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Chapter Text

Prolgue:

In the gentle dusk of Halloween, 1981, from inside a small house in Godric’s Hollow, came the cries of an infant. The toddler stood trapped in his crib, little fists clutching the bars of his wooden prison. His round rosy cheeks were wet with tears, as were his green eyes. The boy’s dark hair, or the few tufts there were of it, had been streaked with white. Underneath this striking patch of hair was a small fork of lighting, only a little paler than his skin, that branched across his forehead. Moments earlier, he had been a normal child, with normal black hair and a normal forehead. Now everything had changed, whether the small boy knew it or not.

“Mama?” whispered the child, staring at the young woman collapsed on the floor in front of him.

“Mama?” he asked again, his voice full of confusion and fear. “Dada?” he continued, “Moony? Pafoot?”

There was no answer. In years to come, he would not remember these people, nor this house, but the searing green light that had collapsed his mother would not be easily forgotten.

He was The Boy Who Lived.

***

“Sirius Black,” proclaimed the head of the Wizengamot loudly, “You are accused of betraying the Potters’ location to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and first-degree murder of their close friend Peter Pettigrew.”

Sirius drew in a breath, regarding the stern faces looking down at him. His eyes flicked to Remus, who smiled at him encouragingly.

“How do you plead?” boomed the ministry official.

Sirius sat up as straight as he could (which thanks to various posture classes in his youth, was very straight indeed).

“Not guilty.” he replied.

“Very well,” continued the man, a tall and intimidating character with long brown hair, “Let us proceed. The defence may now state their case.”

Sirius’ representative, Martha Madden, who was a friend from school that had kindly agreed to help him, stood up and walked to the centre of the room, positioning herself next to him.

“Sirius Orion Black is not guilty on all accounts,” she announced, “As a close and loyal friend of the Potters, and a staunch opposer of You-Know-Who and everything he stood for, all charges against Mr Black are therefore false. The man who betrayed the Potters is not Sirius Black, but Peter Pettigrew.”

It was hard to know which way his case would go, Martha herself had admitted this to him, but she seemed confident there was at the very least sliver of hope for Sirius. He would take what he could get.

“The offence may now state their case.”

A ministry lawyer, Warren Stint was his name, stood before the judge.

“Sirius Orion Black is guilty on all accounts according to eyewitnesses to the murder and familial ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Familial ties, thought Sirius scornfully. Even if the odds (and general public opinion) were against him, there were definitely holes in Stint’s case.

He shifted uncomfortably in his restraints and glanced at Moony again. He didn’t notice this time, too focused on the judge, and Sirius wondered if this would be the last time he saw his beloved Remus Lupin. He tried to shake the thought from his head. Of course it wouldn’t be, he assured himself. Stint began the offence and Sirius swallowed, hard.

Warren Stint brought forward witnesses to Sirius’ fight with Wormtail, who all reaffirmed the current story. Next he explained Sirius’ lineage and the Black family’s allegiance to Voldemort. He brought up that there was no evidence of Pettigrew standing with the Dark Lord in terms of upbringing or actions and finally reseated himself.

Martha Madden stood up.

“To prove Mr Black’s true loyalties I will bring forward a series of his friends and teachers.” she began, “Remus Lupin, will you please present yourself to testify.”

Remus descended from the viewing gallery and to the witness stand, beside Sirius and Martha.

“Do you, Remus John Lupin, swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth or be henceforth stripped of your magic?” asked a ministry official, pressing her wand into Remus’ hand.

“I do.” replied Moony.

She removed her wand and walked away. This time Remus looked at Sirius, and they shared another encouraging look.

“Objection!” interjected Stint, all eyes turned to him.

“What is your objection?” asked the head of the case.

“Remus Lupin is a known lycanthrope and therefore unfit to testify.”

Sirius’ expression darkened. Several members of the Wizengamot muttered amongst themselves.

“I don’t see how lycanthropy makes him unfit to testify.” retorted Martha sternly, “He was a close friend of Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and the Potters from Hogwarts. He has valuable input into the situation.”

There was a small stretch of silence.

“Objection overruled.” decided the long-haired man, breaking the quiet of the room.

“Thank you,” she addressed the judge, then turned to Remus.

“Is it your belief that Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew?” she began.

“No,” responded Remus, drawing a few gasps from around the room, “Sirius would never cast a killing curse or any other unforgivable, not even on a death eater, let alone a former friend.”

Remus’ answers were rehearsed, Martha had made sure that everything he needed to say (and to not say) had been scripted, even if he was telling the truth.

“How would you explain Pettigrew’s disappearance and single finger?” she asked him pointedly. No doubt this was the question in everyone’s minds.

“Peter was an illegal animagus,” he said, “As was James and as is Sirius. They managed to do this when we were all still in school, in our third year. They did this to be able to comfort me while I was… during full moons at school, so I wouldn’t be alone. James was a stag, Sirius is a dog and Peter… was a rat. This can be confirmed by their patronuses. It’s my belief that Peter cut off his finger and transformed into a rat to escape and frame Sirius. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Is Sirius Black a close member of the Black family?” questioned Martha.

“No,” said Moony confidently, “He was never close with his parents or his brother Regulus. When he was sixteen, he was disowned from the Black family. He doesn’t share their ideologies, nor has he been in contact with any of his close or extended family members - except for Andromeda Tonks, who was also disowned - since the age of sixteen.”

Martha looked pointedly at Stint. Sirius was in half a mind to do the same, but felt it was perhaps the wrong moment.

“Why was Mr Black disowned?” she asked Remus. What a question, thought Sirius.

“He ran away from home,” explained Remus, “To go and live with James Potter, because he didn’t want to live with his birth family anymore. His views differed too much from them, especially when there was talk of the war coming. The Potters took him in as one of their own and he was very grateful to them. James and Sirius were like brothers… they were family.”

“Did Mr Black ever express sympathy or loyalty in regards to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at any point while you knew him?”

“No, he always hated Voldemort and everything he stood for.”

There were some gasps at the mention of Voldemort's name. Martha ignored them.

“Did Mr Black ever express sympathy or support for blood-puritists?”

“Sirius doesn’t believe in blood purity and he’s had lots of Muggleborn friends through the years.”

“Did Mr Black ever express discrimination or hate against Muggles?”

“Never,” confirmed Moony, “In fact, he regularly interacts with muggle culture and enjoys listening to muggle music and wearing muggle clothes.”

“Could you describe Mr Black’s friendship with James Potter?”

“They were very close, the very best of friends,” explained Remus, “They met in their first year of Hogwarts and were inseparable from that point onwards. They were some of the closest in our group, that is to say, myself, Sirius, James and Peter, especially after Sirius moved in with him, and that’s why Sirius was made Harry’s Godfather. Like I said, they were practically brothers.”

“Could you describe Peter Pettigrew’s friendship with James Potter as well as with you and Sirius?”

“Peter was always…” Remus trailed off, clearly Wormtail was still a sore subject for him, and Sirius knew he was somewhat uncomfortable with the scripted response to this question, “Always the odd one out.” He continued, “He was very shy and quiet, and not as close with the rest of us as we were with each other. He and James were on good terms but definitely not as close as James and Sirius.”

Sirius swallowed again, thinking back on their old friend.

“And what were Mr Pettigrew’s political allegiances?” questioned Martha, “Did he support You-Know-Who?”

“I didn’t think so,” replied Remus uneasily, “It’s possible. Peter was significantly less vocal about politics than the rest of us. He was a pureblood but I don’t think his family were anti-muggleborn.”

“Do you believe that it was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters?”

“Yes,” replied Moony confidently, “I don’t see who else it could have been, there were only a select few of us who were secret keepers. I’m certain it wasn’t Sirius, and I know it wasn’t me, it was Peter.”

“What do you think could have incentivised Mr Pettigrew to betray the Potters and frame Mr Black?”

“It’s hard to say,” replied Remus uneasily, “After we’d all finished Hogwarts we didn’t see him very much, he’d sort of drifted away. Maybe that was our fault for not holding on enough, maybe he resented us for that, or maybe he grew apathetic in our time apart… I… Peter was the only one without a partner between us, he… he only saw Harry a handful of times, I don’t think he knew Lily as well as me and Sirius. Maybe he felt ostracised, or left out. During war, having community, and family is so important, or at least it was for me. Safety in numbers, but also a sense of unity. Peter… Peter didn’t have that as much as we did as far as I know. And… well, despite being in Gryffindor Peter was always a… a coward.” Remus looked uncomfortable saying it, but Martha had thought it was for the best. “While he might not have necessarily supported Voldemort it’s possible that if he was threatened or even feeling threatened - which we all were at this point - that he would have betrayed James and Lily.”

“Thank you for your testimony Mr Lupin,” concluded Martha, “You may return to your seat.”

Remus got up from the stand and walked back up to the viewers gallery, giving Sirius an encouraging look as he went.

Next was McGonagall, and after that Dumbledore, Andromeda and finally Marlene, who all confirmed Sirius’ estrangement from his family and their values, as well as their suspicions that the boys had been animagus, and their confidence that they’d had the magical ability to pull it off. Sirius was asked to transform into his animagus form as well as cast a patronus, which he did and in turn further confirmed their story.

“I would like to remind the Wizengamot that the examination of Sirius Black’s wand yielded no evidence of any unforgivable curses or any other type of lethal spell. The last magic he used before being taken into custody was a disarming spell, which according to the aurors who apprehended him, was not directed at them.” stated Martha.

She then brought up these aurors to testify, as well as bringing back an eye witness of the event.

“Sirius Black will now confirm this story with Veritaserum.” she explained, and Sirius swallowed again. With the majority of the wizarding world against him, Sirius needed something big to win his case and convince them all of his innocence. The veritaserum was that something big. It wasn’t often used in court cases, and only in severe ones, not to mention you had to be of age and the use had to be approved by the head judge, but once in effect it leant potency to any story. Sirius only hoped it would work. A small vial of ministry-administered Veritaserum was brought to him and, all eyes on him, Sirius tipped back his head and drank the potion.

“Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?” asked Martha clearly.

“No.” replied Sirius.

“Have you, at any point, worked under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or any of his followers to provide them with critical information?”

“No.” said Sirius.

“Did you betray the location of James, Lily or Harry Potter to anyone while they were in hiding?”

“No one.” responded Sirius.

“Is Peter Pettigrew an animagus and is his animagus a rat?”

“Yes.” he confirmed.

“Do you support He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, blood purity, the dark arts or anti-muggle sentiment?”

“No.” he denied.

“Thank you,” finished Martha Madden, fixing him with a firm smile, “That will be all.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you’re free.” beamed Moony as they exited the Ministry. Sirius was finally out of the holding cell he’s been kept in, and the two of them were on their way to Remus’ flat.

“You sound surprised Moony,” he accused. Remus only chuckled. They reached the floo network and lined up behind two other wizards.

“How bad was the cell?” asked Remus after a pause, his scarred face grimacing a little.

“Anything’s better than Azkaban,” winked Sirius, not wanting to worry him, “It really wasn’t too bad.”

They reached the front of the queue and Remus took a fistful of floo powder from the pot on their right, before flinging it into the fireplace and announcing “Mayfield!”

Green flames flared up and the two of them stepped into the fire, immediately whisked through the floo network and into Remus’ house. They stepped into the werewolf’s homey living room, brushing the soot off their shoes before taking them off. There was a small doormat and a shoe basket in front of the fireplace purely for this purpose.

“Let me give you a tour,” suggested Remus kindly, and he began to walk through the house. Sirius followed behind him, aware that their relationship was more than a little awkward, as much as Moony was trying to pretend otherwise. He was led through the kitchen/dining area and the small hallway, as well as the master bedroom and the bathroom. It was cramped, but cosy, and smelled faintly of chocolate. Every picture of James, Lily or Peter twisted his gut painfully, but he tried not to linger on the past, it had stung enough during the court proceedings.

Finally they sat down at the circular wooden dining table with two cups of tea and a bar of chocolate. Sirius sipped from his mug, the one Remus always gave to him, thoughtfully.

“What are we going to do about Harry?” asked Remus, a little suddenly.

Sirius put down his cup.

“He’s with Lily’s sister at the moment,” he stated, “Isn’t he?”

Remus nodded somberly.

“I seem to remember Lily telling me she wasn’t…the nicest,” he added.

Remus nodded at this too.

“You’re Harry’s Godfather,” said Moony, snapping off a square of chocolate for himself, “He should be under your care. Obviously before the trial that wasn’t possible, but now it is, and we should try and get him out of that house, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” agreed Sirius, “It’s my responsibility as Godfather afterall. And of course we can’t leave Harry with Lily’s family. Why did they go there in the first place?”

“Dumbledore.” replied Remus, shifting in his seat.

Of course, thought Sirius bitterly. The old man was up to his tricks again.

“I’m surprised the bastard bothered to testify for me.” spat Sirius.

Remus looked uneasy at Sirius’ harsh words.

“I know I never really agreed with you about him Padfoot,” he began, “But I was surprised how difficult it was to get him to speak at your trial. I had to get McGonagall involved, I mean, it was ridiculous.”

Sirius shot him a weary smile. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of them sipping their tea.

“That’s not the worst of it,” confessed Moony, “After I came back from my…’mission’ for him, and when I’d found out what happened and that you were arrested, I went to him. I told him that it wasn’t adding up, I just had a feeling about it you know, and I wanted to at least talk with you. He told me to let it go. Told me that I was wrong.”

Moony seemed pretty worked up over this, but again Sirius remained fairly unsurprised.

“Bastard.” he said again under his breath, returning to his warm tea.

“I’m sorry I thought it was you at first.” apologised Remus quietly.

Sirius looked up, his friend’s features were contorted with deep regret.

“It’s not your fault,” he assured Remus, “I would’ve thought the same. Anyone would’ve.”

“You know I think the world of you, Pads,” he told Sirius, his voice tinged with sadness.

They were sat fairly close, and their hands were resting next to one another. Sirius reached out his pinky and intertwined it with Remus’. They locked eyes.

“Do you still…” Sirius trailed off, “While I was gone, did you find someone else?”

His chest felt constricted and tears pricked at his eyes but he had to know. Remus took his hand and held it between his.

“Of course not.” he replied, his voice breaking slightly, “Sirius, I could never.”

Sirius sniffed, cracking a smile.

“Do you still love me?” he asked softly, choking up and finding the courage to ask his original question.

“I love you.” confirmed Remus without waiting a beat.

A small tear trickled down Sirius’ face and Remus gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“I love you too.” whispered Sirius, sinking into Moony’s arms and holding him tight.

Chapter Text

The Dursley family of number four, Privet drive, prided themselves on being completely and utterly normal. When their friends and neighbours thought of the Dursleys, it was impossible to imagine them being involved in anything remotely strange or mysterious. The most bizarre thing that they could come up with about the family was that there simply wasn’t anything bizarre at all. Except that there was.

Vernon Dursley was a large angry man with a moustache that would put any self-respecting walrus to shame. He had beady eyes, an angry demeanour and hardly any neck at all. In contrast, Petunia Dursley was tall, skinny and sharp, with enough neck for the both of them, which she used to spy over the hedges on their neighbours with. Mr and Mrs Dursley were parents to a young boy of six years old, Dudley Dursley, who, according to them, was substantially superior to all other children. Mr Dursley worked for a drill-manufacturing company named Grunnings. Overall, the Dursleys were very happy, apart from one thing; The Potters.

Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley’s sister, but the two hadn’t spoken in several years, and Lily Potter (for that was what Petunia’s sister was called) her good-for-nothing husband and their son (who was about the same age as Dudley), were about the most un-Dursley as a family could be.

Even knowing of the Potters’ existence had been difficult enough, but just a few years ago, young Harry had been left on their doorstep by a stranger, with nothing but a letter in terms of explanation.

Now six like Dudley, Harry was a scrawny boy, surprisingly skinny and small for his age, with dark skin, messy black hair that always stuck up and bright green eyes. As if this unruly child wasn’t strange enough, he had a streak of white hair and a strange mark on his forehead that resembled an upside-down scraggly tree.

Harry was the shameful secret of the Dursleys, who forced him to cook and clean as well as sleep in the tiny cupboard under the stairs. While Dudley was pampered with love, gifts and food, Harry was overworked, underfed and starved of any fond attention.

Not only did Harry look strange, he acted strange too. Much to the horror of the Dursleys, inexplicable things always seemed to happen to Harry. When he was cornered by Dudley and his cronies at school, he suddenly appeared on the roof. After a particularly aggressive haircut from Petunia, the family awoke the next morning only to find it had grown back to its usual bird's nest during the night. Worst of all perhaps, was the incident that had occurred on Dudley’s birthday visit to the zoo, when a python that Harry had been avidly watching escaped from its enclosure, the glass seeming to disappear. Petunia could have sworn he was even conversing with the wretched creature, the two of them hissing at each other unintelligibly.

Petunia had tried her very best with the boy, she really had, but little Harry Potter was clearly a freak, just as Lily had been, and just as her no-good husband had been. The scruffy boy was too much for the conservative neighbourhood of Little Whinging, even just his appearance alone was enough to send their neighbours into a fever of gossip.

She watched her nephew tend to the begonias, his scrawny frame bent over the flowerbed, and sighed huffily. Although she and Vernon had vowed to squash the freakish nonsense of his parents out of the boy, it was to no avail. Petunia had planted pink begonias and grown pink begonias. The ones Harry was in the midst of tending were bright orange. She wondered if he had even noticed. Biting her tongue, Petunia turned back to her cooking, deciding to keep the mysterious colour change to herself, Vernon needn’t hear a thing.

Chapter Text

Harry stood timidly at the window, looking down on the scene unfolding in the driveway of number four, Privet Drive. Two rough-looking men, the kind of men that were scorned in Little Whinging, stood outside the doorway, speaking with Petunia and Vernon.

One was tall and calm, with curly mousy-brown hair and face adorned with faded scars. He was dressed in comfortable clothes, all of them various shades of brown. Beside him, slightly shorter, was a handsome man with long black hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of his neck. He was dressed in what Vernon would spitefully describe as ‘punk’ attire, with a leather jacket, raggedy jeans and a pair of scuffed combat boots. Parked in the driveway behind the two was a slightly battered looking motorbike. Harry wondered if these two strangers were figments of his imagination, they were so ridiculously out of place on Privet Drive that it was almost surreal.

To his even greater surprise, the two men were let inside and walked into the house. Harry almost gasped, his mouth dropping open. The ruffians he had just witnessed enter the Dursley’s home were the last sort of people Petunia would want in the house. Before he could even process what was happening, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and came face to face with the shorter man, who was grinning, albeit apprehensively. Harry said nothing, merely staring at the man with his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Harry?” asked the man tentatively, his voice softer than Harry had expected, “Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded shakily.

“I’m Sirius,” he informed the boy, “Sirius Black. I’m your Godfather.”

“I’m sorry?” was all Harry could muster, squeaking out the words in his small seven-year-old voice.

“I was a very good friend of your father’s,” he continued, “And of course your mother as well. When you were born, they made me your Godfather.”

“You knew my parents?” asked Harry in disbelief, with every passing minute things seemed to become more and more stupendous.

The man, Sirius Harry remembered, nodded, crouching down to the young boy’s level.

“James was my best friend,” he explained softly, pain clouding his dark eyes, “We went to school together.”

Harry heard raised voices downstairs and shrunk into the wall. The other man, the taller one, had started an argument.

“We promised ourselves that we would stamp out this nonsense!” came the screams of Uncle Vernon through the carpeted floor.

“Of course we have a choice!” shrieked Petunia next, her shrill voice joining the chorus of the shouting. Harry trembled slightly.

“Hey,” said Sirius, recapturing his attention, Harry looked up anxiously, “Don’t worry about that Harry. Remus is going to sort it out.”

Harry tilted his head in confusion.

“Remus is my friend.” explained Sirius, “We’re here to take you away, if you’ll let us.”

“Take me away?” repeated Harry, dumfounded, “Where are you going to take me?”

“Away from here,” responded SIrius firmly, “To live with me and Moony-Remus-Moony is his nickname, if you’ll have us Harry.”

“To live with you?” asked Harry, dumbfounded. He must have been dreaming, there was no way this was real.

“That’s right,” grinned Sirius Black, “I’m not sure if you’ve been told this before, but you’re a wizard Harry.”

“A what?” he gasped.

“A wizard,” said Sirius again, drawing a strange stick from his back pocket.

“Are you pulling my leg?” asked Harry, his brows furrowing as he regarded the stick with curiosity.

“Have you ever done something you couldn’t explain?” continued Sirius, looking into Harry’s eyes meaningfully, “Have things ever happened around you that seem a bit… magical?”

As doubtful as he was, Harry couldn't deny that these things had happened.

“What in the blazes is a Muddle?” boomed Uncle Vernon’s voice. Harry ignored it.

“I set a python on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once,” he whispered conspiratorially. Sirius chuckled, and Harry’s eyes widened even further.

“You really are your father’s son,” laughed the man, “Your father and your mother were magic too. So am I, and so is Remus.”

“Magic?” Harry asked incredulously.

Sirius brandished his strange wooden stick and with a swish and flick and the muttering of some strange words, Petunia’s favourite vase began to float steadily upwards.

“Y-you’re doing this?” stuttered Harry, entranced as he watched the vase levitate over to a different side table and settle down gently in front of a family portrait of the Dursleys.

“You’ll be able to do it too in a few years,” winked Sirius, pocketing the stick, or rather, the wand.

Harry fixed his gaze on the vase and balled his fists, willing it to float a second time. He felt something briefly surge within him, and the vase seemed to raise almost imperceptibly about a millimetre or two, but quickly fell out of the air and back onto the table with a soft thump.

Disappointed, Harry turned back to Sirius, whose eyes were wide with wonder.

“That’s… quite incredible for a child of your age Harry,” he commented.

Harry was unsure, and said nothing.

More arguing and shouting could be heard from downstairs.

After a pause of a few seconds wherein his Godfather surveyed the ugly pink vase, he turned again back to Harry, an encouraging smile on his face.

“So what do you say?” he asked, “Do you want to come and live with Moony and me?”

Harry nodded quickly, his round glasses bouncing on his nose.

Sirius grinned at him.

“Let’s go and get your things,” suggested Sirius, standing up, “Which one of these is your bedroom Harry?”

“None of them,” replied Harry confusedly, “I sleep in the cupboard under the stairs.”

Sirius looked aghast.

“The cupboard under the stairs?” he repeated in an almost-whisper.

Harry nodded, wondering why his Godfather looked so horrified. He backed away slightly, in case Sirius got angry.

“It’s ok,” he explained tentatively, “I don’t have many things anyway, we can just go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sirius. Harry nodded again.

Sirius paused on the landing for a moment, Harry couldn’t see his expression so could only assume the worst.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs,” he instructed tightly and began descending the staircase. Harry trailed after him, reeling with all the information he’d been given. He could barely believe what was happening. In fact he couldn’t believe it at all. The pair of them reached the living room where Petunia, Vernon and Remus stood in a thick, charged silence. Sirius beckoned his friend over and they exchanged a few tense words, Moony appearing to calm the other man.

Harry caught the words ‘we’ll send them a howler afterwards’ and wondered what on earth a howler was. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound pleasant.

“That will be all.” said Remus tersely. Vernon was purple, a vein throbbing in his forehead, Petunia was white as a sheet, her mouth bunched up at the bottom of her bony face.

Sirius began to usher Harry out, and with one last fleeting look at the Dursleys, in which Vernon grumbled something along the lines of ‘good riddance’ and Petunia looked suddenly fraught with worry, Harry was out of the door, out of the house, and out of the prison that had been number four, Privet Drive.

“Are we riding the motorbike?” he asked his newfound Godfather.

Sirius shot him a toothy grin paired with a wink.

“You bet we are, Harry.”

And with that they climbed aboard and sped into the sunny afternoon.

Chapter Text

Sirius parked his battered black motorbike outside of a modest dark blue house. It looked slightly smaller than the Dursleys’ home, but infinitely more inviting.

“Here we are,” said Remus. Harry had thought he’d sounded reasonably calm before, but now his voice sounded… relaxed. As if he’d let out a huge sigh of relief. Harry couldn’t blame him, being in the presence of Petunia and Vernon was enough to put anyone on edge.

The three of them clambered off the bike and Sirius pulled the helmet Harry had been wearing off his head, depositing it into the sidecar.

“I’m Remus,” said Remus.

“I know,” replied Harry meekly, “Sirius told me. He also said your nickname is Moony.”

“Did he now?” commented Remus, arching an eyebrow at Sirius, and then, after a short pause, “His nickname is Padfoot.”

What strange nicknames, thought Harry silently, but he didn’t dare voice this opinion aloud.

“Your dad’s nickname was Prongs,” added Sirius fondly, his voice a little quiet.

“What was my mum’s nickname?” Harry asked him timidly.

Sirius barked out a laugh and Remus smiled.

“She didn’t have one,” supplied Moony.

At least she’d had some common sense then, thought Harry. Sirius and Remus began to make their way to the front door. Harry trailed behind.

“Do I get a nickname?” he asked the two men.

“If you like,” laughed Moony.

“You could be Prongs jr,” suggested Padfoot.

“That’s ok, thank you,” replied Harry politely. Moony only laughed some more.

Meanwhile Padfoot unlocked the door and the three of them stepped inside. The house was warm, and smelled vaguely of chocolate. Immediately, Harry’s mouth began to water. He hadn’t had a filling meal for days, let alone anything sweet. All the Dursley’s chocolate was reserved for Dudley and Dudley alone. He had tasted some here and there, sneaking a few bites when Petunia’s back was turned, but never enough for Dudley to notice. Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew what would happen if he was caught. He wondered if he could perhaps sneak some of Padfoot and Moony’s chocolate at some point. They must have had quite a lot if the whole house smelled of it, surely they wouldn’t notice if a little was gone? But before Harry could even finish this wistful reverie, he found himself being offered the sweet confectionary, just like that.

“Would you like some?” asked Moony, holding out a half-eaten bar to Harry. Harry’s eyes widened, was it a trick?

“Yes please,” he breathed, reaching out and taking a square. He pressed it between his lips and held it under his tongue. It began to melt and he couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness.

“You can’t just feed Harry chocolate Remus,” chastised Sirius, “He’s a growing boy, he needs sustenance.”

“Take another piece if you like,” Remus told him, ignoring Padfoot’s qualms. Out of the corner of his vision, Harry glimpsed Sirius rolling his eyes.

Harry’s eyes however, widened even further and he reached out for a second square, hardly believing his luck.

“Thank you,” he told Moony, swallowing the first piece.

“You're welcome Harry,” he replied, and then a thought seemed to strike him.

“Where are your things?” he asked.

“He didn’t have any,” replied Padfoot for him.

“I see,” said Remus, glancing at Harry a little worriedly.

“We can go shopping for some new clothes tomorrow,” suggested Padfoot with a smile.

New clothes? Clothes that hadn’t previously belonged to Dudley? Clothes that were just for him?

“The kitchen, dining and living rooms are all down there,” gestured Moony, “bedrooms and bathroom are upstairs, would you like to see yours and you can get settled in?”

Harry nodded. Not only was he getting clothes but also a whole bedroom? Now he surely was dreaming.

He followed Moony and Padfoot upstairs and to the left was a bright, airy, open bedroom that was a little smaller than Dudley’s. There was a large window with a view of the street below, as well as a child's bed with a red blanket and white sheets. Next to that a small nightstand with a lamp at the other end of the room a built-in wardrobe. Harry gaped in awe, his jaw slack.

“This is mine?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course,” replied Sirius, sharing a look with Moony.

Harry stepped inside and wandered towards the window. The view was nice, it overlooked the quiet road but also a nearby park. Harry craned his neck and stood tiptoe to see through the thick glass.

“We haven’t had time to get it properly ready yet,” explained Sirius from behind him, “We weren’t sure if we’d get custody you see, and once we did we went straight to get you of course.”

Harry’s breath steamed on the window and he quickly rubbed it off as inconspicuously as he could.

“You can decorate it however you like,” Moony told him.

“Yes,” agreed Sirius, “Right now it’s just not quite finished.”

“It’s perfect,” Harry told them, turning around. And it was. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn to a framed photo on the bedside table. Harry walked over to it and turned it around. To his great surprise, the photo was moving. A young man with dark skin and hair and a pair of glasses laughed and danced with a red-headed, green-eyed woman. They looked happy. They looked… a bit like him.

“That’s James there,” pointed out Sirius, his voice in that soft quiet tone again, “And there’s Lily.”

Harry’s fingers brushed over the photo. Now that he thought about it, Lily, his mum he reminded himself, looked sort of similar to Petunia, but quite a bit less bony, and with magnificent dark red hair.

“I wish they hadn’t died in that car crash.” whispered Harry, staring at his parents fondly.

“Car crash?!” demanded Sirius incredulously.

Chapter Text

Padfoot, Moony, Harry and their family friend Hagrid walked through the bustling crowds of Diagon Alley. Hagrid towered over the rest of the witches and wizards, most of them barely coming up to his midriff. Hagrid however, barely seemed to notice, grinning with excitement and pride under his large bushy beard. Harry knew Hagrid had been looking forward to this trip almost as much as him, the kindly half-giant had always taken great joy in Harry’s experiences.

It would be difficult to surpass Harry’s eagerness on this particular outing though, his green eyes flitting from storefront to storefront, his hair somehow even more unruly than usual and his fingers kept searching out the crisp white envelope and matching letter addressed to Mr Harry James Potter that was stuffed in his pocket. He was practically bouncing off the walls, and Remus was trying desperately to reign him in to a safer level of energy. Sirius only laughed.

Harry had been to Diagon Alley on a few occasions with the pair, but this time was different, this time they were shopping for his school supplies for Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which had been thoroughly detailed in the letter he’d received.

First they were off to get all the necessary books for that school year. And while Flourish and Blotts was perhaps not the most exciting shop they would be visiting that day, Harry could barely contain himself. Sirius quickly sent him off with the list and he rushed around the store, breathless and beaming, piling his arms with books.

Next was the necessary potions equipment. Padfoot moaned nonstop about the travesty it was that Severus Snape was potions master or even in the school at all and Moony grumbled about the incredibly long list of expensive equipment they were expected to buy.

“Honestly you’d think they’d supply it there, it’s a school isn’t it?”

“Can’t believe you're going to have to learn under Snivellus Harry, he’s an absolute prat.”

“Language.” Remus reminded him dryly, “My only condolence is that this is a lifetime investment.” he continued muttering to himself, “Next years shopping had better be at least half the price.”

Harry barely registered the two men’s grumbling, enthralled by the magic of it all. Hagrid fortunately was in much the same mood and the pair of them kept shooting ear to ear grins at one another.

At Madam Malkin's, Harry got his robes fitted, spying none other than Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, who Sirius explained were his cousin and nephew. He’d never met Draco Malfoy, a well-cut slightly pointy boy with grey eyes and pale hair and skin, but assured Harry the Malfoys were ‘a bunch of foul gits’.

Harry stood next to the mysterious boy as his robes were pinned and cut, watching him curiously from the corner of his eye. While he tried not to make assumptions from what Sirius had told him, it became abundantly clear quite quickly that Malfoy was a bit of a git.

He spoke with all the haughty air of an entitled ponce, but Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his light hair framed his face, and the way he kept glancing anxiously at his mother. She herself was good looking also, probably where Draco had inherited it from as Sirius had explained that out of all British pureblood families, the Blacks were some of the best-looking, himself being the prime example he gave.

Harry could have sworn the other boy was looking curiously at him too, perhaps because of who he was and who his guardians were, or perhaps just intrigued by Harry’s strange scar and streak of white hair.

Soon after he and Sirius set off to the wand shop; Ollivanders, by far the most exciting excursion of the day. Meanwhile Hagrid was off doing something mysterious, and Moony was off to buy his usual potion.

They walked into the dimly lit store and Harry was struck by the piles of boxes upon boxes upon boxes all around the shop. There was a small area at the front with a desk and the storefront windows. Harry and Sirius waited there together.

“Ollivander?” called Padfoot.

Suddenly a silver ladder slid towards them (gliding across grooves in the floor) and came to a jerky halt at the edge of the shelves upon shelves of wand boxes. Upon the ladder was a slim grey haired man with large owl-like eyes and a faint smile on his face.

“Mr Black!” Exclaimed Ollivander, Harry winced, Sirius didn’t like to be addressed by his old family’s name.

“It’s Mr Lupin now, actually,” he informed the wand maker with a tight smile.

Ollivander paused, teetering on his ladder.

“Of course!” he said weedily, causing Harry to jolt a little, those large owl-like eyes turned to him and fixed the small boy with a stare, “And Mr Potter, what a pleasant surprise!”

The wand maker climbed down from the silver ladder and crossed towards the pair.

“Feels like only yesterday your mother and father and dear Mr B-uh-Lupin were getting their first wands!” he rambled on, shuffling papers on his desk, “Such a shame that they… Well, let’s get started then, shall we? I’ll bring out a few I think might suit you and we’ll go from there!”

He shuffled off into the back of the store, disappearing among the shelves of neat purple boxes.

Sirius leaned down with a smirk to whisper something and Harry looked up at him fondly.

“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter,” he wheezed in a passable impression of the wandmaker, Harry snorted, “Trust me he’s going to say that at least three times.”

Sirius winked at him and Ollivander returned with an array of wands.

“Do any of them...call to you Mr Potter?” he inquired, his large eyes becoming even bigger, “Do you feel any connection?”

“Um,” replied Harry sheepishly.

“That’s alright Mr Potter just give them all a try and we’ll see how it goes.”

Harry tentatively approached the first box, opening it carefully and removed the wand, a rather knobbly curved stick, and held it in his right hand.

“Give it a swish,” encouraged Ollivander. Harry did so and one of the glass light fixtures shattered to their right. He and Sirius jumped, while Ollivander merely tutted.

“Next one Mr Potter,” he instructed and Harry did as he was told, “The wand chooses the wizard after all,” he added, to which Harry and Sirius tried to suppress a bout of laughter.

“Is that so?” Managed Harry, biting back his grin. Ollivander looked mildly confused but was distracted once again by a second explosion at the flick of the wand in Harry’s hand. He shook his head somberly and gestured for Harry to try the next one. Harry got the feeling that this was going to take a while.

About twenty wand flicks and subsequent explosions later, Ollivander reappeared form the maze of wand boxes with one in his hands, looking rather agitated.

“Mm, I wonder…” he mused to himself, “Perhaps…Curious, very curious indeed…perhaps…”

“Perhaps what Mr Ollivander?” asked Harry curiously.

Ollivander turned to him, eyes aglow, mouth set in a firm line, “try this one,” was all he said, carefully passing Harry the box.

Harry took it and opened it. Inside was a medium-length straight wand made of a beautiful - almost dark red - wood. He picked it up and held it in his hand. A rush of something, of power, of magic washed over him and Harry’s eyes widened. He could definitely feel…something. Was this the ‘connection’ Ollivander had been talking about? Harry braced himself in case of another explosion and gave the wand a flick.

The light above them glowed brightly for a moment and Harry felt another surge of energy, before dimming again.

“Curious!” Exclaimed Ollivander, “How very curious indeed…”

“What’s curious?” Asked Sirius, sounding intrigued.

Ollivander looked up from Harry.

“This wand’s core is a Phoenix tail feather,” he began, fiddling with his own wand, “But the Phoenix that supplied it only ever gave one other feather.”

Harry and Sirius listened raptly, enthralled.

“That feather was the core for none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Voldemort,” whispered Harry, Ollivander recoiling a bit at the use of the Dark Lord’s name.

“Precisely,” whispered the wandmaker back, “How curious that the two of you should share the same wand core from the very same Phoenix… He did great things with his wand Mr Potter, terrible things, but great nonetheless.”

“I’m sure you need no reminder that he murdered James and Lily,” said Sirius abruptly, looking furious, “An act that I would appreciate if you did not describe as ‘great’. The killing curse is certainly no ‘great’ feat.”

“Of course,” muttered Ollivander defensively, retreating into his shop a little, “Of course!”

“The wand chooses the wizard.” Added Ollivander, but this time it was significantly less funny.

Harry and Sirius left, the both of them a little sobered, but Harry still immensely excited that he now had his very own wand, regardless of who the twin-core wand belonged to.

As they walked back up the street, they easily spotted Hagrid who was positively splitting at his sides from beaming, carrying a golden cage which housed a beautiful snowy owl. Harry could barely believe his eyes, he was being spoiled so rotten today.

“Happy birthday Harry!” Hagrid called over the throngs of people. Harry couldn’t help but return the huge smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Harry and his newfound friends Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom as well as the rest of the many first years stood anxiously behind the doors to the Great Hall, awaiting the sorting ceremony. Harry, after laughing so hard his stomach hurt, had assured Ron that they would not be battling a troll, but merely placing a sentient hat on their heads. Ron’s ears had turned red, a piece of body language Harry was quickly coming to realise meant the freckled ginger was embarrassed.

He’d met his three new companions onboard the Hogwarts Express, Harry Sirius and Remus running into the large Weasley family on the platform and Ron, Hermione and Harry ending up sharing a compartment. Neville had come looking for his toad, Trevor, and they had helped him find his beloved pet. Ron himself had a rat, called Scabbers, Hermione a rather unfortunate looking cat named Crookshanks (it had taken a strong dislike to Ron’s animal and for some reason a strong liking to Harry), while Harry had his beautiful snowy white owl, Hedwig. Having been worried that he wouldn’t have made any friends, Harry was feeling significantly better, but the rest of his stress would probably be alleviated after he found out which house he was in (preferably the same as his friends).

Harry was jolted out of his reverie by the Malfoy boy from Madam Malkin’s. He’d come up to him, backed by two larger boys who stood threateningly behind him, arms crossed. His grey, or perhaps more accurately, silver, eyes glittered.

“So it’s true,” sneered Draco Malfoy, “Harry Potter really has come to Hogwarts.”

Harry felt Ron bristle beside him, clearly not overly fond of the Malfoys.

“I’m Draco,” the boy began to introduce himself.

“I know who you are.” interrupted Harry.

Draco only seemed to smile even more at this, the opposite of Harry’s desired effect.

“Seems there’s no need for introductions between us then,” he grinned, his silver eyes fixed on Harry and no one else, “This is Crabbe,” he gestured behind him, “This is Goyle.”

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in greeting, clearly not boys of many words. Harry wondered if Crabbe and Goyle were last names or first names, but considering the strange array of names used in the wizarding community, he couldn’t be sure.

“This is Ron,” he began to introduce his friends, Draco cut him off, eyes still fixed solely on Harry.

“I hope you’re in Slytherin, Potter,” he said pointedly, Harry shivered under his intense gaze, Draco only leaned in further, “That’s where I’ll be.”

“Er,” was all Harry managed before Ron interrupted.

“Sod off Malfoy,” he frowned, crossing his arms tightly and leering at the other boy, “Harry’ll be a Gryffindor, just like his Mum and Dad. He’s not going to be a dirty Slytherin like you.”

Draco’s attention finally shifted to someone other than Harry and he scowled, his lip curling.

“We’ll see,” he spat.

“Um,” said Harry stupidly, trying to think of something to dissolve the tension.

“Red hair, ignorant comments and a hand-me-down robe?” sneered Malfoy, drawing a matching scowl from Ron, “You must be a Weasley.”

Harry gulped, looking at Ron, whose ears were bright red and demeanour positively fuming. Draco turned back to Harry, his sneer gone.

“You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort,” he told Harry, holding out his hand for him to shake, “I can help you with that.”

Harry almost shivered once again, pinned under Malfoy’s pointed stare.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself thanks.” he replied curtly. As he said it he could feel Ron’s relief and in the back of his mind Padfoot was laughing at his snide comment.

Draco did not seem very happy however. He retracted his hand swiftly and his expression darkened. Before he could say anything in retaliation, he looked up, schooling his face. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville turned around, to find a stern elderly lady looking down on them. Harry recognised her from his guardians’ descriptions as Professor Minerva Mcgonagall.

“Something the matter, boys?” she asked them, her narrowed eyes flitting from Harry, to Ron, to Malfoy.

“Nothing Professor,” replied Malfoy easily. Mcgonagall didn’t look entirely convinced.

“It’s time for the sorting!” she called, addressing the rest of the first years, “Please follow me single file into the Great Hall.”

The students began lining up, Harry taking his place between Ron and Hermione and casting a sideways glance at Draco Malfoy.

****

“Harry Potter!” came Mcgonagall's clear voice. Harry swallowed, hard, as whispers erupted throughout the hall. He slowly climbed to the stool where Mcgongall was awaiting him, and sat on it, his toes barely grazing the floor. He gripped the seat under him, regarding the Great Hall in all its glory. Ron, Hermione and Neville had already been sorted into Gryffindor, and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle into Slytherin. Both groups looked up at him from their seats. Harry swallowed again.

Mcgongall placed the sorting hat on his head, and the brim fell over his eyes. At least now he wouldn’t have to look at all the faces staring at him.

Just as it had with all the other students, the hat began to talk, but Harry still jolted nonetheless.

“Harry Potter,” it muttered.

Harry tensed.

“Hmm,” it mused, evaluating the small frightened boy, “Interesting…Very interesting indeed…”

This was the second time in a matter of weeks Harry had found himself being described in this fashion. It seemed there was something about him that was apparently especially ‘interesting’ or ‘curious’. He found himself resenting it a bit.

“A great mind…” continued the hat, “Lots of courage too I see. Not to mention a fair amount of kindness…Where to put you?”

With my friends, thought Harry suddenly, with Ron and Hermione.

The hat chuckled. Harry couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad reaction. He couldn’t help but think that as well as being with a group of people he was already somewhat comfortable with, he would be making Padfoot proud.

“Are you sure?” it asked him, “I see lots of potential in you Harry Potter…Slytherin could help you on the way to greatness.”

Gryffindor, thought Harry desperately, please put me in Gryffindor.

The hat was silent for a moment, and Harry wondered if it would even take his desires into account, it didn’t have to did it? Going to a house only because your friends were there was a pretty stupid reason, wasn’t it? Hopefully both his parents being Gryffindors would help his case.

“Very well…” it muttered, sounding a little resigned, then louder, “Gryffindor!”

Harry grinned as the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.

Chapter Text

“Mr Potter!” screeched Umbridge, breaking her calm facade. Harry didn’t even flinch, he was boiling with fury.

She desperately began to regain her composure, schooling her expression into a simpering smile.

“What happened to Mr Diggory was an extremely unfortunate accident.”

“An accident?” he exclaimed indignantly, “Cedric Diggory’s death was not an accident! He was killed by Lord Voldemort right in front of my eyes!”

“Detention!” she blurted out in a high-pitched barely-restrained voice, and then in a calmer manner, “Detention for a week Mr Potter, for telling such outrageous lies.”

“I’m not lying!” Harry shouted, his fists balled and his teeth gritted. Umbridge merely smiled again.

“Would you like another week Mr Potter?” she asked him sweetly.

Harry bit his tongue.

“No Professor,” he seethed, looking down at his feet.

“What was that?” she asked, causing him to tense his jaw. She had definitely heard him.

“I said ‘no, Professor’” he repeated.

“Very well,” she told him, “You may be seated.”

Suddenly it struck him. He realised why she was so familiar. She had been present at his hearing. Her annoying coughs and tinkering laughs came back to him as he sat down, his eyes never leaving the infuriating toad-faced woman.

***

“Harry what on earth were you thinking?” demanded Hermione as soon as they had left the classroom.

“A week of detention!” Ron reminded him. Harry ignored them.

“I know her!” he explained to his two best friends. Ron and Hermione shared a look and leaned in closer to Harry.

“What do you mean?” asked Ron.

“She was at my hearing,” revealed Harry. Hermione’s eyes widened.

“She’s from the Ministry!” she said in a half-whisper.

“The Ministry?” echoed Ron, sounding as though he didn’t believe it.

“She works for Fudge,” supplied Harry. His attention was caught by a pair of silver eyes regarding him with great curiosity. Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy realised he’d been caught staring and looked quickly away, hurrying on down the corridor. He had looked…interested. Why was he so enthralled by what Harry had to say about Umbridge? Surely with his father’s ministry connections he had already known who the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He drifted slowly back to the conversation at hand, his mind still thinking of those curious silver eyes.

“The Ministry’s keeping tabs on Hogwarts!” seethed Hermione in a hushed tone, “Fudge is spying on the school.”

“And on Dumbledore, I’ll bet,” added Ron.

“She’s definitely up to no good.” summarised Harry.

Chapter Text

Harry rapped his knuckles quietly against the door to Umbridge’s office, a grimace already deeply embedded into his face. Before she had even opened the door he could tell that this was going to be a long week.

“Enter!” She called sweetly from inside. Trying to sneer a little less, Harry twisted the handle and pushed open the door, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Good evening Mr Potter,” she greeted him, gesturing for him to sit at the desk beside her. Umbridge’s office was practically windowless and drowning in pink paint, wallpaper, furniture and ornaments. Every surface was accented with a frilly lace doily, all the walls with pink and white plates painted with mewing kittens. Harry had not expected her taste in clothing to translate quite so directly to her decorations, and tried his best to not look too revolted.

“Good Evening Professor,” he returned the formality, seating himself. The door swung shut with a resounding thud.

“Today you will be writing lines for me Mr Potter,” she explained.

Harry reached for his quills and ink.

“Oh no!” Giggled Umbridge, “You’ll be using my special one.”

“Ok,” said Harry, unsure what to think of this. She handed him a sensible looking quill, the only object that wasn’t a shade of pink, and a few scrolls of parchment.

“What will I be writing?” he asked her, knowing the answer would be unpleasant.

“I must not tell lies.” she replied, her face plastered with a wide toady smile. Harry grit his teeth, biting back a retort.

“How many times?” was what he said instead.

“Let’s just say as many as it takes to sink in.”

That didn’t sound promising, what if she decided it hadn’t sunken in until midnight? Harry didn’t like the idea of writing without a goal or time in mind. What could he do about it though?

Deciding to just get on with it, Harry set the parchment in front of him and picked up the quill.

“You haven’t given me any ink professor,” he remarked.

Umbridge giggled again, as if he was being silly.

“You won’t need any.” She assured him.

Harry returned to the parchment, and began to transcribe the line she’d told him. Strangely enough, the quill, not unlike a muggle pen, didn’t seem to need any ink, just as she’d said. It wrote in dark red across the (pale pink) paper.

I must not tell lies wrote Harry.

I must not tell lies.

I must not tell lies.

The back of his hand began to sting and Harry stopped writing, looking in confusion at his skin. He flexed it but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, so he carried on. He noticed Umbridge watching him with increasing amusement.

A few minutes later, the constant sting had increased so much that he sucked in his breath sharply after a particularly bad twinge.

“Is something the matter Mr Potter?” She asked him, smiling sweetly.

“No professor,” he replied tersely, “Nothing's the matter.”

The pain only worsened the more he wrote. It wasn’t long before Harry, much to his horror, realised that the line he’d been copying out for the last hour and a half had somehow been carved into the skin on the back of his hand. Unsure of how this was possible, but perfectly sure that Umbridge was the one behind it, Harry soldiered on, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

“Let’s have a look Mr Potter?” she inquired after hour three.

Harry handed her his parchment and she surveyed it, still smiling. Harry’s skin burned.

“Very good,” she approved, “Nice work Mr Potter.”

“Thank you professor,” he managed to say.

“Do you understand why you’re here today and Potter?”

He’d been dreading having a talk with her. Every time she opened her mouth his temper flared. At least she had been mostly silent during his line writing, even if the quill somehow was cutting into his skin.

“Yes professor,” he told her.

“Why?” she pried.

“I spoke out of turn,” he said tightly, “I lost my temper.”

“And what else?” she prompted, clearly unsatisfied, Harry could barely contain his rage, “What did you do that you’ve just been writing lines about?”

Harry paused, seething.

“I lied.” he spat through gritted teeth.

“Exactly,” agreed Umbridge, “You lied and spread fear mongering rumours in my classroom. Now apologise Mr Potter.”

Apologise? She’d already gotten him to say he’d lied and had had him cut the statement into his skin. And now she wanted an apology as well? Harry couldn’t believe her.

“Apologise.” She repeated, her voice cold despite her wide grin.

He was about to lose it again. He couldn’t take this provocation. She was taking it too far. The thought of a second week of detention calmed him somewhat.

“I’m,” he seethed, “Sorry.”

He could barely believe he’d managed that. Remus would’ve been proud at the amount of self control he was exerting. He tried to focus on Moony and Padfoot and not on the simpering toad-like woman in front of him.

“Very good Mr Potter,” her compliments soured his mood even further, “Very good indeed. In fact I think the message has really sunk in. Perhaps there’s no need for detention for the rest of the week.”

At least something good would come of this then. Harry silently thanked whatever magical or spiritual force had smiled upon him.

“Would you like that Mr Potter?” She asked him.

Now she was going to make him beg for it? Of course he’d like that. He clenched his fists, his nails imprinting little crescent moons into his palms.

“Yes professor,” he replied rigidly.

“You don’t sound very grateful Mr Potter,” she commented.

Now he had to thank her as well?

“Thank you professor,” he said in a strangled voice.

“You’re very welcome,” she smiled, taking the quill from him, “Good night Mr Potter.”

“Good night professor.” He replied, and with that he was out of the door, his anger about to boil over.

“Fuck!” He cursed furiously under his breath as he returned back to the Gryffindor tower.

Chapter Text

“I’m starving,” announced Ron. Harry chuckled as they strolled into the Great Hall, his best mate’s appetite was a force to be reckoned with, especially at breakfast time. Harry could hardly blame him after having had Mrs Weasley’s delicious cooking.

The two of them took their usual spots at the Gryffindor table and tucked into the morning feast before them. Harry began with a piece of toast, a classic for him.

“Where’s Hermione?” wondered Ron aloud.

“I’m sure she’ll be down soon,” Harry assured him for the second time that morning.

“How was detention with Umbridge?” Ron asked him. Harry tensed, hoping his friend wouldn’t notice.

“Fine.” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

“What’d you have to do?” continued Ron, “Clean her classroom?”

“Write lines.” seethed Harry, remembering the stupid words he’d repeated over and over.

“Well?” prompted Ron, “What did she get you to write?”

“I must not tell lies.” quoted Harry, anger boiling up again.

“You’re joking!” exclaimed Ron incredulously. Harry shook his head. “You were telling the truth!” Ron carried on indignantly, “She’s the liar! That bloody toad.”

Ron rambled on angrily, but Harry just felt tired. He picked at his second slice of toast.

“Harry what’s that?” asked Ron suddenly.

“What’s what?” he replied, retracting his hand from the table as though it had been stung.

“Harry your hand!” exclaimed Ron again. He’d definitely seen it. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What do you mean?” frowned Harry, feigning ignorance.

“You know what I mean Harry,” pressed Ron, his tone serious, “What happened? Don’t tell me- Was it Umbridge?”

“It’s fine Ron!” he lashed out, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” replied Ron quietly.

“Look, there’s Hermione,” pointed out Harry, trying to change the subject. Ron turned around. Harry looked past his friend and over Ron’s shoulder at the rest of the students. His eyes were drawn to Malfoy, who, just as before, was staring intently at Harry.

What had suddenly sparked this interest? Harry much preferred the familiar hateful glares and sneers he was accustomed to when it came to Draco Malfoy, this was something new. It felt as though he was being studied, something Harry disliked. He’d had enough encounters where people weighed him up and coined him interesting or strange, he didn’t need Malfoy doing it too.

This time however, once Malfoy was caught he didn’t look away. Harry stared right back, unsure of what else to do. His brows furrowed slightly.

“Harry!” greeted Hermione happily. Harry ripped his gaze away from Malfoy and turned to face her. She slid into the seat next to Ron, blocking his view of the Slytherin table.

“Good morning,” he returned, the tiredness setting in once more.

Hermione leaned in in a conspiratorial manner and Ron and Harry instinctively followed suit.

“Cho’s staring at you,” she told him.

“What?” said Harry. That hadn’t exactly been what he’d expected to hear. He looked over to the Ravenclaw table and spotted Cho Chang, who was indeed staring right at him. Unlike Malfoy, once caught she looked bashfully away. When she looked back up Harry smiled at her and she smiled back shyly. Harry shifted his attention back to his friends, wondering why Hermione had brought up Cho, or why she’d been staring at him in the first place.

“Hermione!” hissed Ron, “Look at Harry’s hand!”

In his distraction of watching Malfoy and then Cho, Harry had absent mindedly placed his injured hand back on the table. He snatched it away once more.

“What is that Harry?” demanded Hermione, looking horrified.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted stubbornly. Hermione looked just as unconvinced as Ron.

“It was Umbridge, wasn’t it?” she asked, drawing the same conclusion as Ron.

“You’ve got to tell someone Harry,” added Ron.

“You should tell Dumbledore.” Hermione suggested.

“Dumbledore hasn’t said a word to me since last year,” he reminded her scornfully, “He’s avoiding me, I wouldn’t even get the time of day.”

Hermione looked dubious, but she bit her tongue, clearly aware of what he’d left unsaid.

He stopped you and Ron from writing letters to me in the summer. And you listened to him. He had held back the words, not wanting to restart the argument, but she knew.

“At least tell Sirius.” said Ron, breaking the silence.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, leaning away from the table and abandoning his toast. He didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.

He looked back over Ron’s shoulder at the Slytherin table but Malfoy had disappeared.

Chapter Text

“Dreams!” announced Trelawney loudly with a flourish. Several students flinched at the force of her words, Harry among them. He’d been thinking of other things, specifically Draco Malfoy’s curious staring. He’d caught the Slytherin at it twice more since the time at breakfast, and there were probably even more times where Harry hadn’t noticed the eyes watching him. He had yet to tell Ron or Hermione, but he could already imagine their reactions.

‘He’s just being a prick Harry’

‘Don’t worry about it Harry’

‘Tell him to sod off, Harry’

That third one wasn’t such a bad idea, actually.

“Dreams!” repeated professor Trelawney shrilly, “The imagination of the unconscious mind, holding unspoken truths and insights into the past, the present, and the future… Dream interpretation can reveal much hidden knowledge, and that is what we’ll be learning this year.”

Harry and Ron shared a look of disgust which went unnoticed by their rambling teacher. Lavender Brown went so far as to clap her hands in delight, beaming at her deskmate, Parvati Patil. The two girls linked hands, matching smiles plastered across their faces.

“I would like you all to be keeping a dream diary,” she instructed, her large eyes scanning the room, “You will analyse your dreams in class with your partners.”

“You hear that, Ron?” whispered Harry, “I’m going to analyse your dreams.”

Ron chuckled.

“Harry!” exclaimed Trelawney, rounding on him, “What did you dream of last night?”

“I don’t remember, professor,” he replied. This was true, he had no memory of any dreams after his detention.

“Any other recent dreams?” she pressed, pursing her lips.

There was one. A recurring dream he’d been having since the summer where he walked through hall after hall after hall, searching for something he could never find. It wasn’t exactly something he wanted to share with the class though.

“No professor,” he lied.

“Surely you can think of at least one, Mr Potter,” she insisted. Harry racked his brains, trying to come up with a suitably grim dream for Trelawney.

“Falling,” he told her, “I had a dream where I was falling for a long time. And then I woke up. Yeah.”

“Falling!” she exclaimed, and began to delve into the symbolism and meaning of falling in a dream. Predictably, she foretold a miserable and grisly future for Harry before moving onto someone new. He zoned her out.

His real dream, while he didn’t want to tell Trelawney and the rest of his divination class about it, should probably be confided in someone.

‘Tell Dumbledore’ came Hermione’s inevitable advice, but he pushed the thought aside. Most definitely not. Maybe Padfoot or Moony the next time they firecalled. Harry bit his lip, deep in thought. He was keeping secrets, first his hand and now the dream. He wondered how many more things he’d keep to himself before the year was out. It wasn’t his usual behaviour, not at all, in fact it was almost… Slytherin. Harry recoiled at the comparison. It wasn’t Slytherin at all, he tried to convince himself, he was purely being private. Which was pretty Slytherin. Harry groaned internally.

Trelawney finished the class by reminding them of their dream diaries and assigning them some light reading before their next class together, not awful considering this was their O.W.L year. Harry and Ron descended the ladder, heading to their next class. The weight of their earlier argument about Harry’s hand hung between them. Neither chose to address it.

Chapter Text

Several hours later Harry and Ron parted ways.

“Prefect duties, sorry mate,” he’d explained before leaving to go and find Hermione. This had managed to sour Harry’s mood even further, reminding him of yet another slight of Dumbledore’s; making both Harry’s best friends prefects but not him. He hadn’t especially wanted to be a prefect, but it still hurt that he hadn’t been chosen. Was he less worthy than Ron and Hermione in the headmaster’s eyes? He would never find out as long as Dumbledore kept up his silence. Harry walked angrily back to the common room, his one saving grace that he’d been excused from detention and could get on with his, surprisingly large, amount of homework.

The hallways were full and bustling, and so he walked a different route, eager to get away from the crowds. He found himself passing Umbridge’s office, he’d forgotten it was on his way, and prayed he wouldn’t have the misfortune of encountering her. His prayers were answered, but in a rather unexpected way.

He instead had the misfortune of encountering Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was lingering around the corner when he made eye contact with Harry, but instead of just staring at him like he had for the most part of that week, he began to walk towards him. So Malfoy was finally going to talk to Harry, he’d been unusually quiet up until now.

“Thought you had detention, Potter,” he remarked. Perhaps it was Harry’s imagination but he didn’t sound as mean as he usually did. The sharpness was gone from his tone.

“You’ve been stalking me, have you?” he retorted, trying to walk past the taller blonde boy, who blocked his path. Harry’s eyes were caught by the glint of a shiny silver and green prefect badge. Great, he thought, even Malfoy was a prefect.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” quipped the other boy, folding his pale arms, “I want to talk to you about our new professor. Can I have a word?”

“Sure you can have a word,” replied Harry, pushing past Malfoy, “Goodbye.”

“Potter! Wait-” he caught Harry’s arm, “I’m serious. I know she’s up to something.”

His silver eyes glittered.

“You Slytherins have a sense for that do you?”

Malfoy chose to ignore this.

“What happened in your detention yesterday?” he asked, “She did something, didn’t she?”

“So you have been stalking me,” said Harry, avoiding the question, “You’ve been staring too, didn’t anyone ever tell you that’s rude?”

“Answer me.” replied Malfoy evenly, seeing right through him. Harry felt a wave of annoyance surge up in him. Who did Malfoy think he was? Harry’s friends and guardians hadn't even been told about Umbridge’s quill, why would he be willing to confess this to his worst enemy? He had better things to do at the moment anyway.

“What makes you think I want to talk to you, Malfoy?” he sneered, “Mind your own business and sod off.” He wrenched his arm out of the other boy’s grip and set off towards Gryffindor tower.

Chapter Text

Harry stood up from the common room sofa as soon as Ron and Hermione entered.

“We need to talk.” was all he said.

“Do we ever,” returned Hermione, looking a little relieved.

“No,” amended Harry, “It’s not about what you think.” Her relief vanished in an instant, and he felt a little bad, but he still didn’t want to discuss his hand.

“What do you want to talk to us about?” asked Ron, coming over to sit with Harry next to the fireplace.

“Umbridge,” he announced to his two friends. They look at him with matching puzzled expressions.

“Isn’t that what we want to talk to you about too?” inquired Hermione cautiously.

“No,” Harry insisted, “This is different. We have to do something about her.”

“Do what?” Ron asked him, “She’s from the ministry, she’ll be a pain to get rid of.”

“Not get rid of her necessarily,” explained Harry, his frustration growing, “Just do something about her, or against her, in general.”

“I’m sure Fred and George have got loads of pranks lined up,” Ron began to say.

“No,” Harry interrupted, “That’s not enough. I want to do something more.”

“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, “Are you sure this isn’t about your hand?”

“You’re not listening!” he accused her, his temper flaring. Hermione made a face at him.

“I know you don’t want to talk about,” she started to say, “But you have too eventually. If you don’t then whatever she did to you… she’ll do it to other students too. Maybe even first years.”

Now Harry was silent, biting his tongue. As much as he scorned running off to snitch to Dumbledore or McGonagall he couldn’t stand the thought of a small first-year using that quill to write out lines.

“She might not do it to anyone else.” he supplied, knowing it was a weak argument.

“You’re willing to take that risk?” asked Hermione, looking at him pointedly. Harry averted his eyes, staring at a spot on the carpet to his right.

“At least tell Sirius,” repeated Ron. Harry felt himself caving.

“Look, Harry,” continued Hermione reasonably, “I agree with you, we’ve got to do something about Umbridge. We’ll think about it, ok? And like Ron said, I’m sure the twins, and probably Peeves as well, will give her a hard time.”

“Exactly,” agreed Ron, “In the meantime just talk to Sirius, Harry.”

“Fine,” he mumbled quietly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his friends looked relieved. It couldn’t hurt to tell Sirius, could it? Sirius would understand, and he’d be sure to support any kind of anti-Umbridge conspiracy Harry came up with.

‘I know she’s up to something.’

Harry wondered if Malfoy was right, if there was something more sinister than even the quill going on, and hoped he could uncover more. With or without Ron and Hermione.

Chapter Text

“You’ve got food on the side of your mouth,” Hermione informed Ron a little scornfully.

“What?” replied Ron through a mouthful of sausage. Hermione grimaced a little.

“There’s food on your face,” she repeated, gesturing to his lips.

Harry looked away from them, bored, and found his eyes drawn once again to the Slytherin table. Malfoy wasn’t staring at him this time, instead plaintively eating a piece of toast while he read the Daily Prophet. Saying Harry disliked the newspaper was a nice way to put it, the Prophet had been dragging his name through the mud all summer. Calling him a liar. He seethed at the very thought. Malfoy finished his toast as well as the newspaper, which he folded neatly in front of him before making his way out of the Great Hall.

Harry stood up and began to follow, absently mumbling a goodbye to Ron and Hermione. What was Malfoy up to?

He was about halfway across the Great Hall, his eyes fixed on Malfoy’s back, when he heard his name being called.

“Harry!” came the voice of Cho Chang. Harry turned around in surprise, he hadn’t spoken with the Ravenclaw seeker since the year before, their only interaction so far had been when he’d caught her staring and smiled at her.

“Cho, hi,” he returned, trying to keep the shock out of his voice.

“Are you heading back to your common room?” she asked him, coming to walk beside him towards the exit of the Great Hall.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “You too?”

She nodded, smiling.

“I wanted to talk to you actually,” she told him.

“Oh?” he responded, taken aback.

Cho tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at him with a small smile.

“I just wanted to say that the Prophet is full of lies,” she explained in a soft voice, Harry beamed at this. Pretty much everyone had believed the utter nonsense printed by the wizard newspaper, even Seamus. It was nice to know someone was on his side.

“Thank you,” he told her, and he meant it.

“It’s nothing,” she replied sweetly, and then, “Are you trying out for seeker again this year?”

“Of course,” he grinned, “Someone’s got to compete with you.”

Her face went slightly red and she giggled. Harry hadn’t thought he’d said anything especially funny, but smiled along nonetheless.

“I know we’re enemies on the pitch,” she looked up at him through her lashes, “But don’t be a stranger Harry.”

“Right,” he said stupidly. What was she on about?

“See you around then,” she finished, and turned back towards the Great Hall.

“See you,” he said dazedly, wondering what had just happened. Why was she going back to the Great Hall? Hadn’t she said she was heading back to her common room, just like him? He brushed the thoughts away, returning to the task at hand.

Harry scanned the hallway, looking for Malfoy. Unfortunately he was too late, the Slytherin boy was nowhere in sight. He swept his eyes over the students, walls, doors, paintings and stairways once more, and was that? Harry could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash of white-blonde hair disappearing around a corner.

Hurriedly, he advanced towards the corner where Malfoy had vanished from and looked around it. He couldn’t see anyone, but it was a short corridor, Malfoy easily could’ve crossed to another hallway or entered a classroom in the time it had taken Harry to walk there. After a quick peek around the next corner, Harry decided he was being ridiculous and went back to the Gryffindor common room to retrieve his homework.

Chapter Text

Harry pulled off his quidditch robes, changing back into some of his muggle clothes to head back to Gryffindor tower. Tryouts had been pleasantly surprising. With Oliver Wood gone as well as some other older students, the Gryffindor team had some positions to fill, and not many promising players. Although the situation was a little depressing, Ron had succeeded in trying out for keeper, and Ginny for chaser, both of whom were better than expected, although Ron definitely had some nerves to work through. With the addition of these two the team was almost 60% Weasley. Harry couldn’t complain, their aptitude for the sport must have run in the family. If he remembered correctly, the only siblings who hadn’t been on the team at some point or other were Bill and Percy.

Harry had made seeker of course, and the rest of his teammates were largely the same. Not all the other Houses had finished tryouts yet, and he wasn’t sure who Hufflepuff’s seeker would be. He was fairly sure Ravenclaw’s would be Cho, a worthy opponent. Then of course Slytherin’s would be Malfoy, who despite having initially bought his way onto the Slytherin team, was also a somewhat worthy opponent. It was going to be a tough season, but Harry thought they had a ‘fighting chance’ as Wood had liked to say.

He finished changing and began to pack up his stuff.

“Heya Harry,” said Fred and George in unison, startling Harry from his thoughts.

“Hey,” he replied, turning around.

“Heard you were having some trouble with Umbridge,” commented George.

Harry frowned slightly, had Ron told them?

“We’re also not very fond of the old bag,” added Fred with a wink, “We’ve got a surprise for her in the works.”

“We need the map,” George told him.

“Oh!” said Harry, who hadn’t been expecting this. The twins had left the marauders map in his possession, and after they’d found out it had been created by none other than his father and guardians they’d assured him he could keep it. “When do you need it?” he asked them.

“Thursday next week.” replied Fred.

“Won’t be for long.” George assured him.

“Alright then,” agreed Harry, “Remind me on the day and I’ll give it to you.”

“Cheers Harry,” they chorused before walking off. Harry wondered what they were planning, and hoped that it would cause lots of trouble for the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor. She definitely deserved it.

Chapter Text

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione one dinner time feast as she approached the Gryffindor table.

Harry looked up, he’d had a tiring day of classes and a large pile of homework to finish, he wasn’t especially in the mood for her antics, but Hermione looked excited, and he couldn’t help but be a little excited too. Trailing behind her was a Hufflepuff from their year who Harry identified as Susan Bones.

“I think I’ve got it,” she told him, her smile conspiratorial.

“Got what?” he asked, interest piqued.

“A way to get back at Umbridge,” she replied in a quiet tone. Susan hovered behind her, seeming a little shy, and Harry wondered what on earth Hermione had come up with.

“Come on,” urged Hermione, beckoning him out of the hall, “We can’t talk here.”

Harry got up and followed the two girls to an empty classroom. They all took seats and Hermione cast a quick muffling charm.

“So what is it?” he asked them, his curiosity getting the better of him. Hermione dove right in.

“You want to get back at Umbridge, right?” she began, already smiling, “And she keeps spreading misinformation about you, just like The Prophet. We need a way to get the real story out to students at Hogwarts. They haven’t heard your side of it, only the lies from The Prophet. We need to get your story out there.”

“Ok…” said Harry uneasily.

“At first I was thinking of putting something in the Quibbler,” Hermione continued, “It was the only paper that I thought we’d have a chance of being accepted into, but everyone thinks the Quibbler is absolute nonsense, so I’m not sure how much that would help. Then I was speaking with Susie one class,” she gestured to the Hufflepuff girl, “And she was talking about what a disgrace the Prophet is, and how the wizarding world is missing good reporters, and suddenly I got this idea.”

Harry leaned in in anticipation. What had Hermione come up with?

“She’s a bit of an aspiring journalist herself,” explained Hermione, “And she believes in reporting the truth. We want to create a publication for Hogwarts, sort of like a school newspaper or something, where she can write an article about you and what really happened last year.”

Harry’s eyes widened, taking it all in.

“Won’t that just get us in trouble?” he asked, “Umbridge would shut it down as soon as she could.”

Hermione’s eyes glittered, she had a solution, he could tell.

“We were thinking,” she paused to glance at Susan, “That the more controversial articles could be covered up by a spell. That way, Umbridge and any other people we don’t want finding out what we’re really reporting on will see a fake, neutral article, and the people who know about the real article can tap their wand or say some certain words to reveal the actual writing.”

Harry mulled this over. It was nothing short of genius.

“How will they know the words or to tap their wand?” he queried.

“Word of mouth.” supplied Hermione.

“Won’t it be a bit tricky to charm it to be like that?” asked Harry, though if anyone could manage advanced magic, it was Hermione.

“Probably,” she agreed, “But I think I can do it.”

Harry sat back, reeling with the new plan.

“This is a really cool plan.” he concluded.

“Well don’t sound so surprised!” said Hermione indignantly. Harry chuckled.

He turned to Susan, who’d been silent throughout the whole conversation.

“Do you promise you’ll write the truth?” he asked her in a serious tone of voice. He’d had enough bad experience with journalists, he didn’t need more.

“I promise,” she told him firmly, “I’ll get your story out there.”

She seemed sincere, Harry was satisfied. Hermione wouldn’t have suggested Susan if she didn’t trust her after all. Harry was happy to learn that yet another person believed him and not The Prophet.

“So what do you say?” asked Hermione impatiently, her expression full of excitement, “Will you do it?”

“Yes.” he confirmed. The two girls beamed at each other and then at him.

Chapter Text

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, holding a thin sheet of newspaper Hermione had just handed him excitedly. The words Puffington Post were printed across the front page in proud golden lettering and several moving black and white photos adorned each page. He looked up at her and she grinned.

“Page three.” she informed him. Harry didn’t need to ask what she was talking about, he flipped directly to the page she had indicated and was met with a picture of himself from the start of last year. He was riding his broom around the dragon, it was the first task. The article title was simply; ‘Harry Potter, Triwizard Tournament Champion’. He scanned over the text, which was a fairly bland read about the different tasks and his times and place on the leaderboard in each one. He looked up at her in confusion.

“How do I -” he began to ask.

“Tap it with your wand,” she interrupted him, rolling her eyes. Harry took out his wand from his robes and pressed it lightly to the paper. To his astonishment, the words began to move and change, rearranging themselves into the interview he’d completed with Susan. The title was now ‘What the Ministry doesn’t want you to know; Harry Potter on the last task’. The picture was also different, instead of the dragon and his whizzing broom, Harry watched in horror as his black and white self cried over Cedric’s corpse. He quickly closed the page with a jolt and pushed it away from him.

“Sorry,” Hermione grimaced, peeking at page three, “I didn’t know she’d used that photo.”

“It’s ok,” Harry reassured her, fiddling with his hands under the table. She shot him a sympathetic look and he smiled weakly.

“It was written by Susan and some other Hufflepuffs,” she explained, “But some of the other articles are by different Houses. Look on the last page,” she encouraged him, “Lee wrote something about Quidditch.”

Harry turned to the last page, curious what Lee could have to say before the season had even started. It was an article on the tryouts, and the new teams for that year. Cho had indeed made seeker, just as Harry had suspected, and Malfoy as well. The article went on to chronicle the tragic loss of Oliver Wood from Gryffindor, as well as predictions for the first season. Harry tapped this wand against this article as well. It didn’t change much besides some harsher words against Slytherin, and some more bias to Gryffindor. He chuckled, of course Lee’s commentating style translated into his reporting.

“Neville also wrote one,” she smiled, flipping back to the front, “On Herbology,”

Harry skimmed over Neville’s writing. His interest in magical plants was apparent even through paper. Harry smiled to himself. He turned the page over and found a seemingly innocent article on Umbridge. It talked about her career, her time at Hogwarts as a student and some general facts about her as a person. A quick tap of his wand revealed the author was really calling out her backwards teaching methods and the Ministry’s interference in school affairs. The photo remained the same, but had been childishly drawn on to give her devil horns and angry eyebrows.

“Who wrote this one?” he asked Hermione, snickering at the author referencing Umbridge as an ‘old toad’.

“Hmm, not sure,” she replied, leaning over to look at the article, she pointed to the small neatly printed name underneath the title, “Blaise Zabini,” she read.

“Zabini?” repeated Harry, shocked. A Slytherin who hated Umbridge? She gave them so many points in class that he hadn’t thought it possible.

“I guess he values his education,” mused Hermione, reading his mind.

Harry said nothing to this. Hate against Umbridge seemed to unify all the Houses, even the Slytherins. How awful did you have to be to make all the Houses hate you?

“There’s another article with advice for our OWL year,” added Hermione, “It’s by a Ravenclaw seventh-year, I forgot her name. It’s pretty useful, I can’t believe we never had a school paper before this.”

Harry looked up from his copy of the Puffington Post and around the Great Hall. The majority of students were huddled around identical issues. He wondered how many of them were reading the ‘real’ articles, and how many were reading the cover ones.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous?” he asked Hermione, regarding the Slytherin table wearily. Even Malfoy was reading the school newspaper, what if he found out the secret?

“Don’t worry,” Hermione assured him, “I worked with some Ravenclaws to charm it so each article only reveals itself to people with the right intentions. A bit like the marauders map really.”

“What if someone lets slip about the real articles?” he pressed, unconvinced.

“Don’t worry about that either,” she replied, “There’s more charms to make sure people can’t reveal the secret.”

“If you say so,” said Harry, his gaze still fixed on Malfoy.

“Harry!” came the sound of Ron’s voice. He came bounding up to their spot at the table, brandishing the Puffington Post in his hand, “This is a stroke of genius!”

“Calm down!” Harry implored him, still suspicious, Hermione only smiled.

“You came up with it, right?” he asked, turning to the bushy haired girl.

“It wasn’t just me, Susan helped,” she explained bashfully.

“Stroke of absolute genius!” Ron repeated, beaming as he sat down next to Harry.

Ron and Hermione continued babbling about the paper as Harry finished up his breakfast and read through the OWL article Hermione had mentioned. After he was done with it he flipped back to Zabini’s writing. Could Malfoy read this one, he wondered? Harry guessed the paper probably wouldn’t reveal the real Quidditch or Triwizard Tournament articles, but the one on Umbridge had been written by Malfoy’s friend. Malfoy didn’t seem too fond of Umbridge in any case.

‘I know she’s up to something.’

Malfoy’s words returned to him once more. How did he know? What did he suspect? Harry wondered if he would ever find out.

“Harry?” came a quiet familiar voice. Harry looked up, it was Seamus. Seamus hadn’t spoken to him all year, except to denounce him as a liar and say he believed the Prophet. Something about his demeanour told Harry he wasn’t about to do that again. Harry looked down at his hands and saw that he was clutching a crumpled copy of the Puffington Post.

Still on his guard, he waited for Seamus to continue.

“I read your interview,” he carried on sheepishly, “I’m starting to think… The Prophet's version of things isn’t really adding up.”

“About time you came round,” commented Ron coldly.

“Well,” said Seamus, and then more softly, “Sorry I didn’t believe you Harry.”

“That’s ok, Seamus,” he replied, a sense of relief washing over him. The tension between him and his dorm mate had been difficult. Seamus gave him an awkward nod and returned to his regular seat, next to Dean.

“Wow,” breathed Harry, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Hermione smiled.

“It’s working!” she whispered excitedly.

Chapter Text

Harry crouched in front of the fire, waiting for Sirius’s face to surface in the ashes. After several minutes, he did, and Harry smiled at his godfather’s charred face.

“Hey Harry,” he grinned, Harry smiled back, a little uneasily.

“What did you want to talk about?” continued Sirius, Harry shifted, they were getting straight to the point.

“The new DADA teacher is awful,” he began, and Sirius winced, “She’s from the Ministry, she was at my hearing.”

“The Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts?” asked Sirius. Harry nodded gravely.

“That’s not the worst of it,” he carried on angrily, “She’s supporting the Prophet. She’s saying that Cedric’s death was an accident.”

Sirius looked just as furious as him, but there was concern on his face too.

“I shouted at her in class,” he explained.

“Atta boy,” remarked Sirius. Harry let out a small chuckle.

“I got detention,” he told his godfather, “And she made me write lines with this special quill…”

Harry paused. Sirius waited for him to resume, and when he didn’t, spoke up.

“Special how?” he prompted.

Harry fiddled with his fingers.

“She made me write ‘I must not tell lies’,” he explained, “And while I was writing it, my hand was really hurting. My left hand.”

“You were writing with your right?” confirmed Sirius. Harry nodded.

“The line…” he faltered slightly, “It sort of appeared on my hand.”

Sirius was silent. Harry could tell he was quietly controlling his anger, trying not to lash out in front of his godson. Although, like Harry, he was a fundamentally angry person, he kept it in check as best he could, not wanting to remind Harry of the Dursleys.

“Did the quill have no ink?” he asked after a long tense stretch of silence.

“How did you know?”

“So it had no ink then.” surmised Padfoot, avoiding the question.

“Is that bad?” wondered Harry aloud.

Sirius made a grumbling noise. He didn’t sound happy. So it was bad, then, thought Harry silently.

“About the lying allegations though,” said Harry eventually, “I did an interview.”

“An interview?” parroted Sirius, perking up somewhat, “I haven’t seen anything?”

“Hogwarts newspaper,” he informed him, “Hermione had the idea and a girl in my year wrote the article. There was other stuff in it too.”

“What did Umbridge do?” asked Sirius nervously.

“Oh,” chuckled Harry, “She doesn’t know about it. Only people with the right ‘intent’ can read the real articles. Some charm they did.”

Sirius smiled, although there was a weariness behind it. Harry tried to think of something that could cheer him up.

“Fred and George have got a prank in the works,” he added, a little desperately.

“The Weasley twins?”

Harry nodded.

“Next week Thursday,” he reported, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Cheers,” replied Sirius, but the weariness was still there.

“So that’s the misinformation problem sorted,” finished Harry a little awkwardly, “We’ll have to think of something for her awful teaching. Especially if we want to pass our OWLs.”

“I wonder if I could somehow get you out of her class,” mused Sirius, “You don’t learn anything and she’s a pain, what’s the point?”

Harry smiled, he appreciated the sentiment but thought it was probably unlikely he’d be allowed to miss class, Umbridge or not.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about your defence against the dark arts OWL Harry,” his godfather assured him, “You’ve had more experience than most wizards, and OWLs aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be.”

“Really?” asked Harry, unconvinced.

“Really,” confirmed Sirius with a reassuring smile. While this might have been true, Harry’s classmates could not exactly say the same. What were they meant to do?

“I’m going to talk to Moony about Umbridge,” Sirius informed him, “Is that ok?”

“Ok.” said Harry.

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised. Sirius was trying to comfort him as best he could. Harry wasn’t so sure that there was much his godfather could do, but he returned the smile nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Harry watched as Draco Malfoy stood up from his breakfast and began to make his way out of the Great Hall. From his, rather frequent, staring, he’d gathered that while Malfoy had many Slytherin friends, he preferred silence in the mornings. Harry often spotted him reading something with his breakfast, like the Prophet or a book, more recently a copy of the Puffington Post.

He got up and followed the Slytherin boy, this time uninterrupted by Cho and her idle chatter. He kept his eyes fixed on his back and his green and silver robes.

He followed patiently behind as Malfoy entered the main hallway, and then as he continued on to a new corridor, until soon the halls were quite empty, and it was just the two of them. Harry, quite sure that he was about to be noticed, wondered what he should do. Before he could come up with anything Draco turned on his heel, arms crossed, chin raised.

“I knew it,” he proclaimed, “You’ve been following me.”

Harry couldn’t exactly deny it, he’d been caught in the act.

“Why are you following me, Potter?” he asked.

Harry was quite taken aback, he hadn’t really given the matter much thought.

Because I was drawn to you, something inside him whispered, but he’d have rather died than admit that to Malfoy. Not only that, but he was desperately curious about his words in the hallway outside Umbridge’s office.

“Well?” prompted the Slytherin boy impatiently.

Harry looked at his shoes with an unfair amount of animosity for a pair of inanimate objects.

“She’s up to something,” he quoted, his green eyes still fixed on his shoes. His white streak of hair fell into his line of vision. “What did you mean by that?”

Malfoy grinned.

“So you agree?” he asked Harry, “You also think she’s up to something?”

“Why do you think that?” replied Harry, ignoring his questions.

“Why do I think she's up to something or why do I think you think she’s up to something?”

“The first one,” said Harry, slightly frustrated.

Malfoy shot him a look. Harry wasn’t sure what to interpret it as.

“Don’t insult my intelligence Potter,” he drawled, “A former Slytherin ministry worker sent to work in a school during a period of civil unrest? She’s not here to prepare us for our OWLs, that's for sure.”

Harry pursed his lips.

“You hate her don’t you?” he continued. Harry shot him a similar look and Draco rolled his eyes. “Why won’t you tell me what happened in detention?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Harry scornfully, “Maybe because we’ve been at each other’s throats since our first year?”

“It’s mutually beneficial,” insisted Malfoy, “I hate her too, you know.”

Harry was dubious. Apparently this translated into his expression.

“Honestly, how thick could you be?” groaned the Slytherin boy, “We want a competent teacher as much as the rest of the school.” Harry didn’t need to ask who he meant by ‘we’. He wondered if Blaise had told Malfoy about his article. Perhaps he’d even been the one to encourage him to write it in the first place.

“How am I supposed to trust you?” returned Harry, sizing up the other boy. His gaze lingered on a stray strand of blonde hair that had fallen out of Malfoy’s immaculate coiffing.

“Mutual interest,” he replied simply, “Common goal. Try and muster up as much tactical Slytherin spirit as you can and just think about it Potter.”

Harry made an obscene gesture at him, but he couldn’t deny that they did indeed have a mutual interest.

“Look,” said Malfoy, “You wouldn’t have followed me unless you weren’t interested. Stop wasting both of our time and make up your mind,” he shot him a pointed look, “I want to dig dirt on Umbridge, and I need you to tell me that dirt. Are you going to or not?”

This was not at all how Harry had expected the conversation to go. He hadn’t even expected a conversation in the first place.

“Is this why you were staring all those times before?”

It might have been his imagination, but Malfoy’s cheeks tinged pink.

“Just like I had my suspicions about Umbridge, I had some about you too,” Malfoy explained curtly, “Was I right?”

Harry frowned, but after a minute's deliberance, he held out his left hand for Draco to see. For some inexplicable reason, it was less intimidating than it had been with Padfoot or his friends.

“She did this to you?” asked Malfoy in a half-whisper. Harry was shocked at the amount of horror that had filled his silver eyes.

“Is that sympathy I’m hearing?” he responded snarkily, “Didn’t know you were capable of that, Malfoy.”

Malfoy looked suddenly hurt, but he quickly schooled his expression back to neutrality. This shocked Harry even more. He couldn’t recall a time when his insults had ever inspired such a genuine reaction, however small and fleeting.

“What happened?” he asked Harry quickly.

“She gave me a quill without ink,” he explained, finding it surprisingly easy to talk about, “I was writing lines for her and the words appeared on my hand.”

Why was he telling this to Malfoy again?

“Blood magic,” concluded the Slytherin, drawing a puzzled expression from Harry.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“A branch of dark magic,” expanded Malfoy expectantly. When Harry only shook his head in response he continued. “Blood magic is any spell or enchantment that requires blood from either the caster or the person on the receiving end of said spell or enchantment, in this case, you. Most blood magic is illegal under British law.”

“Illegal?” repeated Harry.

“Surely you didn’t think getting people to etch words into their own skin was legal, Potter?”

Harry looked at him blankly and his silvery eyes widened.

“You’re joking.” he said flatly. Harry scratched the back of neck sheepishly. Malfoy looked aghast for a few seconds before once again composing himself.

“My suspicions were right then,” he surmised, “But you’re going to have a hard time proving that.”

“Proving it?”

“Making a case against her,” offered Malfoy, “She’s a Ministry official, so it’ll be difficult. What you need is evidence.”

“What are you on about?” demanded Harry, irritated.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”

“Help me?”

“Yes!”

Harry blinked.

“Merlin,” muttered Malfoy under his breath.

“Why would you help me?” questioned Harry suspiciously.

“Because it helps me too,” said Malfoy, as if it were obvious, “Mutually beneficial, remember? Common goal?”

“And that goal is…?”

“Getting rid of Umbridge!” snapped Malfoy exasperatedly.

“Right.” said Harry.

Malfoy seemed to take a second to calm himself, only further infuriating Harry.

He was about to protest when the Slytherin boy began to speak again, this time in a more even tone.

“I want Umbridge gone,” he enunciated clearly, “You want Umbridge gone. That’s a common goal. We both want the same thing.”

“I know what a common goal is!” growled Harry nastily.

“Listen!” hissed Malfoy, his patience clearly wearing thin, “To make a case against her, whether you want to do it anonymously or not, you definitely need evidence. I’m willing to help you get it, if you’re willing to… participate with me. How does that sound?”

“Why me?” asked Harry.

“You're her only victim so far,” supplied Malfoy, “Not to mention, who else is desperate enough? Who else could hate her more?”

“Fair,” he remarked.

“And I’m assuming you must have some sort of trinkets? Or tricks?” he added, “That have helped you sneak around all these years?”

Harry tried to keep his face impassive. How could Malfoy have known?

“I’m observant.” he gave as his excuse, as if reading Harry’s mind. “So?” he pressed impatiently, “Will you work with me to get evidence?”

Barely a few months earlier Harry would have declined the offer in a heartbeat, but now he wasn’t so sure. Even with the Puffington Post and Sirius’ assurances that Harry would do fine at his DADA OWL, he would definitely have preferred removing Umbridge from the school entirely, and stopping the root of the problem. What was the muggle saying Moony so often coined? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He eyed the other boy warily, still sceptical in terms of his true intentions. What if it was an elaborate trap? What if he was being framed?

But somehow, something told him it wasn’t, Malfoy genuinely wanted Umbridge gone. Finally, something the two of them could agree on.

“Fine,” agreed Harry, “I’m in.”

Malfoy grinned at him, a dangerous sort of grin. His teeth glinted in the sunlight and it was almost contagious, Harry wanted to return the mischievous look, an expression he’d seldom seen on Malfoy’s delicate features. He wondered what he was getting himself into. Had he just made a horrible mistake? One charming smile was enough to make him question it all. He realised he’d been staring too long at Malfoy’s mouth, and looked away.

“We’ll discuss it more another time,” concluded Malfoy, “I’ll let you know a time and a place.”

Before Harry could question how he would let him know these things, he had already disappeared around the corner.

Chapter Text

“Goodbye Harry!” called Hagrid cheerfully from his hut. Harry turned and waved with a smile, before continuing on the path back to the castle. He’d gone to visit the groundskeeper alone today, Ron and Hermione tied up with prefect duties.

Hagrid’s hut had always been something of a second home for the trio, and Hagrid himself a friendly guardian of sorts. Harry could still remember the day Hagrid bought him Hedwig at Diagon Alley. The memory brought a smile to his face, it was probably his favourite birthday present of all time.

The smile was quick to vanish. Harry’s worries over Umbridge, Dumbledore, OWLs and now Malfoy we’re stacking up. Although he’d spoken with Sirius only a few nights ago he found himself missing his godfather, not to mention Moony as well. He wished he was at home with them, not for the first time that year either.

But it wasn’t just school on his mind, his recurring dream of the endless corridor nagged at his thoughts, not to mention Cedric. The picture from the end of the Triwizard tournament that had featured in the Puffington Post had sent him down a rabbit hole of remembrance. He had tried to forget the maze, and the port key, and the graveyard, and… Cedric’s body. But it always circled back, he needed a distraction. A good distraction, not his defence against the dark arts professor.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Harry looked to his left and almost gasped. It was the creatures, the ones he’d seen earlier that year that no one else could.

This one was standing near the edge of the forest, its blackened horse-like frame hidden behind the foliage. Its head was bowed as it sniffed the ground, snout softly nudging the soil.

Harry surveyed it warily, frozen in his tracks at the sight of the strange creature. Just as he was debating whether or not to approach the beast, he heard soft chatter from deeper in the woods. Human chatter.

His curiosity now piqued even more, Harry walked past the tree line, giving the bizarre creature a wide berth.

“Hello?” he asked, feeling stupid.

“Hello,” came the answer, in an oddly familiar voice.

Harry followed the sound and was met with an even more familiar looking girl. She wasn’t from his year, but he recalled encountering her on the trip to Hogwarts. Long wavy blonde hair fell down her back, so long it reached her thighs. She turned around, fixing him with large perturbent eyes set against her pale, slightly grubby, face.

“Luna?” he asked, remembering her name. She blinked at him.

“Harry,” she smiled, “Have you come to feed the thestrals too?”

“What?” he replied. Did she mean…?

“The thestrals,” she repeated airily, gesturing to another one of the strange almost-horses.

His eyes widened.

“You can see them too?” he said in an astonished half-whisper. She nodded.

“Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am,” she told him. Harry wasn’t sure he found that notion very comforting.

“Why can’t anyone else see them?” he wondered, eyeing one of the thestrals as it gingerly made its way towards them.

“You can only see them if you’ve watched someone die.” she explained in a tone that was perhaps a little too light for that particular statement.

“Oh.” said Harry. His mind flashed to Cedric being thrown to the floor, the searing green light, the haunting nasally words.

‘Kill the spare’.

He shuddered, pushing the thoughts down. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He concentrated on the steadily advancing thestral. It was rather elegant. It seemed to know Luna, but perhaps that was just his imagination.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he began, a thought striking him, “Who did you see die?”

“My mother,” replied Luna, “She was a great witch, a very bright mind. She liked to experiment, you see, but one day it went wrong. I was nine.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, unsure of what else to say.

“It’s ok,” she replied, “You don’t have to apologise, it wasn’t your fault.”

Luna had a knack for speaking uncomfortable truths, and she seemed to have done just that. Harry had never met anyone quite like her.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

The thestrals stood before them and he shied away a little, unsure of how to behave.

“There’s no need to be scared,” Luna assured him, “They’re quite friendly.”

She reached into her bag, a beaten down side satchel covered in colourful badges, and her hand reappeared holding a piece of raw meat. Something told Harry it wasn’t the most surprising thing she had in there. Luna threw the food to the thestral, which caught it in its mouth and began to chew quietly. Luna reached out and stroked its long nose.

“Do you feed them often?” Harry asked her, growing less apprehensive and edging closer to the creature before him.

“Now and then,” she informed him absently.

Harry reached out a faltering hand and brought it slowly to the side of the thestrals neck. Its skin was dry and strange to touch. He ran his hand up and down the beast's dark hide several times.

“Have they been here the whole time?” he wondered.

“Oh yes,” she confirmed, “I’ve been seeing them ever since my first year.”

Harry wondered what other secrets of Hogwarts were right beneath his nose. Luna only smiled serenely. They watched as the thestral turned and left, ambling back to join its fellow creatures.

Harry looked down and noticed Luna was barefoot. It was late September, what was she thinking?

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked her suddenly.

She looked down at her feet, wriggled her toes and shrugged.

“A little,” she admitted calmly, “But someone’s stolen my shoes and I can’t find them.”

“That’s awful!” exclaimed Harry.

“It happens sometimes,” she brushed it off wistfully, “People like to poke fun.”

“Who do you think did it?” he demanded, “We can report them to Mcgonagall.”

“I suspect nargles,” she told him, dead serious. Harry had never heard of nargles, but he found it hard to believe they were the culprits in this situation.

“Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded.

“They’re always up to no good,” she explained.

“Would you like to borrow my shoes until you get yours back?” he offered.

“That’s nice Harry, but I suspect they might be too big.”

“Oh.” said Harry.

“Ginny already said she’d lend me hers.” Luna told him, “But they’re not very comfortable, so I went without them today. I like Ginny, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, he’d always found Ginny to be something of a younger sister to him, “She’s nice.”

Luna nodded sagely.

“She has a wonderful bat bogey hex,” she added, “Really very impressive.”

“I’ve never seen it.” replied Harry, feeling a little scared of this ‘wonderful hex’. He wondered what had caused Ginny to use it in front of Luna, or how she had gotten so good. Now that he thought of it, he’d heard the twins describe their younger sister as someone they ‘wouldn’t want to cross’ and wondered if this had something to do with it.

“I suppose that’s probably for the best.” mused Luna, throwing another piece of meat to an approaching thestral, which snapped up the food enthusiastically.

“Do you have any more?” asked Harry, gesturing to her bag. He rather wanted to throw a snack to the strange beautiful creatures before them.

Luna opened her satchel and peered inside.

“I’m afraid that was the last one.” she informed him, “I’ll be back again next weekend though, if you want to feed them you should come back then.”

“Thanks,” grinned Harry, “I’d love to.”

They began to stroll back to the castle, Luna rambling on about all manner of bizarre and questionable things, and Harry realised that she’d been just the distraction he was looking for.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in a tight semi circle near the front of Hagrid’s care for magical creatures class, arguing in hushed whispers.

“I’m telling you,” implored Harry, “They’re real creatures, Hermione. Thestrals!”

“I believe you!” she whispered back, “I’ve just never heard anything about them before.”

Harry was growing annoyed with her antics, he looked around for Hagrid and called him over, remembering with difficulty to add a professor to the front.

“Hello Harry,” he said cheerfully, coming over to the trio, “Hello Ron, and Hermione,”

“Hey Hagrid,” smiled Ron and Hermione. Harry cut straight to the point.

“Are thestrals real?” he asked.

Hagrid looked a little taken aback.

“Well o’course,” he replied, “What d’you think was pulling the carriages?”

Harry turned and looked pointedly at Hermione.

“See!” he seethed, relishing in saying ‘I told you so’.

“Alright alright,” she caved, “They’re real.”

Hagrid looked confusedly from Harry to Hermione.

“Best get on with my class then,” he concluded, moving to the front of the students.

Although Hagrid undeniably had an affinity and interest when it came to caring for magical creatures, no matter how strange and dangerous, the same couldn’t exactly be said for his teaching. It pained Harry to admit it, but his favourite groundskeeper wasn’t the best at teaching. The trio often shared worried looks during his lessons, all thinking the same, but they fiercely defended the half giant whenever anyone else questioned his abilities.

Today was unusually a theory lesson, based on content they’d have to know for their OWLs. Hagrid asked them all to open their books and brought up a blackboard covered in messy scrawling and various arrows.

“Sick unicorns,” he began, “And what they should be eatin’,”

Harry had not even known unicorns could get sick. The class began to diligently take notes, grateful for a lesson where there was no opportunity for bodily harm.

***

“Heya Harry,” greeted George, and Harry turned around, a little startled.

“It’s Thursday,” chimed Fred.

Harry reached into the folds of his cloak and removed the marauders map.

“I’ll get it back by tonight?” he asked, holding it out in front of him.

“Nine o’clock sharp,” confirmed Fred.

Harry held it out to him and he took the piece of parchment, hiding it in his own robes.

“Cheers Harry,” thanked the twins in unison, and they were off before he could ask what they’d be using it for.

It wasn’t long before he found out. After dinner at the Great Hall, his usually quiet route past the DADA office was busier than ever, the air rife with chatter and laughter. Harry pushed through the crowds, looking for the source of the popularity and found himself in front of Umbridge’s office. On the door was a large unflattering portrait of her that morphed into a dark pink toad and then back again every few seconds. The toad would yell phrases in a high-pitched voice scarily similar to her real one (perhaps Ginny’s impersonation skills had played a role in that), sending the crowds of students into fits of laughter.

“There will be no need for wands in my class!” screeched the ugly portrait, Harry couldn’t help but grin.

“Read the textbook, page 64!” squawked the toad. Harry snorted.

"I must have order!" it proclaimed. More laughter abounded, but all of a sudden began to decrease.

The crowd began to disperse and the commotion quieted down. Harry quickly rushed away from the door, Umbridge was coming. He disappeared behind some older, taller Ravenclaws so that he could no longer see the door, or the path that had been made for their simpering pink professor.

“What in Fudge’s name is going on here?” she demanded.

“What in Fudge’s name is going on here?” repeated the portrait and several students laughed.

“Quiet!” ordered Umbridge.

“Quiet!” came the screeching voice of the toad on her door.

Harry quickly made his way back to Gryffindor tower, partly because he didn’t want to be blamed for the prank and partly so that he could congratulate Fred and George. Knowing the twins, he was sure she’d have a hard time getting rid of the prank.

Chapter Text

The next day, Harry and Ron were still chuckling over the screeching portrait in charms class.

“Who is responsible for this?” whispered Ron in a passable imitation of Umbridge. Harry snorted, trying not to let their laughter be noticed by Professor Flitwick, who was having considerable difficulty in controlling the class.

“Quiet!” whispered Harry back in their professor’s screechy high-pitched voice. The two of them doubled over, hiding identical grins behind their hands.

“Mr Potter,” addressed Flitwick wearily, Harry looked up, trying his best to hide his smile, “Could you demonstrate for us a summoning charm?”

Sitting a little straighter, Harry retrieved his wand from his pocket. They’d been practising the spell non-stop all lesson, Flitwick assuring them that it was sure to come up on their OWL. Harry was already very confident in summoning charms, having used one during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament the year before to great success.

“What should I summon professor?” he asked.

Flitwick looked at him tiredly.

“The feather Mr Potter,” he drawled, “What have we been summoning all lesson?”

Harry heard a few snickers from behind him, but didn’t bother to look around, he knew it was probably the Slytherins.

“Right,” he replied uneasily, holding his wand out, “Accio!”

Strangely, Harry felt a sudden surge of power and magic wash over him, not unlike when he’d first used his wand in Ollivander’s shop. He was quite taken aback, and flinched a little at the force that had run through him. How bizarre.

The feather shot across the room and into his waiting hand. He placed it on the desk lightly and turned to his professor, who nodded in affirmation. Harry still felt a little shaken, but lowered his wand, trying to act as if nothing had occurred.

“Not bad Mr Potter,” he commented, then turned to Ron.

“May I go to the bathroom professor?” asked Ron quickly, clearly trying to avoid casting the charm. Flitwick shot him an indignant look.

“Very well then Mr Weasley,” he obliged, after a pause.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry, his ears slightly red, and got up to leave. Flitwick turned to a different group of students and Harry was left alone. He was just pondering whether or not he should send the feather back, when heard his name being called, this time not by a teacher.

“Potter!” hissed Malfoy, and Harry shot around, looking up at where the blonde was sitting several rows behind him. He was holding a neatly made paper crane on the palm of his hand, and once he’d made eye contact with Harry, he blew it over to him like a kiss. Harry caught it in his hand, perplexed. Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies only leered at him.

He turned around and looked at the crane. The corner of some writing caught his attention and he unfolded the origami bird to reveal a message.

‘Looking shaky. Scared, Potter?’ It read. Underneath was a crude drawing of a scared looking Harry, wobbling as he cast the spell. Seething, he turned around to give Malfoy a dirty look. What was the meaning of this insult, didn’t he want Harry’s help? To his great surprise, Malfoy rolled his eyes exasperatedly at Harry, and discreetly mimed tapping the paper with his wand so that the other Slytherins didn’t notice. Harry turned back around, and, hoping he wouldn’t be made a fool of once again, tapped the folded parchment with the tip of his wand.

The words began to move around and the caricature changed into a map. The new message read:

Meet me after dinner, 8:00, to discuss the plan.

The map clearly showed directions from The Great Hall to one of the many empty classrooms along the corridor, highlighted with arrows along the way. Harry wondered how stupid Malfoy thought he was that the map needed to be so detailed, and decided he didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

He peered cautiously back over his shoulder at the Slytherin boy, who was watching him from the corner of his eye. Their gazes met and Harry gave the slightest of nods. A small smile crept across Malfoy’s face as he averted his eyes, and Harry found his own eyes lingering on the blonde.

The door to the classroom opened and Harry looked up to see Ron. He quickly tapped the parchment again to hide the real message. Ron sat next to him and looked at Harry with a silent question in his eyes. Harry slid the folded paper over to him and watched as he read through it. Ron frowned once he’d reached the end.

“Foul git,” he cursed under his breath, scowling at the little drawing. He shot a rude gesture in the direction of the Slytherins who only grinned menacingly.

“Write him one back,” he urged Harry, passing him a quill. Harry hadn’t thought of that, nor what to do if Ron asked him to do that. He took the quill and turned the scrap of parchment over, mulling over what to say.

You wish, he wrote, recalling his exchange with Malfoy in second year at the duelling club. He didn’t bother folding it back into a crane, unsure he’d even know how to do so in the first place, instead scrunching it up into a ball. He glanced at Flitwick to check he wasn’t looking then turned and chucked it at Malfoy. It hit his cheek and he looked up, startled. He picked up the ball of paper and flattened it out on his desk with his pale palms. Harry and Ron watched expectantly, but all he did was smirk and fold it into a neat square, before pocketing it in his robes.

Chapter Text

“What time is it?” asked Harry agitatedly. Dean gave him a confused look.

“Got somewhere to be?” he asked.

“Just have a lot of homework,” he lied, “Time management and all that.”

“It’s 7:52,” Dean informed him, looking unconvinced.

“Cheers,” said Harry nervously, and he scraped his plate clean before getting up to leave. He glanced furtively at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was finishing up his meal. He kept looking as he made his way to the empty classroom Malfoy had picked out, and eventually the Slytherin boy got up to follow, not making eye contact with Harry.

Gulping, Harry looked straight ahead and found his way to the room, slipping inside with a quick surveyance left and right to check no one was looking. He began to pace the room and after about ten paces promptly decided to sit down on a chair. He didn’t want to appear too nervous. A few seconds after that, the door opened and Malfoy entered, closing it firmly behind him.

“I see you found your way alright,” he sneered.

“Of course I found my way alright!” snapped Harry, a little too fast. Malfoy shot him an unimpressed look.

“And you’re early,” he commented, “That desperate to see me, Potter?”

Harry frowned darkly, feeling his face heat up a little.

“Just get to the plan,” he seethed. Malfoy merely smirked.

They stared at each other for a few minutes in silence, until Harry couldn’t take it any more.

“What?” he demanded frustratedly.

Malfoy smirked even more.

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” he quipped.

“I’m not cute!” fumed Harry, crossing his arms contrarily as his face heated up further.

Malfoy laughed, a genuine happy laugh, and the room seemed to get impossibly hot. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him laugh like that. He stared firmly at the floor, feeling completely and utterly mortified.

“The plan,” repeated Harry through gritted teeth. Still grinning, Malfoy pulled up a chair and sat opposite him, crossing his legs neatly. Harry tensed his jaw.

“Like I said last time,” he began, wasting no time in getting straight to the point, “To make a case against her, we’re going to need evidence.”

“Evidence,” parroted Harry.

“Yes,” replied Malfoy, “Like the blood magic quill she made you write with. Do you know where she keeps it?”

Harry thought back to his detention.

“In her office somewhere,” he replied, “When I was there she had it on her desk, but I doubt she keeps it there constantly.”

Malfoy nodded along.

“Ok,” he mused, “So we need to break into her office then.”

“Ok,” agreed Harry.

“We’ll need a distraction,” decided Malfoy, “I don’t suppose the Weasley twins have any more plans we could use to our advantage?”

“Fred and George?” asked Harry, shocked by the civil manner in which Malfoy had referred to them, “I’m not sure, but I could ask them to do one. They wouldn't say no to a good prank, especially to help me sneak around.”

“Perfect,” said Malfoy, “You ask them to set something up, Umbridge runs off and in the meantime we find the quill. How much time do you think they could buy us?”

“Not sure,” replied Harry, “I’ll have to ask them. If we move fast we’ll probably have enough time to look through most of her stuff though. How hard could it be to find that quill?”

Malfoy looked a little dubious.

“We’ll see,” was all he said.

They settled into silence, and Harry found his eyes drawn to the lines of Malfoy’s face and features, tracing them with his gaze. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry jolted back down to earth.

“You need to try and keep your temper in check around her,” he commented.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” said Harry indignantly.

“I’m serious,” continued Malfoy, “It’s not doing you any favours, Potter. She was already likely to pick on you, don’t give her the satisfaction of acting out.”

“What am I meant to do then?” asked Harry angrily, “Tell her she’s such a good teacher and agree with the lies of the Prophet?”

Malfoy grimaced at him.

“I think it’s a bit late to start sucking up,” he responded, “But try not to let her get a rise out of you. Just keep your head down.”

“Keep my head down,” muttered Harry, “I suppose that’s what you do?”

“No, I’m trying to get into her good graces of course.”

“I thought you hated her?” he asked incredulously.

“I do,” Malfoy assured him, “But it’s better if she doesn’t know that.”

“I don’t understand,” huffed Harry, “What’s the point?”

“Honestly, you surprise me Potter,” sighed Malfoy, “This is why you need the help of a Slytherin.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted my help,” retorted Harry.

“Mutually beneficial, remember?”

“Whatever,” he replied. Malfoy looked unimpressed once again.

“So when do you think we should do it?” asked Malfoy, after a pause.

“The sooner the better, right?” responded Harry, “How about this weekend?”

Malfoy seemed to mull it over for a second.

“Alright then,” he agreed, “Talk to the twins and let me know how it goes.”

“Ok,” said Harry.

“Maybe don’t mention to them that I’m involved,” added Malfoy.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “Maybe not.”

“Looking forward to working with you Potter,” he grinned, holding out his hand.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out and shook it. The action seemed deeply nostalgic for some reason.

And with that, Malfoy turned and left, before Harry could ask him any questions about the Puffington Post. He’d find out another time. He felt the skin of the palm of his hand, where it had just been touching Malfoy’s own cold skin, and gulped.

Chapter Text

Harry flew down to the ground as cheers erupted around him. Gryffindor had won, but barely.

The rest of the team came hurtling towards him in celebration and he beamed as they collided in a clumsy team hug.

“Wotcher Harry!” exclaimed George.

Everyone laughed and cheered in the embrace before slowly making their way to the changing rooms.

Despite the exhilarating joy of winning their first match of the season (Gryffindor Ravenclaw), Harry was very aware of how close they’d been to losing the game. If he hadn’t managed to catch the snitch, and he almost hadn’t, formidable seeker that Cho was, they definitely would have lost. It was becoming apparent how much they’d relied on their old players, and how little they could rely on some of the new ones.

Poor Ron had loads of difficulty with his nerves and once he let one goal in, he had a hard time coming back from it. Worse was that Harry had no idea how to help him. He missed Oliver Wood and his rousing team speeches and incredible tactics.

The season was still young though, they had plenty of time to sort out their playing.

After they’d finished changing they began to make their way over to the common room, but Harry felt a hand on his arm, pulling him away from the team. He turned around and it was Cho, who despite having just been beaten, seemed delighted to see him.

“Harry,” she greeted, smiling broadly.

“Hey Cho,” he said uncertainly. She hadn’t withdrawn her hand from his arm.

“That was some great playing on the pitch,” she told him.

“Just luck,” he replied, surely she, as a talented seeker, could see that.

“I, er,” she began shakily, “I read your article.”

Harry wasn’t surprised that it had revealed itself to her. He wondered if she’d had a similar reaction to him at the photograph. He hoped not. Cho had been closer with Cedric than him, and Harry was sure his death had probably upset her more than him. If anyone had a right to grieve, it was Cho.

“I think it’s really brave,” she said sweetly, “What you did.”

“Oh,” replied Harry, “Thank you.”

She seemed as if she was going to say something else, but suddenly burst into tears.

“Are…” he asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.” she choked, tears streaming down her face.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to apologise,” he assured her.

Harry barely knew Cho and was even less familiar with how to comfort her. He felt a little panicked, unsure of what to do. The rest of the Gryffindor team were further ahead, they hadn’t noticed that their seeker was missing yet.

“It’s just… Cedric,” she whispered. Harry’s demeanour relaxed a bit.

“I know.” he said simply.

Cho wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, sniffling.

“It’s been so hard,” she continued, her voice breaking, “I miss him so much.”

“Me too,” he returned, giving her what he hoped was a comforting pat on the back, “It’s ok.” he added.

Cho nodded slightly, sniffing again.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “I’m such a mess.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry replied firmly, thinking of Luna’s words in the forest, “It’s not your fault.”

Cho smiled weakly.

“Thanks Harry,” she told him.

He returned her weak smile.

“I think I’m gonna go clean up in the bathroom,” she said, chuckling softly.

“Alright,” he replied.

“I’ll see you around,” she told him, turning back to the changing rooms.

“See you!” he called after her.

He hurried to catch up with the Gryffindors. Ron promptly asked him what he’d done to make Cho cry.

“I didn’t do anything!” replied Harry indignantly.

“Sure,” said Ron.

When they had returned to the common room, Ron found a letter waiting for him. Harry took the opportunity to shower first while Ron read through it. When he emerged from the bathroom, white and black hair soaking and tousled, Ron had a disgusted look on his face.

“What did it say?” Harry asked him.

“It’s from Percy,” he explained, handing the parchment to Harry, “He’s being a stupid prick.”

Harry read through the familiar writing and felt his temper flare. Percy was telling Ron to end his friendship with Harry. He believed the lies from the Prophet.

“Yeah he is being a prick,” spat Harry, throwing himself onto his four poster bed.

Ron looked at him sympathetically but Harry only looked away.

“I’m sure he’ll come around soon,” he assured him, “Percy can be really thick sometimes, but it doesn’t last.”

“Sure,” said Harry absently. Ron was trying his best to comfort him, but he just wanted to forget about the letter. Luckily, there was something else on his mind; Umbridge’s office. He stood up suddenly from his bed and walked to the door of the dorm room.

“Going for a walk,” he told Ron, who seemed to decide not to question it and headed for his own shower.

Harry descended the stairs and surveyed the common room for the twins.

“Fred! George!” he called as he approached them, they were huddled over a poor first year who was the Guinea pig for their latest product.

“Hey Harry,” greeted George. The twins turned around, shifting their attention from the first year.

“I’ve got a favour to ask.” he said simply.

Chapter Text

“Harry!” called Hermione in a hushed voice as she approached him and Ron next to the common room fireplace, “I’ve got another idea.”

The two boys perked up, giving her their full attention as she stood in front of them.

“Let’s hear it,” urged Ron.

Hermione took a moment to collect herself, and then she was off.

“Umbridge is useless at teaching,” she began, already talking so fast Harry could barely keep up, “She won’t do anything practical, and at this rate we’re all going to get a T on our OWL.”

“What’s ‘T’ again?” interrupted Harry.

“Troll,” Ron informed him quickly, not even looking away from Hermione.

Troll? thought Harry incredulously, that was a real mark they could get? Before he could dispute the grade Hermione had started up again.

“We need a real teacher,” she carried on, “A competent teacher who will show us actual spells. Someone with experience in actually fighting the dark arts.”

“I agree,” piped up Harry, interrupting her for the second time, “But how are we going to find someone like that? I mean-

“I’m talking about you Harry,” she cut him off. Harry blinked in surprise.

“Me?” he asked, feeling sure that he’d misheard.

“Exactly,” she confirmed, “You have actual experience fighting the dark arts!”

“I’m just very lucky!” he insisted, brows furrowing, “All those times, with Voldemort, that’s just luck. And half the time I wasn’t even on my own, there were loads of people helping and stuff,”

“You’d be the one with the most experience in our year though,” reasoned Ron, “Don’t you reckon?”

Harry pursed his lips, looking away.

“I don’t know,” he replied uneasily, not wanting to claim that he was better than every other student in his year group.

“You probably have more experience than the seventh-years too,” added Ron.

Harry was about to dispute this when Sirius’ words came back to him. Padfoot had thought that Harry was probably good enough to pass a DADA OWL despite Umbridge’s awful tutelage. And it was true the same probably couldn’t be said for some of the other students taking OWLs that year. Maybe there was one or two things he could teach them…

“Just consider it, won’t you?” Hermione implored him.

“I will,” he assured her.

***

The very next morning Harry opened the Puffington Post (the paper’s third edition so far) and after tapping the first page with his wand was met with a glaring advert. The contents of which felt awfully familiar.

WORRIED ABOUT PASSING THE DADA OWL/NEWT?

MEET TODAY AFTER LAST CLASS AT THE HOG’S HEAD. INTER-HOUSE TRAINING AGAINST THE DARK ARTS WITH EXPERIENCED STUDENT TEACHER. LEARN TO PROTECT YOURSELF!

He turned immediately to Hermione, who was likewise reading the latest Puffington Post.

“I said I’d consider it!” he exclaimed, not even bothering to keep his voice down, “What did you do Hermione?!”

Hermione looked affronted at his accusations.

“What?” she retorted, and Harry realised she probably didn’t even know what he was talking about.

“This!” he hissed, sliding her his copy of the paper and pointing out the large printed ad.

She looked just as shocked as he had.

“Oh my god,” she moaned, putting her head in her hands, “I mentioned it, mind you only mentioned it, to Susan, she must have misunderstood! Oh my god Harry I’m so sorry!”

“This afternoon!” seethed Harry, jabbing at the words ‘TODAY AFTER LAST CLASS’, “What am I going to do?”

Hermione paused, weighing her words in her head.

“You could…” she began tentatively, “Just go?”

Harry shot her an angry look.

“I’m serious Harry,” she continued, “I know you were only considering it but you have to admit it’s not a bad plan. You’ve got experience and skill, don’t try to be modest you absolutely have, and we could really stand to learn from you! We need help to pass our exams, and you could provide that help.”

Harry folded his arms tightly over his chest, glaring at his glass of water. She was right. He felt himself being swayed to her cause, and he knew she could feel it too.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” she finished, “But I really think you should give this a try, Harry.”

“I’ll consider it,” he reiterated sharply.

***

Several hours later Harry found himself at the end of the school day. Ron and Hermione nervously awaited his final answer. They’d been trying not to pester him about it but even when they stayed silent the question was all over their expressions.

“Well?” asked Hermione finally, fiddling with her robes.

“I’ll do it.” replied Harry firmly. She beamed at him.

“That’s wonderful Harry!” she exclaimed, “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you agreed!”

“Yeah, nice going mate,” added Ron.

Harry couldn’t help but smile a little.

“But if any of them are disrespectful or don’t want me, then I won’t do it,” he told her sternly.

“Of course,” she agreed, “Naturally.”

Even his rather ambitious condition didn’t seem to put a damper on her mood, she raved to the two boys the whole way about how they were going to learn so much, and inter-house unity this, and DADA OWL that. Harry was in half a mind to tell her to shut up, but he didn’t have the heart. It made him happy to see her happy.

Soon they had arrived at the Hog’s head, a little later than most of the other students it seemed, and Harry steeled himself as best he could.

He’d fought a dragon and won. He’d saved Ron and Fleur’s younger sister from merpeople. He’d faced Voldemort countless times and come away alive. He could handle one ‘inter-house’ meeting.

They walked into the room where everyone was gathered and his stomach lurched. All eyes turned to Harry and the room erupted into whispers, they were all wondering if he was the ‘experienced student teacher’. He wasn’t so sure he could handle it after all.

“Go on!” urged Ron quietly, guiding him to the front of the crowd. Harry recognised lots of familiar faces; Fred and George, Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Susan, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Cho, Marietta Edgecomb, Colin Creevey, Lee Jordan, Lavender Brown, the Patil twins, Terry Boot, and near to the back… Was that? Could it be?

Draco Malfoy and a host of his Slytherin friends were huddled at the edge of the room, glancing wearily at the rest of the crowd, none of which were in green and silver. Malfoy and Harry caught eyes for a moment and he quickly looked away. What was he doing here?

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, commanding the attention of the room.

“Hi everyone,” she began shakily, “If you’re wondering who the teacher mentioned in the paper was, it’s Harry.”

More whispers. Harry fiddled nervously with his hands.

“He hadn’t really, actually, agreed to be the teacher yet up until just now,” she explained, “There was a bit of a miscommunication,” she glanced pointedly at Susan, who blushed, confused by what Hermione was saying, “But he’s here, and he’s willing to teach us what he knows.”

She turned around and looked at Harry expectantly. Did he have to talk now? He took a deep breath and looked over the many faces before him.

“Er,” he began, “Thanks Hermione. Um, like she said, I’m willing to teach you guys what I know, if you’ll have me, and maybe some of you have skills that you could teach the rest of us as well. Umbridge obviously isn’t teaching us anything, and we want to pass our exams, so…” he trailed off.

“Was it really You-Know-Who who killed Cedric?” shouted out Zacharia Smith. Harry flinched at the sudden question. His palms felt sticky, he wiped them on the front of his robes, trying his best not to think about Cedric.

“Sod off Smith!” retorted Ron, “Of course it was Voldemort!”

More whispers. Harry’s toes curled in his shoes. They were losing control of the crowd.

“I’m not here to answer questions about what happened at the end of last year!” he told the room loudly, “I already did that in an interview which you’ve probably already read, so if you’re here to ask me about that, then you can leave right now.”

To his disappointment, a sizable portion of the crowd filed out of the room. He watched them go angrily. Were they really so uninterested in anything other than Voldemort? He took a deep breath, about to continue his ‘presentation’, when Susan Bones piped up.

“Is it true you can cast a corporeal patronus?” she asked loudly.

“Er, yes,” replied Harry, wondering how she knew this, “I can. But it’s really nothing special, I-

“Did you really defeat You-Know-Who in your first-year?” interrupted Colin.

“I mean, yes,” confirmed Harry, “But again, I was just really lucky! And Ron and Hermione helped!”

“He killed the basilisk in his second year,” announced Ginny. Harry opened his mouth to protest but he was cut off.

“He won the Triwizard Tournament,” added Fred.

“It’s not what you think!” insisted Harry, “It sounds great when you say it like that, but I’m not just being modest when I say I always had some kind of help and a very decent amount of luck! Facing danger in the real world, it’s not like the classroom, you can’t just try again. When people’s lives are on the line… I barely survived all of those things you guys listed.”

“But you did survive them,” offered Luna dreamily.

“You’ve got experience, Harry,” Hermione repeated, “There’s definitely stuff you can teach us, I promise.”

Harry was silent. He’d once again been proven wrong.

“You guys really want me to teach you?” asked Harry, still unconvinced. General sounds of affirmation came from the crowd of students. Harry could barely believe it.

“Right then,” concluded Hermione nervously, “We’ll let everyone know in the paper once we’ve found a meeting spot and when we want to set up the first real meeting. In the meantime, why don’t we write down a list of who was here?”

She took out a piece of parchment from her bag as well as a quill and some ink, and set it out on the table near the door. Slowly but surely, the students began to sign their names.

“I, er,” added Hermione, “I don’t think we should talk about this with the rest of the school. Everyone should keep their mouths shut about it.”

“How do we guarantee that?” demanded Angelina, and it was clear to everyone what, and who, she was talking about. The Slytherins shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ll charm the list of names,” Hermione suggested, holding up the parchment. She moved her wand in a complicated pattern, muttered a few spells Harry couldn’t make out, and then tapped the list lightly. The names glowed gold for a moment before returning to black. “This should stop anyone from snitching,” she surmised, laying the paper back down.

“Even Slytherins?” asked Lee, foregoing all subtlety.

“Yes,” she replied uneasily.

“Slytherins aren’t more likely to tell the secret,” proclaimed Luna, drawing a few stares, “Everyone just thinks that because their House has a bad reputation, what with the Death Eaters and such. If anything, they’d be better at keeping secrets, one of their House attributes is cunning.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed a familiar looking Slytherin girl, “Thank you Luna. We’re not about to rat everyone out! We’re here for the same reasons as everyone else, because we hate Umbridge and we want to pass our exams!”

“Daphne’s right,” confirmed another Slytherin boy from their year who also seemed awfully familiar. He had an incredibly shy demeanour, but that didn’t stop him standing up for his friend. Harry waited to see if Malfoy, Zabini or Pansy Parkinson would say anything, but they remained silent. It was probably for the best, they’d picked on just about everyone in the room at one point or another. Harry wondered if their silence was strategic.

“This is an inter-house…organisation,” reasoned Hermione, “And like I said, no one can snitch. If anyone is still worried they can come and charm the paper themselves.”

She stood sternly at the front of the room, arms crossed, and looked across the students. No one dared approach the list of names.

“That’s settled then,” she said, “We’ll see everyone…soon.”

Chapter Text

“Dumbledore’s army?” chuckled Sirius from the embers of the fireplace. He barked out a laugh and the fire crackled.

“Fudge’s worst fear,” said Harry dryly, quoting Hermione. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the name she’d chosen for their DADA training club. While objectively it was funny, he didn’t like the idea of fighting for Dumbledore. He felt a little guilty, even as he thought it. After all, it was Harry’s loyalty to the Headmaster that had saved him in the chamber of secrets, but now that he was older he was beginning to see the flaws in the adults in his life. Of course Dumbledore wasn’t all bad, but he wasn’t perfect either, and Harry wasn’t feeling especially ‘loyal’ to him as things stood at the moment. When it came to it, Dumbledore or Voldemort, his answer was so obvious he needn’t even consider the comparison, but Harry wondered if there was a secret third side, his own side, that he could pick in the upcoming war. He brushed the thoughts away. The name was just a silly joke, he shouldn’t have been taking it so seriously.

“Your Dad would’ve loved it,” Sirius added, in the quiet tone of voice he always used when talking about James or Lily.

This made Harry feel slightly better. Despite not really remembering James, he longed for his father’s validation, even if it was through his godfather.

“And you’re going to be teaching this then, Harry?” Padfoot asked him, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” replied Harry, still unsure how good he’d be at that role.

“You should talk to our Moony,” he suggested, “He can give you some pointers.”

“Is he home?” asked Harry. Sirius shook his head, ash scattering around his face.

“Working,” he supplied tiredly.

“I’ll send him a letter then,” concluded Harry, worried Moony might be working a little too much.

“I spoke with him, about Umbridge,” Padfoot told Harry cautiously.

“Ok,” was all Harry said. His right hand moved instinctively to cover his left.

“We’re working on it,” Sirius assured him.

“Ok.”

Sirius paused, a sad look in his firelit eyes.

“All these plans you and your friends have,” he began, “They’re great Harry. They’re genius, honestly. I’m just so sorry that you’ve had to take things into your own hands.”

“I can handle it,” Harry told him, trying to comfort his godfather, “I’m used to it.”

This only worked to the opposite effect however, and Sirius’ expression saddened even further.

“I know you can handle it,” he told Harry softly, “But you shouldn’t have to.”

***

The next night, Harry found himself huddled around the fire once again, this time with Ron and Hermione.

“Where on earth are we going to host this stuff?” fretted Hermione, pulling at her bushy hair.

“It’s got to be somewhere secure,” mused Ron, “Somewhere Umbridge won’t be able to find us. Somewhere secret.”

Somewhere secret… Harry’s eyes lit up.

“The Chamber, The Chamber of Secrets!” he exclaimed.

“There’s a massive dead snake in there mate!” argued Ron.

“We could move it?” suggested Harry uncertainly.

The trio fell into a lapse of silence.

“What about the Whomping Willow?” offered Hermione, “No one else would dare go near it. Didn’t professor Lupin used to go there with your Dad, Pettigrew and Sirius?”

“True,” agreed Harry, “But they were four people, we’re a lot more than that. Surely Umbridge would begin to notice if we were all sneaking off to the Whomping Willow? Even if we went in small groups, it would become obvious pretty quickly.”

“We could ferry people under the cloak? Or go at night?” said Ron.

“All those people under the cloak? It’s three at a time maximum.” countered Harry.

“I would rather we held meetings during daytime,” added Hermione, “The DA is meant to be improving our education, not taking away from it by taking away our sleep.”

There was more silence.

“I think the Chamber of Secrets is not a bad shot,” insisted Harry, “It might need some cleaning up-

“A little more than ‘some’” interjected Ron.

“But it’s secure, no one even knows it exists and there’s loads of space.” he finished, ignoring Ron’s comment.

“You’re not wrong,” admitted Hermione.

Harry tried to think of a realistic way to get rid of the basilisk corpse, or even a way of explaining what the Chamber of Secrets was and how he knew so much about it, but found himself drawing a blank. While the notion of a training club was a nice one, it was much more difficult to realise than Harry had initially realised.

“Let’s put out another ad in the paper,” suggested Ron, “We can see if anyone else has any good ideas.”

“Alright then,” agreed Harry. Hermione nodded her approval.

Just a few days later, Neville came running up to the trio, looking a little flustered.

“The Room of Requirement!” he whisper-shouted at them, “We can host the DA in the Room of Requirement!”

Chapter Text

For the fourth time so far that school year, Harry followed Draco Malfoy out of the Great Hall. This time they’d caught eyes and a certain understanding had passed between them, Harry wanted to talk.

He headed to the empty classroom they’d used earlier that week and waited for Malfoy to arrive. Before long Malfoy had joined him, shutting the door and muttering a quick muffling charm. Harry wasted no time in starting their conversation.

“Why did you sign up for the DA?” he demanded, arms firmly crossed.

To his surprise Malfoy merely rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was going to be you, Potter,” he drawled. Harry’s brows furrowed, he wasn’t convinced.

“Who else would it have been?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” defended Malfoy, “I thought it’d be an older student or something!”

Harry thought back to the ad, to be fair it had never mentioned him by name, but he’d felt it had been pretty obviously talking about him.

“Even if you didn’t know it was me,” he reasoned, “Once you found out you still signed up. What did you do that for?”

“Now I’m not allowed to be part of your little club?” he scorned, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I hate Umbridge and I want good marks on my OWLs. Granger’s right about needing a competent teacher, and you’re the only option I’ve got.”

“Fine,” huffed Harry after a while. They settled into silence. Harry didn't know how he felt about teaching Malfoy and his friends defence spells. After all, they were never going to be in danger from death eaters, seeing as those death eaters were their parents and family. He supposed it was just for the purpose of the exam, but it made Harry uneasy to be arming them with a new arsenal of spells and knowledge. Slytherins were a crafty sort, and despite Daphne's assurances that all they wanted was to learn, Harry couldn't help but be suspicious. He bit his tongue, not voicing any of these concerns.

“Have you found a place to hold it yet?” asked Malfoy, almost sounding eager.

“Maybe,” replied Harry contrarily.

“Well?” prompted Malfoy, “Can I at least have a hint?”

A little smirk grew on Harry’s face.

“You’ll find out in the Puffington Post,” he teased, “Just like everyone else.”

“Come on,” the other boy implored him, “Just a small clue.”

Harry shook his head, smiling. He was rather enjoying this.

“Will you at least tell me when the first meeting will be?”

“Oh!” remarked Harry, “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“You did?” asked Malfoy. Harry nodded.

“My friends have decided to hold the first one this weekend. Around the same time we wanted to break into Umbridge’s office.”

“Oh?” was all Malfoy said.

“I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to tell them no, so we’ll have to move the office break-in to a different time.”

“Next weekend?” offered Malfoy, after a moment's deliberation.

“Alright, sounds good.” agreed Harry.

“Did you ask the twins about arranging a prank yet?” questioned Malfoy.

“Of course.” replied Harry, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to. Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow. “I mean, yes.” he amended.

“And they agreed?”

“Yes.”

“You really won’t tell me where the meeting will be?” asked Malfoy a final time.

“No.” replied Harry curtly. Malfoy shot him an annoyed look and turned to leave. He stopped suddenly in his tracks and turned around.

“By the way, Potter,” he added, “Umbridge has given herself a promotion. She’s calling herself High Inquisitor and she’s going to evaluate all the teachers. The ones she doesn’t like, she now has the power to get rid of.”

Harry’s eyes widened, startled and disturbed by this news. His mind went immediately to Hagrid. The half-giant with a penchant for dangerous creatures was sure to offend her sensibilities.

“How do you know that?” he demanded.

“Pays to be in her good graces,” quipped Malfoy, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. Harry only scowled.

“She’s also disbanded all groups or student gatherings of more than three people.” Malfoy informed him, “Good thing the DA is secret.”

“Right,” agreed Harry absently, “Thanks for letting me know, I guess.”

Malfoy nodded curtly and he was off, leaving Harry to stand there dazedly. Things were getting steadily worse at Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Soon after Harry and Malfoy’s secret conversation, the Puffington Post released its fourth edition of the year, and on the first page, where the original ad had been posted, were the details of the time and location of the first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army. This ad, Harry had been assured by Hermione, was only visible to those who had signed their name on the enchanted paper in the Hog’s Head.

Harry was now in Umbridge’s classroom, reading the rest of the articles as he waited for the lesson to begin.

There was another one on Quidditch by Lee, predicting the verdict of the next few matches; Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff and Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Slytherin had beat Hufflepuff shortly after Gryffindor’s victory over Ravenclaw, and it was clear they had a very strong team this year. Harry and the rest of the team were nervous, to say the least.

Luna had written an article on Moon frogs, which according to Hermione and most other students, didn’t exist and were completely made up. Harry still found himself enjoying the article however, despite being dubious over how much truth it held. Luna’s nonsensical ramblings were a nice break from his somewhat depressing reality. He was looking forward to feeding the thestrals with her that weekend.

Harry was just about to begin reading an article by Susan (who had since profusely apologised for her mishap with the ad) about misinformation and Ministry interference in the Prophet, when he heard a cough from behind him. Harry didn’t have to look around to know who it was. Luckily, he hadn’t yet tapped Susan’s article with his wand, so it was still disguised as a summary of the Prophet’s news from that week, although he was sure Hermione and the other students had had the foresight to protect the ‘real’ articles from onlookers with their charms.

“Reading the news again, Mr Potter?” asked Umbridge seedily. He had read the Puffington Post in her class several times now.

“Well it changes every day you see,” he replied under his breath. From the corner of his eye he spotted Malfoy choking back a laugh.

“What was that?” she demanded sternly.

“Nothing, professor,” he said quickly. Umbridge sniffed.

“You should try reading the Prophet to stay more informed, Potter,” she quipped. Harry’s jaw tensed at her snide remark. He felt his temper rise but managed to quell it.

“Of course, professor,” he said evenly.

She walked away, to the front of the room, to begin her lesson. Harry looked back at Malfoy from the corner of his vision. The blonde was still fighting a smile, and the image brought a smile to Harry’s own face. They caught eyes for a moment, before quickly looking away. Suddenly, it dawned on Harry that he’d taken Malfoy’s advice; he was keeping his head down.

***

“Nice brooms, Weasleys!” shouted Cassius Warrington at the twins in a nasty tone, “What year did Cleansweepers come out again? 1952 was it?”

Gryffindor had just beaten Slytherin at Quidditch, their second game of the season. Harry had been over the moon, despite the close call with losing, but now Warrington was deciding to pick a fight. The rest of the Gryffindor players were still in the changing room, which was probably for the best, Harry could only imagine Ron’s reaction to Cassius’ jab.

“Don’t be a sore loser Cass,” leered George.

“Just because we beat you on these, what was it you said, 1952 brooms?” added Fred, “Doesn’t mean you have to throw a fit.”

“Watch your filthy blood-traitor mouths,” spat Warrington, and Harry recoiled in disgust at his foul words.

“Aww, don’t cry Cass,” teased George, “Maybe, if you’re really lucky, you can come second-last this Quidditch cup.”

“Maybe, if you’re really lucky,” hissed Cassius, “You’ll win the lottery and you won’t have to live in a hovel anymore.”

“Sod off, Warrington!” sneered Harry, drawing his wand instinctively as a threat.

Cassius did not sod off, only drew his own wand. The twins followed suit, they were in for a duel. Harry fancied their chances, three against one as it were, but he’d have rather avoided this altogether, even if Warrington did deserve it.

The Slytherin player shot a knee reversing hex at Fred, who easily blocked it.

“Expelliarmus!” yelled Harry, flinging Cassius’ wand across the room and causing him to topple over, falling into the wall behind him.

“Mr Potter!” screeched Umbridge, Harry shot around, “Mr and Mr Weasley!”

They’d been caught in the act. The Gryffindor team had barely been approved by Umbridge to play Quidditch in the first place, now they were really in for it.

“Attacking an innocent Slytherin player!” she accused shrilly.

“Innocent?” whined Fred, “He was the one attacking us!”

“It was self-defence!” insisted George. Harry said nothing, he knew it’d be no use.

“Quiet!” ordered Umbridge, “The three of you are henceforth banned from ever playing Quidditch again!”

Harry and the twins looked at each other in horror. They were some of the best players on the team, Gryffindor had been doing well so far, but without them their chances of winning the cup would plummet.

“Banned?” parroted Fred shakily. Umbridge smiled widely at them.

“And you will each serve a week’s detention.” she added. Harry’s stomach sank. It was just as Hermione had warned him, now others had to suffer under the blood magic quill because he had failed to speak up.

A deep feeling of despair settled over him.

Chapter Text

“Right,” proclaimed Harry, commanding the attention of the room, “Seems like everyone is here, uh, welcome, everyone, to the first meeting of Dumbledore’s Army.”

Fred let out a whoop and several others followed suit. Harry found himself slightly more at ease. He’d sent a letter to Moony who’d assured him he’d make a great teacher, and to start them off with something simple but effective, something Harry was familiar with.

The Room of Requirement had been perfect for the DA; big open space, dummies and mannequins that moved around for practice, cushioned areas for the more aggressive spells, walls of bookshelves with instructional literature. Neville was a genius.

“Today I thought we’d go over Expelliarmus,” he announced, “Some of you might already know it well, but it's a very useful spell that can be used in a variety of situations.”

He scanned the crowd. He wanted to see what Malfoy thought of his teaching decision, he’d probably be sneering. Instead his eyes landed on Cho, who was smiling sweetly at him. Harry smiled awkwardly back, and resumed his search for Malfoy, who, once he’d found him, was looking at the Ravenclaw girl in a jealous manner. How curious. Harry snapped his eyes away, resuming the lesson.

“I thought first I could quickly go over how it works,” he turned to Ron, who stepped up next to him, and drew his wand, “Expelliarmus!”

Ron’s wand flew out of his hand and he turned around to go and retrieve it.

“The wand movement is pretty simple, just a little flick,” he explained, “And you have to make sure you’re concentrating on your opponent when you cast it, but overall there’s not too much to it. If you cast a strong enough one you can even knock your opponent off their feet.”

Ron came back to join them, wand in hand.

“Who feels pretty confident in this spell already?” asked Harry, a few people raised their hands, “If you guys could find a pair who isn’t as confident and practice on each other, that'd be great.”

The crowd began shuffling around into pairs.

“Me Ron and Hermione can go with anyone who isn’t paired up,” added Harry.

Surprisingly, Cho came sidling up to him.

“Could I be partnered with you, Harry?” she asked him. Cho was one of the most popular girls in his year, she knew almost everyone who was present and would surely have no trouble in finding a willing partner.

“Er, of course,” he told her, “But you’ve got lots of friends here Cho, you should partner up with one of them. I’m here for the people that can’t find a partner.”

“Oh,” replied Cho, sounding disappointed, “I just wanted to partner with you, that’s all.”

“You should partner with Angelina,” pointed out Harry, “She knows the spell pretty well, and you guys know each other from Quidditch, right?”

Cho smiled weakly and nodded before making her way back to the other students.

“What did she want?” asked Ron, coming up to Harry from behind.

“To partner with me,” he replied, “I told her she should partner with one of her friends.”

“Oh God, Harry,” whined Hermione, “I hope you’re joking.”

“What do you mean?” he asked defensively.

“She wanted to practise with you, because she-

Hermione was cut off by Ron.

“Harry, look!” he hissed, pointing at the Slytherins. Harry looked over to them, Theo and Daphne had partnered together, so had Pansy and Blaise, which only left… Malfoy.

“No way I’m partnering with him,” said Ron viciously.

“Don’t be childish, Ron,” chastised Hermione.

“Do you want to practise with him then?” he shot back. Hermione's mouth was set in a firm line.

“I’ll do it,” sighed Harry.

His friends turned to him in shock.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione nervously. Harry knew she was talking about his temper.

“I’m sure,” he said evenly. This was a good excuse to cast an Expelliarmus on Malfoy. But more than that, Harry felt a little bad for the small group of Slytherins. He could remember the feeling of alienation, of being left out, from not only the Dursleys, but from his muggle primary school. His strange lightning scar and streak of white hair had always set him apart from the rest, and he still remembered the time when he’d had little to no friends. It was a difficult time to forget.

Mostly though, he wanted to knock Malfoy backwards with his Expelliarmus. It was a good outlet for his anger.

“Get him good, mate,” whispered Ron darkly. Harry shot him a grin.

“I intend to,” he whispered back.

He made his way over to the other boy. Malfoy watched him approach with less animosity than usual.

“Potter,” he greeted.

“I’ll partner with you.” said Harry, getting straight to the point.

“You want to throw me into the wall that badly?” sneered Malfoy, eyes glittering.

“You could say that.” replied Harry.

They stared at each other intensely for a moment.

“Let’s go find some space,” suggested Harry, and he led the Slytherin boy to an empty corner of the room.

They stood a few feet apart from each other and got into defensive positions. Harry was struck with the familiarity the situation held with their duel in second year.

“You try and disarm me,” instructed Harry.

He waited, tensed in anticipation.

“Expelliarmus!” cast Malfoy suddenly. Harry felt his wand being flung out of his hand and he fell over, hard.

“You’re not bad at this,” he commented as he brushed himself off, “Seems like you don’t really need any help.”

Malfoy looked proud.

“Don’t sound so surprised Potter,” he sneered, “You try and disarm me now, I want to see if I can block it.”

Harry picked up his wand, fixed his eyes on Malfoy and began to circle him. The blonde boy followed suit.

“Enjoying yourself?” asked Malfoy under his breath.

“Immensely,” returned Harry, his gaze hardening.

He made another orbit of Malfoy, and then decided it was time to strike.

“Expelliarmus!” he yelled, and Malfoy had barely raised his wand to block it. Power raged through Harry and sprung from his wand. The Slytherin boy went flying into the wall with an audible thud. Luckily the wall had turned to a soft mattress moments before, but the force of the blow was enough that it would still be painful. Malfoy fell to the floor and slumped forward.

“Merlin,” he breathed, sounding winded. Harry ran over to him, heart beating frantically.

“I’ve never cast one quite as strong as that before,” he told Malfoy, “Sorry about that.”

He handed the Slytherin his wand back. Malfoy took it with a weary look.

“We can take a break if you-

“Expulso!” he cast and Harry shot backwards, knocking his head against one of the dummies. Before he could think he’d raised his wand in retaliation.

He shot a body binding hex at Malfoy, who dodged it by rolling to the side. Harry narrowly avoided being hit by his subsequent stunning spell before casting a rather aggressive Expelliarmus. Malfoy, who had just gotten to his feet, was flung back into the mattress wall. He looked properly pissed now.

“Stupefy!” came Malfoy’s voice.

“Protego!” cast Harry.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Expelliarmus!”

They continued for a few more minutes, and Harry realised they’d attracted the attention of the rest of the room.

While he was distracted by the onlookers, Malfoy finally hit him with a successful Expelliarmus and his wand was flung out of his grip. Harry turned back to the Slytherin, positively seething. He ran to the side to escape another stupefy and scrambled backwards to retrieve his wand. Malfoy shot more hexes at him, steadily advancing until the tip of his wand was pointing at Harry’s throat. He gently tilted Harry’s chin upwards, a smirk plastered across his face.

“Seems you’ve lost, Potter.” he sneered. Harry could feel his breath on his face. His jaw tensed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he muttered ominously, and before Malfoy could register what was happening, Harry’s fist flew up and he punched him in the face. His knuckles connected with Malfoy’s nose and there was a sickening crunch. Malfoy crumpled, still gripping his wand, and his hand flew to his face. Harry’s eyes widened. What had he just done? He’d absolutely lost control. Malfoy seemed to be of the same opinion.

“What,” he snarled, “The fuck, Potter?”

He cupped his pale fingers around his nose, catching the bright red blood that was leaking out in a steady flow. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, he’d let rage overcome him.

Harry didn't know what to say, his lips parted in shock. He heard a few nasty chuckles from the crowd, and his twinge of guilt worsened. Malfoy turned angrily to the onlookers, wand still firmly in his grasp and the laughter stopped immediately.

“Er,” stammered Harry, “Carry on, guys,”

He picked up his wand from the floor and rushed over to Malfoy, who was absolutely furious.

“What is wrong with you?” he hissed, still holding his nose. Blood was beginning to drip onto his robes. The crowd began to disperse as Harry and Malfoy whispered angrily to each other.

“Is it broken?” asked Harry worriedly, trying to get a good look at the injury.

“Take a guess,” sneered the other boy. Harry’s face flushed.

“Come on, I’ll fix it,” he offered, leading Malfoy to a newly formed medical corner.

“You’ll fix it?” asked Malfoy sarcastically, but even as he did he was following Harry, “Do you even know how?”

“Of course I do!” he shot back, “I’m on the Quidditch team, aren’t I?”

Malfoy muttered something under his breath. He sat down on the medical bed, his silver eyes ablaze with hatred.

“Take your hand away,” he instructed, Malfoy only glared at him. “Come on, please?” he urged him. He brought his hand down to his lap, it was covered in blood, and so was the lower half of his face.

His nose was definitely broken. Harry made a face.

“What?” asked Malfoy viciously, searching Harry’s expression.

“It’s fine,” he tried to assure him.

“You look like shit Draco,” came a voice from behind them, Harry shot around and found himself face to face with Blaise Zabini. Daphne, Pansy and Theo trailed after him, a mixture of worried and unimpressed.

“Shut up, Blaise.” grumbled Malfoy.

Harry was pushed violently out of the way by Pansy Parkinson, who began to analyse the injury.

“We should get that photo boy over here,” commented Zabini snidely, Harry could only assume he was talking about Colin, “He can snap us a nice memory.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” seethed Malfoy, burning a hole into Blaise’s forehead with his eyes. The other boy only smirked.

“Does it hurt?” asked Daphne, regarding the injury with wide eyes.

“Obviously!” whined Malfoy, turning his hateful glare to Harry, who shrunk into the wall behind him.

“Episkey!” cast Pansy, and Malfoy’s nose snapped into place. He groaned loudly.

“A little warning would have been nice.”

Pansy only shrugged. She likewise turned to Harry.

“I think you owe him an apology,” she said curtly. Harry couldn’t exactly argue with this.

“You cheated!” piped up Theo. Harry could argue with that, but decided against it, biting his tongue.

“Sorry,” he apologised bashfully, pinned under Malfoy’s gaze.

“Psycho.” he spat back. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and it came away sticky with blood. A disgusted look settled on his delicate features. Harry searched the medical area for a towel and found one, handing it to Malfoy, who didn’t bother to thank him. He began to dab at his face.

“Drama queen.” sneered Zabini, and he turned to leave, along with Pansy. Theo and Daphne lingered a little longer before following them.

“I’m really sorry,” repeated Harry.

Malfoy didn’t say anything.

“Guess I’m just angry.” he mumbled.

“It’s Umbridge you’re angry at,” hissed Malfoy, “Not me. You’d do well to remember it.”

Surprisingly, Harry wasn’t angry at Malfoy, but it wasn’t just Umbridge either. It was Dumbledore, it was Fudge, it was Voldemort. He tried not to get overwhelmed.

“I guess I just need somewhere to get out that anger.” he said shyly.

“I’d gladly spar with you,” Malfoy told him, “As long as you promise not to punch me in the face.”

“Really?” perked up Harry. Despite the guilt he felt at breaking Malfoy’s nose, the duel itself had been invigorating, a great outlet for his pent up stress. “I promise.” he added.

“Alright then, deal,” agreed Malfoy, “But next time, it’ll be you bleeding all over the place. Mark my words.”

Harry grinned.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” he said for the second time.

“Is the blood gone?” asked Malfoy, lowering the reddened cloth.

“No,” laughed Harry, it was still all over the Slytherin’s face.

Malfoy scrubbed some more, to no avail.

Harry cast some water into the stained cloth and pointed to the smudges of blood that were still on his skin. Malfoy tried to wipe them off but he didn’t have a mirror, he was missing the blood altogether.

“Here,” instructed Harry, pushing Draco’s hand to where the stain was. His touch lingered for a second but he quickly drew away. “I should go and check how everyone’s doing.” he said, clearing his throat.

He turned away and went to inspect the rest of the students. Most people seemed to be getting on pretty well, Ron (who told Harry his punch had been ‘wicked’) had improved since Harry had last seen him cast the spell, and Ginny’s Expelliarmus was especially strong (another reason not to mess with her). The only person who seemed to be really struggling was Neville. Harry spent the rest of class practising with him in between glances at Malfoy, who had rejoined his friends. Soon the meeting had ended, and Hermione stepped to the front of the room.

“That’s all for today!” she announced, “Thank you all so much for coming! We’ll meet again same time next week.”

Harry and Malfoy shared a quick look. That was their office-break-in plan scuppered once again. They needed a new time for it.

Everyone began dusting themselves off and retrieving their wands, ready to leave.

“If you have any spells you would want to teach,” added Harry, “Or any you’d like to be taught, just let me, Hermione or Ron know.”

And with that everyone began to file out. Even though he’d broken Malfoy’s nose, and even though they were going to have to reschedule their plan, Harry couldn’t help but feel like this had been a successful first meeting of the DA.

Chapter Text

“Do they only eat meat?” asked Harry curiously, throwing a raw piece from Luna’s bag to the nearest thestral. It caught the meat in its mouth and began chewing softly.

“I’ve tried them on other things,” she mused, “But they only seem to eat this.”

Harry made a mental note to ask Hagrid about why this was. The thought of Hagrid reminded him of Malfoy’s warning about Umbridge making herself High Inquisitor. He’d since heard about it during her breakfast announcement that morning along with everyone else, and Ron and Hermione had also immediately thought of their beloved Care for Magical Creatures professor.

“Any luck finding your shoes?” he asked her, she wasn’t barefoot today.

Luna shook her head.

“These are Ginny’s,” she explained.

“Oh,” he replied, still wishing Luna would help him get back at the bullies. At least she had some shoes in the meantime.

“I think the meeting yesterday was a success, don’t you?” she pondered airily.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, “I’d say so.”

“Would you like to see my Expelliarmus?” she offered.

“Alright then,” replied Harry, and he took a step back, bracing himself.

“Expelliarmus!” cast Luna and Harry’s wand flew up into the air and several feet away, he was knocked over by the force of her magic and she helped him up.

“Luna that’s amazing!” he told her, “You didn’t know it well before yesterday, did you?”

She shook her head.

“Ginny taught me,” she said in explanation, handing him his wand.

“Wow,” he breathed, “Great job!”

She smiled at him serenely.

“Thank you Harry,”

She threw some meat to an approaching thestral.

“I think it’s wonderful that we have the DA and the Puffington Post,” she commented as he brushed himself off, “If I were You-Know-Who, I’d want you to feel cut off from everyone else, that way you’d be less of a threat, but if we’re all united then we’re stronger.”

Harry hadn’t expected her to go in that direction. He was a little startled at her casual analysis and stood shell shocked for a few seconds. He suddenly thought that it was a good thing Luna was on his side, and not someone else’s.

“I think you may be right,” he told her slowly.

***

In the week that followed, High Inquisitor Umbridge investigated each of Harry’s classes one by one.

First was Divination. Before Umbridge had even entered the classroom she was tutting at the ladder that led up to it, making a scribble on her pink clipboard. During the lesson itself she goaded Trelawney to make her ‘one teensy little prophecy’, and when the poor teacher (after explaining it didn’t work like that) caved and predicted Umbridge’s grisly end, Umbridge looked severely unimpressed. Harry, for the first time he could remember, found himself feeling sorry for Trelawney.

Next was McGonagall, a refreshing change from Umbridge’s triumph in divination, who put the toad firmly in her place.

Even better was Snape’s lesson, where Umbridge deigned to ask him about the DADA post that he had never gotten. Harry and the trio found themselves stifling laughter throughout the whole thing.

And finally it was time for Hagrid’s class, the thing they’d all been dreading. And it went just as badly as Harry anticipated. Only a miracle could save Hagrid from the sack now.

With the addition of his lifetime ban from Quidditch, and his week of detention with the twins, not to mention the onslaught of homework from teachers, it was fair to say that by the weekend Harry was feeling nothing short of awful. Luckily, he now had the DA to cheer him up, and watching everyone’s progress (even Neville had cast a somewhat decent Expelliarmus), brought a smile to his face. He was now beginning to understand why Moony had wanted to be a teacher.

After the stresses of the week, and their reminder (the words: I must not attack others), Harry was happy to get them out sparring with Malfoy, who kept giving his fresh scar cursory glances. He also continued to shoot jealous ones whenever Harry and Cho were around each other. Harry wondered if he had a crush on the popular Ravenclaw girl, she was very pretty after all. He found the idea rather funny, and smirked the next time Cho approached him, watching Malfoy from the corner of his eye. A quick glance between the two boys made it clear that they needed to talk. Neither had really found the time all week, and they needed to reschedule their plan.

“That’s all for today everyone!” called Hermione from the front, reminding Harry of the time, “See you again next week!”

The students began to file out slowly, chattering eagerly amongst themselves and recounting how much their spell work had improved.

Harry hung behind, telling his friends to go on without him, and waited for Draco to approach him.

Chapter Text

Harry lingered in the corner of the Room of Requirement, pretending to look through the books of the room’s extensive library. The chatter of the leaving DA members began to die out and he chanced a look over his shoulder. The Slytherin boy was leaning lazily against the far wall, examining his fingernails with an air of boredom. He looked up around the same time as Harry and watched as the Gryffindor boy made his way over to him. It was just Malfoy and him now.

“Let’s do it next Sunday,” suggested Harry abruptly, getting straight to the point. Malfoy’s lethargic composition was getting on his nerves a bit.

“Why not this Sunday?” asked Malfoy.

“I’m busy,” he responded, “And the twins are too, they’re going to Hogsmeade.”

“And these things can’t possibly be rescheduled?” drawled Malfoy.

“No,” he replied stubbornly.

“Fine then. But we will do it next Sunday, I don’t care how busy you are. We’ve gone back and forth long enough now.”

“What’s your urgency?” asked Harry, annoyed.

“What’s my urgency?” echoed Malfoy in disbelief, “My urgency is to get rid of her as soon as possible. Just because I don’t start shouting in her class like a child doesn’t mean I don’t despise her. Not only is she aggravating, she's absolutely incompetent. As much as our little duels might help, I want a real teacher. I will not fail my exams.”

Harry scowled at him. Where had this burst of animosity stemmed from? They had been getting on so well this school year. This was probably the cruellest Malfoy had been up until now. It wasn’t anything compared to his antics in previous years, but Harry felt a little stung nonetheless.

“What’s going on with you?” he demanded, brows furrowing, “Why are you in such a foul mood?”

“I just told you!” spat Malfoy.

“Everything you just said has been the same since the start of the year, and you’ve been dealing with it fine until now,” retorted Harry, “What’s actually going on? Don’t tell me you're worried about her firing teachers, Snape is safe.”

“That’s not it,” muttered Malfoy. He cast his eyes downwards, and Harry felt them flick to the fresh cuts on his hand. He quickly hid the bloodied skin behind his back, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I don’t care what it is,” Harry told him, “Stop sulking, it’s getting us nowhere. We’re doing the plan next Sunday, Fred and George will cause a distraction and we’ll search her office. This week in my detentions I tried to see where she put them after we were done, but she always got rid of me before putting them away. So we’ll just have to figure out where they’re stored on the day. Is that all fine by you?”

“Fine,” huffed Malfoy.

He sounded slightly less nasty than earlier, and Harry felt himself relax. They would execute the plan, and then be one step closer to foiling Umbridge. He remembered his wonderings from their last conversation, and decided he couldn’t wait any longer to find out.

“You can read the articles in the Puffington Post,” stated Harry, “Can’t you?”

“Obviously,” he replied, “How else would I have been able to join the DA?”

“Right,” agreed Harry, and then, “Could you read mine? The one…The one about Cedric, I mean?”

Draco’s expression softened.

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

There was a pause, a moment of tense silence. There was something else Harry was curious about.

“Do you believe it?” he asked, wondering why it even mattered to him.

“I think you’ll find,” answered Malfoy delicately, “That Slytherins were probably some of the few to have believed it right from the start.”

Harry almost shivered. It was the most serious, intimate thing Malfoy had ever said to him. It was also the closest he’d ever come to admitting his father was a death eater.

“So you believed me from the beginning?” he questioned, “Right from when I came out of the maze with Cedric?”

His voice tensed at the Hufflepuff boy’s name. Harry felt his chest grow tight at the memory.

“I believed you, yes.”

Harry had no idea how he felt about this discovery.

“Did your father -

“I don’t want to talk about my father with you, Potter.”

“Right.” said Harry for the second time after a few seconds had passed. He stared up at Malfoy, who was firmly averting his silver eyes. His sharp features were pinched in discomfort. “Sorry.” added Harry.

“So what do you think of Umbridge as ‘High Inquisitor’?” he asked suddenly, changing the subject.

“Uh,” replied Harry stupidly, “Well obviously I’m worried about Hagrid. I don’t want him to be sacked.”

Why was he telling this to Malfoy? The Slytherin prick hated Hagrid and had made no effort to keep the fact a secret. He braced himself for a rude comment about the half-giant.

“So you admit you think he could be sacked?” was all Malfoy said. Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Not exactly nice, but not horrible either.

“Umbridge hates half-breeds,” he supplied in explanation.

“It’s not just that though,” continued Malfoy, “Is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” denied Harry defensively. Now it was his turn to be uncomfortable.

“I’ll say it if you won’t,” he threatened, “Hagrid is a bad teacher.”

Harry’s jaw tensed.

“Hagrid is a great teacher!” he insisted, “You just hate him because you’re a blood puritist. Umbridge has absolutely no grounds to sack him other than his race.”

Malfoy shot him a searching look. Harry wouldn’t admit his true opinion, especially not to him.

“Will you at least agree that the standard of education here is more than a little dire?”

“Sure,” offered Harry angrily, “It’s not exactly great. History is taught by a ghost who puts everyone to sleep with his lectures, Divination is a sad joke and none of our DADA teachers have lasted longer than a year, are you happy now?”

“I’m just saying,” explained Malfoy, “That despite the circumstances, perhaps Hogwarts could use a bit of an inquiry.”

“What?” Harry shot back in utter disbelief, “Just a few seconds ago you were ranting about how urgent it is that we get rid of her! And now you’re supporting her all of a sudden? Honestly, I don’t understand you!”

“Calm down, Potter,” snapped Malfoy, “You wouldn’t be so riled up if you didn’t agree, even if it’s just a little bit. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

Harry simply stood before him, aghast.

“Have you heard of the new rule she’s putting in place?” he continued, “Not only are student groups of more than three people forbidden, but now she wants to start separating girls and boys. Apparently she caught that Weasley girl snogging Michael Corner and was so affronted she wants eight inches between all males and females.”

“Ginny’s dating Michael Corner?” repeated Harry, this conversation was giving him whiplash, “How do you know about all this?”

“She likes me, remember?” Malfoy reminded him.

“Who, Ginny?” said Harry, even more shocked than before.

“What? No!” he scorned, “Umbridge. Merlin’s sake Potter, it’s not me Ginny fancies.”

Right, of course, thought Harry, it was Michael Corner she liked. He was surprised Ginny hadn’t warned them about this upcoming rule, but perhaps she didn’t want to tell her brothers about her new boyfriend. Harry decided he had better keep the information to himself, Ron probably wouldn’t take it very well, and he doubted Ginny wanted it publicised.

“You’ll need to keep a ruler handy,” Malfoy told him, “To make sure there’s enough space between you and Granger.”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. He wondered how serious Umbridge was about this rule.

“And of course any other girls trying to get into your personal space,” he sneered.

“Suppose you’ll need one for Cho.” Harry shot back with a smirk. Malfoy only looked confused.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh come on,” urged Harry, “You fancy her, don’t you?”

Malfoy gave him a withering look.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Harry began to lose his confidence, had he imagined all those jealous looks?

“Merlin, you’re thick Potter,” he sighed, “I don’t have a crush on Chang.”

Harry’s face reddened.

“Oh.” he replied stupidly.

“Well,” commented Malfoy awkwardly, giving Harry a final once over, “I’ll see you next Sunday then. Let’s meet round the corner from her office.”

“Alright then.” agreed Harry, and they went their separate ways.

Chapter Text

By Monday Harry’s fears and Malfoy’s warnings had been realised. Hagrid and Trelawney were sacked, and boys and girls now had to stay eight inches apart at all times (although, predictably perhaps, it was proving difficult to control).

McGonagall had somehow managed to save the two teachers from being evicted from the school grounds, but barely, and not before public humiliation from Umbridge. Overall, spirits were at an all time low. Especially in the trio.

“We’ve got to convince him to take back his job!” insisted Ron.

“Even if he wanted to he couldn’t Ron,” Hermione pointed out, “It’s hopeless.”

“Don’t say that.” groaned Harry.

“We should at least convince him to keep being groundskeeper.” said Ron.

“That’s true,” relented Hermione, “It wouldn’t be Hogwarts without him.”

The three of them poked sadly at their respective dinners.

“Who d’you reckon is going to replace them?” asked Harry. Hermione shot him a quizzical look.

“Dunno,” replied Ron.

“Dumbledore’s finding replacements at the moment,” Hermione informed them.

“How do you-” Harry began to ask but all of a sudden Ron and Hermione, who’d been sitting next to one another, shot apart as if by some invisible force. The three of them looked up in shock and standing behind them was none other than Umbridge herself, who’d come trotting through the tables unnoticed thanks to her short stature and the crowds of students both sitting and standing. Harry gulped.

“Girls and boys must be eight inches apart at all times,” she told them sweetly, a vicious smile on her ugly face. Ron’s ears went red and Hermione flushed. “You two were sitting entirely too close,” she added, staring menacingly at them. She lingered for a moment, and the tension was palpable, but before long she was off, making the rounds to other boys and girls who were sitting too close.

“What a joke!” hissed Ron angrily, “Now I can’t even sit next to Hermione anymore?”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” she agreed.

Harry looked between his friends, both of them flustered, and thought that they had been sitting unusually close, but decided not to say anything.

“What’s the plan for the next DA meeting?” Ron asked him, changing the subject. He still looked sufficiently flushed.

“Well,” responded Harry eagerly, “I was thinking of going over stunning spells. Expelliarmus is great and all, but your opponent isn’t fully neutralised. A good stunner seems like the next logical step. What do you guys think?”

“That’s wonderful, mate,” Ron told him.

“Yeah that’s great!” agreed Hermione. Harry beamed at his friends’ encouragement.

“And then after that,” continued Harry, “I’ve got something extra special in store.”

Hermione and Ron leaned in, eyes alight with curiosity.

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“You’ll see,” winked Harry, drawing exasperated sighs from them.

“Just tell us!” pleaded Hermione.

Harry only smiled.

Chapter Text

Harry and Malfoy stood nervously around the corner from Umbridge’s office, waiting for the twins’ prank to kick off and draw her away. Fred and George hadn’t deigned to tell Harry what the prank was, but he’d been assured that it would be loud enough for her to hear, and difficult enough to get rid of that it would buy him ample time.

“How long until-

A deafening crack and resounding boom erupted from somewhere down the hallway, interrupting Malfoy mid sentence and shaking the very floor of the castle. The two boys turned to each other, eyes wide, what on earth were the twins doing? Harry almost felt sad that he couldn’t be there to witness the magnificent prank, but he was sure he’d find out everything later, it was going to be the talk of the school for several days, he had no doubt.

Malfoy and Harry pressed themselves against the wall as Umbridge’s door (which had only recently been converted back to normal since the screeching portrait incident) flew open with a bang. They listened for the clack of her shiny pink shoes against the stone floor and waited until it had receded into a light patter, then dashed from the corner into her office.

Malfoy closed the door behind them firmly and Harry’s green eyes scoured the room, searching for the nasty brown quills. From his cursory glance they weren’t in plain sight, so he dove behind the desk and began pulling out all the drawers.

“Don’t make a mess!” hissed Malfoy, opening the cupboards.

“Ok ok.” he responded agitatedly.

He shut all the drawers, the quills were nowhere to be found, there was only a ghastly hoard of pink trinkets. Harry tried another drawer, it was locked.

“Alohamora,” he whispered, but to no avail.

“Think they’re in there?” Malfoy asked him.

“Doubt it,” he decided, “They’d have to be crammed in. Looks too small.”

“We can come back to it.” offered the blonde.

Harry moved on to some cabinets behind the desk. Nothing there either. The booms and quaking from down the hall had died down somewhat. They were running out of time.

“Fuck!” swore Harry, “Where are they?”

He lifted the atrocious pink carpet, wondering if she had a secret compartment in the floor like he’d had in Privet Drive. The floor was stone, but maybe she’d used magic? If there was a compartment he couldn’t see any. He replaced the carpet on the floor.

His eyes rushed all over the room, trying to think where else they could be hidden.

“Let’s check the drawer again,” suggested Malfoy. He knelt next to the desk and tried to pull it out.

“No use,” whined Harry, “It’s locked pretty well.”

“I might be…” he trailed off. Harry shot him a confused look and then he heard it. The sound of Umbridge’s shiny shoes hitting the floor, this time approaching. He looked at Malfoy in panic, only to find his expression mirrored on the other boy’s face.

“Fuck,” cursed Harry again, this time much quieter. They couldn’t leave the room, she’d see them. Maybe through the window? They were several stories up but if they cast ‘aressto momentum’ right before they hit the ground it could work. Before Harry could even voice his plan he saw Malfoy open a cupboard, shrink the contents and climb in.

“Potter, come on!” he whispered urgently. He reached out and grabbed Harry’s tie, pulling him into the cupboard as well. Harry had no time to argue before he had lurched into the small space and fallen into the other boy. Malfoy promptly cast a muffling charm over them and shut the door hurriedly.

There was barely enough space for one person in the cupboard, let alone two. Harry found himself awkwardly pressed against the other boy, the closest he’d ever been with his Slytherin rival. Their faces were inches apart, Harry facing into the corner of the closet and Malfoy facing towards the door. Their legs were a tangled mess and Harry’s whole top half was slumped over Malfoy’s right side. He began to wriggle into a more comfortable position, a difficult feat in the confines of the cupboard.

“Potter, hold still!” ordered Malfoy in a hushed voice. Even though he’d cast a silencing charm over them he was still talking in a hushed tone. Harry couldn’t blame him, it felt strange not to.

“Just let me-“ insisted Harry, trying to turn his body towards the door.

The door of Umbridge’s office opened and shut. Harry was still wriggling.

“Can you stop moving!”

“There!” huffed Harry, now facing in the same direction as Malfoy, “I’ve stopped.”

“Merlin.” breathed the other boy.

From his new position, Harry could glimpse the room through a sliver of a gap between the door and the wall. Malfoy was next to this sliver, and had a much better view, but Harry didn’t want to chance pissing him off further by moving again. He resigned himself to not being able to see anything, and leaned back into the side of the cupboard, trying to put as much distance between himself and Malfoy as he could, which was not very much at all.

Their faces were still only inches apart, but at least Malfoy was turned away from him. The tightness of the cupboard was horribly familiar and Harry began to feel uncomfortable. It was too small, too cramped. The walls were closing in on him. He was running out of space.

“What can you see?” he asked Draco, desperately trying to distract himself.

“I don’t know, she’s moving around,” came the reply, “I can’t make much out.”

Harry gulped. How long would they be confined to this small space? Had she caught the twins? Had she dealt with the prank already? He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it.

“Now may be a bad time to tell you this,” he whispered, “But I’m not overly fond of cupboards.”

“What?” Malfoy whispered back, turning away from the door to face Harry.

“I’m a bit claustrophobic!” he hissed.

“Close your eyes,” suggested Malfoy, “Try and pretend you’re somewhere else.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He was at home, in his room, the picture of his parents on his nightstand. Posters on his walls. The window with the view on the street below. But he could still feel the cupboard around him. The space was so small he was pressed against a mixture of Malfoy and the surrounding walls, there was no way he could pretend he was somewhere else unless that somewhere else was equally cramped, and what was the point of that?

“It’s not working,” he told Draco, eyes still closed.

“Think really hard about something to distract yourself, then,” came the response. Harry could feel the hot breath of Malfoy’s words on his face. The cupboard was beginning to feel very warm now too.

He tried to think of something, anything, to take his mind off the tiny space he was in.

“I can’t think of anything!” he complained.

He opened his eyes, Malfoy was still facing him, their faces very close.

“Just focus on me,” he instructed, Harry did as he was told, staring at Malfoy’s eyes and trying to forget their surroundings.

“Malfoy…”

“Just focus!”

Harry did his best, staring hard into his silvery grey eyes.

“What’s your full name?” he asked in a serious tone.

“You know my full name!” snapped Harry.

“Just answer my questions!” he retorted, “Trust me, it’ll help.”

“Harry James Potter,” he said after a beat.

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“Uh, a piece of toast.”

“Which House are you in?”

“Gryffindor.”

Harry was increasingly confused at the onslaught of questions, but surprisingly he found himself being distracted.

“Are you still feeling stressed?” asked Malfoy.

“Um,” replied Harry clumsily, aware of how close they were to each other, “A little.”

His heart was beating in his chest, his stomach in knots, but his sheer panic from earlier was steadily dissipating. It wasn’t the cupboard that was making him nervous now.

“No one has ever died from being in a small space,” Malfoy comforted him, “You’re going to be fine. We’ll be out of here soon, don’t worry.”

Harry let out a breath, heart still hammering incessantly. He felt calmer though, that was for sure.

“Feeling any better?” asked Draco after a few minutes of Harry breathing in and out. His silver eyes had never left Harry’s green ones.

“Yeah, much,” confirmed Harry, “Where did you learn to do that? How did you know what to say?”

“My friend Theo gets panic attacks sometimes,” he explained, “We all learnt how to calm him down. Thought it might work for this situation too.”

Harry found it hard to believe that Malfoy and his cronies had learnt how to comfort Theo when he was having a panic attack, but how else would Draco have known what to do?

“Cheers,” he said awkwardly.

“No problem.”

Once again their proximity to one another struck him. He could feel Draco’s body heat radiating from him they were so close. Harry gulped.

“What’s Umbridge doing?” he asked, clearing his throat.

Malfoy turned back to the sliver of light from the room.

“Sitting at her desk,” he informed Harry.

He turned back to Harry, a sympathetic look on his face.

“This is a disaster,” he groaned. Harry only pursed his lips.

Suddenly, he felt a tremor in the castle walls which was followed by a large bang, which was in turn followed by an angry huff from Umbridge and the sound of her shoes against the stone floor. They heard the door swing open and shut and Harry practically burst out of the cupboard. He took a deep breath of fresh air, which did nothing to stop his face from flushing so much.

“Should I try the drawer again?” wondered Draco as he enlarged the shrunken contents of the cupboard back to their real size.

“Let’s just get out of here,” pleaded Harry, “Alohamora didn’t work, we’ll need a different strategy anyway.”

And with that the two boys rushed out of the room and down the corridor, away from the sounds of Fred and George’s mischief.

Their plan had failed spectacularly, it had all been for nothing. Despite this, all Harry could seem to think about was the stupid cupboard and how stupidly warm it’d been. He couldn’t help but agree with Malfoy, this had been a disaster.

Chapter Text

That night, Harry slept fitfully. He was in the corridor again, the long, winding, vaguely familiar corridor. He walked through it frustratedly, he’d had enough of the dark windowless maze. With his frustration however, was a sense of carnal fear. There was something about the space that unnerved him.

All of a sudden Harry found himself at a dead end. He’d never before ended up at the end of the corridor, although he felt this was probably not the one he was searching for. He turned back on himself to retrace his steps but the corridor had been replaced by a wall. That wall had definitely not been there earlier.

A little panicked, he pressed his hand to the dark stone and to his horror, the walls around him began to close in.

Despite himself, Harry let out a terrified scream. The space got smaller and smaller. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and curled into a ball, willing himself to be somewhere, anywhere, else. He rocked back and forth, knocking against the cold walls around him. He couldn’t be sure how long this went on for, but it felt like an age.

After a while, he no longer felt the walls surrounding him, and Harry opened his eyes tentatively.

He was standing (although he didn’t remember getting up at any point) in The Great Hall. It was frighteningly empty, he was the sole person there. There was no food on the tables, no students or teachers milling about. It was bizarre. Unsure what to do, Harry went to go and sit in his usual seat.

He looked around the Hall once again. While he knew it to be The Great Hall, it looked decidedly different. Windows were rearranged, tables were slightly shifted, the House Cup count was nowhere to be seen. Something was… off about it.

Harry looked back to the entrance and flinched. Cedric was sitting next to him, regarding Harry blankly.

“Cedric?” he asked softly. Cedric did not react. He only stared.

Harry began to feel deeply unnerved, he needed to leave. He stood up with a jolt and ran towards the entrance of the Great Hall as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder at the dead Hufflepuff boy.

The scenery changed without warning, as often happened in dreams, and Harry was now running through the dreaded maze, a place he’d revisited often in his nightmares.

He came to a sudden stop and looked around desperately. He didn’t want to be in the maze again. He didn’t want to relive it again in his subconscious.

He sat down stubbornly on the floor, trying his best not to panic. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought of Cedric. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him and looked up. It was Draco. Not Cedric, Krum or Fleur, but Draco.

Harry stared ahead in bewilderment as a soft kiss was placed on his temple, and then he was out of the maze, and alone once more.

He was back in the corridor. Back where he’d started. He began wandering it once again.

Harry woke up with a start. He was drenched in cold sweat and breathing quickly.

“Harry, are you alright?” whispered Neville from the next bed over. It was still dark outside, not yet time for classes to begin.

“Yeah,” he replied shakily, “Bad dream.”

He sunk back into his bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night's sleep. Not since… last year.

Harry closed his eyes wearily.

***

Harry, Ron and the rest of their Divination class waited eagerly outside an old room of the castle. . Trelawney, while still allowed to stay on campus, had been replaced with Firenze, a centaur from the surrounding forest. This was a decision Umbridge was sure to resent, but she had yet to take any action against Dumbledore.

Harry had once been saved from Voldemort by Firenze in his First Year. He had a great deal of admiration for the centaur, and although he resented divination, he preferred him as a teacher to Trewlawney, however unfortunate the circumstances were.

“What do you think he’ll be like?” whispered Lavender to Parvati behind him.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, “I’ve heard good things from the Hufflepuffs, but they’re far too nice for a reliable opinion.”

“Well at least he can’t be too bad?” surmised Lavender, “If he was awful they’d have said. Maybe not the word ‘awful’, probably just ‘he’s not too bad’ or something, but that’s different from good.”

“God, Lavender, you’re spinning my head in circles,” laughed Parvati, “He’ll be here any minute and we can find out for ourselves. I wonder if centaur divination is different to ours?”

The two girls chattered on about the possibilities of this, whispering back and forth.

Harry didn’t care much for the class itself, but he was curious to see Firenze once more. Unlike most of their other classrooms, this one was on the ground floor, which probably had something to do with Firenze’s inability to climb stairs. Just as Parvati was complaining that she couldn’t take the suspense any longer, the door opened and students began to file in excitedly.

Firenze stood majestically at the front of the classroom, which had been transformed to replicate the Forbidden Forest, with a canopy of stars adorning the ceiling. Harry looked around in awe along with the rest of his classmates. He wondered why other teachers didn’t think to decorate their classrooms with magic, it was certainly breath taking.

He heard Lavender and Parvati quietly gushing about the handsome, shirtless centaur who was now their teacher, and something told Harry they weren’t too heartbroken that Trelawney was gone.

He couldn’t exactly disagree with them though, he’d remarked on Firenze’s beauty even at the ripe age of eleven, it was unmissable.

“Is this everyone?” asked Firenze, easily commanding the attention of the room.

“Yes, sir!” squealed Lavender.

Firenze nodded and began with his lesson, and for the first time ever, Harry found himself looking forward to a Divination class.

Chapter Text

“You still won’t tell us?” implored Hermione.

Harry simply shook his head, smirking.

“Come on mate,” reasoned Ron, “What's the lesson today? Just say.”

Harry refused to give in.

“You’ll find out along with everyone else, no favouritism.”

“Favouritism?” exclaimed Ron disdainfully.

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

Soon enough the room of requirement filled out with the members of the DA, all the while Ron was still pestering Harry about his mysterious idea.

Finally, everyone was present and accounted for, and Harry stepped to the centre of his room, his usual spot.

“Today I thought we’d do something a bit more difficult,” he explained excitedly, “Casting a patronus, and maybe even a corporeal patronus, which is when your patronus takes an animal form.”

The crowd looked interested, Harry couldn’t wait for them to get started.

“To cast a patronus, before you even worry about the words and the wand movement, you’ve got to think of a happy memory, probably the happiest you’ve got.”

He could almost feel everyone try and recall their ‘happiest memory’. His own was the first birthday he'd had with Sirius and Remus. Receiving presents, cake and love for the first time in his life was probably the most wonderful thing he could remember.

“Once you’ve got one,” Harry continued, pacing the room a little, “Really focus on it. You can’t let bad memories or thoughts overcome you, that’s exactly what dementors want. Then, hold out your wand and say ‘Expecto patronum’ as you focus on the memory. After a good few tries you might get some wisps, maybe a shield, and eventually, with enough practice you can get a corporeal one. I expect this’ll probably take us till Christmas.”

He grinned at the curious faces all around him. Over the past few weeks he’d really come into his role as teacher of the DA, and he was beginning to wholeheartedly enjoy it.

“Okay everyone,” he finished, “Go ahead! You don’t need a partner for this, in fact it might be better to do this alone so you can really focus, but yeah, let’s get started!”

Everyone hastily began trying the spell, splitting off in different directions of the room, which expanded for them all.

“It won’t happen right away!” Harry reminded them, “Don’t be discouraged, focus on your happy memory.”

He took a step back and admired it all. He saw a few sparks from the direction of the twins and wasn’t surprised, they had always been especially bright.

“So this is what you were planning!” accused Ron, “Should’ve guessed.”

“Get practising!” instructed Harry, waving him off with a smile.

He began to make his customary rounds of the room, stopping to help and give advice to anyone who was struggling or had questions.

“How’s it going Luna?” he asked, approaching the blonde girl.

“Not much progress yet,” she replied serenely, “But that’s to be expected. I’m curious what my patronus will be, what do you think Harry?”

“Which form will your patronus take?” he confirmed, “I…Maybe an owl?” he suggested, thinking of her large protruding eyes and calm demeanour.

“Good guess,” she told him, “I would guess a moon frog, but we’ll see, won’t we?”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he agreed, moving onto the next person with a smile. Harry hadn’t considered patronuses being magical animals before, was that even possible? He didn’t see why not, although seeing as Luna’s creature of choice had a highly debated existence, he wasn’t so sure her prediction would come true.

“Fred, George!” he greeted, marvelling at a few wisps that had just escaped from Fred’s wand, “How are you two getting on?”

“Not bad,” winked George, “How was your little plan last weekend?”

“Don’t tell the whole room!” shushed Harry, looking around furtively, “It was… Unsuccessful. I’m going to need to do it again, but you guys were wonderful, thanks again by the way.”

“Anytime,” smiled Fred, “Least we could do for our very first investor.”

Harry chuckled at his reference to the Triwizard winnings he’d gifted them.

“Investor,” he snorted, moving on to the next group of students, “Keep up the good work guys, you’ll have patronuses cast in no time!”

He went from one student to the next, and while nobody seemed to be producing one just yet, Harry was sure it would happen in no time. He cast a few sideways glances in Malfoy’s direction, signalling that they needed to talk after this. Draco gave him the slightest of nods and slightest of smiles. Harry, as much as he loved the DA, waited eagerly for the lesson to end.

Chapter Text

“I’ve got news,” Malfoy informed him briskly. The room of requirement was empty apart from them, and Harry could sense a certain urgency in the other boy’s voice.

“What?” he asked hurriedly.

“She suspects a break in,” he told Harry, “Some things were amiss in her office.”

“Shit,” swore Harry, “And you know this…?”

“She adores me,” Draco reminded him, “Keep up, Potter.”

“Right,” said Harry, “So what’s she gonna do? Is she putting extra security in her office?”

“She was going to,” he replied, “but I convinced her to store her stuff elsewhere. We’re lucky I was there, or we’d never be able to get to those quills.”

“Where is she moving them?” asked Harry, “Won’t they have pretty good security wherever they are?”

“A broom cupboard,” Malfoy informed him, “Inconspicuous. And don’t worry, the only security is Filch, and everyone knows he’s a squib.”

Harry flinched at the force and disdain with which Malfoy said the word ‘squib’.

“Ok,” he mused, trying to ignore it, “If we break in, won’t it be obvious it was you? Or at least that you leaked the information?”

“Only if we get caught,” said Draco pointedly. It felt like a challenge.

“Is that Gryffindor courage I’m seeing?” he chuckled, to which Malfoy sneered.

“Merlin, no,” he denied forcefully. Disgust twisted at his delicate features. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the familiar expression, he’d almost missed it.

“So how do we get rid of Filch?” he asked him.

“Maybe not another prank,” thought Malfoy, “Something a little less obvious. Something more indirect.”

Harry frowned, thinking it over. It made sense to get rid of Filch in a way that couldn’t directly be tied to them or Fred and George. That way they wouldn’t suspect another break in, but what could they do?

“You heard of Skiving Snackboxes?” asked Harry suddenly.

“I think so,” replied Draco uncertainly, “What are you thinking Potter?”

“We send Filch a box,” he explained conspiratorially, “Disguised as just normal sweets. He eats them and gets sick, he has to desert his post, and then we break in.”

“How do we know he’ll eat them?” asked Malfoy.

He furrowed his brows, giving the matter some thought.

“Maybe if they come from a trusted source…” Harry trailed off, leaving Malfoy to fill in the gaps.

“A gift for guarding her belongings…” mused Draco, “Not bad, Potter. Not bad at all.”

Harry bit back a grin.

“I think I might already have a box that the twins gave me at the start of the year,” he told him - it had been a thank you for his investment’ - “I’ll put, probably puking pastilles would be the best?” Draco nodded in agreement, “I’ll put some puking pastilles in a sweet box. Do you think we should write a note to go with them?”

“Leave that to me,” smirked Malfoy, “She’s given me a few notes in the past, an embarrassing mistake on her part, I’ll bewitch my handwriting to look like hers.”

Harry hadn’t even known such a thing was possible. He’d assumed Malfoy would just copy the writing by hand.

“Cool,” said Harry, “So when should we do it?”

“Why not tomorrow?” he suggested with a smile.

“Tomorrow?”

Malfoy nodded.

It felt a bit sudden, but Harry didn’t see why not. Their weekends were pretty full anyways, might as well get it out of the way. Assuming Malfoy’s note and Harry’s sweet box went as planned, there was nothing stopping them.

“Ok,” he agreed, “Tomorrow it is.”

Chapter Text

“What if he doesn’t eat them?” asked Harry, surveying Filch from behind the one-way mirror the Room of Requirement had created for them.

“Of course he’ll eat them,” scoffed Malfoy, “He’s a greedy git.”

Harry wasn’t entirely confident.

“Ok,” he continued, “But what if he doesn’t leave to throw up, what if he just does it straight away?”

“He’s the cleaner,” replied Malfoy, sounding annoyed, “If he vomits in the hall he has to clean it up. He’s not going to do that.”

This was true, but he found it difficult to be as sure as Malfoy on the matter.

“What if he knows what they are?” Harry couldn’t help but point out, “He’s probably confiscated loads of skiving snackboxes this year, I’ll bet he recognises what puking pastilles look like.”

“Potter!” huffed Malfoy, eyes ablaze with anger, “Will you stop worrying? You’re being ridiculous. Besides, everyone knows the twins are discreet, and so are their customers. If Filch even knew of the existence of ‘skiving snackboxes’ then anyone who fell sick would be under suspicion, and people wouldn’t use them anymore. Honestly!”

Harry glared at his shoes.

“Fine.” he spat.

They settled into silence, and Harry continued to stare angrily at his trainers.

“Look!” hissed Malfoy, and his head shot up, Filch had opened the box of sweets, and was picking out a puking pastille. The two boys watched eagerly. Filch brought the candy to his mouth and ate the entire thing. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. For a second or two he looked fine, almost as if he’d enjoyed the pastille, but soon enough his expression soured and he shot up and sprinted to the nearest staff bathroom (down the hall and to the right, then down that hall and on the left at the end).

“Told you,” sneered Malfoy, and they ran over to the broom cupboard, “Alohomora!” he cast.

The door swung open and they rushed inside, shutting it firmly behind them. They both went to opposite sides of the broom cupboard and began searching for the dreaded quills.

“That reminded me of second year,” thought Harry suddenly, and then, realising he’d voiced this aloud, “I did a similar thing.”

“What?” responded Draco, looking up in confusion from the shelf he was sifting through.

“With cupcakes,” supplied Harry, “But they didn’t make you throw up. Sleeping draught.”

Draco looked mildly horrified.

“Filch just can’t catch a break from your antics,” he commented, turning back to the shelf.

“Oh, uh,” fumbled Harry, “It wasn’t Filch.”

“Who was it then?” asked Malfoy, back still turned.

Harry bit his lip, why had he brought this up in the first place? It was surely going to anger Malfoy.

“Who was it?” repeated Malfoy, turning around and fixing his stern gaze on Harry.

“Crabbe and Goyle,” he gulped, deciding to just come out and say it.

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly.

“And why were you drugging my friends?” he asked after a tense pause.

“It wasn’t drugging!” defended Harry, “That makes it sound awful!”

“I don’t especially care how it sounds Potter,” Draco told him dryly, “Tell me why.”

This time it was an order, not a question.

“We, er,” he began, “We took polyjuice potion to turn into them for an hour. We couldn’t have doubles, you see.”

“Why did you drug and impersonate my friends?” demanded Malfoy. Harry felt pinned to the spot under his gaze.

“We wanted to find out if you were the heir of Slytherin,” replied Harry quietly. He should have just kept his mouth shut from the beginning.

To his great surprise, Draco began to laugh.

“You actually thought,” he chuckled, “That I was the heir of Slytherin?”

“It seemed like a very real possibility at the time!” retorted Harry bashfully. He felt his face heat up.

“Merlin, Potter,” snorted Draco, “I knew you were daft, but this is -

“Shut it, will you?”

“Just get back to work,” he smirked, “We’re running out of time.”

He was right. Harry mentally kicked himself for wasting his time telling that silly story. They had a quill to find and Filch could come running back any minute.

He went through shelf after shelf, looking in every corner and cranny, every box or trinket. How on earth, or better yet, why on earth, did Umbridge have so much stuff? Why had she put all of it in that cupboard? Was it all precious or incriminating stuff that she didn’t want anyone to find?

“Found anything?” he asked Draco desperately.

“Not yet,” he replied, sounding just as stressed.

They were never going to find the stupid quill. And on the subject of stupid, this had been a stupid plan to begin with. Umbridge would have her illegal belongings tucked away in some secret, secure place, somewhere Harry and Malfoy would never be able to access it. Why had he agreed to this? Why had he ever thought it was a good idea? He groaned, growing increasingly annoyed.

In his frustration, Harry became steadily more aggressive with her things, and with his aggression came clumsiness. A dusty, old book fell off the shelf and landed with a thump.

“Careful!” scolded Malfoy, but it was no use, Harry had just knocked over a large pink ceramic sculpture of a cat, which toppled over and smashed on the floor. He froze.

They looked at each other in panic. Had Filch heard all the way from the bathroom? Harry felt as if the whole castle must have heard. They stood impossibly still and silent. Just as Harry was about to break that silence and apologise, the sound of hurried footsteps on stone began to approach. They were not coming from the direction of the bathroom, but that served as little comfort to the two boys.

“What do we do?” hissed Harry, panicking.

“Potter, do you trust me?” whispered Malfoy, a meaningful look in his silver-grey eyes.

“No,” spat Harry, his own eyes on the doorway, waiting for the advancing footsteps to enter and catch them. If only he’d brought his invisibility cloak. Why hadn’t he brought his cloak?

Draco groaned quietly.

“Well, you’re going to have to,” he ordered, causing Harry to scowl at him.

Malfoy began to pull at his pristine Slytherin robes, unbuttoning his collar a little and shifting his cloak so that it was askew. He ran his hands through his light hair and mussed it up as best he could. Looking warily over his shoulder, he turned back to Harry as if to do the same, but promptly seemed to decide it wasn’t necessary. What on earth was Malfoy up to?

The footsteps approached even closer, and the two boys heard the turn of the door knob.

Before Harry could begin to realise what was happening, Draco had pushed him suddenly against the wall, grabbed his waist and the back of his neck, and kissed him roughly on the mouth. To his even greater shock, Harry found himself kissing his Slytherin nemesis back. His lips were so much softer than he’d expected. He could barely register what was going on.

In a split second the door opened and there was a noise of disgust. Malfoy pulled away from Harry and turned around in mock surprise. Harry himself did not find it difficult to look totally and utterly bewildered. What on earth had just happened?

“Out of here this instant!” ordered a professor he didn’t recognise.

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him out of the storage cupboard, Harry still entirely dumbstruck. They ran down the corridor, in the opposite direction to the bathroom, and a door appeared in the wall; the Room of Requirement. It had been their escape plan. Malfoy pulled him through before releasing him. He immediately began fixing his dishevelled appearance, starting by flattening his hair.

Harry’s fingers brushed his lips in astonishment, he still couldn’t believe it.

“What was that?” he demanded in a half-whisper, his head still spinning.

“That was me saving us from being found out,” snapped the blonde boy, a little nastily.

“I don’t see how-

“Of course you don’t,” he interrupted rudely, “Let me explain it for you. What would two sixth-years be doing in a broom cupboard that isn’t stealing?”

“Well, I,” Harry began to protest.

“You may not have ever done it, Potter,” he interrupted once again, “But I assure you, many others are.”

Harry frowned, his face reddening.

“I suppose that’s what you get up to with Pansy then?” he replied forcefully.

“Pansy?” echoed Malfoy in disbelief, “Why would I ever kiss Pansy?”

“Do you at least have any idea where the quills might be after all that?” demanded Harry, changing the subject.

Draco seemed to let out a breath.

“Better than that,” he informed him. Intrigued, Harry shot him a quizzical look as his anger began to dissipate. Draco reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of dark feathers. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Where?” he began to ask.

“Behind that awful cat,” supplied Malfoy, eyes glittering.

“You did it,” he breathed in disbelief.

“Well don’t sound so surprised,” retorted Draco.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked into a discreet passageway, avoiding the many sprigs of mistletoe that had been hung around the school. While Harry loved Christmas, he resented this particular Hogwarts tradition. So far he’d never been caught under mistletoe during his years at school, but only by taking measures like these to avoid it. Cho had tried to walk through a particularly clustered hallway the other day, much to his horror, and he’d shown her a short cut to avoid the barrage of mistletoe.

“I can’t believe there’s Christmas decorations already!” exclaimed Hermione, “Are you two going home for the holidays by the way?”

Harry nodded, he loved Christmas with Padfoot and Moony.

“Yep,” Ron confirmed, “You?”

“Yes, I think we might go abroad somewhere,” she informed them.

“Any ‘skee-ing’?” asked Ron, who had always been fascinated by the concept of strapping two sticks to your feet and sliding across snow.

Hermione laughed at him and his strange pronunciation.

“Not this year,” she giggled.

They exited the passageway and began making their way in the direction of Hogsmeade. Despite the onslaught of homework and studying they needed to be doing for their OWLs, the trio had decided (or to put it more accurately, Harry and Ron had convinced Hermione) that they deserved a break, and that break came in the form of a drink at the Three Broomsticks. It was Friday afternoon, classes had ended, and they could finish their work that weekend.

“Blimey, it’s freezing,” complained Ron, drawing his robes closer around himself.

“I told you to put on a proper coat!” chastised Hermione.

“It was fine in the castle,” he pointed out.

“Because we were inside,” she responded exasperatedly, “Honestly Ronald.”

She cast a warming charm over him and he smiled in thanks.

“What would I do without you?” he asked, grinning.

“Freeze to death,” she retorted, although her demeanour wasn’t as frosty as she was trying to let on.

They carried on chatting for the rest of the walk, while Harry remained mostly silent.

While he was happy to have finally gotten Umbridge’s quills, Monday’s…antics had rattled him. Harry had never kissed a boy before. In fact he had never kissed anyone, so he had nothing to compare it to, but the thing that was bothering him was that it had been…Well, almost nice. But perhaps that was just his imagination, after all, it was his first kiss. Tensions had been high, things had happened and that was that. It didn’t mean anything, Draco had made sure to point that out. It was just Slytherin quick thinking. A last ditch effort to save them from suspicion.

Even so, Harry couldn’t seem to get it off his mind. He almost wanted to do it again. Not with Malfoy of course, someone else. Someone different. He brushed his fingers against his lips, a gesture he’d repeated countless times since Monday’s events.

He hadn’t interacted with Draco all week, and he worried that their usual meeting after the DA would be awkward. Every time he had so much as glimpsed the Slytherin’s blonde hair, pale face, or even his green and silver robes, Harry had been immediately reminded of their ‘interaction’ in the cupboard and blushed furiously. It was going to be exceedingly difficult to look him in the eyes.

He tried to think of something other than Draco’s silver-grey eyes and their penetrating gaze, but it was no use. Instead he recalled Malfoy’s curt words after their confrontation in the Room of Requirement; ‘You may not have ever done it, Potter, but I assure you, many others are.’

Was Draco among those ‘many others’? He’d immediately denied any involvement with Pansy, and rebuffed Harry’s claim that he fancied Cho Chang, so who exactly did that leave? Harry doubted it had been his first kiss as well, he’d been too…confident for that. He felt his face heat up even more, and hoped his friends wouldn’t notice.

Considering he had no qualms in kissing a bloke, Harry turned his guesses to potential boys that Draco might have kissed or fancied. Blaise Zabini perhaps? They seemed to be good mates, not to mention Blaise was quite handsome. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if Draco and Blaise had kissed at some point. But then again, being good mates with a good-looking guy didn’t mean you’d necessarily kissed. Harry and Ron had never kissed for example. As far as he knew neither had Dean and Seamus. His mind wandered to other potential partners for Draco.

His other friend, Theo? He’d learnt how to deal with panic attacks just for him, it wasn’t unlikely. But then again, Harry couldn’t exactly see any sparks between the two of them. Harry wracked his brain for other blokes, thinking back to previous years. He recalled with startling clarity Draco’s date for the Yule ball; a pretty Beauxbatons girl, with whom he’d conversed with in surprisingly fluent French. Harry still remembered burning with jealousy that Malfoy had scored such an impressive date while he had panicked and asked the Patil twins. His lilting voice chattering away in French had also been especially annoying.

Earlier in that year though, Harry recalled spying Draco with a toweringly handsome Durmstrang boy on several occasions. In fact, now that he was thinking of it, he seemed to even remember spying Draco sitting in his lap in the library. At the time Harry had thought this was a little strange, and wondered what on earth Malfoy was doing. The whole ordeal of seeing him like that had been quite embarrassing and confusing, but now things were beginning to make sense. Perhaps this Durmstrang boy had been a sweetheart of his? In which case, Harry wondered why he hadn’t taken the boy to the dance. His mind reeled at this new discovery.

Determined to prove to Draco that he wasn’t an idiot when it came to romance, he vowed to bring up the Durmstrang boy the next time they spoke. Was that weird? Harry didn’t care, he only wanted to show Malfoy that he wasn’t as thick as he thought.

They arrived at the Three Broomsticks and ordered a round of Butterbeers.

“Merlin, let’s move,” groaned Ron.

Harry and Hermione looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione, following his disgusted gaze to see where he was looking. Harry did the same and was met with the sight of Ginny snogging Dean Thomas. He quickly looked away, not wanting to encroach on their privacy, it felt wrong. Clearly Ginny had moved on from Michael Corner.

“They’re only kissing, Ron,” smiled Hermione, poking fun at him. Ron glared at her.

“That’s my little sister!” he hissed in protest.

“I’ll switch with you,” she offered, and they both stood up to switch seats. Once they were all sitting again, Ron seemed to calm down somewhat.

“Foul git,” he muttered into his butterbeer.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I thought Dean was one of your best friends?” she asked him.

“He’s running his hands all over my sister!” Ron shot back, “Come on Harry, back me up here,”

“Er,” said Harry, unsure what Ron wanted him to say, “I don’t think we should talk about Ginny’s love life. Bit nosy, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” piped up Hermione.

Ron looked as though he was going to argue this point, but then decided not too.

“Fine,” he huffed.

“Are we still doing Patronuses tomorrow?” asked Hermione, changing the subject.

Harry nodded, taking a long drink of his butterbeer. The liquid warmed his throat and stomach, a nice change from the cold outside.

“What’s going on with you mate?” asked Ron, Harry tried to appear innocent, “You’ve been acting kind of ‘out of it’ all week.”

“I guess OWLs are just stressing me out,” he mumbled into his drink. Great, another lie. He was becoming more Slytherin by the minute.

“Tell me about it!” chimed Hermione, “I’m so worried about all of our exams. And all the work of course. I already feel like I’m falling behind on the content, and I haven’t practised nearly enough!”

She rambled on about her various stresses, and Harry felt relieved he didn’t have to say anything. Ron was right, he was feeling ‘out of it’.

He spied the twins approaching, a mysterious twinkle in their eyes, and looked up from his drink.

“Have you seen Ginny?” Ron asked them fiercely, interrupting Hermione’s lament on their OWLs. She looked a little annoyed but also turned her attention to the twins.

“Don’t get too worked up Ronny-kins,” teased Fred, “He’s not exactly the first.”

Ron looked horrified.

“What do you mean he’s not the first?” he demanded.

“Keep up,” laughed George, “Ginny’s quite popular with your year.”

Ron looked even more horrified.

“Anyway,” he continued, “We’re not here to talk about dear little Ginny, we wanted to invite you to a little party.”

“A party?” parroted Hermione.

“Yes, it’s where people get together and drink alcohol and have fun,” George winked, and Hermione scowled at him.

“I know that!” she told them indignantly.

“Of course you do,” said Fred, “That’s why the three of you are coming to the Hogwarts New Year’s party at the start of next term. It’ll be a blast. Lots of inter-House unity.”

Hermione’s expression soured even further at this jab.

“We figured you were old enough now,” added George, his tone more than a little condescending, “Now drink up you lot, better get used to the taste if you plan on coming.”

“Who’s gonna be there?” asked Ron curiously.

“Anyone who’s anyone,” quipped George, “Which now includes you Ronny-kins.”

“See you there!” winked Fred, and they were gone.

Chapter Text

“How is your patronus coming along?” asked Harry awkwardly.

The rest of the DA had left for the day, and only Harry and Draco remained.

“Alright,” he smirked. There was a glint in his eye that was making Harry increasingly flustered.

“I, uh,” he stammered, “I saw you managed the shield.”

“Mmm,” agreed Draco.

“I could, uh,” he continued, not really aware of what he was saying, “Help you get a corporeal one, if you like.”

“Private tutelage from the Chosen One?” commented Draco, “What an honour.”

Harry couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not, and burned at Draco’s use of the title ‘Chosen One’.

“If you like,” he repeated mousily.

“It’d be my pleasure,” he assured him, “But wouldn’t you like to hear about the quills first?”

“Right!” exclaimed Harry, “Of course!”

Draco raised his eyebrows at his reaction, but retrieved a quill from his pocket nevertheless.

“I tried it out,” he began.

“You wrote with it?” asked Harry worriedly.

“Is that sympathy I’m detecting, Potter?” said Draco, “Didn’t know you were capable.”

Harry recognised the words as his own from earlier that year, and flushed.

“Yes it’s sympathy,” he informed him, “You could really hurt yourself with those.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Malfoy told Harry, “I knew it would hurt. But now we know for certain that they’re the right ones.”

Harry looked down at the other boy’s hand for signs of scarring, but there were none. He looked back up at him, a question in his eyes.

“I healed it,” explained Draco. Harry wondered why he hadn’t thought to do this with his own scars, that way no one would’ve noticed. It was too late now anyway.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

“Making a case.”

“Which involves…?”

“I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it Potter,” he quipped and Harry reddened, “I can take care of it from here.”

“Really?” he wondered.

“Really,” Draco confirmed, “Now how’s about that tutelage you promised? I’m sure to get an ‘Outstanding’ if I can cast a corporeal Patronus.”

“Of course,” responded Harry, and he set to work teaching Draco. “Hold your wand out like this,” he instructed, and Malfoy followed suit, although somewhat incorrectly, “More like this,” Harry said, brandishing his wand.

“Like this?” he asked, his form becoming worse. Harry wondered how he had been able to cast a shield patronus before if he didn’t know how to correctly hold his wand.

“Here,” said Harry, and he took Draco’s hand, angling it just right, he turned to look at Draco, who was now inches away from his face, “There, you see?”

“I see,” replied Draco, eyes fixed on Harry, not even glancing at his wand.

Harry drew away, a little panicky.

“Now think of your happiest memory,” he told him, “Really, really focus on it.”

Draco closed his eyes, and Harry watched as he summoned up his memory. He couldn’t help but admire his sharp features, his blonde lashes, his red mouth…

“Have you got it?” he asked Draco, trying to think of something else.

“Mmm,” confirmed Draco.

“Okay,” said Harry softly, coming up next to him and gently guiding his wand, “Don’t lose focus now, on the count of three.”

Draco gave the slightest of nods, smiling at his happy memory.

“1, 2,” Harry watched as Draco took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, “3!”

He helped him flick his wand and Draco cast the spell. A glowing blue shield burst from the tip of his wand.

“Not bad!” marvelled Harry, Draco opened his eyes.

“Not corporeal though,” he said, “We’ll have to try again.”

They practised several more times before Harry offered they continue again later, not wanting to tire Draco out.

“By the way,” he asked slyly, remembering his revelation from the day before, “Were you ever, er… Did you ever go out with a Durmstrang boy?”

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking amused.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend, if that’s what you mean,” he replied silkily, “But we had…an arrangement.”

An ‘arrangement’. Harry wondered what that entailed specifically. Broom cupboard encounters similar to Monday’s one? Sitting in the Durmstrang boy’s lap? It was certainly curious.

“You’re, um, into blokes then?” Harry said awkwardly.

Draco only seemed to grow more amused.

“Why do you ask?” he smirked, “In search of your own ‘arrangement’?”

Harry flushed deep red and his stomach fluttered.

“No!” he denied quickly, “Of course not, I was just curious!”

This only widened Draco’s smirk.

“Alright then,” he chuckled, “Yes I’m into blokes.”

Harry felt a strange pride that he’d finally figured Malfoy out.

“Shall we get going?” he asked, and Draco nodded obligingly. They began to head for the exit.

Something green and moving caught his eye. He frowned.

Harry looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. Growing steadily from the ceiling right above their heads was a large sprig of mistletoe. He gulped, having avoided all the mistletoe across the school it figured the room of requirement would stick him under it with none other than Draco Malfoy.

He looked down, away from the green and white Christmas plant. Perhaps Draco hadn’t seen it. But he too had just been staring at it, only to look down in sync with Harry, shocked.

“Room of Requirement.” quipped Draco, sounding a little breathless.

Harry’s eyes flicked nervously down to the other boy’s mouth and back up again. He couldn’t seem to help it. He also couldn’t seem to deny that since the incident in the storage cupboard the thought of kissing Draco had been… prominent in his mind. His stomach flared with butterflies and his heart beat frantically.

Without really realising what he was doing, Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco softly on the mouth, lingering for longer than was necessary before breaking apart. Unlike the storage cupboard, this was gentle. Not only that but it was purposeful and anticipated, sending Harry into a frenzy of different emotions.

Without saying a word he leaned in again and felt Draco’s hand cup his cheek. They kissed for longer and less softly. Harry grabbed onto his hips and pulled him closer. This was remarkably different to when Fleur Delacour had kissed him on the cheek. This was a feeling he could hardly comprehend. Draco bit Harry’s lip gently.

All of a sudden, the image of a younger Draco sneering, his mouth spitting the words 'filthy mudblood’, interrupted Harry’s thoughts and he jerked away, pushing Malfoy hard.

“Should I not have bit -” Malfoy started to say.

“This is your fault!” accused Harry, “You willed it to be there, didn’t you? You knew I’d fall for this! You’re trying to-to trick me!”

“What?” exclaimed Draco, aghast.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d fallen into some sort of trap, he was sure of it.

“What is wrong with you?” demanded Draco, crossing his arms tightly.

“You’re a stupid Slytherin blood puritist!” spat Harry, feeling his temper run high, “You’ve slipped me some amortentia haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?” seethed Draco, “I would never use a love potion, let alone on you! Don’t think so highly of yourself, Potter.”

“This is your fault Malfoy,” repeated Harry.

“You kissed me,” Draco reminded him, “Not the other way around!”

Harry could not exactly dispute this logic. Nor could he think of any real instance where Draco could have given him a love potion. But how else could he explain this?

“Get out of my sight.” sneered Malfoy, his mouth set in a firm line.

“Gladly,” retorted Harry, stalking out of the room of requirement, his head positively spinning.

Chapter Text

Harry stumbled dazedly back to Gryffindor Tower, his head reeling. He was surprised he’d even found his way, he’d barely been paying attention to where he was going.

“Hippogriff,” he told the fat lady, and she swung open obligingly.

He wandered into the common room, where he spied Ron and Hermione talking in the trio’s favourite spot before the fireplace.

“Hey Harry!” greeted Ron. Hermione looked up from their conversation and began studying Harry with uncomfortable scrutiny.

“Why did you stay behind?” she asked suddenly. Harry stopped in his tracks, startled. Usually Hermione didn’t seem to mind the journey back to the Tower just Ron and her. Why did she need to pick up on it now?

“Checking out the books,” he lied, shifting uneasily. The lie had come so easily, a common excuse he used to hide what he was really up to after every DA meeting. Hermione did not look convinced.

“Were you with anyone?” she asked cheekily. Harry’s eyes widened, how on earth could she have known? His face flushed and he busied himself fiddling with his fingers.

“Er,” he stuttered.

“It was Cho, wasn’t it!” she exclaimed with all the determination of a detective who’d just solved a particularly satisfying case. Harry had no clue how to respond to this.

“What?” he responded. Ron looked curiously between the two of them.

“I saw her going back to the Room of Requirement,” she explained, “Did you two…?”

“Um,” was all Harry could manage. He wasn’t sure what Hermione was alluding to, and he didn’t know whether it was a good idea to pretend he’d been talking with Cho and not Malfoy, it would surely come back to bite him later. The thought of Draco brought more colour to his cheeks. He just wanted to escape upstairs to his bed, draw the curtains and try to forget the whole affair.

“She’s been staring at you all year,” smiled Hermione, “It’s about time!”

“Right,” said Harry, still confused as to what she was talking about. About time for what? “I’ll, er,” he stammered, “I’ll be off then. Lots of work.”

He walked as fast as he could up to the dorm.

“Wait!” she called after him, “Did it go well? Is something wrong Harry?”

Harry turned over his shoulder, he was reassured to see that Ron looked just as puzzled as him.

“All good,” he told her weakly. She looked worried, but he was tired, he didn’t want to be subject to more questioning.

He climbed the stairs and burst into his dorm, flopping onto his bed and burying his red face in his pillow. He had no idea what to do.

Draco had been absolutely right, it was Harry who had kissed him, not the other way around. He couldn’t imagine why he’d done it. Mistletoe was a tradition, but it wasn’t binding. He had been under no obligation, he could have just walked away and moved on, but he hadn’t. Not to mention that this was no ordinary sprig of mistletoe in a corridor, but one that had grown above their heads, formed by the room of requirement. It was…Required. What did that really mean though?

Did he have feelings for Malfoy? He wasn’t really sure what it felt like to ‘like’ someone the way other people in his year spoke about. Last year he had felt attraction to Cho, or at least that’s what Sirius and Remus had seemed to think when he told them about her at christmas. She was very pretty, and a very good seeker, but he didn’t feel quite the same towards her this year. Her constant staring was a confusion, not a complement. And Draco…

His staring had also been confusing, but different somehow. Things were more complex with him, considering their…history. And also considering he was a boy. Harry had no qualms with this, seeing as his guardians were gay, but he couldn’t deny it was something of a surprise. Up until now, although he hadn’t liked very many people, all those people had been girls. This was something new.

He needed advice, and luckily, he knew just who to go to. Someone who knew him better than anyone else, someone with experience, who wouldn’t judge him, well, as long as he left out names. He sat up and began writing a quick letter, requesting a firecall and made his way to the owlery to send it off.

Chapter Text

“Sirius!” exclaimed Harry happily, his godfather’s face appearing in the orange and red flames.

“What was it you wanted to talk about Harry?” crackled Sirius from the fireplace. Harry fretted with his hands, feeling a little nervous to tell him, even though it was sure to help.

“I,er,” he began awkwardly, “Kissed someone.”

“Oh,” replied Sirius, this was clearly not what he’d been anticipating, “Did you…enjoy it?”

“At first,” admitted Harry, “But then I sort of panicked. I pushed him off and we started arguing.”

“Is he a nice boy, Harry?” asked Sirius in a stern tone, “You shouldn’t put up with any shitty guys, you know.”

“He’s nice,” said Harry confidently, although the notion was quite a sudden one, “He’s nice to me,” he paused, thinking over Draco, he’d definitely been nice-er this year, “It’s complicated.”

Sirius looked dubious.

“That’s not the point,” he continued, “I mean, it’s not the main point. The thing is, I think I might like him? But it’s kind of unexpected, and it doesn’t really make sense, but it also does?”

“You’re a right mess aren’t you?” chuckled Sirius fondly, “You want to figure out if you like this boy or not?” Harry nodded, “Let’s start with the basics then. Do you talk a lot? Or do you find yourself wanting to talk to him a lot?”

Harry frowned, biting his lip.

“I mean, yes,” he informed Sirius, although he wasn’t sure how much that had to do with their ‘mission’ against Umbridge and how much it had to do with him fancying Draco, “Not so much just casually. We do speak casually more than you’d expect, but not that much.”

“Do you feel excited to see him? Happy? Nervous?” asked Sirius, “Do you find yourself wanting to spend time with him?”

“A little,” he thought back to all their secret talks and meetings, and the occasional butterflies that flared in his stomach. He’d wanted to spend more time with him to teach him a patronus earlier that day, for no good reason at all.

“Did you want him to kiss you before it happened?”

“I sort of, kissed him actually,” Harry responded bashfully, “And yes, I had thought of it before.”

“Well I’d say all that is pretty conclusive,” surmised Sirius with a wry smile. Harry wasn’t completely convinced.

“How did you know that you liked Moony?” asked Harry curiously.

Sirius barked out a laugh, his eyes glazing over at the thought of the past.

“We were horribly oblivious,” he told Harry, “I’m afraid you’ve probably inherited it. We were such good friends, at first I just thought it was because we were close, but it was different than with James. Even in our first year, there were signs.” he smiled sadly, recalling his youth, “When I first arrived at Hogwarts, I used to climb into Remus’ bed every night and sleep next to him. I used to do it with Reggie you see, and I missed him, my little brother was still stuck at home. Remus never seemed to mind, and we’d wake up in each other’s arms. This happened for years Harry, before we finally realised we fancied each other. There were all sorts of things in fact. Merlin, we were stupid.”

Sirius paused, caught up in his reverie of the past. Harry never heard much about Regulus, Sirius’ deceased death eater brother. His memory seemed to sadden him almost as much as James’ did.

“Look Harry,” he resumed softly, “If you really like this boy and you think it’ll be worthwhile, apologise to him and give it a go. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it, we all make mistakes when we’re young. If it’s not love then don’t be too scared.”

Harry nodded sagely. He didn’t quite think that he loved Malfoy, it wasn’t the same as Moony and Padfoot. He should probably apologise, but give it a go? He wasn’t so sure about that. It just wasn’t that simple.

Sirius was right though, considering everything that had happened that year, Harry probably did fancy Draco, a strange notion indeed. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy? What kind of a pairing was that? What would his friends think? Dating his childhood bully and enemy was an…interesting decision to say the least.

“Thanks for the advice,” he told Sirius gratefully.

“Anytime,” replied his Godfather with a wink, “I don’t suppose I’ll get to meet this mysterious boy at some point?”

“Absolutely not.” groaned Harry, knowing his Godfather’s penchant for embarrassing him in front of friends.

“I promise to be nice,” chuckled Sirius, “And if it turns into something and you two get together, I’m sure Moony would want to meet him too.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” pointed out Harry, “I think it’s time for me to head up to my dorm.”

“Wait wait!” pleaded Sirius, “What’s he like? Give me some details Harry! Is he a looker?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Goodnight Sirius.”

“Which House at least?” Sirius implored him.

Harry paused, tempted to let him know.

“He’s a Slytherin,” he told Sirius, whose eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Now you have to tell me more!” he complained, but Harry had already stood up.

“Goodnight Sirius,” he said again.

“Goodnight Harry, sleep well,” replied Sirius, looking very much as if he’d have liked to find out more about the mysterious boy.

Harry was just about to bid him goodbye when he remembered the Weasley twins’ invitation to the New Years celebration.

“I almost forgot!” he added suddenly, capturing Sirius’ attention once more, “I’ve been invited to a party.”

“That’s wonderful Harry,” Sirius told him, “Make sure you stay safe. Don’t drink too much and don’t do any drugs. Or at least not any hardcore drugs anyway.”

“Padfoot!” groaned Harry, “It’s fine! I’m not going to do any drugs. It’ll be after the Christmas holidays anyway.”

“Alright alright,” he relented, “Goodnight then Harry, get some sleep.”

“Goodnight,” said Harry and with a smile and a crackle of flames Sirius was gone.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked back from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower, large respective piles of homework awaiting them.

While his talk with Sirius had calmed him somewhat, Harry was still feeling out of it. He needed to apologise, he knew he did, but the opportunity hadn’t yet presented itself. Draco was avoiding him. He’d ignored Harry’s fitful stares at the Slytherin table throughout dinner, and hadn’t so much as glanced at him in any of their shared classes. Harry was worried he might go as far as to skip DA that weekend, but hopefully he would have said sorry by then. He just had to approach Draco, and not wait to be approached. It shouldn’t have been as hard as he felt it was. He’d done it before. But of course, it was different this time.

Harry sighed, feeling exhausted. The apology was just another thing on his plate along with OWLs, teaching the DA, his frequent dream and of course, Voldemort’s return. He had no idea how he was coping, but at least he was coping.

Ron and Hermione were chattering away like usual, while Harry remained immersed in his thoughts. He couldn’t help but feel like something had changed between the two of them that year. Even though it was a product of his own disengagement, Harry found himself frequently not a part of their conversations. It wasn’t a big deal, but it was there, in the back of his mind, hidden behind all his other troubles. He remembered Luna’s insight on Voldemort wanting him to feel cut off from everyone else and tried not to let Hermione and Ron’s friendship cloud his thoughts. All he had to do to be included was speak up, or respond when they tried to engage with him. It was an easily fixed issue. Harry pushed the worry from his mind.

Suddenly the slow meander of students milling through the halls began to thicken into a large, rowdy crowd.

“What’s going on?” wondered Hermione aloud. Harry craned his neck to see over the many heads. The crowd was gathered in front of Umbridge’s wall of ‘educational decrees’. Was this perhaps the work of a certain pair of red headed twins?

“Can you read the signs?” he asked Ron, who was quite a bit taller than him or Hermione. Ron squinted at the decrees, seemingly innocent looking from afar.

“Shirt tails and ties,” he began, “Must be un- unkempt at all times. Tucked shirt tails and tied ties are prohibited.”

“What on earth?” began Hermione.

“Read another one,” Harry urged Ron.

“Boys and girls must…”

“What?” said Hermione, straining to get a look over the bustling crowd.

“Must snog as much as they can,” he read, ears reddening a bit.

Harry snorted.

“They’ve done some sort of opposite or switching charm,” he remarked gleefully. He and the trio pushed forward to get a closer look. Upon further inspection, the neat ‘M’ that adorned every educational decree sign, signifying Umbridge’s ties to the Ministry, had been flipped upside down, now a sparkling ‘W’.

“Nice touch, don’t you think?” grinned Harry, pointing it out to his friends.

“Honestly!” exclaimed Hermione, “How do they have time for this in their NEWT year?”

“Who cares?” responded Ron, “It’s great.”

Harry read over a few more educational decrees, chuckling at every one.

‘Students WILL speak out of turn in class.’

‘Quidditch teams need not be registered with High Inquisitor Umbridge.’

‘Magic WILL be practised in Defence Against the Dark Arts.’

“She’s going to be furious,” he surmised.

“As wonderful as it is,” agreed Hermione, “Let’s head back. She’ll have our heads if we’re caught within a ten metre radius of this.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that. Suddenly, a flash of blonde hair caught his eye. Could it be?

“I’ll catch up with you too,” he told them. Ron and Hermione shared a confused look but turned to leave anyway.

“See you,” they called back to him. Harry waved distractedly.

He turned back to the crowd, and scoured the many heads for the blonde hair and green robes he was searching for. His eyes caught another flash and Harry pushed past the many students towards it.

The crowd began to thin, and he could see the head of blonde hair better now. It was Draco, he was sure of it. He broke free from the throng of other children and quickened his pace to keep up.

“Draco!” called Harry. Draco looked quickly over his shoulder, frowned, and proceeded to walk away briskly, but Harry ran up to him and caught his arm.

“Please,” he begged, “I just want to talk to you. I was wrong.”

“Yes you were bloody wrong,” he sneered, “The Chosen One, a genius if I ever saw one.”

It was the first he’d heard from the Slytherin boy since their argument. Harry winced at the harsh words, but carried on nonetheless.

“I’m sorry I accused you of… all that stuff,” he apologised. Draco’s expression softened slightly. “Your views are so different from mine… and I don’t think I’m completely ready to accept that.”

Draco nodded tersely.

“I think I just need some time,” suggested Harry, “To figure out… everything.”

“So you don’t think you're under the influence of a love potion anymore then?” added Draco scornfully.

“No,” Harry shook his head, “And I’m sorry I called you stupid.”

“You’d better be,” agreed Malfoy, “If either of the two of us is stupid it's you.”

“I…deserve that.” mumbled Harry.

He looked down at his shoes, then up at Draco.

“It’s ok Potter,” said Draco, rolling his eyes, “I forgive you.”

Harry shot him a nervous grin. Malfoy, looking stern, leaned in and lowered his voice to a hiss. Harry’s stomach flared with butterflies.

“Next time you decide to kiss me,” he practically snarled, “You’d better do it right.”

Harry gulped, feeling his face flush.

“R-right.” he stammered. And with that Draco stalked off.

Chapter Text

Harry was back in the corridor. This time however, something was different. Very different.

He slid along the ground, smelling the air with his thin tongue. He was gliding along the cold floor, the corridor a lot bigger and taller than he remembered. It was slowly becoming apparent that he was not himself, not in the least.

Harry, or rather, whoever he was in this dream, slid onwards through the winding, endless black corridor.

Instead of the usual emptiness of the building, he was met with a tired familiar figure, slumped in a chair. The man turned around warily, and his eyes shot open with fear as Harry sprung up and pounced on him, sinking his long teeth into the man’s flesh. The man’s screaming rang in his ears and Harry shot up in bed, realising that it was him who was screaming.

“Harry, what's wrong?” asked Ron worriedly. He was standing beside Harry’s four poster bed, abruptly awakened and full of concern. He looked…scared. Harry’s chest rose and fell with his laboured breathing. He was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Instinctively, he reached for his glasses on the bedside table and pushed them shakily onto his nose.

“I,” he stuttered, “I saw…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, he was too shocked. He turned to Ron, who was now crystal clear through his circular glasses, and took a deep breath.

“Your Dad is in danger.”

Somehow, Ron managed to look even more alarmed. He paled considerably, and his frame became almost as shaky as Harry’s.

“What?” he managed to ask.

Harry was steadily regaining his strength. He took another deep breath, trying to ignore the eyes of their other dorm mates.

“He’s in danger Ron, I saw it.” he repeated firmly.

Ron still looked confused, but his face settled into a hard resolve.

“I’ll get McGonagall,” was all he said, and with that he bolted from the dorm.

Harry pushed himself up against his headboard, wiping his sticky palms on his blanket. Seamus had rolled over and gone back to sleep, while Dean and Neville tried to do the same, casting Harry a few worried glances. They were accustomed to his many nightmares by now, they didn’t have reason to believe anything was out of the ordinary, his conversation with Ron too quiet for them to hear.

He could barely understand what he’d witnessed in the dream, but he was sure that Mr Weasley was in danger. Better safe, than sorry after all.

But it wasn’t just the shock and violence of the vision that had disturbed him. Harry hadn't just been a passive observer, he had been the snake. And worst of all, he had wanted to hurt Mr Weasley. To bite him and maul him and perhaps even… Kill him.

Harry shivered and hugged his knees to his chest. He hoped Ron would be back soon.

***

Still shivering and shaky, Harry was now in Dumbledore’s office. He barely remembered getting there in the first place he was in such a state.

“What did you see, Harry?” asked the Headmaster, not looking him in the eye.

Harry sucked in a wavering breath, collecting his thoughts.

“I saw a snake…attack Mr Weasley,” he explained, casting scared eyes around the room at Mcgonagall, Ron, Dumbledore and the many portraits.

“You’re certain you saw this?” asked Dumbledore. Harry felt rage flare up in him, of course he was certain. He tried his best to control himself. Mr Weasley’s safety was the current priority, he just had to ignore Dumbledore’s behaviour towards him.

“I’m sure,” he confirmed. He saw Mcgonagall glance worriedly at the Headmaster.

“Mr Weasley,” addressed Dumbledore, and at first Harry thought he was talking about Arthur, but then he saw him turn to Ron, “I suggest you go and wake your brothers and sister, I’m sure they will want to know what is going on. Meanwhile we will make sure someone is sent to find your father, and someone else to inform your mother.”

Ron nodded, and quickly left down the spiral staircase.

Dumbledore still didn’t so much as glance at Harry. Instead he turned to one of the paintings on the wall and instructed it to go and warn someone at the Ministry that Arthur Weasley had been attacked. He turned to a different one and instructed it to go and inform Mrs Weasley on what had happened.

Then he paused, and Harry knew he was next. The next thing to be addressed. He hugged his knees tighter to his chest.

“There is something you’re not telling me about the dream, Harry,” he stated. It wasn’t accusatory, or angry, but it still irked him. What right did he have to know? How could he tell? Was he calling Harry a liar? He seethed at the very thought, but again quashed his anger as best he could.

“I was the snake,” he surrendered reluctantly. His voice sounded weak and fragile. He wanted nothing more than to be home with Padfoot and Moony. Anywhere but here was better.

“In the dream, I was the snake,” he continued, surveying their expressions, “It was me who attacked Mr Weasley.”

Dumbledore did not look pleased, but his eyes remained averted from Harry.

“Nonsense Potter,” objected Mcgonagall, “It wasn’t you who attacked him at all. In fact, your quick thinking to come and tell me about it may have saved his life.”

‘May have’. Harry felt his stomach drop at the possibility of Mr Weasley’s death. He didn’t say anything in response to her.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” he said to Dumbledore, “It’s bad that I was the snake.”

“Hmm,” commented the Headmaster. Harry tensed his jaw. Why couldn’t he just tell him? If there was something wrong with him, Harry needed to know. He had a right.

“I want to see my guardians,” he decided.

“We will be sending the rest of the order along with you and the Weasley children to Grimmauld Place,” began Dumbledore.

“Sirius hates that house,” interrupted Harry.

“Nevertheless,” reasoned Dumbledore, “It’s the safest place for you, considering what has just happened.”

“The dream has nothing to do with me or Sirius!” Harry shot back, raising his voice slightly.

“It is in your best interest,” Dumbledore started to say. His eyes were still fixed away from Harry. He could take in no longer.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he demanded, “You can’t even- You won’t even look at me, as if I’m some kind of monster!”

“You are not a monster, Potter,” said Mcgonagall firmly.

Harry turned to her, her soft yet sure expression, and the sympathy in her eyes, and his anger dissipated a bit. He felt his eyes well with tears. He was scared, terrified, at what had happened. He just wanted to go home.

“I want to see my guardians,” he repeated in a small voice. He looked imploringly at Mcgonagall.

“I’ll call them now,” she told him kindly, and walked over to the fireplace, flinging a handful of floo into the flames, “Mayfield!”

She disappeared in a rush of green fire and Harry felt relief flood through him.

Harry and Dumbledore sat in heavy silence.

“Minerva is right,” he said after a while, “You are not a monster Harry.”

Harry looked briefly up at him, to see if the Headmaster had bothered to cast his eyes on him. Their gazes met for a split second and Harry was filled with sudden and frightening hatred of the wizened old man. Dumbledore looked immediately away, as if burned by the eye-contact, and Harry frowned hard at the floor. What had overcome him? What had just happened? He felt even more rattled than before.

The door swung open and Ron, Ginny and the twins burst in, their faces haggard with worry and tiredness.

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny immediately, “Ron said Dad’s in trouble?”

Harry’s stomach sank again. It felt like it was his fault, even if Mcgonagall had assured him it wasn’t. He shared a worried glance with Ron.

“Your father has been attacked,” Dumbledore informed them solemnly, “He was at the Ministry, and they are looking for him now. He will be taken to St Mungo’s as soon as they do. Your mother has been told, and in light of the circumstances you’re all to be sent to Grimmauld Place immediately. Sirius and your old Professor Lupin will be escorting you, they’ll be back soon.”

The Weasley children took it all in, and Harry felt another wave of guilt. What would they do if Mr Weasley…Harry didn’t want to think about it. He himself had no idea what he’d do if one of his guardians died, the very notion was heartbreaking enough.

Mcgonagall, Moony and Padfoot appeared out of the fire. Harry rushed into their arms and was enveloped in a tight hug. Harry felt sick that he was reunited with his loved ones, while Ron, Ginny, Fred and George didn’t even know if their father was alive. Sirius kissed the top of his head while Remus addressed the rest of the room.

“Minerva told us what happened,” he said to Dumbledore, “We’re to go to Grimmauld Place?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“I’ll be sending Molly Weasley as well,” he informed him.

Suddenly, the man in the portrait from earlier reappeared.

“Arthur Weasley is alive,” he told the expectant room. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Sirius squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “He is on his way to St Mungo’s as we speak, ward 22 I think.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore told the man, and then turning to the other portrait, “Could you relay this to Mrs Weasley please? Tell her she can join us at Grimmauld Place where her children will be after she’s been to the hospital.”

The woman nodded, and headed off.

“Come on,” ushered Remus, and Harry, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny lined up in front of the fireplace. Harry stepped forward, and with an encouraging smile from Sirius, dropped a handful of floo powder into the flames.

Chapter Text

Harry sat bundled in a woollen blanket on the best arm chair Grimmauld House’s living room had to offer. He was clutching a hot cup of tea between his shaky hands and staring into the steaming liquid with a sense of despair. Moony and Padfoot sat across from him. The Weasley children were in the kitchen with their mother.

“What happened, Harry?” asked Remus softly.

Harry bit his lip, wondering where to start.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” offered Sirius, “Take your time,”

“No, it’s ok,” he assured his godfather, “I’ll just explain it now.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts. He looked down at his tea, then back up again.

“I had a dream,” he began, “Where a snake attacked Mr Weasley.”

He took a sip of his tea while Moony and Padfoot shared a little look.

“A dream?” prompted Remus.

“I’ve had it before,” Harry told him, fiddling with his mug, “But different. It always starts the same; I’m walking through this long dark corridor. I’m looking for something, but I’m not sure what that thing is. I never find ‘it’, I either wake up or it turns into a different dream.”

“How long have you been having this dream?” asked Sirius.

Harry shifted uneasily.

“Since the start of school, pretty much,” he informed him, he took another sip and braced himself, he could hide it no longer, “There was something else that was different this time. In all the other dreams I was myself, as far as I know anyway, but this time… I was the snake.”

He watched despairingly as his guardians’ expressions sank further into worry.

“Voldemort has a snake, doesn’t he?” said Harry softly.

“He does,” confirmed Sirius.

Harry gripped his mug of tea tightly.

“Do you think,” he began to ask, “Do you think he might be in my head?”

“I honestly don’t know,” confessed Padfoot, “It’s a possibility.”

“Dumbledore might have more of an idea,” suggested Remus carefully. Harry frowned at his tea.

“We’ll talk about that another time,” said Sirius, and then gesturing to his tea, “Drink up Harry,”

Harry did as he was told, bringing the hot beverage to his lips. He took a long deep drink.

“You did the right thing tonight,” Moony told him with a small smile.

“It was Ron who went to get Mcgonagall,” replied Harry, diverting the praise as he often did.

“He wouldn’t have known too if you hadn’t told him what you saw,” reasoned Padfoot. Harry couldn’t argue with that, although it seemed the least he could have done in the situation.

Sirius stared at him sympathetically before reaching out and enveloping Harry with a strong hug. Remus followed suit. Harry leaned in to them, once again struck with how lucky he was to be in his guardians’ arms.

“You poor boy,” murmured Padfoot, kissing the top of Harry’s head, “It’s just one thing after another.”

Harry felt the Weasley’s were more deserving of his godfather’s sympathy, but his second remark, ‘one thing after another’ rang true. Ever since the end of his fourth year there had always been something going wrong.

Moony and Padfoot leaned back, releasing him from the embrace.

“Off to bed with you, I think,” Remus told him kindly. Harry nodded, he was exhausted. He finished the last of his tea and got up to go and put his mug in the kitchen sink.

“It’s ok,” said Remus, “I’ll take it in later, the Weasleys are still in there.”

Harry nodded again, and handed him his cup.

“Goodnight,” he told them.

“Goodnight Harry,” smiled Remus.

“Sleep well,” added Sirius, “Love you,”

“Love you too,” replied Harry, and he turned to climb the stairs. He paused in the doorway, a thought striking him. “Is my stuff?” he began to say.

“Dumbledore sent it from Hogwarts,” Remus informed him. Harry nodded drowsily, and trudged up the stairs. He reached his usual room, which he shared with Ron, and opened the door to find his trunk at the foot of one of the beds. He opened it and took out a fresh pair of pyjamas and a spare toothbrush. It was late into the night by now, but he needed to shower and wash off the sweat from his dream. He went to the small bathroom across the hall and put his stuff down on the side of the bath. He took his toothbrush and went to place it in the little cup by the sink, when something in the mirror caught his eye.

He leaned in closer to his reflection. Was it his imagination? Surely it couldn’t be… His fork of lightning scar seemed… bigger. It had grown. Almost imperceptibly, probably unnoticeable to anyone other than the owner of it, but Harry knew that it had changed. The thin ends of the branches of lightning now stretched a little past his eyebrow and to the top of his nose. He was sure it hadn’t been that way before.

Harry had noticed small changes before in his scar, but had always written them off as his face and skin growing, not the mark. This could have been that too, but… So soon after the dream? So suddenly and jarringly? This hadn’t happened naturally. He stared intently at it a few minutes longer before getting undressed to shower. He could re-examine his forehead the next morning, he was likely too tired and delirious to be seeing it properly.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harry looked in the mirror to examine his scar once again and his fear was confirmed. It had grown. He was sure of it.

He brushed the tips of the lightning bolt softly with his fingers and frowned at his reflection. There were dark circles under his eyes which were red and puffy. He could barely keep them open. Harry splashed some water over his face in an effort to wake himself up a bit.

He hadn’t slept a wink. Despite being exhausted he had lain down on his bed and been filled with fears of another dream. He dreaded being transported back to the dark, winding corridor, or worse yet, seeing some figment of Voldemort’s mind. He had stared at the ceiling all night. Ron had come in after him and eventually fallen back asleep, but Harry had kept on staring and staring. At least he’d gotten some sleep earlier in the night, before his vision of Mr Weasley.

Giving up on trying to get rid of his tiredness, Harry exited the bathroom and headed downstairs, to the kitchen.

He was met with a fretful Mrs Weasley, who was making a large breakfast.

“Good morning,” he told her thickly. The rest of the household, it seemed, were asleep. It was quite early after all.

“Good morning, Harry,” she greeted, smiling kindly, “Poor dear, you look tired,”

She looked tired too, perhaps just as tired, but he didn’t comment on it.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, “Can I help you with breakfast?”

“Of course you can,” she told him warmly, “That would be lovely Harry,”

They set about making large batches of toast and eggs in silence. Harry the muggle way, Mrs Weasley the wizard way. She had said she’d teach him household magic as soon as he was of age, and Harry looked forward to it.

Slowly but surely, the rest of Grimmauld Place’s occupants began to filter into the kitchen.

When Sirius saw the purple circles under his eyes, all he said was “Oh Harry.” Harry made a sort of grimace at him, and that was that. Everyone settled into a quiet breakfast.

“I thought we could go and visit your father in a few days,” said Mrs Weasley to her children, “The medics patched him up pretty well last night, and now all he needs to do is rest. We’ll give him a bit of time to recover, and then we should go and see him.”

Her children nodded along.

“You’re welcome to come as well,” she offered to Harry, Sirius and Remus.

“As long as it’s not too crowded,” agreed Moony.

The table settled into a tired silence.

“What was Dad doing there?” asked Ginny quietly, breaking it.

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips, tensing a bit.

“He was on Order business,” she replied eventually.

“Did Dumbledore know it was that dangerous?” pressed Ginny.

“Ginevra,” scolded her mother sternly, “Your father and I knew the risks. That’s that.”

Ginny bit her tongue, returning to her toast.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. Had Dumbledore known what could happen?

***

Harry, Sirius and Remus waited outside Mr Weasley’s room, not wanting to go in all at once with the others and overwhelm him. They were seated in an airy white corridor, the occasional nurse or doctor would pass through, ogling Harry and giving the three of them terse nods. Seldom out of the Muggle world or Hogwarts Harry still wasn’t used to people staring at him. He doubted he ever would be. He contemplated telling his guardians about his scar growing.

Down the corridor, Harry heard a familiar voice.

“Are we stopping on the way home to get something for tea?” came Neville. Harry turned around, looking down the hall, and spotted his classmate walking towards him, accompanied by his nan. The two boys made eye contact and Harry waved. Neville froze for a second, before awkwardly waving back. Remus and Sirius caught notice and also turned to the Longbottoms.

“Neville!” Smiled Remus, “How’ve you been?”

“Hello professor Lupin,” greeted Neville, “good thanks, and you?”

But before Moony could answer, a lady came around the corner and Remus froze.

Noticing his old teacher’s expression, Neville turned around. So did his nan. The mysterious lady, who looked almost familiar now that Harry thought of it, silently handed Neville a crumpled gum wrapper with a sweet smile.

“Thanks mum,” Harry only just heard him say. She smiled wider before disappearing back around the corner. Neville looked awkwardly back at Harry and his guardians. He put the gum wrapper carefully in his pocket and offered them a weak smile.

“I’ve also been good, thanks,” responded Moony finally. Neville nodded shyly, he and his grandmother passing by them to the stairs.

“See you at school!” Harry called after him.

Neville was already out of earshot.

“I haven’t seen Alice in years,” commented Sirius after a while. He was using his quiet tone of voice. The one with which he talked about James with. Harry recalled the story of Alice Longbottom and her husband, and felt a pang of guilt for Neville. Dead parents were one thing, but to have them still be alive yet out of reach? He could hardly imagine.

They sat in silence and waited until the Weasleys came back to join them. The gum wrapper remained in his mind for a long time after.

Chapter Text

Harry awoke on Christmas Day full of excitement. He’d barely managed to sleep the whole of the night before, but it wasn’t for anticipation of the day. Rather fear of the night. Harry hadn’t slept well for a while. But neither this, nor the fact that he wasn’t home could dampen his mood. It was finally Christmas, one of his favourite times of the year.

He turned to Ron’s bed and gently shook him awake.

“Merry Christmas Ron,” he whispered. Ron rolled over in his bed onto his stomach.

“Sod off,” he muttered into his pillow. Harry snorted.

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” he joked, and he left Ron to sleep in, going downstairs to help Mrs Weasley with their Christmas meal.

Later that day, after a heavy but delicious lunch, lots of pudding and even more laughter, Harry settled down with Sirius by the fire.

They were listening to the new albums that Sirius had bought him as a present; ok computer and blur (special edition). They had both come out that year and the two of them were excited to have a listen. Harry missed music and films terribly when he was at school. As wonderful as magic was, there were some things that simply didn’t have a wizarding equivalent.

As for the rest of his gifts, Harry had gotten two defence against the dark arts books from Moony, he was very excited to read them, his usual Weasley jumper, which he was currently wearing, an enormous box of Berty Bott’s every flavour beans from Ron and a nagging homework planner from Hermione. Tonks and her family had also come by for the day and she’d given him a mini firebolt that whizzed around the room. Perhaps strangest of all was Dobby’s gift, which was a portrait of what Harry could only assume was meant to be him. He highly suspected the elf had drawn it himself, but the thought was very sweet.

They finished listening to Blur's new album and Sirius carefully replaced the CD back in its case.

“What do you think then?” he asked Harry.

“I like it,” he informed him, “It’s got lots of songs too so there’s lots to listen too,”

Sirius smiled warmly at him.

“Harry,” he began, and Harry could tell it was going to be a serious conversation now, the tone had changed, “You remember that me and Moony were trying to make a case against Umbridge?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, we’ve got my old friend Martha Madden on the case,” he explained, “But it’s going to be difficult. As a minor, even if you wanted to go under Veritaserum, you couldn’t, and I doubt Umbridge would comply to it either. That means we’ve got to have more of a muggle approach. You know, like in ‘My Cousin Vinny’,”

Harry found it funny that this was the first example of a muggle courtroom drama his godfather could think of, but the tone was still quite serious, so he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh.

“What does that mean, exactly?” he asked.

“Well, we need to make a case,” replied Padfoot, “And for that we need evidence.”

Harry was struck with the terrible ‘deja vu’ of those words. Draco had been absolutely right. Draco had been right from the start.

“I hate to ask this of you Harry,” began Sirius.

“It’s already taken care of,” he interrupted, “I, uh, I already have evidence. The quills she used, I stole some from her.”

Sirius’ eyes widened in shock. His face broke into a grin.

“Of course you have,” he laughed, “You’re so like your father.”

Harry smiled at this too.

“I don’t have them with me though,” he added, feeling annoyed that he hadn’t thought to pack some for his christmas holidays, “I’ll have to send them to you once I’m back.”

“We’ll work something out,” Sirius assured him.

“Alright then,” agreed Harry. He didn’t want to worry about that now. He could hardly believe Draco’s plan. He’d really seen this coming. Harry wondered how he could have guessed. He’d have to tell him about it when they were both back at Hogwarts.

“So tell me about this Slytherin friend of yours,” said Sirius slyly, as if he had read Harry’s mind. Harry blushed, frowning indignantly at his godfather.

“Oh come on,” urged Sirius, “You barely told me anything about him last time, just a little detail.”

Harry crossed his arms sulkily.

“Fine then,” he obliged, “He helped me steal the quills.”

Sirius blinked.

“Was it his idea?” he asked Harry.

Harry nodded.

“Well well,” commented Sirius, “Intelligent boy.”

Harry glared at him.

“Did you apologise to him?” asked his godfather.

“Yeah,” replied Harry, “It went… well, I think.”

“You think?”

“He said he forgave me,” elaborated Harry, “And he also said…No I’m not telling you that.”

Sirius gaped at him in mock betrayal.

“Come on!” he whined, “I’m dying here Harry,”

Harry rolled his eyes at Padfoot’s theatrics.

“Just a little hint,” he pleaded.

As usual, Harry caved. He liked to get these things off his chest and talk them through.

“He… insinuated that he would want to kiss me again,” he told him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look.

“Will this Slytherin boy be at a certain party?” he said cheekily.

Harry hadn’t thought about that.

“I don’t know,” he told him. The twins had said ‘anyone who’s anyone’. Did that include Malfoy? They had also mentioned ‘lots of inter-house unity’, so there had to be people from other Houses there.

“Come on Harry,” urged Sirius, “Tell me more about this mystery boy, I’m all in the dark here. I used to hear all about that Cho Chang girl no problem, but now you’re being all secretive,”

Harry knew his godfather was only poking fun, but the word secretive stirred something in him. His lying and sneaking and various other ‘Slytherin’ tendencies had been on his mind quite a lot that year.

“Absolutely not,” he refused, he couldn’t let slip that his ‘mystery boy’ was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

Harry stood apprehensively outside Snape’s office, his jaw tensed and his fingers fiddling away. He had been summoned for Occlumency lessons, supposedly a protection against Voldemort invading his mind. The notion wasn’t a bad one, and if he hoped to get any sort of decent night’s sleep for the rest of the year he needed some kind of assurance that he could protect himself. Unfortunately though, as luck would have it, the only teacher in all of Hogwarts available to teach him was Severus Snape.

Harry found himself wishing he’d refused these lessons, but he wasn’t sure that Dumbledore would’ve given him much of a choice, and Moony wanted him to do them for peace of mind. Apparently Snape was an incredibly accomplished Legilimens, whatever that meant. Apparently Dumbledore was one too, but he hadn’t offered up his services so it had to be Snape. For a moment Harry wondered if he would have even preferred Dumbledore, given the choice, but expelled the thought from his head. Anyone was better than Snape.

Harry rapped his knuckles against the door a second time, growing impatient. Perhaps Snape had forgotten or was equally unwilling and Harry could just go back to his dorm.

The door opened and Harry frowned. He would have to endure it after all.

“Good evening Potter,” greeted Snape sourly. Harry bit back a retort.

“Good evening professor,” he replied, not wanting to start any conflict before the lesson had even begun.

Snape stood to the side, holding open the door. Harry walked into his office, his dread increasing with every step. Snape shut the door with an echoing thud and Harry got the horrible feeling that he was being imprisoned. Snape moved to his desk and silently gestured to the chair opposite it. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.

“Well, Potter, you know why you are here,” he said. “The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions.”

“Right,” said Harry tersely.

“This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,” said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, “but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me ‘sir’ or ‘Professor’ at all times.”

“Yes . . . sir,” said Harry.

“Now, Occlumency, as you are clearly unfamiliar with it, is a branch of magic that seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence.”

“So Voldemort is in my head then?” asked Harry bluntly, and then as a quick afterthought, “sir,”

He looked directly into Snape’s cold, dark eyes and wondered whether he would answer.

“Do not use the Dark Lord’s name,” he scolded sternly, barely hiding his contempt, “The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency-

“What’s that? Sir?”

“It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind —”

“He can read minds?” said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed.

“You have no subtlety, Potter,” said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. “You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.” Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savour the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing, “Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . .” He smirked. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.”

Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Harry and he did not like the sound of it at all. “So he could know what we’re thinking right now? Sir?”

“The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,” said Snape. “Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.”

Harry had nothing to say to that. He sat uncomfortably in the chair before Snape, arms crossed tightly.

“Wait,” he piped up suddenly, almost startling his professor, “If I’m safe in the castle, and as long as I’m not making eye contact, why did I dream of that snake?”

Snape looked snidely down his nose at Harry.

“Sir!” he added quickly.

Snape’s mouth stretched into a firm line.

“It seems there might be a…” he paused, picking his words, “Connection, between the two of you. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts without his being any the wiser. Professor Dumbledore suspects the Dark Lord is not yet aware of this ‘connection’, but if he were, he would likely use it to drive you insane.”

That didn’t sound promising. Harry gulped. The ‘connection’ had been useful so far, but Snape and Dumbledore, and even his guardians, seemed to think it was extremely dangerous. If Remus was worried, so was he.

“Which brings us back to Occlumency,” finished Snape, “Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.”

Harry got to his feet feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them.

“You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,” said Snape.

“And what are you going to do?” Harry asked, eyeing Snape’s wand apprehensively.

“I am about to attempt to break into your mind,” said Snape softly. “We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. . . . You will find that similar powers are needed for this. . . . Brace yourself, now. . . . Legilimens!”

Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before Harry had even begun to summon any force of resistance: the office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. . . .

He was five, shaking on his small, dusty bed in the cupboard under the stairs as his Uncle Vernon rattled the door, roaring at him for turning the begonias orange…. He was nine, singing Sirius happy birthday with Moony by his side, helping his godfather to blow out the candles on the brightly coloured cake and beaming….He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin….He was standing at the top of the stairs, watching Remus come home after a particularly bad full moon, a fresh bleeding gash on his pale face, and Sirius was telling him softly to go back to bed….No, he didn’t want Snape to see that, to see Moony and Padfoot that vulnerable, No, said a voice in Harry’s head, you’re not watching that, you’re not watching it, it’s private —

He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape’s office had come back into view and he realized that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape’s desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.

“Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?” asked Snape coolly.

“No,” said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.

“I thought not,” said Snape contemptuously. “You let me get in too far. You lost control.”

“Did you see everything I saw?” Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.

“Flashes of it,” said Snape, his lip curling, “For a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been,” said Snape, raising his wand once more. “You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.”

“I’m trying,” said Harry angrily, “but you’re not telling me how!”

“Manners, Potter,” said Snape dangerously. “Now, I want you to close your eyes.”

Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand.

“Clear your mind, Potter,” said Snape’s cold voice. “Let go of all emotion. . . .”

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs….

“You’re not doing it, Potter…..You will need more discipline than this….Focus, now….”

Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel….

“Let’s go again….on the count of three….one — two — three — Legilimens!”

A great black dragon was rearing in front of him. . . . His father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror. . . . Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him. . . . “No!”

He was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.

“I - am - making - an - effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

“I am not weak,” said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment.

“Then prove it! Master yourself!” spat Snape. “Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!”

Harry was standing on the school roof, watching Dudley and his cronies stare in shock at him from the ground….It was Sirius’ birthday and they were singing and Harry was helping him blow out the candles….He was running along a windowless passage with his guardians….They were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor…. Harry expected to go through it…. but Sirius led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps….

“I know! I know!” He was on all fours again on Snape’s office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape staring at him, his wand raised. It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back.

“What happened then, Potter?” he asked, eyeing Harry intently.

“I saw — I remembered,” Harry panted. “I’ve just realised . . .”

“Realised what?” asked Snape sharply. Harry did not answer at once; he was still savouring the moment of blinding realisation as he rubbed his forehead…. He had been dreaming about a windowless corridor ending in a locked door for months, without once realising that it was a real place. Now, seeing the memory again, he knew that all along he had been dreaming about the corridor down which he had run with Sirius and Remus on the twelfth of August as they hurried to the courtrooms in the Ministry. It was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, and Mr. Weasley had been there the night that he had been attacked by Voldemort’s snake….He looked up at Snape.

“What’s in the Department of Mysteries?”

“What did you say?” Snape asked quietly and Harry saw, with deep satisfaction, that Snape was unnerved.

“I said, what’s in the Department of Mysteries, sir?” Harry said.

“And why,” said Snape slowly, “would you ask such a thing?”

“Because,” said Harry, watching Snape closely for a reaction, “That corridor I’ve just seen, I’ve been dreaming about it for months. I’ve just recognized it, it leads to the Department of Mysteries….and I think Voldemort wants something from -”

“I have told you not to say the Dark Lord’s name!” They glared at each other. Harry’s scar seared again, but he did not care. Snape looked agitated. When he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned.

“There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you, do I make myself plain?”

“Yes,” Harry said, still rubbing his prickling scar, which was becoming more painful.

“I want you back here same time on Wednesday, and we will continue work then.”

“Fine,” said Harry. He was desperate to get out of Snape’s office.

“You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep. Empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?”

“Yes,” said Harry, who was barely listening.

“And be warned, Potter…. I shall know if you have not practised….”

“Right,” Harry mumbled. And with that he turned and left.

Chapter Text

Quidditch had been going terribly. Although they had begun the season with a promising start, the exclusion of Harry and the twins had been detrimental for the team. They had lost or drawn all of their matches ever since, and Harry’s only solace in the disaster was that Oliver Wood wasn’t there to witness it. He probably would have thrown himself off the astronomy tower had he still been captain.

Ron’s confidence as goalie was not aided by the constant losses either. Even Hufflepuff were doing better than them. It was embarrassing.

This, paired with his awful Occlumency lessons, his lack of sleep, and the ongoing workload for their OWLs, had put him in a frightful mood. He’d snapped at Hermione during breakfast, stared defiantly out the window all through History of Magic (it wasn’t as if Professor Binns minded), and now he was bracing himself for DADA. It was only Tuesday, they’d been back Sunday and Harry wasn’t sure how he was going to last the rest of the week.

He trudged to Umbridge’s dreaded classroom with Ron by his side, who was, wisely, deciding to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to provoke Harry when he was in such a mood.

They reached the class and Harry glared at the door, willing himself to be anywhere else, or that she was sick, or stuck on holiday, anything but having to face her pink toady self.

Ron leaned forward and opened it. The room was filled with students already taking out their books. Umbridge was chalking notes on the board with her wand. Harry and Ron entered the classroom and the door shut loudly behind them with a resounding thud. They tried to head to their usual seats as inconspicuously as possible, but before they could sit down, Umbridge’s shrill voice addressed them.

“Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, you’re late,”

Harry and Ron froze.

“Sorry,” apologised Ron, “Problem with the moving staircase,”

“Surely two sixth-years such as yourselves know the ins and outs of the castle by now?” she commented slyly, smiling in her awful manner.

Ron struggled to come up with another excuse.

“We, uh,” he stammered, “We were caught off guard Professor, it won’t happen again,”

“Mr Potter?” Umbridge turned to him, “Do you have anything to add?”

Harry’s jaw tensed.

“No,” he told her scornfully.

“No, what?”

Harry seethed.

“No, Professor,” he replied in a strained voice. Her smile widened.

“Mr Weasley you may take your seat,” Harry made to follow Ron but she let out one of her stupid little coughs, “Mr Potter, remain standing,” she instructed.

Harry turned to her impatiently, barely hiding the fury on his face.

“Would you kindly apologise for arriving late and addressing me incorrectly?” she asked him sweetly, “I would like to hear you say it.”

Harry fumed. She was embarrassing him in front of the whole class. He heard several Slytherins snickering behind him and his angry frown deepened. Tensing his jaw even harder, he glared right at her and opened his mouth to give his ‘sorry professor’, before stopping himself.

He had had quite enough.

From the corner of his eye he spotted Draco discreetly shaking his head at Harry, but decided to ignore it.

“I don’t think I will,” he told Umbridge defiantly. Her eyes widened in shock, the class dropped into an intense silence.

“Excuse me?” she asked shrilly.

“You’re lucky I even come to your stupid class in the first place!” he said suddenly, drawing gasps from around the room.

“Mr Potter!” Exclaimed Umbridge indignantly. Harry didn’t care. He wasn’t putting up with this anymore. Wasn’t putting up with her.

“What could I possibly learn from you?” he continued, “If you knew how to use a wand you’d be teaching us real practical magic and not getting students to read from a textbook!”

There were more gasps. Umbridge opened her mouth in protest but Harry carried on.

“I’ve fought countless wizards with twice your skill,” he said viciously, “I’ve fought Voldemort,”

The tension in the room, already palpable, increased tremendously. Students who had been shocked were now absolutely frozen. Umbridge looked purple with rage.

“I’ll fight you right now!” he challenged recklessly.

Hermione and Ron shot him terrified looks. Even they thought he was taking it too far.

“Detention!” she shrieked, “Detention for a month!”

“You coward!” he shot back, “Fight me and we’ll see who wins!”

“Two months of detention!”

“I don’t think you understand,” he hissed at her, “I’m not coming to your class anymore, and I’m definitely not going to detention.”

She looked as though she might explode.

“I will have order!” she screeched.

“Fight me!” he goaded a third time.

Finally snapping, Umbridge shot a nasty hex at him and Harry easily dodged it.

“Expelliarmus!” he yelled and her wand flew out of her hand and onto the floor. She fell over from the force and landed on her back, scrambling to get back up. Somebody started to laugh but was silenced by a hateful glare from her. She reached to retrieve her wand but Harry had already left, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

Later, Harry wondered if he’d maybe lots control a bit. He sat nervously in Mcgonagall’s office, awaiting her scolding and inevitable punishment for his behaviour.

“Potter,” she addressed him sternly, Harry fiddled anxiously with his hands under her desk. “Did you shout at Professor Umbridge?”

“Yes Professor,” he admitted quietly.

“And is it true you told her you wouldn’t attend another class or detention of hers?”

Harry gulped.

“Yes Professor,”

“And did you challenge her to a fight and successfully cast an Expelliarmus?”

Harry stared down at his shoes.

“Yes Professor,” he repeated.

“Have a biscuit, Potter,” said Mcgonagall and Harry looked up in shock. She was gesturing tiredly to a jar of biscuits on her desk. Harry thought he must have misheard.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“A biscuit,” she repeated.

Still confused, he reached into the jar and took out a biscuit.

“Thank you, Professor,” he told her, taking a bite. What on earth was going on?

“You must learn to keep your temper in check around her, Potter,” she told him. Harry continued to eat his biscuit, nodding at her. “I’m afraid she will only gain more and more power here at Hogwarts.”

Harry couldn’t help but think that she was right.

Chapter Text

“What in Merlin were you thinking?” hissed Draco once they had broken off and were a safe distance from the rest of the DA.

Patronuses seemed to be going well, and despite his grievances from earlier in the week, he was feeling a little better. He wasn’t going back to DADA, and he wasn’t going back to detention. What was she going to do after all?

“I was thinking I’d had enough of her,” Harry retorted. Draco, being a Slytherin, was sure to disapprove of his outburst, something that annoyed Harry.

“You were doing so well!” moaned Draco and Harry frowned at him.

“I’m not going back,” he told him stubbornly.

“Well of course you can’t now,” Draco agreed, “If you even look in her direction again she’ll curse you into oblivion.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Can we fight now?” he asked impatiently, “I’ve had enough of this.”

Draco pursed his lips.

“No Patronus practice today?” he asked, and Harry could’ve sworn he’d detected a flicker of a smirk.

“We can do that later,” he brushed it off, “Are you ready to duel?”

Draco drew his wand and took a defensive stance. Harry did the same. They circled each other slowly, waiting for the other to strike.

Harry was the first to cast a spell. Draco expertly blocked his Expelliarmus, he was improving a lot. Harry sent another few hexes in his direction, testing his progress. He had improved a lot indeed.

Harry was beginning to get out of breath. He rolled up his sleeves, fixing Draco with a menacing stare. His temper was rising. Despite having felt a little better after fighting Umbridge and seeing everyone work on their Patronuses, Harry was still filled with rage. From his Occlumency lessons, of which he’d now had two, from Dumbledore’s refusal to look him in the eye, from him sending Sirius to Grimmauld Place for Christmas. He burned with indignation at it all.

He struck again, firing a slightly more aggressive hex this time. Draco dodged it by a millimetre, shock passing over his delicate features.

Without waiting, Harry shot another one. Power surged through him. Before he could realise what he’d done, Draco was on the floor, letting out a pained breath through his teeth and staying rigidly still. Harry blinked in shock. What on earth had overcome him?

“I’m sorry, I-

“Save it,” hissed Draco, “Cast the counter curse won’t you?”

Harry waved his wand over his collapsed frozen body and Draco relaxed.

He let out a long, deep breath, still on the floor.

“What was that spell?” he asked eventually. Harry stood nervously beside him, fretting with his hands like he did whenever he was nervous.

“It was…” Harry trailed off, what was that spell?

Draco looked up at him expectantly.

“I, uh,” he stammered, “I don’t know.”

Draco frowned at him.

“How can you not know?” he asked him, “You cast it, how can you not know what you’re casting?”

“It was just heat of the moment!” he defended, “Doesn’t that ever happen to you?”

“Never.” replied Draco firmly.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Was that not normal?

“What did it feel like?” he asked, “Was it bad? Did it hurt?”

“It felt like something between a stunning spell and an Expelliarmus,” he responded curtly, “So yes, it hurt.”

Harry grimaced.

“I’m so sorry!” he began to apologise again.

Draco sighed dramatically.

“It’s fine,” he groaned, looking up at Harry through blonde lashes. Harry, who was leaning over the Slytherin, knelt next to his collapsed form, had the sudden and overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss him. He drew away with a start. What was he thinking? What was wrong with him?

“You must be very powerful to cast spells you don’t even know,” mused Draco, his hand reaching up to Harry’s throat. Harry stayed frozen still in his panic, but Draco merely tucked his tie into his blazer for him. “You looked sloppy,” he provided in explanation. Harry gulped.

“Oh,” he said stupidly.

“Honestly Potter,” chided Draco, “You need to pull yourself together.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry a third time, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

It wasn’t Draco he was angry at, after all. He was surprised at how easily he was being forgiven.

“Help me get up,” Draco instructed and Harry did as he was told. Taking him by his outstretched arms.

“Let’s switch to Patronus casting,” suggested Harry, “How have you been coming along?”

Draco smirked at him.

“Not bad,” was all he said.

They practised for the rest of class, and Harry went to check on the rest of the DA. Afterwards he told Draco that they needed to get the quills to Sirius, and a plan would need to be devised. They left it for another time, and Harry returned to his common room to finish his mountains of homework.

Chapter Text

Harry and Ron stood near the wall of the Three Broomsticks pub, both with drinks in hand, as they surveyed the room. Fred and George had been right, anyone who was anyone was there, and all from different Houses too.

Hermione hadn’t deigned to join them, uninterested in the festivities when OWLs were ‘just around the corner’. Ron had seemed quite disappointed at this, and Harry was trying his best to make up for her absence.

“Oh my god, look at Dean,” chuckled Harry, tapping Ron on the arm and pointing to their dorm mate.

Dean had fallen over, face first, unsteady on his feet thanks to the alcohol in his stomach.

Ron snorted. They watched as Dean clumsily picked himself up, not looking that much worse for wear, and Harry wondered if they should go and help him, when Ginny came and took Dean’s hand. She pulled him up, although she was also a little unsteady.

“How come Ginny gets to come to this in her fifth year but Fred and George only told us when we’re in our sixth?” asked Ron indignantly.

“Maybe someone else invited her,” suggested Harry. He cast a sideways glance at Ron, who was glaring at his little sister.

Ginny said a few words to Dean and gave him a smile, but he still didn’t let go of her hands. Harry watched as he leaned in and kissed her. Wasn’t she still dating Michael Corner? Harry was having difficulty keeping up, not that he was paying much attention. He felt Ron freeze next to him, and grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Let’s get something stronger to drink,” offered Harry, dragging Ron away from Ginny and Dean, who were now snogging.

Harry scanned the room for someone with some spirits. He spied the twins, both with a bottle in each hand.

“Fred! George!” he called, approaching them, still holding a very angry Ron by the arm, “Ron here needs a drink. And so do I. Bottle of something for your favourite investor?”

He had never used his ‘investor’ status to get anything from them before, and felt a twinge of guilt, but the drink was urgent.

“Coming right up,” winked George, handing Harry a bottle of something.

“Cheers,” replied Harry, taking it and grinning at him, “I’ll pay you back,” he added.

“No need,” Fred assured him, “You two go and have some fun.”

Harry nodded sheepishly, tucked the bottle under his arm and finished the rest of his current drink in one gulp, moving to set it down on the pub counter. He led Ron as far away from Ginny as he could, to outside the door to some sort of back room, and sat down on the floor. Ron joined him and Harry handed him the bottle.

He unscrewed the cap and tilted back his head, taking a long, deep drink. He took the bottle away from his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing a little at the strong drink. Harry took it from him and did the same. They went back and forth, chuckling about random things, and laughing at the people who came to walk by. Before long, Harry was feeling a little dizzy. And soon after that, more than a little dizzy.

All of a sudden, Ron stood up.

“Fucking Dean!” he announced, and promptly left, taking the mostly empty bottle with him. Harry didn’t follow, he wasn’t interested in breaking up more Ron and Ginny drama. Instead, he turned to the mysterious door beside him, and went through it, in search of drinks or friends. Or hopefully, both.

It opened up to a more intimate seating area, mostly empty, except for…Harry gulped. Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were sat opposite each other at a sitting booth. Daphne and Pansy were giggling and holding hands at a different booth, and Harry spied a few more Slytherins scattered around. He’d wandered into the snake’s nest.

Harry swayed a little, aware that he probably looked a bit of an idiot, and stalked over to Draco. Draco and Harry caught eyes and the Slytherin boy pretended to ignore him as he advanced, shooting him furtive glances every few seconds. Blaise, who was sitting opposite Malfoy, noticed Harry’s arrival and excused himself with a smirk. Harry barely heard him, all of his focus on Draco.

“Potter,” greeted Draco with as much scorn as he could muster, which was not nearly enough scorn to hide the nervousness in his voice. Harry could tell from his clouded expression and the nearly finished bottle of firewhisky that he was cradling that Malfoy was probably just as drunk as him, albeit hiding it a little better by not attempting to walk.

“It’s Harry,” Harry told him. Draco said nothing to this.

“Can I have some?” asked Harry, gesturing to the firewhisky. Draco handed it over and watched while he took a swig. The spirit burned as it slid down his throat and Harry winced.

“Is that all you came here for?” mused Draco, taking back the green bottle, “To ask me for a drink?”

“No,” smirked Harry, “I came here to do this.”

He leaned down and kissed the side of Draco’s mouth, catching the edge of his lips. Harry couldn’t tell if he’d done it purposefully or by accident. He didn’t really care.

Draco’s cheeks turned pink as he stared straight ahead. Harry’s smirk grew wider. Another dangerous idea forming in his dizzy mind, Harry wondered if the firewhisky had perhaps given him a bit too much nerve.

He leaned down again, this time close to Draco’s ear. The Slytherin boy stayed perfectly still, not recoiling in the least.

“If you give me the chance,” murmured Harry against Draco’s pale skin, “I’ll do it right this time.”

He leaned back to survey his reaction. Draco turned slowly to face him, his face even more pink, “Is that a promise?” he asked, slurring his words a little.

“Promise.” winked Harry, offering him his hand.

Draco smirked and took it, letting Harry lead him further to the back of the pub where there was shelter from prying eyes. The two of them tucked into a corner and Harry grabbed Draco’s flushed face with both hands, pulling him into a clumsy kiss. Draco expertly removed his glasses and tucked them into Harry’s pocket, clutching the back of his neck.

Before long they sank to the floor, Harry sitting against the wall and Draco climbing into his lap, wrapping his legs around the other boy’s waist. He bit Harry’s lip softly and this time Harry didn’t draw away, too inebriated to remember last semester's quarrels.

Draco moved to his jaw, planting kisses along his warm skin as his hand snaked up into Harry’s unruly hair. He trailed the kisses down to Harry’s neck, clutching at his dark locks. Now it was Harry’s turn to blush, his face reddening. It was hot in the back of the heated pub, with Draco Malfoy in his lap and kisses on his neck. The alcohol was no help either. Harry’s head swam, his heart hammering and his stomach alive with an army of butterflies. He clung desperately to Draco, untucking his immaculate shirt and sliding his hands up his back.

He could feel soft bites at his neck, his mind wandered briefly to tomorrow and the bruises he might wake up with but the thought was quickly forgotten as he pulled Draco closer.

“Harry,” murmured Draco against his neck and he positively shivered. Draco kissed his skin again.

The pub began to empty out, and eventually the two boys got to their feet and began the wobbly trip back to the castle.

“We’re way after hours!” whined Draco as they trudged along the snowy path, “How are we meant to get in now?”

Harry, clutching tightly to his hand, pulled him up the path as best he could on his unsteady legs and smiled giddily over his shoulder at Malfoy.

“I’ve got a secret.” he confessed, his teeth catching the moonlight.

“A secret?” echoed Draco, his face perking up.

Harry nodded.

“You can’t tell a soul, ok?”

“Ok.” slurred Draco.

Harry pulled him closer conspiratorially, their faces almost touching.

“I have an invisibility cloak,” he revealed.

Draco’s eyes widened and his lips parted. Harry pulled the trusty cloak out from the pocket of his hoodie and shook it to unfold the translucent cloth.

“It can probably fit us both,” he gulped, although he wasn’t sure.

“Stupid Potter,” chastised Draco.

“It’s Harry,” he hissed back as Draco drew his wand.

“Engorgio!” cast Draco and the cloak almost doubled in size. Harry stared in awe. Despite knowing the spell he or Ron had never thought to use it on the invisibility cloak. Draco smiled pridefully.

“Cheers,” said Harry absently, marvelling at the enlarged cloak. As they approached the castle, Harry threw it over the two of them and adjusted it. Under the cloak they were in even closer confines then they had been at the dinghy back of the pub. Harry, a little shorter, walked in front, still holding onto Draco’s hand. The other boy shuffled behind him, his warm breath tickling the back of Harry’s neck.

“This is a recipe for disaster,” whispered Malfoy from behind him.

“Why?” asked Harry.

“We’re drunk Harry!” seethed Draco, “We’re definitely going to trip under this thing, we haven’t even gotten to the moving stairs yet!”

“It’ll be fine,” mumbled Harry, nonplussed.

It was not fine.

They reached the stairs and tripped on the very first one, as the staircase lurched to the left, changing to a different destination. Somehow, they didn’t land flat on their faces, but it was clear climbing the stairs would be no mean feat.

“We’re going the wrong way!” complained Malfoy as the two regained their balance shakily. Without waiting for Harry to respond, he began to lead him to a tapestry on their right, which he promptly shifted to the side, revealing a secret passageway. The two boys clumsily climbed through and the tapestry swung shut behind them.

It took embarrassingly long for Harry to realise he was being led to the Slytherin dormitories, but by the time he was ready to inform Draco, they were stood outside the door and he was whispering the password.

Unsure of what to do, Harry followed Draco blindly as he was led up a flight of stairs and around a corner. Another door opened and he was in the Slytherin boy’s common room. Thankfully, no one else was awake. Crabbe and Goyle lay snoring in their respective beds, while Blaise and… Theo? Didn’t seem to be back from their night out yet.

Harry tentatively pulled off the cloak as Malfoy bent down to remove his shoes.

“I should go,” he whispered to Draco.

“You can barely walk,” he pointed out. Harry had been using him for balance for a fair amount of their walk home, Draco was right.

“Take off your shoes,” Draco instructed, and Harry did as he was told.

He stayed tentatively by the doorway as Draco pulled off his coat and jumper, laying them out atop his trunk. Harry eventually followed suit, shedding his layers and placing them with the invisibility cloak on the large black suitcase at the foot of Draco’s bed. Meanwhile Draco changed into his pyjamas, Harry averting his eyes.

“Come on, Blaise and Theo will be back soon,” he urged, drawing the green curtains of his four poster bed and beckoning Harry to join him. Drowsily and with his head still dizzy he joined Draco, climbing in hesitantly beside him.

Draco removed his glasses for the second time that night and placed them neatly on the dresser, before drawing the last curtain and plunging them into darkness.

Chapter Text

Harry rolled over in bed and buried his face into someone’s chest, hugging their waist. He wondered briefly if this person was Ron, but his mind was much too drowsy to worry about it. He felt cosy and warm, only some of the morning light making its way to his closed eyes. Whoever he was holding smelled good, like pine or cedar, fresh but natural. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so immensely comfortable, and he wanted to stay as he was forever.

Slowly but surely though, Harry began to regain consciousness, and with it came the startling realisation that he was not in his own bed, or even his own dormitory. He was in Draco’s. Quickly extricating himself from their embrace, Harry shot up, searching for his glasses. His eyesight may have been fuzzy but there was no mistaking the dark green curtains and blonde hair. Last night’s events began to trickle back into his head, and hazy as his memories were, Harry gathered enough to burn with embarrassment.

The rest of the common room was silent, perhaps they were still asleep? Harry had no clue what time it was or how he was going to get himself out of this situation. Surprisingly, despite not being in his own bed, this was probably the best he’d slept since…the dream he’d had of Mr Weasley. He hadn’t woken up once during the night, hadn’t had a single nightmare, he even felt rested. The wonders of alcohol were definitely something.

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember where Malfoy had put his glasses. Reaching across the other boy’s sleeping form, Harry slipped his hand past the thick velvet curtain and groped blindly for their familiar circular frame. His fingers closed around them and he retracted his hand back behind the curtain, wiping his glasses on his shirt and sliding them onto his nose.

With the world around him now thankfully in focus, he crawled to the corner of the bed and tentatively peaked between the curtains, out at the Slytherin dorm room. Just as he had expected, everyone was still in bed. It must have been early. Casting a muffliato charm around the bed in case he made any noise, Harry slid off the mattress and crept over to his belongings, which were right where he’d left them on Malfoy’s trunk. With all the guilt and slyness of a thief in the night, he pulled on his coat and threw the invisibility cloak over himself, finding himself incredibly thankful that he’d brought it along. With that Harry crept over to his shoes and put them on, before exiting through the door with one last anxious look at Draco’s bed.

He closed it behind him as quietly as possible and began to make his way back to his own dormitory. A large clock in the Slytherin common room informed him that it was 7am, not ridiculously early at all, but seeing as it was a weekend, and a weekend after a particularly raucous night out, it made sense that Draco and his roommates were still fast asleep.

The halls were fairly empty, the occasional house elf or bleary-eyed student passing him as he returned to the Gryffindor tower. As he walked, Harry tried to think of what he was going to tell Ron. Not the truth, that was for sure. Harry could barely admit that his drunken recollections were the truth to himself, let alone to someone else. Someone else who hated Malfoy, despite the trio's newfound neutral ground with the Slytherins.

While it was obvious Harry had spent the night somewhere else, he would tell Ron that this ‘somewhere else’ had been the back of the pub, or perhaps a sheltered spot somewhere between Hogsmeade and the castle with a few warming charms cast. Ron would probably laugh at that. Usually the thought would’ve teased a smile out of Harry but at present he was much too distressed to smile at anything. He tried to ignore his creeping thoughts about the party’s… excursions, and returned to the problem at hand.

As for what he would tell Ron he’d been doing for the rest of the party, that would have to be a lie as well. Perhaps he could claim he didn’t remember it, or vaguely say he’d been hanging out with some people neither of them knew. Perhaps Ron wouldn’t even ask. Harry hoped that would be the case.

Finally, he reached the fat lady’s portrait and muttered the password. Looking around in confusion, she paused before swinging open. Harry stepped into the common room and made his way up the stairs, finally shedding his invisibility cloak when he got to the door.

He was met with the comforting view of the five four-poster beds and five sets of red and gold curtains. Sighing in relief, Harry made his way over to his own, and put his stuff away. Seamus and Dean were missing, and Neville and Ron were sleeping soundly. Harry took off his coat and went over to the bathroom to take a long, relaxing shower. He would tell his planned lies when Ron was awake and curious, for now he needed to try and relax.

Later, he did just that.

“Where were you mate?” Ron asked him quietly as they headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, “I was worried sick, you know! You’re lucky I didn’t tell Hermione, she would’ve gone straight to Mcgonagall.”

Harry went a deep shade of crimson.

“I, uh,” he mumbled, “Slept in a bush.”

Ron snorted. Harry blushed even further. Here he was, lying and sneaking again.

“That’s not so embarrassing,” Ron assured him, picking up on his red face, “You don’t need to be quite as ashamed as that.”

Harry gave him a weak smile.

“Maybe lay off the alcohol for a bit,” he suggested, giving Harry a pointed look.

“What happened with Ginny?” asked Harry, changing the subject.

Ron grimaced.

“We fought,” he groaned, “Doubt she’ll speak to me for at least two weeks.”

Harry made the same grimace back at him.

“Maybe we both lay off the alcohol then, eh?” surmised Ron. Harry nodded absently, still shell-shocked.

Chapter Text

That very day, Harry spotted Draco leaving the Great Hall after his lunch. As per usual, he followed him out as inconspicuously as he could. He didn’t need a firecall with Sirius to tell him that he needed to talk with the Slytherin boy.

Once in the hallway, Draco turned abruptly around. He’d seen, or perhaps even expected, Harry following him. Harry froze in his tracks, biting his lip nervously. Draco resumed his walk and Harry came to walk beside him, stealing glances at his unreadable face.

“Here are your quills,” he told Harry smoothly, reaching into the folds of his cloak and withdrawing with three dark, sleek, feathers. Harry faltered and then took them from him. The skin of their hands brushed briefly, and he shivered at the touch.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He couldn’t tell if Draco was angry, regretful, or secretly happy. Or some fourth thing.

They carried on walking in silence for a while longer, until Harry came to a sudden stop. Draco stopped too, turning patiently to him.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” asked Harry, shifting uneasily. He wanted to talk about it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say, but he wanted to say something. Draco did not seem to be of the same opinion.

“I would rather not.” he told Harry curtly. Harry shot him an unimpressed look. They couldn’t just leave it unaddressed.

“Don’t be a prat.” he complained childishly. Draco returned his unimpressed look, folding his arms tersely. They settled into another silence. A silence filled with all the words they couldn’t seem to say.

“You clearly can’t keep your hands off me.” quipped Draco eventually, a flicker of a smile playing on his pretty features. Harry was barely even embarrassed, he was just glad at Draco’s change of mood.

“Well you seem to enjoy it.” he retorted arrogantly.

“I thought you hated my stupid Slytherin guts?” Draco shot back. He was changing the subject, averting the truth that he really did enjoy it. Harry bit back a smirk.

“I don’t hate you,” he said after a beat, “It’s…complicated.”

He looked up at Draco, trying to find the words to express himself. The other boy waited patiently.

“I guess you could say I'm seeing you in a different light?” he continued, “You know, maybe you’re not such a git after all. I feel like you maybe got in with the wrong sort.”

Draco’s eyes widened and his expression filled with excitement.

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself thanks!” he exclaimed very quickly, barely able to restrain himself from saying it. Harry blinked, shocked. He stood there in stunned silence, memories of the refused handshake in their first year flooding back.

“You really took that to heart.” he said eventually.

They both burst out laughing. Genuine, light-hearted, happy laughter. Harry realised how much he loved it, to be laughing with Draco like this. Their chuckles died down and Harry took a deep breath. They needed to sort this out once and for all. He looked down at his fiddling fingers, and back up at the boy in front of him. Draco’s red mouth was still curved into a joyous smile, his eyes still alive with laughter, and his blonde hair framing his face nicely. They locked eyes, and he matched Harry’s more serious expression.

“I’m willing to try,” he began shyly, “...If you…Lay off my friends. I know you mostly have this year, but a promise would be nice. And I’d like you to try and…well, to change your pureblood beliefs, and consider the other side of it.”

There was an excruciating pause. Draco was no longer smiling in the least. Harry realised he’d just gone and told him what to do, without the slightest thought to Draco’s feelings on the matter. He was about to apologise, when Draco spoke up.

“What makes you think I’m willing to change for you?”

The words stung awfully. Harry felt his heart sink and he didn’t hide the hurt from his face. It wasn’t…Unfair. He was asking a lot after all, but that didn’t make it less painful to hear. Harry almost wished he hadn’t said anything about his ‘conditions’, but in truth he didn’t know if he could enter into anything more than a ‘mutually beneficial’ friendship with Draco unless he agreed to them.

He ploughed onwards nonetheless.

“My dastardly good looks?” he asked cheekily. Draco frowned at him and rolled his eyes, but that curve of a smile was back, pulling at his lips. Harry wanted to kiss him, but they weren’t finished with the conversation just yet.

“I can change too,” he added, “What do you want me to change?”

Thankfully, Draco seemed to really consider it this time.

“I’d like for you to be less prejudiced against my House,” he commented after a pause, “As funny as it was when you said I’d gotten in with the ‘wrong sort’, my friends are anything but. Being a Slytherin doesn’t make you evil, or a death eater, or a dishonest person who always has ulterior motives. I’m tired of hearing all those stereotypes from you. Pansy might be a little rough around the edges, Blaise can be cold, Crabbe and Goyle may look scary, but we care for each other, and they’re certainly not the ‘wrong sort’.”

Harry took a moment to process it all.

“I can try and be less prejudiced,” he agreed, “I’m sorry if you felt that way. I didn’t mean anything by it when I said that.”

“Yes you did,” said Draco evenly, although not unkindly, “You were trying to say I was a better person than you thought by differentiating me from my House and my friends. You might have meant it as a compliment, but I don’t see it as one. That’s innate prejudice.”

“I suppose you’re right,” mused Harry. He hadn't looked at it that way.

“From age eleven when we get sorted the whole school resents us, the reason many of us fall into the stereotypes is because we’re forced too by our circumstances. If you’re a little mean and scary people will leave you mostly alone. If you’re secretive and tricky there’s less information for others to use against you. We’re all just trying to get by in our own way.”

Harry mulled it over.

“Sounds pretty shit,” he said after a while.

“It is.”

“I think I have been biased, and I agree with the things you just said,” he told him carefully, “But you have to admit you’re prejudiced too. I don’t know how much you really believe in blood purity, and how much of it is just for show or whatever, but I think it’s a…Big difference in opinion between us. My mother was a muggleborn, so is my best friend. They’ve both been described as really smart and have strong magical-ability. They’ve both suffered at the hands of people with blood-puritist views. They’re important to me, and I don’t appreciate ideology that say they’re worth less than pureblood wizards or that they deserve to die. I’m sure you could understand that.”

“I could understand that, yes,” replied Draco tersely.

“I just personally think there’s a lot of evidence that goes against the whole ‘blood-purity’ thing. Obviously Hermione and my Mum, but I mean, even Voldemort is half-blood, and lots of blood purity fanatics worship him.”

“What?” interrupted Draco, his face a mixture of confusion and shock, “The Dark Lord is a Half-Blood?”

Harry blinked. Was that not common knowledge?

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “His real name is Tom Riddle. Well, Tom Riddle Jr. His namesake is his dad, who was a muggle.”

“I,” stammered Draco, for the first time Harry could recall the Slytherin boy was lost for words, “I had no idea.”

Half of Harry wanted this information to change his mind, but the other half of him wished that Hermione or his mother had been the proof he needed instead. He supposed Draco didn’t have a lot of respect for Hermione, and he had never met or heard much about Lily Potter. Other than the story everyone knew of Halloween all those years ago.

“We don’t have to figure out everything right now,” he interjected, “But I just want you to consider what I’ve said about blood-purity and I’ll consider what you’ve said about Slytherin and your friends.”

“Oh,” replied Draco, “I wasn’t done with my list yet, Potter,”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I’d like you to keep your temper in check, and I don’t just mean around Umbridge,” he continued, “I also want you to watch it around Cho Chang.”

Harry frowned at him.

“The temper part I understand,” he relented, “But why do I have to ‘watch it’ around Cho?”

Draco looked at him incredulously, as if it were obvious.

“She clearly fancies you, Potter,” he informed him. Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really?”

“Are you serious, Potter?” he snapped.

“It’s Harry,” he snapped back, then more softly, “I want you to call me Harry.”

“Harry,” repeated Draco, drawing out his name, “Are you being serious?”

Harry reddened.

“I-yes.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds. Harry reddened even further.

“How could you not?” he began, “You know what, forget it. Just don’t encourage her, alright?”

“Alright,” agreed Harry, hoping he’d understood. “Are we in agreement?” he asked after a second, “I try to be less prejudiced to your House and friends, try to keep my temper in control, and watch myself around Cho, and you leave my friends alone and try to reconsider your pureblood views. That sound about right?”

Draco nodded.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” decided Harry.

“Alright then,” agreed Draco.

Harry let out a breath. That had gone better than he’d anticipated. He was happy with how it had turned out, well, mostly. He certainly had some new things to consider in terms of Slytherins. But that was for another time. His eyes flicked down to Draco’s lips, the ones he’d been trying not to stare at the whole time.

“I’ll seal it with a kiss,” murmured Draco, and Harry blushed as their mouths met. Harry held Draco’s neck gently. He leaned into the kiss, hungry for more, but Draco pushed him away suddenly.

“Told you you couldn’t keep your hands off.” he smirked. Harry frowned at him indignantly, earning himself another peck on the mouth.

“Told you you enjoyed it,” he muttered back.

Chapter Text

Harry walked out of Charms, shooting a pointed but discreet look at Draco. He exited the classroom and lingered impatiently outside. A few minutes later, Draco joined him.

“What do you-

Harry cut him off with a kiss. Draco went pink.

“That’s what I wanted,” Harry replied, feeling giddy.

“People could see if we’re out in the hallway like this!” Draco chastised him. Harry grinned stupidly.

“I don’t care,” he said foolishly.

“Yes you do,” Draco told him, “And so do I, come,”

He beckoned Harry down the hall and to a broom closet. Once safely inside, Draco locked and muffled the space. He had learnt from his last experiences.

“Much better,” he pointed out. He pulled Harry in by his tie and kissed him back. Harry felt like a silly child. Like how he had been his day at Diagon Alley all those years ago. He smiled into the kiss.

Too soon, Draco drew away.

“As lovely as this is,” he muttered, straightening and tucking in Harry’s Gryffindor tie, “You can’t just take me out of Charms whenever you want a kiss. Not all of us can cast perfect summoning spells Chosen One.”

Harry pouted.

“Yours is great,” he reasoned, “And besides, you need a break so you don’t burn out.”

“Is that so?” teased Draco.

Harry gingerly raised a hand and trailed his fingers over the other boy’s lips.

“Yeah,” he almost whispered.

Draco leaned in again, seemingly unable to help himself. His mouth was warm. He tasted of mint.

Harry brought both his hands to the sides of Draco’s face and pulled him even closer. They stumbled backwards and into the wall behind them. Something was knocked off the shelf but neither of them bothered to check.

Draco’s hands were in his messy hair, somehow mussing it up even further. He was being pushed into the shelf, which dug into his back, but he didn’t care. Draco moved away from his mouth and trailed his slender fingers against Harry’s neck.

“No marks from last time,” he remarked, standing back to inspect his skin. Harry burned for his touch.

It was probably for the best that no hickeys had been left. Harry hadn’t been thinking straight in the morning after the party and he certainly wouldn’t have remembered to cover them up. He thanked his luck.

“Maybe I should fix that?” mused Draco.

Harry gently blocked him as he leaned in for more.

“People will be wondering where we are,” he pointed out, “But I have a free period later while you’re in DADA, maybe we can meet up then too.”

“Free period?” he retorted sceptically, “That’s one thing to call it.”

“I’ll meet you in the bathroom outside her classroom,” Harry winked, slipping out the door. Draco rolled his eyes.

Chapter Text

“Well this is romantic,” drawled Draco.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” he replied cheekily.

They were sat on top of each other in a cramped cubicle. Harry’s heart was fluttering at their close proximity. Draco was in his lap. Harry was beginning to understand why this act was more than friendly, and how clearly the Durmstrang boy had been more than that.

“I thought you were claustrophobic?” mused Draco, sliding Harry’s tie out from under his blazer and deftly untying it. Harry looked down at Draco’s pale hands.

“I can manage,” he gulped. The walls didn’t seem quite so awful when Draco was there with him, and this was much less small than the cupboard had been.

Draco slowly pulled off Harry’s Gryffindor tie. He dropped it on the floor and then moved onto his slightly dishevelled shirt. He began to unbutton it. Harry gulped again.

“I should take you on a real date, Potter,” he pondered, “To show you what it’s like.”

“Harry,” corrected Harry, “Call me Harry,”

“I’m taking you on a real date, Harry,” he repeated, “Tomorrow in Hogsmeade.”

“But tomorrow isn’t a Hogsmeade day,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” replied Draco, stopping at the third button but keeping his hands on Harry’s collarbone. He snaked them around Harry’s neck, his thumbs brushing his jaw. Harry practically shivered. He was filled with anticipation.

“How does a nice café sound?” he asked softly, looking at Harry’s lips. Harry gently nodded.

“Sounds lovely,” he replied quietly.

“Good,” surmised Draco, “We should go shopping too. You need new clothes.”

“Why do I-

Harry was cut off with the long awaited kiss. He tried his best not to forget his question. After a minute he pulled away, hands pushing Draco’s chest gently.

“Why do I need new clothes?” he asked him.

“Is that even a question?” Draco responded. Harry frowned at him. “I’ll pay,” he continued in a sweeter tone, “Just a few things,”

“When will you ever see me wear them?” wondered Harry.

“Every weekend of course,”

Harry felt his jaw go slack. Every weekend? Every single one?

“Won’t everyone be wondering where they come from?” he countered.

“Just pretend someone different got them for you,” suggested Draco, “If they even ask.”

Harry stared at him in silence.

“It’s just a few clothes,” Draco implored him, “Small price for what you’re getting in return.”

“What am I getting in return?”

“Me of course,” Draco told him, as if it were obvious, “I need to get you into something green, it’ll really bring out your eyes.”

Harry flushed.

“My eyes?” he echoed.

“Mmm,” confirmed Draco, tilting Harry’s chin upwards to face him. “You have pretty eyes.”

Harry’s blush deepened further.

“I do?” he practically whispered. His voice was slightly breathy.

Draco smirked at him.

“Let me show you,” he suggested, and undid his own tie, wrapping it around Harry’s neck and knotting it tightly. Next he slid out of his robes and draped them around Harry’s shoulders. He magicked up a mirror and held it up for Harry to look at.

“See?” he said triumphantly, “Matches your eyes. I mean just imagine what a great Slytherin you could’ve been.”

Harry stared at his reflection, it was true that the green fabric made his eyes stand out more. Draco arched an eyebrow at him expectantly.

“Alright alright, I give in,” he relented, “I’ll wear some green clothes. But -

“But?”

“But you have to let me introduce you to muggle clothes!”

Draco made a face at him.

“I’m serious!” Harry told him, “There’s this thing called a three-piece suit that I just know you’d love. It’s a bit like dress robes, only the muggle version. Or even a turtleneck? You’d look great in that too.”

“Turtle-neck?” repeated Draco, unsure.

“Please?” pleaded Harry, looking up sweetly at the other boy. Draco went pink. He frowned and looked off to the side.

“Fine,” he agreed grumpily, “But I will not be wearing this ‘turtle-neck’ out. In fact, if I don’t like it, we’re not buying it in the first place, understood?”

“Understood,” he smiled. Still looking directly at Draco, he turned his face to the side and kissed the hand cupping his left cheek.

“Merlin, you drive me crazy,” muttered Draco, leaning down to kiss him. Harry felt his chest swell. He pulled Draco even closer, up onto his hips, and kissed him hungrily. He felt Draco’s tongue in his mouth and almost gasped. Draco’s cool hands were clutching his face, drawing him deeper and deeper into the kiss. Harry held his waist. His heart beat fast and his breaths were shallow. Gingerly, he slid his own tongue into Draco’s mouth, brushing it against the inside of his lips. He retracted it slowly, it was a strange sensation, but the butterflies in his stomach told him he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. Draco had also enjoyed it, by the sound of the soft hum he let out. He bit Harry’s bottom lip and drew gently away, keeping it between his teeth. He let go and Harry immediately leaned in for more.

They heard the door to the bathroom open and shut, and Harry tensed. They both turned around, listening to the footsteps of the mystery intruder. Draco carefully pulled his legs up off the floor so they couldn’t be seen by anyone outside.

Harry bit his lip, trying not to laugh at their current predicament. Draco turned back around and brought a finger to his lips, sternly mouthing for him to shush. Harry couldn’t help but grin. Draco rolled his eyes, letting his silencing finger fall away from Harry’s face. Harry buried his head into Draco’s chest in an attempt to stifle any laughter that could escape him. His arms wrapped tighter around the other boy’s waist.

Eventually they heard the sound of the sink and of the door opening and closing once again.

Harry relaxed and burst out laughing. Draco tried and failed to look angry with him.

“Pull yourself together, Harry!” he hissed, crossing his arms grumpily. Harry’s mouth settled into a smirk.

“I was quiet!” he reasoned jokingly.

“You’re never taking me to a bathroom again.” Draco told him curtly, “You could’ve suggested a broom cupboard somewhere, or even the Room of Requirement, maybe a secret passage. But no.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed yourself,” teased Harry, looking slyly up at Draco. He stroked his thumb over the other boy’s waist through the thin material of his shirt. Draco frowned at him, his face growing hot.

“Honestly, someone needs to teach you how to properly treat a boy,” he said.

“Well, that’s what you’re for,” smirked Harry.

“Lesson one,” began Draco, “If your boyfriend is skipping class to snog you, keep an eye on the time so it doesn’t seem too suspicious.”

“I did that earlier, didn’t I?” argued Harry, grinning at the word boyfriend. He wasn’t just ‘an arrangement’ then.

“Well then do it again now you git.”

“But I don’t want you to leave, you prat.”

Draco glared at him.

“I want to keep you a little longer,” he implored him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“No more kisses,” denied Draco haughtily, “For calling me a prat and forgetting to be a gentleman.”

Harry gaped at him in mock-horror.

“As if you could stop yourself,” he goaded. Draco glared even harder. Harry leaned up to him, stopping right before their lips met, and looked deeply into his silver eyes.

“I have a great amount of self-control,” he insisted breathily, looking down at Harry’s lips and then back to his eyes.

“You sure about that?”

He leaned in a tiny bit further.

“Git.”

“Prat,” returned Harry. He could feel the warm breath against his lips. Draco was holding out especially well. To end that, he pushed the boy’s shirt slowly upwards so that it was untucked from his trousers, and then snaked his warm hands underneath onto his bare skin.

“You wanna kiss me so bad,” he teased. He stroked the skin with his thumb. Draco pursed his lips.

“Do not,” he hissed.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

Harry slid his hands further up Draco’s back. He felt him shiver.

“Fuck,” swore Draco breathily, and he leaned down and closed the gap between them with so much force he knocked Harry backwards into the wall. Harry barely felt it. He smirked into the kiss. Draco drew away just as suddenly as he’d leaned in, and stood up.

“I have to return to class,” he said. Harry was still smirking. “Wipe that smile off your face,” he spat, only causing Harry to widen it. He leaned down and picked up his Slytherin cloak, which had fallen onto the floor off of Harry’s shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the entrance to the Hogsmeade passageway,” he told him strictly, “The one next to the tapestry of Salazar Slytherin. Be there an hour after classes end. Don’t be late.”

“Goodbye kiss?” he asked cheekily.

“You wish.” hissed Draco, and he turned and left, stalking back to his defence against his dark arts class.

Chapter Text

Harry wandered out of the bathroom, a few minutes after Draco had left, and began to make his way to the library to get some of his homework out of the way. The hallways were empty, except for the occasional student. Harry got the uncomfortable sense that some were staring at him, but he was familiar with the feeling, even if it was less common at school. He straightened his robes self-consciously, wondering if he looked more dishevelled than usual.

“Hello Harry,” came a dreamy voice. Harry turned around and smiled at the sight of Luna.

“Hey Luna,” he responded, “How come you’re out of class?”

“Oh, the room was infested with wrackspurts,” she explained, “I simply couldn’t stay in there without posing a threat to my head. I just can’t risk an infestation.”

Harry shot her a lopsided smile, becoming more accustomed to her questionable statements.

“Bold fashion choice by the way,” she added, giving a nod to his outfit, Harry frowned and looked down at himself in confusion, “Are you promoting inter-house unity? I always did think Slytherins got a hard time from the rest of the school.”

Harry realised with sickening horror that he was still wearing Draco’s Slytherin tie, while his Gryffindor one remained on the floor in the bathroom.

“Um,” he replied shakily.

“You seem uncomfortable Harry,” she observed owlishly, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her, “I just, er, um, excuse me a minute will you? I…forgot something in the bathroom.”

He dashed back to the loo, hands pressed to his throat in a pathetic attempt to cover the green and silver he was sporting. Luckily it had only been Luna who’d seen, but he couldn’t imagine what would have happened if someone like Ron had been the one walking down the corridor. Ron didn’t even like Ginny dating people, and Harry recalled him being very angry when Hermione had gone to the dance with Viktor Krum. Harry doubted he’d be thrilled for Harry to go out with anyone, let alone Draco Malfoy.

***

“Muffliato!” cast Harry. He was knelt by one of the more private fireplaces in the Gryffindor common room, having panicked-called Sirius about his date.

“When are you meeting him?” asked Sirius hurriedly.

“In about fifty minutes,” replied Harry, “He said not to be late.”

“Ok, first of all, what are you going to wear?”

“....My uniform?”

“Harry, no.” said Sirius. Harry remained silent. Had he done something wrong?

“What should I wear instead?” he asked worriedly

“What other clean clothes do you have?”

Harry furrowed his brows, wracking his brain for the contents of his casual wardrobe.

“I have a pair of jeans somewhere,” he mused, “And a few t-shirts. A hoodie. My coat is somewhere.”

“Which hoodie?” pressed Sirius, “What about your blue t-shirt? It’s probably the smartest thing you have.”

“It’s too cold,” whined Harry, “And I have my red hoodie. Do you think that’s fine?”

“It’ll have to do,” Sirius informed him, “Are you gonna do anything with your hair? Actually forget that, I remember it once took James two hours to do his hair for a date with Lily. And it still stuck up a lot.”

Harry snorted. He had definitely inherited James’ hair.

“Are you getting him a gift?” asked Padfoot.

“Like flowers?” said Harry, “I haven’t really had the time. He sprung it on me. Do you think I should-

“No forget that too,” amended Sirius, “No time now. You should do it another time though. Flowers, chocolate. Something. Okay, next, where’s he taking you?”

“This cafe,” explained Harry, “He didn’t say which one but it seemed like he had something specific in mind.”

“Sounds lovely,” commented Padfoot, “How are you feeling Harry? Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, letting out a giddy breath, “But I’m stressed too. Feels kind of official. Feels different from the other stuff we do.”

“I hope that ‘stuff’ doesn’t include any-

“Oh my God! Padfoot! Not the time for a contraception talk!”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he chuckled, “Seriously, though-

“No, stop right there.” interrupted Harry disgustedly.

Sirius rolled his eyes, smiling exasperatedly.

“It’s normal to feel nervous,” he told Harry, “I’m sure it will go great though. However ‘official’ he’s still just the same guy. Speaking of, won’t you let me know who he is?”

“Sorry I’m running out of time here,” replied Harry quickly, “Got to make sure I’m dressed and presentable. Talk to you later.”

“Harry!” complained Sirius, “Come on, it will help me give you better advice!”

“Good. Bye.”

“Love you, good luck on the date and you will be telling me who he is later.”

“Whatever,” said Harry, “Love you too, bye.”

He ended the call and retracted his muffliato. Without waiting a moment more, he rushed upstairs to change and make sure he had everything he needed.

He couldn’t believe he was going on a date with Draco.

Chapter Text

“You’re late.” Draco informed him.

“Only a few minutes!” replied Harry nervously, “You look nice,” he added.

Draco was sporting a smart yet casual set of robes, dark green and silver in colour. He certainly wasn’t shying away from his House identity, not that Harry had expected otherwise. He looked put-together as per usual, not a hair on his head out of place.

“I always look nice,” Draco snapped back, leading him into the secret passageway. Harry tried not to laugh at this comment.

“I’ve actually never been this way before,” he admitted, surveying the eerie tunnel they were in. It reminded him of his second year… of his encounter with the basilisk and the maze of stone tunnels snaking through the underbelly of the castle.

“All the Slytherins know it,” explained Draco, “But not the other Houses so much.”

That explained why it wasn’t on the Marauder's Map then.

“You’re lucky the basilisk is dead,” Harry told him, “Imagine walking in here when the chamber had been opened.”

“What do you mean?”

“…The basilisk? The monster controlled by the heir of Slytherin?”

“I know that,” hissed Draco scornfully, “I didn’t realise this was the original use of the tunnel. I suppose that makes sense.”

“Surely it should be common Slytherin knowledge?”

“Chamber of ‘secrets’, Potter,” quipped Draco, “We didn’t know much about it either. You found that out when you drugged and impersonated my friends, remember?”

Harry frowned at him.

“It’s Harry,” he corrected, “And stop saying I drugged your friends!”

“That’s exactly what you did. Face the truth Harry.”

Harry made a face at him.

“Lesson number three,” instructed Draco, “While on a date, you should always be nice to your boyfriend. Or there might not be any date at all.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” responded Harry sarcastically, “let me nicely tell you again that I did not drug your friends.”

“You're so far in denial it’s delusional,” Draco bit back, “Admit that you drugged them. Admit it.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” he teased.

“You know exactly why.” Draco told him, a glint in his eye and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Harry did know exactly why. Not admitting to it meant no kisses and no date and possibly no boyfriend. Draco wasn’t exactly wrong either, Harry just didn’t like to think of it like that.

“Fine I admit it. I drugged Crabbe and Goyle.”

The words tasted strange in his mouth. A bitter truth, and although the two of them were only poking fun, Harry couldn’t help but think it was true what he’d done those years ago.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” asked Draco happily. He turned to the side and kissed Harry’s cheek.

“It was pretty difficult.” he said stubbornly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” winked Draco.

They travelled further and further down the tunnel.

“Are we almost at the end?” groaned Harry.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” goaded Draco. He looked over at Harry, smirking, but the sneering smile quickly fell from his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Not a huge fan of this tunnel system,” he waved it off unconvincingly, “You know, seeing as the Basilisk used to live here.”

“Are you feeling claustrophobic?” Draco questioned. Harry smiled a little at the concern in his voice.

“A little.” he admitted. He felt Draco’s cool hand slide into his, their fingers intertwining. His face began to heat up.

“We’re almost there,” Draco assured him. Harry only nodded, stunned into silence by the gentle gesture.

Draco was right, and they soon exited the tunnel.

“On the way back we’ll take the Gryffindor way,” suggested Harry.

“Which is that?” mocked Draco, “Through the Forbidden Forest?”

“Draco, Draco, Draco,” sighed Harry, “Don’t forget lesson number three; be nice to your boyfriend.”

“You can’t use my own lessons against me,” Draco protested.

“Watch me.” snickered Harry.

Their hands were still intertwined, and he held Draco’s pale one tightly.

“This way,” instructed Draco, pulling him softly in the direction of the cafe.

Before long, they were sat in a clean and cosy little shop, right in front of the large window.

Draco ordered a peppermint tea, without even glancing at the menu, as well as a tart. Harry pondered over the many options before choosing an earl grey tea and sticky toffee pudding.

“Have you been here before?” asked Harry, picking up on how quick Draco was to order.

“Lots of times,” he responded, “You?”

“Didn’t even know it existed,” smiled Harry. He bit his lip, another question on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” asked Draco. Harry looked up at him nervously. He must have been easy to read.

“Have you, er,” he began clumsily, “Have you ever brought someone else here? As in, romantically I mean.”

He wasn’t sure why it mattered. Or why he wanted to know. Draco merely smirked at him. Harry blushed, fascinating his gaze with the pretty tablecloth.

“You’re the only one,” he said eventually.

Harry beamed, he couldn’t help himself.

“Ok, cool.” he replied quickly. Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

The Slytherin boy crossed his wrists over the table, his tone becoming a bit more serious.

“I’ve mostly had… ‘arrangements’ before this,” he confessed, “I say mostly I mean only. Except for Pansy in fourth year, but that doesn’t count. I was 14 and gay.”

Harry nodded along. As if it came naturally to him, he reached out across the table and held Draco’s hand.

“I don’t mind.” he told him.

Draco smiled. He looked down at their interlocked hands and smiled some more.

“I have trouble committing,” he told Harry, “I’ve never really had anything last longer than a year.”

“I don’t mind.” he repeated.

“I’m picky and a lot of work,” confided Draco, “I get jealous easily.”

“If you’re trying to persuade me not to go out with you it’s not working,” Harry told him sternly, “I really don’t care about any of that stuff.”

“I’m not trying to do that!” he denied, “You’re lucky to have me. I’m just making sure you know all this. Making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I’m not stupid,” he replied, “Of course I know what I’m getting myself into. I want to get myself into this.”

Draco smiled down at their intertwined hands. He brushed a thumb over Harry’s warm skin.

“What about you then?” he asked eventually, “Anything I should know?”

“I never had anything like this before either,” confessed Harry, “Not even… any arrangement type thing. I’m a bit new to it all.”

Harry blushed. Draco held his hand in between both of his own and brought it up off the table.

“Nobody taught you to kiss like that?” asked Draco incredulously, “That was your very first time?”

Harry blushed even further.

“I mean, yes,” he confirmed bashfully.

“I was your first kiss?” pressed Draco, sounding arrogant.

“Yes.” replied Harry in a strangled voice.

“Good,” he said decidedly, “I hope you never kiss anyone else.”

Harry was now absolutely crimson.

The waitress came over to their table with their tea and cake. Harry accepted with a weak smile while Draco barely noticed her.

“I’m a much better first than Chang,” he sneered, “Trust me.”

Harry busied himself with pouring milk into his tea.

“You liked her last year,” he added, "Didn’t you?”

Harry nearly dropped the milk altogether.

“What?” he responded, flustered.

“Aha!” exclaimed Draco, brandishing his tea spoon, “I knew it!”

“Was it that obvious?” he asked nervously.

“Pretty much.” said Draco.

Harry bit his lip.

“So when did you lose interest in her then?” Draco questioned.

Harry thought back. He hadn’t liked her this year at all, he was quite sure of that. Had it stopped at the end of last year? Or before that?

“I reckon I lost interest when I saw you at the ball speaking French.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to blush.

“You reckon?” he parroted, faltering a little.

Harry nodded, smirking at him.

“Tu m’aimes depuis longtemps alors?”

Harry returned to his previous crimson colour. He felt his breath catch in his throat and his heart skip a beat. The words were so smooth and clear. He couldn’t explain it. He was helpless.

“You don’t speak it, do you?” asked Draco. Harry shook his head.

“Why do you?” he wondered.

“The Black family are French, my mother taught it to me. I thought maybe your godfather had…”

Harry often forgot that Sirius and Narcissa were from the same original family.

“He didn’t, no.” replied Harry. Sirius didn’t speak much about his birth family. He didn’t even wear their last name. He was Sirius Lupin, had been for a long time.

“But you speak parseltongue,” said Draco, grinning slightly.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry confirmed, “Yeah I do.”

“Tell me something,” he asked.

“It’s difficult to do on command,” explained Harry, “Often I don’t realise that I’m not speaking English. I can try. What should I say?”

“Say Salazar Slytherin,” he instructed:

Harry closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He imagined Draco was a snake, kept this image in his mind and tried to muster up the words.

“Salazar Slytherin,” he hissed in a tongue that was not his usual one. Draco’s eyes widened with shock and he grinned at Harry.

“Wow!” he breathed. Harry grinned right back. “You like it when I speak French,” he said matter of factly.

“What, I -

“It wasn’t a question,” Draco cut him off, “You like my French, and I like your parseltongue. Speak to me in it from time to time. Maybe I could even learn some.”

“Of course,” replied Harry.

Draco took a delighted mouthful of tart.

“Would you like to try some?” he asked Harry innocently, gesturing towards the pastry before him. Harry gulped.

Chapter Text

“Oi, Potter!”

Harry froze. It was Draco, the voice was unmistakably Draco’s. They’d agreed to keep their relationship a secret in school, Harry wasn’t ready to tell Ron and Hermione yet and Draco’s father would likely have disowned him if he found out, but they hadn’t spoken about any pretence of fighting. Draco and Harry hadn’t had a public spat for the majority of the year. Hermione had even drawn attention to how much nicer the Slytherin’s behaviour had been. Why would he pick a fight now?

“Potter!” came the sneering voice a second time, Harry snapped around, contorting his face with anger to join in on the act.

“What?” he spat, crossing his arms.

He hoped that he was convincing enough. Not only was the corridor fairly busy, but tailing behind Draco were his usual gang of cronies. Or rather, his usual gang of friends, Harry corrected himself.

“Notice anything?” jeered Malfoy, puffing out his chest proudly. Harry frowned, perplexed. What was Draco playing at?

“What?” he repeated, this time more confused than vicious.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Notice, this, perhaps?” he asked, pointing a slender white finger at the badge on his chest. Harry’s eyes dropped to examine it, instead of displaying the expected ‘P’ for prefect, it now showed a shiny ‘I’.

“Well would you look at that,” retorted Harry, “You’ve been promoted from ‘prat’ to ‘idiot’. Congratulations.”

Usually a jab like this would earn him a scowl, but Malfoy only smiled and smiled. He didn’t even bother to dispel the snickers from the growing crowd.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” he quipped. Harry frowned again.

“You can’t take points from other Houses idiot, or did you not know that?”

“Actually,” grinned Draco, “I think you’ll find I can.”

Harry said nothing, too stunned to respond.

“The I is for Inquisitorial Squad,” sneered Pansy, “Student representatives of Umbridge herself.”

Why would Draco and Pansy work for Umbridge? They were in the DA and they hated her. He was sure that they hated her. Not to mention working for her wasn’t going to score them any popularity points with the rest of the already suspicious students.

“I think I’ll take another ten points for that awful hairdo,” added Draco, and Harry’s hand instinctively flew to his unruly dark mop.

“You can’t do this!” he protested, glaring at Malfoy.

“Oh, but I think you’ll find that I can,” he replied, stalking closer to Harry and beginning to circle him like a hungry shark, “You see, it’s one of the perks of being on the squad.”

Harry stared straight ahead, arms crossed in fury. As Draco passed by his other side he leant in and whispered into his ear.

“I couldn’t turn Umbridge down without being suspicious,” he confided softly, “You can make up all the points later, but I had to keep up appearances. Now pretend to be angry as if I’ve just whispered an insult.”

Harry frowned deeply, following his instructions. He turned to face Draco and glared at him.

“Git!” he spat forcefully. Draco smirked at him.

“Watch your mouth, Potter,” he replied liltingly, “That’s another ten points.”

That was thirty points altogether! Harry’s head reeled. He would ‘make them up later’, whatever that meant.

“Run along now,” preened Pansy. Harry glared at her too, then turned on his heel and began to leave. He didn’t want to start a real fight. Or risk losing more points.

“Another five for good measure!” she called after him, and Harry nearly turned around and blasted her into the wall. Instead he kept walking, one stiff angry step at a time.

Chapter Text

“Thirty-five points Draco!” hissed Harry, angrily crossing his arms at the other boy.

They were in a broom closet, a muffling and locking charm safely cast over the room, and Harry was going to get every single point back. Gryffindor were already suffering enough from Umbridge docking points, and now this?

Draco merely smirked at him.

“Didn’t I say you’d make them all back?” he replied easily, “The five was Pansy though, I’m not responsible.”

“You'd better give me the five back as well,” snarled Harry, “I don’t care who’s responsible, you are giving Gryffindor thirty-five points right now.”

“What, just like that?” taunted Draco, “I’m not sure how generous I’m feeling Harry, perhaps you could find some way to convince me?”

Harry was not impressed. He pushed Draco into the wall and pinned him there. Frustratingly, the blonde was taller than him, so he had to look up.

“Give me back the points,” he said in a low menacing voice.

Draco smirked down at him. He trailed a finger over Harry’s mouth, causing him to shiver.

“That’s worth one point,” he decided, slowly retracting his touch from Harry’s face, “One point to Gryffindor.”

One point? That didn’t make up for anything. One point for pinning him against the wall, Harry could guess how he’d get the rest back.

He leaned in and kissed Draco’s jaw softly, pulling away to examine his reaction.

“Three points to Gryffindor,” he quipped pridefully.

That was four so far. Harry was beginning to understand the game. Despite his anger, he couldn’t help but find himself enjoying it.

He leaned in again, this time catching Draco’s lips. He kissed him hungrily, it had been a good few days since they’d had a meeting like this. He’d kissed him on their date, but lightly, sweetly. It wasn’t the same.

He softly bit the other boy’s lip and drew away, a little breathless.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” proclaimed Draco.

Only ten? Harry was going to have to up his game.

He pulled Draco’s face down to his level and their mouths met. He slipped his tongue between their lips. He felt hot. He heard Draco moan.

“Fifteen points to Gryffindor,” he added breathily between kisses.

Twenty-nine. Harry wondered if Draco was really keeping track, perhaps he could earn his House a few extra points without him noticing, the ‘Inquisitorial Squad’ was sure to have docked points from other Gryffindors too.

He moved to Draco’s neck, trailing soft bites and kisses. His hands moved down from Draco’s neck to his waist. Harry pulled them closer together.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” whispered Draco.

Thirty-four. Almost there. Suddenly an idea formed in his dizzy head. An idea that was sure to earn him at least ten points.

He raised his face so that his mouth was next to Draco’s ear. Closing his eyes, he once again imagined a large, curling snake.

“Darling,” the word was warped and twisted into parseltongue. It came out in a low, thick hiss, and he felt Draco tense. The other boy let out a strangled guttural sound, followed by a deep breath out through his nose.

“Fuck,” he said quietly, “Twenty points to Gryffindor.”

Harry smirked, feeling increasingly pleased with himself.

“No more points Harry,” he decided, “You’ll win the House cup,”

Harry snorted. Fifty-four points in total.

“One more?” he pleaded sweetly, “To make it a nice round number.”

He kissed Draco’s cheek.

“One point to Gryffindor.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, burying his face in Draco’s neck.

“Merlin you drive me crazy,” he complained and Harry smiled even wider.

Harry drew away, his expression becoming more serious.

“What will the DA think?” he asked worriedly.

“About what?”

“This whole ‘Inquisitorial Squad’ thing. They already hate you enough.”

“It won’t be anything me and Pans haven’t been through before,” mused Draco, “If they’re clever enough they’ll figure it out.”

Harry frowned.

“You should give the others their points back too,” he suggested, “That way they won’t be angry. It’s unfair anyway.”

“It’s too suspicious,” he complained, “Umbridge will notice if all the points we take off keep mysteriously reappearing.”

“Hmmm,” replied Harry.

There was a stretch of silence.

“You can’t complain about people hating you if they’ve got good reason to,” he said eventually. Draco did not seem too pleased to hear this.

“What would you know, Potter?” he bit back.

He was only being defensive, but it stung nonetheless.

“You know I’m right,” he replied.

“So Theo deserves to be hated and pushed around?” asked Draco, “Where did you think his panic attacks stemmed from?”

Harry gulped.

“I wasn’t talking about him,” he said as calmly as he could, “And you know it.”

Draco looked angrily at the floor. Some of his light hair fell into his face. Hesitantly, Harry reached out to brush it out of his vision. Draco looked up from the floor, less angry, and let Harry fix his hair.

“I know you’re only trying to help,” he mumbled, “But I don’t care if other people hate me. Like I said, it’s nothing new.”

“I don’t want people to hate you,” said Harry quietly.

“I know,” he replied, and then after a pause, “Harry.”

Harry smiled.

“Will you think about it?” he asked softly. Draco nodded. He bit his lip, he had another question.

“What is it?” Draco asked him expectantly.

“You didn’t really mean it about my hair, did you?”

Draco smirked.

“Only a bit,” he admitted.

Harry shot him an unimpressed look.

“You should let me fix it sometime,” he suggested.

“Believe me people have tried,” he answered, “It’s impossible.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Chapter Text

“Alright everyone!” began Harry, smiling out at the students he had come to know so well, “Just like last time, we’re gonna be finishing up on patronuses. Don’t worry if you haven’t achieved one yet, you can keep practising as long as you like in the next classes too, I’ll just be introducing new skills for people who’ve already managed to cast one. If you’ve successfully cast a patronus, a corporeal one, feel free to help out those who aren’t quite there yet. Also, remember, if you have any suggestions or things you’d want to learn, or even teach, just let me or one of my friends know. Alright, let’s get started!”

He was about to step away from the front of the room and make his way to Draco, when the Slytherin boy cleared his throat from the crowd. Everyone turned to him. He was standing close next to Pansy, and the two of them had received a good deal of dirty looks from the rest of the group. Thankfully they’d both had the tact to remove their shiny ‘Inquisitor’ pins, but the animosity from the other Houses was evident nonetheless.

“Me and Pansy,” declared Draco, arms folded huffily and brows slightly furrowed, “Would like to… Explain ourselves. To get rid of any bad blood.”

Harry’s face lit up, Draco had taken his advice, albeit a little begrudgingly, but he’d taken it alright.

“Obviously we hate Umbridge,” he carried on, “But we’ve been friendly all year to avoid being targeted by her. She asked us to be in her squad, pig that she is, and we said yes so it wouldn’t be suspicious. Blaise managed to get out of it, but Pansy and I didn’t have any decent excuses.”

He paused and surveyed the room. Harry did the same. People looked angry still, but somewhat less so. And they were listening, so far. There hadn’t been any snarky comments or interruptions. Draco continued.

“Trust me, I despise her, she’s an absolute bitch,”

“Amen,” muttered Pansy.

“But now she trusts us,” explained Draco, “And whatever information she gives us, we’ll pass onto everyone here. Double agents, if you will.”

“How do we know you’re not really working for her?” shouted out Seamus. Harry looked at his brash roommate disappointedly.

Pansy rolled her eyes at the comment while Draco cast his silvery eyes on Seamus.

“Have I not mentioned that I hate her?” he replied exasperatedly, “My best friend wrote an entire article dragging her through the dirt. I joined the DA right from the start. I just called her a bitch.”

Seamus looked unconvinced.

Draco sighed dramatically.

“As a show of our good will,” he drawled, “Me and Pansy are going to give back all the points we took from other Houses. So if you lost any points, step forward and we’ll give them back.”

“You took five from me,” piped up Cho, and Harry shot Draco an annoyed look. Draco ignored him.

“Five points to Ravenclaw,” he said evenly.

“You took ten from me,” squeaked Colin Creevey.

Harry shot another glare at Malfoy, which was also ignored. First Cho and now Colin? He was going to be having words.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” replied Draco, not unkindly.

“You took ten from me, Pansy,” complaimed Romilda Vane.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Pansy dryly, not even glancing at the other girl.

“Five from me, Pansy,” said Angelina curtly.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” groaned Pansy.

“Five from me too,” added Justin Finch-Fletchley.

“Five points to Hufflepuff.”

“You owe me five points as well Malfoy,” Dean informed him.

“Five points to Gryffindor.”

“You took ten points from the both of us,” said Fred.

“Each.” added George.

“No I didn’t,” denied Draco, a ghost of a smirk on his face.

“Don’t push your luck,” added Pansy.

Fred winked at her and she frowned.

“Is that everyone?” asked Draco.

Everyone turned around the room, looking for anyone who’d been left out. It seemed to be.

“Didn’t you take thirty-five off Harry?” piped up Lee. Harry bit his lip as the entire room turned on him.

“I already got them back,” he informed them, hoping it wouldn’t come off as suspicious. Ron and Hermione looked at him, their faces pictures of mirrored confusion.

There was a tense, awkward silence as the students thought his statement over.

Harry cleared his throat loudly.

“Should we get started then?” He suggested, and the crowd began to disperse. He let out a small sigh of relief.

“He gave them back to you already?” whispered Ron, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered back, “I spoke to him afterwards. He explained it all to me and he gave me back the points.”

“Ah, ok. Cool then mate,” replied Ron, a strange look on his face. Harry decided to ignore it. Instead, he made his way over to Draco.

“You took my advice!” he beamed at the Slytherin boy.

“Just this once,” he hissed back, frowning at the floor with all the ferocity of a sopping wet kitten.

“Oh come on,” laughed Harry, “It worked, didn’t it? Now they don’t want to murder you in your sleep anymore.”

“Most of them,” agreed Draco, “Not that anyone could manage it anyway.”

“Lighten up,” joked Harry, nudging Draco’s shoulder with his, “You’re supposed to be thinking of happy things, we’re trying to cast a corporeal patronus, remember?”

Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry could see a smile creeping across his pale face. He smirked at the other boy, coming up behind him to help him with his wand position. For some reason, no matter how many times the two of them practised together, Draco could never seem to get this first step right. He would always require Harry’s hands to guide his.

Draco closed his eyes, summoning a happy memory. His happiest memory. Harry wanted to know what it was, he’d been meaning to ask for a while now. He tucked the question away for later, he didn’t want to distract Draco at the moment. There would be another time.

“Ready?” muttered Harry quietly.

The other boy gave a soft nod, and Harry guided his spellwork after the count of three.

“Expecto Patronum!” cast Draco, and as per usual, a glowing blue-white shield of light erupted from his wand. Harry grinned at the magic.

“That’s great!” he praised, watching the shield flare and pulse with light, “You’re doing great. You’re almost there!”

“I’ve been stuck on the shield part for weeks,” pouted Draco, “Since before Christmas, even.”

“Took me ages to get from shield to corporeal,” Harry told him kindly, not mentioning the lack of practice he’d had between the two steps, “And like I said, it looks like you’re almost there, you just have to keep going.”

Draco turned to the side to face him, a cheeky twinkle in his silver-grey eyes.

“And when I do cast a corporeal patronus,” he murmured, “Can I expect a hearty congratulations from my teacher?”

Harry felt his face grow warm.

“Consider it compensation for all your hard work,” he replied, “You can work towards your goal with that in mind. Like I said, you’re almost there.”

Draco’s face was close. Very close. Very close for a public setting. Harry gulped, waiting for him to turn away, and eventually, he did.

“I’m going to go check on the rest of the class,” he told the other boy, “Can’t have them accusing me of favouritism.”

“But I am your favourite.” replied Draco cheekily. Harry smirked.

“Of course,” he relented, shooting a grin over his shoulder as he walked over to the nearby Daphne and Theo.

“How’s it going over here?” he asked them.

“Good,” smiled Daphne sweetly.

“How’s Draco doing?” asked Theo, also smiling.

“Oh, uh,” Harry turned around, glancing at the blonde, “Good,” he replied.

“Nice.” said Theo, still smiling. Daphne pinched his arm and he flinched, still grinning.

“Need any help at all?” Harry asked them.

“That’s alright,” Daphne assured him, “We’ve both cast a shield, and Theo’s helping me with a corporeal patronus now.”

“That’s wonderful!” Harry told Theo, who flushed.

“It’s nothing,” he denied.

“No it really is wonderful,” Daphne insisted.

Theo smiled meekly.

“His patronus was a shrew,” Daphne informed him.

“Daphne!” whined Theo.

Harry laughed.

“Good luck with yours, Daphne!”

He continued to move around the room. A large number of students had already achieved their corporeal patronuses, George being the first and Fred following shortly after. Everyone else, including even Neville, had gotten to the shield stage and Harry couldn’t have been prouder of them.

He was about to ask Ginny how hers was coming along, when something caught his eye. A large, corporeal patronus had just been formed and was walking around the room.

Harry turned around fully to see which animal it was, a lot of people had smaller patronus, unlike his, and he was curious to see what it could be and who had cast it.

It was a doe. A glowing, graceful, blue-white doe. It walked slowly around the room, taking small, graceful steps and gazing around with its pretty, round eyes. Harry felt as if all breath had left his body, because not only was the animal a perfect match to his patronus, but the caster was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry’s jaw was slack as he stared between the two. The boy and the deer. The deer and the boy. That was his mother’s patronus. Moony had told him, long ago.

Draco’s eyes met with his, and now Harry was sure he couldn’t breath. There was no way. It simply couldn’t be true.

“Your patronus is a doe,” snorted Pansy.

“And?” bit back Draco defensively.

“That’s a girl deer,” she sneered.

“So?” he retorted, “What’s your patronus then Parkinson?”

“Haven’t cast one yet, have I?” she replied. Draco shot her a pointed look. His patronus faded with his focus as the rest of his friends came to congratulate him.

“Least yours isn’t a shrew,” moaned Theo. Blaise chuckled at that.

“A shrew?” he asked, aghast.

“Poor Theo didn’t even know what it was when he cast it,” supplied Daphne.

They all laughed at that and Theo muttered something about going to get some water.

Harry stood stock still, unable to process what had just happened. He realised he’d been staring for a while at Draco, and turned away. Ron caught his eye, looking equally shocked, and Harry had no idea what to say to him. He shrugged, trying to brush off the gleaming silver doe, but the shock remained etched in Ron’s features.

Harry decided he needed a bit of water too, and he wandered over to the fountain at the corner of the room, as if in a daze.

He came up behind Theo and Neville just in time to hear the latter giving the former some reassurance.

“I think that, um, that shrews are pretty cool.”

Theo went beet red.

“Thank you,” he practically squeaked back.

“Could I get some water?” asked Harry.

“Yeah, of course,” replied Neville, moving away from the fountain as if burnt.

“Go ahead,” said Theo at the same time, likewise quickly stepping back.

“Thanks guys,” replied Harry, too shell-shocked to care if he was being rude or not.

“No problem,” said Neville as Harry took a deep, long drink of water.

The two boys bid goodbye to each other and then him, a little awkwardly, before leaving in opposite directions. Harry took little notice.

“So what did you think?” came a sly and familiar voice. Harry half froze. It was Draco.

“I, um,” he fumbled, turning around and wiping water off his chin, “I’ll, er, I’ll show you exactly what I think after class.” he said seriously, perhaps a little too seriously.

“Alright,” chuckled Draco, “I look forward to it.”

Chapter Text

“Expecto Patronum!” Cast Harry, and the familiar, magnificent stag burst from his wand.

From the corner of his eye he watched Draco, who’s jaw had gone completely slack. His silver eyes were like saucers, so wide that Harry could see the glowing blue deer reflected in them.

The creature trotted gracefully over to the pair, and slowly approached Draco.The Slytherin boy’s eyes went even wider as the stag leaned in and fondly touched noses with him. It turned to Harry and lovingly nuzzled his neck, before dispersing into tendrils of blue smoke.

The silence between Harry and Draco was deafening. He could have heard a pin drop.

“So?” mumbled Harry eventually. His voice was as weak as his knees.

“I can see why you were shocked,” replied Draco. Harry couldn’t tell how the other boy was feeling. What did he think of it all?

Draco turned to face him, awe expressed in all his features.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you fancied me,” he quipped.

Harry felt himself relax.

“Hang on a second,” he reasoned, “I had a stag as a patronus first. I’d say you fancy me.”

“Well I’d say I was promised some congratulations for a corporeal patronus,” shot back Draco, and Harry grinned.

“Sounds like you fancy me,” he smirked, leaning up for a kiss.

“Me? Fancy you?” murmured Draco between kisses, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Harry smiled as their lips met again, holding Draco’s face between his hands and pulling him closer.

“Of course,” he muttered, “What am I thinking?”

Draco’s hands slid down to his waist as he kissed him sweetly.

“What’s your happiest memory?” asked Harry quietly after a while.

Draco kissed the side of his mouth.

“My happiest memory?” he repeated.

“What do you think of, when you cast your patronus?”

Their lips met again and Harry could feel Draco smiling. He looked up at the blonde curiously, anxious to find out.

“You can’t laugh, ok?”

“Never,” Harry assured him, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“The first time I saw a dragon,” he confessed. Harry hadn’t anticipated that.

“What?” he chuckled lightly.

“No laughing!” chastised Draco, “I had a bit of an obsession when I was small. I forced my parents to take me all the way to Norway to see a Grey Ridgeback, and then I tried to get my father to buy it for me. I wanted to bring her home and keep her as a pet. Fly her everyday and go all over the country. Obviously that didn’t get to happen, it was my first experience of heartbreak.”

“Who would’ve known that Draco Malfoy was such a soppy magical creature-lover?” mused Harry, “I’m surprised you don’t enjoy Care for Magical Creatures more.”

“Oh shut up,” replied Draco, and then his frown morphed into a sly grin, “Although I must say I’ve been enjoying Divination more recently.”

Harry gave him a confused look.

“Firenze,” supplied Draco, as if it were obvious.

“He’s caught your eye?” chuckled Harry, “I thought you were supposed to be my boyfriend? What are you looking at him for?” he teased.

“Afraid you don’t have washboard abs the way he does,” sighed Draco dramatically.

Harry gaped at him, affronted.

“I do, too!” he shot back. He pulled up his shirt and flexed his muscles. “What do you call that?” he asked Draco.

“They’re lovely darling,” he smiled, “But it’s not the same, you have to admit it.”

Harry dropped his shirt back down, frowning at his cheeky boyfriend.

“I can’t believe you,” he complained.

Draco pressed a kiss to his lips, still smirking.

“You also don’t go around shirtless all day,” added Draco, “Or have beautiful long hair.”

“Alright, I get it, no need to carry on!”

“Or bright blue eyes…”

“I thought you liked my eyes!” pointed out Harry reproachfully.

“I love your eyes,” murmured Draco in a way that made his heart skip. He leaned in again and kissed Harry deeper, slower, sweeter.

“Suppose I can’t blame you,” agreed Harry eventually, “Firenze is fit, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Wish you would come to class shirtless.”

Harry reddened.

“You wouldn’t be able to take it,” he teased, “I keep my clothes on for your own safety, you know. You’d probably pass out or die. It’d be like being petrified.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Harry only smirked. Another idea came suddenly to mind.

“Will you come with me to send the quills to my Godfather?” he asked, “I’m going to sneak outside of the castle so Umbridge can’t intercept it. It could be a date?”

“Alright then,” smiled Draco, “It’s a date.”

Harry beamed.

“Ok.” he said happily. Another idea was forming in his head but he kept it to himself, smiling all the wider for it.

Chapter Text

Dear Padfoot,

Hope you and Moony are well, sending all my love. Here’s the ‘evidence’ we were talking about at Christmas. My friend checked and they’re definitely the blood magic quills. I’m sending them off from a nearby muggle village so that my letter can’t be intercepted.

I wouldn’t worry too much about me, I had enough and quit her class. I said I was better than her at her subject and beat her in a duel by disarming her. I’ve been avoiding her since, and she hasn’t tried to find me yet. She threatened something like three months detention but I don’t plan on showing up. Mcgonagall was actually happy with me, can you believe it? She gave me a biscuit. I thought for sure that she was gonna shout at me.

Would love to talk with you more in person or through the fire, but there’s a rumour going around that she’s going to start controlling them more closely. If she was going to spy on anyone’s conversations I’d bet it’d be mine, so it’s probably not worth the risk. Careful in your letter back, they’re being checked on their way into Hogwarts.

Missing you and Remus lots, how is he recovering from the full moon? Best of luck on making the case,

Harry

“To Sirius,” instructed Harry, holding out the arm where Hedwig was perched. She nipped his finger affectionately before leaping off his sleeve and flying away. He watched her go, hoping the letter and bag stuffed full of quills wouldn’t be too bulky.

“How’s about that date?” suggested Draco, and Harry broke into a smile.

“Promise me you’ll keep an open mind, alright?” he replied cryptically, “I know you’re going to love it, but you’ve got to trust me.”

“Harry…” warned Draco uneasily, “What are you planning?”

Harry bit back a grin.

“It’s a surprise!” he told him.

Draco did not looked too pleased with that.

“As long as you’re sure I’ll love it,” he said eventually as he trailed behind Harry, following his lead, “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“Café,” he informed him, “But that’s not the surprise.”

“Where abouts is this café?”

“Dunno,” responded Harry happily, “I’ve never been here before. We’ll just go into the first one that looks nice.”

“Could your surprise not have been in Hogsmeade?” groaned Draco.

“No actually, it couldn’t have been,” Harry told him. Draco’s complaining did little to quash his high spirits, he was too excited.

They carried on walking through the charming little town, Harry practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

“We’d better not be buying me muggle clothes,” threatened Draco, and Harry laughed.

“We’re not,” he assured him, “I don’t have any muggle money, and I doubt you’d want to buy your clothes in a small town like this. Not much choice.”

He looked over at Draco who was trailing behind nervously. He was wearing other robes, this time black accented with dark blue trim. It passed somewhat as a muggle coat, but barely.

“You could use some,” he pointed out, “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m not in the habit of frequenting muggle dwellings.” he replied curtly, his face a little pink. Harry could tell he’d embarrassed him, and he fell back to match his pace, linking hands with the other boy as he did so.

“Maybe you will more after my surprise,” he told him with a mysterious smile. Draco frowned at him.

“Can’t you just tell me?” he asked in an exasperated tone.

“It’s a surprise!” insisted Harry, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

“We’ll im not seeing an abundance of cafés” pointed out Draco, gesturing grandly to the houses and shopfronts around them.

Harry swept his eyes over the town. It was true. There must have been a café or pub somewhere, but they couldn’t seem to find it.

“How about sitting in the park?” he suggested, “The surprise works outside too.”

“Alright then,” caved Draco, and they wandered over to a bench.

“So?” he prompted impatiently.

“Do you like music?” asked Harry.

Draco blinked in surprise.

“Of course,” he said eventually, “I love music.”

“Have you ever wished you could listen to it all the time, conveniently, whenever you felt like it?”

“I suppose.” replied Draco, brows knitted with confusion.

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked Draco.

“I like classical stuff. Laurel Sinthen is good too.”

Harry didn’t know much wizard music besides the weird sisters, who Sirius went crazy for. He had guessed that they weren’t really Draco’s style anyway.

“Can we get to the surprise?” demanded Draco, “What is it? Concert tickets?”

“Not exactly,” smirked Harry, and he reached inside his coat for his Walkman. It was a cheap knockoff of the Sony version, with flimsy headphones constantly on the brink of falling apart, but he was sure that Draco had never seen, perhaps never even heard of the likes of this device before.

“What’s that?” asked Draco uneasily.

“It’s a Walkman,” Harry told him, smiling, “It plays music.”

Draco surveyed it quizzically. Cautiously, even.

“A muggle invention?” he asked.

“Yeah,” confirmed Harry, “I couldn’t play it near Hogwarts grounds, it wouldn’t work. I wanted you to try it.”

“Try it?” echoed Draco, seeming unconvinced.

“Open mind, remember?” chastised Harry, “Just let me introduce this to you, it’ll be fun.”

Draco stared at him for a moment, before relenting with a terse nod.

“Alright then,” he said.

Harry grinned and lifted the headphones over Draco’s ears, while the boy frowned at him in confusion. He looked down at the mixtape, a battered clear case that Sirius had made for his birthday the year before. It had some of his favourite songs.

“Ready?” he asked Draco.

Draco nodded again. He seemed tense, but curious too. Harry pressed play and tried not to laugh as Draco flinched at the start of the song.

He sat in silence, listening to one song after another.

“This is your music?” he asked after a while.

Harry nodded.

“What do you think of it?” he asked.

“It’s…different,” Draco replied, “Not what I imagined I suppose.”

Harry chuckled.

“When you asked if I liked music,” he continued, “I thought you meant piano, or the harp, something like that.”

“This is muggle music,” Harry explained, “There’s piano and harp and violin and stuff, but there’s lots of other styles and instruments too.”

He stared at the other boy, waiting for a reaction, a response, to what he’d just been introduced to.

“It’s definitely…” he trailed off and took a moment to think, “Interesting.”

Harry made a face.

“I thought you’d be blown away!” he complained, “I know it’s probably not your style, but portable constantly available music? You have to admit there’s no wizarding equivalent.”

Draco seemed to mull it over.

“You can charm instruments to play themselves,” he pointed out.

“You can’t carry a harp around,” countered Harry.

“No but you could shrink it.”

“Your favourite band comes out with a new song and you're gonna charm a whole orchestra of tiny instruments to play it?” asked Harry sceptically, “There won’t be any singing.”

“You could shrink the band too.”

“Now you’re just taking the piss,” said Harry grumpily. Draco tried in vain to hide a smile.

“I get it, I get it,” Draco relented, “I’m only joking. It’s pretty amazing, but obviously we can’t use it in school because muggle technology is repelled.”

Maybe Draco would have been more interested if it was music he liked.

“Can’t believe your mind isn’t blown,” sighed Harry, “I'm going to show you all the best muggle music of all time until you find something that really interests you. Mark my words.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” laughed Draco, “I suppose we’ll see next time.”

“Just wait till I take you to see a film.” threatened Harry.

“A film?” echoed Draco, sounding extremely confused. Harry realised he must have been imagining some kind of Saran wrap.

“It’s like a moving picture with a whole story,” he elaborated, “Your mind will actually be blown.”

Chapter Text

“Are we almost there?” groaned Draco as they trudged up the steep hill.

“Almost,” Harry reassured him. He was wheezy and out of breath, they’d been hiking for a while now, and before that they’d been walking.

“Remind me again why we’re going all the way up here?” asked Draco tiredly. Harry smiled to himself.

“So that my Walkman works,” he explained for the third time that day, “And remember, the views are great as well.”

Draco muttered something about dragging boyfriends up mountains or some such and Harry tried not to laugh.

“Aren’t we further enough away from the castle now?” whined Draco.

“Can’t stop now, we’re almost at the top,” he encouraged him.

“Carry me?” he pouted. Harry turned around.

“I’ve already got the picnic, haven’t I?” he pointed out, gesturing to the bag he’d been carrying. It weighed next to nothing thanks to a nifty charm from Draco, but it was awkward to hold it and carry his boyfriend at the same time. Draco didn’t seem phased.

“Come on Harry,” he replied, “Like you said, we’re almost there.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and caved.

“You hold the bag.” he instructed simply. Draco did just that before climbing onto his back. While he was taller than Harry, he was remarkably light. Draco took some of the strain off Harry by gripping his waist tightly with his legs. Harry plundered further up the hill. Just as he’d said, they were almost there, and they arrived at the summit about fifteen minutes later. It would've been ten without someone hanging off his back, but oh well.

He gently set Draco down and the Slytherin boy slid off his back.

The hill overlooked the Hogwarts grounds as well as the beautiful Scottish countryside. Draco’s rare loss of words said it all; it was stunning.

“Pretty amazing right?”

“Pretty amazing,” sighed Draco, giving in, “Still unsure if it was worth the walk.”

“Hey! Of course it was, and I carried you some of it so you definitely can’t complain now. Let’s unpack the picnic.”

Draco set down the bag and reached inside, taking out the large chequered blanket Harry had stolen from the back of his common room. They both sat down on it and took out some of the food. Harry had made a trip down to the kitchens and asked the house elves for a number of snacks. There were some pastries, a selection of them, and a thermos of hot chocolate. Under those things was another blanket, this one to keep them warm in the frosty January weather. And of course Harry had with him his Walkman with the flimsy headphones.

They settled themselves with the blanket around their shoulders as they huddled close, and Harry put the headphones over Draco’s ears with a grin.

“What’s this again?” he asked Harry, “A walkerman?”

“Walkman,” he bit back a grin, “Ready for a musical journey?”

“Ready.”

“When you said you liked classical, I’m assuming that was like Mozart and stuff, but I Don't have any music like that with me. Instead we’re gonna start with some classics.”

Draco nodded, although he didn’t look as if he completely understood.

“In no real particular order, first up is some abba.”

Draco frowned.

“A-bah?” he repeated, unsure. Harry nodded.

“Swedish band, my godfather likes them, him along with the whole muggle world pretty much. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t like abba, although it might be a weird one to start you off with, I don’t know.”

Draco nodded along, looking more and more lost.

“Anyway I’ll just play some.” finished Harry, and he pressed play. Draco tensed as the music began. Harry watched him as he concentrated on it. They were close enough that he could hear it through the headphones and Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! was first off. It was a strong start, but Harry was worried the band wouldn’t make for the best of introductions for his boyfriend.

He’d wanted to begin with something ‘classical’ as Draco had described the other day, then to something like Ella Fitzgerald or Frank Sinatra, and from there to some more mellow bands from the last twenty or so years. Maybe some jazz along the way. Then finally, after all that introduction he would have moved to all time classics like abba, Queen, The Beatles and more. Finally he’d go right up to the modern day with some of his own favourite music, and some hip hop too. He’d finish with a look at what was currently the most popular among muggles. In Harry’s eyes, that was the ideal, but considering all he had were a few random cassettes and his ripoff Walkman, he was pretty far from the ideal. He was just trying to recreate this step by step plan the best he could with the tools he had, and up until now it was proving difficult.

“What do you think?” he asked Draco.

“It’s very lively,” he surmised, “Very happy. I’m not sure it’s my style though. Maybe I’m just not used to it.”

“Told you no one disliked it,” smiled Harry, “Let’s see if I can get you some Beatles, they might be more your taste.”

Draco blinked.

“The Beatles are a band,” Harry quickly explained.

“Ah,” replied Draco.

Harry predicted right, and The Beatles were a bit more Draco’s style, but he still seemed apprehensive to all the new music. He went through a few more all time greats like David Bowie, Queen, Michael Jackson and Bob Marley.

‘Are they all men?’ asked Draco at one point after hearing the names and listening to the voices of the singers, ‘Not at all, I suppose I went down a rabbit hole there’ (this only confused poor Draco more).

Harry shows him some Aretha Franklin, Janet Jackson and Spice Girls. At that point they’d listened to quite a lot of music and eaten most of the snacks. About half of the hot chocolate remained.

“Want to take a break?” asked Harry, wary of boring Draco.

Draco nodded, carefully removing the headphones. He shifted and lay down in Harry’s lap, looking up at him, his handsome face unreadable. Harry gulped and couldn’t help but flush. Draco only winked in response.

“You listen to a lot of music,” commented Draco.

“It’s a big part of muggle culture,” explained Harry, “And I like it. In fact it’s hard to imagine life without it.”

“When are you taking me to see a film?” asked Draco.

“I don’t know. That one might be more difficult because we’ll have to go to a cinema. They don’t have them a lot in small towns.”

“What’s a cinema?” asked Draco, playing with the buttons on Harry’s coat.

“A place where you go to watch films.” said Harry.

“Ok,” was all Draco responded with.

“I don’t mean to force it on you,” said Harry suddenly.

“You couldn’t force me to do anything,” replied Draco easily, “I’d tell you if I didn’t want to do something.”

“So I learnt on our way up here.”

“Shut up.”

Chapter Text

“Do you remember the cupboard in Umbridge’s office?” asked Draco softly from Harry’s lap.

Harry chuckled.

“How could I forget?”

“When we were in the cupboard,” he paused to shoot Harry a quick smirk, “Before you said you were claustrophobic, you said that you ‘weren’t very fond of cupboards’ or something like that. What did you mean?”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected Draco to remember that, he himself barely remembered saying it in the first place.

“Oh,” he replied, his voice equally soft, “Well, I meant what I said. I don’t like cupboards. Or, to put it more accurately I guess, I don’t like being in cupboards.”

He looked down at Draco, feeling vulnerable.

“Why?” asked the Slytherin boy quietly.

Harry looked out at the magnificent view, a crease between his furrowed brows. He didn’t speak about the Dursley’s very often. When he was younger he’d thought his life there had been normal, but everytime he told someone about being forced to cook supper or not having any toys, they’d seemed impossibly shocked. Moony and Padfoot had patiently explained to him what it was to be in an abusive home, as Harry had been, and as Sirius had been. Since this talk and also to avoid appalled reactions to his mistreatment, Harry hadn’t deigned to share stories of his life at number four, Privet drive for a long while. He had never really spoken about the Dursley’s in all his time at Hogwarts. Even when he was asked about them, he simply brushed it off. ‘It was a long time ago’. ‘They weren’t nice, so I went to live with my current guardians’. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ All these excuses were on the tip of his tongue, but he felt different this time. He wanted to share the truth with Draco, despite his usual need to keep the past a secret.

“I used to have to sleep in a cupboard,” he said simply, “A little cupboard under the stairs.”

“Why?” came Draco’s worried and soft voice again.

“My aunt,” he explained, “My mother’s sister and her family took me in after my parents died. They hated me. There was room for me to have a bedroom but they put me in the cupboard. Sometimes they would shut me in there if they were angry.”

“Why did they hate you?”

Harry sighed.

“They hated magic. They hated anything that didn’t fit their idea of ‘normal’. Obviously I was never ‘normal’.”

“No,” agreed Draco, “You’re extraordinary.”

Harry flushed.

“They didn’t see it that way,” he mumbled.

“They were fools then.”

Draco sought Harry’s hand and intertwined it with his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Not all muggles are like that,” Harry said, feeling the need to defend them. Draco remained silent for a second.

“Muggles hurt you but you still love them.” he stated after a pause.

“It’s not black and white,” replied Harry, “There are good muggles and bad muggles. Just like there are good wizards and bad wizards. And there are muggles who are neither, who are in between. And there are in between wizards. You can’t judge them as a whole, you have to judge them individually.”

“Which am I?” Draco asked him.

“You’re in between,” smiled Harry cheekily. Draco frowned and flipped him off.

“I’ll have you know I’m a very bad wizard,” he told him, “Practically despicable. So, so evil.”

“I’d say there’s some good in you yet,” Harry teased. He brushed the hair out of Draco’s face.

“Thank you for telling me about your aunt,” Draco said, more seriously.

“You’re one of the only people I’ve talked about it with,” Harry told him, “You’re one of the only people who’s asked.”

“You can tell me whatever you like,” Draco assured him, “Whenever you like. Whenever you feel like it.”

Harry nodded, smiling.

“How about you?” he asked, “What’s your family like?”

Draco looked away.

“You’ve met them,” was all he said in response.

“I have,” agreed Harry. He ran his fingers through Draco’s blonde locks. Draco turned his face to the side, leaning into Harry’s stomach.

“They’re not like your aunt and uncle,” he explained, “I expect they’re more comparable with your godfather and professor Lupin. I’m their whole world. They love each other, and they love me.”

“Really?” pondered Harry, “Your father, it always seemed like…” he trailed off.

“Like what?”

“Like he had high expectations for you. Like he was strict, or like you were almost scared of him.”

To his great surprise. Draco chuckled.

“My father? Strict?”

Harry frowned, confused.

“Oh come off it, Harry,” he smiled, “Even I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m a spoiled brat, surely you realise that too.”

Harry broke into a smile as well.

“I suppose that’s true,” he mused, “I guess I just thought pureblood families were…intense. I know that Sirius’ parents were awful to him.”

Draco’s expression sobered, and he looked out at the view, just as Harry had earlier.

“Some pureblood families are like that,” he agreed, “Some of my friends’ families…Well, let’s just say they’re not exactly coming from loving, supportive homes. But my parents aren’t, really. My father might have high expectations for me, but only because he believes in me and he thinks I’ll go far in life. If I got a bad mark, or I decided to do something different, he’d be understanding. Not to mention he spoils me rotten.”

“How would he feel about us?” Harry wondered. The thought was not a new one, so far no one knew about Draco and him, but when it inevitably got out, by their choice or not, what were people going to think?

“I’m not sure that it would be such a surprise,” admitted Draco. Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?” he blurted out.

Draco smiled to himself, looking up at Harry with a glint in his silver eyes.

“My father’s heard an awful lot about you from me,” he admitted, and Harry could scarcely believe his ears, “Ever since first year I would never shut up. To both father and mother. It drove him up the wall hearing me constantly complain, at one point he suggested I go and marry you. That was when I started to get an idea that you might have been more than a school rival to me.”

Harry was speechless.

“Since first year?” he managed to choke out.

Draco nodded, letting out a small laugh.

“I,” began Harry, “Actually I was a bit like that too.”

“Aha!” grinned Draco.

“I always thought you were up to something, no matter how obvious it was that you were innocent. I used to talk my friends’ ears off about you, and then my guardians’ as well during the summer. I suppose that makes a lot of sense now.”

“I suppose it does.”

Harry’s head was spinning. Things definitely made a lot of sense now. He wondered if his infatuation had been more obvious to others than it had been to himself. Did Ron and Hermione have their suspicions? Did Moony and Padfoot have theirs?

“Your dad said we should get married, huh?” he teased.

Draco flushed.

“He wasn’t the first to suggest it, believe it or not.”

“What? Who else said that?” asked Harry incredulously.

“No laughing, ok?” instructed Draco. Harry’s head was spinning even more.

“Ok,” he agreed, thoroughly confused.

“When I was little, I used to always hear things about you in the paper, and in books, and from other wizards. You were so famous,” he paused, flushing even more, “A famous, respected, powerful person, the perfect match for a pureblood bachelor. So one day I told my parents I was going to marry you.”

“Oh my god, you’re joking!”

“I wish I was,” laughed Draco, his face crimson, “Mother found it hilarious. It’s really quite embarrassing actually.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true,” confessed Draco shamefully. He let go of Harry’s hand and covered his face with his pale fingers. “Why in Merlin's name did I tell you that?” he groaned.

Harry burst out laughing, he couldn’t help it. He could just imagine a young Draco Malfoy, hearing of a famous boy from the paper and deciding he would marry him. It was too ridiculous.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” exclaimed Draco ruefully.

“How could I not laugh at that?” snorted Harry, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He tried his best to stop, wiping a tear from his eye.

“When’s the wedding?” he teased, and Draco looked furious.

“There is no wedding!” he seethed.

“What do you mean?” goaded Harry, “We already got your father’s blessing.”

“We are never talking about this again,” said Draco grumpily.

“I’m only joking,” smiled Harry, leaning down to plant a kiss on his mouth.

“Watch it, or I’ll erase the story from your memory,” he threatened.

“Like I could ever forget that,” snorted Harry, before planting another kiss against Draco’s lips.

“Now you have to tell me something embarrassing,” instructed Draco, “To even the score.”

Harry smiled.

“Alright then, let me think of something.”

Predictably, his mind was blank.

“I already told you about the polyjuice potion in second year,” he reasoned, “I can’t think of anything besides that.”

“Not nearly embarrassing enough,” replied Draco.

“Um,” said Harry, struggling to come up with something, “I asked Cho to the dance last year, and she said no.”

“I could have guessed that.”

“Oh come on!” said Harry, “Er, oh wait! Also last year, Moaning Myrtle saw me in the prefect's bathroom having a bath.”

“What were you doing in the prefect’s bathroom?” demanded Draco, more than a little surprised.

“Cedric told me the password so I could use the bath to find the clue in the egg,” Harry explained quickly, “And Myrtle came by and saw me. She wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Sounds like her,” chuckled Draco, “Alright, that’s embarrassing enough. The score is even.”

“It’d better be,” Harry shot back.

Chapter Text

Harry wandered back from the DA with Ron and Hermione, who were both talking about their respective patronuses. Ron’s had been a dog, a Jack-Russel Terrier to be exact (Angelina had informed them of the breed), which Harry found suited him quite well. Hermione’s was an otter. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen an otter, but she’d been delighted with her patronus, and he was all the more happy for her.

The class had moved onto more defensive and offensive spells, as mostly everyone had cast a successful patronus by that point. Luckily no one other than Ron had seemed to pick up on Harry and Draco’s own matching patronuses, and Harry himself was trying not to think too hard about the matter. Ron hadn’t mentioned anything yet, and he hoped it would stay that way.

His friends had remarked a little on his absence over the course of that term, but Harry always had one excuse or another, and they seemed too occupied with OWL preparation to question it too much. He knew it would get to a point where they’d suspect something was going on, but he’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. For now he wanted things to stay as they were.

He tried his best to focus on the current conversation of patronuses.

“Parvati was telling me they have all sorts of meanings,” Hermione told them, “Like zodiac or star signs.”

Harry nodded along, he’d always thought that if Parvati had been muggleborn, that she would have gone in for that type of stuff. He could clearly picture her telling someone that they were ‘such a libra’. Ron however, looked increasingly confused.

“A what sign?” he asked.

“Oh it’s like the muggle equivalent of all that ‘wand-type’ hogwash,” she explained, “You know when people say unicorn hairs are more likely to fall in love with phoenix feathers, or hawthorn and holly oak are bound to be enemies? Apparently there’s a similar thing with patronuses. It’s probably hogwash too, but they must mean something, right? They’re like a representation of you, or of your soul-

“Since when did you buy into that bullshi-

“Mr Potter,” came the slimy, cold voice of Snape. All three of them spun around, coming face to face with the potions professor.

“A word in my office,” he instructed. Harry frowned, what had he done now? He cast a confused look at his friends, who returned the expression with as much encouragement as they could muster. He turned back to Snape and followed him to his office.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” he told Harry, lip curled in an unpleasant sneer.

“No I don’t,” he replied stubbornly, “Sir,” he added hastily.

“You missed our Occlumency session on Wednesday,” he said, and Harry suddenly remembered that Snape had planned the weekly practice for then, “I do not want to have to chase after you, Potter. It is a privilege for you to receive my guidance and teaching on this subject in the first place, it would be a pity to squander it.”

Harry gulped.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, unsure what else to say, “I’ll be there next week.”

“I should hope so,” drawled Snape, “For your own sake.”

Harry remained silent. Snape eyed him wearily for a moment.

“I should also hope that you’ve been practising,” he added, a nasty edge to his voice, “As I said last time…I will know if you don’t.”

Harry had definitely not been practising. He could barely remember what it was he was meant to be practising in the first place.

“Yes, sir,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.

Again, Snape stared him down for a minute, his expression dark yet somehow unreadable.

“You may leave,” he said curtly.

Hary exited the cold, dreary office without so much as a goodbye. As soon as he was back in the hallway he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. Despite this, a horrible, thick, dread hung over him. He’d been so wrapped up with everything else in his life that he’d completely forgotten about all the Occlumency stuff. Now that he remembered it, he also remembered that the lessons were miserable, and that he was terrible at the mind-protection technique.

He hurried back to the common room, the weight of the world back on his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Harry finished brushing his teeth and exited the boy’s dormitory bathroom. The rest of his dorm mates were likewise getting ready for bed. Seeing Dean doodling in one of his many sketchbooks, Harry was suddenly struck with an idea.

“Hey Dean?” he asked, and the tall, Londoner boy looked up.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Do you know where the closest cinema is?”

Dean blinked. He might not have been expecting the question, but he was the best suited to answer. Dean was Harry’s only other dorm mate who had been raised in the muggle world. He doubted the rest of the Gryffindor boys in their year even knew what a cinema was.

“Few towns over,” he replied, “Place called Invergarry. They’ve got a small cinema there, I think.”

“Can you get there by train?”

“From Hogwarts?” Harry nodded, “Maybe? Broom might be easier though to be honest. How come you’re asking?”

“Just interested,” lied Harry, Dean gave him a funny look, “Haven't seen a film in a while.”

“Me neither,” commented Dean, seeming to buy this excuse. Harry was just about to ask him if he’d heard of anything good lately when a large owl caught his eye. It was perched just outside the window.

Harry approached it, and it became apparent that the owl was not Hedwig, as he’d been expecting. It seemed to be looking for him though, and he opened the window, allowing it to fly inside. Could Sirius have written back yet?

A quick examination of the owl’s leg revealed a rather bulky package wrapped in shiny dark blue paper covered in golden stars. Harry doubted Sirius would send his response like that.

He frowned, the owl was clearly for him, it was waiting for him to take the package, but he didn’t recognise the owl or the pretty wrapping paper. What could it possibly be?

He carefully removed the package and unwrapped it. Inside was a soft green jumper. A muggle jumper, perfectly in his size with no hood or zip or logo. Just a simple green jumper. He smiled to himself, there was no question who it was from, although he would have appreciated a more private receival of the gift. He seemed to have attracted the attention of some of his dorm mates.

“Who’s that from?” asked Dean, eyeing the wrapping paper.

Harry looked up.

“My Godfather,” he lied again, “It was a Christmas present that he didn’t get to me on time.”

The lies just became easier and easier.

“Cool,” commented Dean, giving the jumper a final once over.

“Is it muggle clothes?” asked Ron, emerging from the bathroom. Harry nodded, retrieving a treat for the owl which promptly flew away. Luckily Ron didn’t seem to notice that it wasn’t Sirius or Lupin’s owl, but a different bird entirely.

He took the wrapping paper (it was too nice to throw away) and his new jumper to his nightstand, laying them carefully in the drawer. He would wear the jumper tomorrow. He couldn’t wait.

He drew the curtains around his bed, engulfing it in darkness, and carefully put his glasses on top of his bedside table. Lately he’d been having less trouble sleeping, and his nightmares had yet to return. In fact he was feeling overall…happier. He couldn’t seem to explain it but he was in much better spirits than he’d been at the beginning of the year. His misery was finally seeming to end.

He lay down and closed his eyes, drawing the covers up to his chin and beaming once again. Not only had Draco bought him a gift, the first in their relationship so far, but it had been a muggle gift. He respected muggle culture enough to go into a store and buy something with muggle money and (hopefully) while dressed in muggle appropriate clothes. The Draco Malfoy of a few months ago would never have done anything like that. Harry could scarcely believe it, and he could scarcely keep the smile from his face. Draco had done this for him. While he’d mentioned getting Harry something green, it could have easily have been a piece of wizard clothing. But he hadn’t chosen that. He’d chosen something he’d known Harry would appreciate.

Around the dorm room the other boys had quiet conversations and muttered their good nights, meanwhile Harry lay in his bed, staring gleefully at the ceiling as he grinned from ear to ear.

Chapter Text

The next day, Harry walked into charms proudly wearing his green jumper. Professor Flitwick looked over his violation of uniform wearily, before deciding not to pursue it, and Harry smirked.

“I know you’re happy Harry,” said Hermione, “But did you have to wear it right away? It’s just an excuse for Umbridge to dock points.”

“I haven’t seen her in ages,” he waved it off.

“Every mealtime?” prompted Hermione.

“I’ll take it off at lunch and dinner,” he replied easily.

“What if you get in trouble with Mcgonagall?” Ron asked him. Harry shrugged.

“I won’t,” he assured him, “Stop worrying guys.”

But even his friends’ worries couldn’t dampen his high spirits. To them it was only a jumper, to him it was an olive branch of sorts. A gift of great significance. He wanted Draco to see how much he loved it. To see him wearing it proudly around the school.

The trio took their seats near the front of the class, and sure enough Draco and his Slytherin friends were soon to follow. Harry tried his hardest not to be too obvious, but he couldn’t help glancing at Draco over and over to see his reaction. The reaction in question was just as foolishly happy as his own. Draco was soon wearing a matching idiotic smirk, and Harry sat proudly in his seat, knowing that the blonde was staring at him.

Flitwick began his lesson, eyeing Harry’s choice of clothing every few minutes. Harry only smiled at him.

“You can’t seriously be this happy over a jumper?” whispered Ron incredulously.

“I’m just in a really good mood,” explained Harry, hoping Ron would buy it.

“Harry…” began Hermione gingerly, “You’re not on drugs or anything, are you?”

Harry snorted with laughter.

“Of course not!” he told her, “Like I said, I just feel really happy.”

“...Why?” asked Ron.

“I just am,” smiled Harry, and then, realising this wouldn’t suffice as an excuse, “I’ve been sleeping better, I don’t have to take Umbridge’s stupid class anymore, the DA is doing well. Everything’s going well.”

“If you say so mate,” replied Ron uneasily. He shared a confused look with Hermione and mimed to her that Harry had lost it. Harry ignored them. To be fair, it wasn’t just the jumper (and the meaning behind the jumper), but also the things he’d listed. Everything was going well. He was overall happier than he’d been feeling the year before.

“Professor?” came a familiar voice from behind him, “May I go to the bathroom?”

“If you must,” replied Flitwick tiredly. Harry felt a little bad for the poor teacher, but not bad enough to not ask him the same question a few minutes later.

Harry exited the classroom, trying to wipe the idiotic smile from his face so people didn’t suspect him too much. He entered the hallway, and wondered if Draco had really gone to the bathroom, seeing as he had scornfully announced he’d never go there with Harry again. He looked up and down the corridor, and sure enough, Draco was waiting for him.

Without thinking, Harry ran up to him and hugged him. He’d never done that before with Draco, and it felt foreign, yet comfortable. Draco returned it, albeit a little shocked at the gesture.

“You went to a muggle shop!” whisper-shouted Harry. Draco reddened slightly.

“I did,” he confirmed.

“When?” asked Harry.

“On Sunday after the DA,” he explained, “I flew my broom over to the nearest town with shops.”

“Where did you get muggle money?” he asked happily, arms still wrapped around Draco’s waist as he looked up at him, beaming.

“I got Daphne to give me some. I traded her with galleons.”

Harry wanted to kiss him. So he did. Quickly and secretly, but enough to convey at least some of his gratitude.

“Not in the hallway!” scolded Draco, “Come on, into the broom closet.”

Harry followed him into the nearest one, to the left of them, and Draco shut the door. He could barely finish casting locking and muffling charms before Harry had kissed him again, almost feverishly.

“I can’t believe you did that!” he exclaimed, and Draco flushed again.

“It suits you,” he remarked, giving Harry a once over, “I’ve got excellent taste.”

“Does it bring out my eyes?”

“Yes,” smirked Draco, and then, his smirk widening, “Do I get a thank you?”

Harry leaned in and kissed him again, cupping his pale face with his hands.

“God,” he muttered between kisses, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” responded Draco, “You’re welcome.”

They moved against the wall, Harry pressing Draco into a shelf full of supplies, the two of them a clumsy tangle of limbs. His hands moved upwards into Draco’s blonde hair, and he slid his tongue between their lips. The kiss deepened, the pace faster than usual. Harry’s heart beat frantically in his chest and his breaths were short and sharp. His stomach was full of butterflies, happy ones rather than nervous ones, and they fluttered terribly. He knew that the rest of the class would begin to notice their absence soon, that it was going to get suspicious quickly, but he didn’t want to ever stop. He didn’t want to leave.

“Harry…” murmured Draco, and he could tell he was thinking the same thing. People would notice.

“A few more minutes,” he begged, speaking the words into the crook of Draco’s neck.

“Merlin, how can I say no?” he chuckled.

Harry kissed him hard, hands pressed on the back of his neck. He couldn’t get enough. He bit down softly on Draco’s bottom lip, drawing a moan from the other boy. He did it again, grazing the skin with his teeth, slowly pulling away. He was intoxicated. His head was clouded, all he could think of was Draco.

“We really have to go back.”

“Do we?”

“Mhmm.”

Harry drew away, regaining some sense of self-control.

“Can we meet up again later?” he asked, fiddling with his fingers.

“During your ‘free period’?” Harry nodded, “Alright then,” he smiled.

Harry smiled back, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

“I really like the jumper,” he said quickly, looking up at Draco.

“I knew you would,” Draco said in response. He leaned down and kissed Harry’s cheek. “I’ll go back first,” he told him. Harry nodded.

Draco opened the door and they both exited. Standing in the corridor was none other than Colin Creevey. He gaped at the unlikely pair. Harry and Draco shared a discreet worried look.

“Hey Colin,” greeted Harry nervously.

“What were you doing in there?” asked Colin, and Harry stiffened, “Why are you all hot and bothered?”

There was an awful stretch of silence.

“We were fighting!” said Harry a little too fast, “Just like how we do during DA meetings. To let off steam, you know.”

Harry was surprised at how easy and credible this excuse was.

“Oh,” said Colin. He didn’t seem entirely convinced. The small boy looked between the two of them, his brows drawn together. “Is that why your lip’s bleeding?” he asked Draco.

Harry tensed again. He looked over at Draco’s bottom lip, which was indeed bleeding. Draco touched it lightly with his fingers.

“Harry punched me,” he informed Colin in a pretty convincing manner, “Again.” he added grumpily, shooting Harry a dirty look. He softly wiped the blood from his lip.

“My awful temper,” Harry awkwardly explained.

“Ok,” said Colin.

“Well, uh, see you Colin!” said Harry, “Gotta get back to class.”

He smiled, his first ingenuine one of that day, and Colin walked off. Harry and Draco made their way worriedly back to class.

“Do you think he’ll tell anyone?” Harry thought aloud.

“No,” replied Draco confidently.

“Ok.”

“It’ll be fine,” Draco reassured him, brushing his hand against Harry’s. “See you in class,” he added with a smile, and returned to charms. Harry waited a few minutes before following. The encounter with Colin had shaken him. They’d been careless. He’d been careless, he reminded himself, thinking back to the hug, the giddy conversation and the stolen kiss out in the open corridor. He sat down next to Ron and Hermione, trying to act as though nothing was wrong.

It’ll be fine, he thought to himself.

Chapter Text

Harry trudged through the halls, on his way to Snape’s dingy, dungeon office. Each step led him closer to the miserable night he was going to have to endure. About halfway down the stairs to the dreaded room, Harry realised he now had thoughts and memories he didn’t want Snape to see. Not that he hadn’t already had those, he didn’t particularly want Snape to witness scenes from his time with the Dursleys, or of him brewing polyjuice potion, or of Moony and Padfoot’s personal life. Two of those three had been witnessed by Snape, and besides from the flimsy instruction of ‘clear your mind’, Harry had no clue how to prevent the third to be witnessed as well.

And now he had much more incriminating memories, perhaps not for him, but definitely for Draco. A plethora of examples flooded his head, kissing in Umbridge’s storage cupboard, the mistletoe in the room of requirement, the bathroom stall, even their seemingly innocent hangouts at the cafe or listening to Harry’s walkman were enough to raise suspicions from Snape. He couldn’t let the greasy git see any of these thoughts and memories, but so far he was practically defenceless against him, and he had not been practising in the least. Harry groaned, dragging his clammy hands over his face. He briefly considered making a run for it, but bravely soldiered on. Everything would be fine, he told himself. Most of the memories seemed to be further back in the past, not recent ones.

He arrived at the door and, letting out a defeated, shaky sigh, rapped his knuckles against the old wood.

The door swung open, revealing Snape sitting menacingly behind his desk.

“Potter,” he greeted coldly.

Harry stepped over the threshold and the door shut behind him.

“I see you deigned to remember this time,” he added, his lip curling, “Have you been practising what I told you?”

“Yes,” Harry lied. In truth he’d finally been getting some decent sleep, and he wasn’t about to let Snape’s stupid homework detract from that. The main reason he hadn’t practised at all was of course that he’d forgotten, but even if he’d remembered chances of him carrying it out would have been slim.

Snape surveyed him wearily, looking down his tall hooked nose. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“Well then,” he said eventually, “Let’s put that practice to the test, shall we?” he stood, and Harry tensed, drawing his wand from the folds of his cloak, “Clear your mind,” he instructed.

Harry really did try, although stressed and watching Snape’s every move from the corner of his eye, he tried his very best to make his mind completely blank. He couldn’t help it, but some thought would always creep in and distract him. It was impossible to think of nothing. What even was ‘nothing’? You always had to be thinking of something.

Snape counted down slowly from three before casting the spell.

Harry was playing wizard chess with Ron for the first time and being beaten horribly….It was the end of third year and everyone was saying their goodbyes on the platform….He was waiting to be sorted….Draco Malfoy was offering out his hand for Harry to take….He was saying something about ‘the wrong sort’.....

“Just as dismal as last time,” sneered Snape, looking down his nose at Harry, who had fallen onto the floor, “If not more,”

Harry suppressed a groan. His head hurt from the mental exhaustion of his memories being searched through. Not only that but the stress he was under desperately trying to control what Snape did or didn’t see, however fruitless, was already taking a toll. His heart was in his mouth after the last memory with Draco. The trouble was he couldn’t get the boy out of his mind. The trouble was he was absolute shit at occlumency.

“Stand up, Potter,” instructed Snape harshly, Harry pushed himself up and gripped his wand tight, “Let’s go again, 3…2…1…Legilimens!”

Harry and the trio were walking furtively through the school grounds, muttering conspiratorially about Fluffy the three headed dog….Harry was in his new room, the first room of his own, looking at a small framed photograph of his parents….Cedric was dead on the floor….

He came too in a cold sweat, once again on the floor. The image of Cedric’s face was stuck to his eyelids. Everytime he blinked or closed his eyes it came back. He was breathing heavily.

“You have not been practising,” commented Snape sternly, “Another stinging hex, which I’m sure was by accident this time as well. Randomly shooting offensive spells will not repel the Dark Lord in the least, Potter,” Harry was not paying attention, “Get up!” snapped Snape, realising he was being ignored, “Now clear your mind,” he snarled.

Harry closed his eyes, and there was Cedric again. He tried to get rid of the image of his cold, lifeless body, but couldn’t. He tried to think only of the dark, but couldn’t.

“Legilimens!”

The basilisk was leering above him, tongue flitting in and out to smell the air, eyes freshly gouged out by Fawkes….Harry was with Sirius in the ‘Tesco-Value’ section of the supermarket and they were stocking up on chocolate, carefully counting the prices of each and every item they put in the cart….Harry was back in the Chamber of Secrets, pleading for Ginny to wake up, to please just wake up Ginny, please wake up….

“Not good enough!” sneered Snape, “Get up, Potter! Again, Legilimens!”

Harry barely had the time to stand before he was hurtled back into his memories.

He was watching Cedric’s father cheer him on enthusiastically from the stands….He was in a cafe, earl grey tea and a half-finished sticky-toffee pudding in front of him, a tart and a peppermint tea on the other side of the small table, the seat opposite him was empty, Draco had gone to the bathroom….Remus was gently explaining to him that it was ok to cry, no matter what Petunia had told him, and he was bursting into tears….

“That’s private!” he shouted.

“Nothing is private to the Dark Lord,” replied Snape in a cutting voice. Harry groaned. “Clear your mind!” hissed Snape, “You are not listening to my instructions in the least. How can you expect to improve at this rate, Potter?”

“If you would just give me a second to rest!” he snapped back, pulling himself up by holding onto a chair. He’d come too close that time. He’d felt sure that the memory from the cafe would’ve tipped Snape off a little, but he didn’t seem focused on it at all.

“Do you think the Dark Lord will give you a ‘second to rest’?” leered Snape, “Do you think the Dark Lord ever ‘rests’? Clear your mind, Potter,”

Frustrated and exhausted, Harry tried his best, and once again, his best was futile.

His attention had been turned to Cho, who was staring at him from the Ravenclaw table….He had caught the snitch for the first time and he was spitting it out his mouth….He was running a small chubby finger over one of Moony’s scars before pointing at his own, saying ‘We’re the same’ in his small, childish voice….

“Still nowhere near good enough,” drawled Snape, unimpressed.

Harry was collapsed on the cold stone. He was shaking all over and he wasn’t sure he could push himself up off the floor. He felt sick to his stomach.

“That’s enough,” he practically begged, absolutely mortified that Snape was seeing him in this state, “That’s enough,” he croaked.

“Fine,” agreed Snape after a beat, “But only because we’re getting nowhere. I expect to see you next Wednesday as well, Potter, and I also expect for you to practise.”

Harry nodded weakly, and slowly stood up, his head pounding. Without so much as a goodbye he turned and left for Gryffindor Tower, praying he wouldn’t collapse on the way.

Things had come too close. Far too close.

Chapter Text

“I just don’t get it!” groaned Ron frustratedly. He was in one of his moods. They happened after he’d been studying or working for long periods of time, especially with the diligent Hermione breathing down his neck and chastising him at every slight mishap, perfectionist that she was. They were in this exact situation, the trio had been studying for OWLs for several hours now (a sensible use of their Friday night according to Hermione), and Ron had reached his breaking point.

“It always takes forever for me to write or read anything, much more than both of you two,” he complained.

“Some people are just faster readers than others,” replied Hermione easily, accustomed to his antics, “It would help if you read as often as me.”

“Why would I torture myself more than I have too?” he shot back, “Besides, Harry and me read about the same amount and he’s way faster. Am I thick or something? What am I missing?”

“Like I said, Everyone reads at different speeds.You can read and write just fine Ronald.”

“But I can’t, can I?” he responded, pulling at his ginger hair in his annoyance, “I’m always making spelling mistakes and I’m bloody awful at reading out loud. I just can’t- It’s useless.” he finished defeatedly. He slumped over the table, regarding Hermione’s transfiguration notes with an air of hopelessness.

“Ron,” began Hermione softly, before pausing.

“What?” he sighed, not even looking at her.

“Have you ever…” she trailed off, “Do you know what dyslexia is?”

Now he did look at her, turning his head in confusion and scrunching his nose.

“Some type of reading spell?” he replied, Harry couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, “Do you think it could help me?”

Hermione shook her head, finding Ron’s ignorance less amusing than Harry had.

“It’s a type of learning disorder,” she explained, “It involves all of the symptoms you just described. Difficulties with writing and reading.”

“You think I have it?” he asked, his interest piqued.

Hermione shrugged.

“I’m not sure, I’m not a doctor so I can’t give you any kind of diagnosis, but it’s possible.”

Ron frowned, looking back at the Transfiguration notes.

“It’s a muggle thing?” he inquired.

“Yes, but I don’t see how wizards couldn’t have it either.”

Ron nodded along, lost in thought.

“So what do you do if you’re dyslexic? How do you fix it?”

“Well, you can’t,” admitted Hermione, shifting in her seat, “There’s no medicine or anything. Sometimes you might get a special tutor or specialist who can help teach better techniques to help with reading and writing, or you can get support with extra time for assessments or classes.”

“Hmm,” commented Ron.

“It might be nice to get a diagnosis,” offered Harry, intrigued by the conversation, “That way you know whether you’re dyslexic or not, and you could try some of those techniques or even ask for accommodations from the school.”

“Maybe,” agreed Ron, and then after a short pause, “Are lots of people dyslexic?”

“A fair amount,” said Harry, thinking back to his muggle primary school with the Dursleys and then his other one with Moony and Padfoot, “Often it becomes obvious when you’re learning to write or read for the first time, so quite young.”

Ron seemed to mull this over.

“How do you get a diagnosis?”

“You’d need a muggle doctor,” supplied Hermione, “But I bet your parents would be all for it.”

“Probably,” mumbled Ron.

Harry hadn’t thought about neurodivergent conditions like dyslexia not being known or treated in the wizarding world. Granted physical disabilities were treated in many magical ways (floating wheelchairs, hearing aid potions and charms, featherweight convenient prosthetics), and Harry had been amazed to learn about all these practical solutions from his guardians and once he’d arrived at Hogwarts. He hadn’t once imagined that these magical remedies didn’t extend to mental disabilities as well. He thought back to Alice Longbottom in the hospital, presenting her son with a gum wrapper, and wondered if she would receive better treatment in a muggle hospital. They of course wouldn’t understand the cruciatus curse or the circumstances but maybe their plans for therapy would be better. Or perhaps she and her husband were really beyond recovery, as most people seemed to think.

“Wizards really don’t know about dyslexia?” he asked Ron, distracted from his studying.

Ron shook his head.

“Had no idea,” he replied.

“What about ADHD?” he pressed.

Ron shook his head again, a crease forming between his brows.

“Autism?”

Again Ron shook his head.

“BPD?”

“He just doesn’t know them, Harry,” Hermione cut in.

“What are all those things you listed?” Ron inquired.

“Other mental disorders. If you have one or more then you’re neurodivergent, and if you don’t you’re neurotypical.”

“Right,” said Ron, not really seeming as though he understood.

“A muggle doctor could explain it much better,” supplied Hermione, “I wouldn’t say Harry or I are exactly authorities on the subject.”

“Right.” said Ron again.

“You should look into it,” she encouraged him, “Now, let’s get back to studying.”

Ron and Harry sighed, the brief interruption to their work had been a nice break. Harry looked down again at the notes he was revising. He started reading them but immediately felt his mind being pulled back to the conversation they’d just had. How could wizarding society be so backwards in this way? He frowned at the parchment before him. It was a question for Moony and Padfoot. And with this thought in mind, he tried his best to return to his work.

Chapter Text

“So this is a cinema?”

Harry nodded, a smile ghosting at his lips. It was strange to think how oblivious some wizards were to everyday muggle life.

“And we’re going to see a film?”

“Exactly,” confirmed Harry, “They’re also called movies. This one’s called ‘The Full Monty’.”

“What’s it about?” asked Draco curiously (Harry had explained to him previously that these moving pictures had storylines).

“No clue,” Harry admitted, “It’s new so I haven’t seen it before. It came out this year.”

“Alright,” replied Draco, sounding slightly uneasy.

“Come on,” Harry encouraged, “It’ll be fun. Let’s go buy tickets.”

***

The film had not been what Harry was expecting. Not at all.

It was maybe a strange movie to start Draco on, but you had to start somewhere. He’d seemed to have enjoyed it, though he asked a lot of questions (why are the garden gnomes frozen still? What is the ‘job office’? What does a steel worker do?). The two of them had agreed that the main character, Gaz, was very easy on the eyes. They’d also been delighted to see an honest to god gay couple (Guy could’ve done better, claimed Draco).

All in all Harry considered it a successful trip. They could have gone to see ‘The Fifth Element’ instead (Sirius and Remus had seen it and recommended it to him), but seeing as it was a fantasy film set in the future, Harry expected it would only further confuse his poor boyfriend about muggle culture. They could watch that one another time.

It was dark outside now, the days still relatively short. Yellow street lamps flickered along the roads as they walked past.

“Sheffield must be a very strange place,” mused Draco. Harry suppressed a chuckle.

“Mmm,” he agreed seriously.

“I still don’t understand about the garden gnomes.” he sighed.

“That’s okay,” comforted Harry, who wasn’t sure how he could better explain about the miniature statues muggles loved to keep in their gardens. It reminded him of when Arthur Weasley had asked him about the exact function of a rubber duck. “So,” began Harry, fixing Draco with an appraising look, “Do you like films?”

“Well I’ve only seen one,” Draco pointed out, “But I liked this one. And I think I could like others too. A visual story with moving pictures, why didn’t we ever come up with that?”

Harry perked up.

“Didn’t I say?” he exclaimed excitedly, “Didn’t I say there were some muggle things with no good wizarding equivalent!”

“Yes yes, you were right.”

Harry crossed his arms, smiling smugly.

“I was,” he agreed. Draco scoffed quietly. They carried on walking, back to their brooms, which they had used to get to the town. “Draco,” began Harry, faltering a bit, Draco turned to face him, “Do you… I’m worried Colin might tell people.”

“I thought you might be,” nodded Draco understandingly, “But I really wouldn’t worry. If you were oblivious to what goes on in broom closets then Colin definitely is.”

“Hey!”

Draco laughed. “And you tricked him perfectly with your wonderful Slytherin cunning.” he added with a grin.

“You mean my lying?” Harry said flatly. Draco smirked, glancing sideways at him. “Its started happening more and more,” groaned Harry, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. This is your influence, you know.”

“Of course it’s my influence,” scoffed Draco, “And it’s a good influence. Hasn’t it proved useful?”

Harry didn’t answer. His gaze shifted to the neat, new build houses lining the street (Draco had found these particularly curious on the walk over).

“Even the ‘Chosen One’ has to play dirty sometimes.”

“Is that what you’re getting me to do? Play dirty?” teased Harry.

“I wouldn’t be averse to it,” he quipped back.

“Who knew you were such a pervert?” goaded Harry. Draco glared at him. “I’m only joking,” he quickly apologised, knowing just how petty his boyfriend could get over such comments, “I’d love to play dirty for you.”

“That’s what I thought,” replied Draco curtly. Harry bit back another smile.

“So you really think Colin will keep his mouth shut?” he asked again.

“I really do,” confirmed Draco, “He doesn’t even know what he saw.”

“I guess,” Harry conceded. “I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s a first.”

“Shut up,” retorted Harry, “I’ve been thinking about people knowing. People knowing about us.”

Draco was silent for a moment.

“Which people?” he asked.

“I dunno. Friends. Maybe, uh, maybe family. Sounds like it wouldn't come as a surprise to your parents, and Sirius is dying to know who my mysterious partner is.”

“Is he now?” chuckled Draco, then, more seriously, “I suppose I could tell my parents if I wanted. And you could tell your guardians. My friends already know though.”

“What?” exclaimed Harry, affronted.

“They knew right from the start,” Draco informed him, Harry only gaped, his jaw slack, “They’ve been rooting for us to get together for ages. I think Blaise’s reaction was quite literally ‘about fucking time’.”

Harry was still processing this new information.

“When you say your friends…”

“Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Daphne. Even Milly found out somehow.”

“Huh,” responded Harry, taken aback.

“Your friends don’t have a clue then?” surmised Draco.

Harry shifted uneasily. “They’re not exactly your biggest fans.”

“No,” agreed Draco, “But the longer you leave it, the worse it will be when the truth comes out.”

“I thought you liked my ‘Slytherin cunning’?” he replied cheekily.

“I do,” Draco assured him, “And in this situation it’s more cunning to tell the truth.”

“That’s a bit counterintuitive, don’t you think?”

“That’s not the point Harry, and you know it. You just have to tell them.”

“I guess you're right,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” teased Draco, cupping a hand to his ear as if to hear better, “What did you say?”

“You’re right.” grumbled Harry.

Draco seemed quite satisfied with that. They reached their brooms and he bounded forward towards his own sleek black one (top of the range of course).

“Race you back!” he grinned, swinging one leg over the handle and kicking off.

“That’s cheating!” Harry called after him, “You started before me!” But even as he said it he was kicking off the ground himself and shooting into the darkening sky. The evening air rippled through his clothes. He was wearing the green jumper again, as well as a pair of jeans. He’d lent a begrudging Malfoy some muggle clothes for this trip (just jeans in the end, Malfoy had insisted on wearing his school uniform shirt). Harry raced behind him, gaining speed, ready to overtake. They flew off into the night, laughing and smiling all the way.

Chapter Text

Harry hastily removed the paper package from Hedwig’s leg. He was so excited he almost forgot to give her a treat, and she nipped his hand reproachfully.

“Sorry,” he told her quickly, handing her an owl pellet. He returned to the delivery, it was from Sirius. He tore open the packaging and inside was a letter and an old spotted shard of glass. It looked like a broken piece of mirror. A little confused as to why his godfather would send him this, Harry turned to the letter. He opened it carefully and pulled out a short piece of parchment. Much shorter than Sirius’ usual letters. It read:

Heya Harry,

Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you, I was trying to find the present enclosed in this package. I think it will help solve the problem you talked about in your last letter. Have a look in the mirror, why don’t you?

Lots of love, Padfoot and Moony

Intrigued, Harry cast aside the letter and turned back to the mysterious shard of mirror. He picked it up, careful not to cut himself on the edges, though they seemed pretty dull, and peered into the reflective glass. To his great surprise, it was not his own face looking back at him, but the back of his godfather’s head.

“Sirius?” he asked, the long, luscious black hair unmistakeable.

The head turned around, and there was Sirius’ face, clear as day. Or, clear as could be considering the mirror was a little spotty. He grinned.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, “You got my letter?” Harry nodded.

“How does this… What is this mirror thing?”

“Black family relick,” winked Sirius, “Dug it up at the house. Works a bit like a muggle phone, except we can see each other when we call. Pretty cool, right?”

Harry nodded again, more eagerly this time.

“Yeah,” he agreed, marvelling at the piece of glass. He tilted it side to side, looking from all angles.

“I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of bad news,” Sirius informed him, Harry gave his full attention to his godfather again.

“Yes?” he asked hesitantly.

“The case is taking a while to be processed. We have the physical, hard evidence from you. Great job on that by the way. We’ll have testimonies from you, and I’m sure we could get some from other students as well, especially if they’re anonymous . The case is solid, but someone high up in the ministry doesn’t want it to go to court, and is postponing it as much as they can. Could be Fudge, could be someone else. We don’t know. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do in the meantime. Obviously it can only be postponed for so long, but whoever it is is going to try and make that as long as possible, and all we can really do is wait.”

“Oh,” said Harry simply once the explanation was over, “I see.”

“I’m so sorry Harry,” sympathised Sirius, “The whole system is absolute bollocks.” He sighed deeply. Harry felt compelled to give him a bit of good news.

“I went to go see The Full Monty with my boyfriend,” he informed him. Sirius perked up.

“So now he’s your boyfriend?” teased Sirius. Harry flushed.

“Yes,” he replied eventually. Sirius smirked.

“How was it? I haven’t seen it yet but I’ve heard good things.”

“It was funny,” smiled Harry, “He’d never been to see a film before, but I think he liked it too.”

In the background Harry could faintly hear Remus’ voice.

“Who on earth are you talking to?” he was asking.

Sirius looked back over his shoulder and called him over.

“To Harry,” he explained, “Come and say hi Moons, he’s telling me about his boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Moony’s voice was closer now. A few seconds later, he stuck his face in frame next to Sirius. “Hullo Harry,” he smiled warmly.

“Hey Remus,” smiled Harry, still embarrassed over all this talk about his ‘boyfriend’.

“What’s this about a boyfriend then?”

Harry groaned.

“It’s Harry’s mystery partner,” Sirius cut in, “He won’t tell me who, but they kissed right before christmas, and now they’re together.”

“Merlin I’m so out of the loop,” complained Moony, “Why am I always the last to know about these things?”

“Come on, tell us everything,” urged Sirius. Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’s a boy in my year,” he begrudgingly told them, “We’ve been going out for a little while.”

He paused, not sure what else to say.

“And?” pressed Sirius.

“And he’s lovely,” snapped Harry, “And it’s none of your business.”

“It’s entirely my business,” argued Padfoot. Harry stuck his tongue out and Sirius copied the gesture.

“Why don’t you tell us who he is?” asked Remus, “You know we’ll support you no matter what.”

“Unless he’s a twat,” added Sirius.

“Right, unless he’s a twat,” agreed Remus. This wasn’t exactly comforting. Harry was fairly sure Sirius considered Draco Malfoy to be a twat. But it was true that they would probably still be supportive. He thought back to his conversation with Draco the other day about telling people. This was the moment. He might as well. Harry swallowed, hard.

“It’s er,” he faltered, “It’s Draco Malfoy.”

His guardians’ blinked, almost in unison, and seemed to need to take a moment to process.

“I thought you said this boy was nice?” commented Sirius, sounding unsure.

“He is.” Harry defended resolutely.

Sirius paused.

“Alright then,” he conceded, “If you say he’s nice, then I believe you.”

“If you’re happy, then we’re happy, Harry,” added Remus.

“Exactly.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok,” he said happily. He was happy. He really was.

“You took Draco Malfoy to see The Full Monty?” Sirius suddenly cut in.

“Yes.”

“You saw The Full Monty?” asked Remus, “Is that entirely appropriate for–

“Moony!” complained Harry.

“You knew about this?” Remus turned on Sirius.

“It’s fine, honestly,” Sirius waved it off, “He knows what strippers are Moony, he’s sixteen.”

Remus did not seem very impressed.

“I also showed him music,” interjected Harry, eager to move on from the content of the film he’d gone to see.

“Oh yeah?” commented Sirius, “So you’re showing him all the best muggle culture has to offer then?” Harry nodded in confirmation. “You should do food next. I bet he’s never even heard of a Greggs sausage roll. Or of smarties. God I can just imagine the look on Cissy’s face when she-

“Sirius,” chided Remus. Harry couldn’t help but think it was a good idea though. Draco probably had never heard of smarties. How strange to think that they could live in the same country, go to the same school, speak the same language, and yet have such different experiences.

“You should have him stay over this summer,” suggested Sirius with a smug grin.

Harry flushed again.

“Don’t give him any ideas,” scolded Moony. Seeing that this particular subject was embarrassing Harry, he changed it. “How is your, what’s it called again?” He turned to Sirius.

“Dumbledore’s Army,” supplied Sirius.

“Yes! How’s your Dumbledore’s Army going? You had started teaching them patronuses, right?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Harry, grateful for the change of subject, “They did really well actually! I can sort of understand the appeal of teaching now actually.”

“You don’t say?”

“Merlin, I could never,” disagreed Sirius, “Kids like you or Ron and Hermione are cool, but if I had to deal with little pricks like Snivellus when he was younger, I would have an outburst and be fired.”

Harry laughed at this, while Remus gave him an appraising look.

“So you succeeded in teaching them how to cast a patronus?” wondered Remus.

“Yep,” smiled Harry.

“Good job! That’s a difficult feat, you know. You should be really proud of yourself Harry.”

Harry couldn’t help but beam. He suddenly considered telling them both about Draco’s matching patronus, the doe, but decided against it. He would disclose that another time. Harry himself hadn’t thought about it very much. It was just a bit too… intense. He didn’t fully understand what it meant. He wasn’t sure he was ready to. Instead, he brought up something else.

“Do wizards really not know anything about mental disabilities?” he asked them, a little out of the blue.

“Er,” began Sirius, “Well, not really to be honest. It’s really quite appalling actually, the lack of knowledge there is about mental health. It’s more difficult to use magic to try and ‘solve’ a mental disability than it is with a physical disability. When it’s mental, they can’t exactly tell what’s wrong, and that confuses them, you see.”

“Even so,” replied Harry, aghast all over again at the backwardness of it all.

“That’s why we have a muggle doctor as well as a wizard one,” explained Moony, “I’m not sure if you remember us telling you or not, but your dad had ADHD. He also had a muggle doctor, even though he came from a pureblood family. It’s not uncommon for wizards to have both. Why do you ask Harry?”

“It just sort of came up,” explained Harry vaguely. He didn’t want to expose Ron, even if he probably wouldn’t mind.”Sort of strange, isn’t it?”

“Very,” agreed Sirius.

“It’s pretty backwards,” sighed Remus. Harry was glad his guardians agreed with him on this.

“There’s a lot that wizards could stand to learn from muggles,” added Sirius, “I’m sure you’re teaching Draco Malfoy all about those things.”

“Sirius!” groaned Harry.

“I’m just saying…”

“I need to be getting to class,” Harry said pointedly.

“Alright then, you’d better go,” replied Remus.

“Bye,” smiled Harry, “Thanks for being understanding.”

“What are we here for?” Sirius told him goodnaturedly, “Bye Harry, talk to us soon!”

“Bye!”

And then he cast away the shard of mirror, and made his way back to class. His ‘free period’ was drawing to an end, and Herbology was quite a way to walk. He thought back to what Sirius had said. ‘We’re happy if you’re happy’. He realised just how happy he was. The year had started at such a low point, and now he was feeling great. This thought fresh in his mind, Harry set off to Professor Sprout’s class.

Chapter Text

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Neville. Harry’s wand quivered a little in his hand, and he was in half a mind to let it slip out and drop it onto the floor to make Neville feel better, but he decided not to. He was already becoming enough of a liar with Draco’s influence, he would try and tell the truth if he could help it.

“You’re so close!” Harry called back over to him, “Remember the technique, ok? Try again!” he encouraged. Neville nodded, taking in a breath and composing himself. He paused, screwing his face up as he remembered all the different advice Harry and other students had given him.

“Expelliarmus!” he cast for what must have been the twentieth time. All of a sudden, Harry felt himself being flung backwards by an invisible force. The air left his lungs, not from the impact with the wall, but from pure shock. His eyes widened in delight, mirroring Neville’s own brown ones.

“You did it!” exclaimed Harry, trying not to sound too surprised. Luckily for him, Neville was in just about the same amount of shock, if not more.

“I did it!” he replied in utter disbelief. Many of the DA had stopped to stare. A few erupted in cheers and claps, and the Room of Requirement echoed with delighted congratulations of Neville. Still sitting slumped against the wall, Harry stared on as Theodore Nott came rushing out from the crowd, grinning like an idiot. He threw his arms around the other boy, letting out a quiet yet excited string of compliments that turned Neville’s ears red. Harry couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the two boys looked very happy indeed, and so he decided to leave them to it. Just as he was about to start looking around for his own boyfriend, his boyfriend found him instead.

“Who do I have to shag around here to get tutoring like that?” came his prim and proper voice from next to Harry’s ear. A voice that really shouldn’t have been able to say what he’d just said so calmly and fluently. Harry tried his best to keep his composure.

“Some nob called Harry Potter apparently,” he replied as easily as he could.

“Well he could–

“Harry!” interrupted Ron. Draco immediately withdrew. Harry almost missed the warmth of his breath and body heat so close to his skin, but again, tried his best to keep his composure. He turned his attention to Ron, face displaying his very calmest, most normal expression. “Harry, er,” Ron paused when he saw Draco standing close behind his friend, his eyes flitting between the two of them. Harry prayed that he wouldn’t say anything obtuse. “Er, nevermind,” murmured Ron quickly, and with a meek smile he began to leave.

“No, wait!” he called, “Ron! What did you want to say?”

“Don’t worry mate, I’ll just talk to you later!” he replied. Harry stood still for a few moments. That was strange.

“Come on, let’s duel,” urged Draco. Harry surveyed Ron for another second and then turned back around. They bowed to each other, never losing eye contact. Then they began their ritual circling of each other. Still they never broke the intense stare between them.

“Confringo!” cast Draco. Harry dodged easily, albeit a little offended at the harsh spell.

“Expelliarmus!” he shot back, falling back on his old favourite. Draco quite literally rolled his eyes at this spell.

“Merlin you’re predictable,” he complained, before shooting another jinx at Harry. They went on like this for a while longer. “You’re going easy on me!” accused Draco after Harry’s tenth Expelliarmus and third tripping hex.

“No I’m not!” defended Harry.

“You absolutely are!” Draco shot back stubbornly, “And I won’t stand for it. If we’re going to duel, you’d have better not do it halfway.”

“I’m not!” maintained Harry. Draco gave him a withering look, “Fine!” he relented, “I just don’t want to hurt you.” he added in a softer voice.

“Don’t be a coward.”

Harry gaped at him. He had been trying to be considerate. Draco was making his gallant gesture increasingly hard for him.

“Come on,” his boyfriend smirked, “Hit me with your best shot.”

Harry grit his teeth as they resumed their circling of each other.

“Expulso!” he exclaimed, and a horribly familiar surge of power washed through him. The magic shot aggressively from his wand and Draco was blasted halfway across the room. Luckily his floor was cushioned by the Room of Requirement, but in an awful parallel to their first duel, Harry could tell it had still hurt. Red sparks bounced on the floor, and two dozen or so heads swivelled in their direction. Harry paid them no mind, his thoughts reeling with what he had just done.

“Draco!” he called worriedly, forgetting himself, forgetting all pretence of their rivalry. “Oh my god, are you alright?”

To his great surprise, the blonde did not seem angry or upset in the least, only shocked, and…impressed?

“That really was your best shot,” he said breathily. Harry frowned.

“This isn’t a joke!” he hissed, “That scared me half to death!”

Draco looked up at him through his pale lashes.

“Scared me half to death as well,” he agreed, a little too eagerly. He wasn’t even trying to look scared.

“God, you’re a piece of work,” groaned Harry, helping him up to his feet. Draco said nothing, but his mouth twisted into a little smirk. “No more duelling,” instructed Harry, and the smirk vanished. But now Draco could see that Harry was more than a little shaken. Not to mention they’d attracted quite a bit of attention.

“No more duelling,” he agreed, “For now,” he added mischievously.

Harry let out another tired groan.

Chapter Text

“Are we going on a date?” asked Draco, looking up from his book, a little surprised.

Harry had run into him at the library and begun to hover nervously.

“Er, no,” he stammered, fiddling with his hands, “I just wanted to hang out with you, that’s all.”

Draco smiled at him.

“Come on,” he urged, beckoning Harry to follow him.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he followed Draco down the old stone stairs of the castle.

“Somewhere private.”

“Ok.”

Soon they had arrived. There was a large, tall window with a stone ledge window seat. Draco summoned a few pillows and waved them onto the sill. He sat down and motioned for Harry to join him. There wasn’t really space for two, but Harry lay down in Draco’s lap. Draco resumed his reading, his pale hand absently playing with Harry’s hair, and Harry felt a sense of overwhelming peacefulness. He shut his eyes, content with the warmth emanating from the other boy and the fingers running through his messy hair. It began to rain softly outside, and soon all Harry could hear was the patter of raindrops and the slow turning of the pages in the book. He must have drifted off, because when he opened his eyes it was darker outside, and the hallway was filled with flickering torchlight.

Harry looked up at Draco, shifting his head slightly. Draco looked down at him, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Sleepyhead,” he teased, but there was no real bite to it.

“What are you reading?” asked Harry, ignoring the comment.

“Nothing interesting,” replied Draco absently, “It’s just for ancient runes. Class reading.”

“Sounds boring.” commented Harry.

“Mmm,” agreed Draco. He ran one of his fingers gently over Harry’s lightning bolt scar. The sensation was incredibly soothing. Harry suddenly felt like a very small child. Not in the way he usually did, not vulnerable and scared, but little and loved. He gazed up at Draco, who was still reading intently. He didn’t seem to even realise the effect his action had had on Harry. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed what he was doing in the first place; it felt so natural. His fingers combed through Harry’s unruly dark locks and once again stroked over his forehead. Harry reached for his caressing hand and brought it to his mouth, placing a small kiss on the pale skin. Draco looked down out of the corner of his eye.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I really did just want to hang out with you,” laughed Harry.

Draco frowned softly at him.

“I know that,” he replied, “But what is it? There’s something, I can tell.”

Harry marvelled at the ease with which Draco could read him.

“When I threw you across the room the other day…”

“Oh yes, I remember,” Draco smiled smugly.

“Shut up,” said Harry, “The point is, I was completely out of control. I just… I don’t know. It’s been happening a lot lately.”

“What does it feel like?” asked Draco, more seriously.

“Like…Like all this power, and, and magic, and it’s just coursing through me. God, you don’t think I’m going crazy, do you?”

Draco shook his head.

“Power isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

“You would say that.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Harry mulled it over. In the face of Voldemort, his death eaters, his followers, Umbridge, and everything else the world might throw at him, maybe this newfound powerful magic wasn’t such a bad thing.

“I guess not.” he agreed, “I just wish I had a bit more control.”

Draco nodded.

“So you’ll practise it,” he comforted Harry, “Obviously be careful, but don’t be too afraid of your own magic. It’s not going to harm you.”

“It could harm others,” pointed out Harry.

“That’s rather the point, is it not?”

Wasn’t it? But what if it was someone he loved? Someone he cared about? What then?

He’d already almost snapped Draco’s neck, and the experience hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable for Harry as it clearly had been for Draco himself. He should never have been firing offensive spells at his boyfriend in the first place, it was just a recipe for disaster. Other than that, it seemed like the magic was fairly safe. Or, as safe as could be. All things considered. More power in something like Charms could only lead to better charms, right?

All of a sudden, Harry’s mind shifted to something else that had been on his mind.

“By the way, I, er, told my guardians,” he admitted, “About us,” he clarified.

“Oh,” commented Draco. He looked a bit surprised, but not bothered.

“They were supportive,” Harry told him quickly. Draco smiled at this.

“Suppose it’s my turn now, then.”

“No!” hastily replied Harry, “You don’t have to. Only if you want, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Draco assured him, “I should tell them.”

Harry paused. Draco seemed genuine.

“Alright then, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Suppose I should tell my friends soon too.”

“You should,” agreed Draco. Harry began to fiddle with his fingers, knotting and unknotting them. Draco laced them with his own pale hands to stop him from fidgeting. This action too, was extremely calming. Harry wondered momentarily if Draco was using some kind of magic, but bit his tongue. The last time he’d accused the boy of magic, of a love potion to be exact, it had not gone well.

“You’re so lovely,” Harry couldn’t help but say. He also couldn’t help but think that this was a much better thing to say than what he’d just been thinking.

“Yes, I am,” Draco nodded seriously. He was about to return to his reading when Harry interrupted him.

“I really like you.” He flushed.

Draco blinked down at him.

“What are we? 13?”

Harry frowned at this.

“Fine,” groaned Draco, “I really like you too. Prick.”

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. He was still blushing, red as his Gryffindor tie. But just like he’d said to Sirius, he was happy.

Chapter Text

It was a Wednesday. Again. Harry had not been practising, not a bit, but this time Snape wouldn’t be able to berate him about it. He was calling in sick, saving himself the trouble and getting a bit of rest. Besides, his mind was full of one thing, and one thing only. And that thing was Draco.

He couldn’t risk Snape glimpsing any more than he already had. Not only was it a violation of Draco’s privacy that he wouldn’t even be aware of, it was entirely too personal for anyone to see. Especially for Snape to see. Harry just couldn’t risk it. Plus he was sick of the stupid lessons, sick of Occlumency, and entirely too sick of Snape.

“Don’t you have Potions practice?” asked Ron. Harry cringed, reminded of the lie he’d repeated to his friends about his routine meetings with Snape.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, “But I’m skipping. Don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on Fred and George’s snackboxes as well?”

Harry shook his head.

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “I’m not tempted.”

“Phew,” said Ron, only half joking.

“Guess I’d better get some other work done,” mumbled Harry dejectedly. He rummaged through his bag for some homework. It didn’t take him long to find some.

“Harry,” Ron addressed him. There was an edge to his voice. He wanted to talk. To properly talk. Harry didn’t like the sound of that. He stayed fiddling with some parchment and a quill, back still turned. “Is there something you want to tell me?” came Ron’s uncertain question.

Harry gulped. Was there something he was meant to tell Ron? Yes. Was there anything he wanted to tell Ron? Absolutely not. He wanted to lie straight through his teeth, right there and then, but he bided his time. What exactly was Ron referencing? Had Ron seen something? Seen him and Draco…? He shuddered to think.

“What?” responded Harry, as convincingly as he could. It was pretty convincing (stupid Slytherin influence!).

Ron paused. It was an awful pause.

“Well,” he broke the silence after a while, “You and Malfoy seem pretty close this year. Is there something I don’t know?”

Yes.

“No.” lied Harry. It was a stupid lie. And he’d lost his convincingness too. He was still holding the parchment, hands shaking almost imperceptibly.

“There’s nothing you think I should know?” pressed Ron. Harry should have guessed this was coming. He should have been prepared. He was meant to be coming out, coming clean. He remembered Draco’s words, his ‘cunning’ advice, ‘the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be’. And of course he’d been right. Absolutely, annoying, perfectly, right.

“Actually there is something I want to tell you!” said Harry very fast. He turned around, facing Ron. Ron waited with baited breath. “I, erm, I’m not going to Potions Practise; it’s Occlumency lessons actually. Yeah.” he finished lamely. It had not been what Ron was expecting, but he still seemed interested. Hopefully interested enough to forget about any Harry and Draco business for a while.

“Occlumency? Why do you…” the realisation hit him, “Ohhh.”

“Yeah,” repeated Harry tensely., “It’s awful. I’m awful. At Occlumency I mean.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know, I just suck.” Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he never practised. Harry decided to omit this. “And obviously Snape hates me even more now.”

Ron’s freckled face twisted into a sympathetic grimace. He said nothing. His other, more pressing question was clearly still on his mind. Harry thought fast for a solution. How was he getting himself out of this one?

“Also, um,” he added desperately, “I’m working on a case with my guardians to get Umbridge fired.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” confirmed Harry. He explained it all to Ron (leaving out everything to do with Draco Malfoy, of course, and most of the drama). “Yeah,” he said again.

“Huh,” responded Ron, “I suppose we’ll just have to see how that goes then?”

“Mmmm,” agreed Harry. Now he really was out of excuses. Except for one last one. “Well,” he told Ron as casually as possible, “I’m gonna go get some work done.” He waved his parchment and quill in explanation, searching for a bottle of ink. He suddenly remembered something, something that maybe really could distract Ron from the whole Draco, Harry business. “When I was talking with Sirius and Remus, they said a lot of wizards have two doctors, one muggle and one wizard. I was thinking maybe you could do something like that, if you wanted. I’m sure your dad would be on board.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” mused Ron, and he had sprung up to search for his own paper, pen and ink. He returned from a rummage in his bag brandishing all three, and accompanied Harry down into the Common Room. “I’ll write him a letter,” he said in explanation. Harry smiled.

“Not a bad idea,” he returned. They both set to work. But Harry could barely concentrate. His mind, still, was full of nothing but Draco Mlafoy.

***

Later, Harry tried to call Sirius for a bit of comfort, but to his surprise, Remus picked up.

“Oh, hello,” he said. He seemed every bit as surprised as Harry.

“Do you have the mirror?” wondered Harry. Remus nodded. Then shook his head.

“Sort of,” he informed him, “I’ve got the other piece of yours I think, and they both link to each other and to the intact one. I’ll wager Sirius kept that one for himself because it was the prettiest.”

“Sounds like him,” laughed Harry.

“I’m just about to head off to work again, Harry,” he told him sadly, “So I’ve got to run, sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Harry assured him, “Is Sirius there?”

Remus shook his head.

“He’s at the shops. I’m sure he’ll be back before tonight though. You can talk to him then?”

“Sounds good,” smiled Harry.

“Sorry,” apologised Moony again.

“No, don’t worry!” said Harry, “Get to work. Bye!”

“Bye!” called Remus, putting the mirror down, and the image in the glass disappeared. Harry stared somberly into the reflective glass for a little longer, before returning to his homework and studying.

Chapter Text

“You see that one, right there?”

Harry squinted, following the direction of Draco’s pointed finger.

There were a lot of stars, all clustered randomly together, or so it seemed to Harry anyway. But he thought he could make out the one Draco was pointing out.

“I think so,” he replied, a little uncertainly. They had snuck onto the astronomy tower for a midnight date. It had been Draco’s idea, and as they sat quietly on a picnic blanket, huddled together in a tangle of arms and legs, Harry couldn’t help but think that it had been a good one.

“That’s the north star Polaris,” explained Draco, “and then if you look at the stars around it…” he paused, trailing his pale finger through the air to map out what he was talking about, “That’s the constellation I’m named after.”

“Wow,” murmured Harry softly. All those stars were just for Draco. Or maybe Draco was for the stars. It was a pretty thought.

“You can see it in the sky all year,” Draco continued, “And it represents a dragon.”

With a deft flick of his wand, he drew a set of glowing lines connecting the stars they were looking at. The magic lingered in the air for a few moments before fading into the night. The constellation resembled more of a stone on the end of a piece of string in Harry’s opinion, but with a little imagination it became a majestic roaring dragon.

“Wow,” he said softly for the second time. He couldn’t help but be in awe.

“Your Godfather has one too,” Draco told him, “The Black family have a tradition of naming their children after constellations.”

“Which one is Sirius’?”

“Look there,” instructed Draco, directing Harry’s gaze with his pointed finger once more. “See the really bright star?”

Harry nodded. This one was a little easier to locate.

“Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky, and with the other stars around it it makes Canis Major, or the Greater Dog.”

“A dog?” repeated Harry.

“Mhmm.”

“Sirius’s animagus is a dog.” he told Draco.

Draco turned to Harry.

“Really?” he asked, “Do you think my animagus might be a dragon then?”

“Can they be magical animals?”

“Of course,” supplied Draco, “Surely you spend enough time around Luna to know that?”

“You know Luna?” asked Harry, taken aback. Neither of them had ever mentioned each other.

“She’s my cousin.” said Draco easily.

Harry had to do a double take.

“What?” he blurted out, ruining their intimate moment from earlier.

“Well not actually.” he explained, “But we’re vaguely related. Most pure blood families are to be honest.”

“I had no idea,” he commented eventually.

“Mmm,” confirmed Draco softly.

“If you’re all pretty much related then why do you…” he trailed off.

“Marry each other?” Harry nodded sheepishly, “It’s tradition I suppose. It’s a way of keeping it in the family, quite literally.” Harry made a face. “I know it’s awful, and I would never want to marry someone I was…related to. Pure bloods can be a bit strange. Well, more than a bit.”

“I guess a lot of you wouldn’t want to marry a muggleborn,” said Harry quietly. They had avoided the subject of blood purity for quite some time now, despite their agreement to question their prejudice. He felt ready to talk about it though. Draco seemed ready too.

“That’s true,” he admitted, “I know you don’t understand that way of thinking, but it’s so ingrained if you’ve grown up with it. Muggleborns are seen as… invasive. They don’t understand the history, or the prestige, or the responsibility that comes with being able to wield magic. They can never truly understand… our culture, or our way of life. It feels like strangers coming into our community and telling us what to do, without having the same deep knowledge of magic that we do. I’m sure it seems like a distant past to you, but witch hunting and anti-magical hysteria from muggles is fresh in the memories of a lot of pure bloods. Even if it was a long time ago, these stories, and the fear that comes with them, they get passed down from generation to generation. I mean, even in the present, muggles that do know about magic often hate it. Just like your aunt, they despise the unknown.”

“But don’t you think that by blindly discriminating against them back you’re also despising the unknown?” said Harry, finally speaking up.

Draco paused to think.

“I suppose there’s some truth to that,” he admitted, “I’m not trying to say that these beliefs are right, but I want you to understand.”

“I’m trying to understand, I am.”

Draco took a deep breath, linking his hand with Harry’s. Harry gave it a soft squeeze.

“My great grandfather was killed by muggles,” he confessed, “Who saw him practising magic and didn’t understand. Who were afraid and acted on fear. My grandfather and my great grandmother couldn’t forgive them. She went out and killed his murderers. They sent her to Azkaban, where she died. My grandfather hated muggles for what happened, and my father might be a little less extreme, but he’s not overly fond of them, as I’m sure you know. I just want you to understand that, even if neither side was ‘right’ in this story, the hatred doesn’t come from nowhere. People have history and reasons. Most pure blood families have been around long enough for something similar to happen to one of their members at one point or another.”

Harry was silent. He hadn’t considered, hadn’t imagined, that something like that could have happened to Draco’s family, or anyone else’s. It was strange to see the situation from another perspective, even if he was still firm in his own beliefs.

“And before you start,” Draco carried on, “I’m not looking for a lecture. I realise that this logic is flawed, I realise a lot of my prejudice is unfounded. You’ve helped me realise that.”

Have flushed.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Harry gave him a small smile, which he returned.

“You’re helping me see it a different way, too,” added Harry, “I guess I never really thought of that, but I can see now that it makes sense. It’s hard to unlearn prejudice, so thank you for making the effort. I mean it.”

Draco kissed his mouth softly in response. Harry smiled some more. It occurred to him that humans were a lot like house elves. Just as Kreacher had adopted the views and biases of his family, so did pure blood children across the UK. Why wouldn’t they believe parents who were loving and authoritative figures of their lives? Harry believed his guardians when they expressed their opinions. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think for himself, he just…agreed with them.

Harry leaned into Draco’s side, feeling immensely comfortable. Draco traced a cold finger over his lightning bolt scar and Harry practically melted.

“I like it when you do that,” he informed him.

“I know you do, love.”

He did it again. Harry kissed his arm.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” said Draco. Harry looked at him quizzically. “There’s always something,” added Draco in explanation.

“Well,” admitted Harry, “I’ve been, er… I lied to Ron, about us. I just panicked I guess. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not completely ready yet.”

“That’s ok,” soothed Draco.

“He asked me if there was something I wanted to tell him,” explained Harry, “He mentioned you, but I just said other stuff instead. About the case against Umbridge, and about my lessons with Snape.”

“Lessons with Snape?”

“Oh, right,” realised Harry, “You don’t know either. I wasn’t really meant to tell anyone, but I think it’s okay to tell you.” Draco watched him expectantly. “They, as in,” he caught himself, almost saying ‘The Order’, “as in Dumbledore and my guardians and stuff, think that my mind might be connected to…Voldemort. That’s why I had that dream,” he paused, frowning slightly, “Oh, wait, you don’t know about that either. I had this dream… Well it doesn’t really matter. The bottom line is, me and Voldemort might have…some kind of connection. And so I’m taking Occlumency lessons. With Snape. And I’m absolutely awful.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He was silent for quite some time.

“…Draco?” he asked hesitantly.

Draco looked deeply into Harry’s eyes, seeming very serious, and very worried.

“Harry,” he said, his tone heavy, “You shouldn’t be letting Snape look into your mind.”

“Well I’m trying to get better at Occlumency,” he lied.

“No, you don’t understand. You can’t trust him.” Draco paused, searching Harry’s expression anxiously, “Harry… Severus Snape is a death eater.”

Harry blinked. Of course, Draco didn’t know that he was a double agent. Or a quadruple agent or whatever it was. He truly believed Snape to be on Voldemort's side. And he was telling Harry this… He was telling Harry?

“I,” stammered Harry, “I… I can’t believe…”

I can’t believe you’d tell me that. The words died in his throat. He had to protect the order, and by extension, Snape. That was a thought Harry had never expected to have.

“Harry,” Draco told him, “Whatever he sees, whatever he finds in your mind… He’ll report it back to the Dark Lord. You have to be careful.”

“Don’t worry!” Harry assured him, “He hasn’t seen anything that would put me in danger. Or that would put you in danger! I’m sure of it. And…I’ve started skipping his lessons. I’m worried he’ll see something personal, or important. I was worried he would see you. My thoughts are full of you. I definitely won’t go anymore now.”

This seemed to appease Draco somewhat.

“I still think you should try and learn Occlumency,” he told him, “If there really is… A connection, it would be better if you could block it out.”

“It’s useless,” groaned Harry defeatedly, “I’m so awful at it. I just can’t ‘clear my mind’. I have too many… emotions, and thoughts, all the time. Besides, who can teach me now?”

“I can.”

“What?”

“My mother is one of the most skilled Occlumens in the country, and she taught me as well.”

“Really?” asked Harry, absolutely shocked.

“Yes,” confirmed Draco, “And it’s okay if you can’t completely clear your mind, you know.”

“It is?”

“It is. Most people have difficulty thinking of absolutely nothing, and to be honest it’s a bit of a dangerous approach when it comes to Occlumency, because a thought might come and fill that ‘nothingness’. Personally, I try and think of something specific, and focus on that. That way, that’s all the other person can see. It’s like a wall that they can’t get past. If you don’t want them to know you’re lying, then think of whatever truth there is to your lie. For example, if you told someone you were doing homework, but were actually doing something else, you can think of a different time when you actually were doing homework, and that’s all they’ll see. That doesn’t always work, but it is one strategy. Although I don’t recommend trying to lie to the dark lord, it’s better to just block him out as much as you can.”

Harry was dumbfounded.

“Wow,” he reacted, “That’s…actually really helpful. Thanks for that advice.”

Draco smiled, as if to say, you’re welcome.

“Do you think you could actually teach me?” asked Harry. Draco's face twisted into a pained look.

“Harry,” he replied carefully, “As much as I’d love to, I think that maybe it would be… dangerous to let me see your thoughts and memories. There’s some things that I shouldn’t know. I might be a skilled Occlumens, but the Dark Lord is a much more skilled Legilimens. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Harry felt his chest tighten at Draco’s words.

“I understand,” he said quietly. He bit his lip, frowning at the floor. “I’m worried…” Harry trailed off, suddenly quite upset, “What’s going to happen to you?”

He looked up, meeting Draco’s grey-blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” admitted Draco. His voice was small and vulnerable. Harry leaned forward and hugged him, burying his head into his chest.

“You don’t have to be involved,” he pleaded, “You don’t have to join him, Draco. You can run away with me and leave it all behind. Stay with me. Please?”

He looked up and Draco’s pale face was pained. It hurt Harry to see him that way. His green eyes pricked with tears.

“I,” began Draco falteringly, “I really wish I could.”

“You can!” insisted Harry. Draco shook his head.

“I won’t abandon my parents, Harry. Don’t you know what would happen to them if their son turned out to be a traitor?”

“They’d want you to be safe,” countered Harry.

“And I want them to be safe,” replied Draco.

Harry pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed in desperation.

“All of you then. You could all run away.”

Draco only shook his head again.

“No, Harry,” he said sombrely, “They’d find us and then they’d kill us. We won’t run.”

“You don’t know that!” begged Harry, his vision blurring through a haze of tears, “If you hid really well they wouldn’t find you. I’ll hide you. There’s a safe house—

“Harry, no!” Draco cut in, “Don’t tell me! It’s too dangerous. It’s much too dangerous.”

Harry’s lip trembled, and he was filled with resolve.

“77 Mayfield, Rusthall,” he blurted out, “That’s my address.”

“Harry!”

“I don’t care! I want you to know. I want you to know that you can show up anytime and we’ll always let you in. I want you to stay with me Draco.”

“You shouldn’t have told me that,” he muttered bitterly.

“I don’t care!” cried Harry.

“I care!” retorted Draco, “I care about your safety!”

Harry couldn’t help it, he burst into tears. Draco looked even more pained, and immediately wrapped him in a comforting hug.

“Harry,” he stammered, “You can’t…say things like that. I just… I want you to promise me something, alright?”

Harry looked tearfully up at him.

“What?” he asked.

“I want you to promise that the next time you see me… before you do anything, before you say anything, I want you to check my arm.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his tears began to fall even more heavily. He shook with silent sobs.

“Promise me Harry.”

Harry screwed his eyes shut. How could he even think about something like that? How could he…?

“I promise,” he said shakily. He continued to tremble. Draco raised his chin gently, so that he wasn’t looking away, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Please don’t cry,” he said in a quiet voice. His cool, soothing fingers wiped at Harry’s tear tracks. Harry sniffed.

“I don’t want,” stammered Harry, “I don’t want for us to be on opposite sides of this war.”

Draco said nothing, only continued to wipe at Harry’s tears.

“Look,” pointed Draco, drawing Harry’s attention back to the night sky, “Sirius is brighter than usual.”

Harry wasn’t sure that it was. Perhaps Draco was just trying to change the subject, and the thought made him feel all the more miserable. What was going to happen? Harry hadn’t given the war this much thought before, and it scared him.

“Draco,” he began to say.

“You should get Hermione to help you with Occlumency,” he interrupted, “Even if she hasn’t done it before, she’s a smart girl and she’ll be able to help you practise.”

Harry stifled a sob.

“Ok.” he replied meekly.

“Now let’s talk about something else,” he suggested, “What happened to all your walkerman stuff? You haven’t shown me any new music in a while.”

Harry knew that Draco was trying to distract him, to make him forget about what they’d been talking about, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be distracted as much as Draco did.

“I suppose I just haven’t had the time,” sniffed Harry, “Sorry about that.”

“That’s ok,” comforted Draco, “We should go and see another film as well. I liked The Full Monty.”

“It was funny, wasn’t it?” agreed Harry. He was still steadily crying. Draco wiped his tears again.

“Yes it was.”

“Draco,” he said, and Draco looked scared that he was going to bring up what they’d been talking about before, “When you read that ad to become part of the DA, did you really not know it was me who was going to be teaching it?”

Draco smiled in relief and then began to chuckle.

“Alright fine I knew it was you,” he admitted, “I wanted you to teach me. I wanted to be closer with you. I knew what I was doing, right from the start.”

“Bloody Slytherin cunning, was it?”

Draco chuckled again. There was a sadness behind it.

“Exactly,” he replied.

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I like you.” he said simply, “I wanted… to be with you. I want to be with you.”

“You are with me,” Harry told him firmly, “Actually, I sort of expected you to be homophonic to be honest. You know, since you’re pure blood and all.”

Draco blinked.

“Harry,” he addressed him, “Two of my closest friends, Crabbe and Goyle, have been dating since third year. Most of my friend group is gay. Why would I have been homophobic?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be surprised.

“I actually had no idea about that,” he laughed. Draco looked at him incredulously.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he drawled, and Harry hit him softly on the arm. “Homophobic,” he muttered disbelievingly, only causing Harry to chuckle more.

“By the way,” he said, rather suddenly, “I’ve thought of another thing that there’s no wizarding alternative for.”

“And what’s that?”

“Mental health.”

“What’s that?” asked Draco.

“Exactly what is says on the tin,” Harry explained, “Health of the mind. People don’t just get physically Ill you know, they can be mentally Ill too, or have different mental disorders that affect the way their brain works.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for example,” he explained, “In the muggle world, there’s something called an Anxiety Disorder. It’s when someone isn’t just stressed, but chronically stressed. Even over seemingly small things. I’m not a professional, so I can’t explain it to you properly, but stuff like that. And in the muggle world if you for example had anxiety, you could go to a special mind doctor, or mind healer I guess you would say, and they could give you advice and help for what to do when you’re stressed, and maybe even suggest medication for you to take that could help.”

“That sounds very… reasonable,” responded Draco. Harry smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I think it’s a better approach, don’t you?”

Draco nodded. They settled into a short silence.

“Won’t you show me which one your constellation is again?” asked Harry, “I’ve already forgotten how to find it.”

“Of course,” replied Draco, “Look, over there you can see the North Star Polaris, you remember it?”

Harry nodded, following his finger. He wanted to see the little map of stars again. He wanted to go back to earlier, before he’d cried, and forget all the horrors that now twisted his mind. His question from before remained; what was going to happen to Draco?

Chapter Text

Harry looked nervously between his two closest friends. Hermione seemed confused, but Ron had on his most encouraging expression. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“I,um, have something to tell you both.”

“Should we be worried?” asked Hermione.

“No!” Harry answered quickly, “No, it’s not anything bad.” He bit his lip, best to just get it over with, bite the bullet, rip off the plaster. He took another deep breath, eyes flitting between the two of them. “I’m, er… dating Draco Malfoy.”

This had clearly not been what she’d expected. Not in the least.

“Oh,” she said eventually. Harry’s fingers fiddled furiously under the table.

“Yeah,” he commented uneasily.

“It’s ok, I sort of already knew,” Ron told him.

“I, I figured.” replied Harry. That had been pretty obvious from his line of questioning the other day.

“I didn’t,” added Hermione, “But I can’t exactly say I’m that surprised.”

“What?” Harry turned on her.

She made a face at him.

“Come on, Harry. You’ve been obsessed with Malfoy for years.”

Harry was speechless.

“It’s fine mate. We’ve already pretty much come to terms with it. Plus he’s been much less of a git this year.”

“We always suspected,” Hermione supplied.

“Sort of seems like I’m the last to know,” Harry mumbled.

“Oh, trust me, you are.” replied Ron with a chuckle, “I mean, even Malfoy himself knew before you did.”

“Am I really that obvious?”

Hermione’s only response was to arch an eyebrow. The simple action said it all and Harry cringed.

“God,” he groaned.

“Don’t worry,” Ron assured him, “We really don’t mind at all.”

“Well, that’s a relief to be honest,” laughed Harry, “I was worried you in particular were going to be furious. I still remember how angry you were when Hermione started going out with Krum, thought you’d be the same with me.”

Ron’s ears went as red as his hair. Hermione’s cheeks were the same shade. Harry looked between them, unsure what he could’ve said to elicit such a reaction.

“Um,” he carried on awkwardly, “Thanks a lot guys. You’re a lot more understanding than I expected.”

“Anytime,” said Ron. His voice was quite strangled.

“Mhmm,” squeaked Hermione.

“...Right.”

Harry looked between them again. What had gotten into them? It reminded him of the other day when Umbridge had accused them of sitting ‘entirely too close’. His thoughts were quickly distracted by a reminder from his late night conversation with Draco, one of the few that wasn’t too painful to think about.

“Hermione,” he addressed her, “Do you know what Occlumency is?”

“Yes,” she replied easily, “It’s the prevention of invasion—

“No it’s ok I already know what it is,” he cut her off, “Some people in the order wanted me to have lessons after… After that dream I had,” Ron and Harry shared an uncomfortable glance, “I’ve been having them with Snape and I’m awful.”

“Oh dear,” was all she said.

“Look,” he told her a little uneasily, “I think I could learn a lot more, and that I’d be a lot more comfortable if it was someone I trusted who was teaching me.”

“What are you getting at?” asked Ron.

“I want Hermione to try and invade my mind with Legilimency so that I can practise with her instead,” he paused, “If you agree of course?” he added, turning to her.

She was silent as she thought it over.

“It was actually… Draco, who suggested it,” he confessed, “He knows Occlumency and he could’ve taught me but… he thinks it’s too dangerous. That he might see something important to do with the war… and that… He thinks he won’t be able to protect his thoughts from Voldemort. If it comes to that.”

Ron and Hermione looked shocked and pained. Harry looked down at the table between them.

“The thing is,” he lowered his voice so that only they could hear, though there was no one else in the common room with them, “He thinks Snape is a death eater, and he told me this himself.”

“He told you?” whispered Hermione in disbelief.

Ron looked just as, if not more shocked. Harry hadn’t really registered how monumental this action had been on Draco’s part. The rest of their conversation had… distracted him from it.

“I told him about my Occlumency lessons, and he told me it was dangerous to have Snape looking into my mind. He fully believes that Snape is working for Voldemort, which I guess means that Snape is doing a good job.”

“But Snape is really working for us,” countered Ron, “So there’s no real danger for him to look into your mind.”

Harry paused to think.

“I mean, yes,” he conceded, “But he’s an awful teacher. And I don’t want him to look into my mind and see loads of personal memories with Draco.”

“Yeah well, I doubt Hermione wants to see those memories either, mate.”

Harry hadn’t really thought about that. Hermione offered him a tight smile that was more of a grimace.

“I’d really rather not,” she told him.

“Right,” said Harry, blushing furiously, “um, I suppose that makes sense, all things considered, but I really am learning nothing. What if Voldemort attacks again? I won’t be ready.”

Hermione looked uncomfortable.

“I’ll do it, but as a last resort. At least try another time with Snape, ok?”

Harry held back a deep sigh.

“Ok,” he agreed despondently. He did have new advice to try out after all, but the thought of Snape seeing even one more intimate memory of his terrified him to his very core. He hated how vulnerable he felt. He hated that he was bullied by the greasy professor for his mistakes. Most of all, he hated that Dumbledore hadn’t been bothered to teach Harry himself, and had instead sent him to be tutored by the teacher who hated him the most in the whole school (Harry firmly believed that Snape hated Harry more than Umbridge did). Dumbledore wouldn't have been the ideal teacher, but he was still worlds better than Snape. He must have looked down because Ron patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

“It’ll be alright, Harry,” he said. People were always telling Harry that. And for the most part, they were right. He relaxed a little, letting out the sigh he’d held in.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly.

“I really am sorry,” added Hermione, taking a guilty tone, “If you really feel strongly about it, then I’ll teach you as best I can from now on.” she paused, looking at Harry for a reaction, but he was silent, “but even if Snape is a… an absolute prick,” Ron looked lovingly at her as she insulted the professor, “He still knows much more about it than I do, and it’ll be a lot less dangerous if it’s him casting Legilimens and not me. I’m sure having him see your memories is… humiliating. In fact I can’t imagine what it’s like, but surely it would still be humiliating to some degree if it was me. It’s definitely… intimate, is what I mean. It’s a shame that Malf— Draco, can’t do it for you.” she finished awkwardly.

Harry was beginning to see her point.

“It’s ok Hermione, I understand,” he told her, “I’ll try and go see Snape one more time and see how it goes. I… hate to have to ask this of you in the first place, but if it goes badly with Snape I won’t have a lot of options.”

“I also understand,” she replied, “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” said Ron, “Bloody hell you two are miserable, come on, let’s do something fun.”

This loosened them both up a bit and Hermione let out a chuckle.

“Alright,” she said, “What should we do?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he told them, and Hermione and Harry leaned In conspiratorially, “The Room of Requirement is for whatever we require, right?”

Hermione nodded.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, unsure where Ron was going with this.

“So if we go up to the room, looking for some fun, then it’ll create something fun for us.”

“Oh, I see,” grinned Harry, “Actually!” he rounded on Hermione, “Do you think it could create a movie theatre?”

“A what?” asked Ron, but Hermione’s eyes had lit up. Harry was kicking himself for not having thought of this when he’d gone with Draco to see a film. Next time, he thought to himself.

“Oh my god I think it might!” she exclaimed, “If we could get it to work, what would we watch?”

“Something funny,” decided Harry, “Maybe we could let the room decide for us?”

“What in Merlin’s beard..?” Began Ron.

“Never mind Ronald,” quipped Hermione, “Come on, let’s go!”

Chapter Text

With OWLs right around the corner, Hermione was becoming increasingly irritable, and it seemed the only one who could really deal with her was Ron. As it was, Harry was leaving them to it, partaking in his own study date with one Draco Malfoy.

“Don’t you know anything about history?” snapped Draco. He was not much better than Hermione, obsessed with scoring the best that he possibly could, and it was putting him in a foul mood.

“I know stuff about muggle history,” countered Harry. Draco gave him a withering look and he smiled sheepishly. “How can I concentrate in that stupid class?” he whined, “It’s so boring it makes me want to gouge my eyes out.”

“So do your learning outside of class?”

Harry made a face. “Can't be asked,” he groaned.

“Honestly,” muttered Draco, as he returned to his reading. As he was bent over his thick history textbook, a few strands of wispy blonde hair fell into his eyes, and Harry reached across to brush them out of his face. Draco spared him a quick glance, he looked a good deal calmer after the soft gesture. He went back to his reading and Harry couldn’t help but think back to his worries for the Slytherin boy. Would this be one of the last times he saw Draco without the dark mark? Would this be one of the last times he saw Draco happy? One of the last times the two of them would be happy, together?

Harry couldn’t help but feel that he’d wasted so much time. All these years they’d been enemies, too blind to see what was really between them, and now that they had finally realised it it was too late. It wasn’t fair. They should have had all the time in the world, but it was going to be cut so short. He shouldn’t have been thinking of it that way, but what if…? What if something really did happen? Just as he’d told Draco, he didn’t want for them to be caught on opposite sides of the war. He didn’t want Draco to suffer, or to be used as an expendable tool by Voldemort. Part of Harry was angry that Draco wouldn’t just come with him. He didn’t have to abandon his parents, not necessarily. Lucius Malfoy might have believed in the cause but something told Harry that Narcissa wasn’t quite so loyal to the Dark Lord. After all, as far as he knew she had never taken the dark mark. Maybe she did believe in Voldemort, he couldn’t be sure, but Harry knew that first and foremost, Narcissa Malfoy cared for her son. She would want him to run away with Harry, maybe. If she thought it was safer (which it was!). Harry’s head spun.

“I know what you’re thinking.” said Draco quietly. Harry looked away, averting his eyes to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about it.” They fell into stony silence.

“Well, I do,” Harry piped up, looking Draco right in his glittering grey eyes. Draco didn’t look away, holding his piercing stare. “Draco,” he began, taking a deep breath, “What do you really believe in? ….Who do you really believe in?”

“Dumbledore or the Dark Lord?” he asked, catching on. Harry nodded, “Neither.”

“What about…What about me or the Dark Lord?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Harry,” said Draco sternly, “You’re not the leader in the same way Dumbledore is.”

“Me or Voldemort?” pressed Harry, feeling temper flare up in his chest.

“You mean you or my family?” he asked, “You really want to make me pick?”

“No, I mean me or Voldemort. Just say it Draco.”

“You know the answer.”

“Then just say it.”

“You,” he confessed softly, “You a hundred times over. Of course it’s you.” He began to blink rapidly. There were tears in his eyes. He turned his face away from Harry, not willing to look at him. “Of course it’s you,” he said again.

Harry chewed at the inside of his cheek, fingers fiddling madly. The words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue. Three simple words that he’d said a thousand times before to his friends and family. Three simple words. His eyes glazed over, and he opened his mouth to say them. To confess and set them free.

“I–

“This is why I didn’t want to talk about it,” muttered Draco, turning back to Harry, his eyes dried but glassy. Harry was silent. “You don’t understand, Harry. How could you?”

“Then help me to understand!” he pleaded.

“I can’t leave them,” he insisted, “I can’t.”

They would want you to be safe. He didn’t say the words, but Draco knew what he was thinking, as he often did.

“Would you leave your guardians?” he asked, and Harry bit his lip, “If you knew for a fact they’d be in danger if you left, would you leave them?”

“I wouldn’t,” admitted Harry, “But they would never let me stay.” They locked eyes, staring intensely at one another, the statement held between them.

“It’s complicated,” said Draco eventually.

“What’s complicated about it? Explain.”

“Of course my parents want me to be safe, and of course they’d rather none of this happened to me. Of course we wish things would just be normal… But my father, is a,” for a moment Harry thought he was going to say it, to finally admit the truth out loud, “He’s bound to the Dark Lord. He would never be able to escape. And I would never leave him behind. Even if he wants me to be safe… He wouldn’t be able to go with me, and how could he send me out on my own? He thinks he is providing me with the safest option. He’ll do whatever it takes for me to survive, and he truly believes that the Dark Lord will win.”

“And do you?” Harry cut in, “Do you believe Voldemort will win?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” he admitted tiredly, “I- I hope not, ok?”

“...But then things would be bad for your family.” Harry pointed out, a little timidly.

“We pulled through after the last war, we can do it again. Malfoys endure. It’s what we’re good at.”

Harry wasn’t so convinced.

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

Draco said nothing. His glassy grey eyes were downcast.

“You’re going to take the Dark Mark?” accused Harry forcefully, “Do whatever it takes to survive and be a slave to Voldemort?”

“Please stop saying his name!” hissed Draco. Harry frowned at him. “You’re not even saying it right,” he added disdainfully.” Harry ignored this.

“Well?” he pressed, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards as his bottom lip began to quiver, “Are you going to become a death eater?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, alright?” Harry wasn’t satisfied with this response. “Of course I’ll try to avoid it, and so will my parents, but there’s only so much I can do. I…Well, I may not have a choice.”

“You do have a choice!” insisted Harry, “You always have a choice.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“I made a promise to you,” began Harry seriously, “So now you make one to me.” he didn’t wait for Draco to agree, “Promise that you’ll do everything in your power to avoid getting the mark, Draco. And promise that you’ll consider, really consider, coming to stay with me.”

“If I promise you can we stop talking about this?”

“Fine.”

Draco took a deep breath, and once again looked Harry in the eyes.

“Alright then,” he whispered, “I promise.”

It was probably the best Harry could have hoped for from him, but he wasn’t sure that it would be enough.

“Fuck,” he swore despairingly, “I hate this so much.”

“Me too,” agreed Draco.

Harry leaned forward and wrapped Draco in a tight hug. The other boy reciprocated, and they stayed like that for a few minutes before he extricated himself from the embrace.

“I…”

The words were on the tip of his tongue again. The three simple words. What if he couldn’t say them in time?

“What is it?” asked Draco.

“No, it’s nothing,” he lied. He was always lying these days. Now even to his own boyfriend. Harry looked back at the floor. The future suddenly seemed so close, as if he could reach out and touch it. The war loomed closer than ever, and he was scared. Because now he had more to lose, and more chance of losing it. Of losing him.

“Did you ask Hermione about Occlumency training?” said Draco, changing the subject.

“Yes, I did,” Harry informed him, going along with it, “She’s going to help me out,” this was part of the truth.

“That’s good,” commented Draco. He gave Harry a half smile, and turned back to his reading. Meanwhile Harry had just had a sudden, horrible idea. It was reckless, and it was mean. He could tell Draco about Snape, about his true allegiances and his status as a triple agent. Draco would be forced to stay with Harry at the risk of endangering Snape and the whole Order. He would…Take away Draco’s choice.

Harry watched him as he turned a page of his reading material, oblivious to the plan unfolding in his boyfriend’s head. Could Harry do it? Endanger Snape, and by extension Dumbledore, Kingsley, Remus, Sirius, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Moody, Mundungus and many more? And not only endanger them, but their mission and everything they stood for, everything Harry stood for, just to keep Draco safe? Despite himself, Harry wanted to risk it all. Risk the whole outcome of the war on the off chance it would keep Draco safe. He was considering it… But he couldn’t do that to him. And he couldn’t do it to the Order. He just couldn’t.

He’d reached a stalemate, and there was nothing else he could do that didn’t somehow complicate things further. Draco knew his address and had made his promise, there was nothing more Harry could do. Or was there? What could he do to convince him to stay? Harry felt like crying, but he didn’t. He didn’t want Draco to have to comfort him like before, to have to lie to him that it would all be all right.

Instead, he lay down in Draco’s lap and played with his blonde hair. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on studying, and he just wanted to relax. Only he couldn’t. Draco was here, right next to him, but at the same time… He was miles away. Harry couldn’t reach him, and that scared him even more. He closed his eyes, and tried to forget.

Chapter Text

“Protego!” cast Neville, and a large glowing shield flashed before him.

“That was wonderful!” cooed Theo, who had become his constant companion in both DA meetings and daily life.

“That was great Neville!” Harry told him with a grin.

Every meeting with the rest of Dumbledore’s Army brought him immense satisfaction and joy. Everyone was progressing so well. It made Harry realise how little was really required of a DADA teacher, and how much potential all the students had with just a bit of decent instruction. How much knowledge had they lost to bad tutelage and changing professors over the years? It hurt even to think about it.

Despite his overall happiness with the DA and everyone’s progress, there were still several other things on his mind. First and foremost, where was Draco? He hadn’t showed up to this meeting, and Pansy and Blaise were also missing. All three of them gone was conspicuous, and Harry had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who had noticed their absence. Not only did they make up the majority of the DA’s Slytherins, but they were also the only members who were a part of Umbridge’s infamous Inquisitorial Squad.

People were getting nervous. Harry was getting nervous.

He continued to make his rounds, casting anxious eyes in every which way, but plastering on a smile nonetheless.

Today the DA were focusing on whatever they wanted. Many people were practising offensive spells, some defensive like Neville, and Ginny was even teaching a small group of friends how to cast her infamous bat bogey hex. Harry was beginning to understand why people were so afraid of her, and her enthusiastic teaching brought one of the few genuine smiles he’d had that day.

Just as Harry was going to congratulate her, whispers erupted behind him, and a blue spectral light caught his eye. He whipped around, and standing majestically before him was a silvery doe. Draco’s patronus. What could this mean?

“Umbridge is coming,” said the deer in Draco’s clear voice. Harry gaped. The doe dispersed into tendrils of bright blue light. It took a second for the words to sink in, but when it did, Harry was spurred into action.

“Everybody get out of here!” he shouted, “Umbridge is coming! Run!”

What followed was chaos. Doors appeared on all different sides of the room of requirement and everyone rushed all over the place, retrieving previously abandoned bags and cloaks. There was a lot of shouting. Harry got the feeling he had perhaps started a mass hysteria, but the room changed itself to suit their needs and before long, everyone was gone. Harry ushered them all out, making sure no one was left behind, and just as he was about to leave himself, he noticed the list of members, stuck proudly on one of the walls. Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach. He couldn’t leave it there, they’d all be found out. But at the same time, Umbridge could enter at any moment. But he couldn’t leave it there.

Harry looked despairing at the exit, and then back at the incriminating list, and he bolted over. Just as his hands had torn the parchment off the wall there was a large bang, and he went flying onto one of the padded walls, hands still gripping the list. Harry leapt up and made a mad dash for the exit, still open, ready and waiting for him. A tripping hex hit him in the ankles and he toppled over, landing hard on his face.

Harry turned over onto his back to see his attacker, trying in vain to scurry away. To his shock it was Draco who came running up to him, wand brandished and hair a little unruly. The paper was still clutched in Harry’s hand, crumpled and sweaty. Harry was breathing heavily and he tried to non verbally communicate to Draco to take the list from him, but poor Draco didn’t understand. He was too busy looking at Harry’s face, and in particular his nose. It had started bleeding. Draco looked very unhappy at this.

A split second after Draco had arrived, Umbridge came rushing in, quite out of breath and with a horrible grin stretching from ear to ear.

“You’ve got one!” she squealed, and her grin grew even wider when she saw that it was Harry lying on the floor. “Mr Potter.” she preened. Harry glared at her. He began to subtly move the parchment behind his back, praying she wouldn’t notice it. “What has he got in his hand?” She snapped, and Harry could have kicked himself. Draco went obediently over to him and pulled the paper from his stiff fingers. He glanced at Harry in confusion. He didn’t know what it was. “Well?” pressed Umbridge shrilly.

Draco unfurled the paper and (his back still turned to Umbridge) looked over the page with increasing horror. It was then that Harry realised Draco’s name was also on the list, as well as Blaise’s and Pansy’s. They’d be found out. They might even be… reported back to their parents. Perhaps Mrs Zabini wouldn’t mind but Harry shuddered to think what Pansy’s family was like.

Draco’s wide grey eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and Harry could tell he’d realised the very same thing.

With the composure of a diligent top student, Draco rose slowly and turned to face Umbridge, holding the paper to his chest. Harry could not even begin to imitate such calm and collected acting, he was practically shaking from the floor, eyeing the two of them with increasing fear.

“It’s nothing!” shouted Harry, trying to distract Umbridge, “it’s just a spare piece of parchment!” he insisted. She did not look convinced, but he’d stolen her attention for a few seconds, and in those few seconds, Draco had deftly passed his wand over the paper. From the very corner of his eye Harry could’ve sworn he’d seen some of the letters rearrange themselves.

“It’s a list, Professor,” Draco informed her with vicious glee. Harry would’ve believed it too if he hadn’t seen the fear in those grey eyes not moments before.

She snatched it from his hands and began looking through it. Her eyes lit up.

“Dumbledore’s Army?” she asked incredulously. She sounded giddy, as if she was getting real joy from the whole ordeal. Harry felt slightly sick. He wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his sleeve. “We must show this to the minister at once!” she trilled. Harry almost choked. The minister was here? “Get Potter up!” she ordered, and Draco went to help Harry to stand. He kept a firm grip on Harry’s wrist even once he was standing, and the two followed Umbridge to the Headmasters office with increasing trepidation. Harry and Draco shared many quick side glances but neither dared utter a word. Most of all, Draco was full of regret.

“Where are the others?” asked Draco after a stretch of silence.

“I told them to go round up all the students who had run away,” she explained nastily, “They’ll meet us at the office once they’re done.” She glanced down at the list in her hand once more and beamed at Draco. “Excellent work,” she told him. Draco beamed right back. Harry was feeling really sick now.

They reached Dumbledore’s office and the door swung open. Inside, as promised, Fudge was waiting with a host of aurors, including Kingsley. To his side was Percy Weasley. Harry remembered with a pang the letter that he’d sent to Ron, telling him to end their friendship, and cast him a dirty look. The door shut with a resounding bang behind them, and Harry flinched. Dumbledore stood behind his desk, refusing to look at him. Harry shot him a dirty look too.

“Potter, your nose,” began Professor McGonagall worriedly. Harry gave her a quick smile, as if to say it was nothing.

“Just wait until you see this Minister,” preened Umbridge, and she shoved the list of names at him. “An illegal student group, called—

“Dumbledore’s Army,” breathed Fudge in disbelief. He looked up at Harry, almost in awe. “You’ve been conspiring against me,” he accused.

“Let me see that,” spat Professor McGonagall, and she snatched the parchment from his hands. Her eyes scanned over the words. “This doesn’t prove anything!” she insisted, “It’s only a list of students’ names. Some of these aren’t even real students; there is no May Coalford at Hogwarts. Neither is there an Ibis Albaziane, a Rosy P. Pinkasnan, an Ether Ontodot or a Harper Esdengangs. This paper is merely some kind of practical joke, not a piece of evidence.”

Almost imperceptibly, Harry saw Dumbledore’s eyes widen and his attention shift ever so slightly to Draco. Harry looked back to McGonagall, to see if she had also noticed, but she only looked annoyed as she stared daggers at the Minister, who had not been convinced in the least by her testimony. He snatched the parchment back, aggrieved.

“What exactly is this… Dumbledore’s Army?” he asked Umbridge.

“I’ve got just the person to explain it!” she exclaimed, and Harry shuddered. Did she mean him? What was she going to do? “I’ll go and fetch her,” she offered, running out excitedly.

Harry looked at Draco from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look confused like Harry did, he knew who Umbridge was fetching. He caught Harry staring and seemed to be trying to silently convey something to him. Harry had no clue what that thing was, but he could tell it was bad.

Umbridge came rushing breathlessly back in with a girl who was covering her face with handfuls of her robe, peeking out gingerly with round fearful eyes. It took a second, but Harry realised with a jolt that the girl was Marietta Edgecombe. She had snitched. She had sold them out.

“Tell everyone here what you told me,” instructed Umbridge. Marietta remained silent. “Go on, girl,” prompted Umbridge. She attempted to pry Marietta’s hands away from her face, and for a fleeting moment Harry glimpsed what was underneath. Across Marietta’s pale cheeks were an array of nasty purple pimples which formed the word ‘SNEAK’.

“Oh my!” recoiled Fudge.

“It happened after she told me about the meeting,” explained Umbridge.

“Haven’t you tried a countercurse yet?”

“Nothing has worked so far,” Umbridge begrudgingly admitted, and Harry felt a swell of pride at Hermione’s impressive hexing. “Come now, Ms Edgecombe,” urged Umbridge, “Can you repeat to the Minister what it was you told me?”

Marietta shook her head fiercely. Her curly hair swayed from side to side.

“The hex won’t get any worse!” said Umbridge, clearly growing impatient, “Just tell us, dear.”

Marietta let out a soft whimper. She wasn’t going to say anything. Harry thanked his lucky stars.

“Fine!” huffed Umbridge, “I’ll say it. I was interviewing Edgecombe for details about any illicit activity, which as I told you Minister, I had expected for quite some time. She told me that if I went looking for the Room of Requirement, I might find a meeting of students. As everyone knows, all student groups have been disbanded for quite some time. I asked her to tell me more, but then those spots appeared on her face and she became too upset to tell me anything else. I went up to find this room with some handpicked trustworthy students, but someone must have warned them because everyone was gone, except for Harry, who Draco here caught.”

“He did?” remarked Fudge, “I shall have to let Lucius know.”

“And he was holding that list!” added Umbridge, drawing everyone’s attention back to the parchment in the Minister’s hand. Fudge looked down at it again, trailing his eyes over the many names. “As I told you, Minister,” continued Umbridge, “Early on in the year a friend of mine overheard a meeting, led by Harry Potter himself, in the Hog’s head. He was covered in bandages at the time, but he could hear quite clearly, and Potter was organising a Defence Against the Dark Arts group intending to teach students spells that the Ministry deemed illegal for them to know!”

Harry thought back to the Hog’s Head meeting, all that time ago, and he seemed to remember a strange character seated at the bar, covered head to toe in bandages. How stupid he’d been.

“Harry Potter has been plotting against the Ministry, and against you, Minister, this entire time!”

“I think you’ll find you’re wrong there, Dolores,” said Dumbledore quietly, peering at her over the half-moon spectacles perched halfway down his crooked nose.

“You mean to claim,” huffed Fudge disbelievingly, “That Harry was in fact not at the Hog’s Head? That this list, with his name on it, is merely a- a toy! A practical joke, as Minerva decided to put it–

“Cornelius, I do not deny — and nor, I am sure, does Harry — that he was in the Hog’s Head that day, nor that he was trying to recruit students to a Defense Against the Dark Arts group. I am merely pointing out that Dolores is quite wrong to suggest that such a group was, at that time, illegal. If you remember, the Ministry decree banning all student societies was not put into effect until two days after Harry’s Hogsmeade meeting, so he was not breaking any rules in the Hog’s Head at all.”

Fudge remained motionless, his mouth hanging open. Umbridge recovered first.

“That’s all very fine, Headmaster,” she said, smiling sweetly. “But we are now nearly six months on from the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. If the first meeting was not illegal, all those that have happened since most certainly are.”

“Well,” said Dumbledore, surveying her with polite interest over the top of his interlocked fingers, “they certainly would be, if they had continued after the decree came into effect. Do you have any evidence that these meetings continued?”

“Th-The list?!” sputtered Fudge, waving the paper wildly in front of Dumbledore.

“And what exactly does that prove?” demanded McGonagall sternly.

“That all these names, all these students,” he spat, “Are involved in some sort of conspiracy against the Ministry!”

“All those students?” parroted McGonagall, “Including May Coalford, Ibis Albazaine, Ether Ontodot…? The students that do not exist?”

“Cornelius,” Dumbledore addressed him calmly, “While the list may perhaps shed some light on the members of this organisation, how exactly does it prove that they’ve been meeting all this time?”

Fudge frowned deeply.

“Miss Edgecombe!” Umbridge perked up, “How long was this group meeting up for?”

Marietta only whimpered again. Harry saw Kingsley begin to move towards her, in a slow, calculated manner.

“It’s alright, dear,” coaxed Umbridge, “You can tell us. Just nod or shake your head, alright? That can’t possibly make the spots any worse. Can you do that dear? Nod if you can.”

There was a tense moment where she stayed absolutely still. Everyone watched the curly haired girl with anticipation. Just as Umbridge looked ready to give her a few more words of encouragement, Marietta nodded softly.

“Perfect!” breathed Umbridge, her horrid grin returning. Kingsley was now to Marietta’s side, but no one seemed to be paying him much attention. “Now, dear,” asked Umbridge clearly, “Have these meetings been going on since the first one in the Hog’s Head up until now?”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. They were going to get the testimony they needed. Marietta looked as if she were about to nod, when her round eyes seemed to glaze over, and, to Harry’s utter amazement, she quickly changed to shake her head. Kingsley began to move back to where he’d been standing before.

“I don’t think you understood the question, did you, dear? I’m asking whether you’ve been going to these meetings for the past six months? You have, haven’t you?”

Again, Marietta shook her head.

“What do you mean by shaking your head, dear?” said Umbridge in a testy voice.

“I would have thought her meaning was quite clear,” said Professor McGonagall harshly. “There have been no secret meetings for the past six months. Is that correct, Miss Edgecombe?”

Marietta nodded.

“But there was a meeting tonight!” said Umbridge furiously. “There was a meeting, Miss Edgecombe, you told me about it, in the Room of Requirement! And Potter was the leader, was he not, Potter organized it, Potter — why are you shaking your head, girl?”

“Well, usually when a person shakes their head,” said McGonagall coldly, “they mean ‘no.’ So unless Miss Edgecombe is using a form of sign language as yet unknown to humans —

Professor Umbridge seized Marietta, and began to shake her, rather violently. Immediately there were shouts of protest from McGonagall, Fudge, Dumbledore, and even Kingsley. She stopped herself, moving back from Marietta, looking chastised.

“Well,” surmised Dumbledore calmly, “It seems that you have little evidence supporting your story.”

“Well!” snapped Fudge agitatedly, “I don’t see how it matters all that much whether or not they have been meeting for the past six months! We know from what Willie Widdershins observed at the Hog’s Head that Harry was planning this little organisation, which was illegal from the start! Student groups may not have been banned at the time, but the object of his group was still highly illegal. Harry is clearly involved, as are the others on the list.” McGonagall moved to protest once again, but he interrupted her, “The allegedly ‘made up’ students could easily be people from outside the school, perhaps meant to teach this Defence Against the Dark Arts practice. They do not undermine the evidence in the least!”

Harry didn’t see how they were going to get out of this one. For once, Fudge had a point.

“Harry Potter, and the rest of the students on this paper,” he brandished it wildly once again, “Will be questioned about this ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ and punished accordingly. Plotting against the Ministry is a very serious offence. Conspiring like this could mean Azkaban.”

“They are children!” exclaimed McGonagall, horrified.

“In light of the seriousness,” Fudge threw down the list on a nearby desk to punctuate the harsh word, “Of this crime–

“Crime?”

“Yes!” he insisted hotly, “This is a criminal offence, surely you see that?”

Fudge and McGonagall continued to argue fiercely, but Harry’s focus was drawn to Draco, who had been edging closer to the Minister all this time, and was now drawing back in mock fear at the fight unfolding before him. Meanwhile, Umbridge had resumed her questioning of Marietta, as Kingsley tried to get her to stop, and Percy took furious notes in his little notebook, presumably about this new argument between McGonagall and the Minister, which he was watching intently.

As such, Draco went unnoticed by all despite Harry and Dumbledore. His act of fear fell away, and as he backed into the desk, his hands slid behind him, searching for the paper.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as they followed Draco’s inconspicuous movements. Draco saw that he was watching, and fixed him with an indifferent regard. He slowly and expertly retrieved the list and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robe. And then he began to slip away.

“They are children and will be tried as such!” McGonagall was saying.

“They will be tried as the Wizengamot sees fit!”

“The Wizengamot? You intend to–

“Considering the severity of the crimes–

“They should get the Dementors Kiss,” Malfoy interjected nastily. Everyone in the room stopped arguing, and turned to him. He was now standing on Fudge’s side. He was playing off his slow approach to the desk as a way of getting into the Minister’s conversation. As if his true intention of creeping around the room was only to go and join in the argument. Harry couldn’t help but admire his quick thinking. He almost smiled, but held himself back. He should have looked angry, after all, Draco had just suggested Harry be administered a fate worse than death.

“Oh, well now,” replied Fudge uncomfortably, in a much quieter tone, “That’s a bit extreme Draco, my boy.”

“Well they’ve committed an extreme crime against the Ministry,” he reasoned, “But of course, it isn’t up to me. I apologise for imposing on your decision making.”

“Quite alright,” Fudge assured him dismissively. He turned back to McGonagall, much more composed after the sobering interaction with Draco. “I’m sure you can understand,” he continued in a strained voice to the fuming Professor.

Draco made his way back to Harry, an almost too convincing malicious smirk on his face. Harry couldn’t help but admire his incredible acting. Draco might have just saved them all. And the best part was, they’d never even think to search him. He was the one who’d caught Harry, the one who hated Harry, who’d been helping Umbridge all along.

“There is indisputable evidence–

“Indisputable? I would argue it is very disputable, Minister.”

“You can’t seriously be taking the students’ side on this Minerva,” he scorned, “How in Merlin’s beard, can this list,” he turned to retrieve it, probably so he could brandish it madly at her, “This list…” he trailed off, turning around fully and searching to desk. “Where is the list?” he demanded. His eyes flitted madly at the other people in the room, looking for an answer in their faces. “Where is the list?” he asked again, sounding furious.

“Search him!” ordered Umbridge, jabbing an accusing finger at Harry. Draco didn’t waste a moment, he turned Harry’s pockets out and ran searching hands over his clothes, as if he thought Harry might have stashed the list under his shirt.

“I’ve been standing here the whole time!” spat Harry as reproachfully as he could. Draco searched him a second time, quite unnecessarily Harry thought.

“There’s nothing,” he told Umbridge disappointedly. He frowned at Harry, as if deep in thought. Harry glared at him, fixing his pockets so they weren’t inside out.

“Perhaps it’s under the table,” McGonagall suggested snarkily.

“You know it’s not!” hissed Fudge.

Suddenly, Draco rounded on Dumbledore.

“You have it!” he accused forcefully, and everyone snapped around. “You summoned it while no one was looking!”

Dumbledore surveyed him calmly, a curious look in his eyes. What was Draco doing? As much as Harry had issues with Dumbledore, he also kept the school safe, and they couldn’t afford to lose him.

“I do not,” Dumbledore replied easily.

“Search him!” screeched Umbridge. Hesitantly, Kingsley approached the Headmaster. Dumbledore readily consented, spreading his arms wide.

“Nothing, Minister,” Kingsley informed him.

There was a short silence.

“H-he must have vanished it somewhere!” insisted Draco. Fudge turned accusingly back to Dumbledore.

“You may have taken our evidence,” he said bitterly.

“I did not,” Dumbledore cut in calmly.

“But we have witnesses. Percy, me, Dolores, Kingsley, Draco. And while we won’t remember everyone on that list, we all know very well that Harry Potter was on it. You can’t wriggle your way out of this one! Harry will be tried for his crimes.”

Dumbledore’s unwavering calm began to waver.

“Now, now, Cornelius,” he said, “You can’t seriously think Harry came up with this organisation all on his own? Forgive me Harry, but you don’t have the brains for an operation like this. No, there is a greater force at work here.” Harry was struck with the sudden fear that Dumbledore was about to accuse Draco. He tensed. “You say you recall his name on the list, perhaps you will recall the very first name on that parchment, Cornelius? After all, it said ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, did it not? Not ‘Harry’s Army’. I instructed him to form this group, and to recruit students to it. He has been working under my guidance this entire time. It is I, who is conspiring against you.”

Fudge’s eyes shone.

“Are you getting this, Percy?” he demanded. Percy nodded hurriedly, not even pausing from his scribbling.

“It has been me this whole time,” added Dumbeldore cheerfully. It dawned on Harry exactly what Dumbeldore was about to do.

“No it wasn’t!” he blurted out.

“A noble act, to try and defend me, Harry,” he replied, rather threateningly, “But there is no use in lying. The game is up. Now please refrain from shouting, or I will have to ask you to leave my office.”

“Yes, shut up, Potter!” barked Fudge, who was still ogling Dumbledore with a kind of horrified delight. “Well, well, well — I came here tonight expecting to expel Potter and instead —

“Instead you get to arrest me,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It’s like losing a Knut and finding a Galleon, isn’t it?”

Fudge only regarded him with shining fascination.

“You will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azkaban to await trial!” he exclaimed like a giddy schoolboy who knew the answer to the teacher’s question and couldn't possibly contain himself.

“Ah,” said Dumbledore gently, “yes. Yes, I thought we might hit that little snag.”

“Snag?” said Fudge, his voice still vibrating with joy. “I see no snag, Dumbledore!”

“Well,” said Dumbledore apologetically, “I’m afraid I do.”

“Oh really?”

“Well — it’s just that you seem to be labouring under the delusion that I am going to — what is the phrase? ‘Come quietly’ I am afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Cornelius. I have absolutely no intention of being sent to Azkaban. Quite frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing.”

Umbridge’s face was growing steadily redder, she looked as though she was being filled with boiling water. Fudge stared at Dumbledore with a very silly expression on his face, as though he had just been stunned by a sudden blow and could not quite believe it had happened. He made a small choking noise and then looked around at Kingsley, who, catching his meaning, began to move slowly towards Dumbledore. His hand drifted casually towards his pocket. Surely Kingsley wouldn’t attack Dumbledore?

But before he could even begin to try, Fawkes came hurtling above their heads towards the Headmaster. He clapped his hands above his head just as the phoenix passed overhead, and in a burst of flames, he was gone. Well and truly gone. Harry couldn’t believe it. He and Draco shared a quick yet astonished look between them. Everyone else was equally too shocked to notice this interaction. Both Fudge and Umbridge were lost for words.

Unfortunately for them all, she found them again after about two minutes.

“I suppose,” she said softly, “That this leaves me as Headmistress?”

Harry’s eyes shot wide open. Headmistress?

“I, yes, I suppose it does,” agreed Fudge distractedly. He was still staring at the spot where Dumbledore had disappeared from.

“Well then,” she continued calmly, “I should like to interrogate Potter. What do you think, Minister?”

“Yes, yes.” he agreed, “Splendid idea. You do that, Dolores. Me, Kingsley and Percy will return to the Ministry and get this story into the Prophet. If we hurry we may still make the morning edition.”

And with that, he stepped into the floo, Percy and Kingsley following behind, and they were gone. Umbridge turned menacingly to Harry, her simpering smile had returned.

“Draco,” she addressed, not even looking at him, “Go and fetch the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad. See if they’ve managed to catch anyone else, and bring them back to me.”

Draco was very still for a moment. He stole a desperate glance at Harry and then he left the office.

“Minerva,” she said next, still staring at Harry, “You are dismissed.”

“I refuse–

“You are not in any position to refuse,” replied Umbridge curtly, still her eyes never left Harry, “I am Headmistress now, and I assure you that failure to comply with me could very easily get you sacked. After your argument today, I’m sure the Minister is less than fond of you. He could easily make it happen.”

McGonagall glared at the back of her head. Harry thought she was going to burn a hole in Umbridge’s skull. Harry looked her in the eyes, trying to signal that he would be fine.

“Now, Minerva,” ordered Umbridge, all the sweetness gone from her voice. McGonagall walked slowly out, shutting the heavy door behind her.

Harry watched her leave, a shudder running down his spine. He turned determinedly back to Umbridge, plastering on his very best scowl.

“Well, Potter,” she said sweetly, “Shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Draco lingered around the corner, somewhat nervously. Pansy had told him she’d ‘caught’ Hermione and told her to go to the library and study as if nothing was wrong in order to avoid suspicion. Hermione had graciously followed these instructions, and was currently copying out her charms notes while Ron read one of his course required books with frantic urgency. Perhaps he still hadn’t finished it and was getting as many pages in as he could before their exam.

Biting his lip, Draco rounded the corner and made his way through the shelves, as if he were only browsing through the library. It was fairly empty that day, but even so.

Soon, he reached the bookcase closest to them. Draco peered through it at the pair, who hadn’t noticed him at all, too engrossed in their work. It was doubtful that he’d catch their attention this way. Instead, Draco took an ancient runes book from one of the shelves, and went over to a small study table in a corner.

There, he retrieved the list of DA members from the personalised inner pocket of his school robe and turned it over onto the blank side. Then, using a quill and ink provided on the table, he wrote a neat message.

Marietta sold out the DA. Harry was found with this list by Umbridge. I’ve stolen it back and am leaving it in your possession, but before I took it she probably saw your names too. Dumbledore took the fall and has left the school. Umbridge is now Headmistress. She is currently questioning Harry in Dumbledore’s office and she may want to question you as well. The story Dumbledore went with was that he organised the whole thing and told Harry what to do, but that there have only been two meetings; the one in the Hog’s Head (Umbridge had a spy at the bar who told her about it) and the one today. They don’t have evidence for any other ones having happened. I’m confident that Harry can handle the interrogation well, so I don’t see any reason to take action. Continue going about your days as if everything is normal.

He folded the parchment and slid it into the ancient runes book, before getting up again. He made his way directly to their table, and they looked up in surprise.

“Professor Babbling told me to give you this,” he told Hermione coldly, “Extra reading to prepare for the test.”

Hesitantly, Hermione took the book from him.

“She wants you to look at page 107,” he said in the same indifferent manner, but his eyes were wide with meaning, trying to pass the message on to her.

“Ok.” said Hermione, putting the book in front of her.

Draco bit his lip again, a nervous tick he’d picked up from Harry, and leaned closer to the pair. He looked pointedly at Hermione, taking in a deep breath.

“I’m…” he began softly, “I’m sorry I called you a mudblood. It was wrong. You don’t have to accept my apology.”

Her eyes widened. So did Ron’s.

“So why don’t you just look at page 107 Granger?” he threatened, raising his voice to its normal level again and standing straight, “Merlin knows you’ll need it if you’ve any hope of passing ancient runes.

Ron scowled at him. Draco couldn’t tell if this was acting or not, but he didn’t care. He returned to the book cases, surveying them to make sure she really did find his letter.

After a few minutes, Hermione opened the book and she and Ron discreetly read his message. Now sure that they had gotten the information he’d wanted to pass on, he retired to his common room to wait for Harry’s interrogation to finish.

***

Finally, Harry was released from Dumbledore’s office. Or as it was now, Dumbledore’s old office. Umbridge’s office. Even the thought was disgusting to him. He brushed it off.

The interrogation had been a triumph for him. He’d managed to refuse to tell her anything other than reiterate what Dumbledore had ‘confessed’.

Harry was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong to doubt the man over the course of this year. After all, he’d just taken the fall for Harry, at the risk of going to Azkaban. Not that they’d ever have been able to keep him there, but the action itself was still a sacrifice. Maybe Dumbledore had Harry’s best interests in mind after all. Or maybe it had been purely strategic. Harry didn’t have a clue.

He made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower for some rest after the stresses of the day.

Chapter Text

By the next day, news of Dumbledore’s abrupt departure and Umbridge’s new status as Headmistress had spread throughout the whole school.

“It’s alright,” Harry confided in Ernie Macmillan, Ron and Hermione, “She didn’t get anything out of me. Almost made me write those stupid lines again though.” Ron shot him a worried look. “But she didn’t in the end! She doesn’t have the list anymore, but she’s definitely still got her suspicions. I think she’s going to try and get someone else to crack and snitch on all the other members.”

“No one will dare say anything after seeing Marietta though, will they?” asked Ernie.

“Doubt it,” smirked Ron, glancing admiringly at Hermione.

“Let’s hope so, anyway,” she replied, less assured than him, “I just can’t believe she’s Head.”

“I bet she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head’s office,” said Harry viciously, as they walked up the stone steps that led to Transfiguration. It was their last class of the day. “Holding it over all the other teachers, that stupid, power-crazy old —”

“Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Potter?” Draco had slid out from behind the door, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice. Harry couldn’t help but feel relieved to see him. “Afraid I’m going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” Draco drawled.

Harry paid the threat little mind. He really just wanted to be in Draco’s arms. His nerves had been a mess all of yesterday, and everything would have been world’s worse had it not been for him saving the day. Harry couldn’t bear to think what would have happened if Draco hadn’t sent his patronus as a warning, or hadn't been the one to trip Harry, or not stayed in the office, or even not delivered the list to Hermione and Ron. But of course, Harry couldn’t go running into the Slytherin boy’s arms, he had to play his part, just as Draco had played his own so beautifully yesterday.

“Stupid, power-crazy old toad,” he spat, and Draco grinned.

“That’ll be 20 points, Potter.”

“Harry!” hissed Ernie.

“Five from you, Macmillan,” added Crabbe.

Poor Ernie looked horrified.

“Anyway,” continued Draco, “We’re not here to dock points.” Harry raised an eyebrow at this. “We’re here to summon you to The Great Hall.”

“What?” blurted out Ron.

“That’s five from you too, Weasley,” goaded Malfoy, “Don’t interrupt, now. The Headmistress,” he paused to stress this particular word, “Or as you put it Potter, the ‘stupid, power-hungry old toad’, wants you in The Great Hall, immediately.”

“All of us?” asked Hermione tentatively.

“All of you,” sneered Draco, “You’ve been excused from class, of course.” He turned to lead them back down the stairs, “Come along now,” he told them, and they followed behind, exchanging fearful glances. Crabbe and Goyle boxed them in from behind, in case they tried to run back up the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Ernie asked in a small voice.

Draco looked over his shoulder at the Hufflepuff boy, face twisted into a smirk.

“Let’s just say she finally got the names she wanted.”

Harry, Ernie, Hermione and Ron exchanged more fearful glances. Harry wanted to ask more, but he didn’t want to be suspicious. Draco would tell him everything afterwards.

Soon they had arrived at the Great Hall, where rows and rows of single desks had replaced the tables from lunch. They looked to be the tables that were going to be used for their OWLs, and Harry briefly worried if she was forcing them to sit the exam early as punishment. The truth was much worse. Laid on every table was a stack of plain pink parchment and one of Umbridge’s horrid black-magic quills. Sitting at almost every desk were members upon members of the DA. All the Weasley siblings were there, most of the Gryffindors from Harry’s year. Harry noticed with a pang that Dennis Creevey was among them.

Ernie, Harry, Ron and Hermione were directed to their seats. Umbridge herself sat at the front, beaming with pure joy as she sipped tea from a pink teacup, looking over the many students in front of her. She was sitting in Dumbledore’s chair.

Harry and the rest of the captured DA members sat in silence, waiting for her to say something. A few more of the former members trickled in, guided by the Inquisitorial Squad. Once all the seats had been filled, Umbridge put down her tea, and stood up. Pointing her wand to her throat to amplify her shrill voice, she addressed the room.

“I’m sure you all know why you are here,” she began sweetly, “Punishment for plotting against the Ministry. And that punishment will be line writing. Quills and parchment have been provided for you, please do not use your own materials. Now, the line you will be writing is on the board,” she gestured to a large floating chalkboard behind her that she must have taken from a nearby classroom. A piece of pink chalk wrote across the board, leaving the words ‘I must be loyal to the Ministry’ across them in Umbridge’s sickening cursive. “You will write it until the time is up. If you are found not writing, House points will be taken. You have one hour. You may begin.”

Harry had to unclench his fists. He would never last the hour. He looked back at Dennis, who had just picked up his quill, and felt sick. He looked around for Draco, who was lingering at a far corner of the room, and tried to signal to him that he had to help the poor Gryffindor boy. Draco ignored him, perhaps on purpose, or perhaps he really just hadn’t seen Harry. There were a lot of people in the Hall after all. Harry took a shaking breath and looked down at his parchment and quill. His hand shaking, he began to copy out the wretched words from the chalkboard.

I must be loyal to the MInistry. His hand stung. I must be loyal to the Ministry. Why hadn’t his case against Umbridge come through yet? He wanted to look back at Dennis, and Neville, and Ginny, and poor, poor Luna and everyone else he’d let down to try and reassure them, but he steeled himself. I must be loyal to the Ministry. Harry grit his teeth. I must be loyal to the Ministry. This was the most miserable he’d been all year, the very lowest point. I must be loyal to the Ministry. I must be loyal to the Ministry. He almost wanted to cry. To give in and sob, right there and then, but he didn’t dare give Umbridge the satisfaction. I must be loyal to the Ministry. The familiar cuts had begun to appear on the back of his hand. He flexed his fingers uncomfortably. I must be loyal to the Ministry. I must be loyal to the Ministry. I must be loyal to the Ministry. He wished that Padfoot and Moony were there to comfort him. He missed them terribly. And now he’d let them down too. I must be loyal to the Ministry. He wrote aggressively, tensely, but this only made the cuts worse. He couldn’t help it. I am not loyal to the Ministry, he scribbled down out of spite, but this sentence stung terribly, so he crossed it out and went back to I must be loyal to the Ministry.

“Potter,” came a cold voice. He jerked up, and there was Draco. He’d approached Harry without him noticing. Harry immediately covered the cuts on his hand; he didn’t want Draco to see him like that, or feel guilty. Draco’s eyes flicked briefly downwards, noticing the movement. “Don’t put the quill down, Potter,” he threatened, and for the first time Harry could hear the pain through the facade. There were chinks in Draco’s armour. Harry sat very still. “Didn’t you hear me?” snapped Draco, and in one, swift, expert motion, he snatched the blood quill from the desk, pushed it up the sleeve of his robe, slid a different one out and slammed it into Harry’s hand. “Keep writing,” he warned. And with that, he was gone. Harry blinked.

He picked up the new quill (he was sure it was a different one, though the difference was practically imperceptible, as was Draco’s sleight of hand) and began to write with it. I must be loyal to the Ministry. Nothing happened. Harry wrote again, and again. I must be loyal to the Ministry. I must be loyal to the Ministry. Nothing.

Behind him he could hear similar exchanges between Draco, Pansy, Blaise and various members of the DA. They were going to get everyone. Harry resisted the urge to turn around and look, he couldn’t do anything to raise suspicion. He carried on writing furiously. Every so often he looked up at Umbridge to glare. She had no clue, absolutely no idea what was happening right under her nose. Her plan had failed. Both plans actually. She hadn’t been able to get Harry arrested, nor was she now able to properly punish the DA. Harry glared some more.

Finally the hour was up, and they were dismissed. Everyone moved slowly to the door, and Harry was overwhelmed at how proud he was of all of them. Everyone had held their nerve. Except of course, Marietta and whoever else had betrayed everyone’s names to Umbridge. His pride was slightly wounded as he remembered this. Draco would tell him the culprit later.

Once a safe distance from the Great Hall, Harry finally asked Hermione and Ron.

“Did they..?”

“Yes!” interrupted Hermione.

“Not a scratch afterwards,” added Ron. Harry beamed.

They had stopped halfway through a nearby corridor on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Fred and George were walking with little Dennis.

“It’s not so bad,” comforted George, “It’ll stop hurting soon.”

“Really?” sniffed Dennis, who was clutching at his injured hand. Harry’s chest twinged at the sight.

“Yeah,” said Fred, “Let me heal it for you Dennis,”

Gingerly, Dennis held his hand up to Fred, who took it gently and waved his wand over the skin. The cuts, which there thankfully weren’t very many of, healed over as if they’d never existed in the first place.

“Thank you,” said Dennis. Fred offered him a warm smile, and the boy ran off to his older brother.

Harry and his friends regrouped with the twins.

“I can tell you’re thinking of doing something,” Ron told them.

“Caught on, have you?” joked Fred, but Ron was very serious.

“You have to be careful,” he warned the twins.

“Always careful,” winked George.

“Ron’s right,” Hermione told them sternly, “I heard Filch boasting about all these new methods of punishment Umbridge has let him start using. You could get into serious trouble!”

“We could,” agreed Fred coolly. “Anyway, we’ve decided we don’t care about getting into trouble anymore.”

“Have you ever?” asked Hermione. She did not seem to like the sound of what Fred was getting at.

“ ’Course we have,” said George. “Never been expelled, have we?”

“We’ve always known where to draw the line,” said Fred.

“We might have put a toe across it occasionally,” said George.

“But we’ve always stopped short of causing real mayhem,” said Fred.

“But now?” said Ron tentatively.

“Well, now —” said George.

“What with Dumbledore gone —” said Fred.

“We reckon a bit of mayhem —” said George.

“— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,” said Fred.

“You mustn’t!” whispered Hermione. “You really mustn’t! She’d love a reason to expel you!”

“You don’t get it, Hermione, do you?” said Fred, smiling at her. “We don’t care about staying anymore. We’d walk out right now if we weren’t determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first.”

“...Your bit for Dumbledore?” asked Ron.

“You’ll see,” said George, and the two were off. Harry and the rest of the trio shared a worried look.

“Oh dear.” said Hermione.

“I’m, er, going to go see Draco,” said Harry. Ron rolled his eyes as Hermione smiled a little.

“ ‘Course you are,” he groaned, and Harry laughed.

“I’ll see you both later!” he called after them, hurrying off to the library. With any luck, Draco would be studying there.

***

“I’m so sorry you got cut in the first place,” murmured Draco into Harry’s hair. Finally, they were in each other’s arms. “I wanted to swap them before anyone even got there, but we didn’t have a good opportunity, and it would have looked suspicious if no one had any scars or thought that the punishment had really just been to write lines. Merlin, I’m sorry.”

Harry held him tighter.

“It’s ok,” he assured him, “You did so well. Not just today, yesterday too. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You basically saved us all, you know.” He smiled into Draco’s neck.

“Does it still hurt?” asked Draco worriedly, drawing back to examine Harry’s hand, which he’d healed earlier.

“Can’t feel a thing,” smiled Harry. It was a lie, it still twinged a bit, but he didn’t mind.

Draco stroked his thumb over the place where the cuts had been. The touch was reassuring. He brought Harry’s hand to his mouth and tenderly kissed the back of it. Their eyes met, and Harry was a blushing mess. It was as if they’d only just gotten together, as if he was unfamiliar with the action, when really they’d been snogging all over the school for months. Draco smirked at him, easily picking up at the colour in his cheeks.

“Careful, Potter,” he teased, “I’m beginning to think you might have a crush on me.”

Harry glared at him.

“You wish,” he replied scornfully. Draco leaned in and kissed him. Harry could feel him smiling through the kiss. It warmed his heart. “Who was it?” he asked Draco when they broke apart, “Who did she get all those names from?”

“It was Edgecombe,” he replied sadly, “She used Veritaserum on her.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Isn’t that…?”

“Illegal? Yes.” Draco’s mouth was a thin line.

BOOM!

The very floor itself shook, and Harry and Draco regarded each other with shock. What could be…? Harry heard people running and screaming downstairs.

The two of them leapt up and ran towards the commotion.

It was not difficult to find. One floor down, pandemonium reigned. Somebody (and Harry had a very shrewd idea who) had set off what seemed to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.

Dragons comprised entirely of green-and-gold sparks were soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they went. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Harry looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer he watched.

Harry and Draco hid behind a corner, watching Filch and Umbridge who were transfixed with horror, standing halfway down the main stairs. As Harry watched, one of the larger Catherine wheels seemed to decide that what it needed was more room to manoeuvre; it whirled toward Umbridge and Filch with a sinister whistle. Both adults yelled with fright and ducked and it soared straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that was smoking ominously took advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape toward the second floor.

“Hurry, Filch, hurry!” shrieked Umbridge. “They’ll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!”

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a nearby painting of a soppy-looking witch who ran into her neighbouring painting just in the nick of time.

Harry and Draco shared a look of absolute awe. From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed movement behind them. He turned around and it was Fred. He was peeking out from behind a tapestry that hid a secret passage that led right next to where Umbridge and Filch were standing. He beckoned Harry and Draco in.

They slipped behind the tapestry and, suppressing their laughter, followed him to where George was listening to Umbridge and Filch’s distressed yelling.

“Impressive,” Harry said quietly, grinning. “Very impressive …You’ll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem!”

“Cheers,” whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. “Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next…They multiply by ten every time you try…”

“You don’t say…” smirked Draco, and he ran back the way he’d come. Harry made to run after him but George held him back.

“Wait, wait,” he giggled quietly.

A few seconds later, Draco’s voice could be heard.

“Headmistress!” he exclaimed with convincing distress, “What’s happening?”

“Can’t seem to get rid of them!” Filch piped up.

“Don’t stupefy them!” warned Umbridge.

No one spoke for a second, and all that could be heard were the whizzings and poppings of fireworks.

“Have you tried vanishing them?” offered Draco. Harry and the twins snorted.

“Good idea, Draco,” she replied, and cast the spell.

This was followed by more screams from Filch and Umbridge. Harry doubled over in laughter.

“I’ll go and fetch Snape!” called Draco worriedly, and soon he was back in the secret passage, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was hilarious!” Harry told him, wiping his own tears of laughter away.

“It’s a shame we’ll probably be expelled now,” chuckled Fred, “We could’ve used someone like you.”

“Yeah,” agreed George, “You’re not a bad sort, Malfoy.”

Draco looked especially proud of this.

“I probably should go and find professor Snape,” he said eventually.

“Wait, wait!” called Fred, “Before you go, me and George have a bet to settle.”

Draco arched an eyebrow.

“You two are going out,” said Fred, gesturing between them, “Aren’t you?”

Harry froze. How did he know? Had they really been so obvious, just as Ron had said?

“We are,” confirmed Draco, the hint of a smirk on his face.

George begrudgingly passed a delighted Fred a galleon. A whole galleon? Fred must have been pretty sure.

“It’s cheating if you got insider information,” grumbled George.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, “We never told Fred anything.”

“No,” agreed George huffily, “But Blaise Zabini certainly did.”

“He didn’t tell me a thing,” denied Fred, still grinning as he pocketed the galleon, “You’re just a sore loser.” He poked his brother in the side.

“Why would Zabini have told him anything?” questioned Harry, who was still confused.

A knowing look passed between the twins.

“You’re not the only one with a Slytherin friend,” winked Fred, and Harry’s jaw dropped. He turned to look at Draco, but Draco wasn’t surprised at all.

“You knew!” he accused his boyfriend. Draco nodded.

“Of course,” he smiled, “Anyway,” he continued, “I’ll see you later, Harry.”

He stole a quick kiss and left. Harry’s head was reeling.

“What on earth?” he muttered, then, “Won’t you miss him?”

“I’m sure he’ll be visiting,” said Fred lightly. Harry marvelled at his confidence.

Chapter Text

The fireworks continued for the rest of the afternoon. They were very loud, and very disruptive, but the teachers didn’t seem to mind. Everytime one even came remotely close to their classrooms they would call for a bewildered, soot-covered Umbridge and get her to take care of it.

Fred and George were treated like heroes that night in the Gryffindor Tower. Even Hermione fought her way through the buzzing crowd around them to congratulate them.

“The fireworks were amazing!” she complimented admiringly.

“Thanks,” replied George, looking both surprised and pleased. “Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we’re going to have to start again from scratch now.”

“It was worth it, though,” said Fred, who was taking orders from clamouring Gryffindors. “If you want to add your name to the waiting list Hermione, it’s five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione returned to the table where Harry and Ron were sitting staring at their school bags as though hoping their homework might spring out of it and start doing itself.

“Oh, why don’t we have a night off?” said Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zoomed past the window. “I think we deserve it.”

“Are you feeling alright?” asked Ron, staring at her in disbelief.

“Now that you mention it,” said Hermione happily, “...I think I’m feeling a bit…rebellious.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” he demanded. Hermione giggled.

“Let’s do something fun,” she suggested, and Ron’s ginger eyebrows rose even further on his freckled forehead.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered in awe, and she pushed him playfully. Harry watched them with a faint smile. He had the weird feeling that he was intruding on something between them. They carried on talking. A sparkler flew by the nearest window and exploded into the word ‘WANKER’ in large fizzing letters. Harry suppressed a chuckle. He would let Ron and Hermione get on with it.

“I’m going to go and see–

“Draco?” Ron cut in. Harry smiled sheepishly. “Again?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What are you, my dad?” he teased.

“Alright then, bugger off.” said Ron.

“Thanks, dad,” he replied with a grin as he turned and exited the busy Common Room. He was making his way over to the Dungeons when he ran into none other than Cho Chang. She was looking very upset. Her cheeks were smudged with tears.

“Cho?” he called out to her softly, “Are you alright?”

“Oh! Harry… I wanted to talk to you.”

To talk to him? What about?

“Ok,” he told her, a little confused.

“Um,” she looked around and promptly sat down on a nearby stair, Harry came to join her.

“What is it?” he asked gently.

Cho smiled weakly at him.

“I just wanted you to know that Marietta really didn’t mean to tell Umbridge…” she trailed off, catching Harry’s eye, “She was afraid of upsetting Umbridge, because she’d threatened Mary’s mum’s job. She feels so horrible about it, but she was really scared, and so she let it slip. Gosh, I’m so sorry, Harry! You must be so angry at us both, I know some of the others are.” Cho put her head in her hands, the tears resurfacing.

“I’m not angry!” he quickly reassured her, “And they shouldn’t be either, it’s ok!”

“And all the names that she gave to Umbridge–

“She was under Veritaserum, don’t worry, I already know.”

“How do you…?” she began to ask, but then she blinked and stopped, “Oh, of course,” she muttered to herself.

Harry frowned. What did she know?

“...Of course?” he prompted.

“It was Malfoy, wasn’t it?” she asked easily. Now it was Harry’s turn to blink. He reminded himself that she probably just thought they were friends. After all, they were constantly together every DA meeting.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, “It was him.”

Cho fiddled with her robes, casting him a nervous glance.

“I, um….” she took a deep breath, “I know about you two.”

It wasn’t accusing, or malicious, or mean in the least, but nevertheless Harry felt his heart stop for a second.

“What do you know about us?” he asked tensely, trying to remember how to breathe.

Cho broke into a smile and a small chuckle.

“I know, Harry,” she told him, “It’s ok. I saw you before Christmas in the Room of Requirement. I’d gone back to talk to you… And well, I accidentally walked in on the two of you.”

Harry recalled what Hermione had said to him that night when he’d returned to the Common Room. ‘It was Cho, wasn’t it? I saw her going back’. He should have known, right there and then, that he’d been caught. He could’ve kicked himself.

“Really, it’s ok!” she assured him, “I mean, I was a little jealous of course, I won’t lie.” Harry remembered what Draco had told him, that Cho fancied him, and he reddened, “But I didn’t tell anyone or anything. There’s actually something else I’ve been meaning to tell you since… Well, since Cedric died.” her voice had gone very quiet. She looked Harry right in the eyes.

“Yes?” he asked softly. Cho smiled at him.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything… But I think he would have wanted you to know, after everything. Cedric was gay.”

This had not been what Harry was expecting. Cedric? Perfect, heart throb Cedric Diggory was gay? Dream guy of all the Hogwarts girls, was gay? How unobservant could Harry possibly have been? Was everyone gay?

“He uh… He had a crush on you,” she confessed, and this shocked Harry even more.

“What?” he blurted out.

“Yeah,” Cho giggled softly, “It was, sort of awkward, actually, because… Well I guess you probably know already but I also liked you. Only I didn’t tell him… And then after he…”

Cho broke down into a sob, but she soldiered on anyway. Harry gave her hand what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.

“Afterwards, I still… liked you,” she sniffed, “And I felt so guilty. I know he would just want me to be happy but I can’t help it, I feel like I’ve done something wrong, you know? And I guess I’ve just been waiting to get this off my chest.” She laughed half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you all that… I just…”

“It’s alright,” Harry told her, “I’m glad you told me. And you shouldn’t feel guilty Cho, you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. We can’t control our feelings, me of all people should know that,” they both chuckled a bit, “I… Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

She nodded through the tears.

“Do you,” faltered Harry, “Do you want a hug?” he offered. It was what Sirius always did for him.

Cho smiled and nodded again. He reached over and hugged her. Harry wished he had some chocolate to give her, that was always Remus’ way of making people feel better. Unfortunately, there was none.

“I’m gonna head back to see Marietta,” she told him eventually.

“Ok,” smiled Harry.

“Could you…” Cho fiddled with her robes again, “Could you let people know that she didn’t mean to do it? Could you tell them about the threats and the truth potion?”

“I will.” promised Harry.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, and they went their separate ways.

Chapter Text

Harry leafed through the latest edition of the Puffington Post, pleased to find his special message to the DA among the pages, as requested.

Illegal student group heroically disbanded by Headmistress Umbridge and Inquisitorial Squad. Any similar illegal acts or groups WILL be found and participants WILL be punished. If you see any suspicious activity report to the Headmistress or a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. If you wish to become a member of the squad ask for an audience with the Headmistress to prove your trustworthiness.

With a discreet tap of his wand the Ministry propaganda Blaise Zabini had suggested he write for Umbridge transformed into an explanation of Marietta’s snitching, and the circumstances that had forced her into it.

Hey guys, I just wanted to give a final message to all of Dumbledore’s Army and explain what exactly happened. Marietta Edgecombe is the ‘sneak’ who told Umbridge about the DA meeting and gave some of the names of members to her. However, she was under a lot of pressure (the threat of her mother’s job at the Ministry) by Umbridge, and later, when she refused to reveal any more, Veritaserum was used on her. While it’s unfortunate that the DA was found out, we’re almost at our OWLs anyway, and Marietta feels very bad about what she did. Please treat the situation with understanding. Thank you all for being a part of the DA, I’m sure everyone will do great on the exam,

Harry.

He flicked through the rest of the newspaper for any interesting articles. More Quidditch commentary from Lee, especially about the bias for Slytherin by Umbridge. Luna also had her usual page on some vague, potentially imaginary creature. An article from a seventh year on studying techniques and strategies. There was a list of everything to know for the test for each OWL and each NEWT which Harry found especially helpful. Hogwarts teachers weren’t really in the habit of giving out syllabuses. Yet another testament to the terrible quality of education. Harry winced at the thought.

He was casually enjoying the paper in this fashion, when Hermione entered the Common Room, weighed down by a large pile of books she’d just checked out from the library.

“Harry!” she exclaimed after she’d put them down on the table and could finally see above the tall stack, “What are you doing here?”

“...Reading?” he replied hesitantly. Hermione gave him a pointed look, and when he responded in confusion she had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Occlumency?” she reminded him. Harry’s heart sank. Of course, occlumency. He’d promised to go one more time and give it a try.

“Right.” he groaned.

“Go on, you’ll be late!” she ushered him. He left the paper on the table and set off to the Dungeons, dread weighing him down.

He understood it was important to practise with Snape, a trained professional, but what if the potions professor really did glimpse even a fraction of Harry’s relationship with Draco? If Snape saw an intimate conversation like the one in which Harry had given Draco his address, or if he saw their kiss under the mistletoe, or worse at the back of the pub, or any one of their frequent broom closet excursions? Harry shuddered to think. If Snape saw any of those things Harry might as well pitch himself off the astronomy tower. It wasn’t even that he would get criticised for the danger and recklessness of his actions, just the sheer mortification that came with Harry’s all-time least-favourite professor watching him snog Draco Malfoy.

As Harry reached the door, he realised he had to think of something, of anything else. He had to try out the trick Draco had suggested, and focus on one thing. What would that thing be? He had to decide now, so he could be prepared. His brows furrowed deeply in thought as he tried to remember something easy to focus on.

His happiest memory. The one of his birthday with Moony and Padfoot. He was already used to focusing on it when casting a patronus, so it would work nicely.

With this plan in mind, Harry rapped his knuckles against the door. It opened and he entered to find Snape extracting silvery wisps from his head and dropping them into his pensieve, where they swirled in a silvery haze. Harry had seen him doing this several times before their Occlumency lessons and had yet to find out what it meant or why Snape was doing it.

“Good evening Potter,” he drawled, extracting the last memory into the glowing depths of the pensieve and returning to stand beside his desk.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Have you been practising?” asked Snape.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he replied easily, “Sir,” he added.

Snape quirked an eyebrow, looking somewhat amused.

“I suppose we will,” he agreed, “On the count of three,” Harry braced himself, filling his whole head with the memory of that birthday, imagining that he was about to cast a patronus. “One…Two…Three, Legilimens!”

Harry was giddily blowing out the candles of his very first birthday cake. Moony and Padfoot were beside him… Harry was blowing out the candles again. It was his eighth birthday. Moony and Padfoot were beside him…The memory replayed again, and again. Harry was filled with happiness just at the thought of that day.

Harry came back to his senses, and for once, he was standing. Snape looked sufficiently surprised, though shock quickly gave way to a frown.

“What are you doing?” he asked Harry. Harry gulped.

“I’m, er, trying to block you out. Sir.”

“Who taught you that?”

“No one!” defended Harry.

“You mean to say,” sneered Snape, “That you came up with this technique all on your own?”

Snape didn’t believe him. He’d have to change tactics.

“Alright fine,” conceded Harry, “I didn’t come up with it myself. I heard about it.”

“From who?”

“From a book.”

Snape gave him a long, appraising look.

“You should be trying to block me out completely,” he told Harry.

“Well clearly I can’t think of nothing, can I?” he complained, “Sir?”

Snape gave him another of his long stares.

“I suppose this will do for now,” he said coldly, “It’s the only progress you’ve made so far, anyway.”

Harry bit his tongue.

“Again,” ordered the professor, “On three. One…Two…Legilimens!”

It was Harry’s eighth birthday…It was his eighth birthday…It was his birthday again…

Harry came back to reality and tried to hide his satisfied smile. He’d done it. Twice. Not only were these invasions of his mind only showing Snape what Harry wanted him to see, but they were also much shorter than previous ones. Snape was being forced out of Harry’s head much faster. Draco was an absolute genius. Harry would be sure to thank him heartily afterwards.

“Alright then, see if you can do it in just one memory and not three,” instructed Snape, “One… Two…

There was frantic knocking and before Snape could answer the door flew open. Harry whipped around to see who had intruded on their lesson and was met with none other than Draco himself. He looked between Harry and Snape with a wave of different emotions. Immense shock, a hint of betrayal, fear, and then a schooled expression of surprise.

“Sorry Professor,” he said, ignoring Harry.

“It’s all right, Draco,” said Snape, lowering his wand. “Potter is here for a little Remedial Potions. What is it?”

“It’s Professor Umbridge, sir. She needs your help,” he explained quickly. “They’ve found Montague, sir. He’s turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor.”

Montague had been missing for some time now that Harry thought of it. About a week or so. And now he had shown up inside a toilet? Harry wondered if perhaps the twins had something to do with it.

“How did he get in there?” demanded Snape.

“I don’t know, sir, he’s a bit confused…”

Draco glanced very fast at Harry.

“Very well, very well. Potter,” said Snape, “we will resume this lesson once I return.” He turned and swept from his office.

Draco made a concerned face at Harry, mouthing the word ‘Occlumency?’. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what Harry was doing at this lesson after his profuse warnings. ‘It’s ok’ Harry mouthed back, but Draco did not look convinced. He turned and followed behind Snape.

Harry remained perfectly still, contemplating how he would explain this to Draco. He just… couldn’t. A shimmering light caught his eye, and Harry swivelled around to find it was reflecting off of the pensieve full of memories.

An idea entered his head. A very bad idea.

Harry looked over his shoulder, his heart now pumping harder and faster than ever. How long would it take Snape to release Montague from the toilet? Would he come straight back to his office afterward, or accompany Montague to the hospital wing? Surely the latter… Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would want to make sure he was all right…

Harry walked the remaining few feet to the Pensieve and stood over it, gazing into its depths. He hesitated, listening, then pulled out his wand again. The office and the corridor beyond were completely silent. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand.

The silvery stuff within began to swirl very fast. Harry leaned forward over it and saw that it had become transparent. He was looking down into a room as though through a circular window in the ceiling… In fact, unless he was much mistaken, he was looking down at the Great Hall…His breath was actually fogging the surface of Snape’s thoughts… His brain seemed to be in limbo… It would be insane to do the thing that he was so strongly tempted to do…He was shaking with anticipation. Snape could be back at any moment... but Harry had been seized by a reckless daring. He couldn’t help himself. Without another moment’s thought, he plunged his head into the luminescent liquid, and was met with the familiar feeling of falling.

He landed in the Great Hall, but a different one to the one he knew. It had been turned into an examination hall, not unlike the setup Umbridge had used for her punishment of the DA. Harry easily spotted Snape, who couldn’t have been more than an inch away from his paper. Harry peered cautiously at his test. It was the DADA OWL. Snape was Harry’s age then. As a teenager, his hair was greasier and lankier. He had a skinnier build and he wasn't nearly as intimidating. Harry turned away to look at the rest of the room and spotted a familiar head of unruly black hair. His eyes widened, was it… Could it be… Harry rushed forward so fast that if it had been real life he would’ve probably toppled several desks.

The messy haired boy turned to the side and Harry recognised him in an instant. It was uncanny how alike the two of them looked. It was like looking at a slightly warped reflection of himself. James had the same nose, though slightly taller, the same dark skin, the same hair that stuck up all over the place. His eyes were brown, and his glasses were a slightly different shape, still round but flatter at the top, and of course there was no scar on his forehead. Harry almost felt like yelling out ‘Dad!’, but realised how strange it was to call a boy only a few months older than him his father.

If James was there, then that meant his other friends must have been close by. Harry looked around, scanning the surrounding desks. First he noticed Sirius, handsome as always, his long hair twisted into a messy bun with his wand. He had finished his exam, pushed it to the side and was now staring over at Remus a few desks away. Harry tried to remember if they’d already gotten together at this point but now that he thought of it, he was fairly sure they’d only confessed their feelings during their first NEWTs year. And then, behind the three other boys, was Peter. His sandy blonde hair was a lot lighter than the last time Harry had seen him… He shuddered to think what the cheery, round-faced boy before him had become.

Soon the exam ended and the ‘marauderers’ as they had called themselves, along with Snape, began to head outside. Remus, Sirius and James swapped jokes about one of the questions, which had been about werewolves, while Peter worried about failing his OWLs. They walked down to the lake, and Harry noticed with a twinge of his heart that the four of them were sitting at a spot he and his own friends often chose, under a tree. How strange that he and his dad had sat at the same spot, years and worlds apart, without even knowing. How many other similarities existed that Harry didn’t, or wouldn’t ever, know about?

Snape sat a little way away from the friends, Remus got out a book and sat under a tree, Sirius lay down in the grass, looking beautiful and bored and James got out a snitch (which he must have stolen) and began setting it free, running after it and catching it with great agility, while Peter clapped in admiration.

Each time, James let the snitch get further and further away before snatching it out of the air. His reflexes were really quite remarkable, but Peter’s fawning was a bit much. To Harry’s disgust, James seemed to be enjoying the attention, and worse than that, he kept looking over to the group of girls sitting at the water’s edge, as if to see if they were also watching. They chattered happily among themselves, and though they did occasionally whisper and glance behind them, it was mostly at Sirius, and not at James.

“Try not to wet yourself, Peter,” scorned Sirius. Peter went pink, promptly stopping his applause at James’ antics. Harry seemed to remember that Sirius had never been overly fond of the blonde boy, even before he had betrayed James and Lily.

James laughed. A clear, warm, arrogant laugh. He ran a hand through his dark hair, mussing it up even further. Harry wondered if he was doing it on purpose, and his feeling of disgust returned.

“You just wish you had Quidditch skills like this,” he teased Sirius, who rolled his eyes.

James let go of the snitch again, letting it travel even further this time, more than it had ever gone before, and following it about ten metres from his friends. He turned back to Sirius, as if to boast a second time, when the snitch was seized out of the air by someone else. Someone new. The faint hum of the buzzing golden wings stopped, catching James’ attention, and he turned to face his competition, a short, handsome boy with neat black curls and a Slytherin uniform. The more Harry looked at him, the more he looked like a smaller, tidier version of Sirius.

“Stop embarrassing yourself, Potter,” he said snidely. James didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

“Hey Reggie,” he winked. ‘Reggie’ cringed.

“Don’t call me that,” he quipped. Another Slytherin came up behind him, taller than the both of them with striking blonde hair and dark skin. He also looked familiar, but Harry was having trouble placing him.

“Flirting again, Black?” he asked smoothly. Reggie Black. Regulus Black, Harry realised. That was why he looked so much like Sirius. Regulus barely bat an eye at this comment.

“Why don’t you run along and play with Barty,” he bit back calmly, not even glancing at the other boy.

He was talking about Barty Crouch jr. He must have been, they’d been in the same year. Harry froze, remembering the frantic, crazed man from last year. Had he been just as unhinged during his time at Hogwarts? Or had something happened to make him so far gone? Before Harry could consider this further, he heard Sirius calling over to his brother in French.

“I already told him,” Regulus called back. James and Harry frowned between the pair, trying to work out what they’d said.

“Come on Reggie,” James said endearingly, “Give it back. Please?”

“I’m the seeker,” reasoned Regulus, pocketing the little golden ball, “Why don’t you go and steal yourself a Quaffle instead?”

James made a pouting face at him.

“Don’t be stingy Reg,” he complained, trying to reach into the younger boy’s pocket to retrieve the snitch, but Regulus easily dodged him.

“Stop harassing my little brother,” warned Sirius, who was watching the scene disdainfully from his spot in the grass. James hastily retracted his searching hands and stood back. Regulus crossed his arms with a smirk. Sirius said something else in French which Harry couldn’t understand.

“Casse-toi.”

Harry hadn’t ever heard him speak French before, and wondered why he’d stopped. Maybe it reminded him of his brother too much.

The brother in question had stopped smirking and retorted in French. Sirius flipped him off. He left. James scurried back to his friends.

“What did you say to him?” he asked, glancing back over to the girls and running a hand through his hair.

“Told him to piss off.”

“Why?”

“He was being annoying.” replied Sirius simply. James chuckled. “I’m bored,” he sighed, glancing over at Moony. Maybe Harry was just seeing things, but he sensed a certain longing in Sirius’ dark eyes. “Wish it was full moon,” he added. Harry blinked. What kind of a thing was that to say?

“You might,” replied Remus darkly, “If you’re bored come and help me study. We’ve still got Transfiguration.”

“I don’t need to look at that rubbish,” Sirius said dismissively, “I already know it all.”

“So test me instead,” offered Remus, holding his book out for Sirius. Sirius seemed as though he were about to take it, when Peter finally piped up again.

“Hey!” he squeaked, eager to get back into the conversation, “Look who it is!”

Harry, James, Remus and Sirius followed his pointing finger to see Snape sitting a way away in the grass. Sirius snorted. Remus looked disappointed, his book falling to his side.

“Oi! Snivellus!” bellowed James. Snape shot up, drawing his wand, but Sirius was faster. He cast a tripping jinx and Snape toppled over, face first into the ground. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. Snape scrambled for his wand but just as he’d grabbed it James cast Expelliarmus and it shot into the air.

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained.

Snape sat panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view.

“How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” said James.

“I saw him scribbling away, his nose was touching the parchment,” said Sirius viciously. “There’ll be grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.”

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape let out a hateful string of curses, hexes and insults. Among them, the words ‘blood traitor’, ‘fag’, ‘squib’ and ‘muggle-lover’. Sirius looked fairly unbothered, but James wouldn’t stand for it.

“Wash your mouth out,” threatened James coldly. “Scourgify!”

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth. The froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him…

“Leave him alone!”

Sirius, Harry and James turned around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again.

It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes. Harry’s eyes. Harry’s mother…

“All right, Evans?” asked James, and his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

“Leave him alone,” Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every possible sign of dislike. “What’s he done to you?”

“Well,” said James, pretending to deliberate the point, “It’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean.”

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Lily.

“You think you’re funny,” she said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.”

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” replied James quickly. “Go on, go out with me. I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

Behind him, Snape was beginning to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soap suds as he crawled.

“I’d rather go out with the Giant Squid,” seethed Lily.

“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. “Oi!”

But he was too late. Snape had directed his wand straight at James. There was a flash of light and a long, thin, gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled around and a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of greying underwear.

This drew more laughter from the surrounding students. Harry almost felt bad for Snape, despite the nasty cut he’d just slashed across James’ face.

“Let him down!” ordered Lily. James smirked at her.

“Of course,” he grinned, and with a flick of his wand Snape landed in a crumpled heap on the floor. He quickly scrambled to his feet and aimed his wand back at James, but Sirius hit him with petrificus totalus and he keeled over once more.

“Leave him alone!” exclaimed Lily, whipping out her own wand. Harry noticed that it was made of holly wood, just like his one.

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly. Was he, flirting with her?

“Take the curse off him, then!”

James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse.

“There you go,” he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, “You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus–”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!”

Lily blinked. Snape began to hastily retreat back to the castle.

“Fine,” she said coolly, just loud enough so that he could hear. “I won’t bother in future.” she paused, and then in an especially venomous voice she added, “And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” Snape froze for a second, before he continued walking away as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Apologise to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

“I don’t want you to make him apologise,” Lily sneered, rounding on James. “You’re just as bad as he is.”

“What?” yelped James. “I’d never call you a, a…you-know-what!”

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to seem like you’ve just gotten off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch so much Regulus had to come and confiscate it, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can. I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with the size of your ego. You make me sick.” She turned on her heel and hurried away.

“Evans!” James shouted after her, “Hey, Evans!”

But she didn’t look back.

“What’s with her?” asked James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” drawled Sirius.

“Let’s go after him,” sniggered Peter. He was talking about Snape. Harry was surprised at his sadism, but the others seemed used to it.

“Knock yourself out, Pete,” muttered Sirius cruelly. Peter shrank back mousily.

“Will you help me study now?” asked Remus, who hadn’t moved throughout the whole ordeal. Sirius bounded over to him and lay down, his head in his hands as he stared up at the werewolf.

“You don’t even need to study,” he told Remus, “You’re already clever enough Moons.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but Harry could see the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Test me,” he instructed, and this time Sirius took the book and began to quiz him. After a few minutes he asked Remus for a cigarette. Remus rolled his eyes again, but after a bit of pleading he conceded and put one between Sirius’ smiling lips. Sirius leaned in as Remus flicked open his lighter, and their eyes caught. Harry felt as if he was intruding.

Meanwhile James had gone over to talk to the girls and Peter was trailing behind. One or two fawned over Harry’s dad, which somehow felt even weirder to witness. At least he had stopped running his hand through his hair, the comment from Harry’s mum had knocked a bit of sense into him.

The memory began to fade, and Harry looked back towards Snape, who was quite a distance away. Harry must have been too far from him, so he hurried after the miserable, lanky boy, somewhat glad for an excuse to leave behind the haughty, bullying version of his father he’d just seen.

All of a sudden, a hand closed sharply around Harry’s shoulder and he was wrenched out of the pensieve.

Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.

“Having fun?”

Harry gulped.

“Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” seethed Snape, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose.

“I…I didn’t…”

Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor.

“You will not tell anybody what you saw!” Snape bellowed.

“N-no, sir!”

“Get out!” commanded Snape, now shaking himself, “I don’t ever want to see you in this office again!”

Harry scurried out, eyes wide with fear. What had he just seen? What had he just done?

Chapter Text

Harry woke the next day with a cloud hanging over his head. Before he could even remember the previous day’s events he was already feeling miserable, and after it all came flooding back he was even more distraught.

He trudged his way over to charms with Hermione and Ron, who kept exchanging anxious glances that they thought he couldn’t see. Even Professor Flitwick was looking nervously at Harry. Worst of all was Draco, who Harry could tell was staring at him as well, though presumably with a bit more discretion.

“Professor?” came the blonde’s clear, measured voice, “May I go to the bathroom?” he asked pointedly. Harry knew what he was doing. He wanted Harry to follow him out, like they always did.

Harry waited five minutes. Then five more. After that he decided he had to head out. He asked Flitwick, who dismissed him without a fight, and went to join Draco in the hallway.

He was waiting for Harry nearby, and once they caught eyes he whisked him into a broom closet, casting the necessary precautions over the door.

“It’s ok!” Harry immediately assured him.

“Is it?”

“Yes! I promise, he didn’t see anything. Your tip worked!”

“You let him invade your mind?” asked Draco in horror.

“N-no!” fumbled Harry, “I let, er, Hermione, invade my mind. And it worked. So thank you! Thanks for the trick.”

“Professor Snape didn’t invade your mind?” pressed Draco.

“No he didn’t.” lied Harry.

Draco’s face fell. He looked down at the floor, then back up.

“Yes he did.” said Draco simply. Harry froze.

“What do you mean?”

“I overheard you both…”

“It’s not what you think!” insisted Harry. Draco had a pained expression contorting his handsome features.

“Yes, it is.” replied Draco.

Harry felt like crying.

“I wanted to know…whether you were lying to me,” added Draco. His voice was so horribly horribly empty. “It’s good to be cunning, Harry, but only when you’re not found out.”

Harry felt as though he’d been slapped across the face.

“No, I’m sorry I lied,” he interrupted, “But it really is ok. I promise. I swear to you that it’s alright.”

“The thing about being found out,” remarked Draco, “Is that people know about your cunning, and they don’t trust you anymore.”

His voice was so cold, so detached, that Harry actually trembled.

“Of course you can trust me!” he replied hastily, “And anyway, it’s not as if you’ve never told me a lie!”

“I haven’t.” said Draco simply.

“What?”

“I haven’t ever lied to you.”

His words only made it all the worse. Harry felt a wave of guilt come crashing down on him. What was he doing?

“Just because I’m a Slytherin–

“No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it that way! You know I didn’t mean it that way. Please, Draco, let’s not fight.”

Draco pursed his lips, looking unsure. His hair had fallen in his eyes. Harry reached over and brushed it out of his face. Draco melted a little. The three words Harry had been itching to say were caught in his throat, crawling their way forwards, but Harry knew now wasn’t the time.

“We probably have to get back to class soon,” he told Draco, “But I swear on my life, I swear on my guardians’ lives, everything is fine. It’s just a misunderstanding… It’s like, you know how you couldn’t teach me Occlumency? It’s like that. I just… can’t tell you exactly what’s going on. But you’re safe, and I’m safe, and it’s all fine. I promise you.”

“Alright then,” said Draco finally, and Harry could tell he understood.

“We’ll talk later?”

“Yes. Later.” agreed Draco.

Harry bit his lip. The words were back. He pushed them from his head. Draco began to leave.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Harry added, a little desperately, “He said he never even wanted me in his office again.”

Draco looked back over his shoulder, a small smile on his lips.

“What on earth did you do to upset him?” he laughed softly.

“I’ll tell you later,” groaned Harry, the memory still a sore subject for him.

Draco gave him another small smile, and then left.

***

Later, at their spot by the window, they met again, just as promised.

“So tell me why Snape is so angry with you?”

Harry sighed dramatically as they settled down together on the window seat. Draco seemed to be in a much better mood.

“While he was gone…” Harry glanced guiltily at his boyfriend, “I looked into his pensieve.”

Draco paused, as though trying to make sense of this.

“What did he have in it?” he asked.

“Something he didn’t want me to see,” Harry replied. Draco looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. “It was a memory from when he was a teenager. From when he was our age.”

“And?” prompted Draco, “You saw something that upset you, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed. He really was an open book to Draco.

“Well?”

Harry sighed again.

“I saw my dad…And my guardians,” he explained, “I always knew Snape and my dad hated each other…But my dad…Well, he was taking it too far. I mean, he was basically a bully! And my mum hated him, I mean she loathed him.”

“Your Mum hated Snape too?”

“No! They were friends! Well actually, I suppose afterwards she must’ve hated him. He called her a…He insulted her blood after she tried to save him from Sirius and my Dad.”

“Is that why you’re upset?” asked Draco gently.

“No,” Harry told him, “I mean, of course that was awful of him, but what really bothers me is that Sirius and my dad… Well they were just so mean! For no reason as well! My mum asked him why he was picking on Snape and he said something like ‘it’s just the fact he exists’. All this time, I would get really proud whenever I was compared with him, but it just seems like he was a prick. And he kept looking over at the girls all the time, to check if they were watching him. He was so… Arrogant! And my mother clearly hated him, how on earth did they ever get together? Do you think he might have forced her?”

Draco blinked.

“I don’t think he forced her, no.”

“All those times Snape insulted my father, he might have been right! I was just remembering one time when he described James as ‘strutting through the halls’ and I was so confident in telling him that my father ‘did not strut’, but I think he might’ve you know. And not even just him, but Wormtail made this little sadistic comment, and then Sirius said something really insensitive to Remus, and Remus… Well he just sat there and did nothing.”

“You realise memories can be biassed, right?” commented Draco, “If it’s Snape’s memory, he remembers it from his perspective. Not to mention it happened a long time ago, so the memory itself is probably inaccurate, unless he’d been storing it since soon after the event.”

Harry thought this over.

“Really?” he wondered. Draco nodded sagely.

“Besides,” he added, “Your dad can’t have been much worse than me.”

Harry proceeded to then think this over.

“Maybe he changed,” mused Harry, “Just like you have.”

“Yes. Maybe.”

Harry was satisfied for now.

“I just… Why didn’t my guardians ever tell me? I’ve been living with them for years, and… Well you would think I’d have some sort of idea about it. They always made him out as such a saint.”

“You should talk to them then,” replied Draco, “Nobody’s perfect. It’s not black and white.”

Harry recognised his own words being said back to him and smiled softly.

“How come you always know exactly what to say?” he wondered aloud, nuzzling into Draco’s neck.

“Someone has too,” he replied snarkily. Harry only smiled.

“Thank you,” he told him gently. And he really was thankful, even if his worries hadn’t been completely eased. “I’m sorry that I can’t tell you… About the Occlumency thing.”

“It’s ok,” Draco assured him, “I was upset, but I trust you.” Harry broke into a faltering grin.

“Ok,” he smiled, “Can I kiss you?”

Draco nodded, a similar smile playing across his mouth. Harry leaned in. At first it was soft, but then suddenly Harry was kissing him desperately. More desperately than ever before. Would this be the last time he ever kissed him? The war was drawing closer and it was going to come between them. Harry held him close and tried his best not to cry.

Chapter Text

As soon as Harry had returned to his dorm, he fished his shard of mirror out the bottom of his trunk, where he’d safely hidden it away, and flopped onto his bed. With a few flicks of his wand he’d drawn the thick curtains around him and cast a muffling charm to keep his conversation private.

“Sirius? Remus?” he asked, unsure how else to call for them. After all his classes had finished and he’d done his usual studying with the trio in the library, Sirius and sometimes Remus were generally at home and done with work. He called out for them again, louder this time. He heard footsteps and before long their heads were crowding the frame.

“Harry!” they exclaimed, and he couldn’t help but be happy to see them, even if the conversation he was about to start might be a difficult one.

“Hey,” he smiled, then, smile fading, he got right to it, “I saw a memory from when you guys were my age,” he told them seriously.

Remus and Sirius shared a brief glance, looking confused.

“Whose memory was it?” asked Moony.

“It doesn’t matter,” he deflected, “Look, was my dad an arsehole?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

They both said in unison. Sirius and Remus shared a look again.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Harry frowned.

“Which memory did you see?” asked Remus. Harry pursed his lips, but gave in easily.

“It was right after the DADA OWL.” he confessed, “You were all sitting by the lake, under that tree. And then you started attacking Snape because you were bored!”

“Did he show you the memory?” demanded Sirius.

“No, he didn’t… I think he was trying to hide it from me actually.”

“Does he know that you–

“Yes he knows,” interrupted Harry, “Can we actually talk about what I saw? I thought my dad was a really great man that I should be so proud of, but he was ganging up on Slytherins, with you!”

“Harry,” soothed Sirius, “He was a great man, and you should be proud, I promise you this. Listen, the memory you saw, we were what, 16? People can be stupid at 16, Harry.”

“I’m 16,” he retorted stubbornly.

“We’re not proud of it,” he continued, “It was very shameful behaviour, but Snape did it right back, you know, if not worse.”

Harry recalled the vicious name calling and the gash he’d inflicted on James. Snape definitely wasn’t a helpless victim in the situation, but it was still two on one and absolutely unprompted.

“I guess,” he said meekly, “But he hadn’t even done anything to you two. My mum came to break it up and she asked him why he was fighting Snape and he said, he said it was ‘just because he existed’ or something like that!”

“Harry,” replied Moony, “James and Severus were enemies, from the moment they met. They just both despised each other. It’s like you and that Malfoy boy.”

Harry’s jaw went slack. He stared at Remus in disbelief.

“My dad fancied Snape?!” he blurted out.

There was a stretch of silence, tense and electric, before Moony and Padfoot burst out laughing.

“Goodness no!” chuckled Remus, wiping a tear from his eye, “No…” he smiled with a deep sigh, “No James’ ‘Draco’ was someone different.”

Sirius’ face flashed briefly with anger. He frowned at Remus, who sheepishly ignored him. Padfoot almost looked…hurt. But in an instant the expression had vanished, and Remus was talking again.

“I’m sorry Harry, I almost forgot about your relationship now. The point is that they hated each other from day one. They had opposing personalities, they never would have gotten along.”

Harry nodded along, still confused by the reaction he’d witnessed from Sirius.

“Who was my dad’s ‘Draco’?” he asked curiously, and Padfoot’s face pinched uncomfortably. Harry waited for Remus to speak up, to no avail. “Do you mean Lily?”

“Right, of course!” confirmed Moony, “She may have hated him, but really she loved him.”

“Are you sure?” wondered Harry, thinking back to her fiery rage, “It seemed like she really hated him.”

“Nah, she didn’t.” smiled Sirius. Harry was happy to see him smiling again.

“When did they get together?”

This earned another light chuckle out of his guardians.

“Once he stopped being such a prick,” responded Moony.

“He kept running his hands through his hair, to make it messier.” recalled Harry with disgust.

“Oh my god I remember when he used to do that!” laughed Remus. Sirius snorted.

“He used to make his voice deeper too,” remembered Padfoot lovingly, “Whenever he was talking to Lily. He was such an idiot.”

Harry made a face, but this only caused them to laugh more. Once it had died down, he’d remembered something else.

“Padfoot,” he addressed his godfather, “You said to Moony that you wished it was the full moon! Because you were bored! That was mean.”

Guilt twisted Sirius’ features and Harry almost felt bad for bringing it up.

“Yes.” he agreed softly, “That was mean. I wasn’t always… the most understanding at that age. I was going through a lot of things, and I didn’t pay enough attention to the people around me. I was a bit of an arsehole, too.”

“Was Moony really the only decent sort out of the four of you?” admonished Harry. Sirius cracked a smile.

“Our Moony was always the best of us,” he fondly remarked.

“Still am,” joked Moony, and they all laughed a bit more. “You should be so proud to be James’ son,” he added, “And of course Lily’s son. They were both brave, wonderful, kind people, and they loved you so much.”

“I’m proud to be your son too,” replied Harry quietly.

They both smiled so warmly Harry felt his heart melt. Sirius’ eyes glazed over and he sniffed. Remus gazed lovingly at Harry through the mirror, and even though they were miles apart, it felt as though they were right there with him. Sirius sniffed again, more audibly this time, and Moony turned his attention to him.

“Pads, are you crying?” he said softly, a hint of mirth colouring his voice.

Sirius wiped away a stray tear that had escaped his eye.

“No.” he denied stubbornly.

Moony arched an eyebrow, and despite the fact that Sirius was turned away from him and couldn’t see it, Harry could tell he’d sensed the gesture.

“Maybe,” he relented.

“Oh come here,” laughed Remus, wrapping his arms around the other man as he sniffed again. He smoothed down Sirius’ dark curls and placed a kiss to the top of his head. “We’re proud to have you as our son,” Remus told him earnestly. Harry smiled even wider. He almost could have started sniffling like Sirius, but not quite.

“I think you’re right…” decided Harry slowly, “About my dad being a good guy. Snape was definitely worse… And James was young, I guess. I think it was just a bit of a shock to see that memory. I just… Well, I had no idea. I don’t really know anything about your time at Hogwarts to be honest. I sort of wish I did.”

“You know plenty,” replied Sirius, “I tell you stories all the time.”

“Well, yeah,” agreed Harry, “But I don’t really have the full picture. I just know little snippets.”

“We don’t want to live in the past, Harry,” explained Moony in a comforting manner, “We have to keep moving forward. It’s sad to think about the old days, as much as it’s nostalgic. That’s why me and Pads don’t talk about it much. Most of our classmates were either murdered, or murderers, and that's a tragedy that’s hard to bear.”

Harry let this sink in. He thought of Alice and Frank Longbottom in the hospital, and of Sirius’ dead little brother, the one who’d been in the memory. And of course of James Potter, and Pettigrew. No wonder they couldn’t bear to speak about those years, all the innocent childhood memories were tainted by what everyone had become (mad, dead, traitorous).

“I’m sorry,” Harry began to say.

“Don’t be,” Sirius assured him with a watery smile, “If you want to know more about James, or Lily, or us, we can show you some of our memories some time. Would you like that?”

Harry nodded. He’d like that very much.

“Harry,” Remus asked him after a while, his tone cautious, “Did Snape catch you watching the memory?”

Harry nods again, guiltier this time.

“And he was angry?”

Another nod of his head.

“Is he still going to teach you Occlumency?” asked Remus sternly.

Harry was silent.

“No,” he finally admitted, “I don’t think he even wants to see me ever again after that.”

“Harry, you need to be learning Occlumency,” chastised Moony, “This… ‘connection’ between you and Voldemort is far too dangerous.”

“You know he’ll never teach me again after that,” Harry pointed out dryly, “And anyway, I made a breakthrough recently and I could block him out. He can’t teach me much more than that, can he? All he was good for was invading my mind, he wasn’t even the one who caused the breakthrough.”

“Who was?” asked Sirius curiously.

Harry pursed his lips, deliberating on what to say.

“Draco,” he revealed, albeit sheepishly. Sirius winked at him and he blushed.

“He must have learned from his mother,” surmised Sirius, “Cissy always was a great Occlumens.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the familiarity in his godfather’s address to her. Cissy? Had the two been close? He knew they were related, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. He hadn’t paid much attention to the family tree in Grimmauld Place past noticing the scorch marks over Sirius’ portrait and name.

“He told me it was her,” confirmed Harry, after a pause. He was tempted to ask Sirius about Narcissa, and even more tempted to ask about Regulus. He bit his tongue, the youngest Black brother was a sore subject for his godfather and he didn’t want to upset him with painful memories. Something had happened between them, Harry was sure of it. Something other than just Regulus’ allegiance to Voldemort. Another time, he thought to himself.

Harry and his guardians continued talking for the better part of the evening, before they ended the call with strict instructions for him to get some sleep. After setting the shard of mirror back in his trunk, Harry obliged them, falling into a deep slumber.

Chapter Text

The next week Fred and George (who’d been laying fairly low, which they told an appreciative Hermione was on account of the fact that OWLs and NEWTs were fast approaching), were back at their pranking with a vengeance. On Monday before breakfast the entire Great Hall was flooded with 10 feet of water. They’d somehow managed to enchant the clouds that covered the ceiling to replicate monsoon conditions the day before and it had been raining heavily all night. Tables, benches, paintings and candles floated around and when the doors were opened for breakfast that morning, the water crashed out in full force. For the remainder of the day there was about an inch of water covering the floor that Filch scooped out bucketful by bucketful. Umbridge went around furiously vanishing as much water as she could, but had classes to teach and Headmistress responsibilities to take care of. Harry could’ve sworn the stone floors of the ground level were still damp the next day.

On Tuesday they somehow enchanted every painting and tapestry in the castle to swear viciously at passers-by, yelling at innocent students and teachers alike, but especially Umbridge. According to Lee, he’d overheard one painting of a, usually quite sweet, young bride calling the Headmistress a ‘filthy squib skank’. She’d apparently been so enraged she’d scorched the work of art to a charred pile of soot, but the bride’s taunting voice could still be heard throwing insult after insult. As for Harry, the worst he’d been told was to ‘get a fucking move on’, most of the portraits were content with screaming as many swear words as they could. He supposed they must have been keeping it in all these years.

For Wednesday the twins had prepared an even worse fate for Umbridge. The entire castle was covered in a thick jungle or trees, vines and bushes that only parted for students and the occasional teacher (Harry was fairly sure McGonagall was among this special few). Filch attacked the vegetation with bolt cutters, shears, knives and every sharp tool under the sun, to no avail. Some very aggressive magic from Umbridge and several gallons of deadly weed killer managed to push the plants back, but the occasional cluster of greenery remained for the rest of the year.

On Thursday, all was quiet for the better part of the day, leaving Umbridge and Filch an opportunity to clean up as much wreckage from the previous days as they could, while they anticipated whatever new horror awaited them. Dinner rolled around and things were still quiet. Harry almost began to believe that they were taking a break, but he knew better.

Just as pudding was being brought out, trifle, which they often had on Thursdays, it became apparent what Thursdays prank was. As soon as the large dishes of trifle had appeared, the custard, cream, jelly, fruit and sponge fingers began launching themselves into the air and flying all over the room. Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a look of awe, though Hermione looked more horrified than anything else.

Soon everyone was joining in, chucking trifle and the other various desserts at other students, with and without magic. Umbridge was one of the primary targets, and before she could begin to protest she was so covered in cake and sweets that she couldn’t see the perpetrators. Harry and Ron eagerly lobbed a bowlful of profiteroles at her, one of Ron’s even hit her square in the face. The entire ordeal was complete chaos, and the only calm in the storm was Luna, who was sat at the Ravenclaw table, delightedly eating her usual portion of swiss roll cake, which the house-elves often decorated as a strange creature harry didn’t recognise especially for her, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Ginny had joined her, and was protecting the other girl from any pudding that flew her way and redirecting it to the Slytherin table. By the time the food fight had been put to a stop, everyone was completely covered in cake, trifle, chocolate, meringues and all sorts of sweet treats. They were also in very high spirits, and the Gryffindors laughed all the way back to their dorms.

And finally, on Friday they finally crossed the line. Not only were half the corridors turned to swamps (an ingenious new product of theirs), but every surface of the castle was covered in advertising and branding of their up and coming joke store; Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Shining Ws adorned every wall, desk, floor and painting. There was no denying they were the ones to blame for the pranks now.

Harry had unfortunately missed the confrontation between them and Umbridge, but the story was already something of a legend. Filch had come running forward with his newly signed torture permission papers, Umbridge had been smiling that malicious grin of hers, expulsion was on the line, when the twins summoned their brooms (which had been confiscated, along with Harry’s, at the beginning of the year when the three of them had been banned from Quidditch) and flew off into the distance, with the announcement that their shop could be found at 93 Diagon Alley.

***

The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor was not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody told him) to Ron’s abysmal goalkeeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new, somewhat dreary, optimism.

“I mean, I can’t get any worse, can I?” he told Harry and Hermione grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. “Nothing to lose now, is there?”

“You know,” said Hermione, as she and Harry walked down to the pitch a little later in the midst of a very excitable crowd, “I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence…”

Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head. They found seats in the topmost row of the stands. It was a fine, clear day. Ron could not wish for better, and Harry found himself hoping against hope that Ron would not give the Slytherins cause for more rousing choruses of “Weasley Is Our King.”

Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left, was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out onto the pitches he named the players with something less than his usual gusto. “....Bradley.…Davies….Chang,” he said,

“And they’re off!” said Lee. “And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well…. He’s going straight for goal! He’s going to shoot…and…and….” Lee swore very loudly. “And he’s scored.”

Harry and Hermione groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. Predictably, the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing: Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring….

Hermione began muttering angrily under her breath, using some of the rudest words in her vocabulary.

Harry had had harsh words with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Daphne and Draco during one tense DA meeting about the song, and while Theo and Daphne were innocent and had never partook in the bullying chant, Pansy and Blaise had simply shrugged it off. They couldn’t stop their peers, they had reasoned, and it was just a healthy bit of Quidditch Rivalry. At least Draco was too busy either catching the snitch or (according to Pansy) staring at Harry from the Slytherin stands to sing it. This had warmed Harry’s heart, but the song never ceased to make his blood boil.

The match continued, as did the taunting melody. Harry could only imagine the awful mood Ron was going to be in by the end of the game. He was contemplating leaving (the pain of seeing Ravenclaw thrash his beloved team was too great to bear) when something akin to a miracle happened.

Davies was fast approaching the other end of the pitch again, and Harry was preparing himself to wince at the inevitable second goal. The Ravenclaw captain swerved forward, leaning to the left, but in a split second, Ron had shot down to the right hoop, and blocked the quaffle. Harry almost couldn’t believe his eyes. Davies had been feigning, and Ron had somehow, instinctively known this, and he’d blocked the goal.

The Gryffindor stands roared with cheers, hoots and screams. If Harry hadn't just seen the events that had just unfolded, he would have thought Gryffindor had scored. Even Lee had been raised from his bored depths of despair.

“Superb goalkeeping by Ron Weasley!” he exclaimed into the microphone, and Harry hoped this bolstered Ron’s confidence.

The match continued, and there was palpable hope in the students around him. With a bit of luck… They might just win the Quidditch Cup. Harry hardly dared to dream.

Angelina scored. Ron saved another goal. Katie Bell scored. Gryfffindor were in the lead. Harry noted with immense pleasure that the Slytherins had stopped singing their stupid song.

Ron saved another goal and the Gryffindor stands erupted in cheers again. Harry couldn’t have been more proud of his friend, who was really quite a spectacular goalie under all the nerves.

A familiar tune started up around them, and Harry turned angrily to Hermione, but she shook her head at him.

“Listen!” she urged, and he did.

Weasley can save anything,
He never lets the Quaffle in,
That’s why Gryffindors all sing,
Weasley is our king!

Harry grinned. He had no clue who had come up with these new lyrics so fast, but whoever it was was alright in his book. Him and Hermione quickly joined in.

Weasley can save anything,
He never lets the Quaffle in,
That’s why Gryffindors all sing,
Weasley is our king.

He blocks every single ring,
He never lets the Quaffle in,
That’s why Gryffindors all sing,
Weasley is our king.

The song descended into chanting of just the line ‘Weasley is our king’, and Harry’s grin could’ve broken his face it was so wide. Katie Bell scored again and he was ecstatic. Before the match was done he already knew the cup was theirs. He picked out Umbridge’s bright pink getup in the teachers' stands and was delighted to find she was fuming.

“Weasley is our king!” Harry and Hermione shouted in unison, clapping along with the chant, “Weasley is our king!”

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the House cup was given to the team. Ginny flew up to Harry and Hermione in the stands to bring them down for the celebration. Once on the ground, Hermione barrelled into Ron, giving him a heartfelt congratulatory hug. Harry was next to attack the poor Weasley, and soon the whole team had joined in. They broke into a rendition of Weasley is our King while Ron shook the trophy above his head.

“I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed to Harry and Hermione, “We won!”

Chapter Text

By the time they had reached Gryffindor Tower, it was becoming increasingly apparent that the jovial celebrations from the pitch were going to turn into a raucous party in the common room.

Somewhat embarrassingly, no one had been expecting the win, and so very little preparations (decorations or drinks-wise) had been made. Luckily for them, the Ravenclaws (who had prepared plenty) were gracious losers, and agreed to share their booze in exchange for a good party. Everyone was in such high spirits that even Hermione was staying downstairs and enjoying herself. Harry could have sworn he even saw her with a bottle of butterbeer.

Cho came and gave Harry some gin, managing to be in a good mood despite her team’s loss. Harry took it graciously, and they talked for a while as he drank.

“Don’t you want some?” he asked her thickly once the bottle was about halfway done.

“Oh no, that’s fine,” she assured him, “I don’t drink anymore. Had a bad experience.”

“Oh,” he replied stupidly, “Sorry,” he added, unsure what else to say.

“That’s alright,” she smiled, “Thank you for putting that notice in the school paper by the way.”

“No problem,” he slurred.

Harry abandoned the bottle, which was still only half empty. The room grew steadily hazier. He wasn’t quite as drunk as his last party, but he was getting close.

All of a sudden an eighth year Gryffindor that Harry didn’t know very well jumped up on a nearby table and started shouting at the busy room. Harry couldn’t make out what she was saying over the many other voices that surrounded them. He looked over at Cho to try and gauge if she’d made any sense of what the girl had said but she seemed equally confused. The room quietened down a bit and the girl repeated her shouting.

“Let’s take this party outside!” she roared recklessly. Several Ravenclaws groaned, but they were mostly drowned out by drunken, cheering, Gryffindors. Harry was among the latter group, while Cho was among the former. He bid her goodbye and rushed to join the mass of red and gold that was about to undertake the treacherous task of descending the stairs.

About halfway down, students were starting to give up on the journey, but before anyone could get too discouraged, the same bold Gryffindor from earlier summoned her broom and began to fly down instead. A few others followed suit, and Harry found himself happily clinging on to a different Eighth year as they sped along on his Cleansweep. They sped out a back door that someone ahead of them must have charmed open, and they were out of the castle, breezing through the cool night air. The whole ordeal had only made Harry all the more dizzy, and his flying companion soon touched down so that he could climb off.

A little exhausted, and his head still reeling from the alcohol and the dizzying flight he’d just undertaken, Harry flopped down in the grass and lay there for a while. Several other partygoers stood mingling around him, some even doing the same as him. One younger boy went off to go and vomit in a bush nearby. Harry paid them little mind. He looked up at the great, dark expanse of night sky, and tried to find Draco’s star. It was quite difficult with his head and vision swimming, and all the stars seemed to look the same. He waited for the cold air to sober him up a little, and then tried again. There it was. He stared and stared.

Why wasn’t Draco at this impromptu party? He must have guessed that the Gryffindors would want to celebrate, he was clever like that. Perhaps Harry should go and find him. He was very tempted, only he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his way to the Slytherin dormitories, or at least definitely not without keeling over and falling down the stairs. Not to mention he did not know the Slytherin password. That seemed like an important thing for him to know. He’d have to ask Draco soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight. Harry’s head swam.

Suddenly he was being pulled up onto his feet by Dean. Harry briefly remembered a similar manoeuvre at the previous party and panicked, wondering if Dean was going to kiss him, like he had Ginny.

“I’m taken,” he said quickly. Dean looked confused and laughed at him a bit, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Whatever you say, mate.”

He started to speak again, but Harry wasn’t really listening, too dizzy and drunk to understand the scrambled strings of words coming from the other boy’s mouth. Before long Seamus came and stole Dean away. Harry waved after them.

He spoke with several other people, some of them strangers, some of them friends. Some people spoke at him. He nodded along absently. His energy spiked and dipped, his tongue froze and loosened. He wandered off for a bit of peace and quiet. He kept wandering.

And that’s when it happened. He heard screams from the partygoers (presumably their celebrations were being broken up by a teacher) and spurred by his defence reflexes, Harry spun around and cast protego. There was no one there, but pure, raw, unfiltered magic surged through him, just like in all his classes when he’d felt a strong pulse but so much worse, so much stronger. He was propelled backwards by the force of his own spell (his drunkenness didn’t help), and he could’ve sworn he felt a ripple go through the ground around him. There was a flash of light and a deafening crack and Harry was on the ground.

He lay there a few seconds, completely shell shocked. What had just happened? What had he done?

Terrified, he scurried off as fast as he could, back into the castle. He met up with a group of frantic students all hurrying up the stairs. They must’ve escaped whichever teacher was telling them off and beat a hasty retreat. Harry hitched a ride with friendly Hufflepuff and was back to his dorm before any real trouble could start. He had a feeling that whoever professor everyone had narrowly escaped from, they were probably going to come and check the common room for suspects. He grabbed Ron, gave a garbled, drunken explanation, and dragged him to bed. He did his best not to think about what had happened. What had Harry done?

***

Harry and Ron rose late the next morning. They lumbered over to the bathroom, sluggish as anything, and began to brush their teeth.

Staring blearily at his reflection, Harry could tell he looked a mess. His hair was sticking up even more than usual (windswept from the broom rides, tousled from the grass and mussed up by his fitful night of sleeping), he had dark circles under his eyes and a large bruise on his arm (had he bumped into something, or someone, at some point during the party?). And… He looked closer, frowning deeply. His scar… It was almost as if… He traced tentative fingers over the thin forks of lightning that branched across his forehead. His stomach twisted in horror as he realised they had grown, again.

“What’s up?” asked Ron, who was in much better shape than Harry.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly. His voice was just croaky enough to disguise his nervousness. Ron arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “I look like shit,” Harry said eventually, trying to appease his friend's curiosity.

Ron chortled.

“Well at least you didn’t sleep in a bush this time, eh?”

He gave Harry a playful elbow in the stomach, but soon noticed that Harry had gone bright red.

“Hang on a second…” he accused.

“I never slept in a bush,” admitted Harry with a groan, “I was in Draco’s dorm.”

“Bloody hell,” breathed Ron, “All the way back then? How long did you wait to tell me?”

“I was confused!” defended Harry, “I didn’t know what was going on between us.”

Ron rolled his eyes dramatically, earning a hint of a smile from Harry.

“You really were the last to–

“Come and look!” called Seamus with a grin, “The Whomping Willow’s missing a branch!”

Harry and Ron shared a startled look and ran out to the window, where Dean and Neville were also standing. A large branch of the menacing tree had been snapped forcefully from the trunk.

“What on earth…?” he began, but Seamus beat him to it.

“Me and Dean reckon it was whatever knocked Professor Snape over yesterday. You remember that big bright light outside, and Snape collapsed, and we all just ran for it?”

“I was upstairs, I missed it,” moaned Ron. Harry was silent. He was too busy thinking about the sickening crack he’d heard the night before, and the terrible coincidence of what Seamus was saying.

What had he done?

Chapter Text

Throughout the whole day Harry heard whispers of the mysterious force from the night before. Some people linked it to the injured willow tree, others didn’t. Everytime someone brought it up Harry froze, growing stiff and uncomfortable. No one seemed to notice, too wrapped up in the excitement of the story. One person, of course, did notice his discomfort.

“What is it?” asked Draco, perceptive as usual, “I thought you’d be really happy after your win?”

They were sat at their usual spot by the window. Draco was trying his best to be supportive of Gryffindor winning the House cup, and Harry couldn’t help but be touched by this.

“I am!” he assured the other boy, “I just… Something happened.”

“Something bad?”

“Terrible,” nodded Harry solemnly.

“Harry,” began Draco softly, “The Whomping Willow, the flash of powerful magic…”

“How do you know about that?” he cut in.

“It’s all around the school,” explained Draco, “Some people are calling it a miracle.”

Harry blinked. That seemed like a bit of an exaggeration. It was just a bit of magic. He fiddled with his hands.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

The words were simple, but piercing. Harry flinched almost imperceptibly.

“I, I don’t know,” he replied lamely, “...I think it was.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“Harry that was incredibly powerful magic–

“Of course you would only care about power.” interrupted Harry curtly. Draco shut his mouth, stunned into silence. He looked as though he’d just been slapped across the face, but Harry paid this no mind. He had too much to get off his chest. “I’m not the chosen one and I’m not a saviour,” he continued harshly, hands balled into fists now, “I’m more than just my stupid last name and my scar.” he huffed. A horribly cruel thought overcame him. “That’s why you love it so much, isn’t it?” the words were out of his mouth before he could control himself.

“Excuse me?” asked Draco, taking a dangerous tone.

“You want powerful?” goaded Harry, “I didn’t even do it on purpose. I turned to cast protego, not even an aggressive spell, and all of a sudden the oldest, most magical tree in Hogwarts is missing a limb!” He was getting very upset. He’d held it in last night and that morning, overwhelmed with the shock of what had happened, but now it was all flooding out.

“Harry, I–
“I don’t want to hear how amazing or wonderful that is, I really don’t.” he replied childishly.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say!” he insisted.

“Don’t lie to me, you were thinking it. I can tell.”

“And if I was? I wasn’t going to say it out loud. I know you find it terrifying–

“No, you don’t know! You have no idea–

“Just stop! Stop it!” snapped Draco. He sounded properly upset now. Harry caught himself, his chest aching. What was he even saying? Why was he taking this out on Draco? “You won’t even listen to me,” complained Draco earnestly, “All you see me as is some lying deceitful power hungry Slytherin, I’m sick of it Hary, I’m so sick.”

Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, twisting at his organs. He’d really gone and blown it now.

“Don’t you realise how much I’ve changed for you? I unlearned everything my parents ever taught me just for you. I did it for you.” Draco paused, his eyes were glassy and he wore a pained expression. “All I asked in return was that you put your own biases aside but you can’t even do that!”

“That’s not true!” said Harry, leaping to his own defence, “I changed as well, I see Slytherins in a completely different way than I used to–

“You see me in a different way than you used to.” corrected Draco, “Not my House, not my friends. You’ve separated me from it all, but you lump me back in with them whenever I behave in a way you don’t like or remind you what I really am.”

Harry wanted to dispute this, to argue with everything Draco had just said, but instead he sat in stunned silence, not uttering a single word. What could he say to that? It wasn’t… It wasn’t exactly wrong, as much as he hated to admit it. He was struggling to come up with something, anything, to redeem himself, when Draco beat him to it.

“Don’t bother speaking to me again until you’ve learnt some respect for me and my House.”

Again Harry didn’t know how to respond. The words died in his throat. Draco didn’t give him much of a chance to reply, as he’d already turned around and started making his way down the corridor, presumably going back to the dungeons. He almost, very nearly, called out after him to shout the words he’d been meaning to say for so very long.

I love you.

But Harry’s mouth didn’t move, and Draco was gone. He was gone.

Harry remembered the last time they’d talked, and how he’d worried it would be the last kiss they ever shared. He was horribly afraid that he’d been right. Even if Harry could fix this problem, solve this argument, it was just the tip of the iceberg. It was almost the end of the year, and that meant… He shuddered to think. In the face of the war, in the face of it all… There were just too many problems. Perhaps in another lifetime, another universe… They were too different after all.

But what was he thinking? Harry tried to shake the negative thoughts from his head. It had all happened so fast, the argument was like a brief flash of hurt that had been over in an instant. The regret he felt now was worse than anything.

Harry realised that he was crying. His chest hurt terribly. It felt tight and constricted. Why had he said all those awful things? Had he ruined everything? Usually after a disaster like this he would talk to Padfoot and Moony, seek out their wisdom and advice, but this time he just wanted to be alone.

Chapter Text

“Hermione,” asked Harry carefully, “I want you to invade my mind.”

“What?” she exclaimed, “Harry!”

“I’m serious,” he told her.

She shared a concerned look with Ron and Harry refrained from rolling his eyes.

“What happened with Snape, Harry?” questioned Ron. The two of them hadn’t interrogated him about the session yet, though Harry was sure they’d noticed his miserable attitude the day after.

“Look,” he sighed, realising he would have to tell them, “He’s never going to teach me Occlumency again. It’ll be a surprise if he even talks to me again to be honest.” Snape had reacted to the incident by pretending Harry didn’t exist, a strategy that suited Harry quite well. He’d been worried Snape would pick on him more as a result, but things had gone in a completely different direction. In a way, Snape ignoring him was better than the constant bullying he usually endured during potions. Harry was quite used to being overlooked after his years at the Dursleys’ (who had likewise been quite content to pretend he didn’t exist).

“What on earth happened?” asked Hermione exasperatedly. She’d wanted to avoid this, he could tell. Harry sighed.

“He had to leave halfway through to go get Montague out of a toilet,” he explained, (this had evidently not been the beginning that Ron and Hermione had expected, but Harry carried on) “While he was gone… I looked in his pensieve. That’s where he was storing the memories he didn’t want me to see. And I saw one of them.”

“And?” urged Ron.

“It was a memory from when he was our age. He was taking his DADA OWL.”

“What was teenage Snape like?” inquired Ron excitedly. Harry grinned. Now that he’d gotten over his father’s behaviour, he was beginning to realise that the whole situation was actually quite funny.

“Greasier,” supplied Harry. Ron chortled as Hermione tried to look disapproving, but ended up revealing her curiosity. “He was really unpopular too. It was really weird, actually, seeing everyone at our age.”

“Did you see..?” began Hermione, catching on fast as usual.

“Yeah,” confirmed Harry, “I saw my dad, he looked almost exactly like me actually, except he was a bit of a prat, and I saw Remus and Sirius, and Wormtail. I saw my mum, she hated James so much. And I even saw Sirius’ little brother.”

“Sirius has a brother?” demanded Ron, shocked. Harry nodded, pursing his lips.

“He died,” he added, awkwardly.

“Oh.” said Ron.

“It was so weird,” repeated Harry, but his tone had saddened. The mention of Regulus had strangely reminded him of Draco, and the weight of their argument returned to him, dragging him further and further into despondency.

“Snape caught you, didn’t he?” surmised Hermione.

“Yeah,” admitted Harry sheepishly. Now it was Hermione who was sighing.

“Do you really need me to invade your mind?” she pressed, brows knitted together with uncertainty.

“Yes, I do. Please, Hermione. I was just getting the hang of the technique that… This new technique. Sirius and Remus are worried now that Snape’s not teaching me anymore, and they’re right. It’s too dangerous, the connection between me and Voldemort.”

“You’re completely right, mate,” agreed Ron, “But why is it suddenly so important to you? I thought you hated Occlumency.”

There was a bout of silence. Harry looked at the floor, struggling to come up with something to justify his change in character.

“It’s because of Draco, isn’t it?” said Hermione softly. It wasn’t a question, not really. It was a statement. She’d read him like a book. Harry gulped back a sob, breathing in sharply. “You’re worried that You-Know-Who will see a memory of you two and it will put him in danger.” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Yes.” he confessed, hoping she would take pity on him and agree to the Occlumency practice.

“Oh Harry,” was all she said.

“Did something happen?” asked Ron suddenly. Harry’s head shot up.

“What?”

“Did something happen between you two?” he clarified. Harry blinked. Why was he always so obvious?

“No,” he lied, blinking back tears.

“Harry,” warned Hermione, inflecting a chiding tone.

“Nothing happened,” he assured them, “Invade my mind and you’ll see.”

Hermione frowned.

“Is it really so important to you that I do it? Right now?” He nodded solemnly. “Fine,” she told him tiredly. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“That you’re sure you’re prepared for this.”

“Of course I’m prepar–

“Are you sure you’re in the right state of mind?” she interrupted in a clipping tone.

“Yes!” he exacerbated, “Nothing happened, I’m fine.” She still looked reserved. “I’m fine,” he repeated, more believably this time round. More lies, he thought to himself. But she wouldn’t know that. He’d mastered his ‘technique’ earlier, he just needed a bit more practice to hone it down to just one memory and not three.

“Alright then,” she agreed, still a little uneasy.

“Alright,” he repeated, readying himself. She raised her wand slowly. Harry began to picture his happiest memory. It was birthday, he was–

“Legilimens!” she cast abruptly. She hadn’t counted down. He was caught off guard. Before Harry could shout ‘Wait!’ or ‘I wasn’t ready!’ he was whirled away into his memory.

It was his birthday, he was blowing out the candles, Moony and Padfoot were beside him. It was his first proper birthday. The memory changed, and it was no longer his birthday. He was looking at the stars from the astronomy tower, a warm body beside his. Draco’s pale finger was outlining constellations. Harry looked over at him, his sharp profile illuminated by the moonlight. The memory changed again. A green streak of magic flashed across the graveyard and hit Cedric in the chest. Harry roared his name, full of grief. The memory changed again. Draco was kissing him in the corner of the pub. He had climbed into Harry’s lap, his mouth on his neck. The memory changed again. Draco was telling him to ‘Stop it. Just stop it!’. He was arguing, his face pained and angry. He was walking away as Harry stood stupidly.

“Harry!” admonished Hermione, her face similarly pained, “You lied!”

“What?” exclaimed Ron, who must’ve just been standing there throughout the whole thing, unaware of what had been witnessed. Harry’s face burned, partly because he’d lied (and been caught - again), but also partly because of the memory Hermione must have seen from the pub. Draco would probably kill him for letting her see that.

“They had an argument,” she explained, sounding hurt, “You were right, Ron. Something did happen.”

“It wasn’t-” Harry considered telling them the argument had been from a long time ago, but decided he’d lied enough recently, “I wasn’t ready!” he said instead, “You’re meant to do a countdown. Snape always did a countdown. You weren’t meant to see any of that!”

“Clearly!” she replied shrilly. His face burned again.

“Harry,” began Ron carefully, “Why didn’t you tell us?” Harry looked away, frowning.

“I don’t…Can’t you two just leave me alone? So what if we fought? It’s none of your business anyway.” he swallowed down another sob, “I’m fine!” he said again, except this time it wasn’t believable in the slightest. “I’m fine!”

He stormed off to the boys’ dorm, took a hot shower and threw himself into bed, drawing the curtains tightly shut. After a while of him lying there angrily, Ron came to check on him.

“Harry?” he called, his voice muffled by the thick red curtains. “Harry?” He drew one of them slightly open, only to find Harry turned away from him, resolutely pretending to be asleep. “Harry?” he tried again. Harry did not respond. Ron closed the curtain and left, presumably to take his own shower.

Meanwhile Harry tried to actually fall asleep, and eventually succeeded. Only to wake a few hours later in the pitch black to the horrible, recurring dream of the corridor. It had come back.

He sat panting in bed, covered in a layer of cold sweat, his hands clenching the covers. He’d gone so long without one. He’d been sleeping so well. Somehow, without really knowing how, he knew it was because of Draco that the dream had gone away. And now that they were fighting… Harry clenched the blanket tighter. He tried to choke down another sob, but this time tears began to well up in his eyes. He let them fall, sniffling pathetically as he clung to the sheets around him, shivering under the sheen of cool perspiration.

Chapter Text

Exam season had finally arrived, and with it came a side of Hermione he and Ron had only glimpsed in previous years. She was beyond frazzled, beyond flustered and far, far beyond patience. Even Ron, who usually succeeded in calming her down somewhat, found his numerous efforts being brutally rebuffed. Despite their (very recent) argument, Hermione was still viciously forcing Harry into endless studying and review. She’d put all previous fights and disagreements on pause while they prepped and took their OWLs. It was a bit scary, actually. Harry marvelled at how she seemed to be able to switch everything else off and focus completely on their exams, almost as if she had some kind of tunnel vision.

The same could not be said of Ron, who never failed to glance worriedly at Harry whenever they were in the same vicinity. He’d tried to get Harry to talk to him about his fight with Draco, or about anything, really. He’d tried to get Harry to talk to his guardians at least, but all of this to no avail. There was no time for it anyway, not with Hermione’s relentless study sessions.

Despite his lack of any free time, and despite his refusal to address what was going on, Harry couldn’t distract himself from the Slytherin boy. His boyfriend, he reminded himself, if they were even still that. But of course they were still that, they were only taking a break. Except that this break was dangerously close to the end of the school year and everything that awaited after that. But he had to push these thoughts from his mind. He was in the middle of his OWLs for God’s sake, an event that should have been the most important of that academic year, if not his whole school career. It certainly didn’t feel like that.

They were almost over, with only History of Magic left to go (an exam he was sure to flunk). Harry felt as though he’d done decent so far. He was especially confident in his Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL, where he’d cast his patronus for extra credit, as well as mastering every single spell (even if he did say so himself). Transfiguration had also gone well. The rest were all a blur, although he was very unsure of his potions OWL. He had the vague idea that his scores would determine which classes he could or couldn’t take the following year, but it all seemed so distant he hadn’t given it much thought. Right now all he could lend his focus too was his current test, and even that was a struggle. Draco kept seeping back into his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to block their fight out. Harry racked his brains for all the important dates and stories he’d crammed the night before, trying to go over them one last time before the exam started.

“You may now begin,” instructed the invigilator. Harry began to sift through the exam questions in front of him. He answered the first few, some easily and others with difficulty and others still with a great deal of guessing. Before long his head was spinning and his grip on his quill had loosened. Now was not a good time to be feeling faint, he needed to do his exam. His vision swam, and Harry felt dread settle deep in his stomach. Before he could alert the invigilator that he was feeling faint he was back in the corridor. He’d been visiting it more and more over the past few days, but this time it was different. As he travelled the familiar length of the hallway, shiny black tiles flashing past him, he was filled with a sense of purpose. And for the first time, he reached the end of the corridor, and was met with a door. The door of the department of mysteries.

He was in a room filled with thousands of crystal balls stacked high on shelves. They flew past him as he journeyed further into the strange room. The farther he went, the more unsettled he felt. He could hear faint groaning that grew louder and louder. Before long the groaning has turned to terrible, anguished screams. Screams he recognised with a sickening jolt as Sirius’. Harry felt his insides turn to ice. Before he could call out in fear and shock he was frozen, face to face with the awful scene. Sirius lay writhing on the floor, face contorted with suffering, and Lord Voldemort stood menacingly above him. Harry felt as though he was going to be sick.

“Sirius!” he shrieked, but no one could hear him.

“You will retrieve it for me, Black,” ordered Voldemort, his voice high and cold. Retrieve what? Why did Sirius have to get it? Why not someone, anyone, else?

“I can’t,” came Sirius’ own cracked voice, it pained Harry to hear it so weak. “I can’t get it for you, even if I wanted too I–

“Crucio!”

Harry screamed at the same as Sirius did. He felt a hand shaking him but he was too horrified to react until he was brought abruptly back to reality. He was still screaming. He stopped, the sound dying in his throat. He stared around at the exam hall in a panic. Some students were watching him reproachfully, others were working on their tests.

“Mr Potter!” said the invigilator sternly, for what must’ve been the second or third time.

“Yes, sir?” responded Harry. The man’s expression was filled with worry.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, escorting Harry out of the room. Harry barely remembered standing up, everything was hazy. Only one thing was clear; Sirius was in danger.

“I have to see Professor McGonagall,” he declared, “Immediately.”

The invigilator looked over him doubtfully.

“You still have time to finish the exam,” he informed him, “Surely it can wait? A cancelled score could narrow your course options and by extension your career options.” He gave him a hard look, “Significantly,” he added harshly, trying to impress the severity of this decision on Harry, “You can’t just take a redo.”

Harry gulped. He could see what the man was trying to tell him, and he faltered. This was a very important test, and his decision to leave now would probably make things difficult for him next year, but that was that. He’d already decided. He couldn’t wait a moment longer to go and help Sirius. Sirius was in danger now, Harry couldn’t just go and finish his exam, it was out of the question.

“I have to see Professor McGonagall,” he repeated. The invigilator didn’t seem very happy about his decision, and he looked as though he was in half a mind to start arguing once more, but after seeing the stubbornness in Harry’s face he conceded.

Harry sprinted to McGongall’s office. When she wasn’t there, he sprinted for her classroom, and when she wasn’t there either he began to really panic. He checked Gryffindor tower, and the staff room, and in a desperate last-ditch effort he ran to the Hospital Wing.

“Do you know where Professor McGongall is?” he asked Madam Pomfrey, holding his breath for the answer.

“St Mungo’s of course,” came her brisk reply, and Harry gaped.

“St Mungo’s?” he echoed.

“Haven’t you heard?” said the healer, not unkindly, “She took five stunners to the chest last night when they tried to arrest Hagrid.”

“What?” exclaimed Harry, aghast.

“The cowards,” sniffed Madam Pomfrey, “It’s a wonder she’s still alive. Five stunning spells at once at her age, she very nearly could’ve died.”

“What about Hagrid?”

“All their spells bounced right off him, you know how he is,” Harry could only assume she was referring to his giant blood, “He escaped before they could get him.”

“Where is he now?”

“How would I know, dear?” she replied exasperatedly, “Now if you’ll excuse me…” and she hurried off to go and tend to her patients.

Harry was left reeling from this exchange, not to mention all the running around he’d just done. He took a seat next to one of the empty hospital beds and tried to think what to do next. He needed to tell the order.

Before he could begin to catch his breath, he was up again and running back to Gryffindor Tower. If he could just call Remus through their mirror system and warn him about what was going on…

He practically shouted the password on his way in, earning him a very dirty look from the fat lady. He rushed up the stairs and burst into his dorm, going straight to his broken piece of mirror. There was no one on the other side of it.

“Remus!” shouted Harry breathlessly. “Remus!”

There was no reply. He was probably at work, completely oblivious to the fact that his husband was missing. Harry wanted to scream and cry all at once. “Remus!” he called desperately, hoping against hope that he would get a reply. There was none.

What was he meant to do now? Harry tried to think of his options, but his mind was full of terror for Sirius. The awful, tortured screams of his godfather kept returning to him. How was he going to save him at this rate? Dumbledore was gone, McGongall was in hospital and Hagrid had disappeared. Who did that leave? His mind briefly went to Firenze, but what would the centaur be able to do to help? And on top of that, Harry had no idea where to find him, or if he was even on the Hogwarts grounds and not somewhere deep in the forest. He could’ve told Kingsley or Tonks, but he had no clue how to contact them or if it was safe too. He could contact Mr and Mrs Weasley? But surely Mr Weasley was at work, and there was no telling how fast Harry could owl them. By the time they received a letter from him it would probably be too late. He could’ve flooed them, Umbridge’s spying be damned, but the ghastly woman had shut off all connection to the floo network for the whole school. It was just one dead end after another, and Harry was running out of options. Part of him wanted to run and tell Draco, but what good would that do?

By now the others had probably finished the History of Magic exam, meaning Harry had essentially doomed his score (and possibly his future) for nothing. He was no closer to saving Sirius, and had only grown even more panicked. He needed help. He needed his friends.

He hurtled down staircase after staircase, almost falling over the rail of one as it lurched to the side, but he didn’t let this deter him in the least. He reached the entrance to the Great Hall just as everyone had started to file out. Harry searched the crowds for Ron or Hermione, preferably both, not caring how insane he must have looked. Before long he’d found them, and they came running over, they’d clearly been looking for him too.

“Harry!” began Ron, but he interrupted him before he had the chance to continue.

“Sirius is in danger! Voldemort’s got him in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry and I tried to call Remus but I can’t find him I think he’s at work or something and McGonagall is in hospital so I can’t go to her and Dumbledore’s gone and so is Hagrid and I don’t know what to do!”

He almost burst into tears but somehow held himself together.

“Harry, slow down.” instructed Hermione.

“What’s happened?” asked Ron, “How do you know Sirius is in danger?”

“It was just like the dream with your dad,” he whispered in a strained tone, “I saw it Ron. I saw it! We need to get to him now! He could be dead already.”

“Bloody…Oh, Merlin,” breathed Ron.

“Harry, are you sure?” pressed Hermione, “What if it’s–

“Of course I’m sure!” he bit back, “Hermione we don’t have time for this!”

“What if it’s not real?” she persisted, “What if You-Know-Who only wanted you to see that? What if it’s not actually happening? Harry, what if it’s a trap?”

“What if it’s not?” he retorted, “What if Sirius is in danger right now and I have the power to save him and send help but I don’t?”

She pursed her lips, looking torn.

“What are we going to do?” asked Ron.

“I don’t know, I thought maybe we could send a message to your Mum but we can’t access the floo network and an owl would never get there in time, even if Hedwig was flying her fastest she could never–

“Harry, are you alright?” asked Neville Longbottom, and Harry turned to him in surprise. “I heard you screaming halfway through the exam, and then you didn’t come back, what’s going on?”

“Nothing Neville,” he assured him quickly, “Don’t worry about it.”

“There’s clearly something going on,” came Luna’s airy voice from his other side, “You just don’t want us to know what it is. You should tell us, Harry. The more help you have, the better.”

“She’s right,” chimed in Ginny, who’d approached with Luna. The two of them must have been on their way to the Great Hall together.

Harry looked between Ron and Hermione, who seemed just as undecided as him.

“I think my Godfather might be in danger,” he confessed, “I need to contact someone who can help.”

“Someone from the order,” surmised Ginny, and Harry nodded.

“What’s that?” asked Neville. Harry was surprised he didn’t know it, considering his parents had been in the original Order of the Phoenix.

“It sounds secret,” said Luna, catching on as usual.

“I can’t access the floo network, a letter would take too long and all the teachers I could ask for help are gone.”

“Professor McGonagall?” prompted Neville.

“In hospital,” replied Harry bitterly.

“It seems as though you’re in a difficult situation,” said Luna dreamily.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron tensely.

“Wait!” exclaimed Ginny suddenly, “We may not have access to the floo, but I bet Umbridge has kept hers open! That awful hag is probably reporting back to the Ministry with every chance she gets.”

“Ginny, that’s brilliant!” agreed Hermione.

“We just have to get into her office,” surmised Ron.

Harry felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could save Sirius in time. Maybe, just maybe, Sirius would be safe.

Chapter Text

“Headmistress!” called Neville breathlessly, “Peeves is wreaking havoc in the Astronomy Tower!”

It was a pretty weak excuse, but Peeves getting up to any kind of mischief was easily believable, and the astronomy tower was far enough away that it would buy Harry time to use the floo. Hopefully she would take the bait. Neville had bravely volunteered to lure her away, and seeing as she probably hated him the least out of their ragtag group, Harry figured he had the best odds of being believed.

“That wretched ghost,” she cursed, “Lead the way, Longbottom.”

And they were off. Harry ran into the disgustingly pink office and sat by her fireplace. Just as Ginny had predicted, there was a large bag of floo powder next to it; she had kept the network open for herself. Harry quickly scattered some in the fire and said “Grimmauld Place!” before plunging his head into the embers. Meanwhile, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Luna were keeping watch outside at different strategic points. Harry felt his head spin and whirl unpleasantly as he was transported to the dingy living room of his Godfather’s childhood home. Today was Sirius’ day off, and he would usually spend it fixing up Grimmauld Place unless he had something else to do. Hopefully he’d be unhexing old relics or something, but if he wasn’t then maybe another member of the Order of the Phoenix might be there.

“Sirius?” called Harry apprehensively, “Sirius?”

There was no answer.

“Hello?” he tried again, “Is anyone there?”

He heard some shuffling, and his heart leapt. Perhaps– Was it– Could it be–

Kreacher came ambling over to the fireplace. Harry’s heart sunk.

“Kreacher!” he addressed the little house elf, “Where’s Sirius?”

“I’m not his keeper,” scorned Kreacher, “The Master goes where he pleases. He never bothers to tell me where or why.”

“Was he with you today?” pressed Harry, “Did he come over to Grimmauld Place at all?”

“The master was here,” he supplied vaguely.

“And he left?”

“Yes, he left.”

“Where did he go?”

“The Master goes where he pleases,” repeated Kreacher, sounding annoyed.

“Do you have any idea where he might have gone?” begged Harry.

“I told you, I’m not his keeper. He was here and then he left, that’s all I know.”

“Was he supposed to come back?” he asked.

“He’s gone,” said Kreacher ominously.

“What do you mean?” demanded Harry.

“He’s gone,” repeated the house elf, this time sounding slightly malicious.

“Kreacher, tell me the truth,” ordered Harry, “Where is Sirius? Tell me right now Kreacher, I’m not playing around!”

“I have told you,” said Kreacher, “He is gone.”

Harry wanted to scream.

“Fine!” he exclaimed, and retracted his head from the fireplace.

He took another handful of floo powder and cast it into the flames. They flared up green as he called out “The Burrow!”. Once again his head was spinning horribly and then the warm and comforting image of the Weasley’s house came into view.

“Mrs Weasley?”

“Harry?” came the confused response. She came walking into the room with her hands full of knitting. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

Harry was so relieved he almost started crying for the third (or was it fourth?) time that day.

“Sirius is in danger!” he exclaimed, getting straight to the point. He told her the whole story, from his nightmare to Kreacher’s mysterious and threatening comments. She listened patiently and waited for him to finish before asking questions. Slowly, some of the pent up stress and fear began to seep out of him. Mrs Weasley was a member of the order and she was going to take care of it all. She could save Sirius. She would do everything in her power to save him, Harry was sure of it.

“Alright,” she said eventually, “I’m going to get the rest of the order together, and we’ll get to the Ministry as fast as we can.” Harry nodded along. “In the meantime, you and everyone else need to stay put. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in the Department of Mysteries, then you’ll all be safest at Hogwarts. If he isn’t and it was all a trap, you lot storming the Ministry under false pretences is not going to do you any favours with the Minister. Do you understand?” Harry nodded some more. “Ok,” she continued, “And try not to worry dear, whatever happens, we’ll make sure Sirius is alright.” She gave him a firm nod, and Harry smiled weakly.

“Ok,” he replied in a quiet voice. Mrs Weasley left and Harry retracted his head from the fire.

“All good?” asked Ron, poking his head through the door.

“Hopefully,” said Harry. He exited the office and rejoined the others in the corridor outside.

“What do we do now?” asked Ginny.

“Your Mum told me that we should stay put,” he explained, “She’s getting the order together and then they’ll go to the Ministry.”

“So we just… do nothing?” clarified Hermione, seeming unsure.

“I guess,” he agreed, frowning. Harry hadn’t really thought of it like that. How was he supposed to sit here and do nothing while Sirius could be dying? How was he supposed to forgive himself if… He could barely even think of it, it was so horrible.

“You don’t seem very sure,” commented Luna.

“Er,” he said stupidly, but before he could defend Mrs Weasley’s instructions he looked up and spotted Draco hurtling down the corridor at them. Harry’s eyes went wide as saucers.

“Umbridge caught Longbottom lying about Peeves,” he informed them, not even pausing to say hello, “She suspects someone’s trying to break into her office so she sent me ahead. I can say some of you got away but I should at least have caught two people for it to be believable. She’ll be here any minute so decide now.”

He looked harshly at all of them.

“I’ll stay,” offered Harry, “She already probably thinks it’s me.”

“Fine,” agreed Draco.

“I’ll stay too,” offered Ron.

“So will I,” said Ginny.

“We only need two,” Hermione cut in.

“I should stay,” proclaimed Luna.

“No,” Draco cut in, “You and Ginny leave, she’d never suspect you anyway. Hermione you go as well and all of you pretend as if things are normal. Me, Ron and Harry will stay behind. Now get out of here.”

The three girls shared a look between them, before turning and running in the opposite direction Umbridge had left.

“Come on,” urged Draco, ushering them into the office. Harry and Ron quickly followed.

“Draco,” began Harry.

“Save it,” he cut back, “We don’t have time.”

“Sirius is in danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw it, he’s being tortured by Voldemort–

“Don’t say his name!” Harry looked at him imploringly. “How do you know it’s real? How do you know it’s not a trap?”

“It’s not!” insisted Harry and Ron at the same time. They looked sideways at each other and then back at Draco.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I–

“What is your plan, Longbottom?” screeched Umbridge from down the hall, “Who else is working with you?”

“No one! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“We’ll soon get to the bottom of this,” she retorted.

“Headmistress!” called Draco, running out of her office to greet her, “I’ve got Potter and Weasley, I think they were trying to break in.”

“Marvellous,” she trilled, and there she was, opening the door and strutting in, dragging Neville with her. Harry gulped. “Well, well, well,” she greeted, her face twisting into a malicious grin, “I knew there’d been someone trying to get into my office. I should’ve guessed it was you two.”

Harry and Ron were silent.

“Not talking?” she goaded, “Not to worry, I know just what can loosen your tongues. Draco, go and fetch Severus.”

“Of course, Headmistress,” he replied easily, casting a secret warning look at the others before he left for the potions professor.

“Do sit down,” said Umbridge sweetly. She swept her wand across the room and three small, wooden chairs appeared, all of them painted pink. Harry, Ron and Neville obliged. “Would you like some tea?” she asked them.

“No thank you,” said Neville politely. Harry shifted in his seat.

“I think I’ll make you all some anyway,” she told them, and began to do just that.

Tea and Snape meant Veritaserum, he was sure of it. If Harry was under Veritaserum… Umbridge could learn about the Order of the Phoenix, about the truth behind Dumbledore’s Army, or about Snape’s status as a double agent, or maybe even about his relationship with Draco and the Slytherin’s true allegiances. Harry couldn’t risk any of that. But he didn’t see what he could do to prevent them all from taking the potion. He doubted pretending to drink it or pouring it away would work. She wasn’t going to let them off that easy. He just had to hold out until… Until what? No one was coming to save him. McGonagall was at St Mungo’s, Hagrid and Dumbledore had all but disappeared, Sirius was very likely being tortured and the rest of the Order were on their way to help him. Umbridge had all the time in the world, and as Harry watched her make them each a cup of tea, he realised that she probably knew this.

Soon Draco had reappeared with Snape, and Harry felt himself tense.

“Headmistress?” he drawled, “You requested for me?”

“Ah, Severus,” she greeted him warmly, “I’m in need of more Veritaserum.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Neville jolt in his seat.

“I’m afraid you used the last of it on Miss Edgecombe,” he replied. Harry felt relief flow through him.

“What?”

“I don’t have any left,” he repeated. She couldn’t use the potion on them. His secrets were safe.

“Not even… Oh forget it,” she huffed.

“So you… are no longer in need of me?” he surmised.

“I am not,” she confirmed.

“Well then,” he concluded, and he was gone with a sweep of his black robes. Harry wondered if Mrs Weasley had contacted him or if he knew anything at all about what was currently happening in the Department of Mysteries. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter. What could he do anyway?

Umbridge closed her office door with a resonating thud. She tapped her wand against it and Harry could hear a complex locking mechanism. That did not bode well.

“Never mind,” she sniffed, “There are other ways of interrogating people.”

She walked over to her desk and turned a picture frame of Fudge face down.

“What the Minister doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I will simply have to resort… to the cruciatus curse. I’m afraid you leave me no choice–

“That’s illegal!” Ron cut in. Neville, who’d been shaking slightly, was now completely still.

There was a knock at the door. They all turned around in sync. Umbridge slowly made her way over to the sound. She paused before it, and the knocking came again, this time more insistent. Umbridge passed her wand over the door and Harry heard the many mechanisms unlocking.

“Hello Headmistress,” came Luna’s dreamy voice as Umbridge opened the door.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I just wanted a moment of your time.”

“I’m a little busy right now.” cut back Umbridge, and she made to close the door, but Luna slid through into the office.

“It’s very important,” she continued, her large owlish eyes bulging, “You see, my shoes have been stolen.”

“Your shoes?” parroted Umbridge, her voice shrill.

“Yes, every single pair. I’m having to borrow shoes from other people. My situation is really quite dire, actually.”

“What is this nonsense?” demanded the headmistress, “I don’t have time for this. I am busy. Now you will kindly get out of my office.”

“I really need my shoes.” said Luna. What on earth was she doing? Were Ginny and Hermione outside carrying out some sort of plan? Was Luna buying them time?

“Young lady,” replied Umbridge testily, “You will leave this room or you will stay to be punished with these miscreants,” she gestured to the three boys in the chairs.

Luna paused, as if she were really considering the question.

“I’ll stay,” she decided. Umbridge did not look very happy at her decision.

“Very well,” she bit out, “You can take a seat Miss Lovegood.”

With another wave of her wand Umbridge had magicked up a new chair, but Luna ignored it and instead sat on the floor. Umbridge went pink with rage, pinker than everything in her office put together. She looked as though she were about to start an argument but promptly decided against it, taking a deep breath to calm herself as she returned to her tea.

Harry still hadn’t the slightest clue what Luna was doing. He wondered if Hermione and Ginny were in on it at all, or if she had simply decided to waltz in all of her own accord. She had briefly saved him from the cruciatus curse, but he was unsure how long he could put it off.

“Now,” announced Umbridge, with a tone of finality, “Drink your tea, children.”

She floated three cups of tea over to Neville, Ron and Luna.

“Did Harry not want any?” wondered Luna.

“He won’t be needing any,” she said ominously. Harry gulped.

“You can’t do the… You can’t use the cruciatus curse on him,” said Ron firmly, as if he were trying to convince himself as well as Umbridge, “It’s an unforgivable.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she replied primly.

“The cruciatus curse?” echoed Luna, tilting her head in confusion. Harry looked over at Neville. He was still frozen still, staring straight ahead. Harry kicked himself for letting him volunteer to distract Umbridge instead of someone else. He noticed that Luna was holding his hand, presumably to give some reassurance, and felt minorly better. He looked over at Draco, who was likewise frozen. At first glance his face was impassive, but Harry could see the terror in his eyes when they flicked over to meet his.

“Miss Lovegood, if you do not refrain from speaking, I shall have to cast a silencing charm. The same goes for the rest of you.” Luna sipped her tea, blinking owlishly at the headmistress. She did not say anything else. Umbridge began to approach Harry, edging closer and closer, her wand held high. Despite himself, Harry backed away as much as he could, leaning down into his chair. “Now, Potter,” she practically whispered, “What were you doing in my office?”

“Nothing!” he retorted.

She gave him a wide smile.

“Cru–

“Wait!” shouted Draco, and they all turned to him in shock.

“I’m sorry?” replied Umbridge, her smile becoming tight and small. It was a threat.

“I’ve just figured it out,” he continued, “Harry was trying to get his broom back!” he turned viciously to Harry, with all the confidence of a detective who’d just solved a case. “Weren’t you?” he added in an almost desperate tone.

“Is this true?”

“I…” Harry looked over at Draco, whose pointed stare was telling him to play his part. “Flying is my life!” he exclaimed suddenly, “I need my broom back. I’ll get it back, mark my words, Umbridge!”

“Your broom?” said Umbridge shrilly. She almost sounded disappointed that it wasn’t something more sinister.

“You’ve been trying to get it back all year, haven’t you?” accused Draco, “Ever since it was confiscated.”

Harry had reached the limit of his acting. He felt it was too suspicious to confirm Draco’s claims, but too risky to refute them. He stared angrily at the floor, hoping this would be enough. Everyone was silent. He could hear Luna sipping more of her tea. Neville’s knee was bouncing up and down. Ron stared at Umbridge. Without seeing, Harry knew that Draco was looking at him.

“I simply don’t believe that,” she decided eventually.

“You…don’t?” mumbled Ron.

“Do not speak out of turn, Weasley,” she chided, “No, I do not believe that, not one bit,” she turned sternly to Harry, “You are hiding something, Potter. You’ve been plotting against the Ministry from the very beginning of the year. I know it, and I’ll prove it yet.”

It seemed that catching the DA and exiling Dumbledore had not been enough for her. Harry realised that she would probably never stop suspecting him. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I’m not plotting anything,” he replied viciously, “You’re being ridiculous.” Draco made a face at him from behind Umbridge. Harry had said the wrong thing.

“Ridiculous?” she parroted back at him, “Ridiculous? You might as well be an enemy of the state, Potter, involved with Dumbledore as you were. I have every reason to suspect you of- of- of treason!”

Harry almost wanted to roll his eyes. Thankfully, he was sobered enough from his close encounter with the cruciatus curse that he held himself back. What was he supposed to say to her? He just couldn’t win.

“I am not committing treason,” he said flatly.

“The Wizengamot will be the judge of that.”

“The Wizengamot?” interrupted Ron in horror.

“You haven’t got any evidence,” added Luna sweetly.

“I can very easily present his previous actions to the court and have a team of investigators assigned to him,” she cut back.

“What?” said Harry.

“That’s right,” she continued, “I could set half the Ministry on you, Potter, so you had best tell me the truth.”

“I am telling the truth!” he lied.

“Be quiet!” she snapped. Harry shut his mouth. His eyes flicked to Draco worriedly. What was Umbridge doing? “What are you really up to, Mr Potter?” she said patiently. Harry’s eyes flicked again to Draco, but he found no answers or advice in his equally scared gaze.

“Me and Ron were trying to get my broom–

“The truth!”

“That is the truth!” he lied again.

“Do not make me use the cruciatus curse–

“He’s telling the truth!” pleaded Ron.

“Silence!” she shrieked, casting a muffling charm over him. “Potter, I’m giving you one last chance to confess. What are you up to?”

Harry was really panicking now. He looked from Ron to Neville to Luna to Draco. Draco mouthed two words to him: Fake confession. Harry gulped.

“Well?” she prompted, her voice dangerously high and tight. He realised suddenly that she wasn’t going to stop until she got the confession she wanted, whether it be true or not. She would force him to confess to crimes he hadn’t committed without a second thought. She only wanted him to give false evidence. It crossed this mind that perhaps this was her revenge for quitting her class and humiliating her. He should've followed Draco's advice more closely and kept his head down.

“I was using the floo! I was trying to get into contact with Dumbledore!”

“Very good, Mr Potter,” she praised, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he was sure it wouldn't be good.

“Do you know where Dumbledore is?”

“No, I don’t. I couldn’t get a hold of him. I didn’t get to speak with him. I was just trying random places.”

“Which places?” she smiled.

“Er, I tried St Mungos in case he was visiting McGonagall, but I couldn’t find either of them. I tried lots of different floors and places.”

“Good, where else?”

“Um, I er, I tried Diagon Alley. I thought maybe he’d be there. That’s all the places I had time for.”

“Why did you want to talk with him?” Harry wracked his brain for a plausible excuse.

“I wanted to restart the DA. I thought he could help me.” he invented.

“Treason!” she exclaimed happily. Harry wondered what he’d gotten himself into. “You and I, and your accomplices here, are going to make a little trip to the Ministry, where you can confess to the Minister himself.”

“No!” he shouted without thinking.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, smiling widely. Harry’s insides plummeted. The Ministry? Now? Ron, Neville and Luna would all be endangered because of him. “Draco, would you–

“I have to stay for an exam make-up,” he said quickly, “Unfortunately,” he added.

“Well that is unfortunate,” she agreed, although she sounded as if nothing could have lowered her spirits. “Best of luck,” she told him as she made her way over to the large fireplace. “Come now,” she beckoned the Gryffindors and Ravenclaw sweetly. They looked between each other before doing as they were told. “The Ministry!” she ordered, casting powder into the flames. Harry took one last desperate look at Draco before stepping into the green fire.

Chapter Text

As soon as they stepped out of the fire Harry could tell something was wrong. The Ministry was completely deserted. The last time he’d been in the building had been for his hearing, and he distinctly remembered bustling crowds throughout every room, hallway and staircase. But this time there wasn’t a single person to be seen. Everyone stopped in their tracks at the strange sight, even Umbridge.

“Where is everybody?” whispered Neville.

“Perhaps it’s a holiday,” ventured Luna. Her voice echoed against the tall, cold, tiled walls.

“We should go back,” said Ron uneasily. Umbridge was silent. The empty Ministry seemed to have unsettled her too, but Harry had a feeling she wouldn’t back down now. They all watched her as the cogs turned in her head, waiting with baited breath for her decision.

Suddenly, she turned to Harry.

“This is your doing!” she accused, eyes wild, “You know what’s going on here, don’t you? Is Dumbledore here?”

“What?” exclaimed Harry. How could she possibly turn this on him? It had been her decision to come to the Ministry in the first place. He wondered if she really believed what she was saying, and realised that she probably did.

“Tell me this instant what–

“Petrificus Totalus,” cast Luna. Umbridge dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. They all turned to Ravenclaw girl in horror.

“Luna!” admonished Neville.

“She was becoming frightfully annoying,” shrugged Luna in explanation. The three boys gaped at her. “What should we do now?” she asked them. Harry struggled for words.

“We should go back to Hogwarts,” said Ron, “Maybe give the old bag a kick first…”

“Ron!” chided Neville in shock.

“What do you think, Harry?” asked Luna. Harry fiddled with his fingers.

“I mean…” he began carefully, “We’re already here now. It seems like the Order isn’t yet, and Sirius could be right here, I can’t just–

“Mate,” Ron cut in, “Don’t tell me you’re really considering staying?”

“Well….”

“It’s far too dangerous. Mum will be here soon with the rest of the Order and they’ll be able to help him. If we interfere it’ll only make things worse.”

“It was me that broke the Whomping Willow branch,” he confessed, “I’ve got some kind of powerful magic in me. I’ve fought Voldemort before, maybe I can–

“Harry, don’t be stupid!”

“I’m not being stupid!” he cried, “I could have the power to save Sirius! It’s almost as if I’m meant too. I had the dream, then Umbridge brought us here, my magic has been getting stronger all year–

“Harry!” shouted Ron.

“I have to try!” he practically begged. “I could never forgive myself if… I’m going to the Department of Mysteries and you can’t stop me!” He hoped Luna wouldn’t freeze him like she had with Umbridge, and he backed away from all three of them, his hand hovering over the wand in his pocket. “He and Remus are the only family I’ve got left,” he added. Ron looked torn. Neville looked scared. Luna was wrinkling her nose in disgust at Umbridge’s stiff form. “Please?”

“Fine,” caved Ron after a beat, “But if you’re going, then we’re coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry began to argue.

“You can’t go alone,” Neville reasoned.

“Isn’t this exactly what the DA was for?” pointed out Luna.

“We’re going with you,” repeated Ron, “Now lead the way.”

Harry could tell he wasn’t going to win this argument. With a resigned sigh, he began to lead them all to the Department of Mysteries. The more they walked, the emptier the Ministry seemed. Their footsteps echoed eerily around them.

“Why did you come to Umbridge’s office?” Harry asked Luna eventually.

“I just thought you might have needed some help.”

“Thank you,” he told her, strangely touched by the sentiment.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

“Are Hermione and Ginny alright?” Ron asked her.

“As far as I know,” was the response. They fell into silence. They entered the lift and Harry pressed the button for the correct floor.

“You don’t have to come with me–

“Shut it.” said Ron, and Harry did. The lift stopped descending and the doors slid open. They all stepped out. It was unsettlingly silent. Harry led them down one corridor, and then another, and then they were in one he recognised all too well. It was the one from his dream. Dark and long and cold. It was jarring to see it in real life, as if he’d stepped into a nightmare. He halted as he recognised it, took a deep breath, and started down the tiled floor. This was it. The door loomed closer and closer. It wasn’t labelled or marked, but Harry knew instinctively that behind it was the Department of Mysteries. He stopped short right before it.

“Is this…?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

There was a moment of stillness where no one did anything. They could still turn back. They hadn’t gotten involved yet. Not really, anyway. It wasn’t too late.

Luna opened the door. But it didn’t reveal shelves upon shelves of crystal balls, but instead a large circular room with identical doors along the wall. They all filed in cautiously, and the door slammed shut behind them with a bang. All of them flinched. The curved wall of the room spun round. It stopped just as suddenly, and once it did, Harry realised that they now had no way of knowing which door they’d entered through. The others seemed to come to similar realistions as they looked round at all the many, matching doors.

“What now?” asked Ron.

“Let’s try the doors,” offered Luna.

“Ok,” agreed Neville. Harry gave her a nod and she approached the nearest one. She tried the handle.

“It’s locked,” she told them, “Alohamora.” She tried again. It was still locked. “I’ll mark them as I go,” she suggested, and she drew a pale blue spiral over the door with her wand. The wall spun again. The blue spiral remained, however. She moved onto the next door. This time, the handle gave. She opened the door and they all peered inside. It had opened onto another circular room, this one much smaller and with what seemed to be a low, stone, well in the middle. Plants and moss grew behind it, and a barrel attached to a long rope sat on the lip of the well, waiting to be lowered down. Slowly, the four of them approached the stone structure and peered into its depths, but it went on for too long for them to glimpse the bottom. All Harry could see was murky darkness, not even any water. Despite this, he felt there was something down there. Something uncomfortable. Something powerful. “How curious,” commented Luna.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Ron.

“Is your Godfather…through here?” asked Neville.

“I’m not sure,” replied Harry, looking around the room. “I don’t think so…”

“Do you know how to find your Godfather, Harry?” inquired Luna.

“Yes,” he lied, hoping to instil confidence in them. In truth, he was only guessing. All he had known was to go through the door he’d been seeing in his dreams, the rest was (ironically) a mystery. He knew Sirius was in the strange crystal ball room, but he didn’t exactly know where that was.

“I think I see something,” whispered Neville, who was still looking into the well. They all looked down into the darkness, and Harry glimpsed a flash of movement, something pale shifting in the darkness. It was moving fast.

“What is that?” he asked, his heart speeding up.

“Perhaps it’s a nixie,” mused Luna. Harry hadn’t the slightest idea what that was, but he wasn’t about to wait and find out. The paleness emerged from the darkness and a pair of fiery, piercing eyes stared right at him. The eyes belonged to a woman, a naked woman scrambling and scuttling hastily up the sides of the well like some kind of animal. He forgot to breathe for a second.

“Go!” shouted Ron, “Go, go, go!”

Harry tore himself away from her terrifying stare and sprinted for the door. Luna and Neville followed him and Ron slammed the door shut behind them, marking it with a large cross. Harry heard something thud on the other side of the wood and then the wall was spinning again. He caught his breath, thoroughly rattled.

“Oh, it’s just like that painting,” Luna piped up.

“What?” huffed Ron.

“Let’s just carry on,” suggested Harry, who did not want to think about the savage, animalistic woman crawling towards him for a moment longer. He tried the next door along. It was locked. The same went for the next two after that. They tried ‘Alohomora’ on all of them, to no avail. They opened another one into some kind of storage room. It reminded Harry vaguely of Ollivander’s. There were lots of small wooden compartments covering every inch of wall space. They didn’t bother to look at what was in them. After that was another locked door. And after that, was a room filled top to bottom with crystal balls.

“This is it,” Harry told them. But there were no screams. There wasn’t even any talking. The whole place was deadly silent.

“He’s here?” asked Neville in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” said Harry, but he was growing more and more unsure. He set off through the aisles of shelves, looking this way and that for any signs of Sirius… or Voldemort. But there was nothing. He walked and walked, and soon he’d reached the exact spot (he was sure it was the exact spot, despite the fact that all the rows looked the same) and there was no one there. “He was here,” he told the others, “This is where I saw it.”

“Are you–

“Yes,” he said quickly, desperately almost.

“Harry,” Neville told him, “This one’s got your name on it.”

Harry turned around with a start. He made his way over to the crystal ball Neville was pointing at. It did indeed have a label with the words ‘Harry Potter’ printed across it in spidery letters. Transfixed, Harry reached over to it and picked the ball up. The inside was cloudy, he couldn’t make anything out.

“Well, well, well,” came a new voice, an awfully familiar voice. The four of them whipped around to find none other than Lucius Malfoy walking between the shelves. Harry’s stomach dropped. “It looks as though you’ve found what we’re looking for.”

“Where’s Sirius?” demanded Harry, holding the crystal ball close to his chest. A sudden, maniacal laugh erupted on their right, and they turned again. Bellatrix Lestrange was also closing in on them. “Poor dear,” she teased, pouting her lips at Harry, “He hasn’t figured it out yet.”

It was a trap. It had been a trap all along. Harry had walked himself and his friends into a trap. It was all his fault. His mind spun.

“Now, now, Potter,” drawled Lucius, and Harry shivered at the sound of his voice, it had a hint of Draco’s in it, or perhaps it was Draco’s voice that had a hint of Lucius in it. “Give us the prophecy, and you and your friends can leave unharmed.”

“The prophecy?” he echoed, holding the orb even closer. Bellatrix burst into laughter again. It was an awful sound, like a hyena. He, Ron, Luna and Neville had all backed into one another, forming a tight circle. Luna was holding Neville’s hand again. Harry hoped it was bringing him comfort.

“Just hand it over,” continued Lucius silkily, “And we’ll let you go.”

Lies, thought Harry to himself. He heard a distant thud.

“I’ll hand it over,” he lied right back, “But how are you going to assure our safety?”

“Potter,” warned Lucius, “Hand over the crystal ball.”

He was edging closer. Harry noticed death eaters flanking them on two other sides. Bellatrix grinned at him. “Get ready,” Harry whispered to his friends so only they could hear.

“Potter…”

With two quick slashes of his wand, Harry toppled both shelves of crystal balls and they rained down over Lucius Malfoy, smashing all over the place. Neville used a very effective Expelliarmus on one of the death eaters to their right. Luna blasted confringo at Bellatrix and Ron stupefied the death eater behind them.

“Run!” screamed Harry, and they all made a mad dash in different directions. Harry heard the whooshing of death eaters travelling through the air like smoke in their awful way. Lucius landed next to him all of a sudden, a large bloody gash on his cheek. One of the crystal ball pieces must have slashed him. Harry cast Expelliarmus and bolted. Bellatrix appeared on his left, smiling her wretched, maddening, smile. He cast protego as she attacked and ran some more. He almost ran straight into Luna, who had a newly acquired bloody nose.

“Duck!” she told him, and they both crouched down. Bellatrix’s spell hit the death eater chasing Luna and he fell over in a heap of black robes. Harry stood back up and fired several spells at the witch. She dodged them all with ease. Ron and Neville met back up with them as well and they formed their circle once more.

“The prophecy,” ordered Lucius, who had caught up with them. Harry said nothing. Lucius advanced, his wand raised. “Hand. It. Over.”

Harry would do no such thing. He also held his wand high. Lucius didn’t break eye contact for a second. Harry was hit with the strangeness of fighting his boyfriend’s dad all at once. This was the same man who had suggested he and Draco get married, and the same man who’d told Draco he couldn’t have a pet dragon, and the same man who loved and adored his son with every fibre of his being. Harry’s heart hurt at the thought. Before he could fire another offensive spell, the door to the room burst open and the Order had entered the fight. The death eaters quickly flew away to regroup as Remus, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Kingsley, Moody and, - Harry realised with a painful twinge - Sirius.

“Harry!” called out both his guardians at once.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Mrs Weasley, eyeing them all.

“We didn’t mean to,” began Ron.

“You need to get out of here,” said Moody gruffly. Remus ushered Harry and his friends to the exit.

“Quickly!” he urged them. The Order hurried around them, protecting the children from all sides. Several spells were shot in their direction as they ran, but they were held off. They got out of the room but at the same time Bellatirix cast an especially explosive jinx at the group, and they were forced apart. Harry felt the crystal ball roll out of his grip and his head rang, but he didn’t have time to think at all before someone was hoisting him up and dragging him away. He realised that this someone was Sirius, and they ran through one of the unmarked doors.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong one, and the pair of them tumbled into a room with a tall, stone archway in its centre. Harry could hear whispering coming from it, though it appeared to be empty, but he didn’t have time to think about that either. Bellatrix Lestrange had followed them through the door. Harry jolted upright as she and Sirius began to fight. He joined in, throwing his entire arsenal of offensive spells at her.

“Long time no see, cousin,” she jeered.

“Well that’s what tends to happen when you’re locked up in Azkaban.”

“Oh, but you almost joined me, didn’t you Sirius? Me and Barty would’ve loved the company, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” grunted Sirius, jumping out of the way of one of her curses.

Her crazed laughter rang throughout the room.

“Reggie could’ve joined us too, if he hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed.”

Harry almost hit her with a particularly aggressive Expelliarmus and she leapt to the side like a startled cat.

“You couldn’t protect Reg but you’re going to protect him?” She goaded, “Is that it? Are you going to keep him safe? The Dark Lord will kill Harry Potter before the night is out.”

This was enough to make both Sirius and Harry falter. Bellatrix seemed to be expecting this, and a jet of red light flew from her wand to Sirius’ chest.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Sirius’ eyes went wide in shock and then they froze. He began to fall backwards. Harry panicked as another spell was sent their way and rushed to defend them both as Sirius fell and fell…

There was a moment before Harry had truly grasped what had happened. And then it hit him with all the force of a sledge hammer. Sirius was dead.

Harry had doomed him to a death in the department of mysteries in this awful room. Sirius was dead, and it was all his fault.

Chapter Text

All at once, Harry had forgotten Bellatrix and he’d forgotten the prophecy and he’d forgotten his friends. None of it mattered when Sirius was frozen still, too still. Harry held his stiff frame with all his might, keeping his Godfather from slipping through the strange archway behind them.

“Harry!” called Remus, but Harry couldn’t turn around. Sirius was dead, Sirius was gone, Harry would never be able to talk to him again, they’d never have another firecall, he would never again pick up his shard of mirror and see Sirius on the other side, his whole world, his whole life, was altered and changed and a part of it was missing, how could he–

“Harry!” came Remus’ voice again, closer this time. Remus was beside him, holding up Sirius as well, a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry still couldn’t bear to look at him. Remus’ husband was dead because of him, how could he ever look Moony in the face again? “Harry, we’ve got to get out of here,” he said urgently.

“H-he’s…” he choked, his eyes welling with tears and his chest constricting, “Remus he’s dead.” He whispered the words, barely hearing them himself. Harry felt Remus freeze.

“No,” replied Remus softly, and Harry’s heart broke, “Harry, it’s a body-bind curse.”

“What?” breathed Harry, hardly daring to hope.

“His eyes are moving,” added Remus, impossibly soft. And they were, Harry realised with a jolt. Not the eyelids but the eyes themselves could move. “He’s breathing,” Remus assured him. Harry gently, cautiously, brought his hand to hover over Sirius’ parted lips. And he was breathing. He was alive. Harry began to sob in pure relief as Remus picked up Sirius’ frozen form and guided them to the exit. Harry noticed that Bellatrix, the rest of the death eaters, the rest of his friends and the rest of the order had all disappeared. Remus, Sirius and Harry entered the main entrance to the Ministry. It was just as empty as when he’d arrived earlier, with the exception of Umbridge’s frozen form, which was still lying on the floor.

“Can’t you cast the countercurse?” sniffed Harry once he’d regained his senses enough.

“I don’t know exactly which spell Bellatrix used,” explained Moony as he led them to the many fireplaces, “From what I remember she’s a pretty unpredictable witch. It’s likely she used a spell of her own making, or some kind of combination. We’ll get someone with a little more expertise to help him.”

He stepped up to the fireplace and threw in a generous handful of floo powder. “Grimmauld Place!” he announced, and the flames roared up bright green. “Come on,” he urged, stepping into the fire. Harry made to follow him when all at once, something caught his eye. He whirled around, perhaps it was one of his friends, perhaps a member of the Order, perhaps it was Lucius Malfoy and Harry could talk to him about Draco.

Voldemort stood at the far end of the vast room. Harry felt his heart miss a beat and his insides plummet. He scrambled wildly backwards to make it to the flames that could transport him to safety but he felt himself being swept aside. He skidded over the shiny tiled floors and was bashed into the wall. He felt the air leave his lungs and gasped for oxygen, his right hand searching through his robes for his wand.

“Harry Potter,” came a high and nasally voice. Voldemort was now standing over him. Harry hadn’t even seen him move. Fear coursed through his veins.

“What do you want?” he yelled. His voice sounded weak and scared, no matter how brave he was trying to be. He’d been so close. So impossibly close to safety.

“The prophecy,” drawled Voldemort, “Where is it?”

“I don’t know!” hissed Harry, “I don’t have it!”

Voldemort looked right at him. Harry got the feeling that he was seeing more than Harry’s physical form. He was looking into his mind. Harry didn’t have the foresight to try any kind of Occlumency, he only sat there limply, doing nothing to prevent Voldemort from looking into his thoughts. His mind flashed back to the glass orb leaving his grip and rolling away.

“Very well,” said the Dark Lord flatly. He did not sound pleased, not at all. Harry wondered what was going to happen now.

“Why do you want the prophecy?” he asked, hoping to buy himself some time. He didn’t see what else he could do. He was met with stony silence. “What is the prophecy?” he tried again, “Why has it got my name on it?”

“If you had deigned to look at the other side of the label, you would've seen that it has my name on it, too.”

“Why?” demanded Harry.

“Your precious Headmaster didn’t tell you?” he practically spat, “A prophecy was made to him sixteen years ago. A prophecy about me, and you.”

“What?”

“It seems you’ve been kept in the dark, Potter.”

Harry’s head spun. What prophecy? Did his guardians know? What was Voldemort talking about?

“I don’t have anything else to say to you, and you’ve irked me too often, for too long. Avada Kedavra!”

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry didn’t even think to do anything to protect himself. His wand was gripped in his hand facing uselessly towards the floor. But before the jet of green light could hit him, one of the golden statues from the fountain leapt in front of him and deflected the dark magic.

“What?” seethed Voldemort, and then, “Dumbledore!”

Harry looked around and saw his Headmaster standing at the end of the room. His heart filled with hope. Dumbeldore would save him, Dumbledore would get him back to Padfoot and Moony. All at once Harry felt himself being whisked away by the animated golden statue as more members of the fountain display leapt to life and started to run towards Voldemort. Another jet of green light flew towards Dumbledore but in a whirl of his robes he had disappeared and reappeared at Voldemort’s side.

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom.” he said evenly, “The Aurors are well on their way.”

“By which time I will be gone,” replied Voldemort, “And you,” he paused viciously, “Will be dead.”

Dumbledore showed no signs of worry at this threat. Harry was still being pushed back by the golden statue. Voldemort sent another killing curse at Dumbledore, who easily dodged it and sent forth a different, unfamiliar spell towards his opponent with a mere flick of his wand. Even out of its reach and behind the golden guard Harry could feel the power emanating off of it. In response, Voldemort was forced to conjure up a huge, silver shield that shook as it came into contact with the other man’s magic.

“You do not seek to kill me?” goaded Voldemort, “Do you think yourself above that?”

“There are other ways to win a fight, Tom. There are ways worse than death.” said Dumbledore calmly as he strolled towards the wizard before him.

“There is nothing worse than death!” insisted Voldemort. Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle. Harry realised that the statue was pushing him in the direction of the still green flames, pushing him to safety.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong,” he disagreed lightly, as if they were discussing the matter casually over a spot of lunch, “There are many things worse than death,” he continued as he advanced on Voldemort, blocking his many curses, “Your failure to understand that has always been your greatest weakness.” Harry was almost at the fireplace. He ran backwards as quickly as he could.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A golden statue leapt in front of Dumbeldore, taking the blast and shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. At the same time Dumbeldore had drawn long, curling lines of fire that twirled through the air and through Voldemort’s silver shield, wrapping him in flames. A huge cloud of smoke and ash erupted from the top of the writhing fire, and Voldemort was nowhere to be found.

Had Voldemort fled? Or had Dumbledore managed to kill him? Was he…

“Harry, stay back!” warned Dumbledore, fear in his voice for the first time that evening. Harry heeded the warning, looking desperately around for any sign of the dark wizard.

All at once, Harry’s scar filled with searing pain, branching over his forehead and causing him to fall to the ground in agony. He was screaming, or at least he felt he must have been. It was pain beyond imagining. He had never before felt so blinded by hurt. He felt constricted, as if there were a large snake curling around him and squeezing every last breath out.

“Kill me,” he begged, in a voice that was only somewhat his own, “Please, Dumbledore, kill me now.”

He no longer had any control over what he was saying.

“If death is nothing, then kill the boy,” he rasped.

Kill me, thought Harry in his own head. Death was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling. He longed for release. He longed for relief. Anything to stop the pain. If Sirius had lived tonight, then he would die in his place. Anything if it meant Sirius was alive.

His thoughts were flooded with his loved ones and what they’d do when they found out he’d died. Remus and Sirius putting flowers on a grave. Ron and Hermione sitting in the Great Hall with an empty spot beside them. Mrs Weasley never knitting another jumper with a big, golden ‘H’ on the front. Hagrid making tea and rock cakes for three instead of four. He thought of everyone sitting round the table at Christmas, laughing and eating and so full of love. He thought of his place being empty. He would die if it meant they could live. He would give anything for them to carry on, and to be alive and to be safe.

The horrible constricting feeling all but disappeared. The pain ebbed away, and Harry was on the floor, his glasses gone and his cheek pressed into the cold tile beneath him. And there were voices all around him, far more voices than had been there before. What was going on? His hand groped for his glasses, and he slid them onto his nose.

“Are you alright, Harry?” came Dumbledore’s calm voice.

“Yes,” he replied, looking at all the people who had appeared. His voice was shaking violently. “W-where’s Voldemort? Is he–

“He’s gone,” said Dumbeldore firmly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

Harry looked past the old man at the crowds that had amassed around them. Hundreds of witches and wizards surrounded them. Even more were coming out of the many fireplaces. Harry watched as a horrified Cornelius Fudge was led forward by two of the smaller statues from the fountain.

“It was– I saw,” stuttered a dark-haired wizard, “I swear it was You-Know-Who, he was standing right there, I–

“I know Williamson, I know!” interrupted Fudge angrily, “I saw it too!”

Dumbeldore stood up, raising himself to his full, towering height, and coughed slightly. The entire Atrium turned to him, all of them shocked. It seemed as if no one had noticed that he was there. Fudge looked more appalled than anyone else as he stood gaping at the Hogwarts Headmaster.

“If you were to go down to the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius,” he said smoothly, “You will find a number of captured death eaters awaiting your decision as to what is to be done with them.”

Fudge gaped some more.

“What… Just what is going on here?”

“I will explain everything once Harry has been brought back to safety.” replied Dumbledore calmly, as he led Harry the rest of the way over to the fireplace connected to Grimmauld Place. The crowds of people cleared a way for them as they went. Harry suddenly spotted Umbridge, who was being brought back into consciousness by another witch. Harry began to walk faster. If she came to, if she told the Ministry what Luna had done… It couldn’t be good. Her body un-stiffened and she sat up. The crowds had begun to take notice of her, too.

“You!” she screamed when she spotted Harry, “You insolent, scheming, horrid little brat!”

Now everyone had turned to her. Harry and Dumbledore stopped walking.

“Minister!” she cried breathlessly, “This boy,” she spluttered, jabbing a finger in Harry’s direction, “He has been plotting against the Ministry, he has been working with Albus Dumbledore, he has been trying to reform his illegal student army–

“Dolores!” boomed Fudge, sounding severely annoyed, “Albus was right. He’s back.”

Those two simple words; he’s back. They sent ripples through the crowd and they turned Umbridge to a jabbering, stuttering mess as she tried to comprehend what she’d just been told.

Dumbledore gave Fudge a small nod, and escorted Harry the rest of the way to the fire. This time, Harry stepped into the flames without a moment’s hesitation. Everything spun and spun until he was stepping out of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place and into the waiting arms of Remus and Sirius.

“Harry,” Sirius was saying.

“I should never have left you behind,” began Remus.

“You didn’t!” Harry told him furiously, “I was right behind you, next to you, almost. I would’ve made it if I hadn’t turned around.”

He felt more tears bottling up inside of him. His guardians held him tight. He held them tighter. Dumbledore was talking, but Harry wasn’t listening.

“Harry!” called Hermione. Ginny was there too, and Luna, Ron and Neville (all three of them had been patched up). Harry ran towards them to hug them, too.

“Are you alright?” asked Ron. Harry nodded, tears still streaming down his face. He was alright. Everyone was alright. It was alright.

“Harry,” came Neville’s voice, “I..I’ve got it.”

Harry looked up and saw what Neville was holding out to him. It was the prophecy. The dusty glass ball. His eyes widened as he reached out to pick it up.

“How did you…?”

“I picked it up when you dropped it,” he explained, “It rolled right over to me and hit my foot, actually.”

“I…I can’t believe it,” breathed Harry as he held the prophecy in his hands.

“What is that, Harry?” asked Sirius.

“It’s a prophecy… about me,” he told him, turning back to face his guardians. Dumbledore was watching him intently.

“Let me see that, Harry,” he asked, outstretching a hand. Harry held the prophecy closer. The gesture reminded him too much of Lucius.

“Why?” he asked sharply.

“Harry,” said Dumbledore in a calming voice, “I think you should leave that in the possession of the order. Voldemort wanted very dearly to have it, it’s a very important relic.”

“It’s about me,” reasoned Harry, “It’s mine.”

“Of course,” soothed Dumbledore, “But it will be much safer with a member of the Order.”

Harry was still unsure.

“This is what you’ve been protecting, isn’t it?” he asked, looking at Dumbledore and then his guardians, “This is what was in the Department of Mysteries this whole time. This is why Mr Weasley was injured.”

“You’re exactly right, Harry,” confirmed the Headmaster, “And I promise all will be revealed to you in due time. Once I return from the Ministry I will explain all I can.”

‘All I can’. What did that mean? It seemed Harry would not get much more than that, though, and it had been a long, gruelling day. He was too tired to argue with the old man, who had the gift of spinning uncomfortable conversations into circles so that no more than what he desired was revealed, no matter how persistent Harry was.

“Fine,” he agreed grudgingly.

“In the meantime,” implored Dumbledore, “I trust you to put the prophecy somewhere safe and leave it for a later date. There has been more than enough excitement today, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I…” began Harry, “Fine.” he agreed again.

“Thank you, Harry.” And with that, he had disappeared back into the flames. Harry looked down at the glass ball in his hands. Why was it so important? Why did Voldemort want it so much?

“Did you know about this?” he asked his guardians, rounding on them.

“Yes, we do,” confirmed Remus.

“Not as much as you might think though,” added Sirius.

“What is it?” he asked them.

“Well, it’s a prophecy, as you know already, made in 1981 to Dumbledore.” explained Remus. 1981. The year of his parents’ deaths. The year that had changed everything.

“Let’s sit,” suggested Sirius, and they did. Harry noticed that all his friends had left, presumably to give them some privacy.

“What’s it… what’s it about?” asked Harry, “I know it’s about me, but what does it… What does it say?”

“We don’t know, exactly,” replied Sirius, “We’ve never listened to it.”

“It was… Dumbledore told the Order, the 1981 Order, about it. We didn’t know exactly who it was about at the time, but we suspected it might have been you. It predicted the fall of You-Know-Who.”

“The end of the war was predicted?” asked Harry disbelievingly.

“Yes,” said Remus softly.

“It was a wonderful at first,” Sirius told him, nostalgia clouding his eyes. “To hear that the end was sure. To hear that James and Lily’s little boy might save the whole world. But Harry… It wasn’t… Voldemort had heard the prophecy too. One of his spies had been listening in.”

“Suddenly James and Lily were in grave danger. The death eaters thought the prophecy was about you as well, and so you all needed to be secreted away in a safe house. No one knew about it except… me and Sirius, and I think Mary knew, and Dumbledore, and…and Peter.”

Harry bit his inner cheek. Peter Pettigrew. The silence that followed was heavy and dense.

“You know the rest,” finished Sirius tiredly.

Harry thought over all that he’d just been told.

“So this prophecy…” he looked down at the glass ball again, “It’s the reason my parents are dead.”

“Harry…” comforted Remus.

“Voldemort is the reason, Harry. This prophecy gave us hope. And it was right, you did save us all that night. Little Harry Potter saved the world.”

Harry looked at Sirius through tear-filled eyes.

“Tonight, at the Ministry, I thought…” he choked, the sides of his mouth pulling downwards, “I thought that…”

“Oh, Harry,” said Sirius. His voice was filled with emotion. He reached out and hugged his Godson and Harry let himself cry into his chest.

“Even before that,” he told them, “In my dream… He was torturing you. I thought you were in danger. I was so scared that… And then when Bellatrix hit you, I just… I don’t know what came over me. That whole time I’d been fearing the worst for you, and it really seemed like… for a moment…I—

He broke down into sobs.

“I’m here,” Sirius assured him, “Safe and sound.”

Harry sniffed, his sobs quieting somewhat.

“You did so well, tonight,” Sirius told him, “It was a stroke of genius to call Molly like you did. Your wand work was just as amazing as usual, of course, and you were so brave, Harry. But you can’t… I know you were only looking out for me, but you could’ve gotten yourself killed. You put yourself in incredible danger tonight, for very noble reasons, but incredible danger. You’re only a child Harry. A remarkable one, an amazing one, but it’s not your job to go rushing in to save everyone. The Order would’ve taken care of it, you have to trust in that.”

“I wasn’t…I was going to stay at Hogwarts, like Mrs Weasley said, but Umbridge got us, and she was going to… going to use the cruciatus curse on me. She didn’t! But to stop her I confessed to all sorts of things, just so she’d stop threatening us, and then once I’d said what she wanted, she decided to take us all to the Ministry, and we couldn’t stop her.”

“So that’s why she was in the Atrium,” surmised Remus.

“That absolute bitch!” scorned Sirius, “Threatening an unforgivable on children! God, I’m so sorry our case hasn’t come through, yet, we’ve been trying all we can but someone is protecting her. Frankly, the whole Ministry’s corrupt at this point, and we don’t have the right connections. It’s ridiculous!”

“Well surely Dumbledore will be back to Headmaster now,” reasoned Harry, “DADA teachers never last more than a year anyway.”

He gave Moony a sympathetic look.

“Let’s hope so,” agreed Remus, but he didn’t sound especially hopeful.

“What did she do once you’d arrived at the Ministry?” asked Sirius.

“She didn’t get the chance to do much of anything,” said Harry, smiling at the memory, “Luna hexed her about two minutes in.”

“Atta girl,” laughed Sirius.

“That could have serious repercussions,” reprimanded Remus. “Why didn’t you go back to Hogwarts after that?”

“I… We were so close. The order wasn’t there yet. I thought that maybe… I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“You put yourself and your friends in danger,” said Remus, “You should have at least waited for the Order to arrive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry in a small voice.

“We know you are, Harry,” Sirius assured him, “But Remus is right. It was incredibly reckless.”

“And it was all for nothing,” added Harry miserably, “You weren’t in danger. The dream was fake. I tried to call you both, where were you?”

“It was date night,” said Sirius with a sad smile.

“I was at work,” explained Remus, “And Pads was setting things up at home.”

“But I called home!” insisted Harry, “I firecalled and I used the mirror. There was no one there.”

“I must have been in the garden,” replied Sirius bitterly, “We were going to have an outdoor picnic there.”

Harry felt himself be filled with guilt. He’d ruined their lovely evening. He’d risked their lives, he’d risked his friends’ lives and he’d risked the lives of everyone else in the Order. If only Sirius had stepped inside for a moment… If only Harry had stepped out of the fireplace in Mayfield and looked around… But then they wouldn’t have the prophecy. Maybe Voldemort would have it instead. Although nobody but Harry seemed especially glad that he’d gotten the glass ball at all. Certainly not Dumbledore, and his guardians didn’t seem to think it was anything special. So it really had all been a waste. Unless…

“If Voldemort already heard the prophecy,” he began slowly, “Then why did he want it so much?”

“I… I’m not sure,” said Sirius, taken aback. He looked over at Moony, but his husband seemed equally clueless.

“It’s important, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I didn’t think so,” confessed Sirius, “But if that’s really what we’ve been guarding this whole time, then it must be.”

“You didn’t know?” said Harry, shocked, “You didn’t even know what you were guarding? Mr Weasley didn’t know the real reason he was attacked?”

“It’s safer that way,” explained Remus, “It’s how the Order mainly operates. No one person ever has all the information, in case they’re compromised. Sometimes after making decisions we wipe parts of our memories out, and sometimes we’re just not told certain things at all. That’s how it worked last time as well.”

Harry was horrified at this new information.

“That’s awful.”

“It keeps us all safe,” reasoned Sirius. It keeps you all under Dumbledore’s thumb, thought Harry, but he held his tongue.

“What happened to the death eaters?” asked Harry suddenly. Dumbledore had said some of them were captured, but which ones?

“Bellatrix got away,” Remus told him, “Me and Moody came to get you and Sirius and he chased her out. Everyone else is trapped in the Department of Mysteries. We outnumbered them by one or two, and they were taken by surprise, not to mention Dumbledore came in to help.”

“Bella always was tricky,” commented Sirius. Bella. She was Sirius’ cousin, Harry remembered, and Tonks’ Mum’s sister. Pure blood family trees were a headache.

A sudden thought struck Harry.

“Even…even Lucius Malfoy?” he asked them.

Sirius and Remus shared a look.

“…Yes,” said Sirius, “Even him.”

“Does that mean…?”

“He’ll probably be sent to Azkaban, yes.” confirmed Remus.

“Oh,” was all Harry could think to say.

“I suspect the Dark Lord will break them all out soon after though,” added Sirius, “I wouldn’t worry too much about him.”

But it wasn’t Lucius Harry was worried about, it was Draco. Another thought struck him.

“I’ve got to, er, I’ve got to ask Hermione something!” he told them before running off to find her. She and the rest of his friends were in the dining room, sitting at the table as Mrs and Mr Weasley cooked up a slapdash dinner for everyone. Tonks was sitting there too, entertaining everyone with her trademark impressions. As he walked in she was pretending to be Snape, long, black, greasy curtains of hair falling into her eyes as she spoke mockingly in his slow, precise way.

“I am dark… And mysterious,” she proclaimed haughtily, holding her hooked nose high in the air, “I bully…children…because I am…an insecure…prat.”

Everyone burst out laughing, most of all Neville, who seemed to be enjoying this particular impression very much. Ron noticed him in the doorway and they all turned to look at him, falling silent.

“You look worried, Harry,” commented Luna. He gave her a weak smile.

“Hermione,” he said, getting straight to the point, “Can I talk to you?”

She nodded and they went into the hallway as Tonks continued her speech.

“My hair…is fabulous,” he heard her proclaim, “That is why…I never wash it…”

There was more laughter, and then Hermione closed the door and he could no longer hear them.

“Did you…did you see Draco?” he asked her, “After he left?”

“I thought he might have gone with you,” she replied. She wasn’t looking him in the eyes, rather just above them, and Harry frowned in confusion.

“No,” he denied, still confused at her lack of eye contact, “He seemed really set on staying. I wonder… maybe he knew? Maybe he didn’t want to face down his dad.”

“How would he have known?” She replied. Now she was looking at him properly. “Why would they tell him about that? He’s not a death eater, he’s just a child.”

He wasn’t a death eater. Not yet, he wasn’t. Harry let out a long, slow breath.

“You’re right,” he agreed, “You didn’t see him though?”

“No,” she told him, “Me and Ginny tried to take his advice and pretend like things were normal. We went to the library. We figured Malf- I mean Draco, would help you guys out in there. We didn’t think there was anything we could do—

“There wasn’t,” Harry assured her, “Don’t worry.” Her eyes flicked up again for a moment, and then back down.

“At some point we lost Luna, and we weren’t sure where she’d gone.” she explained, “We went back up to the office and the door was slightly open, but no one was there. We weren’t sure what had happened, so we tried to call Mrs Weasley again, but she must have been busy assembling the Order, because she wasn’t there. So then we used the floo to come here and wait, in case the order showed up. We couldn’t think what else to do, and then everyone came back. Ron filled us in on what happened. It sounds awful.”

“Yeah,” said Harry uneasily. He realised he was still holding the prophecy. He looked down at it for the third time.

“I’m not supposed to… I should probably put this somewhere safe,” he told her.

“Alright.” she nodded.

He gave her a weak smile, before returning to his guardians to ask Sirius where was safest.

Chapter Text

Eventually, Dumbledore did return, and for the first time in a long while Harry felt something akin to excitement at his arrival, although that was probably the wrong word for it.

He’d sat and waited patiently, going over the situation in his head over and over. By the time Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace Harry was ready with a barrage of questions, determined to get answers and not just have the headmaster tell him ‘all he could’.

“Harry,” greeted Dumbledore. Harry realised he’d stood up from his seat.

“Sir,” he greeted, almost as an afterthought. Dumbledore looked at him strangely before continuing.

“I expect you have questions.”

“Yes,” agreed Harry tersely. He would get his way this time.

“I am sure you are wondering, Harry, why it is that I have been avoiding you all year,” began Dumbledore.

This had not been what Harry had expected him to say at all. Not only had he acknowledged that he’d been avoiding him, he had led with a topic that had not been at the forefront of Harry’s mind for quite some time.

“And why it is that I haven’t even so much as looked you in the eye until tonight?” he added. Harry frowned at this second acknowledgment. “Let’s sit down,” he suggested, and they did. “I imagine it must have been confusing, and perhaps hurtful. I apologise for this, Harry, but you see over the course of this year the bridge between your mind and Voldemort’s mind has grown stronger. Much stronger. And I suspect attempts at Occlumency have not been going very well for you, though I’m sure you understand why blocking out Voldemort from your mind is important after tonight’s events. I have been worried that Voldemort would use this bridge between you to infiltrate and spy on the order, and perhaps spy on me too. I knew that if Voldemort saw an opportunity when I was alone or even close to you he might try and possess you, Harry. This is also part of the reason we have kept you out of the loop of order business, although order business is only for members of the order, as you well know.”

Harry didn’t really know what to think. Or what to say, for that matter. Dumbledore didn’t pause long enough for him to come up with anything before he had started up again.

“You might also be curious as to why I made both Hermione and Ron Gryffindor prefects, and not you.” Again, Harry had not thought of this slight for several months. It was as if Dumbledore was starting at the beginning of that school year and making his way through it from there. “This was simply because it was a responsibility that I thought you could do without. While you are an upstanding student Harry, with exceptional magical ability and moral code, I figured you were already under a number of other pressures, and I didn’t think it wise to add to your stress unnecessarily. You also have quite the penchant for rule breaking, although this is, no doubt, a quality you share with your friends. Professor McGonagall has told me many times that whenever there is trouble with Gryffindor students it is always ‘you three’.” Dumbledore’s fond tone did little to appease Harry, who was still frowning slightly, a crease between his brows as he listened. “Even so, I thought that Hermione would be able to put that aside and do her very best job. And I hoped that Ron would follow her lead. I’m sure you know that Ron has many older brothers to compete with, and I hoped that giving him this recognition could serve as something he could be proud of in the face of all their accomplishments. I’m sure you understand, Harry, although I perhaps should have explained this to you sooner.”

He paused, but again, it wasn’t long enough for Harry to really get a word in.

“And I imagine it would have been better for me to personally explain to you why I forbid Ron and Hermione from sending you letters during the summer, but of course, I’m sure they told you it was for everyone’s safety. And while it might have been better for me to explain these two things to you earlier, you now understand why I was avoiding you.”

Harry got the distinct feeling that Dumbledore was only buying time. He saw his chance to get in a word, and jumped at it.

“Why is the prophecy important?” he blurted out.

“Well,” sighed Dumbledore, “Some might say that the prophecy was the reason the war was ended all those years ago. It changed everything.”

“I already know about that,” scorned Harry, trying to keep his tone polite (and not doing a very good job of it). “I mean, why is it important to Voldemort? Why did he want it so badly that he was willing to come to the ministry himself?”

Dumbledore looked over at him through the lenses of his half moon spectacles. Harry held his nerve, staring right back in what he hoped was a piercing way. Another Slytherin quality, he thought to himself almost fondly.

“It is the order’s suspicion,” he began seriously, “That Voldemort believes attaining the prophecy will somehow allow him to find some kind of secret in how to kill you and win the second war.”

“Is he right?” asked Harry, still in a clipping tone.

“I do not think so, no.”

“Then why bother trying to keep it safe?” he demanded accusingly. He thought of Mr Weasley’s attack, and of his constant dreams, and of the horrible second when he thought Sirius had died. Had that really all been for nothing? Surely there was something more, something important and valuable about the prophecy. Not just to Voldemort, but to them, too.

“Only two people ever heard that prophecy,” Dumbledore explained patiently, “Me, and Professor Snape.”

“Snape heard it?” asked Harry in shock.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” corrected the old man, “And yes, Severus did happen to overhear the prophecy. It was made to me by our very own Sybil Trelawney during the interview for her current post.”

Professor Trelawney? She was the prophet that had delivered this message that had changed the course of his life and all of wizarding history? Trelawney, who saw the grim in tea leaves and drank too much sherry and bought the made up dreams that Harry and Ron bullshitted for her class. Harry had trouble believing that.

“I was quite ready to do away with Divination altogether at Hogwarts,” continued Dumbledore, “I’d always found it to be a trivial and frankly useless subject. I was merely interviewing Professor Trelawney as a courtesy, but I hadn’t planned to actually hire her. She had come to me about a job because of alleged seer blood in her lineage. Apparently she was related to a great oracle who had the gift of sight, and this gift had been passed down to her. I was convinced that it had in fact skipped a generation, when all of a sudden she began to make a prophecy. Her voice changed and once it was over she didn’t seem to remember it at all, but while in this trance she told me that someone with the power to vanquish the dark Lord was approaching.

Professor Snape, who at the time was still a follower of said dark Lord, was eavesdropping outside, and when I realised I quickly sent him away. He went straight to Voldemort to report the prophecy, but while he was leaving Sybil was still in her trance. She was only repeating herself and muttering, but ever since Voldemort’s return he has been convinced that there is a part of the prophecy that Professor Snape didn’t hear. Some vital, crucial detail that could give him an advantage. He’s wrong, of course, but this is what he staunchly believes.”

“I still don’t understand,” stated Harry once the story was done. He mulled it over in his head. “Why did the order go to such trouble to keep it safe?”

“We agreed that if we could keep the prophecy from him we would be at an advantage, so to speak.” explained the headmaster, “As I said, only two people ever heard the prophecy, me and Professor Snape. And in Voldemort’s view, only one person has ever heard the full prophecy, which includes some secret weapon, me. It’s in our interest to lead him to think we have some kind of special secret or information that will help us. War is not just a show of brute strength, but rather full of mind games, Harry, and I believed that with the prophecy behind closed doors Voldemort would be less likely to kill you or to make any tremendous moves against us. Although, as we witnessed tonight, it does not seem to have stopped him in the least.

I never intended for us to actually take the prophecy. In fact, it would have been preferable if you had destroyed in front of the death eaters so that Voldemort would end his quest for it once and for all, but alas, how were you to know? We can instead be thankful that no one was badly harmed tonight.”

He took a second to think it all over. Had it really been worth so much effort to make Voldemort think that they had some kind of imaginary upper hand? But then again if they hadn’t gone to all the effort he surely wouldn’t have believed that they had this secret or weapon that could miraculously win the war. Harry was unsure about it all.

“So it was really for nothing, then?” he surmised bitterly.

“All for nothing?” echoed Dumbledore.

“Tonight,” Harry replied in explanation, “Going to the Ministry, fighting the death eaters, getting the prophecy.”

“Not all for nothing, no,” disagreed the headmaster, “If tonight’s events had not transpired then it’s very likely the Minister and most of the Ministry would still have their heads buried in the sand, refusing to believe Voldemort’s return. Not to mention we sent quite a few high ranking death eaters to Azkaban.”

Harry’s stomach lurched at the reminder. Lucius Malfoy was going to be staying in Azkaban for the unforeseen future and it was all his fault. Not to mention he now had a nasty scar on his face from when Harry had collapsed several hundred crystal balls on him. How on earth was he going to face Draco after all this? Where had Draco gone, for that matter, when he’d hurried off? Harry had no way of knowing until they spoke again.

“Well then,” concluded Dumbledore neatly, “I’m going to send the other students back to Hogwarts, but in lieu of the circumstances I think it wise if you stay here with Remus and Sirius for at least a few days to recover. I’ll have your things sent over promptly. Is that agreeable?”

Harry nodded, too lost in thought to commit to a verbal response.

“Very well. Good night Harry.”

“Good night,” he managed to return. There was something about the conversation that was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It remained in the back of his mind, along with many other worries.

After that, the exhaustion set in, and after saying goodbye to his friends, Harry found his guardians to help set up his usual room. Sometimes he shared the room with Ron, but tonight he’d be by himself.

“Harry,” Sirius addressed him as they were making his bed, “I think your scar has gotten bigger.”

Harry froze, a hand darting up to run his fingers over the lightning bolt. It felt the same.

“It didn’t used to go so far down your forehead, I’m sure of it.”

Harry finished tucking in the sheet and went over to the bathroom mirror. His scar had indeed grown. Now it reached all the way to the top of his left eyebrow. Sirius was right, it had not been that far down before. Not at all.

His mind returned to Hermione and how she hadn’t quite met his eyes at first when they’d spoken together. Perhaps she’d noticed it too, and had been staring at it.

Just as he had before when his scar had apparently grown, Harry decided he’d address the issue in the morning.

It was only when he was lying in bed, waiting for sleep to come that he realised what it was that had bothered him about his conversation with Dumbledore. It wasn’t that the headmaster had dredged up older topics completely unprompted, or even his strange motivations for keeping the prophecy out of Voldemort’s hands, instead, it was the fact that contrary to the other three adults Harry had spoken with so far that day about going to the Ministry, Dumbledore had not discouraged him in the least. Dumbledore hadn’t told him how dangerous or reckless or stupid his actions had been. In fact, despite pointing out that Harry would have been better off destroying the prophecy, Dumbledore hadn’t criticised his behaviour at all.

Chapter Text

Harry woke late the next morning (if it could still be called morning at midday). The sun was up high and the room was filled with the light that had eventually roused him. He lay in his bed a while longer, the events of the day before coming back to him. He groped around on the bedside table until he found his glasses and then slid them on his nose. Eventually, Harry stood up, shaking off his bed covers, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

It was then, as he looked in the mirror, that he was reminded of his scar having grown. He stared at it a while, his hand going slack as his eyes followed the forked branch of lightning. What did it mean?

It had been strange and mysterious enough when it stayed the same size, but Harry had been able to accept it as a fact of his life; an extraordinary mark from the extraordinary feat of surviving the killing curse. But now, he didn’t know what to think.

His appearance had changed before of course, he’d gotten haircuts, and grown taller, and gone through puberty, but this was different. For one thing, he hadn’t expected this. And for another thing, he couldn’t explain or understand it. It was strange and it was magic and that was all he knew. He wondered if people would notice at school. He wondered if Draco would notice the next time he was tracing the scar with his fingers. He wondered if Draco would ever trace the scar again.

Harry spat out his toothpaste, rinsed his mouth and went downstairs for breakfast (or lunch?). Moony was at the table reading a newspaper, and Harry could hear Sirius messing about in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he greeted groggily. Moony looked up from the paper.

“Afternoon,” he replied. Harry made a face, which Remus raised an eyebrow at.

“Is that Harry I hear?” called Sirius from the kitchen. Harry grunted in confirmation and sat heavily on the bench beside Moony, peering at the daily prophet.

“Good news,” Remus told him. Harry leaned against his side, resting a tired head on his shoulder as he regarded a picture of a garden that had apparently won a Herbology landscaping competition. He hoped that this was not the good news Remus was referring to.

“Really?” he asked sceptically.

“Really,” Moony confirmed.

Sirius came into the dining room, followed by three levitating mugs of tea that floated over to the table.

“Really, really,” he added, through a trademark grin. He walked behind them and ruffled Harry’s hair. Remus flipped the newspaper over to the front to reveal a very flustered looking Fudge at what seemed to be some kind of press conference. Across the top of the page were the words ‘He’s back!’ in thick black lettering. The image changed to Harry and Dumbledore as they hastily made their way to the fireplace in the Ministry. “Look, that’s you!” Padfoot commented unnecessarily.

“Yes, I can see that,” came Harry’s reply.

“That’s not even the best part,” continued Sirius, as though he hadn’t heard. He flipped two pages ahead and Harry was met with the familiar toadish face of Dolores Umbridge. Thankfully the black and white print spared him from the usual pink affront of her clothes, but her wide grin was enough to set him on edge. The headline read ‘Ministry educator using blood magic at Hogwarts’. On the next page was an illustration of one of the quills next to an explanation of how they worked.

“Is this..?” began Harry.

“It wasn’t our case,” Remus filled in.

“I’m not even sure there is a case,” added Sirius, “Although there’ll definitely be one now.”

“So then who…?”

“No clue. But it’s a bloody miracle.”

“Couldn’t have come soon enough,” agreed Remus.

Harry scanned over the article, searching for clues. He read until he found what he wanted, the source:

‘Students wishing to remain anonymous’

Well that narrowed it down to students at least (he wouldn’t have put it past McGonagall, though she didn’t know about the quills).

“You have mail, you know,” Sirius informed him.

“I do?”

“From Ron and Hermione,” he explained, “Hang on a second, I think I left it in the living room somewhere.”

He wandered off in that direction. After a few seconds he doubled back on himself and wandered into the kitchen instead. Harry thought he could hear him muttering “Where did I put it?” to himself as he went.

“Has he forgotten he has a wand?” sighed Remus.

“I heard that!” Sirius called back from the kitchen. Sirius had excellent hearing. “I don’t want to summon it because then I’ll never know exactly where I put the letters.”

“And would it kill you? Not knowing?”

“You know it would, Moons,” he called back, “Oh! There they are.”

He reappeared clutching one thick envelope and one rolled up piece of parchment, handing them both to Harry.

“No one’s drinking my tea?” he pouted. Harry and Remus quickly brought the mugs to their lips.

“Very nice,” Harry assured him.

“And that’s why you’re my favourite godson,” winked Sirius. Moony rolled his eyes, continuing with his newspaper. Meanwhile, Harry unfurled his letter from Ron first (a longstanding technique of his). Ron wrote less and was more to the point, whereas Hermione wrote in depth. Harry would often read Ron’s letters first and then decide how interested he was in the topic before delving into Hermione’s essays.

Great news, began Ron’s letter.

Not sure if you’ve seen the article since you don’t read the prophet anymore, but check page five if you haven’t. Umbridge has been sacked!! After we left, Malfoy wrote to the aunt of a friend of his who works or worked for the prophet (or something) and got her to publish an article to expose Umbridge. He asked lots of the DA for ‘testimonies’ about the blood quills (they’re all anonymous though). Seamus told me all about it. Hope you’re feeling better, we miss you mate!

Ron

P.S. Dad says we’ll probably be getting a new minister!

Harry put the letter down. He could barely believe it, but then again it made so much sense. Draco was the one with the quills, and the one with the brilliant ideas. Harry couldn’t have been happier than if he’d been responsible for the article himself. And it wasn’t just the article either, Umbridge had been sacked! They had finally seen the end of her. And not only was she sacked from Hogwarts, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that this scandal could mean her time at the Ministry would soon be over too (especially if a certain Slytherin put a bad word in). He couldn’t have hoped for better news (except for perhaps the defeat of Voldemort and a new album from blur, but you couldn’t have everything, he reminded himself). Harry moved on to Hermione’s letter.

It was much the same, with a few extra details (in a lot more words). He learned that Umbridge would be getting a trial at the Ministry in the upcoming months, and there was even a possibility of her facing time in Azkaban (apparently blood magic was quite the crime, especially when used on children). In their newest article on Fudge and the return of Voldemort The Prophet had switched to Harry’s side, as if that had been their stance all along. The ‘aunt of a friend’ was actually one of Daphne Greengrass’ cousins, who was a freelance journalist. Apparently she was thinking of starting her own paper, inspired by the Puffington Post. If she did, then Harry thought he should subscribe to it. He stood by his decision to boycott The Daily Prophet, but he had felt a bit out of loop without any paper at all.

‘I’m dying to know about the glass ball’ she had added, ‘I’m sure you’ll tell me and Ron all about it when you’re back at school.’ He definitely had lots to tell them about that. He noted that she had said ‘glass ball’ and not ‘Prophecy’, perhaps in case the letter were to fall into the wrong hands. The letter ended with a reminder to see if there was anything to do about his History of Magic exam, which made him smile.

“More good news?” prompted Sirius over the lip of his mug of tea.

“Just Hermione reminding me about my History of Magic examination,” he chuckled.

“What about it?” asked Remus.

Harry realised they probably didn’t know about that disaster.

“I didn’t finish it,” he admitted, “The vision, or the dream, whatever it was, it started about halfway through and so I left.”

“Harry,” Remus gently admonished.

“I couldn’t stay after that!” he defended, “I would never have been able to concentrate. I’m rubbish at History of Magic anyway.”

“I was too,” smiled Sirius.

“This isn’t a joke, Sirius. Most career paths require a History of Magic OWL qualification.”

“There’s always exceptions,” Sirius countered, “Come on Moons, he’s the Boy Who Lived, and these were pretty extreme circumstances, I’m sure they’ll be able to excuse one OWL.”

Remus did not look impressed.

“What do you think, Harry?” asked Sirius.

Harry thought over it for a moment.

“It’s too late now anyway, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Remus told him, “Because of the extreme circumstances, you could appeal for a redo, or for it to be wiped from your record.”

“I guess I ought to retake it then,” he said disappointedly, the thought of the dreaded examination dragging his high spirits down.

“Or wipe it from your record,” Sirius reminded him. Remus shot him a look, and he shot one back.

“Just think about it,” said Remus, “We don’t have to do anything for now.”

Harry nodded, returning to his tea.

“Don’t you have work?” he asked suddenly.

“I took a day off,” explained Remus softly.

“Moony works too hard anyway,” added Sirius. Remus rolled his eyes (again) but didn’t deny it.

“Are we going to go back home?” he asked, knowing just how much Sirius detested Grimmauld Place.

“That’s the plan,” confirmed Sirius, “We were just waiting for you to wake up, sleeping beauty.” Harry made a face.

“If anyone’s a sleeping beauty out of us it’s you, Sirius,” said his husband. Sirius gaped in mock-surprise.

“How dare you!” he replied, affronted. Harry and Remus looked at him knowingly and he shut his mouth.

“Should we go then?” prompted Harry.

“Actually,” said Sirius, the mischief gone from his tone, “before we leave I thought you might like to listen to the prophecy.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t thought of that, but not that it had been suggested, he found he did want to hear it for himself.

“You said you wanted to know more about the past, and this is definitely an important part of it. I know you already know what it’s about but all the same, I thought you might be interested.”

“I’d be interested.”

“Knew it,” smiled Pads, “I’ll go and get it then.” He walked off to where it was hidden.

“Are you sure you want to?” pressed Remus, “We don’t have to listen to it, you know.”

“I’m sure,” he said confidently. And he was.

Sirius returned with the crystal ball and placed it on the dining table.

“How do we ‘listen’ to it?” wondered Harry.

“There’s a spell,” explained Sirius.

“I didn’t think you paid attention in Divination,” commented Remus. Sirius stuck his tongue out.

“How do you think I managed those marks on my NEWTs?”

“Cheating.”

“I would never!”

Harry cleared his throat loudly. “The spell?”

Sirius summoned a book from somewhere in the house and began to flip through the pages.

“Aha!” he eventually exclaimed. He read over a few lines before snapping the book shut. Next, he performed the spell, which Harry didn’t catch a word of, and a ghostlike figure (a younger Professor Trelawney, Harry realised) rose out of the orb before them.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…” she rasped. Harry started at her scratching voice. It was the same as the one she’d spoken to him in his third year.

“Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…”

Power he knew not? The ability to survive the killing curse? Sirius seemed as though he was about to lift his spell, seeing as it was the end of the Prophecy, but Trelawney continued, and he hesitated.

“And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…”

Harry’s eyes widened. That wasn’t part of the prophecy, was it? He looked over at his guardians, but both of them seemed equally confused.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches....” she began again.

Slowly, Sirius undid the spell. They looked at one another in silence for a while. Harry stared between Remus, Sirius and the glass ball.

“What was that last bit?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” confessed Sirius, just as slowly as he had recited the spell.

“We’ve never heard that before,” agreed Remus gravely.

“What does it mean?”

“Your guess is as good as ours.” replied Sirius.

Harry frowned. The words replayed in his head over and over.

‘Either must die at the hand of the other’

‘Neither can live while the other survives’

Die at the hand of the other. That was horribly straightforward. One of them had to kill the other. He continued to frown. His chest felt tight. His skin itched. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Why hadn’t he told him?

“Do you think it’s real?” Sirius asked Remus in a quiet voice.

“We don’t know,” Remus replied eventually. But Harry couldn’t say how it couldn’t be real. It was straight from the ministry, maybe they could have made a mistake but surely not one like this.

It suddenly struck him that Voldemort had been right; the prophecy did contain a secret. A secret that could change everything.

Chapter Text

Harry was still in the dining room several hours later. Sirius and Remus were gone, both in the midst of a tense discussion in the living room, but the glass ball remained, sitting innocently in the centre of the table. He had been staring at it for quite some time.

In an effort to distract himself, Harry picked up the discarded newspaper and began skimming through the story on the Herbology landscaping contest. He got about half-way through before he was restless, and so he started to flick through the pages for a different, more captivating article. Something caught his eye on one of the pages near to the front. He flipped back to it and there was Lucius Malfoy and a host of other death eaters. Their haggard faces were all-to-familiar. ‘Arrested’ was the only important word from the blocky-lettered and sensationalist headline.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, he’d all but known already, but that didn’t stop his stomach from plummeting. Now it was real. It was in the paper for everyone To know, including Draco. Lucius’ face stared out at him. On his face was the cut from when the Prophecy’s had fallen, dark against his pale skin, immortalised in shifting black and white.

Lucius had been attacking him, surely Draco had to understand that. But Harry wasn’t sure he was really in any place to ask that of him. They’d left off on a bad fight, a fight that was up to Harry to apologise for and solve, and now Draco had done him a huge favour getting rid of Umbridge, and what had Harry done? He’d gotten Lucius Malfoy sent to Azkaban. Not to mention outed him as a death eater. How were they going to get past this? They had already had more than enough troubles to deal with in the first place.

The only thing to do was talk to one another and try to sort everything out. With a sudden surge of inspiration, Harry discarded the newspaper and pushed himself up from the table, heading for the ground floor office for some parchment, a quill and some ink. Even if they couldn't talk face to face he could still write. He found all that he was looking for and brought it back to the dining table.

Dear Draco, he began, and then paused there. How was he supposed to start a letter like this one? ‘I’m so sorry I fought your Dad, he made the first move’? But that wasn’t even true, Harry realised. It was him who had been the one to make the first move. Now that he thought of it, it would’ve been a lot more convenient for Lucius to stun them all from the shadows and catch or cushion the Prophecy if Harry dropped it, but instead they’d been given a chance to hand it over peacefully. Was it some kind of courtesy Lucius was extending to his son? Did he know about Harry and Draco? But all that was besides the point, Harry needed to be writing something more than just ‘Dear Draco’.

I’m sorry about

But what exactly was he sorry about? He was sorry, yes, but it was hard to imagine a situation where Lucius and Harry didn’t fight. He was mostly sorry for going to the Department of Mysteries in the first place. It seemed to be the root of his current problems. He was even sorry the Prophecy had been saved by Neville. Then he could have lived without knowing those last two lines. But right now, he needed to write his letter.

I’m really sorry about your Dad.

He looked at the simple line. He corrected Dad to father.

I’m really sorry about your father.

But it was useless, his brain was too scattered. It wasn’t as if he’d ever been any good at writing heartfelt letters anyway, even at the best of times. They would just have to talk in person. Harry could wait another day or two. So could Draco.

A part of him, a small one, found it hard to summon pity for Draco. It wasn’t as if the Slytherin had been told he was destined to kill or be killed by the Dark Lord. He would have no idea what Harry was going through. But all it took was the image of Sirius with that cut on his face and Harry felt awful again.

His guardians continued to talk quickly in low voices from the other room. They were too far away for him to make out what they were saying, but the tension was still very much palpable.

Balling up his half-attempt at a letter, he walked over to the kitchen to put his letter in the bin. As he pushed through the heavy door though, he was met with a nasty surprise; Kreacher.

For a moment, they were both very still, staring at one another without a word.

Then, all of a sudden, Harry found himself shouting at him, the letter forgotten.

“You lied!”

“Kreacher did not lie,” Kreacher insisted pedantically.

“Well…You purposefully misled me!” he spluttered, “You made me think Sirius was in danger! Because of you, he almost died!”

But that was the wrong thing to say to Kreacher, who had never been very fond of his master.

“Kreacher never lied,” he grinned. Or perhaps it was a grimace. It was hard to tell one from the other on his waxy, lined face. Harry seethed with rage.

“You monster! You don’t know anything, you’re just a–

“Harry?” came Sirius’ voice, “What’s going on?”

Harry fell abruptly silent. They must have heard his shouting all the way from the living room. He’d lost his temper again. A moment later, Sirius pushed through the kitchen door, Remus in tow.

“Harry?” he asked again.

“It’s nothing,” he replied quietly. Kreacher still had that nasty look on his face.

“If my mistress could see the filth that you drag in here,” he began to hiss, mumbling sharply through his usual speech. “Half-bloods,” he spat, “Werewolves,” he looked pointedly at Remus.

“Kreacher,” interrupted Sirius tensely, “What have I told you about your language? You will respect my guests.”

Kreacher’s speech stopped, his beady eyes glinting.

“Let’s go home,” suggested Remus tiredly, and Harry couldn’t have thought of a better idea.

Chapter Text

Harry sat tensely outside Dumbledore’s office door. He’d been sent there in order to spare him of the conversation going on within, but he could hear everything through the door.

“What does it mean?” beseeched Remus.

“I think we know very well what it means,” came Sirius’ seething voice, “It means that Harry isn’t safe! That he’s never been safe, not once, this whole time! It means we’ve been lied to!”

“Sirius, please,” replied Dumbledore calmly, “Let us not lose our heads.”

Harry didn’t imagine that would go down very well with Sirius.

“Lose our heads?” he exclaimed, “Lose our heads? You’ve been deceiving us for years!”

“Sirius, please.” This time it was Remus calming him, “I’m sure Dumbledore has a very good reason.”

There was a lapse of silence, in which Harry could picture Sirius turning accusingly to the Headmaster, his arms crossed and his expression expectant.

“There is no telling that the prophecy will come true,” said Dumbledore finally. He sounded careful, as if he were weighing his words up in his mind before speaking them. “Many prophecies never do. Or they might come to pass in a way we do not expect.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” seethed Sirius, “Why weren’t we told? You lied to James and Lily. You lied to us.”

Another tense silence stretched out. Harry sat rigidly by the door, hugging his knees to his chest.

“I didn’t want Harry to know,” admitted the Headmaster, “A boy can’t live with a thing like that hanging over him. I could never be sure that someone else wouldn’t tell him, or that he’d find out somehow, if I had disclosed the full prophecy all those years ago. Believe me, Sirius, it was for everyone’s safety and state of mind.”

A boy can’t live like that. Dumbledore was right, how was Harry supposed to go on with his life now that he knew those last two fateful lines?

Either must die at the hand of the other’

‘Neither can live while the other survives’

“The truth is,” continued the old man, “I couldn’t bear to see him suffer like that. I love him dearly. It pains me that there’s even a possibility…”

“It pains you?” Sirius shot back, “How do you think we felt when we found out? How do you think Harry felt?”

His voice faltered around Harry’s name.

“You’ve made a grave mistake,” he said darkly.

“Yes,” agreed Dumbledore somberly, “Yes I have.”

“How likely…” began Remus, “How likely is it that the prophecy… comes true?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” was the soft reply, “So far it appears that things have followed the prophecy, but it’s also possible that we have misinterpreted events to fit it. It may not even be about Harry.”

“Who else could it be about?” asked Sirius bitterly.

“Neville Longbottom.”

“But was he… ‘marked’ as Voldemort’s equal?” wondered Remus apprehensively.

“Not to our knowledge, but perhaps he will be.”

“How is that any better?” demanded Sirius, “Either way one of these boys is at risk, and we didn’t know until yesterday.”

“Action will be taken–

“What? What could you possibly do–

“Sirius,” warned Remus.

“Harry is in danger!” he screamed, “How could you..?” He trailed off, and Harry could tell that he’d broken down.

“What do you propose we do?” asked Remus warily. Harry imagined him holding Sirius with a comforting arm as he often did.

“There is a plan in motion,” provided Dumbledore, “I have confided in another, someone I trust entirely, who will ensure the safety of Harry from the shadows.”

“Who?” asked Sirius bluntly.

“I’m not at liberty to say. It is crucial they remain anonymous. I will explain as much as I can, but perhaps we can all sit down first?”

“Yes, let’s sit,” agreed Remus.

“Obliviate.” came Dumbledore’s voice.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

What had just happened? They had been… they were…

“I’ll make sure Harry can retake his History of Magic OWL,” Dumbledore was saying.

“Thank you,” replied Remus distractedly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Harry held his legs even tighter to his body.

“I’ll see you both at the next order meeting,” he added.

“Yes, yes,” muttered Sirius.

“Remember, you’ve got to get the Prophecy back to me for safekeeping. I’ll be expecting it.”

“Of course,” said Remus.

“Goodbye,” Dumbledore told them fondly.

“Yes, goodbye,” replied Sirius.

And then silence. Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Surely it wasn’t true. Surely–

“Please come in, Harry.”

Now it felt as though his heart was beating twice as much. He stayed frozen for a minute. And for another. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t go, he couldn’t. He was sure if he tried to run away that Dumbledore would catch him somehow.

He got up and walked through the door. Dumbledore was standing calmly by the fireplace.

“Where are they?” asked Harry immediately.

“Don’t worry, I’ve only sent them back home through the floo network. They’re perfectly alright.”

“Ok,” said Harry in a small voice.

“I’m sure you noticed Harry, that I neglected to cast any muffling charm.”

Harry said nothing, only nodded tersely.

“This was no accident. I wanted you to hear that conversation, and I wanted to talk to you personally.”

He crossed the room in graceful sweeps of his robes.

“Please do not be alarmed.”

Harry was finding it quite difficult to not be alarmed.

“I do not wish to obliviate you,” he explained, “Unless that is your own decision.”

This did little to slow his beating heart.

“What do you want?” he asked. He sounded scared.

“I would like to talk. I would like to explain.”

Harry waited for him to continue, and, content that Harry was listening, Dumbledore did.

“It was not my wish that you be exposed to the Prophecy, not until the time was right. And though we can never know what the future holds, I think we have reason to be worried for you, Harry. I’m afraid this knowledge will be a heavy burden to bear, but if there is anyone who could manage it, it’s you.” He paused, and rested a hand softly on the side of Harry’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before letting go. The gesture was strangely grounding.

“Knowing the Prophecy is a great responsibility,” explained Dumbledore, “One that I would like to trust you with. No one must know about what you have heard, do you understand? Knowledge cannot get out, it’s far too dangerous.”

“Ok.” said Harry again. He felt blank. He felt empty. He felt as if all there was to do was to listen to what Dumbledore was telling him.

“I ask too much of you Harry,” Dumbledore told him with a faint smile, “And for that, I am sorry.” he paused again, “I understand that you had begun to make some progress in Occlumency. If we are going to keep this a secret from Voldemort, then you will need to progress even more.”

“It’s no use, Snape won’t–

“Professor Snape will not be teaching you. I will.” there was a glint in his eye as he said it. “Will you work hard to close your mind off from the Dark Lord? It won’t be easy.”

“I will,” agreed Harry without thinking. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it? Now that he knew…He had to protect that knowledge.

“You will need to keep the knowledge a secret from your friends as well, and from your guardians. The only ones who will know will be you, myself, my anonymous contact that I mentioned earlier, and a man at the Ministry who was in charge of collecting the Prophecy. If the knowledge escapes this circle, you are put in grave danger. One might even say that the wizarding world is put in grave danger. It’s imperative you understand, Harry.”

“I understand,” he said softly.

“I’m glad,” replied the Headmaster. “If there were any other way, I would spare you from this pain. I would understand if you wished to be obliviated, and go back to how things were before you knew any of this. There is no shame in that Harry, to forget and then be reminded at a later time.”

“I don’t want to forget,” he said quickly.

“I thought you might not,” smiled Dumbledore, “It’s your choice, as long as you understand the responsibility in harbouring this knowledge.”

He looked over Harry appraisingly, his eyes melancholic behind his half-moon spectacles. The blue seemed to sparkle.

“What does it mean?” he asked slowly, “What does the Prophecy mean?”

“It means that when the time comes, you will take an incredible risk, Harry. When the time comes, you will kill Voldemort.”

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid your time is up.”

Harry looked up with a start. The invigilator was standing by his desk, an open hand waiting for Harry’s parchment. Had it really gone so fast? Harry handed over his exam, accepting defeat.

“Thank you, you may leave.”

He pushed himself up and walked out of the classroom, feeling horribly distracted. He was honestly unsure whether he’d really done better on History of Magic this time round. He’d answered most of the questions, but whether he’d gotten any of them right was a completely different matter.

He opened the door and was greeted by a host of familiar faces. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville were all waiting for him. They stared blankly at him, and he stared back, and then Hermione was running forward to give him a hug. He was caught by surprise, and hugged her back limply.

“How was it, Harry?” she asked.

Obliviate.

No one must know.

When the time comes, you will take an incredible risk.

“Give him a break Hermione,” groaned Ron, “Everyone knows History of Magic is awful.”

Hermione took a step back, but she was still clearly interested in his exam.

“I think it went alright,” said Harry, trying to appease her.

“Which questions did you get? Were they very different from the original exam?”

Harry wondered why she thought he would have remembered the questions on the last test, seeing as he’d been asleep for most of it.

“Oh, never mind that,” interrupted Ginny, “How’s Sirius?”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

“Good,” he managed to get out.

“I’m glad,” she said softly. Harry looked away from the group, and to the wall. He knew what they all really wanted to know. It wasn’t the exam, or Sirius, it was the Propehcy they were all concerned with. Ron and Hermione would be asking for an answer later, he knew it, and he had no clue what he was going to tell them. He couldn’t trust him with the full story, not unless they were prepared to become skilled Occlumens too, and he couldn’t ask that of them.

“We’re making Harry uncomfortable,” commented Luna, “He’s overwhelmed. Let’s give him some space.”

Harry couldn’t have thanked her enough if he tried.

“We’ll see you later, mate,” said Ron, and he ushered the group away. Neville gave him a wave and Harry smiled shakily at him. He stood there and watched them all go, Luna was walking in the opposite direction, her long blonde hair swaying softly back and forth as she went.

“Wait!” he called after her, unsure what he was saying or doing. She looked over her shoulder, an owlish look on her pale face. “Let’s uh- how are you Luna?”

“Well,” she replied, pausing to think about it, “I was very worried for you, Harry. You’re alive, but I’m not sure if you’re alright. But I am very glad you’re alive.”

Now it was his turn to pause and think.

“Thank you, Luna.”

“You’re welcome,” she told him simply. They kept walking, presumably towards her common room, or wherever it was she was going. “You’re not a pig for slaughter, you know,” she added.

He was about to respond with another ‘thank you’, but something about the statement shook him.

Harry froze. Did she know? How could she? Did she?

“Does that thought bother you?” she asked.

She couldn’t know. She couldn’t. It was impossible. She was just saying what had come to mind. It had nothing to do with the conversation in Dumbledore’s office. Nothing at all.

“No, it’s alright,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

There was a lump in his throat. He nodded quickly.

“We don’t have to talk about it. Would you like to come and feed the thestrals with me?” she asked him. Nothing had ever sounded more tempting, more relaxing, or more like the right thing to do. He almost said yes, but caught himself.

“I have to go,” he told her, “Tomorrow?”

She nodded knowingly.

“Draco?” she asked. Harry blinked.

“Yes.”

Luna nodded again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry,” and she was off.

It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts, but then he was off too. He needed to get to the marauder’s map, and then he’d find him, and they’d talk. They’d sort everything out, and things would be how they were before. Better, even. Harry grasped at this dream desperately as he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

“Harry!” called Dean from somewhere behind him, but Harry plundered on as if he hadn’t heard anything.

“Harry!” came the voice again. Harry wondered if it was plausible that he hadn’t heard Dean two times in a row, but decided it wasn’t. He could spare a minute. He turned around.

Dean was at the bottom of the staircase he was currently climbing.

“Hey,” he called, walking slowly up to join Harry, “Where’ve you been mate? Heard you flunked History of Magic.”

“Yeah…” said Harry, “Probably.”

“Don’t worry, I definitely did too,” Dean comforted, “Who needs it anyway?”

“Yeah,” he agreed non committedely.

“You alright?” asked Dean, “You seem a little out of it Harry.”

“Do I?”

Dean nodded.

“Well I’ve really got to…to get something. I’m in a bit of rush, actually.”

“Don’t let me hold you back,” said Dean, and with a nod in thanks, Harry was off again, taking three stairs at a time. He could’ve walked, he could’ve gone up slowly with Dean and chatted, but it simply couldn’t wait any longer.

By the time he had reached the portrait of the fat lady he was so out of breath he could barely get out the password.

“Wthr wins,” he wheezed. The fat lady arched an impervious eyebrow.

“Come again?” she asked.

“Witherwings,” he said again, a lot clearer this time round.

“That’s not the password.”

“What?”

“I said, —

“I know what you said!” snapped Harry irritably. The fat lady pursed her lips, looking a little wounded.

It must have been changed while he was gone. It had only been a few nights, but all it took was one missed memo and you were locked out of the Common Room until someone told you the new password.

“Can’t you just let me in?” pleaded Harry, “You know I’m in Gryffindor.”

She shook her head resolutely.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m Harry Potter!”

“I’m Harry Potter,” mocked a nearby painting, which did little to help Harry’s mood.

He crossed his arms and frowned deeply, trying to think what to do next.

He could wait until someone came out from the Common Room and the portrait hole opened, but that might take forever. He could try and find Draco without the map, but that would be difficult and time consuming, and he was already at the entrance to the Gryffindor tower. He fretted with his fingers and began to pace, going over everything in his mind.

“Harry!” came Dean’s voice again, “Are you locked out?”

Harry turned to his unlikely saviour and nodded.

“Monkberry,” said Dean and the painting swung open. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“What’s all the hurry?” asked Dean as they crossed the threshold, but before Harry could answer he was accosted by a tall, tartan-clad figure.

“Mr Potter,” greeted McGonagall.

“Professor,” he gulped, worried he was in trouble.

“I trust you are recovering well?”

“Er, yes,” he replied, “Professor,” he added hastily. His eyes darted to the door to his dorm. The marauders map was so close.

“I can see you’re in a rush, so I’ll be brisk,” she said mercifully, “You haven’t had your career meeting with me yet. We need to discuss your subject choices for next year as well as what area of work you want to go into.”

Harry’s mind reeled. A career? He had barely given it any thought.

“Ok,” he said quickly.

“When would be a good time?” she asked him.

“Not sure,” he replied, then realising he needed a better answer than that, “Tomorrow during lunch?”

“Very well Mr Potter,” she conceded, “You may be on your way.”

Harry nodded gratefully and made a beeline for his dorm. Several people waved to him, or seemed as though they might approach him, but he offered up only a few terse smiles.

Soon he was by his case, and with a quick summoning charm he had found it. He opened up the map with the habitual ‘I solemnly swear I’m up to no good’ and combed through the many names, looking for Draco.

Eventually, he found him. Draco was by the window. Their window. Harry shoved the map in his pocket and set off.

Chapter Text

Harry approached the blonde boy at the window slowly, unsure where to start. Draco still hadn’t noticed him. He’d been in such a hurry to get to him, but now that he was a few paces away Harry realised he had no clue what to say, or how to start.

Draco turned his head to find Harry standing before him. The light from the window framed his pale face in a cold glow, like a white outline. They stared at one another. Harry felt as though he’d swallowed a stone, and it was pulling his voice and his heart down and down into his intestines. He opened his mouth to draw in a breath.

“Say it.” said Draco flatly.

“What?”

“Whatever you came to say, say it.”

They stared some more.

“When I…” Harry began shakily, but before he could give it a second thought, everything was coming out, as if the stone was flying up and up and up. “When I was in the Ministry, Voldemort went into my mind, and he made me beg to be killed, and he–

“What?” interrupted Draco, his voice broken.

“The…The only thing that got him out was…I thought of the people that I…I was thinking of people I loved…and I had to stop myself from–

“What happened to your Occlumency?”

“This was Voldemort–

“Don’t say his name!”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut. He gulped, and tried to rephrase his thoughts into something coherent.

“I had to stop myself from thinking of you,” he finished.

“Did he see? Harry what did you do? What were you thinking?”

“You’re safe! I didn’t…You never actually passed through my thoughts, I was burying it. You’re safe.”

Draco looked pained.

“Am I?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Harry disdainfully, “Of course! That’s not… Don’t you get what I’m trying to say? What I’m trying to tell you?”

Draco stared in silence. The corners of Harry’s mouth pulled downwards.

“I love you,” he said in a horribly sad and quiet voice. “That’s…”

Another silence stretched out.

“You love me.” stated Draco, just as flatly as he’d stated his greeting.

“Yes,” replied Harry in a small voice.

He edged forward. Draco was so close they could touch each other. Harry reached out a hand to run through his blonde hair, not thinking. Not thinking of anything other than the simple, loving gesture he’d done time and time again in the past year. Draco quickly batted his hand away.

“Who gave my father that scar?”

“That- What does it matter?” sputtered Harry, withdrawing his hand further.

“So it was you.”

Harry didn't deny it.

“You probably don’t even understand what you’ve done.” said Draco bitterly. His voice was stone cold. The light had turned harsher, the sun was out from behind the clouds.

“I- What do you mean?”

“A scar is something to be ashamed of for purebloods. Cuts can be healed by magic. If they’re not healed in time they become scars. If you didn’t heal a cut, you didn’t use magic. If you didn’t use magic you might be a squib, or a muggle. The bigger the cut, the more immediate the attention is needed. And cuts that don’t come from magic are also harder to heal. It means you were in a muggle fight. And it means you lost. At least enough to get cut, anyway.”

Harry had never thought much of scars. Remus had so many of them. They were like freckles, or birthmarks on him. They were just there.

“There’s nothing wrong with muggles,” he seethed, “Or with fighting the muggle way.”

“Of course you would see it your way,” Draco spat back, “Is it so hard for you to consider any other way of thinking than your own? I’m not saying I agree with the reason scars are shameful, I’m saying that not only have you injured him, but you’ve exposed him to prejudice he has no control over and can never get rid of!”

“It must be so hard to have people be prejudiced against you for something you have no control over,” mocked Harry, “Who cares about muggleborns, or squibs, poor Lucius Malfoy is going to be ostracised from pureblood society! What if he doesn’t get invited to their dinner parties? What are you going to do?”

“He’s in Azkaban!” shouted Draco. It was the first time he’d ever really shouted. “He’s in Azkaban because of you!”

“He’s in Azkaban because he’s a death eater,” spat Harry, “And Voldemort will break him out in no time.”

“He’s stuck in a place where he can never feel happiness, or joy, or any kind of positive emotion, ever. Not to mention he failed whatever task the Dark Lord gave him by being thrown in there, so who’s to say he’ll ever be broken out? Even if he is, he’ll hardly be any more free. You have no idea what you’ve done. You didn’t even apologise.”

He’d tried to write it, but he couldn’t say it.

“What did you want me to do?” he exclaimed, “I was fighting for my life! What if he’d tried to kill someone–

“My father would never kill a child!”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s my father!” screamed Draco, outraged.

Harry clenched his teeth. It was Draco who had no idea what was going on. Harry had just heard a prophecy that would change his life forever, and no one besides Dubledore and two other mysterious figures knew of its contents except him.

“I love you,” he said bitingly, “I love you and I don’t want you to become a death eater like him.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

“I don’t care!” screamed Harry, “Just don’t do it.”

He felt his eyes filling with stinging tears and quickly turned to leave, feeling more angry and hurt than he could ever remember being.

Chapter Text

Harry fiddled agitatedly with his hands as he sat across from McGonagall. With everything that was happening, he’d almost forgotten about the meeting altogether, and he hadn’t given his future career any thought either.

“I trust you found what it was that you were looking for yesterday?” she asked him. Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m sorry Professor?”

“Yesterday, when you were in such a hurry. When I asked you to arrange this appointment, Mr Potter. Whatever it was, did you find it?”

“Oh. Yes,” he told her, then frowned again, thinking back on that awful conversation, “Not really,” he amended.

“That’s a pity,” she commented, and Harry got the sense she meant it. He must have looked pretty agitated. “Perhaps you’ll find it another time then.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed non-committedly. He had no idea if Draco would change his mind or not. He could only hope, and wait.

She looked at him over her spectacles. Harry couldn’t tell what she was feeling, not before she got briskly to business.

“The purpose of this meeting,” she explained, “Is to figure out what it is that you want for your future, and which courses will be able to get you there.”

What future? He found himself thinking miserably. He couldn’t see past the war, couldn’t envision anything that didn’t involve those awful words; either must die at the hand of the other. Harry swallowed.

“Mr Potter?” prompted Professor McGonagall. Harry blinked. He hadn’t been listening. “I was asking if there were any careers you had already considered,” she told him patiently.

Harry wracked his brain, trying to come up with something.

“Maybe an auror?” he suggested, thinking of Tonks and Kingsley and Moody.

“Really? I wouldn’t have expected that,” she said lightly, “You never considered anything in teaching? I heard that the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWLs went much better than expected.”

“Oh,” he said stupidly, “I, er, hadn’t really thought of that, no.” He supposed it might be something for him. He’d loved the DA, but… It was just too hard to really, genuinely consider a career when war and Voldemort and the prophecy were all right around the corner. “I don’t know,” he settled on eventually, “I just…I don’t know.”

“That’s perfectly alright Mr Potter,” she told him.

“Is it?” he asked worriedly.

“Of course,” she assured him, “I remember when I was your age, I wanted to be a professional Quidditch player,” she smiled fondly at the memory, “And that’s not what happened at all.”

Harry smiled a little too, imagining his Head of house in one of the professional leagues, a Quidditch legend.

“How do I choose my courses then?” he asked.

“Well,” she began, “Perhaps you should begin with your marks, when you get them. All NEWT level courses require minimum grades from your OWLs, so that ought to narrow some of it down for you,” she summoned a piece of parchment over to him. It had a table on it, drawn in emerald green ink. “This is a guide to all the NEWT classes. Here are which marks you will need to get in,” she pointed out the column with her wand, “And the base level skills that are required of you going into the course.”

Harry skimmed over it. He was sure he only had about half of the base level skills, which was not very encouraging.

“You should also take into account what interests you, and where your skills lie,” added McGonagall, “I know you have quite the penchant for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and you’ve always been exceptional in Transfiguration,” she gave him another encouraging smile, and Harry felt slightly less worried about it all. “Keep in mind that you aren’t choosing your courses right now, this meeting is just to give you an idea of what to expect, and to get you thinking about it for your next school year. You’ll have plenty of time to decide over the summer, and there’s about two weeks into the school year of flexibility where you can change your course selections if you so wish.”

He nodded along, taking it all in.

“And afterwards?” he asked.

“After what, Mr Potter?”

“After I’m done with my NEWTs, what do I do then?”

“You might start an internship, or even go right into the workplace. If you wish to do higher studies then you might opt to go to a specialised school.”

“What did you do?” he wondered.

“All three,” she replied easily, “Though not in that order. You’ll decide for yourself when you reach that point.”

If I reach that point, he thought bitterly.

“My advice to you, Harry, would be to keep your options open. Take a variation of courses for your NEWTs, and perhaps after doing them all for two years at a high level you’ll have a better idea of which of them you might want to pursue as a career.”

“Ok,” he nodded. That seemed the sensible to do.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Harry wondered when she would dismiss him, their meeting seemed to have concluded.

“How are you doing?” she asked finally. Harry was taken aback at the question, caught off guard.

“Fine,” he replied automatically. McGongall looked sceptically at him over her spectacles, raising an impervious eyebrow. “I, er…” he trailed off. He was not fine. Dumbledore had obliviated his guardians. Harry was the only one besides a few random others who knew about the real prophecy, and at any moment, Voldemort might swoop into his mind and find it. Not to mention Draco… Harry had really messed that one up, but he had no idea how to undo it all. He’d already said everything there was to say, and yet it wasn’t enough. He wondered if anything would’ve been enough, if there was any one thing he could have said to Draco to make him come home with him.

He should say something. About the prophecy. McGonagall was a member of the Order. She was competent and intelligent and ruthless. She would know what to do. She could tell him whether he was doing the right thing, keeping it to himself and refusing to forget it. She could tell him if Dumbledore was doing the right thing. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“I imagine you’re very happy to have Umbridge gone, at least.”

Harry snapped back to the present. Everything felt very real, and simultaneously very unreal.

“Right. Yes. I’m happy about that,” he agreed blankly. Umbridge and her tyranny seemed such a long time ago now. It was like another life, but it was only last week.

“She’ll get what’s coming,” seethed McGonagall in an uncharacteristic show of sadism.

“Er, yes,” he agreed again.

“I won’t keep you any longer Mr Potter,” she told him, “You may rejoin The Great Hall for your lunch.”

Harry nodded, offered her a slight smile, got up from his chair and left. The door let out a soft thump as he shut it. He felt like he was in a daze. He felt like he was about to cry.

He’d been spared from questions about the prophecy the night before, Hermione and Ron could tell something had happened, but eventually his excuses would run out, and he’d have to tell them something. Anything he said would have to be a lie, and while he’d learned to tell a lot more of those this year, what could he say about this? Maybe he could tell Hermione to go read up about it. That would tell her all she needed to know at least.

Another few days passed him by, and the summer holidays were so close he could taste them. The atmosphere was different at school. The sun shone for longer, the days were warmer and all that was left to do was tie up loose ends here and there. And he still had no clue what he was going to do, about anything.

He talked less, and smiled less, and slept less. He’d been sleeping horribly at school, ever since… Ever since the Sirius dream. He would wake up with a start in the middle of the night, not from nightmares, but from the sheer stress that he might have another dream like that one.

Before long, he was boarding the Hogwarts Express back to London, bidding final goodbyes to Hagrid, and to the members of the DA, and to his roommates, and finally, to Ron and Hermione.

He didn’t say goodbye to Draco. They hadn’t spoken since Harry’s first day back at school. On the platform, in the mad rush of bodies, he caught a glimpse of platinum blonde hair before it disappeared, and without knowing, without seeing anything else of the boy, he was sure it was him.

He’d stared after the spot for a few seconds, frozen in place. Perhaps he was hoping to catch another glimpse, perhaps he was just shell shocked, Harry wasn’t sure why. The crowds continued to bustle, everyone going about their own lives, concerned with their own problems and their own happiness. Harry turned away from the spot, and walked on.

Chapter Text

And so Harry returned home, not to Grimmauld Place, despite Dumbledore’s advice, but to Mayfield. He wanted to be in his own room, and Sirius hated Grimmauld Place, but mostly, he was hoping that Draco Malfoy would show up at his door. He had the address, all he had to do… Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He was constantly on alert. Sometimes, at night, he stood by his window and watched the road, just in case.

Remus worked steadily, and Sirius had also picked up a few odd jobs here and there. The summer crept by, one excruciating day at a time. Harry spent a lot of time just waiting. And staring. And most of all, hoping.

Over the course of two weeks, he’d exchanged a few letters with Ron and Hermione, and they’d gone up to the Burrow a few times, but it felt like nothing was happening. It was simultaneously going very slowly and very fast. And still, Harry waited. He wondered sometimes if he would wait the whole summer.

Fudge had been replaced by Rufus Scrimgeour. He was a worn, haggard, intimidating man. He was only starting out as Minister, and he already looked tired. He was the kind of man Harry imagined to be in politics at war time. Fierce and stubbornly resilient.

It was beginning to feel a lot more like a war. Nothing had really started yet… But there were disappearances. Acts of hate. Fear. And waiting. It seemed everyone was just waiting for the war to properly begin.

“It feels like it did last time,” Sirius had told him, when Harry asked if he thought it was coming.

And all the time, the prophecy lurked in his thoughts, and in his head. He was surprised it hadn’t made its way into his dreams yet.

Every week so far he’d had occlumency lessons twice with Dumbledore. It was infinitely better than it had been with Snape, but Harry still didn’t want to share his most intimate thoughts and memories with his Headmaster. Thoughts of Draco (and his head was full of those) were private. It wasn’t something he wanted to share, and it probably wasn’t something Dumbledore wanted to see, either.

The technique that Draco had taught him had held strong all through the first session, and Harry had felt chuffed with that, but then the second time, after two more successful uses of the trick, Dumbledore had changed tactics. He explained that Voldemort was much more powerful than the average wizard, and wouldn’t be using a simple occlumency spell. And so he’d tried a different spell, one that he imagined Voldemort might employ, and Harry’s defence hadn’t worked. All his memories had opened like floodgates. Nothing too compromising, but still personal. He’d steadily improved since then, but he still had the occasional slip, which sent waves of fear coursing through him every time.

Now he was sitting in his room, trying to get a head start on some of the Defence Against the Dark Arts content. It wasn’t going well.

His attention span was worse than ever before, and every time he read a sentence, he would get decently far, then realise he hadn’t been paying attention, and have to go back and reread it all.

“Fuck,” he cursed softly, slamming the book shut in his frustration. Sirius was in the living room downstairs, watching Top of the Pops and drinking lemonade. Harry considered giving up and joining him. He had all summer to revise for school (and to wait, and wait, and wait).

He got up and made his way lazily across his room, when all of a sudden, the doorbell rang loudly, cutting through the relative silence of the house. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He froze. It could be nothing, but maybe this time… Maybe it would be something.

“Could you get that?” called Sirius through the house, but Harry didn’t answer, only set off at breakneck speed.

He rushed downstairs, not the first time he’d bounded towards the door in the last few weeks, praying and hoping against all hope that Draco would be standing in the doorway, waiting with open arms, and not the poor unsuspecting postman.

He leapt across the last three stairs and landed with a thud, running towards the door. Through the translucent blurred window of the front door he could see a distinctly blonde head of hair. Was it? Could it be? His heart was beating in his throat and he could barely breathe. He crossed the hallway in record time, his thoughts a screaming mess.

Harry flung open the door and to his great shock there stood none other than Draco Malfoy, looking a little more dishevelled than usual, wringing his pale hands nervously.

At first, he didn’t know quite what to say. He wasn’t sure if it was real. How many times had he opened the door or looked out the window, thinking he’d seen him? He almost wanted to pinch himself, just to see if it was real. But it really was Draco. He was standing right there. He’d stopped wringing his hands and stood very still before Harry, his expression unreadable.

“Draco!” he cried out in something between a scream and a whisper, coming to his senses. He jumped at the other boy, wrapping his arms around him and burying his head into his shoulder.

He had run away. He had come to find Harry, just as Harry had begged him too. He’d kept the address and remembered the invitation. He’d forgiven him for their fight, and finally come. The wait was over. Harry had known in his heart that he’d see Draco Malfoy on his doorstep, he’d prayed for it.

He hugged the other boy more tightly, breathing in the scent of pine and freshness. Draco did not reciprocate. He just stood there stiffly, letting himself be held.

Harry drew back, holding him at arm's length, his hands ghosting over the other boy’s arms. Draco still hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem to be exhibiting any other kind of emotion either. He was just… blank. He looked pale. Paler than usual.

“Draco?” he asked softly.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.