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Chapter Text

Harry

“Hey Sirius,” Harry says.

Sirius starts, then looks up from the book he’d been going over. Harry isn’t sure what it is, but his bet is something Remus asked him to read- something on psychology, probably. He doesn’t really care- he’s not sure he wants to initiate this conversation at all.

He and Sirius haven’t really… talked. It’s only been a couple of days since the end of the year, and life has been a bit hectic what with all the ‘Theo and Sirius’ moving in that’s been happening, so Harry hasn’t really had the chance to bring anything up with Sirius.

“Yes? Is, uh, everything alright?”

At least Sirius seems as unsure about things as Harry feels.

“I wanted to know,” Harry says, before he can lose his nerve, “you- er.”

This is actually a terrible idea.

Sirius puts the book down, then cocks his head. He looks concerned. “Yes?”

Harry grimaces. “Maybe- never mind.”

“No,” Sirius says, a bit quickly- then he grimaces. “I mean- you can ask me anything. I mean it, Harry- whatever you want to know, I’m- just getting to talk to you at all is… sort of one of the best things that’s happened to me in twelve years.”

Harry feels both a rush of completely unexpected warmth at the too-skinny looking man in front of him, and also a rush of guilt. He’s not going to be bringing up something especially nice here. But Merlin also made Harry promise he’d ask.

And Sirius is still looking at him, half expectant and half worried, so…

“The dementors- how did you stand it?” Sirius’s expression goes sad. But Harry isn’t done. “I mean- how does anyone stand it? For any amount of time?”

Now Sirius is looking a bit confused. “How do you mean?”

Harry shifts, a bit uncomfortable. He doesn’t like talking about this, really, but- he’s been having nightmares. Bad ones, about… well, the usual things, but especially the dementors, and the pain they caused. The worst ones are the ones he can’t remember- the ones that cause phantom pains in his scars.

“Well,” Harry says. “They make you relive the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, so-”

Sirius lets out a little choked sound, and Harry looks up from his hands, startled. Sirius is looking a bit gray, all at once.

“Sirius?” Harry asks, feeling worried.

“Harry,” Sirius says, in a curiously detached sounding voice. “The dementors make you feel pain?”

Well, now Harry is the one confused. “Yes? Don’t they-” he cuts off with a groan. “Do they not do that for everyone?”

Sirius shakes his head, eyes wide. “They just make you relive your worst memories. There’s no physical pain. You- every time, a dementor- oh god. The clearing. The quidditch game. Oh god. Every time?”

Sirius seems to be working himself up into a little bit of a frenzy. Harry doesn’t really pay that much attention- he’s too busy spiraling.

Why is it always him?

“Harry,” Sirius says, cutting into his thoughts.

Harry looks up. “What?”

“Can I hug you?”

Harry looks at him. Sirius looks back. He still looks a little gray.

This man has known Harry- actually known him, not just as a baby- for a total of four, maybe five days. Harry doesn’t really know him, either- all he knows is that Sirius ran after Pettigrew, all those years ago, leaving him to the Dursley’s for ten years, and leaving Remus to think he’d been all alone in the world. Sure, he’d also rescued Theo, and he’s here now, but… it still hurts, and Harry thinks they’re probably going to need to talk about it, at some point.

But right now… Sirius is right here, looking like the thought of Harry in any sort of pain at all is causing him an insurmountable amount of grief. And… he asked to hug him.

“Yeah,” Harry says, before wrapping his arms around his godfather. And Sirius hugs him back, sighing a little as he does.

Remus is the best at giving hugs. Harry doesn’t know if that will ever not be true.

But Harry thinks- Harry thinks Sirius is a close second.

Ron

“Here,” Percy says, thrusting a hand out to Ron.

Ron looks up from where he’d been trying and failing to read up on animagus theory. “Perce, what-”

“Just take it,” Percy says.

Ron narrows his eyes, but this is Percy and not one of the twins, so he holds a hand out and lets Percy deposit whatever it is into Ron’s hand.

Ron looks down at it, then up to Percy. He isn’t sure what to feel about this- but damn if it isn’t cute as hell.

Percy looks uncharacteristically nervous as he scratches the back of his neck. “I feel bad. I should have realized something was- anyways. I guess I thought you could use a new one.”

Ron tries resolutely to not think about Scabbers as he runs a finger lightly over the baby rat's head, and it sleepily reaches out and grabs at Ron’s finger with its tiny hands, pulling it in so that it can nuzzle its head on it. Ron blinks.

“If you don’t want it because rats have been ruined for you, I get it- but I already ran a ton of diagnostic spells on it.”

“Where did you find him?” Ron asks, looking up.

“Luna gave her to me. Just came up and handed her to me. Told me she’s been calling her Pebble, but that you should change the name if you wanted.”

Ron looks down at the rat again. She looks back up at him with inky black eyes. She’s nothing special- just a little gray rat. Although... she does seem to be tailless.

“Luna gave her to you?”

“Yeah, you know how she is. Although, she called it a ‘fizzy-spit-sprite’, or something like that.”

Well. If Luna endorses the rat, then of course Ron is going to keep her- when one grows up with Luna as a neighbor, one learns to trust first and ask questions later.

Besides, maybe the rat will help him get over the intense feeling of wanting to throw up every time he thinks about Scabbers. What was it Hermione had called it? Exposure therapy?

Ron closes his hands softly over the rat, giving Percy a small smile.

“Thanks, Perce.”

Percy relaxes. “So, are you going to call her Pebble or what?”

Ron thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nah- I think I’ll call her… Chud. After the Cannons.”

Percy stares at Ron for a long moment, then shakes his head and walks off without another word.

Ron snorts, and then puts Chud down on his bedspread. She yawns, and Ron’s heart melts a little despite himself.

“Get comfy, Chuds- we have a lot of catch-up to do.”

Blaise

Blaise sighs heavily, looking up at the ceiling. Oh well. Nothing else for it.

Blaise gets up and heads down to where the Contessa is sitting. She’s in her study, going over property laws or declarations of war or some other political bullshit.

“Mamma,” Blaise starts.

The Contessa looks up from her paperwork, smiling softly. “Yes, mio passerotto?”

Blaise sighs again. “Passerotta, now, mamma.”

The Contessa’s smile widens and Blaise sighs for a third time. So much for being the first male heir to the title of Contessa.

But it’s not like Blaise is going to deny it- not now that Blaise has realized who she wants to be.

Daphne

“Welcome to the club,” Daphne says, raising an eyebrow.

Blaise snorts, and Daphne smiles- and resolutely ignores the flush she feels creeping up her neck. That is not something she needs to deal with right now.

Neville

Neville looks up from his essay as he hears the floo chime, heart racing.

His Gran pushes through the floo, not a spot of soot on her. She’s dressed in her Wizengamot best.

“Well?” Neville asks.

“Sirius Black was cleared on all accounts- and given a hefty compensation by the Ministry.”

“Yes!” Neville says, pumping his fist in the air like he’d seen Harry and Hermione both do.

His Gran gives him a bemused look. He shoots her a sheepish smile. His Gran returns it with a small smile of her own, then sits down across from him.

“It’s been a long day- how about you tell me about how some of your plants are doing?”

Neville looks at her, making sure she isn’t joking. She raises an eyebrow. Not joking, then.

“Well,” Neville says slowly, “the b-baby whomping willows are coming along nicely-”

“The baby what?”

“Oh- sorry, I guess I should have asked if it w-was okay for me t-to-”

His Gran shakes her head, smiling softly. “It’s alright, Neville. I apologize, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Neville gives her a smile.

He might be annoyed that she’s taking more interest in his passions now that he’s shown to her that he is capable of doing difficult and brave things, but- this is nice, and progress is progress.

Hermione

“Darling, what’s this?” Mum asks, holding up a thin leather-bound book.

Hermione looks up at it, clamps down hard on the panic she’s suddenly feeling, and says, “ah, nothing, mum- just some light reading.”

“Hm,” Mum says, before handing her the book back. “Well, we’re leaving for dinner soon, so be ready for that.”

“Sure thing,” Hermione says, and then gets up to do just that- even though she’s all of a sudden not very hungry. As she goes, she tucks the book on memory charms back into her bag.

Chapter Text

Sirius

Padfoot sits up from where he’d been lying in the sun, snout wrinkling. Something is wrong- the forest is being too loud for such a nice Sunday. He stands up all the way, shakes off, and then heads towards where he’s pretty sure the disturbance is coming from- into the woods that Moony has on his land.

Sure enough, soon he comes across Tom. The boy is standing in the middle of a clearing, levitating assorted rocks and logs, before blasting them into pieces and shooting them off into the forest. His face is completely blank, but his eyes are bright and burning. From the look of the clearing, Tom’s been at this a while.

Padfoot whines. Today’s a bad day for Tom, then- Remus had told him that Tom gets those, when Sirius had (half as a subtle attempt to gather information about the kid and half in genuine concern) asked if there was anything he should know about the boy.

There had in fact been a lot of things- most of which were unsurprising, considering Sirius’s suspicions as to who Tom might be related to, magically or otherwise.

According to Remus, Tom bottles everything up- all his rage and his fear and his pain- and then he explodes. It’s just how Tom is. Padfoot gets it- better than Remus does, anyways. Remus has Moony to help him blow off steam- forces him into expressing his emotions in a very literal sense.

But people like Tom, and like Sirius- sometimes you just have to lash out. At least Tom is lashing out at the world around him, and not at himself like Sirius had when he was Tom’s age.

The boy suddenly sinks to his knees, head in his hands. He’s breathing heavily. Then he bites into his own forearm- hard.

Ah- yes, that’s more familiar to Padfoot. Damn.

Padfoot decides that that’s enough of that. It’s extremely stupid, what he’s about to do, but he wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

By the time he gets over to Tom, the boy’s head is back in his hands. His arm is bleeding. “Go away,” Tom mutters.

Padfoot sits, instead. He’s not as good at this as Moony, but he knows enough to be at least pretty sure that Tom shouldn’t be alone right now.

(On the one hand, Sirius cannot believe Remus let what is very possibly a baby version of the Dark Lord Voldemort into his home and family. On the other hand, it’s Remus- and Tom’s a good kid. Funny, smart, and cares in his own way. Just because someone is a psychopath doesn’t mean they aren’t deserving of love or support.

Tom being a baby Voldie is a little harder of a pill to swallow, but Sirius has managed well enough. It helps that, apparently, if Tom hadn’t followed Harry down into the Chamber, Sirius likely never would have met Harry- which is unthinkable.)

“Go away,” Tom says, whipping his head up and baring his teeth. His wand is out and pointed at Padfoot.

And then Sirius has a great idea.

“You’re going to have to make me, kid,” Sirius says, before diving to the side and out of the way of the spell Tom shoots at him. It’s a good thing he’d been anticipating that- the kid is fast.

“This isn’t a game,” Tom spits, all of four minutes and around eighty spells later. “I’m not playing around. I’m trying to hurt you.”

“I- know- that,” Sirius gasps out, clutching at his side. He manages to dodge yet another curse, but just barely. He’s running out of steam, and fast. Maybe provoking Tom hadn’t been such a good idea. “I know- what a- decay- curse- looks like.”

Fortunately, this seems to catch Tom off guard. He lowers his wand, fury in his expression bleeding into confusion. Hell yeah- another point in Tom’s favor. Voldie would never let his guard down like that.

“But you aren’t- fighting back?”

“That would- defeat the purpose,” Sirius says, finally getting his breathing under control. Damn- he’s out of shape.

Tom holds his wand up again, eyes narrowing.“Purpose?”

Sirius shrugs. “Can’t hurt yourself if you’re trying to hurt me, yeah?”

Tom just looks at him, uncomprehendingly.

“James used to do the same thing for me,” Sirius continues. “When it all got too- you know.”

“No?” Tom says. His wand is wavering.

Sirius waves his hands around, as though that does anything to convey what he’s trying to say. Hm. This parenting shit is hard sometimes- but damn if he isn’t going to try his best to explain. “Buzzy. You know. Everything is... wrong.”

Tom’s wand is fully down at his side now. “Oh,” he says, although he still seems a bit confused. He thinks for a moment more. Then, his expression clears and he says, “you and Remus really do belong together.”

Sirius feels a crooked smile spread across his face. Hell yeah. “Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, want me to give you some dueling pointers?”

Tom looks a bit queasy at the idea of ‘pointers’ but then he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Yeah,” he says. “You’d better. I’ve fought you twice now and have only managed to land a hit once.”

Ha, old Voldie had that problem too. Like father like… son?

“I’d be happy to help, assuming we lay off the really dangerous spells,” Sirius says. “Although, can I say? You’re really fucking good, Tom.”

Tom gets a proud little smile on his face that really makes the resemblance between him and Harry stick out. “I am that,” he agrees. Then, he falls into an informal dueling stance.

Sirius smiles to himself as he falls into a dueling stance to mirror Tom’s.

Remus

“Uno,” Theo says in a deadpan before throwing his last card down. “And also, I win.”

Remus blinks down at the pile as Harry groans loudly in his hands. Merlin licks his cheek in, what Remus assumes, is an attempt at comfort.

“How are you so good at this?” Harry finally asks, looking up from his hands.

“If you think I’m good at this, you should see me play poker,” Theo says, expression and tone still flat.

“Bet I’m better,” Tom says, expression just as flat- although there’s a glint in his eyes at the idea of the competition.

“I’ll take that bet,” Theo responds, shrugging.

“No poker,” Sirius calls from the other room. Then, he comes into the room, brushing flour off of hands onto his shirt. “Not without me, I mean- I’ll sweep the floor with you punks.”

Theo’s expression remains blank. But their hair does go a little blue- Sirius has told Remus that means Theo is happy, and Remus really has no choice but to trust Padfoot on this one.

“Right- I’m going to clean the kitchen,” Remus says, going to stand up. “I’m shit at poker.”

He’s not, really- it’s just that Sirius can’t cast a cleaning charm these days without having something of a mild panic attack. Something about the smell and the feel of it takes him right back to Azkaban.

Sirius leans over and plants a kiss on Remus’s cheek, which is a casual domestic gesture that does not have Remus blushing as he leaves the room, thank you very much.

“How sweet,” Remus hears Theo say, in a deadpan voice.

“Yeah,” Sirius says, sounding happy.

Remus doesn’t know how Sirius has managed to get through to the kid as well as he has- no, that’s not true. Sirius has always been better with kids than Remus has, up to and including figuring them and their moods out.

That said, if Sirius can do it, Remus can too. He just has to work at it.

And he’s more than willing to do just that- in fact, he’d do just about anything for his kids.

“Merlin just decided that all of you are learning parseltongue,” Harry announces, apropos of nothing.

…even if it means doing that.

Theo

Theo sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror, but this time it’s in satisfaction. He gives his hair a tug, letting a small smile slip onto his face as it remains blessedly brown.

He’s only had two ‘lessons’ with Tonks, and already he’s able to change his hair color back to brown. He has to focus to maintain it, but to be honest, any progress at all makes it more than worth spending time with his older cousin.

Of course, Tonk isn’t as bad as he’d thought they’d be- once they’d realized that Theo is a bit… prickly, they’d dialed themselves back a bit, making them much more tolerable.

“You still look like a scoundrel,” the mirror decides.

“Thanks, for that,” Theo says, before turning around and leaving the bathroom.

They’re at Grimmauld, which is… odd. Not bad, not exactly, but still- the last time Theo had been here, he was… not in a great place, mentally.

It looks to be weighing on Sirius as well, who seems a bit manic as he throws assorted objects around the dining room with a flick of his wand. The others are somewhere in the house, too- they’re all trying to clean the place up, for good this time.

Theo, out of the corner of his eye, sees his hair go blue.

And he is happy, is the thing. It’s odd, but true.

Harry and Sirius are getting along really well, despite a bit of a rocky start that had involved a six-way ‘discussion’ (argument) over the decisions Sirius and Remus had both made vis a vis the whole ‘trusting each other’ thing (between Harry, Remus, Theo, Sirius, Tom, and Merlin).

It had started with Harry asking Sirius why he hadn’t trusted Remus enough to tell him about the switch, escalated when Remus had tried to defend Sirius to Harry, then escalated further when Theo had tried to explain to Harry that Remus wasn’t exactly blameless either (that was a turning point, with both Harry and Sirius suddenly finding themselves arguing on the same side).

After that, the atmosphere became less heated and more depressing when Tom had pointed out that Peter had probably manipulated the two into at least some of the distrust. The whole thing finally ended with Merlin suggesting they play a game of Uno. (For someone without hands, Merlin is a big fan of the game.)

After that, things seemed to be much better between everyone- and Theo finally knows what it’s like to have a family that cares about him.

Well, except for the part where Theo is still constantly caught off guard by Sirius and Remus being actually good guardians. There are still days where Theo does something and automatically tenses up, getting ready to be crucioed by Lord Black. Or days where Theo just wants to scream and scream at Remus for being too soft, too forgiving, when clearly Theo doesn’t deserve it.

And then, of course, there’s also the minor issue of Sirius and Remus having accidentally adopted a young Voldemort into the family. Which isn’t exactly ideal.

Theo still doesn’t know how Tom managed the split- but he’s going to figure it out if it kills him. Theo’s pretty sure that Tom doesn’t want Harry (and to a lesser extent, Remus) dead, but he still can’t shake the feeling that the older boy is something of a time-bomb.

Theo moves past the dining room and into the library- where he sees Kreacher sitting on a pile of books.

“Kreacher,” Theo says, cocking his head. “Shouldn’t you be making sure Sirius isn’t getting rid of anything too-”

Kreacher looks over at Theo, and Theo stops, feeling his stomach drop. There’s a glint of something in Kreacher’s eyes- he looks otherworldly, and his teeth are too long. It’s been a long time since Theo has seen Kreacher look so- wrong.

“Kreacher?” Theo asks, feeling suddenly very apprehensive. He begins moving towards the Elf once more.

Kreacher disappears, and then reappears, closer to Theo- but this time he’s perched on top of a bookshelf.

“Broken,” Kreacher says, as though he’s remarking on the weather. He’s not looking at Theo- in fact, he almost seems to be ignoring him.

“What’s-”

“Kreacher would like to kill Broken.”

Theo stops in his tracks once more, swallowing. Something about the way Kreacher said that- well.

Elves can be a bit… violent, but there’s never been a recorded incident where one has actually killed someone. Even expressing the desire to do so is nearly unheard of, as far as Theo knows. Kreacher must really hate whoever ‘Broken’ is.

“And yet. Kreacher cannot interfere,” Kreacher sighs, still looking out the window. “It goes against terms.”

“Against what terms?” Theo tries, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be getting an answer out of Kreacher. Not when he’s acting like this.

“And yet,” Kreacher says again, cocking his head. “Regulus Black.”

“Kreacher, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Theo says, although the fact that this is somehow about Regulus Black isn’t actually that much of a surprise.

Kreacher disappears again, and Theo rolls his eyes.

Then there’s a thumping sort of sound as a book falls out of nowhere and onto the hardwood floor in front of him.

Theo bends down and picks it up, hesitating only briefly. It doesn’t seem to be cursed- but it is dusty. And very old. Theo gently brushes away some of the dust, then peels the ancient cover open with a crackling sort of sound.

He turns to what seems to be a table of contents, of some kind. Most of the words are faded away, or illegible. But there’s one that seems to stand out on the page.

“Horcrux,” Theo reads aloud. It might just be him, but the stuffy air in the library seems suddenly several degrees cooler.

Then, before Theo can examine the book further, there’s another sound- sort of a metallic little click- and Theo looks up in time to see the other object that’s appeared out of nowhere bounce once more against the hard floor before falling still.

It’s a locket.

Tom

Tom looks down at the letter he’d received, just staring sightlessly. He’s not actually reading the words, since by now he’s essentially gotten them memorized. It’s been hours since the letter has arrived, hours since he’d sat down at his desk. The letter has clearly sent Tom into a bit of an existential spiral.

He hadn’t known what to think when he’d gotten a letter bearing the official Hogwarts crest, but then he’d decided it must be a pay stub of some kind for his work as an assistant teacher, or potentially a last-minute adjustment to his final grades.

What he hadn’t anticipated was a job offer.

Tom sighs, then pushes his chair back. It’s no use. He needs an outsider opinion.

Tom walks quietly down the hall, hesitating for only the briefest of moments before knocking on the door to Remus’s (and now Sirius’s) room with the hand not clutching the letter. There’s the sound of quiet shuffling, then the door cracks open.

“Tom?” Remus asks quietly, eyes bleary and hair sticking out. He’s very clearly just been woken up. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Tom lies. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus whispers, slipping out from his room and closing the door quietly behind him. “Let’s go talk in the kitchen- I’ll make us some cocoa.”

Tom nods and follows Remus down the hall and into the kitchen, where he sits at the table as Remus waves a hand to get the hot chocolate started.

“What’s going on?” Remus asks, turning to Tom and sitting at the table as well.

Tom sighs, then slides the letter over to Remus. The finished mugs of cocoa position themselves in front of Tom and Remus, and Tom sips at it as he waits for Remus to read the letter.

Remus reads it, eyebrows going higher and higher with every word. Then, evidently having finished reading, looks up at Tom with a big smile on his face.

“Wow, Tom- congratulations.”

“I don’t know if I’m taking it yet,” Tom says.

“Still- being offered an official position at Hogwarts, at your age? That’s a huge accomplishment. I’m proud of you.”

Tom sighs again, pushing aside the odd feeling conjured by Remus’s words. “I just don’t know what to think. I’d like to think Dumbledore is offering me the position because of my merits, but I worry it’s less that and more to keep me from entering the political sphere.”

Remus shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s it- Hogwarts is incredibly prestigious. If you accept the job, you’d have all sorts of opportunities available to you when you decide to leave the school. This can only help your political aspirations.”

“It’s not like I’d be a Professor,” Tom points out.

“Tom,” Remus starts, looking at Tom with a disgustingly warm, sincere expression on his face. “I guarantee to you that the only reason they’re offering you a teaching assistant job and not the job of Defense Professor itself is because of your age.”

“Or the curse,” Tom says.

“And maybe the curse,” Remus laughs. “But that’s even better- that means, when they realized they have a shot at consistency in the Defense department, they turned to you.”

Tom is quiet for a moment.

Despite Remus’s words, a big part of him is sure that Dumbledore is only offering Tom the job to keep him close. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, and all that rot.

Then again, it’s not like Remus is wrong either. Dumbledore’s motives may be less-than pure, but he’s still offering Tom a lot of influence and power- assuming Tom can stick it out long enough to become relevant. There’s a chance the curse is on the entire department, and not just the Professor position.

“I’ll write back and ask for further details,” Tom decides.

Remus smiles. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Chapter Text

She is powerful, lithe- her muscles work in tandem to propel her across the dusty floor, smooth as silk. She can hear her friend (and others) muttering in the other room- but she pays them no mind. They have nothing of interest to her right now.

Right now, she hunts.

The tall gray one had offered to find her a deer, but she had laughed in his face. She's dined on dignitaries, a deer is an insult.

When she sees the sneaking man, she goes to lunge.

And then, she stops.

She doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t smell like magic (he smells like dirt and dust and alcohol- an unlucky local, likely)- but sometimes her friend needs people to not be eaten right away. And she isn’t so hungry now that she needs sustenance right away.

So she slithers, silently creeping up behind the listening man (ha- he isn’t listening well enough to hear her). She wonders what it is that sounds so interesting- she decides to tune into her friend’s muttering.

“Ugh- this dust. I’m sorry, my Lord, but why are we here and not at my manor? I assure you, I am more than capable of providing hospitality far above this.”

If she could roll her eyes, she would. The tall gray one is so bland. His simpering exhausts her, and she’s sure it exhausts her friend as well. And now that he’s weakened so- he’s frail. It’s only a matter of time before he exhausts his usefulness, and she will feast.

“Your hearing seems to be leaving you in your old age, Senior- or perhaps it was the children who managed to get the jump on you? Either way, our Lord has already made his motives perfectly clear.”

Her tongue flickers out of her mouth- this one is an insult to her friend as well. He thinks himself irreplaceable, but she knows some day her friend will permit her to eat him too.

“Watch it, Rat- I’m still more than capable of tearing you open and carving your liver out for my dogs.”

“Ooh, so scary. Anyways, can we get a move on? The sooner we figure this ritual out, the better-”

A hissed laughter, high and cold. It has the sneaking man suddenly stinking of nervousness.

“Peace and patience, my friends,” says the voice of her friend. “These things take time. If we are to use the boy-”

“Which one, my Lord? Because the Potter kid-”

“Silence, Wormtail,” says her friend, sharp and fast- like a bite. The room goes quiet. “We are using the Potter child.”

“But-”

“I am well aware of his power- you yourself have made it clear. However, the ritual requires an enemy, and when one has an enemy appointed by the universe and fate itself, one uses that enemy for things like this.”

“I- of course.”

“Assuming the boy is as powerful as the Rat claims, how can we hope to contain him?”

“Do you doubt me, my old friend?”

Another moment of silence.

“No- no, of course not. My Lord.”

“The boy is powerful. And yet- he is weak. There are ways to exploit him. Theodore- your son, tell me-”

“I have no son.”

A high cold laughter- it sounds a bit strained, and her tongue flickers again. She doesn’t like when her friend is sad, it makes her sad.

“I have come to learn recently- as you well know- that if a man could dismiss fatherhood as easily as that, the world would be a brighter place indeed.”

Another quiet moment- although this one has a distinct air of awkwardness, not fear.

“Theodore, your son. Is he a good candidate?”

“He’s weaker than I, too weak to bring any pride to the family name- but not weaker than most. I propose using a different child, if possible.”

“Frankly,” the rat one says, “with this kid? Anyone would work. He’s an idiot- would kill himself to save a bug.”

“Hm,” says her friend. “Very well. In that case-”

Apparently the sneaking man has heard enough. He turns around only to flinch magnificently. Oh- he’d seen her. Ah well.

“Marvolo, there’s a man out here. He just saw me- should I bring him in?” She calls out. The man smells of fear- so strong, so sweet. It’s making her almost faint with hunger.

“Yes, please- thank you, Nagini.”

If Nagini could smile, she would.

Chapter Text

“Why are we doing this again?” Remus asks, looking tiredly at the assorted piles of things that have yet to be packed up.

“Look how excited they are, Moony,” Sirius says, coming up around Remus and putting an arm around his shoulders. “That childlike joy and excitement on their faces- makes it all worth it, don’t you think?”

Harry looks over at Theo, who’s reading a book with a completely blank face; Tom, who seems to be writing a letter with a furious expression on his face; and Merlin, who's… actually, she does look excited, but Harry thinks that she might just look like that to Harry. To Sirius and Remus, she probably just looks like a snake.

“I’m excited,” Harry says, looking back to Remus. “I’m really excited.”

“But are you excited for the quidditch game, or to see Ron and Hermione?” Remus asks.

“Uh,” Harry says. It’s not like he doesn’t like quidditch. It’s just, he’d prefer to be playing the game. He doesn’t quite get the appeal of just watching in the stands- or in the box, which is where they’ll be.

Remus sighs. “Let’s just get going. We’re going to be late.”

“Alright!” Sirius exclaims, pumping his fist in the air. “Let’s get this train rolling!”

“I still don’t think the Hawaiian shirt is necessary,” Remus says, looking Sirius over with a critical eye.

Sirius looks down at the offending garment then back up at Remus, expression hurt.

“No, it is,” Theo says as he looks up from their book. “It definitely is.”

“I’m with Theo- how else are we supposed to develop a headache before the game?” Tom asks.

Theo shoots him a glare, but Tom is unrepentant. Harry lets out a short laugh.

“What,” Theo asks, looking over at Harry.

“It’s just- what were you going to follow that up with?” Harry asks.

Theo narrows his eyes.

“Oh, do tell,” Tom says, a smile on his face.

“It was basically going to be the same thing Tom said, right?” Harry asks.

“Lets just go,” Theo says, snapping their book closed. “Remus is right- we’re going to be late.”

Sirius lets out a sigh so sad you’d think someone had died. “It’s just… such a tragedy that I’m the only one here with any sort of fashion sense.”

“Okay!” Remus says, sounding exasperated despite the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We really do need to go.”

Between the five of them (and Merlin, who is actually less-than-helpful), they get the rest of the things packed up in no time at all. Then, they activate the Floo and step through to the Burrow one at a time, with Sirius and Theo going before Harry.

Harry can’t help but sneeze as he comes through into the Weasley’s living room- Floo travel still gives him trouble. He just doesn’t understand how other people do it. Tom, for example, is completely spotless as he steps through behind Harry.

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione call from where they’re crouched on the floor scratching Withers's ears. At least Withers seems to be dusted in some soot.

Withers’s tail is wagging, which does surprisingly little to detract from the terrifying nature of the now fully-grown wolfdog. He’s huge, with brown fur, sharp gray eyes, and massive white teeth that seem almost too big for his mouth.

“Hey guys,” Harry says, laughing as Merlin leaps excitedly from her perch on Harry’s shoulder and down into Hermione’s waiting arms.

“Hermione, I missed you! These people are terrible at learning parseltongue,” she hisses, twining around Hermione.

“Not all of us,” Tom hisses, raising an eyebrow. “Some of us are really, really good at it.”

“I still don’t think it’s fair you can do that,” Hermione says, frowning. “I’ve tried so hard, but the vocals are just impossible.”

“The trade-off isn’t worth it,” Tom says, a dark glint in his eyes. “Trust me.”

Harry grimaces- Tom is so well-adjusted that it’s easy to forget that he’s spent most of his life stuck in a cursed diary, all alone except for his thoughts and memories.

Hermione looks chagrined, but Tom has already moved on, going to stand over by an irritated looking Percy. For a pair of people that constantly proclaim that they hate the other, Percy and Tom sure spend a lot of time together. They can’t seem to spend more than a couple minutes in the same room together without gravitating towards each other.

“I can’t make the vocals work either,” Ginny says from where she’s sitting next to Luna. “And I tangled with the diary too.”

“You also have next to no wrackspurts,” Luna says casually, not looking up from the bottle-cap necklace she’s fidgeting with. “So you should count yourself lucky.”

“Are we ready to get this show on the road?” Arthur asks, coming into the room.

Then his eyes catch on Sirius, and he stops, staring.

Sirius looks back at him, mouth open in shock.

“I can’t believe it,” Arthur says, eyes wide.

“Someone else with taste,” Sirius breathes.

Remus smacks his hand into his forehead.

“No,” Ginny says, shaking her head in horror. “No, god, no- dad, please don’t let this go to your head.”

“Oh honey, it’s far too late for that,” Arthur says, a grin spreading across his face.

“Are they- are those literally the same shirts?” Ron asks in disbelief, staring. “I think they are. I think those are actually the same.”

Harry’s pretty sure Ron’s right- the two bright blue shirts look identical, down to the smallest of floral detailing.

“Well, this proves it. I am a- uh, what do they call it? Oh yeah- fashion icon,” Arthur says, popping the collar of his shirt and flipping the sunglasses that had been perched on his head down over his eyes.

The gathered Weasley kids roll their eyes at exactly the same time, in exactly the same way. Harry can’t help it- he bursts into laughter.

“Fashion god, even,” Sirius says, nodding and looking genuinely impressed.

“Don’t we have places to be?” Remus asks.

“Cool shirts,” one of the twins says as he comes into the room.

“I especially like the part where they make me want to invest in a new pair of eyes,” says the other as he follows closely behind.

“No accounting for taste,” says the first twin, shrugging.

Sirius points at the twin and nods again.

“Places? To be?” Remus asks again, sounding a bit desperate.

“Yes,” Percy says, checking a watch. “If we don’t get going now, we’re going to miss our portkey.”

Arthur, Sirius, and Remus all look at each other and nod. Arthur gestures for everyone to follow him.

“The portkey is a little ways away, I’m afraid- stick close, wouldn’t want any of you lost before we even get there,” Arthur says.

“Why are you here, again?” One of the twins asks as they walk, looking at Percy. “And not hitching a ride by clinging to the coattails of your new boss, I mean.”

Harry shoots a pleading look over at where Merlin is curled up around Hermione’s shoulder.

Merlin gives him an unimpressed look, but hisses, “Fred.”

Harry nods and makes a note of which twin is which in his head.

“I told you,” Percy says, ears going a bit pink, “that I’m meeting him there. Look, can you just drop it?”

“You didn’t want to drop it when you decided on lecturing me and George on responsibility last night,” Fred mutters.

Percy huffs and stalks off, hurrying to catch up to where the other adults (including Tom) are walking.

Fred sticks his tongue out after him.

George knocks his shoulder into Fred, then says, “don’t worry, we’ll show him.”

Fred rolls his eyes, then he and George move as one to walk next to Luna and Ginny.

Harry furrows his brow. He knows that Percy and the twins butt heads with each other more often than the other Weasley kids, but it sounds like it’s gotten worse over the summer.

“I love my family,” Ron says as he falls into step beside Harry, “but this summer has been a bit rough. The Scabbers thing really- ugh. Yeah. I think Perce feels a bit responsible, which has him being more of a prat than ever.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, turning to look at Ron, who looks a bit ill.

“It’s alright,” Ron says, waving him off. His face clears as a smile replaces the frown on his face. “Want to meet Chud?”

“Yes,” Harry says excitedly.

Ron’s written Harry about her already, and from how he talks about the thing, she’s a real sweetheart. (Although apparently Ron’s naming convention is almost worse than Sirius’s, which is saying a lot.)

With flourish, Ron pulls out what looks to be a little gray splotch out of his pocket and proudly holds her up to Harry. Harry feels a grin spread across his face as he sees Ron’s new rat sneeze into the fresh air, before looking around with bright inquisitive eyes.

“Aw,” Harry says, heart melting a bit. “Is she a baby?”

“She’s a couple months old,” Ron agrees. “I wanted her to meet Merlin, if that’s alright?”

“Er,” Harry says, looking down at the rat. She sneezes again, then itches at her whiskers. She doesn’t seem to have a tail, which after Wormtail, is a plus in Harry’s mind.

“Don’t you think it might scare her?”

“At first,” Ron says, looking down at the rat with soft eyes, “but I want her to be socialized to everything she can be while she’s still young. Theo already agreed to meet her as Withers, and Mione said I could introduce her to Crookshanks too.”

“I’ll check with Merlin,” Harry says, “but it should be fine?”

Ron nods and slips Chud back into his pocket. “Wicked.”

“We’re here,” Arthur calls as they crest another grassy hill.

There, a couple hundred feet away, is a big tree with what looks to be an old boot sitting inconspicuously underneath. Standing next to it are two people: a man Harry doesn’t recognize, and- Harry’s stomach flips. If he’s not mistaken, that’s Cedric Diggory. He looks almost like he’s shining in the early morning sun.

“Hello, Amos! Are you going to the Cup as well?”

“That we are,” says the man- Amos, apparently. “Quite the crowd you’ve got- have you and Molly managed to acquire even more children?”

Arthur laughs, although it sounds the tiniest bit strained. “Not quite- just some friends and their kids. I’d like to introduce Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Remus, Sirius, this is Amos Diggory and his son Cedric.”

Amos seems to have gone a bit pale as the name ‘Sirius Black’ was mentioned, but Sirius doesn’t give him a chance to react poorly- he just grabs Amos’s outstretched hand and shakes it vigorously.

“Nice to meet you- call me Sirius.”

Amos still looks a little shell-shocked, but Cedric steps in smoothly and says, “it’s nice to meet the two of you as well. And Fred, George, Harry- it’s good to see you too, off the pitch for once.”

Harry feels his stomach flip again and he gives Cedric a weak smile and a nod. Has Cedric always been this handsome? Fuck, is this what a crush is? Oh god.

“Harry- not the Harry Potter, surely?” Amos says, turning to Harry and very effectively snapping Harry out of his spiral and throwing him into a new one.

Cedric’s warm smile goes a bit wooden, and Harry thinks if his own smile could get any more strained it would.

Amos continues, “Oh my stars-”

“Look at the time,” Remus says loudly, as he checks his watch. “Seems like the portkey is about to activate. Gather around, everyone.”

Harry shoots Remus a grateful look. Remus gives him a smile in return.

Harry thinks he sees Cedric relax a bit as well as his father falls quiet and the party circles around the boot, each placing a hand on it. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but they manage.

Arthur casts a tempus and counts down: “three, two, one-”

And then the world around Harry starts to spin.

Chapter Text

The main thing Harry sees from where he’s laying on the ground trying not to throw up is the fact that at least one other person is also on the ground.

“You alright?” Cedric asks, coming over to where Harry is and crouching down. He holds out a hand.

“Good! I’m good,” Harry says, trying to get up without the boy’s help and praying that his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“If you say so,” Cedric laughs, then goes to help the others.

Harry manages to get up without too much trouble, although the world does seem to be spinning a bit more than it usually does. As he looks around, he sees the others helping each other up. Tom seems to have recovered quickly as well- he tries to help Percy up, but Percy waves him away and Tom shrugs, going instead to help Hermione.

“Come on,” Arthur says. “Sorry kids, but we’re not done walking yet.”

“We’ve actually got other arrangements,” Amos says. Harry tries not to feel uncomfortable as his eyes linger on Harry. “Best be off. Nice to meet you all.”

Harry and the others wave goodbye as Cedric and his dad walk off, then begin to head in the other direction.

“Bill and Charlie had better have gotten the tent up already,” Ron mutters.

“Is it hard to set up a magical tent?” Hermione asks.

“Not for Bill,” one of the twins says as he falls in beside them. “Billy-boy is a genius at runes.”

Hermione gets a look in her eye that means she will be sitting Bill down and interrogating him on the finer points of ancient runes. With any luck, Harry thinks as he exchanges a look with Ron, they’ll be far away at that point.

Harry likes academic stuff for the most part- but Runes is the most boring class he’s ever had to sit through, and he doesn’t get why Hermione finds it so interesting. Harry would take Defense or Care over Runes any day. Hell- Harry would even take History of Magic over Runes. Too bad Runes is going to be bloody useful if he can get the hang of it.

“We’re getting close,” Remus says. “Which means I need you kids to stick close too. It’s going to be crowded.”

Sure enough, it’s not long after that that they pass through a shimmery wardline and Harry feels his eyes go huge as he takes in the sights that manifest around him.

Hundreds- no, thousands of brightly colored and patterned tents are set up in neat lines, dotting the hillsides as far as the eye can see. People of all shapes and sizes and even species are wandering around, some running, some talking, some laughing delightedly. Harry thinks he sees a little centaur kid at one point.

The noise is deafening- but nice, too. Something about the affair makes Harry think of a Hogwarts feast. Chaotic and loud and overwhelming, but also alive in a way nothing else can be. The magic is almost tangible in the air. Harry almost feels like if he opens his mouth wide enough, he’d be able to smell it alongside the food and campfires- just like Merlin can.

Harry looks over at his friends as they make their way through the lines of tents. They’re all marveling too- Fred and George are elbowing and whispering excitedly at each other; Hermione and Ron are staring open-mouthed; Merlin is hissing excitedly; even Percy, Tom, and Theo are taking in the environment with an excited glint in their eyes.

Ginny- well, she’s staring around too, clearly as intoxicated by the environment as Harry is, but she’s also carrying Luna in a piggy-back ride. Luna’s eyes are squeezed shut and she seems to be plugging her ears.

Harry watches as Ginny looks over at her dad and goes to say something- but Arthur is already rifling through his bag, pulling out assorted knick knacks, considering them, and then putting them back into the bag. Finally, he withdraws what seem to be a pair of baby-blue earmuffs.

He grins and procures his wand, which he taps on the muffs. They begin glowing a silvery color- Harry recognizes the spell to be a silencing charm.

Arthur tosses them to Ginny, who shoots him a smile in thanks, and then without looking, reaches up and jams them over Luna’s ears. Luna cracks an eye open and then wraps her arms around Ginny’s neck. She doesn’t say anything, but she does give Ginny a kiss on the top of her head- which has Ginny flushing bright red.

Harry smiles to himself- looks like he’s not the only one contending with an unwanted crush. In fact, this makes him think he should be grateful. Having a crush on some older kid he’s hardly going to interact with isn’t nearly so bad as having a crush on a childhood best friend.

Besides, it’s not even- it’s probably not even a crush, what he has on Cedric. It’s just- Cedric is nice to look at, is all. And he’s just nice! Harry just likes how he acts and what he looks like. That’s nothing to stress about.

They walk for what feels like miles- and probably is miles, in all actuality.

“Hey! Weasleys! Over here,” someone calls from a particularly garish tent on the edge of the forest, waving their hands.

“Ah! Bill, Charlie!” Arthur yells, smiling and waving. “Over here, come on,” he says, gesturing for the others to follow.

“Have you already cleared the spot with the campsite managers?” Arthur asks as they stop in front of the tent. Luna and Ginny head right inside without bothering to say hello- probably hoping to give Luna a breather.

“Not yet,” one of the men says.

He’s on the shorter side, got the distinctive blue eyes and red Weasley hair (although it’s shaved close to his head), a lightly freckled face, and an impressive dragon tattoo winding itself up his incredibly muscular arm. Harry narrows his eyes- is the tattoo moving?

That settles it. Harry needs a tattoo, and he needs one now. Maybe Sirius will take him.

“We figure they’re a bit busy,” says the other man. “What with all the, you know, everything.”

This one, in contrast to the other, has long red hair that’s piled up on his head in a loose bun and is positively covered in freckles. He also has blue eyes, as well as several ear-piercings and a few facial piercings. The easy way he carries himself reminds Harry of Oliver- well, that and the golden eyebrow piercing that’s glinting in the sun.

The tent flap opens and- Harry blinks. Speak of the devil.

Oliver's eyes catch on where Percy and Tom are and he smiles so brightly that the noon sun seems dimmer in comparison.

Ah fuck. First Cedric, now this? Jesus Christ, Harry needs to get a grip.

“Surprise!” Oliver laughs, looking at a seemingly shell-shocked Percy. Then he turns to Tom. “Tom, I didn’t know you were going to be here!”

Tom blinks, but recovers quickly. “Last minute change of plans,” he says. “What are you- nevermind, that’s a stupid question.”

“No, why are you here?” Percy asks. Then his ears go pink. “Not that I don’t want you here, or-”

“I know what you mean, “ Oliver says, grinning and latching himself onto Percy’s arm. “I wanted to surprise you! To congratulate you on the job and all. Charlie stopped by and we flew the rest of the way together. Safer to fly in flocks and what-not. Harry! How are you? And the twins, my favorite beaters.”

Harry smiles and scratches the back of his neck as the twins give Oliver matching grins and thumbs up.

“Can’t complain. Um, I’m excited for the game,” Harry says, pushing down the flush he feels rising on his face.

“Me too!” Oliver says. Harry believes it- in fact, he’s surprised Oliver isn’t actually jumping up and down in joy.

“Let's go inside,” Ron says. “I’m ready to put my stuff down and go explore.”

Hermione and Theo nod, and Harry goes to follow his friends inside as the adults continue to talk outside.

The tent is much bigger on the inside then it is on the outside- cooler and quieter, too. Harry can’t help but be amazed. There’s a kitchen in here. Hell, forget the kitchen- it looks like there’s multiple bedrooms and a bathroom or two as well. The walls and furniture are as garish as the tent itself is, but in Harry’s opinion that is a small price to pay.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asks, absently stroking Merlin’s scales as she looks over at Luna.

The girl nods her head yes, giant bubble earrings swinging as she does.

“Crowds like these are overwhelming,” Ginny explains. “Luna likes them occasionally, which is why she came, but she’s going to need a little while to adjust.”

Hermione nods, then turns to Ron, Theo, and Harry.

“When’s the game starting again?”

“Three,” Ron says. “We still have a couple hours- although we’ll probably head out early to browse the merchant stalls.”

Harry grins- he likes the sound of that.

Theo nods. “Chances of us being allowed to go on our own?”

“Zero,” Sirius says, slipping into the tent. He’s somehow managed to find a pair of tacky heart-shaped sunglasses that clash horribly with his shirt. “Do you know how many crimes happen at these things? In fact- how do you feel about a disguise, Harry?”

Harry considers it for a second, then shakes his head no. “My hair is long enough to mostly cover my scar, I think I’ll be alright.”

Besides, glamours make him itchy.

Sirius doesn’t push it. “Alrighty- unpack quickly and get ready to go. We’re heading out again in ten minutes. Well- my crew is. I don’t know about you Weasleys. Hermione- um, you can do what you want.”

“Oh, I know,” Hermione says.

“Within reason,” Sirius amends.

Ron snorts, and Hermione elbows him.

Harry and the others all hurry to unpack. Harry, Theo, Ron, and Hermione decide on sharing one of the bigger rooms, with actual honest-to-god bunk beds. There’s room for Luna and Ginny if they want to share as well, but Harry doesn’t know if they’re going to want to share with the bigger group, or if they have a room of their own.

“You ready?” Sirius asks, poking a head in. “We’re heading out as soon as you are.”

“Ready,” Harry agrees.

“And we’re sure we’ve reconsidered going,” Theo asks, hair bleeding from brown to pink to brown again. They’ve been getting better at controlling their hair, but it’s not perfect yet.

“You can stay here, Theo,” Harry points out.

“With your luck? I don’t think so.”

Remus and Sirius end up taking Harry, Ron, Hermione, Theo, and the twins- leaving Percy, Tom, Ginny, Luna, and the other adult Weasleys to find their own way over later. It’s another long walk, this time through the forest along a path lit by softly glowing lanterns.

“Maybe I should get Withers registered,” Theo mutters as he looks enviously at Padfoot bounding joyfully around. His hair has streaks of pink and orange in it. “At least he’d enjoy the walk.”

“It’s illegal for minors anyways,” Hermione points out.

“You haven’t become one yet, right?” Harry asks quietly, looking at Hermione. “We agreed-”

“To do it together, I know- don’t worry, I’ve waited. I wouldn’t be able to do it at my parents' house anyways.”

“As if that would stop you,” Ron whispers, rolling his eyes.

Hermione shrugs, flicking Merlin’s tail over her shoulder like a scarf.

“What are you lot talking about?” one of the twins asks, looking over at them.

“Nothing,” Harry and Ron say quickly.

“Runes and their practical applications,” Hermione says, just as quickly.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Theo adds.

The twin laughs. Harry has a sinking feeling that he’ll somehow figure it out anyways- although it’s not like the twins could stop them. Theo is adamant about the animagus thing, and Harry is inclined to agree with him.

Finally the trees make way for a huge clearing that holds… more tents. These ones, though, are clearly merchant stalls. The smell of campfires has been replaced with the smell of fried food and smoky grills. It’s somehow even more crowded over here- and the fact that the actual stadium is in view doesn’t help things.

In the distance, Harry can see a cluster of amusement park rides, what seems to be a petting zoo, and even a live music performance of some kind.

It would look like what Harry imagines a typical muggle fair to look like, except for the fact that the rides have different floating parts, the petting zoo likely hosts magical creatures that Harry’s never even heard of, and the performers in the band seem to have both wings and scales.

“Alright,” Remus says, turning to face Harry and the others. “Stick close- it’s too crowded to risk losing any one of you. If you see something you want, come tell me or Sirius and we’ll cover it.”

Padfoot lets out an excited woof of agreement.

Ron and the twins open their mouths to protest, faces stormy, and Remus holds up a forestalling hand. “I’ve already cleared it with Arthur- it’s a belated apology present for the end of last year, and for the fact that I couldn’t stay on as a professor.”

Ron and the twins close their mouths again, looking uncomfortable. They clearly don’t want to press the issue when the issue is that Remus is a werewolf. Harry raises his eyebrows, impressed at Remus’s ingenuity despite the fact that he’s firmly of the belief that Remus has nothing to apologize for.

“Ask him if he’ll buy me things too,” Merlin hisses at Hermione.

Hermione gives Merlin an exasperated look, but before she can respond, Padfoot transforms back into Sirius and says, “yes, Merlin, of course- although if you find something specifically for a snake, I’ll be incredibly impressed.”

“I thought you said they were bad at learning parseltongue,” Hermione says.

“Not better than you,” Merlin amends.

“And I didn’t actually catch very much of that- I’m just pretty good at guessing what Merlin is saying,” Sirius says. “Turns out learning parseltongue is hard as fuck.”

“Let's go already,” Theo interrupts. “The sooner we do this, the sooner the game starts, and then ends, and we can go to bed and then home.”

Ron nods excitedly, reaching out to grab Hermione and Theo’s hands respectively.

Hermione rolls her eyes fondly, but reaches back and snags Harry’s hand as well. He exchanges a grin with her, and just like that, they’re off- darting from stall to stall, marveling at the wild various wares being offered at each location. The twins had taken off at the first opportunity, Padfoot sticking close by. Remus, meanwhile, stays close to Harry and his friends.

At the two hour mark, the group decides to head over to the stadium to meet up with the others.

Harry’s gotten himself a protection charm shaped like a snake for his satchel, some old books on ancient creatures and dark magic, and his ear pierced (with Sirius standing by to let the merchant know that it was fine by him, as the closest ‘responsible guardian’). Remus had taken one look at Harry’s new piercing and just shook his head, smiling fondly.

Theo had also gotten their ear pierced, although he’d gone for a cartilage piercing and not a lobe. He’d also bought a couple of brown instant hair dyes (that last an hour), a new wand holster, and a boatload of books.

Hermione didn’t buy herself much- until Theo had pointed out the antique book-cart, which she’d then proceeded to buy approximately half of. Harry didn’t know how she was planning on carrying all of the books, but then she’d just slid them into her purse with no trouble at all. Harry doesn’t know why he’s even surprised- of course Hermione made herself a magically expanded purse. (Remus had gone in to pay and came out with what seemed like the other half of the cart’s supply.)

Ron had gotten himself a small mountain of Chudley Cannon merch (including, somehow, a little jersey for Chud), a couple little fidgety things with lots of moving pieces, and a pair of omnioculars.

The twins didn’t seem to buy anything at all- except for a quidditch magazine featuring all about the World Cup and a cup of tea. Remus had insisted on giving them a few galleons each regardless, which they’d accepted.

Merlin had found something specifically for snakes- a scale-polish that turns her actually iridescent (for a couple hours). She’d made Harry buy the whole supply. Between that and the glowing red eyes, Merlin is starting to look less like a snake and more like an eldritch creature of some unknown power.

Harry tells her as much, and she nods fervently. “I know,” she hisses. “I love it.”

“Okay,” Remus says as he checks the time. “Let’s get over there- the game is starting in an hour, and I’d prefer to beat the crowds, if we can.”

With that, Harry and his friends begin to make their way over to the stadium.

Chapter Text

The only thing Tom can think, as he stares at the narrow-eyed son of Abraxas Malfoy, is that it is a damn good thing he’s as deft a hand at wandless disillusionment as he is. Well- that’s not true. He’s also thinking several choice words, all of which would give even Remus a run for his money.

Unfortunately for Tom, the disillusionment is only going to get him so far. As far as these people know, there’s no reason for him to have a disillusionment on at all- and once someone points it out, Tom is going to have to think fast about how to explain-

“Say, Tom,” Theo says in a clear and loud voice, cocking their head. Their eyes are glinting. “What’s with the disillusionment?”

At Theo’s words, pretty much everyone in the box immediately turns to Tom, looking at him with various levels of concern (most everyone, thankfully), suspicion (Percy, Lucius and his son), and- in the case of Theo- amusement.

Tom wishes with all of his heart that that particular child had stayed dead. Unfortunately, that particular child had not stayed dead, and now Tom has to do damage control.

He clears his throat, praying his voice isn’t as recognizable as his face would be, and- in a bid for time as he scans over the occupants of the box, thinking up an excuse, any excuse- says, “good question.”

Lucius doesn’t seem to react to Tom’s voice. But Tom still needs to explain himself. And he doesn’t know how he’s going to do that.

Or, he doesn’t until his gaze falls on the twins, and he gets an idea. A desperate idea that will probably come back to bite him later, but an idea nonetheless. Hopefully the twins are as savvy about deals as everyone thinks they are. “Ask the twins,” he finishes. “They got me with something or another.”

The attention of the box turns to the two Weasleys- both of which are of course staring straight at Tom. One of them has narrowed eyes, and the other is looking considerably more considering. Tom holds his breath. If the twins don’t back him up here, don’t realize that he’s offering them something…

“What can we say,” the narrow-eyed one finally says, expression turning easy and unconcerned in a flash. “Always looking for a chance to test out our products.”

“Really, it’s on you, if you’re thinking about it,” the other twin says. “Letting your guard down.”

Tom forces a laugh. He wants to feel relieved, but something tells him this isn’t over- the twins are open for negotiation. That’s all this is. “I suppose so,” he says.

“To be honest, you should be grateful,” the first twin adds, and Tom feels the back of his neck prickle. There it is. “Not just anyone gets the chance to get such a good look at our prototypes.”

“I guess I owe you one, then,” Tom says, trying to keep his tone as light as ever.

“I guess you do,” the first twin says, staring Tom dead in the face. Tom knows he can’t see Tom, not with any detail, but still- Tom feels exposed.

“They won’t show me any of their pranks,” Sirius mutters, helpfully breaking up some of the mounting tension with a couple laughs. Tom doesn’t think it was on purpose, but he appreciates it regardless. At this point, the Malfoys have clearly tuned out, in favor of glaring at various other occupants of the box.

“They’re not ready for you,” the second twin says, serious as Tom’s ever seen him be. There are more laughs, and Tom feels his shoulders relaxing. That’d been close.

Too close.

And… Tom doesn’t know how many more of those his lies will be able to stand up to.

Tom shakes his head of that thought. Not now. He can deal with that later. For now, he needs to… continue dealing with this. He turns his attention to what the others are saying. It seems as though they’ve finally gotten around to formal greetings- they being Lady Malfoy, of course.

Tom already likes her. Not that that’s a surprise- she’s obviously related to Sirius, and Tom has always been partial to the Ladies Black. They’re ruthless and brutal in a way that is nothing short of refreshing.

“Lord Black, Remus,” Lady Malfoy nods.

“Narcissa,” Remus says. Tom doesn’t know when they got on first-name basis, but he’s less surprised than maybe he should be. Sirius, on the other hand-

“Cissy,” Sirius responds, nodding in kind. Tom has to stifle a groan- who let a man like Sirius become Lord Black? Honestly.

Lady Malfoy arches a perfect eyebrow. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she says.

“You bet,” Sirius says, grinning crookedly- although it looks a bit strained.

Remus and Sirius go to sit, right next to Lady Malfoy and her husband. Tom thinks that’s a bizarre move on their part, until he realizes that they’re not-so-subtly trying to act as a buffer between Lucius and Arthur. Based on the icy glares the two men are leveling at each other, there is no love lost between them.

Now that Tom really does seem to be in the clear, he takes the opportunity to look away from the growing disaster that is whatever that interaction is shaping up to be to further assess the box.

It’s got two rows of chairs, the front with ten seats and the back with twelve, all with a prime view over the pitch (as well as some miniature looking glasses that show the pitch in different angles). The seats are comfortable and plush, but nothing particularly fancy. The box itself is nothing special either, but it is located exactly halfway between the two sets of goal posts on the pitch.

Harry and his friends have already claimed a good half of the front row seats with their items, and are standing and watching the pitch and talking excitedly. Well- Theo and Hermione are sitting and reading a book together, but Harry, Merlin, Ron, and Ginny are standing and watching the pitch.

Harry’s gaze keeps darting to the side and back, where Draco Malfoy is sitting next to his father, examining his nails and shooting Harry the occasional glare.

Fred and George are sitting in the back row as well, grinning mischievously as they talk with the animated Mr. Ludo Bagman and his guests- a couple of diplomatic leaders, one from Ireland and the other from Bulgaria. The Minister of Magic had been here too, but something last-minute had come up so he'd had to head out early.

The whole reason Tom had come was to introduce himself to people like that, but thanks to the presence of the Malfoys, Tom is going to have to both keep his disillusionment up, and a low profile- which makes Tom want to commit acts of violence, but he restrains himself.

The group bursts into delighted laughter and Fred and George high-five behind their backs. Tom sighs- at least someone is making a good impression. Then he remembers the horrible open-ended deal he’d just been forced to make, and Tom decides to stop thinking about the twins for now.

Taking up another two seats is Bill and Luna- Charlie had gone to sit with his friends in the stands. Bill is nodding studiously as Luna waves her hands around and talks about- something. Probably walpergrimps, or whatever it is Luna can see that no one else can.

Tom’s eyes drift over to one of the more curious inhabitants of the box, one he had only vaguely noticed before he’d had to deal with the Lucius thing. There, at the very corner most seat, right beside Malfoy, sits a little Elf. Her ears are pressed flat to her head, her long yellow fangs are bared in a snarl, and her long spindly fingers are curled into talons that are digging into the plush of the arm rests. Her eyes are narrowed and lit up with fury.

Despite the fact that Tom thinks that maybe they ought to be more worried about the Elf and whatever is going on with her, the only other person that seems at all concerned with her is Arthur Weasley.

Although, concerned is maybe the wrong word. From where he’s sitting by Remus and Sirius, Arthur’s eyes keep sliding over to the Elf, then darting away. His face keeps slipping into a grimace, which he then obviously manually corrects back into a relaxed and easy smile.

As the game is about to begin, Tom finds himself sitting in the middle of Percy and Oliver, in the front row- and almost directly in front of the Malfoys and the Elf. Tom tries not to feel itchy under the considering looks Lord and Lady Malfoy keep sending his way. Maybe not so in the clear, then.

Oliver is practically buzzing beside Tom, which doesn’t help Tom feel any less antsy. The sound of cheering suddenly fills the air- the game must be starting soon, very soon.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron all turn and yell as they shake each other. Oliver looks like he might faint, and Percy rolls his eyes. Even Sirius lets out a whoop from behind Tom.

Another cheer- even louder this time. Tom can feel it in his head, a grating noise that makes him want to start flinging unforgivables around. Tom grits his teeth and clenches his hands into fists. There’s a reason Tom doesn’t bother with these sorts of things.

All at once, everything becomes too much for Tom. He needs to do something to distract himself, and he needs to do it now.

“Are you alright?” Tom asks, turning to look behind him at the Elf.

Percy looks at him oddly- which is fair, Tom isn’t exactly the empathetic type. But this isn’t a person, this is an Elf. Elves are, at the very least, interesting. And Tom really could use a distraction right now.

The Elf looks up at him with her big inky eyes, and her ears somehow become even flatter against her skull. Tom thinks he sees Arthur flinch from where he’s sitting a couple seats away.

“Winky is obviously not alright,” the Elf- Winky- grits out.

Malfoy looks at her out of the corner of his eye, clearly a bit uncomfortable. Good.

“Is there something I can do to help?” Tom asks.

He feels someone looking at him, and makes the mistake of looking over at Oliver- who has the softest expression on his face that Tom thinks he’s ever seen. Tom blinks, then turns back to the Elf. He’s not sure he wants to know what that was about- Oliver is entertaining, but he’s also for the most part completely inexplicable.

“No,” Winky says, mouth stretching ever wider and fingers curling tighter. The fabric of the chair tears with a sickening ripping sound.

“Say, you look familiar,” Lucius says, tapping his finger on his chin and turning to the Elf. His eyes are glittering with malice. “But where would I have seen you before?”

Winky stares at the man with such undisguised loathing that Tom is surprised Lucius doesn't burst into tears. Malfoy, being caught between the two, seems to be trying to get his chair to swallow him up out of existence.

Arthur’s ears go bright red, and he seems to be literally biting his tongue. At least Sirius and Remus seem to be as confused as Tom is feeling.

“Lucius,” Lady Malfoy says in a soft lilting voice that has Tom thinking Lucius might be in grave danger, “that’s in bad taste, darling.”

Tom blinks. What the hell?

Lucius settles back, feigning interest in the people gathering on the pitch.

Tom turns back in his seat, waiting a moment to let the people around him settle back into their respective conversations. Then he leans into Percy, who side-eyes him.

“Did the Weasleys ever have an Elf attached to them?” Tom whispers, ignoring the way Percy is trying to very subtly lean away from Tom.

Percy stops, looking confused. “Not recently,” he says.

“Actually- Perce, you were too young to remember- but we totally did,” Bill says conversationally and not bothering to whisper at all. "And I’m pretty sure that was her. It’s really weird to see her again."

Tom darts a glance back to the Malfoys and the Elf and Arthur, but it seems like they’ve somehow… not heard?

Bill follows his gaze, then laughs.

“Don’t worry about them,” Bill says, turning his left forearm over and pointing at a previously unnoticed tattoo on his arm. It looks like an extremely complicated runic sequence, and it’s glowing a soft orange color. “Privacy array,” Bill explains. “They’re hearing us talk about the weather, or something. I’m not actually sure how it works, just that it does.”

“You- do you just have that tattooed?” Tom asks, staring.

His fingers twitch- he wants to touch it, even though touching an unfamiliar array is stupid at best, and suicidal at worst.

Bill shoots him a dizzying grin that reminds him inexplicably of Oliver.

“Nah- what I have tattooed is a couple runic alphabets that I can then maneuver into sequences. Works nicely when you’re in a pinch, but holy shit does it make a man hungry. Running a sequence off of your own energy is risky business- and I’d never do more than one.”

Tom looks from Bill’s grinning face, to the sequence, then over to Percy.

“Did you-”

“If you’re asking me if I knew this was possible, the answer is no. Is it a new thing, Bill?” Percy asks, waving Tom off and staring at the tattoo with as much awe as Tom feels.

“New to England,” Bill scoffs. “Absolutely not new at all to anywhere else- especially over in Egypt. Technically this is bordering black magic- but that’s getting into some real heavy magic theory.”

“Is it going to hurt you?” Percy asks, looking up at Bill. He doesn’t sound worried, though- just curious.

Damn it, Percy needs to stop giving Tom reasons to respect him- not that Tom does, of course. Not at all.

Well- alright. Percy is, loath as Tom is to admit it, smart. And can be ruthless in the pursuit of his goals. So maybe there’s a little bit of respect. A minuscule amount.

“Me? No,” Bill responds. “You, if you gave it a shot? Yes. Badly. It’s this or a wand.”

“I’m sorry?” Tom asks.

Bill shrugs. “If I tried to use a wand, it’d likely explode on me. In fact, spells of any kind are off the table, wand or not. But don’t worry- I’ve never been one for spells. It’s always been runes for me.”

“Can you still run sequences normally?” Percy asks, looking queasy. Tom imagines he looks similarly.

“Paper, stone, flesh, blood- it’s all fine,” Bill laughs. “Although non-organic and organic materials that aren’t me take way less effort on my part.”

Tom and Percy exchange a wide-eyed look.

“Are all of your siblings insane?” Tom asks.

Percy narrows his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Anyways, what the hell do you mean we had an Elf?”

Tom blinks again- he’d almost forgotten. He turns to look at the Elf again. She seems to be humming softly to herself- although the melody makes Tom think of bloodshed and war and pain, so he tunes it out just as quickly as he’d tuned in.

“Yep,” Bill says, turning his arm over again, hiding his tattoo.

“I don’t believe you,” Percy says, eyes narrowed.

“Come on- would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” Percy says.

Tom stifles an unexpected laugh.

Percy shoots a glare at him, then turns back to Bill. “Plus, that doesn’t make sense. Why would she have left?”

Bill shrugs, looking totally unconcerned. “No clue- I was only five or six at the time. All I know is that one day she was always around, and the next she was gone. I think it was around the time the twins were born- maybe the prospect of living with them scared her off?”

“That wouldn’t-” Percy starts, then stops. “Actually maybe it would. I certainly wouldn’t blame her.”

As Bill and Percy devolve into talking about their family (boring), Tom sits back, thinking. For an Elf to leave her family, something big would have had to happen. Elves take their family magics very seriously- it’s almost unheard of for one to leave while the family line is still going strong. But what could possibly have happened to get Winky to sever her connection to the Weasleys?

It’s an interesting enough mystery that it might be worth looking into. Hell, it might even come in use- one should never pass up the opportunity to accrue blackmail.

Another cheer, the loudest yet. Tom grimaces. Looks like the pre game show has started, for real this time.

Ah well, Tom only has to suffer through it for a couple hours, or however long it lasts- then they can all head back to the tent, and he can wash his hands of this whole affair.

Chapter Text

Harry goes to sit down by Theo, keeping an eye on the pitch as he does. Right now, the teams are getting ready to be announced- that Bagman character has just left to go into his announcer's box.

“You alright?” Harry asks.

Theo looks over at him, a bemused expression on their face. His hair shifts from pink to brown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Harry hesitates. “The Malfoys-”

“Oh, you’re referring to the fact that Lucius Malfoy is personally responsible for my father attempting to kill me.”

Harry winces. Theo isn’t bothering to keep his voice down. At least the Malfoys seem preoccupied with the game.

“No worries,” Theo says, waving Harry off. “I’ll get him back for it someday. Although you could let me-”

“Theo,” Harry warns.

Theo rolls their eyes, then turns back to his book. Apparently he’s done with the conversation.

Harry sighs, eyes wandering unbidden back over to where Malfoy is sitting.

Malfoy looks completely at ease as he lounges back in his seat and looks over the pitch. Only the fact that his eyes are glittering with interest betrays the fact that he’s not as ambivalent about the game as he lets on.

Theo wants to stab Malfoy, preferably a couple times. Has since the beginning of second year- or before that, even. But after hearing about how Malfoy had acted while Theo was with Sirius last year, Theo is even more intent on maiming the heir to the Malfoy family name.

The fact that Mr. Malfoy directly influenced Theodore Nott Senior into attempting to kill Theo makes it even harder for Harry to keep Theo from committing a violent crime against the man’s son. (Sort of makes it harder for Harry to want to keep Theo from doing it, but someone needs to be responsible.)

Malfoy’s eyes flicker over to Harry, then back to the pitch. Harry looks away hurriedly, feeling a scowl spread across his face. After a second, he hazards another look- Malfoy is glaring daggers at him, to which Harry responds in kind.

Honestly- what a git.

Then the crowd lets out a delighted scream, and both Harry and Malfoy turn their attention back to the pitch.

“It’s starting- for real this time!” Ron says, turning and pulling Harry up off his seat.

Harry goes to stand by Ron and Ginny. The twins have come over too, and they’re practically falling out of the box; they're so invested in what’s happening down on the pitch. Hermione comes to stand next to them as well, but Harry thinks that’s mostly because Merlin wanted to see.

It looks like a band of some sort is gearing up to play-

Sure enough, seconds later, the sound of cheering is drowned out by a jaunty anthem, fast-paced and riotous. It makes Harry think of dancing, and butterbeer, and the night after they’d won the Quidditch cup last year. Harry exchanges a wide grin with his friends.

Bagman announces something about Ireland’s team, and Leprechauns. Harry isn’t sure- he’s more invested in watching the show then he is in what the announcer has to say.

As the music swells, the sound of delighted laughter rolls over the crowd. Harry watches in amazement as several figures appear floating in the air, each in slacks, a dress shirt, and a green waistcoat. Must be the Leprechauns, then.

They hop and skip around, locking arms and dancing around, looking for all the world like gravity is a suggestion that they’ve elected to dismiss. Their smiles are huge and infectious, and Harry can’t help but clap and laugh alongside them.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins are doing the same, whistling and cheering for the show. Merlin is hissing excitedly from around Hermione’s shoulders. Even Luna has come to stand next to Ginny, and she’s watching everything with her wide blue eyes. She’s flicking her fingers as she stares- she looks really happy.

Harry turns to look at the other occupants of the box: the Malfoys are stone-faced, of course, because they hate fun. The two foreign dignitaries, Bill, Arthur, and Sirius are laughing uproariously. Remus catches Harry looking and shoots him a smile, which Harry returns easily.

Percy isn’t watching the pitch at all- he’s just staring at Oliver, who looks like he has literal stars in his eyes as he takes in everything. Tom has sunk into his seat, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere but here- which is pretty typical for Tom, so Harry doesn’t worry about it.

The house Elf is staring at the twins with narrowed eyes and bared teeth. Harry doesn’t know what that’s about, and he doesn’t think he wants to.

Finally, Harry turns to Theo. Theo is looking at his friends with the slightest hint of a fond expression that immediately disappears the second they catch Harry looking. Harry feels his smile spread even further on his face, and Theo narrows their eyes, hair bleeding from light blue to brown.

Then, Harry hears the crowd freak out once again. He whirls back around just in time to see as a puff of green smoke explodes over the stands. The figures have disappeared, but now it’s raining golden glittering coins.

“What?” Harry laughs, turning to look at Hermione and Ron.

“Leprechaun gold,” Hermione says, kicking one of the coins out of the box and watching as it falls down, down, down onto the pitch. “It’ll turn into clovers in a couple hours. Completely worthless.”

“Cool, though,” Harry says, examining a coin.

It looks exactly like a Galleon. That can’t be legal- or shouldn't, anyways. Even if they do turn into grass so soon after being created.

Harry looks up at Ron, who has put a coin against one of his eyes. He’s scrunching his eyes up so that it sticks in without him having to hold it.

“I’m a pirate,” Ron explains at Harry’s questioning look. “This is- this is what pirates look like. Hermione told me.”

“Not true,” Hermione says.

“I meant Theo,” Ron says, not missing a beat.

“Incorrect,” Theo calls.

Ron rolls his eyes, which causes the coin to bounce out. “These people are no fun,” he says. “Right, Gin?”

Ginny turns around, both eyes covered up by the coins. “Arrrgh,” she says.

Harry laughs- then stops as another song starts playing. There are more cheers, although these ones seem to be favoring the other half of the stands.

Although no less riotous and inspiring as the last anthem, this one has a distinctly different vibe- instead of making Harry think of the Gryffindor common room at its most crowded, this one makes Harry think of the grim determination he feels right before he plays a quidditch game in a storm. It’s harsh and unforgiving, but exhilarating nonetheless. The song makes Harry want to do something, fight someone.

The first anthem had his magic flaring (although not uncomfortably), but this one has it holding itself back- readying itself.

Harry takes this for the hint it is and grabs onto it, not willing to take any chances. (It's only been a couple of months since the dementor fiasco, but ever since then Harry has put more of an effort into listening to the things his magic is telling him.)

Just like with the last song, as the music swells, something happens. A dozen figures stream out from the sidelines. The crowd lets out a collective gasp as the beings launch themselves into the air, muscular arms transforming instantly into massive shining silver wings that are almost blinding in the bright sun.

Bagman starts talking about Bulgaria, and something called a Veela, but Harry is not even close to paying attention.

Harry watches, wide-eyed, as the women soar around. As they do, most of the crowd seems to be reaching for them as one entity. Harry thinks he sees a good third of the crowd working to hold the other two-thirds back, but before he can think about what that means, one of the women has flown over to their box. She floats in a way that shouldn’t be possible- her wings flap slowly, and her hair curls around her head and shoulders like ribbons of light.

Harry stares at her, unabashed. She’s got sharp features that remind Harry a bit of the Malfoys, a long neck (too long), shining white hair (too white), and her eyes are all sclera. The simple shift she's wearing hugs her lithe form, just tightly enough to make Harry think it must be uncomfortable to wear.

The woman meets Harry’s gaze and smiles. Harry’s heart stutters at the sight- her teeth are white, and long, and sharp.

She’s the most beautiful woman Harry has ever seen, and Harry is terrified.

Harry knows he’s felt this way before, this terrible mix of awe and fear and wonder and terror- but where? His magic pulses against his hold, but he pushes it down.

Desperate, he closes his eyes against her blinding visage. Then, they snap open again as Harry places the feeling.

“Unicorn,” he hisses in parseltongue.

The woman laughs, a tinkling sound that has the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

She floats closer, mouth stretching wider as she does. As Harry takes an unbidden step back and trips into a seat, he distantly registers the sounds of a scuffle around him. He doesn’t know what's happening though, because his vision has completely tunneled on the woman.

The woman comes even closer- she’s practically in the box at this point. Harry thinks he sees a pair of hands reaching towards her out of the corner of his eyes, but they’re pulled back just as quickly as they’d appeared.

Harry feels light-headed. His magic is gleefully roiling in his chest, reaching ever out. It isn’t necessarily aching for violence, but something tells Harry the result would be fire all the same.

“Leave,” someone shrieks suddenly, voice as hard as nails. “Leave!”

The woman’s smile turns into a snarl as she tears her attention from Harry and whirls around to look at the speaker. Her features become even sharper- to the point where they no longer look human.

Harry can’t help but follow her gaze, feeling detached from himself.

There, standing on her chair, and waving her hands at the woman, is the Elf. Her eyes are so narrowed they look like slits, and her mouth is set in a snarl so wide that it’s splitting her face in half. Her yellow fangs look like they’re bursting from her mouth- surely she didn’t have that many teeth a second ago?

The woman turns and gives the occupants of the box one last angelic smile, then swoops away to rejoin the others.

Harry lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. The first thing he registers is Merlin slithering up to him, hissing worriedly. The second thing he registers is the chaos that has befallen everyone else.

Remus, Hermione, and Theo are helping a red-faced Ron back into the box- apparently, he’d tried to jump. Remus turns to look at Harry, brow furrowed. He looks worried.

George is getting up from where he’d been sitting on Fred, letting Luna go as he does. He’d been holding her in a bear hug against his chest, and his arms look all scratched up. Luna doesn’t apologize, just hops up and goes over to where Bill is letting a sheepish Ginny go.

“Sorry,” Ginny mutters, scarlet-faced.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been bit by you,” Bill says, waving her off, “and I sincerely doubt it will be the last.”

The Elf has meanwhile settled back down- although she’s scowling furiously and tapping her long fingers against the ripped fabric on the arms of her chair.

Over on the other side of the room, Sirius is apologizing to the assorted dignitaries as he clambers up from where he’d been on their laps.

“Don’t apologize,” one says in a thick accent. He has a shaken look on his face. “I prefer being accosted by a dog to falling to my death.”

“Do apologize,” the other says grumpily, then sneezes. “I’m allergic.”

Sirius winces.

Oliver is practically on top of both Percy and Tom- Tom had clearly grabbed one of Oliver’s arms, and Percy the other. It must have taken their combined strength to keep Oliver from launching himself at the woman.

“You’re welcome to get off whenever you’d like,” Tom says.

“I know,” Oliver says, smiling happily at the two of them.

Percy shoves Oliver off of them. His ears are bright red.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been standing up, leaning over the chairs in front of them. However, they’d been stopped from going any further, thanks to Arthur- he has the back of Mr. Malfoy’s robes in one of his hands, and a hand clasped on Mrs. Malfoy’s shoulder.

Mrs. Malfoy blinks, then looks down at Arthur’s hand, then back at Arthur. Her eyes narrow.

“Get off me,” Mr. Malfoy spits, twisting around and glaring at Arthur.

“Gladly,” Arthur says, letting go of the two of them and returning to his seat, glaring all the while.

Malfoy, interestingly enough, had already been returning to his seat from where he’d been making his way over to where Harry and the woman had been. Either he’d shaken the effects off quicker than everyone else had, or he hadn’t been affected at all. But then why go towards the woman?

Malfoy catches Harry watching as he sits down, and scowls again. Harry scowls back, then looks down at Merlin.

“Are you alright?” she hisses.

“Yeah, I think so. What happened?” Harry asks.

“That lady showed up, then everything went crazy. People were either trying to get to her, or trying to keep the others from throwing themselves at her. Not you, though- you froze. I’m pretty sure you stopped breathing, too- which, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again- is a terrible coping mechanism.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, not really feeling sorry. Better that than flames. “Did you happen to smell her magic?”

“Yes,” Merlin says. Her tongue flickers. “It was sweet. Really sweet. Too sweet. I didn’t like it. It was fine until she saw you, and her magic started reaching for yours.”

“Hm,” Harry hums. “Weird.”

“Harry, are you alright?” Remus asks, coming over.

Hermione, Ron, and Theo are all looking over at Harry, concern painting their faces. Well, Hermione and Ron look concerned. Theo just looks bored- but their hair is bright white. Apparently the encounter had bothered him enough for them to entirely lose his grip on his metamorphmagus abilities.

“Yeah,” Harry says, stroking Merlin’s head absentmindedly. “What was that?”

“A Veela,” Remus says, folding his arms. “They’re very rare. They have an allure that can make some people… a bit excited, but I’ve never seen one with such a potent aura.”

“Merlin thinks she dialed it up a bit once she saw me,” Harry says. “I think she liked my magic.”

Remus frowns.

“Well,” Mr. Malfoy announces, “I will be having words with whoever authorized that. Ridiculous.”

“I second that,” the Bulgarian dignitary says. “I-”

He’s cut off by the crowd as everyone suddenly starts clapping and cheering, louder than any of their previous cheers. He shuts his mouth, but exchanges a nod with Mr. Malfoy- giving him a look that likely means ‘we’ll talk later’.

Harry isn’t worried about that, though- the thing with the Veela was weird, but he can forget about that for right now. He exchanges an excited look with Ron and Ginny as the crowd grows even louder.

The game is about to start.

Chapter Text

“I still don’t know whether or not to ground you or start asking you which muggle stocks to invest in,” Arthur says, shaking his head in disbelief as the group walks through the forest.

“It was our money, so you definitely shouldn’t ground us,” one of the twins points out.

“Is our money,” the other twin says, elbowing his brother and grinning.

Harry smiles to himself- the game was fun to watch, but the highlight was definitely the twins winning their against-all-odds bet with Bagman. If Harry ever meets Krum, he’ll have to thank him for winning the twins their fortune.

“Let’s just get back to the tent,” Percy says. He seems irritated- he clearly isn’t a fan of celebrating the twins’ risky ventures.

“Seconded,” Tom says, checking his watch, then looking up at the sky. “It’s going to get dark soon.”

“Hey Harry,” Ron says, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Chances of you writing to Krum and asking to meet?”

“Zero,” Harry says. “Also, he probably wouldn’t even respond.”

“I think you’re underestimating how famous you are,” Hermione cuts in.

“I’m doing it on purpose,” Harry says, “because otherwise I’ll sink into a pit of despair I will never be able to climb out of.”

“Can we talk about the Veela now?” Theo asks.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Harry says, although he is grateful for the subject change.

“Incorrect,” Hermione says. “Why was she so interested in you?”

“It’s all the natural charm,” Ginny says, coming to walk by the others. She’s holding Luna’s hand. “Harry is irresistible. I would know.”

“Uh huh,” Harry says, giving her a flat look.

Ginny shoots him a crooked grin, then falls back with Luna, whispering to her about the game.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? How all these magical beings and creatures are so interested in Harry, I mean,” Ron says.

“Elaborate?” Harry asks.

“Well, like- the dementors, for one. You were like catnip for them. And there was that Elf that tried to help you out for no reason in second year, and the Veela- it’s just kind of weird.”

“Story of my life,” Harry mutters, feeling a spike of bitterness.

The walk back from the stadium to the tent feels a little shorter than the walk earlier that day, but not by much. By the time they get there, Harry is just about ready to fling himself into bed and sleep for ten hours straight.

And then he realizes that Charlie is already there, and has started on dinner- and sleeping is suddenly no longer the priority.

“Damn,” Ron says through mouthfuls of food. “Charlie, you can cook.”

“What can I say?” Charlie asks, dishing himself up another ladle of buttery potatoes. “I’ve gotten really good at making things taste good with fire.”

“Hey Bill,” one of the twins says, poking his head out from inside the tent. He looks worried- and furious. “Can you come in here for a sec? Fred is- well, can you just come here?”

Bill shoots Arthur a worried look, but then stands up from where he’d been sitting near the roaring campfire and jogs into the tent.

It doesn’t take long for the tent to open up again. This time, Bill is the one poking his head out. “Perce, can you-” he cuts off, pulling his head back inside. There’s the sound of muffled arguing. He reappears, saying, “okay, yeah, Percy- we need you in here.”

Percy furrows his brow, but then deposits his plate on Tom’s lap and goes to join his brothers.

Harry frowns- he hopes the twins are alright.

Tom dumps the contents of Percy’s plate into the fire, red eyes glinting in the light of the flames. Oliver laughs, gently hitting his shoulder.

“So,” Arthur says, waving his wand and sending his plate flying into the tent. “Did we have fun today?”

“Sure did,” Sirius says. He leans over and reaches an arm around Remus, grinning sappily. “Thanks for this, Moony.”

Remus shakes his head, smiling as he brushes Sirius off. “Why didn’t Molly come?”

Arthur laughs. “She’s a stay at home mom with seven kids- five at home. Why do you think?”

Sirius nods in understanding, and Remus says, “ah. Yes. In retrospect, that was a stupid question.”

Charlie lets out a sad sigh. “I wish I was like that with my kids,” he says, “but right now I just miss them.”

Sirius turns to look at the younger man in disbelief. “You-”

“No, he doesn’t have children,” Remus says, then gets a worried look on his face. “Wait, right?”

“He’s talking about his dragons,” Ron calls from where he’s sitting by Harry.

“I’m talking about my children, Ron,” Charlie says, offended. “... who happen to have wings, and tails, and weigh around six tons…”

“Oh thank god,” Sirius says, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“Charlie, if you ever have a human child, I’m going to insist on you letting me or your mother know,” Arthur says. “Preferably as soon as it happens.”

“How much will you give me?” Charlie asks, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur snorts.

“A hundred thousand galleons,” Sirius says, leaning forward.

“Two hundred,” Charlie counters.

The tent flap swings open again and Bill comes walking out. He looks tired, but shoots a smile to everyone as they turn to look at him as one.

“Nothing to worry about,” Bill says. “Just a, uh, sibling thing. Older sibling thing. Minus Charlie.”

“Typical,” Charlie mutters.

“Can we go into the tent now?” Ginny asks. “I think Luna is asleep sitting up.”

“I am,” Luna agrees, blinking blearily into the fire. “I’m having a terrible dream, though. There are all these redheads.”

The Weasleys laugh. Harry decides then and there that one day he will know for sure when Luna is joking and when she isn’t, and then he’ll be able to join in.

“Yeah, just… steer clear the twins room, yeah? I think they’re working something out with Percy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny says, waving him off and helping Luna up.

“I’m going to bed too,” Theo says, standing up and going into the tent without looking back.

“Me too,” Hermione, Ron, and Harry all say simultaneously, getting up to follow Theo.

As they go, Harry hears Arthur say:

“We have weird kids.”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, then, “oh, whoops- sorry Tom. I’m not taking it back, though.”

Tom laughs.

“I’m not apologizing to mine,” Arthur says.

“Fair,” Bill and Charlie say simultaneously.

Then the tent flap closes behind Harry and he turns to look at his friends.

“Are we actually going to sleep?”

“Yes,” Theo and Hermione say.

“No way,” Ron says, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Hermione says. “I guess not?”

Harry grins.

The four make quick work of getting ready for bed- Hermione dutifully makes sure to remind everyone to brush their teeth.

“Do you remind your dormmates too?” Harry asks through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Lets just say,” Hermione says, “when Lavender nets every person in the school at some point with her winning smile, it will be eighty-seven percent because of me.”

Ron snorts. “Won’t net me,” he says.

Hermione hums.

“Won’t net me, either,” Harry agrees.

“Oh I know that,” Hermione says. “She’s not a quidditch player.”

Merlin erupts into a hissed laughter, and Harry splutters, heart skipping a beat. “What- what is that supposed to mean?”

Ron lets out a loud laugh. “Mate,” he says.

“I’m not that obvious, am I?” Harry asks, somewhat desperately. He's only just realized how attractive people like Cedric and Oliver are- surely the others can't have known already, right?

“Not to anyone but your friends,” Theo says, streaks of dark purple in his hair. “Probably.”

Harry groans into his hands.

They file into bed shortly after that. Merlin insists that she and Harry take a top bunk, which Hermione and Theo agree to easily. Ron also wants a top bunk, so he just takes the other one.

Hermione turns the lights out with a flick of her wrist, and the room descends into both darkness and quiet.

“Hey,” Harry whispers after a minute. “Ron- you still up?”

“Yeah,” Ron whispers, sounding excited. “And I think I just taught Chud how to talk- listen. Chud, speak.”

Harry strains his hearing, and he finally hears the tiniest of squeaks.

“Ta da!” Ron says.

“Wow,” Harry says, trying not to laugh.

“Just you wait,” Ron says, “some day she’ll be holding a conversation, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“Uh huh,” Harry says, before it gets to be too much for him and he bursts into laughter.

“Wow,” Theo says. “We are never going to sleep, and I’ll be stuck in this horrible limbo forever.”

Harry hears Hermione whisper something to Theo, who falls quiet.

Then, in the flattest tone Harry has ever heard, Theo says, “say, Hermione- would you mind walking me through the runic alphabet. I have a whole year of catchup to do, and I’m just. So worried about it.”

“Sure, Theo!” Hermione says brightly. “I would love to!”

“Oh my god,” Ron says, over the sound of Hermione. “It’s a fucking coup.”

Harry tries to respond, but he yawns instead.

“And it’s working,” Ron says, horrified. “Stay strong, man!”

“I would,” Harry says, feeling his eyes drift close, “but it’s suddenly occurred to me that sleeping is… really… nice.”

The last thing he hears before sinking into oblivion is Ron angrily whispering, “you make me sick,” to Hermione, who stops reciting just long enough to burst into muffled laughter.

And then his eyes snap open again, only a few hours later, as he hears the sound of screaming.

Chapter Text

Percy comes to sit back outside, feeling a bit off-kilter.

It’s incredibly unusual for any of his siblings to turn to him for comfort, but the twins? Unheard of.

Well, not that he was there to provide comfort so much as he was there to provide a conceivable plan of action. Bill was the comforting one. Percy had been confused at first, but the second he’d walked into the room the twins had claimed for himself and seen the bag overfilled with clovers laying upturned on one of the beds, he’d known instantly what had happened.

George had been sitting, cycling between glaring at the bag, Percy, and looking worriedly at Fred.

Fred- well. Percy had never, not in the entire fifteen and a half years of knowing the twins, seen Fred this angry. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bag, he was breathing shallowly if at all, and his hands kept clenching and unclenching. Fred gave off the air of a man seconds away from casting a successful unforgivable.

“Fred,” Bill had said, “Percy is here- we’ll figure something out, alright? Ludo will get what’s coming to him.”

Fred hadn’t even looked over at Bill. Percy exchanged a worried look with George, then sat down on an unoccupied bed and cleared his throat.

“Right- well, there were plenty of witnesses there to see you make that bet, including but not limited to the Minister of Magic and not one but two diplomatic leaders.”

This did get a reaction- Fred whipped his head over to look at Percy. Percy stopped- Fred’s pupils were so dilated that they looked like little more than pinpricks in his irises.

“So,” Percy continued, looking away from his brother and back down to the clovers, “here’s what we’re going to do…”

An hour and a half later, and they had a course of action laid out. It’s not even going to be that difficult to press charges- while frowned upon, betting on the Cup isn’t technically illegal. The most important part is that Fred has calmed down enough to turn back into a normal human person, and not a furious one that is more likely than not to end up in prison.

“Well?” Tom asks as Percy settles back into his seat between Tom and Oliver.

At some point, the younger kids had gone inside. It is getting rather late, but Percy isn’t quite tired enough to turn in.

“None of your business,” Percy responds, narrowing his eyes.

“Are the twins alright?” Oliver asks, worrying at his lips.

“They will be,” Percy says, turning to look at Oliver. “Bagman tried to give them a bag of Leprechaun gold.”

“Oh, I see how it is.”

Percy ignores Tom.

Tom makes it a point to sit next to and interact with Percy like they’re friends, and that’s his prerogative, and it’s fine. But it doesn’t mean that Percy has to respond in kind.

It’s a dangerous game Percy is playing, because he’s almost positive that Tom is either capable of killing or has killed before, but- well, Tom has put up with it so far, and Percy would quite frankly rather die than try and suck up to Tom.

Sucking up to Mr. Crouch or the Minister is a completely different thing, and Percy refuses to feel like a hypocrite or a sell-out, no matter what the twins think of him.

“So,” Arthur asks, leaning back on the little log he’s using as a seat. “Oliver, Tom- what are your plans? Graduated school, whole world ahead of you-”

“What,” Charlie says, raising an eyebrow. “Not going to ask Percy? Your own son?”

“Charlie,” Bill says, turning to Charlie, “we’ve known Percy’s plan since he was seven years old.”

Percy shrugs. It’s not like he can help the clear sense of vision and purpose he has for his own life.

“Well,” Oliver says, smiling, “I’m hoping to get into the quidditch scene.”

“Ooh,” Charlie says. “That’s going to be difficult- but I’ve seen you play, and if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Oliver lights up.

“How about you, Tom?” Arthur asks.

Tom turns to Arthur, smiling charmingly. Percy scowls into the fire- who does Tom think he’s fooling?

“Don’t go spreading this around, but I actually received a job offer from Hogwarts- I’m going to be the official Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher’s assistant.”

Because of course he is. Percy’s scowl deepens.

“Holy cow,” Arthur says, grinning widely. “That’s so incredible! Congrats, Tom.”

“Thank you,” Tom says, inclining his head.

“Hey Oliver- If you need an in,” Sirius says, “let me or Remus know. Plenty of big-wig quidditch people would be thrilled to meet with Lord Black.”

“Yes,” Remus says, nodding. “I know this is the most irritating advice ever, but it really is about the connections.”

Oliver shrugs. “I’m not too worried- but I’ll let you know. I’ve actually already got a seasonal job lined up working as a helping hand for some of the bigger games. I’m hoping to get my foot in the door that way.”

“Have you got a place to stay yet?” Bill asks. “Depending on where you’re going, I might have a couple buddies that are looking for a roomie.”

“God, don’t get me started,” Tom groans. “I’ve been looking for a place since I’m not too keen on living at Hogwarts, but it’s impossible.”

“Percy’s been having the same issue,” Arthur says. “Right Perce?”

Percy nods, grimacing. The wizarding housing economy is awful right now- he’s been searching for a place since the beginning of summer, and still no luck (not within his price-range, anyways). He’ll be really surprised if Oliver has found something-

“Oh, I actually have a place already,” Oliver says.

On second thought, Percy isn’t surprised at all.

“Although,” Oliver sighs, “it’s a little out of my price range. I might need a roommate. Or two.”

Oh no.

Oliver sits there for a moment, staring glumly into the fire. Then Percy can see the lightbulb go off.

“Hey! Perce, Tom- you should move in with me!”

It takes Percy everything in himself to not bury his face into his hands and scream.

“I couldn’t,” Tom starts, and a flare of hope erupts in Percy’s chest.

“No, you could! It’s in Hogsmeade, there’s three bedrooms- it’s like, the perfect place for someone who’s going to be working at Hogwarts.”

“That’s a great idea!” Sirius says, eyes alight with excitement.

“I-” Tom starts, then visibly falters as he looks into Oliver’s pleading eyes. “Great. Sounds… great.”

“And Percy is going to need to be near Hogwarts this year too,” Charlie points out.

“Charlie,” Percy hisses. He’s going to have a hard enough time turning this down without looking like a completly horrible person. “That’s a secret!”

“Whoops,” Charlie says, not looking repentant at all.

“What do you say,” Oliver says, looking at Percy. He looks uncharacteristically nervous. “I know we joked about moving in together during school, but I think it would be really nice, you know, for real. You in?”

Well. It’s not like Percy can turn that down. Shit.

“I’m in,” Percy says, forcing a smile.

Oliver’s relieved smile almost makes up for the cruel one Tom sends his way. Or, it looks cruel to Percy. It probably looks nice to everyone else.

“Wait, why is Percy going to be working at Hogwarts?” Remus asks.

“That’s-” Percy starts.

“Remember, I have a right to know if something is going to be happening at the school my children go to,” Remus cuts in, eyes flashing.

Percy swallows. Well, it probably can’t hurt to tell them, right? They’re bound to be alerted in the next few days anyways.

“Ever hear of the Triwizard Tournament?”

Remus stares at Percy for a moment, then buries his face in his hands. Sirius sighs heavily.

“Well, damn,” Tom says, staring into the fire. “It’s a good thing I took that job.”

“I’m confused,” Oliver says.

Arthur, Bill, and Charlie look similarly.

“From what I’ve heard about Harry’s previous school years? The chances of Harry winding up in this stupid Tournament is… well. High. It’s really high,” Sirius explains.

“There is an age limit,” Percy hazards. “Seventeen or older.”

“That doesn’t help,” Remus says, shaking his head.

Percy thinks back on what he knows about the antics Harry’s gotten up to while at school. “Yeah,” he says. “I can see why it wouldn’t.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Remus decides. “See if I can convince him to- do something. Figure something out.”

“I’ll help,” Sirius says, reaching over and putting a hand on the man’s knee. His expression is uncharacteristically somber.

Remus nods, relaxing a little.

“Well, they’ll probably have adjusted it into something a little… less… fatal,” Bill says, trailing off. “Hang on, does anyone else hear that?”

Remus stands up, eyes golden. “We need to wake the kids up. Padfoot-”

Sirius is already running into the tent, transforming mid-stride.

Percy doesn’t know what he’s talking about, until- there. The faint but unmistakable sound of screaming. He shoots up too, heart pounding. Oliver and Tom are standing, too.

The screaming slowly but surely grows louder- around them, people are coming out of their tents, looking confused.

“When the kids are up,” Arthur says, turning to Bill, “you and Charlie need to get them into the forest and keep them safe- I’m going to see if I can help.”

Bill nods, rolling the sleeves of his jacket up- displaying the swirling mass of ink that’s flowing on his forearms. Percy would be impressed with his older brother if he wasn’t so terrified.

A crash, and another scream- closer this time. People have started heading away from the sounds, some walking and some running.

Arthur gives Percy, Bill, and Charlie one last big smile, before running off. Percy loves his father, but would it kill the man to be less of a Gryffindor?

Remus tilts his head towards the sound, then whips his head back to look at Tom- Percy had known that Remus is a werewolf, but it’s not until now that the reality of that is sinking in. The man’s eyes are glowing, yes, but it’s more than that: the way he’s standing, moving- every bit of it screams ‘dangerous’.

“You need to keep them safe, understand?” Remus says to Tom.

Tom narrows his red eyes, then nods curtly. His wand is drawn, and he looks tense and ready to strike, despite the non-existent expression on his face.

Remus runs off without another word, chasing after Arthur.

“Perce, Oliver, Tom- stick close, okay?” Charlie says, waving his wand to douse the fire. “We’ll need all the help we can get to keep these kids together.”

Percy reaches out and grabs Oliver’s hand, feeling abruptly light-headed. He’s really not cut out for this kind of thing. Oliver squeezes his hand.

“Breathe,” Oliver whispers. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You can’t know-” Percy starts, then takes a shaky breath. “No- you’re right. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Oliver says, squeezing Percy’s hand again and shooting him a little smile.

“What’s going on,” Ginny asks blearily, rubbing her eyes as she comes out from the tent. She’s pulling a half-asleep Luna behind her. “And has anyone seen Luna’s wand?”

“Come over here,” Bill calls, waving them over. “Get ready to run.”

Another scream- it sounds just a couple tents down. The throngs of people rushing from their tents have begun in earnest, and it’s getting hard to hear over the sounds of panicking.

Both Luna and Ginny suddenly look much more awake. Behind them, the twins, Ron, and his friends emerge from the tent, Sirius behind them urging them to move faster. Their faces are bloodless and they look shaky- they’d clearly just had enough time to put on shoes and grab a bag or two, as they’re otherwise in their pajamas.

“You kids need to get going,” Sirius says. “Stay with Bill and Charlie- protect each other. I’m going to see if I can do something to help the others.”

Theo and Harry both get a stormy look on their faces, but before they can protest, Tom pipes up and says:

“There is a non-zero chance that this is a hate crime intended to target muggleborns. If we don’t go now, Hermione might be in a lot of danger.”

He says this with a completely blank face and monotone voice, but it does the trick. Percy is begrudgingly impressed with Tom as he watches Ron and his friends hurry over, moving as one to surround Hermione. Padfoot dashes off, taking one last look at the kids before he does.

“Okay, we need to stick together,” Bill yells as he starts to lead the group towards the forest. “Hold on to each other and keep moving, okay? We’re headed into the forest, so it’s important to not get lost. It’ll be crowded, too- try and move with the crowd, and if you see someone fall, help them up. Alright-”

Another scream, and the sound of laughing. It looks like a fire has started.

“Okay, time to run!” Charlie yells.

And run they do.

Chapter Text

Harry stumbles a bit as he runs, almost bringing Hermione and Luna down with him.

“Sorry,” he gasps out.

Hermione just shakes her head, too winded to respond.

It had taken all of forty-five seconds for the panicking crowd to tear Harry and Hermione away from the main group, and Harry could instantly tell that they weren’t going to be able to find their way back any time soon- or at all, for that matter.

There were just too many people, too many bodies crowding up against each other. Harry had to manually breathe through the claustrophobia the whole time they’d been in the middle of it.

Hermione had started tugging Harry through the crowd, trying to flow with it while simultaneously pushing through it. Harry had been more than happy to follow her lead, but then she’d suddenly jerked to the left.

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing when he’d seen what she’d seen- Luna, standing alone. (Harry doesn’t know how she hadn’t immediately been crushed to death by the crowd.) Her blue eyes were as wide as they always are, and her face was so white she looked translucent. She seemed totally frozen- and her hands were jammed over her ears. When they’d finally reached her, Hermione hadn’t even stopped- simply scooped the slight girl up and kept running.

They’ve been running for what feels like forever. They’re well into the forest by now, and it’s almost impossible to see- the full moon was only around five days ago, but the trees block out most of the moonlight.

“We should fly,” Merlin hisses from around Harry’s shoulder. “The broom could probably carry all of us.”

Harry shakes his head.

“Too risky,” he hisses. “They might be watching out for that.”

“Who’s they, though?” Merlin asks.

Even if he’d known how to answer her question, Harry wouldn’t have the air for a response- instead he readjusts his grip on Hermione’s hand and keeps running. He’s holding incredibly tight to his magic, which doesn’t help the whole breathing thing, either.

Screams ring out from behind them, and the light of a flurry of spells being cast briefly illuminates the forest. Harry grits his teeth and redoubles his running efforts- that sounded really close. He pushes his magic further down.

Harry stumbles again. This time, Hermione has to pull him up. Sweat is pouring down her face. She’s still holding Luna, whose eyes are screwed shut. Luna’s arms are around Hermione’s neck, holding on for dear life.

Distantly, Harry thinks Hermione is really very incredible. How is she so strong?

“You need to breathe,” Merlin hisses.

Harry tries, he really does- but he can’t hold his magic this tight while simultaneously running through a dark forest at night and breathing all at the same time.

“Hermione,” Merlin hisses. “Harry isn’t breathing. We need to find a place to stop.”

Hermione doesn’t even nod to acknowledge Merlin, she just pulls Harry sharply to the side and pushes him bodily down behind a tree. She lets Luna down as well, groaning in relief.

Harry takes in a couple big gulps of air, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“We can’t-” Hermione gasps out, “stay long.”

“You can’t,” a smooth voice starts, “stay at all.”

There, leaning on a nearby tree: Draco Malfoy. He looks completely unbothered- he’s in his day clothes, without a hair out of place. It’s a far cry from how disheveled he was all last year.

“Malfoy,” Harry grits out.

“Cousin,” Luna says.

“Cousin?” Hermione says, turning to look at Luna.

“Distant,” Malfoy says dismissively, then looks behind his shoulder. “Why have you stopped running? Are you daft, or just suicidal?”

“We don’t even know what’s going on,” Harry says, standing shakily up.

Malfoy narrows his eyes. “They’re doing- it’s- look, just get going, alright? If they find you, you’ll get caught up in the… the festivities.”

Is it a trick of the moonlight, or does Malfoy actually look a little… queasy?

“I don’t think Harry can run anymore,” Hermione says, bracing her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.

“Yeah, that’ll make him feel better at your funeral,” Malfoy snaps.

Harry’s heart gets lodged in his throat. What’s happening out there?

There’s a nearby sound of raucous laughing, and a cry of fear. Everyone freezes- including Malfoy.

“Look,” he hisses after a moment of stillness. “Get a little ways away, at least- then use your stupid cloak.”

“How do you-” Harry starts. Even as he says it, he knows it was a dumb question- they have bigger things to worry about.

“I saw you using it last year, you absolute moron. Get out of here!”

Hermione nods curtly and pulls both Harry and Luna to their feet.

“Can you run?” she asks Luna. Luna shakes her head and Hermione sighs, but turns around and crouches down. “Okay- up, hurry.”

Luna clambers onto her back and Hermione stands, grabs Harry’s wrist, and starts off again. Harry can’t help but twist around to get another glimpse of Malfoy- he’s watching them go off with an unreadable expression on his face. When he catches Harry watching, he scowls. Harry turns back and focuses once more on the task at hand.

They run until Harry can’t anymore. His legs literally collapse underneath him, and Hermione wastes no time in dragging him over to a nearby bush. She pushes him under the leaves, faceup, then lets Luna down and slides herself in next to Harry, pulling Luna with her. Merlin slides into her satchel, likely wanting to keep out of the way.

“Cloak,” Hermione gasps out, obviously trying to catch her breath as quietly as possible.

Harry reaches down with trembling fingers, pulling the cloak from his satchel and- with Hermione’s help- spreads it over the three of them.

Only then does Harry resume breathing- his lungs feel like they’re going to explode. Despite this, he makes an effort to take slow measured breaths- him hyperventilating would not only definitely cause him to faint, but it would also be very, very loud.

Harry has very nearly gotten his breathing under control when he hears the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush.

There’s the sound of an incredibly hoarse, “ah shit,” then another, louder crashing sound.

Harry looks over at Hermione, hardly daring to breathe. She looks back at him, eyes wide and expression terrified. The sight has his magic flailing in his chest, and he feels his ribs twinge as he shoves it back down. Damn- that’s going to bruise.

The person- their voice had sounded masculine- sounds like he gets to his feet, muttering a couple more curses. He’s really close- if Harry stretched his arm out, he could brush the man’s shoe with his fingers. (From what Harry can see in the darkness of the forest, he’s wearing what seem to be slacks and dress shoes, with a standard looking wizard’s robe falling down to about his ankles.)

“Okay let’s-” he says, then clears his throat. “Right, let’s see if this’ll work.”

He clears his throat again- it sounds like he hasn’t had a drink of water in days. That, or he hasn’t spoken in a long, long time.

“Morsmordre,” the man calls, loud and clear despite his scratchy voice.

Harry closes his eyes as a gust of sudden wind blows in a ring out from the man, flattening the grass and sending the twigs and branches of the bush dancing wildly around. He and Hermione manage to keep the cloak around the three of them, but just barely.

“Hm,” the person says. He sounds satisfied.

A scream erupts from the woods- then another, and another. Soon it sounds like the forest itself is crying out in fear.

Then there’s the sound of many people yelling and running- in the direction of the clearing.

“Hm,” the person says again, then dashes off.

“It came from over here!” Someone calls.

Shortly after that, several people enter the clearing, sending bright floating balls of light rocketing around.

“Search the whole area,” someone else yells. “I want no stone unturned! We must find the culprit!”

Hermione and Harry share another wide-eyed look.

Harry hopes the look he sends her way conveys what he’s about to do, because he can’t think of any way to warn her.

In one smooth motion, Harry gathers the cloak up and shoves it back into his satchel. Then he shimmies his way out from under the bush, not bothering to stay quiet.

“Freeze!” someone yells- a woman.

“Don’t cast!” Harry yells back, doing as the voice had commanded. “It wasn’t us, we were hiding!”

A couple spells fly over his head anyways, but they all miss by a wide margin.

“Likely story,” growls someone else, the man who’d wanted ‘no stone unturned’.

“It’s true,” Hermione calls, wiggling out from under the bush as well. “It wasn’t…” she trails off, staring up at the sky.

Harry follows her gaze, then feels abruptly sick as he sees what’s suddenly painting the night sky.

There, glowing brightly, is the sickly green apparition of a massive skull and serpent. The snake is crawling slowly around and through the skull. The sight of it makes something inside Harry feel very cold and very empty and very small.

“Give me your wands,” the man says coldly.

Harry squints at him. He seems familiar, with his gray hair and crazed-looking eyes and horrible little mustache.

“We’re minors,” Hermione says, frost in her tone easily matching the man’s. “We have rights.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” the man continues. “You’re under arrest.”

“You can’t arrest-” Hermione starts, but the man isn’t listening.

“Someone arrest these people!” he shouts, waving his arms around.

“You’re not even an auror?” Harry asks incredulously.

The man narrows his eyes at Harry.

“Harry- that’s Mr. Crouch, Percy’s boss,” Hermione whispers, sounding exasperated despite the tense look on her face. “We met him earlier, remember? We passed his tent and Percy introduced us after the game?”

“Oh,” Harry whispers back. “I wasn’t paying very much attention.”

“Really,” Hermione sighs.

“Crouch, stand down,” says the woman who’d told Harry to freeze. She has red hair, strong squarish features, and bright green eyes. She actually looks quite a bit like Susan, a Hufflepuff in Harry’s year. “You need to let us handle this- you are a citizen.”

“A sorry excuse for one, at that,” Hermione whispers mulishly.

Harry has to push down a really inappropriate burst of laughter.

“What are you conspiring about?” the man shrieks, waving his wand. “Down on the ground!”

“Crouch,” warns the woman.

“It is lovely down here,” a soft voice says.

“Who said that?” Crouch says, spinning wildly around.

“Another child,” Hermione snaps, crossing her arms.

Harry crouches down and helps Luna stand up- although they’re both shaking so badly that it’s a wonder they don’t fall over.

“Crouch, if you don’t leave it alone, I’ll personally arrest you for interfering in an active investigation,” the woman hisses, before turning to look at Harry. The hard look on her face softens as she takes the three in.

“Auror Amelia Bones,” the woman says. “I need you to tell me-”

“Winky,” says Crouch in a quiet voice shaking with fury. “What is that?”

Harry and the others turn as one to see Winky, who’s appeared sometime in the last few minutes, looking down at the wand she’s holding in her long fingers.

“A wand,” she says, looking back up at the increasingly red-faced man.

“My wand,” Luna adds, holding her hand out. “You found it- I was worried. I am so happy to see it safe.”

Winky narrows her eyes, but gives Luna the wand.

“Hang on,” Auror Bones says. “Let’s see that.”

Luna hesitates, but hands the wand over.

“Prior Incantato,” the woman says, giving the wand a wave.

Harry feels his stomach bottom out as he sees a miniature version of the Dark Mark flow like poison from the tip of Luna’s wand.

“Oh,” Luna says, wrinkling her nose. “Ew.”

Chapter Text

Tom lets out a long slow breath, fighting both against the crowd and with his desire to start throwing blasting curses at people.

It had of course taken Harry all of fifteen seconds to get both separated from Tom and also completely and totally lost. And because this is Harry, there’s no way he doesn’t end up right in the middle of everything- hence the reason Tom is now trying to run towards the rioters, and not away from them.

Not that he’s overly worried, of course- chances are, these are just some drunk idiots that decided a bit of muggle-baiting would be just the way to end the night. Which then probably immediately got out of hand.

“Tom,” someone calls out. “Slow down, maybe?”

Not only does Tom slow down, he stops dead- causing the person behind him to run into him full force. Tom looks down at the brown freckled hand that is still inexplicably clasped around his wrist, then follows it up to its owner.

“Well, you didn’t need to stop,” Oliver says.

“Let go,” Tom says, voice sounding cold even to him. He doesn’t have the time for this.

“Buddy system,” Oliver says. “We’re not leaving you.”

We?

Tom looks directly behind Oliver right into the glowering face of Percy Weasley. Oliver is holding the boy's hand tightly, and by the looks of it, isn’t letting go anytime soon.

Tom grinds his teeth for a second, then redoubles his effort to run against the crowd. He may be pulling on Oliver’s arm harder than necessary, but if the two of them want to come along, well that’s just fine. It’s not on him if they die.

The crowd finally begins to thin out, and Tom drags his clingy tagalongs to the shadows of the collapsing tents, slowing down only minutely.

“What makes you think we’ll find them here, and not back in the forest?” Oliver asks, just barely out of breath.

Them? Huh. Tom had only noticed Harry going missing.

“It’s Harry,” is all he says.

“Okay,” Oliver says, although he doesn’t look convinced.

There’s the sudden sound of breaking glass, and delighted laughter.

Tom pulls up short, holding his breath. He looks behind his shoulder at Oliver, who’s staring at him with wide fear-filled eyes; and Percy, who is glaring daggers at Tom despite the fear evident on his face as well.

Tom pushes the others even closer to the tent they’d been sticking next to- it’s got orange and purple pinstripes, and is actually holding up very well, compared to some of the other tents- it’s only about one-third collapsed.

Another crash- the sound is coming from just around the tent.

Tom turns around and pulls Percy to his side, leaning in until his mouth is right by the boy’s freckled ear. Percy’s shoulders hunch up and he looks like he’s trying not to recoil. Tom tries not to feel too amused- he has other priorities right now.

“Keep Oliver here,” Tom breathes, quiet as he can. “I’ll take care of them.”

Percy pulls back from Tom, blue eyes narrowed. Tom raises an eyebrow and Percy rolls his eyes, then grabs the hand Oliver has wrapped around Tom’s wrist and pulls it gently off. Oliver lets him do it, although his brown eyes are bright with worry.

Tom nods curtly, shakes out the wrist that Oliver had been holding so tightly to, then creeps around the corner of the tent. The sounds of laughter gets louder, and there’s another crash. He sneaks even closer, until he’s right next to where he heard the noises.

“Got one!” Shouts a feminine sounding voice.

“Bring ‘em here,” says another- this one is masculine sounding.

Tom peers carefully around the corner, noting immediately that the air is especially smoky over here- there’s a still-smoldering campfire that looks like a fire-hazard if Tom’s ever seen one.

There’s an older man with an impressive salt-and-pepper mustache and sideburns crouched near the fire, throwing clothes into a heap on the fire, one article at a time- specifically, muggle clothes.

It’s a bit hypocritical of him, because he seems to be in a muggle getup himself- black leather vest with pants to match, muscular tattooed arms, white t-shirt, red bandana over his head- he looks like he should be out riding a motorcycle somewhere, not burning clothes in the middle of a magical campground.

Tom makes the mistake of inhaling through his nose. The acrid smell of burning fabric mixed with the dust and ash throws Tom suddenly back to his summers in London, fifty years ago. He closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, bringing himself back to the present.

He opens his eyes again just in time to see an older looking woman emerge from the tent. She’s dressed similarly to the man- she looks kind of like him, too, with the same pointy chin and small nose. Siblings? Twins?

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the woman warns. She’s holding a toothpick between her teeth- it takes a lot for Tom to not roll his eyes. Honestly, there’s a difference between an aesthetic and a gimmick.

“Aw, Al- don’t get so tetchy. Relax, live a little!”

‘Al’ rolls her eyes, then disappears back into the tent. Tom narrows his eyes, feeling apprehensive. Hopefully it’s not-

Al comes back, dragging a woman with tears streaming down her face out into the open. She’s wearing an oversized muggle t-shirt and some pajama shorts. The woman is shaking.

Tom closes his eyes again, briefly imagining how much easier everything would be if he didn’t have to keep pretending to give a shit about people. Unfortunately, Percy and Oliver are both less than twenty feet away, and unless he wants to kill them too, he’s going to have to do something.

“Well,” the man says, standing up from where he’d been crouched with a grunt. “What are ya- muddy or muggle?”

The woman is so afraid she can’t speak, until Al twists her arm behind her back. There’s a popping sound and the woman gasps in pain.

“Pure! I’m pure,” the woman cries.

“Uh huh,” the man says, looking the woman up and down.

“It’ll go down smoother if you just admit it to us now, sweetheart,” Al says, twisting the woman’s arm even further back.

The woman can’t even speak for sobbing.

Well, that’s enough of that- Tom steps from the shadows.

“Hello,” he says.

Al lets the woman drop- she falls to the floor in a heap. The woman doesn’t even do anything, just shakes and cries.

Al, on the other hand, is frozen. Her watery blue eyes are huge as she stares at Tom, and her face has gone white.

The man whirls around, wand at the ready. Then he, too, stops- letting his wand fall to his side.

Tom grimaces internally. Fuck. They’ve absolutely recognized him, whoever they are. Did Voldemort really have to ruin everything for Tom?

He doesn’t have a lot of time, here- if they say something, Percy and Oliver will hear, and then Tom really will have to kill them. Tom’s never had an official roommate before, let alone two, but he’s pretty sure you aren’t supposed to kill them off before signing the lease.

Al opens her mouth to say something, and Tom makes a split-second decision: he smiles.

“If you want to live,” he says, sweetly as he can, “run.”

They run.

Tom watches impassively as they go, tripping over themselves as they do.

“Who,” the woman asks, sniffling, “are you?”

“Does it matter?” Tom asks, looking down at her and trying not to show the contempt he feels for her.

“I don’t-” the woman says, looking suddenly unsure.

“Get out of here,” Tom says, jerking his head.

“Th-thank you,” the woman says, before getting up unsteadily and running in the opposite direction, injured arm held close to her chest.

Despite himself, Tom can feel his lip curl- pathetic.

Is any of this even worth it? All this grandstanding, this careful maneuvering, and for what? To make the world a better place? It’s not like any of these idiots deserve it, deserve what his vision will give them.

Maybe Lord Voldemort had it right, and power is all that really matters. He sure compromised on a lot of things to achieve it- and hadn’t it been a relief when Tom had discovered that the attitude towards muggleborns had shifted in the last fifty years. Not drastically, mind you, but enough to justify appearing politically progressive.

Not that Tom cares either way. No, what he’s the most relieved about is that he no longer has to pretend to give a shit about pureblood ideals, or pretend to be a pureblood himself- Tom can forgo adhering to all those pointless unspoken rules and instead apply that energy to what’s really important: namely, taking over England (and then quite possibly, the world).

Tom is the only person he trusts to actually succeed in making the world a better place. Voldemort might’ve done it well enough, but then he had obviously lost the plot in a major way, for some reason. Maybe Tom is going to go crazy at some point in the next couple of years?

Tom smiles bitterly to himself.

Yeah, he doesn’t think he’s going to have to worry about that. Voldemort made himself crazy- even assuming the man only ever made the two horcruxes, Tom still has more soul now than Voldemort did at the height of his power.

“Tom, are you alright?” Oliver calls, rounding the tent.

“Yes, fine,” Tom says, forcing an easy smile on his face.

He’ll continue with the plan for now- as insufferable as he finds people, Tom knows that there’s no point to power without a purpose. And that purpose is to make the world a better place- if not for the pathetic idiots, then at least for the people who deserve it. Namely, Tom. And Harry. And Remus- that man could use a break. And possibly Percy and Oliver- Percy is smart enough to do something interesting, and Oliver is… entertaining.

Sirius and Theo and the rest can benefit, too, since without them the others will be mopey.

And at that point, it would take less work to just make the world a better place on the whole after all. See? It just makes more sense. Voldemort is an idiot.

“They were scared of you,” Percy says, eyes narrowed. “Really scared. Why were they so scared of you?”

Well, there goes any chance of Percy or Oliver having not heard that interaction.

“Oh,” Tom says lightly, looking at the other boy and keeping the smile on his face despite the annoyance he feels rocketing through him. “I have that effect on… some people.”

Percy glares, and Tom meets his bright blue eyes unflinchingly.

“Uh,” Oliver says, slowly. “You said that Harry likes to be in the middle of things, right?”

Tom and Percy turn to look at Oliver as one, then follow his gaze.

Tom feels his annoyance turn immediately into bright white-hot fury as he takes in the giant green skull, snake and all, floating in the night sky. He knows what the Dark Mark is, knows what it looks like, but it’s different seeing it in person.

The forest fills with the sound of people screaming in fear, which makes Tom even angrier.

How dare Voldemort? It’s- that design, it’s just so… stupid! It doesn't even mean anything. Voldemort really held the power to make people fear him like this, and he uses it to paint some nonsense graffiti in the sky?

“I think I might know where he is,” Oliver continues.

Tom doesn’t bother responding- he’s already bolting off towards the forest.

Chapter Text

“You’re fired,” Crouch says.

Winky goes very, very still, and the forest goes dead quiet.

“Crouch,” Auror Bones starts, eyes darting from Crouch to the Elf.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Crouch snaps.

“Winky, fired,” Winky says. “Hm.”

Merlin pokes her head out of her satchel and hisses, long and low. Harry looks down at the snake, feeling a bit confused. He does his best, but he’s still not completely clear on the whole Elf thing- Elves are for Merlin to worry about, she’s made that clear from the beginning. He hadn’t thought they could be fired, for one.

Tom, Percy, and Oliver choose this exact moment to come crashing into the clearing.

“Harry,” Tom calls, sounding relieved.

“Hermione, Luna,” Oliver adds, sounding like if they hadn’t been there too he would have laid down on the forest floor and died.

They come to a stop right next to where Harry is standing, then go quiet as well as they seem to catch on to the tense atmosphere.

“Tell Winky why,” Winky says, cocking her head on its impossibly long neck.

“You know why,” Crouch hisses.

“Hm,” Winky says again. “Fired.”

“She couldn’t have cast it,” Bones tries again.

“She damn well could- Elves are tricky little bastards,” Crouch says.

“Hm,” Winky says a third time. Her hands are curling and uncurling, and her eyes are trained on Crouch’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” Tom cuts in. “Did you just… am I getting this right? You just fired your Elf. You fired her?”

Harry almost laughs. The derision in Tom’s voice makes it abundantly clear what he thinks of the man and his decision making skills.

Crouch’s face goes even redder. “It’s none of your business,” he snaps. Then, he turns to Percy. “I have things to attend to,” he says. “If anyone needs me- take a message.”

Percy nods, smiling. “Absolutely sir,” he says.

Crouch turns and leaves.

Harry furrows his brow- that had been… abrupt. And what thing could Crouch have? It’s the middle of the night! Something doesn’t feel right.

Bones sighs, then turns to Winky. “I know a couple families that would love to have you around,” she says, not unkindly.

Winky laughs, a low and hollow laugh that has everyone in the clearing shivering.

The laughter stops in its tracks. “Winky will do as Winky likes,” the Elf says coldly.

Then she closes her eyes and breathes out through her nose. She looks like she’s trying to reign in her temper.

“Okay,” Bones says, turning back to Harry. Apparently she’s decided to move on from the Elf. “What did you see?”

Harry and Hermione take turns explaining what had happened. Bones nods and writes everything down, frowning deeply.

All the while, in the night sky above them, there’s a team of aurors flying around and through the horrible grinning skull, waving their wands and shouting at each other- Bones had called them a ‘clean up crew’, but so far they haven’t done anything. Harry idly wonders how hard it is to unravel a spell like that.

Harry also keeps half an eye on the Elf, who hasn’t moved. She’s still just standing, breathing slowly and clenching and unclenching her fists.

Hermione is in the middle of trying to describe exactly what she’d seen in the clearing directly before the man had cast the spell when Harry sees Tom go up to the Elf, then sink down to sit beside her.

“Hey,” Tom whispers, in Parseltongue. Harry’s listening for it, so he can hear it clear as day. No one else bats an eye, though. “You used to be the Weasley’s Elf, didn’t you?”

Winky nods jerkily.

“Why’d you leave?”

“Prewett made a choice,” Winky grits out. Her teeth look much longer under the green glow of the Dark Mark than they had in the sunlit box earlier today.

“Is it the Weasley name you left, or the ancestral home?”

Winky opens her eyes then, and looks at Tom through narrowed eyes. “Why does Gaunt wish to meddle so?”

Tom smirks. “I’ve always liked Elves,” he says.

“I do not like you,” Winky shoots back. “You are… wrong. Broken. You make Winky sick.”

Harry doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t like it- and he’s starting to dislike Winky, too. Does she have to be mean? Tom is just trying to help.

Tom doesn’t look bothered, though. Instead, he smiles.

“Case in point,” Tom says, nodding his head. “It’s refreshing. You’re so… honest.”

Winky snarls, and Tom laughs.

Huh. Tom is being… odd. Something is off. Harry thinks, then blinks when he realizes what’s different: Tom’s dropped his masks- something he only ever does at home, or when he’s with people he’s really comfortable with.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tom says, sobering up.

“Winky is not beholden to answer questions,” Winky says, nostrils flaring.

“Hm,” Tom says. “True enough. Very well, then.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

Harry watches as Winky grows more and more fidgety: clicking her jaw open and shut, tapping her long fingers against her thighs, cracking her neck- until she finally caves.

“Ancestral home,” Winky spits out. “But Winky will never return. The Lord and Lady made their choice, and so a Lord and Lady they will never be again.”

“Crouch cut you off,” Tom says, tracing an oval in the soft dirt of the forest floor. “And now you’re completely untethered. I know you miss it- how could you not? All that power… stagnant.”

Winky’s eyes flash with cold rage, and Harry is suddenly itching to tell Tom to get away from the Elf.

In fact, Harry is opening his mouth to do just that, when Winky says:

“What is Gaunt proposing?”

Tom doesn’t hesitate to respond. “Percy Weasley works for Crouch as his personal assistant, and he’s moving from the Burrow in just a few days, a week at most. Name Percy the Lord, and reclaim the Family magics while simultaneously maintaining access to both Crouch and opportunities for revenge.”

Winky clicks her teeth together a couple times.

“Something to think about,” Tom says, getting up and brushing his pants off. “In the interest of transparency, I’ll be living there too- and I don’t know if you want to live with someone… broken.”

Winky clicks her teeth again and Tom walks over to Harry.

“Where are the others?” Harry asks in lieu of greeting.

“No clue,” Tom says.

“HARRY!”

“Oh, just kidding,” Tom says. “They’re right there. Coming towards you. Angrily.”

“Not my fault!” Harry protests, moments before he’s tackled to the ground by a livid, pink-haired Theo.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a red-colored blur dart past and slam into Luna, who just quietly silently sinks to the ground as Ginny wraps the girl up in her arms.

Tom rolls his eyes, then walks over to stand near Oliver, who smiles brightly when he catches sight of Tom. Tom asks something, and Oliver points his thumb towards where Percy is talking to a couple aurors.

“Where is Hermione,” Theo says, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

“Here,” Hermione says, walking up.

Hermione had left at some point to point out to Auror Bones where exactly the Dark Mark had been cast. Harry supposes that Bones is really very lucky that she has a witness with eidetic memory, regardless of the fact that Hermione couldn’t see very much.

Theo reaches up and grabs Hermione’s hand, then pulls her down too.

“Oh,” she says, falling onto Harry and Theo. “Sorry Harry.”

“Fine,” Harry wheezes out.

“Bloody well better be,” Ron says, appearing suddenly and bodily wiggling himself into the dog pile. “Next time you split, take me with you.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Harry says, spitting out a lock of Hermione’s hair as he tries to situate himself into a more upright position.

“Bloody well better not have been,” Bill says, appearing suddenly and crossing his arms as he looks down at the pile. He’s got a stern look on his face. “Do you know how dead I would have been if you had gotten hurt?”

“Remus wouldn’t have killed you,” Harry points out. “Or Sirius.”

“I would have,” Theo says.

“I was talking about Theo,” Bill agrees. “He almost took Charlie’s arm off trying to chase after you.”

“Can confirm,” Charlie says tiredly. His arm is heavily wrapped up in a bandage.

“Theo!” Ron says, rolling over to look at them. “Really?”

“Almost scarier than Gin, Theo is,” one of the twins says from where he’s standing near Charlie.

“Almost,” the other twin emphasizes.

“It was a scratch,” Theo says, rolling their eyes. “He’s overreacting.”

“I’ve heard you call a literal stab wound a scratch before,” Hermione points out. “I think you might be underreacting.”

Theo shrugs.

“I found them!” the voice of Sirius calls. “They are exactly where you said they were going to be.”

Remus is suddenly there in the clearing, breathing fast. His hair looks wild and his eyes are still softly glowing. He sees the dogpile and immediately heads over.

Harry tries again to sit up better, but he has three people on top of him, so it’s a little bit of a losing battle. His chest is really starting to hurt- his magic isn’t flaring so much any more, but he is definitely bruised from all the shoving down he did.

“Harry is safe, Tom is over there, Theo is safe,” Remus mutters, gaze flickering between where Tom is by Oliver and Percy and back to the dogpile. “…Where’s Merlin, is Merlin alright?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin hisses from where she’s in her satchel.

“She’s fine,” Harry repeats, just in case Remus hadn’t heard. “What happened? Did you chase them all off?”

“As soon as the Mark appeared, the stragglers bolted.” Sirius says, walking up. “We think they might have been scared off by the prospect of actually facing their Lord again. Wusses.”

Sirius had been looking around the clearing, and he’d relaxed minutely as he saw Harry and Theo safe, and relaxed further still when his gaze fell on Tom.

Harry tries once more to sit up, flailing a bit. Maybe this time it’ll work- nope. Damn.

“Kids,” Remus sighs. “What have we talked about, dogpiling on Harry?”

“That it’s the only way to keep him from accidentally killing himself?” Theo suggests.

Remus sighs again, then reaches a hand down. Harry grabs onto it and Remus pulls him up to a standing position easily.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief and rubs at his chest absently. He’ll give his magic another couple hours to cool down, and then he’ll heal himself up. Remus looks at him, worried expression on his face. Harry shoots him a smile, and Remus returns it after just a moment.

“Kids, are my kids-” Arthur says, stumbling into the clearing. He looks around, doing a quick headcount. He sighs in relief when he counts the seven, plus Luna. Then his eyes catch on where Auror Bones is now talking to Percy and the other aurors, and he jogs over.

Remus’s eyes track Arthur for a moment, and then he turns back to Harry and Theo. “What say you we head home? I think- I think we could all use a good night's rest.”

“Yes please,” Harry says.

“I’ve been saying that all day,” Theo agrees.

“Take me with you,” Ron begs. “I like you guys so, so much better than my family.”

Bill and Charlie roll their eyes in the same way at the same time, and the twins burst into fake tears, falling into each other. Ron sticks his tongue out at them.

“I’m coming too,” Hermione decides. “I’ve just got Merlin back- I’m not saying goodbye already.”

Remus runs a hand through his already wild hair. “Yeah, I’ll- I’ll go talk to Arthur.”

Harry exchanges a tired grin with his friends, trying hard not to think about the way the clearing is still lit up in that horrible sickly green color.

Chapter Text

“I just don’t think I’m going to be able to forgive this one, Blaise,” Ron says, shaking his head.

“Well, I’m not going back,” Blaise says, folding her arms and leaning back against the compartment window.

Harry hadn’t thought it previously possible for Blaise to look more comfortable in her own skin, but now that she’s transitioned, all that confidence has increased ten-fold. Harry has also seen Daphne stealing more glances at the other girl than normal, which Harry has filed away as ‘interesting’. Blaise has always been objectively nice to look at, but the summer has only done her favors.

On second thought, this summer in particular has done everyone favors- everyone is a lot taller, for one. Especially Ron, which Harry is trying not to feel bitter about.

Back before Harry had started Hogwarts at all, and Remus had taken Harry to the healers, they’d been told that Harry would probably always be on the shorter side, thanks to a decade of malnutrition as a child. Just another one of those things that the Dursleys took away from Harry, he supposes. Harry firmly pushes his thoughts away from his relatives- he doesn’t want to think about them any more than they deserve, which is not at all.

“So,” Blaise continues, “you’re just going to have to live with it. And him.”

Ron narrows his eyes at the girl. “Fine. Just kill Malfoy, and we’ll call it even.”

“No,” Harry cuts in.

“No,” Theo agrees. “I have dibs.”

“Also no,” Harry says, pointing.

“Besides,” Blaise says, grinning, “you’d have an easier time of it than me, since you’re going to be sharing a dorm with him.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ron says, burying his face into his hands.

“Honestly,” Hermione says, “it won’t be that bad.”

“You can’t believe that,” Ron says, looking up.

“I don’t,” Hermione admits. “I was lying to you, to make you feel better.”

“Can we stop talking about the new dorm arrangements now?” Daphne asks. “We have more pressing things to discuss.”

“Like how to keep Harry f-from the Tournament this year?” Neville asks.

“Like how to keep Harry from the Tournament this year,” Daphne agrees.

“Guys, I’m not going to enter,” Harry protests.

“Oh yeah,” Ron says, rolling his eyes. “Like that’s going to help.”

“Forget keeping Harry out of it,” Hermione says, “I’m already trying to figure out how to get him through it.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Harry says, “but I’m really not worried- even if I do end up competing, I’ll just throw fire at the tasks and everything will be fine.”

His friends don’t look particularly convinced, but that’s not Harry’s problem- he’ll just have to show them. If it even comes to that, anyways- there is a chance he doesn’t have to worry about any of it at all.

“How much research on the animagus process did you all get done?” Theo cuts in suddenly.

Daphne and Blaise share a look that Harry doesn’t even want to begin to interpret. Fortunately, he’s saved from having to do just that by Hermione.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Hermione says, frowning. “There are surprisingly few texts available to order on the subject.”

“I managed to snag some of the books Sirius had me working out of,” Theo says. “If we can’t find or make copies, we might have to pass the books around.”

“How long is it going to take?” Blaise asks. “And also, are we sure we all need to do this?”

“Months. And yes,” Theo says. “You did hear what happened at the Cup, right?”

“Of course,” Blaise responds smoothly. “But I don’t see how turning into an animal would have put a stop to any of it.”

“At the very least,” Hermione pipes up, “it’s good for the element of surprise in a combat situation.”

Both Daphne and Blaise look a little sick at the idea of a combat situation- neither of them have really had that much experience with that sort of thing, not like the others.

“We’re all doing it together,” Harry reminds them. “That’s always been the plan.”

He has a feeling that Blaise and Daphne aren’t going to last much longer without getting dragged into some dangerous situation or another while hanging around Harry- especially once Voldemort rises again.

“Are w-we sure about th-that?” Neville asks, looking hesitant. “I’m not sure I- it’s just, I d-don’t know if-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Theo says. “You’ll be able to do it. Both you and Harry- we’ll make sure of it. No matter what.”

Neville grimaces, but doesn’t push the issue.

“It does seem pretty gray,” Daphne says, apparently deciding to push the issue. Theo levels a glare at her, and she shrugs. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away,” she says.

“Oh, Blaise,” Hermione says, eyes lighting up as she turns to Blaise. “Do you think there are books about animagus that have variations on the process? One that might be skewed lighter, or darker?”

Blaise hums, cocking her head. “It might be worth looking into- although, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find anything through my mum without her getting suspicious.”

Hermione sits back, lips pursed. Daphne, on the other hand, glares at Blaise- who shrugs.

“We can always just ask Sirius for advice,” Harry suggests. “He might have books like that.” Despite his hopeful words, he’s feeling suddenly uneasy- Neville does bring up a pretty good point. And with how volatile Harry’s magic can be… is it really something he should be risking?

“Wait, does he know about this?” Daphne asks, turning to look at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry says, pushing his worries to the side, for now. “Remus too- they made us promise to write to them about our progress at least once a week.”

“And also just in general,” Theo says, brown hair flashing to pink. “For some reason.”

There had been an argument about that- Theo isn’t like Harry or Merlin, he likes to keep to himself. Telling anyone, much less a guardian, all about their week just seems pointless to them. Finally Harry had said he’d write the bulk of the letter and get Theo to do a sentence or two, and that had been a compromise everyone had managed to agree to.

Daphne is watching Theo with a soft expression on her face. He catches her looking, and glares.

“Sorry,” Daphne says, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m just so glad you’re here, and not dead.”

“Agreed,” the others chorus.

Theo settles back, trying to look aloof- but their hair is light blue, so it doesn’t work very well.

The rest of the train ride is relatively uneventful- the Trolley lady comes by and they buy their customary mountain of treats, and at one point Ginny and Luna stop in to say hello.

Finally, the train is pulling into the station and Harry and the others are piling into a carriage.

“I wish there was a way to see the thestrals without having to have seen someone die,” Hermione sighs, looking at the beasts. She can’t see them, Harry knows, but she’s doing a good job of tracking their motion anyways.

“You’re not missing much,” Theo says.

“I like them,” Harry says, trying not to think of the implications of Theo being able to see the thestrals.

“Me too,” Merlin hisses, hanging halfway out the carriage window. “They’re nice.”

“They give m-me the creeps,” Neville says, shuddering. “I don’t think I want to see them.”

“Say, Harry- did you ever get around to looking into why magical creatures like you so much?” Ron asks.

Harry shakes his head. It’s only been a couple days, and what with everything that happened at the Cup- he just hasn’t had the time. Ron frowns.

“I thought about asking Kreacher,” Theo puts in, and Harry turns to them in surprise.

“Why didn’t you?” Daphne asks, clearly unimpressed. Theo just looks at her.

Well, Theo doesn’t need to answer her, as Harry actually has a pretty good idea as to why: “We don’t see Kreacher very much- he likes to stay at Grimmauld. He says he’s allergic to Remus.”

“That makes sense,” Blaise hums.

“What?” Harry asks.

Blaise looks at Harry like he’s stupid, then her face clears and she sighs tiredly. “Britain is the bane of magical theory existence,” she decides. “House Elves are dark creatures. Or- well, we’re not totally sure what they are, but they seem to prefer dark magic for whatever reason. Werewolves are technically light creatures, so- well, being allergic would make sense. Probably.”

“Okay,” Hermione says, slowly. “So it sort of sounds like you also don’t really know what’s going on there.”

Daphne snorts. Blaise, on the other hand, glares. “Elves are private. At least I know some of the theory. I’d like to see you do better.”

Hermione puffs up. “Maybe I will, since apparently it’s not as simple as you made it out to be.”

“It’s called theory for a reason,” Blaise says, arching an eyebrow. “Of course it’s not as simple as I made it out to be. I’d have thought you of all people would know better than that.”

Hermione deflates, now. “I meant to look into it,” she admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I just… there’s so much to learn. About everything, I mean.”

“Well,” Blaise says, clearly softening. “If you want, I can have my mother send me some of the books she has on the subject. That won’t be suspicious, at least.”

“Please do,” Daphne interrupts. “I’m sick of being the only person who will talk theory with Blaise.”

Blaise grins at the other girl. “You love it and you know it, too.”

Daphne shoulders into her. “Do not,” she says, but it’s lacking any heat.

“Brilliant. None of that answered any of my questions,” Ron says.

Harry sighs. “It’s probably just that I run into a lot of dark magical creatures. Unicorns don’t like me, and they’re light creatures.”

“Except for how Veelas are light,” Hermione says. “And I don’t know if you recall, but she was extremely interested in your magic.”

“Veelas are light in the same way Elves are dark- we just don't know very much about them,” Blaise says, cocking her head. Then she leans forward, eyes glittering with mirth. “The real question is whether or not Harry was interested back.”

“Come on,” Harry protests, feeling his face flush. “They literally have an allure! And she was gorgeous. Guys, back me up here!”

“I obviously thought so,” Ron says, shrugging.

“I was mostly preoccupied with keeping Ron from plunging to his death to decide on her objective attractiveness or lack thereof,” Theo says.

“Objectively speaking, she was very pretty,” Hermione says. “And fucking terrifying.”

“Aw, Hermione- you're not bothered by Veelas? Parkinson is going to be so sad,” Blaise says, grinning.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I’m still not convinced you’re right about that. But even if you are, Pansy’ll get over it- there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks. “I’m confused. Why does not being bothered by Veelas matter?”

Daphne waves her hand dismissively. “It’s not a hard and fast rule, but for the most part, if you aren’t bothered by a Veela’s charm it’s because you aren’t attracted to women.”

“Oh,” Harry says, sitting back. That makes sense, he supposes. “Wait, but Ron- your dad wasn’t bothered by her.”

Ron pauses, then snorts. “My dad has always said that it’s only ever been my mum for him- he’s never had eyes for anyone else. Guess he wasn’t kidding.”

“Some people are like that,” Blaise agrees.

“Yeah, like I said- it’s not a hard rule or anything,” Daphne says.

“I’d like to meet a Veela some day,” Neville says. “They s-sound interesting.”

Blaise elbows him, waggling her eyebrows. “Interesting, you say?”

Neville rolls his eyes. “Yes. Th-that is what I said, Blaise.”

Blaise leans in towards him and waggles her eyebrows again. Neville shoves her away, laughing.

The carriages crest another hill, and Hogwarts is suddenly in view. Harry smiles- this is the first year they’ve all seven managed to come to school together, and if that’s any indication, this year is going to be a good one- tournament be damned.

Chapter Text

“... which is why they’ve canceled quidditch for the year.”

Oliver will freely admit that he hadn’t been paying attention until that point, but he is without a doubt paying attention now.

“Excuse me?” Oliver says, sitting up straight despite the fact that the cushy loveseat he’s sitting on is doing its damndest to completely envelop around him.

Their flat has been coming along nicely, even despite the cobbled-together look of the place. The living room, for example, is fully unpacked: they have an older looking sofa, the aforementioned loveseat, a slightly chewed-on coffee table, and what feels like eighty bookcases- all filled to bursting. The kitchen is similarly unpacked, with a beat-up table and matching chairs taking up most of the space.

Oliver’s room might be the only room in the whole flat that’s not unpacked, actually. He can’t help it- he keeps getting distracted by other, more important things. Like rereading up on the quidditch statistics for the year 1932. And ‘35. And ‘67. And all of them. All years.

Percy and Tom exchange a tired look, then a narrow-eyed one.

If Oliver had a knut for every time they’d done that in his presence, he’d be as rich as Krum- which is why it baffles Oliver that his two boys don’t think they like each other. Fortunately, they live together, so it’s only a matter of time before they have to admit it to themselves- and maybe even each other.

After all, that’s the whole reason Oliver spent so long looking for a three-bedroom apartment. (Although if he has his way, they won’t need all three bedrooms to stay bedrooms for long.)

“Oliver,” Tom says. “Did you hear the explanation that time?”

Oliver blinks, then shoots Tom a sheepish smile.

“Did you even have to ask?” Percy asks, rolling his eyes. Oliver thinks it’s fondly, though.

Tom sighs, long and loud. “Okay. Third time. Please pay attention. I’m not explaining again.”

Yes he would. Oliver knows he would. Oliver does his best to pay attention anyways, though, because he’s a nice person.

Oliver had asked how their days had gone- Percy’s had been boring ministry stuff, preparing for the tournament, that sort of bureaucratic shit that would have Oliver thinking about chewing glass, but Tom’s day had sounded interesting.

It was the first day of term, and Tom had spent most of it getting his stuff ready- prepping for the year, that sort of thing. But then the feast happened.

Dumbledore had announced the cancellation of quidditch in favor of the Triwizard Tournament (which Oliver now hates with a burning passion, on principle), then introduced the newest Defense teacher- the one that Tom will be working alongside all year.

“Mad-Eye Moody?” Oliver asks. “Really?”

Mad-Eye is legendary- even as a half-blood, Oliver had heard about him. He’d taken out a ridiculous amount of Death Eaters in the war. And, if the stories are to be believed, a good amount of innocent people too. If Dumbledore was the general, Moody was the battering ram.

“Yeah,” Tom says. “I’m not sure how to feel about it- on the one hand, I’ve heard he’s crazy, and I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Who would,” Percy mutters.

“On the other hand,” Tom says, pretending not to hear Percy, “I’ve heard he’s an incredible duelist. I’m sure his practical lessons will be educational, at least.”

“Maybe you’ll get to do some lectures,” Oliver suggests.

Tom shrugs, leaning back into the sofa. “Maybe. I don’t know if that’s something I want- this year is going to be hard enough, what with all the ‘keeping Harry alive’ I’ll be doing.”

“Percy will be there for some of that,” Oliver says. “He’ll help.”

Percy and Tom share (yet another) look, then nod at Oliver.

“That’s… true,” Tom agrees.

“That is a goal you could say we share,” Percy adds. “Allegedly.”

“Wait, are we done pretending you like me?” Tom asks, turning to Percy. “Already? Because we just signed the lease two days ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percy says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never pretended to like you.”

“Exactly right,” Oliver says. “There’s nothing pretend about it- we like you loads, Tom!”

“...right,” Percy says.

“Fine by me,” Tom says.

Oliver grins. Even though he can’t wait for the day they admit to actually being friends, he can’t say that this isn’t also extremely entertaining.

“Say,” Tom says, turning to Percy. “Have you heard anything from a House Elf lately?”

Percy gets a confused look on his face, but as he opens his mouth to respond, someone says: “Lord Weasley doesn’t need to hear from Winky for Winky to do her job.”

Percy stares at the Elf (who has perched herself on the windowsill) in shock, mouth still open. Oliver looks between the Elf, Percy, and a smug Tom. He’s not sure what’s going on- but he is glad that it seems like Tom managed to help that Elf out after all.

“I thought it was odd that the unpacking got done without any of us actually unpacking,” Tom says, nodding.

“Lord Weasley?” Percy finally gets out. Winky rolls her eyes and vanishes without a sound. “What?”

“Congrats,” Tom says, blandly. “Wizengamot meets on the first Tuesday of every month, which means you have a whole month to figure this stuff out. Good luck, Lord Weasley.”

Percy gets the look in his eye that means he’s seriously considering punching Tom, so Oliver decides it’s time to step in. He knows they like each other, and will be actual friends someday, but- well. His idiots definitely need some help in that respect, and Oliver is more than happy to lend a hand.

“Wow, this is amazing, Perce! Think of the doors this is going to open- if you need any help figuring it out, I’ll bet Remus and Sirius would love to help.”

Percy looks at Oliver blankly for a second, then clears his throat and nods, standing up abruptly. “Right- yes, good. I’ll, er, go write them now, why don’t I?”

“How was your day?” Tom asks, turning to Oliver.

“Huh? Oh,” Oliver says, taking his eyes off of Percy as he heads into the other room. “Great- I had my first shift, and I think it went alright.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Just alright?”

Oliver shrugs. “I think I’ll like it once I get the hang of it- but I’m not so sure the owner likes me.”

Tom snorts, which has Oliver confused. “It’s just- I don’t think it’s possible for someone to not like you,” Tom elaborates, then pauses, a conflicted expression flashing over his face.

Oliver feels a huge grin spread across his face. If he heard right, Tom had accidentally admitted to liking Oliver- even if Tom himself hadn’t meant to do so, or believes it himself. Regardless, it’s progress.

“He did hire me,” Oliver says instead of addressing Tom’s slip. “So he can stand me, at least.”

“Why do you think he doesn’t like you?” Tom asks.

“Well,” Oliver says, thinking back on his day. “He sat me down and told me to stop being so nice, so I guess that’s not him not liking me so much as-”

“Wait, sorry- where do you work again?” Tom cuts in, looking a bit baffled.

“Hog’s Head,” Oliver says.

“Ah,” Tom says, face clearing. “Yes. I see why that would be a concern.”

“I don’t,” Oliver says glumly. “It sounded like he wanted me to be less personable so people wouldn’t want to come back- but that doesn’t make any sense. It’s a nice place!”

Tom gives him a disbelieving look.

“Well, it could be,” Oliver elaborates. “With some cleaning. And a reparo or two. Or five.”

“The owner- the owner is Aberforth still, right?” Tom asks. Oliver nods. “Right, well- if the place is too nice, the Hog’s Head will stop being a shady place for shady folk to hang around- and that’s the demographic Aberforth is trying to appeal to.”

“I don’t get it,” Oliver says again. “But I told him I’d do my best, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Tom shrugs. “Look on the bright side- someday you’ll be captain of some quidditch team and a bludger will get you in the head just badly enough and you won’t have to worry about anything ever again.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Oliver says, smiling softly at the other man.

Tom gets a slightly queasy look on his face and stands up. “I’m going to bed.”

Oliver sighs as he watches Tom go. And there’s the other reason that he wanted Tom and Percy to move in with him.

Oliver tries not to be too obvious about his feelings towards Tom, because like Percy, Tom is prone to being scared off by sincerity. But then Tom goes and drops his mask around Oliver, and Oliver can’t help it! He just thinks Tom is so- well, he’s a bit murder-y and definitely hiding something, but those cheekbones more than make up for that.

Percy thinks so too- Oliver knows he does, because he’s heard Percy ranting about how easy it is for Tom to get people to trust him simply because of his face. Honestly- it’s like Percy can’t hear himself talk.

Then again, it’s been four years since Percy fell in love with Oliver, and Percy still hasn’t picked up on that fact. It is entirely possible that Percy might just be doomed to being oblivious his whole life.

Ah well, if Percy doesn’t figure it out after another year or two of living with Oliver, then Oliver will just have to sit him down and tell him.

Tom will likely take a little longer than that, even- unless something drastic happens. That’s fine, though- Oliver is more than willing to play the long game. Everyone knows long games are the best.

And Oliver deserves nothing if not the best.

Chapter Text

“Yes! Yes!” Harry cheers, hopping up to his feet. “Holy shit!”

“Language, Mister Potter,” Pomfrey laughs, rolling her sleeve back down over her freshly healed cut.

“I did it! Thank you!” Harry says. He’s grinning so hard that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop.

“I knew you could do it,” Merlin hisses. “So did Pomfrey. You’re the only one surprised here.”

Harry doesn’t bother responding- he just turns his head and plops a kiss on top of Merlin’s scaly head. Merlin’s tongue flickers in annoyance, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

“What did it feel like?” Pomfrey asks, still smiling widely.

Harry sits back down on his seat. “Like a mix between healing myself and unraveling spells on other people.”

Pomfrey laughs again. “Well, that about sums it up- although I was looking for more specifics.”

“Well,” Harry says, thinking. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I could feel the spell that created the cut, but it didn’t snag so badly.”

Pomfrey nods. “We’ll focus on simple injuries like this for the next little while- but at some point, I’ll start having you take spells and hexes off of me without a physical injury attached.”

“Like what I did for Ron in second year?” Harry asks.

Pomfrey nods. “It’s technically a subsection of healing- and, as per usual, you’ve gone completely out of order.”

“Whoops,” Harry says, although he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t think the high of successfully healing a person who isn’t himself is going to wear off anytime soon.

Ever since the end of last year, when his magic had actually helped him, had done what he’d asked and then some, and most importantly of all- hadn’t killed anyone; Harry has been more thoughtful as to the nature of his magic. Pomfrey had been telling him the whole time that his magic is an extension of himself. Harry’s still not sure he totally believes that, but he does think his magic wants the same sorts of things he does.

Even when his magic does horrible things, like kills a person, it still manages to do it in a way that resolves whatever problem Harry is dealing with- Merlin’s theory on it being a manifestation of his nervous system might really have merit. Or- if not that, then it at the very least wants Harry to be safe.

Of course, Harry is still going to be keeping a tight hold on his magic, and practicing in the Room like he’d been doing since last year, but he thinks- he really thinks that he and his magic have come to an actual understanding this time.

Finally, his magic is going to be useful.

It’s just, Harry thinks only a couple of hours later, he hadn’t anticipated it being useful so soon.

Harry and his friends had been walking to class when they’d run into Malfoy and his lot. Insults had been exchanged between Harry and Malfoy, threatening looks had been traded between the others- all in all, it had been pretty par for the course.

And then Harry had turned his back, Malfoy had allegedly drawn his wand, and Moody had elected to take matters into his own hands.

And all at once, Moody is staring at Harry with a considering expression; Theo and Ron look delighted, although Ron is trying his best not to; Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Hermione, Daphne, Neville, and even Blaise are all looking at Moody with horrified expressions on their faces; and Harry himself is holding his hand outstretched towards-

Towards a pale-faced and slightly shaky Malfoy, who’d only seconds ago been twisting frantically in the air as a little white animal of some kind- Harry isn’t sure what it was, he’d unraveled Moody’s spell too fast.

“What is going on?” McGonagall asks brusquely, hurrying up to the scene.

“Professor Moody-” Hermione starts.

“Nothing,” Malfoy spits.

“I agree with Malfoy,” Theo says, their hair developing some dark purple streaks. Ron snorts, then looks a little guilty about it. It's only been a couple days with the new dorm arrangements and it is not going very well.

“I was teaching the boy a lesson,” Moody says.

“Lesson?” Pansy asks, eyes glinting in rage. “You performed complete human transfiguration on a student.”

McGonagall’s face goes pale, then red. “We do not,” she starts, “ever-”

Moody narrows his eyes. “Well then- what do we do?”

“This,” McGonagall says, nostrils flaring, “is a school. This is not a prison, or a crime scene- we detract points, or assign detentions, or speak with their Head of House-”

“Fine then,” Moody growls. “Malfoy, with me- we’re going to talk to Snape.”

Malfoy pales even more, and Pansy looks just about ready to tear a new one into Moody herself, when McGonagall cuts in.

“I don’t think so. We,” McGonagall says, gesturing to herself and Moody, “are going to talk with Albus. Mister Malfoy, you need to get to the infirmary. Mister Potter, you’d better go too- I assume you had something to do with canceling the spell?”

Harry nods, trying not to look over at the furious Malfoy.

“Go,” McGonagall says, before jerking her head for Moody to follow her and turning to leave. “The rest of you- class.”

Moody levels one last considering look at Harry before turning and following the Professor.

The others do as McGonagall said as well, after waving goodbye to Harry (or, in the case of Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy). Merlin elects to go with Hermione, which Harry both understands and also resents- Malfoy makes Merlin sad because he’s such a dick, but Harry doesn’t want to be left alone with Malfoy.

Pansy is the last to go, obviously loath to leave her friend behind, but Malfoy waves her off. Harry catches her eye and nods, almost imperceptibly- hoping to convey that Malfoy is in good hands, whether either of them like it or not. This must be enough for her, because she turns and hurries off to class.

“Well,” Harry says. “Let’s go.”

“I’m fine,” Malfoy says, climbing to his feet. He looks like he’s seconds away from falling over- in fact, he’s not-so-casually leaning against a wall to keep himself up.

“Okay,” Harry says, shrugging. “Don’t come crying to me when you realize one of your lungs is the size of a squirrel's the hard way.”

Malfoy levels a really very impressive glare at Harry.

“Can you walk?” Harry asks, ignoring the glare.

“Yes,” Malfoy says. He doesn’t move.

“Well,” Harry says. “Let’s see, then.”

Malfoy grits his teeth, then pushes off the wall and takes a step. He promptly collapses to the floor.

Or, he would’ve if Harry hadn’t already been there to support him.

Harry had very briefly considered letting Malfoy fall, but decided against it- what if Harry’s magic had accidentally made it so all of Malfoy’s bones were fractured, and one fall caused them all to shatter into a thousand pieces?

That would be bad, is what. Well- objectively bad, anyways.

“Get off me,” Malfoy says, trying to shove Harry off.

“No,” Harry grunts. “The sooner we get to the Hospital Wing, the sooner this is over with and I can go back to class.”

Harry starts to half carry, half drag Malfoy to the Wing.

“You could try to walk,” Harry gasps out after a moment.

Malfoy lets out an angry huff but starts limping alongside Harry. They walk in painfully awkward silence for a long minute, before Malfoy says:

“Why do you always have to do that?”

“What?” Harry says. This is not how he wanted to spend one of his first days back to Hogwarts.

“Help,” Malfoy spits.

This catches Harry off guard. “You- want me to stop helping people?”

“I want you,” Malfoy says, “to stop helping me.”

“You would have died!” Harry exclaims, knowing exactly what it is Malfoy is referring to- the Buckbeak incident. He just can’t believe they’re still having this fight. Shouldn’t they have moved on by now? To bigger, better fights?

“Better I die at the hand of a hippogriff than my whole family dying at the hands of the Dark Lord because he thinks we stood with you,” Malfoy snaps. “You get that he’s coming back, don’t you? It’s only a matter of time. You are a death sentence.”

“Well, I’m not standing by to let you die,” Harry says, feeling his magic flare in his chest at Malfoy’s words. It’s not like he’s wrong, in any case. “Not anyone. I’m not apologizing for that. If you don’t want me helping you, stop getting into situations around me!”

Malfoy’s cheeks go pink, but he doesn’t say anything. Harry gets the idea that Malfoy would like very much to hex Harry in the face, but wouldn’t be able to do so without falling over.

“Besides,” Harry continues, “you’re one to talk- what the hell was that, in the forest?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Malfoy hisses.

Harry glances over at the boy again, feeling distinctly unimpressed.

“Yes, you do,” Harry says, once he realizes Malfoy really isn’t going to respond beyond that. “If you don’t want me helping you, maybe start with not helping me back?”

“What would you have had me do?” Malfoy asks. “Just stand by and watch you die?”

Harry and Malfoy walk in silence for a couple seconds.

“So-” Harry starts.

“Shut up,” Malfoy mutters, face red.

“But, like, you get-”

“I said shut up,” Malfoy grits out.

The quiet descends again, the only sound in the otherwise empty halls being the sound of Malfoy shuffling along.

Harry decides to try one more time. “You’re being a hypocrite. Is my point.”

“Yes! I get it! Thank you!”

Has the Hospital Wing always been this far from the Great Hall?

“By the way,” Harry starts. “Buckbeak. I know it was you. How’d you do it? Did you recruit Parkinson?”

Malfoy lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You honestly think I’m going to tell you that? Fuck off.”

Harry hums. He hadn't actually thought Malfoy would tell him, but at least he isn't pretending it wasn't him any longer.

“Is he safe?”

Malfoy is quiet for twice as long. “Yes,” he mutters.

They walk the rest of the way to the Hospital Wing in silence.

Chapter Text

Cedric

“I don’t want you to enter,” Cedric’s father says, expression worried.

“I’m an adult,” Cedric says again, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s dangerous,” Cedric’s mother tries.

“Life is dangerous,” Cedric says, smiling softly into the fireplace. “I probably won’t even get in- but even if I do, I’m strong. And they’ve updated the safety requirements. Think about what that prize money could do for me, for my future!”

“Oh, dear,” his mother says, looking nervous.

“Be so safe,” his father says.

“I will be,” Cedric says, feeling his smile widen. “Love you.”

“We love you too, son,” his father says.

The floo connection is cut off, and Cedric turns to face his fellow students, grinning widely.

“Well,” he starts. “You heard them- I’m entering!”

The common room bursts into cheers.

“Ced, you idiot- you’re an adult,” Roland says. “You can enter without their permission.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Cedric says, sniffing.

Then he exchanges another smile with the other boy, and they burst into laughter.

“Drinks on us!” Cedric yells, turning to look at the others.

Another cheer.

“Drinks on you,” Roland mutters.

“Drinks on me!” Cedric yells.

Fleur

Fleur blows a strand of hair out of her face.

“I am cutting it,” she says, for what feels like the fifth time that day.

“No,” Feiyu says, like he’s said every other time. “That would be a crime.”

“It would not be,” Fleur says, rolling her eyes. “I do not think you know what a crime is.”

“You will lose half of your admirers,” Feiyu says, and Fleur knows she has won- if Feiyu is resorting to that argument, he has run out of all others.

“I will survive the loss of sex,” Fleur says. She blows another strand of hair out of her eyes as she puts the finishing touch on her masterpiece. “It is prudent- it will otherwise just get in the way during the tournament.”

Feiyu sighs. “I will help you cut it, then,” he says.

Fleur smiles up at her friend. She’s just about to have him pull her up when-

“Miss Delacour, Mister Jiāng- is that you? What in the blazes do you think you are doing?”

“Ah shit,” Fleur mutters. Headmistress Maxime.

Feiyu pulls Fleur up in one easy motion and the two dash off, leaving behind the still-drying- well, Fleur would call it a mural, but most would consider it a graffitied caricature of their history instructor. Who is on fire. And covered in eggs.

“Get back here!”

Fleur elbows Feiyu as they run, paying their headmistress no mind. “Think the message gets across?”

Feiyu snorts. “Fleur, you wrote ‘if you do not fire him, we will!’ under the painting. I think the message reads.”

Fleur grins, then turns her attention fully on running.

Viktor

“I don’t want to ask this of you,” Igor Karkaroff starts, steepling his shaking hands over his desk. He is always shaking.

“But you are going to,” Viktor says, leaning back and folding his arms. “I do not want to do this. I want to focus on school.”

Igor sighs and rubs his eyes, leaning forward in his chair. “Please, Viktor.”

Viktor looks up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that he feels gathering in his eyes.

“Why is it always me?” Viktor asks, even though he knows it is an unanswerable question.

“You have the best shot at surviving this, this tournament,” Igor says. “I’m sorry. I will not force you. But if not you, then it will be someone else- Maya, maybe, or Dierdre. But you are the strongest. You would be helping to protect your fellow students.”

“Why is Britain doing this?” Viktor asks. “I still don’t understand. The tournament- it is dangerous, and we are students. Does England not care for its children?”

They say there are precautions put into place, an age limit- but Viktor has done the research. Precautions or not, this is not a safe endeavor they are undertaking. And a seventeen-year-old is hardly an adult, not in any way that really matters. Viktor thinks so, anyway.

“I do not know,” Igor sighs. “There is precedent. A history. That is all the explanation I have for you.”

“I don’t want to,” Viktor says, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Igor says.

“But I will,” Viktor continues.

“I know,” Igor repeats.

Fred

“You stopped by the owlery earlier- anything yet?”

“I told you,” George says from where he’s sitting on his bed, sounding a bit frustrated, “that I’ll tell you the second he gets back to us. Have I told you anything yet? No. No I haven’t. So relax.”

Fred stops pacing just long enough to kick the dorm room wall, hard.

“Ow,” George says for him.

“It didn’t hurt,” Fred says, waving him off.

“There’s no way that didn’t hurt,” George says.

Fred doesn’t bother with a response, just continues to pace, trying not to limp. Alright, so it had hurt. Whatever. Fred has bigger things to worry about right now- like why Bagman hasn’t responded to a single one of their letters.

“What if we don’t get the money back?” George asks suddenly.

“I don’t care about the money,” Fred snaps. “I just want Bagman to get what’s coming to him.”

“Well, I care about the money!” George says, ears going red. “Come on, Fred- that was everything we’ve ever saved. Without it, we’ll never get our business off the ground. You know this.”

Fred closes his eyes and tries to breath through the suffocating feeling of rage that threatens to choke his logical thinking.

“Sorry,” he says, then breathes in and out again. “Sorry. The money. Right. Well, we’ll just have to get it back another way.”

“How?” George asks, flopping back onto the bed. “That was a lot of money, Freddie!”

“Easy,” Fred says, feeling a grin spread across his face despite the undercurrent of rage that’s still flowing through his veins. “We enter the tournament.”

George props himself up on his elbows, a considering look on his face. “The prize money,” he says.

“Thousand galleons- more than makes up for the losses,” Fred agrees.

“We’ll need to figure out a way around the age-limit,” George muses.

“We have two months to think of something,” Fred says. “I’m sure we can do it.”

“Do you think the cup’ll select one of us?”

“I would,” Fred says, waving George off.

“Me too,” George admits. “We’re really good.”

“We’re really good,” Fred says.

“Great,” Lee says from where he’s laying on his bed. “Wonderful. Love to hear it. Can you please go the fuck to bed? It’s four in the morning.”

Barty

Barty wipes his sweating palms on his robes. He’s shaking, but he’s always shaking at least a little.

Who knew- a decade of exposure to the imperius curse apparently makes you just as shaky as crucio does. Maybe it makes you crazy, too. Although… it would be a different sort of crazy than crucio turns a person- and Barty would know.

(Unfortunately he hadn’t the time to write up the actual findings of his experiment before he’d been carted off to Azkaban with the others- making the Longbottom’s ((albeit unwilling)) sacrifice a completely moot point. For some reason that argument hadn’t swayed the aurors.)

That’s just another thing to look into later, Barty supposes. Right now, he has other things to worry about. Namely, getting a jump on the most paranoid man to currently walk the face of the planet, while he’s employed at Hogwarts, one of the most magically fortified places in the world.

Easy.

Barty lets out a slow breath, slipping his hand into his (non-magical) satchel. It has everything he’s going to need for this job, and then some.

It’s nearly one in the morning, and Moody is bound to come out of the Hog’s Head (which seems uncharacteristically busy) any moment now. According to Barty’s research, the man doesn’t actually drink, he just likes to pretend so he can watch the other patrons. It’s something of a habit of his, and just because he works as a Professor now doesn’t mean he’s dropped it.

Once an auror, always an auror, Barty supposes.

As he’d thought, Moody limps out of the bar, muttering nonsense to himself. Barty purses his lips- laying it on a little thick, there.

Moody stalks past the alley Barty is holed up in. Barty holds his breath, but the man doesn’t seem to see him- apparently, polyjuicing as a muggle is enough to fool the man’s magical signature detecting eye. Barty had been pretty sure about that one, but not positive- it’s nice to have a confirmation.

Barty’s hand closes around his prize just as Moody passes by the alley, and he smiles to himself as he slowly and silently withdraws it from the bag. Thanks to that fucking eye, Barty can’t use any magical means to incapacitate the man.

Which means this tranquilizer gun is going to come in real handy.

Barty smoothly raises the little pistol up, grimacing at his shaky hands. Fortunately, Moody is only ten or so feet away, and Barty has practiced long and hard to be able to make this shot.

If he fails here, he fails his Lord- and that isn’t an option. Who else is going to give Barty the funding he needs for his projects? No one else has the appreciation for the need of scientific advancement in a magical community, or the need to integrate muggle ideas into wixen culture- not like Lord Voldemort does, not like Barty does.

It’s a shame, because if Barty had been given funding by, say, the auror department, maybe he could have warned them about things like tranqs and Moody wouldn’t be collapsing to the ground right now, hand on his neck and remaining eye bulging.

Ah well- it’s hardly Barty’s fault that wixen are determined to live in the past. At least Barty is doing his part to remedy that. And once his Lord succeeds, he’s going to make sure that their world is dragged into the future. Whether they like it or not.

Chapter Text

“Are we worried about Defense?” Hermione asks as they hurry through the halls.

“I’m not worried,” Harry says, scratching Merlin’s scales, “but I am not optimistic. There’s no way he’s as good as Remus.”

“The bar is really high,” Hermione agrees. “And that thing with Malfoy was messed up.”

“True- but he probably won’t b-be worse than Lockhart, at least,” Neville says. “Or D-Dumbledore.”

Harry, Hermione, and Neville all shudder, then laugh.

“Neville, Harry-” one of the twins says, stepping out of nowhere. He looks uncharacteristically somber.

Harry and the other two stop in their tracks. Merlin’s tongue flickers.

“George,” she hisses helpfully. Harry nods, then turns to look at the twin.

“What’s up?” Harry asks.

George winces, then says, “I can’t be sure, but I know the Ravenclaw fourth-years just had Moody, and-” he pauses, and Harry’s heart sinks.

“That bad?” Hermione asks, pursing her lips.

“They loved it,” George says, shaking his head. “And when me and Fred had his class, it was… it was really interesting. Fun, too- I was thinking he’d be really good, actually.”

“Well, then what’s the big deal?” Hermione asks, folding her arms.

George sighs. “Fourth year class is on the unforgivables.”

Harry feels his stomach swoop. Something about how George said it-

Neville narrows his eyes. “That’s not all,” he says. Obviously he’d thought the same thing Harry had.

“He demonstrates them. On spiders,” George says, absently twirling his wand between his fingers. “All three of them.”

“Oh,” Hermione says.

Neville has gone pale. Harry feels a bit sick- he thinks back to the green flash of light that still haunts his nightmares.

“Look, I gotta go- I just thought I’d give you a heads up,” George says, looking over his shoulder.

“Thanks, George,” Hermione says.

George nods, then disappears as quickly as he’d appeared.

“So,” Harry says, turning to the others. His stomach is flipping. “Wanna skip?”

Neville looks over at him. “Do you?”

Harry hesitates, then shakes his head. If he can sit through an entire year of classes with Quirrell, then he can do one lesson on the unforgivables. “But I would if you wanted to.”

Neville lets out a shaky sigh, but there’s resolve hardening in his eyes. “No- it’s b-better to know what you're dealing with then to j-just… stay scared of the unknown. And if th-the others have been impressed with him, then there’s probably s-something to learn.”

Hermione gets an expression of fierce pride on her face, and Harry nods.

“Let's go, then,” he says.

After that, they get to the Defense room in what feels like no time at all, then take their usual seats nearer the back.

Because Harry, Neville, and Merlin are friends with Hermione, they arrive a bit early- the only other student already there is Sally-Anne.

Tom is there too, but he doesn’t even look up from the papers he’s grading as Harry and his friends enter. He has dark circles under his eyes, and Harry winces- he knows Tom has been stressing about this new job, but it looks like the stress is hitting him even harder than Harry thought it would.

Harry busies himself by pulling out some parchment and a self-inking quill, as well as the assigned textbook. So far, it’s been alright. Pretty standard, not too revolutionary- a bit of an older edition, but better than Quirrell’s choice of book; at least by a little. (It’s not actually possible to have worse textbooks than whatever Lockhart had going on.)

Harry can’t help but jump as the door suddenly slams open and a muttering Professor Moody comes stalking into class. He takes a swig from his flask- according to Pansy, there’s already a rumor going around that it's firewhiskey, but Harry is hard pressed to believe that that would fly, even with Hogwarts history of terrible Defense Professors.

It’s probably a medical thing- although Harry doesn’t remember seeing Moody drinking out of a flask the first time he met the man, so it must be a newer medical thing.

On second thought, Moody hadn’t even had it during the feast, or before he’d done that transfiguration on Malfoy. The rumors had started up just a day later than that, though- so he’d had it at that point, at least. Possibly because of it, even. Maybe it’s an anger-management… potion? Potion of liquid impulse control?

Whatever, it’s not really Harry’s business, and he doesn’t really care that much. Just so long as Moody doesn’t do that sort of thing again: after three years, Harry is beyond sick of having to clean up his Professors’ mistakes. (Except for Remus- Harry refuses to blame Remus for any of last year.)

“You two- Potter, Longbottom,” Moody says, sitting down heavily at his desk. “Come here for a minute.”

Harry and Neville exchange a look, then get up from their seats. Harry feels dread pooling in his gut- he hates being singled out. It almost never ends well.

Neville gets to the desk first, with Harry following shortly behind. Merlin is coiled around his shoulders and neck, tongue flicking and red eyes alert- she’s obviously on guard here, which Harry appreciates.

“You- snake. Merlin.” Moody grunts, jerking his head towards Merlin.

Merlin starts- well, as much as a snake can start. Harry doesn’t blame her, she’s not used to being addressed directly by teachers. But by the sounds of it, Moody has done his research. Harry is begrudgingly impressed.

“You’re more than welcome in class, of course- as far as I’m concerned, you might as well be just another student here. Although,” Moody says, looking over at Harry, “I will ask for you to translate any questions she has-” Moody barks out a loud laugh. “I’m afraid talking to snakes isn’t a part of my repertoire.”

Harry realizes his mouth is open, so he shuts it. “Will do,” he says after a moment.

“I like this one!” Merlin hisses, tongue flickering.

Yeah, that doesn’t surprise Harry in the least. Merlin would like to think she’s a discerning character, but it is not hard to get on her good side.

Moody clears his throat, then leans forward in his chair. His (shaking, for some reason) hands are clasped on the desk in front of him, and his expression goes serious. “Now, on to the matter at hand.” Moody clears his throat again, then nods. “Today’s lesson isn’t going to be an easy one for anyone- and it’s not supposed to be. But for you two in particular- well, I hate to single you out, but I feel like it’d be needlessly cruel not to give you a heads up. I’ll be discussing the unforgivables- and then using spiders to demonstrate them. I ask that you stay for the lesson, because I truly believe that it’s a life-saving one- but if either of you would like to sit out the demonstration, I’ll understand completely. Just get up and go- I won’t say a thing about it.”

That both Harry and Neville have already witnessed at least one of the three unforgivable goes unsaid, but Moody might as well have spelled it out anyways.

“I need you to understand that, regardless of the decision you make, I won’t think any less of you. I know you two are Gryffindors, but that shouldn’t mean you put yourself through pain for the sake of saying you can. Understand?”

Moody takes the time to hold the gaze of both Neville and Harry, breaking off only when they both nod.

“Good lads- and lass,” Moody says, inclining his head at Merlin. “Back to your seats, now- class is about to start.”

Harry and Neville walk back to their seats in silence.

“Well?” Hermione asks as they sit.

“He wanted to give us a heads up,” Harry whispers back. “And introduce himself to Merlin.”

Hermione nods, looking impressed.

Harry isn’t ready to be impressed just yet- Professor Moody seems like a decent enough teacher, but he needs to see the Professor actually teach before he makes any sort of final judgment.

Not long after Harry and Neville have returned to their seats, the rest of the Gryffindors have filed in. The bell rings, and everyone quiets down as they watch Moody with various levels of wariness.

“I’m skipping the introduction bullshit in favor of getting into the lesson,” Moody says.

The class laughs.

“All you need to know is that I’m Professor Moody, or Mad-Eye. That,” Moody says, jerking his thumb over at where Tom is sitting (and still engrossed in his papers), “is Mister Riddle. You know him from last year. Now- who knows what black magic is?”

In retrospect, there had been an undercurrent of noise in the room- shuffling of paper, the squeaking of chairs, tapping of fingers or wands. Now there’s no sound at all.

“Come on, people,” Moody says after a moment.

He’s grinning, and his one eye is alight with- with something. For the first time all day, Harry sees the Moody that had transfigured Malfoy. This man- he’s not entirely sane.

But neither is Sirius, so Harry is hesitant to consider that a mark against the man.

“You’re teenagers- taboo is all you kids ever want to talk about. Black magic. What is it, and why the drastic reaction to its mere mention?”

“Because it’s awful,” Mandy says, lowering her raised hand.

“So’s a lot of life,” Moody counters, folding his arms. “But this topic is something that a lot of people won’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Why?”

“Well, dark magic is bad,” Seamus says, brow furrowed. “So-”

“Is it?” Moody cuts in.

Seamus opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Anyone here been to the Hospital Wing lately?”

Harry feels his eyes widen. Wait, what?

He’d been under the assumption that Moody and Dumbledore were friends. There’s no way Moody is about to try and teach an entire class that dark magic isn’t as evil as they think, right? Remus hadn’t even dared spell it out as obviously as this.

Most if not everyone raises their hands, and Moody says, “well, I have bad news for you: healing is dark magic.”

He then lets out a loud laugh at their expressions.

“Why does everyone say it’s so evil, then?” Lavender asks, lowering her hand and looking dubious.

“Because of the Dark Lord,” Tom cuts in, looking bored. “If Voldemort had been a Light Lord, we'd be taught that light magic is evil, and dark magic is the only ‘moral’ magic.”

Most of Harry’s classmates had flinched at Tom’s use of Voldemort’s name, but Moody- Moody had, for the briefest of seconds, looked furious.

Huh. Maybe Tom is so stressed because Moody doesn’t want a TA at all? Harry scowls to himself. If Moody is being awful to his brother, then Harry doesn’t think he’ll like Defense this year after all.

“What he said,” Moody says, a bit gruffly. Then, he evidently rallies, saying, “now- on the other hand, black magic is at least a little taboo in every magical culture. Does anyone know why?”

No one raises their hands- not even Hermione.

Moody raises an eyebrow.

Harry decides to give it a shot. “Dark magic is about control- does it have something to do with that?”

Moody points and snaps at Harry, a glint in his eyes. “Three points to Gryffindor.” Then, his expression goes a bit thoughtful. “Although, if we really wanted to go into semantics, control is only a part of it-”

Harry sits up, somehow more invested in what Moody has to say than he’d been already. Control is only a part of it? But Blaise said…

Well, she’d said that it was theory, is what she said. Not as simple as she’d made it out to be. Hm.

Fortunately, Moody seems like he’s gearing up to elaborate. Unfortunately, Tom seems to cotton onto this as well. “In the interest of keeping things on track,” Tom cuts in, “maybe we save the lecture for another day?”

“Come on, Tom,” Harry hisses. He gets the feeling he’d really have liked to hear what Moody had to say on the subject- and based on Hermione’s expression, she feels similarly. There’s no way Tom catches the hissing from all the way across the room, but something in Harry’s expression must read because Tom raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

Harry turns back to Moody just in time to catch a begrudging nod being sent Tom’s way, “you might be right, Mister Riddle” - the unsaid ‘this time’ is loud and clear to Harry, but likely not to anyone else - “Dark magic is, for the purpose of this lecture, about control. But then… Control over your magic is a good thing, though- right?”

Hesitant nods from the class all around.

Moody’s smirk widens into a smile. “Alright- the question then, is when does control of magic turn into a bad thing?”

There’s a long silence.

Then, Hermione clears her throat. The class turns as one to look at her.

“Well,” Hermione starts. “If we’re speaking from a strictly moral standpoint- that would be when you try to use your magic to control someone else’s.”

Moody’s grin widens, which contrasts sharply with the fact that Harry feels suddenly very cold. The implications of that, the idea that someone else could simply take over… Harry reflexively grabs onto his magic, reassuring himself that he’s not lost control yet.

“Very good, Miss Granger- and on an incredibly rudimentary basis, that is what we believe black magic is. Although- like most everything else, it isn’t as clear cut as all that. Controlling someone else’s magic isn’t the same as wielding it. Instead, it’s more akin to infection.”

Harry had been beginning to relax with the Professor’s explanation- but that has him grabbing onto his magic all over again. Infection? That sounds worse.

“Infection, Professor? Do you mean- like, my magic could get sick? Permanently?” Mandy asks, raising her hand.

Moody laughs. “If someone is throwing black magic at you, you should be preoccupied with getting out of there alive, not about long-term effects.”

“It’d still be good to know,” Lavender cuts in, folding her arms.

“That it would,” Moody says. “I never said I wasn’t going to answer the question. Would your core get sick? I’m afraid there haven’t been too many studies on the subject- as far as we can tell right now, the answer is yes, but only with enough exposure. At least- if you’re the one being subjected to the black magic.

“The real danger lies with the caster, not the one being casted on. Infection goes both ways- and it’s much easier to infect something that isn’t fighting back.”

Harry looks around the room at his classmates- they look as queasy as he feels. Unbidden, he thinks of Merlin- warning him against rot.

Suddenly, Moody claps- which has everyone jumping, and also has Harry being grateful for the fact that he’s already been holding tight to his magic.

“But! Don’t worry. Because my job is making sure you’re capable of fighting back,” Moody says, smiling around the room with that same borderline-feral grin. “And I’m very good at my job.”

Chapter Text

It’s only been about a week since school started, and already Harry knows Ancient Runes is going to be his least favorite this time around. Usually History just barely manages to snag that honor, but this year they’re getting into the real heavy Rune theory- which is to say that it’s going to be loads of memorizing runes and their many many interactions. At least in History the memorization stuff is a little bit interesting.

Divination is going to be a lot of the same stuff as last year- mindfulness and meditation and journaling and tea and what-not. Harry is actually pretty excited for it, as it’s a nice break from the usual hassle of everything else that’s always going on. Although- Hermione still doesn’t seem like the biggest fan of it.

Astronomy, Charms, Transfiguration- those are all going to be more of the same as ever. Potions, too- although instead of being a good or neutral thing, it’s just still going to be a class that Harry will need to suffer through. Hopefully this year isn’t the year Hermione finally loses patience with him or Neville. Or Pansy, either- she helps Harry through a lot more potions essays than she’d ever willingly admit.

Herbology is still just a lecture a week, and Harry thinks that will be fine. Healing, on the other hand, is going to be amazing now that he can actually heal. Harry is really looking forward to learning all sorts of techniques.

Care of Magical Creatures is likely going to be Harry’s second favorite class (after Healing)- he hadn’t really realized it until he’d taken the class, but he thinks he might really like animals. Or- at least, birds and reptiles. Harry doesn’t get on as well with the animals that aren’t one of those two things, but he still finds them interesting enough.

Harry sighs as he brings his attention back to his Ancient Runes (boring) homework (so boring). Just as he’s about to give up on the whole thing and leave the library completely, he hears someone moving a chair back across from him.

Harry looks up to see Hermione sit heavily down in the library chair, letting out a huge sigh as she does.

“Er,” Harry says, looking over at the defeated looking girl.

Harry and Hermione have a free period, but the Slytherins have class, and Neville is in Muggle Studies. Merlin is also off, antagonizing the squid with Ginny- which means Harry was sitting alone at their usual table. Harry’s glad Hermione is here now- he was getting a bit lonely.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asks.

Hermione wordlessly drops an ink-soaked notebook onto the table with a wet smacking sound. It looks like someone dunked it in a bucket of the stuff.

“Er,” Harry says again.

“This,” Hermione says, “is all that’s left of my Elf research. And before you ask, the cleaning charms aren’t working. None of them- and I’ve given pretty much all of them a go.”

“Hang on,” Harry says, poking at the offending notebook with a quill. It squelches, and he grimaces. “Why are you researching Elves?”

Hermione waves a hand. “Blaise said that thing about Elves being dark, and I thought that might be a good place to start my research on magic theory. At least, I thought so until I actually started looking into Elves specifically. There’s next to nothing, Harry! How is that possible?”

“Merlin says they’re pretty private,” Harry hedges. “I don’t think they like… being researched.”

Hermione sighs. “Well, that explains why all my research keeps getting destroyed.”

“Um, how many times-”

“Four,” Hermione says glumly. “This is the latest attempt- at least it’s not gravy this time. Or staples.”

Harry has to suppress a laugh- Hermione really doesn’t like being told what she can and cannot know, so it’s not surprising at all that she hadn’t given up after the second time. Hermione should probably take the hint and drop the subject.

“What have you learned so far?” Harry asks, curious despite himself.

So maybe he also doesn’t like being told what he can and cannot know.

Hermione sits up a little straighter, obviously about to enter ‘lecture mode’.

“Well,” she starts. “We have four here at Hogwarts- one to manage each house, I suspect. Most major Pureblood families have one too, as well as some minor ones- although those situations seem to be of a different nature. Like with Winky and Crouch, I mean. Which is why he could fire her at all- she really was just… employed.”

“No, wait,” Harry says, jumping in. “I thought Elves didn’t need money. What-”

“I have no idea,” Hermione says, sounding aggravated. “I don’t know what she was paid with, or why she’d want to work for someone like Crouch- I cannot emphasize enough how few books there are on the subject. Everything I know is from direct observation. I’m not completely sure, but I think muggles might have more information on the subject than wixen do.”

“Tom might know something,” Harry suggests. “If not on the Elves, then on magic theory in general. It might be worth asking him for advice.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione says, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. “ Tom- well…”

“What about him?” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes. He feels suddenly on guard, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

“It’s just, the end of last year, with the unforgivable, I don’t-”

“I mean, it worked,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “You can’t say it didn’t work.”

“I know it worked, Harry, I was there,” Hermione says. “But you heard Moody’s lesson, unforgivables are- they’re called unforgivables for a reason. To do that to another person, even just for a second- to infect their magical core? It’s awful.”

“I guess I just can’t bring myself to feel sorry for the man that betrayed and all but murdered my parents,” Harry says, trying in vain to smother the anger welling up inside of him.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” Hermione says. It’s her turn to cross her arms. “I just worry, is all.”

“Well, don’t,” Harry snaps.

Hermione purses her lips, and Harry slumps into his chair, feeling suddenly exhausted. He doesn't want to fight with any of his friends. They did that enough last year.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I can understand why you’d be concerned.”

Hermione breathes out through her nose, then slumps as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says. “Tom isn’t a bad person just for using an unforgivable, and I really am glad he did what he did.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I’d cast an unforgivable to save you or any of my friends.”

Then a bolt of realization has him shooting up in his chair. “Oh hell. I did,” Harry says, stomach lurching. “The troll- I told it to sleep and Merlin said my magic started smelling rotten. I think a rotten smell means black magic.”

“Oh my god,” Hermione says, eyes wide. “At eleven?”

“Well I didn’t mean to,” Harry huffs, settling back and trying not to think about the implications of that. (Of being able to cast a successful unforgivable, accidentally, on a mountain troll, at eleven years old- wait, no, he wasn’t thinking about it. Right.)

“Obviously,” Hermione says, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Just- don’t do it again.”

“I already told Merlin I wouldn’t,” Harry says, then pauses. “Unless it meant protecting one of you guys.”

“Or anyone else,” Hermione says tiredly.

“Or anyone else,” Harry agrees.

“I guess I can’t blame you,” Hermione says. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same.”

“I think I’m going to talk to Tom,” Harry says, making his mind up. “About the Elves and about the unforgivable. Although- I don’t think Remus or Sirius have brought it up, so it’s probably not as big of a deal-”

“Harry,” Hermione starts, brow furrowed. “I don’t think Remus even saw, and from what I’ve read, the Black family is- they were like the Notts. Of course Sirius doesn’t think an unforgivable is a big deal. He’s probably been under them before- a lot of times. He even said he practiced them himself, remember?”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling abruptly queasy. “Right.”

“Speaking of,” Hermione continues, “Theo- has there been any trouble with his father?”

Harry shakes his head. “According to Sirius and Remus, Senior hasn’t been attending the Wizengamot sessions.”

“Hm,” Hermione says, looking conflicted.

Harry feels similarly- on the one hand, the man’s absence has allowed for Sirius to formally announce Theo as his heir without any backlash at all. No one but Lord Nott would be willing to stand against Lord Black in the matter of announcing an heir.

(Theo made it very clear that, should Harry want it, they’d step aside and let Harry be heir again. Harry doesn’t. In fact, Harry would be lying if he said he isn’t relieved that he isn’t heir to the Black family name anymore- now he just needs to get rid of the Slytherin heirship and he’ll be that much closer to being just Harry again.

Sirius, on the other hand, tried to convince both Theo and Harry that really they’d be better off ending the family altogether, ditching the concept of heirship at all. No one was impressed- least of all Kreacher, who appeared right at that instant to yell at Sirius for an hour.)

On the other hand, Senior’s absence also very likely means that Voldemort is coming back- and soon, at that.

“Any progress on the animagus front?” Harry asks, deciding to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about Voldemort right now.

Hermione grins. “I’ve read three books on the subject so far- it doesn’t seem all that terribly difficult. Just patience and time, and a good amount of dedication. The trickiest bit is gaining the understanding of how the transformation works on a biological level- which is just going to entail a lot of studying the human body.”

“Are you going to wait for us?” Harry asks, suddenly worried that Hermione is going to attempt it on her own. He’s worried enough already about anyone attempting it at all, much less alone.

“Yes,” Hermione says, waving him off. Then she lights up. “I’ll bet I could bring in some muggle books that would be helpful for the anatomy aspect- muggles are always figuring stuff out about the human body.”

Harry nods. “Good call,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” Hermione says. “I forget that you’re the one person I don’t need to explain muggle things to.”

“Easy enough mistake to make,” Harry says. “I lived a pretty sheltered life before Hogwarts, so-”

Hermione gets a stormy look on her face, the one Harry associates with his friends thinking about his relatives.

“Anyways,” Harry says, trying to bring things back on track, “I wrote to Sirius earlier today to see if he had any books on the transformation that leans light or dark. Daphne was right- from what I’ve read, the process looks almost completely gray.”

“True,” Hermione says. “Although I’m mostly just relieved that it's gray and not light or dark- you’re hopeless at light magic, and Neville can’t do dark magic very well either. Since it's pretty much all gray, it'll be as easy as reading the instructions and following through!"

Harry stares at her, waiting for her to realize what it is she's said. When it seems like she isn't going to, he decides to help her out.

“Hermione," Harry says. "You have seen me and Neville try and make potions, haven't you?”

Hermione purses her lips. “Well, yes.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Harry decides. Even if Neville is right, and that bridge is convincing the others to do the transformation without them. Which- is not something he wants to think about right now.

Hermione relaxes and nods. Harry loves Hermione, and would have failed Potions a hundred times over without her help, but she's got this unerring optimism when it comes to Harry and Neville and Potions. Harry thinks she's still holding out hope that it'll just click for them.

Harry doesn’t know how she manages it.

“Also,” Hermione says, casting a quick privacy charm, “I think I’ll help Pansy through the transformation too- she seemed really interested when I mentioned it.”

“Of course she did,” Harry says, fondly rolling his eyes. “Anything to get the upper hand in any given situation, right?”

Harry isn’t as good of friends with Pansy as Hermione is, but he does consider her a friend- although he knows she mostly puts up with him to further her own agenda. But Harry’s long since come to terms with the way Slytherins view friendship, so he’s not too bothered about it. Besides, even as a Gryffindor Harry can admit that Pansy is a good person to know- even last year, as a thirteen-year-old, she’d already had a good handle on the Hogwarts rumor mill.

Hermione laughs, but Harry’s smile falls as he realizes what helping Pansy learn to become an animagus will probably also entail.

“What’s with the expression?” Hermione asks, sobering up as well.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, frowning. “Pansy will probably walk him through it too.”

Hermione chews on her lip a moment, then shrugs. “Well, that’s not any of our business. Or our problem,” she decides. “Besides- maybe the appeal of turning into an animal has worn off thanks to that thing with Moody?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, then nods. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Chapter Text

Tom runs a hand down his face. He’s ready for the day to be over, and it’s not even noon yet.

Alastor Moody isn’t a bad teacher per se (although he’s no Remus Lupin), but something about the man just exhausts Tom. It hadn’t been so bad at first, but clearly Moody just had to teach a couple classes before hitting his stride. His exhausting stride.

Last year, Tom’s duties as a TA had mostly been sitting quietly in a corner while he graded. This year, he has to keep an eye on every single class, simply because Moody has started going off on these frankly ridiculous tangents. Every so often (read: at least once a class period) a student will pose a question, and the man will simply drop the lesson plan and chase after that thought.

This in and of itself isn’t a problem, and is often quite fascinating- except for the fact that once Moody drops a lesson plan, he stops caring about teaching.

Hermione, for example- during the unforgivable lesson, the girl had innocently asked Moody about whether there were actually three unforgivables, or if the three were just different variations of imperio.

If Tom had been in charge, he would have given Hermione some points for her line of reasoning, given her a simple “very possibly,” and then recommended a couple texts on the subject. Then he would have moved on.

Moody- despite Tom’s best efforts- ended up spending the rest of class discussing: the difference between central and peripheral nervous systems, what counts a person as ‘dead’, magical cores versus a soul, if souls exist, muggle religion, the difference between physical and mental pain, and so on and so forth. The man hadn’t even gotten to the demonstration he’d had planned.

… Which, upon further reflection, may have been Hermione’s intention all along.

(Tom doesn’t like the child, because Tom doesn’t like anyone, but he understands completely why Harry keeps her around from a practical standpoint- she is very useful.)

Regardless, what this means for Tom is that he has to practically constantly keep the man on track during most of the Defense lessons. Although- some classes are definitely worse than others. (If Tom never sees another Ravenclaw again, it will be too soon.)

It also doesn’t help that Moody hates Tom.

Tom knows the Professor recognizes him- Moody worked closely with Albus during the war, and they were friends long before then. Not to mention the time the old Auror visited in the days after Sirius Black escaped.

The point is, Tom keeps catching Moody glaring at him with an expression of poorly disguised fury. This normally wouldn’t bother Tom, who is pretty used to those sorts of stares, but honestly. How is he supposed to do his job if the man he’s paid to assist wants him dead?

Tom almost prefers Albus. Almost.

“Hey Tom,” Harry says.

Tom blinks up at the younger boy. He must be more strung out than he thought- he hadn’t noticed Harry approaching. Or the lunch bell ringing, for that matter. But with a cursory glance at his watch- yes, it is lunch time.

“What?”

Harry shifts, looking a bit uncomfortable. Tom narrows his eyes. What is this about? (At least there’s no way it’s going to be as bad as when the twins cornered him, clarifying their ‘deal’. So much for doing them a random favor and calling things even- now Tom has to wait for them to come to him. Damn Weasleys.)

“So,” Harry starts. “Remember that unforgivable lesson?”

Ah.

Tom waves his wand, erecting a quick privacy charm. Harry watches all the while.

“Yes,” Tom says, once that’s done.

“Well, uh,” Harry says. “Uh.”

Tom decides to take pity on Harry. “You want to know why I did it, and if casting an unforgivable makes me a bad person.”

Harry gets an offended look on his face. “I don’t think you’re a bad person,” he protests, then pauses. “But I do want to know why you did it, and also hear your side of things.”

“Sit down,” Tom says, summoning a chair over with a wave of his hand. Harry does so. “To begin with, morality is a complicated thing.”

Harry bursts into laughter, and Tom feels a stir of amusement as he watches the boy cackle.

“Of course you’d start with that,” Harry snorts.

Once Harry sobers up Tom continues, “like I said- it’s complicated. Professor Moody dumbed it down a bit. Control over someone else isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, it’s necessary.

“I personally don’t feel one ounce of regret for what I did. I didn’t hurt Pettigrew” - although he wouldn’t have minded teaching him a lesson with a good crucio or two, but Tom isn’t about to tell Harry that - “and I de-escalated a situation that otherwise may have turned violent.”

Harry nods. “Like I said,” he says, “I don’t think you’re a bad person for casting an unforgivable. I would have done the same.”

Tom smiles. That’s exactly what he wanted to hear. “As to why I did it instead of casting a different spell, well- I knew it would work. Any other spell might have been blocked, or returned. Imperio was my best bet.”

“What about the high that comes with it? Aren’t you worried about becoming addicted- or, or infected?”

Tom shrugs. “It’s no different than occasionally dipping into other drugs. Some people are more inclined towards addiction, and those are the ones who should avoid casting unforgivables. For me, as long as I don’t cast them too often, there’s no real worry. Voldemort, on the other hand- if you read the accounts you’ll notice that towards the end there, he was almost exclusively casting unforgivables.”

Which had in fact put a damper on Tom’s enthusiasm for the three spells- he’d avoid them entirely if not for the fact that he still hasn’t been able to cast dark magic since coming out of the Diary, which leaves him with either gray or black. And gray is all well and good, but it simply doesn’t pack the same punch Tom could get if he could use dark magic.

“Huh,” Harry says.

“That said,” Tom says, clasping his hands together on his desk. “I think you should wait until you’re a little older to-”

“Oh, I already have,” Harry says, shrugging.

Tom isn’t even surprised. In fact, he was practically anticipating it.

“Remember when I told you about that troll?” Harry continues.

“Ah,” Tom says. “Yes. You were eleven at the time?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, a bit glumly.

“Don’t be ashamed of your power,” Tom reminds Harry.

If he sounds a tad impatient, it’s because he is. Harry is capable of casting an unforgivable on a god-damned mountain troll, and he’d still somehow managed to nearly die at the hands of Lockhart. Tom’s never met Lily Potter (obviously) but he thinks if he had, he’d have really hated her. Harry got all those ideals from somewhere, and it sure as hell wasn’t from his Riddle side.

“Being different is not a bad thing,” Tom continues.

“You say different but you mean better,” Harry accuses.

Harry is right, Tom does mean better. But there’s no reason for Tom to confirm that- Harry is still, for all intents and purposes, stupid about other people. “Either way,” Tom says instead, “it’s not a bad thing. Didn’t the end of your third year prove that for you?”

Harry shrugs, and Tom sighs internally. One day, Harry will let go of these silly little ideas, and then Tom will be unstoppable. He has to- otherwise this is all pointless.

“I had another question,” Harry says.

“Shoot,” Tom says. Lunch isn’t over for another forty minutes, after all.

“What are Elves?”

Tom blinks. He hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“Um,” he says. “They’re- Harry, you know what Elves are.”

“Not really,” Harry says, folding his arms. “I know they’re around, and that they manage Houses and Hogwarts, but that’s sort of all I got. I don’t know why, or how, or anything.”

“There aren’t very many people who do,” Tom concedes.

“And Hermione’s been trying to figure them out, but they keep destroying her research.”

Tom snorts. Sounds about right. “Has she tried talking to them?”

Harry blinks. “Er,” he says. “I don’t… know?”

Tom smiles. “Tell her to talk to them. You too, if you want to find out more.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” Harry asks, sounding petulant.

Well, now Tom doesn’t want to.

“Think of it as a learning experience,” Tom says, smirking.

Harry groans, then goes to stand up.

“Although,” Tom starts. Harry looks over at him, eyebrow raised.

Tom blinks. The surreality of seeing someone else with his face has mostly worn off since he’s left the Diary, but sometimes Harry will get a look that makes Tom very abruptly remember that they are, whether he likes it or not, very much related.

“What?” Harry prompts.

“Oh, uh,” Tom says. “Just- be polite, yeah? Elves won’t kill you, but-”

Harry nods and winces, rubbing at his arm. “I know. Any other advice?”

“Don’t say thank you,” Tom says.

Harry snorts, but Tom just looks at him.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Tom says. “And before you ask, no I don’t know why they don’t like it. Just that they don’t.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Okay. Thanks, Tom.”

Tom watches as he goes, then turns back to his papers. He wonders how much Harry will figure out- not more than Tom has, that’s for sure. Harry doesn’t like being beholden to anyone, so he won’t be making any deals.

To be honest, even if Tom wanted to tell Harry everything he knows about the Elves, he couldn’t. That would violate one of the deals he made with them, and you do not break the terms of a deal. Not when it comes to the Elves.

Hell, he’s already on thin ice with them- Winky all but confirmed that they can smell or otherwise sense the remnants of the horcrux on him.

(Tom doesn’t know how Merlin can’t smell the rot as well, but he’s not going to complain. That’s one less thing he has to try to justify, and he can’t exactly blame that one on Dippet’s coverup, like he had with the graduation records Percy had dredged up and demanded an answer for.)

Not that he needed the confirmation. When Tom stops by the kitchens these days, Hatcher won’t talk to Tom beyond pleasantries; Reesy just looks at him with a disappointed look in her big eyes; Groggy keeps switching his salt for sugar and vice-versa; and Slippy- Tom regrets the loss of trust there the most. He’d been close to getting them to let their guard down around him.

Maybe Harry will have better luck with Slippy- he’s got the Gaunt blood, so he’s already got an advantage.

With effort, Tom pushes the thought of the Elves and Horcruxes out of his head. He doesn’t like thinking about being a Horcrux if he can help it- not because he regrets what he did (he doesn’t) but because it makes him think of how many more there might be, of how daunting a task it is to undertake alone.

Just how difficult is Voldemort going to be to kill?

“Tom Riddle,” says another voice, breaking Tom out of his spiral.

Tom looks up, eyes narrowed. Now what?

When he sees who it is, his heart skips a beat. Fuck. This might be bad.

“It took me a little while,” says a grinning Moaning Myrtle. “But I finally remembered where I’d recognized Harry Potter from.”

Chapter Text

“Did you,” Tom asks mildly, despite his racing heart.

“Yes,” Myrtle says.

The ghostly girl sits primly down on (or, just above) the seat that Harry had been occupying only moments ago. It’s a damn good thing Harry isn’t here any longer- this is going to be hard enough to navigate without anyone else around.

“Might I ask-”

“You killed me,” Myrtle interrupts, pearly angry tears abruptly filling her eyes. “And don’t try to deny it. What gives, Riddle?”

Okay, so not only is this going to be difficult to navigate, but it’s also going to be incredibly annoying.

“It was the diary-” Tom tries.

“No it wasn’t,” Myrtle pouts, crossing her arms. “I remember that you graduated. You weren’t stuck in anything.”

“This part of me was,” Tom protests weakly. “I don’t suppose you ever gave moving on a thought?”

Myrtle stares at him in disbelief for a moment, then bursts into teary laughter.

Tom sits and watches as she composes herself. “Nice try, Riddle- you and I both know that’s not how this is going to work.”

“How does this work?” Tom asks, trying to seem as aloof and composed as possible despite the undercurrent of panic making him feel incredibly off-balance.

Tom needs to figure this out, and fast. Silencing charms are only going to last so long, and Myrtle has the potential to ruin everything. It’s like Theo, but way, way worse. At least he and Theo have similar short-term goals. Myrtle is just dead- dead because of Tom.

For the first time since he’d killed her, Tom is sort of wishing he hadn’t.

“I haunt you till you die, and then I move on,” Myrtle says.

Tom taps his fingers on his desk. He’d been afraid it was going to be something like that. “Don’t suppose I could ask you to reconsider?” Tom tries.

“NO!” Myrtle shrieks, face screwing up.

Tom closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing even as his mind races. He needs to diffuse this.

“Okay,” he says, eyes snapping open again. “Alright. You’re a smart girl.”

Myrtle settles back, narrowing her own eyes. “And?”

“So, I’m sure you can see that something doesn’t add up.”

Myrtle’s eyes narrow further still.

“For example- how’d I graduate fifty years ago if I’m sitting here at seventeen now, having graduated only a year ago?” Tom elaborates.

“I don’t know,” Myrtle says. “Does it matter? You put it off, somehow, but I know you’ll die sometime. And then I can move on.”

“You need to see me die for you to move on?” Tom clarifies.

“No,” Myrtle says. The smile is back. “I just want to.”

“Did the hat consider you for Slytherin?” Tom asks after a moment.

“Nope,” Myrtle says, popping the p. “Ravenclaw all the way.”

Tom supposes that’s fair. Hopefully that will work to his advantage. “Well, I know how I pulled it off,” Tom says. “Don’t you want to?”

“You’d tell me?” Myrtle asks, clearly a little suspicious.

“Yes,” Tom says. “And I can help you get your revenge- all of your revenge.”

Myrtle furrows her brow. “How do you mean?”

“I wasn’t lying- I really was stuck in that diary for fifty years. But not all of me. Not the part that you remember graduating.”

“I’ve never heard of a spell that lets you do that,” Myrtle muses.

“Not a spell: a ritual- a really dark one.”

“The kind that requires a human sacrifice?” Myrtle asks, raising an eyebrow.

“...yes,” Tom says, trying to keep his grimace internal.

Myrtle just sighs. “Alright. Your point?”

“Well, the other me- the older one- has been a real pain in my ass. And everyone else’s.”

“How?” Myrtle asks, leaning forward slightly.

Tom can’t help but lean back reflexively. He really hopes this works- he does not want to be haunted.

“Hear about Voldemort while you were in your bathroom?” Tom asks.

Myrtle stares at him for a moment, then giggles. “You’re kidding,” she says.

Tom cocks his head, feeling more than a little confused. “Um. No?”

“I was the first victim of Lord Voldemort?” Myrtle asks, looking utterly elated.

“You could say that,” Tom agrees.

It’s true anyways, assuming one doesn’t count rabbits.

Myrtle shoots up off the chair and does a couple loop-de-loops around the room. “Oh, the other ghosts are going to be so jealous,” she crows.

“No! You can’t tell them,” Tom says, then curses himself as Myrtle is suddenly inches from his face.

“You,” Myrtle says, pointing a threatening ghostly finger at him, “don’t get a say in the matter. Riddle.”

“I mean,” Tom says, rapidly backtracking, “you can’t tell them yet. Not if you want to get your revenge.”

Myrtle huffs, but settles back in the chair. (As much as a ghost can, anyhow.) “I’m listening,” she says, gesturing for him to go on.

“You’ve heard that Voldemort is coming back?” Tom asks.

“I’m a ghost, not a hermit,” Myrtle says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard the rumors.”

Tom nods, then licks his lips. He has one shot at this.

“I want him dead too,” Tom says quietly. “And I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who can kill him and make sure he stays dead.”

Myrtle opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again. Then, realization dawns over her translucent face. “Oh. The spell. The dark ritual. He did it again.”

Tom nods. Ravenclaw indeed. “A couple times- I know he did. I have to find and destroy the artifacts he used, and then he can die. For good.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Myrtle asks.

“If you go around telling everyone this,” Tom says. “Then I don’t have any chance in hell at finishing the job. They’ll send me to Azkaban, or kill me, or-”

Myrtle groans, long and loud, as she slumps in her chair. Tom pauses.

“This is so unfair,” Myrtle says, blinking away the tears that are rapidly welling up in her eyes. “I just want to drive you into insanity, is that so wrong?”

Tom thinks so, but he knows better than to say anything.

“But now,” Myrtle complains, “I have to wait, or else my murderer will never be brought to justice.”

Tom’s heart leaps as he watches the girl cover her face in her pearly hands and start to cry softly.

Success. Thank god.

Although- class will be starting soon, so Tom needs to hurry this up.

“If it makes you feel better,” he hazards after a moment, “you can probably help.”

Myrtle stops crying instantly, and her face is once again inches from his own. Tom tries not to flinch. He does not succeed.

“Tell me how,” Myrtle asks.

Tom grimaces. “I don’t know yet- but you’re a pretty powerful spirit. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

Myrtle floats back, arms folded as she glares daggers at Tom. “You’d better,” she warns, before turning and floating off for good.

Tom lets out a long sigh and slumps into his chair. He doesn’t know how sustainable this is- his lie was always bound to fall apart at some point, and he doesn’t know what will happen when it finally does. Although- to be honest, he’s surprised it’s lasted this long.

Myrtle. He can’t count on her not blabbing. It doesn’t help that she’s such an atypical ghost- most ghosts are, for all intents and purposes, mellow. Myrtle is… not that.

He’s bought himself some time with his explanation to her, but not very much. Which means Tom now needs to revisit the ghost research he’d done back in his second year. There hadn’t been a surefire way to get rid of them fifty years ago, but maybe there is one now?

Not only that, but Tom needs to come up with an actual plan as to what he’s going to do when everyone finds out. He’s put it off long enough.

The door to the Defense room slams open, and Tom jumps.

“Constant vigilance, Mister Riddle,” Moody says, limping into the room as he takes a swig from his flask, hands shaking all the while.

“Sorry sir,” Tom says, straightening the papers on his desk.

“Was that Myrtle I saw floating away from here?” Moody asks casually, as he settles down at his own desk and starts rifling through his drawers.

“Could be,” Tom responds instantly, despite the fact that his heart skips several beats. Had Moody heard something? That would be extremely bad. “Ghosts generally go as they please.”

“Hm,” Moody says. “Odd to see her so far from the bathroom,” he adds.

“Quite,” Tom says, not looking over at the man.

The room falls silent for a moment. Then, Moody clears his throat.

“Today’s lesson will be a continuation of the unforgivable lesson. I may require your assistance for the practical element.”

Tom does look up now. “Practical element.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Moody nods. “I need to run the demonstration for the Gryffindors, but then we’ll be moving onto learning how to resist the imperio curse.”

Tom blinks. “Sorry. Sorry? You’re going to be casting imperio on the students?”

Moody rolls his remaining eye. “Yes. That is a prerequisite for learning to resist the curse.”

Tom purses his lips. It’s not like he thinks it’s a bad idea, not really, but- it is a bit… hands on. And also casting an unforgivable on minors. In a school setting.

“And Albus signed-” Tom tries.

“Yes,” Moody growls.

Tom isn’t sure he believes Moody- he’d said the same thing about the black magic lesson, and Albus had most definitely come by asking for an explanation as to why Moody was telling students about the connection between dark magic and healing.

But, as long as Tom doesn’t get in trouble for it... “Fine then. How can I help?”

Moody cracks a smile, and Tom feels immediately uneasy. “Kids’ll be less wary if they see you under it first,” Moody says. “If you aren’t opposed, that is.”

“I’m not opposed,” Tom says quickly, then pauses. “But I won’t be a good demonstration.”

“Oh, won’t you? Any particular reason for that?” Moody asks, leaning forward in his chair. “Not a lot of opportunities to practice in that diary of yours, I imagine.”

Tom sits back in his own, kicking himself internally. He really needs a nap. And to stop skipping meals. Where’s Oliver when a man needs him?

“Just a hunch,” he lies.

It’s not like he can say that he’d had Walburga Black cast it on him until he could resist it as naturally as breathing.

Huh- it’s just occurred to Tom that that is something he and Sirius likely have in common. Not that he’ll tell the man that, of course. That would lead to a lot of questions Tom couldn’t answer.

Moody narrows his eye at Tom, then laughs again. Tom pushes down a rush of irritation at the man. “Fair enough- we’ll give it a go anyways. If you’re as good as all that, maybe you can give the kids pointers.”

Tom just hums. Then, the bell rings to signify the end of lunch, and the room falls quiet once more.

Chapter Text

“I am just so tired of this,” Harry says, although the sound is muffled because he’s buried his face into his hands.

“If it helps,” Madam Pomfrey says, “I don’t think you’ve surpassed your father’s record just yet.”

Harry pauses. That sort of does help, actually. Then he leans back into the pillow, wincing. His chest hurts- he kind of wishes Merlin were here, but once she’d realized Harry was just going to spend the rest of class in the hospital wing, she’d decided to head off. Doing whatever it is she does around the castle. (Which, Harry had said was fine. He all but pushed her off the bed, really. So he probably shouldn’t complain about her absence.)

“Have you ever heard someone reacting to imperio like this? Like- breaking their own ribs and then nearly passing out, I mean.” Harry asks. He’s not optimistic, but it’s worth a shot.

According to Tom, he hadn’t even resisted it- he’d been doing exactly what Moody had wanted him to do… up until he’d almost passed out from the lack of oxygen and Moody had had to end the spell.

“No,” Pomfrey says. “But I’ve also never heard of anyone surviving a basilisk bite, or destroying a dementor, or-”

Harry groans loudly into his hands.

Pomfrey sighs, bringing Harry to the here and now. “I am sorry, Mister Potter. Now, is your magic up for it or do you need some Skele-Gro?”

Harry takes his hands from his face and presses them gently into his chest. According to Pomfrey’s diagnostic (and his own expertise) almost all of his ribs are at least cracked, and his chest is one huge mottled bruise.

He winces again as the pressure of his hands sends another shock of pain shooting through him. His magic flares, and Harry sighs.

“I might need the Skele-Gro,” he says.

Pomfrey purses her lips, but hands him the bottle without comment.

He’s raising it to his lips when the doors to the Wing open again. Harry and Pomfrey look over just in time to see-

Harry blinks, lowering the vial in shock.

The entirety of the fourth-year Gryffindors file into the room- a violently hiccupping Lavender is supporting Parvati, who is gritting her teeth in pain as one of her arms flops around (in a way Harry is unfortunately familiar with); Seamus and Dean’s hands seem to be fused together; Mandy is clutching her stomach with one hand and carefully guiding Sally-Anne, whose eyes are missing, with the other.

Neville and Hermione are bringing up the rear. Hermione’s hair is sticking straight up and seems to be sparking with static electricity, and Neville- well, he looks miserable, but he actually seems to be otherwise fine.

Tom comes in behind the students, folding his arms and looking beyond irritated. Harry isn’t surprised- he’d just had to bring Harry down here.

“What the hell?” Pomfrey says. Harry can’t help but agree with the sentiment.

“We have some students in need of medical attention,” Tom says. “Again.”

“How?” Pomfrey explodes.

Tom jerks his head towards Neville, who flushes bright red.

Pomfrey shakes her head exasperatedly as she waves her wand. Parvati lifts off the floor as she's encased in a soft blue light and floats into a bed.

“Everyone else to a bed as well- Mister Riddle and Mister Longbottom, help Miss Brocklehurst and Miss Perks to their places.”

Tom and Neville do so without complaint. Neville seems to be apologizing to Mandy as he does, but she just shakes her head.

“What happened?” Harry asks Hermione as she comes over to the bed nearest him.

As Hermione opens her mouth to answer him, she brushes against the metal bedframe and jumps as it gives her a little shock. She glares at it.

Harry’s magic flares again, and he goes to push it back down, despite the aching in his chest. Then, he pauses. Harry didn’t want to risk healing himself, because he thought it wouldn’t be enough to keep his magic from surging out further. But what if…

Harry closes his eyes, takes a firm hold on his magic, breathes in, then hisses, “heal.”

He doesn’t even have to push- it’s more of a nudge if anything. He can feel his magic flow gleefully out of him, towards his classmates. It heals him up as it does, which doesn’t surprise Harry- healing cracked ribs is as easy as breathing for him. Easier, even.

Harry isn’t worried- he maybe should be, but he dissolved his first spell at twelve, and has been working with Pomfrey on more complicated versions of that. This isn’t like physical healing- this is magic on magic. This is simple, all brute force and very little precision required.

Or- he thought it would be. But as his magic meets up with the spells that reside in his classmates, Harry is surprised to feel the spells push back. This isn’t like Ron’s hex back in second-year, dissolving instantly with a little push. This magic doesn’t want to go anywhere- it’s more like the wards on the Shack he’d tried to burn away last year.

In retrospect, he maybe should have anticipated this. He doesn’t know exactly what happened, but if it was Neville, then this is light magic. And it is not happy with Harry’s meddling.

Harry grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and pushes even harder against the stubborn knots of magic. He’s not about to turn back now. Doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Harry feels a trickle of sweat roll down his face.

“Heal,” he hisses again. Then, he gathers up all the strength he has, and shoves.

The magic finally gives way, and Harry comes back to himself. As he does, he sees a mildly dazed looking Hermione patting her hair down.

He looks past her to see Sally-Anne blinking rapidly in the light of the room; Mandy waving away a swarm of tiny butterflies, coughing out one last one as she does; Seamus and Dean… who are still holding hands, although they aren’t fused any more; Lavender vanishing a puddle of vomit as she wrinkles her nose; and Parvati, who is still laying in bed looking pained.

Harry winces- he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about that one, but he still feels bad about it.

Tom, Pomfrey, and Neville are all staring at him with huge eyes.

“Ta da,” Harry says weakly. He feels a bit light-headed, but he doesn’t think he’s going to be passing out.

“I want you to write me a fourteen inch essay on that experience,” Pomfrey finally says, then turns her attention back to Parvati.

“And I want you to explain to me what just happened right now,” Tom says, coming over.

Neville nods in agreement, following Tom.

“Wait,” Harry tells them, then in a louder voice says, “how does everyone else feel?”

“That was really weird,” Mandy says. There are still a couple butterflies floating around her head. “It’s like- it’s like the spell ended all at once.”

“I sort of wish you’d let the spell on me run its course,” Lavender says. “Ever try hiccupping a hiccup that’s thirty times stronger than a normal hiccup?”

“Say that five times fast,” Seamus says, grinning.

“At least you weren’t shocked with static electricity thirty times over,” Hermione says, a bit grumpily.

“Sorry,” Harry says, grimacing. Hermione waves him off.

He’s glad Hermione especially is okay- that might have ended a lot worse than it did. Apparently there's a way to dissolve spells without causing any effect at all, but Pomfrey hasn't gotten to teaching Harry that yet.

“I, for one,” Sally-Anne interrupts, “am very grateful. Thank you, Harry.”

“Agreed,” Seamus and Dean chorus.

“Oh whatever,” Lavender says, rolling her eyes. “As if your spell did anything to you. You were holding hands before, and you’re holding hands now.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Seamus sniffs.

“What are you, a homophobe?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Obviously not,” Lavender says, gesturing down at herself.

“Wrong- Lavender is- definitely a homophobe,” Parvati says through gritted teeth. “Just the other day she- wouldn’t let me- borrow her mascara.”

“Miss Patel, I really must insist that you drink this,” Pomfrey says tiredly, trying to get Parvati to drink what Harry can tell is a vial of dreamless sleep. “You need to try and sleep this off.”

Parvati allows Pomfrey to pour the vial into her mouth, then sighs.

“The world needed to know,” Parvati says as her eyes drift close.

“It’s my favorite mascara! I’m running out!” Lavender protests.

Parvati manages to flip her a rude gesture before the potion puts her all the way to sleep.

Pomfrey turns to the others and, with a wave of her wand, has a diagnostic spell running on each of them. After a second, she nods. “I’m keeping you all here for the rest of class for observation, but you all seem healthy. Very well done, Mister Potter,” she says, smiling widely.

Harry ducks his head, feeling embarrassed. He still isn’t sure that he should have done anything at all- now that he’s thinking about it, it had been a bit of a stupid risk. The smell of burning plastic begins to creep around the edge of his senses, and he closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it. He really wishes Merlin were here, now. Although- he bets Merlin will wish she stuck around for this when she hears about it.

Besides, she’d probably just tell Harry that she’s proud of him. That, or bite him- which Harry would then heal, without having to think about it, because he’s always been able to heal, and really he should stop worrying about this. His magic is useful now. He doesn’t need to be afraid of it.

“I’ll be in my office,” Pomfrey continues. “If you need me, just holler.”

“But everyone is really okay?” Harry tries again after the office door closes behind Pomfrey. He’s not worried anymore, not after his internal pep-talk, but he’d still like to double check.

“Yes,” Tom says. “What exactly did you do?”

“Got rid of the spells,” Harry says, then shrugs. “It’s just another kind of healing.”

“All of the spells,” Tom repeats. “At the same time.”

“Well- not, not the one on Parvati. I think that one ended already. How did all of this happen anyways?”

“Neville,” everyone says simultaneously.

Neville buries his face in his hands.

“You get how that doesn’t explain anything, right?” Harry says.

“Moody did the spell on him, and then everything immediately went crazy. Mister Riddle came back just in time to bring us all down here,” Sally-Anne says.

“Where did Moody go?” Harry asks, folding his arms.

“He ran into his office,” Hermione says, frowning as she thinks back. “He was covering his face.”

Neville winces.

“Hm,” Tom says, looking thoughtful. Then he shakes his head. “Well. I’d better check with him.”

“Bye,” Harry calls as Tom walks off. Tom just waves a hand at him, and Harry snorts.

“So we have the kid who tries to kill himself the second he’s imperio-d, and the kid who tries to kill everyone else the second he’s imperio-d,” Seamus says.

“Not like the rest of us fared much better,” Sally-Anne says, frowning.

“Tom made it look so easy,” Mandy sighs. “And the theory sounded easy. I thought I understood, and that did nothing for me.”

Harry is inclined to agree with Mandy- he doesn’t remember anything but a nice floaty feeling the second the spell had hit him. “How’d it feel for you?” Harry asks, turning to Neville.

Neville jumps, and his face goes even redder. “I-it felt a-all peacef-ful,” he gets out. “And th-then it st-stopped. And everyone w-was-” he breaks off, looking upset.

“It wasn't your fault,” Hermione says, waving a hand. “You couldn’t know that would happen.”

Neville doesn’t look convinced- Harry wishes he wouldn’t be so hard on himself, but knows without a shadow of a doubt that Harry would feel the same way if he was in Neville’s shoes.

“I’m beginning to think Nev’s magic is just as weird as Harry’s,” Lavender says. “First the Patronus, and now this?”

Neville just shrugs, but Harry nods. He’s thought that for a while now. Although- this is the first time he’s heard of Neville’s magic being anything less than benign, much less outright helpful.

“Hey, speaking of,” Mandy says, perking up. “Think if I write to Professor Lupin he’ll give me retroactive extra credit?”

“You figured it out?” Dean asks.

Mandy sits up straight, pulls out her wand, and says, “Expecto Patronum.”

There are gasps of amazement as a shining seal bursts out of her wand, circles the room, then dissipates in a shower of silver sparks.

“Damn,” Seamus says.

“Couldn’t hurt to ask, right?” Hermione asks, although she looks a little jealous.

“What, that’s- three of us now, counting Neville’s lion?” Lavender asks. “Parvati’s rhino, Dean’s hummingbird, and now Mandy’s seal?”

“Four, if we count Harry’s doe,” Hermione adds.

“I don’t think mine counts,” Harry counters.

The others look at him, confused.

“It’s made of fire,” Harry elaborates.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“... Like I said,” Lavender says. “Weird.”

Chapter Text

“Percy,” Tom says.

Percy jumps, then puts his pen down and turns to look at the boy over his shoulder. “Ever hear of knocking?” Percy asks, feeling a scowl slip onto his face.

He’s trying to write a response to Remus- who has been considerably more helpful in getting Percy ready for the Wizengamot than the literal Lord Black has been. (Although- having met both Remus and Sirius, Percy isn’t necessarily surprised by this.)

It’s a letter he’s been trying to write for days, and he’s only just decided on what he wants to say- only a week or so from the actual meeting.

A formal and public alliance between the Weasley family and the Black family, as the very first order of business he presents to the Wizengamot? It would be historic- and also make him a lot of enemies, right off the bat, on all sides. (Just because Remus and Sirius are radicals doesn’t mean that the Black family name doesn’t still scare other progressives away.)

Percy’s thought about it, and thinks that maybe he’s going to wait for the second or third Wizengamot meeting he goes to- and his parents agree that that’s probably for the best. Although, he hasn’t been able to write to them too much about the whole situation without Winky appearing and glaring at him until he puts the pen down and backs away.

“Door was open,” Tom says dismissively, leaning casually on the doorframe.

“The fuck it was,” Percy says. Tom just shrugs, and Percy rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

Tom doesn’t immediately respond, which has Percy turning fully around in his chair. Tom looks a bit… hesitant. Not in the way a normal person would look hesitant, though (Tom’s expression is blank)- instead, it’s in Tom’s body language. Which means Tom really is hesitating, not just putting on a show.

“What?” Percy repeats.

Tom lets out a soft, tired sigh (he really looks like shit- there are bags under his eyes and he seems paler than usual. Oliver needs to step up his game), then says, “I need you to ask Winky if she can keep ghosts from entering our flat.”

Percy blinks, then lets out a short laugh at the absurdity of Tom’s request. “What? Why?”

“I’d use salt or iron, but- well, Winky already doesn’t like me, and I don’t think that the bread and milk you set out would be enough to make up for that slight, so-”

When Tom had first seen Percy setting out a bowl of bread and milk on the windowsill, he’d gotten a truly baffled expression on his face. Percy had been so caught off guard by how out of character that had been that he reflexively explained that it’s just something his mother had them do at the Burrow each night, and the habit carried over- it hadn’t occurred to him that it would come off as strange for someone else.

Tom had just shook his head and muttered something like, “I don’t know what your parents did to chase that Elf off but it had to have been big.”

Percy had thought about asking what Tom meant by that, but decided against it. There’d been no chance of Tom responding.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Percy says, folding his arms.

Tom’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything.

Percy looks at him, thinking. Why would Tom need- ah.

“Myrtle,” Percy guesses.

Tom’s eyes narrow further, then his shoulders slump in defeat. It’s an obvious telegraph, which means he’s not actually feeling defeated. He’s just trying to manipulate Percy. “Yes. She recognized me, and has elected to blame me for her death. I managed to convince her out of haunting me for the time being, but I’m not positive she won’t change her mind.”

“Huh,” Percy says. “Maybe you should have thought of these sorts of things before killing her.”

Tom looks up, red eyes flashing dangerously.

Percy feels a jolt of fear, but mostly he feels smug- looks like he hit a nerve. Percy doesn’t know what Tom is, but at this point, he’s nearly positive that the whole ‘cursed diary’ thing is only a partial truth- if that.

Then Tom looks back up at the ceiling and says, “I didn’t. The diary did. You know that.”

“Forgot,” Percy says, watching Tom closely.

Tom stills, and Percy wonders if maybe he went too far this time- but no. Tom resumes breathing, and then says, “are you going to ask Winky to keep us from being haunted or no.”

Percy really needs to stop pushing Tom- there’s no reason for it, and he knows for a fact that Tom could out-duel him. It’s like poking at a wasp's nest- but for some reason he can’t help it.

For one, Tom put Ginny in danger. Sure, he then rescued her at the end of sixth year, but assuming Tom wasn’t actually beholden to the diary like he says he was, he was basically the one to put her in that situation in the first place. Ginny has forgiven Tom, quite likes him actually, but Percy hasn’t. And it’ll take something big for Tom to ever redeem himself for that.

For another- it’s fun. And Tom hasn’t done anything to Percy, so obviously he hasn’t pushed too far yet. Percy isn’t usually so… Gryffindor-ish, but work has been stressful lately, and Percy needs the stress relief- plus, worst case scenario, Oliver will keep Tom from doing anything too bad. Tom can’t help but do what Oliver asks- Oliver has that effect on people.

“Winky?” Percy says, a bit hesitant- it’s still weird to have an Elf attached to him.

“What,” Winky says, manifesting silently as she always does. She’s sitting primly on Percy’s bed, wearing her customary light blue tunic.

“Is there any way to make sure a ghost stays out of the flat? Tom here thinks that we might have a haunting problem soon.”

Winky looks over at Tom, a nasty glint in her inky black eyes. “Does the Gaunt deserve it?”

Percy opens his mouth to respond in the definite affirmative, but Tom beats him to it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tom says. “Oliver doesn’t, at the very least.”

Winky narrows her eyes, and Percy is begrudgingly impressed. That was a good move on Tom’s part- Winky loves Oliver. Percy can’t really blame her. He’s Oliver. Who doesn’t?

“Fine,” Winky spits. “Winky will keep ghosts out. For a price- general contract doesn’t cover ghosts.”

“This ghost might fall under pest control,” Tom mutters.

“You killed her,” Percy reminds Tom. Tom shoots a glare his way, and Percy shrugs.

“What’s the price,” Tom says, turning back to Winky.

“Not from you,” Winky says, scoffing. “Broken Gaunt boy.”

Tom rolls his eyes, then turns expectantly to Percy.

Percy frowns- he has a bad feeling about this. He doesn’t know exactly how Elves work, but he knows they’re big on deals- and a lifetime of living with the twins has sort of soured the idea of owing anything to anyone.

“What’s the price?” Percy hears himself asking anyways- Tom is, loath as he is to admit it, right. Oliver doesn’t deserve to be haunted, even by proxy. And Myrtle especially is… overwhelming. Plus Percy would really rather not be haunted either.

Winky grins- her teeth look sharper, neck longer, eyes bigger. Percy holds back a shudder.

“Bone,” Winky says, smile widening further.

Percy feels himself blanche. He notices Tom blinking. The boy looks a bit startled- obviously he hadn’t been expecting such a big ask.

“That’s,” Percy starts, then clears his throat, “that feels… extreme.”

Winky shrugs, completely unbothered. “Not so extreme,” she counters. “Wixen have magics for that- Winky has seen them. Besides- ghosts be… tricky. Gray. Winky is needing something strong- bone or blood of Lord. And it be dangerous to leave blood around.”

Percy hazards a look over at Tom, who grimaces. Percy doesn’t like the sound of that- what kind of dangerous? He doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

“What bone would you take?” Percy asks. He cannot believe he’s even considering this. Tom looks even more surprised, but then smooths his expression over.

“Lord’s choice,” Winky decides. “For one ghost, small bone will do. But big bone will make home… very safe.”

Percy doesn’t know- he really would prefer not to give up a bone for any reason, but especially not to clean up one of Tom’s messes. But he also doesn’t want to be haunted, and Winky is right- with a vial or two of Skele-Gro, he’d have whatever bone he gives up back in no time. Well, a couple hours. Painful hours.

“We have a vial,” Tom says, somehow reading Percy’s mind. “I have one, anyways. And I’m sure Oliver has a couple vials, what with all the… bludgers.”

Percy snorts despite the undercurrent of unease running through him. Then he sobers up again. He does not want to do this. In fact, he feels a bit light-headed. Percy’s never been one for this kind of thing- he’s always been the sort that gets queasy at the sight of blood.

Tom and Winky are both just… staring. Waiting. It’s almost funny how alike their expressions are. They’re both wearing the look of someone who knows they’ve already won- it’s not like Percy has much of a choice here.

Everything else aside- Oliver, Tom, Myrtle, everything- Percy has a responsibility to the home. He’s Lord Weasley. Of course he’ll give up a bone to keep his home and its occupants safe. He’d give up much more than that.

This feeling of grim responsibility is one that’s new and unfamiliar, while simultaneously being one he’s well-acquainted with.

“Would a tooth count?” Percy asks weakly.

Winky snorts. “To keep away pixie,” she says.

Percy closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath. Okay. Bone.

“These ones,” he says, pointing at his left forearm without opening his eyes. “Better take the ones in the hand, too,” he adds. “They won’t be much use without- yeah. Will that do?”

“That will do very nicely,” Winky says. She sounds excited, yes, but also a bit… proud? Not that that makes Percy feel any better. He opens his eyes and sees Winky snapping her fingers.

He has just enough time to regret the fact that he won’t be able to finish that letter tonight before the pain hits and he doubles over in his chair, gasping. He closes his eyes shut tightly again- although his vision has whited out, so it’s not like it makes a difference.

His arm feels loose in a way that makes him want to throw up, pain notwithstanding. Instead of doing that, he takes in a short breath, then lets it out again as he finds he can’t take in anything more than that thanks to the shooting pain.

“Fuck,” he grits out. “Ho-ly shit.”

“I’ll get that Skele-Gro,” Tom says.

Percy just nods, unable to do anything else but sit there and try to keep himself from passing out, or throwing up, or crying.

On second thought, there are tears running down his face- and he’s shaking, a bit. This is awful. How old was Harry when Lockhart did this to him? Twelve? How was the professor not fired on the spot? Percy is so glad he’s dead now.

Despite the pain, Percy feels a sudden presence besides him, and his eyes shoot open. It’s Tom, who’s leaning against Percy’s desk and holding a vial.

“Should be enough,” Tom says idly, sloshing the liquid around. Then he holds it out to Percy. “Drink.”

Percy snatches the vial away and downs it in a couple go’s. It’s like drinking shards of glass, but it’ll get his bones back, and that makes it all worth it. Percy’s in so much pain that his head is starting to pound- he thinks he might be clenching his jaw too tightly, but he can’t do anything about that right now.

Tom wordlessly hands him another vial, and Percy looks at it for a long moment.

“For pain,” Tom elaborates.

Percy narrows his eyes. He’s not sure-

“If I’d wanted to poison you,” Tom says patiently, “I would have put it in the Skele-Gro. Drink the potion.”

Percy shoots the most venomous glare he can muster up at Tom, but drinks the potion. He can feel himself relax as the potion works its magic- it doesn’t get rid of the pain, not by a long shot, but it does lessen it.

Percy slumps back in his chair, breathing hard through his nose. Tom just watches.

“When does Oliver get home,” Percy asks, trying hard not to think about or feel his arm and the state it’s currently in.

“Couple hours,” Tom says. “Should I go get him?”

Percy blinks, momentarily shocked out of his pain. Tom looks just as surprised.

“...no,” Percy says. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to my room,” Tom says, then turns and walks out of the room.

“You’re welcome,” Percy mutters, then looks up at the ceiling.

“Home is protected,” Winky says, reappearing suddenly. She sounds satisfied. “Very protected. Lord Weasley is doing an… adequate job.”

Percy looks over at her. “I’m glad to see the home protected,” he says. He knows better than to thank her.

Winky inclines her head, then vanishes again.

Percy grimaces, then goes to stand up. He sways on his feet a bit, but manages not to fall over. He really should try to sleep this off- but he wants to see Oliver when he gets home, so the living room it is. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out how to get the television his father had sent them working- without it giggling or trying to throw itself out the window, that is.

On second thought, maybe not. Maybe he’ll just read. Or sleep on the sofa. Mind made up, Percy goes to do just that. Despite the pain he’s in, he does feel… something. Proud, maybe. Winky is right. He is doing an adequate job.

Chapter Text

Theo knows someone has come into the dorm he and Ron are currently studying in, but the chances of it being Malfoy are too high to bother looking up from his book. Ron seems to feel similarly, as he’s continued to stare at his own homework, eyes glazed over. 

It’s not Malfoy- a fact Theo becomes cognizant of as they approach where Theo and Ron are sitting on Theo’s bed. Already, this is good news. It becomes even better news when Theo recognizes the sound of Daphne and Blaise’s footfalls. Still, he doesn’t look up- not until they come to a stop in front of Theo and Ron. 

“Theo,” Daphne says, and there’s something about her tone…

Theo looks up now, eyes narrowed. He takes care to keep his hair its usual brown color despite the sudden- and completely uncharacteristic- bolt of apprehension shooting through him. Besides him, Ron looks up too- although he looks more concerned than anything else. 

“We need to talk,” Daphne adds. Her arms are folded, and that plus the solemn expression on Blaise’s face doesn’t do a thing to keep Theo from feeling wary. 

“About what?”

“Also, sit down,” Ron says, gesturing across the way- at his own bed. “You’re being ominous enough without all the looming.”

Daphne does so- primly, as she does just about everything else. Blaise sits down beside her, considerably less refined, flopping back and closing her eyes. She still manages to do so elegantly, of course, because she’s Blaise. One prim, one elegant… It really is like Daphne and Blaise are a match made in heaven. Not that Theo’s going to be the one to tell them that, of course. 

“Okay now about what?” Theo asks. 

Contrary to what he’d expected, Blaise is the one to pipe up, all without opening her eyes. “You need to stop pushing the animagus thing.”

Theo stares. Ron stares, too. He seems especially taken off guard- and a bit annoyed. Theo can relate. “Seriously?” Ron asks. 

“Seriously,” Daphne informs him. “Blaise and I were looking into it, and it’s too dangerous.”
“I did it,” Theo says evenly, despite the anger slowly building in his chest. “And it wasn’t dangerous.”

“Not too dangerous for you, or Hermione, or Ron or Blaise or I,” Daphne clarifies. “But for Harry and Neville.”

Ron is looking at Daphne, blue eyes bright despite how narrowed they are. Theo can’t believe this either. “Harry,” he says. “Too dangerous for Harry ?”

“Yes,” Blaise says, and she does sit up, now, flicking a couple of her braids over her shoulder. “And you know as well as we do why.”

A flash of white-hot flame stampeding through robes of darkness in a foggy forest clearing. Theo blinks the image away. “His fiendfyre has never hurt him. We have no reason to believe it would start now.”

“We don’t have any reason to believe it wouldn’t ,” Daphne says. “And Theo, when me and Blaise looked into it… the process is really, really gray.”

“And?”

“And?” Blaise asks, incredulously. “You’ve seen Harry’s attempts at potions, haven’t you? Or Neville, for that matter?”

Theo has. And again, he doesn’t care in the slightest. “So we’ll figure out a new process. One for each of them.”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Blaise asks, incredulously, and Theo has to grit his teeth to keep from saying- or doing- something he regrets. That might have warranted a violent reaction back in first or second year, but… Theo knows better, now. He knows how to treat the people he considers friends. 

He just doesn’t feel like it, all the time. 

“Are you ?” he asks, once he’s calmed himself down. “You’ve seen Harry do impossible things. We all have. Why would you think he’d be incapable of doing something like the animagus process?”

“Easy. Werewolves,” Blaise says, cocking her head. 

“You think he’d turn himself into a werewolf ?” Ron asks, alarmed. Theo shoots him a glare and he shrugs, uncowed. 

Daphne is also uncowed. “We think Neville would turn himself into a werewolf. Or… were-lion, or something. That’s what the books say, remember? Werewolves are because of a messed up animagus ritual- and werewolves are light creatures. It’s not hard to put two and two together. Which means- there’s precedent. Precedent for something like this failing. It can get ugly, and it’s not something we should risk .”

“We’ll be cautious, obviously,” Theo says. He thinks his hair has started bleeding pink, but he couldn’t care less right now. 

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” Daphne asks, jaw set. “Cautious or not, it would be stupid to try. You have to know this.”

Theo stares at Daphne for a long second, trying to keep his emotions under control. “Fine,” he says, once he’s sure he won’t bite anyone’s head off when he opens his mouth. “I’ll drop it.”

He sees a flash of relief flicker across both Daphne and Blaise’s expression, but that’s all he has the time to see before he’s standing up and stalking out of the room. He can’t be around anyone else right now. Behind him, he can almost hear Ron take in the breath to ask him where he’s going, but his friend must think better of it because he lets Theo storm out without a word. 

Well, without a word to Theo. As the door shuts behind Theo, he hears Ron say, “You know you could probably have handled that better.”

Theo makes his way up and out of the dungeons, hands shoved in the pocket of his robes. He wants nothing more than to go Wither and run around- so, that’s what he’s going to do. Sure, it’s getting close to curfew, but… come on. Theo knows how to sneak around. 

Sure enough, it is laughably easy to get outside of the castle and into the forest, and soon Withers is running around, tail wagging and tongue lolling. He feels instantly better, all of his anger at his friends seemingly evaporating in an instant. 

Now that the anger is gone, it’s much easier to be objective about his thoughts on the matter. And, loathe as he is to admit it, Daphne and Blaise are right. For Harry and for Neville, attempting the process would likely end in flames and monsters. Or- not likely , but any chance of it happening at all… and Theo has seen their potion attempts. They shouldn’t risk it. Realistically, they don’t need to risk it. Sure, being a surprise animagus would be useful, but for Harry and Neville, who are already both so powerful by their own rights? They don’t need ‘useful’. They have enough ‘useful’. 

So why does it bother Theo so much? Even now, as Withers?

He knows why. It’s because of how much he loves Withers. And he does- he loves Withers. Loves being Withers, loves that Withers exists at all. Loves that Sirius gave him this gift, even though it may have been out of necessity. And after hearing about Sirius and his friends, doing the process as a group…

Theo sort of thought they could do that, too. Sort of thought this could be something they shared. As friends. It’s irrational, and stupid, and definitely sappy- disgustingly sappy- but… it’s the truth. 

Withers comes to a stop, breathing hard. He was being ridiculous, and now he needs to go back to apologize to his friends and subsequently figure out with them how to break the news. Or- rather, convince Harry out of trying it anyways. He turns around to do just that-

Only to almost run straight through Myrtle. 

Withers scrambles to a stop, Myrtle watching with an amused look on her face. “I didn’t know you were an animagus,” she says. 

“And you’re not telling anyone,” Theo says, brushing his robes off as he transforms back into a human. “It’s illegal, and I would prefer it if I didn’t go to Azkaban at fourteen.”

“Please,” Myrtle says, waving him off. “I can keep a secret. I only pretend to be an incurable gossip, because I like knowing things.”

“And you’re sure the hat didn’t consider you for Slytherin?”

“What part of ‘I like knowing things’ did you mishear?” Myrtle asks. 

Theo smiles, then. Myrtle smiles back- sharp, and sharklike. 

Theo starts back towards the castle, and Myrtle floats beside him. “I assume there was a reason you came to find me?” Theo asks. 

“Obviously,” Myrtle says. “I don’t go out of my way to bother just anyone, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Theo mutters. He hadn’t taken as much care being quiet as he should have, even for something meant to be good-natured, and Myrtle’s face screws up. Theo lets her cry for a moment, before saying, “I assume this has something to do with what we discussed?”

Myrtle’s tears stop so abruptly it’s like they hadn’t existed at all. “Of course,” she says. “And it worked wonderfully. I can’t be sure, but I think I really scared him.”

Theo smiles again- he can’t help it. “He’s right to be scared,” he says. “What happened, exactly?”

“He admitted just about everything,” Myrtle says. “Growing up to be Voldemort” - Theo flinches despite himself - “and everything. All but told me about the horcrux, too. I mean, he didn’t name it or anything, but he told me about ‘a dark ritual’, one that splits a person and requires human sacrifice. The whole thing!”

Theo raises his eyebrows. Forget scared, Myrtle must have terrified Tom- he doesn’t strike Theo as the type to let that information go unless he’s really backed into a corner. Or any information, really. Going to Myrtle for help really was a strike of genius on Theo’s part. 

“He’s also sure that old Voldie has more than one horcrux still floating around out there,” Myrtle continues. “Seems to think he’s the only one capable of finding and destroying them.”

Theo hums through the spike of unease deep in the pit of his stomach. He’d suspected as much, but still… the confirmation isn’t exactly pleasant . 

“I could be wrong,” Myrtle says, “and I probably am, since he’s so charming and all, but… I think he meant it, too. He really seems to want Voldemort dead.”

“I think you might be right,” Theo says. “Think about it- does Tom, or the Dark Lord for that matter, seem like the sort to want more than one of him running around?”

“It’d be competition,” Myrtle says, knowingly.

“Exactly.”

They walk (or float) in silence, for a moment. 

“Well, that’s about everything,” Myrtle says. “Should I go haunt him some more?”

“Not yet,” Theo says. “Or… maybe pop up once or twice. If we let him simmer, he’ll just keep getting more and more worried. Stressed about everything falling apart- hopefully enough to force his hand.”

Tom is a Slytherin. Wanting the Dark Lord dead or no, he isn’t going to make a move against the older version of himself unless he has to. Theo knows that very well- Tom’s not the only Slytherin around. 

“And then I can haunt him,” Myrtle says, giggling. 

“Once the Dark Lord is dead,” Theo reminds her. 

Myrtle frowns, and for a moment, Theo is worried she’s going to start to cry again. Then, she sighs, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” she says. “I can wait. I suppose.”

“The important thing is to make Tom make his move,” Theo says. “And I think you’ve just made him re-evaluate all kinds of things.”

“Sort his priorities out,” Myrtle agrees. 

Theo nods, then stops. They’re almost at the castle again, and he’s going to need to move inconspicuously- and Myrtle is many things, but inconspicuous isn’t one of them. At least, not when she doesn’t want to be. It’s just, Theo’s not sure how to ask Myrtle to go away without her bursting into tears. She’s been a surprisingly painless accomplice to work with as far as the Tom thing goes, but… she is a very volatile ghost. 

Fortunately, she’s a smart one, too. “I could scope for you,” she says. 

“I’m alright,” Theo says. “Go on without me.”

Myrtle shrugs. “If you say so,” she says, before she vanishes from view. 

Theo smiles again, before it fades as he remembers why he’d been in the forest in the first place. As a human, it’s a little harder to stay rational about his friends (Ron had been right- they really could have handled that better), but even aside from that, it still leaves Theo having to break it to the others that they’re pulling the plug on the animagus thing. That’s not going to be fun. 

…could be worse, though. Theo could be having to tell them about the horcrux. Or the fact that the Dark Lord is Harry’s father. Or that Tom is also, kind of, Harry’s father. Or, Theo could have to tell Harry that his fire is one of the darkest magics out there, and that there are so few people who can control it that controlled fiendfyre was thought to be myth. Which… unlike those other things, will probably come up sooner rather than later. 

Yeah. Yeah, regardless, Theo would take the animagus thing any day.

Chapter Text

“Hey Harry,” one of the twins says, coming up behind Harry. 

Harry jumps what feels like three feet, grabbing wildly on to his magic. “Holy hell,” he gasps out, grabbing his satchel strap tightly. 

The passageway had previously been completely empty, and Harry has no idea how the twins managed to sneak up on him. He doesn’t remember any passageways letting out in this particular hall. 

“Woah,” says the other twin, also coming out of nowhere up on Harry’s other side, “we were trying to scare you, but maybe not that much. Don’t die on us, little brother.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, feeling his heart rate slow. “It’s just- Halloween,” he explains, not wanting to elaborate beyond that- let the twins think that it’s the dead parent thing, and not the fact that without fail every Halloween for the last three years has ended in some kind of disaster. 

Sure, it’s not Halloween yet , but it’s a close thing- and past October thirtieth-s haven’t always been walks in the park either. 

Fortunately, this seems like enough of an explanation for the twins. They come around him, identical impish grins painting their freckled faces. 

“What did you want?” Harry asks, feeling distinctly on-edge. 

The twins tend to make him feel like that- you just never know what you’re going to get when you deal with them. They remind Harry a bit of Elves, in that sense. 

“We’re cashing in on that deal,” the twin on the right says. 

Harry is confused. And then he thinks back, realizes he's only ever made one real deal with the twins- back in second year, when he was desperate to find Hermione- and he’s no longer confused. He is, however, suddenly a bit panicked. Harry mostly trusts the twins, but he doesn’t want to give anyone his cloak- not even for a second. And this is probably going to be a whole day . 

“Yep- but we’ll have it back to you by tomorrow morning,” the left twin says, slinging an arm over his brother’s shoulder. 

“So don’t worry about not having it during whatever shit happens to you and yours this time around,” the right twin continues.

Ah- so maybe they hadn’t assumed the dead parent thing after all. 

“My bet is on troll two,” the left says, grin widening. 

“Anyone with a brain would know it’s going to be a shark,” the right counters. 

“A shark,” the left says. The right nods firmly.

“No doubt about it.”

Harry wishes Merlin wasn’t asleep- not for the first time, he curses the fact that the castle isn’t warmer during the cold months. Although- on second thought, Merlin might not be asleep at all. She’d elected to stay in the tower today, but Harry shouldn’t assume that she’s not just out and about. 

“Well,” the left twin says, turning back to Harry, “hand it over-”

“Unless- is someone in life-threatening danger?” the other asks, arching an eyebrow. 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. Then he reaches a hand into his satchel and withdraws the liquidy fabric, shining silver under the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Harry’s almost certainly imagining things, but he could swear he feels a petulant tug on his magic as he goes to hold it out to the twin. 

“It’s just for the day,” he says to it. “You and me both can survive one day, yeah?”

“Yeah,” the twins agree simultaneously, looking down at the cloak as well. 

“Don’t worry, piece of clothing,” the left twin says. 

“We have your best interest in mind, thing without a mouth or eyes or a brain,” the right twin adds.

Despite the twins’ teasing; whatever reluctance Harry had felt from the cloak, real or imagined, disappears. Looks like the cloak is going to take their word for it- and Harry is too. Say what you will about the twins, they are good on their deals. Everyone knows that. 

The trick is to make sure they can’t exploit any of the terms. That’s when things get… well, mostly just annoying. But sometimes it gets really, really messy.

Harry hands the left twin the cloak, who holds it reverently in his hands. 

“Thanks, Haz,” the right twin says.

“I know you’re going to be careful with it,” Harry says, unable to tear his eyes off of the shining piece of fabric, “but it’s one of the only things I have left from my dad- so please, please -”

“We’ll guard it with our lives,” the left twin says seriously. He says it so seriously, in fact, that Harry can almost believe it.

“Okay,” Harry says, finally looking away. 

The twins salute, and then run off without a glance backwards. Harry resumes walking towards the library, looking down at his feet as he does. His stomach is twisting- he hates making deals. It’s too- ugh. he doesn’t like being beholden to anyone . If the twins had just asked , he would’ve been happy to lend them his cloak. 

Well. Not happy , but he certainly would have heard them out. 

But no, they had to force him into it. Harry doesn’t think less of the twins for their methods, but said methods still make him hive-y. 

Remus would probably want Harry to examine why that is. 

…And Sirius would probably ask Harry if he wants to help him rebuild his flying motorbike as a distraction, and then Remus would roll his eyes, and then Tom and Theo would tell Harry to get the twins to give him the cloak back with some kind of violence- but they’d act like they’re arguing at the same time, which Remus and Harry and Sirius would laugh at them about, and then Merlin would come in and announce that she’s adopted a hundred pet doxies, and then they’d have to deal with that and-

Harry sighs. 

Maybe it’s not just the fact that Halloween is always such a disaster- maybe he really is just missing his family right now. Too bad Tom is at his flat right now- it’s a Sunday, and even though there’s a feast tonight, he probably won’t be back until later that evening. At least Theo and Neville are here- and to be honest, Harry considers his other friends family just as he does his sibling and god-brother. 

Harry redoubles his effort to get to the library. He doesn’t want to be alone right now. Plus, everyone agreed to meet at the library to do some more animagus research before they go down to meet the wannabe champions from the other schools. The only reason Harry isn’t there right now is because he’d wanted to stop by the owlery to drop off the letter he’d written to Sirius and Remus the night before. 

Harry and his friends have made a decent head start in researching becoming animagus, as well as anatomy work. (Hermione had made several flash cards, which has been helping everyone out- even Ron, who’s been dragging his feet a bit through the whole process.)

Sirius got back to Harry saying he hadn’t heard of any books to do with a different sort of ritual, and in the same letter both Remus and Sirius had (again) expressed worry about Harry trying the transformation. Remus was quick to say that he trusted Harry to make the right decision for himself and his own magic, but still, between that and Neville’s worries, Harry’s beginning to get a bad feeling about all this, whenever he stops to think about it. 

Although at this point, he should really just bite the bullet and go talk to the Elves to see if they know anything. He could bring Hermione- she’d probably appreciate the opportunity to talk to them without being alone. 

Harry thinks that might be why she hasn’t gone already- Elves are off-putting to a lot of people, but he knows better than most how scary they can be. Harry knows he’d feel better with someone else there. Maybe a couple of someones, even. 

Harry’s a bit caught off guard when he makes it to the Library, he’d been so lost in thought. He hurries over to where his friends are sitting at their usual table. 

“You made it,” Daphne says, shooting Harry an unimpressed look. “Finally.”

“We were beginning to think another troll got you,” Ron adds, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. 

“Or, that you’d gotten another troll,” Blaise says.

“Har har,” Harry says, pulling out a seat. “Any progress?” The table goes a bit quiet, and Harry narrows his eyes. “What?” 

The Slytherins exchange a look, and finally Theo says, “We’re not becoming animagus anymore.”

Harry’s heart plummets. “What? Why?” Neville and Hermione look similarly concerned. 

“Neville was right,” Blaise sighs, sounding for all the world like she’s not at all disappointed about any of this. “It’s too dangerous for you two. It’s almost completely gray, and… well. Your potion grades speak for themselves.”

Harry can’t even argue with that, which is the most unfair part. 

He loves his magic, he does- and after the end of last year, and the healing this year, he’s started liking it, too. But this… this is putting a bit of a damper on the whole thing. Was it so much to ask for, having one normal experience with his magic? One thing in which it works with him, and not just in defense of him? As if responding to his thoughts, his magic flails a bit. He grabs ahold of it, trying not to frown outwardly. 

“And we’re not doing it without you,” Ron continues. 

Well, that Harry can argue. Can, and will.  “No,” he says. “Wrong. Even if you are right, and it’s too gray for me and Nev, it’s not too gray for you.”

Neville is nodding, brow furrowed, and Harry is gratified that he’s not the only one feeling that way.

“Doesn’t matter,” Daphne says, shaking her head. “It’s like you said- we all do it, or no one does.”

“No,” Hermione says, absently shuffling her flashcards. “It’s like I said. It’s too useful in a combat scenario. For as stupid as it might be for Harry and Neville to try, it would be stupider for us not to.”

Daphne looks like she’s about to fight Hermione on this, so Harry is quick to add, “and it’s not like me and Neville are just going to stop trying. Just… we need to do more research, and it makes sense for us not to hold you back.” 

Harry isn’t sure how true this actually is, but it works- Daphne closes her mouth, looking thoughtful. 

“Also, I’m going to do it regardless,” Hermione says, shrugging. “It’s too interesting an experience to pass up.”

“Fine,” Blaise says, waving her hand. “We’ll all do it, except for Harry and Neville, who are no doubt going to internalize this experience and blame us forever for being left out. But when it invariably destroys our friendship two years down the road, don’t come crying to me.” Theo’s hair goes a little gray- but that could just be a trick of the light. 

Neville rolls his eyes. “Blaise. I’ve all-but known f-from the beginning it wasn’t going to work for me. You just didn’t want to l-listen.”

Theo continues to look a bit put-out about this, and Ron pats his arm in solidarity (something that strikes Harry as something very few people on this planet could get away with, most of which are sitting at this table).

“Also, this is going to help keep you safe ,” Harry says, folding his arms as he looks back Blaise’s way. “Nothing that would keep you safe is something I could ever blame you for.”

Blaise glares at him, jaw set. “Can’t you let a girl try to get out of doing extra work in peace ?”

Harry shrugs, sitting back. “I just can’t help it,” he says. “I’m naturally inclined towards being concerned for my friends’ well-being.”

It’s true- as disappointed as he’s trying not to feel right now, he can’t begrudge his friends for doing the process. They’re not the ones with picky magic. Besides- like it or not, Voldemort is coming. They need all the upper-hands they can possibly get.

Blaise glares for a moment longer before slumping in her chair, muttering the words “damn you, Potter”- and it’s not long after that that most everyone is laughing. 

“You mean it?” Theo asks, abruptly. “That you’re going to keep looking into it?”

Harry nods. “Of course,” he says. “It’ll probably be one of those things that takes me years and years, but… yeah.”

“Me t-too,” Neville says, expression determined.

“And we’ll help,” Hermione puts in. Her eyes are glittering. “Honestly, it sounds like that could be fun- making up a new ritual, I mean.”

“Two new rituals, even,” Daphne says, a gleam in her own eyes.

“I do like the theory of it all,” Blaise admits. 

And- despite the fact that Harry actually is pretty sad that he’s not going to be able to do the transformation any time soon- he feels a burst of warmth for his friends anyways. They don’t need to worry about this, they don’t have crazy magic that’s insanely picky- but here they are, agreeing to help Harry and Neville find a way to achieve the transformation, even if it’s ten times harder. Theo, too, gets a look on their face that makes Harry think they’re just as pleased as he is.

“In the meantime,” Hermione says, straightening her cards once more. “Let’s go over some more anatomy.” Harry struggles not to laugh as Blaise and Ron share a tired look, before turning their attention to the cards. 

Harry doesn’t know how long this lasts before they’re interrupted by the magnified voice of Dumbledore broadcasting, “would every student please report to the Great Hall? The other schools will be arriving soon, and we want to give them a warm Hogwarts welcome!”

Harry had honestly forgotten that was today, thanks to the animagus debacle- but now, he can’t believe he hadn’t remembered.

“This is so stupid,” Hermione says, putting away her beloved cards carefully in her bag. “And pointless.”

“Why are they starting th-the Tournament up again?” Neville asks. “From what Hermione’s said, the d-death toll has been… well, any death is not good. You’d think that they’d drop it altogether the very first time a student died, right?”

To be fair to Neville, that’s a really reasonable question. On the other hand-

“It’s Dumbledore ,” Daphne says, looking at Neville disbelievingly and also somehow reading Harry’s mind. “Does there even have to be another explanation?”

“But Dumbledore wasn’t always the headmaster,” Neville counters. “Why would it start in the first p-place?”

“All of the books I’ve read say it’s to foster healthy competition, general cooperation, and good-will between various schools,” Hermione says. 

“That’s stupid,” Neville says. “And sounds like a cheap excuse.”

Neville isn’t wrong. The whole thing doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Except for the fact that it’s wixen culture, which almost never makes sense. But at least those other instances usually have a solid enough basis in sensibility. This just seems… idiotic.

As they get closer to the Great Hall, Harry tries to muster up some feeling other than dread at the idea of the other schools coming to stay. He knows that it won’t be all of the students in the school, but- well. Harry is famous. Even if he doesn’t end up in the tournament (which, please god ), the other schools are likely going to want to at least get a good look at him. 

Harry had been relishing the lack of gossip surrounding him these last couple of years- although, in retrospect, that may be less because of the novelty of the boy-who-lived wearing off and more because the student body has had more to talk about than Harry- Sirius Black, the Dementors, the World Cup, the Tournament, to name a few. 

Or maybe Pansy’s been doing something to keep the gossip down. Harry should ask- and then give her money if she really has been doing something. Although- it’s Pansy, so the chances of her doing something like that out of the goodness of her heart are slim-to-none. She’s probably going to come collecting when the time comes. 

They’ve just managed to enter the Hall when-

“Harry, we’re moving,” Hermione hisses in his ear. 

Harry starts and then lets Hermione tug him along as he sees that, yes, the students are moving from the Hall to the grounds outside. Looks like it’s almost time to meet the other schools.

Chapter Text

“And you’re sure you can’t skip,” Oliver says from where he’s seated on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn. “Winky and I are having a movie night!”

Winky, from where she’s sitting on the loveseat she’s claimed as her own, grins nastily at Tom. Tom ignores this in favor of looking over at the TV, which is sitting there with the screen paused, looking for all the world like a completely normal television and not one that routinely tries to kill itself while cackling maniacally. 

Tom has no earthly idea how Oliver has managed to get that horrible television working for him, but he has- not only that, but Winky loves Oliver. Maybe Tom and Percy needn’t have bothered ghost-proofing the flat at all- Oliver probably would have just had to ask Myrtle to go, and she would have.

Tom is beginning to think Oliver has some sort of magical allure, of some kind. He can’t think of any other explanation for… well, anything about the other man, who is currently looking up at Tom with the most devastating puppy-dog eyes Tom has ever seen. And that damn eyebrow piercing is glinting, as per usual.

“I already told you,” Tom says, tearing his eyes away, “it’s my job .”

“Mine too,” Percy says absent-mindedly. 

Between his newfound responsibilities as Lord Weasley, as well as the frankly absurd amount of work Mr. Crouch is fielding his way, Percy is almost always reading or writing some document or another. He has bags under his eyes and is ridiculously pale- he needs sleep. And probably a good meal. Oliver needs to run some kind of intervention. 

“Fine,” Oliver says, crossing his arms and honest-to-god pouting . “But you’re missing out.”

To be honest, Tom should really want to kill Oliver. Everything about him should add up to someone that Tom cannot stand. But Tom doesn’t want Oliver dead. Would go so far to say that he… appreciates Oliver. 

Which is why Tom now is going to attempt to sooth Oliver’s hurt feelings. What has the world come to?

“I’d love to stay?” Tom tries. 

“I’d really love to stay,” Percy agrees, finally looking up from his paper.

This seems to mollify Oliver, who visibly softens.

“But we can’t,” Percy continues, checking his watch. “In fact, we need to go- the other schools are arriving in a couple hours, and I believe both of us are expected early.”

Oliver lets out a long sigh, but waves them goodbye. Winky’s huge inky black eyes track Tom as Tom and Percy walk out the front door. She’s grinning all the while. 

“That Elf really hates you,” Percy says conversationally as they walk.

“Can’t imagine why,” Tom says, even though he very much can imagine why.

But he’s not about to tell Percy that it’s likely due to the fact that Tom has approximately one-half the normal amount of soul a person normally has, and that he thinks the Elves might not necessarily approve of Tom’s foray into the blackest magic out there.

Not that Percy doesn’t already suspect him of something like that, Tom is sure.  

Percy stumbles on an uneven patch of ground- he really is exhausted- and Tom automatically reaches out, grabbing his shoulder to steady him. Percy returns the favor with an absolutely venomous glare, and Tom smirks. Case in point. 

God, who knew Gryffindors were so entertaining? In Tom’s time, they’d simply seemed loud. And in the way. Canon fodder at best. 

“Winky doesn’t seem to dislike you,” Tom says. 

“She puts up with me,” Percy corrects. 

“That’s how all Elves are,” Tom says, shrugging. “You’re lucky she tolerates you- Sirius is constantly battling with his Elf.”

“You know a lot about Elves,” Percy says. 

Tom just shrugs again.

“Mind if I join you?” Myrtle asks, floating out of the ground next to Tom. 

Tom can’t help it- he jumps, almost into Percy. 

“Just kidding,” Myrtle says, grinning widely. “You don’t get a choice.”

“Hello Myrtle,” Percy says. 

“Hello, Oliver’s friend,” Myrtle says. 

Tom snorts, and is instantly on the receiving end of two glares- he’s less amused by the ghostly one. In fact, Myrtle’s presence has kickstarted an uncomfortable feeling of panic that’s making him itch to grab at his wand and start throwing curses at her, as useless as that would be. 

“It’s Percy,” Percy says. 

“And I’m Myrtle,” Myrtle says as though Percy doesn't already definitely know, then swoops around a bit. “Are you two going to the castle? I’m oh so excited to see the other schools, aren’t you?”

Tom grits his teeth. Damn. How is it that Myrtle has managed to hit on the exact level of annoying that one would need to hit to bother Tom without being suspicious to any outsiders? Her constant unpredictable vacillation between emotional highs and lows is bad enough. It’s a good thing Tom managed to get Percy and Winky to ghost-proof the flat- otherwise he might have to deal with this sort of thing all the time. 

“Yes,” Tom says, forcing a smile on his face. “And yes. I’m sure at the very least, it will be an educational experience.”

“You two can drop the act,” Percy says, rolling his eyes. “I know you aren’t friends.”

Ah shit. Tom knows that, and Percy knows Tom knows that, but Myrtle doesn’t- and Myrtle also doesn’t know how much Percy knows, which means-

“You’re telling me you’re friends with a murderer on purpose ?” Myrtle shrieks, rounding on Percy, expression furious.

…which means this is about to become extremely precarious.

Percy stops in his tracks, inches from the girl’s accusing finger being pointed at his face. 

“Not friends,” Percy quickly assures her, holding up placating hands. 

“And I’m not a murderer,” Tom cuts in hurriedly- but it’s no use.

“ This psychopath?” Myrtle continues, obviously not listening at all to what either of them have to say. “V-”

Quick as a whip, Tom has his wand out and is shooting a silencing spell at the ghostly brat. 

Myrtle keeps shrieking silently, but Tom isn’t worried about that anymore. 

Percy is watching Tom through narrowed eyes. Despite the obvious suspicion, and the fact that he’s now not-so-subtly gripping his wand in his hand, Percy also has no small amount of poorly concealed smugness dancing behind his blue eyes. Tom wants nothing more than to wipe it off with a curse or two- Tom’s grip tightens on his own wand, heart racing. 

And so what? Maybe he should curse the other man. Tom’s never been sure as to how long they could continue their particular brand of song-and-dance. 

Tom can admit to himself that he’d miss it, miss the amusing lack of fear Percy holds for Tom despite the fact that Percy undoubtedly knows or suspects something . Miss the intellectual conversations they manage to have in between the thinly veiled threats (on Tom’s side of things) and outright insults (on Percy’s side of things).

But, Tom thinks as he watches Percy’s eyes dart from Tom to Myrtle to his wand and then back again, it might be time to show Percy the whole monster behind the mask- let him get an eyeful instead of a glimpse. See if Percy is still so confident in his aggravating tendencies after a couple crucios . 

Tom forces himself to think past the rush of panic and anger that’s making everything seem as though it’s moving in slow motion, forces himself to loosen his grip.

Everything else aside, Percy is useful. Tom needs useful people on his side- Voldemort will have no shortage of loyal followers once he returns, and Tom can’t afford to let a ghost of all things ruin the few alliances he has.

“It. Was. The. Diary,” Tom says, slowly and clearly. He watches Myrtle as he does, praying she catches on and drops the subject. 

Her eyes are narrowed, and her arms are crossed. But she’s not trying to yell anymore, so Tom lets the silencing spell fall. 

“Right, well,” Percy says, checking his watch. He’s relaxed at Tom’s words, but not by much. “We need to hurry if we’re going to get there on time.

“Hurry then,” Myrtle says, before turning her nose up and floating away. Tom lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

The rest of the trek up to the castle is made in silence. 

Once they hit the Entrance Hall, they split up without so much as a goodbye. Tom heads up to the Defense classroom, leaving Percy to go to the Great Hall to meet with his boss. 

Tom slips into the classroom, spinning his wand idly in his fingers as he does. He scans the room, noting that Moody’s office door seems to be open- despite the fact that the man seems to be nowhere to be found. 

It’s the perfect time to snoop. Tom goes to his desk instead, and sits down. As if Moody would ever leave his door open. There’s a possibility it’s not a trap, but Tom isn’t about to risk that. Ever since that utterly disastrous imperio demonstration (which reminds Tom that he needs to pull Harry aside so that they can get him up to snuff), Moody and Tom have been in a sort of a standstill. 

Moody wants to catch Tom out on… something. Probably the Voldemort thing, but Tom thinks the man would settle on getting Tom fired for something petty. 

Tom, on the other hand, is almost completely sure that Moody is hiding something. Probably something embarrassing, possibly something dangerous. 

When Tom had come to ‘check on him’ after the lesson, Moody had cursed him out so hard through his office door that Tom had barely the time to blink before he found himself outside of the classroom, heart racing as he supported himself against the wall. It’s been a long time since an adult has made him feel like that, but all of a sudden Tom was back in the orphanage, being called a ‘devil’s spawn’ and being spit at and hit and-

It had been unsettling. But more than that, it had been out of character . Moody doesn’t like Tom, but he also doesn’t usually react with such vitriol to him. Something had happened during the lesson. And Tom is going to get to the bottom of it. 

The problem is that it’s incredibly difficult to snoop on a man with a magical eye and a paranoia problem. So far, Tom’s progress has been laughable at best. He’s reasonably sure Moody isn’t planning on killing anyone, at least. 

Tom’s eyes drift back open to the open door. He can’t afford to get fired, not if he wants to keep Harry alive this year. He can afford to look through the door from his desk. At that point, it really is Moody’s fault for leaving the door open. 

All Tom can see is an incredibly messy desk with assorted books and papers flung around as though Moody is less a man and more a tornado, a blackboard that’s simply covered in chalk diagrams and equations, an old coat draped over the man’s chair, an innocuous cauldron (Tom isn’t sure what, if anything, is in there), and a massive wooden chest- oak, maybe. 

It’s the chest that Tom wants to get a better look at- it doesn’t look locked, which in and of itself is suspicious. Moody, not locking a chest? Impossible. That chest is at best trapped. That, or it’s intended to look innocuous, which is difficult to do with such a piece of furniture. But if that’s the case, why not put a notice-me-not on it? 

Unless it’s warded so thoroughly that a notice-me-not wouldn’t stick. Tom grimaces- that decides it. He needs to get into that chest. Not now, but maybe- well. There is that feast tonight that Moody is going to have to attend. Technically Tom needs to attend as well, but- he can be a bit late, can’t he? 

Probably not, not without a stern lecture. But- something tells Tom that, whatever is in that chest, it’s worth the reprimand.