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Chapter Text

The sixth year cowered against the wall, and Ron relished in the smell of iron and ammonia. “I would think again before saying that. I’d hate for Hogwarts to have to report the death of a student again.” He studied his wand. “Regularly, I wish people a good day before I leave, but I think it’s a bit too late for that, wouldn’t you agree?”

The sixth year whimpered and huddled closer to the wall, which Ron took for conferment. “Excellent. I’ll be leaving now. Wouldn’t want to show up to the Halloween Feast in bloody robes, would I?” He turned and left, and started to whistle once he had rounded the corner.

“Sorry I’m late,” he gasped out, falling down onto the seat beside Harry. “A Ravenclaw was confused about certain things, and I couldn’t just let him go without helping him, could I?"

“Again, Ron? What was it this time? Did he say you were-”

“He said you were a traitor, Harry, and he called you a good-for-nothing. . . I’d rather not repeat it, ‘mione.” Ron glowered down at his plate. “I did the right thing, alright? No one gets to talk about you like that. And it’s not like he’s dead.”

“Yet.” Harry looked up from the textbook he had been reading. “You might not have killed him directly, Ron, but we know your methods. What spells did you use, by the way?”

Hermione gave a subtle wave of her hand, and the surrounding chatter dimmed down. “You might consider being a little quieter . Even though you’re the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry, that doesn’t mean others-” she nodded towards the professors’ table, where Dumbledore was conversing happily to Snape. “Won’t be keeping tabs on us. The Headmaster has been suspicious of us ever since the Philosopher’s Stone when missing.”

“Way to damper the mood, Hermione. Anyway, I used the one we made up just recently. You know, the one that combines the conjunctivitis curse with the one we found in the Restricted Section about draining blood.

“And he was still able to move when I left him, so if he has enough sense he’ll scurry along to Pomfrey. If not, well. . . It’s not a large loss.”

“Hogwarts will shut down if they find someone dead, like they almost did two years ago. Even if he deserves to die, he shouldn’t in school. Investigations will be everywhere. I hope you cleaned your robes. That spell is extremely messy.”

“Relax, Hermione.” Harry put a hand on her shoulder. “They’ll never suspect us, and even if they do, what’ll they do about it? No one even thought of accusing me, even though they had ample evidence. Riddle got off scot-free, and we will too."

Hermione opened her mouth, presumably to make yet another objection to, what Ron considered, their very sound logic, but Dumbledore stood up just in time. He scoffed, and muttered, “Fancy being grateful to Dumbledore of all people.”

“Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts students; it is time for the Goblet to choose the Triwizard Champions!” He gave a fancy wave of his wand, which the trio had long since suspected was merely for show, and the lights dimmed. Crouch rolled out the Goblet, careful to dodge the spitting green flames.

Mme. Maxime stepped up to the Goblet, and it spat out a piece of paper that floated delicately into her hand. “Fleur Delacour!” She called, and clapping arose from the Ravenclaw table. Karkaroff had shoved his way over, and reading the slip, Ron swore he saw him smile. “Viktor Krum!” Ron turned toward Harry, and started clapping enthusiastically. Dumbledore had now made his way to the Goblet, and with a great bellow, “Cedric Diggory!” left his mouth.

“Not the worst champion for Hogwarts,” Hermione muttered. “Not the worst.” Students returned to their conversations - albeit with a lot more glee than before.

“That reminds me, Harry.” Hermione glanced around before continuing. “I was curious about who had placed their names in the Goblet, and so I snuck out last night to see if I could tamper with it. I couldn’t, of course. Dumbledore isn’t called the greatest wizard for nothing. I was about to go in the Entrance Hall when Professor Moody walked out! I don’t think he saw me; he didn’t seem to be expecting anyone, but don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

“Are you implying he tampered with the Goblet? And how, considering, as you said, that Dumbledore is far more powerful than him.” Harry shook his head. “I suppose it sounds reasonable, but even if it did happen, why would it concern us?”

“I don’t know, Harry.” Ron jerked his head sideways. “Look at Mad-Eye over there. He seems pretty upset, and he keeps looking over here. Maybe whatever he had planned failed. Maybe he wanted the Goblet to choose a Slytherin champion.”

“And once again, does it matter? He obviously failed, which means that it didn’t really matter whether or not he tampered with the Goblet.” Harry got up and slung his bookbag over his shoulder. “Come on. If we leave now we can maybe pick around in Malfoy’s stuff.” Hermione and Ron followed close behind, their heads joined together.

“Don’t look now, but Mad-Eye is watching us. Do you think-”

“Do I think that his plan concerned us, or just Harry? Yes, yes I do. And he might still be planning something else. Just. . .”

“Don’t tell Harry.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, did you know that-”

“Half the cells in Azkaban are filled thanks to our new professor? Yes, Ron, you’ve told us that four times now. If your crush on him is that large, just ask him out already.” Hermione continued flipping through the Potions textbook, ignoring her friend’s sputtering.

“She’s got a point, you know.” Harry moved his rook six squares ahead, and watched as his last pawn was pummeled to death. “And besides, why are you so interested in him? And Merlin’s beard, how the hell are you so good at chess?”

Ron shifted, eyeing the chessboard. “Queen to D3. And I am not infatuated with him! I mean, have you even looked at him? I just think it’s pretty cool that we’re being taught Defence from someone who’s actually been out there, you know?”

“Yeah, suppose so. Oh, bollocks! Rook to E7. Check.” He glanced over at Hermione. “Why’re you looking at the textbook? Potions is canceled till next week.”

“Oh, there’s a potion that I heard about and I wanted to see if we’d be using any of its ingredients this year,” she said, just as Ron shouted “Knight to B2, and Checkmate!” Some first years looked towards them, but the rest of the House had gotten used to the Trio’s chess. “You’ve got to remember the other side of the king, mate. This is the fifth time it’s happened.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s what I’ve got you for. In a real fight we won’t be on opposing sides. And what potion were you thinking of, ‘mione?”

“Mmm, secret for now. On a different note-” Hermione closed her book and took out her wand. “ Muffliato . Do you know of Ernie Macmillan? Hufflepuff student, originally thought you were the Heir of Slytherin, Harry?” She waited for both of them to nod, and continued on. “Well, he came to me earlier and he said something I thought you two should know.”

“Hold on,” Ron interrupted. “How do you know that what he said was true? And why in the world would he come to you of all people? No offence, Hermione, but we’re not exactly popular with the rest of the school.”

“You haven’t even heard what he said yet, Ron! And for your information, he felt like he had to apologize for thinking Harry had opened the Chamber. And telling us something that concerned us apparently ended his debt. Some old pureblood tradition, I don’t know.”

“Well,” Harry said. “Are you going to tell us, or are you just going to let us sit here, melting in anticipation?”

“No one likes a sarcastic smartass, Harry. Wipe that grin off your face. Anyways, he was invited to tea with Mad-Eye after the Imperius Curse was cast on him. And Mad-Eye kept going on about pureblood traditions, which Ernie felt was strange, given that he, as you’ve told us so many times, Ron, was responsible for many of the Death Eaters rotting in Azkaban. And then - and this is the interesting part, listen - Mad-Eye’s face started bubbling! Ernie was shooed out, but he glanced back and saw him drinking from his flask, and the face was no longer bubbling !”

Harry sat up straight. “Are you saying that our professor isn’t actually Mad-Eye?” He nudged Ron. “You hear that, Ron? You’ve been sending goo-goo eyes at the wrong guy!”

“For the last time,” Ron shouted, drawing some looks. “I do not have a crush on Mad-Eye! Krum is much better looking, and he’s not actually the same age as my dad !”

Harry snorted. “Mate, you said that loud enough so the Muffliato Charm couldn’t cancel it. I think Krum’s going to be finding out about your feelings soon enough.”

“Could both of you be a bit more serious? Taking on the appearance of another and then pretending to actually be them is highly illegal.”

“Yeah, and that didn’t stop us from doing it in second year. And maybe Dumbledore knows. Maybe the real Mad-Eye knows. What’s your point?” Harry stood up. “Listen, I’ll catch you later. I’ve been wanting to visit the pitch, and the rain’s finally let up.”

Ron waited for the portrait door to close behind Harry before leaning close to Hermione. “Call me paranoid, but I don’t think Not Mad-Eye has the permission of Dumbledore or Moody. And I don’t think he’s harboring good feelings towards Harry either.”

Hermione nodded. “Walk me to the library? I need to return some books.” She slung her bookbag over her shoulder. “Do you know what’s with Harry? Usually he’s the one who sees too far into everything. Why’s he refusing to accept that we may actually be in danger?”

“Eh, I think he’s just hoping for a normal year, you know? First year was the stone, and then second year we had to destroy the basilisk. And last year there was that whole business with Black refusing to acknowledge him as his godson. It’d be nice to relax and watch someone else try not to get killed, you know? But I can talk to him, get him to see reason.”

-

Harry hadn’t visited the quidditch pitch since the beginning of second year, but no one needed to know that. There was no need to worry Ron and Hermione, when they spent ninety percent of their time thinking about him.

Right now, though, he was concerned about a certain set of twins.

“George, Fred.” He nodded at each of them, and they paused in their searching of Filch’s office. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

They looked at each other and grinned. “Forge,” one of them said. “What could an ickle little snake want to talk to us about?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” the other replied. “Perhaps, and this is just a theory, Gred, but perhaps he needs help shedding his skin?”

“Oh, shut it. Listen, Ron hasn’t been telling me or Hermione anything of what happened last summer. So then, start talking.”

Their grins fell a slight bit, and they once again glanced at each other. “Er, we went to see the 422nd Quidditch World Cup. You must have heard about that one - there was a Death Eater attack, and the Dark Mark appeared.”

Harry had heard about that one - Hermione had ranted about the uselessness of the Ministry all the way from King’s Cross to Hogsmeade. “Yeah, so? What about Ron?”

“Ah, yeah. He went with us, of course. It’s just, when we were - keep in mind that it was chaos and people were everywhere. It wasn’t necessarily our fault. When we were running from the Death Eaters, we got to the Portkey and were transported back to the Burrow. But, well, we didn’t realize until a little later that Ron wasn’t with us.”

“You left him? In a Death Eater attack?” Harry drew out his wand. “What were you thinking? And no one noticed?”

They watched Harry’s hands, but neither of them drew out their own wand. “We were rushed and the Death Eaters were everywhere, and, ah.”

Their defence sounded like a question, and with a small grimace, Harry cast the Silencing Charm on them. Slytherins might have been known for self preservation, but then, Harry had never fit completely in.

He protected his own, and Ron and Hermione belonged to him, as he belonged to them.

Chapter Text

The Headmaster’s eyes flicked quickly over to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, before returning to the Slytherin one. Frankly put, he was concerned. In the span of one month, three students had been injured, one of which with an unknown Dark spell. The twins, Gryffindors, both of them, had not been injured badly; only suffering from a few scratches and bruises.

Dumbledore had had this problem in the past. Being a headmaster for some decades led one to see some things. He bent his head towards Snape. “Tell Potter to meet me in my office after dinner. The password is Sugar Quills .”

-

Classes hadn’t been pleasant after Snape’s visit to them during lunch. They had spent the time with their heads together, whispering about what Dumbledore might want from them.

“Ron, I told you that you shouldn’t have used that spell on the Ravenclaw student. What if Harry gets in trouble now?”

“That was three weeks ago, ‘Mione. If that was the reason then don’t you think Harry would’ve been called up to his office by now?” Ron scoffed and looked to his friend. “You’ve been awfully quiet on this, mate. What do you think it is?”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugged, “but I guess I’ll find out soon. Dinner’s about to end.” As he stood up and collected his books, he looked at them. “I’ll tell you what he talks to me about. See you.”

Hermione looked at Ron but didn’t comment, choosing to shrug instead.

-

When Harry arrived in Dumbledore’s office, the Headmaster wasn’t there yet. Fawkes trilled at him and Harry made to head to him when someone cleared their throat.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, sitting down at his desk and gesturing at a chair for Harry to sit on. “I’m glad you came.”

“You told me to, sir. What do you need?”

“Ah, straight to business. That’s a good quality, you know. Although you may want to work on pleasantries.” He smiled at Harry, who grimaced back. “Sherbet lemon?” He held the bowl out and at Harry’s head shake, popped one in his mouth.

“To get down to it, my boy, I’m slightly concerned about your performance. Your practical work is excellent, and the essays you’re assigned are often EEs. However, I’ve been told that your reading is slow, to the point in which you don’t finish the reading in class, despite getting more than enough time to work on it. Not only that, but your spelling and handwriting in class are atrocious. Need I remind you that cheating in Hogwarts is strictly forbidden?”

“I’m not cheating, sir. I have trouble with words and spelling, so when we’re assigned an essay outside of class, I dictate it to Hermione. All the words are my own. And Ron and Hermione help with reading.”

With a sigh, Dumbledore said, “You will have to grow out of that, Harry. It won’t be allowed during OWLs, not to mention childish. You’re fourteen.”

Eyes flashing, Harry made to say something before thinking better of it. His words came out through gritted teeth. “Is there anything else, Headmaster? I’d like to be back before curfew.”

“No, no, my boy.” He waved his hand. “I can write you a note. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.

“Harry, do you know anything about Matthew Wilson? He’s a sixth year Ravenclaw, who recently had come into contact with an unknown and serious curse.” At Harry’s shake of the head, he prodded further. “You haven’t heard anyone in the Common Room bragging about a curse they had invented? Perhaps a boast about defeating a fellow student in a duel.”

“I don’t socialize much, sir. The other Slytherins don’t talk to me much, so I wouldn’t have heard anything. Everyone tends to talk quieter when I’m around. Besides, I’m a fourth year. I don’t think I could beat a sixth year in a duel.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You were able to hold your ground against Voldemort, and you were only eleven at the time.”

“That was merely adrenaline. I don’t think I could do that naturally without intense training. If that’ll be all…?” He stood up, waiting for Dumbledore to write a note.

Even with the note, Harry hurried through the corridors. None of the teachers liked him much, and Filch and Snape would take any excuse to assign him detention. Thankfully, he made it back to the Common Room without incident. Ron and Hermione, just as he had suspected, were seated on the couch. They looked up upon hearing the door open.

“So?” Hermione asked. “What was it?”

“Dumbledore being himself, what else?”

“An arse, then.” Ron helpfully provided.

“Yeah, an arse. He accused me of cheating and said that I was ‘too slow’ when it came to reading. He did ask about that Ravenclaw sixth year, though. I don’t think he believed what I came up with, but I’m the Boy Who Lived. What’s he gonna do to me?” Harry smiled and dodged the book Hermione threw at him.

“You can’t depend on that, Harry!”

“Yeah, but I can now, so I might as well use it. It’s the only good thing that came from that night.” He shrugged at Ron before stretching. “Well, I’m beat. Don’t stay up too late, ‘Mione. We’ve got Herbology at 10 tomorrow and I want to get a good breakfast.”

Chapter Text

The First Task passed without much fanfare; that is, for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry had been busy with finding a spell or enchantment that could help with his reading and writing, Hermione had been both helping him and perfecting a charm she’d come up with over the summer, and Ron had been taking notes and starting homework for the three of them.

Ron, however, had another, more pressing matter on his hands: the twins.

He stopped Harry on their way out of History of Magic, waving Hermione on with the request of “save us a place in the Great Hall, yeah?”

“Listen, Harry,” he began. “What did you do to the twins?”

“I didn’t -” Harry said, affronted, before looking at Ron’s face. He brought his hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed it. “I found out what happened at the World Cup, alright? That no one realized you were missing until after Portkeying back to the Burrow. And that’s not right, Ron!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ron stared hard at Harry. “But that doesn’t excuse you torturing them!”

“I didn’t torture them! Just, just roughed them up a bit, that’s all.”

“Alright, but you’ve gotta apologize to them.”

“Not until they apologize to you .” Harry jutted his chin out.

“No, Harry. Maybe they do need to say sorry -” and here Ron was interrupted by a muttered they do. “But you need to apologize as well.”

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said. “I was only looking out for you.”

“And I appreciate that, honest! I’d just rather you not do it that way, y’know?”

“Alright. I - I know that wasn’t the best way to do it.”

“Now go tell it to Fred and George.” Ron looked down the hallway and grinned. “C’mon. If we don’t hurry, Malfoy and his cronies will take all the good stuff.”

-

With December fast approaching, all of Hogwarts, along with the visiting schools, had a new thing to worry about. Although the vast majority of the students couldn’t go to the Yule Ball (just for Seventh Years, and there was talk the punch would be spiked), there was the usual rush of planning and packing for the winter holiday.

There were new plans, as well. In an attempt to appease the younger years, the professors had made arrangements for the students planning to stay at Hogwarts. The First and Second Years would have the Common Rooms to themselves for the evening, which would be open to all Houses. The Third through Sixth Years were allowed to stay out in Hogsmeade for the night.

At the moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were seated around a table at Three Broomsticks, each nursing a Butterbeer.

“But don’t you think,” Hermione was saying, “that it would’ve been neat to go to the Ball?”

“Maybe,” Ron said. “I don’t much relish the idea of finding dress robes though, let alone getting a date.”

“That’s the thing!” Harry spoke up. “If we couldn’t get a date, we could go together! There wouldn’t be any pressure of asking someone, or the need to, well,” and here Harry leaned in with a shudder, “ kiss.”

Hermione laughed. “You don’t necessarily need to kiss the person you take, even if it’s a date! I see what you mean, though.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “That’d be neat.”