He Turned Around

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27736381.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Relationship:

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum

Character:

Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis (Harry Potter), Millicent Bulstrode, Marcus Flint, Fred Weasley, George Weasley

Additional Tags:

Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Good Severus Snape, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Not an Idiot Harry, Smart Harry Potter, sometimes, will tag as I go, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Past Child Abuse, emotional abuse mostly, I'm not saying Dumbledore's straight up evil, but I really don't approve of his methods, Severus Snape Has a Heart, he just doesn't want anyone to know, cherry-picking from canon, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, and when i say burn i mean like barely warm, theyre only 14 guys, they're practically babies, Slytherin Harry Potter, Hogwarts House Re-Sort, No Dragons (or Dragon Eggs) Were Harmed in the Making of This Fic, Ron may not be the best friend right now, but we're not here for Ron bashing, mentioned Homophobia, mildly, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Fear of Swimming, Fear of Drowning, swimming lessons, bc why did no one check that Harry could swim before dropping him into a lake?, Harry and Viktor are gonna be bros, minor food issues, Yule Ball, and now we dance!, Harry gets to actually enjoy the Yule Ball instead of watching like a muppet, Underage Drinking, Drunk Ron Weasley, but it was mostly an accident

Language:

English

Collections:

DarkHarryPotter, C’s Favorite HP Fanfics, Not to be misplaced, 5 Star HP Works, Harry Potter Fanfic Must Reads, ￤ꜜ 𝘰𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦'𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 ., 📚 Fanfic Forum Discord Recs, To remember and cherish, sassy supportive severus, wonderful wips, wicked wizarding worldbuilding, deceitful dishonest dumbledore, HP stories I could read a thousand times⚡💚⚡, My Fave Fanfics, They posted a new chapter!, Ramoth RereadWhenComplete, Unfinished fics to come back to, great harry potter fics, Ongoing fic, isabella9792_readinglist, HP_WIP_to_die_for, dino's library of obsessions, Dusk's Favorite Works, Qqqqqq115, ✨Perfect✨, Stories That Completely Took Over My Life, Lovely Legends of Long Length, Wonderfully Well-Written Works, Best of Drarry, sleep deprivation hits hard kinda like nyquil-pm, Ris’ WIP favs, HP WIP 2 Read Later, Holy shit i love these (too good for just bookmarks), what i live for

Stats:

Published: 2020-11-27 Updated: 2022-09-08 Chapters: 24/? Words: 83384

He Turned Around

by ChipOfftheOldSoul

Summary

When the Goblet of Fire spit out Harry's name that Halloween night, he was told to join the other champions. Instead, he turned around and walked away.

Notes

The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The plot belongs to me. Any quotes from the books will be in bold.

See the end of the work for more notes

Chapter 1

“Harry Potter.”

Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her frowning slightly.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed.

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn’t.”

Both of them stared just as blankly back.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

“Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”

“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push.

Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn’t seem to be getting any nearer at all.

In fact, it really wasn’t getting any nearer. Harry’s feet were planted right where he had put them when he first stood. His vision tilted oddly, and his legs felt very far away. He tried to move toward the head table, he really did, but he couldn’t. He didn’t realize he was shaking his head until his neck started to hurt from the jerkiness of the motion.

“No,” he stuttered. “No, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.” The words sounded roaringly loud in his own ears, but he wasn’t sure if anyone around him could hear him.

“Harry come here, please.” Dumbledore waved a wrinkled hand as if to coax Harry forward.

Harry shook his head. Finally, he started to move. First one stumbling step backwards and then another. After a few steps, he pivoted. The entire hall was silent as he walked away from the head table and towards the enormous doors of the Great Hall. The doors were usually left open during feasts to allow in any stragglers, but because of the ceremony and the Goblet of Fire’s selection, the doors had been closed. Harry had never seen them opened without magic, and he feared the too-heavy doors would trap him there with the rest of the students, professors, and officials, but when he got close to them, one of the doors moved. It was just a twitch, really, small enough that he doubted anyone further than he was could see it, but the door allowed him to shove it open, and it closed heavily behind him just when he heard footsteps finally following him.

It was only when he collapsed, full bodied, against the door at his back that he realized his hands were shaking and his knees were wobbling. He focused on stilling his hands first, but they only seemed to shake harder, and his breath came quicker and quicker until he was violently gulping for air that didn’t do him any good. He was shocked from his panic though, when banging from the other side of the door he leaned on sounded.

The doors weren’t opening for them. Hogwarts wasn’t helping them. But she was helping Harry.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming toward him from another direction. He had no idea where to go, but he ran. His shoes clapped against the flagstones, banging in time with the pounding in his head. The footsteps following him, though, and they were gaining on him. He had never cursed his small stature more than he did right now.

“Potter! You can’t run from the consequence of your actions!” Snape roared from behind him. Apparently, the man had been the only one to think of using a side exit to do escape the Great Hall.

Harry looked back just in time to see Snape lunging for him. He tried to duck out of the way, but Snape was too quick for him and hooked a long, thin-fingered hand around his elbow.

“No!” Harry cried. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t put my name in, and I won’t compete. You can’t make me! Please!”

Snape sneered at him. “And why should I believe you? You’re nothing but a spoiled child too used to getting his own way to realize that even you must answer for your recklessness.”

The insult wasn’t so different from those Snape had been spitting at him since he entered Hogwarts. However, for once, it didn’t make him want to shout at the man. Instead, he laughed.

It was a high hysteric sound, caught somewhere between a true laugh and a whimper of pain. Too high pitched, too fast, too breathy. Even in his own ears, he sounded manic. Snape stared at him with real concern creeping into his sallow face.

“Potter!” He swore when this didn’t stop the breakdown. He must have realized then how tightly he was still holding Harry’s bicep because he released him like he had been burned. Maybe he had, Harry thought wildly. Harry had burnt someone to death the first—second? third?—time he had almost been killed at Hogwarts. Why should that be only a one-time, poorly explained power?

Gently, almost kindly, Snape turned Harry toward a small, dim passageway Harry had noticed in the past but never had any reason to explore.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, his giggles finally fading. He didn’t really care, but he thought maybe Snape was taking him somewhere to kill him quietly. It didn’t really matter. Dying now at the potions’ master’s hand, dying in the tournament, same difference really. At least if it happened now, it wouldn’t be a spectacle for the masses.

“My office. You need a calming draught, and I need to sort some things out. No one will look for you there.”

Yeah, because any student would have to be insane to go there willingly. The deeper down the stairs they went, the colder the drafty passage got. It was too dim to really see any details on the stone walls, but he imagined that they descended under the lake, the stones go dewy with condensation. It smelled musty enough to make sense.

Eventually, they exited into a wider corridor Harry recognized as one that ran perpendicular to the one they took when going to potions. It was also the hallway Malfoy had led them to when Harry and Ron infiltrated the Slytherin common room. That felt like a very, very long time ago.

Snape stopped them before they reached the blank stretch of wall that guarded the common room’s entrance. A very old portrait of a very old man with a bulbous nose and bushy gray eyebrows glared at Harry before turning his attention to Snape.

“I’m allowing Mr. Potter access to my quarters this evening, Raginald. There is no need to inform the headmaster.”

Raginald—Raginald Edevane IV, Slytherin Head of House 996-1012, according to the little brass plaque at the center of the lower edge of his frame—nodded. “Very well, Severus.” His voice was rough and gravely, but surprisingly neutral. Without the further commentary the Fat Lady would have no doubt insisted on, the portrait swung forward.

Snape herded Harry into the room revealed behind the portrait, and Harry was surprised to find such a homey little room. The sofa was leather, with large, overstuffed cushions and a knitted blanket hanging over one arm. A matching armchair was pushed into the corner near the hearth. The stone floor was covered with plush rugs, and the cold stone walls were all hidden behind floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all of which were full to bursting. The fire in the hearth crackled to life at their entrance.

“Sit, Potter,” Snape ordered, waving him towards the sofa.

Harry obeyed. He watched Snape move towards a cabinet on the other side of the room. Within moments, he had produced a vial of a lavender liquid. “Drink this—all of it.”

Harry did, pleasantly surprised at the flavor—sweet chamomile tea with a light chocolate aftertaste. All the muscles in his body loosened and relaxed, even though he hadn’t noticed they were tight before. His breath came out all at once, like a sigh that had been waiting all day to be let free. He collapsed back against the truly luxurious cushions at his back.

“Why do you keep that potion in here?” he asked. He hadn’t really meant to, but without his permission, his lips had started moving and the words had spilled out into the air between them. He expected to be embarrassed by the unintentional question, but he wasn’t. It was like his usually too-close-to-the-surface emotions had taken a break and couldn’t be bothered to come as usual. Harry couldn’t say he minded. Therefore, it made perfect sense to continue on. “I mean, most of your potions are stored by the potions classroom, in that big storage closet with the threatening sign posted. So why keep the calming draughts here?”

Snape raised one arched eyebrow at Harry’s slumped form. Harry tried to mimic the expression back at the professor, but he couldn’t control his eyebrows individually, so both went up. That just meant it was doubly meant, right?

“Because most students desperate enough to disturb me in my quarters usually need help calming themselves from whatever hormone-driven melodrama they’ve found. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see what’s being done about your place in the tournament. You will stay here. And you will not touch anything.”

Snape was oddly talented at making his eyebrows threatening. Harry promptly imitated a statue—the non-magical variety, that is—to demonstrate his obedience. With a sigh that very clearly stated that he did not trust Harry but also didn’t have the time to come up with an alternative plan, Snape left, back through Raginald Edevane IV’s portrait.

Once the portrait closed behind him, Harry broke his statue imitation. Usually, he would have been up in a moment to poke through Snape’s bookshelves and cupboards to find whatever he was hiding—because there was no way he wasn’t hiding something. But for once, Harry felt no compulsion to snoop. Snape wasn’t threatening him, so he felt perfectly content to just sit and wait for the potions’ master’s return. He kicked off his shoes, grinning at the soft shush- shush they made in thick pile of the carpet when they landed. Then he spun himself so he could lie down properly. The sofa was too short though, so his knees nested on the far arm, and his lower legs dangled down the side of the little couch. He kicked his socked feet happily humming a silly tune the twins and come up with for a rather crude limerick they had written one night instead of doing homework.

He was contemplating the stones above his head—they weren’t all one flat gray like he had always assumed. They were mostly gray, of course, but they also had waves of a sort of tan color going over parts of them and ribbons of purplish tying everything together. On top of all that, they were all speckled, like someone had painted them with glue and thrown sand at it. Or maybe they already had the sand inside them with they were cut. That probably made more sense—when Raginald Edevane’s protract opened with a bang and a startled yelp from the frame’s sole occupant.

“Severus! Severus, where are you?”

Harry knew that voice. Wedging himself up on his elbows, he got just high enough to look over the sofa cushions. “Hi, Draco.”

The blond head ceased its yelling for the absent professor and swiveled in his direction. “Potter? What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Snape put me down here while he went to investigate this latest death trap. What are you doing down here? And why are you calling him ‘Severus’? I’m pretty sure he’d turn me into potions ingredients if I called him by his first name. But only the gross pickled ones he doesn’t actually use except to scare students in detention. Because he’d probably think I’d ruin a potion just for being in it.”

“Morgana, Potter, are you drunk?” Draco asked incredulously.

“I don’t think so? Not unless Snape spiked the calming potion he gave me with firewhiskey or something, but I don’t think he did. The alcohol would react poorly with the valerian root, because they’d over-depress the drinker’s central nervous system. Also, Snape doesn’t seem like the kind of professor that would share his liquor with a student.”

Draco gaped at him.

“What? Has he shared his liquor with you? Will you give me some?”

“What? No! Of course not. Severus barely drinks at all, so he certainly wouldn’t encourage underage drinking. It’s just that you’re the worst babbler I’ve ever seen when you’re all drugged up.”

Harry hummed. “Yeah, it feels nice. But!” He had started to let himself fall back into the embrace of the sofa cushions, but he shot up again. “You never answered my questions! Why are you down here, and why do you get to call him ‘Severus’?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco moved from the doorway to take a seat in the armchair near the fireplace. Harry collapsed gratefully back down on the sofa now that he didn’t have to crane to see the other boy. “You know that I don’t actually have to answer you, right? I’m not like all your little sycophants.”

“That’s nice of you.” Harry let his eyes drift close. “I wish they weren’t like that either.”

“’They’ who?”

“The sycophants.”

“Huh.”

Harry could feel Draco’s eyes on him. He turned his head and opened his own eyes to meet Draco’s stare. Draco stared at him as if he were searching for something important. Harry wasn’t sure if he found it, because he had gone back to examining the stone ceiling. After a long minute—or maybe longer, or maybe less; Harry wasn’t keeping track—Draco said, “I’m here because I wanted to interrogate him about your spot in the tournament. And I’m allowed to address him with familiarity in private because he’s my godfather, sort of.”

“How does someone ‘sort of’ be your godfather? I mean, it’s not like Sirius who is my godfather but was in prison my whole life, is it? Or does that make Sirius my ‘sort of’ godfather too?”

“You actually met Black then? After he escaped, I mean.” Draco leaned forward, his eyes glued to Harry’s face.

Harry considered telling the other boy the whole story of that night in the Shrieking Shack but decided against it. He didn’t actually trust Draco, after all. He just wasn’t bothered by him at the moment. “That’s not what I said. I just heard that he’s my godfather while I was eavesdropping down at the Three Broomsticks. Now, stop changing the subject.”

Draco slumped back. “Severus isn’t legally my godfather. His family doesn’t have a high enough standing, and he’s—well, he’s not poor exactly, but he’s not well off either. So on my birth certificate, my godfather is Adair Avery. But he’s been in Azkaban since—since I was a baby. So, Severus kind of took over the godfather stuff so that I wouldn’t be missing out.”

“Really?” Harry asked around a yawn. “That’s nice of him. What counts as godfather stuff?”

“Er, I don’t know. Christmas presents and birthday gifts, for one. He used to take me out on outings when I was little, and he came to stay at the manor with me last summer when my parents when on holiday just the two of them. He always visits on the holidays, even though he hates the big parties my mother throws. He usually doesn’t stay long, but he always comes to talk to me before he leaves. And during the summer’s he’ll visit me then, too. Everyone says he’s a terrible teacher, but when there’s not a whole class full of students, and when his students actually care about the topic, he’s amazing. He got me my first potions set when I was eight, and he taught me all sorts of tips. Plus, I’ve learned a lot more Defense Against the Dark Arts from him than from any of the crap professors we’ve had here.”

Harry mumbled, “Remus was pretty good.” His eyes had drifted shut again without his permission, and he couldn’t quite drag forth the will to open them.

“Didn’t he try to eat you at the end of last year?” Draco drawled.

“’t was n’acciden’.”

“Well that makes it all better!”

“Exactly! Usually it’s on purpose. Anyways, your godfather sounds cool.”

“He is. Potter?” Harry rolled his head back in Draco’s direction, but he still didn’t open his eyes. “How did you get your name in the Goblet?”

“Didn’t,” Harry insisted. He felt his face scrunch up into a vague sort of scowl. “Don’t want to compete. But if someone wasn’t trying to kill me, it wouldn’t be Hogwarts, would it?”

“Yeah right. I bet you loved it. The adventure of it all is all very Gryffindorish.”

Harry rolled his head away and pressed his face into a pillow by his head. Muffled only a little, he said. “The Hat was right. Should’a let it put me in Slytherin. Maybe then everyone would stop trying to kill me.”

The was a long moment of silence. Then, Draco said, “I think you had better go to sleep before you say something you regret.”

Half-heartedly, Harry shrugged. “Prob’ly already did. G’night, Draco.”

“Good night, Potter.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When Severus finally returned to his quarters an hour and a half after he left them, he expected to find one of two scenarios. First, Potter could be gone, having fled again off into the night. If Potter had somehow stuck out the wait—which wasn’t impossible, but Severus expected it would be down to pure stubbornness over actual patience—he expected to find the boy in the middle of a mess of his own making.

He would enjoy taking points from the boy after the crisis meeting that he had just had.

Instead, he found Potter asleep on his couch, a nasally little snore coming from his direction. Even more oddly, Draco was curled into the armchair adjacent to the sofa. He had retrieved one of the many tomes from Severus’s bookshelves. Now, he stuck a bookmark to mark his place knowing Severus did not abide dog-eared books—Severus had trained his godson well—and set the book aside.

“Did you knock him unconscious?” Severus asked his godson seriously. Potter’s position was rather haphazard.

Draco snorted. “No. We literally just talked for, I think, the first time since we met. He’s far more agreeable when he’s drugged up. He’s a babbler on calming potion, by the way.”

“Of course he is,” Severus sighed. For about ninety-six-point-seven percent of the wix population, a calming draught did exactly what it said on the tin. Most described something like a pane of glass between them and their emotions. They were still perfectly aware of what they were feeling, but they also weren’t affected by those emotions. However, for the remaining three-point-three percent of the population, it also shut down their brain-to-mouth filter. Potter did not need magical assistance to be even more of an idiot.

“What did you need?” Severus asked his godson. Potter looked cold and Severus considered covering him with the blanket Minerva had gifted him his first Christmas as Slytherin’s head of house. However, he saw the torn-up and filthy muggle sneakers casually abandoned in the middle of the room and decided that the boy really didn’t look that chilly after all.

“I actually just came down to see what if Potter was actually going to be allowed to compete. I didn’t think I’d actually find him here.”

Severus sighed. “Well, since he is here, it would hardly be polite of us to discuss the matter without him. Wake him, will you?”

Draco wrinkled his nose, but did as his godfather bid him, moving from his seat to prod at Potter’s shoulder. While Draco was out of the armchair, Severus took a seat in it, ignoring the baleful glare Draco sent him when he realized the trick. Growling, he poked the sleeping boy harder. “Potter. Potter, wake up you lazy git!”

With a low groan, Potter opened his eyes, blinking them in confusion at the boy standing above them. “Draco. I’m tired. Le’me sleep, will you?” He rolled over to shove his head in the back cushions, but Severus was having none of it. He would not keep two dramatic boys in his private quarters any longer than he had to.

“Mr. Potter, you have slept quite enough. We need to discuss your place in the tournament.”

Potter shot up, eyes wide as he stared at Severus as if he had quite forgotten just whose quarters he was napping in.

“Er, yes, professor. Sorry.”

With a mild sneer at Potter, Draco took a seat on the sofa where Potter’s head had been. Potter side-eyed him, but didn’t actively protest his presence, which surprised Severus. The calming draught should had been out of Potter’s system by now, but with as susceptible to it as he apparently was, perhaps not.

“So, er, what did you all decide, sir?” Potter asked. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap around handfuls of his mussed robes.

“Professor Moody suspects that someone used magic to convince the goblet that you belonged to a fourth school—from which you, of course, were the only applicant. Crouch insists that the Goblet’s selection represents a binding magical contract and that you must compete. Dumbledore, in all his wisdom,” Draco snorted as Severus would like to, “has agreed and decided that you must continue on.”

Potter sputtered. “But surely, I can’t be held to a contract I didn’t sign. That’s fraud, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Severus murmured. In fact, he was a little surprised at the boy’s insight. He wouldn’t have expected it from the brash, bumbling little hero. From the pocket of his robe, he pulled a duplicate of the scrap of parchment the Goblet had spat out with Potter’s name on it. After more than three years of grading the boy’s assignments, he recognized the wobbling, scratchy writing, but he passed it to Potter for his inspection anyways. “Is this your handwriting?”

Potter took the paper with his brow furrowed. “Yes, but…I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.”

“I suspect, Mr. Potter, that someone ripped that from an assignment you turned in for one of your classes.” The parchment was torn close to the bottom edge of Potter’s name as if to carefully exclude the class title, which was usually required just below the student’s name.

“So anyone could have stolen it at put it in,” Potter sighed in dejection.

“Not necessarily,” Draco spoke up. Severus was surprised he had lasted so long and made a mental note to find some way to reward him with some extra points soon. “Dumbledore put the age line around the goblet, so it had to be someone who is seventeen years old or older.”

“So just any of the seventh years, some of the sixth years, any of the professors, any of the officials, or any of the visiting schools. Of the people who generally want to kill me, that really only eliminates you, Malfoy.”

Draco sneered at him, though if Severus looked very closely, he saw some disappointment in his godson’s expression, too. He tried not to look closely. “Surely it wasn’t a professor, scarhead.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “A professor has tried to kill me or has nearly killed me at least once every year I’ve been here so far.” Dejectedly, he slumped back into the sofa in a sloppy manner. “Honestly, if I had any self-preservation instincts, I would have just decided to homeschool at this point. But then I think Petunia might try to kill me for real, so maybe not.”

If Severus had been drinking something, he would have spit it out. As it was, he choked on air and fell into an impressive coughing fit. Draco raised a hand as if to help him, but Severus waved him off. “Petunia?” he ground out between drags of air. “Petunia Evans?”

Potter had not looked so confused in the entire time Severus had known him, not even when he bungled the worst of his potions. “Yeah? I mean, she’s Petunia Dursley now, but Evans was her maiden name.”

“Dear god, tell me you don’t live with that horrible woman.”

Potter looked away, which was answer enough.

“Who the hell is Petunia Evans?” Draco asked looking back and forth between Severus and the Potter boy.

Neither of them spoke for a long minute, but finally Potter answered in the smallest, quietest voice Severus had ever heard from him. “She’s my aunt.”

Severus had always had a very specific image of Harry Potter in his mind, and he had never seen any reason for it to change. Potter Jr would be just like his father, spoiled by elderly relatives who doted on him, his every whim and want provided for. He would be taught by the best tutors about wizarding history and culture, about the fundamentals of various kinds of magic, to give the boy hero of the wizarding world a strong foundation should he ever be called upon to save them all again, as Dumbledore insisted he would be. Dumbledore had told Severus that all this was so, that Potter was well cared for and loved by the relatives who raised him, that he would be trained in everything he needed to know. Severus had believed him, like a fool, even when he felt the faint ache in the magic that bound him to protect the child. Severus had simply thought that it was his own dissatisfaction in having had to make the vow that was fueling that ache.

Now though, he boy before him was taking on a new shape. When Severus had known Petunia when they were children, she had already been beginning to hate magic and those who practiced it, and the hate only grew each year. He had no reason to believe it would have faded after her sister’s death. And a magical child under her dubious care had no chance at a warm, nurturing upbringing, nevermind a spoiled one.

Potter always rushed into adventures, and Severus had always assumed he did so so that he could rake in the glory, lord it over his classmates. But maybe, it was because he didn’t trust any of the adults around him to solve the problems that he saw around him.

And when he jutted his chin out like he did now, Severus had always assumed that it was arrogance fueling his stubbornness. But maybe, it was as simple as an unwillingness to be knocked down again paired with the knowledge that if he was knocked down, he would just pull himself back up again anyways. God and Merlin knew that attitude had saved Severus in his own childhood.

Severus slumped back into the high-backed chair and put his head in his hands.

“Professor, how do you know my aunt?”

Severus did not want to answer, but he could see no way around it. “We grew up near each other as children, just a few streets away from one another.”

“Does that mean you knew my mother?” The eagerness in the boy’s voice, more childlike than Severus had ever heard it, was like an icepick to the gut.

“Yes. Yes, I knew your mother. However,” he held up a hand before the boy could interrupt, “that is not what we’re discussing tonight.”

The boy subsided, but the glint in his eye told Severus that this was not the last he would be hearing about it.

“The headmaster and ministry representative have decreed that you will participate in the tournament, though no one else is happy about it. The first trial has been set for the 24th of November, but as the trial is to be a test of daring, there is to be no other information given. You are not to receive any help from professors, classmates, or anyone else prior to the event, and you won’t be allowed to take anything with you other than your wand.”

“Which of course means that every champion is going to be getting help from their professors and headmasters,” Draco observed.

Severus inclined his head. “Most likely.”

“How is that fair? Potter has half as much education as the other three students. How do they expect him to face the same trials? Especially since the other students that were chosen are supposed to be the very best the school has to offer!”

“Exactly. I’m just a malicious clerical error. They can’t actually expect me to compete. Why can’t I just sit it out?”

It was odd to see the two boys agreeing on anything, but Severus refused to comment on it in case the boys realized what they had done and got into a fight strong enough to wreck his quarters, just to put the world back into balance.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of a ‘magically binding contract,’ Mr. Potter,” Severus said. Draco winced, but Potter just shook his head, frowning slightly.

“Because the name put into the goblet was written by your hand, the goblet has a sample of you, of your magic. And a magically binding contract quite literally binds your magic. If you go against the contract you signed—willingly or otherwise—the goblet will take your magic.”

“So I’ll be a squib, like Filch? I could handle that. I didn’t even know magic existed until I was eleven.”

There was so much wrong in that statement, but Severus focused on the most immediate matter for now.

“Magic is integral to your very being, Mr. Potter. It runs through your blood down to the very marrow of your bones, and it is in your every cell. Having your magic ripped from your body is likely not something that you could ‘handle.’”

“You would die,” Draco said bluntly but softly. “Even if you did somehow manage to survive, it’s like having your soul sucked from you, except infinitely more painful.”

Potter’s usually tan skin had turned unnaturally milky. “Okay,” he said, sounding strangled. “So, I have to go to the competitions, and I have to compete.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Severus agreed. “However, you don’t have to compete to win. You only have to compete to survive. The others, they will be showing off their power, their skill. Don’t bother with any of that. Don’t be a showman. Just survive.”

“Survive. Yeah. I can—I can do that.” Potter nodded compulsively, but his voice was shaky.

Draco chuckled. “Exactly. Be Harry Potter, the-boy-who-just-won’t-die-already.”

Potter snorted in return, Draco’s snideness knocking the doomed expression form him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can definitely do that.”

Chapter End Notes

Valerian root information: This is all true; valerian is a natural sedative used for sleep disorders, such as insomnia, and has also been used for treating stress and anxiety (though its affect on those issues hasn’t been as widely studied and therefore hasn’t yet been totally proven). Because of its sedative affects, it should never be taken with other depressants, such as alcohol. (I know this note is technically for chapter 1, but AO3 won't let me leave chapter-specific notes on chapter 1 :( )

Chapter 3

It was late, and Severus was not used to entertaining teenagers at this hour, nor did he care to, so he sent both boys to their dorms.

He was therefore quite perturbed when less than an hour later, Potter was back, looking even more upset than he had when his name had been called out of the goblet. Now, his face was streaked with tears that hadn’t been wiped away nearly well enough, and his cheeks and eyes were red. His clothes were even more disheveled than usual, and his hands were scraped. There was a bruise blooming on his left cheek. Severus sighed and waved the boy in.

“What happened?” he asked, immediately moving to the cupboard he had retrieved Potter’s earlier calming draught from. He considered grabbing the boy another one, but considering how sensitive to it he was, that might not be wise. If the boy became hysterical again, though, Severus might be forced to give him another half dose. Instead, he found some diluted dittany and a mild bruise salve.

“They didn’t believe me,” Potter said quietly. “I didn’t expect everyone to believe me, but I thought my friends at least wouldn’t…”

Severus waved him to take a seat, and Potter did, holding up his scraped palms for Severus’s inspection only when prompted to do so. “What happened next?” Severus asked. Carefully, he dabbed some dittany on the scratches and watched them carefully has they healed over. They were minor but watching Potter’s hands meant that he didn’t have to watch his face.

“Gryffindor was throwing a party when I got there,” Potter said dully. “Everyone was congratulating me, asking me how I did it. They said that at least there was a Gryffindor now, like there always has to be a Gryffindor or something. They kept trying to feed me or give me drinks and stuff. But finally, I got upstairs, and I thought at least that I could talk to my friends, that we could figure out what to do, how to survive this, like we always do, but…”

“But…” Severus prodded, turning his attention to the bruise on the boy’s cheek.

“But I didn’t even see Hermione, and Ron, he didn’t believe me. He was angry that I hadn’t helped him put his name in too, and he kept saying that I was lying about it. He said that since I hadn’t gotten in trouble, that I should come clean. I told him, before all of this, that I didn’t want to compete. That I didn’t see why anyone would want to compete, but he doesn’t believe me. I called him stupid, kind of, and he shoved me, so I shoved him back. It sort of escalated, and he punched me. I fell, and he stepped toward me like he was going to hit me again, so I just ran. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Understandable. However, you can’t simply hide in my quarters until everything goes back to normal, you know.” He finished smoothing the salve on his cheek. “Leave that there for five minutes, and then you can clean it off.”

“Thanks, sir. And I know I can’t hide here forever, but I can’t go back. Please, there must be somewhere….”

“Potter, I cannot allow a student to reside outside of the dormitories, not even you. Surely, the situation with your friend is not so dire.”

Potter looked down, absently reaching hand up to scratch at the already drying and no doubt itchy salve. Severus batted his hand away from his face. “Stop that.”

“Sorry, sir,” Potter mumbled. He refused to meet Severus’s eye, and Severus wondered if something more serious than a tussle between friends had happened.

“Mr. Potter, is there something else? If you have a reason to be concerned for your safety—”

“No, sir, it’s nothing. Like you said, just an argument. It’ll blow over in no time.”

Severus didn’t quite believe the boy but having seen his little trio survive obstacle after obstacle for the more than three years they had been at school, he doubted a little jealousy would break them up for good. “Very well. Then I think that you should return to Gryffindor Tower, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Potter heaved himself up, and Severus saw him to the door.

He held the door open for the boy. “Don’t forget to rinse that salve off when you get to your room. Overexposure could cause irritated skin.”

“Yes, sir, I will. Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Potter.”

Harry did not return to his room. He headed in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, but instead of taking the stairs all the way to the corridor leading to the Fat Lady’s portrait, he stepped off a landing early. There were plenty of small classrooms down the dead-end hallway, but no one used them for classes. Apparently, none of the teachers had wanted their learning spaces too close to the rowdy and often thunderously loud Gryffindors. Because of that, the rooms were all empty. Students had no need to wander this way, and even most of the portraits had abandoned their frames for more interesting areas of the castle. The only reason the rooms weren’t gathering dust and cobwebs was the elves’ superior cleaning skills.

Harry crept all the way to the last door on the left, whispering a spell so that the door wouldn’t creak on its hinges and alert a passing ghost. Once inside, he locked the door and looked around him. The room had been mostly cleared of furniture, though a few wooden chairs sat in a cluster in one corner. The lone, narrow window gave the room only the slimmest sliver of moonlight and faced out toward the greenhouses. The room was cold with nowhere to light a fire, and despite its relatively clean state, it was unwelcoming.

It was perfect.

He wouldn’t have to stay in the tower, but no one outside the tower would know about it because he would still be walking from the correct direction every morning. They had no reason to look for him in this nearly forgotten corridor though, so his sanctuary would be safe. In the morning, he would even look up some simple defensive wards to use around it to keep people away. If anyone saw what he was researching, he would just say it was for the tournament.

Harry transfigured one of the chairs into a bed and waved it into the corner furthest from the window. Though almost no one flew their brooms in the direction—Sprout only gave harsh punishments to those who endangered her plants, and a quidditch accident was just begging for a month of chores with Filch—there was no need to take chances on someone noticing a bedroom where it shouldn’t be. He took his shrunken trunk from his pocket and set it at the end of the bed before enlarging it. A couple of Dudley’s old sweatshirts transfigured nicely into sheets, a pillow, and a comforter. Altogether, it was a nicer room than the one he had at the Dursleys, even if it was a bit chilly.

He quickly changed into pajamas and prepared for bed, rubbing the flaking salve off his face, and got into bed under the warm covers. The bed wasn’t nearly as soft and comfortable as the one five floors up in his dormitory with the other fourth year boys, but it was much better than having to share a room with Ron.

He hadn’t told Snape the whole truth, and he knew the professor knew it. But he couldn’t stand to tell a man who until this very evening had seemed to loath even the concept of his existence how broken he felt at his first friend’s betrayal.

It had been obvious all year that there was tension between them. Ron was upset about Harry’s money, as if Harry had wanted it in the first place. Sharing with Ron only seemed to grate at the redhead’s pride. On top of that, there was Ron’s thirst for glory and Harry’s craving for obscurity. Harry remembered first year, when he had found the Mirror of Erised and tried to show Ron the family had never known, but Ron had only seen himself, loaded with honor and accolades. He wondered if that should have been a sign that they couldn’t last. They valued very different things.

Harry knew—or at least he assumed; he didn’t exactly have much previous experience with friendships—that friends often had different goals in life, and it didn’t hurt anything. Friends could go into wildly different careers, start families in different towns, live in different income brackets, and still meet up for lunch on weekends. But having such different values was bound to pull you in different directions.

Harry could still hear Ron’s words banging around in his skull, waking every insecurity he thought he had finally ditched. You’re just an attention-seeking git! You don’t care who you have to step on to get your way! You ruin everything you touch! You’d be nothing if it weren’t for your stupid scar!

Stuck in Little Whinging without a hope of escape, Harry had heard the same from Vernon and Petunia over and over again for years, until he had believed it. He took too much food and too much space and too much money from their hardworking family, even skinny and tucked away in his cupboard. He was a delinquent and couldn’t be trusted around honest folks. He was dangerous to Dudley, the neighborhood kids, and his classmates, so he wasn’t allowed friends. He would never amount to anything, just like his good-for-nothing parents.

As he had grown, he had realized that how he was treated wasn’t normal, but he had believed them when they said it was for his own good. And then he had believed them when they said that keeping him cut off from everyone else was for their own good, to protect them from him. Only in the wizarding world had he been able to shed those hateful words and become something good. Not because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but because he had friends and kids he was friendly with if not close to and teachers who liked him. He had been able to help the school by beating Quirrell. He had been able to save Ginny by stabbing the basilisk and beating Tom Riddle. He had even been able to save Buckbeak from the executioners axe and Sirius from the dementor’s kiss. That all meant something, and he had used it to buoy himself through summers full of the Dursleys’ verbal abuse.

But it was all still there, just waiting to tie itself back onto him, whispering all the things he had been told to hate most about himself, all the things he had eventually agreed were worth hating. And Ron, who had stood up for him against Malfoy and Snape and the whole school was the one to tear down the carefully constructed walls he had built to keep himself safe from all that poison.

Harry wasn’t sure he could forgive him for that.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

So, I didn't get it up this past weekend like I was hoping, but here's a short update. Also, apologies for Viktor's accent. I never know how to write accents without blowing them out of proportion. Let me know what you think! x Chip

When Harry woke up on Sunday morning, he was buried up to the nose in his blanket, curled up against the chill of the room. For a moment, he attributed the sinking, miserable feeling in his gut to the cold before he took in the room around him and remembered just why he was avoiding Gryffindor tower. He dressed quickly and used a spell to clean his teeth before creeping out of his new room and into the hall. He made sure to lock the door before leaving and hoped that would be good enough for the time being. Most Hogwarts students past their first year knew that if a door was locked, you were probably better off just leaving it alone.

Out on the stairs, he ran into some Gryffindors heading down for a late breakfast. He didn’t know their names, but they clapped for him and patted him on the back as he tried to hurry past their group. He had been intending to go down to the Great Hall to get some breakfast, but he dreaded facing the other Gryffindors if they were all going to act like this.

Instead, he detoured to the library, where he knew no one would look for him. Besides, it was a Sunday morning, early enough in the term still that not even Hermione was likely to be camped out. Madam Pince glared at him suspiciously when he wandered in, which he thought was fair enough considering he usually only came in here when Hermione was dragging him by the elbow, but she said nothing and allowed him peace as he entered her maze of bookcases. Between the sections for simple spellcrafting and wizarding law of the 1400s, Harry found four shelves worth of tomes on modern defensive wards. He emptied half of the first shelf and carried the precariously teetering pile out to one of the more out-of-the-way tables against the north wall.

The first several books went over his head and left him feeling rather dizzy. Apparently, warding usually required a background in runes, and Harry wondered if it was too late to change his electives. Divination had never been particularly fun anyways, what with the all the premonitions of death and maiming.

Irritated, he started searching the library for a primer on runes, but that was too broad a category to find exactly what he was looking for. He found a section on ancient runes of various languages, a section on the importance of numbers in runes, an entire wall on the apparently hidden rune representing the number seven, a small section debating whether or not runes were related to wand movements especially when wix first started using wands, but nothing simply explaining what runes were and how he could use them. Giving in, he hesitantly approached Madam Pince’s desk. “Yes?” she asked archly.

“Er, I’m looking for a beginner’s book on runes?”

“What kind?” Madam Pince always had a sharp, abrasive voice that she used to scare those who mistreated books in her library, but for once, the harsh, disdainful tone was absent.

“I’m not exactly sure, which might be the problem. I was researching warding, but a lot of it seems to be heavily based on runes.”

“Hmm.” She stood abruptly and strode to the table he had been working at. After a moment inspecting the books he had been stumbling through, she headed into the maze, obviously knowing exactly what she was looking for and where it would be. It turned out to be on the shelf directly across from the one that held the books he had taken. Scanning the shelf for only a moment, she removed a book and passed it to him. “Elder Futhark runes. This is the oldest runic language we have found, and therefore is regarded as the most powerful by many. Most wards, even modern wards, are primarily based on this system.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Harry said as he took the book gratefully.

She nodded at him sharply but said nothing before returning to her desk. Harry returned to his table and pushed the other books out of the way so he could read focus on the book of runes. After only a few minutes, he had to get out some parchment to take notes. The runes themselves weren’t difficult—there were only twenty-four of them, and they were all fairly distinct from one another—and he figured he could have them all memorized within a week. However, the constructions got complex. Turning a rune the wrong way round could change the entire meaning of the thing. Pairing one rune with another changed the meaning of them both. It was incredibly frustrating, but at the same time, it made his fingers itch at the need to crack the language.

Harry was so invested in his work that he forgot his surroundings until someone dropped into the seat across from him. Flinching in his seat, he flailed a little, holding his quill out like he planned to hex the newcomer with it. Viktor Krum raised an eyebrow at him. Harry’s whole face flushed a deep red.

“Sorry about…er, hi,” Harry finally said lamely.

“Hello,” Krum said, his accent heavy and his voice was smoother than Harry had expected the rough looking seeker to sound. Harry could see a smirk creeping in at the corner of the man’s mouth. “I did not expect to see you here.”

Harry frowned. Krum didn’t know him, and the older teen had only been in the castle a couple days. How would he know where Harry would most likely be?

“I mean no offence. I only thought you would still be celebrating with your, ah, house?” He stumbled over the last word as if he wasn’t sure it was quite right.

“Oh, no, I’m not celebrating. Like I said last night, I didn’t put my name in.”

“No? It is a great honor to be selected, especially for one so young. There is quite a lot of prize money for the winner, too.” Everything Krum said sounded correct, like something Bagman or some other adult would be saying, but Krum’s tone was off somehow, though Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Harry shook his head at the seeker. “I’ll say it as much as you want; I didn’t put my name in. I didn’t want to compete. My life has been dangerous enough, thanks.”

Krum hummed, and Harry felt like he had passed a test. “You disappeared last night, after your name was called.” Harry waited for the seeker to demand to know where Harry had gone, but instead he said, “Ve did not know you had been selected until the adults came and told us. They were all arguing about it, about whether you should be allowed to compete. One of your professors said that someone might be trying to kill you.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Do you think someone is trying to kill you?” Krum’s smirk had long since disappeared by now, and he was watching Harry with careful, prying eyes.

“Probably,” Harry said, and Krum’s eyes widened slightly. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to kill me. It wouldn’t even be the second or the third time.”

He thought Krum would grill him further or would express doubt that Harry was really in so much danger. Instead, Krum nodded and thrust his hand across the table. “I wish you the best of luck. And please, call me Viktor.”

Fumbling a little, Harry shook Krum’s—Viktor’s—hand. “Please call me Harry, then.”

“Very well, Harry.”

“So, what do the others think of me?” Harry asked eventually. Both had fallen back into their own studies, Viktor taking textbooks from his bag that were written in Cyrillic and Harry refocusing on runes. However, Harry could only focus for so long, and eventually his attention had strayed back to his tablemate.

“What?” Viktor asked.

“Fleur and Cedric? How much do they hate me for taking the attention from them?”

“Ah, of course. Well, Fleur is very angry and was very loud about it. I think she argued about your selection more than either of our headmasters did. Cedric was quieter, but I think he is still quite upset about it.”

“I’m not surprised. Hufflepuff, the house that he’s in, hardly ever gets any glory; this was their time to shine. They’ll think I’m trying to steal it for myself.”

Viktor hummed and idly turned a page in his textbook, eyes skating over the text quickly.

“What about you?” Harry asked the Bulgarian. “What do you think of me in all this?” Viktor didn’t seem angry with him, and he seemed relatively calm about the whole thing, if a little curious. Harry thought Viktor had been genuine when he wished Harry luck.

Using a finger to mark his place on the page, Viktor looked at Harry with his head tilted to one side. Finally, he said, “I am a very good seeker.”

Harry nodded. The man—teen—had just caught the snitch at the Quidditch World Cup. Very good seeker didn’t even start to cover it.

“Part of what makes me a good seeker is that I am very good at reading people. I know when my opponent is feinting. I know when they have been told to wait a while to catch the snitch. I know when that time is running out, and I know when they’re desperate.”

“So you read me?” Harry surmised.

“Ne, no.” He smirked at Harry. “I read Draco Malfoy.”

Harry just blinked at the Bulgarian. The Durmstrang students had continued to sit with Slytherin since their arrival which would, of course, continue to put Viktor in fairly close proximity to Draco.

Malfoy had been there last night, Harry remembered. They had talked together in Snape’s rooms, and Malfoy had been shockingly decent to him, even when Harry had been under the influence of the calming potion. If anything, he had seemed almost concerned for Harry. But that didn’t mean that their little truce would carry on outside of that room that night, did it?

“Malfoy, he complains about you often,” Viktor continued. “He has since I arrived. He says that the professors favor you, that you break the rules and no one cares, that people follow you around like sheep. He was saying all that again this morning, but he was lying this time. I could tell, even if his friends could not.”

There was an odd churning in Harry’s stomach at Viktor’s declaration. It had sunk when Viktor had said that Draco’s cruel words had continued at breakfast, but Viktor’s observation that Draco had been lying filled his stomach with something warmer than butterbeer. On the whole, it all left him feeling nauseated, but pleasantly optimistic about it.

“So, I am thinking that something happened last night that convinced the boy who disliked you most in the school that you are not so bad. In light of the tournament, I am thinking that you somehow convinced him that you did not put your name in. And, as he would not want to belief you, whatever you told him must have been the absolute truth. Am I wrong?”

Dumbly, Harry shook his head.

“Good,” Viktor said and turned back to his textbook.

“Could you tell the others?” Harry asked “Fleur and Cedric, I mean? Maybe not about Dr—Malfoy, but about how you believe I didn’t enter. I don’t want to make enemies of them, but I doubt they will listen to me.”

Viktor hesitated. “I do not anticipate that I will see them outside of the competition,” he admitted. “They say that this tournament is for the students to make friends, but at least among the champions—the truly competitive ones—I do not know if that is possible.” Harry slumped in his seat. Hufflepuff house would be surrounding their star right now. Fleur was unapproachable even before she was named champion. He doubted he would be able to anywhere near either of them to apologize. Viktor, seeing his disappointment nudged Harry’s foot with his own. When Harry looked back to him, Viktor promised. “If the opportunity arises, yes, I will tell them that I believe you.”

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

I did warn you that updates wouldn't be regular, but I still feel like I should say sorry. The holidays were a beast, and I feel like I'm still recovering from them. However, as an apology, you get 2 chapters tonight.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Eventually, Hermione tracked him down and, in a very un-Hermione fashion, dragged him from the library and out onto the grounds.

“Of course I believe that you didn’t put your name in, Harry,” she told him. They were walking the perimeter of the Black lake, taking advantage of the chilly weather that kept most everyone indoors. She had updated him on the castle gossip he had missed out on while in the library—as expected, the Hufflepuffs hated him, the Ravenclaws resented him, and the Slytherins sneered at the mention of his name (though the last was pretty much par for the course). The only pleased students in the entire castle was Gryffindor, with the notable exception of his best friend. “Ron is being ridiculous, but he’ll come around, you’ll see. For now, I think you should write to Sirius.”

“Hermione, I can’t write to Sirius. If he knows, he’ll just come running back to Hogwarts. And there are so many ministry officials running around the school that he’ll get caught for sure!”

“He’s going to find out anyways, you know. The Triwizard Tournament is a big deal; it will be in the papers and everything. Your involvement will probably be front page news.”

Harry slipped a bit on the muddy shore. He had not considered that. “But it’s just a school event, isn’t it? Surely no one can be that interested in what students are doing?”

“Think about it. Nearly every witch and wizard in the British Isles was educated here at Hogwarts, and even in the muggle world, it’s not uncommon for people to keep up with their alma mater. Added onto that, this is an international event. The wizarding world isn’t a big place, but countries are still very isolated from one another. Especially on the heels of the world cup, people will be curious about our magical neighbors. Finally, this is a tradition being resurrected after two hundred years. It’s incredibly dangerous and incredibly exciting, so of course the wider wizarding world of England is going to be interested in it, and so of course it’s going to be in the news. Therefore, of course Sirius is going to find out about it sooner or later even if you don’t tell him. And, if you don’t tell him yourself, I think he’ll be disappointed.”

Digging the toe of his worn sneakers into the muddy bank, Harry said, “I just don’t want him to do something to put himself in danger.”

Hermione looked at him critically. “That is the most hypocritical thing I have ever heard you say, Harry James Potter.”

Harry’s cheeks heated and he looked away. “This wasn’t my fault,” he muttered.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she agreed gently, nudging him until he started walking again. “However, the last three years of school are another story.”

“You know, you’ve been there the whole time, too!”

“Of course I have. I’m not going to let you get yourself killed if I can help it.” She sniffed so authoritatively that Harry couldn’t help but snicker at his friend. He was glad he still had one person on his side.

When they had finished the turn around the lake, they split up. Hermione wanted to go research past tournament tasks so they could get some sort of idea about what they should focus on. Harry agreed to return to his room and write to Sirius about his selection.

As he watched her run off with the admonition over her should to not forget to finish his homework—“This tournament is no excuse for slacking!”—he felt a little guilty that she thought he would be returning to Gryffindor Tower to write the letter. However, some needy little monster inside his chest had stopped him from revealing his sanctuary even to her. He doubted that it would be too long before the Gryffindors realized he was no longer residing with the rest of them, but he wasn’t eager to speed along that revelation either.

He returned to his little room, shivering when he entered. There was no hearth in the room, but there was a small alcove to one side. He shrugged and conjured some of the bluebell flames Hermione had perfected her first year and kept inside a jam jar. As long as none of his things got too close to the blue flames, they should be fine and keep the room toasty.

Settling onto his bed, he reluctantly started his letter.

Dear Sirius,

I hope you’re doing well wherever it is that you are, and I need you to promise me to stay there, even after what I’m about to tell you.

You asked me to keep you up to date about what’s happening this year, and I’m sure you thought it would mostly just be assignments and quidditch, and so did I. But the Triwizard Tournament is happening this year, and the Goblet of Fire picked me as the fourth champion (which really shouldn’t be fair at all—it’s the Triwizard Tournament after all). Anyways, I’m not sure how my name got into the goblet, because I didn’t put it in, but Dumbledore and the tournament officials all say that I have to compete anyways, so I can’t really get out of it.

I know that you’ll be worried, but I don’t want you to come here. There’s a lot of ministry people here organizing everything, and it would be dangerous for you. Please, for me, stay safe.

Harry paused with his quill over the paper, a large drop of ink sliding off the tip to make a splotch on the page. He considered telling Sirius all about what had happened with Ron or even about the odd whatever-it-was with Snape and Draco, but he couldn’t quite find the words to describe the topsy-turvy change in alliances. So instead, he simply signed off and sealed the letter.

He took it to the owlery to use a school owl, much to Hedwig’s disapproval. “I’m sorry, girl,” he told her, trying to stroke her after the brown barn owl had already flown off. “You’re too recognizable.” He was glad he had remembered to bring some of her favorite treats, because he was pretty sure that was the only reason that she stayed within arm’s reach and allowed him to pet her. The snowy owl was very proud and did not like being passed over, and she had now problem expressing that displeasure by biting at his fingers harshly.

“Ow!” Maybe he shouldn’t have offered her those treats.

“Having trouble with your owl, Potter?” a sneering voice called from behind him.

Harry whipped around to see Draco Malfoy enter the owlery, thankfully lacking his usual lackeys. Ducking his head a little, Harry shuffled from one foot to the other, not sure how to respond. The two boys had communicated primarily in insults for the last three years. However, Draco looked more amused than antagonistic for once. After last night’s blunt honesty, though, he didn’t want to go back to being enemies, especially when he was already down a friend.

“Er, yeah, she’s a bit annoyed at me today,” he said, wincing at how awkward he sounded to his own ears. Draco smirked then turned away to coax an eagle owl down from his perch. The owl was beautiful but quite intimidating as it glared at Harry. He wondered idly if Draco had trained it to do that. After stroking and—oddly enough—cooing at his owl a bit, Draco tied a letter that was much thicker than Harry’s own had been to the bird’s leg and sent it off on its way. Noticing Harry watching him, Draco flushed lightly. “My mother worries, so I write to her every Sunday.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said. Draco seemed embarrassed by the fact that his mother wanted to hear from him, but Harry thought he would quite like someone to write to regularly.

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s bland statement. “The whole castle is talking about you, you know,” he said, changing the topic much to Harry’s relief, though he wasn’t particularly fond of the new topic.

“I figured,” Harry admitted. “I’ve been avoiding them. I’m hoping it will die down a bit before I have to face it.”

Draco just snorted as if that was a stupid expectation. “Well, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve missed both breakfast and lunch now, and people are more curious than ever. Some are saying you’ve been expelled or that you’ve run away. Others are saying that you’re a coward upset that you got caught.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Harry asked, gritting his teeth. There was no way to please these people.

“Go downstairs, be seen. Act like everything is normal. The more they see you, the less opportunity they’ll have to create rumors.”

“But what if they want to talk to me or something? Gryffindor tried to throw a bloody party last night.”

“Trust me, no one else will be celebrating you. Honestly, they’ll likely be too afraid of you to approach you.” The look Draco gave him told Harry that the other boy saw nothing worth being afraid of. “And if they are trying to talk to you, tell them to piss off. You don’t have to be polite all the time.”

“I can’t be mean to people, Draco.” Harry elbowed the other boy as they exited the owlery to start back towards the main part of the school. “It’s not their fault I was chosen, and they have every right to be upset.”

“It’s not your fault either, Golden Boy. You don’t have to shoulder their blame.”

With those parting words, Draco turned right, trotting down a stairway that would take him straight down to the dungeons. “See ya’, Harry,” he drawled with a lazy wave over his shoulder.

“Bye, Draco.”

Twenty minutes later, Harry found himself doing something he thought he would never do: taking Draco’s advice.

The Great Hall may be mainly used for mealtimes, but it was always open. There were several bowls of fresh fruit on each house table for anyone who got hungry between meals, and many students used the room as somewhere to study or chat with their friends from other houses. Harry had never had any need to visit the room outside of mealtimes because he didn’t really have friends in other houses, and he had a meager enough appetite as it was. However, for the first time, he found himself sitting at an empty stretch of the Gryffindor table working on the homework he and Ron had ignored the day before. No matter the odd new truce they had formed the night before, he doubted Snape would let him off easy on the essay about the properties of elderberries and elderberry bark in medicinal potions just because he had been summarily and unwillingly inducted into a death tournament. He had his reference books and supplies spread out in front of him to discourage anyone getting too close, but he could hear the other students in the room whispering about him.

Irritatingly, word about his location had apparently spread as several people came to the Great Hall seemingly for the sole purpose of gawking at him. Harry could feel their stares and hear the buzzing of their conversations as they pointedly didn’t point at him from their seats. But, as Draco had expected, no one dared approach him.

After a couple hours, Hermione joined him for dinner, describing everything she had been working on in the library that afternoon. It was a bit of a confusing monologue because it seemed that she had been reading about the tournament’s history, the most commonly used defense spells, advanced defense spells specifically created for aurors, and the history of house elves simultaneously. However, Harry did his best to pay rapt attention to the convoluted explanation because the other Gryffindors usually left Hermione alone when she was on a research rant. Besides, he really was very interested in the cockatrice that had maimed three of the judges in the 1792 tournament.

Chapter End Notes

Fun fact: in my original draft, this was alternatively titled "He Didn't Kidnap Me (I Ran Away)" because I had planned for Harry to run away from Hogwarts after the first night. However, as I wrote, Harry just...didn't leave Hogwarts. Maybe he will at some point, but for now, it seems that the kid wants to stick around. Weird.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

As a reminder, anything that is bolded comes directly from the book.

The next several days were exhausting. The other students may have kept their distance on Sunday, but classes were a whole other matter. His year mates had no problem whispering snide comments to him as they passed his desk or laughing at him when he made a mistake in class (which with all the stress of everything was becoming far common than usual). He kept telling them all that he hadn’t entered, but they didn’t believe him.

The Gryffindors too were in a snit with him because by Tuesday evening, they had finally realized he was no longer living in the tower. Several assumed that he was getting extra perks that he wasn’t sharing with them, but the prefects had found out that the faculty had no knowledge of Harry’s new lodgings and alerted them. Professor McGonagall had sat him down for a very stern conversation about the importance of student safety and the protection the dormitories offered students. Harry had nodded along silently to her lecture then returned to his room without a word.

Despite their efforts, no one had been able to find his little room. He hadn’t even told Hermione where it was, despite her assertion that, according to Hogwarts: A History, students were not allowed to live outside of the designated dormitories.

Several people had tried to stalk him to find his room, but Harry had expected that. While he was still struggling to design his own wards, he had found a book with basic, predesigned rune strings. The one painted on the inside of his door kept it from being opened by anyone but him, and the runes he had painted onto the stones above his deserted corridor, small enough that no one would notice unless they too got on a broom and searched the ceilings, acted like the muggle repelling charm Mr. Weasley had told them about over the summer and kept everyone from noticing his corridor. Additionally, he never went anywhere without his invisibility cloak these days, so when he left his room each morning and returned each evening, it was always under the cloak so that no one could follow him. He simply appeared in the Entrance Hall each morning and disappeared from in front of the library each evening right before curfew. Unfortunately, this only infuriated the Gryffindors further.

With all of that boiling together, Harry was quite ready to hex them all by the time he trudged downstairs for Potions on Friday. Taking a secret passageway he had learned from the Marauders’ Map, he and Hermione beat the other Gryffindors to the dungeons and were faced with the Slytherins. Every one of them had a badge pinned to the front of their robes that read Support CEDRIC DIGGORY—the REAL Hogwarts Champion! The red letters glowed making them impossible to miss.

“Like them, Potter?” Draco asked. He had his head tilted arrogantly, but Harry caught his easily missed wink. “And this isn’t all they do—look!” He tapped the badge, and the letters changed green and reconfigured themselves to read POTTER STINKS. The Slytherins laughed loudly as if it really was a witty insult and not something a disgruntled toddler might come up with.

Next to him, Hermione was puffing up with rage, obviously about to give Draco a piece of her mind, but before she could, Harry butted in. “They’re brilliant! Think I could have one?”

The Slytherins stopped laughing and looked at him as if he had lost his marbles, which, to be fair, he might have. At this point, he just wanted to piss off everyone in the castle, and Draco had given him the perfect way.

“I mean, I do bathe regularly, so I’m pretty sure I don’t stink, but I absolutely agree with the rest of it. Have you got extras?”

Draco rolled his eyes so hard his entire head bobbled, but he dipped in hand in his bag and pulled out a badge that he flipped over in Harry’s direction. “What about you, Granger? Want one?” he asked Hermione.

She had one hand in front of her mouth, and to the Slytherins, it might have looked like she was shocked at their behavior, but Harry knew she was hiding a giggle. “Go on, Hermione,” Harry nudged as he pinned his new badge to be obnoxiously prominent on his chest. “It’s nothing I haven’t already been telling everyone. Except for the stinking thing. I smell great.”  He did. With no access to the dorm showers, Harry had skulked around the castle under his invisibility cloak until he found the prefect baths and listened in on a sixth year Ravenclaw prefect saying the password. There were some really great smelling soaps in there that he had been making liberal use of for the last week. Today he smelled like sandalwood, and while he wasn’t entirely sure what that was, he liked it.

“Oh, all right,” Hermione sighed and held a hand out for the badge Draco already had ready. By the time the rest of the Gryffindors joined them, Harry and Hermione both had their badged pinned to their robes, and most of the Slytherins had changed their badges to read POTTER STINKS as if they couldn’t bear to wear the same badge Harry did.

Ron’s face turned a mottled red to see the two Gryffindors wearing the Slytherin badges, but before he could say anything about them, Snape let them all into the classroom. The professor raised an eyebrow at the badges Harry and the Slytherins were wearing but said nothing.

The lesson on antidotes began, and Harry was taking diligent notes—for once, Snape was not angry at him, and he would rather like to keep it that way—but before they got very far into the lesson, there was a knock on the door. Colin Creevey stepped in and smiled widely at Harry before stepping up to the front of the room under Snape’s glare. The kid might be annoying, but Harry thought he was rather brave for getting that close to the dour Potions professor after interrupting class.

“Yes?” said Snape curtly.

“Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.”

The longer Snape stared at Colin, the more quickly the boy’s smile faded.

“Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”

“Sir—sir, Mr. Bagman wants him. All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs….”

Having a flashback of Colin following him all over the school second year to get pictures of him doing everything from flying around the quidditch pitch to eating dinner, Harry shivered. “If I’m not really a champion, do I have to go?” Harry piped up. “I’m very, very interested in learning about antidotes. What if I need to be able to make one for a task? That seems more important than photographs.”

Several students from both sides of the class snickered at him, and the corner of Snape’s mouth twitched up into a smirk instead of a glower. Harry’s stomach sank.

“On the contrary, Mr. Potter. A photographic record of this historic tournament is quite vital,” Snape taunted. “You’ll make up the practical portion of today’s lesson this evening after dinner. Now go on; we can’t keep Mr. Bagman waiting, now can we?”

“Can’t we?” Harry muttered only loud enough that Hermione could hear him from the next seat over. He took as much time as he possibly could collecting his things, but soon he could stall no longer, and Colin hurried him from the room.

He mostly tuned Colin out as they walked, only listening enough to hear that it was the Daily Prophet here taking pictures. Apparently, Hermione was right about everything, and this was going to be in the papers.

The room Colin led him to was small, another unused classroom—why were there so many unused classrooms in this school?—and it seemed that despite dragging his feet all the way from the dungeons, he was not the last to arrive. The other champions were already there, Fleur and Cedric chatting while Viktor slouched in a corner, but there were only three adults in the room while there were chairs set up for at least two more. Mr. Bagman was there, but Harry didn’t recognize the brightly dressed witch he was talking to or the man near her with the smoking camera.

Before Harry could join Viktor, Bagman noticed him in the doorway. “Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come…nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—”

Harry wasn’t sure how the weight of his wand had anything to do with the tournament, but he was distracted from Bagman’s explanation of the little ceremony by the distinctly predatory look the blonde witch next to him was giving him. She looked rather like she wanted to sink her crimson claws into him. Bagman introduced her and Rita Skeeter, and Harry recognized the name of the woman that had been smearing Mr. Weasley in the paper since the World Cup. He didn’t bother hiding his frown.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start? The youngest champion you know…to add a bit of color?”

“I’m not a champion,” Harry said, and finally the adults seemed to notice the badge he wore. Carefully, he edged around Bagman and Skeeter further into the room and towards the champions who were all watching him curiously. “If you’ll excuse me—”

As he tried to make his getaway, a hand caught his arm in a tight grip. The woman’s long, painted nails were actually quite painful. “Now, now, Harry, it’s just a quick interview. My readers are very interested in—”

Harry yanked himself free and hoped Skeeter’s very sharp nails hadn’t damaged his sleeve. This woman was terrifying, and he considered hiding behind Viktor who had come closer during the exchange. “No, I don’t want to do an interview. I’m really very boring. Cedric would be much better! He’s the Hogwarts champion, you know, and a prefect and the Hufflepuff quidditch captain. Much more interesting than me. Excuse me!” He practically ran to where the three other teens now stood together. He inserted himself between Viktor and Cedric—it was the furthest spot from the glaring reporter, and as both boys were much taller and broader than him, Harry felt nicely shielded. They all gave him a look reminiscent of the Slytherins when he had put on his badge.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“You need training in media relations, Harry,” Viktor growled. Cedric snorted at the blunt words and even Fleur smiled a little, though she pursed her lips to try to hide it.

“I’m fourteen,” Harry whined. “I shouldn’t have need to deal with the media.”

“However, I have a feeling that this will not be the last time you must talk to reporters,” Fleur said. She narrowed her eyes at him then flicked her wand. A curtain of magic surrounded the four of them, making the adults outside their circle look blurry. “They cannot hear us now. Viktor says that you did not enter the tournament willingly. Is this true?”

Harry nodded fervently. “I swear I didn’t. I was looking forward to watching, not participating.”

“Yes, you’re making that very clear,” Cedric said. He flicked the badge on his chest, which had the unfortunate effect of changing the words to POTTER STINKS. Harry grimaced and quickly changed it back while the others laughed at him—or in Viktor’s case, smiled enough to look somewhat friendly. Fleur flicked her wand again and the magic separating them from Bagman and the others fell away just as Dumbledore, Karkaroff, and Madam Maxime walked in with Mr. Ollivander, the wandmaker.

It turned out that the wand weighing was not a wand weighing at all but rather a wand testing. Ollivander inspected each of their wands in turn before declaring them all fit for the competition. Harry was a little disappointed that Ollivander hadn’t decreed that his wand was unfit and therefore he was out of the competition. However, on second thought, they might have just made him get a new wand rather than letting him off.

Harry hoped that they were done then, but Bagman insisted on photographs. The group photos were difficult to stage what with Madam Maxime’s tall stature, Viktor’s camera shyness, the unnamed cameraman’s obsession with Fleur, and Skeeter’s obsession with Harry.

Then they insisted on individual shots too. Viktor and Cedric’s were rushed through, and the cameraman seemed quite happy to turn the whole thing into a photoshoot just for Fleur. Eventually, though, Skeeter elbowed the part-Veela out of the way and dragged Harry in for his pictures. Harry made sure that his badge was pinned high enough that they couldn’t easily crop it out. Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric smirked at him from behind the photographer’s shoulder, and in the end, Harry had a matching smirk in most of the resulting images.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry watched Snape at the professors’ table that evening at dinner, and as soon as the man stood to leave, Harry gathered up his things to follow after him. Had it been only a few weeks earlier, Snape likely would have just given him a zero for the practical portion of that day’s lesson, but instead, he had given Harry the opportunity to make the grade up by brewing the potion privately. Potions wasn’t his best subject, but he was determined to give the professor nothing to complain about this evening, so punctuality was important. Snape was obviously surprised to see Harry arriving so promptly, but he said nothing about it. Instead, he waved Harry over to a workstation at the front of the classroom—far from the one Harry usually skulked at in the back row of desks—and told Harry he would have one hour to finish the assigned antidote.

Collecting the ingredients quickly, Harry got to work, eager for perhaps the first time since he had walked into this classroom as an eleven-year-old, all bright-eyed and optimistic because magic.

He thought things were going quite well for once. He double and triple checked each set of instructions, using a spare pencil he had borrowed off Hermione to place a small tick in the margins next to each numbered step. He checked the temperature of the liquid simmering in the cauldron frequently, as the footnotes on the recipe suggested. This particular antidote had to be kept at a low temperature until just before the very last step when the powdered charcoal was added. However, Harry had a bad habit of accidentally leaking magic into the flame beneath his cauldron and overheating his brew. Tonight, though, he was careful, checking his thermometer between each step. He finished decanting the antidote into a clean vial just as the timer on Snape’s desk rang and Snape snapped his book shut.

Harry was particularly proud of the brew. It was a nice, light blue like his textbook said it should be, and it even had the shimmer described. It was a little thick, but all in all, he thought it was alright. With only a little trepidation, Harry set the vial on Snape’s desk.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him before reluctantly picking up the vial. Holding it up to the light, he tilted the vial. “The color is off,” he said first. “It should be a light cornflower blue, but this is a much brighter cerulean. Also, the consistency is wrong. The viscosity should be that of juice or a thick broth, but this is practically a syrup. The patient would be more likely to choke on it than be healed by it.”

Waiting in front of Snape’s desk, Harry’s shoulders slumped, and he glared down at his feet. This was why he didn’t put much effort into this class anymore. No matter how hard he had tried at the beginning, he had never been able to get his potions up to Snape’s standard, and eventually he had given up on excelling. Ron seemed completely uninterested in the subject, so the two of them happily slacked off together under Hermione’s critical gaze.

“Potter, you’re not actually an imbecile. Why is it that you so rarely hand in a well-done potion?”

Harry’s head snapped up to meet Snape’s gaze. “What?”

Snape’s upper lip curled, but only barely. “Your homework is well-written when you bother to put in the effort instead of copying and rewording Miss Granger’s tangent-filled ramblings.” He paused, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a scroll of parchment. When he unfurled it, Harry was shocked to see his own most recent essay, the one on the medicinal properties of elderberries. It was covered in red ink and comments, but there were fewer bleeding marks on it than usual, and right there at the top was a crisp EE. “There were parts you could have expanded on, and your handwriting and grammar are nearly as atrocious as they were three years ago, but you have all the necessary and relevant facts, and you even made some interesting insights. Nothing groundbreaking, of course, but still several steps ahead of most of your peers.

“I began to think that you had turned over a new leaf, but then you come into my classroom and present me with this.” He waggled the vial with its sticky, too-bright concoction. “And I find myself once more disappointed at your lackluster performance.”

Harry had to bite down the outraged words he wanted to spit at the professor. He had tried! He did his best! And Harry was sure his potion hadn’t turned out worse that everyone else’s had. At least a few other students had to have struggled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he finally managed to mumble without too much anger in his voice. To keep himself from snarling at his professor, he was once more glaring at his own toes. “I’m not sure where it went wrong.”

“Well, that’s hardly a riddle is it? Your poor ingredient preparation is what caused this mess.”

Harry was at a loss for words. He just stared at the professor. Ingredient preparation? That had been the only part of potions making that he was confident in. He had been cooking for the Dursleys for as long as he could remember, and chopping ingredients in the kitchen was really no different from chopping them in the classroom.

Was it?

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir,” he said.

Snape rolled his eyes so hard his head actually moved. “Of course you don’t. Potter, potions require precision. If you refuse to prepare the ingredients as instructed, your potions will never turn out properly. Now, if that is everything, please clear your station and go—”

“But, sir,” Harry said, his frustration finally leaking into his words. “You never taught us most of the terms the textbook uses, and the book doesn’t explain them either. I’ve tried, but how am I supposed to get it right if you don’t help us?”

“Do I have to hold your hand while you brew now? Just because you didn’t do the reading—”

“You didn’t assign any on preparation techniques!”

“You will cease interrupting me, Mr. Potter! Those techniques were all discussed in detail in your supplementary texts, but of course you couldn’t be bothered to read what wasn’t assigned, and I won’t be held responsible for your laziness.”

Harry froze. He wanted to be angry at the dour man who had finally stood from his desk so he could yell at Harry. And he was angry that the man seemed to have forgotten that night from only a couple weeks ago, when he and Draco had treated him with something like compassion. But mostly, Harry was confused.

“What supplementary texts?”

Snape froze. “What do you mean, ‘what supplementary texts?’” he said. His voice was low and threatening.

“I mean that the only books I was told to get for this class were One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Magical Drafts and Potions.”

Snape lowered himself into his seat slowly. Then, with an alarmingly human groan of frustration, he leaned forward with his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. He seemed to be breathing very carefully, as if it took all of his concentration.

Harry made himself wait a full minute before verbally nudging Snape. “Er, professor?”

Snape did not answer, merely pulling one hand from his face and holding up a finger in a ‘wait’ gesture.

As the silence stretched on, Harry shifted awkwardly. Eventually, too uncomfortable just standing there staring at the man, he moved to his workstation and began clearing everything away. He cleaned his potions knife and put in its case. Then he washed the class-issued cutting board and returned it to the cabinet where they were all stored, a teetering pile of different sized planks on a high shelf. It was only after he had washed his cauldron and stirring rod and was returning them to his assigned cubby space on the back wall that Professor Snape ended his statue impersonation.

“Mr. Potter. I’m going to list off some books, and I want to know which of them you’ve heard of.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed.

“An Introduction to Magic for Muggleborns and Their Parents.”

“No.”

“A Muggleborn’s Guide to Household Spells.”

“No.”

“Ministry, Customs, and Currency of Wizarding Britain: For the New Arrival.”

“No.”

“Astrology to Zoology: A Study of the Diverse Branches of Magical Knowledge.”

“No.”

“Everything You Need to Know About Potions Before You Touch a Cauldron.”

“Er, no.”

Snape collapsed backwards into his seat. His slumped posture was quite strange to see on such a collected man. However, the way his fist trembled on the arm of his chair showed that he was anything but relaxed. “Sir?”

“I owe you an apology, Potter.”

Severus watched the boy who was openly gaping at him like a confused fish. Had the circumstanced been different, and if he were a different man, he might have laughed. As it was, only his tight hold on his emotions kept him from marching upstairs and berating the headmaster so loudly they heard it down in Hogsmeade.

“I’m sorry. I should have thought about this before when you mentioned that you were raised by your aunt,” he continued.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Severus pursed his lips as he considered the right way to tell the child what he was only now realizing. Finally, he decided that the blunt truth might be best.

“Potter, Hogwarts is a respected institution on the global scale. That means that students are expected to have a certain amount of knowledge before they enter their classes. For those raised in the wizarding world, that means they have tutors or are homeschooled. For muggleborns and other students raised in the muggle world, like yourself, they are given supplementary texts and a school contact who can answer any question they might have. These resources are meant to put them on track with their peers, as much as possible. They should be prepared for their classes and able to navigate the world around them.”

“But I didn’t get any of those.” The boy was frowning but obviously hadn’t caught on to Severus’s point yet.

“No, you did not. The wizarding world has always been interested in you, as you no doubt saw when you arrived, but no one really knew where you were. Dumbledore assured everyone that you were being raised by relatives and that you were receiving the best education possible. In fact, he told me personally that you were being trained to be face the Dark Lord when he returned again.”

Potter began to look a little sick. “But I didn’t know anything about magic before Hagrid came to get me. I didn’t—they told me I was a freak!” The boy’s cheeks were painted with spots of red, and his fists were tight at his sides. “Why would the headmaster talk to everyone about me like that?”

He was getting closer.

“There are two options I can think of,” Severus said. “Either it was an innocent mistake on his part leaving those books off your list, and he truly thought you were being loved, cared for, and trained, or . . . .”

“. . . Or he knew what was happening, and he did it on purpose,” Potter whispered.

“Indeed.”

Potter slumped into a chair behind the desk he had been working at, unconsciously mirroring Severus’s own position. When Potter finally spoke, his voice was brittle. It was a tone Severus recognized well; the tone of someone realizing that they had been betrayed by someone they trusted. “I told him once, you know. About the Dursleys and how they hate magic and they hate me. He told me that going back was for my protection.” He spit the word out like it had burned his tongue. “He told me that they were my family, so they loved me and would miss me if I didn’t return.”

Severus fell into a coughing fit. He couldn’t imagine Petunia actually loving anyone, let alone a magical child.

“I didn’t believe him, of course, but I didn’t think I had a choice. Besides, when I ran away last year, the minister found me right away.”

“Well. That won’t be happening again. Petunia’s home is certainly no place for you. In the meantime, though, you need to be brought up to scratch. I’m assuming Albus purposely left the extra texts off your lists, I’ll order them myself and give them to you. They aren’t long or particularly difficult—they are geared to be understood by eleven-year-olds and muggles, after all—so I expect you to have them all read by the end of the winter holidays, understood?”

Harry nodded so quickly his neck hurt a little. In fact, he was actually looking forward to the readings. He had enjoyed reading when he was younger, if only because the library was a guaranteed Dursley-free zone, but this was more than a simple curiosity or form of escapism. Since he had come to Hogwarts, Harry had felt like he was a few steps behind everyone else. He had usually done well enough in his classes, but in the more complex classes like Transfiguration and Charms, it felt like he was trying to put together a puzzle he had no guide for, like he was missing the basic understanding everyone around him just intuitively carried with them.

He had initially put it down to being from the muggle world, but Hermione and the other muggleborns didn’t seem to have the same issue. In fact, it was often Hermione lecturing him about the goings on of the wizarding world. Harry had just assumed it was because she went above and beyond in her research habits. Now, though, he would finally be on the same page as everyone else.

There was just one thing still confusing him.

“Sir, why are you helping me? Is it because you knew my mother?”

Snape winced, just slightly. Harry had been wanting to ask Snape about her since that first night when Snape had waved him off, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up yet. Bluntly throwing it at the man probably wasn’t the best way to have said it, but no one every claimed Harry had much tact to begin with.

“Partly,” Snape allowed when he had composed himself, but he didn’t continue.

Harry waited, but when it became obvious that Snape wouldn’t go on, he had to press. “Can you tell me about her?”

To his surprise, Snape seemed to actually be considering it. “Fine, but not here. I will not have some bumbling student wander in.” He led Harry once again to his own quarters, through Raginald’s portrait, and to the comfortable little couch Harry had dozed on last time. “Sit,” he ordered.

Harry sat. He wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.

After Snape had settled himself in the armchair, he finally looked Harry in the eye. “What would you like to know about her?”

Chapter End Notes

By the way, let me know if there are any important tags you think are missing.

Chapter 8

That evening, Snape had told Harry all about the Lily Evans he had known when he was a child, the one he had attended school with and been friends with. He mentioned that their friendship had come to an end due to a poor choice he had made while they were still at school, but he hadn’t gone further into detail on what that was, and Harry hadn’t pushed. He was happy enough with the information he had been given.

Lily’s favorite color was a sharp, lime green, “for some unfathomable reason,” according to Snape.

Lily hadn’t actually cared much for lilies, and she swore her favorite flowers were dandelions, even when her mother despaired over the seeds her daughter would blow all over their scraggly little lawn.

Lily had a horrid sweet tooth, and after Snape had introduced her to the things a year before they started Hogwarts, she could almost always be found with a couple sugar quills in her bag.

Lily loved poetry and had given Snape a book of silly poems for his thirteenth birthday because, according to Lily, he needed more laughter in his life.

Lily loved flying, high and fast, but she didn’t care for quidditch at all, so she refused to play, even when the quidditch captain spent weeks their third year begging her to try out for the seeker position.

Lily always had her fingernails painted in bright, absurd colors, and a particularly strict DADA professor had given her detention every time he saw her “unbecoming” nails for nearly an entire month before he gave up.

Lily had a terrible singing voice, but she always sang along with the radio, and she sang most loudly along with the Beatles and the Monkees.

On and on the stories and random facts had gone, and Harry reveled in them. Over the course of a couple hours, the flat image Harry had had in his head of Lily Potter nee Evans had fleshed out into an actual person.

Everyone was always happy to tell Harry about James, and Harry was happy to hear about him, but no one every really told him anything about Lily except that Harry had her eyes. His earliest memory was of her dying for him, but he hadn’t known anything real about her besides her dying words until this very evening.

Eventually, as curfew drew near, Snape waved Harry out of his quarters and sent him to bed with a stern “Goodnight, Harry.” The look he gave Harry told the boy that he knew Harry wasn’t returning to the Gryffindor dorms, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it yet.

In his room, Harry found an owl waiting for him with a letter from Sirius asking him to meet him in the Gryffindor common room on the 22nd. Harry wasn’t pleased that he would have to return to Gryffindor, but he would figure it out later. First, he had to figure out what to do about the first task.

According to Hermione, the first task was always different. The second task always involved having to solve a clue, and the third task was usually some sort of race, but the first task could be anything, including a duel between the champions.

“You’re sure they didn’t let any clues slip?” Hermione pressed, again, while the were tucked at their usual table. Viktor occasionally joined them, but Hermione tended to get huffy when his contingent of fangirls showed up, so he couldn’t stay for long.

The Bulgarian seeker always looked reluctant to leave, and Harry had teased Hermione once that maybe Viktor liked her more than as just a study buddy. Hermione had rolled her eyes and argued back that maybe Viktor was actually looking at him as more than just a fellow competitor. Harry’s thoughts had stuttered to a halt at the idea. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant. He didn’t think Viktor was his type, but he also wasn’t sure what his type was. The burly quidditch player wasn’t exactly off-putting though, once you got past his gruff attitude. Hermione had smirked at him the whole day, and every time she caught his eye, he had flushed an unflattering red.

“No, as Viktor and I both told you, all we know is that they want to test our daring. If Cedric or Fleur have figured anything out, they haven’t told us.” He turned another page in the runes textbook in front of him.

Harry was quite hoping he could use runes in the first task. He was borrowing Hermione’s runes textbook from last year and was flying through the practices with an eager determination. It was only thanks to Hermione’s reminders that he was finishing his other homework on time. He had moved on from relying on premade strings to making his own basic strings. There was now one over the door and window in his little room that kept the room temperature controlled. He was considering adding some runes to the frames of his glasses so Hermione wouldn’t feel the need to fix them each year, but they were so battered at this point that he wasn’t sure it was worth making them unbreakable. He wondered if there was a magical optometrist that he could visit on the next Hogsmeade weekend so he could get a new pair.

Hermione practically growled. “How do they expect you to prepare if they don’t give you any information?”

“I expect that’s rather the point, Granger. As the champions should already know everything they need to pass, they shouldn’t really have to prepare, should they?”

Both Harry and Hermione jumped at the voice and swiveled to face Draco who was leisurely approaching their table. He still had his badge, though now it was pinned on his school bag rather than his chest, and he winked at Harry as he pressed it to proclaim POTTER STINKS. Harry childishly stuck his tongue out at his once-rival. The bubbles he had used the evening before were meant to smell of cucumber and aloe. Harry didn’t like it as much as some of the other scents he had tried, but he certainly didn’t stink.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Hermione asked. She had realized that the antagonism between him and Harry was gone now (though Harry hadn’t ever actually explained why), but she was still not fond of the blond boy.

“Nothing,” Draco said, with an absurd expression of innocence. “However, Professor Snape has asked me to fetch Potter.”

Hermione looked at Harry in confusion when he started packing up his things without argument. He waved off her concern without an explanation. “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Several people stopped to stare at Harry and Draco walking amicably side by side on their way out of the library, and Madam Pince wore an uncomplimentary expression of relief to see them on their way. Harry hadn’t thought the two of them together were that destructive.

Once they were out in the hallway and alone, Harry asked, “So, do you know why Snape wants to see me?”

“I really don’t. He wants to see both of us though. He sent me the note about it at breakfast.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “We’ve had two classes together today. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have actually prepared.”

“Would it have made a difference?” Draco gave Harry’s messy hair, year-old robes, and hanging muggle clothes a critical look. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think we’re in trouble, for once.”

“Oh.”

They walked in companionable silence for several minutes, the odd passing student hurrying out of their way as if the two of them might explode at any second. Only when they began to descend into the dungeons and Slytherin territory did Draco break the quiet.

“I heard a rumor,” he began. Harry thought the nonchalance on his face looked a little more strained than usual. “I heard that you aren’t staying in the Gryffindor dorms anymore.”

“Er, no. I’m not.”

Professor McGonagall had been giving him concerned looks about it all week, but Harry had outright refused to return to his dormitory or confess where he was currently living the second time she had brought it up. His refusal had been so vehement that she hadn’t approached him outside of class since.

“Well, where are you staying?”

“Why do you care, Draco? Are you worried for me?” he teased.

“I don’t care,” Draco sniffed. “I just want to know if it’s nicer than my dormitory.”

“Ha, I doubt it. I bet it’s warmer, though. It’s chilly under the lake, and your common room doesn’t have nearly enough fireplaces.”

Harry stumbled into Draco when the blond boy froze on the second to last stair. Slowly, Draco swiveled to stare at him, and Harry realized his mistake. “I mean—”

“How do you know what our common room looks like?”

“Well, you see . . . .”

Draco was fuming when he stormed into Severus’s office, Harry following behind the blond sheepishly.

“He has invaded the sanctity of the Slytherin common room!” Draco bellowed with an accusing finger aimed at Harry.

“I see,” Severus said, ignoring Harry’s mumblings about ‘Draco’ and ‘dramatics’. “Is that where you’ve been staying then instead of your school-assigned bed?”

“Er, no. This was a while ago.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, mussing his shaggy hair even more than it already was.

“He used Polyjuice!”

That was a far more dangerous accusation in light of the missing ingredients from Severus’s stores, and his eyes narrowed on the guilty-looking boy. “Is that so? Boomslang skin has recently gone missing from my stores as well as several other key ingredients for Polyjuice potion. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Genuine confusion twisted the boy’s features though. “What? No, this was years ago, like I said.”

“Tell me.”

Harry shifted uneasily. “Are you allowed to take points for something that happened in a different term? Or assign detentions?”

“That depends entirely on how bad your explanation is.”

By the time Harry had finished spilling his story, Severus rather wished he had taken the job offer in Iceland he gotten a few years back if only so he could have remained ignorant of this boy and his poorly thought-out plans. “So, after getting your friend turned into a hybrid cat, getting yourselves lost, and getting nearly caught multiple times, did you learn anything useful?”

“Only that literally everyone in this school has a really low opinion of Crabbe and Goyle’s level of intelligence and that Draco was as clueless as we were.”

“Hey!”

“You were!”

“Boys!”

Severus rubbed at his temples, and the boys mumbled their unfelt apologies.

“Didn’t you even think to do some reconnaissance before taking the potion?” he asked the boy. “Even something as simple as finding out where the Slytherin common room is or the regular habits and pets of the people you were impersonating?”

“We were more focused on keeping the potion from being found in the girls’ toilet, honestly.”

Dear god, this boy would never pass as any sort of a spy. Severus wasn’t sure if that was worrying or a comfort.

“We’re tabling this discussion for now, but rest assured that we will be returning to it in the future.” Severus said. Someday when I have fortified myself with stronger occlumency shields and some hard liquor. “Now, moving on. Harry, these came for you this morning.” He pushed a pile of thin informational books forward on his desk. He had included all the books he had told Harry about several evenings before as well as a few others he usually recommended to new students when he was sent to contact muggleborns. He would be eternally grateful if Harry would pay special attention to the guide on quill care and penmanship. Harry’s handwriting wasn’t the worst in the school, but it was a near thing, and he had more than once gotten a headache trying to trudge through the chicken scratch.

“Wicked!” Harry grinned, pulling the books toward him and sorting through them immediately. “Thanks! How much do I owe you?”

Severus felt his eyebrow twitch without his permission. “Don’t worry about reimbursing me. This was an error on the school’s part, not yours. Therefore the school shall foot the bill.”

Harry stopped his perusal of the books to look Severus. His expression was pinched. “Are you sure? I have money.”

“Quite sure. I’ve included the catalogues for Flourish and Blotts as well as a few other less well-known bookshops in case you are interested in ordering any other books.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, as for why I’ve called you both down. Harry, I know your knowledge of the workings of magical Britain is somewhat lacking,” an understatement of epic proportions, “but are you aware that you stand to inherit a seat in the Wizengamot?”

Harry stared at him blankly. “The Wizengamot is like Parliament, isn’t it, sir?”

“Yes. The Potter family has had a seat for the last century and a half, and when you turn seventeen, you will legally be able to claim that seat. If it is left unclaimed for more than a year, your family will lose it.”

“But then, shouldn’t we have lost it already?” Harry asked. “It’s been thirteen years since there was a Potter old enough to claim it.”

“No, it’s been held in reserve. Your grandfather died of dragonpox only seven months before your parents were killed. I would guess that your father was hoping that the war would end before his time to claim the seat ran out. If it didn’t, he likely would have come out of hiding to claim it even if he went back into hiding again later.”

“Okay. But what does this have to do with me now? Can I use it to get out of the tournament? And why does Draco need to be here for this?”

“No, I doubt it could be used to get you exempted from the tournament.” Severus would have to look into idea, though, because he was following any and all possible leads to keep Harry safe from the machinations of whatever scheme was currently in motion. “Most of those with seats in the Wizengamot are trained for it from a very young age. The Malfoys also have a seat, and Draco has been learning law, politics, and proper etiquette since he was eight years old. You are behind.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a book in one of these catalogs that can teach me everything, is there.”

“Certainly not,” Severus chuckled. “You will need many, many books to learn what all you will need to know. However, certain kinds of knowledge can’t be taught solely from books.”

“Don’t tell Hermione that.”

Severus ignored him. “That is why I propose that you allow Draco to teach you what he has learned so far to help prepare you.” The two teens had been surprisingly nonconfrontational since Halloween. Severus quite liked the peace it afforded him. On top of that, though, it seemed they could actually be good friends if they had the chance. Spending more time working together would only encourage that, and he wanted only the best for both of them, though he would never admit it to either of them.

Besides Harry really did need to learn all of this. Once Draco had taught Harry all he could, Severus would have to find Harry another tutor. Perhaps Lucius, if the man was amenable, but Severus wasn’t sure he trusted the man with Harry just yet.

“That’s a lot that he’s going to need to learn, and I haven’t learned everything yet,” Draco said. His voice shook a little. “Maybe someone older would be a better teacher.” A lack of self-confidence was not usually one of Draco’s weaknesses, but he looked actually daunted at that moment.

“Nonsense.” Severus wouldn’t let his godson’s nervousness to hinder any of them. “You’ve learned as much as any of your older peers, and there are no adults in the castle with the training and knowledge necessary. Unless you would recommend the headmaster for the task?”

Draco grimaced. His family’s dislike of Albus was not a secret, and Severus knew Draco wouldn’t entrust his new friend to the headmaster for all his gold.

“Fine,” Draco conceded. “But if you’re going to be taking over as an official head of the family, you’re going to need to know a lot more than just politics. You need to understand finances too, as well as basic conversation and etiquette.”

“Er . . . .”

“Thank you for proving my point.”

“Shut up! I mean—ugh. I don’t know if I even want to be a politician my whole life.”

“It’s not meant to be a full-time job,” Draco said. “For a lot of members, the ones belonging to wealthy families that have had seats forever, it is their only job, but the Wizengamot only meets twice a month. Of course, you have to do some work outside of those meetings, especially if you’re planning to propose a new law, and there are occasional criminal trials that the Wizengamot oversees, but you can have another job too, if you want one.

“Besides, with the standing and public presence you’ll have as head of the Potter family and the standing you have as the Boy-Who-Lived, basic manners are a necessity.” Severus had to cover a smirk at the acidic look Harry sent Draco at the boy’s assessment, but Draco seemed hardly affected by it at all. “You know I’m right.”

Harry looked away and grumbled something so quietly that neither Severus nor Draco could make it out. “What was that?” Severus asked.

Harry huffed, and Severus wasn’t sure the boy was going to repeat himself. But after another moment of shuffling and sighing, he said, only slightly louder than before, “Does it count as being the head of the family if there’s no one else left?”

It was a melancholy question, and Severus didn’t have an answer for it. Technically, he was a Prince, but because he had never known the family or received the proper training, their Wizengamot seat had been absorbed and redistributed. He was pretty sure it had gone to the ministry for a mid-level department head. However, he was still technically the head of the Prince family. He had several crumbling houses he had no idea what to do with and the severely depleted Prince bank account at Gringotts. He hardly ever touched it, but it still contained more galleons than he made in five years with his teaching and freelance potion sales combined. Despite the galleons, the houses, and the occasional extremely distant cousin offering unsolicited advice, Severus didn’t feel like his position as head of the Prince family had any real meaning.

Luckily, Severus didn’t have the chance the answer because Draco beat him to it. “Of course it does! In fact, it’s more important now than ever. You plan to get married and have kids, right?”

A bizarre expression crossed Harry’s face. Surely marriage wasn’t a foreign concept to the boy.

“I’ve always wanted a big family,” he admitted softly. “So, yeah, I guess.”

“Well, the choices you make will affect all your descendants too. Because you’re the only Potter, for now, you get to choose the direction you take your family. There’s no one to argue against you or to try to take control. You great-grandchildren will look back to you and ask themselves what you would do and what you would want them to do. They’ll carry your values on shape the future of wizarding Britain.” He paused as if he was only just realizing how glorifying Harry’s freedom sounded when Harry had no family to rely on at all. His pale cheeks pinked slightly, but he pushed on. “It’s not ideal, of course. It’s not a burden a teenager should have to carry. But it makes you so powerful. A force for change, if you want it. A force of good.”

Harry’s breath was shuddery, and he crossed his thin arms tight over his stomach. He seemed to be holding himself for comfort, and Severus hoped the boy didn’t start crying. Severus never knew what to do with crying people. Even when Draco had been an infant with fairly simple needs and emotions, tears sent Severus practically running out of the room.

Draco didn’t seem to be any surer of what to do for Harry. One pale hand was slightly raised as if to offer physical comfort, but he wasn’t touching Harry, and he looked hesitant to actually initiate contact.

Thankfully, for all their sakes, Harry pulled himself together. “Okay, fine,” he said, shaking himself. “I’ll learn . . . all that stuff. I’m not committing to taking the Potter seat in a few years, but I want to learn everything I might need to know, just in case.”

Severus wasn’t sure why he breathed a sigh of relief, and he hoped the boys didn’t notice the gust.

“Good. We’ll start with finances,” Draco said decisively. “It’s a vital part of every governmental decision, and you can practice on your own finances to start with.”

“Er, okay. Whatever you say, Professor Malfoy.”

“I suppose I will be arranging an outing to Gringotts for the three of us, shall I?” Severus asked dryly. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected his godson to take charge once he accepted the assignment, but he would like it if Draco remembered that he really was only a fourteen-year-old boy who did not actually have the power to order anyone about.

“Yes, please, Severus,” Draco said. “And if we’re training Harry to be presentable at the ministry, we should probably make a whole day of it. Harry is in dire need of a new wardrobe.”

All three of them looked down at Harry’s drab, baggy clothes. His t-shirt threatened to fall off his left shoulder, and his trousers would have slid straight off were it not for the leather belt cinched tight at his waist. The ever-present cracked, muggle sneakers were on his feet, and Severus could see Harry’s socked toe peeking out through one of the many holes. Harry’s cheeks were red, but he looked nearly as disgusted by his clothes as Draco was.

“I’ll get clearance for this weekend,” Severus assured them both.

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry and Draco were both told to meet Snape in his quarters that Saturday at eight o’clock sharp. In order to get a Gringotts appointment at such short notice, the appointment had to be first thing in the morning. While it was a Hogsmeade weekend, the three of them would be leaving the castle while the rest of the school was still at breakfast or, in the case of several students, still in bed. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” Snape said when the two still-sleepy boys shuffled into his quarters, though he didn’t sound particularly regretful. “I do hope neither of you had any pressing plans.”

Harry didn’t mention the meeting he had with Sirius late that evening, so he merely shook his head. He doubted Snape would want to hear about his school rival, and it wasn’t like the two meetings would conflict.

Draco, though, had no issue with a little complaining. He was, apparently, not a morning person, though he looked sort of adorable wrapped up snuggly in his thick cloak. “I’m missing breakfast for this Severus!” he whined pitifully. Harry doubted the other boy had ever missed a meal in his life.

“You will hardly expire because you missed your morning tea, Draco. However, we will stop for a late breakfast after collecting Harry’s records at the bank. I assume that correcting his wardrobe will be a lengthy endeavor that we will all need sustenance for.”

Harry flushed and looked away without responding. It wasn’t his fault the Dursleys never gave him anything more that the worst of Dudley’s old clothes or that Dudley wasn’t exactly kind to his clothes in the first place.

“Harry,” Snape called his name to bring his attention back to the two of them waiting patiently by the door. Harry had noticed that Snape had been using his first name since the night they spoke about Lily, and he wondered if he should be calling Snape by his first name like Draco did. However, the idea of doing so without explicit permission was too intimidating.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you’re ready, we will be going now.” Snape led the two of them through the halls at a quick clip. With almost everyone at breakfast, and Snape taking the more unknown passages, there was no one to notice their exit from the castle. None of them spoke again until they were out on the grounds and walking down the path to the front gate.

“Have you read any of the books I brought you yet, Harry?” Snape asked.

Harry was quick to nod. “Yes, sir! I’ve finished An Introduction to Magic for Muggleborns and Their Parents, and I’ve started both Ministry, Customs, and Currency and the potions book.” He was thrilled to finally have an answer to so many of the basic questions he had felt were too stupid to ask earlier.

For example, he had wondered for years why Charms and Transfiguration weren’t lumped together when quite often they seemed to intersect. Now, though, he knew that transfiguration magic changed an object, person, or animal on a molecular level. Harry hadn’t even known wizards knew about molecules. So when McGonagall had changed her desk into a pig that first day, it wasn’t a desk that looked like a pig, it was a pig that just happened to have once been a desk. If someone had slaughtered it, cooked it, and served it to them, it would have been the same as eating any other piece of pork or bacon, if less nutritionally rich considering that the pig had never eaten anything. Meanwhile charms simply altered aspects of the object or person. Sometimes, charms didn’t even change the object itself but the environment around it or even simply everyone’s perception of the object.

He had also skimmed through the other books, but he hadn’t had time to do much more than take stock of their tables of contents in the few days since Snape had delivered the books to him. He was kind of frustrated that he hadn’t had access to Astrology to Zoology: A study of the Diverse Branches of Magical Knowledge his second year. It would have made choosing his electives much easier and more productive had he actually had an idea of what he was getting into. While he was happy with his choice to take Care of Magical Creatures—blast-ended skrewts notwithstanding—divination had little application outside of school unless you really had a gift as a seer.

He would have made more progress in the books—avoiding the common room allowed a surprisingly significant portion of time to be left for studying—had it not been for the upcoming task. It was set for the 24th, which was only three days away, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t starting to panic. He still had no idea what the task would be and, as far as he knew, none of the others did either. Viktor hypothesized that either they would be attacked or they would have to attack someone or something else, so the two of them had gotten permission to borrow the Charms classroom in the evenings and practice both offensive and defensive magic.

Their practices proved to Harry just how far behind the others—or Viktor, at least—he was in terms of skill and knowledge. When they were practicing against each other, Viktor gave him a chance. He would slow down his movements and occasionally pause to show Harry some spell or another. However, when they practiced against the dummies Flitwick kept for dueling practices, Viktor held nothing back. A simple flick of his wrist, he beheaded two dummies at once. A sickly yellow spell sent stuffing spewing from the dummies’ torsos. Wide slashes from Viktor’s wand left the dummies in scraps across the floor.

Flitwick was surprisingly cheerful about the destruction and would sometimes pop in on their sessions to give tips and general advice before waving his wand at the defeated dummies and putting them back together again. They looked only a little worse for wear.

Harry was happiest to have learned the shield spell from their sessions. It was the only thing Viktor had forced him to practice over and over again until he got it right. If nothing else, Harry figured he could cast a good protego around himself during the task and wait it out.

Despite the fact that Harry hadn’t been able to get through all of the books yet, Snape seemed pleased with his progress, even if his only acknowledgement of it was a nod. “I recommend you also prioritize Perfect Penmanship and Quick Quill Care. While not a required text for muggleborns, it is one I always recommend, and your penmanship in particular could use some work.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry ducked, chastised.

“There is no need to look so put out, Harry. It is not your fault no one ever corrected you before now.”

“I feel like I should have realized what I was missing before now,” Harry said. “I’ve had four years to learn more about the wizarding world, and everyone expects me to know as much as they do, but I didn’t even think about doing the research. I mean, Hermione was always reading something, and she knew so much. Whatever I didn’t know, I figured she or Ron would fill in the gaps.” However, both his friends seemed to expect everyone around them to know as much as they did, so they usually didn’t realize just how many gaps Harry needed filled. Plus, he was realizing more and more how unfair it was to put that expectation on them. He still wasn’t talking to Ron, but he had apologized to Hermione about it. She had just waved him off.

“To be fair,” Draco butted into Harry’s self-recrimination, “you do seem to have been fairly busy trying not to die.”

“Which is not something a student should have to struggle with while at school,” Snape agreed. “You have spent much of your time at school focusing on learning what would save your life. While unfortunate, it is quite understandable that some topics would therefore fall by the wayside.”

Harry smiled at them both gratefully. He never would have expected Snape and Draco, previously his two most hated school antagonists, to defend and comfort him all at once.

“Now,” Snape continued as they stepped past the front gate. “We will be apparating to Diagon Alley. Harry, I’m assuming that you’ve never apparated before.”

“No, sir.”

“Then it’s probably for the best that you missed breakfast. You’ll want to hold my arm tightly.” Harry took the proffered arm as Draco did the same with Snape’s other arm. “And take a deep breath.”

Harry gulped in some air obediently, and as soon as his lips were closed, Snape twisted on the spot. The whole world went oppressively black, and Harry squeezed his eyes closed to block it out as he was dragged through what felt like a very thin, very twisty straw. Before he could find his balance in the strange not-world, he felt the ground slam into his feet and the space around him expand back to normal levels. With his eyes open, he found himself in an out-of-the-way corner of Diagon Alley and more than a little queasy. Snape and Draco were polite enough not to mention how Harry clutched at his stomach.

It was still early enough in the morning that not many shops were open, though it seemed like traffic was starting to pick up as people hurried to work. Here and there, dark shop windows were suddenly flooded with light and window displays jumped to life, ready to show off their owners’ wares. Snape gave Harry no time to gawk, though, and was already hurrying up the alley toward the imposing marble bank.

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said. He took Harry’s wrist with his own soft and pale hand to drag him along, and Harry was glad Draco wasn’t looking back so he wouldn’t see Harry’s blush. It was getting to be concerning and a little annoying how often he blushed around the blond.

Once inside the bank, Snape spoke softly with a goblin at the front desk, and with a snap of the goblin’s fingers, a younger looking goblin hustled the three of them into an office where a waiting goblin waved them into seats on the other side of his desk. Harry obediently took the middle seat Draco nudged him toward feeling distinctly out of his element.

“Heir Potter,” the goblin across from him said in the low, gravelly voice all goblins seemed to have. “I am Blednag. I understand this meeting was set up by your professor so that you could obtain copies of your account records.”

“Er, yes please, Master Blednag.”

“I see. And why have you not done this before? As the sole Potter heir, it is your responsibility to understand your accounts, even if you are currently too young to have full control over them.”

“Yes, sir, that’s why we’re doing it now. I didn’t know I had more than the one vault my parents left me, so I wasn’t aware I had anything else to take responsibility of.”

The goblin’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and his mouth curled into a sharp-toothed, Snape-worthy sneer. “Indeed? We were informed that you were being trained in your responsibilities from a young age.”

“There seems to be a lot of that sort of misinformation going around about Heir Potter,” Snape said. “And I presume that it was Mr. Dumbledore that informed you of such.”

Blednag nodded. “You may presume that, yes.”

“He has done similarly on other topics. That is why Heir Malfoy and I are attempting to teach Heir Potter of his rights and responsibilities now, discretely of course. Your assistance would be most appreciated.”

“Gringotts of course will offer our support, Master Prince.”

Harry did a double take at the name and watched as Snape grimaced only a little, one hand clenching. However, he did not dispute the name. A glance at Draco told him not to ask about it just then.

“Heir Potter,” Blednag said. “If I could see your key as identification?”

“Er, I don’t have it. I was never allowed to keep it.”

“Who does have possession of your key?” Blednag demanded, and if Harry hadn’t faced trolls and basilisks and his uncle and other terrors, he would have flinched from the anger in the scowling goblin’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Master Blednag, I don’t know,” Harry said. He resolutely kept his voice firm and his back straight. Draco had told him that was important if he wanted the respect of the goblins. They were, after all, a warrior race, and bravery was valued, even if gold usually ranked higher in their list of priorities. “Hagrid had it the summer before my first year, and Mrs. Weasley had it the summer before my second year and this year as well. I didn’t withdraw any money my for third year, I just used what I had left over from the year before. I think Dumbledore has my key, but I don’t have any proof.”

Blednag growled low in his throat, and goosebumps sprang up on Harry’s arms. He was thankful when Blednag didn’t say anything else. Instead, the goblin went rooting around in his desk before he dug out a pristine sheet of heavy parchment and a penknife. He pushed both across the desk to Harry. “In that case, you will have to prove your identity before we can proceed with any further discussion of your account. Prick your finger and place three drops along the upper edge of the upper edge of the parchment.”

“Three drops for the Triple Goddess?” Harry asked. The Triple Goddess and the associated inherent magical power of the number three had been mentioned in An Introduction to Magic for Muggleborns and Their Parents. The book had only mentioned it in passing, but the runes textbook he was working through went more in depth on the subject.

He didn’t flinch as he pricked his finger with the very well sharpened blade and dripped his blood across the page. With a flick of his wand, Snape healed the tiny cut once the required blood was shed.

“Indeed, Heir Potter. Many do not think much of the connection to blood, but we know better. Now, if you will.” He gestured for Harry to return the parchment and knife to him. With a thin calligraphy brush, he connected the three dots of blood into a complicated, twisting rune or symbol Harry didn’t recognize. When the shape was closed, the blood sank into the parchment, reminding Harry uncomfortably of the diary from his second year. Before he could raise his concerns, though, words the same deep red as his blood began to appear, and his eyes froze on the first line.

Harrison James Potter

His couldn’t pull his gaze past that first word, even though nearly the whole page was filled with red writing now—far more than the blood he had given should have been able to write. He could feel the others in the room watching him with concern, but still, he stared at the word.

“Harrison?” he finally croaked.

“Names have power, so magic recognizes your full given name, not the one you go by,” Snape explained. “You can continue to go by your preferred diminutive outside of official documents.”

“I didn’t know ‘Harry’ wasn’t my full name.”

Both Snape and Draco were unnaturally still. It was Draco who finally asked, “You didn’t know your name?”

Silently, Harry—or Harrison?—shook his head. “I was just happy to have one. And it’s not like Harry is so uncommon as a full name now. There was an American president whose name was Harry.”

Snape and Draco sneered almost in unison. “Americans.”

“That is not a proper name,” Draco continued. “At least, not here in the wizarding world. I didn’t even think you might not know it.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how I feel about this.” Harry’s words were stilted and halting, and he finally forced himself to stop staring at the word. He looked at the rest of the page without seeing it.

“We will discuss that later then.” Snape’s tone brooked no argument.

“As you will,” Blednag said. He didn’t seem particularly concerned about Harry’s name. “However, for now, we at least can be assured that you are the owner of the account you’ve come to discuss. I have the requested transaction records and account statements here.” He waved his hand, and an inch-thick folder came into being, dropping heavily on the desk. “Review this and write if there are any changes you wish to make. If you have any concerns, set up an appointment with me so that we can fix them.” The edge in his voice promised that they would find concerns. Harry looked with some trepidation at the folder.

“Thank you for your time, Master Blednag,” Draco said. He slipped the parchment with Harry’s proof of identity into the folder and passed the whole thing to Harry.

“Yes, Master Blednag, thank you very much.” Harry agreed hastily.

“Until next time, Heir Potter.”

They were escorted back to the lobby in short order. There, they stopped to withdraw some galleons from each of their accounts in anticipation of their shopping. Harry looked at Snape in askance. He expected Draco to take advantage of the shopping trip, but surely Snape didn’t need any more sets of intimidating, black robes. Snape ignored his look.

After a short breakfast, Harry expected them to go to Madam Malkin’s, but Draco hurried him straight past the seamstress’s neat little shop. “Her work is fine for school robes and such, but you need clothing that is presentable for public and that will gain you some respect. Plus, you need a whole wardrobe, and such a large order on short notice would likely be outside of Madam Malkin’s capabilities. No, for what you need, we’re going to have to go somewhere higher-end,” Draco said.

Harry tried to silently plead with Snape, but the man only shook his head in amusement at his wide eyes. “I’m afraid I must defer to Draco’s expertise in this instance.”

Draco stopped them in front of Rhiannon’s Regalia before practically shoving Harry through the door. A bell tinkled cheerfully over their heads as Harry looked around the surprisingly modern shop. It looked practically muggle. Unlike most wizarding shops he had been in, the place was wide open and airy. The shop was decorated almost entirely in light cream colors from the soft carpet under his feet to the shelves up near the ceiling. If it weren’t for the elegant cloaks and robes hung on the mannequin’s lining the walls, Harry might have suspected they had left Diagon Alley for Oxford Street.

“Hello?” a voice called from the back, and a tall, red-haired witched stepped in from a back room. She was thin, but not in a way that made her look wispy and fragile. Instead, she looked like she was ready to command an army. Her hair was pinned up in a tight but flattering bun, and the rich material of her robes looked heavy without being gaudy. Her stern expression warmed slightly when she caught sight of Draco. “Ah, if it isn’t my favorite, most demanding customer,” she crooned. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“That would be why I’m accompanying them, I afraid.”

“Ah! Professor Snape. It’s been a while.” If Harry didn’t know better, he would have said that the almost blank faced witch was teasing the dour man.

“Rhiannon, it’s an emergency!” Draco interrupted the exchange before it could get weirder. “Harry needs an entire wardrobe, as soon as possible.”

Finally, the witch turned her attention to Harry. Her gaze was sharp and assessing, and Harry squirmed a little under it. She took in his baggy muggle clothes and shaggy hair while exuding a sense of stern disappointment, not unlike McGonagall. “Harry Potter?” Her gaze flicked to his forehead, affirming her assumption before he could. “My, what interesting company you two keep these days. Very well! Mr. Potter, up on the dais, if you would.”

In short order, Harry found himself standing on a glossy white platform in from of three-fold mirror while a tape measurer snaked its way around him measuring different parts of his body. Off to the side, Draco had given Rhiannon his full attention and was rattling off a list of orders and recommendations Harry suspected he must have been collecting these plans for him for years just based off the shear volume of them. Snape had seated himself comfortably off to the side and out of the way of his godson’s dramatics. A tea service had set itself up at the table to his left and he was enjoying a cup along with a copy of the Daily Prophet that had been offered.

Harry wasn’t following Draco and Rhiannon’s conversation, pondering over what he had learned at the bank instead, so he was startled to have Draco suddenly demand his attention. “What are you wearing to the ball, Harry?”

“What ball?”

Draco’s pale face leached of color and even Rhiannon’s expression gave way to vague concern. “’What ball?’ The Yule Ball, Harry, the one that is just a month away! You need dress robes!”

“Oh, I have some,” Harry said, relieved to have an answer. “When did they announce a ball? Do I have to go, do you think?”

Draco screamed behind clenched teeth and stomped over to Severus who had looked up at the ruckus. “You explain it to him,” Draco commanded his godfather.

Snape gave his godson a condescending look but turned to Harry anyways. “The Yule Ball is a Triwizard Tournament tradition. It is held on Christmas. As a Triwizard Champion, you are not only expected to attend, you are required to do so. You will also be required to open the dancing portion of the evening by leading your partner in a dance.”

Harry blanched.

“I don’t know how to dance!”

“Thank Merlin we’re figuring this out now. Dancing is a basic social necessity, and you don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of the whole school! I’ll add it to the etiquette lessons, which we’ll start after the first task. You’ll be a brilliant dancer by Christmas. Now, robes?”

“Er, they’re green?” Harry hadn’t bothered to think about the robes since he packed them for Hogwarts.

“It’s like you’re purposely trying to drive me mad! What kind of green? What kind of cut?”

“A dark green, and I don’t know! Mrs. Weasley chose them. She said they matched my eyes.”

The sour lemon expression on Draco’s face told Harry that the other boy was politely not making any snide comments about the fashion sense of the Weasley matron but that it was a herculean effort for him.

Rhiannon spoke before any regretful words could be spoken. “I’ll need to see you once more in about two weeks, Mr. Potter, to fit some of the more formal robes for you. Why don’t you bring your dress robes with you then, and we can assess if they are appropriate for the event. Remember to ask your date what they plan to wear if you want to coordinate.”

“Er, alright,” Harry agreed. That put rather a tight deadline on finding a date, especially when five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known there was a ball he needed a date for.

“Excellent. You’re fine to step down. Give me two hours to have all of your regular wardrobe ready to go.”

They all thanked her and wandered back out into the alley. Draco immediately dragged them to the cobbler next door and put in an order for several new pairs of shoes for Harry. Harry was quite curious about how much he would be spending that day and on what. He hadn’t made a single choice about his own wardrobe all day. Snape must have caught his expression, because while Draco wandered off towards a shop with some excessively fancy quills displayed in the window, Snape leaned down to whisper into Harry’s ear.

“I know he’s a lot at times, but out of the three of us, he is likely the one best equipped to get you exactly what you need to be taken seriously by the wizarding world at large and get it as quickly as possible. He’s a demanding brat, but he’s effective. Honestly, I should have expected him this fashion obsession of his, but somehow, I didn’t. He gets it from both parents and already had very solid opinions on fabric patterns when he was a toddler. God forbid anything enter his nursey that clashed with the overall color scheme.”

Harry snorted easily, appreciating Snape’s attempt to cheer him up. “Let me guess; the teddy bear you brought him for Christmas was the wrong color?”

“Of course not. I brought him a perfectly coordinated silver stuffed dragon that he adored. However, the Dowager Lady Parkinson thought that the yellow toy niffler she gifted him was precious and was quite offended that a two-year-old Draco did not agree.”

A grin stretched across Harry’s face for the first time since they had entered the bank that morning, and he chuckled and the idea of the imperious toddler Draco no doubt had been.

“Now,” Snape said. “I think Draco has dictated our destinations enough today. Is there any shop you would like to visit while we wait for your new wardrobe to be ready?”

Snape and Draco let Harry drag them to Eeylops Owl Emporium so Harry could get some new treats for Hedwig. Hopefully, he could bribe her into liking him again. Then they visited a bookshop Harry had never had a chance to visit before. It was smaller than Flourish and Blotts and had a narrower selection, but it had a very thorough section on runes that Harry enjoyed browsing. “Any recommendations?” he asked Snape when the professor wandered closer to see what had interested him.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the subject—I took Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures for my electives. However, Draco might have some ideas.”

When Draco found out Harry was interested in runes and was considering applying to be in the class, he had plenty of recommendations. The stack he provided Harry was too much to justify buying all at once, especially when he was only beginning the subject and was having to teach it to himself while also catching up on everything that he had missed first year and preparing for a tournament designed to potentially kill him. However, he copied down all the titles so that he could come back and get them when he had the opportunity. Draco was mollified by Harry selecting three of the more novice books to purchase. Apparently, Draco was taking Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy, the swot. Snape nodded approvingly at his choices and carried his own large stack of tomes to the counter. Apparently, that’s what he had needed to withdraw galleons for.

After a quick lunch, they made their way back to Rhiannon’s, and the woman had a small mountain of brown paper wrapped parcels waiting for him. “I’ll shrink them down so they’ll fit in your pocket,” she assured him when his eyes bulged out at the stack. “But first, go change. I’ll not see you in those muggle rags a second longer when you now have perfectly good robes.” She presented him with a neatly folded set of clothes.

Harry did as he was bid and was proud to find that when he looked in the mirror in the changing room, he actually looked like a proper wizard for the first time that he could remember. His school uniform just didn’t exude the same sense of other that these clothes did. Petunia might spontaneously combust if she saw him dressed like this. He loved it.

Rhiannon nodded her approval when he exited the changing room. “Excellent. I knew it would be a perfect fit, of course, but it’s always good to check. Do write of course if any of the other robes don’t fit right, and we’ll correct them on your next visit.” She had him sign a receipt so that the galleons could be taken directly from his vault, and he tried not to wince when he saw just how much she would be taking.

It was late afternoon by the time they made their way back up into the castle, splitting up in the entrance hall. Harry returned to his room to put away his new clothes and the file from Blednag. Draco had informed him that their lessons would start on Wednesday “barring any fatal injury you manage to obtain in the first task,” so he didn’t have to worry about working through the financial records yet.

He wandered downstairs again as most of the school was returning from Hogsmeade. “Harry!” Hermione cried when he found her. “Where’ve you been all day? I was worried.”

“Sorry, Hermione. I was taking care of some things.”

Hermione’s expression pinched, and she eyed his new clothes up and down. He expected that he would be interrogated more on the topic later, when peeved students weren’t listening in, but for now, she let the subject go. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “Hagrid found me in Hogsmeade. He told me to tell you to meet him at his hut and eleven-thirty and to bring your invisibility cloak.”

“Why? I’m meeting with Sirius at midnight, and that will be cutting it close.”

“I don’t know, but he said it was important. I’ll keep an eye out in the common room for Sirius in case his message gets there before you do.”

“Alright,” he agreed. He could tell it was going to be a very, very long night.

Chapter End Notes

Hmmm...who is Harry going to take as his date to the Yule Ball? (For real, I have no idea. Give me ideas and a good argument, and that will probably be what I go with.)

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

After a night of seeing dragons, watching Hagrid try to flirt, meeting up with Sirius’s head in the Gryffindor fireplace, discussing Death Eaters, not quite hearing how he could get past the dragons, and getting into another row with Ron, Harry thought he deserved to sleep in on Sunday. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He woke with a crash and something sharp poking into his back. Cursing blurrily, he found himself tangled in several of Dudley’s old sweatshirts and the legs of the old wooden chair. One of the legs had given out and snapped, scratching painfully along his ribs, and he groaned.

This wasn’t the first time that his transfiguration work had fallen away in the few weeks since he had taken up residence in his little room. In fact, it happened at least twice a week. However, this was the first time it had happened while he was in the bed. Usually, he just came back in the evening to find laundry littered around the lone chair. Slowly rolling to the side, he extracted himself from the mess.

Once he had found his glasses and his wand, he re-transfigured the bed. It wasn’t his best work and would likely only last a day or two, but it was good enough for now he figured. Lifting his shirt and craning around, he could only just barely see the tip of the scratch that wrapped around his ribs. Luckily, as far as he could tell, it wasn’t bleeding, but he was sure he would have an impressive bruise around the spot in a few hours.

Dawn was just stretching over the horizon. It was too early to go bother Snape about what he had discovered last night—maybe Snape would know the spell Sirius had been trying to tell him?—but he couldn’t stay in the room. November’s oppressive chill had long ago creeped into the castle, and the stone floors felt like ice on his bare feet even with his temperature control runes. He dressed hurriedly and bundled his invisibility cloak around him before he left.

It was too early for many people to be up, but the library was open even if Madam Pince didn’t look particularly pleased to have students encroaching on her territory so early in the morning. She was familiar enough with Harry’s presence now though that she nodded a good morning at him.

Viktor found him at their usual table an hour and a half later. Harry had several books on dragons spread out around him and was practicing drawing the fire-repelling rune string on a spare piece of parchment. He probably looked a little crazed just then with his hair still mussed and several scorched pages littered around him. He kept messing up the angles between algiz and sowilo, protection and health. Kannez, torch, was easy because the other two fell beneath it in the hierarchy. Kennez was the focus of the grouping, but algiz and sowilo had to work together to hold the fire back. He only got it right about half the time, and he was pretty sure the only reason Madam Pince hadn’t violently thrown him out of the library was because she had personally drawn a ward around him to keep her books safe when he asked her to. He thought she might be developing a soft spot for him.

Viktor’s eyes twitched between the dragon encyclopedias, an out-of-date census of sorts for the Romanian dragon preserve, and the scorch marked parchment, and he nodded somberly. “You have learned of the task faster than I expected. Well done.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, though he hadn’t done much. “I’m guessing Karkaroff told you?”

“Da. He woke me up this morning early and told me everything. He said he could not give me any more clues, but he also told me to ask him if I have any questions.” Viktor rolled his eyes. Not even Karkaroff’s own students liked him. Whether they agreed with the once death eater’s politics or not, the majority of the students thought him a weak and cowardly traitor for running off on his compatriots and ratting them out to the British authorities. Most of the students simply avoided the man as much as possible. Unfortunately, as Karkaroff’s favorite, Viktor could never escape the man for long.

“I’m pretty sure Fleur will know soon too, if she doesn’t already. Madam Maxime knows about the dragons.”

“That only leaves Cedric. What will you do?”

Viktor’s question wasn’t judgmental, but he also made it clear that the decision was up to Harry. He would not give his opponent an advantage, but he would not stop Harry from helping his schoolmate.

“I’m going to tell him,” Harry said. “He shouldn’t be the only one who doesn’t know.”

Viktor nodded gravely. “Very well. Do you have a plan for overcoming the dragons?”

“I have part of a plan, but I have a few people I still need to talk to. You?”

“I have a few ideas that I must refine. But I will not tell you more that that.” Viktor’s small smirk told Harry that the older teen was teasing him, and he stuck his tongue out at Viktor childishly in retaliation.

“Spoilsport.”

Eventually, Viktor made him pack up his things so they could go get breakfast. “Come, you must eat. You will need your strength.”

“Not for three more days,” Harry argued. He had finally figured out how to angle the runes just right and was happily reading the encyclopedia’s entry on the Chinese Fireball while to his right a cheerful little flame burned atop a spotless parchment. Viktor extinguished the fire and took the book away from him, holding it just out of reach of Harry’s grabbing hands. Defeated, Harry obediently put his things away under Viktor’s stern gaze.

The breakfast hour was winding down when they entered the Great Hall, which meant fewer students were around. Viktor tended to prefer eating late or early to avoid the crush of students in the Hall. He couldn’t escape his fans entirely no matter when he ate or where he went in the castle, but he could go out of his way to avoid them, even if some of them tracked him down later.

They both ate at the Gryffindor table that morning, but afterwards, they gave their farewells and separated. Viktor left out the large doors of the entrance hall out onto the grounds, but Harry headed down into the dungeons.

Unfortunately, Snape did not know what spell Sirius might have been referencing before he was cut off, but he did approve of Harry’s plan to use the fire-repelling rune string, which made Harry feel warm and bubbly until their conversation continued on to other matters.

“While flames are perhaps the most obvious danger, you must remember that dragons have other defenses as well. The claws and the spikes on their tails and backs are as sharp as any sword. Their teeth could rip you apart in only seconds. There is little you can do to protect against them, though you might try to add a few of those protection and health runes on their own. I doubt they could hurt at least. Still, do whatever you can to keep out of range. You said these are nesting mothers, so they will be particularly vicious in protecting their young.”

“What if I have to get close to them?” Harry asked.

Snape frowned thoughtfully. “There are several shields that might hold against a dragon’s strength, but they are above your skill level. If we had more than a few days, you might be able to learn to cast them, but as it is, I do not want to waste all of our time only to have you not learn it in time.”

“I know protego. Viktor taught me.”

“That is very good. However, while it might hold against a glancing blow, it is unlikely to help against full attack. I’m afraid that even with all my knowledge, I cannot help you much. My defense knowledge is mostly focused on the dark arts. As creatures, dragons are neither dark nor light, so very little of what I have learned will be of significant use to you.”

Momentarily distracted, Harry frowned. “What do you mean that creatures aren’t dark or light? Some are definitely dark, aren’t they, like werewolves, and some are definitely light, like unicorns.”

“No, Harry. Dark and light, good and evil, these are human attributes and assignations. An animal cannot choose between right and wrong based on our prescription of morality because what is right and wrong for an animal is based on survival, not ethics. A unicorn can gore a person on its horn and kill them, but that does not make the unicorn tainted. And you may meet a truly heinous werewolf, but that does not come from them being a creature. It comes from their human mind choosing to harm those around them. Of course, there are a number of highly dangerous creatures, both magical and non-magical, but that does not make them dark.”

Harry thought back to Remus, who, though a kind and mild-tempered man, considered himself cursed and dark. Throughout the year he had taught them about creatures, he had described some as being light or dark, but at the time, there hadn’t seemed anything odd about that. Snape’s philosophy, though, had him thinking.

“How can there be dark magic or light magic then, sir? Is magic sentient in the way we are, with right and wrong?”

“That, Harry, is a multifaceted debate that spell crafters, arithmancers, and politicians have been debating for centuries. For now, we should focus on the issue at hand.”

“Oh, right, dragons.” For the moment, Harry put the question to the side so that he could focus on the fact that he would very much like to not die in two days, but he made a mental note to return to the it when they had the time.

“Yes, dragons,” Snape drawled. “Though I cannot help you, I would recommend learning dragon anatomy, specifically for the species you will potentially have to get past. Dragon skin is thick, so spells won’t do much good against them, but they all have a few weak spots you may be able to exploit with the right spell. I recommend talking to Draco; I believe he may have some books that will help you.”

Harry thanked Snape and was in short order escorted to the door. He wasn’t sure where Draco might be this time of day, so he put on his cloak and went all the way up to his room to collect the Marauders’ Map. Draco was outside flying with several others of the Slytherin quidditch team and a few other students Harry didn’t know. A cold burst of longing shot through Harry, and he wished the Gryffindor quidditch team was still practicing. They couldn’t have any official games this year, but he missed flying. He could use the distraction from everything else.

On a whim, he collected his Firebolt and headed out to the quidditch pitch. The Slytherins were still up in the air when he arrived, and he vacillated on whether he could or should join them. It didn’t seem to be a serious practice, more of a pickup game. Everyone seemed to either be playing in the role of either chaser or keeper, with no bludgers or snitch in sight. On one side, the Slytherin team’s keeper, Miles Bletchley, guarded his team’s hoops while on the other end of the pitch, Blaise Zabini guarded his team’s. On the pitch between them, Slytherin students passed the quaffle between themselves trying to score. Occasional roughhousing broke out between the students, but it was also resolved with laughter on both sides.

Harry sat and watched them for half an hour or so, surprised at the attitude he saw from them. Around the rest of the school, Slytherins were withdrawn, jeering, or outright cruel. But surrounded by only their housemates, they seemed like any other students. They could have been wearing, yellow, blue, or even red uniforms, and Harry wouldn’t have known the difference.

Eventually, though, a small second year noticed him on the bleachers. She halted in midair, clutching the quaffle and staring at him. Harry could see the ripple effect as one by one, everyone in the air turned to look at him too. They all held themselves more stiffly, and their mouths turned down into almost identical sneers. With a jolt, Harry realized that the expression they all wore mimicked Snape’s resting sneer. The moment seemed to hang there as the Slytherins and Gryffindor regarded one another.

It was Draco that finally broke the silence. Perhaps this should have been a surprise considering that there were several older players on the field with him, but it wasn’t. Within his house, Draco was the person that everyone looked to for an example. “What are you doing here, Potter? We reserved the pitch fair and square.” He had to shout to be heard across the distance, and Harry was disappointed to hear the chill in his voice. For whatever reason, Draco was hiding that he and Harry had become friendly. It was as if the day before and their few amicable meetings before that hadn’t happened at all.

Harry wasn’t going to let that go on for long. He had already lost one of his best friends; he didn’t want to hide his new friend too.

“I just fancied a fly. Mind if I join you guys?” He waited for the answer with bated breath knowing that they could easily turn him away.

A silent conversation seemed to go on between Draco, Marcus Flint, Cassius Warrington, and Miles Bletchley. Finally, it was Marcus, the captain of the team, that answered.

“How are you at playing chaser?” he asked.

Harry shrugged, just exaggeratedly enough that they would all see it. “No idea! I’ve never played anything other than seeker.”

A few of the Slytherins tried to hide mischievous little smiles while the rest turned positively shark-like. “Alright, Potter,” Flint said. “You’re on my team. We’re down a player anyways.”

By the time Flint called time, Harry was dirty, bruised, and laughing. The Slytherins played rough, but no rougher than the Weasley kids did during their summers. There were a few exceptions. The little second year who had noticed him, Paige Jenkins, was not to be checked under any circumstances. Blaise Zabini refused to get mussed and would most likely let the quaffle through if anyone got too close to his goal posts, so there was a strict three-yard boundary around him. Peregrine Derrick tended to forget she wasn’t a beater with a bat if you got too close to her in the air, so the rule against checking her was more for everyone else’s safety than hers. Marcus was recovering from a nasty sting from Hagrid’s blast-ended skrewts and was liable to fall from his broom if knocked into. However, apart from those rules, good-natured heckling, shoving, and tackling were all allowed.

At first, they had been careful around Harry, but Harry had started teasing Draco and intercepted a pass from Peregrine to Cassius and scored on Miles, and eventually they had to treat him like any other player if they didn’t want him to take the game. He would never be more than a mediocre chaser, but he did have a skill with interceptions that his team praised him for and the other team bemoaned.

“You’re alright, Potter,” Warrington said as they all ambled off the pitch. “You should come again next week.”

“Thanks! I will. I’ve missed flying this year.”

“You know you can fly without quidditch,” Paige piped up. She was a mousy little girl with intelligent eyes and a bright smile.

Harry shrugged. “The first time I flew, they put me on a quidditch team. The two have always seemed one and the same to me, I guess.”

“Well, that’s silly,” Paige declared. “Could you teach me how to dive like you do? I want to try out for seeker next year.”

“But I’m seeker!” Draco reminded her.

The little girl only shrugged. “You make a better chaser anyways. You should do that instead of always trying to compete with Harry.” Without waiting for Draco’s red-faced sputtering to turn into sense, she hurried off for lunch.

Harry and Draco ended up at the back of the group, separated by some distance. “So, why did you really come out with us?” Draco asked as they walked. Between them, they kicked a stone up the gravel path.

“I was looking for you. When I saw what you were doing, I grabbed my broom. I really have missed flying.”

“Why were you looking for me, then?”

“Snape said you might have some information I could use for the task.”

“What sort of information?”

“Dragon anatomy and weak points.”

Draco’s pale face turned a sickly grey at an alarming speed. “You have to fight dragons?” he hissed, tugging Harry to a stop.

“Technically, just one dragon, though I don’t know which one yet. And theoretically, I shouldn’t have to fight it, just get past it, though who knows how well that will work out. The dragons aren’t happy about being brought so far from home, from what I saw.”

“Dammit! Yes, okay, I’ve got a few books you’ll want. One of them is written in French, though, so I’ll have to go over that one with you, unless you happen to know a good translation spell?” Harry shook his head, and Draco nodded like he had expected nothing less. “Okay, we’ll start tonight. Do you have anywhere we can study where no one will see us?”

Immediately, Harry thought of his room. “Yeah, I do actually. But you won’t be able to find it on your own. Meet me in the side chamber off the Great Hall this evening after dinner.”

Harry was relieved to find Draco in the little, often forgotten side chamber at the appointed time. He was chatting with a portrait of a young woman—Healer Anes Malfoy, the younger sister of the first Malfoy patriarch to be granted land in England—but he quickly waved her farewell at Harry’s arrival.

“Alright, so where are we going oh mysterious one?” he asked.

Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out from his pocket. “We’re going to my room, but we have to wear this.”

Draco wrinkled his nose at the grey fabric. “I am not wearing some manky old cloak, Potter. It doesn’t match my robes at all.” The complaint gave Harry flashbacks to standing in Rhiannon’s shop.

“Trust me, Draco, it matches everything.” Without giving Draco time to argue, Harry threw the cloak around them both. Draco’s shocked gasp when they both disappeared from view was extremely satisfying.

They snuck up to the Harry’s corridor carefully, using a rowdy group of Gryffindors to cover up any noise their feet might have made. Draco almost slipped out from under the cloak as he continued to follow them when Harry stepped off the stairs, but Harry tugged him back. “This way,” he whispered. Draco was befuddled until they stepped past the runes that kept people away from Harry’s corridor.

“That’s rather impressive,” Draco said.

Harry flushed. “I didn’t really do anything except copy the runes onto the ceiling.” They paused in front of his door, and Draco reached for the knob, but Harry grabbed his wrist fast. “Only I can touch this door.”

He pushed the door open and then stood to the side so Draco could step in. “Tada,” he said lamely when Draco was silent for a moment too long.

The bed had unconfigured itself again, so Harry quickly threw some stronger transfiguration spells at it, turning the chair and old clothes back into a respectable bed. He tried to look at it from an outsider’s point of view. It wasn’t decorated or fancy, but it was warm and cozy and had everything he needed. Anxiously, he checked Draco’s expression.

It was not one of delight, like Harry’s had been when he found the little room. He didn’t look disgusted, which was a relief, but he didn’t look pleased either. In fact, he looked a bit pitying, which raised Harry’s hackles.

“Harry, you can’t stay here.” Draco’s voice was clear and decisive. Harry hated it.

“I have been for almost a month. It’s fine.”

“You’re sleeping on a transfigured chair! That window is cracked, which I’m sure makes the place cold and drafty—I’m not sure how you’re keeping the room warm, but what if that were to fail? And what if you’re hurt while you’re in here? A spell gone wrong or an attack that gets through your defenses? No one would be able to find you!”

“I’m fine, Draco! Maybe it’s not as fancy as the dorms, but it’s perfectly safe and it’s mine!” Harry hadn’t realized he was shouting until he heard his last words echoing off the stones around him. He dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, the words were tight and controlled. “Now, are we going to study or not?”

Draco drew back at Harry’s outburst, and his expression settled into a scowl. Digging through his back, he pulled out two books and shoved them into Harry’s chest. “Here. Study them yourself.” Then he stomped away, his grumblings about stupid, self-sacrificing martyrs who don’t care about their own safety audible all the way down the hallway.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you, thank you for all your comments and ideas for dates for the Yule ball! I'm pretty sure I have it figured out now, though it will take a few chapters to get to. I would still love any comments or story ideas you happen to have. No guarantee that that I'll take them all, of course, but they can be great inspiration, even if I end up taking it in a different direction. Also, if someone feels there's an important additional tag missing, please let me know.

You'll notice that I have finally assigned this story a pairing! The characters have been heading toward this for a while now, I've just been negligent in tagging it. I considered waiting until they actually got together to avoid spoilers, but considering some of the comments I got, I didn't want anyone to be thrown too off-guard. Do with it what you will. Read or don't read, that's up to you.

So, how do you think Harry is going to get past the dragon this time?

Chapter 11

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was up late that night struggling through the books Draco had given him until he was too tired to keep the lumos lit. Of course, the French book was no help to him without Draco there to translate it, which was too bad, because several of the diagrams looked like they could be useful if he could just understand the context. Therefore, it was a very grumpy, blurry-eyed Harry that stumbled down the stairs to the Great Hall the next morning. He was so tired, he nearly forgot his cloak, and on the way down the stairs, he bumped straight into Snape’s chest because his eyes had drifted shut while he was walking. The tall man’s oomph of surprise woke right Harry up as Snape blindly grasped Harry’s shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, professor,” Harry stuttered. Since no one was around except the two of them, he yanked his cloak off.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. I was just looking for you. With me, please.”

Without another word of explanation, Snape led Harry all the way down to his office, and Harry’s stomach sank with every step downward. Draco must have tattled, and Snape was going to punish him on Draco’s word alone. It was like every time they made any progress with being pleasant to each other, some one had to ruin it.

Once in Snape’s office, Snape cast a couple quick spells at the door, which Harry guessed were to prevent eavesdroppers or intruders. Finally, Snape settled himself regally in the seat behind his desk and motioned for Harry to sit across from him.

“Now, Harry. After that night you told me you argued with Mr. Weasley, I had assumed you returned to Gryffindor Tower where you belong and had been there ever since. Draco has informed me that this was an erroneous belief.”

Scowling, Harry crossed his arms. “It’s not a big deal, sir,” he said.

“On the contrary, I believe it is a very big deal, Harry. I have a responsibility to ensure that every student has a safe sleeping space. Your current accommodations, as Draco described them, are not safe.”

“He’s lying! It’s perfectly safe!”

“Oh really? And if you were to get hurt and be rendered unconscious while in your warded room, who could find you and ensure that you received the necessary medical attention?”

“I’m fine.” It was just a bruise, after all.

Something must have shown on his face, because Snape’s voice turned sharper than normal. “Have you been injured?”

“It’s just a bruise,” Harry said mulishly.

“Show me.”

Knowing better than to argue when Snape spoke in that tone, Harry wordlessly lifted his shirt enough to show Snape the purple and blue splotches on his ribs, a thin red line cutting through the mess.

“Foolish boy,” Snape hissed. Immediately, he moved to his cupboards and came back with a large jar. It looked similar to the salve Snape had put on his face on Halloween, but it was thicker, gooier, and a more vibrant orange. Before applying it, though, he cast a diagnostic spell over Harry. “Your ribs aren’t damaged at least,” he informed Harry. “Now, hold still.” He knelt at Harry’s side and spread the paste across the bruises. The scrape was taken care of with just a few drops of dittany, but Snape covered the bruise salve with bandages. “You’re not to remove that until the end of the day. However, please do inform me if you experience any irritation or discomfort.”

Personally, Harry was already rather irritated, but he doubted Snape would appreciate hearing about it. “Yes, sir.”

“Now,” Snape said as he returned to his previous seat. “Please inform me as to why you refuse to sleep in your assigned dormitory.”

Once, Snape would have made a crack about Harry thinking he was too good for the dormitories, but now, he didn’t say a word about Harry’s supposed arrogance. It was that understanding that pushed Harry to finally admit what he had been avoiding. “I’m tired of fighting. At first, it was just Ron, and I probably would have gone back after a few days, but now, everyone is upset about something, and it’s so stupid. I’m tired of dealing with them, so I’m just staying where I am.”

“So you’re burying your head in the sand rather than asking for help from any of your remaining friends or any of the available staff here.”

Honestly, he hadn’t even considered talking to the staff about the problem, and after an awkward silence, he told Snape so. “What could they have done anyway?” he asked rhetorically.

“Professor McGonagall could have roomed you with a different year either temporarily or permanently if it was mainly those in your room causing you hardship. Depending on the hostility of your house, we may even have been able to ask the Sorting Hat for a second opinion. Sometimes it can be persuaded to choose another house for a student whose wellbeing has been threatened.

Harry snorted. “I doubt it would take much persuasion. The Hat has been trying to re-sort me practically since Professor McGonagall took it off my head. It keeps saying that I should have let it put me in Slytherin. At this point I’m starting to agree.”

From Harry’s perspective, it looked like it took all of Snape’s incredible willpower not to do something as undignified as facepalming. “Yes, Harry. That is a solution. Why on earth did you not mention this sooner?”

“It’s not like the Gryffindors are hurting me. They just hate me. That’s normal.” First year when he lost Gryffindor points. Second year when they thought he was potentially trying to murder everyone. Third year when he didn’t catch the snitch before falling off his broom thanks to a dementor attack.

Snape wore a constipated sort of expression. “Emotional and mental wellbeing are just as important as physical health, perhaps more important in fact.”

Harry snickered; as if anyone in this whole school cared about his emotional wellbeing. He had been attacked multiple times by professors, monsters, and other students—he had even killed one of his professors when he was only eleven—and no one had ever bothered to ask him if he was handling it all okay. Madame Pomfrey simply patched him up and sent him back. A bit of mild bullying was nothing in comparison. Besides, it was particularly ironic for Snape to be concerned about his feelings when he had spent the first three years of Harry’s educational career consistently tearing down both Harry and several of his peers. “Er, then why do you constantly insult and demean your students? That really doesn’t seem conducive to mental or emotional health.”

“Because a mistake in my class could be fatal, not only for the idiot who makes the mistake but for their peers as well.”

“And what about the ones who make mistakes because they’re so nervous around you?” Neville was the obvious candidate, but Harry had on multiple occasions dropped a little too much of one ingredient or leaked a little too much magic into the fire under his cauldron just because the snarling Potions Master had swooped a bit too close to Harry’s potions station.

“…Stop changing the subject, Harry. We’re talking about a solution to your problem, not fixating on my faults as a teacher.” Despite his words, Snape did look more pensive than he had before.

“Won’t the Gryffindors hate me more if I transfer to Slytherin?”

“It’s likely. However, once you’re a Slytherin, you’ll have a house that will protect you.”

“Yeah, right. Changing my house colors isn’t going to make the Slytherins suddenly like me. Aside from you and Draco, they all hate me too. Actually, Draco’s pissed at me, so probably him too.” Harry slumped into his seat. “I don’t want to jump from one house that would happily push me off the Tower to another house that would be just as happy to drown me in the lake.”

“I will not give you false platitudes. My students are unlikely to suddenly start fawning over you like so many of the masses. However, Slytherin House has a strict philosophy of standing behind their housemates, no matter their personal feelings for one another.”

“Oh. I think I like that.”

“Yes, I expect that would appeal to you. Now, there is still time for you to get some breakfast before your morning classes. Go, and meet me here again this evening after dinner. I would recommend you talk to Draco before then, though. He is very concerned for you. However, he has a habit of expressing that concern aggressively. It’s an unfortunate trait, but I promise you that it does come from a place of care.”

Harry looked away. “I don’t want to forgive him right away,” he admitted.

“And why is that?”

It took Harry several moments to find the words, and even as he spoke them, they came out stilted and uncomfortable. “I, I never had a room that was mine. I don’t mean that I had to share a room with my cousin, or something like that. Honestly, I would have preferred that. But. My—the Dursleys, they always made sure that I knew that I was encroaching on their space in their home. They had plenty of bedrooms, but I wasn’t allowed one. Even when they did move me into a bedroom, because they had to, it was still Dudley’s second bedroom. It still had all of his broken old toys and abandoned books. I’m not…I’m not upset about that anymore.” Those words surprised him a little when the tumbled out, but he found that they were true. It hurt that the Dursleys went so far out of their way to impress upon him how unwanted he was on Privet Drive, but it was an old hurt, one he had long ago accepted, so it didn’t upset him anymore. But losing his first private space would, he thought. “This room. It’s mine. No one gave it to me grudgingly, and no one can put bars on the widow, or take it away and give it to someone else. I just. I feel safe there.”

Snape’s expression didn’t go soft, because he wasn’t a soft sort of man. However, it did soften, just a bit. “I recommend you explain that to Draco. He does not have the same kinds of experiences that you and I have had. He has never had to carve out anything for himself, be it space or a reputation or anything else. His parents, despite how you may feel about them, adore their son and have doted on him since the day he was born. You see a space to call your own, the first one you have ever had. He sees a room that poses a danger to a friend he had to work hard to win over.”

Harry scuffed the toe of his boot against the stone floor. “I guess. I’ll talk to him after Care of Magical Creatures, I guess.”

“Good. Remember—meet me here directly after dinner. There is still much to do to prepare you for tomorrow, and it will do us no good to waste time.”

Draco pointedly ignored Harry through all of their shared Care of Magical Creatures class despite Harry trying to catch his eye. If the reckless idiot was going to risk his life all because of his pride, it was none of Draco’s business. Harry had made that perfectly clear.

So he was somewhat surprised when he felt a hand wrap around his elbow just before he could enter the Great Hall behind Pansy. He spun to tell off whoever was groping him only to see empty air. The hand that was definitely there, even if he couldn’t see it or the person it belonged to tugged at him, insistently directing him to the little room he had met Harry in the evening before. Of course; it was Harry with his stupid invisibility cloak. Briefly, Draco considered ripping the cloak from Harry and berating him in front of the whole school. But he wouldn’t do that, no matter how mad he was at the other boy. They were friends now—or they had been until yesterday evening—and there was no reason to air their dirty laundry for everyone else’s entertainment.

“Hey, I’ll catch up,” he told Pansy. “I forgot something.” It was a lame excuse, and Pansy’s sharp gaze told him that she would call him on it once they were in the relative privacy of the common room.

However, she only said, “Of course, Dray. I’ll see you later.”

Draco very carefully did not grimace at her.

Once they were in the quiet little anteroom, Draco finally gave in to the temptation to tear the cloak away. Harry stood there looking at Draco with a shit-eating grin.

“‘Dray,’ huh?”

Draco shoved the idiot. “Shut up. She knows I hate it, so she only calls me that when she’s peeved at me.”

“Oh. Why’s she peeved at you?”

“Because I didn’t tell her why I was skipping on lunch, and I didn’t lie well enough to give her a good excuse. She’ll grill me on it later.”

“Sorry.” Harry looked genuinely apologetic—as well he should, though this topic hardly rated against what he should actually be apologizing for. His face scrunched up, and Draco kind of wanted to trace the wrinkles between his eyebrows. They were going to make permanent creases in his skin if Harry kept scrunching his face like that. “I didn’t mean to get you trouble with your girlfriend,” Harry added, and Draco almost choked on his own breath when he realized what Harry had said.

“Pansy? She’s not my girlfriend!” He almost gagged at the thought.

Harry blushed, but was quick to retort. “She’s always hanging on you! What was I supposed to think?”

“My gods, Harry, she’s my friend! We’ve known each other since before either of us could walk. Going by your logic, you and Granger are dating.”

“Ew, no. I love her, but that’d just be weird. Besides, I think Viktor has a thing for her. I think he’s planning to ask her to the dance after this first trial is out of the way. Ron also has a thing for her, but I don’t think he realizes it yet.”

“Ugh, she deserves better than the Weasel. And a quidditch star is pretty good in my book.”

Harry’s laugh was light and refreshing, and Draco hated to cut it off, but this really wasn’t why they were here. At least he hoped not.

“I assume you didn’t drag me here to gossip about your friends’ love lives.”

Harry sobered instantly. “No, I didn’t. Sorry. I just. About last night…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. You were there to help me, and you were trying to keep me safe, so I shouldn’t have yelled at you, even if I didn’t like what you were saying. But I talked to Snape this morning, and he said I should maybe explain some things to you too. About my life, before Hogwarts, I mean.”

Draco sighed heavily. Emotional conversations were not his strong suit. But it seemed that this one was unavoidable. “Well, we might as well get comfortable, and we both need lunch. Elf!” A small, wrinkled house elf popped into existence at his elbow.

“Students is not supposed to be calling for elves!” she chastised him. “Elves is supposed to be doing their work where students is not seeing us.”

“Apologies,” Draco said, giving the little creature a slight bow. “However, my friend and I will be unable to attend lunch. I was hoping you could bring us something to eat?”

She brightened up at that, as elves so often did when presented with someone to care for. “Of course! Shrinky will be bringing little sirs food at once!” She popped away and popped back only a moment later with a platter so heavy with sandwiches, the weight should have toppled her over. With the platter balanced on one hand, she snapped the fingers of her other hand and a blanket and cushions appeared on the ground. She placed the plate of sandwiches, each sandwich cut into precise little triangles, in the middle of the blanket and popped away again only to return a second later with two goblets and a pitcher full of juice. “Will little sirs be needing anything else?”

“No, Shrinky. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry added hastily, though he was glancing back and forth between Draco and the elf a little fearfully.

Shrinky nodded and popped away.

Draco settled himself on the blanket and began serving himself. “Well? Sit down,” he told Harry who was hovering unsettlingly.

“Er, right.” Harry sat gingerly and only picked up a sandwich triangle when Draco pushed the plate toward him. He nibbled at it but didn’t seem much inclined to actually eat. He always struggled to eat when he was stressed about something.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Draco asked.

“I don’t want to,” Harry grumbled. “Snape just said I should.”

Draco rolled his eyes. It was like Harry was being difficult on purpose. “Well then, what does Severus want you to tell me?”

Harry sighed with unnecessary force. For all that he had been trying to catch Draco’s eye all through their shared class that morning, now, he was carefully not looking at Draco. Instead, he focused on the far wall, on Draco’s ancestor’s currently empty portrait frame. His sandwich was held loosely and likely forgotten in his hand.

“My relatives don’t like me,” he finally blurted out, still not looking at Draco. Before Draco could demand clarification or offer offense to this statement, Harry rambled on. “Like, they hate me. They never would have taken me except that Dumbledore didn’t give them a choice. He just left me on their doorstep. And so they always made sure that I knew they didn’t want me there. For ten years, my bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, and they would lock me in at night half the time. When I got in trouble, they would lock me in there for days or weeks. When I wasn’t in there, I was usually doing chores, cooking for them or taking care of Petunia’s garden. My cousin never had to do any chores, but if I missed even one thing on my list, they would send me to my cupboard without dinner that night, even if I was the one to make dinner.

“When my first Hogwarts letter came, it was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, and it scared my aunt and uncle because they thought the wizards were spying on them. Of course, I know they weren’t—I borrowed Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts: A History, and it says that all the letters are addressed by magic—but at the time, I didn’t even know that magic existed. I knew freaky things sometimes happened around me or to me and that I was usually blamed for them, but I didn’t know I was actually causing them with accidental magic.

“Anyways, my aunt and uncle were scared, so they moved me from my cupboard to Dudley’s second bedroom, the one where he threw all his toys after they broke and where he had sleepovers with his friends. They have another empty bedroom too, a guest room for when Vernon’s sister visits, but they didn’t want me to have a room. Even when they put me in Dudley’s bedroom, it still had all his things in it, so it never felt like mine. Aside from that, I’ve shared a dorm with four other boys, and I stayed in Ron’s bedroom when I visited during the summer. I’ve never had a space that was all mine. That room that you saw last night, with the transfigured chair and the cracked window and the privacy wards, that was mine, and you—”

Harry cut himself off abruptly as if afraid to actually accuse Draco of what he had unknowingly done.

“I insulted it,” Draco guessed.

Harry nodded. He cast a furtive look at Draco before looking away again.

“I’m sorry.” The words were small, but Draco couldn’t think of something better to say. The weight of everything Harry had just confessed to him was substantial, and Draco was frantically trying to sort through it. He would have never guessed that Harry had so little, not just in terms of material belongings but in terms of care, safety, and even privacy. No wonder he was always doing stupid, dangerous things.

“It’s fine, I’m over it. And I shouldn’t have yelled at you, no matter what.”

“I deserved it,” Draco assured him. “Even if I didn’t know it.”

“Snape says that you were right, though. I can’t stay there.”

“What will you do instead?”

Harry smirked, and Draco just knew that whatever came out of his mouth was either going to be very good or very bad for Draco. “I’m going to be re-sorted.”

“They can do that?”

“Snape said they can. It’s rare but possible, and the Sorting Hat wanted me in Slytherin anyways, so odds are that’s where I’ll end up.”

“Holy shit. Everyone is going to riot!” Draco was right; this would go wonderfully or terribly. He just wasn’t sure which yet.

“Yeah, probably. Will you come with me?” Harry asked. Finally, finally, he looked Draco directly in the eye.

“Yes, of course,” Draco answered without hesitation.

Harry smiled, a small, hopeful little thing. “Thanks.”

The two boys had arrived at Severus’s office at seven o’clock sharp, and Severus waved them into the room after checking both ways down the corridor for any sneaking little spies. “In. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“‘We’?” Harry asked. He drew back slightly, back out into the hall, but Draco pushed him forward. Thank god for meddling godsons.

“Yes, ‘we,’ Mr. Potter,” Minerva said from her conjured seat. She, Pomona, and Filius were seated on the teacher’s side of the desk in a loose semi-circle, and each of them wore a grim expression which obviously set Harry on edge. The Sorting Hat sat currently dormant on Severus’s desk.

Severus laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder, gratified to see that the boy didn’t flinch or pull away like he might have once done. “The school charter says that for any Sorting, the four heads of house must be present. Otherwise, it could later be declared invalid. To prevent that, I had to inform them.”

Harry nodded shakily and took his usual seat in front of Severus’s desk while Draco took his own seat.

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through, Mr. Potter,” Minerva asked the boy. “I understand that things have been difficult, but it is not too late to fix things with your current house.”

Draco snorted, and Severus flicked his godson as he passed him on the way to his own seat. The slight levity seemed to help Harry, though, because he chuckled a little and nudged Draco’s ankle with his foot.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. Even if I could fix things with the Gryffindors, it wouldn’t be a long-term solution. They’d be mad at me again whenever the next thing happened, whether it was my fault or not. I’m tired of it.”

Minerva pursed her lips but thankfully didn’t try to argue him out of his decision. She had a lot of house pride, and she cared for her lion cubs, even if she was often too busy with the roles of professor and deputy headmistress to properly show it. Since the boy had arrived, Severus had seen how much respect Harry had for the woman, and he had worried that if Minerva pushed the issue, Harry might cave.

“Well, then. I suggest we get started,” Filius said. “Tomorrow is a big day, and I’m sure Mr. Potter will need his rest. Shall we?”

“Indeed.” Minerva stood and picked up the Hat by its pointed top, which made it finally wake from its hibernation.

“It’s not September already, is it? My song isn’t ready!”

“No.” Minerva rolled her eyes at the patched hat. “We have a re-sort for you, if you are willing.”

“Oh-ho! A re-sort, eh? Why, I haven’t had one of those in decades! Who is it then?”

Minerva turned so that the Hat could see Harry, who gave the Hat an odd little wave.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, wonderful! I’ve been waiting years for this.”

“You’re not going to knock me out with a sword again, are you?” Harry asked the Hat, and Severus was grateful to see that everyone else in the room looked quite as confused as he was.

“I doubt it, though I supposed that depends on what you need. Let’s see, shall we?”

And with that, Minerva lowered the Sorting Hat onto Harry Potter’s head once more.

Chapter End Notes

I wrote most of the dialogue for the first section during a dull work meeting a couple weeks ago. Luckily, it was a Zoom meeting, so no one could tell. It was that or crocheting, though, and at least this way I could pretend I was taking notes.

I swear we will actually get to the dragons and the Gringotts stuff soon! It's taking longer than I expected lol

Also, the Slytherins are coming... ;D

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

Guys. Guuuuyyyys. I have written and (very basically) edited slightly more than 8.5k words in the last 12 hours. I am wrung out. But also, it means that you get 2 chapters today!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” the Hat said into Harry’s head. “It’s rare I get to sit on a student’s head more than once. And this is the third time I’ve sat upon your head! A very unique student indeed.”

“So you will re-sort me then?” Harry thought back.

“Oh, I think the both of us know exactly which house you’ll end this night in, don’t we?”

“And no one will be able to stop me? Not even the headmaster?”

“No, no one will be able to force you back into your old house. The headmaster has no control over student accommodations, which is why it is not required for him to be here for the re-sort. He won’t even know about it until the rest of the school does. Not unless you choose to tell him.”

“No, he doesn’t need to know. I’m ready to be re-sorted.”

“Do you understand why you need this new house, though? More than simply needing safer living arrangements.”

“You told me before that I could be great in Slytherin.” At the time, Harry had been offended by the comment and the way it paralleled what Mr. Ollivander had told him about Voldemort. He remembered all the similarities he had seen between himself and Tom Riddle in his second year, and he shivered slightly. The others in the room around him shifted, and he felt Draco nudge his foot supportively.

“And yet, greatness still holds no draw for you, does it, Mr. Potter? How curious.”

When he was eleven, greatness might have been a temptation if it wasn’t so laughably far outside of the realm of possibility. How could a boy from a cupboard ever be great? Why seek after what he could never be? Several years later, greatness wasn’t so much of a fairytale, but it was still not something he could bring himself to want. Not when there were so many other things he wanted more. Loyal friends. A supportive house. A chance to explore all of his interests, not just the expected ones. A place to grow into a person that was neither his father nor his mother nor the Boy-Who-Lived but his very own person. Even, someday, a family of his own. That wasn’t greatness, but it could be happiness.

“Is it selfish to want all that?” Harry asked.

“It is not selfish to look after your own happiness, lad.”

“Even if it goes against someone else’s happiness?”

“Why is your happiness less valuable than theirs?”

Harry simply shook his head, unable to mentally verbalize the feeling that rose up inside him.

However, the Sorting Hat had been around for a millennium, and in that time, it had looked into the tens of thousands of minds. It recognized the resignation that had settled over the young man. “You think that your happiness is worth less because you’ve had less of it,” it said.

Harry shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Do you think just anyone can produce a patronus, Mr. Potter?”

“Er…”

“You might not have had the happiest of childhoods, lad, and odds are that you’ll continue to experience troubles and disappointment as you go on living, because that’s simply the way human lives work, but the joy you have inside you valuable. You should guard it. After all, even the wealthiest men who live without joy are very poor fellows indeed.”

“Do you really think I’ll be happy in Slytherin then? Safe too?”

“Ah, those Slytherins are loyal ones. They’ll protect you and guide you to your goals as long as you’re willing to do the same in return. Are you?”

Was he? What sorts of goals would his Slytherin peers have? Parkinson seemed to want for little more than the attention of those around her. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t seem to have any direction in life except the ones Draco gave them. The other Slytherins, well, he didn’t know them well enough to know what they might want out of life.

Harry didn’t even know what goals Draco had. Over the past few weeks, Harry had gotten to know Draco more than in all of the rest of their time at Hogwarts. He had a sharp sense of humor and a possessive protectiveness over those he counted as his friends. He had a firm grasp on fashion as well as politics and financial reasoning. He was arrogant but also vulnerable in ways he worked hard to hide. Still, Harry had no idea what Draco wanted out of his life. If Harry couldn’t help him reach his goals, either because of his own inability or because those goals didn’t align with Harry’s beliefs, would Draco leave him over it?

The Hat said nothing as Harry puzzled through the question it had posed him. Was he willing to support his Slytherin housemates?

He certainly wouldn’t hurt his housemates, not on purpose. He would protect them if he could. Even if they all hated him as much as the Gryffindors seemed to. But what if his classmates joined Voldemort? If the dreams Harry had been having were any indication, Voldemort’s return was a very real possibility. Harry couldn’t support Death Eaters, if only on the very selfish basis that he wanted to live, and Voldemort wanted to kill him.

Putting aside that particular possibility, though. Was he willing to support his housemates? Yes, he was willing. He wanted friends he could support just as much as he wanted friends who could support him.

“Yes. I want to.”

“That’s what I thought. In that case, the obvious choice we both knew was coming is SLYTHERIN.”

Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from Harry’s head and returned it to Snape’s desk where the raggedy old hat winked at Harry before closing its eyes and going dormant once more.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick was the first to say. The professors, bar his new head of house, all looked taken aback from the Hat’s pronouncement. However, the short professor shook Harry’s hand happily enough.

“Yes,” Professor Sprout agreed. She had been somewhat cold towards him since the announcement of the champions and his unintentional overshadowing of her student, but perhaps her surprise had temporarily knocked the grudge against him out of her. “I wish you luck in your new house. And on the first task tomorrow.”

Harry grimaced at the last addition but thanked her anyways. She and Flitwick took their leave then, having only need to witness the actual sorting. Snape didn’t stand from his seat, but he nodded at Harry, and the corners of his mouth were turned upwards enough just barely enough for it to technically count as a smile. Draco was trying to hide his smile behind his hands, and he was squirming in his seat like a five-year-old who needed to pee. However, it was Professor McGonagall stepping forward that drew his attention.

“Congratulations on your re-sorting, Mr. Potter. This is truly a historic occurrence.” She offered one thin, wrinkled hand to Harry to shake, and when he did, she gave him a small, sad smile. “I know you have a very big day tomorrow. However, I would like it very much if you would join me for tea the day after that. Only if you would be willing, of course.”

Harry glanced at Snape, who nodded, before he said, “Sure, professor. I would like that.” He wasn’t sure what she would want to talk about, and he was worried she would only be upset at him for leaving her house, but if Snape said it was alright, he would trust the man. The Hat’s assurances that no one would be able to put him back in Gryffindor was also reassuring. She gave him one more small smile before seeing herself out.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Draco launched himself at Harry. “You’re a Slytherin now!” he crowed in Harry’s ear.

Harry laughed at his friend and hugged him back. “I told you I would be.”

“Yes, but you actually are!”

“Indeed.” Snape finally stood from his desk and approached them. “I think it’s time to introduce the Slytherins to their new housemate, don’t you, Draco.”

Draco drew away with an almost vicious look on his face. He grasped Harry’s hand and began towing Harry to the door. “Come on, Harry. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.”

The Slytherins’ expressions when Snape made the announcement were as entertaining as Draco had predicted they would be. Or, at least, Harry would have thought so if he weren’t so worried.

“Remember,” Snape told the common room full of gaping students, “whether sorted traditionally or re-sorted, eleven years old or long since graduated, as Slytherins, we protect and support one another. Whatever grudges you might have, past, present, or future, you do not air them in public, and you do not let them get in the way of your responsibilities to your peers. Mr. Potter’s re-sorting may be unusual, but the Sorting Hat would not have placed him here if he did not belong here. Understood?”

Most of the crowd nodded, and Snape accepted that. He dismissed them, and many dispersed, whispering to one another and casting glances back at Harry.

“One last thing, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. He held a parcel wrapped in brown paper out to Harry. “This is your uniform for the tournament. I’m meant to give it to you tomorrow just before the trial, but I can’t be bothered to spend all my time running after you. Do you understand?” His eyes were piercing, and Harry couldn’t hide small smile.

“Yes, sir, I understand.” Take the robes now, but keep them hidden from outsiders.

“Good. I had them altered slightly. Originally, they bore the Hogwarts crest, but you are not the Hogwarts champion, are you?”

“No, sir. Cedric is.”

Snape smirked. “That’s what I thought. The elves will deliver the rest of your belongings to your room. Draco, I trust you can show Mr. Potter around?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then I wish you both a good night.” Without, he left in a flurry of robes.

Draco began leading Harry to one of the doors that exited off of the common room, but they were stopped by Flint first.

“Potter, you’re the team’s new seeker!” he barked. “Malfoy, you can switch to chaser. Adrian’s got his NEWTs next year and has already told me that he won’t be able to give his all to the team. He’ll be a reserve player for either chaser or seeker.”

He didn’t wait for their agreement. He simply turned and joined a group of older boys huddled around books in one corner.

“He won’t even be the quidditch captain next year,” Draco huffed. “He graduates this year.”

“Er, I don’t actually want to steal the seeker spot from you,” Harry said, hurrying to follow Draco who was moving again. Draco just waved the comment off though and pushed open on of the seven doors that lead off from the common room.

Entering behind him, Harry was surprised to find himself in a smaller version of the room they had just left. Still decorated in dark colors, the room was slightly cozier with several sofas and armchairs arranged for students to sit and study together. There were also desks around the room spaced far enough apart for individual study. On the wall to Harry’s left, there was a bright fire in the hearth, and on the wall to the right, a large window looked directly out into the dark lake. There were two more doors on the far wall, but before Harry could ask where they went, Draco clapped his hands.

“Good, everyone’s here!” he said, and the eight students who had been watching them from the sofas all perked up.

“Of course we’re here,” Blaise Zabini drawled. “Where else would we be when we have a new roommate to welcome?” He winked at Harry, who felt heat spread across his cheeks.

“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco ordered. “Harry come here.”

Once again, he found himself being dragged by the hand by Draco. “What is this place?” he asked.

Everyone, even Crabbe and Goyle, looked at him like he was an idiot.

“This is the fourth years’ common room,” Draco said.

“Every year gets their own common room?”

“Of course,” Nott drawled. “You can’t expect students to properly study in a noisy room full of more than fifty other students, can you?”

“Er, I guess not.”

“Don’t be rude, Theo,” a blonde girl whose name Harry couldn’t remember said. “Gryffindor Tower likely doesn’t have as much space as we do down here.”

Nott shrugged.

Parkinson, who had been studying Harry like a bug on a pin since he walked in suddenly gave him wide smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever had a proper introduction to everyone, have you, Potter?” she said.

Harry shook his head. Her too bright smile made him feel wary. He noticed that next to him, Draco was glaring at the girl who was apparently his friend, and his pale cheeks were flushed pink from the warmth of the fire behind him.

“I’m Pansy Parkinson, you may call me Pansy, and this,” she pointed to the honey blonde who had spoken before, “is Daphne Greengrass. Next to her is Millicent Bulstrode, a then there’s Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Tracey Davis and Theodore Nott are on the loveseat, and last is Blaise Zabini.” Most of them offered a wave or a nod when Pansy said their names, but Blaise winked again.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Harry said.

“It is indeed,” Blaise purred from his armchair. Draco kicked him.

“Now, usually,” Pansy said before Blaise could retaliate, “not that there’s really any ‘usually’ about this situation, we’d spend the evening getting to know each other. However, you’ve got a rather important task tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Not quite,” Harry admitted. “But I’m getting close.”

“What can we do to help, then?” Daphne asked, leaning forward.

Harry thought about it. “Um, one sec.” They all watched him curiously as he tore the paper from the box Snape had given him. From the box, he withdrew plain black battle robes. They were unembellished but made from heavy, high-quality fabric. Inspecting the fabric closely, he felt for any magic that might be sewn, woven, or cast into the robes, but he found none. They would suit his needs perfectly.

“Draco said he would help me figure out what spells I need, but can any of you sew? Or embroider, rather?”

As one, all of them turned to look not at one of the girls as Harry might have expected but at Gregory Goyle. The hulking, brutish boy glared at Harry with some defiance as he asked, “What do you need?”

Refusing to show the surprise or scorn the boy likely expected from him, Harry said, “I need some runes embroidered. Here.” He went to one of the desks where he found spare parchment, ink, and quills, and he carefully drew out the rune combination he had practiced in the library. After testing it quickly to ensure that it was right, he returned to the curious group and passed the paper to Goyle. “It needs to look exactly like that—no alterations, no embellishments—and it needs to be sewn into every piece of fabric including the lining. There shouldn’t be more than eighteen inches between each repetition. Can you do that?”

Goyle looked at the runes and nodded seriously. “That will be easy. Does the color of thread matter?”

“Not as far as the effectiveness of the runes goes, but I’d like them to be as invisible as possible. I’m not allowed to take anything more than my wand into the arena with me. I doubt they’ll be pleased if they know I added protections to my robes.”

Goyle nodded seriously. “I’ll take care of it.” He left the battle robes on the sofa where he was sitting and stood. Going to the far door on the right, he disappeared without another word.

“Is there anything the rest of us can do?” Pansy asked.

“Not yet. If you’re up for it, I might need to practice some spells later, but first, I need to figure out what spells those might be.”

“I refuse to be target practice,” Theo said, and Millicent nodded in agreement.

“What? No, not anything like that.” Harry waved his hands. “I meant help me learn the spells, give me tips. Stuff like that.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” Tracey said.

Goyle returned with a large wooden case and took a seat. From the case, he withdrew a set of needles and two nested together wooden circles, all of which he set aside. Then, he pulled out several bundle of black threads. He compared them against each other, then against the battle robes carefully, before discarding all but one. Harry hadn’t been able to see any difference in the threads, but he guessed that Goyle would know best. “This work?” Goyle asked gruffly.

He showed Harry the thread splayed across the fabric of the robes, and Harry was impressed. It was a nearly perfect match. No one would be able to see the runes unless they were inches away.

Goyle nodded in satisfaction and settled into his seat where he began separating out the threads from their twist.

Draco pulled Harry’s attention away from the surprisingly craft-oriented Goyle. “Now, what ideas have you got so far?”

True to their word, after Harry and Draco had worked out some strategy, the others helped Harry practice the spells he would need to know. They agreed that it was best not to try to use fancy, impressive spellwork. Instead, they would stick to spells Harry was already comfortable with from previous years. By the time ten o’clock rolled around, the fourth years’ common room was a mess, they had several back up plans in place, and Harry was exhausted.

“Go to bed,” Daphne ordered. “The dragon will catch you for sure if you’re too slow to dodge because you didn’t get any sleep.”

“Yes, Daph, that’s sure to help him get right to sleep,” Tracey rolled her eyes and grinned at Harry.

“I’ve got an extra sleeping potion if you need it,” Theo offered, and Harry nodded eagerly.

“Yes, please. Otherwise I’ll be up half the night no matter how tired I am.”

“Come on,” Draco said. “Let me show you our room.”

“I think, dear Draco,” Blaise interrupted, taking Harry’s hand from Draco, “that I’ll show him to his room. He and I are roommates after all.”

“What?” Draco objected.

“We’re not all in the same room?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Merlin, no. It’s two to a room, or three if there’s an uneven number. And I don’t know why you would assume you would be in Harry’s room, Draco. You know Professor Snape always assigns roommates in alphabetical order.”

Draco trailed after them grumbling about godfathers and preferential treatment and “supposed to love me.”

The door Goyle had disappeared through before led to a short hallway with four doors. The first had a pewter plaque that read ‘Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle.’ The second had an identical plaque that read ‘Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott.’ “I used to be in there with them,” Blaise told Harry. “But as soon as you were re-sorted, a new room appeared. I already checked; all my things have already been moved over. I’ll have to redecorate again, though.” He stopped them in front of the door with the plaque that read ‘Harrison Potter & Blaise Zabini’ and opened the door, gesturing grandly for Harry to enter. Harry did, looking around the room with awe.

It was slightly smaller than his old dorm, but as there were only two beds, Harry didn’t see any issue with that. Each side of the room had a bed—identical to the ones up in Gryffindor Tower except for the fact that the curtains and comforter were green, not red—a desk, a nightstand, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe. Each bed had the owner’s trunk at the foot of it.

“Bathroom’s at the end of the hall—we have to share with the other boys in our year, unfortunately. I’ll let you change. Daphne will have my head if I keep you up—Draco might too.” Blaise was smirking at the blond boy who was glowering right back at him.

“Er, right. I’m just gonna…” Harry trailed off, edging away from the odd interaction between the other two boys. He gathered his pajamas and toiletries and took them to the bathroom with him. On his way back, Theo caught him, wordlessly passing over the promised sleeping potion. The look he gave Harry when he thanked the other boy was unreadable, and after a moment, Harry shrugged it off and returned to his room.

Draco and Blaise were no longer locked in a staring contest. Instead, Blaise was arranging his thing on his side of the room. He had already hung several posters of very attractive witches and wizards who winked and fluttered their lashes at the room’s inhabitants, and he had moved on to organizing his bookshelf. Harry boggled at just how full the shelves were. He thought of his own rather small book collection that was mostly made up of old textbooks. Maybe he should start expanding it more.

Draco was sitting on Harry’s bed and looked up when Harry entered. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I think Daphne’s right though. I’m just going to take the potion and go straight to sleep.”

Draco nodded but didn’t get off Harry’s bed while he watched Harry put his robes in the laundry and take the potion. It was only when Harry crawled under his covers that Draco spoke again. “What are you going to do about the rest of the school?”

“How do you mean?”

“They likely won’t be pleased about your sorting.”

“No,” Harry agreed around a long yawn. “Snape said Slytherin would all support me. But I really don’t want to push my luck right before the task. We’ve only got History tomorrow, and it’s with everyone in our year, so as long as I don’t eat in the Great Hall, no one needs to know about my re-sort until after the task, right?” Putting his glasses on his nightstand, he curled up on his pillow facing Draco.

“And you’re alright being Slytherin? You’re not going to regret it later or…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but by the way he flushed and bit his lip as he looked away, Harry could guess. Over the years, Harry had learned to read the blond boy’s emotions.

“I’m not going to be embarrassed to be a Slytherin,” Harry said firmly. “I might have, once, when I had only heard bad things about the house. But it’s different now. Now, I know you, and I know Snape, and I know that Slytherins are loyal just as much as they’re cunning. I’ll be fine.”

As he spoke, his eyes drifted closed. That potion Nott had given him was stronger than he expected.

The shifting of the bed told Harry that Draco had finally stood, but he didn’t move away from the bed just yet. “I’m glad you’re here, Harry,” Draco whispered, and Harry smiled when he felt Draco brush his bangs across his forehead.

He wanted to assure Draco that he too was glad he was here, but before he could, he drifted off to sleep.

As expected, no one noticed that Harry came from the dungeons the morning following his resorting. He avoided the Great Hall and sat with Hermione in History of Magic. She was the only person he told about his re-sorting, and he held his breath waiting for her reaction. Around them, most of their classmates were dozing or lazily taking the occasional note, but he noticed that all of the Slytherins sitting near him and Hermione were watching the interaction cautiously.

Hermione’s face froze when he divulged his new house, and after a second, her expression crumpled. She launched herself at him and hugged him so tightly that his ribs creaked a bit. “Hermione!” he gasped. The Slytherins relaxed once they realized his friend wasn’t attacking him, and several smirked at him while he struggled to breathe.

“Oh, Harry, I’m going to miss you!” she whispered.

“Me too. But I really think it’s going to be okay.”

Hermione scrutinized him carefully, then she turned to meet the eyes of all the Slytherins still watching them. They each gazed back seriously and unblinkingly until Hermione nodded decisively.

“You’re right,” she said to Harry. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Chapter End Notes

You know, I thought Harry and the Hat were going to have a playful, banter-filled convo there. But then Harry turned all melancholy. Sorry if you got whiplash from the last chapter.

*Update - 3/2/22: It was pointed out in some comments that Harry already knew who Blaise was from earlier in this story, so I've updated this to reflect that.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry had been so focused on getting re-sorted and actually preparing for the first task that he sort of forgot to be nervous for the task itself until Snape came to collect him for it.

“Tell me your plan,” Snape said as they walked. His glare kept any other students who might try to eavesdrop away.

In stilted sentences, Harry explained the plan. He explained the contingencies Tracey had helped him make in case he actually ended up needed to fight the dragon and which he desperately hoped wouldn’t be needed. He displayed his failsafe, and Snape inspected the neat stitches Goyle—“Call me ‘Greg,’” he had insisted when Harry praised his work—had embroidered along every seam and in the center of every panel of fabric. Snape nodded when Harry was finished. “If nothing else, you’ll survive this intact. I’ll be surprised if you don’t win altogether.”

Harry flushed at the praise. “Thank you, sir.”

Snape deposited him in the champions tent with a nod of support before he disappeared. Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric were all there already, and they all looked just as nervous as he was in their own ways.

Viktor stood in one corner of the tent with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Fleur was sitting, her clenched hands wrinkling her skirt in her lap and her face far paler than usual. Cedric was pacing the tent with long, hurried strides. When he saw Harry, he gave him a grimace that was trying to be a smile. Harry was glad he had remembered to tell Cedric about the dragons the day before amongst everything else.

The only person in the tent who didn’t look like they were about to piss themselves was Bagman who, as usual, was bouncing around with childish enthusiasm. Viktor kind of looked like he wanted to strangle the cheerful man. Harry kind of wanted to help.

Bagman gathered them together and explained that their task was to take a golden egg from their assigned dragon, and Harry wanted to throw up. As Draco had explained to Harry, nesting mother dragons were vicious to anyone or anything that got too close to their eggs. Some had even been known to attack their own mates if he got too close to the nest. He prayed his plan would work.

Considering his luck, Harry wasn’t surprised when he pulled the biggest, angriest dragon from the little bag. Why couldn’t he have picked the Welsh Green or the Swedish Short-Snout? Neither of them was exactly docile, but they didn’t have spikes on their great big swinging tail either.

Bagman stopped to try to offer Harry advice for some reason, and Harry did his best to brush the man off. He was grateful when a whistle sounded and Bagman ran out to entertain the crowd.

Harry was set to go last, and waiting for his turn was absolute torture. The crowd’s gasps, screams, oohs, and aahs each drove his anxiety higher until he was shaking with his head hanging between his knees. Halfway through Cedric’s performance, Viktor sat down on the ground next to Harry, and Harry leaned into the older teen almost desperately. Viktor patted Harry’s back with a heavy hand that seemed as clumsy and unused to giving comfort as Harry was at asking for it.

“You have a plan?” Viktor asked.

“Yeah. A plan. And a couple backup plans. I just—what if they don’t—dragons breathe fire, Viktor!”

As if in response to his words, they heard a thundering whoosh of flames from outside the tent and several shrieks. Over the shrieks from the crowd, people Harry thought must be the dragon tamers yelled to one another as they coordinated stunning the dragon again. Harry’s breath shuddered out of him. He glanced across the tent at Fleur who stared steadily back at him even though her face looked a little gray. Then, Bagman announced her name. With a nod to Harry and Viktor, she stood and walked out of the tent. Though she held her head high, Harry could still see her trembling.

“You have a plan, then?” Harry asked, trying desperately to block out Bagman’s commentary.

“Da. It should work. I ran it past a dragon tamer friend of mine. But still, I cannot help but feel nervous.”

“Me too.”

They sat in silence, each of them lost in their own fears until applause outside the tent signaled the Fleur’s completion of the task. Gingerly, Viktor stood and held out a hand to help Harry stand as well. Harry took it and let Viktor pull him up. “Good luck,” he offered. The wish was inadequate, but what else could he say?

“To you as well,” Viktor said. “We will both be alright, I think.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded shakily.

Viktor took the shortest amount of time out of the three champions, but Harry spent the whole time pacing the length of the tent. His heart almost stopped when he heard the terrible roar of the Chinese Fireball, but a moment later, Bagman’s amplified voice confirmed Viktor’s success and Harry started to breathe again.

But then it was his turn. He did not feel brave or strong as he walked out to his starting spot, but he tried to pretend as members of the crowd alternately cheered for and jeered at him. His eyes were stuck on the Hungarian Horntail. She was crouched, her wings and tails curled protectively around her nest while her head, nearly the size of a muggle car, swung back and forth to glare at the noisy crowd. She noticed Harry when he reached the spot Bagman indicated. Her great big eyes were yellow and slitted, and they narrowed in on Harry with terrifying precision.

The crowd was still loud, and Harry wondered why the organizers hadn’t put some sort of noise ward around the arena. Surely the crowd would only rile up the dragons more.

When Harry didn’t move a muscle for several moments, the Horntail looked away from him, snarling at the audience. Harry jolted as he realized he recognized words in her growls. “Away!” she cried. “Mine protect!”

It wasn’t like listening to a snake, who Harry heard as more or less speaking in English. Instead, only a few of her growls came to him as words, and even then, they were heavily accented and somewhat garbled. But, maybe, he could just talk to her and avoid risking his neck.

Looking into her slitted eyes, he said, “Hello?”

She focused on him again. “Away!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s a fake egg in your nest. I need it.”

“Mine eggs! Mine!”

“But there’s a fake one. I just need that one.”

“Protect mine eggs!”

Apparently, their languages were too far apart. She couldn’t understand what he said, or at least, she couldn’t understand enough of it to understand that he didn’t want to hurt her or her eggs. Damnit. He’d have to go with the original plan.

The crowd was getting restless watching him just stand and stare at the dragon, and more and more of the crowd and started jeering at him. He was grateful to see that the green clad section of the crowd wasn’t laughing at least.

Raising his wand, he incanted, “Nebulus!” Fog began spilling from the tip of his wand, and he poured more and more power into the spell, pushing the fog to thicken as quickly as possible. He had to recast the spell a few times, but after only a few minutes, the fog filled the interior of the stadium, hiding him completely.

“It seems Mr. Potter’s plan is to keep himself hidden from the Horntail’s line of sight! Clever idea, but how does he expect to get close to the nest when the dragon is still guarding it, hmm?” Bagman’s voice echoed around the stadium. He was right. The Horntail hadn’t moved from her nest; she had only crouched lower under it. However, Harry had expected this.

He focused on the way his new house had already accepted him—Greg had stayed up all night finishing the embroidered runes for Harry’s robes and had positively preened when Harry complimented him on the work. Tracey had drilled him on making fog as fast and thick as possible for two hours, and when he’d succeeded in filling the room in under a minute, she'd clapped for him even though they had both ended up damp and chilly. Blaise had praised him for already being the best roommate he had ever had because Draco hogged the mirror and Theo was an early riser. Draco had approvingly grinned at the small Slytherin crest on Harry’s robes that morning, and though he hadn’t said a word, he was obviously gloating.—and with all that in mind, he cast, “Expecto Patronum!”

Prongs leapt from Harry’s wand, and the crowd gasped.

“Is that—is that a Patronus? My goodness, I think it is! That’s some very tricky magic there!” Bagman said.

Harry whispered instruction for Prongs to distract the Horntail and stayed crouched in his position as the stag bounded off. While the fog obstructed the Horntail’s view of him, it also meant that Harry couldn’t see the Horntail or much of what was around him at all. However, he could hear the dragon shifting, likely turning as she kept Prongs in sight. It felt like several hours later, though it was likely only a few minutes, that he heard the Horntail starting to move away from the nest, likely to follow Prongs who was starting to dance further and further from the center of the stadium.

Casting nebulus again, Harry thickened the fog then added a moderately strong, “Ventus.” The wind spell would keep the fog moving enough that the dragon hopefully wouldn’t notice Harry moving through it. He stayed crouched low to the ground, practically crawling toward the nest. He was careful of the few loose rocks around him. Luckily, the sounds of the dragon moving were far louder than him and covered him nicely as she lumbered away.

Finally, Harry found the edge of the nest. The Horntail hadn’t moved far, only about thirty feet away, and Harry paused once again to produce more fog and hide his location. Bagman announced that he had now been in the arena longer than Viktor, but as Viktor had been the fastest champion, Harry wasn’t worried. Peeking up over the side of the nest, Harry found five eggs. The smooth gold one he was meant to collect stood out obviously from the rough black eggs that belonged to the Horntail. It so clearly didn’t belong that Harry wondered why she hadn’t thrown it out already. Maybe the dragon tamers had confunded her.

He scooped the golden egg up quickly and ducked back into the fog. Unfortunately, the crowd caught sight of him for just long enough to get excited. The cheering crowd caught the Horntails attention, and she glanced away from Prongs. Harry had to scramble away with his heavy prize as she quickly returned to her nest. She didn’t seem to notice that one was missing, but she roared at the crowd.

Focusing all his mental energy on the ongoing patronus, Harry directed Prongs to get the dragon’s attention again. He did, guiding her gaze in the opposite direction of Harry, but she didn’t leave her nest again. With her wings spread over it, it was hidden almost completely from view. If Harry hadn’t gotten his egg before the crowd had made her nervous, he wouldn’t have had a chance now.

Harry slipped back through the fog until he reached the edge where it was beginning to fade. Standing, he hoisted the egg up in the air, relieved to be done with this first, stupid task.

The crowds thunderous cheering broke the Horntail’s attention on Prongs again, and as she spun angrily, she spied Harry with the egg that only moments ago had been nestled in with her clutch. Her roar was like metal clashing and tearing, and several people it audience cried out in alarm. With another bellowing roar, the Horntail spat out a torrent of fire straight at Harry.

Harry dropped the egg to the ground and spun so his back was to the dragon, pulling the hood of his robes up over his head as he turned. As proud as he was of his runes work, he had hoped he wouldn’t have to test them against dragon fire.

He couldn’t hear the audience over the crackling rumble of the fire all around him, and he was grateful for it. But it was hot, so unbearably hot that Harry thought he might pass out from it, and it seemed to go on and on and on. His hands were stuffed up his sleeves to protect them from the flames, and the robes went all the way to the ground, but he knew that if he collapsed, his hands, face, and legs would be exposed to the flames. Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on any longer, the fire ended.

People were crying in the stands, and several medics and dragon tamers were running towards him while others restrained the Horntail.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. It had worked.

“Harry!” Charlie was there, patting him all over and looking astounded. “You’re not burned! How are you not burned?”

Bagman was yelling the same thing. “How did he survive that? I mean, obviously it’s a relief! But how in the hell did he pull that off?”

After checking to make sure the Horntail wasn’t liable to try to fry him again, Harry removed his battle robes and wordlessly held them out to Charlie, pointing to an embroidered rune string along the seams. He was too exhausted to explain verbally, and he doubted Charlie would have heard him anyways if he tried. Medics were casting diagnosis charm after diagnosis charm over him, calling to each other about dehydration and heat exhaustion.

Charlie had to tilt the robes this way and that until he found an angle that caught the sun enough that he could read the runes. When he did, his face split into a wide grin. “That’s brilliant, Harry!” he said, returning the robes. Harry gave him a tired smile. Bundling up the robes, he used them to pick up the now red-hot egg steaming on the ground. Obviously, it hadn’t escaped the flames.

The medics herded him over to the first aid tent where Madam Pomfrey tutted over him and made him drink a lot of water and several potions he didn’t recognize.

Hermione ran in then with, strangely enough, Ron right behind her. Hermione reached him first, bowling into him and ignoring Madam Pomfrey who cried out in alarm.

“Harry, I was so afraid!” Hermione cried into his shoulder. He patted her awkwardly on the head.

“I’m alright, ‘Mione.” It might have been more convincing if his voice hadn’t cracked and croaked over the words. Madam Pomfrey frowned and made him take another potion, which soothed his throat immensely.

“For smoke inhalation,” she said.

When his “thank you” came out sounding much better than his earlier words, she nodded in satisfaction and moved over to check on Cedric who had a nasty burn on his arm.

The three teens were left together stared at each other awkwardly. Hermione looked near to bursting with a hundred different questions, but she was shifting uneasily between Harry and Ron, glancing back and forth between them.

Finally, Ron spoke. “Harry, whoever put your name in that goblet—I—I reckon they’re trying to do you in!”

“Caught on, have you? Took you long enough.”

Ron fidgeted, glancing at the slowly cooling egg still in Harry’s lap.

“It’s okay. Forget it,” Harry said.

“No, I shouldn’t’ve—”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve,” Harry agreed. “But you won’t do it again.” If only because Harry wouldn’t let him do it again.

Ron smiled nervously at him. “C’mon, they’ll be putting up your scores.”

Harry was rather curious about his scores—not because he wanted to win, but because he wanted to know how his strategy had compared to the other champions he hadn’t gotten to watch—but he pulled back when he realized that Ron was planning to go with him to get his scores.

Harry was willing to stop fighting with Ron. As he had told Snape, he was tired of fighting. However, it didn’t escape his notice that Ron was willing to be his friend again the very first time Harry would be actually getting real praise in this tournament and that Ron expected to share in that praise.

Even though he hadn’t helped Harry prepare for this task. Even though he had ignored him and snarled at him and hit him. Even though he hadn’t even properly apologized. He expected to stand in front of the entire audience and receive Harry’s scores with him.

“No thanks.” Harry edged away. “I’ll go on my own.”

“But—”

“I’ll see you later.” Harry dashed away before Ron could finish his sentence, returning to the arena while cradling the egg and robes in his arms.

“Ah! Our youngest champion has returned! Medic reports tell me that despite being held under a barrage of dragon fire for a full thirty seconds at least, our youngest champion’s clever use of rune magic means he needed treatment for only mild dehydration, heat exhaustion, and smoke inhalation. I don’t know about you, but that is quite impressive. We’ll see if the judges agree in their scoring. Remember, it’s out of ten. From Madam Maxime!”

The regal woman produced a long, silver ribbon that curled itself into the number nine.

“Excellent! And from Headmaster Dumbledore…” Dumbledore also awarded Harry a nine along with a twinkling smile that Harry forced himself to ignore. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt with the old man right now, and he wouldn’t be able to decide until he had a chance to look at those papers from the bank, but he certainly wasn’t happy with him.

Ludo Bagman himself gave Harry a ten, but Karkaroff only gave Harry a four. Which was utterly unfair, but Harry honestly didn’t care. He was done, and he wouldn’t have to face another ridiculous trial until February.

“That’s does it! Tied for first place, we have Viktor Krum and Harry Potter! In second, Cedric Diggory, and in third is Fleur Delacour. But! It’s still anyone’s game. We will see you all back here in exactly three months for the second task!”

Bagman told the champions to wait, so Harry joined the others back in the champions’ tent, pleased to see that everyone had gotten through it well enough. Fleur’s skirt was slightly singed, and Cedric’s arm was bandaged, but considering, well, dragons, they all could have been much worse off. Harry was surprised at how poorly Viktor looked though. He didn’t seem injured at all, but his eyes were red rimmed, and his face was drawn. He kept his arms crossed and wouldn’t look any of them in the eye.

Now that the event was over and most people had filtered out of the stands, the medics and some of the dragon tamers were simply milling around with nothing to do. Viktor approached a small group of dragon tamers, his usually duck-footed gait even stiffer and more awkward than usual. Harry watched as the international quidditch star bowed his head to the three dragon tamers, a scarred middle-aged man, and an older woman with frazzled gray hair, and Charlie. The three watched him warily, but as he started to speak, their expressions all softened. His words were too quiet for Harry to hear, but the way he held himself suggested that he was waiting for a coming hex. However, Charlie only put a gentle hand on his shoulder and led the teen away from the other two.

“Hiya, Harry,” said a voice to Harry’s right, and he turned to them, hoping he didn’t look too guilty for trying to eavesdrop. He perked up, though when he saw who it was.

“Hi, Cedric! How’s your arm doing?”

“Madam Pomfrey says it should be right as rain within the week. I hear you’re better at avoiding burns than I am.”

Harry shrugged. “I had help.”

“So did I,” Cedric said. “Thank you, really, for the tip. I don’t know what I would have done without the warning.”

Harry tried to wave away the thanks. “What did you end up doing to get around your dragon? I didn’t get to see anyone in the tent.”

“I transfigured a rock into a dog. Seems like we had a similar idea getting an animal to distract our dragons. Maybe a dog was too normal, though, because the Short-Snout got bored of it pretty quick, and I didn’t get away quite in time.”

“What about Fleur and Viktor? What did they do?”

“Fleur, well, she’s part veela, you know. And they’re pretty good at hypnotism, so she used a charm to put it to sleep. Only problem is that the dragon’s snoring lit her skirt on fire, but she put it out before it spread. Plus, again, veela, so pretty fire resistant anyways.

“Then Krum, he hit the dragon in the eye with some spell—that’s one of their most vulnerable spots after all—but he got points off because the dragon stepped on a few of her real eggs while she was rolling around in pain.”

Oh, poor Viktor. No wonder he looked so upset and so nervous about talking to the dragon tamers. Harry spun to seek him out. Charlie was talking to him still, and as he watched, something Charlie said made Viktor’s mouth drop. Charlie smiled at him and Viktor seemed to practically melt with relief. He nearly stagged forward, and Charlie just laughed and pulled the man into a hug. Unable to contain his curiosity, Harry headed over.

“All of them?” Viktor was saying when Harry reached them. “You swear?”

“I swear, all of the eggs are safe. We weren’t willing to risk them, so we transfigured some rocks into believable fakes. We didn’t tell the judges, of course, because they were extremely insistent on this all being as realistic as possible, but I promise, all of the Fireball’s real eggs are safe and sound in her nest.”

“Thank all the gods,” Viktor groaned and leaned into Harry.

“That was smart of you guys, Charlie,” Harry said, holding onto Viktor.

Charlie just shrugged. “Most species of dragon are endangered. There was no way we were going to risk it. Especially when we didn’t know if any of the champions would care. I mean, I knew Harry would care, but that’s because I know him, and he already helped me smuggle a dragon across national borders.”

Viktor looked down at Harry and raised an eyebrow at him.

“In my defense, it wasn’t my fault that Hagrid decided he could raise a baby dragon in his wooden hut. And also, I totally got detention for that.”

Charlie laughed at Harry’s scowl. “Anyways, we weren’t sure if any of the other champions would care about the eggs—we even worried that someone might try sacrificing them somehow to get to the gold egg—so we made those replicas and put them in the arena instead.”

Viktor frowned. “And I proved you right by damaging the replicas. In my defense, I did not think the mother dragon would damage her eggs. I have heard they are very protective.”

“They are. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew they weren’t her eggs, at least subconsciously. Maybe that’s why she was less careful with them.”

“Perhaps,” Viktor agreed. “Still, I am very grateful for your thinking ahead.”

They were interrupted then by Bagman entering the tent to explain the next task and the clue hidden in their eggs. Harry wondered what would they have done if one of the champions hadn’t been able to get their egg. Would they simply have made the champion go into that task blindly too?

Exiting the tent, Harry found all of his Slytherin yearmates as well as several other Slytherins standing in a clump on the path out of the forest and up to the castle. Hermione was there too, having a conversation about runes with Theo, and Ron was there grumpily glaring at Draco, who was glaring right back.

Daphne spotted him first and cheered, “There he is!” Everyone else turned as well and Harry felt blood color his cheeks as everyone congratulated and patted him on the shoulder or hugged him or—in Blaise’s case—smacked a kiss on his lips. Blaise pulled away only a moment later rubbing his shoulder and smirking at Draco who was lowering his fist.

Draco threw and arm around Harry’s shoulders and started guiding him up to the castle, jabbering on about the dragons, the other champions’ strategies, the tragedy of the crushed Fireball eggs (which Harry was quick to reassure him had only been fakes), and how worried he had been about Harry. Before they got far, though, Ron’s voice rose up above everyone’s chattering.

“What the hell is going on!” he shouted. He scowled at Harry and Draco and the arm Draco had around Harry and the arm Harry had, without noticing, thrown around Draco.

“Well, Weasley,” Pansy smirked. “We’re taking our housemate up to the castle for a well-deserved celebration. It’s only right, don’t you think.”

“Harry’s not in Slytherin, he’s a Gryffindor!”

“Actually, Ron, I was re-sorted last night. I’m in Slytherin now. Can’t go back to Gryffindor, even if I wanted to.”

Ron gawked at Harry, and Harry gazed sadly back at his once best friend.

“If you’ll excuse us, Weasley,” Draco sneered. “Granger, I suppose you can come, if you’re so inclined.”

Hermione stared at Draco in shock but shook herself out of it after a moment. “Thank you, but I think I should go up to Gryffindor. Explain things a bit.”

“As you will, but if you change your mind, find us after dinner.”

The Slytherins all encircled Harry then, guiding him up to the castle. At the edge of the forest, Rita Skeeter appeared. “Congratulations, Harry! I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How do you feel about facing a dragon? Do you feel the tournament is impacting your relationships, even your personality?” she demanded to know.

But the Slytherins kept her away, and Harry was in the middle of their circle safe from creeping, crawling reporters.

Chapter End Notes

Harry might have remembered to tell Cedric about the dragons, but this writer certainly didn’t! I woke up the morning after posting Chapter 11 and realized I had set Cedric up to die (dun, dun, dun).

In case you're wondering, I left the scoring the same as it is in the book because the scoring is just so biased that changing the way he did the task doesn’t seem like it would significantly change the way they scored him. Like, as the only one who didn’t get hurt and didn’t damage the eggs, Fleur obviously should have scored highest, but because JK hates her, she got a little burn on her skirt that she put out immediately (because, you know, she was calm and collected and not flipping out like most people would if they were on fire) and somehow got last place. Besides, the scoring doesn’t have any effect on who wins besides deciding who gets a headstart in the maze, so it doesn’t matter anyways.

How'd you like the 1st task? I have to admit, I kind of hate action-type stuff, so I tend to skim past it when I'm reading, which means I kind of suck at writing it too. Any feedback you have is welcome! How was the pacing? Did i skip something important? Where things too obvious or too vague? I'd love to hear back about both positives and negatives (but please remember to be kind).

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

Alternatively titled "Harry Potter and a Series of Uncomfortable Conversations, Part 1"

(you know, if I actually titled any of these chapters)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Word of Harry’s re-sorting spread quickly from there, and Harry got more than a few sneers when he emerged from the dungeons for dinner. However, he also got more than a few contemplative looks from students and staff alike, and those honestly made him more uncomfortable than the sneering did. His fellow Slytherins weren’t oblivious to any of the looks they got, but they did seem immune to them, which Harry admired. Hopefully that was a Slytherin skill he’d be able to pick up fast.

Once they returned to the dungeons, this time with Hermione in tow, the Slytherins celebrated Harry’s success late into the night, despite the fact that they all had classes the following morning. He wasn’t sure how they got all the treats and drinks they did—Fred and George always supplied things for the Gryffindor parties, but Harry wouldn’t have expected any of the Slytherins to share their particular skillsets—but he didn’t particularly care either. He enjoyed hanging out with Hermione and his new housemates all at the same time. The night seemed to pass in a flurry of blissful snapshots.

There was Hermione sitting with Daphne, Millicent, and a few older girls talking seriously about something he couldn’t quite hear, but only moments later, a wide grin spread across her face and she giggled. Harry wasn’t certain he had ever seen her giggle before, but it looked good on her.

Greg was surrounded by several older students, eyes wide as if stunned to have positive attention from them, as he demonstrated the runes he had sewn into Harry’s robes. Vince sat solidly at his side with a small smile for his best friend.

Pansy, Draco, and Blaise all tried to teach Harry how to waltz. They all swore up and down that it was one of the easiest ballroom dances to learn, but Harry still managed to stamp on their toes at least a dozen times before he begged off.

At one point, Vince picked up the golden egg Harry had left nestled in his outer robes on an end table. As if it were a Christmas present, Vince shook it with his ear pressed close to the shell. “I can’t hear anything,” he complained. “What do you think is in there?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “They said it’s the clue for the next task though.”

Most of the house gathered around them as Vince passed Harry the egg, and there were several shouts for Harry to open it up. Hermione looked like she would object for a moment, but Daphne nudged her with a smile, and Hermione shut her mouth sheepishly.

As soon as he pried it open, Harry rather wished Hermione had stopped him. There was nothing in the egg, but as soon as it was all the way open, it let out the most terrible wailing Harry had ever heard. It was just as loud as the dragon had been, and the sound crashed against the stone walls around them, reverberating through the room as everyone ineffectually threw their hands over their ears. He couldn’t hear them over the screeching, but most of the crowd was obviously yelling at him to close the egg back up, which Harry did without hesitation.

“What the hell was that?” an older student Harry didn’t know demanded.

“It sort of sounded like one of the dragons,” someone else said.

“That would make sense since it’s coming from a dragon’s egg,” another student agreed.

“But they already tested the champions against dragons. Surely they wouldn’t do that again; that’d be extremely unoriginal.”

Harry interrupted the debate. “I don’t think it’s dragons again. This was higher pitched than any of the ones we saw today. Plus, I could understand my dragon, sort of, but I couldn’t understand any of whatever was in the egg.”

This pronouncement was met with mixed reactions. Some people declared their agreement with Harry’s analysis while others rose up to argue. But he couldn’t focus on either of those groups become of the students that leapt at him. “You can understand dragons?” someone yelped.

“Er, sort of? Not really.” Harry edged away from the group that wore hungry expressions and seemed ready to sink their claws into him for any knowledge Harry might give them. Unsettlingly, this group included Hermione.

“Tell us,” she demanded. It was quite a departure from her usually well thought out, if rushed, questions. Maybe he should get her away from the Slytherins after all.

“You all remember that I’m a parselmouth, right? Well, I guess dragon-speak is similar? I couldn’t really understand all of it, or even most of it. But I could understand a couple words. She couldn’t understand me much, though. Or maybe she was just too scared to listen to me? I’m not sure.”

“That makes sense,” Theo mused. “After all, they’re all reptiles, and there are a lot of different species of magical snakes. Perhaps they have a common ancestor?”

Hermione blinked at him. “I didn’t realize wizards studied evolution. But what do you think came first? Did magical species evolve from non-magical species, or was this hypothetical common ancestor magical and some of its descendants lose that trait?”

Harry couldn’t really follow their rapid-fire conversation after that, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It seemed to devolve into a debate filled with jargon he vaguely remembered from primary school science lessons and vocabulary terms he had seen when he’d skimmed ahead in his Care of Magical Creatures text.

The crowd had mostly filtered away, returning to their own conversations. Only a few of his year mates stuck around. Draco pushed him into a seat on the couch then sat down next to him before Blaise could scoot over close. “Any ideas?” Draco asked, blatantly ignoring Blaise’s grin.

“Could be another creature,” Harry said. “Though would they do another creature right away? There’s supposed to be testing us in a variety of areas, so maybe a spell or potion would be more likely. Though I really don’t know what kind of spell would make that sort of noise.”

The sat around debating until their eyelids grew heavy and their yawns grew too wide to talk around. Hermione had had to head back Gryffindor Tower before curfew. However, the rest of them didn’t shuffle off to their beds until Snape came in around two in the morning declaring that he wouldn’t help anyone who dozed off in their cauldrons because they were too addle-brained to go to sleep at the proper hour.

Harry placed the golden egg in a blanket nest on his nightstand. The little Hungarian Horntail figurine he had pulled from the bag curled up protectively on top of the comparatively gigantic egg and she huffed out a little bit of steam at him. She looked just as protective of her clutch as the real one had. This time though, it was adorable rather that intimidating, and he stroked a hand down the little dragons spine, feeling a bubble of warmth in his chest when she nipped harmlessly at his finger.

He drifted off to sleep holding on to that warmth and hoping that the next day would turn out just as nice as this one had.

By lunchtime the next day, Harry felt like breathing fire himself, and he was internally debating whether feeding schoolmates to the dragons would give the poor creatures indigestion. Maybe he should send a quick note to Charlie about it. He seemed like a reasonable guy. He would probably understand Harry’s position.

Objectively, he had known that he would have to deal with the rest of the school. However, he hadn’t thought that it would start as soon as he stepped out of the Slytherin common room.

“Weasleys. What are you doing here?” Draco’s voice was cold and aloof in a way Harry hadn’t heard it since before Halloween, and Harry realized that this was the voice his friend used for outsiders. Harry swung his head to where Draco was looking and found Fred and George leaning against the wall opposite of the common room entrance. For once, they looked somber.

“Relax, Malfoy. We’re not here to make trouble,” George said.

“We just wanted to talk to Harry for a moment,” Fred agreed.

“Fine, talk,” Draco said.

“Privately,” Fred and George disagreed.

None of Harry’s year mates moved away, though. “Guys, it’s fine.” Harry tried to wave them down the hall. “I’ll talk the twins and catch up with you at breakfast.”

“It’s not wise to wander around the castle on your own, Harry,” Daphne said. She was eyeing the twins and biting her lip, and in that moment, Harry realized that she didn’t trust the twins.

It wasn’t in the way that the Gryffindors distrusted them. In Gryffindor, everyone knew that the twins might fool around, and you probably shouldn’t eat anything they gave you if you wanted to keep you current hair color or keep all your limbs in their normal state (though oddly, they had never once messed with Harry’s food). However, everyone also knew that the twins wouldn’t actually hurt them, not on purpose anyways. You might end up a little embarrassed, but likely so would everyone else, often including the twins, so you could all laugh together.

The Slytherins didn’t see the Weasley twins that way. Harry wondered if any of the twins pranks had made it down here to the dungeon. If they had, had they been crueler than the ones that lit up the Gryffindor common room?

The twins seemed to realize that the Slytherins were trying to protect Harry from them at the same time Harry did, and the realization made them deflate even more.

“We’ll deliver Harry back to you unharmed, exactly as you see him now,” Fred said.

“You swear?” Blaise asked. For once, he wasn’t smirking, and his usual teasing tone was absent.

“We swear,” the twins agreed, and it was obvious that there was a weight to those two words that Harry didn’t fully understand. However, the other fourth years nodded in agreement. As they passed him, they all patted his back or squeezed his hand, murmuring promises that they’d see him in the Great Hall.

The twins didn’t say anything until Draco, the last of the group, had disappeared down the corridor and around the corner with one last look back.

“Walk with us?” the twins asked.

Harry nodded and they led him in the opposite direction from the Great Hall for a few steps before turning down a smaller passageway. There stairs were steep but brightly lit and well-cleaned, and Harry had no trouble following them even as the silence stretched on. They stopped only one landing up and both turned to face him.

“We owe you an apology,” George began.

“We knew you hadn’t put your name in when we threw that party on Halloween,” Fred said. “It was obvious from the look on your face.”

“But you looked so upset, we hoped celebrating the selection would cheer you up a bit. After all, almost anyone else—including us—would have been celebrating if they’d gotten one over on the goblet.”

“But you’re not us, and we shouldn’t have pretended like you were. And when you pulled away from the house, we should have come to you or stood up for you.”

“But we were too wrapped up in our own problems to really pay attention.”

“So we’re sorry, for all of it.”

Harry had to look away as he blinked suspiciously blurry eyes clean of dust. It had hurt that the twins had thrown that party. That it had seemed like they hadn’t believed him when he said he hadn’t put his name in. He had never been all that close to the twins, but he had always admired them. They were always cheerful, and they had a knack for spreading that to those around them. On top of that, he would always remember that they were the ones who flew to Privet Drive fully prepared and able to break him out, all because their little brother had asked them to.

“It’s fine,” Harry said hoarsely. “It’s fine, I—you really believed me about putting my name in the goblet?” He hoped, desperately, that they weren’t just saying it because he had won yesterday.

George sighed and put an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, Harry, we really believed you.”

“We know you, mate,” Fred agreed. “You’re reckless when it means catching the snitch for the team, and you went all the way to Chamber of Secrets to rescue our little sister when you were just a second year.”

“And your first year you were in the hospital wing for week after going after Quirrel. And we know there was something suspicious last year that you got all banged up for, but Ron wouldn’t tell us what it was, no matter how much we threatened him.”

“But anyways, we know you. You’d risk your life for other people, but you wouldn’t go after the glory for yourself, yeah?”

“And we should have focused on that rather than playing up the champion stuff.”

It was suddenly really, really dusty in this stairwell. He leaned into George while scrubbing at his eyes. Stupid dust.

“Thank you,” he finally said. “With Ron—well, I wasn’t sure if you all—”

“Ron’s being a prat,” Fred interrupted. “He’ll come around I think.”

“Once he pulls his head out of his arse,” George agreed.

“Thanks, guys.”

As promised, they delivered him safe and sound to the Slytherin table where Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Daphne, Greg, Vince, Millicent, Tracey, and Viktor were all waiting. A plate filled with eggs, toast, and fruit was waiting for him, and a stern look from Draco said he had better eat all of it.

Before the twins left, Fred flicked the Slytherin crest on his chest. It was the only part of his uniform to have changed, and the difference was subtle enough not to be noticed right away the day before. “Looks good on you,” Fred said, quietly enough that only Harry and those in his group could hear. “You know, I was almost sorted Slytherin too?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. It was a well-known fact that Weasleys always sorted Gryffindor. Always. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. Would have been an absolute coup. But while Slytherin was the Hat’s first choice for me—”

“Its first choice for me was Ravenclaw,” George finished. “We weren’t keen on being separated though—”

“So the Hat sent us to Gryffindor together.” Fred ruffled Harry’s already messy hair, despite Harry’s protests. “We’re proud of you, little brother.”

“Don’t think that means we’ll go easy on you in quidditch though!”

With that, they both left, with ten gaping Slytherins gaping after them.

“A Weasley twin in Slytherin,” Draco whispered as Harry clambered over the bench and into his seat.

“I think the whole castle might have imploded,” Pansy agreed.

Viktor was the only one who seemed amused at the prospect.

His conversation with the twins was helpful but exhausting, and unfortunately, that wasn’t the last apology he got that day. Several students took one look at the house crest on his chest and gave him a wide berth. However, other students that he didn’t even know would sidle up to him during classes or passing periods to tell him that they had absolutely always believed he was telling the truth, Harry, honest. A few of these followed their declarations up with invitations to the Yule Ball, but Harry turned them all down, and after the eighth student crept up behind him without his noticing, Harry strategically began placing himself between Greg and Vince whenever possible. No one liked approaching the two scowling, burly boys, but Greg and Vince didn’t seem to mind him using them as shields. The other Slytherins in their year just smirked at him.

The only other useful apology Harry got was from Neville, who braved the Slytherins glares to approach him during a passing period. He stammered all the way through apologizing for not standing up for Harry against everyone else, but Harry could tell it was sincere and he forgave Neville readily. Even Draco looked somewhat impressed with the pudgy boy.

He spent the rest of the day dodging as many members of the school as he could, but after classes, he found himself alone in front of Professor McGonagall’s office door. Hesitating only a little, he clumsily knocked on the door. There was silence, and he hoped that he had missed her, that she had stepped out and he could avoid whatever conversation was in store for him. However, that hope was dashed when Professor McGonagall’s clear voice called out “Enter!”

Sighing, he let himself into the neat office. All of him was tense, with his shoulders up somewhere around his ears and his knuckles standing out white. He watched his shiny new boots rather than look up at his former head of house.

“Take a seat, Mr. Potter,” she said.

The last time Harry had been in here, Professor McGonagall had lectured him about why he needed to return to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. Now, he had made a choice that made it impossible for him to return to that room. She had looked so disappointed in him two days before, and Harry hadn’t realized how deeply that look had cut until just now.

Harry had always respected the transfiguration professor for some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. When he thought about it logically, he thought he probably should have resented her. If there was an older, magical version of Aunt Petunia, he would have pictured her as being something like Professor McGonagall; straight-laced, no-nonsense, and exacting. Professor McGonagall hadn’t listened to him first year about the philosopher’s stone, and though she seemed to have believed him about putting his name in the Goblet of Fire, she hadn’t listened to him about Gryffindor this year.

Still, she had been the one to not only put him on the quidditch team but to buy him his first broomstick. While she took points without pause, she also gave them out readily. And when she complemented his transfigurations, it made him feel warmer than when Flitwick complimented his charms, which he was arguably better at and found easier to pick up. He liked her, and more than that, he really did respect her. While he knew re-sorting to Slytherin had been the best choice for him, he still felt like he had let her down.

“I won’t bite, Mr. Potter. Please, take a seat.”

He chanced a look up at her, and she was holding a hand to the chair in front of her desk, that same, small smile from two nights before on her face again. He shuffled over to the seat she gestured to and sat on the edge.

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she calmly prepared their tea, which Harry was surprised to see despite the fact that she had, in fact, invited him for tea. She even added some biscuits from a tin in her desk to the tray before preparing his cup for him and passing it over, a biscuit balanced on the edge of his saucer. Harry clutched at the delicate china like it might anchor him. She sighed, and he realized he had been looking into his teacup too long, avoiding her gaze again.

“You’re not in trouble, Harry,” she said.

“I know I’m not,” Harry said quickly. Snape or the Hat would have warned him if he was in trouble.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

He looked at her.

“There we go. Harry, do you know what I wanted to talk with you about today?”

“Er, I was re-sorted into Slytherin?”

“No. That was, I admit, the catalyst. However, I am not offended by your re-sorting, nor do I think that you will do poorly in your new house. For all that Severus never wanted to be a teacher, he is very protective of his Slytherins. No, Harry, I’m far more concerned about the fact that you felt the need to be re-sorted. Do not misunderstand me; I am not trying to make you second guess your decision. However, I would like to know what I or others could have done to make you feel more comfortable in your original house.”

“It wasn’t your fault, professor!” Harry was quick to reassure her.

“No? Someone else’s fault, perhaps? Or the fault of a group? Severus implied that you felt unsafe in Gryffindor Tower. I must admit that the idea of a student of mine feeling unsafe in our house is extremely disconcerting. I feel that I have lost touch with my own house.”

Harry grimaced and took a quick sip of his tea to hide it while he tried to process his thoughts. “It wasn’t that I felt unsafe, exactly,” he began. “But I felt unwelcome. It wasn’t that there was no one who believed me, but those who did believe me didn’t stand up for me, except Hermione. And Professor Snape and Draco, they noticed that I was struggling, and they helped me. That was really all it was.”

“Did you not feel you could come to me when you were struggling?” she asked.

He looked away, absentmindedly nibbling on the shortbread. His silence was answer enough.

“I see.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, and each second seemed to weigh heavier than the last until Harry couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m sorry, professor.”

She looked surprised at his outburst. “I’m afraid it is I who should be apologizing to you, Harry. I have failed you most egregiously. I had not realized how far I had drifted from my students.” She raised her cup to her lips for a bracing sip. “I was made deputy headmistress only eight years ago, just a few years before you began your education here. Before that, I had been the Transfiguration professor for over thirty years and the Gryffindor Head of House for over twenty years. I am fond of teaching, but what I truly loved about my place here was giving my students a home where they could learn and grow. When I was offered the position of deputy headmistress, I had hoped that I could use that position to ensure that the entirety of the school received the care I gave my Gryffindors. However, the job was a third set of responsibilities, any one of which could, and perhaps should, have been a full-time job. And, as the muggles say, something had to give.

“When your parents were students here, I frequently met with my students. I got to know each of them. Now, I’m afraid that I rarely see my pupils outside of class and fifth-year career planning. And because of that, I find that I have let my students down. Perhaps not all of them, but those that truly needed me, like you. I am sorry.”

For the second time that day, Harry found himself suspiciously misty-eyed, and he lowered his head and blinked hurriedly. “I’m fine, professor.”

When he looked up, she was giving him an indulgent smile. “You are more than fine, Harry. However, it is no thanks to me. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I believe I’ll be making some changes in the near future.”

“I didn’t mean for this all to happen, ma’am.”

“I know you didn’t. Perhaps that is why it must. Though, I must admit. I’m going to miss having you on the Gryffindor team. Severus is insufferable when Slytherin wins.”

Harry snorted. He absolutely believed that about Snape. As far as her changes went…well, he would have to wait and see.

They finished their tea with only light chitchat. When he stood to leave, she said, “Harry, you may not be in my house any longer, but you are always welcome in my office if you ever want tea, or a chat. I was your parents’ head of house as well, and I have many stories of the both of them, if you’d like to hear them.”

With a smile and the assurance that he would like that very much, Harry stepped out of her office and into the corridor, looking forward to the end of an exhausting day.

However, waiting for him in the corridor, he found Ron Weasley leaning against the stone wall with a scowl on his face.

Chapter End Notes

It's my birthday, so I'm giving you a chapter!

It's a bit dialogue heavy, but let me know what you think.

Also, what changes do you think McGonagall will be making?

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

*Waves shyly a month later* Hey there.

For some reason, there were a good 3 weeks where I hated literally everything I wrote, which meant this chapter was rough for a while and took a long time to finish. Hopefully it's okay now.

Additionally, I'm actively working on 5 (count 'em, 1,2,3,4,5) fics right now. #1 This one, obviously, #2 the long rarepair fic I was working on when this one popped into my head (currently around 51k and nowhere near done), #3 a short character study about Harry's relationship with his dad, #4 a OotP canon divergent fic where Sirius doesn't die (bc screw that, I love him), and #5 a MCU Spider-man field trip fic, because we need more of those gosh dangit (yes, I am aware that there are currently 576 fics under that tag; I don't care).

And those are just the ones that are currently open on my computer. There are many, many others that I have started, either on the archive or not, that I swear I'm going to finish someday. Bear with me.

Now, on to Harry Potter and a Series of Uncomfortable Conversations pt 2.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco was worried. He knew Harry was planning to meet with Professor McGonagall after classes. They had all wanted to wait for him, but Harry had waved their group away before going to meet his old head of house, promising to meet them in the common room later. That had been almost an hour ago, though. Surely a little chat with Professor McGonagall shouldn’t take that long, should it. His knee bounced without his permission, and he glared at it, focusing it on stilling it before returning to his thoughts.

He and Harry had agreed that tonight they would start going over the bank documents and paperwork they had collected over the weekend. Now that the first tournament was behind him, Harry had some time to focus on the future, so Draco had the file out and ready to discuss. There was too much for them to get through it all tonight, of course, but it would be Harry’s first lesson in politics, law, and head of family duties.

But the lesson couldn’t start if Harry wasn’t there.

A crumpled piece of parchment hit the side of his head and he swiveled to glare at Theo. Theo, however, wasn’t intimidated. He looked pointedly at Draco’s knee which had begun bouncing again. “Your restlessness is distracting. Either calm down or get out.”

“You can’t order me around,” Draco sniffed. However, Harry really was running late. Perhaps he had just gotten distracted, or perhaps the discussion with the transfiguration professor had run long. But just to be sure, Draco would go find him. And then give him a talking to about the importance of punctuality as his first etiquette lesson. Making sure everything was still in the thick Gringotts file, Draco took it with him and went to go hunt down his wayward pupil.

Behind him, he heard Theo grumble, “Finally.”

He wasn’t sure exactly where Harry might have wandered off to, but he figured Professor McGonagall’s office was as good a place to start looking as any. If Harry wasn’t still there, he might have told the professor where he was planning to go next.

As he walked, Draco rehearsed in his head the lecture he would give Harry once he found him. Punctuality was important of course, but more than that, this was a matter of safety. Harry didn’t understand yet how the other houses, particularly Gryffindor, treated Slytherins. Draco would be the first to admit that Slytherins could and would fight back, often with preemptive strikes, but it still wasn’t wise to wander far on your own.

Draco was so focused on outlining his speech that he almost didn’t notice the voices ahead of him when he turned into the transfiguration corridor.

Harry and Ron stared at each other in silence for a long moment before Harry broke the silence. “Er, hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were meeting with McGonagall. Figured you were switching back to Gryffindor. Do you need help carrying your stuff or anything?”

“What? Ron, I’m not moving back to Gryffindor. Professor McGonagall just asked to talk to me for a few minutes.”

“Well, go ask her now then. You belong in Gryffindor, not Slytherin, and you know it.”

But Harry was already shaking his head. “I don’t want to go back to Gryffindor, Ron. It’s been shit these last few weeks.”

“Oh, and Slytherin’s been so much better, pull the other one why don’t you.”

“They have been actually. I mean, I didn’t know most of them until a couple nights ago, but you know what? As soon as Snape told them I was a Slytherin, they started helping me. They didn’t say I was a liar or a cheat or any of that. They just helped me. I probably wouldn’t have survived yesterday without their help. And Draco was helping me even before I was sorted.”

“Oh, please, if Malfoy’s being nice to you, you know it’s only because he wants something from you. The rest of the slimy snakes are probably just the same.”

“Whatever, Ron,” Harry said, spinning on his heel. He didn’t have to deal with this; he had already made his decision. Before he could go far though, there was a hand on his shoulder spinning him back around to face Ron. Harry shoved Ron’s hand off his shoulder and leaned away from his once best friend.

He was ready to retort, but before he said anything, he looked at Ron’s face. This was the face that he had trusted implicitly for more than three years, and he knew how to read all of the expressions that crossed it. The worst thing about that was that right now, he didn’t look angry—well he did, but added to that was sadness and confusion and genuine hurt.

The silence stretched out between them. “So that’s it then?” Ron finally asked. “After all we’ve been through, you’re going to throw it away for Malfoy?”

“You threw me away first,” Harry whispered.

Ron shoved away from him with a snarl. “’Kay, but for Malfoy? He’s been nice to you for all of a few weeks, and that wipes out everything he did to us since we started Hogwarts? Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that! Because I needed someone, and he was one of the only ones who was willing to be there. Even though he hated me, and even though we’ve been fighting since before we even started Hogwarts!”

“He’s still a blood supremist! His dad was probably one of the ones at the World Cup messing with the muggles. But, no, that’s all fine as long as he can pretend to be nice to you for a little while. He’s just playing you!”

“I don’t care!” Harry screamed, and his words echoed off the stone walls as he panted and caught his breath. Finally, voice a little ragged, Harry continued at a normal volume. “I don’t care. He could be playing me, they all could be. They could be doing it just hoping that when the time comes, I’ll give them what they want. And you know what? They’re probably right. I’ll probably give them whatever they need because they stood up for me when I needed it. It’s as simple as that. And none of them have said a word about blood. Not mine, not even Hermione’s, and she was down in the common room with us for half the night. So even if Mr. Malfoy was one of the ones at the World Cup, that’s not Draco’s fault.”

“He’s still said those things before. You remember what he called Hermione all those times.”

“People grow up, Ron! You should try it.”

“I think that’s enough, gentlemen,” a voice said from behind Harry. They both looked to see Professor McGonagall glaring at them severely and with disappointment coloring her tone. “I think it’s time for both of you to return to your common rooms.”

They muttered their ‘yes ma’am’s and, with parting glares for one another, stalked off in opposite directions.

Harry wasn’t alone for long, though. Turning the first corner, he found Draco. The blond had obviously been waiting for him, because he fell into step with Harry, but he wouldn’t look at Harry or say a word to him for several minutes. It was only when Harry felt the temperature change as they descended into the dungeons that Draco spoke.

“He’s right, you know,” he whispered.

“What?”

“He’s right. You shouldn’t have forgiven me just because I was in the right place at the right time. I’ve been awful to you since the first time I met you.”

Harry shrugged. “I meant what I said. He betrayed me, you helped me. It’s as simple as that.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Draco’s chuckle was dry and sad. “You really are naïve, aren’t you, Potter?”

“Do you really think muggleborns are worth less than purebloods?”

Draco stilled halfway down the staircase, still refusing to turn his head and look at Harry. Harry froze too, and he could feel his breath hitch in his chest. Was this the end of their friendship?

When Draco’s words came, they were whispered. “I did,” he admitted. “And then at the World Cup—I don’t know if my father was in that group of Death Eaters. He disappeared shortly before everything started, and my mother sent me into the woods while she went to find him. When he came back, he told me he had been meeting with some colleagues. But seeing those muggles up in the air like that . . . .” He trailed off and took several more steps before he found his voice again. “They hadn’t done anything wrong. They were a bit curious, and considering how obvious everyone was, you can’t actually blame the muggles for seeing what they saw and wondering about it. But we attacked them. That wasn’t right.”

“You think muggles might be okay, then?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “The war wasn’t ever about whether muggleborns or purebloods were better. It was about the fact that as more muggleborns were introduced into our world, there was a higher chance of muggles finding us and even attacking us. You grew up in the muggle world, you know what kind of weapons they have now. They could wipe out a whole country of magicals if they wanted, and there wouldn’t be much we could do about it.

“Plus, on top of the possibility of our impending death, our traditions are being wiped out and traded for muggle ones. Here at Hogwarts even, we have Christmas and Easter breaks, but wizards are historically pagan, though of course there are students from all backgrounds. Why are we all being forced to celebrate Christian holidays?”

Harry had never thought about that before, but Draco had a point. The holidays had never really affected Harry before Hogwarts—the Dursleys certainly didn’t want him to be part of their celebrations—so at Hogwarts, he simply enjoyed the fact that he had a few weeks off from school without thinking much of their significance.

“I don’t think Voldemort really cares about school holidays, though,” Harry edged.

“Don’t say his name.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Dumbledore says that we shouldn’t be afraid of his name.”

“Yeah, well, Dumbledore says a lot of things that aren’t true, doesn’t he?”

Shaking his head, Harry sighed. He kept running into these sorts of things. Everything felt like a minefield where Dumbledore was concerned, and Harry carried conflicting feelings of old trust and new wariness towards the man. He really needed to get a look at the file Draco was carrying.

“Besides, it’s not about being afraid of the name," Draco continued. "It’s about being cautious about the taboo.”

“What’s a taboo?”

“Back when he was in power the first time, he wanted people to respect him, so he put a taboo on his name. Anyone who said it automatically sent up a magical beacon on their location and disabled any wards they had up. The Dark Lord was able to find a lot of his enemies that way. Plus, saying the name around a marked Death Eater hurts them.”

“Well, I don’t exactly hang out with Death Eaters, though, do I?”

“Severus is marked.”

Harry stopped walking.

Draco continued on a few steps until he realized that Harry was no longer with him. He gave Harry an odd sort of look before obvious realization washed over him. “You knew Severus was a Death Eater, didn’t you?”

Harry shook his head. He had been beginning to trust the man. Snape had helped him, had told him about his mother, had given him a safe place at school. And he was a Death Eater this whole time?

Backtracking, Draco returned to his side, eyes searching Harry’s, and he took one of Harry’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Most people do.”

“He’s marked?” Harry gasped, still reeling.

Draco nodded. “He joined right after school. But at the end of the war, Dumbledore said he had been a spy all along, and he gave the Ministry a bunch of information on other Death Eaters, so they let him go. He’s not light, obviously, and he doesn’t seem to like anyone, so no one really knows whose side he’s on, really.”

“If V—”

Draco gave him a pointed look.

“If the Dark Lord, then," because 'You-Know-Who' just sounds ridiculous, "came back, would Snape give me to him?”

Before Harry even finished his sentence, Draco was shaking his head. “No. I don’t know if he’s Dumbledore’s man or the Dark Lord’s, but I do know that he’ll do anything to keep us safe.”

Harry didn’t like it. But he could work with that, for now.

They didn’t talk any more on the way to the common room. Harry was contemplating everything he had just learned about the dark side, about the war, and about Snape, and Draco seemed content to let him think on it all for now.

When they stepped inside the house common room, they didn’t speak to anyone, though several people tried to stop each of them. Instead, Draco brushed everyone off and dragged him through to the fourth-year common room and settled him on one of the sofas nearest to the hearth. It was only when Draco let go of his hand so that he could spread a blanket across their laps that Harry realized they had been holding hands since the corridor.

“Are you ready to look at these?” Draco asked, holding up the Gringotts file. “We can do this another night.”

Harry considered it. The day had been emotionally exhausting, and he was quite fed up with talking at this point. But. That folder also had his real, full name written neatly across the top. It had information about his family and all of his vaults and properties. The sooner he understood all of it, the sooner he could figure out how to get away from the Dursleys . . . and anyone else he might need to get away from.

“I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Chapter End Notes

Okay, I know there are a lot of you that want some straight up Ron (and probably Ginny and Molly) Weasley bashing. I've read those fics, and I've even enjoyed some of them, but that's not what I'm here for, and least, not in this fic.

I actually love Ron as a character. The original series has a lot of issues (like, a lot), but one of the things JK did well was that she wrote a cast full of complex characters. That means the characters all come with both strengths and flaws. I know that the HP films and fanon like to compress these characters into simple, flat people. That makes storytelling a bit easier because you don't have to think much about your side characters or their motivations. In the books, Ron is more than a envious pal who likes to stuff his face. He really is a loyal friend who is willing to go far for the people he cares about. But, he also has an inferiority complex that makes him prone to jealousy and grudges. Honestly, I can relate. I don't think that makes him an evil person, but I think it means that he doesn't make a great friend for Harry. At least, not right now. So, yeah, they had a fight here, but their relationship and Ron's character is going to keep developing through this story. If you came here looking for some Ron bashing, I'm sorry, you're going to have to go somewhere else because that's not what I plan on writing. (But I hope you stick around anyways!)

*End Ron Rant* Anyways...

Thank you to all the wonderful people who leave comments! They make my day. I try to respond to them all, but I am slow, and I can't catch them all in a timely manner. However, I'd still love to see what you think!

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

TW for homophobia in this chapter (explanation in the chapter end notes).

Update 11/7/21: I've edited how Harry refers to himself in his narrations.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry was not ready.

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning,” Draco said. Instead of opening the thick file, he pointed at the label on the front. “At the bank, you said you didn’t know your full name. Why not?”

Harry glanced at Theo, who—going by the stack of books piled on the desk in front of him—was working on homework. Deciding that Theo was paying them no attention and it was safe enough to talk with him there, Harry took a deep breath, holding it as he balled his fists up in the plush lap blanket. Letting all his air out at once, he began to talk.

“My relatives never called me by name if they could help it.” And they were very good at being able to help it. “For a little while, I remember thinking my name was ‘Boy,’ but my aunt called her son ‘boy’ too—her brave boy, her handsome boy, her smart boy, her strong boy—so I realized that ‘boy’ was a label, not a name. I was a boy, but I wasn’t ‘Boy.’

“Then I thought my name was ‘Freak’ for a while. That was what I was called next most often, usually when something weird happened around me. Now, I know that those weird things were accidental magic, but I didn’t know magic was real then. My aunt and uncle did, but they hate it. When I eventually found out about magic, my uncle said that he had tried to stamp it out of me, and I realized that part of that was making sure that I felt as powerless as possible.

“Anyways, when I was about five, this couple moved in a street over, two men. One had opened up a restaurant in the area, and the other was an accountant or something like that. Petunia wouldn’t let Dudley go anywhere near their house, not even to throw rocks at the house or something, and Vernon called them freaks—and a whole lot of other things—and I realized that ‘freak’ was just another label.”

“Why did your relatives call that couple freaks? Were they magical, too?”

Harry startled when he heard Pansy speak. He hadn’t noticed her and Tracey come in, and he wasn’t sure how long they had been listening. He looked at Draco for an answer, but Draco was watching Harry with his brow furrowed, obviously waiting for Harry to answer Pansy’s question.

“They weren’t magical as far as I know. They were gay.”

“So?”

“Er, a lot of muggles think it’s…bad, I guess, to be gay. They don’t want men to be with men or women to be with women. Sometimes, they’re really awful about it, like my uncle.”

“But it’s not wrong. It’s love,” Pansy said. Tracy nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, and even Theo had abandoned his homework to join them at the couches. Harry regretted not taking this conversation to his or Draco’s room.

“Until about thirty years ago, it was illegal for men to be together. Actually, it was less than that in Scotland and Northern Ireland. They only made it legal, hm, around the time we were born, I think? But gay couples still can’t get married.”

The four other Slytherins looked at Harry in horror. Glancing between Harry and Draco, Pansy said hesitantly, “You know it’s not like that in the magical world, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Dean and Seamus have been dating on and off since second year, and Ron explained things.”

“And you don’t think it’s wrong like the muggles do, do you?” Draco asked before going back to gnawing on his lower lip.

Harry shrugged. “My philosophy is that if the Dursley’s think something is bad, it’s probably alright.”

Everyone in the room let out a simultaneous sigh of relief.

“Okay, so back on topic,” Draco prodded.

“Right, well.” Harry looked around at everyone who was watching him now. He had started this story with only Draco, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the others to hear it. However, he didn’t know how to get rid of them now. Without thinking about it, he scooted a little closer to the blond boy. “Er, I head some of the neighbors talking about me and calling me ‘the Potter boy.’ So that was sort of my name for a bit, just in my head. And then I went to school, and my aunt introduced me to the teacher as ‘Harry Potter,’ and that was the first time I knew my first name. I had never even considered that it might not be the whole thing.”

He remembered walking into class that first day, trailing after Petunia who was fussing over Dudley. Harry and Dudley were in the same class. Feeling very alone, Harry had gawked at everything around them, all the kids his age and their parents’ getting them settled into their desks with their new backpacks and lunchboxes and their sharp new yellow pencils. Harry had had a brown paper bag that held the pencil with the missing eraser that Petunia had fished out of the back of the kitchen’s junk drawer for him and the water-damaged notebook that had been Dudley’s until he threw a fit over the color. Petunia had nattered at the teacher about Dudley for ages. Dudley was just so smart and so talented and so friendly, an absolute angel. Just before she left, she crooked a finger at Harry who had already tucked himself into a seat and set out his notebook and pencil neatly on his desk. “That is my nephew, Harry Potter,” she had told the teacher. “He’s a troublemaker, always fighting with other children and pulling pranks. Let me know if you have any problems with him.” It had set the tone for the rest of his interactions with adults in primary school.

“Well, first thing we need to figure out: do you want us to call you ‘Harry’ or ‘Harrison’?” Draco asked.

Harry blinked. Even knowing his full name, he hadn’t thought about changing what people called him. But it could be nice. Harry Potter was someone that every wix in Britain knew. They knew about him before he knew about himself. Harrison Potter could be his own. A way to distinguish those who actually knew him and those who only knew of him.

“I’d like to try out Harrison, at least for a little while,” Harry said.

“Okay. Just tell us if you change your mind, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“Okay, moving on.” Draco opened the file finally, but before he started going through it, he glared at their housemates. “This isn’t actually your business, you know.”

Pansy shrugged delicately. “We came out to work on Arithmancy, but we got distracted hearing about those horrible muggles.”

“Get to work then,” Draco ordered. “No eavesdropping on Harrison’s business.”

The girls and Theo nodded seriously and turned back to their own work while Draco quickly skimmed through the first page in the file. “Okay, Harrison,” he said. “This is a basic summary of all of your accounts. It shows your vaults, your titles, who you inherited them from—your parents obviously—who has official permission to access them, who has accessed them in the last five years, and who your legal guardians are—or were.”

“Were?”

“Yes, were. Apparently, competing in the Triwizard Tournament makes you an emancipated minor.” He pointed to a section about a quarter of the way down the page.

Guardianship:

Legal: None

Illegal:

Magical: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Custody: Petunia Emily Dursley nee Evans, Vernon Richard Dursley

Emancipated: 31 October 1994, on confirmation of his position in the Triwizard Tournament by Headmaster Dumbledore acting in loco parentis

“This means I don’t have to go back to the Dursley’s ever again, right?”

“It should.”

At least something good would come out of this entire awful tournament. “I guess I’ll figure out where I’ll go instead later.” Maybe he could join Sirius wherever he was. "Did you say I have a title?"

"Yes, you're technically Lord Potter. However, you can't use your seat's until you're seventeen, even if you're emancipated. You can access all of your vaults now, though."

“Who else has access to my vaults?”

“Only you, unless someone else comes in with your key.”

“So the only activity in my account should have been the times I or Mrs. Weasley withdrew money for my school shopping.”

Draco ran his finger down the list of transactions and frowned. Looking closer, Harry frowned too. There were the withdrawals he expected each August for the least four years except for 1993. But in addition to that, there were other transactions too, ones he didn’t recognize.

“This symbol shows a recurring payment that started prior to the five-year summary on this page. One minute.” Transferring the top parchment to Harry's lap, Draco thumbed through the remaining pages until he found what he was looking for. “‘500 muggle pounds transferred to Petunia Dursley on the first of each month since November 1981.’”

“What? How did they get that?” Harry demanded. He thought of every time the Dursleys had complained about how expensive he was to feed and clothe and house. If they were getting money from his own accounts the whole time, the money certainly hadn’t gone to his own care.

“It says the recurring transfer was arranged by Dumbledore.”

“Of course it was,” Harry growled.

After a concerned look at Harry, Draco commandeered some parchment, ink, and a quill from the girls and passed them to Harry, taking the summary back. “Blednag said to make a note of anything that needs to be fixed.”

Grumbling, Harry wrote that all payments to the Dursleys needed to be cut off and, if possible, recovered. “What else has Dumbledore done?”

“There are some artifacts and books that have been removed from the Potter family vaults—not the family grimoire, thank Merlin, but still things he shouldn’t have touched.”

“What things?”

Draco showed him the list, and Harry copied all of it onto his own parchment. There were nearly fifty books that had been taken and never returned as well as several devices Harry had never heard of. He was confused by the amount of family jewelry Dumbledore had taken out. But what truly angered him—

“He took my cloak!”

“Your…cloak?” Tracy asked, and even Theo risked a bemused glance over his shoulder at Harry.

“My invisibility cloak. It was my dad’s, but Dumbledore said my dad had loaned it to him before he died. He gave it back my first Christmas here.”

“Maybe he withdrew it so that he could give you a nice Christmas present?” Pansy offered, though doubt colored her tone. In the corner, Theo muttered about the idiocy of giving a first year an invisibility cloak in any case.

“Except that he took it from my vault when I was four!”

Pansy wrinkled her nose, and Tracy shook her head in disgust.

“We’ll fix it,” Draco promised. “Just write it down for now. The goblins hate thieves; they’ll deal with it.”

Harry continued copying down the items Dumbledore had removed from the Potter vaults, the tip of his quill threatening to tear through the paper at several points. As he was finishing, Blaise pushed into the room from the main common room before dramatically collapsing onto the loveseat in front of the fire. Theo rolled his eyes at the other boy and pointedly refocused on his work.

“I’ve been dumped!” Blaise declared.

“That must be very difficult for you,” Tracy said dryly. “Aren’t you usually the one doing the dumping?”

“I didn’t think you were official with anyone right now,” Pansy added. “Weren’t you trying to keep your options open?”

“You both make me sound heartless,” Blaise whined. “And I’m not going out with anyone, but now I don’t have a date for the Yule Ball either.”

“You were going with Veronica Selwyn, right? What happened?”

“She’s decided to go home for the holiday instead. Her betrothed is coming to visit her family for the holiday, so she’s abandoning me.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco drawled, “how dare Veronica want to see the man she’ll be marrying in a few years instead of spend the night with you flirting with literally everyone.”

Blaise waved a hand. “Oh, calm down, Drakey. It was going to be a casual date, and we both knew it. But now I’ll be all alone.”

“I don’t have a date either,” Harry commiserated.

Tracy clapped her hands together loudly. “Well that’s perfect! I mean it’s leaving everything terribly late, but you two can go together. Then neither of you will be dateless.”

Blaise grinned at Harry, his too perfect smile brightly lit by the fire. “What do you say, Harry? Be my date for the Yule Ball?”

“It’s ‘Harrison’ actually now. And assuming that I can figure out how to dance before then, yes, I will be your date.”

“Don’t worry, Harrison, I can make anyone look good on the dance floor,” Blaise said, reaching across the short distance between their seats to pat Harry's knee. Harry grinned.

“Good, because I need all the help I can get.”

Draco elbowed Harry on his other side. Glaring at both Blaise and Tracy, he gestured to the still open file. “We’ve got more to go over, Harrison. Do you want to finish this in my room?”

Harry caught Pansy, Tracy, and Blaise all start snickering together and ignored them.

“What else is in that folder?”

Draco began sorting piles of papers on the coffee table in front of them. “These are a breakdown of each individual vault, this pile is an in depth look at all the properties you own, these are your investments, and these,” Draco gestured last to two sealed scrolls of parchment. “These are your parents’ wills.”

Harry stared at the fine rolls of cream-colored parchment, the cobalt wax, and the seal that he was beginning to recognize as the Potter coat of arms. “I don’t think I can do those tonight,” he said. “Can we do homework instead?”

Draco returned everything to the file without a word of argument. “Sure. What subject do you want to start with?”

Chapter End Notes

Harry describes the Dursley's homophobia toward a gay couple who moved onto Privet Drive when he was younger. Vernon called the couple freaks (and other, unspecified insults). Harry's peers stress that this is not how gay couples are treated in the magical world.

Also! Harry's partner for the dance has finally been announced!

So, Luna had the most votes BY FAR. However, since Harry hasn't met her yet, and we're already dealing with introducing him to a bunch of new characters, I decided to go a different direction. Plus, I really wanted to play with Draco's jealousy. So, let's imagine that instead, Luna and her dad spend the holidays on an expedition looking for creatures that only they believe in (and they totally find some, so there).

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

It's a short one, but I had to get something out there because it's been forever, y'all.

Update 11/7/21: I've edited how Harry refers to himself in his narrations.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

After the stress of the last month and preparing for the first task, the weeks leading to Yule were shockingly relaxing. For the most part, evenings were spent doing homework with his dormmates in their common room or in the library with Hermione and Viktor.

It had been an awkward conversation trying to explain the them that he was going by his full name. “For now at least,” he added. “I’ve been Harry for a long time. I’m used to it. But I’d kind of like to try out Harrison too, you know?”

“Not really,” Hermione said, “but I’m happy to use whatever name you prefer. Harrison.”

Viktor had simply grunted in assent.

Harry got to officially add Runes to his study rotation as well. He had finally approached Professor Babbling about joining her Ancient Runes class. She had agreed that he could join after the winter holidays on the condition that he passed a pretest that proved he could keep up with his classmates. He had until the end of the holidays to study, and he had thrown himself into it happily.

Less happily, dancing had also taken up scheduled study time as Blaise and Pansy both tried to coach him through the simple steps of a waltz. Harry had asked Blaise to lead, but apparently, it was tradition that the tournament champion lead the dance. Viktor, Fleur, and Cedric would all be leading their partners in the dance, and Harry must as well. Despite the fact that Harry was no longer stepping on Blaise’s toes after a couple weeks, he knew from Pansy’s pained expression that the dance was far from graceful.

“You’ll be fine,” she forced through a grimace that was masquerading as a smile. “You just have to keep practicing. Do it again.”

After dinner each evening, Harry and Draco spent an hour going over Harry's bank file. It wasn’t as depleted as Harry had feared it would be. In fact, most of their time was taken up with Draco simply trying to pound a sound understanding of investment strategies and the wizarding economy into Harry's head.

Dumbledore was apparently far more interested in the Potter family possessions than in their gold. Aside from the regular transfers to the Dursleys, Harry's gold had been left entirely alone. However, Harry wasn’t sure what to do about the other belongings that Dumbledore had removed. According to a legal document dated shortly after Harry had been placed with the Dursleys, Albus Dumbledore had been Harry's legal magical guardian, by order of Albus Dumbledore. It was a loophole in the laws concerning orphaned children, a technicality that made it legal for Dumbledore to make himself Harry's guardian and, incidentally, give himself legal access to Harry’s vaults.

Because of that, they had no legal standing the take everything back. Everything that had been taken out of the vaults had been removed when Dumbledore was in change of them, so even though it hadn’t been returned, everything was legal. According to a letter from Blednag, at best, Harry could submit an official request to have the heirloom items returned to family vaults. But no one could force their return, even if it hadn’t been someone as powerful as Dumbledore holding them.

Confusingly, the withdrawals hadn’t started at the same time as the transfers to the Dursleys had been set up. In fact, they hadn’t begun for nearly two whole years. The vast majority of them had happened before Harry turned eight, and since then, they had dwindled considerably. The most recent withdrawal had been in May.

“I just don’t get it,” Harry complained, yet again. “Why would he want all this stuff in the first place?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Draco asked. He was sprawled across the sofa, entirely relaxed and focused on correcting Harry's most recent attempt at rune translations. The page was already heavily marked, and at least one section had been entirely crossed out in red. He twirled the bloody quill between his fingers when he rolled his head to look at Harry . “The Potters were a very affluent family, and they spent centuries collecting some of the rarest and most powerful objects. Dumbledore sees himself as some sort of benevolent but all-knowing leader of the light. Why wouldn’t he see himself as entitled to protected knowledge? What text are you using for these translations, Harrison? They’re terrible.”

Then, there was the topic of his parents’ wills. They hadn’t ever been opened because Sirius was the one who was supposed to serve as the executer for them. However, he had been arrested. Alice Longbottom was supposed to be next in line as executor, but she and her husband were permanent residents of St. Mungo’s and had been since shortly after the Potters’ death, though Harry didn’t know why. When he asked, his housemates became surprisingly tight lipped about the issue.

With everything else going on at the end of the war, no one had remembered to read James’s or Lily’s wills. Opening them now, they found that while their were tidy sums and small gifts for some of their friends, most everything was meant to go to Harry, meaning that there wasn’t much to change.

The only surprising thing was that they both listed Peter Pettigrew as their secret keeper.

Seeing that, Draco had quickly began drafting a letter to Madam Bones in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All Harry could do was wait for a response.

Another adult Harry was trying and failing not to think too much about was Snape. During classes, Harry refused to meet his head of house’s gaze, and outside of classes, Harry stayed as far away from the man as possible. The one hitch in this plan came in the form of the promised return trip to Diagon to pick up the rest of Harry's new clothes. Snape escorted Harry and Draco again, and this time the group was also accompanied by Blaise who, as Harry's date, claimed the right to approve Harry's dress robes for the ball. He had not been impressed with the ones Mrs. Weasley had chosen, though Harry hadn’t seen any problem with them. After much squabbling between the two boys, and many amused looks from Rhiannon, Draco and Blaise finally agreed on a design, sending it off before Harry even got to look at it. Without thinking about it, he had shared an eyeroll with Snape before remembering that he still wasn’t sure if he trusted the man or not. He had spent the rest of the trip with both Draco and Blaise between him and the professor.

Obviously noticing the distance Harry was enforcing between them, Snape had withdrawn. He didn’t talk to Harry in class or outside of it, though Harry often caught the man watching him with those dark eyes. The was an almost constant wrinkle in his forehead that on anyone else might have meant he was hurt. Harry always turned away quickly.

“Why are you avoiding Severus?” Draco asked him late the night they returned from Diagon. Draco had held him back from going to bed until after everyone else in their common room had retired, and Harry frowned at the blond boy.

“You know why.”

“Because I told you he was a death eater?”

Harry nodded tightly then stood to leave Draco there. As he was walking away, however, cool fingers gripped his wrist and held him in place.

He glared back at Draco, but the other boy didn’t back down. He was frowning, too, a confused pinch to his brow that Harry was satisfied to see even though another part of him wanted to smooth it away. “But I told you he wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t ever.”

“He’s not a nice man, Draco. I know he’s your godfather, but he’s not kind or good like you act like he is. Do you remember last year? He was Neville’s biggest fear. Out of everything in this world, Snape was the thing he was most afraid of hurting him. And Neville’s uncle dropped him out a window!”

“But where was all of this a week ago? You seemed fine with Severus before I told you that he was Marked.”

Harry bit his lip and looked away. The fire was snapping in the hearth, little sparks and embers spitting out and floating upwards. A thump on the glass wall behind them said one of the merpeople was swimming by. It was such a normal occurrence that neither of them flinched at the noise.

Snape had stories of Harry's mum, and he had let Harry hide in his quarters that Halloween, so Harry had let himself forget how much he hated Snape in the three years before this. After all, Snape had started moderating some of his behavior lately. He was less likely to single students out than he used to be. However, he still snapped when students made mistakes in his classes and could still be cruel to those who didn’t meet his expectations.

“I was,” he admitted, eyes still averted. “But maybe I shouldn’t have been, you know? And now that I know he was a death eater . . . .” He trailed off.

Draco tugged him closer and waited until Harry finally turned to look at him again. There was a flush high on Draco’s cheeks as he defended his godfather. “He’s the same man he was before, Harrison!”

“Exactly. He hasn’t changed. So why have I been acting like he has?”

“No! I mean that he was always the kind person you’ve been allowed to see since Halloween.”

“Only to you. And it doesn’t count if it’s only for one person.” Harry yanked his arm away from Draco and stormed out of the common room and back to his and Blaise’s room. There, he changed into his pajamas quickly before wrapping himself in his soft comforter. Across the room, Blaise’s whistling snore stuttered in and out. It was a long time before Harry fell back asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Poor, kid. He's having a tough time right now.

Questions:

1. Should our hero stay Harrison or go back to Harry?

Because, on the surface, a name doesn't mean much. It's just a signifier for a person or thing. But it can also become so wrapped up in your identity. The name I go by is only 2 letters off from my full name, but I would never consider going by my full name outside of legal documents because it simply is not MY name. So, Harry/ison is going through a very tumultuous time right now, and his sense of identity seems to be shaking a bit. But where do you feel it should end up?

2 (and a bunch more). How should the 2nd trial go? Will he approach it the same way he did in the books? Will he figure it out faster and have more time to come up with a different solution that to trust the ball of kelp a mildly delusional house elf shoved at him? Who is he going to need to rescue from the bottom of the lake? Is he gonna play the hero and stay behind for everyone or is he gonna finish first? Is he just gonna doggy paddle around the docks for an hour? Like, guys, I am so excited for some of the aftermath of the second trial (we're gonna get more side character backstory, y'all!), but I have no idea what to do with the trial itself.

Also, I have the very last scene of this story written, and I keep almost copying it into Ao3. I have come *this* close to spoiling the ending like 3 times already.

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry and Draco found themselves in an uneasy truce after that conversation about Harry’s renewed distrust of Snape. They didn’t avoid each other, though at times the air between them grew awkward enough that Harry considered returning to his private room up near Gryffindor Tower. Harry asked each morning when Draco received post if there was a letter from the ministry about Sirius yet, but there never was, and aside from that, the two of them simply avoided talking about anything significant.

They still worked on homework together each evening, and they still sat next to one another in most of the classes they shared. Draco’s financial lessons had trailed off, and they had moved on to etiquette. It seemed like a lot of silly, unnecessary rules to Harry, but all the Slytherins insisted they were important, so he buckled down and dedicated himself to learning them. He learned proper greetings and addresses for different levels of peers and acquaintances. He learned different ways to introduce himself to someone he had never met, depending on their station. He learned how to write a proper letter and flushed with pride when Daphne praised him on his penmanship.

Draco was still there for Harry’s dance lessons with Pansy and Blaise, always looking distinctly sour while Harry did his best at twirling Blaise around their little common room. The others sometimes joined in on these dance lessons as well. According to Pansy they did this “in an attempt to expose Harrison to as many examples of proper dancing as possible.” It did no good.

“How can you be so graceful on a broomstick and so coltish dancing on your own two feet?” Blaise asked one evening as they prepared for bed.

“There’s nothing to trip over in the air, and there’s no counting either,” Harry grumbled, pulling his pajama top over his head.

“If you would stop trying to count and just move with the music, you’d be fine.”

“Shut up, Blaise.” Harry was surprised to hear his words echoed by Draco as he passed by their room on his way to the bathroom.

Blaise smirked but obligingly kept his mouth shut.

One afternoon about a week before Yule, Viktor found Harry coming in from a fly around the castle. Lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t notice him until Viktor put a hand on his shoulder. “Harrison!”

Harry jerked his attention away from the problem of the distance between Draco, Snape, and himself. “Viktor, what’s up?”

The older teen’s hair was damp and likely stiff considering the snow that dusted his shoulders. His golden egg was tucked under his arm, and his eyes were lit up with an urgency Harry had rarely seen outside of quidditch debates.

“Have you figured out the clue yet?” Viktor was breathless, and Harry wondered if he had run all the way through the castle looking for him.

“Er, no, it still just screams. We’ve tried some spells on it, but nothing came of it. Did you figure it out?”

“Da, yes. Come, where is your egg? We must see if the clues are the same.”

“It’s down in my dormitory.” Before Harry had even finished speaking, Viktor was tugging at him, guiding him towards the dungeons and ignoring the odd looks they were getting from the other students who were on their way to breakfast.

Viktor waited outside the common room while Harry went in to collect the egg. He had to barter with the little dragon figurine when she tried to protect her clutch with dull, wooden teeth. In the end, he had to give her ten shiny galleons and a promise to return the egg before she would let him take it. Still snarling, she curled around her new hoard. Viktor was bouncing on his heels when Harry returned. When he saw Harry, he snapped to attention.

“Come, to the lake. We must put the eggs in the lake to understand what they are saying.”

Harry dug in his heels and scowled at the other boy when he looked back at Harry in confusion. “Viktor. It’s December. I’m not sticking my head in the lake.”

“But you must listen to the egg, and you cannot understand it outside of the water.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed Viktor by the wrist, dragging him to a different staircase than the one Viktor had taken them to, which would have put them out in the Entrance Hall. The one Harry led them up was the quickest way to the prefects bath. When they were in sight of the door, Harry shoved Viktor into an alcove along with his egg, so that Viktor had an egg in each had.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking that the coast is clear. Stay here. We’re not supposed to know about this place.”

Looking both ways and seeing no one, Harry hurried to the door and whispered the password. He may have moved into the Slytherin dorms, but he hadn’t given up the luxury of the prefect bathtub. Fortunately, there was no one using the bathroom, so Harry quickly waved Viktor in and locked the door so they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Viktor gawked at the place, much like Harry had the first time he had seen it. Harry caught the eggs before Viktor could drop them in his surprise.

“This is very nice,” Viktor said at last. “Much nicer than what we have on the ship.”

Harry grinned as he started filling the large tub with water. “Isn’t it? This is the prefects bathroom. I’m not supposed to know anything about it, so don’t tell.”

“Give me the password, and I’ll agree to that.”

“Ha! Deal.”

Harry discarded his glasses, and they both stripped off their shoes, socks, and outer robes, but then Harry ran into a problem. He couldn’t get in naked, not with Viktor here, but he didn’t have a swimsuit with him. He didn’t even own one. Viktor, apparently, saw no issue as he continued to undress, only stopping when he got to his underwear. Harry flushed and went to turn away, but Viktor simply transfigured his pants into swim shorts and dove into the deep bath.

Of course. Harry didn’t know how to transfigure clothes—woven materials were trickier than solid objects—but after quickly removing his shirt and trousers, Harry charmed his pants to be waterproof and descended the stairs into the bath. Clutching the side of the bath when his feet could no longer touch the floor, Harry slowly made his way over to where Viktor was swimming short laps.

“This is wonderful,” Viktor said when he came up for air, shaking his hair out. “I swim in the lake most mornings, but this is much warmer.”

“You’ve been swimming in the lake?” Harry shivered just contemplating it.

“Da. Is good exercise. Now, let us see if we have the same clue.”

Harry collected his egg from where he had set them on the edge. With one white-knuckled hand still holding him up, he carefully lowered the golden egg, gulped in a deep breath, and ducked his head under the water.

Viktor was right. The screeching from the egg had transformed into a melodic if eerie chorus of voices.

“Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you’re searching, ponder this:

We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took,

But past an hour—the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”

Gasping back to the surface, Harry returned the egg back to the stone ledge above the water. Viktor swam more gracefully to the surface. “Well?” Harry asked. “Was that the same as your clue?”

“Da. I am thinking that it is meant to be merpeople. Their language can only be understood under water.”

“That would make sense. There’s a clan of merpeople in the lake,” Harry agreed. But with that agreement came a dawning realization that filled his stomach with the cold feeling of dread. His breath hitched, and he scrabbled at the edge of the pool as he gasped for air that would not come.

“Harrison! Harrison, what is wrong?” Strong, calloused hands gripped him by the upper arms and hoisted him out of the water where he curled up on the magic-warmed stones. A moment later, a large, fluffy towel was bundled around him. A warm weight rubbed up and down his back as Viktor’s words filtered through his panic.

“Viktor,” he croaked. The weight on his back paused for just a moment before resuming its comforting rhythm.

“Da?”

“I can’t swim. I don’t know how. They’re going to put us out in the middle of the lake, and I don’t know how to swim. I’m going to drown.”

“You will not. We have two months. I will teach you.”

Too scared to do anything else, Harry nodded and leaned into Viktor’s reassuring warmth. “Thanks.”

It was some time later that Harry returned to himself, cheeks red and hot as he pulled away. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, scrubbing away the half-dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

“It is alright to be afraid.”

“Yeah, but what fourteen-year-old doesn’t know how to swim?”

Viktor shrugged. “I am sure that there are plenty who have not learned for whatever reason.”

“Oh yeah? When did you learn to swim?”

“when I was a toddler. There was a small pond near my childhood home, and my bashta, my father, he taught me.”

Harry felt ridiculous. Objectively, he knew it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t swim. Before he had found the prefects bath, he had never been in more water than could fill a small bathtub. The Dursleys never took him on their outings to the beach or even to the local pool. Since finding the prefects bathroom, he had figured out how to dog paddle a little, but he it was never long before he slipped under the waterline. It was humiliating that he couldn’t do something most small children could do.

“Come! We will start now.” Before Harry could protest, he pulled Harry up and guided him back to the steps of the tub.

“I don’t know about this, Viktor. I don’t want to do it today.”

“We’ll start with something easy, to get you comfortable in the water. Just floating. And we won’t go to the deep end.” True to his word, Viktor stopped them just a few feet from the stairs where the water only rose to his waist. “Now, to float on your back, lean back in the water, and take a deep breath. Fill your lungs with air. This will help you to float. Then, lift your legs to float with the rest of your body.”

“But then I’ll sink,” Harry reminded Viktor.

“You will not. Here, I will support you until you are floating.”

Viktor put a solid hand on the middle of Harry’s back and encouraged him to lean back into it and into the water. “Deep breath,” he reminded when Harry’s torso was almost parallel to the water line, and Harry suck in a lungful of air obediently, eyeing the water around him with supreme distrust. “Now lift your legs.” When Harry shuddered a little, Viktor calmly reminded him, “I’m right here, and I will not let you drown. Even if I was not here, the water is shallow enough that you would be fine. Just lift your legs.” With gritted teeth, Harry made an odd kick-hop-kick. His legs weren’t in line with the rest of his body, but the were drifting in the water now rather than standing in it.

“Good,” Victor praised. “Keep leaning back into the water, yes, like that, and keep breathing. You do not have to hold your breath, but breathe deeply. Yes, good. Now, legs up.”

Victor would be a good coach someday Harry thought. He guided Harry through the steps of basic floating for several minutes, nudging him here and there to adjust his posture. “Very good, you are floating. I am going to take my hand away so you can float on your own.”

“What? No, don’t do that!” Harry protested, and when he felt that solid hand on his back go, he thrashed, losing all progress he had made as he dipped back under the water. Before he could drop more than a few inches, Viktor grasped him by his upper arms and lifted him up until he was standing in the tub again, sputtering and spewing. “Why did you let me go?” His voice crashed and echoed around the room.

Quietly and calmly, Viktor answered, “Because you were already floating on your own. You were doing it.”

“Only because you were holding me up!”

“No, I was not. At that point, my hand was there, but I was not lifting. You were floating all on your own. Now, shall we try it again?”

After a little cajoling, Viktor coaxed him back into the same position as before. “Now, I am going to take my hand away. Just keep doing what you are doing right now.”

Again the hand came away, and while Harry’s breath hitched somewhat, he continued to float, body stiff and eyes focused on a point of discoloration on the ceiling. “Now what?”

“Now, we will float for a while.” The water next to Harry rippled, and in his peripheral, he saw Viktor’s somewhat blurry form lean back in the water too, until Viktor was floating next to him. Viktor had them both just float like that for another ten minutes before he let them get out of the tub, and to his credit, by the time they were done, Harry’s shoulders has loosened up, and his breath had evened out into a more natural rhythm rather than the counted, gulping gasps of air they had been.

As they stood to dress, Harry, now with his glasses back on, saw Viktor watching Harry with narrowed eyes. “What?” Harry asked defensively.

“You are very skinny. You should eat more.”

Harry just shrugged. “Fast metabolism, I guess. Plus, I don’t have much of an appetite usually.” Harry wasn’t dumb. He knew his relatives’ treatment of him throughout his years living with them had impacted his eating habits. He knew he lost weight every summer. However, even when he came back to Hogwarts and was spoiled with all the food he could ever want, he never managed to gain back more than a few pounds. Then, the next summer, he just lost it again.

Viktor frowned at his vague answer. “Ne. Even outside of the tournament, you are an athlete. You need more muscle on you.”

“But I’m a seeker! We’re supposed to be lean, not bulky.” Harry was much closer to the usual seeker mold than stocky Viktor was, even if Viktor was a brilliant seeker.

Viktor shook his head. “I know I am not the usual shape for a seeker, but I have worked with many seekers over the years. Even the lean ones need muscle. You will blow away like this.”

Sulking a little, Harry said, “I’ve tried, but it never works. I just can’t keep any weight on.”

“Hm, but have you had the help of professional nutritionists and dietitians? No. I have. I will help you. First with diet, then with exercise. You will put on muscle.”

“You’re welcome to try.” Harry rolled his eyes, which was thankfully hidden when he pulled on his shirt at the same time. He was pretty sure Viktor heard his doubt anyways. “Any more uncomfortable topics you want to cover before we go? We’ve covered the second task, my potential drowning, swimming lessons, and my scrawniness so far. Got anything else?” It was a joke, and he expected Viktor to take it that way.

“Are you taking Hermione to the Yule Ball?” Viktor asked instead. Harry sputtered. Hermione’s suggestion from many weeks ago flittered around in his head. Was Viktor asking him out?

“No, er, I’m going with my dormmate, Blaise Zabini.”

“Ah, I thought perhaps you would ask Hermione to go with you as a friend.”

Harry could have slapped himself. “I should have! That would have been brilliant. What was I thinking?”

Viktor’s small, squished smile made a hesitant appearance. “Do you know if she is going with anyone else?”

“No, she hasn’t mentioned it.” Harry shrugged on his robes.

“Then, would it be alright with you if I asked her?”

Understanding dawned on Harry suddenly. Of course, Viktor wasn’t asking him out, he wanted to ask out Hermione. Apparently, Harry had been the one in the right all those weeks back. But. “Er, I don’t have a problem with it, but are you asking me for my permission? Because I’m pretty sure Hermione would kick both our asses if we thought she needed either of permissions to go on a date.”

Viktor blushed. It was sort of adorable. “Not permission, really. But I did want to make sure that you were not planning to go with her and that she wasn’t already take by someone else. And also. Well, you are her closet friend, so you would know best if she would even be interested in going with, with me.” Apparently, Viktor babbled when he was nervous, and his accent got thicker. If this was Viktor just hoping to ask Hermione out, Harry couldn’t wait to see how nervous the professional quidditch player got once he actually was on the date with Harry’s bookish friend. It was either going to be the cutest thing ever or it was going to be a train wreck, and it perhaps made Harry a horrible person that he couldn’t wait to see.

Grinning, Harry said, “I think she’d like to go with you very much.”

Viktor’s red cheeks and please little grin was payment enough for everything Viktor had put Harry through that morning.

Harry—or Harrison, as the boy had asked to be called, though the name did not suit him in Severus’s opinion—had been avoiding Severus, and Severus was not happy about it. Oh, he knew why the boy hadn’t met his gaze in weeks. Draco had come to him a few days after it had started, confessing how he had told Harry about Severus’s dark mark, how he had thought Harry already knew, and how Harry had been acting oddly ever since.

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco had complained again, only a few days ago now. He had visited Severus’s quarters, wrapped himself up in the plush, knitted blanket from Minerva, and availed himself of Severus’s best tea blend. “Everything was good. He was happy, and now he’s not letting himself be.”

“You can’t expect him to be okay with my history just because you are, Draco. I served the man that killed his parents, that tried to kill him.” I sent the Dark Lord after them myself, even if Harry doesn’t know it.

“So did my dad, but Harry doesn’t have a problem with me.”

“That’s different, and you know it, Draco.”

Still, the sudden, forced distance from Harry was difficult. Severus had thought he had done a very good job over the last decade or so of locking Lily’s ghost away and carrying on with his life. However, as soon as her son had come to him, begging with wide eyes and a disarmingly innocent expression to please tell him about his mother, Severus had been inundated by the past, and now he couldn’t seem to escape the constant reminders of his best friend.

Additionally, he worried for the boy. The Gryffindors’ anger had cooled somewhat over the weeks, likely following the example of their head of house. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too were far less spiteful towards Harry than they had been before his resorting. Harry was settling into his new house well. From what Severus could tell, all of Harry’s year mates got along with him at least passingly as did most of the other students. Despite all of that, there were still murmurings of discontent against the boy, primarily from the oldest students across all of the houses. Severus was not sure how he could warn the boy of this if Harry refused to so much as look at him.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Severus wasn’t sure which yet, that avoidance would end today. Albus had asked Severus to collect Harry after breakfast and take him up to Albus’s office.

He put it off for as long as possible, trudging through his bowl of oatmeal more slowly than he had since he was a petulant toddler. However, after a third cup of tea, there was no more avoiding it. Harry was finishing his food and would soon be leaving, with Mr. Krum it seemed. Those two had been disappearing together often recently. As unwilling as he was to contemplate the sickeningly overdramatic romances constantly rising and falling among the student body, Severus hoped Harry would realize the obvious tension between him and Draco. He didn’t think he could bear Draco’s wailing if Harry and Krum became an item.

Wading through the press of students, Severus arrived at Harry’s place far too soon. “Sir?” Harry greeted while staring at the floor.

“Mr. Potter. The headmaster has asked for a meeting with you. If you would follow me.” Severus didn’t wait for Harry to respond. Students around them were gawking, so Severus simply turned on his heel and left, expecting Harry to catch up. He pretended not to hear Harry promise to meet Krum in the bathroom after—dear god, don’t tell me they’re conducting their liaisons in a bathroom—and he didn’t comment when Harry fell into step beside him just a half pace back.

They made it up two flights of stairs before Harry spoke. “Do you know what this is about, sir?”

“No. The headmaster did not deign to tell me.”

A glance in his periphery showed Harry chewing on his bottom lip with his brow puckered with obvious anxiety. At his sides, he flexed his hands open and closed in an even rhythm. That was a habit he must have picked up from Draco. After a moment, he asked, “Would you stay, sir?”

Severus arched one brow, though Harry didn’t see it. He was stoically looking straight ahead. “I will,” Severus agreed, “on one condition.”

Now Harry did look at him, glaring defiantly. “What condition? Sir.”

“After your meeting with the headmaster, you and I will talk.”

Harry flexed his fists. “Fine. Sir.”

Severus nodded before turning to the gargoyle they had arrived in front of. “Bazooka Bubble Gum,” he snarled at the stone creature who guarded the headmaster’s office. Severus was half-certain that Albus only insisted on such ridiculous passwords in order to force Severus to say them. At his side, Harry muffled a snort.

The gargoyle moved aside, and the two of them ascended the steps to the office where Albus was waiting. Severus only bothered with a perfunctory knock before moving into the office, Harry only hesitating for a moment before joining him.

“Harry! Thank you for coming. And, Severus, thank you for bringing him. I’m sure you’re very busy, so I don’t want to detain you.”

“I am very busy, headmaster, but I will stay with my student for this meeting, so let’s make this quick, shall we?” Severus waved Harry into one of the overstuffed chairs Dumbledore provided for those who had business with him. Harry sat and instantly began to sink, struggling for a moment to find some balance.

“Ah, your dedication is inspiring, Severus. However, this isn’t school business, so your presence isn’t required. I assure you that I will return your student to his friends soon.”

“I would like him to stay please, sir,” Harry interrupted.

“Very well, Harry, if you insist. I simply do not want to waste any of Professor Snape’s precious time.”

Severus did not like the look of mild censure Albus gave Harry over the rim of his half-moon glasses. If Harry wanted him here, he would stay. Wordlessly, he sat as straight-backed as possible in the absurd chair.

“It’s Harrison, sir,” Harry—Harrison—corrected. “And I do insist.”

“As you will. Now, Harry, I received a rather distressing letter from Gringotts this week.” He held the unfolded letter up and paused as if waiting for the teen to reply, but he said nothing, simply waiting for the headmaster to explain himself. “This says that you are requesting access to some items I borrowed from the Potter vaults over the years.”

“Yes, sir. As they are my family heirlooms, I would like them all returned to me, please.” Harry—Harrison, damnit—spoke mildly and calmly, a blank mask he wouldn’t have been able to maintain a month ago firmly on his face. Obviously, Severus’s snakes had been teaching the house’s new addition well.

“Of course, of course. Though I’m distressed that you didn’t feel you could simply talk to me about this, Harry. I’m always here if you want to talk.”

“Harrison, if you please, sir. I simply thought it best to go through the official channels, especially while I’m still getting the hang of managing my accounts.”

“Yes, very wise. But, you know, this is a big responsibility for such a young man. If you’re not ready, I’d be happy to go back to managing them for you, just until you are of age, of course. I am your magical guardian after all.”

“You emancipated me when you allowed me to compete in the tournament, sir, even if it was unintentionally, so you are not actually my magical guardian. And compared to being forced to participate in a competition that could kill me, I don’t think learning to manage my own finances is too dire of a task. But thank you for your concern.”

Albus gave the boy a long, considering look while Severus remained silent. Somehow, despite all the changes Harrison had made lately, the headmaster had expected Harrison to give in to him the way he did when he was eleven. The fact that Harrison was now able and willing to defend himself and his desires surprised the old man. The fact that he kept his temper in check while standing up for himself surprised Severus more.

“I see,” Albus said softly. “Then about those items—”

“I trust that returning my artifacts won’t be too difficult?” Harrison asked. Severus hid a smirk. That was the Slytherin influence through and through, framing his demand as a question. If Albus chose not to return the Potter artifacts, Harrison really had no recourse. However, he turned it around and spoke as if was Albus who had little choice in the matter. He even framed it as a challenge of sorts. If Albus didn’t return the heirlooms Harrison wanted, it would be as if he were admitting to the teen that he lacked the power or ability to do so. It was a tactic Severus had used before against many foes, including this one. In fact, if Severus didn’t know better, he thought the teen might have been imitating his own manner of speech.

“No, not at all. I’ve used some of them over the years—they really are quite fascinating. Did you know that one of your great-great-grandfathers was an astrologist? He worked with centaurs to create a telescope with the most curious properties. I was quite interested in studying it.”

“No, I did not know that. After all, I have not had access to my family’s things, and I have had no family members to tell me those stories. That is one of the reasons I would like those belongings returned. As it is, I have very little left of my family. I would like to get to know them as much as I can with what is left.”

Severus ducked his head so that a curtain of hair hid his small smile.

“Ah, yes, indeed.” Albus shifted in his seat and adjusted his beard. “Harry, I do hope you don’t think I’ve taken these things for my own gain or for any nefarious purpose like that.”

“Of course not, sir. I know that you legally had access to my vaults and everything within them.”

“Good, good. Now of course, I will return as much as I can. However, there are a few things that may be difficult to track down. I lent a few artifacts to friends and colleagues, and you know how people sometimes forget what belongs to whom.”

Harry’s eyes were hard behind his glasses. “Of course, headmaster. I would appreciate whatever you can do. If that’s all, I do have homework to be getting on with this weekend.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t want to keep you from your studies. If there is anything else you need, Harry, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“My name is Harrison, sir, or simply ‘Mr. Potter’ if ‘Harrison’ is too difficult to remember.”

He didn’t wait for Albus’s empty words. He stood jerkily, gave Albus a short bow, and stomped out the door. Severus stood more smoothly, nodded at Albus and followed in the boy’s wake. He was very much looking forward to his own meeting with the boy.

Chapter End Notes

First off, you might notice some slight changes in the last couple chapters if you've read them before. I've figured out what I'm going to do with Harry/ison's name, and I've edited the last couple chapters to reflect that. He now refers to himself as Harry in his own narration bits, but other characters will still call him Harrison in dialogue and in narration that isn't from Harry's POV. The final decision won't be discussed in this chapter, but I did want to update this now. (If I missed some Harrisons or changed a Harrison that I shouldn't have, feel free to politely point it out in the comments. This was a quick edit, so it's plenty likely that I made a mistake.)

Secondly, it's November, which means Nanowrimo. While I don't often formally participate, I do still try to focus on my writing each November, and for this year, I'm going to be focusing on my other long fic, which I've been neglecting in favor of this one. Because of that, please don't expect to see another chapter for HTA this month. You might get one if I run into a road block on my other fic and I need a refresh. However, since I am obviously hoping against writers block, but please don't bother asking in the comments for more chapters for this one for now (However, I do love your comments, so you're more than welcome to comment about other things).

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

So, I said I was just taking off November, but this chapter really didn't want to be written. I've redone it about 4 times at this point, and I'm still not fully please. Still, here it is. And as a bonus, I'm giving you a second chapter too!

Have a happy (and safe) new year everyone!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite the fact that Severus only left Albus’s office a moment after Harrison did, he didn’t catch up with the teen until he arrived at the portrait in front of his own quarters. Harrison didn’t speak to him, didn’t even look at him as Severus approached and greeted Raginald. Instead, the boy stood stiffly. His hands were in fists, his shoulders were squared, and his back was straight. He stood so rigidly that Severus suspected that if he were so much as to nudge the boy, it might knock Harrison to the flagstones.

Severus entered his rooms first and held the door open for Harrison to follow. Harrison marched in, but once there, he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He didn’t take a seat. He just stood in the middle of the room with his jaw clenched and his fists at his sides. The magic around him crackled and hummed. Severus knew they wouldn’t be able to have any kind of effective conversation like this, so he threw up a set of his strongest shields around the boy, so that there were several layers of protection between Harrison and everything else in the room around him.

“Let it out, Harrison,” he commanded.

After only a second of pause, Harrison complied. The chaos was glorious.

Despite the boy’s utterly average grades for most of his time at Hogwarts—up until the Slytherins had gotten ahold of him, as a matter of fact—Severus knew that he had always been a magically powerful child. He could still remember the patronus Harrison had released at the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw game last year, how shock had rippled through the professors’ stands with Lupin the only one among them not gaping as the scrawny boy racing on his broom cast such an advanced spell with barely a glance in the fake dementors’ direction.

However, despite knowing the boy was powerful, despite even having evidence of it, he had never understood the full depth of it until now. Within the inner-most shield, a cloudless storm raged around Harrison, like he was trapped in a shaken snow globe. The teen’s hair and clothes were lifted and tangled by a wind that should not have even existed. Bolts of colored light lit up the entire room, and occasionally, one of them would strike the shield around Harrison. This didn’t worry Severus until one of the bolts broke the first layer of the shield. And then another one. Severus hastily added more layers onto the shield set.

But the worst part of the whole scene wasn’t Harry’s magic but Harry himself. He wailed. It was a ragged, broken sound, and it shouldn’t have been possible for it to be as loud as it was, but it burst through the room and pushed itself into every nook and cranny and corner of the space until Severus thought he might never be able to rid the room of the echoes of this child’s hurt and rage. Tears streamed down Harrison’s cheeks, but he didn’t attempt to wipe them away. Instead, trapped in the center of his self-made hurricane, he simply stood with his arms tight around his torso and his shoulders hunched in on himself. His knuckles were white, and his shoulders were taut, and it looked to Severus as if the boy might fall apart if he loosened his hold even a little.

It was several minutes before the gales turned to a ruffling breeze and finally petered out, taking with them the electric bolts of magic. Harrison didn’t acknowledge the end of the storm. Though his screams had ended, he still stood at the center of the room, his eyes squeezed shut as he held himself together.

When he was sure that the magic had dissipated, Severus waved away the shield and tentatively approached Harrison. With careful, barely-there touches, he nudged Harrison over to the sofa and sat him down. With only a slight hesitation, he shook out the blanket on the arm of the sofa and laid it over the trembling boy. His first instinct was to give him a calming draught, but he could not imagine that Harrison would appreciate being so vulnerable just now. Instead, he prepared them both tea. Harrison hummed when Severus pressed a cup into his hands but did not drink or otherwise respond, and they sat in silence for several minutes before Harrison spoke.

Though he wasn’t in the mood for tea, Harry clung to the mug Snape had offered him. The heat was an anchor to Harry’s frazzled nerves.

Finally gathering himself enough to put his thoughts into ordered words, he murmured, “Why does he act like that?”

“Like what?” Snape asked.

“Like he just expects everyone to fall in line because he was nice to them.”

Snape snorted. “Because he does. You must understand that Albus Dumbledore has been a very powerful man for a very long time. I do not know if power was initially his intention, but at this point, he has been influential for so long that I do not think he remembers what if feels like to not have his followers practically throwing themselves at his feet.”

“But my family’s things. Why do those even matter to him? Why is he making it so difficult to get them back? I probably would have let him have them if he had asked. If I had even known they existed.”

“I do not know Harrison.”

They dropped back into silence until Snape said, “That was quite the display.”

Harry glanced up at the man. Snape’s usual scowl was in place, but not as firmly as it usually was. There was an odd sort of hesitance in the way he held himself, as if he was waiting for Harry to lash out at him. Which wasn’t unfair, Harry supposed.

“Sorry, sir.”

Snape only waved the apology aside. “I expect that you are quite within your rights to be upset.” Upset at Dumbledore…or upset at Snape himself? Snape didn’t elaborate, and the two sat in awkward silence.

When he couldn’t handle it anymore, Harry spoke. “You wanted to talk, sir?”

“Indeed,” Snape agreed. But he didn’t say anything more. He was staring at Harry with a boring gaze, as if he could untwist all of Harry’s secrets just by looking at him. Perhaps he could; Harry looked away.

“What about, professor?”

Snape sighed in an oddly controlled type of way. “I expect that there are many things we should discuss. I simply am unsure which of them to start with. Where do you think we should begin?”

Harry gnawed on his lip, still refusing to look at the man. Finally, he said, “Draco has been upset with me for avoiding you.”

“Yes, Draco told me about the conversation that caused it. I do not blame you, Harrison.”

Harry’s eyes darted over to the man without his permission. For once, the man looked almost broken. He slumped in his seat and his eyes were directed at the teacup he held in his lap. Harry looked away again.

“So, it’s true then? About you being a Death Eater?”

“Yes.”

“Why? When you were such good friends with my mum, why would you join the Dark Lord?”

“That is a long story. You will likely hate me at the end of it, but I must ask that you listen to all of it first before you leave.”

“I don’t care. I want to know.” I need to know, Harry didn’t say. I need to know if I can still trust you. He expected Snape to argue or to simplify and condense the story into a couple sentences. To his surprise, Snape carefully set his teacup to the side, looked Harry in the eyes, and began his tale.

“As you know, your mother and I were close friends, both before we started at Hogwarts and when we arrived. However, we were sorted into rival houses. Back then the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was even fiercer than it is now. We didn’t care. We were still best friends. However, as the years went on, we began to grow apart. Our peers did not approve of our association. My housemates were quite happy to pick on her friends, and as long as they were not targeting her, I did not care to use myself as a shield. I was poor, belonged to no family of status, and could not afford to make enemies in my own house. The Gryffindors saw no reason not to lump me in with the rest of my house, believing all of us to be dark and evil. There were several Gryffindors that liked to make examples out of Slytherins. As a poorly connected one, I was an easy target.

“At the end of our fifth year, there was an incident between me and this group. I came out on the losing side, and in my humiliation, when your mother attempted to stand up for me, I lashed out at her. I called her a mudblood, in front of nearly everyone in our year. It was the last straw for her. I tried to apologize. Over the summer, I gave her space, hoping that she just needed time to calm down. But when we returned to school for our sixth year, it was clear she wanted nothing to do with me ever again. I could not—and do not—blame her.

“Over the next two years, I had nothing to do but throw myself into my schooling. I improved and invented potions, I created spells, and despite my low status, I began to gain some recognition in my house. The more I got, the more I craved, so I worked harder. I worked on spells that would specifically appeal to the darkest in my house because they were the most powerful. And it worked. They brought me in to their social circles. They sponsored my projects. And then, they introduced me to the Dark Lord.

“He was impressed with my efforts as well. He complimented my work, gave me challenges he knew I would find interesting. He even offered to fund any masteries I wanted to pursue when I finished school. So when he offered me the Dark Mark, I was truly happy to accept it. Oh, I knew that his aims weren’t right. I knew what he was doing in the wider world. But I could not bring myself to care. I did not care about the people he was hurting—often with my own inventions—as long as he was pleased with me. I did not understand that his favor came with a leash and handcuffs. Still, I climbed the ranks, brought him any information I thought would be useful to him.

“I was not grouped in with the brawn of the Dark Lord’s forces. I was a formidable duelist, certainly, and grew more so as I worked on a mastery in the dark arts, but he chose to reserve me for the most part. I was there to create, to invent, and to advise, and it would not do to have me taken out in a raid thanks to a stray spell. Instead, he tasked me with spying on Dumbledore, who was leading the other side of the war. He suggested I apply for a teaching post at Hogwarts, so I did. The Defense job was always open, so I applied for that first. With my partial mastery, I was more qualified than most applicants in recent years had been, but I was denied. Dumbledore knew about my loyalties.

“Despite failing to get the position—which earned me my first Cruciatus at the Dark Lord’s hand—I was still assigned to spy on the headmaster, which I did as much as I was able. I set myself up in Hogsmeade, and I made contacts within the school, both students and staff, who could alert me to Dumbledore’s movements. Some knew about my loyalties, some did not. One day, I was told about a job interview the headmaster would be holding with a prospective divination professor at the Hogshead pub. I thought this was peculiar considering that my own interview, and every other interview I had ever heard of, had been held in his office. So, at the proper time, I snuck into the pub and up the stairs to listen at the door of the room where the interview was taking place.

“It seemed to be going poorly for the interviewee—one Sybill Trelawney, as a matter of fact. Her vague predictions were worse than what one could get in the psychic’s tent at a muggle carnival. But then, something changed. Her voice turned to gravel and took on a strange echo, and her words were far different than any she had uttered up to that point. It was a true prophecy, one that told of the downfall of a dark lord. I was caught and thrown out by the pub’s owner before I heard all of it, but I took what I had heard to the Dark Lord.

“I only heard a few lines. I did not think he would act so quickly. But he did. When he heard the prophecy, he decided that it must mean…you.”

“What? Why me?”

Snape took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Up until now, he had told the story almost clinically, as if they were historical facts that he was interested in but not directly involved in. Now, though, shame creased his face. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…That was all I heard. I had no idea who it could apply to, but I imagined a powerful wix, a warrior even, or a mage. He, however, focused on two infants born to those on the other side of the war. Yourself and one other. After some deliberation, he decided that it must be you.

“When I found out—well, I knew Lily. I knew she would protect you with everything she had and more. I begged the Dark Lord to spare her. He thought I was infatuated with her, and I let him believe it. He said he would spare her for me if she allowed him to, but I knew she wouldn’t. In an effort to protect her, I sought out Dumbledore. I told him everything I knew, everything I had done, and bargained with him to protect her. He said he would protect you all if I swore myself to him, so I did.

“He gave me a teaching position as the potions professor so that he could keep an eye on me and so that the Dark Lord would think I was still spying for him. He put your family under Fidelius. And when your mother, when both of your parents were killed, he swore me to your protection. He told me that you were being raised by relatives, doted on and trained, and that when you arrived, I would need to ground you. I did not realize just how badly I had failed you until this year. I cannot apologize enough for all the pain I have caused you.”

Harry sat in silence at the end of Snape’s tale. It explained so much of his behavior over the years, and some of it would have made Harry want to hug Snape if Snape had been a more huggable man. But. Despite the fact that it made sense, it did not excuse him.

“Do you regret it all?” Harry asked.

“More than I could ever express.” Snape’s voice was little more than a croak, and with a grimace, he summoned himself a glass of water.

“If you regret it, why…why do you act the way you do? Like you hate everyone and everything.”

Snape snorted. “I have never been a kind man, nor was I ever a particularly kind boy that I remember. However, I suppose you are correct. I have allowed myself to become spiteful and bitter. I have been forced into an occupation I despise, and though I am no seer, my future looks as grim as my past.”

“If you hate working at Hogwarts so much, why do you do it? Why can’t you just quit?”

Snape frowned and took another sip of his water. “That brings us to the second topic of our talk today: Dumbledore.”

Confused, Harry asked, “You stay here for Dumbledore?” Snape obviously despised the headmaster. Surely wartime loyalty wouldn’t hold him at the headmaster’s side for over a decade.

“On the contrary. He will not let me leave.”

That made more sense.

“There is a portion of my contract that holds me here at Hogwarts until the Dark Lord is eradicated once and for all. Despite your defeat of the Dark Lord in 1981, Dumbledore maintained that he was still alive in some form, so I was not released from my position here. Of course, now, it seems he was correct, but I would prefer not to concede that to him. He has a big enough ego, despite his humble doddering old man façade.”

“I don’t think I can forgive you, sir,” Harry mumbled.

Snape bowed his head. “I cannot ask for your forgiveness either. I have done you—your entire family—grievous harm.”

“It’s not that,” Harry disagreed. Oddly, that was the part he thought he perhaps could have forgiven, or at least understood. Harry had been like the younger Snape—poor, with few friends and plenty of bullies, desperate for a place to belong. If it hadn’t been for his status in the wizarding world, who knew what might have become of him or where he would have looked for approval, what depths he might have sunk to in order to earn just a smidgen of respect or care.

No, the part that Harry couldn’t forgive was how Snape acted now. “I can’t forgive you yet because your students are afraid of you. Not just the way kids are nervous around a strict teacher. They’re genuinely fearful for their safety around you. Seeing what everyone’s boggarts were was a bit of fun last year, but you were literally Neville’s biggest fear, and that’s with a family that tried to force his magic out of him by endangering his life. You’ve threatened him, and last year, you threatened to kill his pet. He’s an expert in herbology, but he’s so nervous in potions because of you that he can’t even keep plants and their uses straight when we’re brewing.” Harry paused and then confessed. “I was really excited for potions. I thought that it would be sort of like cooking, and I was good at that. Plus, I liked my science classes at school, and potions seemed sort of like chemistry, too. But after how you treated me my first day, I never wanted to come back. Until this year, until you started being nice to me, I couldn’t be bothered to even try in class, because I knew that you would mark me down no matter how hard I worked. How many other students are there like me and Neville?”

Snape sighed. “Mistakes in my class often end in explosions and injuries. I am strict in my classroom in order to avoid the plethora of injuries I saw—and even experienced—under my predecessor. However, you are correct. I have let my bitterness for the past and my current position get in the way of truly teaching, especially in the case of yourself and Mr. Longbottom.”

The weight Snape put on Neville’s name confused Harry. “Why are you so against Neville? It isn’t just because of his potions skills, is it?”

Snape shook his head without looking at Harry. “No, it is not. As I said before, there were two infants the Dark Lord considered going after when he heard the prophecy. To my own shame, I still very much wish he had chosen the other one.”

It took Harry a moment to connect the dots, but when he did, his eyes widened and his eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “Neville was the other baby?”

“Mr. Longbottom’s birthday is only one day before your own. If you had been born only a few hours later, I do not doubt the Dark Lord would have targeted the Longbottom family.”

Harry felt numb. That the day of his birth could have changed so much in his life was bewildering. He could have had parents, he could have grown up loved, he might even have had siblings eventually, all depending on the calendar date on the day of his birth.

Instead of focusing on that, he brushed the thought away with a shake of his head. “That’s not a good reason to hate a child, or to be cruel to everyone else either.”

“It is not. If it helps, I will promise to amend my behavior. However, you should know that I cannot change too much. In his own subtle way, Dumbledore has been encouraging my attitude since the day he hired me.”

Harry thought about how the headmaster had forced Snape to work in a job he hated even after it seemed he had done his part to take down the Dark Lord. How he had taken over Harry’s guardianship without even trying to look at his parents’ wills. How he had taken Harry and placed him with the Dursleys before Sirius was arrested. How he had ignored Harry when Harry pleaded to not return to the Dursleys’ home. How, despite his power in the Wizengamot, he had never gotten Sirius a trial, even now that he believed that Sirius was innocent and had helpfully allowed him to escape. And how, without Sirius or Harry or anyone else the wiser, he had been happily helping himself to the Potter vaults for years now.

“Is Dumbledore…is he bad? Like the Dark Lord?”

He was gratified to see Snape consider the question seriously before answering it. “No, I do not believe so,” he finally concluded. “However, like anyone else, he is crippled by his fatal flaw.”

“Er, is that an illness?”

Snape’s snort was unattractively hilarious before he pulled himself together. “No, though I suppose it could always lead to one, depending on the flaw. No, Harrison, a fatal flaw refers to one’s personality, their character, if you will. All of us have negative aspects of ourselves, intrinsic to our very being, that if allowed full reign could cause harm. These faults don’t make us evil, but they make us dangerous to ourselves and to others.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, for you, I would think your fatal flaw would be your deep-seated need to save everyone around you.”

“But that’s not a bad thing, wanting to help people, is it?”

“No, but like I said, it could put people in danger, most notably yourself.”

Harry frowned, not liking the direction this had gone. Glaring at his lap, he picked at the skin around his fingernails. “We were talking about Dumbledore, not me. What’s his fatal flaw?”

Snape chuckled but was kind enough not to comment on Harry’s brooding. “I believe it is his need to always be the one in control. I do not know what it is rooted in—perhaps in pride or in fear—but because of it, he rarely shares his full plans with anyone and he’s very sure of his own correctness. It allows him to justify taking many liberties and risks that others might have warned against.”

“Like taking my things?”

“Like taking your things,” Snape agreed, “and like organizing this tournament.”

“I can’t do anything about the tournament at this point,” Harry grumbled. He would very much like to do something about it, but he doubted he could force compliance from three different schools and governments. “But I’d really like to get my family’s things back where they belong. Any ideas?”

Snape hummed, his brow furrowed as he poured himself more tea. The action reminded Harry of his own neglected cup, and he took a sip, waiting for Snape to resettle. Snape stirred sugar into his own cup slowly as he pondered. “The media has been quite interested in you since the beginning of the tournament, hasn’t it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded anyways. Skeeter had been skulking around the school. With Harry dodging her, and the other Slytherins helping him, she had decided to interview Hagrid of all people earlier in the month. They were still waiting on the fallout of that, but Harry knew it was coming.

“I would suggest that you use the media spotlight to your advantage in this instance. The headmaster says that he may have trouble tracking down certain items. Put out a notice in the Prophet asking for any information on the missing Potter heirlooms. With the public attention, Albus won’t be able to continue giving you the runaround.”

“I am not giving Skeeter an interview,” Harry stated resolutely. He would rather dump the entirety of his inheritance in the Thames than let her mangle his words again. After the way her article after the wand weighing had gone, even though he had refused to give her an interview, he certainly wasn’t going to willingly talk to her.

“You don’t have to give an interview to anyone at all if you don’t want to. Simply take out a personal ad. I’m sure Draco or one of the others could help you write it.”

Oh. That could work.

Chapter End Notes

Also known as, the chapter where Severus gets to monologue. Like, a lot.

How is everyone feeling about Snape's story?

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

Last chapter was angsty monologue. Now, please enjoy some humor and fluff (with just a sprinkle of a little extra angst).

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Thank you, sir. I’ll try that.” Harrison was getting a disconcertingly devious sort of expression on his face that made Severus rather want the teen out of his rooms. Unfortunately, there was one more conversation he needed to have with the boy before he could allow himself a well-deserved rest.

“Onto another serious matter,” Severus said, and watched as the boy frowned in confusion.

“What? I thought we had covered everything?”

“Not in the least. But what I am talking about now is your relationship with a certain international quidditch star. You seem to be spending a lot of time with Mr. Krum.”

“Oh, yeah, Viktor’s cool.”

Cool. Teenagers were so blithe in the way they described their romantic partners. “He’s quite a bit older than you, don’t you think?”

“Hm? Yeah, I guess. But he’s been really nice to me, with the tournament and everything. He could have been really angry with me, you know, since I wasn’t supposed to be competing, but he actually believed me, right from the beginning. And he’s been really kind to me, so…”

Severus took a deep breath. And then another deep breath. His experience with relationships was admittedly not the most extensive nor the healthiest. However, he would like for his students to have slightly better relationships in their own lives. “Harry—Harrison. I know you have had a difficult childhood, and it can be easy to reach for whatever comfort you can. But I need you to know that gratitude for basic kindness and respect is not a good reason to begin a relationship.”

Harrison only looked more confused at that. “But, that’s how I became friends with Hermione, and Ron, too, before he was a dick.”

“Language,” Severus reminded him, more out of habit than actual offense at the crass word. “Yes, but those were platonic relationships, and your relationships with your friends grew to encompass more than just that original gratitude. A romantic relationship needs to be based on more than gratitude, otherwise it becomes extremely lopsided and unhealthy. Even a platonic relationship can become harmful with that kind of imbalance.”

Harrison chewed on that for a minute, the creaky cogs of his mind nearly audible as he worked through the awkward topic. “Wait,” he said slowly, and Severus prepared himself to debate whatever the boy had come up with. “Do you think I’m dating Viktor?”

“Why else would you be meeting him in the bathroom?” Severus raised a pointed eyebrow at the teen.

“He’s teaching me stuff,” Harrison said evasively.

Severus would be the first to admit that he was not the most attractive man. At best, he was an acquired taste, and at worst, he was repulsive. However, even he had had a few students over the years—particularly forward and particularly desperate students—who had asked him too to teach them particular skills, though of course he had never accommodated them. “Teaching you what? Do not lie to me.”

His mumble was nearly unintelligible, but Severus was able to just make it out. “He’s teaching me how to swim.”

“Oh thank god!” Severus collapsed back into his seat, and he raised his cup to his lips for a fortifying sip of tea, wishing it was something stronger.

His relief was so severe that it sent Harrison cackling, rocking back into the sofa and wiping tears from his eyes. “Viktor’s taking Hermione to the dance! They like to study together, and he’s got a crush on her. He’s just been helping me for the tournament.”

“Wait. How is he teaching you to swim in a bathroom?” Severus had a suspicion, but if he was right, it was only another way the boy was circumventing the rules of the school.

“It’s a very big bathtub…”

“And just how did you get access to the prefects’ bath, Mr. Potter?”

“Well, I needed somewhere to wash after I moved out of Gryffindor Tower. It’s not my fault they never change the password to the bathroom like they do for the common rooms.”

“Actually, only half of the school is familiar with having regularly changing passwords for the common rooms. One quarter of the school has had the same password since the school’s inception, and one does not have a regular password at all. Dumbledore, in all his wisdom, decided that the prefects’ bath should only change once every year, as a compromise.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not going to argue having access for the rest of the year. That is…you’re not going to tell him and make him change it, are you?”

Severus was certainly tempted, but he expected that Harrison would just learn the new password the same way he had before. “No. But do not expect that you will get legitimate access to it next year, either.” Harrison would never be prefect. Severus was currently debating between Draco and Theo for next year’s male prefect, as a matter of fact. Choosing Draco might look like favoritism, but his grades really were the best in the class, aside from Ms. Granger’s, and his fellow students tended to follow his lead which made him a good choice for the position of a mentor.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Harry grinned. Yes, the little cretin was absolutely going to keep abusing the privileges that his invisibility cloak gave him, no matter what Severus said.

Severus stood and strode over to open the door. “I believe it is time for you to take your leave, before I learn about any other rule breaking. And Harrison?”

“Actually, you can call me Harry. I don’t think Harrison really fit me. I told the others already.”

“But you made Dumbledore call you by your full name?”

“You’re not Dumbledore. And maybe if he had listened to me even a little, I wouldn’t have pushed the name thing.” Harry shrugged. “Anyways, what was it you wanted?”

“Please go make up with my godson. Draco is a pain when he’s morose.”

Harry grinned. “Yes, sir!” And without a backwards glance, he practically skipped away down the corridor. Severus closed the door behind him and went in search of the Glayva Minerva had gifted him for his birthday.

When Harry wandered into the fourth years’ common room, he found almost everyone from their year there, including the one he was really looking for.

“Hey, Draco,” he said quietly. He didn’t sit. Instead he asked, “Can I talk to you, privately?”

Draco didn’t look particularly pleased, but he nodded. “I needed to talk to you too.” Still, he was obviously reluctant, slowly putting his book in his bag before he stood and motioned for Harry to lead the way. As they moved to exit the sitting room through the door leading the boys’ bedrooms, Harry noticed Vince and Greg sitting together on the couch. Vince’s hands were out in front of him, about a foot apart with his palms facing one another and circle of yarn hanging over his hands. One string of yarn led from the wrap to Greg who was knitting what looked like a very wide, lacy scarf. The two were jabbering away together in a language Harry didn’t know. Harry had never heard either of them be so vocal before.

“Is that Welsh?” he asked Draco quietly as they walked.

Draco shook his head. “Kernowek,” he said. “Also known as Cornish. It’s Vince’s first language. He didn’t know a word of English until he was about seven, I think. It took him a while to learn English, and he’s still not entirely comfortable in it. They’ve been best friends since they were little, though, so Greg learned Kernowek too. I know a little, but I’m not fluent like they are.”

“Isn’t the Cornish language extinct, though?” Harry had heard some people talk about reviving it, but it certainly wasn’t anyone’s first language.

“In the muggle world, sure, but Kernowek is still plenty present in the wizarding world,” Draco informed him.

No wonder Vince tended to take his time responding when someone asked him a direct question. It wasn’t that he was thick, it was that he was having to translate what was said to him, think of a response, and then translate that too. Pocketing this information for later, Harry nodded and kept walking.

Since Blaise was in the common room with the rest of them, Harry led Draco to his room. He settled himself on his bed, and Draco looked like he might join him before moving instead to the desk chair. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” Draco seemed to be bracing himself for something.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

That was apparently not what Draco was expecting. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I was upset with Snape, and I had good reason to be, but I took it out on you, which was wrong. I promise I won’t do that again. Snape and I have worked things out for the most part, but I needed to apologize to you.”

“Thank you,” Draco said stiffly. “I accept your apology.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry huffed, though there was little heat in it. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

Oddly, the words seemed to cause Draco to loosen. His shoulders dropped several inches, and he lost the rigid posture he had adopted. “No, I do accept your apology. But I’m going to wait for you to prove that you won’t drop me like that again before I forgive you.”

“That’s fair,” Harry conceded. “So, you said you wanted to talk too.”

“I did.” Draco hefted his bag into his lap and dug around in it for a moment before holding up a crisp envelope. “This came today, right after you left during breakfast. It’s got the seal of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so I expect it’s for you. I haven’t opened it though.” Carefully, he moved to the bed and sat down on the edge next to Harry, offering the envelope.

Harry took it, his hands shaking and his throat suddenly dry. What would Madam Bones say? Was Sirius free? Would she not care about what was written in some old wills? Draco might have drafted the letter, but he had made Harry sign it. Would she write off what he had to say just because of his age and who he was?

“I don’t know if I can open this.”

Draco frowned. “I could open it for you, if you want.”

Gulping, Harry nodded quickly, all but shoving it at Draco. Draco was kind enough not to mock Harry’s nervousness.

With his thumbnail, he carefully levered broke the seal, and a golden glow startled Harry as the red wax dissolved. “That just means that it hasn’t been tampered with since it was sealed,” Draco reassured.

Harry nodded but didn’t speak, eyes glued to the folded page in Draco’s right hand.

Unfolding it, Draco began to read.

“Dear Mister Potter,

We thank you for bringing this information to our office’s attention. While we always try to do our due diligence in investigating those charged with crimes, it is an unfortunate fact that sometimes certain matters are obscured or hidden from us. In the case of Sirius Black’s arrest on the 1 November 1981, we have found some discrepancies in our processing that we will be rectifying immediately. Please look for the Ministry of Magic’s announcement in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning.

With Regard,

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement”

The two boys sat in silence for a moment after Draco finished reading.

Finally, Harry asked, “Well, what did that mean?”

What it meant was absolute chaos, and Draco reveled in his part in it.

The Yule Ball was less than a week away, and up until now, all anyone could talk about for the last few weeks had been who was going with whom and what everyone would be wearing. However, as soon as the first owl dropped off the newspaper that morning, conversation abruptly turned to Sirius Black and the incompetence of the Ministry of Magic. Of course, the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton schools had to be brought up to date on the story of Sirius Black, his betrayal and crimes, and his escape from Azkaban prison, but once that was out of the way, they were perfectly happy to decry the British government as well. While less than a quarter of the school was subscribed to the Prophet, by the end of breakfast, everyone at Hogwarts had read the article plastered across the front page.

SIRIUS BLACK INNOCENT? DMLE FORMALLY RESCINDS KISS-ON-SIGHT ORDER

Sirius Black, who escaped from Azkaban prison a year and a half ago, the first wizard ever to do so (more on pg 4), may in fact be innocent of the crimes he was originally imprisoned for. Charged for killing 13 people, including 12 muggles and the wizard Peter Pettigrew, on 1 November 1981, Black is also widely believed to have been a high-ranking Death Eater in the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the man who betrayed the Potters. All of wizarding Britain was comforted to know that Black was quickly imprisoned following the war.

However, new information has been brought to the DMLE head, Amelia Bones. While she did not reveal her source, Bones reported that the evidence was substantial enough to prompt further investigation. Upon examination, Bones found that Black was never tried for his alleged crimes. While many believe a quick sentencing of many Death Eaters to have been necessary following the fall of You-Know-Who, Bones comments, “It is the responsibility of this office to ensure that every individual arrested for a crime is properly investigated and formally tried in court. If we just threw everyone who we suspected to be guilty of a crime into Azkaban without due process, I highly doubt there’d be enough wizards left to staff the ministry. We will give Mr. Black the same privilege.” Bones continued that as of today, the kiss-on-sight order put in place by Minister Fudge when Black first escaped has been rescinded. She urges Black to turn himself in so that he can be properly tried.

When asked for comment, Minister Fudge stated, “We all know he’ll be sent straight back to the dementors for his crimes, but I suppose that the rules must be followed.” (cont. pg 13)

Harry was practically glowing, his grin so wide it looked like it must ache, and it was drawing a lot of attention to their section of the table from all around the room.

“You seem quite pleased with this, Harry,” Viktor commented.

Harry shrugged. “Sirius is my godfather, and I’ve known he was innocent since last year. I tried to tell Fudge, but he wouldn’t listen to me, then. Now, he’s going to end up looking like an idiot.”

“How are you going to do that?” Draco asked, preening when Harry turned his attention back to Draco.

“Snape suggested you might be willing to help me write up a personal ad to get back some of my stuff from Dumbledore. How would you like to make it a full campaign against Dumbledore and the Minister?”

Draco couldn’t hide his smirk. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Chapter End Notes

Knit, good Goyle, knit, knit!

Next chapter will be the Yule Ball! Who has ideas for this? Because aside from all the Slytherins' dates, I haven't decided what to do yet. Who should Ron go with? Will Harry actually have fun this time? What drama will we uncover?

Also, has anyone got tips on writing a Bulgarian accent? The internet is being unhelpful.

Chapter 21

Chapter Notes

Ok, I lied. I said the next chapter would be about the Yule Ball, and this one isn't. I swear I will get there eventually! (I think)

In the meantime, enjoy Severus forcing himself through more uncomfortable conversations and Draco happily scheming for the benefit of his crush friend.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Severus’s plan began at the breakfast table two mornings after his conversation with Harry. It was a noisy morning, the Monday that began Yule. Usually, this would be the day after the Express took most of the students back to their families for the winter holidays. It was a day that brought Severus peace most years. Unfortunately, due to the Yule Ball—which was somewhat strangely named considering that it would be taking place on Christmas—nearly every student in the fourth year and above had elected to stay for the holidays. There were also many from the younger years who would be staying in order to attend the dance with older dates who had invited them or just to stay with older siblings. Severus observed it all with a sneer and a deep feeling of exhaustion.

He started the meal in his normal seat, the one directly in front of the Slytherin table in case any of his students needed his help. However, he stood from his meal early when he noticed his target leaving the table. Her path was predictable, and he followed after her at a quick clip, catching up to her just as she stepped out onto the frosted grounds.

“Pomona,” he greeted with a sharp nod.

Pomona wasn’t startled by his unexpected appearance, one of the few individuals who never was for some reason. She smiled at him as she bundled her cloak closer around her against the chilly breeze that blew around them. “Good morning, Severus. What can I do for you today? Have your classes used up the moly petals already? I should have some more ready to harvest if you need.”

“No, I’m not in need of any ingredients today.” If only that was all he needed.

“Oh? Then what can I do for you?”

The grass crunched under their boots as they hurried to the green houses. Pomona always seemed to be in a hurry, and Severus had no trouble keeping up with her when needed. Lightly, Severus said, “I need a moment of time with one of your protégés.”

“Can’t it wait until classes are back in session? Or is it a NEWT student not in your classes anymore?” Despite Herbology and Potions being subjects that often went hand in hand with one another, there were plenty of Herbology students that dropped Potions as soon as soon as they were released from their OWL exams.

“No, they’re still in my classes. However, this is not a school related issue, and I don’t wish to startle them unnecessarily.”

“I see. Who is it then?”

“Neville Longbottom.”

Pomona stopped in her tracks. When she swung to face Severus, she wore a stern frown and there was a furrow between her eyebrows, just visible under the mishappen bonnet pulled low on her forehead.

“You know perfectly well that Mr. Longbottom is terrified of you, Severus. You’ve gone out of your way to ensure it. What could you possible have to say to him outside of class?”

Severus sighed and watched how his breath fogged up in front of him. “I recognize that I have made an error in how I have treated Mr. Longbottom in the past. I wish to make amends, preferably without scaring him further. I am hoping that approaching him somewhere that he is comfortable, like the greenhouses, will make the conversation easier for him.” And for Severus, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Hmm.” Pomona began walking again, and Severus gratefully followed after her.

“I will only do this if you swear that you’ll be making an actual effort to treat him better going forward.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious, Severus. That boy has come to my greenhouses shaking and in tears because of how you treat him. I will not have you invade a space where he feels safe if you cannot ensure that there will be a change in your behavior.”

“Pomona.” Severus stopped her with a hand on her forearm. Her lips were pursed when she looked back at him. “I swear. It’s been brought to my attention that my strict attitude toward my students has gone further than I intended it to. Mr. Longbottom has borne the brunt of my harshness, and I need to make amends.”

Severus knew that the short, grounded woman didn’t have any training in legilimency, but still, he felt exposed as she searched his eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. Mr. Longbottom has volunteered to help me in the greenhouses over the break. If you come to Greenhouse 3 just after sundown this evening, he will be there.”

“Thank you, Pomona.” Having gotten the information he needed, Severus turned to go. However, before he made it more than a few steps, Pomona’s voice stopped him.

“I will be there as well, Severus. If you do anything that upsets him, I will ensure that there are consequences.”

Severus nodded sharply. It was no less than he expected from the woman who was so protective of her students. “I will see you this evening then. Good day.” Pondering over what exactly he was supposed to say to the nervous boy that evening, Severus returned to the castle.

At this point, Harry was just following Draco’s lead, but he was okay with that. Draco obviously knew what he was doing more than Harry would have known if he was in charge of this whole endeavor. Draco had started them off with research, of course. This kind of research wasn’t sorting through old tomes though. Instead, they were searching through old editions of the Daily Prophet. Madam Pince had every edition going back decades, but she wouldn’t allow the periodicals to be checked out of the library like the books could be. With so much material to look through, Draco had also recruited Pansy, Astoria, Theo, and Hermione. Blaise was there too, but he seemed to be there more to commentate for his own entertainment than to research.

“Ooh, look, wide hat brims are back in fashion again,” he drawled just quietly enough that Madam Pince couldn’t hear them.

“As of when?” Astoria rolled her eyes. “1975?”

“1974,” he corrected.

“We all know hats dropped almost entirely out of fashion by the late ‘80s. I don’t know why they’re a required part of our uniforms. No one wears them,” Pansy said.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “They can be useful. Seamus used his to put out a fire first year, back when we were learning Alohomora.”

“How in the world did he set a fire with Alohomora?” Theo asked.

Harry shrugged. “He’s really good at setting things on fire. Sometimes he even does it on purpose.”

“You all are supposed to be focusing on your topics,” Draco reminded them. “Get back to it.”

“Yes, sir,” Pansy saluted, and there was some shuffling as they all passed papers back and forth.

Harry was looking through the personal ads with a focus on ads for lost property. Draco had decided that while he would help draft the ad, Harry was to write it so that it would sound as genuine as possible.

Next to him, Theo and Hermione were looking for evidence of Fudge’s negligence in responding to tips or threats during his time as Minister of Magic.

Similarly, Pansy and Astoria were both looking for mentions of Dumbledore’s influence in Ministry policy outside of his position as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

Finally, Draco was reading every editorial and featured story assessing the credibility of the journalists. Blaise was supposed to be helping him, but he was easily distracted.

“This is frustrating,” Hermione finally declared, putting her quill down so forcefully that ink splattered onto her hand. Theo passed her a handkerchief without comment. “I just mean,” she said as she scrubbed at her palm with the square of fabric, “look at this! It seems like Fudge doesn’t do anything at all!”

She waved at the sheet of parchment she had already filled with her neat script. Harry couldn’t make anything out from across the table, but she had obviously been thorough. “I’m only two years into his ministry, and I’ve already found eight different high-profile incidents where he didn’t act on information he had. Why do people trust him as minister?”

“I’ve found another five in his next two years in office as well,” Theo said.

“Exactly! How can we trust him?”

“People trust him because he doesn’t act on information he’s given unless he absolutely needs to,” Astoria said. “Minister Bagnold, the minister who came before him, ruled during the end of the war and in the years after. She was someone elected to bring us through difficult times, but even after the war was done, she continued to rule as if no one could be trusted. Everyone wanted to relax, to feel safe again, but the way she ran things, no one could just enjoy being free. So, when Fudge was elected, he knew that the way to stay in office was to keep everyone calm and happy, so that’s what he’s been doing for the last four years.”

“But there’s been actual dangers that needed to be addressed! I didn’t hear anything about this Spattergroit outbreak in 1991, and that happened near here. Also, I haven’t seen anything about the attacks from our second year, even though I know he knew about them.”

The purebloods all shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” Blaise said. “I mean, obviously, it does matter, but in the way of politics, if you frighten the public, you can’t expect to stay well liked. So, he just doesn’t let anything scary get too much attention, and people stay generally happy with his ministry.”

“But he’s useless,” Hermione fumed, an odd sort of frenzy in her eyes that had Blaise edging away from her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Blaise repeated.

“How is your research on Dumbledore coming,” Draco asked, obviously just trying to change the subject before Hermione’s temper got them kicked out of the library.

“About as expected,” Pansy said. With one painted nail, she flicked another stack of old Prophets to the side. “The chief warlock doesn’t actually have a vote in the Wizengamot unless there is a tie, but whenever there’s a public policy that is going to be voted on, he comes forward and makes some comment on it in the paper, and nine times out of ten, the vote will end up going his way, even if public opinion and Wizengamot support was initially leaning the other way.”

“But that’s not uncommon or even unethical. Politicians are constantly currying support for their favored legislation,” Hermione said, and almost everyone at the table repressed a sigh. Only Blaise didn’t care about letting his exhalation be heard. It had taken a lot of conversational sidestepping all morning to avoid an argument with Hermione about Dumbledore. ‘

“Perhaps not,” Draco said diplomatically. “But even if Dumbledore were the perfectly kindly and righteous man everyone thinks he is—and we know he’s not—it’s gotten to the point where he’s too powerful. Most people in this country don’t think anymore because they expect Albus Dumbledore to do it for them.”

“It’s not bad to trust your leaders, though!”

“Think of it this way, Hermione,” Theo said, unexpectedly entering the conversation. “Dumbledore runs the top-rated magical school in the country. That’s a demanding job all on its own. At the same time, though, he has to preside over all Wizengamot sessions as the Chief Warlock, and he represents Britain on an international platform while leading the ICW. Add to that all the correspondence he gets from everyone from Fudge to foreign magical scientists asking for his advice or assistance. No one could be infallible even if they only had one of these positions. However, he’s juggling all of them, and important things are getting dropped.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that in second year, he could have simply ordered fully grown mandrakes from abroad and none of the petrification victims—including you—would have had to wait until the end of the school year to be revived,” Astoria said.

“Like the fact that he hired Lockheart second year and didn’t seem to notice or care that he was a complete moron,” Pansy said. “An attractive moron, admittedly, but a moron nonetheless.”

“Like the fact that he allowed Moody to perform the Imperius curse on fourteen-year-olds,” Theo said. Harry had been surprised at just how upset his new housemates had been with that particular revelation. At the time, it had seemed scary but probably safe enough since it was a professor doing it. It was only after moving to Slytherin and learning that Moody hadn’t performed it on them—and that if he had, they all would have immediately reported it to their parents and the school board—that Harry had realized that Imperio really didn’t belong anywhere near a school, even for teaching purposes.

“Like the fact that he definitely could have gotten Sirius Black a trial any time in the last thirteen years with his position as Chief Warlock if he wanted to,” Blaise said.

“Like the fact that he let a werewolf teach us all year without warning anyone,” Theo said. “Even if that werewolf was overall a pretty decent bloke and a really good professor.”

“Like the fact that he ignored my parents’ wills and let me go back to my relatives’ house every summer,” Harry said. Under the table, Draco took his hand and held it tightly. Out of everyone sitting there, he now knew the most about Harry’s relationship with the Dursleys. To the others, Draco’s only reaction was the way he pursed his lips in an expression that was reminiscent of Professor McGonagall at her angriest.

Hermione waved her hands to stop them when Pansy opened her mouth to start another round of complaints. “Alright, alright! But he’s still a good man. Are those bad things, those mistakes, really worth taking him out of power completely?”

“Of course not,” Draco said. “Taking him out of power completely would be irresponsible of us. It would create a political power vacuum, and we don’t yet have the power to control who comes in to fill that void. It could be someone far worse than Dumbledore, and then all of our work would have been for nothing. No, we’re not taking Dumbledore out of power; we’re simply starting a campaign that should cause people to question him just enough that they start to think for themselves again. Dumbledore has been at least a professor here for nearly eighty years. That’s put him in a position of trust for generations of wizards and witches. They’ve become complacent, and it’s harmful to everyone.”

Harry’s personal ad would be the first step in Draco’s grand scheme against Dumbledore. Over the next several months, they would anonymously start releasing student accounts of the dangerous goings-on from the last several years. The others even had connections with graduated students who were willing to submit their own testimonials of ways their education was disrupted or their safety weakened by Dumbledore’s actions—or lack thereof—as headmaster. As Severus had said, Dumbledore wasn’t a bad guy, certainly not compared to some of the other threats Harry had faced over the years, but he wasn’t infallible, and with his power and influence, that fallibility was dangerous. It was important that people realized that.

The campaign against the minister would be similar, but less subtle. Instead of looking simply to sow some distrust, the group was hoping to elicit a vote of no confidence against Fudge. It might take longer, and it would have to be done carefully, but they were hopeful, especially if they could get adults to help them rally support. Harry was hopeful that Sirius would be willing to aid them. He had sent his godfather a letter with Hedwig the day before which urged him to go to Madam Bones and also hinted at Harry’s other plans once Sirius was free.

His biggest worry was that Sirius wouldn’t want anything to do with him once he knew about Harry’s knew house and friends, but he was keeping those fears to himself for now. If they became relevant, then he would share them with his friends.

“That seems reasonable on the surface,” Hermione said. “But it still sounds to me like you’re trying to destroy his career.”

Draco shrugged. “Personally, I wouldn’t be upset if he were ousted from power. However, that really isn’t my goal. My goal is to simply present the public with the truth.”

Shifting in his seat and squeezing Draco’s fingers, Harry whispered, “You don’t have to help if it makes you uncomfortable. I won’t be angry.” Disappointed, certainly, but not angry.

Hermione stared at him for a long minute. As she thought she pulled at the ends of her curls in a way that looked almost painful until Theo used a gentle touch on her wrist to pull her hand away from her hair. The motion startled her out of her reverie, and she looked around the table. All of them, even Blaise, wore solemn expressions. They were dedicated to this, no matter her answer. Her exhale was loud and final. “No, I’ll help. The truth is important, no matter who it’s about, right?”

“Right,” Draco agreed. “Now, Harry, let’s start writing your ad.”

Severus had been in many dangerous situations over the course of his life. However, the trepidation he felt approaching Greenhouse 3 that evening was something new. He very rarely apologized, and aside from Harry, he didn’t remember ever apologizing to students. Yet here he was, prepared to offer remorse and—as would likely be necessary—condolences to one of his least favorite students from the whole of his tenure as a Hogwarts professor.

It was probably a good thing his path didn’t take him near the weeping willow, or Severus might have thrown himself at it just to avoid the discomfort of his upcoming conversation. Alas, he soon found himself at his destination, and with a bracing breath, he stepped into the greenhouse.

Despite the frost that coated the outside world, the interior of the greenhouse was not only warm but humid. Greenhouse 3 was home to many of Pomona’s tropical specimens, and she rigorously checked the charms that kept the enclosure at their ideal climate. Severus quickly shed his cloak and gloves and wished that the winter weather and the chilly dungeons didn’t necessitate such heavy boots and robes.

Pomona was already there, chatting at the desk with one of her Hufflepuffs who, fortunately, didn’t notice Severus’s arrival. Pomona, who was facing the door, did notice him standing there, and she pointedly nodded him toward the back of the greenhouse where Severus could just barely make out Longbottom pruning back some hanging vines that appeared to be attempting to hug him.

Severus purposely made his footsteps audible as he approached the boy, and Longbottom turned toward him with a smile, likely assuming that Severus was Pomona or another herbology enthusiast. That smile evaporated as soon as he recognized Severus, and his previously confident grasp on his shears became so shaky that he was suddenly at a high risk of needing bandages. Not in the mood for cleaning up blood, Severus decided that he should assuage the boy’s fears as quickly as possible.

“I’m not going to harm you, Mr. Longbottom. I simply needed to talk with you, if you would allow it.”

If anything, this only made Longbottom more nervous. The darting of his eyes suggested that he was scoping out possible exits. “Er, y-yes, professor? I’m sorry. W-What can I do for you?”

Severus sighed. There was no way to do this right except for the blunt way. He subtly threw up a muffliato to keep any nosy eavesdroppers from listening in if they approached. That done, he said, “I need to apologize to you, Mr. Longbottom.”

This rendered Longbottom completely wordless, and he gaped up at Severus, his mouth opening and closing like a particularly confused guppy fish. Severus had no choice but to push on.

“I realize that I have treated you unfairly over the years. While you are no potions proficient, I have had far worse students than you that I have terrorized far less. I have taken out old grudges from the past on you, and I shouldn’t have. So I now profusely apologize. I won’t ask for or expect your forgiveness, but I trust that you will see going forward that I am sincere in my remorse.”

The words, truly meant though they were, tasted tacky on his tongue, reluctant to come out. But at least he had accomplished what he came to do.

The blond boy still had nothing to say as he stared at Severus. Having said his piece, Severus took down the muffling spell and turned to go. However, a sound stopped him before he had made it more than a few steps.

“S-sir?” Longbottom said. Severus turned and arched an eyebrow, waiting for the timid boy to continue. “Is this because of Harry? I’ve noticed that, that you aren’t as angry with him as you used to be. And, well, he didn’t seem upset about transferring into Slytherin as he might have been in the past.”

Well. It would seem that Longbottom could be quite sharp when he wanted to be. “I will admit that Mr. Potter may have been the catalyst for this particular conversation. But that does not make my words less true.”

“So you don’t h-hate me, sir?”

An interesting question. “Not for anything that you have done,” Severus finally settled on.

The boy’s brow furrowed, and Severus could see the understanding light in his eyes and settle in his hunching shoulders that meant he had noticed that Severus didn’t deny hating him.

“Is there anything I can do?” Longbottom asked.

Severus shook his head before pausing to think. “I would recommend that you study the potions we will be brewing in upcoming classes prior to walking into my classroom. While it is not necessarily a requirement, you may find that the familiarity broadens your understanding and steadies your hand when it comes time to actually brew. And, since you are one of Professor Sprout’s favorite students thanks to your talent in her subject, you may find it practical to cross-reference potion ingredients in your herbology texts. I think that these adjustments could greatly improve our educational relationship; don’t you?”

Longbottom’s mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. “I’ll do my best, professor.”

“I expect nothing more or less, Mr. Longbottom.” Severus nodded at the boy and then, finally, was able to take his leave.

Chapter End Notes

The trouble with writing this fic panster style is that I occasionally write myself into corners (politics are not my strong suit). However, I think I've written myself out of the corner I was stuck in for over a month. Let me know how you think this chapter turned out!

Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments I've gotten recently! (And not so recently. I didn't realize just how long it had been since I posted...) I think someone must have shared this somewhere (THANK YOU WHOEVER YOU ARE), because I got an influx of comments about a week ago. Many of them were lovely and made me excited to get back to writing this story.

That said, with the heartwarming comments came some...less pleasant ones. I'm happy to respond to feedback, even negative feedback, when it's presented respectfully! (I literally have a degree in editing. Feedback is what I do!) However, if you choose to be aggressive or condescending in my comment section, I will happily ignore you or snark back, depending on my mood. One commenter went through my other stories (which I'm usually so excited to see!) and left a less-than-polite comment on a very old story that affected my friend who cowrote that story with me.

This story is meant to be purely fun for both me and my readers! The whole purpose is to make people smile. I really don't want to have to moderate comments or refuse anonymous commentors, but I will if I need to. Please remember that if this story bothers you in any way, there are a couple handy dandy buttons, including that little 'x' and back arrow at the top of the screen.

Have a great day, everyone (and sorry for the massively long note)!

Chapter 22

Chapter Notes

I've been gone forever, but this monster also ended twice as long as my next longest chapter. So you're actually getting 2 chapters tonight. Yayyy

Also, I've gone through and gotten rid of both Viktor and Fleur's accents. Kindly let me know if I missed anything!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For some reason, Harry expected his Slytherin year mates be calmer on Christmas morning than Ron and the other Gryffindors had usually been on Christmas. He was wrong. He woke that morning to Draco banging on the door and barging in without waiting for an answer.

“Get up! We can’t open presents ‘til everyone is there!”

Lazily, Harry rubbed sleep out of his eyes and crammed on his glasses. Draco’s baffled expression on seeing Harry still bundled up in bed and blinking blearily at him was amusing. Across the room, Blaise was already up and wrapped in a satin dressing gown—which he swore was warmer and more comfortable than it looked.

A soft, cool hand wrapped around Harry’s wrist. Muzzily, he looked at it, gaze slowly moving up the arm the hand was attached to, then up the shoulder, neck, and face too until he was looking into Draco’s bright eyes. Draco’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was unstyled for once. Still in his pajamas, Draco had foregone his usual formal trappings in favor of enjoying the holiday morning. “Let’s go!” Draco tugged on his arm again.

“He won’t stop until you’re up,” Blaise said. Despite the collected aura Blaise was trying to project, he was grinning widely and moving more quickly than he usually did in the mornings.

Unable to deny Draco anything when he was like this, Harry tumbled out of bed, letting Draco drag him along. In the fourth-year common room, Draco pushed Harry onto a loveseat and cheerfully plopped down next to him. When Blaise joined them a moment later, he smirked and joined them on the too-small sofa, sitting himself on Draco’s other side. With all three of them, it was a tight fit, and Draco was pushed snuggly against Harry. “Happy Christmas, everyone,” Blaise said blithely.

Harry looked around to see that, indeed, everyone else was already there. Vince and Greg were at the foot of the tree that had appeared overnight and were distributing the truly concerning pile of gifts that had been deposited there. Daphne was distributing mugs of cocoa, each of which had a candy cane up over the rim of the mug. The others all chattered together happily as Harry let the sugar from the hot chocolate slowly wake him up.

It took almost ten minutes for all the gifts to be sorted, but as soon as Greg and Vince sat back at their own piles, everyone dove into their stack. Wrapping paper flew, and each of them oohed and ahhed over their hauls. Enthusiastic thanks were passed around as they found gifts from each other. Having added so many people to his pool, Harry had worried that his owl-ordered gifts would fall short of the others’ expectations, but they all seemed pleased. He was shocked when Pansy squealed and hurdled the several heaps of presents and discarded paper and ribbons to launch herself at him. Draco had said she liked learning to play new instruments and hadn’t found a new one in a while, but Harry hadn’t expected this much excitement over the little thumb piano he had gifted her. Her hug was tight, and Harry patted her awkwardly on the back until Draco firmly pushed her back in the direction of her own seat.

Despite Draco’s forewarning that all of their year mates would likely give him gifts, Harry was momentarily stunned to see his own precariously leaning pile. The Durley’s single wrapped tissue teetered on top, and Harry rolled his eyes before tossing it toward the hearth and turning back to his real gifts.

Pansy gave him a book of wizarding children’s stories as well as a book on wizarding traditions. Daphne gave him a small collection of potions—“There’s basic healing, calming, and sleep potions in there. Most of them are legal!” Tracey gave him a book on magical snake species. Greg crocheted him a thick, emerald scarf that was so soft that it barely felt like it was there.  Blaise gave him a gold brooch he informed Harry was meant for him to wear with his robes to the ball. Vince gave him a box stuffed with enough Honeydukes candies to make a whole quidditch team sick. Millicent gave him the book Runes for Everyday Adventures and Dilemmas. Theo gave him quidditch goggles that would keep rain out of his eyes.

Harry was grateful to see that Mrs. Weasley apparently wasn’t too upset with him for his resorting, because she sent him the tradition Weasley Christmas sweater—this one with a dragon pattern knitted on the front—and a bursting box of fudge that Harry shared with the others. It was a surprise to see the sugar quills from Ron, and Harry was glad that he had caved to tradition and sent a box of chocolate frogs to Ron. It had felt too weird leaving Ron off his Christmas shopping list altogether.

Sirius’s and Remus’s gifts came together. From Remus, Harry had a book on advanced defensive charms that Harry knew would be useful for the tournament. Viktor would probably be willing to practice some with him. Sirius sent a penknife that could untangle any knot or break through any lock. He also included a short note that promised they would see each other soon, ‘after all this legal crap is taken care of.’

Harry wasn’t sure if Hermione’s and Viktor’s gifts were purposely coordinated or not, but he loved them both. Hermione had given him the book Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland, which he was looking forward to cracking open. It was high time Harry chose his own team to support rather than piggybacking off of Ron’s inexplicable devotion to the Chudley Cannons, who really were quite awful. Viktor gave him the book Join the Game: Offensive and Defensive Strategies for Seekers of all Styles and the promise of game tickets if Harry was ever in Blugaria. Harry had to hold himself back from immediately making summer travel plans.

But Harry’s favorite gift of them all was from Draco. When Harry peeled back the silver paper, he found a black velvet jewelry box. Inside, nested in black silk was a golden oval polished to such a bright shine that it looked like a tiny mirror. The front was engraved with an algiz rune. Harry would have snorted if he weren’t so touched; he needed all the protection he could get considering how he had already faced more than his fair share of dangerous threats.

Lifting it with his just his fingertips carefully framing it, unwilling to smudge the pristine surface so quickly, he found that the pendant was connected to a gold chain. The chain was long enough that the pendant would fall about mid chest. It would hang nicely over robes but could also be tucked away to protect it. As he cradled the pendant, he felt something on the back. Curious, he turned it over and found a second engraving. This one was a sowilo rune.

Sowilo often stood for great goals or success. However, in the particular script that the engraver had used, the rune was also almost an exact replica of the scar on Harry’s forehead. Unconsciously, his free hand lifted to trace at the raised tissue hiding under his bangs.

At his side, Draco nudged him. “Is it okay? I know that the scar, well it doesn’t remind you of good things, usually. But for the rest of us, we’re pretty glad you’re alive. And out of everyone, you deserve to success in whatever you do.”

Harry shook his head with a small smile. “I love it, Draco, thank you.”

“If you do the clasp yourself, no one else will be able to remove it. And the pendant will repel dirt and grime.” Draco was still biting his lip and flexing his hands in his lap, as if Harry would reject the gift that Draco had chosen to protect and help him.

Harry undid the clasp, struggling for just a moment to get it fastened behind his head when he couldn’t see it. But after just a moment, it hung brightly over his pajama shirt. “Perfect, see?” Harry showed him.

Draco’s smile was small, but his eyes shown even brighter than the gold.

With their presents put away and the wrappings disposed of, no one felt the need to rush about, and they all enjoyed a lazy Christmas day. After dressing, they wandered up to the Great Hall together and took their time enjoying waffles and French toast and sausages. It had snowed overnight, and many other students were planning a grand snowball battle. Theo, Daphne, and Pansy all shuddered at the idea of spending the day out in the cold, though, so their group decided to enjoy the warmth indoors.

They spent the day drifting around the castle contentedly. At one point, they stumbled onto a group of Beauxbaton students who were teaching a mix of Slytherins and Ravenclaws the rules to the French card game belote. After playing an example game for the Hogwarts students to watch, they split them all into groups of four with a Beauxbaton student supervising each game and occasionally offering hints to those who were struggling. Harry and Draco made up one team, and Harry was surprised when they won two of their three matches. Though their success was likely due in part to Blaise using most of his time to flirt with the pretty strawberry blonde Ravenclaw who was his partner.

They begged off a fourth game to go to lunch. Wandering around the castle afterwards, they found Hermione and Viktor by a third-floor window overlooking the lake, hanging out with some of the other Durmstrang students and older Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Harry accepted Hermione’s squealing thanks for both the silver necklace and the thick tome on creatures’ and beings’ rights throughout the world. When she stepped back, Viktor clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Vesela Koleda, Harry! Thank you for the practice snitch. Perhaps when it is warmer, we can have a seekers’ match, da?”

“I’d love to! And thank you for the book. If I can ever get to Bulgaria when you have a game, I’ll definitely be taking you up on those tickets.”

“Perhaps you and Hermione could come together one of these summers?”

Hermione’s face flushed, and Harry’s grin grew. “I would love that,” Harry said.

A few Beauxbaton students joined the group and Harry struggled to keep track of the group’s conversations that was now being held in three different languages. Hermione, Draco, and Blaise were all able to keep up with the French side of things though, and Harry was content to listen, even if he didn’t understand much of what was being said. Nearly all of his favorite people were there, and they would tell him if there was anything important. Though, he mused as Hermione, Draco, and two Beauxbaton students flushed at something Blaise said, maybe he should try to pick up another language. It’s not like parseltongue gave him much opportunity for conversational partners.

Eventually, students began peeling off in groups to go get ready for the ball. Harry couldn’t even contemplate needing more than an hour to get ready. When he mentioned as much to Blaise, he was laughed at. “Harry,” Blaise said, “if I thought that there was anything on Earth that could tame your hair, I would have you getting ready this early too. As it is, your hair is a lost cause. But somehow, it’s scruffiness somehow adds to your charm, so I guess it’s fine.

This launched Blaise and Draco into a debate over what styles could potentially make Harry’s untamable hair look purposeful. It was Theo, though, that made the suggestion that Harry grow his hair out. “The extra weight might help calm it’s more…sticky uppy bits.”

Blaise and Draco both turned concerningly speculative looks on Harry. Blaise hummed, and Harry made a mental note to check both his food and his shampoo for hair growth potions for the next few weeks.

Because the Slytherins had been told about the tournament—and therefore the traditional Yule Ball—before the school year even began, they had all paired up as dates long before Harry had been resorted. Rather than deal with the drama of asking out crushes, most of Harry’s year had chosen to go with platonic dates. Draco and Pansy were going together, as were Theo and Daphne and Vince and Greg. Millicent would be going with a fifth year Hufflepuff Harry had never met—apparently the two girls were neighbors and childhood friends. The only exception to the friends-only trend was Tracey, who had been asked out by a sixth year she had a crush on.

Having a casual date certainly took a lot of the pressure off of Harry, but not all of it. “I feel silly,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror. Over the last couple months since his first shopping spree with Draco, Harry had gotten used to wizard robes, and he had found that he quite liked them. However, his other robes still fit quite loosely, a feature he preferred after so many years in Dudley’s oversized hand-me-downs. These dress robes were not loose.

They were fitted in the torso, and a line of gold buttons ran from his throat to his waist where the robes flared just slightly. Despite the flair, the robes were straight in the leg and went all the way to the ground, just brushing the toe of his leather boots. Blaise and Draco had agreed to keep the dark green that Mrs. Weasley had chosen for him, but the cut was far more formal than his original robes. The shoulders were so stiff that Harry had to maintain perfect posture or else risk ripping a seam. When he had complained of it to Blaise, Blaise was merciless and only reminded him that he was supposed to be working on his posture anyways as part of his etiquette lessons. On someone else, the ensemble might have looked distinguished, especially with both Draco’s necklace and Blaise’s brooch on display. He wasn’t sure he quite measured up, though.

“You certainly don’t look silly,” Blaise said as he stepped up next to Harry to look into the mirror. He adjusted his own collar in the reflection before turning to straighten Harry’s lapels. “In fact, I will be very proud to be on your arm tonight And I imagine that many will be quite jealous of my position there.”

“As if I would go with some stranger I’ve never met before.” Several had asked over the last month to both Harry’s confusion and consternation. Each one of them Harry had politely declined, very glad that he already had a date.

Blaise smirked. “I’m not just talking about your fans,” he said. But he refused to elaborate any further.

A bang on door interrupted them before Harry could press. “It’s time to go!” Greg yelled through the door. With a final look in the mirror, Blaise pronounced them both dashing and shooed Harry out the door.

The others were already waiting for them in the fourth-year common room and stood when they appeared. While the girls had chosen brightly colored or pastel robes for the night, the boys tended towards darker colors.

Harry’s mouth fell open when Draco stood and smoothed a hand down his robes. They were made of black velvet with a high collar. They were severe but contrasted strikingly with Draco’s pale skin. Between two emerald collar pins hung fine gold chains that elevated the simple robes. At the hems of his sleeves and skirt, the green tunic underneath was just barely visible. It hinted and more beneath the formal robes, and Harry’s fingers itched even as his stomach swooped. The sensation felt rather like launching himself into a dive when he saw the snitch far below and was not sure yet if he’d make it before someone else snatched the snitch away.

Draco was staring right back at him. His cheeks were pink, and he wasn’t meeting Harry’s eye, though he didn’t seem willing to look away from Harry’s robes either. He had chosen them, though. He knew what they looked like. Though, he hadn’t seen them on Harry yet.

“Don’t we all look lovely?” Pansy said, and Harry was both glad and irritated that she had interrupted the charged moment between Harry and Draco. “We should go now, or we’ll be late.”

A glance at the clock proved her right, and the group headed out. In the main common room, Tracey split off from the fourth years to join her date, promising to find them later, and the rest continued on to the Entrance Hall. Somehow in their group, Harry ended up walking right behind Draco. The third time Blaise had to catch Harry from tripping over his own feet he huffed and traded places with Harry, forcefully putting himself behind Draco and Harry behind Pansy.

The Entrance Hall was crowded and became even more so when the giant wooden doors opened for the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students. Many of them dispersed to find dates from other schools while others stayed close together. Over the hubbub, Professor McGonagall called for the champions and their dates to join her.

“Shall we?” Blaise asked, holding out his arm to Harry. Harry put his hand in the crook of Blaise’s elbow and waved forlornly to the others.

Draco stopped them with a hand on Harry’s free wrist. “You’ll be fine, Harry. You know your steps, so you don’t need to worry about that. And this is a party. You’re meant to have fun.” He spoke seriously, but then he smiled, both genuine and wistful. “So have fun. We’ll see you on the dance floor, alright?”

Harry took a deep breath to center himself. Twisting his wrist to squeeze Draco’s fingers back, Harry matched Draco’s smile. “I will. See you in a bit.”

Finally stepping away from Draco and the rest of their group, Harry and Blaise made their way against the flow of the crowd and toward Professor McGonagall. He turned to say something to Blaise, but his words fell away with he saw Blaise’s gaze already boring into him. “What?” he asked instead.

“I cannot tell if you are oblivious or just a coward.”

“I’m not a coward!” Harry scowled up at Blaise. Blaise only arched a polished brow in response, and Harry flushed when he realized what his exclamation had implied. “I’m not oblivious either. I just—well, what if—I mean—” With each cut off defense, Blaise’s eyebrow ticked higher and higher. Huffing in frustration, Harry finally asked, “Can’t we talk about this later. When there aren’t a thousand people around.”

“As you wish.” Blaise didn’t sound happy about it though.

They reached the other champions then. Harry had to admit, they were a handsome group. Fleur, of course, looked effortlessly glamorous in a silver dress. She had chosen to attend with Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw quidditch captain, who looked both baffled and elated by whatever good luck had made him her partner. Cedric and Cho had obviously coordinated on robes, because his black robes had accents of the same icy blue she wore. They held hands as they waited to enter, both beaming in excitement. Hermione waved Harry and Blaise to where she stood with Viktor. Viktor was dressed in fairly simple black dress robes, but his besotted expression was one Harry had never seen on Viktor’s face before. Though Harry really couldn’t blame him.

He knew it shouldn’t have been after all these years being her friend, but it was startling to see Hermione looking so much like, well, a girl. He was so used to seeing her as his best friend, who ran around the school with him in casual muggle clothes or school robes and little to no makeup. Seeing her dressed up for the first time blew him away. She had obviously put a lot of effort into her look for the night, and it had paid off in spades. While more demure than some of the other looks he had seen tonight, especially on some of the older girls, Hermione’s periwinkle gown was cut to show off the figure Harry had never actually realized she had. She had applied her makeup artfully to make her eyes look bigger than they were, and light glitter on her cheeks caught the light every time she moved her head. The most startling change, though, was her hair. It had been straightened until it was sleek and shiny. Harry wondered if she would teach him to do whatever it was that she had done. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were people who didn’t recognize her tonight.

Harry hugged her. “You look great Hermione!”

Blaise, always suave, took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Lovely as always, Miss Granger.”

Hermione swatted them both even as she blushed.

Before she could reply, Professor McGonagall encouraged them into an orderly line. Fleur and Davies were happy to lead the procession. Viktor and Hermione took the place behind them, then Cedric and Cho, with Harry and Blaise bringing up the rear. Blaise adjusted his hold on Harry so that Harry was the one leading Blaise rather than Harry’s preferred reversal. Sensing his discomfort, Blaise patted his hand. Up ahead, Harry noticed Fleur execute a similar maneuver so that she was leading Davies without her date even noticing the switch.

As soon as they were ready, the doors opened on a signal from Professor McGonagall, and the champions made their grand entrance.

The Great Hall didn’t look anything like itself. If it hadn’t been for the transparent ceiling, Harry might have thought they were in a different hall altogether. It always looked nice at Christmas, but now the Hall had been turned into a silver winter wonderland. The usual four tables had been done away with for the evening and replaced with smaller, circular tables, each of which sat about a dozen people. Harry saw most of his Slytherin year mates sitting at a table on the front left edge of the room with a couple Durmstrang students. As he scanned the room, he noticed several of his old Gryffindor year mates sitting at a table on the opposite wall. Ron sat a seat to Seamus’s left, but Seamus had an arm over the back of Dean’s chair, and it didn’t look like Ron had a date at all. Ron was gawking at Hermione in utter disbelief.

At the head table were the expected headmasters and officials waiting to sit. Except for Mr. Crouch. In what Harry assumed was meant to be Crouch’s place stood Percy Weasley. Percy tried to catch Harry’s eye and motion to the seat next to him, but Harry pretended not to notice and took the seat next to Fleur instead. Cho Chang ended up in the seat next to Percy. Hopefully neither of them would be too disgruntled about the seating arrangements. Dumbledore waved his arm and sat, motioning for everyone else at the table to do the same.

Instead of food on platters in the center of table, as was the norm at Hogwarts, each golden place setting held a menu written on thick, creamy parchment. The menu had an assortment of options from British, French, and Bulgarian cuisines. Harry settled on the same goulash he saw Viktor order. The thick stew looked comforting on this very uncomfortable evening. The ordered food appeared on their plates, and as they were all served, conversation began to pick up.

On his left, Blaise was chatting with Hermione and Viktor about the differences between British, Bulgarian, and Italian holiday celebrations. On his right, Fleur was telling a befuddled and enchanted Roger Davies how easy it would be to get rid of Peeves at Beauxbaton. Out of all the champions, Fleur was the one Harry had interacted with the least. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to her at all since the wand weight ceremony. Maybe he could build some rapport with her over dinner. After all, her current conversation partner seemed barely able to babble his agreement in her presence.

“But, if we got rid of Peeves, who would students use as a scapegoat for our own shenanigans?” Harry asked her, interrupting Davies’s response.

Fleur looked surprised when she turned to Harry—and Davies looked disappointed to have lost her focus—but she didn’t look upset, fortunately. Harry had worried that the popular girl would be irritated by him.

“Indeed, Mr. Potter? And do you often get into these shenanigans, as you call them, to need to blame Peeves for your misdeeds?”

“Of course I would never, Miss Delacour,” Harry replied, encouraged by the way her eyes sparkled at the obvious like. “But he saved me from an unearned detention once, too.”

“Is that so? And how did he do that?”

“Nearly Headless Nick convinced him to drop a cabinet on the floor above the office where Filch was detaining me.”

Fleur shuddered delicately. “Your Mr. Filch is a very angry man.”

Harry wondered what the Beauxbaton champion had done to get on Filch’s bad side—not that the cantankerous caretaker had a good side. “I’m not sure why he works here. He seems to hate it, and he regularly threatens students with punishments more suited to medieval torture.”

“Yes. He can become quite…perturbed when we come to the castle. It is not possible to completely avoid mud or snow on that path!"

“At least you’ve never run into him after quidditch practice in the rain!”

Rodger Davies used the topic of quidditch to recapture his date’s attention, but Harry let him. Fleur was smiling, and with any luck, not thinking too badly of Harry.

Harry turned back to his own date’s conversation where Blaise, Hermione, and Viktor were now comparing the Hogwarts and Durmstrang castles, at least until Karkaroff interrupted to keep Viktor from spilling Durmstrang students. Viktor rolled his eyes so that only Harry, Hermione, and Blaise could see.

As conversation flowed easily around the table, the only ones who looked uncomfortable were Karkaroff, who always looked angry, and Percy, who seemed to have given up trying to make conversation with Cho. Cho was obviously quite enamored with Cedric, and he with her. It was cute watching them together. It was obvious that for the two of them, the outside world had completely fallen away.

Finally, their plates were cleared, and a band of hairy men carrying an assortment of instruments walked onto the stage tucked into the corner of the hall.

“You ready?” Blaise asked as all the champions and their dates stood to parade onto the dance floor.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Blaise squeezed his arm but said nothing else as all four couples took their places in the middle of the floor and arranged themselves into their stances. Nerves bubbled up in Harry’s stomach. Why couldn’t Blaise just lead? Harry could feel everyone’s eyes on him and knew that they were just waiting for him to stumble. No doubt Rita Skeeter would get her hands on that and twist Harry’s terrible dancing into a falsified health issue or an emotional breakdown and—

Blaise squeezed his shoulder one last time, and the music began.

Chapter End Notes

Don't come after me for belote info. I looked up all the rules, downloaded an app with the card game to play on my laptop, and played for an hour, and even though I won sometimes, I still only half get it. As soon as I start to think I understand what's going on, something new confuses me.

Chapter 23

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco watched Harry take to the floor with Blaise on his arm. Harry had yet to fully adopt the cool mask most of them kept on by default, and as a result, his nerves were painted on his face for all to see. From where he stood, Draco could see the way Harry was chewing on the inside of his cheek and flexing his free hand. He also saw the shoulder squeeze Blaise gave Harry when they got into position, and a bolt of jealousy crackled through him. He should be the one up there reassuring Harry. After all, he—they had taught Harry well.  He would perform perfection, and then the spotlight would be off him and he would be able to actually enjoy the event.

The first notes played forth, and the champions moved, and Draco forgot his jealousy. He felt nothing but pride. Despite Harry’s obvious nerves, he moved gracefully through the steps of the waltz, hitting each mark perfectly. When he realized the muscle memory Pansy had drilled into him had taken over, Harry’s face cleared, and he actually started to smile. There was the occasional misstep here or there, but no one who wasn’t looking for it would notice.

Pansy elbowed Draco in the side. “Stop drooling.”

“Shut up. You’re proud too, and you know it.”

She hummed, admitting nothing, but Draco expected nothing less from his best friend.

Nonetheless, Draco turned his attention to the other couples on the dance floor. Draco was pleased to see how well Harry and Blaise measured up compared to the others. None of there were bad, per se, but it was obvious that none of them were as comfortable on their steps as the Slytherins. For all of Viktor’s grace in the air, on land, he was flat footed and stiff. Hermione was counting her steps as if she had learned them from a book and needed the reminder. Both of them were technically correct in their steps, but their movements were mechanical on occasionally off beat. Cedric and Cho were swaying in time with the music more than actually dancing to it, but they looked so comfortable together and in their own bodies that they pulled it off. Fleur was perfectly graceful as always and appeared to glide rather than dance, but her partner held her back. Davies was obviously uncomfortable following his partner’s lead, and he frequently stumbled over his feet. Fleur never faltered though, and the casual observer might not have noticed her partner’s blunders.

Soon, Dumbledore led Madam Maxime onto the floor signaling the rest of the ball’s attendants to join. Draco stepped onto the floor with Pansy, finishing that song and the next with her while carefully steering them nearing to Harry and Blaise. They had switched their holds so that Blaise was now leading while Harry followed. The two were chatting now that the official dance was out of the way, and whatever Blaise said made Harry laugh out loud, his head thrown back and his curls bouncing wildly.

Blaise caught Draco’s eye over Harry’s shoulder and winked. Then, he was steering Harry away from Draco. The song ended, but before Draco could reach Harry, Pansy swooped in and spun away with Harry. Blaise took Draco’s hand before he could object and led him into a waltz that moved in the opposite direction as Harry and Pansy. His hands were tight on Draco, and his mocking grin was too broad. When that song ended, Draco again tried to wade through the crowd to Harry—only to see Harry laughing with Greg, who now led him in a dance.

The pattern continued. Each time a song ended, one of their friends stole Harry away before Draco could ask him to dance. Pansy, Greg, Daphne, Millicent, Vince, Tracey, Theo, Hermione. Even Viktor got in on it, smirking at Draco. Each time, jealously burned in his stomach. Draco would have worried about developing an ulcer from the unpleasant emotion, but Harry looked so happy each time Draco caught sight of him through the other dancers. He was grinning and laughing and twirling, and every time he caught Draco’s eyes, his own were sparkling. No one who looked at him now could have known how much he had been dreading this ball for the last month.

Despite that, Draco’s patience eventually ran out. Pansy had demanded a second dance with Harry and was trying to dodge Draco, but Draco finally managed to shoulder in. “It’s my turn now!” he informed her haughtily before spinning Harry away from her smirk.

Harry was smirking too, a knowing sort of expression on his face that Draco wasn’t entirely comfortable to see there. The daft idiot had known what the others were doing stealing him away for every dance and riling Draco up.

“You lasted longer than we thought you would,” Harry said.

Draco sniffed and glared at Blaise who was making his way toward them with a wicked smile. “You were having fun. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He nudged Harry in the opposite direction of Blaise’s approach.

Harry’s teasing smile softened. “Well, I’m glad you finally came over. I would have had more fun with you here.”

Draco faltered momentarily. Harry was being far more blatant tonight than he had been in the past. It had been obvious, to Draco at least, that he and Harry were building up toward something, but he hadn’t been sure Harry had realized. But now they were right there and—

And Blaise was still tracking them through the Great Hall!

Without thinking, Draco dropped his hand from Harry’s waist but kept hold of him with his other hand. With Harry’s hand in his, he pulled Harry away from the dance floor and out the door that opened out onto the grounds. A rarely utilized garden had suddenly become the preferred spot for couples, and several had taken refuge in the bushes for a little extra privacy.

Draco refused to even imagine doing the same with Harry now—no matter how much he might want that with him—and instead he pulled Harry to a bench that looked over the snow-covered grounds. As they sat, he threw up a privacy spell Severus had taught him.

The look Harry was giving Draco could only be described as fond, but Draco hesitated to comment on it. What if he was reading into things too much? He was not going to pin his hopes on Harry bloody Potter—again—only to be let down.

“You alright?” Harry asked. “That was a pretty hasty exit.”

“Of course. It was just getting a bit stifling in there.”

“Of course.” Harry didn’t sound like he was mocking him, and the former Gryffindor never really achieved subtly teasing. But Draco still bristled until Harry squeezed their still joined hands for a brief second. Then he mercifully changed the subject. “It’s nice out here. Did they put up weather charms?”

“Probably just over this garden.”

Harry hummed and leaned more heavily into Draco’s side. Draco’s breath caught, and he hoped Harry didn’t notice. But it was impossible not to. He very much liked the way Harry fit so perfectly into his side.

“Thanks for insisting Pansy teach me how to dance. I felt like I actually did okay.”

“You did very well. Easily the best of the champions,” Draco assured him.

Harry chuckled. “I think you’re biased.”

“Maybe a little,” Draco admitted. “But not much.”

Harry laughed again, and the sound warmed Draco’s stomach in a much more pleasant way that the earlier jealousy.

There was a moment of content quiet, and then Harry whispered, “I would have asked you, you know? If I had had the chance. But you were already planning to go with Pansy, and she paired me up with Blaise almost as soon as she heard I was dateless.”

Draco’s heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he thought his ribs might be permanently dented from the force of it. “I would have dumped Pansy in a second if you had asked me. Would have made her go with Blaise.”

“Oh. Good to know. Would you….” Harry trailed off.

Would I what? Draco didn’t have the breath or the courage to ask, and he waited tensely for Harry to finish his sentence.

“Would you want to go out to Hogsmeade with me on our next Hogsmeade weekend?”

Draco realized that he was gripping Harry’s hand so tightly that their knuckles were white, and it must have hurt. But Harry was gripping back just as tightly, and Draco didn’t want him to stop. “I would like that very much,” Draco breathed. He was careful to keep his voice controlled. But part of him—a rather large part, if he was to admit it—wanted to spring at Harry and confess al of the confusing emotions that had been bouncing around inside him for months.

But he hadn’t been raised to be transparent. And this was too important for him to act haphazardly. Harry, on the other hand, was grinning dopily.

Draco wanted to crush that dopey smile, with his mouth.

“Cool,” Harry said.

Draco felt his lips twitch. “Cool,” he agreed, teasing. Harry flushed. It was ridiculously attractive.

“And would youbemyboyfriend?”

The last words came out all in a rush, utterly incomprehensible. “Er, what was that last bit?”

Harry turned even redder and drew in a deep breath, like he was fortifying himself for some great task like fighting a dragon. Enunciating carefully this time, he asked, “Would you be my boyfriend?”

This time, Draco couldn’t push down his wide, relieved grin. “Yes, I will.”

Harry let out the breath he had been holding at once. He was smiling too, so wide, that it looked like it must hurt his cheeks. “Oh thank Merlin!”

Draco laughed at his obvious relief. “Did you think I’d say no?”

Harry shrugged, one of those uncouth little habits they hadn’t trained him out of yet. Somehow it suited him, though, so it was low on Draco’s prioritized list of etiquette lessons.

“I thought maybe I was reading things wrong and that it would mess up our friendship, or….” He trailed off again, and this time he did not pick up his sentence.

“Or what?” Draco had to press.

“I thought maybe your family would have an issue with it. With me.”

Draco frowned, a sinking feeling in his chest. Since Harry had joined their house, the Slytherins had avoided talk of politics and family allegiances around Harry. Draco felt some small pride in himself for unlearning some of the prejudices his parents had instilled in him as a child, but that small satisfaction was all mixed up with shame for having let those beliefs guide him for so long too. It had taken a lot of hushed and hesitant conversations with Severus. It had taken actually getting to know more of his muggleborn peers, including Hermione. It had taken seeing that quickly masked hurt both Harry and Hermione showed when anyone spoke down about muggleborns or their parents. Draco still made mistakes, he knew he did, but he was trying.

He did not want to be his father.

His father who only a few months before had taken Draco to the Quidditch World Cup, and who during the following celebrations had strongly suggested that Draco take a stroll through the woods. Only moments later a masked group was torturing and humiliating muggles. Even then, when Draco considered muggles practically worthless, even hazardous to the magical community, it had put a bad taste in his mouth. It was like watching someone abuse animals. Muggles might be an irritant at times, but they were defenseless against wizards. He had swallowed it down then though, thrown his taunts at Harry, Hermione, and Weasley, and figured that he would understand his father’s actions in time. Now, he never wanted to understand that sort of hatred.

Draco knew also, from conversations with Severus and vague hints in his father’s letters, that the Death eaters’ dark marks were getting darker and clearer, closer to how they had looked fourteen years ago. The Dark Lord was trying to make his return. If he succeeded, there was no doubt that Lucius would follow him. That would leave the House of Malfoy firmly on the opposite side of the impending conflict from Harry Potter.

Draco had never considered objecting to the way his father led their house before this year. He certainly never would have opposed Lucius just because he wanted to date someone. But he would, he knew, oppose him for this.

Draco cleared his throat and looked at Harry’s hand in his. With forced casualness, he traced the creases around Harry’s knuckles. “My mother will be pleased I have found someone I enjoy spending time with. She may have some initial reservations concerning your upbringing, but she’ll come around when she sees I am happy. My father, however, is unlikely to ever support a relationship between us.”

“Oh.” Harry’s voice was quiet, but the magnitude of his disappointment shook Draco to the core. Harry tried to pull his hand away, but Draco held it tight in both of his.

“That does not mean I have changed my mind. I want you to take me out to Hogsmeade next weekend, and I plan to take you on dates too. However, we would need to be careful. My father knows that you are Slytherin. You may not have noticed, what with the dragon and all, but your resorting made the news thanks to Skeeter. Severus implied to my father and several of their mutual associates that you could potentially be swayed to their cause. It’s rubbish of course, but it’s also the only reason any of our parents, besides Daphne’s and Blaise’s and Tracey’s, have allowed us to continue associating with you. However, unless you suddenly underwent a drastic shift in perspective, he would not allow closer ties between us.”

Harry was practically vibrating from how tense he was at Draco’s side, and Draco desperately wanted to sooth him. With a bracing breath, he added, “You should know that if you did undergo such a shift, I would no longer be interested.”

Through all of this, Draco would not look up from their hands. Now, though, he risked a glance through his lashes. Harry’s eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised all the way up until they were buried under his ridiculous fringe, and he mouth hung open slackly.

“You would—I mean, I knew you didn’t hate muggleborns anymore, but it’s your family.”

“It is my family,” Draco agreed. He finally turned his face fully toward Harry’s again. “And I love them. I always will. However, I also recognize that they are wrong in this case.”

Harry chewed on that for a minute. “Do you know—Pansy and all the others?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Trust Harry to ask about their friends’ political stances when he was asking Draco out. “We’ve had conversations about it when you weren’t around. Being with you and your friends has shown us that we were incorrect in our beliefs. Not everyone would oppose their families, and in general most of us would like to keep wizarding-muggle interactions to a minimum in order to preserve our own culture and the Statute of Secrecy. But we all agree that muggles and muggleborns aren’t nearly as terrible as we thought, and they don’t deserve to be tormented.”

Harry’s sigh was so heavy this time that his entire body slumped with it. It was oddly nuanced for a sigh, but Draco thought he could read Harry pretty well at this point. There was disappointment at the less than stalwart rallying for muggles and muggleborns from their friends. At the same time, though, there was gratitude that they had shifted at all, especially because it meant that they could continue to shift in the future. Or maybe Draco was projecting.

“After everything, I couldn’t imagine fighting any of you now. I’ve been too scared to ask, though,” Harry admitted.

Draco understood. But he was also getting very close to reaching his limit for overwrought emotions for the day.

“Now that that’s all cleared up then, that there will be no friendship-ruining political divides, can we get back to us?” Maybe Draco whined a little. But only maybe.

Harry laughed anyways, which was the intended purpose. “Of course, Draco. Now where would you like to go on our date?”

Draco sniffed. “You’re the one who asked me out, Potter. You’re going to have to plan this one without any help from me.”

The speed with which Harry paled was more entertaining than it should have been.

They stayed like that out in the garden for several more minutes, just enjoying the quiet time together. Harry had decided to put the problem of date planning aside for the night. He would ask his friends for ideas tomorrow. For right now, Harry wanted to enjoy the feeling of Draco’s hand in his and the way he fit so snuggly under Draco’s arm.

Eventually though, Draco sighed. “I should probably return you to the Great Hall before the masses start to worry about their missing champion.”

He pulled Harry to his feet with their still joined hands, and they started up the short path to the castle. Harry was reluctant to release Draco’s hand, but as Draco had said, they needed to be careful now. Just like they were controlling the information they were releasing on Dumbledore, they would need to control how quickly information about their relationship got out. They could likely trust their Slytherin year mates to be discreet, but aside from that, it was best that they avoid any public displays of affection for the time being.

With that in mind, Harry tightened his fingers around Draco’s one last time before dropping their hands when they stepped back onto the main path. Draco frowned but nodded in agreement. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want Draco to think that Harry was ashamed of their relationship or anything absurd like that.

Before they could get out of the garden and back into the castle though, they were knocked aside by Karkaroff blustering past them. Both boys looked at one another in confusion. He was in an even less festive mood than earlier.

Severus followed Karkaroff at a far more sedate pace. The boys turned their inquisitive expressions on him.

Severus sighed. “Don’t mind Igor. The choices he made in the past are catching up with him, and he expects me to be able to save him.”

“Oh,” Draco said. Then he seemed to come to some realization. “Oh!” Subtly, he gestured to his own left wrist and arched a blond eyebrow.

Severus nodded once, but obviously wasn’t inclined to dwell on the interaction. Instead he asked, “And what are you two doing out here alone?”

If it were anyone other than Severus, Harry was sure that Draco at least would have been able to come up with a believable lie. Faced with his godfather’s scrutiny, though, Draco blushed and squirmed, and Harry was right along with him. Severus, of course, saw right through them, understanding instantly.

“At last,” he said dryly. “I trust you both will be discreet and that I won’t need to give either of you detentions for any misbehaving.”

“Of course, Severus,” both blushing boys hurried to assure.

“Good. Off you go then.”

Harry and Draco bolded away, eager to be out from under Severus’s too-knowing gaze.

“Oh, and Harry?” Severus called out before they had escaped.

“Yes?”

“I think this is a much better choice for you than Viktor Krum.” Severus may pretend to be an uptight grump, but his eyes were glinting with mischief, and his lips were turned up into a smirk when Harry looked back.

This time, Harry was the one to drag Draco away.

“Your godfather is a demon,” he hissed at Draco. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could hear Severus’s snickering through the hedges.

“Viktor Krum?” Draco hissed right back, completely missing the point.

“It was a misunderstanding. He thought I was dating Viktor for some reason a while ago.” Harry decided to leave out that Severus had found out that Viktor and Harry were meeting in a bathroom. Draco knew about the swimming lessons, but out of context, meeting in a bathroom did sound suspicious.

Draco hummed but was kind enough not to push. Or maybe it was just that they had reached the Great Hall and he couldn’t press further. Harry was grateful, whatever the reason.

Their group of friends welcomed them back with winks and backslaps. The music had shifted while they were gone, and so had the dancing. Rather than couples orbiting the floor, groups were jumping and flailing and bouncing around mostly in time with the beat of the rock music that seemed to be the Weird Sisters’ regular genre.

It was fun just to let the music wash over him and move with it and the crowd around him. All of his friends were there, even those from outside Slytherin house. Hermione and Viktor stayed with them, but plenty of others stopped by as well. Fred and George danced through the knot of Slytherins, madly twirling Harry, Hermione, and a very flustered Theo around them. Before they spun back to their dates—Angelina and Alicia—George whispered in Harry’s ear. “Be careful of the punch. We added gigglewater to it.” Harry laughed and thanked him for the warning, privately vowing to keep an eye on his friends.

Neville and Ginny stopped by too. Neville was stiff and twitchy faced with such a high number of Slytherins, but then Daphne waved at him and struck up conversation. According to Blaise, Daphne and Neville had been friendly for years by virtue of both being some of Sprout’s best students, even if they did focus on different areas of agricultural interest.

A few of the Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students they had met earlier that day joined their group now and then too, as did Fleur, Davies, Cedric, and Cho.

With everyone enjoying themselves so much, it was easy to forget about all the stresses that had been plaguing them lately. Harry didn’t need to worry about the personal ad that would be posted tomorrow. There was no reason for him to fret about his godfather’s legal situation or Karkaroff’s dark mark tonight. The issue of who might have put his name in the Goblet of Fire was the last thing on his might. Instead, he was wholly focused on learning the wild muggle dance Hermione was trying to teach them all, which didn’t match the meter of the music overhead at all, and on the subtle touches to Harry’s hands and waist that Draco kept sneaking when no one was paying attention.

At midnight, Dumbledore announced that the ball had come to its end, and all students were sent to bed. Several students expressed their desire for the night to continue, and despite his exhaustion, Harry couldn’t help but agree with them.

Harry was walking with the rest of his dormmates, listing into Blaise’s side and sleepily waving to Hermione and Viktor, when it happened.

Someone jumped into Harry’s path, and Harry stumbled. Blaise had to catch him before he took them both down. Once he was steady on his feet again, Harry looked up at the person who had caused the near disaster.

“Ron, what are you doing?”

Ron was so red faced that it nearly camouflaged his freckles, and his whole face was set into a scowl. His hands were in fists too, but at least they were down at his side, for now.

“No, Harry, what are you doin’?”

Harry thought that the answer to that was pretty obvious, but he answered anyways. “I’m going to my dorm so I can go to bed.”

Roon shook his head angrily, the movement so rough that it looked like he was trying to shake water from his hair like a dog. “What are you doin’ comin’ to the ball with, with Zambini?”

“It’s Zabini, actually,” Blaise corrected.

However, Ron either didn’t hear or didn’t care, because he continued what was looking to be quite the tirade. “And jus’ hangin’ out with the Slyth’rins all nigh’ and, and—Harry, are you okay?” In that moment, Ron looked so earnest that it gave Harry pause. If he wasn’t mistaken, Ron even had tears in his eyes.

“I’m fine, Ron,” Harry reassured. “I’ve just been spending time with my friends.” Harry tried to speak quietly because their little confrontation was drawing enough attention as it was. Still, something about Ron felt off.

“But we’re s’posed to be your friends. Me and ‘er-my-nee.”

“I can have other friends too, Ron. Besides, Hermione is my friend, but you haven’t seemed like you want to be friends with me lately.”

“But, but after errythin’ we all wen’ through together, we were s’posed, s’posed to…”

“Ron, can we do this later?” Harry started looking around for help. Surely there was someone who could take Ron up to Gryffindor Tower. Hopefully after some sleep he would be more himself. But instead of help, all he saw was several dozen rubbernecking students clogging up the Entrance Hall.

“No!” Ron stamped his foot with all the tenacity and coordination of a five-year-old and nearly lost his balance. Still, he persevered. “No! Tell me why you abandoned us. Abandoned me!”

Finally, Fred and George pushed through the ring of spectators that had surrounded them. George reached Ron first, and with only an apologetic grimace in Harry’s direction, he herded Ron towards the nearest stairs. “Let’s go, Ronny. Time to get you to bed, yeah?”

“But—but Harry. He’s in danger. They’re dang’rous!”

Harry was grateful when George shot a silencing spell on Ron. Ron sounded so sincere. The same way he had when they stood on that chessboard and he prepared to sacrifice himself. The same way he had in the Shrieking Shack and Ron hobbled on a broken leg to put himself between Harry and a suspected killer. That heartfelt tone made something ache in Harry’s chest, something that made him want to run after them and hug his first friend.

He only broke his stare after Ron’s and George’s retreating backs when Fred stopped in from of him. “Sorry about that, mate. I swear, we didn’t make the punch that strong, and it was only gigglewater, but—well, he had a lot of it.”

“It’s fine. Make sure to get him to bed safe, though, alright?”

Fred slapped him on the shoulder and nodded before hurrying after his brothers.

“Show’s over!” Blaise snarled at the remaining gawkers. He and Harry rejoined their friends. Draco, Theo, Vince, Greg, Pansy, and Daphne immediately surrounded them, hiding Harry from view. They only made it down one flight of stairs, though, before they were stopped.

“Harry, I wanted to talk to you,” Cedric said. “Alone.”

The sniff from Draco told them all that if he had his way, Cedric’s request would be strongly denied.

“It’s important,” Cedric pressed.

Harry sighed. After the scene before, he just wanted to go to bed. But if Cedric said it was so important…. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

Pansy and Blaise had to frogmarch Draco away, but finally it was just Harry and Cedric.

As soon as they were alone, Cedric started to explain himself. “Listen, I owe you one for the dragons. Does your egg wail when you open it?”

“Er, yeah?”

“Just…try taking a bath with it.”

Harry suppressed a smile. “Oh, yeah, I figured out the song part.” Or, rather, Viktor had figured it out and told Harry, but Cedric didn’t need to know that. “Haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about it yet, but I know what we’re facing.”

Cedric frowned. “Damn. Guess I still owe you one then.”

Harry shrugged. By his count, even if Harry hadn’t worked out the egg’s clue yet, Cedric would still owe him. Harry had told Cedric exactly what the champions would be facing. Meanwhile, Cedric had only given him a vague and honestly kind of sketchy sounding clue. Then again, Cedric was a Hufflepuff, all about hard work and succeeding on your own merit. This probably felt fair to him. Harry yawned.

“I’ll let you get to sleep then. See you around, Harry.”

“See you, Cedric.”

Earlier, Harry had entertained vague hopes of getting to kiss Draco good night. But now, he felt so worn out that he feared he would yawn in Draco’s face if either of them tried for a kiss.

Fortunately, Draco didn’t seem to be expecting a kiss tonight. When Harry found his friends waiting for him just around the front corner, Draco simply took him by the hand and led Harry to the room he shared with Blaise.

“Good night, Harry.” Draco’s voice was soft and fond, and Harry was sure his responding smile was soppier than he would like to admit.

“Good night, Draco.”

Somehow, Harry got changed into pajamas and into his bed, but he didn’t remember his head hitting the pillow before he was soundly asleep.

Harry had hoped for a bit of a lie in on Boxing Day, but instead, he was woken up early to a knock on his door. He expected to find Draco on the other side, eager to watch the fallout from Harry’s personal ad, but instead, he found Severus.

Despite being fully dressed and wide awake, Severus looked particularly disgruntled. “Mr. Potter, please get dressed. You have a guest waiting for you in my office, and I would appreciate if you would get rid of him posthaste.”

“Er, yes, sir. I’ll be right out.”

Harry hurried to dress, simply throwing on trousers and his newest Weasley sweater. After rushing though his morning ablutions, he shoved on his shoes and joined Severus who was waiting in the fourth-year common room. Severus nodded at his appearance and turned on his heel, obviously expecting Harry to follow. Considering how exceptionally sour Severus’s expression was as they approached his office, Harry thought he could guess who his visitor was, and he hurried, hoping he was correct.

Sure enough, when Severus opened the door and waved Harry in, sitting on the purposely uncomfortable wooden chair for students was Sirius Black.

Chapter End Notes

Who's got date ideas for poor, struggling Harry (and poor, struggling Chip)?

Also, part of why these 2 chapters took so long to write is that I am about the least romantically adept person out there. Over the years, I've sorta figured out how to write the awkward flirting in the beginning and the comfortable established relationship afterwards, but writing the point where one becomes the other is miles outside of my literary comfort zone. If anyone has tips for me, please let me know!

Lastly, remember that Ron has an arc in this story and we are working on helping him grow, not just leaving him as a hateful character forever.

Chapter 24

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Sirius stood and opened his arms, and Harry launched himself at his godfather. Wrapped in Sirius’s embrace, Harry heard the door close behind him as Severus made his retreat. Still, it was several long moments before Harry could bring himself to pull away. When he did, he found Sirius smiling just as widely as Harry himself was. As if unwilling to let Harry go just yet, Sirius cupped Harry’s cheeks. Despite his put together appearance, Sirius’s hands were still dry and cracked and scratchy. Harry leaned into the touch.

“Missed you, pup. It’s good to see you.”

Harry exhaled a chuckle that came out unexpectedly watery. He scrubbed away the tears that were threatening to fall. “I missed you too. When you said you’d see me after figuring out some legal stuff, I didn’t realize you meant tomorrow! Did you sort everything out then?”

“More or less.” As he spoke, Sirius directed Harry to one of the extra chairs and retook his own. Unwilling to let go of his godfather, Harry scooted his chair closer. “I’ve been cleared, so no more aurors coming after me. They’re looking for Peter now, though I doubt they’ll find him. They had to put an announcement about it in the paper this morning so that the auror office wouldn’t be overrun with Sirius Black sightings from the frightened public, but they also tried to bury it a bit. Used a few things you might be interested in, actually, as cover.” He gave Harry a pointed look but moved on before Harry could ask what Sirius meant. “Still, the ministry is falling all over themselves to make sure I don’t make a big stink about everything in the papers. So there’s a massive reparations payout being deposited into my Gringotts account. The ministry is also going to be covering medical expenses plus counseling.” Sirius tried to play it off lightly, but the weary slump in his shoulders told the truth.

“Sounds overwhelming.”

“Is, a bit,” Sirius admitted. “But!” He sat up straighter, smacking his thighs with his palms as he did so. “That glum stuff isn’t why I’m here.”

“What’s up?” Harry asked. Sirius was still smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his free hand was playing with the loose fabric at his knee. For some reason, he was nervous.

“Last year, you said you’d like to live with me once I was released. Would you still like that?”

“Yes!” Harry blurted before Sirius had even finished speaking. Sirius’s smile softened at the overeager reaction, and he ruffled Harry’s hair.

“What about your muggles? You can visit them whenever you like, of course, but will they make changing custody difficult?”

Harry snorted. “Oh please! The Dursleys hate me, and I hate them. Plus, being in the tournament emancipated me. Even if I couldn’t live with you, I wouldn’t go back to live with the Dursleys either. Not ever.” Harry didn’t have anything to go back for, after all. All of his worldly possessions were in his trunk. He couldn’t think of anything else he needed from his aunt and uncle. There would be no fond goodbyes or promises to keep in touch or plans to have Harry over for dinner on Sundays. At best, he would get a sneer from Petunia and a grunt from Vernon. Dudley might miss him, if only for the exercise that chasing and punching Harry gave him.

“Oh. Well, that makes everything simple, doesn’t it.” Sirius kept his smile pasted on, but a crease had appeared in his forehead, and he was watching Harry with concern.

Harry hummed and looked around the room. Snape’s office had gained a few new jars of strange creatures’ body parts suspended in dubious liquids, and Harry pretended to be very curious about the new additions.

“You know that at some point I’m going to make you talk about what exactly they’ve done to incite that ‘they hate me’ comment, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good. But not today! I should probably make sure my own head is screwed on good and tight before we have a conversation that is going to make me take off theirs.”

Harry laughed, relief washing through him. “Probably. But I probably wouldn’t stop you if you tried to take off their heads.”

“Merlin, we both need therapy.”

Harry wasn’t sure what exactly therapy would do for him. Give him a chance to talk about every bad thing that had happened in his life with some stranger? Harry already had friends and Snape who had made him explain more in the last few months than he had ever done before.

“How long can you stay?” Harry asked.

“Probably shouldn’t stay too long, but maybe we could take the long way out, yeah? I could show you some of my old haunts.”

“I’d love that.”

“Then let’s go!”

They didn’t make it far, though. When they stepped out of the office, leaning on the opposite wall was Draco waiting for them.

“Look!” he demanded, already waving a newspaper around. Harry watched in amusement as Draco noticed Sirius a second too late and recognition washed over him. Draco’s cheeks pinked, and his back straightened until his whole body was rigid. Flustered, he shuffled the paper to his left hand so that he could extend his right hand for Sirius to shake. “Mr. Black. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Draco Malfoy.”

Sirius was kindly not laughing at Draco’s abrupt shift to formality, though Harry could see how his lips twitched as he restrained himself. This was such a different introduction from the one Harry had been treated to when he met Draco on the Hogwarts Express when they were eleven. There was the general attitude, of course, but Harry’s attention caught on one detail.

Before, Draco had introduced himself as Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.

Now Draco said his first name clearly and proudly before mumbling his surname. Of course, Sirius caught his full name anyways.

“Draco Malfoy, huh? That would make you my cousin Narcissa’s kid, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sirius wrinkled his nose and waved his hand lazily and Draco. Draco paled, falling back half a step and looking ready to bolt. Harry wanted to reassure his boyfriend, but Sirius beat him to it.

“No need to call me ‘sir,’ kid. Sirius is fine.”

Draco release an audible sigh of relief, and a little of the tension he had been bottling up dropped away. Sirius motioned them along, and the three of them fell into step together as they moved towards the Great Hall. Harry made sure to position himself at Draco’s side, nudging him with an elbow. From as close as he was, Harry could hear Draco’s shuddery little exhale.

When the silence stretched out too long, Harry glanced up. The glint in Sirius’s eye was far too knowing, and Harry’s cheeks went hot. Sirius winked at him.

“So,” Sirius returned his attention back to Draco. “Good to hear that Cissy is keeping up the Black tradition of celestial names. It was one of the few traditions I actually liked. I wonder how long it took her to win that argument with Lucy.”

Harry had to stifle a giggle at hearing the austere Lucius Malfoy being referred to by such a common and frivolous name. At his side, Draco was gaping at Sirius.

Sirius ignored both and them and carried on. As promised, he took them around the castle. Here and there, he pointed out favorite hiding spots—“Good for plotting, snogging, or a bit of both!”—the sites of particularly memorable pranks—“That missing chuck of stone there was your dad’s spell, but the black burn next to it was mine.”—and a couple secret passageways that hadn’t made it onto the Marauders’ Map—“It was bloody stupid of us not to make it editable.”

By the time they had circled back to the front entrance, the sun was firmly in the sky, and bleary-eyed students were milling around. A few of them stopped to get a look at the escaped and apparently innocent Azkaban prisoner. Sirius noticed the gawkers but simply smiled blithely and continued walking. The only ones Sirius stopped to talk to were Hermione and Viktor when Hermione waved cheerfully.

Too soon, Harry, Draco, and Sirius stopped at the foot of the front gates.

“Where are you living now?” Harry asked. He was aware that he was stalling, putting off the inevitable farewell, but he didn’t want Sirius to go yet.

“I’m staying with Moony for now. Once the money from the ministry transfers, though, we’ll be looking at getting somewhere bigger. Somewhere with a room for you too.”

Harry leaned into Sirius’s side and let Sirius ruffle his hair.

“I’ll come see you again, pup, don’t worry. And you can write me whenever you want.”

“You’ll get sick of me if I do that,” Harry said, grinning stiffly to hide that this was a very real fear of his. Draco shot a concerned look his way, but Harry ignored his pinched brow and narrowed eyes. Even so, Sirius must have had the same extra sense. His face softened as he looked down into Harry’s face.

“Nope, couldn’t. You could write me morning, noon, and night every single day, and I would be thrilled to read each and every letter,” Sirius vowed.

Harry flushed and ducked his head. Technically, Harry and Sirius didn’t know each other very well—yet, Harry promised himself—but for some reason, that didn’t stop Sirius from overwhelming Harry with affection. It was a different type of care than Harry received from the Weasleys or from his professors. He could get drunk on the care he got from Sirius. It filled Harry’s chest with something warm and light, so much so that he worried he might just float away.

Sirius used the arm already around Harry’s shoulders to tug him into a hearty hug. Harry clung back, his fingers twisted in the back of Sirius’s robe.

Eventually, Sirius pulled away. “I had best go before Minerva comes and tries to take points off me for old times’ sake. But I’ll see you again soon, Harry.” He cupped Harry’s cheeks again and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. Then, a glint of mischief entered his eyes, and he glanced at Draco, who Harry knew was just a few steps behind his left shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you around too, Draco.”

“Of course, sir—‘rius.”

Harry could just picture Draco’s shoulders straightening again. Sirius chuckled as he pulled away from Harry.

“Bye, boys.” Then Sirius put his hands in his pockets and stepped through the gates, whistling a tune as he strolled down the path to Hogsmeade.

Harry felt Draco step up to his side, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He also felt Draco’s nearly silent sigh of relief and how his shoulders slumped. With no one nearby and Draco’s robes mostly hiding the motion, Harry took his boyfriends’ hand.

Only once Sirius had disappeared from view did they turn back to the castle. The gravel crunching under their shoes and the whistling wind were the only sounds for several minutes.

Draco was the one to break the quiet. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I just wish he didn’t have to go so soon.”

Draco squeezed Harry’s hand in wordless understanding. But then they came to the rise that put them in full view of the castle, and Draco dropped his hand. Harry realized that was probably always going to hurt, at least a little.

“What about you?” Harry asked to distract himself. “Are you okay?”

“Well I wasn’t actually expecting to do the whole meet-the-parents thing today, but I think it went decently.”

Was that what that was? That strange, warm care and pride that Harry saw in Sirius’s eyes when the man looked at him. Was that the parental love that Harry had never experienced before?

Harry shook himself. It was too early for such heavy thoughts.

“You were in a hurry when we first ran into you. What’s going on?”

“The ad was posted today, Harry.”

Harry blinked. In the excitement of Sirius’s visit, Harry had actually forgotten.

Draco just rolled his eyes, as if he had anticipated this reaction. “Come, we need to get the Great Hall. I can’t wait to see the public response.”

The Great Hall was already crowded by the time they arrived, but the other fourth years shuffled around to make room for them at the Slytherin table. Harry would have liked to sit and enjoy his breakfast before dealing with anything else, but just as he reached for the sausages, the owls flew in. And there were significantly more than usual.

Within moments, a swarm of them were swooping towards Harry, and he had to duck to avoid a probably accidental talon to the face. Envelope after envelope dropped onto his plate. There were so many that the mound soon overflowed onto the table. Draco and Daphne shifted their own plates out of the way to make room for the growing mountain.

Finally, the barrage slowed with only the occasional tardy owl adding to the mess. But when Harry reached for one of the letters on top, Draco grabbed his write in a tight grip.

“Don’t you know not to just pick up mail from strangers?”

“Er, no.” If Harry never opened mail from strangers, how would he have gotten to Hogwarts? His school invitation was delivered by a giant man who broke into their rented shack after tracking them down all across the country.

“Well, don’t! It’s dangerous.”

“What are we supposed to do with all this then?” In his ad, Harry had asked that all inquiries and tips be directed to the Potter account manager at Gringotts. Of course, they had expected some mail to come to him directly, and he couldn’t ignore all of this.

“Allow me.” Across the table, Blaise took out his wand. Four envelopes separated themselves from the large pile and arranged themselves into a neat stack in front of Blaise. The stack was surrounded by a crimson aura. Grimacing, Blaise used his wand to levitate them into his bag.

“What were those?” Harry asked.

“They were contaminated in some way. Could have been spells or potions, but they could have hurt whoever opened them. I’ll take them to Professor Snape later for him to analyze.” With another lazy flick of his wand, Blaise sent the rest of the post into organizing itself as well, cleaning Harry’s plate for actual food.

Harry stared at Blaise’s bag where the letters had disappeared. Strangers had written him letters designed to hurt him, all because of a little ad? He was fourteen! Why would anyone think that was a normal reaction to his notice?

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Harry said

“Too bad. You need to eat something,” Draco ordered. Without waiting for Harry’s agreement, Draco took Harry’s plate and loaded it with all the foods he knew Harry liked. He kept the portions small so as to not overwhelm Harry but still gave him a variety of foods to choose from. Harry’s face was still set into a stubborn front when Draco set the plate back in front of him.

“If you don’t eat at least half of that, I’ll tell Viktor on you,” Draco threatened. Hermione and Viktor were sitting at the Gryffindor table this morning, the two of them making goopy eyes at one another. Weasley would normally be scowling at the display, but he was nowhere to be seen this morning. Not that Draco cared, of course.

Harry rolled his eyes, but finally did pick up his fork. Maybe Draco should have been offended that his boyfriend responded to another boy’s directions better than he did to Draco’s.

“It’s not a bit deal to skip one meal. I don’t know why you and Viktor are always so serious about it.” Harry muttered between bites of egg.

Draco bit back the retort that Harry had already missed enough meals in his life. Harry wouldn’t want the others to know that about his home life. Most of what Draco had picked up about Harry’s relatives had come either from their privation conversations or from occasional comments Harry made here and there. Without the context of their longer talks, the random remarks wouldn’t have meant much to Draco besides that Harry and his relatives didn’t get along. The others likely hadn’t picked up just how bad Harry’s home life was. But with all the information he had, each new mention of those Dursleys made Draco’s blood boil.

Instead of bringing any of that up in front of the others, Draco said, “You’re an athlete and a Triwizard champion. You need all the nourishment you can get.”

With Harry eating, Draco took the time to scan the hall. He was pleased to see Dumbledore getting several more owls than usual that morning too. As breakfast progressed, the old headmaster’s lips grew thinner and thinner until they disappeared into the mess of his beard entirely. There were several red envelopes dropped in front of him, but unfortunately, Dumbledore had erected silencing spells around the front table. In addition to preventing students from hearing the content of the howlers, it was also preventing them from hearing the chewing out they could all see Professor McGonagall giving him. From the way Severus’s eyes were shining, though, it was an amusing lecture.

“I’m surprised a personal ad got this much attention so fast.” Next to Draco, Harry was also keeping an eye on the head table. there was an undeniable satisfaction in his eyes when a screech owl dropped another red envelope in Dumbledore’s porridge and Professor McGonagall launched into a new verse of her sermon.

“Neither did I,” Draco admitted. They had expected this to be a subtle starting point to their plan. The few people who bothered to read the Daily Prophet through the news and to the ads would take note of it and mention it to friends and family who hadn’t bothered to read that far. Then, when more serious allegations came forth, they would all recall that Harry Potter had been mistreated by the old man too. But… “It caught the editors’ attention. They wrote a whole article about it.”

“Why?” Harry was adorable when he was confused. His whole face scrunched up, and his eyes went a little cross eyed as he puzzled through an issue. Draco stamped down on the urge to kiss Harry. He had been doing that a lot lately.

“There was another story that they tied it into. That’s what I was trying to show you earlier, but Sirius was there.” Draco squirmed. Personally, he had never liked Hagrid. He was aware that part of that came from his father’s biases. With hot shame, he recalled the first time he met Harry when he called Hagrid an oaf who sometimes got drunk and set his hut on fire.

Technically, he had only set his home on fire the one time, but he had only fallen asleep and knocked over a candle. The blaze had been quickly controlled and no one was hurt. Draco only knew about it because his father had come home from the next governors’ meeting complaining about the allotment of funds needed to replace some of Hagrid’s belongings.

So, no, Draco didn’t mind Hagrid’s revealed half-creature status as such. But he didn’t necessarily like Hagrid either. Maybe Draco should have been more careful with the hippogriff last year, but Hagrid also should have ascertained that all the students could be trusted to be careful before actually exposing them to the beasts. And the man had thought he could hide and entire bloody dragon in his hut! Plus, Harry had told Draco and the other Slytherins about the acromantula colony living out in the forest. So, while Draco didn’t share his father’s disdain of Hagrid, he didn’t really trust Hagrid, and he didn’t want Harry to mistake his dislike. He needed to explain the article properly.

“Are you done eating?” he asked Harry. There was still a little food left on Harry’s plate, but his he had put down his fork.

“Yes.” Harry pulled the word out as he eyed Draco, taking in his discomfort.

“Let’s go then. I’ll show you the articles.”

“We’ll meet you both in the library in half an hour,” Pansy warned before Draco and Harry made it more than a few steps away. “Don’t get distracted, you two.”

Draco grinned at Harry’s dark blush, even though his own cheeks were warm too. Draco hadn’t even had a chance to tell their friends about the developments in his and Harry’s relationship yet. Pansy had just looked at him when they returned from the gardens and somehow knew. He didn’t think she had told the others yet. Though, Blaise was giving Harry a significant look as well, which only made Harry blush harder. Draco dragged him away from their snickering and too-knowing friends.

Harry reached back for the mail, but Daphne waved him off. “We’ll bring it later. Besides, there’s bound to be a few more.”

Without any more arguments, Harry followed Draco. They didn’t go far. Draco led him into an alcove only half a hallway away from the Great Hall. Then he pulled out the Daily Prophet and gave it to Harry. On the front page, the words glared up at them: Dumbledore’s Giant Mistake.

He kept a close eye on Harry’s expression as he read the article silently. His mouth pursed in annoyance when he noted the byline, but aside from that, he mostly just looked baffled.

Finally, Harry reached the end of the article. “Okay, so Hagrid’s part giant. What’s the big deal?”

Harry had been adapting to wizarding culture, traditions, and etiquette so well that Draco sometimes forgot that Harry hadn’t been ingrained with the same perspectives the rest of them had. Though, if he had been raised like them, Draco suspected that Harry still would have ended up as kind and unprejudiced as he was now. Based on what he had said about the Dursleys, Harry’s upbringing had been similar to Theo’s. And if he hadn’t come out cruel from that, Draco doubted that anything could turn him.

Delicately, Draco explained, “Most wizarding folks are afraid of giants. They’re generally depicted as being violet and mean. They live far away from humans, so wizards almost never interact with them. In fact, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any giant settlements left in Britain these days. They’ve all been pushed out.”

“Okay, but it’s Hagrid. Everyone knows Hagrid. He’s been at Hogwarts forever, and he’s one of the nicest people here.”

Bless Harry Potter and his soft heart.

“But with this article, no one will remember any of that. Instead, they’ll remember how big and frightening he looks and how he likes to play with XXXXX creatures as if they’re blind kittens.” Draco didn’t realize he was tracing the scar on his arm until he saw Harry’s eyes following the motion. Quickly, he pulled his sleeve back down. Rushing on, he said, “My point is, even if Hagrid was the gentlest, kindest person on the face of the Earth—"

“He is!”

“—knowing that he’s a half-giant makes the public wary of him and, in turn, of Dumbledore who hired him. I know you hate it, but this actually helps us.”

“How?” Harry’s hands were curled into shaking fists, and he looked a second away from punching a wall. Draco took his hand and carefully pried open his fist.

Once Harry was moderately calmer, Draco retook the newspaper and turned to page 8 before returning it.

DUMBLEDORE MISUSING STUDENT VAULTS?

By Ralph Hammond

There is no denying that Albus Dumbledore has done immeasurable good for the wizarding world at large. Though he is best known for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindewald in 1945, in the decades since, Dumbledore has made scientific advances in a wide range of topics and has risen high within the political sphere as well. With all those achievements to his name, it is no wonder that we as a society trust him. But do we trust him too much?

In recent years, Dumbledore has faced backlash for his hiring practices as headmaster of Hogwarts, most recently when it was revealed today that Rubeus Hagrid, professor and groundskeeper at Hogwarts, is a half-giant (see pg. 1). This past June, it was also revealed that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf.

However, his suspect hiring practices are not the only things the headmaster is facing fire for. In today’s personal ads (see pg. 13), you will notice an ad for missing property signed by Harrison Potter—yes, that Harrison Potter. In the notice, Harry Potter states that he is looking for information on missing Potter family heirlooms which were misappropriated by his former magical guardian, Albus Dumbledore. If Dumbledore has taken liberties with the vaults of the Boy-Who-Lived, how else might he have taken advantage of the trust we as parents put in him when we send our children to his care for ten months of the year?

“Why’d they have to drag Remus and Hagrid into this?” Harry demanded. “I think they’re both great!”

Draco carefully didn’t roll his eyes. “You know why. It discredits Dumbledore further. Which we want,” Draco reminded him.

Mulishly, Harry said, “I don’t want to hurt others to do it though.”

Curse Harry Potter and his soft heart.

“You’re welcome to write the Daily Prophet and tell them that. But, in the meantime, remember that this is how we want the public to react to our campaign.” It looked like Harry was planning to argue further, so Draco hurried ahead. “We need to meet the others in the library. Come on.”

“Fine. But I’m writing to Remus, and I’m going to visit Hagrid later too.”

“Whatever you want,” Draco agreed.

As promised, the others had brought the post with them when they showed up in the library. Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne were opening the envelopes and checking the contents each letter before sorting them into piles.

“This one is for people who support you but aren’t offering any useful information. This one is for people who sent inquiries that sound legitimate, and this one is for people who are lying and trying to sell you crap that never belonged to the Potters. This is for people who think you’re exaggerating,” Pansy explained pointing to each pile in turn. The first pile was the largest. Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Well, isn’t that interesting. Harry, you’ll want to read this one, I think.” Without further explanation, Blaise passed over an open letter.

The letter itself wasn’t long, and Harry skimmed down to the bottom to check who it was from first. He jolted in surprise when he read the tidy signature.

“Mr. Weasley?”

Draco was already looking over Harry’s shoulder, of course. “What’s Weasley Sr. want?”

“I don’t know.” Returning to the top of the letter, Harry read aloud.

“Dear Harry (or would you prefer Harrison?)

Molly showed me your ad in the Prophet this morning. I don’t know why I never questioned it, but Albus gave us your Gringotts vault key each year since the first summer you stayed with us. I can assure you that our family has never touched your gold, but in light of recent revelations, I understand if you want to follow up with your account manager. I will also be writing him today.

Please let us know if there is anything else our family can do to help. Bill in particular may be of some assistance.

Sincerely, Arthur Weasley

PS – I’ll be writing Albus about his questionable conduct as well.”

“Interesting,” Draco said when Harry finished. “I’d recommend responding to that one personally. Arthur Weasley might not have much legal power, but he’s been around the ministry for long enough that he’s friendly with plenty of powerful people. Plus, the Weasleys have always been staunch supporters of Dumbledore. If even he is criticizing Dumbledore now, others are going to take notice.”

“I would have responded personally anyways,” Harry said as he carefully set the letter to the side. Honestly, it was kind of scary how Draco’s brain always skipped to networking and garnering support over personal connections.

They had decided that most of the letters would get a template response, which Pansy had already drafted. There were two different drafts; one thanking the unhelpful for their support, and one promising both the helpful and scammers that the Potter account manager would assess their information. Anyone who had wasted paper to insult Harry didn’t deserve a response, according to Draco.

A tricky little spell from Blaise on their quills temporarily gave them all Harry’s penmanship—thankfully much more legible since he had read the book Snape recommended—and they each took a small stack of letters to reply to. With all of them working, it didn’t take long at all.

Harry saved Mr. Weasley’s letter for last. It was difficult to figure out how to phrase everything he needed to say. Harry had lived in the man’s home two different summers. And while the two of them weren’t actually close, Mr. Weasley had always been kind to him. Writing too formally would be strange. Plus, the Weasley family weren’t the kind of people to stand on ceremony. On the other hand, this was a legal issue. And, with how things were with Ron, perhaps he shouldn’t assume too much familiarity with Ron’s parents, even if Mrs. Weasley had sent her usual Christmas package.

Pausing every few words to chew on his quill, Harry wrote:

Dear Mr. Weasley,

Thank you very much for your letter. I wasn’t aware that you and Mrs. Weasley were in possession of my key past my second year, so I appreciate your honestly. I’ve already looked over my account’s transactions, and I didn’t see anything to concern me in regard to your family. If you would send the key back to Gringotts or to myself though, I would appreciate it.

From, Harry (Harrison is mostly for the public)

PS- Please thank Mrs. Weasley for the Christmas sweater and fudge she sent me! They were wonderful, as always.

The others all finished before Harry did. Most had pulled out revision work, but Pansy and Draco were debating something in quiet whispers that Harry couldn’t make out.

When Draco noticed that Harry was done, he stood. “We should get these down to Severus. He can take them down to the post office in Hogsmeade. We’ve got too many for the school owls to be able to handle.”

Harry agreed but kept Mr. Weasley’s reply separate. He’d stop by the owlery later and have Hedwig deliver it.

They were halfway to the dungeons when they were stopped.

“Hey, Neville, what’s up?” Harry asked when Neville very purposely blocked their way.

Neville wrung his hands as he spoke. “Could I talk to you, Harry? Just for a few minutes.”

“Sure.” He turned to Draco and passed over the replies. “Go ahead. Tell Snape that I’ll pay him back for postage.”

For once, Draco didn’t argue. “We’ll meet you in the common room.”

As the other Slytherins left, Harry gestured for Neville to lead the way. Whatever was serious enough for Neville to seek him out probably wasn’t something they wanted to discuss in such a public corridor.

Neville was obviously nervous. Perhaps to prevent an awkward silence, he babbled about the extra credit Herbology project he was doing for Professor Sprout, something about trying to crossbreed aquatic plants with land plants to create semiaquatic breeds. He hadn’t had much success yet, but he was learning a lot, though Harry couldn’t parse quite what he had figured out so far. Neville was excited about it though. How had Harry missed his former dormmate’s fascination with herbology for so long?

They walked up two flights of stairs, only pausing to greet Professor McGonagall and the stranger she was escorting, a cheerful man named Orson Vogel who Harry immediately liked because he didn’t react to Harry’s name. Finally, Neville stopped in front of a door Harry had never used before. When they stepped inside, Harry understood why Neville had led him there.

The far wall was more window than stone, and the rest of the walls were covered in shelves that were stuffed full of potted plants. A long counter on the left stored watering cans, sheers, spare pots, and sacks of dirt and fertilizer. In this space, Neville seemed more settled than Harry had ever seen him.

“What’s this place?” There were a few stools shoved into the corner, and Harry dragged one out to sit on.

Neville smiled as he moved across the room to a shelf divided in half. One side held the normal assortment of leafy plants trying to crawl out of their pots, while the other side of the shelf contained a long aquarium that held happily swaying seagrasses.

“Some herbology students decades ago set this up for personal plants. It’s easier than having to trek all the way out to the greenhouses. Plus, Professor Sprout doesn’t come in here, so a couple students use it for more illicit herbs. Watch out for that corner behind you. Daphne Greengrass has been experimenting, and some of those flowers can give you really wild hallucinations. Last month, this sixth year was convinced that he was a frog. He was trying to catch flies with his tongue for days.”

Harry edged away from what he had thought were just some particularly vivid irises. Harry remembered when she mentioned that the potions that she gave him for Christmas were mostly legal. He had thought she was joking.

“What did you want to talk about?” Harry asked. The question made Neville tense up again, and a little yellow flower squeaked under his sudden pinch. He soothed it with quiet apologies and a stroke down its stem.

Finally, Neville blurted, “Professor Snape came to talk to me the other day.”

Harry sat up straight, giving Neville his full attention. “What did he say?”

Neville paused to look away from the little yellow plants so that he could meet Harry’s eye. His own brown eyes were wide, so confused and so earnest all at once. “He apologized to me.”

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t expect anything to come from his conversation with Snape before Christmas. Snape wasn’t the kind of person to not follow through on his promises. But at best, Harry had thought that Snape would simply stop berating students unnecessarily in the future. He hadn’t expected the stern professor to go out of his way to apologize to anyone.

“Really?”

“Yeah. And then he said he would stop being mean to me in class. And he gave me advice for getting more confident when we brew potions.”

“That’s great, Neville!”

“It is. I just…I don’t know what you did that made him decide to be kinder, but I wanted to thank you.”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, fixing his gaze back on the windows over Neville’s shoulder. “I didn’t do anything really.”

Neville surprised him by snorting loudly. “You’d think the Slytherins would have fixed that self-depreciation of yours by now.”

“What?”

Neville’s eye roll was fond. “You’ve obviously had something to do with Professor Snape’s moods lately. He even admitted it when I asked. Said you were the ‘catalyst’ or some such. So, thank you, for whatever it is you’ve done.”

Harry’s whole face felt overly warm, and he was pretty sure the little yellow flowers Neville was trimming were snickering at his embarrassment. Weakly, he said, “We’ve really only talked a couple times.”

“Sounds like you’re a pretty convincing talker then,” Neville teased. Then his face fell again. “Speaking of talking…”

The nervous way he trailed off worried Harry, especially after seeing how lighthearted Neville had been only a moment before.

“What is it?”

“Ithingthatyoushouldtalktoron.” Neville’s words rushed out all melted together and nearly indistinguishable, but Harry still caught the gist of it. He frowned, and the way Neville flinched back stung. Harry hadn’t meant to look upset. In fact, he wasn’t mad at all. But thinking about his first friend was always difficult these days.

Quietly, so as to not spook Neville or the suddenly silent plants, Harry asked, “How’s Ron doing after last night?”

Some of the Neville’s tension fell away, and he shrugged one shoulder. “Woke up with a bad hangover this morning and skipped breakfast. I made him some ginger tea for it since he didn’t want to go to the hospital wing. He’ll be fine. But it’s more than just what happened last night. Or, rather, last night was a culmination of a lot of things.”

“How do you mean?”

“Ron’s been pretty depressed lately, since you stopped coming back to the dorm and Hermione started spending most of her time with Krum.”

“He started it,” Harry huffed, but even in his own ears, there was little heat to it.

“I’m not saying he didn’t. And I know that it’s not your responsibility to fix what’s going on in his head. But I’ve done everything that I can think of, and nothing has worked. Dean and Seamus too. Ron just pushes us all away or ignores us. Same with his siblings. And Professor McGonagall has been visiting the common room more often lately, and she’s bee worried too. I think she’s planning to write to Ron’s parents soon, but I don’t know what they can do. Lately, he just holes himself up in our dorm whenever he’s not in classes or at meals. I don’t know what else to do.”

Harry wanted to argue. Ron had been the one to keep picking fights. Ron had been the one to not go ahead and make his own friends. But he couldn’t stop seeing the teary Ron from last night, how lonely and sad he had been.

Harry exhaled, long and slow. “I’ll try. But if he tries to fight me again, I’m done. I don’t want to constantly have to try to convince him that I’m still me and that my friends are good people.”

“That’s fine! Thank you, Harry, seriously.”

“Sure.”

Harry’s lack of enthusiasm must have been too obvious because Neville glanced at him worriedly. After a moment of fidgeting, Neville held out a short pair of sheers. “Want to help me prune the arnica?”

Harry chuckled. “Sure. Show me where you want me.”

Draco would have worried about Harry’s absence, but he was with Longbottom. What could the nervous Gryffindor do to Harry? Unless he had been the bait for leading Harry into a trap.

So Draco might have been worrying just a little.

When Harry finally returned to the fourth-year common room, his forehead was pressed into those little worry lines, and he didn’t even seem aware of it. He sat down next to Draco on the sofa still distracted. Unconsciously, he started to lean into Draco’s space until he suddenly woke up to his surroundings. He froze, still half-tilted, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do that.

With a huff, Draco through an arm around his ridiculous boyfriend and hauled Harry against him. He ignored the pleased little grin on Harry’s face because if he acknowledged it, he would have to also acknowledge the matching smile on his own face.

“Hi,” Harry said once he was settled.

“Hello. That was more than a few minutes. What happened with Longbottom?”

“We talked, mostly. And I helped him take care of some of his plants. Oh! Did you know Daphne is breeding hallucinogens?”

“Yes, I did. She sells them to the upper years for the most part. Are you trying to distract yourself or me?”

Harry grimaced sheepishly at being caught out. “Bit of both. Neville asked me to talk to Ron. Apparently, he’s not doing well lately.”

“Obviously not, based on his little display last night. Are you going to do it?”

“Probably. He was my first friend, you know?”

Draco hummed. Honestly, he didn’t get it. If a friend betrayed him the way Weasley betrayed Harry, Draco would have cut them off entirely. But Harry had always been more forgiving that he was.

“Do you want me there for that conversation?” Draco asked.

Harry snorted. “Pretty sure that would be counterproductive. But after, definitely.” Harry tilted his head back to peck Draco’s cheek. The angle was awkward, and he was blushing when he pulled away, but he was smiling too, and so was Draco.

“You two are going to give me cavities,” Pansy complained as she and Blaise entered the room. Pansy plopped herself into the armchair across from them. Blaise braced himself with his folded arms on the back of her chair. Both of them looked positively delighted. Blaise’s smirk was focused on Harry, though.

“Finally found that courage of yours then?” he asked Harry. There was a note in his voice that told Draco he was missing something.

“I told you I wasn’t a coward. And he was being sort of obvious last night.”

Draco knew Pansy would have rolled her eyes if she didn’t think she was too ladylike for such and expression. She settled for inspecting her nails as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Darling,” she said in that sweetly condescending tone Draco had hated she learned it when they were five. “The two of you have been obvious for weeks now.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco and Harry said as one.

Chapter End Notes

My brain kept trying to skip ahead, so I've written part of the next chapter and most of the 2nd task already, but this one just didn't want to work. But it's finally done!

Also, to all you wonderful commenters, thank you! I haven't gotten around to responding to comments in a while, but I read every single one, and I love seeing them all.

End Notes

I was writing another HP fic when this popped into my head. I have no idea where it's going or what is going to happen next, and updates won't be as regular as anyone would like, because I'll be writing this around my other fic (and work and family and holidays and life).

If you like it, leave kudos! They warm my cold, little heart.

Leave comments too! They're great encouragement for writing, and you might give me ideas for where this is going!

Finally, I'm on tumblr as chip-off-the-old-soul. Come find me!

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Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Afterword