Chapter Text
When Harry stepped through the flames he wasn’t surprised to see Quirrell standing on the other side.
“Ah, yes, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight,” Quirrell said, stutter now gone.
This time, Harry wasn’t planning to talk, he was already pointing his wand at Quirrell. Expelliarmus was on his tongue before Quirrell could say another word.
Unfortunately, he was faster, and with a snap of his fingers, Harry was immobilized by ropes. Not again , Harry thought as his arm was pinned, throwing off his aim, causing his spell to bounce harmlessly off the wall and sending his wand tumbling from his hand.
“You’re certainly quick to recover,” Quirrell noted, “Too bad that talent will never grow since I will be killing you tonight. You’re too nosy for your own good, sneaking around the school and getting involved where it doesn’t concern you.”
Harry gritted his teeth, pulling at the ropes but they did not budge.
“Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror.”
Harry watched as Quirrell paced around the mirror, muttering to himself. He wouldn’t be able to get it, Harry tried to reassure himself, but it was a weak assurance even in his own head. What if he found a way?
“Use the boy,” Harry finally heard the new voice rise above Quirrell’s muttering and his blood ran cold. He hadn’t heard that voice in years, yet it was still as fresh in his mind as ever. He wanted to get out of here, he wanted to defeat him, he wanted to go back to his own time. He wanted so many things, but he got none of them.
Instead, the ropes dropped from his body as Quirrell beckoned him toward the mirror. He didn’t want to go near the mirror. He didn’t want the stone. His heart raced in his chest.
He stayed where he was, his throat feeling a bit like it was closing.
Quirrell clearly did not appreciate the lack of compliance. “Come here , Potter,” he said, tone impatient.
“No,” he croaked out, feeling a bit like a child.
“Come here . Look into the mirror and tell me what you see,” Quirrell insisted.
“ No ,” Harry said again and watched as Quirrell started to make his way over, instead. Harry kept his gaze firmly on Quirrell as he came closer. He didn’t want to risk looking over at the mirror. He didn’t want the stone this time.
When he neared, he reached out a hand as if to grab him and Harry flinched backward. He was ready to try to get to his wand across the floor when a voice interrupted.
“Let me speak to him… face-to-face…” came the hissing voice of Voldemort, and Harry felt once again rooted to the spot.
“Master– you do not have the strength.”
“I have enough strength for this.”
Quirrell went to comply, reaching up to unwrap his turban.
Maybe there could have been a better way. Maybe there could have been a way to save Quirrell. Later Harry might look back and wish he’d done it differently, but in the moment all he could think about was the fear, his desire to never see Voldemort again, even just a remnant of him.
Without thinking about it, he lunged forward, throwing his hands up, grabbing onto Quirrell’s arms before he could reach his turban. The last thing he saw before his vision blurred from pain was the way Quirrel’s skin blistered under his touch. The way his skin appeared to melt under his fingers.
His scar erupted in blinding hot pain, and he scrambled blindly to grab onto Quirrell’s face even as the man’s screams filled the room. He could feel the man’s skin under his hands, the way it seemed to crumble and melt. Even though he could not see, the feeling and the sound of Quirrell’s screams were something he would not forget for a long time.
Harry stumbled forward along with Quirrell as he fell backward. He still couldn’t see, the pain in his forehead so intense that he couldn’t even think. The only thought he could form was that he needed to keep holding on. Voldemort’s yelling filled the room alongside Quirrell’s, his shouting falling upon deaf ears as Quirrell tried to get away from Harry.
The last thing he remembered as he felt his consciousness slipping was hearing a voice calling his name.
He woke to Albus Dumbledore smiling down at him from above. The hospital wing , some foggy part of his brain supplied.
He glanced around the room, taking in the mountain of sweets on the table next to his bed and the empty beds around the room.
He could still feel Quirrell’s skin crumbling under his hands.
“Is Ron okay?” he asked first, the memory of Ron getting hit in the head by the chess pieces coming back to him.
“Yes, your friends are alright, including Mr. Ronald Weasley. I imagine they will be quite relieved to find you awake, especially Mr. Malfoy.”
“Draco? He’s okay?”
“Yes, he is alright, though I must say that Madam Pomfrey has banned him from visiting the hospital wing for a while,” a smile spread across his lips, knowing in a way Harry wasn’t sure what to make of, “He was quite worried about you.”
“Can I see him?’ Harry asked. He knew Dumbledore had been expecting him to come with questions for him, and maybe he would’ve tried to play the part if he wasn’t so tired, if his head didn’t hurt so badly, if he didn’t feel like he was crumbling away, too. At the moment, all he wanted was to see Draco and his friends.
“I’ll see what I can do about Madam Pomfrey,” Dumbledore eventually agreed and after a moment where he must have realized Harry was not going to ask any more questions, got up to do so. Harry could feel the questioning gaze Dumbledore sent his way as he left the room, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to worry about it at the moment.
Not fifteen minutes later Madam Pomfrey was letting in Draco, Ron, and Hermione with a stern warning that they only had five minutes and then promptly reprimanding Draco when he practically launched himself at Harry.
“You’re okay,” Draco said, face buried in Harry’s shoulder. His head was pounding and his whole body hurt, and yet he did not mind in the slightest. Instead, Harry pulled Draco in closer until he was forced to climb onto the hospital bed with him.
“You’re okay, too,” Harry whispered back, burning his face in Draco’s hair in return.
“And we’re also okay,” Ron said grumpily, Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’m glad you’re alright, Harry,” Hermione said, coming over to take the hand Harry offered her. Draco moved to sit up, grabbing onto Harry’s other hand instead.
“I’m happy to see you two are okay, as well,” Harry said, giving Ron a smile, “I was worried when you got hit on the head.”
“Yeah, that hurt, but Madam Pomfrey fixed me up pretty quick,” Ron said, rubbing the side of his head slightly and moving to sit down at the foot of Hary’s bed. Soon, Harry was telling the three of them what had happened with Quirrell (Draco and he got their I-told-you-so moment) while Ron and Hermione filled Harry in on what had happened after Harry had separated from them, as well as the rumors that were going around the school.
Hermione was in the middle of telling the rumor started by a sixth-year Slytherin that had been going around all day when Madam Pomfrey came hurrying over to inform them that they were well over their allowed time. Ron and Hermione got up to leave but Harry could feel Draco tense beside him, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand.
“It’s alright,” Harry promised, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the end-of-year feast.”
“But–” Draco started, but whatever he was going to say, Harry didn’t get to hear because Madam Pomfrey was shooing him out and looked about ready to start using magic if they didn’t listen. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” was all he managed to say before he, Ron, and Hermione were shoved unceremoniously out of the hospital wing doors.
Hagrid came to visit him the next morning, and even though Harry hadn’t gone to ask him about Fluffy this time around, he seemed to have realized what had happened on his own because upon seeing Harry, he promptly burst into tears.
After a while, Hagrid calmed enough to stop crying and give him the photo album he’d made. When he flipped it open, it was just as he remembered it. He ran his finger along one of his mom and dad standing side by side outside a home; he couldn’t remember, but he had a feeling that was his childhood home. Where he’d lived with his parents. He felt a little less like he was turning to dust when he looked at it.
“Thank you,” Harry managed quietly.
Later that night after finally being allowed to leave by Madam Pomfrey, Harry made his way down to the great hall for the feast. It was completely packed when he arrived and the chatter only got louder as people noticed his arrival. Pale blond hair grabbed his attention at the Gryffindor table, though, and he didn’t much care what others were saying anymore. Instead, focused on making his way over to his friends.
“You’re at Gryffindor?” Harry asked, slipping in next to Draco.
“Yes, in a day we’ll be going home for the holidays,” Draco said, giving him a look that really said all he needed to know. They’d be going home. An entire summer before they were back together again and could really do anything about the time turner.
“We’ll sit next to each other on the train,” Harry said. We’ll make a plan.
“Okay,” Draco said, reaching out to grab his hand under the table and give it a squeeze for a moment before letting go.
At that moment, Dumbledore made his way into the hall and the chatter died. "Another year gone!" Dumbledore said, his voice amplified across the great all as he began his end-of-year speech. The house point totals were given, putting Gryffindor still firmly in last place, but Harry wasn’t worried. He knew what would happen.
He smiled as everyone at his table grumbled among themselves, and laughed when he noticed Draco’s annoyance.
“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore said, “However, recent events must be considered.” At his words, Draco seemed to get grumpier. “I have a few last-minute points to award. First– Mr. Ronald Weasley for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award fifty points.” Harry laughed as Ron turned bright pink across from him. Percy could be heard boasting about Ron down the table.
“Second, Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award fifty points. Third, Mr. Harry Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.” The hall went wild at that, and it took another minute before Dumbledore could regain everyone’s attention.
“There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal to stand up to our enemies, but even more to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”
Down the table, Harry watched as Neville stared in shock up at the headmaster. Harry was proud of him and so was Gryffindor house, as well, for he had just won them the house cup. The hall erupted into cheers at that, everyone celebrating except the Slytherins who’d just had their win snatched from their grasp. Gryffindor had won.
But Dumbledore apparently wasn’t done. He held up a hand to silence the hall again. “And fourth, for unwavering loyalty to their friends and quick thinking, I award Mr. Draco Malfoy 50 points.”
The silence after that announcement only lasted a moment before it was punctured by the cheers of the Slytherin students. They had kept the house cup, keeping the lead by 40 points.
Harry looked at Draco who was staring shell-shocked at Dumbledore. The headmaster sent them both a wink before returning his attention to the hall that he once again needed to gain the attention of. “Congratulations, Slytherin is the winner of the house cup!”
Draco turned to look at Harry then, his eyes wide. “We really can change things then,” he said, voice barely audible over the chaos of the great hall. Most of Gryffindor was angrily glaring at the Slytherin table, or Draco, or both, but Harry just couldn’t find it in himself to be upset. Of course Draco deserved the points.
Harry leaned into him, smiling. Everything felt like it would be okay at the moment and he wanted to bask in it as long as possible.
The next day they received their exam grades, Draco and Hermione had both gotten the highest grades in the year with Harry following. His history of magic grades had pulled him down, and though he was rather thankful for it, he’d rather not bring any more attention to his unexplainable magical ability than necessary.
“I’m still surprised you passed that class,” Draco noted as he reviewed Harry’s scores.
“I passed it last time too, you know,” Harry muttered, snatching the paper back from him.
“I was shocked then, too,” Draco said smugly and Harry rolled his eyes.
Draco was sitting on Harry’s bed as he packed his trunk to leave the next morning. Ron was packing his own across the room, but otherwise, they were alone in the dorm room; Dean, Seamus, and Neville having had finished earlier and left to go down to the lake.
“It all just comes so easy to you all,” Ron complained, shoving a pile of clothes haphazardly into his trunk, “You spent more time this year sneaking off with Malfoy to work on some secret project than you did studying, and still you get high marks.”
In a way, Harry wished school wasn’t so easy so that he could struggle with Ron again. He never thought he’d miss struggling in classes but looking back, it was something he and Ron had in common. It had always been them suffering together as Hermione flew through tests, homework, and practicals alike. Now it probably felt like Harry and Hermione were their own team while Ron was separate. He promised to help him study more next year instead of ditching so much.
“He’s clearly not naturally talented at History,” Draco remarked, flopping out across Harry’s bed. Well, he’s certainly making himself at home , Harry thought to himself.
Harry gave Draco a shove, almost sending him falling off the bed. Draco sent Harry a glare but Harry turned to Ron, “Yeah, you got higher marks than me in History of Magic, and you were worried you wouldn’t even pass that one.”
That seemed to improve Ron’s spirits if only a little.
Soon, though, they were all packed up and all that was left was to go to a final dinner in the great hall.
“Meet me tonight?” Draco asked, “It’ll be easier to talk tonight rather than on the train.”
It was probably a good idea, Harry had a lot to tell him about the upcoming year. Not to mention this summer they likely wouldn’t be able to talk with Dobby stealing his letters. Maybe Draco could order him not to do that or something?
That night, just after curfew, Harry wrapped his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and made his way down to the dungeons. This time, Draco had decided to give him the new password, stating that since it was the last night it didn’t matter.
When he stepped into the common room, he quickly spotted Draco sitting on the couch, but he wasn’t the only one. Pansy was seated next to him; Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle sitting on the longer couch across from them.
“You’ll surely come to visit this summer, right Draco?” Pansy was asking.
“My father’s invited you to our villa in Italy for a week in June, as well. We will be having the yearly solstice gala if you wish to join this year,” Blaise added.
“Oh! Draco you must go!”
“My parents will be in attendance, of course I will be there,” Draco said, tone the perfect picture of politeness.
Pansy pouted. “Your parents are always there, are you only going because they will be there?”
“Yeah, you have not hung out with us since summer,” said Blaise.
“He’s been too busy with Gryffindors,” Goyle said.
“Yes, he never hangs out with us anymore; he’s become a complete traitor to his house,” Pansy complained, and Harry could hear the upset in her tone.
“I’m not a traitor to anyone,” Draco responded, hands clenching in his lap and tone clipped. He looked about ready to snap at them all so Harry hurried to put a hand on his shoulder, letting him know he was there. Draco’s shoulders loosened minutely at the touch. “I’m heading out, I’ll see you all later.”
“But it’s past curfew,” Crabbe pointed out.
“You think he cares about curfew,” Pansy scoffed, moving down the couch and further away from Draco. “He’s surely going to go meet up with Potter again and get up to more utterly pointless nonsense.”
Draco did not even bother to respond, standing up and making his way to the exit and expecting Harry to follow. When they made it to the hall, Harry tugged Draco under the cloak with him.
“How long had you been there?” Draco asked, letting out a long sigh as they made their way down the hall.
“Not very long. It sounds like your friends want to hang out with you. Do you not want to go to the solstice party?”
Draco let out a sigh, “It’s not that. I like the party, but…” he trailed off, grimacing. Harry waited, letting him form words and starting to guide them to their new meeting spot they’d cleaned up. “Well, they’re not pleased with me spending time with you. They’re viewing me as a traitor to my house and yet Tom has yet to even return.”
Harry smiled at the use of Voldemort’s first name. “It didn’t seem like they were treating you like that. They want you at the party, right?”
“I don’t think you understand pureblood politics all that well, Harry, but I’m supposed to be at that party. It would look bad if I was not.”
Harry studied him for a moment, sure, he didn’t know much about pureblood politics and traditions and all that, but would 11-year-old kids really be all that concerned with it anyway? “Seemed to me like they just wanted you there, right? Do you think they’re really that concerned with the politics of it? You’re their friend right?”
Draco paused in front of the witch portrait that was the entrance to their new meeting spot. “We all supported him, you know that. Of course they care about the politics of it. Hanging out with you all the time, and not siding with my housemates when they start being purists, means that I’m a blood traitor to them. Pansy literally said that much.”
“Draco,” Harry said, guiding them into the room, “Do you really think your 11-year-old friends are thinking of blood politics? Like you said, Voldemort has yet to even rise. Why would they be concerned with your house loyalties? Not to mention, I don’t think Pansy said that in the same way you’re interpreting it.”
“Harry, we supported–”
“At eleven? Did you even really know what anything of that meant at eleven?”
“I was calling muggle-borns mudblood and telling them they shouldn’t be at Hogwarts at eleven!” Draco shouted.
“Sure, but that’s what you grew up with right? Do you really think you fully grasped what it all meant at eleven years old? The same way you understand now?” Draco stayed silent. “They’re eleven, Draco. None of you are the same person you would be in seven years. I think they just want their friend at a party.”
Instead of answering, Draco dropped heavily onto the sofa they’d dragged next to the wall. Harry followed, laying his cloak next to him and reaching to give a light tug to Draco’s sleeve. “You can’t judge their actions now based on their actions as adults.”
“You really think they just want me there as a friend?” Draco asked.
“I do. At the very least, I think they just miss you.”
“Okay,” Draco said.
Harry sent him a smile, “They were your friends, right? So, be their friend.” Draco returned the smile with a small one of his own. “Plus, you’ll have to have fun for the both of us this summer, I’ll be at my aunt and uncle’s house,” Harry said with a groan, leaning back into the cushions.
“Will you not be doing anything over the summer holidays?”
“Well, I’ll probably be picked up by Ron, Fred, and George sometime in August. So, I’ll spend some time at the Weasleys.”
“Does your family not do anything?”
“Not with me.” Draco sent him a confused look. “I just mean, they don’t take me anywhere with them. They don’t like me much. Speaking of which, can you make sure your house elf doesn’t steal all my letters again this summer?”
“Dobby?”
“Yeah, he musta heard about the plan to open the Chamber of Secrets, ‘cause he tried to keep me from going to Hogwarts. Dumped a cake on my aunt and uncle’s guest for work and they put bars on my window, and didn’t let me out until Ron came and ripped the bars off.”
Draco was now staring at him openly, “Bars?”
“Sure, don’t you know this already? I thought it was kind of common knowledge they didn’t like me.”
“I mean, I heard some rumors, but bars over your window, and they didn’t let you out?” his tone was incredulous. “How did you eat?”
“Um, they brought me food in the afternoon.”
“One meal?”
“Yes?”
“Harry, that’s– that’s not okay, you know that right?”
“Sure, but it’s not like I can do much.”
“Why has Dumbledore let you stay there?” Harry did his best to explain the whole love-and-blood-protection magic that kept him safe there. That didn’t seem to help much, though. “Who cares about protection magic if they starve you to death before you even hit 17?”
“They won’t starve me.”
“You’re too calm about this,” Draco said, irritation clear on his face.
“There’s just no point in worrying about it. I have nowhere else to go anyway, and I need the protection magic.”
“You could have lived with the Weasleys or your godfather.”
“I couldn’t put them in danger like that, and I needed the protection that the spell gave me.”
“You don’t live at their house all year though, how does that work if you need the protection?”
“I have to go at least once a year and be able to call the place home.”
“Perfect, then you can have multiple homes. Stay a week there and then leave again to go to the Weasleys’ or your godfathers. Problem solved.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that simple, but I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry said, laughing a little. “Just keep your house elf at your place, and I think I’ll be fine.”
“I can do that,” Draco promised. Harry reached out a hand, grabbing Draco’s in silent thanks. “Now, you need to tell me what happens next year.”