time, frown growing deeper. Harry’s stomach churned. “Is there something wrong?”

“May I speak to you privately, Mr Potter?” the goblin asked, leaning back in his chair and pursing his lips. “There is a matter I wish to bring to your attention.”

Immediately, Harry’s brain conjured the worst; there was something wrong with his magic, or he wasn’t actually Harry Potter, or the goblins refused to let him in anymore. He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking as he followed the goblin across the bank and into a corridor, where he was led into a small private room. The goblin gestured to a chair, and Harry sat. “One moment, please.”

The goblin left Harry alone in the room, but only for a couple of minutes. Those minutes felt like a lifetime as he waited, scenarios chasing each other around his mind, each more dire than the last. 

When the goblin returned, it was with a second goblin at his side. This one looked older, with wispy white hair and a deeply lined face. “This is Gorrak, Mr Potter. He’s one of our senior staff, and specialises in inheritance claims and family magic.”

Harry wondered if goblins shook hands. When none was offered to him, he merely nodded, twisting his fingers anxiously in the hem of his t-shirt. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gorrak. Can I ask… what am I doing here?”

“Do you consent to a scan of your magic?” Gorrak asked, bypassing all pleasantries. Harry blinked.

“I— yes, I consent.” If the goblins were planning to hurt him, they probably wouldn’t ask consent first.

Gorrak raised his hands, and his fingertips glowed with a faint silver light as he ran them over the air a foot in front of Harry. If Harry concentrated, he could feel a sort of… tingle, faint on his skin, making the hair on his arms stand up. Gorrak lowered his arms, scowling. “Wizards.” He spat the word like a curse, sharing an unreadable look with his colleague. “Farlig, did Mr Potter have anyone with him when he spoke to you?”

“No, sir,” the other goblin, Farlig, replied promptly. “He was alone.”

“What’s the matter?” Harry interrupted, cheeks turning red as both goblins turned to look at him. “Something’s wrong. Am I okay? Is my magic okay?”

Gorrak eyed him speculatively. “Mr Potter, can you recall any time in which you have been the recipient of any sort of long-term enchantment, or ritual magic?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Ritual magic?” he repeated, bewildered. “No, not that I know of. Why?” Had someone cursed him?

“I expected as much. The block is so deeply ingrained, you were probably just a baby when it was set.” Gorrak’s muttered words were more to himself than Harry, but Harry caught them anyway, and froze.

“Block?” he repeated. His pulse thudded in his ears. “Are you— am I— I don’t understand.”

Gorrak met his gaze unflinchingly. “Mr Potter, I regret to inform you that there is a rather severe block on your magical core, entirely restricting your access to your family magics.”

The words echoed in Harry’s head.

“Family magics? What does that mean?” He’d never heard of such a thing. 

Gorrak took the seat opposite him, a serious expression on his face. “Family magics, Mr Potter, are the magics passed down through wizarding families for generations. They are tied to your individual magical core, but are a separate part of it — they pass certain gifts or talents down family lines, and every wizarding parent will pass on some level of family magics to their children. Even muggleborn parents. In your case, however, the magics are of one of the oldest lines in wizarding Europe. They are an enormous part of your core, and without them you will be refused any inheritance or heirships, as well as any family gifts you may naturally possess.”

Harry blinked, not sure he understood correctly. “So they’re just… gone?” he asked, panic rising in his gut. Gorrak shook his head.

“They are still there, Mr Potter. They are merely inaccessible to you. Can I assume you were unaware of any blocks or limitations placed on your magical core?”

“I had no idea. Who— Voldemort?” He’d said the block had been placed when he was a baby. Could it have come from the attack?

“Unlikely,” Gorrak replied. “The ritual undertaken for this sort of block takes several hours to complete. From what I understand of your… history, the Dark Lord Voldemort would not have had time for such magic.”

Harry felt sick. Someone he trusted — someone his parents had trusted, enough to leave their baby with them for several hours — had placed a block on his magic. “Is it— am I in danger? Will it hurt me?”

“Currently, it is causing you no issue but a slight drain on your magical core. You have an impressively strong core for someone so young, Mr Potter, so it’s likely you haven’t noticed the difference. However, as the heir to the Potter line among others, should you come of age while still under the influence of the block, you will be unable to claim your rightful seats on the Wizengamot, or any of your inherited properties. You would also come to harm when your magical core fully matures, as the block required to restrain your family magic also does not allow your magical core to expand in any way.”

“I have seats on the Wizengamot?” Harry spluttered, eyes wide. Wasn’t that the wizarding government? How could he possibly have access to that?

“Not yet, Mr Potter, but you will once you come of age. The Noble and Most Ancient house of Potter has been part of the Wizengamot since its inception, and it is your birthright. You may also hold other seats — with the political climate in the last few decades, several ancient houses have lost their immediate heir, and the title has had to find other avenues in the family tree. I am unsure just how many families you are inheriting magic from, but with that in mind, this block could be restricting a truly astounding amount of magic within you. The backlash upon your coming of age would likely be severe, and explosive.”

For several moments, Harry sat in silence, letting the goblin’s words sink in. It all felt like some sort of nightmare. 

Eventually, Gorrak cleared his throat. “Mr Potter, if you would consent, I would like to check you for any other spells or enchantments on your person. This may not be the only thing done to you.”

“There could be more?” Harry scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Right, of course, this is me we’re talking about. There’s always more.” He shook his head with a derisive snort. “I consent. If there’s any magic on or in me that isn’t mine, I want to know about it.” His skin crawled like he could feel unfamiliar hands touching him, gripping his magical core and twisting. 

“Please empty your pockets and remove your glasses, and any other enchanted items you may possess,” Gorrak requested. Harry took a few moments to do as asked, then stood somewhat awkwardly with his hands at his sides. He’d never had so much as a medical check-up, let alone a magical one. What was he supposed to do? “Keep still, this will only take a moment.”

Gorrak murmured something in a language Harry didn’t recognise — Gobbledegook, probably — and a strange prickling feeling washed over Harry from head to toe. He resisted the urge to flinch away. Gorrak said something again in his language, but from Farlig’s reaction in the corner it was probably an expletive of some kind. “Someone has done you a great wrong, Mr Potter,” Gorrak declared. Harry’s heart sank.

“Am I dying?” he asked flatly. It would be just his luck if after all his run-ins with Voldemort, he was due to die from some slow-acting curse or something. Gorrak barked out a laugh. 

“No faster than the average wizard,” he assured. “However, the block is not the only magic acting against you. There’s some kind of spell, I’ve never seen it before but it looks more recent, perhaps two or three years old, and it’s familiar. The same magic that belongs to whoever blocked your family magics.”

Slowly, pieces started to come together in Harry’s mind, dread gathering in his belly. “And what does this spell do?”

“I can’t be entirely positive, Mr Potter. If I were to guess, I would say it is something to do with your behaviour. It appears to encourage impulsiveness — or limit rational thinking. Something along those lines. Perhaps with the side-effect of making you more suggestible, easily influenced. Whoever cursed you wanted you to trust without reason, and act without thinking, no doubt to leap head-first into all those dangerous situations I’ve heard rumour of. It’s an incredibly powerful compulsion spell, Mr Potter; I’m amazed you have any sort of self-restraint whatsoever.”

Harry could only think of one person who would have means and opportunity to perform both the magic block and the compulsion spell, and the answer made his heart clench.

Dumbledore.

His parents would have trusted the headmaster with their baby, even alone for several hours. And even if they hadn’t, there was the time after their death, before Aunt Petunia found Harry on her doorstep — he couldn’t have been there all night, he would’ve frozen to death. Dumbledore was easily powerful enough to put the compulsion spell on Harry when he started at Hogwarts, too. He always seemed to be up to something — gently nudging Harry in certain directions, playing everyone around him like puppets and alway seeming to know more than he should. Making Harry impulsive and easily influenced was one thing, but what did Dumbledore stand to gain from limiting his family magic?

He didn’t want to believe it, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“I’m afraid that’s not the only thing,” Gorrak continued, as if Harry wasn’t suffering enough. “Though this is probably less of a surprise. There’s heavy residue of dark magic, situated around your scar. Unfortunately, this is not familiar to me, though I can have a team research it if you wish, and with any luck they will figure out how to remove it. No one has survived the killing curse until you, Mr Potter — that magic is foreign to both wizards and goblins. I cannot remove it, and am reluctant to attempt such in case it harms you. As it stands, it does not seem to be doing you any damage.”

Relief flooded Harry — that one was less worrying. He had always assumed there was something strange about his scar, since it never truly healed. Curse residue would make sense. If it wasn’t hurting now, they might as well leave it alone.

“But what about the block, and the spell? Can they be removed?” he asked tentatively, his gut churning at the prospect of having to live with the limit on his magic forever, like some sort of ticking time bomb. Seventeen felt like ages away, but it wouldn’t be far off.

“They can,” Gorrak confirmed. Harry sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. “Farlig, please guard the door.” The lock clicked, and Farlig stood in front of the door with his shoulders squared, his jaw set. “Mr Potter, if you wouldn’t mind standing.”

When Harry stood, Gorrak snapped his fingers, and the chair he’d just been sat in turned into a low bed, like the kind in a doctor’s office. “Please lie down on your back.” Harry did, heart racing. Letting a goblin he’d only just met perform magic on him made his survival instinct snarl, but he refused to spend any longer with a block on his magic. Besides, what was he going to do, write to Dumbledore about it? Not after everything he’d discovered today!

“This may hurt, Mr Potter.” That was all the warning Gorrak gave before he began chanting. It again was in an unfamiliar language, and as soon as the chant started up Harry’s body began to glow white, his skin growing warm. He gripped the edges of the bed, forcing his eyes to remain open, even when the sensation turned sharp. A cry escaped his lips — it felt almost like something was sucking at him. No, biting. Like a creature had sunk their teeth in and refused to let go, while Gorrak was pulling it out of his body. Above his heart, the glow turned darker, and Harry watched in horror as a ball of black magic began to form above him. The ball grew bigger and bigger, Gorrak’s forehead glistening with sweat as he chanted and moved his hands, fighting against the foreign magic in Harry’s body.

Harry couldn’t have said how long he was on the table for, but eventually Gorrak’s chanting grew louder, and he wrenched his hands up high, sending the ball of black magic careening away from Harry and towards a crystal Harry had just noticed on the desk. The crystal turned from white to black in an instant, and the glow around Harry faded. “You may sit up, Mr Potter,” Gorrak declared, sounding breathless. Harry did so. The goblin sank into the chair opposite, leaning heavily on one elbow. “Whoever placed those curses certainly did not want to give up without a fight, but it is done. I took the liberty of retaining samples of the magic — should you reach a time where you wish to press charges against an individual, this can be used to compare magical signatures and prove guilt.”

Gorrak looked him in the eye, and it was clear the goblin also had a good idea of who placed the spells. Harry grimaced. “Thank you.” He didn’t know if he’d ever need it, but it was good to know it was there. “I… how can I tell if the spells have been replaced? Or something new put on me?”

“Wizard magic is different to goblin magic. Most wizarding detection spells wouldn’t pick up on something like that,” Gorrak informed him. “However, I believe there are books explaining how to learn to recognise your own magic, and see any signs of alteration. In future, should you ever have concerns, any Gringotts goblin would be happy to perform a scan of your magic. Congratulations, Mr Potter; your family magics are strong and healthy, despite their tampering.”

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He might have been imagining things, but if he concentrated he felt… lighter. Like he’d been wearing weights, and suddenly they were gone, his magic buzzing faintly under his skin. “If I were you,” Gorrak continued, “I would be very careful when doing magic for the next few months, while your body adjusts to having access to its full magic reserve. You may find new spells come easier to you, and old spells a little more… forceful, for a while.”

“Right,” Harry murmured, nodding. He’d have to test that once he got back to Hogwarts. It wouldn’t do to suddenly be exploding things all over the place, especially if Dumbledore was keeping an eye on him. 

“While you are here, Mr Potter, might you be interested in taking a Line Test?” Farlig spoke up from his place at the door. “As we explained earlier, some family lines have since died out, and heirs are turning up in all sorts of unexpected places. Most purebloods take the test before they begin schooling — you’ll want to know the breadth of your inheritance long before you come of age.”

He hadn’t realised that inheritance and family lines were such a big deal in the wizarding world, but then he thought about how Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins talked about their families, and even how people spoke about the Weasleys. A family name seemed to hold a lot of information about a person, to purebloods. Perhaps there was more to it than just tradition and prejudice. 

“What do I have to do?” he asked warily. Farlig strode across to the desk and rifled through a drawer, coming out with a square of pale purple parchment. 

“Just three drops of blood on this, Mr Potter,” he explained. “The results are entirely confidential.”

Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Harry approached the desk, accepting the small knife from Farlig’s hand and pricking his finger, dripping blood onto the parchment. It began to glow. With a snap of his fingers, Farlig healed the small cut, offering Harry a toothy smile. 

At the top of the parchment, black ink began to form words. 

Harry James Potter. Parents: James Charlus Potter, Lily Juliette Evans-Potter

Harry hadn’t known either of his parents’ middle names, and his heart clenched. After all the shocks of the day, he felt a small measure of relief knowing that at least this part of his life wasn’t a lie. He truly was the son of Lily and James Potter. 

There was a beat, then more words appeared.

Blood Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter

Again, not a surprise. He expected that to be the end of it, but the parchment continued.

Named Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

His mind automatically flashed to the man in the newspaper, Sirius Black, with his gaunt face and wild hair. What a funny coincidence; it was a fairly common surname, after all.

Blood Heir to the Ancient House of Peverell

That was a name he’d never even heard before. Who were the Peverells? 

Conquering Heir to the Ancient House of Slytherin

Harry choked. Heir of Slytherin? How could that possibly be? What did it mean, conquering heir? 

He waited for a moment, to see if the parchment would throw anything else at him. Several long seconds went by without any more ink appearing, and Farlig cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Mr Potter,” he declared. “Four very respectable houses. I’ll update our records and have the vault ownership adjusted accordingly.”

“It’s been a long time since someone claimed the Slytherin vaults, Mr Potter,” Gorrak murmured, looking thoughtful. “How very interesting.”

“How is that possible?” Harry croaked, eyes wide. 

“When an ancient family line dies out, or the last remaining heir becomes ineligible to hold the position, heirship can be transferred in multiple ways. In this case, when you defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort — believed to be the previous blood heir to the Slytherin line — you ended the line, and the magic deemed you a suitable replacement. You must share blood somewhere with Salazar Slytherin, but within pureblood families that isn’t uncommon. The Slytherin family magic is unique, in that it has certain requirements for an heir — less about bloodlines, and more about magical strength and purity. The Dark Lord, when he entered this bank as a youth and took a line test, was an ineligible heir for the Slytherin line. No doubt his core was already tainted with too much dark magic for the family magics to accept him.”

“But wasn’t Salazar Slytherin a dark wizard?” Confusion was plain in Harry’s voice, and Gorrak chuckled roughly. 

“Your wizarding history books aren’t quite as accurate as your people believe, Mr Potter,” he remarked. “Salazar Slytherin was no true dark wizard. His father, Septimus, was. We believe that Salazar himself changed the conditions of inheritance in the face of his father’s twisted magical core. The practice of what most wizards now consider to be dark magic was, back then, fairly neutral casting. Instead, it refers to what you now see as the blackest arts. The Dark Lord must have started some truly awful things at a very young age to have rendered his core ineligible.”

Opening his mouth, Harry almost asked why they didn’t just tell the wizards the truth, if they knew the real history of Salazar Slytherin. Then he thought about the attitude most wizards had towards goblins and other creatures, and his jaw clicked shut. No one would believe them if they tried.

“So what does all this mean for me? Being heir to all these houses?”

“At present, not as much,” Gorrak explained. “You will be unable to take on your full responsibilities until you are of age. However, heirs to ancient bloodlines play an important role in wizarding culture — you are the future of your people, Mr Potter. It is your job to preserve and uphold your family magics, as well as prepare yourself to enter the Wizengamot when the appropriate time arrives. I suggest you contact other family heirs and discuss the role with them; I’m afraid goblins know little in the ways of wizard culture.” He leaned back in his chair. “The confirmation through the Line Test will also allow you access to any vaults under the names of these families, though I’m afraid due to your age you cannot access many of them without a guardian. I can have a portfolio assembled of your vaults and properties and sent to you within the week.”

“If I may, Mr Potter,” Farlig cut in. “It may also benefit you to research independently what it means to be the heir to houses as old as yours. There are no doubt many books on the subject. Of course, you can always choose to reject your Wizengamot seats and any adjacent responsibilities, but they would continue to be held by your proxy. I believe that is currently Headmaster Dumbledore.”

At the thought of Dumbledore being responsible for his family name, something inside Harry hardened. “No,” he said immediately. “I’ll take my place. I’ll learn.” He didn’t entirely know what all this entailed yet, but he knew one thing for sure — he didn’t want Dumbledore making decisions on his behalf. Not now, and not when he was seventeen.

“Excellent choice, Mr Potter,” Farlig murmured approvingly. “Should the goblins of Gringotts be able to assist, please do contact us.”

“You’ve already done more than I ever expected,” Harry replied, head still spinning with everything he’d learned. “I— how much do I owe you, for all this?” It occurred to him belatedly that the gold-driven species were unlikely to do such a kindness for free. Farlig and Gorrak shared a smirk.

“We will take the necessary expenses from your vault and owl you the bill, Mr Potter,” Gorrak informed him. “I shall send it alongside your portfolio. I will also send recommendations for an account manager, and perhaps some investments if that is your wish. The money in those vaults has languished since the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, if not longer — seeing it back in circulation would make goblin-kind very happy indeed.”

If there was one thing Harry had learned from being forced to live with Vernon Dursley, it was that investing money in the right things was very important. “I would appreciate that, Gorrak. Thank you.”

“It is our pleasure, Mr Potter. Now,” Farlig said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I believe you originally came here to withdraw money from your vault?”

Chapter Text

Harry left Gringotts with his purse weighed down with gold, and his head weighed down with thoughts. He glanced at his watch, and his eyebrows rose — he’d only been in there for a little over an hour. It felt like a lifetime, it had changed so much. 

Buying the wand holster was now the last thing on his mind. Instead, Harry made straight for Flourish and Blotts. He’d already spent half a day wandering the shelves, learning the many varieties of books available inside — no longer just going straight to the shelf for Hogwarts students and never venturing further. Familiar with the shop’s layout, Harry found his way to the shelves full of books on wizarding history and culture.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he thought about what Hermione might say if she saw him buying books of his own free will. That smirk faded, however, when he thought of Ron’s expression at the sight of the books themselves — titles like ‘The History of the Wizengamot’ and ‘Inheritance Magic Explained’. 

His eyes scanned the shelves, looking at the other people in there purchasing books. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for Harry Potter to be seen buying books about pureblood culture. 

Harry was about to start putting the books away, when his gaze caught on the bright paper of the bag from Gambol and Japes — of course! He’d almost forgotten about his purchases there, he’d had so much on his mind since then. He rifled through the bag until he found what he was looking for; small, egg-like capsules that promised a cunning disguise for up to thirty minutes. Supposed to be used to avoid being caught setting a prank, but Harry had bought some for the days when he wanted to go outside without being Harry Potter, with all that entailed.

He hid behind a deserted shelf and split one of the capsules over his head, feeling the magic run down him as if he had indeed just cracked an egg in his hair. Glancing at himself in the window, he grinned; staring back was a pale boy with straw-blond hair and dark brown eyes, his square face nothing like Harry’s own. A shift of his fringe made him grimace when he saw his scar was still there, but luckily the disguise’s hair was long enough to cover it. It would be enough.

Now on a time limit, Harry raced through the bookshop, tossing titles into his basket whenever they appealed to him. He didn’t want to look too suspicious by just getting a stack of books about purebloods, so he threw in a few more that looked interesting — a book of defensive charms and wards, one titled ‘A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know’, a small book called ‘A Muggleborn’s Guide to the Wizarding World’, and one on goblin culture. It looked like he’d found some valuable allies, after all, and he wanted to learn more about them. Satisfied, he took his heavy basket up to the register, handing over the gold with a smile and adding the large bag of books to his other purchases. 

There was a spring in his step as he left the bookshop, and he hid in a small side-alley until the disguise charm wore off. For the first time, he was desperate to get back to his room and actually read some books.

First, however, he made a quick detour to Wiseacre’s, emerging a few minutes later with a brand new black leather wand holster strapped to his wrist. He hadn’t entirely forgotten what had started the whole thing, after all.

.-.-.-.-.

Harry spent all of that day and most of the next holed up in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, reading his new purchases. He felt like he was discovering the wizarding world all over again. He wished the Muggleborn’s Guide had been part of his first year book list; it would have answered so many questions, and saved him a lot of trouble. 

It amazed him that no one taught muggleborns all this stuff when they were introduced to the wizarding world — or perhaps they did, and everyone just forgot he was muggle-raised. But then surely Hermione would have said something? He made a mental note to buy a copy for her upcoming birthday, and see what she thought of it. From some of the things she’d said and done over the years, he didn’t think she’d had any real introduction to wizarding culture either. 

All the things that Ron and the others took for granted about being raised in the wizarding world. The history, the background knowledge, things like household spells and Ministry forms and inheritance magic — all of it was brand new to Harry, and he couldn’t get enough. 

That aside, the books on pureblood culture were an eye-opener of an entirely different kind. After all he’d heard about the purebloods being backwards and traditional and fearful of anything muggle, reading about the history he couldn’t really blame them. Of course, he’d studied witch burnings in History of Magic — even had some summer homework on it that Florean Fortescue had been surprisingly helpful with — but those textbooks never went into the detail of how difficult it was to be magical in a time when the muggles were suspicious of everything. The origin of the Statute of Secrecy, and how the wizarding world changed after it, made Harry realise just how much history was in his family. Especially when he saw both the names Potter and Black popping up as notable figures in several of them. 

He still hadn’t figured out how he was named heir to the Black family, but he wasn’t really bothered by that just now. He was too busy trying to wrap his head around what it meant to be an heir to not one but four prominent families in the wizarding community. 

One of the few times Harry left his room, he bought himself a blank notebook with a password charm, so that he could take notes on everything and keep it secure. He now had pages and pages of writing on all sorts of subjects, not just inheritance. 

From what he could gather, being an heir now was a little like being an heir back in the regency days of England, when inheritance actually meant something. All the families properties and money would pass down to the heir, and they would become the head of the family when the previous head stepped down. That left them in charge of the family magics and wards, any Wizengamot seats they held, and the family name itself. This was mostly used for things like marriage contracts and such — everything had to go through the head of the family before it could become legal. That meant that when Harry turned seventeen, he would become the head of four families — he’d checked Wizengamot records, and all four seats were currently held in proxy. All four by none other than Albus Dumbledore.

It made Harry’s blood boil when he thought about it — the more he’d connected the dots, the more he was sure that Dumbledore was the only person who could have put the block and curse on him. But for what end? He was training Harry up for something — that much had been clear since he’d met the man — but why did it involve cutting him off from his family magics, and causing his core to implode when he turned seventeen? What plans did he have for Harry that didn’t let him become a happy, healthy adult wizard?

Either way, Harry resolved to watch his step around the headmaster in future. And if Dumbledore was false, then who else might have ulterior motives… no. He couldn’t go down that road, or he’d drive himself crazy wondering who he could trust. 

Remembering what Farlig had said about learning to sense his magic, Harry eventually managed to find a book about magical cores when he went back to Flourish and Blotts, and he had notes on that now, too. It would take time, but apparently wizards could learn to sense their own magic, which was how wandless magic became possible. Harry liked the idea of being able to perform spells even if he didn’t have his wand on him, though hopefully now he’d bought that holster that wouldn’t be a problem. 

Eventually, however, Harry’s brain began to hurt from the influx of new knowledge. Though he certainly found it easier to sit and read than he ever had done since starting Hogwarts — it was like being back in muggle primary school, when he’d spent most of his breaktime sat in the library reading and hiding from Dudley and his friends, taking refuge in the written word and spending hours buried in books. He wondered if the recent lack of attention span was due to the curse that made him more impulsive. He hoped so; he was used to having to pretend to get lower grades so as not to make Dudley angry, but at Hogwarts he actually struggled to keep up average grades on his homework. He felt a pang in his chest when he realised he’d have to go back to pretending, or Dumbledore would definitely know something was up.

Leaving his books securely hidden in the bottom of his trunk, Harry made his way back out to Diagon Alley, blinking at the bright sunshine. Maybe he had spent too much time indoors. 

Hands in his pockets, he wandered aimlessly down the alley, intending on picking up where he left off the day he went to Gringotts. Wiseacre’s was hardly the end of the alley, and there was so much more he hadn’t explored. 

Harry bought a glass bottle of cold pumpkin juice and sipped from it as he walked, eyes roaming the shop fronts with mild interest. Being thirteen, there were a lot of places in Diagon that he had zero interest in — offices and specialty stores and places selling furniture — but every now and then he came across something interesting. The toy shop caught his attention, though he only looked through the window; he was too old for toys, even if part of him did wonder what it would have been like to grow up with the magical ones. There was a tattoo parlour as well, which he was definitely too young for, but looking at the artwork was fun. Maybe when he was older, he’d get a tattoo. The wizarding ones moved. 

The further he went, the more the shops seemed to cater for a different clientele; they were more off the beaten path, not the kind of things families shopping for Hogwarts supplies would need. He stopped outside of a blue-painted shop with the words ‘Silverling’s Wizarding Fashion’ above the door. The window held mannequins wearing both regular robes and the more muggle-style clothing that younger wizards and witches wore on a day-to-day basis. 

Harry looked down at himself. His jeans were only held up by his belt, rolled up several times at the ankle so he didn’t trip over them, and his t-shirt hung halfway down his thighs. All his clothes were the same; at one point in time, they had all belonged to Dudley. Harry at thirteen could fit into clothing that Dudley hadn’t worn since he was seven. 

He could change that, now.

When he stepped inside the shop, his palms were sweaty and his nerves racing even more than they had been in the back room of Gringotts. He pushed the anxiety away, striding resolutely towards the menswear side of the shop. He had no reason to wear Dudley’s cast-offs now. He was a respectable young wizard with plenty of money, and he could buy himself clothes that fit.

It looked like the kind of place that the cool pureblood and half-blood kids at Hogwarts would shop. Perhaps Parvati and Lavender had been in there. The clothes were definitely wizarding wear, but it wasn’t anything like his school uniform. Many of them had in-built charms according to the labels; dirt repelling, or self-mending, or size-adjusting. It was all a bit overwhelming for Harry, who had barely been shopping in the muggle world, let alone the wizarding one.

At that, he had a thought that almost made him wonder if the spell making him impulsive hadn’t been removed after all. A slow grin spread across his face; it was about time, really. 

He only bought a couple of things at Silverling’s — a pair of jeans that promised to be self-mending, a pair of comfortable black dragon-hide boots, and a jacket with in-built warming and cooling charms depending on the weather. When he left the shop, he turned back in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, already pulling together a plan in his head. 

When he made it to Gringotts, he stepped inside, his stride far more confident than it has been the last time. To his delight, he saw Farlig behind the same desk as before, and approached. “Good morning, Farlig! I hope your gold is flowing rapidly,” he greeted, remembering what he’d read in his book about goblins. Farlig blinked for a moment, surprised, then gave a smile that showed all his teeth. 

“Good morning, Mr Potter. My gold flows well, and I guard yours faithfully,” he returned the greeting. “How can I help?”

“Can I make a withdrawal? But, in muggle money, this time?” he requested. Surely Gringotts had to do some sort of currency exchange?

Farlig nodded. “Of course, Mr Potter. If you would consent to a scan?” Harry nodded, letting Farlig check his identity through his magic. “Excellent. And how much will you be withdrawing today?”

“Um. Let’s say… five hundred pounds.” He’d never even seen that much muggle money in his life, except for when Dudley opened his birthday and Christmas cards. But he knew the rough exchange rate, and he hoped it would be enough for what he had in mind. Besides, after the portfolio the goblins had sent him detailing all his assets, he wasn’t exactly worried about his future spending rate.

Farlig didn’t bat an eyelash at the amount. “As you wish, Mr Potter. One moment please.” He typed something into his old-fashioned typewriter, then pulled a lever. Crisp muggle bank notes began stacking on the desk in front of him. “Here you are, Mr Potter. Five hundred pound sterling.” He passed the substantial stack to Harry, who shoved it securely in his pocket. “If I may make a suggestion, Mr Potter?”

“Absolutely,” Harry replied. The goblin hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

“Twilfitt and Tattings makes a bottomless bag, which can carry far beyond its usual capacity, yet never weighs more than its empty state. I believe it’s popular among young people these days.” Farlig gave a shark-like grin, his words casual but his gaze knowing. Harry grinned back.

“Thank you for the recommendation, Farlig. May your vaults ever be full.”

“And yours, Mr Potter,” Farlig replied, bowing his head in acknowledgement. 

Harry took a detour to Twilfitt and Tattings, purchasing a bottomless bag in the style of a black leather messenger bag, fairly unremarkable but stylish in its simplicity. Twilfitt assured him it would hold up to thirty times its natural capacity in size, and up to a hundred kilos in weight. Harry couldn’t ever imagine needing to carry a hundred kilos worth of anything, but it was good to know for the future. 

His plan in place, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron, waving a cheerful hello to Tom behind the bar on his way up to his room. There he deposited his purchases and changed into his new clothes. 

“Oh, that’s much better, dear,” the mirror in his room complimented, making him beam despite himself. The only clothes he’d ever had that fit him before were his school robes, and the few items of Dudley’s clothing that Hermione had once experimented with Shrinking charms on. He’d never had brand new jeans before in his life. He actually looked his age for once, rather than a ten year-old playing dress-up. 

His smile couldn’t be dislodged as he grabbed his new bag, the wad of muggle cash, and his invisibility cloak. Briefly, he remembered the warnings about not venturing into the muggle world, and a pang of guilt surfaced. But he pushed it away. 

Unlike most wizards, he was perfectly comfortable navigating the muggle world. And he was long, long overdue some time there.

.-.-.-.

It was almost insultingly easy to sneak out into muggle London using his invisibility cloak, ducking into a public toilet to take the cloak off and stuff it in his new bag. From there he walked to the nearest tube station, his heart thudding with adrenaline at his blatant breaking of rules, and bought a travel card for the day. He glanced at the tube map, checking his journey, and stepped confidently through the barriers to join the flow of people going about their day. No one looked twice at him. No one did a double-take at his forehead, or whispered about him from several feet away, or did any of the other things he’d gotten used to in the wizarding world. It was refreshing, to say the least.

When Harry was next above ground, it was to step right into the hustle and bustle of Oxford Street. It was all a little overwhelming, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, remembering his plan. This was likely the only chance he’d get to do this — he had to make it count. 

Harry looked up at all the shops, bearing names he recognised from the Dursleys’ clothing, and he smiled. He could do this.

.-.-.

Four hours later found Harry sat outside a cafe in Covent Garden, drinking a chocolate milkshake, not a trace of his earlier anxiety in his body. 

It turned out, he liked shopping. Once he got the hang of it, of course.

Figuring out what sort of clothes he wanted to wear — given entirely free rein, no restrictions, no outside influence — had taken him a little time, but once he started to find things that made him happy, he was off. In London, no one questioned a thirteen year-old boy by himself with seemingly endless amounts of cash. No one questioned anything in London.

He was down to his last thirty pounds, which surprised him; he hadn’t expected to get quite so carried away. But he couldn’t help himself once he started. Years of living in hand-me-downs had him yearning for a full wardrobe of his own choosing, his own style. He knew he’d grow out of it all sooner rather than later — if he ever actually got around to having that growth spurt — but that’s what spells were for. Besides, there was plenty more money in his vault. 

If he didn’t get back to the Leaky Cauldron soon, Tom would start wondering where he was, so Harry finished off his milkshake, shouldered his bag and set off back to the tube station. He made a mental note to give Farlig some kind of present or reward for the tip about the bag; he dreaded to think what it would be like trying to sneak back into the Leaky carrying his purchases the muggle way. 

Thanks to his invisibility cloak, Harry easily made it back up to his room with none the wiser, and there he emptied all his purchases onto the bed, staring round-eyed at his new clothes. His gaze shifted to his school trunk, which was already messy and overflowing from over a week of living out of it. Sighing to himself, Harry ran a hand through his hair. He’d better tidy up, then.

As tempting as it was to have a ceremonial burning of all things Dursley in the fireplace of his room, Harry knew he’d have to keep up appearances if he didn’t want anyone — namely Dumbledore — getting suspicious. Still, he was unable to help himself from burning the most offensive items of clothing. Some of Dudley’s old things sort-of fit, and they weren’t that bad, so Harry kept them. Hopefully if he gradually mixed in his new clothes, no one would notice the difference. He hadn’t bought anything enormously flashy, anyway.

With all his new clothes folded up and piled with the older ones he was keeping, Harry looked at the stack on the bed. For the first time in his life, he might actually struggle to fit all his possessions in his school trunk. The thought made him smile.

Perhaps Twilfitt and Tattings did bottomless trunks, too.

.-.-.-.-.

It turned out, Farlig didn’t need a present — all he wanted was for Harry to get his family money moving once again.

While the Potter and Black accounts had ongoing investments made by previous heads of the family, the Peverell and Slytherin vaults had been stagnant for decades. Between the four houses, Harry’s Gringotts portfolio was several inches thick; and Farlig was determined to make it thicker, once Harry made him account manager.

If he’d known what would follow, he might have reconsidered that. With the lure of getting to learn what artefacts and interesting objects lay within his possession, Farlig had beckoned him into his office and immediately sat the young wizard down in front of an enormous stack of parchment.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Harry declared warily. Farlig’s returning grin showed all of his teeth.

“The top parchment lists all the current investments and regular transactions within your holdings,” Farlig explained. “While prolific, it would do you well to invest more of your money in a wider range of businesses. I’ve included a list of the current businesses our investigations show will make good investments; including a few in the muggle world, if you aren’t opposed.”

Harry glanced down at the list, grimacing at some of the dark-sounding investments under the Black family name. Yes, it was going to be gruelling, but it would be worth it.

As the Gryffindor got to work, scrawling numbers and rifling through Farlig’s list of suggested investments, the goblin watched with something akin to pride.

Young Harry Potter might be off to a late start, but if he carried on with this determination, he’d take the pureblood wizarding circles by storm and give them a much-needed shake-up.

And if he could make as much money as his accounts projected, Farlig’s wife would be very happy indeed with his new position. After all, he now worked on commission.

.-.-.-.

About done with adventures for the summer, Harry decided to spend the rest of his time in Diagon Alley actually behaving — somewhat. He made no more jaunts into muggle London, but he did make a few more reckless purchases, taking advantage of having no one around to question his spending habits. A new trunk with more space than the old one, even more books, and a small Wizarding Wireless so he could listen to quidditch matches sometimes. 

If he was being really foolish, he told himself, he would have bought a Firebolt. But he didn’t, so no one could begrudge him a little shopping spree. No one had to know how much he’d really bought.

The start of the school term was drawing ever closer, and Harry was keen to make the most of his remaining freedom, wandering around Diagon in his new clothes, getting used to actually wearing things he liked. As the week went on, he spotted more people he knew from school, all there to buy their things for the upcoming school year. He stopped and spoke to some of them, but most he just observed with a small smile, keeping his head down. Until one.

Harry was wandering past Twilfitt and Tattings when he — quite literally — bumped into someone. “Watch where you’re going, you filthy— Potter!”

He looked up into the steely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. Harry winced. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” He’d been too busy thinking about a passage in one of the books he’d been reading, about the history of the Wizengamot and why the fifty houses had originally been chosen. “Malfoy,” he greeted, bowing his head briefly, keeping his palms open at his sides like the etiquette book had said, to show that he wasn’t holding a wand. That seemed to throw the blond boy for a loop, and he blinked, before his eyes narrowed.

“Looks like you’re finally learning how to dress yourself, Potter,” he retorted sharply, though he too showed empty palms. “Where’s your usual entourage? They finally got sick of you?”

“They’re on holiday,” Harry told him. “I’ve been at the Leaky Cauldron for a while.”

“Alone?” Malfoy’s pale eyebrows shot up. “I find it hard to believe Dumbledore’s letting you wander around without a babysitter, all things considered.”

“What do you mean, all things considered?” Harry asked, bracing himself for some kind of insult or remark about how he was too stupid to survive by himself. 

In reading his new books, Harry had discovered that he’d actually been enormously insulting in refusing Malfoy’s hand before the sorting back when they’d started Hogwarts, and it was probably that that got Malfoy’s back up around Harry all the time. That and Ron constantly antagonising him. He’d decided to try and be civil instead, and see where that got him; if he could take Malfoy off the list of things he had to worry about, it would make all the other things — like Voldemort, potential danger, and exams — a lot easier to bear.

“You mean no one told you? Merlin, it’s like they want you to die,” Malfoy muttered disparagingly. “Sirius Black? Ring any bells?”

“Wait— The escaped criminal? What’s he got to do with anything?” Malfoy sighed impatiently.

“Do those glasses even work, Potter? The man’s face is up on wanted posters all over Diagon! He broke out of Azkaban.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Harry replied slowly, wondering why he should be any more scared than anyone else. 

“He was one of the Dark Lord’s most loyal supporters. And, rumour has it,” Malfoy gave a vicious smirk, “he’s after you, Potter.”

Harry’s heart stuttered. “What?”

“He’s coming for you. Talking in his sleep, the same words — ‘he’s at Hogwarts’. He wants revenge for his Lord, so you’d better watch out, Potty.”

Malfoy sounded gleeful, but he actually looked a little disturbed that Harry had been left alone under the circumstances. Harry thought about all the times he’d been alone and unguarded — his trip to muggle London, his forays into the emptier parts of Diagon Alley. No wonder Fudge had been waiting for him when he’d arrived. He probably thought Black had got him. 

But in that case, why hadn’t he been given a guard? 

Shaking his head and figuring it was probably all part of some scheme of Dumbledore’s, Harry turned back to Malfoy. “Well, he’s not likely to come into the middle of Diagon Alley, is he? I’m perfectly safe.”

“Are you?” Malfoy retorted with a smirk. “I suppose at least you can defend yourself here. If you were capable of that, anyway,” he added disparagingly. Harry stared blankly at him again. “Sweet Salazar, they really don’t tell you anything!” He pulled his wand, and Harry automatically took a step back, but all the blond did was send out a trail of green sparks that formed a hissing snake before fading out. “Underage magic can’t be traced in Diagon Alley,” he informed Harry smugly. “There’s too many people around for them to tell who cast what. As long as no one sees you, you can cast what you like.”

“Well I wish I’d known that before I got here,” Harry muttered, thinking of all the spells in A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know that he’d been desperate to try out for days. Two whole weeks, wasted! “Why are you telling me all this, Malfoy? I bet you’d love to see Sirius Black get me.”

“There’s something different about you, Potter,” Malfoy remarked, eyeing him over with his arms folded over his chest. “I feel like it’s going to make the year… interesting. It’d be a shame if you died before I could see how Weasley’s going to react to your new look. Silverling’s isn’t cheap.” Harry was wearing his new jacket, but he hadn’t expected Malfoy to notice that, much less where he’d bought it from. Still, it made him wince; if Ron noticed, would he start thinking Harry was trying to rub his money in his face? He was always so sensitive about that sort of thing.

“Draco!” The call could only come from his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, and Malfoy jerked his head to see her at the end of the street. “Draco, dear, we have an appointment.”

“See you at school, Potter,” Malfoy spat. 

“Malfoy!” Harry called, and the blond turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks. For the information. I’ll see you at school.” He smiled and Malfoy seemed baffled by it as he went to catch up to his mother. Harry turned away, feet leading him back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

He had some spells to practice. He wouldn’t worry about Sirius Black, for now — like he’d said, the man was hardly going to pop up in the middle of Diagon Alley to grab Harry. If no one else seemed to be worried enough to have someone watch Harry, then he wasn’t going to worry about it.

He was, however, going to worry about what Malfoy meant by the year being interesting. He was weirdly happy about having had an entire conversation with the other boy without either of them threatening to hex the other, but the blond’s words about Ron settled heavy in his chest. The last thing he wanted was to make his friend feel uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t do that at the expense of his own happiness. 

Harry shook his head, trudging back up to his room and trying to keep his mind on the spells, and which to practice first. He’d deal with Ron when he got there. As for Malfoy — maybe he’d misjudged him. 

Time would tell, he supposed.

Chapter Text

According to the books, the easiest way to become familiar with your magical core was meditation.

No wonder the spells on him had made him impulsive, restless. He never would have been able to do it, even if he’d had the urge.

With the spells gone, however, Harry found it easy to sink into his own mind, his breathing steady and his eyes closed. It was a little like the days back in his cupboard; falling into his imagination to pretend he was literally anywhere other than crammed under the Dursleys’ staircase. Pretend he wasn’t in pain, wasn’t starving, wasn’t cold.

Except the difference here was that he wasn’t creating anything — his mind was empty and still. At least, he tried to be. It was hard, shoving away every little thought that crossed his mind. But after several days of dedicated practice before bed, he was starting to get the hang of it.

He relaxed his shoulders against the headboard, trying to sink deeper into his body. He could almost feel it, a warmth running through him, a spark. The book said he had to find that spark and follow it back to his core.

The book also said it was incredibly difficult, and took time.

Somewhere, Harry thought he could see a faint glow of light in the corner of his vision; a strange concept with his eyes closed. He tried to focus on it, draw it closer — and then, outside the room, there was a loud bang and a grumbled curse.

Harry’s concentration was lost.

He scowled to himself, opening his eyes. When he glanced at his watch, he realised it was already nearly midnight — too late to try again. He’d just have to accept that progress for now, and keep trying tomorrow.

It wasn’t going to happen overnight, he reminded himself. These things took practice.

But he couldn’t help but feel like there was an hourglass somewhere, grains of sand running out far too quickly, counting down to the day when he would no longer have the freedom for practice and time.

Dumbledore — if it truly was Dumbledore, though he couldn’t think of any other options — would eventually find out that Harry not only knew about the spells, but had broken them. He highly doubted he’d be able to play dumb until he was seventeen. Sometimes he doubted he’d be able to play dumb for more than a week after getting back to Hogwarts. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that he couldn’t reveal his hand too early. He needed more information.

He needed to make sure no one could ever stifle his magic in the same way ever again.

Shuffling down to rest his head on the pillow, Harry closed his eyes, determination still tight in his jaw. It was too early for a plan yet — he still didn’t know for sure who he was planning against — but he had time to prepare. He was only thirteen. No one would be expecting much of him yet.

That would be their mistake.

.-.-.

At long last, Harry’s peace was broken by the arrival of the Weasleys and Hermione on the morning of August 31st. He found them outside of Fortescue’s, ice creams in front of them while Harry wandered over from having just been in Flourish and Blotts again. Ron had even more freckles than usual, and Hermione’s brown skin seemed to have darkened several shades. 

They beamed at him, Hermione grabbing him in a tight hug as soon as he was close enough. “We wondered where you were, mate!” Ron exclaimed, patting him on the back as Harry sat down. “We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but Tom said you’d already left.”

“I was just wandering,” Harry said with a shrug. “Got all my school things last week, so I haven’t had much else to do lately.” He wasn’t ready to tell his best friends about what he’d been up to in the last three weeks. Not until he knew who he could trust. “How was Egypt? And France?”

“Never mind that,” Hermione waved off. “Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?”

“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. “She’s fine now. The ministry got it all sorted out.” Of course Fudge wasn’t going to expel him when some sort of madman was after his skin. 

“It’s not funny, Ron!” Hermione insisted, while Ron roared with laughter. “Harry could’ve been expelled!”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t,” Ron retorted, still grinning. 

“What’s with all the books, Hermione?” Harry asked, quickly changing the subject. She had a huge stack of books by her side; far more than should be on her school list. 

“Oh, well I’m taking more new subjects than you, aren’t I?” she replied, pointing out which subject each book was for. Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“How is it even possible to take that many?” The form McGonagall had them fill out asked for two additional subjects, three at maximum. Hermione was taking five. 

“I’ve got it all sorted out with Professor McGonagall, don’t worry,” Hermione said dismissively. “Now, Ron and I were just talking — I’ve still got some money left over from my parents, for an early birthday present, and I was thinking about getting an owl.”

“There’s a creature shop over there,” Harry replied, pointing to the Magical Menagerie. He’d spent quite a bit of time in there, talking to the snakes. 

“Perfect. I want to get something for Scabbers, too. He’s been off since Egypt,” Ron added, patting the lump in his front pocket. They all got to their feet, Harry helping Hermione with some of her many books.

“Are those new boots, Harry?” Hermione asked, making him glance down and realise he was wearing the dragonhide boots from Silverling’s. He grimaced, hoping Ron didn’t notice.

“Yeah. I got a bit bored around here, did some shopping. Dudley’s shoes are never gonna fit me.”

“They’re very nice,” she complimented. Luckily, Ron was already on his way to the menagerie. 

“Are you two coming or not?” he called impatiently. Harry and Hermione hurried to follow, Hermione’s books banging into their knees.

Perhaps Harry would buy her a bag from Twilfitt and Tattings for Christmas.

.-.-.-.

They returned to the Leaky Cauldron with Ron’s rat tonic and Hermione’s new cat — or maybe small tiger, Harry wasn’t sure — and both Ron and Hermione in foul moods. Harry was already thinking longingly of his solitary days gone past. Of course, the rest of the Weasley family were there when they arrived, and Harry was sucked into the chaos like he’d never left. It was good to see them again, but it was all a bit much after so long by himself.

Harry was glad to head back to his room after dinner, sleepy from both the food and the social interaction. He could hear the muffled sounds of Ron and Percy finishing their packing next door, and just as he went to unbuckle his boots, his door swung open. Fred and George slipped in, quickly shutting it behind them. “Hiya, Harry, old chap. Don’t mind if we hang out in here for a minute, do you?” Fred asked, sitting on the bed beside him while George took the other side.

“What’ve you done?” Harry asked flatly. Both twins put a hand to their heart as if struck.

“Us? Do something? Never,” they said in unison. 

“You’re not going anywhere til I’ve found my badge!” Percy’s indignant voice drifted through from next door. The twins shared a look, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“…We might’ve stolen Percy’s Head Boy badge,” George admitted.

“But we’ve been improving it,” Fred added, rummaging in his pocket. “Look!” He showed Harry the red and gold badge, which now read ‘Bighead Boy’. Harry snorted.

“He’s gonna kill you,” he remarked, but didn’t toss the twins out. 

Gathering up all the miscellaneous things that had sprawled all over his room in his three week stay, Harry forgot about the book he’d been reading before bed until Fred picked it up off the bedside table. “’Wizarding Traditions and Pureblood Rites’, hmm?” he read the cover, brows furrowed as he flicked it open. Harry’s heart stopped. “Not your usual bedtime reading.”

“I, uh,” Harry started, frantically fumbling for some kind of excuse. George smirked, plucking the book from his twin’s grasp.

“Is little Harrikins learning about his place in the world? Noble and Most Ancient Heir of Potter,” he added teasingly, making Harry flinch.

“How do you know about that?”

“Not like there are any other Potters about, is there?” George replied. “We just didn’t think you knew.”

“The, uh— the goblins told me. When I went to Gringotts,” Harry said eventually, praying the twins didn’t dig any deeper than that. Surely that was a normal thing, right? The goblins informing someone about their inheritance. 

Neither redhead seemed perturbed by it, nodding as if it made total sense. “They’re probably keen to have the Potter vaults open again,” Fred mused. “Don’t worry, Harry,” he added, clearly sensing the fear rolling off the younger boy. “We won’t tell Ron. Our little brother’s a mite sensitive about these things.”

“We can write to Bill and Charlie, if you like,” George suggested. “They’re the ones doing all the lordship stuff in our family. Although Weasley and Prewett might be Sacred 28, but we’ve let a lot of the traditions die, so I don’t know how helpful they’d be.”

“Sacred 28?” Harry had seen references to that in his books, but never had it actually explained to him.

“The 28 wizarding families who were true purebloods back in the 30s,” Fred explained with a roll of his eyes that showed exactly what he thought of that. “As decided by some ponce who wrote a book about it. There’s others, of course — the Potters are as pure as it gets, but they’re not on the list because the author had it out for them. Said they don’t count because they’re not technically English pureblood. As if they’re any less English than the Shafiqs or the Shacklebolts. But it’s basically a bunch of old-blood wizarding families. You can probably find a book about it if you like. A better book than the original; there’s bound to be one that tells you all of the old-blood families. All the Wizengamot seats. You can owl-order it to school.”

Harry, who had been trying to find a book exactly like that, looked up hopefully. “I’ve never owl-ordered anything before.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” George assured. “You just get the reference number off the catalogue, owl off with the money and they’ll send it back to you. Angelina’s got a Flourish and Blotts catalogue, I’m sure she’d let you borrow it at school.”

“And if you ever want to order something without putting your name on it,” Fred said.

“In case it’s not something little Harry Potter should be looking at,” George supplied knowingly.

“We’ll be happy to put our names down for you,” Fred finished, grinning. He glanced at his twin. “People have given up questioning what we buy.”

Before Harry could answer, the door swung open again. Quick as a flash, George had the book shoved behind his back. “There you are, boys,” Mrs Weasley greeted, sounding harassed. “Have you seen Percy’s badge?”

“Not since he was flashing it around earlier, Mum,” Fred said earnestly. Mrs Weasley eyed her sons with suspicion. 

“I haven’t seen it, Mrs Weasley,” Harry piped up. “But I can help you look, if you like?” He went for wide-eyed innocence, and Mrs Weasley softened her smile.

“Oh, that’s alright, Harry dear. You finish packing and go to bed, you’ve got a long day tomorrow! Fred, George, you as well. The Ministry is sending cars, so we can’t be late!”

“Be out in a minute, Mum,” George promised, and the Weasley matriarch left them be. George smirked. “Nice one, Harry.”

“Seriously though, mate, if you ever need anything, just ask,” Fred insisted, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “We’re good at keeping quiet. When we need to,” he added, no doubt thinking of the many explosions they regularly made. 

“Thanks, guys. You too. Always happy to be an alibi.” Harry winked, making the twins grin widely as they stood. 

“Knew we could count on you, little brother!”

The twins bid their goodnights and left Harry by himself, a warmth brewing in his chest. It was nice to know he had at least two people on his side.

.-.-.-.

Harry was surprised the next morning when Mr Weasley pulled him aside in all the chaos at the platform to tell him about Sirius Black. He pretended it was new information, appropriately wide-eyed and fearful at the confirmation that oh, by the way, the mass-murderer that broke out of the most secure prison in the wizarding world? Wants you dead. He promised not to do anything rash — only half-meaning it — and then they were on their way. Harry wondered what he would have done if he hadn’t bumped into Malfoy the week before. Why did Dumbledore think it was okay to keep something like that from him for so long? From what Mr Weasley said, the headmaster didn’t even want him to know to begin with!

Ginny and the twins quickly ditched them to find their own friends, and when they were secure in the compartment with the sleeping new professor, Harry told his two best friends about Sirius Black. It was only fair, after all; if they were going to be hanging around him, they were in just as much danger. He was a little insulted at Hermione’s assumption that he’d go seeking Black out, but then he remembered the compulsion charm the goblins had removed, and realised that before he probably would’ve done exactly that. 

Conversation soon turned to Hogsmeade, making Harry remember for the first time since getting to Diagon Alley that he never got his permission slip signed. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to go even if he had. 

As Ron and Hermione tried to cheer him up about not being able to go — well, Hermione tried, Ron mostly gushed about how great Hogsmeade was supposed to be — Harry let his thoughts wander, his gaze drifting to the man asleep opposite him. Professor R J Lupin. He looked familiar. Perhaps Harry had seen him around Diagon Alley? He couldn’t place it, it was just a feeling, like he knew this man. Even as he got dragged back into conversation, he couldn’t look away from him for long. Part of Harry hoped the professor would wake up, then he might be able to find out if they knew each other. 

Then the dementor attacked, and Harry stopped caring about Professor Lupin at all. 

He was still shaking when he finally got Madam Pomfrey to let him go back to the feast, barely sparing a thought to the sorting he’d miss, or even Hagrid’s new teaching job. All he could think about was that awful, awful scream…

“Is it true, Potter? You actually fainted?” Malfoy jeered as they all headed for their dorms. 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron said with a scowl. When Harry looked up, Malfoy’s eyes met his. For the briefest moment it looked like he was actually concerned. 

“I’m fine, Malfoy,” he retorted acidly, turning away towards the staircase. No, he was seeing things. Just because they’d had one half-decent conversation, didn’t mean Malfoy suddenly gave a damn about him. 

.-.-.-.-.

When the feast was finally over, Remus rose from his seat at the head table, thinking longingly of his bed in his new quarters. First, however, he had to make one stop. He couldn’t help himself. 

His feet led the way seemingly without his consent, his eyes roaming the all-too-familiar corridors. He never thought he’d be back at Hogwarts again. Certainly never thought he’d be allowed to teach. It was a dream come true. 

He ignored the ache in his chest, the voices of times past — of friends past — echoing in his ears as he walked. Every corridor, every classroom, they all held memories. Even the good ones made him want to howl with pain. 

He stopped outside a nondescript black door, taking a steadying breath before knocking. “Enter,” a voice drawled, sending another stab of pain through Remus’ heart. He pushed the door open, meeting stony black eyes. “Lupin.” His name was spat like a curse, but he refused to flinch. If anything, it made him smile a little. Some things never changed. “What do you want?”

Remus edged into the office just far enough to shut the door behind him. Severus was sat behind his desk, a potions journal open in front of him. He didn’t look particularly pleased to have been interrupted.

All throughout the feast Remus had forced himself not to look down the other end of the staff table. Now he couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

He hadn’t seen Severus in over a decade. The other man had certainly aged far better than Remus had — going grey at the grand old age of thirty-three. Considering… everything, Severus looked good. Older, harder, his hair a little longer, but still Severus.

“Did you come here just to stare at me, or did you need something?” The words were biting, but Remus didn’t avert his gaze. Severus was scowling at him, a familiar expression but for the lines a little deeper in his face. Remus tried not to think about the last time they saw each other. He definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. 

“I just wanted to thank you,” Remus replied, his voice still a little hoarse. The last moon hadn’t been a particularly pleasant one. Hopefully it’d be the last like that for a while. “For agreeing to provide the Wolfsbane potion while I’m working here. It means a lot to me.”

“Dumbledore insisted,” Severus said, lips pursed. “Don’t think I did it out of the kindness of my own heart.”

Remus actually chuckled. “Of course not, Severus,” he replied easily. “I know you don’t have one of those.” The words could’ve been harsh, but they were fond if anything, and it made the Slytherin’s scowl deepen. 

“Is that it?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Remus assured. Even after all this time, the Potions Master’s sharp tongue didn’t quite cut the way it was supposed to. Not to say it didn’t hurt, but… it was a different hurt. “I just thought I’d stop by and let you know how grateful I am.” He paused, screwing up his Gryffindor courage for the minute. “It’s good to see you again, Severus.”

“Goodnight, Lupin,” Severus replied flatly. He looked away, jaw clenched. Remus took a step back, knowing when he’d pushed too far. It had always been a delicate game, that. He could hardly believe he was playing it again; could hardly believe he wanted to. He hadn’t been sure, until he’d seen the man. But yes, he wanted to. After all these years, he couldn’t quite shake Severus Snape.

He left the office, finally retreating to his quarters, letting out a sigh of relief when he stretched out on his mattress. He closed his eyes, thoughts turning to the incident on the train. To the one student he hadn’t been truly ready to meet yet.

He was so small. Certainly bigger than the last time Remus saw him, but still. James hadn’t been that small at thirteen. Even Lily had been taller, he was pretty sure. Still, Harry Potter seemed happy enough. When he wasn’t being attacked by dementors, at least.

Remus sighed, rolling over onto his side. The hollow spot in his chest ached, the faint howling in the back of his head mournful, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if that would make it go away. 

“I don’t know if this was a good idea after all,” he murmured to himself, knowing he’d be having nightmares that night.

It was going to be a long year, full of old memories and broken pack bonds in so many ways. Remus just hoped it would be worth it.

.-.-.-.

The start of term was certainly eventful.

Between everything with Buckbeak and Malfoy, and adjusting to his new classes, Harry hardly found any time by himself to work on his extra curricular studies. True to their word, the twins had borrowed Angelina’s Flourish and Blotts catalogue, and Harry had sent off for a book about all the old pureblood families, as well as one about the duties of a pureblood heir. It was so much easier to find what he wanted when he had a nice handy list of them in the catalogue. He should’ve done this ages ago!

The night after his new books arrived, Harry left Ron playing chess with Ginny and scurried up to the dorm; if he was lucky, he’d have at least an hour before everyone started wanting to go to bed. He dug his new books from the side compartment in his new trunk, wondering which to read first. 

The one about the duties of an heir was shorter, so he went with that. It was dry, as most of the books about pureblood stuff seemed to be; they certainly didn’t want to make it easy for people to learn about it all!

“Harry?” 

He jolted at the sudden noise, shoving his book under his pillow in a move that wasn’t remotely subtle. Neville backed up a step, holding his hands out soothingly. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”

“Sorry, Neville. You startled me.”

“You’re taking up your family seat?” Neville asked, and Harry blinked. Neville gestured at the book. 

“What? How do you know about that stuff?”

Neville’s answering smile was somewhat crooked. “Neville Longbottom, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, at your service,” he declared, bowing in the way Harry had read was formal when one heir addressed another. Harry gaped. 

“You… really?”

“Really,” Neville confirmed. “My gran’s got my proxy right now, but she’ll pass things to me as soon as I’m old enough. Oh, this is great, Harry! The others will be so happy to hear you’re taking up your heirship; we weren’t sure, you see, when you never said anything.”

“Wait, no!” Harry went wide-eyed in alarm. “You can’t tell anyone, Neville.” He didn’t even know who these ‘others’ were, but if Dumbledore got wind of any of it…

“Harry, whatever Ron’s told you, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Neville replied, sounding defensive. “The House of Potter has a great history, and being an heir is a huge honour.”

“No, it’s not that, I—“ Harry faltered, letting out a sigh. Surely he could trust Neville, right? Especially if he was also an heir. Maybe he’d be able to help Harry out. “Come here.”

He scooted up the bed to make room for Neville to sit opposite him, then closed the curtains, putting up one of the privacy charms he’d learned from A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know. Neville’s eyebrows rose. “What I’m telling you, Neville, you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

Neville nodded, brow furrowing in confusion. And Harry told him — all about his trip to Gringotts, and the block on his magic, and who he thought was responsible.

“I’ve been trying to learn everything I can since I found out,” he said, gesturing to the books. “Bought a load of books. But there’s so much I don’t know, and I can’t make things too obvious or Dumbledore will know I found out about the block.”

“He blocked your family magics?” Neville’s voice came out in a horrified whisper, his face pale. “He could get sent to Azkaban for that! That’s so many different kinds of illegal!”

Harry winced. “Who’s gonna believe me over him, though?” he said plaintively. “Even if they did, he’d find some way to convince everyone it’s all for my own good, or some rot.”

“That’s awful.” Neville squeezed Harry’s shoulder supportively. “Do Ron and Hermione know?”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t be sure they won’t go to him over it. Or he might get to them somehow anyway.” He couldn’t speak quite so plainly as he wanted to, but Neville got the idea; he couldn’t trust them yet. 

“I’ll write to my gran,” Neville assured. “She taught me everything I know, she can help you too. Obviously she won’t know all the stuff that’s specific to the Potter family, but there’s probably a book in your vault about that. Or for, uh, any of the other families. Merlin, Harry, Slytherin? That’s insane! And Black, too — the House of Black is one of the oldest known pureblood lines in the world! How’d you get that one?”

“No idea,” Harry said with a shrug. “I guess someone down the line named me their heir. Do you really think your gran could help?”

“She’d be honoured,” Neville replied. “She loves all that stuff — can’t wait til I’m old enough to get more involved. She can keep a secret, too.” Neville paused, having a thought. “Harry, have you ever heard of Occlumency?”

“Can’t say I have,” Harry replied, running the strange word over in his head. “What is it?”

“It’s a form of magic, just about every pureblood kid is taught it growing up. It protects your thoughts. See, there’s this magic called Legilimency — that’s reading peoples’ thoughts. Getting into their minds, seeing their memories, all that. Occlumency is the prevention of that. It forms shields around your mind so that no one can get in and steal your secrets.”

Harry’s jaw dropped in horror. “People can read my mind?” 

“Not everyone,” Neville hastened to assure him. “It’s a really rare skill. But Dumbledore is famous for it. There’s rumours that Snape is really good at it, too. If you’re going to be keeping secrets from Dumbledore, you’ll want to learn Occlumency. I’ll write to gran tomorrow, get you some books.”

“Do you know it?”

“Oh, yeah, I learned before I came to Hogwarts,” Neville said. “Every family needs to be able to protect their secrets. I’m not amazing at it — if someone was really trying, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep them out. But, well, no one has needed to really try. Not yet, anyway.”

“But what if Dumbledore’s already read my mind?” Harry thought of all the times that could’ve been possible — during mealtimes, or even in lessons. How close did someone have to be to read minds?

“Legilimency needs eye contact. As long as you don’t look him in the eye, you should be alright.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Don’t look him in the eye. He could do that. That also explained why the book said eye contact was a show of trust. “Thanks, Neville. God, there’s still so much I don’t know. It’s gonna take me forever to catch up.”

“You’ll get there, Harry,” Neville said supportively, squeezing his shoulder again. “D’you mind if I, uh, go? Only I’ve got homework, and…” 

Harry belatedly realised his wards were still up, and waved his wand to cancel them. He pulled his curtains aside, and froze when he saw Ron sat on his own bed beside him. The redhead eyed the pair suspiciously. “What’ve you two been up to?”

Harry and Neville shared a look. “Studying,” they both said eventually, Neville heading back towards his own bed. Ron stared at Harry for a bit longer, but let it go. 

“Whatever. Harry, d’you think Scabbers has lost more weight? It’s that bloody cat of Hermione’s, he’s got it out for him I swear.” Scabbers was laid out on the bedspread in front of Ron, and Harry had to admit he’d definitely seen better days. Privately, he thought that was more due to him being old than anything Crookshanks was doing, but Ron wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“Just keep up with the rat tonic,” he replied. “I’m sure he’ll perk up.”

Ron didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t say anything more as Harry started getting ready for bed. Harry only felt guilty for a minute for excluding him. Ron wouldn’t understand.

.-.-.-.

Everyone was excited for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. From what they’d heard around the school, Professor Lupin actually knew his stuff; no chance of another duffer like Lockhart. Harry hadn’t properly spoken to him yet, but he still couldn’t shake that strange feeling like the professor was familiar. It made something in his chest tie itself in knots, and had Harry squirming when he was sat behind his desk staring at the new professor. 

The feeling was pushed aside when they were led to the staff room, Lupin gently suggesting that Snape vacate the area. The Defence professor seemed incredibly amused by Neville’s boggart transformation. Maybe Snape had already pissed off the new staff member. Harry wouldn’t put it past him.

Wand in hand, Harry braced himself to face the boggart, only for Lupin to step in front of him. The boggart turned into a floating silver orb, shining mysteriously — until Lupin turned it into a cockroach. Was that the moon? Why was Lupin afraid of the moon?

No one seemed to notice that Harry hadn’t faced the Boggart, too busy chattering about their own vanquished fears. Harry almost said something to Lupin, stayed back and demanded answers, but he decided against it. Maybe he was overthinking things. Possibly class was just about to run over, and Lupin wanted to wrap things up. 

Harry kept to himself as he walked down to dinner, letting Ron and Hermione’s bickering wash over him. Professor Lupin hadn’t said anything about seeing Harry before, or knowing him from anywhere. Harry was probably imagining things.

Still, something didn’t feel right. There was something about the man that Harry couldn’t put his finger on.

Chapter Text

As Ron and Hermione continued to fight over their pets, Harry found himself spending less and less time with the pair. It was giving him a headache, and both of them expected him to take their side — it just wasn’t worth the hassle. Instead, he spent time alone, or with Neville. He was surprised at how close he was becoming to the shy Gryffindor since he’d revealed his secret. He was easy to get along with; much easier, Harry thought guiltily, than Ron and Hermione.

True to his word, Neville had sent an owl to his gran explaining Harry’s circumstances. She’d responded with a long letter about what she’d like to do and say to Albus Dumbledore, but also with several rolls of parchment with notes for Harry to study about proper etiquette and behaviour, and a book called Occlumency For Beginners. Thanks to her, Harry was now in the habit of trying to clear his mind and organise his thoughts before bedtime. He wasn’t sure if it was helping, but Neville insisted it was the best starting point. 

Harry and Neville were in the school library — where for once, Hermione was not — looking at some of the books that wouldn’t be too suspicious for him to be seen studying in public. Just in case anyone came across them. Harry should’ve known there would be plenty of books in the Hogwarts library. 

“So technically, none of us are responsible for anything until we come of age,” Neville was explaining. He sounded more confident than Harry had ever heard him, except perhaps for when he was talking about Herbology. “We’re just heirs — it’s not until you’re the head of your house that you really have any influence. For most people that wouldn’t happen for ages. Usually a Lord or Lady will keep their seat until their heir is married and has kids — just in case they need to change the line of succession, y’know? If they don’t like who their heir has married or whoever. But, well, we don’t have any other options,” he added with a bitter smile. Harry bit his lip. He knew Neville was raised by his gran, but he’d never asked what happened to his parents. He didn’t really know how to bring it up.

“Then why do all the books make it sound like such a big deal from birth?” 

“The family heirs are the ones responsible for securing good family ties for the future,” Neville told him. “Everything relies on the heir. If the head of the household is awful, sure, that’s not great. But the future lies on the heir, so if they’re not great, that’s another generation of bad to deal with. Say one heir offends another heir when they’re like, twelve, right? That grudge will carry through the family for the next fifty or sixty years, however long it takes for the next heir to take over. And Merlin help them if the grudge has been passed down. Some families have had grudges going on for centuries.”

“Like the Malfoys and the Weasleys,” Harry realised. That bad blood was far too deep to have started with Lucius and Arthur. Neville nodded.

“Exactly. And family grudges can make politics really difficult, especially when there’s only fifty seats on the Wizengamot at any one time. If you piss off one family, and they tell all their allied families—“

“You end up with a lot of people who vote against you just to spite you,” Harry surmised. Neville nodded.

“Exactly. So our behaviour is really, really important.”

Harry looked back down at the next paragraph in the book, and as such didn’t notice they had company until a throat was cleared. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott stood beside their table; Susan eyed Harry warily for a second before turning to Neville. “Ernie wants to know if you’ll help him with his Herbology homework on Friday.”

“Of course, yeah. Why didn’t he ask me himself?” Neville paused, then sighed. “Don’t tell me he’s still hiding after the butterbeer incident?” Both girls giggled, and Hannah nodded. “Idiot. It’s completely fine, my gran even thought it was funny. Tell him I’ll meet him in the usual spot after dinner.”

Susan turned as if to leave, but then she glanced down at the book open in front of the two boys. Harry fought the urge to cover it up. “No,” she murmured, a slow smile creeping across her face. “Really?” The question was directed at Neville, who grinned, nodding.

“Really. But it’s all hush-hush for now. Reasons,” he added, as if that was in any way helpful. Harry had officially lost the plot of the conversation. 

Susan and Hannah both looked at Harry, studying him like they hadn’t seen him before. Eventually, Hannah bowed her head with open palms. “Well met, Heir Potter.”

Susan repeated the greeting. Harry spluttered. Neville kicked him in the shin, giving him a pointed look. “I, uh, well met, Heir Bones, Heir Abbott,” he returned, bowing his head at each of them. “You two as well?”

He knew Abbott was one of the Sacred 28 lines, but he hadn’t seen anything about the Bones family. He really had to read that book on all the pureblood families. 

“We were starting to think you’d never take your title,” Hannah said, keeping her voice low. “What took you so long?”

“I— It’s a long story,” Harry said, running his hand through his hair. “How many are there at Hogwarts?” 

“Oh, loads,” Susan replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Basically all the Slytherins in our year. Ernie MacMillan. Sully Fawley, in the year below. Anthony Goldstein. Cassius Warrington, that tall bloke on the Slytherin quidditch team. Loads more, too.”

“They do it on purpose. Our parents, I mean,” Hannah explained. “They all try and have kids the same age so that we all meet at school and start early. There’s a few outliers — the Weasleys have always been off-cycle, and the Flints duffed up a bit — but for the most part, it’s all our lot. Good to have you in the ranks.” She grinned, winking briefly. “We’d love to hear that long story of yours, one day.”

They made to leave, and Harry reached out for a second. “Wait! Don’t— don’t tell Dumbledore. Don’t let him know.” They shared a glance, then looked back at him.

“Dumbledore holds too many seats that aren’t rightfully his,” Susan said darkly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Harry. Your secret’s safe with us.”

Watching the girls walk off, Harry blinked, bewildered. “When you said there were others, I didn’t realise there were that many.” Neville grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah, well. We’re the year for it. Like I was saying, it’s our job to secure the family future. They want to make sure we have the best opportunities to start networking. Have you ever noticed how most of the Slytherins leave me alone? Even Malfoy’s not as bad with me as he is with the rest of you. Though this year, he only really seems to be after Ron.”

Harry had noticed that, too; Malfoy barely said anything to Harry unless Ron started the fight. Instead he’d taken to giving Harry calculated looks across the room, like he couldn’t quite figure him out. 

“If this whole heir thing keeps the Slytherins off my back, it could be worth it after all,” Harry teased, pulling the book a little closer. Neville laughed.

“I don’t think even being the Potter heir could fix that completely.”

.-.-.-.

When Gorrak had warned Harry to be wary of his magic in the months following the removal of the block, Harry hadn’t expected it to be quite so itchy. He constantly felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, his magic building and begging to be used. He was picking things up in class faster than he’d ever done before — faster than Hermione, even, sometimes. He’d have to get a handle on that, or he’d be found out in a second.

For some reason, walking seemed to help. Most nights Harry put on his invisibility cloak and slipped out of the common room, strolling the halls of Hogwarts in the darkness. For once, he wasn’t even up to something. It just felt like the walking was soothing him — the castle was soothing him. Deep down, he wondered if it was something to do with being the heir of Slytherin, if the castle recognised him somehow. It sounded stupid, but people always said Hogwarts felt like it was alive. 

He’d taken his cloak off as he walked through the courtyard, wanting to feel the wind ruffling his hair. He knew he was being foolish. There was a murderer out looking for him, and here he was walking around by himself at night. But he just couldn’t stay still. He’d rather walk for an hour or two than spend the whole night tossing and turning. Besides, with the dementors around, Black wouldn’t be getting into Hogwarts. 

There was a flash of silver, and Harry swore under his breath as he turned the corner to see familiar blond hair. “What are you doing out after curfew, Potter?”

“I could say the same to you, Malfoy,” Harry argued. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have a crazed serial killer after me,” was his retort.

“Careful, Malfoy, it’s starting to sound like you care.” 

Malfoy flinched, then glared. “Just because I hate you, Potter, doesn’t mean I want to see you get murdered.”

That made Harry grin, though he couldn’t explain why. “I was just out for a walk. Feeling restless.”

“Feeling restless, he says,” Malfoy said with an exasperated skyward glance. “Just do bloody laps in the common room!”

“Well, what’s your excuse then?”

“None of your business,” Malfoy said immediately. The two boys stared at each other in the beat of silence that followed, at a stalemate. Suddenly, Harry got an idea. It might’ve been a stupid one.

“Well met, Heir Malfoy,” he said, bowing slowly. Malfoy stared, blinking incredulously.

“The rumours are true, then,” he murmured. Ever so slowly, inch by inch, the Malfoy heir sank into a similar bow, though he was hampered slightly by his arm in a sling. “Well met, Heir Potter.”

He straightened up. They stared at each other some more, neither sure what the next step was. Harry had gone and thrown off the rhythm of their usual interactions. “It’s Heir Black, too,” he threw out impulsively, not sure why he was telling Malfoy of all people. The blond’s eyes widened a fraction.

“How— oh, of bloody course,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Heir Potter-Black. I should’ve known.” At the look on his face, Harry was almost tempted to throw out his other two names, as well. “Well, that’ll shake things up a bit. At least it’ll take two of Dumbledore’s proxy seats away. Though I don’t know if it’s worse to let you have them.” He made a noise of disgust.

“It won’t be,” Harry assured. He met Malfoy’s eye for the briefest of seconds, remembering what Hannah had said. “We don’t need any more seats under Dumbledore’s control.”

He was sure he’d actually rendered Malfoy speechless. He wished he had a camera for proof. “You are making things interesting, aren’t you, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice had softened. Harry’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “All the same, it’ll do you no good if you’re dead. Toddle off to your little lion’s den, now, won’t you?”

“Only if you slither back to your snake pit,” Harry retorted, grinning. That actually earned a soft laugh as Malfoy turned away.

Once he was alone, Harry threw his cloak over his shoulders, heading back in the direction of Gryffindor tower with an odd spring in his step. Of all the things he’d learnt since his birthday, one was proving to be more bewildering than all the rest put together.

Maybe, just maybe, he actually quite liked Draco Malfoy. When he wasn’t being a prat.

.-.-.-.

Everyone in third year was practically falling over themselves with excitement at the announcement of the first Hogsmeade weekend. Except, of course, Harry Potter.

“It’s fine, really. You go have fun,” he insisted for the hundredth time, shooing Ron and Hermione towards the portrait hole. “Tell me all about it when you get back.”

“We can always go next time, Harry, really,” Hermione started, but Ron tugged on her arm.

“Look, the man said leave, so we’ll leave,” he said. “We’ll bring you back loads of sweets, Harry.”

“See you at the feast tonight!” It was Halloween. Harry’s favourite day of the year just kept getting better and better. 

“You sure you don’t want company, Harry?” That was Neville, his scarf already wrapped around his neck. Harry smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Really, Nev, I’m alright. Probably just gonna hang out in the library.” He was getting worse than Hermione on that front. Though she didn’t seem to be up to her usual standards this year — probably because her schedule had her in about six places at once. 

“If you’re sure. Happy Samhain, Harry.” Neville had been teaching Harry all about the traditional wizarding holidays; Samhain; Yule; Beltane. Through him, Harry knew that some of the students would be lighting a bonfire that evening in the stone circle. He wished he could join them without giving up his secrets to Dumbledore. Maybe next year. 

The path to the library was a familiar one, and Harry headed for a little-used back corner of the enormous room. From an offhand comment Hermione had made, Harry learned that the Hogwarts library kept yearbooks of all the previous classes From the dust layering the shelves, it clearly didn’t get much foot traffic. There were rows and rows of black leather-bound books, each with a decade of dates on the spine. Harry found the one for graduating classes 1970-1980, easing it from the shelf and carrying it to the nearest table. 

The section for 1978 was easily found, and Harry gasped at the first page he opened. There, near the bottom of the second page, was a picture of a redheaded teenage witch with luminous green eyes and a bright smile. There was a small amount of text beneath her picture.

Evans, Lily

Gryffindor House

Head Girl

Top of class in Charms, Arithmancy

Harry hurriedly flicked through several pages until he came to the ‘P’ names. His breath caught in his throat. He could certainly see why so many people said he looked just like his father.

Potter, James

Gryffindor House

Head Boy

Quidditch Captain (Chaser)

Top of class in Transfiguration

Gently, Harry ran his finger over his father’s face, eyes burning as he looked at that rakish grin. He was only eighteen, and yet only a few years away from death. 

Absently, Harry scanned the rest of the page, remembering what Hannah Abbott had said about all the purebloods trying to have kids that went to school at the same time. He saw a Macmillan — Ernie’s dad, maybe? Or an uncle? — And a Nott, and— wait a second.

Snape, Severus

Slytherin House

Top of class in Potions

Sure enough, there was a picture of a surly-looking teenager with a hooked nose and black hair that hung into his eyes. His Potions Master, age eighteen. He knew, of course, that Snape hated his father — he hadn’t realised they’d gone to school together. 

He flicked back to the beginning, curious to see if he’d recognise any other names. The very first page made his jaw drop.

Black, Sirius

Gryffindor House

Top of class in Astronomy

He could hardly believe the winsome, grinning black-haired teenager in the picture was the same hollow-eyed face staring back at him from the wanted posters. Sirius Black had gone to school with his parents? Had been in the same house, even! Had his father known, even then, that he was evil?

The man looked familiar, wanted posters aside, and it took Harry a minute to realise why. The photo Hagrid had given him years ago, from his parents’ wedding. Sirius Black was in it.

Sirius Black had been their best man.

Harry felt sick. He quickly turned the page, not wanting to look into those sparkling grey eyes anymore. He forced himself to look for other familiar names, refusing to dwell on what he’d just discovered. If he thought too hard about it, he’d just work himself up.

Greengrass, Fenella. Lupin, Remus.

Wait.

Harry did a double-take, staring down at the boy with dark blond hair and honey eyes, a bashful grin tugging at his lips, a faint scar across the bridge of his nose. 

Lupin, Remus

Gryffindor House

Gryffindor Prefect

Top of class in Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Professor Lupin seemed far too old to have gone to school with his parents. He was already going grey! Desperate, Harry kept going, wondering who else he’d recognise in there. Who next, Cornelius Fudge?!

When he reached the 1979 graduating class, Harry slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the empty library. He vaguely heard Madam Pince shushing him from her desk, but ignored it, his heart still pounding. 

Before he could really think about it, Harry was stuffing the book back on its shelf and running from the library, ignoring Pince’s reprimand. The hallways were practically empty as he ran, only slowing down when he reached Lupin’s office. The door was open, and the man looked up, surprise in his eyes. “Harry? Is everything alright?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lupin stiffened. “I, uh, Harry, why don’t you come in, shut the door behind you.” Harry did so, staring at his professor with a look of betrayal.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew them?” The hurt was clear in Harry’s tone. Lupin blinked at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My parents. You went to school with them, I saw it in the yearbook. You were all in Gryffindor together. You, and them — and Sirius Black.”

Lupin’s face drained of what little colour it had, and he put a hand against the desk for support. “Harry,” he breathed, looking a little like he’d been shot. “Harry, I thought you knew.”

“How could I have known? No one told me! No one ever tells me anything about them!”

“I’m sorry, I assumed someone must’ve— if they ever told you about your parents at school, well— I thought you just didn’t want to know.” Lupin truly looked apologetic, and Harry let out a long breath, his temper beginning to cool.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out since the train,” he said softly. “Why you seem so familiar. I knew you, didn’t I? Before?”

“Yes,” Lupin confirmed, heartbreak clear on his face. “Your parents… your father was one of the best friends I ever had. Your mother, too. I miss them every day — today more than most. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Harry knew all too well. Every Halloween, he woke up with a swirling hole in his gut that he didn’t know how to soothe. The aching, gaping chasm where his parents had been. “Tell me about them. Please,” he begged, voice cracking. Lupin stared at him for a long moment.

“Sit down,” he said eventually. “I’ll make some tea.”

Harry did as bid, sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Instead of sitting behind the desk, Lupin chose the chair next to Harry, setting the tea tray down on the small table between them. “So what do you want to know, Harry?”

“Everything,” Harry said instantly. “Aunt Petunia never says a word; I didn’t even know about magic ’til I got my Hogwarts letter.” He scowled for a minute, adding under his breath, “she didn’t even tell me my name ’til I was five.”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Petunia? Lily’s sister?”

“Yeah, she won’t ever talk about Mum,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “What were they like? The yearbook said they were Head Boy and Girl. And Mum was really good at Charms?”

“Beat me to the top spot every year running,” Lupin confirmed with a quiet chuckle. “Lily… I’ve never met a kinder person than Lily Evans, in all my life. Always willing to go out of her way to help people. The only time I ever saw her truly angry was when your father was involved.”

Harry looked at him, puzzled, and Lupin laughed. “Oh, it was far from love at first sight, Harry. For the first six years of school, Lily thought James was an arrogant tosspot, and honestly she wasn’t entirely wrong. James, of course, thought the sun rose and set with Lily Evans and had done since the very second he set eyes on her at the sorting. But she didn’t give him the time of day until seventh year.”

“What changed?” Harry asked, teacup clutched tightly in his hands. 

“James grew up. Stopped trying so hard to impress her. Stopped hexing Slytherins for fun.” From the look on Lupin’s face, Harry had a good idea of which particular Slytherin he would hex. “Drove Sirius mad at first — all his fun being spoilt because James was trying to woo a girl.” Lupin didn’t seem to realise what he’d said at first, but when he did the anguish that crossed his face made Harry wince. 

“They were friends, then.”

“The best of friends,” Lupin said softly. “Practically brothers. The four of us were inseparable, but those two… it went beyond friendship.”

“You three, and my mum?” Harry asked, confused. Lupin shook his head.

“Myself, James, Sirius, and a boy named Peter Pettigrew.” Lupin paused for a long moment, staring off into the distance, lost in a memory. Harry cleared his throat quietly, jolting him back to reality. “That was half a lifetime ago, of course. None of us had any idea that Sirius… sometimes, I still can’t believe it myself.”

Harry tried to imagine what it would feel like if Ron or Hermione were to suddenly turn out to be Voldemort supporters. The thought made him nauseous. “What happened?” he asked hesitantly. How could it all go wrong?

Your parents went into hiding,” Lupin said eventually, not looking Harry in the eye. “Under a very complicated secrecy charm — the Fidelius charm. The charm allows a location or person to be entirely hidden, except from the one person who knows the secret — and anyone they should tell. They chose Sirius to be their Secret Keeper. Trusted him the most out of any of us. Within the week…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry could fill in the rest. “Peter was furious when he found out. Went after Sirius. But he was never as good with spells as the rest of us, not quite as brave… He was one of the people Sirius killed when he blew up the street. All that was left of him was a finger.”

Harry thought his heart had stopped beating. Silence hung thick in the room after Lupin’s declaration, both of them caught up in horror and grief. “I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said abruptly. His shoulders hunched as he sunk in on himself, as if he could hide from his own memories. “That’s more information than you ever needed. I should’ve at least broken it to you gently.”

“No, I’m glad you told me. I— I needed to know,” Harry insisted. Sirius Black, the reason his parents were dead. “He was my godfather, wasn’t he?”

“I— yes. How did you know?” 

The words flashed through his mind. Named Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He had his answer, now. He opened his mouth, unsure what he would say, but the door suddenly swung open. 

Snape stood in the doorway, holding a smoking goblet. “Lupin. Potter,” he greeted. Lupin jumped to his feet, almost knocking over his teacup.

“Ah, Severus. I was just showing Harry my grindylow.” He gestured to a tank in the corner of the classroom that Harry hadn’t noticed before that second. Snape’s expression remained flat.

“Fascinating,” he deadpanned. “Make sure to drink that directly, Lupin. I have an entire cauldronful in my personal lab.”

“Yes, I’ll be with you to take more when I need it. Thank you, Severus.” He took the goblet from the dark-haired man, who gave Lupin one last unreadable look, then swept from the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Lupin looked at the goblet, then grimaced, knocking it all back in one. “Ugh. Pity he can’t make it taste any better.”

“Professor, what?” 

“Oh, not to worry, Harry. I have an ongoing medical issue, Severus — ah, Professor Snape — was kind enough to brew the only potion that helps. I’ll be right as rain. I’m very lucky to be working with him, you know; not many Potions Masters are up to the task, it’s a rather tricky brew.”

Harry’s mind flashed back to the yearbook. “He was top of your class.”

Lupin’s mouth made a funny half-smirk. “Indeed he was. Though Lily almost beat him to it. I thought he’d have a heart attack when he found out how close it had been.”

“You were friends?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised. Lupin almost dropped the goblet.

“Friends? Oh, I don’t know if I’d say that. We were… things are complicated, Harry, when you’re Gryffindors and Slytherins. Even when you’re no longer students.”

Unbidden, Harry’s mind flashed to blond hair and silver eyes. Heat rose in his cheeks. He understood that kind of complicated.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but perhaps we can pick this conversation up another time? I’m afraid it’s taken rather a lot out of me.” Lupin set down the goblet, and Harry stood. The professor placed a tentative hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I am always happy to talk to you about your parents. I’m sorry I didn’t sooner, but I thought someone already had. I… well, I assumed you’d chosen to have nothing to do with me.” He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “Since that’s not the case… you used to call me Uncle Remus once, Harry. I’m not asking you to do so again, but… perhaps we could be friends?”

Harry studied the man; the first person in his life who had offered to tell him about his parents, who had really known them. A man who, under different circumstances, Harry would have grown up calling Uncle Remus, loving like family. “I’d like that,” he said eventually, offering a hesitant smile.

Lupin beamed.

.-.-.-.

Harry was back in the Gryffindor common room by the time Ron and Hermione returned from Hogsmeade, pockets bulging with all kinds of treats. “Oh, y’know, quiet,” he said when Hermione asked him how his day had gone. “Been doing homework.”

He could’ve told them about his visit to Professor Lupin, but he stayed quiet. To do that would have meant explaining the yearbook, and Sirius Black, and why he was looking at the yearbook to begin with… it was better just to not. He was keeping too many secrets from them already; what was one more?

“Anyway, enough about me. What’s Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?” As Ron emptied his pockets into Harry’s lap, showering him with sweets, the pair gushed about the wonders of the wizarding village. Harry kept up his fake smile the entire time, unwrapping a chocolate frog for distraction. They sounded like they’d had the time of their lives. 

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Forgot my jumper,” he muttered when they all got up to leave for the feast, darting for the dormitory stairs. Up in his room, he leant against his bedpost and took a deep breath. They didn’t mean to rub it in. It wasn’t their fault he couldn’t go. He should be happy they were on good terms; it was an improvement from having them yell at each other about Crookshanks.

“Harry.” He jumped, but it was only Neville, a knowing look on his face. “Alright?”

“Yeah, just needed a minute.” He grabbed his jumper off his bed just to have an excuse, and so missed Neville reaching into his robe pocket. 

“Here, got you something.” Neville held out a hand. In his palm was a silver dish, with what looked like a miniature bonfire stacked inside, waiting to be lit. “Figured, since you couldn’t join us tonight…”

Harry took the little fire, glancing up at Neville with perhaps the most genuine grin he’d had all day. “Thanks, Nev. This is really great.”

Neville blushed, ducking his head. “You’re welcome. Now come on, I’m starving.”

.-.-.

Harry laid awake on the floor of the Great Hall for a long time, surrounded by snoring people in identical purple sleeping bags. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Sirius Black had broken into the school.

The same Sirius Black who had been his father’s best friend in school, and was now trying to kill Harry. Who was the reason his parents were dead.

The very same Sirius Black who Snape clearly thought Lupin was helping get into the castle. Harry didn’t believe that for a second — no one could fake the grief he’d seen in Lupin’s eyes earlier that day. He was still heartbroken by his friend’s betrayal. 

He remembered the other night, how even Malfoy had been worried about Harry wandering around after curfew. He’d been so sure Black wouldn’t be able to reach him then, so confident in his safety. This… this changed things. 

.-.-.

Remus crossed the corridor, guilt gnawing his gut, when all of a sudden there was a hand on his shoulder and his back was slammed against the stone wall. “Swear to me,” Severus hissed, his near-black eyes narrowed venomously and his wand digging into Remus’ throat. “Swear to me you aren’t helping him.”

Remus went wide-eyed in horror. “Severus, I would never! I’d never do anything to hurt Harry. I swear it.”

Severus lowered his wand and loosened his grip, but not by much. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you entirely, Lupin,” he said sharply. “I know what the two of you were like.”

“I know what you thought we were like, and you’ve always been wrong,” Remus corrected, remembering countless arguments and pointed remarks about the true nature of his relationship with Sirius Black. Back then, he’d found it amusing— sweet, even. Now… the words felt bitter on his tongue. “I would never help that traitor get in here and hurt my cub.”

Severus met his gaze steadily, holding it so long Remus began to feel a little lightheaded. Eventually, he nodded, stepping back. Part of Remus wanted to follow. “It’s late,” he said eventually. “And Dumbledore has called off the search. I suggest you go to bed, Lupin.”

Remus bit back the first three responses that tried to leap from his mouth. “You can trust me, Severus,” he said eventually. Severus scowled.

“We’ve both been wrong about that before.” 

Severus turned on his heel, robes flaring out behind him as he stalked away, leaving Remus alone in the corridor. Remus let out a long, steadying breath. “You fool,” he murmured quietly, unsure who he was talking to — himself, Severus, or Sirius Black. 

He should go to Dumbledore. He should walk up to the headmaster’s office and tell him about Sirius’ animagus form, about the secret passages he could be using to get in and out of the school. If he were a better man, he’d have told him weeks ago.

But he wasn’t a better man. He was a guilty, desperate, lonely man who still couldn’t believe after twelve years that one of his packmates could do something so awful against another. That Sirius — happy, playful, ridiculous Sirius — could be out for the blood of the child he’d loved so dearly. He’d doted on Harry, insisting the boy was basically his since he was never going to have kids of his own. He was the perfect godfather.

Until he’d betrayed them all to Voldemort, of course. 

Remus felt like his heart was being torn to pieces, his wolf howling angrily in the back of his head, demanding justice, demanding some other explanation. That just made his rage increase — if not for the wolf, Lily and James might have trusted him to begin with, might have used him as the Secret Keeper instead of Sirius. But no, despite everything, they still doubted his ability to fight against his darker side. Thought that because of the wolf, because of Severus—

No. He couldn’t go down that road. Not tonight.

For now, all he needed was sleep. And perhaps some of the whiskey he kept in his cupboard. Whatever nightmares he was to face when his eyes closed, he didn’t fancy facing them sober.

Chapter Text

When Harry walked into the Defence classroom to see Snape stood at the front, he knew it was going to be a bad day. 

When Snape had them open their books to the page on dementors, he realised just how bad it was going to be. 

Almost everyone in the classroom turned to look at him when Snape introduced the topic. He could hear several of the Slytherins sniggering in the back, including Malfoy. Pointedly ignoring them, he looked down at his textbook, reading the introduction.

Dementors feed off positive emotion, sucking away any happy thoughts or feelings and leaving a person with only their worst memories remaining. Many are driven mad by prolonged exposure to a dementor. Some people can have particularly adverse reactions to a dementor — those with strong negative memories are more sensitive to a dementor’s aura.

Harry thought about the sound of a woman screaming, his stomach churning. Strong negative memories. That definitely counted.

Much to his surprise, Snape’s lesson was actually somewhat informative. When he wasn’t busy insulting them, or making thinly veiled comments about Harry’s fainting spell. 

After dinner, Harry went up to Professor Lupin’s office, hoping to catch the man for a talk if he was feeling any better. The office was empty, and Harry sighed. Another time, then. 

On his way back down to the dungeon, he walked past a pair of Slytherins in his own year. Ducking his head, he planned to just head straight past them, not in the mood for a fight. His plan was ruined when one of them stepped in front of him. He eyed Blaise Zabini warily, keeping his hand ready to flick his wand from its holster. 

Zabini faced him, palms open, and slowly bowed his head. “Well met, Heir Potter.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. The other Slytherin, Daphne Greengrass, was doing the same thing. He blinked at them in astonishment, but returned the greeting to each in turn. When Greengrass straightened up, there was a coy smile on her face. “Maybe you’re not so bad, Potter. For a Gryffindor.”

So much for things being secret. How many other people knew? He hoped they were all as good at Occlumency as Neville assured him they must be. “There are more important houses than just Hogwarts ones,” he said eventually.

“And more important enemies than each other,” Zabini said quietly, his dark eyes knowing. Harry’s jaw tightened. Was he talking about Voldemort, or Dumbledore?

They parted ways without another word, and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room — just in time to hear another explosion from Ron about Crookshanks going after Scabbers.

Honestly, the sooner that rat died, the better it would be for everyone. They could finally get some peace and quiet. 

.-.-.

Harry should’ve known better than to expect quidditch to brighten his spirits, the way his term was going so far. 

He hardly thought it was necessary to keep him in the hospital wing for the whole weekend, but he didn’t argue too hard — it kept him away from prying eyes, at least. And once Neville brought him some books, it wasn’t too bad. He appreciated the attempt at cheering him up, at least. 

He hadn’t told anyone about the Grim, yet. He was pretty sure he was actually imagining things. One thing he definitely wasn’t imagining was the voices he’d heard right before he’d passed out, the voices the dementors had brought into his memories. He’d known already, deep down, but know he really knew. That was his mother he was hearing — her last words, as she begged Voldemort to spare him. Her dying screams. 

Weeks ago, he would’ve given anything to hear his mother’s voice. Now, he’d give anything to make it stop. It was all he could think about, echoing in his ears every time he tried to sleep. The visitors were a nice distraction, but every time he was left alone, the voice returned. 

“Potter, are you, uh, alright?” He was snapped from his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice, and looked up into the cautious face of Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff seeker.

“Diggory,” he greeted, confusion clear in his tone. Diggory edged closer.

“Hi. Uh, I brought you this. From dinner. Madam Pomfrey never lets me have sweets when I’m in the hospital wing, so I thought you’d like it.” The Hufflepuff awkwardly thrust out a napkin-wrapped bundle, which turned out to be a slightly misshapen slice of treacle tart. “I asked the twins, they said it’s your favourite.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He took the treat, still entirely baffled by the other seeker’s presence. 

“Look, Potter, I just wanted to come say I’m sorry. I didn’t notice what was happening until it was too late— I’d never have caught the snitch if I’d known.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry assured him, grimacing. Stupid, noble Hufflepuffs. “It’s fine, you won. It’s just a quidditch match.”

“Don’t let Wood hear you say that,” Diggory retorted, making Harry snort. “Are you okay? You fell so quickly. For a minute, we all thought…” He trailed off, glancing away. Harry knew what he’d been about to say. They all thought he was dead, at first. 

“I’m fine. Barely even hurt.” He was tired and sore, and still a little shaky, but he’d had worse injuries from quidditch before. “Wish I could say the same about my broom.” He glanced over at the pile of splintered twigs, and Cedric winced.

“I heard about that. Merlin, I’m sorry. It was a great broom, that. Hopefully you can get something good to replace it.” 

Harry couldn’t even think about replacing his broom right now, though he knew he’d need to before the match against Ravenclaw. 

“Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re alright. And I’m still really sorry about the match. I tried to get a rematch, but Hooch wasn’t having it. I just… I wanted to beat you fairly, y’know? Not because the dementors made you faint.”

The reminder made Harry scowl. “You won fair enough. You were already on your way to the snitch when I fell.”

“That doesn’t count! I’ve seen you fly, Potter, you could’ve easily beaten me to it.” Diggory ran a hand through his hair, a frown on his handsome face. “Whatever; I’ve clearly lost the argument anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I just… I didn’t want you to think I was happy about the way things turned out.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Harry replied. “But thanks. And there’s always next year, right?” That made Cedric grin.

“Next year, you’re on,” he agreed, shaking Harry’s hand. “I’ll leave you to your evening. Hope you get all patched up soon, Potter. See you around.”

“Yeah, see you, Diggory.”

“Cedric,” the older Hufflepuff corrected, a faint flush to his cheeks. “It’s Cedric.” It took a beat too long for the two of them to stop shaking hands.

“Then call me Harry.”

Cedric grinned, and Harry could see why all the girls got so flustered over him. Something in his gut flip-flopped. “Later, Harry.”

The Hufflepuff turned away, and Harry sunk back against the pillows, shaking his head as he processed the bizarre interaction. At least something good had come from the whole disaster; he’d sort-of, maybe, made a new friend?

.-.-.-.

If he thought the visit from Cedric was weird, he was utterly bewildered by the person who crept into the hospital wing shortly after curfew. “Malfoy?”

“Shut up, Potter! I don’t want to get caught,” the Slytherin hissed, glaring. The moonlight bounced off his hair, making it practically glow in the darkness. He looked almost ethereal. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “If you didn’t want to get caught, why are you here?” There was a long, pregnant silence. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy bit out again. Harry grinned. He was! Malfoy was actually concerned about him. “Maybe I’m here for Pomfrey. My arm hurts.”

“We both know that’s not true. Your arm is fine.”

“Yes, well. After the way you fell, I’m surprised they weren’t scooping you into a cauldron to get you off the pitch. The girl Weasley is going around acting like you’ll never walk again.”

Harry grimaced, glancing at Ginny’s home-made get well card, wedged firmly shut under his fruit bowl. “I’m fine, really. It’s just the dementors…” Harry trailed off. “You heard what Snape said in class. They’re worse for people with bad memories.”

“Plenty of people have bad memories, Potter. They’re not fainting all over the place. Are you sure there’s not something else wrong with you?” Malfoy eyed Harry suspiciously, like he was about to announce that he actually was dying. Harry glared at him.

“Those people don’t hear their mum begging for mercy as she’s murdered, do they?” he snapped in retort, watching Malfoy’s already pale face drain of colour. Harry abruptly remembered who he was talking to. “Don’t you dare tell anyone I said that.”

“I hear my father torturing my mother,” Malfoy blurted suddenly, slapping a hand over his mouth and turning red as soon as he’d spoken. Harry gaped.

“Malfoy, I—“

“Don’t,” Malfoy bit out sharply, his eyes flashing. “Goodnight, Potter. Glad you’re not in as many pieces as your broom is.”

Before Harry could say anything more, the blond was gone, and Harry was alone once more, staring wide-eyed at the back of the door. 

“Shit,” he breathed into the darkness.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with a revelation like that?

.-.-.-.

He’d never been so glad to go back to classes as he was on Monday, after a whole night of sitting awake thinking about his mother, and the Grim, and Malfoy. He was yawning all through class, and Hermione gave him a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re well enough to be up and about, Harry?”

“Yeah, fine,” he insisted. “Just didn’t sleep well. Too quiet in the hospital wing.”

“I suppose you didn’t even have Professor Lupin for company. I’m glad he’s feeling better, though.”

“Yeah,” Ron cut in. “No more lessons with Snape.”

“Except Potions,” Harry pointed out dryly, earning a wounded look.

“Don’t ruin it, Harry.”

Professor Lupin shot them a pointed look across the classroom, and Harry sheepishly turned back to his work. 

After class, Harry made an excuse to his friends and lingered at his desk, waiting for the rest of the class to file out. Lupin raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Can I help you, Harry?”

“So, uh. The dementors. You, uh, saw what happens to me when they come near me.”

“It’s understandable, Harry; there are horrors in your past that others haven’t experienced,” Lupin soothed. Harry shook his head.

“I know, I know, but I still don’t want to be fainting every time I see one.”

“If it helps, Professor Dumbledore was furious with them — I don’t think he’s going to let them get close again.”

“Why did they come the first time?” Harry asked bitterly. 

“They’re getting hungry,” was Lupin’s response. “They’re used to being in Azkaban, with all that emotion to keep them going. Being out here, unable to go near anyone, and then feeling all the joy and excitement from the match… they couldn’t resist.”

“When they come close, I can hear my mum dying,” Harry admitted. Lupin froze. 

“Lily?” he said eventually, the lines on his facing making him look older than his thirty-three years. “Oh, Harry.” He reached out, hesitating for only a moment before squeezing Harry’s shoulder. 

“I want it to stop,” Harry breathed desperately. “When S— when Professor Snape covered for you, he said something about a spell that can be used to ward off dementors. Is that the thing you did on the train?” Lupin nodded. “Can you teach me?”

“Harry, the Patronus charm is an incredibly advanced bit of magic. Many adults can’t do one, let alone a third year student.”

“Try me,” Harry retorted. His magic had been buzzing under his skin since the goblins had removed the block. Maybe some advanced magic was just what he needed. 

“I don’t want to make any promises…” Harry stared Lupin down, determination in his face, until the man sighed. “Fine. We can work on it over Christmas, if you’re staying.”

“I am,” Harry confirmed. “I always do. The Dursleys don’t want me there unless I have to be.”

“You live with your muggle relatives in the summer, then, do you?” Lupin asked, an odd tone to his voice. Harry nodded.

“Unfortunately. I usually get to spend some of it at Ron’s house, but Dumbledore — Professor Dumbledore, sorry — says I have to be at my aunt’s house for most of the summer. I guess it’s supposed to be safer.” He grimaced, showing exactly what he thought of that. It certainly wasn’t going to be safer when he got home in July, and Uncle Vernon decided to teach him a lesson for what he did to Aunt Marge. If only the Ministry had wiped their memories, too.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said, and he sounded like he truly meant it. “I only met Petunia a few times, and her husband just the once, but they were certainly… difficult people to get along with.”

Harry snorted. “That’s an understatement.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Professor? If you and my parents were such good friends… why couldn’t you raise me, when they died?” Surely that would’ve been better than growing up with the Dursleys. Anything would’ve been better than that.

Lupin looked at him, a heartbroken expression in his eyes. “I wanted to,” he confessed. “But there were… circumstances. The Ministry never would’ve allowed someone like me raise a child. And Dumbledore insisted you were in the safest place you could be— not that he ever told me where that was. He said you’d be protected as long as no one magical came near you. I couldn’t even write.” His voice cracked, just a little bit. Harry wondered what it would’ve been like — in the space of twenty-four hours, to lose two of your best friends, be betrayed by the other, and then have their child taken away from you forever. His heart twisted painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, wishing there were more he could do. “For what it’s worth… I think it would’ve been pretty cool, living with you. Better than Aunt Petunia.”

The smallest smile managed to creep its way onto Lupin’s face, though the hurt still shone in his golden eyes. “Thank you, Harry. That— that means a lot, coming from you.”

Harry wondered what Lupin meant, that ‘someone like him’ wouldn’t have been allowed to raise Harry, but he didn’t dare ask. Not when Lupin looked like the wrong word would set him off crying. 

“You should get going, Harry,” the professor said eventually, straightening up and releasing Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll miss lunch, at this rate.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry murmured. “I’ll see you later, Professor. And I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Lupin smiled sadly, the light through the window highlighting the grey in his hair. “Thank you, Harry. It’s good to be back on my feet.”

.-.-.

Deep down, Harry wished Ron and Hermione had gone home for Christmas. He felt awful for thinking it — they were his best friends, and he’d barely even seen them so far this term! — But so much had changed, and he was keeping so many things from them; the gap was getting harder and harder to bridge. If they were going home, he could just spend the whole break reading his books and practicing spells without any awkward questions. He was getting pretty good at that privacy charm, now. 

Neville was going home, though, and he promised to talk to his gran about finding someone to test Harry’s Occlumency progress. Harry thought he was doing an alright job, but Neville was no Legilimens, and they couldn’t risk checking by letting Dumbledore root around in his brain. 

He was a little more morose than he let on when they went to Hogsmeade the last weekend before Christmas break. Not because he wanted to go overly much; he just felt so cooped up in the castle. It was ridiculous — the last two years, he hadn’t even known about the option of going off the grounds. Now, he felt like he couldn’t survive without it. 

Of course, it didn’t help that any time he so much as tried to leave the castle, someone was herding him right back inside. Harry couldn’t even go to quidditch practice unsupervised. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, he was so sick of being monitored. Part of him wanted Sirius Black to just attack him and get it over with. 

Deciding to enjoy his time alone and work on some spells, Harry said goodbye to Ron and Hermione in the entrance hall and started the journey back up to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Psst! Harry!” A freckled arm reached out, yanking him into a hidden space behind a tapestry. He stared at the twins, eyebrows raised.

“What’s the matter? Need an alibi for something?” he asked, eyeing them over as if he could tell what sort of prank they were about to pull.

“Nah, but thanks for the offer,” Fred said with a grin. “We just wanted to give you a bit of an early Christmas present.”

“Couldn’t stand to see you moping around by yourself!” George agreed. He thrust out a hand, showing Harry… a blank bit of old parchment.

“I don’t get it,” Harry said flatly. Both twins beamed.

“This, dear Harrikins, is the secret to our success,” they said in unison, clearly expecting him to be dazzled.

It still looked like a blank bit of old parchment.

Harry said as much, and George mock-swatted him on the arm. “Don’t be so insulting! It might hear you. Explain, Fred.”

The pair of them told Harry the story of the parchment’s discovery, finishing with Fred whipping his wand out and touching it to the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

All at once, the parchment exploded with life. Harry watched in awe as the lines of the map unfurled, revealing Hogwarts in its entirety.

“The Marauders’ Map,” he breathed, reading from the greeting at the top of the page. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs… why did that sound so familiar? “Who are they?”

“No idea,” Fred told him.

“Previous pranksters—“

“Masters of mischief long gone from these halls—“

“Absolute geniuses, mind—“

“The map shows every inch of the castle—“

“Every passage, every secret, every person—“

“Everything,” they finished in unison. “Look, there we are.” They pointed at the map, showing Harry three little dots labelled ‘Fred Weasley’, ‘George Weasley’, and ‘Harry Potter’. 

“We’ve learned everything we know about the school from this map,” Fred said, voice filled with reverence. 

“And now, we’re giving it to you,” George told him. “It’s time to pass on to the next generation.”

“Your need is greater than ours,” Fred agreed. “Not only can you use it to keep out of trouble on your little late night wanders—“

“It shows you all the secret passages into Hogsmeade!” 

The twins gave him a run-down of all the options, and Harry grinned up at them incredulously.

“This is amazing,” he declared, watching their grins widen.

“We know,” they agreed.

“All you have to do to clear it is tap it and say Mischief Managed,” Fred instructed, doing just that. The parchment cleared quickly, becoming blank once more. George pushed it into Harry’s grasp. 

“Use it well, little brother,” he said mock-solemnly, winking. “We’ll see you in Honeydukes.”

“Thanks, guys.” They both offered him extravagant bows, doffing imaginary top hats. 

“Our pleasure, Heir Potter,” they said cheekily, disappearing from the passageway before he could say anything. Harry looked down at the map, blank in his hands. He grinned. 

Time to see what Hogsmeade was all about.

.-.-.

He didn’t look for Ron and Hermione when he slipped out of the Honeydukes cellar, covered by his invisibility cloak. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell them about the map, yet. Ron would probably get jealous that the twins gave it to Harry and not him. Instead he just wandered, alone and invisible, thinking fondly of his time back in Diagon Alley. He could sort-of see what the fuss was about, but there wasn’t anything truly remarkable there. He supposed just the freedom to go there without adults was enough. 

He took a brief look in the Three Broomsticks, but it was far too crowded for him to sneak around invisible without getting bumped into. Besides, he couldn’t exactly order a butterbeer. He saw Ron and Hermione in there, hands wrapped around their mugs, and smiled softly to himself. They seemed to be having fun. 

He looked around the shops for a while, imagining what he might buy if he weren’t hiding under his invisibility cloak. Perhaps he’d come back another time. Some of the things in Honeydukes did look delicious. 

He was back in the castle before dinner, writing his Charms essay in the common room when Ron and Hermione returned, none the wiser to his little adventure. They practically ran towards him. Hermione’s eyes were red, like she’d been crying. “We need to talk to you,” Ron said gravely, dragging him over to a secluded corner of the common room. Harry looked at them, bewildered. 

Quietly, Hermione explained to him the conversation they’d overheard in the Three Broomsticks, where Fudge and the teachers told Madam Rosmerta about Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Harry scowled before he could help himself — what right did they have to be bandying private information about like that in the middle of the pub? — Then he remembered this was supposed to be brand new information to him, and made himself look horrified. It wasn’t hard; he still was, every time he thought about Black too much.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione murmured. “We had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he muttered angrily. “I’m going upstairs.”

He figured it was something the old, impulsive Harry Potter would do, stomping up the dormitory stairs and throwing himself down on his bed. He reached for his trunk, for the photo album Hagrid had given him, flipping it open to the photo of his parents’ wedding. Sirius Black was there, happiness shining in his grey eyes, looking barely older than he had in his yearbook photo. Was he lost to Voldemort already, then? Did he know what he was planning to do?

Harry tore his eyes away, scanning the rest of the photo. In the background, hiding half out of sight, was Remus Lupin. His dress robes were a little worn at the elbows, but he was young and beaming, his dark blond hair neat and his face clean-shaven, a shallow cut healing across his cheekbone. He certainly had no idea what was coming.

He wondered if any of the other people in the picture were Peter Pettigrew. He vaguely remembered the boy’s picture in the yearbook; chubby, mousy-haired, looking a little like he would jump at his own shadow. Harry remembered being surprised he was a Gryffindor, with that kind of fear in his eyes. That cowardly boy had stood up to Sirius, and paid the worst price for it.

The album fell shut with a loud noise, and Harry tugged his curtains closed with a flick of his wand, setting his privacy charm. He wasn’t angry at Ron and Hermione. He wasn’t sad about his parents, or angry at Sirius Black; they were all emotions he’d processed the first time he’d heard about it. 

The main feeling twisting him up inside was the overwhelming sensation of guilt. That was one less secret to keep from his friends, but they still didn’t know the truth of how he’d heard about it. They didn’t know about the map. 

The secrets were just piling up on top of each other, and Harry was dreading the day they all came crashing down.

.-.-.-.

Remus knocked on the door, nudging it open and smiling a little at the scowl that greeted him. “I just got rid of the students, Lupin, and I was hoping to get at least a little peace and quiet. What do you want?”

Easing the door shut behind him, Remus strode towards Severus’ desk, perching on the end of it and ignoring the glare it earned him. That had stopped working on him years ago. “What do you know about Harry’s home life, Severus?”

Severus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Potter? What does it matter. Albus sent him somewhere safe. Probably some squib family that turned him into a pampered little prince, filled his head with stories of the Boy-Who-Lived, making him think he’s something special.”

Honey-brown eyes stared incredulously. “You don’t know Harry at all, do you?” Remus remarked, shaking his head. Pampered little prince… that didn’t sound anything like the Harry he knew. “He’s not James, Severus. Believe me. Yes, he has his moments, but…there’s so much of Lily in that boy. It actually hurts me to see it sometimes.” The way Harry had reached out to him almost immediately, desperate for some kind of connection to his parents, trying to cheer Remus up even when he’d just given the boy some of the worst news of his life. His determination not to let the dementors get the better of him.

Severus leaned back in his chair. It was clear from the look on his face that he had no idea what Remus was talking about. “Watch him,” Remus suggested. “Don’t think about James. Look for Lily, and you’ll see it. You’ll see it in spades. Merlin.” Having those green eyes fixed on him sometimes felt like he’d gone back in time. It was almost too much to bear.

“If you insist,” Severus droned. “What does it matter where he lives, anyway? Going to steal him away in the night?”

“Albus sent him to Petunia.” That got Severus’ attention. The Slytherin stiffened, his shoulders hunching the barest fraction just at the woman’s name.

“What?”

“Harry told me he lives with his Aunt Petunia and her family.” Harry had inadvertently admitted quite a bit more than that. Remus’ protective instincts roared when he thought too much about it.

“What in Merlin’s name was Albus thinking?” Severus said, eyes sharp. “Petunia? That woman hated everything to do with magic!”

“He didn’t know anything about his parents. Didn’t know about magic before his Hogwarts letter.” Remus swallowed harshly. “Severus, he said he didn’t even know his name until he was five years old. I don’t think he realised I heard him, but— imagine the sorts of things they must have called him instead. You knew Petunia better than I did, and her husband.”

“The worst example of muggles I can think of,” Severus agreed. He looked up, his face unguarded for once, his displeasure clear. “You’re sure? Albus took him to her?” Remus nodded.

On the other side of the desk, an inkwell shattered. “Lily must have been spinning in her grave for the last twelve years,” Severus growled, cleaning up the mess with a jab of his wand. “If she were here, she’d kill us both for never checking on him.”

“Albus never let me,” Remus supplied. He didn’t doubt that Severus had never tried. His hatred for James Potter was a strong, strong thing. “He said it was safer if no one magical went near him.”

“Of course he did,” Severus sneered. He met Remus’ gaze knowingly. “Keeping his precious golden boy nice and hidden away and downtrodden, starving for information — probably starving for food, too, by the look of him.”

“Ready for the day that Albus Dumbledore swoops in and takes him away from that awful place, showing him a world of magic and becoming his true saviour,” Remus finished grimly. “Severus, you don’t really think—“

“That Albus would manipulate a boy so young? If it benefited the greater good, I have no doubt he would.”

“But why?” Remus asked plaintively. “What does he have to gain from making Harry rely on him?”

Severus grimaced, glanced at his office door, then pulled up the left sleeve of his robe. Remus flinched. Last time he’d seen it, the Dark Mark had been vivid and black, an ugly mar on the pale skin. Now it was so faint it was barely even there unless you knew what to look for. The barest whisper of skull and snake. “If he were dead, it would be gone completely,” he declared bluntly. “As you can see, that is not the case.”

Remus felt the blood drain from his face as he met Severus’ dark eyes. Deep down, behind that icy facade, he could see fear. “No…”

“The Dark Lord will one day return,” Severus told him. “And I believe the Headmaster has plans for Potter when he does. Remind me to tell you what happened at the end of Potter’s first year, sometime.” He shoved his sleeve back down, shaking his head. “Petunia Evans. Salazar, it’s a bloody miracle the boy made it to school alive. No wonder he has so little regard for his own safety.”

Stomach turning to lead, Remus reached out and gripped Severus’ hand with his own, surprised the Slytherin didn’t automatically pull away. “We can’t let that happen. Whatever Albus wants, whatever he’s planning… we can’t let him have Harry.” Severus met his gaze, and Remus waited, wondering if he would have an ally in this. He’d had questions about some of Dumbledore’s decisions in the past, but this… this was too far.

“I promised to protect the boy, for Lily’s sake,” Severus said eventually. “The afterlife would not be worth reaching if I failed that task.”

Remus relaxed, leaning towards Severus for just a moment before he remembered he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He let go of the man’s hand. “Good,” he murmured, gripping the edge of the desk to try and ground himself. “That’s— good.”

“Lupin… Remus,” Severus said, sounding like the name caused him physical pain. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, not wanting to get into the specifics of how his heart was shredding itself inside his chest for so many reasons he could barely count them. “I think— I should go. It’s late.” He slid from the desk, taking an awkward step away from the seated man. “Thank you, Severus. I know we’ve had our differences, but… Harry needs all the help he can get. Thank you.” 

“Be careful, Remus,” Severus called when Remus had one hand on doorknob. “Changing loyalties is a dangerous game, no matter which side you’re on.”

Remus grit his teeth. “I can handle it. Goodnight, Severus.”

He’d have to handle it. For Harry.

.-.-.

Wrapped up in the threads of so many lies and secrets, Harry had entirely forgotten about Buckbeak until he went with Ron and Hermione to visit Hagrid, only to find the man crying into his enormous teacup. The guilt piled higher in Harry’s gut. He was being a terrible friend. Hell, the only reason they’d gone to Hagrid in the first place was that Ron and Hermione seemed to think he wanted to go hunting down Sirius Black. The old Harry probably would have, under that Compulsion curse. The new Harry had bigger things on his mind. 

Still, he put in a good attempt at helping do the research to start putting a case together for Buckbeak. Ron lasted all of four hours in the library before he made an excuse and bailed out, while Harry stuck around for six. It wasn’t the research that was the problem, or even the time spent with his nose in books — Hermione’s preferred style of studying was a little… overwhelming for those around her. She was much better suited to independent research. Eventually, Harry got tired of her yanking the book out of his hands every time he said he might have something interesting, and just left her to it. 

He didn’t see much of his two best friends in the run-up to Christmas. Sure, they were around, and they hung out in the evenings in the common room. But honestly Harry couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had had a proper conversation, especially not one that wasn’t related to some disaster or another. Sometimes it felt like they only came together to solve problems. Whenever there was quiet time between the three of them, it would promptly get ruined by Crookshanks existing in Ron’s presence and Ron going off on one about how the evil cat was out for blood. It was better for Harry to just… not.

Luckily, Professor Lupin had agreed to start Harry’s Patronus lessons. Harry was practically vibrating with excitement the first time he approached Lupin’s office, and his eyebrows rose at the enormous packing case sitting on the man’s desk. It was rattling. “What’s that?”

“Another boggart. It’s the closest we’ll get to a dementor without actually inviting one into the castle, and, well,” Lupin said with a wry smile, “this is far easier to deal with.”

Harry thought about having to face a real dementor, and his stomach turned over. Yes, the boggart was a much better idea. 

He listened attentively as Lupin explained the Patronus charm to him, going over the incantation in his head. “Expecto Patronum,” he murmured, wrapping his tongue around the sounds. “It just needs a happy memory?”

“The happiest one you can think of,” Lupin confirmed. “When you think you’ve got one, give it a try.”

Harry stood, lips pursed in thought. As tragic as it sounded, he didn’t have an abundance of happy memories. He rolled a few through his mind — the moment Hagrid told him he was a wizard, maybe? No, that was mostly just confusion. His first Christmas at Hogwarts? That didn’t feel right either.

Eventually, he settled on the first time he ever rode a broom. Simple, uncomplicated, breathless joy. He held the memory in his head, grasping his wand tight. “Expecto Patronum!”

Nothing happened.

He focused harder on the memory. “Expecto Patronum!”

A burst of silvery wisps shot out of the end of his wand, and Harry almost dropped it in shock. “Look! I did it! Sort of.” It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Well done, Harry!” Lupin enthused, his grin making him look so much like the young man in the back of the Potters’ wedding photo that Harry’s breath caught for a moment. “Are you ready to try it on a dementor?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, squaring his shoulders and facing the desk. “Let’s do it.” His blood roared in his ears, the happy memory at the forefront of his mind. Only… it wasn’t entirely there, the little voice in the back of his head reminding him that he was about to hear her again. His mother. The only time he ever heard her voice. 

Lupin opened the packing case, and before Harry could truly brace himself the room went cold, a dark figure looming up above him. Harry’s hand shook as he tried to gather his happy thoughts. “Expecto Patronum!” The dementor grew closer, the world starting to go fuzzy around the edges for Harry, the scream building in the back of his mind. “Expecto Patronum!”

Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him!

It was a new voice. A male voice. White fog filled Harry’s vision. I’ll hold him off!

There was a crash, like a door bursting off its hinges.

“Harry! Harry, wake up!” The room was slowly warming. Harry became aware of two things; he was sprawled on the floor of the office, and Lupin was tapping him hard on the face. “Harry! Merlin, are you alright? I’m so sorry, I should’ve eased you into it more, I—“

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he croaked, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. He still felt shaky. Lupin thrust a chocolate frog towards him. 

“I didn’t expect you to get it the first time. I would’ve been astounded if you had,” Lupin told him, still looking concerned. 

“It’s getting worse,” Harry mumbled, thinking about what he’d just heard. That had to be… his father. James Potter’s voice. He’d never heard that before, either. 

“If you want to stop, I completely understand—“

“No,” Harry insisted, biting the head off the chocolate frog. “I can do this. Let’s go again.”

Lupin made him wait until his hands no longer trembled, then helped him to his feet and moved towards the packing case. “You might want to try a happier memory,” he suggested. “It’s possible the one you were using wasn’t quite strong enough.”

Harry rolled through his limited stash of happy memories, finally choosing the memory of winning the house cup the year before. He nodded. “Do it.”

The lights dimmed and the room went cold, the now-familiar rattling breath echoing through the office. Harry clenched his jaw, forcing the memory to the forefront of his mind. “Expecto Patronum! EXPECTO PATRONUM!” This time, an enormous silver shadow burst from his wand, sending the dementor reeling back several steps. Harry stood wide-eyed, and Lupin jumped in with a sharp Riddikulus, sending the boggart back into the case in the shape of a silvery orb again. Harry’s patronus vanished. The lamps re-lit, and Harry sank into the chair behind him, panting. 

“I did it!” He felt like he’d run a mile, but he was beaming, and Lupin returned the expression.

“Excellent, Harry! Fantastic first start.”

“Let’s go again,” Harry urged, and the professor sighed. “Please, sir. Just one more.”

Once again, Harry managed a silver shadow big enough to cut the dementor off before the screaming started. It probably wouldn’t help against a real dementor, but it was a start. Lupin insisted that was enough for the day.

“It’s a large amount of magic, I don’t want you overdoing it,” he warned. On the contrary, Harry’s magic felt better than it had in weeks, finally able to start levelling out the extra burst from his newly-freed core. But he couldn’t say that, so he allowed himself to be herded into the chair and given a large mug of hot chocolate. “I have to say, I’m impressed. You’re picking it up far quicker than I expected.”

Harry grinned, pride growing in his chest. “Thanks.” He sipped at his hot chocolate, relaxing as the warmth slowly flooded through his body. He glanced up at the man opposite him. “I heard my dad.” Lupin frowned at him, puzzled. “When the dementor… usually I just hear Mum, screaming for Voldemort to leave me alone. This time, before I passed out… Dad was there. He said he’d hold Voldemort off so Mum could take me and run away. I’d never heard his voice before.”

Lupin’s shoulders had tensed. “James would have done anything for you and Lily,” he said eventually. “Since we were kids, he always said he’d never love another soul as much as he loved Lily Evans. Then they had you.” He met Harry’s gaze, tears shining in his eyes. “You were his whole world, you know? You and your mother. He was never so happy as he was when he was with you.”

A lump rose in Harry’s throat, and he drank more hot chocolate. “What— what was it like? When they had me?” The only experience he had of a wizarding household was the Burrow, and that was an entirely unique brand of chaos. 

Lupin seemed to understand what he was asking. “At first, James was terrified. He was an only child, see, and he hadn’t had much experience with babies. It took Lily ages to convince him to hold you without her supervising — he kept insisting he’d drop you.” He chuckled softly. “After about two weeks of him putting your nappies on backwards, he started getting the hang of it. Always said he was no good — told me the cat was actually watching you, he was just helping. But he doted on you, Harry. Every second since you were born. Even when times got dark, and things were difficult, there was so much love in that house.”

Harry’s heart ached when he tried to imagine it. “We had a cat?” he said eventually, not wanting to dwell too much on the thought of being loved. Of being happy. 

“Sergeant Pepper,” Lupin told him, lips curling in a smile. “Lily’s cat, from when we were in school. He didn’t like James at first. Warmed up to him eventually. We knew Lily had finally given in to her feelings when Pep started leaving dead mice on James’ pillow. Well, once we realised it wasn’t Sirius doing it as a joke,” he added with a snort. A flash of pain crossed his features when he realised what he’d said. “No one found Pep when… after Voldemort. The house was in quite a state, we never knew if he’d run for it or…”

Harry hoped the cat had run. Hoped he’d found a new home, with a new family who loved him. That would make one of them, at least.

“So Dad wasn’t great with babies?” That made Lupin laugh.

“Not exactly, but he muddled through. Lily, on the other hand, was a natural from day one. Took to motherhood like a duck to water. She, uh, she said she wanted at least one more. Said that being an only child sounded lonely, and even an awful sibling was better than none at all.” Lupin set his mug down. “Sirius said the same, and he hated his brother. The rest of us were only children. Severus didn’t understand it, not after— well. Never mind.” His cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. 

“Why did Snape never tell me he knew my parents?” Harry blurted. That was the second time now that Lupin had talked about Snape and his parents like they knew each other better than just being classmates. 

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Lupin corrected automatically. “He… James and Severus never got along. I think it’s safe to say they hated each other, actually,” he said wryly. “I’ll admit, James didn’t help the matter. He was always jealous that Lily and Severus were friends, so he… well, most of the pranks he and Sirius played were on Slytherins, and Severus in particular. I tried to stay out of it, but… things happen. They were my friends.”

Lupin sighed, rubbing at a scar on the bridge of his nose. “It’s a very long story, Harry, that isn’t entirely mine to share. Perhaps one day… Suffice to say, Professor Snape has a difficult relationship with his memory of your parents, and I don’t think you make it any easier. Not that it’s your fault,” he added hastily. “He’s just working under some… mistaken assumptions.”

Harry slowly finished off his hot chocolate, pondering the man’s words. He supposed he could understand it. If Snape and his dad hated each other when they were kids, and then Harry showed up looking exactly like James Potter; no wonder Snape didn’t like him. It was hardly fair, being judged against a man he didn’t even remember, but he could get it. 

“You loved him, didn’t you,” he murmured, watching Lupin with a knowing gaze. The man choked on his hot chocolate, going wide-eyed. “My dad, I mean. And Mum. And… Sirius Black, and Pettigrew.”

“I… yes. I loved them very, very much.” Lupin’s voice was hoarse. “They were my family.”

In that moment, a burning hatred flickered deep inside Harry — hatred for Voldemort, and everything he’d taken away from Harry. Everything he’d taken away from all the people he’d hurt. For Sirius Black, and all those like him, who ruined so many lives; shattered so many families. 

He wouldn’t wish the dementors on his worst enemy, but Black deserved everything he got.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning started out much like it always did now that Harry was at Hogwarts — with Ron throwing a pillow at him to wake him up, shouting about presents. They were the only two left in their dorm, so there was no worry about keeping quiet. 

It still left Harry a little gobsmacked to see a pile of presents that was just for him. This year’s pile seemed even bigger than the last. Most of them were wrapped in the same festive paper as half the pile on Ron’s bed, so Harry assumed they were from Mrs Weasley. He looked to the others, picking up a small square parcel wrapped in plain brown paper. 

Harry- 

I’ve had this for a while, I thought you might like it. Merry Christmas.

- Professor Lupin

Tearing into the paper, Harry sucked in a sharp breath at the framed picture in his hands. It was of his parents, sat in front of a huge fireplace, Christmas decorations in the background and a huge log — a Yule log — burning in the hearth. Lily had green tinsel braided in her hair and a baby in her arms; Harry, dressed in a onesie that made him look like a tiny reindeer, complete with antlers attached to the little hood. He was beaming up at his mother, a little tuft of black hair peeking out under the hood, his arms stretching out towards his father. James sat beside Lily, a sleek ginger cat cradled in his arms like a baby, a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. They waved out at Harry, and every few seconds James would swoop in and press a firm kiss to Lily’s cheek, making her blush. 

The bottom of the gold frame was engraved with the words ‘Harry’s First Yule’. 

It took a minute for Harry to remember how to breathe.

“You alright there, mate?” Ron asked, his mouth half-full of homemade nut brittle, shreds of wrapping paper scattered all around him. Harry shoved the picture under his pillow, offering a false grin. 

“Yeah.” He reached for the next present on auto-pilot, not wanting Ron to investigate further. 

He was surprised to find a book, titled ‘The Wizengamot And You: The Wizarding Legal System Explained’. There was a note attached to the front of it.

Hi Harry,

This is from both me and Gran. She said it’s the best book out there for learning about all this sort of stuff. I hope it helps. Merry Christmas!

- Neville

And below that;

Dear Mr Potter,

I’m glad to hear from my grandson that you’re finally learning about your place in our world. I have to say, it doesn’t surprise me that it was kept from you until now. 

I hope this book is of assistance; please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions. Well met, and happy Yule.

Lady Augusta Longbottom

P.S. If you get the chance this summer, I would recommend going to Gringotts and checking your family vault for a book on traditions and magics specific to House Potter. Every family should have one. If you are in need of an adult to escort you, I would be happy to do so.

Again, Harry quickly hid the book and the note from Ron’s curious gaze, but a smile tugged at his lips. He was glad now for the Herbology book he’d sent Neville, unsure if they were at the level of friendship to be exchanging Christmas gifts. 

Those seemed to be the only unexpected gifts in the pile — at least, until he reached the long, narrow package at the very bottom. His heart clenched at the telltale shape. “Mate!” Ron breathed, barging over and reaching to tear the wrapping paper.

A Firebolt. 

This Christmas was just full of surprises.

.-.-.-.

With his spirits high from his pile of gifts, Harry was caught almost entirely off-guard as his name was called. He was having a rare moment alone — with Hermione in the library and Ron kidnapped by the twins — and enjoying taking his time wandering down to Christmas lunch, turning his thoughts over in his mind. At least, until he was stopped, and his heart sank.

“Harry, my boy!” Dumbledore’s fond call rang through the stone corridor. Harry froze, turning on his heel. The headmaster was dressed in festive robes and smiling widely, oblivious to the nausea rolling in his student’s stomach.

Don’t look him in the eye, Harry thought to himself desperately, plastering a smile on his face and fixing his gaze somewhere over Dumbledore’s left shoulder. “Hello, sir!” he greeted cheerfully, trying to think how he might have acted before the compulsion was removed. Trusting, impulsive, thoughtless. He could do that. Maybe.

“Not spending the day with your friends?” Dumbledore asked, brows furrowing. Harry shrugged.

“Hermione’s finishing an essay. Ron’s with his siblings, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

The reminder of Harry’s lack of family turned the headmaster’s face sad and pitying in a way that made Harry itch with anger. Perhaps the old man was aiming for empathy, but he missed by a mile. “Ah, of course. Well, you should still be careful, my boy — these days are not the best to be spending time alone. It is hard to protect you if we don’t know where you are.” His voice was gently scolding, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did he really think Sirius Black would try anything in the middle of the day?

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said instead, plastering a contrite frown on his face. “I suppose I didn’t think about that. I was just on my way to the great hall for lunch.”

“Not to worry, not to worry; I found you, after all,” Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. He began to walk, gesturing for Harry to accompany him. “I hear you’ve been keeping yourself busy over the holidays, my boy. The Patronus charm is a rather tricky bit of magic — I’m quite impressed to see you attempting it. I must admit, I didn’t expect for Professor Lupin to offer; with his health the way he is, he tends to value the time he has to rest.”

The old wizard’s face was friendly, and Harry knew he would’ve fallen for it easily six months ago. His stomach churned again — did Dumbledore disapprove of Harry learning the charm? Why? Surely any defence he had against dementors was a good thing!

“I— I told him what I hear when a dementor comes close,” Harry admitted, carefully choosing his words. He didn’t want Dumbledore to think he was hiding anything. “It’s… I told him I couldn’t listen to my mum dying over and over. Begged him to teach me.” He tried not to meet twinkling blue eyes as they surveyed him, trying to clear his mind. “He— he said he was feeling alright, but if he’s not well— if I should stop— I… I suppose I can handle it, sir.” Poor, brave, orphan Harry Potter. Exactly what far too many people expected to see, but easy enough to give it to them when it suited him.

“Of course not, dear boy. If Professor Lupin believes he is well enough to teach you, then by all means, learn what you can. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to suffer through such a thing.” Dumbledore paused, as if in thought. “I suppose mentioning your mother’s death would make him keen to see you avoid such heartbreak.”

Harry knew what the man was fishing for, and stifled a scowl behind brows furrowed in confusion. “Sir, I don’t understand?”

“Did the professor not tell you that he and your parents went to school together?” Dumbledore sounded genuinely surprised. Internally, Harry smirked. Let him think that Harry was still in the dark, oblivious to the family he’d been kept from all this years. Let him think Harry didn’t know the truth about Sirius Black.

“He said he knew them,” Harry replied. “He never said… were they friends?”

“Indeed they were, my boy,” Dumbledore told him. For the briefest moment, Harry thought he saw a pleased look flash across the headmaster’s features. “They were all in Gryffindor together. But if Professor Lupin has not mentioned it, perhaps it’s best not to bring it up. Grief can do awful things to a man, Harry. You won’t want to disturb it once it’s settled.” He sounded sad, shaking his head with a small sigh. 

Beside him, Harry nodded along obediently, while inside he seethed. Imagine if he had never broken the compulsion; he would have allowed Dumbledore to lead him by the nose away from Remus Lupin and all that he entailed — all the memories he could share with Harry, all the support he could offer, everything. 

Dumbledore wanted Harry alone. He wanted him with no one to rely on — save those Dumbledore had picked himself. The thought made him uneasy; who in his life could he trust, and who was only there to be another player in the headmaster’s game?

More importantly, why? What was so special about Harry, that the man had started playing the game so early in his life?

.-.-.-.

Scowling to himself, Severus started the journey back to his quarters, shaking his head at Sybil Trelawney’s ridiculous declaration. Why Albus insisted he attend the small Christmas lunch, Severus didn’t know; he would have much preferred dining in his own rooms, alone. The only person in the Great Hall he even remotely enjoyed the company of was Minerva. Especially with Lupin—

He shut that thought down before it could finish itself. He refused to think about Remus bloody Lupin at Christmas. It was bad enough remembering the sad, regretful look in those honey-brown eyes when he’d realised the full moon was Christmas Eve night, and he’d be missing out on all the festivities. 

Severus’ scowl deepened. 

Muttering the password to his private quarters, he slunk inside and shed his cloak, tossing it to hang itself on the hook in the wall. All he wanted for Christmas was a glass of brandy, a good book, and at least twelve hours without having to see any students, or Albus Dumbledore. The old headmaster was even further from Severus’ good graces than he had been at the start of the year. 

The embrace of his preferred armchair was a welcome one, and Severus closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath. When he opened them, he paused. There, on his coffee table, was a brown paper wrapped package. It definitely hadn’t been there when he’d left for lunch. 

He reached for it with trepidation, knowing without needing to look where it had come from. That sodding wolf.

Sure enough, the handwriting across the top was familiar.

Severus,

I know you weren’t expecting anything. I highly doubt you’ve got me anything. Don’t worry — I just couldn’t resist. 

Perhaps we could have a drink when I’m feeling better. I’m going to need help working through the bottle of Glenfiddich Minerva will undoubtedly gift me. 

I’m not asking for things to be how they were. I’m just asking for us to move forward.

Merry Christmas,

Remus

Severus almost tossed the whole thing in the fire without opening it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Carefully undoing the Spellotape holding it together, he peeled off the paper, expecting some potions book or perhaps something Dark Arts related. It was nothing of the sort. 

It was a wooden puzzle box. Muggle in origin, by the looks of it. Interlocking pieces of dark stained wood, intricately carved and fit together in a way that Severus could tell the solution would take time. 

He thought about a shelf, in a bedroom in a muggle house he hadn’t visited in years, where a small collection of similar puzzle boxes resided, no doubt covered in dust by now. A collection that had begun when a nine year-old redheaded girl eagerly gifted him one for his birthday, gushing about the trip to Turkey she’d taken with her family, and how she’d seen the box and just had to get it for him.

Long fingers brushed carefully over the wood, his brain already beginning to look for next possible moves, keen to see if there was anything inside the box. From Lupin, it could be anything. Severus didn’t know what he was hoping for.

Perhaps the box would be better off empty.

Cursing under his breath, Severus screwed the paper up into a ball, throwing it into the fire, note and all. The puzzle box remained in his lap, taunting him. 

Move forward. He scoffed. That was easier said than done. They’d barely been able to figure things out the first time around, when they were young and naive and so bloody hopeful — at least, Remus was hopeful. Thinking about the werewolf back then made a sharp ache pierce Severus’ ribcage. 

Remus was right. They certainly couldn’t go back to how things were. Everything had changed far, far too much for that. 

He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the puzzle box and staring into the flames as they turned the wrapping paper to ash. He’d been well on his way to fucking things up for good, before. Merlin only knew why the idiot wolf was still trying.

Moving forward. Severus wondered what that would look like.

He cursed the corner of his shrivelled up heart that was desperate to find out.

.-.-.-.

Ron was itching for a fight.

That much was obvious to Harry. Between his worry for Scabbers and his anger at Hermione turning the Firebolt in to McGonagall, Ron was a tightly wound ball of rage that would explode at any moment. Harry himself wasn’t even mad about the Firebolt; he, too, was suspicious of its origin. He just hoped he could have it back before the match against Ravenclaw.

“Parkinson’s looking at you funny,” Ron muttered as the two of them walked to the greenhouses for Herbology. Harry glanced over his shoulder — Pansy Parkinson was indeed looking at him, but it was more calculating than anything, arm in arm with an oblivious Tracy Davis. Harry thought back to his odd meeting with Zabini and Greengrass, before Christmas. Perhaps word was spreading further. Or maybe Malfoy had said something, after one of their mostly-accidental late-night meetings. 

“She’s not doing anything, Ron,” Harry assured, grabbing Ron’s elbow and tugging him forward, away from the Slytherins. “It’s fine.” If Ron was going to pick a fight, he didn’t want to be part of it. 

“I swear, Malfoy hasn’t given us a good reason to hex him in ages,” Ron groused. “It’s like you don’t even exist to him anymore.”

“Maybe he feels guilty about Buckbeak.” Malfoy wasn’t completely ignoring Harry in public these days, but he wasn’t quite as eager to mock him as he used to be. Harry was honestly surprised this was the first time Ron was bringing it up. 

“Doubt it. Git’s probably just waiting til after the trial so he can rub it in our faces some more. Oh, look, there’s Zabini!”

“Leave him alone, Ron,” Harry said with a scowl, blocking him from going after the tall Slytherin. 

“What’s with you, lately?” Ron asked, a dark look on his freckled face. “You getting chummy with the Slytherins or something? You never get back at them anymore.”

“Maybe I’ve just got bigger things to worry about than the Slytherins.” The Slytherins weren’t really bothering him anymore, he had no reason to be angry with them. Besides, the whole house rivalry thing had sort of lost its shine. Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, after all. Houses clearly didn’t mean much.

“That doesn’t mean you can just let them go around acting like they own the school!”

“Oh, grow up, Ron,” Harry snapped before he could help himself. The redhead recoiled, shocked, before a venomous look crept in. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry hastened to soothe his friend. “I just… it all feels a bit petty, doesn’t it? To be going after someone just because they’re in a different house. It’s stupid.”

“Petty and stupid, am I?” Ron asked bitingly. “You’ve changed, Harry. I figured it was just about Black, but you’re weird this year. Always off by yourself, doing Merlin knows what. Making friends with Slytherins. I’m not sure I like it.”

Before Harry could say anything more, Ron ripped his arm out of the green-eyed boy’s grasp and stalked off to the greenhouses, leaving Harry alone in the courtyard. Suddenly, Hermione appeared at his side. “What was all that about?” She seemed a little breathless, which was odd, because they’d just come from Transfiguration and it wasn’t that far a walk. 

“Nothing. Ron being a git,” Harry muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and carrying on his way. He knew the redhead didn’t really mean it — he just wanted to take his anger out on someone — but it still made the ever-present guilt rise like a snake, twisting in his belly. He really had been neglecting his friend this year. He just… the older he got, the more he found Ron’s personality hard to deal with. Especially after getting used to spending more time around people like Neville, and even Malfoy. 

Ron was his first friend at Hogwarts, and he’d always be grateful for that. But did that make him the best choice?

.-.-.

After that argument, Ron avoided Harry just as much as he was already avoiding Hermione. 

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it,” Neville said one day, after Ron had grabbed him to partner up in Potions to avoid having to work with either Harry or Hermione. The result was a melted cauldron, and a scorch mark on the dungeon ceiling. Snape had not been impressed. “He’s just got a quick temper.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m sick of it,” Harry replied. “I keep feeling awful about having all these secrets, but how am I supposed to trust him when the wrong word sets him off? And the way he talks about the Slytherins, like they’re not even people…”

“They have been pretty awful to you in the past, Harry,” Neville pointed out cautiously. “Malfoy especially. Most of them are alright, yeah, but there are some.”

“Oh, there are definitely some Slytherins that would happily see me dead,” Harry agreed. “But I don’t think Malfoy’s one of them. Not anymore. Things have been different, this year.” Neville knew that Malfoy knew about Harry being the Potter heir. He didn’t know that Malfoy had started being actually civil to him, if not outright friendly, when it was just the two of them around. It wasn’t often they crossed paths in the middle of the night, but it was frequent enough to possibly be considered a habit. One that Harry wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to break.

Harry told him. Neville’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Malfoy? Really?”

“He’s actually alright, when he doesn’t have Crabbe and Goyle breathing down his neck,” Harry confided. The other Gryffindor boy frowned.

“But he’s still being a prat in classes. And the whole Buckbeak thing.” Everyone in the school knew that Lucius Malfoy was trying to get Buckbeak killed. 

“That’s more his dad than him. I think he actually sort-of feels bad about it. And yeah, he’s a prat, but he’s not as bad as he was before. People would start asking questions if he was suddenly nice to me.” Snape might have a heart attack. Ron, too, for that matter. And Merlin only knew what would happen if word got back to Lucius Malfoy that his son was being friendly to the Boy-Who-Lived. 

“I s’pose,” Neville said with a shrug. 

Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady, and the two of them stepped into the common room. Harry came up short when he saw Hermione and McGonagall there, the older woman holding— “My Firebolt!” He looked up hopefully. “Does this mean I can have it back?”

“You’ve got a very good friend, somewhere,” McGonagall declared. “We’ve done everything we can think of, and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it.” She held it out, and Harry took it with reverent hands. “I daresay you’ll need to get the feel of it before Saturday’s match. Just don’t go out flying after dark without a professor. And, Potter—“ She smirked, meeting his eyes. “Make sure you win, won’t you? It’s been far too long since I’ve had the Quidditch Cup sitting in my office.”

Harry beamed at her. “I’ll try my best. Thanks, Professor.” He turned to the dark-skinned girl at the woman’s side. “Thanks for looking out for me, Hermione,” he added. His friend had been beating herself up over the broom since Ron had exploded on her about it, but Harry didn’t blame her one bit. 

“It’s what I’m here for.” She grinned back at him. “I’m glad it turned out alright.”

As soon as McGonagall left, a crowd started gathering around Harry, his housemates clamouring to get a closer look at the international-standard broom. Harry let them, keeping a careful eye out to make sure no one damaged it. It would be just his luck to get it back only for some careless Gryffindor to break it. 

“You got it back!” Ron shoved his way through the crowd, squeezing in at Harry’s side like he’d forgotten he was mad at the bespectacled boy. “See, told you there was nothing wrong with it!” This was said smugly to Hermione, who huffed.

“There could’ve been. Aren’t you glad that we know now?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Can I ride it, Harry? Just for a bit? I’ll be really careful.”

“Maybe tomorrow. It’s too dark now. I should go put it away.” Ron’s hands clamped around the broom.

“I’ll take it. I’ve got to give Scabbers his rat tonic, anyway. I’ll be right back.” Before Harry could argue, he was off up the stairs, broom in hand.

“Well,” Hermione muttered, glancing first at Harry, then Neville. “Now you’ve got your expensive broomstick back, we’re his best friends again, I suppose.” There was a bitterness to her voice that made Harry wince. “Hopefully we can put all this behind us, now. Honestly, he’s giving me whiplash this year; I can never keep track of whether he likes me or not.”

Neville snorted. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a strangled yell from up in the boys’ dormitory tower. The whole common room went silent. Harry flicked his wand free of its holster, tensing.

There were hurried footsteps, then Ron burst into view, dragging a bedsheet in his wake. “LOOK!” he roared, stalking straight for Hermione, pointing at her with the fist that held the bedsheet. “LOOK!”

“Ron, what—?”

“SCABBERS!” Ron yelled, shaking the sheet in her face. “THERE’S BLOOD ON THE SHEETS, AND HE’S GONE!” Harry looked closer, his heart sinking at the small, rust-red stain on the fabric. “YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE WAS THERE? THIS!” Ron thrust out his other hand, opening it to show a handful of long, ginger cat hairs. “YOUR BLOODY CAT KILLED HIM!”

“Ron, I’m sure he’s just missing, he’s probably hiding under one of the beds,” Hermione started. Ron took an angry step forward.

“Yeah, bleeding to death!” he spat. The rest of the Gryffindors, realising that it wasn’t another Sirius Black attack but actually just Ron being dramatic, promptly went back to their previous business. Harry shared an uneasy look with Neville. 

“I’m sorry, Ron!” Hermione actually had tears in her eyes, but Ron was red-faced with fury and didn’t seem to care. “Cats chase rats, I can’t keep him locked in my room all the time! You don’t even know he was in there, those hairs could’ve been there from Christmas!”

“You never should’ve bought that bloody menace in the first place! Tell her, Harry!”

“I’m staying out of this,” Harry insisted, shaking his head. “I’ve got homework to do.” He turned away, beckoning Neville to follow with a jerk of his head, ignoring Ron yelling after him. He wasn’t going to start taking sides, even if Scabbers was really dead. He was an old rat, it would’ve happened eventually. 

“So much for all being friends again,” he muttered with a glance to Neville, who grimaced apologetically.

At least he had a broom now. That was one problem sorted.

.-.-.

Even a ride on Harry’s Firebolt after quidditch practice couldn’t cheer Ron up. He was taking the loss of Scabbers hard, and outright refusing to talk to Hermione unless it was to argue with her. It was a toss up on any given day whether he’d speak to Harry, either, but the Firebolt seemed to be the deciding factor. Up until they saw Crookshanks in the grass, the cat almost giving Harry a heart attack. He could’ve sworn it was the Grim again. He wished he’d never taken bloody Divination. 

Still, Ron’s bad mood couldn’t dampen Harry’s spirits after the win against Ravenclaw. He felt like he was walking on air — he had one of the best brooms in the world, he’d caught the snitch, and he’d produced a decent Patronus. Even if the dementors hadn’t been real.

His heart did a funny sort of squeezing feeling when he thought about what Malfoy had done. He’d thought things were getting better between them. Was he just so desperate to win the Quidditch Cup that he’d sabotage Harry? 

The party in the Gryffindor common room raged for hours, especially once the twins brought back their Honeydukes haul, winking at Harry when they entered the common room with arms full of sweets and butterbeer. Harry let them drag him into the celebration, their arms flung around his shoulders and beaming grins on their faces. Even Ron was having a good time — though he was pointedly not looking at the corner of the common room, where Hermione had her nose buried in her Muggle Studies book, her hair getting increasingly more wild as she tugged on it anxiously. Harry had already tried to get her to join the party, but she wasn’t having any of it. Apparently, the only reason she wasn’t up in her dorm was that Fay Dunbar and Sophie Roper were having some sort of boy-related crisis up there. Considering that pair of her dorm mates had even less patience for Hermione than Parvati and Lavender, Harry didn’t blame her. 

Eventually, it all got a bit much for Harry. While the others were distracted by the twins letting off some Filibuster’s Fireworks, Harry slipped out of the portrait hole, heading off down the corridor. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but his feet seemed to be taking him somewhere regardless. He wasn’t entirely surprised when he rounded a corner to see a familiar blond head. 

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Malfoy asked as Harry approached. He reached out, dusting a bit of red and gold confetti off of Harry’s shoulder. “Surely the party isn’t over already.”

“Needed some air. It’s loud in there,” Harry replied. He went over to the window ledge, sitting on it and staring out at the darkening grounds. “Why’d you do it? Pretend to be dementors?”

“It was Pansy’s idea,” Malfoy replied with a faint grimace. “She thought it would be funny. I thought it would be good practice of that spell Lupin’s teaching you.” He edged closer, but didn’t sit on the ledge beside Harry, leaning against the wall instead. “People are starting to ask questions. Questions that might get back to my father. The excuse of my arm hurting only worked for so long,” he added dryly. 

Harry thought back to his conversation with Neville the other day. Of course; he was being stupid. Malfoy had to keep up appearances. “Your father wants you to pick fights with me?”

“My father wants me to act like a proper Slytherin,” Malfoy corrected. “Including showing I’m better than Gryffindors. Especially Golden Boy Gryffindors.” The nickname was almost fond, and Harry’s lips twitched. 

“I suppose I can toss a few spells your way between classes,” he replied magnanimously. “Ron keeps telling me I’m being too nice to Slytherins these days.”

“Appearances must be upheld,” Malfoy agreed. Harry’s mind flashed back to the terrified look on the blond’s face all those months ago in the hospital wing, when he’d admitted what the dementors made him see. He was starting to think maybe Malfoy had more on the line than Harry himself did.

Slowly, Harry reached out a hand, looking into silver-grey eyes. “No one needs to know about this, though. Not in private.” He tilted his head, lips curving in a smile, remembering two boys; smaller, younger, entirely oblivious to the truth of the other. 

Malfoy hesitantly extended his own hand, but his grip was firm when his fingers curled around Harry’s. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, as if introducing himself for the first time. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Harry Potter,” he returned, grinning. “I think we’re going to be great friends, Draco Malfoy.” Letting go of the other boy’s hand, Harry glanced at his watch. “Speaking of appearances, I should get back to the party before someone notices I’m gone.” He got to his feet, stifling a sigh. If only he could stay in the quiet with Malfoy a little longer. “Hey, can we start doing this on purpose?”

Malfoy stared at him blankly. “Are you saying you just befriended me by accident?”

“No,” Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. “I meant meeting up. Instead of just randomly bumping into each other. We’d have to be careful, obviously, but… I feel like a Slytherin perspective to all this heir stuff is exactly what I need. No one ever taught me how to be a pureblood.” And if he wanted the excuse to spend more time with his new friend, well, Malfoy didn’t have to know that. 

“I suppose. Someone has to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself once you start representing your houses,” Malfoy replied drily. Harry read between the lines, and grinned. 

“Great. I’ll, uh, see you around. Draco.”

The blond blinked at him, taken-aback. A small, reluctant smile flittered across his face. “See you, Harry. Good luck with all your adoring lions.”

Harry went back to Gryffindor tower with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, that couldn’t be dragged down even when Ron started making snide remarks about Hermione. 

.-.-.-.

Remus watched the flames in his fireplace fade from green back to orange, as Professor McGonagall bid him a harried goodnight. The entire castle had been searched, and there was no sign of him. Whatever had happened in the Gryffindor common room, Sirius was gone. 

His hands shook. His cup of tea had long gone cold, and he heated it back up with a wave of his wand, hoping it might calm his nerves. His eyes strayed to the door, wondering if Severus was going to come bursting in, accusing him of helping Sirius break into the castle. Remus honestly wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

Sometimes it felt like he was as good as helping, just by not saying anything. There was no doubt in his mind that Sirius was hiding out in his animagus form. If Remus told someone about it, they’d probably catch him within the week. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

Deep down, in his heart, his pack instinct was screaming that Sirius would never, could never, hurt Harry. Even after tonight —standing over Ron Weasley with a knife, what the hell was Sirius thinking?? — he had to believe there was some other explanation. 

Reaching for the photo album on the coffee table, Remus flicked it open to the page he’d spent more than a few nights looking at since the week before Christmas, when he’d unearthed all his old photos to find the one for Harry. This photo was from the same day.

Arms wrapped around each other and beaming smiles on their faces, the four Marauders looked up at him, all wearing festive jumpers and laughing. Merlin, they’d been so young. He watched as photo-Sirius ruffled photo-Remus’ hair, while photo-James blew a kiss to Lily, who was the one behind the camera, and photo-Peter jumped as the cat brushed between his legs. In the corner of the photo, you could see the moses basket where baby Harry slept peacefully, little reindeer antlers peeking over the edge. James had been so proud of himself for finding that onesie. 

Remus could remember that day like it was yesterday. Lily and James’ first Yule in the new house, the first — and only — with the baby. They’d thought it was the best thing ever, starting their own family traditions — the second generation of Marauders. It had driven Lily nuts to hear her son referred to as such, but she’d had a smile on her face nonetheless. James had good-naturedly pestered the rest of them about settling down and making some playmates for little Harry, insisting he couldn’t carry their legacy entirely on his own back. Sirius had laughed and promised he was in no rush to have kids, but he’d treat Prongs’ like his own. Peter had blushed and stuttered and made some mention of a date he was going on in the new year. Remus had pretended not to hear Lily dropping hints about a certain Slytherin; they’d had a fight a while before that Christmas. It had been months before they’d spoken again. Again, Lily’s doing. No wonder he was a mess without her.

His gaze kept drawing back to those familiar grey eyes, shining with so much life and love and joy. He still didn’t understand how everything could go so wrong. Maybe he never would. 

“Why, Padfoot?” he murmured to the photo, a question he’d asked thousands of times in the last twelve years. “You could’ve had everything. We could’ve had everything.” Even with Voldemort’s growing power, they still had so much hope in that little family of theirs. Now, it was all gone. Except Harry. The only hope he had left, the shining light in the darkness. He couldn’t believe Sirius capable of snuffing that light out. 

Maybe he was fooling himself. Time would tell.

.-.-.-.

When the letter from Hagrid arrived at breakfast, a few days after Black broke into the tower, Harry knew something was up. The way it was addressed to just the two of them, not Hermione… 

With a sinking realisation, Harry checked the calendar. Buckbeak’s trial was at the end of the week. He had completely forgotten about his promise to help with the research; and from the look on Ron’s face when Harry mentioned it to him on the way down to meet Hagrid at the entrance hall, so had he. 

“We’re really sorry, Hagrid,” Harry said once they were inside the cabin. Buckbeak was curled up in the corner, snuffling at what looked like half a dead stoat. “We should’ve been helping more with Buckbeak’s case. We’ve just been so busy lately—“

“I’m not angry abou’ that,” Hagrid assured, pouring them tea and offering a plate of Bath buns, which neither boy touched. “Yeh’ve had a lot on yer plate, practisin’ quidditch all hours o’ the day an’ night. I wanted to talk t’ yeh both about Hermione.”

“What about her?” Ron asked, a scowl coming to his face at the name. He still wasn’t over Scabbers’ assumed death.

“She’s bin down ‘ere a lot since Christmas, helpin’ with Buckbeak an’ all. Cried a fair few times — she’s goin’ through a bit of a rough time at the minute. Bit off more than she can chew, I think, with all those classes o’ hers. But more’n that, I think she’s lonely. I’ve barely seen the three o’ you together these days.”

Harry winced, glancing at Ron. 

“If she’d just get rid of that bloody cat, I’d speak to her again!” he insisted. “But she won’t hear a word against it!”

“Ah, well, people can be a bit stupid abou’ their pets,” Hagrid said, looking over at Buckbeak with sad eyes. “I jus’ thought yer friendship was worth more than rats, or broomsticks,” he added with a glance to Harry. 

“I had no problem with her handing the Firebolt to McGonagall!” he said defensively. “I’d happily spend more time with Hermione, but I can never bloody find her. It’s like you said, she’s taking a million classes at once. And I’m at quidditch every free hour I’ve got.” He knew he was making excuses, but he didn’t want Hagrid to think he was purposefully ignoring Hermione, or taking Ron’s side. He wasn’t spending much time with Ron lately, either. “We’ll talk to her, Hagrid, I promise.” He elbowed Ron in the side until the redhead nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. 

They spent the rest of their visit discussing Gryffindor’s chances at the Quidditch Cup, and when they made their way back up to the castle, they found a cluster of students around the notice board in the Gryffindor common room. “Hogsmeade, next weekend. Brilliant! Oh, sorry Harry,” he added belatedly. Harry bit his lip. He still hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about the map yet. Maybe it was time to start mending some bridges. 

Harry nudged Ron over towards Hermione. “Can I talk to you two for a minute? Privately?”

Ron scowled at Hermione, but let Harry move them to a secluded corner. He put up his privacy ward. “Don’t get mad at me,” he started, reaching into his bag and pulling out the map. “A little bit ago, the twins gave me this.”

He explained the map, not letting on exactly how long he’d had it. Ron beamed at him when he realised what it meant. “You can come to Hogsmeade with us! Brilliant! Mate, you’re gonna love Zonko’s—“

“This is really dangerous, Harry! If you get caught in Hogsmeade — if Sirius Black catches you—“

“Lighten up, Hermione!” Ron cut in with a roll of his eyes. “Black’s hardly gonna come after him in the middle of a crowd of students, is he?”

“How can you say that, after what he almost did to you?” Hermione hissed. “You should stay in the castle, Harry.”

“Why, it’s not like it’s any safer,” Harry pointed out. “Black’s already broken in here twice.”

That took a little of the wind out of Hermione’s sails, but she still didn’t look happy. “If you had any sense, you’d give that map to McGonagall.”

“Are you mental? This thing is genius! I can’t believe Fred and George never told me about it.” A dark look briefly crossed Ron’s face, but it faded in favour of telling Harry all about Zonko’s and how great it was. Hermione huffed, gathering her books and stomping back to her previous table, where her half-finished essay awaited. “So you’ll come, then?” Ron asked eagerly.

“Yeah. But I’m taking my invisibility cloak.” 

No need to go borrowing trouble. 

Chapter Text

That Saturday morning, Hermione kept shooting Harry suspicious looks across the table at breakfast. “I know what you’re planning,” she muttered. Harry grinned at her.

“It’ll be fine, Hermione. Trust me.” Maybe a little rule-breaking as a trio was just what Harry needed to stop feeling out-of-sorts. In the last few months, things had changed so much. Mostly for the better, but it was overwhelming at times. Some good old-fashioned mischief was just what the doctor ordered.

Harry pretended to see Ron and Hermione off at the Entrance Hall, then made his way towards the third floor, Marauder’s Map in his pocket. As he reached the statue of the one-eyed witch, he checked the map quickly, cursing under his breath at the small dot labelled ‘Neville Longbottom’ rapidly approaching. 

“Hiya Harry!” Neville greeted cheerfully. “I forgot you weren’t going to Hogsmeade. Fancy a game of Exploding Snap?”

“Sorry, Neville,” Harry said, keeping his voice casual. “I’ve, uh, got some work to do.” He gave the other boy a pointed look, and Neville’s mouth made an ‘o’ of understanding.

“Did you want any help with it?” Neville asked quietly. Harry made to reply, but they were interrupted by sharp footsteps approaching. Neville gasped, shuffling behind Harry.

“Potter. Longbottom,” Snape greeted, staring Harry down with suspicion. “What are you two doing here? An odd place to meet.”

Harry refused to let his eyes drift to the one-eyed witch statue, even when Snape’s did. “We’re not meeting here. We just— met here.”

“Then I suggest the two of you return to Gryffindor tower, where you belong,” Snape drawled, running his hand over the statue. Harry held his breath.

“Right. We’ll, uh, do that, sir.” The two of them left, and Harry told Neville he was going to the library, only to double back as soon as he saw the dot labelled ‘Severus Snape’ securely in his office. 

“Dissendium,” he whispered, tapping the witch’s hump and climbing in as soon as it opened. He was running late. 

.-.

Hermione wasn’t with Ron when Harry found him. It was clearly too much to ask for the two of them to make up, even after Hagrid spoke to them. Harry was starting to regret going — all he was doing was following Ron around, letting the redhead show him all the things he’d seen when he’d visited by himself before Christmas, when Ron didn’t know about the map. Exploding Snap with Neville would’ve been more fun. At least Harry got Ron to buy him some stuff at Honeydukes, slipping him money from beneath the cloak. 

Ron led the way up towards the Shrieking Shack, telling Harry all about the rumours of it being haunted, when he heard a voice from the other side of the hill. As the voice drew closer, Harry’s stomach sank. “Father had to go to the hearing, of course, to tell them about my arm.” It was Draco, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, laughing over Hagrid and Buckbeak. It sent a sharp pain through Harry’s ribs, but he shook it off. Draco had made it pretty clear that those two were as much his babysitters as his bodyguards, keeping an eye on Draco and reporting back to their fathers, who would turn to Draco’s father if he didn’t like what he heard. They weren’t as dumb as they looked.

“What are you doing, Weasley?” Draco’s voice cut through Harry’s thoughts, and he saw Ron’s hands clench into fists at his sides. Draco looked up at the shack. “Bet you’d love to live here, wouldn’t you? Practically a palace compared to that hovel you live in now.” Crabbe and Goyle both laughed, and Harry had to grab the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from charging at Draco. 

“Leave him to me,” he hissed under his breath. Ron would never forgive him if he didn’t take the opportunity. Besides, Draco was being a bit of a prick. Even if it was an act.

Sneaking off to the side, he flicked his wand from his holster, levitating a particularly gross patch of mud up. SPLAT! 

It slammed into the back of Draco’s robes, covering all three Slytherins in foul-smelling muck. Draco yelped. “What was that?”

SPLAT! 

Harry sent another ball of mud flying from the other side, hitting Goyle clean in the face. “Who’s there?” Crabbe called, whipping around with his wand in his hand. He started lumbering forward, half-blinded by mud, and Harry stuck a foot out to trip him as he passed. The enormous Slytherin went crashing to the ground — and on the way down, his foot caught on the corner of Harry’s cloak. 

Suddenly, his head was exposed, and all three Slytherins and Ron were staring at him with varying degrees of fury and horror. Harry stumbled back, quickly pulling the hood back up, and without saying anything to Ron he sprinted back towards Honeydukes. 

If it had just been Draco, Harry wouldn’t have worried, but Crabbe and Goyle saw him too. There was no way they wouldn’t tell a teacher. Shit, he was in so much trouble. 

When he reached the passage in Honeydukes’ cellar, he did a quick cleaning charm to get the mud off his boots and scrambled back up to clamber out of the one-eyed witch, hoping he didn’t look as out of breath as he felt. If anyone asked, he could just say he’d been out flying. He left the cloak and his bag in the passageway and shut the witch’s hump behind him, hoping to slide right back into the trickle of students going about their day. He could come back and get them later. Quick footsteps echoed down the corridor. The blood drained from Harry’s face.

“Potter!” It was Snape, his features set in a harsh glare, though there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. Harry was well aware of his sweaty face and messy hair. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going, sir?” Harry asked, playing innocent as he fell into stride beside the long-legged Slytherin, having to practically jog to keep up. Naturally, they ended up in Snape’s office.

“Sit.” Harry did so, trying not to stare too closely at the gross things in jars lining the shelves. “Mr Malfoy and his friends came to me with a rather interesting story.”

“Sir?”

“Apparently, Potter, they came across Weasley in Hogsmeade. And he wasn’t alone.”

“Was Hermione with him, sir? I’m glad they’re talking again.” Snape’s glare could’ve melted a cauldron.

“Mr Malfoy states that someone invisible was throwing mud at him and his two friends, while they were stood talking to Mr Weasley. And then, Mr Crabbe saw a very curious apparition. Do you know what that might be?”

“Can’t say I do, sir.”

“Your head, Potter. Floating in the middle of Hogsmeade.”

“Perhaps he should go to Madam Pomfrey, sir, if he’s seeing things,” Harry replied neutrally. He thought Snape might explode with rage.

“Your head does not have permission to go to Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to go to Hogsmeade.”

“I know, sir. I’ve been in Gryffindor tower all day, like you told me.”

“Can anyone confirm that, Potter?” For a moment, Harry almost threw Neville’s name out there. But as good as the boy claimed to be at Occlumency, he couldn’t lie for shit, especially to Snape. Instead, he stayed quiet. Snape smirked. “I thought so. How very like your father you are. Believing yourself to be above the rules. Everyone from the Minister for Magic downwards is trying to keep you safe from Sirius Black, and you’re just gallivanting off about Hogsmeade, because of course, Famous Harry Potter goes where he wants, with no thought to the consequences. Do you have anything to say for yourself, boy?”

Harry flinched. “Don’t call me that, sir,” he begged, his shoulders curling in to protect his ribs on instinct.

“I’ll call you what I like, you arrogant little brat. Really, the resemblance is uncanny — James Potter also strutted about the castle with his friends, his head so swollen—“

“Shut up!” Harry yelled before he could stop himself. “Shut up about my father!” Lupin had told him Snape and his father didn’t get along, and that James had been a bit of a prick in school, but to hear Snape talk about him like that…

“What did you say, boy?” Snape’s voice was a venomous his. Harry took a step back.

“I asked you not to call me that, sir,” he said weakly. His knees were starting to shake, his eyes darting about, expecting fists to fly at any moment. 

“I hate to think of the stories Lupin’s been filling your head with. Acting like James Potter was the best thing to ever happen to this school, telling you tales of glorious heroism. Did he tell you about the time your father and his saintly friends played a prank on me that almost cost me my life? Your father got cold feet at the last minute, but if he hadn’t, they all would’ve been expelled.” Snape smirked. “No, I don’t suppose he did share that tale.”

Snape straightened up abruptly. “Turn out your pockets, Potter!” 

Harry startled, but didn’t move.

“I said, turn out your pockets!”

Mentally cursing, Harry did as bid, setting a handful of Fudge Flies and the Marauder’s Map on the table in front of him. “Ron gave those to me,” he said hurriedly. “After the last Hogsmeade weekend. I was just— saving them.”

“How touching. And this?” Snape held up the Marauder’s Map. Harry swallowed, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

“Just a spare bit of parchment. I was doing my Charms essay earlier.”

Snape turned the map over in his hands, studying it closely. “Rather old piece of parchment, isn’t it? I should perhaps just throw it away.” He made as if to throw it in the fire, and Harry lurched forwards. “Aha! What is it really, Potter? Another present from Mr Weasley? Instructions on how to get into Hogsmeade? Or— something else.” He pulled his wand, placing the tip to the paper. “Reveal your secrets.”

Harry watched in growing horror as the map’s creators took turns insulting Snape, the man’s face growing more enraged by the word. “I should’ve known,” Snape murmured. He strode across the office, tossing a handful of floo powder into his fire. “Lupin!” he called into the green flames. “I want a word!”

Within moments, Professor Lupin was in Snape’s office, looking pleasantly baffled as he stared between Harry and Snape. “Severus,” he greeted. “Harry. What can I do for you?”

“This,” Snape said, shoving the map in Lupin’s direction. “I found it in Potter’s pockets.”

For a moment, Harry could’ve sworn Lupin looked surprised. He read the words still on the map’s surface. His lips twitched. “I’m not sure what you want me to do about it, Severus.”

“Oh, you know exactly what I want, you—“ Snape cut himself off, glancing back at Harry. “It’s clearly some sort of dark magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you suppose Potter got such a thing?” He had his eyebrows raised pointedly. Lupin’s lips twitched again.

Harry got the distinct feeling there were two different conversations happening at once. 

“It seems like some sort of joke parchment, Severus. Designed to insult whoever tries to read it. Probably a Zonko’s product.”

“Really,” Snape replied flatly. “There’s nothing… familiar about it, to you?”

“Should there be?” Lupin asked, seeming utterly unfazed by Snape’s anger. 

Was Snape trying to imply that Lupin gave him the map?

“I will have answers, Lupin,” Snape growled. Calm as you please, Lupin plucked the map from Snape’s hands, offering the man a genial smile. 

“Oh, I’d be delighted to give them to you, Severus, once I’ve studied it further. But I’m sure it’s just a harmless prank parchment. Now, if we’re quite finished here, I’m sure Harry has other places to be, don’t you Harry?”

He wanted to ask for the map back, but he couldn’t do that with Snape in the room. 

“Right. Yeah. I’ll just be going then…” He didn’t dare look at Snape as he left the office, his heart pounding as he made for the third floor to go get his bag. Somehow, he’d escaped. He just had to ask Lupin for the map back, and then he’d be good. 

“Harry!” His head snapped up, and he saw Ron sprinting down the corridor towards him, red-faced. “I tried… to get here… fast as I could… couldn’t find you… you alright?” He was panting, having clearly just run the entire way from Hogsmeade.

“Fine. Had a run in with Snape, but… it’s fine. I’ll tell you later,” he added, not wanting to linger too long in the corridor. He walked with his friend back towards Gryffindor Tower, his thoughts still back in Snape’s office.

The Slytherin clearly expected Lupin to recognise the map. But why?

.-.-.-.

As soon as the door shut behind Harry, Severus rounded on Remus. “We both know what that is,” he said bluntly. “I am astounded that you gave it to Potter, under the circumstances.”

“I didn’t give it to him!” Remus insisted, taking the map back out of his pocket and staring at it. “I had no idea Harry had it. I didn’t even know it still existed! Peter got it confiscated by Filch a month before we graduated.”

The words were still floating across the page, the familiar sets of handwriting making his heart ache softly. “I’m, uh, sorry about the nose comment,” he added cheekily. “It was fifth year. After— y’know.” The fight he’d thought would break them — until a year later, when Sirius almost ruined everything.

Severus’ face shuttered for a moment. “Then it seems rather tame, considering,” he remarked dryly. “You swear you didn’t give it to Potter?”

“On my life, Severus,” Remus vowed. “I have no clue how he managed to get a hold of it. Foolish boy. If he’d left this lying around…” He swallowed thickly. If the map got back in Sirius’ hands, it was all over. 

“Potter has never been particularly good at using his brain,” Severus retorted acidly. Remus gave him a reproachful look.

“He’s thirteen, Severus. How much did you use your brain back then?” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose he was in Hogsmeade, then?”

“Somehow. Malfoy said it was just his floating head. I seem to recall several similar instances from our school years.” Severus’ gaze was pointed, and Remus chuckled.

“James’ cloak. I didn’t know he had that, either.” He thought it over for a second. “That one must have been Dumbledore. James let him borrow it for an Order thing before he…” 

Severus scoffed. “Of course. The headmaster does love to encourage Potter to get himself into trouble.” With a sigh, Severus reached up for the hidden bottle of whisky on his top shelf. Remus’ stomach warmed when the man summoned two glasses. “I take it Potter has no idea about the origin of the map?”

“If he does, he hasn’t asked me about it.” Remus accepted the whisky with a grateful look. “I’m going to have to tell him, if he asks. He’ll need a good reason why I’m not giving it back.” He perched in his usual spot on the edge of the desk, setting his glass down and stroking a fond hand over the map. “Why didn’t you open it in front of him? I can’t see you passing up a chance to terrorise the poor boy.”

Severus’ pale cheeks flushed faintly. “Despite many attempts, I never learned the password.”

Remus barked out a laugh. “Really? I always assumed you must’ve heard us, one of those times. You always talked about it like you knew exactly how it worked.” He pulled his wand from his pocket, setting the tip against the parchment. His gaze met Severus’. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Watching the ink flow out over the map was like a physical punch to the gut, and he had to close his eyes for several moments at the fresh wave of grief. Cool fingers touched the back of his hand for a brief moment. Enough to ground him in the present. “Our pride and joy,” he breathed, opening his eyes again and looking over the map. Several floors above them, the dot labelled ‘Harry Potter’ walked alongside the dot labelled ‘Ron Weasley’, walking away from the statue of the one-eyed witch. Remus stifled a smile. Legacy of the Marauders, indeed. “Merlin, James would be thrilled. His little boy, using the map and cloak to sneak to Hogsmeade. That’s all his dreams come true.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’d be delighted to hear his son put himself in danger with a mass-murdering lunatic skulking about the place,” Severus retorted sharply. Remus’ smile faltered. “The map could be useful. If Black decides to return.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever saw the little dot labelled ’Sirius Black’ reappear on the paper. But he owed it to Harry to keep an eye out, just in case. “I’ll keep it with me. Check it when I can.”

“Not going to take it to Dumbledore?” Severus’ voice was taunting, and Remus shot him a look.

“We both know that would be a terrible idea.”

Silence grew between them, and Remus sipped his whisky, his eyes returning to the map. Merlin, that felt like a lifetime ago, enchanting that thing. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see it again. 

“He asked me not to call him ‘boy’.” Severus’ quiet words made Remus jump, caught up in his memories.

“Pardon?”

“Potter,” Severus explained at Remus’ wrinkled brow. “I called him ‘boy’. He had… quite the adverse reaction. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“When you say ‘adverse’…” 

“He acted like I was going to hit him.” The words were resigned, and the bottom fell out of Remus’ stomach. In the back of his mind, Moony growled.

“Petunia,” he spat, grip tightening around his glass. “If she or that brute husband of hers have laid a hand on my cub.”

“Calm yourself, Remus,” Severus urged, his fingers brushing Remus’ hand once more. He looked displeased as well, his lips curled in a sneer. “There will come a time when we will talk to Petunia. See how she’s been respecting Lily’s memory.”

That didn’t satisfy his inner wolf, but Remus knew he couldn’t just run off to wherever Petunia lived and give her a piece of his mind. “I’ve failed him in so many ways, Severus,” he breathed in anguish. “Ways he doesn’t even realise.”

“Dumbledore is the only one who has failed him,” Severus corrected, “and we will do our best to rectify that.”

Remus stared at the map, watching the dozens of dots flood the Entrance Hall as they returned from Hogsmeade. 

He wasn’t sure his best would be enough.

.-.-.

That evening after dinner found Harry knocking on the door of Professor Lupin’s office, biting his lip anxiously. The professor had a knowing look in his eyes when he answered the door. “Professor Lupin, about that, uh, parchment that Professor Snape took from me. I was hoping I could have it back?”

“No, Harry, you cannot have the map back. Yes, I know it’s a map,” Lupin added when Harry’s jaw dropped. “I’m incredibly disappointed in you, Harry; not only did you sneak into Hogsmeade unsupervised, where anything could’ve happened to you, but you’ve had this map for Merlin knows how long with Sirius Black on the loose and you never turned it in.”

The way Lupin looked at him made him feel about three inches tall. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think it was that important.”

“Not that important? Harry, you’ve already seen what Black can do with things left lying about!” Neville was only just allowed to be told the password to the common room, even now. 

“But he wouldn’t know how to use it! It’d just insult him, like it did to Snape!”

“Are you so sure about that?” Lupin pulled the map out of his pocket, laying it flat on his desk. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

Harry gaped at him as the map jumped to life. “But… how…” 

“When I told you months ago that you used to call me Uncle Remus, I suppose I was lying to you a little,” Lupin told him, making Harry blink at the change of subject. “Remus is a little hard for a one year-old to say, after all. You much preferred to call me Uncle Moony. Well,” he added, smiling wryly, “it came out more like ‘Uncle Mooey’, you struggled with your N’s, you see.”

Dragging his eyes down to the greeting at the top of the map, Harry stared back up at his professor in dawning shock.

“Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black and James Potter. Also known as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. The Marauders,” Lupin announced, offering a little bow. “At your service. Well, what’s left of us, at least.”

“What?” Harry could hardly believe it. “The map was my dad’s?”

“Not solely his. It took all four of us to figure the spells out. Three, really; Peter was never that great with a wand. We finished it early in our fifth year, to help aid in our mischief-making ways. It got confiscated in our seventh year. I hadn’t expected Filch to keep it.” Lupin looked at him curiously. “I have to ask, Harry — how did you come to own the map?”

“A friend gave it to me,” he said evasively, not wanting to get anyone in trouble. Lupin stared him down for a long moment, then smiled.

“The Weasley twins, I presume? That would explain an awful lot about them. Well, I suppose I can’t ask for a much better successor. Some of their work is really quite fantastic. I thought Severus would never get his hair back the right colour after that little prank they pulled before Christmas.”

“They worship you,” Harry blurted. “The Marauders, I mean. Think you’re the best thing ever.” He wondered what the twins would do if he told them they were being taught by a real live Marauder. 

That made Lupin chuckle. “I’m glad our good work is being continued. But that doesn’t mean you can tell them, Harry,” he added. “I’m telling you because it’s James, and because I need you to understand why it’s so dangerous to have this map. Sirius Black helped create it. If it ended up in his hands, he could find you anywhere in the castle. I can’t let you have it back, I’m sorry.”

Harry winced; if he’d known, he never would have kept the map. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. “Don’t take it to Dumbledore.”

“Beg your pardon, Harry?”

“Don’t take the map to Professor Dumbledore. Please.” If Dumbledore found the map, if he had another way of monitoring Harry… he was screwed. Lupin’s brow furrowed.

“I wasn’t planning on doing so. But why don’t you want it going to the Headmaster?” 

Harry glanced down at the map, then back up at Lupin, deciding to throw caution to the wind. Lupin had been good about being honest with him so far. “Professor Dumbledore put a curse on my magical core to block me from my family magics.”

Lupin’s eyes went wide in alarm. Harry blurted out the whole story of his trip to Gringotts, including the Compulsion charm, explaining why he thought Dumbledore was the one who did it. “And I shouldn’t have told you that, because he can read minds, and if he finds out then he’ll know I know, and I’m done for!” he finished, somewhat panicked. Lupin’s hands came down on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“You’re fine, Harry. Your secrets are safe with me. I have… let’s call them natural mental defences. Dumbledore has never been able to read my mind.” Harry let out a sigh of relief, and Lupin let him go, turning to pace the length of the desk. “Of all the things… I knew he was bad, but I never thought… Merlin, to block your family magics!” He turned to Harry abruptly. “You’re sure the block is gone?”

“The goblins said it was, yeah.”

Lupin sighed in relief. “Good. Good. When James turned seventeen, the boost in magic from his family line just about cracked all the windows in the dorm. That combined with the Black family — and Slytherin! Good grief, to have that sort of power surge trapped inside you with a magic blocker could level the school when you come of age!” His head snapped up, colour draining from his face. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, his blood turning to ice.

Was that what Dumbledore wanted?

“Who else have you told?”

“Neville knows about almost all of it. The twins know I’m taking up my family seat, but they don’t know about the block. And a few other kids — apparently word got around amongst the heirs that the House of Potter is back on the playing field.”

“You have to be incredibly careful, Harry. If the wrong person should find out what you know… I don’t have to tell you how badly that could end up for you.” Lupin’s words made Harry’s stomach churn. No, he was well aware of the line he was treading. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted in a meek voice. “I’ve been reading up as much as I can about the old bloodlines, and what it means to be an heir, and family magic, but… I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know why Dumbledore wants to keep it from me, and I don’t know who I can trust and if I tell the wrong person I could die!”

All of a sudden, Lupin’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in close. Harry couldn’t help the way he buried his face in the man’s robes, eyes squeezed shut against the tears threatening to spill forth. “Easy, cub, easy. It’s alright,” Lupin soothed, one broad hand rubbing across his shoulders. It was a hug unlike any Harry had experienced before. Lupin looked like a strong wind would blow him over, but there was wiry muscle in his arms, and it made Harry feel safe. Secure. Like… like a parent would. Not even like Mrs Weasley hugging him, where she tried to crush the life out of him. Just… warm.

“Albus Dumbledore is not going to hurt you anymore, I promise you that,” Lupin vowed fiercely, his lips pressed against Harry’s hair. “You’ve done so well, cub. You’ve been so brave. But you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

“I’m always alone,” Harry muttered bitterly. Lupin pulled back enough to look Harry in the eye, and he could’ve sworn the man’s eyes flashed gold for a second. It was probably just the light.

“Not anymore,” he growled firmly. “Never again. I’ve let you down for far too long.” He seemed as reluctant to break the hug as Harry was, but they parted nonetheless, Lupin unsuccessfully smoothing Harry’s hair down. “That’s a lost cause,” he said ruefully, making Harry snort. “Just like James’.” 

Stepping back, Harry took a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone about the map.”

“I’ll forgive you, but know in future you can come to me about anything, okay?” Lupin told him, brown eyes serious. “Absolutely anything. You can trust me, Harry.” He glanced down at the map. “You should go. Your friend Miss Granger is on her way up here, no doubt looking for you.”

“Right, yeah.” Harry had told Hermione what happened. She seemed to think it served him right to get the map confiscated. Ron was less pleased by it. “I’ll, uh, see you later, then. Thanks.”

“Have a good evening, Harry.”

Harry left the office with his hands in his pockets, his emotions so jumbled in his head he could barely make sense of them all. At least one person — one adult — knew the truth, now. One person was on his side.

.-.

He bumped into Hermione in the corridor, expecting her to scold him again about the map. Instead, she had tears in her eyes, her hands trembling. “Hermione? What’s wrong?” Had Ron said something awful to her?

She wordlessly handed over a crumpled piece of parchment, and Harry’s heart sank. Buckbeak lost his trial. 

“They can’t do this,” he murmured, taking her arm to lead her back to Gryffindor Tower. “Buckbeak isn’t dangerous.”

“Malfoy’s dad thinks he is, and he’s got the whole committee in his pocket,” she retorted, wiping at her eyes. 

Ron was in the common room when they entered, and he scowled at first, before he realised Hermione was crying. “Don’t tell me she told on you, mate,” he hissed, glaring at the curly-haired girl. Hermione’s lip quivered, and she bit back a sob. 

“I did no such thing,” she bit out. “I just thought you might like to know, Hagrid lost the case. They’re going to execute Buckbeak.”

Ron’s freckles stood out stark against his pale face as it drained of colour. “What?” Harry passed him the letter. “But that’s not fair! Buckbeak did nothing wrong, it was all Malfoy!”

“We know that, but the committee doesn’t care! There’ll be an appeal, there always is, but… I can’t see how it will help. Nothing will have changed.”

“Yeah it will,” Ron said fiercely. “You won’t have to do all the work alone this time. I’ll help.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione flung herself into Ron’s arms, sobbing on his shoulder, and Ron sent Harry an alarmed look as he patted her awkwardly on the top of the head. Through her sobs, she managed to stutter out an apology for Scabbers, and Ron shook his head, entirely out of his comfort zone. 

“He was old, y’know— and a bit useless. It’s alright.” He kept patting Hermione’s head until she finally drew away. She met Ron’s eyes, offering him a tentative smile, which he returned. Another small sob escaped Hermione’s lips.

Harry could only hope they were finally done fighting. They had more important things on their mind, now.

.-.-.-.

As a cold and dreary February rolled into a slightly less cold and dreary March, Harry was beginning to feel like he was almost as busy as Hermione. His curly-haired friend was drowning under her workload, always doing some sort of work and looking increasingly hysterical while she was at it. But Harry had his classes, plus a truly absurd amount of quidditch practices — they were so close to the cup they could taste it, and Wood wanted them at their best. Add in his patronus lessons, his private study and his secret late-night meetings with Draco, he barely had time to sleep. And after knowing Sirius Black could get all the way up to his dorm… well, even when he did have time to sleep, it was hard.

True to their word, he and Draco had resumed antagonising each other in public. It was actually sort of fun, now that Harry knew it was just a game. It certainly made Ron happier, having ‘the old Harry’ back. That made the guilt rise up again, but Harry shook it off. 

They managed to meet about once a week, never in the same place twice, arranging meetings by dropping little notes in each other’s pockets or school bags whenever they had one of their ‘fights’. It was harder now Harry didn’t have the map, but he was managing. Tonight, they were in one of the old Charms classrooms on the fourth floor, chairs pulled up to the desk as Draco taught Harry a wizarding card game called Warlock’s Bluff. The rules were somewhat complicated, but Harry was starting to get the hang of it. He’d actually won the last round, much to Draco’s surprise. 

“It’s better with four players,” Draco told him, using a spell to shuffle the deck for the next round. 

“By better you mean harder.”

Draco smirked at him, eyes flashing in challenge. “Struggling to keep up, Harry?”

He dealt again, and Harry picked up his cards, keeping his face blank. Not a bad hand. He could win this one. “So what does being a good pureblood have to do with playing cards?”

“You can get a good measure a person by playing Bluff with them,” Draco replied, making his move. “Often business meetings will include a game or two, to keep conversation flowing. It shows logic, strategy, how many risks a person is willing to take. A little like chess, but quicker.”

Of course, even games had an ulterior motive with purebloods. Harry said as much, and Draco scoffed. “Not every game has an ulterior motive. Sometimes we play for fun. Just don’t ever play against Daphne, especially not for money. She’ll rob you blind with a smile on her face, the girl is a menace.”

“When would I ever play cards with Daphne Greengrass?” Harry asked, bewildered. 

“You never know.” Draco shrugged. “The future holds many opportunities. There may come a time where we don’t have to put on quite so many masks.”

That was one thing Harry was learning, spending more time with Draco. Just about everyone in Slytherin — and many in other houses — was playing a part, to some degree. Draco wouldn’t say why it was so important, but he’d made it pretty clear that nobody could be taken at face value. It sounded exhausting to Harry. 

Outside in the hallway, they heard a door slam shut. Both boys froze. 

“It’s getting late,” Draco said eventually, flicking his wand and sending all the cards neatly back into their box. “We should go.”

They tried not to stay out too long past curfew, both because they needed to sleep, and because they were both painfully aware that Sirius Black could be roaming the castle at any time. Harry knew he was being foolish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He liked spending time with Draco. The blond boy was funny when he wasn’t being scathing; and sometimes even when he was. Spending time with him made Harry wonder if he’d made the wrong choice when he’d begged the sorting hat not to put him in Slytherin. 

“I’ll see you later.” Harry watched Draco leave — Draco always left first. He waited several minutes, then made to swing his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, only to freeze when the door swung open. He stared guiltily into the honey eyes of Professor Lupin.

“Harry,” the professor greeted neutrally, taking in the scene in front of him. “Did I just see Draco Malfoy leave this room a few moments ago?”

“…Maybe?” 

“You don’t look like you’ve been fighting,” Lupin started, and Harry shook his head.

“We weren’t fighting! We were, ah, playing Warlock’s Bluff.”

“A card game,” Lupin said flatly. “With Draco Malfoy.”

“We’re maybe, kinda, friends now?” Harry replied, voice rising an octave as he shrugged helplessly, waiting for the outburst about not trusting Slytherins and being more carefully running about after dark. 

“Merlin,” Lupin muttered under his breath, glancing skyward in exasperation. “History repeats itself indeed.” He cleared his throat, looking back at Harry. “Fifteen points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew.”

“What! Aren’t you going to take from Slytherin? Draco was out too!”

“Draco had the good sense not to get caught,” Lupin retorted. “Also, he doesn’t have a murderer looking for him. You’re playing a dangerous game, here, Harry.” His eyes flicked down to the fabric bunched in Harry’s hands, and he smirked. “Ah, of course. How long have you had James’ cloak?”

Harry looked down at the invisibility cloak, then back up at his professor. “You know what this is?” Lupin laughed.

“Know what it is? Harry, I spent half my school career hiding under that thing,” he replied ruefully. “That cloak got the four of us out of many a sticky situation. It’s reassuring to know you have it, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to be out after dark. Let me walk you back to your common room. Put the cloak on.”

With a sigh, Harry didn’t bother arguing. He swung the cloak over his shoulders, noticing how amused Lupin looked as he disappeared. “You’re not entirely Lily’s boy, then,” the professor remarked, leading the way out of the classroom. “Plenty of James in you yet. Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

It was the first time someone had told Harry he was more like his mother than his father, and it made a warm, fluttery feeling appear in his chest. He smiled, obediently following Lupin all the way back up to the Fat Lady, bidding the man goodnight before he murmured the password. One person in his life knew about his friendship with Draco, and hadn’t condemned him for it.

Harry slept better than he had in weeks.

Chapter Text

“…And Jones whacks a banger of a bludger right at Mayweather, nearly takes his head off! Mayweather drops the quaffle— and Greengrass has it, Harpies are back in possession…”

Harry’s lips curled in a faint smile, his attention half on the quiet commentating of the quidditch match drifting from his Wizarding Wireless. He was up in the dorm, the curtains around his bed drawn and warded, his password-protected notebook in his lap while Never Unarmed: The Theory of Wandless Magic lay open on his left. 

Hermione was off in the library, as always; Ron was either with her, helping with Buckbeak’s case, or had given up and sought out Dean and Seamus. Harry had been with them for a while, but when their bickering became too much he made the excuse of needing to talk to Lupin about his Patronus lessons. The pair may have banded together in the face of the Ministry’s stupid creature laws, but that didn’t quite make them friends again. 

Either way, it meant that he had at least an hour of free time, and it was perfect timing for the Holyhead Harpies match against the Ballycastle Bats. It was also perfect timing for Harry to go over some of the notes he’d been making the last few months.

It was a good thing his notebook was charmed to add pages as it became necessary; it was full to bursting with scrawled notes and diagrams and half-hearted attempts at family trees as Harry tried to figure out the complicated world of British pureblood families. If he were more like Hermione, he’d have some sort of organisation system to separate his spell-related research from his history-related notes — but he wasn’t, and chaos seemed to suit him perfectly fine, so he continued to write on whichever page he pleased.

Currently, he was comparing notes he’d made from reading Reaching Your Core: A Guide to Understanding Your Magic to the text within Never Unarmed, quill tapping thoughtfully against his lower lip. Since he’d entered the wizarding world, wandless magic had been spoken of as the absolute pinnacle of magical power and talent — only extraordinary people could manage it, like Albus Dumbledore.

But why then did children have so many bursts of wandless magic?

Many of the books he read talked about how the immature core was more volatile, and training it with the focus of a wand helped to direct it, with the downside of making it harder to access without a focus. They explained that for all but the most powerful, the trade-off for control over your own magic was the need for a wand to use it. Sure, in times of great stress or need, a person could perform wandless magic, but it was rarely intentional.

That made little sense to Harry, when all the books on inheritance magic suggested that many talents inherent to certain families were innate and wandless; metamorphmagi powers and soothsaying, an affinity to mind magics or animagi magics. Some were bloodline-only, but many were available to any wixen willing to work for it, and family magics just made it easier. 

A wand wasn’t needed for Occlumency. A wand wasn’t needed for an animagus to transform, once they’d mastered the initial transformation process. They channelled magic directly from a person’s core. 

That had to be the connection. Never Unarmed talked about being in tune with your magic, about using your fingers instead of your wand, learning to push the magic through your body rather than your focus. Even to Harry, whose magic had been buzzing under his skin since the moment the goblins had released the blocks, that felt exhausting. He’d tried all the exercises the book offered, holding his wand in his off-hand and trying to cast through the fingers of his dominant hand, but it just felt like trying to push concrete through a sieve. 

The book was wrong, he was sure of it. Reaching Your Core had taught him a lot of things, as had the books on core blocks and family magics. Wandless magic wasn’t about turning your fingers into your focus — it was about bypassing your focus entirely and just letting your core breathe.

“…And the Harpies score! Owens had better hurry up, or even the snitch won’t save the Bats today! Quaffle is back with Fawley, and to Kinnock…”

Harry tuned out the quidditch match, shutting his eyes and taking a steadying breath. Between all the various meditation exercises he’d been learning, it was easy to sink deep into the corner of his consciousness that housed his core, the magic humming softly. He wondered absently if it was like that for everyone, or if he was an exception. He was only thirteen, surely he couldn’t be that powerful? 

None of his teachers had ever said anything about focusing inward on your magic, or any sort of humming or buzzing sensations. Perhaps it was just an uncommon practice, and if everyone tried it they would feel the same. Maybe he’d talk to Neville about it sometime, see what the other boy thought. 

He delved deeper, surrounding himself in the humming, the warmth of his magic like rays of sunlight against his skin. Even now, months after the blocks had been removed, it felt… unsettled. Like it was housed in a space too small, crammed into his body like he had been crammed into the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys’. Harry hoped he’d grow a few inches, maybe put on some muscle; that might make his magic feel better. Dumbledore was pretty tall — was that because he needed to contain more magic?

Drawing his focus back to the task at hand, Harry kept breathing, raising his right hand slowly. He opened his eyes. His fingertips were glowing. 

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he whispered, gaze turned on the hefty book at his side. The humming grew more urgent. His veins itched. 

Then, slowly, the book began to rise off the bed. 

A slow grin tugged at Harry’s lips — suddenly, a door slammed, and the book fell back on the mattress. The connection was gone, the humming almost silent. 

“Harry, are you back yet? Hermione’s a nightmare, honestly.” It was Ron. Harry scowled to himself; he’d been making progress there!

Hurriedly stuffing his book and notebook under his pillow, Harry dropped the wards around his bed and pulled the drapes back, offering the redhead a smile he hoped was sincere. “Couldn’t make it to curfew?” he asked wryly, watching Ron’s disgruntled frown deepen. The other boy opened his mouth to respond, when his eyes flicked to the Wireless.

“Owens is diving, but Griffiths is hot on his tail; who will reach the snitch first? They’re neck and neck — if they keep going, they’ll hit dirt! Griffiths is pulling level, and— Merlin’s beard, what a catch! In a remarkable show of speed, Griffiths has caught the snitch! The Harpies remain undefeated for another day!”

“Since when do you have a Wireless?” Ron asked, an unreadable look on his face. Harry turned the volume down, shrugging. 

“Bought it over the summer, when I was stuck in Diagon. I had no idea before that there was so much wizarding radio.” The Weasleys had a Wireless, but they only seemed to turn it on when Mrs Weasley wanted to listen to Celestina Warbeck.

“They’re expensive, those portable ones. Charlie bought one in his sixth year, but he took it with him to Romania.”

The expression on Ron’s face suddenly made sense; discomfort at Harry’s wealth. Before, Harry might have let it bother him; might have offered to give his to Ron, and buy himself a new one later. Back when he’d been under Dumbledore’s spells, and desperate to have friends by any means necessary. But things had changed. He could sympathise with Ron, of course — for most of his life, Harry hadn’t had two pennies to rub together — but he wasn’t going to let the other boy make him feel guilty for inheriting money when Harry’s parents had died in order for that to happen. 

He reached out, turning the Wireless off and offering Ron a half-smile. “Well, the Cannons match is next week, if you want to listen to it with me.”

Ron grinned, only a hint of a shadow in his eyes. Harry ignored it; he could hardly keep up with Ron’s mood swings this year, and it wasn’t worth trying. 

Letting the redhead grumble all about the work Hermione had forced him to do in the library, Harry couldn’t stop his attention returning to the faint tingle still running through his veins.

He had done wandless magic. Intentional, focused wandless magic. 

How much more could he do, with a little practice?

.-.-.-.

With the security in the castle amped up after Black’s second break-in, the trio couldn’t visit Hagrid in the evenings anymore. The only chance of getting to talk to him was during their Care of Magical Creatures class. Days later, and Hagrid still seemed to be in shock.

“There’s always the appeal,” Ron said, when it looked like Hagrid might burst into tears, walking the class back up to the castle. “Don’t give up hope yet, Hagrid. We’ll figure something out.” 

They bid goodbye to Hagrid at the castle doors, and the large man blew his nose loudly, thanking them again for offering to help. It was clear he was expecting the worst.

“You’d think he could pull it together!” The voice made Harry’s heart sink. Just inside the doors, Draco stood with Crabbe and Goyle, watching Hagrid leave. The two huge boys were sniggering. “It’s not like it’s his bloody dog or anything. It’s just a beast.” Behind the false sneer, Harry could see the regret in Draco’s eyes. As if he could’ve done anything to stop Lucius Malfoy on a crusade.

“How dare you!” Hermione roared, stalking across the entrance hall towards Draco. His grey eyes widened in alarm at her ferocity, and Harry hurried after her. “You foul, evil little—“

SMACK!

Harry wasn’t fast enough. Before he could do anything, Hermione had reeled back a fist and punched Draco square in the jaw. He fell back into Goyle, blinking dazedly. “Don’t talk about Hagrid like that.” With that, she turned on her heel and left. “Come on, boys. We’ll be late for Charms.”

Harry sent an apologetic glance back at Draco, who seemed utterly stunned, and hurried after Hermione, Ron hot on his tail. “Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. “You just punched Malfoy!”

“He deserved it,” she declared firmly. “Harry, make sure you beat them at quidditch, won’t you? I couldn’t stand to see him win.”

“Uh, yeah, Hermione,” Harry said after a beat. He shared a look with Ron, both of them thinking did that really just happen?? “I’ll try my best.”

She huffed, continuing on the way to class. Harry eased the door open to the classroom, praying they weren’t late, and Professor Flitwick smiled up at them. “There you are, boys! Settle down, now, take your seats.”

Harry looked over his shoulder — Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Where had she gone? 

“She was just behind us,” Ron muttered, just as confused as Harry. “Maybe she dropped something?”

But Hermione didn’t reappear. She was absent for the entire class. Harry frowned; what was going on with her?

.-.-.-.

Clearly Hermione was on a roll, Harry thought as he watched her storm out of the Divination classroom. When the class finished, he turned to Ron. 

“She’s having a bit of a day, isn’t he?” the redhead remarked. “Blimey.”

Hermione wasn’t at dinner, but the hall was abuzz with the story of her talking back to Professor Trelawney. Luckily, Draco didn’t seem to have told anyone about her punching him, though there was a fairly impressive bruise rising on his pale cheekbone. Harry winced; would Draco be mad at him for it? They weren’t supposed to meet for another few days. Harry would have to wait to ask if he was alright. 

“I’m gonna take some food up to Hermione,” Ron said once he’d eaten his fill, which as always was an impressive amount. He wrapped some roast beef and potatoes in a napkin, grabbing another one to fill with parsnips. “You coming?”

“Can’t. Patronus lesson with Lupin,” Harry replied apologetically. He had the spell down pretty well, now — it hadn’t taken shape yet, but he could get a fairly solid shield up against his boggart-dementor. 

“Oh, right, yeah. Well, have fun.” Ron grabbed as much food as he could in his large hands, and the two parted ways, Harry headed up the familiar route to Lupin’s office. He dragged his feet a little, feeling a little awkward about seeing the man again after basically breaking down on him. Lupin didn’t seem to hold it against him, though. 

“I hear Miss Granger had quite the eventful afternoon,” Lupin remarked once they’d put the boggart away for the evening, sat in their usual chairs with tea in their hands. Harry winced.

“You heard about Divination, then?” Lupin nodded. “I mean, I don’t blame her, really. She’s doing about fifty subjects at once, and Divination’s a bit…” Harry trailed off sheepishly, not wanting to insult one professor in front of another. “I wish I could drop it, too. Is there any way to switch your elective subjects if you realise you don’t like them?” Truthfully he’d love to drop Care of Magical Creatures, too, but he couldn’t bear to do that to Hagrid.

“I’m afraid not. Not this late in the year, anyway. You’ll have to stick it out until your OWLs, I’m afraid.” Lupin sounded truly apologetic. Harry sighed.

“I figured as much.”

“You could always independent study for a different elective? Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes, or even both. You don’t have to be enrolled in the class to take the OWL, if you contact the ministry about it. Your mother took an OWL in Muggle Studies without ever going to a single class. She said it was an easy O,” Lupin informed him, a smile tugging at his lips. 

Harry hadn’t realised that was possible. “It’d be harder to teach myself Runes and Arithmancy, though. Muggle Studies is easy, especially if you grew up with them.” A memory popped into his head. “You were top of your class in Runes, weren’t you?” The yearbook had said so.

“Indeed I was. And third in Arithmancy — only your mother and Sirius beat me there. I’d be happy to help however I can if you chose to go down that route. No disrespect to any of my colleagues, but Divination and Care of Magical Creatures aren’t the most… useful subjects in the world.”

A thoughtful hum escaped Harry, and he leaned back in his chair. “Maybe after quidditch.” The match against Slytherin was drawing ever closer, and he had little free time as it was. 

“Naturally. You just focus on beating Slytherin, for now,” Lupin agreed with a chuckle. “I know we’re not supposed to play favourites, but I bet Severus five galleons you’d win. He seems to think Mr Malfoy can pull it out of the bag, even after his time off for injury.”

Harry tried to imagine Professor Snape placing a bet on the quidditch, even if it was in Slytherin’s favour. “Y’know, Professor; I think the Snape you know and the Snape I know are two very, very different people.”

That made Lupin laugh, the sound clear and somewhat raspy, unexpectedly loud in the quiet office. “I should certainly hope so, Harry,” he agreed, a strange sort of look in his eyes. “Severus really isn’t as bad as he makes out to be, though. He just has a reputation to uphold.”

Harry made a face to show exactly what he thought of that. “If you say so, Professor.”

“Speaking of reputations to uphold,” Lupin drawled, sitting forward in his chair a little. “Draco Malfoy. Care to share?”

Harry’s cheeks grew hot, and he almost spilled his tea. “What? I don’t know what you mean. We’re just friends.”

.-.-.

Remus stared at the teenage boy in front of him, red-faced and staring at his hands, squirming evasively. Oh, no. “I’d say that ‘just friends’ is baffling enough in itself.” Harry blushed even brighter. “You can tell me anything, Harry. There’s no judgement here.” Even if you’re dating a Malfoy, he added in his head, trying to imagine what Lily would do in this situation. Just act the same way she did when she found out about Severus. 

“There’s not much to tell, really. I bumped into him in Diagon before school started, and he was… civil. I think, really, we just got off on the wrong foot as first years. Ron’s always been worse at antagonising him than I have. And now there’s no compulsion on me, I just… don’t want to fight him? Then he found out about the whole heir thing — okay, he found out because I told him — and he’s actually been really helpful with all that. Obviously, he was raised about as pureblood as it gets, he knows all about the old traditions, even more than Neville does. So we were civil, and then we kept bumping into each other, and we kinda just… became friends? Now we meet up when we can, which isn’t that often because there’s no way we could do it during the day when someone might walk in, but I promise I’m really careful when I’m out after curfew. I’m always wearing the cloak.”

Remus’ eyes grew wider as Harry rambled, hardly taking a breath, and the whole situation became inordinately clear. Oh, cub, you have no idea, do you?

Forget what Lily would do in the situation. Prongs would laugh himself sick at his oblivious little boy. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re not letting all those prejudices about Slytherins get in your way,” he said eventually. “More students could stand to do that. But Harry, you must be careful. He is still a Malfoy after all.”

“That doesn’t make him evil,” Harry retorted angrily. Remus held up a placating hand. 

“I didn’t mean that. All I meant was, he’s still Lucius Malfoy’s son. You need to be careful for his sake as much as yours.”

Harry’s face fell, his green eyes darkening. “His father… his father is an awful man. I don’t know much about his mum, but his dad…” Harry trailed off, shaking his head, and Remus wondered what sort of horrors Lucius Malfoy had inflicted on his poor son.

“Narcissa was never as cruel as Lucius. She was a Slytherin, and certainly no Light witch, but she was never needlessly cruel. And she always thought very highly of family.” All the Blacks did, whatever the rest of their faults. Blood was important in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, in a number of ways. 

“Draco really loves his mum,” Harry agreed. “But… I think he’s scared of his dad. I think she is, too.”

Harry was much too young to have those sorts of shadows in his eyes, Remus thought sadly. But so were many children at the school. A generation that only knew the aftermath of war — for the state they lived in couldn’t truly be called peace, not yet.

“I think your friendship with him is a good thing,” he encouraged gently. It was certainly too late for him to do anything about it; Harry seemed to be in far, far deeper than even he realised. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be friends with him. Just have caution. There are any number of people out there who would be happy to hurt Mr Malfoy as a means to an end.” The headmaster was one of them, no doubt.

“I won’t let that happen,” Harry declared stubbornly. The set of his jaw was every inch Lily Evans. Remus smiled at him. 

“Tell me about him,” he urged. “The Draco Malfoy that you know. Not the one that everyone else sees.”

If he was reading things right, Remus was going to be getting to know Draco Malfoy quite well in future.

.-.-.

Later, when Harry was no doubt tucked up in Gryffindor Tower — hopefully not having late-night liaisons with Draco Malfoy — Remus flooed down to Severus’ quarters, pleased when the Potions Master gave him permission to enter. The man had shed his teaching robe, leaving him in just a white button-up and black trousers, his feet bare. Remus’ throat went a little dry. “Evening, Severus.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Severus retorted, aiming for exasperated and falling just a touch short. Remus stifled a smile, sinking into the comfortable black leather sofa. Severus was in the armchair, a glass of white wine at his elbow. He summoned the bottle and a second glass, directing it over to Remus before the man could even ask. 

“Draco Malfoy is your godson, correct?” Remus asked once the wine was safely in his grasp. Severus raised a thin eyebrow.

“Yes. Why, what has the little whelp done now?” Again, he wasn’t quite reaching exasperated; the fondness was creeping through. 

“Befriended Harry Potter, apparently.” Remus laughed when Severus almost spilled wine over himself at the proclamation. 

“He what?”

Remus relayed what he’d heard from Harry — some, not all of it. He didn’t want to go spilling his cub’s secrets. “It seems they’re quite close now. I daresay Harry even has a bit of a crush.” Oh, it was definitely more than ‘a bit of a crush’, but he didn’t want to give Severus a heart attack.

The dark-haired man stared at him for several long seconds, before his eyes fell shut, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Merlin help me,” he muttered. “The children of today have no sense, do they? Meeting in secret in Albus Dumbledore’s castle, sweet Salazar.”

“I don’t recall us having much more sense when we were thirteen, Severus,” Remus pointed out dryly, biting back a laugh when Severus’ ears reddened at the tips. “I told Harry to be careful. He understands Lucius is not to be reckoned with.” That brought Remus to the point he’d been considering ever since Harry had left his office. “You know them far better than I do, Severus. Do you think Narcissa could be turned?”

There was a pregnant silence. Remus waited patiently. “Narcissa will do whatever will keep her son the safest,” Severus said eventually. “She’d lay down her life for him in a heartbeat.” He pushed his long hair back from his eyes, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Butterflies erupted in Remus’ stomach, that the man was so comfortable around him, but he pushed them down with years of practice. “I have often wondered if there was a safe way to remove Narcissa and Draco from Lucius’ care, should the worst come to pass. She follows him out of fear, not love. Time and time again I have tried to convince her to have a contingency plan in place, but she won’t hear of it, just in case Lucius finds out and decides to punish her for it.”

“And if her son chose to fight at Harry Potter’s side?” Remus asked. Would Draco ever be so brave as to openly do so? People had done stupider things for love.

“Then she would be wherever she needed to be to protect him from the fallout,” Severus replied. “With any luck, the scenario is a long time coming, but… that Potter foolhardiness might be exactly what’s needed to push Narcissa’s hand. She will follow wherever Draco goes, and if that means turning to Potter… she’ll never come to Dumbledore, though. The only flaw in our plan.”

“Harry won’t come to Dumbledore either,” Remus revealed. He still felt sick when he thought about what the headmaster had done to his cub. If the goblins hadn’t scanned him… Severus raised an enquiring brow, but Remus shook his head. “His secrets aren’t mine to share. But safe to say, Harry trusts the headmaster about as much as we do, these days. Perhaps even less.”

“Interesting.” The word was barely a murmur, Severus’ low voice making Remus’ spine tingle in a way he couldn’t turn off, even after all these years. “There’s no point in planning too far ahead now. The things we fear may never come to pass, or at least not for a while.”

“We should be so lucky,” Remus returned, draining his wine glass. He was tempted to top it up, but that would be a foolish move. Between the warmth of the fire and the buzz of the wine, he was too comfortable already. It wouldn’t do to push too hard and lose all his precious gained ground. 

“These brats will be the death of me, Remus,” Severus declared quietly, his words hanging ominously in the fire-lit room. 

“On the contrary, Severus,” Remus replied, thinking of the sparkle in Harry’s green eyes when he spoke of his budding friendship with Draco Malfoy. “I believe they might be the saving grace for all of us. If we play our cards right.”

Harry was young and foolish and naive in so many ways, but not as many as he should be at his age. And despite all that, everything he’d been through; he had so much hope in that young heart of his. 

That sort of hope might be just enough to get them through.

.-.-.-.

Things were tense in Gryffindor tower the night before the match against Slytherin. Even Hermione claimed to be too nervous to study. Half an hour before curfew, Harry got to his feet. “I’m going for a walk,” he said quietly. Hermione shot him a worried look.

“Harry, it’s late.”

“I’ll wear the cloak,” he promised. “I just… I can’t stay here. I need some air if I’m gonna get to sleep.”

She didn’t look pleased, but she kept any further protests to herself. “Just be careful,” she murmured, watching him sneak up the stairs just enough to put on the invisibility cloak in privacy. He only had to wait a few minutes for the portrait hole to open as a couple of seventh years came through, and then he was slipping out into the corridor. 

He’d told Hermione he just needed air, but really he had somewhere to be. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure anyone could hear him as he walked, but none of the few people he passed noticed. They were all too focused on getting to their rooms before curfew. 

Eventually, Harry turned into an empty Transfiguration classroom, and took the cloak off, stuffing it in his bag. He waited.

The door creaked open just wide enough for a blond head to duck through, shutting just as quick as it opened. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Draco muttered. “Going to curse me before the match?”

Harry laughed quietly, his heart light — Draco had come. Harry wasn’t sure he was going to. “I don’t need to curse you to win,” he teased, sinking into a chair. Draco chose the chair opposite, digging the deck of cards from his pocket.

“Just because you’ve got that fancy Firebolt doesn’t mean you’ll win,” Draco retorted, shuffling the deck and dealing hands. 

“I could beat you on a Cleansweep, Malfoy.” Harry stuck his tongue out playfully, and Draco shot him a look of mock-disgust.

“Are all Gryffindors this childish?”

Harry just laughed, playing his first card. 

For all Draco had promised to give Harry pureblood lessons, they usually never got around to that. They would just sit, and play cards, and talk; about quidditch, about school, about the future. Harry had told Draco things he hadn’t even told Ron and Hermione. Draco didn’t judge when Harry said something selfish, or a little bit cruel. It was… nice, not having to guard his language like that. “So what do healers do, anyway?” he asked, remembering what Draco had said last time they’d met. Everyone expected him to become a Potions Master, but he wanted to be a healer when he grew up.

“They heal people, Potter,” Draco replied with a roll of his eyes. Harry shot him a chastising look.

“I figured that. I just meant — muggles have loads of different types of doctors that specialise in different things. So, like, one doctor would just be for kids. Or just a brain doctor, or a stomach doctor, or whatever. They have GPs — all-round doctors, who help diagnose when people need to see a specialist doctor — but then mostly it’s all split up. Surely a healer can’t heal everything?”

“For the most part, yes. They have their strengths; St Mungo’s is split into different wards — spell damage, illness, physical injury, all that stuff. But a good healer should be able to deal with just about anything they come across.”

“What kind of healer would you want to be?” Harry was curious. Draco swore as he saw the card Harry played, glancing down at his own hand. He bit his lip as he thought about his next move, and Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the reddening flesh. Draco played his card, snapping Harry out of his daze. 

“As long as I’m good at it, I don’t really care,” was Draco’s dismissive reply. “I’d probably specialise in spell damage. Counter-curses are always fascinating to me, and I bet there’d be lots of challenging cases. I wouldn’t like to end up delivering babies all day or something.”

Harry made a face; he couldn’t see Draco delivering babies, either. Not that he was completely sure how that all worked, but he couldn’t see Draco doing it. 

“Well, at least you’ll get plenty of practice, when we’re older,” he declared. “I’m in the Hospital Wing all the time. I think Madam Pomfrey is considering giving me my own personal bed.”

With a snort, Draco played the card that won him the round, triumph shining in his silver eyes. “It’ll be a while yet before I know the spells to put your sorry arse back together again. Do try not to get yourself killed before then.”

“Alright, I’ll wait,” Harry agreed. He glanced down at his watch; it was getting late, and tomorrow would be a big day. “We should go to bed. I want to be at the top of my game on the pitch tomorrow.”

“Damn right you do, if you’ve got any chance of beating me,” Draco agreed, sending the cards into their box with a wave of his wand. Before he left, he paused, looking back at Harry. A stray lock of blond hair fell into his eyes, and Harry was struck with the strangest urge to push it aside. “Just… be careful tomorrow, Harry. The Slytherins really want to win this.”

Harry, who had been fending off low-level attacks from Slytherins for the last two week, gave Draco a deadpan look. “Y’know, I’d figured that out.” Hurt flashed in Draco’s eyes, and Harry softened. “I know. I’ll be careful. I’m used to having snakes out for my blood,” he added dryly. “No hard feelings, whatever happens, yeah?”

He held out a hand, and Draco shook it. “No hard feelings when my team crushes yours to dust,” he agreed, yelping when Harry made to jab him in the side. “You’re a barbarian, Potter.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for; keep me civilised,” Harry retorted teasingly. Draco huffed, scowling one last time, then disappeared from the classroom. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, Harry followed after a few minutes, making the short trek back to Gryffindor Tower.

The light from the half-moon streamed through the large windows, guiding his way back. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a flash of movement, and froze.

Down in the grass, skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was an animal. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat — not the Grim, not now, not tonight — but it was much too small a form for that. He stepped closer to the window, squinting to get a better look. The moonlight passed over dark ginger fur. Crookshanks. Relief flooding through his form, Harry made to turn away, only… Crookshanks wasn’t alone. A huge, shaggy black dog trotted across the lawn, approaching Crookshanks. It pressed its nose briefly against his, then turned back towards the forest, Crookshanks following close behind. Harry watched until the pair were no longer visible. 

What on Earth did that mean? Could it really be an omen of death, if Crookshanks could see it too? Maybe it was just a regular dog after all. Or maybe Crookshanks could see death omens too, and this quidditch match was about to be Harry’s last.

He forced himself away from the window, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. It was probably nothing. Cats couldn’t see Grims, even cats as smart as Crookshanks seemed to be. There were all sorts of creatures living in the forest, why couldn’t there be a dog, too?

Chapter Text

They’d done it. Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. 

Harry didn’t think he’d ever stop grinning, the joy bubbling in his chest and threatening to burst out at any moment. He felt a little bad for the smallest moment when he’d seen how heartbroken Draco looked when the Slytherin team landed, but the blond had caught his eye for a second, just long enough to flash half a smile in congratulations. No hard feelings.

Lying in bed now, the celebration party finally dispersed, Harry could feel the bruises on his ribs and shoulders from the Slytherins’ more underhanded tactics. Draco had played a fairly clean game, but the rest of his team hadn’t been quite so courteous. Harry didn’t care. Bruises would fade. They were champions. Even the knowledge that he’d be getting his exam timetable in the morning couldn’t dampen his spirits. They’d won the cup, and he would get through his exams, and the school year would be over — maybe if Sirius Black was still loose, he’d be able to stay in Diagon Alley again, if being at the Dursleys’ was dangerous. They couldn’t exactly station dementors in Little Whinging. 

A dreamy smile crossed his face at the thought. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d get his wish. 

.-.-.

Trying to get out of his quidditch-induced euphoria and focus on his upcoming exams was a bit of a stretch, but Harry managed it. He was a little concerned about Hermione, though; every time he saw her she was buried in parchment and books, the dark circles under her eyes getting bigger every day, muttering runes and charms and potions under her breath. He was starting to wonder if she’d crack before exams could even happen. Not to mention her timetable — how could she take two exams at the same time? Even Hermione wasn’t that good! She snapped at him every time he asked, though, so Harry left her to it and focused on his own books. Ron made a solid attempt at studying, but his attention span was that of a flobberworm. Harry definitely didn’t miss the days where his was the same. For the first time since starting Hogwarts, he felt like himself when he was studying. He felt confident in his knowledge. He could focus.

At least, he could until the note about Buckbeak’s appeal came through. “I can’t believe they’re bringing an executioner,” Ron muttered, scowling at his Potions textbook. “It’s like they’ve already made up their minds!”

“With Malfoy’s dad paying them, I’m sure they have,” Harry muttered derisively. He might be friends with Draco, but he still hated Lucius Malfoy with a passion. “I’ll be back in a minute, I need to go to the library.” He’d somehow lost his notes on Cheering charms, and the section in the standard textbook wasn’t nearly helpful enough for Harry’s liking. To his surprise, Neville fell into stride with him on the way out of the common room.

“Did you say you’re going to the library, Harry?” he asked casually. Harry shot him an odd look.

“Yes… why?”

“Would you mind coming with me for a minute? It’s important.” Neville wouldn’t meet his eye, a curiously determined look on his face. Harry was intrigued.

“Yeah, sure.” Wondering what he was about to get himself into, he let Neville lead him past the library and behind a tapestry, into a room Harry had never seen before. To his surprise, they weren’t alone. 

Susan Bones was there, and Hannah Abbott; but so were Ernie Macmillan and both the Patil twins; Anthony Goldstein; Sullivan Fawley in the year below; and even, to his utter shock, a trio of Slytherins in the corner. Cassius Warrington, looking somewhat uncomfortable. Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini. All of them had their palms open, and all of them bowed their heads when Harry and Neville entered. Murmurs of ‘well met’ echoed through the room, and Neville ducked his head formally.

“Well met,” he greeted. When he straightened up, it was with square shoulders and a confident stance that was entirely at odds with the shy, fumbling Neville Longbottom that Harry knew. 

“Well met,” Harry followed, keeping his palms out as he was supposed to. “What am I doing here?”

“We thought we’d all introduce ourselves properly,” Ernie Macmillan drawled. “Before the school year’s over and we all leave for the summer. There’s been all this talk about the Potter heir finally stepping into society, we thought it’d be nice to welcome you in.”

Harry froze in alarm. “What talk?” he asked sharply. “You can’t be talking. Dumbledore can’t know I know about my inheritance.” He winced as soon as he said it — giving away way too many of his cards at once there — but no one in the group looked all that surprised.

“Relax, Potter,” Greengrass called across the room. “We keep our talk safe within the right circles. Dumbledore doesn’t know a thing.” She folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him coolly. “Am I to assume that he wouldn’t take well to the news?”

“That’s… an understatement,” Harry sighed.

“Professor Dumbledore has taken some pretty strong measures to keep Harry away from us. From this,” Neville said, studying the gathered teens. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Goldstein muttered. 

“Regardless, welcome,” Hannah Abbott said with a smile, gesturing to a couple of empty chairs. Harry and Neville both sat down. “Harry, this is all the heirs currently at Hogwarts — well, most of us. There’s a few more — Slytherins we don’t trust, and the Carrow twins are due to start next year, but for now, this is us.”

“Isn’t Malfoy an heir?” Harry asked, glancing at the other Slytherins. How could they be trusted, but not Draco?

“He is. So are Crabbe and Goyle, and Theo, Pansy, and Millicent,” Zabini confirmed. His voice was deep; he’d hit puberty at the end of first year, and even the fifth and sixth year girls were paying attention to him by now. Harry didn’t know much about him, except that he kept to himself, stayed out of fights, and was incredibly good-looking. “Draco’s situation is complicated.”

Harry snorted; he’d bet he knew about as much about Draco’s situation as Zabini did, by now. “So what’s the point of this little meeting, other than introductions? Is there some sort of induction ritual, or a test I need to pass? How do you know you can trust me?”

“You’re Harry Potter,” Susan said flatly, rolling her eyes. “Also, Neville vouched for you. That’s good enough for us.”

“No ritual, no test. Just a bit of conversation,” Padma Patil piped up, smiling prettily. 

Harry looked between the sisters, brow furrowing in confusion. “How can you both be heirs? If you don’t mind me asking. I mean, surely one of you is older.”

“I am,” Padma confirmed. “But our family magic will decide which one of us is fit to be heir once we come of age, so for now we both train for the position. Lots of families work that way with twins — it hardly seems fair to decide just because of a few minutes of extra life.”

“Different family magics have different conditions for inheritance,” Greengrass explained, her tone surprisingly free of condescension. “Some go for boys over girls, some have magical strength take precedence, some have bizarre and obscure inheritance laws. Not every family makes their public.”

“So how do I know I meet those conditions?” Harry asked, wondering if it had all been some big mistake.

“If the Gringotts Line Test says you’re an heir, you’re an heir,” Warrington told him. “Otherwise it would just say you’re a potential heir. I have an older brother, but the family magic passed him over due to an… incident when we were kids.” His lips twisted in a sour expression, and Harry didn’t dare ask for details. 

He looked around the room, studying faces carefully. “So this is what the Wizengamot is going to look like in ten years, hmm?”

“Maybe not ten,” Hannah said, shrugging. “Some of us still have parents or guardians happy to keep their seats for another fifteen years or so, if all goes well. But eventually, yes.” 

“This isn’t even half of the Wizengamot seats, though. What about the rest?”

“Just because most purebloods try and have children at the same time, doesn’t mean it worked out for everybody. Accidents happen,” Susan said with a cheeky wink. “The rest are either too young for Hogwarts or already graduated.”

“There’s twenty-one of us at the moment that we know of,” Warrington cut in. “But there could be more; not everyone makes their heir’s identity public knowledge.”

“And of course, there’s all the vacant and proxy seats. And some people hold two seats. Like Nott,” Susan continued.

“Theo holds the Nott seat, and the Avery seat on his mother’s side,” Zabini explained.

“Is it unusual for someone to hold two seats?” Harry asked nervously, thinking of the four he had waiting for him when he came of age. Zabini shrugged.

“It’s rare, but not unheard of. Family lines inter-mix fairly well, but most pureblood lines try not to merge too many heirs into one family, or if they do they’ll spread the seats out amongst siblings, like the Weasleys. The mix of family magics can be a little… volatile.”

Great. Even in the pureblood world, he was a freak.

“I read that some of the seats have been vacant for decades,” Harry said. Like the Slytherin seat, and the Peverell seat. Harry didn’t understand why his father hadn’t been Lord Peverell, only the proxy to it — surely it didn’t come through his mother’s line?

“Sometimes lines die out,” Neville informed him. “If the family magics can’t find a suitable heir, they’ll sit in proxy until one steps into the Wizengamot hall. There are probably a few heirs to the older lines who don’t even realise it, but without a Line Test they’ll never know, and that’s not exactly common these days. If a line has truly died, once confirmed by Gringott’s, then the seat stays empty. Some lines are just waiting for a valid heir to come of age, and those seats are held in proxy to whichever family was allied the closest to them when the last heir was in session. Except the Founders’ seats; those always belong to whoever’s head of Hogwarts.”

“The Founders’ lines are different, though,” Goldstein said. Harry eyed him questioningly. “There’s been plenty of legal heirs to the Hogwarts founders in the last few centuries, but their family magics are fussy. If you don’t fit the bill, you can’t claim the seat. And they don’t necessarily make that decision when you come of age. Usually it happens when there’s great conflict in the wizarding world, and the heirs are needed to bring guidance. Also, they’re interlinked — you either get all four, or none at all. So of course, it’s really rare circumstances for the Founders’ seats to be occupied by actual heirs. Hasn’t happened since 1783. Most of the time, even if you’re a legal heir, the family magic just kind-of… sits there.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. That was one less thing to worry about. 

“So between us in this room, we hold almost a third of the seats of the Wizengamot. Or we will, once we all take our seats. That’s why it’s important to play nice in these early stages, so we can make fair and just decisions for the good of wizard-kind.” Hannah’s words were accompanied by a sweet smile and a pointed look in the direction of some of the Slytherins.

“Don’t expect us to be nice to you, Potter,” Greengrass said plainly. “We all have roles to play. But good heirs don’t hold grudges. The Dark Lord almost won because his followers had too many Wizengamot seats, and we’re worse off for it, regardless of what our elders say. I refuse to let that happen again.” She held her head up proudly, daring someone to comment, but everyone was nodding in agreement. Harry wondered how many of them had parents who had followed Voldemort, who had given him their Wizengamot seat. 

He was starting to think he’d judged the Slytherins too harshly all these years, then remembered that Dumbledore’s compulsion spell was supposed to make him do exactly that. He scowled internally; how many of these people could have been his friends if he’d been allowed to be his natural self? His first two years at Hogwarts, he’d been so caught up with Ron and Hermione, refusing to let anyone else get close. He hadn’t even truly befriended Neville until this year. Was that part of Dumbledore’s plan? Keep him isolated from the rest of his peers, so he never found out what he was missing?

“Can we wrap this up? I’ve got an Arithmancy OWL in twelve hours and I am not nearly as prepared as I’d like to be,” Warrington said, a furrow forming on his forehead. That seemed to be the cue for everyone to break apart, claiming other places to be, and Harry figured he should probably get back to the common room as well. Ron and Hermione would be wondering where he was. If Hermione hadn’t passed out from exhaustion yet.

Neville walked with him to the library to get the Charms book he’d originally left for, and the two of them made their way back up to Gryffindor Tower. “Thanks, Neville,” he murmured softly, before they reached the portrait. “It’s nice to know I have allies.”

“The Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom will always be your ally, Harry,” Neville assured him. The words were heavy with magic, like an oath, and Harry’s eyes widened. Neville spoke the password before Harry could vow anything in return.

“There you are!” Ron called, looking up with desperate eyes. “I was starting to think you’d never come back. Help me, Harry, she’s gone mental!”

Harry looked at Hermione, who seemed to have abandoned her own work in favour of taking a vicious correcting quill to one of Ron’s Transfiguration essays. He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re on your own with that one, mate.”

.-.-.-.

Harry kept his head down as he ticked off his exams one by one, determined to do better than last year — not his best, or Dumbledore would get suspicious, but better. It was a relief to get to his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam; the one subject he was truly allowed to try his hardest in.

“Excellent, Harry!” Lupin enthused when Harry climbed out of the trunk after vanquishing his boggart. “Full marks!” He leaned in close, grinning conspiratorially. “Well done, cub!”

His good mood continued all the way to the steps of the castle, where the sight of a familiar bowler hat had him deflating like a balloon. He tried not to outwardly scowl as the Minister acted like he felt bad about Buckbeak in any way, like he hadn’t already decided to kill an innocent creature. It was all he could do to help Hermione drag Ron away before he could do something foolish. 

He was desperate for the day to be over by the time he walked into his Divination exam, the incense in Trelawney’s classroom already making him sleepy. He almost thought he’d dozed off and imagined it when she went rigid in her chair, speaking to him in a raspy voice.

Had he just witnessed a real prophecy?

He climbed down the ladder, unsure whether to tell Ron and Hermione — Hermione would laugh for sure, and Ron probably wouldn’t believe him either. He wasn’t even sure if he believed it. But all thoughts of prophecies, real or not, flew from his head when Ron showed him the note from Hagrid.

“We have to go,” Harry said immediately. “We can’t let Hagrid face that by himself.”

“But Harry, the teachers will never let us out at sunset! Especially not you,” Hermione pointed out. 

“I’ve got the cloak. We’ll go after dinner.” He’d taken to keeping the cloak in his Twilfitt bag at all times, just in case he might need it. He wanted to always be prepared.

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, not even putting up a token protest about Sirius Black and school rules. Hagrid was far too important for that. 

Trelawney’s words rolled around Harry’s mind as they joined the crowd of students heading down for dinner, worry gnawing at his stomach. What sort of chaos was he about to get into now?

.-.-.

He could hardly remember the last time he’d spent actual social time with both Ron and Hermione — not that this really felt like socialising, hurrying down to Hagrid’s hut under the invisibility cloak. The half-giant didn’t let them stay long, worried they might get caught, but it was enough for Hagrid to get some small comfort from their support.

And, unfortunately, enough for Ron and Hermione to start bickering again.

“I’m just saying, I can sympathise,” Ron hissed as they walked away from the hut, careful to avoid the sight of the Minister and Dumbledore heading down to Hagrid’s. Why on Earth was the Minister himself involved in a matter as simple as a dangerous creature execution? It baffled Harry, but he shook the matter from his head; what Fudge got up to was none of his business, not right now. 

“After all, I know what it’s like to have your pet killed,” Ron finished, and Hermione let out an offended noise. Harry sighed to himself, wondering if he could cover himself with the cloak and just slip away, if they would even notice once they truly got arguing.

“What happened to Scabbers was an accident, Ronald!” Hermione retorted indignantly. “How dare you suggest I can’t feel bad for Hagrid just because my cat did what cats do!”

Harry was about to turn away and leave them to it — and then, in the fading light of the sunset, he saw a blur of orange running towards them. 

Crookshanks. Of course. But what was he after?

He heard twin gasps as his two companions noticed the incoming, and then Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth as she spotted the same thing Harry did. “Scabbers!” 

Sure enough, Crookshanks was chasing a small brown blur across the grass — a blur that, when it stopped to turn sharply, had the distinct patchy fur of Ron’s pet rat. 

“He’s alive!” Hermione exclaimed, lurching forward to try and grab the rat. Scabbers kept on straight past her, the bandy-legged cat hot on his tail.

“Not for much longer by the looks of it,” Ron growled, already sprinting off in hot pursuit. Hermione hared after them, and Harry sighed, hurrying to catch up. He couldn’t leave them out there, not if they were going to make such a racket while Dumbledore and the Minister were still lurking about. 

They drew closer to the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione faster than Ron as they followed the frantically zig-zagging rat. Harry sucked in a sharp breath as the bushy-haired girl dove, letting out a cry of triumph as her hands closed around Scabbers’ wriggling form. “Got him!” she declared, then let out a quiet yelp. 

Harry and Ron skidded to a halt, unable to do anything but watch as an enormous black dog leapt from the shadows, clamped its jaw around Hermione’s wrist, and began to drag her away.

Right towards the Whomping Willow.

.-.-.

Everything had unraveled so quickly. 

The boys had chased after Hermione and the dog, but the Whomping Willow stopped them from getting too close — at least until Crookshanks somehow did something at the base of the tree, freezing it in place. By that point, Hermione had already disappeared through a hole at its roots. Harry and Ron had no choice but to follow.

From there, things had only gone downhill. 

Now, Harry found himself inside what seemed to be the Shrieking Shack, staring at Hermione on a broken old four-poster bed with Scabbers still wriggling in one hand while her other arm was cradled gingerly in her lap. And stood in front of her, brandishing Hermione’s wand, was none other than Sirius Black. 

“Harry, Ron, run!” Hermione urged, but they both shook their heads — there was no way they were leaving her with the man who had betrayed Harry’s parents. 

Black disarmed them both, awe in his eyes as he stared at Harry, whispering his name reverently. Harry stepped back, wishing he had something else to defend himself with. Wishing he was capable of some kind of useful wandless magic. 

Valiantly, Ron stood between Black and Harry, declaring the Azkaban escapee would need to go through him to get to his godson. But far from striking him down in an instant like one might expect, Black shook his head wildly, insisting that only one life need end that night.

“Why d’you suddenly care about casualties?” Harry retorted quietly. “Didn’t bother you when you blew up Pettigrew and all those muggles, did it? He was your friend! My father was your friend!”

“You don’t understand, Harry,” Black insisted. “If you only knew the full story… it’s my fault, I won’t deny that… but you’ve got to listen to me… you don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you know,” Harry spat. “They trusted you, and you betrayed them. You were their friend! You were their secret keeper!”

Black howled in anguish, reeling back. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” he moaned. “The truth, you need to hear the truth!” Black squeezed his eyes shut as if pained, and Harry took his chance, diving for his wand. Crookshanks dove as well, his claws digging into Harry’s forearm. Hermione screamed. The cat seemed determined to keep Harry from his wand, and Harry growled, shoving the ball of ginger fur aside and reaching — his wand rolled towards him, just enough for him to grasp it. Crookshanks’ claws sliced him through from wrist to elbow as he rolled to his feet, but Harry barely registered the pain, pointing his wand squarely at Black’s chest. 

“Going to kill me?” Black asked with hollow eyes. Crookshanks hopped up onto the man’s chest, planting himself firmly and staring Harry dead in the eye.

What the hell was wrong with Hermione’s cat??

Suddenly, they could hear muffled footsteps from somewhere else in the shack. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat, and Ron called out. Black jumped up, but it was too late; the footsteps were thundering towards them, and the door burst open to reveal Professor Lupin, wide-eyed and wand raised.

“Expelliarmus!” The wand Black held flew out of his grasp — but so did the wand in Harry’s hand. Lupin caught both of them, staring across the room at Black. “Where is he?”

Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion. Who? Black pointed across the room at Hermione, who stared back incredulously, still on the bed. “Me? What?”

“But then, why… unless—“ Lupin’s eyes were darting from Hermione to Black like he was watching a tennis match. “Unless you switched without telling me? To him?”

“I’m sorry, Moony,” Black wailed. “We should’ve trusted you. We should’ve told you! Peter convinced us you were the traitor!”

“Professor Lupin,” Harry asked hesitantly. “Remus. What’s going on?”

“Harry,” Lupin’s voice was calm. “Cub. I think we’ve made a very big mistake.”

And then he lowered his wand and crossed the room, and embraced Black like a long-lost brother.

Harry felt his pulse echo in his ears. Professor Lupin, the man he’d trusted more than anything, was holding the man who wanted to murder him like he never wanted to let go. “Padfoot, old friend,” he breathed, choking on a sob.

Hermione let out a wordless screech at the sight, her face ashen with pain and shock. “WE TRUSTED YOU!” she spat, glaring at the tawny-haired professor. “I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt — I thought, if Dumbledore knows, you must be on our side — but you were working with him all along!”

“Not all this time, let me explain—“

“He’s a werewolf!” Hermione declared, turning to look Harry in the eye. “That’s why he’s always sick. Don’t trust him, Harry!”

Harry thought back over the school year; the regular absences, the silvery orb his boggart became, the strange potion Snape made for him regularly. Even the nickname, Moony. Calling Harry ‘Cub’. “Oh,” he said faintly. “That makes sense.”

Lupin snorted. “I haven’t been helping him, Harry, but I won’t deny I’m a werewolf.” He looked Harry in the eye, his expression earnest. “Please, cub. Will you trust me? Just for a few minutes?”

Harry folded his arms over his chest. Professor Lupin had been good to him this year. He hadn’t seemed like he was plotting to kill Harry — he’d certainly had plenty of opportunities to try. “Talk,” he said eventually.

“Harry, what are you doing? He’s a werewolf!” Ron exclaimed, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. Harry ignored him, shaking off the hand and stepping closer to Lupin and Black. He needed answers.

“I was watching the map tonight,” Lupin started, “I thought you three might go down to support Hagrid, and I wanted to keep an eye out. I watched you head across the grounds to Hagrid’s hut. And twenty minutes later, I saw you leave. And get joined by a fourth name, moving very quickly.”

“Yeah, his,” Harry said with a dark look at Black. “He was following us.”

“Not Sirius,” Lupin corrected. “Peter Pettigrew.”

“What?” Harry gaped. Pettigrew? Their other friend, the one who Sirius had killed?

Lupin turned back to Harry with imploring eyes. “Think, Harry. Wormtail.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, looking at the rat currently playing dead in Hermione’s lap. At Black, who had taken the shape of a dog. Padfoot. “Animagi,” he realised. “You’re all animagi. Which means… Scabbers.”

Black barked out a laugh. “That’s the name he’s been going by, is it? How cute.” He lunged towards Hermione on the bed, but Lupin held him back.

“Sirius, no! They won’t understand, you need to explain.”

“We’re running out of time, Moony!” Black argued. “I can explain after he’s dead, now give me that rat!”

“Harry deserves an explanation,” Lupin insisted firmly. “After everything, he deserves that.”

“What the bloody hell are you saying about my rat?” Ron cut in loudly, glaring at the pair. Through lack of a wand, his fists were raised defensively. He edged closer to Hermione, and Black snarled. 

“Don’t touch him!” His eyes were wild, Lupin’s hand on his shoulder holding him back. “You can’t take him, not now I finally have him in reach!

“Pettigrew’s dead,” Harry said, confused. “You killed him. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone thinks they know,” Black breathed, grinning madly. He lunged forward again, and Ron yelped — then the redhead grabbed Scabbers and held him close to his chest, turning to the door. 

“This is ridiculous,” he declared. “You’re all nutters. I’m getting Dumbledore, or the aurors, or—“ 

“No!” The cry came unbidden from Harry’s lips, but he wasn’t the only one — Black and Lupin both shouted too, Lupin raising his wand to send ropes at Ron’s ankles to stop him from leaving. But at the same time, Harry flung an arm out, a burst of magic slipping instinctively from his fingers. He wasn’t even sure what he’d been trying to do, but whatever it was interfered poorly with Lupin’s spell — Ron stumbled as the magic hit him, then there was a truly disturbing popping noise, and all of a sudden the redhead blanched, falling unconscious, his right leg splaying out at a horrifying angle. Harry’s stomach lurched. 

“Oh, shit,” he murmured, eyes wide.

“The rat!” Black cried, as Scabbers tried to make a run for it. With a wave of Lupin’s wand, a metal cage appeared around the creature, which squeaked and thrashed violently in the new confines. “Just kill him, Remus!” Black wailed, but Lupin shook his head.

“Harry needs proof, Sirius,” he replied calmly. He turned to Harry, his amber eyes imploring. “Everyone thought Sirius killed him. Even I believed it until tonight. But the map doesn’t lie. I would know.”

“He’s just a rat!” Hermione sobbed. “He’s been in Ron’s family for ages!”

“Yes, quite a few years, I’d imagine,” Black agreed grimly. “Far longer than a regular rat could be expected to live.” Harry sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I— I don’t know if Ron ever said how long. He was Percy’s before Ron got him.”

“Harry, you can’t be serious!” Hermione protested. “Don’t tell me you believe this?”

It sounded mad, Harry knew. But the desperation in Lupin’s eyes… that couldn’t be faked. 

There was a loud creak as the door swung open on its hinges, knocking against Ron’s shoulder, and for a second nobody moved. But nothing happened.

“No one ever knew there were three unregistered animagi running around Hogwarts in our school days,” Lupin said, gaze flicking between Harry and Hermione. “They always said they’d register after the war, but— well.”

“Hurry up Remus,” Black muttered impatiently. “I’ve waited twelve years for this, I don’t want to wait any longer!”

“They need the truth, Sirius. We need to do this properly.” Lupin squeezed his friend’s shoulder. He turned back to Harry. “They learned to keep me company, you see. The potion Severus makes for me is a fairly recent invention. When I was in school, it didn’t exist, and my transformations were… awful. Having them around in their animal forms, I didn’t want to hurt them like I did humans. They could stop me from hurting myself.” He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. “All year, I’ve been debating whether to tell someone about Sirius’ form. When he got into the castle, I knew he had to be transforming to stay hidden. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t betray James’ memory like that. So I stayed quiet, because he was pack, and even after twelve years I couldn’t believe he would truly hurt Harry.”

“You swore to me.” The new voice startled all of them, when Snape whipped off Harry’s invisibility cloak and revealed himself in the corner of the room, wand held aloft at Lupin’s face. “You swore on Lily’s memory that you weren’t helping him.” He glared at Black, who looked from Snape to Lupin and then let out a loud groan.

“Really, Moony? Snivellus? Again?”

“Shut up, Sirius!” Lupin bit out. “Severus, please, allow us to explain.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Snape said icily. “You left the map open on your desk, Lupin. I came to bring you your potion, and to my surprise, whose name did I see running across the lawn? I should’ve known you were helping him all along. After all you said…”

“Severus,” Lupin took a step towards the man, ignoring the wand in his face, voice raw with pain. “You don’t understand. I never helped him, but we got it all wrong. Please, just listen, for me.”

“Please, Professor Snape,” Harry added. He’d never been so polite to Snape in his life, but if it made him hold off for just five more minutes. “Trust him. There’s something going on here.”

“Oh, there’s something going on alright,” Snape muttered, his eyes lingering on Lupin’s hand curled around Black’s shoulder. He stared at Lupin for a long time, then… he lowered his wand. “If you betray me again, I will kill you, wolf,” he said to Lupin, who sobbed in relief. 

“You say the sweetest things,” he murmured in reply. Black snorted. 

Hermione stared at Professor Snape in astonishment, still cradling her clearly broken arm. “Professor,” she breathed in horror. “No, please — you have to get the headmaster! Ron is—“ She broke off with a whimper as Snape glared at her, nudging the unconscious Weasley with his foot.

“He is alive,” he dismissed, and turned back to Lupin. “Talk.”

“I thought Peter was dead,” the werewolf said hoarsely. “I thought — I didn’t know what Sirius wanted with Harry, but I thought Peter was long gone. Until I saw him on the map tonight, and then saw Sirius’ name.” He turned to Black, brow furrowing. “How? How did you find him, Sirius?”

“He was in the paper,” Black said, reaching into his robe and pulling out a battered piece of paper. It was the Daily Prophet, from the issue talking about the lottery Mr Weasley won. The picture of all the Weasleys in Egypt, Scabbers perched on Ron’s shoulder. “I saw it, when the Minister came to inspect. On the front page. I knew him at once… how many times have I seen him transform? I knew I had to leave as soon as I read the boy was a Hogwarts student. I couldn’t let him— Harry,” Black broke off in another moan, wrapping one arm around his stomach as his shoulders shuddered. Lupin squeezed him assuringly. 

“He’s alright, Padfoot. Harry’s fine.” He looked from the photo, to Scabbers, and back again. “Good Merlin,” he said slowly. “His front paw.”

“What about it?” Harry asked quickly, craning his neck to look at the picture.

“All that was left of Pettigrew was a finger,” Snape murmured, comprehension dawning in his dark eyes.

Harry whipped around to look at Scabbers, who had frozen in fear in his cage. His front paw was, as it had always been, missing a toe. 

“I didn’t think he had the brains for it,” Snape said, meeting Black’s gaze for the first time. “What did he do, cut it off and run?”

Black nodded. “Screamed all about how I betrayed Lily and James, then blew the street up with his wand behind his back, lopped off his finger and transformed.”

“So simple,” Lupin whispered. “Yet brilliant.”

“A first for old Pete,” Black agreed with a dark chuckle. 

“So what, he faked his death and hid from you because he knew you betrayed my parents?” Harry retorted angrily, wondering where the whole story was going. 

“I’d never betray Lily and James,” Black declared fiercely, snarling like his animal counterpart. “But it was my fault. I convinced them I was the obvious choice, I told them to make Pete the Secret Keeper instead. We didn’t trust Moony ‘cause of his boyfriend — sorry, Moons, but you can’t blame us — and when I went to check on Peter’s hiding place, it was empty, no sign of a struggle. It didn’t feel right, so I went to the house, and… it was too late.”

“Enough,” Lupin growled. “There’s one way to prove it all.” With a jerk of his wand, the cage vanished, and Scabbers was suspended in mid air, squealing and struggling. “Severus, you know the spell?”

Snape nodded curtly, and in an instant there was a blinding flash of light — then suddenly the rat began to grow and stretch, squeaks turning into human howls of fear. 

In seconds, there was a full grown man stood in the middle of the room. Harry recognised his face, though it had changed quite dramatically from the round-faced boy in the yearbook picture.

Peter Pettigrew, alive and well.

Chapter Text

There was a long, tense silence as everyone stared at the man who had been a rat only moments ago.

“Sirius, R-Remus,” Pettigrew stuttered. “My old friends.”

Harry watched in disgust as Pettigrew tried to beg Lupin for help, insisting Black was trying to kill him. Which, well, he wasn’t wrong — there was a reason Lupin had yet to give Black a wand. 

When that didn’t work, he turned to Harry, throwing himself at the boy’s feet and begging for mercy.

“Enough of this,” Snape snapped, raising his wand. “Your blithering was bad enough when we were schoolboys.” He waved his wand, and Harry winced, fearing the worst. But instead ropes shot out, binding themselves around Pettigrew tightly.

“Let me kill him, Snivellus,” Black whinged, like a toddler unwilling to share his toys. “Or Remus, he can do it! The rat needs to die!”

“Remus has always taken pride in never killing a defenceless human,” Snape said calmly. “It’d be a shame to tarnish that now.”

“If you kill him, you’ll never be free,” Harry spoke up, his thoughts moving quickly. “If we take him to the Minister, he’ll confess, and you’ll get a proper trial. You could clear your name.” He could be Harry’s godfather again.

“Harry’s right,” Lupin agreed. “Azkaban can have him.”

“Fine,” Black pouted. “But if you transform, Peter, we will kill you. I might even let Snivelly here do it. I’ve heard he can be quite creative.”

“Must you, Sirius?” Lupin groaned, head in his hands for the briefest moment. “I thought you’d agreed to stop using that name when Lily hexed you for it.”

“Whoops,” Black replied, entirely unrepentant. “Must’ve forgotten. Azkaban, y’know. Really frazzles the brain.”

“We should go,” Harry said. If they were lucky, maybe the Minister would still be at the school. “What about Ron?”

A wave of Snape’s wand, and Ron’s grotesquely angled knee was bound and splinted. “Mobilicorpus,” he murmured, levitating the redhead’s unconscious body.

“I’ll keep an eye on this one,” Lupin said with a grimace, keeping his wand pointed firmly at Pettigrew, while he passed Harry and Hermione back their own. Hermione took hers in trembling fingers — it seemed she didn’t quite know what to make of the whole situation. 

And so together, they started the journey back to Hogwarts.

It was the most bizarre procession of people Harry had ever been part of, and he stared at Sirius’ back as he walked through the tunnel. His godfather. The man he’d heard so much about — even when Lupin tried not to talk about him, he couldn’t help it. All the stories of James Potter seemed to include Sirius Black. 

Black kept glancing over his shoulder at Harry, wary and uncertain. Neither of them spoke — not until they were clear of the tunnel, and the vicious tree it lived under. 

“I— Moony probably told you, Harry,” Black started hesitantly, “but I’m— I’m your godfather.”

“Yeah. I know.” Harry bit his lip, unsure what else to say.

“Well, I mean, if I get free— that makes me your guardian. If… if you would want that.” Black clearly misread the look of shock on Harry’s face, as he hunched in on himself. “It’s fine if you don’t, I’m sure whoever you’ve got is great, I just—“

“Now’s not the time, Sirius,” Lupin cut in, covering Harry’s snort of derision. Those amber eyes were sympathetic as they looked between the pair. “You can talk this over later.”

They kept walking, but Harry jogged forward a half step, bumping his shoulder against his godfather’s. “I’d love to live with you,” he murmured, grinning slightly. “Just say the word.”

Sirius looked like all his Christmases had come at once. For the first time, Harry could see in him the man from his parents’ wedding photo, the charming boy from the yearbook. 

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

Both of them turned abruptly when Lupin choked out a quiet cry, shoulders tensing, the grey in his hair highlighted by the silvery light of the moon.

The full moon.

Snape and Sirius froze in horror, staring at each other. Ron’s body hit the ground with a thud as Snape’s spell ended abruptly.

“Oh no,” Hermione whimpered, gaze fixed firmly on Lupin as his back began to arch. 

“Your potion,” Snape hissed. “Remus!”

But it was too late — the man was glassy-eyed, his mind clearly elsewhere already. 

“Run,” Sirius urged. “Snape, take the kids and run, now.”

There was no time; Lupin gasped harshly, hunching until he was almost on all fours. His head lengthened, his clothes ripped, his skin began to sprout fur. Harry backed away several steps in horror, and within seconds there was an enormous wolf stood in front of them. A huge black dog tackled it, Sirius throwing himself at the mercy of the wolf, but it batted him aside with a growl. 

Harry stared, transfixed. Snape moved to stand in front of him, wand raised. In all the chaos, no one noticed Pettigrew lunge for freedom until all of a sudden he was shrinking, leaving a tangle of ropes in his wake as he scurried off into the night. Snape cursed, shooting off a spell, but whether he was aiming for Pettigrew or for the werewolf, he missed. The werewolf growled again, striking out with one huge paw. Snape went flying, hitting the grass with a dull thud.

He didn’t get up.

Hermione let out a quiet moan of horror. Sirius whined, then let out a loud howl that made the werewolf turn away from Harry and the others. It howled in return, setting off at a sprint towards the forest, after Sirius. After a minute, they heard a dog yelp in pain. Harry glanced down at the unconscious — hopefully just unconscious — Snape, at Ron equally limp beside him. Then he turned on his heel and ran after the dog and the wolf. 

Sirius needed help. There was no way he could tackle a werewolf alone.

Hermione called after him, no doubt staying with Ron, but Harry didn’t falter — he had to get to Sirius.

He could hear yelping coming from by the lake — until it stopped abruptly. Harry picked up his pace, fear pounding through his veins, wand clutched in his hand. 

When the lake was in sight, Harry knew why the yelping had stopped. The werewolf was gone, but Sirius was on the bank of the lake, a man once more, moaning with his hands over his ears. And swooping ever closer were a whole hoard of dementors. 

Harry felt the cold hands reaching into his chest, sucking out all his happy memories. He tried to hold onto them, raising his wand like Lupin had taught him. “Expecto Patronum!” Sirius wants me to live with him. I’m going to be free. “Expecto Patronum!” I have my godfather back. No more Dursleys. “Expecto Patronum!” 

There.

Suddenly, a huge blinding light emerged from his wand, sending the dementors reeling back screaming. Harry’s hand shook around his wand, the screaming still in his ears, his vision going fuzzy. He could make out some sort of four-legged animal — something with antlers? — galloping across the lake, driving the shadowy creatures away, but his knees gave way all the same, the magic burning through his exhausted body.

And then, everything went black.

.-.-.-.

Consciousness returned to Harry in two stages; the first stage of groggily blinking open his eyes, and the second stage of almost falling out of bed in his haste to get on his feet. “Mr Potter!” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, rushing to his bedside as he struggled to stand. “Kindly desist, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Sirius!” Harry cried out. The nurse’s eyes went soft. 

“No need to worry, my dear. Black is locked away upstairs, the dementors will be with him any minute. He can’t hurt you now.”

“What!” Her words had the opposite affect she intended as Harry tried to sit up once more. “No, they can’t, he’s innocent!” Surely Snape had explained?

He reached for his glasses, looking around the hospital wing as everything came into focus. Ron was passed out in the bed opposite, his bandaged knee propped up on a pillow. Hermione occupied the bed beside his, awake and looking just as horrified, her arm in a splint. And several beds down lay Professor Snape, still completely unconscious. Shit! He was their one hope of getting the headmaster and the Minister to see reason!

Harry’s shout must have been heard from the corridor, as the next minute, Minister Fudge himself was on the ward, accompanied by Professor Dumbledore. 

“Minister, you’ve got the wrong man, Black’s innocent!” he insisted, and Fudge’s eyebrows rose in alarm.

“I say, dear boy; he must have hit you with quite the Confundus charm!”

“Harry’s right!” Hermione agreed, jumping out of bed herself. “Wake up Professor Snape, he’ll tell you!”

“Children, please, calm yourselves!” Madam Pomfrey cut in. “You’ve had quite the ordeal, it’s natural to be confused. Just lie down, and—“

“Professor Snape can confirm it,” Harry echoed Hermione. “Just wake him up.”

“Professor Snape has a very severe concussion; to wake him from that prematurely could cause serious brain injury,” Pomfrey scolded. It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to tell her to just do it anyway, but he resisted. Brain damaged Snape wouldn’t help anything.

“Black must have filled their heads with his ridiculous tale,” Fudge said with a shake of his head. “Something about a rat, and Peter Pettigrew.”

“It’s the truth! Pettigrew’s an animagus, he was Ron’s rat, it was his fault my parents died!” Harry argued.

“Minister, if I might have a word with my students. Alone, if you don’t mind, Poppy?” Dumbledore requested. Neither the Minister nor Pomfrey looked impressed at being thrown out of the ward, but they did as the headmaster bid, Fudge declaring he was going to go wait for the dementors. 

As soon as they were gone, Harry and Hermione about tripped over themselves trying to tell the whole story all at once. 

“It is your turn to listen,” Dumbledore spoke over them, raising a hand. “There’s no time to interrupt. There is not a shred of proof that Sirius Black is an innocent man, as you say he is. The only two adults involved are currently unavailable, and by the time they can tell their story it will be too late. Cornelius will not wait around on the word of two thirteen year-olds. It’s too late, do you hear me?”

Harry glared at the old man— how could he just let Sirius die? Was he that desperate to keep control of Harry?

“But you believe us?” Hermione pressed.

“What I believe is neither here nor there,” Dumbledore told her. “I was not present, therefore I have no power. I cannot overrule the Minister for Magic.” It took all of Harry’s effort to hold back a derisive snort; as if Dumbledore didn’t overrule the Minister all the time. “What we need is more time.” He placed a strange emphasis on the words, and Hermione gasped. “Now listen closely. Sirius Black is being held in Professor Flitwick’s office. Seventh floor, thirteenth window from the right of the West Tower. If all goes well, you should be able to save two innocent lives tonight.”

Harry had officially lost the plot of the conversation, but Hermione was nodding as if the headmaster made total sense. “I am going to lock you in,” Dumbledore announced, straightening up. It is—“ he checked his watch “— five minutes to midnight. Three turns should do it. Good luck.”

“Good luck?” Harry mumbled, utterly perplexed as the door closed. “What the… Hermione, what was he talking about?” She seemed to know exactly what Dumbledore was getting at. 

“Harry, come here,” Hermione urged, reaching into her robes and pulling out some sort of pendant on a very long, fine gold chain. Harry crossed the gap between their beds. The pendant was a tiny, sparkling hourglass. “Closer.” Hermione threw the chain around his neck, too, her movements a little awkward thanks to her tightly-splinted wrist. 

“What is that, Hermione?” Harry asked with trepidation. The bushy-haired girl smiled breathlessly. 

“Just trust me. Ready?”

Harry nodded. Hermione turned the hourglass over three times, and suddenly the ward around them dissolved. The world was nothing but a blur of colour and shapes around him, his blood rushing in his ears — and then it stopped, and he was on solid ground again. In the middle of the deserted Entrance Hall… in daylight?

Before he could speak, Hermione had him by the arm and was dragging him into a nearby broom cupboard. She removed the chain from his neck, stuffing the hourglass back in her robes. “What the hell just happened?” Harry asked in a furious whisper. 

Hermione’s explanation of the Time-Turner left him gobsmacked. “They trusted a fourteen year-old. With a time machine?? No offence,” he added, realising how that sounded. Hermione snorted.

“It is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it? All so I could take some extra classes. But Professor Dumbledore insisted I shouldn’t have to ‘curb my thirst for knowledge’,” she quoted. Harry’s brow furrowed. What was Dumbledore planning? For that matter, why was he letting them save Sirius? 

Unless he needed Harry’s godfather for part of his grand plan? On the run, unable to spend much real time with Harry, but always just out of reach as a taunt of what might’ve been. Harry’s stomach churned uncomfortably. He had the awful feeling they were playing right into Dumbledore’s hand, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not if he wanted to save Sirius. 

“So what’s the plan?” he asked. “You said we’re just outside, walking down to Hagrid’s. How do we save Sirius? Go into the woods and look for him?”

“No, we can’t disrupt the original flow of time. If we warn Sirius now, tonight will never happen,” Hermione whispered. 

“So… if we save him, it has to happen after he’s already captured?” Harry thought carefully about Dumbledore’s words, his specific instructions about Flitwick’s office window. Two innocent lives. “Buckbeak.”

“What?” Hermione was puzzled.

“Buckbeak. The other innocent life we save. We go and grab Buckbeak, wait until Sirius gets captured, then fly up to the window and go get him. He can escape on Buckbeak— they’ll both be free.”

“Harry, Buckbeak was killed,” Hermione pointed out cautiously. Harry gave her a shrewd look.

“Was he?” he returned. “We heard the axe swing, we didn’t see it. There’s a chance.”

It was a small chance, but it was all they had left.

Carefully, the two of them stuck to the edges of the lawn, sneaking behind the greenhouses and into the edge of the forest until they could see Hagrid’s house. It was utterly bizarre, Harry thought, hearing his own voice as Hagrid let them in under the invisibility cloak. “You’ve been doing this all year?” he murmured to Hermione. “Does it get any less weird?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied quietly, and the two shared a slightly manic smile. “We have to wait for the Committee to see Buckbeak, or Fudge will think Hagrid’s hiding him.”

The wait was excruciating. But finally, Hagrid opened the back door, and Harry could see himself, Ron and Hermione walk out of it. They threw the cloak over themselves, entirely unaware of their audience. 

Harry was lucky that Buckbeak was familiar with him; once it was safe to move, the hippogriff was reluctant to leave Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, and as Harry’s furiously beating heart reminded him that it would just take one glance out the window for the people in Hagrid’s hut to see him and ruin everything, he quietly begged the huge beast to move.

 At last, Buckbeak was at the treeline, trotting at Harry’s side. He forged on into the woods, skidding to a halt when Hagrid’s back door slammed open. Harry couldn’t stifle his smirk when Macnair and the Committee member exclaimed over Buckbeak’s disappearance, even if Dumbledore did sound far too amused for his liking. Had this been the man’s plan all along? Had he known about Pettigrew the whole time?

“And now we wait?” Hermione asked him, hugging herself around the waist with her good arm. Harry glance up through the trees; the sun was barely setting. It would be hours yet before Sirius would be captured.

“And now we wait,” he agreed. “We should move, we won’t be able to see the Whomping Willow from here.” They stuck to the edge of the forest, hiding in the growing shadows as they moved closer to the Willow. They watched as Hermione appeared, sprinting after Scabbers. It was strange, watching things that had already happened from an entirely different perspective. Watching himself do things he’d already done.

At last they were all down in the tunnel, and it was silent once more. “How the hell have you been keeping track of yourself all year?” Harry breathed, shaking his head in astonishment. “I’d go mad.” No wonder Hermione had spent the whole school year looking like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She was living about five extra hours to every day. Having to remember where she’d been at what time and who had seen her, so she didn’t accidentally cross her own timeline. All for the sake of a few extra classes?

“It’s been tough,” Hermione agreed. “A few times I’d turn it back a couple of hours just to take a nap in an empty classroom. I don’t think I’ll do it again. It’s too much.”

“Dumbledore and McGonagall never should’ve let you do it in the first place,” Harry muttered. “They should’ve just told you to self-study. You’re smart enough not to need the lessons.”

Hermione blushed, ducking her head bashfully. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve already dropped Divination, and I think I’ll drop Muggle Studies as well.”

That still left her with Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures, but Harry didn’t say a word as they both caught sight of Professor Lupin sprinting across the grass towards the Willow. He levitated a branch to press the knot, sliding into the passageway like he’d done it a million times before. He probably had. 

Shortly after, Snape appeared. He used the same branch as Lupin, grabbing Harry’s invisibility cloak on the way down. A possessive urge reared in Harry, telling him to grab the cloak out of Snape’s hands, but he ignored it. To his astonishment, Snape had been on their side. He’d been willing to listen. 

He couldn’t remember how long they’d been in the Shack for, once Snape had shown up. Surely it wasn’t this long? It felt like they’d waited an age already. Buckbeak scratched impatiently at the ground.

At last, they heard footsteps. The strange group began to emerge from beneath the Willow; Snape levitating Ron, Lupin dragging Pettigrew, Harry and Sirius beaming at each other with Hermione bringing up the rear. Harry’s chest tightened as the moon became clear, and everything all went horribly, horribly wrong. 

“What if we went after him?” he whispered, watching Pettigrew transform.

“And try and look for a rat in the dark, with a werewolf running about?” Hermione retorted. Harry conceded the point. Then, he froze. 

“Hermione, we need to move,” he urged. She huffed.

“Harry, we can’t interfere!”

“No, we need to move, before Lupin runs into the forest,” he reminded pointedly, already up on his feet and yanking on Buckbeak’s rope. Horror filled Hermione’s eyes, and she whipped around. “Hagrid’s cabin,” Harry said, already running, Buckbeak at his side. “It’ll be empty by now.”

Fang barked at them when they threw themselves through the door, but Hermione soothed the huge dog. Buckbeak seemed delighted to be home, making himself comfortable in the bed Hagrid still had made up for him. “Don’t go to sleep,” Harry lightly scolded the animal, rolling his eyes. 

They listened to Lupin howl and Sirius yelp, unable to see anything through Hagrid’s window. “Why didn’t you follow me?” Harry asked, knowing that outside at that moment a version of him was running towards the lake.

“I couldn’t leave Ron,” Hermione retorted. “I thought about getting help, but— I couldn’t leave him. And then Dumbledore showed up anyway.”

Harry scowled to himself — Dumbledore, as always, swooping in at the last minute. How convenient.

When they couldn’t stand waiting any longer, the two students and the hippogriff snuck out of the cabin. Sure enough, there was Dumbledore, striding down towards the lake. Harry watched with his jaw clenched as the headmaster conjured stretchers for his and Sirius’ unconscious forms, hurrying back to do the same for Snape and Ron while Hermione jogged at his side the whole way back to the castle.

From there, the clock was ticking — as soon as Macnair appeared to summon the dementors, Harry tugged on Buckbeak’s rope to wake up the dozing hippogriff, then hoisted himself up onto the beast’s back. Getting Hermione up there wasn’t quite so smooth, with one of her arms out of commission, but with a bit of fumbling she was seated behind him, her face buried in Harry’s shoulder, whimpering quietly. 

Her arms were a vice grip around Harry’s waist, but he ignored it, focusing on guiding Buckbeak up to the correct window. “He’s there!” Harry reached over, knocking on the glass firmly. Sirius, slumped inside the office, sat up in shock. He scrambled to his feet, hurrying over to the window. Hermione raised her wand, unlocking it with a spell, and Sirius wrenched it open.

“Harry!” he gasped, stunned. “How?”

“Get on, there’s not much time,” Harry urged, shifting Buckbeak forward slightly so Sirius could climb on behind Hermione. “The dementors are coming.”

Still gaping, Sirius hauled himself through the window and onto Buckbeak’s back. Hermione locked the window once more, leaving it as if it had never been touched.

With everyone secure, Harry dug his heels in and guided Buckbeak all the way to the top of the West Tower. They landed with a clatter on the battlements, and Harry and Hermione slid off. “Sirius, you’d better leave, now. They’ll notice you’re gone any minute now.”

“What about the others? Is everyone alright?” Sirius asked urgently. Harry shook his head; he needed to move!

“Everyone’s fine, now go!”

“I’ll write you,” Sirius promised. “I’ll figure something out. This isn’t goodbye, Harry.” He leaned down from the hippogriff, pressing his forehead to Harry’s for the briefest moment. “Thank you.”

For a moment, Harry thought about jumping back on Buckbeak and flying off with Sirius to who-knew-where. Away from Hogwarts, away from Dumbledore. Freedom.

But he couldn’t. His friends needed him. 

Instead, he stepped back to watch Sirius nudge the huge beast forward, Buckbeak’s wings stretching wide as he launched himself off the battlements and into the sky. Hermione tugged on his arm. “We have to get moving, quickly!”

Harry wrenched his gaze away, allowing Hermione to drag him down the steps and back into the castle. Sirius would be fine, he told himself. He had to be. 

Luckily, the West Tower wasn’t too far from the hospital wing, and after a near-miss with Fudge in the hallway, they made it back to the doors just as Dumbledore was excusing himself from the ward. He smiled benevolently at them. Harry refused to meet his gaze. “All done, then?” Harry and Hermione both nodded. Dumbledore’s smile widened. “Excellent. And I think—“ He cocked his head, listening through the door, “— yes, I think you’ve gone too. Quickly, now.” He ushered them back into the hospital wing, and the lock clicked behind them.

They’d done it. 

Harry let out a breathless laugh, meeting Hermione’s equally incredulous gaze. They crept back to their beds, just in time for Madam Pomfrey to emerge from her office. “Did I hear the headmaster leave? Am I allowed to look after my own patients, now?” She had a sour expression on her face as she shoved enormous blocks of chocolate at both Harry and Hermione. Harry settled down in his bed, taking a bite out of the sweet confection. He could relax now. Sirius was safe.

.-.-.-.

Severus ran gentle fingers over the lump on the back of his head, hissing as the flesh stung. It was too much to hope that the evening’s events had been some bizarre, concussion-induced dream.

He’d woken up to the Minister raging in the middle of the hospital wing — Black had somehow escaped, right under his nose. Weasley was still unconscious, but when Severus dared look at Potter and Granger, they seemed entirely too innocent for their own good. Feigning sleep still, Severus managed to piece together what had happened after he’d been knocked out.

He never thought he’d see the day where he was actually pleased Sirius Black got off scot-free. He snorted to himself quietly; how things had changed. To learn that Pettigrew was the traitor after all… a few things certainly made sense, in hindsight. He wondered how Lupin was taking the whole affair, then glanced towards the window. The sun was only just rising over the tops of the trees. Lupin would have no clue about anything that had happened after his transformation.

Pulling himself into a standing position made Severus wince, but he was no stranger to pain. He bent down to buckle his boots, then straightened up, looking around the hospital wing. The three Gryffindors were fast asleep, and Poppy was nowhere to be found. 

His wand was on the side table, and he grabbed it, tucking it back into his pocket as he walked somewhat gingerly from the ward. After a brief detour to get clothes for the man, he was striding across the lawn in the early dawn light, and stopped at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. “Point me Remus Lupin.” His clear, curt tones had his wand spinning in his hand, and he walked on once it settled on a direction. 

As he searched the dark woods, he couldn’t stop his thoughts returning to what had happened the night before. The werewolf in front of him, rearing up with a howl, definitely bigger than it had been when he was sixteen. He could hardly believe he’d been so foolish as to stand in front of it, even if it had been to protect students. To protect Lily’s boy. He’d stared a werewolf in the face, for the second time in his life, and lived to tell the tale. Hopefully, it would be the last time. But with some of his recent life choices, he found he couldn’t promise himself that.

“Daft wolf,” he muttered when he finally came across the man, wishing he didn’t sound so fond. The greying man was sprawled awkwardly across the forest floor, entirely naked and covered in scratches. He groaned softly when Severus knelt down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, up you get. You need to get inside.”

“Mmm, Severus?” he mumbled, blinking open hazy eyes. Severus watched as the events of the night rushed into clarity in the man’s eyes. “Harry!” he exclaimed, voice hoarse. “Oh, Merlin, is he alright? Did I hurt him? Where’s Sirius?— and— Peter!”

“Remus, breathe,” Severus cut through the man’s panicked ramblings, squeezing his shoulder. “Potter is fine. You didn’t hurt anyone. Pettigrew escaped, but so did Black.” He set the bundle he was carrying down on the ground, revealing a pair of soft black trousers and a thick brown cardigan. “Let’s get you back to the castle. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

It was slow going, getting Remus dressed and moving, and by the time they reached the castle doors Severus had given up letting the prideful idiot walk and just hauled him up into his arms. Remus looked up at him, grinning faintly. “I think I’m swooning,” he declared playfully, laughing when Severus scowled. 

“Quiet, or I’ll leave you to crawl back to your quarters.” They both knew the threat was an empty one. Nonetheless, Remus settled down, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he rested his head against Severus’ shoulder. The Slytherin’s heart stuttered. 

Finally, they were in Remus’ bedroom, and Severus deposited the man as gently as he could on the mattress. Remus closed his eyes for a long moment, then swore quietly. “Twelve years,” he murmured. “I thought my best friend was a murderer for twelve years. Peter, this whole time… how could I have been so wrong, Severus?”

“The evidence against Black was damning,” Severus pointed out. He perched on the edge of the mattress, his own muscles aching. His night hadn’t exactly been sunshine and roses either. 

“I should’ve trusted him.”

“Why? He didn’t trust you.” Severus could still remember how it’d been back then, Remus full of anguish when he realised his friends were suspicious of him after all they’d been through, that they thought for even a second that he’d turn away from the Light. Severus had tried to convince him that their association wasn’t helping, but Remus refused to give him up. Foolish, idiot Gryffindor. 

“If I’d pushed for a trial, this never would’ve happened. Harry never would have been raised by her.”

“The Ministry never would have listened to a werewolf,” Severus pointed out. “It’s all moot. What matters now is that we know the truth. Potter knows the truth.”

“But Sirius is still a criminal in the eyes of the world, and Peter’s free to take his slimy little traitorous arse back to his precious master, wherever he is,” Remus said with a scowl, wincing as it tugged on a cut on his face. Honey eyes met Severus’ dark ones, far too old to be sitting in such a young face. “Everything’s about to change, isn’t it, Severus?”

Severus glanced down to his fabric-covered left forearm, where the barely-there Dark Mark ached like it had been for the last year. Not enough to cause a problem, but enough to be noticeable. “I’m afraid you’re right.” They were on borrowed time. “This is only the beginning.”

Remus’ face twisted in resignation. He reached up to cup Severus’ jaw, hand sliding around to the back of his head. Severus couldn’t help but flinch as fingers pressed against the lump on his skull. “You’re hurt,” Remus realised. “What— was it me?”

Severus stayed silent, which was confirmation enough, and horror flooded Remus’ face. “Oh, Severus, no. Tell me I didn’t bite you. You said everyone was fine!”

“Hush, Remus,” Severus soothed. “You didn’t bite anyone. You merely knocked me aside when I stood between you and the children. I’ll heal.”

“You… you stood between me and the kids? After I’d transformed?” Severus nodded. In the blink of an eye, Remus was yanking him down, and suddenly there were lips pressed to his. Severus tensed, but muscle memory took over, his lips moving against Remus’ and his hand tightening on the man’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Twelve years, yet it felt like no time at all. His heart ached as Remus’ tongue snuck between his lips, a low groan dragging from deep in the man’s throat. 

When Severus finally had the sense to pull away, he found himself with one leg flung over Remus’ thigh, practically straddling the man. Remus stroked his cheek gently, his eyes alive in a way Severus hadn’t seen all year. “I am so sick,” the Gryffindor breathed, “of trying to pretend I’m not absolutely mad about you, Severus Snape.” His kiss-swollen lips curved in a faint smile, his head tilting up to bare his neck slightly, the cardigan hanging off his narrow shoulders. With his mussed hair and trusting gaze, he looked like every dream Severus had never let himself have. “Stay. Please.”

All year, Severus had been reminding himself of all the reasons he couldn’t have Remus Lupin. Telling himself time and time again that his teenage desires were going to get one of them killed, and they were adults now, and childish love wasn’t enough. 

All those reasons seemed to have fled his brain as he stared down at the man who had seen him through everything, the man he kept coming back to no matter how many times they pushed each other away. 

He righted himself, sitting on the edge of the mattress once more. A whimper escaped Remus’ lips, the light in his eyes dimming. 

Severus leaned down and unbuckled his boots. 

He was done denying himself things. If the Dark Lord was to return, he deserved every scrap of good he could hold onto before it was too late. 

He shrugged his teaching robe off his shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Severus.” The only person to ever say his name so reverently. He ached, all the way down to his bones, and not just from being flung across the grass by a full-grown werewolf. He was so tired. Tired of being alone. Tired of so many things.

Lying down on the mattress beside Remus felt like coming home for the first time in years. Their bodies were different, older — Severus wasn’t as bony, and Remus was bonier than ever — but they curled into each other like two halves of a magnet, Remus tucking his face into Severus’ neck, sprawled heavy over the Slytherin like he was scared Severus might leave as soon as he fell asleep. The weight was comforting, and Severus’ hand settled low on Remus’ back, beneath the cardigan, cool fingers pressing against warm skin. “Sleep,” he urged in the barest whisper, burying his nose in the man’s greying hair. He smelled like the forest, like wilderness. Severus’ tame wild thing. Always Severus’. Even when neither of them wanted it that way.

“I missed you.” Remus’ words were muffled by Severus’ collarbone, but he felt them all the same, shaking him down to his core. This felt like the first thing he’d done right since he’d turned spy against the Dark Lord. 

They would have a lot to talk about in the morning. They would have plans to make, and headmasters to avoid, and lies to weave. It would be difficult, and dangerous. But they would do it. Together. 

For now, Severus closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of his wolf, the comforting weight across his chest.

For now, they could sleep, like the world didn’t exist. In that room, with the two of them finally reunited properly, after twelve years apart, it was enough. It had to be.

For now.

Chapter Text

Pomfrey released all three of them from the hospital wing after lunch the next day, and Harry had nearly forgotten that the world kept going on without them. The castle was almost entirely deserted, everyone taking advantage of the glorious weather and the lack of exams and the last Hogsmeade visit before the end of the school year. No one had any idea what had happened in the night, how close an innocent man had come to losing his life. 

That was the thing about Hogwarts. It never failed to remind you that the universe didn’t revolve around you. 

Everyone knew, of course, that Sirius Black had been caught and escaped again. The Hogwarts rumour mill was a creature unto itself. But no one knew the truth. 

None of the trio felt like going to Hogsmeade after everything that had happened. Ron’s leg, despite being fixed up by Madam Pomfrey, was still sore and stiff, and privately Harry thought the redhead was shell-shocked from learning his pet rat had been a grown man the entire time. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed to finally be feeling the effects of her overloaded schedule; she’d gone up to bed, telling the boys not to wake her even if she slept through dinner. 

That left Harry alone, wandering through the grounds in the bright sunlight, finding himself at the edge of the lake. He could hardly wrap his head around it all — he’d performed a proper Patronus charm, right there, and saved Sirius’ life and his own. Hermione had been time-travelling for the entire bloody school year. It was madness.

“Alright, Harry?” It was Neville, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and dirt smudged across his forehead. “You and Ron weren’t in the dorms last night. I… what happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… a long story,” Harry dismissed with a shake of his head. “What are you up to?”

“I’ve been helping Professor Sprout get the greenhouses ready for the summer,” Neville explained. “With all the students gone, she’ll be looking after them all by herself, and some of the plants need to be moved first. I just came to get a bit of fresh air.” Neville sat down on the sand beside Harry, briefly bumping the smaller boy’s shoulder with his own. “You ready to leave?”

“I never am,” Harry replied wryly. Neville knew he didn’t like his muggle relatives, and he gave Harry a sympathetic grimace. 

“Maybe you could come visit me and gran for a bit,” he suggested. “Dumbledore can’t keep you locked up with the muggles forever, right?”

Harry wanted to point out that the headmaster could and definitely would if he thought it would help his plans, but he stayed quiet. “Yeah, maybe.” That would be nice, going to Neville’s house. His gran could help Harry learn about the Wizengamot, and what to do about Dumbledore. 

“I wonder what our Defence teacher will be like next year,” Neville mused, digging his fingers into the sand. “It’s a shame about Professor Lupin. I mean, if he made it this far without eating anyone, clearly he can’t be that bad.”

“What?” Harry stared at him in alarm. Neville cocked his head.

“You haven’t heard? Professor Lupin is a werewolf, Harry. Apparently Snape told all the Slytherins this morning. Everyone in the school knows by now. He’s resigned, I heard. Packing up his stuff today.”

Harry froze. No, Snape wouldn’t… he couldn’t. Lupin was leaving?

He scrambled to his feet. “I have to go.” Neville called out after him, but Harry was already sprinting back towards the castle. He couldn’t let Lupin leave, not yet. 

Lupin’s office door was open when Harry ran towards it, and he flung himself into the room, gasping. Most of the man’s things were already gone, and a steady stream of books were floating off the shelf and packing themselves neatly in a trunk, guided by Lupin’s wand. The man looked up when Harry entered, his eyes sad. “Hello, cub,” he greeted. “Heard the news?”

“You can’t leave,” Harry blurted.

“I’m afraid I have to, Harry. This time tomorrow, the owls will start pouring in. Attitudes are better, but there are plenty of parents who won’t want a dangerous, bloodthirsty beast living in the castle with their children.” His tone was wry, resigned. Harry glared at him.

“You’re not dangerous,” he insisted. “You’re the best Defence teacher we’ve ever had.”

That made Lupin smile. “Thank you, Harry. But I’m afraid not everyone is as open-minded as you.”

“I can’t believe Snape,” Harry growled. “I was just starting to think he might be alright. How dare he tell everyone!”

“Severus didn’t say a word,” Lupin told him firmly. “I can assure you of that. No, my secret was spilled by… another source. Severus was part of the conversation, but he didn’t realise one of his Slytherins was eavesdropping until after Dumbledore left.”

Harry looked at his professor, comprehension dawning, and his face grew dark when Lupin nodded. Dumbledore. Of course. “He did it on purpose.” He had no proof, but he didn’t need it. Remus nodded in agreement. 

“Most likely. I got too close to you, Harry. He doesn’t like that.” Lupin reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a familiar piece of old parchment. “However, now I’m no longer your teacher, I feel no remorse about giving you this back. This, too; Severus retrieved it from the Shack this morning.” He brought Harry’s invisibility cloak out from behind his chair, neatly folded. “From one Marauder to another. The legacy you should’ve had since the very start.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he took both items from Lupin. It was ridiculous, he’d had both of them in his possession before, but being given them now felt… bigger. His father’s legacy. “Keep them safe, Harry.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Harry said quietly, sounding far younger than his thirteen years. Lupin smiled, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. 

“It’s for the best, cub. I’m about to have some other priorities, once I catch up with an old friend,” he said with a pointed glance. “And you could do with more allies outside the castle.”

“But I just got you back.” Harry hated how desperate it came out. Lupin softened, pulling him into a brief, tight hug.

“You still have me, cub, I promise,” he vowed, lips pressed to Harry’s hair. He let go, smiling. “I’m not about to let you slip out of my life a second time, regardless of what happens. You’re family.”

“Family,” Harry echoed, a slow smile creeping across his face. He’d never had one of those he actually liked before. 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Lupin said, turning back to his packing. Harry stowed his map and cloak away in his bag, raising an eyebrow. “Rumour has it, you performed quite the Patronus charm last night.”

“It was a stag,” Harry boasted, and Lupin beamed. “That was Prongs, right?”

“Indeed it was. Your father’s animagus form was really quite something. James would be over the moon to see your Patronus take after him.”

Harry beamed at the thought, his heart clenching. At least this way it was like he had his dad with him still, after a fashion. “Are you alright?” he asked, brows furrowing in concern. Lupin seemed to be moving a little stiffly. “After last night and everything.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, cub. I’m more than used to the whole process by now,” Lupin assured with a shake of his head. “I’m just glad none of you got hurt. I’ve not been that irresponsible about a moon since… well. Never mind. I suppose, under the circumstances, priorities were a little off last night. But Severus got me back to the castle safely this morning, and I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.”

Harry bit his lip; it was awful to think that his friendly, quiet professor had to go through such a painful-looking ordeal every month, that he was so accustomed to it he didn’t even flinch at the memory. Lupin was far stronger than he looked; stronger than Harry had given him credit for. 

The latter half of the man’s words made Harry pause, his thoughts returning to the night before. “Look. Um. About Sn— Professor Snape.” The professor paused in his packing, face turning apprehensive. “I know you said that you know him differently — I mean, clearly; you went to school together and all. And he was decent last night. But all the rest of the time… he hates me. He’s constantly singling me out and giving me detention even though my Potions’ work is no worse than Ron’s, and it’s way better than Neville’s! He’s awful to me all the time and I know he hated my dad but I’m not him, and surely— can you talk to him, or something?”

He winced at the slight crack in his voice; the last thing he wanted was to sound like a whiny little child. He just didn’t understand. Snape seemed to have two totally different personalities these days, and Harry brought out the worst in him. 

Lupin sighed, leaning against his desk. “Professor Snape doesn’t hate you, Harry, I can promise you that,” he declared. Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m serious. Yes, the history between him and James — and him and Sirius — is… complicated, to say the least. And I don’t doubt that Severus uses James’ name against you far more often than he should. But you have to understand, cub; when we were younger, it was even harder to be a Slytherin than it is now. Severus’ contemporaries were the likes of Avery and Lestrange and Malfoy. Being a Slytherin of particular talents, he was — and still is — expected to run in certain circles.”

It started to dawn on Harry with a sickening sort of clarity. “Circles that wouldn’t like hearing he’d been nice to Harry Potter in class,” he finished dully. Lupin grimaced, but nodded.

“He walks a dangerous line. With Dumbledore on one side, and… others waiting in the shadows. He must act as he is expected to act, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. But I promise you can trust him, Harry. Now more so than ever, if I won’t be in the castle. He’s a good ally to have.” His lips quirked wryly. “I trust him with my life, and he has earned that trust a dozen times over. Regardless of any… issues we may have had as schoolboys.” Lupin clapped Harry on the shoulder, squeezing gently. “Does that help to hear?”

“It does, actually. Thank you.” Harry had been learning all year about the roles people had to play in public — including the roles he himself was destined to hide behind. Clearly it was all far more complicated than Lupin made it seem; but Harry hadn’t expected him to air Snape’s personal business to a student, even his cub. Something settled in his chest at the confirmation, though — Snape was just keeping up appearances, the same as the rest of them. 

Harry could work with that.

He was about to ask another question when they were interrupted by a knock on the open door — Professor Dumbledore, looking apologetic. “I’m afraid it’s time. Your carriage is at the gates, Remus. I thought I might escort you down.” He didn’t look entirely thrilled to see Harry in there talking to Lupin, and Harry tried not to glare at the old man. 

“I’ll come with you,” Harry said, daring the headmaster to tell him otherwise. 

Lupin sent the last of his things into his trunk with a wave of his wand, then levitated it out of the room, following behind Dumbledore with Harry at his side. 

“Why so glum, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, turning back to him as they walked. “You should be very proud of what you accomplished last night. You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate.”

A memory flashed behind Harry’s eyes. Trelawney rigid in her chair. Greater and more terrible than ever before. How could he have forgotten? “Professor,” he asked, looking up at the headmaster. “Has Professor Trelawney ever made a genuine prediction?”

Dumbledore froze, his eyes going wide and panicked for the briefest of seconds. Harry almost missed it. A blink later, and he was back to his genial self. “Professor Trelawney? Why, I believe she must have made some correct ones, in her time. Why do you ask?”

“I think she made one after my Divination exam yesterday. She said Voldemort’s servant would set out to return to him before midnight, and he’d help him rise to power.” Harry didn’t want to tell Dumbledore the exact wording of the prophecy, just in case he knew more than Harry did. All the same, the man looked a little too happy to get news like that. Again, he hid it quickly, but Harry was watching closely enough to see the satisfied smirk whip across the headmaster’s face. Beside Harry, Lupin looked grim.

“One thing you’ll learn about prophecies, Harry, is that they are inevitable. Nothing you could have done last night would have changed the outcome — if that is what is to come to pass, then that is what will be. You cannot blame yourself for the whims of fate.”

“But we have to be ready, if Voldemort is really coming back!” Harry wanted to know if Dumbledore was truly going to keep him docile, tugging him along like a lamb to slaughter. Would he let Harry prepare himself?

“I think that’s best left to the adults, don’t you, Harry?” Dumbledore replied lightly. “You merely need to worry yourself about enjoying your summer freedom.”

When the headmaster wasn’t looking, Harry shared a look with Remus. Just what was the old man planning, and why did it involve keeping Harry in the dark with his powers bound in the face of something so dangerous?

At Dumbledore’s prompting, Harry said goodbye to Lupin at the Entrance Hall, making no move to suggest their relationship was anything more than student and favoured professor. He watched the pair walk down the drive, the cogs turning in his brain. There were so many secrets, so many things he didn’t know. Harry didn’t like it. 

He wanted to know what Dumbledore was up to, before the man’s plans got him killed.

.-.-.

A few days before the end of term, Harry got a letter from Sirius, carried by an owl that looked like a fluffy grey tennis ball. 

Dear Harry,

I hope this reaches you before you leave Hogwarts. I have a few doubts about the owl’s reliability, but he’s the best I could find. 

I’m safe. We both are. I won’t tell you anything more, just in case, but I’m safe. The dementors are still searching, but they haven’t a hope of finding me here. I’m going to let some muggles get a glimpse of me soon, far from Hogwarts. Hopefully they’ll lift the security on the castle for next year. 

Also, I have a confession to make. I sent you the Firebolt, with a little help from Crookshanks. Think of it as twelve birthdays’ worth of presents from your godfather. 

I won’t say much more, in case this letter gets into the wrong hands. But know I’m thinking of you, and there’s a little Maraudering afoot. You’ll know more when the time comes. For now, keep your head down, and your ears sharp.

I am enclosing something else for you, which I think will make your next year at Hogwarts more enjoyable. 

If you ever need me, send word. I love you, pup. I’ll write again soon.

Sirius.

PS - I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it’s my fault he no longer has a rat.

Harry hesitated to show the letter to Ron and Hermione, but they were both with him when the letter was delivered, so he couldn’t really say no. To his surprise, Ron held the owl up to Crookshanks for inspection before claiming the little creature, wanting to check it wasn’t hiding anything. 

Harry was overjoyed by the small piece of parchment included in the envelope; signed permission from Sirius for Harry to visit Hogsmeade. That would be good enough for Dumbledore, he hoped. 

“What does he mean, there’s Maraudering afoot?” Hermione asked, reading the letter carefully. Harry, who hadn’t shared the entire history of his father’s legacy with his friends, merely shrugged.

“Who knows,” he said evasively. He hoped it meant that Lupin had found Sirius, wherever he was. 

“Brilliant,” Ron declared, staring at his new owl. “Way better than some stupid rat.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. Ron still hadn’t completely forgiven Harry and Hermione for going back in time without him. Hopefully the owl would go some way towards soothing his ruffled feathers.

.-.-.

Harry’s last night in the castle found him wandering the halls past curfew, safe under his invisibility cloak, enjoying it much more now he didn’t have to worry about a mass-murderer coming after him. He glanced down at the crumpled paper in his hand, checking he was in the right place, then snuck into the classroom to his left. 

For once, Draco was already in there. He jumped when the door opened, and Harry shrugged the cloak off, revealing himself. The blond’s eyes went wide. “You have an invisibility cloak,” he realised. “Suddenly a lot of things are making sense.”

“It definitely comes in handy,” Harry replied, grinning. 

Draco shook his head, gesturing for Harry to pull up a chair. “No wonder you’re always getting into trouble. I bet you had something to do with Black’s little adventure, too — I heard you were in the hospital wing that night.”

Biting his lip, Harry met suspicious grey eyes. “Maybe,” he admitted eventually. “Sirius Black is innocent, Draco. It’s a long story, but he never worked for Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew did. He framed Sirius and faked his own death.”

Draco stared at him incredulously. Eventually, he scoffed. “One day, you’ll tell me that long story.”

“You believe me?” Harry hadn’t expected it to be that easy.

“You have no reason to lie to me about something like that,” Draco pointed out. “I’ll expect an explanation in future. But for now, your word is enough.”

It amazed Harry how far they’d come from the year before, where they could barely stand to look at each other without wanting to hex each other. He much preferred this. 

“So what are your plans for the summer?” he asked curiously, bringing the conversation round to lighter topics. Draco shrugged.

“I might go with Blaise and his mother to Italy for a while. And Mother wants to spend some time at the family home in France. Father never comes with us, there. He’s got too much work to do to take a holiday.” Harry imagined spending a week or two without Lucius Malfoy was the highlight of Draco’s summer. “Do you… do you think we’ll be able to write? Or will Dumbledore find out?”

Brow furrowed, Harry hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. If I’m back at the Dursleys, I might not be able to write to anyone, let alone you.” He’d be lucky if they let him have Hedwig out. Hell, after the way he left, he’d be lucky if they didn’t lock him back in his cupboard all summer. “I wonder if I can get away with another bout of ‘accidental’ magic. Give me an excuse to run to Diagon for the summer again. That was nice.” He doubted he’d be allowed to get away with it twice, but it was a nice thought.

“Whatever you do, just be careful,” Draco replied. “I know it’s hard for you, Potter, but do try and stay out of any life-or-death situations for at least two months.” His tone was mocking, but the concern was real, and it warmed Harry’s heart.

How far they’d come indeed, for Draco Malfoy to genuinely be worried about the safety and wellbeing of Harry Potter.

.-.-.

The train ride home was a quiet one, especially when he compared it to the one that had brought them to school at the beginning of the year. Harry was surprised at how many people managed to catch him while he was walking to the bathroom at the end of the train, imploring him to keep in touch over the summer. Susan Bones; Parvati Patil; even Daphne Greengrass told him to send her an owl sometime. It felt like he’d stepped into some bizarre alternate universe. 

He returned to his carriage with Ron and Hermione, where they were also joined by Neville, Ginny, and a girl with pale blonde hair that Harry didn’t recognise. “This is Luna,” Ginny said by way of introduction. “She’s in my year, in Ravenclaw.”

The blonde girl stared at him with a somewhat dazed smile. “Hello, Harry Potter. I’m glad to see you don’t have wrackspurts on you this year. They looked awfully uncomfortable last year.”

Harry blinked. “Uh. What?” Ginny giggled.

“Luna’s a bit… interesting, but she means well,” she assured. Harry, who still had absolutely no idea what was going on, merely shook his head and sat down between Ron and Neville. Whatever; if Ginny’s weird friend wanted to sit with them, that was fine by him. 

“Cheer up, Harry,” Hermione said as she watched him stare forlornly at the castle disappearing behind the mountains. “I’m sure we’ll be able to see you this summer.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Ron said. “You’ve got to come stay with us, Harry. It’s the Quidditch World Cup this summer, Dad says he can get tickets from work. You can’t miss it!”

Harry, who had never been to a live quidditch match but had listened to lots of them on the Wizarding Wireless he’d bought last summer, brightened up considerably at that. “That’d be brilliant. I bet the Dursleys would love to get rid of me.” It all boiled down to whether Dumbledore would let him go. Surely he couldn’t find an excuse not to? He didn’t seem to mind Harry spending time with the Weasleys.

Conversation livened up as Ron and Ginny started debating over which team would win the World Cup, and Harry leaned back in his seat, a small, sad smile on his face. 

There had been a whole half hour, a glorious half hour, where he’d thought he would be going to live with Sirius when he left Hogwarts this year. 

If only that were the case.

.-.-.-.

As it turned out, having an escaped convict for a godfather was surprisingly good for Harry’s continued existence at the Dursleys. By which he meant Uncle Vernon had only smacked him around a little bit for what he’d done to Aunt Marge, rather than beating Harry within an inch of his life like he’d expected. 

Of course, he didn’t expect things to last, once Vernon clocked on to the fact that, being an escaped convict, Sirius would have a difficult time coming to Harry’s rescue should anything terrible happen. But until that fact dawned, Harry was happy to live with his relatives in a state of uneasy truce. With any luck, he could get permission to go to the Weasleys’ before things got truly awful. 

Two days into Harry’s summer break, at approximately five-fifteen in the evening, the doorbell rang.

Harry — who was up in his room, staring at the ceiling and debating maybe getting a headstart on his Transfiguration homework — didn’t think much of the interruption, though he heard Uncle Vernon muttering about how rude it was to call at such an hour, shouting for his wife to get the door. Harry rolled over on his bed, wincing when it jarred one of the bruises on his back.

Then Aunt Petunia screamed.

On his feet like a shot, Harry hurried down the stairs, wand flicking out of the invisible holster on his wrist. Had Voldemort found him already? 

To his utter astonishment, the person in the doorway was not Voldemort. It was Professor Snape, dressed like a muggle in black trousers and a black button-up shirt, his dark eyes fixed on Harry’s aunt and a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hello, Petunia,” he drawled.

“You,” Aunt Petunia gasped, one hand clutching at her chest in shock. “How— you’re— that awful Snape boy.” The vitriol was clear in her tone. Harry gaped.

“You two know each other?” 

Snape’s eyes flicked away from Petunia to look at Harry, his smirk widening a fraction. “Your aunt and I are old friends, Potter.”

Petunia let out a strange sort of squawking sound. “Friends! As if I ever would have been friends with a freak like you. Telling Lily all about that horrible school until she couldn’t wait to go with you, coming home every summer and flaunting your abnormality all over the place.”

Harry had known Snape and his mother were friends in school — Lupin had told him that ages ago — but he hadn’t realised they’d known each other before Hogwarts.

“May I come in?” Snape requested, already stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, nudging past a still-horrified Petunia. By now, both Vernon and Dudley were in the living room doorway, Dudley’s beady little eyes screwed up in confusion.

“Petunia? Who is this man?” Vernon boomed, stepping up towards the stranger in his home as if he had any hope of intimidating Severus Snape. Snape’s eyes trailed over him in disgust.

“He’s one of them, Vernon. He went to school with the boy’s parents!” Petunia took a step towards her husband, whose face began to turn red, and he puffed himself up even further.

“Now look here, you,” Vernon started, pointing one fat finger at Snape’s face. “You have no right to come into my home and— and frighten my wife! We took the boy back like the old man told us, the rest of it is our business!”

“Are you quite finished?” Snape asked, boredom in his tone. Vernon spluttered, face growing even redder, a vein throbbing above his temple. Harry wondered in vague amusement if this would finally be the moment the man had a stroke. “Potter, pack your things.”

“I can’t, sir,” Harry replied evenly. “They’re locked under the stairs.” He’d picked the lock and smuggled some of his books and such up his first night back, like he had done last year, but the rest was still locked in his cupboard. 

Snape waved a hand, and the padlock on the cupboard fell off, broken. All three Dursleys flinched. Harry laughed when he saw Dudley with his back to the wall, trying to make himself look as small as possible — an incredible feat, at his size — with his hands over his fat bottom. His pig tail had obviously left some fond memories. 

With the cupboard open, Harry dragged his trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage out. His cheeks turned pink in shame when he felt Snape peering over his shoulder, taking in the small space; the ragged cot that had never left, the broken toys piled lovingly on one side, the clear signs that someone had once lived in there. Harry shut the door quickly. “Do I need all of my things, sir?”

“I refuse,” Vernon cut in, “to let this man undermine me in my own home! You’re not going anywhere, boy.” 

Harry flinched at the snarled word despite himself. To his utter shock, Snape placed a hand on his shoulder, staring Vernon down in a way that had made even seventh years wet themselves in fear. Vernon let out a tiny ‘meep’, his moustache trembling. 

“You’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were if you believe you can order me around, muggle,” Snape said sharply. “Potter is coming with me. For the rest of the summer. We may need to… drop in, from time to time. It wouldn’t do for certain people to realise he’s no longer living here. But you will allow him to come and go as he pleases. Or I might just have to share a few childhood stories with some of your lovely neighbours, Petunia. There are some rather… interesting tales, don’t you recall?”

Petunia looked like she was about to faint in horror. “Fine, take the boy,” she said, waving a hand. “Just get out! I don’t want you anywhere near my family!”

“Believe me, Petunia, I have no desire to be near your… family.” Snape’s eyes turned to Dudley, making it abundantly clear what he thought of the boy. Dudley whimpered. “Get a move on, Potter. Your godfather is waiting.”

Harry’s face split into a grin. Snape was taking him to Sirius! He went to drag his trunk up the stairs, but with a wave of Snape’s wand it began to levitate up behind him. “Sir,” he said quietly, once they were up the stairs and out of earshot of his relatives. “Won’t the Ministry be able to track that?” Between breaking the padlock and levitating Harry’s trunk, wouldn’t he get Harry in trouble?

“I have ways of keeping my magic undetected,” Snape assured him. He waited in the doorway to Harry’s room, his gaze studying it. Harry’s stomach turned when he realised Snape would piece it all together. No normal boy had eight locks on the outside of his bedroom door, or a cat-flap, or the need to hide his homework beneath a loose floorboard. No normal boy had zero signs whatsoever that the room he lived in even belonged to him. He grit his teeth, keeping his head held high. He refused to let Snape mock him for this.

“Hedwig is out hunting,” he said, shoving the rest of his possessions into his trunk. He didn’t have much — he hadn’t dared take out any of his new clothes, in case the Dursleys asked where he got them, and the only magical items he had out were his wand and his homework supplies. “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll find you,” Snape assured. “Is that everything?”

Harry gave his room one last scan, then nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Snape shrunk Harry’s trunk down to the size of a matchbox, then led the way back down the stairs, grabbing Hedwig’s cage and shrinking that down too. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry looked to his relatives, quietly amazed that none of them had fainted in fear. If only he’d known sooner that his grouchy Potions’ professor could inspire such reactions in his aunt!

“As I said, Petunia. Potter will come and go as he pleases, and if I find out you’ve told anyone where he is or who he’s with, I promise you will regret it,” Snape said coldly, staring Petunia right in the eye. She glared at him, arms folded over her chest.

“Your father should’ve tried harder to beat it out of you,” she spat. “You have my word, Snape. We won’t say anything.”

Harry gaped at his professor, Petunia’s words making a sickening realisation come together in his mind. Beat it out of you.

Maybe he and Snape were more alike than he thought. 

To his credit, Snape didn’t so much as flinch, offering one last sneer before turning to Harry. “Hold my arm, Potter. Tightly, now.”

Harry did as bid, gripping tight to Snape’s forearm, and all of a sudden the world span on its axis. 

It was just for a split second, but Harry felt like he was being shoved through a small tube. His knees buckled slightly when he landed, but Snape kept him upright, walking him forward several steps. “Side-Along Apparition. Not entirely pleasant the first few times,” the professor explained. Harry let go of his arm, staring in shock.

They had arrived in the middle of a long gravel driveway, with wide stretches of lawn either side that faded into woodland. At the end of the driveway was an enormous manor house. All dark wood and grey stone, it was an imposing silhouette against the forest behind it, four stories tall and bigger than anything Harry had seen before. 

“Where are we?” he breathed in amazement, looking for any sort of clue as to where Snape had taken him. Were they even still in England?

Then, the front door of the manor slammed open, and bounding down the steps came an enormous black shaggy dog.

Chapter Text

As soon as he saw Padfoot, Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He laughed, dropping to his knees with his arms wide open, but by the time the dog took his last huge leap towards Harry he was transformed back into a man, wrapping the boy in a crushing hug. “Hello, pup,” he greeted huskily. 

“Sirius.” Harry clung to the man like he might disappear, burying his face in the man’s robe.

“I may vomit,” Snape drawled, and Harry heard a familiar chuckle.

“Behave, Severus.” 

Harry’s head snapped up, his grin getting, if possible, even wider. “Professor Lupin!”

The werewolf smiled back at him, standing shoulder to shoulder with Snape. “I’m not your professor anymore, remember?” he pointed out lightly. “I think it’s about time you called me Remus.”

Harry tore himself away from his godfather, getting to his feet in order to hug his ex-professor too. “Remus,” he echoed. Remus’ cheek pressed against his hair for a brief moment. 

“It’s good to see you, cub.”

Sirius stood up, slinging one arm each around Harry and Remus. He’d showered and shaved since Harry had last seen him, and already he looked like a much younger man. He looked happy. 

“What is this place?” Harry asked again, looking back to the manor in front of him.

“This is Seren Du House,” Sirius announced, a strange accent on the words; Welsh, maybe, or Gaelic. “It’s been in the Black family for centuries.”

“But this one wasn’t in the portfolio the goblins sent me,” Harry said with a frown. Sirius’ grin widened. 

“This is one of two Black properties the goblins don’t know about. Our family does love its secrets, after all.” Harry’s heart fluttered at the easy way he said ‘our family’, including Harry without batting an eyelash. “It’s completely Unplottable; that means no one can find it on a map, or with any tracking spells. You have to know where to look. And, as that’s in the middle of nowhere in North Wales, and there’s only about six people alive who have ever been here before, I’d say you’re pretty safe.”

“Wow.” Harry wished he could think of something more eloquent to say, but words had failed him. 

“Are you quite done gaping?” Snape cut in, though his words weren’t quite as harsh as they might have been a year ago. Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Let him stare, Snape. He’s had a shock.” He glanced down to Harry, his expression growing softer, more tentative. “You said, before I had to run again, that you’d like to live with me. If you could. Well… here you are. A new home, if you’d like it.”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry assured, beaming. 

Sirius rocked up on his toes, releasing him and Remus and bounding back towards the house. “Come on, I’ll show you inside!”

“It’s like having another child,” Snape muttered. Harry’s eyes widened when Remus elbowed the man gently in the side. 

“Leave him be, he’s just excited. He hasn’t had much to be happy about in the last twelve years,” he chided. 

Harry followed his godfather up to the manor doors, and into a grand entrance hall. There was a huge dark wood staircase in front of him, the walls painted dark blue and the floors a gleaming white marble. The only portraits hanging were landscapes; no people whatsoever. “We’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow,” Sirius promised. “But Ceri almost has dinner ready.”

With Sirius’ guiding hand on his shoulder, Harry was led into a large kitchen and dining area, with a long wooden table set for four places. At the stove, perched on a stool, was a house elf. The elf wore a little black pinafore dress with a crest on the front that Harry recognised as the Black family crest. She — presumably a girl, going by the dress — turned when they entered, and her face lit up. “Master Harry, sir!” she greeted, bowing so low her nose touched the stool. “Master Sirius be saying he was bringing his godson soon! I is Ceri, young master; the elf of Seren Du. It is being an honour to have you here!”

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you too, Ceri,” Harry replied. His only previous experience of house elves was Dobby, and that had been… a little volatile.

“Such manners, young master!” Ceri muttered approvingly. “Please be sittings for dinner, sirs.”

The four of them sat at the table, and Ceri soon had enormous plates of roast dinner in front of them; beef with all the trimmings, even Yorkshire puddings. Harry, who had barely eaten more than a few slices of bread and some cheese since he’d left Hogwarts, felt his mouth start to water. “This looks amazing, Ceri.”

“Thank you, young master! If yous be needing anything else, just call for Ceri.” With that she disappeared, leaving the four of them to their meal. 

“Pass the gravy, would you, Snape?” Sirius asked politely, reaching out for the porcelain gravy boat. Snape did as asked, and Harry goggled. Last he’d known, Sirius and Snape hated each other. Snape had reluctantly agreed to hear him out the night of Pettigrew’s escape, but there was definitely no love lost between the pair. What had changed?

Harry’s eyes turned to Remus, who was sat beside Snape, happily stealing the man’s parsnips in exchange for his own carrots. He’d bet his Firebolt the werewolf had something to do with it.

“So you’ve been here since you escaped, have you?” Harry asked, once he’d sated his immediate hunger. He had to eat slowly, or he’d make himself sick. “Where’s Buckbeak?”

“In the stables, out back. Loves it out here, he does; free run of the woods, as long as he’s home by nightfall,” Sirius said, looking pleased. Harry was glad; Buckbeak deserved some freedom, after being cooped up in Hagrid’s hut for so long. “I stopped off long enough to find that owl and get a letter to you, then took a quick jaunt down to Norfolk to let some muggles see me, before heading this way. I hadn’t been here since I was about thirteen, but I found it in the end.”

“This place is incredible,” Harry muttered, looking around. It was old-fashioned, but very clean, and surprisingly well decorated for a house that apparently hadn’t seen people in two decades. 

“Ceri kept it in good nick, waiting for the day the family would come use it again,” Sirius agreed. “Just wait ’til you see the rest of it. I loved it as a kid — it’s for family only, not visitors, so it’s not nearly as stuffy and pretentious as the rest of the Black properties. Closest thing to home I had, except Hogwarts.” He smiled, as if thinking of fond memories. “Anyway, as soon as Remus left the school he wrote me to see where I was, and I went and picked him up outside of Aberystwyth. He brought Snape with him a week or so later when the term ended.”

“Wait, you live here too?” Harry blurted, turning to Snape. The dark-haired man nodded.

“Not permanently. I have a role to play back at Hogwarts, and the headmaster expects certain things of me. But I plan to spend much of my summer here.” For some reason, that made Remus grin into his roast potatoes, and Sirius roll his eyes. 

“Lucky me,” he muttered under his breath, then cursed. Harry got the feeling Remus had just kicked him under the table. “Anyway,” he continued, turning back to Harry, “when Remus told me you’d been living with Lily’s harpy of a sister, we knew we couldn’t let that slide. So I had Ceri clear a room for you, and Snape was kind enough to play chaperone. Was it everything you dreamed of?” That was directed at the Potions Master, who smirked, eyes flashing.

“Seeing Petunia again was quite satisfying, thank you.”

“She looked like she’d seen a ghost,” Harry said, laughing. “How do you know her, Professor?” If Sirius was making an effort to be nice to Snape, then he supposed he could as well. The man had just rescued him, after all.

“I grew up in the same town as your mother’s family; Cokeworth, not far from Wolverhampton. Lily and I met when we were seven, and Petunia was… not pleased with our association. Especially not once Lily got her Hogwarts letter and I was allowed to tell her the truth about magic,” Snape explained. 

“You knew my mum when she was little? What was she like?”

“That is a story for another time, Potter,” Snape said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “One that I would be willing to share with you. Not tonight, however.”

“You’re safe from Dumbledore here, cub. He’ll never even know you’re gone,” Remus promised.

“And you wanna know the best part?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his seat as he spoke. “The place is Unplottable, and the woods are full of old, wild magic — you can do as much magic as you like here and the Ministry won’t know a thing.”

Harry’s eyes were round and gleaming at the prospect of being able to do as much magic as he wanted all summer. “Brilliant.”

When their plates started growing empty, there was a small pop, and the centre of the table suddenly held a delicious-looking tower of profiteroles. “Your house elf is going to give me diabetes, Black,” Snape muttered, though he served himself a decent-sized bowl of the dessert. Sirius barked out a laugh.

“She’ll calm down eventually, she’s just happy to have people to cook for again. Besides, according to her we could all do with a bit more meat on our bones. I can’t say she’s wrong, to be honest.” 

Harry looked around the table; all four of them were indeed painfully skinny, Sirius and Harry more than the other two. “It’s like being at Hogwarts, but better,” Harry remarked, swallowing a mouthful of profiterole. 

There wasn’t much talking while the four ate their dessert, and when the table was clear Remus cleared his throat. “I thought we might head to the living room and talk for a while. There’s still so much Sirius and I don’t know about your life, Harry, and I thought it might be good for Sirius and Severus to learn about what happened to you last summer.” The two men in question gave him a concerned look, and Harry grimaced. Yes, he had a lot of explaining to do.

The living room turned out to be upstairs, and Ceri already had a fire going to ward off the evening chill. It held two comfortable-looking sofas and a pair of squashy armchairs, and Harry chose one of the sofas, surprised when Sirius sat next to him. Remus and Snape took the other sofa. 

Ceri popped into the room. “Can Ceri be getting sirs anything to drink?”

“Just tea if you wouldn’t mind, Ceri,” Remus requested. The house elf nodded, her large ears flopping, and she returned moments later with a tea tray set for four, a small pile of biscuits in the centre. 

“How does Master Harry like his tea?” She was already making up three other cups, and Harry blinked.

“Uh, bit of milk, one sugar, thanks.” Ceri floated a teacup in his direction, then bowed and disappeared. 

“What happened last summer, pup?” Sirius asked, dark brows knitted together in worry. Harry took a deep breath.

“Well, I suppose I should give you a bit of backstory, first. You know I live — lived — with the Dursleys. Well, Uncle Vernon has this sister…” Harry gave them a brief run-down of the joys of Aunt Marge, and a summary of what she’d said about his parents; something that had Sirius growling like his canine counterpart, and even Remus baring his teeth. 

“So I ended up living in Diagon Alley for the last couple weeks of summer. And at one point, I went to Gringotts to get money from my vault, only I didn’t have my key, so the goblins scanned my magic. And…” Here he swallowed thickly. Sirius’ hand rested on his knee, squeezing in support. Slowly, Harry revealed what the goblins had discovered — all of it. He told them all four houses he was inheriting, and their suspicions about who cast the magic, and the consequences Gorrak had heavily implied would come of him turning seventeen with the block still active. 

By the end of his tale, Sirius was pacing the length of the living room in white-knuckled fury. “That manipulative, lying, no-good, scheming,” he muttered under his breath. Some of the knickknacks on the shelves began to rattle.

“Sirius, control yourself,” Remus called in a firm voice. “I’m as angry as you are, but blowing up the crockery won’t help anything.” Sirius seemed to realise his magic was getting away from him, and his shoulders slumped, a long breath escaping him. 

“I knew Dumbledore was ruthless in the face of the Greater Good, but I didn’t realise he would go to such lengths on a child,” Snape murmured. “Mr Potter, might you permit me to do a scan of my own? I have no doubt the goblins were entirely thorough, but there are certain spells their particular brand of magic will not catch.”

Harry went wide-eyed in horror at the thought of having more of Dumbledore’s magic on him. “Please,” he agreed, nodding frantically. Snape stood, waving his wand and murmuring something under his breath. Harry’s chest glowed blue for a second, then red, then black. “What does that mean?”

“A Tracking spell. A passive one — he can only find you if he checks the spell, rather than knowing exactly where you are at all times. Also a minor Suggestibility charm, and a Truth-Telling charm. The combination would encourage you to spill secrets to the headmaster you might have preferred to keep to yourself. Not in a way you’d notice, but rather to make you feel like you can trust him. Though they’re weak enough that I’d imagine you’ve been able to ignore them since you learned the truth.” Snape looked disgusted all the same, and Harry mirrored his expression. 

“Can you remove them?” He especially didn’t like the idea of Dumbledore being able to check his location at any time. 

“Of course.” Snape did some complicated-looking wandwork, and when he scanned Harry again, his chest glowed white. “You’re clear. I do wonder, though…” He turned his wand on Remus, raising an eyebrow. After a nod of consent, he performed the same spell he had on Harry. Remus glowed black, then purple. Snape swore loudly. “The same Tracking spell, and an incredibly rare spell designed to target dual-natured creatures. I haven’t seen it in years; The Dark Lord used to use it on the werewolves who had displeased them, to cut them off from their wolf halves; it would drive them insane, eventually.”

“Moony,” Remus breathed, looking heartbroken. “Severus, do— do you know how long that spell has been present?”

“By the looks of it, since you were a child. Perhaps since Hogwarts, maybe even before then.” 

Remus’ expression was devastated. “I always wondered why it felt like my wolf and my human mind were always fighting each other,” he said softly. “I thought that was just how it was to be a werewolf. That it was normal to be scratching myself to pieces every moon.”

“That one will take work to remove,” Snape said. “But I can do it, if you give me time.” He met Remus’ gaze, and Harry looked away suddenly, his cheeks heating. It felt like he was watching something he shouldn’t.

Eventually, Remus cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, a little flustered. “That was… unexpected.”

“Dumbledore must be stopped,” Sirius growled, dropping back onto the sofa next to Harry. A quick wave of Snape’s wand showed the dog animagus glowing black; also a victim of the passive Tracking spell.

“We’re all in agreement there,” Snape said, scowling at the results. “But until we know exactly what his plan is, we must stay quiet and play his game.”

“I won’t let his game stop me from raising my godson as my heir,” Sirius retorted. “Harry needs to know his place in the world.”

“Neville’s been helping me,” Harry piped up tentatively. “And— others.” He wasn’t quite ready to tell the truth about Draco Malfoy just yet. “Most of the heirs at school don’t like Dumbledore either. Neville got me learning Occlumency, so I can keep my secrets better.”

“Longbottom, really?” Snape was skeptical. “I’ll test your shields tomorrow, see how far you’ve come. It is vital that you’re able to keep all this hidden once you return to school, amongst anyone who might be in Dumbledore’s pocket — yes, that includes your precious Weasleys, and the Granger girl. Trust no one until proven otherwise. Until we know what we’re dealing with, you must be Dumbledore’s Golden Boy.”

His stomach squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t know how many of the Weasleys would take his side, or how many were loyal to Dumbledore. He already had a strong feeling that if he pushed Ron much further, it would make him snap. 

“This summer should be enough to get you prepared,” Remus told him. “Between the three of us, we should be able to give you a fairly good crash course in everything you’ll need to know. Secrecy, defence, wizarding society; I know studying during the summer isn’t the most fun, but Harry—“

“I want to learn,” Harry cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Please, I want to learn everything I can.” He’d be bored stiff if he couldn’t do anything, and learning magic was great when it wasn’t accompanied by three-foot-long essays.

“We’ll discuss that more in the morning,” Sirius suggested. “Figure out what you need to know, where you’re at with everything. It’s getting late.”

The clock on the mantle said it was past eleven, and Harry suddenly realised how tired he was. It had been a hell of a day. He couldn’t stifle the jaw-cracking yawn that escaped him. “Definitely bedtime,” Sirius said with a grin, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Come on, I’ll show you your room. Where’s your things?”

Snape held out Harry’s shrunken trunk and owl cage, and Sirius resized them with a wave of his wand. They bobbed along behind the four as Sirius showed him up to the third floor of the house. “This is your room,” he said, tapping on a door to his left. “I’m in that one at the end of the hall, and Moony’s three doors down and to your right. Grab either of us, or Ceri, if you need anything.”

“Where does Professor Snape sleep?” Harry asked curiously. 

Sirius about doubled over laughing, and Remus’ face turned a shocking shade of pink. Snape’s pale cheeks went faintly red, and he coughed. 

“Severus, ah— Severus is in with me, Harry,” Remus volunteered, looking like he’d quite happily sink through the floor. 

For a minute, Harry furrowed his brow — in a house that big, surely there were plenty of bedrooms? Then it dawned on him. A dim memory flickered through his brain, from back in the Shrieking Shack; We didn’t trust Moony ‘cause of his boyfriend. Sorry, Moons.

“Oh. Oh!” Harry felt his own cheeks heat up. “That— that’s okay, in the wizarding world, then?” He’d heard more than a few rants from Uncle Vernon about those people, and heard all sorts of things about it on the telly. Then again, Vernon thought he was a freak too, yet he was perfectly normal in the wizarding world.

“People don’t care about gender, much,” Remus confirmed. Harry noticed now how close he was standing to Snape, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly. “Blood purity is more their issue. Society will care more that I’m a werewolf than that we’re both men.” He paused, glancing at the floor. “Is it… okay with you?”

“Well,” Harry said, after a beat of silence. “I figured anything that Uncle Vernon says is bad has to be alright, yeah? As long as you’re happy.” He was more stuck on the fact of it being Snape than the two of them being men, but he didn’t think that would go down well. 

Remus perked up like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and Sirius let out an impatient whine. “Yes, we’re here, we’re queer, hallelujah — can I show Harry his room now, please?”

A laugh bubbled from Remus’ lips. “Alright, Padfoot. I think we’re going to go back to the living room. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Remus. Professor,” he added, and Snape nodded at him in reply. When the pair left, they didn’t hold hands or anything, but their strides matched and their elbows touched. It seemed obvious, now Harry knew. 

“Now, if you don’t like it, we can change just about anything,” Sirius told him, sounding nervous as he pushed the door open. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. 

His room was three times the size of his old one back at the Dursleys’, with honey-coloured wood flooring and a fluffy looking grey rug in the centre. The walls were painted a soft grey-blue, with one wall taken up entirely by bookshelves waiting to be filled. He had his own fireplace, and a desk with a black leather chair. The wardrobe and dresser matched the enormous four-poster bed, all beautiful dark wood, detailed with some kind of intricate bird carving. Directly opposite the door was a huge window, overlooking the back garden and the woods beyond. “It’s perfect.”

“You like it?” Sirius brightened. “Really?”

“Sirius, I love it.” Harry walked over to the bed, running a hand over the soft grey duvet cover. He’d been half expecting some Gryffindor explosion of red and gold; this was much more his style. 

“Good.” Sirius stood in the doorway, clearly unsure what to do with himself now. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it, then. Nearest bathroom is directly opposite, by the way. You’ll be the only one using it.” He crossed the distance between them in three long strides, wrapping wiry arms around Harry. “It’s really good to have you here, pup.”

“It’s good to be here,” Sirius,” Harry returned with a smile. He was so happy he could cast an army of Patroni, he was sure. 

It was going to be the best summer ever.

.-.-.-.

Remus looked up when Sirius slipped back into the living room, sinking down onto the sofa. “Harry likes his room?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, grinning. “Thanks for helping me with it, Moons.”

“My pleasure.” 

The three of them went silent, until Sirius let out a sigh. “How could I have spent so long sitting in Azkaban while Harry was out here left to Dumbledore’s manipulative little claws? I should’ve been there to protect him.”

“You can’t beat yourself up over it, Sirius, you had no idea. Believe me, I’ve been doing plenty of that since I found out.”

“At least the truth has been discovered before it’s too late,” Severus added. “Potter has plenty of time for his magical core to balance out before he inherits the rest of his family magics.”

“True. We’ll get him ready for the future, whatever it holds.” Sirius’ grey eyes gleamed with determination.

Remus thought back to what Harry had said before he’d left the castle, about Trelawney’s prophecy. He’d shared that with his two companions, of course, but he could hardly believe it; Peter was going to be the one to help Voldemort back to power. It would happen, no doubt sooner than any of them would like. “Will we have enough time?” he asked plaintively, knowing the two men were thinking along the same lines. 

Beside him, Severus tensed. “Now that we have the boy safely, and I have been… enlightened about Dumbledore’s true regard for him, I fear there’s something I need to tell you both.” He looked up, meeting Remus’ gaze. “Remus, do you remember when I told you I had turned to the side of the Light?”

Remus could remember it all too well. They’d had a hugely explosive fight about six months after graduation, when Severus had taken the Dark Mark. Remus had begged him to reconsider, to go to Dumbledore for help, but Severus had stood firm in his decision. It was the first time Remus thought he’d truly lost the man for good. They didn’t speak again for almost a year, until one day Remus came home to find Severus on his doorstep, looking heartbroken and promising that he’d changed, that he’d agreed to turn spy for Dumbledore and rejoin the light. It had taken time for them to trust each other again — indeed, they’d been just starting to properly figure it out when Lily and James had been killed, and Remus had practically dropped off the face of the earth in mourning. 

“I never told you why,” Severus continued, his long fingers curling around Remus’ own. “What event caused me to realise the truth of the decision I had made.” He glanced over at Sirius, who was listening intently. “This is going to be… difficult for you to hear. I only ask that you allow me to say my piece before you hex me into oblivion.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. Remus’ heart clenched.

“One evening, I was spying on Dumbledore at the Dark Lord’s orders; he was interviewing a new teaching candidate. For the Divination post. She seemed as batty as every other seer I’d met, so I didn’t think much of it— until she began to make a genuine prophecy.”

Remus listened in dawning horror as Severus recited the words. “I was discovered before I could hear the end, but I took what I knew to the Dark Lord. It took several weeks for him to parse the meaning, but eventually he decided he knew enough.”

Born as the seventh month dies.

“Harry.” Sirius’ voice was a low growl, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. His wand was beside him, untouched. 

“Potter,” Severus confirmed. “Or the Longbottom boy. The Dark Lord decided there was a good chance it could be either, so he set his followers to find both families.” The firelight flickered off of Severus’ sharp cheekbones, making him look haggard, his eyes full of grief. “As soon as I realised the Dark Lord planned to kill a child — Lily’s child — I went to Dumbledore and begged him for mercy, pleaded with him to protect Lily and her son. I offered my services as a spy for the light, to repent for what I had done. I hoped it would be enough. I was wrong.” He gave a twisted sort of grimace, drawing his hands away from Remus’ lap. “I am the reason Lily and James are dead. And that knowledge will haunt me for the rest of my days.”

The silence that followed was painfully thick. Remus didn’t know what to say, Severus’ words echoing in his mind, the pieces falling together. Harry was prophesised to defeat Voldemort. Voldemort knew that, which was why he went after Lily and James. Severus was the one who had given him that information. 

“I was the one who convinced Lily and James to use Peter as the Secret Keeper,” Sirius said eventually. “I thought I’d be too obvious a choice. No one would suspect Peter. Not even us. Because of me, Voldemort got to them. He could’ve known about the prophecy for years and never been any the wiser if it had been me.” He looked up at Severus with hollow eyes, eyes that spoke of twelve years of Azkaban. “You’re as much to blame as I am, Snape.”

“Both of you carry around far more guilt than one man should bear,” Remus declared, staring into his teacup. “The past is the past, and we have all suffered from our mistakes. Some more than others. But what matters now is keeping Harry safe — from Voldemort and Dumbledore.” If Harry was the one destined to destroy Voldemort, and Dumbledore knew the full prophecy, Harry would be in grave danger on both sides when Voldemort returned to power. 

“We have to train him. Not just with his family magic, or Occlumency,” Sirius realised. “He needs to know how to survive a war.”

“We can’t tell him why,” Remus insisted. “He’s not even fourteen yet. That’s far too large a burden to place on his shoulders, on top of everything else.”

“I think Potter has a good idea that he’s going to have to face something,” Severus pointed out. “We don’t need to tell him about the prophecy for him to know he needs to be prepared.”

From how eager Harry had been to learn from them throughout the summer, Remus had to agree. 

“Fuck,” Sirius said abruptly, tugging at his hair. “Why did it have to be him? Hasn’t he been through enough?”

There was no response to that. All three of them sat silently, lost in their thoughts, their minds on the boy sleeping peacefully one floor above them. Remus reached out to grip Severus’ hand once more, needing the contact, the comfort.

It was a while before any of them went to bed that night.

Chapter Text

When Harry awoke the next morning, there was a large part of his brain that was certain the whole thing had been a dream. But he’d never been in a bed that comfortable; not at the Dursleys’, and not at Hogwarts. He cracked one eye open, lips spreading in a grin. Even without his glasses he could see he wasn’t at Privet Drive. 

His new room really was incredible. He’d been too tired to take much of it in the night before, but he sat up and put his glasses on now, hardly daring to believe the room was all his. 

The alarm clock on the bedside table said it was only six fifteen, and Harry doubted anyone else in the house would rise at that hour. He briefly contemplated going back to sleep, but it was no use. Now he was up, he was restless. He looked at his trunk, sitting at the foot of his new bed. His wand, still in its holster on the bedside table. He grinned to himself.

Sirius had said he could do as much magic as he wanted. 

The Unpacking spell was one from A Hundred Spells Every Wizard Should Know, and Harry hadn’t had much chance to practice it, but he’d been okay at it the last time he’d tried. He opened his trunk and his wardrobe, as well as the top drawers. Wand in hand, he murmured the spell. It was all about visualisation; he had to think clearly about how he wanted his things organised, otherwise they’d just shove themselves willy-nilly in his wardrobe. 

His neatly folded clothes began to float out of the trunk, carefully arranging themselves the way they did in Harry’s mind. They put themselves on hangers, or folded themselves into the drawers, and Harry laughed triumphantly when all his clothes were successfully where he wanted them to be. Next was books. 

A flick of his wand, and his books were arranging themselves alphabetically on his empty shelves. There was still so much empty space, and Harry was eager to fill it. 

The rest of his things, he placed by hand. Hedwig’s cage went on top of the dresser, his Firebolt was propped up next to the window. The few photos he had to display went on his shelves, along with the Sneakoscope from Ron. His quills and parchment sat carefully on his desk waiting for him to complete his homework. His little Wizarding Wireless went on his bedside table next to the alarm clock. 

When he opened the drawer of his bedside table to put away his photo album, he froze. Lined up inside were several potion vials, all labelled in Snape’s neat, spidery handwriting.

Bruise Balm - For topical application only

Skele-Gro - Only use if necessary

Nutritional Supplement - Six doses (marked), take before sleep

Standard Healing Potion, Grade 3 - Drink on empty stomach

Harry’s pulse thudded in his throat, his palms growing clammy. Snape couldn’t have snuck those in while Harry was sleeping, could he? He must have left them there before Harry had arrived — before he’d seen the way Harry lived at the Dursleys.

He swallowed thickly. How much did the adults think they knew? How many of Snape’s suspicions had been confirmed by his little jaunt to retrieve Harry? The prospect squirmed in his stomach, anxiety clawing its way up his chest.

Your father should have tried harder to beat it out of you.

Maybe their similarities would be enough for Snape to keep silent. Surely if he wanted to confront Harry, he wouldn’t have left the potions? He was a Slytherin, he respected subtlety. He may let Harry deal with his own demons.

But if Snape knew, what did Remus and Sirius know?

There was a knock on the door, and Harry slammed the drawer shut. He nudged the door open with a flick of his wand, revealing Remus in the doorway. He was wearing a dark brown dressing gown over blue striped pyjamas, and his hair stuck up haphazardly. “Morning, cub. Thought I heard you up and about.” He looked around the room, then at the wand in Harry’s hand, and smiled. “Making yourself at home? That’s quite the book collection you’re building there. I hadn’t realised you were such a voracious reader.”

“I had a lot of things to research last summer. And a lot of access to Flourish and Blotts,” he added sheepishly, making Remus chuckle. 

“I’m glad you’re settling in. Are you hungry? Ceri should have breakfast done soon.”

Harry’s stomach rumbled loud enough for both of them to hear it. “I could eat,” he said after a beat. Remus snorted. “Are the others up? Sirius, and, uh, Professor Snape?” Harry felt himself blush.

“Sirius is still in bed, but Severus is already downstairs.” Remus paused, looking conflicted. “Harry, are you sure you’re alright with our— our relationship? If it’s too much for you—“

“No, really!” Harry insisted, desperately not wanting Remus to think he had a problem with two men together. “It’s not that. It’s just, he’s my Potions professor, and he hated me for as long as I’ve known him, and to see him being nice is just… weird.”

Something in Remus’ posture seemed to ease, and he ran a hand through his messy hair. “Severus is a man of many masks, with many roles to play,” he conceded. “I told you before, he doesn’t hate you. By the end of the summer you two might even be friends.”

Harry gave him a look that said he was pushing his luck. Remus winked. “You never know, Harry. He keeps his emotions close to his chest, but he’s really not as awful as he likes to pretend. The two of you are actually more alike than you know, in some ways.”

His Aunt Petunia’s words drifted through his mind again. Harry swallowed. He wasn’t sure if that was something he wanted to have in common with Snape. 

“I expect it to take time for you two to warm up to each other,” Remus continued, oblivious to Harry’s internal conflict. “But he cares for you, deep down.”

“Do you love him?” Harry bit his tongue as soon as the question escaped, cheeks flaming. Remus looked a little abashed, but a soft smile crossed his face.

“I have loved Severus since before I really knew what love even was,” he replied unashamedly. “And difficult as it might be for you to comprehend, he loves me as well. He’s just not the most… expressive man on the planet.” He shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze. “Anyway, enough of my lovesick rambling. Breakfast!”

Harry followed him down to the kitchen, where Professor Snape was already sat at the table, reading the Daily Prophet with a cup of tea at his elbow. Ceri was at the stove once again, frying eggs. 

“Can Ceri be getting sirs anything to drink?” she asked brightly. “We be having tea, coffee, pumpkin juice, orange juice, milk—“

“Orange juice would be great, please,” Harry requested. With a snap of her fingers, a glass of orange juice began pouring itself from a jug on the counter, and floated its way over to Harry. At Remus’ request, she made more tea. 

“Master Sirius be snoozing in late,” Ceri said in fond reprimand, and Remus chuckled.

“He isn’t used to being allowed a lie-in. He’ll be down as soon as he smells that bacon cooking.”

Harry watched as Remus leaned over Snape’s shoulder with one hand on the man’s back, reading the Prophet article with a frown on his face. Snape didn’t seem bothered by the contact, merely tilting his head so Remus could get a better look. Then Remus just sat down at the table, in the same spot he had last night.

It was strange. Harry hadn’t seen many couples interacting before. Just his aunt and uncle — never a role model for anything, let alone healthy relationships — and Mr and Mrs Weasley. He didn’t think all the madly snogging teenage couples at Hogwarts counted. He couldn’t imagine Snape and Remus acting like the Weasleys, with their frequent pecks on the cheek and terms of endearment. He thought Snape might explode if Remus ever called him ‘sweetheart’, or ‘darling’. Yet he didn’t doubt Remus for a second when he said Snape loved him. He just didn’t think he would ever hear the professor say the words.

As Remus predicted, Sirius shuffled down the stairs in his pyjamas once the smell of bacon started filling the house, still half-asleep by the looks of it. He ran a fond hand over Harry’s hair as he passed. “Morning, pup.” He slumped into his seat. “Ceri, everything smells amazing.”

“Yous is being late, Master Sirius,” Ceri said in reply, floating the breakfast plates over to the table. Sirius shot her a dazzling grin. 

“But you waited for me anyway, because you’re wonderful.” The house elf blushed, turning back to the stove. 

Ceri was very different to Dobby, in so many ways. Harry wondered which was a more accurate example of house elves. 

“So,” Sirius said once everyone had started eating. “Rules of the house.” Harry eyed him in trepidation, and Sirius laughed. “Don’t look so scared, pup. It’s just a few things. Number one; no flying without telling one of us first, and certainly not after dark.” That was reasonable; Harry could get hurt flying at night. “Number two; don’t go into the woods unsupervised. There’s all sorts of things that’ll gobble you up in there.” Again, reasonable. “Number three; there’s a potions lab in the basement, it’s now Snape’s domain. Don’t go down there unless he specifically asks you to. Some of the things he brews are sensitive.” Harry had no desire to go in Snape’s potions lab, so he nodded quickly. “Number four; expect retaliation for any pranks played.” 

At this, Remus buried his head in his hands with a long-suffering sigh. “No prank wars, Padfoot.”

“But Moony!” Sirius whined, sounding younger than Harry. “We just want a little fun!”

Remus looked from Sirius, to Harry, to Snape, who raised an eyebrow. “If they prank me, you can be sure I will retaliate,” he said unrepentantly. Remus sighed.

“You’re just as bad as he is. Fine, rule five — no permanent or potentially harmful pranks,” he warned sternly, using his Professor Voice. 

“Ugh, fine. Spoilsport,” Sirius muttered. “Carrying on. Rule six; no going outside on the full moon. Remus has his potion, but we’re not taking any chances. And finally, rule seven; ask if you need help. With anything. Whether it’s help with a spell, or your homework, or if you just need someone to talk to; all three of us are happy to help however we can. You don’t need to handle everything by yourself anymore Got it?”

“I— I’ll try.” It would be a hard habit to break, and Harry could make no promises. Sirius nodded; that was enough for him. 

“Great. Now all that boring stuff’s out of the way, any questions?”

“Am I allowed to write to my friends? Will their owls be able to find this place?” If the house was Unplottable, did that mean owls couldn’t get there?

“Owl magic is different; they’ll be able to find you anywhere. You’re perfectly welcome to write to your friends, as long as you don’t tell them where you are or who you’re with, of course.” Harry shot his godfather a ‘duh’ look. “There’s a little Owlery upstairs, I’ll show you it later.”

“There’s an owl up there that I use when I need something more… anonymous than my usual owl,” Snape piped up. “Her name is Artemis, she’s the tawny owl. You’re welcome to use her should you have need to write to anyone that would raise questions should Hedwig be seen visiting. Snowy owls are quite distinctive.”

Harry’s mind immediately flashed to Draco. And some of the other heirs, too. “Oh. Thank you, Professor. I appreciate that.” How long would it take him to get used to Snape being nice to him?

After breakfast, Snape was the first one to get to his feet. “I have potions to brew,” he declared. Remus glanced up from the paper. 

“Don’t blow the house up,” he said with a fond smile. Snape made a faintly offended noise, and left the room. “What do you fancy doing today, Harry? After the grand tour, of course.”

“I don’t know.” Harry had never been allowed to do whatever he liked before. “I might go flying.”

“How about I show you around, and then you can decide,” Sirius said, looking eager to give Harry the tour. Harry looked down at himself. 

“Give me ten minutes to take a shower and get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the entrance hall,” he agreed. Sirius beamed.

Harry’s bathroom was much nicer than anything he was used to; with both a shower and a huge claw-foot bathtub, everything decorated in black and white marble tiles with silver accents. There was also a full-length mirror, and Harry took the opportunity to see how bad the bruises on his back were. Not as awful as he expected. He’d certainly had worse. Nonetheless, he grabbed Snape’s Bruise Balm to apply after his shower. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Sirius was dressed too when Harry met him, in loose jeans with a hole in the knee and a worn-looking muggle band t-shirt that might have actually come from the 1970s. “Perfect! Come on!” Sirius grabbed him by the hand, tugging him over to a room he hadn’t yet been in, and the tour began.

There was the parlour, the smoking room, the downstairs bedroom suite, the pantry — of course the kitchen, where Ceri waved while cracking several eggs into a bowl — the formal dining room, and the duelling room. 

And that was just on the ground floor. 

Harry was whizzed through another sitting room, a playroom, at least eight bedrooms, a nursery, four bathrooms, a library — where they found Remus absorbed in a book — the big study and the small study, the music room, another playroom, the Owlery, a bathroom with a bath the size of a small swimming pool, a dressing room, a drawing room, and then all the way down to the basement to see the wine cellar, the wardstone and ritual room, the safe room and the door to the potions lab.

“I won’t knock, Snape’ll bite our heads off,” Sirius said at that one, gently steering Harry past it. Harry was out of breath, and didn’t understand how Sirius was still talking a mile a minute as they returned to the entrance hall. 

“This place is enormous!” Harry remarked, and Sirius laughed. 

“One day I’ll take you to the Black family manor, down in Cornwall. It makes this place look like a dollhouse.” Harry stared at him incredulously. “Come on, I’ll show you around the grounds.”

It was a glorious sunny day outside, and Sirius tipped his head back with a grin, basking in the sun for a minute. “Still not used to that,” he murmured to himself. Harry’s heart twisted; there wasn’t any sun in Azkaban. Sirius shook it off though, cheerfully marching onwards. “The treeline is the property line, so don’t ever go past it unless one of us is with you.” The woods circled the whole house; even the driveway just led into the trees. “All the fun stuff is around the back, come on.”

Their first stop was the stables; five stalls, only one of which was occupied. “Buckbeak!” Harry greeted cheerfully, offering the hippogriff a bow. Buckbeak bowed in return, then butted his head into Harry’s chest, demanding to be petted. When they left, Buckbeak followed them, occasionally nudging Sirius’ shoulder fondly with his beak.

“There’s a greenhouse over there, it’s a bit wild at the minute. Ceri wasn’t sure what to do with it all these years. I think Snape plans to grow some potions ingredients in it, but I don’t know how much of a green thumb he has. If you want to get stuck in, take one of us with you; we’re not entirely sure what’s growing in there right now. Something might bite your head off.” Harry laughed, but a glance at Sirius’ face made him realise the man was completely serious. He thought of some of the plants in the restricted greenhouses at school, for seventh year study only, and grimaced.

“Is that a swimming pool?” Harry gaped, seeing the stone-edged pool sunk into the ground.

“Yup,” Sirius replied proudly. “Got it up and running on Saturday. Feel free to take a dip whenever. If you’re drowning, yell for Ceri.” That was a joke, and Sirius winked. “Also, look over there.”

Harry looked in the direction Sirius was pointing, only for the man to tilt his chin until Harry was looking up. He gasped. “A quidditch pitch!”

“Half-pitch,” Sirius corrected. “Not quite enough room for a full one. I know you’re not a chaser, so the goals aren’t as important to you, but they’re there if you ever fancy your hand with a quaffle. There’s a full set of equipment in the broom shed — the snitch hasn’t been used in a while, so it might be a bit wonky, but we can always have Remus or Snape pick up another one.”

“Sirius, this place is incredible.” Not only was he away from the Dursleys, but he was away from them at a house that had a swimming pool and a quidditch pitch. Unbelievable. 

“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?” Sirius agreed wistfully. “It brings back old memories. I stopped going after my parents kicked me out; spent every summer at James’ instead. Mr and Mrs Potter were brilliant, don’t get me wrong, and The Pottery is a dream house, but… I’ve missed this place.”

“Your parents kicked you out?” Harry asked, surprised. 

“Oh, yeah. First I sullied the family name by being sorted into Gryffindor, then I made friends with halfbloods and muggleborns and light wizards, and there was no going back. Blasted my name off the family tree, but never officially disinherited me. There’s a ritual, it’s a bit complicated, I s’pose Mum never got around to it. Or she hoped I’d see sense… either way, I’m the head of the family, now. At least, I would be if I weren’t a convict.”

“So who’s head at the moment?” 

“No one, technically,” Sirius said with a shrug. “The family magic went a bit dormant in me while I was in Azkaban, but it’s still there; since I never had a trial, it was never officially stripped from me. I just can’t fully access it until I can step into the Wizengamot and claim my seat again, which obviously I can’t do until I’m a free man. Until then, Dumbledore’s my proxy.” His sour expression showed exactly what he thought of that. “Once you come of age, you can take it back, though.”

“Unless we can get your name cleared before then,” Harry pointed out. “Don’t give up hope, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugged again. “Doesn’t really bother me either way. I’ve got you, and Moony, and I’m out of that blasted prison cell. S’all I need for the minute.” Both of them looked up when they heard a bell ring out across the grounds. Sirius grinned. “Lunch is ready.”

Remus and Snape were already at the table when Sirius and Harry joined them, talking quietly to each other. “I still think it’s too early, Severus,” Remus was saying, before he looked up at their arrival. “Hello, boys. Been keeping out of trouble?”

“For the most part,” Sirius replied easily, sprawling lazily in his chair and reaching for a plate. Ceri had made a quiche that was packed with vegetables and ham. Harry’s stomach growled. “Eat up, pup. You’re a growing boy. With plenty more growing to do, by the looks of you; even Lily wasn’t that short at your age.”

Harry ducked his head. He’d resigned himself to his short stature; kids who grew up in cupboards and barely got fed didn’t end up six feet tall. 

“Having fun, Harry?” Remus asked kindly. Harry beamed.

“Oh, yeah! Did you know this place has a quidditch pitch? I can’t wait to fly. And the library is huge! I bet there’s books that aren’t even in the Hogwarts library.” 

“Definitely. Some of those books are older than Hogwarts itself. So no food or drink in the library, alright?” Remus warned, and Harry nodded. As he ate, he gathered his courage for a question.

“Were you serious last night, when you said you’d train me?” he asked tentatively. “If you don’t want to that’s fine, I’m sure you’re all busy, but—“

“Harry, we’d be happy to,” Remus assured. “All three of us. That’s actually what Severus and I were just talking about before you came in; if it’s alright with you, I put together a sort-of schedule for the summer. It’s got everything that the three of us thought you needed to learn, and we can always add in more things if you pick those up quickly. Or if there’s something you’d like to learn that we can squeeze in.”

He handed Harry a piece of parchment, and Harry unrolled it curiously. 

Monday AM - Schoolwork

Monday PM - Misc. Spellwork

Tuesday AM - Duelling and defence

Tuesday PM - Free time

Wednesday AM - Potions

Wednesday PM - Occlumency

Thursday AM - Free time

Thursday PM - Wizarding culture

Friday AM - Warding

Friday PM - Schoolwork

“You can have the weekend free, and of course the evenings. And any time you feel it’s too much, just say so,” Remus said hurriedly. “I just thought… it’s a start.”

“It looks great!” His tone fell just short of sincere. Remus levelled him with a knowing look.

“What’s wrong? Is it too much?”

“No, no! It’s just… Potions?” He made a helpless face.

“I refuse to associate with anyone who cannot brew a simple Pepper-Up Potion,” Snape drawled. “I do not expect you to become a master, but by Salazar, you will be at least somewhat proficient in brewing by the end of the summer. Potions are an important part of wizarding life, and you need to be capable of at least basic healing potions. There may come a time when there is no one you trust available to brew them for you.”

Harry sighed — he hated to admit it, but the man had a point. Maybe he would be better at Potions without Slytherins throwing things in his cauldron, or Snape taking points every five minutes. Unless… “You can’t take house points during the summer, right?” he checked suspiciously. Snape’s lips twitched.

“That is correct, Mr Potter.”

“Okay then. I’ll study Potions.” He didn’t miss the way Remus lifted his glass of pumpkin juice to hide a smile. “So we start tomorrow, then? With schoolwork?” 

“If you’d like. I figured you could get your homework out of the way, and then after that we can use that slot to go over anything from previous years that has given you trouble, or get a head start on next year’s work,” Remus suggested. 

“Works for me.” Harry leaned back in his chair, wondering what to do with his afternoon. He really wanted to try out that quidditch pitch. “I think I’m going to go flying, if that’s alright?” He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Remus — who seemed to be the most responsible one of the trio — who nodded. “But first, I’m going to write some letters. Am I alright to borrow your owl, Professor?”

“I have no need of her for now,” Snape acquiesced. Harry smiled in thanks, then excused himself from the table, hurrying up to his room. 

The first letter he wrote was to Draco.

Draco,

First off, this is Artemis. She belongs to a friend. I thought Hedwig might give the game away a bit. 

How are you? Are you in Italy yet, or France? I hope your summer is off to a good start. Mine got unexpectedly better than I ever thought. I can’t tell you why. Let’s just say I have some unanticipated company. 

Are you going to the Quidditch World Cup this summer? Ron’s going to see if his dad can get tickets. I think it’d be brilliant to go, but even if I can’t, I think I’m in for a great summer.

Hope you’re well,

Harry

That was alright, wasn’t it? Not too much information, and not too overly forward? His friendship with Draco was still so new and unsteady, he never knew how to act around the blond. Next he wrote to Neville.

Hi Neville,

Hope you and your gran are doing well. Any fun summer plans so far? My summer is looking to be pretty good, for once. 

I’m going to write to a few mutual friends this summer, if I can. If you know of anyone who would like to write to me, tell them I’m all clear to receive owls. 

Talk to you soon,

Harry

After that, he wrote a couple of short letters to Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, explaining that he was okay to have mail through the summer and he’d be happy to keep in touch if they wanted to. Once Artemis had taken those, he’d try a few more maybe.

There were others he wanted to write to — he wanted to write to the twins, and he should probably write to Ron and Hermione soon to stop them getting suspicious — but he didn’t want to overload the owls with too many letters at once. 

He’d already been to the Owlery once that day, and when he went back up he was glad to see Hedwig perched on one of the overhead beams, looking content. There were three other owls beside her; Remus’ owl, a barn owl named Horatio; Snape’s owl, a dark screech owl called Asphodel; and Artemis. She was a fairly unremarkable tawny owl, and she cooed softly at Harry when he called her down. “You too, Hedwig,” he requested. He secured the letter to Neville on her first; no one would blink twice at Hedwig visiting the Longbottom household. 

Once she had set off, Harry gently secured his three notes to Artemis’ leg. “Take that one last, and wait for a response, okay?” he said, pointing at the letter for Draco. Artemis hooted, bobbed her head, and took off through the open window. Harry watched the two owls fly away for a minute, then grinned. It was time for him to do some flying of his own.

.-.-.

Once Harry had thoroughly exhausted himself on his Firebolt, he took another quick shower and went to find some sort of company. He came across Sirius in the main living room, sprawled out on the thick rug in front of the fire. At first Harry thought he was asleep, until he picked his head up and blinked at Harry. “Hey, pup. Have a good fly?”

“It was great!” Harry enthused, taking a seat in the nearest armchair. He didn’t often get time to just be on his broom, enjoy the wind rushing through his hair and the blood pumping in his veins as he dove and flipped through the air. “I never said thank you for the Firebolt, by the way, but I really love it. It’s amazing.”

Sirius rolled onto his back, a contented grin tugging at his lips. “Glad it makes you happy, pup. You’ll have to let me take it for a spin sometime; I haven’t been flying in years.”

“Did you play quidditch?” 

“I was a beater in my fifth and sixth years, but I wasn’t as in love with it as the rest of the team, and by seventh I decided to let my place go to a talented little third year. I always liked flying, though. James and I used to spend half our summers on brooms. We could never convince Moony to join us.”

“You should get your own broom,” Harry suggested. “Then we could go flying together.”

“I might have to. It’s been a while since I tossed a quaffle around, but I’m sure I’ll pick it back up eventually.” He turned his face towards the fire. It wasn’t exactly cold outside, but Sirius didn’t seem to care, basking in the heat from the flames. “We’re going to have a great summer, pup. To make up for all the rubbish ones. All the ones I missed.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sirius,” Harry insisted. Sirius grimaced.

“We’ll agree to disagree there, Harry.” He sat up, running a hand through his chin-length hair. “Are you sure you want to spend your summer having lessons? I know there’s things you wanted to learn, but if Remus is coming on a bit strong with the schedule and all, you can say so.”

“No, I honestly want to,” Harry promised. “It’s way better than spending my summers weeding the garden and cooking for the Dursleys.” He saw Sirius frown, and ploughed on quickly. “Besides, school is great and all, but there’s so much magic they don’t teach you. Magic they don’t think is important because people in wizarding households grow up with it. I want to learn everything I missed out on by being raised by muggles.” There were so many basic household charms that they never bothered to teach in school, which would be fine if all the students had parents to teach them, but not everyone did. 

“You really are Lily’s boy, aren’t you?” Sirius remarked. “Moony told me, but I didn’t quite believe it. After seeing you run after your friend into the Shack, I thought you had to be James through and through.” He chuckled to himself. “Probably for the best, to be honest. James always needed Lily’s logic to balance him out. He was a bit thick by himself, bless his soul.”

“Everyone always says I’m like my dad. I think because I look like him,” Harry said, looking down at the dark skin of his hands, which was already starting to go even more brown from being out in the sun all afternoon. 

“I think people forget that Lily had a Gryffindor streak a mile wide, too,” Sirius said, swinging up to sit cross-legged facing Harry. “And Merlin, she could prank with the best of them. She didn’t do it often, but every now and then someone would really piss her off, and you could always tell a Lily Evans masterpiece. They were beautiful. Once in fifth year this Ravenclaw bloke cheated on one of Lily’s best friends, so she hexed him to make every piece of cutlery melt as soon as he touched it. Told him to eat face-first like the pig he was. It was brilliant. She was just so studious and sweet all the rest of the time that no one ever thought she could be trouble.”

“She sounds amazing,” Harry sighed. 

“She was. Far too good for our Jamie. He knew he was doing well for himself with her. But she loved him to bits, once he deflated his head a bit. Stopped bullying Snape. I think half the reason it pissed Lily off so much was because James couldn’t see how mad Remus was for the bloke. He didn’t even realise they were shagging til after we graduated, and only then because he walked in on it,” Sirius said with a roguish wink, making Harry blush.

“How long have they been together?” Surely he hadn’t been oblivious to it all last year? Someone would’ve said if two of the professors were… involved, especially if one of them was Snape. The Hogwarts rumour mill wouldn’t keep that one quiet. 

“It’s complicated with those two,” Sirius told him. “It was inevitable since second year, but true love never does run smooth. As much as it pains me to admit that old Snivelly’s really Moony’s true love. Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Remus seems to like him,” Harry approached tentatively. There had to be something good about Snape if Remus loved him. 

“Oh, he’s not as bad as he used to be. He’s actually been fairly decent to live with, so far,” Sirius relented. “He’ll probably be the one teaching you Occlumency, by the way. I thought about it, but Snape’s a far better Legilimens than I am. He’s been helping me sort out my own mind, y’know. Twelve years in Azkaban really did a number on my organisation skills up there,” he said with a tap to his forehead. “Hasn’t pried, hasn’t asked questions, hasn’t mocked me for anything he saw up there. Maybe he really has changed.” Sirius sighed. “Or maybe I was always just too much of a pillock to see what Remus and Lily saw in him.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. Luckily, he was saved having to find an answer by Remus calling them for dinner. Sirius jumped to his feet, his melancholy mood slipping away in the blink of an eye. “Come on, pup. Maybe after dinner we can get the two lovebirds to play cards with us or something. Have you ever played Warlock’s Bluff?”

Chapter Text

Harry’s standards were fairly low, but even so, he’d never been happier in his life. 

Living at Seren Du was like everything he’d dreamed of all at once. Spending his weekdays learning new spells and wizarding politics and his family history; flying whenever he wanted; swimming whenever he wanted; spending evenings curled up in the living room with some combination of his three housemates, reading or talking or playing card games. On weekends Remus always tried to take him somewhere, saying it wasn’t good for him to be cooped up with just the three of them for company. Sometimes they took Sirius with them — usually as Padfoot, sometimes under a glamour in muggle areas. Every now and then, Remus bullied Snape into coming too. They went to the beach, to the cinema, to the muggle shopping centre in Cardiff. On one memorable occasion, the four of them even went to a Holyhead Harpies quidditch match. No one batted an eyelash at the big shaggy dog Remus claimed was his familiar, and thanks to Snape’s disguise charms no one recognised them either. Seeing live professional quidditch was breathtaking, and it made Harry even more desperate to go to the Quidditch World Cup. 

Even his Potions lessons were enjoyable, once he and Snape both realised Harry wasn’t terrible at brewing if he was in the right environment.

Harry wasn’t even missing his friends that much. He wasn’t sure if it made him an awful person, but he quite liked his private little bubble of happiness. Sure, it got a little lonely sometimes — the three adults were often busy, and couldn’t always be expected to entertain Harry’s whims — but he was used to being lonely in the summer. It was nice not having to share with anyone, or make allowances for anyone, or fight for attention. At the Burrow, everything was chaos all the time, and Hogwarts was much the same. Here it was just him and his three sort-of guardians, and he was mostly left to his own devices unless he sought out company. 

His birthday was slowly approaching, and for once Harry was actually looking forward to celebrating it. Sirius was up to something, the dog animagus just giving Harry a mischievous grin every time he asked about birthday plans, and Harry was dying with curiosity. 

Staring up at the brand new Holyhead Harpies poster stuck to his bedroom wall, Harry glanced over at his alarm clock. It was eight in the morning on a Saturday; Ceri wouldn’t have breakfast ready for another hour. Sirius always liked to sleep in on weekends, unless they were going somewhere. If he could, he’d sleep in every day, but Remus kept insisting he couldn’t laze about all morning. 

Harry got up with a leisurely stretch, surprised to see Artemis perched outside his window. He grinned, bounding over to let her in. There was a letter tied to her leg, and once Harry had divested her of it she hooted softly and flew away, no doubt heading to the owlery. Harry opened the envelope with eager fingers.

Harry,

France is disgustingly hot. My poor fair skin is not made for these sorts of temperatures! Even with sun blocking charms, I’m having to spend most of my time indoors. Mother seems to think that’s a perfect excuse to take me touring around old museums and such rot. 

I refuse to believe you made a successful Wronski Feint. You’ll have to show me when we get back to school, because I’m fairly sure you’re lying to me. And if you’re not lying, how dare you. Gryffindor can’t win the cup two years in a row. That’s just rude. 

Have you been writing to Blaise Zabini? I was over at his house in Italy the other week and I could’ve sworn I saw this owl. If I’m not the only snake in your life, I’ll be heartbroken, Potter. I thought we had something special.

Father visited yesterday. It was awful. There’s something bothering him, and I don’t know what it is, but it must spell trouble. I don’t want to go back to England, not if it means putting up with his foul temper for the rest of the summer. Do you think I might burn to a crisp if I just stayed in France until September 1st?

I learnt a new card game from some French witches, too. They’re daughters of my mother’s friends. They go to Beauxbatons — that’s another magic school out here on the continent, if you didn’t know. The game is called Coup Le Chat, which is a ridiculous name that translates to ‘blow the cat’. When I asked why, they just laughed. It’s a fun game, I’ll have to teach it to you. Though it’s better with three players. Maybe we can invite Blaise to play with us, since you seem to have such fun talking to him. 

Write to you soon, if I don’t melt.

Draco

Harry was smiling by the end of the letter, even if there was an odd, twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach when Draco mentioned spending time with French witches. Dudley always said that European girls were prettier than any English girls. Was that the same for witches?

Not that it mattered, if Draco was hanging out with pretty girls. Harry didn’t care. 

He set the letter aside on his desk to reply to later, shrugging on his new green dressing gown and heading down to breakfast. “Good morning, Potter,” Snape greeted cordially, in his usual spot at the table with tea and a potions journal. No one else was up yet; except for Ceri, of course. She had Harry’s orange juice headed towards his place before he could even ask for it, and he gave her a grin in thanks. 

“Good morning, Professor. Remus not up yet?” The full moon was two nights ago, and he was still suffering a little from it.

“Not yet, but I don’t think it will be long. He’s feeling much better than he was yesterday.”

“That’s good. Is there a plan for the day?” With the moon, Harry wasn’t sure if they were going to go anywhere like they did last Saturday. Sirius couldn’t take him by himself, and he didn’t want Remus to push himself. 

“Indeed, but not until this evening. Plenty of time for Remus to gather his strength.” As Severus spoke, they heard muffled footsteps down the stairs, and soon a drowsy Remus Lupin shuffled into the kitchen, mid-yawn. He ran a hand over the back of Harry’s neck as he passed, then, to Harry’s surprise, draped himself over Snape’s back and buried his nose in the man’s neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there. Snape didn’t seem bothered, tilting his neck to bare it to the werewolf, who hummed in satisfaction. 

“Smell good,” he murmured. Snape’s lips curled in the corners in what might have been a fond smile.

“Do sit down, you’re embarrassing Potter.” 

Remus huffed softly, dragging his nose up Snape’s jaw and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “Don’t care.” But he did take his seat at the table, even if it involved him shuffling his chair closer to Snape’s and resting his head on the man’s shoulder, letting his eyes fall half-shut. 

Ever since Snape had finally removed Dumbledore’s curse from Remus, allowing him to reconnect with his wolf side, he’d had the occasional day like this. Especially around the days of the full moon. Days when he let his wolf instincts out a little more keenly, when he was more aware of the scent and feel of pack. Harry had never see him be this affectionate to Snape, though. It was sort of sweet. And the way Snape wasn’t even batting an eyelash, Harry wondered if the couple were more tactile in private. Remus had told him that Harry’s parents and Sirius were the only ones to ever know the truth of their relationship, before; clearly keeping their distance in front of others was not a new thing for them.

As Remus slowly woke up, he started to come back to himself a little more, though he didn’t seem particularly embarrassed by his behaviour. He pressed another kiss to Snape’s jaw, then scooted his chair back to its usual spot. 

Ceri set breakfast out, and none of them bothered waiting for Sirius to appear, tucking in with aplomb. He showed up about ten minutes later, dressed and ready for the day. “Morning, you lot. Moony, did you even sleep last night, or did Snape keep you up? Oops, sorry Harry,” he added when the teen blushed brightly. “I’m just saying, you look like you could do with a few more hours.”

“I’m awake,” Remus promised. “It’s just taking a bit for my human brain to kick in.”

“Pfft, human brains,” Sirius dismissed. “Who needs ‘em?”

“Is it hard to become an animagus?” Harry asked suddenly, the thought crossing his mind. Sirius blinked.

“I mean, it’s not easy. There’s a reason most people don’t do it. But most witches and wizards are capable.”

“How old were you and Dad when you did it?”

“Sixteen or so,” Sirius said, brow furrowed in thought. “Got the idea halfway through fifth year, managed the transformations by Christmas in sixth. So yeah, sixteen, seventeen-ish. So wait until you’re a little older,” he added with a grin. Harry pouted.

“Can’t I at least find out what animal I’d be?” he wheedled. Sirius barked out a laugh. 

“That’s a slippery slope, little pup. Once you know, it’s hard to wait. Unless you’re something awful, like a slug.” He stuffed a huge piece of toast in his mouth. When he’d swallowed, he eyed Harry in consideration. “Tell you what, you keep up your grades through fourth year, maybe I’ll start teaching you in your fifth. Could come in handy.”

Harry brightened up considerably; that was easy!. “It’s a deal.”

“That includes your Arithmancy and Runes grades, alright? There will be tests. Won’t there, Remus?”

“Absolutely. Gruelling ones,” Remus agreed, perking up now he’d had his second cup of tea. “Harder than your OWLs.” Once Harry had finished all his homework, he’d requested his schoolwork sessions be turned into Arithmancy and Runes lessons. He had so many regrets about his choices of elective, but it was too late now. 

“I’ll pass them,” Harry declared confidently. He finished off his orange juice, and Ceri took his empty plate off the table to be washed. “What are we doing today?”

“We don’t need to leave until six, so until then, whatever you want,” Sirius replied. Harry’s interest was piqued. 

“Where are we going at six?”

Sirius grinned wolfishly. “It’s a surprise.” 

Harry huffed; Sirius never spoiled surprises. “Can we go swimming for a bit?” His prior experience of swimming pools was the obligatory lessons in muggle primary school to make sure kids knew how to not drown. Considering Dudley’s favourite past-time in those lessons was actively trying to drown Harry, he hadn’t really enjoyed them. Now, he found he quite liked being in the water. 

“Sounds good to me. What are you two up to?” He turned the question to Remus and Snape, who shared a glance. 

“I had no prior plans,” Snape replied. “Though I won’t be here tomorrow. The headmaster has need of me for something.” All four of them shared a dark look at the mention of Dumbledore. 

Harry ambled back upstairs to change into his swimming trunks, and he didn’t wait for Sirius before heading to the pool, running the last couple of steps to jump in with a splash. He heard a loud bark behind him, and turned just in time to be hit with a wave of water as a huge dog cannon-balled into the pool. Laughing, Harry swam over to the edge, watching Sirius’ doggy paddle turn into an effortless front crawl as he changed from dog to man. “Got you there, pup,” he teased, ruffling Harry’s wet hair. Harry ducked out of the way, diving under the water once more, grateful for the charms Snape had added to his glasses so he could see underwater with them. 

He sat in the shallow end for a bit, watching Sirius swim lazy lengths. Even after just a few weeks of freedom, he was looking years better from his time in Azkaban and on the run. You couldn’t see all of his ribs anymore, and he actually had some muscle definition to his arms and shoulders, his olive-toned skin taking on a bit of colour from the sun. Nothing, he kept insisting, like he’d looked in ‘the good old days’, but he looked healthier. 

Harry, too, was looking a lot better for his Dursley-free summer. Ceri’s cooking combined with hours in the pool or on his broom — or duelling with Remus and Sirius, which was a workout in itself — was helping him pack on quite a bit of muscle. He hadn’t grown much taller, only a couple of inches, but he was starting to look less like a starving runaway. 

Joining his godfather in his swimming, trying halfheartedly to race the man, Harry didn’t realise they had company until a body splashed into the pool. There was a beat, and then Remus’ head popped up out of the water, his hair flat against his forehead and a grin on his face. Harry beamed at him. Remus hardly ever came swimming with them!

To his utter astonishment, Remus wasn’t alone. Snape was walking towards the pool wearing a pair of black swimming shorts and a plain grey t-shirt, a book tucked under his arm, his Dark Mark a grey smudge on his left forearm. He cast a disparaging look at the trio frolicking in the pool, then stretched himself out on one of the deck chairs nearby. Harry couldn’t look away from his pale, hairy calves. Snape, in shorts. Ron would never believe him.

Ron would never believe a lot about Harry’s summer. 

Harry swam towards Remus, who ducked underwater and tackled Harry around the waist, throwing him up and towards Sirius. He hit the water with a splash that almost reached Snape, who glared from behind his book. “Do you mind?”

“Not really,” Sirius replied nonchalantly, splashing a little more water in his direction. Harry snickered before he could help himself. 

“Where’s that beach ball got to?” Remus asked, looking around for the brightly coloured inflatable they’d brought back from their trip to the seaside. Harry looked around, saw it wedged under a deck chair, and grinned to himself. He focused his magic, reaching a hand out towards the ball.

“Accio beach ball,” he whispered. There was a brief tug, and the ball zoomed towards him. 

“Look at you!” Sirius cheered, diving over to sprawl on Harry’s shoulders, beaming delightedly. “A wandless Summoning charm, you little show-off!” Harry’s cheeks glowed with pride. He’d been working on it for a while, using the book he’d bought to help him stay more aware of his magical core. After the extra spells Snape had found on him, he didn’t ever want to be at the mercy of someone else’s magic again.

The three of them tossed the beach ball between them, Sirius getting slowly more aggressive and daring as the game went on. At one point, he launched himself off Remus’ shoulders to reach up and spike the ball down towards the water, laughing when it made Harry squawk. Needing a minute to catch his breath, Harry swam over to the edge of the pool, leaning his elbows on the stone tiles. 

“Good book, Professor?” he called cheerfully to Snape, who glanced up at him. 

“Indeed.”

“You should come swim for a bit, y’know,” Harry offered. “Maybe you could try and drown Sirius.”

“Oi!” came the cry from across the pool. Snape’s eyes glittered in amusement. 

“Tempting,” he mused. Then, to Harry’s utter astonishment, Snape put his book down and sat up. Seconds later, Harry was looking at his professor’s bare chest as he shed his t-shirt and walked towards the pool. There was a loud wolf-whistle, and when Harry whipped around, the exasperated look on Remus’ face confirmed that he had definitely not made that noise. Sirius on the other hand was smirking, beach ball in one hand. 

Snape was pale as snow, thin and wiry, with several faint scars across his torso and biceps. Harry tried not to gawk at him. Snape hadn’t even taken his shirt off when they went to the beach!

The man stepped up to the edge of the pool, diving smoothly into the deep end and reappearing a few feet from Remus’ side. His dark hair stuck down flat, and he glanced askance at Remus. “Am I allowed to drown the mutt?” he asked. Remus sighed, struggling to hold in his amusement. 

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he replied conversationally. “But whatever makes you happy.”

“Oi!” Sirius said again, mock-angry. “No drowning the Padfoot! This is a no-drowning pool.”

“What a pity,” Snape drawled, before launching off into the water again. He ignored the three of them entirely, swimming steady lengths along the edge of the pool, dodging the beach ball when necessary. After about twenty minutes, he hoisted himself out of the water, heading back towards his deck chair. As he walked away, Harry caught sight of a nasty, twisted scar running diagonally across his mid-back. It looked almost like he’d been whipped. 

“Don’t ask,” Remus murmured softly, his honey eyes on his partner as the man cast a Drying charm on himself, then tugged his t-shirt back on. “He’s trusting you enormously to even let you see them.”

Harry nodded, turning back to the pool. Much to his surprise, he was actually starting to like Snape quite a lot. The man’s quick wit and dry humour were unexpectedly hilarious, and he was a great teacher now he didn’t hate Harry. Harry wasn’t looking forward to going back to school in September, when they’d have to pretend to be enemies again. 

They stayed in the pool for a while longer, then eventually dried off and dragged themselves back to the house, Sirius playfully wrestling Harry on the way. Snape and Remus disappeared into their room after lunch, Remus claiming to need a nap before their evening plans, so Harry pestered Sirius into helping him practice fourth year Transfiguration spells. Even if he couldn’t show it in his classwork without making Dumbledore suspicious, he wanted to prepare himself as much as he could. Even Hermione would be impressed at how much of a bookworm he was becoming; the manor library was one of his favourite places, and the bookshelves in his room were rapidly filling up. He had an entire section for fiction novels now, both wizarding and muggle — Remus insisted there was more to books than just learning, and wanted to make sure Harry started out with the classics. Reading muggle versions of magic in books was wildly entertaining. 

Ceri called them down for an early dinner, and Harry was practically vibrating with excitement through the meal, wondering what his godfather had in store for him. He wolfed down his food, looking up at the clock. They still had another twenty minutes. “Do I need to go change?” he asked, looking down at the plain jeans and t-shirt he was wearing, then looking at the adults. “Where are we going, magic or muggle?”

“Muggle. Grab your jacket, we’ll be outside,” was all Sirius would tell him. Harry nodded, racing up to his bedroom and throwing his wardrobe open, looking at his choices. Sirius had been in jeans and a t-shirt, but he made everything he wore look cool. Snape was wearing black jeans and a dark green button-up, while Remus had on grey trousers, a button-up and a cardigan. Not helpful. 

Eventually, Harry decided on a nice pair of dark jeans, a blue long-sleeve shirt with a geometric design on it, and his Silverling’s jacket and boots. He made an attempt at taming his wild hair, but gave up within a couple minutes, shrugging helplessly at his reflection.

Making sure his wand was in its invisible holster, Harry grabbed his muggle wallet off his desk and hurried back downstairs, where the three adults were waiting in the entrance hall. “You ready, pup?” Sirius asked, excitement lighting up his grey eyes. Harry grinned, nodding, and followed them out into the driveway. 

You couldn’t apparate or disapparate from inside the house, so they always had to walk about twenty feet away to get past the wards. Before they left, Snape turned to Sirius, casting a few spells to mask his true identity; his hair became short and mid-brown, his jaw narrower, his skin several shades darker. It wasn’t entirely necessary — after several weeks of good meals, a shave and a haircut, Sirius was a far cry from the man on the wanted posters, and his face hadn’t been on the muggle news in months. But, better safe than sorry.

Harry took Sirius’ arm, waiting for the now-familiar feeling of being squeezed through a tube. They appeared in an empty alley somewhere, Remus and Snape right behind them. Harry fell into step beside his godfather, bouncing on his toes as they left the alley and emerged on a street right next to what looked like a huge park. It was full of people, blocked in by barriers, and rising over the crowd Harry could see some sort of stage structure. There was loud music coming from the crowd; a kind of gentle, folksy rock music.  

Sirius put an arm around his shoulder, keeping him close as they joined a line of people at some sort of entrance gate. “Have you ever been to a concert before, cub?” Remus asked from behind him, his eyes bright. Harry shook his head. “Well, this is a good one for your first time. Just stay close to us, okay?”

Sirius handed over four tickets at the gate, and each of them was given a wristband, Harry’s red to show he was underage. The crowd thinned out once they got through the barriers, and Harry saw a line of smaller stalls selling food and merchandise and such. “Open air concerts are always better than something in a venue,” Sirius declared, his arm still across Harry’s shoulders. “There’s more space, it’s not as smoky, and the music sounds better too.”

The song ended, and a wave of applause rose up. The lead singer said something Harry couldn’t quite make out, then the next song started up. Sirius steered him around a corner, and he could finally see the stage. The concert seemed to be pretty family-orientated; there was a huge cluster of people at the very front, but further back people were more spread out, many people with blankets and picnics spread about them. Sirius found a good spot that wasn’t too close to the crush up front, and offered Harry a grin. “Can you see alright, pup?”

“Yeah,” he assured, having to speak loudly over the music. “Sirius, this is amazing!” He’d never seen any kind of live music before. He could feel the bass guitar rumbling in his chest, the drum pounding in his ears like a heartbeat. Sirius beamed.

“You’re gonna love it, kiddo!”

Harry glanced back at Remus and Snape, who were stood close to each other but not touching; it was the muggle world, after all, and you could never be too careful. They still curved into each other, just a little bit, like they couldn’t help themselves. They probably didn’t even notice they were doing it. Snape didn’t always come with them on their weekend trips, but Harry liked it when he did. Remus was happier when he did. The werewolf was smiling faintly, his head bobbing along to the music. 

Sirius spun Harry around, grabbing the boy’s hands in his much larger ones and lifting them over his head, waving them in time with the music along with the rest of the crowd. Harry laughed, leaning back against his godfather’s chest, hearing the man sing along with his slightly husky baritone. 

Best summer ever. 

.-.-.-.

Sprawled out on the living room sofa in front of a crackling fire, Padfoot wedged between him and the back of the sofa and demanding head-scratches every few seconds, Remus could hardly believe how much his life had turned around in the last two months. He had his best friend, his pack cub, and the love of his life all under one roof, with nothing to disturb them until school began. And he was connecting with his inner wolf in ways he never had before. Transformations were easier than ever, and he felt ten years younger. If not for Harry’s age and the lack of Lily and James, it would almost be like none of the last thirteen years had happened.

Padfoot let out a loud doggy snore, and Remus snickered, adjusting to make himself more comfortable. Sirius was getting much better, but he still often spent time in his animal form; after practically living as a dog for twelve years, it was hard for him to adjust to being human sometimes. 

Harry and Severus were downstairs somewhere practicing Harry’s Occlumency, so Remus officially had nothing to do until dinner. He could get used to being a man of leisure; after having to scrape whatever job he could find just to survive, he still couldn’t quite get used to doing nothing. He missed teaching — more than he expected to, honestly — but tutoring Harry gave him so much joy, and it was nice to take a break as well. 

He cocked his head when he heard familiar footsteps heading his way; was that the time already?

Severus appeared in the doorway, his fairly neutral expression turning into a scowl when he saw the way Padfoot was stretched out over Remus. Remus bit back a sigh. “I can see I’m interrupting,” Severus said sharply. “I’ll come back later.”

“Severus,” Remus called, but the man turned away. Remus sighed, dragging himself out from under the dog and off the sofa. “Go back to sleep, Padfoot,” he muttered, rubbing the dog’s head as he looked up in drowsy confusion. 

He caught up to Severus halfway down the corridor, grabbing him gently by the elbow. “Severus, what did you need?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted company reading before dinner, but I see you already found it,” the Slytherin retorted. He was unable to hide the hurt in his tone from Remus’ practiced ear, and the werewolf frowned. 

“I always want your company,” he murmured, leaning in close to the man. “Sirius snores.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Severus wrenched his arm from Remus’ grip, stalking off towards the stairs. Remus hurried after him. “Severus, please,” he urged. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“If you can’t figure it out yourself, that should be proof enough,” Severus snapped.

Remus felt like they were sixteen again, navigating the minefield of Slytherin versus Gryffindor, werewolf versus future Death Eater, two teenage boys desperate for connection but so scared of getting hurt.

He’d hated being sixteen.

“Severus,” he said again, sliding a hand to the back of the man’s neck. Moony whined in the back of his head, asking why their mate was sad. Remus wished he had an answer. He looked deep into the near-black eyes he loved, trying to figure it out. 

“Go back to your mutt, Lupin,” Severus urged. “I have other places to be.”

Slowly the matter dawned on Remus, and he almost groaned. Again? He thought he’d put this to rest over a decade ago. “Severus,” he murmured, gently pushing the man up against the wall. Not hard enough that he couldn’t fight it; never hard enough to hurt. Severus’ back hit the dark blue wallpaper. “There is nothing between Sirius and I. There never has been and never will be anything but a very deep, utterly platonic love between Sirius and I. You know that. You know we kissed once when we were drunk fifth years and it was the worst kiss of my entire life.”

“He might’ve gotten better since then,” Severus muttered. Remus snorted.

“If you want to go find out, by all means, go ahead,” he retorted dryly. “But I have zero interest in doing so.”

“Does he know that?”

“Of course he does! Severus, my God, a blind man could see the way I look at you like you hung the whole Merlin-damned Milky Way!” He sucked in a sharp breath, his heart breaking that even after all these years, Severus still just didn’t get it. “Sirius has been through hell. Over a decade surrounded by dementors, then hiding in the Forbidden Forest living off rats. He hadn’t had a comforting touch since before Lily and James died, til he came here. He still has nightmares about being back in that place! Sometimes he needs someone to be there just to remind him he’s not alone. If I can be that person for my best friend, my brother, then you bet your arse I will. And I… I lost everything that night. I lost my pack, I lost my place in the wizarding world, I lost you. I’ve got most of it back, and I’m so grateful for every day I get to keep it. I lost Sirius for thirteen years. I need him, Severus. Not the same way I need you, but I need him all the same. Please don’t begrudge me that. Know that I only ever want you. You’re my heart, Severus, you have been since we were bloody thirteen!”

He had tears in his eyes now, his grip on Severus’ shoulders turning desperate. He couldn’t bear it if Severus ever tried to make him choose between him and Sirius. “You need that affection,” Severus said knowingly. “The affection I can never give you.”

“I don’t care!” Remus burst out in frustration. “I’m not ashamed of loving you. I didn’t hide it from Harry, I won’t hide it from Sirius — I’d announce it in the bloody Prophet if it wouldn’t risk both our lives. You’re more reserved, I understand that completely, and I love that about you. But don’t tell me you can’t give me affection when you show it to me all the time. It’s not the typical public affection, but I’ve never expected that, Severus. I’ve never doubted your love for me, please don’t insult me by doubting mine for you. Cuddling with Sirius — especially when he’s a dog, Merlin! — It’s nothing more than platonic comfort. I won’t give that up. But I need you to trust me.”

Severus breathed deep into the silence that stretched between them, until his anguished eyes opened to meet Remus’ once more. “You’re not the only one who lost everything that night, Remus,” he said eventually, every word dripping with pain. “I had to live through the aftermath. I had to carry on. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe we’re done hurting each other.”

Remus gripped the front of the man’s robes, pulling him into a furious kiss, trying to shove every ounce of what he was feeling into the embrace. It was messy, with teeth clashing and a desperate little groan ripping from Severus’ throat, and they were both breathing hard when he pulled away. “Believe it, Severus Snape,” Remus declared firmly. He was never more sure of anything in his life. “We are done. Darkness is coming, but whatever may happen, we will face it side by side, on the same team, and if anything wants to get to you it’s going to have to go through me, because we are done hurting each other and you are mine.” The last word was a growl, and he knew his eyes were glowing gold. “We’ve wasted so much time, Severus. So much time fighting the inevitable, pushing each other away to try and stop future pain. We’re too bloody old for that now.”

“I can’t lose you again.” Severus’ voice was a heartbroken whisper. Remus pressed closer to him, like he was trying to crawl inside the man’s chest and call it home. 

“You won’t,” he promised, though it was a vow he could never keep. Anything could happen. But he knew only death would tear him away from the man he called his own. “You won’t lose me. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. My heart beats the rhythm of your name, my soul has your magic threaded through it, there is no part of me that isn’t entirely devoted to you. Severus, please.”

Severus let out a low growl, and all of a sudden Remus was being pushed back, through a door that quickly slammed behind him. He looked up — they were in a bedroom. It wasn’t theirs, but it wasn’t Sirius’ or Harry’s either, so that was good enough for him. With a sound that was more wolf than man, he tossed his Slytherin lover onto the bed, crawling after him with hooded eyes. One of them threw a hand out, he wasn’t sure who, but he heard the lock click firmly, and then he stopped caring about anything that wasn’t Severus’ skin, Severus’ voice, Severus’ scent. Moony howled in the back of his head. Severus met him at every move, ripping at clothing and tugging hair. Remus was lost. But it was fine, it was perfect.

Severus would find him again. He always did.

Chapter Text

Two days before Harry’s birthday, Snape came home from a meeting at the school, eyes filled with fury and magic making the windows rattle. “That foolish, idiotic, reckless, careless—“

“Calm yourself,” Remus called, walking over and resting soothing hands on the man’s shoulders, tipping his forehead against Snape’s for the briefest moment. “What has Albus done now?”

“Not just Albus,” the Slytherin snarled. “The whole sodding Ministry.” Harry shared a glance with Sirius, alarmed. 

“What’s going on at the Ministry?” he asked. Snape took a deep breath, straightening up. 

“The Department of International Magical Cooperation has decided to revive the Triwizard Tournament.”

Both Sirius and Remus swore loudly. Remus’ empty teacup exploded. Harry stared at them in blank confusion.

“What’s the Triwizard Tournament?”

Seeing that Remus was a little preoccupied as Snape continued ranting about dunderheaded buffoons, Sirius turned to his godson. “It’s a competition between three magical schools — Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons — that pits a champion from each school against each other in three tasks designed to test their magic, their courage, and their quick thinking.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Harry mused; it actually sounded quite fun. Sirius’ face was grave.

“The tournament was discontinued in 1792 due to the exceedingly high death toll of both champions and spectators,” he said flatly. Harry’s stomach sank.

“Oh.”

“Not only are they reviving the tournament, but of course Hogwarts is hosting,” Snape continued. “As if we didn’t have enough to deal with! The school is going to be swarming with foreigners, including bloody Karkaroff—“

“Karkaroff?” Sirius barked, head whipping around. “What the hell is he doing there?”

“He’s headmaster of Durmstrang now,” Snape replied, looking like he’d swallowed a lemon. “They do so enjoy their Dark Arts.”

Harry didn’t dare ask who Karkaroff was. He didn’t think he’d like the answer. 

“The students aren’t supposed to know, but I’ll bet anyone with a parent in the ministry is aware by the time school starts back up,” Snape said. “They’re limiting entry to only those who are of age, but from what little Albus told me about the plans for the tasks, it’s going to be chaos regardless.”

“Have they hired a new Defence teacher yet?” Remus asked, still with his hands on Snape’s shoulders, like he’d forgotten they were there, thumbs absently working at tense muscles. Snape shook his head.

“If they have, I haven’t been informed. Let’s just hope it’s someone good, with all this happening at the school.”

“Well, if you can only enter if you’re seventeen, I’ll just stay out of it, then, won’t I?” Harry pointed out diplomatically. “Yeah there’ll be a load of new people around the castle, but most of them will be students. I’ll just watch this Triwizard thing, keep my head down, and stay out of Dumbledore’s way.”

“You’ll still have to be careful,” Remus warned. “With so many people coming and going, it’ll be easier for someone to slip in where they’re not supposed to be.”

“I mean, being entirely honest, it doesn’t sound much more dangerous than my previous school years. Teacher possessed by literal Voldemort, giant basilisk roaming the halls looking for blood, mass murderer out to kill me — no offence, Sirius,” he added. “All on top of a headmaster who has some secret plan to maybe use me as an actual magical bomb. Just a pretty standard year, to be fair.”

The three adults stared at him for a minute.

“Why the hell are we letting him go back to that school?” Sirius muttered.

“Why the hell do I work at that school?” Snape agreed, shaking his head. Harry snorted. 

“It’ll be alright,” he said, nonplussed. School-sanctioned danger made a nice change from the regular danger.

“Remember, students aren’t supposed to know until it’s officially announced,” Snape reminded him, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’ll just add it to the list of all my other secrets, don’t worry,” he replied. Snape shot him a dark look.

“Cheeky little brat.”

“Sorry, Professor, but your glare stopped working on me about the time Sirius turned you into a hamster the other week,” Harry admitted apologetically. “All I can think of is those chubby little cheeks.”

Snape growled again, while Sirius sniggered. Harry smirked.

The windows had stopped rattling, at least. 

.-.-.-.

The morning of Harry’s fourteenth birthday dawned clear and sunny, and Harry was awoken by several owls tapping against his window. The most violent of which was the tiny ball of fluff Sirius had given Ron — who, according to the letter, was named Pig, which, what??

He’d stayed up until midnight, as he always did, wishing himself a happy birthday when the clock turned over. But for the first time ever, he fell asleep quickly after, eager to celebrate his birthday properly. For the first time ever, he had people to celebrate it with. 

He had presents from all the usual people — The Weasleys, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid — but to his surprise he also had presents from the twins, Neville, Susan and Hannah, and cards from Daphne, Blaise, Ernie, Anthony, Sullivan, the Patil twins, and even Cassius Warrington. He’d never felt so popular in his life. 

There was nothing in the pile from Draco, and Harry tried to ignore the stab of hurt that rose in his chest. Perhaps the owl was just delayed. Draco was still in France, after all. 

His bedroom door burst open, and Padfoot bounced onto the bed, sending Harry’s presents flying. “Padfoot!” he exclaimed laughingly, shoving gently at the huge dog. “You’ve made a mess.”

“That’s what magic’s for!” Sirius replied, human once more and sitting on Harry’s bed, beaming. “Happy birthday, Harry!” He opened his arms, and Harry wriggled over for a hug.

“Happy birthday, cub,” Remus called from the door, watching the scene with fond eyes. “Sirius, let him up, will you? Breakfast is ready. Ceri made pancakes.”

At that announcement, Harry abandoned his godfather and practically sprinted to the kitchen, skidding into the table and taking his seat. “Happy birthday, Master Harry!” Ceri chirped. “Ceri be making your favourite!” She placed a plate in front of him, stacked high with pancakes, loaded with homemade whipped cream and fresh berries. 

“Thanks, Ceri!” he enthused, reaching for his knife and fork.

“Couldn’t wait for the rest of us?” Sirius mock-complained, when he entered the kitchen to find Harry with his cheeks bulging full of food. 

“It’s pancakes, Pads,” he implored once he’d swallowed. 

For once, Snape was the last one to the table, and he nodded at Harry in greeting. “Happy birthday, Potter.”

Harry grinned at him, making sure his mouth wasn’t full of pancake. Snape still looked mildly disgusted. 

“So what are we doing today?” 

“Well, you’ve got your Potions lesson this morning, and—“ Sirius broke off in a laugh at the offended look on Harry’s face. “Kidding, kidding. You’ve got presents in the living room, and then a little surprise at about ten.”

If it was the surprise Sirius had been hinting about for weeks, Harry couldn’t wait. 

Breakfast was a lively affair, and once all the pancakes were gone the four of them moved up to the living room, where there were several wrapped presents on the coffee table. “Go on,” Remus urged, nudging Harry forward gently. Harry didn’t know where to start. He’d never opened birthday presents in front of people before. At least at Christmas, everyone else had presents, too. 

He reached for the first one on the pile, a heavy box wrapped in brown paper; from Remus. 

Tearing open the paper carefully, he gasped when it revealed a boxset of four beautiful hardback books. The Earthsea Quartet, the box read in shiny foil letters. “She’s a muggle author,” Remus explained. “I think you’ll really like them. I started them when I was your age — the last one only came out a few years ago.”

“Thanks, Remus!” Harry murmured, setting the books aside carefully to reach for his next present. The paper on this one was also plain brown, but the handwriting on top betrayed it to be from Snape. He was surprised it wasn’t book-shaped. 

The paper parted to reveal a small leather roll-up bag, about the width of his calf all around. When he undid the buckle keeping it secure, it revealed a dozen potion vials kept in neat little pouches, each one labelled with the same spidery handwriting. Pepper-Up Potion, Pain Relieving Potion, Dreamless Sleep, the list went on. “Should you ever need to medicate yourself without the supervision of Madam Pomfrey,” Snape drawled. “Though please do try never to need them. You’re just starting to not be entirely useless, it’d be a waste if you got yourself killed.”

Harry grinned widely, and with a burst of impulsiveness, took two steps across the room to wrap his arms around Snape’s waist. “Thanks, Professor.”

Snape froze, and eventually lowered a hand to pat Harry’s shoulder. Harry didn’t push his luck, letting go and retreating back to the table. There were three gifts left, all wrapped in the same sparkly silver paper.

 “That one’s from me, that one’s from me and Moony, and that one doesn’t really count because it should’ve been yours to begin with,” Sirius explained, pointing to each in turn. Harry went first for the one from just Sirius, tearing into the paper with some hesitation, just in case it exploded glitter everywhere. He was safe, for now. 

Ripping the paper all the way off, his eyes lit up at the sight of the Zonko’s box; of course Sirius had got him prank materials. “Figured you could take them to school, keep the old man on his toes,” the animagus reasoned, mischief dancing in his eyes. Harry smirked.

The present from both Remus and Sirius combined was large and squishy, and Harry unwrapped it to find a beautifully soft dark grey cloak, with a gold clasp in the shape of a pawprint. “It’s got size adjusting charms, for when you grow,” Sirius told him as Harry stroked a gentle hand over the wool. “Warming charms and the like. And, well, I thought when the time comes, we could have your family crests embroidered on. Every young wizard needs a good cloak.”

Harry swung the cloak over his shoulders, feeling the warmth wrap around him like a hug. He grinned. The only wizarding clothes he had were his school robes. This cloak looked like something Draco might wear. He looked down at himself, imagining how it might look with the Potter and Black crests on the front — and Slytherin and Peverell too, he supposed. “It’s brilliant,” he declared. Sirius beamed. 

The final present was a huge, brightly coloured tapestry — it was clearly old, and Indian in origin, depicting some sort of abstract scene of the creation of the world, according to Hindu mythology. Harry had to set it on the floor to unroll it fully, his eyes round as he studied the intricate weaving. “This was brought over with the first ever Potters to emigrate to Britain, made by their ancestors,” Sirius explained, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s hung in the home of every first-born Potter since. We can hang it up here somewhere; then, when you’re old enough to have your own place, you can take it with you. James used to know all about it, and I only remember bits and pieces, but I’m pretty sure there’s a book about it in the vault.”

Harry was embarrassed to find himself tearing up a little bit — he had never had anything like that. Growing up with the Dursleys, they were determined to act as if Harry’s skin was just particularly tan, and once he got to the wizarding world people all just told him about the great magic in his blood. No one ever acknowledged the history of the Potter family, or told him anything about his heritage. “When we can, I’ll take you down to the Potter vault, and we can go through everything, teach you about the family. I learnt a fair bit living with James for so long — I don’t know everything, but I reckon I know enough to get you started,” Sirius said hesitantly. “I’m not James. I’m not trying to replace him. But… he would’ve wanted you to learn about where you come from. He would’ve taught you all that, if he could. I figured I can do my best to—“

He was cut off by Harry barrelling into his chest in a rib-crushing hug, and Sirius quickly returned it, kissing Harry’s messy hair. “You’ve been denied so much, pup. You deserve better.”

Harry kept his face buried in Sirius’ chest until he could be sure he was no longer going to cry, and then he pulled away, still with a bit of a lump in his throat. “Right,” he murmured. “I’m just gonna… take this all upstairs.”

“Don’t forget your surprise at ten,” Remus reminded. “You’ll want to be dressed for that.”

Harry had almost forgotten about that. He carefully rolled up the tapestry and gathered his presents, heading to his room and letting out a deep breath, still shaking a little. In that moment he hated Voldemort, and Dumbledore, for tearing him away from everything he should’ve had growing up. Love. A family. A heritage. Voldemort might have set it in motion by killing his parents, but Dumbledore was the one who kept him isolated from that point onwards. Dumbledore was the one who tried to deny him his family magics. 

He turned to his wardrobe, shaking the dark thoughts from his head. It was his birthday, there was no need to get morose.

.-.-.

As ten o’clock drew closer, Sirius turned into Padfoot to stop himself spoiling the surprise, and Harry retaliated by sending various mostly-harmless jinxes at the dog, who jumped all over the entrance hall to avoid them, barking happily. “Just tell me!” the teen pleaded. Padfoot growled playfully, shaking his head.

The clock struck ten. 

Sirius was back on two feet in an instant, and grabbed Harry around the shoulders. “Come on!” He led him towards the front doors, practically skipping. Was his surprise a place? Were they going somewhere? Stepping out into the driveway, Harry gaped. 

Walking towards the house were two figures, one taller than the other, both with the sun shining off their white-blonde hair. “Draco!” Harry’s eyes were wide in astonishment, and he whipped around to look at his godfather. “But he’s— how did you— I don’t understand!”

“Remus mentioned the two of you had become close,” Sirius said, still grinning smugly. “I thought it’d be nice for you to have company your own age for the day.”

Draco and his mother made it up to the house, and Narcissa Malfoy leaned in to press a brief kiss to Sirius’ cheek. “You’re looking well, cousin,” she greeted. “Freedom clearly agrees with you.”

“It definitely does. You should try it sometime,” Sirius replied wryly. 

“Cousin?” Harry echoed. Sirius rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Narcissa Black-Malfoy,” Sirius introduced. “Daughter of my father’s sister. Cissa, dear, I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced; Harry Potter, my heir.”

Narcissa offered a hand, and Harry knew he was supposed to kiss the back of it. “Well met, Heir Black.”

“Well met, Lady Malfoy,” Harry replied. He glanced between the two adults. “Wait, if you two are cousins, and I’m your heir, does that make Draco my cousin too?” For some reason, that made him feel weird. 

Sirius and Narcissa shared an amused glance. “Not to worry, pup,” Sirius assured, chuckling. “You’re my heir in name, not blood.”

“Sirius, allow me to introduce my son, Draco,” Narcissa said primly, nudging Draco forward. He bowed.

“Well met, Lord Black.”

“Well met, Heir Malfoy,” Sirius returned. “Salazar, Cissa, he’s certainly got the Black cheekbones. Not much of Lucius in him, is there?”

“Less and less every day, I believe,” she said, running an affectionate hand over her son’s hair. Draco preened.

With the formal greetings out of the way, Harry was finally facing Draco, who smirked at him. “Unanticipated company, Potter?” he remarked, reminding Harry of the first letter he’d sent at the beginning of summer. “Bit of an understatement.” He didn’t seem fazed by the enormous manor and its grounds; he probably lived in something twice the size of it. “No wonder you’ve been able to practice your Wronski Feint. Which I still don’t believe you can pull off, by the way,” he added. 

“I’ll prove it to you,” Harry challenged. He glanced up at Sirius, who smiled fondly. 

“Yes, you two can go flying. Narcissa and I can catch up in the parlour. Maybe even lure Snape up from his lab for a spot of tea.”

“Uncle Severus is here?” Draco asked, surprised. 

“I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you, sweetheart, but you go ahead and play with Harry — it’s his birthday, after all. We’ll call you in for lunch,” Narcissa said. She reached into her handbag, and Harry beamed when she pulled Draco’s broom out, the bag much bigger on the inside than it appeared. “Have fun, boys. Do be safe. And happy birthday, Mr Potter.”

“Thanks, Mrs Malfoy!” Harry grabbed Draco by the wrist, tugging him in the direction of the quidditch pitch at the back of the manor. When they were alone, he rounded on his friend. “You’re supposed to be in France!”

“You’re supposed to be in Surrey,” Draco returned in the same tone. “Explain, Potter.” He mounted his broom, kicking off in a lazy spiral, and Harry summoned his Firebolt from the broom shed to join him. The two drifted in easy laps around the half-pitch as Harry told Draco all about Snape rescuing him from the Dursleys at the beginning of summer, and everything that had happened since. 

“Mother was surprised when she got the letter from Uncle Severus, asking if we could get away for the day on the 31st,” Draco said once it was his turn to explain things. “I suppose your godfather included a letter too, explaining his circumstances. She took it fairly well, all things considered.”

“I didn’t realise she knew we were even friends,” Harry commented. Draco shrugged, doing an effortless barrel roll. 

“I tell my mother everything,” he said evenly. “She won’t tell Father.” He smirked, swooping over to Harry’s side. “Now, enough about our guardians — surely you’ve got a snitch around here somewhere?” His eyes flashed in challenge, and Harry returned the look. 

“You’re on, Malfoy.”

.-.-.

Harry hadn’t realised how much he missed having company his own age until he had Draco around. Or maybe it was just Draco in particular. Being able to spend time with the blond boy without having to hide in abandoned classrooms in the middle of the night; flying against him for the snitch in companionship rather than rivalry — Harry couldn’t stop smiling, even when Draco asked him why he was grinning like a loon. 

They flew until lunchtime, first trying to beat each other to the snitch and then getting the quaffle out, passing back and forth as they talked about their summers. Harry told Draco about the concert he’d gone to the week before, while Draco bragged about all the interesting places he’d been in Europe. “I brought my cards with me,” the Slytherin said, tossing the quaffle in Harry’s direction. The dark-haired boy had to stretch to catch it, letting the movement carry him into a sloth roll. “I can teach you that French game. It’s ever so simple. Mirielle said it’s quite popular at Beauxbatons.”

“Mirielle? She’s one of the girls you saw in France?” Harry asked, wondering why the name seemed to stick funny in his throat. Draco nodded. 

“She and her cousin, Adalene. Their home isn’t far from our summer house, we spent most of the week together.”

“Oh.” Harry’s next throw was so hard it almost knocked Draco off his broom. The blond shot him a glare. 

“So, been having fun with Granger and Weasley all summer?” he returned. “Since you’re not with the muggles and all.”

“They don’t actually know I’m here,” Harry admitted. “We didn’t think it was safe. I’ve barely even heard from them — Hermione’s written more than Ron, but… anyway, you’re the first visitor I’ve had all summer.”

“Oh.” 

Draco was saved having to think up another response by Sirius calling for them from the back patio. “Lunch is ready, boys!”

They landed swiftly, carrying their brooms with them and hurrying towards the house. Halfway there, Draco skidded to a halt, eyes wide. “Is that— the hippogriff! Buckbeak!”

Harry looked over towards the tree line, where Buckbeak was trotting out of the woods, tossing his head back and swallowing a dead rabbit. “Oh, yeah, did I not tell you that bit? Sirius escaped on his back. He lives here now.”

Draco looked at him incredulously, then back to the hippogriff. “You’re definitely telling me the full story after lunch,” he declared, then grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him towards the house. Harry flushed; for a second there, he’d thought Draco was going to take him by the hand.

Ceri had made an excellent spread, and in the middle of the table was an enormous chocolate cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday Harry’ in swirling silver icing, delicately iced snitches all around the edges. A pang of fondness rose in Harry’s chest as he remembered the cake Hagrid had brought him, three years ago. His first birthday cake. 

“Uncle Severus!” Draco greeted, then glanced at the man beside him. “Professor Lupin.” 

Remus smiled. “Hello, Mr Malfoy. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Draco.” Snape reached out to touch his godson’s shoulder briefly. “It’s good to see you well.”

As they sat down to eat, Harry looked around the table, getting a strong urge to laugh. If someone had told him a year ago he’d be spending his birthday with Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape, and actually be happy about that, he would’ve sent them to St Mungo’s. 

But he was. Happy, that was. It was the best birthday ever, and it was barely even halfway over. 

“My son tells me you’re getting better acquainted with the other heirs at Hogwarts, Mr Potter,” Narcissa said, reaching for a plate of sandwiches. “It’s good to hear the Black family name will be properly represented in the Wizengamot once more.”

“I’m still new to it all, but I’m learning,” Harry replied. “Draco’s helping a lot. He knows far more about it than I do.”

“If I can be of assistance, don’t hesitate to ask. We are family, of a sort, after all,” Narcissa pointed out. “There was a time when we thought that Draco might be the Black heir. I didn’t realise Sirius had taken precautions. Lucius was… quite disappointed.” Her face hardened for a moment, and Sirius growled quietly under his breath. 

“You understand why I had to, Cissa,” he said. “I knew you’d raise the boy well, but I couldn’t be sure how much influence Malfoy would have over him. The Black family name has been through enough without adding that to it.”

“Oh, I completely agree.”

Draco nudged Harry under the table. “Do you know what’s happening at Hogwarts this year?” he asked conspiratorially. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know what’s happening?” he returned quietly. How could Draco know?

“Father told me everything,” Draco bragged.

“I’m sure he also told you to keep quiet about it,” Snape cut in with a pointed look. Draco’s pale cheeks flushed. 

“Yeah, but you told me,” Harry pointed out. Snape’s glare turned on him, but he just grinned. 

“For your own safety.”

“And we all appreciate the forewarning,” Remus said, resting his hand on Severus’ forearm for the briefest moment. 

“It’s a shame underage wizards can’t enter,” Draco drawled. “I’m sure I’d win if I could.”

“Yes, I’m sure you know far more spells than the seventh years,” Harry agreed sarcastically, earning a glare. “You’ll have to sit back and let someone else have the glory, I know it’ll be very difficult for you.”

Draco gave a haughty sniff, turning to his pumpkin juice. “With any luck, the Hogwarts champion will be a Slytherin. Or a Ravenclaw.” He sent a glance to Harry. “As long as it’s not a Gryffindor.”

“I bet a Gryffindor champion could win,” Harry argued. He didn’t know the Gryffindor seventh years very well, but they all seemed competent enough. 

“I’m sure if Dumbledore has his way, it’ll be a lion,” Draco muttered with a grimace. “More glory to the house of red and gold.” All three Slytherins in the room rolled their eyes in unison. Harry couldn’t even debate the point; he didn’t doubt Dumbledore would put a Gryffindor in the spotlight if he could.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” Sirius declared. “Now, who’s for cake? Go on, birthday boy.”

Harry was glad there was no singing and candle-blowing; at Dudley’s birthday parties it always looked excruciatingly awful. Instead Harry was handed an enormous knife, and carefully cut a slice for each person at the table. The cake was moist and fluffy, with a thick layer of cream and ganache in the middle. It was heaven. 

“Oh, that reminds me,” Draco said suddenly. He reached down into his mother’s handbag, pulling out a gift wrapped in Slytherin green paper. “Happy birthday.”

Harry blinked, surprised. He’d thought Draco’s visit was the present. He said as much, and the blond gave him an exasperated look. “Of course I got you something, you daft lion. Go on, open it.”

Harry tore into the paper, a beaming smile crossing his face at what lay inside. A brand new pair of quidditch goggles, brown leather with gold edging and buckles. According to the accompanying scroll of parchment, they were charmed unbreakable, anti-glare, waterproof and fog-proof, as well as prescription-adjusting; he wouldn’t need to wear his glasses underneath them. 

“You mentioned your current pair pinch your new glasses by your ears,” Draco muttered, his pale cheeks turning rosy. “I don’t want you to have any excuses when I kick your arse next year.”

Harry laughed, Draco ducking his head when his mother scolded him for his language. 

“You’ve got high hopes,” the Gryffindor teased. His pulse was racing, his stomach squirming far more than it should over a birthday present. He couldn’t even remember making that complaint; for Draco to not only have been listening, but remembered enough to think about it when picking out Harry’s present… it made his face heat, though he wasn’t sure why. “They’re brilliant, Draco. Thank you so much!”

The two boys sat, grinning and blushing at each other — completely unaware of the looks the adults were exchanging over their heads.

“Have you shown Draco your room yet, Harry?” Remus asked, and Harry shook his head.

“Not yet. We’ve been too busy flying.” He glanced over at his blond friend. “I can show you after lunch, if you’d like?” He’d never had a bedroom he was proud to show a friend before. “Oh, I should show you the library, too. It’s huge!”

“You’re getting worse than Granger,” Draco muttered, barely any malice in his tone. Harry stuck his tongue out. “And here I thought you were starting to be civilised.”

“You can only get so far with Gryffindors, Draco,” Snape told him. Remus snorted.

“May we be excused?” Harry asked, once he and Draco had both finished their cake. Draco could only stay until five, and Harry wanted to make the most of his time. They probably wouldn’t see each other again until school started, and then they’d have to pretend to be enemies again.

“Go ahead, pup.” Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair, and the two boys left the kitchen, Harry leading the way, carrying his present from Draco securely.

“Come on, it’s up here.” He turned off the stairs towards his room, slowing down so Draco could look around curiously. 

“There’s no portraits,” he remarked. Harry shrugged.

“Sirius said it’s better that way. No chance of being spied on. I guess the Black family liked their secrecy.”

“Malfoy Manor has dozens of portraits. I can’t get away with anything,” Draco groused. “There’s a couple that like me, but most of them just go straight to Father if I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.”

“Why doesn’t your mother just… leave? Get a divorce, or something?” Harry asked. Meeting Narcissa, hearing the way she spoke of her husband, it was clear she didn’t want to be married to him.

“It’s not that simple in the wizarding world. Divorce needs a good reason, and it needs to be approved by the head of the slighted party’s house. Unfortunately, the Black family doesn’t have one of those at the minute, legally. Besides, we’ve got nowhere to go. You don’t just say no to a man like Lucius Malfoy.” The twist of Draco’s lips was bitter, and Harry squeezed his arm sympathetically. 

“We’ll find Pettigrew, and get Sirius’ name cleared. Then he can approve the divorce. I bet he’d even let you move in here, if you needed somewhere safe to live.” Harry couldn’t see Sirius letting Narcissa stay with such an awful husband if he could help it. He was always telling Harry how important family was to the Blacks. 

Draco sighed. “It’s a nice thought, but we couldn’t hide forever. Father always gets his way.” He swept some blond hair out of his eyes. “I thought you were showing me your bedroom, anyway? Hurry up!”

Harry blushed, his brain flashing to some other context Draco might want to see his bedroom. He told his brain to sod off and stop being ridiculous. As if he and Draco would be— like that!

Still, as he nudged open the door, the thought stayed lodged in the corner of his mind. It wouldn’t be so bad, maybe. If they were.

.-.-.-.

Sirius looked across the living room at the two teenage boys sprawled in front of the fire, playing some sort of card game the Malfoy boy had apparently learned in France. His mind still boggled at the sight of a Potter and a Malfoy being so friendly. The blond wasn’t that bad, considering his upbringing. Narcissa had done alright with him there. 

And Narcissa, well — Sirius hadn’t expected it to be so easy to see his cousin again. In the years before the fall of Voldemort, he’d thought her truly lost to her awful husband. She’d been haughty and cruel and gotten sucked in to all the talk of blood purity and war against muggles. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but he was glad. She was more and more like the little girl he’d grown up alongside, who would do anything for her family and just wanted those she loved to be safe and happy. She still clearly had a lot of firm opinions about blood status, but they were much more similar to Sirius’ opinions; muggleborns were quite welcome, as long as the wizarding traditions weren’t lost in amongst their muggle customs. 

“They really don’t have any idea?” Narcissa asked quietly, her eyes cast over at her son and Sirius’ godson. Remus smirked.

“Not a clue. Not that Harry’s told me, at least. Astonishing, isn’t it?”

“It’s disgusting,” Snape drawled. Sirius laughed quietly.

“I think it’s sweet.” He watched as Harry stole a card from Draco’s hand, making some sort of remark that had Draco’s cheeks turning pink. “They’re so innocent.”

“Hopefully we can keep them that way for a while longer,” Remus sighed. “Merlin, they’re worse than Severus and I ever were. At least we knew we were flirting.”

Across the room, Harry laughed, rolling away as Draco tried to snatch one of his cards. Sirius sighed to himself; did Harry have to choose a Malfoy?

That was unfair, he supposed. Draco was a nice enough kid, for a Slytherin. He’d heard something from Harry over the weeks about the role the boy had to play in public, and it sounded like it would wear on anyone. 

“I’m betting they’ll figure it out by Christmas,” Sirius declared under his breath. “Harry’s a bit thick sometimes, but he’s not that dense. He’ll have a quick little sexuality crisis, then they’ll be sorted.”

“I’m surprised Draco’s so oblivious,” Narcissa commented. “He’s always known he likes boys. Truthfully, I’ve been wondering if something like this might happen ever since I got a letter his first week of Hogwarts with three whole paragraphs about Harry Bloody Potter and how frustrating he was.” She smiled fondly. “I certainly never expected it to go like this.”

“Harry is full of surprises,” Remus remarked. 

That was an understatement if Sirius had ever heard one. “I think we’ve only hit the tip of the iceberg, there.” He thought about everything that had come to light ever since he’d met Harry. It was just the beginning. 

He caught Snape and Narcissa sharing a loaded glance, and Remus frown and place a hand on Snape’s left arm. Sirius’s brows furrowed. “What?” he asked, wondering what he was missing.

Snape looked to Narcissa. “Is it getting darker for you, too?”

The blonde woman nodded. Snape cursed softly.

“What?” Sirius hissed again. Then it dawned on him, his gaze dropping to Remus’ hand curled around Snape’s forearm. He hadn’t seen Snape in short sleeves since that day in the pool. “Oh. He’s getting stronger, isn’t he?” Peter must have found his master, as Trelawney had predicted. Sirius’ stomach rolled. 

“It’s just a matter of time,” Narcissa confirmed. “Lucius has been meeting with several old friends this summer. I believe there are plans being hatched.”

Squeezing his eyes shut for a minute, Sirius shook his head, looking back over at the two teenagers. So carefree, so happy. He wanted Harry to stay that way forever. 

“I’ve been invited to several of those meetings,” Snape revealed. “I managed to find excuses for all but one. He’s definitely reconnecting with the old crowd. I’m keeping my ear to the ground, but it’s all just murmurs so far. Everyone is hesitant to trust what they know to be true, just in case.”

The Triwizard Tournament likely wasn’t the only thing they’d have to worry about this school year. Sirius cursed Peter Pettigrew for the thousandth time — because of him, he wouldn’t be able to protect Harry like he ought to. He just had to send him off into Dumbledore’s clutches and hope against hope nothing happened that he couldn’t fix. 

He looked to his cousin, who had fear etched in her pretty features. “Cissa, if you ever need somewhere to go,” he started cautiously, unsure how she might take his offer. “The House of Black will always welcome you with open arms.” He couldn’t do anything about Lucius legally, but he could offer her a safehouse until the war ended if it ever got bad.

“I had hoped to play my part well enough to keep Draco out of the worst of things,” Narcissa said, pursing her lips as she cast her gaze over to her son. “I’m starting to think that might not be possible anymore. I hadn’t accounted for this.”

Sirius snorted under his breath; none of them had accounted for the way those two boys looked at each other with stars in their eyes. 

“It’s too early to tell, yet,” Narcissa continued. “But I’ll make sure there are arrangements in place for any future… inevitabilities. And I’ll keep your offer in mind. Thank you, cousin.”

“Whatever comes to pass, I think it’s clear we’re all in it together, now,” Sirius replied.

Between those two teenagers sat oblivious in front of the fire, all four of the adults in the room would give their lives in a heartbeat for one or the other. And, while Sirius knew it was too soon to tell — teenage crushes came and went like clothing trends — if Harry was anything like his parents, he had a sneaking suspicion he and Narcissa were going to end up even closer family than they were now. Eventually.

If Harry could ever get his head out of his arse and realise what was in front of him.

Ah, young love.

.-.-.-.

When Pig arrived with a letter from Ron in the second week in August, reality came crashing back down on Harry uncomfortably quickly. He stared at it for a long moment, a tightness in his chest that it took him a minute to realise was anxiety.

Why did he feel so anxious about seeing his best friends again?

Since Draco had visited on his birthday, it had gone back to just being himself and the three adults. He’d mentioned briefly to Sirius that he had other friends who were somewhat in the know, like Neville, who could maybe visit, but Sirius had gently put his foot down. 

“I told you when you got here this house has always been for family, not visitors,” he had said with an apologetic half-smile. “I understand wanting to have your friends over, but the fewer people who know about this place, the better. Narcissa and Draco are family, as astonished as I am to be saying that and actually meaning it. They’re Blacks, they deserve to be here. But no one else, pup. Not here.”

Harry understood, and truthfully he liked it better that way. Seren Du was a little bubble of paradise — the rest of the world didn’t exist unless they sought it out. All of them seemed to be benefiting from the break; even Snape, though he’d been acting a little weird lately, was like a completely different man. Harry didn’t know if the professor was always like that in private, or if it was Remus’ influence, but he was pretty sure the house had something to do with it. 

All the same, he should’ve been excited to go to the Burrow. And to the Quidditch World Cup! And yet… if Ron hadn’t made it clear in his letter that he wasn’t taking no for an answer, Harry might have turned him down. 

He kept the letter in hand as he shuffled down to breakfast, where all three adults were already up. “Morning, cub,” Remus greeted, then frowned. “Why the long face?”

Harry held up the letter. “Ron’s dad got tickets to the Quidditch Cup. They’re going to come pick me up from the Dursleys on Sunday evening.”

“That’s brilliant! International quidditch, I’m so jealous!” Sirius’ enthusiasm was dampened by a confused expression. “Why do you look like you need a Cheering charm?”

“No, it’s great!” Harry insisted. “I just… I like it here. I thought I’d have all summer with you.” Ron had talked about the Cup, but Harry hadn’t truly expected Mr Weasley to actually be able to get enough tickets for all of them. 

“Pup, go to Ron’s house. Have fun with your friends. Go see the Cup,” Sirius urged softly. “I love having you, but you can’t stay cooped up in here forever. You deserve to spend time with your friends, not us three old farts.”

“Oi, speak for yourself there, Grandpa,” Remus said in mock-annoyance. 

“Only one of us is going grey, Moony dearest, and it sure as hell isn’t me,” Sirius replied sweetly. “Anyway, pup. What I’m saying is, this place is your home now, it will be as long as you want it. But you’re young, you should be out having fun with kids your own age. Besides,” he added, screwing his nose up. “How will it look to the rest of them if you suddenly decide you love being at your relatives’ place so much you don’t want to leave them to go see quidditch? They’ll think you’ve been possessed.”

Harry grimaced. That would certainly give the game away. “I suppose.” He glanced down at the letter. If the Weasleys were coming on Sunday, that only gave him two more days at Seren Du. 

“We’ll figure out a way to keep in touch while you’re in school. It’ll be fine.” Sirius reached over to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “Chin up, kiddo. We knew this was coming sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but I thought it’d be later,” Harry muttered, frowning into his porridge. 

“It’ll be good for you to see your friends again, Harry,” Remus said, offering him a smile. “We’ll have to take you back to the Dursleys’ Sunday lunchtime, let you get picked up from there. It’s a good thing we already got your school supplies.” Instead of going to Diagon Alley, Harry and Remus had gone to Margin Alley in Cardiff, where it was quieter. Sirius wanted to come, but apparently there were anti-animagus wards in the area. 

“I’m sure my relatives will be thrilled to see me again,” he replied dryly. At least he wouldn’t have to spend long with them.

Chapter Text

With the clock suddenly ticking down very rapidly to his departure, Harry was determined to make the most of Seren Du before he left. He had a bit of a panic at the start — so many things he wanted to do, and so little time left! — but he figured it out pretty quickly. He could fly at the Burrow, even if it wouldn’t be on a proper half-pitch. The pool, the library, and the company were the things he would miss the most. 

He also sent Artemis off with a round of letters for all the friends he couldn’t send Hedwig to, explaining he was being moved to somewhere his mail would be monitored and he’d see them back at school. Luckily, that was only a couple of weeks away. He’d hate to be out of contact with Draco for much longer than that. Ever since the visit, Artemis had been run ragged flying back and forth between them.

The three adults had decided to wrap up Harry’s lessons for the summer, since he’d be leaving soon anyway. Harry was actually a little sad about it. Currently, he was sat in Snape’s potions lab, helping finish off a batch of Skele-Gro that would be going to the Hogwarts hospital wing ready for the new school term. “With that bloody tournament, we’ll probably need plenty of it,” Snape had muttered derisively. 

Setting the potion aside to cool, Harry looked up at his professor cautiously. “That’s all done, then?” Snape nodded.

“Once it’s cooled, I’ll bottle it and send it to the school.” He checked some notes on a piece of parchment tacked to his desk; Pomfrey’s order list, from what Harry could gather. “Now that I’ve seen you’re a perfectly competent brewer, I’ll expect your grades to improve in my class, Mr Potter.”

Harry sent him a light glare. “I’m sure they would if my professor didn’t hate me, and the Slytherins didn’t sabotage me.”

“From the looks of things, you’ve got half the Slytherins wrapped around your little finger,” Snape retorted, making Harry blush. “And you are aware that I will have to keep up appearances. I shall endeavour not to harm your potions, and I will mark you as fairly as I can, but there are people on both sides watching me, Potter, and I must maintain a certain level of… spite in your direction.”

“I expected as much,” Harry said with a shrug. It really wouldn’t be much different to previous years. He could handle it. “But, sir, before we reach that point… I just wanted to say thank you, for everything you’ve done for me over the summer. You didn’t have to spend time teaching me. I’m well aware that you’re here because Moony is, not for me or Sirius. I just— you didn’t have to be nice to me, but you were. So, thanks,” he finished awkwardly. Snape was silent for a minute.

“I daresay Remus would have been quite unimpressed with me had I treated you here as I treat you at school,” he said eventually. “Nonetheless, I find that without certain… external influences, you are not a terrible student, Mr Potter. Still unfailingly Gryffindor, but that appears to be the life I have chosen for myself.” This came with a long-suffering sigh that made Harry laugh.

“You know the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin?” he said, watching Snape’s dark eyebrows rise.

“What a disaster that would have been. Dumbledore might have had a stroke on the spot.” Snape turned to Harry, looking him over appraisingly. “I have hope that between myself and Draco, we’ll be able to make enough of a Slytherin out of you for you to survive in this world. Rest assured, Mr Potter; while we may have started off on the wrong foot, we are on the same side now.” He strode towards the door, beckoning Harry to follow. “As we still have some time before dinner, I would like you to follow me to the parlour. I wish to check your Occlumency shields one last time before you face the headmaster.”

Harry nodded, and the pair of them went upstairs to the empty parlour. Harry took a seat, knowing he would need it if Snape was about to be as ruthless as he feared. 

The Slytherin didn’t give Harry time to prepare; as soon as they made eye contact, he was working away at Harry’s shields. Harry kept his breathing steady and his mental defences tight, unsure how long he sat there for. Snape tried everything; brute force, sneaking through cracks, even trying to convince Harry that he’d disappeared, only to try and creep in when he let his guard down. Through it all, Harry refused to let him in. Eventually, the attack ceased, for real this time. 

“Very good, Potter,” Snape said with an approving nod. “You should be able to withstand any discreet attempts at entering your mind. Should the headmaster wish to put in any more force than that, it’ll be obvious to you and also any bystanders, and I believe if it ever gets to that point you will have bigger things to worry about.” He looked at Harry with a serious expression. “Make sure you have your shields up at all times, especially if you’re in large crowds or around the headmaster. Eventually it will become second nature, but at first it may get exhausting.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry promised. “Thank you for helping me with this, Professor.” He’d made more progress in the last month and a half than he had in the entire nine months he’d been working on it by himself.

“You’re welcome, Potter. You’re free to go.”

Nodding in thanks, Harry got to his feet, leaving the parlour with his hands in his pockets. Now, how to spend the rest of his day… perhaps he’d set a few parting pranks for his beloved godfather. 

.-.-.-.

All too soon, it was Saturday night. Harry’s school trunk was packed and ready, after a long, drawn-out selection process of his bookshelves, which culminated in Remus promising to send him any books he left behind if he decided he wanted them. It was a refreshing concept for Harry, having a bedroom he could leave stuff in during the school year without worrying about any of it being broken or stolen or thrown out. Having enough things that he couldn’t fit them all in his school trunk.

Harry was about as ready as he could be, and was lying in bed listening to some quiet music on his Wireless when there was a knock on the door. He turned off the Wireless, calling for whoever it was to enter. Sirius slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him, and turned to Harry with a sad sort-of smile on his face. “Mind if I join you?”

Harry patted the mattress beside him, and Sirius clambered up onto the bed, leaning against the headboard with his shoulder bumping Harry’s. “All set, then?” he asked, his gaze landing on Harry’s trunk.

“I think so. Moony said he could send anything I’d forgotten over with Snape.” He bit his lip. “Are you ready? For me to leave?” It was weighing on his mind, the prospect of school starting up; he would be gone, Snape would soon be gone, and Remus wouldn’t want to spend all his time away from his partner.

It meant that there were times Sirius would be alone in the house. After being in Azkaban, Sirius didn’t do well being alone. “Don’t worry about me, Harry,” he insisted. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got Buckbeak, and Ceri. And Moony’s promised me he won’t be gone more than two evenings a week.” He shrugged. “Gotta get used to being by myself eventually, right? Can’t expect you lot to babysit me forever.”

“We’re not babysitting you, Sirius,” Harry scolded lightly. “This has been the best summer ever.”

“It has been pretty great, hasn’t it?” Sirius agreed. “I’m glad I was able to give you that. I wish I could give you the world, Pup, but this is a good start.” The man sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and turning to Harry. “I’ve been reliably informed that I can’t keep you hidden away here forever, so for your old godfather’s sake, please look after yourself in the big scary outside world?” His words were playful but his eyes were serious, and Harry chuckled.

“You’re not old, Sirius, you’re thirty-four.”

“Thirty-five in November!” Sirius yelped. It was clear he thought that was akin to turning a hundred.

“Exactly, you’re barely a quarter of the way into your life, for a wizard.”

“You’re missing my point,” Sirius retorted, aware he’d lost that particular argument. “Be careful, okay? Voldemort isn’t the only enemy you have anymore. Dumbledore wants you for his weapon — exactly how, we can only guess, but it’s clear he doesn’t care about you past how you factor into his grand plan. If he knows you’re starting to mess with that plan, you’re in deep trouble. There’s going to be a lot going on at the school this year, and I need you to be safe.”

“I won’t go looking for trouble, Sirius,” Harry said. His godfather’s expression was doubtful. “I mean it! I can’t promise trouble won’t find me, but I’ll try my best to stay away from it. And Dumbledore.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.” Sirius reached into the pocket of his robe, pulling out a small round mirror in a black frame. “I want you to have this. It’s a two-way mirror; your dad and I used to use them all the time. I’ve got the other one — just say my name into the mirror, and mine will vibrate, and then we can talk to each other.”

“Or you can call me if you’re lonely and need someone to talk to when Remus is with Snape,” Harry realised. He took the mirror, running his fingers over the surface. It was only the size of his hand, but he’d easily be able to keep it with him in his school robes. “This is brilliant!”

“If you ever need to talk, about anything — the headmaster, your classes, romantic advice,” he wiggled his eyebrows and Harry made a face, “I’m always here for you. Okay?”

“I’ll call. At least once a week,” Harry promised. It would be much easier than sending an owl. 

“And if you need someone in person, go to Snape. He’s still a greasy git, but I guess he’s family now.” Sirius grumbled, but Harry knew better; his godfather was delighted Remus was happy and in love. Even if it was Snape. 

Sirius shifted around until he was sitting cross-legged facing Harry. “Remember where your allies are, Pup. From the sounds of things, you’ve got a fair few. Keep making friends with all the other heirs, and the kids in other houses. I know I’m hardly one to talk, but all these inter-house rivalries have been going on far too long; it’s fine when it’s friendly, but the divide has gotten far too deep. If anyone can help reconcile that, it’s your generation. Even if you have to do so in secret, keep them close. Especially Cissa’s boy — he’s a Black at heart, and once you’ve got a Black’s loyalty you’ve got it for life.”

“It feels like this is all so much bigger than us, Sirius,” Harry murmured. “We’re all just kids. None of us are even old enough to take our Wizengamot seats yet; how are we supposed to change the minds of half the wizarding world?” There were so many broken parts of wizarding society; things that had been allowed to fester since Voldemort’s first rise to power, if not longer. The more Harry learnt, the more he realised how screwed up things had become. But half of the people in charge didn’t seem to care; not when the system benefited them. They didn’t want to fix it, they’d just figured out how to exploit it.

“One thing at a time, kiddo,” Sirius said. “You’re a determined little bugger, and I have every faith you’ll succeed. We’ll be right behind you every step of the way.” He offered a grin, patting Harry’s knee. “Remember, you don’t have to change everything all at once. Just focus on getting through the school year in one piece for now, yeah? You’ll have plenty of time for politics when you’re older. Try and enjoy being a normal teenager for a bit longer.”

He knew what Sirius was implying. He wasn’t stupid; the adults had been shifty all summer, and the tattoo on Snape’s arm — his Dark Mark — was more visible now than it had been before. Voldemort was gaining strength, and war would soon be upon them once more. Still, it was an absurd concept to Harry, with his previous Hogwarts track record. “When have I ever been a normal teenager?” he pointed out wryly. Sirius barked an unexpected laugh.

“You’ve got me there, kid. Well, normal teenagers should be in bed by this time. Actually, that’s a lie, normal teenagers stay up all night getting into mischief,” he added with a half-grimace, “but you’ve got a big day tomorrow, so you should get some sleep.” He shuffled off the mattress, but leaned in to kiss Harry’s hair. “I’ll see you in the morning. I love you, Harry.”

Harry would never get tired of hearing that. “I love you too, Sirius.” 

His godfather slipped quietly from the room, and Harry looked down at the mirror in his hands, sighing. That was one of his problems solved.

If only he had a hope of figuring out how to address the others.

.-.-.-.-.

Harry awoke with a gasp, hand flying up to his burning scar. What the hell was that all about?

It could have been a nightmare. But a nightmare had never made his scar burn like that. A nightmare had never felt so… real.

A shiver went down his spine. He couldn’t even remember what really happened; he concentrated harder, trying to recall. It had been so vivid… there were two people he knew, and one he didn’t… in a room he didn’t recognise… a cold, high voice — Voldemort. 

Flashes of the dream flew through his memory. Wormtail was there, they were talking about— about him. They had killed someone already, and they wanted him dead too.

Harry had no idea who the old man was, but his gut told him he was now dead. Except not, because it was a dream. Wasn’t it?

He crawled out of bed, wondering if anyone else would be up that early. Snape was usually an early riser. To his surprise, Remus was the only one in the kitchen, his eyes still half-closed. “You’re up early,” he commented, then frowned when he got a better look at Harry. “Cub, are you alright?”

“I had a dream,” Harry started shakily. “I… when I woke up, my scar was hurting. It’s probably fine, right?”

The look on Remus’ face suggested that it was not, in fact, fine.

“Tell me everything.” Remus held out an arm, and Harry only hesitated for a moment before accepting the comfort offered, leaning into the man’s embrace. 

“I don’t remember much, just that it was so vivid.” He told Remus about the old muggle man, and Wormtail, and Voldemort. The more Harry spoke, the more Remus looked grave. “And then I woke up, and it was like someone had pressed a hot poker to my scar.”

Remus put the back of his hand to Harry’s forehead as if checking for fever, then ducked down to press a gentle kiss to the still aching scar. Harry tried not to flinch. No one else had really touched it before, certainly not with such tenderness. “This has never happened before? Dreams like this? Your scar hurting?” Harry shook his head, and Remus’ frown deepened. 

“What does it mean?”

“I’ll be honest, Harry; I have no idea.” Remus didn’t look happy about it. “I’ll do some research. You should write to Gorrak, at Gringotts — you said he noticed some dark magic around your scar when he scanned you? Perhaps the goblins will know more. For now… make sure to clear your mind and check your shields before you go to sleep at night. And if it happens again, tell us immediately, alright?”

“If what happens again?” It was Snape, striding into the kitchen, his hair still damp from the shower. Remus kept an arm around Harry as he informed the Slytherin what had happened, and Snape’s lips pursed.

“I’ve never heard of this happening before. Then again, no one has survived the killing curse before. I’ll look into it, Potter, and let you know if I find anything.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, reluctantly pulling away from Remus and heading to his usual seat. “Can we just let it go for now? There’s nothing we can do about it, and I feel okay now. I just… I don’t want to dwell on it when I have to leave this afternoon.”

“Alright,” Remus agreed. “But I’m telling Sirius tonight.” Harry nodded; that was fine. He’d want Sirius to know anyway. 

Snape would be taking him back to the Dursleys at half past three, ready for the Weasleys to arrive at five. Harry didn’t want anything negative hanging over his last few hours with his family. 

.-.-.

Returning to the Dursleys after spending so long at Seren Du was like waking up from an excellent dream to find yourself in a nightmare. Aunt Petunia’s face went the colour of spoiled milk when she opened the door to them, and she glared. “I suppose this is about that letter?” she hissed, beckoning them into the house. Harry was confused for a minute, before he remembered what Ron had said in his letter; the Weasleys had sent something through the muggle post. He felt dread gathering in his gut, and couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out at the sight of the envelope covered in stamps. The letter inside was a fairly polite request for Harry’s company, but the way Petunia stared at it you’d have thought it was full of nothing but insults and curse words. 

“They’ll be coming to pick me up at five o’clock,” Harry confirmed. “So I won’t be here long.”

“Perhaps you may want to persuade your husband to take you and your son out for dinner tonight, Petunia,” Snape drawled pointedly. Petunia puffed up instinctually at being told what to do by a wizard, then seemed to realise the sense in his suggestion. 

“It’ll be hard trying to find a table anywhere decent at such short notice,” she sniffed, then turned to Harry. “You’ll be gone when we get back?” He nodded.

“Should be, yeah.” He couldn’t see the Weasleys wanting to stick around long. 

“Fine. Just… stay up in your room until then.” She seemed to realise she’d given Harry an order, and glanced fearfully at Snape for a second, but held her ground. Harry merely rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I have no desire to join you in the living room,” he assured dryly. “I’ll just leave my stuff here so it’s ready when I go, shall I?” Severus resized Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage, and Harry leant them against the wall in the middle of the hallway. Petunia looked like she was about to have a fit.

Harry looked at Snape. To his utter bewilderment, he actually felt a pang of sadness at having to say goodbye to the abrasive man. He was going to miss him. “Thanks, Professor,” he said somewhat awkwardly. “I’ll see you at school.”

“Do try and make it there in one piece,” Snape replied dryly. Harry laughed.

“I’ll try my best. Enjoy the rest of your summer.” He wondered what it would be like at Seren Du without him. Quieter, probably. Snape would be glad for it.

Snape gave Petunia one last glare, then apparated away. Harry shared a long, tense look with his aunt. “I’ll be upstairs. I’ll, uh, see you later. Remember, they’re coming at five.”

As she went to go no doubt complain to her husband about that awful man bringing their equally awful nephew back, Harry trudged up the stairs and turned back to his room. He was a little surprised they hadn’t turned it back into Dudley’s second bedroom in his absence. He stood in the doorway, surveying the tiny space sadly. Now he knew what it was like to have a real bedroom, where he was allowed to actually decorate and own things and the furniture wasn’t all broken hand-me-downs, he could hardly believe the Dursleys had put him in this and he’d been happy with it. 

Anything was a step up from the cupboard, he supposed. 

He’d brought a book with him to read while he waited, and he smiled slightly when, an hour later, Uncle Vernon yelled up the stairs. “Boy! We’re leaving. You’d better not be here when we get home. Don’t eat anything out of the fridge.” And then they were gone. 

Harry moved downstairs, laughing to himself at the absurdity of reading a book about healing charms on the sofa in the living room of his relatives’ house. If anyone had been home to see it, he would’ve been beaten for sure. 

As five o’clock drew closer, Harry realised he didn’t know how the Weasleys were getting there. They didn’t have the car anymore; he and Ron had seen to that in second year. Perhaps Mr Weasley would just apparate in and pick him up, like Snape had done?

Five came and went. Harry glanced up at the clock every few pages, biting his lip worriedly. The Dursleys would probably stay out most of the evening, just in case, but if they didn’t… He had written back to Ron, but what if it hadn’t made it in time? What if they weren’t coming after all?

He thought of the two-way mirror sitting inside his trunk, at the very top. He could call Sirius if no one came. Snape would come get him. Things would be fine. 

At half past, he was just starting to get truly anxious, when there was a loud whooshing noise and then several bangs in quick succession. The little electric fireplace rattled. Harry’s eyes went wide in a sort of horrified amusement as he realised what must have happened. 

“Ouch — Fred, no, go back, there’s been a mistake. Tell George not to — ow, George, no, go tell Ron, I—“

“Mr Weasley?” Harry called hesitantly, trying not to laugh. 

“Harry? Harry, is that you? What happened? We seem to be stuck!” Mr Weasley shouted back, remarkably cheerful considering his predicament. Harry could hear fists hammering on the boards of the wall. 

“The fireplace has been blocked up, you won’t be able to get through there!” Harry said, raising his voice to be heard over the racket.

“What on earth would they block up the fireplace for?” Mr Weasley sounded baffled.

“They’ve got an electric fire!” Harry explained, and heard the man make a noise of excitement.

“Oh, with a plug! How fascinating. Hold on a minute, Harry, I’m trying to… yes, I think I’ll have to. Stand back, Harry!”

Harry crossed to stand behind the sofa, and all of a sudden the wall exploded outwards in a barrage of rubble and plaster dust, the electric fireplace slamming into the opposite wall. Harry winced; he really hoped that was fixable. Out of the dust cloud stumbled Mr Weasley, the twins, and Ron. 

“Hiya, Harry!” the twins greeted in cheerful unison, then glanced around the room. “Where are the muggles at?”

“They went out for dinner,” Harry explained. Mr Weasley made a quietly disappointed sound. The twins, too, looked disappointed, but Harry suspected for an entirely different reason. 

“Shame, shame, I would’ve liked to meet them. Then again,” Mr Weasley added, looking around at the destroyed living room, “perhaps it’s, ah, for the best they weren’t here.”

Harry imagined what his uncle might have done in the face of such chaos and blatant magic, and was almost sad Snape had told them to leave. 

“So this is a muggle house, is it? Goodness, look at all those ecklectric things! How marvellous!” Mr Weasley seemed to realise he wasn’t alone, and smiled abashedly at Harry. “Ready to go, Harry? Where’s your trunk?”

“It’s in the hall,” he said, turning to retrieve his things. When he returned, there was a fire in the grate. 

“You boys go first, now. I’ll stay back and, ah, clear up the mess,” Mr Weasley said with a glance at the gaping hole in the wall. He pulled out a small pouch of floo powder. “Here you are, boys.”

Harry let Ron and the twins go first, then stepped into the fire and spoke his destination, squeezing his eyes shut against the whirl of ash that followed. He stumbled out into the kitchen at the Burrow, stomach churning uncomfortably. Before he could properly catch his breath, he was wrapped up in a tight hug. “Harry, dear!” Mrs Weasley fussed. “Welcome back. You’re looking a little peaky, have you eaten yet?”

Harry wasn’t sure how she could say he was ‘peaky’ when his skin was the darkest it had been in years, but he didn’t question it. “Good to see you too, Mrs Weasley. I’ve already had lunch, thanks.”

“Let him put his things away before you start feeding him, Mum,” came a deep, amused voice. Harry glanced over at the kitchen table, where Ron and George were sat with two older redheads Harry had only ever seen pictures of. The two eldest Weasley brothers, Bill and Charlie. “How’s it going, Harry?” the one who had just spoken greeted, holding out a burn-scarred hand for Harry to shake. Charlie, the dragon tamer, was shorter than Harry expected, with incredibly muscular arms covered in tattoos and a face that was more freckles than lightly tanned skin. 

The eldest brother, Bill, rounded the table to shake Harry’s hand properly. Harry’s throat went a little dry. Bill Weasley was tall and broad-shouldered, with long hair tied back in a ponytail and a fang earring dangling from one ear. He looked so cool. Certainly not what Harry expected from someone who worked for Gringotts. He grinned, blue eyes sparkling. “Nice to finally meet you, Harry. We’ve heard so much about you, after all.” He winked. Harry’s stomach filled with butterflies.

“Yeah, uh, hi,” he croaked, then coughed. “Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t realise you’d both be home.”

“It’s the Quidditch Cup Final!” Charlie pointed out. “No way we were gonna miss it.”

Mr Weasley apparated into the kitchen with a pop, brushing plaster dust off his robes. “All sorted,” he assured Harry. “Not a spot out of place.”

As if summoned by all the noise, Hermione and Ginny wandered into the kitchen, stopping when they saw the new arrival. “Harry!” Hermione hugged him tightly, looking him over. “Wow! You look great!” Then she blushed. “You know what I mean. You look like you’ve been eating.”

Harry was well aware of how he usually looked in the summers, and chuckled. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“Ron, why don’t you help Harry take his things up to your room,” Mrs Weasley suggested. Fred reached out to grab Harry’s trunk.

“We’ll get it, Mum!” As he turned, something brightly wrapped fell out of his pocket; it looked like a sweet. He went wide-eyed and scrambled for it, but Mrs Weasley summoned it quickly. 

“What’s this?” she asked with eyebrows raised pointedly, a knowing look on her face.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Fred said quickly. 

“Just a sweet,” George backed him up quickly, plucking it from his mother’s fingers. “Come on, Harry, let’s go.” He grabbed Harry and practically dragged him from the kitchen, Hedwig’s cage in hand. When they were halfway up the stairs, Harry gave them a curious look.

“What was that all about?”

The twins shook their heads, staying silent until they were in Ron’s room with the door shut. Only then did George hold up the sweet with a smirk. “Shame your muggle cousin wasn’t home, Harry. I’m sure he would’ve loved this,” he said conspiratorially. 

“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” Fred explained. “We invented them. Makes your tongue keep growing; we tested one on Ron the other day, his got about four foot long before Mum came in and shrank it.”

Harry snorted, imagining Dudley with an enormous tongue flopping out of his mouth. Oh, he would’ve loved to see that. “That’s genius,” he enthused, and both twins beamed. 

“We’ve been inventing loads of stuff over the summer,” George told him.

“We wanted to sell them at Hogwarts, but Mum found the order forms. She’s been fuming ever since.” Fred grimaced, then brightened. “Anyway, how’ve you been, young Harrikins? Everything alright with the muggles?” He looked Harry over in concern. Harry wished he could tell the boys the truth; maybe he’d ask Sirius about it. They could keep secrets with the best of them, and they’d already proven they could be trusted.

“I had a pretty good summer, actually. Been talking to some of my new friends,” he added with a pointed glance. The twins caught on quickly.

“Excellent! Always great having more friends,” Fred said with a wink. “Glad to hear you’re doing alright. Now, we’d better get downstairs and help Mum with dinner, before I go blind from all this orange.” He looked around the room disparagingly, and Harry laughed; Ron’s room was a bit bright, with all its Chudley Cannons regalia. Harry much preferred the Harpies’ colours of green and gold. 

When they returned to the kitchen, Mrs Weasley was directing the kids around with the air of a military general. “Oh, good,” she said when she spotted the three of them. “Harry, would you mind helping Ron with the cutlery? Fred, George, the salad is ready to go— oh NOT AGAIN!” She had reached for her wand on the table, only it had turned into a giant rubber mouse with a loud squeak. “BOYS!” 

Fred and George shared an alarmed look, grabbed the salad bowl, and sprinted out into the garden. Mrs Weasley huffed, grabbing her real wand and flicking it towards the potatoes, which peeled themselves so violently they bounced off the ceiling. “Honestly, don’t know where we went wrong with those two,” she muttered to herself. “They’ll be brought up in front of the Misuse of Magic Office before they’re twenty.” 

Harry grabbed a handful of forks and slowly backed out of the kitchen, not wanting to get involved in that. Clearly the twins had been… busy this summer. 

Outside, the two tables they were supposed to be setting were doing battle in mid air thanks to Bill and Charlie, crashing into each other violently overhead. Harry saw Crookshanks dart across the grass, in hot pursuit of a chubby little gnome. Ginny, Ron and the twins were cheering on the table battle, while Hermione looked torn between amusement and anxiety.

“Watch out, Harry!” Bill exclaimed as his table caught Charlie’s with a huge bang and sent one of the legs flying. Harry ducked, coming up laughing. It was almost like being back with Sirius. 

There was a clatter overhead, and suddenly Percy’s head was sticking out of an upstairs window, looking quite cross. “Will you keep it down?” he called. “Some of us have work to be doing!”

“Sorry, Perce!” Charlie said, grinning. “Didn’t mean to disrupt the cauldron bottoms!”

Percy scowled at him, slamming the window shut again. The two eldest Weasleys chuckled, but obligingly brought the tables down to settle where they were supposed to, reattaching the leg with a quick spell. Bill waved his wand, conjuring clean white tablecloths. Harry started setting cutlery out, and soon enough the table was set for eleven, and Mrs Weasley was directing several steaming dishes out with her wand. 

Harry ended up seated between Hermione and Charlie, who quickly got Harry involved in a lively conversation about quidditch. “You should’ve seen the letter Ollie sent me when you joined the team,” the redhead said, smirking. “I thought he was going to cry with joy. That year between me leaving and you starting was… not a good time for them.” He popped a potato in his mouth. “I think you’re the only reason he started speaking to me again at all, actually. When I graduated without leaving a good replacement behind, he swore I was dead to him.”

Harry could absolutely see Oliver Wood doing such a thing. 

“Y’know he’s playing reserve for Puddlemere now?” Charlie continued, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“He told me he was trying out, I didn’t realise he got the spot. That’s brilliant!” He made a mental note to send a letter to congratulate him. “Might have to start supporting Puddlemere, now.”

Charlie snickered. “I dunno, at least let him make the main team first. Can’t have it going to his head too quickly,” he said with a wink. 

They tuned into the conversation opposite them, where Mrs Weasley seemed to be fixated on Bill’s earring. “And your hair’s getting silly again,” she continued, fussing over the ponytail with a frown. “If you’d just let me give it a trim.”

“I like it,” Harry blurted. Immediately, he went bright red. “I mean, I think it looks cool.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. You’re so old-fashioned, Mum,” Ginny piped up from Bill’s other side. Bill looked across at Harry and winked. Harry almost dropped his fork in his lap. 

Down at the other end of the table, Ron and the twins were discussing the upcoming quidditch match. Ron started to regale Harry with a blow-by-blow of the previous cup matches, but Harry assured him he’d been listening on his Wireless to keep up with the scores. Ron looked a little put-out, but carried on arguing Bulgaria’s chances with George, even when Charlie chimed in to point out how talented Ireland’s chasers were. Hermione leaned in towards Harry, ducking her head.

“Have you heard from, y’know?” she asked pointedly. It took him a minute to realise she was talking abut Sirius. He stifled a smirk; if only she knew.

“Yeah. He’s good, he’s found somewhere safe to hide out.” Somewhere amazing, somewhere Harry already missed desperately. 

Not that it wasn’t nice, being back at the Burrow, surrounded by his friends again and excited for the quidditch match. The chaos was very different to mealtimes at Seren Du, where it was mostly quiet conversation unless Sirius was in a particularly mischievous mood and then all of them were having to watch out for any number of bizarre spells on their food or cutlery. 

Dinner faded into dessert, which faded into sitting in the garden having companionable conversation until the sun began to set, at which time Mrs Weasley stood up and began to stack dishes. “Oh, look at the time! You had all best go to bed, you’ve got an early start tomorrow! Harry, dear, I’m headed to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get everyone’s school things, if you want to leave your list out tonight. There might not be time after the cup; the match went on for five days last time!”

Harry faltered, rushing to think of a quick excuse. “Oh, I already got my school things, Mrs Weasley,” he said. “The Dursleys had a meeting in London a couple of weeks ago and they dropped me off. I didn’t know you’d be coming to get me, and I didn’t want to run out of time.” That sounded reasonable enough. She didn’t know the Dursleys well enough to know that they never, in a million years, would have willingly given Harry a ride to London to buy magic supplies. Ron and Hermione shot him odd looks, but luckily didn’t say anything. 

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley deflated for a second, then continued clearing the table. “Not to worry, then. That’s one less thing to worry about. I’ll have to send your vault key back to Professor Dumbledore.” That was muttered to herself as an afterthought, but Harry stiffened, his hands clenching under the table. Dumbledore still had his vault key? And was just sending it out however he pleased? Harry should have known. 

He made a mental note to include a word about that in the letter he planned to write to Gorrak and Farlig about his scar, wondering if there was any way to stop people accessing his vaults without permission. Merlin only knew what the headmaster was doing with free access to Harry’s family vaults. 

Between the eleven of them they made short work of taking all the dishes back into the kitchen, and Harry was soon curled up on the cot bed in Ron’s room, closing his eyes and trying not to feel strange about no longer being in his own bedroom. It was funny how quickly he’d gotten used to it. For once, he had somewhere that felt more like home than Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

What felt like barely fifteen minutes after he’d gone to bed, Harry was awoken by the chime of Ron’s alarm clock, and a knock on the door. Mrs Weasley crept inside, smiling when she saw Harry was blinking himself awake. “Time to get up, dear,” she whispered, moving to shake Ron, who was sleeping soundly through the alarm. At the foot of Harry’s bed, two indistinct shapes were shuffling around. Harry reached for his glasses, seeing the twins sit up with identical groggy stretches, silhouetted in the dark. Even the sun wasn’t up yet.

They dressed silently, too sleepy to attempt conversation, and shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. “Where’re the others?” Ron asked through a yawn. Mr Weasley looked up.

“The girls will be down in a minute. The other boys are old enough to apparate, so they get a bit of a lie in.” He stood up, holding his arms out with a grin. “What do you think? Do I look like a muggle? We’re supposed to go incognito.”

He was wearing a golf jumper and a pair of baggy jeans that looked older than Harry was. “Very good,” Harry approved, grinning. 

Hermione and Ginny stumbled in, slumping into chairs as Mrs Weasley began to ladle out porridge for everyone. Mr Weasley say back down and shuffled through some pieces of parchment, counting them; their tickets, Harry assumed. 

“Eat up, we’ve got a bit of a walk,” Mr Weasley told them, pocketing the tickets. Ginny looked up at him blearily.

“Walk?” she repeated, unimpressed. 

“To the portkey,” Mr Weasley explained. “With so many people going to the same place, they could only put out a certain number of portkeys. It’s why we’re up so early, I’m afraid,” he added to Harry and Hermione. “Scheduled departure time and all.”

“I’ve done worse for airport runs,” Hermione assured him, rubbing at her eyes. His eyes lit up.

“I’ve always wondered what that was like, flying on an air-plane,” he started.

“George!” Mrs Weasley said sharply, making them all jump. It was far too early for sudden loud noises. “What is that in your pockets?”

“Nothing!” The answer came too quickly. Mrs Weasley scowled, and with a quick summoning charm several brightly coloured objects were zooming into her outstretched hand. Harry braced himself for the tirade, seeing Ron do the same across the table. Several more charms had the sweets flying from all sorts of unexpected places, including the turn-ups of Fred’s jeans, Mrs Weasley yelling at them all the while. 

If Harry had known they were trying to smuggle them out of the house, he would’ve offered his services!

After a somewhat frosty goodbye from the Weasley matriarch, they were setting off across the grass by the light of the moon. Harry sped up to walk beside Mr Weasley. “So where’s this portkey leaving from, then?” He’d never used a portkey before, but Remus had taught him about them over the summer. 

“Stoatshead Hill,” Mr Weasley replied, pointing to the land mass rising up in front of them. “There’s about two hundred portkeys all over Britain for this, and this is our nearest.”

Climbing Stoatshead Hill at the best of times was probably quite the ordeal, but in the dark it was a minefield of rabbit holes and unexpected rocks. All of them were breathless and a little sweaty by the time they reached the top, and Harry saw two silhouettes across the hilltop. “Over here, Arthur!”

“Amos!” Mr Weasley greeted brightly, striding towards the pair and shaking the taller one’s hand warmly. As they grew closer, Harry made out the other figure as Cedric Diggory, his brown hair windswept and his cheeks flushed. “Kids, this is Amos Diggory, and I believe you know his son.”

“Hi Cedric!” Harry said cheerfully, once it became clear the twins were not going to do so. The rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team still held a grudge against the Hufflepuff seeker for the match last year, even though Harry had told them to let it go. 

“Hiya, Harry. Hi, everyone,” Cedric added with a quick wave. Hermione and Ginny both giggled quietly. It was a common reaction around Cedric Diggory, Harry had noticed. He didn’t really blame them; the Hufflepuff was very handsome. 

“Long walk, Arthur?” Amos asked companionably. “We had to get up at two! I’ll be glad when he’s got his apparition license, I swear. I can’t side-along to save my life; I’d splinch us both.”

“Only a month away, Dad,” Cedric offered supportively. Amos chuckled.

“It’s alright, lad. It’s worth it for this! Blimey, Arthur,” he added, looking around at the gathered crowd. “Don’t tell me all these are yours?”

“Oh, no, only the redheads,” Mr Weasley assured. “Harry and Hermione are Ron’s friends. But I’ve got three more old enough to apparate themselves.”

Amos’ eyes moved to Harry, and Harry mentally counted down as soon as he saw the man’s eyes flick to his forehead. “Merlin’s beard! Harry Potter!” His eyes went wide. “Ced’s told me all about you, of course! I said to him, I said, Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren! You beat Harry Potter at quidditch!” 

Cedric winced, giving Harry an apologetic glance. “I told you, Dad, there were dementors, it wasn’t a fair match.”

“Oh, you Hufflepuffs!” Amos dismissed, clapping his son on the shoulder. “It doesn’t take a genius to see who’s the better flier when one man falls off his broom and the other stays on! Eh, Harry?”

“I mean, if you’d like to try playing quidditch while listening to your mother’s screams as she’s murdered in front of you,” Harry retorted evenly, “by all means, be my guest.”

That took the wind out of Amos’ sails, and there were several long, awkward seconds of silence before Mr Weasley coughed. “Do you know if we’re waiting for any more, Amos? Must be nearly time.”

“No, no, it’s just us,” Amos replied, somewhat stilted. 

“We’d best get ready, then. Gather round, everyone.”

The portkey turned out to be an old boot, and it took them a minute to get situated so that all nine of them were stood in a tight circle, each with a hand on the boot. They waited as the sun slowly began to rise, Mr Weasley offering a countdown until—

Harry felt like a hook was jerking him from the navel, and suddenly his feet left the ground, Ron and Hermione slamming into his shoulders on either side as they sped upwards in a swirl of colour and wind. It all ended abruptly, his feet slamming into the earth, and he almost kept his balance until Ron staggered into him, knocking him to the ground. 

Cedric offered him a hand up, grinning sheepishly. “Easy there, Harry.” He brushed some dirt off Harry’s arm. “Look, I’m sorry about my dad,” he said under his breath. “I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s just—“

“It’s fine,” Harry insisted. “Really. He’s proud of you, it’s nice.” Cedric gave a half-grimace. 

“We still on for that rematch?” he checked. Harry nodded keenly.

“Absolutely. See you later, yeah?” he added once he realised they were parting ways. “Enjoy the match.”

He waved Cedric off, and as soon as they turned away he found himself accosted on either side by a Weasley twin. “You’re getting awfully cosy with Diggory there, Harry,” Fred muttered. It took Harry a second to realise what he was implying, and he blushed bright red.

“We’re friends! He’s a nice guy. He feels really bad about the match still, you should let up on him.”

George eyed him doubtfully. “Hmm. Still. Bill’s better looking.”

Harry spluttered. They had noticed that! He covered his face with his hands, mortified. “Don’t worry about it, Harry!” Fred said, nudging him in the ribs with a grin. “Our big brother’s very fanciable.” He wiggled his eyebrows salaciously. “Bit old for you, mind, but whatever makes you happy.”

“I don’t fancy your brother!” he hissed in an aggressive whisper, sure he’d never been redder in his life. He glanced around to check the others weren’t listening. “I don’t,” he repeated insistently. The twins shared a skeptical look. 

“Sure,” they said in sarcastic unison. Harry glared at them. He didn’t even like boys like that!

Okay. That was a bit of a lie. 

And Bill was really attractive.

But that didn’t mean Harry fancied him! He could think people were hot without fancying them. Besides, he much preferred blondes…

His cheeks burned when he realised what he’d thought. Where had that come from??

Either way, he wasn’t interested in Bill Weasley. He was basically family!

“What are you three whispering about back there?” Ron asked suspiciously as Mr Weasley finished paying the muggle campsite manager, heading off into the field.

“None of your business!” the twins retorted cheerfully. Ron scowled at them. 

Harry could hardly believe some of the tents they walked past, each more elaborate than the next. Wizards were ridiculous! The tents Mr Weasley had borrowed were much more ordinary-looking, and Harry shared a glance with Hermione when they walked in, wide-eyed at the space inside. 

“I love magic,” he muttered, and she giggled, nodding in agreement. 

He, Ron and Hermione were sent off to find water in short order. Harry wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just conjure some, but Mr Weasley seemed determined to have as much of the muggle camping experience as possible. It was still pretty early, so there weren’t many people up and about, but the more they walked the more the campground began to come to life. Harry could see several familiar faces; it looked like half of Hogwarts had managed to get tickets!

While Ron and Hermione were talking to Seamus and Dean, Harry caught sight of Ernie Macmillan, and waved cheerfully, jogging over to the stocky Hufflepuff. “Hi, Ernie! Good summer?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been owling the other boy semi-regularly.

“Oh, y’know, not bad,” Ernie replied. “Yourself?”

“It’s been great,” Harry replied. “Got to learn a bit about my family. Get to know some new friends a little better,” he said vaguely. Ernie’s smile widened.

“Excellent, excellent. Glad to hear it. I’ve got to get going, but we’ll catch up properly at school, yeah?” Harry nodded, letting the Hufflepuff get on with his morning. He hurried back to Ron and Hermione, who were just finishing up their conversation.

“Who were you talking to, Harry?” Ron asked as they walked, and Harry shrugged.

“Just some people from school. Oh, look, there’s the tap.”

On the way back, Harry was almost bowled over by Oliver Wood, who jumped on his back in greeting and ruffled his hair, dragging him towards his tent to introduce Harry to his parents. “Charlie told me the news, by the way. That’s amazing, Oliver, congratulations!”

Oliver glowed with pride. “Thanks, Harry. You’ll have to come to a match once the season starts back up!” 

Just then, a familiar head ducked out of the tent beside Oliver’s family. “Oliver, I swear, are you going on about Puddlemere again?” He looked up and blinked at the sight of Harry. “Potter!”

It was Cassius Warrington, one of Harry’s tentative new allies. “Warrington,” he greeted neutrally, unsure exactly how to interact with the older boy in public, though they’d been writing all summer. He glanced between the two. “Are you two friends or something?” He hadn’t thought they knew each other outside of quidditch rivalry. The pair shared a look, glancing away quickly.

“Nah, just coincidence,” Oliver dismissed. “Randomly assigned campsites, y’know? Anyway, I don’t want to keep you too long. Write to me when you’re back at school, yeah? I want to know what the new keeper ends up like.”

Harry bid the two farewell, still eyeing them bemusedly. 

Eventually, they made it back to their campsite, which seemed to have gained a few more members. The eldest three Weasley boys had arrived, and Bill and Charlie seemed to have amassed a crowd of their own. 

“You guys took ages!” Fred complained, taking the water from Ron.

“Met a few people,” Ron replied with a wave of his hand. “Dad still not got the fire going?”

“He’s having fun with matches,” George said. They turned to see the man, sat surrounded by spent matches, and Hermione let out a fond sigh.

“I’ll help.” She sat down beside him, gently taking the matchbox. 

Harry left her to it, wandering over to Bill and Charlie’s group curiously. He didn’t recognise any of them; presumably they were friends the older Weasleys had at Hogwarts. 

“Alright, Harry?” Charlie greeted companionably, beckoning him closer. “We’re having a bit of a reunion. Harry, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Harry Potter.”

“I thought you were taking the piss when you said you knew Harry Potter!” a blond man blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth immediately. Charlie laughed.

“Nah, he’s mates with all the younger ones,” he replied, gesturing to his scattered siblings. 

“Mum’s basically adopted him,” Bill agreed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Don’t mind André, Harry. He gets a bit star-struck.”

“Wotcher, Harry!” A woman with bright green pixie-cut hair waved at him. “I’m Tonks.” That prompted a round of introductions, and Harry only remembered about three names, but they quickly moved on to talking about people and events that Harry didn’t know, reminiscing their old Hogwarts days, and Harry discreetly excused himself from the conversation, heading over to where Mr Weasley now had the fire going.

Bill and Charlie’s friends didn’t stick around much longer, all having other places to be, and the two eldest Weasley boys rejoined the family in time for lunch, while Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary of people he knew walking by. Percy emerged from the tent at the smell of food, muttering about how much work he still had to do. 

They were joined by Ludo Bagman, and later Barty Crouch, and Harry hadn’t realised just how many people at the Ministry Mr Weasley was friends with. Harry tried to stay out of the conversations the best he could, listening in interest but trying not to draw attention to himself; after spending the summer thus far with only three people, all of whom couldn’t give two shits about his scar or celebrity status, it was exhausting having to go through the Famous Harry Potter fuss with every other person who stopped by.

Several hints were dropped about what was happening at Hogwarts this year — mostly by Percy Weasley, who seemed all too smug to know something his younger siblings didn’t. Harry merely hid his smile, pretending to be just as oblivious as his friends. They’d find out soon enough. 

At last, it was time to head to the match. Harry was surprised to hear they were up in the top box, making him wonder exactly what kind of favours Mr Weasley had called in — and how many times he might’ve dropped that he was planning on bringing Harry Potter with him. It made something uneasy settle in his stomach; sure, he was glad to be going to the cup, and glad that all the Weasleys got to go too, but the idea that someone he trusted was using his name to curry favours without his consent made him feel a little bit sick. 

Harry put the thought out of his mind, determined not to let anything put a damper on his enjoyment of the day. Even Ron’s whining about not having enough money to afford souvenirs. He was at the final of the Quidditch World Cup, and nothing would bring him down. He wouldn’t let it.

.-.-.-.

The match was incredible.

Things got off to a bit of a rocky start in the top box, when Minister Fudge arrived and immediately started showing Harry off to the Bulgarian Minister like some sort of national landmark. Harry’s name had definitely been involved in getting ten top box tickets. Then the Malfoys arrived, and Ron immediately started making disparaging remarks about Draco. Harry, who had brightened up slightly at the sight of the blond, merely had to settle for making pointed eye contact with both him and Narcissa, and glaring at Lucius Malfoy when he mocked Mr Weasley quietly. 

However, Bagman arrived and quickly kicked things off, and from there it was fantastic. Harry didn’t get all starry-eyed over the veela unlike most of the other boys — he noted Draco didn’t either, staying in his seat with a look of mild entertainment. Ron would’ve dived off the edge of the box if Hermione hadn’t yanked him back to his seat by his collar.

The entire stadium could’ve been filled with veela and Harry wouldn’t have noticed once the match began. He kept the Omnioculars pressed to his face for most of the match, watching eagerly as the players zoomed around the pitch and passed at frightening speeds. The Irish chasers really were a force to be reckoned with, but it was Viktor Krum Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off. The man’s flying was incredible. 

Both seekers looked a right mess when they made it up to the top box for the award ceremony. Harry watched the players in awe, wondering exactly how one went about becoming a professional quidditch player. 

That would be a pretty cool career…

The entire campground was a riot of celebrations when they headed back to their tents; even the tents decorated in Bulgarian red and black seemed to have decided to join in the fun and celebrate a snitch well caught. The Weasley family celebration was a little more subdued, but Charlie still pulled a crate of butterbeer from somewhere — and a bottle of firewhiskey for the adults. The twins tried to sneak some, but Bill was used to his brothers’ tricks, and hexed them so all their fingers were stuck together at the tips. 

It was only when Ginny fell asleep at the table and knocked over her hot chocolate that Mr Weasley declared it bedtime, sending the girls off to their tent. Harry wondered how all his other schoolmates were celebrating; was there a big group of Hogwarts students out there somewhere, cheering and singing under the firework-strewn sky? He was surprised the older Weasley boys weren’t off celebrating with their friends, but he supposed they didn’t see their younger siblings all that often. Harry was glad for the extra company; Bill and Charlie were a lot like the twins, and it was great fun having them around. 

Harry crawled into his bed with a yawn— only to bolt upright seconds later when an earsplitting scream echoed from outside the tent. That was not a scream of joy. 

He and Ron rushed into the living room, where all the other boys were stood looking alarmed. “What was that?” Percy asked cautiously. Several more screams rang out, and it sounded like huge groups of people were running. Mr Weasley hurried back into the tent, face pale in the dim light.

“Death Eaters,” he declared grimly, and the eldest three Weasleys cursed. Harry felt sick. 

“Are you sure?” Bill asked urgently, already grabbing his wand. Charlie and Percy were doing the same.

“Positive. Kids, hurry — grab your jackets and get outside, now. I’m going to get the girls.” Mr Weasley left again, and Harry ran to grab a jacket and his boots, double checking his wand was safe in its holster. He, Ron and the twins ran outside the tent, skidding to a halt when they saw the chaos outside. People were fleeing from a group of people in robes and masks, spells flashing and drunken jeering echoing behind the screams. Above the masked group was… oh God. The muggle who ran the campground, and his family. The masked wizards were levitating them high in the air, flipping the woman over and laughing when her nightdress rode up.

Hermione and Ginny emerged from their tents, horror immediately setting in on their faces. A second later, the three eldest Weasley boys stepped out, fully dressed and wands out, their sleeves rolled up. “We’re going to help the Ministry,” Mr Weasley shouted over the noise. “You lot get into the woods, and stick together! I’ll come fetch you when it’s safe. Fred, George, look after your sister,” he added, getting two grave nods before he was off following his eldest sons towards the chaos. 

Fred grabbed Ginny by the hand, tugging her towards the woods. Together they all sprinted for safety, falling in with the crowds of fleeing people. 

The rest of the night was a blur. 

They lost track of Ginny and the twins within minutes, but Harry knew the twins would keep the youngest Weasley safe. He and Hermione went to light the way, at which point Ron realised he’d lost his wand. “I have to go back and look for it!” he insisted. “Mum and Dad’ll kill me if they have to get me another one.” He started walking against the flow of traffic, and Hermione looked at Harry with a mix of fear and exasperation.

“Ronald!” she called, hurrying after him. Harry made to follow, but a flash of blond caught his eye.

“Malfoy,” he called, aware he was in public. Draco, who was leaning against a tree and watching things through a gap in the woods, turned with raised eyebrows. 

“Potter. Don’t tell me you’re out alone in this?” There was a hint of concern in his voice. Harry edged closer, keeping an eye out for his friends.

“Ron and Hermione are back there. Ron lost his wand.”

“Idiot,” Draco muttered, shaking his head. 

“Are you alright?” Harry met his gaze, looking past his unaffected facade to the worry deep in his grey eyes. “Where’s your mother?”

Draco’s lip quivered. “Father insisted she stay by his side.” His words were stiff, and comprehension dawned on Harry. He stared at him in horror.

“She’s not— they’re not—“ Draco nodded. His parents were out there in masks, hurting the muggles and causing chaos. Hailing Voldemort.

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer. The only reason he let me go is that I’m underage.”

Uncaring that anyone could walk by them, Harry reached out and grabbed Draco’s hand, squeezing tight. “She’ll be okay,” he said, wishing he could promise that. Draco looked down at their interlocked fingers, then back up at Harry. “She’s been through this before. She knows how to blend in with a group like that. She’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Draco nodded. 

There was the crack of a twig snapping, and a muffled cry that could only be Ron. Harry let go of Draco’s hand quickly, stepping back. “You alright there, Ron?” he called out.

“There you are, Harry! Yeah, fine, just tripped on a root. No sign of my wand.”

“With feet that big, I’m not surprised,” Draco drawled, his Ice Prince mask firmly back in place. It made something in Harry’s chest twist painfully. 

“Malfoy,” Ron growled. “What are you doing here?”

Harry tried to stop the exchange descending into a brawl, taking Draco’s veiled warning and ushering Hermione deeper into the woods, urging Ron to leave Draco alone. “You don’t even have your wand, you can’t hex him,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but you could,” Ron retorted. “Merlin, Mum’s gonna be furious if I can’t find it.”

“I’m sure it’s back in the tent,” Hermione said, though she sounded doubtful.

They kept walking, keeping an eye out for the twins and Ginny, and almost lost Ron to three veela in the woods. When they reached a small clearing, Harry suggested they stop and wait.

That was where everything went wrong. 

Soon, he found himself staring up in horror at the enormous skull and snake hovering in the sky; the Dark Mark, in all its glory. They barely managed to make it a few steps away before they were surrounded by Ministry wizards, ducking a barrage of stunning spells. Harry instinctively had his wand in his hand when he got to his feet, though there was no need; Mr Weasley was running through the crowd, yelling for the wizards to leave them alone. 

What followed was the most disastrous attempt at an investigation Harry had had the misfortune to witness; in the back of his mind was a voice that sounded awfully like Snape, calling everyone dunderheads and imbeciles as the wizards proceeded to accuse three teenagers — one of whom was Harry Potter — of conjuring Voldemort’s sigil, followed by Mr Crouch’s house elf. Harry’s heart broke for the poor elf he’d seen in the top box earlier, watching her sob as her master dismissed her. Sirius had taught him about house elves when he’d asked about Ceri; they needed to be bonded to houses, or their magic would start to go wonky and make them sick. They’d die if they stayed free for too long. Harry wished he’d known that when he’d freed Dobby. Then again, he doubted whatever happened to a free elf could be any worse than working for Lucius Malfoy. 

Ron’s wand being used to cast the Mark didn’t do them any favours, but they eventually got it all sorted out and made it back to their tents, where luckily the rest of the Weasley family were waiting mostly unharmed. Bill had a cut across his cheek and Percy’s right sleeve was a little charred, but other than that they were fine. Ginny was chalk-white, tucked into Charlie’s side. 

They gathered in the bigger tent, no one willing to tell the girls to go back to bed after that ordeal. The trio ended up sharing what had happened to them, and Ron asked about the Dark Mark, not understanding why it was such a big deal. Harry stayed silent through Mr Weasley’s explanation, but forgot to pretend to be unaware of such things — all the things Snape and Remus had taught him over the summer, about the first rise of Voldemort and why it was such a bad sign that Snape’s Dark Mark was hurting again. Mr Weasley shot Harry an odd look when he didn’t react to Bill’s remark that the crowd was obviously Death Eaters who had lied to keep themselves out of Azkaban. Harry covered it with a yawn, hoping the man would just believe he was zoning out due to exhaustion. It had been one hell of a day.

They were all sent to bed shortly after, though Harry lay awake for a long while, listening to Charlie’s soft snores. He wished there were a little more privacy in the tent; he had the two way mirror in his bag, and he was desperate to talk to Sirius and tell him what happened. He’d no doubt find out from the Prophet in the morning. If Snape didn’t know already. Had he been part of the group? To keep his cover? 

Harry’s nerves tied knots in his guts as he squeezed his eyes shut, imagining Remus staying up late worried about his partner, Sirius pacing the living room and demanding to go check Harry was okay. He’d call them in the morning, as soon as he could get some time to himself.

.-.-.-.

They’d only had a few hours sleep when Mr Weasley woke them all up, and soon they were packed and trudging back to the crowded portkey departure point. 

Mrs Weasley was waiting anxiously when they returned, rushing forward to meet them at the garden gate. She threw herself into her husband’s arms, before hugging each of her children in turn, then Harry and Hermione. “Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried! The paper said there were bodies, oh, you’re alive!” She doubled back to hug the twins, sobbing about having yelled at them before they left. 

Breakfast was a somber affair, Mr Weasley and Percy barely staying long enough to wolf down some toast before they headed into the Ministry to start dealing with the aftermath. Harry didn’t know who Rita Skeeter was, but he already didn’t like her; that article was causing more fear and worry than the Death Eaters themselves!

He got his chance to slip away when the other Weasleys decided to start up a game of quidditch in the garden. Promising to be out in a minute, he hurried up to Ron’s room and dug through his backpack for the two-way mirror. “Sirius Black,” he said quickly — it was barely a second before Sirius’ worried face filled the glass. He’d obviously been waiting for the call.

“Harry! Are you alright? Remus, it’s Harry!” There was a beat, and Remus’ face squeezed in beside Sirius’, Sirius having to hold the mirror a little further out so they could both see. 

“I’m fine, everything’s fine,” Harry assured hurriedly. 

“What happened? The Prophet article was full of so much bullshit it’s hard to tell what the truth is,” Sirius said, ignoring the scolding look Remus gave him for swearing.

Harry gave the pair a quick summary of the night’s events, including the events with Crouch’s elf and the Dark Mark.

“Barty Crouch has always been a heartless bastard,” Sirius growled, his eyes dark. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Completely, I promise,” Harry insisted. He wished he could reach through the mirror and hug his godfather; he’d gotten far too used to the easy affection over the summer. “Sirius, you have to send a letter to Mrs Malfoy. I— Lucius was part of the group, and Draco said he made her be part of it too.”

Sirius and Remus shared a grim look.

“I’ll ask Severus to check in on her,” Remus promised. “He’s away at the moment, doing some damage control.”

“He wasn’t there last night, was he?” Harry asked, relieved when Remus shook his head.

“No, he was home. Had no idea about it all until it was too late. Obviously they were only involving people who were already at the cup.”

“Who could have cast the Dark Mark?” 

Both adults shrugged, and Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “It could’ve been any number of people. We’ll look into things, but don’t dwell on it too much, alright pup? Enjoy the rest of your summer, leave this to the adults.” He let out a long sigh. “Merlin, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“I miss you,” Harry confessed in a whisper. “All of you.” Even Snape, to his surprise. 

“We miss you too, cub,” Remus replied. “It’s been far too quiet without you around. Except for the fireworks Sirius let off in the entrance hall,” he added with a reprimanding look. Sirius grinned, giving an over-exaggerated innocent face.

Harry knew they were just trying to cheer him up, but he couldn’t help but laugh all the same. “I should go, the others will be wondering what’s taking me so long.” He’d told them he was going to the bathroom. They probably thought he’d fallen in. 

“Let us know if anything else happens. Keep in touch, and have a good week. We love you, pup.” Sirius kissed his fingers, pressing them to the mirror’s surface. Harry’s heart clenched.

He reluctantly ended the call, taking a minute to compose himself before tucking the mirror back in his bag and heading out to the garden with his broom in hand, plastering a smile on his face when he saw the Weasley siblings already airborne, Hermione reading a book on the grass below. “There you are, mate! We’ve been waiting for you!” Ron called, waving him over. Harry kicked off into the sky, trying to leave his worries on the ground. There was nothing he could do about it all now. 

.-.-.-.

Severus returned home just in time for dinner, and the first thing Remus said was that they’d heard from Potter. “He’s fine, they’re all fine,” he assured. Severus felt the dread inside him build with every word as Remus relayed what had happened in the woods. 

“Narcissa is well,” he informed his partner and Black when Remus mentioned Harry’s worries. He’d been to see her and Draco earlier, while Lucius was at the Ministry. “Shaken, but well. She was indeed part of the group involved in the muggle-baiting. She believes the whole thing was Lucius’ idea — or at least, he was involved in the planning. She said he didn’t tell her a thing beforehand, but he knew exactly where to go when it started.” It was exactly the sort of thing Lucius Malfoy would do, wanting to cause chaos and horror at such a public event. If he and the other loyal Death Eaters were getting the same signs he was, they would of course get braver and bolder in their hateful acts. If they believed the Dark Lord was on his way to returning, they would want to drum up as much fear as possible before that day arrived. “This is only the beginning, you realise.”

The two Gryffindors looked grim, hardly touching their dinner. “Snape,” Black said eventually. “I know we have a difficult history.” Severus snorted; that was the biggest understatement he’d heard in a while. “And I know we still have our differences, despite the things that bring us together.” Here he glanced at Remus, who bumped his knee against Severus’ under the table. “But please, for Remus if not for me, please look after Harry when he’s back at school. He can’t defend himself properly, not with Dumbledore lurking over his shoulder. If anything were to happen to him…” He didn’t need to finish; it would devastate both men if something were to befall Potter. “Just, please. He needs all the allies he can get. I can’t be there for him, but you can.”

Severus pursed his lips. Were they really going to make him say it? “I’ll admit, I have come to… tolerate the boy,” he said, as if the very confession pained him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Remus try to hide a fond smile. Damnable wolf. “This summer has made me realise he’s not as arrogant as I initially believed. When he’s not being antagonised, he’s… not terrible.” There, that was as good as they were getting. Truthfully, Severus actually quite liked the Potter boy now; he was unexpectedly witty, and his Slytherin tendencies showed through in interesting — and sometimes amusing — ways. He now saw what Remus said when he said Potter — Harry — was so much like Lily. Sometimes his words, those green eyes staring back at him… it was like having her back. 

“I’ll watch over him, as faithfully as you would,” he vowed to the pair of Gryffindors. Not only because he knew his life would not be worth living should Remus hear he’d let something happen to the boy on his watch. He didn’t want any harm to come to Harry either. “I will still need to keep up appearances, but his safety is my priority.” He’d risked his life for the boy before, back when he hated him. He could certainly do it now Harry was tolerable. 

“Thank you,” Black breathed, his eyes grateful. “Snape… Severus. Thank you.”

It was strange, hearing his given name come from the Gryffindor’s lips without a hint of mockery or derision. At the beginning of the summer they’d agreed to be cordial, for Remus’ sake, but the more time they spent together the more Severus was realising that Black wasn’t the bullheaded little brat he had been when they were teenagers. Harry wasn’t the only one who had become tolerable.

“We are on the same side, Sirius,” he said, the name feeling odd on his tongue. “If war is to come, then there is no place for childhood grudges here.”

Sirius nodded to him across the table, the understand passing between them. Beside him, Remus beamed with pride.

“I knew you two would warm up to each other eventually,” he said fondly. Severus scoffed.

They weren’t friends, by any stretch of the imagination. But maybe between Remus and Harry and the oncoming darkness, they could be something like it.

Chapter Text

Despite the hectic start, the rest of Harry’s time at the Burrow was much the same as it always was. Mr Weasley and Percy were barely present for the week that followed the World Cup, drowning in work and howlers and more scathing articles from Rita Skeeter. Harry felt bad for them; even Percy didn’t deserve that. 

Having the two eldest Weasley boys around was a nice change in the dynamic, too. They weren’t always home, taking the opportunity to visit British friends they hadn’t seen in a while, but when they were around they were usually fairly game for whatever shenanigans the teenagers had planned. Harry made sure to spend plenty of time talking to them, remembering what Hannah had said the year before about the two likely being the next heirs to the Weasley and Prewett seats. He never quite managed to bring up the subject with them, but he got to know them well enough to tell they were probably trustworthy.

The one thing Harry couldn’t quite get used to was not using his wand. He’d gotten so used to being able to cast spells without hesitation at Seren Du, he kept finding himself with his wand in his hand before he could catch the habit. It earned him some odd looks from Ron and Hermione, but Harry suspected they just thought he was jumpy after the Cup. 

Whatever time Ron and Hermione had spent together before Harry had arrived at the Burrow, they’d clearly used it to talk through the last of the issues they’d had from the previous year, when Ron had accused Hermione’s cat of eating Scabbers and been awful to her for half the school year. Then again, finding out that rat was actually a Death Eater in disguise had probably gone a long way to easing that argument. Things were almost back to normal between the trio — except Harry was still keeping secrets, and Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to realise that he’d grown up some in the last year while they’d been busy arguing. Ron didn’t like it when Harry shot down all his disparaging remarks about Slytherins, and Hermione had nearly exploded when Harry had refused her offer to help him finish his summer homework.

“I got it all done at the Dursleys’,” he insisted. “Thanks, but you guys go ahead.” The offer had only come when Ron had realised he still had a stack of essays to complete, and Hermione had pestered him into getting them done before they were on the train to school.

“I can go over them for you, then,” Hermione replied dismissively. Harry bristled at the insinuation that his work wasn’t good enough.

“I don’t need you to go over them for me, Hermione, but thank you.” He tried to stay polite. Even if she didn’t know he’d already had Remus go over his summer homework, who was she to just assume his work would need checking and correcting?

“Don’t be silly, Harry, I really don’t mind. You’ll be better off for it.”

“I’m happy with my work how it is,” Harry replied between clenched teeth. “I’m going to go find the twins.” He slipped out of the room before she could argue with him further, rolling his eyes when Ron complained about having to study when Harry wasn’t. 

Last year, Hermione had been too busy with her overloaded timetable and Buckbeak’s appeal to care much about Harry’s grades. If she was going to spend the whole next year insisting he needed her help, ignoring the fact that he was clearly capable by himself, they were going to have issues.

.-.-.

One afternoon, a couple of days before they were due to go back to school, they were all out in the garden, enjoying the last dregs of the summer sunshine. Hermione and Ginny were stretched out on a blanket by the pond, talking quietly and giggling every now and then; the two girls were thick as thieves this summer, and Harry sort-of wondered what they talked about all the time. From some of the looks they sent him before bursting into giggles, he probably didn’t want to know. 

Harry and the other boys were, as they often were, high in the air on their brooms. Bill had brought an old quaffle home with him, and they were tossing it between them, thinking up increasingly ridiculous forfeits for anyone who dropped it. Harry was currently having to sit sidesaddle on his broom, which made it even harder to catch future passes. He was doing alright, though; Charlie was working with one hand spelled behind his back, and it was not doing him any favours.

“This is ridiculous,” the dragon tamer complained when the quaffle dropped to the ground below him. “I was never a chaser for a reason!” He swooped down to grab it, zooming back to the same level as the rest of them. “They’re putting us seekers through our paces, eh?” he added to Harry with a grin. “If we had a snitch, we could show them.”

Harry remembered the little wooden box tucked away in his trunk. “I’ve got a practice snitch,” he volunteered. Charlie stared at him.

“And you’re just mentioning this now? Poor show, Potter!” He shook his head exasperatedly. Then he grinned, eyes flashing in challenge. “Fancy a seeker’s match?”

Harry, who — other than the one glorious day when Draco visited — had been chasing the snitch all summer without any real competition for it, smirked. “You’re on.” He landed and raced up to Ron’s bedroom, squeezing through the extra beds and piles of clothing to get to his trunk, digging through until he found the box containing his practice snitch. When he got back out into the garden, all the boys had landed, and even Ginny and Hermione had abandoned their blanket, interested in the proceedings. 

Bill held a hand out, and Harry passed him the box. “Alright, seekers,” he announced, taking the whole thing incredibly seriously, though there was a curve to his lips he couldn’t quite hide. “Here’s the rules. Snitch gets a ten second head start, with your eyes closed. If it goes over the property line, we’ll have to summon it back; don’t want the muggles seeing anything they shouldn’t. And I want a good, clean match, alright?” He was channelling Madam Hooch, and it made both seekers snicker.

Harry and Charlie shook hands, then mounted their brooms but kept their feet on the ground. Bill flicked the lid of the box open, and Harry’s eyes were on the little golden ball as it unfurled its wings and shot off into the air. Bill cleared his throat, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut. The other Weasley siblings started up a loud countdown, and even Hermione got involved halfway through. “Three… two… one… GO!”

Both seekers were off like a rocket, Harry much faster than Charlie. The older seeker was on one of the newer model Cleansweeps; an excellent broom, but no match for the Firebolt. He did a wide loop around the back yard, keeping his eyes peeled for a flash of gold. 

Unable to help himself, Harry threw in a few of the tricks and rolls he’d been working on over the summer, earning whoops and cheers from their small audience. Charlie laughed as he tailed Harry through a particularly sharp Wollongong Shimmy. “You’ll have to try better than that to lose me, Potter!” 

Grinning at the challenge, Harry shot up high, and Charlie followed. All of a sudden, Harry caught a glimpse of the snitch down below, and his smirk widened. Time to really show off a bit. Turning the nose of his broom to the ground, he dived full speed downwards, Charlie following him with a shouted curse. Harry kept going, picking up speed, growing closer and closer to the grass. The rest of the world faded away, his focus narrowed entirely to his broom and the snitch hovering above the ground. He was vaguely aware when Charlie pulled out of the dive, not willing to risk his neck, but Harry waited until the last second, veering off course and reaching out as his toes skimmed the grass, grabbing the snitch on his way past. 

Slowing to a halt, he held the gold ball up to a gobsmacked Charlie, winking. “Found it,” he said. The redhead gaped.

“You certainly did, didn’t you,” he agreed faintly, drifting closer. “Blimey, Harry. I think Oliver might’ve actually been underplaying you a bit in his letters. That was some serious flying!” He ruffled Harry’s hair, and Harry grinned at him. They returned to the ground, where the audience was cheering, and he even saw money exchange hands between Fred and Ron, the latter looking put-out. 

“You bet against me?” Harry asked in mock-offence, watching Ron’s ears redden.

“Well, no offence mate, but Charlie was really good, and—“ He stuttered out some half-hearted excuses, and Harry laughed.

“You could’ve just said you were showing family solidarity.” He was still a little breathless, exhilarated from the tense flying. He turned back to the dragon tamer. “Want to go again? Swap brooms this time?” He wanted to make sure he wasn’t relying too much on his fancy broom to get ahead. Charlie’s eyes lit up.

“You’ll let me ride your Firebolt?” he gasped. Harry nodded. “You’re on! Best three out of five?”

“What do I get for winning?” Harry asked cheekily, making Charlie bark out a laugh. 

“Cocky little sod. If you win, I’ll owe you a favour. To be called in at any time you like, no questions asked, even if it’s to hex one of my siblings. Also I’ll let you take the rest of that bottle of firewhisky to school,” he added as an afterthought. “If I win, you’ll owe me a favour, no questions asked. And I get to use your Firebolt as much as I like before you go back to school.”

Harry would’ve let Charlie borrow his Firebolt anyway, so he agreed to the terms. Though he did wonder what kind of favour the dragon tamer might ask of him. He didn’t plan on losing, so it was a moot point. 

“So we’re at one to Harry. Firebolt trades hands every round, and if it looks like whoever’s riding it is winning because of that, Harry can take my broom,” Bill declared, still in referee-mode. “Ready?”

They traded brooms, and the match began anew. Charlie was having a whale of a time on the Firebolt, zooming around and whooping in joy. Harry kept up with him fairly well on the Cleansweep, getting used to its speed and turning radius. Within the first few minutes, he had eyes on the snitch, and was off. Charlie was hot on his tail, overtaking him quickly, but Harry pulled out a tricky little manoeuvre that had him pulling in front again, hand closing around the snitch. They slowed to a halt, and Charlie stared at him. “Aw, fuck,” he muttered. Harry snorted. 

But it wasn’t over that easily. Charlie won the third round, the snitch drifting by him while he and Harry were at opposite ends of the garden. The fourth round was extremely close, but Harry managed to just edge out in front.

“And that’s 3-1 to Mr Harry Potter!” Bill announced over the cheering of their spectators. Charlie cursed, but he was smiling as he landed.

“Bloody hell, Harry. That’s seriously impressive.” They shook hands.

“You made it hard for me, though!” Harry insisted. “Considering you’ve not played a proper match since you graduated, wow.” 

Charlie chuckled. “You flatter me, but thank you. I suppose I’ll just wait for you to call in your favour then, hmm?”

Harry had no idea what he might need the Weasley brother for, but it was always good to have options to call on. He put the snitch carefully back in its box, taking his Firebolt back from Charlie. 

They were called in for dinner shortly after, and Harry left his broom in the hallway with the others, heading for the delicious scent of food coming from the kitchen. 

“Oh, I hope they’re home soon,” Mrs Weasley fretted, looking from the two empty spots at the table to the clock in the corner that declared them to be at work. “Arthur hasn’t had to work this much since the war.”

All the kids shared uneasy glances. “I’m sure they’ll be home in a bit, Mum,” Bill soothed. “Probably just got held up chatting, you know what Dad’s like.”

Luckily at that minute, the hands moved from ‘work’ to ‘travelling’, and a pair of quiet pops heralded the arrival of the last two members of the family. Mr Weasley looked worn-out, greeting his wife with a kiss on the cheek and sinking wearily into his chair. “Merlin, what a week,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll be glad when this all blows over. It would’ve done ages ago if Skeeter didn’t keep pushing those awful articles.”

“At least it’s getting people to take the search for Bertha Jorkins seriously,” Percy pointed out. “Mr Crouch has been saying for weeks that someone needed to look for her.” Behind his back, the twins fluttered their eyelashes and mock-swooned, mouthing ‘Mr Crouch’ over-dramatically. Harry sniggered into his stew. 

“Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn’t found out about Winky,” Mr Weasley retorted irritably. “And is probably just hoping it stays that way.”

That set Hermione off about house elves, and Harry winced. He appreciated the sentiment, but she really needed to learn to research something properly before forming an opinion and mouthing off to anyone who would listen. 

“Why don’t you all go up and finish packing,” Mrs Weasley cut in before Hermione could really get on her soapbox. “I put all your new school things in your rooms. Hermione, dear, I got that book you asked for. And I finished the laundry.”

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said automatically, diverted from her tirade. For now. 

Everyone of Hogwarts age trudged upstairs, and Harry heard rain thundering against the windows. “Sounds like we finished flying just in time,” he mused, heading up to Ron’s room. All the twins’ things were still in their room, which was housing Bill and Charlie for now. Except, of course, the bag full of Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes stashed in Harry’s trunk, just in case Mrs Weasley decided to do one last search. 

Harry hadn’t really unpacked since arriving, so repacking his things didn’t take long once he’d ducked downstairs to go get his broom, trying not to eavesdrop on the conversation the adults were having in the kitchen. Sirius had told him to stay out of it and let the adults handle things, and he was going to try his best to follow that. 

When he returned to Ron’s room, the redheaded boy was holding up what looked like a long maroon velvet dress, with mouldy-looking lace at the cuffs and collar. His face was a clear mask of disgust. “What the hell is this?”

Harry had a strong sense of foreboding as the answer popped into his mind. They all had dress robes on their school requirement list this year; Snape had said there was always some sort of formal event involved in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had, with Remus’ help, chosen a set of dark green robes with gold accents. He actually thought he looked quite dashing in them. 

Surely Mrs Weasley wasn’t expecting Ron to wear that?

The woman in question knocked on the door, entering with a pile of freshly laundered school robes draped over her arm. “Here you are, Ron, dear. Harry, are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to do yours as well? I can get them done tonight.”

“It’s fine, thanks, Mrs Weasley,” Harry assured. Ceri had taken care of all his clothes before he’d left, including his robes and his new cloak. 

“Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress,” Ron said, holding out the offending garment. 

Mrs Weasley confirmed that they were indeed Ron’s dress robes, and Harry was torn between laughter and sympathy at the look on the redhead’s face. “I had to get them second-hand, there wasn’t a lot of choice,” she snapped, flushing. 

“I’m not wearing them!” Ron insisted hotly. “I’d rather go starkers.”

“Fine. Harry, make sure you get a picture; I could do with a good laugh.” Mrs Weasley stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Ron threw the dress robes at his open trunk, making an angry noise.

Harry left him to sulk, slipping out of the room and heading downstairs to see what the twins were up to. “What’s going on upstairs, then?” Fred asked as Harry shut the door behind him. Harry grimaced.

“Ron just found his new dress robes. They’re… not pretty.” He glanced over at the wardrobe, where two sets of dress robes that had to belong to the twins were hanging, ready to be packed. They were clearly second-hand, but still nicer than Ron’s. Both in similar shades of dark purple, one with silver embroidery around the cuffs and hem, the other with bronze piping around the edge. Not a scrap of lace in sight.

“Poor Ronnikins,” George mock-sighed, shaking his head. “So hard done by. He should’ve sucked up his pride and agreed to borrow Bill’s old dress robes, like Mum offered before you got here. He said they were too girly.”

“They had a little bit of pink on them,” Fred elaborated, rolling his eyes. “Pretty snazzy otherwise, if you ask me. I’d have worn them if Bill wasn’t so bloody tall.”

Harry snickered; maybe Mrs Weasley had bought the frilly robes on purpose, after all. 

.-.-.-.

It was pouring down with rain the morning they had to catch the Hogwarts Express. As they waited in the hallway for the taxis Mrs Weasley had arranged, Harry glanced at the fleet of enormous Hogwarts trunks stacked by the door. “Mrs Weasley,” he piped up tentatively. “Should we maybe use shrinking charms on the trunks? Muggle taxis might not have enough space for all this.” It would be bad enough travelling with Pig and Crookshanks — Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Gorrak, under the guise of Harry writing to Sirius. Mrs Weasley, already flustered from her husband’s unexpected disappearance to deal with Mad-Eye Moody, looked up with a worried expression on her face.

“Harry’s probably right,” Bill agreed, pulling his wand from his jacket pocket. In short order, he and Charlie had the trunks shrunk, and they ended up in Mrs Weasley’s enormous handbag. 

As Harry suspected, the three taxi drivers seemed utterly bewildered at the owl in the cage; Pig wasn’t helping, making quite the racket as he was wedged into the back seat on Ron’s lap. Crookshanks wasn’t thrilled either, and by the time they all reached King’s Cross, Harry, Ron and Hermione were covered in scratches.

“I’m really sorry,” Hermione said for the hundredth time as they stepped through the barrier onto platform 9 & 3/4, her cat tucked securely under her arm. They stepped to the side, and Charlie started resizing everybody’s trunks. 

After they’d found a compartment and stowed their luggage away, they all returned to the platform to say goodbye to Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie. “Keep in touch,” Bill urged with a grin, pulling Ron into a hug once he was done with the twins. “You lot are in for one hell of a year, I want to hear about all of it. You too, Harry,” he added, hugging the dark-haired teen tightly. 

“I might see you all sooner than you think,” Charlie confessed, releasing Ginny with a kiss on the forehead. 

“Why’s that?” Fred asked quickly. Charlie tapped his nose conspiratorially, winking.

“Secret,” he insisted. “Don’t tell Percy I mentioned it. It’s ‘classified information until the Ministry sees fit to release it’,” he droned with a roll of his eyes. Harry’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully; did that mean Charlie was involved in the Tournament somehow?

The two eldest Weasley boys delighted in taunting their siblings with veiled references to the secret surprise right up until the whistle blew, and they had to hurry to catch the train. Harry spotted Neville wandering with his trunk as they headed for their compartment. “Oi, Neville!” he called, waving an arm. The round-faced boy looked up. “Wanna sit with us?”

Neville grinned, nodding, and the four of them took their seats, shoving Neville’s trunk into the luggage rack with their own and shutting the compartment door. “Why wouldn’t they just tell us what’s going on this year?” Ron groused. “We wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“From the sounds of things, we’ll find out tonight anyway,” Harry placated, as if he didn’t already know the secret. “How was your summer, Neville?” He acted as if he hadn’t been writing to the other boy regularly, and Neville grinned at him. 

“It was great! Gran let me put a whole section for aquatic plants in the greenhouse.” As he enthused about all the new specimens he had, Harry’s mind turned to the dilapidated greenhouse at Seren Du. He’d intended to start clearing it out over the summer, maybe grow some potions ingredients — he actually enjoyed gardening at the Dursleys — but it had turned out to be a much bigger project than any of them had anticipated. Remus and Sirius had promised to get it emptied out ready for the next summer. Maybe by then Harry would be able to tell Neville about it and get some advice. Neville didn’t even know the truth about Sirius, yet. 

Several familiar faces stopped in on them throughout the journey, and with each one Ron’s retelling of the events of the Quidditch World Cup got more and more elaborate. While he gave Neville a fairly accurate recount, by the time Seamus and Dean reached them he was describing their narrow escape from a pack of Death Eaters, who apparently almost hexed him several times. Harry and Hermione merely shared an exasperated glance. 

At one point, they managed to turn the conversation to the match itself rather than the chaos after it, Neville listening enviously as Harry and Ron described it all. 

“Gran didn’t want to go,” Neville said miserably. “She’s not into quidditch. It sounds amazing, though.”

Ron jumped up to rifle through his trunk, pulling out his little figure of Viktor Krum. “Look at this! We saw him right up close, too. We were up in the top box—“

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.” The familiar drawl made Harry’s head snap up, and he was glad for his darker skin when he felt his cheeks heat ever so slightly. Draco’s hair was a little longer than it had been at the Cup, falling into his silver-grey eyes. He looked good. Behind him were Crabbe and Goyle, looking appropriately menacing.

“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” Harry said coolly, hoping to head off any truly explosive argument before Ron could get a word in. They all had their roles to play, of course, but he didn’t want to get into a fight before the term even began. 

Sadly, it was not to be. As much as Draco and Harry were friends now, the same couldn’t be said for him and Ron, and Draco took any chance to taunt the redhead. “Weasley, what is that?”

A sleeve of Ron’s dress robes was sticking out of his trunk, obviously dislodged when Ron had grabbed the Krum figurine. It was swaying with the motion of the train, the lace cuff very obvious. Ron made to shove it out of sight, but Draco was too quick, and soon he was holding the robes out in front of him. 

“Good Merlin!” he exclaimed. “Weasley, you weren’t thinking about wearing these, were you?” He looked them over in consideration. “I’m sure they were the height of fashion in, oh, about 1890…” he trailed off with a laugh, Crabbe and Goyle laughing right along with him. Ron’s face was burning bright red. Harry tried to bring himself to be offended on his friend’s behalf, but he just couldn’t do it; the robes were awful. Ron should’ve just taken Bill’s old ones, pink or no pink. 

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron scowled, snatching the robes back and tossing them into the corner of the compartment. Even Neville was eyeing them with a grimace. 

“Maybe you should think about entering. There’s money involved, you know; you’d be able to buy some decent robes then.” Harry knew that Draco knew underage wizards wouldn’t be able to enter; he was just trying to get a rise out of the redhead. The Slytherin laughed at Ron’s confusion. “You mean you don’t know?” He chanced a look at Harry, who shook his head slightly. Draco’s smirk widened. “Oh, that’s just precious! My father told me ages ago. I suppose yours just isn’t senior enough to have been told about it.”

“Or Ron’s father just respects when things are supposed to stay secret,” Hermione said icily. Draco laughed. 

“As if everyone else’s parents didn’t tell them immediately. They probably just don’t talk about the important things in front of him.” Happy with his annual pre-sorting mocking of Ron Weasley, Draco let it go, his eyes turning to Harry once more. Harry wished he could somehow arrange a way to talk to the blond in private, but that would have to wait until they got to school. The train was far too crowded to risk it. Instead he merely quirked his lips in the briefest smile, which turned into a glare when he caught Ron looking at him. When Draco left, Ron slammed the compartment door shut so hard the window cracked. 

“Oh, honestly, Ron,” Hermione muttered, whipping out her wand to fix it. “You shouldn’t let him get to you like that.”

Ron, who had been sulking on and off for various reasons since he’d been given the dress robes, merely scowled and squashed the last remaining cauldron cake between his hands. Harry shared an uneasy look with Neville. Rooming with Ron in such a mood was going to be interesting; hopefully he would perk up once the Tournament was announced. 

When they reached Hogsmeade station, they hurried to the carriages, not wanting to be out in the deluge of rain any longer than they had to be. “Has the weather ever been so bad they can’t take the first years across in boats?” Harry wondered aloud, watching Hagrid lead the group of tiny, bedraggled eleven year-olds towards the lake. 

“I don’t think so,” Hermione replied. “I’ve certainly never read about it. They always find a way.”

Harry cast a quick Drying charm over himself, even though he knew he’d just end up getting soaked again when he reached the castle. It beat having to sit in the carriage in sodden robes. 

Thankfully, he was eventually at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, spelled dry for the third time — thanks to Peeves and his water balloons — and eagerly awaiting the start of the feast. As the sopping first years were led in, leaving a veritable stream of water in their wake, Harry realised it was the first sorting he’d actually been present for since his own. He was surprised when the Sorting Hat’s song was completely different, impressing upon them the virtues of each house individually. Harry’s mind cast back to Sirius’ words the night before he’d left Seren Du; his insistence that the war would only be won by the houses working together. Perhaps the hat was trying to tell them something. 

There seemed to be a thousand first years to sort as Harry’s stomach rumbled expectantly, the golden plates in front of him staying frustratingly empty. He tried to pay attention, to keep an eye out for any names that sounded familiar from all his books about the Wizengamot, but other than the Carrow twins — both of whom went to Slytherin — there weren’t any he recognised. 

At last it was time to eat, and Harry ravenously filled his plate, tuning out most of the conversation around him. He grimaced when Nearly-Headless Nick let slip that Hogwarts was staffed by house elves, immediately setting Hermione off again. That was going to be a problem this year, wasn’t it?

At the end of the feast, Dumbledore stood to make his start-of-term speech. Harry hadn’t realised the Triwizard Tournament would mean cancelling quidditch, and his outrage was echoed by several others from every house. He caught Cedric Diggory’s eye across the room, the boy looking upset at the news. So much for that rematch. 

The interruption of Mad-Eye Moody was an unexpected one. Harry felt uneasy when the man’s magical eye landed on him, unnaturally bright blue. It felt like it was piercing his soul — he made a mental note to ask Sirius exactly what that eye was capable of. 

He didn’t know much about the man, just what Mr Weasley had told them that morning, but it was clear he was at least friends with Dumbledore. That didn’t exactly inspire confidence in Harry. He’d have to be careful around Moody until he’d got the measure of him.

Harry pretended to be just as startled by the announcement of the Tournament as everyone else. The twins, unsurprisingly, were among those not pleased with the news that only wizards who were of-age by the end of October would be able to enter. “We’re so close, we’re practically seventeen!” Fred insisted as they walked up to Gryffindor Tower.

“There’s got to be a way to get around it,” George agreed. “Once our names are in the running, they won’t be able to turn us down.”

Harry doubted it would be that simple, but stayed quiet as the pair plotted ways to hoodwink the impartial judge. When they extended the offer to Ron and Harry, Harry snorted. “I think I get into enough trouble in the average school year without seeking it out, don’t you?” he pointed out dryly. Fred shrugged.

“Yeah, mate, you’re probably right. Ah well, more glory for us!”

They went off to their respective dormitories after bidding everyone goodnight, and Harry grinned at Dean’s new poster of Viktor Krum. Maybe he should’ve brought his Holyhead Harpies poster with him instead of leaving it in his room. He could explain it away as a birthday present, or something. Though he’d have to figure out a reasonable explanation for why it was the Harpies. Maybe he could buy a Puddlemere poster in support of Oliver instead.

Changing into his pyjamas, he put all thoughts of quidditch and posters out of his head, drawing his curtains around his bed and setting the usual privacy charms. Now he was back at school, all his plans for the year came rushing back to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to get the heirs closer together, even the Slytherin ones — if he could get them all working together before either Dumbledore or Voldemort managed to get to them, they might have a chance at sorting out the shambles of the wizarding world after the war was over. It was all well and good planning for battle, but someone needed to have a good idea of what came next, or they’d end up doing exactly what they’d done after the last two wars; sticking their heads in the sand and letting Albus Dumbledore take care of everything. 

As well as that, he had to keep his head down and out of Dumbledore’s way, and figure out just who he could trust within the castle. Right now, it was a pretty short list.

Chapter Text

The next morning Harry woke up early, so he left the dorm quietly and headed down to breakfast alone. There was only a handful of students in the Great Hall already, and as Harry walked towards the Gryffindor table, someone slammed into his shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, Potter.” It was Draco, glaring harshly at him, and Harry returned the look even as he brightened up internally, shoving a hand in his robe pocket and wrapping his fingers around a scrap of parchment that hadn’t been there a second ago. He waited until he was sat down before unfolding it under the table. Tonight, after curfew, fourth floor Charms room?

He glanced up at the Slytherin table, giving Draco the barest of nods, trying not to outwardly smile. 

“Morning, Harry!” The cheerful greeting came from Susan Bones, sat on the Hufflepuff bench nearby, absently braiding her wavy copper hair over her shoulder. 

“Hi, Susan. Good summer?”

“Wasn’t bad until the Cup happened. Aunt Amelia’s barely been home since, it’s all madness.” Harry remembered that her aunt was the head of the DMLE, and grimaced; no doubt she’d been even busier than Mr Weasley was. “Did you end up listening to that lecture I told you about, by the way?” In one of Susan’s last letters, she’d told him about a lecture that was being broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless, all about how the lack of information for muggleborns entering the wizarding world was leading to a slow muggle-fication of their society, and it was going to lead to them being discovered eventually. It was an incredibly controversial topic.

“Yeah, it was really interesting!” Harry enthused, straddling the bench so he could eat his porridge while keeping up the conversation. “He had a lot of good points, but I did think it was a bit extreme. The wizarding world can be dragged into the future without getting over-run with muggles. I mean, wouldn’t it be so much easier to use pens and notebooks in class instead of quills and a million rolls of parchment? Or hell, computers! They’re getting more popular with the muggles. If someone could figure out how to make muggle technology work with magic, it’d be a total game-changer.”

“That would just increase the likelihood of the wizarding world being discovered, though,” Hannah Abbott pointed out, jumping into the conversation. Her dad was muggleborn, having taken her mother’s pureblood surname when they married, so she was fairly familiar with muggle technology. “Imagine, even if someone managed to figure it out and we had a whole separate internet for the wizarding world. All it would take is one particularly tech-savvy muggle to crack it and we’d be out in the open for everyone to see.”

She made a fair point, and Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe not that much of a cultural exchange, then. But you can’t argue against pens.”

“Oh, Merlin, no! Dad’s been saying the wizarding world should switch for years. One of these days I swear I’m gonna do my homework in biro just to see what the teachers say,” Hannah said with a laugh. 

“The fact of the matter is, if we keep pushing away everything muggle and refusing to learn about them, we’ll only stand out more,” Susan continued, bringing them back on track. “Harry, you were at the World Cup, weren’t you? You saw what half the older folks thought was a good example of muggle clothing! How do they expect to stay incognito if they’ve got no idea about muggle life?”

Harry remembered some of the more… interesting outfits he’d seen at the Cup. Susan was right. How could wizards blend in with muggles if they didn’t know the first thing about them?

They were interrupted by the arrival of Ron and Hermione, who looked bewildered by the company Harry was keeping. “There you are!” Hermione said by way of greeting, dropping a stack of books on the table beside her. How she could have so many when they didn’t even have their timetables yet, Harry didn’t know. 

She and Ron both seemed set on ignoring Harry’s Hufflepuff companions, talking to him as if he was alone. The two girls shared an annoyed look, getting to their feet. “See you later, Harry,” Susan said.

Once they were gone, Ron turned to him. “What you talking to Hufflepuffs for?” he asked suspiciously. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t realise it was such a big deal,” he retorted a little sharply. “We were talking about the World Cup.” Sort of. Eventually. Tangentially.  

Ron seemed a little wrong-footed that Harry didn’t immediately see the problem in speaking to those outside his own house. “Really, Ron, it’s not like they’re Slytherins,” Hermione pointed out diplomatically, buttering a slice of toast.

Harry wondered what they would’ve done if he had been talking to Slytherins, and scowled into his orange juice. 

McGonagall came around to hand out timetables, and Harry eyed his over. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first thing. Maybe Harry would sit with Hannah and Susan instead of Ron and Hermione, just to show them.

He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t risk Dumbledore getting suspicious of him, and it would be an obvious sign that the Compulsion charm was gone if Harry started socialising with people outside his own house. He was supposed to be the perfect little Gryffindor — and evidently that involved only valuing the opinions of other Gryffindors. 

Was it normal, he wondered? Kids spending their whole Hogwarts career only talking to people inside their own house? He glanced around the hall; no, there were plenty of groups with mixed colours on their robes. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t unusual either. Finishing his breakfast, Harry slowly began to plot. If he could get all the houses mixing together more without it being just him, maybe Dumbledore wouldn’t realise Harry knew the truth. He could pass it off as school unity in the face of international competition; they would all have to rally behind the Hogwarts champion, whoever it ended up being. That would be a good start. 

He ignored Ron and Hermione bickering about house elves and stood up, making a vague excuse about needing to get his Herbology book. As soon as he could, he’d have to get the heirs gathered and start tossing ideas around; between them they could surely think of something. 

Baby steps, but they’d get there eventually. He was playing a dangerous game, going against Dumbledore right under the man’s nose. But as much as Harry had promised Sirius he wouldn’t go looking for trouble, he wouldn’t just sit and do nothing. Whatever Dumbledore’s plan for Harry was, it was clearly supposed to come to a head before he turned seventeen; the goblins had assured him that with the block on his core, Harry wouldn’t have survived his coming of age. That meant he was running out of time to get the upper hand. 

He’d spent most of last year keeping his head down. It was time to get the pieces moving.

.-.-.

That night, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and made his way towards the fourth floor Charms room, grinning when he saw Draco waiting for him, deck of cards in hand. The blond perked up when Harry removed the cloak. “You’re late,” he reprimanded, and Harry offered an apologetic look.

“Ron wouldn’t go to sleep,” he explained. “Are you alright?” Harry was still a little shaken from watching Moody turn Draco into a ferret and bounce him all over the hall. Ron thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen, but Harry was horrified a teacher would use that sort of magic on a student. He was glad McGonagall seemed equally horrified.

“I’m fine. Uncle Severus gave me something for the bruises,” Draco assured. “It’s just my pride that’s wounded.”

“Moody’s a dick,” Harry declared. He paused, thoughts turning to graver matters. “How did things go after— after the Cup?”

“It could’ve been worse. Father was fairly happy with how things went at the Cup; no one got caught, and with all those articles that bloody Skeeter woman put out it’s certainly made it memorable.” Harry made a face; that was an understatement. “But… Harry, I heard some things this summer. Father… Father said the Dark Lord is coming back.”

Harry pursed his lips, staying silent. Wishing he could assure Draco it wasn’t true. The blond’s face crumbled. “We don’t know how, or when,” Harry said quickly. “But it’s inevitable now. Snape says his Mark is getting darker.” He told Draco about the prophecy Trelawney had made at the end of the year before, and how Wormtail was probably with Voldemort now, judging by the dream he’d had. 

Not only did Draco know most of Harry’s secrets — he was the only one of Harry’s friends who knew about Seren Du, after all — but between his father and Dumbledore he was walking the tightrope almost as much as Harry was. It was a relief, being able to talk freely with someone who understood. 

By the end of it, Draco was even paler than usual. Both of them had abandoned their cards, and Harry’s foot was bouncing anxiously. He was aware that in this particular circumstances, Draco was in far more danger than Harry. “If he comes back, what if— what if Father tries to make me join him?”

Harry reached across the table, taking Draco’s hand tightly in his own. “I won’t let anything happen to you, or your mother,” he vowed. “You can come hide at Seren Du if it comes down to it. No one will find you there. And even if he does come back, surely your father won’t expect you to do anything until you’re of age?”

Draco scoffed, looking bleak. “You don’t know my father.”

“If he wants you, he’ll have to go through me,” Harry declared fiercely. Draco met his gaze with a hesitant smile, then his eyes dropped down to their joined hands. Harry blushed, letting go and hastily picking up his cards. 

Voldemort wasn’t getting to Draco. Not if he had anything to say about it. Draco was Harry’s.

Harry was only just starting to realise how desperately he wanted that to be true. 

.-.-.-.

Thanks to a note passed to Hannah in Herbology, and another to Daphne in Transfiguration, Harry managed to have all the trustworthy heirs meet him in one of the abandoned sixth floor classrooms after dinner the first Thursday back. He made an excuse to Ron and Hermione about having detention with Snape — a cover the man would probably be happy to corroborate if needed — and hurried up to the little-used corridor, slipping into the room after checking no one was watching him.

He seemed to be the last one there. He looked around the familiar faces; eleven of them in total, twelve including him. Harry was amused to realise that between them, they had an equal number from each house. “What’s this about, Potter?” Cassius Warrington asked, leaning back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Harry perched on the edge of the teacher’s desk, eyeing the group. 

“Partly I just wanted to check in, see how everyone was doing. I know a lot of you were at the Cup. But mostly… mostly I had an idea, and I was wondering if you would be willing to help me.”

Eleven faces stared at him expectantly. “Voldemort is coming back,” he declared. Several people gasped. “Don’t ask me how I know. Just call it special Boy-Who-Lived sense.” He tapped at his scar pointedly, hoping that was enough of an explanation. He couldn’t exactly tell them he’d seen Professor Snape’s Dark Mark and it was growing clearer. Or that he’d watched Peter Pettigrew escape and Professor Trelawney had predicted he would aid Voldemort back to power. They’d think he was bonkers. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but it’s coming. We can’t afford to wait until we’re all of age to start making changes.”

“What do you want us to do, march into the Wizengamot and demand to take our seats early?” Sullivan Fawley scoffed. Harry shook his head.

“No, no, that won’t work. I had something a little more… simple in mind. Dumbledore’s counting on house rivalries to keep people isolated — not just with the Slytherins. If people don’t socialise outside their house, they get more and more narrow-minded, until no one can see anyone else’s point of view. And those who need help aren’t willing to ask for it because it often means going to someone outside their house. If people keep telling Slytherins they’re all dark wizards, of course they’re going to end up going down that path. I was thinking that, since the theme of this year seems to be international magical cooperation and unity and all that bollocks, we could start off a little closer to home.”

“Hmm.” Padma frowned thoughtfully. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not really sure yet. Obviously I’d like to spend more time with all of you, but it can’t just be me — if Dumbledore thinks I’m up to something, he’ll start pushing. He’s got a lot riding on me being the good little Gryffindor Golden Boy.” He hadn’t told them about the Compulsion charm, but everyone with eyes could see that the way Dumbledore treated Harry wasn’t a normal headmaster-student relationship. “If all of you start hanging out with people in other houses — it doesn’t even have to be the people in this room, it could be anyone — then when I start doing it, it won’t look as out of place. I hope.”

“What about a study group?” Hannah suggested. “We could have a smaller, private group — just us, meeting every other week or so, to make plans. But then outside of that we could have a big group, any house welcome, any year. We could say that with the tournament disrupting the school year so much, we want to make sure we don’t fall behind in our classes. I bet a bunch of the fifth and seventh years would go for it, too; they’ve got exams they won’t want to fail. Then it doesn’t have to come from you, Harry.”

“Hannah, that’s brilliant,” Harry enthused. “It wouldn’t even have to involve everyone meeting up together all at once; they could meet based on year and subject, get everyone studying the same thing studying together.” If there was one thing that would give people common ground, it was complaining about homework.

“I’ll talk to some of the other prefects,” Cassius volunteered. “It might be too early to start yet; term’s only just begun, and the tournament hasn’t even started yet. Besides, half the sixth and seventh years are planning on entering the tournament, so they’re a little preoccupied. But we can start branching out our friendship groups in preparation.”

“What about the rest of the Slytherins?” Ernie asked, holding his hands up defensively when Daphne whipped around to glare at him. “Obviously you three are alright, but how do we know who else is trustworthy? We don’t know who might already be on You-Know-Who’s side.”

“Do you really think anyone who’s still a school kid can be on his side?” Harry pointed out wryly. “Even if they think they are, they have no idea what war is really like. I’m not saying go out and hug every Slytherin, but don’t treat them any differently than you would a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. If we automatically write them off just because of their house, we’re as bad as Dumbledore.” How many Slytherins could they save just by reaching a hand out in friendship? From what he’d learned from Remus and Sirius over the summer, everyone assumed the Slytherin kids were lost to the dark from the moment they were sorted into the house. That’s how Voldemort ended up with such a huge following; they had nowhere else to go.

“So that’s your grand plan?” Blaise asked with a raised eyebrow. “Friendship? You do realise you couldn’t sound more Gryffindor if you tried?”

Harry grinned at him. “That’s exactly why it’s so perfect. Dumbledore couldn’t possibly get angry about all his students being friends, not without having to face some serious questions.” The headmaster would have no choice but to encourage them. “Think about it; all the school-sanctioned clubs are single-house only. Quidditch teams, study groups, hell, even the gobstones club is separated by house. It’s like they don’t want us interacting with each other. Shouldn’t they be trying to encourage inter-house unity? We’re all supposed to work together once we leave Hogwarts, after all.” The only attempt at inter-house cooperation was pairing them together for classes, but even then that often stayed with one house on one side of the classroom and one house on the other. 

“It is a bit weird,” Parvati agreed. “Even when Padma and I got sorted into different houses, people acted like I was supposed to just stop talking to her. She’s my twin sister.” 

“So we make friends, then,” Susan declared. “And when the time is right, we start up the study group.”

“We can start small,” Neville suggested, balking a little as every eye in the room turned to him. “Asking to borrow a quill, complimenting someone’s hair. Being nice to Slytherins. It’ll look weird if we all suddenly want to be best friends with people outside our houses.”

“Neville’s got a point,” Harry agreed. “We don’t want to look suspicious.”

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to be nice to people, Potter,” Daphne drawled. Harry snorted.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied sweetly. “Just be a bitch to everyone equally and you’ll be fine.” That made Daphne laugh. After a summer writing letters to the Slytherin girl, Harry was pretty sure he had a handle on her particular brand of humour. 

“If we’re starting a study group, can we start now?” Sullivan asked, glancing around the group. “You’ve all done third year Transfiguration. This essay on mammal transformations is doing my head in.”

It turned out a lot of them had brought their books with them, having come straight from lessons, and it was an easy transition to working together. Most of them were fourth years, after all. Cassius, the one sixth year of the group, was saved when he admitted he had Herbology homework, and Neville jumped at the chance to help with the advanced work. It made Harry smile to watch his shy Gryffindor friend slowly gain confidence as he explained things to Cassius, who took diligent notes. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard after all.

.-.-.-.

Hedwig was a smarter owl than Harry gave her credit for; rather than swooping in at breakfast with the rest of the morning post, she waited up in Harry’s dorm window, letter securely attached to her leg. Harry was alone when he found her — no need to make up an excuse to hide the letter from Ron and Hermione. As if they had any right to read his mail!

He unfolded the parchment, quickly scanning the goblin’s neat cursive handwriting.

Dear Mr Potter

The news of your scar is troubling. I will set my best team on the matter and let you know if we have any results, though this is unlike any prior cursebreaking we have come across in recent memory. It may not be something we can assist with.

The matter of your vault is an easier one, however. I have made arrangements with Farlig for your vault security to be upgraded — no one will be allowed access without you present beside them, unless you have given us prior, in-person permission that can be verified by magical signature. If certain people ask, we will excuse it as standard security changes. 

I have also enclosed a list of vault transactions in the last fourteen years — if any of these are unauthorised or unwelcome, we are happy to take recompense from the offender’s personal vaults. You are also within your rights to demand any items removed from your vaults are returned.

May your vaults be ever full,

Gorrak

Sr Inheritance Manager, Gringotts Bank

There was a second piece of parchment folded beside the first. Harry opened it up, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach the more he read.

It had the most recent transactions listed first; Harry’s name was written next to almost every one of them. However, there were several that didn’t add up — a withdrawal of 30 galleons from Molly Weasley this summer. She hadn’t bought anything for Harry; why was she taking money from his vault??

The further Harry read back, the less things made sense. A handful of withdrawals from Molly Weasley over the last three years, all for more than she possibly could have spent on Harry’s school supplies. Not enormous amounts, but certainly not necessary. And then he got to the withdrawals from Dumbledore. 

Regular money withdrawals — far larger sums than Molly Weasley ever withdrew — as well as what looked like several Potter family heirlooms; books, jewellery, art, all sorts. The listings went right back to November 1981; mere weeks after Harry’s parents had died. 

Even if Dumbledore had been sending the Dursleys some sort of stipend for caring for Harry — which, he knew from their multiple complaints on the subject, he hadn’t — that didn’t excuse the heirlooms. That didn’t excuse the withdrawals during the school year, when the Dursleys didn’t even have Harry.

He’d expected this, but he felt sick. Dumbledore had been stealing from him since he was a baby, when he was supposed to be the man responsible for Harry’s safety and welfare. And Mrs Weasley… 

He refused to believe it was how it looked on paper. There had to be some other explanation. His school supplies maybe cost more than he expected, or something. Surely she wouldn’t steal from Harry. Surely she knew that if she needed it, Harry would happily share whatever he owned with her family?

Harry wrote a quick reply, asking Gorrak to keep the transaction list in the same place he was keeping the magical signature, but otherwise do nothing; if he started reclaiming things from Dumbledore now, it would give the game away. He was furious at the thought of his family’s belongings in the claws of that manipulative old man, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The new security measures would stop Dumbledore from taking any more, at least.

As for the other issue, Harry couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it yet. Thinking about Mrs Weasley being on Dumbledore’s side made him feel anxious and itchy. If she was working for him, how many of her children were? Was Mr Weasley? Could he trust any of them?

He could trust the twins, he told himself. They’d known about him looking into his heritage for a whole year and hadn’t said anything to anyone. As for the rest… he’d find that out in time. 

He would block access to his vaults, and see if anything came of it. There was little else he could do, yet.

.-.-.-.

Harry had revised his opinion of Professor Moody. The man wasn’t a dick. He was insane. Everyone else seemed to be in awe of his approach to teaching, but as Harry left the classroom with green light burned into his eyelids, seeing Neville chalk-white and shaking, he couldn’t possibly condone the man’s methods. At least Moody had confirmed they’d only have to put up with him for the one year. Everyone around them was talking about it like it was some sort of fantastic show the man had put on — even Ron couldn’t stop going on about how the spider had died ‘just like that!’

Harry pushed past him and hurried after Neville, slinging an arm around the taller boy’s shoulders. “You alright?” he asked quietly. Neville’s eyes were glazed over, like he wasn’t really present. 

“I think I might be sick,” he admitted in a whisper. Harry urged him over to a nearby alcove, nudging him into a sitting position.

“Breathe, Nev.” In their summer correspondence, Harry had learned a lot about the other boy, including what had happened to his parents. Harry could hardly imagine what it was like; having your parents alive, but them not recognising you or anyone else, their brains destroyed by excessive torture. 

From Moody’s words, they were going to be studying the Unforgivables a lot over the next term. Harry wished it would be worth anything to go to Dumbledore. The man had probably happily consented to showing fourteen year-olds the worst curses known to wizard-kind. Fourteen year-olds with families destroyed by those curses. 

There was an odd clunking sound, and Harry turned to see Moody walking towards them. He scowled at the professor. 

“It’s alright, sonny,” Moody assured, clapping Neville on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come up to my office, have a cup of tea?” He glanced aside. “You alright there, Potter?”

“I’ve been better,” he bit out.

“I know it seems a little harsh, but you’ve got to know. No point in pretending… anyway. Come on, Longbottom. I’ve got some books that might interest you.” Neville sent Harry a pleading look, and Harry reached out to grab Neville by the arm gently.

“Actually, Professor, Neville and I were going to go finish our Charms essays before dinner. If you don’t mind.” He tried to stay polite, aware that the man still was a teacher, but he was reaching the end of his tether. His vision still flashed green every time he closed his eyes.

Moody stared him down for a moment, then nodded, stepping back. “If you’re sure, Potter. You boys watch yourselves. Constant vigilance!” With that he limped back to his office, and Neville let out a shaky breath.

“Thanks, Harry,” he murmured. “I just… I can’t, right now. Not after seeing him do that. You know what they say about the Unforgivables — for them to work, you’ve got to mean it.”

Harry swallowed harshly. Moody certainly meant it back in the classroom, with the spiders. Had the auror used the curses on people before, too? Surely even aurors weren’t allowed to use that kind of force. 

“What was that about, then?” Ron and Hermione appeared from nowhere — apparently they hadn’t gone back to the Tower like Harry thought. Ron seemed entirely oblivious to the tension in the air. “Some lesson, eh? He really knows his stuff. The way that spider just snuffed it, wow, I—“ He seemed to realise who he was talking to, growing quickly silent. Harry’s patience snapped.

“Fuck off, Ron,” he muttered, putting an arm around Neville and heading for the library. He didn’t feel like being in Gryffindor Tower right now.

.-.

When he and Neville eventually ran out of excuses to be away from the common room, they made their way back. Harry saw Hermione and Ron in the corner of the common room; Hermione was holding what looked like a collection box, speaking very quickly. Ron looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He brightened up when he saw Harry, apparently having already forgotten the dark-haired boy was mad at him. “Great! Harry! Hermione, you can tell Harry all about spew, look.” 

“It’s S.P.E.W!” Hermione corrected, but Ron had already vaulted over the back of the armchair and headed up to the dormitory. Harry shared a confused look with Neville.

“What’s in the box, Hermione?” Harry asked, already sure he was going to regret doing so.

Hermione’s following tirade about house elf rights was the last straw for Harry. “Hermione,” he cut her off mid-sentence, “have you ever actually spoken to a house elf?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Did you do any research whatsoever into the specifics of a house elf’s bond with its family?” Harry continued. Hermione faltered.

“It’s really hard to find information on it in the library.”

“Hermione, house elves get sick if they’re not bonded to a house,” Neville piped up, looking puzzled. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“They what?” Hermione was round-eyed.

“Their magic needs the bond to balance it. Without access to the family magics that come from being bonded to a house, the elf’s magic gets unstable and starts turning inwards. It’s awful to watch, I’ve heard. Back in the olden times they could survive in the wild on the natural magic in the forests, but then the muggles started chopping them all down, so the house elves started bonding themselves to wizard families instead,” Neville told her. Harry would bet anything a family like the Longbottoms had at least two house elves. According to Sirius, the Black family had one at every property, and the Potter family had two at their ancestral home and a few others scattered about. Harry wasn’t old enough to claim the Potter properties and elves yet, but he would one day.

“Well… that doesn’t excuse them from not being paid! If anything it’s worse — they can’t leave, so they’re forced to do all the work.”

“House elves like doing work,” Neville told her. “Our elf Hetty was devastated when I decided to start tending the greenhouse myself.”

“Maybe you should do a little more research before you start jumping in where you’re not needed, Hermione,” Harry suggested gently, his heart going out to the crestfallen witch. She was just trying to do the right thing. “By all means, focus on laws to make house elves treated better with their owners. But don’t assume what they want without even talking to them.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing against the brewing headache. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“I’ll head up too,” Neville said quickly, clearly not wanting to be left alone with Hermione after that minor explosion. On the way up the stairs, he put a hand on Harry’s arm. “Are you sure you’re alright? Seeing that curse in Moody’s class couldn’t have been any easier for you than it was for me.” His eyes were knowing, and Harry sighed. At that minute, all he really wanted was a hug, He hated Sirius and Remus a little bit, for getting him so used to seeking comfort over the summer. He didn’t have that anymore. 

“I just want to sleep,” he admitted, dragging a hand over his face. 

And yet, when he was in bed, curtains drawn, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of his four-poster bed, wide awake. 

Chapter Text

Harry should have known Ron and Hermione wouldn’t stay oblivious forever. 

Strolling into the common room after a quick meeting with Draco after dinner — one of their rare pre-curfew meetings — Harry was surprised to see Ron and Hermione sitting on the sofa by the fire. Hermione wasn’t doing homework, which was a novelty in itself. “Where have you been?” she asked suspiciously. Harry shrugged.

“Library,” he replied, his usual response to excuse his absences. Whether it was meeting with Draco or the other heirs — they’d started their own study group early, because it turned out there were quite a few intelligent people in the group, and between them they had just about every subject covered. Sullivan said his grades had never been better. 

“No you weren’t. I was in the library and I didn’t see you there,” Hermione argued. Harry bit back a sigh.

“It’s a big library, Hermione. But I was there, and then I finished my Potions essay, so I went for a walk. If you must know.” He sank down into the armchair, dropping his bag on the floor. “What does it matter where I was, anyway?”

“You’re always disappearing on us these days, mate,” Ron accused. “Feels like we barely see you anymore.”

He wasn’t wrong there, but Harry didn’t feel entirely bad about it. There were so many parts of his life he just couldn’t share with them, but a lot of them he just didn’t want to. If he’d tried hard, he could have told them about his inter-house study group without saying a thing about them being heirs. Hermione was oblivious to all of that politics, and Ron actively hated anything that might give him something in common with Malfoy, so he wasn’t knowledgable enough to put the pieces together either. But Harry liked having people in his life that weren’t them. Ron and Hermione wanted to know everything. He thought about his first two years of school, when they acted like it was a personal offence if he didn’t share every secret with them, and he went with it because he didn’t know how else friendship was supposed to go. Even now they were constantly asking him if he’d heard from Sirius, as if it was any of their business. Harry was just glad they didn’t know anything about the dream he’d had in the summer. 

And there was still that small voice in the back of his mind that said he couldn’t trust them. The voice that said they were more loyal to Dumbledore than him. That voice had never been wrong yet.

“I just like having a little time to myself these days, is all.”

“Hermione was wondering if you’d got a girlfriend you weren’t telling us about,” Ron teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry. The dark-haired boy went bright red.

“What— why would you say that? I don’t have a girlfriend!” he spluttered. Ron laughed.

“Exactly, that’s what I said! I said you’d tell us if you did.” He sounded confident.

“Not if she’s someone he thought we wouldn’t approve of,” Hermione retorted. She turned to Harry, giving him a sympathetic look. “If you do, you can tell us. We won’t judge you, Harry.”

So many answers ran through Harry’s mind at that. I’ve been hanging out with Slytherins. I like boys. I think I have a crush on Draco Malfoy. He doubted they’d be so accepting then. Instead he shook his head stubbornly.

“I don’t have a secret girlfriend,” he promised.

“‘Mione, did you really think someone could date Harry Potter and keep it secret?” Ron pointed out, chuckling. “She’d be all over the school with the news.”

Harry grimaced. Girl or boy, he’d never date anyone who was excited by his fame like that. Surely they knew that? “If I ever get a girlfriend, you two will be the first to know,” he said, confident that would never happen. He was pretty sure that girls just… weren’t his thing. Regardless of the blond Slytherin who seemed to be taking up far too much space in Harry’s thoughts. 

He ignored Ron and Hermione bickering about what sort of girl he might date, digging one of the muggle fiction books Remus had bought him out of his bag and settling in to read. It was hard to pay attention with so much going on inside his mind — when had his friendship with Ron and Hermione changed so much that he felt like they hardly knew him any more? And why was he still trying?

.-.-.-.

Harry stormed out of Moody’s classroom as soon as the bell rang, walking too fast for anyone to catch up with him. His knees were aching from slamming into the desk multiple times, and his hands were shaking so hard he couldn’t get them to stop. 

How the hell could Dumbledore approve of that? Putting underage kids under the Imperius curse! No matter whether it was good for them to know what it felt like, it was wildly illegal, and they definitely should have been sent some sort of consent form for their guardians to sign. 

He was furious and in pain and his head still felt all funny from being Imperiused multiple times, and he didn’t even know where he was heading as long as it was away. Which is why he was utterly baffled when he found himself in the dungeons, outside Snape’s office. He bit his lip; Sirius and Remus did say that he could go to Snape if he was having problems during the school year. The man had actually been fairly decent to Harry in Potions class so far, all things considered.

Harry knocked cautiously.

“Enter,” came the curt response. Harry eased the door open, watching the Potions professor’s eyebrows rise. “Potter.” 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Snape raised a hand first, lifting his wand and performing several warding charms. Only then did he lower his hand with a gesture for Harry to speak. “Do you know what Professor Moody is doing in his classes, sir?”

“I know he recently performed all three Unforgivables,” Snape said with a disparaging curl of his lip. “I do not know if anything more recent has occurred.”

“He’s putting us under the Imperius curse.”  Snape dropped his quill. Harry continued. “He says that Dumbledore wants us to know how it feels, so we can learn to fight it.”

One of Snape’s long-fingered hands rose to clasp the bridge of his nose, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “Of course he does,” he muttered derisively. “Potter, you’re shaking.” He got to his feet quickly, urging Harry into the chair opposite his desk. 

“I almost threw it off the first time,” Harry told him. “Professor Moody put me under it another four times, until I could ignore his orders completely.”

When he looked up a few moments later, Snape was thrusting a vial of Pepper-Up potion his way. “Five Imperius curses in a half hour period? You’re lucky you can still form sentences,” he muttered. “What the hell is he playing at? Dumbledore’s Golden Boy is no good to him with his brain leaking out of his ears.”

After the potion, Harry immediately felt better. “No one else in the class was able to throw it off. I think he just wanted to get the better of me.”

“I told Albus it was a foolish idea to bring that madman out of retirement,” Snape said. “He’s had one too many curses to the head.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry asked helplessly. “I can’t go to Dumbledore because it was his idea. But I can’t go to anyone else because then it’ll be obvious to Dumbledore I’m not obeying him anymore.” A thought occurred to him, and he froze. “Will he know I got rid of the Compulsion charm? Since I was able to shake the Imperius?” The charm was supposed to make him more suggestible, after all.

“If anything, this probably works in our favour. He’ll believe his Compulsion charm is so strong it overrode even Moody’s Imperius,” Snape assured him. “But I agree, you can’t say anything about it.” He pursed his lips, silent for a moment. “I’m sorry to say, Potter, that I think you’re going to have to just keep at it. With any luck, once you can throw off the curse every time, Moody will get bored and move on. And it is a good skill to have. Even if the methods are… questionable.” He took the empty vial from Harry’s still-trembling fingers, setting it aside. “Just be careful; repeated short-term exposure to the Imperius curse can be dangerous. I want you to come to me if you feel any unusual symptoms, or if he puts you under more than three times in a row again.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry bit his lip. “Not Madam Pomfrey?” Snape frowned in response.

“Until I have ascertained who on the staff is under Dumbledore’s thumb, I think it best we keep this to ourselves,” he said eventually. “Regardless of Poppy’s loyalties, I don’t like the idea of you spending any length of time in the Hospital Wing. It’s much easier for the headmaster to access you there, with plenty of privacy in case he decides you need a little more magical control.”

The thought of Dumbledore cursing him while he was asleep made Harry sick to his stomach. “Going a whole school year without a trip to the Hospital Wing is going to be a tall order, sir,” he remarked with a weak laugh. Snape’s lips quirked.

“I gave you those potions for a reason, Potter. And if you need assistance, you can always come to me. I assume that map of yours will show you the way to my private quarters?” Harry nodded. “Then you have permission, in an emergency, to come to me there if needed. Don’t abuse that permission, Potter.” 

“I won’t,” Harry promised, and he meant it. Snape was on their side. Like Sirius said, he was basically family now. Harry didn’t want to do anything to upset the truce they seemed to have reached. 

“I want you to sit there for twenty minutes,” Snape instructed. “Read if you must, but I need to make sure you aren’t going to have any aftershocks. You can leave when it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry dug through his bag for his book, but he didn’t open it, instead leaning back in the chair and letting his eyes fall shut. If anyone told him last year he’d feel so relaxed in Snape’s office of all places, he would’ve laughed himself sick, but it was just so nice to be somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one expected anything of him, or wanted answers. A little bit of the refuge he’d had at Seren Du.

God, he missed that place. It was going to be a long, long school year.

.-.-.

Once the announcement of the arrival of the foreign schools went out, it was all anyone could talk about. Even Draco, when he and Harry met up a few nights before Halloween, slipped in a mention of the two French girls he’d met over the summer, and how they wouldn’t be coming as they were still underage. Harry couldn’t find it in him to be sad about that. 

At last, they were all gathered in the Entrance Hall, which was gleaming after its minor makeover. “This way, outside! Stay in line,” McGonagall instructed, fussing and scolding until all Gryffindors were in neat rows by year group outside the school. The other houses were organised the same way, their heads of houses keeping everyone in line. They waited. 

Harry was reluctantly impressed by the arrival of both the delegations. Mostly he was glad for the warming charms Remus had put on his school cloak before he’d packed. When the students had emerged from both the carriage and the ship, they all started to head back inside; until the Durmstrang delegation grew close enough for everyone to see their famous member. 

“Viktor Krum!” The whisper echoed through the crowd of students; Harry saw Krum duck his head and forge onwards, resolutely ignoring the squeals and mutters of his name. Harry could sympathise there. 

“Harry, it’s Krum!” Ron hissed, as if Harry might not have noticed. 

“For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a quidditch player,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. Ron looked at her like she’d gone mental. 

Harry rolled his eyes as they descended into quiet bickering, jogging forwards a couple of steps until he was between Neville and Parvati instead. Parvati was still starry-eyed, but she was a little more composed about it. “I knew he was young, but I had no idea he was still in school!”

“Imagine trying to keep up your grades alongside a professional quidditch career,” Harry muttered with a grimace. 

They all settled at their house tables, and waited for the foreign students to choose their places. The Beauxbatons students decided on the Ravenclaw table, while the Durmstrang delegation — following Krum’s lead — made for the Slytherin table. Harry didn’t know what was funnier; watching Draco trying to play it cool as Viktor Krum sat right next to him, or watching Ron quietly fume about it. 

Harry studied the foreign delegations curiously; each school had clearly sent only the students who were of age, as they had about fifteen students each. Beauxbatons seemed to be a pretty even mix of boys and girls, while he could only see two girls in the Durmstrang group. Dumbledore stood at his podium, and a hush fell over the room. 

All he did was greet their guests and declare the start of the feast, and Harry was surprised at the number of foreign dishes on offer. The house elves had outdone themselves!

“Oh, you should try this, boys,” Parvati urged, gesturing to a large crock pot filled with some sort of stew. “It’s gyuvech, I had it in Bulgaria once with my family. It’s delicious.” Harry and Neville shared a glance, then shrugged, each spooning some of the stew onto their plates. The whole point of the tournament was cultural sharing, after all. 

Ron and Hermione were a little further down the table, and Ron finally seemed to have realised Harry wasn’t sitting with them. Unfortunately — or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it — he was promptly distracted by a beautiful blonde French girl coming up and asking to take one of the dishes. Ron was completely tongue-tied over her, and Hermione waspishly gestured for the girl to take the bowl, glaring at the redhead. Harry noticed several other boys goggling at the blonde as she walked back to the Ravenclaw table. 

“D’you think she’s part veela or something?” Neville asked curiously, his eyes following the girl as well. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“She could be.” It would explain why all the boys were staring. Did veela not affect women?

“Oi, Harry, there’s room for you up here,” Ron called once dessert appeared on the table, gesturing to the empty seat beside him — the seat he’d cleared for Viktor Krum.

“I’m alright, thanks, Ron,” Harry waved him off, helping himself to cake. Neville snorted at the outraged look on Ron’s face. 

“The Golden Trio isn’t so golden anymore, is it?” he murmured knowingly. Harry shrugged.

“My priorities are different now. Theirs… aren’t quite matching up.” He was hoping to spend as long as possible avoiding the inevitable confrontation when they realised he was mostly avoiding them. He just felt so suffocated around them. Ron especially, but if that friendship fractured he couldn’t guarantee what side Hermione would land on.

When the plates were cleared, Dumbledore stood once more, and Harry realised that the two empty chairs at the staff table had been filled. When had Bagman and Crouch arrived?

Filch hauled in the huge casket, which revealed the Goblet of Fire — an impressive object, to be sure. Harry should’ve known the ‘impartial judge’ was a magical artefact. Wizards did love giving decision-making power to inanimate objects.

When they all gathered to head up to their common rooms, Harry found himself bookended by Ron and Hermione once more, though the twins quickly nudged them aside. “An age line!” Fred crowed. “That’s easy to fool! And once our names are in the Goblet, we’re golden!”

“How about it, Harry? Sure you don’t wanna try for it?” George asked. Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, it’s not for me. But good luck with that.” He doubted something as simple as an Ageing Potion would fool the line, but then again, it was Dumbledore. He was all about encouraging reckless rule-breaking. 

At the door to the Entrance Hall, they met up with a cluster of Durmstrang students and their headmaster, Karkaroff. Harry stepped back to let them go through, hoping Karkaroff hadn’t seen him, but it was too late. The man was staring. Harry tried not to squirm; Snape had warned him about Karkaroff. The man was a Death Eater, and a slippery one at that. 

Karkaroff’s eyes were fixed firmly on his scar, and behind him his students were staring too, whispering to each other as they realised who Harry was. The only one not staring was Krum. “If you don’t mind, Igor,” Snape’s voice carried over the hushed crowd. “Potter’s ego is big enough as it is without foreigners gawping at him as well. His head may not fit through the door if you keep at it much longer.”

Karkaroff seemed to have realised he’d gathered a crowd, and coughed, heading through the doorway. Harry shot Snape a grateful look, but the man ignored him. 

And so it began.

.-.-.

It didn’t escape Harry’s notice that the day the names would be drawn from the Goblet was also Halloween. He woke up with a bad feeling in his gut, and slipped from the dorm before anyone else was awake, wrapped in a dark blue knitted jumper that still smelled faintly of the detergent Ceri used at Seren Du, and the cloak he’d been given for his birthday. He put the two-way mirror in his pocket on his way out, slowly drawing together a plan in his mind. 

Even with the excitement about the Goblet of Fire, Harry was still up early enough that only a handful of people were milling around the Great Hall. He could get used to this; it was nice having breakfast in the quiet. He watched Cassius and a couple of other Slytherins toss their names into the flames, and smirked. Imagine if the Hogwarts champion was a Slytherin?

As things got a little busier, Harry finished off his porridge and left the hall, right as the Durmstrang delegation entered. Each of them had a piece of parchment in their hands. Harry lingered in the doorway to watch them throw their names in one by one, then slipped out of the castle and towards the lake, wrapping his cloak snugly around himself. He found a quiet little nook beside a tree near the bank, setting up his usual privacy charms before taking the mirror from his pocket and speaking Sirius’ name. After a few beats, his godfather’s face appeared.

“You’re up early,” Sirius greeted. Harry offered a half-smile.

“So are you,” he pointed out. “It’s one of those days.”

Sirius met his gaze knowingly. “It is, isn’t it,” he agreed. “How are things at school? The champions are being announced tonight, correct?”

Harry told Sirius everything that had happened since he’d spoke to the man a few days ago, including his little moment with Karkaroff. The mere mention of the man made Sirius scowl. “Stay away from him if you can, Harry,” he warned. “He’s no good.”

Harry had surmised that much for himself. “How are things at home? What are you up to today?”

“Just spending time with Moony. Gonna light a Samhain fire later. Today is… hard, for both of us.” Neither of them needed to say why. The death of Lily and James Potter hung over all of them, the wound still achingly fresh after thirteen years. 

“I wish I could be there with you,” Harry sighed. He hated having to spend Halloween at school. Everyone was too cheerful, and something always went wrong. 

“We do too, pup. Make sure someone gives you a hug today, yeah? For me. I’d tell you to go to Severus for one, but I think he might explode if you asked,” Sirius joked, making Harry grin. 

“Okay. You give Moony an extra hug for me, won’t you? For both your sakes.” One day they’d all be able to spend the day together, mourning properly. Probably not until after Harry graduated Hogwarts, but… it was a nice thought.

He chatted to Sirius about inconsequential things for a while, basking in the warm feeling he got from having an adult who actually cared about the little things in his life. Not just wanting to talk to him when he was in trouble, or in danger, or they needed something from him — one of the few adults in Harry’s life who actually cared about him. Not the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Eventually however, Sirius had to go, and Harry pocketed the mirror with a sigh, staring out over the lake. What if he just sat there all day until the feast? What if he didn’t even go to the feast? He’d find out who the champions were in the morning. He didn’t really care either way.

His privacy charms made external noise a little fuzzy, so he dropped them to let the sounds of nature wash over him; the gentle lull of the lake’s tide, the birds and other creatures in the forest chattering away. Very faintly, he could hear the noise of students up at the castle, but it was just far enough that he could pretend they didn’t exist. Until someone cleared their throat. “Mind if I join you?” 

It was Draco, his pale face half covered by his Slytherin scarf. Harry shuffled over a little, making room for the blond. “What are you doing out here?”

“Pansy wanted to try and get a better look at Krum,” Draco explained. “I left her to it. Are you okay? You look sad.”

“Just spoke to Sirius.” Harry bit his lip, then sighed, meeting Draco’s gaze earnestly. “I miss him. Especially today.”

“Today? Oh.” Draco quickly put the pieces together. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It must be hard for you. Seeing everyone else so happy.”

“It’s not just that,” Harry said. “It’s… something bad always happens on Halloween. Every year. I feel like this year won’t be any different, and I’m so sick of it all. I just want today to be over already.” His heart hurt, his head hurt, and he was already so tired. The day had barely started and he was ready for it to be done.

“If it makes you feel better, the Weasley twins tried to put their names in the Goblet. The age line spat them back out with beards longer and greyer than Dumbledore’s,” Draco informed him, smiling slightly. “It was hilarious. I guess they’re serious about making sure no one underage goes in.”

Harry chuckled. “I wish I’d seen that.” He felt a little bad for the twins, but really he was glad they wouldn’t be risking their necks for some money and glory. 

The pair sat in silence for a while, Draco’s shoulder warm against his, both of them watching the giant squid prod curiously at the Durmstrang ship. “At least tomorrow all the fuss will be over,” Draco murmured. “The champions will be chosen and the rest of us can just get on with things until the first task.”

“Yeah.” Harry wished the tournament was the least of his problems. “Draco, I don’t know what to do. I can’t let Dumbledore know I’m onto him, but I can’t just keep pretending I’m oblivious, it’s killing me. Trying to pretend Ron’s comments about Slytherins don’t bother me, that Hermione’s nagging isn’t overbearing. I can’t even hang out with Neville without them getting suspicious, let alone anyone else.” The other heirs were doing well in starting some inter-house friendships, but Harry still felt trapped. “Sometimes I just want to say fuck it and come sit with you at the Slytherin table, let the pieces fall where they may. What does it matter if Dumbledore knows I’ve ruined his plan? He’s going to find out eventually.”

“Antagonising Dumbledore is a dangerous game,” Draco warned. “He’s more manipulative than any Slytherin, and sneaky about it. If you go against him outwardly without the proper precautions, you could end up expelled, or worse. Being the Boy-Who-Lived won’t protect you from everything.”

“I know,” Harry said with a groan. “I know I can’t. I just… it feels like I’m letting him win.”

“If you were letting him win, you wouldn’t be sat here talking to me,” Draco pointed out. “Not every battle is a big Gryffindor confrontation, y’know. You keep telling me you have a Slytherin side; let that out to play for a while. Work in the shadows. Be sneaky.” He smirked. “Beat him at his own game.”

Harry let the idea roll around in his head for a minute. He’d have to start slowly. “I think I need to send some letters,” he said eventually. “I’m going to need allies outside of the castle as well as in it.” It was time to start letting some of his secrets out; time to find out who he could really trust. He couldn’t dismantle Dumbledore’s grasp on the wizarding world without some help, after all. He’d been toeing around the edge of it, afraid Dumbledore would find out and he’d be done for, but Draco was right. He had a Slytherin side, it was time to use it. 

“Right now?” Draco asked, tensing. Harry shook his head.

“Later.” He was far too comfortable to leave just yet. “For now I just need a bit more peace and quiet.”

“Oh. I can go, if you’d…” 

Harry rolled his eyes, tugging on Draco’s hand before the blond could go anywhere. “You don’t count, you daft git,” he said with a roll of his eyes, his cheeks pink. It was definitely just because of the cold. 

Draco settled back down, his hand still in Harry’s. Boldly, Harry leaned in closer, letting his head fall onto Draco’s shoulder. “I hate Halloween,” he muttered under his breath. Draco’s cheek tilted to press against his hair, his body a warm line against Harry’s.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” he said softly.

The pair sat there under the tree for almost half an hour, Harry’s head on Draco’s shoulder, breathing quietly in the cold October morning. By the time they parted — Draco worried Pansy would be looking for him, and Harry thinking the same of Ron and Hermione — Harry still had the bad feeling in his gut, but he felt calmer. More ready to face the day.

It wasn’t quite the hug Sirius had ordered, but it was good enough.

.-.-.

True to his word, he went up to the Owlery after parting ways with Draco, calling Hedwig down. “Hello, girl,” he greeted fondly, stroking her head. “Won’t be a minute.” There was a writing desk in the corner of the Owlery, and Harry dug a quill and some parchment out of his bag, sitting down with a thoughtful frown. 

The first letter on Harry’s list was to Bill Weasley.

Dear Bill,

Hope it’s okay that I’m writing to you. You did say to keep in touch, after all. I expect the others have already told you about the tournament, but the champions get chosen tonight. From what I heard, the twins tried to put their names in, but they didn’t get past the age line. 

I was wondering something — you work for Gringotts, right? Do you know a goblin called Gorrak? I had some dealings with him the summer before third year, and I was wondering how he was doing. What exactly does a curse-breaker do? You said you brought home treasure — is all of your job raiding old Egyptian tombs, or do you ever break curses on people, too?

Hope you’re doing well,

Harry

There. Enough of a hint for Bill to hopefully connect some dots — and enough that if Bill was in Dumbledore’s pocket, he would go to the headmaster about it, and Harry would know soon enough. If Dumbledore thought Harry was aware of the curse on him, he’d no doubt start sniffing around. 

He grabbed a second piece of parchment, thinking a little longer before writing this one.

Dear Charlie,

The secret is out; the tournament is almost underway. Are you planning to come watch some of it? Is that why you said you might see us sooner than expected?

It’s a shame the tournament means quidditch is cancelled, though. I was looking forward to using some of the stuff I practiced this summer in a real match. I guess it’ll have to wait until next year.

I’m curious — is the Ministry in Romania like the Ministry here? The Durmstang students are pretty quiet about where they’re from and how things work, and I was wondering if all European wizarding communities were the same. Do they have a Wizengamot like we do? Are the seats inherited in the same way? No worries if you don’t know, I just thought I’d ask. I’ve been looking into things like that a little more here, and I’d be interested to see if it’s much different elsewhere.

Hope you’re doing well,

Harry

If Bill and Charlie put their letters together, they could probably get a pretty clear idea of what Harry was really implying. Harry sealed the letters and tied them to Hedwig’s leg, hoping both Weasley boys were still living at the Burrow for now. He didn’t want to accidentally send her to Egypt or Romania!

She soared off into the horizon, and Harry sighed to himself, officially out of excuses for avoiding Ron and Hermione. He had other letters to write, but they could wait until Hedwig was back. 

He thought about going to the library, pretending to do homework until Hermione eventually found him, but it was no use; halfway down the main staircase, he heard a call of his name. “There you are!” The pair hurried towards him. “Mate, you missed it — Fred and George tried to put their names in, but the age line wasn’t fooled by the potion. They got these massive beards, it was brilliant!” Ron enthused. “Where were you?”

“Owlery.” Let them think he was writing to Sirius. 

“Oh. Well, we thought we’d go visit Hagrid, we haven’t been to see him yet this term.”

While Harry didn’t really want to spend that much time with Ron and Hermione today, he couldn’t think of a good excuse — and he did owe Hagrid a visit. So he found himself outside once more, this time heading towards the hut. The Beauxbatons carriage was parked close by, no doubt so Hagrid could keep a close eye on the enormous horses. 

Visiting with Hagrid was just like old times — if a little bizarre, what with Hagrid wearing his interesting-looking suit. All became clear when they went to head up to the castle for the feast, and the headmistress of Beauxbatons stepped out of her carriage. 

“We’ve lost him,” Harry declared when Hagrid started walking alongside the large woman, oblivious to his student companions. Hermione giggled.

The three of them headed up to the castle, which was abuzz with excitement. They found a seat by the twins, who looked no worse for wear after their experience with the age line. 

“I hope it’s Angelina!” Fred enthused. “But any Gryffindor will do.”

“As long as it’s not Pretty-Boy Diggory,” Ron muttered under his breath. Harry rolled his eyes. 

It was the fastest a Hogwarts feast had ever been eaten. Everyone was wolfing down their food, desperate for the champions to be announced, but up at the head table Dumbledore seemed to be savouring every bite. 

After what felt like an age, the plates cleared, and he stood. 

Harry’s pulse ticked up, but he couldn’t tell if it was in exhilaration or dread. He still had that bad feeling, he’d been carrying it around all day, and now the champions were about to be announced his stomach was bubbling with something that wasn’t entirely excitement.

Viktor Krum, the first champion. A strong choice — if Krum was as good at magic as he was at flying, he’d be a real contender. He’d already proven he could think on the move.

Fleur Delacour — the girl who looked like a veela. Harry knew literally nothing about her, but her schoolmates seemed disappointed. Though perhaps that was just because they hadn’t been chosen.

When the Hogwarts champion was announced, Harry was almost knocked off his bench by the force of the noise coming from the Hufflepuff table. He beamed, getting to his feet and applauding. “Nice one, Cedric!” he called, ignoring Ron’s scowl at his side. Cedric turned and grinned at him on his way up. Harry was glad; Hufflepuff deserved a little glory. 

Sitting down, Harry finally let himself relax, grinning as it took several minutes for the Hufflepuffs to quiet down enough for Dumbledore to speak. There, it was done, the champions were chosen, he had survived another Halloween feast.

And then the fire in the Goblet turned red again.

Harry’s heart turned to ice as the parchment shot into Dumbledore’s hand. The entire hall was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone stared at Dumbledore, who stared at the parchment. Then he looked up. His eyes fixed on Harry. Oh, no.

“Harry Potter.”

Chapter Text

Harry’s knees barely supported him as he started walking down the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, keeping his head down and his gaze forward. Whispers were filling the hall, the eyes on him like a physical pressure against his skin. No one was applauding. 

Dumbledore urged him through the same door the three champions had walked, into a small side chamber. The three looked up at him, confused. 

“Cedric, I didn’t do it,” Harry blurted, speaking for the first time since his name emerged from the Goblet. “Please, you have to believe me — all of you. I didn’t put my name in, I didn’t do it.”

Cedric’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask for an explanation the door opened once more, and Ludo Bagman strode in, beaming. Cold dread entered Harry’s heart when the man introduced him as the fourth Triwizard champion.

“I can’t be!” he insisted. “I’m too young, I didn’t put my name in!”

“But ‘e is just a boy?” Fleur Delacour said, a puzzled look on her face. “Zis ‘as to be some sort of joke, non?”

“No joke! Harry’s name came out of the Goblet, he’s magically bound to compete, just like the rest of you!” Bagman’s voice was far too cheerful considering the circumstances.

There was a loud noise, and the door slammed open. All three heads of school entered, followed by Mr Crouch, as well as Professors McGonagall and Snape. Harry glanced at Snape with a helpless expression; the man’s face was tight, and pale. Nobody looked happy, except Bagman. 

Fleur immediately hurried to her headmistress, speaking in rapid French, and the tall woman surveyed the gathered crowd with contempt. “Dumbly-dorr,” she said eventually, her voice icy. “Explain.”

“I don’t remember anything in the rules saying the host school is allowed two champions,” Karkaroff agreed. Dumbledore had a look of mild concern on his face, but otherwise seemed quite unruffled. Harry glared at him; was this his fault? 

The two heads of the foreign schools continued to question Dumbledore, furious that not only had a second Hogwarts champion been chose, but an underage one at that. Eventually, Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet?” he asked, as if he was merely commenting on the weather. Harry glared at him.

“No, I didn’t!”

“Obviously ‘e is lying!” 

“Did you ask an older student to put your name in for you?” Dumbledore continued, still in that frustratingly calm tone.

“No! I don’t want this. I don’t want to be part of the tournament!” Harry insisted. Surely there had to be a way out?

“Well, it’s a bit late for that!” Bagman crowed, chuckling. “The Goblet of Fire is a binding magical contract! Pretty dire consequences for breaking it.”

“But I didn’t enter!” Harry argued. “How can I be bound in a contract I didn’t consent to?”

“Headmaster, I really don’t think we should be rewarding Potter’s… theatrics by allowing him to compete,” Snape sneered. If Harry didn’t know better by now, he would’ve been raging at the man. Beside him, McGonagall was wringing her hands anxiously. 

“I demand to be allowed to resubmit the names of my students!” Karkaroff said, Maxime nodding at his side. 

The argument continued, Karkaroff threatening to leave, and things just went downhill when Moody entered the room. Even though he was saying all the things Harry was thinking — that someone was doing this to put him in danger, that it had to be someone powerful to fool the magic of the Goblet — it rankled to have the man be the only person outwardly on his side, speaking in such a way that it was immediately dismissed as the ramblings of a paranoid old auror. 

When things came to a tense silence, everyone seeming to realise there was nothing they could do about it, Bagman clapped his hands together with a grin. “Right, shall we crack on, then? Champions,” he announced, drawing the attention of the four teens. “The first task is designed to test your daring, so we’re not going to be telling you what it is.” Harry stared flatly at the man as he went on about courage in the face of the unknown — was he serious? They were just going to do the tournament? Was no one but Harry even slightly alarmed by the circumstances?

When they were given all the information necessary, Maxime and Karkaroff didn’t stick around long, taking their champions with them. Dumbledore sent Harry and Cedric off, and soon Harry found himself in the Entrance Hall, walking alongside the Hufflepuff. He paused, looking up at the tall boy. “You believe me, right, Cedric? That I didn’t put my name in?” Cedric looked somewhat conflicted, and Harry’s heart sank. “Right, no, of course you don’t. Why would you? Who wouldn’t love to be in the Triwizard Tournament? As if I haven’t had enough of life or death situations. As if Famous Harry Potter could possibly need more attention.” His tone was bitter, and Cedric winced.

“I didn’t say that! I just… it’s all a bit mad, isn’t it?” 

Harry snorted. “Just a bit. Seriously, Cedric, even if I did manage to get my name in, how the hell would I have tricked the Goblet into picking a fourth person? I don’t want to compete! I want you to be the Hogwarts champion, I was thrilled when you got announced! Please, just… I didn’t do this. I don’t want to compete against you, or anyone, but I’m stuck here. I just need you to believe me.”

Cedric stared at him for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I believe you.” 

Harry blinked, the words echoing in his head. “Really?”

“Really. You’re clearly not happy about this, and I don’t think you’re that good a liar,” the Hufflepuff added with a brief grin. “Besides, like Moody said; I reckon you have to really know what you’re doing to mess with the Goblet like that.”

Harry couldn’t help himself; he wrapped his arms around the Hufflepuff’s waist, relief flooding him. “Thank you,” he breathed. That was one person — one student — who believed him. He let go, flushing. Cedric’s cheeks were pink too. “I’m sorry about all this. You were supposed to be the one, and I came in and stole your thunder.” Hufflepuff finally had a moment in the sun, and Harry had to ruin it all. Cedric shrugged.

“Not your fault,” he dismissed. “And it’s all for Hogwarts, eh?”

Lips pursed, Harry didn’t respond. He doubted the rest of the school would see it that way. 

They parted ways at the stairs, but Harry didn’t go up to Gryffindor Tower. He wasn’t ready to face that yet. Instead he went to the dungeons, only one destination in mind. A place he’d never been, but seen on the map enough times to find his way to. He knocked cautiously. The door opened, and dark eyes greeted him. “I thought you might show up.”

Snape beckoned him into his quarters, and Harry barely got the chance to look around before he was wrapped in a tight hug. “Oh, cub!” It was Remus, his grip almost painful. “I came as soon as Severus told us. Merlin, Harry, what happened?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said once Remus’ grip loosened, looking up earnestly at the two adults. “I didn’t put my name in! Dumbledore says I have to compete; it’s a binding magical contract, apparently!”

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” Snape declared. “The Goblet of Fire is a very old, very powerful magical artefact. Once it selects you for the tournament, you must compete in each task unless you die or are disqualified, or risk losing your magic.”

“How do I get disqualified?” Harry asked. Snape’s face was grim.

“Previously, champions have been disqualified for trying to kill or severely injure another champion.” Oh. Maybe not, then.

“So I’m screwed, is what you’re saying?” Harry surmised. “Great. Whoever’s trying to kill me is finally going to get their wish. Do you think it was Dumbledore? He didn’t look all that put out by it all. And he’s certainly powerful enough.”

“I think the headmaster has other plans for you, and he wouldn’t risk them on something like this,” Remus said gently. “I think this came from… the other side of the board.”

Voldemort, then. Fantastic. Harry felt his hands begin to shake, the shock setting in, and within moments he was being led to a chair and handed a mug of hot chocolate. “Breathe, cub,” Remus murmured, his hand solid on Harry’s shoulder. “Just breathe.”

“I can’t do this!” Harry said, his voice strangled. “I’m fourteen! I don’t know nearly as many spells as the others, and sheer dumb luck will only get me so far! I’m going to die in this sodding tournament!”

“You will not die.” The words came in a firm hiss, and Harry’s head snapped up, meeting Snape’s near-black eyes. “You’re not an idiot, Potter. You’re a darn sight more powerful than you give yourself credit for, and after teaching you this summer I have every faith in your ability to survive this tournament. You will have help wherever you should need it — surely you didn’t expect us to just throw you to the wolves?”

Harry blinked. Snape took a step back, looking a little surprised by his own outburst. By his side, Remus smiled. “Severus is right, Harry. You’re a talented young man, and we’ll do whatever we can to make sure you get through this in one piece. Now, why don’t you head up to bed? I daresay after all this excitement you could use the rest.”

Now that the shock was fading, Harry was pretty exhausted. He gulped down the hot chocolate, feeling the sugar rush through him. “Okay,” he said eventually, once his pulse had returned to normal. “It’ll be fine. Everything is fine.” He looked up at the two adults. “You really think I can do this?” The tournament was supposed to challenge even the of-age wizards. How could Harry compare?

“Absolutely,” Remus assured. “You don’t have to win. You just have to finish.” He took Harry’s empty mug, setting it on the coffee table. “Now go on, up to the dorms with you. Call Sirius when you get there, would you? He wanted to come with me, but we didn’t want to risk it.”

Harry got to his feet, eagerly accepting one last hug from the werewolf. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Both of you.” He glanced up to Snape. “I’m sorry to barge in. I just… I needed…” He trailed off, the words not quite making it to his throat. He needed reassurance, and he had come to Snape, regardless of whether Remus had been there or not. What was the world coming to?

To his surprise, Snape put a hand on his shoulder, just for a second. “I told you to come here if there was an emergency,” he reminded. “I rather think this qualifies.”

Harry offered the man a tentative smile, which didn’t last long when he geared himself up to head to Gryffindor. Time to face the music.

.-.-.

To his surprise, Gryffindor Tower was in the middle of a party when he arrived, and he was immediately dragged into the middle of it. “Brilliant, Harry!” Katie Bell cheered.

“If it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor!” Angelina enthused. Harry was congratulated and slapped on the back by people he barely even knew, the common room full of cheering and applause. Harry tried to insist he hadn’t put his name in, but no one wanted to listen.

A hand wrapped around his shoulder, and Harry fought it as it yanked him backwards, only to find himself looking up at a familiar freckled face. “Alright, Harry?” Fred asked, brows furrowed in concern. He’d pulled Harry up into the dormitory stairwell, and George was leaning against the wall opposite.

“I didn’t do it,” Harry insisted. “I don’t want this!”

“We know,” the twins said, and Harry faltered. George grinned at him.

“You were pretty vocal about not wanting it, mate,” he pointed out.

“And if you’d figured it out, you would’ve told us,” Fred agreed. 

“The question is, whodunnit?” George’s words made Harry grimace.

“Moody thinks whoever did it is trying to get me killed. I’d say he’s pretty on the money there.”

Both twins shared a grim look. “Well, you’ll show ‘em, won’t you, Harry?” Fred said, clapping him on the shoulders. 

“Yeah, if anyone can do it, it’s you!” George grinned, brown eyes bright. “Give Diggory a run for his money, won’t you?”

Harry appreciated their optimism, but he didn’t want to compete against Cedric. Really all he wanted right now was to go to bed. He said as much, and George ruffled his hair. “We’ll get this winding down, don’t worry. You’d better scarper quick, though,” he added, glancing over Harry’s shoulder. “Creevey brothers, incoming.”

Harry winced. “Thanks, guys.” He squeezed past them and hurried up the stairs, ducking into his dormitory with a relieved sigh. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one in there. Ron was lying on his bed, an odd expression on his face when he looked up at Harry.

“There you are,” he said. “Congratulations, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked warily, though he could already see where the conversation was going. His stomach churned.

“You figured it out. Got your name in the Goblet. You could’ve at least told me, we could’ve both entered.”

“I didn’t put my name in, Ron,” Harry insisted, tiredness creeping into his voice, making him sound snappish. God, he just wanted to go to sleep. “Someone else must have done it.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron said, still with that awkward smile-grimace on his face. “You can tell me the truth, y’know. You were gone all morning, did it take you a while to figure it out?”

“I told you, I was in the Owlery this morning! I don’t know how my name got in the Goblet, but I don’t want this, Ron!” Harry was getting angry, now, and so was the redhead.

“I’m not stupid!” he argued. “All that talk about not wanting it, that was just to throw us off, wasn’t it? I guess even you can’t resist a thousand galleons of prize money.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” Harry asked. “That I’d put myself in this much danger for money? And lie about it?”

“Well what else am I supposed to think?” Ron retorted hotly. 

“You’re supposed to trust me!” Harry grabbed his pyjamas, throwing them onto his mattress. “But there’s not been much of that, lately, has there? I’m going to bed.”

“Right, sure — got to get your beauty sleep,” Ron taunted. “Probably got a photo call in the morning, or something.” 

Harry gave the redhead one last glare, then climbed onto bed and dragged his curtains shut forcefully, putting up his privacy wards. Safe in the silencing bubble, he let out a frustrated scream. Ron was infuriating!

Though, he supposed, he couldn’t exactly get at the boy for not trusting Harry. It wasn’t like Harry had done that in return, after all. Even if it was things like this that proved why.

Not bothering with his pyjamas just yet, Harry dug the two-way mirror our of his bag, leaning back against his headboard to talk to Sirius. When the man’s face appeared, the concern in those grey eyes made a lump rise in Harry’s throat. “Oh, pup,” he murmured softly, knowing. Harry swallowed back a sob. How had things gone wrong so quickly? “Pup, it’s okay,” Sirius soothed. “You’re going to be fine. I love you. It’s okay.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. He wished he could believe that.

.-.-.-.

After Harry left, Severus and Remus sat in silence, staring into their mugs of tea. “Could it be Karkaroff?” Remus suggested. Severus shook his head. 

“Too obvious. He’ll know he’s being watched.” Severus ran a hand through his hair, and Remus’ heart ached. His cub was in danger, and he just had to sit back and let it all happen!

“Are we sure this isn’t some plot of Dumbledore’s?” he asked doubtfully. The headmaster had proven he was happy to risk Harry’s safety in the past. “Some kind of test of Harry’s skills?”

“I don’t think he did it, but he’s certainly willing to sit back and let it happen,” Severus said. “He looked quite pleased about it, actually. Which is why I think it’s the Dark Lord’s doing — Dumbledore wants him to return before Harry is seventeen, that much is clear. If this is the first step towards that, he’s not going to stop it.”

Remus couldn’t stop the growl that emerged at that. The thought of Harry being used as some pawn in Dumbledore’s awful schemes made him sick to his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. A look of annoyance flashed across Severus’ face. 

“What now?” he grumbled, getting to his feet. Remus stayed carefully out of sight, ready to duck into the bedroom should it be someone who wasn’t supposed to know he was there. To his surprise, it was Draco Malfoy. “Uncle Severus,” the boy breathed desperately. 

Severus ushered his godson into the room, shutting the door. “What’s the matter?” he asked, concern in his dark eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Someone’s trying to kill Harry, aren’t they?” Draco said, his already pale face near-transparent with fear. “Getting him involved in this bloody tournament. Is it my father’s fault? Is this what he’s been planning all summer? I should’ve tried harder to listen in— I could have stopped this!”

Severus brought Draco into a firm hug; probably the only person other than Remus he’d willingly show such affection to. “Draco,” he murmured, one hand on the boy’s hair. “This is not your fault. I doubt it’s your father, either — Lucius is far too much of a braggart to have planned something like this without getting me involved.” Remus stifled a snort. “Whoever put Harry’s name in the Goblet is likely out to harm him, yes. But it’s nothing you could have prevented.” He released Draco to look him in the eye. “Draco, you must be careful. If there are Death Eaters in the castle that we don’t know about, they could be watching you. It wouldn’t do for someone to go to your father with word of your… change in loyalties.” 

If possible, Draco got even paler, but he clenched his jaw and nodded tightly. “I’ll be discreet,” he promised. “I— you’ll tell me if you learn anything, won’t you? About Harry?”

“Potter’s circumstances are not yours to worry about,” Severus pointed out, his voice surprisingly gentle. “All you need to do is support him, and keep yourself safe. No one can know how you feel about him.”

That finally brought some colour to the young Malfoy’s face, his cheeks turning pink. “Uncle Severus, I—“ Draco sighed. “I suppose.” He looked up, his eyes finally landing on Remus, and his shoulders tensed as he realised the Gryffindor had witnessed everything. “Professor Lupin, I…”

“I’m not your professor anymore, Draco,” Remus said warmly. “I told you in the summer, you’re welcome to call me Remus. Don’t mind me here, I didn’t want to interrupt. But I am glad Harry has you to look out for him.” He gave the boy a knowing look, and Draco’s blush rose higher.

“Well, the idiot Gryffindor isn’t very good at looking out for himself, is he?” he muttered. He took a step back, reaching half-heartedly towards the door. “I should go to bed. I’m sorry for disturbing your evening.”

“Nonsense,” Remus waved him off. “Severus is your godfather, you have every right to come to him. If you need some privacy…”

Draco shook his head. “It’s almost curfew, I really should go.” What little vulnerability the boy had dared show his godfather was locked up tight at the presence of a near-stranger. It made Remus’ chest ache, but he didn’t blame the boy. 

“Be careful, Draco,” Severus warned again, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Draco nodded, hurrying from the room, and they were alone once more. 

Remus crossed the room, laying gentle hands on Severus’ shoulders, his chest pressing to the Slytherin’s back. “Look at you,” he murmured with amusement, lips dragging across the man’s jaw. “Two teenagers in one night coming to you for comfort. One of them a Gryffindor, even.” He grinned impishly. “You’ve gone soft, Severus.”

The Slytherin growled, turning sharply to pin Remus with a glare. “I have not,” he insisted. Remus chuckled.

“It’s okay to admit it,” he teased, a hand sliding down Severus’ lapel. “You can glare all you want, but I know the truth. I know there’s something here.” He gave a gentle pat to the man’s ribs, right over his heart. “I’ve been rather selfish with it all these years, but I suppose I can learn to share.” Honestly, seeing Harry start to warm to Severus, seeing the Slytherin let down his barriers in turn — Remus had never been more in love with him in his life. For the first time, it felt like he could truly have this. All of it. All the best parts of his life, together. 

Suddenly, Severus’ arm snaked around his waist, pulling him in close. Severus’ breath was hot on his neck, sending a thrill down Remus’ spine. “I assure you, wolf,” he murmured, in that dangerously sexy drawl. “Despite what those foolish teenagers may believe, despite what you think — the last thing I am is soft.” His thigh slipped between Remus’, making the Gryffindor aware of a rather large bulge in his trousers. Remus smirked.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re not, are you?” he agreed, allowing Severus to push him towards the bedroom door, his blood running hot through his veins. In the morning, they’d have to deal with the oncoming shitstorm that was the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry’s unexpected involvement in it. But the morning was a long way off.

.-.-.-.

There was a heavy knot of anxiety in Harry’s stomach when he woke up on Sunday morning, and it took him a minute to remember why. The events of the evening before came rushing back to him, and he pulled his duvet up over his head with a groan. What if he just didn’t get up? Ever? They couldn’t make him compete if they couldn’t get him out of bed.

Sadly, he knew better. A quick Tempus charm showed him it was well into breakfast time, and he grimaced. He had no hope of avoiding everyone at this time of day. 

He was the only one in the dorm when he drew his curtains back, and he was glad for the silence as he got dressed. He wasn’t ready for another argument with Ron, yet.

Unfortunately, once he got down to the common room he was greeted by another round of raucous applause. The thought of going to the Great Hall and dealing with the people down there sounded like hell, but he needed to eat, and he couldn’t stay in Gryffindor Tower when it was like this. He could already see the Creevey brothers on their way over. Maybe he could sneak into the kitchens for breakfast; he’d seen it on the Marauder’s Map. 

The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when he stepped out of the portrait hole to be greeted by Neville Longbottom’s smiling face — and a sausage sandwich wrapped in a napkin, which was quickly shoved his way. “Brought you this,” Neville said by way of greeting. “Figured you wouldn’t fancy going down to breakfast.”

“Neville, you’re a godsend,” Harry declared, accepting the sandwich graciously. “Is it bad down there?”

Neville winced. “It’s… not great.” That admission meant it was likely terrible, and Harry cursed. It would be second year all over again, only instead of thinking he was out to kill them, half the school merely thought he was trying to steal the limelight and break the rules. Fantastic. “Want to go for a walk?” Neville offered. Harry nodded; anything to avoid the crowds of people.

Harry didn’t have his cloak, but he did have his Silverling’s jacket on, so the pair of them headed down to the Entrance Hall and out to the grounds. Everyone they passed stared at Harry, and whispers followed in his wake. It was awful.

“Of course I knew you didn’t do it,” Neville said with a roll of his eyes, when Harry asked if the round-faced boy believed him. “You hate attention. Ron’s still being an idiot about it, though — I don’t think he really believes you did it, but he’s jealous all the same.” The taller Gryffindor snorted. “If he was going to have an issue with being sidelined, he shouldn’t have befriended the Boy-Who-Lived,” he added in a mutter. “Maybe he thought being friends with you would get him some glory of his own.”

The offhand remark reminded Harry suddenly of the letter from Gorrak, and the revelation about Mrs Weasley. Some glory of his own… The pieces were coming together, and Harry didn’t like the picture they were making.

He glanced around. They were by the lake, not far from where Harry had sat with Draco the day before, and there was no one around. “Neville,” he said slowly. “I know I’ve asked you to keep a lot of secrets for me so far. But there’s a few more I haven’t told you yet. Can we— would you sit down with me for a bit?” He gestured to the tree he’d sat by yesterday. Neville’s face was serious.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Harry,” he said. “It’s okay.” Harry shook his head.

“No, I want to. I trust you.” He did — Neville had proven himself a solid friend in the last year, and Harry hated to think there were things Ron and Hermione knew that he didn’t. Besides, maybe the other boy could help him make sense of it all. He needed people on his side.

The two of them settled down at the base of the tree, facing each other, and Harry put up the strongest privacy wards he knew. Only then did he tell Neville everything — about Sirius and Remus, everything that had happened the year before and over the summer, right up to the letter from Gorrak. Neville listened patiently, his face going through a myriad of emotions. The only thing Harry didn’t tell him was the truth about Snape’s relationship with Remus, and his status as a Death Eater spy; some secrets weren’t his to share.

“Blimey,” he said when Harry finally finished. “I thought it was bad when you told me about the magic block. You have been busy, haven’t you?” Harry snorted.

“Just a bit, yeah,” he agreed. “So you see where I’m at. I need to start getting things together — I can’t just sit around and wait until Dumbledore reveals his plan. I can’t let him get away with stealing my money and my magic. I have to be ready to reveal it on my own terms.”

“Well however me and Gran can help, we’d be happy to,” Neville assured without hesitation. Harry’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I figured you weren’t at your muggle relatives this summer, from some of the things you said in your letters. But… I’m glad you’ve got somewhere to go that’s safe, where you’re happy.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and Neville’s gaze grew pointed. “I’ve seen the bruises, Harry, and the scars. And I can tell from the way you talk about them. Those muggles aren’t good people.”

Harry grimaced; he hadn’t realised Neville had seen so much. The boy was more observant than anyone gave him credit for. “All that doesn’t matter, now,” he dismissed, not wanting to get into it about the Dursleys. “I won’t have to stay with them for more than a day or so, hopefully.”

“That’s good,” Neville agreed. He grew pensive for a moment. “This is serious, isn’t it, Harry? Like, world-changing serious.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Harry bit his lip. “Look, Nev, if you want to stay out of it, I completely understand. Being around me is always a bit chaotic, but things are only going to get worse.”

“Shut up, Harry.” The force in Neville’s voice made Harry blink, taken-aback. “I might not be the bravest Gryffindor around, but you’re my friend, and what’s happening to you isn’t right. Dumbledore— he can’t be allowed to just keep doing whatever he wants and manipulating people for the Greater Good. I’ve been thinking about it ever since you told me what he did last year. I can’t promise to be much help, but I’m in this with you, whether you like it or not.”

Harry had never seen Neville so firm about anything — he was starting to see what the Sorting Hat had in mind when he put Neville in the house of lions. “Okay, then,” he said eventually. “That’s— yeah. Thanks, Nev.” Neville was blushing now, and Harry smiled. “You’ve already been loads of help. I wouldn’t have learned Occlumency without you, and your gran. I was going to write to her, actually — when I make my move, when it all comes out, I’ll need to change my Wizengamot proxy. If we can’t get Sirius’ name cleared… d’you… would she be willing?”  He couldn’t take the Slytherin seat from Dumbledore’s hands, but he could take the other three.

“She’d be honoured, Harry,” Neville assured. Harry grinned; that was one load off his mind. It wouldn’t happen for a while yet, but it was good to know he had something in place. 

“Good. And—“ he paused, hesitant. “I’ve been thinking about telling the other heirs the truth. About Dumbledore, and even Sirius. If I can get them on my side, it’ll be easier to get him out of power when— when I need to.” It made him a little queasy, the thought of actively conspiring against the headmaster, but it would need to happen eventually. The wizarding world couldn’t be brought forward with Albus Dumbledore holding it back. “I just don’t know if I can trust all of them.”

“Well, no one’s said anything about you being an heir yet,” Neville pointed out. “None of them trust Dumbledore. I think they’d be willing to listen to you, if you wanted to tell them. They’re good people.” 

Harry realised that Neville must have known most of them for far longer than Hogwarts; they probably played together as children. Grew up together. If Neville said they were trustworthy, he believed him. “Oh, and there’s one more thing,” he added, bracing himself for perhaps the most volatile secret of all. Neville’s brows drew together warily. “Y’know last year I said Draco Malfoy wasn’t as bad as we thought he was? I’m sort of— friends with him, now?” In all his story he hadn’t said a word about Draco, but it didn’t seem fair to be trusting Neville with so much but not that.

Neville stared at him. “That’s it, right? No more secrets after that?” he checked. Harry ran over things in his mind. 

“No, no, don’t think so. That’s the last one.” Well, there was the slight maybe-crush he’d developed on the blond Slytherin, but Neville didn’t need to know about that. He’d warm him up to the idea of Draco being his friend first. 

“Okay,” Neville said eventually. “If you’re friends with him, he can’t be as bad as he seems.”

“Really? Just like that?” Harry had expected some sort of argument, at least. Neville shrugged.

“I thought Cassius was kind of a prat before I started talking to him, but he’s actually alright. Even if he is crap at Herbology. If you say Malfoy’s not a prat, then I believe you.”

“Oh, no, he’s definitely still a prat,” Harry assured with a laugh. “But… a good one?” He felt his cheeks turning red, and hoped Neville didn’t notice. 

“Well, you’re a bit of a prat sometimes, too, so I s’pose it all balances out,” Neville said with a teasing grin. Harry made a noise of offence. “You went after a basilisk, knowing it was a basilisk, with nothing but your wand at the age of twelve! You spent all of last year wandering about at night when there was a murderer out there who wanted to kill you!” Neville pointed out. “Hell, you followed Quirrell down to the Philosopher’s stone in first year without a second of hesitation!”

Harry was beginning to regret having told Neville the truth about his first two years at Hogwarts over the summer. “Okay, yeah, but in my defence I was under a Compulsion charm for the first two years,” he pointed out.

“And what’s your excuse for last year?” Neville asked, lips curled up at the edges. Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m a prat?” he admitted eventually, shrugging apologetically. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Nev — we both know I’d be lying if I said I won’t do it again.”

Neville laughed, shaking his head. “As long as you’re aware of your faults,” he said magnanimously. He glanced at Harry in consideration. “I take it Ron and Hermione don’t know about any of this?”

“They know Sirius is innocent. They were there for that bit,” Harry told him. “But they don’t know about Seren Du, or about Dumbledore. Or Draco. I, uh, wasn’t planning on telling them. Not until I can be sure.”

“If Ron’s mum is on Dumbledore’s side, they might be as well,” Neville realised softly. Harry nodded.

“I always thought it was a bit weird how right as I got to the platform, a wizarding family appears and just starts talking really loudly about muggles,” he admitted. It all felt a little too coincidental, the way the Weasleys had been there to help him, and Ron had been the first friend he met on the train. Even with Hermione and the troll, though he knew Quirrell had been the one to let it into the school, how had she been the only one in danger? He didn’t like to believe it, but now he knew how manipulative Dumbledore could be, he wouldn’t put it past the man. Ron and Hermione were the perfect best friends to keep him oblivious. To keep him in check.

“You deserve better than Ron, anyway,” Neville said with a huff. “He’s always been jealous of you. You don’t even realise when you’re holding yourself back for his sake. Like all those new clothes you got that you hardly ever wear. Your trunk’s full of them, but you’re still in the same five shirts that are way too big.”

“You really have been paying attention, haven’t you?” Harry mused, watching Neville blush bashfully. “Do you know how Hermione’s taking the whole champion thing, by the way?” Harry hadn’t seen her since the Halloween feast.

“She was telling a couple of third years last night that you didn’t put your name in by yourself,” Neville told him. “But she’s not stupid, of course she can see that. That…”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t one of Dumbledore’s,” Harry finished for him. He sighed, looking out across the lake. “I guess I’ll stick with it and see. Ron’s not talking to me, which is fine, but if I start pushing her away I’ll let Dumbledore in on my plans a little earlier than expected. Besides, maybe she’s trustworthy. I don’t know yet.”

“Maybe,” Neville agreed.

Harry knew they had to go back inside, he had to face the crowd eventually. But his head was spinning with all the information he’d given Neville, all the new information he’d gained from that. 

So much for a quiet, normal year.

Chapter Text

Going into the castle for lunch was exactly as awful as Harry thought it would be. 

The Great Hall was full of people when he and Neville entered, and all of them looked up at his entry, immediately breaking out into whispers. Harry made to turn around, but Neville yanked him forward. “You’re not going to the kitchens,” he insisted. “Come on, let’s sit with Parvati.”

The Indian girl looked up when the two boys sat beside her, and she glanced at Harry. “You look awful,” she declared, making him snort.

“Thanks.”

Her gaze turned considering. “Some people are saying you didn’t put your name in.”

“I didn’t,” Harry insisted. The Hogwarts rumour mill was a vicious thing, but there wasn’t a single scrap of it that didn’t end up past Parvati Patil or Lavender Brown at some point or another. If Harry wanted an accurate idea of peoples’ opinions, she was the one to ask. “What am I looking at, here?” He pointedly ignored all the people staring and murmuring around him. Parvati twirled a lock of hair around her finger, lips pursing.

“Obviously there are those who think you tricked your way in. Others think you bribed someone else to put your name in for you. Most people are realising that still wouldn’t explain how there’s four champions. But they don’t care whether you did it on purpose or not — they’re just angry it happened at all. Especially the Hufflepuffs,” Parvati reported. Harry sighed; it could be worse, he supposed.

He didn’t really blame the Hufflepuffs, to be honest. He’d be angry too in their shoes. He was stealing the glory from their rightful champion, overshadowing Cedric with all his drama. They had a right to be pissed about it. 

He helped himself to some chicken, staring resolutely at his plate, even when the whispers rose dramatically. He didn’t look up until a throat cleared behind him. Expecting some nosy person asking about the Goblet, Harry turned with a scowl on his face, which dropped quickly when he saw the person stood there. “Cedric?” he greeted, bewildered. Cedric flashed him a nervous smile.

“Hiya, Harry. Mind if I sit here?” He gestured to the seat beside him. Harry blinked.

“At the Gryffindor table?” he asked dumbly.

“Yeah.” Cedric had his shoulders squared, but his eyes looked like he might bolt any minute. Everyone was staring at them.

“Yeah, go ahead.” Harry scooted up the bench to make room for the sixth year, staring at him incredulously. “What’re you playing at, Cedric?” he asked under his breath. Cedric’s smile widened, more confident, and he reached for a bread roll. 

“We’re in this together, aren’t we?” he said, loud enough for his voice to carry over the whispers of people shamelessly eavesdropping. “Both Hogwarts champions and all. Besides, if the rumours are true, and someone is out to do you in over this, then I reckon it’s my responsibility to help you through this in one piece.”

Harry could hardly believe what the older boy was saying. He was willing to give up his moment, to share it with Harry, just so people would leave him alone? “You are such a Hufflepuff,” he hissed. Cedric beamed.

“Thanks, Harry. Knew you’d see it my way. Pass the soup, would you?”

.-.-.-.

After Cedric’s little display at lunch, things got easier. Several of the Hufflepuffs still seemed resentful, but they were keeping it to themselves; if Cedric wasn’t angry with Harry, they couldn’t be either. After a couple of days, people had mostly settled down about the whole thing. Parvati was right; people didn’t care how it had happened, they just wanted to see what would happen next. And a fourteen year-old boy, Boy-Who-Lived or not, being part of the most dangerous event to happen in centuries… that was something to talk about.

Harry got used to hearing people discuss his chances of survival as he walked through the halls. He told himself it was better than hearing them jeer at him, or call him a glory-hunter. He just had to not let it get to him.

Easier said than done.

Hermione didn’t seem to know what to do with herself, flitting between Harry and Ron with an anxious look on her face, refusing to abandon the redhead but not wanting Harry to think she was on Ron’s side. If that wasn’t a clear sign to Harry that he couldn’t trust her, he didn’t know what was; if she was really his friend, she’d tell Ron that he was being a jealous arsehole and needed to get over himself. How could she be like that after the way he’d treated her last year, when he thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers?

Because of that, Harry was spending most of his time trying to avoid people, hanging out in the dorms — when Ron wasn’t there — or in the library. It was one such afternoon that Harry was walking through the common room, on his way up to see if his dorm was empty, when an arm draped over his shoulder. “Hey, Harry. Mind if I borrow you for a bit?” It was George, and Harry automatically looked around for the other Weasley twin. He was nowhere to be found. How odd.

“Yeah, sure.” Perhaps Fred was waiting wherever George was taking him; he braced himself for some kind of prank planning. Instead, he was surprised when George led him to his own dorm room, which was empty. Harry had never been in there before; it was messier than his own, with evidence of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes all over the place. One of the beds had the curtains firmly shut, and a two-foot radius of clean floor all around it. George shut the door, heading over to the bed warily. “Oi, Kenny, you in here?” He edged closer to the bed, knocking on the invisible wall that surrounded it. There was no response. He turned to Harry, grinning. “Kenneth always keeps his bed warded when he’s not in here. Says he doesn’t trust us.” He had a look of wide-eyed innocence, as if he couldn’t possibly understand why. Harry snorted. It must be hard, being in the same dorm as the Weasley twins. “Anyway, Harry, take a seat.”

George gestured to the bed next to his own, which Harry assumed was Fred’s, and Harry perched hesitantly on the mattress. “What’s this all about?” he asked. “Where’s Fred?”

“He’s off with Angelina,” George replied with a fond grin. “I won’t ask what they’re doing.”

Harry snickered; he hadn’t realised Fred and Angelina were a thing. “What do you need me for, then?” Surely George wasn’t pulling a prank without his brother’s assistance?

George sat on his own bed, facing Harry, a surprisingly serious look in his eyes. Harry’s pulse ticked up. What was wrong? “When I was about your age,” George started, looking like he was choosing his words very carefully. “I started realising some… things. Things I didn’t even tell Fred about, at first. It’s a weird thing, growing up — so much stuff happening, you’re not sure what’s normal and what’s not. I bet it’s even worse for you, what with the people out to kill you and whatnot.”

Harry stared at him, utterly baffled, but George ploughed on. “It was getting to the point where even Fred noticed I was acting funny, but I still didn’t say anything. We’d always been the same, you see, and I didn’t want to start admitting that there might be something different in there. Then Charlie came home for a visit, and he could tell right off the bat. He sat me down, much like we are now, and he talked to me, and he gave me this book. And… now I think it’s time I pass that on, because I might be wrong, but I think you need it more than I do, now.”

The redhead reached under his blanket, pulling out a slim hardback book with a plain blue cover. He held it out to Harry. “The cover is charmed, so people don’t know what it is just by looking at it.” He tapped it with his wand, and suddenly it changed, the title written across the front in black lettering. ‘A Wizard’s Guide To Wizards: A How-To for Male Homosexual Relationships’. 

Harry’s cheeks burned.

“Like I said, I could be wrong, in which case, feel free to tell me to fuck off,” George said hastily. “And even if you’re not sure yet, or you’re not ready, or whatever, that’s totally fine. You can read the book, decide it’s not for you, and give it back. But… I can’t imagine how torn up about it I would have been if I hadn’t had that little gesture of support from Charlie. It might’ve taken me years to tell Fred, or anyone else. And talking to Lee about it, he said muggles can be a bit funny about that sort of thing. I didn’t know what kind of tripe they might’ve filled your head with.”

George shuffled forward so his knee bumped Harry’s, his brown eyes earnest. “I just don’t want you going through this alone, Harry. You’re our little brother, regardless of what Ron thinks, and it’s my brotherly duty to make sure you know we love you regardless.” He smirked wickedly, and there was that Weasley twin mischief. “And, of course, to make sure you’re properly informed about everything.” He winked salaciously, and Harry blushed impossibly redder. But George sobered up again, tapping the book cover until it was plain once more and nudging it into Harry’s hands. “It’s all yours. If you’ve got any questions, you can come to me. Or write to Charlie, he’ll listen. And if you’re not ready — hell, if you’re never ready — that’s fine. The offer’s good for whenever. I’m giving you the information, but I’m not pressuring you to make any sort of decision or announcement. Only you can know when it’s time for that.”

Harry stared at the book in his hands, flipping it open to the index page. Homosexuality in wizarding culture… Marriage rights for same-sex couples… Helpful spells for intercourse… That one made his eyes go wide, and he slammed it shut again. George chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in. You don’t have to read it all at once. It’s just… information is a good thing to have. Even if it might not be relevant to you.”

For a moment, Harry thought about giving the book back to him, saying ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and leaving, never speaking of it again. This was different than the twins teasing him about being a little star-struck over Bill. This was all the conversations his dorm-mates had about girls that Harry didn’t feel part of; all the times he found himself glancing at boys in the halls, or in the quidditch locker rooms, or on the street; all the times his heart beat faster when Draco Malfoy smiled at him. This was listening to Uncle Vernon going off about ‘queers’ and wondering if the man was right, if he really was a freak after all. 

This was real.

“Do many people know? About you?” he asked quietly. George shrugged.

“Fred, and Charlie, and Bill. I think Ginny knows. Lee, obviously. Angie and Katie and Alicia, and Oliver. Few others here and there; boys I’ve kissed, some of their friends, y’know. I don’t hide it, but I don’t exactly go around telling everyone I meet. Mum and Dad know, though I don’t know if Mum’s really come to terms with it yet. Merlin knows she still hasn’t about Charlie or Bill. At least with Bill there’s still hope for grandkids. He likes both,” he explained. “As if there aren’t other ways of having kids than just knocking a girl up.”

“There are other ways?” Harry asked, perplexed. A tiny bubble of hope rose within him; did that mean that even if he was… he could still have kids?

“Well, there’s always adoption,” George pointed out. “But there’s a spell that can take the stuff from two blokes and put it inside a woman and make a baby. It’s all in the book. As long as you’ve got a woman willing to be pregnant for you, you can have a kid. Rumour has it there’s some wizard in Spain working on a potion to make men get pregnant, but that all sounds a bit much if you ask me,” he added with a grimace. Harry’s eyebrows shot up — men being pregnant? Magic really could do anything!

“Wizards don’t really care about it all,” George continued. “At least, they never used to. With more and more muggleborns coming in, people are getting weird about it. But two blokes or two girls can get married and everything. Their kids are legal heirs — or they can name other heirs, if the family magic is compatible and they don’t want kids of their own. You’re always going to find people who are dicks about it, but that’s life, unfortunately.”

“What’s it like?” Harry’s question was barely louder than a whisper, and he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. Luckily, George seemed to get what he meant.

“I’d imagine it’s about the same as being in love with a girl,” he said slowly. “I’ve not been with many guys. If you want to talk logistics, that’s a very different conversation.” Harry shook his head quickly, feeling like he was going to burst from all the blood rushing to his cheeks, and George snorted. “Maybe after you’ve read the book. But without getting all mushy on you, being able to be honest about it, being myself… it’s like finally putting on shoes that actually fit, after ages of wearing three sizes too small.”

Harry knew what that felt like, quite literally. His whole body ached with the need to feel that way. Was it really just that simple? “Hey, George,” he said tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for the book. I think it’ll be really informative.” He sounded like he was thanking him for a book about Herbology!

“You’re welcome, Harry.”

Come on, Potter, he told himself. Gryffindor courage. “And… George?”

“Yeah, Harry?”

“I… I like boys. I’m gay.”

There. He’d done it. George’s eyes went wide. Harry realised his hands were trembling.

“First time you’ve said that out loud, innit?”

Harry nodded, wondering why his heart felt like it was about to hammer right through his ribcage. It was just two little words! George quickly moved across the gap, sitting beside Harry, and drew him into a tight hug. “I’m proud of you, kid,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be alright, you’ll see.” George held him for a long moment. Harry focused on remembering to breathe. “You’ve got loads of people on your side, whether you choose to tell people or not. Because you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I won’t even tell Fred.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry assured. “I don’t mind family knowing. I just… don’t want the whole world to know, yet.” As much as he liked to pretend it wouldn’t be a big deal, he knew better. He was Harry Potter. He couldn’t sneeze without making the front page of the Prophet.

“Don’t blame you, mate.” George had his chin propped on Harry’s head, and he pat him on the back gently. “I’m gonna let go now. That alright?” Harry nodded, and they separated, George offering him a grin. “Thanks for trusting me, Harry.”

“It’d be dumb not to when you’d already figured it out,” Harry pointed out.

“I didn’t know for sure,” George insisted. “I just… had a feeling. And regardless, even if you weren’t gay, it’s good to offer all sorts of information. The spells in that book should be taught alongside the usual contraception charms. Well, maybe not all of them,” he added, turning pink beneath his freckles. “But the important ones. People need to know the information is there.”

Harry remembered the excruciatingly painful assembly last year, in which the entire third year class had spent an hour listening to Madam Pomfrey talk about hormones and birth control and ‘the changes of the body’. Not one word had been said about relationships that weren’t between a man and a woman. 

“So, while we’re in a sharing mood,” George perked up, smirking once more. “Do you have a thing for my big brother, Harrikins? Any of them. Well, not Percy. Please, Merlin, not Percy.”

Harry made a face at the prospect. “I don’t fancy your brother!” he insisted. “Any of them. I told you! And I don’t fancy Cedric Diggory either,” he added hastily, when George made to open his mouth again.

“Really? I do a little bit,” George admitted shamelessly. “He’s proper fit. A bit too nice, though. And straight. Mad for that Ravenclaw girl, what’s her name, the seeker. Chang.” He shook his head mock-sadly. “Can’t win ‘em all. So is there anyone? What sort of wizard gets your wand going?” He cackled at the mortified expression on Harry’s face. “Come on, Harrikins! If the other boys can talk about which girl’s boobs they want to touch, I’m pretty sure you and I can talk about blokes. No? Too soon?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry blurted, eyes shut. He couldn’t help himself. It was the truth, he could finally own up to that. He had feelings for Draco Malfoy.

George stared at him. “So, like, you hate him but he’s pretty so you want to snog him, or…?”

“We’ve been friends since last year, in secret.” If he was trusting George with all his other secrets, he could trust him with this. “I… I really like him, George. Genuinely.” A lot more than he probably should. He didn’t dare look at George, wondering if that was a step too far. Liking boys was one thing; liking Slytherins was another.

“I mean, I don’t really see it, personally,” George said eventually. “But I guess you have always been a bit obsessed with him. And he is quite pretty, objectively. Too pretty for my tastes, but to each their own. Blimey, Harry, you’re not making it easy on yourself, are you? Does he know?” He shook his head. “Of course he doesn’t, you said you’ve not told anyone but me. I think you’re in luck, though, mate — no boy who cares that much about his appearance is completely straight.”

Harry blinked, sure he was imagining things. George grinned at him. “What, you think I haven’t had my fair share of crushes on snakes? Not all of them are evil. And sometimes even the evil ones are frustratingly attractive. I’m more surprised by you two being secretly friends than the fact that you fancy him.” He shuffled around until he was lying on his stomach on the bed, head propped in his hands and feet kicking in the air, fluttering his eyelashes over-dramatically. “Tell me everything, Harry,” he gushed, as if they were at a pre-teen sleepover or something. Harry laughed.

And he did.

.-.-.-.

The biggest surprise of his fourth year so far was quite possibly how much he enjoyed his Potions class, now that Snape didn’t actively hate him. Sure, he had to play his part, but much like arguing with Draco, it was far easier to deal with when Harry knew the other party didn’t mean it. He graded Harry (mostly) fairly, and Harry knew that whatever was going on outside the dungeons, Severus Snape would never give one single flying fuck about it. He didn’t care about Harry’s fame, or the Triwizard Tournament, or anything. Even the other teachers were treating him differently — Professor Sprout took five points off him for ‘misting incorrectly’ the other day. In the dungeons, he was Just Harry.

That meant Harry was actually somewhat looking forward to Potions on Friday afternoon, Hermione walking with him down to the dungeons, chattering on about Summoning charms. Harry indulged her — well, ignored her — having perfected the Summoning charm over the summer with Remus. When they arrived outside the Potions classroom, Harry realised all the Slytherins were wearing some kind of badge — and seemed to be waiting for him to notice. Seeing the smirk on Draco’s face, Harry looked closer.

Support Cedric Diggory — the REAL Hogwarts Champion

“That isn’t all they do,” Draco said loudly. “Look.” He pressed the centre of his badge, and the red lettering changed, turning green and forming the words ‘Potter Stinks’. Unable to help himself, Harry snickered.

“Oh, really funny,” Hermione spat, pulling Harry away by the arm. “Very witty.”

“Want one, Granger?” Draco drawled, holding out a badge. “I’ve got plenty. Only, don’t touch my hand, I’ve just washed it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron step away from the wall with a furious expression on his face, wand in his hand. Harry ignored him, smirking at Draco. “I’ll take one, Malfoy,” he said. The Slytherins all stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll take a badge. Are they free?” Harry almost laughed at the expression on Draco’s face; one he was becoming very familiar with. It was the face that said ‘I’m not sure what the hell you think you’re playing at but I know better than to try and use logic when it comes to you’. Complete with the little furrow on his forehead, it was quite adorable.

“Harry, don’t antagonise him.” Hermione seemed to think he was joking. “Just walk away.”

“Listen to your little pet bookworm, Potter,” Draco said, giving the curly-haired girl a disparaging look. That set Ron off, the redhead clearly spoiling for a fight. He raised his wand, but Draco was quicker. At the exact same time, both of them spoke.

“Furnunculus!”

“Densaugeo!”

The two spells met in mid-air and ricocheted off; Harry ducked, but Hermione wasn’t quick enough, and Malfoy’s spell hit her square in the face. Ron’s spell bounced over to hit Goyle, and the large Slytherin bellowed, covering his face with his hands. When he lowered them, his skin was covered in huge, oozing boils. 

Hermione, too, had her hands over her face — her mouth, specifically. She wouldn’t move them, letting out tiny, panicked squeaks. Ron lunged forward, dragging her hand away. Her front teeth were starting to resembling that of a beaver, growing out past her bottom lip and well on her way towards her chin. 

“What is going on out here?” The voice was soft, but it carried through the hallway. Snape had arrived.

Draco and Ron began stuttering excuses, and Snape looked exasperated behind his glare. “Goyle, Hospital Wing,” he said, when Draco pointed out the damage done to the Slytherin.

“Malfoy got Hermione, too!” Ron argued. 

“I don’t see any difference, Professor!” Pansy Parkinson crowed, laughing. Tears began to gather in Hermione’s eyes. 

“Granger, go,” Snape dismissed. Hermione grabbed her bag and practically sprinted from the corridor. “The rest of you, inside, now.”

The class began to file in, and Harry slid into line behind Draco. “Oi, Malfoy,” he hissed. Draco glanced back, shooting him a panicked look. Harry smirked at him. “I was serious about that badge.”

The look on Draco’s face said that he clearly thought Harry had finally cracked, but eventually he gave an irritated huff and turned to his table, shoving past Harry.

As he did, something large and round dropped into Harry’s robe pocket. Harry grinned.

.-.

They barely got five minutes into class before there was a knock on the door. Snape glared like he was going to set someone on fire for the disruptions; which only increased when it turned out to be Colin Creevey, requesting Harry for… photographs? Harry shot Snape a desperate glance, begging him to refuse, to keep Harry down in the dungeons. The man merely curled his lip in distaste.

“Potter, take your things and get out. I expect ten inches on the proper method for deriving an antidote by next class.”

Groaning under his breath. Harry shouldered his bag and followed Colin Creevey out of the classroom, the third year beaming up at him in awe. “Isn’t this amazing, Harry? You being the fourth champion and everything?”

“Yeah. Amazing,” Harry repeated flatly. “What’s all this about, Colin?”

“They didn’t really tell me, I was just sent to get you. They want all the champions — I think it’s for the Daily Prophet?” That made the boy beam even wider.

“Great. Fantastic.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Just what I need.” A thought occurred to him, and he reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out the badge Malfoy had given him. He fixed it proudly to his chest, ignoring Colin’s look of confusion.

When they arrived at the right room, Colin waved a cheerful goodbye, and Harry entered in trepidation. It was a small unused classroom; he and Draco had used it to play cards in a couple of times. Almost all the desks had been pushed against the wall, except three that had been stood end-to-end and draped in velvet, with five chairs behind them. Ludo Bagman was there, talking to a blonde witch Harry had never seen before, and he grinned at Harry’s entrance. In the corner was a man with a big wizarding camera. All the other champions were there too, looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. At least Harry wasn’t the only one.

“There he is! Champion number four!” Bagman’s gaze dropped down to Harry’s badge, and he faltered. “Ha! Funny joke, there, Harry, very clever. In you come, in you come, it’s nothing to worry about. Just the Wand Weighing ceremony — got to check everything is in working order before the first task. Then just a quick little interview with Ms Skeeter here, and you’ll be on your way. Have you met before, Harry? This is Rita Skeeter, she’s doing a little piece on the tournament for the Prophet.”

Harry eyed the woman, disgust rising. This was Rita Skeeter, was it? The woman who had caused so much trouble after the cup with her articles. She was wearing lurid magenta robes, her hair done in elaborate curls and her claw-like nails painted vivid crimson, clutching a crocodile-skin purse. She was looking at Harry like she wanted to eat him alive. “Might I have a quick word with Harry before we start?” Skeeter asked, already pulling an acid green quill from her purse. “The youngest champion, you know, to add a bit of colour?”

“Certainly!” Bagman agreed, but Harry shook his head.

“No, thank you.” He didn’t want to give Rita Skeeter anything she might be able to use against him. Both adults blinked.

“Come now, Harry, it’s just a quick interview,” Bagman encouraged. Harry held his ground.

“I don’t want to. I’d rather my name and picture not be in the paper at all, but with the tournament, that can’t be helped. But if you want an interview, you interview all of us. Not just me.”

“Really, lad, I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.” Bagman was sending nervous looks back at Skeeter, who seemed incredibly unimpressed.

“‘E said non, Monsieur Bagman.” It was Fleur Delacour, stepping in front of Harry with her arms folded over her chest. 

“Harry’s underage, you can’t interview him without consent of a guardian anyway,” Cedric added, standing by Fleur’s side. Bagman chuckled awkwardly.

“Really, I think you’re all just getting a little worked up,” Skeeter said. “Harry, dear, it’ll only take a moment, we’ll just pop into the other room for some privacy, just a couple of questions.” The ‘other room’ she pointed at was a storage cupboard.

“Vat part of no are you not understanding?” Viktor Krum joined the fray now, staring down his hooked nose at Skeeter, eyes cold. 

“I’m not going anywhere alone with you,” Harry declared firmly. “And I refuse to be interviewed unless it’s all of us. I shouldn’t be here, anyway. I’m not a real champion.” He squared his shoulders in a way that made the ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ badge even more obvious. 

Skeeter opened her mouth to argue, but the door opened, and Dumbledore walked in followed by the other two heads, Mr Crouch, and Mr Ollivander. Dumbledore surveyed the situation curiously; all three of-age champions stood between Rita Skeeter and Harry, glaring at the blonde woman. “Is there a problem?”

“I was hoping to get a quick interview with Harry here, but it seems the poor dear’s being a little shy,” Rita cooed, squeezing past Cedric to rest a hand on Harry’s shoulder, her talons digging into his robes. He shook her off.

“Please don’t touch me,” he muttered. 

“Well, it’s time for the Wand Weighing ceremony, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to interview Mr Potter afterwards.” Dumbledore’s response was cheerful. Harry grimaced. 

The five judges took the chairs behind the velvet-covered desks, while the four champions took seats on the other side. Cedric looked down at Harry and grinned. “Nice badge, Potter.”

“I thought so,” Harry replied with a wink. 

Ollivander was introduced, and the Wand Weighing itself was a fairly painless process. The old man’s eyes lit up when he saw Harry flick his wand out of its holster, handing it over. Harry mentally begged him not to say anything about the wand’s… interesting history. Luckily, all the man did was describe it, looking it over carefully. He took far longer than any of the others. A stab of horror caught Harry unexpectedly — what if there was a curse on his wand, like there had been on his person?

No, surely Dumbledore wouldn’t allow the ceremony to go ahead if he knew there was something wrong with Harry’s wand, something Ollivander would pick up on. Eventually, the old wandmaker shot a fountain of wine into a conjured glass. “Very good, very good. All four wands are in perfect condition,” he announced. “The champions may proceed.”

“Excellent,” Dumbledore said, getting to his feet. “Thank you all for coming, you are now free to leave.”

“Not so fast, Dumbledore!” Bagman called, hopping out of his seat. “Ms Skeeter here would like some photos to go with her article!”

Skeeter smirked, beckoning the man with the camera forward. “Just a few,” she purred. “And then, perhaps, an interview?”

“What do you think, Rita — all the judges, and the champions?” Bagman suggested. Skeeter’s eyes landed on Harry once more.

“And a few individual shots, of course.”

“I do not see vhy that is necessary,” Krum grouched. “Ve are all champions here.” He looked back at Harry, who sent him a grateful glance in reply. If there was anyone who understood how awful it was to be hounded by the press, it was Krum.

Skeeter got them all lined up for group photos, putting Harry right in the middle and insisting it was due to his height. “Take that silly badge off, Harry dear,” she fussed, but Harry shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Really, lad,” Bagman chuckled nervously. “I don’t think it’s really appropriate. These photos are going in the paper!”

“Exactly. I’m showing school solidarity,” Harry insisted, keeping his voice earnest. Behind him, Cedric ducked his head to hide a grin. 

“Harry.” Dumbledore’s voice was gently scolding. Harry gave him an innocent look.

“Sorry, sir. Is this better?” He pressed the centre of the badge, until the words ‘Potter Stinks’ were emblazoned across his chest. Skeeter cried out in alarm. Cedric lost his battle against giggles.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said again. Harry was sure he was pushing the limits, and about to get himself into trouble, but he refused to let Skeeter walk all over him. The Compulsion charm was supposed to make him reckless, after all.

“You’re right, sir; the original is much nicer.” Harry returned the badge to its original phrase, facing the camera with a smile. “Are we ready now?”

The adults seemed to realise they’d lost that battle, and with an indignant huff, Skeeter took her photos, Harry keeping the badge on. He dug his heels in again when she tried to take individual photos.

“If you’re doing them by school, then Cedric and I should take a photo together,” he said, once she’d already taken pictures of Krum and Fleur. 

“But that will upset the balance,” Skeeter protested.

“Just take the photo so we can leave,” Karkaroff snapped. “This has taken too much time already.”

Skeeter paled, and was left with no choice but to take a picture of Cedric and Harry stood side-by-side, with Cedric’s arm around Harry’s shoulder. The badge was still on Harry’s robes. 

When they were finally allowed to leave, Cedric burst into laughter as soon as they were out of the judges’ earshot. Krum and Fleur were still with them, and even they looked amused. “That was fantastic, Harry!” Cedric wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “The look on her face!”

“I saw the kind of articles she wrote this summer,” Harry said with a scowl. “I didn’t want her turning this into the next chapter of the Saga of the Boy-Who-Lived. This should be about you three, you’re the real champions here.”

“She is not a pleasant voman,” Krum remarked, shuddering. 

“Shooting ‘er down was vairy entertaining,” Fleur agreed, smirking. “And per’aps you are not so bad, leetle ‘Arry.” Harry was fairly sure that was a compliment. 

“I’m not here to steal your spotlight, any of you,” he promised. “I just want to survive this thing and get on with my life.”

The three other champions shared a look, then smiled at him. Harry smiled back, hoping desperately that it meant they were on his side. Or, at the very least, not actively hating him. 

.-.-.-.

When he got back to the dormitory after dinner, which had been quite the affair when all the champions sat and ate together — especially once people noticed Harry’s badge — Harry found Ron up there, scowling. “You’ve had an owl,” he bit out, gesturing to where Hedwig was sat on Harry’s bedside table. “And you’ve got detention with Snape, for skipping class. Tomorrow night after dinner.” He looked less smug than he should have about that, making Harry wonder if he, too, had detention for hexing Goyle. Harry just hoped Snape wouldn’t make them serve it together.

Ron didn’t stick around long, and as soon as he was gone Harry made a beeline for his owl, offering her a treat from his drawer once he removed the two letters. His stomach twisted, anxiously anticipating what the Weasley boys’ response might be. 

Hi Harry,

Of course it’s okay for you to write! I’m glad to hear from you. Especially once I heard about your name coming out of the Goblet. Are you okay? I expect it’s all a bit mad at the school there. The twins said you’re handling it well, but if I can help, let me know.

I do know Gorrak, though I don’t work for him often, and I’m surprised to hear you met with him. I saw him the other day, actually. He’s well, and sends his regards. He also says the matter you last wrote to him about has been taken care of. Is everything alright, Harry?

Being a curse-breaker involves lots of different things — yes, I work on tombs a lot. But I also crack wards on old houses where the owner has died or become unable to give people access, or sometimes where the wards have gone wrong and turned on their owner. And yes, I’ve worked on cursed people in the past. It’s a difficult thing, though; curses interact strangely with a person’s magical core, especially if they’ve been on someone for a long time. Not something you want to go messing around with unless you know what you’re doing. 

I’m trying to get time off work to come see at least one of the tasks. I know Charlie will be at the first one, if you need to talk to him. He’ll pass on a message to me if you need him to, as well.

Look after yourself, Harry,

Bill

Harry let out a long breath, reading the letter over a second time, and then a third. Bill had seen Gorrak — and mentioned him. Had Gorrak let him know about Harry’s situation? The redhead certainly seemed to have gathered that something was up; and that Harry didn’t want to talk about it in letters. He opened the next one, wondering if it would enlighten him.

Harry,

I can’t believe they’re making you compete! It’s ridiculously unfair. When I got your letter, I thought you were calling in that favour I owe you from our seeker’s match in the summer, but then I realised the champions hadn’t been announced when you wrote it. 

The Ministry in Romania is a little different, as there are fewer old pureblood lines — despite being a big country, it’s a fairly small population, compared to Britain. There’s sort of a Ministry alliance between a lot of the Eastern European countries — Romania, Bulgaria, Hungary, Serbia, and the like — that all work together to keep things running smoothly. Their equivalent of the Wizengamot is very much the same, however.

I’m glad to hear you’ve been looking into that sort of stuff. It’s only proper. If you have any questions, Bill or I are always happy to help. 

See you soon, kid.

Charlie

PS - I heard Ron’s being a twat about the champion thing. Ignore him. You’re still family, whether he likes it or not.

The end of the letter made Harry grin, assuaging a worry he didn’t even know he really had. He held up both letters, relieved to see that neither of them seemed suspicious about Harry’s questions. With any luck, they were oblivious to their mother’s dealings with Dumbledore, and could be brought around to Harry’s side.

Then his gaze caught on a couple of sentences, and things began to click. Charlie will be at the first one. I thought you were calling in that favour. See you soon, kid. He remembered Charlie’s words when he came to see them off at the platform; I might see you all sooner than you think.

If he was reading those hints right… 

The first task was dragons.

Chapter Text

Harry had almost forgotten about the Wand Weighing ceremony, in the face of potentially having to fight a dragon. Thus, when the article in the Prophet came out, it was a bit of a shock.

Somehow, despite Harry’s total refusal to give Skeeter anything, she’d managed to make the article about him anyway. It continued over several pages, barely said anything about Fleur and Krum (and misspelled both their names when it did), and didn’t mention Cedric at all. There was an enormous picture on the front page that had clearly been cropped from the photos taken of Harry and Cedric together; Cedric’s arm was still around Harry’s shoulders. The only saving grace was the ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ badge on his robes, which the picture version of Harry was delighting in changing to ‘Potter Stinks’ and back again every few seconds. 

‘Harry Potter: The Unexpected Champion

All of you will be familiar with the tragic tale of the Boy-Who-Lived. He saved us all and lost everything in the process, left orphaned and alone. Now he’s grown and at Hogwarts, and appears to be making waves once more.’

Without any real quotes from Harry — though she’d thrown plenty in that Harry didn’t recall ever saying in his life — she’d apparently interviewed several people about him. Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice when he reached the part about his ‘close companion and rumoured girlfriend, Hermione Granger’. 

“Well, this is a load of bollocks,” Cedric declared cheerfully from the Hufflepuff bench behind Harry, raising his wand and setting his issue of the Prophet on fire. “Alright there, Harry?”

After Harry’s little stunt with the badge, Cedric and the other Hufflepuffs had warmed considerably to him. The Slytherins had stopped wearing the badges — apparently they weren’t funny if Harry wasn’t upset by them — but Harry still had his attached to his school bag. “Yeah, just wondering if it’s possible to sue for this,” Harry replied, frowning at the article. Surely he could get her for something — defamation of character, or slander, or misrepresentation of a minor. Surely it couldn’t be legal to publish that amount of information about him. 

“You should ask Susan,” Neville piped up from the other side of the table. “Her aunt’s head of the DMLE, she’d probably know.”

Harry kept that in mind, though he didn’t run into Susan until his second class of the afternoon. That meant he spent the whole day listening to people — mostly Slytherins — quote their favourite parts of the article at him, laughing. 

“Just ignore it, Harry,” was Hermione’s helpful advice, as if it was that simple. As if he should just let Skeeter write whatever she wanted about him. This wasn’t some silly little school-wide paper, this was a national newspaper. 

Finally they had Charms with Hufflepuff, and Harry made sure to get that early, grabbing Susan as soon as she and the other Hufflepuff girls rounded the corner. “Hi, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Susan was one of the few Hufflepuffs who hadn’t hated him for even a little bit of time, and Harry would be forever grateful to her for it. Even now, Sally Anne Perks and Megan Jones were glaring at him over Susan’s shoulder.

“I was wondering if you knew if it was possible for me to sue Rita Skeeter for that article in the Prophet. I didn’t provide any of those quotes — you’ll have several witnesses who can assure you that I didn’t consent to any sort of interview — and half of what she’s said is so wrong it’s downright insulting, for me and for the other champions. Can I get her for slander, or something?”

Susan’s brow furrowed. “Technically it would be libel, since it’s written,” she mused, thinking. “If you didn’t consent, and your guardian didn’t consent, then she shouldn’t have even quoted you at all. I don’t blame you for being furious, that whole article is just… ugh.” She shuddered. “Tell you what, I’ll write to Aunt Amelia before dinner and see if she can do anything. She knows loads of lawyers, and I bet there’s plenty of them just waiting to give Rita Skeeter what for.” She smiled, hitching her bag further up her shoulder as Flitwick opened the classroom door, beckoning them inside. “I’ll take care of it, Harry. I’ll let you know when I hear back.”

“You’re the best, Susan,” Harry declared vehemently, hurrying to take a seat next to Neville before he could be forced to sit with Hermione. The Slytherins had teased her about the article, too, and she wasn’t in the best of moods because of it. 

With any luck, Amelia Bones would get back to her niece before much more damage could be done. 

.-.-.-.

The weekend before the task was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry let himself be dragged down to the village by Hermione and Neville. On the walk down, he glanced at the dark-skinned girl. “I’d have thought you’d be hanging out with Ron,” he remarked cautiously. Since the article, she was somewhat reluctant to be seen with Harry, as people kept asking her if she was his girlfriend. 

“Oh. Well.” She began to blush. “I thought we might meet up with him at the Three Broomsticks.”

Harry stared at her incredulously. “I’m not sitting with him.” Ron was still making it very clear he thought Harry was some arrogant little glory hunter. 

“Harry, please, this has gone on long enough.”

“I’m not speaking to him until he stops being a dick,” Harry retorted hotly. “If you want to sit with him, that’s fine, but I’ll be elsewhere.” It was a miracle he wasn’t wearing his invisibility cloak; the only reason he wasn’t was because Hermione didn’t know Neville knew about it. He really didn’t want to deal with crowds today — he’d much rather be in the library researching dragons — but the pair of them had insisted (separately) that Harry needed to get out and have fun. 

He didn’t get as mobbed as he’d expected, once they reached the village. The rest of the school seemed to be following Cedric’s lead on things, and since he was ignoring the Prophet article like the garbage it was, most of them were doing the same. They were all just eager for the tournament to start, now. 

Neville dragged them both into Gladrags, insisting he needed to buy his gran a new hat for her upcoming birthday. Harry wandered the clothing racks absent-mindedly, occasionally picking out something. Since Ron had stopped talking to him, and since Neville had pointed out how much Harry was adjusting his own behaviour to avoid offending the redhead, Harry had started wearing more and more of his new clothes. And, to his surprise, he’d actually grown a couple of inches since last summer. He’d bought the clothes a little big, so most of them were still fine, but… he felt like spoiling himself. 

Picking out a couple of shirts and a new jumper, Harry eyed the casual robes curiously. Was it time he bought something a little more wizardly for everyday wear? The only wizarding clothes he had were his school robes and the cloak from Sirius and Remus. He examined a pair of slate blue robes, and Neville appeared at his side. “If you’re going for robes, don’t get Gladrags; the size-adjusting charms wear out way too quickly. Go for Malkin’s or Twilfitt’s, and get them tailored,” he suggested. “Also, I think you’d look good in burgundy,” he added, gesturing to the rack of soft wool jumpers Harry had just come from. Harry grinned.

“Thanks, Nev.” He doubled back and picked up a burgundy jumper in his size. 

“Is all that really necessary, Harry?” Hermione asked doubtfully, eyeing the bundle of clothing slung over his arm. Harry shrugged.

“I like them, so I’m gonna buy them.”

“But you shouldn’t be spending all your money so early in the term!” Hermione protested. 

“Why not?” Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve got plenty more. Not like anyone else is using it for anything,” he added sharply, still a little bitter about Dumbledore taking from his vaults. 

“You’ve never been one to care about fashion, Harry.”

He didn’t understand why she was making such a big deal about him buying a couple of jumpers. “I’ve been going around in my cousin’s hand-me-downs my whole life. I don’t have to anymore. I don’t want to.”

Hermione didn’t have anything to say to that, but the frown on her face made it clear she thought his spending was frivolous. Harry threw in an extra pair of trousers just to spite her, shoving it all in his bag on the way out. He caught sight of a familiar crocodile-skin handbag, and he threw himself around the corner suddenly. Skeeter walked right by him, chatting away to her photographer friend. “She must be staying in the village,” he muttered to Neville and Hermione. “She’ll be at the first task, then.”

Harry vindictively hoped he had a case built up against her by then. Amelia Bones had written back promptly, assuring him that it was quite illegal to quote a minor without consent, and the entire article was easily a case of libel, but that Rita Skeeter was a tricky one and it might take some time. Harry was just happy to know there was a lawyer working on it.

They finally made it to the Three Broomsticks, where Harry put his foot down once more about sitting with Ron. “Harry, please,” Hermione urged, but Harry wasn’t having it. 

“Hermione, maybe you should just let it go,” Neville suggested gently. 

“Oi, Harry!” Harry whipped around at the call, seeing Cedric sat in a booth with Cho Chang, who was waving at him. “Want to join us?”

Cedric was a lifesaver. “See you, Hermione. You coming, Nev?” He didn’t wait for either response, heading straight for the booth. Luckily, Neville was right behind him. 

“Hi, Harry,” Cho greeted brightly. “And… Neville, right? Neville Longbottom?”’

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you,” Neville returned. 

“You looked like you could do with a bit of a save,” Cho said by way of explanation. “Besides, Cedric keeps ditching me to go sit with you at lunch, so I thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.” She gave him an impish wink, and Harry remembered the time last year where he’d briefly thought he had a crush on her. 

“Well, here I am,” he said dryly, holding his arms out as if to say ‘ta da’. Cho laughed. “I’m gonna grab drinks, can I get you anything?”

He bought a round of butterbeers for all of them despite their protests, bringing them back to the table with barely a glance over to where Hermione was sat with a scowling Ron. He’d definitely made the better choice, he thought when he took his seat back in the booth. “So how’s it going?” Cho asked, sipping at her drink. “Have you been driving yourself as mad as Ced trying to prepare for the first task?”

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t told anyone of his suspicions about dragons yet, just in case he was wrong. “Kinda. I’ve been brushing up on spells I think I might need, but it’s hard to prepare for the unknown. I figured I’d just wing it and hope for the best.”

“Your approach to all of life’s challenges, then,” Neville cut in with a smirk. Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn’t deny it. 

“I hope they don’t keep all the tasks a mystery,” Cedric mused. “That’d be a nightmare.”

“I think it’s just this one. Supposed to test our quick-thinking and all that.” Considering the last time he’d faced an enormous bloodthirsty beast, he’d stabbed it with a sword he’d pulled out of the Sorting Hat, Harry didn’t think his usual method would work for him. All the books on dragons said their eyes were their weakest spot, but he couldn’t exactly call Fawkes and have him claw them out. Again. 

They tried to keep conversation off the task, but everything turned back to it eventually. It was hard not to, when it was all Cedric and Harry could think about. 

He looked up when the door opened, and a familiar imposing figure ducked into the bar. It was Hagrid, walking with… Professor Moody?

The professor’s magical eye spun in its socket, landing quickly on Harry. He nudged Hagrid in the side, nodding in Harry’s direction. Hagrid grinned, waving, and started trying to squeeze his way through the crowd. “Alright, you lot!” he greeted. If he was confused by Harry’s choice in company, he didn’t show it. “Harry, I was wonderin’ if yeh’d come down to meet me tonigh’? I need yer ‘elp with summat. After dark, if yeh don’ mind.” He gave Harry a pointed look. “It’ll be cold, so bring yer cloak.” The emphasis made it pretty clear to Harry what he was implying, but just made him look like a weirdo to the rest of the table.

“Uh, yeah, sure, Hagrid.” What could he possibly want? Hagrid beamed, nodding.

“Great, I’ll see yeh then. Enjoy yer afternoon.” With that he went to go sit beside Moody at the bar, leaving Harry blinking after him in confusion.

“What was that about?” Cho asked, frowning. Harry shrugged.

“Not a clue.” He’d find out tonight, he supposed.

.-.-.-.

Harry’s first stop Sunday morning was the library, to scour all the books on dragons a second time. His little outing with Hagrid the night before had confirmed his fears, although at least now he knew he didn’t have to fight or subdue the dragon. Just get past it.

Because that was so much easier. 

It was pretty quiet in the library, as it often was on a Sunday morning. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find Viktor Krum sat near Harry’s usual table, a stack of books beside him. Harry gathered his own reading material, then approached quietly. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. Krum glanced up, then shrugged, gesturing to the empty seat.

He hadn’t spoken much to the Durmstrang champion. They had eaten dinner together a few times, all four champions sitting together, but Krum had stayed mostly silent throughout. Still, he’d stood up for Harry against Skeeter, so that counted for something. 

“Only a few more days,” Harry murmured. Krum’s dark eyes flicked up to him. 

“Are you scared?” he asked, sounding more curious than taunting. Harry chuckled breathlessly.

“I think I’d be daft not to be, at least a little bit. You?”

“I haff learnt to ignore fear,” Krum replied simply. “In quidditch, fear stops you winning.”

“Your Wronski Feint at the cup was pretty fearless,” Harry agreed. Krum raised an eyebrow.

“You vere there?”

“Yeah, you were brilliant! I play seeker as well,” he added, blushing slightly. “For Gryffindor. Cedric is the Hufflepuff seeker, actually. Maybe it’s a sign. We’re all reckless and crazy, exactly what the Goblet is looking for.” That actually drew a chuckle from the reserved Bulgarian wizard. 

“I vonder if Fleur plays quidditch,” he mused absently. “It vould be fun to all fly together sometime.”

Harry took a moment to realise the international quidditch star had just invited him to fly with him, and almost had a small heart attack. “We’ll have to ask,” he said instead, trying to keep it cool. Krum hadn’t bat an eyelash at him being Harry Potter. Harry refused to kick up a fuss about him in return. “Did you bring your broom with you, then?”

“I bring my broom everywhere,” Krum assured. Harry hadn’t seen him out flying; then again, he probably kept it secret, so he wasn’t disturbed. If the hordes of fangirls got excited about watching him in the library — there were three around the corner, even now — they would lose their minds at watching him train for quidditch. 

Bored of reading the same paragraph over and over in the hopes it might magically provide him with an answer, Harry let his gaze trail over to the books Krum had out. He froze. Several of them were about dragons. The ones that weren’t were on eye-related hexes.

Krum knew about the dragons.

Harry shut his book quickly, straightening up. If Krum knew, and he knew, and Madam Maxime knew — which meant Fleur knew — then… Cedric was the only champion going in blind. Harry couldn’t allow that. “I’ve got to go,” he declared suddenly, grabbing his bag and getting to his feet. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Krum only nodded tersely, going back to his reading, and Harry about sprinted from the library. “Point Me Cedric Diggory,” he muttered with his wand out, hoping the older boy wasn’t in his common room or somewhere else Harry couldn’t get to. 

He was in luck. The spell led him to the Transfiguration courtyard, where Cedric was lying on a bench with his head in Cho’s lap and a book propped in front of him, surrounded by several other Hufflepuffs. He looked up when Harry came thundering towards him. “Harry? What’s the matter?”

“Can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”

Cedric shot him a bewildered look, but stood up and followed Harry across the courtyard and out of earshot. “It’s dragons,” Harry told him urgently. Cedric’s brow furrowed. “The first task. It’s dragons. Krum knows and Fleur knows and I didn’t want you to be the only one going in with no idea.”

“How— Hagrid,” Cedric realised, remembering the odd interaction the day before. “Harry… seriously?” He looked pale.

“Seriously,” Harry confirmed grimly. “I’m not sure on the specifics, only that we have to get past it, I think. I know it’s cutting it a little close to actually be helpful, but, well; it’s a start.”

“No, it’s great,” Cedric assured. “Thanks, Harry. I owe you one.” 

Harry waved him off, and the two parted ways once more, Cedric no doubt off to the library to do what Harry had just finished doing. As Harry walked away, he heard a different voice call his name; this one much less welcome. It was followed by the telltale sound of Moody’s wooden leg on the flagstones. “That was a decent thing you did for Diggory there, Potter,” he said gruffly.

“It’s only fair,” Harry replied, not sure how he felt about Moody eavesdropping on his private conversations. It was bad enough that Snape had done some snooping and confirmed that the eye could see through invisibility cloaks. 

“Come with me.” It was snapped like an order but he had no grounds for it, and Harry shook his head.

“No thank you, sir; I said I’d meet Neville in the common room.” A lie, but Moody didn’t need to know that. Harry had no desire to be alone with anybody that Albus Dumbledore trusted.

“Potter!” Moody called, but Harry was already walking.

“Sorry, sir, I’m already late. Another time!” He turned the corner, and hurried for the stairs before Moody could chase after him.

Everybody knew about the dragons. Now Harry just had to figure out what to do about it.

.-.-.-.

Harry was dreaming.

He knew that, because while he was on his broom and wearing his Gryffindor quidditch uniform and flying with the rest of his team, the opposing team seemed to be made entirely of dragons. Huge, terrifying Hungarian Horntails, like he’d seen in the woods. It was also definitely a dream because Harry was playing chaser, the quaffle in his hands as he tried to fly past the dragons without getting set on fire, watching Viktor Krum do an effortless Wronski Feint a few feet away. He was so close, the goal was in sight, he just had to fly a little further and…

He woke up with a gasp, eyes snapping open. It took a minute for his heart rate to go down. Even when it did, his eyes were still wide.

Flying.

Could it work? He was only allowed a wand, but… he’d been getting pretty good at the Summoning charm over the summer. Snape always accused him of being a lazy teenager, so Harry had summoned more things just to be a brat. He was pretty confident he could summon his broom from Gryffindor Tower down to wherever the task was being held, as long as he left the dorm window open. 

He relaxed into his mattress — at least, as much as he could knowing that in a little over twenty four hours he’d be facing a real live dragon. He had a plan. It wasn’t the most foolproof plan in the world, but it was better than him trying to learn a Conjunctivitis curse strong enough to fell a dragon in a day. 

Neville looked over at him when he emerged from bed. “Alright there, Harry?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he admitted, grinning. “Think I’ve got it all figured out.” Neville’s eyebrows rose, surprised.

“The task? Really?” Harry nodded. Neville beamed. “Brilliant.”

Hermione, on the other hand, was not so convinced. “How can you be so relaxed?” she hissed at him during Herbology, her own anxiety palpable. Harry shrugged.

“I know what I need to do. No point worrying about it any more,” he replied. He’d told her about the dragons, only because she wouldn’t stop pestering him about studying between classes to make sure he was properly prepared. He appreciated the thought, but why couldn’t she believe him when he said he had it under control?

She looked at him like he was mad. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“It’ll be alright,” he insisted optimistically.

Now that the task was almost out of the way, he had some other things to be worrying about.

.-.-.

Harry skived off Divination, pretty sure that no one would begrudge him that with the task happening the next day. Instead he went down towards the Forbidden Forest, following the path he’d taken with Hagrid. The dragons were, if possible, even more terrifying in the daylight. Harry refused to let it get to him. 

He glanced around the gathered dragon tamers until he saw the one with bright red hair, hanging out in front of one of the tents. Harry edged closer, and sent a pebble flying towards the man with a flick of his wand. It hit Charlie on the arm, and he cursed, whipping around. Harry whistled quietly, popping out from behind the trees just long enough to catch Charlie’s attention. His eyes widened, and he hurried forwards. “Harry!” he whispered, wrapping the teen in a quick hug, then ushering him further into the trees before they were seen. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“It’s only Divination,” Harry dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I came to talk to you.”

“Calling in that favour?” Charlie presumed, glancing back at the dragons. Harry shook his head.

“Nah, I’ve sorted that. This is about the letter I sent you the other week.” That got Charlie’s attention. To Harry’s surprise, the redhead put up several privacy charms, then leaned back against a tree.

“What sort of trouble have you got yourself into now, Potter?” he asked, his tone fondly resigned.

“Did Bill talk to you about the letter I sent him?” Charlie nodded. “Good. See, when I was in Diagon the summer before last year — Ron told you about that, right? Blew up my aunt?” Again, Charlie nodded, grinning faintly. “Right, yeah, well when I was there, I went to Gringotts, and something a bit strange happened.”

He told Charlie what Gorrak and Farlig had found, watching the redhead’s jaw drop.

“Bill wondered if it was something like that,” he admitted when Harry was done. “He said Gorrak only gets called in for really high-profile cases, inheritance theft and magic tampering and the like. And when he spoke to him, asked him about you, well; Gorrak didn’t say anything, but I don’t think he had to.” Charlie ran a hand through his hair. “Shite, Harry. And you’ve been dealing with this alone ever since?”

“Not completely alone, but that’s a whole other story that’ll take too long to tell you now.” Charlie had already been gone for a little while, his coworkers would eventually wonder where he was. “But safe to say, I don’t trust Dumbledore anymore. And…” Here came the hard part. “Recently Gorrak sent me a list of withdrawals from my vault over the years, to see if Dumbledore had taken anything. He had, and I’ll deal with that eventually, but… Charlie, your mum took money out, too. Way more than she could’ve needed to buy my school things for me.”

That threw Charlie for a loop. He slumped against the tree, blue eyes staring at Harry pleadingly. “Mum? Really?” Harry wished he could tell the man otherwise, but he merely shook his head.

“I don’t know if Dumbledore told her to do it, or she just thought she’d go for it since I wouldn’t notice a few extra galleons missing here or there, but… she did it. I didn’t want to believe it either.”

“It’s been hard, raising seven kids on Dad’s salary,” Charlie said with a sigh. “But to think she’d stoop that low…”

“I’m sorry,” Harry started, but Charlie cut him off.

“Don’t, it’s not your fault. She’s an adult, and she makes her own choices. I just… fuck.” He looked like his entire worldview had been rocked. Harry guiltily wondered if he shouldn’t have kept quiet. “If my family have done you wrong, then I swear on the Weasley name I will make it up to you,” Charlie vowed, his words thick with magic. Harry looked up in surprise. Charlie winked. “Heir Weasley, at your service. Bill’s taking the Prewett seat.”

“Well met, Heir Weasley,” Harry responded automatically. “Who has the seats now?”

“Dad, but he tends to just give his voting power to Dumbledore. Politics confuse him,” Charlie said, grimacing. “It’s one of the reasons Bill and I are thinking about coming home, properly. We want to take our seats; you’re not the only one who’s getting a little suspicious about the way Dumbledore runs things. After this, I definitely don’t want him using my family votes any longer than he has to. We haven’t spoken to Dad about it yet,” he added, “but we were going to soon. I’ll talk to Bill about what you’ve told me — if that’s alright with you — and if he’s got any ideas for how to help, he’ll get in touch.”

“Yeah, I was hoping you’d tell him,” Harry agreed. “I wanted to, but I can’t exactly trust it all in a letter.” It was a weight off his shoulders knowing he had two more people on his side. “I’m going to tell the twins, too. Unless you think I shouldn’t?”

“They’ll be good allies, and they’re definitely not on Dumbledore’s side,” Charlie assured him. He glanced back at the dragons, which were beginning to get rowdy again. “Look, Harry, I should get back to work. But you’ve given me a hell of a lot to think about. I’ll talk to Bill, and we’ll be in touch.” He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t need any help with the task tomorrow?”

“No, I’ve got it, but thanks.” Harry hesitated for a second, but it was long enough for Charlie to pick up on it, and the redhead pulled him into another hug. 

“Good luck tomorrow, Harry. I’ll be cheering you on.” Charlie grinned, cheeks dimpling. Harry wondered if he’d been a bit hasty in telling George he didn’t fancy any of his brothers. 

Charlie dropped the privacy wards and strolled back out into the clearing as if he’d never been gone, and Harry watched the dragons for a few minutes more before hurrying back up to the castle. 

Two more players on the board.

.-.-.-.

At dinner that night, a scrap of parchment found its way onto Harry’s plate, and he grabbed it before anyone but Neville could see. Transfiguration room. Curfew. The handwriting was familiar. He glanced across at the Slytherin table, and nodded. 

“Is it him?” Neville asked under his breath. Harry hummed quietly in confirmation, burning the note with the tip of his wand. 

Since Neville was in the know and very few other people were actively talking to him, it was easy for Harry to disappear right before curfew, keeping the map in hand as he crept through the corridors under the invisibility cloak. Moody was in his office, and Harry hoped it stayed that way. 

He arrived first, but didn’t have to wait long for Draco. The blond hadn’t bothered bringing cards this time. He looked anxious.

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into tomorrow?” Draco asked. Harry grinned at him.

“I do, actually. It’s going to be great.” If he didn’t die. He was pretty sure he could do it and not die. Like, at least seventy percent sure. 

Draco was not amused. “Will Prof— Remus be there?” Draco still struggled to call the werewolf by his first name. Harry shook his head. 

“We don’t want Dumbledore to know that I’m still in contact with him,” he said. “And they don’t want him knowing they’re in touch with each other.” Dumbledore didn’t like it when any adult got too close to Harry — except Mrs Weasley. That there should’ve been Harry’s first sign that something wasn’t right. “I promised to call him and Sirius tomorrow night, if I can.”

“If you’re not dead, you mean,” Draco snapped.

“If I’m not too busy celebrating,” Harry corrected, smiling. “Relax, will you? I’ve got it handled. I’ve done worse, you know I have. I’ll be fine.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid and Gryffindor.” Draco’s voice was quiet, raw in a way that made Harry’s chest clench. The dark-haired boy moved closer, offering a hesitantly apologetic smile.

“Everything I do is stupid and Gryffindor. I can’t promise that.” That drew a faint laugh from the Slytherin. Draco placed both hands on Harry’s shoulders, meeting his gaze square on. 

“Then just promise me you’ll do your best to just get through this task alive.” 

Harry stared into silver-grey eyes, losing his breath for a minute. “I promise,” he whispered, once he was capable of words. It would be so easy to just lean forward, to bridge the gap between them and press their lips together. But he couldn’t. His friendship with Draco was still so tentative in many ways, he didn’t want to risk screwing it up with his stupid feelings. He pulled away, grinning once more. “I’m gonna put on one hell of a show, though, you can count on that!”

Draco looked at him, blinking away a look Harry couldn’t place and gaining a resigned expression. “It’s going to give me a heart attack, isn’t it?” he asked flatly. Harry just laughed.

.-.-.

It all went by so fast.

Walking down to the tent, picking their dragons out, avoiding Bagman when the man tried to speak to him privately; before Harry knew it, he was facing a dragon with just his wand in his hand. “Accio Firebolt!” He’d spelled open the dorm window to make sure nothing would be in his way, and to his great relief, the broom came zooming across the lawn towards him. Then he was off.

He didn’t do much thinking until he was back on the ground, his brain hitting flight-mode and going entirely off of instinct. When he landed, he could see Charlie Weasley amongst the dragon tamers, punching the air in delight. Draco up in the stands, looking even paler than usual but with wonder in his eyes. Ron looking begrudgingly impressed, still scowling, while Neville and Hermione cheered beside him. 

He could see McGonagall walking towards him, smiling. “Very well done, Potter! Excellent flying! Now off to the First Aid tent with you.” It was then that Harry noticed he was bleeding from a gash in his shoulder, and he grimaced, heading off towards Madam Pomfrey. Cedric was sat there with burn paste slathered all over his face and chest, but Fleur and Krum looked alright, sitting drinking hot chocolate. Madam Pomfrey cast a quick spell on his shoulder, telling him to sit tight until it healed completely. 

“That vas some very impressive flying,” Krum said with a soft smile. Harry goggled at him. Viktor Krum just complimented his flying skills. 

Before Harry could gather his brains up enough to ask the others what they had done, he was called out to receive his score. 40 out of 50. Not bad at all. “You’re tied for first place!” It was Charlie, running up to barrel him in a hug so tight Harry’s feet left the ground. Harry was glad Pomfrey had healed his shoulder already. “You and Krum. Bloody hell, Harry, that was amazing! I’ve got to go, we’ve got to move the dragons, but really well done! I’ll see you soon, yeah? Oh, and they need you back in the champions’ tent, Bagman said,” he added belatedly, ruffling Harry’s hair before running off again. Harry saw Neville waiting for him, but he shook his head, jerking a thumb towards the tent. He’d see his friend back up at the common room.

The other three champions were already there when Harry arrived, and so was Bagman. They listened while the man told them the egg was their clue, and Harry was relieved the next task wasn’t until the end of February. Three whole months to figure it out, and get on with other things. 

Everyone had left by the time Bagman let them go, so the four champions started walking back towards the castle together. “So what did the three of you end up doing?” Harry asked curiously.

They each regaled him with their own experiences with their dragons, stopping on the lawn near the lake. Neither Fleur nor Krum seemed to want to go back to their respective lodgings just yet. Harry didn’t really blame them. He knew there would be a party up at Gryffindor Tower, and he was exhausted just thinking about it. 

There was a beat of silence, and Harry laughed, shaking his head. “This is mad, isn’t it? This competition. We just faced dragons.” 

Fleur laughed as well. “I knew eet would be difficult, but I did not expect zat!” she agreed. “I am vairy eempressed, ‘Arry. I worried for you when I found out about ze dragons, but you did vairy well for someone so young.”

“I, uh, had a bit of a heads up about them. I had time to prepare,” Harry admitted, wondering if the others would confess the same. To his surprise, they did.

“Look, forgive me if this sounds crazy, but even when all four of us knew what was happening we still almost died a few times,” Cedric said. “I know it’s supposed to be a competition and all, but… I like you. I don’t want to see any of you dead. So call me a Hufflepuff if you will, but I say we should stick together on this. The competition is supposed to be about international cooperation, right? I’m not saying we need to work on our solutions together, but we could at least keep each other updated about the clues, and offer help if needed. The people running this tournament are insane. They sent a fourteen year-old alone against a full-grown nesting mother dragon.”

“You haff a point, Diggory,” Krum said slowly. “ve all knew, and yet ve all came up vith different solutions. Perhaps if ve vork together, ve can survive this and still put on a show.”

“I’m Cedric,” Cedric said, holding out a hand. “To my friends, at least.”

Krum eyed him for a minute, then shook it firmly. “Then I am Viktor, to all of you.”

“So we’re doing this, then?” Harry confirmed. “Together? Fuck what the judges say about competition?”

“Zey broke ze rules by making you compete,” Fleur agreed, determination in her eyes. “We can break ze rules by ‘elping each uzzer survive eet.”

“That’s settled, then,” Cedric said, looking relieved. “We should all get back, I’m sure there’s lots of celebrating to be done. But… meet in a week or so to see how everyone’s doing on the egg?”

They agreed and parted ways, Harry and Cedric walking up to the castle together.

“That could’ve gone poorly,” Harry commented. Cedric shrugged.

“They’re reasonable people, and I don’t think any of us expected the tasks to be quite that serious. Not when they said they’d changed things to try and lower the death toll. Any one of us could’ve been fried to a crisp today. It’s like Fleur said; they want us to play by the rules, but we haven’t been since your name came out of the Goblet. If we’re all helping each other, we’re all on the same level; if I win, I’d much rather I did so fairly, and made friends out of the whole thing.” He paused, realising how that sounded. “Merlin, I’m such a Hufflepuff.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, but it’s alright. We can’t all be reckless Gryffindors.” He winked, starting up the stairs. “Have a good night, Cedric.”

.-.

As expected, a party was raging in Gryffindor Tower. Harry made a good effort to get in the spirit of it, but after the adrenaline rush of flying against a dragon, he mostly just wanted to sleep.

“That was amazing!” the twins exclaimed, letting him down off their shoulders after a victory lap of the common room. “So wicked!”

“It really was brilliant, Harry,” Neville agreed, beaming. Harry grinned.

“I was pretty good, wasn’t I?”

“No need to start bragging about it.” Ron’s venomous voice deflated Harry’s happy bubble, and the dark-haired boy glared.

“No one invited you to this party, Ron,” he bit out. Harry’s success just seemed to have affirmed the redhead’s views that he was a glory-hunter. 

“Go away, Ronnikins,” Fred urged, smiling viciously at his brother. “Or you’ll see what some of our untested sweets can do.” Having already seen several people turn into canaries and other animals, Ron gulped, slinking away into the crowd. Harry caught sight of Hermione crossing the common room to talk to him, but ignored it. If she still wanted to be friends with Ron, that was her choice.

“So what’s in the egg, Harry?” George asked, taking the hefty golden egg from his hands. 

“The clue for the second task, apparently.” Harry took the egg back, running his fingers over it. 

“Open it!” several people in the crowd urged, including Neville. Harry grinned. Digging his nails into the groove, he wrenched it open.

…And immediately shut it again. As soon as the egg was open, an awful screeching wail pierced the room, making several people cover their ears. “What the fuck was that?” Fred muttered, wincing.

“No idea,” Harry replied, ears still ringing. “But it can’t be good.”

How the hell was that supposed to be a clue?

Chapter Text

The morning after, Harry forgot for a minute that the task was already over. He woke up entirely convinced that the task was that morning, and he’d really just dreamed facing the dragon the first time.

Then reality set in, and he slumped against his pillows in a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming gratitude. He’d already done it. He didn’t have to do it again. He never had to look at another dragon in his life if he didn’t want to. 

The castle was abuzz with chatter when he went down to breakfast, though for the first time since Halloween people were looking at him with amazement rather than annoyance. His little flying stunt had been the most visually impressive, according to just about everyone in Gryffindor Tower — Harry thought they were biased, but seeing a group of second year Slytherins staring at him and then break into hushed whispers and bright grins, maybe they weren’t. 

Either way, it was over. And now he was back to classes like nothing had happened. 

Neville was checking on some sort of extra-credit Herbology project right after breakfast, so Harry walked up to Charms alone. At least, he tried; halfway there, he was yanked into a narrow passage behind a tapestry. “What—“ He relaxed when he saw pale blond hair. “Draco, what the hell? Anyone could have seen that!”

“You reckless, idiotic, foolhardy disaster of a wizard,” Draco hissed, grey eyes burning, fist still clenched in the front of Harry’s robe. “Do you have any idea how many years it took off my life watching you fly around with that bloody dragon like it was a game of tag? You could have died!”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said with a shrug. “But I didn’t.”

Draco stared at him incredulously. “Gryffindors!.” The word sounded like an insult, but it made Harry grin.

And then Draco’s fingers tightened around his robe, and he pulled Harry forward, their lips slamming together.

Harry forgot to breathe.

He forgot to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily instinct kicked in and he was kissing back before he could even think about it, his hand settling on Draco’s shoulder. They parted, but not far, foreheads pressed together. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, alright?” Draco breathed. Harry was amazed the blond could find words. His head was still spinning, stuck in the moment Draco’s lips touched his. Did this mean… what did this mean?

“I, er, can’t guarantee that,” he said eventually. “Triwizard champion. Harry Potter. Kinda comes with the territory.”

Draco snorted, reluctantly amused. “A little bit of warning would have been nice, at least. ‘I’ve got it handled, Draco’.”

“I did have it handled!” Harry protested. “Look, I got the egg, I didn’t die, I still have all my limbs. I’d say it was a resounding success.”

The Slytherin stared at him, looking like he regretted every last one of the life choices that had brought him to that moment. Harry wanted to kiss him again. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed. “I have to get to History of Magic,” Draco said eventually, leaning back. Harry didn’t let him go too far.

“Wait a minute, you can’t just leave, are we not going to talk about what just happened?” Had he imagined it? Judging by the blush on Draco’s cheeks, he definitely hadn’t. 

“Meet me tonight. Usual time, third floor classroom.” Draco dropped his gaze for a moment, then met Harry’s eyes. Harry was glad he didn’t seem to be the only one whose entire worldview had been rocked in the last five minutes. He thought about pulling him closer, demanding they talk about it now, but they really didn’t have time. He stepped back, letting Draco smooth down the front of his robes.

“See you tonight, then,” he agreed, and with one last lingering look, he was gone. 

.-.-.

Harry was noticeably distracted through the rest of his classes. Luckily, people seemed pretty happy to put it down to the shock of having faced a dragon the day before. 

Hermione seemed to know better, by the suspicious looks she kept shooting him. Things like that were just another day in the life of Harry Potter. “What’s the matter with you today?” she asked at lunch, and Harry shrugged, wishing his brain could think of anything except the feel of Draco Malfoy’s lips on his own. Someone could have walked up to him and given him the solution to the second task, and he probably wouldn’t have paid attention. 

“Nothing,” he lied easily. “Just tired.”

The curly-haired girl levelled him with a long, slightly sad look. “I miss the days when you used to tell me things,” she said eventually. A tendril of guilt wormed its way around Harry’s heart. Should he be trusting her more than he was? What if he’d misjudged things?

He shook it off. If Hermione wanted to be told things, she should have stuck up for him when Ron was being a pillock. 

“I don’t have to tell you everything about my life, Hermione,” he replied, slightly harsher than he’d intended. Hermione flinched, and Harry felt bad about it for a minute. 

There was a moment, right there, that Harry would later look back on and wonder if he could have changed things. If he’d just opened up to Hermione, she might have come around. But he was tired, and he’d just faced a dragon, and kissed Draco Malfoy, and he really didn’t have the brain capacity for anything more complicated. So he let it go, and Hermione pursed her lips, and walked away.

.-.-.

Other things that Harry didn’t have the brain capacity for included a meeting with the heirs right before dinner, but he didn’t know when he’d next get the chance, and the clock was ticking. They deserved to know the truth.

They were all gathered when he arrived, slumping down into his usual empty chair.

“What’s all this about, then?” Anthony asked, quill tucked behind his ear as he looked up from an essay he was writing. “Surely you don’t want to study that desperately after yesterday.”

No, if Harry had his way, he’d be in bed until dinnertime. “I was talking to Neville, and I think it’s time I tell you all about the full reason Dumbledore can’t know about this. About me. I’m trusting you with an awful lot, and it’s unfair that you’re not being told why. Also, you’ll need to be in on it if we’re going to achieve what I’m hoping for.”

“And just what is it, exactly, that you’re hoping to achieve?” The question came from Padma, her gaze shrewd. Harry winked at her.

“World domination.” The answer made several people laugh. Harry sat up straighter, and took a long breath. 

“When I was a baby, Dumbledore did a ritual to block my family magics from my core.”

There was a beat of silence. Everyone was too horrified to speak. Then finally, Susan swore loudly. The sound of such a filthy curse coming from the mild-mannered Hufflepuff’s lips was almost as shocking as Harry’s announcement.

“How dare he!” she exclaimed. “If my aunt ever found out, he’d be dead before he could make it to Azkaban!”

“One day, maybe,” Harry said with a shrug. “It’s not worth getting the truth out just yet. I need too much information from him first.”

“He’s turning you into a weapon.” Harry whipped around to look at Sullivan Fawley, whose dark eyes were frighteningly aware. “A block that extended from a man like him on a person as powerful as yourself, you’d explode as soon as you turned seventeen. Or the moment the block was released.”

The realisation went around the room quickly. Harry nodded. “Whatever he’s planning, he’s aiming for a moment in my life, before I turn seventeen, where he can pull the pin and make me go boom. Along with the block was a Compulsion charm — to make me reckless, and to make me easily influenced. Dumbledore made himself my saviour, with just enough magic to stop me looking for other options. So that when I was surrounded by people who said that all Slytherins were dark wizards and I should hate them, I agreed. When someone told me all Hufflepuffs were the Hogwarts rejects, I smiled and nodded. When I heard that Ravenclaws had their noses too far in books to be worth talking to, I didn’t question it. Obviously, I know better now. I got the block and the charm removed before third year, and it’s only a matter of time before he finds out. But I’ll be ready when he does.”

“So where do we come in?” Blaise asked quietly. 

“When I expose Dumbledore, it’s going to rock the foundations of the wizarding world. As far as they’re all concerned, he can do no wrong, and I’m just an idiot teenager with a death-wish and a puffed up sense of self-importance. Skeeter isn’t helping with these articles.”

“Aunt Amelia’s working on that,” Susan assured. “You should get a letter from her at the end of the week.”

Harry nodded; that was one angle covered. “Between us we have thirteen seats to inherit. I know of three more I can trust. And I’m betting there’s a few more, if we can go about it the right way.” He glanced pointedly at the Slytherins. There was no way they and Draco were the only Slytherins who didn’t want the dark to rise. They just had to be wary of their parents.

“I’m not counting thirteen,” Anthony cut in, looking around the room. Harry bit his lip; he had to tell them eventually. 

“I’m the heir to the Potter, Black and Peverell seats,” he declared. There was no point in telling them about Slytherin; from the sounds of things, that would sit passive his whole life. 

“Well, fuck,” Daphne muttered incredulously. “That’ll take three of Dumbledore’s proxy seats away.” A catlike smirk flashed across her pale face. “You’re going to cause all sorts of trouble, aren’t you, Potter?”

“That is how it usually ends up, yeah,” he admitted, because even though he didn’t try and cause trouble, it always just sort of… happened. “So there’s enough of us to have a good safety net when it all goes to shit. But there could be more. Even if they’re not with us, if we can make them neutral at the very least — in an ideal world, every student who leaves this castle in the next five years would do so wanting to serve neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore. Because the way things are going, that’s a very real choice they’re going to have to make.”

“Who would you rather we serve, you?” Cassius asked somewhat snidely. Harry winced.

“Merlin, no. I’m asking people to serve no one, but to fight with me. For themselves. For the good of the wizarding world.”

A long silence followed his words. It was Daphne who broke it by snorting. “Bit dramatic.” Harry flushed.

“You’re proposing a third side to the war? Right under Dumbledore’s nose?” Susan’s sharp gaze met his. He nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I am.” 

Harry looked around the room at the children gathered in front of him — because that’s what they were. Children who had seen too much, who had been raised in a time that didn’t give them a chance to be young, but children nonetheless. What was it the muggles were always saying? Children were the future?

If Harry didn’t take a stand, he’d be dead before he was seventeen. And if the only people willing to help him were kids his own age, well. He was constantly surprising people — why couldn’t they, as well?

.-.-.-.

Somewhat unintentionally inciting a minor revolution was the least of Harry’s worries as he crept through the corridors beneath his invisibility cloak, heart pounding so loud he was surprised it didn’t echo off the walls. He pushed open the door to the unused third floor classroom, breath catching in his throat at the sight of Draco perched on the edge of the teacher’s desk. He looked up, smile more shy than Harry had ever seen from the young Malfoy. “Hi, Harry.”

Harry lingered by the door. Seconds ticked by with neither of them moving. Abruptly Harry realised that Draco’s little burst of courage that morning had been more motivated by panic than anything else, and if he wanted another kiss he was either going to have to buck up and do it himself, or wait until he got into another life-or-death situation. And while those were becoming increasingly common for him, Harry didn’t want to wait.

He strode across the classroom until he was stood right in front of Draco, almost between his knees, the blond boy freezing at the sudden movement. Harry met his gaze. “I’m going to kiss you, now,” he warned. Draco didn’t move. Harry leaned in.

This time, both of them were expecting it, and it was so much better. Draco’s lips were astonishingly soft against his own, the Slytherin’s hand resting on Harry’s hip, pulling him just that little bit closer until Harry was stood between Draco’s thighs, the blond barely on the edge of the desk. Harry heard a faint moan that may have come from him, but also might’ve been Draco, and when a tongue peeked out and swiped across his bottom lip, he broke away, blushing. 

They stared at each other.

“That was… nice,” Harry said lamely. Draco kept staring.

“Nice. Nice? That’s really all you’ve got to say?”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Harry retorted defensively. “I’ve never kissed anyone before!”

That made Draco blink in surprise. “What, really? So… I was your first?” Harry scowled at him; he had been a little busy thus far in his life! Suddenly, Draco smirked. “Maybe we should try it again. See if I can’t do a little better than nice.” His words were cocky, but he raised a pale eyebrow at Harry before leaning in again, as if to check it was okay with him. Harry did what he’d been wanting to do for months and slid a hand into the soft blond strands at the back of Draco’s head, pulling him back in to a kiss.

Just because Harry didn’t know what he was doing didn’t mean he wasn’t keen to learn.

From what all the boys in his dorm had said, kissing was something that just… came naturally. Harry had always been skeptical, sure that if it ever came to it he wouldn’t know what to do and would make a fool of himself, but Draco didn’t seem to be complaining. Harry was too busy enjoying himself to over-analyse every little movement, though having someone else’s tongue in his mouth was a bit weird. Good weird, though.

Eventually they had to breathe, and Draco leaned back on one hand, looking up at Harry with hooded eyes. “So you like me, then.” His tone was unbearably smug. Harry poked him in the thigh.

“You’re not a total prat,” he returned cheekily. “And… you like me?”

“Despite my best efforts not to,” Draco sighed. He reached out with his free hand, capturing one of Harry’s and threading his fingers together. “The Boy-Who-Lived and the son of a Death Eater. What will the Prophet say?”

“I don’t care,” Harry whispered fiercely, wanting to get one thing clear right from the start. “I know it’s not safe to be open about… this, not for either of us. But I don’t care what people will say when they find out. They don’t matter.”

Some of the tension seemed to fall from Draco’s shoulders. “Good. That’s— good.” His lips quirked. “I suppose that means I can take the hit to my reputation that will come from being known to fraternise with a Gryffindor.” 

They stayed there for a minute, holding hands and grinning at each other like idiots. 

“So are we, like, boyfriends now, then, or…?” Harry trailed off expectantly, unsure how that sort of thing went. Draco gave an ungainly snort. 

“Disaster,” he declared affectionately. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Harry’s once more. “Yeah, alright, Scarhead,” he agreed, breath whispering across Harry’s skin. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

If nothing else came from the Triwizard Tournament — and he was still alive by the end of it — at least it had given him this, sort of.

.-.-.-.

Sirius ended the conversation and watched his godson’s beaming face fade from the surface of the mirror, then let out a quiet cheer of success. He bounded out of bed, hurrying to the living room and hoping the lovebirds hadn’t gone to bed yet. Severus didn’t get many chances to get away from Hogwarts, and when he did they tended to lock themselves away in their room for half of it. “Oi, Snape!” he called, finding the pair on the sofa by the fire, both reading. Remus had his bare feet wedged under Severus’ thigh. “Our family ties just got closer than ever!”

“I have no idea what you’re blabbering about,” Severus sighed, looking unimpressed. Sitting down on the coffee table to face them, Sirius grinned. 

“Our godsons are snogging,” he announced proudly. He’d had his doubts about the Malfoy kid at first, but he was far more Black than Malfoy, and Harry could probably do worse.

The slight uptick of Severus’ eyebrow was all the sign he gave of acknowledgment. Remus actually put his book down.

“Don’t you think that’s information Draco would have liked to bring to me in his own time?” Severus drawled. Sirius shrugged unrepentantly.

“You’re a spy, you can fake being surprised.”

“As if any of us would be surprised by that turn of events,” Remus said dryly, putting his book down. “It’s been coming for months.” 

“Well, the moment has finally arrived. From the sounds of things, seeing Harry put himself in mortal danger made Draco feel all sorts of impulsive, Gryffindorish feelings. He cornered Harry behind that tapestry of Chief Bragge by the Charms room and planted one on him while telling him off at the same time.”

Remus gave Severus a look that made Sirius want to vomit a little bit. “Ah, that sounds familiar,” he sighed fondly. 

“I don’t recall you risking your neck nearly half as often as Potter does,” Severus retorted evenly. Sirius snickered.

“Yeah, Draco will have to get a handle on that whole ‘wanting to snog him every time he does something reckless’ thing. He’ll be found out in a week.” Sirius loved his godson, but Harry’s regard for his own personal safety was… not fantastic.

“They’ll both have to be careful,” Remus said, sobering up. The three of them shared an uneasy look. These were dangerous times for a Potter and a Malfoy to be dating. 

“We’ll protect them the best we can,” Sirius vowed, before grinning again. “Oh, Cissa will be thrilled! Harry’s got four houses to his name, you don’t get much more pureblood than that.” Regardless of the muggle side of his family, that was a sort of status boost that even Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t turn his nose up at. If not for the whole ‘being Harry Potter’ part, of course. 

“Don’t you dare tell Narcissa before Draco can,” Remus scolded. “That’s his news to share.”

Sirius pouted, but nodded, knowing it wouldn’t be fair on Draco to spoil that moment for him. He’d just eagerly await his cousin’s owl once she heard the news. 

.-.-.

It was the worst thing in the world, being on cloud nine and not being able to tell anyone about it. The secret was filling Harry’s chest, desperate to burst through his lungs and declare to the world that Draco Malfoy was his boyfriend. But he couldn’t.

He did tell George, though. Which had the unintended result of also telling Fred, and Harry used the time to tell them the truth about Dumbledore, too. Both because they needed to know, and to distract them from the news that he was dating a Malfoy.

It sort-of worked. They were too busy being angry at Dumbledore and confused by their mother’s actions to really say anything about his choice of boyfriend, but they got round to congratulating him eventually. In between some mild insults to Draco’s father, which Harry couldn’t really complain about. Draco’s father was the worst.

Having two people at school know his secret was enough, sort-of. It had to be, for now. 

Harry almost thought about telling Neville, but the other Gryffindor didn’t even know that Harry liked boys, and every time he tried to bring it up the words got stuck in his throat. It was ridiculous; he knew Neville wasn’t going to judge him. But he still couldn’t bring himself to say it. It didn’t help that Hermione had decided she wanted to be friends again, and was at his side almost every free moment he had. 

Tugging his cloak tighter around himself, Harry surveyed the few remaining blast-ended skrewts that they had just failed to encourage to hibernate, somewhat wishing one of them would set something on fire. Not anything important, mind. But it was freezing outside, and warming charms could only do so much. 

“Well, this does look like fun!” The overly-cheerful voice made Harry even colder.

His letter from Amelia Bones had arrived the weekend after the first task, as Susan had promised it would, introducing Harry to the lawyer that would be helping him take legal action against Rita Skeeter. He’d been assured that it was most definitely not legal to quote a minor who had denied being interviewed, and a warning had been sent to Ms Skeeter forthwith. Clearly she was looking for other angles. Harry was amazed the woman was even allowed in the castle. 

To Harry’s surprise, she didn’t immediately come up to him. Instead she started talking to Hagrid about the skrewts, smirking delightedly as the man got more and more flustered. Harry watched with a feeling of impending dread; she was doing this because of him. She knew she wasn’t supposed to talk to him, so she was going to start going for the people he cared about instead. That bitch. 

“Oh, you’re here, Harry. Hello, there!” she greeted far too innocently, before turning back to Hagrid and asking him more about the skrewts, eventually making arrangements to meet for a proper interview at the Three Broomsticks. Class ended, and Skeeter stayed by the hut as the rest of them trudged up towards the castle.

“She’s going to twist everything he says,” Hermione breathed, horrified. Harry grimaced. “You should’ve just given her that interview, Harry. She wouldn’t be going anywhere near Hagrid then.”

Harry stared at the girl, unable to believe what she’d just said. “Excuse me?”

“Well it’s obvious the real story is you, and you’re not giving her anything! So she’s got to get her dirt elsewhere,” Hermione said diplomatically. 

“The article she did about me was bad enough without me giving her more fuel for the fire!” Harry argued. “She writes nothing but rubbish, and I don’t need her dragging my name into her ridiculous lies. My reputation is bad enough as it is.”

“Since when have you cared about your reputation?” Hermione’s voice was sharp. “Surely, knowing what people think of you already, you should just let her write whatever she wants about you, to stop her writing awful things about anybody else. Clearly she’s not going to stop looking for a story from you, she’s just going to drag everyone else into the crossfire.”

“What, so I should just throw myself under the bus?” Harry spat back. “That’s easy for you to say, Hermione; you’re not the one whose face is in the paper every bloody five minutes. You’re not the one who has to deal with the public’s opinion every time you so much as breathe!” He forced himself to try and calm down; if their argument got much louder, Skeeter would hear him, and then she’d really have a story. 

“But I was in the paper,” Hermione argued. “People think I’m your girlfriend now, because she started making up her own rubbish when you didn’t give her anything!”

“And I’m sorry about that, I really am,” Harry said earnestly. “But it isn’t my fault, and for all we know she would’ve written that crap anyway. Besides, no one really thinks you’re my girlfriend.”

Hermione went red at that. “Some people do,” she spat. “If you had any sort of consideration for others, you’d stop throwing a tantrum and just agree to an interview.”

Harry rather thought that only one of them was throwing a tantrum at the minute, and it certainly wasn’t him. Still, he merely shook his head, turning back towards the castle. It wasn’t worth the argument. 

.-.-.

Every time Harry opened that bloody golden egg, it just screamed at him. It was getting incredibly frustrating, both for him and the other residents of Gryffindor Tower. The only good thing to come of it was the improvement of Harry’s Silencing charm, once Seamus had threatened to throw both Harry and the egg out the dorm window if he didn’t stop opening it indoors.

“Does yours just screech the whole time?” Harry asked wearily, sliding onto the bench of the Hufflepuff table next to Cedric. They had only sat together a handful of times since the day after the champions had been announced, but Harry was somewhat starting to get used to it. Cho offered him a wave from Cedric’s other side.

“Yes,” Cedric groaned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s the worst, isn’t it? We even tried throwing it in the fire to see if that would do anything, but I think it just made it worse.”

“What he means is, Patrick got so pissed off at the noise it was making, he threw it in the fire in the hopes it would stop,” Cho supplied, grinning. Harry snickered.

“I tried ‘exing my egg,” Fleur declared, gracefully stepping over the bench and dropping down opposite them. “Eet did not ‘elp.” Alongside Fleur were two other Beauxbatons students, and a couple of Ravenclaws. Harry recognised one of them as Roger Davies, the quidditch captain. 

“What spells did you use? Maybe we can compare lists,” Cedric said thoughtfully. 

“It has got to be some sort of creature,” Viktor insisted, sitting much less gracefully on Fleur’s open side. He brought with him a Durmstrang boy, and Cassius Warrington. Cassius caught Harry’s eye, and winked. 

“We already faced a creature in the first task, though,” Harry pointed out. “Surely they wouldn’t just make us face a different one? That’s not very imaginative.”

“What if the creature is part of the clue itself?” Cedric suggested. “Like, we don’t have to fight it, but knowing what it is will give us an idea of where it comes from, and that might have something to do with it.”

“Or ze ‘ole thing is just to waste our time, and eet will be anuzzer surprise.” Fleur scowled into her soup as she spoke, clearly fed up with the egg already. Harry could definitely relate.

He saw Neville walk into the hall and do a double-take at Harry’s position, and he beckoned him over, patting the bench beside him. Neville complied, though he looked a little confused at being invited into the odd group. 

Neville wasn’t the only extra addition, though. Like a chain reaction, people began to join them; Roger invited a Slytherin girl over, and she brought her Ravenclaw friend. One of the Beauxbatons boys with Fleur managed to flirt enough with Katie Bell to bring her to the table, which of course brought Angelina and Alicia, which naturally brought the twins and Lee Jordan. Cassius swapped places with the Durmstrang boy to sit and talk to his fellow Slytherin, and the next thing Harry knew there were four more Slytherins at the table, striking up a conversation with the Durmstrang boy in what sounded like German. Before lunch was even halfway through, the entire end third of the Hufflepuff table was taken up by students from other houses and other schools. The Hufflepuffs had just spaced themselves between them, happily joining in whichever conversation was closest.

“What if we try making all four eggs scream at the same time? To see if there’s any differences?”

“NO!” was the immediate response to Cedric’s casual suggestion, from everyone in the vicinity who had heard the eggs. 

“I’ll be so glad when you lot figure it all out,” Cho declared vehemently. “I swear, I can hear that thing in my sleep these days.” Neville nodded in agreement.

A hush fell over the table, and it took Harry a minute to realise it was because Dumbledore was approaching. He didn’t look amused. “Mr Potter,” he greeted, his voice cheerful enough. “You and several of your friends here seem to have lost your way to your house tables.”

Harry wasn’t sure how the headmaster could pin this one on him, or how he could declare forty-odd people, half of whom Harry had never spoken to, ‘his friends’.

“There’s no rules about having to sit at our tables every meal, sir,” Cedric piped up innocently. “Only during formal feasts.”

“We’re just trying to make the other schools feel welcome,” Angelina agreed. She was sat beside a Beauxbaton girl with hair down to her waist, and was fixing it in several tiny braids down her back. 

Dumbledore stared at them all for a long minute, then smiled. Harry was sure he wasn’t the only one who could see the angry fire hiding in those twinkling blue eyes. “Excellent, excellent.” He said nothing more, continuing on his way to the head table, and slowly the chatter started back up. Harry looked up at Susan Bones, who was sat with Parvati and Lavender, discussing dress robes. Susan caught his eye and grinned.

It was beginning.

Chapter Text

That one lunchtime seemed to have sparked a trend. Now it wasn’t uncommon to go into the Great Hall and lose yourself in a group of mixed-colour robes. Of course, it didn’t all change overnight — there were still large clusters of same-colour robes crowded together, looking quite disturbed by all the intermingling. But it was a start. Watching Dumbledore grit his teeth and pretend to be delighted about the development was becoming the highlight of Harry’s week. 

So of course, something had to bring him down. 

“The Yule Ball is a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament,” Professor McGonagall declared at the end of their Transfiguration lesson on Thursday, interrupting Harry’s rather diligent clock-watching. The sooner she let them go, the sooner he could have a nap before dinner, because after dinner he’d be meeting with the heirs for study group. A study group that would no doubt turn into laughing about Dumbledore’s anger and plotting the next step in their slow and careful uniting of the Hogwarts houses. 

Well, that explained the dress robes, at any rate. The reactions of the class were a mixture from excited to downright horrified — Harry didn’t think it would be so bad, really. It might actually be sort of fun. He’d never been to any sort of formal party before; or, really, any kind of party full stop. There had been one school dance in his last year of muggle primary school, but the Dursleys hadn’t let him go. They ended up having to go pick up Dudley early after he pushed a boy into the snack table. 

“Potter, a word, please,” McGonagall called once she finally released the class, and Harry resisted the urge to swear. He was so tired. Between trying to figure out the egg, meeting with Draco, studying with the heirs and keeping up with his Arithmancy and Runes for Sirius and Remus, he wasn’t getting nearly as much sleep as he probably should.

“If this is about the essay, I know I went off-topic, but I got a bit distracted,” Harry started, sure that McGonagall was entirely unimpressed with the eight inch long tangent about the difference between transfigured material and conjured material — in an essay supposed to be about the practical uses of Switching spells. Harry hadn’t meant to, but he’d found it fascinating, and the words just sort of spilled out. He couldn’t even blame it on spending too much time with Remus in the summer; he’d been turning into a bookworm ever since the Compulsion charm had been removed.

“Potter, your grades are better than they’ve been in your entire school career, and that ‘off-topic’ section, as you put it, wouldn’t have been out of place in one of my sixth year essays,” McGonagall told him, the barest twitch at the corner of her lips letting him know she was pleased. Harry preened. “No, this is about the Yule Ball. The champions and their partners are expected to open the dance. I thought you’d appreciate the warning.”

Harry’s stomach sank as her words became clear. “I have to learn to dance?” he squeaked. “I have to find someone willing to dance? With me? In front of everyone?”

McGonagall’s lips twitched further, her amusement barely showing. “Yes, Mr Potter, I’m afraid you do. I’m sure one of your friends will be able to help you; most purebloods take dancing lessons prior to Hogwarts.”

For a second, Harry thought she was talking about the other heirs, and his heart stopped when he tried to figure out how she’d found out about it all. Then he realised she was probably just talking about Neville or Parvati or someone. There was no way she was talking about the Weasleys.

“Can’t I just face another dragon instead?” he asked meekly. McGonagall’s fingers clenched for a second around her wand, like she was resisting the urge to put her face in her hands. It was an expression Harry was pretty familiar with from his housemistress after three and a half years. 

“Sadly not, Mr Potter. I’m sure you’ll pick it up as quickly as you’ve been picking up spells lately. I must say, I’m impressed. You get more and more like your mother every year.” That made Harry beam, chest fluttering with warmth. 

“Thanks, Professor.” He flashed her a quick grin, turning away once it was clear he’d been dismissed. He paused in the doorway, glancing back. “Professor?” She looked up. “Does my dance partner have to be from Gryffindor?”

“Of course not! The whole point of the ball is to socialise with our international guests and extend the hand of friendship; that includes the four houses as well. Your partner may be whomever you choose, as long as they are a student at one of the three attending schools.”

“And here I was hoping Professor Snape would go with me,” Harry mock-sighed, smirking when the Transfiguration professor almost lost her composure for a second. “See you, Professor!” He left the classroom, heading towards Gryffindor Tower and the siren call of his bed. 

He had a little under three weeks to find a partner, and learn how to dance well enough to avoid embarrassing them both in front of everyone at the ball.

He would definitely prefer to face the dragon again.

.-.-.

Apparently, finding a partner wasn’t going to be a problem for Harry. Not if he cared whether he actually knew the girl or not. Within the first twelve hours of news about the ball filtering through the school, he was asked out by no less than five girls he had never spoken to in his life. He was even asked by a second year Hufflepuff, who stuttered so much she could barely get the words out. 

Neville found the whole thing hilarious, because he was the worst friend ever. “Just pick someone and ask them,” he said, as if it was that simple.

“Alright, who are you asking, then?” Neville went beet red.

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

Harry stuck his tongue out, and Neville rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter whether I go with anyone or not. I’m not a school champion.” That deflated Harry’s smug balloon, and he scowled again, sitting down at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. 

An owl dropped a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet in front of Neville, and the glimpse Harry got of the headline made him groan. 

‘Explosive Classes at Hogwarts

With all eyes on Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament, I, Rita Skeeter, decided to investigate a little of the school’s day-to-day life, and you can imagine my surprise when I discovered the creatures our dear champion, Harry Potter, was forced to interact with as part of his Care of Magical Creatures lesson. No wonder the dragon was such a doddle, if this is what he’s facing in class! I ask you, reader, which creature is more dangerous; the fire-breathing, biting, bang-ended scoot, or the teacher himself, Mr Rubeus Hagrid?’

The whole article went on to talk about how Hagrid was constantly endangering his students with his reckless classes, including a quote from Pansy Parkinson about how Draco had been mauled by a hippogriff the year before, and another from Crabbe about being bitten by a flobberworm. Like with the last article, it was incredibly Harry-centric, though it didn’t have a single quote from him. Skeeter was clearly looking for loopholes.

“Flobberworms don’t even have teeth!” Harry exclaimed, tossing the paper angrily down on the table, almost knocking over a milk jug. “This is such bullshit, how can she possibly be allowed to publish this and call it journalism?”

“There aren’t many laws about what can and can’t go to print,” Neville told him. “The Wizengamot were meaning to get around to it back at the turn of the century, but then Grindelwald happened, and…” The wizarding world had essentially been on pause for the last century, with Albus Dumbledore sticking his fingers in everything and refusing to allow real progress. “It didn’t used to be that bad, but in the last couple of decades the standards have really slipped, once people realised they could get away with publishing fiction if there was a tiny scrap of fact behind it.”

“All the same, this can’t be legal.” Harry looked up at the head table; Hagrid hadn’t come to breakfast. Guilt squirmed in Harry’s stomach as he remembered his last argument with Hermione. Several seats down, she was glaring at him pointedly, Prophet in hand. This wasn’t really his fault, but he still felt responsible. There had to be something he could do about it. 

He scanned the hall, catching sight of a curly red ponytail just on its way out the door. Muttering an excuse to Neville, he jumped up and hurried out, calling Susan’s name. She turned, both her and Ernie stopping with curious looks on their faces. “Harry? What’s the matter?”

“Would your aunt mind if I wrote to her again? About Rita Skeeter?” he asked. “I don’t know if you saw the article about Hagrid, but it’s ridiculous, and there’s got to be something I can do about it legally. Or someone could do.”

“Aunt Amelia would love to hear from you, Harry, but I don’t know if she can be of any help. Trust me, if there was a way to get Skeeter arrested, she would’ve done it by now,” Susan added with a sour look. “The worst the DMLE can do is slap her with a few fines, and the Prophet is happy to pay those; she brings in way too much money for them slinging her muck about.” She paused thoughtfully. “What about that lawyer you got in touch with? Maybe she’ll have an idea?”

“I can ask.” Harry hadn’t spoken much to his lawyer, but Evelyn Frobisher seemed to be one of the best. Harry expected as much, if she came on the recommendation of the head of the DMLE herself. “But I can’t exactly have her banned from talking to everyone. Especially not the people who can consent for themselves.” If only Hagrid had turned around and told her no comment. Then again, she probably would’ve written that crap regardless.

“Maybe we can get her banned from the grounds except on tournament days,” Susan said slowly. “On the claim of disrupting our learning. If Skeeter’s allowed to just wander around and interrupt classes for interviews, what’s to stop other random adults coming in and doing it?”

Harry grinned; he could put up with Skeeter on tournament days if it meant being rid of her the rest of the time. “That could work! I’ll write to Mrs Frobisher and ask. Thanks, Susan.” He was about to turn away, when suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Susan? Are you going to the ball with anyone?”

She blinked at him, eyebrows rising. “Not yet. Why do you ask?”

“Would you want to maybe go with me? As friends,” he clarified quickly, feeling his cheeks grow hot. “I have to have a partner to open the ball, and I thought it’d be good to go with someone from a different house. If you’d rather not, I completely understand,” he added. “That sort of attention isn’t for everyone. But… it could be fun.” He wasn’t quite bold enough to go with a boy — especially one that wasn’t Draco. But going with a Hufflepuff, he could do. 

Susan eyed him contemplatively. At her side, Ernie was grinning. “I’ll warn you, I’ve never danced a step in my life,” Harry added, wondering if that was a dealbreaker. “But I’m willing to learn.”

“I don’t have time to teach you, but if you promise to get good enough not to embarrass yourself, I’ll go with you,” she agreed, folding her arms over her chest. “Even if you’re terrible, it’ll still be good for my image to be seen with you. And for our little house unity side-project,” she added with a grin.

“Your image?” Harry repeated, baffled. She nodded.

“If I want to be Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot by the time I’m thirty, I have to start somewhere, don’t I? I’m a Hufflepuff; we don’t make waves. Being Harry Potter’s date to the Yule Ball will make me memorable.” She spoke as if it was obvious, and Harry merely nodded, mildly terrified of the determination in her tone. “What colour are your dress robes?”

“Green, with gold detail,” Harry answered. Susan smiled.

“Good, I look great in gold.” 

“Sooz, we’ve got to get to Defence,” Ernie nudged, gesturing at his watch. Harry realised he was probably going to be late for Potions. Oh well, Snape hadn’t had the chance to take points off him in a while. Maybe he could even wing his way into a detention; Remus was coming to visit in a couple of days. 

“Let me know if you don’t find anyone to teach you to dance, Harry,” Susan said. “I’ll ask around.”

“Will do, but I think I have someone in mind,” he assured her. Draco would definitely know how to dance. He was probably great at it, too, the prat. “Thanks, Susan. I’ll try not to let you down.”

She patted him on the cheek gently, smiling in a way that was vaguely condescending, but somehow nice at the same time. “Just be a pretty bit of arm candy for me, you’ll do fine.” That had Ernie laughing. Harry was wondering if he should regret his choices. Maybe Parvati would have been safer. 

“Who are you going with, Ernie?” he asked curiously.

“Hannah,” the Hufflepuff boy replied, looking incredibly pleased about it. “Not all of us want to break house boundaries for this one, y’know.”

“He’s fancied her since last year,” Susan whispered theatrically, making Ernie blush. “See you later, Harry!”

Harry turned away just as the hall began to fill with students heading to classes, immeasurably glad he’d managed to ask Susan before he had an audience. He went to find Neville, grinning to himself. 

One problem down, just one more to go.

.-.-.

Harry was wondering if he should try making friends with people other than Neville — publicly, that was. With Ron still pissed at him and Hermione mostly-pissed at him, he found himself at a bit of a loose end when Neville was off doing things in the greenhouses. With little else to do, he went to the library, planning on getting a head start on the Featherlight charm for the next class. 

It was a Friday evening, so the library was fairly busy — as far as the school library went. People wanting to get their homework done before the weekend, or finish stuff they’d been given an extension on and had to hand in before Saturday morning. He glanced around for a free table — Viktor was almost always in the library these days, maybe Harry could sit with him?

He followed the trail of starry-eyed teen girls until he saw the crowd of Viktor’s most devoted stalkers lurking around the edge of a bookshelf. They looked furious, muttering to each other and glaring daggers at something on the other side of the shelf. Harry kept out of sight and edged closer, his eyebrows rising at what was making the girls so upset.

Viktor was indeed in the library, but he wasn’t studying alone. Hermione was sat right next to him, leaning just a little bit into his space as she read a passage from the book they appeared to be sharing, then said something quietly. Viktor’s lips twitched, and he replied, making Hermione giggle. The pair of them looked pretty cozy; no wonder Viktor’s fans were upset. 

Harry backed out of the scene, feeling conflicted. On the one hand, he liked Viktor a lot, and if he liked Hermione, more power to him. He even liked Hermione, most of the time, even if she didn’t like Harry very much these days. He wasn’t really sure where their friendship stood — and he wouldn’t be until he had proof that she was just friends with him because Dumbledore told her to be — but he still wanted her to be happy.

But on the other hand, if Hermione was working for Dumbledore, he didn’t want her getting anywhere near Viktor and messing with the tentative friendship Harry had with the champions. If she was up to something, using Viktor for something… or he was just being paranoid and she happened to be enjoying getting attention from a popular older boy. Harry wondered how Ron felt about the whole thing. If he even knew about it.

Shaking his head and deciding it was none of his business, he went in search of somewhere else to study. The evening was apparently full of surprises, as he rounded a corner to see Blaise, Millicent Bulstrode, Mandy Brocklehurst, the Patil twins and Lavender Brown all sat together, working on what looked like their Potions essay due Monday. He tried to back out of that one, too, but Blaise caught sight of him before he did. “Potter,” he greeted neutrally, the barest of smirks on his lips. “Care to join us?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he insisted, giving curious glances to Bulstrode, Brocklehurst and Lavender. They didn’t seem to be having any issue with the intermingled Gryffindor/Slytherin/Ravenclaw group. 

“You wouldn’t be,” Parvati insisted. “Have you done Snape’s essay yet? We’ve only just started.”

“Being brutally honest, Potter; your Potions grade could use all the help it can get,” Bulstrode remarked, but she sounded more teasing than cruel. Harry paused for a minute. If they were genuinely inviting him, it would be rude to say no, surely? Bulstrode was known to avoid most of the real Slytherin drama, and if Blaise was encouraging it then she couldn’t be too bad. Perhaps the Bulstrode heir could be swayed away from her Death Eater father. 

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” he admitted, dropping into a chair opposite Mandy. Even after his lessons with Snape over the summer, he couldn’t be seen to suddenly do well in the Slytherin’s class, so Harry was still averaging a Poor.

He pulled a quill and parchment from his bag, leaning in to share Blaise’s textbook since he hadn’t brought his own. As the girls started discussing the use of marigold stems in healing potions, Blaise’s dark eyes flicked up to Harry. “You were busy fighting dragons, so we started the study group without you,” he said under his breath, keeping his expression neutral, as if he was just explaining potions to him. “As you can see, it’s going well so far. We’ll explain more on Tuesday.” That was their next scheduled get-together. Harry grinned; he loved when plans came together without his involvement. It was the best.

.-.-.-.

Practically sprinting up to the Transfiguration corridor as soon as all his dorm-mates were fast asleep, Harry grinned when he slipped inside the unused classroom. “We have got to figure out a regular meeting spot,” he said by way of greeting. “I’m starting to lose track of the classroom rotation.”

For safety’s sake, they never met in the same place twice in a row, keeping up a schedule running through five different unused classrooms. Draco merely rolled his eyes at him. “Find somewhere you can be sure no one will catch on to, and I’ll think about it.” They’d been incredibly lucky so far — other than Remus catching them that one time last year, they hadn’t been caught yet. But since their change in relationship, they’d started meeting up more and more, and it was just a matter of time.

Letting his schoolbag drop to the floor, Harry walked over to meet Draco at the desk he’d cleared off, leaning down to greet the Slytherin with a firm kiss. It still sent a thrill down his spine to know that he could do that; just go over to Draco and kiss him, whenever he liked. Well, as long as they were in private.

He sunk into the chair Draco had set out for him, their knees pressed together under the desk. Draco pulled his deck of cards from his pocket, shuffling. “Busy day?” Harry asked, and the blond shrugged.

“No more than usual. Uncle Severus had me help him top up the Hospital Wing stock after class.” Harry was glad that wasn’t his job anymore; being responsible for potions that he knew students would be taking had made Harry far too anxious. He was competent now, thanks to the extra lessons, but he was by no means excelling. Draco, on the other hand, was probably top of their year. “Dare I ask what you’ve been up to?”

“The usual chaos and mayhem,” Harry replied, grinning. “Oh, you’ll never guess what I saw in the library today.” He told Draco about Viktor and Hermione, and the blond made a face.

“I thought Viktor had better taste than that,” he complained. Harry nudged him scoldingly.

“Hermione’s fine! What’s wrong with her?” he argued, worried Draco was going to make a disparaging remark about her heritage. He was better about it in private, but every now and then some of Lucius Malfoy’s childhood lessons slipped through. The older Draco got, the more he was learning to think for himself.

“Other than the fact that she could be selling you out to Dumbledore?” Draco pointed out, one pale eyebrow raised. “She doesn’t know the first thing about quidditch, why is she drooling over the Bulgarian seeker?”

“Maybe that’s why Viktor likes her,” Harry reasoned, ignoring the Dumbledore comment. “She doesn’t care about his career.”

Draco hummed, unconvinced, and played a card that won him the round. Harry cursed, and the Slytherin smirked, leaning in to steal a kiss. “You might be getting better, but you’re still no match for me in strategy,” he teased playfully. 

“Why don’t we play Coup le Chat instead?” Harry retorted, preferring the more luck-based game. Draco huffed, but obligingly dealt out six cards each.

Distracted by the talk of Viktor and Hermione, Harry almost forgot to tell Draco the real reason he’d asked for them to meet that night. Well, other than to kiss him. He’d never get enough of kissing his boyfriend. “Hey, Draco? Who are you going to the Yule Ball with?”

Draco stiffened, his fingers fumbling with the card he’d just drawn. “We can’t go together,” he said immediately. Harry scoffed.

“I’m not that much of an idiot,” he agreed. “Though, for the record, I definitely would if I could. But that’s why I asked; who are you going with?”

“I was planning to ask Pansy,” Draco replied, shrugging. “Our parents will expect it, and she’ll be fairly decent company.” 

“Just make sure she keeps her hands to herself,” Harry said with a scowl, not liking the idea of Pansy Parkinson hanging off Draco’s arm all night. Draco scoffed.

“Pansy’s not interested in anything like that,” he dismissed. He bumped his knee against Harry’s. “Are you taking anyone, or just going to lurk in the corner with Longbottom all night?”

“I have to take someone,” Harry informed him. “The champions are supposed to open the dancing with their partners. I asked Susan Bones this morning.”

Draco’s grey eyes were amused. “Bones? A Hufflepuff? Clever; showing support of Cedric and his house, branching out from Gryffindor, and allying with Amelia Bones’ heir. No one will ever complain about a sweet little Hufflepuff like her.” There was a faint twist to his lips, and it took Harry a minute to figure out what it was.

“Don’t be jealous,” he soothed, placing a hand over Draco’s on the table. “She knows we’re going as just friends. She’s doing it for her image as much as I’m doing it for mine. I’ve been told I just need to be her arm candy,” he added with a grin. That softened Draco a little. 

“Malfoys don’t share,” he said eventually, turning his hand over to lace their fingers together. “Even if no one else knows it, you’re mine. The thought of her getting to dance with you in front of all those people, when I can’t even look at you without having to make sure I look like I hate you…” Harry pushed a lock of blond hair out of Draco’s eyes, tilting his head forward to press their foreheads together for a brief second. 

“One day, when this is all over, I’ll dance with you in front of the whole bloody Ministry,” he promised, kissing Draco slowly. The blond melted into the kiss, fingers threading into Harry’s hair. “That’s actually something I wanted to ask you about,” he added breathlessly when they parted, refusing to get distracted.

“Can it wait?” Draco muttered, going in for another kiss. Harry let it go on for a minute or two, then pulled back. 

“I promised Susan I’d find someone to teach me to dance before the ball, so I don’t embarrass the both of us,” he explained. “You know how to dance, right?”

“I’m a Malfoy,” Draco retorted, as if it answered that question. Which, Harry supposed, it did.

“Would you teach me? I know we’re both boys, so it’ll be different, but… you won’t laugh at me.” How far they’d come, that Draco Malfoy was one of the few people he could say that to. 

A thoughtful hum was Draco’s response. “I suppose. If it’s to save you looking a fool in front of our esteemed guests,” he added wryly. Harry beamed, kissing him again. 

“Thank you! I’ll try my best, I swear.” He made to give Draco another kiss, but the blond boy got to his feet abruptly, rolling up his sleeves.

“Let’s see what we’re working with, then,” he prompted, eyeing Harry expectantly. Harry gulped.

“What? Now?” he asked, alarmed. He hadn’t expected to start so soon! He’d thought maybe he could have a day or two to mentally prepare himself. Have Neville show him a step or two, so he didn’t totally look like an idiot in front of his boyfriend. 

“I need to see if it’s going to take me every night from now til Christmas to get you in shape,” Draco retorted.

“Oi!” Harry argued. “I’m in great shape!”

Draco’s eyes trailed over him, heavy-lidded. Harry shivered. “Hmm, you’re not bad.” He stepped closer to Harry, resting a hand on the small of his back that dipped down to brush his backside for the briefest of seconds, just long enough to be intentional. “But let’s see if you can dance.”

“We don’t have music,” Harry protested.

“Doesn’t matter for now, and you can bring your Wireless next time. Quit making excuses, Potter.” Draco’s smirk turned challenging. “Unless you’re scared?”

“In your dreams,” Harry returned. Draco winked at him.

“You frequently are,” he said without missing a beat, catching Harry when he stumbled and pulling him up into dancing hold. “Now, you’ll have to lead Bones, so I’ll teach you that way. It’ll be easier for you anyway; following’s harder, you’ve got to do it backwards. It’ll feel a bit weird at first, since I’m taller than you, but so’s she, especially in heels.” Harry wanted to argue, but he couldn’t deny it. Susan wouldn’t be quite as tall as Draco, but there wasn’t a chance of her being the same height as Harry, let alone shorter. 

“We’ll start off basic,” Draco assured. “I’d imagine the opening dance will be a traditional wizarding waltz, and anything that follows probably a fairly simple box-step.” 

Harry wished he knew what any of those things meant. 

“Okay, here we go. Just do as I tell you.”

Without any music to follow, Draco instead counted beats quietly, directing Harry with soft words and pointed nudges of his hands. Harry still tripped over his feet for the first twenty minutes, but eventually he started to get the hang of it a little bit. “Look at me, not at your feet,” Draco instructed. Harry snapped his head up, meeting Draco’s silver gaze. The Slytherin had a soft, unguarded smile at the corners of his lips. It took Harry’s breath away for a minute, and his feet stopped moving. Draco blinked at him. “What are you—“ Harry cut him off with a kiss, moving his hand up to cup Draco’s jaw. The blond hummed quietly. “That’s not part of the dance,” he said a beat after they parted, looking a little dazed.

“Couldn’t help myself,” Harry replied, grinning abashedly. “So how am I doing?”

“Not as terrible as I feared,” Draco acquiesced. “Definite potential. We should still start meeting up at least every other night, though, just to make sure you get plenty of practice. Unless that’ll be too much? My roommates don’t much care what I do at night, but yours aren’t good at minding their own business.”

“I’ll make it work.” Harry didn’t need sleep, right? Not when he could spend several hours a night in Draco’s arms. And, sometimes, stepping on Draco’s feet. “Every other night, or every night?”

“We’ll go for every night this week, then go from there. Can you handle that?”

Harry smirked. “Oh, I don’t know, having to spend that much time looking at your ugly mug,” he teased, stroking Draco’s cheek. “Not sure I can cope.”

Draco sniffed haughtily. “One must suffer for one’s art, Potter,” he said in reply, sounding every inch the puffed up little pureblood lordling his father wanted him to be. Harry laughed, leaning up for another kiss. He liked kissing when they were like this. Having to stretch up on his toes, just a little bit, to get the perfect angle to slot their mouths together without his glasses digging into Draco’s face. He didn’t mind being shorter than Draco.

They kissed for a few minutes more, then Draco took Harry’s hand in his own, nudging him back into hold. “If you can get this tonight, maybe tomorrow I’ll introduce the lifts.”

Harry’s face paled. Maybe dancing wasn’t such a good idea after all.

.-.-.-.

Since eating meals together had become rather a larger affair than they’d intended, the four champions had to find other ways to get together and discuss progress on the eggs. One afternoon a week or so before term was due to end, they sat out by the lake on a large blanket Fleur had conjured, surrounded by Warming charms courtesy of Harry and Viktor. Harry had gotten pretty good at them over the summer — Sirius still couldn’t stand being cold. 

“I vote we put the eggs away until after Christmas,” Cedric said, lying back on the blanket, his hair mussed and sticking out at funny angles. “All the screaming is doing my head in.”

“I put a Silencing charm on mine,” Fleur volunteered. Harry snorted.

“Pretty sure that defeats the purpose.” 

She shrugged. “Eet stops eet from screaming every time eet falls off my dresser.”

“How often is that?” Cedric asked with raised eyebrows, which looked a little odd from Harry’s perspective as the Hufflepuff was upside down. 

“Often enough,” Fleur said evasively. 

“The rest of the Durmstrang students haff banned me from opening mine vhen they are around,” Viktor sighed. “I agree, leaving them until after the Yule Ball is best.”

“I’m fine with that,” Harry said, nodding. He leaned back on his hands, glancing out across the lake. “Oh look, it’s snowing.” Just a little bit, fine flakes beginning to dust the surface of the lake. Viktor scoffed.

“That is barely even snow,” he dismissed. “In Bulgaria, there is four feet already.”

“And I bet it’s bloody freezing.” Cedric grimaced. “No wonder you’re so good at Warming charms.”

“It is necessary,” Viktor agreed. “Especially for flying.”

That reminded Harry of the conversation he and Viktor had had weeks ago, before the first task. “Hey, Fleur; do you play quidditch? Do you even have quidditch at Beauxbatons?”

“Of course we ‘ave quidditch,” Fleur said, mock-offended. “I am seeker for my ‘ouse team.”

Harry looked at Viktor, and they both burst out laughing. “I told you!” he crowed. “Must be something about seekers. Reckless idiots, the lot of us.”

“You play seeker also, ‘arry?” Fleur checked, wanting to make sure they weren’t laughing at her. Harry nodded.

“Cedric, too. Viktor and I were talking about it the other day, I wondered if the Goblet was looking for seekers. Gotta be something a bit wrong in the head with all of us, flying around at top speeds looking for a tiny golden ball while the other team tries to knock us off our brooms.” There was something a little bit mad about every quidditch player, but seekers were probably the most bizarre.

“I haff never met a sane seeker,” Viktor declared wisely. “And I haff met a lot of seekers.”

“Sounds about right,” Cedric agreed, snickering. Even Fleur laughed.

“I do not think a sane person would enter zis tournament, non?” she agreed ruefully. 

“Ve should all fly together sometime,” Viktor said, looking out over the lake. The snow was making a vague attempt at coming down harder, settling on the railings of the Durmstrang ship. “A four-vay seeker match.”

Harry imagined it, grinning. “That would be brilliant. Where, though?” The quidditch pitch was out of bounds for the year; something to do with the tournament. Harry was pretty sure he didn’t want to know a thing about it until he absolutely had to. 

“We do not need goals for seeking,” Fleur pointed out. “Anywhere on ze grounds will do.”

“First Wednesday of winter break?” Cedric suggested. “Just keep it between us, a little friendly game. Nothing crazy.”

“You’re on,” Harry agreed, grinning. He was going to go against the seeker who caught the snitch in the World Cup final. It was going to be epic. 

.-.-.-.

Worrying the edge of his cardigan between his fingers, Remus sat down opposite Sirius, whose expression was grave. “Severus has news, doesn’t he?” the animagus presumed. He could read Remus easily, after all these years. Remus nodded.

“The Mark is dark enough to make out properly, now,” he admitted, stomach churning. He hated looking at that stain on his love’s skin — it felt like they were nineteen and terrified all over again. “He’s had letters from most of the old crowd. They’re confused, but hopeful. They’re all just… waiting.” Severus could feel it coming, he said they could all feel it coming. One day soon, their lord would call them, and they would answer. “He said Karkaroff’s been even shiftier than usual,” he added with a grimace. A growl came from Sirius before he could stop himself. They both hated the idea of that scumbag being around Harry, but there was nothing any of them could do.

“Any word from the Ministry yet?”

“Nothing official,” Remus said with a shake of his head. “There are rumours, of course. Fudge is in complete denial, won’t hear a whisper of it. No one has even seen Barty Crouch since the first task; he’s sick, apparently. Still no word on Bertha.”

“We all know she’s dead,” Sirius murmured, grimacing. “Especially if Harry’s dream is anything to go by. Poor Bertha was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was always good at that.”

Remus didn’t remember much about Bertha Jorkins from school — she was three years older than them — but he remembered her always managing to stumble across things she shouldn’t. Once she’d almost walked in on him and Severus kissing, in their fourth year. Only Severus’ quick thinking with a Dissillusionment charm had saved them. 

“I suspect Voldemort could be resurrected right in front of Fudge’s face and he’d still deny it,” Remus mused. “Merlin help us if he ends up being our wartime Minister. We’d be doomed.”

“He’s exactly who Dumbledore wants in power at a time like this,” Sirius pointed out. “A useless moron with all the courage of a flobberworm. No chance of him mobilising any useful defence force. Just sit back and wait for Albus Dumbledore to save the day.” He made a faint noise of disgust. “How is the old coot, anyway?”

Remus grinned at that. Sirius was going to love this. “Harry and his new friends seem to be pushing his buttons in all the wrong ways,” he said, perking up. “Severus said they’ve all started mixing houses at mealtimes. Apparently you can hardly tell which house table is which, these days.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “Brilliant! There’s nothing he can do about that, not without looking like he’s stunting progress. All of them are mixing? Even the Slytherins?” 

“Even the Slytherins,” Remus confirmed. “Mostly with Ravenclaws, but they’re branching out to Hufflepuff and even Gryffindor in some cases. Severus said he once saw Cassius Warrington and Adrian Pucey discussing quidditch strategy with the Weasley twins and Angelina Johnson.”

“Wow.” Sirius looked duly impressed. “It’ll be a whole different school by the time Harry leaves, if he’s done this much in just a few months.”

“I think that’s what he’s hoping for.” Remus reached for his tea, taking a long gulp. “Our boy is definitely up to something. He says it’s just study groups and friendships, but I know that look in his eye. That’s a Lily Evans Vs The World kind of look.” James always used to call it that, when Lily decided there was some injustice she absolutely couldn’t stand for, and would plot ruthlessly until it was righted. If Harry was taking on that look in the face of Dumbledore… the headmaster had better watch out. 

“Merlin, imagine if Prongsy and Lils could see him now,” Sirius sighed, smiling faintly. Remus grinned back, the ache in his chest still present, but less raw. Every day it got easier to talk about them, now he had someone to remember them with. “They’d be so bloody proud.”

“Severus said his grades are improving in spades,” Remus couldn’t help but brag. “Minerva was raving in the staff room about an essay of his that could’ve come from a sixth year, and Filius said he’s picking things up even faster than Miss Granger. Moody’s the only one who doesn’t seem to be impressed by him.”

Sirius scowled at the man’s name. “Yeah, well he’s in Dumbledore’s pocket, isn’t he? Never gonna be happy about Harry getting too strong. Pup needs to be more careful; if Dumbledore thinks he’s broken the Compulsion charm, he might start looking into things.”

“He knows what he’s doing, Pads,” Remus assured. “They all just think it’s research for the tournament paying off in unexpected ways. Or the fact that he’s hanging around with older kids more. He spends a lot of time with the Weasley twins, these days. And, of course, the other champions.” Truthfully, Remus was a little worried about the rift between Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was going to get explosive; they were all too strong personalities for it not to. It was just a matter of when and how bad. 

“He seems happy.” Sirius was smiling softly as he spoke, and Remus nodded.

“Happier than last year,” he agreed. Deep down, he liked to hope that at least a little bit of that was due to them; he and Sirius and Severus. Giving the boy a safe place to come home to, adults who loved him. Because Severus could deny it all he wanted; he was beginning to love Harry too, just a bit. 

“Did you see him?” Sirius asked.

“Just for a little while, he came down to Severus’ rooms to have tea. He didn’t stay long, though; Draco’s giving him dancing lessons to prepare for the Yule Ball.”

Sirius snorted. “We should’ve done that over the summer, as soon as we saw dress robes on the school list.”

“I’m sure he’s having much more fun learning this way,” Remus assured, remembering the blush on Harry’s face and the smile in his eyes as he confessed to getting lessons from Draco. 

“Oh, I bet he is,” Sirius drawled, smirking. “I hope there’s pictures. I bet Harry’ll look great in those dress robes. He’s going with Amelia’s niece, you said?”

“Susan,” Remus confirmed. “Nice girl. Definite snake in the badger den. She’ll look after Harry.”

“Hopefully he has a better time of it than we did at that graduation ball,” Sirius remarked. A groan escaped Remus’ lips; he’d almost forgotten about that.

“I try and block that night from my memory,” he confessed, making Sirius laugh. Graduation ball had been an unmitigated disaster, for everyone except James and Lily. 

Remus shook his head, setting his empty teacup down and slumping back in the armchair. Harry would probably have a great time at the Yule Ball — no one was likely to hex the dance floor, after all. 

It was everything else that came after it, Remus was worried about.

Chapter Text

The last week of term was dragging. Everyone was even more eager for the Christmas holidays than usual; hardly anyone fourth year or over would be going home, and the few younger students that had managed to snag invites to the ball. Harry watched the clock tick down on the last few minutes of Divination, completely ignoring Trelawney’s lecture about… whatever it was she was talking about. Harry would happily admit he’d given up completely on Divination. As long as he checked which bit of the textbook they were at and filled his homework with lots of unfortunate mishaps and ominous predictions, he was making straight Os. 

At last, the bell rang, and the entire class scrambled to their feet, making a mad dash for the trapdoor. Harry headed back to the tower with Parvati and Lavender, who were both discussing their dress robes. “Padma and I are wearing saris,” Parvati told them, beaming. “Grandma sent them all the way from India. They’re gorgeous.” Parvati was going with Anthony Goldstein, and Harry was pretty sure Lavender was going with Seamus. Or maybe that fifth year Slytherin boy he’d seen her snogging in the library the other week. It was hard to keep track, sometimes. 

“Do you have much family back in India, then?” Harry asked before he could help himself. 

“Almost all of Papa’s side of the family,” Parvati confirmed. “We spend a month every summer out there, and sometimes Yule. We were supposed to go this year, but they understood when we wrote to say we were staying here.”

“I wonder if I have any family in India,” he mused, speaking more to himself than the girls. “Y’know, extended.” He knew the Potters had been in and out of Britain since the 1600s, but Sirius said James’ mother was born in India, so maybe he had family there.

“Have you ever been?” Lavender asked curiously. Harry snorted.

“Nope. I’ve never even left Britain. My relatives don’t like me, remember?” The Dursleys would sooner cut their own limbs off than take him anywhere. “They like to pretend I’m just a bit tan.”

Parvati grimaced, squeezing his shoulder sympathetically. “If you ever want to go, you can come stay with our family. The House of Patil would be honoured to host you.”

That hit Harry with more emotion than he expected, and he faltered on the stairs for the briefest moment. “Thanks, Parvati.” He imagined what it would be like, going to the place his family originated. He didn’t speak the language, or know any of the culture or his own family history; it would probably be more embarrassing than insightful. Maybe he’d wait until he’d had the chance to raid the Potter vaults a bit, learn more about his heritage. 

“I heard a rumour,” Lavender drawled, bringing the conversation back to safer topics as they neared Gryffindor Tower, “that you, Harry, are going to the ball with Susan Bones. Care to comment?”

“It’s true,” he confirmed, and Parvati squealed halfway through giving the password, making the Fat Lady scowl at her. 

“I knew Anthony wouldn’t lie to me about that! That’s really great, Harry; you two will look good together.”

“We’re just friends,” Harry insisted. Both girls giggled.

“We know,” Lavender chirped. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make a great pair. And Sally-Anne is fuming, which is always a plus.”

Harry frowned at that. “She doesn’t— Sally-Anne doesn’t fancy me or something, does she?” he asked in mild alarm. He didn’t think the Hufflepuff girl even liked him — she was always glaring!

Both girls giggled, exchanging a look. “No,” Parvati assured. “But, well— she’s always been mean to Susan. As soon as the ball was announced she started saying that no one would ask Susan because she was too fat to get a date.” That made both of them scowl, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“That’s awful!” He was now even more glad he’d asked Susan to go with him. Who the hell did Sally-Anne Perks think she was, saying such things? 

“She’s just jealous,” Lavender huffed. “She thinks all the boys should fancy her because she’s skinny. But Susan’s way prettier and nicer. So now Sally-Anne’s going with Wayne Hopkins, even though she really wanted to go with Roger Malone but he turned her down.” 

Parvati let out a quiet, wistful sigh at Roger’s name — Harry knew the Ravenclaw boy was, according to many of the girls, the most attractive boy in their year. 

“Well I’m just glad Susan agreed to go with me,” he said, not sure he wanted to get deeper into the gossip spiral. “I kept getting asked by girls I don’t even know, it was weird!”

“You’re a Triwizard champion,” Parvati reminded him, grinning. “And unlike Cedric, you’re actually single. Can you blame them for taking a chance?”

Harry managed a smile, even as something in his chest twisted painfully. He wasn’t single, but he couldn’t tell the girls that. Couldn’t tell anyone. 

The common room was fairly busy, and the two girls bid Harry goodbye to head up to their dorm and… he was pretty sure they said something about trying out hairstyles. Either way he left them to it, intending on heading up to put his books away and then go find the twins for a little light hexing of random floor tiles in the Entrance Hall. Instead, he paused when a voice called his name.

“Harry, can we talk for a minute?” Hermione and Ron were sat on the sofa in the corner, Hermione’s brown eyes imploring. Ron didn’t look thrilled to be there, but he wasn’t actively glaring at Harry. Harry shrugged, changing course. 

“What do you need?” he asked, sinking into the chair opposite. Hermione bit her lip.

“This has gone on long enough,” she started. For a second, Harry thought she was going to confess to being a spy for Dumbledore. “I know the two of you have had… issues, this year, but really, you’ve been friends for far too long to let this silly tournament get in the way of that.” Harry bit back a snort; if only it was just the tournament. “It’s awful having the two of you fighting, and Harry I know I’ve been a bit short with you lately, and I apologise for that, but it’s been hard, alright? I hate it, and I wish you two would just get over this and be friends again. Ronald, Harry very clearly did not put his name in the Goblet, and he needs your support, not your derision. Harry, you can’t blame Ron for being a bit jealous sometimes; these things happen, and you shouldn’t begrudge him his feelings.”

Harry absolutely would begrudge him his feelings when those feelings made him be an arsehole, but he kept his mouth shut. He had never been able to stand up to Hermione when she brought out her sad voice, and maybe he had been a little hard on both of them lately. He was so worried about Dumbledore, he was seeing enemies everywhere, even in the two people who had been his best friends since he was eleven.

He wasn’t saying they could go back to that again. His friendship group had expanded far too much for him to ever be happy with that insular little trio again. But maybe he could stop actively avoiding them, at least. That was probably a dick move on his part.

“Ron’s being very silent in all this,” he commented. Hermione shot the redhead a pointed glare. Ron looked like he was being forced to drink vinegar.

“I’m sorry I said what I said, about you putting your name in and everything,” he muttered. He didn’t sound particularly sorry. It was like watching a toddler being made to apologise by their mother. “I just… you get all this great stuff — you’re school champion, you might win a thousand galleons, and that’s on top of being Harry bloody Potter. And you don’t even care.”

“I don’t want to be school champion,” Harry retorted, trying not to get too angry with Ron while Hermione was sat there staring at him pleadingly. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know what I’d do with a thousand galleons. And mate, if you want a scar on your forehead, dead parents, and a target on your back, then by all means, go right ahead.”

Ron blanched. Hermione winced. “Harry,” she scolded. He shrugged, not remotely sorry. 

“If he’s willing to stop being a dick then I’m willing to speak to him again. But it’ll take more than a half-hearted apology for me to actually forgive him.”

“Hear, hear!” It was the twins, perching on the arms of Harry’s chair with identical grins on their faces. 

“You tell our prat brother, Harry. Look, can we borrow Hedwig for a bit?” George asked, ruffling Harry’s hair absently.

“Yeah, no problem. She’s been bored lately.” With all his friends at Hogwarts, and the mirror to talk to Sirius and Remus, he didn’t have much use for her save for the occasional letter to Mrs Frobisher, who was busy trying to get Skeeter banned from school grounds except for the tournament. 

“Cheers, mate!” Fred beamed. 

“What do you need Hedwig for?” Ron asked suspiciously. Both twins rolled their eyes. 

“George wants to take her to the Yule Ball,” Fred deadpanned. “We’re sending a letter, you thick git. And no, we’re not telling you who. It’s none of your business.”

Harry wondered if it was anything he might know about. He’d have to ask later. 

“Speaking of the Yule Ball, Harry, are you really going with Susan Bones?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry said, shrugging. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“You’re a champion,” Fred reminded him. “You breathing is a big deal.”

“You got a date yet, ickle Ronnikins?” George cooed. Ron’s ears went red.

“No,” he admitted begrudgingly. 

“Better hurry up,” Fred advised. “All the good ones will be gone soon.”

“Who are you going with?” Ron tried to turn the tables on his brother. Harry rolled his eyes. Had he missed Fred disappearing off with Angelina every other day?

“Angelina,” Fred replied, grinning. 

“You actually got round to asking her, then?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. Fred kept promising to do it, and then forgetting — too busy snogging, George insisted.

“Oh yeah,” Fred realised. He glanced across the common room, where the three chasers were sat by the fire. “Oi, Angelina!” She looked up. “Wanna go to the ball with me?”

“Well that’s romantic,” Alicia muttered with a roll of her eyes. Katie giggled.

“Yeah, alright then,” Angelina agreed, a smile tugging at her lips when she turned back to the other girls. Fred looked back at his brother, smug.

“See? Easy. Hop to it, Ronnie, or you’ll have to go solo.”

The twins left, no doubt headed to the Owlery, and Ron groaned, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. “I’m doomed,” he declared. Harry snorted, sharing a look with Hermione. 

“You’ll figure it out,” was his best attempt at being a supportive friend.

“So is Susan the reason you’ve been disappearing so much lately?” Hermione asked impishly. Harry looked at her curiously. “Ron said you’ve been out late a lot.” Harry wondered what Ron was doing, to be noticing that. “Is she your secret girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a secret girlfriend,” Harry groused. “I don’t have any sort of girlfriend.” He desperately tried to keep the grin off his face. Draco was certainly not a girl, even if Harry did tease him for caring too much about his hair sometimes. 

“We won’t tell anyone,” Hermione insisted.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Harry returned. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s none of your business where I go at night.”

Hermione drew back, glancing into her lap. Harry wondered if he’d overstepped. “No,” she said eventually. “No, I don’t suppose we’re back to there, yet.”

Harry sighed, unsure what to say to her. There were so many landmines in their friendship these days, it was hard to say if it was worth trying to fix.

.-.-.-.

With only two days left of the term, Harry thought he’d be done having to avoid Professor Moody. The man was constantly trying to get him alone, to talk to him about the tournament, or classwork. There was something about him that made Harry’s skin crawl, but he was running out of reasons to leave his presence without coming off as outright rude. He didn’t want to get a detention over it; then he definitely wouldn’t be able to avoid being alone with Moody. He was honestly surprised the man hadn’t resorted to that yet. 

If it got any worse, Harry was going to have to start keeping the map out at all times just to avoid the man. The only reason he didn’t already was because he didn’t want that magical eye catching sight of it. Dumbledore didn’t know about the Marauder’s Map, and Harry definitely wanted to keep it that way. At least the castle seemed to be on his side; staircases changing right when he needed them to, passageways that he was pretty sure hadn’t existed five minutes before he needed them. Hogwarts was definitely trying to look after the Slytherin heir. 

Hearing the familiar thunk-thunk of the man’s wooden leg on the tile, Harry ducked into a passageway behind a false wall, cursing under his breath. The man was determined, he’d give him that!

.-.-.

At last, classes were over. Annoyingly, Snape was one of the only teachers who hadn’t given up trying to actually teach the distracted students, setting a quiz on antidotes for the very last lesson. Harry had spent his whole detention after the Wand Weighing catching up on antidotes privately with Snape, though, so it was easy enough. He hurried out of the dungeons as soon as Snape dismissed them, wanting to get an order out to Flourish and Blotts before they closed for the weekend, having had the perfect idea for Remus’ Christmas present. He hoped Hedwig was back from wherever the twins had sent her. 

When he eventually got to the common room, after a detour to the kitchens for food — where apparently both Dobby and Winky had been hired? Who knew — he entered only to find Ron sat in a chair looking like he was about to be sick, Ginny hovering over him. The youngest Weasley seemed to be trying really hard not to laugh.

“What’s the matter with him?” he asked. Ginny glanced up at him and smirked.

“He asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball.”

Harry gaped. “He what?”

“I don’t know why,” Ron moaned. “What was I thinking? She was just stood there, talking to her friends — there were so many people watching — but I’d heard she didn’t have a date and I just— it just happened!”

Ginny pat his arm sympathetically, biting her lip so hard Harry thought it might bleed. He sucked in his cheeks to stop from grinning.

“You’ll find someone,” he encouraged. 

“What if I don’t?” Ron’s voice was full of despair. “I’ll be the only one in our year without a date!” Was that really true? Harry was impressed at everyone’s ability to pair up. “Except Neville, of course.”

“Neville’s got a date,” Harry piped up, glancing at Ginny curiously. Hadn’t she told him?

“What?” Ron groaned loudly. “Great! Just great. Even bloody Neville’s going with someone, and I’m not. Who’d go with him, anyway?”

“Me.” Ginny’s ears were red, but it was with fury more than embarrassment. Harry was glad he wasn’t the only one wanting to smack Ron for talking about Neville like that. “I’m going with Neville.”

“What? But— what?” Ron didn’t seem to know how to react to that.

“He asked me, I said yes. Neville’s nice.” Her voice dared him to argue. 

The portrait hole opened, and Hermione walked in, eyeing the scene with confusion. “Why weren’t you two at dinner?”

“Things to do,” Harry replied vaguely.

“Ron got turned down for the Yule Ball,” Ginny piped up, a little more viciously than she would have before Ron said something about Neville. 

“Oh? Eloise Midgeon starting to look a little more attractive, now?” Hermione asked icily. “All the good-looking ones taken? I’m sure you’ll find someone, somewhere who’ll have you.”

Ron scowled. Then his face did a bizarre 180 of emotions, staring up at Hermione in hopeful realisation. “Hermione. You’re a girl.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, you can just come with me, problem solved.” Ron continued as if she hadn’t spoken to him. Hermione huffed.

“Just because you didn’t realise I’m a girl, doesn’t mean no one else did. I already have a date.” She was smiling the tiniest amount through her anger, and Harry eyed her in consideration. He had a sneaking suspicion who that might be; a suspicion that was all but confirmed when Hermione refused to tell Ron who it was. 

“I need to find someone,” Ron moaned desperately. Harry thought about it for a moment. Just about everyone he knew already had someone; Ron had left it a bit last-minute. If everyone in their year truly did have a date, that didn’t leave many options.

“Hey, Ginny,” he said eventually. “Did Luna stay for Christmas?” The blonde third year wasn’t able to go unless one of the older students asked her. Harry hadn’t spent much time with the Ravenclaw girl, but she seemed nice, if  a little odd. Ginny liked her, which was enough for Harry.

Ginny pursed her lips. “She did, yeah. Said her dad’s off in Hungary looking for… some sort of creature.” She glanced down at her brother, then back up at Harry, starting to catch on. “Really?” She made a face. Harry shrugged.

“It’ll get her to the ball.” She didn’t have to actually stay by Ron’s side the whole time. Ron would get a date, Luna would get to come to the ball and hang out with Ginny, it was a win for everybody. Especially Harry, who wouldn’t have to listen to Ron’s griping about not being able to find anyone to go with for the rest of the holidays. 

“I’ll ask her,” Ginny agreed with a sigh. “Only so that Luna gets to come too.” Ginny looked like she’d be perfectly happy to see her brother go alone to the Yule Ball. Harry was honestly right there with her — especially with Ron’s awful dress robes. But it would be nice for Luna to have fun. 

“There you go, Ron,” Hermione said, tone still a little cold. “Problem solved.” 

Ron didn’t look thrilled about potentially taking Luna Lovegood to the Yule Ball, but he kept his mouth shut. It was the smartest decision he’d made all day.

.-.-.-.

Luckily, Luna was happy to go with Ron to the ball, promising to owl her father to send her some dress robes before he left on his creature hunt. Ron was still sulking about it — Harry couldn’t figure out if his problem was going with a third year, going with Luna specifically, or having had to be set up by his little sister just to get a date — but despite their tentative truce, Harry still didn’t spend much time with the redheaded boy, so he didn’t care.

The weekend before the ball was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry took the opportunity to go down and finish off his Christmas shopping. That was his hope, at least; he’d owl-ordered for most of his presents, but there were still a few people he hadn’t found the perfect gift for yet. Draco being one of them.

The dilemma of what to get his boyfriend for Christmas was one that had been plaguing Harry for longer than they’d actually been dating. Even when they’d just been friends — and Harry had had a crush the size of Scotland — what did you get the boy whose parents could and would buy him anything he wanted? 

He’d already thought of and then promptly discarded a dozen ideas. He wanted the present to mean something. He wanted it to be special. But what would be special to Draco Malfoy?

Harry was alone in the village, not wanting any of his friends to question who he was buying for, but there were crowds of Hogwarts students filling the streets. By the looks of it, Harry wasn’t the only one who had left his shopping until the last second. Teenagers in various states of panic rushed past him, and Harry ducked into the nearest shop to avoid the press of people.

Draco wasn’t the only person he had to buy for still. He still needed to get something for Susan to thank her for going to the ball with him, and… he wanted to buy something for Snape, too. He never thought he’d say that, but there he was. Snape was part of the family now, and Harry wanted to get him a Christmas present.

The shop he’d taken refuge in seemed to be a jewellery shop of some kind, and Harry looked around curiously. Draco might appreciate something shiny? Maybe? He shrugged helplessly to himself; it was worth a shot. Browsing the glass-fronted cases, Harry let his eyes trail over the pieces. Suddenly, his eyes landed on something. A small silver pendant of a curled up dragon, its body wrapped securely around a pale blue gemstone. His thoughts didn’t turn to Draco; no, he was thinking of the boy’s mother.

Perhaps it was cliché. Perhaps everyone gave Narcissa Malfoy dragon-related jewellery because of her son’s name. But there was something about the necklace that just felt… right.

Harry glanced up at the middle-aged witch behind the register, offering a polite smile. “Excuse me? Could I take a closer look at this, please?”

If he was going to start ingratiating himself to the Malfoy matriarch, he’d better start early.

.-.

By lunchtime, Harry had secured presents for everyone except Draco. The necklace for Narcissa, a pair of pretty earrings for Susan shaped like shooting stars, and a journal for Snape that would automatically record the status and changes in a potion, for experimental purposes. His purchases were wrapped and stowed securely in his bag, and he decided to take a break and head to the Three Broomsticks.

That turned out to be a mistake, as the pub was packed so tight Harry could barely make it to the bar, so he ordered a sandwich to go and squeezed back out into the street, eating as he walked. He was pretty sure he’d been in every shop in the village, and he was still no closer to finding the perfect Christmas present for Draco. 

Looking through the window of a shop selling antiques, Harry was surprised to catch the reflection of a pair of tall redheaded figures. He turned, seeing the twins walking nearby, their heads ducked together and their faces serious. “Fred, George!” he called out to them, watching them both look up in alarm. They relaxed a little at the sight of Harry.

“Harrikins!” they greeted, changing course towards him. 

“Fancy seeing you here. All alone, are we?”

“Getting up to mischief?” Fred smirked at him, wiggling his eyebrows, and Harry flushed. 

“Christmas shopping,” he replied evasively; there were too many people around for him to risk mentioning who he was shopping for. “What are you two doing out here?” They looked a bit shifty — well, shiftier than usual for the twins.

The pair shared a glance. “Bit of a long story, dear Harry,” George said. Harry got the picture pretty quickly.

“I won’t ask you any questions, you don’t ask me any?” he suggested, watching the twins brighten up.

“See, this is why you’re our favourite!” Fred declared, ruffling his hair. “Be safe, little brother! Watch out for any rogue reporters!” He winked, and the pair disappeared, leaving Harry alone once more. 

Harry sighed to himself, eyes scanning the shops once more. This was his last chance to shop before Christmas — unless he got a very speedy owl order in — and he couldn’t go back empty handed.

He grit his teeth, determined. It was his first Christmas with his boyfriend, and his present was going to be perfect. It had to be.

.-.-.-.

The Yule Ball was five days away, and Fleur Delacour had a problem. 

“None of these boys are worth my time!” she declared at lunch, looking distinctly unimpressed. “‘Ow am I supposed to look fantastique when all the available ‘Ogwarts boys are… average at best?”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that,” Harry said lightly, and she jabbed him in the side. 

“Two champions cannot attend togezzer, or I would ‘ave asked you,” she insisted. “But all the boys I ‘ave considered are taken. I cannot believe Roger abandoned me so last-minute!”

Harry knew she wanted to go with a Hogwarts boy, to continue the theme of international magical cooperation. She had been going with Roger Davies, but then he’d realised that the Gryffindor seventh year girl he had a crush on actually liked him back and was willing to go with him, and he’d very apologetically told Fleur he had to change his mind. Harry couldn’t believe Roger had turned down Fleur Delacour, but he supposed even Ravenclaws could be idiots sometimes. 

“What kind of boy are you looking for?” he asked, knowing Fleur’s standards were incredibly high. Perhaps there was a boy who could be persuaded to ditch their date last minute to go with a Triwizard champion. 

“‘E must be ‘andsome,” Fleur said, and Harry gave her a look that said ‘obviously’. “I want ‘im to be taller zan me. A good dancer. It would be nice if ‘e spoke French, but not necessary.”

Harry racked his brain, looking around the hall as if Fleur’s perfect man might just appear out of thin air. As he glanced past the doors of the Great Hall, Cassius walked in, talking to Cedric. Harry froze, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Fleur, I’ll be right back.”

Harry sprinted across the hall, skidding to a halt in front of the two sixth years. “Cassius!” he greeted, and the Slytherin stared at him in confusion. “Do you have a date to the ball?”

“Aren’t you going with Susan?” Cassius asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’m not asking for me, you git,” he muttered, though he did wonder what would happen if he turned up to the ball with Cassius Warrington on his arm. Draco would slaughter them both. “Do you have a date?”

“No,” Cassius said. “I never really got around to asking anyone.”

“Are you good at dancing?”

“Harry, I’m a Warrington.” It was much the same tone Draco had replied with when Harry had asked a similar question, and Harry snickered. He eyed the older boy carefully; he was taller than Cedric. That would make him taller than Fleur, if only by a little. 

“Are you entirely opposed to the idea of having a date?” If Cassius wanted to go alone, Harry wouldn’t force him, but it would be doing him a huge favour.

Cassius frowned doubtfully. “I mean, it would depend on the date? And I’d have to check with my, uh, someone.”

“Since when did you have a someone?” Cedric cut in, looking amused. Cassius blushed.

“None of your business, Diggory,” he muttered. Cedric laughed. 

“Would that someone be okay with you being a shameless piece of entirely platonic arm candy for a very pretty girl who needs to look good for some pictures?” Harry hoped whoever Cassius was dating wasn’t the possessive type. “I’ll owe you one.”

“I mean, probably?” Cassius shrugged. “I really don’t understand where you’re going with all this, Potter.”

Harry reached out, grabbing Cassius by the wrist and tugging him towards the Gryffindor table. He dragged him right up to where Fleur was sat. “Fleur, this is Cassius Warrington,” he introduced, though he was almost certain they’d met before. “Attractive, over six foot, an excellent dancer, and I’m pretty sure he speaks at least a little bit of French.” It was the type of thing purebloods did, teach their kids foreign languages. Draco spoke three.

“You think I’m attractive?” Cassius’ voice was quietly smug, and Harry ignored him.

He shoved Cassius down onto the bench, dropping down beside him. “Cassius, I believe you know Fleur Delacour. She’s in need of a date to the Yule Ball.”

Cassius blinked at him. “A very pretty girl who needs to look good for some pictures? Harry, you said nothing about it being a champion!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that bit?” Harry replied innocently. Cassius kicked him beneath the table. 

The Slytherin turned to Fleur, only looking a little bit like he thought she might eat him alive. “I’m not single,” he warned her, and she laughed. 

“I am not looking for a boyfriend,” she assured. “Just a dance partner. May I?” She got to her feet, and Cassius did the same. Fleur manhandled him into dance hold, looking contemplative. She had to tilt her head up a little bit to look him in the eye, and after a beat, she gave a decisive nod. “You will do quite nicely.” Fleur released him, stepping back with a disarming smile. “Would you go to the ball wiz me?”

“I— absolutely, yeah,” Cassius agreed, nodding. “I… what colour are you wearing? Do I need to change my dress robes?”

“I will meet you tomorrow after breakfast and we shall compare,” Fleur said. “If that is acceptable?”

“Works for me. I’ve got to go — I was trying to persuade Cedric to help me with a… thing. I’ll see you both later?” 

They bid him goodbye and Cassius left, still looking vaguely bewildered by the turn of events. Fleur threw an arm around Harry’s neck, kissing him on the cheek.

“You are a lifesaver, ‘Arry!” she declared in delight. “I ‘ad assumed a boy wiz a face like zat would already ‘ave a date.”

“Cassius is full of surprises,” Harry agreed, making a mental note to interrogate the boy about his mysterious paramour at the earliest opportunity. “Glad I could help, Fleur.”

All four champions now had dates to the ball. At least, he assumed so — Viktor had yet to tell them who he was going with, but he insisted he had it covered. Harry had a pretty good idea what that meant.

It was certainly going to be an interesting night.

Chapter Text

When the four Triwizard champions had agreed to a friendly little seeker’s match before Christmas, they had decided to keep it low-key, just between them.

So, naturally, the entire castle found out. 

Harry walked with his Firebolt over his shoulder, wearing his Gryffindor quidditch team robes, down a gap that had parted in the huge crowd of people on the Hogwarts lawn. He met with Cedric, Fleur and Viktor in the middle, as well as another Durmstrang student called Boris. Boris had a whistle around his neck, and was holding a small metal box. “So much for keeping this quiet, eh?” Harry remarked, and the other three grinned sheepishly. 

“I may haff mentioned it a couple of times,” Viktor admitted.

“I told Cho, and a few friends.”

“Ze Beauxbatons students asked, and I could not lie to zem.”

Harry laughed. “That’s alright. That lot over there are my fault,” he confessed, pointing to a cluster of Hogwarts students with the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team and Neville at the very front. “It’s more fun with an audience, anyway.” He hadn’t expected an audience of quite this caliber, but he could handle it. It was just… practically half the population of Hogwarts, plus all the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Watching him face off against an internationally acclaimed seeker.

No big deal.

Across the crowd, stood in a group of Slytherins and Durmstrang students, Harry saw Draco. The blond was sneering, but when he caught Harry’s eye, his expression softened for the barest of seconds. It was enough to give Harry the boost of confidence he needed. He could do this. 

“Okay,” Boris declared firmly, his voice magically louder to be heard over the crowd. “Here are the rules. All four seekers will begin on their brooms with both feet on the ground and eyes closed. I will release the snitch, count fifteen seconds, and then blow my whistle. Only then can the seekers take off.” His Russian-accented English filled the air as the spectators went hushed, practically vibrating with excitement. “There will be fifteen rounds, and whoever has the most points at the end wins. If it is a tie, we will have a tiebreaker round between those seekers. Usual match rules apply. Seekers, are we clear?”

All four of them nodded. Boris grinned. “May I have a volunteer each from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons?”

One of Fleur’s friends, a girl called Adrienne, stepped forward with Angelina Johnson beside her. Boris held out the box, flicking it open to reveal a shining golden snitch. “Ladies, please inspect the snitch and assure our audience that Durmstrang is playing fairly.”

Both girls checked the snitch over with keen eyes and wands, and eventually stepped back, handing it to Boris. “It’s clean,” Angelina confirmed. “Professional standard, not tampered with that I can see.”

“C’est bon. We are good to play,” Adrienne agreed, grinning. They stepped back to join their friends in the crowd. 

“Seekers, take your places.”

Harry stood between Cedric and Fleur, with Viktor on Cedric’s other side. He grinned at them, adrenaline coursing through his body. This was going to be epic. 

“Eyes closed please!” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his pulse in his ears, keeping his breathing steady as Boris announced he was releasing the snitch. The crowd was near-silent, listening to him count down. It was nothing like the seeker’s match Harry had against Charlie in the summer. He thought their audience might be more invested in this than in the Triwizard tasks themselves.

“Three…two…one…” The whistle blew and Harry took off, shooting high up into the sky and immediately looking around for any glimpse of gold. The other three seekers did the same, swooping in fast loops around their makeshift pitch. Harry didn’t bother trying to tail any of them; when there were three potential opponents, it wasn’t worth putting all his eggs in one basket. He’d never played seeker against more than one person before, and he was intrigued to see how it would end up. 

He ducked beneath Fleur, who was flying in the opposite direction as him. All thought of the audience had gone right out of his mind, his only focus the snitch. 

All of a sudden, he saw Cedric change course abruptly. Harry automatically went after him, not willing to take the chance that it was a fake-out — he’d made the right choice, seeing a tiny flash of gold up ahead. He leaned in flat on his broom, willing it to go faster, corkscrewing under Cedric to get the upper hand. Above him, Viktor appeared, and Fleur wasn’t far behind him. The snitch veered sharply to the left, and there was almost a four-seeker pile-up as they all changed course to follow it. Harry inched forward, feeling other people close in around him, but he was almost there… his hand closed around cool metal.

“First point goes to Harry Potter of Hogwarts!”

He’d caught the snitch. He grinned to himself, seeing Cedric scowl playfully as he slowed down, the chase over. Harry turned to fly back to the starting point, handing the snitch over to Boris. 

Fourteen more rounds to go.

.-.-.

By round thirteen, the competition was getting intense, but none of the seekers were showing signs of tiring. Viktor was in the lead with four points, while Harry and Fleur both had three, and Cedric was on two. Harry was sweating even in the December cold, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He was having the time of his life. 

“Round thirteen!” Boris announced. “Seekers, take your places!”

They’d been out there for almost two hours already, and the crowd had thinned a little. Obviously some people hadn’t realised just how long it was going to take four seekers to go for the snitch fifteen times. There were still plenty of people out watching them, though — they’d even gained a couple of teachers, in the form of Flitwick, McGonagall and Sprout. 

Round thirteen didn’t last long — Viktor caught the snitch within the first few minutes, taking him up to five points. Harry grit his teeth, refusing to let the Bulgarian wizard get too much of a lead. If he was going to lose, he wanted to do so by only a point or two. 

Round fourteen ended up with Harry hanging practically upside-down off his broom to catch the snitch above the heads of a group of sixth year girls, having to be very careful not to crash right into them. He brought the snitch back to Boris and settled in for the final round. He was only one point behind Viktor. Maybe, just maybe, he could catch it and send them into a tiebreaker. 

As they reset, Viktor smirked at Harry. “Coming for my lead, are you?”

“Gonna try,” Harry returned with a grin, mounting his broom and squeezing his eyes shut on Boris’ command. He took off at the whistle, settling into his usual loop and seeing the other three do the same All of them were desperate to score one last point — Viktor to secure his victory, Harry to go for the tiebreaker, and Cedric and Fleur to just stop Viktor beating the rest of them by too many points. 

Suddenly Fleur was dropping into a dive, determination on her face. Harry automatically moved to follow, eventually seeing what the French witch was seeing; the snitch was practically right next to Boris, back where it had started. Cheeky little thing. 

Boris seemed to realise the issue and dropped to his belly on the grass, rolling away before the two seekers could come crashing into him. Fleur was just edging in front of Harry, but he pushed on, leaning as far forward on his broom as he would dare without tipping too far and going arse over teakettle. Fleur clearly wasn’t as comfortable pushing the boundaries as Harry, keeping her centre of gravity squarely over the middle of the broom, and it was that hesitance that allowed Harry to edge out and grab the snitch just ahead of her. He had to lurch back as soon as his fingers closed around metal, sliding to a halt. 

The crowd was roaring. Cedric was laughing. Even Fleur looked grudgingly impressed. Viktor, on the other hand, pulled up next to Harry, staring at him for a long minute. “I vas not expecting you to be this good,” he said eventually, looking quite put out about that. Harry beamed.

They returned to Boris, who looked utterly gobsmacked by the turn of events. “Friends, we have a tiebreaker situation! Harry Potter and Viktor Krum have both finished on five points! Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour will bow out for this final round, if I can please have a round of applause for their efforts.”

Harry and Viktor both joined in with the applause, and the other two champions were smiling as they shouldered their brooms and walked to join their friends in the crowd. With just the two of them left, a hush fell over the audience. Boris flashed a smirk. “And then there were two,” he remarked, playing with the string of his whistle. “The rules are much the same. Eyes closed, fifteen seconds, start on the whistle. This will be the round that decides it — one snitch, two seekers, winner takes it all. Are you ready?”

The two seekers shared a glance, then nodded. They got into position, either side of Boris. Harry shut his eyes, taking several steadying breaths to focus himself while Boris counted down, and then on the whistle he was off.

It was different, playing with two instead of four. Easier, honestly; fewer people to keep an eye on in case they saw the snitch. It felt more like a real quidditch match, except he wasn’t having to dodge bludgers — and he’d never played a real match against such a good seeker before. 

The pair of them were circling up high, Harry’s eyes darting back and forth as he tried to find the snitch. Minutes passed. Of course the last round wasn’t going to go quickly; it was like the snitch knew. 

All of a sudden, Viktor dropped into a sharp dive. Harry didn’t hesitate to follow — even though he’d seen Viktor use that tactic before, if there was even the chance he was going for the snitch, Harry had to tail him. 

He couldn’t see anything as they sped towards the ground, but that didn’t mean Viktor didn’t have it. The grass grew closer and closer, and Harry grinned to himself He’s going for the Wronski Feint. He remembered seeing Lynch smash into the ground at the World Cup — Harry wouldn’t do that. He could handle this. 

Knowing Krum was just faking him out, Harry used the dive to keep looking for the snitch, unruffled by the ever-nearing ground. He was barely fifteen feet from the grass when he saw it; a glimmer of gold. He’d have to do almost a total 180 when he pulled out of the dive, but he didn’t think Viktor had seen it. 

Viktor was holding out until the last second to pull from his dive. Harry didn’t scare that easily. He was neck and neck with the Bulgarian now, Viktor flat on his broom as if he was chasing the snitch, even though Harry knew he couldn’t be. He had to wait — the snitch was closer to Viktor than him. If he pulled out too early, Viktor would see why, and he’d be able to get there first. Harry had to leave it until the very last second. 

The grass was even closer. Viktor spared a split second to glance Harry’s way incredulously, then pulled up, shooting back up towards his previous position, convinced Harry was going to hit the dirt. There. Harry wrenched his broom level and twisted at the same time, his toes brushing the ground as he narrowly escaped ploughing head-first into it, the G-force dragging against him as he spun around, doing a little roll to take out some of the momentum and then speeding forwards until the snitch was in his hand. 

He had done it.

He had beaten Viktor Krum at quidditch. 

Blood was rushing in his ears as he slowed to a halt and stumbled off his broom, almost falling as his knees buckled slightly. Sixteen rounds of hard seeking was finally starting to get to him, and he couldn’t wait to go sit down somewhere. He grinned, holding the snitch up triumphantly, barely hearing the cheers of the crowd as his racing pulse echoed in his skull. 

“We have a winner, folks!” Boris was saying, striding over to Harry’s side. He grabbed the hand holding the snitch, thrusting it into the air. “Harry Potter of Hogwarts takes it all! Are you all as surprised as I am?”

The official confirmation seemed to be all it took for the dam to break, and the next thing Harry knew he was being hoisted onto the shoulders of the Weasley twins, the crowd swarming around him excitedly.

“He’s only bloody done it!” one of the twins crowed, their arms wrapped around his legs to keep him steady. He could see Cedric beaming in the crowd, Cho by his side applauding wildly. Over by the crestfallen Durmstrang crowd was Draco, pretending to be annoyed, but Harry could see the awe in his eyes. 

Eventually the twins set him down, slapping him on the back and beaming at him. “Come up to the common room when you’re done here,” Fred told him. “We’re definitely celebrating this. Mate, you just beat Viktor bloody Krum!”

It sounded bizarre when it was said aloud like that. Harry nodded, grateful when the twins herded the crowd back towards the castle, and turned to find Boris and give him the snitch back. The Durmstrang boy was stood beside Viktor, patting him on the shoulder. “That was a tough match,” Harry said when he approached, smiling hesitantly at Viktor. He hoped the older boy wasn’t too mad about it — he had a reputation to uphold, after all. “You almost had me with that feint there.”

“Almost, but not enough,” Viktor replied, and he was smiling. “I knew it vhen I saw you fly against the dragon, but I vill say again — you fly very well.” He reached out, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “If you are not on your country’s team by the time you are my age, it vill be a travesty. But vhen you are, I look forward to flying against you once more.”

Harry gaped at him. Was Viktor seriously saying Harry could go pro? Not just pro, but international? “I… yeah,” he said breathlessly, unsure what else to say to that. “Anytime you want a rematch, I’m there.” 

Boris plucked the snitch from Harry’s fingers, grinning. “That was fun,” he declared, tucking it away safely in its box. “And now the team will get off your back about training, Viktor.”

“I don’t know,” Viktor said ruefully, “perhaps now they vill be even more on my back, if I can be beaten by a fourteen year-old.” He smiled at Harry to show he was teasing. Then he looked down at himself. “I need a shower.”

Harry looked at the state of his own robes, and grimaced. Yeah, a shower and new clothes sounded good. How could he get so sweaty in December?

“See you at dinner?” The two Durmstrang boys nodded. Viktor paused, holding out a hand for Harry to shake.

“I am serious,” he said, dark eyes fixed on Harry. “You haff talent. If playing professionally is something that interests you, I know people. You should not vaste that talent, if it is something you love.” He softened slightly. “I know you may haff other priorities. But ve vill keep in touch, and if you ever need help, I vill be happy to assist.” There was something significant about his words and the look on his face — like he wasn’t just offering Harry help with quidditch. Harry shook his hand, equally serious.

“Thanks, Viktor. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two boys parted, and Viktor let Boris sling an arm over his shoulder as the two of them made their way back to their ship. Harry shouldered his broom, heading up to the castle alone. At least, he thought he was alone. “Oi, Potter!” The quiet hiss made a grin tug at his lips. Draco was leaning up against the back wall of one of the greenhouses, his cheeks rosy from the cold and his hair slightly windswept. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Merlin, he was gorgeous. “You just had to show off, didn’t you?”

Harry changed course, throwing up a privacy ward as he hurried towards Draco. Giddy from his win and unable to help himself, he grabbed the blond by the hips and spun him around, kissing him firmly. Draco’s arms automatically came up around his neck, chest pressing against Harry’s as he leaned into the kiss. When he pulled back, he made a face. “You’re disgusting right now,” he said, poking at Harry’s sweaty robes. Leaning back against the glass of the greenhouse, he smirked at Harry. “I can’t believe you just beat Viktor Krum.”

“He said I should go professional,” Harry breathed, gobsmacked. 

“You certainly could,” Draco agreed. He clearly didn’t care that much about Harry’s sweaty state, as he tugged him closer, sliding a hand down to grab his arse cheekily. “I could do worse than a professional quidditch player for a boyfriend,” he teased. “At least it’ll keep you fit.”

Harry wasn’t sure what hit him harder; the thought of being a pro quidditch player, or the thought of still being Draco’s boyfriend by that time. That Draco didn’t even hesitate to assume they would still be together by then. Unable to find the words, he placed a hand either side of Draco’s head and leaned in for another kiss, moaning softly. “We’re gonna get caught,” Draco muttered between kisses, not slowing down in the slightest. Harry smirked against the blond’s lips.

“Worth it.” Even so, he eventually pulled himself away, still boxing Draco in against the greenhouse glass. 

“I suppose you’ve got to go up and celebrate with all your Gryffindor friends,” Draco drawled.

“I’d much rather celebrate with you,” Harry returned. “But also I really want to put on clothes that aren’t sweaty.”

Draco snorted, shaking his head. “Such a romantic,” he teased. “Go on, sod off. If you keep kissing me wearing those, I’m going to find it very difficult to concentrate next time Slytherin play Gryffindor.” His grey eyes were dark and his pupils blown, and Harry smirked. So his quidditch robes did it for Draco, hmm? That was a good thing to know. 

Feeling daring, still riding high on victory, Harry leaned in until he was pressed against Draco from knee to shoulder — until he could feel Draco’s hardness pressing against his thigh, and there was no way Draco couldn’t feel Harry’s. He let his lips trail over the blond’s jaw, feeling him tense and arch up into the touch ever so slightly. It was tempting to get carried away. They’d never gone past kissing before, except for a few adventuring hands underneath shirts. Certainly nothing like this. Harry was so turned on he could barely think, but he had enough blood left in his brain to know that getting too hot and heavy out behind the greenhouses was just asking for trouble. 

“Think of this next time we play against each other,” he breathed, sucking a kiss on Draco’s neck that the Slytherin would have to cover with a glamour. Then he pulled away, green eyes glinting playfully. “I’ll see you later, Draco. I’ve got to go take a shower.” A cold, cold shower. 

Stepping away as if nothing had happened, he grinned to himself at the frustrated groan Draco let out. “I hate you, Potter!” he called as Harry walked away. The Gryffindor laughed, dropping the privacy ward. 

He was having an excellent day.

.-.

Luckily, when he got back to Gryffindor Tower, his mussed state could be explained away as quidditch — to everyone except the Weasley twins who were eyeing him knowingly. “Go on, loverboy,” George whispered in his ear, herding him towards the dormitory stairs with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Go clean yourself up. We’ll stall down here.”

The common room was packed with people; not just Gryffindors, but people of all houses, wanting to celebrate Harry’s victory over the Bulgarian seeker. Even Cassius was there with a couple of his Slytherin friends, only looking a little bit disturbed at being surrounded by so much red and gold. 

As tempting as it was to spend more time in the shower thinking about what might have happened if he and Draco had been a little bolder, Harry refused to let his thoughts wander far — the twins could only keep people occupied for so long. He changed into his Holyhead Harpies t-shirt and comfortable jeans, heading back down to the party. Now that he was actually paying attention, he was impressed at how quickly the twins had prepared for the gathering; there was a long table of snacks, no doubt stolen from the kitchens, and a huge stack of butterbeer crates. Music played beneath the chatter of the crowd, and they’d even managed to string some more Christmas decorations up — all in Gryffindor colours, of course.

Harry found the pair sat with an assortment of other sixth years, as well as Neville, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. There was a gap on the sofa between the twins, and Harry squeezed himself into it. “Cheers,” he said, both for the saved seat and for distracting everyone from wondering what was taking Harry so long. Fred merely winked at him, grinning.

“Where’d you get that t-shirt, Harry?” Ron asked, eyeing the green Harpies shirt over. Harry shrugged.

“Birthday present.” Let them think it was from Sirius. 

“I’m glad someone here has taste,” Ginny teased, offering Harry a fist-bump. “The Harpies are way better than the Cannons.”

That set Ron off on a long rant about how the Cannons were trying their best with poor management, and Harry rolled his eyes, turning instead to the older students. “Welcome to Gryffindor,” he said to the assorted non-Gryffindors, grinning up at Cho as she returned with several bottles of butterbeer in hand, clambering over the back of the sofa to perch in Cedric’s lap. She handed a bottle to Harry, smiling. 

“Oh, I’ve been up here before,” Cassius said offhandedly. “The Christmas decorations are a nice touch, though. Very festive.”

“When have you been up here?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. The Slytherin’s olive cheeks flushed. 

“None of your business, Potter,” he retorted. Harry smirked at him, wondering if it had to do with his mysterious someone. Was Cassius dating a Gryffindor?

“That was some brilliant flying, Harry!” Cho enthused, tapping the neck of her bottle against Harry’s own. “Really impressive!”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you had it in you, Potter!” Patrick, one of Cedric’s roommates, added with a grin. “Bet Krum’ll think twice about challenging people in future.”

Despite definitely being more Cedric’s friends than Harry’s, none of them seemed upset that Harry had so firmly beaten Cedric. Even Cedric himself was grinning, insisting he was proud of himself for even catching the snitch twice. “I was playing well out of my league,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Both in brooms and in skill. But it was loads of fun!”

“I’ll let you try out my Firebolt sometime,” Harry promised. “You too, Cho, if you want.” The Ravenclaw seeker lit up at that. 

While Harry was still getting random people coming up to congratulate him, the party seemed to have changed from a celebration of his victory to an informal Christmas gathering, everyone just enjoying being able to hang out. It made Harry wonder why the school didn’t have some sort of inter-house common room — again, nobody encouraged the houses to mix. It was ridiculous!

The happy atmosphere was abruptly broken when the portrait hole swung open, and McGonagall stepped into the room. She blinked, doing a double-take at the crowd inside. With a wave of her wand, the music cut off, and everyone turned to her with wide eyes. “I was told of a disruption in the Gryffindor common room,” she declared, tone firm. “What, may I ask, is the meaning of this?”

“Harry beat Viktor Krum at quidditch!” Seamus piped up from the back of the room. McGonagall pursed her lips.

“I am aware. I was present,” she said. “That does not explain why the common room is overrun. This is supposed to be a space for Gryffindors!”

“The school rules say we’re allowed to bring guests, Professor,” Katie Bell pointed out. McGonagall didn’t look impressed.

“One guest, Miss Bell,” she retorted sternly. “One guest per person.”

All of a sudden, the crowd shifted. George reached out to sling an arm around Cassius’ shoulders. Fred put a hand on Cedric’s arm. Harry reached over to grab Cho’s hand. All over the common room, Gryffindors were claiming their non-Gryffindor companions, until everyone was in pairs. Every single guest was accounted for. 

McGonagall’s face was tight, her lips a thin line that most people assumed was her trying to stifle her anger. Harry knew better — his housemistress was trying really hard not to smile. “Very well,” she said eventually. “Just keep the noise down. And make sure the password is changed by this evening, Miss Dunn.” The seventh year prefect nodded, smiling with her arm linked with Beatrice Haywood from Hufflepuff. 

“Yes, Professor,” she chirped, cheeks dimpled. McGonagall nodded curtly. 

“Carry on, then.” She let the music resume and turned on her heel, leaving them to their party. Harry let go of Cho’s hand with a grin. 

Perhaps the Gryffindor housemistress wasn’t quite as much under Dumbledore’s thumb as he thought.

.-.-.-.

The day after the now-legendary seeker’s match was Christmas Eve, and Harry was up in the dorm alone, reading quietly before lunch. He was sore after all that flying, and not really in the mood for being down in the crowds after the day before. Peace and quiet was becoming a rare thing, and he’d take what he could get. 

Leaning back against his headboard, Harry blinked when a piece of parchment suddenly appeared between the open pages of his book. It was a small note, with only two words in a very familiar handwriting. Come down. 

What did Snape need him for on Christmas Eve? Harry had assumed the man would be back at Seren Du with Remus. Maybe Remus had come to Hogwarts instead!

Perking up, Harry marked his page and set the book aside, burning the note with a quick spell. Grabbing his presents for the three adults — at the very least he could send Snape off with the presents for Remus and Sirius — he stowed them in his bag and tugged on his shoes, swinging his invisibility cloak over his shoulders. 

The hallways were full of people on the way down to the dungeons, but Harry was a pro at avoiding everyone by now, bobbing and weaving through the students without any of them noticing him. He made it to the empty corridor that held the portrait entrance to Snape’s quarters, and knocked. The door opened just wide enough to admit Harry, and once he was inside he took off the invisibility cloak, turning to face the room at large. His jaw dropped, before a huge grin overtook his features. “Sirius!”

His godfather was sat on Snape’s sofa, and he got to his feet when Harry appeared, beaming. “Hey, pup! Merry Christmas!” Harry raced across the room and threw himself into the man’s arms, a little embarrassed by how happy he was to see Sirius. Summer had been so long ago. Sirius kissed his hair, holding him tight. Suddenly, Harry pulled back. 

“Is it safe?” he asked, brow furrowing in worry. “What if Dumbledore finds out?”

“Relax, cub,” Remus said from the small kitchen area, where he was pouring a glass of wine. “Dumbledore still doesn’t even know that I’ve been visiting all term; he isn’t going to know Sirius is here. It’s safe.” Wine in hand, he walked over to wind an arm around Harry’s shoulders, squeezing him affectionately. “Merry Christmas. I heard you had quite the quidditch match yesterday.”

“Who told you?”

“I was decorating the steps of the Entrance Hall under Dumbledore’s orders,” Snape supplied. “There was a surprisingly good view of the grounds.”

It made Harry smile all the wider to think that Snape had been watching him fly, and then told Remus about it. 

“I can’t believe you beat Viktor Krum!” Sirius enthused, ruffling Harry’s hair. “Amazing, pup!”

Harry blushed, almost saying something about Viktor’s insistence he go pro after graduation. It was too early to start making career choices — especially with the way his future was looking. Once there was no longer a Dark Lord out for his blood, or a headmaster trying to manipulate him, then maybe he could think about playing professional quidditch. 

“So how have you been, Padfoot? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you, you twit,” Sirius replied with a roll of his eyes. “It’s Christmas! Moony managed to persuade Severus to allow a minor Gryffindor invasion for the occasion.” He wiggled his eyebrows, winking at the pair. “He has to stay and chaperone the ball tomorrow, and we figured you’d be busy, so we thought we’d celebrate a day early. Is that alright?”

There was a quiet pop, and Snape’s small dining table was suddenly loaded down with food, Ceri stood beside it with a bright grin on her wrinkled face. “Master Harry, sir!” she greeted. “It is good to be seeings you well. You is gettings skinny again,” she added, eyeing him over. 

Harry supposed it was probably the stress of the tournament; he’d only forgotten to eat a few times in the last couple of months. “It’s good to see you too, Ceri. Did you cook all this?” There was turkey and stuffing and vegetables, fluffy roast potatoes and a huge boat of gravy, even a plate stacked with pigs in blankets. The elf nodded happily.

“Christmas dinner for masters and family,” she announced. “Can I be getting anything else?”

“This all looks fantastic, Ceri,” Sirius told her. “Thank you.”

Ceri beamed once more, then disappeared, and Sirius nudged Harry towards the table. “Go on, pup. Tuck in! You can tell me all about your game yesterday.”

The four of them sat at the table, and there was a minor amount of chaos as they all served themselves, passing dishes around and trying not to spill gravy on anyone. When they all had full plates, Sirius cleared his throat. “I won’t get too sappy, or Snape might come out in a rash,” he said teasingly, “but for a long time, I never thought I’d have this again. Christmas. Love. Family. Yes, even you, you greasy bat,” he added, making Snape scowl. “There should be more people at this table, but the world can be cold at times. So I just wanted to thank all of you, for being the warmth in my life.” Sirius swallowed a little thickly. Harry wondered how many glasses of wine he’d had already. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” they all murmured in response, even Snape, lifting their glasses to tap together in the centre of the table. Harry had been allowed a small glass of wine, and the taste was foreign; he must have made a face, as Remus chuckled opposite him. 

“It takes some getting used to,” he said, drinking from his own, much larger glass. 

Harry was gently bullied into recounting the seekers’ match as they ate, before conversation turned to other things, always managing to come back around to the Yule Ball. Every time Harry tried to ask about what the adults had been up to — any time he tried to get information about Voldemort and Pettigrew — he was gently brushed off and the subject was quickly changed. He appreciated that they didn’t want to talk about such serious things at Christmas, but Harry was desperate for information. He hadn’t had any more dreams that he could remember, but every now and then he woke up with his scar aching. 

“Time for presents!” Sirius declared once they had thoroughly demolished the chocolate yule log cake Ceri brought in. He urged Harry over to the sofa, bounding after him. Remus and Snape followed at a more sedate pace, Remus looking thoroughly amused by Sirius’ enthusiasm. Snape just looked resigned to it all, his shoulder gently pressing against Remus’ once they sat down. With a wave of Remus’ wand, a pile of wrapped gifts came floating over from a corner of the room, settling on the coffee table. Harry reached into his bag, adding the presents for the adults to the stack. 

“Right, Harry first!” Sirius said, tossing a present Harry’s way.

“No, let’s all open them together,” Harry insisted, not wanting all of them staring at him while he opened presents. His birthday had been bad enough! “Here, I got these for you guys.” He distributed his presents, smiling shyly at Snape’s look of surprise.

“You got me a Christmas present?” the Slytherin asked quietly, eyebrows rising. Harry nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap as he shredded a scrap of wrapping paper. “I… thank you.”

There was a painfully awkward silence, until Remus cleared his throat. “These books are brilliant, Harry, thank you! Have you read them?” He started talking to Harry about the stack of Defence books in his lap, allowing Snape to open his present without all the attention on him — something that both Harry and the Potions Master appreciated. 

By the end of it all, Harry had a small mountain of presents to take back to Gryffindor Tower, and Sirius was just tipsy enough to be singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. None of them were willing to tell him to stop — not even Snape. Sirius had been through a lot in the last decade; he deserved a bit of joy at Christmas. Harry merely joined in with the carols he knew, laughing when Sirius drew closer and closer to Remus, shaking him by the shoulders until he was singing with them as well. Even drunk, Sirius knew to leave Snape well alone, and the Slytherin looked like he was regretting many life choices. 

“I think I’d best get this lush back home,” Remus said eventually, laughing. “Let you get on with the rest of your Christmas surprise, Harry.”

“There’s more?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised. Remus winked at him.

“I suggest when you’re done here, you head to the Potions classroom,” Snape told him, his face impassive. Harry’s curiosity began to burn; what could possibly be waiting for him in the classroom? Another present?

Sirius threw himself at Harry, making the boy stumble a little as he was wrapped in a tight hug. “Have fun at the Yule Ball,” the dog animagus instructed. “Dance lots, don’t give a damn about Skeeter or any of the reporters, and snog your boyfriend if you get a quiet minute.” He cackled when Harry blushed. “Seriously, kiddo. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Just forget it all and enjoy yourself, alright? You deserve it.” He dropped a kiss on Harry’s forehead, ruffling his hair. 

“I’ll try,” Harry promised. He turned to hug Remus. “Thanks for coming. And bringing Sirius with you.”

“We couldn’t miss out on family Christmas,” Remus insisted. A lump grew in Harry’s throat. His first ever family Christmas, of a sort. “I’ll see you in the new year, cub. Behave yourself.” That was said with a lopsided smile; Remus knew better than to genuinely expect that of him. Harry grinned.

“I’ll try,” he said again. 

“Not very hard, I’m sure,” Snape drawled lightly. Harry turned to the man, even more wrong-footed about him than he had been during the summer. At least there they were away from school and lessons and all the things reminding Harry of his evil Potions professor. Having Snape like this — like family — in the middle of the school year was weird to say the least. Just a week before, the man had been yelling at him about his stirring technique. 

“I’ll see you at the ball tomorrow, Professor,” he said eventually, assuming the man would be going back to Seren Du as well. He and Remus hadn’t exchanged gifts; they were probably going to do their own private Christmas. Harry didn’t want to think about it too much. “Thanks for hosting this.”

“I don’t believe I was given a choice,” Snape replied, though he didn’t look too upset by it. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Potter.”

“You could at least try and call me Harry, y’know,” Harry replied cheekily, shouldering his bag. “It might not kill you.”

“Get out of here, brat.” Harry laughed, swinging the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and leaving the man’s private quarters. 

Harry moved as quickly as he dared under the cloak, heading straight for the Potions room. The door was locked, but a quick Alohomora made easy work of it. When Harry slipped in, he let out a quiet gasp. 

The room had been utterly transformed. All the desks and chairs had been pushed to the sides of the room, and in the space in the centre was a dark green blanket laid out on the floor, a tiny little Christmas tree in the centre. Floating all around the room were multicoloured little fairy lights, twinkling softly. In the midst of it all, smiling as Harry removed his cloak, was Draco. “I was wondering when you would show up,” the Slytherin greeted, sat on the blanket. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed, looking around in wonder. “This is amazing!”

“Uncle Severus said as long as it’s all back to normal by morning, we can stay in here as long as we like,” Draco relayed. He wrinkled his nose. “He also said several other things that I wish I could Obliviate from my mind, but I won’t traumatise you by repeating them.”

Harry snorted, even as his stomach turned a little bit at the thought of Snape contemplating any part of his potential sex life. He hadn’t had a talk from Sirius or Remus yet — he’d managed to avoid that for now by telling Sirius about the book George had given him. With any luck, it would stay that way. 

He left his cloak in a pile by the door and joined Draco on the blanket, leaning in for a kiss. “What’s all this for?”

“There’s no way the two of us are going to get any time alone in all of tomorrow’s chaos,” Draco said. “I just wanted to see you. When Severus told me what Remus was planning for today, I thought I’d jump in off the back of it, since you’d already be down in the dungeons.” He smiled shyly, running a thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “I have to take my opportunities where I can. Once school starts back up, you’ll be in a dozen places at once again.”

“I’ll still have time for you,” Harry insisted.

“But will you have time for this?” Draco retorted, gesturing to the room at large. “We don’t have to be anywhere or do anything until curfew. No one but Severus knows we’re in here.”

Harry’s eyes darkened as his brain ran through several ways the evening could play out — all of which were probably things Snape had told Draco not to do. Well, what the Potions Master didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. 

“If I’d known, I would’ve brought your Christmas present with me,” he said sadly, thinking of the wrapped gift hidden in his trunk. Draco smirked.

“I actually had Ceri help me with that one.” He gestured to the small tree on the blanket, making Harry realise there were two wrapped gifts beneath it; one of which was his gift for Draco. 

“Sneaky snake,” Harry murmured, pressing his lips to Draco’s with a soft sigh. “Should we open them now?” He was suddenly nervous about his gift, and he didn’t want to spend the whole evening worrying about Draco’s response to it. 

They exchanged gifts and opened them simultaneously, neither wanting the pressure of being stared at while they unwrapped their present. Harry eyed his curiously; it was a palm-sized disc of shiny black stone, engraved with runes all over. He glanced up at Draco, who smiled tentatively. “It’s a Meditation Wardstone,” the blond explained. “Put it under your pillow, and it’ll make it easier for you to meditate before bed — and strengthen your Occlumency shields while you’re asleep. I know you’ve been having those dreams, and I… I thought it would help.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, his gaze turning back to the stone with awe. “That sounds amazing, Draco… this is brilliant.” Harry had never heard of such a thing before; they probably weren’t common. What lengths had Draco gone to just to get one for him?

Suddenly, his gift to Draco seemed meagre in comparison. “I, uh— Fleur recommended it,” he explained, gesturing to the book of French-language spells in Draco’s lap. “Apparently there’s some more obscure and older spells in there. I know it’s not much, but—“

“I love it,” Draco insisted, leaning over for a quick kiss. “I can’t wait to find something to hex Weasley with — even Granger will never think of a French counter-spell.” Harry snickered; the way the pair had been treating him all year, he’d like to see that, too.

Still beaming from his gift, Harry shuffled closer to Draco. “So what’s the plan now?” he asked playfully, watching Draco’s eyes widen.

“We could play cards,” Draco suggested casually, even as his fingers began to creep up towards the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. 

“Hmm,” Harry agreed, running his fingers through Draco’s pale hair.

“We could have another dance lesson.”

Harry made a face at that, and Draco chuckled. Suddenly, he stretched his leg out and pushed, toppling Harry gently until he was on his back on the blanket, Draco’s knees either side of his hips. The blond leaned in close. “We could talk about how hot you looked on your broom yesterday, and how much of an arse you were to just leave me in that state.” His words came out as a growl, and Harry smirked.

“I thought you liked my arse,” he teased, fingers still twined in the short blond strands at the back of Draco’s head, bringing him in for a kiss. Draco groaned.

“Missing the point, Potter,” he muttered. He lowered himself slowly until he was propped up on his elbows, chest-to-chest with Harry, and both boys gasped as something else connected much lower. Harry wiggled until only one of his legs was between Draco’s, the other bent slightly to keep the taller boy in place as he leaned up into the kiss, sneaking one hand up the back of Draco’s shirt. Draco’s hips rocked down against his, and Harry let out a muffled groan.

“Draco,” he breathed, his pulse pounding wildly. They’d never done much past a little snogging and above-belt groping, and he was near dizzy with how good it all felt. He tugged at the hem of Draco’s shirt. “Can I? Off.” 

“You too,” Draco urged, sitting up and pulling off his t-shirt. Harry forgot to breathe for a second. The blond’s skin was pale and flawless, two dusky pink nipples perked on his chest, the ridges of his abs holding a faint dusting of silvery hair that trailed down to the waistband of his trousers. Fuck, he was hot. 

Draco’s blush turned out to go all the way down his neck and chest, and he hurriedly pulled at Harry’s t-shirt until the Gryffindor sat up the best he could, trying not to get his glasses tangled in the shirt as it came over his head. It was Draco’s turn to stare. 

Harry squirmed, forcing himself not to cover his chest with his arms; the summer at Seren Du had helped, but he was still a little scrawny, with the barest attempt at chest hair just beginning. He was glad for the low light of the classroom, hoping it would be enough that Draco wouldn’t see the scars from his time at the Dursleys. Most of them were on his back, anyway.

“Beautiful,” Draco declared in a whisper, leaning down to kiss Harry, gasping into it as their bare skin pressed together. “Harry, Merlin,” Draco’s hips began to rock more frantically, and Harry matched him, desperate for more friction. It felt amazing, like fireworks against his skin and in his belly, Draco’s lips moving down to suck bruises on his neck, fingers skating up his abs and then down, lower, brushing over the front of Harry’s jeans. Harry moaned, his vision going white as he was overloaded with sensation, coming in his jeans and pressing up against Draco’s fingers. He heard Draco swear softly, bucking his hips a couple more times, and then the blond bit down on his neck to stifle a cry, slumping against him after few moments. 

They lay there for several long seconds, breathing heavily, Harry’s fingertips absently tracing the ridges of Draco’s spine. “Wow,” he murmured. Draco shifted a little, tilting his head to look him in the eye.

“If you say that was ‘nice’, I’m going to hit you.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “That was a lot better than nice,” he assured, smirking. “That was… wow.” He’d never done anything like that before. Barely even let himself imagine it. Even without Draco touching him down there, it was still so much better than being by himself in the dorm. “Pretty sure that was on Snape’s list of things not to do in here.”

“Ugh, don’t bring my godfather into this,” Draco said with a grimace. He rolled off Harry, but didn’t go far, their shoulders pressed together. “Now I’m all sticky.”

Harry reached for his wand, casting a Cleaning charm over them both. It felt odd on his oversensitive skin, but it was better than the uncomfortable mess cooling in his boxers. He turned his head to the side, looking at Draco, unable to keep the soft smile off his face. The Slytherin looked at him suspiciously.

“Why are you grinning like a loon? Did I break you already?” Harry laughed again, rolling over so he was the one on top this time, pinning Draco’s hands beneath his own and leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’m just really happy,” he admitted, uncaring that it made him sound like the sappiest Gryffindor around. He’d had a great day with his family, and now he got to be alone with his boyfriend. It was the best Christmas he’d ever had. 

“Gross,” Draco declared, but he was smiling too, tangling his fingers with Harry’s. “You’re going to destroy my reputation one of these days, Potter.”

“Too late, you chose this,” Harry retorted smugly. He shuffled down until he was lying half on top of Draco, head pillowed on the blond’s shoulder. “That’s the thing about Gryffindors; we’re stubborn. You’re stuck with me now.”

Draco sighed, even as his hand curled possessively around Harry’s hip. “So many regrets,” he murmured, making Harry grin.

“Liar.”

.-.-.-.

It took a lot of effort for the pair to pry themselves apart once curfew drew nearer, but eventually they managed it, Harry giving Draco one last long kiss before leaving the blond to set the classroom back to rights, heading up to Gryffindor Tower. He took his cloak off a few corridors away, falling in with all the other students cutting it very close to curfew. He tried to get the stupid smile off his face before he went into the common room, but it was a lost cause. He kept his head down and made a beeline for the stairs up to the boys’ dorms, praying he could get into bed without anyone asking where he’d been. 

Luckily, Neville was the only one in the dorm when Harry entered, and the Longbottom heir gave him a once-over, eyebrows raising in suspicion. “I’m not going to interrogate you,” he said eventually. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

“You’re the best, Neville,” Harry said sincerely. Neville grinned at him.

“I’m just glad to see you happy.” His hazel eyes turned mischievous. “You, uh, might want to learn some glamour charms, though.” 

Harry’s cheeks burned as he slapped a hand to his neck, where he was sure there were several love bites. Damn it, Draco! Neville snickered. 

The dormitory door slammed open, and Ron came stomping in with a dark look on his face. “Where have you been?” he asked Harry rudely. Harry resisted the urge to glare.

“None of your business,” he replied automatically, his good mood deflating instantly. “I’m going to bed.”

He didn’t blame Dean and Seamus for hardly ever being in the dorm these days, if this was what Ron was like all the time. Hopefully things would get better after Christmas.

Chapter Text

After the little Christmas celebration with his family (and his boyfriend) the day before, Christmas Day itself was somewhat underwhelming for Harry, though he did appreciate the visit from Dobby, managing to find a pair of Uncle Vernon’s socks to gift the elf. Ron was in a foul mood, but Harry was happy to leave him to it, heading down to breakfast with the other three boys from his dorm. They chatted excitedly about the evening’s plans. The rumour going around the school was that the Weird Sisters had been booked for it, and Harry — who had gotten into the habit of putting his Wireless on in the background while he read in the dorm — was hoping it was true. 

“Still can’t believe you’re going with Susan Bones, Harry,” Seamus said with a shake of his head. “Now there’s a girl with some serious curves.” He made a lewd gesture at chest-height to emphasise his point, wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry hadn’t really noticed, and he shrugged awkwardly. “She’s nice,” he said. “And she doesn’t mind having to dance in front of everybody.” He had assured her that he’d had lessons, and wasn’t going to make a fool of either of them. Susan was being very trusting in taking his word for it. “Besides, Lavender’s pretty too.”

“Don’t know how I managed that one,” Seamus agreed. “Thought for sure she’d go with that Slytherin bloke in the year above, but I figured I might as well chance it.” He smirked wickedly. “She’s been all secretive about her dress robes, won’t tell me what they look like. I’m just wondering if I’ll get to see what she’s got underneath them!” He chuckled, and Dean punched him in the arm.

“Not if she hears you talking about her like that, you won’t,” he scolded. Seamus shrugged.

“You can’t say you’re not hoping for a little private goodnight with Lisa,” he teased, speaking of Dean’s Ravenclaw date, Lisa Turpin. The dark-skinned boy ducked his head sheepishly.

“I mean, I won’t say no,” he drawled, earning a laugh and a punch from Seamus. 

“Exactly! What about you two, eh? Gonna sneak your dates off into the courtyard to hide in the bushes?” Seamus wiggled his eyebrows, and Harry made a face.

“Susan and I are just friends,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Ginny has way too many older brothers around for me to even think about anything like that,” Neville piped up fearfully. Dean winced.

“Yeah, mate, you don’t wanna get on the wrong side of the twins. Not with all that stuff they’ve been inventing lately.” The twins were loving having everyone at school for the holidays; plenty of unsuspecting people around to test their inventions on. Everyone in Gryffindor had learnt to be very wary of accepting food from others. 

The conversation turned less crude as they strode in to breakfast, Harry smirking when he saw Snape was conspicuously absent from the head table. Dean and Seamus broke off to go sit with Parvati and Lavender, while Harry and Neville wandered towards the twins. “Morning, boys!” the redheads greeted, shuffling down to make room. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Harry replied. “Thanks for the present!” They’d given him a selection box of some of their latest inventions, with a note encouraging him to use them on their youngest brother when he was being a prat. 

“You too, mate!” George said, grinning. Harry’s present for the twins was a voucher for Slug and Jigger’s apothecary, as he knew how many potion ingredients they went through making their products and pranks. 

“All set for the ball, are we?” Fred asked, passing the orange juice Harry’s way. “Ready to dance your little socks off in front of everyone, champion?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Harry said, shrugging. “I figured once the first dance is out of the way, it won’t be so bad.” Professor McGonagall had promised him that the champions only had to open the dance by themselves; one song, and then everyone else would be dancing and he didn’t have to step foot on the dance floor again if he hated it. He didn’t think Susan would let him get away with that, but it was a nice hope. 

A thought occurred to Harry, and he turned to George. “Who are you going to the ball with?” he asked, realising he had no idea. He’d seen Fred ask Angelina, but George had been surprisingly quiet on the matter. 

George’s face turned almost as red as his hair, and Fred’s lit up in a grin. “Our dear brother is crossing enemy lines,” he teased. “Going with that bloke from Durmstrang, the one who reffed your quidditch match.”

“Boris?” Harry checked, humming thoughtfully. The Durmstrang boy was very handsome, and he seemed to have enough of a sense of humour to keep up with George for a night. “Nice one, well done.” George grinned, though he was still pink. 

“Figured I’d do my bit for international cooperation.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be cooperating with him plenty,” Fred ribbed, nudging his brother in the side. 

“Is it true you got asked by Adrian Pucey?” Neville cut in, not batting an eyelash at the news that George was going with another boy. George snorted.

“Yeah. Probably would’ve said yes if I hadn’t asked Boris already,” he admitted. “Felt a bit bad about turning him down, actually.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue instinctively, then shut it again; Pucey had never actually attempted to foul anyone on the Gryffindor team when they played one another, unlike most of the rest of his team. Even Draco. Harry certainly had no room to judge there. He remembered what George said about Slytherins being attractive, and wondered if the Weasley had a type. “I thought you said you didn’t like pretty,” he said thoughtlessly, and George smirked. 

“I said I don’t like the same kind of pretty you do. Adrian’s not pretty, he’s just got cheekbones.”

Neville gave Harry a bit of an odd look at that, and Harry’s stomach squirmed. He really had to tell Neville soon. 

After breakfast they went back up to Gryffindor Tower, where the twins attempted to cheer Ron up a bit with several games of exploding snap. That didn’t really work, but the youngest Weasley brother did perk up when they went down for Christmas lunch. The tables were groaning with the weight of all the food, Christmas crackers exploding all over the hall, everyone talking and laughing and excited for the evening to come. They were all kicked out of the hall as soon as lunch was over, so the house elves could re-decorate for the ball, and Fred and George managed to gather a crowd for a snowball fight out in the grounds. 

What started out as Hogwarts VS the other schools soon turned into a chaotic free-for-all as alliances were formed and broken, and sacrifices were made. Hermione had intended to just watch, but that went out of the window when one of Viktor’s snowballs ‘accidentally’ went wide and hit her in the shoulder. Harry laughed as a flick of Hermione’s wand had a whole host of snowballs chasing after the Bulgarian. 

“Harry, duck!” He followed the instruction instinctively, looking up just in time to see Blaise Zabini get hit square in the face with a snowball. Harry hadn’t even realised Blaise was out there with them. The Slytherin boy scowled, looking for his attacker — Cassius, hiding behind a snow bank Cedric and Cho had built and then been promptly run out of. 

“You’re dead, Warrington,” Blaise declared, sprinting away from Daphne’s side and reaching down into the snow.

As the evening drew on and the ball grew ever closer, people slowly began to abandon the snowball fight in favour of getting ready. Ron seemed utterly baffled when Hermione declared she was heading up to her room at five, and even more bewildered when several other girls followed. “How can it take them three hours to get dressed?” he asked, and Harry sighed, sharing an amused look with Ginny. 

“You don’t understand girls at all, do you?” the redheaded girl said sadly. She hopped to her feet, sending one last snowball careening towards George. “I’m off, I’ll see you boys later. Ron, don’t lose track of time; you’re supposed to meet Luna in the Entrance Hall at quarter-to.” She still didn’t seem thrilled at letting her best friend go to the ball with her brother, but Luna was so excited to get the chance to go at all Ginny wisely kept her mouth shut. Harry suspected she was just waiting for Ron to do something to give her the excuse to hex him. 

By six, it was getting too dark to properly see where snowballs were coming from, so the remaining fighters called it even and went back into the castle after a few Drying charms, disappearing off to their respective common rooms. The closer he got to Gryffindor Tower, the more Harry started to feel his nerves. “What if I freeze up?” he fretted. “What if I trip and fall over in front of everyone and Susan hates me and never speaks to me again and I’ve ruined everything?”

Neville snorted. “Susan wouldn’t let you fall over,” he assured. “She’d hex you into dancing properly before it got to that.” Harry didn’t think that sounded like too bad a deal, and he said as much, making Seamus laugh.

“You’ll be fine, mate,” the Irish boy insisted. “Just don’t stare at her tits and you’ll be grand.” Dean thwacked him over the back of the head.

Harry doubted that was going to be a problem for him, but kept that to himself. 

His dress robes were folded neatly in his trunk, and Harry got them out, finding the shirt and trousers that went under them. The shirt was a tunic-style shirt in a muted gold colour, with a high collar and shiny gold buttons down the front. The trousers were so dark green they were almost black, close-fitting without feeling uncomfortably tight. They were surprisingly comfortable, and Harry looked himself in the mirror before he put the robes on over them. He’d chosen that particular shirt because it was vaguely Indian-inspired, and it took his breath away to see himself in it. He’d never worn anything remotely like it before — he’d worried he’d look silly, but it actually looked good!

Shrugging into the robes and buttoning up the front, he turned back to the mirror for the full effect. The robes were a dark emerald green, with gold embroidery around the cuffs and hem that was also Indian-inspired, to go with the shirt. 

“Wow, Harry!” Seamus’ appreciative whistle cut into his daze, and Harry blushed. The other Gryffindor wore light blue dress robes with a bright purple shirt beneath them. 

“It’s not too much?” Harry asked, unused to wizarding clothing at all, let alone formal wear.

“You look great,” Neville insisted quietly from where he was buttoning up his own robes. They were much more traditional in style, a dark red colour that made his hazel eyes glow. It made him look older, and surprisingly handsome. Ginny was a lucky girl. 

Harry told him as much, watching the boy’s ears turn almost as red as his robes. Across the room, there was a low curse.

Ron was stood in the middle of the dorm, staring at himself in the mirror with a look of utter disgust on his face. Harry tried not to laugh. His dress robes did look awful. Harry wondered how much he was regretting not taking Bill’s old set. “I can’t go out like this,” Ron groaned. “I’ll be the laughing stock of the school!”

“It’s not that bad,” Dean attempted, keeping a remarkably straight face. Ron glared at him.

“It’s hideous! Look at this lace!” The robes didn’t look much better on than they did on the hanger, like Ginny had laughingly assured her brother they would. They weren’t terrible by themselves — old fashioned, sure, but not the worst — but the fraying lace… it wasn’t a good look.

“Come here a second,” Harry said, taking pity on the redhead. Luna would have a terrible time if her date was scowling and sulking all night. 

A few Cutting charms later, and there was a… marginal improvement. Harry managed to get rid of the lace, but there were a few frayed edges, and he could do nothing about the old-fashioned style of the robes themselves. For Ron, it wasn’t enough. “I look ridiculous,” he muttered, scowling at his reflection. Harry shrugged.

“Well, I tried,” he said, heading back towards his own bed. Sirius had given him some hair potion that he insisted would tame the wild Potter hair — James swore by it, apparently. Harry was determined to at least try.

Twenty minutes later, Harry hardly recognised his own reflection. With a comb, the potion, and a little help from Dean, Harry’s hair was more ’tastefully mussed’ than ‘dragged through a hedge backwards’. It was by no means neat — Harry thought that was asking far too much — but it was better. 

“I think we’re ready,” Neville declared, appearing at Harry’s shoulder. “Even if we’re not, we have to go. McGonagall will kill you if you’re late.”

He had a point, so Harry bid the rest of his roommates goodbye and followed Neville down to the common room. Ginny was waiting, and the sight of her made Neville almost trip down the stairs. Harry steadied him, grinning.

The Weasley girl was in pastel blue dress robes with a sweetheart neckline, the cap sleeves made out of floaty sheer blue material. There was a gold pendant in the hollow of her throat, and her fiery hair was half-up in an elaborate braid, the rest hanging straight down her back. She had make-up on for the first time Harry had ever seen, her brown eyes sparkling as she turned to look at Neville. “Hi,” she greeted shyly, hands behind her back.

“Hi.” Neville’s voice was a little breathless, and he coughed. “You look really pretty, Ginny.” She grinned, giving a little twirl.

“Thanks! You look great. You too, Harry — I like the hair!”

Harry resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair, undoing all of his and Dean’s hard work. “Thanks, Gin. I’d better go meet Susan, but I’ll see you two at the ball?” He nudged Neville closer to Ginny, clapping him on the shoulder. “Look after her.” He leaned in, kissing Ginny’s cheek. “Look after him.” Then, with a wink, he was hurrying out of the common room. 

He’d agreed to meet Susan on the stairs by the Entrance Hall, and he sped past several people in dress robes on their way to meet their own dates. When he caught sight of her, he grinned. Her dress robes were a deep burnished gold colour, tight below her bust and flaring out over the curve of her stomach and the width of her hips. They shimmered in the candlelight, the full skirt trailing all the way down to the floor, and glittering beads embroidered on like constellations. Her hair was pinned up like a bright copper waterfall, and the earrings Harry had given her for Christmas sparkled at her ears. “Not bad, Potter,” she said by way of greeting, eyeing him up and down. “I think I can handle being seen with you tonight.”

“So glad to hear it,” Harry replied dryly. “You look beautiful, by the way.” If he was remotely interested in girls, he’d probably be having some very confusing feelings right about now. “Shall we?” He offered an arm, and she looped hers through it, falling into step beside him to go find McGonagall and the rest of the champions. 

They found them outside the main doors to the Great Hall, gathered in a small cluster, and Cho let out a playful wolf-whistle when Harry approached. “Don’t you two clean up nicely!” 

She had Cedric’s hand in hers, and was wearing gorgeous blue and silver dress robes that were definitely East Asian in style, her hair pinned up with a pair of silver hair sticks. Cedrics’s dark blue dress robes were simple but impeccably tailored, and looking at him made Harry’s pulse tick up a little. 

Beside them were Fleur and Cassius — Fleur looked every inch of her veela heritage in silver satin dress robes with a bodice that hugged her curves and flared out at the waist, her hair hanging loose and needle-straight like a curtain of silk. Cassius’ slate grey robes had a slight sheen to the material that complimented Fleur’s robes nicely, and beneath that he had a dark green shirt that was open a little at the collar. His dark hair was combed perfectly, and Harry’s heart fluttered when the Slytherin smiled at him. How had he ended up surrounded by so many damned attractive people??

“You all look amazing!” he enthused. “Where’s Viktor?”

“Over zere, waiting for ‘is date,” Fleur supplied, pointing across the hall. Viktor stood at the base of the stairs, wearing red dress robes with fur trim. He looked a little uncomfortable in such formal attire, but he was still distractingly handsome. He caught sight of something — or rather someone — that made him stand a little straighter, offering his arm out with a smile. Harry gaped at the girl who took it.

Hermione didn’t look like herself at all. She wore dress robes of a floaty periwinkle blue material that shimmered with every movement, standing out against her dark brown skin, and her hair was sleek and straight, done in a very complex-looking up-do that made her look far older than fifteen. She was beaming, showing off her newly-corrected teeth, her lips painted a rosy pink and her pale blue eyeshadow glittering in the low light of the hall. Viktor bowed over her hand and kissed it, then tucked her arm through his own and walked her towards the group, looking very pleased with himself. Harry had to admit, Hermione looked stunning. 

“Hi Harry, Susan,” she greeted, smiling widely. “You look great!”

All Susan seemed to be able to do was stare. Harry grinned back at his friend. “You look beautiful, Hermione. Viktor, you behave yourself, alright?” he added mock-threateningly, making the Bulgarian laugh.

“I haff no doubt Hermy-own will hex me if I put a foot wrong,” he pointed out. He still struggled to say Hermione’s name, but she certainly didn’t seem to mind. 

McGonagall arrived in robes of red tartan, surveying them all with a look of mild pride. “Excellent, you’re all here. Are you ready?” 

They got in line, Harry at the back with Susan’s arm in his, and followed the deputy headmistress into the hall.

The house elves had outdone themselves with the decorations; it was hardly recognisable as the same hall they’d had lunch in, looking like a veritable winter wonderland. Harry was glad the house tables had been exchanged for smaller, round tables, with a main table up at the head of the room where the judges sat, empty seats available for the champions. Harry’s eyebrows rose when he saw Percy Weasley sat where Mr Crouch should be, wearing navy blue dress robes that looked brand new. What was he doing there?

As they positioned themselves on the dance floor, Harry let his eyes sweep the crowd for a minute. Ron was staring at Hermione like he’d never seen her before, and even Ginny — who definitely knew who Hermione’s date was before tonight — looked stunned. Far away from them, with Pansy Parkinson on his arm in a set of frilly pale pink dress robes, was Draco. Wearing black velvet dress robes that hugged his chest and shoulders, and made Harry immediately want to rip them off the blond boy. How dare he look that good when they were in public and Harry had to pretend to hate him?

Susan cleared her throat to get his attention, setting his hand on her waist. “You promised me you’d be good at this, Potter,” she reminded him, her gaze sharp. Harry smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

The music started, and they were off. 

Draco had been right that Susan would be much taller than him in her heels, but it didn’t bother Harry in the slightest as they stepped and spun. He saw the faint look of surprise on her face as he turned out to be fairly capable, before it was replaced by an exhilarated grin; Susan clearly loved dancing. Harry definitely wasn’t going to get away with just dancing once. He didn’t mind that so much — he was having fun, too.

The first song ended, and after a short round of applause the second one began, the dance floor filling with people. “Who taught you?” Susan asked suspiciously, settling into an easier waltz. “You’re better than I thought you’d be.”

Harry thought of late nights in empty classrooms with Draco’s hand in his, going over the steps again and again, rewarding him with kisses every time he managed to get it right. He grinned to himself. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

.-.-.

There were only a handful of dances before it was widely suggested that everybody sit down and eat, and Harry found himself gently herded off the dance floor and up to the top table with the rest of the champions and their partners. He ended up sat next to Percy Weasley, who was oozing with pride. “I got promoted,” he declared as soon as Harry sat down. “I’m now Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

“Congratulations,” Harry replied agreeably, glad Percy seemed to be doing well at work. He was a bit of a smug git, but he wasn’t all bad. Certainly not Harry’s least favourite Weasley sibling at the current moment in time. 

Speaking of, Harry could see Ron sat with Luna, Ginny and Neville a few tables away. He was entirely ignoring them, too busy glaring at Viktor Krum. It made Harry sigh to himself; that was an explosion he’d love to avoid. 

Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable, despite the judges’ presence at their table. Harry spent most of it talking to Susan, Fleur and Cassius, as they were sat on Susan’s other side. “We’ve really managed to do well for school representation here,” Susan remarked at one point. “One from each of the foreign schools, and at least one from every Hogwarts house. Was that on purpose?”

Harry refused to admit that getting Cassius to go with Fleur had been partly because he was a Slytherin, insisting that it just happened to work out that way. He just hadn’t wanted the snake house to get left out. 

Susan barely let him sit and digest his food before they were back out on the dance floor, but she didn’t stay in his arms for long. “Mind if we trade?” It was Cedric and Cho, waltzing effortlessly towards them, and before Harry knew it he had Cho in his arms, and Susan was off into the crowd with Cedric. Cho giggled, adjusting Harry’s hold and nudging him into action. 

That started a series of mid-dance partner changes, until Harry had danced with every single one of the champions and their dates, as well as Ginny, Neville, both the Weasley twins, Anthony Goldstein, both Patil twins, Luna, Daphne Greengrass, and at one point Professor McGonagall, who looked equally confused as to how she ended up there. “I hope you’re not considering asking Professor Snape to dance,” she said with a dubious look towards the dark-haired Slytherin, who was lurking in the back corner of the room, looking surprisingly handsome in jet black dress robes. Harry hoped Remus got to see him in the robes before the night was through, if he hadn’t already. 

“Don’t worry, Professor,” Harry assured with a grin as they twirled through the crowd. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually have a death wish.” That drew a reluctant chuckle from the professor, and when the music ended Harry released her with an over-the-top bow.  She shook her head exasperatedly.

“Just like your father,” she muttered, fondness creeping into her tone. “Stay out of trouble, Potter.” 

Harry saluted with a laugh, then turned away to head to the table, his legs starting to ache from all the dancing. He reached for his glass of water and drained it thirstily. Within a few moments, Luna appeared beside him, stealing Susan’s seat. “Hello, Harry,” she said airily, smiling. Her dress robes were a pretty lavender colour, with strange creatures embroidered on them. Her earrings looked to be made of tiny purple feathers. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

“Brilliant,” he agreed, surprised at how much fun he was having. “Where’s Ron?”

“Oh, he wasn’t much for dancing, so I left him over there,” Luna replied, gesturing to the other side of the dance floor. Harry could just make out Ron sat alone at a table, scowling into his glass of pumpkin juice. Served him right.

“Probably for the best,” Harry said, gaze scanning the crowded dance floor. Susan was with Ernie, laughing as they waltzed together. Harry’s chest gave a little twinge at the sight of Draco and Millicent dancing together, the shy girl looking pretty in black and silver dress robes. Draco was smirking, the collar of his robe undone a couple of buttons. He was so handsome it physically hurt Harry to look at him. He tore his gaze away, smiling to see the twins messing with Boris, switching partners with him and Angelina so quickly it was hard for him to figure out which twin he was dancing with. Angelina was laughing so hard she could barely stand up straight, which was just making the whole affair even more entertaining.

“I think they’re about to change bands soon,” Luna commented absently, her eyes on the string quartet currently playing. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Bands?”

“Oh, yes. It won’t be formal dancing for the whole night. I rather think everyone’s had about enough of that. The Weird Sisters will be playing soon.” It was said with a strange sort of confidence that Harry noticed Luna had only sometimes, but she was never wrong when she did. Ginny had wondered if Luna was some sort of Seer, and Harry was starting to think she might not be too far off the mark.

“Really? Brilliant!” Harry was even less prepared for informal dancing than he had been for the formal stuff, but it couldn’t be too hard to figure out. 

Sure enough, the quartet announced their final song, and Susan retrieved Harry from the table to drag him back out there. “You holding up alright?” she asked in concern, and he grinned.

“Better than I thought I would be,” he admitted. “But looking forward to something a little less stuffy.” Susan nodded in agreement, and when the song ended, she offered him a low curtsey. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Heir Potter,” she said quietly, grinning. He bowed in return.

“The pleasure has been all mine, Heir Bones.” He paused, side-eyeing her. “But you’ll still dance with me to the Weird Sisters, right?”

Susan laughed, linking her arm through his as they headed back to their table. “Yes, I’ll still dance with you,” she promised, patting his hand. 

All the champions returned to the tables, and Viktor and Cassius volunteered to go retrieve drinks from the bar, which was serving things more interesting than water or pumpkin juice. Nothing alcoholic of course, but brightly coloured fruity drinks that fizzed and smoked. 

“Having fun?” Harry asked Hermione, who had been beaming so wide all night her face had to be hurting.

“The best time,” she said with a giggle. “Harry, this is ridiculous! I’m here in this castle wearing this amazing dress and dancing with an international quidditch star. It’s like something out of a movie!”

Harry laughed, glad she was enjoying herself. Maybe it would ease some of the tension between them. As long as she didn’t think too hard about Ron. 

Accepting something bright green and bubbling from Cassius, Harry took a hesitant sip to find it was sweet and tasted of apples. “Not bad!”

The Slytherin stole the drink from Harry’s hand, taking a sip with a contemplative look. “Not as good as mine, you can keep it,” he declared eventually, holding up his neon blue drink. Harry snorted.

“Gee, thanks.”

Susan stole Harry’s drink next, offering her own violently pink concoction in return. Harry shrugged, sipping and getting hit with a blast of cherry. “That’s really good, actually,” he said as he offered it back to Susan, who shook her head. 

“I’m keeping yours,” she told him. “You can have that one.”

Harry shrugged, and kept drinking.

As Luna had promised, after a fifteen minute interlude in which people got drinks, chatted and rested their feet, the Weird Sisters arrived on stage, and the students went wild. Harry was amused to see most of the adults had retreated to the back of the room; far enough away to still be chaperoning, but well out of the throng of screaming teenagers. 

Harry looked around to see the others had all finished their drinks, and met Fleur’s eye. She was smirking, surveying the group. “Let’s dance.”

They headed onto the dance floor, easily finding a group of familiar faces; Neville and Ginny, the twins and their dates, and Luna. Ron was still nowhere near the dance floor. Harry didn’t even know if he was still in the room. “There you are, mate!” George cheered, his hand in Boris’ and his lips already kiss-swollen. That explained where those two had disappeared off to during the interlude. 

The first song started up to a riot of screaming, and Harry soon discovered that informal dancing was mostly a lot of jumping around and shaking your hips, with the occasional ridiculous overdramatic dance move thrown in — usually courtesy of the Weasley twins. It wasn’t a partner type of dance, so Harry was in the middle of a crowd of people, grinning as Susan shimmied up beside him. 

He was having the time of his life!

At one point, Susan was stolen for a while by her fellow Hufflepuffs, but she returned quickly with them and their dates in tow. Harry happily shuffled back to make room for the new additions, and was surprised when Blaise and Daphne joined them, dragging Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott along with them. For a brief moment, Harry was hopeful Draco might join them, but he pushed the thought away; whatever strides they’d been making towards house unity, there was no way Draco could be seen fraternising with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. His father would kill him. Harry was even surprised Nott was there — from what he knew, the boy’s father was pretty strict about blood purity, and had been one of Voldemort’s most devoted followers. 

Sure enough, Draco and Pansy were across the room with a group of older Slytherins and Durmstrang students. Harry spotted Adrian Pucey getting rather cosy with a boy from Beauxbatons; clearly not too upset about George turning him down. 

A hand tugged on his arm, and Cho nudged him into a dance hold that was very different from the waltz, laughing at the look on his face. “Loosen up, Harry!” she teased, placing her hands on his hips and forcing them to move to the beat. Harry’s cheeks were burning, especially when Cedric wolf-whistled.

“Your girlfriend is manhandling me, Diggory!” Harry called. “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I could always manhandle you instead?” Cedric offered, laughing when Harry’s face went even redder. 

After a couple of minutes Cho seemed satisfied with his dancing and retreated back to Cedric’s side, holding him in a much more comfortable — and more inappropriate — way than she’d been holding Harry. 

Fred sidled up to Harry, dancing all the while, and opened his robes to reveal a plain silver flask in the inside pocket. “Firewhisky?” he offered with a smirk. Harry glanced around, then shrugged; fuck it, he was fourteen and probably going to die by the end of the year if this bloody tournament had its way. He reached into Fred’s robes, flipping the lid on the flask and taking a swig, coughing as it burned his throat on the way down. Fred pat him on the back, chuckling. “That’s my boy! Let me know if you want more, I’ve got plenty.”

Fred moved off to go dance between Angelina and Lee, and Harry wondered how many other people had been drinking from the flask that night. Then he decided he didn’t care, and kept on dancing.

.-.-.

Harry’s limbs were aching and his head was pounding along with the bass of the music, but he didn’t care one bit as he danced, spinning Hermione around with a grin. She was an entirely different person tonight, and it made Harry’s heart ache at the cracks in his friendship — cracks he was starting to think were irreparable. Dancing with her, laughing with her and Viktor, it felt… disjointed. Like they were once friends, and they were slipping back into what they used to be, but it didn’t quite match up with the people they were now. He suspected Hermione could feel it too; every now and then he caught her looking at him with something sad and knowing in her gaze. 

It was nearing eleven, but the band was showing no signs of stopping. Many of the students had gone to bed — or gone off to find a secluded corner of the castle — but there was still a good number of them out dancing. Harry was wedged between Ginny and Luna doing a move that looked like something he’d seen in 70s music videos when he was yanked back towards the Weasley twins, the two girls shrugging and merely grabbing Neville in Harry’s place. Harry’s brow furrowed when Fred and George started to slowly move him away from the dancing crowd. “What’s the matter?”

“Courtyard, west corner, behind the rose bush,” George whispered in his ear, shoving him towards the doors. “You can thank us later!”

Utterly perplexed, Harry stepped out into the courtyard, shivering a little at the evening air after being in the huddle of dancers for so long. There were couples dotted around the places, some poorly-hidden in rose bushes while others were making no attempt to hide at all. He raised an eyebrow at Seamus and Lavender, sat on a bench with hands in some very inappropriate places for being in public. Edging around them, he hurried to the west corner, hesitantly approaching the rose bush. A hand whipped out, grabbing him by the lapel and tugging. 

A familiar voice muttered a Privacy charm, and Harry relaxed instantly, barely having a second to register the company before lips were pressed frantically against his own. “You’re going to kill me, Potter,” Draco breathed, hands sliding into Harry’s robes and around to the small of his back. “You in those bloody dress robes.”

“Like you can talk,” Harry muttered, trying to figure out how to get hands on skin as quickly as possible. Draco’s robes had so many fucking buttons. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

Harry lost track of the amount of time they stood there kissing passionately, but they never let it get further than that, despite Harry’s hand on Draco’s velvet-covered arse and Draco’s up the back of Harry’s shirt. Neither of them wanted to risk doing anything more in such a public place; it was dangerous enough just being near each other. “We’re dead if we get caught,” Harry said eventually, resting his forehead on Draco’s collarbone, sliding his hand up to the blond’s hip. 

“Worth it,” Draco declared, making Harry smile. “Have a little faith in my wandwork, Potter. We won’t get caught.”

“Oh, I’m sure your wandwork is exemplary,” Harry drawled quietly, green eyes bright. “But I don’t think that’s something you want to show me right now.”

Draco’s pale cheeks went pink, and he cleared his throat, trying to put a little bit of distance between them so they could calm down. He didn’t get very far. “I see all your dance lessons paid off,” he said eventually, breathing a little steadier. “You seemed to be a hit.”

“All thanks to you,” Harry said, playing with Draco’s hair. “I still wish I could have danced with you, though.”

“Why can’t you?” Draco returned, shifting his grip on Harry until they were in dance hold. “May I?”

Harry’s laugh was breathless as he took Draco’s hand in his own, meeting amused silver-grey eyes. “I suppose.”

They didn’t need music, swaying with each other to a rhythm Draco hummed softly. It was by no means proper waltzing, more just the sort of side-to-side shuffle people did when slow songs came on, but it was perfect. Draco tilted his head down and pulled Harry closer, until his lips pressed against Harry’s forehead. 

Harry could’ve stayed there for hours, in Draco’s arms in the tiny bit of space behind the rose bush, the rest of the world falling away as they swayed gently. Eventually, Draco stopped humming and stepped back a little, bringing Harry’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Harry returned, smiling shyly. “How did you get the twins to get me out here?”

“Easy,” Draco replied with a shrug. “I told them I wanted to snog you, and I’d be waiting out here until I did. They were remarkably obliging. I think they actually don’t hate me.”

“They don’t.” Harry hadn’t properly introduced the twins and Draco yet, but they were the only two people at school who knew the truth about the relationship; and therefore the only people he could gush about Draco to. There were just some things he wasn’t comfortable talking about with Sirius. “They know you make me happy, and that’s all they care about.” The twins were some of the few people who trusted Harry’s judgement without question. If he said Draco was a good guy, then they were on board with it. It was refreshing not to be second-guessed.

“Oh.” Draco’s lips curled at the corners in a reluctant smile. Harry was pretty sure Draco would like the twins, too, given the chance.

The pair stayed behind the rose bush for a little longer, just holding each other and occasionally exchanging kisses, before Harry sighed. “I should go before someone notices I’m missing.”

“Yes, I suppose I should go say goodnight to Pansy,” Draco sighed. Harry, remembering Seamus’ talk of ‘private goodnights’, scowled. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Draco chided. “I mean literally say goodnight, walk her back to Slytherin and make sure she gets to bed okay. I told you, she’s not interested in any of that. And I’m certainly not interested in her.”

Harry offered a sheepish smile in apology. “I just hate that I can’t be the one you say goodnight to.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m doing right now,” Draco replied amusedly. Harry huffed; the Slytherin had a point.

With one last kiss, they agreed to part ways, Harry going first to avoid suspicion. He glanced around the rose bush, then stepped out from behind it, intending to get back on the path and head inside. Instead, he walked straight into Professor Snape. “Potter,” Snape drawled, his eyes flicking from Harry to the rose bush and back again. His face turned exasperated, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Merlin’s sake, learn some discretion.” 

Harry grinned, turning to walk away. “And ten points from Gryffindor!” Snape called after him. He heard the man muttering as he walked in the opposite direction, blasting a rose bush with a spell to reveal a pair of Ravenclaw sixth years in a passionate embrace. “Twenty points from Ravenclaw!” 

Harry chuckled quietly; at least Snape was having fun.

He heard raised voices when he reached the Entrance Hall, and grimaced when he got close enough to recognise them.

“You’re fraternising with the enemy!”

“The enemy? You’re the one who’s got a bloody figurine of him in your bedroom!”

“He’s just using you to get closer to Harry!”

“He’s better friends with Harry than he is with me!”

Ron and Hermione were stood at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione’s eyes red with tears. Ron was glaring at her. “You can’t trust him, Hermione. He’s from Durmstrang.”

“Ugh!” Hermione’s noise of frustration echoed through the hall. “If you don’t like it, you know what the solution is!”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!” Hermione whipped around, startling at the sight of Harry. “Harry. Where have you been?”

“Needed some air. You coming back in?” He jerked his head back towards the Great Hall, and Hermione glanced at Ron for a moment, then nodded decisively.

“Let’s go.” She ignored Ron as she looped an arm through Harry’s, heading back into the hall.

“Ignore him,” Harry murmured. “He’s a jealous git who doesn’t deserve you. Go back to Viktor.” The Durmstrang champion was dancing with Fleur and Cho, and looked delighted to see Hermione had returned, then immediately concerned when he noticed her crying. Hermione sniffed, carefully wiping at her eyes without smearing her make-up.

“Thanks, Harry.” She strode over to Viktor, waving his concerns off and dragging him back to dance. 

Harry slipped back into the group, the music still blasting. “Where’ve you been?” Susan demanded, eyeing him over critically. “Nope, nope, changed my mind, don’t want to know. You’re a disgrace, Potter.” Her eyes were teasing, and she took him by the hand to pull him into a dance. 

Some time after, there was a loud groan when the band announced the next one would be the final song, but as much as Harry didn’t want the night to end, he was also desperate to go to bed. He was going to ache so much in the morning. 

At last the music came to an end, and Harry’s ears rang in the silence that followed. “Alright, you lot,” Cedric declared, his arm around Cho’s waist. “Get to bed. Prefect’s orders.” He winked.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff tonight?” Susan asked. Cedric’s cheeks reddened, but after a glance at Cho, he looked back at the fourth year.

“Hufflepuff. Come on, we’ll walk you back. Goodnight, everyone.” 

At Cedric’s lead, everyone started saying their goodnights, Susan pecking Harry on the cheek and thanking him for a great evening before hurrying off after the Hufflepuff champion. Harry belatedly realised that neither of the twins, nor their dates, could be found — they must have disappeared after sending Harry to Draco.

Harry, Neville and Ginny waited by the doors for Hermione to say goodbye to Viktor in private; when she finally joined them, her lipstick was smudged and she looked a lot happier than she had been when Harry had dragged her back in the hall. He was glad; she didn’t deserve to have her night end on a low point like that because of Ron.

The four of them dragged their weary bodies up to Gryffindor Tower, Ginny’s high heels in Neville’s hand and his too-big shoes on her feet, while he walked in just his socks. It made Harry smile; ever the gentleman. “That was fun,” Ginny said with a smile, shoulder brushing Neville’s as she walked. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for saying yes,” Neville returned, blushing. “I— I had a really good time.”

“I’d say tonight was a resounding success,” Harry remarked. The only thing that could’ve made it better was more time with Draco. 

“It’ll only be a success if you tell me who you disappeared off to snog,” Ginny teased, dropping back to shoot him a grin, laughing when he blushed.

“That is none of your business,” he said haughtily. 

“So that’s what you were doing outside,” Hermione realised, eyebrows raised. “Who is she?”

“I told you, none of your business. I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re no fun, Potter,” Ginny declared. They reached the portrait hole, and the boys bid the girls goodnight, starting up the stairs. Before they reached the dorm, Neville put a hand on Harry’s arm, biting his lip hesitantly.

“Harry, that person you were snogging,” he started, and Harry reflexively put up a privacy ward. “Was it Malfoy?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “What?” He forced out a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you said you were friends with him. And in all of Hermione’s interrogating, you’ve never said you were seeing a girl.”

“Yeah, but Malfoy!”

“I thought it was Cassius at first,” Neville continued. “Especially when he said he was seeing someone. But he was still in the hall dancing with Fleur when you were gone, so it couldn’t be. And, well, there’s always been something between you and Malfoy. I figured if it was anyone else, you would’ve told me by now.” Neville paused, then grinned a little. “Also you did look a bit like you wanted to eat him alive when you saw him in his dress robes. But I don’t think anyone else noticed,” he added quickly. “I just… I know you, Harry. And if it is Malfoy, it’s okay. I reckon you’re right that he’s not as bad as people think he is.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t tell anyone Neville,” he said seriously. “He could be in serious danger if it gets out. His dad…” He trailed off, and Neville nodded, eyes knowing.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Then Neville smirked. “You just might want to look at his arse a bit less when you’re in public.”

Harry laughed, dropping his privacy ward and continuing up the stairs. “That’s just asking far too much of me, Nev,” he insisted, yawning. Neville snorted, pushing open the door to the dorm and tiptoeing inside. All the lights were out, and the curtains were drawn on the three other beds. 

“Night, Harry,” Neville whispered with a smile. 

“Night, Nev.” Harry barely managed to change into pyjamas and brush his teeth before he was falling into bed, a quiet sigh of relief escaping him. He was so glad he didn’t have anywhere to be in the morning; he was going to sleep until at least noon.

.-.-.-.-.

Severus let out a long sigh as he stepped out of the floo at Seren Du. It was nearly one in the morning, but the blasted ball was finally over. “Mister Severus, sir,” Ceri greeted quietly. “Is you be needing anything?”

“Water, please.” Two quiet pops later, and the elf was passing him a large glass of water. Severus drank thirstily, head pounding. “Thank you, Ceri. That will be all.” The elf nodded and disappeared, and Severus toed out of his boots and started up the staircase, thinking longingly of bed. He’d seen far more of his students’ skin that night than he ever wanted to see again, Igor had started panicking about the Dark Mark in a place where the children could hear, and his bloody dress robes were uncomfortable after several hours wearing them. Yes, he was definitely ready for the day to be over.

He walked silently down the hall, easing the bedroom door open as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Remus. That turned out to be a moot point; the bedside light was on, and the werewolf was sat up in bed, bare-chested and reading a book. He smiled when he saw Severus, and then his eyes widened, his book falling into his lap. “Well hello gorgeous,” he greeted, voice a little husky. Severus’ pulse quickened instinctively. “I’ve not seen those robes before. Are they new?”

“Relatively,” Severus replied, reaching for the small buttons at the collar. Remus rolled out of bed, stalking over to him in nothing but a pair of low-slung plaid pyjama bottoms. He stilled Severus’ hands with his own, honey eyes dark in the low light. 

“Leave them for a second,” he requested. Severus sighed.

“Remus, it’s been a long day and I just want to go to bed.”

“Well I want to rip those robes off you with my teeth,” Remus replied in a conversational tone. Severus choked. His outfit abruptly became much tighter in a whole different area. 

“Remus!” 

The Gryffindor leaned in, nuzzling at Severus’ jaw, fingers sliding up to undo the top few buttons. Severus couldn’t help but tilt his head back and sigh as Remus’ tongue traced his Adams’ apple, a few more buttons coming loose. “The things I would do to you in these robes if it wasn’t one in the morning,” Remus sighed, running a hand down Severus’ chest. “Gods, you’re sexy.”

Severus wondered if anyone would ever believe him if he told them that mild-mannered, bookish, old-before-his-time Remus Lupin was an absolute minx in private. Then he realised that he never wanted anyone but himself to know that about the Gryffindor; his wolf behind closed doors was an entirely different creature, and belonged to him alone.

“They’re not that different from my usual robes,” Severus pointed out, letting Remus slowly undo a button at a time, revealing the pale skin below. That style of robe didn’t allow for a shirt underneath. 

“Oh, but they are,” Remus insisted breathily, finally reaching the end of the row of buttons. He pulled back, giving Severus an admiring glance, robes open over his bare chest. Severus would never be used to being looked at in such a way. Like he was desirable. “Merlin.” 

Remus wheeled him around, shoving him gently until he was on his back on their bed, robes still over his shoulders but otherwise open, his black trousers straining at the fly. The Gryffindor’s gaze trailed over him hungrily. “I know you’re tired,” he rasped. “I just… Merlin, Severus. I can’t help myself.”

There was a little of the wolf in his eyes as he spoke — the moon was only two nights away. No wonder he was so damn excitable, Severus thought with a mental roll of his eyes. He hooked his ankles around Remus’ hips, drawing him in quickly. “I’m awake now, you fiend,” he muttered, as if it was such a hardship for him to have a gorgeous man staring at him like he wanted Severus to be breakfast, lunch and dinner. “Just don’t expect anything dramatic.”

Remus smirked at him, sliding onto the bed and straddling Severus’ thighs, working the buttons of his trousers frustratingly slowly. Severus let out a sound he refused to classify as a whine. “Get on with it,” he pleaded, sucking in a sharp breath when Remus’ hand finally slipped beneath his trousers, fingers closing around rigid flesh. 

The werewolf didn’t even bother pulling Severus’ trousers off, merely lowering himself down and opening the fly enough to get his mouth around him. Severus arched into the contact, moaning quietly. “Remus,” he breathed, fingers clutching at bedsheets. “Remus, please.”

Remus hummed around his length, tongue working expertly to send waves of pleasure shooting through Severus’ body. He was going for fast and dirty, and Severus was thankful; Remus knew exactly how to play his body, and if the werewolf had wanted to drag things out Severus would have been powerless to resist. After all these years, even with over a decade apart, they still knew each other as well as they knew themselves. 

A minute more, and Severus was coming into Remus’ mouth with a bitten-off cry, slumping back against the mattress. When he could breathe again, he looked up at his lover with hooded eyes. “What do you need?” he asked softly. Remus shifted, pulling his own pyjama bottoms down just enough to free his cock from the confines, his pupils blown as he looked down at Severus.

“I need you to keep lying there, looking exactly like that,” Remus told him, his voice hoarse as he wrapped his hand around himself, jerking quickly. Severus didn’t blink, watching the man bring himself closer to the edge, shifting one hand to wrap possessively around Remus’ thigh. Tiny little gasps were escaping from Remus’ lips, and it was one of the best sounds Severus had ever heard. 

Remus came with a growl on Severus’ stomach, his eyes glowing gold as he looked at the man beneath him on the bed. Years ago, Severus would have been scared to see his lover with the wolf so close to the surface while they were in bed. Now, Severus just found himself wishing he had the stamina of his youth — and that it wasn’t one in the bloody morning. 

The tension leaked out of Remus’ shoulders, and he slumped down onto Severus, ignoring the mess between them. “Sorry,” he murmured into Severus’ neck. “Got a bit… carried away.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that, Merlin,” Severus assured, carding a hand through greying hair. “It’s been a long day, but if I ever see you with that look in your eye and it doesn’t end in this, take me out back and shoot me; I’m officially done for.” Remus snickered, pressing a kiss to Severus’ collarbone. 

“And they say you’re not a romantic,” he teased. “How was the ball?”

“I caught far too many couples in the bushes,” Severus said with a scowl. “Your brat godson being one of them.”

“If my brat godson was there, that means your brat godson was right with him,” Remus retorted. “Unless Harry has a lot of explaining to do.”

“He was there, he just had the good sense not to get caught.” Severus had seen him, two minutes after Harry had left, creeping away into the shadows with his hair mussed and his buttons uneven. A disgrace.

“Or you were nice enough to let him slide by,” Remus corrected. He muttered a wandless Cleaning charm to get rid of the mess between them, sitting up and pulling Severus with him. “I really do love these robes on you,” he mused, pushing them from Severus’ shoulders so they pooled on the bed. “Even if they’re much better off you.” He winked, and Severus rolled his eyes.

“Incorrigible wolf,” he muttered, pressing their lips together before climbing off the bed, stepping out of his trousers and striding naked across the room to his dresser for pyjamas. Remus whistled quietly, eyes dancing. 

“Sexy snake,” he returned, pulling up his pyjama bottoms and laying back in bed with a grin. “Hurry up.”

Severus went through his evening bathroom routine quickly, and when he returned to the bedroom Remus had his eyes barely open, the lamp still on. He slid beneath the sheets, welcoming the other man as he sprawled on top of Severus. It was becoming hard to sleep these days, without Remus’ weight on his chest. “Nox,” he murmured, plunging them into darkness. Remus’ stubbled cheek tucked into his neck.

“Love you,” he murmured, already half asleep. Severus placed a hand on the man’s lower back, getting comfortable.

“And I, you,” he said, so softly he would’ve thought Remus had missed it, if not for the curve of the man’s lips against his throat. 

Chapter Text

The morning after the Yule Ball started at approximately 11:45 for Harry, which was when Neville shoved his drapes aside and poked him hard in the shoulder. “Before the news gets up to you, I promise that I wasn’t the one who said anything.”

Harry groaned, blinking bleary-eyed at the boy sat on the edge of his mattress. “What?”

Neville handed him his glasses, and the other Gryffindor’s apologetic face came into sharper view. “The whole school is talking about how you snogged someone at the ball last night. No one knows who, but everyone knows it happened. I mean, you did come back looking a bit… ravished.” Neville’s cheeks were pink, and Harry let out another groan, burying his face in his pillow.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Snape was going to have a field day. ‘Discretion, Potter’. Ugh, he was the worst. Maybe Harry could persuade Remus to hex him. “How bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to thinking you’re trying to kill all the muggleborns in the school, it’s pretty minor,” Neville told him. Harry hated that that was a legitimate scale of measuring the school’s general opinion of him. “Everyone’s just curious about who it was. A few girls are insisting it was them, but no one believes them. I think the top three are Hermione, Ginny, or Fleur.”

“…There are people in this castle who think I could pull Fleur Delacour? Are they blind?” 

Neville snorted, shaking his head. “They’re just hoping for a scandal, I think. Other names floating around are of course Susan — but not many think it’s her because she laughed pretty hard when someone asked her, and she was on the dance floor all night — and I’ve heard Padma Patil, Daphne Greengrass, Cho Chang, and George Weasley.”

Harry rolled the list of names over in his head. “Well. That’s… varied.” He reluctantly sat up, reaching for the water on his bedside table. He hadn’t had more than a mouthful of alcohol, but he still felt hungover just from all the noise and dancing. “Just the one bloke on the list?”

“So far. I did hear someone suggest Blaise Zabini, but I’m pretty sure that was a joke.” Neville shrugged. “If it helps, I think it’ll all fade out in a few days. There’s bound to be other drama from last night — you’re just an easy target for gossip.” He looked sorry as soon as he said it, but Harry shook his head; Neville was right. 

“No one’s suggesting… y’know?” He didn’t dare say Draco’s name, not without a ward up. Neville shook his head, and Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little.

“No, I’ve not heard that anywhere,” Neville assured. 

With a sigh, Harry dragged his aching legs over the edge of the bed. “Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose. Anything else to report?”

“Nothing major. I guess Lavender got caught giving Seamus a blowjob. By Snape.” Neville shuddered, wide-eyed, and Harry burst out laughing.

“How many points did we lose for that?”

“Eighty, I think. But everyone’s practically in the negative after last night, Snape was on a roll.”

“That’s not so bad, then.” Harry yawned, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a shower, then I’ll meet you for lunch?” He was starving. 

“Sounds good,” Neville agreed, getting to his feet. “Oh, also Ron’s in a bit of a mood, so you might want to avoid him a bit. Especially if he thinks you’ve been kissing Hermione.”

Harry grimaced as he stood. “Fantastic.” Well, Ron had been in a mood all term, it wasn’t like that changed much. 

.-.-.

He felt much more human after a shower, and with his stomach rumbling Harry jogged down the stairs to the common room, where Neville was stood talking to Ginny and Hermione. “Hiya, Harry,” Ginny greeted cheerfully. “Loads of people think we snogged, so I’ve been telling people you’re crap at it.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I appreciate it,” he replied flatly, and she giggled. 

“Always happy to help!”

“I haven’t said anything about the rumours,” Hermione said primly. “Hopefully they’ll go away soon once people realise it’s all a load of rubbish.”

“It’s not though, is it,” Harry said, stretching up with a yawn. Hermione gawked at him.

“You were snogging someone? I thought you were joking!” 

“Yeah. I mean, it obviously wasn’t you, or Ginny, or Fleur,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “But the way I looked I don’t think I can even bother denying what I was doing.” Before he’d passed out, he’d forced himself to go brush his teeth, and one glance in the mirror made it pretty evident what he’d been up to. There was also a pretty large lovebite on his throat that he hadn’t glamoured away, though the collar of his shirt had mostly hidden it. Draco was a possessive little bastard sometimes. 

“So who was it, then?” Hermione asked. Harry snorted.

“Like I said last night, none of your business. Can we go get food now or what?”

Hermione’s lips pursed. “I don’t like this, Harry. First you’re off dancing with all those people last night, now you’re kissing some mystery girl. It’s not like you to keep so many secrets.”

“How is dancing with people keeping secrets? They’re my friends.”

“Exactly! Since when were you friends with Daphne Greengrass? Or Cassius Warrington? For that matter, how long have you been friends with Susan Bones?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been branching out, Hermione, but with you and Ron ignoring me for half the year I’ve had to look elsewhere for social interaction. Or are you just pissed because they’re not Gryffindors?” Harry glared at her, shaking his head. “I thought you were better than that.”

“It’s got nothing to do with what house they’re in!” Hermione insisted, but the slightly screechy tone of her voice betrayed that she was lying. “It just seems awfully sudden that you’re so chummy with all these people.”

“I’ve been friends with most of them since last year,” Harry told her. “You just haven’t been paying attention. And I’m sorry you’re jealous that I’ve got more friends than just you and Ron, but I like them, so you’ll just have to suck it up and deal with it.” He’d thought they were possibly fixing things, last night. With her on Viktor’s arm and dancing with Harry and the others and having a great time, he’d thought there were scraps of their friendship he could salvage. Now he was starting to think he was wrong. 

He looked up at Neville and Ginny, who were watching the whole argument uneasily. “Lunch?” he suggested, turning away from Hermione and heading for the portrait hole. They followed after him, leaving Hermione fuming in the common room, and when they were out of earshot Ginny let out a low whistle.

“Well, that was awkward,” she muttered, sounding remarkably like her twin brothers. Harry snorted. 

“She’s been off with me all year, going hot and cold depending on whether Ron thinks he can stomach me or not. I’m sick of it.” Hermione was, at her heart, an introvert. She nagged Ron and Harry to study, but always preferred to study alone. She kept her intelligence around her like a shield, warding people off even if they were actually smart enough to hold a conversation with her. She hated being in crowds — last night had been highly unusual for her. She was happy extending the olive branch to Ron and Harry, and then to the rest of the Weasley family, but she had her limits. Evidently Harry’s casual friendship with half their year and several people in other years was too much for her to handle.

“Everyone’s sort of noticed that the golden trio hasn’t been very, well, trio-y lately,” Ginny breached. “I s’pose we all thought you’d figure it out.”

“I don’t know if we will this time, Gin,” Harry admitted aloud for the first time. There was so much more going on; so much Ginny wasn’t aware of. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was being too paranoid when he thought Ron and Hermione were spying on him for Dumbledore, but either way he was a different person with different priorities and they didn’t seem able to handle that. 

The three of them walked in silence for a while, Harry still glowering a little, when Ginny cleared her throat. “Hey, Harry. On the subject of friendships… I wanted to say sorry, actually.” Harry looked at her in confusion, and she ducked her head. “The last couple of years I’ve been a bit… well, stalker-y is probably one word for it,” she said with a grimace. “Only I’d heard so much about you when I was a kid from Mum, and then you were there and you were my brother’s friend and you were so nice, and I developed a bit of a crush.” She managed not to blush as she said this. Harry didn’t bother pointing out that ‘bit of a crush’ was somewhat of an understatement; he didn’t want to be mean. 

“Anyway, this year since we’ve hung out more and everything, and you’re so close with the twins, you’re basically one of my brothers now and it would be pretty strange to keep fancying you,” she said, her words coming out rushed and her ears as red as her hair. “So I’m just gonna nip that in the bud and say I’m sorry for being weird about it before. But if it’s alright, I’d really like to be your friend.” She looked hopeful, embarrassed by her own actions in the past.

Harry was silent for a moment. “On one condition.” Ginny eyed him warily. “Please stop telling everyone I’m crap at kissing.”

The redhead burst out laughing, having to stop walking to catch her breath for a minute. “I can do that,” she agreed. Harry grinned, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

“Then I guess you’ve got a seventh big brother.” He looked over his shoulder, where Neville was watching them both in utter bemusement. “As your big brother, do I need to have a word with Neville over there?” Ginny turned bright red, and Neville began spluttering.

“Don’t you dare,” she told him, elbowing him in the side and darting away before he could retaliate. “Or I’ll hex you the same as I do my other brothers.”

“Noted,” Harry said with a grin, holding his hands up in surrender. “I wouldn’t really, anyway. Not unless you asked me to. You seem like you can look out for yourself.” Growing up with six older brothers, two of whom were Fred and George, Harry didn’t doubt that Ginny was probably better at looking out for herself than he was. 

Ginny smiled at him, and the three walked side by side for a little longer. Ginny glanced up at him again, before they made it to the Entrance Hall. “Harry,” she began. “Since we’re family and all… do you think I could have a go on your Firebolt sometime? When the others aren’t around? They always make fun of me when I say I want to fly.”

Harry thought back to the summer; not once had Ginny played quidditch with them. Harry had assumed it was because she didn’t want to. Then he realised none of her brothers had ever asked her. “Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed with a shrug. “We can go out before school starts back up.”

Ginny beamed, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek — right as they entered the Great Hall. Immediately, a fresh wave of whispers started up. Harry smiled ruefully. “Well, that’s gonna be great for the rumour mill,” he muttered sarcastically. Ginny winced.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. People will think what they want. Hell, if it leads them off the trail of who it really is, I’m all for it.” If they thought he was dating Ginny Weasley, no one would be looking towards Draco Malfoy. 

.-.-.

With Christmas over and the spring term rapidly approaching, the students suddenly remembered all the homework they’d been ignoring in favour of the Yule Ball — Harry included. It also meant that the four champions were back to trying to figure out their eggs. Harry had pretty much stopped opening his; he’d heard it scream plenty of times now, and nothing was going to change about it. All he could do was research things that screamed and hope he came across the right one. 

That all changed on the 30th of December, when Viktor rushed into the Great Hall, saw Harry and Fleur sat at the Gryffindor table, and hurried over to them. “Vhere is Cedric?” he asked quietly. Harry shrugged.

“No idea. With Cho maybe? Why?”

Viktor glanced around shiftily, then leaned in. “I haff made progress.”

Harry and Fleur shared a wide-eyed glance. “I’ll find him,” Harry said, getting to his feet. 

“Meet by the Durmstrang ship vhen you do,” Viktor replied, taking Fleur with him when he left. Harry ducked into a side passage, rifling through his school bag. 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he muttered, scanning the map for Cedric’s name. He eventually found him down near the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, Cho by his side. 

Harry sprinted through the halls to find the Hufflepuff, skidding to a halt when he almost crashed into him. “Come with me,” he urged, grabbing both Cedric and Cho by the wrists.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Cedric asked, following in bewilderment. 

“I think Viktor’s figured out the egg.” That had both of them picking up the pace, and they went outside to see Viktor and Fleur sat on the bank of the lake, right at the edge of the water. Viktor had his egg in his hands. 

“Good, you’re here,” the Bulgarian said, beckoning them closer. The trio sat down, making themselves comfortable. 

“Harry said you’ve figured it out?” Cedric said, and Viktor shrugged.

“I haff made progress. Listen.” Viktor picked up his egg and set it in the shallows of the lake until it was entirely covered, then twisted it open. Harry flinched, bracing himself for screaming, but none came. Instead it sounded like… music? “It is easier to hear vhen you are under the vater also,” Viktor supplied. “But it is a song. Here.” 

He held out a piece of parchment, and the other three champions crowded around it to read.

Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this;

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss.

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took.

But past an hour, the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.

Harry read the words over several times. “I assume your eggs vill say the same,” Viktor said, closing the egg, “but you may vant to test them.”

“So we must go underwater?” Fleur presumed, brow furrowed in thought. “To wherever ze creatures ‘ave taken… whatever eet ees zey will take.”

“An hour to look somewhere underwater. Presumably the lake,” Cedric said, glancing out over the expanse of water. “Merlin, there could be anything in there.”

Harry thought about the aquatic creatures he knew of; surprisingly, his brain went to his muggle upbringing rather than what he’d learned since joining the magical world. “Are there merpeople in the lake, do you think?”

The others stared at him. “I think so,” Cho piped up. “I’ve heard some of the Slytherins talking about it before. They have that window to the lake in their common room.”

Harry remembered it; he’d thought it was a bit creepy. 

“So merpeople vill take something ve care about?” Viktor surmised. “That seems… simple enough.”

“How did you figure the egg out, anyway?” Cedric asked curiously. The Durmstrang boy blushed.

“I, ah, accidentally dropped it off the edge of the ship,” he admitted sheepishly. “It opened ven I vas diving to get it back.”

The rest of them laughed, and Viktor merely smiled. 

“So we know what we’re up against, then,” Harry said. “We should all work alone from here on out. Don’t want any of our solutions looking too similar.” 

The others agreed, and Viktor pocketed his egg once more. “No more talk of tasks until February 24th, then,” he declared.

Harry wondered if Fleur and Cedric had as much of an urge as he did to check their eggs sang the same song. “Well, if we’re calling it there, I’ve got a Transfiguration essay to write,” he said with a grimace. “Unless any of you would like to help me with that?” Unsurprisingly, they all suddenly had places to be, and Harry snorted. “Some help you lot are.”

“Why don’t you go ask your girlfriend,” Fleur teased, nudging his shoulder. She was getting far too much joy over the rumours of Harry’s Yule Ball escapades, especially the ones that involved her. 

“I thought I just did, dear,” Harry replied sweetly, making Viktor and Cedric laugh. 

“Away wiz you,” Fleur said playfully, making a shooing motion. “I must study also.”

The five of them parted ways, Cedric and Cho wandering off towards a different part of the lake, possibly to go test Cedric’s egg. Harry continued back up to the castle, lost in thought. He really did have a Transfiguration essay — but now he also had some research to do. 

.-.-.-.

The new term began on a bit of a sour note, in the form of another Rita Skeeter article. This one cutting far, far too deep. Dumbledore’s Giant Mistake was the headline they woke up to on the first day of classes, and the more Harry read, the deeper his frown grew. “I mean, didn’t everyone know that already about Hagrid?” he asked. “Just look at him. Bit obvious, isn’t it?”

“There are other ways to get that big, with magic,” Neville pointed out. “I think most of us assumed he got hit with a dodgy Engorgement charm as a kid or something. Giants… they’ve got a bit of a bad reputation.”

“Well so have werewolves, and Remus is alright,” Harry retorted. “How the hell did Skeeter get this information, though? If he’s never told me, I can’t see him telling her!” She wasn’t even supposed to be on school grounds outside of task days. She hadn’t even been able to get permission for the Yule Ball; a photographer had been sent, but a different reporter was along with them. The write-up had been a tasteful article about the whole affair, with a rave review of the Weird Sisters and hardly any mention of Harry save for the bit about the champions opening the ball. It was brilliant.

“Maybe he was telling someone else, and she was eavesdropping. Still doesn’t explain what she was doing on school grounds, though.”

They didn’t have much time to talk about it, or they’d be late for Herbology, but with Care of Magical Creatures on his schedule for before lunch, Harry didn’t worry about it too much. That changed when he arrived at Hagrid’s hut with the rest of his class to find a woman waiting for them who was definitely not Hagrid.

Professor Grubbly-Plank was a perfectly competent teacher. Possibly even a more competent teacher than Hagrid. But that didn’t mean Harry was going to sit back and let Hagrid be bullied out of his job by that awful Skeeter woman. He hung back once class was over, knocking on Hagrid’s door. “Hagrid, it’s me!” he called, knocking louder. “Come on, Hagrid. You know I don’t care about all that. Just let me in.” He kept knocking, and let out a frustrated noise. “Hagrid, for the love of Merlin, if you don’t let me in I’m breaking the door down.” That got a reaction. The lock clicked, and the door opened the tiniest crack, just enough for Hagrid to glare through with one bloodshot eye.

“Go away, ‘Arry,” he muttered. Harry jammed his foot in the doorway, shouldering his way into the cabin. Hagrid clearly didn’t want him gone that bad, or he would’ve tried harder to keep him out.

“Nope, sorry, not listening.” He looked up at the enormous man, his heart clenching at the tear-streaked skin hidden behind his mass of hair. “Hagrid. You can’t really think people care about that sort of thing, do you?”

“Those people do,” Hagrid retorted, gesturing to his table, where a stack of letters sat, most of them opened. “Those people ‘ave a lot to say about it.” He choked out another sob, and Harry threw his arms around the man the best he could.

“Hagrid, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from the media, it’s that you can’t win over everyone. And unfortunately, the loudest voices are also usually the worst ones. For all these letters on your table, I bet there’s fifty people who read that article, shrugged, and got on with their day.”

Hagrid didn’t look convinced. “They won’t want me teachin’ their kids, not knowin’ what I am.”

“My first ever Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher literally had Voldemort in the back of his head, and no one complained about him.” Of course, no one knew about him, but the point still stood. “No one in this castle knows more about creatures than you do, Hagrid. Sometimes your judgement about what’s class appropriate is a little… off.” Hagrid snorted, unable to help himself. “But you’re a brilliant teacher. Grubbly-Plank’s alright, yeah, but she’s not you. She’d never let me ride a hippogriff,” Harry added, grinning.

“Not sure if tha’s a good thing,” Hagrid pointed out dubiously. Harry shrugged; it had been a good thing for him. 

“How did Skeeter even find out all this?” Harry asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. Hagrid sniffed. 

“No idea. I was… I was tellin’ Olympe — Madame Maxime — but… there weren’t no one about when I told her. We were at the Yule Ball, everyone was inside. I jus’ thought… it’s daft,” he said with a shake of his head. “Bloody big bones, I never.” That was muttered under his breath, and made little sense to Harry, but he presumed it had something to do with Maxime, and why she’d been curt with everyone since the ball according to Fleur. 

“Skeeter couldn’t have been at the Yule Ball. Someone would have seen her.” Unless she had a way of getting around undetected. Maybe she had an invisibility cloak, like Harry. 

“What’s it matter ‘ow she found out?” Hagrid wailed. “Everyone knows, now!”

“So?” Harry argued. “No one cares, Hagrid; not anyone that matters!” He was still trying to block out Draco’s taunts about it, knowing the boy had no choice when he had an audience. Surely Draco didn’t really care about Hagrid’s blood status. “Class won’t be the same without you. Hogwarts won’t be the same without you.” Harry reached up to put a hand on the man’s elbow. “You were the first friend I ever had in the wizarding world, Hagrid. Don’t let this be what takes you away from it.”

Hagrid sank into a chair, choking on another sob. “Y’know, Harry,” he said once he’d composed himself a little. “When I firs’ met yeh, yeh reminded me a bit o’ meself, like. Parents gone, not quite sure ‘ow yeh were gonna fit in at Hogwarts. But yeh did. Look at yeh now.” Pride shone in his eyes.

“That’s partly because of you,” Harry insisted softly. “I thought I wouldn’t fit in, and you looked at me like I was mad for thinking it. You told me Hogwarts would be home, and it was. I reckon I wouldn’t have even been brave enough to get on the train if I didn’t know you were there at the end of it.” He’d been desperate to get away from the Dursleys, to do anything to leave that house. But he might have just run away into muggle London instead.

“Don’t say that, Harry. Yer a Gryffindor.”

“And so are you,” Harry reminded, remembering what Tom Riddle’s diary had shown him. “The Sorting Hat knows what it’s talking about.” It certainly had with Harry, telling him he would’ve done well in Slytherin. If only he’d listened. 

Hagrid was silent for a long moment, wiping at his eyes, until finally he managed a small smile in Harry’s direction. “Yer wise beyond yer years, y’know that?” he said. “Yer gonna be a great wizard someday.”

“I’ll be a better one if you go back to teaching me,” Harry replied with a grin. Hagrid sighed.

“I… I can’, yet,” he murmured. “But maybe after a bit. Lie low, like. See if it all blows over.” Harry figured that was the best he could get, and he patted Hagrid’s hand supportively. 

“That’s the spirit.” And in the meantime, Harry would figure out how the hell Rita Skeeter was getting her information. 

“What’s been the matter wi’ you then, these days, anyways?” Hagrid asked, eyeing Harry shrewdly. “Hardly ever see yeh wi’ Ron and Hermione anymore.”

Harry grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “Well, Ron’s still not over me being in the tournament,” he said ruefully. “And Hermione… we’re growing older, Hagrid. People change. I’m sure the friends you had when you were eleven aren’t the same friends you have now.”

“But the three o’ you‘ve been through so much together.” Hagrid was frowning now, and Harry sighed, wishing there was an easy way to make the man explain. He couldn’t tell him the truth about Dumbledore; it would break the man’s heart. Hagrid worshipped Dumbledore.

“Sometimes shared trauma isn’t enough to keep people together,” he said eventually. “I’m not saying we’ll never be friends again, but… I dunno, it’s weird right now. I’ve been hanging out with Neville a lot lately, though.”

“Aye, ‘e’s a good kid, the Longbottom lad. Always helpin’ Professor Sprout wi’ the greenhouses.” Hagrid’s faint smile returned. “As long as yer not by yerself too long, Harry. That’ll get yeh nowhere good. ‘Specially not at your age.”

“I’m not alone, Hagrid,” he promised. “And if I am, I know I’ve always got you, right?”

“Always,” Hagrid vowed, covering Harry’s hand gently with his own. “No matter what, Harry, I’m on your side.”

Harry hoped that proved true. “Thanks, Hagrid.” He glanced at his watch; if he was quick, he’d have time to run to the kitchens and grab something to eat before his next class. “Look, I’ve got to go back to classes, but… don’t lock yourself away in here, alright? And don’t listen to whatever’s in those letters. There’s always gonna be people who like to complain about things.”

Harry gave the man one last hug before leaving, hurrying up to the castle the best he could in the snow. 

If Dumbledore’s manipulations ever cost him his friendship with Hagrid, Harry would obliterate the old headmaster where he stood.

Chapter Text

With the news that Rita Skeeter was sneaking around the castle, Harry’s paranoia ramped back up to a hundred. He had far too many secrets to risk slipping up with any one of them. If he wasn’t in or between classes, he was under his invisibility cloak or enveloped by a privacy ward. He made sure to pass the information on to those who shared his secrets, too, which turned into an impromptu study group on privacy wards and silencing spells.

“I don’t know how she’s getting around, so she could be anywhere,” he told the other heirs in their fortnightly meeting. “Just make sure you’re never discussing secrets — mine or your own — without putting some kind of warding up.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Harry,” Ernie said, looking grim-faced. “I had wondered how she was getting all those quotes from the Slytherins. Obviously they’re in the know.”

Several heads turned towards the trio of Slytherins in the group, but all of them shook their heads. “I haven’t heard anything,” Blaise said, “but people know I’m at least civil with Harry now, so they’re not likely to tell me. These two, either.” After the Yule Ball, it was somewhat established that Harry was on good terms with the three Slytherins, and willing to spend time with others. There were plenty of people — Dumbledore most significantly — who didn’t seem thrilled by the Boy-Who-Lived’s extended social group, but at this point Harry was past caring. He couldn’t hide away forever, especially not if he wanted to be able to make real changes when he came of age. 

Harry remembered seeing quotes from Crabbe and Goyle in the article, as well as from Parkinson, and made a mental note to ask Draco about it all. He had to warn his boyfriend to be vigilant as it was; perhaps the blond would be able to get information from his housemates. They still trusted him, they’d surely tell him. 

“Okay, well, enough about Skeeter,” Harry said eventually. “Who wants to help me with some Arithmancy?” With the holidays over, his self-study was back on track as well, with Snape slipping assignments in with his returned Potions homework at the behest of Remus and Sirius. On any given day there was an inter-house study group meeting in the library now, but no one outside his trusted circle could know that Harry was studying the extra two subjects. That left helping him to this lot, or occasionally Fred. 

There were a few groans around the table, before Anthony Goldstein pulled out the empty chair between him and Padma. “Come on, Potter,” he said with a grin. “Let’s get this over with.”

Harry grinned back, shifting around the table to take the chair and reaching into his bag. Hermione had it all wrong, seeing the other students as obstacles to her success.

Hogwarts was so much better with more friends.

.-.-.

Of all of Harry’s secrets, the one where he was still in contact with his escaped convict godfather was probably the most inflammatory for him and the people he cared about, so Harry made sure he only ever spoke to Sirius at night, in bed, with the curtains warded with about everything he could think of. 

“It’s starting to make my head spin, Sirius,” Harry admitted late one night, looking into his godfather’s sympathetic grey eyes. “I’ve got so much going on — the tournament, the study group, Draco, you, Dumbledore — I’m losing track of who knows what, and trying to keep it all from Skeeter…”

“You’ve got far more on your shoulders than anyone should at your age, pup,” Sirius agreed. “I wish I could help you with it — I wish I wasn’t just adding to it.”

“You’re not,” Harry insisted quickly. “I don’t know how I’d cope without you and the others.” 

“It doesn’t change that we’re just another pile of secrets for you to keep,” Sirius said knowingly. “Look, Harry; just focus on what you can control for now. The tournament — you’re working on getting the egg figured out. Ask Remus about it next time he’s with Snape, he might have an idea. Everything else is beyond your hands. The study group seems to be mostly taking care of itself. Draco’s a smart boy, and he’ll understand if you need to ease off a little bit while you’re so busy. As for Dumbledore, he’s clearly willing to just sit back and see what happens with this whole tournament situation, so I don’t think you have much to worry about there. He doesn’t suspect anything, does he?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry honestly hadn’t seen much of Dumbledore, lately. The man was probably busy dealing with all the behind-the-scenes stuff for the tournament. “He doesn’t like that the students are mingling so much these days, but I don’t think he can trace it back to me. If anything I think he thinks it’s Susan’s fault.” She was honestly more in charge of the study group than he was, and with her Chief Warlock ambitions all the heirs seemed to gravitate to her anyway. 

“She seems very much like her aunt, from what you’ve told me,” Sirius complimented. “I’m sure she can handle it. So there you have it — the only things you really need to worry about right now are the egg and your boyfriend. And from what I’ve heard, I don’t think you even need to worry about your boyfriend. He’s pretty keen on you, I’d say.” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows, and Harry blushed.

“Snape’s been gossiping again, hasn’t he?” he groused. He still hadn’t forgiven the Potions Master for telling Sirius and Remus about finding Harry at the Yule Ball. Sirius had teased him about it for days.

“Severus? Gossip? Never,” Sirius mock-gasped, before laughing. “It’s not like he needs to; I can see it all over your face when you talk about your boy. It’s very sweet.” Sirius laughed harder as Harry squirmed in embarrassment. 

“You just wait til you start dating again,” Harry muttered. “I’ll get you back for all of this.”

“You might be waiting a while,” Sirius pointed out, the light in his eyes dying a little bit. “Hard to get a date when everyone thinks you’re a murdering lunatic.”

“It won’t be forever. We’ll find Pettigrew and get your name cleared,” Harry vowed. 

“I’m sure you will, pup,” Sirius agreed, smiling slightly. “You’re a determined little bugger like that.” He shook his head in a slightly canine way, then brightened up. “Anyway, tell me about what the twins have been up to — you mentioned something about hexing the Ravenclaw common room guardian?”

Harry grinned, happy to regale Sirius with the tale of Fred and George hexing the Ravenclaw statue to spout gibberish instead of riddles, so they could only get into their common room by responding with utter nonsense. One day, he couldn’t wait to introduce his godfather to the twins. Though the rest of them might not be safe once he did.

.-.-.

Severus strode through the corridor towards the headmaster’s office, smirking to himself when the few students he passed hurried to get out of his way. They really were far too easy to scare. 

He wasn’t sure why he’d been summoned, but it couldn’t be good. He gave the password to the gargoyle, stepping up on to the revolving staircase and tightening his Occlumency shields. He was prepared for anything, wondering which loose threads the headmaster might be tugging on now. 

Dumbledore was sat behind his desk, smiling genially at Severus when he entered. “Ah, Severus. Thank you for coming so promptly,” he greeted, gesturing towards the bowl of sweets on his desk. “Lemon drop?”

Severus declined, knowing the sour sweets were usually laced with some sort of mild truth-telling potion. “What did you need from me, Albus?” he asked, taking a seat opposite the desk. 

“Just a chat,” Dumbledore assured, leaning forward in his chair and clasping his hands together on the desk. “Igor Karkaroff is looking a little nervous lately. I was wondering if you might have any inkling as to why.”

Karkaroff looked like a loud noise might give him a heart attack, these days. Severus didn’t blame him; the man had a lot to be worried about, if the Dark Lord was on the rise again. “I already told you the Mark is getting darker,” Severus replied, because there was never any chance of him hiding that. “Igor is merely worried about how little time he has left.”

“And do you know the answer to that?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve heard anything about the Dark Lord’s return, the answer is no, Albus,” Severus said flatly. The headmaster’s brow furrowed.

“Severus, I understand this is a difficult time for everybody; you especially. However, the side of the light will need as much information as possible should the worst happen.” His voice was apologetic, but Severus could read between the lines. ‘Don’t forget you’re still my spy, even if Voldemort isn’t around yet. You’ll be back at it as soon as he pops his head up’. Typical.

“I am keeping an ear to the ground and my usual channels open,” Severus drawled in assurance. “There is simply little information to share.” That was true; no one from the old crowd seemed to know where the Dark Lord was, or how he was regaining strength. Severus was both glad and wary that there hadn’t yet been a whisper of the name Peter Pettigrew. Severus could only imagine how much information the little rat had taken with him, after living in Potter’s dorm for three years, and spending the whole twelve with a prominent light family. The Dark Lord would know far too much by now. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dumbledore replied. “I feared with the tournament going on, especially with Mr Potter’s recent circumstances, it would be too much of a cover for Voldemort to gather his followers.” 

“Surely you don’t believe Mr Potter’s… circumstances are anything but an attempt by the Dark Lord’s followers to kill the boy? Just because I wasn’t involved in the plot doesn’t mean there wasn’t one.” If Dumbledore truly thought Potter’s involvement in the tournament was just a prank gone wrong, or a fourteen year-old boy’s quest for glory, he had finally cracked. Unless the old coot had done it himself, to give Potter another chance to prove himself. 

“I think whoever tampered with the Goblet of Fire will reveal themselves in due course, and there is little we can do but support Harry until that time comes,” Dumbledore said, sounding entirely uncaring that his precious Golden Boy was in such dangerous circumstances. Sometimes it baffled Severus how this man had ended up in charge of wizarding Britain’s children, and no one seemed to notice he didn’t give a damn about their welfare. How were people so blind?

“If I may be excused, I have a potion brewing,” Severus lied easily, getting to his feet.

“Of course, of course. I trust you’ll come to me if you get any further information.” Dumbledore stood as well, offering Severus a look that was supposed to be fatherly. “Dark times are coming, my dear boy, and I believe we will need you now more than ever. I am sorry to have to ask you to make this sacrifice once more, but… it is for the greater good.”

Severus bit back a snarl. How many lives had this man ruined in the name of the ‘greater good’? Instead he merely nodded, face impassive. “Some things are necessary,” he said, turning to leave the office. It wasn’t until he was back in the privacy of his own quarters that he let his shoulders slump a little, a sigh escaping his lips. And so it began, again.

.-.-.

There was a Hogsmeade weekend in mid-January, and Harry found himself trudging down the slushy pathway beside Neville and Ginny, who had insisted he couldn’t spend it locked inside, and that Rita Skeeter couldn’t make a scandal of him going to Hogsmeade, especially when she wasn’t even legally supposed to write about him. Harry was pretty sure Skeeter could and would, but he allowed himself to be bullied out of the castle all the same. He’d been reading up on merpeople for the last four days straight, and it was starting to give him a headache. 

Instead, he focused his attention on his companions — Neville and Ginny had been hanging out a lot ever since the Yule Ball. Harry couldn’t figure out if they were dating or not. He’d never seen them kiss; but then again, he’d never seen Remus and Snape kiss, yet those two were definitely in love. As they walked, Ginny’s shoulder bumped Neville’s arm every few steps, and the older Gryffindor didn’t seem to mind. Harry’s eyes narrowed on their hands as they almost linked between them. Yeah, there was definitely something going on there. 

“Let’s go to Honeydukes,” Ginny suggested, nudging Neville until he changed direction. “I’m out of sugar quills.”

Harry was always happy to buy sweets, and owed Remus some Honeydukes’ Finest, so he trailed after the maybe-couple into the sweet shop. 

As they strolled from shop to shop, mostly at Ginny’s urging, Harry kept an eye out for Hagrid. The half-giant still hadn’t worked up the courage to leave his hut, even after a week. The fuss from the article had mostly died down, but Hagrid wouldn’t hear it, insisting to Harry that he wasn’t ready yet. Harry wondered how much longer it would take for him to be ready. 

Shopping finished, Harry suggested they head to the Three Broomsticks, as much as he was dreading the crowd. There was a chance Hagrid could be in there — and he wasn’t quite done observing Ginny and Neville yet. Both of them were easy to blush, and there had been a lot of blushing going on all day. It made Harry smile, and he wondered if it had been like this for Sirius watching him and Draco over the summer. His godfather took a lot of joy in insisting they were both oblivious and besotted even then. 

Once inside the pub, Harry wished he’d brought his invisibility cloak. When he was inside Hogwarts, it was easy to forget he was a Triwizard Champion; most people had stopped caring by now. Outside, however, was an entirely different matter. Heads turned, whispers started up, and Harry grimaced. 

“We can go somewhere else if you want?” Neville suggested quietly. “Back to Gryffindor or whatever.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry assured, squeezing through the crowd towards the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny’s fingers curl around Neville’s as they entered the fray. He smirked to himself. “What do you two want? I’m buying.”

“Harry, my boy!” He resisted the urge to groan, turning to face Ludo Bagman, who was making his way over from a table full of unhappy-looking goblins. “Good to see you, good to see you! Had a good Christmas?” Bagman glanced back at Neville and Ginny. “You two don’t mind if I borrow Harry here for a quick private chat, do you?”

“Actually, we do,” Ginny retorted blithely. “He’s about to buy us drinks. Come on, Harry.” Without giving Bagman time to argue, Ginny hooked her free hand around Harry’s elbow and tugged him away towards the other end of the bar. The man looked baffled by the turn of events, and Harry snickered.

“Nice one, Gin.” Ginny smiled with dimpled cheeks.

“I don’t trust that one. He still hasn’t paid the twins their winnings from the World Cup — I caught them writing to him about it the other week.” 

As if summoned by their names, Fred and George entered the pub, and upon spotting Bagman, made a beeline for him. Bagman’s blue eyes went wide, and he hurried back to the table full of goblins after a brief conversation with the twins that left them both looking disappointed. Harry thought about calling them over, but then glanced at Ginny and Neville, and stayed silent. They didn’t deserve teasing, not while they were still figuring things out. 

Instead, he leaned on the bar and flagged down Madam Rosmerta to order their drinks, elbowing Neville out of the way when the boy tried to split the bill. “No, shush, this round is mine,” Harry insisted, handing over the coins before Neville could use his extra height to reach over him. Rosmerta giggled, shaking her head at their antics. 

“Thanks, Harry,” Ginny chirped, sipping at her raspberry fizz. 

Crowded at the bar due to lack of seats, Harry had to fight down a grin when Ginny started leaning against Neville, not looking like she even realised she was doing it. It was funny, watching two people start gravitating towards each other like that — after years of watching Ron and Hermione circle in the most uncomfortable orbit in the world, he’d forgotten what it was like for normal people to get together. He didn’t say a word about it, keeping up the conversation about the new player the Harpies had just signed. 

Where he was stood, Harry had a perfect view of the door, and thus he couldn’t miss it when Rita Skeeter walked in, wearing bright yellow robes and trailing her photographer behind her. She didn’t seem to notice Harry as she ordered drinks at a small table nearby. 

“What’s he doing with a pack of goblins in tow, anyway?” Skeeter was saying to the photographer, smirking. “‘Showing them the sights’, what tosh. He was always a bad liar. Think we should do a bit of digging? There’s bound to be something that’ll make a good headline — Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Sports, Ludo Bagman — We just need to find a story to fit it.”

Harry scowled, stepping forward before he even knew what he was doing. “Trying to ruin someone else’s life?” he said loudly, glaring at the blonde woman. Around them, the pub went quiet. Skeeter beamed.

“Harry! How lovely to see you — have you changed your mind about an interview? Come, come sit!”

“I’m not going anywhere near you,” Harry insisted. “How dare you write that article about Hagrid! No one cares that he’s half-giant!”

“Well, if no one cares, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Skeeter retorted, smirk dripping with malice. “Why don’t you give me a quote, Harry? About the Hagrid you know.” She pulled her lime green quill from her crocodile-skin handbag. “The man behind the muscle. Would you call him a father substitute?”

“Are you so bad at your job that you can’t get a headline without making up utter tripe?” Ginny cut in furiously, appearing at Harry’s shoulder. Skeeter glared at her, lips pursing.

“Sit down, you silly little girl, and don’t get involved in matters that don’t concern you,” she dismissed. Ginny’s hands clenched into fists at her side. 

“Like you’re one to talk!” she argued. “Hagrid’s personal life is none of your business, but you stuck your ugly nose in where it wasn’t wanted, and now look what you’ve done!”

Harry recognised the malicious glint in Skeeter’s eye, and his heart sank. They were going to end up in more trouble than it was worth. “Come on, Ginny,” he urged quietly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just go.” He glanced over at Neville, who nodded and set his mostly-empty drink down, taking Ginny by the hand and urging her out of the pub. Harry didn’t look back at Skeeter as they left. 

“She’s not gonna take that lying down,” Neville said with furrowed brows, eyeing Ginny in concern. “She’ll be after you next.”

“Let her,” Ginny replied, scowling. “I’ll take whatever that lying cow can dish out.”

Harry hoped that was true. If there was one thing Rita Skeeter was good at, it was hurting people. 

.-.-.

From books about merpeople, Harry moved on to researching water-based spells, trying to find something that might allow him to be underwater for an hour. He found spells for walking on water, transporting large amounts of water, and plenty of spells to help find water, but nothing that told him how to survive in it past the usual limitation of his lung capacity. There had to be something. He was just looking in the wrong place. 

Remembering Sirius’ words about asking Remus, Harry donned his invisibility cloak one Friday evening and headed down to the dungeons. Remus was usually around on Friday nights, and he’d mentioned something about being there when Harry had spoken to him last.

He glanced around to check the coast was clear, then knocked on the frame of the portrait. It opened, and he snuck inside, waiting until the door was closed before removing his cloak. He looked around the unusually empty room, frowning. “I thought Remus was supposed to be here?”

“He was,” Snape replied curtly. He’d taken off his teaching robes, leaving him in just a black shirt and trousers. He looked exhausted, if Harry was honest. “There was a change in plans.”

“Is everything okay? Is he alright?” Harry asked, brain immediately throwing dozens of disaster scenarios his way.

“He is well. The mutt is merely having a difficult time; Remus didn’t feel it prudent to leave him alone.”

Harry winced; Sirius was doing a lot better since moving into Seren Du, but every now and then he had nightmares from Azkaban and got stuck inside his own head for a little while. It was happening less and less, especially after Snape helped him with his Occlumency shields over the summer, but… twelve years surrounded by dementors had left him with a lot of damage. 

“Oh,” he said, feeling awkward now he knew it was just him and the Potions Master. “I’ll, just, uh— go, then. Sorry to disturb you.”

“Not so fast, Potter,” Snape drawled before Harry could put the cloak back on. The man looked skyward for a moment, like he might regret what he was about to say, but carried on nonetheless. “There was clearly a reason for your visit here. Sit; perhaps I may be of assistance. I am not Remus, but I’m also not an idiot.”

Harry blinked, needing several seconds to comprehend the man’s words. Snape was… inviting him to stay? “Oh,” he said again. “I— okay then. If you’re sure.” Harry walked over to his usual spot on the sofa, and his eyebrows rose when a steaming teacup floated his way. “Thanks.”

Snape sat in his armchair, raising one eyebrow. “Well? What dilemma do you need a way out of now?”

Harry bit his lip. Snape had been a lot better since the summer, in private at least. He could trust him. “Well, I know what the egg’s clue means now. I just don’t really know what to do about it.” He drank his tea, unsurprised that it was exactly the way he preferred it. Snape was a spy, after all; he was supposed to be observant. “I have to be able to breathe underwater for an hour.”

He explained the mermaid’s song to Snape, whose lips pursed. “Of course they’re sending you into the Black Lake in February,” he muttered. “No wonder Poppy asked for those extra-strength Pepper-Up potions. Honestly!”

Harry hadn’t even thought about the issues that might arise from the temperature of the water, and grimaced. Could he hold a Warming charm for an hour? Should he just wear one of his charmed robes, even though it would slow him down in the water?

“There is of course the Bubblehead charm,” Snape continued, demonstrating with a wave of his wand. A large bubble appeared around his head, like he was wearing a fishbowl as a helmet. “Useful for being underwater, and also to avoid noxious fumes from potions. I often teach it to my NEWT students.” His voice was somewhat distorted by the bubble, but Harry could still hear him. Another wave of his wand, and the spell ended. “However, keeping the spell up for a full hour — especially in the face of whatever trials there will no doubt be waiting for you — requires a lot of concentration, and is a risk for someone as unfamiliar with the spell as you are. I would recommend you learn it as a precaution, but not as your main method for the task.”

“So what do I do, then?” Harry asked, watching Snape think. 

“There is no similar limitation to the first task, where you could only use your wand?” the Slytherin checked. Harry shook his head.

“It doesn’t say anything about it, so I assume we’re fine to have other things. If not, I could always summon something again,” he added ruefully. “Why? Are you thinking about some sort of scuba diving apparatus? Because I thought about that but I don’t know how mechanised they are, and I didn’t know if the magic in the lake might mess with it.” The last thing he wanted was for an oxygen tank to fail on him in the middle of the Black Lake. 

“No, that wouldn’t work,” Snape dismissed immediately. “But there is a plant — gillyweed. If you eat it, you will grow gills; and also sometimes fins. The effects vary from plant to plant, which makes it a somewhat risky approach, but if you carry enough for a second dose, that will cover you should the first dose lose its effects before you’ve finished.”

“Brilliant!” Harry breathed, perking up. He just had to eat this plant and he’d be all set! “Where can I buy it?”

“It’s rather rare,” Snape told him, making Harry falter. Of course it was. Just his luck. “However, it is used in several potions, so I keep some in my private stores. I will provide you with some when the task is nearer.” The Slytherin smirked. “If anyone asks where you got it, tell them you stole from me. There will be a detention for your efforts, after the task. Remus has been looking for a chance to test your Ancient Runes progress.”

Most of Harry’s Snape-related detentions turned into private lessons these days, so that didn’t bother him too much. “You’ll just give it to me? Really?”

“It would rather upset Remus if I just let you drown,” Snape pointed out mildly.

Harry was hit with a burst of bravery — or perhaps stupidity. “You’d be sleeping on the sofa for at least a week,” he teased. Snape stared at him, unimpressed.

“Don’t make me regret my offer, Potter,” he muttered. Harry just laughed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” he assured, before sobering. “Seriously, thanks. I was starting to run out of options.”

“I’m sure Mr Longbottom would have enlightened you, had you shared your dilemma with him,” Snape said, and Harry wondered if that was a gentle reminder to trust his friends more. He was happy to talk about the egg with the other champions — at least, he had been before Viktor had solved the clue — but he’d been keeping it quiet around the rest of his friends, not wanting to worry them by explaining what he was about to undertake.

“But then I still would have had to figure out where to get this gillyweed stuff,” Harry pointed out. “So really I just skipped the middle man.”

Once again, Snape looked unimpressed, but he didn’t say anything. With his problem solved, Harry wondered if he should leave. He’d gotten quite used to spending Friday evenings in the Potions Master’s quarters with Remus, doing his homework and catching his pseudo-godfather up on everything he hadn’t managed to tell him through the mirror. The thought of going back to Gryffindor Tower so early made something in his chest twinge sadly. 

“I won’t help you with your homework,” Snape declared flatly. “But if you wish to avoid the antics of the many Weasleys you surround yourself with, you may stay.”

Harry checked his Occlumency shields for a minute, worried he had let Snape slip in. But no, they were as solid as ever. He was just pathetic and transparent, evidently. What had his life come to that he’d rather do homework in his most hated professor’s private rooms rather than up in the common room with his friends?

“Would you… if you’re not too busy, would you teach me the Bubblehead charm? Please?” he requested tentatively. Snape’s dark eyes surveyed him for a moment, and then he sighed.

“Very well,” he assented. “But if your essay on Monday isn’t of O level quality, you’ll be in detention until Easter.”

Harry laughed, wondering when threats of detention had become endearing rather than terrifying. “Yes, sir,” he agreed, grinning. 

The Bubblehead charm wasn’t particularly difficult, but Snape was right that it took concentration to maintain. Harry couldn’t get it to stick for more than five minutes by the time Snape told him to give it a rest and get on with his homework, claiming he had essays to mark. The Potions Master didn’t kick him out even then, so Harry settled in to do his homework at the man’s coffee table, the pair of them sitting in surprisingly companionable silence as they each got their work done. Every now and then, Harry asked Snape a question, like he might Remus or Sirius. To his utter astonishment, Snape would actually answer, explaining concisely until Harry could make sense of the work he was doing. He was a great teacher when he wasn’t being an evil git, in more subjects than just Potions. It was almost like being back at Seren Du, but… easier. Over the summer they’d still had a lot of prejudice and awkward history to work past. Now, Harry was actually enjoying being in the man’s company. It wasn’t quite as relaxing as being with Remus or Sirius, but it was… nice. 

He wondered if Snape was enjoying it as much as Harry was; what he might go and tell Remus about it when he saw the man next. Harry could imagine it already; Remus’ eyes lighting up at the news, that happy little proud smile that he got whenever he saw Snape loosening up around people who weren’t him. Whenever his newly reunited family started truly acting like one.

Harry didn’t mind so much, having Snape in the family. He was Draco’s godfather, after all. But all that aside, he was Remus’, and that made him Harry’s to some degree, too. Whether Snape liked it or not.

Chapter Text

“Potter, stay where you are.” The sharp voice rang out through the Potions classroom, and Harry grimaced, shaking his head when Neville shot him a concerned look.

“I’ll catch up,” he assured, wondering what he was in trouble for this time. Perhaps, after having the weekend to think it over, Snape regretted being so nice to Harry. They’d had a pretty pleasant evening working together in his quarters, and he probably just wanted to make it clear he was still the evil, terrifying dungeon bat Harry had thought he was for the first three years of schooling. 

When they were the only two left in the classroom, Snape locked the door and went through a series of privacy wards; he, too, was aware of Skeeter’s subterfuge. Harry stayed in his seat, waiting for the explosion.

“How often do you check the map?” 

Harry blinked at the unexpected question. “I— what?”

“The Marauders’ blasted map,” Snape clarified. “How regularly have you been checking it?”

“At least three times a day, lately,” he said. “Looking for Rita Skeeter.” So far nothing unusual had come up, except for Mr Crouch being in the school sometimes. But he was probably just organising tournament stuff. “Why do you ask?”

Snape scowled. “Someone broke into my private stores recently.”

“Was it another champion looking for gillyweed, do you think?” Harry queried, wondering who would be stupid enough to steal from Snape.

“No; the only thing of note that was missing was boomslang skin.” His dark eyes turned pointed as comprehension dawned on Harry’s face. “You haven’t been brewing Polyjuice potion again, have you, Potter?”

“What? No!” Harry denied immediately. “What use would I have for Polyjuice? Wait, how do you know about the first time?”

“Miss Granger was indelicate in breaking into my stores, and left her magical signature all over the place,” Snape replied. “Don’t tell me what you used it for, I’m quite certain I don’t want to know. I assume it had something to do with Miss Granger being partially transformed into a cat.”

Harry snickered at the memory. “Yeah, bit of a mix-up there.” Snape gave him a despairing look. “I swear, sir, I don’t know anything about any Polyjuice being brewed. Couldn’t you tell who did it this time?”

“Whoever it was, they were very thorough in removing any trace of their presence,” Snape said, looking quite annoyed by that. “They stole enough for quite a large batch of Polyjuice, so I suspect they won’t need any more for a while.”

Harry glanced up sharply as the man’s words settled in his brain. “You think it’s for long-term use.”

“I think there is someone in this castle who is not who they appear to be,” Snape confirmed. “Whoever it is, they’re doing an impeccable job at impersonating their chosen target.”

“Do you think they’re the one who put my name in the Goblet?” Harry asked grimly. Snape nodded.

“It would make sense, yes. Stay vigilant, Potter, and check the map whenever you are able. If any name is unfamiliar to you, come to me immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” The map was enormous, but Harry would keep an eye on it the best he could. “Can I go, sir? I’m going to be late to History of Magic.”

“Which would, of course, be such a tragedy,” Snape retorted dryly, making Harry snicker.

“Oh, I’d be devastated,” he agreed. Snape rolled his eyes, turning away.

“Get out, brat. Come to me at lunchtime on the 23rd, I’ll get you your gillyweed. The fresher it is, the more potent it will be.”

“Thanks, Professor!” Leaving the classroom, he made sure to school his expression into something appropriately downtrodden as he walked past the crowd of second years waiting for their lesson to begin. As soon as he was past them, it turned into a concerned frown, his hands suddenly itching to pull the map from his bag. That was… concerning news. At least now they had something to look for.

.-.-.

Harry was getting used to being manhandled out of the common room by one or both of the Weasley twins by now. He didn’t put up a fight, letting them drag him up to their dorm room. “What are you two planning now?” he asked suspiciously. They sent him identical innocent grins, which didn’t fool Harry for a second.

“Nothing untoward!” Fred insisted.

“We were just talking about you,” George said conversationally.

“As we often do.”

“And we realised that we’re putting an awful lot of trust in that boyfriend of yours.”

“We know you say he’s alright, but you’re a bit daft sometimes.”

“No offence.”

“So we were thinking, as the only two of your brothers who know the truth.“

“We should meet him, properly, make sure he’s actually a decent bloke like you say he is.”

Harry wasn’t thrown off by the alternating sentences, but their words did make him blink. “You’ve met Draco,” he said, perplexed. “Many times. Played quidditch against him. Remember?”

Both twins rolled their eyes. “We’ve met Malfoy,” George clarified. 

“Slytherin Prince and pureblood prat,” Fred added helpfully. 

“We haven’t met Draco. Not your Draco, anyway.”

“And we thought you might hex us if we took that meeting upon ourselves.”

“So we decided to ask you if you’d arrange something.” George looked hopeful, leaning against a bedpost. “It’s obvious you’re mad about him. I know you said Sirius and Lupin have met him, so obviously he’s not terrible since they approve, but…”

“You’re family,” Fred finished, his tone surprisingly serious. “And if he’s everything you say he is, then hell, he might end up family too, one day.” Harry blushed furiously — that was getting very far ahead, Merlin, they were only fourteen!

“So can we meet your boyfriend?” they finished in unison. 

There was a funny little warmth curling in Harry’s chest. The twins wanted to meet Draco, to see him how Harry saw him, to genuinely get to know him. Even Neville hadn’t said anything more about Draco since the Yule Ball. “You promise you’ll be nice to him?” he asked cautiously. George grinned at him, for once without any mischief or dramatics. 

“He makes you happy,” he said simply. “That’s enough to at least get a pass on any pranks for one meeting.”

“After that, we’ll decide,” Fred finished with a smirk. Harry snorted; that was all he could ask for, he supposed. Even he didn’t get a complete free pass for prank immunity. Though that could be because the twins had discovered Harry would give back as good as he got, after spending half a summer living with Sirius and Remus. Harry still hadn’t told them the truth about the two Marauders; he was saving that little gem for when he needed it most. 

“I’m meeting Draco tomorrow night,” he said eventually. “I’ll check with him, but you two can come with me.”

The twins beamed. Harry hoped he was making the right choice. The more people he had on Draco’s side when they eventually went public about their relationship, the better. 

Harry managed to catch Draco after breakfast the next morning, and the blond looked incredibly uneasy at the prospect of being introduced to the twins as Harry’s boyfriend. But after a promise of no pranks — and several kisses to ease his nerves — Draco agreed to the meeting, and so Harry found himself squeezed under the invisibility cloak with the two tall redheads that night after curfew.

“This thing is amazing,” George murmured softly, in awe of the cloak. “No wonder you sneak about so much.”

“Can we borrow it sometime?” Fred asked. “This would come in handy for so many things!”

“As long as you’re careful with it,” Harry agreed. “It was my dad’s.” He was pretty sure his dad would like the idea of the twins using his cloak to cause mischief. Sirius certainly would. 

They reached the empty Charms classroom and Harry nudged the door open, smiling to see Draco perched on the teacher’s desk inside. The Slytherin was nervous, Harry could tell by the line of his shoulders, but there wasn’t a sign of it on his face. Harry dropped the cloak, greeting Draco with a grin. “Hi,” he said quietly, taking a step forward, then hesitating as the twins appeared behind him. He’d never kissed Draco in front of another person before. Was it okay if he did?

The light in Draco’s eyes dimmed a little when Harry didn’t move towards him, and that made up his mind; he closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together without hesitation, even as his cheeks turned red. One of the twins — he was pretty sure it was George — let out a wolf-whistle. 

“Our little boy’s all grown up, kissing Slytherins.” That was definitely George, mock-sniffing and wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

“Just following your example,” Harry retorted sweetly, making George freeze.

“What do you know?” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head; it had just been a hunch, but that definitely confirmed things. George had kissed at least one Slytherin in the past. He wondered who it was. 

Taking Draco’s hand in his, he tugged the blond off the desk and closer to the twins. “Draco,” he started, “this is Fred and George. Don’t worry if you can’t tell which is which, yet.” Harry wasn’t even sure how he could tell anymore, he just knew. “Fred, George, this is Draco. My boyfriend.” He couldn’t stop the grin that took over his face at the announcement, and George cooed.

“Look at him, Freddy— about ready to fight us, isn’t he?” 

Harry hadn’t realised he’d taken a protective stance, keeping Draco ever so slightly behind him. He blushed, but didn’t move. 

“You can relax, Harrikins; this is a peaceful mission,” Fred insisted, holding out a hand towards Draco. Draco shook it, trepidation on his face. “So. Your dad’s a Death Eater.” He said it as if discussing the weather, and Harry flinched.

“Fred.” His tone was warning, but Draco’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” he assured, meeting Fred’s gaze with his head held high. “He is. But I am not my father, and I’d rather die before I knelt to that twisted monster.”

Fred’s gaze assessed him carefully, then he eventually nodded. “Good. I reckon Harry won’t let either of those things happen to you, so you’re alright there.”

George jumped in at his twin’s side, grabbing Draco’s arm in a handshake. “You’re better at Potions than Harry is, aren’t you?”

“That’s not difficult,” Draco replied, smirking. Harry jabbed him lightly in the side. He was okay at it, now! “Why?”

“We’ve been working on this variation of the Swelling Solution for one of our products,” George explained, “and we’ve been having a bit of trouble getting it to only work on certain parts of the body.”

Harry was left blinking as his boyfriend was stolen away by the twins, dragged towards some empty chairs and brought into a debate about ingredient measures and brewing times. Still, he couldn’t be too mad about it; the twins were trying so hard. They hadn’t brought any Wheezes products, and other than Fred’s first remark, not a single mention of Draco’s family escaped their lips. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he’d agreed to the meeting, but something with more of a fight had certainly crossed his mind. Draco had been pretty awful to the Weasley family in the past, even if not to the twins specifically. Their families had a blood feud that had lasted for generations. 

He couldn’t be much help discussing Potions, but Harry pulled up a chair next to Draco anyway, smiling when the blond tangled his fingers in Harry’s without even thinking about it, his other hand making a series of gestures to help explain whatever he was explaining to the twins. A lot of it went over Harry’s head, but it was apparent Draco knew what he was talking about, and the twins clearly appreciated the input. 

“We might have more questions for you,” George warned, after Fred finished writing down Draco’s instructions. “We’re both decent enough at Potions, but it’s never been our favourite. Spells are so much easier to manipulate.”

“I suppose I can help where possible,” Draco acquiesced. “As long as I can trust you not to use my own work against me.”

The twins shared a smirk. “I think that’s fair,” they agreed. George glanced down at his watch.

“Right, we’d better leave you two alone, then,” he said, smirk widening as he gave Harry and Draco a lewd wink. “Don’t want to take up your whole night.”

Harry was immeasurably grateful for that. He was over the moon that the twins and Draco seemed to get along well, but he also just really wanted to be able to snog his boyfriend in peace. 

The twins stood, and George ruffled Harry’s hair fondly. “You were right,” he declared. “He’s not as much of a prat as he likes to pretend he is.”

Draco made a vaguely offended face, but Harry ignored him, grinning up at the older boy. “So I can keep him, then?” he asked in a falsely casual tone. Fred snickered.

“As long as you remember to feed him, and walk him, and don’t let him piddle on the carpet,” he replied, earning a bark of laughter. He clapped Harry on the shoulder. “We’ll see you in the morning. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Remember the spells in the book,” George added, making Harry splutter. As if they were anywhere close to needing those spells!

“We’ll see you around, Draco,” Fred said to the Slytherin, nodding. Draco nodded back, and Harry felt like he was missing something.

“If you have any more Potions questions, write them down and send them with Harry,” the blond instructed. “I’ll do what I can.”

The twins grinned, then disappeared from the classroom, leaving Harry’s invisibility cloak pooled on the floor in the doorway. They’d been sneaking around the castle long enough not to need it. Harry didn’t really need it either these days, but he brought it out of habit. 

There was a beat of silence, then Harry let out a long breath. “That was alright, wasn’t it?” he asked worriedly. “They were okay?”

Draco’s hands rested on Harry’s hips, and the smallest smile curved at his mouth. “I expected more hexing,” he admitted. “Possibly a bit of yelling. Certainly not… that.”

Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah, they’ll surprise you.” He hadn’t realised how nervous he’d been about the whole meeting until it was over, and his heart was thudding in his chest. “I’d say it went better than either of us expected. They like you.” If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have left Harry behind. 

Draco leaned in, lips brushing against Harry’s in a way that had the Gryffindor following when he pulled back. “Let’s stop talking about Weasleys, shall we?” he drawled, hand sliding around to the small of Harry’s back.

There wasn’t much talking about anything for a while after that.

.-.-.-.

It was starting to become a thing, Harry thought to himself, entering the common room to see Ron and Hermione sat on the sofa by the fire and staring at him intently. He reluctantly veered in their direction, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “We had something we wanted to say,” Hermione said by way of greeting. Harry snorted, perching on the arm of the chair opposite.

“I can see that,” he muttered to himself. “Go on, then.”

“Everything has been a bit of a mess lately,” Hermione said earnestly. “Between the tournament, and Viktor, and… everything else.” Harry wondered if she was referring to Ron’s attitude, or his many other friends. “I think it all just got out of hand, and we let it. But Harry, the three of us have been best friends since first year. Surely we can’t let a little drama and a boy get in the way of all that?”

She was oversimplifying things so enormously that Harry goggled at her a little. “First off, I’ve never had a problem with Viktor,” he pointed out. “He’s great, we’re friends, if you want to date him then go right ahead. Ron’s the one with that issue there.” The redhead flushed, looking a little angry, but after a glance at Hermione he swallowed it back.

“Ronald and I have worked out our differences,” Hermione assured him. Harry doubted it, but let her keep up her illusion. “We miss you, Harry. I know you’ve been busy with the tournament, but all that aside, this year has been different for all of us. We’ve hardly spent any time together. It feels like we’re losing you.” Her voice cracked slightly, and guilt reared within Harry’s chest. It wasn’t their fault he now had a mountain of secrets he was keeping from them. 

“That hasn’t all been my fault,” Harry pointed out, thinking of the multiple arguments he’d had with both of them over the last couple of months. Hermione ducked her head.

“No, it hasn’t,” she agreed. “Which is why I thought it’d be best if we just drew a line under all of that and started over, back how things were. You, me, and Ron.”

Obviously the tentative truce they’d agreed upon before the Yule Ball wasn’t enough for her. Part of Harry wondered why she was trying so hard to salvage a failing friendship; then he realised she didn’t exactly have anyone else to turn to. Maybe he’d been too hard on her lately. On both of them. It had to be strange from their perspective, seeing Harry change so drastically as a person seemingly for no reason. They didn’t know about the Compulsion charm. 

Once again, Ron was being very silent, and Harry glanced at the redheaded boy. “What do you reckon?”

Ron looked up at him, smiling very faintly. “I reckon if some nutter’s out to kill you again, you could use all the friends you can get.”

Harry cracked a grin in return, even as his stomach churned uneasily. Ron and Hermione really did deserve more of a chance than he’d been giving them lately, after everything they had been through. Harry wasn’t quite ready to start sharing his secrets, but he could at least stop expecting the worst of them. 

“Have you two done the essay for McGonagall yet?” he asked tentatively, offering an olive branch. Hermione beamed, even as Ron groaned at the mention of homework.

“We were just about to start,” Hermione said, reaching into her bulging backpack. “Do you want to join us? I’ll help you if you like.”

Hermione had to be desperate, Harry mused, to be volunteering to help him with work. Not that he needed it these days; if she’d been paying close attention, she’d notice he was doing just fine on his own. “Yeah, alright.”

He pulled out his Transfiguration textbook and writing supplies, sliding down into the armchair to lean over the coffee table. Ron grumbled a bit, but got his things out too, and the three of them settled in to work. Harry couldn’t really call it working together — despite Hermione’s offer, she kept to herself and glared at Ron every time he tried to sneak a look at her parchment — more just working in proximity to one another, but it was a start. 

Harry was only half-focused on his work, the rest of his brain still trying to figure out what had prompted the change of heart. Despite the agreed-upon truce, after the disaster of the Yule Ball and the following fallout, Harry had expected to go the whole rest of the year without overtures of any kind from Ron and Hermione. Ginny was still pissed at Ron for ignoring Luna all night, Hermione wasn’t impressed by the rumours circulating about her and Harry, and Harry had thought Ron was still convinced he was some kind of traitor for making friends with people from other schools and houses. What had happened to make them so determined to clear the air and start over?

It was a testament to how fractured their friendship had been lately that the sight of the three of them studying together gained many odd looks from the Gryffindors who passed through the common room. Neville was one of them, eyeing Harry in concern, but Harry just waved him off. If they wanted to try, he was willing to try. 

When he finished his essay — faster than Ron and Hermione, though Hermione was at least four inches over the requirement with no signs of stopping — Harry sat up with a stretch. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get my History of Magic book.” Might as well get a head start on the next essay, even if he couldn’t finish it in one night. 

Heading towards the dorms, Harry started jogging up the stairs, almost falling flat on his face when an arm reached out and yanked him through a door. “What the hell, George?” he asked the redhead, straightening up with a scowl. It faded when he saw the concern on George’s face.

“What did those two say to you?” George asked. Harry frowned.

“What? They just want to try being friends again. I guess Hermione misses me, I suppose Ron might as well.” Ron was still a little off with him, but he’d tried cracking a few jokes while they worked, some of which were actually funny. To Harry’s surprise, that made George grimace.

“I don’t want to ruin anything, in case they genuinely mean it,” he started cautiously. “But I thought you should know. I saw the two of them talking with Dumbledore after lunch today.” Harry’s heart sank. “I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying, not without risking being caught. But he looked like he was annoyed with them for something, and Ron didn’t seem too pleased about whatever he was saying.”

“Do you think…” Harry trailed off, unable to voice his concern.

“That Dumbledore isn’t happy they’re no longer keeping an eye on you, and told them to get back in your good books?” George finished grimly. “I’d bet my broom on it, mate.”

Harry’s blood became ice in his veins, and George squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” the redhead murmured. “If I thought they were honest, I’d let it go, but… there’s too much at stake for you to risk this. And honestly, some of the stuff Ron’s said about you lately when you’re not around, I find it hard to believe he’s had a change of heart, even with Hermione pestering him.”

“Right.” Harry definitely didn’t want to know what Ron had said. He wasn’t sure he could take it. “Yeah. I… shit.” He ran a hand through his hair, hating the way his eyes were starting to itch. He didn’t even like Ron and Hermione that much anymore; why did it hurt so much to have his fears confirmed?

All of a sudden he was wrapped in a hug, his face pressed against George’s chest. “You’re still family,” George promised, hand warm and solid on Harry’s spine. “You’ve got us, and Bill and Charlie, and even Ginny. If Ron and Hermione are working for Dumbledore, you’re better off without them.”

That was true, but it didn’t change the fact that they were the first friends Harry had made at Hogwarts; the only friends he’d had for a long time. To learn it was all a lie — even if it had been genuine once, it wasn’t anymore — Harry couldn’t help but feel his heart break just a little bit. 

“Thanks for telling me, George,” he said eventually, pulling away and trying to compose himself. “I’d love to say I’m surprised, but…” George shared his uneasy look. “I should go. They’ll be wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“If you need a rescue, you know the signal,” George told him, not arguing when Harry left the dorm. 

Hurrying up to his own dorm to grab the book he’d originally gone up for, Harry went back down to the common room with a smile on his face like nothing had happened. Hermione smiled back at him when he approached. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” he lied breezily, cracking open the textbook. They would definitely get suspicious if he turned on them so quickly after agreeing to make friends again, but Harry was pretty sure they’d end up arguing within a week or two and he could break away then. It might be worth trying for a little longer, to give them something to take back to Dumbledore. Reassurance that Harry was still his old self — still under the Compulsion charm and blissfully unaware of anything to do with his inheritance or pureblood culture or the Wizengamot. 

If they were going to spy on him, he might as well use it to his advantage.

.-.-.-.

Being friends with Ron again meant it was difficult for Harry to sneak out of the dorm to meet Draco, but he managed it eventually, filling the blond in on the situation as they sat together on the floor of the Transfiguration classroom, a Cushioning charm making the stone surprisingly comfortable. Harry’s head was in Draco’s lap, the Slytherin’s narrow fingers running through his hair, a frown at his lips. “I don’t like this,” he said eventually. “It’s hard enough keeping all your secrets in order when no one is looking at you, let alone with Weasley and Granger sniffing around.”

“Someone’s always looking at me,” Harry insisted. “At least if I know they’re looking I can direct them elsewhere.” Barely a week into their renewed friendship and Ron and Hermione were already pestering him to open up to them; Ron in the guise of wanting gossip about who he was snogging, Hermione pretending to be concerned about Sirius. Harry wondered if Dumbledore was frustrated at not knowing where the dog animagus was hiding. 

“That doesn’t mean you should let them look so closely.”

“I’ll feed them enough lies to get Dumbledore off my back, then wait for Ron to be a prick again and stop talking to them,” Harry promised. He’d already managed to get them to believe that Sirius was hiding in Central America, hence the lack of frequent letters. He’d also told Hermione that the people at the Yule Ball were mostly Susan’s friends, and he’d just pretended to hang out with them to keep her happy. Susan was fine with that misdirection, happy for Dumbledore to be aware that she was bridging the gaps between houses. 

Draco looked doubtful, and Harry sat up enough to kiss the frown off his face, sneaking his tongue between the Slytherin’s lips. Draco moaned softly, pulling Harry into his lap. “You’re trying to distract me,” he declared with an annoyed look. Harry smirked.

“I am, and it’s working,” he retorted knowingly, trailing a finger up Draco’s bicep and across his chest, leaning in for another kiss. “Just relax, and trust me.”

Draco’s head tipped back against the stone wall, and Harry used the movement to kiss down his jaw to his throat, teasing the sensitive spot below his ear that made Draco grip him tighter and hiss with pleasure. 

“You’re too damn Slytherin for your own good sometimes,” Draco muttered, his hand up the front of Harry’s shirt. Harry’s green eyes flashed playfully. 

“That’s why you like me so much.” He nipped at Draco’s earlobe, rocking forward in his lap a little. They still hadn’t gone any further than rutting up against each other, but that was more than enough for Harry. He was getting pretty good at Cleaning charms these days. 

Draco’s mouth was too busy for him to argue back for several minutes after that, and by the time it was free he was too dazed to remember his objections. Harry was only a little bit smug about that, but it was enough to have Draco scowling at him when they said their goodbyes. “I still don’t like it,” the Slytherin insisted. Harry kissed him.

“I know. I’m not thrilled about it either,” he admitted. “But it won’t be forever, and if I’m too resistant to them, Dumbledore will start asking questions.” He doubted he’d have to wait long for one or the other to screw up and get angry with him. They didn’t like the person he’d become, that much was abundantly clear. Hermione had been biting her tongue all week, and she would only last so long. If Ron didn’t explode first, of course.

The pair eventually parted ways, and Harry slipped away towards Gryffindor under the cover of the invisibility cloak. His mind still on the feeling of Draco’s soft skin under his fingertips, Harry hardly noticed the insistent push of magic against his own; the castle trying to warn him of something. It was only when he heard the faint thunk-thunk of Moody’s wooden leg that he froze. Slowly, he tried to back around the corner, away from the source of the noise.

“Potter!”

He cursed under his breath. The invisibility cloak was useless against Moody’s magical eye. “Professor Moody,” he greeted, dropping the hood reluctantly. Moody limped closer, smirking at Harry in the dim light.

“Out for a little late night stroll, are we?”

“I don’t sleep well sometimes,” Harry replied evasively, hoping he didn’t look as ravished as he felt. Draco was usually pretty good about not leaving marks, unlike Harry. They both knew Moody could see through glamour charms, and Harry didn’t want questions in class. “I’m sorry, I’ll go back up to my dorm.”

“Don’t worry about it, Potter,” Moody waved him off. “What McGonagall doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Harry thought it interesting that he chose to mention the Gryffindor housemistress and not the headmaster. Was he implying Dumbledore already knew, or just that he was likely to tell the man? “Listen, while I’ve got you here; how are things going with that egg of yours?”

“Fine,” Harry replied, eyes narrowing. “I’m not supposed to accept help from people. Especially not teachers.” As if he hadn’t been helped by Snape plenty already. But Moody didn’t need to know that. 

The Defence teacher let out a raspy laugh. “Like you’ll be the only champion getting outside help,” he pointed out. “You sure you don’t want to talk it over? My office is always open to you.”

“No, I’ve got it covered, thanks,” Harry insisted. “Look, if you’re not going to take points or anything, can I go? I’d really like to go to bed now.” It was nearing midnight, and he had Potions first thing in the morning. Snape would crucify him if he dozed off in class.

“Aye, be on your way, Potter. But be careful; there’s all kinds of strangers in this castle. Even with that fancy cloak of yours, you wouldn’t want one to come and snap you up.” Moody grinned, though it was more of a grimace, his disfigured face twisting in a way that could easily give a person nightmares. 

Harry almost pointed out that Professor Moody was one of those strangers, but quite frankly he was ready for that whole interaction to be over as quickly as possible. He nodded, throwing the hood of the cloak back up to cover himself and hurrying away from the creepy professor. 

When he was several corridors away, Harry paused and pulled the map out of his bag, wanting to make sure Draco got back to his common room safely. If Moody came across him too, he might end up drawing some conclusions. His eyes scanned the paper, relief hitting him when he saw the dot labelled ‘Draco Malfoy’ down in the dungeons, approaching the Slytherin common room. Then, Harry frowned, his brow furrowed. 

According to the map, Moody was in his office, behind the desk, like he always was. How was that possible? There was no way he could have made it back that quickly! He kept looking around the map, wondering if there was some sort of mistake, but other than Barty Crouch walking down the hall away from Dumbledore’s office entrance — that was an absurdly late meeting, surely the tournament arrangements couldn’t be that urgent? — He didn’t see anyone out of place. 

Harry shook his head, wiping the map away and continuing on to Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps Moody knew of a secret passageway Harry didn’t. He wasn’t so arrogant to assume he’d figured out all of Hogwarts’ secrets, even with the help of the Marauders.

.-.-.-.-.

The night before the task found all four Triwizard champions tucked away in a small living room in the Beauxbatons carriage, Fleur insisting it was the best place for privacy as none of her schoolmates would bother them. It was certainly more comfortable than hanging out in an abandoned classroom in the castle, so Harry wasn’t going to complain. 

“So is everyone ready for tomorrow?” Cedric asked, leaning back in his armchair with a bottle of butterbeer in his hand. The champions were all avoiding alcohol, not wanting to be hungover when they plunged into the Black Lake in the morning. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Viktor replied with a shrug. They’d all agreed not to say a word about the methods they planned to use, wanting it to be a surprise when the task began, but it was hard not to talk about what they were about to undertake.

“I am curious about what zey ‘ave taken from us,” Fleur mused. “I ‘ave not noticed anyzing missing.”

Harry hadn’t either, but his three most important possessions — the cloak, the map, and Sirius’ mirror — were in his bag pretty much permanently, so he couldn’t see how anyone could take them. Maybe they’d take his Firebolt. 

“It’s whatever we’ll sorely miss,” Cedric said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe they’ve nicked my Potions notes. I’ve got an essay due on Friday.” The other three laughed.

“Maybe they vill take a person,” Viktor suggested. Harry and Fleur shared skeptical looks.

“Surely they wouldn’t take that risk? If we don’t make it in the hour…” Harry trailed off at the pointed look Viktor gave him. “Right, yeah, dragons.” They hadn’t cared too much about the safety of the spectators in the first task. Who was to say they wouldn’t put an innocent person in danger to motivate the champions? “I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”

“D’you think we’ll have to fight the merpeople, or just find them?” Cedric mused. “To get whatever it is back, I mean. Merpeople are supposed to be a warrior race. Do you think they’ll just let us take it and go on our way?”

“I’d like to think the challenge is in getting to them in the first place,” Harry said grimly. There were all sorts of creatures in the lake that would make it difficult enough. “But I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“I will just charm zem,” Fleur declared, tossing her hair. “Zen zey will ‘ave to let me go past.”

“Does that work on merpeople, then?” Harry was curious, knowing very little about veela and their charm. “What are the limits of it? Can you charm, like, cats and owls and stuff, or do they have to be humanoid? Or a certain level of intelligence?” Harry presumed if Fleur was capable of charming non-human creatures, she would have tried to charm the dragon in the first task. “Or does it only work on boys? There might be mermaids down there.” The dragon was a nesting mother, so maybe that was why it didn’t work.

“I ‘ave not tested ze specifics,” Fleur admitted, looking amused at the line of questioning. “And I am not as strong as a full veela. But a veela’s charm will work on anyone ‘oo is attracted to ‘umanoid women. I would assume merfolk would be similar enough for eet to work.”

“That explains why it didn’t work on me at the World Cup,” Harry murmured in comprehension, realising after a beat of pointed silence that he’d said that out loud. “I mean. Err.” His face went hot as the other three stared at him wide-eyed. 

“Did you just…” Cedric looked hesitant, like he didn’t wait to say it out loud until Harry did.

“Accidentally come out?” Harry confirmed sheepishly. “Apparently. Please don’t tell anyone.” He wasn’t ashamed, not really, but it was attention he didn’t really need right now. People were judging him enough as it was without knowing that.

“Your secret is safe wiz us,” Fleur promised, reaching over to squeeze his arm fondly. “I admit, I did suspect. I ‘ave tried to charm boys wiz you around before, and you did not even seem to notice.” Harry blinked, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

“How often do you use that charm of yours?” he asked suspiciously. Her response was an innocent smile, and Harry assumed by the way Cedric and Viktor’s eyes turned adoring, she was using her charm right then. Harry laughed. 

“I never use eet when eet matters,” she promised, the boys turning back to normal after a second. “But sometimes eet is ze easiest way to get boys to leave me alone.”

“Not Harry, clearly,” Cedric teased, his grey eyes playful without a hint of judgement. “You’re stuck with him.”

“I haff to say, this makes me feel better,” Viktor declared, earning a confused look. “I know you are not the type to interfere with another person’s relationship, but I had vorried about the rumours of you and Hermy-own.”

“Oh, those are completely made up by Skeeter,” Harry promised. “She’s all yours, don’t worry.” That made Viktor grin, and something in Harry’s chest twisted. He hadn’t realised the Durmstrang boy liked Hermione quite so much. Should he say something? Tell Viktor that his sort-of-girlfriend was maybe spying on Harry for Dumbledore and who knew what she really wanted with Viktor? No, he couldn’t do that. The worst Hermione could likely be accused of where Viktor was concerned was using him to make Ron jealous. 

It was none of his business, Harry decided. Viktor would leave at the end of the year anyway. 

“So who were you with at the Yule Ball, then?” Cedric asked curiously. “If it wasn’t any of the girls. It certainly wasn’t George; him and Boris made it pretty clear where they were going when they left.”

Harry ducked his head, cheeks turning red. “No one important,” he lied.

“Was it Cassius? Wait, no, he was still in the hall while you were gone.”

“Why does everyone think I’m with Cassius?” Harry despaired, remembering Neville’s assumption too. Did he really spend that much time around the older Slytherin? No wonder Dumbledore was getting worried. “Leave it alone or I’ll tell Skeeter it was you I was snogging,” he told Cedric, who snickered. 

“I could do worse,” he said with a shrug, winking. “Not sure Cho would be pleased about it, mind. She’d want to watch if I was snogging you.”

Harry made a face. “That’s more information than I ever wanted about you or your girlfriend.” Maybe Cedric wasn’t as incredibly straight as George had assumed.

Cedric burst into laughter, and even Fleur and Viktor joined him at the disturbed expression Harry wore. 

“On zat note, I think eet is time to go to bed,” Fleur suggested, still giggling. “Since ‘Arry will not share ‘is rendezvous wiz us.”

“If we all survive this bloody tournament, I’ll tell you,” Harry grumbled, getting to his feet. 

It was later than they probably should have stayed out considering their early start, but Cedric and Harry weren’t remotely tired as they snuck back up to the castle, bidding Viktor goodnight on the lawn. They parted ways at the stairs, and Harry quickly made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, creeping up to his dorm. All the other beds had the curtains drawn, so Harry tried to be quiet as he got ready for bed, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force himself to sleep. He’d need all the rest he could get.

Chapter Text

The morning of the second task dawned bright and early, thankfully fairly mild for late February. Harry readied himself in the dorm, putting on his swimming trunks under his robe and stuffing the gillyweed in his pocket. Neville was waiting for him in the common room with a bacon sandwich, and Harry grinned at him. “Is the hall a bit mad?”

“It’s been worse,” Neville said with a shrug, “but I still thought you’d prefer to avoid it.”

“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Harry was surprised the pair weren’t there with them, since they were so determined to be his best friends again. They hardly let him go to the bathroom without their company these days. 

“I haven’t seen them, actually,” Neville replied. Harry frowned, but shook it off; he had bigger things to worry about.

Eating his sandwich on the way down to the lake, he raised his eyebrows at seeing the stands from the first task constructed on the bank of the lake, overlooking the calm water. Neville hugged him and wished him good luck before hurrying off to get a seat, and Harry made his way towards the judges’ table, where he could see Viktor waiting. There was no sign of Fleur or Cedric yet. 

“Morning,” Harry greeted, glad for the Warming charm on his robe. Snape had promised the gillyweed would help him adjust to the water temperature, and Harry prayed he was right about that. It had to be freezing in there. Viktor nodded in greeting, his dark eyes fixed sharply on the water. He was clearly in the zone, and Harry left him to it, scanning the rest of the crowd. He was surprised to see Percy sat in Mr Crouch’s seat, and he wandered over. “Where’s Mr Crouch?”

“He’s still not well,” Percy told him with a frown. “Terrible thing, he hasn’t been in the office in weeks. Of course, I’m handling everything as per his instruction — owls me every morning, you see. I have it all under control.” Percy puffed out his chest. “But of course I wish him the speediest recovery.”

Harry’s brow furrowed; that couldn’t be right. He’d seen Mr Crouch’s name on the map half a dozen times since the Yule Ball. But of course he couldn’t say that, or he’d have to explain the map, and then he’d be in all kinds of trouble.

Before he could ask for any detail on Crouch’s mysterious illness, Bagman appeared at Harry’s side, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulders. “Alright, there, Harry?” He ducked in close, dropping his voice. “Need any last-minute pointers?”

Harry firmly removed the man’s arm from his person, taking a step away. “I’m fine, thanks.” Why was the man so insistent on helping him? Surely Harry didn’t look that pathetic. 

The arrival of Cedric and Fleur was the perfect excuse for Harry to ditch Bagman, and he bumped Cedric’s shoulder with his own. “You ready for this?”

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” Cedric pointed out dryly. “Hey, have you seen Cho this morning? She wasn’t at breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” Harry replied, puzzled; that wasn’t like Cho at all. “But I didn’t go to breakfast. Neville brought me up a sandwich so I could avoid the crowd.”

“It’s not him, is it?” Cedric asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, making it clear what he was referring to. Harry blushed, jabbing the Hufflepuff in the side.

“No!” he hissed, wide-eyed. “It’s not Neville, God! And keep your voice down, Skeeter’s bound to be around here somewhere.”

Cedric looked apologetic, glancing around for any sign of the blonde reporter. “That is weird, actually; she’s usually right on top of the action. Maybe your lawyer finally scared her off.”

“I can only hope,” Harry said ruefully. 

It drew closer to the starting time, and as the stands began to fill with people Bagman cast Sonorus on himself, striding out to the water’s edge and starting up a chatter to pass the time. “All four champions are ready and raring to go! For those of you who aren’t aware, the second task is thus; each champion has had a person they care about taken from them, stolen away into the depths of the lake by its resident clan of merpeople. It is up to the champions to find what has been taken from them and retrieve them within the hour!”

At Bagman’s words, all four champions shared horrified looks. “A person,” Viktor murmured grimly.

“Cho!” Cedric gasped, casting panicked eyes on the water’s surface. Harry gripped his arm to stop him diving in then and there.

“They’re safe, they have to be. The task hasn’t started yet.” He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure. 

“But after an hour…” Fleur trailed off, her blue eyes fearful. “I do not know ‘oo zey ‘ave taken from me.” She disappeared, hurrying over to her headmistress, and there was a rapid conversation in French that ended with Fleur’s hands sparking with fire in her fury. “Gabrielle!” The quarter-veela stomped over to Ludo Bagman, grabbing him by the front of his robe and hoisting him off his feet, glaring. Her hair had flames licking at the tips, and Harry could smell burning ozone. He hadn’t realised Fleur had that much of her heritage in her. “If anyzing ‘appens to my leetle sister, I will kill you, Bagman,” she declared spitefully. Harry’s jaw dropped. Fleur had talked about her little sister before; Gabrielle was barely nine years old! How could they possibly think it was a good idea to put her at the bottom of a lake?

Bagman looked like he was about to wet himself, but he bravely patted Fleur on the shoulder. “Not to worry, Miss Delacour,” he said, voice shaking. “We’ve got every precaution in place.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Fleur, but she huffed, dropping him to the ground and turning on her heel back to the other champions. Harry could see several boys in the stands watching with a mixture of fear and awe; even he had to admit that was terrifyingly impressive, watching her pick up Bagman with one hand. 

“Remind me never to piss her off,” Cedric muttered. Harry and Viktor both hummed in agreement. 

With Fleur pacing like a caged tiger, Bagman and the other judges seemed to realise it was best to get started as quickly as possible. 

Harry stripped off his robe and shoes when the other champions started doing the same, leaving him in the swimming shorts and tank top he’d been supplied with the day before. The other male champions were dressed similarly, and Fleur wore a silver one-piece swimsuit, oblivious to the looks she was getting once she dropped her robe. She was too focused on her sister and the lake. 

“Champions, you have one hour!” Bagman announced, still eyeing Fleur warily. “Start on my whistle. One… two… three!” Bagman blew his whistle, and they immediately jumped into action. Harry shoved the gillyweed in his mouth and began to chew, wading out into the freezing cold water. All three other champions blazed past him, disappearing under the surface of the water. Harry refused to do so until he was absolutely sure this whole thing would work.

I really should’ve tested this, he thought to himself as he swallowed the slimy plant, ignoring the faint laughter he could hear from the stands as he stood in the shallows like an idiot. Don’t fail me now, Snape.

When it finally started working, it kicked in remarkably quickly, and Harry had to throw himself into the water to avoid choking on air. His feet elongated into flippers, his hands webbing between the fingers, and he grinned to himself as he swam forwards, the water feeling more room temperature than the near-ice he knew it was. 

Snape hadn’t let him down. He could do this.

.-.-.-.

Much more than an hour later, Harry burst through the surface of the lake and took a glorious gasp of air, having lost his gills about fifteen feet under. He dragged Ron and Gabrielle with him, both of them regaining consciousness once they were above water. Gabrielle’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she splashed and gasped her sister’s name, and Harry let go of Ron, letting the little girl wind her arms around his neck. “There you go, I’ve got you,” he soothed, unsure how much English she spoke. “Fleur is okay,” he said, though truthfully he didn’t know what had happened to the French girl. “Can you swim?” Gabrielle sniffled and made a so-so gesture with one hand, the other gripping Harry’s shoulder tightly. 

“Harry, hurry up! What’s she doing here?” Ron asked, impatiently treading water, his red hair plastered to his forehead.

“Fleur never showed up, I couldn’t leave her there.” Harry started to swim the best he could with Gabrielle hanging on his back. He was glad for all his time in the pool at Seren Du now. 

“You idiot, you didn’t seriously think they’d let us die down there, did you?” Ron burst out. 

“That’s not a risk I’m willing to take with the life of a nine year-old girl,” Harry retorted sharply. “Just swim.” The closer he drew to the bank, he could see a crowd gathered with their wands out, fire flaring from somewhere in the middle. Madame Maxime towered over it all, looking like she was struggling to keep hold of something. Or someone. Fleur.

“Gabrielle!” The crowd was forcefully parted as Fleur broke away from her headmistress’ hold in a blast of flames, rushing towards the water’s edge. On Harry’s back, Gabrielle perked up, calling for Fleur. 

“She’s fine!” Harry assured as loud as he could, swimming faster. Fleur clearly couldn’t enter the water when she was in her veela state, and she prowled the bank until Harry was close enough to let Gabrielle down, the little girl hitting the shallows and sprinting into her sister’s arms. Fleur immediately calmed, muttering in French and smoothing a hand down her sister’s wet hair. Ignoring Ron as he was bundled away by Percy, Harry hurried to Fleur’s side. “She’s okay, right? The merpeople wouldn’t let me take her at first, but you didn’t show up — I couldn’t leave her there.”

When Fleur looked up at him over Gabrielle’s head, her eyes were filled with tears. “I was attacked by ze grindylows,” she sobbed. “I lost my Bubble’ead charm. Water ees not my strongest element.” There were still embers flying off her hair, and Harry squeezed her shoulder. 

“I got her. She’s fine.” Next thing he know, he was being dragged into the sisters’ hug, Fleur pressing kisses to his face.

“You saved ‘er, even though she wasn’t your ‘ostage,” she breathed thankfully. “Zank you, ‘Arry.”

“I couldn’t leave her there,” Harry repeated, hugging Fleur. Now that he was closer, he could see she had dozens of vicious-looking cuts all over her skin, blood dripping down onto the sand. “Fleur, you need to see Madam Pomfrey.”

“She’s not the only one, Mr Potter.” Harry’s head snapped up to see the mediwitch in question stood behind him, lips pursed as she surveyed the scene. “All of you, come with me. Honestly, sending children into the lake in February, it’s a wonder you didn’t all go hypothermic!”

With Fleur refusing to let go of Gabrielle, the three of them followed Pomfrey over to the first aid tent, where the other five task participants were waiting. Cedric and Cho were huddled together in a fluffy towel, otherwise no worse for wear. Viktor had an arm wrapped around a shivering Hermione, his head human once more, and nearby Ron was sat in a towel of his own, glaring at the Bulgarian boy. 

Pomfrey wrapped a towel tightly around Harry’s shoulders, then thrust a vial into his hand. Harry recognised it as Snape’s extra-strength Pepper-Up potion, and downed it happily, sighing as the steam began to gush from his ears. 

“Gabrielle first,” Fleur insisted stubbornly when the matron turned to her. Pomfrey huffed, but obligingly wrapped the girl in a towel and gave her a potion too — only then did Fleur allow her to start healing her wounds. 

“Alright, Harry?” Cedric asked, his grey eyes dark with concern. “You were down there a long time.”

“I’m fine,” he assured, casting a Drying charm on himself. He cast one on Gabrielle too, and the girl’s violent shivers lessened. “You? Cho?”

“We’re both okay,” Cho promised, managing the barest smile. “I don’t really remember much, to be honest. One minute I was in Dumbledore’s office, the next I woke up in the middle of the lake.” Cedric definitely didn’t look impressed by the proceedings, and Harry didn’t blame him. He would probably be far more furious himself if it had been Neville or Draco or even Ginny — especially Ginny, after her ordeal with the Chamber two years ago — but obviously Dumbledore had done the choosing, if he thought Ron was who he’d miss most. 

“Harry!” Hermione gushed, eyes bright. “You did it! You worked it out all by yourself!” She sounded equal parts surprised and impressed, and Harry smirked; no one would even believe him if he admitted to getting help from Snape of all people.

“I told you I had it sorted.”

“You haff a water beetle in your hair,” Viktor said to Hermione, reaching up to gently brush the beetle away. Hermione smiled at him, but turned back to Harry.

“What were you thinking, going back for Fleur’s sister like that? You wasted so much time! Viktor said you were there before any of the others.”

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to let a nine year-old die, Hermione,” Harry bit out, wondering how she and Ron both could just trust Dumbledore when he said nothing bad would happen. The first task had been dragons, and they thought everything was going to be perfectly safe?

He could see Dumbledore conferring with the mer-chief at the edge of the water, and then gathering the other judges to discuss something. Harry barely paid attention to the scores — he didn’t care if they gave him a zero, as long as he was done with the task. Still, it didn’t surprise him to hear that Dumbledore had somehow managed to spin his decision to save Gabrielle into some sort of example of martyrdom, giving him extra points for it. He was tied for first with Cedric now.

“Just one more to go,” Cedric said as they were all herded up to the castle, towels still draped around them. “Then it’s all over.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Harry declared vehemently. He didn’t have to think about the bloody tournament for three whole months; then they’d be told about the third task, and a month later it would be done. “Merlin, I can’t wait to take a bath.” Cedric laughed as Cho made a loud noise of agreement, and they glanced back at Viktor and Hermione; Viktor seemed to be trying to talk to Hermione, while she just wanted to walk up ahead to talk to Harry. Harry was glad Viktor knew he had no interest in Hermione, or it would all look a bit suspicious.

All Harry wanted was a hot bath, a hot drink, and bed, in that order. And to call Seren Du — he needed to talk to Remus about getting a present for Snape. The man had definitely saved his arse on this task.

.-.-.

The day after the task was a Saturday, and Harry was inordinately pleased not to have to go to classes. He emerged for breakfast wearing a thick jumper and two pairs of socks, his Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck — even after the Pepper-Up and a long bath, he couldn’t quite shake the chill that had settled into his bones. He sat with the other champions and their assorted crowd at breakfast; everyone else who had been in the lake was layered up as well, except Viktor. “I am Slavic,” he said by way of explanation, reaching for the coffee pot. 

Fleur had Gabrielle sat on her lap, and was dropping kisses on the girl’s silver-blonde hair every few minutes. She was still clearly shell-shocked from thinking she had failed her sister in the worst of ways. Harry squeezed her hand under the table, offering a supportive smile. 

“I get that you lot were all risking your lives down there and everything,” Fred remarked from across the table, “but it was a bit boring for the rest of us to watch.”

Harry had wondered about that. “Did they not have screens, or anything with tracking charms so you could watch?”

Both twins shook their heads. “We sat and stared at the lake for an hour,” Cassius confirmed in a drawl. “It was thrilling, really.”

“You’d think they would’ve figured something out,” Cho mused, leaning into Cedric’s shoulder, swamped by a huge Hufflepuff Quidditch Team hoodie with ‘Diggory’ on the back. “The tournament being a spectator sport and all. At least the first task was fun to watch.”

“Hopefully the third task will be more entertaining,” Harry said. The other three champions groaned.

“Let’s not talk about the third task yet,” Viktor begged wearily. 

After he’d eaten his fill, Harry took advantage of Hermione being distracted by Viktor — and thus Ron being distracted by Hermione — and snuck away with Neville and Ginny back to the common room. The rug by the fire was calling his name.

“I can’t believe you’re tied for first,” Neville mused aloud once the three of them were settled in front of the fire, Harry sprawled out on his belly with one of his muggle fiction books open in front of him. “You might actually win this thing, y’know.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry waved him off.

“He’s right, though,” Ginny insisted. “You’re doing really well, Harry. And you’ve always been good at getting through dangerous situations. You could take the Cup. Imagine if you did win!”

“I don’t care about winning,” Harry said tiredly. “I just want to not die.” It weighed heavy in the back of his mind that whoever had entered him into this tournament had done so for a reason, and had yet to reveal themselves. The clock was running down, and they could end up getting desperate.

.-.-.-.-.

By the middle of the week, Harry was about ready to hex Ron’s mouth shut. As one of the few people who had been under the surface of the lake — regardless of the fact that he’d been unconscious for 95% of it — he had taken it upon himself to answer the questions of anyone curious enough to approach Harry. He’d gone from admitting to being put in an enchanted sleep for the whole thing, to insisting he’d fought off a whole group of merpeople bare-handed. Even Hermione was getting sick of him; though she was getting sick of everyone, after spending several days being teased about being the one Viktor would miss most.

On his way back from his last class of the day, Harry froze when his name was called across the hallway. “Mr Potter, would you mind following me to my office?” Dumbledore strode towards him, eyes twinkling genially. “I won’t keep you from your friends too long. I merely wish to talk.”

“We’ll see you at dinner, Harry,” Hermione said, tugging Ron along with her, leaving him alone with the headmaster. Harry had no choice but to follow Dumbledore up to his office, the headmaster conjuring a tea set once he was sat at his desk. 

“Milk and sugar, Harry?” he offered, as if it were perfectly normal for him to invite a student up for tea without reason, even if that student was Harry Potter.

“Please.” Harry had zero intention of drinking anything Dumbledore gave him. He accepted the mug, putting it to his lips, but didn’t drink. Dumbledore’s smile widened. “Why am I here, sir? Is something wrong? Is it Sirius?”

“Everything is well,” Dumbledore assured. “I have not heard from Sirius for a while, but I am sure he’s doing just fine.” Harry hid a smirk at that; if only Dumbledore knew. “I merely thought I would see how you’re faring after the second task. You’re handling the tournament remarkably well, and I’m impressed. Your use of gillyweed was truly inspired.”

“Neville told me about it,” Harry lied earnestly. He didn’t look Dumbledore in the eye. “I had to, uh, borrow some from Professor Snape. But I think that was worth it.” As promised, Snape had given him three days of detention for theft. The first detention had been spent with Remus going over his Runes, and the second had become a lesson on cauldron monitoring charms while Snape brewed more potions for the Hospital Wing. Harry would have his final detention after dinner. 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Professor Snape is often possessive of his store rooms. Sometimes, these things are necessary.” The headmaster’s gaze flicked to Harry’s teacup, and Harry wondered what sort of potion was in it that he was supposed to be reacting to. Dumbledore would notice if the level in his cup didn’t get any lower. Pretending to take another sip, Harry screwed up his nose in concentration, trying to vanish the contents of the cup. He hadn’t tried a Vanishing charm wandlessly before, but with a little nudge of his magical core, the tea disappeared. When he set down the empty cup, Dumbledore looked approving behind his smile. 

He didn’t seem to be expecting Harry to pass out or some such, so Harry just continued on as always, still not looking the man in the eye. “How are you feeling about the third task, Harry?”

“It’s a little way off yet, so I’m not too worried about it,” Harry replied. “Maybe in a couple of months I’ll start freaking out. I’m not used to getting so much advanced warning before I end up in a life or death situation, it’s really quite disconcerting.” That made Dumbledore chuckle.

“I can only imagine. You seem to be getting along well with the other champions — no worries about facing them one last time?”

“No, they’re all really nice. I don’t think they expected me to be much competition.” Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to be answering when he didn’t know what the potion was supposed to do, so he just kept smiling and hoped for the best.

“You are a young man of many surprises,” Dumbledore complimented. “Have you anything else to tell me? Noticed anything… unusual, lately?”

“Not that I can think of,” Harry said with a shrug, wondering what Dumbledore thought he was mixed up in. “Why, should I have?”

“I was merely concerned; with all the unfamiliar people walking these halls, there’s always the possibility that one of them may wish to do you harm. Would you mind if I just gave you a quick check over? There may be a hex on you going unnoticed.”

Harry’s heart dropped, but he tried not to let it show on his face. His pulse picked up, and he gave a false grin. “Sure!” he chirped, betting anything the tea was supposed to make him compliant. “Madam Pomfrey checked me over after the task, but if you think it’s necessary, sir.”

Dumbledore smiled, raising his wand. Harry had to force himself not to flinch. “Excellent. One moment, please.” He murmured a quiet spell, and immediately Harry felt as if something slimy was crawling over him, stuck to his magical core — the sensation the books said he would feel when someone placed a charm or curse on him. In the back of his mind he vaguely felt his inhibitions lower, but he was mostly concerned about the wrong-feeling magic. He kept up his smile, keeping his panic locked down.

“Am I all good, sir?”

“Yes, you’re in top shape, my boy,” Dumbledore assured. “Thank you for indulging an old man’s fears.”

“Can I go to dinner now, sir?” Harry asked, glancing at the clock on the desk. 

“Of course, of course. But are you sure there’s nothing you wish to tell me about, Harry?”

There was a strange moment when the unfamiliar magic choking Harry’s squeezed down, urging him to blurt out all his secrets. Harry raised his Occlumency shields to push the urge away, managing a relaxed shrug. “I can’t think of anything, sir, but I’ll come to you if that changes.”

That seemed to satisfy the headmaster, and he let Harry go with a cheerful wave. As soon as Harry was away from the gargoyle, he squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath, shuddering as the magic wrapped tighter around him. It was suffocating. How had he gone years with Dumbledore’s magic on him and never noticed before? Now he was aware of his own magical core, the foreign intrusion felt awful. He’d had some practice with it over the summer — Snape or Remus or Sirius putting curses and charms on him, so he could feel what it was like. None of them had been like this. 

He didn’t want to draw attention, so he forced himself to straighten up and head down to the Great Hall for dinner, sitting between Ron and Hermione even though there was an empty seat next to Neville. “What did Dumbledore want?” Ron asked around a mouthful of chicken, and Harry shrugged.

“Just to see how I was holding up with the tournament and everything,” he replied nonchalantly.

“That was nice of him,” Hermione said with a smile. Harry could hardly eat he felt so sick — did Ron and Hermione know what Dumbledore had planned? Had they been warned he was going to be a little different, and it was because of a spell?

“We should play exploding snap after dinner,” Ron suggested. “It’s been ages since we’ve done that.”

“Can’t — detention with Snape, remember?” Harry’s grimace hid his near-palpable relief at having the perfect excuse to go see Snape as soon as possible.

Ron made a face. “Can’t believe the greasy git gave you detention for taking what you needed for the task,” he grumbled. “You’re a Triwizard champion! He should be happy to help you beat those other schools.”

“As if Snape has ever missed out on a chance to give me detention,” Harry pointed out. He forced himself to eat the last bite of his shepherd’s pie, pushing his plate away. “I should get going before I’m late and he gives me even more detention for it. I’ll see you later.” The crush of the magic was getting worse, seeping into his pores until all he wanted to do was run to Dumbledore and spill his secrets. Harry pushed it away, shouldering his bag and hurrying down to the dungeons. He was sweating with the effort of resisting the magic by the time he burst into Snape’s office, startling the man. “Help me,” he gasped, throwing himself down into a chair, gripping the edge of the desk hard. Snape leapt to his feet, locking and warding the room with a spell as he rushed to Harry’s side. 

“What happened?” Cool fingers gripped his chin, raising his head so the man could look him over.

“Dumbledore. Cast a spell on me,” Harry bit out. “I think— Compulsion, again.” 

Snape straightened up, waving his wand over Harry. He frowned. “Sit still.” He began to chant quietly in Latin, waving his wand in a complicated motion. Much like it had with the goblins, a ball of black glowing magic began to form over Harry’s sternum, growing until Snape suddenly wrenched his wand upwards and the ball dissipated. Harry felt the foreign magic smothering his core melt away, and sucked in air like a drowning man. Snape’s hand came down on his shoulder, steadying him. “Easy, Potter.” His voice was surprisingly gentle, and he waved his wand again, no doubt checking Harry for any other spells. “You’re clear.”

Harry slumped back in his chair when Snape released his shoulder, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you. Merlin, that was awful. Does it always feel like that?”

“Being cursed, once you’re aware of your own magic?” Snape clarified. Harry nodded. “Not always to that degree — Dumbledore’s spell was exceptionally powerful — but yes, it’s always… uncomfortable. If you’re that sensitive to it now, I suspect the headmaster won’t be able to put so much as a light Tracking charm on you without you noticing.”

Harry was glad for that, but he hoped he never had to experience it all the same. “Was it the same one as before?”

“I cannot be sure, as the goblins removed that before I had the chance to study it. But it was a powerful Compulsion charm designed to make you both reckless and extraordinarily trusting of the caster, so it’s likely, yes.”

“I felt like I just wanted to run up to the headmaster and tell him everything,” Harry said with a shudder. He blinked, and there was a glass of water being pressed into his hands. He took it with a grateful smile at Snape, downing the cool liquid. 

“It is… concerning that he felt the need to refresh the charm. Likely he thinks you’re just shedding it as you grow older — not uncommon with adolescents, as their magic is constantly growing and changing.”

Harry caught on to what Snape wasn’t saying. “But it means he’s starting to suspect I’m not under his thumb anymore.”

The Potions Master nodded. “You’ll have to be incredibly careful in the next few weeks. He will believe the charm is strongest — he may expect you to come to him, or to Weasley and Granger. It will look even more suspicious if you continue on as you have been.”

Harry grimaced. “So I’ll spend a few weeks playing good little Gryffindor, make up some things to tell them that’ll have them believing I’ve given up all my secrets, and then…” He trailed off, unsure what came next. Keep pretending until Dumbledore was dead? How long was he supposed to keep up the charade?

“You only need last until the end of the school year,” Snape assured him. “Even so, I think you can get away with avoiding Weasley and Granger before then, as long as you keep your public friendships to mostly Gryffindors. Dumbledore won’t have done anything to change your personality too drastically — people would question if you suddenly refused to speak to the other champions, after being outwardly friendly to them for so long. Likely he just wants a little more insight into your private escapades.”

It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. “I suppose we’d better figure out what I can tell him to get him off my back, then,” he said with a shrug, pulling his password protected notebook out of his bag.

There had to be something he could let go of, to protect the secrets he really cared about.

.-.-.-.

About a week after the second task, Harry walked into the Great Hall to find all eyes on him — not unusual in itself, but the wave of whispers and giggles that broke out immediately after gave Harry a pretty good idea what might have happened. Harry sank into the empty seat between Neville and Ginny, raising an eyebrow at the redheaded girl. “What’s the damage this time?” Ginny giggled, passing him a copy of Witch Weekly. He studied the magazine. “Not the Prophet?”

“This one isn’t exactly Prophet material,” Ginny told him, opening the magazine to a specific page. She seemed amused, so Harry figured it couldn’t be too bad. Ron and Hermione sat on the bench opposite them, Hermione casting a disparaging look at the magazine.

“I can’t believe you have a subscription to that rag, Ginny,” she remarked. Ginny shrugged.

“Not all of it is garbage.”

Harry was busy reading the article in question — which was definitely garbage.

‘Harry Potter’s Woes of the Heart

A boy like no other — but still suffering the trials of any teenage love affair. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen year-old Harry Potter found solace at Hogwarts; or so he thought. His steady girlfriend, muggleborn Hermione Granger, seems to have developed a taste for famous wizards.’

The article went on to express how Hermione had cruelly cheated on Harry with Viktor Krum, breaking Harry’s heart shortly before the Yule Ball and sending him into Ginny’s arms. “Oi, Gin, there’s a quote here from you about me being a crap kisser,” Harry pointed out, and the redhead snorted.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I told so many people, I suppose one of them went to Skeeter about it. At least she’s excusing it as you being heartbroken and not just you being bad at snogging,” she said with a supportive pat to the shoulder. “I’m sorry I can’t be… ‘the one you truly yearn to be with’, by the way,” she added, checking the article quote by learning over Harry’s shoulder. “Clearly while I resemble your mother, it’s not enough to tear your heart away from that harlot over there.”

“I beg your pardon!” Hermione gasped when she realised Ginny was talking about her. Beside her, Ron went almost purple in the face. Harry tossed the magazine her way, watching her eyebrows rise into her hairline. “This is… where did she get all this?”

“Out of her arse, by the looks of it,” Ginny mused. Neville snorted pumpkin juice from his nose. 

“No, the bit about Viktor asking me to come to Bulgaria. That was right after he pulled me from the lake, there’s no way she was around to hear it!” Hermione explained. Ron spluttered, grabbing the magazine to read it himself. 

“He wants you to go to Bulgaria? Never felt this way about any other girl — don’t tell me that’s all real?” 

Hermione nodded, blushing faintly. “That part is. Obviously the rest of it is drivel.”

“I don’t know, Granger,” the soft drawl of Draco Malfoy cut through the air. “That bit about Potter being a terrible kisser probably isn’t too far off the mark. I don’t blame you for setting your sights higher. Positively Slytherin of you.” The remark made Ron growl, and Hermione glare. Harry just snorted.

“At least I can improve my kissing skills,” he said, meeting grey eyes with a devilish look. “Sadly I don’t think there’s anything you can do about being an utter prat.”

“You’d have to find someone willing to help you improve, Potty,” Draco taunted. Harry winked at him.

“Are you offering, Malfoy?” That made several people eavesdropping choke on whatever they were eating, while Ginny howled with laughter. Draco went bright red, turned on his heel and left. Harry’s smirk widened.

“I can’t believe you just propositioned Malfoy!” Hermione hissed. Harry shrugged.

“Made him leave, didn’t it?” He couldn’t wait to get Draco alone later; he would pay for that comment about Harry’s kissing skills. 

“Still. Gross, mate.” Ron shuddered, making a face. Harry didn’t react, even when Neville nudged him under the table, the tiniest grin on his lips. “This article is out of order, though. It makes Hermione look like some sort of… scarlet woman.” Ron was blushing as he said it, and Hermione’s lips pursed.

“Oh, come off it,” Ginny argued. “No one with half a brain is going to believe this rubbish. I think it’s hilarious, to be honest. Kudos to you, Hermione, for clearly being sexy enough to score two super famous wizards. Sorry I’m such an opportunistic slag that I sunk my claws into Harry as soon as you tossed him aside.” Ron looked like he was going to have a stroke at the language coming from his baby sister’s mouth.

“Quite frankly, I’m offended,” George announced, dropping onto the bench on Ginny’s other side, his twin following. “I spend way more time with Harry than Ginny does. Why can’t I be the opportunistic slag?”

“You were too busy sucking face with Durmstrang boys, remember?” Harry pointed out. George pouted. 

“Just the one Durmstrang boy, thank you!” he protested. “Who do you think I am, Hermione?” This was said with a wink towards the curly-haired girl, and actually startled a laugh out of her.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing about this,” Ron muttered, scowling at his plate of eggs. Harry shrugged.

“The worst thing we can do is give it credibility by being upset about it. Best to just laugh and move on.” No one whose opinion mattered would believe it, and it would die down quicker if they didn’t let it get to them.

Ron didn’t look convinced, and Hermione still didn’t seem sure how to react to the whole thing, but then Ginny grabbed the magazine and started dramatically reading the best (rather, worst) bits, so Harry was too busy laughing to care.

.-.-.-.

It was hard, but Harry managed to escape Ron and Hermione long enough to get to the heirs’ meeting a few days later. They were easing up on him a little, after he’d spun a tale about getting a letter from Sirius saying he was somewhere in Ireland, and also told them about seeing Mr Crouch on the map. Even Snape had been confused by that one, but agreed it was fairly harmless on the spectrum of secrets Harry was keeping, and would be a good measure of whether Ron and Hermione had told Dumbledore about the map. He hadn’t said anything directly to Dumbledore yet, but that didn’t seem to be bothering the headmaster, increasing Harry’s suspicions that his two ex-best friends were spying on him. He felt sick every time he thought about it.

He was glad to be in a room full of people who hated the headmaster as much as he did, Susan squeezing his shoulder in sympathy when he told them all about Dumbledore’s plot. “I can arrange for someone to hex Weasley if you’d like,” Daphne volunteered. “Or Granger. I’m sure Pansy would jump at the opportunity.”

“Not Malfoy?” Harry asked with a brow raised. Blaise, Daphne and Cassius shared a glance. Harry’s stomach flipped. “What?”

“Draco has been acting… strange lately,” Blaise admitted. 

“Strange how?” Fear gripped Harry’s heart — had Dumbledore got to Draco too? He hadn’t thought to ask Snape to check him over.

“He isn’t going on about how much he hates muggleborns, for one,” Daphne drawled. “He’s been positively nice to the first years. And he came with me when I went to study Arithmancy with Ernie and Terry Boot.”

“It was a bit weird,” Ernie piped up. “I kept expecting him to hex me, but he was surprisingly polite.”

Harry’s panic began to fade; Draco was just starting to lose his Lucius-Malfoy-clone persona. There were worse things to happen. He bit his lip, thinking; it wasn’t his place to start sharing Draco’s secrets, but… he could set the stage for things. “Maybe he’s not as evil as we’ve always assumed.”

Parvati laughed. “Nice one, Harry. As if you’ve not been fighting with him since the day you stepped foot in the castle.”

“When was the last time you heard about me and Malfoy fighting? Actually fighting.” They’d exchanged insults, but they hadn’t raised wands at each other in weeks. He watched Parvati’s face grow confused as she thought it over.

“I think we should trust Harry on this one, guys,” Neville cut in supportively, his eyes knowing. 

“What do you know that we don’t?” Sullivan’s tone was a mix of curious and suspicious, and Harry smirked.

“Daphne, Blaise, why don’t you two bring Draco to our next meeting?” he suggested, noting the wide eyes when he used Draco’s first name. “Parkinson and Bulstrode too, if you can convince them.” Draco trusted the two girls, and insisted they didn’t want to follow their parents’ footsteps. They could probably do with knowing they weren’t alone.

“You want us to bring three kids whose parents are Death Eaters to our top secret meeting on how to save the world once the Dark Lord is dead?” Blaise’s voice was unimpressed. Harry nodded.

“Yeah, sounds about right. Not everyone is the same as their parents. Look at Cassius. No offence,” he added to the older boy, who snorted.

“None taken, my father was a stain on the family tree and the rest aren’t much better,” he agreed freely. 

“Exactly. So give them a chance, you might be surprised,” Harry said. Not everyone in the room looked convinced, muttering to each other. Eventually, Susan cleared her throat.

“Look, guys, Harry wouldn’t suggest it if he thought it would jeopardise anything we have here,” she said confidently, before turning her hazel eyes on Harry. “You trust Draco Malfoy?”

“I do,” he said firmly, ignoring the way several sets of eyebrows rose incredulously. “And he trusts Bulstrode and Parkinson. That’s three heirs we could really do with having on our side.”

“I still think you’ve lost it,” Blaise muttered. “But alright, we’ll bring them. On your head be it.”

Harry grinned, even as his stomach churned at the prospect of bringing three more Slytherins into the fold. He was excited to connect Draco with the other heirs, but… the two girls might take a little convincing.

.-.-.-.

That night, when Harry snuck out to meet Draco, he told him about what he’d said to Blaise and the others. “So don’t be surprised if you and Bulstrode and Parkinson get approached sometime next week,” he finished, sitting back to let Draco process it all. The blond stared at him, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve never had a civil conversation with Pansy or Millie,” Draco pointed out. Harry shrugged.

“I’ve done study group with Bulstrode a few times; she seems alright. And you trust them.”

“That’s good enough for you, is it?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?”

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, then leaned in to kiss him, lips curling in a reluctant smile. “Sodding Gryffindor,” he muttered against Harry’s mouth. “You’re lucky I’m not taking advantage of you.”

“Mm, feel free to take advantage of me whenever you like,” Harry retorted cheekily. “I’ve a feeling I might enjoy it.”

Draco rolled his eyes with a huff, nipping at Harry’s lower lip. “Are we telling them about this, then?”

Harry leaned back, needing his head a little clearer for his next thought to form properly. “I think we can admit we’re friends,” he said slowly. “But not… anything more. I trust them, but they’re keeping enough secrets for me as it is, and this is none of their business.” He paused, wondering if he’d failed some sort of test. “Unless you want to tell them, of course?”

“I don’t need a bunch of heirs nosing into my private life,” Draco said haughtily. “It’ll be bad enough if my father finds out I’m friends with you, let alone anything else.” His expression softened. “Maybe in the future, when things are more dire. When I need to take a stand to be with you. But until then, we’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’d never make you take a stand to be with me,” Harry insisted. “I just want you to be happy and safe.”

“You really think I could be happy hiding in some safe-house while you get all the glory by facing the Dark Lord?” Draco retorted lightly, his silver eyes fixed intently on Harry, saying everything that wasn’t coming out of his mouth. “I’m going to have to be open about my loyalties eventually. I’m not cut out to be a spy like Uncle Severus.” He took Harry’s hand in both of his, bringing it up to kiss the knuckles. “When the time comes, I will be by your side. Stopping your idiot Gryffindor arse from getting hexed to death before you can off the bastard.”

Despite his derisive tone, his words took Harry’s breath away. He almost responded by blurting out three little words it was definitely too soon for, but he held his tongue and just kissed him instead, trying to push everything he felt into the kiss. Draco groaned, pulling Harry closer and tangling his fingers in dark hair. Harry was pretty sure he got his point across.

Chapter Text

Harry entered the next heir’s meeting with trepidation, knowing they would have three extra members. The larger group of Slytherins were already there when he arrived, Parkinson and Bulstrode with their arms folded over their chests and wary expressions on their faces as they eyed the rest of the room. Draco had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back in his chair, every inch the effortlessly uncaring pureblood. It made Harry grin. “Sorry, Malfoy, have you got somewhere else to be? You look a bit bored.”

Draco smirked at him. “As a matter of fact, I promised I’d help some idiot Gryffindor with a Potions essay. But he was late.” His gaze turned pointed, and Harry rounded the table to claim the empty chair beside him. 

“You try getting away from Hermione bloody Granger when she’s in one of her moods,” Harry retorted, elbowing Draco so that only a quick spell had his chair slamming back to rights rather than sending him flying backwards. “You shouldn’t sit like that, y’know. You’ll crack your head open.” He pressed his knee to Draco’s under the table in a show of silent support, knowing the blond was far more nervous than he let on. 

“I appreciate your concern,” Draco replied wryly. “Now, would you care to explain to the girls why you insisted Blaise drag us here?”

Harry looked up, seeing the faces around the room had all turned varying shades of bewildered. Neville was the only one who looked amused, sitting between Parvati and Sullivan. “Right, yeah.” Harry stood, turning to the two Slytherin girls, and bowed with palms open. “Well met, Heir Parkinson, Heir Bulstrode,” he greeted. “Might I introduce you to… honestly, most of the named heirs of the current Wizengamot seat-holders. We’re only missing a handful.”

“You’re taking the Potter seat?” Bulstrode blurted, her pureblood manners disappearing in the face of such a shock. “We thought you wanted nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t know it existed until summer before third year,” Harry told her. “Raised by muggles, kept ignorant by Dumbledore.”

“Harry, be careful how much you tell them,” Susan warned. Harry waved her off, sitting back down.

“Draco trusts them,” he reminded her. “That’s enough for me. Besides, if we have any hope of convincing them to trust us, they need to know we’re not in league with him.”

“Harsh words from the Gryffindor Golden Boy,” Parkinson teased, leaning forward in her chair in a way that showed off her cleavage where her shirt was undone by several buttons. Harry didn’t look for even a second. 

“I haven’t been quite so golden in a while,” he replied evenly. “No one in this room serves Albus Dumbledore. And I know you don’t want to serve Voldemort, either.” Parkinson flinched.

“The Dark Lord is dead.”

“Is he?” Harry met her eyes with a knowing gaze. Parkinson faltered. “You know as well as the rest of us it’s just a matter of time. Draco tells me neither of you ladies want to follow your parents. No one here will make you. Cassius is here for the same reason. But we aren’t going to tell you to go to Dumbledore for help, either.”

“So what are our options, then?” Bulstrode cut in sharply. “You?”

“If you like,” Harry agreed. “For various reasons, I’m not going to be able to sit this war out. But even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to. Neither side has a particularly fantastic political manifesto, and we in this room plan to offer… let’s call it a third side.” He hadn’t been quite so bold in stating it before, but the others had to know it was where he was headed. “We are the future of the government, as long as we manage to get Dumbledore’s claws out of the Wizengamot and Voldemort’s lunacy removed from society entirely. If you’d like to join us, we would gladly appreciate the extra numbers. If you’d like to turn around and keep your mouth shut and wait for Voldemort to come back, that’s fine. The offer of help stands regardless of what you do from this point on; if you and those you care about ever need a place to avoid either side of the war, you have my word that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter will be ready to assist.”

Both girls’ eyes went a fraction wider at the magic that accompanied his vow. “You’re really serious about this,” Bulstrode murmured. Harry nodded.

“I have to be.”

“We aren’t going to let the wizarding world languish like it has been for the last century,” Susan said, unflinching as she eyed the Slytherins. “And we’re certainly not going to let it stay in Dumbledore’s hands. We know that we can be better. But we will do so with all magical people as equals. Purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, even those with creature blood; all of them have just as much right to be here as anyone else. If you have a problem with that, you can leave now.”

“I don’t want muggleborns dead,” Parkinson sniffed, “I just want them to stop bringing their filthy habits and customs into our world. If we’re not careful, the Statute will be broken, and it’ll be the Witch Trials all over again.”

“If they have magic in their blood, they have the right to use it,” Draco agreed. “But we also have the right to teach them to be like us, rather than being expected to become like them.”

“That’s fair,” Anthony murmured, relaxing a little. Clearly a few of the heirs had been expecting a rant about blood purity. Harry smiled to himself, wishing he could take Draco’s hand under the table. One meeting wouldn’t change the years of animosity built up in the group, but… it was a start.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk politics in future,” Harry said, reaching into his school bag. “But I really need to get this essay done.” He set his Potions textbook on the table, digging around for a quill and the half-written essay. “If Hermione tries to help me with it one more time I am going to scream.”

“Well, we couldn’t have that,” Draco drawled lightly. “Let’s see what you’ve got so far.” He stole Harry’s quill off him, setting in to read the unfinished essay with a faint frown on his lips. Harry wished they were alone, so he could kiss it off the blond’s face. 

“No wonder your grade has been improving this year,” Parkinson mused, and Harry chuckled.

“It’s not entirely his doing,” he insisted. “I’ve been paying better attention. But not having this git throwing things into my cauldron helps.” Draco elbowed him in the side without looking up from the essay. “Oi! Now who’s the barbarian?”

“It’s still you,” Draco assured. “You’re a terrible influence, too.”

Harry grinned cheekily. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

They were being stared at, but he refused to quit goading Draco, wanting everyone to see that they weren’t going to start hexing each other. That Draco could be trusted.

It would be slow going, but he’d get there.

.-.-.-.

Harry didn’t think much about the extra mail Hermione had been receiving in the days since the Witch Weekly article. Ginny had some too, but not nearly to the level Hermione was getting. Ginny burnt hers without even opening them, but Hermione insisted on reading every one. “I want to know what they’re saying about me,” she said, reaching for the letter on top of the stack.

“Why? It’s all bollocks,” Harry pointed out, picking up a discarded letter. “‘Harry Potter is too fine a young man to be played around by you, trollop’.”

“So you are too fine, but I am okay?” Viktor asked, dropping into an empty seat on Hermione’s other side. He smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek; ever since the second task, he seemed bolder in his affections. It was sweet, if Harry didn’t think too much about how false Hermione was. 

“I mean, look at me,” Harry said, mock-posing. Ginny smacked him over the back of the head as she passed, not breaking her conversation with Luna. “Rude!”

Suddenly Hermione screamed, jumping to her feet and dropping the letter she was holding. Harry’s wand was in his hand before he could even think about it. Her hands were covered in a yellowish-green liquid that smelled strongly of petrol, and was making enormous boils appear on her skin.

“Bubotuber pus!” Viktor exclaimed, sliding down the bench to avoid the nasty liquid. Hermione’s hands were entirely covered in boils by now, and she bit her lip against a whimper of pain. “Come, I vill take you to your medivitch.”

“I’ll clean this up,” Harry promised, already vanishing as much of the pus as he could see. Viktor placed an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, hurrying her out of the hall. 

“I warned her not to mess with Skeeter,” Ron muttered, still eating despite the chaos. “This is probably just the beginning.”

“This has gone too far,” Harry muttered, scowling. It was one thing when the articles were just a minor inconvenience he could laugh at; if people were actually getting hurt because of the things Rita was writing about him, that was too much. 

“What are you gonna do? Give Skeeter an interview?” Ron asked. “She’d probably stop if you told her who you snogged at the Yule Ball.”

That gave Harry an idea.

He jumped to his feet, hurrying around the tables until he was by Ginny and Luna at the Ravenclaw table. “Hi,” he greeted, squatting down to be at their level. “Luna, your dad runs a magazine, right? The Quibbler?” He was sure she’d talked about it before to him. The blonde girl nodded, smiling. “Would he be willing to run an article for me?”

“I’d have to check what his schedule is like for the next issue — there’s supposed to be a fantastic article about the Blibbering Humdinger coming in — but I’m sure he’d be happy to publish you. Are you going to tell people to leave Hermione alone?” Luna asked curiously. Harry’s answering smirk was purely Slytherin.

“Not quite. I’m going to give him the scoop Rita Skeeter wishes she could have.”

.-.-.

It only took an evening for Harry to write an article he was happy with, and he brought it down to Luna the next morning, handing over the rolled up parchment. She unrolled it, reading quickly, her pale eyebrows rising with every line. “This is awfully brave of you, Harry,” she commented once she was done. Harry shrugged, ducking his head uncomfortably.

“If people want to be angry, I might as well give them something true to be angry about,” he reasoned. And then they’d have to be angry at him, and not the people around him. He could handle hate mail. 

“Well, I’m sure Daddy would be happy to run it; I’ll send it to him right away. I don’t know when the next issue will be released, though.”

“That’s fine. Thanks so much for this, Luna. And thank your dad, too. I really appreciate this.” This was the only way he could be sure his words would go to print exactly as he had written them. Luna smiled.

“Anything for a friend, Harry.” She tucked the parchment safely inside her robes. 

Harry returned to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Neville. “What was that all about?” the taller boy asked, and Harry shot him a quick grin. 

“Just giving Rita Skeeter something to really complain about,” he replied vaguely. He glanced back at Luna, and then his gaze caught something that made him pause. Ginny was over at the Ravenclaw table too, but she wasn’t sat with Luna. She was sat between two Ravenclaw boys in Harry’s year, and seemed to be flirting pretty blatantly with one of them. Her hand was on his shoulder as she leaned in close and giggled, and the boy smiled shyly at her. Harry looked at Neville. “Why’s Ginny over at the Ravenclaw table?” he asked hesitantly. Neville looked up, eyes casting over to the redhead, and then he looked away, his smile faltering.

“Oh. She’s got her sights set on Stephen Cornfoot, I expect.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “But… I thought Ginny liked you? After the Yule Ball you guys were all… cozy.”

“She does,” Neville confirmed. Now Harry was even more confused. Neville sighed quietly. “We talked about it, the other week. I really like her, and she really likes me, but… neither of us have ever dated anyone before. And she… Ginny says it scares her, how much she likes me, and she thinks, when it happens, we’ll be pretty serious about it. She says she wants to see what it’s like to date other people first.”

Harry blinked. “So… she likes you, and you like her, but she’s gonna go flirt with Stephen because… she likes you too much?”

“That’s about the sum of it,” Neville agreed with a shrug. “I don’t really mind waiting. When she does agree to go out with me, I don’t want her constantly thinking about what she might be missing out on. I’m not really interested in other girls, but if she wants to see what other boys are like… it’s not like I’ve got a hundred other options waiting for me.” His smile turned self-deprecating, and it made Harry frown. 

Ginny’s reasoning made absolutely zero sense to Harry — what was the point in dating people you only sort-of liked if there was someone you knew you really liked waiting right there? Even if you did end up only ever dating them? — But he supposed it wasn’t really any of his business. Neville seemed alright with it, even if he was studiously avoiding looking towards the Ravenclaw table. 

“Well. Okay, then. If you, uh, ever need to talk about it…” Harry trailed off, and Neville’s smile became a little more sincere.

“Thanks, Harry.” Neville paused, drinking his tea. “So what are you doing with Luna? I thought you hadn’t figured out yet how Skeeter was getting her information.”

“I haven’t,” Harry replied, though he made a mental note to double down on his efforts to figure out. “And when I do, that’ll be going to my lawyer, not to Luna. No, I’m coming out in the Quibbler.”

Neville dropped his teacup. Luckily, it was mostly empty. “You’re what?”

“I’m not saying anything about, y’know,” his eyes flicked to the Slytherin table for the briefest moment, “for obvious reasons. But if Skeeter’s determined to pair me up with every girl I barely even talk to, well, I can at least correct her on that. Then hopefully no one will get any more bubotuber pus in the mail.” He hadn’t seen Hermione since the incident, though he’d been assured she was out of the hospital wing. 

“Harry, that’s… are you sure?”

“It’s bound to come out — heh — sooner or later. At least this way I can control what’s said about me. Do it on my terms.” He wasn’t blind; despite what George said about the wizarding world being accepting of it, there weren’t many people out and proud at Hogwarts. People were still talking about George and Boris going to the ball together. Whether it was the muggle attitudes influencing everyone, or something else… if he was going to make waves in the media, he’d rather it be with the truth than with Skeeter’s lies. 

“Wow. Well, as long as it’s your decision.” Neville bumped their shoulders together supportively. “You’ve got me in your corner. And all the others, too. Besides, if anyone’s awful to you about it, you can always set the twins on them.” Harry grinned at that; Fred and George would certainly be happy to correct some viewpoints if Harry asked. 

.-.-.-.

Luna managed to give him three days warning of the article’s release, and Harry decided he should probably give some people advanced warning. He told Draco first, the first chance they were alone together. The Slytherin gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

“Bit late now if I’m not, isn’t it?” he said wryly, though he knew Luna’s dad would pull the article in a heartbeat if Harry said he’d changed his mind. “I’m sure. People will want to know eventually, and I refuse to hide such a big part of who I am. I just… I imagined my life going forward if I didn’t say anything, listening to people in the papers speculate about which girl I was dating — having people ask me when I was going to get a girlfriend, or if I fancied this girl or the other, and it just felt… awful. I have to pretend about so much, Draco. I’m not pretending about this.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed Harry breathless. “You noble, attractive bastard,” he muttered when they eventually parted, silver eyes dancing. “You’ll be a role model, y’know. There hasn’t been an out gay wizard of your social standing since Dumbledore came out.”

“Dumbledore’s gay?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. He didn’t come out until he was old enough that no one wanted to speculate on his sex life anyway. You’re fourteen — young, gorgeous, your whole life ahead of you, and right in the public eye. It’s going to be huge.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I’m used to the papers talking shit about me. I’ll have the people who matter on my side.” Harry dropped a kiss on Draco’s lips, smiling. “I’ll have you on my side.” 

That made Draco go a little pink, a reluctant smile taking over. “I can’t let you do it all by yourself. You’re barely civilised.” 

Harry laughed. “At least now you’ve got a bit of a warning; plenty of time to think of some snarky little remark to make. Preferably one that’s a little better than insulting my kissing skills,” he teased, watching Draco’s blush deepen.

“I was thinking on the fly, alright? Even at my worst, I’m above insulting people for any perceived promiscuity.” Draco glared hotly. “It didn’t give me many options.”

Grinning, Harry ran a hand through Draco’s hair. He thought it was sweet that, even when pretending to be the Slytherin Ice Prince, he refused to call Ginny or Hermione sluts. “Well, I’ll be happy to take kissing lessons from you any day,” he drawled, sliding into Draco’s lap. “If you think I need improvement.”

“There’s always room for improvement,” Draco insisted, hand sliding down to grab Harry’s arse. 

They didn’t talk any more about the article, after that.

.-.

He told the heirs in the middle of a meeting, to distract them from an argument about arranged marriages. Silence immediately followed.

“Well,” Susan said eventually. “That explains a lot.”

Harry snorted. “Thanks, I think?” 

“That’s such a Gryffindor move,” Cassius added, though if Harry wasn’t mistaken the Slytherin actually sounded sort of impressed. 

“He is a Gryffindor,” Draco sighed, as if it were some sort of unfortunate medical issue. 

“You dragging some unlucky boy into the limelight with you, or?” Parvati’s eyes were bright with the potential for good gossip, but Harry shook his head.

“Nope, just me. Anyone I may or may not be involved with doesn’t deserve to be caught up in the mess that is my personal life. Not everyone can be as public as I am.”

“That’s a very roundabout way of admitting you’re seeing someone the public wouldn’t approve of,” Daphne drawled. Harry flushed.

“No comment,” he croaked. Several people laughed.

“Whatever, it’s not our business. Congratulations, I suppose. Is that an appropriate thing to say when someone comes out?” Anthony looked unsure.

“We support you? I don’t know.” Sullivan shook his head, shrugging. “As long as you’re happy. And as long as Rita Skeeter’s furious.”

“That is the plan, yes,” Harry agreed.

Last but not least, Harry gathered a small group of people in Gryffindor Tower the night before the article was due to come out, more nervous than he had been with any of the others. There were a few people in the group he’d already told, and they offered him supportive smiles. 

“Hey, so, I’ll try and make this quick,” Harry started, knee bouncing anxiously. “I just wanted to give you a bit of a heads up about something that’s happening tomorrow, since if anyone’s likely to get questions, it’ll be you lot.” He looked around the gathered faces; his dorm mates, three of the five girls in his year, Ginny, the twins, and the rest of the quidditch team. His friends. They wouldn’t judge him for this. “Skeeter’s been writing a lot of crap about me lately — and about people close to me — so I thought I’d hit back with something true for once. I wrote an article for the Quibbler, it’ll come out in the morning. And, uh, so will I, I suppose.”

Both the twins looked at him in shock. “Really? To everyone?” George asked.

“Yeah. Better that than having it hanging over my head, wondering when someone will find out and tell everyone. At least then it’s over with and everyone knows.” The more he talked about it to others, the more confident Harry was in his decision. He didn’t want to keep having to come out over and over again for the rest of his life. He was in the position of being able to say something and have just about everyone in the wizarding world listen; he might as well say what he wanted.

“That’s really brave, Harry,” Lavender said supportively, reaching over to pat him on the knee. 

“I don’t get it,” Ron said, frowning. “What’s the article gonna say?”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if Ron was being purposefully obtuse. “It’ll say I’m gay, Ron,” he said, glad his voice didn’t even tremble. “I’ve written an article in the Quibbler to tell everyone that Skeeter’s article is bullshit because I don’t even like girls.”

Ron gave a forced-sounding chuckle. “That’s a bit drastic, just to get her off your back, isn’t it? Just make up a girlfriend or something. Let her think you’re dating Ginny. Just because you don’t want to tell her who your real girlfriend is.”

Harry gave an exasperated look skyward. Ginny put her head in her hands despairingly. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m not writing the article to get Skeeter off my back — I’m writing the article because I’m gay and people might as well know, if they’re going to make shit up about me.”

Ron turned pale, then very red, then a little bit green. “You’re— what? But— but we’ve roomed together for years! That’s— you can’t be—“ 

“Tell me, little brother, why Harry can’t be gay,” George asked, his tone icy. Ron went even greener. 

“I just meant— he’s not like that, y’know? All…”

“All what, exactly?” George’s voice just got colder. “Remember who you’re talking to, Ronnikins.” It seemed to hit Ron that his brother had gone to the Yule Ball with another boy, and he let out a quiet little ‘meep’ noise.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t been perving on you while you’re changing,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Of course Ron would have a problem with it. “You’re not my type.” That made George smirk. 

“If you’ve got a problem with Harry, you’ve got a problem with us,” Dean piped up, gesturing to himself and Seamus. “We like boys and girls. But you’re not either of our types either, Ron,” he added dryly.

“Welcome to the club, Harry,” Seamus added cheerily, winking. 

“But I— but you—“ Ron didn’t seem to know what to say, and Harry didn’t really want to stick around for whatever awful jumble of words made it out of his mouth. 

“I’m not here to argue with anyone. I just thought you might like to know before the article comes out in the morning. Now I’m gonna go to bed. So, uh, thanks, I guess.” Harry got to his feet, and when he did, he ended up bundled in a hug between the three Gryffindor chasers.

“We’re proud of you, Harry,” Katie said with a grin, kissing him on the cheek. Harry beamed at them. 

“This is because of me, isn’t it.” He turned at the voice, meeting Hermione’s sad gaze. Her hands were still a little raw from re-growing skin. “Because of all the hate-mail I got.”

“Not completely,” Harry insisted. “I just want Skeeter to know that she can’t bully me or my friends. I’ll do things on my terms, my way, and she can stuff it. But yeah, it’ll be nice if you and Ginny stop getting hate-mail.” Hermione’s lower lip began to wobble, and Harry sighed. “I’m doing this for me, Hermione. I’m not waiting to be forced out whenever someone wants public opinion of me to take a hit. Might as well get it over with now.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “As long as it’s on your own terms.”

Harry turned away to head to the dorms, and from the sound of flesh smacking flesh behind him, Ron had finally managed to get a sentence out. Harry kept walking; George had it handled. It wasn’t his problem.

.-.-.-.

He went down to breakfast with Neville on one side and George on the other, Fred and Ginny trailing close behind. Ron was once again not speaking to him, and Hermione didn’t seem to know what to do about the whole thing, but Harry continued not to care. 

Luna waved at him from the Ravenclaw table, and he waved back, otherwise keeping his head down. An unfamiliar owl flew towards him with the morning post, a rolled up magazine attached to its leg. Harry’s stomach swooped like he was doing a Wronski Feint. The front cover had a drawing of some sort of bizarre horned creature, but in bold letters it also had the words ‘Exclusive article from Harry Potter, Page 7’

Harry flicked to page 7, forgetting to breathe as he scanned the article.

‘Harry Potter: The Heart of the Matter

Since I was a baby, I’ve been in the public eye. Most of that attention has come from an event I barely even remember. But it has brought me fame, and unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about that now. The older I get, the more people want to know about my life — and the more people decide to make up their own facts when I refuse to give them what they want.

Being a teenager is difficult enough without reporters watching your every move. You were all teenagers once, I assume; you remember how it is. It’s hard to figure yourself out, and even harder when you feel like you can’t even breathe without making the front page. But as I grow older, something has become inordinately clear to me, and it feels disingenuous to keep that a secret when so many people seem to care about my love life. I don’t know why; I promise you, it’s not that interesting. 

I’m gay.

I’m not dating Hermione Granger, or Ginny Weasley, or any other girl the rumour mill has seen fit to link me with. I’m not dating any girls, and I won’t be, ever. I understand that it’s the default to assume that boys will date girls, but let’s be honest; I’ve never gone with the default option.

I know a lot of people will think I’m confused, or I’m doing it for attention, but they couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m doing this so that people will leave me alone. So they’ll realise that I’m just another fourteen year-old boy, who happens to like other boys, and get on with their lives. I won’t have this information used against me or anyone I care about, and one day, when I’m ready to tell the world that I care very deeply about someone, I don’t want it to be a surprise when that someone is male. 

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Love is the strongest magic in the world, and it shouldn’t matter who it’s between.