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Chapter Text

When Draco was born, he was very little. 

Lucius had fallen asleep of exhaustion with the whole ordeal, leaving the mother alone with her child. Draco had done the same as his father, and was deep asleep in a little towel which appeared gigantic around him. 

Narcissa had sat with her baby in her arms, softly studying the ugly, twisted lump of flesh which would one day grow to be sentient, but who currently was little more than a creature. To her confusion, she was not repulsed by the alien creature, but found him painfully easy to love. It was baffling to the woman to think that she had once been so small and so insignificant, yet somehow came to grow into herself over the years.

Little Lucius Junior, who would later be named Draco, rather than Junior, was very small. Narcissa worried that the world would hurt him, simply because he was so small. Little things did not tend to do well on their own, when far larger things were hungry. 

Luckily for Draco, his mother was one of those larger things, who would not allow the world to harm her child.

He would grow up and become like his father and mother, and he would never be a victim of the world.

Narcissa and Lucius would keep him safe. 

Narcissa liked to think that she was a woman of principles, and of strict discipline. She had raised Draco to be like her, and taught him that all he knew was right and correct, unless otherwise proven by an authority figure.

The Malfoys had taught their son that he was a Pureblood, and therefore perfect. Draco was the kind of person who was better than others because of his birth, and because of this high status, he must be aware that people would attempt to diminish the importance of that blood. Draco was a ruler amongst peasants, ones who could never understand the aristocratic roots of both his lineage as well as the history of the world and the mage community. 

Draco was raised as the heir of the Malfoy family, he would grow to be the very same as his father and mother, and he would continue the Pureblood legacy, just as his ancestors and parents before him. 

Then Draco found a friend in a boy named Harry Lupin. 

Narcissa had long since been conflicted about the boy, seeing as he was not the type of person a Pureblood should associate with. He had no name, no money, no blood worth speaking of, yet somehow, he had changed Draco beyond recognition. 

Yet even more baffling, Harry Lupin had caused the entirety of the Malfoy family to change as well, leaving different people in the wake of his path. It was as if the boy was not even trying, yet somehow managed to bring about all the faults of a person, prompting them not to hide in shame, but to change in an effort to improve. 

Before Narcissa had understood what was happening, she had been changed as well.

Those principles she always believed in were slowly disproven by the people around her, and she even found comradery in a young Muggle-born girl whom Narcissa found clever and charming. Had she not been Muggle-born, Hermione Granger would have been the perfect woman for Draco, her inability of giving birth notwithstanding, she was the type of daughter in law whom Narcissa would ideally have wanted. However, Hermione Granger was a girl whom Narcissa took under her care, becoming the patron of the young woman who was struggling to grow both into being a witch as well as being a woman. She was a young woman who Narcissa could see herself in, and a young woman whom she wanted to protect.

While Narcissa struggled to express love in any kind to anyone who was not her husband or child, she cared greatly for Hermione. This should have disgraced her as a Pureblood, yet Narcissa did not feel ashamed to have become the patron of one of the most brilliant students her age at Hogwarts. Those principles had indeed not been as strict and certain as Narcissa had thought them to be. 

The world was changing, and it might be changing for the better. It might become a world where small things were not devoured by larger things, simply for their crime of never having been allowed to grow in the first place. 

Perhaps Narcissa was changing for the better too. She had more friends than ever before, and while the selection of people within that collective of friends would have killed her mother from outright shock, Narcissa was, oddly enough, happy. She had never quite considered herself sad, or even unhappy, yet she had not known that company would bring her happiness. 

Werewolves, Mudbloods, blood traitors, disgraced family members.

Somehow, they all simply became individuals once one saw past the titles which they had never picked for themselves. Even she, the proud Pureblood of ancient lineage and the Malfoy matron, became little more than Narcissa when she was around those people. To her appalment, Narcissa realised that she liked being simply Narcissa. While she liked being all her titles as well, she realised that she had missed a part of her life where she was but Narcissa. 

However, such happy days were not meant to last. 

Last year, Lucius had left without speaking to her about why he needed to be absent. They were still very much married, and so they would remain until death separated them, but Narcissa worried about his absence. She could understand why it was that he had chosen to not come home, but she could not fathom as to why he had chosen to not rely on her. Had she not proven herself to be loyal and dutiful, or was it that Lucius thought her new connections to place her in danger with the people he surrounded himself with? Narcissa agnoised about her burning questions, yet did not speak to anyone but Severus Snape and Remus Lupin about her worries. She primarily spoke up because the two men persuaded her to confide in them, yet the admittance of worry caused her quite some grief. 

Most surprisingly, she had received a message conveyed by none other than the blood traitor Arthur Weasley, finally letting her know that Lucius was trying to protect her and Draco by staying away.

Then Lucius was not only arrested, but stolen away from her into Azkaban, her previously imprisoned sister fell out of her fireplace, and Draco was admitted to the hospital for a terrible injury which left him deformed. Following all of those horrible events, the Dark Lord himself took up residence with his followers within Narcissa’s home. It all happened not at once, but in rapid succession, leaving the woman little time to prepare and arrange matters to her own liking. 

Honorable people from ancient lineages, true champions for Pureblood superiority, loyal followers and heroes from the past mage war all gathered within her home, filling it with the kind of people who Narcissa should adore, yet whom she did not. 

What she saw were abused prisoners and insane or forgotten mages, all of which gathered under the rule of an albeit charming and oddly humble leader. 

Narcissa had no choice but to allow them to stay and use her home as if it was their own, but she did not consider it the honor which her past self would have found it. 

Certain actions had to be taken and completed before she could cut all ties with her previous associates and friends, for her own sake as well as for theirs. 

Sirius Potter’s funeral had to be arranged, Draco had to heal and be made aware of the situation as he returned from Hogwarts, Hermione had to be removed from Naricssa’s life completely, Remus Lupin and Molly Weasley needed to be rejected and their phone numbers needed to disappear. Yet perhaps most pressingly, Andromeda could not be made aware of what had happened, or she might prompt her Auror daughter to perform another investigation of Malfoy Manor, which Narcissa had already managed to pass once, but would not pass again. 

The funeral was easy enough to arrange, although Narcissa found it hard to not want to cry during it. Perhaps she was not so much mourning her cousin as much as she was mourning the loss of the people around her, and the friendships she had made. 

Hermione was rejected in a letter which had broken Narcissa’s heart to write as she expressed sentiments of hate and disgust which did in no way reflect how she actually felt. Yet she had to write it under the watchful eye of Bellatrix Lestrange, her most insane sister, leaving her no choice but to be as cruel as she could for the sake of discouraging the young woman from attempting to contact Narcissa ever again. 

Yet Narcissa was no fool, and she knew that her protégé was not.

Thus, she collected an old book which she knew that Hermione had read from the library when she had been there over the last summers and holidays. The book was old yet the print was clear, although it would not be when Narcissa was finished with it. During a collection of nights, she tampered with the book, causing words to fade and well as letters, painstakingly crafting a message in the dark of the night for only Hermione. Within it Narcissa attempted to make the young woman aware of the situation which both she and Draco had found themselves in, while asking her to remain distant for her own safety. 

The book was included in her letter, which claimed the book to have been sullied by the Mudblood’s touch and could therefore not remain in the noble Malfoy library. Both the letter and the book passed Bellatrix’s watchful gaze, and the two were sent off to Hermione.  

After the funeral, Narcissa would hang up every time Remus or Molly called her, attempting to fit as much rejection as she possibly could into her voice as she snorted with disgust upon hearing their voices, before she hung up. She attempted to burn the address book inside which she had kept all of her friends’ phone numbers but struggled to. She finally had no choice when Bella asked what the book was and tried to take it from her. The book went into the fire rather than into her sister’s hands, and Narcissa cried that night for the connections which she had lost within the unfeeling flames. 

Narcissa forced herself to call Andromeda before she had burned the book, and told her sister that she had changed her mind about her, and that without Sirius there to force her into accepting her rejected extended family, Andromeda was no longer welcome into her life.

Her sister hung up with the words “yeah, that’s what I should have expected from you.”

The words hurt Narcissa more than she would have thought possible. 

Lucius’ incarceration hurt both his wife and his son, yet it did not hurt nearly as much as the look of fear, hopelessness and worry which spread over Draco’s face when he realised that he currently lived in a house full of Death Eaters, including the Dark Lord himself and the woman who had deformed him.

Narcissa loathed the manner in which her son appeared to simply surrender when he realised that he had no other choice, and pretend to be brave when he too had to write a letter to Harry Lupin, denouncing him for all that he was and all that Draco actually loved about him. Any subsequent letters which Draco’s previous boyfriend wrote to him, Draco threw into the fire without opening, causing the indifferent flames to continuously destroy Harry Lupin’s attempts at reaching out to the person he loved. 

Narcissa wished beyond anything that she could have saved the letters from the fire and allowed Draco to read them in peace, yet she could not, as Bella was always watching.

Narcissa Malfoy was sitting within one of her parlour rooms, accompanied by her sister. She had many feelings in regards to Bella, seeing as the woman was no longer sane, and she had not only attacked Narcissa’s child, but scarred him for life. Bella had begged forgiveness for her unforgivable crime, pleading in a manner which Narcissa had never seen her plead. Bella had been crying, whining and grabbing at Narcissa with her broken nails and blistered hands, repeating over and over that she had never meant to hurt Draco. That she thought he had been an Auror, not her beloved nephew. 

More out of fear than pity or understanding, Narcissa had claimed to have forgiven her, if only to have her sister cease her behavior. Since then, Bella had spent a lot of time around her, wanting to talk and make up and just conversate. However, the more time Narcissa spent around her sister, the less she found that she enjoyed her company. 

Bella was the oldest and Narcissa was the youngest of the Black sisters. They had been raised similarly, yet Bella had been given the privilege and the curse of being the oldest, making it so that she always knew the best and could not take any criticism about her opinions, actions or personality. Narcissa had long since denied how much she disliked that about her sibling, yet she could hardly stand it the longer she spent time around Bella. Not to mention that she noticed that her sister had an alarming habit of needing to compare the two of them, for no other reason than that she apparently had to. 

“I’m simply saying, Cissy, that it’s really a good thing that you were born like that.” 

Bella sat with her feet up on the table, leaned back like a slob in the armchair after Narcissa requested that she not use the armrest as her leg support. Bella used the old nickname which the family had used for Narcissa, and which she had explicitly attempted to have her sister not use, seeing as she now knew that the word was a slur in Muggle language, even if the actual slur was spelled differently. 

“You don’t have to worry about carrying the child, you can just make it. In fact, you could make a lot of them, as many as you want!” Bella continued, uncaring about the fact that her words were insulting and hurtful to her sister. “Really, I would have wanted to be born like you. It’s horrible being pregnant, hah, it’s actually kind of a relief that I never got more than three months down that path.” Bella rambled on, unaware that her expression gave away that she was not quite as convinced about her statements as she wanted to be.

Narcissa understood that her older sister was struggling with the fact that her body had failed her in the one task which was expected and celebrated by all Pureblood families: to create the next generation of Pureblood mages. She understood that Bella was hurting from her continuous miscarriages, which the witch herself treated as inconveniences at worst, and something convenient at best. She understood that these things might not have hurt Bella or made her act like this if she hadn't been raised a Pureblood where her only value as a woman lay in her ability to create heirs. She further understood that Bella was troubled by the fact that her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, appeared to have finally abandoned her. 

The abandonment had not surprised anyone, not even Bella. It had nothing to do with the fact that Rodolphus had taken another husband so soon after her, and it had nothing to do with him not loving his wife, of that Narcissa was certain. Many Purebloods lived in large families, and both she and her two sisters were the result of three consequential and successful marriages. The failure of Bella’s marriage had nothing to do with Rabastan being better than her, which he probably was, but with the fact that Bella had finally stepped beyond what Rodolphus was willing or capable to handle. 

Narcissa would have wanted to speak to Rodolphus about quite some things, but she only ever saw him during the Death Eater meetings, which were few and far between. She did not know where he was currently staying, and they had only exchanged a few words as Rodolphus expressed his regret in what had happened to both Lucius as well as Draco. 

As Bella continued to ramble about her twisted experiences and feelings, Narcissa told herself that any time she forced herself to spend around Bella was time which Bella could not pester Draco, or anyone else for that matter. The arrangement was preferable in every way, even if it did hurt Narcissa to be around her older sister. 

However, that particular day, Narcissa could hardly hear her sister as she anxiously awaited the arrival of a person who had only now been called to the Dark Lord’s side. She desperately needed to speak to him about Draco. It was so painfully important that Narcissa felt like she might simply break apart from the inside unless she was able to speak to him about what had happened, what was happening to her small child who was still a minor. 

Bella continued to ramble on, speaking something about how Lucius and Rodolphus were rather the same in that neither of them had been able to stay by their wives, that both of them had abandoned the sisters and therefore the sisters had to stick together, but Narcissa did not hear her at all, seeing as the door finally opened, and Severus Snape stepped inside. 

Severus Snape was not a particularly objectively handsome man. His face was too disproportionate and his nose was large, his eyes were too dark which made him appear to be without irises. Sadness and struggle had left the face somewhat wrinkled and his hair always appeared to be slightly dirty and oily, even though it never was. He generally dressed in layers of black which utterly hid his body from view, in contrast to Lucius, who remained collected and fashionable when he layered his black clothing. Severus was the type of man who most would avoid on a basis of him appearing humorless, and his somewhat nasal voice caused most to conclude that he was presumptuous and therefore unpleasant. He appeared everything which a Death Eater and follower of the Dark Lord, or even a Dark Mage, should be, and yet Narcissa knew him not to be. Around his neck hung a necklace which depicted the phases of the moon, with a single full moon in the middle. The conclusive evidence that the man was loved, and not any of the things which people would assume at first glance.

Narcissa abandoned the sofa and hurried over to the man, grabbing his hands without realising that she could be overstepping his boundaries. “Severus, have you learnt of Draco’s quest?”

The man blinked at her, slight confusion was replaced by understanding, and he nodded slowly. “I have,” his voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “It is not a task I find suitable for one so young as him.” 

“Can you help him, please?” Narcissa wasted little time in begging for the man’s assistance, for Draco’s sake. 

“Hold on there, Cissy!” Bella jumped to her feet and came over to them as she frowned angrily at Severus. “He didn’t respond to the summoning of our Dark Lord! He didn’t assist us in the battle against the Order or the Aurors. He hasn’t even come until now, when he was specifically summoned! He isn’t loyal, you can’t trust him! Don’t tell him about Draco’s task or he’ll run to Dumbledork and report it right into his ear.” 

Narcissa attempted to ignore her sister, but the man turned his attention towards her, focusing on her face as he spoke, without any particular emotion reflected within either his expression or his voice. “I am indeed not loyal to the Dark Lord, nor have I ever been, despite being sympathetic to his cause. The Lord himself is highly aware of this fact, and has not demanded my loyalty.” 

Bella’s eyes looked like they were about to exit their sockets as she gaped at the other man. “You… you lie!” She gasped, “the Dark Lord would never keep someone like you among his followers. You lie!” 

“If I was indeed lying, and if the Dark Lord himself was so utterly displeased with me, then I would not be standing here speaking to you, as I have just concluded my meeting with him. As you can confirm by my presence, he does not find my lack of loyalty to be problematic, and he has given me a collection of tasks to perform. I shall perform them to the best of my ability, as I have done previously.” He added the final comment when Bella looked as if she was about to argue with him further. 

Bella changed her strategy and instead grabbed Narcissa’s arm, pulling the two of them closer. “Cissy has recently been abandoned by her good for nothing, traitorous husband. How can you expect her to trust another, admittedly disloyal man.” She projected her own insecurity and her abandonment by her own husband upon Narcissa, who shared none of her sentiments. 

Narcissa decidedly pushed her sister away from her, much to Bella’s disapproval, and focused on Severus once more. “I do not care about your loyalty, I care about my son’s life. If he is left to perform the task alone then… I cannot fathom what will become of him, should he either fail or succeed. Severus, you must help us. You must help Draco.” 

“I will do everything in my power to assure that Draco is not harmed as he strives to complete the task.” Severus spoke with such certainty that it brought tears to Narcissa’s eyes as she finally dared to hope that her son might not lose his life to the quest which had been trusted upon him. 

“That’s not enough,” Bella crossed her arms over her chest as her expression appeared to become both darker and more dangerous. 

Narcissa felt an odd throb of fear within her chest, one which she knew that a sibling should never have to feel while looking to their own family member. 

“Make him swear it,” Bella hissed, “make him use the Unbreakable Vow.”

As silence settled over the room as three pairs of eyes studied and glanced at one another, all of them seeking whoever would avert their gaze first, or attempt to speak up. 

“No.” 

Bella and Severus both looked at her, each of them wore a confused expression upon their faces, although hers was more pronounced than his. 

“No,” Narcissa repeated, her voice becoming steadier as her determination grew. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Bella raised her voice as she pointed at Severus. “It’s the only way you could possibly be able to trust him.” 

“He is the Godfather of my child,” Narcissa spoke back to her sister for the first time since Bella came out of her fireplace and begged for help to hide from the Ministry of Magic. “He was handpicked by my husband, and he has been a good friend to me. I will not bind him by any vow which might place him and my child in equal danger to what they are attempting to accomplish.”

Bella’s eyes bulged once more as she stomped her foot and shook her head, a gesture which Narcissa recognised from when they had been children. “Lucius betrayed us!” 

“He betrayed you!” Narcissa snapped back. “Not Draco. Not me. You!” 

To Narcissa’s great shock, tears filled Bella’s eyes, her expression changing so quickly that Narcissa almost thought that she had been looking at a projection. Then the expression twisted with hate as Bella turned from her, pushed Severus to the side in a violent shove, and ran away somewhere into the manor while attempting to not allow herself to sob. 

Narcissa had the impulse to run after her, but she forced herself to think of Draco, thus turning back to the one man who could help her. “Without Draco… Without Lucius... I’d be all alone. Please, I love my son more than anything, can you truly help him?” She fought the tears back as she yet again begged the disloyal Death Eater to rescue her child. 

Severus carefully but decidedly reached for her arm, before he grabbed her hand and held it gently but tightly. “I can and I shall,” Severus promised. 

Chapter Text

The Dark Lord appeared very much a husk of his former self, despite the fact that none of the features of the man before his death remained in his newly resurrected form. Severus Snape studied the humanoid creature within the bed, as he lay resting amongst expensive pillows and silken sheets, which enhanced the abnormal whiteness of the man’s skin, but also made him appear more human than he otherwise would have outside of the dark bedroom. 

Severus was not repulsed by the humanoid creature before him, if anything, he was passively fascinated, as none had been recorded to have successfully performed a resurrection spell prior to the Dark Lord’s return. If Severus would have to guess, it would be that nobody had previously combined the magic of horcruxes with a complex ritual as such, at least not in recorded history, who knew how much magic history had been lost with time.

However, it was rather odd to hear the same voice which had previously come from a handsome, older man, with curly, silvery locks and a young face despite his age with elegant wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and lips, which emphasised his smile whenever he did smile, come from something so very inhuman. The Dark Lord had always been rather objectively beautiful, and the creature before him still performed with the very same body language, tone of voice, but his smile was very different, reflecting not kindness as much as it did mockery, even when he attempted otherwise. 

“Severus, how pleasant to see you.” The Dark Lord greeted him as he stepped inside the room, before slowly and painstakingly gesturing towards the bed itself, inviting him to sit down as there was no chair or stool next to the Dark Lord’s bed. 

As Severus stepped closer, he realised that the Dark Lord’s mind was not closed off like it had been in the past, guarded by powerful spells and mental blockades, but instead, it was open, almost frightfully easy to invade. Severus got the distinct impression that the other man was inviting him inside his thoughts, which did not assist in making him feel any less uncomfortable in the presence of the Dark Lord. 

Lord Voldemort slowly attempted to sit up. Even without being able to hear his thoughts, Severus understood how exhausting the struggle was simply by observing him. Yet he did nothing to assist the other, as he understood that such a gesture was not something he could perform towards a stranger who had not consented to or requested his assistance. Out of the corner of his eye, Severus noticed the rather large snake whom he recalled to have a name, but which he could not recall. He knew the animal to be female, and he knew that she was a highly venomous snake. Her bite would not only hurt, but the venom was designed to cause great pain until death. Nature could be so very cruel in its design.  

“Her name is Nagini,” the Dark Lord spoke in his soft, gentle voice which reminded Severus of the man who had raised the man now turned creature. “She does not recognise me, do you, my sweet? ”

Through his mind, Severus heard the Dark Lord speak in Parseltongue to his pet, and he heard her response in just the same manner. 

“No touch.” 

The Dark Lord sighed and retracted his hand, which had carefully approached the snake as he attempted to reason with her. “As you can see, she is not quite fond of this version of me.” 

Severus said nothing, as he had never been one for small talk. That was to say, until he had met his partner, but even then there were people which he'd never wish to exchange pleasantries with. It was not that he was explicitly trying to be impolite, but that he had nothing to add to the conversation about the man’s struggles with his pet. He was not particularly pleased with the arrangement, yet he carefully took a seat upon the covers of the bed, although he took care in not allowing himself to touch the other man.

After followed a short silence, during which the Dark Lord didn’t quite think of anything but the fact that he found Severus to be somewhat hard to speak to. He then thought of the idea that Severus could read his mind, and expressed the sentiment with an odd calm. “You must be reading my mind?” 

“I am,” Severus did not attempt to lie. “I would refrain from it, but I do not have the option of ceasing. It is not an ability which can be suppressed, no matter my own preferences.” 

“A gift and a curse?” The Dark Lord mused without truly asking a question. 

“I would agree, my Lord.” Severus used the man’s title in an attempt to remain distant to him. 

“You do not need to be so polite, after all, we are brothers are we not?” The Dark Lord smiled his cruel, twisted smirk which he likely could not help, leaning his head slightly to the side. “We have the same father, is that not so?” 

Severus had somewhat been waiting for him to speak up about their similar yet rather different relationship to the Greatest Wizard of the century, as the Dark Lord must be under rather severe amounts of stress, and like many dangerous men chose to take that pain and stress out on others, albeit more subtly than most. However, expecting the commentary did not mean that the mention wouldn't cause him to feel quite so uncomfortable.

The Dark Lord's feelings surprised Severus somewhat as hints of guilt surfaced within the discomfort the man was willing to put himself through for the sake of attempting to bother Severus. In a sense, he was not better than a petty bully. Severus however had nothing to feel guilty about in regards to the commentary, and he knew that very well, seeing as the Dark Lord was not correct in his assumptions about Severus’ and Albus Dumbledore’s relationship. 

Severus could only imagine how the other man wanted him to feel guilt for his relationship to Albus, which simply wouldn't be happening. While there were a great deal of matters which plagued Severus' conscience, such a thing would not have a place there. 

“It discomforts me to inform you that you have misunderstood my relationship to the Headmaster. I do not consider him part of my family, nor does he think of me as his son.” Severus attempted to reason with the other man, although he knew it to be futile. 

He could read it all within the Dark Lord’s mind.

He considered Severus to be his replacement, the next project which Albus Dumbledore had undertaken and tried to save. The Dark Lord did not hate Severus, but he equally disapproved of him due to his supposed familiar connection to the man who had failed young Tom Riddle as a parent. Severus saw it all clearly within the Dark Lord’s thoughts: he had no use for Severus, but he wanted to keep him by his side, on his side, for the sake of hurting Albus Dumbledore. To assure that Albus failed another person whom he attempted to form a family with. 

It was all rather silly. The Dark Lord’s jealousy was utterly misplaced. Yet, given how the Dark Lord had acted out to hurt the man in the past, Severus might only be alive because of having been on the side of the Death Eaters. 

During the Mage War, Lord Voldemort attempted to show those who opposed him that it was futile to resist. As the man had risen to a significant amount of power, and it had turned into an outright war, the people who feared the man turned to the symbol of hope in Albus Dumbledore, the great wizard who supposedly defeated a similar madman in America. Few people knew of the Dark Lord's personal connection to Albus Dumbledore, partly due to the complete change of identity and name, and most assumed him to attempt to show the world that resistance was futile. This would mean that the last few symbols of resistance would need to be eradicated, namely Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix who proudly remained symbols of that people were willing to fight for the freedom of themselves and the people who they loved. 

While Severus suspected the truth to be somewhat different and far more personal and petty, the reality came to that the Dark Lord sought to take away and destroy everything which Albus had built in life, his Order, his friends, his family. The man specifically targeted the Order as they had voiced their willingness to enter a war with him, and tried to eradicate the members one by one. In hindsight it was obvious, even if Severus had not been involved in the horrible incident of the man targeting the Potters once they went into hiding.

If he had to, absolutely needed to, think about the incident itself, it was rather manageably easy to conclude that a man like Lord Voldemort would enjoy showing that there was no hiding from his influence, and to hurt Albus personally by taking away the couple who had gone into hiding simply because they wanted to protect their child. The Potters wouldn't have been the only ones, they were just the first ones who were manageably easy to access, the first ones which the Dark Lord could assure that Albus would fail. 

Then Lily, being the amazing woman she had been, had tricked the Dark Lord and gotten him killed in some mysterious way even Severus could only speculate about. He knew there had been a ritual around Harry's crib, but it had not been something which anyone quite recognised the purpose of, likely a design of her own.

In the wake of it all, Severus was possibly only alive because it hurt Albus more that he was locked to the Death Eaters, and bound to serve Lord Voldemort, as he valued his life enough to refrain from disobedience. Had he not been on the Dark Lord's side, he assumed that the man's personal feelings in regards to being replaced would have made Severus the first target. 

This did not mean that the Dark Lord might not kill him one day, simply because of his conviction which Severus disagreed with. Having more to live for than ever previously, Severus found it impossibly frightening to think that he might be killed, and knew he would have to do his utmost to live, which tragically came with needing to obey the monster within the bed.

“I know him better than you think,” The Dark Lord’s voice was gentle, like a cold, comforting touch upon a feverish cheek. “I can assure you that he considers you to be his son.” 

Severus knew that he was right, as Albus had never attempted to hide those thoughts from him. He might be hiding many things within his old, experienced and vast mind, but not his parental feelings towards Severus.

“I must insist that you are mistaken, my Lord.” Without emotion, Severus insisted in a somewhat quiet voice. “May I be granted permission to know why you have summoned me to your side?” 

“Since you ask so very politely,” the Dark Lord mocked him. “I have need of your services by my side. In particular, many of my followers are currently suffering from extensive mental trauma as well as certain physical effects upon their bodies from their imprisonment in Azkaban. As you are well aware of, I lost a collection of followers and companions to the battle at the Ministry earlier this year, but more are finding their way to me the more time passes.” He smiled a smile without joy as concern slipped into his voice like another gentle stroke of cold but well meaning fingers. 

“The current Minister of Magic frightens them,” Lord Voldemort continued, “and those who were previously hesitant find their way to us, as Scrimgeour steals their loved ones and assures that the public attempts to chase them down or report them. Indeed, his brutal methods are bringing us closer in adversity. It is tragic to think that his hunt does more for our cause than my explicit actions.” 

Severus knew that he was right.

Few things made people come together as the idea that they were not allowed to exist.

It would be easy to think that such efforts which the Minister was taking would be effective in causing the Death Eaters to surrender their ideology in the face of fear of punishment, but that was not quite how human beings functioned. In short, the more people were told to not do or be something, the more they would strive for their right to be or do that very thing. What previously caused Muggle-borns and Half-bloods to come together against an oppressive ideological majority currently caused those who believed in that ideology to come together and unite under the claim that they were in the right, because just like before the world wouldn't allow them to exist in the first place. No matter the people, they all considered themselves human and wanted the right to exist.

The Dark Lord’s followers had once been numerous enough to start a war which they were winning, there was more to his ideology and charm than simple blood superiority. Such numbers didn’t simply disappear for good because they lost their leader. That was one of the many reasons as to why the Dark Lord was frightening, because what he was offering was enough to have gathered a majority of the British mage community behind him. 

“You wish for me to assist the Death Eaters in making potions, like I did during the past war?” Severus concluded. 

“That is all I ask, as well as request that you do not trouble the young Death Eater groups which are likely to form within Hogwarts, now that my return has been well broadcasted across the country.” He chuckled softly, although his thoughts revealed that he hurt from the effort. Not to mention revealed the bother and worry in that this was not his plan, and he had to resign and adapt to the current reality.

“You should know that I am not loyal to either you or your cause any longer. Would you have me assist you despite knowing that I am your father’s spy?” Severus was not challenging the Dark Lord with his statement, it was an honest, simple question which needed to be answered before Severus could give his response. 

“You have never been loyal, Severus.” The Dark Lord simply smiled. “Neither have you ever loved me, and I doubt I could make you. I am not asking for your loyalty, I ask that you provide my followers with what they need. I will not call upon you to attend our meetings, and you will know no details of what I plan, but I need your competence. Further, the mark will remain upon your arm, assuring that the world which Scrimgeour is creating shuns you as they would shun any of us.”  

Severus could not catch the shaking breath which left his lips, nor could he stop himself from grabbing the arm, over the mark which the Dark Lord was speaking of. 

The Dark Lord continued to smile, studying Severus while making no attempt to hide that he enjoyed the pain which his words caused.

Yet he was not quite done.

“Further, I know that you’ve never been a spy. It is a construction after my death, one your society accepted because of Albus. The man who earned my mark was not one who knew enough of my secrets to betray me.” He leaned his head to the side as his red eyes focused on Severus, unblinking and inhuman. “Neither shall I allow you to be a spy for me this time. You must behave, my loyal Death Eaters will find what you have to lose, no matter if I tell them not to.” 

Severus' head snapped up as he met the Dark Lord’s gaze. He knew that entering into a relationship with Remus had not been ideal, he knew that he had more to lose than he had ever had in his life. However, he also felt somewhat sickened by the understanding of what he was willing to do as long as that kept Remus as well as his son safe. 

“There is but one thing which can cause me to betray you, and that would be if my partner or his son came to harm. Any other action, I can forgive, and I can continue my work. Yet if my partner is harmed, I will not remain by your side.” Severus was not quite certain what prompted him to speak in that manner to the Dark Lord himself. By all means, it was foolish, and he should not make ultimatums, yet it was too late. The words had left his mouth, and the Dark Lord was studying him with an amused look upon his face.

Differently from the Malfoys, it would be all the more logical to leave his loved ones be, because as long as they were safe he would not resist, and he would see all of this through to the end. 

“Very well, since you find yourself so passionate about it.” 

To Severus’ great surprise, he agreed without hesitation. In fact, the Dark Lord appeared oddly chipper about the ordeal as a whole. 

“What are the names of the father and the son? I shall assure that my followers know and do not seek to directly harm, least of all kill, either of the two.” The man continued to ask in a polite manner, although his gaze remained mocking nonetheless. Through the simple means of focusing on Severus, the man blocked access to his mind, his thoughts remaining out of reach from the mind reader. 

Severus could not shake the unpleasant suspicion that the Dark Lord might know very well the names of both the people he was speaking of. Thus, it took him a moment longer than he would have liked to speak up, as it felt as if he was walking into some manner of trap, designed with the very purpose to wound him in a manner which would never heal properly. 

“I’d prefer not to say.” 

The Dark Lord appeared amused by his refusal within his mind, yet he still acted disappointed. He knew fully well that he was producing two different reactions at once, and he appeared to be toying with Severus, urging him to pick a reaction to react to. “And how am I to help them, or secure their safety, if I am not allowed to know who they are?” 

Severus considered that the Dark Lord had long since mastered the ability to be both generous and giving, while also assuring a solution which he personally wanted to achieve. He was indeed a manipulative genius, one who had been raised with logic and reason, yet who was using those aspects of his personality to twist and distort any given situation into his advantage. It was not that the Dark Lord was truly kind, or even generous, but he was accomplished in appearing as if he was when he was truly shaping a threat. 

“I shall have to refrain, as I believe them to be safer if they remain unnamed, and without mention. Neither of the two of them are Muggle-born or involved in all this,” Severus insisted.

The Dark Lord slowly leaned over, causing Severus to see himself reflected in the bloodshot red of his eyes. He could not explain the feeling of discomfort which filled his being as he realised that within the eyes of the Dark Lord, his reflection appeared to be slowly swallowed up by the red which surrounded the image. 

“I should think that you are placing them in more danger by refusing to allow me to help them, as well as yourself.” The voice was soft as it spoke up, without anger, without any real emotion yet still gently scolding. The Dark Lord raised a pale hand and reached over, softly brushing his fingers over the necklace which Remus had given to Severus. 

Severus believed himself to have control over his mind and also his body. He believed himself to be well practiced in the art of self control and he believed his mind was fully within his own grasp. All those ideas were shattered once and for all when Severus’ heard the weak sound of an impact, and found that his own hand had hit the Dark Lord’s away from his necklace. 

The reaction in the Dark Lord’s mind was surprising, and nothing the man had likely meant to reveal to Severus. As Severus’ hand moved, a memory forced its way to the front of the Dark Lord’s mind. The mind reader saw a flash of a person within a decorated manor room, it was a man whose face Severus did not have the ability to register, as the focus was not on the man, but upon the balled fist which was rapidly descending towards his face. He felt the man’s grip upon his shoulder, he felt the impact of the strike, and he felt the fear of being hurt more or less explode within him as panic overtook reason for brief, short seconds. 

The Dark Lord’s strange face reflected surprise for the seconds that the memory overtook him, but then it settled into an expression of slight disappointment and amusement. He shook his head, as if to state that Severus had been the one to overact while he remained unaffected. Had the mind reader not seen the memory of the violent man who was definitely not Albus, as he neither resembled Albus in silhouette, nor would Albus ever raise his fist against anyone, he would have believed the Dark Lord to not be affected in the least by him hitting his hand away. 

“Very well,” the Dark Lord stated. “It is your mistake to make. I will not interfere with your choice.” 

Severus breathed in slowly through his nose, attempting to gather himself as his heart raced within his chest, making him feel slightly ill with the realisation that the Dark Lord could have chosen to kill him for his insolence, as well as for seeing a memory which the other did not want him to see, yet the Dark Lord did nothing and simply gave him permission to do as he pleased. 

He was still needed. His relationship to Albus was keeping him alive.

“May I be permitted to leave?” Severus wished that his voice had been louder, less frail and without emotion, yet it was not. It was anything but what he wanted it to be. 

The Dark Lord leaned back in the bed, gesturing towards the door in a collected manner. Severus could feel the exhaustion within the man's mind, as well as the approval to leave. 

He slowly stood up, taking care to not touch the other man as he rose. After slight hesitation, Severus made a final comment before moving towards the door. “I shall prepare something to ease your pain, my Lord, with your endorsement.” If this was where he was going to be, he needed to remain professional in the manners which he had in the past. He needed to be useful.

“How kind,” the Dark Lord’s body appeared to be falling asleep, despite what his mind wanted. He was evidently exhausted from his defective body as well as the duel with his own father. As Severus carefully shut the door behind himself, the Dark Lord was already asleep. 

Severus gathered his robes around himself and began to walk towards the parlour where Narcissa had asked to meet him at his earliest convenience. While he had not had the chance to read her mind and know what she wanted to speak of in detail, she had communicated that it was about Draco. That made him eager to seek her out as soon as possible to assist her, as Draco’s safety was a priority to the man who was his Godfather. 

As Severus hurried towards the parlour, thoughts which were not his became audible within his mind. The thoughts were shattered, unfocused and stressed, yet oddly familiar. Severus knew that people seldom thought in the voice with which they spoke, which meant that he could not connect the unspoken words to a particular voice. It was not until he turned a corner and found the person in question that Severus realised why he found the thought pattern to be familiar. 

Peter Pettigrew froze as Severus Snape appeared around the corner, appearing as if he was a ghost from the past. A large, black ghost which was so impossibly present that he could not comprehend that it was really there. Peter blinked again, and the apparition of Snape was still there. 

Snape’s gaze moved over his body, making Peter feel self conscious, but then again, he was always self conscious after all the years Sirius had spent making sure that Peter knew that everything about him was wrong. From his face to his body, to his voice and his personality, his hobbies, interests as well as the way he laughed, spoke and stood. After all, Sirius had always known better, he must know better. He had always been better. Emphasis on been. 

Peter couldn’t believe that Sirius was dead. How could he possibly be?

Sirius was such a huge presence that he couldn’t possibly just disappear without any kind of impact on the entire world. Without Sirius, how could the world still remain standing as if nothing had happened? It was impossible that he would just leave and that the world would keep on spinning. 

“Sn...Snape, hi.” Peter heard himself squeak at the former bully victim which he had helped victimise over the years, even if he had never been the primary agent in the bullying. 

Peter Pettigrew was a small man with a thin body which had not lost weight in a healthy manner. His face was thin, his hair was thin and a lot of his body had been mutated by being a rat for too many years. His mouth, teeth, hand and feet were the primary noticeable mutated parts, yet his ears were slightly fluffy from the long time he had spent in his animagus form. However, the ears could be somewhat hidden behind his shoulder length, grey hair, the animalistic teeth and the yellow, sharp nails were harder to hide. His right hand had been lost in an attack by Bellatrix Lestrange, and had been replaced by a silvery hand created by the Dark Lord. Peter quickly hid that hand behind his back as he recognised Snape. 

“Good day, Pettigrew,” the nasal response was dry and unpleasant.  

Snape’s voice was unpleasant. It was the type of voice a strict teacher had, and the kind of voice which undoubtedly made a person feel as if they had made a collection of mistakes. Peter felt as if the voice was disappointed in him and would never be satisfied, no matter how hard he tried to be better. In that sense, Snape reminded him just a little of Sirius. 

Sirius would definitely hate him for daring to think of comparing them. 

As Peter wrestled with his thoughts, Snape simply passed him by, as if he hadn’t even been there, continuing towards whatever destination he had in mind. 

“Snape, wait!” Peter had attempted to call after him, but his voice became a yell rather than a call, much to his own despair. “There is something I need to ask you…” If he didn’t ask, Peter felt as if he could never accept it. He had not planned on ever asking Snape anything, especially not about Sirius, yet he found that he could not simply refrain from it and never know. 

Before Peter had the chance to collect his thoughts and formulate the question, Snape responded to it, as if he had read Peter’s mind. “I regret to inform you that Sirius Potter has indeed passed on. I was at his funeral, I saw his body, he is not about to return.”

Peter gaped as the other man rather coldly but directly pointed out that Sirius was dead. He watched as the man walked away, leaving him with nothing but the truth to fester within his mind and body. 

Without a clear direction, Peter walked deeper into the mansion. He felt the need to move rather than to simply stand still and gape, although he was not sure when he had begun to wander. He wasn’t acutely aware that he was moving, it simply happened as Peter became lost within the labyrinth of his own mind. 

Peter Pettigrew had long since adored Sirius Black. He was handsome, funny, popular, rich, and good at absolutely everything including sports and studies, and for Peter to be his friend was beyond incomprehensible. He had friends like James Potter, the most brilliant Seeker since maybe the beginning of the history of the Hogwarts Quidditch teams, as well as Remus Lupin, a highly intelligent and pleasant young man who was selected as one of the Gryffindor Prefects because he was that recognised as a wonderful person. 

Then there was Peter. Ugly, chubby, small and not too clever Peter Pettigrew. 

Ever since they were young, Peter had feared that his friends would grow bored with him. That one day, he would wake up, walk up to them and they would pretend to never have known him, and they would never speak to him again. Thus, he did everything in his power to be a good friend, or at least someone worthy to keep around. Over the years, Sirius Black came to realise that there was nothing he couldn’t ask of Peter which he wouldn’t do. Be it to carry his books, go somewhere else, or even write things down for him when Sirius got bored with writing. 

As the years passed, Sirius became more handsome, and more popular. People began to realise what Peter had noticed since the day he met him, namely that Sirius was attractive. He would always have people crowding over his attention, at least so Peter perceived the situations through his lens of insecurity and jealousy, and since James did not return Sirius’ feelings, the latter had begun to date around. In doing so, Sirius came to toy with people until cruel rumors began spreading in school, calling him everything from a whore to a heartbreaker. Peter was always bothered by those rumors, but Sirius didn’t appear to care. In fact, some part of the teenager appeared to find it amusing when people talked about him in that manner. Then again, it wasn't exactly a problem for anyone to date around, that was fair, it was rather how cruelly and coldy Sirius treated those people whom he left behind.

Sirius drew a sharp line between dating and his friends, that is to say, dating Remus and Peter primarily, seeing as he wanted James but could not have him. However, when he found himself bored or simply mischievous, Sirius would come to toy with Peter’s feelings for his own amusement. Perhaps he was even pushing Peter as a game, simply to see where his limit was. 

Unlike previously, when Sirius would almost nonchalantly criticise everything about Peter, he would instead make it appear as if he was considering him an alternative to be his next amusement before he grew bored and moved on to the next. Remus warned Peter to not give Sirius reason to continue his game, but Peter could not help but enjoy the attention. It hurt as well, as he knew Sirius wasn’t honest, but he could not help losing himself in the fantasy that maybe Sirius would realise that Peter was an alternative. Maybe even a good alternative to James. However unlikely that was. 

No matter how much the fantasy seemed appealing, reality was that Sirius was cruel and hurting in ways Peter had never even begun to understand in the past, causing him to hurt all those around him.

Like Remus had warned him of, it had only gotten Peter hurt to be played with by Sirius. Although Remus had told Peter to not fall for it, he hadn’t actually ever told Sirius to stop, as he also feared that his friends would abandon him if he was too opinionated. At the time, Remus had also been dating Severus Snape, which made him ever more eager to not disturb anything within his group of friends. 

Sirius had been so many things to Peter, things he likely did realise but also didn’t care about. He had been an idol, an inspiration and a comfort, yet he had also been cruel, a source of insecurity and a constant reminder that Peter was not actually good enough for them. Peter was a charity case, one which his friends were stuck with as they were too good people to simply abandon him, even if they may have wanted to.

After school, Sirius and Remus were both chosen to be little baby Harry’s godfathers, with only Peter being left without any connection to the baby. While he knew that he couldn’t simply demand to be granted such an important responsibility, the knowledge hurt and festered within him like a sickness. 

It was terrible to think that he was in love with Sirius, and had likely been since he was younger, even if he hadn’t known it then. It was odd to think that he had been in love with someone who frightened him so terribly when he grew older. It was horrifying to consider that some parts of him still loved Sirius, even if his old crush had wanted to and attempted to kill him with his bare hands. 

Sirius was dead. 

The biggest source of pain and hurt in Peter’s life was dead. He would never have to fear the man hurting him ever again, be it mentally or physically. Sirius couldn’t hurt him from beyond the grave. 

Somehow, his death still hurt terribly. Impossibly, suffocatingly much. More than James’ death, more than Peter knew how to handle. 

Sirius was dead, and he had died hating Peter. 

The thought was enough to make Peter want to rip his own heart from his chest so that he would never have to face such a horrible heartache ever again. 

Sirius was dead, and Peter visiting his grave would likely make Sirius hate him even more. He would never be able to say goodbye. Sirius wouldn’t let him, even from beyond the grave. Peter could never have imagined that the knowledge would hurt as much as it did. 

As Peter walked around without a destination, he happened to stray into the path of Fenrir Greyback, the possible only real Lycan in the British mage community, if not the world. Peter smelled the Lycan before he smelled him. An improved sense of smell was another side effect of his mutation after being a rat for so long. Peter usually found it uncomfortable, but when he managed to catch the scent of the other first, he found it to be rather pleasantly acceptable to be prepared. 

In a flurry of limbs and magic, Peter transformed into his rat shape and jumped to hide behind a large, expensive looking vase.

Being a rat felt good, far better than being a human. His body was not so uncomfortably wrong, and Peter found himself to be overall cute with his big ears, long, soft face which ended in a pink snout, with a round body and short legs. All that he disliked about himself as a human was gone as he was a rat, which made it far more relaxing as he had never been trained to hate his appearance as a rat.

As Greyback came closer, Peter realised that he was not alone. 

“Leave me alone!” 

Peter struggled to identify Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice as she came running, not because he couldn’t hear her, but because her voice broke as if she was crying. 

“Would love to, but you’re sad.” Greyback responded as he most definitely did not leave her alone. 

“Were you raised by dementors to be so drawn to a person in pain? Sadistic beast!” Lestrange’s steps were coming closer, thundering upon the ground as she began to run. 

“Yes,” Greyback responded. “And also yes. But that’s not really why I’m following you.” 

“Then why are you?” The witch yelled back at the Lycan as she ran past Peter in a flurry of black skirts and unkempt hair. 

Peter rather feared for the safety of the vase which he was hiding behind as Lestrange had a bad habit of throwing things and breaking anything breakable for amusement. The old Ming vase didn’t deserve death simply because she was upset. 

“Well, you’re crying, and I need to sit behind you to make sure nobody gets you while you cry!” Greyback’s large, heavy body shook the ground worse than the starved woman, once again threatening the life of the vase. “I don’t make these rules, I just have to!” 

“You stupid mutt!” Lestrange rounded a corner, although she was still yelling. 

“This is definitely a stupid mutt thing!” Greyback took the corner by sliding down on all fours and then continued to run upright afterwards. 

“I’m not even crying!” Her voice was distant next as she ran up a set of stairs to her room. 

“I can smell your lies!” Grayback definitely braved the steps on all fours, judging by the way the entire manor appeared to shake from his running. 

Peter breathed out when he couldn’t make out whatever the woman responded, thus making him certain that the two were gone. He slowly returned from behind the vase and then returned to his human shape where he sat next to his ceramic companion. With a deep sigh, he corrected his grey hair, softly lamenting that it was no longer brown or blonde or whatever his hair color had been. His rat shape was brown, why couldn’t his hair be? Premature balding and greying of his hair was not really doing anything for his confidence. 

The animagus stood up and absently decided to make his way to the kitchen as he considered coloring his hair into a less old looking color. As he did, he thought of what food to make, or if he should finally take another shot at baking something. Store bought biscuits simply could not compare to Molly Weasley’s buttery goodnesses. Peter missed those greatly, since both Percy and Ron Weasley had been of the opinion that rats deserved a little buttery snack every now and then. 

Peter avoided thinking of Sirius, and the fact that he grieved for the death of such a psychopathically unstable and cruel person despite everything making it so that he shouldn’t. Peter wanted nothing more than to feel safe without Sirius, yet all he felt was pain, guilt and sadness. 

Buttery biscuits might just make those feelings a little better.  

Chapter Text

When Harry opened his letter by his desk in the grim old place which he owned since his dogfather’s passing, something fell out. The objects landed on the desk causing a clatter which was far too noisy for such small things.

Harry focused on the little silver shapes, before he came to realise that they were far more significant than he had assumed them to first be. In fact, he was looking at what he had long since assumed to be Draco’s most valuable possession: his silver snake cufflinks. Harry had given them to him during their shared first year at Hogwarts, and only on a few occasions had he seen his best friend and later boyfriend without them. Harry recognised them far too well to even think that he might have mistaken them for a similar pair. 

It was with a terrible foreboding feeling that Harry turned towards the letter, with shaking hands and breathing which would not quite come out as it should. He began to read. The cruel, black words might have been shaped with Harry’s despair, as the letter became worse and worse the more he read. 

Lupin, 

Since the incarceration of my father, quite a number of things have become clear to me. 

Firstly, I have realised that it is my duty to continue what my father has started, and as his son, that duty is clear to me. My father is leaving behind a legacy which must be fulfilled, and I shall become the Malfoy whom my father would want me to become.

This leads me to my second realisation, namely about you. While our relationship might have been permissible in the past, when we were both children, it is currently expendable to me. If not to mention a hindrance in the noble legacy which I must strive for. 

I have returned the gift you once gave me as a symbol that our relationship is over. Do not speak with me in school. We have nothing to speak of and your presence will do nothing but disturb me as I follow in my father’s footsteps. 

Regrettably,

Malfoy

Harry wanted to deny that Draco had written the letter, yet after five years, he could recognise his friend’s handwriting anywhere. Especially the signature, even if it was only his surname, was beyond doubt Draco’s. 

However, the most strange thing about the letter was that it was not written in the way which Draco would generally speak, or even write.

After Harry got over his initial shock and pain of being broken up with, he began to suspect that something was odd about the letter.

It was evidently written by Draco’s hand, but had it been written to communicate his own will, or rather what he had to do? 

Draco had been willing to practically disown himself because he disagreed so strongly with his father, and the man Lucius Malfoy wanted him to become. He had chased after Bellatrix Lestrange for killing Sirius Potter, and Harry could recall Draco’s fear of Death Eaters and specifically their mark since as early as their second year at Hogwarts. For Draco to see his father imprisoned and choose to become a Death Eater in Mr. Malfoy’s stead when he had been wanting to disown himself for not being allowed to be friends with Harry previously, did not make any conceivable sense. 

To somebody else this manner of writing might have made sense to ascribe to Draco, but Harry and Draco had been practically inseparable since they were twelve. Harry knew him better than this.

Remus Lupin, Harry’s dad and a somewhat well known werewolf in the British mage community against his will, had similar problems with his friend Narcissa Malfoy. After the funeral of Sirius Potter, the woman had become cold and distant. She hung up whenever Remus tried to call her, and had done the same to Molly Weasley. Even Andromeda Tonks, her newly refound sister, suddenly wanted nothing to do with her after an argument. 

There was only one explanation which could serve to understand why mother and son had both begun to act strangely. 

Something must have happened at Malfoy Manor. 

Harry was sure of it.

Life after Sirius Potter’s death was oddly similar to Harry for the most part. His dad was struggling with grief after the loss, and he would sometimes find the man simply staring or crying softly when he thought that Harry couldn’t hear him.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to help his dad for the first time in his life. He understood that the most direct, and likely most helpful manner was to simply be there for Remus. However, his dad was attempting to be strong in front of his child, and would not seek comfort from his son nor ask him for company. Harry offered what he had to offer, but his dad appeared to need to grieve alone before he was ready to speak or be comforted. It was not as if he was distant, or even incapable of speaking to Harry, but Remus needed time. 

Remus was not in a state of mind where he could listen to Harry’s theories about what might be happening at Malfoy Manor, yet he did help support his son when he learned that Draco had broken up with Harry. 

Admittedly, it was very hard to overcome the fact that Draco had broken up with him.

Harry couldn’t believe it, even though he was actively attempting to tell himself that he was currently without a partner. It wasn’t as if he needed one to feel safe, or complete, or some other nonsense perpetuated by romantic stories, but it felt odd.

It was more the loss of Draco as a comfort and constant within his life which troubled Harry, more than the fact that he was single. It hurt because of the bond he had created with Draco suddenly being ripped apart, rather than the fact that he wasn't dating him. Most of all it caused a great deal of worry in regards to Draco's safety and wellbeing.

The focus on Draco helped distract Harry from his grief of the loss of his dogfather. He missed the man, and he would often turn around and expect him to be there, although he was not. Harry would think that Sirius would be by the table, in his room, or sitting in the library. He expected to find him standing on the landing, or sneaking ice cream from the fridge. Even when he wasn’t thinking of him, or rather, when Harry allowed himself to not actively think of Sirius, he would appear in places where it had been natural for him to be. Although he was never there. He couldn’t be. 

The man’s presence was prominent everywhere in the house, and without him, it became oddly empty. Remus very much felt the same as his son, which was the primary reason that he struggled to even be within the house. 

The house itself would have likely fallen to chaos had it not been for Kreacher.

Kreacher the House Elf was not so cruel as to celebrate Sirius’ death. In contrast to what might be expected of an unpleasant, old and undeniably crooked House Elf who had hated everyone of the three family members but Harry, due to the elf's upbringing as the servant of the noble House of Black, Harry was certain that Kreacher mourned for Sirius. It might be that Kreacher was mourning for the fall of the House of Black more than he was the man who had hated him but the details did not so much matter. 

Harry was certain that the House Elf was suffering as well, but in his grief, he decided to care for the house when Remus and Harry struggled to assist him like they both wanted to. 

It was likely that Kreacher was more than used to the lack of assistance in household chores, but neither Lupin wanted him to become used to such work in what was technically their service, even if they refused to see Kreacher as a servant and considered him a friend to the family instead. Despite the House Elf’s initial negative reaction to their treatment, he had long since surrendered to the understanding that there was nothing he could do or say so as to not become their friend. Having been placed directly in Harry’s care had finally made him stop resisting. On Harry’s request, he was even practicing speaking about himself in first person, even if he evidently found it unsuitable for him to do. 

It had been nearly three months since Sirius’ burial and one month since Draco’s letter. Neither Lupin had been able to contact their respective friends at Malfoy Manor. Harry’s birthday had come and gone, making him a year older even if he didn’t actually feel any different. 

The two of them needed to talk, and had finally gathered themselves to speak to one another during their breakfast, while Kreacher was cooking eggs for them. Harry hadn’t known how good eggs could be until he had tasted Kreacher’s. 

Remus was contemplating the contents of his teacup, his head hanging low and his appearance being more rugged than normally. Harry loved his dad very much, but that did not mean that he couldn’t see that Remus’ manner of dressing made him appear somewhat like a scarecrow. His short hair which could both be brown and blonde, his unkempt mustache yet the shaved, scarred face, everything about him gathered to make him appear rather negligent of his appearance. The old, large clothes which hung off him more than he wore them added to the impression. Yet Harry found that while his dad appeared ragged in general, he never appeared old. Even this morning, when he was far from his usual self and his mustache stood on end, Harry did not find his parent to appear aged. 

Stress, grief and a manner of complex negative emotions might have tired Remus out, but he was still alive and present. The world had yet to defeat him, even if he was probably very close to feeling defeated by it. The son of the werewolf liked to think that he was part reason for his dad’s refusal to be beat, but Harry contributed it far more to Remus’ relationship and engagement to the man's childhood crush and current partner, Severus Snape. 

They ate their eggs in silence with Kreacher remaining close by, although not upon a chair. That is to say, Harry ate his eggs while Remus mostly poked at his. Both family members knew that the other had something to say, and was waiting for the other to speak up first. 

In the end, it was Remus who did. 

“Harry?” 

His son raised his head, giving his dad his full attention over his breakfast. No matter how good it tasted, Harry struggled to feel expressively hungry after his letter from Draco. 

Remus absentmindedly spun his teacup in his hands, staring into the liquid and then around himself, focusing on anything but Harry. His son understood his dad’s struggles, and he accepted the fact that the man was struggling to look at him not because he was cruel or ignorant, but because what he was about to say was something which he was struggling to express. 

“I’ve been… considering joining the Order of the Phoenix…” Remus carefully spoke up, his voice shaking slightly as he dared voice what he had considered ever since Sirius’s death. “It is not as simple as I want to do the right thing, or something to that sentiment. What happened to you a few months ago was terrifying, and I would not have known about it had Severus not come to me before he visited the Order. You were in danger, all of your friends were in great danger, and I would have known nothing about it until it might have been too late. I do not know anything, and when you return to Hogwarts, I will be entirely without connections to the world out there, and I will know nothing since I cannot subscribe to The Daily Prophet from this location. Rather, I could, but it would be a risk. My only news comes from Molly, as well as old newspapers. It was a working system last year, but as it is now, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.” 

Remus took a deep breath and finally looked directly at Harry, “I do not want you to think that I’m doing this solely for you. You are a huge part of it, as your safety means more to me than I could possibly express, but I also wish to do this for me. I was not particularly active during the last war, but I had some contacts with werewolves back then. I doubt I could join them again since I’m comparatively known by my name, but there should be other things which I can do. I simply must know more, I want to be informed, and I want to do more than simply hide away on my own. I also need you to know that I am not doing this to avenge anyone.”

Harry carefully nodded as he listened to his dad’s words. He was not surprised to learn that his dad wanted to join the Order of the Phoenix. In fact, it almost felt natural to him, like it had evidently been what Remus wanted to do. 

“Do you believe that there will be a second war?” Harry needed to know the answer to that question before he spoke up about his own considerations. 

“I would think that it is ignorant to pretend that it isn’t likely,” Remus agreed with a deep sigh. “It is on my list of things I dearly hope will not happen, but I cannot quite remain so blissfully naïve as to know that it is not a highly likely scenario.” He licked his lips before he continued to speak, “the current Minister of Magic is certainly preparing for one. He is attempting to incarcerate and remove as many Death Eaters, followers and sympathisers as possible before such an inevitability. However, he is also bringing their community together in defiance and fear. I have always told you that Death Eaters are dangerous, mostly ignorant or simply in pure denial of the reality they live in. My opinion has not changed in that manner, nor will it ever, but to consider them simply evil for the sake of dehumanising them and making them easier to, well… Remove from society, would be frighteningly similar to what the Death Eaters did to Muggle-born and Half-blood mages when they were in power.” 

The werewolf carefully spun his cup in his hands as he spoke of something too unpleasant to remain solely focused upon. “Azkaban has never been so full and we do not know enough about dementors to know what they would do when provided with an almost unending stream of new prisoners. In theory, it could cause anything from an increase of the creatures, to them becoming lax in their security as they would have plenty of sustenance and would therefore not need to care about the older prisoners.”

“You mean that new food would be constant, which would make them uncaring about the older, already broken prisoners?” Harry summarised, thinking that he had understood his dad’s worries correctly. It felt wrong to call those whose minds and bodies had been broken and scarred by the dementors’ influence simply food, yet he did not quite know how to refer to them with any more suitable term. 

Remus nodded, “we simply do not know. Further prisoners will also make it harder to treat them with humane behavior. I simply cannot imagine that every person Scrimgeour is sending to Azkaban is as guilty as the next. People, perhaps not innocent, but not irredeemable people, will be sent there and they will die, furthering resentment and provoking a war.” Remus took a slow, shaking breath. “It is all very unsettling, yet very real.” 

“Do you think that… Do you think that the Ministry might turn against werewolves next?” The son of a werewolf was too aware of the predicament of those infected with Lycanthropy to ignore the fact that most mages considered werewolves to be dangerous by default, but also prone to Dark Magic. He knew well that throughout history, the minorities without a clear place in society tended to be the ones to lose their rights first, and who weren’t listened to when they attempted to speak up against it. 

Remus chewed on his lower lip. The man was as aware as his son, yet his mind struggled with the action of admitting to his fear of being seen as a follower of the Dark Lord simply because of his condition and in discredit to both his personality and accomplishments. “I don’t know, Harry… I certainly hope not, but I… can’t say for certain. I guess it's another reason to join the Order again, to prove that I'm not supporting the Dark Lord.” 

Harry sighed as he ate some more of his eggs. They still tasted good even though they were no longer warm. “I hate people who think werewolves are evil by proxy.” 

The dad smiled patiently at his son, “you know that I don’t support the idea of hating anything, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

“Just let me hate them for a little bit so that I can get over it,” Harry smiled weakly at his dad. 

“Well, if it is only temporary and doesn’t fester…” Remus shrugged with a small smile forming on his lips. “What was it you wanted to tell me? If there was anything. I had the feeling that you wanted to speak to me about something. I could be wrong.” He hurriedly excused himself as he became somewhat uncertain of his own judgement. 

“No, no, I wanted to speak to you as well!” Harry almost choked on his eggs in his hurry to agree. He swallowed, drank some water and pushed the plate aside. “I’m really worried about Draco, and I do believe that something is happening at Malfoy Manor. Mrs. Malfoy suddenly disowning Hermione, her refusing to speak to both you and Mrs. Wesley, as well as having a fight with the sister she was previously trying to reunite with… It doesn’t make sense. I know that you find it as odd as I do.” 

“It is odd, yes, but you might do well to remember that this is primarily how the Malfoy family spent the last war,” Remus gently reminded his son. “I know that you are emotional about your breakup, and you have every right to be. Further, I know that it is not the only thing motivating you in your claims, but it is possible that this is simply their course of actions to assure their neutrality and safety after the loss of Lucius Malfoy within their home. As you are very well aware of, Scrimgeour is extreme in his measures to assure that the Death Eaters and followers do not gather or mobilise. The Malfoys as well as any other Pureblood family would be under constant surveillance. The likelihood of something happening there is not too large compared to the alternative of them simply reacting in a self preserving action.” 

While Remus was being reasonable, Harry could easily read upon his face that he was not certain of what he was claiming to be the truth. Thus, he was not as upset about his dad’s careful and polite rejection of Harry’s theory, as he was still mindful that his son was worried. 

“You will be able to see Draco in school. If you simply give him some time, I believe that you will be able to speak again. However, you mustn't force your company upon him, especially now as he has requested you not to.” Remus continued to speak, gently trying to soothe Harry’s worries without making him feel as if his worries were not being adhered to. 

“I know that I most definitely need to hear this right now,” Harry groaned, “but it doesn’t make it any easier to listen to.”

“I will keep on reminding you, should you need to hear it.” His dad smiled patiently at him. 

Harry pulled a hand through his entangled curls as he nodded with another deep sigh. “I guess I do need that. Thanks, dad. Also sorry.” 

“Of course,” Remus continued to smile softly. “No need to apologise.” 

The son of a werewolf took a deep breath as he steadied himself for what else he wanted to speak to his dad about. The next request was far less reasonable than his previous statement about being worried for the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor.

“I want to join the Order of the Phoenix as well.” Harry finally managed to gather all his courage and speak up about his desire. 

Remus’ face fell and he quickly shook his head, unable to comprehend what he had initially heard. “No. No, Harry. I couldn’t possibly allow that. You’re still a minor! I couldn’t bear to think of what could happen… I cannot… No.”

“Dad, listen to me,” Harry lowered his voice, making it darker and therefore making his words sound less whiny or insecure overall. It appeared to help Remus actually focus on him. “I cannot run from the fact that I’m the symbol of the end of an era, even if I wanted to. It was possible when there was no war, and I most certainly do not want to be Harry Potter, but I won’t be given that choice. The Death Eaters will want me gone, the Ministry of Magic will want me as their symbol. I’ve already been targeted on multiple occasions when I was doing nothing but trying to attend school. I was targeted a few months ago.” 

“That isn’t enough of a reason to place yourself in immediate danger by joining the Order of the Phoenix,” Remus objected. He was evidently entering a state of panic, but he was still capable of listening to Harry’s words. 

“I wouldn’t be placing myself in danger, I wouldn’t actively fight for anything like most members,” Harry overruled his dad’s objection. “I have been accused of being a Death Eater a number of times, especially after I began to dress like this.” He gestured to himself. “I can’t support what the Ministry is doing, and I obviously don’t support the Dark Lord. Thus, the only thing I can do is to support the person I believe in, namely Albus and the Order. If I don’t take this stand, then people will assign me a stand against my will. If I can use the name Harry Potter to at least make a few more people calm down and listen to reason rather than prepare for an outright war and hunting down those deemed to be wrong, I have to take it. I just have to. You're already doing it, proving that werewolves don't support the Dark Lord by default.” 

“But, Harry,” the werewolf whimpered, “the Order is preparing to fight as well. You do not know that supporting them will cause anyone to listen to what you are saying.” 

“But it would make the mages listen to Albus,” Harry continued to argue. “Maybe not all of them, but if two icons come together to preach peace, then maybe someone will listen. Maybe even Scrimgeour will listen and cease the direct hunting of the Dark Lord’s followers so as to not cause the uprising which he fears and is trying to prevent.” 

“How can you know that Albus Dumbledore wants peace? He might have ended the American Mage War against Grindelwald, but that doesn’t mean that he can simply do the same with the Dark Lord. This man will simply not surrender, even if killed, as all of the British mage community now knows.” Remus appeared to be pleading with his son, rather than tell him that he was wrong. 

“Don’t you see, that is why I have to do it. Because maybe it can end like the American one. Maybe something can change, I don’t know what but something!” Harry hadn’t meant to raise his voice. “There has to be something I can do, rather than sit down and hide. You aren’t doing it, I shouldn’t be, so why would I?” 

Harry realised with a startle that this was technically his first real fight with his dad, compared to all the conversations which they had always been able to have before. He only realised that it was a fight when he noticed the tears in Remus’ eyes, which threatened to overflow. 

“Harry, I can’t… I can’t let you… That would be… If you’re… I lost Sirius, I lost James, I lost Lily, I lost Peter… I can’t… If you were to be…” As he spoke, the tears began to flow from his eyes, as unstoppable as they always were when the werewolf cried. He always held too much back to be able to not fall together when he did reach the breaking point. 

Harry hurriedly walked around the table and wrapped his arms around his dad who hugged him in return, holding him tightly and desperately. Harry couldn’t help but cry as well, the tears pushed forward no matter if he wanted them to or not as he clung to the man he loved more than anything.

The werewolf and his son struggled to regain their respective composure. Harry was about to carefully return the topic to what he felt like he needed to do, but to his surprise, Remus spoke up first. 

“Would you promise to be careful, and to not engage in any combat, or ever endanger yourself for the sake of other people?” Remus gently but desperately held his hands as he asked, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. “I need you to promise me that being an icon will not come before your mental health or physical, direct safety.” 

Harry gaped at his dad before nodding as a small smile spread over his lips. “I will, but you have to promise me the same thing.”

“I don’t like this Harry, but I promise you that I shall do everything in my power to stay safe. I won’t leave you alone, I promise.” Remus managed to smile in return, even if his smile was strained and somewhat insecure.

“I love you, dad.” Harry sighed as he squeezed the werewolf’s hands. 

“I love you too,” Remus sighed deeply before he pulled Harry closer once more to hug him to his chest, holding him there. “You mean the world to me.” He admitted in a quiet whisper. 

“You mean the world to me as well, dad,” Harry assured him as he returned the hug, smiling into the man’s chest.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s scream could be heard throughout the entirety of the Burrow. It was loud, triumphant and quickly followed by her footsteps as she ran down the stairs and towards the kitchen. 

Harry, Albus Dumbledore and Molly Weasley all looked towards the door, which was soon thrown open by a panting Hermione, whose already curly and messy hair had become all the more messy because of her excited flight down the stairs. 

Hermione was a young woman with shoulder length dark hair, bright, intelligent eyes and pleasantly plump lips, in Harry’s opinion. She was generally dressed in large, feminine fashion which didn’t quite cover her up, but left a few things to imagination. She liked skirts and would not often choose a pair of trousers over a maxi or at the very least midi length skirt. She was currently dressed in a white blouse, a long skirt and one of Molly Weasley’s hand knitted vests, which combined color and pattern into a most refined piece of handicraft which should have been far too hot for anyone to wear, but which Hermione wore proudly with the implementation of a cooling charm. 

Ron and Ginny were outside, playing Quidditch on the first cool day since July began. They were accompanied by Fred, but George was more interested in remaining inside the cool cabin which Arthur Weasley had built for his twin sons. It functioned both as their workshop as well as their home until they could save up for an apartment each. Teddy was together with his grandparents in his home, which he found far more appealing without his old man, and Neville was at home, also with his grandmother. It was odd to Harry to be in such a small group of people, seeing as he had almost exclusively been surrounded by a multitude of different people since he began studying at Hogwarts. 

Harry had been at the Weasley home for about four days since Remus joined the Order of the Phoenix and Harry was given the option by Molly to come stay with them until school began. Harry accepted the offer with his dad’s permission, and had come to stay in Percy Weasley’s old room, while Hermione stayed in Fred and George’s. Harry was very glad to have his personal space within the home, as he had become used to some manner of privacy and was happy to retain it before he had to live with four other teenagers in his dormitory for most of the upcoming year. 

Albus Dumbledore visited the Burrow on the request of Harry himself, who wanted to speak to him about his new position, and what he could and should do in school to promote tolerance in the face of outright conflict. 

Albus was an old wizard who appeared much like a wizard did in children’s stories. He had a crooked hat and flowing robes with silvery alchemical symbols embroidered into them. The day in honour, he was dressed in a soft grey robe, which shimmered slightly when hit directly by sunlight. The robes largely left his body shapeless. Albus possessed half moon shaped glasses upon his nose and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes which appeared to contain the secrets of the universe itself. Yet he usually always wore a smile, and his face was a pleasant canvas of wrinkles which smiled with him. He was an old man, and he very much appeared old, yet there was an approachableness and clarity to the man which made him pleasant to be around. He often gave off the impression that he had a joke to tell, should only someone ask him for it. He could have worn whatever he wanted on his feet, and he would still have appeared collected yet not inapproachable.   

Harry and Albus had been drinking tea together when Hermione’s yell interrupted them, shortly followed by the young woman. She was so excited that she did not feel any embarrassment as she more or less threw her book down upon the table, causing the biscuits to rattle on their plate. 

“It’s a message!” Hermione pointed to her book, her eyes gleaming with excitement and happiness. “She doesn’t hate me, it was all a ruse to keep safe!” 

“...That’s a book, dear…” Molly Weasley carefully addressed Hermione with the look of a mother who wondered if their child had hurt themselves. 

“Well, yes,” Hermione looked at the book before she focused her gaze upon the old wizard. “But it is also a message. I’ve been reading this book in the library of Malfoy Manor. And you see, it was in excellent condition back then, not faded or damaged in the least, despite it being old. I received the book from Narcissa,” the young woman continued to summarise. “When she told me to never contact her again. She told me the book was stained by my touch, but it wasn’t!”

“It is a most tragic neglect that you have been led to believe that it could,” Albus offered Hermione a sad smile.  

The young woman appeared to blush as she turned her attention towards the book, unable to respond to his statement as of currently. She pointed to the title, “look at this H, it was not this faded when I last read this book, it’s practically gone and much more faded than the other letters. So I opened it and over the following first pages, the faded letters spelled my name. I thought that I might be imagining it, but I continued to read and it truly was a message to me! From Narcissa!” Eagerness and relief mixed upon her face as she looked between the three gathered people. 

“Does it mention Draco?” Harry leaned forward, forgetting about everything else as he was given an opportunity to learn about his best friend who was no longer his boyfriend. 

“Yes! Well, not in detail, but somewhat. It states that Malfoy Manor is under the influence of Death Eaters, who she cannot risk knowing about her connections to me, or anyone else of us. Draco is safe for the moment, and they are not in immediate danger of being harmed. However, since her husband’s incarceration, she has not been able to refuse hospice to the Death Eaters, and she fears that if anyone were to learn of her crime of keeping them safe from the law, she would be arrested and taken away from her son.” Hermione looked between the adults, forgetting Harry for the moment. “You cannot interfere with her, you’d risk both hers and Draco’s safety.” 

Albus smiled gently at her before nodding in a calm manner, “it is within my interest to keep them both safe as well. I shall respect their need for safety and not interfere, as you say.” 

Harry was startled by the impression that the man was not speaking the truth. Or rather, that there was something which Albus knew in regards to the Malfoys which he was not sharing. Harry didn’t know why the sudden suspicion hit him and he attempted to shake it off without being too bothered by what almost felt like a premonition. 

The Dark Lord had removed their connection somewhere during the summer, allowing Harry’s dreams to remain his own once again. He was absolutely certain that nothing connected him with the man any longer, yet the odd throb of distrust felt so curious to Harry’s mind that he almost wanted to blame it on the Dark Lord’s influence. Harry reasoned that he was likely highly paranoid when it came to Draco, especially since his friend’s safety might be threatened depending on what Albus chose to do. 

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. As he did, he allowed his fingers to brush against the golden snake ring which Draco had given to him as a birthday present last year. Albus had agreed that Draco’s safety was a priority through his words. There was nothing to worry about, yet he could not quite shake the feeling that something was odd about Albus, even if he couldn’t actually place the reason behind his feelings. 

Hermione turned towards Harry with an excited smile, “that means she doesn’t hate me! And Draco probably doesn’t hate you. Someone is likely forcing them to have to act this way!” 

It was evident simply looking at Hermione that she was relieved beyond measure that her newfound parental figure hadn’t actually rejected her based on parts of herself which she had no power to change. It likely meant more to the Muggle-born woman, seeing as she had previously faced rejection from her birth parents to the point where she no longer wanted to return home if she had another choice. 

Harry shared her joy, sharing it equally openly with his relieved smile. He had suspected that something wasn’t right at Malfoy Manor since he received Draco’s letter, but the relief in that he had actually been right felt so immeasurable that he almost felt like crying. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before he nodded. 

While it was a wonderful feeling to know that Draco hadn’t rejected him, the feeling was quickly followed by doubt and worry over how he should act to not reveal the fact that he knew, thus compromising Draco’s already dangerous position. The obvious solution was of course to leave his friend alone and not risk anything, yet knowing that Draco was not rejecting him and likely frightened and alone amongst Death Eaters made Harry want to save him. In fact, he wanted so fiercely to do something to save Draco that the world blurred together as his head spun with the overwhelmingly strong desire to ensure the safety of his best friend. 

Harry found himself turning towards Albus, “what can I do to save Draco?” 

The request was slightly silly in that Harry was painfully aware that he wanted to help the son of a Death Eater, but that there likely weren't a lot of things he could do right then which would directly assist Draco. Perhaps Draco could only be free once the Dark Lord himself was dead, leaving Harry with an almost hopelessly complex task in front of him. 

However, at that moment, anything, any assistance Harry could bring in the future war towards the Dark Lord was enough. He had wanted to help the Order of the Phoenix for a lot of reasons, yet now he had found a highly personal one, namely saving Draco from the demands of the Dark Lord and his followers. 

Albus studied Harry before he nodded slowly, as if he was setting his mind on something, rather than accepting Harry’s request. “As it should happen, there is a task which requires the assistance of someone such as yourself. I had not intended on asking you, seeing as the task in question would require you to use the name Potter, which I know you are neither familiar nor comfortable with.”

“I will do it,” Harry didn’t hesitate. His friend was too important to him. He loved Draco, and he would help him. 

“Even if it requires you to become an icon, or a symbol, rather than a person?” Albus did not so much lecture Harry as he warned him, needing the young man’s assurance that he would not regret it, should he choose the path which Albus suggested. 

Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself for what he had decided that he must do. Like this, there appeared to be something Harry could do, which only he could do. However much it hurt, he would have to be Harry Potter, until he once again had the privilege of being who he actually was. It would not be pleasant, it was not what Harry would have wanted, yet it was what he apparently had to do to not only save Draco, but also do what he had set out to do when he argued with his dad to be allowed to join the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn’t fair under any normal circumstances, but wars weren't fair or normal circumstances.

“If that is how it has to be,” Harry agreed.

Sadness travelled across the old man’s face, like two full moons gently wandering the sky and then lowering themselves into the sea as they finished their arch. Albus blinked, and the sight was gone. He was yet again collected, and emotionally distant albeit not removed from the present. 

“There have already been certain measures taken at Hogwarts which I wished to speak to you about in regards to your personal safety.” Albus continued to speak, pretending to be unaffected by the sadness which Harry, Hermione and even Molly had noticed. “Normally, such measures would not be taken to protect a student, but I fear that your case is rather unusual, Harry. Would you be so kind as to leave us, Ms. Granger. I’m afraid I must speak to only Harry about this? None at Hogwarts can know what I tell him. Trust that you will know soon enough.”

Hermione hesitantly glanced at Harry. Her concern was well meaning, but Harry could not allow himself to meet her gaze, as he feared that it would shake his determination to know pity at that moment. She carefully picked up her book and walked outside the house through the kitchen door, likely to speak to her other friends about her discovery. 

“What arrangements are those, s-, Albus?” Harry accidentally almost referred to the man using a politer than needed title for him. Albus had specifically told him that he did not need to call him anything but his name, and Harry was intent on respecting the man’s desires. 

“While it pains me to say, few things have proven as certain and as recurring as the fact that you have not been as safe as you should be at Hogwarts, Harry.” The old wizard sighed as he spoke, that almost ancient sadness appearing upon his face yet again, causing the lines of wrinkles to appear deeper and less friendly. “As the situation currently is, you might not be safe in your dormitory. You might not be safe in any dormitory.” 

“But…” Harry objected weakly, “I know everyone in my dormitory. Nobody would want to hurt me.” 

“I trust your judgement in that regard, but I must remind you that dormitories aren’t locked. There is nothing stopping anyone within your House from entering it. Further actions taken to protect your dormitory in particular would not be fair to the rest of the students, but more importantly, we do not have the means of producing stronger enchantments for the sake of protecting your room in particular. Thus, any effort we make in terms of magic would likely prompt those who might wish you ill to a challenge.” Albus appeared tired as he spoke, as if he very much wanted the reality of the situation to be different, but could no longer pretend that he wasn’t aware of the actual truth. “In short, no actions I can take might be enough to keep you safe in a dormitory. As you know, one’s House is no measure of loyalty. There is an equal possibility that there will be groups of followers and Dark Lord supporters in any House.” 

“But he should be allowed to go to Hogwarts nonetheless,” Mrs. Weasley argued softly. “If he does not, how is he to complete his education?” 

“I have every intention of letting Harry attend Hogwarts this year, I assure you,” Albus smiled at the woman in a reassuring manner. “Yet my proposal is this, you will not be staying in the dormitories this year, but instead at one of the unused rooms previously deployed to the servants of old. The room which I have selected is located close to the hospital wing. I propose that you stay in that room over the year, using your cloak of invisibility to travel to and from it. While you do have a bathroom close to your room, you will not have a shower, but the Quidditch facilities are not too far away and would be at your disposal when the students are not using it. I have also spoken to your friend Dobby, who has agreed to assist you in everything you might need outside of the room, as long as it can be provided by Hogwarts. That being said, I do not recommend that you make a habit of hiding away within that room, rather than attend, for example, dinner.”  

Harry listened to the proposal with an unsteady heartbeat and a curious, sour burn in his mouth and throat. He didn’t want to believe that he was in danger around his fellow Slytherins, or even students. He didn’t want to believe that his second home was dangerous to him, especially not at the place where he had spent many wonderful moments surrounded by his friends.  

However, the Slytherin dormitories were also where people like Crabbe were. Those types of students who Dolores Umbridge, previous Headmistress of Hogwarts, had feared to the degree of making new rules simply for the purpose of making sure that no Death Eater groups could form in her school. While Harry hated to think of anything Umbridge had done as remotely reasonable, as most of it truly hadn’t been, her fear of Death Eater students was not only created by paranoia. 

Harry thought of the fact that he had promised his dad to stay safe if he became an icon, which was what he was attempting to become. It was terrifying to think of the fact that people might not only talk bad about him or freeze him out from their groups, but that some might truly wish to harm him. In his dormitory, he truly would be nothing but a victim waiting to be, even if he shouldn’t have to fear such things at the age of sixteen. Even if nobody deserved fearing such things at any age. 

“I understand,” Harry spoke up with a steadier voice than he had expected. “I’m happy that you have thought of my safety, and I accept your proposal, Albus.” 

A flicker of relief passed over the man’s face as he nodded approvingly, “I’m very relieved. Then, there is the other matter of which I should need the assistance of someone such as yourself. Would you be able to travel with me for a few hours? I shall of course personally return you to this very house by the end of our errand.” 

Harry nodded, feeling somewhat unsteady as he thought of that which he had agreed to. He could not help but worry that he was overreacting in not trusting his friends enough to feel safe around them. Last year, Goyle had proven to want to save them, even if Crabbe had wanted to physically hurt Harry. Teddy was beyond certainly an ally and friend to Harry, but he truly didn’t know where he had Blaise. Then there was Draco. Harry wasn’t ready to think of all the implications in regards to him yet. 

“In the absence of Mr. Lupin himself, could I be granted permission to bring Harry with me on an errand?” Albus turned towards Mrs. Weasley. 

“I…” Mrs. Weasley hesitated. “Since Remus isn’t here, I don’t think I should be deciding things for the boy. However, if you can assure that it is a simple errand and that Harry will return safely…?”

“I assure you, we shall simply be meeting with an old friend of mine, and previous teacher at Hogwarts.” Albus stood up, the teacup rose into the air and floated over to the rest of the dishes. “The tea was excellent. May I bring a biscuit with me as I leave?” 

“Oh, sir, of course… Help yourself,” Mrs. Weasley’s face heated as she gestured towards the biscuits. She was evidently flattered. 

“Much obliged,” a biscuit folded itself into a napkin and hovered over to the man, where it gently entered into a hidden pocket of his clothing. “Allow us to step outside, Harry. Apparition from a kitchen is simply poor manners. You should be learning it this year at Hogwarts, do remember that as your first rule.”

“To not apparate from kitchens specifically or not from a place where it would be rude to do so?” Harry put his empty cup into the sink as well, bowed quickly to the Weasley matron, then followed the old wizard out through the back door. 

“Which one would you think I meant?” the Headmaster mused with a smile on his lips as he offered Harry his arm. 

“Obviously the former,” Harry grinned as he accepted the arm. He attempted to keep his worries back by joking, seeing as he had rather unpleasant memories of apparition from when he was twelve. 

“Correct,” Albus chuckled happily. “Do hold on tight, do you remember what you should do otherwise?” 

“Relax and trust you,” Harry spoke after a deep, steadying breath. 

“Excellent, let us be off. I shall count to three and we move on three.” 

Harry was calmed somewhat by the fact that the old man was using the same strategy to apparate with someone like Remus had when Harry was twelve. He grabbed onto the arm tighter and closed his eyes, relaxing to the best of his ability and trusted that Albus would bring him to the correct destination.

Chapter Text

While apparition wasn’t comfortable by any means, it didn’t hurt as much as it had when Harry first apperated. In fact, the sensation was rather similar to transforming into his animagus shape. That did not make it pleasant, but it was familiar in a way it had not been when he had apparated for the first time in his life. 

Thus, Harry remained standing, and he did not quite feel like he had to stop moving to refrain from losing his breakfast. However, it took him a few seconds to orient himself when he finally felt steady enough to open his eyes. Albus waited patiently. His hand was resting on Harry’s arm, gently preparing to keep him steady in case the apparition had been too much for his body. 

“I’m fine…” Harry breathed out after a few seconds, smiling at the older wizard. “Just a little dizzy, where are we?” 

The two of them were standing in an alley, close to a highly picturesque village which appeared to be located in the countryside. The houses were small and low, with white fences and beautiful, colorful gardens. Ivy grew over the buildings, the streets were mostly clean and whole, and cobblestones lined the walkways. A gentle breeze blew over the mostly empty streets as the clouds above appeared heavy. The rain felt present, even though it was evidently not falling yet. Nonetheless, Harry could imagine the cold of the water upon his skin with ease as he glanced around in the surprisingly cold alley. 

“We’re in a small village, still in England.” Albus smiled at the younger mage as he lifted his hand off Harry’s arm, making certain that he could stand before he stepped to the side. “I would like to explain my reasoning as to why I brought you with me, and for what purpose I need your assistance.” 

“Is it really safe to speak about that, well… here?” Harry looked around in the surprisingly clean alley. He wondered where the trash cans were, seeing as an alley generally should have some manner of trash disposal, or so Harry thought. Maybe it was different in small villages. 

“What I’m about to tell you is no secret, and it should not generally be capable of being used to harm the people involved. I cannot sense anyone around us either.” The old wizard did not appear particularly worried. 

Harry attempted to relax as well, but he was not quite capable of doing so fully. 

Albus concluded that Harry agreed with him, and thus continued speaking. “There is a man living here who happens to possibly possess a memory which I am in need of. His name is Horace Slughorn, and he was a teacher at Hogwarts when I was yet to become the Headmaster. Horace was… Well, he was a man who held great interest in magical albeit theoretical discussions. Rather the kind of person a parent would not have their child speak to, in the event that the man’s careless willingness to discuss Dark Arts in theory might lead to the child receiving the opinion that the magic in question is not dangerous. Nonetheless, he is harmless, and rather a coward. However, he is a good professor, and I am in need of a safe, well known professor to take the place of the previous one.” He did not need to mention Umbridge by name. 

Harry nodded along to the new information which he was receiving. He further attempted to memorise the name of the man, which was not hard since it was an odd name which consisted out of two simple words. 

“Horace is, as I mentioned, rather a bit of a coward. However, and luckily for our intentions, he is a man very blinded by what he perceives as talent and rarity. Any person whom he can assist in raising up, he shall assist to the best of his ability. He does not exactly want to be famous himself, but he wants to be recognised as the person who helped a collection of other famous people achieve their accomplishments. To achieve that end, he will go to great lengths to help his worthy students. However, any person which he finds unworthy of his attention, he tends to forget the existence of. As you can imagine, this quality is not quite good for a teacher. Although he never ignores students asking him questions and does do his work right, the favorising isn't exactly ideal.” 

Harry absentmindedly chewed on his lower lip as he imagined such a teacher. His mind quickly rejected the idea of any teacher behaving in such a manner. He shook his head to communicate that he wasn’t approving of the idea. 

“Yet it is a quality I’m afraid that we must abuse. Your person, well, your name alone, is enough to obtain Horace’s full attention. He would very much want to be of assistance to someone as established and famous as Harry Potter, and it's a chance he'd only have once in his life. With your presence, or I should be honest, with you as bait, I believe that it would be easy to convince Horace to accept the position at Hogwarts with your expressed desire to have him as your teacher.” Albus concluded, looking Harry over with his mild, patient blue gaze. 

“And the goal is to try and obtain that memory you mentioned?” Harry raised an eyebrow at the other man. 

Albus nodded, waiting for the obvious follow up question. 

“What does the memory contain?” Harry continued to ask, studying the man’s face as he asked. He did not mean to search for any lies within the gentle wrinkles of the man’s face, yet he found himself searching for something, perhaps something akin to truth, within Albus’ face. 

“I’m afraid that I can’t explain that to you in this place. Further, you will not need to worry yourself about the memory. Once Horace is at Hogwarts, I will be able to focus my effort on obtaining that memory.” Albus continued to speak, but subtle changes in his expression communicated a different story. 

“You don’t believe that you can, do you, sir?” Harry hadn’t meant to speak up about it, but he had noticed that Albus was not certain of his statement. Further, he hadn’t meant to express his disbelief through the usage of a polite title, but it came to be despite his intentions. 

Albus looked rather surprised as Harry spoke up so honestly, more or less confessing that he could tell that the Headmaster wasn’t honest with him. He gathered himself, as well as his expression, settling into a rather parental smile. “I suppose you might be right about that. However, I have little choice but to continue my attempts in the hopes that Horace might be reasonable at the end of the day.” Yet again, subtle twitches revealed to Harry that the man did not believe that Horace Slughorn would be reasonable. 

“Do you think that I could possibly help? Or rather, Harry Potter?” The name was alien on his tongue. Clumsy, wrong and almost poisonous. It was the name of a stranger, the name of someone who was not him. Harry didn’t like the name being aimed at him, but he liked it even less when spoken by his own mouth. “You said that, paraphrased, he would do anything to help a talented, or at the very least famous, student?”

The old wizard nodded carefully, “that is true. However, it is not so easy a matter to simply obtain his memory. It is not inherently a physical thing which one can grasp in most cases. The memory in question was presented in a court as evidence, and dismissed entirely because it had evidently been tampered with. I believe that while the memory might not solve my predicament, it could assist me in learning… Something.” Albus hesitated and then settled on a diffuse final word. “I do not so much need the memory itself, as I would need Horace's cooperation. Or at the very least have him listen to me. As I represent the Order of the Phoenix, rather than myself, he does not wish to trust me. While Horace is no Death Eater, and certainly not a person who would wholly believe in a man like Scrimgeour, he is a man who will only serve his own interests though making others indebted to him.” 

“So he will not cooperate because the memory, or even his cooperation, might get him in trouble?” Harry summarised with a small frown. 

“Indeed,” Albus confirmed, “yet if he was to work at Hogwarts, I would have access to him without leaving the castle and my students. That way, I could continue to try for at least a year, as time is running out for me.” 

Harry felt an uncomfortable, hesitant feeling spread from his chest to his throat, making him feel cold and slightly unable to breathe. It was the coldness and inability of considering death. Not mindless, unexpected death, but the sort of deliberate, cruel death which slowly steals a person away until there is nothing left of the person they once were in their youth. Albus was an old man, it was not possible that he would live forever. His life might not be lost in the same manner as Sirius’ was, but it would leave a huge gap in a considerable number of people’s lives. 

“Then let me help you, Albus,” this time, Harry remembered that he was no stranger to the wizard, and used his name. “I might not be able to convince him, but I want to use the name Harry Potter to promote, well… good actions. If there is such a thing as a distinctively good action.” He added with a mumble before he continued. “With my fame, I might be able to at least influence him to help you, or at least be sympathetic to your cause.” 

The other mage smiled softly at Harry, like a friend might smile to a friend, rather than an adult to an almost legal young man. “It means a lot to me that you find my causes so… trustworthy, without having me properly explain them to you.” 

“I want answers,” Harry agreed. “In fact, I have a lot of questions and I have been writing them down to remember them. There are plenty of things I feel like you should explain to me in detail. That being said,” Harry stopped to take a deep breath before he continued. “You helped my dad when nobody would. You allowed him to attend Hogwarts, you assisted him in being allowed care of me. You saved Hagrid, you hired Filch, you allowed Firenze to remain at Hogwarts. You took Dobby in as well, and you’ve been a support to me when I have been reckless or faulty. A few months ago, you even saved Draco by healing him, despite being drained from the duel. I know that you’ve always cared about people, even if you haven’t always managed to express it or handle the complex situations around other people. If you tell me that you are running out of options, I will believe you and offer my assistance. I don’t want another war, and your path is the only one I could even remotely support in comparison to the Death Eaters and the Ministry.” 

Albus blinked, he then looked to the side and blinked rapidly as tears began forming in his eyes. Harry averted his gaze out of respect as the other mage dried some stray tears from the corners of his eyes with his old, slightly trembling hands. 

“I… Believe I was in almost desperate need to hear your encouragement. Thank you, Harry.” 

The weak, emotional voice mumbled more than it spoke, yet Harry heard it without trouble. 

“I’m afraid I’m not a man who is well versed in explaining matters which are not based on logic and facts. I understand that you have questions, and I intended to answer them. That being said, is it possible for us to do that at Hogwarts? There, I have the means to show you, rather than tell,” Albus continued as he regained control of his voice. 

“Yes, of course. I may want answers, but I don’t want to exactly force them. May I hug you, s-, Albus?” Harry carefully smiled at the Greatest Wizard Alive. It was evident that the other needed to be comforted, as such a thing did not change with age.

“A hug would be most pleasant for the moment,” Albus agreed. 

The two embraced one another, a little awkwardly in the surprisingly clean alley. When they separated, Albus appeared happier, and Harry’s nose was filled with a surprisingly pleasant scent of jasmine tea mixed with the heavy scent of the forest. He had expected the other man to smell of complex magical herbs or perhaps even odd fumes or the scent which is most commonly associated with old people. However, Albus smelled of none of those things. 

“I gratefully accept your help, my friend.” The other mage agreed, smiling most honestly at Harry after his speech about trust. “I do not like leaving such a momentous task with one so young, but if you are convinced that you wish to help, I will allow you. In return, all my secrets are yours, should you ask for them. However, I must insist that you ask them in private, as well as later, at Hogwarts.” 

Harry returned his smile with an open grin, one which belonged wholly to Harry Lupin, and not the persona which he was attempting to be. “Thank you! I will do my utmost while also attempting to not come off as too, well… pushy? Excited? One of them or both of them,” he decided at last. 

The two men, one young and one old, walked down the empty path as the rain began to softly fall. Albus stopped by another picturesque house, surrounded by some rather extravagantly and brilliantly colored flowers and plants. Harry got the impression that Horace Slughorn must have at least won some neighborhood prize for his garden. They passed up the path past the white fence and approached the navy blue door as the rain began to pick up speed and weight. Harry happily ducked under the awning of the front porch. After making sure that no Muggle was watching them, he used a simple spell with his hand to remove the droplets from his glasses. Albus knocked on the door using the beautifully carved toad knocker, which was so realistic that Harry almost thought that it would come to life when touched. 

Noises came from inside as someone approached the door. Unlike most instances in his life, Harry did not pet his hair down to make certain that it hid his scar, but actively moved it back so that the lightning bolt mark was left fully visible against the contrast of his dark hair and skin. Harry checked his wrist and found that he had accidentally fallen asleep with a hair tie around it. That mistake served him well as he quickly gathered up his hair into a rather messy bun at the back of his head, thus presenting himself somewhat more professionally than with his hair let out. Harry had no real way of knowing his level of presentable, but he calmed himself with the knowledge that his hair was at the very least not obscuring his forehead from view. 

The door opened slightly and a man looked outside from within the gap. Harry could not see him fully, but he heard him groan. “Albus… you would ambush me in my own home?” His voice sounded thick and slightly greasy, as if he was both holding words back while having an all too easy time to slip with his tongue. 

From inside the house came the faint scent of herbs and bacon, as well as something which made Harry recall the Potions classroom at Hogwarts. The familiar scent of herbs, tonics, cleanliness and cauldrons mixed with burning wood which belonged together with his favorite Professor’s own classroom made Harry relax somewhat. The man did not appear as immediately unfamiliar when he had a decently familiar scent. 

“This is no ambush, Horace,” Albus carefully reasoned with the man. “I was speaking to my young friend here about the possibility of Professor Slughorn returning to Hogwarts, and Harry here wanted to meet you very much.” The man lied as he showed towards Harry with a smile. 

Harry straightened up, moved his shoulders back, and smiled politely as he kept good posture. He modelled himself after Lucius Malfoy as well as Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom were the most elegant and collected people he personally knew. One needed to remain cautiously attentive but not immediately approachable to be a Pureblood aristocrat. However, as he was not attempting to be unapproachable, Harry adapted humbleness into himself, and a slight curiosity to his body language. He wasn’t certain if he managed what he attempted to do, but Slughorn looked at him with passive disinterest before he spotted what most people spotted when looking at Harry, namely his pale scar. 

Harry was not a tall or even inheritably noticeable individual, had it not been for the way he dressed as well as his scar. After obtaining permission from his dogfather, Harry had been able to gather a large wardrobe consisting of a collection of expensive clothes which he had inherited from the two Black brothers. This meant that Harry dressed like an aristocrat in most senses, and he was dressed in that manner this day as well. He wore a light blue silk shirt with broad sleeves which gathered in two ribbons by the cuffs of those sleeves, and a set of beige trousers. Harry had modelled the choice of colours after Fleur Delacour, former Trimagus Tournament champion and current partner of Bill Weasley. The collar went halfway up his neck and was kept closed by a brooch in the shape of a flower which Harry did not know the name of. The flower itself was mostly white, and possessed a somewhat pearly shimmer. 

Harry’s hair continued to grow, reaching longer than Hermione’s currently was, and falling in long strands of something between locks, curls and twists. It was the kind of hair which only looked professional when put up, but which looked unkempt when allowed to hang like it wished. Behind a pair of round glasses, Harry’s green eyes, framed by almost black lashes, studied the man in the opening with what he hoped to be a pleasant interest.

“Harry?” said the slightly red face in the door opening. His eyes were upon Harry’s forehead, staring without shame or restraint. “Would that be, Harry Potter by any sense?” 

“Indeed, sir,” Harry curtsied politely. “I’ve heard plenty about you from the Headmaster and I wanted to be given a chance to meet you for myself. I deeply apologise if my request has inconvenienced you.” Harry mixed his language with what he knew from his many hours of reading classical Muggle Literature, thinking solely about how a Malfoy would engage with a mage such as Slughorn. It truly had been worth getting through The Count of Monte Cristo simply to be able to create the illusion of Harry Potter. Not that the book hadn't been great, but this was a surprising bonus.

The door shut but opened so quickly that Harry didn’t have time to worry about being dejected about the suddenness of the action. Horace Slughorn appeared in the door, allowing Harry to see him completely. 

The man was round, plump and rather short. Harry noticed with some satisfaction that he was actually taller than someone who wasn’t Sirius or Colin. Slughorn was evidently a man who enjoyed things in life, be they food, objects, fine clothes or an impressive garden. While he was mostly bald he possessed grey hair on the top of his head. Further, there was not a hair out of place upon his chin. Slughorn’s face was slightly red and his eyes somewhat small while his mouth was large and curved. He had a pudgy face but when he smiled, he appeared overall harmless, his smile even rather kind.

Harry observed how his hands twitched slightly when Slughorn looked at him, a hint of greed flashing over his expression. He had to hold back from making a disapproving expression in turn when he realised that Slughorn was looking at him as if he was an object which he desired to bid on and win, rather than a person who was interested in meeting him. The discomfort in how Harry was objectified in the man’s eyes was enough for Harry to not want anything to do with Slughorn. However he reminded himself of the fact that he had little choice if he wanted to prevent a war and save Draco. If he had met Slughorn a few years ago, Harry would have politely run away from him, but as it was, he currently did not have that freedom. 

“Well, do come in. Come in, both of you!” Slughorn stepped back and gestured towards his home. “We cannot leave Harry Potter himself standing in the rain alongside the Greatest Wizard of the Century.” 

“Thank you, Horace, it is getting rather chilly out here.” Albus stepped first, his fingers showing carefully for Harry to enter after him. 

A few moments later, Harry found himself seated in a living room as the rain smattered down upon the windows from the outside. He was sitting next to Albus on a sofa while the master of the house rested in what was likely his favorite armchair, seeing as it was old and rather tattered. The room was highly busy with objects, plants and a collection of photographs upon every wall. 

Harry could name a few of the plants, and he recognised certain objects to be trophies on display, including a broom and a collection of prizes and diplomas. In one corner stood a grand piano which should have been too large for the room, but which had nonetheless been made space for rather eloquently. The piano was softly playing itself, allowing the music to fill the room while the sound of the House Elf preparing a snack for the people gathered drifted to them from the kitchen. 

The framed photographs displayed years of what was titled ‘The Slug Club.’ Each frame had a year etched into the frame itself, making it easy for an observer to track the years of the members of the club. It was with great enjoyment that Harry spotted Draco’s father in one of the frames, as his pale, long hair made him easy to distinguish. 

Slughorn noticed that Harry was looking at the frames, and he eagerly leaned forward as his House Elf placed a tray of tea and biscuits upon the short but elegant mahogany table in front of Harry and Albus. 

“Searching for your dear mum, are you?” Slughorn mused as he looked directly at Harry, his gaze continually going to the scar, as if to confirm that he truly was Harry Potter. 

Harry forced his expression to twist into a smile as he leaned his head to the side, nodding slightly. “How did you know, sir?” He pretended to be surprised yet impressed and he dearly hoped that it wasn’t visible that he had not the faintest idea of what the other was speaking of. 

“I’m rather sharp, my boy!” Slughorn laughed as he gestured towards the walls, calling a photograph to him which he later passed to Harry by hand. “There she is: Lily Evans. What a brilliant young woman. The type to truly change the world, had she all but lived longer. Oh, pardon me, I should not speak of her so casually. I’m certain you miss her terribly.” The Professor continued to ramble on. 

However, Harry was distracted by the photograph which he was holding in his hands. He saw his mum on it, recognisable by the red hair which she had gathered into a high ponytail. She had a pleasant smile and green eyes. Harry could see her wave at him, but he was not immediately drawn to look at the young woman, as he had spotted something far more interesting in the picture. 

Severus Snape was recognisable, even if the boy wasn’t quite like the man whom Harry knew in his later years. However, Harry recognised the dark hair and the black eyes, as well as the crooked nose and the mouth which simply would not be able to smile unless someone tricked it to. It was almost bizarre to know that Severus had once been the same age as Harry, yet it was of course obvious that he had. Harry realised with great joy that he was looking at the young man who his dad had fallen in love with when they were still in school. This was the Severus whom Remus had dated, and the person who he had never quite been able to forget hurting, even after so many years. Even if Harry wasn’t attracted to the young Severus in the photograph, he noticed with some slight satisfaction that he could see some of what his dad had likely appreciated about the young wizard. 

Slughorn misinterpreted Harry’s happiness and thus continued to speak of Lily Evans, later Potter. “Brilliant witch, especially given her circumstances as a Muggle-born mage.” He nodded to himself as a biscuit floated over to him upon his command. 

Harry made a note at the back of his mind that the man didn’t appear to be discriminating towards mages based on their blood or upbringing. At the very least that made him somewhat more acceptable to speak to, despite the fact that he evidently viewed Harry as an object to possess. 

“Circumstances can be ever so limiting, but ever so freeing,” Albus carefully brought the biscuit which Molly Weasley had made from his pocket. He unwrapped it as Slughorn’s nervous gaze remained upon it, only to reveal a whole but somewhat crumply sweet. “A gift from my good associate. She is a most accomplished chef and quite exclusive. I was lucky to obtain one of her baked goods.” 

Slughorn appeared to be considering the fact that the old wizard might be attempting to poison him, but then forced himself to discard that idea. The exclusivity of Mrs. Weasley’s biscuit appeared to appeal to him more than his paranoia in regards to Albus. 

As the biscuit floated over to the man upon him finishing the first, Harry leaned forward, yet again attempting to channel Narcissa Malfoy as his guide to how to act in a professional manner. “Sir, you appear to have such pride in teaching. All these students whose lives were enriched by your club and assistance… It appears to be such a waste that you’d not come back to Hogwarts when you are needed.” Harry knew that he was taking somewhat of a gamble to be so direct, yet he also hoped that Albus would be able to see what he was doing and follow or back him up, depending on what was actually needed. 

“My dear boy, I understand that it isn’t fair that you should be without someone like me, but I’m retired for… personal reasons.” In most people’s cases, ‘personal reasons’ referred to something they weren’t comfortable talking about yet. In Slughorn’s case, ‘personal reasons’ meant ‘no reason but because I wanted to.’ 

Harry sighed as he gathered some stray hair from his face to behind his ear. “I would have been so relieved to have an accomplished teacher assisting me on the way to my NEWTs… It is frightfully important to me to obtain as high of a grade as I can and I’m not certain if the other teacher can assist me in my endeavours… Not because they are not accomplished, but because they simply don’t believe in people standing out when we could all be simply the same.” 

He realised with a nervous quiver of his heart that he had no idea what subject the man would be teaching if he returned to Hogwarts. He was supposed to be an enthusiast of the man, ergo, he had to be an enthusiast of the subject which he was teaching. The most logical thing to assume was that Professor Slughorn would return to be the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, yet Harry found that to be doubtful, seeing as the man’s house smelled like that of the Potions classroom. All the pictures on the walls appeared to be taken in the dungeons, even the one which Harry was holding showed benches with items used in potion making in the background. 

Harry chose to gamble, “I’d like to work for the Ministry of Magic. I’d like to lead a Department one day. I cannot afford to not stand out.” 

To his amazement, Slughorn appeared very affected by his speech, even emotionally touched. “It is so very true as you say!” The man nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. “No harm to you, Albus, but since you took over the school, there is far too much focus on the collective, and not the individual. People like young Potter here are discouraged from the greatness which they could obtain in favor of being average so as to not harm the ego of the unintelligent masses.”

Harry really didn’t like this point of view on the world. He didn’t believe in any unintelligent masses, but he supposed that a man like Slughorn lived by the creed that some people were naturally better, and therefore worth more to society. Or rather, worth more to him within that society. There was nothing wrong with achieving astounding things, but that didn't make a person worth more than others.

With a disgusting taste of bitterness in his mouth, Harry nodded, attempting very hard to not look at the man beside him. If he did, Harry feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep the act of Potter up. He might be able to pretend to a stranger, but he was not able to pretend to someone he trusted and liked. 

“Who is the current Potions Master at Hogwarts?” Slughorn turned towards Albus, appearing to be slightly passionate for the moment. 

“That would be your previous student, Professor Severus Snape.” Albus spoke calmly and with a patient smile on his lips. 

“A former Death Eater!” The man’s eyes widened as he then shook his head so forcefully that Harry feared that he might fall out of the chair. “Albus! That won’t do at all. That is not a face you’d want representing Hogwarts, least of all the cunning and ambitious House of Slytherin, in these trying times.” 

Harry fought with everything from his expression to the anger which swelled up within him, threatening to cause him to explode from within as someone so carelessly dismissed Severus because of his past. Yet for this man to return to Hogwarts, it was evident that Severus might have to become occupied elsewhere. Harry decided to ask Albus about it later, for the moment, he needed to remember that he could under no circumstances behave towards Slughorn in a manner which was not the exact one which would yield him the most favorable result. No matter the man’s opinion on anything, Harry had to agree for the sake of making sure that Slughorn returned to Hogwarts. At least for the moment. 

“Severus is an accomplished Potions Master, and a suitable teacher at Hogwarts, despite his past,” Albus' response was simple and direct. His lips smiled as he spoke, but his gaze was no longer as gentle and patient as it was when he spoke to the average mage. 

“But Albus… In these times?” Slughorn shook his head disapprovingly. He was silent for almost a minute before he heaved a long, heavy sigh from his chest. “Oh very well! I see that Hogwarts needs me more than ever, as well as my House. However, if I am to return, I demand to be given the position of Head of the House as well. You will need me when the escaped Death Eater returns to his old Master, like they always do.” 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from speaking up or even throwing his teacup at the man. Harry was generally not violent, which was one of the reasons that his impulse confused him. Umbridge had assisted Harry in learning that he was not always able to stay calm, but Slughorn was teaching him that even Harry had his limits of what he was willing to put up with when listening to someone slander the people he loved. 

However, Harry knew better than to think that his impulse for violence defined him, as such a conclusion would mean that his dad, suffering from a condition, was at fault for the agitation which came with being a werewolf. The son of a werewolf might have thought of throwing the teacup at the Professor, but he didn’t even attempt to. Thus, he would not blame himself for the first impulse, which was later calmed by the reason of his own mind. 

Albus also had to face the reality of removing a person he loved from a position which was rightfully his, in favor of pleasing a rather unpleasant acquaintance. However, just like Harry, he had to make sacrifices of reason to accommodate for the solution which he needed to reach. “Very well. Should you return to Hogwarts, you will not only be given the teaching position of Potions Professor, but also the title of Head of the Slytherin House.” 

Harry knew that Severus would understand. Indeed, he would even chastise the two mages upon the sofa for considering his job to be more important than the result. Harry knew that. Yet he still felt as if he was betraying the man who would be his step-dad when he spoke up with a smile which he hoped to not be forced. 

“That’s wonderful! With a man such as you leading our House, we will surely obtain a far better reputation than before.” 

Slughorn turned to Harry with great interest, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could quite formulate himself, a sign of alarm flashed over his generally soft face. His gaze remained upon Harry, yet it was as if he had noticed something upon him which made him alarmed. The previously hungry eyes became filled with some undefined yet evidently negative emotion. Harry felt as if the other man had spotted his scar once again, yet had the opposite reaction of when he first saw it. 

“Is something wrong, Professor?” Harry carefully but not anxiously, asked, attempting to not reveal that he was rather worried that his act had been seen through.

“Yes, Horace, is something the matter?” Albus assisted Harry, as neither of them quite understood what had caused the man to appear alarmed. 

Slughorn blinked, looked at Harry once more and then quickly shook himself to shake away the unpleasantness of the alarm which had momentarily overtaken him. “No, no. I was simply lost down a trail of thought. Do not mind me. You have convinced me at last, Albus… I shall return to Hogwarts as the new Head of the Slytherin House, as well as the current Potions Professor.” 

“Your decision will be most celebrated,” Albus smiled at the man as he extended his hand. 

The two of them shook the other’s hand, smiling professionally if not somewhat falsely at one another. Harry forced his lips to curl into a smile as well, trying to remember that this was what they had attempted to achieve. Nonetheless, he felt oddly miserable to have supported this stranger in front of his beloved favorite Professor and future step-dad. 

“I’m afraid I must return Harry to his previous engagements, but I will return later with the contract.” Albus let go of the man’s hand as he stood up. “He has an urgent meeting to attend to.” 

Harry thought he realised what the other man was doing, and he played along in what he hoped was a convincing way. He sighed as if dejected and then slowly stood up, “how inconvenient. I have yet to finish my tea. I’m terribly sorry to leave so early, sir, I would have liked to hear more about the reforms which you are likely to bring to our House.” 

This time, the man did not appear alarmed when Harry mentioned being a Slytherin student, which appeared to be what had triggered a reaction in the first place. 

“Of course, of course,” Slughorn rose as well. “Do not worry, my boy. I understand that someone as important as Harry Potter would be occupied with many important matters.” 

Harry smiled a little sadly as he nodded, although he was actually relieved to leave. “A shame, sir.” 

Albus guided Harry towards the door. Harry glanced down at the table as he left, noticing the butchered remains of a copy of The Daily Prophet upon it. It appeared that a collection of articles had been cut out, yet nothing surrounding the newspaper suggested that Slughorn had cut the articles out for safekeeping or to remember them. If Harry hadn’t been so eager to leave, he might have asked more about the remains of the paper. 

It was a relief to bid the man farewell and a relief to enter into the rain from the back of the house, and be removed from the scene altogether. Harry felt his head spin after the apparition as he was gently assisted by Albus back inside the Burrow. When Harry realised that he couldn’t quite focus on anything his friends or Mrs. Weasley said, he excused himself to take a nap. 

Harry’s head felt crowded as he laid down in his temporary bed, staring up at the wooden beams of the room as unfamiliar scents filled his nose. He raised a hand up to look at his golden snake ring which Draco had given him, more than a year ago. Harry seldom took it off, and he enjoyed its company greatly even when thinking of Draco was painful. 

In the muted dark of the Burrow, Harry covered his face with his arms as he began to worry that Severus was getting fired from Hogwarts. The man had been a comfort for so many years, especially as the Head of the Slytherin House. Severus had done so much for him, and Harry hated the parts of his mind which blamed himself for the man’s expulsion from Hogwarts simply because Harry encouraged Slughorn. He tried to tell himself that Severus was likely to take over the position of Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, but Harry worried that if Severus was considered unsuitable as a Potions teacher due to his past, then surely he had to be even less suitable to teach Defense against the Dark Arts in most people’s eyes. 

Chapter Text

Molly was speaking to Andromeda Tonks on the phone, revealing to her what Hermione had managed to piece together about Narcissa's situation. Molly had considered keeping the secret and not telling Andromeda but when she heard her friend’s voice, she could not bear to allow her to think of Narcissa Malfoy as the cold, unchangeable woman who Molly had always believed her to be as well. Molly would not have considered herself a friend of Narcissa, but she found that her silence had done plenty of harm throughout the years, both to herself and to others. 

Thus, rather than remaining silent, she elected to keep talking. 

Unknowingly, she chose the same answer as her son, to speak rather than remain silent.

“...And that is why we can’t let anyone know what is happening at the Manor,” Molly finished. She waited, with her heart somewhere between her throat and her chest as Andromeda Tonks remained silent on the other end, no doubt thinking about what she had learned. 

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably something closer to a few seconds, Andromeda spoke up. “I… I see… Yes, I…” she sniffed before she managed to gather herself once more. “I have to say that I’m somewhat disgusted with how easy it was to simply believe the worst of her. I’ve… Had to live with the realisation that my family, my sisters, turned against me for who I was. I’ve lived with that for so long… The idea that she could possibly do it for, well, not explicitly for me… but… for…” Her voice broke as another sob interrupted her words. 

“I… I understand…” Molly mumbled. “It was so easy as well… To think of people as evil…As less… As something… different.” She reached for a tissue on her own to dry her eyes. “I want to help her… I know I can’t do anything, but I want to do something. For now, I suppose all I can do is let you know that she wasn’t like I… We… thought she was.” 

Andromeda sobbed again on the other end, and Molly heard her put the phone down and blow her nose. When she spoke up again, her voice was steadier. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’m ready to believe that Nessie doesn’t actually hate me, but… I’ll try. I simply need time.” 

Molly smiled even if the other woman couldn’t see it. “We have to keep it a secret. To protect her family and her child.” 

“Yes, we must,” she spoke and then chuckled. “Only I won’t need to act on it. I feel bad for you.” 

Molly giggled and shook her head, “I don’t know enough people to actually have to pretend in front of a majority.” 

Andromeda sighed deeply, more to steady herself than to express tiredness. “Is it true that Lucius was arrested? He always appeared too clever to be caught, even though he was obviously up to no good.” 

“I don’t know about… Well, I suppose that…. Yes, I agree but…” Molly stumbled through her sentences until she came to an end. 

Lucius Malfoy was quickly becoming a large conundrum to Molly. 

Firstly, Molly had come to realise that she had never once met the man in question, yet he had a significant impact on her life.

For a man who had never spoken to her, and who Molly hadn’t even seen in person since she was a child, Lucius Malfoy had been a large presence. Too large. Suffocatingly large.

She had hated him for years, simply because Arthur did, and she needed to hate the same things, and love the same things. If she did not, then there was something wrong. 

Only that wasn’t actually true. She didn't have to.

Over the years, Arthur had given her plenty of reasons to hate Lucius Malfoy. The man might have been the reason that Ron was hurt when he was twelve, almost becoming possessed by some manner of evil remnant of the Dark Lord. Lucius had always hated Arthur, and he was a Death Eater who was not punished like he should have been. Then another myriad of reasons added to the pile, and Molly had learned to loathe the Malfoys, all because Arthur had made her. In fact, he had made all of the Weasleys hate the Malfoys, perpetuating a feud which should have an origin, but Molly had never learned what that was. Even worse, she had never cared to know it. 

Then Draco Malfoy, the loathed son of unpunished Death Eaters, risked himself to save Ron. 

Then Narcissa Malfoy had welcomed werewolves and traitors into her home, and extended a hand to her sister.

Then Lucius Malfoy himself turned against the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters for the sake of securing the safety of his son. 

It was becoming painfully clear to Molly that even if she might have reason to dislike the family, she hated the Malfoys because she was told to. The realisation was still making her highly uncomfortable, but she didn’t know where to start in detangling the confused mess which was her thoughts. 

Andromeda was a great help in that. Detangling her thoughts that was. The two of them spoke often, and they spoke a lot. The phone bill might become rather pricy, but that was fine, as the relationship with the other disgraced Pureblood was worth more to Molly than money. The Weasleys might be poor, but they had funds. For the moment, Molly was coming to terms with the fact that using some of that money for the sake of ensuring her own mental health in speaking with her friend might not be a bad thing. 

“Have you talked to Arthur yet?” Andromeda spoke up, reminding Molly that she was still on the phone. 

“Oh… I don’t know if…” Molly mumbled, hesitating to do what she knew to be the action which she should be taking. It was easier to speak to her newfound friend than it was speaking to her own husband. That was not quite the way it should be. 

“Molly,” Andromeda spoke gently but firmly, “you have to talk to him. I’d normally advocate for all kinds of alternative solutions but it’s been years. You truly need to. I wish I could pretend that I believe in other options, but at this point, I think you need to hear the truth.” 

“But what if I… If I do that… what if he doesn’t…” 

What if he doesn’t listen?

What if he doesn’t want to talk?

What if he was to leave her for the crime of being unhappy?

What if? 

What if? 

What if? 

“Molly.”

Andromeda’s voice captured her reeling mind, welcoming it into imaginary arms and holding it gently, soothing her fears and calming her worry. 

“I’m here for you. I really like you. You have time to heal later if everything falls together, which it likely won’t. You can come stay with me for a few days if you need it.” The gentle, calm voice appeared to fill Molly’s head, soothing her heart. “Things will be fine. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, everything will be a memory which won’t hurt like it does right now.” 

Molly drew a shaking, trembling breath. “Yes… You’re right, thank you. I will talk to him. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Andromeda responded. 

Arthur was sitting by the dining table. The room was entirely dark and felt stuffed because all the windows on the first floor were closed to keep the bugs and animals out of the Burrow during the night. The remains of the dinner made themselves known in the remaining scent of baked pie. Somewhere far above them, children who were not theirs and children who were theirs were all asleep, unaware of Molly as she carefully sat down opposite of Arthur, lighting the candles around them with a gesture of her hand. 

Arthur raised his head from his hands, the shadows which fell upon his face made him appear old. Like a ghost from the past, a boy changed into a man by time and hardship. Molly did not find him unattractive. Arthur was not what she would have imagined herself to want when she was young, but he was not without appeal to the aged witch. 

His ginger hair had almost become grey with the years, the skin upon his face had become soft and hung slightly downwards, lines and creases forming the face into the one of her husband. His clothes were old and tattered, and he carried himself as if he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep. However, there was an intelligence in his eyes, albeit the passion which Molly had loved so much was all but drained. 

All that stood between them was a single candle, as Arthur had yet to grab something from the fridge or cupboard to eat. 

“Hello,” Arthur offered her a weak smile. 

“Hello,” Molly hesitantly returned the smile. 

“I was going to eat but I felt so tired that I had to sit down. How come you are still awake?” Arthur engaged in small talk as he leaned back in the chair, sighing with the effort. 

This was it. She could do it. She had to. For herself. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Molly said the words fast and unapologetically, hoping that she didn’t sound too rude as she did. 

Arthur shifted, his gaze travelling away from Molly. “Is that really important right now? I’m a little tired.”

“Yes,” Molly spoke fast once more. “I need to talk to you. I’ve needed to talk to you for years, but I didn’t know it.”

The memory of her baby crying against her chest as she waited for her husband to come to her flashed before her eyes. She heard the crying, she felt the little body against hers, and she felt the little hands move aimlessly in the search of a parent. 

Molly took a deep breath, continuing to speak. “Please.” 

Arthur blinked, then slowly settled back into the chair, realising that Molly was not about to accept a rejection. Or rather, he realised that he wanted to speak as well, rather than run from the conversation yet again, as he might have been doing for twenty or more years. 

“I understand. I need to speak with you as well,” Arthur agreed. 

Despite all of Molly’s fears, he agreed, rather than refused. She already felt slightly better as she gathered herself to speak. Years and years of thoughts, feelings and regrets crowded upon her tongue, but her voice formulated something unexpected, even to her. 

“I miss you.” 

Arthur blinked, straightening up before shrinking back again. He breathed but he didn’t appear to have managed to obtain any air. Finally, he settled with bringing his hands up over his face as he leaned his elbows against the table, breathing deeply to suppress a sob. “I know,” he croaked. 

“Oh Arthur… How did we… When did we drift apart?” Molly swallowed back a sob but she couldn’t hold back the tears which gently fell down her cheeks. 

“I don’t know,” the husband shook his head, swallowing back his own tears. 

“You haven’t talked to me for years, we weren’t… I’m not…” Molly took a deep breath and dried her tears away. New ones would replace them in due time. “This isn’t what I wanted to say. I don’t want to blame you, Arthur, so all these years, I blamed myself. However, things are changing and I… I need answers. I need a conversation. I don’t know what I want more than that, but I do know that I want to listen to what you have to tell me. So please, talk to me.” 

“I know, I know…” Arthur mumbled as he remained hidden in his hands. “But I don’t know how to speak up, or what I would even want to say.” 

Molly was silent for a few seconds before she spoke up again, “then can I ask you questions? Or is there something you want to say to me?” She tried to remember what Andromeda had suggested for her to ask and do. She wasn’t sure if she remembered it correctly. 

“Please, I’ll try and be honest,” Arthur promised. “I don’t quite know my own feelings, but it would help, I’m sure. You shouldn’t have to but… I appreciate it.” 

“Well… Tell me about Lucius Malfoy. For real. Not the hate, not the feud you created, tell me honestly about him.” Molly had so many questions for her husband, but the least frightening one was to learn about the man who had twisted Arthur with hate so badly that he allowed it to affect his entire family. 

“Lucius?” Arthur blinked as he raised his head, looking at her with confusion. “What would… Why would you ask about him?” 

“You’re not allowed to ask me why,” Molly attempted to sound stern. “I need you to answer, I don’t need you to question me.” She sounded so very cruel to her own ears, but she held fast. She had to do this, she had to ask and she had to demand. Her happiness was on the line. Her future was too. 

Arthur opened his mouth to respond before he slowly shut his mouth and nodded, agreeing to his wife’s terms. “I don’t know what I feel for Lucius. It’s too complicated and too complex. I don’t know… I…” Arthur stopped to breathe before hiding in his hands yet again. “I think… That I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to not be an enemy to the world because of my Prewett blood. When we first met, I helped him, but everything afterwards was just… horrible. He hated me, and I could never understand why, so I hated him in return. I always wanted… and then I… Last year, he was so very broken. I’ve wanted him to hurt because he hurt me, but last year, he was suffering so much and it wasn’t fun… Or felt good. Or even justified!” He reached the end point and sniffed, revealing to Molly that he was crying too. 

“All I can think of,” Arthur continued, “All I can consider is the fact that he’s in Azkaban right now, hounded by those freaks of nature. He’s in there for the rest of his life, to be destroyed and killed by the dementors. They are filling it with more and more people and Lucius… Lucius did the right thing and they doomed him to a life of wasting away until death claims him. And I… I will…” Arthur raised his head and looked up at Molly, his face covered in tears. “And I will never see him again. I can’t stand the thought. I should be happy, it’s all I wanted to happen to him but it’s not… It wasn’t… I didn’t actually want this. He’s horrible, he’s hurt me so much and openly mocks me whenever he sees me, well uh, until last year I guess. He has been doing it since school and he would still be doing it if he hadn’t been through all that and locked up but… but… but…” Arthur searched for the words as he sniffed. 

Molly handed him a tissue, allowing her husband to feel all the things which he had previously refused himself to feel. It felt oddly good to see the man feel again, rather than be a distant, almost stoic face. 

Arthur accepted it, blew his nose and then silently asked for one more. After another time of blowing of his nose, he managed to speak once again, “I have to save him, Molly,” Arthur concluded with a thick voice. “I know it isn’t fair to you, I know it won’t change anything but Scrimgeour can’t do this. He can’t take away their rights. They might be prisoners, but they are still… people. They can’t be thrown into Azkaban to simply die, forgotten by the world. I’m a member of the Ministry, I can do something. I have already requested a transfer to one of the new divisions which the Minister is creating. I need to rise through the ranks and I need to become a person who people will listen to.”

Arthur took a breath before he continued, “I could pretend that I’m doing this for the good of everything, and that might be true, but… I really am doing it for him. I have to, or I will never sleep peacefully ever again. I must save Lucius from Azkaban. The right way. He has committed crimes, and he has to serve, but he can’t be left there forever. He simply can’t. Can you please forgive me, Molly? I have to do this.” Arthur repeated one last time, finally daring to look at her as he awaited an answer. 

Molly felt odd, but she realised that she was smiling. Despite everything else, she felt rather good, or at the very least, relieved. There was a peace which came with the truth, and it made her feel less horrible as she settled on an understanding of what she wanted. Understanding Arthur’s situation made it easier to realise that she could want things as well. 

“Oh Arthur, you silly fool. You love him,” Molly objected softly as she shook her head. “All of this because you felt like he betrayed you? You’d have me and our children perpetuate a feud because you couldn’t understand your feelings? Shame on you.” 

Arthur flinched before he turned redder than Molly had ever seen him before. “I don’t… I don’t love him! There is no… This wasn’t about being in love with him! I wasn’t… I couldn’t be, he’s been nothing but cruel to me.” 

Molly found herself laughing, not because she was happy but because she felt more relieved than she had for years. “I never said that you were in love with him, mind you. There are many forms of love. And we’re Purebloods, we have both been raised with the understanding that we would likely have more than one partner, even after marriage.” She explained to the wizard why she was in no way upset about him having feelings for more people than her. 

Molly and Arthur had been in love. They had loved one another, and they loved their family and children. They cared for each other, and for a while, they had made each other very happy. To Molly, learning that Arthur had confused, but nonetheless recognisable, feelings of love for Lucius Malfoy was no cause of insecurity, as she never doubted Arthur's love for her. She knew that it had been real and that they had both felt it. 

She was upset with him for allowing those feelings for Lucius to turn two entire families against one another, but she blamed Lucius Malfoy equally for perpetuating it. The two men had done something which she couldn’t quite forgive, at least not at this moment. 

Molly had been too terrified to face the idea of what she would be if she wasn’t Arthur’s wife, to face a world where her love wasn’t the most powerful and beautiful. However, when she was faced with Arthur’s genuine need to yet again place work, and indeed the safety of his rival and enemy, before his own wife and family, Molly realised that Arthur no longer loved her like he once had. 

However, she could see that something which she had truly missed in the man she had married. There was passion in his eyes. Passion for saving Lucius. 

Arthur’s family did not wake passion in him, his wife did not wake that passion, work at the Ministry of Magic certainly did not. Arthur needed something different, and Molly found that her own happiness demanded that she let go of all ideas about her husband, allowing Arthur to be and do what makes him happy. Molly’s happiness wasn’t with Arthur, not any longer. 

“Aren’t you… mad with me?” Arthur whispered, his voice filling the dark kitchen as effectively and fully if it had been an echoing shout. 

“No,” Molly replied in a simple manner. “I think… I think I feel free. I was so weighed down by all of it… all of my doubts and fears and thoughts. You mean a lot to me, Arthur. Our family, especially our children, mean a lot to me but… Well… I think I forgot somewhere that I’m supposed to mean something to myself as well. I thought that I had failed you as a wife, bu-”

“No!” Arthur interrupted her. “You haven’t. You’ve been the most amazing, kind, understanding and patient wife anyone could ever want! It’s… I’m the one who let you down in not being a good enough husband. I didn’t… No, I haven't appreciated you enough. You deserved better than I.” 

Molly blinked, to her great surprise, she felt tears form and fall down her cheeks. “You… You think that I have been good to you?”

“Far too good,” Arthur nodded as he leaned forward and grabbed her hand, allowing her to move away if she wanted to. “So good that I took you for granted. That I took everything for granted. I told myself that I was working because I wanted to support my family, but… Maybe I was…” Arthur lowered his head, looking to the side with a pained, confused expression. 

Molly squeezed his hand as she sniffed some tears back. “Do you not hate me for not being happy like this?”

“Stuck in this empty home all on your own with no way out?” Arthur quickly shook his head. “No, not at all. The fact that I thought you could possibly be happy like this is my fault. If you have failed me as a wife, I have failed you twice over as your husband.” 

The two married mages squeezed the other’s hand, as they stared at each other. Both their faces were stained with tears, reddened by emotions, yet they were looking at each other as if they were seeing each other for the first time in years. 

“Arthur… I think you deserve to be happy. I do love you, but… I don’t… I don’t think I love you like your partner anymore… Can you forgive me for that?” Molly carefully voiced what she had never dared say to anyone but the lonely, empty house as it kept her trapped like a cage. 

He squeezed her hands in return, smiling at her as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I can’t voice how wonderful I think you are. I think you deserve the world, but I cannot give it to you. I love you too, but I… I feel the same. Can you forgive me for that?” 

The two mages smiled at one another, both of them feeling as if they could breathe for the first time in years. 

“I forgive you,” they spoke as one before they blinked at the other and then began to laugh. 

Their laughter spread to the other, prompting them both to laugh with more excitement, until they both worried that they might wake the children above. 

“I just want you to know,” Arthur spoke once their laughter had died down to giggling. “That this doesn’t have anything to do with me, uhm… Supposedly wanting to be with Lu-, I mean, somebody else.” 

“No, it’s about far more than that.” Molly agreed with a collection of small nods. She then settled on a slightly more serious expression, “however, I’m not sure that we can separate right now. I want to be able to leave and allow you to do what you want, but… This household cannot remain and-”

“Molly, you are my best friend and the mother of my children,” Arthur stopped her with a smile. “You are welcome to stay in your home until you have the ability to leave on your own terms. We don’t have to be married to live together.” 

She smiled in return, shaking her head in positive disbelief, “you’re so very kind… Thank you.” 

“Please, I’d die without your cooking.” Arthur laughed again as he leaned his head to the side, smiling pleasantly. “If you would be able to stay for a little longer, until things have calmed down in the world, I’d be… Honoured to have you.” He hesitated before finding a suitable word to use. “As my friend and kind benefactor, and not as a wife with duties to fulfill.” 

“I can’t believe it could possibly be… this easy,” Molly laughed again as she shook her head in disbelief. 

“Speak for yourself, that wasn’t particularly easy for me…” Arthur mumbled as he rubbed his face, avoiding looking directly at Molly. 

“I’m sure you know what I mean, Arthur, dear.” Molly didn’t think before she called him ‘dear.’ She straightened up as panic pulsed through his veins, “I didn’t mean to-”

Arthur gently shook his head, “I don’t mind. You’re dear to me as well. I know this isn’t how it was supposed to be, and I suppose we shouldn’t have made quite so many, but I don’t regret having children with you. I say that knowing well that you had to do all the work… Maybe that was rude of me? Uhm…” He bit his lower lip as he looked to the side, his face began to turn red again. 

“They are all people… Even if we probably shouldn’t have made our family quite this big, I swore everlasting love to my children, and I don’t regret bringing them into this world.” Molly stated with absolute certainty. She might have been very unhappy, and to alleviate that unhappiness, she had birthed many children. However, it was not their fault, and she would never blame them for what she and Arthur failed to realise about themselves. 

“You’re so much better than I at this,” Arthur smiled at her. “That is what I was trying to say, but you said it better.” 

Molly blushed at the praise as she twirled her hair between her fingers. “Flatterer.”

Arthur snorted, “that’s a first.” 

“So…” Molly searched for the words. “How do we tell the children?” 

“That’s a good question…” Arthur rested his head in his hand, chewing absentmindedly at his lower lip. “Any… idea?” 

Molly shook her head, “I wouldn’t know where to begin… Especially since we’re not separating yet. Or… are we?” 

“Uh… I think it is better to think of ourselves as divorced, even if we can’t do it legally right now…” Arthur scratched his cheek, looking uncertain. “How do you separate?”

“That is…” Molly licked her lips as she frowned as well. “I don’t quite know.” 

Arthur snorted with laughter, “we’re not very good at this, are we?”

Molly agreed with a smile, “we’ve never been, have we?”

“I have a lot of work to focus on for the moment, uhm… Would it be alright to leave that to you?” Arthur carefully asked, appearing humble and nervous for the first time since he asked Molly out as a young adult. 

Molly took a deep breath, “I will arrange it. But that still doesn’t solve how we tell the children.” 

“Maybe we can wait until we are ready?” Arthur asked after some silence. “It’s been a long night already before we decided to divorce.” 

Molly hesitated but she realised that neither of them knew what to do for the moment, and pushing for an answer right there and then would not be fair towards either of them. She took a few deep breaths before she nodded, “if I prepare some dinner for you, will you tell me of your day?”

Arthur’s expression turned from surprised to humbleness, “would you please do that? I’d be very thankful.” 

“It won’t be a reoccurring event,” Molly decided as she stood up. “But for tonight, I don’t mind.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur sighed as he began to relax into the kitchen chair. 

While the former wife began to heat her former husband’s portion up, Arthur told Molly about his day, while also explaining the new department which he would belong to if his transfer was accepted. Together, the two friends slowly began to get to know each other once more as a piece of bacon and mushroom pie was heated up in the oven, spreading warmth in the previously cold kitchen. 

As a manner of coping with her feelings in regard to the feud between the Weasleys and the Malfoys, Molly quickly developed somewhat of a habit to tease her former husband for his crush on his assigned childhood enemy. She found making Arthur embarrassed to perhaps be a little cruel of her, yet nonetheless satisfying. She concluded that it was the least he deserved for dragging his entire family into his confused relationship with Lucius Malfoy. 

Molly realised that right now she wouldn’t need to leave her home or her former husband. There was no need to run away like in the stories and books in which the unhappy part would either be evil or the protagonist and therefore needed to run away from the other, evidently evil, part. Her reality with the former partner she knew personally wasn’t automatically like those within the stories, and that was alright. 

Suddenly Molly felt as if being alone in the Burrow would not hurt so much anymore. Molly knew that this wasn’t the life she had resigned to for the rest of her years, but that she was free to choose her own future and happiness. This was the beginning of something new and something good.

Chapter Text

“I’m heading out with Bill today,” George told his mum after breakfast as he was helping her wash the dishes, as the group of teenagers had taken to doing by means of an organised schedule. Harry Lupin had been added to it after he had arrived, which was roughly one and a half weeks ago. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll be back before midnight at the very least.” 

Molly Weasley looked up from her crossword puzzle, which she had taken to try and fill yet had not gotten very far with since she began her endeavour to solve it. Nonetheless, it kept her busy, which was probably something the woman needed at the moment. 

“Do say hi from me. Where are you going?” The woman set her quill aside and smiled politely at her son. 

“We’re going to a music bar. It’s this thing Muggles have where the bar is hosting musicians which you can listen to while you drink and chat with your friends.” George finished washing the dishes and began carefully pulling the washing gloves off. He inspected his hands to make certain that the moisture hadn’t penetrated the gloves, causing harm to his burned palms. Everything appeared fine, but he reminded himself to apply some salvae before going outside since his skin appeared a little dry. 

 “You mean that you are going to drink?” Molly didn’t appear quite happy with the idea. 

George had known that she wouldn’t be, but he didn’t let her disapproval deter him. “A little, probably. Bill will be with me, it's not like it’s going to be a problem. He’s not trying to get me drunk or anything like that. We’re mostly going for the music.” It wasn’t that George needed to excuse himself in that he wanted to go drink with his older brother, but he decided to calm his mum’s worries by being honest. 

George and Bill were both still grieving for the loss of their shared friend, Sirius Potter. George could not help but think of the fact that if he had been alone, completely alone without any friends or family to help him, it was possible that he would have found comfort in a bottle. He was admittedly a little worried about drinking in the first place, but the presence of Bill made him feel calm in that he wouldn’t be allowed to go too far. 

George had been supported through his grief primarily by Fred and his brother’s friends. Bill had been primarily supported by Fleur Delacour, his current partner. It had taken the two some time to reach out to one another, but once they did, they found that the other was a comfort. It was rather impossible for the other to think of their brother as family, since they had been apart for so long that they felt more like the other was a long since lost childhood friend. George would sometimes catch himself thinking that Percy was actually the oldest Weasley sibling, and forget all about the elusive William Weasley, and the even more elusive Charlie Weasley. Sometimes, when it was late and his mind was confused, George would think that he might have actually dreamt Charlie up. He knew it wasn’t true, but it felt like it from time to time. 

George and Bill liked the same type of music, and Bill had been spending time educating George in a few different Muggle activities since his return to Britain. Sometimes they would attend some event or go visit some building, but a lot of the time, the two of them would just talk. About music, about life, about loss. While it was still rather impossible for either of them to feel as if they were brothers, they were beginning to feel like they could be. With more time, George thought that it might even become easy to remember that Percy was not the eldest brother within the Weasley collective. 

The two of them had talked about doing things together for quite some time, like going to the cinema like Muggle brothers, or going to a bar. Bill had called George to ask if he wanted to go to visit a Muggle bar as he discovered a rock music club which was going to host an upcoming indie band of progg-rock musicians. Progg-rock being the style of music which George had come to like through the guidance of Sirius and Bill, he was eager to go. Especially since it sounded like a good way to break the monotony of life at the Burrow and feel like the world still existed outside of the clearing in which the Burrow and the twins’ house stood. 

“You know I worry when my children drink…” Molly sighed as she rested her head in her hand, glancing out the window. The weather was pleasant and warm, as it had been for almost two weeks after a heavy shower of rain, with not a cloud on the impossibly blue sky. Molly absentmindedly smiled to herself as she glanced up at it. 

George had expected for her to scold him continuously, or try and convince him that he wasn’t allowed to do things which she didn’t approve of. However, to his great surprise, his mum said something different and entirely unexpected. Something which she hadn’t done before.

“If the bar and music is good, maybe you could bring your father with you sometime later? I’m sure it is a break which Arthur needs, since his new duties at the Ministry are keeping him busy.”

George blinked at the comment before he collected himself. “Sure! I think Bill wouldn’t mind.” 

Molly smiled at her son, leaning her head to the side. She had appeared happier than George ever recalled since a few days back. He wondered if something had happened. 

“His job at the Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation is taking a lot more out of him than the one for the Muggle Department,” Molly nodded to herself. “I haven’t seen him this passionate since school. It’s good to see.” 

George worried that he might be about to get another sibling who might struggle to recall which brother was actually their oldest. He shook the feelings away from his mind as he looked around to confirm that he was done. “Did you need help with anything else, mum?”

“No thank you, dear,” she dismissed him with a smile. “When are you leaving?”

“I was just going to tell Fred and then I’m off.” 

“Have fun,” Molly smiled at him. “Give my best to Bill. Oh, and to Fleur, of course!” she added. 

George waved at her as he exited the Burrow. Molly was struggling somewhat with the Trimagus Champion’s name since the very beginning, but she had finally managed to practice herself into pronouncing it correctly. George knew that Bill would appreciate that. 

George found Fred, Ron and Ginny playing mock Quidditch in the air together with Neville Longbottom and Teddy Nott while Harry Lupin and Hermione Granger crowded around a dogeared old Potions book. Teddy noticed George first and waved at him, losing a shot from Ron, who was attempting to pass him the excuse of a Quaffle. George waved back as he signalled for Fred to come down. 

His twin landed before him with a satisfied grin on his lips. “Sup?” he announced as he waited for George to speak up. 

Fred and George, in being twins, had always looked and dressed the same. From their haircuts to the way they tied their shoes, both of them had always made an effort to look and appear the same. That was no longer the case. Fred’s hair was short and wild, ruffled by the wind and then flattened by the sweat from playing a sport in the unforgiving sunlight. He was dressed in a simple tank top and a pair of shorts, while George was wearing a buttoned up shirt with short sleeves. George’s hair was slightly longer than his brother’s and curled away from his face. 

“I’m going to meet Bill downtown, were you going to see Angelina later today?” George asked. 

“Yep, we’re going on a date. I can’t wait to have an ice cream by the river or something, it’s too darn hot!” George’s former second half and current brother complained. 

“I’m going to a music bar,” George smiled back at him, lightly fanning himself as he agreed with the weather being too warm. “I need you to remember to shut the vent in the workshop before leaving for the night. I’m going to die if I find another caterpillar on my desk.” 

Fred pointed his tongue at his twin, “got it, weakling.” 

George aimed a light kick at Fred in return before he waved to the fliers and the students, then simply apperated away from the Burrow. 

Bill’s apartment wasn’t large, but there was enough space to apparate without knocking something over. However, that had mostly to do with the fact that Bill didn’t own a lot of things to knock over. George allowed his body to calm itself down before he opened his eyes and looked around in the familiar home which belonged to his friend. 

The apartment only had two rooms, a living room and bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom of course. George loved the little shower since it had unlimited hot water, something he had discovered after a child had dropped an orange soda on him which had stuck to his hair. It was a good lesson to never stand under a bridge for longer than two seconds. 

George pretended that he couldn’t see the messy unmade bed which was making itself as he looked at it, as if it was embarrassed to be seen in its current state. 

“I’m in the kitchen! Hands full, come in.” Bill called from the other room. 

George walked in to find him having chopped up pieces of fruit, rendering his hands covered in juice which he was currently washing off in the sink. He smiled at his guest, “want some mango?” 

Bill was a number of years older than George. When they were little, that number had felt giant, but the older they got, the less large the number appeared. He was dressing like the type of person who traditionally liked rock as a genre, with leather trousers and a patterned dark purple shirt which hung off his body to allow some breathing room in the warm summer. He generally wore a collection of rings, bracelets and necklaces in his preferred color of gold, but in the heat, he had instead elected to only wear a golden earring depicting the eye of Horus. George expected his brother to put on some more jewellery before they left, as he preferred to dress like he wanted when he wasn’t on the clock. 

Like every Weasley child, Bill had red hair, which reached past his shoulders as of currently. He generally let his hair simply hang like it was, but George had seen him put it up from time to time when the weather was too much for him to handle and he recalled that he could show his neck in the UK and not be burnt to a crisp. During the summer, as happened to most people with ginger hair, Bill’s face had become covered in freckles. The same has happened to George and Fred, as well as Ginny and Ron. So continued the cycle of gaining and losing freckles as the seasons passed. Although they never disappeared fully, most winters, the freckles were mostly gone for the two twins. George didn’t know if it was the same for the rest of his siblings, but he assumed.

“Sure,” George nodded in response to the mango question as he glanced at the clock. “Am I early?”

“It’s more likely that I’m late. I procrastinated a bit with my fruit duties.” Bill searched for the least dirty saucer which he could find and then washed it off. He had a habit of forgetting to do the dishes, which was more than understandable in anyone, even when they weren’t struggling with the grief of losing a friend. 

“Will we make it to the show if I eat some mango?” George teased him as he sat down by the table, knowing that they had more than enough time. 

“Oh thanks for that…” Bill objected as he placed a collection of mango pieces down before George. 

“Sorry,” he laughed in return. “Fork?”

“Ugh, I knew I forgot something…” 

After exchanging the usual greetings, and George had finished his pieces of mango with the fork he had been given, Bill spoke up where he sat opposite of George by the small, slightly unsteady, kitchen table. A fan was spinning slowly from atop the windowsill, its noise almost overpowering Bill’s quiet voice. 

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” he played with his earring as he avoided looking directly at George. “I should talk about it with a close friend, and… Well, you happen to sort of fill that role for me at the moment.”

George was more than excited to learn that the other considered him not only a friend, but a close friend. However, the other man appeared to be a little too nervous for it to be suitable for him to be happy about his new title. Thus, George held his smile back and attempted to remain collected. 

“Alright…?” George left the question hanging open, but when Bill didn’t speak up, he continued in his stead. “Did you and Fleur have a fight?” He suggested the worst thing he could think of.

“Oh! No, no…” Bill shook his head, almost causing his long earring to hit his cheek. “Actually… It’s the opposite. I was thinking of asking them to marry me. Or rather, I am going to ask them.”

George blinked in surprise, “I… I mean, I am happy for you but, uh… Isn’t it a little too early for such a thing? I don’t mean to be rude but haven’t you only dated for a year…?” He might not mean to be rude, but he felt very rude, even as he was asking. 

Bill took a deep breath to steady himself, “it’s good that you are asking. I wanted to practice explaining this to someone I know and trust before I attempt to tell someone I don’t feel comfortable around. There is no time limit to realising if you like somebody and want to spend the rest of your life with them. Just as how you can stop dating someone after a day and know you made a mistake, it’s equally possible to know right away if you want to spend your life with someone after a short amount of time. With Fleur, everything is working, we get along wonderfully. We’re around each other all the time, our fights aren’t actually fights but disagreements which we solve by talking to one another. There is nothing we can’t talk about, and I have never felt so safe with anyone before. We help and educate one another, we speak up if there is a problem, we aren’t draining one another, but energising each other instead.”

George nodded along with the explanation. He didn’t need particular convincing to allow his brother to do whatever he wanted, but since he had been given the role of the one asking the questions, he continued to voice all his doubts. “But is that a guarantee that you will become happy if you marry?” 

“I would be marrying my best friend for a start, so that is already a great head start to what most people do,” Bill smiled. “But since you ask, I’m certain that we can make each other happy. Fleur lost one of their friends a few years back, they understood what I was going through. I was worried about being scared and sad in front of them, but nothing happened. They were kind, understanding and gentle and I realised that there was no problem. I can speak freely, we can discuss freely and I never have to worry about hurting them when I need to be honest or speak. The same applies to them talking to me. I’m not asking them out of desperation, I’m asking them because I love them, and it would make me happy to remain with them for as long as time allows us. If they will have me too, that is.” 

George found himself smiling at the other man. Love and relationships appeared so very easy when Bill spoke about them, his relationship sounded so ideal that it didn’t appear real. However, George had seen it with his own eyes. He knew how well the two got along, and he knew how happy Fleur made Bill. The two evidently loved one another, and whatever trials in life they encountered, they appeared to become stronger together. It wasn’t like he couldn’t see it. While it definitely wasn’t how it worked for everyone, or so George was pretty certain, it seemed to work in this one case. The two people had just built in one year what often took many years for others, and if that was the case then there was no reason to wait.

Fleur had even joined the Order of the Phoenix, not because Bill had prompted, or even asked, but because Fleur was not about to accept the murder of their friend Cedric Diggory. As the Trimagus Tournament champion from Beauxbatons, the Order needed little convincing to allow them to join as an asset. While it was easy to think that simply joining the Order of the Phoenix made someone more trustworthy, George found Fleur Delacour’s actions to be noble because they were not only willing to risk their safety to assist the community in which they wanted to live, but also likely to have done so to be able to protect and assist Bill. Fleur had lost one friend to the Dark Lord, and they were evidently not losing another. 

“Your relationship sounds wonderful,” George admitted. “It really sounds ideal.”

“It is,” Bill agreed without shame. “However, it’s not that our relationship is ideal, it’s just how things are supposed to be. People who claim that you have to fight to get closer together are simply fooled by their unhealthy relationship.” 

Bill appeared so certain that George believed him without doubt. In fact, he would never doubt what his oldest brother had said in regards to relationships. George smiled at the other man, “so when are you proposing?”

His brother smiled at him and shrugged, “soon, I hope. I have to gather the courage to actually speak to them about it. I’m not about to simply go and propose without them knowing. It seems rather foolish to risk wasting money if they wouldn’t want it. If I’m buying a ring, then we’re doing it together.” 

“That makes sense, good idea,” George nodded. 

“Well, you see the thing is t-, wait,” Bill halted himself. “You… agreed with me? I thought that… well…” He stopped again before he smiled once more. “You were supposed to be my test argumentative partner, I won’t get to practice if you simply agree with me.” 

George pointed his tongue at the other man, “I can’t argue when you are already reasonable. It’s one thing when it comes to marrying so soon, but I can’t argue with the ring logic.” 

“But you could with an arbitrary and socially enforced number of getting along time before marriage?” Bill’s lips twisted into a slightly mocking smirk. 

“I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m an older and wiser man now. Also mum said hi, I forgot to say.” George leaned back in the chair before standing, bringing the dirty plate with him to the sink. “Should we get going?”

“Good idea, I wanted to get a good table and also have time to browse the drinks,” Bill agreed as he stood up. “Thanks.” 

“For the dishes?” George turned back. 

“That too,” Bill gave him a friendly smile as he disappeared around the corner to collect his jewellery. 

George found the bar and the music to be awesome. 

Bill paid for their drinks since he had a job, which was equally great to George. They arrived in time and both of them had a couple of drinks through the evening, a few sweeter and some more traditionally alcoholic. They ordered a beer for their lost friend, and allowed it to stand by an empty chair as they listened to the bands play throughout the evening. 

In the breaks or short pauses between songs, they would chat like they always did. They hadn’t known each other for many years, which gave them ample topics to speak about. The loud music made it so that even if any Muggle was to hear them, they would just appear to be drunk or joking. 

Overall, the two of them had a lot of fun, and while slightly intoxicated, they were not drunk. It was nothing that the clear, cold air couldn’t make at least a little better. 

“That was great!” George smiled at Bill as they stepped outside. “Thanks a bunch for paying, do you want me to pay back someday in the future?”

“No problem,” Bill smiled back as they walked along the lit up pathway to his apartment. “You don’t need to pay.” 

“I think I… I really needed this. A lot. Thanks.” George sighed, admitting to himself that he had needed the distraction. 

“I needed it too. Also, thanks for earlier, I needed that too.” Bill absentmindedly played with his earring as he looked ahead. “I’ll be sure to tell you what they answer first.” 

“Thanks! Speaking of nothing, I almost forgot, mum asked if we could bring dad with us to the bar sometime.” George turned to look at his brother, curious to know what expression Bill would make when he spoke of their dad. 

Bill simply looked surprised but then nodded as a smile formed on his lips, “that doesn’t sound so bad. I’m curious to know if he has changed like you say he has.” 

“You’ll see,” George assured him. “I don’t know what happened, but mum appears to be happier overall, and dad has this look in his eyes. If I was dramatic, I’d say he almost appears younger as he is working towards reinstating that limit of maximum time during which a criminal can stay in Azkaban. I’ve never seen him like this before.” 

“I think I need to see it for myself to really understand a change like that…” Bill shook his head in disbelief. “It feels impossible.” 

The two brothers fell into silence as they continued to walk, each of them thinking of something different, but not entirely unrelated. 

“I hope Sirius enjoyed his drink, wherever he is,” George spoke the words in the voice of a person who wanted to believe that the person who had passed on would, or indeed could, be at peace. 

“He definitely did,” Bill assured George as well as himself. 

George stretched his hands far up over his head, reaching towards the sky above him. Above him, the moon shone like a benevolent eye, hiding among a sea of stars. In his slightly intoxicated state, he found himself reaching for it with his damaged, slightly broken hands as a small grin formed on his face. 

At that moment, George felt good. He felt happy. He might be scared of the future but Bill considered him his best friend, he could speak with Fred openly and honestly, and next week, he had a job interview with the Potions department at the Ministry of Magic. 

Sirius was gone, and George would never stop missing him fully. However, life moved on, and he wanted to move with it, despite how hard it initially appeared.

For some reason, or maybe no reason at all, George learned to blame himself a little less for Sirius' death after that night at the bar, where he had fun listening to music with his brother. 

Chapter Text

“So for simplicity’s sake, let me summarise,” Ron said. “Draco is in danger from us interacting with him, so we have to stay away. Harry is also in danger in his dormitory, so he has to stay in a hidden room somewhere at Hogwarts. Also Harry has to be Potter from now on, which is just plain weird but, I get it. At least I think I do. Further, Slughorn potentially possesses a memory which Dumbledore needs to defeat You-know-who and Slughorn will do anything to help talented students. Thus, if Harry becomes a talented student in Potions, he can get close enough to Slughorn to make him give up the unaltered memory. Or well, let people try to restore the memory since we don’t know if he himself tampered with it. To achieve the last thing, Professor Snape gave you that old Potions book to help you prepare so that you can become an outstanding student?” 

Ron was a rather muscular teenager with red, short hair which was longer than both Ginny’s and Fred’s, but which lay flat compared to George’s curls. He was somewhat red from sunburn, and a myriad of freckles crowded his bare, muscular arms and legs. He was dressed in a loose grey tank top and rather short shorts which made most people in the room unable to completely look away from his legs. The only one seemingly unaffected was Neville, who was not interested in men. Ron was sitting on his bed, legs spread rather shamelessly as he recounted the information which Harry had shared with them over the past few minutes. 

This was the first time of the summer that the friends had been able to gather, and they had quite a lot to speak to each other about. Most of all Harry, who needed to speak about his many predicaments for the sake of his mental health. 

“Somewhat paraphrased, but yes.” Harry agreed. “I’m likely going to hate every second of being Potter, but I’ll try and make the act as convincing as possible so that I can actually do something good in these messed up times. Not to mention, if I can help Draco, there are few things I wouldn’t do.” 

“If you weren’t so generally healthy, that statement could have been very alarming.” Teddy joked as he scratched an insect bite upon his leg. 

Teddy was a rather short young man, with brown hair which he had gathered back with a headband to keep it out of his face. When he was young, he had appeared somewhat like a rabbit, but the features which had previously appeared too large for him, he was slowly growing into. His face was becoming more mature and his voice was becoming darker by his own effort. As the best friend of Ron, he had learned a few workout exercises, which had helped him appear a little less scrawny. Teddy had grown tired of his face appearing boyish and he was using makeup to enhance certain features with contouring, including his Adam's apple. 

It was not quite possible for Harry to deny that he found Teddy to become more attractive when he came into himself as a young man. If he had been attracted to people purely based on physical features, he would probably have had at least a small crush on Teddy but as he knew their personalities to not be compatible, Harry only stuck to finding his friend attractive. He really couldn’t imagine being with somebody he didn’t feel more compatible with through a close connection.

“I know…” Harry admitted with a deep sigh. “I’m really not doing this as some mad stunt to attempt to win him back. I honestly want to help Draco. I don’t care about getting back together, I need him to be safe.” He meant the words genuinely, and his friends knew that. 

“We all do,” Neville agreed with a nod. “It feels odd that to keep him safe, we have to stay away but I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we will all try our best to assure his safety by whatever means we have to use.” 

Neville was getting handsomer for every year which passed, to a point where it almost felt a little ridiculous. Only, there was nothing ridiculous about somebody looking good. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and facial features which somehow balanced a soft face with symmetrical handsome and harder features making him unusually handsome, at least among the people which their friend group knew. The softness helped achieving an approachable appearance, one where he appeared equally handsome as he appeared humble and kind. He was one of the tallest people, if not the tallest person, in their group of friends. 

Hermione and Harry had been reading through the Potions book for the past day, and she was currently the one holding the object in question. She appeared to be thinking of something as she studied the old, dogeared tomb. “But why should we leave Harry to memorise this book alone?” She suddenly spoke up as she raised her head. Harry noted in the back of his mind that she was trying very hard to not look at Ron and his bare legs. 

“Because it’s… cheating? That we are using somebody else’s notes, I mean,” Ron frowned. 

“What? Well, I suppose so, but that really isn’t important in the situation at hand with the risk of war and oppression,” Hermione shook her head before she looked down at the book once more. “We could all use the notes. It doesn’t matter who gets close enough to Professor Slughorn and convinces him to cooperate with Professor Dumbledore. Besides, if we put all that pressure on Harry, we have no back up plan in case he would fail for whatever reason. Thus, we should all try and learn what we can from these notes, and all strive to get close enough to Professor Slughorn. Whoever manages doesn’t matter, as we all want the same thing in the end.” 

The four young men looked at her, all of them feeling somewhat surprised that she was not only alright with using the notes, but that she also encouraged everyone to use them to get higher grades. It wasn’t that she had given them reason to think that she was the kind of person who put fairness in school over the fact that the Dark Lord might rise up and murder masses, but they all knew how much her achievements meant to Hermione. Thus, the idea that she would promote them all to achieve high grades based on merits which were not theirs was somewhat odd to them. 

“W-what?” Hermione mumbled as they continued to look at her. “It is the best thing to do in this situation, we should all take advantage of it and share the burden. Besides we all get the added bonus of learning, it's not like we're not learning from the book.” 

“But how will we know we don’t all go for the same thing at once?” Teddy leaned back against the bed, frowning slightly. 

“Because we’ll talk about it beforehand,” Neville chuckled gently. “We aren’t likely to be able to hound him at once, and we will keep the rest of the group up to date. That is a very good idea, Hermione.” 

The young woman smiled at her friend but then quickly glanced to the side as if she had some reason to not look at his face. Only Harry appeared to notice. 

“May I see that book?” Ron held out his hand for the item. 

Hermione gave it to him while avoiding looking at him. 

Ron turned it over and studied it. On the first page was a signature, “‘This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.’ Didn’t this book belong to Snape? Also what in Merlin's name is a Half-Blood Prince?” 

Harry couldn’t help but grin slightly as Ron noticed what Harry had attempted to not draw attention to. “It was Severus’ name on his mother’s side. He was really embarrassed about that.” He covered his grin with his hand, attempting to not chuckle. It was all the harder when recalling the fact that the Potions Master had indeed been embarrassed and bothered enough to actually blush upon first handing Harry the book. Apparently, Severus had mostly taken to use another name to avoid the Marauders finding his things and actively hiding or destroying them in his teenage. The teenager had probably felt excited about the pun of the name, making him feel at least a little special in a world regarding him an absolute nobody, but the adult was more than a little embarrassed about the title.

“So his surname was Prince?” Teddy leaned in over Ron to look at the page. “Oh no, his handwriting is still the same…” He licked his lips and gave Harry an accusatory look, as if he was responsible for his teenage step-dad's writing. It was indeed the same as the one on the blackboard which they all knew more than well after five years with the Potions teacher. 

“I can barely read it when he makes an effort to make it readable…” Ron thumbed through the pages and glanced at the notes. 

“I am already planning to rewrite it more cleanly,” Hermione spoke up with a small smile. “I was already planning on sharing it with you. All of you, that is.” 

“Awesome! I love you, Hermione,” Ron grinned at her before he handed the book to Neville who was reaching for it. 

In doing so, Ron missed the expression which passed over Hermione’s face when he said that he loved her. She took a deep breath, her head raised up and her chest appeared to quiver. Harry watched as she raised a hand to her chest and pressed it against her heart, likely attempting to steady herself. It was evident that it made her happy, and the longing for love became clearly visible in her deep, brown eyes. Her emotions were so evident upon her face and in her body language that Harry felt as if he was watching something which was not for him to watch. It was too private. Much like his relationship with Draco had been. Harry turned his gaze away as the memory of his best friend, who had also been his partner, became too prominent in his mind to be able to think of. 

“This is… brilliant…” Neville mumbled as he turned the pages, looking at the exchange of herbs and addition or exchange of other plants. Over the years, Neville had become highly accomplished within the subject of Potions. In the beginning, he had been somewhat clumsy with the subject. However, as he grew into himself, Potions was his second best subject which he always received high grades in. Thus, when he looked through the edits to the recipes and the Potions, the highly accomplished Herbalist was able to see the changes and understand them. Neither Harry nor Hermione could do that, not the way Neville could. 

“Hermione, look at this,” Neville pointed a recipe out to her. “This exchange of herbs solves the trouble of overboiling… It’s so simple it’s brilliant. No wonder he is a Potions Master.”

Hermione looked down at the book, studying the ingredients which he was pointing to. “But that is going to create instability with those ingredients,” she frowned and pointed at another part of the altered recipe. 

“No, see, not when combined with this…” he pointed in return. 

She scowled into the book before nodding, “oh. Yes. That works.” 

“So what was that thing about the club?” Teddy asked Harry when Hermione and Neville continued to discuss the changes in the book. “I didn’t quite understand that.” 

“So, the way I understand it, Slughorn has this club in which he gathers students he perceives as talented. He rather gathers them around himself and attempts to assist them to the best of his ability. He will basically bother with no other students. Unless I, I mean… We. Unless we manage to catch his eye and be admitted to the Slugclub, we won’t be able to retrieve that memory since he regards those people more as friends than just students and spends more time around them. It is of utmost importance to be acknowledged by him. Most of us are already pretty attractive to him due to our parents' achievements, and Hermione will definitely be interesting due to her achievements.”

“So it’s just me and Ron who aren’t already having a leg up then?” Teddy sighed as he pulled his hand through his hair, grinning up at his best friend. 

Ron grinned back, “filthy blood traitor?” He raised his hand, requesting a fistbump. 

“Filthy blood traitor.” Teddy concluded as they bumped their fists together. 

Harry turned to look at Draco, curious about what type of reaction he would have to the two joking about his former ideals. However, Harry realised with a choking feeling that Draco wasn’t by his side where he was supposed to be. What met him when he turned his head was nothing but an empty space which only enforced the fact that his best friend had moved on to a place which Harry couldn’t reach. Harry felt as if he couldn’t breathe when he reached for his snake ring, which he squeezed tightly as the conversation continued on around him. 

“I think it’s more that your parents aren’t actually famous,” the son of the two Aurors Longbottom smiled at them. 

“Ah, damn… Work harder, dad,” Ron snorted. 

“Ah, damn… Work at all, old man.” Teddy made a disgusted noise. 

The two of them laughed. 

“Do you mean to say, Harry, that my achievements are actually… enough to have me noticed?” Hermione shyly asked as she played with her own hair, glancing around in the room. 

“Of course,” four voices spoke up as one, confirming without the shadow of a doubt that she was more than deserving of being noticed for her work. Harry was relieved that he didn’t have to speak up all on his own after having to fight with the realisation that he was searching for Draco in a place where he was not. 

Hermione hid her face in her hands, making a quiet but happy noise. 

“Thank you,” Harry spoke up in the comfortable silence which followed. “I… I thought that I would have to do all of this on my own. It’s a wonderful relief to know that I’m not alone.” 

His friends smiled at him before Ron reached his hand forward, inviting the rest of his friends to place theirs upon his. They gathered their hands in a stack, as if they were a Quidditch team of some kind. Harry looked around, and found smiles reflected at him. He glanced down at the snake upon his finger and squeezed the hand below his, which happened to be Hermione’s. 

“We’ve managed everything else, we will make it through this as well,” Neville promised them. 

“Right!” 

The group lowered their hands and then raised the knot up, throwing their hands into the air.

Harry wasn’t alone.

Draco might not be there, but Harry, and all his friends, were together. They all wanted to save their friend. 

Summer passed quickly, with Harry and his friends being lost in studying. In addition to studying the Potions book, Harry was practising wielding magic without the use of his wand. It was not that he was using his internal magic to cause a reaction, but instead, he was wielding the unruly magic around him with his own body rather than relying on his wand. 

After watching the duel between Albus and the Dark Lord, Harry had realised that his wand was not unbreakable. He suspected that Lord Voldemort had been more than capable of wielding magic with his hands before his body was reduced to the aching flesh golem which he currently inhabited. However, after learning to wield magic without the tool specifically designed to make the task easier, Harry learned that the type of magic which he was attempting to perform was causing him to hurt. 

His and Hermione’s theory was that the magical energy which passed through their wands was sort of pacified by the various contents within the magical tool, re-tuning it into something which was easier to wield for the caster. Rather than drawing magic into their bodies and simply releasing it, the magic was instead drawn into the wand and didn’t have to react or integrate with the magic within the caster. They suspected that different mages needed different wands to attune it to the magic of the wielder, making the divide between the two different magic types less glaring. By that theory, some people should in theory be able to wield a larger number of wands, while others would be locked to very specific combinations. Thus, it was not the wand that was special, but the needs of the mage in question. 

Harry and Hermione quickly learned that the magic they pulled from around clashed with the magic inside of them, causing their hands and limbs to ache from the strain of wielding the out-of-tune magic with their own bodies. The wand evidently mitigated the impact, but without the magical tool, the strain came on their fingers and wrists. 

Ron and Teddy both gave up after trying a few times, Ron because he didn’t want to hurt himself and Teddy because he treasured his hands more than his ability to cast magic without a wand. Neville had such a large reserve of magical energy that he didn’t need to learn how to use the magic around him but could simply cast spells without worrying about attuning it to himself. Thus, he practiced on his own while Harry and Hermione were left to struggle on their own and with only Remus’ guidance, which he could only give in limited amounts since he was busy with his Order of the Phoenix duties. 

However, Harry, Neville, Teddy and Ron had more to study than only the Potions book and wandless magic. Hermione had passed all her OWLs with the highest grades possible, but the four of them had to take the re-sit of the exam in the beginning of their next year. The young woman did her best to help them, but neither Neville nor Teddy could remain at the Burrow for longer stretches of time since the Weasleys' economy didn’t allow it. Thus, her students primarily consisted of Harry and Ron. One of whom Hermione appeared to be struggling to be around, but not in a wholly negative manner. 

Harry asked her if she wanted to talk when they were alone, but she denied that she might need it and simply continued as she was. He allowed her, but only because Harry himself wasn’t quite ready to speak about love so soon after breaking up with his boyfriend of one and a half years. 

Summer eventually passed, like summers tend to do, and it became time to travel to Hogwarts yet again. 

At the platform, Harry searched for Draco, but he didn’t see him. He told himself that he was being unfair, and if nothing else, cruel. Yet Harry could not help but search for Draco in the compartments which they passed despite knowing better. It wasn't like he planned on talking to him or anything such, he was just desperate to at least see his face. Perhaps for the better, he did not have enough time to find him. 

Throughout the journey, Harry struggled to breathe properly as he remained in the corner of the compartment. He couldn’t recall if he had ever ridden the Hogwarts Express without Draco. The memory of his previous partner and best friend was so strong within the familiar place that Harry couldn’t help but imagine him with them, or think that he had simply stepped out to go visit the bathroom. It might be a crude and unfair comparison to contrast himself to Cho Chang, but Harry couldn’t help but think that he understood her struggles better after understanding, or rather, experiencing, the hole a friend left behind upon leaving in a familiar environment. The comparison was unfair seeing as Draco was still alive, while Cedric Diggory hadn’t been so lucky after encountering the Dark Lord. 

Yet to Harry’s relief, a friend of his arrived shortly after the train started moving, adding unfamiliar but familiar company into the circle of friends. Colin Creevy presented a distraction from the normal, and from how things ‘should’ be. He arrived and was allowed space with them, creating a scenario which was not monotonous and therefore not reminiscent of Draco. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, Ron had made an effort of calling Colin and telling him about the situation with Draco. That meant that Colin knew not to speak of the fact that Harry’s best friend was missing from their group, while also understanding the rough reasons as to why that was. In conclusion, it meant that Colin didn’t speak of Draco, or asked about him, but focused on other things. Amusing, distracting, things. With Luna Lovegood spending time with Ginny and her friends, and Draco being absent, Colin was able to sit with them throughout the entire journey. 

Colin was speaking a lot about what he had done that summer, and he was especially talking about his younger brother Dennis Creevy. Dennis suffered from rheumatism and had since he was rather young. After the previous winter break, Dennis had elected to study at a Muggle school close to home, rather than at the distance of Hogwarts. Colin was particularly excited because his brother had discovered swimming during the summer. More than that, he was good at it. Yet Colin was more excited about the service dog which his brother had gotten, and he was telling his mostly Pureblooded mage friends all about how amazing the dog was. 

“And Buzz Lightyear can get anything for him, you just have to say it. He will get the medicine, or the blanket, or even shoes or things that Dennis might drop,” Colin rambled. “I don’t understand how the dog understands and remembers it, but he’s amazing.” 

“That’s a weird name on a dog…” Teddy commented after repeating the name to himself. “Do Muggle dogs just… buzz? That can’t be it.” 

Colin laughed happily and shook his head. Colin was rather small for his age with hair in the color of either pale brown or blonde, depending on the light. His facial expressions were generally inviting and his mouth enjoyed laughing, yet his friendly and open expressions hid a loyal and sometimes frightfully determined personality with a quick witted mind. Had anyone asked Colin to describe himself, he would have said something along the lines of ‘lazy, small and gay as they come.’ At least that was what Colin had said upon finding that his patronus was a lion. However, most mages would presume his ‘gay’ statement to refer to the old meaning of the word and concluded it to mean happy, rather than that he was attracted to men. Yet Colin didn’t mind as he considered himself generally cheerful as well. 

“It’s the name of a character in a movie about toys. Dennis liked it really much and he decided to rename the dog after this sort of space hero who was also a toy.” Colin tried to explain to the group of friends, inside which only Hermione had actually been to the cinema or even seen a movie.  

“What’s a space hero?” Ron asked with a deep frown. 

“Well…” Colin looked to Hermione for help but as he got none, he attempted to explain the best he could. When he was done, both Teddy and Ron very much wanted to go to the cinema and experience movies for themselves. 

Harry fell asleep as Colin continued to explain the plots of a few of his favorite movies. The voice calmed him down and helped him feel relaxed after a long night of worrying about a myriad of different things concerning the future and Draco. 

He was gently woken up by Colin when the Hogwarts Express had reached its destination. Harry sleepily sat up and slowly came to realise where he was as he blinked at the familiar face which did not belong to Draco. Harry tried to force the disappointment back in his throat as he didn’t want Colin to know that he was let down by Colin not being who Harry had wanted to see. 

“Where did… everyone go?” Harry corrected his glasses and brushed some hair from his mouth. As he did, he was reminded by his own chin of the fact that he would definitely have to shave before attending school tomorrow, as small, black hairs were already sprouting from his pores. 

“They were worried that you’d experience a sensory overload by being around so many people at once, all of whom are fighting to get into the carriages first and out of the cold. I offered to stay and wake you when there were less people out there,” Colin explained as a worried expression crossed his face. “I hope you don’t mind it being me?” 

“Oh no, not at all,” Harry shook his head as he got to his feet. He was still slightly taller than Colin, even though that might have to do with his shoes and not his own height. “Thank you so much for that, I think I did need some calm before the Great Hall gathering.” 

Colin’s cheeks heated slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze from Harry. “Just tell me if I’m a bother and I’ll mouse off.” 

Harry laughed softly as he recalled that he had thought Colin looked like a mouse once upon a time. That was no longer the case and Colin was, just like Teddy, coming into himself as a young man, rather than a mousey boy. 

“It is fine.” He opened the door to the compartment and held it open for Colin. “Thank you for wanting to stay with me.” 

“Oh, well…” Colin slipped out, close enough to brush against Harry. He didn’t because he respected Harry and his personal boundaries, but he could have. “You know I do like you,” he finished with a shrug as he smiled almost shyly at the floor. 

It appeared that the reality of Draco no longer being Harry’s partner made Colin shy in revealing his emotions as openly as he previously had. Colin likely felt highly disrespectful in doing that so soon after Harry and Draco’s breakup. Thus, it was not the hope or the idea of having Harry which made the Gryffindor student shy, but the fear of overstepping boundaries and causing direct harm. 

“I like you too, Colin. Thanks,” Harry repeated, his own words meaning something rather different than Colin’s, yet not totally dissimilar. They both knew the difference anyway.

“So, uh, you didn’t pick up the phone a lot this summer,” Colin led them outside of the train where he helped Harry off by offering his hand. “Not that I mind, but I did call your house a few times.” 

“Oh!” Harry could not hold back the exclamation of understanding. “You… I completely forgot… This summer was really busy for me.” Shame caused his cheeks to heat as he realised his mistake. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you something.” He accepted Colin’s hand and held up his skirt when he jumped off the train. It was far more comfortable to travel in something less restrictive than trousers, Harry found. 

“It’s cool! I was just worried, that is all.” 

Colin raised his hands with a smile on his face as the two of them walked over the empty platform to the place where the students generally awaited their carriages which would bring them to Hogwarts. The air was cold and felt damp around them as a thin collection of fog creeped from the forest. It caused Harry’s glasses to fog over almost immediately. He and Colin both pulled their robes closer around themselves as they found that no carriage was waiting for them. One was likely on its way, they simply had to wait. 

The voices of other students drifted towards them through the fog as other students who wished to be less crowded made their way towards the turning point of the carriages. Neither of the two friends paid them much mind as they began to discuss their respective summers. 

Harry realised to his surprise that he had missed talking to Colin. It was not that he was simpleminded in any way, but matters were seldom complex with the honest Colin who generally wore his heart on his sleeve. Harry felt at ease speaking to him, which was a very welcome feeling in his life. It was not that he didn’t feel at ease with his friends, but each of them had caused Harry some manner of trouble throughout the years, whilst Colin had not. It wasn't like Harry was ever personally inconvenienced by the petrification incident, and Colin had just been another victim. Harry loved his friends very much, but Colin was safe in a way which was welcoming to the son of a werewolf. He needed to feel safe for the moment. 

“Hey, is that Gryffindor bothering you?” A voice called from behind the two friends. 

Harry and Colin both turned towards the voice, both equally confused as to why someone was thinking that they were uncomfortable together. 

Harry’s heart sank so fast and so deeply into his chest that he felt as if it had left his body altogether. At first, he simply couldn’t believe his eyes, but then the realisations rushed over him to the point where he felt like knowledge worth the entirety of the Hogwarts Library had been crammed behind his eyes. 

The group of students who appeared through the damp mist was Vincent Crabbe’s gang of Death Eaters. Of course, Harry had no way of knowing that they were Death Eaters, or even Dark Lord supporters. However, he knew that they had all been acting strangely and secluded since last year when returning to school after Lord Voldemort’s return. Anyone would realise that they had a secret, and with many of their families’ pasts, it was easy to suspect them of being followers when they acted like they did. 

However, it was not Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle or Pansy Parkinson who stole Harry’s full attention and his apprehension. It was not any of the Slytherin students whose names he had never quite bothered to learn. 

His attention was solely on Draco. 

Harry first noticed that Draco was wearing makeup, even rather heavy makeup, which hid most signs of tiredness and strain which would likely have been there otherwise. He had combed his hair back like he had stopped doing after their second year, and was generally dressed in all black. Being dressed in black was not rare for Draco, but he wore nothing to make his outfit appear less monotonous. It took Harry a few seconds to realise that it was because Draco was not wearing any silver cufflinks, or any other hints of metal or even white upon his body. 

Across the pale face with the grey eyes stretched the scar which was only so prominent to him because Harry had forgotten that it was there during the summer when he had not been allowed to see his friend. Draco had likely used makeup in an attempt to hide the scar, but it was too prominent to simply disappear behind even layers of foundation. Draco was carrying his father’s cane, its black form which ended in a silver snake was immediately recognisable to Harry. 

Draco was as beautiful as he had ever been to Harry, and his heart skipped with joy even as his friend didn’t look at him. However, that happiness quickly disappeared as Harry realised that he wasn’t allowed to interact with the blonde wizard since that would place him in danger, leaving him entirely cold instead. 

The former friend of the son of a werewolf avoided looking at Harry completely. He was staring into the misty woods, refusing to even look at Harry and Colin. There was a careless air about him, as if he could not even be bothered to pay attention to his previous partner and former friend. 

Crabbe had not failed to spot the happiness upon Harry’s face which then turned into sadness without being given proper time to bloom into joy. The tall, dark and muscular young man had appeared slightly bothered as he realised that he had called out to Harry of all people, but he couldn’t do anything about that for the moment. However, the way in which Harry and Draco acted around one another presented a much easier solution than simply staying silent and uncomfortable. Then Colin made Crabbe’s predicament far easier by speaking up for both himself and Harry. 

“I’m really not bothering him,” Colin’s voice was not defensive, but slightly on edge. “We’re friends, just talking.” He might be acting brave, yet Harry felt as if he could smell the unsettled worry behind Colin’s guarded words. 

The group of Slytherin students approached them like a massive creature of primarily black and slightly green. Harry felt as if he could feel the ill intention upon them as if they were a hot fire, threatening to scald him as well as Colin. He quickly glanced around for a carriage, which naturally was taken as weakness by the rest of his fellow Slytherin students. Draco was moved forward alongside the rest of the group as he settled into a look of disapproval which he aimed towards Colin. It was the kind of look which Draco’s eleven year old self would have employed, but not the kind of face which the current Draco would show and mean it. 

“And what would a Gryffindor brat have to do with one of us?” An older student more or less leaned over Colin as the beast came to a semi circle in front of the two friends. She has a crooked grin which reminded Harry of the fact that smiles can be twisted into something negative. 

Harry and Colin were rather small compared to the group of considerably larger Slytherin students. Harry noticed how Colin swallowed before he defiantly reached for and grabbed Harry’s hand. Harry squeezed the hand back as he realised that Colin was trembling slightly. 

“I’m not one of you,” Harry attempted to calmly denounce their actions by distancing himself from them. 

The Slytherin students both laughed and gagged at the reaction, mocking the small Muggle-born student with their reactions. Draco rolled his eyes but avoided looking at either of them. 

“Hey, Draco!” Some male student whose name Harry couldn’t remember, poked Draco’s back with his elbow. “Aren’t you dishonored having your ex replace you with a Muggle-born?” 

Draco’s expression faltered as he attempted and failed to respond to the mockery. Draco's gaze met Harry's briefly before Draco broke eye contact completely. 

“Cut that out,” Crabbe commented as he placed a heavy, strong arm around Draco, pulling him closer to himself as if to signal that he owned him. “We agreed to not talk about that. Draco is back where he belongs. We don’t give him shit for finally doing what was always right.” 

The expression of defensiveness which came of wholeheartedly cruel possession made Harry feel frightened. He recalled the way Crabbe had grabbed him last term, holding him tight enough to bruise while desiring any chance whatsoever to employ violence as the solution to the problem which was Harry. 

Harry could see Draco freeze up as he became possessed. He noticed his fingers twitching around the head of the cane. Then Draco relaxed into the act of being possessed, resigning and adapting in a manner which made him appear powerful to others, but frightened to Harry. 

Draco sighed and leaned his head to the side, looking down upon the person who had spoken ill of him to his face. “You better start giving me some respect. I don’t care what you think I feel and not. All you need to know is that I’ve resigned from anything to do with Potter and all of his silly, honourless little friends.”  

“See,” Crabbe’s muscular arm did not remove itself from Draco’s shoulder. In fact, he shifted closer to him, allowing his body to almost rest upon the smaller mage. “Draco has learned his lesson. We’re not punishing those who have learned better.” He reached over Draco’s hand and briefly squeezed the hand which rested around the head of the silver snake upon the cane. 

Draco did nothing to stop him, he simply stared at the other student with a disapproving scowl and an air of authority. 

Harry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Rather, he didn’t believe that Crabbe, who had once been a friend to him, would behave in a way where he was using his own body to intimidate Draco through something so intimate as touch. A touch should by all means be gentle and encouraging, yet everything about how Crabbe touched Draco was wrong. He was using intimacy and closeness as weapons of fear and discipline. The threat of violence was visible in every twitch of his muscles, and with every flex of a limb. Harry knew Draco well enough to tell that he was both uncomfortable and scared yet worked hard not to show it. It felt impossible that someone as previously pleasant as Crabbe would have become so inherently sadistic. 

However… Crabbe might never have been pleasant at all. 

With almost a startle, a cascade of memories hit Harry. 

When Harry first encountered Colin back in Harry’s second year and was uncomfortable with the attention, Crabbe had claimed that threats of violence were the only solution to people like that. Maybe to all disobedience.  

Harry recalled Draco’s fight with Hermione that year, which was mostly a fight with his own self to overcome. He recalled Crabbe treating Draco as some manner of disobedient young child who he should systematically punish with silent treatment until he behaved in a desired manner. 

He recalled how Crabbe and Goyle had both struggled with the idea that Draco had changed opinions about blood because they themselves hadn’t been there to see it. 

Then when Lucius had acted out and attempted to punish Hagrid for the hippogriff accident, Crabbe had acted as if Draco was somehow responsible for all his father's actions. Upon Harry trying to tell him off and that Draco didn’t want to hurt Hagrid, Crabbe had refused to believe that Draco had changed and was no longer the narrow minded Pureblood child he had known before Hogwarts. Even when Professor Snape explained the situation, Goyle had apologised, and Parkinson had admitted to have been wrong, but Crabbe had refused to compromise. He refused to acknowledge that he wasn’t always right.

Crabbe had always treated his girlfriend Pansy Parkinson kindly, but he was also very strict with her, as if there was no room for compromise and he was simply right about everything and was supposed to be adhered to. Due to Parkinson’s past and experiences, it had been true that Crabbe was usually right and guiding her towards acting better around others, but that didn’t make the idea of no compromises healthy.

Then in the fourth year, it became all too evident how much pride Crabbe felt for the Slytherin House, to a point of giving Harry the same cruel silent treatment for not wanting to be forced to participate in the Trimagus Tournament despite his circumstances.

After that, it had only gotten worse.

Maybe… maybe Crabbe had actually always been like this. Maybe Harry simply hadn’t seen it because they had been friends.

It wouldn’t be reasonable to think that an eleven year old didn’t grow and change into a different person, and it would be unfair to think that the young insecure child which Harry had first met was a bad person. However, it was rather jarring to realise that he had seen the tendencies all along but never noticed them at first. It was rather frightening to realise that somebody he once had considered a dear friend might never have been the things which Harry assumed and wanted to believe as he generally thought of people as reasonable. Yet perhaps more frighteningly, even if he had been good to Harry, Crabbe had hurt and been cruel to others.

Of course, Crabbe was probably misguided in a myriad of manners, and probably had reasons for why he felt the need to be threatening and never have his authority challenged, but as he was here, hurting people, he truly was a bad person. Bad was in the hurt which people forced onto others. It was in the actions of harm they chose to take, and the manners in which they did things which simply weren’t alright towards anyone. It hadn’t been alright with the eleven year old Muggle-born Colin who hadn’t known better when he first met Harry, even if Harry hadn’t liked him back then. What Crabbe did had probably never been alright, and Harry simply hadn’t noticed or thought of him as a bad person from his own point of view in seeing Crabbe. Nobody was just a bad person, and those who actively hurt others had friends too. Yet… it was terrifying to know that Harry hadn’t seen it, blinded by his friendship to the boy now turned man.

“Aren’t you that little brat who was petrified during his first year?” Another Slytherin student turned his attention to Colin, grinning at him as if he had just revealed Colin’s deepest secret to the one person who wasn’t allowed to know it. “What was that like? Did you think that you would die?” 

“Take a Muggle-born to not be careful around Hogwarts and give the entire school a bad reputation,” the first young woman sighed deeply as she put her hands on her hips. 

“Do you think you will become something simply because you’re staying around good old famous Harry Potter?” Someone in the group laughed, using the name which they likely thought that Harry disliked. 

They were right in that he disliked it, but Harry hadn’t decided to accept the name only to abandon his choice when matters became rough. 

“That’s not what I-” Colin tried to explain as his expression turned from uncomfortable to horrified. “I don’t… I didn’t… That’s not why I…”

“So what?” Harry spoke up calmly as he held onto Colin’s hand tighter before the other had the chance to pull it away out of fear and regret. “What if he is using me? I clearly like his company, so what does that have to do with any of you?” 

The group of Slytherin students' faces became a mix of fascination, amusement and in some, annoyance and even anger. 

“You’re a Slytherin and you have no pride about it. It’s enough to make you disgusting to all of your House,” Parkinson attempted to speak up with confidence, but Harry could see her glance towards Crabbe, asking for assistance or confirmation that she was doing things right. ‘Right’ meaning the way in which Crabbe wanted things done. 

Harry forced himself to smile as he leaned his head to the side, pulling Colin closer to himself. “I’m Harry Potter. I belong to the British mage community, not a specific House.” 

Harry forced the name to sound triumphant, and the statement to be strong and secure. He held his head high and his friend close, meeting Crabbe’s gaze without fear. On the inside, he was beyond disgusted with the name, and wanted nothing more but to remove himself from it as he had always done. However, the terrifying realisation that it was no longer an act which he put on in front of a single old man, but the identity of who he had to be from there on made Harry’s mind reel with objection. 

The group of likely Death Eaters glanced between themselves, as none of them had expected Harry to ever claim the name of ‘Potter’ after years upon years of rejection of it. Even Draco looked uncomfortable, if not sad, before he managed to reclaim control over his expression. 

Draco moved his shoulder to gain Crabbe’s attention. He pointed to the carriage which had slid up to them silently as the thestral which was pulling it had made no sound as it approached. The reptilian horse was standing as still as a corpse, its white eyeball staring at the students as it waited. It was the type of creature which could wait for years and not move, although it wouldn’t. It had better things to do than wait forever, despite the fact that it could. 

“If you’re quite done wasting time with unworthy distractions, the carriage has arrived,” Draco broke from Crabbe and walked first towards the vehicle. The door swung open for him as he approached, allowing him to enter. He did not look towards Harry and Colin, they were not worthy of even a glance.

The rest of the students followed Draco, glancing between the open carriage and Crabbe as they slowly pushed their way inside the small space. Goyle looked apologetic as he walked past behind Crabbe. Parkinson reached out and carefully touched her boyfriend’s hand, attempting to tell him to come along. 

The large young man glowered down at Harry and Colin. Harry forced himself to smile in the face of the cold, violent gaze. Then Crabbe left, guided by his girlfriend to the carriage. The doors closed and it began to move, stealing Draco away from Harry and keeping him within Crabbe’s grasp. Harry watched the carriage leave with longing in his chest, and his heart in his throat. 

“You didn’t have to… They aren’t… You should just have let them say all those things about me.” Colin pulled his attention back from the carriage. “It would probably have… I mean, now they are upset with you and…”

Harry pulled Colin into a hug and held him tight enough to know that he wasn’t alone, but not so tightly as to not allow Colin to escape if he wanted to. Colin did not want to escape, he buried his nose into Harry’s shoulder and held him tightly around his waist. 

“I’m not hanging around you because you are famous… It might have started like that but I… I… I’ve changed. I promise you. I really have changed.” Colin mumbled into Harry’s hair as he fought back the emotions which threatened to overflow. 

Having someone to care for, Harry felt oddly calm. His heart might be with Draco and it might have been shattered to pieces out of worry and longing, but his body was with Colin. He could help Colin at that moment, but he couldn’t actually help Draco right then. Thus, Harry allowed himself to deal with the closest problem at hand, namely making sure that Colin knew that he was safe. It was the least he owed Colin after having been calmed by his presence and his stories. 

If he only could force himself to think fully of someone else, Harry could make the hurt inside him go away, at the very least momentarily. 

“I know you’ve changed, Colin,” Harry assured him. “You’re not like that anymore. I wouldn’t be so comfortable around you if you were.” 

Colin looked up at Harry with his wet eyes. He sniffed then nodded. “I was so stupid back then. If I could go back, I’d whack myself real hard and make sure that it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You don’t have to go back in time for that, you are already making sure it never happens again.” Yet again, Harry reassured his friend with a patient smile. 

“It’s… funny,” Colin laughed as he gently separated them and absentmindedly scratched his cheek. “I was imagining myself sort of like… Saving you from them. Or anything which bothers you. And then you had to save me instead.” 

Harry smiled before shaking his head, “you saved me too. Thank you for that. It was awfully kind of you.” 

“I did?” Colin looked confused but happy. “That’s great! And just for my doubting mind, you really don’t mind me being a Muggle-born?” 

The son of a werewolf found himself grinning, “of course not. What kind of person would I be if I had a preference for different blood?” 

“A vampire,” Colin didn’t miss a beat. 

“Ah… You got me,” Harry pretended to be serious as he spoke up.

The two of them looked at one another and then began to laugh. It felt good to laugh the worry and insecurity away. The situation with the young probable Death Eaters had been uncomfortable and particularly stressful. However, Harry had faced real, adult Death Eaters, a troll, a basilisk, a collection of dementors, a pained and frightened werewolf. At this point, he had also survived the Dark Lord himself three times total, whereas he had taken Harry hostage once. Even if Lord Voldemort might not have been actively attempting to kill him all of those times, it was still an impressive number of encounters. It might not make the encounter with the fellow students any less unpleasant, but they weren’t the worst. 

When they stopped laughing, a carriage was waiting for them, together with a thestral. Colin stared at the beast, gaping at the terrifying shape which stood so very still yet which was definitely alive. Harry had to gently pull him into the carriage before he told him everything about the thestral on their way to Hogwarts. It felt good to be able to speak about something he knew of and to pedagogically explain to Colin why he could suddenly see the beast when it was previously invisible to him. 

Chapter Text

Harry and Colin carefully slipped into the Great Hall as Albus introduced Professor Horace Slughorn as the new Potions teacher, as well as the new Head of the Slytherin House. The commotion and confusion which followed offered the two ample time to sit down by the Gryffindor table without a great number of people noticing. As the group of friends were currently consistent out of a large number of Gryffindors, it made more sense for them to sit by that table. 

Harry told himself that if he had been sitting by the Slytherin table, he would have continuously looked for or at Draco during the entire evening. He didn’t want that, so he made an effort to turn his back to the table of his House, and pretended that it didn’t hurt to do so. 

When the commotion had settled, Albus continued to speak. This time, he gestured towards Severus, who was revealed to be their new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry felt relief wash over him as his step-dad’s new position was revealed. It really had all been silly, but Harry hadn’t dared to ask just in case Severus would actually leave Hogwarts. In hindsight, he truly should have asked and simply allowed his fears to ease. It had not been worth remaining silent out of worry. 

Albus concluded the speech and began the welcoming feast after he announced that the rules and regulations which had been added last year by previous Headmistress Dolores Umbridge were no longer in effect. 

The feast itself was rather forgettable to Harry, who did his utmost to have fun and busy himself so that he wouldn’t have to think about the future which was coming. The group of friends ate, laughed and joked, having an overall pleasant time as they celebrated being back at Hogwarts once again. While they all had fun, there was an underlying worry of all that was expected of them that year, not only academically, but mentally. 

It wasn’t until they had finished their meal and began to walk out of the Great Hall that Harry realised that he was not following Teddy to the Slytherin common room and dormitory, but that he was supposed to leave to his own, new room. Yet before Harry had time to worry about how he was supposed to find his way, he heard an unpleasant cough behind him. 

Harry turned to find Argus Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts. Mr. Filch was a generally unpleasant man, who enjoyed few things more than to frighten or unsettle the students who didn't respect the rules of the school. He had long, tattered hair, an unpleasant scowl and bitterly curved lips. There was a strong dislike in his gaze overall, and he had a habit of either staring hard at the person he was speaking with, or remaining unable to look at them at all. However, the man who stood before Harry and his friends was not quite the same as he had been previously. While his expression was generally bitter and unpleasant, there was no longer a hatred in his eyes, and he was not scowling. 

By his feet, his cat, Mrs. Norris, rested her grey and black body against her Master’s leg, staring up at the students with frightfully intelligent, almost human, eyes. It appeared that after she had been allowed back into the castle, she was intent on remaining as close to her owner as possible, even if it meant that she had to be on top of his feet. 

“Lupin, I’ve been asked to bring you to your accommodations,” Mr. Filch’s voice wasn’t exactly friendly, yet Harry found it to be far less hostile than he had ever heard it before. “Come with me.” 

Harry had to hurriedly say goodbye to his friends. He knew that he would meet most of them tomorrow, as they all completed their OWLs. The first week of school would be crowded with those exams, and Harry was not looking forward to it in the least. However, it beat retaking an entire year and ending up further away from his friends. Not to mention, Draco would also be completing his OWLs alongside himself, Neville, Teddy and Ron. It would just be relieving to see him, Harry wasn’t planning on talking to him. Hermione had promised that she would take notes for them too as she attended her classes like normal. Thus, nobody felt that worried about the prospect of not being able to keep up, seeing as Hermione had their backs. 

Harry followed Filch away from the Great Hall and upwards in the castle. However, they were not walking towards the hospital wing, much to Harry’s surprise. He didn’t ask about it and simply followed, but it quickly became evident to Harry what was actually happening. Mr. Filch was leading Harry around, making certain that a collection of people and students saw them going in different directions until he finally led Harry to the hospital wing, through side passages and hidden paths which Harry had never dreamt were actually there. He wondered if Fred and George Weasley, or even the Marauders, had been aware of all of them. 

When they reached the hospital wing, Harry dared to speak up. Not because he was scared of Mr. Filch, but because was worried that his speaking would disrupt the plan of nobody knowing where to look to find Harry. “Sir, I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” Mr. Filch looked at Harry as if he had just caught him scribbling a naughty word on a statue’s breast. “Whatever would you thank me for?” 

“Last year, you did not only allow us to leave at the risk of your own job, but you also alerted Sev-, I mean, Professor Snape so that we could be saved from the confrontation back then. I’m really thankful so… Thank you.” He smiled at the older man, attempting to not be bothered by the suspicion in the abused non-mage’s eyes. 

In reality, there was no knowing what the Death Eater’s plan had really been. There was evidence to suggest that they wouldn’t have attempted to hurt anyone if Draco had simply gone with his father, yet the appearance of the Order of the Phoenix had complicated matters significantly for all groups involved. Bellatrix Lestrange had evidently been willing to kill. If Sirius had not been the one who was hit by the Killing Curse, it could just as likely have been one of the teenagers who had lost their lives. 

The Death Eaters had nonetheless committed as much of a crime as the teenagers, but the fact remained that all the arrested ones claimed to have been ordered to not hurt or kill anyone. If the claims were really true was impossible to know for the general public. The Minister of Magic certainly didn’t believe them. It had been through Lucius Malfoy and Death Eaters' testimony that the group of friends had not been arrested and only sternly reprimanded for their actions. Yet the general public agreed that the minors who had been tricked to the Ministry of Magic by means of Dark Arts were not to blame for their actions, especially since nobody had gotten hurt by their actions. 

Mr. Filch sighed and shoved a heavy key into Harry’s hands as he pointed towards a door by the far end of a corridor. “Your new home is over there. The bathroom is there. If you go past those doors and westwards, you will arrive at the Quidditch facilities where your shower is. Nobody is ever there on Mondays, but mind when you go. If I catch you out, I won’t report you, but I can’t recommend going outside the castle during nighttime.” 

Harry nodded along with the descriptions. He would have been upset about the rejection of his compliment had it not been for the fact that Mr. Filch’s cheeks had become slightly red, and Mrs. Norris was lazily stroking herself against Harry’s legs to show her appreciation. If she had been a normal cat and not a possible long since transformed and never transformed back animagus, Harry would have petted her. Yet as the possibility was there, he kept his hands to himself. 

Holding the key, Harry turned to his room and pushed it into the lock with some trouble. He opened the door but before he could walk inside, Mr. Filch called back to him without allowing Harry to see his expression. 

“You’re welcome, Lupin.” 

With a smile on his face, Harry watched the man hurry off, followed by his graceful old cat. Harry then slipped inside his room and closed the door, taking a deep breath before he allowed himself to take in the sight of his new accommodations. 

The room had likely belonged to a nurse once upon a time, or possibly a servant. It was not large, but there was a window straight ahead from Harry, although it was a tall, thin mosaic window of sorts which didn’t allow for people to see inside, nor for Harry to see outside. It was odd to have a window at Hogwarts, seeing as his dormitory had always been dark. To Harry’s right was a bed, and next to that, a closet. To the left was a desk and a lamp. Upon the desk lay a collection of old rags which Harry assumed to be cleaning rags. Directly next to the door was a small, thin bookcase inside which he was likely meant to put his books. Between the bookcase and the wall was a small sink above which a mirror resided. 

The room was far smaller than that at his first home, second home and even the Weasley Twins’ previous accommodation. However, it was not tiny. To Harry’s joy, someone had made the effort of bringing him green pillowcases, likely to help him feel less like an outsider when he couldn’t be in his own common room or dormitory. 

Harry kicked off his shoes and made his way over to the bed, ignoring his tattered bag in favor of sitting down. He noticed that the nightstand by his bed had a light, which meant that he didn’t have to keep the one in the ceiling lit all night in case he wanted to read. 

After confirming that the bed was indeed a bed, Harry turned his attention to his luggage. After a little bit of searching, he found himself by his desk, attempting to note down the day into his journal but struggling to formulate himself properly as the thoughts of Draco made him emotional. 

Hello. 

A soft voice spoke up inside Harry’s head, almost causing him to spill his ink. The rags which Harry had pushed aside were speaking to him and Harry found that he recognised the voice, despite it being six years since he last heard it. 

“You’re… the Sorting Hat?” Harry carefully pulled at the rags, allowing the hat some dignity in finding the pointed top which had been hanging limply. 

I am indeed. How good to see you, Harry Lupin. 

“Can you see me?” Harry asked as he struggled to place the hat into a less droopy state and a more hat-like condition. His efforts weren’t yielding much of a result. 

Perhaps feel is a better description. I can feel the magic which is you, and hear some of those loud thoughts within your mind. Albus placed me here to keep you company, as he worried that you might need immediate assistance within this lonely room. I am at your service, my young mage. See me as a friend if you will. 

“I can always use more friends,” Harry smiled as he leaned his head to the side, resting it on top of his own hand. “How did you get here so fast from the feast?” 

I was carried by your good friend Dobby. He asked me to tell you hello, and to call him at any time. He’s rather excited to show you a magic trick which he had learned involving cards. It has made him quite popular with the House Elves. 

Harry chuckled at the idea, “that’s amazing. Oh, do you think that I can ask Kreacher to come here to Hogwarts? He’s getting kind of old and I’m worried about him being lonely at the Black Estate. Do you think Albus or the other House Elves would mind?” 

Albus has never been one to refuse a creature in need the assistance which nobody else would give. Kreacher the elf would be welcome, the Sorting Hat assured Harry. 

With the permission given, Harry called for Kreacher. He felt rather silly to think that somebody could hear him all the way from London and simply come running. It felt far more likely that he was simply speaking to the room, like some manner of strange madmage. However, Kreacher had apparently heard his new Master, albeit not really a Master, call. 

With a sound like a weak pop, the air in front of Harry shook and Kreacher appeared, as if he had simply been in the other room. The old, wrinkled and bitter House Elf appeared to be Mr. Filch’s cousin from another species, but as Harry knew the elf to be kinder than his old age made him appear, he was not bothered by his friend. 

“Hello!” Harry cheerfully greeted Kreacher. He was a little too excited to have learned that the call had actually summoned the other to remain dignified. “I can’t believe you heard me all the way from the grim old place. How have you been?”

Kreacher’s upper lip twitched slightly at Harry’s open, honest excitement. “Kreacher has been fine. What do you need hi-, me... for?” 

“I simply wanted to know if you were fine over at the Estate all on your own when dad is busy working?” Harry inquired. 

“Solitude is not a problem to Krea… Me.” The House Elf shrugged, struggling to break his speech pattern of years back. 

“Would you like to stay here at Hogwarts with the other House Elves? You don’t have to, but I don’t want you to overwork yourself at home. It’s your choice. You can go back and forth if you want to as well. I’d really like it if you could bring some messages to dad every now and then since you are less bound than I am.” Harry explained with a hopeful voice. 

Kreacher considered the offer before he nodded, “very well. Kreacher doesn’t mind working at Hogwarts for the moment. Some company might be… pleasant,” he concluded. 

“That’s great. I think they might need help in the kitchen. Ask for Dobby, he can likely show you around, but don’t overwork yourself, please.” Harry knew that if he didn’t ask, the old servant would likely not be able to stop himself from working until his legs gave in. 

Kreacher made a displeased face. “Dobby,” he tasted the word as if it was heavy mud upon his tongue. “The disgrace of a House Elf who played with the Master and his friends last winter, rather than work?” 

“Yep, that Dobby,” Harry laughed and shook his head. “Only he’s not a House Elf, he’s just an elf and has every right in the world to have fun. I’d like you to be nice to him, even if you don’t get along with him. Also, you know I prefer it if you simply call me Harry.” He was not reprimanding the other, only softly reminding him of some things as Kreacher retracted to his old speech pattern and ideas. 

“Very well… Kr-i- I, shall do that. Was there anything else, Harry?” The bitter old elf studied Harry with his large brown eyes as he pouted ever so slightly. 

“Come see me when you want to, it’s always nice to talk,” Harry grinned at his friend. “Just knock on the door three times and I’ll know it’s you, please?” 

Kreacher looked surprised for a second, but his face then settled into a calm, slightly touched expression. “Very well. I shall see you later then, Harry.” With his perfectly managed sentence, Kreacher bowed his head and then disappeared with another soft pop.

Harry turned back to the old hat, smiling at it too, “thank you as well.” 

So polite. 

“I try,” Harry sighed. He was quiet for a second and then continued to speak, “how is Albus doing?” 

The Headmaster is doing fine. The Greatest Wizard of a century, Dumbledore, is resolute and thriving. Albus is struggling, the hat’s reply was cryptic but not impossible to understand. 

“I was hoping that I might be able to speak to him soon,” Harry confessed. “I have so many things to ask him. Especially about, well… Lord Voldemort.” 

One of the reasons that Albus is suffering is because he is preparing himself to tell you everything. However, you should not be alarmed. He had long since needed to speak to somebody about these things, and far too many people find him too great to have problems. Indeed, he was so great a wizard that the world forgot Albus. Which might have been just as well, as Albus was not entirely, nor always, a great person. The hat more or less mused in its distant, mind transcending voice. 

Harry frowned at the old hat, chewing absentmindedly on his own lower lip. “It’s hard to imagine him not always being understanding and, well… kind. Are you telling me that he was not?” 

It is not my story to tell, Harry. I’ve already said too much, but he is determined to tell you everything this year. I would ask you to be patient, and attempt to understand that he is not entirely the same person who he was back then. However, I do not need to ask that of you, as you possess those qualities in abundance. 

The son of a werewolf shrugged as his face heated with embarrassment and happiness. “I really try,” he confessed, “but it’s hard sometimes. I’m worried that I will be…” Harry stopped to search for a word before picking one which almost resembled what he wanted to say, “mad when I learn more about those things.” ‘Things’ referring to the Dark Lord himself. 

What you fear shall come to pass. If you become angry, then you will become angry. Recover from it, apologise, and learn to forgive yourself. Your lives are too short to waste on regrets when the apologies have been spoken, the hat responded in a soothing, calm voice. 

Harry’s smile was weak, but nonetheless there as he gave the old hat a thankful look. “So he won’t be… upset with me if I don’t react calmly about matters?” 

If he does, then Albus is at fault. The secrets he keeps are momentous, and highly personal. He chose to share them with you, but he cannot decide your reaction. You already remember that he chose to share them with you out of his own free will, you will not act out of line, I can see it in your mind. It is no crime to be upset, but it is not acceptable to hurt others because you are upset. 

It was easier to smile at the hat after hearing those words, “thank you. I needed that.” 

I know you did, the Sorting Hat stated calmly. 

“Can I ask you if I doubt again in the future?” Harry sighed as he rested his head in his hand, absentmindedly rubbing his scar. 

I have kept Albus company through many discussions about doubt, regrets and fear. Thus, he has arranged for me to be your companion this year as well. I am at your full disposal but I warn you now, I will never tell you what I have seen in somebody else’s head unless that person is already dead. You may speak to me about your blood parents, but I shan’t tell you of your friends. 

Harry felt as if the hat was scolding him. Albeit softly, but nonetheless scolding him. He chuckled to hide the embarrassment about having wanted to ask about Draco, or even one of the others, but the hat’s words made it rather clear that his questions would have been too private and too personal to be given answers to by something which wasn’t the friend in question. 

“Then can I retell my day to you? It might help me write things down a little easier?” Harry gestured towards his journal. 

Of course.  

Thus, Harry began to speak. 

About an hour afterwards, he fell asleep in his bed, curled together with a pillow to hug in the lack of a person to be close to. Luckily for the exhausted young man, he was too tired to consider the fact that he was very accustomed to sleeping with Draco within Hogwarts. The longing would come later, but at least for that evening, Harry simply fell asleep. 

The first week of Hogwarts consisted of a lot of exams for Harry, Neville, Teddy and Ron. Draco, as well as a few other students who wanted to raise their grades, attended them too. The students sat hidden away from the rest of the school in a rather old classroom which Harry thought to be the same as the one inside which the Mirror of Erised might have been hidden when he first attended Hogwarts. 

Draco sat somewhere behind Harry, making sure that he was out of sight so that Harry simply couldn’t look at him without turning around completely. The first day, it was very hard to concentrate on the exams for Harry since he was so eager to at the very least see Draco, but by the end of the week, he was able to devote himself fully to the parchment and the ink with minimal awareness of Draco, located somewhere behind him. 

Draco was evidently not using his father’s cane only for appearances. Draco’s wounds appeared to trouble him still. Seeing as his legs hadn’t been damaged by the magical assault, Harry was unsure how much the cane actually did to support him, but it became evident when he saw Draco stand up or sit down. The tool appeared to help him put less pressure on his body overall. Harry was pretty sure it was mostly for aesthetics, but the cane was evidently doing something to help Draco as well. 

When Harry returned to his room after the final exam, he found his mail upon his bed, delivered by Kreacher upon Harry’s request as he was rather busy with the exams. 

He went through them, read the welcomed but generally uninformative letter from his dad which asked him to be careful but have fun over the year. Harry felt silly for having hoped that there would be something in the letter to tell what his dad was currently doing, but it was simply superficial greetings and polite, fatherly advice. Harry decided to write back tomorrow, telling him of the exams and a little about the bullying from the Slytherin students towards Colin and likely other Gryffindors.

However, that letter was not the only one which Harry had received, much to his confusion. He found another one under the one written by Remus. The two letters were distinctly different next to one another, with the faintly green envelope and its large sigil showing some manner of horned slug making Remus’ standard brown envelope look distinctly unappealing. However, the letter from his dad said his name, the green letter with the sigil said Harry Potter, thus leaving no doubt in his mind of which one Harry actually preferred. 

With a feeling of dread and excitement, Harry opened the letter which was indeed from Professor Slughorn, and found within it an invitation to a dinner with the Slug Club as a guest. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest and his tongue feeling dry, Harry began to read. 

Dearest Harry Potter, 

you have been cordially invited to participate in the seasonal first dinner with the Slug Club, as arranged by its founder and head, Professor Horace Slughorn, Head of the Slytherin House and Potions Master. 

The dinner will be held on Saturday, September 7th, in the Dungeons, room 7B. It will begin at 18:00, and the guests are expected to remain until the very least of 19:00, unless a more important engagement must steal their attention. The guests are expected to dress for the exclusive occasion which is fitting a dining occasion by the Slug Club. 

You are expected and welcomed. 

Sincerely, 

Professor Horance Slughorn

Potions Master

Founder of the Slug Club

Head of the Slytherin House

This was it. 

This was the invitation to the Slug Club which Harry had planned for and expected. He assumed that at the very least Hermione and Neville had gotten a similar invitation as well. He would ask them tomorrow and then plan together. 

However, as it was, not even the excitement of the invitation could cause Harry to remain awake for longer than he already had. With his heart and head pounding with nervousness, Harry fell asleep surprisingly quickly. 

In his dream, Dolores Umbridge hosted the meeting at the Slug Club, and everyone was dressed like a French renaissance painting, all in pastel colors and ridiculously large hats. The supposed dinner was not so much a dinner as it was a tea party, with endless numbers of pastel teapots and floral cups upon doily after doily. Umbridge was calling them all Harry Potter, and demanding that they drink her tea and write an essay about Slugs at the same time. 

When Harry later thought about the dream, he found some amusement in imagining that if Lord Voldemort had not broken their connection, then he too would have been forced to write an essay about slugs in a ridiculously large yellow monstrosity of a hat. 

Chapter Text

Over the course of the summer, Harry had learned how to style his own hair. It had not been easy, and he was nowhere near as good at it as Draco was. However, he knew how to put his hair up in a way which made him feel confident and still like himself. He hadn’t imagined that he would have used the skill so soon after returning to Hogwarts, but it certainly came in handy for the Slug Club dinner. 

Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny were all invited to the Slug Club meeting. Harry because he was Harry Potter, Hermione because of her academic achievements and her outstanding OWL results. Neville because he was gifted in both Potions and Herbology, as well as had a renowned name, and Ginny because she was one of the most eager and dedicated Quidditch players at Hogwarts in a long time. Thus, the four friends prepared together, and Harry did his best to make Hermione’s hair look even one fourth of as good as it did when Draco prepared it. He did not quite manage, but Hermione was thankful nonetheless. 

Teddy and Ron cheered them on as they left together and walked towards the familiar dungeons. To Harry, it felt as if he was returning home and thus it was with a uncomfortable ache that he recalled that he wasn’t as much home as he was only temporarily visiting the dungeons. 

The three of them had all dressed according to the expectations of the invitation, but without Draco, they didn’t quite have as many options. Hermione was slowly outgrowing her dress, and she wasn’t comfortable with any of Neville’s more trousers centered fashion. Thus, she had borrowed a few pieces from Harry’s wardrobe, courtesy of Regulus Black who appeared to agree with them that skirts were less restricting. Thus, Hermione looked somewhat unfamiliar in clothes which they all found familiar. Neville dressed in similar fashion as he had when he attended the Yule ball two years ago, and Ginny had borrowed a shirt from Harry to wear with her own trousers. 

Harry worried somewhat that he had dressed up too much, but he had wanted to make sure that he was memorable to Professor Slughorn. Thus, he had dressed in primarily green and black, attempting to awaken a sense of Slytherin pride, seeing as that was something Professor Slughorn evidently had. Green, silver and black mixed together within Harry’s outfit, in combination with gems and accessories. Upon his cuffs, he wore Draco’s silver snake cufflinks, which he attempted to carry with his head held high as he had taken off his golden ring for the evening. Harry wished against the odds that Draco might be there. It was a possibility, but a vague one indeed. 

Dungeon room 7B, which Harry believed to be an old potions classroom, was remodelled into a luxurious, albeit not impossibly grand dining room. The center was taken up by a table with plenty of food to distract the eye, but which was likely the exact same food as the rest of the school ate. It was simply presented on different, and far shinier, plating. The tablecloth was a dark green, the hue made it hard to identify it as green until one looked upon it from a closer perspective. The scents within the room were generally pleasant. While it was mostly filled with the scent of food, someone had burnt incense to add to a more pleasant aroma around the dungeon room, while a fire burnt in an open fireplace. There was a faint underlying dust to the various scents, but it didn’t so much bother Harry as he simply noticed it. 

Some students had already gathered around the table, which had Professor Slughorn himself on the end, with no other chair to match him on the other short side. He appeared like a regal mage, overlooking his subjects with willingness and mercy, although not without criticism. 

As Harry saw him there, he realised with a small throb of anxiety that the dinner was a test, not a formality or a pleasant coming together, but an exam to determine who was acceptable to become a member of the Slug Club. Various students from all the different Houses gathered around the table, some more aware than others that they were being examined. 

The Slug Club dinner was tragically lacking a Draco, but it did have Blaise Zabini present, which was an odd relief to Harry. The handsome, dark skinned young man appeared stunning even if he was wearing very little in terms of making himself more attractive. He was minimalistic in everything from hair to clothing, yet he made Harry feel oddly out of place when he sat down next to Blaise with Hermione next to him and Neville to her right, followed by Ginny. 

Blaise smiled at Harry, yet his real attention was drawn to Neville. Seeing as Blaise did not generally feel romantic interest, he was likely simply noticing the same thing as Harry, namely that Neville was becoming more handsome every year. It did not mean anything else than that Blaise had yet to go blind. 

Harry smiled back at him, highly aware of the fact that he had misjudged Crabbe in the past, and that Blaise was possibly another former friend which he had misjudged to the point of not actually being able to stand the other as he currently was. It made Harry feel disgusted with himself to not only not trust Blaise, but to actively suspect him of being a follower to the Dark Lord, if not a sympathiser. However, unlike Crabbe, Blaise hadn’t given him as many clues as to where his real feelings, or true agenda, laid. Blaise might forever remain impartial and distant, but the risk of the large consequences made Harry feel as if he had to suspect him, rather than not. 

Next to Blaise sat Pansy Parkinson, who was not looking towards Harry or his friends. She appeared to be staring ahead, focused on something which she had to focus on, because if she did not, then she might look towards Harry, Neville, Hermione or Ginny. Parkinson was less pleasant to Harry after what she had done to him and Colin. However, she had also brought Crabbe away at the end, so Harry did not feel entirely hostile towards her, even if he was mindful of her. 

Parkinson had once been a pug faced girl with her dark hair generally put up or at the very least gathered away from her face. Age had lengthened those features and made her face overall more oval than round, and many of the marks of the child had been smoothed out as she aged. She carried her hair in a high bun, and had made an effort with makeup to present herself as more mature and less like her usual self. She had matched her lilac lipstick to her dress, creating a bold but altogether complete look. Her dress was not altogether skintight, but it was definitely rather revealing. The dress had been combined with an elbow length cloak in the same color but in a lighter fabric. Out of all the people present, Parkinson appeared the most modern, even if certain additions made her dress distinct as mage fashion, including a lilac, pointy hat. 

“Your hair looks very good, Harry,” Blaise complimented him. 

“Thank you,” Harry forced himself to not touch it. He had worked hard with putting it up, gathering the hair into an almost short hairstyle with hair strands falling down his face without covering his scar. He had attempted to make his hair look like Mrs. Malfoy generally did, but had to improvise as his skills proved insufficient. He was rather pleased with the result. 

“Ah, Harry! Welcome!” Professor Slughorn greeted him with a broad, open and honest smile as he waved to the other three. “That makes for most of our guests. Winkie, close the door,” the last was addressed to the House Elf who stood by the door, patiently waiting for her next orders. 

Harry noticed with some aversion that Winkie was the House Elf who had served the Crouch family a few years back. She was also the one who had watched over Bartemius Crouch Junior, the young Death Eater who had been forced to serve his very own father through the implementation of the Imperius Curse. Winkie had expressed disgust in regards to Dobby for him wanting to be a free elf, rather than a House Elf. She appeared happy when she obeyed Slughorn's order, but Harry and Hermione both found the display of submissiveness to be highly uncomfortable. Not because they were uncomfortable with Winkie, but because she shouldn’t have to be a submissive slave. The fact that Professor Slughorn was using a House Elf in the very first place was uncomfortable to the both of them. It was to Neville and Ginny as well, but Ginny wasn’t focusing on the House Elf, but instead speaking to the person next to her. 

“My good friends, welcome to the Slug Club dinner,” Professor Slughorn had stood up when Harry and Hermione were busy noticing Winkie. He was currently raising his glass towards them, taking the time to smile at each of them in turn. He appeared very much like a proud parent, looking over his collection of children. 

Harry felt a sudden need to run. Simply bolt out the door and run away from Slughorn, the Slug Club and the room. He wanted to run back to his room, back to the Sorting Hat, to his dad and back to Draco. 

Only Draco wasn’t there. 

Draco couldn’t be there because the world didn’t allow him to be. 

Harry felt as if he faded to the back of his mind, and Harry Potter took over. It was not so much that he became a different persona, but he shifted into the persona, and the mindset and the idea of the icon he had to be. Harry stretched his head up, his shoulders moved back and he placed his hands upon his lap as he mimicked the members of the Malfoy family. A polite, intrigued smile formed upon his lips as he focused directly on the man’s face. He attempted to mimic Draco’s body language, in particular the one he had when he was attending dinner with his mother and father. Harry had accompanied Draco to many meals with Mrs. Malfoy, even if he never quite got to know Mr. Malfoy all too well. 

Next to Harry, Hermione looked confused over his somewhat abrupt change in both body language and general projections. However, she didn’t have time to ask him or comment about it then, as Professor Slughorn continued to speak. 

“Thank you all so very much for coming. Upon my request, the workers have produced a slightly different menu than what you are likely used to here at Hogwarts. Do be mindful, some things are a little, well… Stronger than you are used to. This is a three course meal, complete with dessert. Enjoy yourselves, I expect polite behavior and good sportsmanship.” He raised his glass at the people gathered with another parental smile. 

The group of students applauded politely before they began to pick food onto their plates, most of them minded the fact that they needed to eat a little less to be able to fit the dinner. Harry understood what food to pick based on having had dinners with the Malfoy family, thus he centered on smaller, less heavier foods like vegetables, bread and some cheese and salami. Blaise did not so much follow Harry’s example as he knew what to pick, but Hermione, Neville, Ginny and also Parkinson followed them. 

Harry and his friends had gone over some subjects to speak of during the first time they were invited by Professor Slughorn, as they expected at least some of them to be interesting to the man. Thus, they had figured that certain subjects would likely make them appear better in the eyes of the Potion Master. Those subjects being primarily academic, Ginny wasn’t too interested in most of them, but she attempted to keep up with the conversation whenever she was addressed. 

Harry turned towards Blaise as Hermione and Neville began to discuss a certain Potions recipe which they had found in Severus’ old potion book. He could have chosen to participate in it, but he found it to be more giving to address the young man to his left. He told himself that he primarily wanted to ask Blaise about Draco, but before he could reveal his intentions, he wanted to not make it too obvious. After all, Harry could ask Teddy about more details tomorrow, if he didn’t have time to ask Blaise tonight. 

“How wa-” Harry began but he was quickly interrupted by their host.

“Ah, yes, Harry, I wanted to ask you how your exams went,” Professor Slughorn spoke up, looking expectantly at Harry. “I have complete understanding that traumatic events might cause a person to not perform at their best, and I do look forward to correcting your assignments.” He chuckled in a rather pleasant manner. His intention was evidently not to make fun of or make Harry uncomfortable in front of a crowd. 

Blaise leaned back in his chair, allowing Harry better access to viewing the other man. 

Harry leaned forward and gave the other man a small, polite smile. “I’m rather confident in it and I shall look forward to seeing what you find of my assignment. I most certainly wish that you should find it… interesting, sir.” Harry faltered slightly in recalling what he had planned on saying. However, he thought that he managed to save it by keeping up the persona of Harry Potter.

Once again, his statement didn’t quite have the effect that he was hoping it would. Rather than appearing happy or interested in his words, a flash of worry passed over the man’s face, and he looked at Harry as if his mask had slipped off to reveal something unexpected underneath it. Harry worried that the man somehow knew that he wasn’t actually being himself when attempting to be Harry Potter, but he also thought that he had managed to save his slight blunder in a rather convincing manner. 

“Good, good. Yes!” Professor Slughorn laughed as he turned his attention to his glass and drank. The moment passed and he looked at Harry with a less troubled gaze. “I’m certain I shall find it thought provoking.”

The Potions Master made it seem as if ‘thought provoking’ was not a pleasant thing for an essay to be. 

“Are you familiar with Blaise Zabini here?” Professor Slughorn quickly continued. “You are classmates, surely you must be. His mother is a well known translator working for the Ministry of Magic. Very lovely person. She sometimes sends me sweets for my birthday but I have yet to eat any. After all, a mage’s partners don’t disappear without a trace for no reason!” He laughed happily at his own joke. 

Harry, Blaise himself and Parkinson all found the insinuation that Mrs. Zabini had murdered her previous partners, mostly husbands, to be less humorous than Professor Slughorn did. 

“I know Blaise rather well, as we have shared dormitories since we were eleven,” Harry offered his former friend and current associate a polite smile which he hoped wasn’t demeaning as it was modelled after the manner in which Lucius Malfoy generally smiled. He realised too late that the statement offered an opportunity for Blaise, or even Parkinson, to ask where he was currently staying. 

“Harry is an accomplished mage in both in terms of Potions and Defense against the Dark Arts,” Blaise suddenly praised Harry in Slughorn’s general direction. “He is a partner I would most prefer working together with on assignments in both those subjects. We’ve attended Ancient Runes together for some time as well, a subject we both enjoy most greatly.” 

Harry had no idea why Blaise was making a case for him, but he assumed that the other expected him to return the favor. Without changing his expression, Harry focused on Professor Slughorn once again, meeting his gaze with confidence and without shyness. “As you can hear, sir, I’ve had the honor of working with Blaise on a few projects. I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting his mother. While I found her to be a rather intimidating woman, I would not be quite so obscene as to reject a gift from such an impressive witch.” 

Professor Slughorn nodded as he attempted to act as if he hadn’t actually insulted her with his own statements earlier. “Oh yes, very impressive indeed.” 

Harry did not miss the thankful glance which Blaise gave him as the Potions Master turned his attention to Parkinson, as he began to question her about her sports achievements through Quidditch. Harry learned through the conversation that she was taking over as the Slytherin Quidditch captain after Draco, seeing as he was, in her words, “rather busy this year.” 

It was alarming for Harry to hear that Draco had seemingly abandoned Quidditch, which was in every sense of the word, one of his passions. Since the first day Harry had met him, he had been talking about the sport and how he wanted to play it and be part of the world of Quidditch. It was almost bizarre to think that Draco would resign as the Quidditch captain, and it made Harry believe that matters might be worse than he had previously dared to think. Parkinson made it appear that he was still on the team, simply no longer the captain. That understanding made Harry able to breathe a little easier, but it did not calm the ache in his heart. 

His hands fumbled and they found the snake cufflinks upon his sleeves. His fingers closed around one, absentmindedly playing with it under the table like Draco had a habit of doing. Had previously had a habit of doing. It calmed Harry down somewhat, but it exchanged the ache in his chest for a bitterness within his throat. 

Professor Slughorn appeared to be making his way around the table, speaking to each person in due time. When the dessert was being served, he finally made it around the table and spoke to Ginny.  

“And you should be the current Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Ginevra?” He looked at her in the same manner a grandfather looks to his granddaughter, using her name as if he had known it all his life. 

Harry generally didn’t like it when people took liberties with other’s names and titles. He especially didn’t enjoy it when people did it with his name, but it was within his best interest to please the man, while Ginny had signed up for nothing of the sort. 

Ginny raised her head from speaking to the younger man next to her, realigned herself and then smiled at the man. “I am indeed. I play in the position of Seeker, unlike the Slytherin captain.” 

She beamed at Parkinson who rather shied away from her attention by quickly turning her head towards her ice cream with what was definitely created out of an alcoholic base. 

“Excellent, and how is young Mr. Percy Weasley? He’s been making a name for himself at the Ministry of Magic hasn’t he? What a noteworthy recovery of self to switch from one Minister to another and still remain a direct assistant to the new one. Impressive, truly. I would like to meet him, should the opportunity ever arise.” Professor Slughorn more or less rambled, looking expectantly at Ginny. 

As if she had done it all her life, Ginny smiled flawlessly at him still, even at the mention of her brother. “Absolutely! If I meet him, I shall relay your interest in him,” she lied.

“Good, good,” his attention fell on Neville next. “Son,” he began, “I held deep respect for your parents and I taught both them and your grandmother. How is dear Augusta? Still quick of temper and short of understanding?”

Neville managed to appear unbothered by his rather unwelcome comments about his parents by focusing on the latter parts about his grandmother. “She is indeed, sir. However, she has been very good to me all my life.” 

Neville was not quite as proficient in lying as the youngest sister out of six siblings, but Harry didn’t think that Professor Slughorn noticed. Harry knew for a fact that Augusta Longbottom had not been kind to her grandson until Remus had helped him discover that he struggled with casting magic because of his massive amount of internal magic which collided with the external magic he was taught to cast by the school curriculum. It might have been Albus who actually taught Neville how to use that magic, but without Harry’s dad’s realisation, Neville might never have realised why it was so hard for him to cast magic. Or rather, Mrs. Longbottom had begun to appreciate her grandson after the boy risked his life going down to the Chamber of Secrets, but she had actually begun liking him when his grades improved by the assistance of Albus’ magic lessons. 

“Augusta must have great expectations on you, my boy. Do give my best to her, should you happen to mention that you were invited to dinner with the Slug Club,” Professor Slughorn nodded approvingly at Neville. 

“I shall, sir,” Neville’s smile was dishonest, but he didn’t quite appear to be lying about the fact that he would mention it to his grandmother, if, and that was a rather significant if, the moment arose. 

Professor Slughorn’s attention fell upon Hermione. Harry could feel her tensing up as his gaze travelled over her clothes and then her face. He had done the same with every other student, but she was nonetheless nervous about being considered less than most other guests. Hermione was the only mage in the room with a non magical background and two Muggle parents. It had become very clear as Professor Slughorn spoke across the room that he had connections, or wanted them, with everyone else’ family, with the exception of Harry Potter himself. However, in her case, there was no family to know, no great grandparent to have gone to school with or a brother Professor Slughorn wanted to speak to. 

There was only Hermione and her accomplishments, laid bare for a stranger to evaluate. 

Professor Slughorn smiled happily at her, “Hermione Granger, the brightest witch in Hogwarts since a long time ago! Why, I was allowed to peek at some of your previous work and your OWLs alone speak for a brilliant future indeed. I’m most excited that you have managed so well. Given your background, most Muggle-born students simply cannot ever keep up, yet alone surpass most other students. You have a long, beautiful carrier before you, my dear. I do declare!”

Hermione gaped for a second, but recollected herself when Harry and Neville gently pushed her from both sides. She closed her mouth and nodded rapidly, struggling to not reveal just how touched and happy she was from the compliments. 

“If you ever need anything, my girl,” Professor Slughorn continued, partly unaware of Hermione’s happiness, “just say the word!” 

“I… I shall… Thank you so much, Professor,” Hermione more or less croaked. 

“Do not mention it. If we cannot properly support our disadvantaged students when we see one struggling but managing, then what are we even doing as a community?” He laughed happily as he drank his beyond doubt alcoholic beverage. 

“Sir?” Harry gently spoke up, “may I ask a question?”

“Ask away, boy!” the man chuckled happily. His dinner was apparently a great success according to himself. 

“I was wondering if you would be able to tell us more about the Potions which you have invented, or the general research you have committed yourself to in order to reach your title of Potions Master?” Harry continued to speak, smiling politely but distantly as he spoke. He understood the man to be rather interested in speaking about his own accomplishments, and was relieved when that understanding proved to be true. 

Professor Slughorn began to speak about himself, and did not stop for almost thirty minutes. Harry learned a lot about what kind of potions and subjects he was interested in by listening to his rambles, but most students present weren’t there to fool their teacher into becoming their friend and benefactor for the sake of achieving his assistance in a possible future war. Thus, some of them quickly became disinterested. Both the Slytherin and the Gryffindor Quidditch captains appeared highly antsy after simply ten minutes of him speaking, especially after their ice cream had been finished. 

In some ways, Professor Slughorn reminded of Gilderoy Lockhart, the famous and currently infamous author and former Hogwarts Professor who had lied about all of his accomplishments for the sake of fame. However, Slughorn was what Lockhart had always wanted to be. A clever and accomplished man who was gifted things and titles simply because he was able to assist the people who could give him those titles when he was young. He was confident and proud, not because he was pretending to be, but because he had every reason to be. 

The dinner concluded and the guests left the room marked as 7B, and continued onwards to their common rooms and dormitories. Harry watched with complicated feelings as Blaise and Parkinson wandered off towards the Slytherin common room, while he could not follow them. It was an odd, unwelcome feeling, especially since the two of them weren’t exactly Harry’s friends and therefore not truly worth longing to go with. 

Before Blaise passed around a corner and disappeared, Harry called out to him, “Blaise?”

The handsome young man halted himself and turned back towards Harry, raising a polite but not displeased eyebrow to question what he wanted. 

The words formed on his tongue, shaping themselves into a form of magic, constructed by longing and want. Harry managed to transform them at the last second so as to not ruin what he was attempting to do for the person whose name he succeeded in not mentioning. “Please say hi to… Teddy.” 

Blaise nodded in response. “I shall,” he promised and then turned the corner. 

Harry drew a shaking breath before he turned to follow Hermione, Neville and Ginny as they walked away from the dungeons and towards the upper levels of the school. 

That night, Harry struggled to sleep due to a suffocating feeling of loneliness. It was not until he had been given permission by the rather odd smelling Sorting Hat to put it by it in his bed by his pillow, that Harry managed to fall asleep. To his surprise, the Sorting Hat sang him a lullaby. Harry had never really had lullabies sung to him, but in the end, it helped him fall asleep without thinking too much. 

Later, Harry would think that it was perhaps a little weird for him as a sixteen year old mage to want and need a lullaby, but it helped, and that was the most important part for the moment. Harry had never been one to blame other people for their coping mechanisms, so he concluded that he could simply let his need for a distraction before he fell asleep simply be what it was. 

Chapter Text

The following Monday, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny received the same letter that they had been invited as members of the Slug Club, and would be expected to meet once every second week, on Friday evening at 18.00 o'clock. Within the letter was a small enamel pin, showing a horned slug which formed a C for club. It was a simple but elegant design. Ginny opted to not wear it, but the other three friends pinned them to the lapel of their robes. Harry found that it weighed more than he had expected, presenting a rather prominent weight upon his chest. He didn’t particularly feel like he needed more of those, but he told himself that he would get used to it. 

Ron and Teddy were equally excited as the rest of them that the first, and previously almost impossible, first step in their plan had been completed. The two best friends were in no way jealous of their membership, seeing as neither of them thought Professor Slughorn's dinner sounded entertaining in the least. 

Life at Hogwarts resumed for the group of friends, as they all had their duties to attend to. Neville returned to the Herbology club and quickly became busy with restoring the greenhouse to the way it had been when they left school last term. Over the summer, many things always happened in there as plants bloomed and died. Bugs and insects found their way in from the Forbidden Forest, eating some of the contents of the greenhouse, and being eaten by certain things within it. It was the duty of the Herbology club to restore the plants, flowers and general vegetables to a healthy state and remove the weed and other unwanted things which might have sprouted in the greenhouse. Neville had already neglected his duties during his exams, and was eager to return to his work alongside the club. 

Ron, being one of the Prefects of Gryffindor quickly became busy with his duties as well. After Umbridge’s reign and general chaos left behind by her Disciplinary Committee, there were a lot of things which needed to be done, and certain records which needed to be looked over. New clubs were forming all around the school in the simple response that they were allowed to exist again. Ron began working closely with Lavender Brown, another Gryffindor Prefect from his class, as it was simply convenient for them to get a hold of one another when they needed. 

Further, Ron tried out for the Quidditch team once more, and was allowed to once more join Ginny’s team as the Keeper. As per tradition with a new team captain, there were new trials for all positions. This meant that he became rather busy with his new training schedule as well, making him a rather absent figure in the Room of Requirements, just like Neville had become.

The occupants of the Room of Requirements had dwindled significantly. On an average day, only Harry, Hermione and Teddy would be there, all of them busying themselves in different parts of the room. 

Hermione was evidently struggling to keep herself busy as she dived into her schoolwork and self studies of Dark Arts with renewed willingness to not think about the world around her. She was evidently intent on helping Draco by becoming the best she could be in the eyes of Professor Slughorn, and with that as her motivation, Hermione closed herself off to the world from within her books. 

Teddy did something similar to Hermione and busied himself by his workbench. He had realised that without Ron and without George, he was somewhat lonely as he and Hermione didn’t have much to talk about, and Harry was busy with pushing himself academically to not have to think about the lack of Draco in his surroundings. 

Over the course of one week, Colin was becoming a great comfort to Harry. He was in his fourth year despite the fact that his age was simply one year below Harry and his classmates. This meant that Colin did not have OWLs to study for, like Ginny and Luna, but could spend his days with Harry to a far larger degree. The two of them talked a lot about small things, and would begin to discuss taking walks together as a means of getting out more. Harry would help Colin with his homework when he needed and Colin would keep Harry company if he needed it. 

As Colin was not able to handle Harry as a snake after being a victim of Secrets the basilisk, one of Harry’s coping mechanisms didn’t work together with his newfound friend. However, Colin was more than happy to hug when Harry needed one. Harry tried to pretend that he needed hugs less than he actually did. 

Luna was generally busy with her OWLs, and she spent her time around Ginny and her friends, which had recently become Luna’s friends as well. Harry had yet to have the time to speak to her properly as they were rather busy, but they had been able to chat a little during Muggle Studies. He looked forward to speaking to her when she had time, as her stuttering had already improved since last term, and her general behavior was a lot less dreamlike and absentminded. It appeared to Harry that Luna was recovering rather well, just as she had wanted to. Of course, he couldn’t know without speaking to her, but what he did see and hear of her made her out to be healthy. 

Harry was further forced to denounce the name he wanted in favor of being referred to as Harry Potter during class, if he wanted to commit to the persona he was trying to uphold. It had been absolutely and horrifyingly wrong to correct every teacher in front of the students, telling them to call him Potter rather than Lupin. The strain on forcing the person Harry was not into reality was so heavy on him that Harry suffered from a collection of breakdowns during that week, ones he hid in his room to avoid anyone knowing about them. He knew that he could talk to his friends about it, but he found himself scared that they would convince him that he didn’t have to be Harry Potter to make a change. For the moment, Harry couldn’t stand the idea of being offered a way out when he couldn’t take it. When he had made up his mind to not take it. 

Thus, Harry enforced the persona of Harry Potter as he began to act like he presented himself to Professor Slughorn towards everyone around him who weren’t his friends. Yet again, he modelled himself after the Malfoy family, enforcing strictness and politeness with general but somewhat absent approachability. He adapted the body language of a Pureblood, yet made himself humble in a manner which most Purebloods did not. Harry did not think of it as mimicking the Pureblood families as much as he considered himself to be acting professional and mature. With that, Harry Potter came into being, and Harry Lupin could only exist with his closest friends out of sight of the general eye. 

Some students were polite enough to ask if Harry was actually comfortable with being referred to as ‘Potter’ and while it hurt him greatly to claim that he wanted it, Harry found that his acceptance of the name had removed one weakness for Crabbe and the possible followers to abuse and target. Harry appreciated people’s concern for him, even as he was forced to reject it. 

To further enforce the difference between himself and the persona of the icon, Harry began to wear his hair up a lot more, rather than letting it hang freely as he had for years. It drastically decreased the rate at which his glasses became dirty so that was one positive change the hairstyles brought him. While Harry was not entirely comfortable with what he saw in the mirror, at the very least he felt relaxed when he was alone in his room or with his friends, and simply allowed to be himself. 

While it was unusual and rather strange to see Severus within the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom more permanently than when they had been to his lecture about Lycanthropy, he did not appear as out of place to Harry as he did to most other students. Harry noticed with great happiness that Severus had adapted the same points system as Remus had when he was teaching, although his general point gains were lower, but with higher punishment. Harry also knew that this subject was something which Severus held dear, just like his dad did, and thus felt rather happy seeing Severus have a position of work which he had wanted for some time. He was even happier to see the ways in which Remus might have ended up influencing Severus as a teacher simply from being his partner, as certain very good practices truly did remind of Remus. Then again Severus could just equally have had the same good ideas from the start. It was ideas such as always introducing a subject in theory before having the students engage physically with it, thus ensuring that they always felt prepared.

Last year when Umbridge had created a war between the Houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor had managed to punish one another enough to reach record low numbers for both Houses. Then they had both honed in on Ravenclaw to not let them win, which left Hufflepuff as the sole House unaffected by the House war. Thus, at the end of the year and to everyone’s great surprise, Hufflepuff was bewildered to find themselves with an untouched number of points, leaving them as the only one standing, a mountain amongst the shallow sea of other Houses’ points. 

Remus had been excited to learn of Hufflepuff’s victory, even if he was somewhat worried about how they had gotten that victory. In the end, they evidently deserved it, but the House war itself troubled the former Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. 

Yet odder than Severus no longer being the Potions teacher was the fact that he no longer lived in the same place as he always had, but in the living space which had previously belonged to the Headmistress, an escaped Death Eater, a werewolf, a fraud and a possessed man. It was most curious to Harry to think about him waking up with sunlight coming through the window, rather than waking up in the darkness of his self constructed cell in the dungeons. 

Nonetheless, Severus remained generally pale despite his sudden access to sunlight. Further, he did not appear particularly affected by the change of accommodations or losing his position as the Head of the Slytherin House. Harry was certain that if he had spoken to him, Severus would have told him that he was, yet Harry had yet to have the chance to speak to him properly since the beginning of the term. It was something he wanted to do, but had yet to get around to doing. 

Another Monday came and during breakfast, a letter landed in front of Harry, almost splashing his tea all over his scrambled eggs. Harry fished the letter up from his cup and used magic to dry it off while Teddy shrugged and poured him a new cup. 

Inside the inconspicuous envelope was a short letter from Albus. Harry felt his hands shake slightly as he opened it to read the contents. A thousand different messages swam before his eyes, with a hundred possible formulations, yet what the letter said was as simple as it was breathtaking. 

Dear Harry, 

I am available to speak to you this afternoon from 16 o’clock and forward. 

Come see me at my office at your leisure but do come alone. 

I’ve prepared an explanation. 

Your friend, 

Albus

The prospect of getting answers made it somewhat hard to focus on the lessons of the day for Harry. He felt like time didn’t pass quickly enough, yet he somehow found himself standing before the door to Albus’ office while feeling like almost no time had passed at all. The day had elapsed too quickly, and yet it didn’t feel as if it had happened at all as Harry gathered his journal and approached the stairs which lead up to the Headmaster’s office and up towards his door. His heart was slamming in his chest, impossibly loud and impossibly real. His hands were sweaty and his head felt too warm and too small for all his thoughts. Harry noticed that his mouth was dry, but no amount of swallowing appeared to be helping. 

He would finally get answers. 

Finally, he would know. 

He would understand. 

He would understand things which few if any others knew on top of that.

As Harry reached up to knock upon it, the door opened for him, as if it had nervously been expecting him. Harry entered and the door gently closed behind him and locked itself. He knew that it wasn’t attempting to keep him locked in, but rather keep others out from the conversation which was about to occur in the Headmaster’s office. 

The office was like Harry recalled it, a large, circular room with a second balcony landing in the back which led the way to further rooms in the tower. The walls were covered in bookcases with mystical, magical objects and books, both put on display and some simply existing next to other trinkets and things. Straight ahead was a desk, cluttered with documents, parchment, inkhorns, quills and the like. To the right of the desk was the resting pin of a large, fully mature phoenix in proud, flaming colors, with eyes like blazing pieces of coal. Somewhere behind the desk stood a large, unfamiliar object which was either a covered frame or a floor length mirror.

Yet Harry’s attention was drawn to an even less familiar object to his left, which appeared to be a raised and broad chalice filled with faintly luminescent strings of pale silvery mist. The mist moved like threads, softly dancing around one another within the chalice, spinning, weaving and beckoning to all who glanced in its direction. 

“It’s called a Pensieve,” Albus rose from his seat behind the desk. 

As he moved, his entire body appeared tense, and Harry thought that he could see the remains of tears upon the old man’s cheeks and in his lashes as the old wizard came to stand next to him. He noticed that Albus continuously fidgeted with his fingers, or stopped himself from reaching up towards his chest. Harry thought he recalled the old wizard reaching for something when he had taken Harry to speak to Hermione upon her being bewitched by the Mirror of Erised. It had been about six years since then, but Harry recalled the gesture as familiar as he saw it again. 

Albus stood next to Harry, his silver hair and beard resembled the contents of the chalice as it stood raised from the floor, resting on a small pillar which reached to around Harry’s belly button. Harry gazed up at the man before following his gaze towards the Pensieve. He pretended to not notice anything of the tears or the evident nervousness which the man was failing to keep hidden from Harry. 

“What does it do?” he asked politely, like a student who already knew the answer. Despite his calmness Harry had not the faintest clue what the soft, swirling mist could possibly be, and he did not feel particularly calm. “You aren’t supposed to drink it, right?” His worries overcame him as he had to ask to relieve his fears. 

“Not at all,” Albus smiled at him as he walked over to the pillar and leaned against it, peering into the silver strings of mist as if he could see something else beyond them. “It is a magical tool used to re-experience memories of days past. I have gathered the memories which I think you would find enlightening in regards to all of your questions. I have different ones collected into jars and bottles in my current sleeping quarters, but these are the ones which I thought you’d find to provide answers, in this order.” 

He raised his head and looked towards Harry with a small yet distinctly frightened and apologetic smile. “I believe I told you that I simply can’t retell all of this. It’s too personal. Too painful. I’m not… as strong as to be able to speak of it.” He averted his gaze from Harry, yet again appearing guilty and uncertain. “It would save me a lot of pain if you would allow me to show you what transpired, and then you may ask me questions when you know the circumstances better. It is a highly selfish request, and one not altogether legal, I’d imagine. However, this is the only way I can think of to allow you the answers you seek.” 

Harry considered a few of the statements the other man had made. Before he could agree to the suggestions, there were certain things which he wanted to ask about in more detail. “Are your memories simply laying around in jars and bottles? Isn’t that highly risky? Somebody might steal them, or in some manner abuse them.” 

Albus shook his head with a polite smile. “You are at Hogwarts. If anyone wished to steal my memories, they would have to pass every security measure to break inside. Then they would have to pass this room and find their way directly into my sleeping quarters. The memories are numbered, but not labelled, which means that stealing them would be a gamble in the first place unless they found my journal of notes about them. Truly, you suffer the same dangers if someone stole that journal of yours. Memories might be highly intimate, and very personal, but that is all they are. If someone stole my memories, I could simply reproduce a copy. For someone to be able to see them, they would also need a Pensieve and they are rather rare and are no longer made. I see little danger which could befall me from keeping my memories in a physical form.” 

Harry nodded, finding that the reasoning made sense. He squeezed his journal a little closer to himself at the thought of somebody stealing it. That was not a very pleasant idea to him. “Then, my other question, why do you have a Pensieve if they are rare? That is not to be accusing, I’m mostly curious,” he hastily added upon the realisation that he sounded suspicious. 

The sadness in the old wizard’s face intensified as he turned to gaze into the white mist once more. After a short silence, he spoke up, the words heavy with sorrow. “Because I am the Greatest Wizard of the century,” he reached into the mist with his aged fingers, allowing the threads to brush against his hand. “I am not allowed to forget. I can’t allow myself to forget. I must somehow, unreasonably, overcome aging and never forget. Words aren’t enough, I must be able to recall the experiences.” 

His voice broke at the end, making Harry worry that he would begin to cry. It was not that Harry couldn’t stand to see Albus feel, but he simply didn’t want the other man to hurt. He wasn’t so ignorant as to think that people no longer felt the need to feel simply because they were growing older, but to see Albus in so much pain was hard as a friend. Harry stepped forward and gently grabbed the hand which was not playing with the memories. He squeezed it gently with a soft expression of understanding. Just as how he understood his dad’s struggles, Harry understood Albus’. 

Albus squeezed the hand back as he slowly began to calm down again. “Harry, I need you to remember two things before you enter my memories. The first is that these memories are recorded with how I felt and saw matters at the time. Some things are still true today, but others have changed. If what you see and feel is not what you’d like to think of me, please do not judge my current self based on the actions of my past self.” 

Harry nodded in agreement. He had already concluded as much based on the understanding that people seldom remained the same in real life, even if they could in stories. 

The old wizard appeared relieved as Harry agreed. “Secondly, you must remember that you will be entering into my memories, into my head, with all the biases and quirks of what I felt and understood back then. You must remember that the feelings you will feel won’t be your own. The thoughts you have are not yours and the people you will meet, you have actually never met. This is the primary reason as to why this course of action is not quite morally just, as your young mind might be confused with the limit of where you lie. You have never known Tom, and I’m afraid that you never will. Do you understand what I am telling you?” 

He nodded yet again, “the feelings, thoughts and actions aren’t mine but yours. It is just a memory and it isn’t mine.” 

“Very good,” Albus squeezed Harry’s hand once more. “Lastly, you will be experiencing a set of consecutive memories which I have gathered for you. I cannot bring you out until you have experienced them all but do not be alarmed. Memories flash by so quickly, even if you experience them as longer when you are stuck within them. Are you quite prepared?” 

After using Luna’s breathing technique a few times, Harry nodded. “I am ready. What do I do?” 

The old wizard reached into his clothes and produced a small, corked bottle which had been hanging around his neck in a thin silver chain. To Harry’s surprise, the small bottle which was no bigger than his thumb was filled with a red liquid which could not be anything other than blood. The part of the chain which wrapped around the bottle in a crude manner had beads in the shapes of pale stars hanging from it. Other than those little decorations, the bottle, cork and the chain were all noticeably common and rather old. The necklace was very much handmade by somebody who had never made a bottle necklace before. 

With shaking hands and tears forming in his eyes, Albus reached around Harry’s neck and placed the necklace there. “You’re wearing my most prized possession,” he whispered as he slowly separated himself from the chain. “I want you to know that it means more to me than most things in this world.” 

Harry stopped himself from touching the bottle when he realised just how much the object meant to his old friend. He allowed his fingers to fall down to his side again. In a gesture of confidence yet not a smoothly performed one, he handed Albus his journal. “Then you will have this in return.” As Albus accepted the token, Harry continued to speak up, but in a rather hesitant, somewhat shy tone of voice. “What am I wearing?” 

“My blood,” Albus smiled but without joy. “My heart. It will allow you to bypass the magic of the Pensieve without harm, as it is blood locked to me. I do believe you know what that magic is?” He followed up with a rather Professor-like inquiry.  

Harry nodded in response, as he recalled everything Sirius had taught him in terms of how items and jewellery with a person's blood could be used in place of the person itself for most blood locked magic. “I do know. But how do I experience the memories?” He glanced at the Pensieve and the softly moving mist which beckoned him so gently and so harmlessly. 

Albus gestured towards the chalice. “Lean forward and breathe in deeply. The memories will find your mind and inhabit it temporarily. Simply try to allow yourself to be lost within them. You will not be stuck there, I assure you.” 

With his heart hammering fast in his chest, Harry slowly followed the instruction while struggling to not touch the necklace as it swayed forward alongside his movement. Harry had a myriad of questions and he doubted that the memories would answer all of them, but he was willing to expose himself to them if it could help him understand anything which had happened in the past. After all, memories might hurt, but they were but remnants of a history which could no longer be accessed or changed. Albus’ memories couldn’t actually harm Harry. 

Thus, Harry breathed in deeply, allowing the memories to bleed into his mind and form themselves within it. Harry closed his eyes and allowed the flood to overtake him, bringing him into a time long since passed. 

Chapter Text

I am sitting by my teacher’s desk as I hear the door open. I know from experience that only the Headmaster would think to open my door without knocking, so I meet his gaze without surprise as the man in question approaches me. He is walking down the aisles of my classroom as if he owns the school, which I suppose he does indeed do, at least for the moment. Nonetheless, I can’t help but feel somewhat bothered by the lack of respect he has for me within the teaching realm which is supposedly mine. At least temporarily mine. 

“Headmaster,” I greet the man when he is standing in front of my desk as I rise to my feet. “What can I assist you with?” I don’t ask if he wants something, I already know that he would not come to see me personally unless it was important. Unless he wanted me to do something. He has always been a man like that, placing his own desires before the needs and wants of anyone else, including his staff and supposed friends. 

“I have received a letter from a trusted albeit non-magical friend who is keeping an eye on the orphaned children in search of possible mages to bring to Hogwarts in the future. One such potential mage has appeared and I need someone to speak to the boy urgently. Apparently, he has been using his powers in a reckless manner which risks exposing him, and us, to the world of Muggles. We hardly need to add that paranoia to the world for the moment. Not after their Great War has been concluded at last. Thus, someone has to explain to this boy the way of mages, and ensure that his evident talents do not go to waste through means of the petty bullying of a childish mind.” The Headmaster rambles at me more than he speaks to me. 

It’s annoyingly clear what he is asking of me. He could simply have said it yet he does not. He expects me to offer on my own, because then I made the choice, even if he gave me no choice but to make it. I reach for El’s necklace, moved by nostalgia and longing, but I catch my hand within the movement and instead use it to scratch my neck. I should cut my beard, but I keep on forgetting. The color has begun to fade into grey, rather than the hair color of my birth. I push my thoughts about my aging away as I make the choice which the Headmaster wants me to make. 

“I shall go speak with him. Where do I go and who do I ask for?” I focus on my employer as I speak. 

While I do like the incentive of saving orphaned mages from a world without magic, I never imagined that it would mean that busy Hogwarts teachers like myself would be expected to go and hold inspirational talks with the orphaned children to try and convince them to lay low until they could come to Hogwarts. Telling a child that they are very special is never good for their ego. Yet it becomes ever worse when you ask them to keep how special they are hidden from their friends and bullies. 

Like El used to say, ‘if you give a mage a future, they will want to guide that future to construct their own happiness.’ It used to be ‘person’ but he changed it to suit his own agenda, making it ‘mage’ instead. My hand moves to my necklace once more as I think of him. This time, I do not manage to stop it and my fingers close around the familiar bottle which must remain hidden from the world, lest they take my final memory from me. 

Unaware of me, the Headmaster tells me an address which likely belongs to an orphanage, as well as a name.

“Tom Riddle?” 

What a strange name. 

✴✴✴

“Are you sure you want to meet Tom, Professor?” 

The nun is bobbing away before me, her feet moving rapidly underneath her as I simply stride along by her side without great effort. She is very small and smells of unpleasant scents which reminds me of hospitals and cleaning products. She is leading me through the busy corridors of the orphanage as I pretend not to notice the flaking paint and the odd stains upon some of the walls. It is not that the orphanage is wholly unpleasant, but it is evidently not rich. 

“Indeed, I believe he is a perfect candidate for the school I represent,” I’ve done this many times. The people at the orphanages usually have the same reactions to magical children. ‘They are strange,’ ‘the other children are scared of them,’ ‘you have to mind, sir, curious things are happening with that child!’ By now, I know what to say and how to express myself to make the Muggle caretakers find me less frightening. Seeing as this is a nun and a religious orphanage, it is likely that young Tom Riddle is seen as some manner of monster, devil, or satanic offspring to the well meaning but ultimately ignorant nuns. 

“But Professor, you see, Tom, he… Curious things are happening with that child. He is strange and he rather scares the other children. Sometimes I think that there was no holy union which spawned him.” The nun whispers to me as she clutches her religious symbol. That has to hurt, it looks rather spikey. 

Four out of four. 

Tom Riddle is very much going to be a noteworthy one. 

“I’m equipped to handle odd children,” I state simply. 

She stops by the door furthest away from all others, by the end of the corridor. With a careful knock as if she expects the faded door with the flaking paint to bite her, she calls the name of the boy who takes up residence in the room inside. “A nice man from a renowned school is here to meet you, Tom. A Professor at Strathallan, even. He’ll come inside and speak with you in peace, do behave, sweetie.” She opens the door for me and gives me a desperate look. As if I am stepping into the jaws of a dragon freely and without understanding my choice. 

How very silly. 

Tom Riddle is not a large boy but he is not inherently small either. He has dark, curly hair and emerald green eyes but the round and spotless face of a child is meeting me with such barely held back disdain that I find myself surprised as to what could prompt such hostility. I already know what could, but I like to think that the world has not yet hurt him to that point. The boy is sitting on his bed, looking at me as if he expects me to scold him. 

I pull out the chair by the desk and sit down upon it, smiling at the young mage before me. 

He does not take kindly to my apparent calmness. Before I can speak up, he speaks to me, “are you another priest? Will you throw holy water at me after binding me to the bed? Will you hammer another cross into the wall?” He points behind him at the various religious symbols which have been crudely affixed to the wall. “Or are you here to take me to a madhouse? I have heard that that’s where mad people go. I’m not scared of it!” He adds hastily with the defiance of youth, pouting his childishly red lips at me. 

“I’m here to do no such thing,” I attempt to ease his worries by reason but the boy isn’t listening. Perhaps he is too scared to hope that I would be different. 

“So you’re here to read me the Bible then?” Tom snorts and crosses his arms over his little body. “I’ve already read it. All of it. It was boring and it contradicts itself in a lot of places. Sister Griselda says I’m lying and that it’s a sin towards God, but I really did read all of it.” 

“Did you now?” I smile at him. “That is very impressive. I’m sorry you didn’t like it very much. It’s a shame when you cannot read for entertainment.” I mean what I say earnestly. From what I know, the Bible is supposedly long and rather complex, especially for a nine year old child. 

A flicker of hope passes over his features as his arms move to his sides once more. “You believe me?” 

“I do,” I respond simply as I rest my elbows on my knees. “The sister told me that you are a bit of a problem child, would you tell me about that?” 

“You’re trying to make me confess my sins so you can use them against me?” Tom huffs and crosses his arms once more. 

His hostility fills the air, and I cannot help but feel sympathetic towards him. The religious upbringing isn’t doing well for his mind, and it is most certainly not making this young boy happy. In fact, it has made him defensive, scared and unhappy. I calm my feelings of anger towards the religion by reminding myself that I will save this boy from the Muggle world, and take him to a place where God and the sisters cannot reach him. Soon enough, he will be surrounded by people like him, rather than shallow Muggles with their idiotic wars and their pathetic struggles of religious dominance. I cannot bear to think of wars. I remind myself of what Tom said. 

“Sin is a made up concept,” I tell him. 

The look on the boy’s face is one I will remember for as long as I live. The shock, surprise, and subsequent happiness within those green orbs means a lot to me. I couldn’t save El, but I might be able to save the world he left behind. One lost soul at a time. 

“You’re not a priest, are you?” Tom whispers. He is leaning forward now, his gaze focused on me as if I suddenly materialised in front of him. “You’re really a Professor from a school who wants to take me away from here?”

“I am,” I assure the boy. 

“Really, really?” He is begging, rather than asking. 

“Cross my heart,” I promise. 

“What kind of school is it?” He jumps forward on his bed, focusing on me with renewed attention. 

“It’s a school for mages, like yourself.” I tried to make the words sound natural to the practically Muggle-born boy, but as I expected, he doesn’t believe me. 

“Oh… So it is a madhouse…” Tom sighed as he bit his lower lip. “I knew it. You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that?” 

“I assure you that the school, as well as magic, is very real. You have performed magic on a number of occasions already, an-”

“You’re lying,” Tom doesn’t shout as he interrupts me. Rather, he sighs, a resignation to being locked away until he dies. “What’s the name of your supposed magic school?” 

“It’s Hogwarts but that is beside the point of what I’m-”

“Hogwarts?” Tom sounds disgusted as he moves back upon the bed and recrosses his arms. “Like warts of a hog? Oh that is definitely a real school and a real name of a real school. How stupid do you think I am, Professor?” He spits my title at me, not believing me in the least. 

With a small smile, I raise my hand towards him. A flame flickers within my open palm. Against his will, Tom leans in a little closer to observe my magic. Under his gaze, it shapes into a bird as it slowly spreads its wings and raises a long neck. The bird is modelled after Fawkes, who I am taking care of instead of his actual owner. As Tom stares, the miniature phoenix spreads its wings and takes off from my hand, beginning to circle the room with slow, steady beats of its wings, leaving behind a trail of shimmering embers as it flies. Tom stands up, following it with his eyes as his gaze turns longing. 

The young boy raises his hands towards my creation, and I have it land within his open palms. He is smiling and the expression of joy fills his green eyes with tears. He turns towards me as he cradles the harmless spell within his cupped hands, holding it as if it is his most treasured item. 

The expression of relief, joy and sadness causes my chest to ache. I wish I could embrace the boy, but I am a stranger to him and my hug would no doubt be odd and unwelcome. Thus, I simply smile at him. “I am a mage, Tom. Just like you.” 

“I knew I wasn’t the only one!” Tom sobs as he sits down with the bird in his hands. It does not burn him. It cannot burn him for I do not let it. “I knew that I had to be… I had to have people like me! It didn’t make sense for me to be the only person in the world who was magical! Does… does that mean that at… Hogwarts, there are more people like us?” He does not quite take a liking to the name, which I can understand. It is not a very appealing name to a child, nor to an adult for that matter. 

“There are people like us everywhere, we just cannot be around non-magic people in general, since that might reveal our existence to them and we cannot have that. You know that the Great War recently ended, do you not?” 

Tom nods. He isn’t quite certain of what I’m talking about, but he understands that there was a war and now there is not. At least not in the Muggle world. 

El, you fool. 

“Imagine if the people with all the weapons were to learn of us. They would not want us to be. So we have to hide to protect ourselves from people who would want to throw us into madhouses or worse.” I try to explain it to him in a direct manner which won’t leave him frightened or confused as I leave. “You won’t have to hide at Hogwarts. There, you are allowed to be yourself with people like you.” 

“I want that,” Tom speaks in a dreaming voice as he turns his gaze upon the fiery bird within his hands. “Will I learn to make one of these?” 

I smile at him again, “you will.” 

“Will I learn how to fly? To cast fireballs and electricity and… and all of those things?” Tom eagerly asks me, prompting me to laugh. 

“There are plenty of things you can learn at Hogwarts. I don’t know about flying, but we have brooms and other spells to achieve what you want. I teach at Hogwarts, I could help you study and reach your goals.” I explain to him in my best teacher voice. 

“I want to go there now!” Tom wishes out loud and then focuses on me. “You have come to take me there now, haven’t you? When do we leave? You can tell me all about Hogwarts in your car, can’t you?” 

His desire causes my heart to throb with pain.

He is too young to attend Hogwarts as it currently is, only at age eleven will he be allowed to join the school. It will at the very least be two years more where he will remain stuck in this orphanage without anyone who understands him or cares for him. With priests who will beat him for not believing, or tie the child to the bed and attempt to exorcise him for the sake of saving his soul. Of nuns to call him liar, spawn of the devil, and all other manners of names. Of being bullied for being different while dreaming of the day when the letter will finally come and temporarily save him from the home he cannot be himself in.  

They say that a child will cure a person’s depression.

They say that you haven’t really experienced life until you’ve cared for another, much smaller, human being.

They say children cure your loneliness, your aching and solve many problems which can only be solved by other people.

They say that children are wholly good, and that true happiness lies with them. 

El made me happy. Now, El makes me sad. 

I’m lonely and I’m lost. 

Perhaps… Perhaps a child could save me. 

This child wants to be saved as much as I want to be saved. He appears intelligent and bright, and he is in awe with what I can do and the things I could teach him. He wants to be taken to Hogwarts, I live at Hogwarts. 

The earnest desire in his eyes reminds me of myself. He is begging to be saved, just as I begged El to save me in the past. If I don’t save this child now, then nobody will save him, and he will grow up as lonely as I am now. 

It’s selfish, but I want to believe that Tom Riddle could save me from all my problems, simply because he is a child and children are supposed to make you happy. 

“You won’t be able to attend Hogwarts until you are eleven,” I experimentally attempt to tell him the truth, simply so that I can gauge his reaction and measure my feelings in regards to his. 

Tom draws a breath, one which sounds as if he cannot breathe. I can see panic swell within his green orbs and tears are running down his cheeks as a breakdown shakes his small body. He might just be a child, but his feelings are evident and his panic is real. His small hands close around the bird, causing it to go up in flames, which only fuels his panic and sorrow. 

I cannot stand it. 

I cannot leave him here to suffer alone in a world of perceived enemies and cruel, ignorant Muggles. 

“Tom, would you like to be adopted by me? I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I can understand how much you are hurting here. If you want to live with me at Hogwarts, I would be able to take you away from here very soon. Rather than tell you about Hogwarts, I could show it to you.” I worry that I am overstepping some boundary in my asking. I believe that someone said that all orphaned children dream of being adopted one day, but I still feel intrusive and rather rude as I ask him to become my son out of nowhere. 

I can feel my face heat with embarrassment and nervousness as his green, tearstained eyes focus on me. Tom sniffs and breathes deeply a few times. “You want to adopt me? Me? Just to save me from here?” 

“Yes, it is what I would have wanted if I was in your position.”

I am not lying. I’m not. I want to help this child as much as I want a distraction from everything which is happening with El overseas.

“You’re not going to beat me?” Tom asks as he studies me with hope and fear mixing together upon his face. 

“I’m not,” I promise. “I won’t ever hurt you.” 

“And you will let me read what I want? No Bibles and no psalms?” 

“There is an entire library at Hogwarts and you are allowed to read whatever you want from it. There are no Bibles whatsoever, I assure you.” 

“And you won’t throw Holy Water on me and chain me to the bed?” 

“I don’t even know what Holy Water is,” I chuckle gently as I shake my head. 

Tom grins. A wild, open, honest grin. “Will you teach me all that you know about magic?” 

“All that I can and more!” I assure him.

Tom jumps to his feet and grabs my hands, looking unabashedly into my eyes as he practically beams at me. “Then I want to be adopted by you, uh… you… never told me your name…” He realises with a confused frown. “You aren’t named Toadstool or something, are you? I don’t want to be named something weird. I rather like Riddle, it makes me feel powerful and incomprehensible.” 

I laugh at him as I allow my far larger hands to close around the child’s. “My name is Albus. Albus Dumbledore.” 

“Dumbledore? That’s rather weird!” Tom objects with childish naivete. “May I keep Riddle even though you adopt me?” 

“You may keep your name if you want to, and you may change it when the time is right,” I promise him. 

“Will I have a mum?” he asks, looking at my fingers to search for a ring. 

El. 

“I’m afraid you won’t,” I attempt to laugh my own discomfort away, as well as the memories of my previous partner. “I’m not married.” 

“Oh,” he appears disappointed but forgives me soon afterwards. The mind of a child makes it easy to forgive, but it will not remain that way. “When will we leave? Can you bring me today? Do you live in Edinburgh? I’ve always wanted to go there.” 

“Hogwarts is not in Edinburgh,” I remind him of where I live. “But it is a castle. A real one.”

“A magical castle?” his face lights up with joy but then dimmers into displeasure. “You really should have picked a better name…” He reprimands me. 

I laugh again, “I’ll tell the Headmaster you said that. Also, I will bring you to Edinburgh if you want me to. That is where you will be getting your magical equipment when it’s time for you to start school.” 

A troubled look blooms upon my future child’s face and his grip becomes harder upon my hands. “Wait… wait, how do I know you will come back? You might be lying to me… and you might never come back. You could leave me like my parents did and… and then… Then I…” The boy is having another breakdown as happiness is replaced by fear. 

His abused mind is likely more accustomed to fear, and therefore responds to too much happiness by replacing it with fear. I used to be the same. Until El changed me. 

“I promise you,” I squeeze his hands. “I will come back for you. You can come with me when I speak to the nuns about wanting to adopt you. We can do it right now, if you’d like.” It’s going too fast, but if I stop to think, I might find that I want to abandon this child. I cannot allow myself to allow Tom to slip through my fingers and into suffering. This world is hurting him and I can save him. I can save him where I cannot save myself. 

“I want to do it now, but if sin isn’t real then lies aren’t wrong, so you could be lying to me.” Tom stares me up and down as he tries not to cry. It bothers me greatly that he's been taught that lies are wrong because they are sins rather than the very real fact that lies and bad actions have consequences and hurt people.

“I will prove to you that I am not,” I stand up, keeping his hands in mine. “Let’s go together right now. I will show you that I am worthy of your trust.”

His small hand squeezes mine as he allows me to lead him out the room and towards the nuns’ office. Children shy away from me and Tom as we walk hand in hand. Tom walks close to me, pretending not to notice or mind their frightened stares as he accompanies a stranger willingly. They must be used to him refusing to walk with anyone from the way that they are staring. I give Tom another small squeeze as I focus on the path before me, recalling bitterly yet sweetly the way I felt when El took my hand and guided me through Hogwarts and onto the dance floor. I see the fear, worry and need to flee in Tom’s eyes, just as El likely saw in mine that night. I do not let Tom run back to his room, as I know that he wants to because he feels the need to hide. I understand now the weight of what El once did for me, things which felt incomprehensible to me in the past.

When he is my son, he will never have to hide again. 

I will save him, and he will save me in return. 

✴✴✴

Tom’s reaction to Hogwarts is wonderful. 

So much enjoyment, happiness and joy fitted onto one small face, one small body. From the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts Express to the moment when he looked up at the castle for the first time, Tom beamed. I feel like I made the right choice as I look at him. I know it. Tom needs Hogwarts, perhaps more than he needs me. 

I show Tom the entrance hall and the Great Hall, I show him the enchanted ceiling and the floating candles. I show him the various banners of the different Houses and the hourglasses full of gems. I show him the grand staircases with all the moving portraits and take him on a tour of every common room, to the slight surprise of some of my students. We walk the dungeons, the hallways and visit every tower. I show him the grounds and I show him my classroom, my office, as well as where he will be living with me. It is not a grand living space, but to the boy who was previously living alone in a small room, my busy chambers with all the trinkets, objects and books are beyond wonderful. Tom nearly cries as he sees the library and learns that he can read whatever he wants in there and nobody will blame him. 

Tom meets Fawkes in my room, and is transfixed by the fiery bird, even though Fawkes is currently appearing as old and ragged as I feel on the inside. He will die soon, but he will be reborn. While Tom is frightened by death, he is eager about the idea of the animal returning again. Perhaps he wants to care for something small in the same manner as I want to care for him. 

After the general tour, we visit a few classrooms and Tom is allowed to see magic. It is somewhat lesser magic than I have performed for him, but he is nonetheless eager to see it. He behaves very well as he sits in the back together with me, eagerly drinking everything up with his piercing, green gaze. I bring him to the Quidditch Arena and tell him all about the sport, which he finds to sound exciting but dangerous. 

Following the visits, he is introduced to the other teachers and the faculty of Hogwarts, all of whom are at least curious to meet the child I adopted. They are kind to the boy’s face, but I can see the doubt in some of my colleagues' eyes when my adoptive son isn’t looking in their direction. Nobody imagined that I would adopt a child, and I do not blame them. It is unlike me. I know that well. 

It might be unconventional for a nine year old boy to live at Hogwarts, but it will work out. It is worth it because Tom is happy. For the first time in his life, the boy is happy. I know that to be the truth because Tom tells it to me. 

Hogwarts is his home. The first home he ever felt to be his home. 

When the weekend comes, I shall take Tom to buy his first wand, and maybe something else that he wants. I want to spoil him a little, to allow him to feel like an expense has been made for him. He deserves it, as life hasn’t been fair to him. 

✴✴✴

I should have known that Aberforth would say something stupid. I should have known, and I should have been prepared, but I am not. 

In the living room, Tom is happily speaking to my parents. He’s confused as to why there are three of them, and why one of my parents uses non gendered pronouns, but Tom is still unused to the ways of the mage community due to his religious upbringing. My parents are explaining to him that mum is a witch, dad is a wizard, and the final parent is a mage. A witch and a wizard are usually mages, but a mage is not always either witch or wizard. Tom is bewildered but I think he understands. 

Simply two weeks together with him has already proven that he is highly intelligent and has a hunger for knowledge which I have never seen in another student. He usually spends the days when I’m working with Fawkes or in the Hogwarts library. He eats alone sometimes, but more often joins me by the teachers’ table. His existence is confusing to some students, but most simply shrug and let him be, which is likely exactly what he needs for the moment. 

However, none of that matters right this second, as Aberforth has accused me of something rather horrible, yet which is stealing the breath from me. For however cruel the accusation is, my brother is right. 

“So you found a kid to replace the man who ran away from you? As if that is going to make you happy.” 

The statement gathers the attention of all three of our parents, as well as Tom himself, who looks across the room at me. I can’t look at him, as I am frightened of whatever expression he might be making. 

“That isn’t true!” I object, but I know without having to look deep within myself that Aberforth has understood me better than our parents. “El has nothing to do with why I adopted Tom.” 

“Oh sure he doesn’t,” Aberforth snorts and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not just a lonely-”

“Abe, you don’t talk like that!” Dad speaks up sternly as he crosses the room to separate the two of us, as we likely appear to be about to fight with one another. 

From behind me, my parent pulls me back, keeping a hand on my wrist to stop me from drawing my wand. “It doesn’t matter what happened between Al and his previous partner, you are not allowed to drag his son into a fight which came before him.”

“I’m just saying that dear old Professor Albus over there appears ready to destroy a child’s entire life because he misses his boyfriend. Why are you making me the villain for him being ignorant and selfish?” Aberforth snarls in response, not quite backing down. 

“Tom, wait!” Mum calls from the other end of the room as Tom suddenly runs out of it. 

I pull myself free and follow him, feeling the emotions cluster in my throat as I chase after the child who I should have no right to comfort. Behind me in the living room, my dad and my brother begin to argue about El but I can’t hear them, I’m busy with Tom. I hear his running steps in the stairs and I hear a door slam. When I reach the top of the stairs, I notice that the bathroom door is locked and I know where he is. 

“Tom?” I walk over to the door and gently knock on it. I can hear the tears in my voice when I speak up, but I hope that my perceptive son doesn’t notice. He probably does. 

“You didn’t tell me that you were a homosexual!” Tom screams at me from the other side of the door, his fear making him aggressive. “That explains why you’d want me despite not knowing me very well! No wonder you don’t have a wife! No wonder you leave me alone all the time! You just wanted someone to project your homosexual desires onto!” I hear him start to cry as he throws accusations at me through the locked door. I can picture him curled up on the floor, confused and frightened. 

Tom’s words are deeply hurtful, they almost make me feel as disgusting as he accuses me of being. He is wrong, of course, but the accusations hurt more, especially when I realised that I have indeed been leaving him alone more than I intend to. I thought he was happy with his books and Fawkes, but I realise as he yells at me that he thinks that I’m avoiding him. 

“Tom, listen to me, please,” I attempt to speak in a quiet voice so as to not allow myself to break down as he does on the other end of the door. “It is true that I am what you call a homosexual, but I like men. You are a boy and you are my child. I told you that I would never hurt you and I mean it. Doing that to you would be the most hurtful thing a person can force upon another. I could never do that to you, or any child.” 

I shouldn’t have to tell this to Tom, but he was raised on fear mongering and lies. I have to be patient with him. It is not him speaking, it is the cruel lies which his religion has forced into his young and impressionable mind. 

“I won’t be a child forever! You might change your mind!” Tom sobs louder, but his voice is a little clearer now. “Your brother said it! You just want a replacement for your boyfriend!” 

“Aberforth is wrong. Nobody could ever replace El, especially not a child.” I seek to calmly reason with him. “The world has been wrong about so many things that it claims. About you, about magic, about mages. Your religion has done nothing but hurt you with how wrong it was about everything, so why would it possibly be right about homosexual men like me? Surely you see the flaw in suddenly believing it because you are scared?” 

Tom sobs a few times before he appears to be crawling closer to the door. When I hear him again, his voice is clearer and closer to me. I kneel down upon the floor, wanting to be closer to him rather than remain a distant figure. He deserves a parent, not another authority figure which he cannot understand or conversate with. 

“Aberforth was suggesting that I replace the loneliness I feel from having lost El by caring for you. He wasn’t saying that I wanted to replace El with you and have the same relationship as the two of us had. I am really sorry that he scared you but here in the mage community, we don’t care about the gender of the person you love. We care about the person. And it is just as horrifyingly despicable for an adult to try and push adult feelings and relations onto children and minors.” I speak the last words with passion and anger, as I cannot ever forgive those who would do such things to innocent children. 

“So a person would be arrested for that?” Tom sniffs, “even here?” 

“Yes,” I place a hand on the door, smiling at the pale wood. “I think they deserve a lifetime in Azkaban for that crime as well.” 

“What is Azkaban?” Tom appears even closer now, his voice sounding less strained and far less frightened. 

“It’s a prison where only the most despicable mages end up after having committed their crimes. It’s a prison on an island, guarded by these creatures called dementors, who, on a very basic level of understanding, suck people’s will to live away.” I explain in a somewhat simple manner. I might not like dementors as punishment but for that crime I am willing to make an exception. 

“So I really am safe with you?” Tom whispers. I imagine that he is touching the door as well. 

“I will never hurt you, Tom.” I promise him yet again. “And I didn’t know that you were feeling lonely. Is there anything you’d like to do together?” 

He thinks for a little bit and then speaks up, “you’re supposed to go watch games with you dad. And eat ice cream. Can we do that?” 

“What kind of games?” I inquire politely as I finally begin to relax. 

“Well… Soccer or baseball, I think. Or horses, but people gamble on horses so that is bad.” Tom sounds unsure of what he actually wants. 

“There won’t be a Quidditch game until next month, but if you’d like to, I could ask my students if we can come watch them practice together? To hold a little mock game, just for us. Would you like that?” 

I hear him unlock the door and then he is standing before me, his face stained with tears and his expression somewhat unsure still. He sniffs and then hugs me around my neck, holding me tightly. His body is so very small. That he thought that he could ever be a replacement for an adult man makes my heart ache with pain for how the world has taught him that he can never be safe with a homosexual man. I gently hold him as well, feeling the tears form in my own eyes. 

I feel guilty as I hug him, despite it being him who initiated the hug. It has nothing to do with the madness which the Muggle world had taught him, and nothing to do with the accusations. I feel guilty, and I know it, because I am broken, and I was broken before I chose to adopt a child. I haven't stopped being broken because I adopted a child.

Tom deserves a better parent than I, but I am all that he has. The magic of caring for something small is wearing off, and I am just as depressed and lonely as I was before Tom became part of my life. However, that isn’t his fault. He needs me, despite my own inability to feel like I need him any longer. I can’t simply give up and return him to that misery and fear within the orphanage. 

“May I have rum raisin ice cream?” Tom sniffles as he pulls back. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is,” I let him go as I stand up and brush some dust off my trouser legs. 

“Me neither,” Tom admits with a childish pout. “But it always sounded rather fancy. I imagine there are raisins in it, but I hope not.” 

“How about just chocolate then? You could probably get some raisings by the side to try it out if you’d like.” I offer him my hand and we walk back downstairs together. 

Tom makes a displeased face as he considers the proposal. “When I do think about it, simply chocolate sounds preferable,” he decides. 

“Then that is what you will get,” I promise him. 

“Can we go watch the stars together too? I want to be prepared for classes when I do take them.” Tom looked up at me with hopeful eyes which do not remind me of El, but of myself. 

Well… Your eyes look like stars. So it’s perfect. 

“I always liked the stars.” I ignore the memory of his voice as I focus on my son rather than the past. “That sounds fun.” 

Tom grins, “I’m pretty sure stars are in some way not Christian enough. It will be a good way to learn that those limits I had before aren’t part of my life anymore.” 

“That sounds really good. I’ll tell you all you need to know if you have questions.” I offer as we return to the living room, where my family has stopped yelling at one another. 

Tom grins even bigger as he looks at my face with that eagerness which I admire within my young and future student. “Boy, do I have questions!” 

He laughs merrily and I suddenly feel the need to hug him again. I don’t, because it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do in this situation. He has just managed to calm down after he feared that I would assault him. If I touch him now, I might frighten him again. Thus, I don’t hug him, because I don’t feel like I can.  

Chapter Text

Tom has the body language and confidence of El as he strides towards me from across the room, appearing collected, pleasant and distinctly gathered. In general, this means nothing more to me than the fact that he is harder to argue with since he knows how to argue with facts and logic, rather than emotions. For how much I want to be logical, I never feel like I am when it comes to disputes, but El was and so is Tom by now. For six years now, he has lived in the Slytherin dormitories rather than with me in my small accommodations. We have not so much grown apart as we are preoccupied with different engagements. Or so I like to think. 

When I call him to me, he has been bothered about something for what feels like months. Ever since the Muggle-born girl died, I have been meaning to speak with him and he knows it. Thus, Tom isn’t surprised when I ask him to stay after Transfiguration. 

Anyone would be suspicious of his previous happiness and the latter sadness which came with the death of a student, but I am not so coldhearted as to be able to accuse my own son of murder. However, someone else might be and I need to speak with Tom before the misunderstanding allows a rift to form between us. 

I don’t suspect him. 

I don’t. 

The actions of the Heir are threatening to close Hogwarts down, especially after the death of the girl. Tom would never do anything to risk his one home and beloved academic establishment. Sometimes I think Tom loves Hogwarts too much, with the desperation with which a drowning sailor reaches for a rope being thrown at them.  

Tom places his books into his bag as he approaches me. I see a flash of his black notebook inside which I know to be his journal. I long to ask to see it, or perhaps even steal it, so that I might learn what he might be hiding from me. However, I won’t do such a thing. Only a horrible parent would demand to see their child’s diary in favor of speaking to the child. I am not a good parent, I know that now, painfully well, but I am not so bad as to think myself to have full, unrestricted access to my son’s mind or his unfiltered thoughts. 

“Hello, dad,” Tom greets me with a practised, polite smile. “You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, thank you for your time,” I walk around my desk and sit down upon it, like I have a habit of doing. It mostly stems from the fact that if I allow myself to hide behind the desk, I might never be able to leave my shield again. I have to be upon it, lest risk the shadow of the desk swallowing me and allowing me to hide from the world. 

“Could it be about the Chamber of Secrets?” Tom asks in an innocent but slightly accusing manner as he leans his head to the side, smiling at me. “A number of teachers have been wanting to speak to me about that lately.” 

The accusations are evident, even if he doesn’t have to spell it out. He is asking me to challenge his intellect by asking the same insulting questions as the other people around him already have. 

“It’s not about the Chamber,” I lie. I think he can tell. “I’ve been worried about your health recently. You appear to have something on your mind that you haven’t actually spoken to me about.” I tell him in the voice of a parent, rather than a teacher. 

I see Tom wince slightly as he reaches for his bag, perhaps even his diary, but he catches himself in the movement and ceases it. “You’re always so very busy, dad.” Tom doesn’t complain as much as he simply tells the truth, knowing fully well that it will hurt me to hear it. I can tell that he is attempting to draw my attention towards something else and he does it so effectively and manipulatively that I almost fall for it. 

“I know,” I surprise him with my earnest response. “However, I am here now, and I want to help you. Would you tell me what’s wrong, Tom?”

He surprises me in return by biting his lower lip, “I don’t like that name anymore,” his words are honest and direct. “It doesn’t feel like me. I want to change it.” 

I blink at him before I smile carefully and encouragingly, wanting him to go on. 

Tom takes a deep breath, “I discovered what I think to be my own bloodline in the library of Hogwarts. It actually dates back to Salazar Slytherin himself. It’s the Gaunt family, I think my father might have been one of them.” My son blabbers with excitement and pride. He has gone from a boy who revelled in not being different, to a young man desiring to be special. “That’s why I’ve always been able to speak to snakes as a Parselmouth, because I have incredibly rare and special blood. Don’t you see, dad? It’s such a great discovery which could change everything I know about myself and here I am being called Tom when I’m practically from the noble house of Slytherin. Not only in name, but in blood!” His pale face is alight with excitement and a hint of redness as he explains his lineage to me. 

I don’t blame him for wanting to know more about his family and from where he came, but it hurts me slightly to think that he is so very eager to look for his blood when I should at least be considered both his dad and his father. It hurts me that he thinks that he needs to know about his blood to understand himself. I feel like I have failed him if I have raised a child who thinks his bloodline matters more than the world he interacts with and the experiences and people in his own life.

Tom’s excitement dies upon his face and he lets his arms fall to the side where he grabs onto his own cloak and holds it tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. He avoids my gaze as I struggle to find words with which to speak to him. 

“But I can’t tell people about being a Gaunt. I can’t tell people that I am a blood heir to Salazar Slytherin himself because they would all consider me confirmed to be the Heir to the Chamber of Secrets. I simply wanted to know my legacy, but these… ingrates would twist that and make me a murderer? It is practically killing me to not be able to speak of it with pride, as should be my birthright.” While his emotions are real and his words true, I feel as if there are other things he doesn’t tell me. Secrets which he still cannot trust me enough to share with me. 

In lack of a better way to respond, I change topics slightly. “It has been confirmed that Hogwarts will be closed next month. Now that a student has died, the Hogwarts Board of Governors has decided that no other course of action is possible. I know how attached you are to Hogwarts, and I want you to-” 

“No!” Tom’s scream interrupts me as he stares at me with a mix of horror, fear and shock, all of his emotions mixing together into an intense pain and desperation. “They can’t close Hogwarts! It’s… It’s my home! Where would we go? How would we graduate? Dad, they can’t do that!” He screams at me for the first time since he was nine and frightened by me being what he called a homosexual man, but what we mages call having had a normal previous relationship. These days, Tom never screams, and therefore I am stunned by his violent reaction. 

“There is nothing I can do,” I attempt to pacify him by raising my hands. “Unless the Heir is found and the monster is locked away in those Chambers once more, Hogwarts cannot remain open for students.” 

Tom thinks so hard that I can almost feel the thoughts churn as if they were stuck within my own head. Then he settles on something. His expression becomes blank and his eyes turn cruel with determination. I see his already thin lips become a line as he moves his shoulders back and straightens up, recovering from his panic attack. I feel as if my lungs have stopped working as I realise that somehow he manages to appear just like El, despite never meeting the man who could have been his second father. I’m so shocked by his body language that I fail to consider who it really is that he is mimicking. 

It takes me a few moments to understand what Tom is actually saying, as I am so bothered by the man I see within my son’s presentation of himself. 

“I know who the Heir is.” 

I find myself standing but without any memory of how I stood up. “You do? Tom, please, you have to tell me. I promise, nobody will hurt you,  you will be alr-”

“It’s Hagrid.” Tom interrupts me before I can fully confess that I believe him to truly be the Heir of Slytherin. 

“The half giant?” The doubt in my voice is so clear that Tom cannot possibly not notice. “He can barely cast spells, how could he be-”

“What is within the Chamber of Secrets, dad?” Tom interrupts me. “A monster. What does Hagrid love above everything else? Monsters. You are underestimating him based on him being a visible moron. He is keeping the monster in a box under his bed.” 

I stare at my son as his arguments begin to make sense. I feel myself draw a deep breath despite not having planned on doing that. “How long have you known? Why didn’t tell you me, or anyone else, sooner?”

“I figured it out after he hurried from the common room to his dormitory in the Slytherin quarters. I noticed him leaving and so I followed him. As a Prefect, I of course have the right to inspect suspicious things within my House. I was a fool to listen to his pleading and his assurances that the monster, whom he has named Aragog, never killed or hurt anyone. That is evidently not the case anymore and thus, I have no obligation to keep the truth secret. Not at the risk of my Hogwarts.” 

The way Tom says ‘my Hogwarts’ makes me slightly alarmed. He truly means it. He does not think that he owns the castle, but he evidently loves it to the point of considering it his own in some manners. I cannot help but worry what his reaction will be after he graduates and can no longer stay with me within the Transfiguration office. 

“...I will speak to the Headmaster right away,” I breathe deeply once more as I turn towards the door. If Hagrid really is who Tom claims that he is, then he must be stopped without delay. I cannot afford to doubt as I hurry away from the classroom, drawing my wand as I run down the halls of Hogwarts. 

I leave Tom standing alone in my classroom, holding on to his bag as he watches me go. The last I see of him, he is reaching for his diary and holds it to his chest, a complex expression of grief and determination forming on his face. 

✴✴✴

I cannot breathe.

There is no air in my lungs and I cannot breathe.

I gape as I desperately try to, and somehow, I manage to not faint. The newspaper crumbles in my sweaty, shaking hands, ripped apart by my emotions and my desperation. 

The headline speaks of El. 

El has resurfaced again. 

He broke out of prison, he disappeared, and now he has resurfaced, fighting a war between mages for the right to exist and possibly rule the far off country of America. As a renowned wizard of great magic capabilities, someone will likely call for me to join the battle against El, it is simply what is expected of me. It is what is expected of all of us. 

Only I won’t be joining the fight against El. 

I couldn’t possibly fight him. Not because we have a pact or anything in which we promise one another that we won’t ever battle despite our disputes and differences, but because I love him. It has been so painful for many years, and I still love El so much that I could never hurt him. I refuse to. 

Tom appears in the kitchen, somewhere behind me. He finds me on the floor, clutching the newspaper close to my chest. It is summer, in my panic, I can hear the sound of the birds singing outside the window of mine and Tom’s house. I bought the house primarily for him, so that Tom would have a home to return to after he has graduated from Hogwarts this term. The house is still odd to us both, especially now that we are allowed to live apart within the same space. 

We are adjusting to it, but we are struggling to come to terms with each other. It hurts to find that we are pretty much strangers, despite the fact that we should be family. 

“Dad?” Tom kneels by me. He hesitates to touch me. 

We have long since struggled with that part of our relationship. Every time I attempt to motivate myself to hug him, I find reasons and excuses not to. It might have been that I have frightened him away from touching me altogether, but at this point, I do not know how to mend it. The awareness that my own son cannot find it within him to touch me without my permission, even when I need it the most, makes my panic worse. I push my face against the floorboards, struggling to breathe as I push the newspaper towards my almost adult son. I can’t look at it again. 

“Oh,” Tom looks at it, vocalising his surprise and understanding in a single syllable. He stands up from being seated on the floor and walks over to the stove, filling a pot with water and preparing a cup of calming chamomile tea for me as I sob uncontrollably on the floor. 

When I finally manage to breathe properly once more, I crawl up to sit by the table, gasping slightly still. The tea is not cold, but it is no longer warm as I raise the cup to my lips. The honey and chamomile fill my mouth, calming my nerves as much as they can be calmed. Tom is sitting opposite of me, looking at me while the newspaper is resting between us, broken, crumbled and sweaty. 

Tom is looking at me with his contemptibly intelligent eyes. 

“You’re going to go to him.” Tom’s emotionless yet accusatory voice burrows into my head, causing it to throb worse than it already was. 

I don’t answer him, as I cannot find the words to tell him that I’m not. I want to believe that I wouldn’t, but I don’t know. I only know for certain that I wouldn’t fight El, but I don’t know that I wouldn’t go to his side. 

“You are going to go to him and you will leave me alone yet again,” Tom whispers to me, his voice becoming sharp and denunciatory. I can see the hate in his eyes, the blame in his gaze. 

“I’m not leaving you alone,” I object weakly. 

“You are. You’re leaving me alone and you have been since I started Hogwarts. That’s where your loyalty to me ended, and you haven’t cared about me since. I’m supposed to be your son but you won’t even-” Tom’s accusations begin and they do not stop. Years of insecurity and pain take form within his chest, made real by his voice. 

I stop him. I have to stop him, not because he is wrong but because he is right. 

“I do care about you! I have cared about you for years and I still care about you! I bought you this home so that you wouldn’t have to be alone after you graduate!” I yell back at him. I’m too broken up by El to be able to act rationally. 

“I don’t need things!” Tom yells back as he stands up, staring at me with barely held back rage. “I need a parent who is there for me! Not somebody who can’t get over his previous partner!”

“You don’t understand!” I stand up as well, my face stained with tears and twisted by emotions. “You don’t understand how much he has done for me, and how much he has shaped the person I am today. I can’t simply ignore him and pretend that I’m not his creation!” 

Tom reminds me of El as he straightens up and looks down upon me with stern disapproval. “You cannot possibly be shaped by something that happened over ten years ago! I understand that he was important, but I’m here, and he isn’t!” 

“Don’t you see, that is why I must go there. If he had only been here, you wouldn’t have had to suffer such a bad parent as me.” I feel the tears form within my eyes as I speak the truth which I have long since denied. It breaks me to admit that El would have made me a better parent, that if only El had been here, my relationship to my son would have been better. That El would have made everything right. “You’re so much like him. I don’t understand why, or how, but the two of you are so painfully alike and I… I… I can’t understand how you became modelled after him.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand!” Tom hits his hand against the wall, likely hurting himself in the process. There are tears in his eyes. “I modelled myself after you! I don’t know El, you never talk to me about him! How could I model myself after someone I’ve never met?” 

“H-huh?” My anger disappears as he tells me that I have been the one inspiring his behavior and acting. How could that possibly be? Why is he behaving like El if he is modelled after me? 

I realise the only reason as to why that is. I understand, but I cannot comprehend it fully. 

El inspired me so much that I have been acting like him without realising it. 

I have found comfort in him for so long, and I never concluded that to be reality. In subtle ways, I have been adapting El’s way of speaking, some of his body language, and the way he reasons and argues. I have adapted the way he teaches in an attempt to appear less frightened, less weak… Less like Albus. Without realising, I have made myself into a faint copy of El, and Tom has made himself a reflection of my lackluster imitation. 

In the silence left by my words, Tom speaks again in a quiet whisper. “I’m graduating really soon, and you want to leave for America? There is a mage war happening in that country. You could die! You could die, and you would leave me all alone again!” He isn’t shouting, he is begging me not to go. 

“Tom…” I whisper, stepping towards him. I want to speak, but I cannot force my voice to be strong enough. “I will come back to you. I promise you. I can reason with him. El has always been reasonable, he cannot possibly want a war. Something must be very wrong. My point is that I can end this war. I think I can, at least.” 

I don't know if I believe in my on words but I have to. I need to. It does make sense to everything about El. Nobody knows him like me.

“But you don’t know…” Tom whimpers, stepping forward to meet me halfway in the kitchen. His hand is red by his side, likely throbbing with pain as his green eyes fill with emotions. I can see the love for me within them, the love between family members. A love I don’t deserve. “You don’t know that you will come back.”

“I will. I promise,” I reach forward and cup his face, attempting to dry his cheeks. 

Tom lets me, but with reluctance. “You always make promises.” 

“And I keep them,” I try to console him. “You’re my family.” 

His gaze turns darker as he avoids my hand coming back to dry the other cheek. “You’re not the only family I have.” 

Tom turns from me and leaves me standing alone in the kitchen, my hand reaching out for a person who is no longer there. I don’t know exactly what family he is speaking about, but I know that he just rejected me as his parent, as well as a possible, albeit older, friend.

Slowly, my hand closes around thin air as I allow it to fall to my side. 

I glance back towards the newspaper upon the table, studying the name upon it as it screams the headline at me. I can end the American Mage War, I only need to reach him. I only need to speak to him. 

I can change him, like he changed me for the better. I can make up with Tom later, but for now, I have to focus on El. He needs me more. 

I’m so very selfish to choose myself and El before my own son. 

I don’t make a good parent. 

I should have known better than to think I could be. 

Tom. 

El. 

I’m sorry. 

Chapter Text

Harry pulled his head back and took a deep breath, feeling as if he had just resurfaced within a busy, strong river. The memories which were not his became memories in his own mind, and the emotions which came with them caused his breath to hitch and his eyes to water. His legs felt weak after experiencing the rejection of his own son, who was of course not Harry’s son, and the desire and love for his partner, who was not Harry’s partner. The latter feeling was easier to handle for him, as he knew the very same emotions from losing Draco due to another rather likely war. 

Harry forced his eyes shut and began to breathe deeply and slowly. He recalled what Albus had said about the memories and feelings not being his own, and Harry did attempt to hold on to that understanding of reality. However, that didn’t quite make it any easier when he knew the feelings in questions due to his own experiences. The parallels between the man known as El and Draco, and the way that they both appeared to have drifted away and ended up on a different side of a war was frighteningly similar. Albus appeared to have been far more dependent on El than Harry and Draco were on one another, but that wasn’t necessarily true since Harry knew nothing of Albus’ actual relationship to the man, even though he had surfaced so often within Albus’ mind. 

Albus had thought that El had changed him completely. Perhaps that was true in Harry and Draco’s case as well, only Harry was in the position of the person initiating the change in his best friend and partner. 

The memories had answered a lot of questions which Harry had in regards to Tom. No, the Dark Lord. Tom wasn’t actually his name anymore and Harry had never known him by that name in the first place. However, for all that he currently knew, and all that he had learned, Harry still had questions. He wanted to ask those questions rather than ponder about what he had experienced. It was simply too much and a little too complex to detangle alone, even if Harry was to think about it now. 

Thus, he turned towards Albus, and found him gone. 

Harry blinked as he looked around the room, attempting to find the lost Headmaster. To his great surprise, he found the old wizard curled together behind the table upon which his phoenix’s stand was placed, cowering in the shadow of the bird. Harry heard a quiet sniffle come from him and he understood instinctively that the man was in the middle of experiencing an anxiety attack. He had seen, and experienced it, far too many times to be ignorant of the Headmaster’s predicament. 

Harry took a deep breath, he had consoled many people in his days: his dad, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Ron, probably Sirius at some point, Dobby, Kreacher, Luna… He had even consoled Albus before, and he could do it again. Harry felt the weight of Albus’ necklace around his neck as he approached the cowering old wizard. 

As he knelt down next to Albus, the Greatest Wizard of the century peeked at Harry through his old, knotted fingers, covered in spots brought about by age. His brilliantly blue gaze settled on Harry’s face with fear, regret and general anxiety. Harry didn’t shy from any of those emotions, as he understood them to be coming. Thus, he removed the necklace and handed it back to its owner, who accepted it with shaking hands. 

“You must be very cross with me,” Albus whispered as he accepted the necklace and pressed it to his chest. “If not outright repulsed. I was never great, I was never good. You know what I never wanted anyone to know, you understand the crimes I committed towards my son in not being the dad he deserved. You’re adopted as well, surely you could never forgive me for failing my adopted child in the manners I did?” His voice broke as his gaze could no longer focus on Harry. 

Harry recalled the final memory of wanting to be touched by Tom when he had a panic attack, and he recalled the pain when Albus realised that he had never made Tom comfortable with touching him. Thus, Harry reached out without permission, and placed a hand on Albus’ knee. The old man began to sob once more when Harry touched him. It appeared that the Greatest Wizard of the century had long since lost the right to be human. 

“It’s really not my place to forgive or condemn you,” Harry began to speak. “As an adopted child, I admittedly feel rather uncomfortable knowing that there are adoption cases which don’t, well… end up as good as mine. But then again, there are blood related families who are all the more dysfunctional than the two of you were. Don’t get me wrong, I know you have made mistakes. Grave mistakes. I’m not about to pretend that you haven’t, and I would be upset too, had I been that child.” 

Harry’s hands were shaking as he committed to being as brutally honest as he possibly could in favor of telling the man what he needed to hear. This wasn’t Luna being bullied or Ron struggling to understand what he needed to do. This wasn’t Remus being worried that he wasn’t enough, or Draco needing reminders that his mistakes didn’t define him. Albus had a lifetime of regrets, all of which accumulated into a pain which a sixteen year old teenager was not really equipped to handle. Yet despite that, Harry continued on speaking, knowing that leaving the old wizard to his emotions would have been the same as rejecting Remus when he needed and asked for help. Harry simply couldn’t do that. 

“I feel like I created him,” Albus hiccuped more than he spoke. “I feel like it is my fault that Lord Voldemort exists. If only I had been a better father, if only El had been with us… Maybe there would have been no British Mage War.”

“Pardon me, si-, Albus, but that is rather an ignorant statement,” Harry gathered his courage and spoke up. “It is true that Tom, I mean, the Dark Lord might not have risen and started a war, but the Pureblood ideals are a little too prominent in the British mage community to simply ignore. They have the most money, and they are the most focused on their heirs and the next generations. It’s rather ignorant to think that there would never have been a war, if only the Dark Lord didn’t rise when he did.” 

Albus stared at him before shaking his silvery head in a weak objection. “That is one of the few things I cannot understand… Tom was never a Pureblood. He never believed in those ideals, and he was only obsessed with his own blood because he wanted to find his family. Or rather, the family which abandoned him. No matter how I think it over, I do not understand why he would want to eradicate the Muggle-born population. He should know, he should understand better.” At the very least, he appeared to be calming down somewhat as he clutched his necklace to his chest. 

Harry frowned, “you mean to say that he never had a group of Death Eater followers when he was young and still in school?” Harry distinctively recalled having heard things about how Lord Voldemort had been a powerful Dark Wizard ever since his school days, who gathered followers already then.

Albus sniffed quietly and attempted to sit up a little better, “I was not a good parent, but I was an observant teacher. Tom was a Prefect, and he took his duties to Hogwarts very seriously. He had a lot of friends from all facets of life and blood and he never rejected anyone who approached him with kindness or admiration. The Death Eaters were created after he finished school, and even then, I don’t know how. I also don’t know how he became a blood supremacist. The son I knew would reject such ideas. He was too intelligent.” 

Harry felt his frown deepen as he carefully scooted over to sit next to Albus by the wall, their arms touching slightly as Harry wanted to remind the old wizard that he wasn’t alone. “That doesn’t quite line up with the man I know from the history books, or in person. Although I suppose I finally understand why he speaks like you.” 

Albus laughed without happiness, “are you truly not disgusted with me for being the cowardly, selfish fool that I am?” 

“I don’t think so,” Harry rested his head in his hand, focusing on nothing as he thought about too many things at once. “However selfish or dishonorable your reasons were, you have still done a lot of good. You saved Tom from an unhappy life among religious Muggles, you saved Hagrid after he was thrown out of school, you allowed Mr. Filch to work at Hogwarts. You hired Severus and forgave him for being a Death Eater, you hired my dad despite him being a werewolf. You allowed Sirius to remain at Hogwarts after you realised that he was not a threat to the students. You hired Firenze, you allowed Professor Trelawney to stay. You hired Dobby and you paid him for his work, making him an elf, rather than a House Elf.”

He stopped to take a shaking breath before continuing. “You fought your own son to save me, Draco and Mr. Malfoy. You saved Draco’s life. You ended the American Mage War without killing Grindelwald. Right now, you are seeking a peaceful solution while the Death Eaters and the Ministry of Magic are both seeking to war with one another. You are also attempting to save the Malfoys from the predicament which they have ended up in. I don’t think that all of those good consequences of your actions go away simply because you had selfish motives.” 

“It is not so much that I was selfish as that I have done most, if not all, of those things out of a sense of guilt, rather than anything remotely worth being proud of.” Albus mumbled more than he spoke up. 

“That really doesn’t matter either,” Harry scolded the man softly. “It doesn’t matter why you do good things, if the things you do are good for real rather than seeming good. It also doesn’t matter if your intentions are good if the consequences are bad. There can be circumstances, explanations and forgiveness for bad actions, but having good intentions isn’t an excuse to continue causing harm. There is no good or evil, there are only actions and consequences. Positive and negative ones. Not everyone will agree with me on that, but the truth is that you have helped many people throughout your years. You have saved lives. That is worth something, even if you failed to raise your son in the manner you should have.” 

Harry’s voice became rather quiet as he admitted to something which he had never dared to voice before. “Sometimes, I wonder what I would have been like if I had been raised by James Potter. I wonder if I would have been as shallow as Sirius, thinking that Severus was evil because he was dresses in black and speaks through his nose. I wonder if I would have liked risking my life and neck on a broom for adrenaline and supposed fun. I wonder if I would have ended up in Slytherin and befriended Draco, or if I would have been like Ron was and hated him because he was a Pureblood supremacist without even considering him a person who is capable of changing. If I would have rejected the Slytherin House based on the same prejudice as most others. I think of the fact that I could have been ignorant, cruel and incapable of considering another position than my own.” 

Harry found himself looking at his hands, at the golden snake ring and the silver cufflinks upon his wrists. “I owe my dad so much for making me, well… Me. When he adopted me, he was very frightened, he told me so. Yet he looked to himself, worked on his problems, and raised me in the wake of solving them. He might have been different from you in that he didn’t think a child could distract and save him, but rather decided to be better and face his already existing problems to raise one. However, none of that would have been possible if you, Albus, hadn’t convinced the Ministry of Magic to give him free potions every month so that he could raise me. If it hadn’t been for you, my dad wouldn’t have met James and Lily Potter, and I likely would have ended up with someone else, who might have made me a different person.” 

Harry raised his head and smiled at the old wizard. “I can’t find you disgusting for your past mistakes and shortcomings, even if part of me feels like you might deserve a little of it. You have done too much for me. While I can’t condone, or even remotely support the way you raised Tom. I still owe part of myself to you, and I am thankful.” He felt the gratitude swell in his chest as he spoke the words. It felt right. His words were true. 

Albus sniffed and hid his face in his hands, attempting with full commitment to not break down once more. “Your father has raised a wonderful young man. I can take no part in that achievement. It all belongs to him.” 

“Indeed it does,” Harry agreed as he rested his head against the wall behind him. “But it was only possible in part by your actions.” 

Albus took a deep, shaking breath and nodded towards Harry before hiding in his hands once more, allowing himself to cry without restriction. Harry leaned against him slightly, reminding the man that he was not alone. As Harry suspected, the reminder that he wasn’t alone meant a lot to the old wizard. 

When Albus finally gathered himself and carefully stood up, the first thing he asked Harry was if he wanted a cup of tea. Harry responded in the positive, and soon enough, the two mages sat on opposite sides of the Headmaster’s desk, with two cups in front of them. Fawkes had moved to the old wizard’s lap, and Albus was absentmindedly stroking the red feathers as the bird attempted to sneak one of the biscuits from the biscuit plate. Both of them were rather exhausted by emotions, although Albus was by far the more tired one. 

It felt highly disrespectful to ask for more, especially since Albus had bared his heart to Harry, but he concluded that simply letting the answers slide only to bring them up at a later time and possibly cause more hurt, was not really fair, neither to himself nor Albus. 

“There are still some things I’d like to know, if I may ask?” 

Albus surrendered to his bird’s desires and let the phoenix have a bit of his biscuit, despite knowing that it wasn’t good for Fawkes. When the animal would live forever through death and rebirth, perhaps a small piece of biscuit didn’t matter so much in the very, very long run of the phoenix’s lives. 

“I’ll try my best to answer,” the old man’s tired voice responded, not in an unkind manner. 

Harry selected between many questions before he chose one to start with. “Do you still love him? I mean, Tom.” He was pretty sure that he knew that Albus still loved the person he called El. 

Albus hugged his phoenix to his chest, something the bird allowed with an only slightly offended glance. “I don’t think that there is an easy answer to that. When I think of him, I feel overwhelmingly guilty. I recall the boy at the orphanage, and I later recall the teenager who might have opened the Chamber of Secrets.” 

“He did open it,” Harry confirmed as he thought back to the apparition which had spoken to him. He had always thought that to be the real Tom Riddle, but upon looking at the Tom in Albus’ memories, Harry began to wonder if the Tom in the diary had actually been the way Tom wanted to be, rather than the person he actually was. Maybe even just aspects of Tom, rather than his whole personality. It was odd to think that anyone wanted to be like that, which meant that diary Tom might have been what he was really like, and he simply fooled Albus into thinking that he was better. The questions clustered inside his mind, so he decided to stop thinking about them. After all, theorising would not get him anywhere. 

“Ah, yes indeed,” Albus agreed. “I know that now. I spoke carelessly. You are correct.” 

“The diary was a horcrux, correct?” Harry continued to ask. He knew the answer but it felt safer to confirm rather than make a mistake. 

Albus simply nodded. 

“Then, do you think it could have been that he made the diary one by accident?” Harry theorised. “In the memory, you said that he had been upset since the death of Moaning Myrtle.” Harry stopped himself with a disapproving frown. “Actually, what is her name? I would rather not want to call her that crude nickname. I’m not twelve anymore.” 

“Her name was Myrtle Warren,” Albus calmly informed him. 

Harry nodded and continued speaking, “Do you think that the horcrux might not explicitly have been magic which he had attempted to cast, or an object he was trying to create, but rather one he created by accident due to his stress, anxiety and fear? That is to say, her death caused him such distress that it split his soul?”

“That would presume that Tom never intended to kill her, or any other Muggle-born student,” Albus wasn’t exactly objecting to Harry’s theory, but he challenged it slightly. “And that he truly was upset about her death, rather than worried about the consequences of her murder for Hogwarts.” 

“We don’t know that it was a murder,” Harry politely corrected the old wizard. “We don’t know if it was something he wanted. Myrtle made it appear more as if it had been an accident, and I doubt Secrets intended to kill anyone. As she didn’t eat Myrtle Warren, then it can be concluded that she was dismissed right away before she could.” 

“I… think that believing your theory would make me too sentimental of the fact that Tom might not have intended on killing anyone…” Albus hugged his phoenix once more, taking a shaking breath. “It is far less painful to believe that it was intended, rather than an accident.” 

“Joy and pride cannot rip a soul apart, correct?” Harry leaned forward slightly, trying to formulate his theory. “There was a period after the death of Myrtle Warren where nobody else was hurt, and Tom appeared to be genuinely upset. That doesn’t sound like the calculating plot of a murderer.” 

Albus' expression relaxed somewhat. “I always thought the same thing, even after I saw the diary for myself. I assumed that it was simply the bias of a parent who did not want his child to be guilty. For you to have seen the same things makes me relieved, but I do wonder if my memories might have affected you more than you think.” 

“Really?” Harry blinked, “how?” 

“You keep on calling him Tom, for one,” Albus smiled a morose little smirk in Harry’s direction. 

“Ah…” Harry’s cheeks began to heat as he realised that he had indeed been doing that. 

“Between the two of us, I cannot see the harm. May I ask you something in return?” Albus leaned his head to the side, studying Harry’s face as he spoke. 

“Of course,” Harry wished that his voice hadn’t sounded quite so squeaky as he spoke up. 

“After he took you hostage at the Ministry of Magic…” Albus hesitated, glancing to the side as he spoke. “What did he say to you?” 

Harry frowned but not because he was upset, he was attempting to recall what the Dark Lord had said to him while pressing a broken wand against his neck. It had been so stressful that he hadn’t actually thought about it until Albus’ inquiry. 

“He said… I think… something like ‘how far I’ve sunken’ and how he regretted having to take a child hostage. Then he said something about not hurting me, as long as I stayed still and was of use to him.” 

Albus took a short, shallow breath. “You mean to say that he never threatened to kill or harm you?” 

“No, if he did, I’m rather certain I would remember it, no matter how stressed I was.” Harry offered his much older friend a soft smile. 

The old wizard breathed out in a sigh, “how very reassuring to know that he has some humanity within him. He has attempted to kill you before, of course, so it means little in the long run, but I feel somewhat calmed to know that he is not irredeemably evil, despite his ever so inhuman appearance.” He was quiet for a moment before he focused on Harry with guilt reflecting within his eyes. “I have one more thing I must confess… In regards to the death of your blood parents.” 

Harry blinked as he studied the complex canvas of guilt which had formed upon the familiar and usually kind face. He searched for an answer, but found that he could only nod in the lack of a more comprehensive response. 

“I fear that their death was caused by me electing to assist them when they asked me. If only I hadn’t become involved in keeping something from Tom’s grasp, he likely would never have recognised them as a threat, let alone come to kill them personally. Because I wanted to protect the Potters, the Dark Lord chose to make a statement by killing them. Not to the world, or to the mage community, simply to the man who failed him and so many others. Simple vengeance.” 

Albus stopped to take another deep breath, then continued, “I have long thought it over, and I cannot think of any other reason as to why the Dark Lord himself would bother with people so comparatively insignificant as the Potters. They might have been members of the Order of the Phoenix, but they were currently hiding away from the war, choosing not to fight. There was no reason to kill them and their son. No reason, other than to show me that my earnest efforts to protect a family were futile in the face of his resentment towards me.” 

Harry blinked as he took in the information and turned it over in his head, evaluating it. Albus' words presented him with a perspective to a question which he himself had pondered over whenever he failed to cease the mad sprint of his mind. It sounded more reasonable than any assumptions which Harry had been able to make on his own. 

“I… see,” was all he could muster in response. He would think about it later. Not now. “Then… might I ask something else in regards to your memories?” 

The old wizard nodded, causing his white hair and beard to cascade down around him. 

“Uh… Who is El? You were always thinking of him, but never about who he was.” Harry carefully voiced his confusion, allowing it to formulate itself into a question. 

Albus opened his mouth, then slowly shut it again. He glanced to the side, then down at the bottle around his neck, filled with what he had presented as his own blood. “El is… well…” he stuttered, “El is a nickname.” 

So Harry had concluded. He patiently waited for the old wizard to continue speaking. 

Albus played with his hair in a rather flustered manner as he continued to look anywhere but at the young man. To Harry’s surprise and slight amusement, the old wizard’s cheeks began to slowly turn red with embarrassment. 

The silence lingered, then slowly, as if he had to pry the words away from the back of his mind, Albus spoke the full name of El. 

“Gellert Grindelwald.”

Harry felt his eyes widen as his mouth dropped open. His mind somehow rejected the name, while also forcing it to bounce around within it. All other thoughts appeared to draw back from the uncomfortable name of the terrorist who started and perpetuated the American Mage War. Harry couldn’t believe that the man who Albus had loved within his memories was an actual terrorist, and enemy of all mage communities. He had read and talked about him in Magic History. He had had quizzes and actual tests mentioning the man. Yet to find that he was somehow far closer to Harry than simply a name in a textbook was beyond baffling. 

It was not as if there were no clues about the actual identity of El. Harry had not been able to make out his name upon the newspaper headline, but he had heard enough to conclude that the person appeared to be involved with the American Mage War to the point where the war could be stopped if someone simply spoke to him. However, he had irrationally hoped, maybe even wanted, that the love of Albus Dumbledore’s life would not have been the infamous Gellert Grindelwald. 

In his utter disbelief, only one question made sense to ask the old wizard, who was looking at Harry with a shy, frightened and altogether red face. It appeared that he was waiting for the judgement. 

“You… used to date Gellert Grindelwald? The Gellert Grindelwald? Not a person with the same name?” Harry tried to collect his messy thoughts and push the stay ones into line. 

“No, El is the Gellert Grindelwald who you are thinking of. He… wasn’t always like that, as I’m sure you understand.” Albus' voice was quiet, slightly ashamed, but nonetheless hopeful. 

Harry licked his lips, “how did Gellert become El?” 

“Oh, well…” Albus stuttered slightly as he fumbled with the bottle around his neck. “Gellert became Gell, and that became El. He never liked the sound of ‘Gell’ and was rather happy to become just El. Besides, he… he said that we matched. Al and El. El and Al.” He laughed nervously as his cheeks began to heat once more. He was evidently still very nervous. 

Harry took a deep breath and attempted to calm all the irrational thoughts and worries within his mind. He had time to adjust to the idea that Albus was the supposed father of Lord Voldemort, but that he had been the most definite lover of the world renowned terrorist Gellert Grindelwald was quite the shock. 

A memory rather suddenly hit Harry, as he recalled how Albus had told him years ago that his past lover and friend was in prison. 

“Would you… allow me to tell you about El?” Albus shyly inquired as he studied Harry from on top of his glasses, which had been slightly smeared from his earlier crying and emotions. “The El of the past, the way he was defeated… I’ve only ever told Severus few bits and pieces of it and I think… I think I would need somebody to know the whole truth. After my death, which comes as a fact, not a possibility, I’m certain that a collection of secrets will be relieved. I would so very much like it if someone, even if it is just a young man like yourself, would want to listen to my side of the story. Not as the Greatest Wizard of the century, but simply Albus. Simply Al.” 

Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, then nodded. He pushed away the thoughts of mortality, refusing to think that one day, Albus could simply be gone. Yet he respected the other’s desire to hear his story, as he knew that people had always refused Remus the bare humanity of even listening to him. There had to be more to El than simply the terrorist. Albus might have been a poor judge of character, but he was not so foolish as to be unable to see if somebody was without redemption. Or at least so Harry wanted to believe, seeing as Albus had saved Severus when he pleaded for help. 

“I think I would like that. Will you show me like you did today?” He gestured towards the Pensieve with his hand. 

Albus nodded, “that would be the easier choice for me, unless you object?” 

“No, it… It’s rather good to have such a distinctly different perspective. Thank you for sharing your memories with me.” Harry nodded to emphasise his words. 

“There is a lot more I’d like to show you about El and me… Would you mind if we took it in shorter sessions so as to not overwhelm me? I am not young anymore, this is hard on me.” The old wizard looked at his trembling hands and drew a shallow, faint breath. 

“I understand, Albus. Thank you so much for all you have shared with me today. It must have been hard.” Harry hoped that he sounded supportive and not patronising. 

Judging by Albus’ smile, he was indeed consoling, rather than condescending. “I suppose that I can now finally joke with someone that I have lousy luck with my relationships, be it my partner or the relationship with my son.” He laughed merrily to himself, but it didn't appear fully sincere. 

Harry was hit with the impression that he needed to laugh so as to not cry once again. He smiled at the other man and shook his head “such humor isn’t really the one I like to perpetuate.” 

“Very well,” the old wizard agreed. “I have one final request: would you be so kind as to not speak of this to your friends just yet?” Albus carefully spoke, glancing at Harry with an uncertain gaze. “I know I have no right to ask that of you, but there are more things I want to show you… Or rather, I want to give you the full picture before you retell it to the people around you, as I expect and understand that you have every intention, as well as need, of doing.” 

Harry considered the request for a few moments before he smiled and nodded. “Of course, if that is what makes you feel the best. May I speak to the Sorting Hat about it?” 

“Oh yes, assuredly,” Albus agreed with a quick succession of nods. “I did place it with you, knowing you’d likely need assistance to clear your mind by speaking to something.” 

“Then I will speak to it. You are right that I probably need it. Then... I should be off?” Harry finished his tea and rose to his feet, looking at his much older friend as he asked with his expression if there was something else which was needed of him. 

“Very well,” Albus looked around before finding and returning Harry’s journal to him. It had been placed on the desk when he had hidden away by the phoenix’s table. As he handed it to Harry, the old wizard spoke “thank you truly for what you have done for me today. It means more than I could ever possibly express. You have been raised by a wonderful man, I truly regret that he is no longer a teacher here. He could do a lot of good to a lot of students.” 

The son of a werewolf grinned, “yeah. Dad really is that amazing. It just keeps on becoming clearer the older I get.” 

“But do not forget that you have made yourself this way also, a lot of credit lies with you,” Albus reminded him with a gentle smile. 

“I know that,” and he did indeed. “Good night, Albus.” He nodded as he gathered his journal and began to walk towards the door. 

“Good night, Harry.” 

The two mages looked at one another from across the room. They waved as one, laughed at the synchronised gesture, and Harry left for his room. His head was full of thoughts packed so tightly that he almost felt numb. He was in desperate need of a long, dreamless sleep in which nothing mattered. 

Chapter Text

“I miss Ron,” Teddy complained. “He’s always busy these days… Prefect work, and Ginny is determined to make her Quidditch team the best in the history of the universe, I guess.” He sighed deeply and kicked towards an imaginary pebble on the ground. “I mean, it’s not that I’m mad or anything. I just miss his company and I need to tell somebody or I will go insane… Harry, are you listening to me?” 

“I was… and still am,” Harry’s gaze had been looking for Draco after the Magical History class, but he hadn’t been able to spot him. He had in fact been listening to his friend all along, but his attention was elsewhere despite him wanting to be better. “I’m sorry to hear that you miss Ron, have you talked to him about wanting to spend time together?”

As they were inside a classroom, Harry spoke patiently and politely, distantly kindly like that of an all-good icon for a community.

“Yeah, I have, but I felt sort of guilty about it,” Teddy pushed Harry’s book towards him, reminding him that he needed to bring it with him as they left the classroom. 

The Slytherin and the Ravenclaw students were leaving the classroom as some students dragged behind. Harry and Teddy were two of those students, as Harry searched for Draco. Since having seen Albus’ memories, and learning about both Tom Riddle as well as El, Harry had felt an increasingly pressing need to simply see Draco, but to his rising horror, the young man hadn’t shown up that day. 

“Good morning,” Blaise greeted the two of them as he came to stand next to Harry, as Teddy climbed around the benches to reach them. “We have Potions next, as I am sure you know. I was hoping that I could sit with you during the lesson?” 

“Of course!” Teddy’s eyes glowed with happiness as he joined the two of them, looking up at Blaise with honest excitement and slight longing. It appeared that he had missed Blaise as well. “We’d be happy to have you.”

“And I will be happy to have you, seeing as you both have become rather skilled in the art of potion making. I could learn a thing or two.” Blaise smiled pleasantly as he leaned his head to the side, focusing primarily on Teddy as he smiled. 

While Blaise’s voice was not in any way accusatory, Harry felt as if there was something within his eyes which told him that Blaise was slightly suspicious of the fact that their friend group was suddenly at the top of the class. Then again, there was no real need for alarm, since Harry, Hermione and Neville had a reputation of being good at Potions. Their interest having rubbed off on their friends was not an impossibility. 

“Sure, I will teach you all I know,” Teddy joked. He was evidently immediately feeling a lot better from the presence of a distraction. 

Harry turned towards his fellow Slythern students as they began to walk out of the classroom and towards the dungeons. He felt as if he saw them for the first time, as he had realised that he could, and should have, asked them about Draco long before this moment. “Teddy, Blaise? At the risk of appearing somewhat distasteful,” the Harry Potter persona sustained itself as long as Harry was out in the open and could be seen by other students. “Could I perhaps ask you about Draco? I haven’t seen him since Monday and I’m beginning to feel slightly worried.”

Teddy and Blaise exchanged a glance. The gesture did not make Harry feel any calmer, but he forced his expression to remain collected. 

“It’s not really that anything has happened to him, but Draco is stuck in bed with a cold,” Blaise spoke up first, meeting Harry’s gaze as he spoke. “It should pass soon enough, he says that he has been to Madam Pomfrey and asked for help. She apparently suggested rest and water, with a moderate reliance on medicine so as to not overdose.”

“I thought I told you that during breakfast…” Teddy looked insecure as he spoke. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Harry.”   

“Oh, you did not,” Harry agreed as he waved his hand, somehow managing to not show the worry upon his face. He told himself that it really was but a cold, seeing as Teddy wouldn’t lie to him about something he knew Harry to care for so dearly. 

“Has Teddy told you that Crabbe has moved back to our dormitory?” Blaise spoke out in a very matter of fact tone of voice. If he knew that his statement would have a huge effect on Harry, his face didn’t show it. 

Harry Potter faded as Harry Lupin resurfaced upon Harry’s face, causing his brows to twist with worry and his eyes to fill with anxiety. He had seen the way Crabbe acted around Draco, and he did not feel the least bit comfortable to think that Draco was stuck with a person like him in his dormitories. He had comforted himself with the fact that Draco would at least get to rest in his bed, but if Crabbe was there, remaining observant over him, then how was Draco able to relax whatsoever? The thought of not being able to escape one’s tormentor even into the bedroom was beyond terrifying to Harry. Thoughts of domestic violence and other such crimes crowded in Harry’s throat, making it hard to breathe. 

“I… I meant to tell you…” Teddy whispered as he averted his gaze from Harry, curling together slightly. “I did but… I knew that you would be worried.” 

“You have no reason to worry, Harry,” Blaise raised his head and moved his shoulders back, appearing proud and secure in himself. “I am there. I am a Prefect. Draco will not come to harm in the dormitories as long as I am there.” 

“Thank you,” Harry’s voice quivered as he reached out and grabbed the other’s hand, clinging to it as he felt his own hands shake. “I know I don’t have any right… I mean… thank you.” He stopped himself and repeated the first statement. 

Blaise smiled at him, leaning his head to the side as he nodded. “Don’t worry. Me and Teddy will not allow Crabbe to do anything.” 

“Yeah, definitely not!” Teddy hurriedly agreed, nodding. 

Harry nodded once more, smiling at them both. He did not trust his voice to carry his feelings, so he trusted his face to communicate for him. 

Despite not wanting to, Harry couldn’t help but to doubt the words of the other two mages. Teddy had just confessed to keeping information from him for the sake of not worrying him, as if that would be worse than finding out later. Harry wanted to know everything. He needed to know, and the idea that his friend would keep secrets from him made him feel rather sick. He did get that it was well meant, and kind, but he couldn’t help but to feel betrayed.

Then there was Blaise, who had long since been a good friend, and then later a nice acquaintance. However he was also somebody who prioritised his own safety above all else, and Harry couldn’t imagine him risking his neck for Draco. It shouldn’t even be asked of him, and Harry wasn’t asking it either. Yet the thoughts led Harry’s mind to be stuck with irrational fears of how bad Crabbe would actually be. He wondered if Blaise could actually handle it if things came to one of those scenarios Harry’s stressed and slightly paranoid mind was painting up. 

He wanted to believe that they could protect Draco, and he tried to tell himself that it was true. Blaise words had seemed sincere. Teddy’s actions had always shown that he stood up for his friends even at the risk of himself, and one time of not telling Harry something shouldn’t change that. Yet Harry felt worried and distrusting, which in turn made him feel disgusted with himself.

The three of them began to walk again, although Harry didn’t fully keep up with his friend and acquaintance. He walked a few steps behind them, while being lost in his own thoughts. Somehow, he felt distanced from the two, as if there was something invisible, like a thin wall, between them. In front of Harry, the conversation continued as the two simply spoke to one another. Teddy was evidently happy to have Blaise’s attention, which he hadn’t had for at least one year since Blaise rejected him due to people thinking that they were a couple. 

“Were you speaking about Weasley earlier?” Blaise said. 

“Oh, just me talking about missing my best friend. Prefect and Quidditch are quite the combo,” Teddy agreed. 

“I would think that a girlfriend added to that would make it even harder to set time aside from other activities,” Blaise nodded. 

Teddy blinked at him as if had just begun to speak ancient Greek and Teddy himself was a time travelling Anglo-Saxon. “W… What girlfriend?” He managed to wield the English language enough to make himself understood. 

Blaise appeared slightly, but nonetheless controllably, surprised as he glanced at Teddy’s face, judging his words for what they were. “I assumed that he had told you. However, I might have been somewhat hasty in my judgement of the situation. Please disregard my words and speak to Weasley rather than me.” 

“Oh… Y-yeah… That is a fair suggestion…” Teddy stared into space without really seeing anything. He swallowed and then attempted to take a few deep breaths. Slowly, his lips curled upwards in a smile. “It would be really great if Ron had a girlfriend. I would be happy for him. Uh, I just…” he laughed nervously. “I just hope he doesn’t forget me while at it.” 

“Ron wouldn’t forget you, Teddy,” Harry reminded him with absolute certainty. Ron had lost too much, and taken too much for granted to simply throw his friends away due to having a relationship. Of that Harry was certain. 

“Yeah… Yeah, he wouldn’t,” Teddy agreed with a collection of encouraging nods. “He wouldn’t do that to me.” As he repeated the statement, he suddenly found it very hard to even glance in Blaise’s direction. 

“Everyone!” Ginny announced as she entered the Room of Requirements, grinning from ear to ear as her cheeks heated with excitement and her eyes were aflame with happiness. “Allow me to introduce my new and second girlfriend,” she turned around and spread her arms, showing towards the person behind her. “Luna Lovegood! Ba-baaam!” 

Luna Lovegood’s face turned red as she was gestured towards, as a smile spread over her lips. She giggled and covered her face with her hands, when she looked up again, she was beaming at the room. “That’s such a sweet announcement…” She fumbled with a slightly broken pale crystal necklace which none of the friends had seen before, but which appeared to suit her far better than the corkscrew one which he had been wearing for the extent of the time that they had known her. 

Luna was a slightly scrawny teenager, with a somewhat childish, youthful face and big, doe-like eyes. She used to have rather mismatched clothes which were simply layered without any care for the expression it created. However, since she started her fifth year at Hogwarts, she had evidently begun to make an effort in how to combine her clothes into less clashing combinations. In actuality, she wasn’t dressing differently, but her clothing pieces had been carefully picked to create a coherent style, rather than convey a lack of interest. It was as if Luna allowed herself to look good, and feel good in her clothes, probably worrying less about what other people would say or comment.

Her long hair was kept in place with a ribbon in Gryffindor colors, and around her wrist were a collection of scrunchies which had been made in every color of the Houses. They appeared to be handmade, but nonetheless looked to have been made by somebody who knew what they were doing. Luna smiled openly at Ginny, who held out her hand for her, which the teenager accepted happily. 

Harry, Hermione, Teddy and Ron all looked at the two girlfriends with happy expressions upon their faces, but nobody outbeamead Ron. He stood up and walked over to Ginny, raising his hands to give her a high five. The two siblings exchanged a loud clap as Hermione and Harry both congratulated the new girlfriends. 

Teddy evidently felt a little awkward by his desk, but he was nonetheless happy about their relationship. Teddy might have lived in the same house as Ginny for at least a few months collectively, but that didn’t mean that he felt like he knew her. Thus, he remained somewhat on the side as the rest of the group excitedly spoke to one another. 

“It’s actually kind of perfect, because I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m going on a date this weekend,” Ron announced to the room, following his sister’s proclamation. “Lavender, you know, Lavender Brown? She’s a fellow Gryffindor Prefect and we’ve been really getting along this year. She asked me to go have a snack with her at Hogsmeade and I said yes.” His cheeks heated slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling happily. “We’re not really dating yet, but we’re sort of trying it out.” 

Harry glanced towards Teddy, as the two of them already knew about Ron and his possible girlfriend from Blaise's somewhat careless comment. He was worried that Teddy would feel even more distant to Ron, but to his surprise, Teddy appeared almost relieved to learn the truth, rather than simply suspect. 

“That is wicked! I hope you have a great time!” Teddy beamed at his friend, encouraging him. 

“Thanks! I was hoping that Harry might be able to help me with what to wear, seeing as, well… I’m not always known as the most stylish.” Ron laughed as he once again rubbed the back of his neck, redness still covering his cheeks. 

“...Lavender?” 

Hermione's quiet voice appeared to silence the entire room as she whispered the name. She was curled together by her desk, keeping her arms over her chest in an attempt to remain distant. She wasn’t looking at Ron, but instead stared at the ground as her hair covered her face. 

“Yeah, Lavender,” Ron nodded. It was not that he didn’t notice that Hermione was acting somewhat strangely, but he didn’t quite know what else to do. “Is there… a problem with Lavender?” 

“Oh, n-no. No! Not at all!” Hermione hurriedly spoke up as she raised both her hands and her face. She looked surprised to have Ron ask about her implied inquiry, making it seem like she hadn’t planned on speaking the name out loud. “I just… I was…” she stuttered, “I heard her speak about going on a date with someone in the dormitory. I’m simply surprised that it was someone I knew. I mean, you. But I do know you, of course.” 

“She was talking about me?” Ron’s face lit up with happiness as he took a step closer to Hermione. “What did she say? I hope it was good?” The last sentence was spoken with slight worry. 

“No, no, it was all fine! Very simple, really. I’m sorry if I worried you.” Hermione hurriedly corrected her words. “I… I have something I have to attend to… someplace else… Uh, return a book… Would you excuse me?” She searched for her bag before she stood up, pulling it over her head. Without really waiting for anyone to respond, Hermione hurried past the two girlfriends and more or less ran off. 

Ginny kissed Luna on both cheeks before she excused herself to arrange something Quidditch related. The daughter of a werewolf smiled happily and waved her girlfriend off. As Luna sat down next to Harry on the sofa, Ron turned towards Teddy with a worried expression. 

“Do you think I… Did I say something that hurt her? Lavender isn’t her secret bully or anything?” Ron nervously fumbled with his scarred fingertips as he spoke. 

“Hello,” Harry leaned over to hug Luna in a greeting. “Congratulations!” 

“Thank you!” the younger teenager squeaked happily. “I can’t believe someone as amazing as Ginny would want little old me, but I’m so very filled to the brim with joy!” 

“Oh, you didn’t do anything wrong, man.” On the other end of the room, Teddy continued to speak to Ron. “I don’t think Lavender is her bully, I simply think that she became a little overwhelmed. The most respectful thing is probably to give her some time and allow her to collect herself.” 

Unbeknownst to Ron, Teddy has recognised Hermione’s feelings to mimic the ones he once had for Blaise. Teddy had been rather firmly and perhaps even slightly cruelly rejected, which made him want to assist Hermione in some ways by preventing Ron from challenging her when her emotions needed to be calmed first. 

“Why not?” Harry teased Luna with a gentle, friendly poke of an elbow. “You’re a great person, you deserve a girlfriend who will treat you right. Are you dating Greengrass too, or just Ginny? Not that there is anything ‘just’ about her,” he hurriedly added.  

“Well, you know… It just feels so good,” Luna chirped as she covered her burning cheeks with her hands. “I’m dating Ginny, and Ginny is also dating Astoria. I’m not dating her but she is such a sweetheart. She hugged me really closely after me and Ginny got together and told me that if I ever needed help, Hufflepuff House has my back. Isn’t that just so lovely?” 

Harry grinned at her, pushing back all of his own relationship troubles to simply be happy for the recent couples. It was working surprisingly well, all things considered. “That’s wonderful. I’m glad that you and her are getting along as well.” 

“So I just leave Hermione alone and she will talk to me when she is ready?” Ron questioned Teddy as he fumbled with his fingers, glancing between his friend and the door. “I feel like I should… do something?” 

“You really shouldn’t,” Teddy gently reprimanded him. “You should go on your date, have fun, and decide what you want to do, not what you supposedly should do.” 

“So there is something I supposedly should be doing?” Ron blinked at his best friend as he tried to understand what he was saying. 

“Oh, well… You should… I mean, you shouldn’t… Or just… uhm” Teddy hurriedly rambled in an attempt to preserve Hermione’s dignity and not reveal that she might have feelings for Ron. 

“So how did you get together, if you don’t mind me asking?” Harry and Luna continued their conversation, unaware of what was happening in the room. 

“It was rather surprising,” Luna played with her crystal necklace as she smiled down at her own knees. “Not in a bad way, mind you. I wanted to go look at the full moon from the astronomy tower, and Ginny asked if she could come along. I told her that we might get in trouble, but she insisted that if we did, we would get in trouble together. Thus, we bundled up and we went to the tower. We ended up speaking, and I told her about my mum. I’ve never really told anyone about her before. As you know, people get stuck on the part about her being a werewolf and then never quite move past that.” 

As she spoke, she raised her necklace and looked at it, her large eyes filling with love and admiration. “Mum gave this to me, and I’ve always kept it hidden. Not because I was ashamed about it, but because I was afraid that somebody would take it from me. I heard Umbridge speak about werewolves last year, and I’ve had nightmares since that she would somehow find out and take it away, despite the fact that she probably couldn’t legally.” 

Harry nodded. He recalled Umbridge's dislike for werewolves painfully clearly. He also recalled that Luna had been speaking with a heavy stutter last year, but that appeared to have calmed down significantly. She stuttered in a few places, and generally fumbled some words in her longer sentences, but she was nonetheless far better off than last term. 

“Either way,” Luna stuttered slightly as she continued speaking about her relationship. “So we were sitting there, and I got emotional from speaking about mum. Then, Ginny took my hand gently, and then she suddenly asked if she could kiss me. Just like that, but, more… Polite,” she nodded as she settled on a word. “At first, I was really worried that she was making fun of me, so I told her. Her face became hurt, but not the false kind of hurt, but genuine. So I dared say yes, and we kissed and it was just…” she sighed deeply, “wonderful. Afterwards, Ginny said that she liked me, and I sort of croaked at her until she understood that I liked her back.” Luna giggled once more before she covered her face with her hands as her smile became too big for her to contain. 

“It’s odd, I keep on almost expecting that it wasn’t real, or that someone is playing an elaborate prank on me. But Ginny is so nice, and so… understanding. She really is my best friend, and I don’t think she would do something like this to, well, hurt me.” Luna concluded with a series of rapid nods. 

“From what little I do know of Ginny, I don’t think that she is tricking you. She appears to genuinely like you,” Harry smiled at his friend, finding the story to be rather romantic. Ginny evidently knew what she had been doing when she made her confession of interest to Luna. 

“No, you’re right!” Luna beamed with joy. “She wouldn’t!”  

“I really don’t get it…” Rom mumbled out the confession to Teddy as he rubbed his neck again, biting his lower lip as he sheepishly tried to comprehend the advice which Teddy gave him. 

“There is really nothing to get!” Despite knowing better, Teddy’s nervousness was making him impolite. “Please, just… go and do what you want and don’t think about it so hard. But do leave Hermione alone for a bit, she will come to you when she is ready.” 

“Alright, alright,” Ron raised his hands in defeat. “Let’s talk about something else. What are you working on?” 

With a relieved smile, the tinkerer turned towards his current project and began telling him all about it as it stood half finished upon the table before him. Ron leaned in, but not too close, and listened with a polite interest to what his best friend was telling him. He might not have an interest in the subject, but Teddy always managed to make machines sound fun in some manner, even when Ron wasn’t fully understanding what he was saying. 

Meanwhile, in the other end of the room, Harry was finally able to speak to Luna about her summer, and how she had been. The two of them engaged in a pleasant discussion about where Luna lived, and how life was when one lived next to water. She was eager to tell him all about it, and Harry was more than happy to be distracted from the mess within his head and simply listen to his friend. 

In hindsight, Harry felt a little guilty for not following Hermione and checking on her, but he also agreed with Teddy’s judgement of her deserving the dignity of solitude to calm herself down. Whenever she was ready to talk, Harry would be there for her, but he couldn’t push that onto her without her consent. He was also guilty about feeling relieved to not have to go right there and then. All these relationships around him made it hard to not think about Draco, which in turn made it hard to not worry. It was also hard to not feel jealous that these people could enjoy their partners and be close without worrying about war separating them. Harry vowed to himself that if Hermione did ask for his assistance, he would do his utmost to be helpful and not be irrationally upset because his situation was harder than hers. Thus, Harry engaged with the person in front of him, and had a pleasant time with his fellow child of a werewolf. 

Luna explained that Astoria Greengrass, Ginny’s first girlfriend, had let Ginny spend time with Luna to primarily help her recover mentally, but also to prove to Luna that her feelings were not false. Astoria had allowed them some privacy, but they had recently started to speak about going on a date together. The primary idea behind the group date was to allow Luna and Astoria to get to know each other better but the underlying plan was to evaluate their chemistry. 

Luna didn’t quite dare say it out loud, but she was evidently excited about the idea that maybe Astoria would want to date her as well, making them a three witch polyamorous couple where everyone was dating everyone. The idea of Astoria Greengrass liking her enough to want to date her frightened and thrilled Luna in equal measure. She had already made a little cheat sheet which she would use in case she couldn’t think of things to ask her girlfriend’s girlfriend. 

While Harry wasn’t quite sure if she would need a sheet of questions, he understood the safety of one and was happy that Luna had found a means with which to calm her anxiety about the date. It was all very sweet and rather cute to Harry, even if he didn’t say it out loud out of fear that he would sound demeaning. Luna’s happiness was calming in a world which appeared to have become mad with negative emotions and heavy duties. Harry felt relieved that he was truly happy for her, and not jealous, hoping he could continue like it.

Chapter Text

As September passed into October, Remus struggled to recover mentally and physically from the Lunar Eclipse which occured on the 27th of September. 

He hadn’t been prepared for the strain the disappearing moon would have, which resulted in him transforming not once but twice that night. The potion hadn’t worked as effectively as it usually did. It was not because Severus had failed him, but because the additional adrenaline from transforming twice had caused his body to burn off some of the effects in the horrifying second transformation. 

As a secondary result, Remus had found himself rather heavily injured by the moon crazed beast, and he had been forced to use one of the emergency healing potions which Severus had brewed for him when they realised that circumstances in life were yet again stealing them apart from the other. Further assistance from Molly Weasley had saved him from gaining a new collection of scars, as she had come to the grim old place right away when Remus had called her on the phone and asked for help. He was endlessly thankful for the woman’s assistance as she cleaned and bandaged what could be cleaned and bandaged up, and cared for him during the days leading up to the meeting. 

Molly argued that it might be better for Remus to sit this particular meeting out, but he was too worried to be able to simply sit back and relax as the rest of the Order gathered and exchanged reports. Not to mention, it was one of the few occasions which would allow him to see Severus, as his fiancé was currently risking himself through being a spy for an Order which suspected him to be spying on them with the purpose of reporting to the Death Eaters. It was not a pleasant position to be in for anyone. Remus couldn’t imagine remaining at home when he could at least see Severus when he gave his report and before he was asked to leave the room, accompanied by an Auror. The werewolf needed to be there for his husband to be, if only to make the room slightly less hostile. 

The Order of the Phoenix did not so much have an office, or place from which they generally operated. They met in different locations every time, both to hide from the Death Eaters, but also to hide from the Ministry of Magic, who would not approve of their attempted actions. The current location was a rather run down old house, lost somewhere in the woods which was mostly connected to the Floo Powder Network by accident at this point, more than deliberate choice. 

It was not the most secure location, but it was more secure than many other locations in the middle of a city. The old witch who lived in the house was an almost ancient friend of Albus Dumbledore’s, and she let them meet in her home in exchange for not telling her anything about the meetings. She also demanded that they kept their shoes clean as they met on the second floor of her cottage home. 

Thus it was that a group of nearly thirty mages gathered in the old witch’s home, crowding in the open space upon chairs which were turned towards the front of the room. Standing in front of the rows of chairs and tables was Severus, who concluded his monthly report as was expected of him. The report itself was lackluster, and contained no new information. While no new information generally meant that nothing had happened, it was not a report which pleased those who considered Severus a danger to the Order. Remus smiled at his husband to be as the man passed him, accompanied by the Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. Severus gave him a very small smile in return, which was only for him, before he left the room. 

Next to Remus sat Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, two young mages whom Remus would rather not be involved in the possible upcoming war, but who were nonetheless members of the Order. The two were recently engaged, and both had been eager to share the news with the friends they had, which included Remus who was still trying to figure out exactly how they had become friends. He didn’t mind, of course, and he got along very well with Fleur, who was a mage who would defend any supposed ‘half-breed’ openly and without any fear. Thus far, Remus had seen them defend both him as well as Severus when a member had made a tasteless joke or whispered a demeaning comment. 

Unlike Tonks, who might have calmed down with her intrusive questions since last winter, Fleur understood that being a werewolf meant that the person in question was suffering from a sickness, rather than having some fascinating quirk. Tonks was less taxing to deal with after Fleur had told her off when she continuously found ways to mention the fact that Remus was a werewolf in far too many sentences. With some more time, and a great deal of effort, Tonks might even become pleasant to speak to.  

Remus did not get along as well with Bill, but they did get along well nonetheless. Bill had suffered rather badly from losing Sirius, but sharing the loss of the same person was not entirely solid grounds upon which to build a great friendship. There was simply more to being friends than missing the same person. Remus and Bill did not share the same interest in music, clothing style, or even most interests, but what they did share was an interest in history. Remus had long since found the subject interesting, even if his real interest lay in Defense against the Dark Arts. Bill Weasley, being a rather noteworthy agent for Gringotts Magus Bank, had a lot of history notes to share about the country of Egypt. 

Thus, Remus and Bill built a friendship on talking and listening, rather than an abundance of similarities. Fleur might be slightly easier to speak to, but the two men were slowly getting to know one another. 

Arthur Weasley rose from the rows of people and walked to the front, having gathered a collection of parchment in front of him in preparation to speak. “May I have your attention, please? Thank you,” he nodded approvingly when the members quieted down and turned towards him. “For those of you who don’t know me, I am Arthur Weasley, the secretary of the Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation. If you are confused, it is a new department created to protect the people accused of crimes in connection to being a Death Eater, follower or sympathiser of the Dark Lord. Our department was created after outcry towards the number of baseless accusations aimed towards certain members of our mage community.” 

“So you’re protecting the innocent from being thrown into Azkaban?” A young mage raised their hand and asked with a hesitant voice. 

Arthur nodded, “indeed. Our intent is to ensure that the rights of those captured remain being adhered to so as to not flood Azkaban with prisoners, and we aim to ensure fair trials and evaluation, rather than hasty actions.” 

“Sounds like you’re a department sympathising with the Death Eaters…” A dark, annoyed voice mumbled somewhere within the room. 

There was a fracture between the members of the Order of the Phoenix between those who believed that Scrimgeour's actions were just and right, albeit slightly misguided, and those who believed that Professor Dumbledore was the only one who could make it so that a second mage war did not break out. There were certain voices within the Order who doubted that Dumbledore knew what he was truly doing, as he was leading the Order around in a wild chase to attempt to find horcruxes which could be anything, located anywhere. Added to that, the Greatest Wizard of the century had not managed to achieve the goal on his own, and had been forced to elicit the help of teenagers to please a selfish old man’s whims. 

While most members agreed that they wanted to follow Albus Dumbledore more than they wanted to listen to Scrimgeour, there was disagreement amongst them in regards to how much power Professor Dumbledore should have over their actions. Some preferred him to simply act as an icon to call more people to their cause, seeing as his method of averting a war was so far unsuccessful. There were even some individuals who were worried that the whole Order might simply be an elaborate act to gather Ministry traitors and possible Death Eater sympathisers by using the Greatest Wizard as bait. Such paranoid claims were not well founded in the least, but Arthur’s speech caused some people, both inside and outside the Order, to consider him a Death Eater sympathiser simply on virtue of him wanting to keep those innocent of crimes out of a cruel death in prison. 

Arthur Weasley’s gaze slowly travelled over the collected members, searching in vain for whoever had called him and his department Death Eater sympathisers. Or at least that was what Remus thought until he realised that Arthur was staring at them all in turn, silently observing them with an odd calm which reminded Remus of Dumbledore. 

“I won’t ask who made that claim, but I want each and every one of you to consider the fact that you, yes, you, everyone of you, could be accused of being a Death Eater or a Dark Lord sympathiser. Or it could be your loved ones, or even your extended family. You could point towards anyone in this room, and the Ministry of Magic would, without my Department, simply be able to throw you into Azkaban. Seeing as one of you could in theory be a sympathiser, so could those you associate with. Thus, entire groups of people can be sent in masses to die in prison, because someone found it rewarding to point fingers.” Arthur stopped speaking, allowing his words to settle in the room. 

“I don’t care about your feelings on the matter, I’m afraid. My department has mages, lives, to save. We will not allow slander to remove us from our course. Now, if you are quite finished prolonging my speech, may I go back to my report?” There was passion in Arthur’s eyes and pride in his voice as he stood before the Order. There was pride in his body language, and an honesty which Remus hadn’t thought him capable of whatsoever until seeing the man speak within the Order. 

Since Molly had been with Remus since the 28th last month, he had been told by the woman about her future divorce, but also her genuine conversation with her previous husband. She had evidently needed to speak about it to someone in person, even if her best friend Andromeda Tonks offered immense support for her through merely her voice. Remus was glad to listen, and he would have listened to her even if she had not come all the way to the grim old place to assist him. 

He encouraged Molly to visit Andromeda when he was feeling better, seeing as she was apparently hesitant to do so, despite being invited. She didn't quite want to speak about her reasons, but it was evident to the werewolf that she was simply nervous, and feared that she would be seen as boring, or worse, in person. Remus was rather certain that Andromeda would like her just as much in person as she did over the phone. 

The werewolf had always felt as if Arthur Weasley was insincere, or perhaps even unpleasant. He never truly appeared happy, and it was evident that he never actually wanted to be in the room, or really even speak to anyone. When he did overcome whatever it was that kept him from speaking, he was always pretending, always joking and acting more stupid than Remus believed the man to be. However, Remus had never been close to, or even friends, with Arthur. Thus, he had never felt like he should speak up about it, and far preferred to simply remain distant to the false bundle of expressions which made up Arthur Weasley. 

Remus had to admit to himself that he had been worried about Arthur’s mental health after the planned and seemingly consensual divorce. Molly may have only spoken about him with fondness and appreciation for what he had said, done, and the manner in which he had behaved. However, that did not mean that Remus believed Arthur Weasley to be a reasonable man. Even if he didn’t know the man very well, he had seen him perpetuate a feud between children, and almost engaged in fisticuffs with another mage in a crowded bookstore. He had seen Arthur arrive late to a gathering at the great worry to his wife, having pretended like nothing and refused to admit to having wronged his family in not showing up on time.

Yet to Remus’s surprise, as well as joy, the man appeared happier and mentally healthier than ever before. Seeing as he had managed a generally not recognised department, that was to say the one regarding Muggle affairs, for many years with great success, and had passed at least some laws of notoriety, he was the perfect candidate for the new Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation, and had thus risen quickly in the ranks to become the secretary for a law department without any real education or degrees within magical law itself. Arthur appeared passionate and driven, not depressed and false, like he had prior to his new job. 

The man finished his report, and returned to his seat. The next person to speak was the Auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom Remus had seen a few times but never spoken to. The large Auror was intimidating in all his approachability, strict, yet not without humility. He was the type of man who understood that while a person could be trusted and loved, it did not exempt them from criticism. He believed in Albus Dumbledore, but he believed in hard, honest criticism which would enable him to be better and do more. He had little patience for excuses, yet respected reasons. He understood that Remus was in pain after the latest horrifying transformation, and he understood that Professor Dumbledore’s age made it so that he was struggling physically, but he did not respect someone being late because they were scared to come. Shacklebolt wasn’t a perfect person, but he could be, with more time and practice. 

Perhaps the most impressive of all was the man admitting to having been wrong. Shacklebolt had previously been known to distrust Albus Dumbledore and to fully believe in order the way the Ministry upheld it. After the disaster with Umbridge and the evidence for Dumbledore having been right all along about the Dark Lord's return, Shacklebolt didn't just admit to having been wrong and regretting his actions, but firmly advocated others to admit the truth as well. He was a man who would not blind himself to the truth once he had access to it, and who refused to make the same mistake twice.

Shacklebolt spoke to the gathered group about the Ministry of Magic, and the duties of the Aurors in terms of arrests and inspections being made. It appeared that Scrimgeour was in a small battle with the law department as he pushed to make surprise inspections in any home, especially the richer, aristocratic families, for the expressed purpose of catching Death Eaters and sympathisers in the act of being followers of the Dark Lord. Such a blatant martial law implementation against a community which was not yet officially in a war was not something the law department could agree to, and thus the Ministry was becoming more fractured. During his speech, certain Aurors interrupted him with small details or an updated half report, which was as arranged by the Order. All information was important information, it did not matter who reported it and who interrupted who, as long as they all gained the most up to date and in depth knowledge.

After the more important people’ reports, the other members of the Order relayed their information and how their respective tasks had unfolded. Some had good things to report, others bad, but most reports were rather neutral in terms of being good or bad. 

The turn came to Remus, who carefully stood up as he spoke, as was expected of the person giving their report. He noticed a few mages looking at him with worry and uncertainty, as they failed to look past the werewolf to see the man himself. Remus pretended not to notice, as he was almost getting used to the looks by this point. It was not that they didn’t hurt, but he could choose to make it hurt less by not acknowledging that their fear hurt. 

“My task thus far has been unsuccessful at large, as I have attempted to find other members of our community who are infected with Lycanthropy. My search has yielded no results, and all the physical leads have proven to be misleading at best, and aggressive animals at worst.” Remus finished his statement and was about to sit down when a voice from somewhere in the room asked him a question. 

“But there was a full moon just a week back. You should have waited by the potions store in Diagon Alley and seen if any werewolves got that potion.”

Remus patiently opened his mouth, about to explain to the person that the course of action suggested was not a working strategy to find a werewolf, but before he could, Fleur jumped to their feet next to him. 

“I have lived in this country for less than two years, and even I know that your community is hounding werewolves to the point where they don’t dare get the potion out of fear that you will lock them away or steal their jobs from them. Do you seriously think that a werewolf could go to a potions store and get a Lycanthropy Potion and go home safely when Scrimgeour is locking away anything he thinks is Dark Arts?” They barked in the direction of the voice, almost snarling with annoyance. 

“Not to mention that Remus, being a well known werewolf in our community, might be arrested on the street if he remained in the same place for too long during the day of a full moon.” Bill added some more information as he remained seated upon his chair. “It would not be a fair arrest, but as previously stated by Fleur, Scrimgeour’s Ministry is aggressive towards anything perceived to be connected to Dark Arts.” 

“Also!” Tonks spoke up next, much to Remus’ surprise. “There was a Lunar Eclipse last week. There is no way that werewolves would be happy to walk around anywhere, even if it was day.” 

Remus blinked at the younger people before he smiled towards them, endlessly thankful that he wasn’t alone. He evidently had friends in the Order, and they may be younger than him, but they were nonetheless his friends. Perhaps, they were even better to him than the Marauders had been when he was young. 

Such thoughts hurt too much to dwell on, and Remus refocused his efforts on the present. 

“Thank you all for that more in depth explanation,” Remus nodded towards them before turning to the rest of the crowd. “I am continuing to focus on my efforts, and I hope I will have more luck with my next report.” He sat down, signalling that he wasn’t going to speak any further on the topic. 

Fleur gave their report, which didn’t quite have anything to actually discuss, but Bill’s words caused all the more alarm within the Order of the Phoenix. 

“It appears that the goblins at Gringotts, if they are representative of the community, are less weighted towards the mage community and more towards supporting the Dark Lord.” Worried whispers filled the room as Bill paused to allow the weight of his words to be taken in. 

“The goblins have long since been feuding with mages throughout history, and it is only comparatively recently that we have been able to reach a truce. However, the goblins appear to believe that the Dark Lord’s side is more profitable for them, seeing as the mages are destroying themselves. They do not believe in the Dark Lord’s ideology, but they do believe in his ability to fracture and disrupt the status quo to the point where the goblins may be able to overthrow the mages at long last, should he win the likely upcoming war. Whatever their reasons, they benefit from our disunity, and want it to continue.” 

“Of course,” Bill continued, “not all goblins feel this way, but the sentiment is rather alarmingly common within their community. I do not believe that they will do anything to support either side through action, but I am worried that they might allow the Dark Lord to rise to power through their continuous inaction. It has been noted through credible sources that the goblins don’t care about conflicts in the mage communities, and they have repeatedly allowed notorious or suspected Death Eaters direct access to the banks and their money, as long as they have the necessary key or blood. It happened with Sirius P-, pardon, Black, when he went to a Gringotts three years ago, and was somehow given access to his vault. The details are unclear, and no goblin will elaborate, but the fact of the matter is that a highly sought after criminal was able to gain access to his money, and nobody knew but the goblins, who didn’t care to stop or report him. If that could happen before the return of the Dark Lord, quite a few things could happen as the situation currently is.”

While frightening on its own, Remus wasn’t at all surprised to learn that the goblin population of Britain might lean towards supporting the Dark Lord, with the motivation of watching their oppressors destroy themselves. 

Goblins had existed in the shadows of the Muggle world for just as long as mages. Just like mages, goblins were aware that they were a vast minority compared to the Muggles out there, meaning that they in no way sought to reveal their existence to the general population. Mostly, it was a community, a culture and a people wishing to be left alone to their life and traditions, but of course this had not been possible.

Both communities had hurt each other with their differences throughout history, but Remus knew that a lot of the conflicts stemmed from mages’ general attitude of ruling everything else, and seeing all other intellectual creatures as below their human status. The bigger and more unified the mage communities grew, the more they oppressed all those around them.

Traces of the disputes could be seen in fables and legends, and the general idea of goblins as a creature, albeit fictional to Muggles. Goblins were more often than not seen as irredeemably evil, being evil for the sake of evil, and the lesser henchmen of a more prominent and dangerous evil which they follow blindly. This had no real evidence in history, aside from that goblins generally had rather harsh societal structures and further ruling structures within the communities. The very concept seemed to be a sign of slander and ignorance more than anything else. It wouldn’t surprise Remus to find that mages in history had a hand in painting goblins up to be evil and unintelligent. Remus knew what it was like to be a person and an individual who all the tales spoke of as the enemy, the danger and the creature less than a person. He was rather certain it would hurt goblins in much the way which those claims hurt him. 

Further, Remus was fairly certain that if goblins hadn’t been as unified as they were in their communities, mages would have treated them no different from the elves which had been enslaved in masses. Goblins had stronger communities which had both allowed them to fight back, but also to negotiate for the sake of their own people. As of currently, goblins were allowed to own property and at the very least live alongside mages as creatures with rights, even though a court would never treat them fairly or in a humane manner. Further, they faced discrimination similar to that of elves, despite supposedly having more rights. 

It was frighteningly easy to relate to a minority which always had to fear the time when their oppressors might turn against them again. Many of the goblins probably feared that the frightened mages would turn against them based on slander and fairy tales. Just like them, Remus all but waited for his rights as a person to be revoked if the community turned against werewolves. Thus, it wasn’t at all strange to him to understand why such people would want to see their oppressors destroy themselves through infighting and incompetence. 

The room filled with murmurs and insecure whispers. Remus heard such statements as ‘that isn’t good,’ as well as a few direct ‘oh no.’ Yet he wasn’t able to pay attention to the discussion, as Sirius’ name had been mentioned and that had rather shocked him into being unable to focus properly, even if he reacted late to the name. After a few failed attempts at breathing properly, he gave up and excused himself to step outside for a little bit. 

The last thing he heard before stepping out was Albus Dumbledore addressing the crowd with the words: “we must remember to think of the fact that the goblins have not made any public declarations. By attacking them with accusations, or attempting to openly sway their minds without subtlety, we risk having them turn towards the Dark Lord’s side in retaliation. It is of utmost importance that we do not act rashly and-”

The door shut behind Remus as he wandered down the stairs and over to the back door, which in turn led to a rather desolate garden. A few dried leaves crumbled around a set of plastic furniture. Remus received the impression that the faded white fence was the only thing which kept the furniture from leaving alongside stronger wind and becoming one with the woods, free to terrorise the landscape and the local farms. 

Severus was seated upon one of the plastic chairs, he was facing away from the house and looking into the forest. The only sign that he was truly alive was the soft puffs of steam which left his lips as he breathed, and the somewhat infrequent blinking of his eyes. 

The Auror next to him threw his cigarette upon the ground, grinded it with his foot and made his way back into the house, concluding without words that Remus was the new guard and he was therefore eligible to leave. Remus thought the man’s name was Mundungus Fletcher, but he wasn’t certain as a collection of mages in the group dressed in similar fashion. 

Scrunching his nose against the unpleasant scent of burnt tobacco, Remus pulled a fallen chair up and took a seat next to his partner. The chair was cold, but not wet, which was at the very least a slight relief. Severus continued to face forward, not quite paying attention to him visually, although he was reading his mind, as always. 

Just as Remus began to worry that the other man didn’t want company, or physical contact, Severus shifted on the chair and rested his head upon his somewhat larger partner’s shoulder. He did so carefully as to not hurt the already strained werewolf. After some careful maneuvering, Remus managed to place his arm over the other’s shoulder, and he stroked over his head. To his great satisfaction, pride and happiness, he felt his partner shiver slightly before he more or less melted into the touch. 

Remus was happy to learn yet again that Severus didn’t shy away from him, or perceived their relationship as a weakness enough to back away from it. They had already spoken about Severus’ interaction with the Dark Lord, Remus knew all about it, and the implications worried him. However, he was all the more uncomfortable with how evidently understanding Lord Voldmort was, and how patient he could be. It made Remus feel as if rather than allowing a blow to land, the golem of a man was withholding it for the sake of increasing the fear and pain of when the strike did come to connect in the future. 

“I have never been too personally defined by my position as the Head of the Slytherin House,” Severus’ voice was quiet, accompanying the rustling of the leaves as naturally as if he was part of the silent but cold forest. “Yet it has been a source of pride. I find it almost curious that, now that I have lost it, I do not feel more upset or even emotional. In fact, it feels ever so relieving to not be asked to assist children while I am not currently…” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, sighing in earnest tiredness. “...Functional.” 

“It’s not too surprising,” Remus absentmindedly played with the other’s collar as he spoke. “Your life is not a life anyone can be expected to go through and be fine with.” 

“Indeed not…” Severus agreed as he reached up and gently grabbed Remus’ hand with his own, ringless left hand. 

The two of them had bought engagement rings, but with all the doubt and uncertainty around them, Severus had not dared to wear his since he returned to the Dark Lord. He was still wearing the necklace though, which meant the world to Remus. He did not need his partner to wear anything which he had given him, but it made him happy that the other was intent on doing it for his own sake. The ring was superfluous. They knew that they loved each other, and if the world would take that love from them if it knew of the engagement, then the two men didn’t need such a ring. 

Remus didn’t want to consider the fact that Severus might never be able to place the ring back on, for various different reasons. It was too unthinkable, and far too hard. Despite the myriad of reasons which could currently ruin their lives, he couldn't let himself think too closely about it. He needed to believe that there would be a time when somehow, everything would be alright. Then, perhaps even good. Even if he thought it was hard to motivate things being ‘good’ for him, it was easy to motivate wanting them to be good for Severus. 

“How is it, well… How is it over there?” Remus wasn’t sure if he was asking about Hogwarts, or if he was asking about the Death Eater circles. He mostly wanted Severus to speak, and to speak about the things that weighed on his mind. 

Severus sighed, his grip upon Remus’ hand tightening slightly. “At Hogwarts, matters are relatively fine. Professor Slughorn is primarily avoiding me, for a collection of reasons, but most of them have to do with supposedly being, or having been a Death Eater. I have to admit that I find it most humorous to think that I’m only exempt from Azkaban for the moment because a certain Professor Umbridge spent quite some time last year attempting to prove that I was a Death Eater, and failed. Had it not been for her persistent attempts and reevaluations, I would likely have been admitted without question, seeing how the former Death Eaters and sympathisers were the first to go.”

Remus blinked at his partner, his mouth falling open slightly as he considered the implication of what Severus said. “You mean to say that without her hounding you, you would likely have been in prison now?” 

Severus nodded, “how very ironic, wouldn't you agree? That it was her continuous attempt to prove me guilty which is saving me today. There was simply too much evidence that I am not a Death Eater for either the Board of Governors or the Ministry's law department to even consider reexamining the accusations.” 

“I wouldn’t call that humorous, but I do feel rather satisfied about the result,” Remus grinned as he nuzzled his nose against the other’s hair, breathing in the scent which he loved so utterly yet which was becoming distant alongside his lover’s work. 

“As for how matters are with the Death Eaters,” as Severus continued, a slight weight came over his words, and his scent became troubled, rather than indifferent. “A lot of them are not well. Some are gathering, rather, going into hiding at the Manor, with some minor to at least substantial wounds. The Dark Lord has been recovering, and while he is slowly improving, he is nonetheless weak which also means that he remains largely inactive unless he is meeting with somebody in private. I’m making a collection of potions for various different people, and I have prepared a number of Lycanthropy potions lately. Despite my personal feelings on the matter, I am worried that the number will only rise if Scrimgeour continues to hunt anyone different down. People affected by Lycanthropy have nowhere else to turn for their medication, in general, and the situation is worse than ever before.”

Severus allowed his words to settle and then continued to speak, “Further, the atmosphere itself is unpleasant. People are frightened, their thoughts scattered and some panicked. Many of them do not quite believe in the Death Eater ideology as much as they don’t have a choice in his side having been picked for them. People are generally stressed, and they take it out on those below them whose weakness is greater than theirs. It is not pleasant, but the only thing I can do to even remotely improve the situation is to remain distant, calm, and work on the potions.” He sighed weakly.

Remus had come to understand that those who could even remotely be connected to Death Eaters or the Dark Lord, were more or less forced to flee their homes, family and friends and go into hiding, lest risk being thrown into Azkaban. If they really were people who believed in the superiority of blood, and the death of all those who were different, then Remus would not have felt terribly for them. However, that was not entirely the case. Things were more complex, and those deemed wrong were removed before they could commit to that wrong, making it almost a certainty that they would commit that wrong in the future out of desperation. 

It was hard to see Scrimgeour handle the situation with violence and fear mongering, rather than even attempt to unify their small community. It was made even harder as Remus knew that he might only be months away from having to go into hiding as well, seeing as he was a well known werewolf. He theorised that the only reason nobody from the Ministry of Magic had come to speak with him was because he was the dad of Harry Potter, the icon. For all that it could do, the Ministry could not admit to having given their beloved teenage idol to a Death Eater supporting werewolf. Thus, Remus was safe for the moment, because he had to remain free, and even good, or the Ministry would admit to a mistake. 

However, Remus wasn’t sure how long that barrier would last in the face of paranoia and panic. 

To remove himself from his own feelings in regards to what was currently happening in Britain, he focused on his partner once more. “How is Narcissa?”

Severus breathed deeply to steady himself before he resettled against Remus’ shoulder, closing his eyes as he took the one chance he currently had to relax. “Narcissa is being held hostage to motivate her son to complete a task at Hogwarts. I have to be vague, or else I risk placing myself in a most uncomfortable position. What Draco has been tasked with is nothing inherently dramatic, but if completed, it would give the Dark Lord a path into Hogwarts at his leisure which is something he'd consider another power to wield, more than any concrete plan right of this moment. Narcissa is not treated badly, but she has to spend time with Bellatrix Lestrange as her guard, which is not very pleasant for her. Lestrange is most upset with me, and she doesn’t trust Draco in the least, prompting her to act like a child around us both. It is a relief for Narcissa to have Draco remain at Hogwarts so that he does not have to face her sister’s misplaced aggressions.” 

Severus turned to look into Remus’ eyes as a serious expression settled upon his tired features. “You must not tell anyone what I have told you. Dumbledore knows and he has a plan. Unless anything changes, we are all to leave Draco alone and allow him to do what he must. As soon as Narcissa is safe, Draco’s work can be mended, but it is the Headmaster’s choice that it must happen like this for the moment.” He frowned slightly as he continued, “you mustn't ask more. It is too risky, better if you only know a little of it.” 

Remus swallowed back his follow up questions, and turned towards another one. A question which he was highly hesitant to shape into existence. “Do you… Do you know anything about… Peter?” 

The mind reader looked ahead, knowing that his lover was asking about his old friend without needing the surname. He hesitated to speak, which only added to Remus’ anxiety. 

“Are you able to hear of the werewolf who turned you? If I am to speak of Pettigrew, I will have to mention him as well,” Severus finally settled on a response. 

Remus couldn’t hold back the small, shaking breath and the panic which bloomed within his chest at the mention of Fenrir Greyback, the beast whom he blamed for most of the misery in his life. It was not a constant blame, but it was nonetheless a blame which he would often return to when the night was dark and long and he couldn’t sleep because his skin was burning and itching from the beast within. Greyback’s name alone brought a surge of panic to his body, even though he managed to convince himself many times that he felt sympathy for the child who had bit him out of fear and loathing of Remus’ father. Yet such rational thoughts were often overshadowed by the reality that Greyback was real, and that he was now actually a monster, one who would gladly bite and infect people to this day without a shred of remorse. 

Remus attempted to steady himself with a few deep breaths before he spoke up. “I… I would rather not talk about him, but I’m worried about what he has to do with Peter. Would you… please… tell me?” 

Severus hesitated for a short moment before he spoke, “Very well. Pettigrew took the death of Sirius Potter rather hard, and he has been struggling with conflicted feelings of love towards him for many years, as I am sure that you know. As Pettigrew was as much of Potter’s victim as most were, he is highly disturbed by the understanding that Potter can never hurt him again, and by missing him in earnest. I would normally claim his thoughts to be irrational and slightly pathetic, but it is hard to make such claims when I can easily understand his thoughts. Naturally, I do not share his feelings on the subject, but I find it hard to blame him given my understanding for his circumstances.” 

Remus breathed deeply as he raised a hand to cover his face, leaning heavily against the armrest of one of the chairs, he wasn’t entirely certain which chair. “I… Always thought that Peter was crushing on Sirius, with the way he would admire everything he did and all that he was. I always hoped that it wouldn’t become love, seeing as… well… Seeing as anyone would deserve better than Sirius’ cruel expressions of desire. I suppose I knew, really… but that is horrifying. For Peter to have fallen in love with the man who abused him since childhood… That isn’t healthy by any stretch of the word.” 

“Indeed,” Severus shrugged with a small gesture. “However, someone like me could not help him with those emotions. Those would be for somebody else to sort out, and you cannot reach him. I feel like I should be blunt with you, Remus,” Severus demanded his attention by pulling gently on his wrist. “You cannot help Pettigrew. Not as of currently.” 

Remus wasn’t sure if it was that he wanted to help his former friend as much as it was that he struggled with the idea of being inactive yet again. He had seen the way in which Peter had come to adore and fear Sirius, and he had been passive to it for all of their years in school, even blaming Peter for having feelings for Sirius when it was evidently not good for his mental health, and most certainly not something he could help. 

Peter had not been a bad friend to Remus, even if he hadn’t precisely been a good friend either. He had been a friend nonetheless. Peter hadn’t actually done much to hurt him, but he had hurt Harry, which was something which Remus wasn’t sure that he could forgive him for. However, the action was followed up by healing Harry with magic, and then letting him go from the bonds which kept him, saving the life of his son who would otherwise had died that evening at the Riddle estate graveyard.

Remus had forgiven Sirius, and Sirius had deliberately broken the leg of a child with his teeth because he was so insane at that point. Peter hadn’t precisely chosen to wound Harry out of cruelty or madness, but because he had no other choice as a servant of the Dark Lord. Even then, he hadn’t so much chosen to serve, as much as every other option had been taken away from him. 

When all the sins were stacked, and all the mistakes counted, Peter wasn’t inherently worse than Sirius. Everything of the past was as much, if not more, Sirius’ fault than Peter’s in any way, not to mention that rather than blaming people for their mistakes, Remus would rather blame the actual murderer of Lily and James, the Dark Lord. Further, Peter wasn’t insane, as much as he was a coward. Remus wanted to believe that there might be good in Peter still. He wanted to sit down and speak to him, like he had with Sirius, like he had with his husband to be. He wanted to believe that he might be able to forgive Peter for what he had done, if only the other would talk to him, and mend his ways. 

Such a thing shouldn’t be too much to hope for, should it? 

Severus sat silent as Remus’ thought, but when he concluded that his partner could hear him again, he spoke up. “You recall what I said that there are people who seek to hurt those weaker than them because of various, not so honorable, reasons?” 

Remus nodded, focusing on a spot upon the ground as he felt too overwhelmed to look around or at his lover. 

“Pettigrew is very weak, and quite obviously, visually so. I’m afraid that Greyback has taken a liking to him, more specifically, to frighten him. I do not know quite how far their relationship has progressed, but I fear that it might not be consensual in the least.” Severus concluded his report with an emotionless, direct voice. It was evident that he did not want to feel, or he risked feeling too much about the horrors which he had just revealed to Remus. 

Remus felt ill as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as he focused on the ground which he could no longer see. A cold wind blew around them, but Remus couldn’t actually feel it as he struggled with the unwelcome emotions of worry and anxiety which built within his guts. 

When the world finally stopped spinning, he spoke, “has he come to you with wounds?” 

“Pettigrew has not been infected, no,” Severus answered what Remus actually wanted to ask. “If he is wounded, which I presume that he might be at least slightly, he doesn’t come to me for help. I cannot go ask him either.” 

Remus shut his mouth as he was stopped from asking his question in the first place. He sighed and scratched his scalp with a disgruntled noise. “I feel… so powerless. I couldn’t do anything about his feelings for Sirius but reprimand him for them, and now he’s stuck in the arms of a monster instead? It’s… I don’t… I know Sirius wants me, I mean, wanted me to hate him but I…” 

“Remus,” Severus’ voice was as weak as a whisper, allowed to be heard by only the werewolf’s sensitive ears. “You don’t have to feel anything, and you are allowed to feel everything. However, you cannot blame yourself for things you cannot help. You cannot go back in time, and you cannot reach Pettigrew as of currently. Please do not allow yourself to continue being hurt from more than is already hurting you.” 

Remus’ hand found the way to Severus’, and he squeezed it tightly, knowing that he would have to let go in a far too short amount of time. He attempted to focus on the black eyes of the man who would be his husband. “I… I am… You are right. You’re always right. I love you so much…” He added in a quiet whimper. 

Severus returned his words with a small but honest smile. “I love you as well.” 

He squeezed Remus’ hand in return, regretting equally that they would have to part soon again. Regretting that they had no other choice but to part.

Chapter Text

Colin was handsome as he concentrated on the book before him. He was evidently younger than Harry, and he didn’t appear to face any real consequences of his body’s testosterone in the form of growing stubble as of yet. However, compared to the young kid who had once stalked Harry’s path, the young man who sat before him, with his head resting within his hand and his gaze focused on his course literature had matured remarkably. 

When the Gryffindor student wasn’t so much speaking, but simply being with Harry, the son of a werewolf found himself finding Colin oddly appealing to look at. It wasn’t that he was unpleasant when he spoke, but Harry found it hard to admire someone and listen to the words at the same time, thus, he tried not to combine the two activities too often. It was mostly in the quiet moments that Harry had to admit to himself that Colin was pleasant, handsome, and reliable. He found himself wanting to be alone with his friend, wanting to be of help to him, but he also felt guilty because however much Harry found that he liked Colin, he couldn’t stop comparing him to Draco. When compared to Draco, Colin came up short in some aspects. 

It wasn’t fair to Colin, and it wasn’t fair to Draco, but Harry simply couldn’t let go of the longing to be with the person he treasured as his best friend. He wanted to, but he found that he simply couldn’t. He told himself it had nothing to do with romantic love, but that wasn’t quite the truth. However, he could agree with himself that it was far more love between people, than his feelings being solely centered on romantic love and the return to being a couple. There was a lot more to missing Draco.

“This is… so much text…” Colin groaned as he sat back, allowing himself to lean back on the chair, and stare up at the ceiling. 

The two of them were alone that day, as they had opted to study their respective subjects together in the library, rather than work through them alone. Thus, it was only them, the table between them, and Harry’s confused yet positive feelings for Colin, distracting him from the pain and dread of his current school year and all which had come with it.

“Do you think you could explain it to me?” Colin sat up properly and focused on Harry with hopeful eyes. “If I heard it spoken, that might be easier.” 

“Of course,” Harry’s heart beat a little faster at the look within Colin’s eyes. He held out his hand for the book, which was given to him. “The American Mage War…” Harry read upon the open page. 

He felt an odd stab of recognition in his chest, as Albus’ memories came clambering into his head, fighting for dominance of his emotions. Harry had to remind himself that he didn’t know El, and never had. He had to remind himself that the intrusive feelings were only partially his own, but mostly not. He had felt confused about Tom Riddle since he had seen the young boy from Albus’ point of view, and he was worried that the same would happen with Gellert Grindelwald. The opportunity which Colin had presented him with was an excellent one to remember the Grindelwald whom Harry knew of through studies in textbooks. Saliva gathered in Harry’s mouth, and he swallowed hard to steady himself. 

“Is… everything alright?” Colin’s kind voice spoke up as he lightly pushed a foot against Harry’s leg in an attempt to make him less unfocused. As he had concluded that his friend might have received a sensory overload, Colin was careful to not be too rough or too close as he gave him a gentle nudge. 

“Y-yes…” Harry’s voice trembled slightly as he responded. He reached for his water bottle and drank. The cold water assisted his mind and allowed him to focus once more. “I was recently thinking that I needed to look up some things in regards to this topic. This is a good opportunity.” 

“Oh great!” Colin beamed. “You had me worried there for a lil’.” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Harry nudged Colin’s foot back, feeling his chest jump with a bit of excitement from touching the other. He was beyond doubt projecting feelings onto Colin, and it wasn’t fair. Harry knew he should stop, but he couldn’t deny how happy it made him to see Colin’s lively expressions. “Just let me freshen up my memory?” He nodded towards the book. 

“Sure! You think I can eat an apple in here while I wait?” Colin looked around for any signs telling him not to consume food inside the study room. 

Colin didn’t find one, and so he ate a poisonously green apple as Harry read the book which was far better than the one he had been stuck with when Professor Binns taught Magical History during his fourth year. 

“I think I can teach it to you now.” Harry pulled back from the book and gave Colin a smile. 

“I’m ready,” the Gryffindor student hummed as he readied his pen. 

“To understand the American Mage War, you need to understand the International Statute of Secrecy,” Harry spoke somewhat slowly so as to allow Colin to take notes. “Throughout the middle ages and up modern times, the mage communities around the world, the ones who managed to contact one another, agreed upon the Statute of Secrecy as a core principle of any magical society or community. The name wasn't originally 'international' as nations were not yet a concepts in the world largely built out of various empires and other communities, and the concept of nations would grow much later in history. The law was first signed in 1689 but was officially established in 1692. It was very likely encouraged and perhaps even rushed when the witch burnings spread around Europe as well as America. The law is designed to make certain that magic communities remain bound by law to remain unnoticed by Muggles, with a specific focus on safeguarding said community by not allowing mages to make themselves known in the world at large. To put it simply, this law is why it is a crime to perform any type of magic in front of a Muggle who isn’t initiated in our community by means of a relationship to a mage. You may show your magic to your mum, but you can’t show it to your aunt, for example.” 

Colin nodded as he continued to write, focusing on the parchment in front of him. “Is this the law that says that mages and Muggles cannot marry?” 

Harry shook his head, “no, that was a follow up to this law, but not part of it. It is no longer active in Britain, but I’m not sure about America.” 

“Got it,” Colin finished writing his notes and looked towards Harry. “Keep on going,” he encouraged him with a smile. 

“The United States has had a long history of immigration,” Harry continued to speak. “One of the more noteworthy instances of that immigration was from the 1880s to 1920, primarily during the second industrial revolution, when the world industrialised itself in a sort of race to catch up to Britain. Those who immigrated to America were given their own land to be able to sow and cultivate, and it tempted many low class workers and younger farmers from larger families to come. Those people would then write back home and tell more people to come, making for even larger numbers of immigrants. This is somewhat simplified but I hope that you are following me?” 

“Yeah, yeah… I got it,” Colin nodded and kept on writing. 

“In the mass immigration, mages travelled to America as well, hoping for better lives where they were not bound by ideals about blood, as enforced by the aristocratic upper class. In other words, they were supposed to be free in America, free from the societally enforced blood ideals of Britain, but the problem came in the form of organising themselves into an actual community. What ended up happening was that no magic organisation could protect the newly immigrated mages, and none of the groups that managed to establish themselves were capable of reaching across all the states.” 

“With the unrestricted gun laws, the mages quickly learned that they were utterly outclassed against the huge numbers of Muggles, with no Ministry or government which was able to protect or even find them amongst the sea of the common people. Those who had moved to America had their dreams of a united, free mage country destroyed by the reality that America is simply too big, and organising in the 19th to the early 20th century was simply not possible with the limited means of transportation, method of communication, and so forth. Apparation for example was figured out in the 19th century and was only commonly taught by the late 19th century.” Harry concluded as he glanced into the book to assure himself that he hadn’t made a mistake somewhere. It appeared that his information was correct. 

“Owch,” Colin commented. “That’s harsh… Guns really are that scary and effective, huh?” He wrote ‘GUN’ in big letters in his notes. 

“The instigator and the most important person to remember when we speak about the American Mage war is, naturally, Gellert Grindelwald.” Harry waited until Colin had managed to spell out the name. “He was a corrupt politician who-” Harry stopped himself when he realised that he was calling the man corrupted because that was what history and society had taught him to think of the man as. Because he was supposed to be the enemy. Albus thought of him differently, but without knowing his exact thoughts on the matter, Harry was uncertain to what Albus felt in regards to claiming Grindelwald as corrupt. 

“He was a politician,” Harry tried again, “who many consider to have been corrupt. In the beginning, he was campaigning for the overturn of the Statute of Secrecy, claiming that mages deserved to be known as well as rule their own affairs openly, with the Muggle population, or Non-magic, No-Maj, as they say in America, being subservient to us, rather than us being afraid of them. He considered the fact that Muggle-borns mages could and were born as a evidence that magic is superior and found everywhere, making it foolish to deny our supposed claim over the world as a more than averagely powerful minority. Grindelwald wanted to establish an Embassy of Magic in every state, which reported to a supreme government in the capital of America. His political slogan was ‘for the greater good.’”

Once again, Colin nodded, signalling to Harry that he was following. 

“The political tension was rising since the man immigrated to America somewhere during the 1930’s, sources vary on that account. He engaged in his political campaign with more and more aggression, with the American Mage War breaking out in 1942. Throughout the war, they attempted to arrest Grindelwald but they couldn’t because he had not committed crimes himself as much as his followers committed them for him. They are also cited to have taken the blame for his crimes until the point where he was captured. He was finally arrested in 1943 after the murder of an American Auror working for the state Grindelwald was currently in.” Harry stopped when he noticed that Colin appeared confused. 

“But… doesn’t America have a mage government at all?” The Muggle-born boy asked. 

“No, each state has a magic office, but it has to be hidden from the rest of society,” Harry explained. “That means that certain states have more prominent offices, while others are far smaller and much worse funded ones. Magic education is primarily arranged by those offices, with an average one magic school per second state or less. There is no main office to report to, and no aristocracy to speak of that can generally fund the offices. If you are a mage in America, you better hope that your family are mages too, or else your education will likely be squandered or overlooked, as the Magic Offices wouldn’t know where to find you. This also means that the education is vastly different from state to state, with some having abysmal graduation scores. This while others are well established and widely successful.” 

Colin steadied himself with a breath as he wrote down Harry’s comments about the American system. “I guess I’m glad we are much smaller and relying on those rich people to keep us funded if things go bad,” he joked with a shrug and an insecure laugh. “So back to Grindelwald?” 

“He was arrested in 1943,” Harry repeated the last thing he said, “and he broke out again in 1944.” That was when Albus left Tom and joined the war, heading to America to leave the young Tom Riddle to try and find his blood family after his rejection of his adopted dad. Harry did some uncertain math in his head, and he came to the conclusion that Tom might have been graduating from Hogwarts the same year, or the year after his dad left to meet Grindelwald. 

“The war continued with far more brutal methods from both sides, until Grindelwald was finally defeated by Albus Dumbledore in 1945, and the American Mage War ended with scattered supporters for him, and a, according to the history books, stronger America and American mage community.” It hit Harry as he finished speaking that Albus didn’t quite appear like a person who could defeat his lover in a duel, especially after all that he thought and felt about refusing to fight him. He also thought that he recalled Severus having pointed out that the whole duel was a lie, back when they talked about the American mage war.

He got the feeling that there had to be more about the duel, especially since it was only described as ‘legendary’ but seemingly nobody had seen it. From what little the world knew, the Greatest Wizard alive had entered a cave inside which Grindelwald had been trapped, and come out as the victor with a defeated Grindelwald by his arm. Something was definitely odd about the story, there were far too many details missing for it to appear real in Harry’s mind. 

“What happened to Grindelwald after he was captured?” Colin asked, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. 

“He was sent to a prison in the Austrian Alps, an old castle which would remove him from any of the supporters within America, and disable all attempts to save him from the prison by means of magic. I believe the prison was called Nurmengard Castle, but I am definitely pronouncing that wrong.” Harry laughed weakly as he shook his head. 

“I’ve been skiing in the Alps with my family once, it was horrible. I can definitely see how rescuing someone from those mountains would be next to impossible by foot and broom. The handle would freeze and the people would just… slide off.” Colin exemplified this statement by showing a person falling off a broom with his hands. 

“Skiing?” Harry repeated, leaning his head in his hands as he smiled at the Muggle-born mage. 

“Oh, you strap these things to your feet, which are basically planks of wood, and then you ride down snowy hills and mountains with them. It’s cold, fun and fast, but also really heavy on your legs. Dennis couldn’t join us much at all, and I was mostly stuck with my dad in lifts all day… Not to recommend,” he shook his head. 

“It sounds very… unsafe…” Harry commented with a small smile. Muggles had quite the inventive minds when it came to sports. 

The door to their study room opened and closed before Colin had a chance to answer and Hermione entered, followed by some distant leering from a voice which Harry recognised as Crabbe’s. He was likely not alone in targeting the lone Muggle-born witch, but Harry didn’t have the time to see who was with him as the door shut too quickly. It was evident that Hermione was upset, as she appeared more or less on the verge of a breakdown. Her eyes were puffy and her breath quick and shallow. Harry thought that he could see her hands shake as well as she sat down next to Harry and covered her face with her hands. 

To Harry’s great shame, he felt a throb of annoyance in his chest as his heart sank. He recognised to his surprise that he had wanted to be alone with Colin and not have to remember the rest of the world. He wanted to be safe and alone and far away from Harry Potter and interactions outside their little study room. Hermione was evidently upset, and Harry was in no state of mind to help her feel better. It was rather frightening to learn that for the moment, Harry almost felt as if one of his best friends was a bother. The thought was so utterly intrusive and shocking that he couldn’t recall how to speak, or even recall the first thing to do when someone needed comfort. 

Yet to Harry’s great relief, Colin proved himself more than capable once again. He spoke up when Harry couldn’t find the words, and while he was not as good with words as Draco was, the support he was giving Hermione reminded Harry of the way Draco generally acted when somebody needed assistance. 

“Hello, what happened? Did Crabbe and those Slytherin students attack you?” 

“No… I don’t think so…” Hermione sniffed. “I can’t quite recall what they said… I’m really not upset with them, I… I just… I…” She began to sob into her hands, allowing her hair to cover her up as emotions overwhelmed her. “Ron has a girlfriend…!” She finally managed to hiccup. 

Harry and Colin exchanged a quick glance. 

“Ah, shoot… I’m sorry about that,” Colin gently spoke to her, although his vocabulary was not quite on par with most of her friends’. “I get that it hurts, you’re in love with him, I take it?” 

“I… I d-don’t know i-if…” Hermione continued to sob before she began to cry into her hands, wailing softly as her emotions became too much for her body. “It’s all so stupid… I shouldn’t be… He’s just so nice and his family makes me feel so welcome. I feel like I should appreciate him more, be happy for his happiness, and I’m just… I’m just here crying as if I ever had a chance on someone as wonderful and understanding as he is…!” 

“Come now, feelings aren’t logical. You can’t really help it if you like somebody,” Colin attempted to console her once more. “The important thing to do now is allow yourself to feel those things, but not act out based on them. Don’t do like in the movies and become the jealous part who goes out with someone else to get to your crush or anything stupid like that. You don’t have to get over it right away, and you don’t have to feel bad about it. You can still be friends, even if you like the other more. Just look at me and Harry, I’ve been crushing on him since forever and we can still hang out like reasonable human beings. It has hurt at times in the past, I've felt like you, but I'm okay, and you'll be okay too.” 

Harry’s face heated with embarrassment and slight happiness as the other teenager admitted to still liking him, despite the years which had passed. When he had been dating Draco, Harry hadn’t felt the need for another partner, seeing as Draco was somehow all which he needed in one person, but now that Draco was no longer there… Colin was not doing an awful job in filling his place with fun, laughter and comfort. Colin couldn’t be Draco but… maybe. 

Maybe. 

“But what if Ron becomes all uncomfortable with me if he learns? What if I’m acting strange around Lavender? What if…?” She finished without ending the sentence, sniffing loudly. 

Harry became very busy finding a napkin or tissue for her in his bag, as he attempted very hard to be of use, rather than simply be distracted. She accepted his tissue gratefully. 

“I don’t know Ron that well but he doesn’t seem as cruel as to simply start disliking you because you have feelings.” Colin shrugged, “that seems kind of petty to me.”

“Ron really cares about his friends,” Harry agreed. “I really don’t think that he would want to hurt you in any way. If something like what you fear was to happen, I’m sure Ron could be reasoned with. He worked very hard to gain friends and apologise to all of us, but especially you, before. I don’t think it would change much if he learned that you like him. He might even like you back,” Harry, being the only mage in the room born to a magical upbringing, naturally reached the conclusion that polyamory was a natural possibility for the Pureblood wizard who was Ron. 

Hermione sniffed, “that’s not… I don’t think that is for me. I would be too insecure for that to work… Besides, I don’t know if Lavender would be alright with it. She has always been very protective of her, uh… things? Not that Ron is a thing but… I think she’d be mad at me if she knew…” 

“That sounds like a distinct her problem, and not a you problem. Your feelings are towards Ron, not her. If she is upset about it, well… That is really just childish and kind of silly. Your feelings can exist no matter what the two of them decide to do with their relationship.” Colin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He was remarkably calm for somebody who had just confessed to liking another person, who was also in the same room. 

“You don’t think that… he will hate me for this…?” She took a deep breath to steady herself as she dried her eyes with Harry’s tissue. 

“He doesn’t have to know, Hermione,” Harry gently informed her. “There is nothing that demands that you have to confess your feelings to Ron simply because he is someone you like.” 

“Look,” Colin leaned forward over the table once more, looking directly at Hermione. “I’m Muggle-born too and I get it. I have watched all those movies and heard all the stories as well of the jealousy, the drama, and all that, but that isn’t how mages handle relationships. I’m not saying that I’ve completely adjusted to polyamory being the general norm amongst adults, but in general, it makes me feel kind of… free. That makes it so that if Lavender is jealous, then that is probably the sign of a bad relationship. A problem for them. She doesn't own Ron. Doesn’t have to be, but mages are generally raised with the understanding that they might not be able to get all they need from a singular person, or partner.” 

Harry nodded, “that doesn’t mean that everyone wants, or feels like they need multiple partners. However, it’s generally not a problem that they do. That is a bit more common among the aristocrats, but not unknown with your average mage. Take Ginny for example.”

Hermione sniffed and nodded, “but I don’t have to, right?” 

“Nobody has to at all, it’s between the people in the relationship what they want to do and not,” Harry continued. He was beginning to feel more secure in himself and less annoyed with the interruption, much to his own relief. “It’s between Ginny and Astoria Greengrass if they wanted to include Luna in their relationship. For the moment, they are testing if Luna and Greengrass would work together, but if they don’t, then Luna’s relationship wouldn’t really have anything to do with hers. Just as how we can both be friends with, say, Neville, without forcing him to choose a best friend between us.” 

“Oh…” Hermione nodded one more, but with more confidence. “I think I understand, but I still don’t know if I would want that… I’m a little too… insecure,” she finished in a mumble. 

“Well, the two important things are that you allow yourself to feel and remember that your feelings are real.” The fellow Gryffindor student spoke. “The second is that you don’t go Muggle on the situation and start, say, dating around to fill the void of what you couldn’t have. I know I said it already but seriously, don't. That isn’t fair towards anyone, especially not the replacement. But hey, remember that you have friends and that you can talk to people. Me too, even if you don’t know me all that well. I got your back either way.” Colin grinned at her, leaning his head to the side. “In return, you can help me with homework.” 

Hermione returned his smile shyly but honestly. “Thank you, what were the two of you studying?”

“The American Mage War,” Harry pushed the open book over to her. “I just summarised it for Colin, would you mind cross referencing?” He only asked her as he knew that Hermione liked cross referencing things and to add additional information if needed. 

She sniffed one last time and pushed some hair behind her ear as Colin pushed his notes over to her as well. After a quick overview, she asked if she could add a few notes to help him formulate himself better, much to Colin’s excitement. 

Together, the three friends began to discuss the American Mage War in the study room. Schoolwork helped Hermione feel better, and Harry learned that the upset in regards to the interruption had been temporary and fleeting, as he liked having Hermione around in normal circumstances. His comfort around Hermione hadn't actually changed because he was stressed and upset.

Yet somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind, Colin’s confession lingered, like a warm bubble of comfort which heated up his stomach and warmed his chest. 

Chapter Text

Pat watched as Hermione Granger, the evidently sad Muggle-born girl, more or less ran away from them and into a study room where her friends were likely sitting. Granger was followed by the continuous leering of her boyfriend Vince Crabbe, and his fellow friends. 

Had the event occurred to her just a few years ago, Pat would have been excited to join in, to leer and shout and laugh at Granger. Because Granger was less than her, or rather, Pat needed her to have been less than her, but Granger just wasn’t. Thus, Pat had opted to hate her and wait for the time when it was revealed that the other girl had weaknesses too, and that she wasn’t as perfect as things appeared from the outside. 

This should have been it, the moment of triumph for Pansy Parkinson, where Hermione Granger was all alone and crying, and she, Pat, was standing amidst her crowd, with her boyfriend, pointing and laughing at the self absorbed study pig which was Granger. 

Only it wasn’t fun.

She wasn’t enjoying it at all, and she didn’t join in with the yelling after the young woman. Pat found that she couldn’t because… well… 

It could have been her. 

If she hadn’t had Vince, that could have been her. 

Thus, Pat remained by Draco Malfoy’s side, pretending that she was very busy with her nails rather than noticing that they were all supposed to be bullying yet another lone Gryffindor student. Draco was leaning against his cane, turned away from the scene with a somewhat displeased yet altogether empty look upon his face. If it hadn’t been for his completely ruined nails, Pat might have believed that he was fine and not feeling anything. 

Pansy Parkinson had never liked her name. 

It might be cute to name a girl after a flower when she is two to six, but when that girl grows older, most children will think that ‘Pansy’ is actually the word ‘Pantsy’ and things simply continued to be unpleasant from there. The initials of her name, PP, sounded a lot like the word ‘peepee,’ which many children were eager to point out was hilarious. Only it was not when you were forced to be Pantsy Peepee. 

Further, any shortening of her surname became ‘Park’ or ‘son’ and she didn’t feel like she was either of those things. She most certainly did not want to be called ‘son’ when she knew beyond all doubts that she was a woman. Thus, Pansy Parkinson was stuck with a name she hated, and one she couldn’t modify to make herself feel better. It was by complete coincidence that Vince saved her with the name ‘Pat.’ It was similar enough to her name that nobody questioned it, but different enough from all the things she wasn’t comfortable with that the name felt unique to her. 

These days, everyone knew her as Pat if they used her first name, and Parkinson if they didn’t. Even the Quidditch referees and commentators referred to her as Pat Parkinson, and she was happy about that.  

All thanks to Vince. 

Pat felt like she owed the world to her boyfriend. He had always been there for her, since her second year when he had taken a chance at the unpleasant and wicked little bullied girl, and made her into someone who people could be jealous of. She was currently the Slytherin Quidditch Captain and had been on the team since early on in her school years. She had decently good grades and was currently a member of the Slug Club, which basically meant that she was aimed for greatness with the help of Professor Slughorn. She might not be a stunning beauty, but she was happy with her body, and her face might not be great, but she no longer looked like a pug, something she had done when she was younger and flabbier. 

Not to mention that Pat had Vince. He was respected by almost everyone in Hogwarts. He was strong, rather handsome, and commanded respect due to his sheer size. He always knew best, and he always had been proven to know best since their early days as friends.

Also… He was a Death Eater. 

A real one. 

One who had been worthy of the honorable Dark Lord’s mark at the young age of sixteen. He was someone who could and did rally people to their noble cause, and he offered protection to all Slytherin students who were threatened by those who could oppose the Dark Lord’s desire for a better, more fair, world. Vince was uniting people, bringing them together, and assuring them that they felt powerful and undivided, just like he had with her when she was young. 

Vince was doing to everyone else what he had done to her, and they all equally adored him as a strong leader. Pat was overcome with pride that she was allowed the honor of being his girlfriend, as Vince politely declined other offers of relationships with people for the sake of not making Pat feel left out. She had never asked him to, but he knew her well enough to know that her insecurities would make her scared of losing him. Thus, he chose to have only her. 

In return, she never questioned him, as she knew from earlier experiences that he was always right. Whatever Vince wanted, Pat wanted to give him too, because she wanted to thank him in every way which she could. Mentally, physically, she loved Vince with all of herself. 

He was only hers, and she was only his. 

Only.

Only…

Only Pat had recently begun to be scared of Vince. 

Or perhaps, it wasn’t recent at all. 

The primary problem lay in the fact that Vince was a Pureblood, while Pat was not. She was a Fullblood, which was better than being a Halfblood, and far, far better than being a Mudblood, but she was not as good, not as valuable as Vince. Vince was expected to marry a Pureblood, and even if he and her had a child together, which Pat wasn’t even sure she wanted, that child would not be worthy enough to be at the top of society with their great father. It felt odd to see her partner reject better alternatives than her, alternatives which should be better based on his political agenda, and she had come to wonder what his actual feelings towards her were. She didn’t dare ask Vince about his true feelings out of fear that she would be thrown out of the Death Eater circle, and left as an outsider in her own House like Theodore Nott or Harry Potter. 

Maybe it was just that she had actually grown up, but one day, she looked at another of their bully victims, and realised that the young student had her hair color, and even somewhat similar bodies. The person had been driven to tears and ran away from them bawling. Her friends and fellow future Death Eaters laughed merrily while Draco stood to the side, passively watching like a king upon his throne. Pat had realised with a startle that the victim could have been her. She wasn't a Pureblood like many of them. She wasn't one of them.

It could have been her.

If she hadn’t been a previous member of the Disciplinary Committee, if she hadn’t been on the Slytherin Quidditch team, if she hadn’t been the captain of the Slytherin team, if she hadn’t been a member of the Slug Club… If she hadn’t been Vince’s girlfriend. 

It could have been her, and it would likely be if Vince ever decided that he was tired of her. Especially since all her friends were actually his friends, and not really hers at all. Pat felt utterly alone in her House, and she felt as if even the people who looked to her as their Quidditch leader were actually keeping an eye on her, and possibly reporting to Vince. It was paranoia. It had to be paranoia. It couldn’t, shouldn’t, be anything but paranoia. 

Then sometimes, when they kissed, Vince would grab her arms harsher than necessary, and push against her lips and her body with his far larger one, and Pat felt surges of panic swell within her.

If she didn’t have him, none of her other achievements mattered. Vince was her only chance of feeling safe and protected at Hogwarts yet she lived in fear of him deciding to ask her for something she had to decline. She had been scared that he would have demanded a position on the Slytherin team, seeing that he had never quite been able to pass the trials and wasn’t quite what the team needed, not that Pat would have been able to refuse him. Luckily, he showed less interest in Quidditch compared to his general task as a Death Eater. She was particularly terrified of the possibility that he would one day claim to no longer want to use condoms, and demand that she was fine with that, or something to that end. 

Yet Vince had always, always been right.

She was evidently stupid without him and should just listen to the person who knew better than she did. All that she had wanted had been wrong, or based on faulty conclusions. Without him to tell her what was right, who was she to think that she knew what to do in life or even with her own body? She needed Vince because without Vince, she would just be that unpleasant little pug that she had been. Without him, she wasn’t Pat, but Pantsy Peepee Son. 

Thus it was with a very conflicted heart that Pat watched the almost crying Hermione Granger shut the door to the study room, and disappear. The laughter continued for a little longer before Vince came over to her. Pat feared that he would say something about her not laughing enough, but he simply leaned down and kissed her. Around them, some people whistled or even chuckled. Pat ignored them and kissed back, attempting to feel proud over the open display of affection, even if it was uncomfortable to her. 

Vince’s strong hand, which could easily have choked her, gently touched her earlobe and the skull shaped earring. She wore it on his request, since she wouldn’t wear the mark of the Dark Lord openly. A snake in one ear and a skull in the other was all she could do to visually prove her loyalty. As the girlfriend of a Death Eater, she needed to do at least that. It was her duty. Pat weakly grabbed his left sleeve, as both of them knew that Vince’s mark was hidden from the world by a thin piece of fabric and nothing more. It was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Only she had actually seen it, just as how she was the only one who had seen Vince without his clothes. It was their secret. 

The kiss ended and Vince smiled at her. His smile appeared distorted and false, not the kind, warm smile which he gave her when they cuddled together when they were alone. The smile was false and not as much for her as it was a display to the rest of the world. 

“You have booked the arena in preparation for the game tomorrow,” Vince reminded her. “If you don’t hurry, someone else might grab it.” 

Pat blinked at the reminder before she nodded quickly. “Oh yes… I forgot.” She hadn’t forgotten. She had kept her eyes on the clock all this time. “Thank you. Come on Draco, let’s be off.” 

She turned around but the scarred young man was no longer there. He must have wandered off somewhere when she was kissing her boyfriend. Pat felt a throb of anger at the gall which Draco displayed in simply leaving. She angrily promised herself that if he didn’t catch at least one Golden Snitch tomorrow before the Hufflepuff Seeker, and preferably more than her altogether, he was off the team and she would find a replacement. 

Draco was only on the team because he had always been that good at the game and because Pat liked him as a person. If Draco couldn’t deliver, then he was useless. He already needed a cane to walk, so maybe it was simply foolish sentimentality on her part which kept him on the team. The game of tomorrow would prove if Draco was worthy of staying or not. One loss was fine, they could recover from that and they didn’t need their Seeker to win the Seeker’s Game to win the entire game. Pat knew her team was better than needing to rely on one player to bring home the Quidditch Cup. 

In the main Quidditch dressing room, she found not her team, but a lone Ravenclaw student, dressed in her training gear. Pat didn’t know who she was but judging by the gear which she was wearing, the older student was the current Ravenclaw Seeker. Pat didn't know the Ravenclaw team very well, but vaguely recognised her, even if she knew that this person hadn't been the Ravenclaw Seeker last year. She looked up as Pat entered the room, grabbed her broom off her legs, and stood up. 

“You’re the captain, right? Your team went on ahead into the waiting area,” the dark haired older woman spoke in a collected voice. Pat noticed that she was wearing that Weasley nail polish which changed color as she extended a hand towards her. “I’m Cho Chang, Ravenclaw Seeker, as you can tell.” 

“I’m Captain Parkinson,” Pat greeted her with a nod. 

As Pat hesitantly looked down upon the other woman’s hand, she considered what blood status she had, and why her name sounded familiar. If she was a Halfblood, then Pat wouldn’t have been able to shake her hand, and she shouldn’t even speak to her if she was a Mudblood. Touching her would be alright if Chang was a Fullblood, and an expected honor if she was a Pureblood but Pat simply wasn’t sure and thus, she didn’t dare move to do anything. 

As Chang realised that her hand was not about to be shaken, she lowered it again. As she did, Pat noticed what appeared to be a tattoo on her left wrist, but she didn’t see what it was before it disappeared back into the Seeker’s sleeve. 

“I wanted to ask for a favor, if you don’t mind?” 

Pat held back from asking about her blood status, as she would otherwise have done before she even considered answering the other. She turned away from the other woman and opened the locker where she kept her uniform before slipping the key back into her sock where she knew it was safe. They were all alone, she could at the very least listen, she supposed…

“Fine, tell me.” 

Chang turned away out of respect as Pat pulled her shirt off and began to switch clothes. Pat hurried to switch into her training clothes, as she feared that the other young woman would somehow know that she had a physical relationship, or even worse, noticing that something was wrong with her body, if she only looked hard enough. Despite that it wasn't possible. It wasn’t that Pat was ashamed of not being a virgin, but she was worried that other people would somehow be mad with her, or demand that she change her ways, however that was possible. Her mum was probably only alright with it because her lover was an honorable Pureblood, and not because she was happy about Pat having found someone whom she was comfortable sharing her body with. 

“I was wondering if you would let me train in the arena today?” Chang asked the wall. “I haven’t really played Quidditch for a year, and part of me thinks that I was let back on the team out of pity rather than real skill. I don’t want to let my captain or team down so I was hoping you’d let me have a corner of the arena to work on my flying in?” 

Pat, being a sportsmage with pride, found the other woman’s incentive to be admirable. She shut her locker as she answered, “my Seeker probably won’t show up today. You can take the stuff he was going to use and act as our Seeker for this session. Don’t think it means anything though, I just like your guts.” 

As soon as she had agreed to the idea, Pat felt fear and worry cluster in her heart. What had she agreed to? The woman could be a Mudblood for all that she knew! If Vince got to know then… then… Maybe he would be very cross with her. However, there was no reasonable way that he would know, since it was only one time and he wasn’t even there. Then again… somebody might tell him. Somebody on the team might tell him. 

No. No, no. 

She was just being paranoid. 

Vince loved her so much that he rejected other people for her sake. They were usually very happy together, of course he wouldn’t dump her for letting a little Ravenclaw Seeker chase about on the sidelines. Especially when Draco had left to do something else when he should be practising. 

“Thank you, that would be great,” Chang smiled and nodded at her. “I won’t let you down, Captain.” 

“See if I care,” Pat shrugged, attempting to fool herself in her comment more than she attempted to fool the other. She made to leave but Chang stopped her with a call. 

“Captain?”

“What? I’m already late,” Pat more or less spit at her. 

“You forgot your earrings,” Chang pointed to her own empty lobes. 

Pat felt a wave of fear and worry wash over her yet again as her hand went to the skull earring. She realised that she had put her hair up, but forgotten about the ornaments in her lobes. The skull and the snake. The separated Death Eater symbol. She swallowed as she stared at Chang, fearing her running away to the teachers or the Prefects and tell them that she was a Death Eater sympathiser, and then they would lock her up in Azkaban forever. Wasn’t Chang a Prefect? Did she need anyone else to arrest Pat? 

Yet to her great surprise, Chang smiled and walked past her, heading for the arena without giving Pat a second thought. 

Thus, Pat was left alone in the dressing room, trembling with fear, anxiety and adrenaline. It appeared that two such miscellaneous items didn’t actually become the symbol of a Death Eater sympathiser to a reasonable person, who would only see the classical Slytherin snake and a somewhat bedazzled skull. Pat removed them and placed them in her locker. This time, she remembered locking it before she headed for the Quidditch arena. 

Seeing as mage sports accommodations had to accommodate for people of various genders, the average shower room appeared as thus: there was a closed booth for each shower, one with a door and a cover, assuring privacy and a place to hang both towel and clothes, if one wanted to change on their own. The booths were open at the top, and there was some space between the wooden walls and the floor itself. To discourage peeping, that space was enchanted so that anyone who attempted to peek or see through it would find themselves unable to do so, while still allowing water to pass through. It was the same design as found in the dormitories, although these booths were somewhat more in number than the average one shower per dormitory. 

Pat found herself in one of those booths after the rather extensive workout, sitting upon the floor and simply allowing the cold, refreshing water to drench her from head to toe. She closed her eyes and attempted to think about the practice, but her mind wandered to other things, as it often did when she was alone with a comforting shower. 

Pat was rather upset with herself that she had ended up not playing at her best, but she was distracted by her own emotional struggles in regards to her own relationship. Not to mention that she had crashed into one of her players, leaving her with a bruise forming on her upper right arm. Such a significant bruise could likely impact her playing in the game the next day, and she was supposed to be the captain? She couldn’t recall Draco ever making such a mistake the day before a real game. Draco had made it look so easy and so simple, but being the Slytherin Quidditch Captain was rather frightening. It demanded a lot out of her, even when she wasn’t actually playing, she was always thinking about the team and strategies, about practice in relation to homework. 

At least it did take her mind off other things which she didn’t want to think of in regards to her Death Eater boyfriend and his quest for a better, less infected society. 

Pat thought about Cho Chang, and about how much effort she had placed into her training. She was evidently rusty, but there was a practiced understanding to her movements, and her dive was nerve wracking to observe. Pat wished that she could nab her away from the Ravenclaws and make her play for them, rather than Draco who was too important for Quidditch with whatever important mission he had to accomplish. 

Pat groaned and leaned her head back further, attempting to force her thoughts out of her head by the use of cold water. It worked. Definitely worked. 

It really didn’t work much at all. It only made her thoughts louder. 

Chapter Text

As November approached December, Ron’s relationship was making him rather busy. He no longer had as much time for his friends as he did when he was single, which left both Teddy and Hermione feeling rather lonely. 

Whenever the group of friends saw Ron around in school he was always arm in arm with his girlfriend, who appeared to become the most important person in his life a little too quickly for it to be natural. He sat with her during classes, ate with her for every meal, and if he wasn’t performing his Prefect duties with her, he was practising Quidditch with her cheering him on. Further, the two were not shy with their relationship, and would kiss and speak softly to one another with silly nicknames without caring about the people around them. 

None of this was actually a problem in any way, least of all Ron and Lavender Brown's need to be close and wanting to kiss in public. It was baffling to think that two people in love were supposed to pace themselves or refrain from kissing or hugging simply because other people decided that they didn’t want to see it. As if the two partners having a relationship was somehow an offense to the people who were not in it. The idea that an outsider’s, and sometimes stranger’s, preferences was more important than the couple being allowed the safety and comfort of the people they have found was bafflingly curious. The couple was never really hurting someone else by kissing, and if people truly minded it so much, which apparently they thought was their right to mind, then they may look aside. They never had the right to hurt the couple by jeering or complaints, thus, none of the friends minded that part. 

What Hermione minded was the fact that Lavender Brown would sometimes look at her like she had won something while Hermione had lost. Harry had seen her grin in a smug manner before she pulled Ron into a kiss, or sometimes even called him cutesy names very loudly in front of Hermione specifically, as if she was attempting to make her jealous. She was seemingly behaving like it in front of other women too, or even couples, but Hermione appeared to be the one she truly wanted to keep jealous of her. 

Hermione wasn’t so much jealous as she was uncomfortable with Brown’s attitude towards her. She still had feelings for Ron, but she was learning to cope with them without allowing her heart to prompt her into bad decisions. Her primary source of comfort was studies into Dark Arts, as well as her general homework and preparation for her NEWTs. She was foremost attempting to focus on things which distracted her, rather than allow herself to feel. 

Teddy was coping in much the same way, but he was also spending a lot of time with Blaise, something that Harry felt ever so slightly uncomfortable with. It wasn’t that he distrusted Blaise fully, but somehow, he couldn’t quite relax around him. Having Blaise sit with him and Teddy at every lesson where there were no other students to sit meant that Harry needed to keep up the Harry Potter persona more. It in turn meant that he couldn’t relax the same way that he could relax around Teddy. 

Another person and recurring events which demanded Harry Potter were the lessons with Professor Slughorn, and the meetings with the Slug Club. Harry had carefully tried to probe the man for information about himself through continuous praise and reassurance after the Potions lessons yet to his surprise, the man appeared almost frightened to be alone with him and would often cut their discussions short. 

He, Hermione and Neville schemed on their own and exchanged information about Professor Slughorn when they could. Ginny was generally too busy with her two girlfriends and being the Gryffindor Quidditch captain to join in. After Draco’s victory in the Seeker’s Game against Astoria Greengrass, the Quidditch girlfriends were determined to train even harder, which in turn made them even busier. 

The person who had most success with charming Professor Slughorn into liking them was Neville. Where Harry was continuously failing and making the Potions Master unsettled by his very presence, and Hermione was too nervous and generally too depressed by her feelings to make continuous attempts, Neville managed to charm the man through conversation and attention to details. He successfully managed to figure out a snack which Professor Slughorn adored, and the three put their money together to buy a package of crystallised pineapple from the candy store in Hogsmeade. They had debated about who should give it to the man during the next meeting, and had reached the conclusion that they should simply give it to him together. After all, they had actually paid for it as one, so they should give it as one. 

Thus it came to be that Neville presented Professor Slughorn with a package of crystallised pineapple when they took a break in their Slug Club meeting to have some snacks and tea. The man seemed a little surprised but highly appreciative of the gesture, especially as it was presented as the three of them wanting to thank him for everything he was doing for them.

The situation around the table had been arranged so that the man’s favorite students were seated the closest to him, while those he didn’t quite believe in were seated further away. Professor Slughorn had never confessed to that being the case, but it was rather evident what the truth actually was. Thus, Neville was the closest to Slughorn, seated directly to the man’s right where he remained by the head of the table. To Slughorn's left was a Ravenclaw student whose name Harry didn’t know but who was evidently very academically inclined. 

Harry, by virtue of being Harry Potter, was seated by the middle of the table, signalling to him that Professor Slughorn really didn’t want him that close, but couldn’t demote him to the end of the table because of his name. To his right was Pansy Parkinson, who generally refused to look at Harry or speak to him. After the victory of her Quidditch team last week, she had been moved up the table, thus signalling that she had obtained an improved status in the eyes of Professor Slughorn. She had switched places with Blaise, who was currently sitting on Harry’s left. He was ranked lower than both the boy who lived and the Quidditch captain, but Blaise didn’t appear awfully bothered by that fact. Had Harry asked him about it outside of the meetings, he would have learned that Blaise preferred to drink his tea in peace. 

At the very least, Hermione was fully visible across the table from Harry, and she was seated next to Ginny, who was seated immediately opposite him. Whenever he felt like he simply couldn’t do it, or simply couldn’t remain Harry Potter, he looked to his friends and found strength in the fact that they were there with him. 

Usually, when the meetings dragged on and Blaise was busy with his tea, Harry found himself thinking of Colin. The two of them were planning a walk around the grounds in search of some good photography places that weekend. Harry thought of the fresh, clean air, and the cold against his cheeks. He thought about letting his hair hang freely and keep him warm as he allowed Colin to motivate and distract him from all that Harry Potter had to do. Harry had even started to consider if he could let Colin join him in his room, allowing them to be alone without the risk of someone bothering them, like someone always did. Albus hadn’t forbidden him entirely from letting trusted friends know where he stayed, after all.

As usual, Professor Slughorn made his way around the table, asking all the students about their weeks and if they needed help from an adult in any facet of life. He was actually primarily asking them about their studies or sports, but he was capable of offering some other advice, even if he preferred to do that in private so as to not embarrass the student who needed help. 

The turn quickly came to Harry, who prepared himself for the usual report of how his studies were unfolding. However, to his great surprise, Professor Slughorn did not ask him about school, but began his desired report with a question which Harry hadn’t expected in the least. 

“Harry, my boy,” said Professor Slughorn, “I simply must ask. I should have asked you far sooner but it slipped my mind. Is it true that your adoptive father is really the communally well known werewolf Remus Lupin?”  

Harry almost gaped at the Potions Master as the cold yet burning claws of panic ripped into his chest. He forced his expression to remain calm but his heart raced wildly in his chest. All his life he had been a vocal supporter for werewolves and their medical predicament, as well as the struggles and discrimination which faced them on an everyday basis. He was proud to have a werewolf dad, and he was proud to be the son of a werewolf. 

Logically, Harry Potter the icon should be a supporter of werewolves as well, one who would never accept or believe in them being evil because of their blood disease. Naturally, he could do a lot of good for them by using the name Harry Potter to support them. 

However. 

Things were very different compared to what they had been like when Harry was younger. Werewolves were currently being hunted down by the Ministry of Magic, and anyone attempting to buy the Lycanthropy potion was placed in custody, if not directly in Azkaban, because of fear mongering and the supposed understanding that they were Dark Creatures, rather than suffering people. A person supporting the rights of werewolves was currently not supporting people to the public eye, but a person supporting Dark Mages, as well as Death Eaters in disguise. 

If Harry spoke up about his true feelings on the subject of his dad’s predicament, then Professor Slughorn might demote him to the end of the table. Or even worse, kick him out of the Slug Club completely. He logically understood that he couldn’t risk it all for the sake of his dad, who wasn’t even in the room for the moment. He understood and he knew what he should reasonably do. He knew what Harry Potter should do. 

Only Harry Lupin couldn’t do that. 

So he didn’t. 

“Yes, that would be my dad, sir,” Harry straightened up as a small, prideful smile spread over his lips. For the first time in a really long time, Harry felt like himself, even if he enforced the body language of the aristocrats he generally modelled Harry Potter after. “Is there something you’d like to know about my dad’s condition? I could tell you all there is to know.” 

It was almost a challenge. An intellectual invitation to combat of ideas and concepts, or a proposal to widen one’s cognitive pattern. Harry looked to Professor Slughorn expectantly, holding his head high as he waited for that hint of fear and worry which the Potions Master showed him so often whenever Harry spoke to him. 

Yet to Harry’s great surprise, that wasn’t what happened. 

Unlike what he had expected, Professor Slughorn blinked at him and then relaxed. He settled back into his chair with a satisfied nod, appearing highly pleased with himself. “I take it you were raised by him as he implemented the Lycanthropy potion every month to remain sane?” 

Harry was so surprised by the reaction, and the approval, that he ended up agreeing without offence, even if the formulation of Professor Slughorn’s words could have been less demeaning. “Yes… Seeing as he was in charge of raising Harry Potter, the Ministry of Magic has provided him with free potions since I ended up in his care at the age of one.” 

“Have you ever interacted with the beast during a full moon?” Professor Slughorn leaned forward in his chair again, his academic interest fully visible in his small eyes. “I assisted in the creation of the Lycanthropy potion as a student of mine worked on it. I was directly involved with helping him find people who could help him work out the kinks so to speak. I’m terribly curious to learn about the interactions between mage and the calmed beast.” 

Harry bit back the impulses to correct the man’s rather rude vocabulary. He remembered Albus saying that Professor Slughorn was rather like this, a person who didn’t care about correct language, or even polite language, when he was interested in something. Further, it wasn't exactly comfortable that the man was all but stealing Severus' achievement in the way he was phrasing himself. Harry could overlook the formulations for a better time, but now that the man had finally given him his attention, Harry wanted to keep it on him. 

“I’m most grateful, sir,” he smiled. “Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to live as I have with my dad all these years. I have in fact encountered my dad in his other form, and he was somewhat confused but when he heard my voice, he recognised me without trouble. He calmed down and then left me alone.” 

A few voices mumbled around the table. 

Harry heard Parkinson grunt next to him and move her chair slightly away from his. Her grunt sounded a lot like ‘are you a werewolf too?’ 

The icon Harry Potter turned towards his fellow Slytherin student and smiled happily at her, allowing his real personality and the false one to overlap in a proud grin. “I am in fact a werewolf. And a vampire as well. Did you not know these well documented facts about Harry Potter?” 

Parkinson gaped at him before her face turned red with such alarming speed that Harry worried that she might faint from sunstroke without a sun. She averted her gaze quickly. 

The room was silent for almost two heartbeats, then Professor Slughorn began to laugh merrily. Neville, Hermione and Ginny followed suit, and Blaise chuckled into his hand on Harry’s left. The rest of the table slowly began to chuckle nervously, but Harry could tell that some of them actually believed him to be all of those things. After all, he was a naturally born Parselmouth, why couldn’t he also be a werewolf-vampire hybrid? Or at least one of the two. 

Parkinson appeared to have the impulse to hit him, but she somehow managed to hold back before she started to chuckle as well. She didn’t appear as much annoyed as she had realised that she found Harry’s response to be genuinely funny. 

“As we all know that there is no such thing as a werewolf-vampire hybrid, we can move on to my next question. Such a humorous jest, Harry, very funny! Now, did you take the time to study your father in that shape? You must be the only person in magic history to have been so close to a usually harmful beast without it even attempting to harm you.” Professor Slughorn asked in a merry tone of voice. 

Harry smiled to himself, the man was no longer referring to his dad as ‘adoptive father’ but had recognised that Remus was, to put it simply, Harry’s dad. No additional adjectives needed. 

“I did not,” Harry enforced his comment by shaking his head. “He is embarrassed to show himself like that to me, and I respect his privacy as a thinking individual, rather than a beast. Thus, I generally refrain from approaching him during that time of the month.” 

“Ah, yes… How… noble of you.” Professor Slughorn was evidently disappointed that Harry didn’t know more about his dad’s werewolf shape. The hunger for knowledge in the man's eyes seemed genuine, and not malicious in any sense. If anything, Slughorn truly did appear careless, not quite thinking of the consequences of his words or actions in regards to seeking knowledge.

Naturally, Slughorn didn’t know the circumstances around the meeting with said werewolf, and Harry was most definitely not about to tell him. Especially not in front of a large group of students. 

Harry noticed that there was something else in Professor Slughorn’s eyes as he averted them from Harry. The Potions Master appeared to be considering something, or possibly making an edit to his cognitive pattern. Something had definitely changed, and his opinion of Harry appeared to be swayed for the better, compared to the fear which Harry had begun to expect from him. Excitement bubbled in Harry’s chest as he felt like he had finally managed to do something right with Professor Slughorn. 

The Potions Master finished his contemplation and turned towards Parkinson instead, beginning to question her about the Quidditch victory last week. The last thing Harry really heard her say was that she was slightly dissatisfied with her own performance due to a slight bruising on her arm. He was soon distracted by his own, surprisingly happy, thoughts in regards to having managed to not appear as a threat to Professor Slughorn. 

Keeping the excitement down and his empty expression up was far more of an effort than Harry would have imagined it to be when he accepted the identity of Harry Potter. 

It wasn’t until he was back in his room that he could finally give voice to his emotions by falling onto the bed and laughing merrily. When he finally calmed down and told the Sorting Hat all about what had happened, Harry was able to sleep peacefully for the first time in quite some time. 

The new bed never felt quite right, and he missed the company of Draco’s shoulder or back to snuggle up to. However, finally, Harry had managed to take one step closer to saving him with the fact that Professor Slughorn was no longer wholly unsettled by him. 

The following day, Harry received a summoning from Albus at breakfast. He was eating breakfast with Colin, Neville and Hermione, as Ron was busy with his girlfriend and Teddy wanted to sit with Blaise by the Slytherin table. Harry noted with some alarm that his friend group appeared to be shrinking, but he wasn’t completely discouraged by it, seeing as he currently struggled to be socially available at all due to his heavy mental baggage. 

At the very least, Neville appeared much like normal and without any current mental problem. He kept himself happy and distracted by his duties of the Herbology Club, and he was managing well in the approaching Professor Slughorn. He was there for Hermione when he could, but she didn’t appear to want to confide in him. Yet despite that, Neville was a welcome calm and point of stability in Harry’s life. Almost like Colin, but not quite as colorful of a distraction. 

The four of them ate, discussing something from the last lesson with Severus. Just as Harry considered the fact that he had yet to talk to Severus properly and in private since the beginning of the term, a letter had been dropped in front of him. He snatched it out of the air to keep it from endangering his pumpkin jam toast. 

Within the simple envelope was another polite yet not formal invite to Albus’ office that evening, and an apology for stealing time off his weekend. Harry didn’t mind since the time set was after dinner, and he planned on going out with Colin after they had finished breakfast. It was rather nice to see the signature upon the paper, seeing as it was signed by ‘your friend, Albus.’ 

Harry informed Colin of his plans for later that day. As suspected, Colin had no objections whatsoever, and was mostly happy that the son of a werewolf still had time for him.

After finishing their breakfast, the group of friends walked in different directions. Hermione and Neville decided to spend the day together as well, which made Harry feel calm in that she wouldn’t have to be alone with her thoughts and worries. 

Together, Harry and Colin walked outside of the castle, and began exploring the grounds for photo locations. The winter air was just as fresh, but slightly more cold than Harry had imagined yesterday. Like he decided, he had allowed his hair to be released from all hair ornaments and hairbands. He also allowed the homemade, hand knitted hat to cover up his forehead and scar. 

Harry rejoiced in simply being Harry Lupin as he spent most of the day being Colin’s model so that he could take pictures of the brighter and whiter locations, and so that the camera could actually focus on something. They talked about everything and nothing, stopped by Hagrid’s hut to have lunch with the half giant and Fang on the gamekeeper’s request, and then continued their outdoor adventure. 

By the time that they returned to Hogwarts, both of them were exhausted and slightly chilled to the bone. Colin’s cheeks were red and Harry’s dark lashes clustered with snowflakes. Somewhere during their photographic adventure, the two of them had come to hold hands. Neither of the two could quite remember how it had happened, or who had reached for who first, but they both found comfort in holding onto the other’s gloved hand. 

Harry couldn’t help but wonder what Colin’s hand would feel like. Would his hand be warm or cold? Would it be soft or hardened by his hobbies? Would it feel as large as the gloved hand did, or would it fit in his hand like one the size of his own? He felt embarrassed when he caught himself imagining exploring Colin’s hands, and maybe even more of him. 

He knew that Colin still had feelings for him, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he was using those feelings to gain something he felt like he needed. In addition to that, he was scared that he didn’t actually have those feelings for his friend but rather appreciated him because of simply being a very good friend. Colin had even held a small speech about how one could be friends while the other part was in love, and still function as simply friends. It was a nice statement, one which made Harry feel comfortable around Colin. 

All his worries came back to him not treating Colin right in return for being such a genuinely nice and caring person. Not that Colin was expecting, or demanding anything in return, but Harry was still uncertain about the fact that he was using him as a comfort, one he wasn’t sure he had the right to. 

Yet Draco wasn’t there, and Harry did have some manner of feelings for Colin and… And… It was all so awfully confusing. 

Harry and Colin said goodbye to one another in the entrance hall after they had dinner together with Hermione and Neville. The two headed in different directions, yet both thought the same thing, namely that leaving the other felt odd to them both after being together all day. 

Harry made his way to Albus’s office, ascended the stairs and then knocked on the door. He was allowed inside by the gentle call of the Headmaster’s pleasant voice, and Harry found the room to be just the same as last time, but with a slightly aged phoenix upon its stand. Albus was not sitting behind the desk, but he was sitting on it, directing a collection of small papercraft birds around the room with the movement of his fingers. He smiled weakly as he held out both hands, allowing the papercraft to settle upon his aged palms. 

“You are a little late, my anxiety got the best of me and I folded a number of these,” Albus smiled weakly as he placed the birds behind him and stood up, smoothing out his clothing which was golden with blue embroideries upon it, including a matching hat. This day, he had chosen to braid his hair to the side, and tied it with a blue ribbon to suit the embroideries on his clothing. 

The old wizard continued to speak somewhat nervously. “I do remind you that I will be showing you something that most people would adamantly deny to be part of myself. As well as someone they could deny to have ever been capable of gentleness. I do suppose such a venture would frighten anyone?” He chuckled to himself as Harry closed the door. 

“That magic was beautiful,” Harry smiled as he approached the center of the room. “Would you teach it to me? I’ve been trying to master wandless magic in my free time but it is quite the challenge.”

“Why naturally, I don’t mind in the least,” Albus smiled, appearing to relax somewhat as he was no longer asked to focus on his past. 

The two of them spent some time with the old Professor teaching the student how to infuse paper with magic, and then move it by manipulating said magic. Albus also taught Harry how to fold a simple bird, all while his silver memories softly danced within the chalice of the Pevensie, which stood temporarily forgotten in a corner. Harry didn’t prove to be very accomplished in either paper folding or in manipulating said paper with his magic, but at the very least, he managed to make it fly. Not gracefully by any means of the word, but it did fly. 

The distraction assisted Albus in calming down, and by the time he did turn to Harry to speak about his memories, he was no longer nervous. “As I said, these memories will be rather different from the ones you saw before. I was much younger, and much more prone to feel a lot of things... Not all of them entirely sensible or justified. I was also very insecure and quite lonely. What I’m about to show you is my relationship with El when we were younger and it is of utmost importance that you are able to distance yourself from me when you return from them. With that being said, as your teacher and Headmaster, what I am about to show you is not something an authority figure should share with a child. I don’t want you to have any illusions that this is morally correct, but… you asked to see it, and I am desperate enough to show it to someone who could possibly, maybe… understand.” 

The old wizard stopped to take a deep, shaking breath. “Are you aware of all of this?” 

Harry nodded, “I am.” 

He felt like he needed to know, or else there would be questions which could never be answered. The history books weren’t enough to tell him about the supposed legendary duel, it wasn’t enough to tell him about Albus, or about El. Harry had the opportunity to learn about the real people, and he wanted to take it. He felt like there was some manner of revelation waiting for him at the end of the story which wasn’t allowed to be told to the world. Some manner of truth which might become lost forever if he allowed it to slip through his fingers. 

Albus breathed deeply before he removed his beloved necklace from around his neck. He had been wearing it openly since Harry came inside the door, without attempting to keep it hidden. With slightly shaking hands, he placed it around Harry’s neck before he pulled back with a concerned smile on his lips. 

“I… am not proud of who I was back then. You might learn many things which you don’t approve of in regards to myself but I implore you to speak with me, rather than allow that disapproval to fester.” Albus spoke quietly and gently, but his voice trembled, revealing his true feelings and fears.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Albus,” Harry made an effort to not use any titles, but simply the man’s name. 

Albus blinked twice, then smiled once more. “Indeed…” he sighed before he showed towards the Pevensie, inviting Harry to explore his innermost memories and past. 

With his head spinning slightly with anticipation and his heart beating too fast in his chest, Harry approached the Pevensie. He took a deep breath, then leaned forward, allowing himself to breathe in the memories. Akin to last time, the memories reached out for him, and gently entered his mind, wanting to be known as much as Albus wanted someone, anyone, to know the truth which he had previously kept hidden. 

Chapter Text

“Thus that we have introduced and welcomed both Beauxbaton Academy and Durmstrang Institute,” the Headmaster’s loud voice echoes over the Great Hall, leaving nobody left out as he speaks. “The grand welcoming feast shall begin! Ravenclaw students, make space for Beauxbatons, and Slytherin students, move aside so that the Durmstrangs may sit with you. Enjoy your food and remember to foster bonds between yourself and the visiting schools! The drawing of the champions will commence next week but for now… Enjoy yourselves!” 

I turn my focus to the table before me, watching attentively as the plates, trays, baskets and jars fill with food, drink as well as bread and some other sweets. I should be used to observing it by now, but I always experience it as impossibly magical, no matter how many times I see it happen before my eyes. Not to mention, focusing on the food and the appearance of it makes it so that I do not have to converse or even acknowledge the people around me. I do not enjoy interaction with them in general, and I am the happiest when they leave me alone, as they have a habit of doing. 

It is funny, being a Hufflepuff supposedly means that one is expected to be open and friendly towards everyone. Such a description has never really applied to me. It is not that I am rejecting everyone around me, but I do not strive for, or even feel the need of their company, or their attention for that matter, to feel accomplished. 

Unlike most of the other students in the Great Hall, I fill my plate with food rather than focus on the new, exciting arrivals to our great and magical school. I can not be bothered to care about them, or the Trimagus Tournament for that matter. It all appears like a trifle to me. I will most definitely not compete in Tournament, and I doubt that I will have anything much to talk about with anyone from either foreign magical school. 

Thus, as the chatter and the noise continues around the Great Hall, I bite into a buttery honey biscuit and think about what book I should read upon the completion of Little Women. I recall getting some reading recommendations from someone in my study group, I think I might look into one of them. I am certain I noted the titles down somewhere in a journal or upon a parchment somewhere within my possession. 

✴✴✴

The library is quiet as it usually is, for which I am more grateful for than ever before. The outside is positively crowded with people speaking of and interacting with the newly arrived students. All they speak of is the Trimagus Tournament and who will be selected as the champion, followed by gossip about what the trials will consist of. Hogwarts is simply vibrating with the presence of the foreign students. It is not making me uncomfortable as much as it is rather tiring for me to experience. 

I am satisfied to find my favorite spot in the back of the library unoccupied. Someone has forgotten a book in the chair, but I move it aside to the small table to my left, and take my place upon the old but comfortable armchair. From my bag, I pull out the copy of Pride and Prejudice which my Ravenclaw associate lent me upon my polite request. It is certainly a beloved copy of the book, as it’s pages have turned yellow with age, as well as the fact that the pages are dogeared. Upon opening it, the faint smell of candle wax after many nights of bedtime reading welcomes me as if it was an old friend which wanted to embrace me. With a hopeful heart, I begin to read. 

The book is not at all what I had hoped it to be. 

In my most humble opinion, the book reveals itself to me as a book about foolish people attempting foolish things and falling in love with the same, equally foolish, people. 

It is boring, drawn out, but most importantly it has nothing I enjoy, especially not in terms of main characters or what I presume to be the primarily important couple. However, I continue to read out of guilt. The book is evidently beloved, surely I will suddenly come to see what it is about it that was worth all those long nights in front of the wax candle, rather than to read in sunlight like a thinking individual.  

“Hello.” 

A voice interrupts my reading. I should normally be somewhat upset to be bothered with a book in my hands, but as I do not like the book in question, I look up with more eagerness than I think I ever had to part from a literary adventure. 

The young lad in front of me has different colored eyes. One is as black as the darkest night, and the other is as blue as a cloudless sky. He is looking at me from behind pale blonde hair, smiling pleasantly with a set of thin lips hiding a notably large mouth. His skin is naturally pale, but it has been colored darker by the sun, creating a starry night sky of freckles upon his face. His cheekbones are protruding and the skin is generally tight over his face but I am so distracted by his eyes that I can’t focus on his clothes, or even much on his face at all. 

“I had my book on that chair, did you move it?” The lad with eyes as the nightly and daily heavens points to my chair. 

I am usually not particularly accomplished in speaking with strangers, but the beautiful lad steals my breath away to the point where my usually unwilling tongue cannot even think of moving at my commands. 

“It was a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo,” the lad draws the shape of a rectangular object to help communicate his words. “Have you seen it?” 

“Uh… I…” I give up as I simply point to the table next to me, showing him that the book is there. 

His expression lights up as he sees his book, and he walks over to collect it. “Thank you, I thought library had taken it by accident.” 

There is a ‘the’ missing in that sentence. I think the words but I do not voice them. 

The two skies study me before the lad asks, “I am sorry, am I not speaking English? I thought I was rather good at it but… You can understand me, can you not?” 

That explains why I do not recognise him, and why he appeared uncertain when I was not responding to him. The other is not a Hogwarts student, but either from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. At first glance, he appears as a Beauxbatons student, but it is Saturday and he is dressed informally rather than in any form of uniform, making it impossible to tell from mere glances. He speaks with such a good, clear accent that I couldn’t tell at first. “No, no, you are indeed speaking English.” 

“I was worried for a bit there!” The lad laughs as he sits down upon the floor in front of me, hugging his book to his chest as he grins up at me. His laugh is like the distant twinkle of starlight, shimmering so pleasantly miles and miles away from us insignificant humans. “How old are you? I am sixteen.” 

“I am fourteen,” this appears to me as a rather dull type of conversation, but I settle into indulging him as he evidently has no plans on leaving me alone. I find myself desiring to hear his twinkling laugher once more. Never before have I experienced wanting to hear a person’s laughter again. It is almost baffling to my mind. Then again, I do recognise shallow attractions, as I do, in fact, possess the ability of experiencing them. Perhaps I have more distaste for it right at the moment after reading the book.

He nods, “my name is Gellert Grindelwald. I am a student of Durmstrang Institute. So far, most people think that I am a student of Beauxbatons. I do not know why.” He shrugs to emphasise his point.  

He forgot another ‘the’ in his sentence. I focus on that since I do not want to think of the shame in having made the same assumption about his origin. “My name is Albus Dumbledore.” I try to think of something to ask him in return. “Will you be participating in the Trimagus Tournament for honor and glory and… all such things?” I end my question somewhat lamely. 

“Prob-likely not,” he mixes words as he responds. I see him lean forward to read the title of my book. 

I reflexively hide it from him without intending to. Yet it is too late, he already saw the title. I feel my stomach knot itself with fear as his brow furrows in a disapproving manner. I am not enjoying the book, as I rather despise the shallow, boring and unpleasant personalities displayed within it. The people within the narrative are the people I avoid in my own life, yet now that he has seen it, he will think of me as shallow and uninteresting as the characters! I have to say something to avoid the event that the night sky and the day sky be filled with displeasure as well. 

“I do not… It is not my book…” I hastily begin to excuse myself. “I… I was hoping that… that is to say that it was recommended to me and I… I borrowed this copy from an acquaintance… and…”

“Do you not like it?” Grindelwald asks me, his monochromatic gaze shifting from my book to my face. 

“It is not that I… I…” His gaze burrows into me, seeing places of me which nobody else has even cared to look at, or at the very least that is what my mind feels like is happening as he gazes upon me. I feel compelled to tell him the truth and the compulsion is stronger than I can resist. “I rather hate it,” the confession leaves me as if it had simply looked for the opportunity to be free from the constrictions of my body. 

Grindelwald nods approvingly, “I rather hated it too. It was… mundane. If you would like, can I recommend something you might find more interesting?” As he asks, he leans forward, focusing on me with evident excitement. 

I do not have the heart to reject his recommendation. “Certainly, what do you suggest?” 

To my great surprise, he hands me his copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. The book is heavy and rather thick, I can feel its weight as it lays upon my legs. I cannot place the curious feeling which fills me as the book appears to stare up at me expectantly, just like the lad by my feet. 

“It is very good, I have it to thank for teaching me English,” Grindelwald admits happily. “It has schemes, suspense, love and unlike most not-mage literature, it has a romance between at least three men.” 

“Really?” That is somewhat hard to believe from all that I have read of Muggle literary work. It appears a strange taboo to them that they would rather avoid, or preach against. 

Grindelwald nods eagerly, “it does! The Count himself seduces the main young man, Albert,” he stops and adds, “that is sort of like your name! Either way, he seduces him to get closer to the family so that he can enact his revenge against Albert’s father who wronged the Count in the past.”

“Oh,” against better judgement, I feel myself leaning forward as I listen to him. “Would you tell me more?”  

I receive an odd feeling of the risk of falling into the other’s eyes if I look at them for too long, thus I attempt to avoid direct eye contact. Eye contact has always been rather challenging for me, but never quite as hard, and for quite the same reasons, that I struggle to look into his eyes. 

Grindelwald happily tells me about the book, and thus we end up spending most of the day together in the library as I simply lean back and listen to him speak. He has such a soothing, relaxing voice that I forget my personal insecurities in speaking to another person, and merely listen to him tell me about something which he appears to love with a passion. 

✴✴✴

“Let me see if I understand this properly…” Grindelwald holds up his hands as he speaks. The sunlight slips through the digits as he raises more fingers as he continues his own constructed test. I can see the blue sky behind him, reflecting his cloudless right eye. 

“Gryffindor is for brave, and it is also the House which gets into most trouble. Slytherin are cunning, but want to know things for their own agenda. Ravenclaw are for knowledgeable, who want to learn for… greater good, yes? Yes. And you, the Hufflepuffs… are nice?” 

There are a lot of ‘the’ missing in most of his sentences, but I leave it be. I can still understand him, it feels petty to correct him. I keep my gaze upon the frozen path before us as I find myself too overwhelmed by his attention to actively look at him when he is looking at me. 

“Something to that end. Everyone knows that nothing comes out of being a Hufflepuff. It is rather cowardly, without ambition, and generally just… there.” 

I sigh weakly as I aim a half hearted kick towards a piece of frozen ice upon the path. I immediately regret it as my action threatens to send me down upon the path myself. Luckily, I manage to regain my balance and do in fact not fall in front of my first real friend. Perhaps my soon to be best friend, if he doesn’t suddenly take a dislike towards me. It is not as if that has never happened before, leaving me confused over what I did to prompt the isolation from a previous friend. 

“But how can there be a House that is just there?” Grindelwald objects to my comment. 

“Because,” I tell him, “some people are simply born to be great, while others are the side characters in their great stories.” 

Grindelwald frowns at me but I avoid his gaze completely by turning away from him. I feel disappointment and shame burn within my chest as I hide in my scarf from his painfully intelligent eyes. I chose Hufflepuff because I wanted to be left alone and have nobody expect anything of me, but as time moves on, I have realised that I might have made a societal mistake. As a Hufflepuff, I have no future in any line of work which involves apprenticeships. My only chance of a future lies in becoming a Prefect next year, or else even the lowest desk job at the Ministry of Magic will see me fall between the cracks of our magical community. I wanted to be left alone, and I realised too late that the price for that was a life of constant mediocrity. 

“But… It’s just a House?” Grindelwald asks. “It cannot possibly be worth that much… right?” 

“It’s worth everything in the British Mage community… And I guess I squandered it on not liking people very much.” I admit in a quiet voice. 

“You do not appear to me like a person who hates people, but one who hates the expectations,” Grindelwald corrects me with an overuse of a ‘the’ this time around. 

I feel a throb of guilt in my chest, causing me to avoid his gaze yet again. I was correct in feeling as if he could see right through me as if the skin and bones around my mind were simple glass panels. I bite my lower lip to keep from answering in an unpleasant manner. When I feel secure enough that I will not bite towards him, I answer. 

“It is not… I can… I cannot perform magic well.” I feel terrified and relieved to finally admit out loud that I am not a proficient, or even good mage. “In fact,” I find myself having turned towards him, fighting the tears which threaten to escape from my eyes. 

In his face, I see surprise and confusion, but not hostility or dislike. It encourages me to continue speaking honestly, even though we have only known each other for about two months. 

“In fact… I am barely more than a squib…! I’ve been made fun of all my life by everyone I know, and all my friends leave me for being practically useless!” I cannot tell for how long I have kept all these feelings inside, all of the pain and the fear of actually being at Hogwarts due to a mistake. 

Aberforth is far better of a mage than I am, and I was naturally expected to be as good by my parents, but when I continued to fail, they simply turned away. They were not even disappointed, simply uninterested in me unless I performed. Unless I had passion, which anyone could tell you that I do not. I am simply… simply Albus, never as great as my historically significant name. 

I hate that the confession will likely turn the talented and handsome Durmstrang student away, especially when I fail to keep my tears back from running down my face. I feel so very guilty as I expect him to think that I was only pleasant to him because I wanted a friend to force all of this onto. Like a desperate character from Pride and Prejudice, simply waiting for an opportunity to reveal that I am not as pleasant or even half as interesting as any character from The Count of Monte Cristo. 

“What magic do you use?” 

Grindelwald surprises me by not running away. Instead, he finds and hands me a handkerchief, embroidered with a double G in blue thread. I feel almost as guilty for using it as I do for crying in front of a practically stranger, who probably doesn’t think as highly of me as I think of him. I realise with another throb of fear that he might not even consider me a friend at all. 

“Dumbledore,” his voice is quiet and gentle, like soft moonlight through an attic window in winter. He calls me back to the present by using my name before repeating his question. “What type of magic do you primarily use?” 

“I do not… Understand… what you are asking…?” I manage to make myself understood as I carefully dry my eyes on the harder than I imagined fabric of the handkerchief. 

He thinks for a moment, and I can tell that he is translating something in his head. “Are you using outer magic, or inner magic?” 

I blink at him. My confusion is enough to answer his question, as I evidently have not the slightest idea of what he speaks about. 

“Hogwarts only teaches you outer magic then?” Grindelwald concludes with a nod. “That explains why your champions never win in Trimagus Tournament.”

Another grammatical oversight slips into his vocabulary. 

“I do not… understand.” The handkerchief captures my tears as I dry my eyes again, keeping from blowing my nose upon it. 

“You can feel it, here, give me hand,” Grindelwald holds his hand up. Despite the cold, he is not wearing gloves. 

After some hesitation, I pull the glove off my hand and shyly allow our fingertips to touch. His hand is not cold as I was expecting, but rather warm. So much so that I must assume it to be the work of magic unknown to me. His hand isn’t smooth like mine, but hard and rough with what I assume to be work. It is evident from the difference between our hands that I was born higher up in society than he was. I briefly wonder if he was a farmer’s child before he became a mage. 

Yet his hand is not only warm, as it fills me with warmth. I feel the fingers close around mine, and I see the night sky and the day sky settle upon my red, slightly swollen face. I can feel things for him which I have never felt before as they settle in my stomach and heats me up more effectively than any fire possibly could. I am aware that I am thinking this because he did not react as most around me have, and is even willing to touch me after finding out the truth about my useless self. His hand warms something within me that I did not know was ever frozen. 

Grindelwald steps closer, lowering his voice to a whisper which is evidently for me, and me alone. He acts as if we are sharing a secret, and I lean into it, allowing the secret to become ours, and not simply whispered to me. 

“Feel this,” Grindelwald encourages me. “This is outer magic.” 

His hand begins to heat up from the fingertips and slowly moves down the digits and reaches the palm of his hand, which is pressed against mine. There is a vibration to the heating, as if an instrument is being played within his hand. Yet it feels out of tune, as if it is pressing against something else, causing the note to become dulled and distant. 

The feeling stops as he says, “and this… is inner magic.” 

The heat comes from the center of his palm this time, blossoming into something which spreads over his entire hand. Unlike the previous vibrations, these ones appear to be in tune with his very body. The tone is no longer dulled, but clear, determined and unapologetically present. 

I feel the magic to be his, not simply the same as all other magic which I have previously felt. It is like his personality, both as brilliant as the night sky, and yet as open and unclouded as the heavens of the day. The difference steals my breath away, making me feel furthermore emotions which I thought to be for colorful descriptions in novels. 

“Inner magic is you,” Grindelwald explains. “It is common knowledge in Russia that if you struggle to use outer magic, then you are likely more proficient in inner magic. It is not always true, but first thing they will attempt if you struggle. You should try to cast magic from within, rather than outside.” 

He lets go of my hand, to my personal and great grief. 

I breathe deeply a few times before I dare to ask what should not be frightening to ask, yet years of rejection form the question into the most terrifying of sorts for me. “Would you teach me? Please, I… I want to know if I can actually be… well… not useless at magic.” 

“Of certain I will teach you,” the lad grins and me as he leans his head to the side, smiling happily while he butchers the English language. “Since I am officially not a champion, I will take time, I can to teach you.”

“Thank you so much!” I cannot contain my joy as I barely manage to hold myself back from performing a most daring stunt in hugging him out of gratitude. “I cannot say how much this means to me. Thank you!” 

Grindelwald laughs, the laugh which has already made me somewhat addicted to it. “Worth it for that smile.” 

He winks with his night sky eye, and then laughs again as I turn more brilliantly red than a blood moon could ever hope to be. 

✴✴✴

“I’ve been thinking…” Gellert kicks some water to the side as he allows his naked feet to bathe in the Hogwarts Lake to cool himself down during the hot summer day which is currently haunting us both. 

He is a far more accomplished mage than I am, even though my grades have improved significantly since he has been teaching me to wield my internal magic, which I apparently had more than enough of to cast complex spells without any risk to myself. Being more accomplished, he knows how to use his inner magic to warm or cool himself, meaning that he is surviving this weather far better than I. 

“What did you say?” I call back to him as I wade closer to him through the water. I pay attention to not let my trousers become wet as it is my only grey pair and black would be positively murderous in this heat. 

“I said that I’ve been thinking about the Statute of Secrecy. The one from the 17th century.” Gellert repeats patiently as I come close enough to hear him. 

Another movement of his foot threatens me with getting wet, but I cannot stay upset when he gives me that smile. I wonder briefly if he knows what I feel for him. 

“What about it?” I respond as I recover from the beauty and comfort of his smile. 

“Do you not think that it is unfair?” Gellert sighs as he stares up at the brilliant sky which matches his right eye. “That we should hide from the Muggles because of what they did to their own communities. When you think about it, they started senselessly murdering their own people, but we are the ones who have to hide away from them. For what reason? To protect the Muggle women whom the Muggles decided to massacre in fire out of their own volition and fear?” 

“I never thought about it like that,” I agree, “but more than anything, they were killing us too with those actions. It wasn’t simply to protect the Muggle women, but to protect us as well. Not to mention, they weren’t only burning and hanging women, but other genders too.” 

“All the more reasons as to why we shouldn’t let Muggles be in charge. How many wars are recorded to have been caused by magic in comparison to how many wars, fights and conflicts have been created by Muggles being… well, Muggles?” He clicks his tongue as he pushes his toes into the sand of the beachline. “Did you know that they are refusing to let women go to school? How can we be subservient to buffoons who think that your gene… teni… The thing between your legs, determines your ability to learn? They think people who are not pale as snow are evil or stupid by default. They think anything but people being attracted to the supposed opposite sex is a sickness or the work of some evil being underground. Not to mention that they have been fighting about religion and gods since the dawn of time, I bet.” 

I consider his position and find it easy to understand, sensible even. “Well… It is not as if I deny your words, but what would you have done about it? We are both lads, we cannot do much to change any of that. Especially not something which has been so widely agreed upon.” 

“We will grow up one day too, Albus,” he teases me by using my name in combination with some more water thrown my way. “We could change the world together. Become politicians and then… well, bring about change.” 

“Me?” I laugh at the absurdity of his suggestion. “I cannot even speak in front of people in general, and I turn as red as an apple if I even attempt to speak to most strangers. In fact, without you, I might have forgotten how to speak at all at this point.” 

“You are overexaggerating,” his voice objects to my words but his gaze knows the truth in them. “But you see what I mean, do you not? That we should not hide from Muggles, but be allowed to rule over them, since they clearly cannot be trusted to their own vices without attempting to burn the world down out of fear of their neighbours. We could prevent so much death and destruction by simply not allowing it.” 

I sit down upon the rocks next to him, sighing as I escape the rays of the sun and hide in the shadows. “You mean something like, for the greater good? That mages should rule Muggles for the greater good?” 

“Yes… The greater good…” Gellert agrees as he places his hand so very close to mine, but does not let our fingers touch. 

He is evidently looking past me and into the future, a future which he supposedly wants to share with me by his side. I realise with a startle that he did, undoubtedly, speak of the two of us, rather than himself.

The realisation that he might want me in the same way as I want him is beyond baffling to my mind, and I feel my cheeks heat so badly that I fear that I might faint from the heat which my body is building up. I reach down to splash some water in my face, trying to calm myself by the coolness of its touch upon my burning cheeks. 

When I sit back up, dripping water both onto my collar as well as my trousers, Gellert is looking directly at my face with his mismatched gaze. He is smiling at me, expressing such gentleness that I almost fall into the lake simply to calm the desire to confess my feelings to him. 

“The greater good,” he repeats. “I like that.” 

“I’m glad you do,” I chuckle in return as I gather my own hair from my face, busying myself to avoid any and all accidental confessions. We have known each other for about a year, and yet we have spent practically all our time together. 

I have finished reading The Count of Monte Cristo, and I found that Gellert had been right in every aspect about me enjoying such literature more. It held complex political intrigues, breathtaking and suspenseful action, gambles with risks of true weight. It felt far away, an exciting reality which I could not possibly hope to live, and would not ever want to experience, but could be fascinated by and reflect over from the safe distance of the printed letters in the book. 

I had never known I enjoy such matters, especially the intricate global politics of the novel, yet I find myself deeply interested. It feels as if Gellert has shown me a new side of myself which I did not previously know existed, and he has recommended a few more books which seem to hold promise of similar ventures and exciting experiences. Books I might even claim to feel passionate about, as they make me feel things I was not aware were within my capability.

“I do,” he says as he finally, finally places his hand upon mine, holding onto it as gently as he did half a year ago when we walked around the school grounds together. 

My breath hitches and my heart threatens to abandon my body as I look at Gellert. He is looking to the future again with a smile on his lips. He is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen, or likely will see again since… Since summer is arriving, and with it, the end of the Trimagus Tournament. The foreign students will leave and with them, Gellert will leave as well. 

I will never see him again, and letters will not be enough to soothe my longing for my one and best friend. 

The thought alone breaks me so utterly that I do not dare speak to him any more upon that beach. 

I simply hold his hand and beg anyone who might be listening that Gellert will not leave. 

That somehow… somehow, he will not leave me. 

✴✴✴

I cannot go to the final feast. 

I cannot share it with Gellert, it is too painful since I know that I will wake up tomorrow and have to say goodbye. 

Thus, I hide in my bed, making myself sick with worry, regret and anxiety. I hide away from the feast and the celebration of the Durmstrang Trimagus Tournament champion. 

I think I cry more tonight than any other night of my life. 

When I wake up far too late the next day, the foreign students, as well as Gellert Grindelwald have all left Hogwarts. 

As hastily as he came into my life, he is gone, leaving nothing behind by his copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, which he gave to me as a very late birthday present. 

All I have is the book, and my own cowardice and regret.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Albus.” 

I cannot believe my eyes. 

Gellert Grindelwald is standing in front of me in the Great Hall, dressed completely in the Hogwarts school uniform. It is clad with the colors of a Ravenclaw student where he stands before me with his hands on his hips, smiling at me as if he had never left. As if I had not agonised and cried myself to sleep for an entire summer as I struggled to find a solution to my heart break. 

Yet here he is, and I cannot believe it. 

Gellert spreads his arms as he sees my expression change from a myriad different ones as I struggle with my reaction. He spreads his arms, and I throw myself into them so forcefully that we almost fall over. Luckily, he is prepared and manages to stop us from tumbling to the floor. I barely make note of it as I am already crying, wailing into the chest of the wonderful, kind and gentle lad who has captured my heart so completely. 

When I understand things as I should once again, I realise that Gellert has moved me out of the Great Hall, and we are sitting together upon a bench in the dungeons. This was apparently where he had thought to lead me to allow me to cry the small remains of my heart out and onto his brand new Ravenclaw cloak. Dazzled by my own fit of hysteria, I search for answers within his monochromatic eyes. 

“How…? Am I… dreaming?” I hear my voice speak as I look him over, my hands still remain dug into his clothing. I refuse to let him go now that I have him within my reach once more. I refuse to do what I did three months ago. 

“You are not,” his gentle, warm hands strokes some of my darker blonde locks of hair aside as he looks deep into my eyes, fixating me more thoroughly than I thought possible without magic. “I transferred to Hogwarts because I want an education here with you. I’m starting my fifth year, same as you.” 

“But… but…” I sniffle. “You are seventeen, you should be in a higher class.” 

“I want my OWLs, so I started here, or I would be at a disadvantage for work and my future if not” he shrugs. “They should be easy for me and I get to go to the same classes as you. I also get to continue teaching you to cast magic with your internal magic.” As Gellert speaks of me, he raises his hand and touches my cheek, stroking some hair to the side before he simply holds me, looking at me with such gentleness that I start to cry yet again. 

“I thought that I had lost you… forever… and I never dared telling you that… that I…” I sniff as I lean into the hand, feeling embarrassed and ugly as my face burns and my nose and tears compete for what can bring me the most disgrace the quickest. 

Gellert leans in and I feel his breath upon my lips as our breathing becomes one. “That you are in love with me?” he whispers. I freeze up as he confesses to knowing my feelings. He does not confess in any smug or sly manner, but rather carefully, almost shyly, admitting to understanding what I am feeling. Admitting to understanding and knowing.

I cannot answer in anything other than hiccups, sobs and nods, all of which come out rather at the same time, making me appear quite the buffoon. What dignity do I have left after having cried in front of the entire school in the Great Hall. 

“Well… Al,” his whisper upon my lips is the most beautiful sound I have ever heard, although it is quickly followed by the most wonderful sentence I have had the pleasure of hearing. “I am in love with you too.” 

To not faint there and then, my mind frantically tries to comprehend when such an occurrence could have happened. When such an impressive person could have fallen for mediocre little me. 

However, I find it in the many ventures, dialogues, agreements, disagreements and time spent together over the previous year. I would never have dared hoping for such a thing, I would not have believed it. Yet, Gellert over the previous year has given me attention and care, enjoyed himself and seemed comfortable in my presence. As I grew closer with him, he did, indeed, grow closer with me as well, for he is just as much a person as I.

In hindsight, it’s not as impossible to note. It fills me with a confidence alien to anything which I have ever known, a sensation utterly unknown to my being. I do know the fact that Gellert is not merely being kind, I do know that he is an honest lad who would not deceive me with kindness. I do know that we have found ourselves agreeing and having a lot in common, as Gellert showed me sides of myself which I had previously not known, and we found those sides of ourselves to get along rather splendidly. This means that somehow, we have found one another, and know one another in a manner I have not experienced with another person previously to this all.

He kisses me.

It is not a forced kiss, but a gentle, almost pleading one. It starts as a peck and then grows in strength and purpose as I respond positively to it. I kiss him back, and soon we are kissing each other. His hands find their way to my face, then down my neck, touching the back of my head and toying with my locks as we continue to kiss. 

Time stops. The world fades. There is nothing but the two of us, so deeply in love and so drunk with happiness that we weave a secret magic spun by both Muggles and mages throughout all the ages since the beginning of humanity. 

I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am in love with Gellert, and to my impossible joy, he is in love with me in return. He came to Hogwarts, to Britain, for me, if at least partly. I have never believed in romances, but I do believe that I have never before felt like a part of one, which I do now. One which undoubtedly ends as happily as in all the stories. 

I love him. 

I love him so deeply and so honestly that my heart aches with the emotions. 

✴✴✴

“Not like that,” El’s soft voice almost purrs into my ear, causing my breath to hitch as he is far closer than I was assuming. The effect is emphasised by the fact that he is standing behind me, but I cannot tell how close he actually is from simply his voice. 

The old, dusty classroom is only lit by a singular lantern which El hung up in the ceiling when we came inside. Outside, in the stormy winter night, the wind howls and thrashes against the outer walls, but the old castle remains standing, unaware of the assault. The snow is piling against the window and my breath forms into soft puffs in the air when I breathe. I feel as if we are completely alone in the world, and that the rest of Hogwarts, the students and teachers, as well as all outside this cold classroom have disappeared. 

El’s arm moves under mine as he is still standing behind me. His hand closes around my wrist and he raises my arm up and down, shaking his head as he makes a terribly soft, disapproving noise which causes me to moan before I can stop myself. El allows me some dignity in not acknowledging it out loud, although I know that he is smiling even if I cannot see his face. 

“You are too stiff, Al,” he says, “you will never be able to master wandless, internal magic if you cannot relax your muscles.” 

“It would be far easier to do if you were not so c-c-close…!” 

In the middle of my objection, El closes the gap between our bodies and rests his head upon my shoulder, allowing his chest to press against my back in a display of affection which makes my head spin. 

“You are supposed to be able to cast magic anywhere, without any distraction bothering you.” El chuckles as he wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me. “Though I might be a little mean.” 

“A little…” I sigh as I lean back against him, turning my head so that I can breathe in the scent of him. He smells of books, of old dusty ink and of slow, passionate sunlight. In the darkness of the room, his dark left eye is completely black, making the eye socket look almost hollow when I look at it. 

El looks back at me. I can see his gentle smile as the light is hanging directly above our heads. “Did I ever tell you that your eyes remind me of stars? Like two brilliant evening stars, burning above a dull world which does not actually deserve them?” 

Some sparks fly from my fingers as I am complimented by my special someone. I dearly hope that my red cheeks are not as evident in the shadow filled old classroom as I feel that they are. “I… I am not sure if you have mentioned that before…” I croak more than I speak. 

El laughs softly as he pulls away from me, stepping around me so that I can see him more clearly. “I should have. I thought it from the beginning, and somehow, they don’t become any less brilliant the more I look at them. In fact, they might become even more radiant every time I gaze into them.” 

“If… If that is true,” I respond in a far less smooth fashion. “Then yours are the sky upon which my stars should sit. I have… equally admired your eyes since I first saw them.” 

“You have?” El does not sound insecure, mostly because he is El and he does not become insecure no matter what he faces. Yet he does sound flattered. “Most people do, naturally, find them uncomfortable. I have had people assume me to be blind in my right eye many times throughout my life.” 

“I suppose most people are fools,” I respond with a smile as I reach for his hands. 

He steps into my arms and rests his hands upon my lapel instead, gently correcting the Prefect badge upon my chest as he does. “Yes, I agree. Most people are rather foolish. Yet you are not.” I still feel like I am foolish, but El makes me less of a fool, and shares with me his perspective, allowing for me to grow.

His hands move up to my hair, pulling it away from my face so that he can see me properly. I objected to the action quite a number of times in the past, but I no longer hate my face in the same manner as I used to. How can I hate what El claims to love so dearly? El gazes deeply into my eyes, but I can tell that he has something upon his mind. 

As I close my arms around his hips, keeping my hands upon his lower back, I ask him, “was there some other reason that you wanted us to be here alone in this old classroom than to practice my magic together?” 

El tenses up a little bit before he becomes busy playing with my collar. He unbuttons the first button and then the next, sliding gentle, warm fingers over my collarbones. “There are things… There are things I want to do with you, Al. Things I want to do with your body… With your approval, of course. Yet I am afraid that I would scare you with what I want, that you would be… frightened if you knew what was on my mind.” 

My breath hitches as he leans in and softly places a kiss between my two collar bones. I can see the clouds form over his pale hair as my heart beats faster with joy. I know what he speaks of, and I want the same things he is speaking about. We are old enough to get married legally if we would want to. We are old enough to want to be intimate with one another. 

“I could never be frightened by you, El,” I promise him as I kiss his head, prompting him to look up at me with almost shy eyes. “You do not have to hide anything from me, I love you unconditionally. What is it you want to do?” 

Relief washes over him and he initiates another kiss as if to prove to himself that I am indeed not scared of his physical desires. I am not, and I return the kiss as I tug lightly on his shirt, wishing that I could slide my hands under it and touch the skin underneath. 

“Have you heard of blood jewellery?” El asks me when our lips part, leaving only our breaths and our close bodies moving in the room. 

The question should cause some alarm in me but it does not, I am too deeply in love to find the mention uncomfortable. “I have not,” I confess to him. 

“We would take my blood, and we would take your blood,” El explains. “Then we would combine it in a bottle to create something highly unique to only us. A blood charm, or blood jewellery which is ours alone. The lessons without you are always so dull, but if I had a part of you, not simply an object of yours, with me, then I would never have to miss you as much as I do when we are apart.” 

He means it honestly. 

El might not struggle to find friends or acquaintances, but he loves me as much as I love him and we do struggle to only be allowed true privacy when we break the rules after school to be together. Naturally, there are the weekends and the few hours between dinner and bed, but it is not enough. We both want more. We’re only truly happy when we are together. 

Because I want more of him, I do not hesitate to agree to the creation of such a charm. Two such charms. One for me, and one for him. El has stolen two corked bottles from the Potions class, ones which he made smaller with magic. They are heavier due to their shrunken size, but I enjoy the weight in my hand. El has prepared everything from the knife to the chains which we will use to make the bottles into necklaces. For my bottle, he has made small star ornaments to hang from the chain once the bottles are full of our mixed blood, and for his own, he shaped a half moon. 

It hurts surprisingly little to fill the bottles and soon enough, the two of us have one blood jewellery piece each around our necks. We will have to keep them hidden from the rest of the school, but that makes them all the more pleasant to me. Our secret. Just as it is our secret that I cast magic using my internal magic, which is the reason for my sudden success at Hogwarts.  

“Sadly,” El admits with a deep sigh, his fist closed around our blood bottle. “The other, more wicked things I wish to do with you require some less hard ground than these wooden boards.” 

“There is a bed at the Prefects’ lounge…” I answer in an innocent manner as I too hug my necklace with my hand. “We could… investigate if someone else is there… if not…”

El steps forward and grabs my hands, his mismatched eyes burning with excitement as his lips curl into a grin. “Would you want that? Would you want to… to become one physically? Even for a moment?” 

I squeeze his hands back, smiling at him just as eagerly. “If it is you, El, you have access to all of me. I want it just as much as you do.” 

I mean it. 

I love him so dearly, and I trust him so completely that I have no reservations about handing my body to him, as I know that he will hand me his in return. 

Together, we leave the cold, dusty classroom and approach the Prefects’ lounge. We both know that we are moving from special someone to more, and we cannot wait to call the other our lover. 

We are old enough to marry, and I am dying to know the taste of his skin. 

Chapter Text

Harry resurfaced from the memories with a deep gulp of air, blinking rapidly as he began to understand the surroundings as the Headmaster’s office in his time, in his present. His head felt slightly heavier than it had the last time that he had looked into the Pevensie, and the feelings connected to the memories felt closer to his own, more personal, more alike his own. 

Harry found a chair to sit down on. Before him appeared a cup of water, which he drank without thinking twice about it. The memories of El had been so filled with love, happiness, but also with so many other emotions, not to mention recalled memories inside of the ones which he was shown, that Harry truly felt overwhelmed. He almost felt like he had been more prepared for the memories of Tom than he had been for the teenage Albus, who was so very close to himself in age. 

Next to him, Albus remained standing next to the desk, nervously playing with the ribbons on his braid as he waited for Harry to speak up. Or at the very least feel less overwhelmed. He was evidently nervous, all but shifting from foot to foot as he continued to wait. 

“I… I can tell that you love him very dearly,” Harry managed to find his voice as he looked up at his friend, smiling weakly at him. “He is very beautiful, seen from your eyes.” 

Albus blushed. His cheeks did not heat slightly, or his nose shifted a little towards a redder hue. His face became as red as the phoenix plumage behind him, and then became even redder still. He was not so much blushing as much as he transcended the art of blushing. No wonder it had felt like he was about to faint in the memory.

“Those are very honed memories…” Albus confessed. “I have thought about them dearly, closely and intimately. They are so vivid in my mind and so dearly visited that they have become much clearer than many of my other memories, and so very loaded with emotions. I do not doubt that they have become beautified by the years to a point where they might not be very representative of what actually happened. The events did happen like that, but the lighting might have been different, the furniture a different color… El might not have been that beautiful to me right away.” His hand raised to his neck, searching for the necklace which was currently around Harry’s neck. 

Harry realised what he was actually wearing. It was not simply a bottle of Albus’ blood, it was the jewellery piece which he had made together with El on the night where they became lovers. The necklace was so painfully personal and created out of intimacy and love that he felt like he had no right to feel the weight of their emotions. Harry carefully lifted the necklace away from around his neck and handed it back to his friend. The star ornaments softly clattered against the glass bottle which El had stolen, playing a weak melody of care and closeness which was not for Harry’s ears to hear.

Albus accepted the necklace back and hugged it to his chest, smiling weakly at Harry. “Would you speak to me? About anything… everything… I will listen to whatever you have to say about my memories. About El. I wouldn’t know where to start, so I would far rather listen to you, if you will allow me to?”

“I… Are you sure…?” Harry mumbled as he played with Draco’s cufflinks. “I’m not… I’m worried that I would hurt you with my reflections.” 

Albus smiled softly as he called a chair to him and sat down opposite of Harry but with no desk between them. The lack of the obstacle felt significant to Harry, as if he and the old wizard were truly friends, two people on the same level, rather than anything close to what they had been when they first met. 

Harry took a deep breath before he rested his head in his hands. His head felt heavy, far too heavy for his body. “That… was a lot of information,” Harry mumbled with a weak smile upon his lips. “A lot of it feels very relatable, I’m rather… struggling to become me again.” He breathed deeply a few times, trying to steady himself. 

It felt strange to have experienced so much time in such a comparatively short amount of time. The seasons and the years had evidently changed, and El and Al had evidently become closer over that time passing. Harry wasn’t sure how old they had been in the last memory, but they had been by far older than when they had first met. For each memory he had experienced Harry felt as if there were a hundred others which he couldn’t recall that had crowded in the corners of his mind, but since they were not his own, he couldn’t know them. He could only know that they were there, and he knew they had an effect on him, but nothing else. 

Albus waited for him to continue to speak, studying Harry as he separated the two of them from within his mind. 

“El appears to be both gentle and kind.” Harry slowly raised his head, looking up at the other man. “It is clear to me that he is, or at least was, emotionally intelligent, magically gifted. He most certainly cared about you in many ways. Yet as you said, I can’t exactly claim that my current view of him is objective, since you have already claimed that the memories might be beautified due to frequent visits. I think… I think I would have liked him if I had met him, had we been the same age. Maybe even… if I had met him today.”

Albus smiled weakly as he placed the necklace around his own neck. The smile appeared both joyous and miserable at once as he looked down upon his and El’s mixed blood. 

“El was very pleasant for a very long time. Even at his worst, he was never cruel, especially not towards me. He never yelled at me, and only ever raised his voice if he needed me to listen to him and I could not. People remember him as cruel, as a scheming monster from a very young age, but his poison was never prominent or even painful. It was gentle, and seeped into you until the point when there was no recognising it had happened until you had changed. He changed me so much for the better, and I am grateful that he made me less of a magicless mage, and helped me find my confidence. I am a better man for knowing him. Yet I cannot say that…” 

Albus leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling with a distant look upon his face. “I cannot let the world know that I was shaped by El. El is not a person to them… He isn’t allowed to be because if he is human, then he could be understood, or even relatable. They must recall the terrorist, or the ideology might be critically examined and found to be worth listening to by people, the way it was by the followers in the past. Do not get me wrong, the ideology is misinformed and not achievable, even through good intentions.” 

“The ideology of ruling Muggles?” Harry clarified. 

“Indeed,” the old man nodded, his expression morose and distant. “Or the one about not wanting to hide from cruel Muggles who would kill us for being different, as they have throughout the ages. To take a stand to stop the endless masses of Muggles dying by their own hands every day in the world.” 

When it was phrased like that, Harry understood what it had been about the ideology that had been appealing to so many mages, including Albus himself at a young age. 

“For the Greater Good…” Harry repeated as a memory of his own resurfaced within his confused mind. “That was his political slogan… You came up with it?” 

“I would not so much take credit for the phrase as much as I was the person who introduced it to him. After all, however good he was at English, he was always a little confused with certain formulations.” He chuckled as memories returned to him, pleasant memories. “He never could pronounce certain words, not from lack of effort. Sometimes, when it was very late, or very early, El would sometimes speak to me in Hungarian. I never did learn what he did say to me at those times.” 

“How come he was speaking Hungarian?” Harry frowned as he corrected a stay piece of hair by capturing it behind his ear. 

“El was originally from Hungary,” the old wizard explained, “but he attended Durmstrang on a magical stipendium which mostly covered his travel expenses. While there is no shortage of mages in any country, many of them cannot afford to build their own magical school without a fully functional Ministry, or other organisation functioning similarly to our Ministry of Magic. I suppose the industrialisation of Britain and colonialisation, where resources were taken from other places in the world to make Britain richer than others, also puts us at an economic advantage as mages. Thus, many countries specialise in sending their mages to a different educational institute in another country, or even join together to fund a school across borders. There is currently a rather new European magical school in those regions, funded by united alliances between countries and sponsored by noteworthy influential mages. However, students like your friend Victor Krum still accept stipendiums to study at Durmstrang institute in Russia.”

“Doesn’t that make language rather hard?” Harry considered the words for a few seconds before asking for more information. 

Harry did consider Victor a friend, even if they didn’t write to each other as often as Hermione and the Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker wrote. However, the two of them exchanged letters every now and then, especially around birthdays and holidays. Victor had long since graduated from Durmstrang Institute, and was currently a full time Quidditch player which he claimed to be what he wanted in life. Harry hoped that he was happy, and generally wished him all the luck in the world with his work and career. 

“Language is indeed the most challenging problem. El was, as I believe that you have understood, quite the genius both academically and magically. He had Russian relatives and therefore dabbled in the language from an early age, and then began studying English when he learned that he might become an exchange student at Hogwarts one day. He was very dedicated.” Albus played with his braid as he spoke, smiling in a nostalgic manner. “He truly made everyone else appear lazy, but he never cared to. He was simply doing what he wanted, and worked to pursue the goals he desired. He was also frighteningly good with people, as I am sure that you have also realised.” 

Harry smiled weakly. He had realised that fact about El indeed. 

“I want to thank you, Albus, for letting me experience that… this… Well, everything. It was interesting to experience a different time and a different setting. It was similar and it felt similar, even if there were noticeable differences in language, surroundings and the few other people but El which I saw. It’s so personal and so intimate and I feel oddly guilty having seen it, but I am thankful. Thank you so much for telling me about him.” Harry knew that he had said it before, and he knew that he was repeating himself. Yet a lifetime of hurt, fear and rejection reflected within his friend’s eyes, and Albus deserves the reassurance which Harry was capable of giving right there and then. 

Albus' cheeks heated yet again as he smiled at Harry, “there is still more to show. About the man El became, and… I want you to see that supposed legendary duel for yourself. I want you to know why I left Tom, and failed my parental duties. It is not an excuse, perhaps it is not even an explanation, but… I want to share it. Would you yet again listen to my selfish request?” 

Harry thought about it. It was evident that the memories were having an effect on him, bleeding into what was Harry and confusing his mind with that of Al… Albus. He related to the love and the longing for El through his own love and longing for Draco. Further, he also understood the complex relationship to feeling as if one’s partner had shaped him to the person he was currently. The relationship with Draco had been one which had been there for the last five and a half years, and the two of them had been in mortal danger more than once. Without it, and without Draco, Harry’s life was less. Less comfortable, less fun, and less than it had been with his best friend. 

The son of a werewolf still had the feeling that there was something which was waiting for him by the end of Albus’s story. He was convinced that there was some revelation there, something about Albus, about himself, maybe even Draco and his relationship to his former boyfriend. If there were so many similarities, then there might be something he could learn, something which would help him through the uncertain future of his.

He felt slightly uncomfortable to be so very focused on Draco. Maybe even obsessed. Harry was slightly scared that he was becoming as captivatingly consumed with Draco as Albus was with El. He was frightened that he was making the same mistakes but if… If he knew the dangers and risks of committing those mistakes, then maybe he could avoid them. Perhaps Albus could help Harry become better than that, and assist him in rebuilding a good, healthy relationship with his best friend, rather than attempt to repair a relationship as boyfriends, since Draco might not even want that.  

“I would like to see this through,” Harry spoke out loud, smiling at the man before him. 

The joy and relief mixed upon Albus’ face made Harry feel happy, as if he had made the right choice not only for himself, but also for his friend. Harry smiled in return, studying the old man whom he had experienced as a young teenager through his own memories. It was no longer impossible to imagine a past Hogwarts, a Hogwarts where the young Hufflepuff Albus Dumbledore lived as a student. 

Hufflepuff. 

“Wait…” Harry blinked as realisation finally dawned upon him, similar to how a crushed fruit slides down a wall. “You were… You are a Hufflepuff? But… But you told Draco that you were… A…” As Harry spoke the words, he realised that Albus had never once said what House he actually belonged to as a student at Hogwarts, only that he had changed Houses many times throughout his years. Yet he had never told them his House, only alluded to that he might have been a Gryffindor. 

The realisation was followed by a curious but nonetheless real throb of annoyance. Harry felt lied to, as if he had been purposely misled, yet he also felt disappointed.

Albus couldn’t belong to the Hufflepuff House.

No history book he had read had mentioned it, not even Hogwarts: A History had made note of it. Such a member of the House should be recognised and celebrated but… instead, Albus hadn’t… 

He hadn’t been allowed to be a Hufflepuff. 

He was too important, too Great, to belong to one House. 

Especially the House of no expectations. 

Harry felt his mouth become sour, and his chest and stomach tightened into hard knots of disappointment, understanding, and subsequent rejection of the truth. 

“I see that you do understand.” Albus’ voice was hardly more than a whisper as he spoke up. There was an ancient sadness in his eyes, but it was levelled by a very human expression of tiredness. “I did not tell young Draco Malfoy the truth back then because it was not what he needed to hear. He did not need confirmation of the positions in which we sort one another. He did not need the restraints of his own labels enforced. What he needed, and what I gave him, was the understanding that things, as they are, are more flexible than we are led to believe in books and fairy tales. The Albus of the past who belonged to the Hufflepuff House attended this school almost a hundred years ago. I am not the same person as I was back then, and hardly nothing remains but my memories. I would not have that young boy's perception of reality swayed by what he saw in the past. I needed him to recognise the fault of the system, not to know where the system once placed me.”  

Harry slowly shut his mouth as he realised that he was gaping. “But… sir, if you know so well the faults of the system, why have you not changed it? Why do the Houses still exist if you know the harm it does to teach students loyalty to their House, their labels, rather than themselves?” 

“I want to change them, Harry,” Albus sighed deeply. “I truly do, and I have considered many times how to try and push those changes and yet… Our society demands that you are sorted, and that the sorting defines you. Every parent teaches that to their child, and every child accepts it until they are old enough to see the faults of it, but they have not actively attempted to change it.” 

“Dad did,” Harry’s lips formed into a smile as he realised with great joy that Remus Lupin had done more than simply acknowledged that things were wrong. He had devised a system to work against the other system, and Severus was currently using it as well. Harry felt pride and love swell within his chest as he thought about Remus’ actions. 

Albus nodded approvingly, “he did. How I wish that he had not left. Your dad and people like him are precisely what this school needs.” 

“It won’t be enough unless the people on the top change as well…” Harry mused as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin, noting to himself that he really needed to shave before the stubble became the beginning of a beard. 

“You are correct…” Albus agreed with a deep sigh. “Perhaps I shall begin to look into what changes I can currently make, and then try to implement them. I have much work to do, and much more to focus on but perhaps…”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Harry hastily added. 

The old wizard smiled somewhat sadly. “You are correct, I shall not. Thank you for reminding me.” 

“Say…” Harry hesitated but was encouraged by his friend’s gentle eyes and patient smile. “Does anyone call you ‘Al’ anymore? It feels slightly unfair that you’d only be called Al by a person you miss, if… If you don’t mind… I would like to…”  

Harry’s friend blinked at him before he chuckled, covering his mouth up with his hand as he softly giggled. “You are right in that nobody ever calls me Al anymore. If that is what you would like to call me, I have no objections.” 

“Oh, great!” Harry nodded as he averted his gaze from the other man, feeling embarrassed without really knowing why. He was nonetheless smiling as he looked down at his shoes. 

It should be somewhat weird to call one’s Headmaster by his first name, and even stranger to call him by a nickname. However, the man was not so much an authority figure anymore as he was Harry’s friend. It was more than natural to call a friend by his name, and to make that name into a nickname. 

The two spoke a little more about trivial matters over a cup of tea each before Harry realised that it was getting late and that he should go back to his room before he broke the curfew. He thanked Al one more time for showing him the memories, and the old wizard thanked him for spending time with him. He had not asked Harry about Professor Slughorn or how the collection of that memory had been unfolding. Perhaps it had slipped his rather filled mind as it was overflowing with the memories and discussions of El. Nonetheless, it felt good to have his mind taken off the worries about Slughorn and his mission for a little while. 

Harry left for the door, and turned to wave at Al.

Suddenly, he felt a surge of bewilderment as he looked at the old man in the room. Al was evidently tired and worn from having bared secrets which he needed to speak of, yet had never gotten the chance to for so many long years. 

It was with a startle Harry realised that he no longer saw the Greatest Wizard of the century. 

It was simply Al, sitting there and seeming to consider whether to allow his phoenix another biscuit, seeing the bird seemed to be silently begging for it. Struggling with saying no, even to an animal. 

There was no Greatest Wizard of the century.

There had never been.

The mysterious, wise and seemingly ancient wizard who had shown him the Mirror all those years back had just been Al. 

The authority figure who had to fight a battle against the Board of Governors to save the students of his school as the basilisk attacked said students, receiving no help and having no real way of stopping the beast, despite being expected to, had just been Al.

The Headmaster who had to protect the school from a notorious mass murderer, and had to risk his career to save and find a solution for Sirius Potter afterwards, had just been Al. 

The man who was held responsible for failing to protect Cedric Diggory from his death, despite magic being unpredictable, and the situation being one almost impossible to prevent beforehand, had just been Al. 

The icon which almost all of the British mage community had turned against last year, was just Al. 

It must have hurt, and must have been incredibly hard. People hurt from simple arguments with those around them, having an entire community hound a person was awful. Harry knew what it was like to have a community turn against him, but he had been just a child being protected by Al, and people around him, when he was in the Trimagus Tournament. Harry hadn’t needed to manage all the things on his own. 

For a few seconds, Harry stared as he finally fully understood the true weight of all the feats asked of the old man.

Icons wouldn’t simply come into existence because a person acted like one. Icons weren’t real. Icons could only exist as a false motivation for people. 

Through both successful and failed acts as an icon, there was a normal human being like everyone else behind the image of what the community wanted to see. A person who had to experience every bit of it personally, and take on more than other people and manage more than should be asked of an individual.

It was impressive and frightening, and could not be ignored in favor of looking at how well the person performed their image as an icon. There would always be a human being behind it. The person could not, not even by their own choice, become the icon.

Al seemed a little insecure when Harry had ended up staring, so the boy-who-lived smiled again and waved before he shut the door to the office, and scurried back towards his own bedroom.

Chapter Text

Draco did not appear well. 

He was paler than Harry had ever really seen him, making the scar less visible, but nonetheless present upon his face. He had begun to wear gloves to meals and to class, and the whites of his eyes appeared more red than they should be. As November turned into December, and the Holidays were approaching, Draco’s state of being appeared to continuously change for the worse. His grades were slipping, but at the very least he was still answering questions correctly when they were expressed to him. He would sometimes react to loud noises by flinching and gripping his cane tightly enough for his gloves to squeak with the movement. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to speak to him, to be with him or maybe even give him a cup of tea in the way which Draco liked it best. He wanted to, but Crabbe was hovering around Draco like a cruel, overprotective parent. Crabbe was usually close and if he wasn’t, then he was actually touching Draco. He would grab his arm, place a hand upon his shoulder, touch his back and sometimes lean over him as if he had the right to use Draco as his resting pole. 

To some people, it might appear romantic, and Harry had indeed heard gossip which claimed that Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe were dating. He knew that the rumors weren’t true, as it was evident that Crabbe made Draco uncomfortable. Yet to some people, the evident touches and physical closeness appeared appealing, rather than frightening and controlling. Harry worried that since Crabbe was so evidently unabashed by touching Draco openly in front of people, then he might touch him in even worse ways when they were alone with the Death Eaters. 

The thought of Crabbe grabbing Draco’s face, or touching his hands, or maybe even thinking he had the right to touch Draco’s chest or neck, made Harry feel rage throb in his chest. Not because he wanted those parts of Draco for himself, but because he had come to understand that one simply couldn’t say no to Crabbe these days. It was terrifying to think that there was a person his own age who wielded such control over a collected set of followers that his demand was essentially law. 

Even Tom Riddle had never acted like that. 

Harry was rather certain that he knew that to be the truth after seeing Al’s memories of the child, compared to the person in the diary, who might have been the scared teenager’s ideal version of himself, rather than what he was really like. Of course, it could also be the complete opposite, with Tom lying to everyone, and his true self being the version within the diary. 

Even then, Tom had never done what Crabbe was currently doing. 

Harry came to realise that what he needed was to speak with someone he trusted, someone who was mostly outside of the conflicts and the struggles which he was facing. Someone older, someone with more experience. 

Almost a whole school term had passed, and he had yet to actually talk to Severus. Somehow, Harry had been too busy, too exhausted and simply too stressed to do what he had thought of doing for a long time. Thus, Harry decided that there was no time like the present, and he took a chance by visiting his dad’s fiancé’s office unannounced. As he waited outside the office for the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, Harry struggled to repress the unpleasant memories of Umbridge and her rose scented, doily covered room. He imagined that he could still feel the scent of dried herbs and roses coming from the door, even though he knew that to not be very likely. 

Severus opened the door with an emotionless expression on his face. Yet as soon as he spotted Harry, his expression appeared to soften and he stepped aside, showing for Harry to come inside. As soon as Severus had closed the door, Harry overstepped his boundaries and more of less fell into the older man’s arms, hugging him tightly. He hadn’t truly planned for what happened next, but before he knew it, he was crying against his future step-dad’s chest. 

Severus appeared bewildered for a second, but he quickly adapted and moved an arm around Harry, half hugging him back in a manner which was at least suitable for a Professor but which appeared just a tad cold from a step-dad. Yet Harry didn’t mind, he was too busy feeling too many things to really consider that his dad was the better hugger of the two husbands to be. 

“This is the worst year of my life!” Harry heard himself sob against the other man’s chest as he clung to him, his body shaking and his tears streaming down his face. 

“There are years like that, I assure you,” Severus carefully stroked over Harry’s back. “Would you like to sit down, I will make you some tea.” 

“That would be…” Harry’s words were interrupted by a hiccup. “That would be nice.” 

Soon enough, he found himself seated in the armchair which had previously been in Severus' other office, curled together with a slightly too warm cup of tea. Harry took in the view of the office which had yet again changed with its new inhabitant as Severus sat down by his desk with a cup of his own. 

The room was very much the same room, but as it was smaller that Severus’ previous accommodations, a lot more had to be fitted into a smaller space. The bookshelves were plenty and their shelves were full. Harry noticed some bottles, jars and the like which he had come to recognise, and even some titles which he had seen enough times to note their existence. The beams above them were no longer supporters for dried herbs, but a few things had been hung from them, amongst those, some faintly luminescent jars which contained crude shapes. 

“Some of the medicine and the potions I have to make as of currently require some rather specific ingredients.” Severus explained, following Harry’s gaze to the jars. “It was far easier to keep such sensitive ingredients safe in the darkness of the dungeons, but I have to improvise here. I would keep them out of sight in my bedroom, but there are no guaranteed sunless spots in there.” 

Harry nodded as he sipped his tea. It smelled faintly like the blends which his dad liked, and the reminder of Remus helped Harry feel more at home. “I have… a lot on my mind. Could you simply read it so that I don’t have to speak about it? I feel so exhausted, I wouldn’t know how to formulate myself. Or, is that rude to ask?” Harry asked in a small, pleading voice. He sounded rather whiny to his own ears. 

Severus shook his head, letting his dark hair dance freely around his face as he moved. “It is not rude. Would I be correct in assuming that it has to do with Draco?” The Potions Master neglected to mention his Godson’s surname, since they were alone. 

Harry allowed his mind to speak for him as he stared into his unappealing reflection in the dark cup. 

Draco’s Godfather sighed, a quiet yet nonetheless heavy noise. “It is most painful to see him in this state. As his teacher and the former Head of his House, I truly wish that I could do more for him. The situation is most complex in that there are currently Death Eaters at Hogwarts, young, misguided souls who report to those above them in rank outside of the school. I have avoided approaching Draco as I worry that my actions would be reported to Bellatrix Lestrange, or another of the more vicious of His followers. Without my previous title, I can not even approach him under the guise of a concerned teacher, as that would be Professor Slughorns’ duty, and not mine.” 

If Harry hadn’t come to know the man closely over the past years, he might not have noticed the subtle frustration in his voice, or the tired, exhausted pain within the strict face. 

Harry leaned forward slightly in his chair, “one of those Death Eaters is Vi-Crabbe, isn’t he? The way he has been acting, and the way he appears to lead so many all of a sudden… He really is a Death Eater, isn’t he?” 

Severus' expression revealed nothing, which was how Harry confirmed that his suspicion had been true. The mind reader recognised that the student knew him well enough to conclude the truth, at which point he surrendered all pretenses. 

“You are correct,” he confirmed. “A most devoted one as well, although not one in a position which can be as easily abused as Draco’s. That is to say, Mr. Crabbe is functional to the Death Eaters, but he is not useful in the same manner as Draco is. I further think that this obsession with causing Draco to perfect his quest is to display to all followers what happens to those who fail to listen to the Dark Lord, and who would speak up against his cause to the media, like Lucius did last summer.”  

“So whatever it is that Draco must do, you know it?” Harry could not keep the accusing tone of voice from seeping into his sentence. Neither could he keep the blame out of his eyes as he longed to know exactly what Draco’s predicament was. 

“I do, and Narcissa has been taken hostage to assure the completion, if not the motivation of the task.” Severus gave Harry a highly authorial look, one which was displeased with his senseless blaming. “Thus, I cannot confess anything more than I have, even to you, Harry.” 

The young man felt shame heat his face up as he realised that his questions were indeed unreasonable. Yet even worse, they also placed Draco and his mother in danger should he learn those answers. Thus, Harry could do little more than accept that his accusations were not suitable, and apologise. He did not need to do so verbally, as the mind reader was already nodding, signalling that he accepted the apology. 

“We, as in the Order of the Phoenix and the Headmaster himself, are currently formulating a plan in regards to getting Narcissa and Draco out of their current predicament. However it has proven most difficult and we have to plan our movements very carefully to assure their safety. Trust me in that I am doing all I can to assure that they are not simply left to suffer.” Severus concluded with a calm, rational but nonetheless determined voice. 

Harry believed him, yet that did not do much to ease his worries in regards to Draco’s current health and safety, both physical and mental. He didn’t trust his voice to not be accusing, so he nodded, allowing his mind to speak for him. 

When Harry remained silent, the former Death Eater continued to speak in not too great detail about the work he had been asked to perform. He spoke in a quiet voice, simply sharing the necessary bits and pieces with Harry. Yet he took care to mention his noted and slightly alarmingly growing number of required Lycanthropy potions as the werewolf followers grew in number. Harry was not surprised by the increase, but he was also troubled as he understood that the Ministry of Magic was chasing the vulnerable minorities to the Death Eaters’ side for protection. 

Further, Severus explained his somewhat odd yet highly uncomfortable relationship to the Dark Lord, who made no secret that he considered Severus his previous dad’s new son. Harry listened with growing anxiety to the way Severus’ spoke of the Dark Lord. He had seen how much family upset Tom, and could only imagine what he would do if he perceived that Al had replaced him.

However, some evident parallels were becoming visible to the young man. 

“It appears,” Harry stated when Severus stopped speaking to drink tea. “It appears that you and Draco are in similar situations, where you are both hostages to ensure vengeance on somebody else.” 

He had hoped against reason that the man would correct him. He had hoped so dearly that Severus would not be in the same situation as Draco. That Severus would claim that the truth was different, or that… that things were not as they appeared. Harry knew that it was not a kind thing to do to a mind reader, but he also knew that his own desire to know the actual truth would be more prominent than his desire to be lied to. 

Severus’ hands trembled, causing the tea to spill onto the saucer without it touching his lips. He quickly placed it down upon the desk, causing more red liquid to trail down the cup, the saucer and then onto the wood below. Yet Severus did not quite notice as he was busy trying to suppress his breathing into an even remotely calm state as he rested his hands upon his face. The pale fingers were trembling.

He was most certainly not fine, and the question whether the man was alright died upon Harry’s lips. It may have been unspoken, but the thought had still been there long enough for the mind reader to have heard it. 

“I am… I am not quite myself…” Severus attempted to excuse himself as his red tea soaked into the corner of the assignments he had yet to correct. “I… I cannot… There is simply too much… I…” 

Harry saw him reach for his necklace with his trembling hands. His breath hitched as he continuously attempted to force his real reactions and emotions back inside him, where they had been locked away before Remus gained access to them through love. 

“I have… too much to lose…” Severus whispered. “I think that I might be as terrified as you are, Harry. I fear for my life, I fear for the mistakes and the choices of my past. I fear for Remus, as well as you and Draco and Narcissa and Lucius as well. I fear for the Muggle-born students who have committed no crime and are not guilty of sin, and I equally fear for those pushed into the Dark Lord’s services by family, friends or societal rejection. I never felt as if it would be a loss should I die but now… Now everything is different to what it was back then. The Dark Lord has cited me as an obstacle he would rather remove, but one he is keeping because I hurt the Headmaster more if I am alive. It is… so very maddening and I… I cannot even speak to Remus about this, because our duties are bringing us apart.” 

Harry felt as if his mind went blank for a few seconds. He didn’t know quite how he was supposed to handle an adult hurting in the same way that Severus was hurting, where there were no answers to give, or any reassurance which could help. 

Only that wasn't true. 

He did know what to do. 

He had done it so many times to his dad. Severus wasn’t that different simply because he was a different adult. 

Harry reached over and saved the parchment from the tea, then used a hand movement to stop the tea from leaving the place where it currently was. After a quick search for some tissues, Harry had secured the rest of the desk from the red liquid. 

When the immediate material demand having been dealt with, Harry turned towards the person in the chair. He had already hugged the man once, so he did it again, sternly reminding himself that Severus was almost his step-dad and being unable to hug him was probably more curious than not daring to. Thus, in quite the werewolf-like fashion, Severus was hugged by the far smaller, and not so much werewolf, son of a werewolf. He blinked at the action before he gave in and allowed himself to hug Harry back, exchanging a familiar embrace with one another. A real one, which Severus evidently desperately needed.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Harry asked as they separated. “I know you like taking them with dad. Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you good.” He continued to motivate his suggestion, but it sounded more like he was shaping a question. 

At first Severus did not appear to want to move, but after a few seconds of defiance, he settled into acceptance. “I would indeed benefit from such a venture. Allow me to get my outdoor shoes.” 

Harry waited in the main room as the other man walked into his bedroom. He would likely normally have taken care to close the door to avoid the sunlight from the window reaching those sensitive jars in his office, but the cold December Sunday evening made such actions superfluous. Thus, Harry could see into the minimalist, sparsely decorated room. Yet he noticed that a shirt was hung from the beams in the ceiling. He would have recognised the craftsmanship anywhere. From a crooked little hanger hung a black knitted sweater, complete with wide sleeves and snatched wrists. Over the left side where the wearer’s heart was located was a small S, decorated into the shirt with silver thread. 

Molly had made Severus his very own sweater. Just like she had almost all her friends and the children of those friends. Harry had one, Remus had one, Sirius had one and now Severus most certainly had one too. 

Harry smiled at the man when he came outside in sturdier shoes. Severus did not need to read his mind to realise what his bonus son was grinning at, as he could follow Harry’s gaze to figure that out. With a sigh, but without a comment, Severus shut the door, locking the evidently appreciated shirt away from the world. 

As Harry and Severus walked over the school grounds, their path lit up by pale lights which floated around them, courtesy of a light spell cast by Severus, the two of them spoke about a collection of different topics. Harry wanted to speak to somebody about the memory sessions which he was having with Al, and Severus was the perfect person to speak to, seeing as he really couldn’t hide anything from him and he didn’t want to. Harry attempted to not speak too much about the memories themselves as he had made a promise, but he also suspected that Severus knew at least some of it through the virtue of being a mind reader. His suspicion was correct, even though Severus didn’t confess to what extent. 

“I did ask for it,” Harry summarised. “I do want this, and I feel like I’m learning so much more than I ever would if I hadn’t exposed myself to all of this. Although I do feel very strange to have memories of falling in love with a teenager who is actually about five to six times my age. Al did warn me plenty of times, and I expect it will come to pass, but I feel rather confused for the moment.” He sighed and shook his head, groaning weakly to express the turbulent emotions within his mind. 

Severus nodded, his gaze set forward as his clothes threatened to make him one with the dark December evening. “The Headmaster has offered me to see those memories in question, since he wanted to speak to someone about them. I declined by virtue of already seeing and hearing far more memories and thoughts than I am comfortable with on an everyday basis. And perhaps... in attempting to distance myself from Albus, at least in the past.” He raised a hand to rub his forehead absentmindedly. 

“I cannot claim to think that the choice to show you all of those memories instead of speaking up would be a good decision,” Severus continued. “However, I also understand why you feel like you want to expose yourself to them. At the risk of being somewhat ridiculous, it is a sign of our House to strive to obtain knowledge for one’s own gain, after all. If you believe that there is knowledge to gain from speaking to the Headmaster and seeing his memories, I will not complain about your choice. You are old enough to make it as you see fit.” 

Harry carefully stepped over a fallen branch on the path as he smiled at his dad’s partner. “May I ask what you feel in regards to the Headmaster? With the Dark Lord’s claim that you are practically brothers, I am interested to know what you feel about Al.” 

Severus was silent for some time, yet Harry could tell that he was not so much refusing to answer as he was considering what to say and in which manner he would say it. “I think that Professor Dumbledore is a good and kind person. However, I also believe that because he is kind, he is weak to all manners of abuse, suggestions and requests. He does not often commit mistakes because he is actively making the wrong choice, but because his kindness forces him to attempt to please everyone in unreasonable manners. You must remember the Philosopher's Stone, correct?”

Harry made a face in response. He did. He most definitely had been a different person back then. These days, he would never have thought to risk himself to break into a guarded vault for the purpose of protecting something when he could simply ask adults to help him. As Harry reasoned with himself that he had changed, he recalled that he had broken into the Ministry of Magic itself last year. Only that had been different, he had done it for his dad, not for some object, there had been no time and no adults to reach in time. Harry told himself it was different. 

Severus continued to speak, “because the Headmaster could not say no to his friend Nicholas Flamel, he placed the school at risk for attacks. Because the Headmaster could not say no to people in need of help, other effects continue to spiral. However, he claims that he would do these things out of a sense of guilt, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has indeed saved many lives through his actions. He has also put the collective at risk by the very same actions a few times, but not necessarily. In theory, Remus was a risk, but in practice, he never truly hurt anyone except for Potter upon being attacked by him first. The dementors were less of a risk on parchment, but in reality, they almost killed up to five, mostly innocent, people. Some of which were children.” 

Harry shuddered at the recollection of the dementors in the woods. They had indeed been more of a direct danger to him and his friends than Remus had been. 

“I also think that it’s too easy to claim Al to only be bad, or only be good. He has lived too long to only be one thing.” Harry agreed as he wrapped his cloak tighter around him. 

It was cold and he was using his internal magic to stay warm for the first time. It was easier than he had thought since he had good control over his magic courtesy of becoming an Animagus, but he was mostly going along and figuring it out as he went. 

“Do know that if the memories become too much for you, you cannot be forced to continue should you wish to cease the sessions.” Severus reminded Harry as he gazed into the darkness of the woods which they were currently walking alongside. 

“I know that,” Harry nodded with a smile. “Have you ever met him? El, I mean, Grindelwald?” 

“I have not. I am too young,” Severus reminded him in an almost polite manner, as if he doubted that Harry could think of him as ‘young.’ 

A memory flashed inside Harry’s mind, and he recalled the photograph of the young Severus Snape as a part of the Slug Club. Before he could stop himself, he had already thought about asking Severus how he and Remus met, since he had never received enough of an answer from his dad. 

It had been more than enough for the mind reader to hear Harry’s request. Harry heard him sigh with displeasure, but he hadn’t needed to worry about insulting the Potions Master, as the man did in fact begin to tell Harry about how he and Remus had met. 

“We knew each other from being in the same class from time to time,” said Severus. “I might have even spoken to him once or twice, but never for long as I considered him as bad as I did, and in some ways still do consider James and Sirius Potter. While he was not actively hurting me, he was their friend, and part of their group. Then I was foolish enough to fall for one of Sirius Potter’s tricks, and I stepped into a werewolf’s lair.”

“The Shrieking Shack?” Harry asked as he wrestled with his more than negative opinion in regards to what Sirius had done to both his dad and Severus.

“Indeed,” the man confirmed. “Naturally, the sight of what I considered to be a creature at the time frightened me greatly. When I found myself in that state of fear, I tended to research my object of worry to overcome that fear. Thus, when everything was over I began to research werewolves. I found to my great disappointment that there was nothing about them in the library which calmed my curiosity or my fear. Yet it woke my interest, and I continued my efforts to learn more. I thought that I simply hadn’t found the right book yet, or something to that end.” 

“That was around the time when Remus approached me, much akin to a frightened mutt. He wanted to plead with me to not report him and assure him of being thrown out of Hogwarts. I had considered it, but it was Black I… I mean Potter, who I wanted my revenge upon, should I pursue it. Yet the price for that revenge would have come at the cost of an innocent minority. Thus, I used my knowledge as leverage, and extorted your father to tell me all about his condition. I do not think I ever intended to tell anyone about him, but I cannot quite remember.” 

“You… Extorted him…?” Harry blinked slowly, trying to comprehend that the relationship appeared to have begun through fear of the other, rather than the two of them getting to know one another due to being curious. 

“Yes,” Severus spoke simply, but his expression was not quite so emotionless. He appeared almost ashamed. “In doing so, we had a collection of study sessions together, and I realised that… Well, that werewolves are not creatures, but humans suffering from a blood related condition. Yet no research anywhere truly told me about the condition, only the beast. I began to consider the effects of a potion to either halt or at the very least make the transformation less painful. With your father as my willing subject, I found a black hole in research, and I strived to fill it. We tried quite the different mixes of potions, extracts and then some salves when most of those failed and the werewolf became annoyed with us. Such annoyances often resulted in Remus getting hurt, as I am sure you understand. At the very least I knew some healing magic and had the practice since rather early in my years.” 

Harry nodded. He didn’t particularly want to think of his dad getting hurt, but he knew that all of those scars came from somewhere. He understood well that the werewolf had caused them, even if Remus had never said it out loud. 

“Then, one day…” Severus stopped speaking to steady himself with a few slow, deep breaths. “Remus confessed to liking me. We were alone in the Shrieking Shack at the time as he made the confession. I had many emotions in regards to his confession, most of which were negative. I assumed him to be tricking me and to that end, I became angry. Yet in reality, I was all the more frightened. I couldn’t understand how he, someone like him, could possibly like somebody like me. Perhaps it wasn't even about him as much as that I found it utterly impossible to imagine anyone having such feelings for me. I was not... very pleasant, or very happy when I was a teenager. The confession also meant that whatever feelings I had for him, however small, foolish and unrealistic they might be… could have been answered.” 

Severus steadied himself with another deep breath. “I was essentially raised by the Muggle family next door, whom you know as your mother’s family. I had some faulty yet stern interpretations of what a relationship was supposed to be like, so another boy confessing to me felt… wrong to my ignorant mind. Which was all the more reason as to why I couldn’t believe him at the time. Naturally, Remus assumed that it was because he was a werewolf, but it was not true. It was never… him…” Severus’ words trailed off as he raised his head to look at the moon above them. The moon was but a waning crescent, a thin shard of silver upon a dark yet star filled sky. 

Harry recognised that they had stopped, and he came to stand next to Severus, looking up at the moon as well. “I always loved it when the moon was like this,” Harry broke the silence. “It was one of the times when dad was the most at peace with himself.” 

“He was similar when I met him,” Severus’ smiled weakly. “After our, well… argument, we were apart for a while. I was mostly judging him to try and conclude if he had any ulterior motives. When I realised that he did not, I approached him once more and asked to speak. I won’t share what we talked about, but we talked for hours until…” His voice trailed off. “Well, until I dared trusting his intentions. Thus, I gained my first and only partner in life. That is not to say that I haven’t been with other people, but I never had a committed relationship with anyone else. How… silly it sounds when I say it out loud. It was not that I was waiting for him but… But I suppose Remus truly is the only person to ever make me feel… Safe, loved, use whatever description you will. I do not know how he does it, but he does.” Severus concluded in a small, emotional voice.  

Harry beamed at the man who would be his step-dad. “It is such a relief to simply hear it from another person’s mouth compared to seeing it all through their eyes. Once again, I chose to see it, but I’m rather glad to be back to old fashioned communication,” he chuckled. 

Harry was feeling a lot of things in regards to hearing how his dad had come to earn a partner in his youth. Almost too many, which was why he wanted to focus on something more concrete than the general happiness and soothing relief which filled him. He needed a more direct outlet for his feelings than to simply be happy. 

Severus’s cheeks might have been slightly red as he strode on, gathering his layered cape around himself as he walked before Harry. “I’m glad that you enjoyed that story. I completed the Lycanthropy potion after we broke our relationship off after I…” He stopped himself to draw a short, painful breath for emotional support. “After I made the greatest mistake of my life and turned towards the Death Eaters for protection from James and Sirius Potter. I rejected Lily Evans through means of a word I should never have used towards her to gain their approval, and… well… the rest of my life has been spent adding to that regret and then attempting to dim it by gestures coming far too late.” 

Harry recalled a similar conversation to this one which Severus had with him when Harry was twelve. He hadn’t been able to understand the man back then, but he felt like he understood him now. “I… see…” Harry couldn’t quite find words for the situation, but he knew that his thoughts would likely communicate to Severus how complicated and conflicting the topic was for Harry. 

“It’s horrifying to think that things have not changed so much,” Harry attempted to reason out loud. He changed the topic as Severus could very likely already read off him everything he thought in regards to the man’s past. It seemed redundant to say everything out loud. Severus already knew that Harry didn't hold any ill will against him, and had forgiven him even if he wasn't even in a position where that was relevant. “Today, people are finding their way to the Death Eaters as well because they aren’t protected by the people in charge. The Ministry of Magic is failing them, just as how you were failed by Hogwarts.” 

Just how Tom Riddle was failed by his adoptive father. 

“...It is cruel indeed,” Severus sighed. “Yet let us not dwell upon cruel realities of the past. I have been meaning to ask you how your task with Professor Slughorn is unfolding? As one of his previous students, and a member of the Slug Club, I consider myself a worthy discussion partner.” 

Harry was not surprised that the mind reader had learnt about the topic through someone’s, most likely Al’s thoughts. He hesitated speaking up, but then gave in, knowing that the impulse to distrust was becoming uncomfortably more present than his willingness to ask for help. 

“I simply don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Harry groaned. “It appears that Professor Slughorn likes me one moment, and then in the next, he looks at me as if I just became a Grindylow.” The two of them began to walk back towards the castle as Harry allowed himself to feel the frustration surrounding Slughorn. “I try to act with academic interest and to ask him questions about his work and the like but for some reason, that appears to make him nervous. He likes it when everyone else does it, but not when I do, for whatever reason, he becomes really nervous. Yet some week back, he asked about dad and I told him what I’ve always told everyone who asked. That appeared to work. I’m just so confused with what is asked of me as Harry Potter, when Professor Slughorn evidently both wants the-boy-who-lived in his collection, but also fears me or… something. Do you think he knows that I’m lying to him by being Harry Potter?” 

“I…” Severus hesitated to speak. “Professor Slughorn is the only mage I know of who walks around with a complex sigil amulet to keep his mind from being read. I suspect that he does not actively do it to guard his mind from me, but because he is highly paranoid about it to the point where he has employed such an option.” 

“Is it possible to do such a thing?” Harry blinked. “I always assumed that there was nothing that could be done to protect one’s mind from, well, a mind reader.” 

“It is possible, but highly complex and all the more costly,” the man explained. “The inscription has to be absolutely flawless, and must be repeated continuously over time to assure the same effectiveness as the writing fades over time. Further, such a disk must be large and therefore heavy, not to mention outright uncomfortable to wear. It takes a most paranoid mind to consider the discomfort worth it simply by the off chance that they would encounter one like me. We are not precisely common.”  

“How costly is ‘costly?’” Harry attempted to imagine a number. 

“I should think at the very least up towards 100 galleons to 500 galleons, with additional costs for maintenance,” Severus answered simply. “Yet overall, the gesture is considered paranoid, as there truly are not that many mind readers. It could perhaps be described as purchasing insurance for your tavern when you do not own a tavern.”

“Excessive?” Harry concluded. 

“Unnecessary,” Severus agreed. 

“So you cannot help me with why he finds me uncomfortable?” Harry concluded with a deep sigh. As he did, he tried to remember seeing such a disk being worn by the Potions Professor, but realised that he couldn’t recall one. Harry concluded that it must be hidden underneath his clothes so as to not project his paranoia to the world and his students. 

“I’m afraid I do not have the faintest idea, Harry.” Severus’ voice appeared slightly apologetic as he spoke. “I could make assumptions, but Professor Slughorn is not a man who would approach one such as I due to my past notoriety as a Death Eater. Thus, I would not be making statements based on observations, but guessing without any means of reliable knowledge.” 

Harry groaned again. He had lived all his life knowing that people would reject his dad based on the man being a werewolf, and the idea of simply not feeling anything when his future step-dad was rejected based on similar assumptions made him tired and annoyed. Severus might have committed those mistakes, but he was evidently attempting to mend the harm from his past actions. 

Severus gave him a small smile as they reached the castle doors, which opened to allow them inside with much protest of the noisy variety coming from the hinges. 

“Thank you either way, I suppose all I can do is keep on trying.” As he spoke, his glasses fogged up from the heat of the entrance hall and his own breathing. 

Thus, he didn’t spot the man until he heard him call out for him. 

“Oh Harry! Harry, my boy, what impeccable timing you have!” Horace Slughorn approached him, followed by Winky who was carrying a tray of biscuits for him. She was followed in turn by Dobby, who was carrying a large jug of something which children should likely not drink. It appeared as if the three had just come from the kitchen. 

Professor Slughorn was so absorbed by Harry’s presence that he failed to notice Severus standing next to him. Thus, the man made an odd, croaking noise when it was too late for him to simply walk the other way. As Harry’s glasses defogged, he noticed the frightened, almost haunted look which Professor Slughorn gave the current Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, as well as his former student. 

It was one thing being feared for some unknown reason, but it was quite the other to see his family scrutinised so openly in front of him.

Motivated by a form of anger over the injustice which Severus was facing, Harry spoke up through his persona. “Professor!” Harry smiled at Slughorn, leaning his head to the side in a pleasant gesture. “Allow me to introduce my dad’s fiancé and my future step-dad, Severus Snape.” 

The introduction was not necessary, but it did not leave Slughorn any room to object to Severus’ company without directly insulting Harry. It was evident that Harry considered the other man his family, and any disrespect shown towards Harry Potter’s family would likely give the vain man pause before he acted. At least so Harry concluded. 

He was right. 

“Oh, ah, yes…!” Professor Slughorn concluded out loud. “Severus Snape, you were one of my students.” He did not claim Severus to have been a member of the Slug Club. Perhaps he had forgotten, perhaps he remembered too well. 

“Indeed,” Severus agreed in his emotionless, nasal voice. “With your humble assistance, I managed to complete the Lycanthropy potion, which is currently commercially available to all individuals suffering from the blood condition.” 

Commercially available did not by any means mean societally available. 

“Ah, yes!” Slughorn more or less repeated himself as he nodded rapidly. Harry could see that the man had begun to sweat slightly. “You constructed the recipe back in your school days if I am not mistaken.” 

It was impossible for Harry to tell if the man was actually forgetful in regards to the topic of Severus being the creator of the potion or if he was feigning ignorance on purpose. The forgetfulness did seem suspicious, but it was not entirely unreasonable to think that Slughorn would have chosen to forget the person behind the achievement he considered his own.

“Correct,” the younger Potions Master responded dryly but not impolitely. 

“And now you are engaged, well… How lovely!” Slughorn continued to fumble for topics. As he did, his gaze fell on Severus’ necklace. The phases of the moon reflected in his small eyes before realisation hit him. He then looked to Harry, before his attention returned to Severus with newfound excitement. 

As the Potions Professor turned his attention mostly away from Harry, he took the chance to quickly wave towards Dobby. It was not something Harry Potter should do in front of Professor Slughorn, but Harry Lupin managed to fit the gesture into the slot he was given. Dobby smiled at Harry in return and waved an ear at him, as his hands were currently busy. Harry felt like Dobby understood, and accepted the lack of familiarity in favor of Harry Potter keeping his painfully important dignity. 

“Oh now it all makes sense! No wonder you were so interested and able to perform research which nobody else had thought of!” Professor Slughorn chuckled at Severus, who remained silent and likely confused. Slughorn appeared triumphant and smug, suddenly enjoying his position in the conversation quite some, when he thought he had just figured something clever out.

Harry noted that it was a little humorous to see Severus so out of his element with a mind he could not read in the least. Severus was at a loss for what the other man was speaking about. All he could do was blink slowly, waiting for his fellow Potions Master to begin making sense. It appeared entirely alien to the mind reader to not understand what was happening. 

“My boy, what a romantic gesture! I do say, splendid work. I do say that nothing motivates a mage more than love, with the possible exception of spite. After all, research is always about proving or disproving something, either out of love or by simple means of spite!” As Slughorn laughed, his stomach bobbed up and down. 

This allowed Harry to spot the metal around his neck, which was only made visible as the creases in his clothes changed with his movements. It was indeed a large disk, one which was likely heavy as well. Harry hoped that it was at the very least held up by a merciful thread which did not bruise the man’s skin on a daily basis. 

“I’m afraid I do not q-” Severus tried to reason with the excited wizard. 

“You constructed the potion for young Mr. Harry’s father here,” Slughorn mused. “Don’t be coy now, boy. You can admit it.” After the man had studied Severus' expression for a moment, he seemed even more convinced that he was right.

Severus appeared highly disapproving of admitting to anything, but he forced his features from twisting with displeasure. A quick glance towards Harry made him remember his future bonus son’s quest, and thus he attempted to form his reaction into one which would help Harry in the future. 

“Yes. My feelings for Remus Lupin when I was young prompted me to wish to help him, as his condition brought him pain, both physically and mentally. It was my desire to ease that pain by any means I could, but I was also primarily fascinated by the black hole in the academic subject of Lycanthropy as a sickness, rather than werewolves as a magical creature.” 

“Yes, yes,” Slughorn nodded happily, seemingly very satisfied with himself. “I recall your reasoning from back then now. A good motivation indeed.” Harry wondered if Professor Slughorn perhaps considered it an even bigger feat now that the Lycanthropy potion had been, sort of, created for the man who became Harry Potter's father.

Behind him, Dobby was trying to soundlessly convince Winky to set her tray down, as her arms had begun to shake with the weight from it. Harry got the impression that Dobby had likely offered to help Winky with her burden more than he had been personally requested to help Slughorn. The House Elf ignored the elf, keeping the tray in her hands despite the fact that she was struggling. Next to one another, it was beyond evident how much Dobby had grown into his own person. Yet it further emphasised how tragic most House Elves were in comparison.  

Harry felt the need to end the conversation before Winky’s arms surrendered to the unfortunate laws of gravity. “I hate to interrupt your conversation, Professors, but I was hoping that I could ask my dad to accompany me to my room? It is getting rather late and I shouldn’t be walking around alone in the corridors after curfew.” 

Behind Slughorn, Severus actually gaped at him for the fraction of a second as he realised what Harry had just called him. He quickly collected himself, or at the very least, regained control over his face. He was most certainly not sure about being called ‘dad’ by any means of the word. 

“Of course!” Slughorn did not hesitate to jump at the chance to flee. “I shall speak with you later, Harry. Your recent essay was marvelous, but we shall speak of that later. Now come you two,” the last was for the House Elf and the elf. 

Severus was in equal hurry to not remain in the same spot, and thus he guided Harry towards the main stairs. Harry and Dobby waved at the other again before they could no longer see one another. 

When they were no longer standing next to Slughorn, Harry began to doubt that his choice had been the right one, or even an informative one. He recognised that his open kinship to a former Death Eater might not be good for Harry Potter’s image, but he hadn’t been able to remain as calm as he should have in the situation. Further, it might have been unnecessary to call Severus by such a familiar title in front of a stranger, especially without his permission. Just as he thought about it, the mind reader spoke up.

“It is not that I disliked that title as much as I do not quite see how it is relevant, or even applicable to me for the moment.” 

Harry smiled to himself. He didn’t need to answer with words. 

“May I accompany you to your office?” Harry asked, but inside his head, he asked a different question. 

Lately, as Harry’s worries and distrust was growing, he had taken to using his invisibility cloak to move between dinner or the Room of Requirement, to his own room. It was more time efficient than circling the school until any potential pursuers had lost track of him. He believed Al had been the one to suggest it, but he couldn’t quite recall clearly. 

Thus, what Harry was actually asking was if he could accompany his dad’s partner to his office, then put his cloak on inside before he sneaked back to his own room. He had taken to always carrying the cloak with him in his bag, folded neatly to take up as little space as possible. 

“Naturally, you may,” Severus agreed, keeping from looking back at Harry. 

The son of a werewolf considered the possibility that the man was embarrassed about earlier. 

Severus scoffed at the idea, but he did not turn. 

Despite everything, Harry smiled. He thought that his dad had chosen a very good partner indeed. One worthy of being called ‘dad’ in due time as well. Or rather, when the word no longer frightened the man with its alien familiarity. 

Chapter Text

The entrance to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was located underground where it was spread out over a good part of downtown London. It was a constant stress for mages to ensure that no subway or other underground line ever came close enough to bother the patients or equipment with vibrations. Or even more horrifyingly, cause the Muggles to break down a wall to one of the less pleasant, and even less mundane, wards. The entrance to the hospital was reached through a private clinic in downtown London, one which sternly only accepted booked appointments, and turned away most Muggle customers should they wander in by mistake. Should a Muggle be in immediate, life threatening danger, the hospital would care for them, but an obliviation always followed the few extreme cases which needed treatment. 

Percy Weasley strode inside the clinic and simply passed by the receptionist and into the back of the shop. Percy selected the stairs as the modern elevators were too Muggle-like for a proud secretary of the British Minister of Magic himself. The mage at the reception glanced at his official Ministry pin, which was a rather new addition to the expected outfit of a Ministry worker. To the world, it appeared rather like an attorney badge. Small, round and elegant. Up close, one could make out the shape of an owl, sitting elegantly upon a wand with five stars behind it. The sigil was newly designed as the symbol of the unity of the British magic societies of England, Wales, Scotland and North Ireland, as well as Ireland which were all represented by a pointed star each. It was an attempt to show that the Ministry of Magic would care for all the mage communities in the surrounding isles. 

Percy had been one of the first people at the Ministry to receive his brand new badge of honor. He was very proud of it, and liked to polish it when he could. Yet lately, Percy had been experiencing the curious feeling that his badge was getting heavier every time that he placed it upon the lapel of his suit in the morning. 

The young secretary of the Minister of Magic was not paying attention to his surroundings as he walked, but he continued downwards in the building with a set determination, passing floors and corridors while reliving a meeting which he had attended last week together with Minister Scrimgeour as well as the other Ministers of note. The meeting itself had been an official yet secretive one. It would not be utterly dishonest to claim it to have been a trial of sorts, one which demanded the attention of the new Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation, the Department of Magical Law, as well as the Department of Magical Finances. 

Naturally, such an important collection of Departments gathering for a trial required the Minister of Magic himself to participate. Percy had been right there with him, quill in hand and heart somewhere far away from his body as to not feel. 

Percy had steeled himself since the meeting was to be held by Arthur Weasley on behalf of the Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation, and had been called in order to discuss the privately funded Albus Ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital, and whether or not it should be allowed to remain. The meeting also intended to discuss the possibility that the Ministry would choose to donate money to the cause of restoring the minds of those who had been unjustly kissed by a dementor. 

Percy liked to think that he didn’t hate Arthur Weasley, but he refused to think of him, or the rest of the Weasleys, as family any longer since he realised that his entire life was dictated by the shadow of the Weasley name. He also refused to call the man father, and much less dad. 

Thus, it was with heavy dread that he sat down at the meeting, readied his quill, and held his breath as Arthur Weasly began to speak. 

Then something utterly unpredicted had come to be within Percy’s mind. 

He came to realise that Arthur was good at speaking. 

Arthur spoke with conviction, clearly and articulately expressing his desire to petition the Ministry to support the Albus Ward, rather than seeking legal actions against the two patients within it. He spoke about logic, purpose and the benefits of the ward, as well as how it would benefit the Ministry of Magic politically to support it through finances and donations. The science, Arthur pointed out, was cutting edge, and exactly the kind of fail-safe which the Ministry needed since it started throwing people into Azkaban without care or concern for the number of prisoners exposed to unpredictable dementors and their inhuman whims. Even the two members at the ward were the perfect candidates, as it had happened not by choice, but rather neglect. The two men at the Albus Ward had not yet faced their trials, and although publicly declared guilty, father and son Crouch could not be legally claimed guilty at the time they had been kissed. Thus, the Ministry had no rights to prevent them from being healed, as that was what was needed for their trial to happen in the first place. 

Percy could almost not believe it.

Arthur had never been like this before. He was like a completely different man. So very unlike the failed, absent father who had continued to leave his children and wife behind until they had enough. So very unlike the man who Percy was ashamed to share surname with. Percy reasoned that something must have happened to Arthur, or that he had been taken over by an impostor who was doing a most terrible job appearing like the former Head of the Muggle centered department. 

The Minister of Magic had given his approval to the idea of funding the Albus Ward through donations to further their specific research. Some would later accuse Minister Scrimgeour of the action having been made as a humble but ultimately politically motivated act to appear less hostile towards those who criticised his no tolerance towards Death Eaters and Dark Lord followers policy. The accusations were likely true, but that wouldn’t stop the well needed donations to the Albus Ward, or the fact that the ward was desperately needed, and would be in the future as well.

Percy struggled to remain calm throughout the meeting, as guilt ripped through him at every mention of the two unfortunate Crouch victims and their fate. Percy knew that the assault on them by the dementors had been his fault. Nobody else had been responsible but Percy Weasley. In lack of Aurors to ask for assistance, Percy had left the two men with the dementors, ultimately sealing their fate. 

Ever since then, people had attempted to tell him that it was not his fault. The newspapers told the British mage community that the Crouch father and son had been the ones to agitate the dementors. The former Minister of Magic, as well as Percy's own previous girlfriend had consoled him with gentle reassurance that he couldn’t possibly have known what would happen, and that he had performed to the best of his abilities while the situation demanded his attention elsewhere.  

Those comments hurt while they soothed. Yet nothing had hurt more than the Minister Scrimgeour’s response to Percy’s anxious questioning. 

“Good riddance,” he had said. “Those criminals would have ended up that way no matter what. In the end, it doesn’t matter that you made it happen sooner.” 

Good riddance. 

Two minds destroyed without any proper trial were nothing more than good riddance. 

Percy believed in Scrimgeour and he believed in the idea of not giving Death Eaters, sympathisers, murderers and Dark Creatures any second chances. He believed in justice, he believed in truth. He believed in unity, and he believed in Scrimgeour as the best possible means of saving the mage community from another war. 

He believed, because any member of the Ministry of Magic who didn’t believe in Scrimgeour and his ideals was a possible sympathiser. The only place for such a person was Azkaban. 

It wasn’t that Percy felt forced to believe in the Minister of Magic, but even he, in all his loyalty, was beginning to wonder if the methods they were using were really correct. If an entire Department had to be shaped based on public complaints, could they possibly be doing the right thing. 

Penny didn’t think they were. 

Penelope Clearwater had been Percy’s girlfriend since school, and they had stuck together afterwards. Percy had considered proposing to her, but then the world simply misaligned itself, and there was never time to even consider buying a ring, much less propose. Then Penny had decided that enough was enough when she could no longer believe in Percy’s explanations and excuses in regards to the actions of the Ministry of Magic. 

One of Penny’s extended family members was a Pureblood mage, and she had been attacked on the street before the Ministry quickly sentenced her to Azkaban on suspicions of being a Dark Witch and supporter of the Dark Lord. The incident had created a rift between the two partners, and Penny had concluded that she had enough and broke up with him, leaving their shared apartment the very next day. She sent friends to get her things, and had yet to respond to Percy’s letter in which he wished her nothing but the best. 

Good riddance. 

The phrase was haunting Percy’s mind, appearing when he least expected it. 

Lately, it had been especially painful, since Percy was struggling to deny something which he had known since the very beginning of his convictions. If every Death Eater, Dark Lord sympathiser and follower, if every person to ever think of their blood as something to be proud of, if every single person who had ever made a mistake in the community deserved to be locked away… Then the Heir of Slytherin had to be removed as well. 

Then his little brother Ron deserved to die, despite the fact that he was but a child who had been manipulated by the Dark Lord. 

If everyone were guilty even without clear evidence, then Ron was so very, very guilty. Ron would stand no chance, especially as Percy could, and would be forced to, witness against him in any trial. 

Percy rounded another corner, finding himself in the place where he had needed to go, the Albus ward. It was not so much a ward as it was but a rather open, large room with only two patients. The two men lay in beds far away from one another, surrounded by curious machines and separated from the world by a divider, as well as from one another with yet another divider. 

Machines were an unusual sight at St Mungo's Hospital. Percy knew that his mum had never given birth in said hospital because she trusted the Muggle doctors far more than she did the Healers at St Mungo’s. With that knowledge in mind, he attempted to not be frightened by the softly humming machine and instead entered the room. After picking at random, Percy managed to locate the person he was searching for in Bartemius Crouch Junior. He could have equally visited Bartemius Crouch Senior, if it had not been for the fact that he had known the man, which made him even harder to face. 

He pulled a chair over to sit down next to the bed of the despicable Death Eater who had most definitely deserved the dementor’s kiss. He had come to the ward to convince himself of his convictions, and set his heart on continuing to follow Minister Scrimgeour and his no tolerance policy. He had come to convince himself that Death Eaters weren’t human, and that they wanted people like Percy, good people like Percy, to die based on not believing the same things as they did. The person before him was nothing but a murderer, blood supremacist and simply the scum of all of the mages in Britain. 

Bartemius Crouch Junior laid still in his bed, breathing slowly as if he was simply asleep. His head was moved to the side and a slight speckle of saliva lay upon the pillow underneath him as he breathed without hurry or conviction. His left arm lay outside of the blanket and was connected through curious vires to a machine which beeped softly as a pulse appeared to be recorded upon a flat, faintly green background. Upon said arm was the Death Eater mark, displayed for anyone to see as long as they entered the divided off space. 

The young man appeared hollow, not much older than Percy’s oldest brother Bill. His face was marked by lack of nutrition, and had an odd, almost yellow tone to it in the light from the lamps above. The skin clung to his face, giving him sharp edges which looked unpleasant, and what little Percy could see of his body made it appear flat and almost without muscles. His dirty, blonde hair, which had been a little shorter but which had long since been gathered into a braid next to him on the pillow, fell over his face, shielding him further from the world. 

The room was filled with his soft snoring, adding some humanity to the inhuman noises of the machines which likely kept him alive. Maybe not for the moment, but in the long run. 

Percy stared at the face of the sleeping Death Eater, attempting to will evil upon him. He searched for evil and malice inside the tight skin, in the closed eyes, in the way the young man breathed, or even in the way his fingers curled slightly around the blanket. Percy attempted to find any reason to hate him, to loathe him. There was the mark upon his arm, and while Percy found the mark to be unsettling, the longer he looked upon it, the more it simply appeared to be a tattoo. 

The snake was not even that well made, it faced upwards in an awkward angle, seemed to have no end, and varied way too much in thickness back and forth, and the skull appeared slightly cross-eyed. Even the line work was sloppy, as if it had been traced after memory, rather than an artistic template. Percy had seen far more terrifying renditions of the symbol, the one on Bartemius Crouch Junior’s arm appeared almost childish in comparison. 

There was nothing which Percy could do to motivate himself to hate the young man.

If he hated him, then he would have to hate Ron.

Bartemius Crouch Junior wasn’t evil enough for this punishment to be just without a fair trial. In fact, he looked slightly related to Penny, especially now that his blonde hair was slightly more tended to. He could have been her bonier, slightly underfed cousin. 

He tried to tell himself that this young man deserved to die for having the opinion of wanting those with different opinions to die... which was not a pleasant trail of thought, thus he stopped.

Percy groaned and hid his face against his hands, wishing that he could squeeze hatred out of his mind and do something productive with it. Like hating… Which generally couldn’t be considered productive. He sighed deeply.

There was a rustle by the divider and Percy looked up to find a Healer coming around it. The witch almost dropped her clipboard when she saw him, and only managed to stop herself from screaming by clamping a hand down over her own face. 

“Oh sir… you scared me…” She slowly lowered her hand and then breathed out. “Are you a family member? He hasn’t had any visitors since he came here, despite his allegiance, he has been a very calm patient to handle.” 

Percy smiled weakly, which had become his trained, practiced response to stress and anxiety. Like a true politician. “Yes, I am.”

If truth was reflected by the measurement of how percentually correct a statement was, then Percy’s response was at least truth contained. As he and Bartemius Crouch Junior were both Purebloods, they were technically albeit so distantly related that they could marry without any legal issues. 

“How good, sir,” the Healer approved. “You can talk to him when he is awake. About old memories should do the trick to try and help him recall who he is, at least to some capacity. I like to speak to him about the seasons, it appears to make him stir slightly. The poor thing was placed under the Imperius Curse for many years, he reacts to commands you give him even if he doesn’t quite appear to understand them. I thought I should warn you in case you speak of something too… order-like-sounding.” She summarised with a nod. 

“I will,” Percy turned towards her. “Thank you.” As he faced her, the badge became fully visible upon his lapel. 

Percy saw the darkness creep over the Healer’s face like a particularly unpleasant cloud. All her friendliness and gentleness had been replaced with unfiltered hostility. He could see her thoughts of the Ministry of Magic in her eyes, she didn’t need to speak of what had happened for him to know and understand. 

“If you harm him, or attempt to take him away, I will stop you with force.” The Healer threatened him through clenched teeth. “You’ve already taken my husband. I have nothing left to lose. Enjoy your talk.” The last words were not spoken out of care, but were a curse upon him, should he think of overstepping his jurisdictions. 

The Healer left so abruptly that Percy didn’t have the chance to explain that he wouldn’t hurt Bartemius Crouch Junior.

In fact, he wasn’t sure that he could. That morning, he would have thought that he could, but not right now. Not after actually seeing him. 

Percy slowly turned back towards the sleeping form of the Death Eater. Nobody had ever bothered to tell him the full story of Bartemius Crouch Senior and Bartemius Crouch Junior. There had not been an official trial, but Albus Dumbledore had left an official statement in regards to what both Crouches had said before they were kissed. Had Percy had the courage to read it, or even skim through it, he would have known about Bartemius Crouch Junior’s past and the ways in which his father had abused him. Yet as it currently was, Percy was sitting facing a sleeping man, wondering how cruel another mage had to be to force another into such a state of living. 

He recalled the encouragement to speak to the sleeping Death Eater, and thus he did. “Hi there…?” 

The body did not stir.

Percy sighed and rested his head in his hands once more, feeling too tired to sit up properly. “You probably don't remember me,” Percy spoke to his knees. “My name is Percy and… I’m a bloody idiot.” He groaned as he shook his head. “I’m also… Also… s-so… Sorr… Sorry.” The older brother of many and younger brother of some forced an apology through his teeth. 

He straightened up to look at the sleeping face again, and found to his great horror that the sleeping man had sat up, and was currently staring at Percy with empty, grey eyes. Percy almost fell off his chair but he remembered that the person in front of him might appear awake and alive, but his mind was utterly blank. 

When Percy looked closer, he noticed that some of the man’s hair was stuck to his moist lips, remaining half in his mouth. There was also drool upon his cheek. Without thinking, the older brother of many siblings reached out and removed the hair, before drying the stranger’s face off with his sleeve. He had done it hundreds of times to his younger siblings when they struggled to wake up in the morning. The gesture was so natural that Percy couldn’t stop it. 

As he performed his brotherly duties upon a stranger, it hit Percy that Bartemius Crouch Junior was warm. He wasn’t a cold, human shaped golem with flesh sculpted out of stone. He was a living, breathing human being, and Percy had in his carelessness failed to keep him safe from some of the worst monsters out there. He had caused Bartemius Crouch Junior to lose everything, simply because he had not been vigilant enough to stop it. 

Percy hadn’t intended to, but when he came to his senses, he was already hugging the stranger. Bartemius Crouch Junior did not resist the touch, but simply allowed himself to be moved and touched by someone he had never even spoken to. Percy hoped that he wasn’t crying on his shoulder, but he wasn’t entirely certain. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!” Percy whimpered. “You will be fine… You will be restored. I’ll donate money too, just… just wait. I will give you your life back… Somehow… somehow, I will.” He hugged the other mage closer to himself, clinging to him as he made his promises. “You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t.” 

On his way out, the Healer pretended that she couldn’t see him, yet Percy noticed that she had been crying as well. Neither of them said anything as they passed one another, with her heading inside the divider to check on her ward, and Percy returning home to go to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to take a week off for simple resting purposes. 

His home was dark and cold, yet Percy picked up the mail and began lighting the lamps as well as the fireplace. He sat down in the empty home and stared into the flames as they slowly grew bigger. He should cook, but he didn’t quite have the energy to. 

Percy recalled the mail in his hand, and he gingerly raised it to look through what people wanted from him. It was mostly commercial fliers, and some Ministry of Magic propaganda which Percy could cite with his eyes closed. Yet at the bottom of the pile, between the rent and a commercial about a new hair salon at Diagon Alley was a brown, inconspicuous letter. It had a clumsy wax seal upon it, stamped out with what appeared to be a spoon or perhaps the handle of a hammer. It smelled vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until Percy saw the handwriting upon the envelope that he recognised it as one of the twins’ handwriting. Probably George, since it appeared as if the person writing couldn’t quite hold a quill. With his damaged hands, it was more likely than not George. 

With eagerness so as to not allow himself to be frightened by the letter, Percy yanked it open, not noticing that he had almost fallen off the couch in his hurry to unveil the secrets of the letter. With his heart hammering in his chest, and his cheeks heating with various emotions, Percy began to read. 

Dear Hi Percy! 

It’s George! Haha! Writing to you out of nowhere! Fancy that!

I write to you because, well, life has been kind of different lately. I finished school, so did Fred (of course!) and now I’m working for the Ministry too. It’s just a small job at a Ministry licensed Potions store, so I’m not even at the Ministry. I guess I’m a Ministry dog as well now. Woof. I mix the potions for people in the back. I mix quite a lot of calming extracts and a bunch of simple, boring recipes that would bore you to talk about. (I got the highest score possible on my NEWTs Potion grade, by the by.)

It’s not very stimulating work, but I can do it in my sleep and I need the money. I’m saving up so that I can go into higher education. You really are amazing to be hired as the secretary of the Ministry without that education under your belt. I mean that. I’ve been thinking about what I want in life, and while I still want a real joke store with Fred in the future, I’m not sure that that’s all I want. 

I’ve been spending time with Bill lately, as he is back in the UK. We’ve been sort of hanging out, going to a few bars, seen some concerts and mostly going to the cinema. (Where Muggles watch movies, if you have forgotten.) It’s been nice, but it made me miss you a lot. We recently lost a shared friend, me and Bill, and it was rather tough to attend his funeral. There were a lot of people there, but none had been his direct family. He sort of died alone, hating his parents and sort of his sibling. 

Everyone Weasley was sort of there, except, well, for you. I sort of missed you. Kinda. Kinda a lot. After all, you rather raised me and Fred and we never thanked you for it. I know I’m sappy, I just don’t know how to say it any other bloody way.

I want to spend time with you again. You don’t have to see anyone but me, not even Fred! (We're not always together, imagine that!) I won’t even tell mum or dad, I’ll just say that I was with Bill, he’ll cover for me. 

Would you please write back to me? There is so much I want to say and talk about and it just sucks so much that I can’t. I don’t care about the family feud, you can keep that going with them if you want to, I just really, really want to spend some time with my older brother. Like friends. 

Write back, please. 

Love, 

Just George. 

Percy wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but by the time he finished reading the letter, he was sobbing to himself. 

Raising the twins had never been anything that anyone had asked of him, but Percy had done it nonetheless to the best of his ability. He understood at a young age that something had been wrong with the manner in which his mum appeared to almost fear them. As he grew older, Percy realised that Molly had been traumatised by their birth, but that was too complex for a child like Percy to fully understand back then. 

Thus, he had done his best and came to take over from Molly more and more as time passed, and the infants no longer needed her. He woke the twins up, washed them, dressed them, sometimes even fed them if their mum was too busy in the kitchen, house or garden. Percy would read them bedtime stories, and he would sometimes even sleep with them when they were anxious or scared of imagined frights in the dark. 

It had been a very surprising, and slightly frightening turn of events to realise that their mum couldn’t tell Fred apart from George, even though they were evidently different. Percy had been too young to understand why it had frightened him, but he knew why by now. 

Naturally, when the twins grew older, they began to reject their perceived parental figure, and stopped listening to Percy. Not being a parent, or equipped to learn how to become a parent through positive examples, Percy had become a bad older brother who yelled a lot and was never heard. Quite the collection of jokes and cruel tricks were played upon him as the twins grew older and learned that they wanted to do such things. 

Yet the twins would sometimes be scared of the dark again, and they would ask him to sleep in their room. Percy never quite felt as trusted as when the two small boys curled up against him on both sides, and held onto him as they fell asleep. Fred and George meant the world to Percy, but he knew the little sociopaths would laugh at him should he even attempt to express it to them. 

But here was George, humble, sappy… missing him. It didn't even occur to the older brother that it might be an elaborate prank.

Percy felt as if all he had ever wanted was within his reach after having previously been impossible to achieve. One of his beloved little brothers was reaching out to him despite the feud, and asking to see him once again. 

Before Percy could consider what to write back, he was already looking for a pen and parchment, and soon enough he was writing a letter in his kitchen, scribbling down his emotions without caring about not appearing cool or even collected. 

The secretary of the Ministry of Magic was forgotten, the family feud between Percy and his dad was abandoned for the moment as Percy Weasley wrote to his little brother. He had never written something quite so intensely as he wrote the response to George. 

Chapter Text

Pat jogged along the path which trailed around the school grounds, following and passing through some of the forest without going too deep into it and risking anything. Her feet had slipped a few times, but overall, the least pleasant thing about the workout was that the cold air pushed its way into her lungs in painful manners, making it slightly hard to breathe. It became easier the warmer she got, but it was never quite pleasant. Yet Pat hadn’t gotten her body to this point by being scared of running, or hesitant to make her muscles burn and her lungs throb. Pat liked to think that jogging was like running from one’s problems, only it was productive at the end of the day since it benefitted her muscles and ability to play Quidditch better. 

Pat felt stressed.

Despite the fact that jogging usually made her feel less troubled by her problems, this time it wasn’t helping much.

Vince was going back home over the Holiday break, likely to spend time with the real Death Eaters who he belonged with. However, Pat couldn’t quite leave, as Professor Slughorn was organising a rather grand party over the break. He had already spoken about the people he was inviting from outside of school, and it was an impressive bunch. Famous authors, researchers and even Quidditch players were invited. Pat might have wanted to go home and sleep in her own bed, far away from the world of magic, but she couldn’t pass up on the opportunity of meeting real life Quidditch players. 

Pat would have wanted to bring Vince, as she was expected to bring a partner, and without him, she felt rather lonely. Then again, she had felt lonely for a long time, and even when she was together with Vince, that loneliness never quite went away. He was becoming more and more distant, and when they were together alone, they never talked. Vince didn’t need her to talk, he needed her to be there for him in a physical manner. 

Pat was beginning to have doubts about their love, as well as how much she meant to him. She was beginning to feel like she was no longer part of a relationship, but a tool for his needs while her own were not recognised or even valid. 

It was not a comfortable feeling. 

Vince had done so much for her, she felt horribly ungrateful.

Pat carelessly attempted to jog down a small hill, but ended up sliding on it. She did not so much fall as she skidded down the entire hill, somehow remaining standing at the bottom of it with her arms outstretched and her heart beating from fear rather than her own enforced running. 

That was it, she needed a break from running. 

Pat stepped off the path and rested her weight against her knees, allowing herself to breathe for a few moments. Her breathing slowly returned to a more manageable state as she allowed herself to rest. However, the rest also gave her muscles the opportunity to file a polite yet stern complaint to her brain. She was probably not in good shape to run another lap as she had planned. Maybe it would have to be enough for today. 

There came a loud noise from the forest ahead of her, as something broke through the bushes, panting heavily. Pat hid behind a tree but she didn’t need to bother, as the beast proved to be a wrinkly old dog and a Slytherin student whom she knew well. 

Pat stepped out from behind the tree. “Hi, Goyle,” she greeted him through slightly panted words, rather than normally spoken ones. 

Goyle jumped. “H-hi! Oh, Pat, I didn’t see you there!” Over his shoulder, he was carrying the game from the Gamekeeper’s traps. Hagrid would definitely eat well tonight, as the catch was rather impressive. Goyle adjusted them out of sight behind his large body as he noticed that she was looking at them. 

The old hunting dog who was more wrinkles than animal, Pat concluded, wagged his way to her, pushing his melting face towards her in a greeting. Pat made a face at the thought of touching the drooling thing, but she surrendered and petted him as far away from the drooling mouth as she could. If she had touched him with her bare hands, she could have found that the dog’s fur was perfectly soft despite his age. It was a sign that he was well taken care of, but Pat didn’t know that about dogs. 

“Are you out running?” Goyle continued the conversation, questioning the obvious. 

“Yeh,” Pat coughed and tried again. “Yeah.” Much better, less incoherent. “Checking the traps?” She asked in return, also stating the obvious. 

“Oh yes,” Goyle agreed with a few eager nods. “I’ll help Hagrid with a few other things too today, I probably won’t be back until really late. Very busy day, you know…” 

Pat recognised the look of a person who wanted to flee from something that they found uncomfortable. Goyle’s gaze was fleeting, and he was most definitely not as busy as he attempted to make it seem. It appeared to Pat that he stayed with Hagrid because he didn’t want to return to the Slytherin common room and his dormitory. It appeared to her that he wanted to avoid them. Wanted to avoid the Dark Lord’s followers. 

When Pat really thought about it, she realised that Goyle was in a rather peculiar situation. He was not as stuck, or as controlled as Draco Malfoy, whose loyalty was achieved through the means of extortion and threats of physical and magical violence. 

Pat didn’t like the way that Vince treated Draco. It had been different when she was younger, and he had kept Draco in check by means of punishing him with silence for the things which he had most definitely done. Yet it was very different to see her boyfriend, who was almost twice as big as Draco in both directions, use the physical advantages he had to keep the almost blood traitor in check. 

Pat didn’t like the way Vince grabbed Draco, even at the best of days. Yet she felt almost frightened when he would allow his skin to touch Draco’s. Such as brushing his finger against his neck, or sliding his fingertips under his sleeves, touching Draco’s wrists or even forearm without consent. It was so horrifyingly manipulative in such a harmless manner that it terrified Pat how such an inherently gentle gesture could cause so much distress in Draco’s eyes. 

Yet even more terrifying was the fact that the people around them claimed Vince and Draco to evidently be dating. It was as if they chose not to see that Draco was uncomfortable with Vince, or as if they couldn’t see it in favor of romanticising the touches. Pat wasn’t even jealous of Draco for the attention he was given by Vince, she was just suffering in silence, too scared to ask her boyfriend to stop harassing their fellow Slytherin student. Draco might have been a traitor for a while, but he was loyal now. He shouldn’t need to be tormented like that, simply because he was tricked by Harry Potter to stray from the path of his blood. 

Goyle’s situation was nothing like Draco’s. Nobody was touching him without his permission, or keeping him in a group where he wasn’t welcome. Nobody called him a traitor, and Vince was not keeping even one side eye on him.

Goyle was supposed to just be like them, and know that it was the right thing to follow the Dark Lord because people who knew better than him said that he should. If there was one thing to know about Goyle was that there were always people who knew better than he. Or so Pat had always believed. 

All Goyle’s friends were on the Dark Lord’s side. His mothers as well. It was obvious where he was supposed to be, but everyone also automatically assumed that he would already be loyal based on the fact that he was expected to. 

Nobody, not Vince, not his mothers, not Draco and not Pat thought that Goyle would ever want any other path. It had never hit them that he could even want that. 

Yet Pat realised with a startle that Goyle was running away from them and hiding out with Hagrid. He was denying his blood in favor of playing around with a dog in the forest, checking traps as if he was still living in the 17th century. 

She felt angry at first, a wave of annoyance washed over her. Goyle wasn’t clever, Goyle wasn’t supposed to be able to make choices or think for himself. He was Vince’s loyal shadow, one who should follow even at the smallest command. Out of all the things which Vince had taught her was that there were people who knew their place so well that they would never stray, and Goyle was one of those rare, good, obedient people. Vince was always right, which meant that Goyle was wrong for not being what Vince said he was. It was his fault for not being what he should be. 

Only… Lately, Vince had decided what she should be like too. She didn’t very much like what his commands and expectations were making her, so why would Goyle like them? Simply because he was stupid and didn’t know better? Then again, he clearly knew better, and was staying away from them. From Vince.

“You know that Hagrid’s blood isn’t pure enough, right?” Pat heard her voice, unaware that she had even thought of speaking up. “If you spend time together with him, someone’s going to want to hurt you. He’s not as good as you are.” 

Goyle studied her face for a heartbeat, then turned away from her. “I don’t see what’s so fun in wanting to hurt anyone. I don’t want anyone to be hurt.” Without waiting for an answer, he walked away, prompting the dog to loyally follow him. 

Pat was left standing on the icy path by the small hill, blinking after him. Like so many other people, her complex, confused emotions formed into anger. Without thinking, she hurried after Goyle, preparing the argument in her head. “Hey! It’s not about wanting to hurt people. It’s about making sure that the wrong people don’t hurt us.” She tried to convince him using community as a reason. “Like Scrimgeour is doing out there, right now, hurting us.” 

Goyle didn’t even turn to look at her. “That sounds an awful lot like the reasoning of violent Muggles, and don’t we abhor them ruling since they resort to violence against one another too easily?” 

Pat felt her cheeks heat with anger and embarrassment, because he was not wrong. “We’re different from them. Besides, how can you claim to not be violent when you are literally carrying corpses over your shoulder?” 

The other Slytherin student glanced at her over his shoulder. “These are animals, not people. They are no different from the chicken or the steak you have during meals. Besides, these were not killed because I disagree with their ideology, but because Hagrid needs to eat.” 

“Hagrid could just have the same meat as everyone else in Hogwarts!” Pat objected, although somewhat weaker than before. 

“Oh, so that meat hasn’t been killed? It just died on its own for your convenience?” Goyle scoffed. 

Pat became very silent as she trailed after Goyle, staring into the forest with an annoyed, yet not angry look on her face which was still the same expression which she had employed as a twelve year old child when she knew that she was out-argued and didn’t like it. However, she had to surrender, because she couldn’t argue. If one couldn’t argue, then one had lost, or so Vince had taught her. 

After a few minutes of simply walking, Pat spoke up again in a very quiet voice. “Say, Goyle… Do you think that Vince has changed?” 

Goyle was silent in return as he thought about her inquiry. “I don’t know, but… I don’t really like the way he has been acting recently.” With simply the two of them, the dog, and the forest, Goyle opted to be truthful. “I don’t like what he is doing to Draco. There have been times when Draco hasn’t come back to the dormitory all night, simply stays out and then comes back around class, seemingly without eating breakfast. Vince says it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem fine to me.”  

Pat bit her lower lip, “that doesn’t sound fine, no.” She was silent for a few seconds, then asked something which she hadn’t planned on asking in the least. “Is Vince unfaithful to me with Draco?” 

Goyle turned towards her with a surprised look on his face, “what? No! Blaise and Teddy would never let him do that in our dorm. They are keeping Draco safe the best they can.” He had answered the question with the knowledge that one simply couldn’t say no to Vince, and therefore disclosed what they both knew Pat to really be asking about. 

“That’s a relief,” she mumbled in response. It wasn't that much of a relief given the fact that Goyle hadn't ensured her that Vince wouldn't, but rather that he would be stopped.

Goyle continued to look at her with a complex expression which was too intelligent for such a round, harmless face. She turned her gaze away. 

“Pat… Are you happy with Vince?” Goyle might as well have hit her like a Muggle for how much the question hurt her to her very core. 

Pat stopped and knelt down on the path, holding her stomach as she felt like throwing up from the aftereffect of the question. In her head, she felt like she was overreacting, but her body was having a reaction which she couldn’t stop. One which made her unable to walk at that moment. 

The stupid mutt turned right around and came back to her, coming to stand panting by her side while trying to press the melted snout onto her face. Pat mostly ignored him as she focused on her own body. 

There was a scuffle in front of her, and Goyle knelt down on the path as well. He reached out and carefully, gently, patted her back to show her that she wasn’t alone. He also kept the dog out of her face so that she could breathe a little easier. 

“I don’t know…” Pat whispered into her knees. “I don’t know. He has done so much for me, and we’ve been dating for years by now. I think I love him still, but whenever we are together, I don’t feel like he is seeing me. I just feel like some doll for him to squeeze and it’s never about me, or even us, just him. I know that he is doing something impossibly dangerous, and the least I should do is support him. He’s even denying other people a relationship with him for my sake, but I’m still not satisfied with just being physical. He used to do so much for my mind, and now I feel like just a body for him.” 

Pat didn’t trust Goyle on an emotional basis, but she desperately needed to speak to someone. She couldn’t speak to her boyfriend, and most definitely not the teachers without risking his safety. She didn’t have any friends, not since her best friend and childhood friend abandoned her for not being in the same House as her, thus rendering Pat evil. Pat had been incredibly, irreversibly lonely without her, and Vince had been her saviour. Without him, she had nothing and she was terrified of criticising him out of fear that he would leave her like everyone else had. 

Goyle patted her back again, “I don’t think you sound happy… Do you want to talk about it? I don’t know if I can help but… I can listen?” He ended somewhat lamely. 

Pat sniffed as she attempted to pull herself together. She hesitated and then took a few deep breaths before standing up. She did indeed need to talk, and if Goyle was offering, then she was going to use it to her advantage. This wasn’t about confiding in someone like Goyle, this was about abusing his offer for her own gain. In Pat’s rather toxic mind, the latter was easier to accept than the former. She should have been better, but she was too scared to be better. If she was, then what would Vince say? Would he approve of her independence, or scold her for thinking on her own? 

Thus, as she and Goyle walked the dog together, she confessed everything.

She hadn’t planned to, but once the words started, she couldn’t stop talking, and she became more and more honest the more she revealed. Goyle learned about her worries and reasons for being a Dark Lord follower, her fear of Lord Voldemort's immortality and the fact that he was inescapable, he learned about her relationship to Vince and how she was terrified of saying no or even speaking to other people who were not Vince. Pat confessed to all her friends being his, and that she didn’t even dare speak to her Quidditch team mates out of fear that everything she did, said or expressed would be relayed back to Vince. Pat also told Goyle that she didn’t even like the skull and snake earrings, but wore them either way because Vince told her to. 

She almost confessed to feeling bad for Hermione Granger, but managed to keep that secret to herself. 

Although Pat made no secret of the fact that she was worried about Draco, as well as his physical safety around her boyfriend. To fear for a traitor’s well being by the hands of the person she was supposed to love unconditionally made Pat feel ever so terrified of being overheard. 

By the time she was finished listing all of her worries and regrets, Goyle had been listening patiently throughout it all, only nodding or making expressions at the appropriate places. He had evidently made listening into an art. 

Then, when Pat had nothing left to say, Goyle finally spoke up. “Did he ever tell you about his mum?” 

Pat felt slightly insulted that he had changed the topic from her problems to Vince’s past, but she pushed it back and replied in the negative by shaking her head. 

Goyle shifted the game to his other shoulder, looking straight ahead. “He probably doesn’t want me to tell you, but Vince’s mum left when he was rather young. She could not support the ideals of that household, and she didn’t want to spend her life with a man she was afraid of, mum’s words, not mine. She stayed with my mums for a while, and then left the country altogether. We don’t even get postcards from her anymore since she is afraid of Mr. Crabbe coming to look for her. I think it was a rather prominent Pureblood scandal at the time, but I never quite understood social politics. It was all a little too complex for me at the time, but Vince has always pretended that he never had a mum for as long as I’ve known him.”

Pat simply nodded. While the information felt important, she didn’t understand how it related to her predicament. 

Goyle took a deep breath, “I don’t think that Vince will be calm if you break up with him, but I also think that maybe you should. If he doesn’t make you happy, then there should be no reason to stay. Everything else is just excuses, even if you are scared.” 

Pat had a vision of a witch being so scared of the man she married that she had to flee the country. To her great displeasure, it was all too easy to imagine the woman’s face to look somewhat like hers. Pat forced the thought out of her head and quickly shook it to show the thought that it wasn’t welcome within her mind again. 

“I can’t break up with him! That… That wouldn’t… I mean, I…” She stumbled through her words before she stopped. Maybe she really was making excuses. Maybe it actually was as naturally simple as Goyle said, but she was the one making it far more complex with her insecurities and doubts. “I couldn’t do that,” Pat whispered. “I’d be all alone.”

Goyle shrugged as uncertainty crept up upon his face. “I wouldn’t know what you should do, I can only comment on what I think would be the best choice for you. That doesn’t mean it is universally right or anything. However, if you break up with him, make sure that you do it in a somewhat public manner where you can be safe around more people. He… I don’t want to say this, but I’m worried that he might be very upset due to the trauma of what happened with his mum.” 

“I really don’t think that he would hurt me,” Pat lied with a weak laugh. “That appears excessive, even if his mother left him as a child.” 

Goyle nodded from side to side, “you could be right. Just please be careful.” 

The fact that her boyfriend’s oldest friend was worrying about her safety was not in the least comfortable to Pat. She bit her lower lip and stubbornly pushed back the fear that Vince would want to bring her harm simply because she wanted to be separated from him. 

“I will,” she concluded out loud. 

The two of them reached Hagrid’s Hut, and Pat excused herself with a small nod towards Goyle. She could see the hill up towards the castle in front of her and felt the need to run up it. It might be a slightly self abusive tendency, but a person’s body simply couldn’t be in top shape without a little abuse on the muscles. Not to mention that if her mind was focused on her body, then she likely wouldn’t be able to think as much. Thus, Pat began to run. 

She reached the summit of the hill, sweating, panting and most definitely not thinking about anything but the burning feeling in her thighs. Pat stopped and leaned over, allowing herself to breathe for a few moments before she began making her way around the school and towards the Quidditch facilities. She liked those showers better than the ones in her dormitory, not to mention that she would likely be alone there. 

It appeared that the Gryffindor Quidditch team had decided to practice that day. They had seemingly just finished as they were making their way back to the castle. Pat suppressed the impulse to hide from them, and instead strode inside the building with her head held high, trying not to pant loudly around them. 

Someone called out to her. The call was one of those which made it hard to tell if she had been called ‘Pansy’ or ‘Pantsy.’ Pat turned towards the voice and felt her heart sink so deep into her chest that she felt like throwing up once more. 

Lavender was coming towards her. Lavender Brown. Pat’s former best friend who had suddenly become a stranger when Pat was sorted into the evil House of the snake. They had promised themselves that they would be best friends forever, even if they were sorted into different Houses, but Lavender had retracted that promise so quickly that Pat had understood that it had meant nothing to her former friend, while it had meant far more to Pat. 

Pat had concluded that she had liked Lavender once upon a time, but as time passed, she had utterly forgotten what about her it was that she had even remotely liked. Lavender was unpleasant, vain, and always comparing everything. Even as a child, she had talked bad about others behind their back, especially when she realised that she was a natural born witch. Both she and Pat had been minorities in their class as well as neighborhoods, due to their heritage not being traditionally British. They had found one another through outsidership, the girl with skin too dark to be ‘British’ and the girl with eyes too thin and slanted to be ‘British,’ according to those around them who would freeze them out.

Lavender had realised that she was indeed very special, and she had turned it upon all around her, but only when they couldn’t hear it. She even mocked Pat for not being magical, but as Pat proved to be a witch as well, that made them even better friends than before. Two magical, powerful witches in the world of Muggles, clinging to their right of being better than everyone else… rather like blood supremacists, now that Pat thought about it. Not to mention that Pat had not been any better as a child, and only become better because somebody had helped her feel better about herself and taught her differently. Wait no... she was still doing it given the Pureblood mentality. Ugh.

Pat had known that Lavender was angry with her for having a boyfriend while she didn’t. She had made a point for many years to look past Pat, or huff loudly in her direction whenever Pat simply held her boyfriend’s hand. It was definitely jealousy, and in the beginning, Pat had felt pleased to have what her old friend did not. However, that pride had long since been exchanged with tiredness. She didn’t have a boyfriend simply to make other young women jealous. She most definitely hadn’t fallen in love with Vince to make Lavender envious. Yet Pat knew that if she hadn't been shown a different path, she would definitely have acted just the same if Lavender had gotten a boyfriend first.

Pat turned towards the other woman, who came towards her with her boy-toy Ron Weasley on her arm, her Prefect badge shining upon her chest, just as it did his. Pat suddenly missed her Slug Club badge. Even if she hated slugs on principle of yuck, she would have liked to not be outshined by Lavender. Part of why Pat had joined the Disciplinary Committee last year was to have a badge as well, and not allow Lavender to turn the world against her as a Prefect. Lavender had done worse things, abusing her position of power against a lone Pat was definitely something which her old friend would do. After all, Pat saw her do it many times, which was one of the reasons that she had been so lonely before Vince saved her. It might be a little faulty to still consider Lavender the same as she behaved at the age of twelve, but Pat hadn't wanted to take any risks. 

Pat hadn't actually seen Lavender as a Prefect very much, and thus didn't know that she considered the position very important to her and tended to act very professional about her Prefect work. All reference Pat had to go on were the unpleasant sides she herself knew about. She also had the war between the Diciplinary Committee and the Prefects to go on, but that war was two-sided and wouldn't exactly show what Lavender was like normally in her role as Prefect.

“Yes?” Pat responded to the grinning face of Lavender, attempting to not be aware of the fact that she was a sweaty, stinky mess and Lavender’s hair and clothes were perfect as always. The cold couldn’t get to her skin and make it red in the same way that it got to Pat and Weasley’s cheeks, both of which were colored as a testament to their workout. 

“Oh, I just wanted you to meet my boyfriend, Won-won.” She giggled as if she had made a mistake, “Oopsie. I mean Ron. Ron Weasley. Prefect and future Quidditch Captain, current Keeper of Gryffindor.”

“I really don’t think that I would ever become Quidditch Capt-” Won-won objected meekly but Lavender shut him down. 

“Oh don’t you worry, my little Keeper, you will definitely make it. You’re so good.” She giggled and patted his arm. 

Won-won didn’t appear very interested in becoming the Quidditch Captain in the least. Pat knew that his younger sister was the current Captain of the team, and he appeared to have no desire in taking that responsibility from her. Yet he closed his mouth and didn’t object, he simply smiled weakly at the toothed grin which was Lavender’s face. 

“Hello, Won-won. Looking forward to the game against Gryffindor in March,” Pat stared him dead in the eyes as she greeted him with a disinterested voice. “I’m sweating, are we done here?” 

“You can’t call him that!” Lavender appeared ready to hex Pat for her insolence. “It is a very private nickname which the likes of blood crazed fanatics like you aren’t ever allowed to use!” 

“Watch out for that blood, it appears to be getting to your head, not mine.” Pat crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at her old friend.

Won-won had to physically stop Lavender from pulling out her wand. “We’re Prefects,” he reminded her. “You can’t simply attack someone for being rude to you. After all, you were rude first.” 

Lavender’s eyes widened. “It’s not my fault that Pantsy has decided to become a Dark Lord supporter! I’m just telling the truth, why are you so mean to me? Do you like her now? Not only Granger?” 

“I don’t… I mean, I do like Hermione, but just as a friend. Lav, we’ve talked about this…” Won-won tried to gently calm her down as his girlfriend became stressed and slightly louder. 

“Maybe you’re lying to me about liking her!” Lavender objected, loudly. 

Pat recognised that she was no longer a focus, and thus she simply sneaked into the facility and made a straight line for the dressing rooms. Lavender wasn’t allowed to follow her there, which meant that she would at the very least be safe from her petty jealousy there. 

“Oh! You startled me!” 

A voice met Pat as she more or less slammed the door shut behind her, forgetting the possibility that another person might be in there still. Pat raised her head and spotted the Ravenclaw Seeker standing in the middle of the room with a towel wrapped around her, her hair and body dripping wet. She had evidently gotten stronger, her muscles appearing more defined compared to the last time Pat had simply glanced at her after showering. 

“Hello, Captain,” Cho Chang was not in the least bothered by her predicament of being half dressed. Instead, she simply walked to her locker after greeting Pat properly. 

When Pat didn’t answer, and remained by the door, pressing her herself against it as if she could keep Lavender from following her with her body, Chang turned back to her. 

“Is something wrong?” Chang asked, leaning her head to the side as she studied Pat. Her expression shifted into a more determined one as she straightened up. “I’m a Prefect, if somebody has been treating you unjustly, I will talk to them. There are a lot of baseless accusations being aimed at Slytherin students these days, and I don’t like that much.”  

“No,” Pat answered a little too quickly to be convincing. She parted from the door and walked to her locker, but she realised too late that she was shaking and had to make an emergency stop upon a bench. 

Chang saw her haunted glance towards the door. “Give me a second,” she told Pat as she began to change clothes. Soon enough, the fully dressed young woman was seated next to Pat, but at a respectable distance. “Would you talk to me?” 

“I’ve done nothing but talk all day…” Pat groaned and hid her face in her hands, shaking her head. She hated that she was trembling for far more reasons than simply working out too hard. Most of it was emotional. “I’m tired. I’ll just shower and take a nap. That should do it.” 

“I’m not making you talk if you don’t want to,” Chang assured her. “I know how badly that can turn out. I forced a person to speak before he was ready last year, and he ended up sick for a week from exhaustion. I was very embarrassed about my actions back then, and I have sworn to not make the same mistake again.” As she spoke, she came to touch her left wrist. 

Pat glanced down at it and found a tattoo of an eagle there. It was a simple black tattoo of the shadow of the wingspan of an eagle. Pat assumed it to be an eagle since she didn’t know a lot about birds, but assumed it to not be a sparrow, swallow or other cute, harmless little tweeter of an avian. 

Chang noticed her gaze, “it’s not real.” She sighed and pulled the sleeve back to show the false tattoo better. “You can’t get one until you’re eighteen, not even with your parents' permission. I commissioned it from a student, and I’m keeping it fresh with magic. It reminds me of Cedric, my boyfriend, who I lost to the Dark Lord two years ago. We weren’t dating for very long, really, but he meant the world to me. I might not want this tattoo forever, but for the moment, it brings me peace and motivation in his stead.” She balled her fist, clenching it tightly as she looked forward. 

Pat flinched slightly as she realised that the young woman next to her hand murder in her eyes. There would be no mercy if she had the chance to get even close to the Dark Lord who murdered her beloved.

She must hate Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s followers immensely. Enough to want all of them to die to fulfill her desire for vengeance.

Pat wasn’t prepared for her own reaction, but she began to cry. It was sudden, almost violent as her body rocked forward and a loud wail left her lips as the tears streamed down her sweaty, red cheeks. Chang's emotions terrified her more than anything which she had been prepared for. Pat did not so much cry as she had a breakdown, a highly unflattering, loud and painful breakdown. 

When she fully came to, she was sitting on the floor, being held by Chang’s strong arms against the woman's chest. Somehow, she had come to hug the Ravenclaw student around the waist, sobbing what felt like liters of water upon her clothing. Chang had scratches over her arms which Pat had accidentally left there as she flailed through her panic attack, yet she was slowly beginning to calm down into simply crying. 

“There,” Chang gently petted her head. The statement was followed by something spoken in what was probably Chinese. 

Annoyance gave Pat the courage to speak up through her sobs. “I don’t understand Chinese. I’m not Chinese…” she sniffed. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Chang laughed softly and petted her once more. “It was simply a slip of the tongue. I know you aren’t Chinese. Are you feeling better?” 

“Better… No, but at least I feel less…” Pat groaned as she slowly sat back and noticed the scratches on the other student’s bare arms. They had not been there before. “O-oh… I… I’m so sorry! Damn, are you alright?” She looked up at the Prefect with eyes filled with worry and regret. Pat almost felt like crying once more. 

“It was a complete accident. I am totally fine.” Chang let her go and smiled at her. “You said some things about your boyfriend, as well as something about a plant?”

“Lavender?” Pat guessed. 

“That’s the one,” Chang agreed. 

“It wasn’t important,” she waved her hand to try and get the other to drop the subject. 

Chang did, yet her focus changed to another topic which Pat also didn’t quite want to discuss. “About your boyfriend…”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“You begged me not to tell him, and then you begged him not to hurt you, I don’t think that is something that should be ignored.” Chang didn’t listen to her objection, her voice was steady and secure, speaking truths which it was certain of. “You’re afraid of him.”

“I’m not! He wouldn’t!” Pat objected in return. She felt like raising her hands over her ears, covering them from the other woman’s words. As if that could make the world more attuned to Pat’s liking. She didn’t, because she was not a child, but she recognised that she wanted to. 

“You don’t owe him anything,” Chang continued to speak calmly. “If you don’t want to be together anymore, you shouldn’t. You’re in a school, you will be helped and protected, should you need to. I’m not saying you need to be protected, but you sounded like it when you were panicking.” 

Pat bit her lower lip and shook her head, stubbornly glaring to the side. “You all make it sound so easy…” she heard her own voice whimper. 

“It’s not easy, but without removing yourself from the situation, you can’t heal.” Chang argued in a soft voice which did not so much sound argumentative as it sounded wise. “You were panicking, you felt like you were being attacked, and you were terrified. It doesn’t matter what reasons you have, but those aren’t things you should simply force yourself to deal with because you are scared of your partner. Especially because you are scared of your partner.” 

Pat sniffed, “what blood status do you have?” It felt like something tangible to focus on. 

Chang studied her before she smirked, leaning her head to the side, “hundred percent witch.” 

The two of them stared at one another for what felt like a long time to Pat, before they both began to giggle and chuckle respectively. It was as if someone commanded them to, as they both began laughing without really telegraphing that they were about to. 

It felt relieving to laugh, Pat felt like she really needed it. 

When she stopped laughing, Pat already felt a little better. “Are you staying over the Holidays?” 

Chang shrugged, “I thought so. Don’t see what reason I would have to go home when there is a lot more training equipment to use here.” She gestured around the room, but she meant the whole facility. 

“Professor Slughorn is hosting a party over the holidays,” Pat blurted out before her mind had the chance to catch her run-away tongue. “Would you like to be my partner? I’m supposed to have a partner.” She regretted the question as soon as it had been shaped. Pat had to physically stop herself from covering her face as it began to turn red. 

Chang blinked at her before she slowly began to smile, “that sounds very nice. I’d like to come.” 

Pat felt little explosions of joy and happiness burst within her chest, as a smile formed upon her lips. She quickly looked away from Chang as her face became red once more. She heard someone giggle, and realised with a startle that it was herself. 

Chang scooted a little closer upon the floor, placing herself close enough to Pat that she could feel her scent. It was fresh and pleasant, like citrus and cucumber. A little basic, but generally healthy. Pat attempted not to drink greedily from her scent by breathing it all in. 

The other woman was close to her face, smiling a little teasingly, “so what do I call you, Captain?” The last word was not so much spoken as purred. 

It caused quite the stir in Pat’s body, one she was somewhat familiar with, but not entirely accustomed to. 

Yet before Pat could decide on a choice, the door opened on the other end of the room, prompting Chang to pull back so as to preserve Pat’s dignity. Pat herself turned away from it to hide her less than appealing face, which was haunted by far too many emotions for the moment. 

“Oh.” Harry Potter stopped in the door, he was holding a textile bag over his shoulder while he was dressed for the cold weather outside. He had evidently come to shower as his hair appeared dirty and the bag was likely filled with toiletry. He appeared surprised to see somebody there at this hour. 

Pat absentmindedly wondered just how late it actually was.

Potter corrected the bag somewhat before he smiled a pleasant, well worked out and highly political smile. “I’m most sorry to bother you, I will simply use the shower and then be on my way?” 

“It’s all yours, Lupin,” Chang smiled at him, showing towards the empty showers. “Me and the captain will be on our way soon.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Chang. And it’s Potter, not Lupin. Thank you.” Potter continued to smile, rejecting years of hard work to relieve himself of the name which he had so despised in the past. He moved towards the showers and disappeared. 

Potter did not hear it, but Pat heard Chang mutter “yeah, sure” under her breath. Pat wasn’t quite certain what that was supposed to refer to. 

“You might wanna jump into the water as well,” Chang turned towards Pat and helped her up to her feet. “You look like you could use a good soak.”

Pat realised just how much she did indeed want to shower. She longed to feel clean. She nodded at the suggestion. “We have practice on Tuesday next week, if you’d like to train, you can join us.” Pat added in a somewhat weak tone of voice. 

“I will,” Chang grinned at her, happily giving Pat’s hands a squeeze. “I’ll see you there, Captain.” 

Pat really, really liked it when Chang called her Captain. She smiled at the ground and then let go of the other’s hands. They separated from one another, with Chang leaving and Pat picking the shower booth as far away from Harry Potter’s as possible. Neither of them acknowledged the other as they showered, as their own thoughts were taking up far too much of their minds. 

For the moment, Pat didn’t regret asking Chang with her to the Slughorn Yule party. For the moment, she was honestly excited about the prospect of going with someone who appeared capable of being a genuine friend. She rather needed one of those. 

Chapter Text

“Harry! You have to invite Luna to the Slug Yule Party!” Ginny exclaimed as she leaned far too close over Harry where he sat upon the sofa in the Room of Requirement. 

She was staring at him with such intensity that even the cuddle happy Harry had to draw back slightly, rendering him half on top of Colin. Not that Colin minded much. The opposite, really. 

“Slug-bug has decided that you can only invite one person! I can’t go without both my girlfriends, that’s just not alright! Could you do me the huge favor of inviting her so that she doesn’t have to feel left out?” Ginny continued to ramble, almost toppling over as she tried to follow Harry’s escape attempt. She was only keeping herself up by her own arms, no longer touching the ground. It was impressive, and slightly frightening. 

“There is no need for name calling,” Harry gently scolded her. “And I’m already bringing Colin, so I can’t help you, I’m afraid.” 

Colin grinned at his fellow Gryffindor as he put an arm around Harry, resting his head on top of Harry’s carefully constructed hairdo. “Yep, this one is taken,” he agreed, evidently more than happy to have been asked on what was essentially a date. 

Ginny pretend-glared at Colin. “Traitor,” she whispered. 

“Lucky,” corrected Colin as he hugged Harry from behind. 

Harry smiled, leaning into the physical comfort. He was excited that Colin had said yes when he asked, and even more excited to know that he hadn’t overstepped any boundaries in his inquiry. They had both been a little uncertain if the request had been to accompany Harry as a friend, or if it was something more. At the moment of asking, it had felt like a friend thing, but the closer they got to the Yule party, the more Harry felt excited about Colin being his date, more than simply his company. 

He did feel somewhat guilty about going with someone who wasn’t Draco, but Harry also understood such reasonings to be unhealthy. He was allowed to like Colin. He was allowed to have fun with Colin. Draco wasn’t there, but Colin was. Colin couldn’t be Draco, and if Harry could simply let go of the desire for him to be, then he could probably be happy with the Gryffindor student as his boyfriend. All Harry really needed to do was to stop comparing them, as that wasn’t fair towards anyone, including himself. 

Thus, Harry was bringing Colin as his date, and he was happy to. 

“I don’t have a partner for the moment,” Neville spoke up from behind Ginny. For once, he was spending time with them as the Herbology Club had managed to complete their duties in time for the winter holiday break. “I’d be happy to invite Luna so that she can be with you and your girlfriend.” 

“Neville, my hero!” Ginny spun around and was suddenly clinging to Neville at the other end of the room, grinning wildly. “You’re my new best honorary friend!” she cheered. 

Neville laughed in return and patted her head. “I’m glad to help.” 

Ginny jumped off him and stretched her arms over her head, smiling still. She had the grace and strength of a wild feline, one who could just as easily snuggle another cat in an adorable manner, while also crush a tree between her paws, should she really try. 

“Hermione, are you bringing someone? I can ask my brother for you if you want, I am pretty sure that Lavie-lovie is going home over the break.” Ginny turned towards the Dark Witch by her desk. 

The witch in question became so embarrassed that she almost knocked her bottles over. “I…! I wouldn’t want to bother!” she squeaked. “Lavender is very easily upset, if I ask Ron to the Yule party and she gets to know that she will most definitely make trouble for Ron. I really shouldn’t ask him.” 

“Oh, that girl isn’t going to stay long if she won’t let Ron have friends,” Ginny snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “That is just plain unhealthy.” 

“It sure is…” Teddy muttered from his desk as he bent over his work. He might be the person affected the most by Ron’s absence, seeing as he evidently missed his best friend enough to go back to Blaise, whom he really didn’t have much in common with. 

“It’s fine…!” Hermione hurried to speak up once more before she turned towards Harry. “I finished the antidote for your snake bite.” She held up a small, sealed vial which had been carefully labelled ‘Harry’s snake antidote.’ 

“Oh thank you,” Harry stood up with a helpful push from Colin. He crossed the room to take the vial from her. “Did you already enforce it with magic?” 

Hermione nodded, “you can drop it from the top of the stairs, and it wouldn’t break.” 

Harry smiled at her as he put the vial into his clothing, where it shared a pocket with his wand. “Thank you so much. I’ll carry it with me always.” 

“I’ll make some more in case you forget it somewhere,” she chuckled softly. 

Harry lightly pushed her head with his hand, smiling down at her. “Meanie.” 

“I’m just being realistic,” she giggled. “People do forget.” 

“Fine, fine, you’re right. Thank you so much.” Harry surrendered to her realistic plan. 

“You’re welcome,” Hermione smiled once more before she returned to her desk and Harry returned to Colin upon the sofa. 

“Mind that step,” Harry instructed Colin as he guided him by his hand over yet another threshhold. They were almost there, just a straight corridor from here on. 

“Whi- ah, found it,” the blindfolded Colin almost stumbled but managed to remain upright with the help of Harry holding his hand. 

Had the school not been mostly empty of people, who had returned home for the winter break, Harry would have forced Colin to wear the invisibility cloak with him, but as it was, the blindfold was enough. Besides, while three children at the age of twelve sort of fit under it, as they all grew, it was starting to become harder to use the cloak for more than one person. It was not that Harry didn’t trust Colin enough to show him the actual way to his room, but he had instructions to not reveal the location to anyone unnecessarily. Thus, he had requested Colin to wear his scarf-constructed emergency blindfold. Colin had been fine with it, and had spent the last ten minutes adamantly trying to not trip over every rise and fall in the floor, or at least so it almost appeared as he was greatly unsteady without his eyesight. 

It was a relief to them both for Harry to be able to remove the blindfold, and for Colin to see Harry’s little room. 

“I can hardly remember what it’s like to have my own room,” Colin grinned as he looked around. “I thought this would be a lot worse. I get that it’s lonely, but at least it’s not horrible. Hey, is that the Sorting Hat? Hi, buddy!” Colin walked over to it and patted it on the top, as if it was a dog. 

“It is,” Harry smiled at his date as he hung up the scarf by the door with the rest of the outdoor clothes. 

“May I sit on the bed?” 

“Be my guest,” Harry agreed. 

“I’m so nervous!” Colin exclaimed as he took a seat. “It’s so great that you’re helping me with clothes, I don’t want to embarrass myself by not looking good next to you.” 

Harry opened the closet and began looking through his assortment of clothes which could fit the smaller and slightly taller Colin, and which would also suit his complexion. “You are likely worrying a little too much,” Harry assured him. “Are there any colors you’d like me to avoid?” 

“Pink,” Colin spoke quickly. “Pink makes me look like a cute lil baby,” he quickly shook his head with disgust. “Oh, and no skirts or dresses! They look great on you, but I wouldn’t be comfortable with them. I’m too damaged by Muggle norms.” 

Harry began placing his gathered clothes upon the bed next to Colin, who gingerly picked through them to feel the material. “Trousers it is.” 

“When I’m more of a mage and less of a Muggle, I might wear one, but as of now, that makes me feel a lot better. Oh, this is the softest thing! I like this shirt, can I try it on?” Colin pulled a light blue, somewhat gold patterned dress shirt from the pile. It was one of the few clothing pieces which Harry possessed that didn’t quite have puffy sleeves. 

“You may try anything on,” Harry laughed. “It’s for you after all.” 

“Neat,” Colin grinned as he stood and began to unbutton his own shirt. 

Harry promptly turned away so as to not spy on the half naked body behind him. The thought of Colin undressing was rather exciting, and Harry scolded himself for thinking about such things when he was supposed to help his date, not stare at him. 

“These buttons are squares,” Colin commented. “Fancy.” 

“I inherited all of these from the Blacks, they didn’t do clothing half heartedly,” he laughed as he picked through his surprisingly lacking trousers drawer. He had to have something beige, it couldn’t all be dark colors. 

“I think it’s a little short in the sleeves, do you think anyone would notice?” Colin turned towards Harry, who turned towards him in return. 

Harry chuckled softly, “oh Colin, you messed up the buttons.” 

“I did not!” Colin objected as he looked down. His shoulders fell. “Oh I did too…” he admitted with a grumpy mutter.  

Harry stepped over to him with a smile on his lips. Without looking at Colin’s face, he gently began to open the buttons, attempting rather firmly to not look at Colin’s pale, slightly freckled skin which was hidden beyond a thin piece of fabric. The thought made Harry’s heart beat faster, and he hoped that Colin couldn’t somehow smell on him that he was excited and nervous so close to him. 

“Harry?” Colin’s voice was hardly more than a breath, a trembled whisper. 

Harry looked up and the two of them met each other’s gaze, with Harry’s hands resting on Colin’s chest. Colin’s hand found Harry’s, and he leaned in slightly. The seconds stretched between them as Harry’s mind appeared to become blank. Then Colin thought better of what he had begun doing, and pulled back with a weak clearing of the throat. 

“Nevermind. Thanks for the help, the shirt feels great against my skin.” Colin concluded with a smile, his cheeks slightly red from emotions. 

Harry took a step back, smiling as well. He felt as if his skin was burning where Colin had touched him, hot, raw and able to be shaped by the implementation of emotions. “You’re welcome. I can’t find any pale trousers, but if we combine a black pair with a dark vest, you will still look put together. Some gold accessories will make it all come together. I’ll wear some gold too and we’ll look like we match.” Harry turned towards the closet once more. 

“Black and gold sounds classy,” Colin agreed. “Are you wearing your hair out? I like it when you wear it freely.” He added in a polite, yet slightly longing tone of voice. 

Harry smiled over his shoulder, “I’m wearing it put up. I need Slughorn to think I look professional, you know.” He shrugged with a sigh, longing for the times when he could choose how he wanted to appear based on his own comfort, rather than someone else’s expectations. 

“Oh…” Colin made a valiant attempt to not sound disappointed. He looked around in the room. “Are you planning on wearing this golden wreath hair thing on your desk?” He pointed to a decorated but thin wreath hair ornament which Harry had indeed selected for the day in honour. 

“Yep,” Harry nodded. “I have a brooch with golden leaves that I figured we should put in your west pocket. Try those trousers, they should be long enough on you.” 

Colin accepted them and turned away, causing Harry to do the same. “Are you wearing something with skirts or are we both going as trouser people today?” 

Harry laughed, “trouser people we shall indeed be.” 

“Alright,” Colin hummed. “Oh, these fit great. I won’t be needing that belt to keep these guys up. Better not get too greedy with all that cake, in fact.” 

“Better not in the first place,” Harry sighed, “Slughorn tends to put alcohol in things which shouldn’t have it.” 

Colin made a face in response, “thanks for the warning. Should I step outside when you change?” 

“Just turning around is fine,” Harry promised his date as his heart raced away within his chest. He hoped that he looked calmer than he felt. 

Colin turned around, and with Harry being almost obsessively aware that Colin could turn back any second, he began to change. 

Before Harry and Colin left the room, Harry stopped and left the golden snake ring upon his drawer. He hadn’t generally really taken it off since Draco had given it to him, but as he was going on a date with somebody else, Harry found it tasteless to wear the ring which reminded him of his previous partner. Thus, as he grabbed Colin’s arm and led him out of his room, the ring remained upon the desk, and Harry’s finger was bare for the first time in a year. 

Harry and Colin arrived at the Slughorn Yule Party a few minutes after its opening, but the grand room, which was usually a classroom, had been filled with people. Slughorn had obtained enchanted instruments which played in a corner on their own, while a large table filled with food and drinks stood opposite of the entrance door. On the walls hung banners and crests, celebrating diversity but also people who owed something to Slughorn himself. Harry noticed a lot of faces which he didn’t recognise, adult faces. He felt as if he was no longer at Hogwarts, but at one of those Pureblood occasions which Sirius had hated so much. Although, he doubted that all these adults were Purebloods.

Harry spotted Ginny’s red hair in the crowd, where she was accompanied by both her girlfriends, one on each arm. Somewhere to the left stood Neville, deeply engrossed in a conversation with an older witch whose hat was decorated with real plants which bloomed and retracted themselves as she spoke. Harry looked around for Hermione, but he couldn’t see her. Thus, in turn, he looked around for Slughorn as Colin carefully guided them between unfamiliar and slightly frightening adults. To his surprise, Harry spotted Cho Chang amidst the crowd, as she stood talking to Pansy Parkinson. Chang’s arms were bare, making no secret of how hard she trained. As she stood next to the more than strong Parkinsson, the two appeared like Amazons amongst a crowd of physically weak mortals. Although they were both a little too short to be fully Amazonian. 

“Where am I going?” Colin whispered to Harry as he moved them in the vague direction of Ginny, who was dancing with her partners. 

“I’m expecting someone will stop us soon…” Harry whispered back. He kept his head up and a smile upon his lips, acting as elegant as he could while he clung to Colin’s arm for mental and physical comfort. 

“Harry! My boy, here, here!” As if by order, Slughorn’s voice called to them. 

The two began to steer their steps towards the Potions Master as he stood next to two men who could not have appeared more different. One of the men was pale, his hair gathered into a high knot by the back of his head and with a beard which covered most of his face, including a delightfully pointed mustache. He was dressed primarily in black and red, as if he desired to wear shadows and blood upon his body. 

The other man was cleanly shaved, and his skin was as dark as the other was pale. He was dressed in beautiful, expensive but altogether shapeless robes of clothing, complete with a matching hat. His neck was long and covered in heavy, intricately decorated necklaces which stacked to make his neck even longer than it might have appeared naturally. His hands and his wrists were equally covered with gold, and his eyes had a golden sheen to them. His hair was braided into something distinctly traditional, at least somewhere. Harry got the strong impression that the man was Persian, which was in fact correct, only he was not just any man. 

“Harry, allow me to introduce a very good friend of mine. Eldred Worple, this is one of your fans, I believe, none other than Harry Potter.” Slughorn happily introduced them to one another, smiling as if he was making Harry’s dream come true. 

Which he was in fact doing.

Harry could barely hold back his excitement as he turned his attention towards Eldred Worple, who extended a hand towards him. “I’ve read your book, Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires, it is one of my favorite non-fiction books. It has taught me so many real things about vampires, compared to that drabble that Gilderoy Lockhart tried to sell as vampiric.” 

“Nothing brings me more joy!” Worple laughed as he shook Harry’s hand, his cheeks heating slightly with delight even though his layers of white powdered makeup. “Are you interested in vampires, son?” 

“Very much, sir,” Harry nodded, momentarily forgetting Colin. “I’m interested in the real lives and traditions of people with the condition, compared to romanticised fairy tales, or worse, ghost stories.” 

“I do say, those stories are the sort of thinking which makes the vampires reluctant to interact with us mages. Everything has to be classified into ‘Dark’ and the equivalent of light without being mentioned as ‘Light.’ That horrid Dark Lord messed up the vocabulary of generations, I tell you. These days, anything which can be labelled, or has been labelled as ‘Dark’ becomes a synonym of ‘evil.’” 

“As true as it is spoken, sir,” Harry agreed with eager nods. “Far too many intelligent, supposed creatures are overlooked as individuals in favor of the label of good or Dark.” 

“Harry’s father is a werewolf, you see, Eldred,” Slughorn realised that his place in the conversation was quickly disappearing in favor of the two people speaking to one another. Thus, he rather tried to shove his way back inside by disclosing something which Harry would much rather have told the author himself, on his own terms. “Then again, I’m sure you could tell.” Slughorn’s attention fell on the Persian man who was not a regular man, smiling awkwardly. 

He nodded in response and turned towards Harry, “he does indeed smell like a werewolf.” 

As Harry and Colin looked towards him, the vampire smiled, revealing his pale, pearl white fangs. Colin gripped Harry’s arm a little tighter. 

He was not the only one unsettled by the display of fangs. Slughorn coughed and then excused himself, leaving the group of mages and a vampire to their own terms. 

Worple turned towards the vampire with a tired look on his face, shaking his head in disapproval as the vampire chuckled into his hand. “You always put on such a show, I say.” Worple objected meekly. 

“It is what they want, hamsaram, how can I not give them what they ask of me?” The vampire continued to chuckle. 

Worple smiled apologetically towards Harry, “he cannot smell the werewolf on you. That is not an ability that he has.” 

“Yet I would be able to taste the condition upon your father’s blood,” the vampire extended his hand, causing the jewelry to play a weak melody of wealth. “My name is Sarmad, I am an ancient vampire from the long since past Persian Empire, if I should use modern words to describe it.”

Harry felt his head spin with excitement as he accepted the cold hand of the vampire, shaking it eagerly. “I loved your chapter, sir! It was beyond thrilling to learn of the vampires in the sunnier countries and how you maneuver the life of a vampire in the desert. The historical recollection was beyond thrilling to read. I wish your section had been longer.” 

“You flatter me,” Sarmad smiled at Harry, making no effort to hide his fangs. “Had you been older, I would have eagerly accepted your blood as a donor of mine.” 

Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment while his heart jumped slightly with excitement at the prospect of being selected by a vampire as a worthy blood donor. It wasn’t so much something which Harry had realised that he wanted to be as much as he realised that he didn’t mind being if the need would arise. 

Sarmad appeared pleased with Harry’s reaction, “but you have not introduced your company, what might be his name?” 

Harry more or less managed to remove his attention from the enchanting golden eyes and blink at Colin, who suddenly appeared a lot less beautiful compared to the vampire. Harry recognised that he must be falling for the magical charm which a vampire always produced, no matter if they wanted to or not. It was one of many reasons why people tended to fear vampires, as they could not resist their natural yet highly magical charm. When Harry looked again after shaking his head, Colin had returned to being appealing once more. 

“They are boys, hamsaram,” Worple reminded the vampire sternly. “I cannot condone that you gather people to your harem from the students at Hogwarts.” 

“I said that he was too young,” Sarmad responded in an innocent manner. “If we would want such a thing, then he would have to return to me when older.” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter,” the author returned his attention to Harry. “As I wrote in my book, vampires are impossibly charming before you learn to differentiate your own feelings from their inherent magical charm. Try to shake it off. That’s a good lad, do introduce us to your companion.” 

Harry took a few deep breaths before he attempted to speak once more. He recovered surprisingly easily and returned his focus upon the vampire and the author, no longer feeling the allure of the vampire’s person. In hindsight, it was a rather odd thing to simply be able to do without training, but Harry managed nonetheless. It most certainly impressed both the man and the vampire before them, even if none of them voiced their thoughts. 

“This is my friend, Colin Creevy, a photographer.” Harry showed towards Colin. 

“Hello,” Colin answered meekly, attempting to not look at the vampire after he realised the effect which he had on Harry. “So… vampire sure do drink blood, huh?” 

The vampire, the author and his date looked at him, causing Colin to rapidly turn red. “I’m Muggle-born…” Colin objected, “I was beginning to think that we had simply made most of these things up. It’s… I can’t quite believe that vampires are real…” He turned his face away from them, although his hand remained in Harry’s, holding on to it tightly. 

“I shall send you a copy of my book, free of charge, should you wish to learn more about them,” Worple offered in a gentle voice. “I am Muggle-born as well, and once I learned that vampires were indeed real, I wanted to know all about them to the point where it became my biggest academic fascination.” 

“I’m more than simply academically fascinating to him,” Sarmad whispered to the two students with a knowing smirk. 

“I have a question in regards to blood, if I may?” Harry recalled something he had always wanted to ask a vampire if he met one. A question which had not been answered within Blood Brothers. 

“Naturally,” Worple nodded enthusiastically. 

“For me, hamsaram,” the vampire corrected his most definite partner. 

Worple stumbled through a response which ended with him meekly apologising as the vampire petted his shoulder. 

“I was wondering, sir, is there a difference between mage blood and Muggle blood? You have already disclosed that there is a difference between supposedly healthy blood, and the blood of a person infected with a blood condition, but can you tell apart other types of blood?” Harry carefully managed his way through the sentence. 

“There is quite the difference, actually,” the vampire responded with a nod. 

Harry felt his heart sink in his chest as worry gripped him. He had hoped that the other would have claimed that they were just the same, rather than perpetuate that there was a difference. 

However, the vampire wasn’t done speaking yet. “Humans have called us many things over the ages, and they have theorised about what we are and how we work. Undead, Dark, cursed, you know the words.” He waved them away as he spoke, prompting his jewellery to play its melody as he moved. “The basis is that we need blood to function, but magical blood makes us function better and for longer, while non-magical blood does the job, but never quite as efficiently. We are naturally made to be due to magic, and if we do not replenish magic through magical blood, one day we will not be able to move our bodies any longer.”

“Oh, so it’s the difference between drinking water and soda?” Colin spoke up with excitement as he had understood something. “Soda can technically help you function, and even give you energy, but at the end of the day, your body still needs water. Pure water without additions, or it will be unable to take care of itself.” 

Sarmad turned his glittering gaze towards Colin, smiling broadly. “Excellent deduction. It is like that. Thus, it also means that an older mage like hamsaram here would give me far more magic than you would. He is older, his magic has long since travelled in his blood, aging it like wine, while yours is still but grape juice.” As he spoke, he reached out and stroked his partner’s head, smiling at him as if he was beyond doubt delicious. 

“It has not been three months yet, hamsaram,” the mage corrected his partner. “You can’t have more for another month.” 

“Three months…?” Colin gaped. He had likely been encouraged to speak by the vampire’s earlier approval. “I thought… uh, pardon, but I thought that you had to drink far more often than every third month.” 

Worple smiled at Colin without objection or annoyance, he was simply patient. “He needs blood far more often than that, but I cannot give him more than about half a liter every third month without becoming ill. Even then it should be less than that. It is one of many reasons as to why a vampire needs a healthy and high number of willing blood donors. A singular person isn’t enough for a vampire, unless they want to kill the donor in question.” 

“Which is also a reason as to why we don’t believe in the Pureblood supremacy of that so-called Dark Lord of yours,” Sarmad rather changed topics, but not entirely. “We may be proclaimed Dark creatures, but we need mage blood to survive. If they had their ways, then it would only be supposedly pure blood left, and the one thing those prissy mages refuse to part with is their oh so precious blood.” He finished with a huff. 

“So vampires do need plenty of donors, preferably only mages, or at least a majority of mages acting as donors.” Harry summarised, hoping that his commentary was helping Colin, who appeared a little confused. 

Sarmad nodded approvingly as he corrected a necklace in a somewhat absentminded gesture. “We stand nothing to gain from the mages fighting a war. It is already complicated enough to find good, healthy donors without potential donors attempting to kill one another in a fight over blood. Nobody becomes willing to part from their blood in such an extreme situation. We’re not Goblins, the last thing we want is for another war, and if it happens, we would not support the Dark Lord winning.” 

“Yet at this point, the Ministry of Magic has begun turning a negative eye upon you as well,” Worple sighed, spinning some hair between his fingers. 

“The Ministry is not good to us, but at the very least, it has given us rights. Werewolves in particular do not have that luxury, which is primarily why they are gathering towards a madman who’d fight the world for a small piece of Britain.” Sarmad spoke honestly and directly, looking right at his partner. 

Worple smiled back at him, “you’re right. You’re always right.” 

Sarmad’s expression softened as he reached out and lovingly stroked his partner’s arm. “There is still a place for you among us,” he promised his hamsaram. 

Colin looked between the two of them, blood donor and vampire. He appeared to want to ask why anyone would want to be a vampire, but he managed to keep the thoughts quiet within his head. 

However, Sarmad had noticed his doubtful look, and thus he turned towards the Muggle-born with a smile which hid nothing. “You underestimate the world so very greatly, my young friend. Take it from a very old man, there are always things left to experience, new wonders to see, and new people to meet. There is new art to interact with if you only know where to look, and should you crave familiarity, animals are much the same. This world is endless, exploring it at our own pace is not so bad a gift. Well then, hamsaram, let us get something for you to eat. I do so enjoy it when you enjoy yourself.” He offered the human an arm, one which Worple accepted happily. 

“I'll talk to you later,” Worple bid them farewell. “You will most definitely be given a copy of my book soon, young Mr. Creevy.” Thus, the two partners left together, continuing a private but not secret conversation between themselves. 

Colin turned towards Harry with a confused smile. “I get a free book?” He concluded. 

Harry laughed and grabbed his arm a little tighter. “Indeed! Would you like to dance?” 

“If I do!” Colin’s face lit up as he happily led Harry towards the dance floor. 

Overall, Colin had a very great time at the Slug Club Yule party. 

A few more people wanted to speak to Harry Potter, and while Colin didn’t find the conversations very engaging, he was happy that Harry wanted him there. It appeared to Colin that his presence by his friend’s side was enough to make Harry feel less lonely and pressured. By the end of the evening, Colin’s head was spinning slightly from all the names he had heard, and some of the food which had probably not been entirely alcohol free, adding to the slight dizziness which overcame him as the evening drew to a close. 

Harry noticed that Colin was beginning to become tired, and he eagerly but politely excused them by wishing Slughorn good night. Harry led Colin down the empty paths of Hogwarts, bringing his date with him to the courtyard so that he could breathe a few deep breaths of cold winter air. It did a lot to help Colin’s mind clear, and caused his dizziness to ease. 

“That does feel better,” Colin admitted as he turned back towards his friend. Harry was absolutely stunning in the faint moonlight, which reflected off his glasses and the golden decorations within his hair. Colin frowned slightly. No matter how beautiful Harry was, and how much he made Colin’s heart race, he didn’t quite appear himself. “Would you mind…?” Colin raised his hand towards Harry’s hair. 

The son of a werewolf blinked at Colin with his emerald eyes, both of them filling with the light from the stars above, or at least so Colin imagined in his slightly affected by alcohol state. He assumed that the other would pull away, but Harry surprised him by remaining still, allowing for Colin to touch him. With careful tugs, Colin removed all of the hair ornaments from his friend’s hair, and then let it out by removing the final hair clasp. Harry’s black hair fell around him, releasing curls, waves and curious twists, allowing the night to fall around his face, framing his black lashes and dark features. 

Now he truly looked like himself. 

Colin smiled, satisfied with his work. “You’re beautiful,” he allowed the truth to leave his lips as he gently brushed some of the messy hair to the side. 

“Colin…” Harry’s mentioning of his name was but a small whisper. 

The other appeared to be looking around for something, but when Harry couldn’t find it, he simply stepped forward, causing Colin to lean slightly against the stone fence behind him. To his surprise, Harry took another step forward, following him before he simply pushed himself into Colin’s arms, hiding against his chest. His hands were resting on both sides of Colin’s chest, allowing the other to likely feel his heartbeat as it raced. Colin slowly wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, causing the other to gasp softly as he was hugged. Colin took it as confirmation that he was allowed to hug the other closer, and so he did. 

He heard Harry’s small, shaking breath, forming a sound which sounded much like an ‘o.’

Colin leaned in closer, breathing in the other’s scent. Harry leaned his head to the side, allowing Colin to push his nose against his neck. As his nose filled with Harry’s scent, all manners of raw, beautiful, expressive yet diffuse images filled his head, causing his body to heat up with alarming rate as he held back the desire to nibble at the skin which was presented to him. 

Harry’s breath hitched as he experimentally pushed his lips against his neck, asking for permission. Harry gave it by leaning his head further to the side, turning his face and his closed eyes away from Colin. After a slow, steady breath, Colin let himself kiss Harry’s neck, feeling how the other body appeared to melt into it as a little whimper left Harry’s lips. He trailed kisses up the neck until he found himself facing Harry. 

Harry’s green eyes blinked open, and Colin noticed the surprise and subsequent disappointment in those orbs when Harry recognised who was kissing him. The heat in Colin’s stomach died, and his desire to kiss Harry melted into a longing ache at the back of his mind. 

This wasn’t his to have. Harry wasn’t even thinking of him. 

Yet before Colin could tell Harry that it was alright, and that he didn’t have to be with someone before he had completely gotten over Draco Malfoy, Harry leaned forward and forced together their lips into a desperate kiss. Colin couldn’t resist returning it. For a few long seconds, the two of them kissed in the moonlight, their lips and hands exploring the other as their breaths and weak noises filled the dark December night with unwelcome heat. 

Harry broke the kiss to draw a breath, then moved in once more, still with closed eyes. 

This time, Colin stopped him by placing his hand upon Harry’s lips, halting him where he was. Harry’s expression switched from confused before it transitioned into annoyance, then became guilty and regretful before stopping at uncertainty, all in a short amount of time. 

Harry opened his mouth but then shut it again. When he did manage to speak, all that left him was a weak “I’m sorry.” 

Colin smiled and shook his head, pulling his fingers back from Harry’s lips. He knew since he had first seen Harry and Draco Malfoy together that the two of them had a bond which couldn’t be so easily replicated with another person. He knew that Harry really did like him, but that he also couldn’t forget Draco. Colin further knew that he would always come up short when compared to Draco, and that was not because he wasn’t good enough, but because nobody could replace someone who meant as much as Draco did to Harry. If Draco and Harry hadn't been pulled apart like this, things might have been different, but as it was, Harry was not in a state where another partner would quite work out, evidently.

“It’s not about me, I just can’t let you hurt yourself like this,” Colin leaned back against the stone fence, smiling softly at the person he was crushing on. “I told Hermione to not hurt herself by trying to replace the person she has feelings for with another. I can’t let you make that mistake simply because it would be in my actual interest to date you.” 

Colin took a deep breath, steadying himself to do what was right, but what took quite the abundance of energy to say. “I love you, Harry, but I love myself more. I can’t accept being the replacement of someone I’m not. I can tell that you have feelings for me too, but I don’t want to be compared to Draco when he's not here and available for you. Out of concern for your dignity, as well as my own…” The next words were the hardest ones which he had ever had to say, especially when everything told him that he wanted the opposite. “I can’t accept this. I loved the kiss, you’re great at kissing, but I can’t do this to you. If you do get over Draco, I’d love to date you but… not like this.” 

Harry’s eyes had been filling with tears as he spoke, but it wasn’t until Colin finished speaking that he really began crying. “I’m sorry…” He whimpered again. “I really thought that… I was… I do like you but I c-can’t… I can’t…” 

Colin knew that he had done the right thing. He held his arms out and allowed his friend to hug him, to cling to him as Harry cried against his chest. That was likely not a chance which would come again, and Colin had most definitely blown it. Oh well, it was worth more to him to keep Harry safe than to allow him to hurt himself until he realised that his real feelings were for Draco. 

“It’s alright,” Colin stroked over Harry’s head, allowing himself the pleasure of breathing in his scent for a little longer as the older teenager clung to him. “It’s still too early for you. You can’t push these things. You will get over him with time, if that is what you really want. Maybe you will find your way back to each other instead, either or.” 

“You’re so good, Colin…” Harry sobbed against his chest. “You don’t… I don’t deserve you as a friend.” 

“Ah, shucks,” Colin laughed as he leaned in and kissed Harry on the top of his head in a familiar gesture rather than a lover-like one. “There are many types of love. I might need a little time to recover, but I’ll still be your friend when this has calmed down.” He squeezed Harry closer to himself. 

“I love you too,” Harry managed to speak once more. “I want to love you more, I just… I just can’t stop thinking about him…” His crying increased in volume as he continued to feel. 

“You can’t force love, dummy,” Colin sighed as he looked up at the moon above them. It appeared to mock him, telling him that he should have simply gone with it and gotten what he wanted. 

Whatever. It was fine. 

He couldn’t do that to Harry. He’d be no better than his stupid dad who wanted his kids without loving either them or caring about the woman he had them with. 

“Thank you… You’re such a great friend, Colin…” Harry’s body trembled with his sobs. 

“Let’s get you back to your room?” Colin carefully stood up, bringing Harry with him as he did. He held the other’s hand, smiling gently at him as Harry avoided looking at him out of shame and guilt. 

“Please,” Harry nodded before he sniffed once more. “Thank you.” 

Thus it came to be that Colin accidentally learned where Harry was staying, but he promised to not reveal the location. Before he left, Colin placed Harry’s hair items upon the desk and noticed a golden snake ring which rested upon it. He recognised it for what it was and handed it to Harry, who began to cry harder as he accepted it into his hands and pressed it to his chest. 

Colin almost considered staying the night to keep his upset friend company, but thought better of it since he knew that he would soon have his own emotions to deal with whenever Harry didn’t require his immediate attention. They both said goodnight and then Colin left the room, carrying his own clothes in a bundle under his arm. He would give Harry’s clothes back tomorrow. 

Nice guys finish last, a voice in the back of Colin’s head whispered as the memory of the warmth of Harry’s lips faded upon his own.

Better that than finishing with someone who doesn’t actually want it, Colin shut the voice down mercilessly with pride and determination.

Better that than abusing someone I love for my own gain. 

Chapter Text

“I feel like such an absolute idiot!” Harry finished his summary by hiding his face in his hands. 

Harry was seated in the Headmaster's office, telling Al all about the miserable but traitorously pleasant kiss which he had pushed onto Colin the previous night, out of pity for himself and desire to overcome his longing for a person who was no longer with him. 

Harry would have far preferred to have gone to Severus so that he didn’t have to summarise everything which had gone wrong yesterday out loud, but as the man had left Hogwarts for some to Harry unknown reason connected to his work for either the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters, that wasn’t an option. The other two options were both Gryffindors, which made it a little hard to speak to either Hermione or Neville right at the moment. Likewise, he couldn’t quite trust Ron or Teddy to be able to listen to his story in favor of their own problems, and so, Al had become the only available option for the moment. 

“Colin has been nothing but nice to me, and even when I commit such a huge mistake, he still treats me with far more dignity and respect that I deserve,” Harry continued to ramble into his hands. “I should like him. I really should, and I do but I just… Is something wrong with me to not be able to see anything but Draco? Am I doing something wrong?” He almost pleaded with the old wizard to help him make sense of his mind. 

Al, not being particularly fluent in these matters overall, carefully shook his head. The two of them were using the Headmaster’s desk as their breakfast table, seated on opposite sides for convenience. Harry hadn’t touched his food, but Al had finished most of his. 

After making certain that there was no food in his beard, Al spoke up. “There is nothing wrong with you, Harry. If you are too in love with someone else to maintain closeness without it hurting you, you cannot exactly help it. Mr. Creevy was very noble to understand that you don’t bear any guilt in making a mistake which affected him too.” 

Despite the kind words, they sounded slightly rehearsed. Harry recalled what Al had said about not being very good with emotions, and he felt somewhat bad for asking the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to listen to his love problems. Then again, Harry had technically been listening to Al’s old love troubles, so maybe it evened out somewhat. 

“I think I would feel less like I had betrayed him if he had at the very least been upset with me…” Harry confessed. “He was so very kind, it makes me feel all the worse for… well, everything.” 

“Do not allow your confused emotions to blame him for being reasonable,” Al softly scolded him. “Mr. Creevy did what most people wouldn’t have the bravery to even think of doing. You should not blame him for that.” 

Harry took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He then nodded, agreeing with the other man. “I know… but do you really think that he can forgive me?” 

“I think that he already has, but you might need some time apart from one another to heal. In the meantime, you should eat. If you don’t eat properly, it will be far easier to end up blaming yourself even more, and remain miserable.” Al made a gesture, magically pushing Harry’s plate closer to him, accompanied by the cup of hot cocoa. 

Harry slowly surrendered to the scent of chocolate and picked the cup up. The drink tasted just as good as when Remus made it. The familiar taste which he connected to home made Harry’s chest ache with longing for his dad. He felt as if he could only tell his dad everything, then his life wouldn’t feel so utterly miserable.

This year was the first in his life during which Harry wasn’t spending the winter holiday together with his dad. It was not so much that he felt the need to celebrate anything with the man, but Harry greatly missed his company, his advice, as well as his cooking. He felt more alone than ever at Hogwarts, especially after Colin rejected him, leaving Harry all the more alone than before. 

Remus was busy. He had duties to attend to, work which had to be accomplished for the Order of the Phoenix. Things which were more important than Harry, no matter how much the two of them wanted to believe that nothing was more important to them than their family bonds. Harry had thought that he wouldn’t feel lonely as his dad worked to save and assist those who could be saved and assisted, but he had been wrong. He missed Remus greatly, and he felt so guilty about it that he couldn’t confess it to anyone. 

“There’s a good lad,” Al attempted to cheer Harry on to drink some more. 

Harry swallowed down his regrets and his longing and drank, allowing himself to miss home but not to allow it to take over him completely. “Would you tell me something, Al? Anything. I don’t want to think.” Harry mumbled into the cup, rather than to the other mage. “Please just speak to me…” he added weakly. 

Al looked around in his office before his gaze settled on his phoenix, who had recently finished eating his own breakfast and was currently studying Harry’s bacon. “Would you like to know about Fawkes?” 

Harry nodded. He wasn’t immediately interested, but he wanted something to occupy his mind which wasn’t Colin. 

“As with most good things in my life, he used to belong to El. By somewhat of a sheer coincidence, the Phoenix couple at Durmstrang Institute managed to produce a fertile batch of eggs, something which does not happen often, as Phoenix children struggle to be born for the first time, although they never struggle with the same thing after. It has been theorised that it is the lack of ashes in an egg by which they form themselves, but I am becoming far too technical. It was an honour awarded to only the most trusted students to care for a phoenix each, as they are more solitary than they are family bound.”

“So El became a phoenix caretaker?” Harry concluded as he picked at his bacon while drinking his cocoa. The two were not a very flawless combination. 

“Indeed, he was chosen for the task. When he moved to Hogwarts, Fawkes came with him.” Al looked towards the bird, smiling at the memories which were likely returning to him. “Fawkes has been with us for a very long time. I began to care for him as El left for America, and he also saw Tom grow up. Whenever I was distracted with work or other engagements, Tom would care for him. I would like to think that Fawkes could recognise him, but I also think that too many deaths and rebirths have passed for this old bird to recall.” 

Harry studied the bird, watching him with a small frown as he attempted to imagine that the avian was older than him, and would likely outlive both himself and Al. It was hard to imagine with a creature, while it was far easier with a building or a statue. 

He turned his attention back to the old wizard before him. “Is it… possible to see those last memories today?” Harry asked carefully and without expectation. “I don’t mean to say that I want it over with or anything like that, but I would truly welcome the distraction of being within a different person’s head. If it is not too much to ask?” 

Al hesitated, his gaze wandering from Harry to the Pensieve as his hand closed around his beloved necklace. The gaze then shifted to an object hidden upon the desk by a collection of parchment. Harry slowly leaned forward, peering under the parchments to try and make out what was hidden from him. Al reacted to the attempt and thus, he moved his hand, using magic to free the object from the documents. Below them was an old, dogeared book which had likely been reread a collected number of times. 

Harry recognised it without trouble. The book had been far too important to Al for him not to feel as if it was dearly beloved to him as well. Gently, Harry ran his fingers over the cover of the book, tracing the old letters as a small smile formed upon his lips. 

“The Count of Monte Cristo,” Harry spoke the title out loud. “You kept it all these years?” 

“And I reread it more often than I should,” Al smiled weakly. “Some parts truly do drag when you have read it as many times as I, and I still continuously come back to it. I suppose I am a romantic at heart, even if I personally enjoy other stories more.” 

Harry pulled his hand back, sighing as he attempted to tell himself that the fond emotions he had towards the book were not his own. At least he had read the book and enjoyed it on his own as well, long before all of this.

Al’s brilliantly blue eyes studied Harry with a worried frown. “I fear that you have experienced too much of me, and that you are confused by thoughts and feelings which are not your own. It would not be entirely right for me to put you through even more of that when you are already in an unpleasant state of mind. I worry that my thoughts would be escapism, and I am not certain that I can condone that as of currently.” 

Harry thought the argument over but then realised something which he expressed to Al. “Your thoughts are not so much more real to me than a really well written book. I am affected by them, and I will remember them, but when it all comes down to it, your memories are stories to me. Stories I might have lived, but they aren’t quite real to me. Not the way that they are to you. It's kind of escapism, yes, but people escape into books all the time, and I don't think that's always a bad thing.”

Al’s mouth fell open but he hastily closed it again. Slowly, a smile formed upon his lips, and he appeared far more relaxed and all the more happy compared to the morose expression which had weighed him down just moments before. “I never thought of it like that. You are quite right!” He more or less cheered to himself as he smiled at Harry. “Even if it is my reality, and it does affect you in part, it is no more harmful than an engaging story. That eases my heart immensely, and I would be ready to show you the last memories. It is all prepared, but my mind is slightly less ready.” 

“They are going to be rather heavy, aren’t they?” Harry placed his cup down as he looked up at the other man, feeling encouraged by Al’s happiness. 

Al sighed and shook his head, “more heavy than I have words to describe. These memories are likely to be raw and unexplored, as they hurt too much for me to look at frequently.” 

Harry breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. “I’m quite ready.” 

The revelation was within reach. All his questions in regards to the past would be answered today. He balled his fists and felt the golden snake ring softly dig into the palm of his hand. 

Al hesitated, but then he slowly reached up to take the necklace with his blood from around his neck. He stood up and walked around the table, then gently placed it around Harry’s neck. The, now familiar, weight lowered upon him, feeling as heavy as it was important, but as light as it was freeing. 

Together, the two friends walked to the Pensieve, and Harry looked up at the old wizard’s tired yet gentle face with the brilliantly blue, yet endlessly sad eyes. Harry nodded towards him, then closed his eyes, closed his hand around the bottle so as to not allow it to hit against the stone chalice. He then leaned forward, breathing in Al’s memories for what he assumed to be the last time. 

✴✴✴

El mumbles something in Hungarian as he presses his face against my naked chest, refusing to wake up in favor of hiding against me. His arms are warming my naked body from under the sheets, making me feel a little too warm for comfort. His hair is also tickling my nose in a rather unpleasant manner, but it is fine, because I love him too dearly to care. 

I wake my partner by kissing his cheeks, his forehead, as well as his nose, easing him out of his sleep and back to me. When he finally sits up, I take a moment to admire the man before me, while remembering the boy I met in the library that day years ago. El has grown older alongside me, aging into a man so handsome that I struggle to believe that the ring upon my finger was given to me as he asked me to marry him. 

El, my fiancé, the light of my life and the owner of my heart, yawns loudly, causing some spit to hit my face. 

“Oh thanks a lot!” I object and push him off me with a laughter. 

“I didn’t know that was going to happen!” El objects in English as he attempts to climb back on top of my chest. “Return my cuddles.” 

“I was cuddling you but you remained sleeping,” I tease him as I wrap my arms around him once more, pulling him back onto me. “Are you certain you will remain awake if I cuddle you again?” 

“Being a politician is hard…” El whines as he presses his cold nose against my chest. “Maybe some more sleep wouldn’t be that bad.” 

“You picked this line of work, my love,” I kiss his face and squeeze his lower back, having the pleasant bonus of feeling his naked body sink deeper onto mine. 

“I did,” he agrees as pained whimpers flow from his lips at my touches. “And I’m changing the world. I’m changing it for the greater good.” 

I stop massaging that spot which always hurts, and remove my hands from his back and up to his face, brushing his messy hair away from his dual eyes. My two heavens. “You are,” I softly assure him. “You’re doing good.” 

El sighs and leans into my hands. “The worst matter is that it never feels like quite enough. There are always things left to do. The situation in America is not quite good… I’m worried about the mages who go there, dreaming of a better world. You know I hate the blood based ruling system of Britain, and I want America to be what we all want but… Realistically, I’m worried.” 

I worry too, which is one of the reasons why I choose to escape from the topic. “You told me that we wouldn’t speak of this any more. Especially not in bed.” 

El blinks at me before he nods, “we did decide that. Sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” I let his face go and slowly signal to him that I want to sit up. He rolls off me with a small, disappointed noise. 

“We won’t have so much time to cuddle when you leave for Hogwarts,” El teases me as I begin to pick through the bed for my shirt. “Professor,” he adds with a purr when I fail to answer quickly enough. 

I can feel my face heating as he calls me by the unfamiliar, strange title which is somehow mine. I still struggle to believe it. I was accepted back to Hogwarts as a teacher, as a Professor. I will be teaching Practical Dark Arts, one of my favorite subjects today, but one of my most loathed subjects in school. It is not so much a full time job as it is an additional Transfiguration and Magical History subject which is hosted around the year without a fixed method of teaching. I enjoy the flexibility of the position compared to being a full time Transfiguration Professor, even if that is technically what I am educated for. 

“It’s all because you thought I could do it,” I laugh as I slide out of bed and into my clothes. I know that if I don’t, El will coax me into staying with him in bed all day. “I’m simply following your instructions… I almost feel dishonest.”

“You didn’t become a Professor by following my lead, Al,” my fiancé giggles from the bed as he slowly sits up as well. “Although you are definitely mimicking me when you speak in front of large groups of people.” 

“I do not,” I object meekly. 

He is right, I most definitely do. Whenever I’m scared, or even paralysed, I find it easier to think of what El would do than to figure out how Albus should deal with the problem. 

“So when are you leaving for Hogwarts? Are you coming back over the weekends, at least?” El surrenders to the bed once more and doesn’t get up. He is looking at me from amongst his bundle of blankets. 

“I’m leaving in a week, and I will come back home every Friday and stay for the weekend,” I summarise as I attempt in vain to find my lost sock somewhere in the bedroom. 

“Will you be able to sleep without me?” El hands it to me, as it was evidently lost in the bed, on his side. 

I hit him lightly with said sock, “I will have to do, won’t I? I can’t have you stay over like we were children, now can I?” 

“So dies the great Gellert Grindelwald… murdered in cold blood with a sock,” El pretends to faint upon the bed, although he cannot stop from giggling at his own joke. 

I sigh at him, “alas, Yorik, you still have to go to work.” 

El finally rolls out of bed, laughing to himself as he does. “Fine, fine. Tyrant.” 

I smile and catch him in my embrace. 

This is the El who only I am allowed to see. 

I hold onto the silly, funny and relaxed man that the world is not entitled to. The world sees him as a collected, hard and convicted man. A man who does not laugh or make jokes, but who devotes himself fully to his quest of saving our community and spreading our reach.

The El in my arms is the man who I will marry, and who will greet me at the altar with a cheeky smile and his heavenly eyes sparking with mischief and love. It is an El only I know, and one I would not share with anyone. 

Outside of our lives, he is an icon, and an immovable hero who everyone looks to and admires for his rhetorical speeches and proud logic. In the newspapers, he is known to be impressive in every sense of the word. They have begun to call him the Greatest Wizard of the century, perhaps to ever live, and they think that he will become the next Minister of Magic. 

Somehow, this brilliant icon of our community, who will lead us into a new age of magic, a new age of mages rather than Muggles, the Greatest Wizard of the century, wants to marry me. The ring upon my finger is proof of that impossible desire of his. The ring upon his finger is proof in turn. 

“Al, are you crying?” El pulls back and looks at my face, slightly alarmed in regards to my rather abrupt change of mood. 

I pull myself together through a few deep breaths as I hide against his neck, breathing in his scent. It calms me, as his presence has always calmed me. 

My El. 

My future husband. 

“Nothing… I simply love you too much,” I whisper to him. 

I can tell that El is smiling as he wraps his arms around my neck instead of my waist, hugging me while he pets my head. “I love you too, Al. My heart and my guiding star.” 

I bite his ear in retaliation to the possibility that I could ever lead him anywhere. Logically there's a part of me knowing that El could feel that way about me, but my insecurities make it hard to accept. El laughs, as he knows my feelings about the nickname that he will not stop using for me, no matter how many times I object to it. 

My husband to be laughs again, and this time I laugh with him. 

✴✴✴

El is expecting a fight. 

I can tell from the way he is sitting to the way he nervously clenches his hands and then releases them once more, leaving his knuckles whitened and then reddened. 

He is sitting by the parlour table in our wing, far away from the curious ears of anyone else in the Dumbledore mansion. There is nothing in front of him, no book, no cup of tea, no document and no newspaper. He was waiting for me, waiting so intensely that he didn't realise that the fire in the fireplace has become but embers, making the room uncomfortably dark. 

“Albus…” El stands up and approaches me, reaching for my hands but then thinks better of it before he grabs them. 

I know beyond doubt that something is wrong as he calls me by a name which he hasn’t used for almost ten years. The fear and worry which crowd in my body are almost enough to make me flee the room without hearing a single word he has to say to me. I know I won’t like it. I know that something is wrong. 

“Please listen to me,” El pleads as he recognises my desire to run away. He raises his hands as if he is attempting to pacify a wild beast. 

“What’s wrong?” I do not mean to sound so hostile, but I’m too frightened to be polite, or even decent. 

El stops and he pulls his hands and body away from me. He doesn’t want to touch me. Why doesn’t he want to touch me? I step towards him in return, feeling panic rise in my chest. 

“Everything is wrong,” El states in a firm, highly political voice. “And I need to set it right. I have to go to America, Albus. My ticket is being paid for me, they need me. Badly. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was the right choice.” 

“America?” I echo, I scream at him. My panic continues to rise. “El, you can’t! It’s a madhouse over there, our people aren’t safe…  You wouldn’t be safe!” I don’t mean to scream. I don’t want to scream but my emotions give me no choice. “Please be reasonable… You’d leave me, you’d leave your job and this house. You woul-”

“You can come with me, Al,” El interrupts me with the stern voice of a politician. “You can come with me, and we can change the world side by side. We can do it for the greater good. Together.”

“No…” I plead with him, taking another step forward. “We can’t… There is a war happening in the Muggle world, we cannot simply create another one overseas to add to that unrest. They have guns, El, our magic is nothing compared to their guns and their numbers. We would die!” 

“There are ways to outsmart their senses,” El objects, raising his voice slightly. It is only marginally louder, but I still feel as if the raised voice hits me like a slap to the face. “We have no need to fear their guns, we can control everything about their bodies, should we wish to.” 

“It’s not enough, it’s too dangerous, you can’t go…” I hear myself whimper more than I speak. 

“They are burning our people, Albus!” This time, El screams at me. I see anger and righteous fury burn within his dual eyes, setting both heavens aflame. “They are burning our people and killing our future. They are slaughtering our siblings and our ancestors, and you want me to sit here and be safe in the face of that? It is just like the 17th century, they are still burning us for existing!” 

I shy back from his wrath, the first I have ever truly seen in him. None of his earlier, very few and infrequent outbursts have been this emotional, this real. 

I change strategies, “the Purebloods are just attempting to send you there so that you won’t become the next Minister of Magic. They want you to go, and they want you to never come back and they want you to burn with them. Please, El, you can’t do it… You would be leaving me behind.” 

El shakes his head as he closes the distance between us, finally grabbing my hands and holding them. I feel my tears drop from my cheeks as he finally touches me. 

“Come with me!” El stares into my eyes, fixing me with a gaze too fiery and passionate for me to meet. “You’re my fiancé, we don’t have to be apart. There is a life for us in America. With you by my side, there is nothing I cannot accomplish.” 

I’m too scared of America.

I’m too scared of death, I’m too scared of the Muggles and I am too frightened by the idea of not having a home or a stable income. El is presenting me with a dream. An unrealistic, beautiful and painfully idealistic dream. It isn’t like him to be so reckless. He must truly be desperate to decide upon this choice of action. 

“It won’t be that way… America doesn’t have a gathering of mages. We’d become lambs for the slaughter, deaths in waiting. It’s too impossible… You cannot overthrow Muggles who are already fighting a brutal war for freedom and justice and all those beautiful, ignorant things.” I pull away from El’s grasp, shaking my head as I flee from the reckless ideas which he is attempting to convince me of. 

I am frightened by the El who burns so brightly that he will kill me if I remain close to him. 

Yet the world wouldn't allow this passion of his. Around us, the Muggle world has twisted and changed rapidly in just a few years. What could have been possible when we were still children is becoming a distant dream, as the Muggle population rapidly grows and keeps on inventing new things, leaving us mages further and further behind.

“Please… El… We can never win, all we can do is live within the cracks of the society which they have built,” a final plea. A final attempt to reason with the man I love so dearly. So desperately. 

The fire in El’s eyes does not dimmer. He stares at me, not with anger, disgust or even bitterness. He stares at me with acceptance so firm and so burning that I feel as if my skin hurts. 

“Fine. Then I shall do it alone. When I am done, and when America is safe for us. I will come back for you.” El doesn’t allow me to answer as he simply leaves the room, his fists balled by his sides and his gaze looking beyond me into an idealistic future which can never be. 

I watch him go as I try to breathe and my tears transform into sobs. 

I watch the man who would be my husband leave, and I know that it is the biggest mistake I have ever made or will make in my life. 

El leaves the room, and I simply watch him go. 

✴✴✴

“It appears that they have finally apprehended that criminal in America,” Tom approaches me after my lecture and hands me the newspaper. 

Behind him, the class is leaving, slowly emptying out my classroom and leaving me with only my son and his distant, disapproving stare.

Tom is waiting for me to take The Daily Prophet from him. As we share the same subscription, he always hands it to me when he has finished, or leaves it outside my office for me to collect it. On the days where we see each other, he gives it to me directly, usually without conversation. 

I can feel Tom’s judging stare as I reach for the newspaper. He is evaluating me for some reason I don’t understand, searching for a reaction which I’m rather certain that I don’t want to give to my son. 

I reach for it, but my fingers has not yet touched the paper when I realise who the supposed terrorist is.

Before my eyes, upon the front page, El is being led away in chains as mages and people crowd around him. Some are cheering, some are seemingly trying to reach him. American Aurors are pushing people aside as El walks slowly out of sight, into a dark archway which appears to me like a gaping mouth. The monster of America is swallowing El up, as the headline above spells out his arrest. 

TERRORIST GRINDELWALD ARRESTED FOR MURDER!

Tom is still holding the newspaper out, watching my face with brilliantly green eyes as I struggle to breathe and manage even less to grab onto the object which he is offering me. “I knew it,” Tom whispers to me, his voice reminding me of the hiss of his beloved pet snake Nagini. 

I attempt to answer him, but he gets nothing more coherent than a weak croak. 

As if he wants to physically slap someone with it, Tom raises his hand and the door shuts and locks itself behind the last student, leaving only I and my son in the Transfiguration classroom. 

“What are you keeping from me this time?” Tom demands to know. “I know you have a relationship with that terrorist, don’t you think that you have hid it from me for long enough?” 

I feel as if he is turning my words and my intentions against me as I walk around my desk, sit down and hide my face in my hands, shaking my head slowly. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you but…”

“Oh please, Aberforth has been hinting on you having a relationship with a ‘very bad man,’” he mimics my brother’s voice as he speaks. Tom has placed his hands on his hips now, something he only ever does when he is honestly upset about something. “Don’t I deserve to know anything about you, dad?” 

I flinch slightly as he makes more sense than I want him to. As he demands something so very reasonable from me. “Please… could you give me some water? I will tell you everything, but I need water first.” 

Tom glares at me but his expression softens as he realises that my hands are shaking. He stuffs the newspaper into his bag and walks away from me, returning shortly with a glass. I drink while my hands continue to shake. Tom commands a chair to come over to him and he sits down, crossing both arms and legs as he waits for me to confess my sins to him. 

“Do you have a relationship yet, Tom?” I ask him as I gently place the glass down upon my desk. 

I see his eyes dart to the side. 

“No.” 

I can’t tell if he is lying or not. I can never tell with Tom. 

“But this isn’t about me,” my son insists. “Are you trying to switch focus to-”

“No. No I’m not. I simply wondered if you knew what it is like,” I gently explain to him. 

Tom stares at me blankly, until I realised that my statement was rather stupid to say the least. I see Tom’s lips shift as he glances to the side and then back to me. He is waiting, demanding me to speak to him. That I tell him of El, who should have been my husband. The ring has long since been removed from my hand, hidden away in a place where only I can find it in my parents’ old mansion. I will go back for it one day and I will find it underneath the floorboards where I hid it under our bed. I will go back for it when… When…

“Dad?” 

Tom’s voice returns me to the present, and I focus on the young man before me who grew so quickly. His birthday is in December, I absentmindedly attempt to recall if there is anything which he had asked of me for a present. 

As I realise that my mind is wandering, I capture it and turn it to focus on what my son asks of me, not what he might wish on his birthday, which is still far away. 

I don’t tell Tom everything, as I am not very accomplished in stories which involve me describing what I felt or what happened emotionally, but I attempt to tell him the facts about El. I tell him of my friend and my later lover, I tell him of the politician, and I tell him of the day El left for America, but in very few details. I tell him that El helped me discover that I am not useless at magic, that he showed me a literature genre that I consider my favorite, and that he supported me to become a Professor, as well as guided me towards how to speak rhetorically and with good articulation. I speak of all the bits and pieces of El which formed me, and which made me into the wizard I am today. 

Tom sits silent and listens to me, sometimes nodding, but never interrupting. At the very least my son is an understanding person, even if he has had to put up with a lot with me as his father.

At the end of my retelling, he only has one question for me. 

“Do you still love him?” 

I draw a short, shaking breath but I do not answer. I do not need to, as Tom has already read the answer in my eyes. 

I still love El. 

Even without the ring, I still wear our blood around my neck, carrying the weight of our childishly innocent love while I abandoned our mature and honed love under the floorboards of my childhood home. 

I love El, and I do not think I can ever stop. 

Chapter Text

Everything has brought me here.

Almost a full year of being someone I’m not. 

Of lying, pretending and twisting the truth. 

It has all brought me to the mouth of this cave, which is surrounded by Aurors and hiding El inside of it. 

I can not so much feel myself walking towards the cave as I see the dark, gaping mouth come towards me, as the coldness of the mountain attempts to persuade me from entering within the blackness of the earth. I cannot hear the Aurors around me as I walk, my wand almost forgotten by my side. I hardly need it, if I am disarmed, it will not even lose me seconds in returning to casting magic with my bare hands. 

The mouth of the cave is closer now, and the chatter and nervous noise of the Aurors and the miscellaneous mages and reporters fades as the earth claims me by my own free choice. 

I can’t recall how it has come to this one retreat of a cave in a mountain, but I know that El is not alone. There are at the very least four mages between us, but there might have been none at all, because they could not dream to stop me. As I walk forward, rocks begin to float around me, gathering from cracks in the walls, from the hard and yet sandy ground beneath my feet, and from unseen crevices further away. They gather to me as I call, lighting up my path as I continue to bend magic to my will. The rocks spin behind me, around me, circling and dancing as I become the center of their universe. 

A spell is cast towards me, one I simply sidestep. A rock flies off and I hear it hit the target, who falls to the ground. The mage isn’t dead, but they might as well have been as I don’t care. 

There is a movement to my right. Without looking, I flick my wand and the body hits the floor, stunned. The next one falls just as easily, and does the one following them. They are too powerless to even hit me, as I venture deeper into the cave, tracking the heartbeat of the one I love. 

I find El at the end of a tunnel, cornered like a rat. My stones light up his figure and he is revealed to me like a shadow of who he once was. His eyes are wild and haunted, his face sunken, aged and frightened. His body has grown weak and there is blood upon his clothes, possibly even his hands. I realise in the back of my mind that his hair and beard has grown out of proportions, and I realise with an even more painful realisation that his hair is no longer blonde, but had become grey with stress and anxiety. 

El is cowering before me, a broken, destroyed man who was supposed to save the world, but who became a terrorist instead when the world shifted around us. A man who was to be our saviour, but who is now beyond saving. 

“Al?” El’s broken lips whisper my name as he slowly begins to recognise me. His arm is trembling from raising his wand. He appears to not have eaten or slept properly for years. 

I should have come sooner. I should have been here with him, I should have done something before it came to this point. 

But I didn’t. 

I let time pass, and realised far too late that I allowed it to steal my future with it. I allowed it to steal my husband to be, who has now become a man I will never be able to marry. 

We should have raised Tom together. Moved to America together. Fallen miserably from grace together, and held the other’s hand as the fire claimed us. 

Instead, I am the agent of that fire, and I have come not to burn my lover, but to put the fire out for good. 

I throw my wand to the side, and it clatters forgotten onto the unfeeling stone. I raise my hands towards him, welcoming El into my arms as a smile forms upon my unbroken, lying lips. “It’s me, El.” 

“Al!” El is running before I know it, and he collides into me but he is too malnourished, too weak to possibly do any harm. His broken, shaking body presses against me as he begins to cry. 

I have never felt so calm in my life as I wrap my own arms around him, holding the man I love to my chest. He smells terribly, of rotten scents, of dusty storage rooms and of dried blood. I think El has killed someone. By his own hands this time around, rather than the previous accusations which got him captured in the first place. 

“It’s all gone so wrong… How could this be…” El cries against my chest, clinging to me in the same manner as I have clung to him countless times. “We were supposed to… We were supposed to help them, and the mages turned against us. All I’ve done, I’ve done for them, and yet they would lock me away as if I had committed crimes. I only wanted… F-for the greater good… Oh Al, how did it come to this?” 

“The Muggles won,” I whisper to him as I hold him. “They won the war. They invented weapons of mass destruction. They are organised from the very top, while we are a scattered, divided minority in their world. They have the ability to destroy us, track us, eradicate us in an instant, we can no longer possibly be their rulers. We cannot win against them. It was possible when we were children, but the world has moved on.” 

I cup his face, raising his dirty, aged and slightly bruised face to stare into the black and the blue heavens which unveil themselves to me. Within them, the light of my star system is circling slowly, capturing the two of us in my own universe. 

“I am sorry, my love, but we have lost,” my voice doesn’t break as I tell him the truth which he has to hear. Which he needs to hear. 

El’s wand clatters to the ground as he raises his hands to mine. I feel the dirt, grime and possibly blood upon my hands, but I do not care. I keep on looking into the mismatched eyes of the man whom I loved once and never could stop loving. 

“But I can’t stop… My followers will be villiansied within our small world… If I do not continue, they will all be… I want to surrender too, Al, but I can’t… My choices won’t let me… I… I will be killed… Oh Al, I killed someone… I killed her… I’m so sorry…!” El continues to whisper, whimper and at points simply sob. 

“You have only killed one person?” I turn his face back towards me as he makes an attempt to hide, forcing him to face me as he has done to me so many times in the past. “How? Tell me everything.” 

El sobs as he attempts to retell the story. “I didn’t kill the first person who they said I killed. That was not me. I… I believe that it was staged to frame me and place me in prison, as my followers were too willing to accept responsibility for anything which I did wrong…” As El continues to speak to me about facts, he begins to calm somewhat. 

“I thought that it would be cleared out legally,” he continues as pain seeps into every crevice and wrinkle in his face. “As I had done nothing wrong, but I was tricked by the court system, and they locked me away. My followers managed to save me about a year ago, I think, and I have been on the run since then. For a while, we managed to gather more followers, but… Not all of them were loyal. I was almost stabbed… It’s fuzzy, I tried to… and then the person lay before me, neck broken from the fall. She was so young, Al… I promise you I never wanted to hurt her…” The story becomes less coherent as he recollects how he killed a person, more by accident than intention. 

I gently hush him as I stroke my hands over his dirty face, wiping the tears away. “I believe you, El. Nobody will hurt you, and your followers might not be immediately safe, but they will be. All you need to do is surrender and come with me.” I lower my voice into a quiet whisper, “for the greater good, El. You always think of the greater good.”

El hiccups and squeezes my hands tighter as emotions overtake him once more. He moves closer to hug me, and I hold him tightly to myself. This is likely going to be my final chance to ever hold him and hear his voice as free mages. When we leave this cave, El will be taken away from me, and we will never be married like we planned. I hold him tightly, and he holds me just as tightly back as he cries. 

“I should have listened to you,” El whimpers as his wailing dies into sobs. “I should have listened to you and I didn’t.” 

“I should have come with you,” I whisper in return, holding him tighter than I’ve ever dared holding my son. “I should have come sooner, I should have burnt with you, my love.” 

“You still love me? After all that I’ve done?” El stares at me, blinking slowly before he begins to laugh. 

I see the man I love behind the dirt, blood and age as he laughs, his beautiful eyes shining in the dull of our universe-lit cave. I hear El’s laughter, and I feel as if I am able to breathe freely for the first time in years. 

El’s hand finds my chest, and then locates the bottle with both our blood around my neck. He smiles at me, and it is a smile I know that I will never be able to forget. 

I place my hand on top of his, biting back my own tears as I squeeze his hand tightly. “I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.” 

“Oh Al… my guiding star…You really are far wiser than I.” El smiles again as he leans in and we kiss. 

It is a long, emotional, hungry yet somber kiss. We kiss for what feels like hours, yet what passes as rapidly as a panicked heartbeat. We kiss and we hold the other, we are both crying, because we know that this will likely be the last kiss which we are ever allowed to share. 

When we part, El rubs his eyes with his dirty sleeve and smiles at me. He slowly gets to his feet and reaches down to pull me up. “For the greater good, my love?” 

I accept his hands and allow him to pull me to my feet, even if I help him a little. I lower my voice, whispering a response which nobody but he will ever know. “For the greater good, my love.” 

I take El by the arm as I slowly lead him towards the opening of the cave. He is struggling to walk and stumbles often, but I pull him up over and over again, and we walk together into the cruel, exposing light. 

The Aurors, mages, reporters and every other onlooker turns towards us, gasping, mumbling, pointing. I have been dirtied by sitting and speaking, as well as being touched, by El. It appears to them as if we have been fighting, and there is likely some blood upon my clothes as well, even though I am not hurt. We have both lost our wands, and I can hear them whisper of a legendary mage duel which likely took place within that cave. 

I guide El to the Aurors I know personally, the ones who will take care of him and assure that he is sent to a safe cell far away from his extreme followers in America. I do not wish to let go of his arm, but El is taken from my grasp. He turns to look at me, grinning cheekily as he is removed from my life. He is smiling in the manner I always pictured him to smile at the altar, his heavenly eyes sparking with mischief and love as he sneers back at me. 

I always imagined myself walking towards him, and instead he is removed from me. 

I watch him be taken away into a car, hearing nothing as the crowd reshapes itself with me as its center, making me into their hero. The center of their universe. 

✴✴✴

They call me the Greatest Wizard of the century. 

I hear them on the other end of the thin piece of fabric, wanting to see me, wanting to hear me speak. A press conference is being issued in Britain, as the world wants to hear their hero speak. 

I feel faint. I want to pass out as the heat and the fear are getting to me. I clutch my necklace tightly as I wish that it would all go away, and I could go back to being the little unknown Hufflepuff boy at Hogwarts who met and fell in love with El. 

El is locked up in Austria, in a prison in the mountains where nobody can get to him. He is safe behind bars, nobody can touch him within his cell. Not me, not those who would wish to hurt him. El is safe, but he is not with me. 

Tom is, but I can’t hear him over the crowd, or over the rushing of the blood in my ears. I see his lips move, but Tom can’t help me. I can’t hear him. 

What I do hear is the crowd cheering for me, as well as my name being called. 

“The Hero of the American Mage War, Albus Dumbledore!”

Something happens to me as I hear my name. I recall what to do in times when Albus isn’t enough. 

A calm settles over me and I straighten up, surprising my son. I see the confusion in his eyes before Tom simply backs away, giving the icon space to walk. As I walk past him I give his shoulder a light squeeze, but Tom doesn’t look at my face, and I do not look at his. 

I ascend the short staircase with my head held high and my chest puffed out. I force my hands to relax, and I shape a gentle, understanding smile upon my lips. My fears are left behind the stage as I walk out upon it and towards the podium. The sea of people in front of me is terrifying, so large, varied and diverse that it makes me feel nauseous. They are the greater good for which El sacrificed himself. I cannot let them down, and I cannot run from them as I have done all my life. 

Around my neck hangs a piece of El, as well as my childhood. The shrunken bottle is hidden, and I know that I can never let anyone know what is inside it. My heart must be kept away from them. 

For their greater good. 

Before the crowd stands Albus Dumbledore. An icon. The Hero of the American Mage War and the Greatest Wizard of the century. 

With my heart being locked away in the Austrian Alps, I make myself into an imitation of the man I love, of the politician he was and the teacher he encouraged me to be. I mimic the way he speaks, moves and the posture he adapted when speaking to crowds. I shape myself into the man El should have been, would have been, if he hadn’t attempted to save everyone. 

Behind me, hidden somewhere in the shadows, present but no longer acknowledged, stands my son. 

Behind me, Tom loses every chance of the father he deserves as I become Albus Dumbledore, the icon, and leave behind nothing of the Albus who El loves, and the dad Tom could have had. 

The greater good cheers for their icon, their father and guiding star. 

Tom turns away, knowing that I have once again and for the last time failed him. 

✴✴✴

When Harry surfaced from the memories, the first thing he noticed was just how wet his cheeks were. No other memories and experiences in the Pensieve had caused him to cry while experiencing it.

The world aligned itself slowly, in a manner which the son of a werewolf had almost gotten used to the third time he experienced it. Yet this time around, his legs gave in to the weight of him and he found himself sitting on the floor, silently staring out at nothing. His tears kept on flowing despite the fact that he felt as if he should have used up all the tears he had the previous night. 

Harry didn’t hear Al call out to him at first. He simply stared ahead, his mind was swelling to the very brim with realisations and it was impossible to focus on a single one of them at once. 

“Harry?”

With a startle, the boy-who-lived noticed that Al had come to sit by his side on the floor, worriedly gazing down upon him.

Harry stared at the man, bewilderment and realisation evident in his eyes. 

This could have been him. 

If he allowed himself to become Harry Potter, the tragic story of a man no longer allowed to be less than an icon could be him. Fame and expectations could have been his burden to bear.

You should never have to give where you are given nothing back. You are worth so much more than I can possibly express, not because you are Harry Potter, or the boy-who-lived, or anything like that, but because you are my son, and your friends’ friend, and a person like everyone else.

Remus had warned him. His dad had told him all of this already when Harry was at the age of eleven.

The world doesn’t know you. 

If Harry continued down this path, it was not unthinkable that he would end up like his friend beside him.

Others will always ask for unreasonable things, which in their eyes are reasonable, mostly because they don’t have to deal with it themselves.

He was already changing who he was, modelling himself after something, someone, he was not. He was already telling himself that his own feelings didn’t matter in times of war. He was already tricking those around him that he was fine when he wasn’t. He was already accepting an identity who wasn’t him, and he was letting the expectations of Harry Potter the icon shape him. 

Your worth doesn’t lie in any sacrificing accomplishments or in the eyes of a world which doesn’t really care about you as a person.

Harry wasn’t even sure if his sacrifices were working, and if he was making a difference at all. Horace Slughorn still feared him for unknown reasons. His friends were doing better than him in getting close to the man. It might not even be the right thing to continue forcing himself to be uncomfortable and hurt like this. He had lured Slughorn to Hogwarts, maybe it should have already ended there. Maybe Harry Lupin, the son of a werewolf, would have been good enough for the Slug Club with his newly achieved skills in potion brewing. 

You mean so much to me, you mean so much to your friends, and you should mean equally much to yourself.

Harry didn’t know how he had ended up here, how he had forgotten his dad’s advice. It had seemed like the only option at the time, but that might not even be true. Even if it seemed reasonable, it could prove to be the completely wrong decision. It might prove to not be worth the sacrifice.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Harry could finally hear Al speak next to him, finally fully turning towards the old wizard who had to sacrifice his own self for the greater good. 

Was there even such a thing as the greater good? How could such a thing be measured? Who was the greater good for?

Harry was still crying as a rather lopsided smile spread over his lips. “I’m alright,” he assured Al, who finally sat back, able to relax ever so slightly when Harry was at the very least responding to him. “I will be alright,” he enforced, trying to make Al understand that he needed more time to gather his racing mind. 

By adopting Luna’s breathing technique, Harry could slowly feel himself calming down ever so slightly, as he ceased crying. 

Only then did he notice that he was holding onto Al’s necklace, his knuckles whitening around the small object. Guilt ripped through his being for a moment, until he managed to recall that the necklace had endured a lot of squeezing and panic over the years, and definitely would not break in his grasp. Nonetheless, he finally let go of it, staring down at the evidence of love resting in his palm.

Of two people who had found each other, two people whose bond could not be replaced by any other. 

Harry was not as naïve to think that Al could not have had a life without El, because of his love for El. Everlasting love wasn’t real. It wasn’t healthy for Al to hurt himself like this after so many years. Yet it wasn’t because of the love, but because Al had become something which was not allowed to live normally. Someone who could not love like others, and could not share the intimacy and genuine connection he once had shared with the man now known as a terrorist.

Somehow, Harry knew that he would always treasure the memories of how Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald came to love one another, and came to connect and make one another better, despite how life cruelly had brought them apart. Despite how their own mistakes, fears and choices had caused them to lose one another. To not reach out to one another until it was far too late. Because El didn’t listen or rely on Al when he should have. Because Al hadn’t been there, and thus could not have done anything. Because subtly changing things from afar wasn’t enough.

Draco.

It hadn’t been enough for Al to try to make changes from afar, seeing that he could not influence the situation of his love and his best friend. The circumstances for El had been playing out far out of reach, making it impossible to tell when it would be too late. 

It might be naïve to think that everything would have been alright if Al and El had simply communicated with one another, but at the very least that would have given a chance for change in both of their favour, rather than the gamble of that the world would work out for the better so they could be reunited. 

He had to speak to Draco. 

What they had, what they had been together all this time was something so concrete, something worth so much that it might as well be as physical as the weight of the bottle in his hand. Something far heavier than such a small object would be assumed to be from a glance. Heavier than any outsider would come to think of the bottle, as they would never feel the weight of it themselves. 

This wasn’t a time to be distanced by common ideas of leaving a person be because it was respectful. This wasn’t a time to attempt to move on. Draco hadn’t broken things off with him out of his own volition, this was different. Harry knew this to be true because he knew Draco in a close manner unlike people around them. Because what they had was special to them. Every moment the two of them had helped each other grow, had weaved a connection unique to them, gave him reference which others lacked, and was worth so much. Just because the world thought that he wasn’t allowed to act as if it meant that much, and as if it shouldn’t define him, didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Even if they were young. Even if they could live without one another. Even if circumstances could change. Right now, this was where they were, and what they meant to one another.

He couldn’t trust the world, even his friends and family or the authorities and adults around him to make sure that their story would end well. They would never be able to prioritise him and his relationship, to know how much he was willing to fight for Draco. They didn’t know the weight of the bottle. 

His mind was already filled with ideas. There were ways. His invisibility cloak gave him a lot of opportunities. Draco was not always available to the other students at Hogwarts, and not always under Crabbe’s watchful eyes. 

He would reach out to Draco, and if Draco truly rejected him then, at least he would have tried. At least he wouldn’t have simply stood there and let the world steal Draco from him. Harry couldn’t even motivate himself to think that Draco would reject his attempts for any other reason than fear and love. With the clarity and intensity given by Al’s memories, Harry swallowed back insecurities and simply accepted that he knew, somehow, that Draco likely wouldn’t reject him. 

If they spoke to one another, at least they could make decisions together. At least they could work together. All of Al’s regrets and memories came back to not doing just that, and Harry did not want a lifetime of regrets for not trying. 

Harry raised his head and smiled at the old wizard who was indeed just Al, a person like everyone else. He felt as if a tension had released from his shoulders, but it was reshaping itself into a fire within his stomach. Harry breathed deeply, feeling the fire fill him in a not entirely unpleasant manner. 

“Thank you,” his gratitude was so sincere that Al appeared to become embarrassed by it. 

The old wizard found a handkerchief and handed it to the student, who returned the necklace as he accepted the piece of fabric. Harry dried his eyes off and blew his nose before he attempted to speak once more. 

“I understand now… I really feel like I’ve gotten all the answers to what I have been pondering unsuccessfully on my own,” Harry attempted to formulate himself once more. “I know what I have to do, I have to speak to Draco. I can’t just watch him leave like this, I have to reach out to him.” 

Al carefully raised his hands, showing for Harry to calm down. He realised that he had raised his voice slightly, and settled back onto the floor with a little less passion. “While I think that your choice is a far better one than what I chose to make, I have to request that you do not speak to him yet.” 

Harry focused on the other man with a direct, confused look upon his face. He felt slightly more aggressive than he meant to be as he spoke up, “and why not?” 

Al hesitated. He glanced to the side before his hand slowly closed tighter around his beloved necklace. He took a deep breath before his blue gaze met Harry’s. “I shouldn’t tell you because the operation is rather sensitive, but I’ve kept enough secrets in my days to fill the Hogwarts Library and you deserve to know. The Order of the Phoenix is almost ready to move in and save Narcissa Malfoy from her manor. As the hostage is secure, the intention is to move both her and Draco into safety in France, where they would be staying with the extended family of Mx. Delacour. It is quite a complicated situation, and I cannot go into too great details, but the idea is to save her somewhere in the middle of January, when people return to work and school from the Holidays. It is of impeccable importance that this operation isn’t in any way compromised, if we wish no harm to come to the Malfoys, which we of course do.” 

Harry sat still as he took in the information. It crowded into his head before it slowly settled into being comprehensible. Draco would be safe. He and his mother could be saved from the situation in which they were in, saved from the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Some part of Harry felt like he should be partially upset that the adults had intended on keeping the operation secret from him, but he was so relieved to hear that Draco would not be continuously forced into the Dark Lord’s service that he couldn’t quite care about anything else. 

“Really?” Harry heard himself whisper as a smile formed upon his lips. “You… they… Everything will be, well… alright?” Not his most coherent or reasonable of sentences, but at the very least he made himself understood, judging by Al’s kind expression.

“We simply need a little more time, and they will no longer suffer in Britain. I know you would likely want to speak to him before then, but Draco is in such a vulnerable position that he cannot know anything, or risk endangering the operation. As soon as Narcissa is safe, we will remove Draco from Hogwarts. You will be able to speak to him before he leaves, I will personally ensure it.” Al promised with a nod. 

There was only truth reflected in the old wizard’s eyes. Harry was able to see the sincerity upon his face and how much he wanted to help both of the Malfoys and Harry by listening to his voice. He evidently didn’t want to encourage the same mistakes as the ones of his past. 

Harry dared to believe that things would be alright, and that the Order of the Phoenix would be able to save his best friend from his compromised position. Draco would be fine, and the two of them would once again be able to speak to one another like they always had. 

His fingers closed into a fist, and the golden snake ring cut softly into his hand, reminding him of his convictions. Harry considered asking if he could come with Draco and Narcissa, but he decided against it. No matter who he chose to be, nobody would be quite safe alongside Harry Potter, especially if they were hiding from the Dark Lord’s followers who naturally would much prefer the political icon of Potter to be removed entirely. 

Not to mention, Harry didn’t want to leave his dad or the rest of his friends behind and leave to a foreign country with a language he didn’t know. Draco at the very least knew French, which meant that he would be able to communicate with people, while Harry would simply lock himself away from the world to be with his best friend. 

Albus had chosen to sacrifice himself for the sake of becoming a political icon and guide the world towards what he thought was a better future. However, he had done so by compromising the person who he was. 

Perhaps the answer wasn’t to choose between the icon and the person, but instead make certain that the icon was not a different part of the person. Rather than attempting to be Harry Potter, perhaps Harry Lupin could become the icon instead. 

Harry liked the thought of that solution much better. He had a feeling that Al did too, one which was only further encouraged by looking at the man’s kind face, and upon his gentle smile. 

“I’ll wait,” Harry promised him. “I can’t wait to speak to him again, but I will wait. Not forever, but until the situation is better.” 

Albus smiled, “indeed. You should not wait forever, that does not quite work. Thank you for trusting me yet again. We only need a little more time, thank you for being patient.” 

Harry nodded as he slowly stood up, correcting his clothing as he did. He took a few deep breaths before reaching down to assist Albus to his feet. “I feel hungry again, do you mind if I stay and eat?” 

The old wizard, Harry’s friend, smiled at him. “Stay for as long as you like. The company is pleasant.” 

The son of a werewolf squeezed the other’s hands and then let go, turning towards his previously unappealing food. 

Despite the fact that many problems still crowded upon Harry’s shoulders, he felt less burdened than he had for the entire year.

Chapter Text

The best thing about a greenhouse was not the smell, but the quiet. Something about being surrounded by flowers, greenery and plants tended to humble people, tended to make them more silent and gave them reason to pause. It was easier to breathe in a greenhouse than it was outside, with the possible exception of within the forest. 

Whenever Neville was in school or in class, breathing in the heavy scent of dust, ink and the scents which came from other people, he felt as if his lungs were slowly filling with heavy tar. Yet in the greenhouse, he could breathe. The plants didn’t care about him, he was as emotionally significant to them as the castle itself was to the students of Hogwarts, and yet he was vitally important for their survival. It did not matter if a plant lived or died, it did not matter if it was on the brink of withering or blooming proudly, it would never care about him. Never care if he let it down. In return, nobody would be emotionally invested in the death of a plant, which made the entire act of caring for them so much less stressful. 

Neville loved the greenhouse which simply let him exist, and where people were left alone with their thoughts. He greatly enjoyed being lost in the acts of caring, cleaning, observing, clipping, watering and replanting, as well as wielding his internal magic to heal various damages on the plants. Anything to keep his hands busy, his head focused on a task, and his nose filled with the scent which to him signified calm and silence. 

His internal magic had proven to be an excellent tool in doing what Muggle methods would not be able to in assisting the plants' growth, inner biology as well as structure. Through his magic, he could feel the plants as they were, and together with Muggle sciences and knowledge of those plants, he could manipulate them magically. It was a fascinating subject, and fairly unexplored territory in Britain as internal magic wasn't commonly taught to wield, one he was hoping to write his final exam project on in his seventh year. 

However, that did not mean that Neville only liked being alone in the greenhouse. Some of his favorite moments were connected to when his best friend Hermione came to sit with him, drinking tea or reading something by one of the many little garden tables placed around the greenhouse. He enjoyed speaking about plants as well, and he enjoyed putting on some vocal performances for his green audience every now and then. He dearly hoped that nobody had ever heard him sing, but the few people who had did quite enjoy his voice, once he had overcome the clumsy step of puberty. 

Thus, it was not with direct displeasure that Neville found himself joined in the greenhouse by Professor Slughorn. The man had requested some rather specific plants, and Neville had been nurturing some of them into existence over the half year since Professor Slughorn arrived at Hogwarts. As was their tradition at this point, the man visited him to hear about his plants, or gather some herbs or leaves for another one of his private projects. Professor Slughorn was one of the few people who enjoyed listening to Neville speak about Herbology, the only other two people being his best friend, and his other close friend Harry. 

“Your tea, Professor,” Neville served him a cup on a tray before sitting down on the other slightly unsteady chair next to the equally unsteady little garden table. Neville always worried that it would fall over and break every time he looked at it, but the stubborn table had yet to surrender to gravity. Keeping the apron on, but leaving the gloves by his workstation, Neville carefully shifted in the chair to make certain that it truly wasn’t going to give in before he focused on the other man with a smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

While Neville didn’t dislike Professor Slughorn as much as he had feared Professor Snape when he was a child, he was not very comfortable around the man. Unlike most plants, herbs and greenery, Professor Slughorn expected things from Neville. Things which made his vision sway with anxiety and nervousness. However, people had always expected things from Neville, both things he wanted to or even could fulfill, as well as rather impossible things, those things had nonetheless always been there, especially from his grandmother. 

Professor Slughorn was rather like Augusta Longbottom. He was the kind of man who would love another person but only as long as they performed according to his desires. Yet while his grandmother was rather hard to please, Professor Slughorn only demanded an outstanding performance in one or at the very most two subjects. Neither did he make demands about one’s personality, or honoring one’s mostly brain dead parents. 

Thus, despite not liking the man much, Neville found him at least possible to deal with, even if he would much preferred if somebody else had stood up to the challenge than he. However, Harry was breaking himself apart mentally by trying to be Harry Potter, and placing himself as an icon in times of near war. It was evident that Harry was hurting immensely since the loss of his best friend to a different ideology, and something was keeping Professor Slughorn from speaking with Harry for longer amounts of time. Thus, Harry had little success in approaching Professor Slughorn, and even less in achieving their desired goal. 

Hermione was not quite well either. The emotional toll of being in immediate danger from a political ideology which was older than herself, and fearing for her own safety both from those who would hurt her, and those who would rather not associate with her out of fear of the people who wanted to hurt her, was straining on her. Further, her feelings for Ron had caused her to isolate herself from Neville as well, which was confusing and odd to him. He understood her desire to want to be alone, but the fact that she had not yet attempted to speak to him, as they spoke about everything, was odd and frightening to Neville. He should talk to her about it, but he feared that he would only add another burden upon her shoulders if he asked for more of her attention. Thus, Neville focused on the Herbology Club, and at his concrete, physical work in the greenhouse. 

Neville missed Draco.

The two of them weren’t flawless friends, but they liked one another, and could both joke and argue without becoming enemies with the other. Draco had always been a huge support in that he had always known what to say and when to say it, allowing the rest of them to rather melt into his shadow. Without him as a shield, the sunlight was blinding. 

“It is no worry, my boy,” Professor Slughorn chuckled as he leaned in to smell the tea, nodding approvingly. “This blend, it is one of yours, no?” 

Neville nodded, “with some additional herbs in accordance with your tastes, Professor.” 

“Excellent, oh, and these cookies would be?” Professor Slughorn pointed to the plate. 

“Directly from Hogwarts kitchen, I’m afraid,” Neville laughed softly, even if he didn’t quite feel amused. 

“None the worse for wear. Or eating,” Professor Slughorn laughed as he picked one up, and bit into a corner. “Those House Elves do indeed know what they are doing. I have my own from home, but that one is getting a little older, so I am keeping her with my person, rather than let her work for Hogwarts. These days, she mostly cuts out news that I'm not interested in from my newspaper so that I may have a less stressful time reading it in the morning. I would want Winkey in my services, now that is an elf who knows how to attend to her Master.” 

Neville did not like the way the entitled man spoke about House Elves and their enslavement, but he didn’t quite know how to express that discomfort. Thus, Neville raised the cup to his lips and drank, ignoring the fact that he was burning his tongue on the still scalding tea. He had herbs to help him later, which wasn’t as ideal as not burning his tongue, but he was too annoyed to think clearly. 

Further, it was rather uncomfortable to know that Professor Slughorn was the kind of man who would seek to shelter himself from the world around him to such a degree that he had his House Elf make sure he didn't encounter any news or media which he did not personally agree with. While a person had the right to not constantly put themselves through interacting which things which made them uncomfortable, the practice of ignoring reality and cherry picking facts the man personally agreed with was a very unhealthy habit. A person could not grow without discourse, opposition and a chance to learn things they didn't already know, and to understand experiences unlike their own. The Professor did none of that, it seemed, and it made it very easy to understand how he could pretend the country wasn't at the brink of war. It was jarring.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Neville,” Professor Slughorn continued speaking, having failed to notice Neville’s disapproval. “Neither your parents, nor your grandmother, were very interested in Herbology, were they?” 

Neville had no desire whatsoever to speak to the man about his parents. He didn’t even want to speak to his friends about what happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. Neville had no desire to share information about himself with Professor Slughorn, especially not when it would result in him being compared to his mostly dead parents. Neville had to bite his own tongue so as to not allow an unpleasant remark to leave his lips. “No, they were not,” he answered shortly.

“Then you could not claim that you were given this talent of yours by means of, well, blood?” Professor Slughorn leaned forward slightly, looking curious to Neville’s response.

It was clear to Neville that the man was testing him, because of the fact that he was a Pureblood, no matter what other Purebloods considered him to be. He knew the Professor to know better than believe in such naïve things as that skills which needed practice and nourishments could be attributed to a person's heritage and blood, and the man likely wanted to test Neville's opinions on the topic. It was rather uncomfortable to feel like he was being tested in the middle of otherwise causal conversations, but he had to make do, for their goal, and for his friends.

“No, sir,” Neville hoped that his smile wasn’t aggressive. “It is all my own interest and work.” 

“When did you first begin to find Herbology interesting?” Professor Slughorn continued to politely push for answers. 

Neville hesitated, averting his gaze as he thought about how much he was willing to share with his answer. He knew rather well when he first became interested in plants. He had grown up without knowing much about his parents, but one of the few things he recalled was that there had been plants in their home. Not a lot of them, but enough for him to recall that he had looked at them when he was very young. Thus, when he and grandmother visited the home which should have been his and his parents, Neville recalled the plants, and started to go check on them. Most of them were withered, but he managed to convince his grandmother to bring them home with them so that he could attempt to save the plants. He couldn’t do anything for his parents, but he could save their flowers. 

Thus, his room became filled with plants at a rather young age, and Neville learned to care for them rather than attempt to play with other children. Many found books to be a hobby for the lonesome, Neville found plants to be all the more engaging and satisfying to handle. Not before long, he wanted more plants to care for, as well as a garden outside. Augusta Longbottom gave him what he wanted, as she of course wanted to care for her grandson, but she was not a very accomplished parental figure. Thus, the plants became a hobby, a distraction, and a solution to Neville’s very real depression at the age of four. Ever since then, he kept the hobby as a part of him, and it was a hobby which he always returned to when he found himself distressed or sad. 

“At a young age,” Neville revealed with a weak smile. “Grandmother encouraged it and well, here I am. The tea interest came as a follow up to that, and then Potions after that when I realised the magnitude of what can actually be done with something as visually simple as, well, leaves and plants. I used to enjoy Professor Snape’s lessons less than I enjoy yours, but he has taught me the basics of potions, and for that, I am thankful.” 

Professor Slughorn was evidently not impressed with the mention of Professor Snape. His displeasure was followed by a somewhat displeased answer, although the answer itself did not sound cruel. “Well, as a former Death Eater, I suppose he does have some rather limited, but nonetheless noteworthy good deeds performed in his life. Such as the Lycanthropy potion, as well as teaching the next generation, well… something of value. He has never expressed political opinions in the classroom, has he?” 

“Professor Snape has never spoken politics with us,” Neville shook his head. “He is very private and will only ever speak about matters in regards to what we are working with. For the first two years here at Hogwarts, I hardly knew his first name.” Even now, he mostly knew it because he was friends with Harry, not because Professor Snape had told him anything about himself. 

“Truly…” Professor Slughorn did not appear so much surprised as he appeared thoughtful. He picked up the biscuit once more and carefully began to nibble on it as he considered the new information. “Did you know that he is engaged to marry then? To a werewolf nonetheless!” 

Neville found it extremely rude of the Potions Master to inform a student about another teacher’s private matters. If he had not known the man slightly through the fact that he was about to become Harry’s second dad, then the information would likely have been new to him. Not to mention that it wasn’t information which should be shared around without the consent of the two men in the first place. Neville found that he simply couldn’t allow Professor Slughorn to get away with such a disrespectful action. “I did know, sir, because Harry is one of my closest friends, and he is the son of the werewolf in question. Yet if I had not known, your statement would have communicated information which was not yours to share, so I have to say that I don’t appreciate the, pardon my strong words, gossip.” 

Neville felt his heart beat hastily in his chest as he actually took a stand against Professor Slughorn, rather than blindly agree with him for the sake of his own goals. To his great surprise and relief, Professor Slughorn appeared embarrassed by his own words, rather than upset with Neville. That was good, that proved the man could handle some manner of criticism without becoming aggressive or defensive.

“Ah, yes… You might be correct about that.” The man agreed. “So you truly are a good friend of Harry Potter’s?”

“We’ve been friends since we both started school,” Neville confirmed with a nod as he drank some tea, which was no longer scalding. “I treasure him greatly.” He was completely honest in stating that as a fact. 

Professor Slughorn appeared uncertain once more. Harry made him uncomfortable, that much was evident, but Neville had no idea as to why that was. As he studied the nervous man opposite of him, who was carefully sipping his tea, Neville realised that he could simply ask the Potions Professor. All he needed to do was gather the courage to do so. 

Neville thought of Harry, he thought about the young Slytherin student who had approached him and talked to him when they were both eleven. He thought of the boy who had saved him and Hermione from a troll, he thought of Harry’s small body which had been carried to the infirmary after he had faced the Dark Lord, still at the age of eleven. He recalled Harry leading the way to the Chamber of Secrets after he had been accused of being the Heir of Slytherin due to being a Parselmouth, all in the effort of saving what Harry had thought to be a girl he didn’t know. 

Neville remembered Harry running away to save Sirius Black, into the clutches of a werewolf he didn’t fear, and to dementors he hadn’t meant to be facing. He thought about the boy and his werewolf patronus, and how much the shape had meant to Harry. He thought of the young, accidental addition to the Trimagus Tournament, and he thought of the young man who had escaped with his life after the sacrifice of Cedric Diggory. 

Neville thought of Harry who only last year had desperately attempted to save his dad from what he thought was the clutches of the Dark Lord. He thought of the boy at the funeral, and of Harry turning into a snake when the world was too loud for him to be able to stand it all. 

Neville thought about all the times he had seen Harry cry, all the times he had seen him smile and heard him laugh. He thought about his mannerisms, his love for chocolate and hugs, and his passion for werewolves. He thought of how much Harry loved his dad, and his friends. He thought of the boy-who-lived, and the person who Harry actually was. He recalled all the times that Harry had fought for his right to be his father’s son, and his own person. He thought about Harry Lupin, and all that he knew one of his closest friends to be. 

Harry was not a person who deserved being feared by anyone.

Neville knew that beyond all doubt. Neville loved Harry greatly, and he knew that Harry didn’t want to be feared by anyone, but that he was because people misunderstood him in ways he had no control over. And here Neville was, hesitating to speak up when he knew that Harry was suffering from Professor Slughorn's distrust of him. What kind of friend was he to remain silent when his friend could not speak for himself? 

Enough was enough. 

“Why are you so uncomfortable with Harry, sir?” Neville asked. “To my knowledge, and I know him well, he had never wanted to hurt anyone or given anyone creditable reason to fear him. I cannot fathom what it is about him that would unsettle you.” 

Professor Slughorn jumped slightly as his discomfort was noted and called out. He appeared about to wave it away, but was stopped by Neville’s stern stare, which silently informed the man of the fact that he was not about to let the topic slide. The Potions Master fumbled with a piece of jewellery under his shirt as he glanced around in the room, focusing on certain plants or flowers in an attempt to escape.

Neville realised that he might have been too stern, and thus he sighed and stared down into his teacup. “I apologise if I was being too forward. I understand that I’m asking a lot of you, seeing as you likely have reasons to be uncomfortable, however, Harry is my friend. A great friend, and I am bothered by the recent shift towards people around us disliking him for what appears to be no reason at all.”

Professor Slughorn finally spoke up in a quiet voice. “Well… You see… I’m simply worried about the type of people who the young man associates with. I’ve seen many students before who have fallen off the path of what is good and correct. The boy cannot help what his father is, but to associate with known Death Eaters…” He stopped speaking, as if he wanted for Neville to fill in the blank himself. 

Only Neville didn’t, “what Death Eaters are those?”

Professor Slughorn fumbled with a button on his coat as he looked at something else which most certainly caught his attention so completely that he couldn’t pay attention to Neville. Neville waited. 

“Severus Snape for one,” the Potions Master concluded weakly. 

“That would be one person, and he is no Death Eater. He had been declared innocent in a court of magical law about five different times.” Neville was gentle and not probing as he answered, speaking the truth carefully as to not prompt the teacher to want to leave. 

Professor Slughorn looked towards Neville with a tortured expression upon his face, his appearance communicating something akin to pleading. “My boy, as a teacher, I should not be sharing this with you, as I do not want to alarm you… However, I have far more legitimate reasons to be directly uncomfortable with Harry.”

It seemed clear to Neville that the man very much did not want to appear as if he was discriminating against a student for no reason, and thus needed to explain himself when the subject was brought up. If Neville had said nothing, Slughorn would likely have continued with his behaviours towards Harry, because he was allowed to continue.

“Sir,” Neville continued to gently probe the man with the use of logic. “With all due respect, you make it appear as if Harry has directly caused you harm. Please, I simply wish to understand. Do tell me, I will not spread it on.” He held his breath, attempting to look calm as he stared into the other man’s eyes, pleading with him in return to tell him what was wrong. 

Professor Slughorn finally gave in to speak of what was evidently haunting him enough to need to confide in someone. “Oh! Oh well,” he grumbled, “the truth is that Harry reminds me of somebody who fooled me once upon a time. A most brilliant student who tricked me into revealing certain secrets and magical rituals and spells which he had no business knowing. Harry is acting like a copy of that student, down to his short, curly hair, his green eyes, mannerisms and speech. It is beyond uncanny and I know that the boy is doing something to try and get something from me. I don’t know what it is, but it most definitely has something to do with something which he shouldn’t know of in the first place. I refuse to be alone with him because I know that the boy is attempting to use my gathered knowledge for his own, nefarious scheme! Why, if I’m not careful then I might be to blame for yet another unkillable Dark Lord!” 

“Yet anoth-,” Neville spoke up before he managed to halt himself. He then slowly bit his lower lip, gaze still focused upon Professor Slughorn, who had realised that he had revealed more than he had intended to.

“I’ve already said too much…” Professor Slughorn whimpered as he pressed his hidden jewelry piece closer to his chest. “Yes! Yes, now you know, Harry Potter is almost exactly the same as the Dark Lord when he was younger! I’ve been carrying this secret in my heart to not alarm the rest of the school, as well as the world, but those two boys are exactly the same! I look upon that young face and I see the Dark Lord as he once was. That boy will grow up to be just as terrifying as he-who-must-not-be-named. Mark my words!” He finally managed to calm down after he had yelled all of his emotions out in the silent greenhouse, allowing only Neville and the plants to hear his confession. “Albus cannot see it, he is too blinded, as he was when he was raising the first Dark Lord. However, I can. I can tell. Evil is in their nature, Neville, evil is their nature. I saw that boy not be affected by a vampire’s natural charm. He is not normal. He is not right.” 

Professor Slughorn sounded positively mad to Neville, who knew for a fact that Harry was most certainly not evil, not even close to it. He had all the markings of a Dark wizard, in both clothing style as well as the fact that his animagus shape was a snake, but other than that, none of what the man was spouting made any sense. That was when Neville realised that the man had never met Harry Lupin, but only seen the supposed icon of Harry Potter. Neville didn’t know anything about the young Dark Lord, but he knew that if he was like Harry presented himself as Potter, then the two of them had nothing in common except for some physical features. 

“Thank you for telling me all this, and for confiding in me. With the risk of sounding like I am brushing over the subject in favor of another, sir… Might I be granted permission to bring a friend to your office later today? There is somebody you should meet, who has not yet managed to present himself to you.” Neville settled on the easiest solution being to simply ask Harry to act himself in front of the man, rather than try and convince him that Harry was a different person than the one who he had seen thus far. 

Professor Slughorn appeared confused at the change of topics, but he was evidently stressed by the former, and accepted the change with little objection. “Is this person someone you’d like to recommend to the Slug Club?” 

Neville nodded, “he very much is.” 

The Potions Master hesitated but then nodded weakly. “Very well… if that is something you think is worthy of being done, I shall trust you, as you have proven to be a good mage. Have I given you answers to the questions you were prompting?” 

This time, Neville smiled as he nodded. “You have, sir.” 

Neville found Harry in Professor Dumbledore’s office, where the two of them appeared deeply engaged in a conversation about The Count of Monte Cristo which for some reason they were speaking about. Harry was sitting on one chair, and the old wizard behind his desk. Above them spun an old yet fully functioning planetarium, softly moving around without ever knowing or noticing the fact that it was not the universe, and things were occurring underneath it. Neville recalled the planetarium with fondness, as it had been one of his favorite parts about having private lessons in regards to internal magic with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

He knocked on the door to gain their attention, which he was given almost right away. “Harry, I rather need you to come with me. Excuse me for stealing him from you, Professor.” 

“I’ve kept him for far longer than I should have,” The headmaster smiled gently and nodded towards Harry. “Thank you for your opinions, I shall ponder them some more later.” 

“Thanks for the tea, Al,” Harry stood up and bowed before he walked over to Neville by the door. “I’d like to stop by and have some again. I’d still want to talk more about literature.” 

“My pleasure, simply announce yourself beforehand so that I’m not busy with work,” the old wizard stood up and nodded once more as he began to use magic to restore his office to its usual décor. 

Harry turned towards Neville as the two of them walked down the stairs and out into the corridor. Harry's clothing was perfect for what Neville had in mind, as he was not quite dressed as finely as he usually was but instead wearing what Neville considered to be his favorite skirt, a green tartan patterned one with pockets. All that was not Harry Lupin was his put up hair, which was the primary reason as to why Professor Slughorn assumed his hair to be shorter than it truly was. However, that was rather easy to sort. 

“Did you know that Albus is older than Dracula?” Harry mused happily. Since it was only the two of them, he allowed himself to be the person he actually was. “That is very odd to think about to me. Not bad, but odd.” 

“That is rather curious to think about,” Neville agreed as he began to lead Harry with him down the corridor. “I’m sorry to have bothered your conversation, but I think I have found a way to finally get through to Professor Slughorn.” 

Harry’s face reflected both surprise and confusion, before he settled into the persona of Harry Potter. “Very well,” he said in a slightly darker tone of voice. 

Neville saw the change happen before his eyes, and he truly felt the difference in the air as Harry forced himself to be in a way which was not natural to him or true to himself. As Neville truly focused on the change, he felt as if Harry became more distant as he settled into the persona, and all the more dishonest, even if he was not exactly lying when he spoke. Neville knew that it was wrong for Harry to have to be this way, but he had not yet realised quite how wrong it felt until he truly focused on the different Harry. 

It was relieving to be able to grab Harry’s arm and softly shake his head. “That won’t be necessary.” 

Harry slowly raised his eyebrow, soundlessly asking for more information. 

“I think that Professor Slughorn needs to meet you, not Harry Potter. Would you mind if I remove your hairpin?” Neville reached for it, but he did not touch it before Harry gave his consent. 

Harry studied him with confusion, but allowed Neville to let his hair out. The locks fell around his face and down to his shoulders, spreading out like a dark blanket over what had previously been untouched. He already looked more like himself than he had a second ago. “I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Harry Potter objected weakly, but did not protest to follow Neville as he continued to lead him towards the dungeons. 

“Trust me,” Neville smiled at his friend, a small but nonetheless certain smile. “I really do think that this is the right way to go about this.” 

Harry studied his friend as he put his hair clip into his bag, shrugging without certainty. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s Professor Slughorn I don’t quite know how to deal with.” 

“After this, things will be easier,” Neville sounded more secure than he had meant to, but it appeared to assure Harry. 

Chapter Text

The two of them reached Professor Slughorn’s office, upon which Neville knocked on the door and spoke up. They were quickly let inside by the voice of the Potions Master, who had indeed expected Neville to return. However, he had not expected Harry, judging by the expression on his face. 

Neville had not been in the Potions teacher’s office as many times over the years as Harry, thus, he did not find the changes quite as jarring as the young man next to him. Harry’s eyes travelled around the room, while Neville looked towards the man who was sitting by the fireplace in a large armchair, with a book on his lap. He had made part of his office into a rather lounge-like area, with a low table, a sofa and an armchair which was currently turned towards the fireplace. Professor Slughorn’s gaze came to settle upon Harry, frowning as he attempted to place where he had seen him before. Neville realised that Professor Slughorn had never seen Harry looking like himself, and thus struggled to connect the short haired Harry Potter with the actual long haired Harry Lupin. His plan was already working. Or so he hoped. 

“Professor,” Neville showed towards Harry with a smile on his face. “Allow me to introduce you to Harry Lupin.” 

Harry stared at Neville, as did Professor Slughorn. Then Harry slowly turned towards the Potions Master, and Neville watched him surrender all pretenses of the person he was not. Harry stopped tensing up and instead relaxed, allowing his head to lower and his hands to move in front of him, as if to shield him. Harry turned his green gaze to the side as he deflated slowly. It was as if a different person revealed himself from within the icon which was Potter. All the features were the same, and yet his expression of self and outwards projections was completely different. Even Professor Slughorn recognised that the Harry before him was different from the person who had presented himself to him for half a year. 

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Harry responded weakly. 

Professor Slughorn slowly wetted his lips, “you… don’t have short hair?” He asked in a quiet voice, which was filled to the brim with disbelief.

Harry shook his head. “I put it up to make it appear more professional. I apologise for deceiving you, I didn’t intend to, sir.” 

Professor Slughorn looked towards Neville, who simply smiled. “As I said, this is my friend, Harry Lupin. Harry had been forced to act like the icon of Harry Potter for the past half a year due to the political circumstances around him. This is the friend I have known since I was eleven, the person you worry about is Harry attempting to act like somebody he is not.” 

The son of a werewolf’s expression reflected some alarm as he sent Neville a worried look. He was silent for a few seconds and then asked, “I have been worrying Professor Slughorn with my behavior?” His gaze came to rest upon the man himself, seeking confirmation.

Professor Slughorn hesitated, once more shifting in his armchair before settling on a choice. It was evident that the man was still Head of the Slytherin House and knew that his role was to not run but deal with this situation. “You boys have a lot to explain to me… Would you like some tea as you do?” 

Thus it was that Neville came to sit next to Harry on the sofa, as Professor Slughorn returned the armchair to the other end of the table so that he could focus on them fully. Harry wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea, but he trusted Neville enough to go along with his plan, and he told Professor Slughorn about the manner in which he was expected to act, and what people he had modelled himself after in his efforts to act collected and pleasant, yet not unprofessional. Neville drank his tea, but Harry had mostly forgotten it as he spoke. 

When Harry finished his story, he conveniently forgot to mention in detail as to why he had chosen to act like Harry Potter towards Professor Slughorn himself. He also neglected to mention their goal to obtain a memory, any memory, which might help them learn about the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. Yet other than that, he was mostly honest. 

Professor Slughorn sat silent for a while before he slowly began to speak honestly as well. “You… are the very image of Tom Riddle, the man who would later become he-who-must-not-be-mentioned.” 

Harry’s jaw dropped as he stared at the man who had taught the young Dark Lord so many years ago. “No I am not…” he muttered as he turned his head away from the other man. 

“I knew him,” Professor Slughorn insisted. “I recall the way he spoke, behaved and acted very clearly.” 

Harry was silent for a short heartbeat before he spoke up once more, “I do not think that we are very similar, sir. I am a friend of Albus Dumbledore, his father, and I have seen what he was like back then. While I can see some similarities between us, and I assure you that I cannot help having green eyes or dark, curly hair, I modelled my persona of ‘Harry Potter’ on a female acquaintance of my dad’s. All I have learned about etiquette comes from her, not some ghost from almost fifty to sixty years back in time. I don’t think it's very fair of you to judge my entire person because of a, mostly imaginary, resemblance that I cannot help.” 

Neville knew that Albus was technically the father of the Dark Lord himself, but it nonetheless failed to sound real to him when Harry spoke of it. He knew the woman who Harry spoke of to be Narcissa Malfoy, and he assumed that his friend was keeping her name secret so as to protect her. He agreed with everything which Harry was saying, and nodded along with his words to display this to Professor Slughorn. 

Professor Slughorn hesitated in return, absentmindedly playing with a chain upon his clothing, which Neville assumed led to a watch within his pocket. “I… Might have been hasty in my judgement,” the man slowly admitted. “Yet you could not possibly fault me boys, could you? The Dark Lord has returned! Anyone with ties to possible secrets of his would be frightened and stressed around anything which even resembles him. It is not my fault that I reacted the way I did.” The final words sounded between a plea and an insistence, as if he was both demanding that they agree with him, while also begging them to confirm that he was right. 

Neville bit his lip. Professor Slughorn was denying reality again, going off in a spiral to protect himself. It felt ridiculous that a teacher could reason this selfishly, but with nobody to challenge the man's perspective, there would be nothing to push him to do and be better. The Professor had hid from other perspectives a long time, allowing him to deny their existence. 

Enough was enough.

“That still leaves you with a very distressed Harry,” Neville responded in a voice which was far calmer than he had expected it to be. “While you do have the right to be scared by the Dark Lord, as we all are, you are allowing your fear to hurt an innocent party. It would already be faulty even if you weren't an authority figure personally responsible for him. Interaction with Harry would have assisted you in understanding him as an individual, rather than a copy, but instead you chose to act in a manner which made him feel as if he was wrong. Which he isn’t. Your fear is understandable, but it is not an excuse,” he finished with a weak huff. Neville felt like it was all rather ridiculous. The young Dark Lord was not the only person acting the way he did, and condemning every distantly polite but friendly person with ulterior motives to be the equivalent of a mass murderer was not alright in any sense.

It had been a long time since Harry had appeared so relieved. He stared at Neville with deep gratitude in his eyes, smiling as if he was only doing it to keep from crying. Neville reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, feeling Harry’s favorite ring dig slightly into the palm of his hand as Harry squeezed his hand back. 

“I’m not the Dark Lord,” Harry insisted, his gaze resting upon the Potions Master. “I admit that there are similarities, but I can assure you that he’s just the next person on the list of people who I resemble. I’ve been hearing that I look like such and such many times throughout my life. Frankly, and most respectfully, sir, Tom Riddle is just another resemblance to add to the list.” 

Professor Slughorn hesitated as he continued to fumble with his chain, staring absently at the tea before him. After some hesitation, he groaned and shook his head. “What I simply don’t understand is why you felt the need to do it to me as well. It would have been one thing if it had been everyone else, but I’m your teacher and benefactor, why would you feel the need to fool me?” 

The request was frankly ridiculous to Neville. The Potions Master before them acted as if he had the right to know secrets simply because he wanted to know them, rather than to give a real reason as to why he should be allowed, or rather trusted, to know.

Professor Slughorn was the kind of man who considered himself above being lumped together with the rest of the common folk, and one who should be allowed information because of his title and his supposed assistance towards guiding the students to reach their goals, but not the type of man to even consider if he was worthy of that information. It was all rather tiring to Neville, as explaining to someone why they weren't trusted was never a pleasant, and seldom a giving, task. 

However, Harry was able to answer. “Because I wanted to be a member of the Slug Club, and I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to admit me above Harry Potter.” 

Professor Slughorn frowned at his words, “but… you have the exact same merits.” 

This time, Harry and Neville both stared at the man with surprise and confusion, having to pause to take in the weight of his words. The insinuation was rather insulting, given the fact that both boys knew Professor Slughorn to only had returned to Hogwarts on the promise of Harry Potter himself being there. Of course one would interpret him wanting to access Harry Potter in particular.

Professor Slughorn appeared more confused in return, “you thought I would refuse someone with excellent and outstanding grades in more than three subjects? Your OWLs were beyond impressive enough to admit you to the Slug Club. Of course, I suppose your name made it even less of a complex choice, but I do not pick my students based on merely their names, boys. I pick them based on performance.” He allowed his words to sink in before he leaned forward, studying them with his small yet intelligent eyes. “Now what is the real reason you wanted to be in the Slug Club? I know secret intentions when I see them, I have not been wrong about that. Did Albus put you up to anything?” 

Neville and Harry exchanged looks before Harry surrendered to the circumstances he was currently in, and admitted to the truth. 

“It is not something Albus asked of us, as much as something I asked of him.” Harry lightly touched his chest as he spoke. “We know that he has attempted to acquire some kind of memory from you in relation to Tom Riddle and horcruxes. A memory which maybe could make it possible to know more about what items he might have used for them, and how many there might be in total. While he clearly does not know of it in great detail, your words and actions have made it clear that you know something, and that there has to be something. I asked to let him allow me to retrieve it from you, with your consent.” 

Professor Slughorn’s expression shifted from neutral to highly displeased, yet not hostile towards the two students. He leaned back once more and rubbed his face with his hand, sighing deeply a few times. Then, to both their surprise, he did not chase them from his room, but continued to speak. “You boys could not possibly understand the weight of my actions and memories. The Dark Lord knows I have a memory with specific information, and as long as I keep it safe and to myself, he has less reason to want me dead. If I give it up, I will have taken a stand, and make myself a target for murder. Surely the two of you would understand better than to attempt to catch the attention of an immortal Dark Lord? Surely you wouldn’t want to be involved with a war that had nothing to do with you?” 

“With all due respect,” Neville heard his own voice hiss at the man before him, his eyes having turned dark with emotion. “My parents were taken from me when I was very young because of that very Dark Lord. Harry lost his birth parents in much the same way. We don’t have the luxury of pulling away from all of this and pretending that it isn’t affecting the people around us. My best friend is fearing for her life everyday in school, which should be a safe place for her, because the followers of that Dark Lord are after her. If he was made mortal once more, we can stop him, and people like Hermione could be safe from him. You have no right to keep that memory and let everyone die around you while pretending it isn’t your actual duty to speak up.” He pushed annoyance and slight rage down as he spoke, attempting to be civilised at the very least. Neville wasn’t sure if he managed that. 

Harry placed a hand on Neville’s shoulder, attempting to calm him down, or to hold him back from being too honest. “You are in no less danger from keeping the secret, sir. In fact, you are only playing into his hands. If he wanted you dead, he would get to you and when you die, the only real chance of destroying and hiding his horcruxes is lost. I was targeted and attacked last year, probably just because I am a witness to his resurrection and he was trying to hide having come back, and he was willing to go out of his way to find a way to silence me, despite the fact that I never spoke up about him having returned."

"You are not safe either way, but one choice would have you remembered as a hero, while the other would see you hated as a coward in history.” His expression turned humble and slightly pleading. “We’re not asking this because we want to place you in danger, we’re asking because we don’t want there to be children who grow up as we did in the future. I was lucky that a loving dad found me, but others were not.” 

The son of a werewolf swallowed back his emotions as he looked directly into the eyes of the Dark Lord’s former teacher. The man was clearly not convinced still, but he was wavering as he was forced to see perspectives he had long denied to himself, things he could deny perfectly well as long as he wasn't challenged. “Sir, I have lost my best friend to this conflict. He’s being kept from even interacting with me these days, and I miss him more deeply than I have words to describe. With your help, we could be reunited again, but if you keep that memory from the world then I… We… I risk never hearing the voice of one of the most beloved people in my life again. Please, we’re asking for the past, present, and the future, not simply to hurt you.” 

Professor Slughorn sat still as he stared into Harry’s wet eyes, as tears began to run down his cheeks. Harry hastily searched for a handkerchief in his clothing, but the one which was given to him was offered by Professor Slughorn himself. 

“I see now… Painfully clearly that you are not Tom.” The old wizard spoke in a quiet voice. “You couldn’t be. I… You are both right. I’ve been cowardly neglecting my duties as a mage and as a guiding figurehead.” 

Professor Slughorn slowly got to his feet and walked over to his desk. He found an empty, clean vial, and using magic which neither of Neville and Harry had seen previously, he spent a good thirty minutes to set up some kind of ritual which later led to him carefully being able to extract a memory. Both boys sat in silence, holding their breaths as the man drew the memory out of his body like a part of his very being and magic, perhaps even internal magic, was being removed from him, and let it fall into the bottle, where Professor Slughorn corked it. The Professor appeared rather emotional, as if he had experienced things which neither of the two students could witness, perhaps the memory itself.

The memory appeared like silvery mist, which travelled according to the Potions Master’s wishes, but not entirely obediently. Neville watched with interest as it somewhat unwillingly entered the bottle, and refused to remain still within it. He got the impression that the memory was attempting to flee the container, rather than simply settle into it. 

Professor Slughorn handed the vial to Harry with a weak smile. “When I first saw you, I considered you to be a reflection of your mother, Lily Evans. I’m rather confused with myself as to when I was only capable of seeing the young Dark Lord himself…” He trailed off as he forced his fingers to let go of the vial. The old wizard laughed weakly as he brushed his hands off upon his vest. “Albus was wrong, doing the right thing is not so much freeing as it is terrifying. You’re both still members of my club, by the by, but I do expect you to keep up with the gifts and your work, and not simply stop because you gained what you wanted.” 

Harry accepted the vial as if it was the most precious thing that he had ever held, and he hugged it to his chest as he swallowed back more tears. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so, so much.” 

Neville experienced himself drawing a shaky breath, his mind barely capable of understanding that they might have achieved the goal they had worked so hard for during half a year. That he might have achieved it. 

Professor Slughorn waved his hands and shook his head, evidently enjoying the gratitude, but pretending he wasn’t. “You should be off. It is getting late and the two of you are likely to have a busy day tomorrow together with Albus,” he sighed and shook his head once more. 

Neville and Harry got to their feet, thanked the man once more and excited the Potions Professor's office. Neville felt more than relieved to leave the oddly smelling room behind him, but he didn’t manage to go far before Harry caught him in a desperate hug, pulling him to a halt with the same action. Neville stopped fully and returned the hug, allowing his friend to be as close as he wanted. Harry was very sweet, but as Neville had no interest in men, and had spoken about it openly, he didn’t feel anything but friendship coming from Harry as they embraced.

“I love you,” Harry whispered into Neville’s chest as he clung to him. “With this, we really can save Draco.” 

Neville hugged his friend back, squeezing him a little tighter to let Harry know that he was most definitely there. “I love you too,” Neville promised. 

They had done it. 

This could turn the entire political situation around, if they were lucky.

Chapter Text

When Harry, Neville and Hermione gathered in the Headmaster’s office the next morning after breakfast, none of them had expected to find Professor Slughorn there. The man appeared to radiate stress as he sat in one of the chairs while Al remained behind his desk, evidently distracted by the paperwork in front of him. Before any of the students or the Headmaster could say good morning, Professor Slughorn had stood up and approached the group of students while nervously wringing his hands. 

“You still have it on you, correct?” Professor Slughorn all but whimpered as he looked at Harry. 

Harry knew well what he spoke of and nodded. He had kept the vial safe all night, and had wrapped it in fabric to keep it even more secure. He had been beyond relieved the previous day to learn that he could quit acting so much like Harry Potter in front of Professor Slughorn. Yet, nothing was quite as relieving to know that they might be a step closer to a truth which could save everyone. A truth which could save Draco. Harry planned on obeying Albus’ words despite how badly he had wanted to communicate with Draco, seeing that the other would be saved so very soon, and Harry wasn’t allowed to risk messing it up now. Thus it felt immensely good to know that they were making progress on their end too, since he had promised to not get involved with Draco’s situation still.

Upon Professor Slughorn asking about the vial, he almost placed his hands upon the pocket inside which it lay, as he was struck with the premonition that the man might attempt to force it back into his own possession. 

“And you are about to share it with Albus?” Professor Slughorn continued asking. 

“Share what with me, Horace?” Al stood up from his desk and walked around it, stopping in the middle of the room. “Is there a reason you are keeping my students from meeting with me?” 

Harry recognised with some satisfaction and some worry that he recognised Al’s way of standing and moving to indeed be copies of the manner in which El had done those things. Al had indeed modelled himself after the man who he had once known, and the man who he had never stopped loving. 

“I am not keeping them from you Albus,” Professor Slughorn continued to nervously wring his hands in front of himself. 

He stepped aside to show that he was indeed not, prompting Harry to rather quickly approach the old wizard and extend the memory vial to him as Hermione and Neville both entered the room properly, closing the door behind them. 

Hermione had been informed by Neville of what had happened sometime yesterday as Harry returned to his own room. They had all decided to go to Albus the day after, seeing as Harry had insisted on it to Neville. He knew that his old friend was tired after the excitement and emotions of yesterday, and wanted to at least grant the wizard the mercy of rest for half a day and a night before they returned to him with the new and unknown memory. 

Hermione was carrying her monster cat, Crookshanks, in her arms. Harry had almost forgotten that he existed, but when he saw the familiar, almost flat face and the more than intelligent gaze of the fluffy animal in her arms, Harry recalled him well. It appeared that the cat helped her calm down, and he appeared by no means opposed to being carried around. He had become a little rounder since the son of a werewolf last saw him. Unbeknownst to Harry, Crookshanks had actually lived with Molly Weasley and the Weasleys for a while, he simply hadn’t actually noticed. He thought that the orange cat which he had sometimes spotted to be a different cat who lived there, when it had in fact been the very same. Harry concluded that Crookshanks had likely been on the train too. He must have been sleeping up on the luggage rack, mostly out of sight from Harry. 

The look on Albus’ face when he saw the small vial with the memory was an honest one. He gaped weakly, before he blinked and attempted to and failed to properly collect himself. He swallowed before he reached a slightly trembling hand towards the just un-wrapped vial, allowing the small object to rest in his old and veiny hand as if it was the most precious of items. He raised his head towards Professor Slughorn, who appeared every bit as unsure, if not more, than he just had. The Potions Professor fumbled with his hands, his sleeves, anything which he could access, and then averted both gaze and head from Albus thankful expression. 

“Horace,” the illusion of the Greatest Wizard of the century spoke to him, smiling as he did. “You did the right thing… I knew that you would. Thank you.” 

Professor Slughorn became the center of attention in the room, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “Now see here, Albus, I did not give it to them out of sentimentality.” Only that was the exact reason as to why he had given it to them. “And it comes with a price. I do not wish this to be known by anyone who isn’t a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and I do not wish you to see it yourself, Albus.” He knew that his last request was unreasonable, judging by his stance and expression as he huffed, twisted and sweated. 

Harry glanced towards Al’s face as the man was told that he couldn’t see the memory which he had so desperately attempted to obtain. The final chance to be able to destroy what has been designed to be indestructible. To kill the immortal Dark Lord once and for all. 

Only he was not so much an immortal Dark Lord to Al, as he was his son. 

Harry felt his heart sink deep into his chest as he recalled Al’s memories of Tom. Of the child he had met at the orphanage, of the boy who had run from him and cried because he felt unsafe, of the child who had then accepted Al as his dad, and embraced him without fear. Harry recalled a diffuse lifetime of happy and painful memories and impressions of Tom, and he recalled the final memory when he, Al, had turned away from his son in favor of becoming the Greatest Wizard of the century. The memory in his hand was Al’s chance to finally be able to save the world from the Dark Lord, but it was also the memory which would enable him to kill his own child. Harry imagined that the weight of the vial was equal, if not far heavier, to the bottle around the old wizard’s neck. 

Al studied Professor Slughorn's face before he spoke up in a soft voice, the very same which his son had later mastered as well. “What is the real reason as to why you do not let me see this memory, Horace?” His tone of voice was so gentle and unobtrusive that Harry might not have known how upset the man actually was, had he not gotten to know him over the past half a year. 

Professor Slughorn stuttered as he once again became the focus of the room. Even Crookshanks looked at him with his unblinking yellow eyes. The Potions Master groaned and threw up his hands, yielding as the teenagers’ expressions began to shift towards accusing. “I know that you blame me, Albus! I know that you blame me for turning your boy astray and fuelling those curious parts of him into allowing him knowledge he shouldn’t possess. I know you scorn me for turning him into the Dark Lord!” 

The room fell silent after his confession. Hermione and Neville looked towards one another, neither quite sure what they were really hearing. Harry felt more than confused as to why Professor Slughorn assumed himself to have been responsible, when he knew through Al’s memories that Al considered himself to be the reason Tom had turned out like he had. 

“Horace,” Al’s voice was gentle, but ever so slightly scolding the man. “Curiosity is not a crime, or a reason as to why people become like they do. The Dark Arts do not corrupt simply because one knows about the arts, the practice becomes corrupt when the arts enables the individual to think that they might use their abilities against others for their own gaining. There has never been an evil knife in this world, never one which thirsts for blood. The person responsible for wounding another with a knife is evil, not the tool itself. You telling Tom about horcruxes at a young age does not mean that you corrupted him. He did that to himself when he failed to consider the consequences of his actions.” 

On the other end of the room, Hermione hugged her cat closer to herself with a small, relieved smile. As a Dark Witch, it was an immense comfort to her to hear that she was not evil for her self studies on the topic, which has begun since she was curious about the subject through her interactions with her friend Victor Krum. 

“You’re simply attempting to be reasonable in front of the children!” Professor Slughorn objected. “I know you blame me, the world blames me for creating an unkillable, immortal Dark Lord! I know this to be true. I know it!” The Potions Master was beginning to appear slightly hysterical as he continued to throw loud accusations towards the Headmaster. To Harry, it seemed that the only one blaming Professor Slughorn was himself, and to deal with blaming himself and feeling guilty he was trying to victimise himself by expecting everyone else to blame him and hate him for his actions.

Al took a deep breath, his hand closing around the vial he was holding. “Tom would have found out about horcruxes even without you, Horace. It was only a matter of time, as he was very much curious about anything magical. Tom seldom sought knowledge because he was greedy, or even hungry for power. He simply wanted to learn about whatever he could learn about, and when he had learned enough, he would continue to the next topic. As he had been raised a Muggle for most of his life before he came to Hogwarts, he was very interested in magic, and sought its limits with fascination and joy, not because he was cruel or calculating.” 

“Curiosity is good and all, but you’re blinded by your relationship to him,” Professor Slughorn scoffed. “He was every bit as calculating and cruel when he was a child as he was when he grew older. He was born manipulative, Albus, and you cannot see it because he was too good at it, and he had you wrapped around his finger.” 

Behind me, hidden somewhere in the shadows, present but no longer acknowledged, stands my son. 

Behind me, Tom loses every chance of the father he deserves as I become Albus Dumbledore, the icon, and leave behind nothing of the Albus who El loves, and the dad Tom could have had. 

Tom turns away, knowing that I have once again and for the last time failed him.

“You’re wrong,” Harry surprised everyone in the room by speaking up with far more emotion than he had intended to. They slowly turned towards him, even Al looked confused and uncertain as he focused on Harry. Harry felt his cheeks heat with warmth as he opened and shut his mouth but no words left him. 

“People are not born manipulative and they are not born evil,” Harry gathered himself and spoke. “I was raised by a werewolf, and my dad is in love with a man who used to be a Death Eater. I’ve spoken to a basilisk many times, one of my closest friends used to be a bully. Actually, many of them were young and cruel, tricked by ideologies which they couldn’t understand, but they learned to know better. I was saved by a criminal and murder once, just as I was saved by a kind young man. I have listened to the confessions of a Death Eater who was his father's mind slave for years, a father who was a Ministry worker and candidate for the Minister of Magic position. Another good, honest ministry worker and the temporary Headmistress of Hogwarts, fed me Veritaserum to force me to speak of private matters, while the cruel school janitor allowed us to escape. Monsters aren’t born, Professor, they are made.” 

When Harry finished his speech, he looked towards Al, who appeared on the verge of tears but who was fighting the emotions back from his face. Harry gave him a smile before he looked towards Professor Slughorn once more. He drew a deep breath and spoke again. “So tell us once more, why are you attempting to keep Al from a memory to do with his son?” 

Professor Slughorn curled together slightly, bending to the truth of Harry’s words. “Oh… I… Ugh…” He attempted and failed to speak properly. After a few short but apparently needed breaths, he spoke up once more. “It’s been fifty years, more than fifty years…” The man was pleading now. “My memory is honest to the man I was back then, not the man I am today. All I ask is that those who view it do not judge me harshly, as I am not the same man. Not... truly, at least. It is so painfully personal that I don’t know myself exactly what I was thinking, but… Judge me as you will, but know that it was a different me back then.” 

“Thank you, Horace,” Al closed his hand around the vial. “I shall. Do you wish to stay as we view it?” 

“N-no. No.” Professor Slughorn shook his head as he stared at his own feet. “I shall be on my way.” He turned and half ran from the room, escaping quickly before he could think to turn around. 

The old wizard looked after him for a few moments as Neville yet again shut the door to the Headmaster’s office. Hermione allowed her cat down before using magic to defur her clothes while she told the intelligent animal that he wasn’t allowed to break or touch anything. Crookshanks paid her little mind, but heeded her words as he laid down in front of the fireplace to warm himself. 

“That was a very nice speech, Harry,” Hermione smiled at him. “Had you planned on saying all of that since the beginning?” 

Harry shook his head, causing his no longer put up hair to dance around him. “It just… His words rather reminded me of all those times me and Draco have been accused of things simply because we are Slytherin students, and I just couldn’t keep my tongue to myself.” He laughed weakly as he looked up at the old wizard. 

Al smiled at him in return before he gently squeezed Harry’s shoulder and then went to prepare the Pevensie to contain the newly acquired memory. Hermione concluded what he was doing, and she carefully walked up to the old wizard to study the process as he went through it. He appeared delighted with her interest, and happily instructed her on exactly how to go about preparing both the Pensieve and the memory, as well as the process of extracting a memory. 

Harry would have wanted to pay attention, but he felt a little too overwhelmed by the almost confrontation with Professor Slughorn that he found a chair and sat down into it instead. His hair fell into his face, and he calmly began to collect it to the side while attempting not to sneeze. 

“It’s good to see you looking more like yourself,” Neville joined Harry by his seat, smiling down at him. 

“Thanks,” Harry smiled back. “It’s fun to talk to you again. I feel like you’ve been very distant this year.” 

Neville laughed weakly as he pulled a hand through his short hair and shrugged. “I guess I really haven’t been here, no. I’ve been hiding out in the greenhouse mostly, surrounded by things I love. I don’t mean to complain, but I’ve been so mentally exhausted by everything that I found more comfort in the plants than I did human interaction. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” 

Harry felt a throb of guilt as he quickly shook his head. “I’ve been with Colin. I understand that you couldn’t be there for me, as I couldn’t be there for you. I don’t think either of us are to blame for not being capable for the moment. Especially when you finally managed to retrieve what we have been attempting to gather all along.” 

Harry felt terribly guilty to speak of or even mention Colin. He had yet to decide on a course of action in regards to what he should do. As he mentioned the name, shame burned through him, making his limbs feel weak and his mouth feel sour, his heart tightening in his chest. Colin had been really good to him, incredible even, in Harry’s opinion. He had been respectful, kind and even noble, directly going against his own interests for the sake of making sure that he didn’t abuse Harry when he was in a bad place. Colin had done all that and more, and Harry simply wasn’t sure what he should do now. He wanted to apologise, but to do that, he needed to be able to face Colin, and he couldn’t quite do that yet. 

Neville noticed his troubled expression and gave him a small, gentle buff with his elbow. “If you are thinking about Colin, he isn’t mad with you. He actually came to speak with me, and I advised him to wait and allow you to recover. You can talk to him when you are ready.”

Harry felt his face burn as he learned that Colin had told Neville. He knew that Neville wouldn’t judge him, and that Colin had the right to confide in someone, but he felt terribly embarrassed nonetheless. It was not easy to recall that his friends were good people when he was too ashamed and embarrassed with himself to forgive his own actions. 

“Thank you…” Harry mumbled as he played with his hair. He really missed having Colin around him to distract him, but he was not so ignorant as to not know that the person he actually missed was Draco. 

Neville simply smiled in return, “I think that I’m ready to come back after the holidays. Mentally I mean. To be more present in your lives too.” 

“I’d appreciate it,” Harry returned the smile. “So would Hermione.” 

Neville looked towards his best friend, his expression changing into a gentle and kind one, one which was at least partly filled with love. Harry wondered if it was simply love between friends, or if Neville felt more for Hermione than he had told anyone. Since Neville was only interested in women, it wasn’t impossible to think that he could have been infected by the love bug as well, and fallen in love with his best friend. 

Hermione and Al turned back towards the two of them as the old man had finished preparing the Pevensie with the memory. Harry and Neville understood the voiceless call, and they crossed the room to listen to Al’s explanation about how the magical tool worked. 

As Harry was the only one of the students to have used the Pevensie before, Al suggested that he act as the demonstrator and showed the other two how to use it. The man explained that he did not want to begin and leave them alone to simply watch him, but Harry suspected that he might be frightened with what he would find within the memory he had desperately needed, but which also frightened him. Thus, Harry agreed to see the memory first. He slowly approached the swirling mist, holding on to the now familiar bottle filled with Al's and El’s blood, and then he sank into the memory as he breathed in it.

✴✴✴

I am sitting upon my very own throne, gently dabbing the powder from a Turkish delight off my lips with a soft handkerchief which bears my name. My proud name. The name I myself filled with pride, and removed from the unpleasant implications of slugs. Upon my tongue remains the taste of the sweet, which I swallow down with some expensive wine. 

“Thus, I do declare this meeting of the Slug Club to be concluded. Good night dear students.” I speak to my beloved, talented and special students as they bid me a good night in return, and begin to draw themselves back from our dinner. 

All these witches, wizards and mages will grow up to be extraordinary, because I will assist them in becoming such. They are the future leaders and academics of the British Mage Community, and I am intent on making sure that they reach their full potential, supported by the great wizard Horace Slughorn. They will remember me as they grow older, and I will have my legacy secured through their brilliance. Never again will ‘Slughorn’ be called a disgusting name, but the mage community shall view it as an honour to have a relationship to it. 

A student remains with me as the others leave, as he so often does. I like the young man, he’s pleasant, and above all else interesting to speak with. His academic interests are unusual, and all the more exciting and unique because of his unconventional ways in which he thinks of magic. His questions, inquiries and curiosity are wonderful assets, and his intelligence is always on display, even in the smallest of manners. He is even a Slytherin student! All the better to lead the country, if you want my opinion. Too long, we have been stuck under the rule of brave and foolish Gryffindors, or clever little Ravenclaws who are always too scared to act. Why, Tom is such a great person that he would likely be the Minister of Magic who we all need. 

“Would you like to speak to me directly about something, Tom?” I smile at him as I stand up and move myself over to my favorite armchair, leaving the House Elves to clean up the table after our feast. “You know I delight in the academic questions which you bring me.” 

Albus has told me that he doesn’t want me to speak to his son about lacking moral questions and theoretical magical discussions which touch on Dark Arts, but the teenager is still young and his mind is untainted by the idea that Dark Arts is evil by itself. With him, I feel challenged and appreciated all at once, and I cannot deny myself this amusement simply because a father is worried about his son learning too much. How foolish! As if you could ever learn enough.  

“I do have one, yes,” Tom smiles at me as he sits down upon the sofa and produces a black notebook from within his bag. He always carries that bag with him, even on days when he is not attending school. 

Tom is a very handsome boy with pale skin and the ghost of freckles upon his cheeks. His hair is dark and curled, but cut short enough so as to not fall into his eyes. His eyes are a brilliant green which suits his green Slytherin robes excellently, and I know that he has a pet snake. He is a Slytherin through and through, and I sometimes regret not having found and adopted him myself. Albus is most definitely failing to make the most out of the boy’s intelligence. 

“Remind me what we spoke of last time, Tom,” I encourage him as I sip my wine. 

“The possibilities of blinding a basilisk without hurting the animal itself, sir.” Tom answers flawlessly, as he always does. 

He doesn’t even have to look at his notes to answer as he opens a new page which he will fill with information before our conversation is over. He always takes more notes than needed, but it is one of his charms. Albus has enough money to let him go through plenty of notebooks without it being any financial problem at all.  

“Ah, correct. We deemed it an impossible surgery. Now I recall.” I nod as the memory returns to me. 

Tom nods as well, appearing slightly troubled by the memory. However, he focuses on his questions instead, and speaks up. “I wanted to ask you about horcruxes, if you don’t mind, sir?” 

I nod to myself as I rest my head in my hand, gathering the information I have on the topic within my head. “That is quite the rare, obscure magic. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come across it?” I do not feel alarmed by his inquiry, but slightly confused. There should be no information about the topic within the Hogwarts library, as it is considered too diffuse of a subject to be listed in an academic establishment. 

Tom looks up from his notes which he has already begun to take. “I was researching the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin and I came across the word in relation to a wizard from the Gaunt family. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about them, sir? That is to say, the Gaunts?” He sounds slightly hopeful as he asks. 

“I’m afraid I don't, Tom, but I do know about horcruxes,” I settle back more comfortably in the chair. “I can tell you about horcruxes. As always, be aware that this is purely a theoretical discussion. This is for amusement, not an implication to attempt this on your own.” 

Tom laughs in a very pleasant manner. “As always, sir.” 

I smile at him. I truly do like this boy. He will definitely become something like nobody has ever seen before. He has no fear towards the unconventional, and seems to enjoy theoretical discussions as much as I do myself. A mage needs to not fear theory and to not fear facing that which scares the common folk, to be able to understand the matters deeper, and to come up with new inventions of magic.

Thus, I begin to tell him about horcruxes, and the terrifying but nonetheless almost disproven magic. I tell him that it lies between the line of documented, but yet crosses over into the line of utterly disproven magic. I tell him what little we know about the emotional state of the caster, and how such a state is often related to murder or the experience of death and the infusion of what we call ‘the soul’ into an object. Tom duly takes his notes, waiting for me to finish my small lecture before he begins to ask questions, as he always does. 

“What do you mean with a ‘soul?’ I’ve heard the concept many times, naturally, but not from a mage as much as I’ve heard it used in Muggle context.” His pen is hovering above the page, waiting for an answer. 

“In truth, we don’t quite know what it is within the mage which splits apart. As I mentioned, this magic seldom happens with intention, but is performed under extreme pressure which causes the magic to essentially cut parts of the mage’s essence apart. All the terms that I am using are simply the means by which we attempt to understand the phenomenon, not an exact magical science. Something is ripped from the person in question, something valuable enough to keep the person alive, or rather, away from death, even when the mage’s physical body is destroyed. It has many names at this point, but we generally understand it as a ‘soul’ or part of magical essence.”

Tom nods, continuing to take notes in his book. “In summary: a common factor in the casting of the spell tends to be a murder either witnessed or performed by the person themselves, or some manner of death, as it allows for the emotional state which is needed to cause the clash of magic?” 

“Very good,” I cheer and nod. “Ten points to Slytherin.” 

Tom smiles weakly at the gaining of points but then continues to ask more about the horcruxes themselves. “We have generally been speaking about the objects in plural, but is it possible to actually create more than one horcrux? It appears hard enough to cause the magic to occur once, to have it done twice or more… well…” He looks up at me, silently waiting for an answer. 

“Indeed, my boy,” I nod again. “The conditions are the most important for the magic to occur, which is why they are so hard to replicate. Since people do become more indifferent to the actions they perform, a person is not likely to be able to repeat the same conditions since they will not continue having the same reaction the second time to a traumatising, stressful or emotionally draining event. In short, once a murderer, you know what death is like. The fresh, previously unknown emotions, the raw impact of the event, simply cannot be so easily replicated over and over.” 

I am silent as I let Tom finish his notes. “Do you think that only inanimate objects can become horcruxes? That is to say, could a pet become a horcrux?” 

I laugh at the very interesting question he poses. “A fascinating idea!” I muse. “I should think that it is possible, yes. Magic can be highly unpredictable indeed. Why, the pet might be allowed to live for as long as the piece of the soul inhabits it, making their life far longer. Why, are you planning on making your pet snake into a horcrux, my boy?” I laugh merrily as I drink some more of my wine. 

Tom chuckles as well, smiling at me with perfectly white, straight teeth. “I would like Nagini to live forever with me, if I had a choice,” he jokes softly. “I have a magical theory question. As we know that the number seven is the most magical number, among other such titles associated with the number itself, do you think that it would make a magical theoretical difference if the total number of a person’s horcruxes was seven?” 

I ponder the question for almost a minute before I answer. “Yet again an interesting proposal, but I’m not certain that a person could possibly rip their soul apart so many times. Many people become traumatised and triggered without being able to create horcruxes, so to create seven different occasions where that happens would be next to impossible. I am not so sure what would happen if one created seven different horcruxes, but my final conclusion is that it could significantly impact the person’s magical ability if that much of the possible magic essence was divided up in that manner. It could potentially be worth it for someone, but I find it hard to think that it would be ideal. At such a point, we might even be able to discuss if that person is even human anymore, as they have been so separated. However, there is a chance that seven horcruxes could in theory be rather magical indeed. Not a large one, but one nonetheless.”

The scratching of Tom’s pen comes to a halt when he finishes his notes. “That is highly fascinating. If I may bring you attention back to the object itself with a final question? As the horcruxes can be created, they may also be destroyed, correct?”

I nod, I can hear that this is not actually his question by the tone of his voice. 

“If one wanted to protect such an object, how would you theoretically think that one would go about it? I’m thinking that an excessive protection charm would make it evident that there was something special about the object, which should ideally be protected without notice, but leaving a horcrux without anything appears foolish. Not to mention reckless. Do you have any suggestions, Professor?” 

His green gaze comes to rest upon me, and I see an ocean of possibilities within them. I’m reminded of his intelligence, but I also see a reliance on me. This boy may be a genius, but he is not yet without boundaries. When he grows older, he shall remember me fondly as somebody who assisted him in breaking those boundaries, and allow him to reach his full potential. 

“It would be perfectly simple, my boy.” I feel highly proud over the surprise and interest in those green eyes of his. “If you do not want someone to destroy something, all you need to do is make certain that they love it. Through love, anything is possible, while hatred never has the same effect. One should bewitch the item to charm the person who looks upon it to love it and therefore want to prevent its destruction.” 

“Oh…” Tom blinks before he smiles. “So the answer is love? How perfectly humorous.” He turns back to his notes and writes in the little book, his lips pulled back into a smile. 

“Love is always the answer over fear, Tom,” I chuckled heartily at my own words. Very poetic. I could have been a poet, should I have wished to. 

“My dad would likely say the same,” Tom agrees with me, but I am less pleased with the notion that me and Albus would agree about something. “But with that idea, you could also use the concept of love to make a horcrux out of something valuable. For example, an object of historical significance. I doubt that most people would even think of destroying something as important as a historical object, even if they did know that it was a horcrux.” 

“Excellent deduction…” I nod as I consider his proposal. “For the sake of argument, and since we already discussed making more than one, do you have any suggestions as to what historical objects you’d use to keep people from wanting to destroy them?” I shouldn’t, but I am too curious to hear his response to not ask. 

Tom considers the inquiry before he focuses on me once more. “I would think that as a Hogwarts student, it would be comparatively easy to get one’s hands on a historical item from the school itself, one related to the founders of Hogwarts. I believe that we have both the Hufflepuff goblet as well as Ravenclaw circlet in the trophy room upstairs, with rather minimum security, all things considered. While I would never think to actually steal them, they would make excellent items of choice which have enough historical value that people wouldn’t want to break them, no matter if they knew that they were horcruxes. Of course, not many adults could get to such objects, which makes them less useful for people overall, but a possibility for someone working at the school.” 

“Fifteen points to Slytherin,” I laugh as I completely agree with the young man, and would likely have come to a similar conclusion on my own should I have pondered the topic for longer. “You are most clever Tom. Then I have to say that it would be ever so thematic to keep with the founders' objects, and obtain something from both Slytherin and Gryffindor as well. There is always Gryffindor’s lost sword which would make a good addition to the set of four.” 

“And Slyherin’s locket,” Tom agrees, eagerly leaning forward. “That would make four very valuable horcruxes which nobody would want to destroy, even without the implementation of charms. That love you spoke of would already be there.”

I agree with him gingerly as I nod my head. “Indeed, but I am sad to say that time is passing, and you should return to your dormitory.” I glance at the clock and then remind him to be off before curfew. It is somewhat abrupt, but time does not often allow for very long discussions on interesting topics. 

Tom packs his things together, using a simple spell to prompt the ink to dry before he closes the book. As he stands and walks towards the door, intent on leaving after he had bid me good night, I call for him. 

“Remember, Tom, this is a purely academic discussion. I’m not encouraging you to do anything.” I attempt to sound stern, but I know that sternness was never a quality of mine. 

Tom stops in the door and turns towards me, one of his hands lazily resting upon his bag. He leans his head to the side, a perfect smile forming on his perfect face. “As always, sir,” he promises me in a sweet voice. 

I yet again wish that he had been my son, and not Albus’, and I feel a throb of jealousy towards the more handsome, but all the more nervous and unreliable mage who is Albus Dumbledore. After all, he is but a lowly Hufflepuff, a child I remember from school as useless. However he became a teacher, a Professor, even, is beyond my understanding. 

“Good night, Tom,” I nod towards him one last time. 

“Good night, sir,” Tom returns my sentiments, and closes the door, still smiling. 

✴✴✴

After Harry exited the memory, he sat in silence for a while, as everyone else experienced it. As he sat, he considered what he had witnessed, and considered if the truth could really be as easy as there being not one, but two horcruxes at Hogwarts. He didn’t speak up until everyone had experienced the same thing as he had, but he could not stop thinking about the possibility that Professor Slughorn’s memory had indeed revealed all which Al and the Order of the Phoenix had needed to know for the sake of being able to destroy the seemingly immortal Lord Voldemort.

No wonder Horace Slughorn had been so scared and protective, for the memory was far more useful and detailed than anything which either Harry or Al had hoped. Al had been right in that Tom learnt of the type of magic from Professor Slughorn, but this was far more detailed than what they had expected. 

The four of them came to sit in a small circle of chairs, with Al sitting on top of his desk, as he had a habit of doing. He was absentmindedly toying with his necklace as he stared into the open fire and at the cat-creature who was resting in front of it. Crookshanks appeared to pay no attention to Fawkes, yet the phoenix was eying the feline with a stern, distrusting glance. Al had been the last to see the memory, and the one who appeared to struggle the most with his thoughts as he pondered the information. 

“Do you believe that there are actually two horcruxes in the school?” Hermione gathered herself first and spoke up, looking between the men before her, both young and old. 

“It seems so easy that nobody would ever think of it,” Neville agreed. “Hogwarts is generally known, or at least thought to be, most secure. At least until Sirius Potter broke in about three times. It would likely have made sense to keep them here, if the Dark Lord wanted them safe and without anyone noticing that they had changed into something else.” 

“The Hufflepuff goblet is not at Hogwarts any longer,” Albus said. “It was something donated by the Lestrange family, and it was retracted due to an incident before any of you were born, where…” Realisation hit him before he settled down once more, chewing on his lower lip. “Where the goblet was stolen for about two months, and then reappeared once more as if it had never been taken. The Lestranges retrieved it at that point and stored it in their family vault. Blood-locked, naturally…”

He trailed off and then continued. “Tom had graduated at that point and was of course not a suspect, but he knew Hogwarts very well. Perhaps better than anyone else. He could have found ways back inside, just like how Mr. Potter did it three years ago. Tom is also an animagus, you see. One with a far more versatile shape for stealth. If nothing else, Tom had followers at that point, and could have asked them for the favor. Nonetheless, his goal was likely to prompt the goblet to be locked up in the Lestrange family vault, where it would be even more secure than here at Hogwarts.” 

“Then it makes more sense than not to assume that he might have gotten to it after his school days,” Hermione agreed. “Are you… quite alright, Harry?” She focused on her friend, having seen Harry’s expression prior to the two men beside him. 

“I…” Harry slowly turned towards the Dark Lord’s dad, his expression combating fear and worry as he attempted to appear neutral when he met Al’s blue gaze. “You said that Tom, I mean, Riddle, was an animagus? He wouldn’t have happened to be… A snake by any chance?” 

Al focused on Harry before nodding. “He was the same type of snake as his pet Nagini. That is the snake which he mentioned in the memory. Why do you ask?” It was not alarm which colored his final statement, but careful caution. 

Harry struggled to speak, but Hermione and Neville had both realised why his words were getting caught in his throat. He slowly turned towards Hermione, who realised what he was about to ask. 

She nodded, “do show him. I’ll close my eyes.” She did so, and then covered them with her hands as well. 

Harry turned back towards Albus, speaking in but a weak whisper, “did the snake appear anything like this?” 

He gathered himself and allowed the world to spin as he transformed into his animagus shape. Part of his body fell off the chair, evidently startling Crookshanks and the phoenix, but not as much as it startled Al. The man flinched and stood up, staring down at Harry with unfiltered surprise and uncertainty. He slowly raised a hand before placing it over his mouth, backing against the desk as he struggled with the implications behind Harry not only being a Parselmouth, but somehow being the exact same snake as his son had been when he was capable of performing the magic without damaging his own body. 

Harry turned back into his own shape as he knew that he couldn’t actually hear the man speak as a snake. Thus, he found himself upon the floor as he slowly stood up, focusing on the older wizard as he anxiously awaited the reveal that he was indeed the same shape as Tom Riddle had been. 

“I don’t… understand…” Al mumbled as he lowered his hand. “You are his exact copy, with the exception of your scarred forehead, of course. You’ve never seen that snake, have you?” 

Harry shook his head, “no, but I think I might have dreamt about being her when I was sharing my thoughts with Tom.” 

Al did not look any calmer as he studied Harry’s face, “nobody has said that the snake is a she. How did you know that, Harry?” 

Harry blinked slowly, thinking backwards to try and remember if the old wizard hadn’t mentioned a pronoun somewhere in regards to the snake. He realised that he hadn’t, and neither had Slughorn or Tom. He pushed down the worry in his chest and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “I don’t know,” he admitted weakly. “Maybe it was just a lucky guess?” 

“It… could have been,” Al agreed as he began to calm down. “I wish Quirinus was still with us, he would likely know more and better than any of us... I shall speak to Severus later and inquire about the possibilities of how you could have come into possession of this information.” 

Neville frowned, “that name sounds oddly familiar…” he mused out loud.

Al smiled without an overly abundance of joy at him as Harry returned to his seat, wrestling with his emotions in regards to having found yet another similarity between himself and his birth parents' murderer. 

“Quirinus Quirrell is the full name of your teacher from your first year. He was a good man, and an excellent dictionary of knowledge, especially in Dark Arts and the defenses against such, before he was lost to his own anxieties and fears. He used to be most capable as well, and he did teach for many years before he was sent to Azkaban. While many of the following teachers have been capable, Professor Quirrell was a valuable addition to the staff who I am sad to have lost.” Albus explained to the students as Neville and Hermione nodded along, showing that they were paying attention. 

As they were not as close to Al as Harry was, both students were rather unsure how to act in his presence. Neville was more relaxed than Hermione since he knew Al slightly better due to his internal magic lessons, but the witch was rather shy around the man she perceived to be the Greatest Wizard of the century. 

To not allow herself to be shy, Hermione continued to speak about the memory, allowing Harry some space to think and breathe as well. “Then the circlet is still in the trophy room?” 

Al considered it before he answered, “I can’t remember it being moved, stolen, or owned by somebody else. It should still be here at Hogwarts.” 

“And the pet snake, Nagini, could very much be a horcrux. If he had seven in total, which seems possible, but maybe not likely, how many horcruxes does that make?”

“Tom’s diary, the ring used for his resurrection, and the locket which might have belonged to Slytherin, or at the very least his lineage, makes three, all of which are destroyed,” Al summarised. “With the goblet, the tiara and the snake, that makes six in total.” 

“Then it is anyone’s guess if he might have had the time to create a seventh one,” Hermione sighed. “And that could be anything, but should by the logic in the memory be something belonging to Godric Gryffindor.” 

“That sword is at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake, isn’t it?” Neville concluded with a relieved sigh. “At least he didn’t get to that.” 

“Last I spoke to the merfolk, I do believe they claimed to have found a sword and kept it in their village,” Al absentmindedly stroked his beard as he talked. “At the time, I did not think it was that sword, but there is a possibility that it could be. Which makes me all the more certain that Tom couldn’t retrieve it, as he doesn’t know how to swim.” 

“Ugh…” Harry objected, “another likeness. Perfect. Just what I needed.” 

Neville patted his arm, “you did rather well when we were practicing last year.” 

“That was two years ago,” Hermione smiled at the memory. “That merperson was cute. A little weird, but cute.” 

“I always found them a little strange and rather clingy, but it could be because they find my pale hair to be irresistible,” Al chuckled softly as he pulled on a strand of long, grey hair. 

“I can imagine,” Neville chuckled alongside him, prompting both Harry and Hermione to smile. They recalled how much their friend had enjoyed Ron’s hair and appearance, and wanted nothing more than to keep on touching it. 

Harry felt slightly less overwhelmed at the memory of something more pleasant, and he gathered himself with a few deep breaths. “Should we go check on that circlet? If it appears strange, we can bring it to Secrets and have her destroy it. She is completely blind by now, and her gaze is harmless, so you could both come to see her if you’d like.” 

It felt strange to talk about a historical artifact in such ways, but Harry held no illusion that an old object was worth more than the lives of countless of people.

Neither Hermione or Neville had any desire to meet Secrets. That much was evident from their expressions. 

“I should come with you…” Al hesitated as he did not stand up from his desk. “I truly should, this isn’t something which young mages such as yourself should be involved with when an adult can do it.” 

Harry shook his head. He had already made up his mind and he was not about to allow himself to falter. “He’s still your son, Al. You shouldn’t have to destroy what could be a piece of his being when someone else can do it. Besides, nobody but me can speak to Secrets, so I should be the one to collect the item. I’ve done it before, I can do something as simple as deliver her another object to break.” 

“It could be protected by some manner of magic,” Al responded. “I truly do think that I should come with you.” 

“Professor,” Hermione objected, “I think that might be a bad idea. You have more reason than anyone to struggle with that item being destroyed in the first place, and if you would, in the worst case, turn against us, we couldn’t possibly face you in combat.” She nervously fumbled with her skirt as she spoke, unable to quite meet his gaze. 

“But if you were to be hexed and fight against one another, that wouldn’t be ideal either,” Al knew that she was right and thus objected weakly to something other than her direct statement. 

Harry’s face lit up as an idea came to him. “Then what if we were to bring Dobby or Kreacher? Dobby is a powerful magical creature who shouldn’t be affected by spells aimed towards humans. After all, elves are far more resilient to magic than humans, isn’t that right?” 

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “That is true! Dobby might even know where the item in question is within the room.” 

Harry grinned, feeling hopeful and excited about the idea of being able to take one step towards saving Draco and the Malfoys, as well as the British mage community, from the Dark Lord. He understood that Tom Riddle had to die for such an effect to be possible, but at this point, the man had done more than enough to hurt and damage the community to the point where there was little choice left. Most of all, Tom wasn’t stopping, meaning that he had to be stopped.

Al hesitated before his shoulders fell in defeat. “You are right. It is likely better if I simply sit this one out. Are you quite certain that this is something which you are alright with doing?” He looked between the three students, perhaps hoping that somebody would change their mind and ask him to accompany them. Nobody did. “Very well… Please report back to me as soon as possible. I’d like to know…” he hesitated, “how it went.” 

Harry, Hermione and Neville nodded. 

“We will, sir,” Neville assured him as he stood up. “Guess there is no point waiting. Shall we leave?” 

Harry stood up as well but Hermione hesitated. 

“May my cat stay here for a little bit?” she asked. “I don’t want him to be caught up in what we are doing. If he annoys you, sir, you can simply put him outside and he will go back home on his own.” 

“I shall do so, I don’t mind the company as he appears very polite.” Al assured her. 

He then followed them with his blue gaze as the three students left the Headmaster’s office. It was evident to Harry that he attempted to appear strong, but he was nonetheless clutching the bottle from his necklace in his hand as he watched them leave, his hand shaking slightly. Just before the door shut, he allowed his head to fall and the long, silvery hair to cover his face up, hiding him from the world as he moved his hand from his necklace to his mouth, suffocating whatever noise threatened to leave him. 

Chapter Text

“So we are collecting the Ravenclaw circlet from the trophy room,” Dobby summarised as he walked next to Harry, counting on his long, thin fingers as he spoke. “And then we bring it to the basilisk hiding in the closed off girls’ bathroom on the second floor, and destroy a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul.”

Harry nodded as he trailed after the self assured elf as he walked, leading the three students through the mostly empty castle and towards the trophy room. Harry couldn’t remember ever being inside it, but he knew that he had once been outside of it when he had come to stop Ron from duelling Draco when they were all eleven. It was almost funny to think that that night had been one of the more frightening events in Harry's life at that point, but it now appeared almost pathetically plain in comparison to the rest of his time at Hogwarts. 

“The basilisk isn’t exactly in the bathroom…” Hermione objected weakly. 

“Oh, I do know that,” Dobby waved her comment away with a smile. “It was just faster to say. I recall when I learned where the Chamber of Secrets actually was once I started to work at Hogwarts, and it frightened me ever so much. Now, it almost appears mundane to know that there is a monster snake beyond the basement.” Dobby shuddered to himself. “Do not appreciate the elf I was back then. What an awful thing I was. Abused and awful and mentally unstable. Such a bad combination for anything. I am so sorry for all the trouble I caused you back then, Harry.” He smiled apologetically at Harry, his now friend. 

“It was a long time ago, and it wasn't exactly your fault even if what you did wasn't alright,” Harry assured him with a weak smile. “I’d rather not remember it either.” 

“Then we shall consider it lost to history,” Dobby laughed to himself as he waved his hand towards the trophy room doors, prompting them to open without him having to reach up and grab at them with his short body. “Very lost. Extremely lost. So lost it never really happened. This way, please.” He walked inside the room, waving his hand for them to follow. 

The trophy room was very much what one would expect from a room with such a title. It was large, squared and well lit and covered with cabinets and drawers which displayed various numbers of trophies, plates and diplomas. One cabinet was completely devoted to the Trimagus Tournament, but in general, each wall represented one Hogwarts House, with the Hufflepuff wall being far emptier than the rest. The Slytherin and Ravenclaw walls were competing for the one with the least space left for other achievements, with Ravenclaw currently winning. 

Dobby led them along the row of drawers in the middle of the room until he stopped by one display case in the corner between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin wall. He jumped once when he reached the display case which was a hybrid between a cabinet and a pedestal. Dobby then nodded towards the students. Harry stepped toward and leaned in to peek down at what Dobby was showing them. He was followed by Neville and Hermione, who both stayed back slightly out of fear of the possibly enchanted object. 

Rowena Ravenclaw’s circlet was by all means beautiful. It was a hard metal circle, rather wide, and very straightforward in its design by having shapes in the crown depicting elegant birds dented in the material, shapes which were probably ravens. There were a few blue gems with a soft surface upon the front of the piece, their natural and raw appearance testifying of their ancient age. There was writing along the bottom of it as well, but Harry did not quite recognise the letters or words at all, and thus it was anybody’s guess what language of all the ones past or present spoken in the country it could be, beside modern English. The piece appeared so very old that it was possible that Rowena Ravenclaw had inherited it, and perhaps even based her House symbol and color around the artifact. 

“Can you take it out?” Harry asked Dobby as he finished admiring it. He didn’t feel particularly attracted to it, so he concluded that there was a possibility that the circlet was not a horcrux, and that if it was, it had not been hexed or charmed into making the viewer love it. Yet he was nonetheless cautious as he knew that there was a possibility that the spell might only activate once he was looking directly at the item itself, or perhaps even touching it. 

“I can,” Dobby snapped his fingers and the lock came undone with a willing little click. “Would you like me to bring it out?”

“No, I will take it,” Harry smiled at his friend as he found a pair of gloves in his bag which he had inherited from Regulus Black and kept with him in case he needed to handle something fragile or dirty. He pulled the thin gloves on and slowly opened the glass panel which Dobby had unlocked. As nothing happened to him upon looking directly at the item, Harry carefully reached inside the display case and pulled the circlet out. It was heavy in his hands and he could not help but note with some horror that it was likely a highly uncomfortable headpiece to wear. It must have caused many headaches while it was actively used. 

“It’s not enchanted,” Harry turned towards his friends with a smile, showing them the object. “We should go and destroy it right away, could someone open the door for me?” 

“Wait…” Hermione’s voice was weak as she focused completely upon the object before her, her eyes locked to the gleaming curves of the piece of jewellery. She appeared slightly transfixed. “Maybe we should think this over one more time. That is a highly valuable historical object dating back from Rowena Ravenclaw herself, by the look of it even far before her time. It might even be invaluable. Is there anything about it which makes us certain that it really is a horcrux? Some magic that we can use to at least check?” 

Harry hesitated before he blinked down at the object as well, frowning slightly. For all intents and purposes, the circlet appeared to be normal. He could feel no magic or supposed Dark energy coming from it. It appeared very much to be an object and nothing else. 

Hermione took a step forward and nodded, “it wouldn’t be right for us to destroy it before we have examined it thoroughly and more in detail. I have my work station, and I could likely figure out a manner in which to recognise if it is a horcrux.” She took another step forward and reached out her hand, pushing her fingertips towards the object as if it was too valuable for her to touch but she nonetheless wanted to. 

Harry glanced at Neville, who was looking at the circlet as well, his expression equally longing to Hermione’s. When he noticed that Harry was looking at him, he shrugged weakly but without averting his gaze. “We really shouldn’t be hasty… It’s so... beautiful.” 

Harry took a step backwards, stopping Hermione from reaching him or the circlet with her hand. She looked surprised, but then offended. The offense confirmed Harry’s suspicions, and raised alarm within his chest and mind. Hermione and Neville were both affected by the circlet, while Harry was not. It appeared that it was not charmless, but simply couldn’t affect Harry. He took a breath as he realised that he had been holding it, then quickly glanced towards Dobby, who was not paying attention to the circlet, but instead looking at the two mages in front of him. 

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice was stern and slightly wounded as she realised that Harry was looking at her with alarm. “I simply want to look at it for myself. You are behaving rather strangely.” 

“I’m really not,” Harry shook his head. “You are the ones who have been affected by the charm of this thing. I can’t let you touch it, or it might get worse. I’ll simply go to Secrets now.” He made an attempt to leave but Neville stepped in front of the door, blocking it from him. 

“Harry, you’re the one who sounds like you have been affected by it. Hermione just wants to look at it and really confirm that it is a horcrux. She is right in that it is invaluable to our school.” Neville sounded reasonable, but his gaze was not on Harry, but instead stuck to the circlet in his hands. 

“It would be a… Sin against our community to destroy something which displays our proud history in that manner. The Ravenclaw students would never forgive us for our transgressions.” Hermione attempted to reason as well as she yet again stepped forward, reaching for the piece of jewellery with far more determination this time around. “Give it to me, Harry.” She reached for her wand.

Harry stared into her eyes as he used a Muggle expression which he had learned in Muggle Studies a few years back. “To Hell with our proud history,” he muttered. “Dobby!” Harry spun towards him and grabbed a hold of the smaller person’s shoulder, perhaps a little roughly. “Girl’s bathroom, second floor!” 

Dobby instinctively understood what Harry was asking of him and he grabbed a hold of Harry’s arm in return. Both Neville and Hermione moved forward in an attempt to stop them but Dobby was faster than they were. Dobby apparated him and Harry away from the trophy room, and the two appeared in their location.

Harry felt horrible after the apparation, and he almost surrendered to the desire to throw up, but he managed to keep it down as he stumbled to the side and covered his mouth. Apparating with a mage had been bad enough, but apparating with an elf within a zone which had protection against apparation was beyond horrible. Harry never wanted to do it again. 

The girls’ bathroom on the second floor had been closed for a long time, ever since Hagrid had to routinely come to the opening to the Chamber of Secrets to feed Secrets goats, it had simply been less of a hassle to block the room off from the students. Not to mention that if they knew about it, some brave or mad Gryffindor student would likely attempt to enter the dark pipe hole which led to the tunnels underneath the school, and likely get stuck there or eaten by mistake. 

Harry stumbled towards the open pipe, stepping over the pieces of what had once been a sink pillar which covered the entrance to the Chambers. The bathroom itself was dusty and smelled heavily of it, as the House Elves had stopped attempting to clean it after they were informed of what was hidden within it. He could make out the large footprints which likely belonged to Hagrid in the dust, as well as some faint traces of something, likely a dead goat, having been pulled over the floor. 

“Make sure nobody follows me,” Harry spoke to Dobby. He was too stressed and too determined to stop and thank Dobby for saving him from the previous situation. “If I’m not back in an hour, send Hagrid to look for me down there.”

“Yes, sir,” Dobby fell into old speaking patterns as he turned towards the door, magic sparks flying from his fingers as he cracked his knuckles with a small smile. Even though Dobby likely didn’t want to fight Hermione or Neville, or both of them, he was nonetheless happy for the opportunity to be allowed to wield his magical powers without restriction. 

As Harry jumped down into the pipe, clutching the circlet to his chest, he saw Dobby create a shimmering barrier in front of the door to the bathroom. He had no idea how powerful the charm was, but he wanted to free his friends as soon as possible from it, which led him to hurry to break the object. 

The pipe was long and winding, but a lot shorter than Harry recalled it from last time he visited his friend. He hit the ground running, almost slipping upon the many bone fragments which had gathered around the entrance since Hagrid began feeding Secrets regularly. By now, it had been almost four years, and the animal remains were plenty, and smelled vaguely of decay. Harry paid everything around him little mind as he continued to run down the mostly dark tunnel, which was lit by luminous mushrooms. He trusted Dobby to keep his potentially hexed friends away from him, yet he still rushed to break the spell of what he was beyond certain was a horcrux. 

The door to Secret’s lair was wide open, and thus Harry ran inside it, panting hard from having rushed in a manner which his body wasn’t used to. He came to a halt upon the slippery, half water-filled floor as he stopped to breathe. He bent over his knees and gasped, allowing himself to pant until he could form words once more. 

“Secrets?” Harry called into the mostly empty chambers. “Secrets, I need your help!” He hoped that he was speaking Parseltongue. 

After almost a minute, the water stirred at the other end of the hall, and the large snake slowly began to approach her Master. Harry instinctively closed his eyes and began to feel around in his bag for a hand mirror he got from the Black estate, which he had taken a habit of carrying around since he began attempting to appear collected at every point of the day. He heard the large body approach him slowly but steadily as she made her way to him. 

“Help?” the old snake echoed. “What… Master needs?”  

She stopped before him and Harry’s face was slapped by her long tongue as she smelled him. He could feel the scent of her breath close by his face, making his head spin slightly. He really wished that her teeth could be brushed, but he wasn’t sure if that was possible to do without the venom destroying the brush. 

“I need your help to destroy an object,” Harry continued to search for his hand mirror but without finding it. 

“Another… danger… cronch…” the basilisk appeared to sigh, but she was not entirely displeased. “Goats are… better.”  

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry smiled weakly at her as he finally found his mirror. “Is it true that you are no longer able to kill or petrify with your gaze?”

“True. Goatman looked… at me. He was… not harmed,” Harry felt her tongue hit him once more as she attempted to figure out what he had pulled from his bag. “Food?”  

“Just a mirror, I’m afraid. Let me look at you through it, and then I will look at you with my eyes?” Harry reached out to carefully pet her nose. 

She made a noise which he concluded to be agreeing. Harry was indeed fine as he peeked at the large snake from his hand mirror, so he gathered all his courage, wondered briefly if Sirius would have been proud of him for almost being reckless, and looked directly at her.

Secrets was as awe inspiring as she was fearsome. The large, mostly grey snake towered over Harry, her face nothing like the soft, round shape of a normal snake, but it was instead scaly and almost dragon-like. Her eyes were a dimmed but nonetheless yellow in color and her pupils were sharp slits. Yet the most noticeable feature about her large body was her giant mouth, which opened to rows upon rows of sharp teeth the size of Harry’s head. He suddenly understood perfectly well why Hermione had a phobia for snakes after seeing that head appear around a dark corner at the age of twelve. He swallowed. 

Secrets swayed from side to side, waiting for Harry to do something. She then lowered herself down, placing her terrifyingly large and teethed head just a decimeter away from Harry as her mahogany red tongue flickered over him. Just like Missy did. 

“Master?” she asked in her old voice which Harry had once found to sound cruel. 

He blinked and then reached out to pet her, attempting not to stare at the large eyes as they focused on nothing due to the animal’s blindness. She felt the same as she always had, and Harry couldn’t help but follow the impulse to carefully hug her snout, leaning his full weight against her. He felt the giant animal breathe underneath him, and he heard her eyes move in their sockets as she stood still, allowing him to hug her. Every now and then, her tongue would flicker, but she didn’t attempt to move away. 

“Sorry,” Harry finally pulled back. “It’s been a harsh year.” 

“Previous Master… struggled too.” Secrets carefully shook herself as Harry let her go. “Where is… danger cronch?”  

“It’s here, um… I’ll just throw it into your mouth?” He raised the circlet as he glanced behind him, wondering if the noise he had just heard had been someone coming, or simply the water surrounding them, or the body of the snake as she moved. 

She did not answer, but instead opened her mouth, waiting for the item to be thrown into the deep, dark recesses of it. Harry shuddered as he took one last glance at the faintly shimmering historical artifact which was Rowena Ravenclaw’s circlet, and then threw it into the mouth of Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk. It dissolved in the venom of her mouth, destroying what Harry was convinced was another piece of the Dark Lord’s magical essence, or his soul. It was incredibly satisfying to watch the object melt into nothingness as the sound of the hissing venom broke through it. Secrets opened her mouth and allowed the object to fall down onto the ground, where it continued to melt and sizzle softly. 

Harry raised his head to smile at her, “thank you.” 

“Goat is better…” she repeated with what sounded to be a sigh. “Was there… more? So tired…” 

“I just have a question?” Harry hurried to ask as he raised his hand to stop her from leaving, then felt rather silly since she couldn’t actually see the gesture. He breathed twice, then gathered himself to speak. “Your previous Master, is there anything you can tell me about him? It doesn’t matter what, just… anything?” 

The basilisk hesitated. She might be trying to remember, but struggled to. After a short while, Harry heard her voice within his mind. “He was crying,” she said, simply. 

Harry blinked at her. “He was crying? When was this? I mean, when did that happen?” Harry hadn’t intended on asking so many questions, but he asked them nonetheless, unable to cease his mouth’s desire to speak the confusion of his mind. 

The large snake shook her body before laying herself down upon the ground, slowly beginning to roll herself up in a comfortable pile of venomous basilisk. “Do not know. After I… killed her…”

“Killed who?” Harry took a step closer but then thought better. He was rather sure that he knew who the giant snake was speaking of. He collected himself before simply petting her large body. “I’m sorry. Go to sleep, thank you so much for your help.” 

“Good night… Master.” 

“Good night, Secrets.” 

On the way back to the large pipe, Harry pondered what he had learned from Secrets in regards to the Master who could only have been Tom Riddle. The murder of Myrtle Warren might not have been intended, and it might have caused Riddle a great amount of pain, perhaps even enough to make a horcrux out of the diary. Harry knew that he always carried it with him from Al’s memories. 

How far I’ve sunken…Taking a mere child hostage. 

Harry recalled the monstrous man speaking into his ear as his broken wand pressed against his neck. There was still a faint line after the scratch, but one which Harry couldn’t see unless he stared closely in the mirror towards the spot. Perhaps the Dark Lord didn’t like killing or hurting children, or as Harry preferred to see himself, teenagers. It didn’t make him good, it didn’t make him any less of a monster, but maybe it really was true that Tom Riddle had not been a monster at the time when he had first killed a person, mostly by accident. 

“Dobby?” Harry reached the pipe and called upwards, attempting to alert his friend somewhere far above him. “Dobby!” When he didn’t get a response, he called once more. 

“Yes, Harry...arry...rry…?” The echo answered him this time. 

“Are you alone?” Harry yelled back. 

“Yes… es...e…” 

“I’m coming back up… This might take a while.” Harry took a deep breath and then cast a levitation spell upon himself and then slowly ascended upwards in the pipe like a drunk pelican. Somehow, this magic always made other people appear dignified, but with Harry, he didn’t quite manage to make it look quite so effortless. 

Hermione and Neville were waiting for Harry and Dobby in Al’s office. Hermione was hugging her cat and Neville was staring deeply into the fireplace as if he considered if the fire truly was as hot as it appeared. Al was sitting upon the desk once more, his legs crossed and his hand holding the bottle around his neck. They all looked up when Harry closed the door after Dobby, whereas Hermione then quickly hid her face against her pet as Neville walked over to Harry and hugged him. 

“Sorry,” Neville mumbled as he slowly pulled back again. “We’re both sorry.” 

Harry blinked before he smiled, patting Neville on the arm to show that he wasn’t upset. “It’s not your fault. I’m simply glad that it didn’t get to me as well. Or Al. It was probably good that he wasn’t there.” 

Al smiled without joy as he shrugged weakly before standing up. “Did you destroy it?” When Harry nodded, the old wizard sat back upon his desk once more and covered his face with both hands, allowing the hair to cover him up as well as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. 

“I don’t understand…” Hermione objected weakly. “How come you were immune to it? None of us even realised that we were charmed until you were far away, and even then, we only managed to resist it because we came here rather than allow ourselves to follow you. Yet you weren’t affected at all.” 

“It’s bothering me too…” Harry confessed as he hugged himself, trying to not look at the old wizard who was most definitely crying, albeit silently. “I was immune to a vampire’s charm during the Holidays too, or at the very least resistant. Is it possible to be naturally resistant to charm based magic?” He asked Hermione rather than Al. 

She shrugged as she dared to look up from her cat’s body. “I think you can in some manners, but that charm shouldn’t have been so easy to shake off. That was powerful magic.”

Harry considered his response for a while before he shifted and then straightened up somewhat. “I think that I have parts of the Dark Lord’s magic trapped within me. More exactly, in my head. I realised that it was likely the reason as to why my scar hurts whenever he comes close to me. It could be that I’m immune to certain magic cast by him because the magic thinks I am him?” 

“That doesn’t really explain the vampire charm resistance, however,” Neville nodded his head but then proposed another conundrum in regards to Harry’s rather alarming abilities. If it was due to a connection, it made sense that he was resistant in regards to the horcruxes, but not something unrelated to the Dark Lord.

“Maybe I read so much about them as to know that it was a thing at their disposal, and could therefore see through it?” Harry proposed after some silent thought. 

“That does sound reasonable,” Hermione agreed as she petted Crookshanks' flat head. “It does sound horrible for you to have the Dark Lord’s magic trapped within you though. Can something be done against it?” 

Harry shrugged, “I’ve lived with it all my life. I don’t think it’s going to kill me. I mostly don’t even notice it at all.” 

“It has likely become part of your magic by now, which would explain why we didn't find anything before,” Al spoke up in a quiet voice as he picked tissues from the small, floating tissue box which had come up to him. Harry recognised it from the time he had exited the Chamber of Secrets when he was twelve. Al threw the tissue into the trash bin and then used another to dry his tears, keeping his gaze focused on the floor rather than the students. “Trying to separate it is likely more dangerous than simply leaving you be.” 

“Are you alright, Professor?” Neville spoke up when none of the others did. 

Al took a few deep breaths before he smiled towards the mages who gathered around him. “I think I will be. Thank you for your concern.” He waved his hands at his glasses, removing the stains which had formed upon them from his palms. Al turned towards Harry, looking at him with an almost shy, yet altogether nervous expression. “Did it… Was it a horcrux?” He asked more out of necessity than doubt. 

“I’m certain that it was, and if not, maybe it will be remembered as a great and unsolved theft,” Harry smiled as he spoke but his expression then settled into being rather serious. “Al, there is something I wanted to tell you. I don’t quite know what it means, but Secrets told me that her previous Master, Tom Riddle, that he…” Harry hesitated as Al leaned forward, clinging to his next words as if he both feared and longed for them to set him free. “That he was crying when Myrtle Warren was killed. I don’t… I don’t think that he meant to hurt her, let alone kill her at all.” 

“Moaning Myrtle?” Hermione asked for clarification in a quiet voice, prompting Harry to nod. 

Al had stood up when Harry looked away, but he wasn’t sure when he had stood. The old wizard's lips were forming unheard words and unspoken sentences before he sat down once more, covering his face. The students stood still, all watching him while attempting to make it appear as if they weren’t. After what felt like an eternity, Al looked up from his hands, looking towards them. “I apologise… could you leave me? I need… time.” 

“Naturally,” Harry reached out and grabbed both Hermione and Neville, pulling them with him. “We’ll leave. Good evening, Al.” 

“Good night, Professor,” Neville and Hermione spoke as one, Hermione holding her cat in her arms as she was pulled away by her friend. 

“Good night, sir,” Dobby bowed his head once before following the group of students. 

Albus Dumbledore sat still and silent upon his desk for a few long minutes before he managed to force himself up, turning away from the door through which the students and the elf had left. He slowly walked up towards a large, covered frame which was placed behind his desk. He slowly reached out and grabbed a hold of the heavy blue fabric which covered it, and pulled until it yielded and fell before him, sending dust particles around the room which prompted the old wizard to sneeze a few times. 

Albus collected himself before he slowly turned to face the reflective surface of a mirror. He looked within the surface of it, and spotted himself, as would be expected of a mirror, but the man inside it was not old and his hair and beard were a dirty blonde which sometimes appeared to almost be brown in some lighting. The man was dressed in less formless clothes where he stood by two people in a brightly lit kitchen, where the three of them lived together, far away from the world of magic and the world of the mundane. 

The three people were the young Albus, and the Tom Riddle who had been adopted by him, who was older than a child, but not yet an adult. The two of them lived together in peace and joy with Gellert Grindelwald, who wore his engagement ring upon his finger with pride. The Albus in the reflection possessed one ring just like it. The family were doing mundane things, cooking together, eating by the table, curling together on the sofa to watch Muggle movies while Tom sat to the side, in an armchair. In his wish, El and Tom spoke a lot, and Albus himself laughed plenty as he was allowed to live happily with his partner and his son. 

He saw other things too in the Mirror of Erised, how Tom graduated with a father by his side, how El became the Minister of Magic, but it all came back to that peaceful scene in their house, where they were supposed to have lived together, the three of them. 

The old man reached out and touched the cheek of his smiling son’s face, reaching for it with shaking fingers but was stopped from entering that world due to the glass. It was enough to prompt tears to form in his eyes. 

Tom hadn’t meant to kill the girl. That meant that he hadn't likely intended on creating the first horcrux. That was at the very least one sin which Tom was not guilty of, and it eased Albus’ heart immensely that his son had not intended on becoming a murder at the age of sixteen. He even had evidence for how much it had hurt him to commit such a crime, and that evidence was stored in a box upon his desk, broken, ruined and twisted, yet nonetheless real. 

“I didn’t love you like I should have, but I truly did love you as my son,” Albus softly spoke to the reflection of his teenage son. The hand which rested upon the glass bore many rings, but none of them upon his ring finger, since he could not wear the ring he truly wanted to wear. 

“And I love you still, El… We could have been…” He reached out and rested his right hand upon El’s laughing face as the scene continued to play, unaware of the observer in a different time and space. 

Albus truly liked to think of the scene as a different reality which was his in another time, in another world. The possibility that it was all as real as the reality he was forced to live. His aged hands touched the faces of the two people whom he loved the most, unable to reach them, unable to hold them like he desperately wanted to. 

“I love you both so much, and I miss you terribly,” the old wizard rested his head against the cold, uncaring glass, closing his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I will always love you. Both of you. Even when I shouldn’t.” He breathed deeply before he spoke up one last time. “Even when I can’t show it.” 

Chapter Text

“Ng...yo… Kang…” Pat slowly attempted to pronounce her friend’s name, speaking as carefully as she could but just knowing that she was messing it up the more she attempted not to. It made her face feel terribly hot, and her clothing even hotter. 

Yet to her great relief, Ngo-Kwang only chuckled at the mispronunciation. “You can just call me Cho like everyone else. I know that is a lot easier for those who don’t speak Chinese.” 

“Well, I want to call you by your real name,” Pat huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at her boots rather than at her friend. “Diggory managed to figure it out, I can’t be worse if I’m going to be your friend.” 

“Most of my friends really just call me Cho,” the Ravenclaw student objected in an amused tone of voice. “And Cedric only called me Ngo-Kwang when we were alone.” 

“Why? Was he also embarrassed by his pronunciation?” Pat hoped that Ngo-Kwang would say yes and make her feel less stupid. She could pronounce spells and at least speak some of her parents’ tongue, she should be able to learn a Chinese name without this much trouble. 

The two young women were sitting alone in the Quidditch dressing room, both of them having finished their respective training and were currently simply spending time with the other as they both procrastinated leaving the warmth of the slightly steamed room for the cold of the outside world. Not to mention that Pat felt comfortable in the dressing room, where nobody could find or bother them, meaning that nobody would or indeed could report it to Vince. 

It had been terrifying to be accompanied by Ngo-Kwang to the Slug Club party, but Professor Slughorn himself had truly enjoyed her company, and might even be considering inviting Ngo-Kwang into his group of honour students, so there really was no problem there. This meant that she could always excuse her friend's presence as necessary to gain favor with Professor Slughorn. Not to mention that Vince wasn’t back yet, and if somebody minded her spending time with a possible Half-blood, Pat didn’t know about it yet. She chose to not know, and hoped that nobody else might raise the issue so that she might be allowed to be alone with her newfound friend. Pat just knew that she would be in trouble for her relationship in the future, but as for now, she enjoyed the sudden freedom she had when her boyfriend wasn’t looking over her shoulder at everything she did. 

Ngo-Kwang laughed at Pat’s question and shook her head. “He was a little better than you at languages. He mostly kept that name for himself upon my request.” 

Pat frowned, “so you don’t want to be called by your name? A nickname is better?” Seeing as Pat herself preferred a nickname over her own name, she found it reasonable that Ngo-Kwang would want the same thing. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be called Ngo-Kwang as much as I am tired of having to explain to people how it is pronounced, only for them to fail over and over again, and then ask me for a nickname instead. It’s easier to just present myself as Cho and skip the trouble of explaining Chinese to them.” She sighed as she played with her colorful nails without hurting herself. She was simply running her fingers over the smooth surface of the color. 

“Am I… being like that?” Pat couldn’t stop herself from asking as she curled together slightly, feeling an uncomfortable ache of anxiety begin to build in her chest, between her lungs. 

“Oh no, not at all!” Ngo-Kwang hurriedly informed her. “You’re my friend and I like you. Having you attempt to pronounce my name is rather… sweet, really.” 

To her great embarrassment, Pat felt her cheeks heat as she was called sweet. She had never specifically wanted to be called sweet, but when Ngo-Kwang said it about her, there was something so very nice about the way the word sounded that Pat didn’t mind her friend thinking that she was sweet. 

Pat collected herself with a deeper breath, “alright. Tell me one more time.” 

“Nnn.”

“Nnn-”

“Gyo.”

“gyoh-”

“Gyo.” 

“gyo-” 

“Kwaung. Hard K, don’t make it AU, but a shorter noise from deep down in your throat.” 

“Kwaung.” 

“You’re too strong on the -ng.” 

“Kwang.” 

Ngo-Kwang’s face lit up, “there! You got it.” 

Pat felt thrilled as she tried once more to pronounce her friend’s name. “Ngo-Kwang.” 

Her friend clapped her hands, grinning from ear to ear. “You got it!” 

Pat felt herself beam with pride and happiness, and she noted how beautiful the Ravenclaw Prefect was when she smiled. To avoid drowning in her own emotions, Pat asked a question to distract them both. “But how in the world did Ngo-Kwang become Cho?” 

Ngo-Kwang straightened up slightly as she explained, using her hands for further emphasis. “So they took the ‘Ngo’ part of my name, and made it into ‘Cho.’ It’s a little embarrassing because I was told by Eun-Jeong Cho from Hufflepuff that, well… Cho is a Korean surname. It’s a little embarrassing to have two surnames for a name, but it’s not like most people realise that. How come you are called Pat? I didn’t want to be rude and ask but since we are talking about names...” Ngo-Kwang left the question hanging as she politely looked at her friend. 

“I don’t like being Pansy, sounds too much like Pantsy. I also don’t like Parkinson becoming ‘Park’ or something like that. Vince suggested Pat, and it just stuck. Most people think it is short for Patricia, I think. When I grow older, I think I’ll just change my name to Patricia but for now, Pat is enough. I like having an alliterate name,” Pat explained.

Ngo-Kwang nodded along. “Vince is your boyfriend, is he?” 

Pat nodded as she looked down upon her knees. She wanted to smile, but somehow the expression didn’t want to show itself. When she thought about Vince, she felt that uncomfortable dull ache between her lungs, felt the throbbing aching which made it hard to swallow but not impossible to breathe. “Vince is very nice to me,” she mumbled, her words sounding false even to herself. 

Ngo-Kwang sat silent for a few seconds. Pat knew that she was going to say something which she didn’t actually want to hear, but she also couldn’t muster the energy to ask her not to. 

“They claim that he is a Death Eater,” Ngo-Kwang said. “A lot of the students are uncomfortable and worried around him, and I’ve seen him almost gather students, becoming the center of attention in an almost worship-like manner. It’s rather… worrying.”

Pat hid her face in his hands, feeling emotionally drained even though she had yet to speak up at all. “I know what they say.” 

Ngo-Kwang sat silent in return for almost a minute. “He almost exclusively surrounds himself with Purebloods, and he appears to be very close to Draco Malfoy.” 

The girlfriend of the Death Eater scoffed, “Malfoy is considered as much of a blood traitor as the Weasleys at this point.” She realised too late what she had confessed to and quickly sat up, her expression twisting into one which was mixed with fear, alarm and anger. She only dared glancing towards Ngo-Kwang before she almost bolted for the door. 

However, Ngo-Kwang realised what she was about to do and reached out to grab her. To Pat’s great surprise, she was far stronger than she appeared, and she couldn’t actually fight against the older student’s grip. Yet far more alarmingly, Pat felt her body relax immediately as she was grabbed. Her mind associated the harsh and strong grip upon her arms with her boyfriend, and thus her body yielded as a familiar hotness came to throb in her stomach. The flame was quickly extinguished as Pat and Ngo-Kwang stared at one another, both realising that the younger witch had been made to relax by means of violence. None of them found that comfortable, and so Ngo-Kwang quickly let go. Pat didn’t run as she had planned to, but turned away from her friend as she wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the floor. Her face felt odd, much like the sensation of blushing, but instead of her face heating, it felt cold. As if her blood was becoming chilled, rather than warm. 

Yet again, they sat in silence until Ngo-Kwang spoke up. “Is he hurting you?” 

“No!” Pat hurriedly said, but she did not turn back. “He isn’t hurting me, he can just be a little rough sometimes. I like it. Or I used to like it. I… I liked it when it felt good.” 

“So it doesn’t feel good anymore?” Ngo-Kwang continued to ask in a quiet voice which somehow flawlessly filled the slightly steamy room so fully that Pat flinched as if she had shouted. 

“It does feel good…” Pat objected, but weakly this time. “Just not always. Not like it used to. Back then, it was on our terms, but now it’s on… his.” She continued to speak slowly, still hugging herself. She rather felt like crying, but somehow, the tears wouldn’t quite come. 

“Are you afraid of him?” 

Pat bit her lower lip and slowly shook her head. “No,” she lied. “No, I couldn’t be.” 

“Then are you afraid of him not listening to you?” Ngo-Kwang tried again. Her voice was calm and patient, never demanding and never loud. 

This time, Pat let out a breath which somehow formed into an affirmative answer, “yes.” 

Ngo-Kwang continued to prod, “are you with him because you’re afraid of what would happen if you separated from him?” 

Pat felt her body flinch as the other woman realised what she had been unable to phrase even within her own head. She curled together a bit more, her gaze focused on the ground before her but she wasn’t seeing the pale tiles. She wasn’t really seeing anything. “...You know that he is immortal, don’t you?” 

Her friend frowned behind her. “Who? Vincent Crabbe?” 

“No,” Pat’s voice was becoming so weak that Ngo-Kwang had to lean in to hear her words. “The Dark Lord. Last time, they only won because of circumstances, but seeing as he has returned, it is proof that he is immortal and will never stop his conquest. Opposing him is foolish, no, it is suicide. I’m not a Death Eater, or a Pureblood fanatic or supremacist, I’m not even a Pureblood, but I don’t believe that there is any survival in not following him.”

Ngo-Kwang hesitated. She appeared to be fighting with her own emotions, but she somehow managed to stay calm despite her new friend’s admittance to being a follower of Lord Voldmort. Another person might have left the young follower where she sat, or even reported her to the school, but Ngo-Kwang did not choose such an action. 

“You’re scared,” Ngo-Kwang stated. “But even if he won, they, that is, those who follow his ideology, would consider your blood wrong, and you wouldn’t be the same as them. You’d become a servant, or even a slave, of a society that doesn’t care for you. That doesn’t want you.”

Pat flinched at her words once more. “I know that!” she hissed at her friend. “I know that, which is why I can’t possibly remove myself from Vince. If I do, then I will be worth nothing. I’m only as alright as I am because he is protecting me. I can’t allow him to grow tired of me, or I would become the ex-girlfriend of a Death Eater and I would be eaten alive.” 

“So he is a Death Eater,” Ngo-Kwang commented dryly. 

Pat flinched once more as she realised that she had revealed more than she had intended to. She finally had the courage, or perhaps more accurately, the desperation to turn around and grab Ngo-Kwang’s arms, looking pleadingly into her eyes. Her own gaze was desperate, frightened and indeed pleading. “Please don’t do anything about it… Please, they would know it was me who told you. Somebody would figure it out. Please!” 

Ngo-Kwang blinked slowly, as if she was trying to quell the hatred and anger from her face so that she could look upon Pat with gentleness instead. She slowly raised her arms and pushed Pat into an embrace. “I don’t like it, but fine. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Pat let out a weak, shaking breath as she settled against the other student’s chest, closing her eyes as she attempted to breathe steadily once more. It was not as easy as it usually was, but it was all the more pleasant to have her nose filled with a scent which she didn’t connect to anxiety of physical closeness. 

“Cedric would never have made me do anything I didn’t like. In fact, he was determined to not even touch me without my consent.” Ngo-Kwang gently spoke as she held her friend close but didn’t force her to be tightly pressed against her. 

“You only dated for about a year…” Pat objected weakly. “And you weren’t even sixteen at the time, right? You don’t get to compare…”

“I do and I can,” Ngo-Kwang objected as she gave Pat a pat on the head. “I can compare a good relationship to a bad one, even if mine didn’t involve as much physical contact as yours.” 

Pat bit her tongue to hold back a response. She knew that Ngo-Kwang was right, she knew it, and it hurt because it was true. It hurt because it hadn’t started off like this, but her relationship had evolved out of her hands into something she didn’t like, but feared breaking even more. “It used to be so good…” she mumbled, “I used to be so happy. Feel so honored that he wanted to be with me and only me.”

Ngo-Kwang snorted in victory, surprising Pat. “I knew he wasn’t being romantic with Malfoy. I knew that whole thing looked abusive and wrong.” 

“I’m sorry…” Pat mumbled, feeling as a wave of self-loathing washed over her as she bit down on her lip instead of her tongue. “I know that too, but I don’t dare doing anything. And if you are wondering, I’m not jealous, I think it is as wrong as you do. Maybe even more…” 

The Ravenclaw Prefect smiled, “I knew you weren’t like that.” 

Pat curled together slightly, the self-loathing still strong within her chest and sour upon her tongue. “That doesn’t make me any better… Ignorance would be an excuse. Like this I have none.” 

“I see you don’t consider actual fear to be a reason to act in your own self interest…” Ngo-Kwang slowly pulled back to find a tissue for Pat among her pockets. She did find one and allowed it to exchange hands. 

Pat accepted it and blew her nose before settling back down upon the bench, leaning against the backrest with the side of her body. “Fine… but I really should do something about Draco.”

“What can you do in your position?” Ngo-Kwang’s statement was not accusatory, nor was it entirely kind. “Why do they even keep him around? You said he was considered a blood traitor, but they still keep such close watch on him that some people think that he is romantically involved with Crabbe.”

The Slytherin student shrugged, “I don’t know. I think it has to do with his father and the things he said about the Dark Lord when he was imprisoned. It could also be his relationship to Harry Potter.”

“Lupin,” Ngo-Kwang corrected her. She then appeared surprised that she had, as if the response had been automatic and she couldn’t hold it back. 

Pat couldn’t help but snort, “oh wow. Do forgive me.” She couldn’t hold back her smile. She couldn’t recall ever feeling that relieved to be corrected, as she actually didn’t like referring to her classmate by a name she knew that he hated. Or at the very least did not identify with. It was simply something she felt like she had to do because Vince did it to hurt Harry Lupin. 

“I’ll let it go, but as a Prefect, I do not approve of misspeaking a person’s name for your own comfort.” While Pat knew that her friend wasn’t mad at her, as she was still smiling, she knew that Ngo-Kwang really did mean those words. 

“He really does want to be called Potter though,” Pat corrected some stray hair from her face. “He’s been saying it all year.”

“Do you really believe that that is what he wants?” Ngo-Kwang crossed her arms over her chest, frowning deeply. “I don’t quite believe that he does. Of course any person is entitled to changing their mind, but I’m not sure in this case. He appears so very unhappy every time he corrects anyone back to Potter.” 

“He does?” Pat frowned. “I thought he looked rather collected, and not upset at all.” 

“I guess you didn’t look him in the eyes, then?” Ngo-Kwang smiled without too much joy. 

Pat clicked her tongue in response. “I guess I didn’t,” she admitted. 

“...I have an idea though,” the Prefect’s face was suddenly lit up with the flame of a realisation. “When you do break up with Crabbe, which I have to strongly suggest that you do. We could talk to someone and have you transferred into another House.”

The Slytherin student blinked at her friend, before she quickly shook her head. “What? There is no way you can do something like that!” 

“Why not?” Ngo-Kwang shrugged. “This is a school, the Houses aren’t your prison. If you don’t feel safe in your House, you can leave. Isn’t that what they are doing with Lupin? Everyone knows that he isn’t staying in his dormitory, there was a lot of gossip about it in the beginning of this year. I’m pretty sure that Lovegood is staying in the Gryffindor dormitories, since she wasn’t happy in the Ravenclaw accommodations. I could be wrong, she might also be with the Hufflepuff students.”  

Pat felt a flicker of hope form within her chest, easing the ache between her lungs and allowing her to breathe just a little easier. “I’d… like that. But I don’t know if I want to break up with Vince. Despite everything, I still like him. Maybe even love him. I’m not sure. He thinks it’s embarrassing when I say I love him, so I try not to.” 

Ngo-Kwang shook her head, “well that’s generally healthy…”

Pat simply pouted at her. She didn’t know what else to do. “Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to have another breakdown.” 

“Sure,” Ngo-Kwang shifted, crossing her legs over one another. “What was the last book that made you emotional?” 

Pat thought about it. She really didn’t read a lot. “Numerology and Gramatica - Advanced studies,” she finally concluded. 

Ngo-Kwang laughed, “no doubt emotional with joy on that one.” 

“Oh yes,” Pat agreed. “So joyful I considered burning it for making me feel things I didn’t want.” 

The comment prompted Ngo-Kwang to laugh even louder as she nearly fell off the bench with her loud amusement. Pat slowly joined into the laughing, and together, the two Quidditch players filled the much less steam filled room with the sound of their amusement. 

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Secrets destroyed the Ravenclaw circlet, and the students who had left for their homes and families would finally come back to Hogwarts tomorrow. While time passing brought Draco and his mother closer to safety, it was also bringing Harry further away from the time when he had disrespected Colin by attempting to replace Draco with him. As more time passed and Harry had yet to apologise, it was beginning to make him more anxious. Thus, with only one day left to go, Harry decided that he had to apologise to Colin today, rather than wait until after school started. 

Harry finished his breakfast and approached Colin, who was sitting a little further down the table, evidently reading a copy of The Quibbler for the morning. He appeared concentrated on what he was reading, but not altogether amused or displeased. 

“Good morning,” Harry’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke up, but he hoped that Colin didn’t notice. 

The younger student raised his head before he smiled at Harry, as openly and happily as he always did, but with some traces of worry in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, “I’m reading The Quibbler Christmas Special. It sure is a thing… have you ever heard about the Hogfather?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“Apparently, he’s a skeleton in a costume with a beard, if I’m getting this right. Either way, what did you want?” Colin smiled as he folded his newspaper and stood up, sticking The Quibbler under his arm as he did. 

Harry noticed that Colin had indeed outgrown him in height. Not by much, but at least a little. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. “I wanted to speak to you for a bit… If you don’t mind?” 

“Not at all,” Colin smiled, leaning his head to the side. “Where do you want to go?” Despite being overall calm, he was nonetheless slightly skittish. 

Harry quickly glanced back at Neville and Hermione, both of whom nodded encouragingly at him. He turned back, “maybe just up in the astronomy tower? People aren’t usually there.” He knew that at least Hermione might want to head to the Room of Requirements so it was probably better to head elsewhere.

“Sounds like a plan,” Colin agreed. 

The walk to the tower in question was long, and not altogether pleasant since Harry felt nervous with the silence, but didn’t feel like he had the right to speak to Colin properly until he had apologised. Likely out of concern for Harry, Colin remained silent, which didn’t quite work out in favor of what Harry would have actually wanted him to do. 

They reached the stairs by the tower, and when Harry was certain that they were alone, he turned towards Colin and simply blurted out an apology. “I’m sorry!” the words appeared to bounce around them, becoming so loud that Harry rather worried if he had actually screamed and didn’t notice. 

Colin blinked at him, evidently surprised by the sudden spin-and-apologise-by-screaming strategy which Harry had just developed. He then smiled, covering up a chuckle with his hand. “You don’t have to sound so desperate. I’m not mad at all.” 

“You’re not…?” Harry blinked slowly at him in return. “Not even a little upset?” 

“Nah,” Colin shifted. “I’m actually a little flattered. You know I like you, and kissing you was really, really nice. If you hadn’t been, pardon my honesty, replacing somebody else with me, that kiss would have been kind of perfect.” 

Harry felt guilt and regret flood his chest, making it hard to think and even harder to look at Colin. He stared down at his own shoes, chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip. “I feel like I used you. I know you like me, and it’s not like I don’t like you. I even think I could like you… like that. I want to. But I just keep on thinking about him and I-”

“It’s fine,” Colin objected as he reached out to pull slightly on Harry’s sleeve, trying to bring him back to the moment as Harry was becoming increasingly stressed by talking. “You don’t seem ready for a relationship yet. You don’t seem ready to move on. I have been thinking about this a lot, and I rather think that dating you would be, well… really nice. It’s not that I’m going to go wait for you all my life, as that would be frankly idiotic, but I don’t mind waiting while you get over Malfoy.” 

Harry bit his lower lip before he shook his head, “I don’t think I want to. I know that Draco wouldn’t just stop liking me, or at least I think that he wouldn’t. Nothing changed between us, it was the world that changed around us. Draco is being kept away by forces out of his control, and I can’t get over him because we didn’t separate on our terms.” 

Colin considered his statement, nodding to himself. “That sounds true. You’re not so delusional as to be a stalker, or desperate enough to bend the truth to your liking, so I think you are right.” 

“Still,” Harry agreed in a quiet voice. “I do like you. Probably more than a friend, but I don’t think I’m ready for another boyfriend, not when I’m unable to stop comparing any boyfriend to my relationship with Draco. However, that makes me feel like I’m using you for my own gain. It’s not that you couldn’t possibly compare to Draco, but right now, I don’t think I could have another boyfriend without contrasting you with Draco.” 

“So in summary, we kind of both want to date the other, but now isn't the best of times?” Colin looked at Harry’s face as he asked. 

Harry averted his gaze, feeling his face burn and his chest feeling oddly happy while also heavy with insecurity. “It feels unfair though. You waiting for me, and me having you as a friend in the meantime while I figure out what to do, and what I can do, to help Draco.” 

“I always saw dating as the kind of thing where the ultimate type of dating is the type where you date your best friend. Where you have fun and can talk about anything, where hugging is natural if you like hugs, and where the whole dynamic isn’t centered around the idea of, to use a Muggle expression, being the boyfriend and the girlfriend.” He placed emphasis on both ‘the’ as he spoke. “So, just being with you, spending time with you and being allowed to hug you and the like, really is enough to make me happy. You don’t have to be making out every second of the day to date, and we can still like one another even if we don’t want to kiss.” Colin’s face lit up, “we can call it ‘friend with cuddle privileges.’”

Harry laughed, feeling how his insecurities became a soft mush within his chest. “That sounds really good. But are you absolutely certain that you don’t feel like I’m using you? Is that really enough to make you happy?” 

“I don’t know that it is an arrangement that would make everyone in the world happy, but I’m feeling content with it. I feel like it’s a tiny bit like dating, but without the labels and the absolute commitment, and that feels kind of good to me. I’m also not opposed to kisses, but I want them to be for me, not Malfoy.” As Colin was speaking, his voice was becoming stronger and more secure. When he ended his statement, he appeared more than satisfied with his words. 

Harry considered it, “I guess there is a fine line between friendship and dating in some cases. And I also like the lack of labels and, well… like you said, without absolute commitment, it sounds… good. Actually really good.” He stared at Colin’s face which he found both handsome and attractive, and he felt himself relax. He could scarcely believe that he was so lucky as to have found a friend, and possibly more, in Colin, who both respected and adhered to his needs without it becoming strange or wrong, or unfair. 

Colin reached out both hands and grabbed Harry’s, making sure not to force him as he pulled Harry closer to himself. “Not-boyfriend?” he asked in a slightly teasing voice. 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up as he willingly stepped into Colin’s embrace and hugged him around the neck. “Not-boyfriend,” he agreed. It felt wonderful to be in Colin's arms, and to be able to relax into them with full security that he was safe. 

Colin wasn’t Draco, and he could never be the same thing as Draco. However, he could be something else, something entirely different, and he could be something which Harry wanted. They both wanted something like this, and it felt relieving that they could actually have it in on terms that weren’t hurting the other. 

Finally, Harry felt as if he could finally let go of the idea of Colin being something like Draco. Even as he had tried to tell himself otherwise, he had wanted Colin to be the same relationship as Draco, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t need to be.

Colin carefully pushed a cold nose against Harry's cheek, breathing in his scent with a sigh. “You smell good. Have I told you that before?” 

“Maybe, I can’t recall,” Harry murmured as he absentmindedly played with the hair on the back of Colin’s head, gently rubbing his scalp while at it. 

“Now that we’ve solved that, is there anything you want to do today, not-boyfriend?” Colin remained still, evidently as unwilling as Harry to move away from another warm body. 

“Maybe I can nap on you for a few hours?” Harry suggested with a weak chuckle. 

“That sounds awesome,” Colin sighed happily as he once more snuggled himself against Harry’s neck. 

Harry closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax for what felt like the first time since he had messed up at the Slughorn Yule party. Draco would be saved and removed from danger, Colin wasn’t mad at him and even liked him still. They had managed to obtain the memory which they needed and destroyed one more horcrux thanks to it. Harry now knew a lot more about being an icon than he had ever imagined he could learn, and he was a close friend to Al. As the son of a werewolf hugged his understanding and respectful friend, Harry actually felt like things might become alright again. 

The next day the students arrived back at Hogwarts, filling the previously empty castle with the sound of noise, conversation and even laughter. The Great Hall filled with people who sat by one of the four long House tables, the corridors filled with students wandering about, possibly seeking privacy, and the classes were to start again the next day. 

Harry sat by the Gryffindor table, eating dinner together with Colin, Hermione and Neville, both of whom knew of and were happy for Harry and Colin in their not-relationship despite Hermione’s slight confusion about the relationship as a whole. Ron wasn’t with them as he was spending time with his girlfriend, and Teddy remained by Blaise’s side rather than be with a group where his best friend was noticeably missing. 

Colin had been informed of the obtaining of Slughorn’s memory and the Dark Lord’s horcruxes, and he was now generally aware of what was happening. Yet neither Colin, Hermione or Neville knew what the Order of the Phoenix intended on doing in regards to saving the Malfoys. 

As the dinner continued on, Harry found himself unable to not look towards the Slytherin table, searching for Draco amongst familiar and unfamiliar faces. He located Crabbe, as well as Parkinson, and next to the wizard, he spotted Draco’s pale face. Harry struggled to breathe as he realised that Draco appeared worse than ever before. 

His pale skin appeared as white as marble, with the exception of an almost abnormal redness around his eyes and by the corners of his mouth. Even from afar, Harry could tell that his eyes were watery, as if he hadn’t slept enough for weeks. His hair even appeared slightly dirty, which was the first time that Harry had ever seen it even remotely unclean. Even the scar across his face appeared to be redder than it had been before the winter break, as if even it wanted to announce to the world that Draco was not fine. 

Harry felt sick with worry as he looked at Draco’s unhealthily appearance. He watched as Crabbe placed a hand around Draco’s shoulder and pulled him closer to himself, causing Draco to become but a pale mark against his dark robes. Crabbe had noticed Harry staring, and the two met the other’s gaze before Harry looked away. Draco noticed nothing, and he made no effort to truly eat at all that evening. 

Colin, Hermione and Neville had to collectively hold Harry back from attempting to go to Draco when he and the Dark Lord followers left the Great Hall. Harry knew that he had to wait, knew that there were goals bigger than his immediate emotional need to check on Draco, yet it was hard to recall in the moment. It was incredibly disheartening to have to go back alone to his room and fall asleep knowing that Draco was suffering somewhere within the building. He only managed to fall asleep at all because the Sorting Hat spoke to him, singing him songs in languages which Harry didn’t understand. Harry decided that he would have to ask Colin if he minded sleeping with him in his room, seeing as Harry felt like he was going to go insane if he was left alone when he was so worried about Draco. 

Classes resumed the next day, with an additional class added for the sixth year students, namely Apparition. The classes were announced the very same day, and were never held the same weekday or even at the same time of day, since the apparition protection spells had to be temporarily removed from parts of the school to allow the students to practice. With the political climate as it was, the school could not take the risk of anyone having the chance to tell anyone outside of Hogwarts about the protection spells being lifted. Thus, everyone was inconvenienced for the sake of keeping the students, as well as the rest of the school, safe. Harry didn’t like not being able to plan his days and schedule, but he understood why the Hogwarts Board of Governors had chosen to adapt this strategy, rather than make the class a reliably recurring one.

The class was being held in the Great Hall, where all of the students from the sixth year gathered together around a small stage which allowed the instructors to observe them all around the hall. Around the open space soft, navy blue rugs were placed, which were roughly two meters in length. One end of each rug was marked with an X. Harry guessed that the X marked the spot where they would be asked to apparate to. 

“Gather round, gather round,” an instructor with chestnut brown hair waved their hands, attempting to make the students come closer to them and their two other fellow instructors. None of the three mages were teachers at Hogwarts, but had been hired to handle the apparition lesson. They were from the Ministry of Magic, judging by the small badges upon their clothing which displayed an owl upon a wand, accompanied by five stars. The rather new symbol for the magical community of Britain and Ireland. 

Draco was standing together with the rumored Death Eater students on the other end of the hall, his thin frame being mostly covered by Crabbe’s looming figure. The followers appeared to be staying away from the Ministry workers, and some of them weren’t even looking at the stage. Draco looked as sick as he had yesterday, and he leaned heavily on his father’s cane, staring out into nothingness with an empty expression on his face. He was most certainly not going to manage this lesson. In fact, it would likely be a miracle if he remembered or heard anything of it. 

Harry stood together with Hermione and Neville, trying hard to not glance towards Draco. Both wizards were standing on opposite sides of the witch, secretly wanting to keep her safe from anyone who believed Muggle-born students to be less than other mages. Next to Harry stood Ron, and next to him was Lavender Brown. It was almost the first time since the term started when Harry and Ron were so close to one another, and they both appeared to realise it as they smiled rather awkwardly at the other. Harry wished that he had the time to talk to him, but the lesson continued on despite his wishes. 

“This is the beginning of your apparition lessons, they will be held throughout this term at sporadic points to protect you from possible invasions as the protective spells are deactivated.” The first Minister mage spoke to the students. “This lesson is mostly theoretical, but some students might be able to apparate by the end of it, although don’t count on that being your goal. You’re much better off understanding the basics.” 

The person began to speak about the relatively short history of apparition and how it was one of the most common transportation methods in the mage community today, but not one which everyone favored. They spoke in detail about the strain and pressure of the body when apparating, and of the general dangers if the magic was handled carelessly. They also disclosed the generally understood rules of distance and apparition, which were more diffuse than Harry had expected. It appeared that if one knew the location well enough, one could travel to it from a longer distance, but apparition outside of a country from within the country was generally considered impossible. At least to most, or the average, mage. Further, they detailed that it was impossible to apparate inside something or someone, but that did little to calm the more anxious students. 

The key to apparition appeared to be the very same magic which animagi used to transform. One had to cover themselves with their magic and then envision a location with as much clarity as if they had actually been there. Preferably including scents as well. The students were told to simply attempt to cover themselves with their magic this lesson, and not focus on the rest, which left Harry rather ahead of everyone else in the room due to being an illegal animagus. 

As they all spread out to one rug each, Harry ended up between Hermione and Neville, staring at the X marked location before him. He decided that it would be suspicious if he was that accomplished in something he should know nothing about, and thus he opted to pretend to fail a few times as the rest of his year struggled to even begin to spread their magic evenly over their bodies. 

Harry heard Neville yelp as he ended up using too much magic and more or less burned himself. Feeling sympathetic towards his friend, Harry stepped over to Neville, who was absentmindedly rubbing his cheeks which had taken the blunt of his mistake. 

“Are you alright?” 

Neville nodded as he allowed his hands to fall to his side. “It’s a little tricky,” he admitted. “How are you doing?” 

“Fine, really,” Harry smiled, hoping that it was enough to signal to his friend that he already knew how to do what the rest of the year was currently working on learning. “Would you like me to share some suggestions on how to go about it?” 

“Most certainly,” Neville nodded.  “I like my face where it is.”

“I think we all do,” Harry laughed weakly as he stepped yet a little closer to give Neville whispered instructions. 

Behind Harry, Ron had similar problems, while Hermione was rather quickly beginning to understand how she should go about using the magic. It didn’t take too long for Ron to carefully scoot over to Hermione’s rug, giving her a lopsided smile. 

“Hey, sorry to bother you?” Ron whispered. 

Hermione jumped slightly before she turned towards her friend and the person whom she was helplessly crushing on. “It’s not a bother,” she responded with a weak smile. “Do you need help?” 

“Yeah, like always,” Ron laughed as he took a few steps closer, but not close enough to infringe on her personal space. “Do you have any suggestions which might be able to help me, chief?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at the title she just received. “Where did you learn that word?” 

“Oh, you know…” Ron dismissively waved his hand. “Somewhere. Did I use it wrong?”

“You’re fine,” she assured him. “Are you able to coat yourself with your magic at all?” 

Ron snorted before his cheeks turned red, “sorry, sorry. Dirty mind, bad mind. There has to be a better way of saying that.” 

Hermione felt her face heat with embarrassment as she lightly gave him a push with her hand, prompting him to laugh again. She gave in and chuckled alongside him, the two of them laughing as they tried not to be loud enough for a scolding. When they thought that they had gathered themselves, they looked at each other’s face and began giggling once more. 

The instructors noticed now, and the two of them got a small scolding before being left alone once more. Somehow, Hermione didn’t feel terrible about it, but instead felt rather excited about having fun for what felt like the first time in a long while. 

She turned towards Ron and leaned in to whisper, “so can you do the thing?” 

Ron covered his face with his hand, struggling to keep the laughter back down. “Nope. No thing to be done on my part. Well, there is this tingle in my fingers, but nothing quite happens.” 

Thus, Hermione began to carefully instruct her friend in how he should go about manipulating his magic and make it take shape over him, rather than simply having it drift away to join the general magic of the atmosphere. Ron listened to her every word, nodding or shaking his head when he did or did not understand what she was attempting to say. It took a little bit of time, but when Hermione was finished, Ron appeared less clueless. 

He smiled and nodded, “thanks Hermione. You’re a pearl.” He reached up and patted her arm as a token of gratitude. 

The Muggle-born witch snorted and tried not to laugh again, “so I’m an irritant that worked my way into a particular species of oyster, mussel, or clam, and was covered in fluid as a defense mechanism upon which I became shiny?” 

Ron stopped and blinked at her. Hermione barely had the chance to begin regretting her response when Ron simply beamed at her. “You’re hilarious. Thanks for the assistance.” He waved as he turned his attention back to the actual apparition class.

Hermione herself turned back towards her own rug with the slightly crooked X upon it. Her chest felt lighter than it had for many months, and she smiled to herself before she returned to her work. Speaking with Ron felt good. So very good in fact that it made her a little dizzy with joy. Ron really was a nice person, and she couldn’t quite help the feelings in her chest when she was in his presence. She wondered if he had any idea and just pretended, or if he genuinely couldn’t tell what felt so shamefully obvious to her. 

Not to mention, since Ron wasn’t her best friend, there was no real risk if they didn’t work out together, should they give it a chance. Hermione loved Neville a little too much to dare risk losing him with her possible romantic feelings, but with Ron, the idea of loving him felt less sensitive overall. Thus, she focused on him, hardly letting herself know that there was somebody she actually wanted to be with more. 

Chapter Text

Hermione separated from her friends after breakfast to go pick up a book from her dormitory that she had evidently forgotten to pack into her bag. As the first week of school had passed, her plan for the day had been to go read the book in the library while comparing it to the latest library edition, but as she had forgotten the object of comparison, she had to retrieve it before she could continue her venture of the day. Thus, Hermione said goodbye to Neville, who was spending his day in the greenhouse, as well as Harry and Colin, who planned on walking the grounds for photography opportunities once more. Hermione assumed that they took such long walks together to escape from the school and all the people within it. 

Hermione found Harry's and Colin’s relationship to be curious, but she was also very aware that she was looking at it from a Muggle-based perspective. To her, it felt wrong for a person to have a relationship which wasn’t official. To her, it felt like Harry and Colin wanted to date, and so they should just date, as friends shouldn’t generally hug and be clingy with one another without justifying it through actually dating, because apparently people couldn't just be happy as they were but needed to justify it in ways to... something? Society maybe. To make it convenient for others, their happiness didn't matter as much. In reality, she knew all that to be wrong, and the side effect of growing up in a world where girls exclusively dated boys, boys only ever wanted girls, and nobody could be born in the wrong gender because… something something nature. Or something, something God.

A world where the happiness and needs of the individual were frowned upon if it didn't fit a mould.

It was evident to Hermione that Harry was happy with the arrangement that he had with his more than friend, less than boyfriend, Colin. He needed their relationship to feel happy and secure in himself, and he needed the physical comfort as well, as Harry was a very physical person. She knew it was wrong of her mind to reject all of those needs for the simple solution of dividing things into simple, binary boxes, and she was rather disgusted with herself because it truly wasn’t so easy to unlearn a lifetime of ‘normative’ indoctrination. 

Draco really had been amazing to overcome it all so comparatively quickly as Hermione still struggled with the idea that polyamory was not only accepted, but celebrated in the British mage community as natural and desirable. Yet it was not expected, or forced, as the norm. Because mage society also had the awareness that people were different from one another, at least when it came to desires and identity.

Really, who was she to demand that Harry and Colin bypassed all of their desires to be in a ‘normal’ relationship with one another, when that was clearly not what either of them wanted? Hermione told herself that she would stop thinking like this if she only got some more time to get used to a relationship which she hadn’t known existed before then. With time, she told herself, she would overcome all her biases and insecurities, and she would become a true witch of the British mage community. She told herself this without realising that she already was all the things she aspired to be in the future. 

She planned on visiting Neville in the greenhouse sometime after she had finished her comparison, maybe after lunch, but for the moment, she wanted to be alone. It was not entirely safe for a Muggle-born student to be alone at Hogwarts, but in the library, she was protected by the presence of adults who were highly susceptible to loud noises. Thus, Hermione knew that she would be safe and left alone as soon as she made it to the library. She only needed to make it to her common room and back again. 

Within her dormitory, she quickly located her book and picked it up. As she busied herself with placing it in her bag, she heard the door open and shut behind her. 

“Hermione, I want to talk to you.” 

Hermione felt her heart sink with fear as the falsely polite voice addressed her with barely restrained annoyance. She had seen enough teen movies as a child to know that that tone was never good. 

Hermione slowly turned to find Lavender Brown standing behind her with her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping on the ground, communicating the annoyance which she somehow managed to keep off her face. Behind her stood three other witches, only one of them shared the dormitory with Hermione and Lavender, and her name was Padma Patil. 

Hermione was taller than all the young women, but she still felt very small in front of them. It was frightening and slightly dehumanising to be cornered by a group of people using intimidation and scare tactics. Hermione knew that the girls would never admit that they weren’t being fair and were threatening her with numbers, while expecting her to stand trial alone, despite the fact that they were doing it. As they were blocking the door, Hermione surrendered to the situation of not being able to leave. She averted her gaze from Lavender’s face and addressed her feet instead. “Yes?” 

“What do you think that you are doing with Ron? What were you talking about at that apparition class? You know that he is my boyfriend and you can’t have him.” Lavender quickly spit a collection of questions at Hermione in quick succession. 

Hermione shrugged weakly as she held onto the strap of her bag. “I’m not doing anything, he asked for help and I helped him.” She chewed on her lower lip before she answered the last question. “And I’m not trying to take him from you. I couldn’t.” He isn’t yours to own.

“Your crush on him is really evident, and it’s bothering me that you think you can force it into his face all the time,” Lavender continued, as if she had heard nothing of what Hermione said. 

Hermione felt her heart sink even deeper in her chest. She briefly wondered if one could faint from simply being talked to in an unpleasant manner, completely discrediting her own emotions and her not feeling safe in the situation which she was currently in. “I’m really not,” Hermione whispered, as she came to doubt that she might actually be doing what she was accused of and not realising it herself. 

“You know Lavender gave you a bra when your parents wouldn’t buy you one, and you repay her by trying to take her man from her?” Padma Patil spoke up from behind Lavender, causing Hermione to flinch with guilt. 

“Lavender did that for her, and she didn’t even say thank you?” The two women in the back whispered to one another, both of them giving Hermione accusing stares as they immediately twisted the story to make it worse than it was. 

Yet to Hermione’s surprise, Lavender was the one to speak up first, and she directly contradicted her friends’ opinion. “I gave her that bra, and she did say thank you. That doesn’t have anything to do with this.” She turned back towards Hermione, who dared glancing at her. “I don’t want you to talk to Ron when I’m not there. It makes me uncomfortable. If you can’t respect my very basic desire, then you’re being highly disrespectful.” 

Hermione averted her gaze once more. There were certainly a lot of faults with Lavender's statement. In fact, there were so many that Hermione didn’t know how to begin addressing them. She thought of what Harry or Draco would have said when presented with such an unreasonable request, barely masked as reasonable while they weren’t actually reasonable in the least. Harry wouldn’t have let anyone speak to him like that, and neither would Hermione allow herself to succumb to the anti-logic of Lavender Brown’s argument. 

“I’ve been Ron’s friend for years,” Hermione objected. “I’ve lived in his home every summer since I was fourteen, and I’m on very good terms with both his mum and most of his siblings. You aren’t asking me to stay away from a stranger, you’re asking me to stay away from an actual part of my life. I’m not going to move out from the Burrow simply because you are insecure about me being around my friend.” 

The women behind Lavender began to whisper as Hermione stubbornly kept her gaze upon a small crack in the wall. She could only hope that her expression wasn’t as terrified as she felt. Surely, Lavender wouldn’t actually try and hex her or even hit her? She was a Prefect, surely she couldn’t actually punish Hermione for her words in any tangible manner? 

Lavender’s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at Hermione with barely held back anger. Yet she knew that Hermione was right, as her irritation and annoyance hit the brick wall of reason. “Fine! So you live at his place, then you don’t actually need to talk to him in school!” she more or less yelled. 

“If they live in the same house then they’ve probably had…” behind Lavender, the young women began to whisper again. 

“That’s not true!” 

Both Hermione and Lavender burst at them at the same time, cutting the conversation off before it reached the conclusion. 

Hermione grabbed the opportunity and she headed for the door to the dormitory as everyone was busy staring at the rest of the people in the room. 

“Hey!” Lavender called as Hermione reached the door. “I mean it though! I want you to stay away from him.” 

Hermione glared back at her, secretly terrified but fuelled by the understanding that Lavender was acting beyond unreasonable. “You behave like a Muggle.” Hermione hissed at the other witch before she wrestled the doorknob open and threw the door shut behind herself, stomping off to seek comfort with her best friend in the greenhouse. 

Hermione stepped over a long, green plant root which lay carelessly past the doorway as if it was waiting for the chance to trip somebody. She was still emotional over the conversation she had been forced to endure that morning, as she visited Neville in the greenhouse for tea and possibly some conversation. 

Hermione gathered her skirts and held on tighter to her book, as she stepped carefully amongst the greenery, peeking back at the root to judge if it had moved or not. It felt like the type of magical plant which could move on its own. She couldn’t see that it had moved, but she also couldn’t judge that it hadn’t. 

She found Neville on his hands and feet by a plant bed, full of wilted flowers. Hermione stopped and watched him, as she never quite became bored, or used to, the magic which Neville could wield. He touched the wilted flowers, plants or otherwise unwell greenery, and magic softly seeped into it. Hermione couldn’t see the magic, but she felt it in the air as Neville kept his fingertips upon the plant, just like she could the scent of dew upon the plants surrounding her, even if she didn’t know where to look to actually see it. 

Before Hermione’s eyes, the brown stem slowly began to turn green. It was so slow that even if one looked directly as the magic transpired, it was still hard to notice the change until the stem was suddenly green once more. Not an entirely healthy green, but better than brown. Neville leaned back from his work with a weak sigh before he rubbed some sweat off his brow. 

Only when she was certain that he wasn’t busy, Hermione spoke up, “good morning. Again. Good second morning.”

Neville turned at the sound of her voice and smiled up at her, looking ever so happy to see her. “Good second morning. I wasn’t expecting you until later today. I thought you had things to do.” He stood up and brushed himself off. “My chair is currently occupied, but do you want some tea?” He gestured towards the closest garden table and chairs, one of which was indeed occupied by a sick looking plant. 

He then focused on her face, and his calm, almost distant expression was changed into one of concern and worry. “You don’t look so well, did something happen?” 

Hermione allowed herself to sit down upon what she absentmindedly considered to be her chair. She placed her book upon her lap and hid her face in her hands, trying to remain collected despite knowing that Neville would forgive her if she couldn’t. “Lavender caught me off guard alone today, and she yelled at me for speaking to Ron back in apparition class.”  

Neville frowned at her, but she did not see it. “She did what?” 

“I said that she yelled at me for speaking to Ron…” Hermione repeated, feeling the misery grow in her chest. “She knows I like him too, and I think she sees me as a threat to their relationship.” 

“Can’t be a very good relationship if someone could just break it up from talking to one of the people involved,” Neville shook his head. “Let me boil some tea for you, you deserve it and then you can tell me everything.” 

As she was left alone, Hermione heard Lavender’s voice in her head, repeating the words over and over, causing her to cover her ears as if that could help her block out what was inside her mind. As she pondered what had actually happened to her, she felt herself begin to tremble, and she realised that her eyes were filled with tears. Luckily, she managed to dry them away before they could become running tears, but she could already tell that the holding back of her emotions would give her a headache later that day. 

Neville returned with the finished tea, which he placed on the table before her. He then turned to locate an empty planter box, which became a good enough seat once turned upside down. He looked up at her, but Hermione knew that her hair and hands were doing an adequate job of keeping her hidden from view.

“So… what happened?” 

Hermione sniffed before she slowly managed to retell most of the story. She forgot some details and might have misquoted herself, but she managed to retell the gist of it. When she was done, the traitorous tears had managed to escape despite her best efforts. Even worse, it only aggravated the headache, rather than eased it. 

“You do know that she is acting beyond unacceptable,” Neville spoke up after finding her a tissue. “And you most certainly did the right thing in saying what you did. I can hardly believe that she found it acceptable to act like that in the first place. You are not trying to steal anyone, and Ron has the right to have friends.” 

Hermione sniffed weakly into her tissue, “but that’s how people act, isn’t it?” She knew as soon as she had said it that her comment was faulty. “I… I mean. Not that it is right, but it is typical, isn’t it? To be expected, you know?” 

“I really don’t know that,” Neville’s voice was patient and gentle as he spoke to her in a tone which he only used when they were alone. “Granted, I’m not an expert, but if somebody acts like Lavender does, I feel rather confident in saying that something isn’t right in the relationship.”

“Do you think Ron is…” Hermione didn’t know what she wanted to say, but she needed an answer to the question, even if she couldn’t actually shape it. 

“A bad partner?” Neville concluded, prompting her to nod in response. He thought about it for a few moments before he responded in the negative. “I don’t think Ron used to be a good person as a child, but I also don’t think that I was. He has changed so much since we first met him, and he truly understands what it is like to be lonely, and what it is like to have his friends turn against him. I don’t think Ron is a bad partner, but I worry that he might be, well… used to things which makes him accept more things than he probably should. Am I making sense?” 

“Are you trying to say that Ron might not notice that Lavender is acting in unacceptable manners because he is used to worse things?” Hermione attempted to summarise. 

“Something to that end,” Neville sighed before he pulled a hand through his short hair. “I think that he probably deserves better than someone as possessive as Lavender Brown currently is acting. Granted she could change, but that doesn't mean that the individual actions are alright. Her behaviours evidently aren’t acceptable, and they haven’t really been since the beginning evident by how she had been treating you as an enemy for quite some time now. I don’t know about Muggle culture, but in the mage community, that kind of behaviour isn’t considered typical or expected. We rather think that if someone is acting out, that person is being the problem, rather than the people they act out towards. Note that it's different if a person has been cornered or forced to act out, but nobody is threatening Lavender's relationship, not actually.” 

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, and she was relieved that her skin was dark enough to hide most of it. “I… think that I did know that. Logically, I knew that, but it is so hard to remember things like that when all the things I’ve seen on TV and in books has only been those examples of people acting out. Muggles rather act as if it is the norm which can’t be helped, and they would rather wave it away as ‘typical,’ rather than work to change it. I know that she is denying reality and accusing me of things I haven't done, but it almost feels like people around us will expect me to have done it by default, because I'm the 'other girl.'” 

Neville nodded, “I guess stories generally need conflict, but if that is all you are getting then a lot of people are going to grow up thinking that things are normal when they are not. That’s a little frightening.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the dirt in front of him as Hermione remembered her tea and had some of it. She loved Neville’s tea blends, they always felt so refreshing and warm, and they never tasted stale.

She stared down at her own twisted reflection within the cup, thinking about the fact that someone was going to live the rest of her life drinking Neville’s tea, and spending time with him in his future greenhouse. Yet all the more discouraging was that that woman couldn’t be her, as Neville was straight. 

Hermione didn’t believe that a man who identified as straight could ever want to be with a woman such as herself. The world had taught her to never expect or trust that. It was not that she doubted herself as a woman, if she did, then she would have to discredit Narcissa as a woman and Teddy as a man. Not that she needed their influence to know that she was a woman, and had always been one, but it helped immensely to not feel alone. 

Hermione had given up all ideas of Neville liking her back the day that he had announced to only be interested in women, and she had managed to recover from the disappointment and shame of not being ‘right’ for him. Ron wasn’t like Neville. He hadn’t claimed to only like one gender, and was seemingly what Hermione knew as bisexual. Thus, it was less guilt-filled to like Ron, whose family Hermione already knew and loved, and who mostly loved her back, with the exception of the twins who might actually be sociopaths. Or at the very least Fred. Hermione correctly assumed that both Fred and George would have found it hilarious to have been called sociopaths, but she had never been so rude as to point it out. 

Although crushing on Ron hadn’t been supposed to end like this, with the other young women in her dormitory turning against her because of her feelings. Hermione almost thought that it would have been easier to not feel, and that it might have been better if she had remained some manner of extra actress in the back of the film which the main characters didn’t actually care about. She hugged her book to her chest, feeling miserable with herself for her human, and very valid, emotions. It would be so much easier if she hadn’t dared to start dreaming that somebody would like her for more than a friend. 

Hermione had forgotten that to Neville, she was nothing else but any other woman. His statement about being attracted to women applied to her as well, as she was as much a woman to the Pureblood wizard as someone who had been assigned female at birth. A young lifetime of hurt made it hard to recognise and see.

“What… do you think I should do?” Hermione hesitated before she raised her head from the cup, looking towards Neville. “I don’t know if she actually did anything wrong, and she is a Prefect, so I might not be believed if I tell a teacher. I really do trust Professor McGonagall, but as they were just talking to me, I don’t think that she can do anything about it.” 

Neville turned to look at her. It appeared that he was about to say something, but he changed his mind, and said something different, at least from what Hermione could judge. “You should probably still ask her for help. I think we've learned over and over that keeping things in won’t make the situation better.” 

She smiled weakly at him, “I suppose we have indeed learned that. I think I’ll talk to her a little later today, do… uh… do you mind coming with me? I would truly like the company.” She finally raised the tea cup to her lips and drank, feeling the warm and familiar tea heat her from the inside and out. It helped ease her headache slightly. 

“Of course,” Neville assured her with a smile. He had a very pleasant smile, which had only become more pleasant with the years which passed. “I think… would you like me to speak to Ron about it? I truly don’t think that he is the type of person who would ignore you, or us, if we feel like Lavender Brown is being unpleasant towards us.” 

“I don’t think… No, please,” Hermione stared down at her cup once more, sighing weakly. “I don’t want to destroy his happiness, not when he has finally found somebody who loves him, rather than more people like Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.” 

“I am going to adhere to your wants, but I do think Ron deserves to know about what happened. I think he would likely be happier knowing the truth rather than having his eyes clouded for an extended period of time.” Neville admitted as he once more focused on the ground before him. 

Hermione considered the proposal but ultimately found it more uncomfortable than the alternative of simply remaining silent. “We’ll, that is, mostly me, will speak to Professor McGonagall. After that, we can decide if we think it is a good idea to speak to Ron.” 

She nodded to herself, as if that would help her feel less frightened by the prospect of telling one of her closest friends that his girlfriend was accusing her of a collection of malicious actions which she wasn’t performing. What if Ron knew already, and he chose to do nothing about it? What if he, too, would blame Hermione for what Lavender was doing? Like the movies. Like the children back in Muggle school did to one another. It was too frightening to think about, too awful to consider.

Neville appeared to notice her distress and so he lightly bumped her with his elbow. “Tell me about the book you have there. All of it, any of it. Tell me what you like and what you don’t like.” He smiled his reassuring, kind grin up at her, as he rested his head in his hand. “Or tell me nothing at all. I’m fine with that too.”

The witch realised what he was doing, and thus she smiled, collecting her book as she placed the teacup down. “Well,” she began, and then proceeded to tell him everything. Since he had offered to listen, she held nothing back in her reflections and thoughts. Neville came to relax for a few minutes before he returned to his work with restoring the plants through magic, while listening to her book report. 

In the end, Hermione had a very pleasant weekend day, spent with her best friend in the calm, mage-desolate greenhouse, where breathing appeared to become easier the longer one stayed. 

Chapter Text

“Mr. Weasley!” 

The door to Arthur’s office all but threw open as a witch burst inside the room. It was evident that she had been running, she was out of breath and her hair went in every direction. She stood leaning against the doorknob for support, but Arthur didn’t manage to express his slight displeasure about her intrusion before she said something which completely made him forget everything, including his own aching body and utterly exhausted mind. 

“There has been another mass breakout from Azkaban…!” she gasped. “We don’t know how many people managed to get out, but we are not looking at a small number. It could be anything from thirty to fifty. Some highly notorious criminals managed to leave, as well as less noteworthy prisoners.” 

Arthur stood up from his desk. He felt his body grow cold with sweat and anxiety, but his brain was active and heated to the point where he felt as if he had a fire within his skull. Yet it was what he needed to keep himself from collapsing after the amount of work that he was doing. “When did this happen?” 

“The report just got in,” she pulled a piece of parchment from her clothing and handed it to Arthur. “It appears to have happened sometime during the night, anything from three to five hours ago.” 

Arthur accepted the note and looked down upon it. He felt as if he had been punched in the chest as he quickly glanced over the short list of confirmed escapees. Amongst the names was his. Lucius Malfoy. 

“I need you to try and call in every mage we can get, even those who are asleep or about to go home,” Arthur looked up at her, his gaze must have been rather wild since she almost flinched back from him. “But I immediately need Dedalus Diggle to come to my office, please fetch them.” 

The witch nodded and rushed off, calling for anyone who might know the location of Dedalus Diggle. While he waited, Arthur wasted no time in beginning to gather his papers, expecting a summoning from the Minister of Magic, as well as the crisis council to be summoned to one of the larger courtrooms. 

Not long after the witch rushed off, Dedalus Diggle entered Arthur’s office. They were a small, gentle person who favored purple on their clothes, and a smile upon their lips. They had been working together with Arthur at his previous department, and had followed him to this one. They were also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, which was the primary reason as to why Arthur had called them there. 

“I don’t have much time,” Arthur blurted out as he pulled the other mage closer so that he may speak directly into their ear. “You have to get to the Order of the Phoenix, and you have to stop the raid on Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy has escaped with the rest of the Death Eaters, and any raid, or even operation, risks drawing the Ministry’s attention to the Manor. Legally, our department can stop the Ministry from reexamining their house, but if there has been any kind of break in or reason to go back out there over Lucius, the Ministry will walk straight into a den of cornered Death Eaters. People will die. You have to stop today’s raid.” 

Dedalus Diggle nodded solemnly. “Understood,” they agreed. “Anything else, sir?” 

“Have Molly Weasley inform Albus Dumbledore,” Arthur could see a mage approaching his office through the glass doors, holding the scarlet red summoning letter to the crisis council in their hand. “Nobody else should tell him. But you have to stop the raid, if you can’t, stall them until Molly can get Dumbledore. He will stop them if you can’t.” 

“Mr. Weasley, you have been summoned,” the crisis council representative entered in a breathless flurry of clothing, handing Arthur the scarlet letter. 

“Thank you,” Arthur accepted the letter with much less grace than was expected of him before he simply tucked it under his arm with the rest of his papers. “Dedalus, I’m placing everything in your hands. Go now!”

“At once, sir!” Dedalus Diggle agreed and simply apparated from Arthur’s office, leaving a collection of papers and documents flying around them as Arthur and the other mage exited his office. 

Knowing well that people’s lives were at risk should he fail, Arthur headed towards the crisis council meeting, intent on stopping any and all Ministry attempts to get permission to enter Malfoy Manor, or the supposedly abandoned Lestrange Estate. Both of which were the only safe havens that the Dark Lord followers and those accused without reason had. As he had told his employee, if the Ministry attempted to enter either of those houses, then the followers would fight for their lives like trapped animals, and that simply wasn’t something Arthur could allow. A senseless slaughter was about to occur, and it rested on him and his fellow few mages of reason to be able to stop it before the casualties came about on both sides. If he failed, the second mage war of Britain could begin tonight.

Percy Weasley could not believe his senses as a tired, almost haunted wizard, dressed in the garbs of a member of the Magical Law Department, burst into his office. Percy had been about to pack up and return to his empty home when he had been so rudely interrupted, yet his anger left him like a deflated hamster as he heard the report which the wizard gave. However impossible it appeared, he was handed a list of the known criminals who had escaped from Azkaban in a mass breakout, large enough to possibly encompass a total of fifty or more mages. The break out last year was nothing compared to the one which had occurred tonight. 

Percy ran through the halls of the Ministry, quickly approaching the Minister of Magic’s office. Minister Scrimgeour used to go home by the end of his working days, but that felt like an eternity ago. He had long since set up the room which connected to his office as a sleeping bunker, and he would not go home at all until the weekends. Lately, he had neglected to go home during those too, much to the despair of his partner, who was still waiting for their fiancé to stop working for long enough that they could actually get married. 

He knocked on the door and entered, finding a somewhat sleepy and unfocused Minister of Magic coming out from his impromptu bedroom while smoothing his hair back. Percy walked straight up to him and handed him the list of names and the scarlet colored summoning to the crisis council. 

“Sir,” Percy said, “there has been a break out of Azkaban prison.” He was surprised with how breathless he sounded as he delivered his report. “The crisis council had summoned us, well, everyone who is still here and of note.” 

Scrimgeour accepted the letter and the list, but he only looked at the list. “Thirty to fifty people…” He bit his lower lip hard enough that Percy worried that he would bite through the skin. “What are those dementors doing?” 

“Perhaps they were overwhelmed, sir?” Percy knew that he had made a mistake before he finished the sentence. He quickly averted his gaze from the older man’s sharp stare, while also taking a step back. 

Scrimgeour looked down at the list again, reading through it so quickly that his eyes appeared to be a blur of dark pupils. “Malfoy, Nott, Quirrell… Some of the mages on this list are known and brutal Death Eaters. Blast it, I know that that fool Weasel will attempt to shield them and seek to stop us from entering their little organised safe havens.”

Percy did not tell him that his father’s name was Weasley, not Weasel. In fact, he didn’t say anything, as he knew that the Minister of Magic was right in what Arthur was likely to do. 

“Don’t just stand there,” the Minister of Magic suddenly hissed at him. “Get my coat and glasses. We’re leaving now. Bring your clipboard and take notes. At least you are good for that.”

The secretary of the Minister of Magic himself felt shame and regret heat his face as he quickly scrambled to collect the things which the man had asked him for. He had been so proud when he had been handpicked by Minister Fudge, and all the more proud when Minister Scrimgeour had allowed him to stay. Yet as of that moment, Percy wondered if he was truly where he was supposed to be as he collected the robes and the glasses from the Minister’s working desk, all while the man read through the scarlet summoning letter. 

The Ministry badge upon Percy’s lapel was becoming heavier than ever. 

Molly Weasley ran through the snow as the ice cold winds bit at her face and clothing, heading for the enormous castle of Hogwarts which towered over her like a beast. She felt as if every light in the building was a separate eye which was watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake, or cheering for her to slip on the ice and never get up again. Nonetheless, Molly ran, her colorful clothes flying all around her as she refused to slow down, refusing to be beaten when she had a mission to complete. She didn't even have time to focus on keeping herself warm with her magic.

The guards at the gates to the grounds had let her in, mostly because they were both members of the Order of the Phoenix, and nobody knew Molly Weasley to have ever hurt a person in her life. They were wrong about that, she had won over her siblings in some rather gruesome fights in her younger days, and had once won over Arthur in another when they had been quite so young. However, none of that was important for the moment, as she fought the elements to reach Hogwarts castle and Albus Dumbledore with the report which Arthur had entrusted her to deliver. She was not about to let him down, not with such an important task. 

The mass breakout from Azkaban had put a halt to the plan of saving Narcissa Malfoy in such a stop that Molly could imagine the scent of burning road from how hard the break had been implemented. Molly knew how much Narcissa loved her husband, had experienced it first hand, and she understood well that the woman would never leave Lucius alone with the Death Eaters in a home which she was not in. Even if they did manage to get Narcissa and Draco away, Lucius Malfoy would simply become the next hostage. Unlike the careful planning with selected members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Severus Snape's careful spying, allowing them to know the exact circumstances, locations as well as risks, they knew nothing of what would happen once the supposed traitor Lucius Malfoy returned to the Dark Lord. The followers were already aggressive and dangerous, and had proven well to in some cases be capable of murder. 

Thus, they had no choice but to pull everything to a halt. Lives were on the line. Many lives. Lives of innocent and guilty alike, but it did not matter. Molly completely agreed with Arthur that their priority was to avoid wasting lives, and the likely large numbers of followers and Death Eaters who were currently escaping towards whatever safe haven they could reach would make the extraction all the more impossible. 

Molly reached Hogwarts Castle and found that the doors were locked. Fear throbbed through her as she panickedly found herself hitting the door and yelling, hoping against vain that somebody would hear her and let her inside. Nobody heard her and nobody came. 

Arthur had entrusted her with this mission. There was no way that she was not getting to Dumbledore that night. 

Molly separated herself from the door and attempted to think. As she pulled her clothes around herself, she spotted the lights of Hagrid’s Hut over by the Forbidden Forest. She had found her destination and thus she gathered her skirts, breath and self before she set off once more, running downhill towards the gamekeeper and teacher’s home. 

“A mass breakout… Thirty to fifty people…” Albus Dumbledore repeated as he looked down at the shivering and shaking frame of Molly Weasley where she sat in his office, trembling like a leaf while holding a cup of warm tea which she had yet to attempt drinking. 

Behind Mrs. Weasley stood Hagrid, who carefully looked between the woman and the Headmaster. “That’s really bad, isn’t it?” Hagrid whispered. 

Al didn’t respond to him, instead, he focused on Molly. “And we only know about some escapees but among them is Lucius Malfoy?” 

“Yes, sir,” Molly gasped and shivered. “Arthur didn’t have time to give a list, but he relayed that we have to stop the extraction which was planned for tomorrow. Narcissa will not let us take her when Lucius would become the hostage instead, and with the followers gathering at Malfoy Manor, going in, even as the Order, would mean losses. Heavy losses. Please, sir, you have to stop it.” 

Al considered all the facts as he began to pace in the room. For however long he hesitated, the people at Malfoy Manor would be in all the more danger of the Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry or even themselves. He had to make a choice, and he had to choose it hurriedly. 

“I’ll stop the extraction. We cannot risk the damage we might cause.” Al felt guilt throb through his chest as he elected to break his promise to Harry in saving Draco and Narcissa Malfoy from the influence of the Dark Lord. He hoped that his young friend might be able to find it in his heart to forgive him as he prioritised their, and everyone else's, lives over desperate attempts to save them. “Rubeus, please wake Severus, tell him he must go to Malfoy Manor without delay but take care that nobody is listening. Mrs. Weasley, you may stay for as long as you need, call for an elf by the name of Dobby and he will assist you without asking questions. My home is behind those doors, anything you need is yours, even access to my bed should you need rest.” 

Mrs. Weasley blushed at his offers before she turned her gaze down to the floor, nodding weakly. “Thank you, Professor.” 

Al threw a glance out the window and then surrendered to the idea of facing the same snow storm which had exhausted the much younger and far sturdier Molly Weasley. He took a few deep breaths before he nodded to the witch and followed Hagrid out the doors. The two of them parted as Hagrid headed towards the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor’s room and Al approached the main doors of Hogwarts. 

The old wizard was lucky to catch Mr. Filch out with only minimal searching, and so Al set out into the night as the janitor looked after him until he had disappeared out of sight. Only then did Argus Filch close and lock the doors to Hogwarts, feeling guilt and worry wrestle in his chest as he effectively locked the Headmaster out of his own school. 

“Don’t you worry, dear,” Filch told his cat in an attempt to calm himself. “He’ll be back before you know it. He always comes back.” The man was not calmed by the fact that his cat didn’t even look at him, but continued to stare at the doors, as if she was worried as well. 

They were a miserable bunch as they slowly stumbled into Malfoy Manor, their hair and clothes wet with snow, their faces and otherwise exposed skin red from the cold and subsequent warmth if they had skin which showed such weaknesses. Most of them were starved and needed the support of others to even stand, much less walk. Some appeared to have fainted, and every here and there, a mage was bleeding and needed immediate medical assistance. 

The Dark Lord stood atop the balcony passage of Malfoy Manor, watching over the followers who entered and crowded below him. Some noticed him, others appeared to worship him silently from where they were standing on the floor, but most didn’t even think to raise their tired heads. 

They were all being helped by their fellow sympathisers, people with blankets or better clothes, people with food or with kind words to speak. The Dark Lord noted calmly but with nonetheless interest that the entrance hall was becoming a shelter, much like the ones he had personally seen after the second World War. Nobody really talked, nobody raised their voice, but the room was filled with quiet chatter and frightened murmurs, as well as whispers and the sound of crying as families were reunited or someone was told that their family member, partner or even child had not made it out like they had. 

It was a very somber scene, one which the Dark Lord forced himself to look at, as it would have been far easier to simply turn away from it. Yet that was not what a leader did. 

Next to the Dark Lord stood Bellatrix Lestrange, who was looking down at the people, following her sister with her cruel gaze as Narcissa Malfoy pushed through the crowd to reach her husband, whom she had spotted from up on the balcony.

Behind them stood Fenrir Greyback, hidden from view by the shadow of the wyvern skull upon the wall behind them. Something appeared to have happened between him and Bellatrix, and the Dark Witch had somehow managed to tame the Lycan, who pretty much followed her everywhere. Be it out of boredom or loyalty, the Dark Lord did not know. It served in his best interest, as Greyback was manageable for what might be the first time of his life. 

The Lycan even left Pettigrew alone, but that might also be because Pettigrew had been removed to the Lestrange Estate. The other location suited the animagus far better as the Dark Lord did not quite have use for him at the moment, and could thus save him from Greyback. Neither did he have use for the Lestrange husbands, who had no interest in a war, but would take in the refugees which they could fit. It was all the same to the Dark Lord, as he understood that his followers needed to be safe before they could be rallied into war. He hadn’t been entirely certain that it would be possible to do what he had done almost twenty years ago, but Scrimgeour was practically doing the requiting for him. 

This time, it would be different. 

This time, he would win and deconstruct the entirety of the mage society into what it should have been all along. Into an inclusive community where minorities were not shunned or disliked by the masses, but where the masses would learn to respect the few and the unique. One where the Muggle-born weren’t welcome with their toxic expectations and demands of the normative which they had been indoctrinated into believing by the hateful and cruel Muggle society from birth. 

Narcissa Malfoy led her husband up the stairs to the second floor, then to their gathering. Everyone looked towards the two of them as the disheveled and starved Lucius Malfoy dared glance towards the Dark Lord. What an awfully pathetic thing he had become. He almost pitied the traitor with the patience of a parent. 

“Welcome home, Lucius,” the Dark Lord’s voice was soft and gentle as he spoke, carrying no harm or ill will towards the former prisoner of Azkaban.

Lucius’ lower lip quivered and he burst out crying before he managed to stop the tears and the snot from running down his previously handsome but currently emaciated face. He quickly hid in his wife’s arms, and Narcissa Malfoy began to pull him away from the refugee camp in their entrance hall. 

“Thankless cur,” Bellatrix muttered after the two Malfoys. 

“Rude,” responded Greyback. “I’m right here.” 

She made a face at him, much like a child. “Mangy mutt. Garbage dog.” 

Greyback covered his face with his large and beast-like hand to keep his laughter down. Perhaps even he realised that this was not the time or situation to laugh. 

“My liege.” 

The Dark Lord turned his head to find Severus Snape standing by the doorway. He noted to himself that nobody had informed Snape of the break out, which meant that somebody at Hogwarts had likely sent him there. Someone who was very likely Albus Dumbledore. Yet it did not matter. The refugees needed Snape more than the Dark Lord could afford to be annoyed with his dad’s gesture of kindness to his followers. 

“Get to work, Severus,” the Dark Lord offered him a thin smile as he gestured towards the crowd below. “They need you more than you need to speak to me. I trust that you know what to do.” His voice was ever so kind, and slightly relieved as he spoke. He wasn’t sure if the relief was real or projected, but it was nonetheless present in his voice. 

“Naturally,” Snape nodded before he bowed and swept back out of sight, followed by Bellatrix's annoyed scowl. At least he was useful to their cause while the woman was more bloodthirsty than she was in any way tactical. 

The Dark Lord heard stray whispers from the crowd below, many of whom expressed concern about being at Malfoy Manor when Lucius Malfoy had betrayed them, or at the very least failed to show loyalty when he should have. It appeared that many were worried and distrusting of the Malfoys, and with rather good reasons. As their leader, it was his duty to ease their hearts and minds. 

“My fellow mages,” the Dark Lord did not need to raise his voice much to gain their attention, as his followers turned to him like a desperate Muggle turns towards God and religion. “I can sense that you are uneasy to be here, but I assure you that you are safe from harm inside this building as well as from the Malfoys. They have begged me for a final chance to prove their loyalty to our cause. With the success of this plan, you will be yet closer to never having to fear the British mage community again.” 

Next to the Dark Lord, the witch shivered with anticipation, but she was not the only one who was excited or even thrilled to hear the news. 

“It is a venture that, if successful, and I fully trust that it shall be,” the Dark Lord continued to speak. “Will result in more people rallying to our noble cause, and the demise of one of our adversaries. I do not ask you to fight, but I ask you to be patient as those who can work towards securing your safety, and the future of your children and families, complete their work. I want to create a new rule together with you, not in spite of you, as Scrimgeour is attempting. Thus, I humbly request that you, alongside with myself, offer the Malfoys one final chance. Should they fail us yet again, I will not keep you from enacting justice against them, but I would like to ask you to refrain from needless violence and cruelty towards your fellow hunted mages.” He smiled gently at the followers beneath him, keeping from turning to give Bellatrix a disapproving stare. 

Before him, the refugees slowly started to cheer. It was rather quiet, but nonetheless optimistic and ever so slightly daring. The followers were desperate, and they wanted a God to believe in, one who was immortal, infallible and invulnerable as well as kind and forgiving. 

The Dark Lord slowly spread his arms, welcoming their desperation and worship alike. “Please rest, all of you. Gather your strength and come to me when you are strong enough to protect that which you hold dear. We have broken you out of Azkaban, and we will get more people out the more time passes. Heal and restore yourselves. It is my wish that you do.” 

They cheered once more, louder this time, less ashamed and less weak. They were falling in love with him, as the Dark Lord knew that they would. Just as his old Potions Master had told him once upon a different time: all you need to do is make certain that they love it. Through love, anything is possible, while hatred never has the same effect. 

The Dark Lord smiled to himself as he lowered his arms once more. 

How perfectly humorous. 

Chapter Text

FIFTY DEATH EATERS ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN - BEWARE!

Yesterday, a large number of notorious and feared Death Eaters and Dark Lord followers escaped from Azkaban prison. The current report of escaped criminals is 48. The Minister warns the community to stay vigilant and safe.

A total of 48 Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban prison sometime during the night between yesterday and today, fleeing from the prison as a wall collapsed, allowing a significant number of Death Eaters to escape the Dementors’ guard and flee into the country. The names and faces of the criminals have been listed in this copy of The Daily Prophet, please refer to the contents of the newspaper for further information. The most dangerous ones have been placed on the front cover of this issue of The Daily Prophet. 

The Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour spoke to a reporter during the night, and is issuing a full press conference this evening during which more details will be revealed, but for the moment, the Minister had the following to say:

“The Death Eaters are growing in number, and it is of more importance than ever to remember that anyone could be one, no matter how friendly or kind they appear. It is our duty as a community to not allow this matter to fester, and you, as the members of our community must do your part to keep it safe. Report any suspicious activity, inform the Aurors if you find any traces of the escaped criminals. Azkaban will be rebuilt, the criminals will be apprehended, and all shall be safe once more.” 

Yet in contrast to the Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, vice-head of the Department of Criminal Rights and Evaluation, had the following to say: 

“This is not a time to allow our community to fall apart with strife and paranoia. The people who were captured and locked into Azkaban might be criminals, that is true. However, they were both mages and people before they became Death Eaters, followers or sympathisers. In these trying times, it is easy to point fingers and to blame those next to you, but we have to remember that rifts within the community may push the innocent to seek shelter in places they would otherwise never think to go. Do not let fear prompt you to set fire to those who are innocent. Be reasonable and be humane.” 

The following escaped criminals have been identified as the highest profiled dangers to our community. If you possess any information about them, contact the Ministry of Magic immediately. 

Tertius Avery II - wizard

Antonine Dolohov - mage

Walden Macnair -wizard

Lucius Malfoy -wizard

Augustine Rookwood -witch

Marcella Travers - witch

Theoden Nott - wizard

Quirinus Quirrell - wizard

Corban Yaxley - mage

Dorinda Yaxley -witch 

Please see further details inside the newspaper, as these are only the most high profiled criminals. Stay safe and stay vigilant. 

 

That day, The Daily Prophet came to everyone in the Great Hall, even those who couldn’t afford it or chose not to have a subscription. Many worried voices filled the hall, and they only grew louder as more and more people read their free copy of The Daily Prophet. 

Soon enough, the whispers were no longer shared between friends, but rose to a loud crescendo of almost shouts as people began to turn upon the students whose family names were listed within the paper. Among other things they feared the children of the listed Death Eaters, but also whether their presence at Hogwarts would bring about the older ones.

Hysteria erupted in the Great Hall, and with it came magic. Violence broke out between some students, but most would refrain from shouting and pointing in favor of whispering, yet that also triggered reactions in others. Everyone was stressed and scared, people were far too aware that they were on the verge of war within society and risk at losing their family, friends, and basic human rights. It had festered. Just like the Ministry, they wanted to attack before they could be attacked.

Teachers, Prefects, other school staff and older students began to involve themselves with the groups who were fighting. Harry noticed Hagrid himself head towards Crabbe’s gang of followers and Draco, ready to break them up from the people who Crabbe appeared ready to challenge to a mage duel. Draco ducked behind the crowd, but he couldn’t escape through it as far too many were focusing on Lucius Malfoy’s son. Cho Chang approached the group of supposed Death Eaters as well, but she didn’t appear intent on fighting anyone as much as she intended to make the fighting cease. 

Behind the group of the Dark Lord’s followers, Blaise silently abandoned Teddy, who was suddenly all alone and surrounded by people who considered his parent with the same scorn which Teddy had for him. Only those people were willing to extend said hatred to him.

Ron and Lavender Brown stood up and rushed over to two different shouting matches, whereas Ron ran towards Ginny and Luna who appeared ready to hex the people who accused Astoria Greengrass of being a Death Eater due to her blood status. Brown jumped in between another duel, disarming the two students before they could hurt one another.

Colin grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled slightly on it as Hermione yanked Neville awake from his feeling of disbelief. Harry was struggling to hear over the noises of the mass hysteria which was spreading like fiendfyre. 

“Come on,” Colin spoke directly into Harry’s ear in a manner which hurt slightly since he was too close. 

“Neville, come with me,” Hermione yanked her best friend backwards, towards the Slytherin tables. “We’re getting our Teddy! See you outside!” She called towards the two not-boyfriends.

Harry and Colin were on the other side of the Gryffindor table, and they couldn’t reach the others without either jumping over the table, going under it, or around it. It was a far better idea to make it to the other side of the hall and simply wait for their friends to come out. 

Colin and Harry managed to make it outside without anyone’s wrath being turned upon them. Soon afterwards, Hermione and Neville appeared with Teddy, who was wearing Neville’s Gryffindor robe to make him less of a target, the hood pulled down over his ears. Harry thought that he could see traces of tears upon his face, but he wasn’t certain. 

“Where to?” Colin called as more students clamored for the entrance hall and began to separate in different directions. A Hufflepuff Perfect passed with a collection of first year students, all of whom appeared horrified and from mixed Houses. 

“I have to see Al,” Harry yelled over the noise. “I’ll find you later.” He turned around but then quickly stopped and turned back once more. “Colin, bring them all to my room. You know where it is, try and make sure that nobody follows you.” 

“Be careful!” Colin didn’t attempt to stop Harry as he ran off towards the Headmaster’s office. 

In his hurry and stress, Harry forgot to consider the very obvious fact that Al was not going to be in his room when something so serious was occurring outside of the school. Thus it was that when Harry entered the Headmaster’s office, he ran straight into a patchwork tent with ginger hair and a more than sturdy frame. 

“Iip!” Mrs. Weasley sounded as she jumped back from Harry. She appeared entirely undamaged from their impact while Harry found himself slightly lightheaded. 

The witch and the wizard stared at one another for a second before they recognised the other. 

“Mrs. Weasley!” 

“Harry! Oh dear, are you quite alright? What has happened, you appear terrified!” Mrs. Weasley rambled before she concluded the likely reason as to why Harry was so stressed. All her energy appeared to leave her as she almost calmly deflated, her gaze coming to rest somewhere upon the floor. “So the Ministry did make the escape public?” 

Harry nodded as he firmly shut the door behind himself. He didn’t allow his mind an opportunity to think, if he did, then Harry felt as if he would break together completely. He couldn’t allow himself to remember Draco’s frightened face as a large portion of the students around him turned against him. 

“It’s absolutely mad in the Great Hall,” Harry explained. “Some students began fighting. I suppose you could actually call it a riot.” He brought his arms up and hugged himself, noticing with a small startle that he was trembling. “I need to speak to Al- I mean Albus, is he here?”

Mrs. Weasley blinked at the young man, who was about her own height. “He left yesterday night, but he allowed me to stay since there was quite the snowstorm in this part of the country.” When she realised that she had no real reason to be there, she hesitated but then continued in a weak voice. “I was sent here by Arthur to deliver a highly time sensitive report to the Professor. He left right away.” Perhaps she only did so because Remus and Harry were both, technically, members of the Order of the Phoenix as well.

Harry attempted to gather himself as he looked up at Mrs. Weasley, but he could already feel tears form and run down his cheeks. He knew the answer to the question which he hadn’t yet dared to ask. His breath hitched, and the words which managed to make themselves into existence were strained and not exactly audible. Mrs. Weasley was part of the Order of the Phoenix. “What about the plan to save the Malfoys?” 

Mrs. Weasley’s guilty and worried expression gave Harry all the answers which he hadn’t dared to think about. He swallowed before covering his face as the tears began to flow freely. 

“Harry, dear, you have to understand…” Mrs. Weasley attempted to comfort him by nervously hovering around him, not quite daring to touch him. “We are doing everything to save them as quickly as possible, but with Lucius being broken out, the situation is very sensitive, and she wouldn’t actually leave him and…” 

Harry sobbed loudly, drowning her words out of his mind with his own sorrow.

Draco wouldn’t be saved soon.

He would have to live the horrible existence of being trapped with the Death Eaters, and yet unable to escape because the people around him had already judged him as just another Death Eater. Not to mention that both his parents were currently hostages, which meant that even if the adults could somehow save Draco, then he likely wouldn’t leave. Draco was simply not the kind of person who could abandon his family simply because it was convenient. Not after all the effort they had gone through in finding one another after falling apart. 

Draco was trapped, and Al couldn’t save him like this. No matter how badly the old wizard wanted to, he simply couldn’t. 

Mrs. Weasley had run out of options and in a rather definite lack of options, she reached out and pulled Harry into a hug, allowing him to cry against her. Harry wasn’t generally used to hugging women, with the exception of Hermione who didn’t quite like hugs in the first place. Thus, he found Molly Weasley rather oddly soft, but none the worse to hug for that reason. He allowed himself to cling to the support he was given as the mother of seven whispered kind reassurances which meant nothing into Harry’s ear. 

Amidst the few things which Harry actually heard her say, and the only thing which stuck out in his mind was what she said about her husband. 

“Arthur will save them,” Mrs. Weasley whispered. “He said he would, and I believe him. Don’t you worry, Arthur will find a way.” 

Harry was more than dejected as he slowly maneuvered his way back to his room. He had cried himself to the point of exhaustion, where his mind was simply nothing else but a faintly throbbing and painful collection of static upon his shoulders. Nonetheless, he slowly sneaked his way towards the room where he hoped to find his friends, hoping, more than he was able to take precautions, that nobody saw him. He didn’t have to worry, as the castle lay almost as abandoned as it did during winter since people had removed themselves and hid away wherever they could. There would not be any classes that day, that much was clear. 

Harry opened the door to his room after making sure that he was alone. Inside it, he found Colin, Hermione, Neville and Teddy, all of whom had been spread out around the rather small room. The air had already begun to turn stale from the number of people within the room, thus, Harry gestured towards the high window which opened to allow them to breathe a little easier, even if the window not being shut made the room far colder than it had been in simply a few minutes. Colin was sitting on the chair, while Hermione, Neville and Teddy were sitting on the bed. Teddy appeared to have cried himself to sleep on Neville’s lap, which meant that he was all the more laying than he was sitting. Harry longed to join him in napping on the bed. 

Colin stood up and came over to Harry, pulling him over to the chair so that he could sit down. “What did Dumbledore say?” Colin could see that Harry had been crying, and thus he asked the question as he fussed around for a glass of water. 

“Nothing,” Harry accepted the glass and drank, feeling his headache give slightly. “He wasn’t there.” 

Colin said a rather bad word in Muggle, something which shocked Hermione enough to gasp weakly. “Sorry,” Colin quickly retracted his curse before turning back to Harry. “Where do you keep the chocolate? I think you could all need some of that for the moment.” 

“Teddy definitely needs it,” Neville agreed as he absentmindedly stroked Teddy's hair. 

Teddy’s makeup had all come off, making him look somewhat younger and all the more vulnerable because of it. Harry wanted to hug him despite not trusting that his legs would carry him if he stood up again. 

“Under the bed, just to the left.” Harry waved his hand in a rather directionless direction. 

“By the closet?” Colin wasted no time in kneeling on the floor to peer under the bed. Hermione quickly jumped to the side to allow him more space to look. “Ah, sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” she quickly responded. 

“Yeah, in that blue box,” Harry continued the conversation for Hermione’s sake. 

“Found it.” When Colin stood up, he was holding onto a clean, blue shoebox whose origins had been lost to time and Harry’s memory. 

Colin handed the candy box to Harry and soon enough, the group were sitting silent in the room, eating chocolate. Colin had found a space on top of Harry’s desk, and Harry was thus able to lean against him, even if it wasn’t all that comfortable. 

Thus it came to be that the group of friends spent the day in Harry’s cramped room, much to the secret joy of the young man who had been made to endure the loneliness of the room for half a year. They were fed thanks to the efforts of Dobby and Kreacher, who both informed them that the castle was still in a state of chaos, and that many people were eating in rooms where they shouldn’t eat that day. 

Harry confessed to his friends in regards to what was supposed to happen with Draco and the Malfoys, and how the plan had been utterly ruined by the breakout of Azkaban and the likely return of Lucius Malfoy. He expressed his desire to speak to Draco the very next day, even if he would have to go to the Slytherin common rooms to do it. Nobody thought that it was a good idea for him to go there alone, but they understood his desperate need to speak to his best friend after all which had happened. The group of friends agreed to attempt to help Harry capture a chance to speak to Draco, but nobody was quite sure how they would go about it. 

Sometime around midday, a message from Professor McGonagall echoed around the school, informing the students that classes were cancelled for the day. Another message would follow later the same day, detailing that the Hogwarts Express was being prepared for those who wished to leave Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

At the time, it felt impossible for most of them to imagine that quite the number of mages, especially young ones, did want to leave. It was only later, when the classrooms and the halls became noticeably emptier, and the House tables began to feature stretches of empty seats that it became reality. Students were leaving Hogwarts as they no longer felt safe. Not even the Heir of Slytherin or the mass murderer from Azkaban had managed to chase so many away. It wasn't anymore an isolated incident, but a society which was slowly falling apart around them, making all the more reason to fear for the future.

Harry, Colin, Hermione, Neville and Teddy all wanted to stay at Hogwarts, as none of them wanted to go back home and simply leave everyone around them for a period of time which might never end. Especially Teddy refused to go home out of fear of who might be waiting for him there. Hermione had no desire to return to her Muggle parents who respected neither her identity as a witch nor that of a woman. Neville didn’t want to leave his friends or his plants, and both Harry and Colin felt like they had too much to lose in simply hiding to save themselves. When they met Ron the next day, he informed them that he also had every intention of staying at the school, rather than go home to a household which was mostly engaged with the Order of the Phoenix. 

Harry spent most of the evening retelling the story of Al and El to his friends, as he had the permission of Al to reveal it to whoever he saw fit now that he had seen all of it. He told them all that he could remember, as well as what he had learned overall about Tom Riddle, the boy who became the Dark Lord. The day had been somewhat too stressful for all of them, so nobody had any interesting comments or reflections, they mostly listened. Yet at the end of the tale, both Hermione and Teddy were crying, while Neville was slightly teary eyed and Colin became very busy with a loose thread upon his sleeve. 

The story helped conveying why Harry found it so important that he would reach out to Draco, so as to not let things spin out of his control like it had for Al.

Once again with the help of Dobby and Kreacher, the group got mattresses to sleep on for the night, and they spent it together in the more than cramped room. Harry slept on his bed with Teddy upon Colin’s suggestion, since the two of them appeared to need company the most and the mattresses made cuddling somewhat more complex due to their placements. Harry and Teddy didn’t speak a lot to one another, as Teddy fell asleep in Harry’s arms within minutes. Teddy was the smallest person Harry had cuddled in a bed, but it was not unpleasant. It felt good to be there for somebody else. It helped him focus on something but the disarray in his mind which primarily concerned Draco. 

Time passed, and time revealed that Draco had not remained at Hogwarts after the outbreak of hysteria, strife and chaos which had followed the prisoners’ escape from Azkaban. Harry didn’t want to believe it at first, as he feared that he had lost the opportunity and the ability to ever approach his beloved friend, but after a week had passed and the weekend was approaching, he had to admit to himself that it was a terrifying reality that Draco was no longer at Hogwarts.

That he might be too late, just like Al.

Thus, it was an impossible relief for Harry to spot Draco by the Slytherin table the first morning of the weekend. It was almost enough for him to walk right over to him and hug him, but his friends managed to make him wait until after the Quidditch game which Draco would participate in that same day. Teddy told Harry that he had heard from the Slytherin captain herself that Draco often stayed in the dressing room long after everyone else had showered, and only then did he enter a booth of his own. If Harry wanted to speak to Draco without complicating his fragile situation with the Death Eaters, then the best time was after the game. Not, as Harry had desperately suggested earlier that week, to become a snake and subsequently snake his way into the Slytherin common room and dormitories. The suggestion had seemed reasonable at the time, but now, Harry was glad that his friends had simply shut it down. 

With quite the unsettling premonition that something would go wrong since he was attending a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch game in February, Harry followed his friends to the Quidditch arena. After all, something had gone very wrong practically every time Harry attended a Quidditch game. He had gotten to borrow Ginny’s robes, as Ron’s were far too long for him, and he wanted to avoid anyone being able to identify him as a stranger who shouldn’t be on the Gryffindor stands based on his green robes. Teddy had adapted the same method and was wearing a spare robe which Dobby had found for him upon the young man asking. Teddy was currently living in the Gryffindor dormitory with Neville and Ron. Both Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had gone home, so the three of them had the dormitory for themselves, much to Teddy’s relief. 

Dressed in thick outdoor clothing, and with their robes pulled up over their heads, nobody noticed that Harry and Teddy weren’t actually Gryffindor students, and they were left alone as they stood on the stands, watching the students begin to gather for the game. Harry wondered if praying to something might assure that nothing went wrong, but he forgot all about his religious desperation as the players entered the field, and he spotted Draco amongst them. He must have gasped, since Colin gave his hand a squeeze and pulled Harry back from the railing, as he worried that his not-boyfriend might fall. As Harry had been known to do every now and then when he attended a Quidditch game. 

Even as a pale speck of black and green clad against the white snow upon the arena, Draco didn’t look healthy. While most other fliers were able to get up on their broom and to focus on getting into the air, Draco remained upon the ground for a few moments, even when the game itself had started. Ginny was already chasing after a golden speck as Draco finally appeared to remember that he was supposed to be airborne, and so he slowly stepped up on his broom, and sailed away to the side like a bumblebee drunk on honey. 

If Harry had been uncomfortable before Draco got into the air, it was nothing compared to how uncomfortable he was once his best friend was flying. Draco was nothing like the confident flier who has impressed Harry year after year with his abilities. In fact, he was flying with such lack of direction and such insecurity that Harry almost thought himself to have done a better job, should he be forced upon a broom.

For a few mad seconds, Harry considered the possibility that he had somehow confused the flier with someone who was not Draco, but he couldn’t see how that was possible when everyone else was chasing the Quaffle. For some additional mad seconds, Harry then considered if somebody had replaced Draco with the help of Polyjuice elixir, like Bartemius Crouch Junior had done to Mr. Moody during Harry’s fourth year. Another unlikely guess which did nothing to help Harry calm down or ease his mind. 

“Is Draco looking… weird to you?” Harry turned towards Colin, who happened to be standing next to him since he was not rejecting his duties of railing watch. 

Colin frowned, following the bumblebee flier as he slowly circled behind the Gryffindor goal rings. The Seeker was attempting to make it look like he was searching for the golden snitches while his heart was clearly not into the action. 

“He really shouldn’t be behind the goal rings.” Colin clicked his tongue. “That’s kind of Quidditch basics, isn’t it?” 

“I wouldn’t know…” Harry admitted as he turned his attention back to the field and Draco. 

The announcer excitedly yelled out as Ginny caught her second golden snitch, somewhere on the other end of the playing field. Draco didn’t appear to have heard anything. He had come to hover above the goal post, only now appearing to realise that his favorite sport was happening around him. Harry thought he could see Draco blink as the Slytherin team came crashing by Ron, and another goal was scored by the Slytherin captain Parkinson. 

As Ron realised that Draco was somewhere above him, he appeared distracted, and thus didn’t notice when another of the Slytherin players came rushing towards him soon after with the Quaffle in her hand. One of the Gryffindor Beaters noticed where Ron failed to, and he swung his club to send one of the Bludgers towards her. She spun in the air, avoiding the actual dangerous call but she had to chance her goal on a rather careless yet strong trust of the ball. Her movement caused it to spin and it hit the goal ring on the side, going over it, and straight towards Draco who had not yet thought to remove himself from the immediate danger which he was in close to a goal post. 

“No…” Harry breathed. 

In the time which he had let out the frightened plea, the Quaffle had already hit Draco’s chest with full force and a spin, possibly breaking the handle of his broom before colliding with the flier. Draco fell forward and as he did, his body hit the goal ring which had aimed the Quaffle towards him in the first place. This prompted his body to spin with the momentum, and he began to fall on the same side which Ron was on. 

Ron reacted instinctively to what was happening, and he reached out towards Draco with both arms, intent on catching him. However, he slid off his broom in turn, and began falling with Draco. The crowd was screaming and pointing towards the falling Seeker and Keeper, but Ron somehow managed to draw a conclusion as he fell. That conclusion being that he had plenty of protective gear while Draco did not. Thus, Ron Weasley did something very selfless, and highly stupid, as everyone would later tell him when he was awake enough to be blamed for his actions. 

Ron twisted them both in the air and clumsily wrapped his arms around Draco, falling before the other as he trusted in the slightly magically enhanced equipment and his helmet to help him land more safely in the snow. Both Ron and Draco landed with a weak thud, and Draco bounced off Ron whereupon his limp body rolled in the snow and came to a halt. 

Both Seeker and Keeper lay very still upon the white canvas as voices and screams began to echo around the arena, and their fellow players flew to check on them. 

Chapter Text

“I hate Quidditch!” 

Madam Pomfrey exclaimed loudly as she rushed through her hospital ward, following along the stretches, one of which hosted an unconscious Draco and the other which carried an equally passed out Ron. She was checking both their pulses at the same time with one hand each. 

“Malinda, you take care of the blonde,” the woman pointed at her assistant nurse. “Weasley has definitely broken his leg… Again. I’ll come join you as I’ve set this right. The lot of you, back off and stand aside! If you won’t get out of my hospital ward then at least stay silent!” 

Her last words were not for her young nurse in training, but for the people who had followed the stretches to the hospital wing. Harry, Hermione and Lavender Brown were all crying, their faces stained with their worry and fear for the people they cared about. Teddy’s eyes were wet, but he had managed to keep from allowing the tears to break out. Neville and Colin both wore worried and uncomfortable expressions, but neither of them appeared about to cry. The group of friends, and Lavender Brown, all stood back against the entrance wall, waiting silently as both Ron and Draco were taken behind one pale divider each. Draco was located further into the room than Ron, who remained comparatively close to the entrance. 

They all heard both nurses call for a House Elf each, both of which began adhering to their needs as the witches worked to restore the two Quidditch players. Nobody logically doubted their ability to restore their loved ones, but at the moment, it was incredibly hard to even consider that everything would be alright. That it could be alright again. 

The Madam of the hospital ward finished her work first, and she exited the divider without even a drop of blood upon her clean apron. That was a rather good sign. “Don’t crowd him,” she barked at the teenagers, knowing that there was not really anything she could do to keep them away. She stepped towards Draco’s bed, bringing the capable House Elf with her as she did. 

Harry wanted nothing more to follow her over to Draco’s bed, but since he was not yet cleared by the Madam, Harry followed Lavender Brown and Teddy, as well as his other friends, as they hurried to Ron’s divider and thus his side. Ron appeared beyond groggy with anesthesia, and he was drooling slightly where he lay with his leg raised in a construction which Harry recalled seeing once before when Ron’s leg had been broken by Sirius Potter and his canine bite. Teddy reached out with his sleeve to wipe some of the drool away. As he did, Ron stirred through his anesthesia. 

“Won-won!” Brown gasped as she reached out and grabbed her boyfriend’s hand, almost elbowing Hermione aside as she walked towards Ron. 

Hermione, who had been staring closer to the other Gryffindor woman than she had Ron, obediently stepped back to avoid the stray elbow which accidentally came towards her. 

“Speak to me!” Lavender Brown pleaded as she held onto Ron’s pale yet still Quidditch equipped hand. “Tell me what you need,” she whispered as her eyes yet again filled with tears. 

To everyone’s surprise, Ron actually responded in his sleep. He mumbled something, something which nobody quite heard, with the exception of Teddy. 

“Draco,” the Slytherin teenager clad in Gryffindor colors commented with a nod. “He said Draco.” 

“He did not,” Brown bit towards Teddy. 

Teddy simply shrugged in response. “I heard what I heard.” 

“He wouldn’t be calling for Draco Malfoy of all people!” Brown objected, loud enough that both Neville and Colin hushed her. 

“Draco… Oh no, Draco…” Ron mumbled in his sleep, this time loud enough for everyone to hear his weak plea. 

Teddy pointed at his face as Ron’s head rolled over and he continued to sleep. “Told you.” 

Lavender Brown blinked at the gathered people, before she realised that tears were yet again forming in her eyes, but they were not tears out of worry this time. They appeared to be tears out of rage. She let go of Ron’s hand as if it had bit her, pushed past everyone on her side of the bed, and then ran away from the hospital ward. The last thing they heard from her was a loud sob, followed by the door falling shut, much to the nurses’ displeasure. 

The group of friends stared after her, most of them equally confused as to why she had suddenly run away in a fit of anger. Teddy didn’t appear to care in the least as he reached out and carefully pulled the helmet off Ron. Before he put it to the side, he carefully whispered to it, “thank you for saving my best friend.” 

After his words, silence lingered between them until Colin finally put two and two together. “Wait… was she actually upset that Ron said Draco Malfoy’s name and not hers?” He glanced behind himself with a look of genuine confusion. 

“Seems that way,” Neville mimicked his action and glanced at the door. 

“But he’s asleep…” Colin shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “She wouldn’t blame him for speaking Malfoy’s name in his sleep, right? The last thing he probably remembers is trying to save him, how could she be pissed about that?” 

The rest of his friends shrugged. 

“Seems unreasonable,” Teddy agreed as he grinned down at Ron with familiarity and friendly love. “You dingus. Just had to be the hero, huh?” 

“Very unreasonable,” Hermione agreed as she carefully pulled the Keeper gloves off Ron’s hand and gently squeezed it. “I’ll be mad at you later for being careless,” she told Ron in a whisper. 

“We all will,” Neville agreed. 

Yet when the others began to relax and settle into the idea that things would be fine, Harry remained behind his friends, desperately longing to go to Draco’s side. He was worried since the nurses appeared to be taking longer with him than they were with Ron. Ron’s leg had been broken, which meant that whatever was wrong with Draco was likely worse than a broken leg. Harry couldn’t stop his brain from imagining all manner of terrifying reasons as to why that was. 

It was an immense relief to be allowed to actually pass Draco’s divider and see him, yet the vision which met Harry as he did was terrifying enough to bring him to tears before he had any chance whatsoever to stop them.

Draco lay very still, so still that he almost appeared like a corpse with his pale face, only stained here and there with an unhealthy redness. His hands lay bare for anyone to see, and the state of the fingertips was bad in regards to evident probing at the nails. It was bad enough that the nurses had applied some manner or ointment upon them. Further, Draco’s lips were chapped, something Harry hadn’t noticed from far away, but which was evident as he stood next to him, and his lower lip was slightly swollen from either the state of his lips or his impact on the ground. He breathed so slowly that Harry truly thought that he wasn’t breathing at all for a few seconds. 

Harry found himself squeezing Draco’s hand, very careful not to touch his fingers, as his vision suddenly swam with tears. He turned back to his friends, who were crowding behind him, but whom all had stopped when they saw how much worse off Draco was compared to Ron. None truly wanted to enter the space, and they all looked towards Harry for confirmation of what to do. 

“Can I…” Harry swallowed, “may I be alone with him?” 

“Absolutely,” Colin gently elbowed Neville, who appeared to wake up from his state of worry. 

Neville nodded in turn and gently tapped Teddy’s shoulder, and thus the three of them backed away to rejoin Hermione who had wanted to stay with Ron while she waited for Ginny to arrive, as she likely would when she had sorted out her duties as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. 

“Take all the time you need,” Colin gave Harry a grin which was meant to be reassuring, but Harry didn’t see it as he was too busy pulling a chair up so that he could sit next to Draco. Colin smiled to himself and shrugged. He was worried about Draco Malfoy, but with Harry by his side, where Harry should be, things somehow appeared less wrong. Less easy to worry about. Thus, Colin left his not-boyfriend with his not-boyfriend's best friend, knowing that things would be better after this. Colin was completely right about that.

Harry sat down upon the chair before he changed his mind and stood up once more, smoothing Draco’s hair to the side before he once more seated himself upon the chair. He didn’t so much grab Draco’s right hand as he grabbed his right wrist, holding on to it as he studied Draco’s face. Despite all the stress and the blemishes upon his skin, Draco was still handsome to Harry. He knew that he wasn’t as conventionally handsome as he had been before the anxiety got to him, but Harry simply looked past all of that to the familiar face which he knew. Even the crude but pale scar appeared to him to have always belonged to Draco, just as how his dad had always been scarred, as Harry had always been scarred. 

Harry couldn’t resist standing up once more and placed a hand a little away from Draco’s mouth and nose, only to confirm that he was still breathing. On the way back, Harry had to stop himself from kissing Draco’s forehead, only managing to do so when he was just about to allow his lips to touch the skin. Harry sat down, feeling ashamed and rather creepy over almost having kissed a person who by the definition of the word, could not consent. 

To keep from feeling things which he wasn’t quite comfortable with feeling, Harry began to hold a whispering conversation with his sleeping friend, paying close attention to the rising and falling of his chest as he did. As long as Draco was breathing, things could be fine. Would be fine, Harry corrected himself. This was no place for more needless anxiety. 

“Hello,” Harry began, somewhat lamely. 

Naturally, Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t even stir, yet his chest continued to rise and fall. 

“This is the first time we’ve spoken since the funeral. Ron got his leg hurt again, just like when Si...nuffles bit it back then. It almost feels like back then, but not really at all.” Harry absentmindedly played with Draco’s Quidditch uniform sleeve as he continued to speak with him while big drops of tears fell from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, pooling upon the bed while some hit Draco’s hand. 

“I’ve missed you so much. So much that I feel crippled,” Harry confessed. “I feel as lonely as if dad had never adopted me, I feel as without focus as if I had never come to Hogwarts. It feels ridiculous, I want to be able to move on, or something, but I don’t know how to. You’re such an important part of my life, I don’t feel complete if I’m not by your side… It’s so stupid, I’m only sixteen… We are only sixteen, and yet I feel as if… as if…” He bit his own lower lip, stifling a sob. “I love you so much. I hate being apart from you. I feel like I’ve been unable to breathe for the entire term, and every time I do see you, you steal more of my breath away as I am pulled back under when you aren’t there anymore.”

Harry stopped to take a few deep, shaking breaths as he attempted and failed to stop crying. “Is that wrong of me? To be so dependent on you? On others? Do you think I’m annoying? Do you think I’m clingy?” 

Despite his resolutions from having witnessed Al's past, it was hard to not fear that Draco might have changed, might not want him the same way he did. If it was the case, if Draco wouldn't want him anymore, he would have to give everything up if it so killed him. However, he had not had the confirmation of Draco's feelings. Not yet.

“You sound clingy when you whine like that.” A voice which was most definitely not Draco’s answered Harry’s whispered, frightened confessions. 

The son of a werewolf flinched and turned towards the person who had addressed him, only to find the large form of Vincent Crabbe standing before him in the small space of the divider. Behind him, Harry could make out the green clad shape of the Slytherin Quidditch captain, as well as Goyle and another mage whose name Harry had forgotten. Harry judged them to be a Ravenclaw due to their uniform. 

“Get out of here, Potter,” Crabbe signalled with his head. “We’re checking on our friend and we don’t want you snivelling all over him like some lovesick dog. You were dumped, when are you going to get that?” He didn’t speak in a loud voice so as to not be thrown out, but his words might as well have been thunder with how loud they vibrated within Harry’s head. 

“I’m not going to be allowed to sit here for very long…” Harry mumbled as he returned his gaze to Draco’s pale hand and the utterly broken nails. He couldn't leave him. Not yet. Not when Vincent Crabbe was telling him to. Not when the world was trying to pull them apart like this. “I’ll leave him alone, I promise, I just want to sit here a little longer. Just a little longer.” He added once more, shaping his words into a plea without intending to. 

“Yeah, right,” Crabbe was deaf to the plea. “You’re as pathetic as a Muggle.” He took a step forward and reached out as if he planned on picking Harry up and physically throwing him out. 

Unbeknownst to himself, Harry’s grip around Draco’s sleeve tightened.  

“Wait,” Captain Parkinson spoke up, calling everyone’s attention to herself. She placed her hands on her hips, shifting uncomfortably as she avoided her boyfriend’s gaze. “Potter is not going to be allowed to stay for long, and Draco doesn’t seem about to wake up anytime soon. We were going to check on him, and so we have. I’ve already made up my mind to replace him, so in my opinion, he’s just a classmate rather than my Quidditch subordinate and I have done my duty in checking that he is alive.” She stopped speaking and then added with some effect, “it stinks in here.” 

Goyle nodded at the last comment before he too looked towards Crabbe. “The scent in here is horrible.” 

“And the air is stale,” Parkinson continued as she crossed her arms and huffed. “Draco stinks too, of disgusting… stuff. I don’t want to get that stuck to my clothes or hair.” 

The Ravenclaw mage nodded weakly in agreement. “Neither do I…” they commented. 

Crabbe was evidently annoyed with them, but he realised that his friends and followers really had better things to do than kick Harry away from Draco’s passed out form. Harry noticed how he sniffed the air as well, and it did not take long before he scrunched his nose. 

“Fine,” Crabbe grunted as he took a step back. “Dry your face. You really are pathetic.” He more or less flung the words at Harry as he stepped away from the divider. 

The sound of the followers’ shoes slowly died away, leaving Harry alone with Draco. He slowly let go of his best friend’s sleeve and began searching for tissues. He found them and attempted to blow his nose as silently as he could, before he dried both eyes and then cleaned his glasses with another clean tissue. 

After the visit of his fellow Slytherin students, and one Ravenclaw student, Harry didn’t speak to Draco anymore, but still remained by his side, holding on to his hand. Colin came by to ask if his not-boyfriend wanted to join them as they left, but Harry politely declined in favor of waiting until Madame Pomfrey told him to leave. Harry received a hug from Colin, which he returned, and then the son of a werewolf was left alone by his sleeping best friend. 

Every time the matron of the hospital wing attempted to ask Harry to leave, Harry begged her for just another few minutes with such desperate pleading that she couldn’t deny him to stay longer. Finally, the witch came to use a rather drastic, but not quite extreme, measure to attempt one final time to make Harry leave. She called for Professor Severus Snape to ask that the man reason with his student and member of the House which had formerly been in his care.

Severus found Harry sitting in the steady gloom of the hospital wing where he was located at the very last stall, created by thin white dividers. Harry was holding on to Draco’s sleeve, hardly raising his head even though he did hear someone coming. 

“It’s late,” the current Defense against the Dark Arts teacher’s voice was not stern or loud, it was quiet and somewhat morose, gentle as if it knew that Harry’s own mind was rather fragile for the moment. “Have you eaten anything all day?” 

Harry looked up at the man who would marry his dad before he slowly shook his head. “Something, I guess, but I can’t remember what.” 

“Then you should go eat, at least in your room. Ask one of your elven friends to bring you something.” Severus continued to speak in a silent, reasonable tone of voice where he stood in the space which had been filled utterly by Crabbe just a few hours ago. 

Harry shook his head and returned his attention to Draco’s pale face and rather frighteningly still but breathing chest. “I’m fine, sir.” 

Severus sighed, “I am to be a part of your family, you shouldn’t call me sir.” 

“I did?” Harry somehow sounded surprised and utterly uncaring as he continued to make certain that Draco’s chest was indeed rising and falling still. “I didn’t notice.” 

The werewolf’s lover was reminded of the fact that if he had been hurt, Remus would have been very much exactly the same as his son. Rather defeatedly, he sighed once more, busying his fingers with his left sleeve in a moment of weakness. “Surely you do not plan on staying forever?” He did not intend to sound annoyed, but the phrasing very much made him sound displeased. 

“No, I just want to speak to him. Or at the very least hear his voice.” Harry didn’t notice the annoyance at all. “This might be the only chance I ever get to speak to him again before… before… Some… thing rips us apart again.” The young man’s voice became thick with tears as his emotions became too heavy for his voice and mind to carry without faltering. “If I don’t do this now, I’ll never forgive myself.” 

In the dark room, Harry turned towards his dad’s partner, his glasses caught the faint lights of the windows and his cheeks shimmered with tears. He appeared to Severus as if someone had attempted to paint a portrait of grief, but got lost in the idea of making it beautiful, rather than portraying grief as it truly was. He supposed to himself that he likely would have thought otherwise if he had been able to see Harry clearly, but in the dim light of the rather dark hospital wing, the young man’s loyalty appeared almost beautiful. 

“Surely you can’t fault me?” Harry mumbled, his voice still thick with emotion. “Not when you know what it’s like when the world steals you from the person you love?” 

“How… Poetic,” Severus scoffed to hide the knowledge that he was exactly what Harry was softly accusing him of being. That he was very much someone who understood the pain of what Harry was speaking of so intimately that the words of the young man left an aching in his own chest, much to his personal annoyance. 

“If I leave him now, I’ll die,” Harry chuckled weakly, rubbing some tears from his cheeks. “At least on the inside. That is what happened to Al, I mean, Albus, I mean…” Harry recalled that Severus was a mind reader, and so he stopped explaining himself. “I saw all of Al’s memories in connection to El, and I know that he was, in some ways, trying to warn me of what happens when you simply let the people you love go without trying to keep them with you, should you want to keep them. Some things are worth letting go of, like Teddy’s dad, or my friendship with Blaise, but I can’t watch Draco be pulled away from me without fighting to be together, not unless Draco tells me he wants to leave. Al taught me that. I don’t want to end up with a lifetime of regrets.”

Severus’ lips became a thin line, he could feel his face reacting, but he could not stop the expression from forming. Once upon a different man, Severus had claimed to the twelve year old Harry that a person would always amount to a lifetime of regret, no matter how hard they tried to not cause or grow regret. At the time, he might have believed that regret was all that remained in a person, when everything else was lost to time and cruel interactions with the world. 

However, that was before Severus realised that he was indeed loved, and that he loved in return. That was not to say that love was a singular solution for everything, one that could solve depression and ease regrets. Rather, it was having a friend, having somebody to speak to and reason with which helped Severus’ regrets to ease. Regret might be an irrefutable fact of life, one which simply amounted and grew over the years, but it was also not all there was. Not all that could be. There were ways to mend regrets, and there were choices which could be made to further ease that regret. It didn’t always help, and Severus was sure that he would die holding plenty of regrets in his heart, body and mind, yet not enough to fill a lifetime. Never again enough to fill a lifetime, because he was not alone, festering those emotions into infected wounds. 

“The Headmaster always did wish to show me those memories,” Severus concluded, somewhat meekly, at least to his own ears. “I always refused, because I… Did not want to admit what you have just said to be true.” His hands closed slowly around nothing before he raised a hand to touch the moon necklace which he treasured above all other possessions as a reminder of the boy he had loved, and the man whom he wanted to marry. “Perhaps I will come to regret not having seen them when the time comes…” He allowed himself one final sigh, and one long glance into the whiteness of the divider, which was turning grey in the fading light. 

“May I stay, please?” Harry spoke up before he lowered his voice. “I know that things didn't go as planned, I know that things have all gone… wrong. I don’t want to waste this opportunity.” His hand squeezed Draco’s sleeve yet again. 

“Very well, I’ll speak to Madam Pomfrey,” Severus yielded. “Please speak to him. Ease him in any way that you can, help him in any way you can. I’m powerless to do either in the situation I find myself in. I trust that you might be able to at the very least help my Godson.”

Harry’s expression became a little less desperate, a little less pleading, and a little less twisted by emotions. “I’ll do my best. I really will.” 

“Naturally,” Severus turned away from his future son, yet spoke loud enough for the young man to still hear him before he walked away. “You have never done anything but.”

Chapter Text

“Harry… Har… ry.” 

A soft stroking all but jolted Harry awake as he sat up so quickly that he almost fell off his chair. His butt ached from the pain of having fallen asleep upon a wooden chair, and his back and arms were not quite fine after his uncomfortable sleeping position against the hospital bed, but all of that was forgotten as he spotted Draco’s pale face as he was sitting up in his bed. 

Draco appeared to be made out of moonlight as the light from the celestial rock fell upon his pale features and reflected within his grey eyes. He sat still upon the bed, his blonde hair creating a halo of whiteness around his head while illuminating little of his body but his hands. Harry briefly wondered if this was what Muggles described as religious devotion, as he felt like his heart would break in his chest from the sheer beauty of the otherworldly spectre in front of him. 

The spectre made a displeased face which did nothing to diminish his beauty, and he spoke. “Did you sleep with your glasses on?” 

“Draco!” Harry breathed out in a desperate sigh as he jumped from chair and over to the head of the bed, to be closer to the divine sight which had been kept from him for half a year if not more. Probably more. “Oh, Draco.” Before Harry could stop himself, he found himself lying over Draco’s shoulder, hugging him awkwardly from a standing position as tears stained the Quidditch uniform beneath him. “Draco…” he whimpered, fearing that the other might push him away at any second. 

Draco didn’t.

Instead, Harry heard him attempt to stifle a sob but he couldn’t keep it from leaving him. The next thing Harry knew, he was captured tightly in Draco’s arms, the blonde wizard clinging to him as desperately as Harry wanted to cling to him, but didn’t dare to out of fear that he’d hurt the already wounded Seeker.

Yet Draco’s desperation was contagious enough that Harry couldn’t stop from squeezing him tighter, and before he knew better, he found himself on the bed with the person he loved, the two of them refusing to allow the other distance as they stifled their sobs against the other’s shoulder. Harry only parted from his beloved for long enough to set his glasses aside, and then refused to let go for what could have been anything from ten minutes to a lifetime. 

“Oh Harry, you absolute idiot…” Draco mumbled when they finally came to settle against the other, sharing the tiny bed when they were used to far larger ones. His hand couldn’t stop playing with Harry’s hair, as if he needed it to confirm that Harry truly was there. As if the weight of his body simply wasn’t enough for him to be sure. 

Harry lay half on top of Draco and half next to him, his arms around his beloved and his leg resting in the space between Draco’s. “I don’t deny the accusation,” he nuzzled his face into the creak of Draco’s neck and shoulder, whispering out the response so as to not wake Ron or Madame Pomfrey. “But what for?” 

“You were supposed to get over me…” Draco objected weakly, as if the very words hurt him as he spoke them. “You were supposed to not place yourself in continuous danger by trying to get to me. The political consequences of us being together is… is…” He couldn’t bear to finish. 

“I know…” Harry mumbled against his skin, feeling the familiar and much desired scent of Draco filling him again. He truly felt like he hadn’t been able to breathe until he could inhale in the scents which shaped his best friend. The scent which was as familiar to himself as his own. The clean scent of a well maintained mansion, of the spring winds over open fields or fresh snow, the scent of Draco’s bed and the scent of their common room. Harry loved it all so dearly that his chest ached as it was filled with air. “I know all that and I still couldn’t stay away from you. You might as well ask the moon to leave the earth.” 

Draco didn’t respond verbally, but he reached out and hugged Harry closer to his chest, pressing Harry’s head closer to his neck. Harry couldn’t hold back the urge to kiss him, upon which Draco allowed a small, pleased moan to leave him. Harry was reminded of the feelings Al had felt when El asked him about ‘the things I want to do with you, which might frighten you.’ He realised with some shame and some excitement that his own feelings were very similar to Al’s, and he recognised that he would trust Draco with his own body in such an act. In fact, he wanted to know Draco’s body more, he wanted to know it more intimately than anyone else would, but Harry was also aware that they were in a hospital bed, and that Draco was hurt. Also, the idea of doing something like that when they were not entirely sure where the had the other was enough to make Harry feel outright stupid for his desires.

“I thought that you had found a replacement in Colin…” Draco muttered, as if he was annoyed with Harry for still being in love with him. “I thought you had finally gotten over me.” 

“I did find Colin, but not as a replacement for you. I tried to, and it was only when I realised that I could be with Colin in a different relationship from ours that I managed to even have a relationship with him. I really like him, definitely enough to say I’m crushing on him, but I still love you as well. There are…” Harry bit his lower lip, feeling his face heat. “There are things I want to do with you that I don’t want to do with Colin. Likewise, there are things I need from Colin that you can’t give me, especially not for the moment.” 

The Pureblood wizard nodded. Where the Muggle-born Hermione found Harry’s relationship to be confounding, Draco found it to be perfectly natural, if not expected even. “And Colin is on board with it I take it?” He probably only asked with the knowledge that Colin was raised by Muggles.

Harry’s face was still burning as he nodded, “we’ve talked about it a lot, and we’re not in a committed relationship. I can’t even kiss him without thinking of you, so we don’t have that part. We’re mostly just physically close and cuddling.” 

“So you haven’t done t-”

Harry lightly bit his beloved’s neck to keep him from finishing that sentence. “No!” he whispered back, sounding slightly offended. “It’s not that I would never want that from him, but I wanted it with you for… for… Ugh… I feel creepy…” Harry stopped speaking as he hid his face against his best friend’s shoulder, thankful for the darkness of his skin and the cloud which kept the moonlight out of their secluded space. 

“You’re such a romantic,” Draco mumbled as he looked to the side in an almost despairingly depressed manner, but his arms still clung to Harry, perhaps with newfound desperation. “If you hadn’t had this chance to talk to me, would you have waited all your life?” 

“Of course not,” Harry scoffed at the idea. He was not Al. “But just because I can legally do it doesn’t mean I want to throw myself upon anyone I like simply because my boyfriend was stolen from me by the world.” It was a little frightening to call Draco by that title, but they both knew well that they had not separated on their terms.

His statement caused a silence to settle over their bed, as Draco stared at a pale wall, unable to find words. When he finally did speak up, the statement broke Harry’s heart. 

“I don’t think that I’m worthy of such a thing…” Draco mumbled. “I’m stained… marked… I’d never want you to see me like that. I never want you to see that.” He placed emphasis on the last word, squirming as if he suddenly wanted to snake away from Harry and leave him once more.

For one mad impulse, Harry hated the Dark Lord with a passion for making Draco think that he was stained or otherwise unclean. The impulse caused a stroke of madness, and he sat up and wrestled the left sleeve of Draco’s arm, much to his friend’s despair. Yet he was too slow to stop Harry, and the mark of the skull and the snake revealed itself upon Draco’s otherwise pale arm. The light of the moon rejoined her spectre, as if to show Harry the stain upon him, and ask that he remove it from her child of moonlight. Harry raised the arm up and then bit into Draco’s skin as if he could bite the snake upon it, forcing it to hide away within the passively grinning skull. 

Harry’s bite was not hard enough to hurt Draco, but it was enough to startle him slightly. “Wh-, what are you doing?” The spectre who was actually a mage of flesh and blood objected to Harry’s action, but didn’t fight him off. 

“Ah am howwin geh-”

“Yes, no, that is not comprehensible…” Draco sighed weakly and tapped Harry’s head. “Don’t speak with me in your mouth.”

Harry let go of his beloved’s arm. “I was showing who is the superior snake here. And it’s not those ugly lines.” He reached out and grabbed Draco’s other hand before Draco could cover up again, holding the hand steady for just a few seconds. “You’re not stained. You could never be. I love you too much to care about a mark someone else left, even though I rather hate the Dark Lord for forcing it upon you. It’s not your fault, it’s his, and the fact that he had tricked you into thinking that it is your fault makes me glad that we recently destroyed another of his horcruxes.” 

Harry felt like he understood yet another part of his dad’s mind and emotions as he truly realised that the mark didn’t bother him. Just as with Severus, the mark wasn’t something which Draco had chosen to wear, it wasn’t something that he believed in, and it was something he was both terrified of and felt guilty about. It was true that the mark would never go away, but it was also true that there were artists out there who specialised in mending those mistakes and reshaping tattoos into something beautiful, rather than something which connected to anxiety alone. When all of this was over, and Harry wanted it to all be over one day, Draco could remove the mark and make it one he wasn’t ashamed to be ‘tainted’ by.  

“You did?” Draco’s expression dared to reveal a hint of hope as Harry let go of his hand and helped him pull the sleeve back down. “That is relieving… Immensely so. I am glad that you have been busy.” 

“So have you…” Harry slowly turned the discussion around towards Draco. “Teddy says that you don’t always come back to your bed, and I have seen you disappear from Crabbe’s group. What… well, I mean… Could you please tell me?” 

Draco lay silent for a long time, trapped between spectre of moonlight, and the wizard who Harry had known so well. He covered his right arm with his left, staring into the same spot upon the divider. “I shouldn’t but… But I’m at the end of my wits, sanity and possibly health as well. I think… Yes, speaking to you might actually help me, but I need you to know before I start that it is… That I have been…” Draco’s voice broke in a weak sob. “Harry,” he all but pleaded, “it’s all hopeless. I’ve been set to arrange the murder of Albus Dumbledore.” 

In the end, Draco abandoned all pretenses and disclaimers and simply confessed to what was weighing his heart down to the point where not even Quidditch, or the freedom of the sky, could save him. He confessed to the task he had been given as he strived to keep the emotions back from ripping him apart, as he had for more than half a year. 

Harry found that his mind didn’t work, that nothing worked.

He sat upon Draco’s thin bed, staring at his former partner and best friend as he continuously attempted and failed to comprehend what had been shared with him. Instead of understanding, his mind came to shape questions, attempting in small manners to comprehend the situation. “You have been tasked with… killing Al? W-why?” His voice didn’t carry far, instead, he whispered the words, struggling to shape them into existence. 

“No, well… yes, somewhat but not directly,” Draco objected weakly, still unable to look at Harry as he reached for and found that his cufflinks were not upon his sleeves. 

As if moved by a power which was within him, Harry reached forward, showing the silvery snake cufflinks which Draco had sent him when they broke up. The other mage blinked before his body was shaken by a sob as he reached out to grab Harry’s hand before pushing it against his own face, his own breath shaking slightly. 

Draco appeared to calm down somewhat after he had been allowed some moments of grief. “I cannot believe that you are wearing those… They do look good on you, naturally, but… Well… I didn’t think that you might choose to wear them.”

Harry shrugged as he smiled at the now sitting Draco, “I didn’t in the beginning, but then I did and they felt comforting.” 

“Romantic,” Draco softly scolded him. 

Harry shrugged as he stroked some hair from Draco’s face, allowing himself to see him properly. “Would you explain that again to me?” 

Draco nodded, took a deep breath, and then attempted to speak once more. “I was only tasked with the murder plot a few days ago. Previously, my assigned task was to find some manner of way to allow the Death Eaters to enter directly into Hogwarts. Through this political maneuver, the understanding that Death Eater could enter into the supposed secure school would crush all trust which the mage community has left for Dumbledore, thus actively destroying the Order of the Phoenix in the process. The plan was not to kill anyone, and especially not to hurt the students, but to leave enough evidence and broken things in their wake to allow no doubt that the Headmaster cannot protect the school from them.” 

“Destroy the reputation of the school as secure, destroy Al, and thus destroy the stability within the Order?” Harry summarised, feeling his insides throb and twist as if they were filled with icy spikes which both chilled and cut him. 

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “He, the Dark Lord, told me that if I could find a way to enter the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, then he would forgive my father for being arrested and betraying him in revealing his existence to the world too early, and he assured me that nothing would happen to my mother. As long as I completed my task, my family would be safe. I didn’t… I didn’t have a choice. I was so frightened by what might happen to mother, and well, me as well of course, when everyone appeared to consider father a traitor. The Dark Lord said that we’d not be hurt as long as I could accomplish the impossible. Naturally, not all his plans depend on me getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Or, rather, it didn’t, but… Something changed.” 

“A week ago, when the Death Eaters broke out?” Harry guessed. 

Draco shrugged, “I don’t know if that was the catalyst or if something else changed.” He was playing with his cufflinks again, although they were stuck on Harry’s sleeves and not his own. “All I know is that when I came back after the breakout, and found so many more people at the manor, I learned that the goal of my task had changed. I was no longer to simply let the Death Eaters in so that they might be able to wreak havoc so to speak, but to specifically allow them to reach and kill Dumbledore. Naturally, as I am only sixteen, I’m not expected to participate in any manner other than opening the door for them.” 

“That’s… Horrible… I’m so sorry that you had to go through with all this…” Harry felt as if his response was rather lame, and not very comforting, but despite his feelings on the matter, it appeared to help Draco. 

“He told me that as long as Dumbledore dies, he doesn’t care about the details. As long as he is dead by the end of it, my mother and father will be safe, no matter what happens to me,” Draco said. “It’s not that I believe him completely, what fool would after all the evidence to the contrary, but I think he meant it. He needs a Malfoy to keep the manor at least useful. A Malfoy has influence and purpose in society, but without us, the manor could be invaded by the Ministry more easily. It’s not truly a safety, but it is something. The Lestrange husbands are no longer part of the Death Eaters, and yet they offer protection in their estate for the followers and the sympathisers, as well as the escapees, and they are left alone. The Dark Lord knows the importance of followers, he doesn’t kill unnecessary. He’s more clever than that. I’m more worried about the other Death Eaters and followers who appear to want to tear my father to shreds. My aunt has made it very clear that we’re not in good standing, and we cannot be safe among them unless Dumbledore dies.” 

“How… have you been able to find a way for the Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts?” Harry didn’t know what else to ask. He found it easier to focus on his questions, rather than allowing himself to consider the implications of what he had just heard. 

Draco steadied himself with a few deep breaths before he was able to focus on his best friend. “I’ve found… well, a way, but I can’t quite make it work on my own.”

“What is it?” Harry moved closer and lowered his voice, studying Draco’s face. 

The unwilling Death Eater hesitated before he yielded. He had already told Harry everything to this point, he might as well continue. “Before Hogwarts had House Elves, whose quarters are down by the kitchen and the Hufflepuff dormitories, there were human servants who attended the castle. Their living quarters were up in the attic, which is currently more or less a forgotten storage space. I only found the entrance after months of searching, the stairs were completely hidden behind a false wall. As you know, the heating back in the day was dependent on open fireplaces to keep people warm. There is one in the attic, it’s old but the chimney is whole and I have managed to clear it by now. It was not easy…” Draco sighed and glanced to the side. 

“So they have a way inside now?” Harry whispered, his mouth and throat feeling dry enough to trap his words and never allow them to escape. 

To Harry's relief, the unwilling Death Eater shook his head. “They have managed to connect the chimney to the network over at the Ministry, but the real problem is the Floo Powder itself. I don’t know if you know this, but the powder has been forbidden at Hogwarts since many years back, I think. Just another rule which Umbridge was ignoring. No student can bring Floo Powder in here, and Filch and the Aurors are searching specifically for it since Umbridge’s connection allowed a collection of teenagers to enter directly into the Ministry of Magic itself.” 

"Wait, why do you need Floo Powder? They are entering Hogwarts from the other end. They should be capable of purchasing something as common as Floo Powder?" Harry found that he couldn't understand the reasoning behind it. 

Draco whimpered weakly before he sighed, "it's not to enter Hogwarts, it's to leave again. This area is surrounded by Aurors who are more likely to kill notorious Death Eaters than capture them. It would be far too risky to try to leave the Hogwarts grounds far enough to apparate with all the Aurors outside it. Their preferred method is stealth, making certain that they can get away and leave a mess behind.

"But... can't they bring more powder?"

"That's not quite how it works, you cannot put logs within a fire and expect it to not burn them. As the teleportation spell is at work, it will consume any of the fuel it can reach while it moves you. I've read up a lot about this... it's one of the reasons it's not the universally most popular method of transportation everywhere."

“So your only choice is to make it yourself inside of Hogwarts?” Harry guessed. 

“Indeed… And it’s not easy. I am at a complete loss. I keep on trying and trying, but it doesn’t work and it doesn’t look right. It is far more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen or made. I think back to the time when I found the Patronus Charm complicated, and I feel quite so foolish.” Draco laughed weakly and without any real joy. “I’m utterly stuck and I don’t know what to do. If I complete my task, Dumbledore will die and in his wake, many more. If I don’t complete it, my family will die instead, or at the very least suffer badly. I’m… so lost. It was one thing to do it when I was only doing it to destroy a reputation, quite another to participate in the death of someone I… Someone I almost know… I don’t know what to do anymore.” Draco hid his head in his hands, groaning weakly. “I wish that I’d never woken up from that fall…” 

“Don’t you dare say that,” Harry scolded him without gentleness or kindness as he reached out and pulled Draco into his arms. “Don’t you dare,” he repeated in a quiet whisper, directly into his best friend’s ear. 

Draco hugged him in return, clinging to him as he broke down crying once more, allowing the frustration and pain of what he had been tasked with to fully release against Harry’s chest. It took him quite some time to calm down, but Harry held him, stroking over his head and whispered words which were only for the unwilling Death Eater whom Harry loved so dearly. 

“You’ve always been my voice of reason,” Draco finally managed to collect his tongue and mend his sobs into words. “What should I do? I’m so lost…”

Harry found himself equally lost for a second, but his mind surprised him by telling him that he knew exactly what to do. The situation was far too complex, far too large for two barely men to handle, and thus, the answer was as simple as asking for help from someone who could help, who could decide what to do. In their second year, they faced a situation during which they closed themselves away from help, and refused to take the hands which had always been there, waiting for them. Harry had learned that silence was not the answer, that suffering alone was never the answer, and if it was, it wasn’t a good answer. One simply needed to look at Al to know the pain of such suffering. 

“We have to tell someone,” Harry’s voice left no room for discussion or doubt. “Either Al or Severus. This is too big for us.” 

“Ask the man I’ve been tasked to kill if I should kill him or not…?” Draco scoffed and shook his head. “That will never work…”

“Who better to stop his own murder than the person at risk of being murdered?” Harry countered calmly. “Do Crabbe and the rest of the followers know where you are and what you are working with?” 

Draco shook his head, “they don’t know the details. They only know that I have an important task to complete, but they don’t know what it is or how I am completing it.” 

“Then they don’t know the way to that attic space?” Harry continued to reason. 

Yet again, Draco shook his head, not trusting his voice to carry his words. 

“Then I will speak with Severus and Al,” Harry insisted, “and I will meet you there in that space. We’ll decide our next step based on what they chose, and I will come be with you up there. I really can’t leave you alone when you are practically suicidal from the weight of all this horror.” Harry’s hands closed around Draco’s, holding him far harder than he probably should. “I will save you.” 

Draco flinched at the notion that he could, or even deserved to, be saved. He trembled, his voice shaping weak sobs once more as his face became stained with tears which shimmered in the moonlight which passed and returned, unreliably reliable. Draco took a deep, shaking breath as his grey eyes settled on Harry, meeting his gaze. Without his glasses, Draco’s features melted together, and Harry was only certain of the fact that he was crying because the moonlight shone upon the tears, creating droplets of sorrow and despair. Draco’s eyes were pools of moonlight, as diffuse yet real as the reflection of the celestial rock on the still lakes across the world. 

Harry loved Draco with such an ache that he wondered if one might go mad with the feeling. Feelings were truly maddeningly powerful, no matter human sense and logic.

He felt his skin burn and chill at the same time, the hair rising on his arms as a fire cracked within his stomach. He was not making the same mistake as Al. He was not becoming that type of person. He was never becoming an icon for the sake of others, never again would he accept ‘Harry Potter.’ If he was to, by some coincidence, become an icon in the future, then it would be through his own name and his own achievements. He was also never willingly losing the people he loved, and he was not going to turn away from Draco.

“Please… if I’m worth it, if I can be… Save me…” Draco whispered, desperation allowing him no restraints as he pleaded for salvation like a sinner would before their hanging. 

Only Harry was no God, and he was no priest. He was but a human, one fully capable of setting the hanging stock ablaze if he had to. He squeezed Draco’s hands harder. 

“I will save you.” 

Chapter Text

Harry Lup-, Potter. Harry Potter was sitting next to Draco’s bed, his face wet with tears and his expression as miserable as it was pathetic as it was… heartbreakingly tragic. He had asked the passed out Draco, who appeared worse than ever as he laid upon the bed like a beautiful corpse, if he was pathetic or not. Draco appeared a broken, albeit beautiful depiction of Death which gave Pat the creeps. She elected not to look at him, instead focusing on the tragic, wet face of her classmate. Of one of the many people who could have been her friend if things had been different. 

Vince insulted the lone teenager, attacking the perceived weaknesses which he could identify, then demanded that he leave. Pat had no desire whatsoever for them to be alone with the marble statue of mortality, but Vince was the leader, and he always got what he wanted. At the thought, Pat crossed her arms over her body, building a fragile wall between herself and her boyfriend, as well as the two wizards who evidently loved one another. 

Yet to Pat’s surprise, Lu-, Potter objected. He didn’t listen to the demands of the larger and stronger wizard, but pleaded, using logic, to be allowed to stay. His reasoning made sense to Pat, but she knew Vince well enough to know that he hated being told what to do, especially when he wanted to do something completely different. She spotted the tell-tale sign of Vince’s lips twitching, and of his hands opening and closing as he seized the person who challenged his authority with his gaze. 

“Yeah, right,” Crabbe was deaf to the plea. “You’re as pathetic as a Muggle.” He took a step forward and reached out as if he planned on picking Potter up and physically throwing him out, thus removing him from Draco’s bed. 

Pat saw how Potter’s grip around Draco’s sleeve tightened, and to her horror she saw what she identified as unyielding love for the passed out teenager on the bed. Suddenly, it was becoming hard to deny that Harry Potter was a human being, and that his love for Draco Malfoy mattered and was real. 

Potter would be hurt if this continued. He would be hurt and removed from the one he evidently loved and Pat would have stood by and watched it all happen. Just like she had done with everything horrible that year. Maybe with every year. Maybe… always. 

Pat recalled then how Ngo-Kwang smiled, her face somewhat clouded by the steam of the dressing room, but her expression honest and her smile true. “I knew you weren’t like that,” she had said.  

I knew you weren’t like that.

“Wait.” 

Pat heard her own voice call everyone’s attention to herself. For a brief heartbeat, she panicked, but then realised that it was already too late. Thus, she placed her hands on her hips, shifting uncomfortably as she attempted to look secure while avoiding her boyfriend’s gaze. She didn’t see any other solution out of this than to continue and hope that this was not the time when Vince would decide that he no longer loved or needed her. 

“Potter’s not going to be allowed to stay for long,” Pat continued, attempting to sound nonchalant and bored. “and Draco doesn’t seem about to wake up anytime soon. We were going to check on him, and so we have. I’ve already made up my mind to replace him, so in my opinion, he’s just a classmate rather than my Quidditch subordinate and I have done my duty in checking that he is alive.” She stopped speaking and then added with some effect, “it stinks in here.” She hoped that was enough to make the point clear that she wanted to leave. 

The three other followers as well as Potter stared at her, prompting her to shift uncomfortably once more. 

Then Goyle realised what she was doing, and to her immense relief, he helped her. He too looked towards Vince, “the scent in here is horrible.” 

“And the air is stale,” Pat continued as she crossed her arms and huffed, encouraged by her friend assisting her. She added, “Draco stinks too, of disgusting… stuff.” She scrunched her nose, making it appear as if she was more bothered than she actually was. “I don’t want to get that stuck to my clothes or hair.” At least that part was true.

Graham Montague nodded weakly in agreement. “Neither do I…” they commented, glancing towards their short yet defined curls. Pat knew from the mage’s own lips that Montague didn’t like strong scents, especially not hospital scents. 

Vince was evidently annoyed with them, but he appeared to conclude that they had better things to do than remove the lone and tragic figure from Draco’s passed out form. Pat noticed with some relief how he sniffed the air as well, and it did not take long before he scrunched his nose. 

“Fine,” Vince grunted as he took a step back from the almost crying form of Harry Lupin. Potter Lupin-Potter. “Dry your face. You really are pathetic.” He more or less flung the words at Lupin, Potter, as he stepped away from the divider and joined Pat, Goyle and Montague. Following his lead, they all began to leave the hospital wing, none of them even glancing towards the collection of blood traitors and mudbloods who crowded Weasley’s bed like a den of insects. Or rather, like frightened people who bond together in safety from the cruel hunters that would separate them from one another because of political ideologies. 

Well outside, they began to walk towards the entrance hall, led by Vince who was oddly, frighteningly quiet.

Pat wondered if he was mad. Surely he had to be angry, but he shouldn’t have figured out that Pat did what she had done for the sake of allowing Lupin and Draco the possibility to speak to one another. After all, Goyle had done the same thing, following her lead to assist the two, so logically it shouldn’t only be her fault. Pat nervously chewed on her inner cheek, hoping that none of her friends would turn and look at her. Ngo-Kwang was definitely right to conclude that she was scared of Vince. Perhaps ‘scared’ was even too small of a word. 

As Pat began to drag behind, she heard a noise from one of the side corridors which lead upwards to the floor above. It sounded much to her like a choked sob. One which felt oddly familiar, or at the very least like something she had heard before. Pat was too scared to remain in Vince’s company, so she elected to slip away, leaving the group before they returned to the rest of the followers. Pat did not want all of them to turn against her at once, she would have no chance to keep her dignity if that happened. She didn’t even want to begin to think of all the other things she wouldn’t keep if that happened. 

Thus, Pat sneaked into the side corridor and walked soundlessly up the stairs, glancing behind her with a throbbing heartbeat in her ears to assure herself that nobody had noticed. She felt uncomfortable with everything, but at the very least, she could breathe a little easier as she exited Vince’s shadow. Not to mention that she needed to confirm her suspicions about the owner of the curiously familiar noise. 

The small corridor twisted and turned, being filled with Pat’s heartbeat as she ascended through the slight darkness, searching for a forgotten piece of her past. She found it at the end of the tunnel and upon a bench next to it in the form of her former and lost friend, Lavender Brown.

Lavender raised her head when she heard somebody coming, yet her expression was far from happy as she peeked at Pat before hiding once more. However, they had both recognised each other, and Pat had seen the tears upon her cheeks. She stopped somewhat awkwardly, half outside the corridor stairs, and halfway inside them. Pat took the final step and came to stand on the same floor as Lavender. 

She stood still for a few seconds before she began searching for a tissue or a handkerchief to share with her former friend, but couldn’t find anything in her Quidditch uniform, which she had neglected to change out from as she instead chose to find Vince and ask what she should do after her player crashed and ruined the entire game. Somewhat lamely, she lowered her arms and tried to remember if anyone had ever actually taught her how to console another person. Ngo-Kwang had consoled her, but that didn’t mean that Pat could do the same to a mostly stranger. 

“Go ahead and laugh… I was dumped!” Lavender sobbed into her hands. “You have a boyfriend and I don’t. Ron doesn’t want me, he wants Draco Malfoy!” She wasn’t screaming, but she was most definitely raising her voice. 

Pat hushed her, afraid that somebody would find her, rather than in an attempt to ease Lavender’s insecurities or pain. She glanced down the corridor which went downwards, but heard or saw nothing. Pat allowed herself to relax again. 

“Why do you think that Weasley wants to be with Draco? I didn’t think they got along that well.” Pat thought of the sight of Draco and Lupin together, and how much they evidently liked, no rather loved, one another, while she had spotted nothing like that between Draco and Weasley. 

“He said so,” Lavender sniffed. “He was asleep, and he said his name. Not mine. Why, it might have been less horrible if he had said the name of that stupid Muggle-born witch!” 

“Hermione Granger?” Pat felt rather bitterly amused with the fact that she, a supposed Pureblood supremacist, needed a clarification in regards to which Muggle-born witch Lavender was speaking about. 

“Yes, or course I mean Granger!” Lavender huffed. “Even you with your boyfriend have probably seen the way that creepy girl drools after him.”

Pat shook her head, trying to remember a time when she had ever thought that Hermione Granger behaved creepily.

To her own surprise, she could remember a time when she had been much like Lavender, and hated quite a number of things in regards to Granger, as well as blamed her for wanting all the wizards around her for herself. Pat had been wrong then and Lavender was wrong now. It was so painfully easy to see that Pat was almost startled by the fact that Lavender hadn’t noticed the faultiness of her claim on her own. Maybe Pat had grown a little bit. 

“You… decided that you had been dumped because your boyfriend didn’t say your name in his sleep?” Pat summarised as she crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s rather unfair.” 

“It is. He shouldn’t have done that to me,” Lavender agreed. 

“No,” Pat hesitated, wondering if she really had the courage to tell Lavender the truth when she had been unable to so many other times. “I meant you.” 

“Me?” Lavender sounded offended. “What wrong have I done? What are you accusing me of?” 

“Well… For a start, you decided that you had been broken up with based on what someone said in his sleep. He doesn’t control what happens when he is dreaming, and he wouldn’t even be aware of if he had been speaking or not. You’re being completely unreasonable. People have weird dreams, of any kind, and he and Draco just fell and hurt themselves. There's way more likely reasons as to why he talked about Draco in his sleep.” 

The other woman huffed before she rested her head in her hands, all but pouting as she stared in front of herself. Then, after some angry contemplation, she spoke up again. “It’s not fair… I’ve done everything to make this relationship work yet you get a boyfriend at a much younger age and everything is just fine with you, even though you aren’t a good person. I’m a good person. The Sorting Hat said I was and it placed me in Gryffindor. I… I have to be a good person, I don’t deserve this…” 

Pat was struck with how much Lavender was trying to convince herself rather than she was insulting Pat or complaining about her. It was rather surprising to the Slytherin student that she really didn’t care about the defamation of her character as much as she was displeased with the fact that Lavender was pretending that Pat’s relationship was perfect. It was especially annoying since Pat had just forced herself to run away from her boyfriend because she was too scared of what Vince might do or say if he was actually upset with her. Lavender had no idea about Pat’s anxiety, fear and slow descent into dehumanisation for the sake of remaining with someone she feared too much to break up with. Lavender called it all ‘love’, and pretended that everything was fine and good. That made Pat rather angry. 

“You don’t know anything,” Pat muttered as she stared the other woman down. 

Lavender snorted and averted her gaze, “everyone knows that all Slytherin students are bad. You must have been a bad person all along and simply hid it from me.” 

“I was eleven!” Pat recognised that she had raised her voice and thus quickly lowered it again, looking around herself to confirm that they were still alone. They were. “I don’t think children of eleven years old are considered bad people. In fact, none of us were even remotely close to fully formed. How can I be a bad person now based on who I was as a brat?”

“You evidently haven’t tried to be a better person,” Lavender objected. “I’ve tried! I’ve tried a lot and I’ve managed. I got a boyfriend too, and I’ve made sure that nobody thinks that I’m not worthy of him. I’m a Prefect, even! That’s how good of a person I am.” She still wasn’t screaming, but there was a slight desperation to her voice, making her somewhat louder. 

“Why do you act as if having a partner is a measurement of goodness?” Pat all but hissed at her former friend.  

“It proves that somebody loves me,” Lavender objected, almost meekly. 

“I loved you!” Pat objected in return, staring down at her former friend as tears threatened to push out of her eyes. “I loved you as my best friend, but that didn’t mean squat to you as you suddenly refused to talk to me. I was left all alone in a new school and nobody wanted to be my friend until Vince picked me up as a charity project. I hadn’t done anything wrong at the time, I simply chose the House which the hat suggested to me, and that somehow sealed my fate as evil? Get over yourself! Why do you have to sort people into being good and bad?” 

Lavender stared at Pat. Her expression shifted between angry and upset, until it settled on a pout. Pat was slightly startled as she recognised the expression as just the same one as her childhood best friend had. The face might be older, but Lavender still employed the same expression, her lips quivering and pouting as her eyes filled with tears. “Because,” she said, “if I’m not good… then what good am I alive? If I’m not good, then why should I deserve to be here? I have to be good, or else, I can’t deserve anything… I can't be one of the bad people... I'm not bad...” 

Pat stared at her former friend, blinking slowly at the revelation of Lavender’s almost religious guilt in connection to being ‘good.’ She recognised it, she knew what it was like. There was a time where she too had believed that she would automatically be a bad person if she wasn't morally flawless and thought only good things. Had the world not expected little girls to be pretty, cheerful and perfect, perhaps Pat would have dared trying being good in the first place, rather than be rejected before she even attempted it. Rather than knowing it was hopeless. Only it wasn't.

Pat was in no way equipped to handle something like this with somebody else, even if she understood it, and she truly didn’t know what to say. She thought of Ngo-Kwang and of what she would do, but came up with no solution. Then she thought of Vince, and remembered that some of his advice hadn’t actually been terrible from the beginning. 

“Is a wolf bad for killing and eating a rabbit?” Pat said, almost aggressively. 

Lavender blinked. “Uh...No?” 

“Is a dog evil for dragging mud into the house?” Pat continued, leaning forward slightly. 

“No…” 

“Is a child evil for hitting their sibling when they are too young to know better?” she could hear the excitement in her voice as she was getting to her point. 

“I really don’t see what you are trying to tell me…” Lavender crossed her arms over her chest, huffing.

“Good and bad only exist within human nature because we put it there,” Pat repeated after Vince. “It’s not about being good or being bad, people aren’t as set in stone. To me, you have been a bad friend, but to Parvati Patil, you’ve probably been a good friend. It’s all about perspectives. Sure, someone might be able to be wholly good, or another bastard might be utterly and dementedly bad, but that doesn’t make the vast majority anything but people performing actions. All people think negative things, or even bad things, sometimes. You’re so quick to put everyone into boxes based on what you want and think about them, but you don't have right to decide what is good and what is bad, that’s not how it works.” 

Lavender angrily glared at her, “so you’re saying that I’m actually bad because that’s what you think.” 

“I think that there are people far worse than you,” Pat objected. “People who kill and hurt others, who beat their partners or neglect their children. I think that there are monsters out there who are beyond anything that you and I could ever be, and there is no divine retribution coming for them. You are allowed things even if you think horrible or mean things, even if you do perform actions that hurt others. I don’t think people should hurt one another, of course!” She quickly added. 

Pat licked her lips and continued, feeling her body shake with fear as she continued to be perfectly honest. “What I’m saying is that I don’t think you are bad because you are an inherently bad person, I think that you are bad because you are not trying to actually do better, but simply excuse yourself and hide your unpleasant thoughts, pretending that those sides of you don't exist, while actually not doing anything about it. You're letting yourself hurt others, pretending that you're good and innocent isn't going to make it go away. The good thing to do, if there can be such a thing as ‘good’, is to not call Granger a man-thief and such things. You know that she isn’t. You know that she’s their friend and has been their friend since they were kids. You can still have the impulses of not liking her, or feeling threatened by her, but if you act upon those thoughts and hurt someone, then that is not the right thing to do. Then you're acting like a bad person, and it's only important because you're unfairly hurting someone, and you can stop anytime.” 

Lavender became highly defensive as she scoffed at Pat. “So you’re a good person then, because you know all of this and are lecturing me about it? You’re saying that you, as a Slytherin, can be good?” 

“I rather think I’m quite terrible,” Pat admitted with a crooked sneer. “I think I’m cowardly and weak, and I’m not actually happy with my relationship at all, so please don’t try and throw that in my face,” she all but warned her old friend. “But I think good people can be Slytherins. Harry Lupin is impossibly kind and understanding, Draco Malfoy is intelligent and willing to listen, Teddy Nott is honest, excited and protective of his friends. Goyle is… wonderful. He’s also so very kind and attentive and detailed in manners I could never dream of being. None of these are bad people.” 

Lavender blinked slowly, “but… Back then, weren’t you showing off your boyfriend all the time by clinging to him and kissing him and stuff? You wanted to make me jealous, right? Wanted people to know that you had something they didn’t?” 

“I can’t remember ever thinking like that,” Pat snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. It wasn’t entirely true, there had been a part of her as younger who enjoyed proving to the world that somebody loved her, but she had stopped being that silly rather quickly. It was better to not let Lavender know at all, because then she would discredit everything Vince and Pat had been to one another as people and partners, for some stray thoughts and insecurities which Pat had long since gotten over. “I was happy, and I did what I did because I was comfortable with my partner and wanted to do that for me. I didn’t care about you looking, in fact, I didn’t even know anyone cared. I was just happy to have somebody who loved me. It was never about any of you, it was about me feeling content next to the person I loved.” 

Lavender simply gaped.

Pat noticed with some satisfaction that the gears inside her head began to turn, and things fell into place within her mind to the point where Lavender finally understood that Pat’s relationship had never been directed towards anyone. It had just been for her and Vince, nobody else. That was still true, any other stray thoughts a person had didn’t change the fact that they were a person in a relationship with somebody they wanted to be with first and foremost.

“I always thought that Ron was too good for me… That I had to make sure he stayed, or he would leave and I would never find somebody else. I tried so hard to make others go away, because I didn’t trust that he would want me if… If…” She trailed off and sniffed once more, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands. “Now that I say it out loud… It sounds horrible…” 

Pat half shook her head, half nodded. It did not sound great, she had to admit that. “Do you love him?” That was usually the test which should be applied in situations like this one. Pat studied her former friend as she asked the question, waiting for an answer. 

Lavender hesitated, absentmindedly chewing on her lower lip. “It is not that I don’t like him. I do. I think he is kind and funny, and I really like being intimate with him and kissing him and the like but…” She played with one of her braids as she spoke. “Lately, he has been… disliking it, I think. I can tell that he doesn’t want to be that close, or kiss me… He’s not mean or rude about it, but it’s been rather hard on me when he doesn’t want to… Well, remember what they always said in Muggle-school?” Lavender looked up at Pat, a mix of shame and annoyance forming on her face. “They would always claim that boys wants to be physical, and that they want to have sex always. Well, Ron isn’t like that, but I think he’s struggling to tell me that he doesn’t want it.” 

“Have you and Weasley…?” Pat couldn’t help but feel a little hopeful, as she didn’t want to be the only person in Hogwarts who was intimate with her boyfriend. 

“No,” Lavender quickly shook her head. “He didn’t want to, so we didn’t. It’s just that I think he doesn’t want to be as physically close as I do, and it’s rather hurting me since I feel like I’m forcing him, even when I’m not trying to push him into anything. I think…” she bit her lower lip, “I think he has had enough of being a couple, but doesn’t dare to tell me because he knows how scared I am of losing him. He’s really kind like that.” At the very least it seemed that Lavender was capable of realising better, she was doing rather well everything considered. If Pat had gotten over herself, maybe it wasn't impossible for Lavender to do that too.

Pat was silent for a few moments before she spoke up, “then it sounds like you might be happier with somebody else, or at least to see other people as well. There are plenty of people who would be happy with being more physical, and that would put less of a strain on him to perform according to your expectations.” 

Lavender evidently wanted to object. She opened and closed her mouth, but struggled herself with the realisation that Pat’s advice was good advice. “Yeah… I should tell him that we should also see other people, I think.”

“You should ask him, not tell him,” Pat objected, knowing well that one of the worst things about her relationship with Vince was that he never asked, and instead always demanded according to his desires.

Her former friend blinked slowly, considering the new information, then yielded. “Yes… You are right. We should talk, shouldn’t we?” 

Pat nodded. “I’ve really been gone for too long, I have to go back.” 

Lavender appeared somewhat surprised by her change of topic, but she nodded meekly. “Alright… uhm… Bye.”

“Bye,” Pat turned to disappear back into the tunnel and hurried to catch up with the group she didn’t really want to be with in the first place. 

“Hey, uhm! Wait!” Lavender stood and hurried after her, prompting Pat to turn back once more. Silhouetted against the bright opening, her darker complexion made her appear almost entirely like a shadow in the doorway, Lavender stared down at her. The shape was silent for a heartbeat, and then spoke up once more. “T-thank you…” 

Pat smiled weakly before she waved and set off down the stairs. She didn’t trust her voice to carry her words as a lump had shaped itself within her, so large and yet so fragile that she didn’t dare strain it, lest it shattered within her. 

“Where were you?” 

Pat was startled as she heard Vince’s voice. He had been waiting for her in the shadows of the entrance hall, just by the same vault through which Pat had chosen not to pass earlier in favor of finding Lavender instead. He had seemingly been leaning against the wall, and now he came towards her, stopping close by, his hands in his pockets and his gaze focused only on her face. Pat turned her head away before she could catch a glimpse of her own frightened expression in his eyes. If she could see it, then he could assuredly see the very same thing. 

“Where did you go, Pat?” Vince repeated, his voice was never neutral, never quite calm, but there was no rage in his voice. Not yet. 

Pat struggled to make her mind work once more, but she failed. All she managed to do was open and close her mouth before she settled on a small shrug. 

Vince reached out with one of his large hands and let it stroke against her cheek in a gesture which likely meant to be reassuring, but which only served to make Pat’s heart race faster in her chest. “Why are you keeping secrets from me?” It might grammatically appear to be a question, but in reality, it was a demand. “We’re partners. Where were you?” His voice lowered at the last sentence, shaping into a threatening growl which didn’t quite leave his throat. 

“B-bathroom,” Pat croaked. “The scent of the hospital ward was…” 

“So you slipped away and went to the bathroom,” another statement as Vince pulled some of her hair back behind her ear. “Only they are on the other side of these stairs.” He commented dryly as he stood back up in his full height. 

Whatever hope Pat had of him not seeing through her lie died as the lump in her throat grew too large to sustain within her chest. She felt her lower lip quiver and her eyes become wet with emotion. “I’m sorry, I heard someone crying and I wanted to help,” she blurted out. “I talked to them for a bit, cheered them up, and then I came right back. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything!” She spoke quickly and panickily, allowing all her words to cluster in the air as she simply rambled. 

Vince stood silent for a few moments, thinking the information over before he spoke up. “Well, what was their blood status?” 

“H-huh?” Pat whimpered. 

“What was the status of their blood? Damn, you can be slow sometimes,” Vince grunted with annoyance, causing a deep shame and fear to form in his partner. 

“I… I don’t know,” Pat bit her lower lip as she looked to the side. 

“I think you do,” Vince whispered, his voice almost becoming a growl once more. He reached out and slowly grabbed Pat’s upper arm, pulling her closer to himself as he had likely noticed that she appeared about to run away. “Tell me, Pat.” 

She heard herself whimper as the grip became tighter, squeezing her already aching muscle. “I don’t know!” She repeated, lying to protect Lavender and her own blood, seeing as knowledge about her childhood friend might reveal more about Pat as well. “You’re hurting me, Vince… J-just a little but it h-”

“Blood,” he repeated. This time, he was actually growling. 

“H-half…” Pat heard the word as a choked sob, rather than a real spoken word. 

Vince smiled weakly but without true joy at her as he loosened the grip on her arm. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now you know that you can’t lie to me, so don’t ever try that again.” 

“I… I…” Pat responded, feeling tears running down her cheeks. 

Vince hushed her, almost softly, almost gently, as he raised his free hand and began to dry the tears off her cheeks, almost gently. “Good girl,” he attempted to coo, but it sounded more like yet another growl. “I forbid you from talking to anyone who isn’t a Pureblood or one of my followers. You know that I know the best. I always know the best. You’re going to get yourself hurt, maybe even killed if you keep on staying with that rabble. I’m trying to save you, and you’re being ungrateful.” 

“You do…” Pat nodded, but her tears wouldn’t stop flowing from her eyes. 

“Good girl,” he repeated, sending shivers down Pat’s spine. “Now we s-” 

“You’re letting her go this very instance or I swear on Cedric’s grave that I will hex you!”

Another voice.

Another growl.

Another person. 

Pat and Vince turned to find Ngo-Kwang in the entrance hall, her wand raised and pointed towards the wizard, her expression a mask of barely held back anger. Pat felt herself shiver, as more tears streamed from her face and her heart beat faster at the thought of being saved. 

“I’m consoling my girlfriend,” Vince didn’t let Pat’s arm go as he looked towards Ngo-Kwang with an almost lazy defiance. “Piss off and go bother somebody who needs it, Prefect.” 

“It rather looks like you’re the one making her cry,” Ngo-Kwang raised her wand a little higher. 

“Then let’s ask her,” Vince shrugged as he turned back towards Pat, his grip on her arm hardening. “Tell the good Perfect who is using such harsh language to defame me the truth, Pat. Tell her that you were upset about the game, and that I’m simply helping you. Like a partner should,” he added. 

Squeeze. 

“I… I’m…” Pat turned toward her actual friend. The witch who was kind, understanding and pleasant to speak to. The person she had fun with, and the person who actually saw her as a friend rather than a subject to rule over. She felt herself tremble worse, her legs threatening to give in. 

“Pat, tell her.” 

Squeeze.

“Help me,” Pat whispered to Ngo-Kwang, surprising both herself and Vince. 

Vince let her go as if she had burned him, and Pat scrambled to her friend and threw herself into her arms, breaking down crying as Ngo-Kwang wrapped an arm around her, holding her protectively to her chest. She was strong and her grip was securing, rather than frightening. Pat hugged her with all her might as the Prefect stared at the Death Eater. 

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” Vince tried, attempting to sound reasonable rather than allow his rage to overcome him. 

Like some people, Vince used fancy language and supposedly calm reasoning to make himself appear more worthy of being listened to compared to someone who argued with emotions or was upset by the conversation. Only emotion was not a sign of weakness, but a sign that the person truly cared about the subject.

“Save it for someone who cares,” Ngo-Kwang lowered her wand. “Now get out of here or I’ll ask that you show your inner left forearm to me. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” 

Vince grunted with displeasure before he shifted backwards and then changed his mind, beginning to walk forward instead. “Fine. Have fun with her. She’s a masochistic, bitter and clingy bitch.” 

As Vince walked away, Pat could tell that he was hurting.

She had known him since she was twelve, and there was no doubt that he was on the verge of a breakdown as well, maybe even tears.

It had come from the moment she had begged to be saved.

She couldn’t stop her own panic, but she immediately felt guilty, as if she had been the one to make everything far worse than it was in favor of her own small and clouded worldview which he had worked so tirelessly to expand. She recalled Goyle's words and Vince's trauma about his mother leaving, and she concluded that her actions were likely reminding him of the loss of his parent. Thus, it was no wonder that he was hurting. 

Pat felt so very guilty for making him hurt like this. She could tell that he truly was hurting and caring about this, about her, and in that pain he was lashing out to hurt them instead of simply keeping it inside himself.

Only… he was trying to hurt them. 

Actively choosing to hurt them as a direct response to his own pain. Maybe even to hide it. He was directly trying to hurt and dehumanise her for the crime of existing and wanting to be safe. She had just advised Lavender on what a healthy relationship was. Had this been any other person, she would have advised them to get out of this relationship and stop hurting themselves with lies about ‘things becoming better.’ 

Vince’s immediate reaction to her fearing their relationship was to start insulting her character and personality, and that was not alright. Such an action was never alright.

No matter what Vince had been to Pat all these years. No matter the things he could be. No matter the understanding. No matter the wisdom. No matter the kindness. No matter the smiles. No matter the pleasure. No matter the safety.

No matter the person Pat had known him to be.

Right then, he was the kind of person who would disregard the young woman he claimed to love and turn against her in an instant when she was hurting from things he was doing to her. 

Somehow, Vince could be all the things he had been, and still be the kind of person who would abuse someone when something didn’t go his way. Hurting others to hide that he was hurting, making the hurt he caused nonetheless real, unnecessary and completely his own fault. 

It finally clicked within Pat’s mind.

His own actions were making him the kind of person Pat should run from. 

It wasn’t her fault. 

It was still true if it wasn’t the only thing he was. 

Whatever problems she had caused during their relationship, whatever fights, whatever messes, whatever problems they had been having now and then, couldn’t measure up to him trying to abuse her into obedience, and trying to take away her human dignity as a punishment for disobedience. 

She had to save herself from him, and it wasn’t her fault, she had the right to do it.

Ngo-Kwang brought Pat to Professor Slughorn’s office when she had managed to calm down enough to trust her own legs, and when enough time had passed so that there was little to no risk of running into Vince down in the dungeons. On the way there, Pat half-listened to her explaining that she had been looking for Pat all over, and probably just missed her in the hospital wing, after the Quidditch game. 

The Head of the Slytherin House was not expecting company, but as he opened the door and noticed Pat’s disheveled appearance, he stepped aside without comment, allowing the two of them to enter and sit down. Only when the door was closed and the room was safe from listeners did Professor Slughorn ask what he could do for them. 

Pat expected herself to answer the inquiry, as was often expected of the hurt or emotional party. Thus, she attempted to gather herself and to speak, but her voice began to quiver and she heard herself break down into a sob rather than being able to communicate words. Pat felt an odd throb of fear as she realised that Professor Slughorn might remove her from the Slug Club for her weakness and inability to ask for his assistance. She didn’t especially care for the membership itself, but the connections were all the more important to her, since she wanted as good of an opportunity as she could have after she graduated. 

Professor Slughorn turned towards Ngo-Kwang, addressing her instead. “Did the two of you come here together, Ms. Chang?” 

“We did,” Ngo-Kwang confirmed. 

“And are you friends?” the man continued. He seemed rather certain that they were, probably since they had attended his Yule party together.

“Yes, I’d say we are,” the Prefect glanced down at the other witch who had been clinging to her for the better part of thirty to forty minutes. 

“Ms. Parkinson?” Professor Slughorn spoke to her next, prompting Pat to glance at him. “As I can see that you are experiencing a high amount of stress right now, would it be possible for Ms. Chang to speak for you, with your trust and your consent? If not, I shall wait until you have calmed down. Would you like some tea or snacks, my dear ladies?” 

“No snacks for me, please,” Ngo-Kwang shook her head. 

“She c-c-can speak for m...meh,” Pat hated how much her voice was shaking, and how weak she sounded as she spoke. 

Professor Slughorn nodded, concluding that Pat hadn’t wanted anything either since she didn’t speak up about it. “It is my belief that an outside source may be just as useful as the one who experienced the hurt, as long as the affected does not mind being spoken up for. Seeing as she is currently this shaken, forcing information out of her simply wouldn't be fair.” The man shook his head as he focused on Ngo-Kwang once more. “Go ahead dear, tell me what I may help you with.” 

As her friend began to retell the story of what had happened to her, Pat realised something about Professor Slughorn’s actions which surprised her.

Almost everyone else in Pat's life has unreasonably forced her to speak when she wasn't comfortable, as well as when she was vulnerable. It was an immense relief to her to be given the option of not being strong or retell the entire story from her perspective, during which she would likely have attempted to make things appear less horrible than they had felt. She would likely have pretended that there was no aching bruise upon her arm, or claim that she had overreacted when she fled her partner for Ngo-Kwang’s safe embrace. She would likely have denied the possibility that Vince was a Death Eater, even if she had seen the mark many times. She was too hurt to tell the real story, and the authority figure wouldn't be able to act according or correctly if the real story wasn't conveyed. An outside party would just act based on what they heard.

The solution to have a trusted friend speak for her worked so much better than for Pat to attempt to both conceal the truth as she was trying to speak up about it. At that moment, she felt thankful that it was Professor Slughorn who sat before her and not Professor Snape, since she wrongfully assumed that the former Head of her House would have forced her to speak up on her own. 

“...In conclusion,” Ngo-Kwang summarised, “it is my suggestion that Pat shouldn’t have to go back to the same common room where the one she fears is. She doesn’t feel safe there, and if I hadn’t stepped in, I worry that she would have actually been in physical danger. In fact, I worry that she isn't safe in the Slytherin common room at all. With your permission, sir, I think she might do better to switch to the Ravenclaw House, where I, as a Prefect, have friends who could make sure that she is safe.” 

Professor Slughorn frowned, leaning his head to the side. He seemed displeased about something. “I’m not quite certain that the situation is dire enough that Ms. Parkinson should feel unsafe in her own home. However, if that is what both you and Ms. Parkinson feel would be the safest for her, I shall of course not object to the idea. Many students are struggling right now, and it is the Headmaster’s belief that their safety should be a priority. Naturally, Ms. Parkinson would be required to report to me even after she has switched Houses so that I know that she truly does feel safe, but I hold no objections to her switching living quarters, as well as uniform, should she wish to.” 

“You mean… you’ll just let me go…?” Pat blinked, finding that her voice carried her intentions at last. She was staring at the Head of the Slytherin House, feeling in total disbelief. 

“My dear young witch,” Professor Slughorn addressed her with a soft smile as he looked upon her like she was his granddaughter. Even if he was a psuedo-grandfather with rather high expectations of his grandchildren. “This is a school, not a prison. It makes me sad to think that you do not feel safe in my care, but if my House cannot provide you with what you need, then you are not to be kept captive!” This time, he shook his head to emphasise his point. “My concern is simply that you might be making a hasty choice in switching colors, but you may always come back later, should you find that you were hasty. Would you like me to come with you in speaking to Professor Flitwick, or does Ms. Chang feel like she may handle that task?” 

“It’s up to Pat,” Ngo-Kwang concluded. 

Pat smiled weakly as she dried her face off with her sleeve. It sounded beyond wonderful for her to escape the Slytherin House and all the people within it who had become frightening to her. It felt too easy, yet so wonderfully freeing to know that she wasn’t locked to her House, and that she was allowed to switch to blue clothes if she wanted to. 

Then Pat looked down at her own Slytherin Quidditch uniform, and she hesitated. It meant the world to her to be the captain of her team, and she didn’t want to give that up simply because she was afraid of her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, she reminded herself sternly. 

“I’d like to keep my status as a Slytherin student, as well as my robes and my position as captain,” Pat’s voice was steady now. Carrying her words with the power of an unsinkable ship over calm waters. “I simply want to switch living quarters if that is possible?” 

She looked between her friend and the Head of her House. Ngo-Kwang appeared somewhat surprised that Pat didn’t want to become a true Ravenclaw student, but she also knew how much Quidditch meant to her friend. Thus, she said nothing. 

“It is most possible, Ms. Parkinson.” Professor Slughorn appeared rather happy that she hadn’t discarded his House simply because she was leaving. 

Pat smiled weakly as she nodded, both to herself and to the people in front of her. “Thank you, I’d very much like it if you’d come with us to see Professor Flitwick, sir.” 

Professor Slughorn rose to his feet and straightened his clothes, “and so I shall. Let us go right away. I shall have a House Elf bring you your items.” He strode towards the door, showing for them to follow him. 

As they did, Ngo-Kwang took Pat’s hand, looked deep into her eyes with a soft expression forming upon her face. “You can sleep in my dormitory, there are two free beds.” 

Before Pat could answer in the affirmative, they were out the door and following Professor Slughorn, who was asking questions to Ngo-Kwang regarding her desire to join the Slug Club. Pat followed in silence, a weak smile upon her lips and her hand in Ngo-Kwang’s. For the first time in almost a year, perhaps even more, Pat felt safe. The feeling was wonderful, and she gently squeezed the other witch’s hand, trying to tell her friend with her mind that she wanted nothing else but to share a room with her. In safety. Feeling safe. Being safe. 

Chapter Text

“I would very much recommend you not to leave yet, Mr. Malfoy.” 

Madam Pomfrey’s voice met Harry as he entered the hospital wing which was just outside of his bedroom. It was rather early in the morning the day after the head nurse had managed to convince Harry to return to his room. Thus, the young wizard was hoping to meet his beloved before he had to go to breakfast and then attend the rather noticeably empty classes. 

“Good Morning, Ron,” Harry whispered to the still snoring teenager in his bed who had yet to say more than a few words before going back to sleep again. “Good morning Madam Pomfrey, good morning, Draco.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Lupin,” the head nurse sighed as she noticed that Harry had returned, as persistent as a headache and maybe equally disturbing in her eyes. “I expect you to be in school today, or here during visiting hours.” 

“Hello, Harry,” Draco smiled weakly at Harry after reassuring himself that nobody but them were in the hospital wing. “You’re back early.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey insisted. “I shan’t mince words, you aren’t well. Your body appears to have been in a bad mental state for quite some time, and it has affected you physically. You were not badly hurt from your fall due to Mr. Weasley’s efforts, but you risk damaging your organs if you do not attempt to improve your mental health. Not to mention the state of your nails and hands. You must apply this salve at morning and noon, or the wounds will remain infected.” She handed him a small vial full of a pearly white ointment and then walked away before Draco could respond. 

The blonde wizard sighed weakly before he turned towards Harry, trying to appear strong in front of his best friend. “Who would have thought that mental health could affect your body?” 

“Isn’t it evident?” Harry smiled weakly in return as he reached out and took the vial from his friend, helping him open it before returning it once more. 

Draco accepted the vial back and began to carefully apply the ointment to his wounded fingers. Harry attempted very hard to not look directly at his hands, as he found the damage rather gruesome. 

“I suppose you truly can only worry for that long before your body begins to feel the effects… You’re correct,” the blonde wizard agreed, still trying to appear unfazed. “I’m truly not sure we should meet like this though, somebody might have noticed you coming here.” 

“I live right outside the door,” Harry shrugged as he revealed his hiding position. “Nobody would see me before I see them.” 

“So that’s where you have been… I wasn’t actively wondering but I… Well…” Draco trailed off. “People missed you in our common room. I missed you.” He fumbled with applying the ointment to his right hand as he equally fumbled with his confession. 

“It’s been lonely. I’m really not used to that loneliness,” Harry sighed in regards to his predicament before he reached out to gently grab the vial from Draco once more, then proceeded to gently help him with his right hand, much to his best friend’s relief. “It makes me so very happy to know you missed me. I missed your company terribly.” Harry added as he averted his gaze from his friend’s beautiful face. He recalled those feelings which had begun to flutter in his mind when he had first realised that he was interested in Draco, about two years ago. 

“Was there ever any doubt?” Draco leaned his head to the side before he gently nudged Harry with his knee. He would likely have touched his head if his fingers hadn’t been covered with the ointment. He almost sounded like himself, or at the very least a good impersonation. 

“I was worried that there could be, but I never believed your letter,” Harry finished applying the treatment, corked the bottle and then dried it off before returning it to Draco. Their gaze met and Harry found himself looking into the guilty face of his beloved. “I… Was I right to reject it?” His question was more of a plea than it was an inquiry. “I couldn’t accept it, not until I had heard it directly from you.” 

Yesterday, everything had felt so clear and so right. They had wanted the other, and they had spoken unrestrictedly from that perspective. Yet now that the day was present, and the light had returned and destroyed their intimacy, Harry felt insecure enough that he needed to ask. He needed to know without doubt before he could proceed. 

Draco leaned in to kiss Harry’s forehead, allowing his lips to gently touch his beloved’s skin with barely held back desire. “I love you,” he said as he pulled back. “Writing that letter, giving up my cufflinks… It was one of the worst moments of my life. I don’t think I will ever be able to forget it. I don’t know how, and I don’t know where, but if you’d want me back, I-”

Harry didn’t need him to finish. He didn’t need him to explain. He needed Draco to kiss him and he needed it to happen right that instant.

Harry wasn’t sure how he had made it to Draco’s face, but he knew that their lips were finally meeting the other’s after what surely was a lifetime apart. He kissed Draco with all the desire he couldn’t give to Colin, with all the love and the desperation he had stored for the past half a year. Harry kissed Draco, and Draco kissed back.

Finally, finally, finally, they kissed again. Like they should have been allowed to all year if the world had been fair.

At that moment, Harry recognised that he felt exactly like Al had felt with his partner in that dimly lit old classroom with the snowstorm raging outside, and he realised once more that he wanted Draco sexually, once and for all admitting it out loud in his mind. He had been able to recognise that it was a physical desire, but to admit to himself that it was indeed sexual made Harry feel rather frightened. Not because he thought it was wrong, but because it had always appeared so adult a thing, so distant a thing that he hadn’t known if he would ever actually want such a thing at all, some people didn't after all. Yet here his answer was, and he pulled away from Draco so as to remember that now wasn’t the time or place. 

Draco blinked as the kiss ended, and he smiled weakly as he recognised that Harry was embarrassed. Draco knew Harry so well that he could always tell by his body language. He reached out and grabbed Harry’s coat, leaning in to rest his forehead against Harry’s.

“Naughty,” he did not so much speak the word as he breathed it. Gently, alluringly, beautifully. 

The simple breathed word made Harry shudder. “S-sorry…” he didn’t know what else to say. 

Draco frowned at him before he pulled back, then simply shook his head and smiled. “Don’t apologise, I feel the same.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. “So we’re still together?”

“I don’t think we can be together, not officially but…” Draco averted his gaze before he realised that he was still holding on to Harry’s robes and let them go. Harry wished that he hadn’t. “If… we meet in the attic space, then…”

Harry reached out and placed his hands on his boyfriend’s knees, allowing their noses to bump against the other’s. He felt himself grinning from ear to ear as he smiled up at the familiar and scarred face which he loved so dearly. “Boyfriend?” he asked, both jokingly and longingly. 

Draco gave him another soft, loving smile as he leaned his head to the side, once more appearing at least a shadow of the person before all the pain of the past months. “Yes, but in secret.”

“Secret boyfriend?” Harry leaned closer and bumped his nose against Draco’s cheek, eager and honest. 

His boyfriend sighed without annoyance, “yes, you werewolf spawn. Secret boyfriend. You’re just like the dogs sometimes, I swear.” 

Harry grinned, elated to experiencing things feeling right and the same once more. “Secret boyfriend,” he repeated as he greedily stole another kiss from Draco’s dry, chapped and somewhat scarred lips. 

Draco returned it. Harry could feel him smile as they yet again kissed. 

It was not easy to tell a man that a teenager had been tasked with his assassination.

Yet it was far harder to tell a friend that one’s boyfriend had been tasked with allowing the followers of his son into his school for the purpose of killing him. In hindsight, Harry found that it would likely have been impossible for him to tell Al the entire story, had Severus not been there and able to access Harry’s mind. 

Al sat on top of his desk, the planetarium above his head spinning slowly, allowing no sound to leave it as the planets, moons and stars travelled above them in the faint glow of the fire and the hovering lights. Al sat still, almost like a statue of a ruler on top of their throne, staring out over their lands with unseeing yet intelligent eyes. Harry knew him well enough to know that he was emotionally distancing himself from the situation to his best ability.

Severus appeared pale and restless, and he struggled to remain still. He took to wandering around the room, speaking so as to not lose his own thoughts into the storm which Harry and Al were creating as they were sitting in the same room, pondering the same questions. 

“I have not been informed of this alteration,” Severus said as he paced. “Naturally, I knew of the attempted break in due to Narcissa’s sharing of it with me, but I have not been told of this amendment. The Dark Lord spoke of the Malfoys task to the people in the manor yet he neglected to explain it.” He paused as he attempted to think of why that was, and appeared to come to a conclusion. “Lucius recently returned to the manor and I have been preoccupied with the wounded. I have likely not been informed because Narcissa has not been able to speak to me. I should think that the Dark Lord constructed such a situation to make certain that it didn’t reach me. I will likely not be allowed any privacy with Narcissa like this.” 

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Severus,” the father figure addressed the man with a weak but patient smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Professor, I was not…” Severus began objecting, but he then shut his mouth and averted his gaze. He had most certainly done exactly what he had attempted to deny. 

The two men returned into silence by retracting into their own, likely rather loud, minds. Harry watched Al’s expression and then followed Severus’ pacing, which the man himself was accurately aware of was a behaviour of nervousness yet couldn’t cease. 

“Isn’t there anything we can do…?” Harry mumbled. “Madam Pomfrey says that Draco’s body is giving in because he is always stressed and anxious. He’s really not well, the state of his fingers…” Harry trailed off, glancing back down at his hands. 

Only this morning, Harry had been able to touch and speak to him, but Draco would be forced to return to school tomorrow. Forced to return to the Dark Lord’s followers and to Crabbe. Forced to return to his orders. The thought was enough to make Harry feel ill. 

“We are not without options,” Al had evidently forgotten that he wasn’t alone as he turned his focus to the young man before him. “If Tom seeks to kill me, then…” he trailed off. 

“Then the most direct option would be to destroy him before that, thus removing the threat as well as the order itself,” the mind reader finished when Al could not directly speak of killing his son. 

“Yes,” the old wizard smiled thankfully at Severus. “It would decrease the threat of war as well, even if it wouldn't solve the unrest completely. There are in all likelihood two objects remaining, as we have concluded that Tom likely didn’t manage to find an object connected to Godric Gryffindor.”

“The snake, Nagini, as well as Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet in the Lestrange vault,” Harry summarised. 

“The snake is not impossible to capture, but her absence would be noticed by the Dark Lord and risk revealing our plans to him,” Severus finally managed to stop himself from pacing as he came to stand by the fireplace. “Thus, the goblet should be the first priority as we construct a plan to destroy the snake.”

“I do not quite enjoy the thought of killing an innocent animal, but I see no other choice but to…” Al sighed. “Her venom is deadly, and her body very strong. Anyone who captured her would not be able to simply kill her if she truly is a horcrux until they attempted to destroy her. Apparating with her would also likely hurt and confuse the animal, she is indeed the more dangerous risk of the two objects.” 

“One would need to bring her to Secrets,” Harry spoke up. “Secrets could kill her with her venom, as I doubt the snake venom would have an effect on something like a basilisk.”

Severus nodded to himself in a manner rather like Remus. It was likely a habit which he had picked up from his partner. “If one could pacify the snake long enough by the means of sleeping or relaxation spells, she could be brought to the basilisk’s lair. Thus, it can be done, albeit the fact that it is a most risky venture for the reasons previously disclosed.” 

“Indeed, we should focus our efforts on the goblet first. Do you perhaps have an idea, Severus?” Al sounded hopeful as he turned towards his former student and the man which Harry knew Al to view like a second son, one which he hadn't failed so horribly with. 

Harry wasn’t aware that his own expression mimicked Al’s rather closely, if not in an identical manner. 

“From what I have gathered, collecting the goblet would pose the question of breaking into the Lestrange vault,” Severus began. “Naturally, this is impossible without the key. The general English and Scottish groups of followers in hiding are divided into one of two places, either Malfoy Manor, where the Dark Lord resides, and the Lestrange estate. Recently, a divide has begun to shape where those interested in violence and warring have begun to migrate to Malfoy Manor, while the more peaceful ones, the victims and the refugees are staying at the Lestrange estate, located somewhere in Scotland. The estate is almost impossible to find as it resides within the woods, and few people know the directions there. For a while, they were connected to the Floo Powder Network, but that has long since been destroyed by the followers at the Ministry of Magic. I regret to state that I do not know its location as of presently, but I have the credentials to be shown there, should I ask under the guise of helping the wounded. Which I of course will, should I venture there. My true intent, however, would be to seek the key to the Lestrange vault.” 

“Isn’t the Lestrange vault blood-locked?” Harry raised his hand before he had a chance to realise that he had planned on it. He quickly lowered it again, feeling silly. 

Severus nodded, “yet Sirius Potter left a blood vial for access to his vault. As he is a Black, and the Lestrange vault is accommodated to Bellatrix Lestrange, also a Black, his blood should be enough to unlock the vault, hopefully. It may not be a guarantee, but we are rather out of options.” 

“The far more important question would be how to collect and destroy the Hufflepuff goblet,” Al continued to speak, his gaze coming to rest upon Harry. “We only know one person who is immune to the charm, and any powerful adult mage risks posing a danger in escaping with the item. Thus, the only safe solution would be to send Harry together with an elf, a good choice would be Dobby or Mr. Kreacher, but I’m worried for your safety, should you go, Harry.” 

Harry found himself smiling, “I wouldn’t mind. If I go with Dobby, I will be completely safe. Not to mention that I don’t mind going if it can save Draco. Or the Malfoys.” Harry added. 

“Or the British mage community?” Al smiled weakly, signalling to Harry that he was teasing him slightly, despite the serious situation. 

Harry appreciated the gesture. He grinned back, “I’m not becoming an icon for them. I’ll save the people in my close vicinity, the people I care about.”

Al blinked, pure surprise travelling over his expression before he settled into a smile. A laugh escaped from his lips which he attempted to catch with his old, bejewelled hand. “I think that is a lovely decision, Harry.” 

Severus glanced between the two, reading their minds and realising what the two of them were speaking of. He blinked before he sighed weakly, a smile playing on his lips before he smothered the expression and went back to the topic at hand. “Harry, is there a time limit to Draco’s assignment? For example, by the end of the year?” 

Harry thought about it before he shook his head weakly. “Draco didn’t mention such a limit. I would think that he has to do it before the end of the year, or at least before his time at Hogwarts is over.” 

“So at the very least, we have until June to attempt to find a solution to this situation,” Al replied. “If we are lucky, there might be one more year at our disposal. Tom is patient, but his followers might not be as calm as he is. Thus, the June deadline shall be our goal. Would you be able to keep us updated on the situation with Mr. Malfoy, and we shall report to you as well, Harry?” 

Harry nodded, “yes. I’ll be the communicator between you, and my friends will assist Draco in whatever way we can in the meantime so that the Death Eaters don’t hurt Draco or his family.”

“Indeed, he mustn't neglect his duties or someone might find it suspicious,” Al nodded, spinning some of his hair between his fingers as he stared into the fire. “Thus, for the moment, Severus, you will investigate the key to the Lestrange vault while Harry and his friends assist Draco. Naturally, I want no Death Eaters in my school without my knowledge. Only if it might save someone’s life shall I consent to such a venture, with good preparation for it as well, but I want it to be avoided if it is possible. Once Severus has completed his venture, we shall gather again and discuss the next step.”

“Understood,” Severus confirmed. 

“Me too,” Harry agreed. 

“Further, I want to know, is there a possibility of simply speaking to the Lestrange husbands?” Al’s gaze fell on Severus as he studied him with a quizzical look on his face. “If they host refugees but are not directly involved with the conflict, could they perhaps be swayed to our cause?” 

“During the previous war, I would have claimed that to be impossible in regards to Rodolphus Lestrange.” Severus crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke, his right hand finding his left forearm as he squeezed it, perhaps unaware of the gesture. “Yet things have changed, as have many of the formerly loyal Death Eaters in what was commonly referred to as ‘the inner circle’ by other followers. I could not anymore tell whether it is a possibility or impossibility, making it a gamble.”

“Thus we should avoid that path for the moment, as it is too risky,” Al concluded out loud. “In the meantime, I shall look into sleeping charms and spells and seek to experiment with what might be the most suitable to pacify Nagini. Thus try and bring her to Hogwarts and the Chambers of Secrets so that the basilisk may destroy her.” 

“And I will keep the contact between the Order of the Phoenix and Draco,” Harry spoke up in turn. “Together with Hermione and Neville, we’ll attempt to create Floo Powder, so that you both gain more time in your ventures but Draco doesn’t stop trying to fulfill his mission.” 

“So that we do not call for one another and make someone suspicious, you may come to my office once a week with your reports,” Albus said. “Does Mondays sound like a good choice of day?”

“Monday is good,” Harry agreed after some short deliberation. “If I have nothing to report, could you teach me more about internal magic and wandless magic?” 

Al appeared more than willing to as he simply smiled and nodded. Severus was staring into the fire, deep in thought in regard to his own upcoming ventures as well as how to fulfill them without arousing suspicion. None of the wizards in the room was entirely calm or certain, but at the very least something was being done and measures were taken. 

Harry had been right in confiding in the adults he trusted. He only wished that his dad had been there as well, as that would have been comforting to him, personally. 

“Severus?” Harry spoke up, earning the man’s attention as he startled slightly from his own thoughts. 

“Yes?” 

“Would you tell dad that I miss him when you see him the next time?” Harry didn’t notice that he had begun playing with Draco’s snake cufflinks as he spoke. “And that I love him.” 

The ghost of a smile flickered over Severus’ lips, but it might have been an illusion from the shadows caused by the flames in the fireplace. “Assuredly,” he promised.  

Chapter Text

The Lestrange estate was hidden deep within the forests of Scotland. The paths were overgrown from over a decade of neglect and the mansion equally hidden beneath nature which made it practically invisible from above. It was all but lost when Rodolphus Lestrange returned to his home with his husband. Since then, the estate had not been restored or freed from nature, but it had begun to host refugees and followers who could not or did not wish to battle against the rest of the British mage community. 

Those followers needed help to find their way to the estate since their allies removed the Lestrange estate from the Floo Powder Network, and that was where mages like Peter came into the picture. Their mission was to find the refugees and bring them to the Lestrange estate, and to hex or otherwise remove the Ministry spies or workers who attempted to find them, and the exact location of the estate. Naturally, they couldn’t just kill those people, as that would be reason for the Ministry to send more people to search. The mages tasked with protecting the Lestrange estate had to be more clever than that. They also had to judge who was a real refugee, and who was a possible spy. So far, no spies had been found, but that didn’t mean that there couldn’t possibly be ones among the group. 

A young mage, older than eighteen but likely not past twenty, shook Peter’s hand as tears rolled down their face. “Thank you, thank you so much,” they sobbed, much to Peter’s slight discomfort. “If you hadn’t found us, my father likely would never have made it here. We would never have found the way when the Ministry stole everything from us.” 

Peter smiled weakly at them, but he couldn’t think of anything to say in return. Even a ‘you’re welcome’ would have likely sounded false. The fact that the mage was touching him made him feel frightened and uncomfortable, and he was already focusing greatly on not flinching or reacting with fear to the touch, which was slightly exhausting.

Behind them, other mages were assisting the old man up the stairs and towards the part of the house which Peter thought of as ‘the hospital wing.’ It had no such name, but it was where the sick gathered. The old wizard’s strained breathing was audible in the somewhat empty entrance hall, interrupted by the very same man’s coughing. 

The mage finally released Peter’s hand and then scurried after their father, assisting him up the last steps. Peter looked after the group as it disappeared, wondering to himself why the gratitude had made him feel so uncomfortable and guilty. It didn’t seem like the right, or even reasonable, emotions to feel at the moment. Surely, being honestly thanked and respected for his actions was all that Peter had ever wanted? 

Peter glanced down at the silver hand which the mage had shaken. The silver hand which had been created for him by the Dark Lord. The hand which wasn’t really his at all. He sighed and allowed the hand to fall by his side as he glanced at the grandfather clock in the entrance hall. It was late, he should probably not go back out again. Peter realised that he hadn’t eaten for a long time, and thus elected to make his way towards the kitchen, which was likely empty by this hour. Maybe he’d make a sandwich, one with tuna and mayo. He had used to love that combination, but there was no reaction in his body or mind to the prospect of such a sandwich. Maybe there was some peanut butter to put on a piece of bread…? No, that thought didn’t make him any more excited to eat either. 

Peter sighed to himself as he pushed open the door to the kitchen, and was met by the scent of raspberry pie, evidently being baked in one of the ovens. The only thing which shone in the room was the little windows of the ovens, making Peter realise that not only one, but three pies were being made, all of them raspberry pies of slightly varying sizes. The darkness of the room made it impossible to see the other mage in the room before they stood up. Once Peter had spotted them, he could also see the chair which the other had been sitting on. 

“Good evening, sir,” a voice stuttered out as the figure bowed to Peter. The stuttering was so bad that it was almost impossible to hear what the other was saying, but at the very least it made him immediately identifiable to Peter. 

Quirinus Quirrell. 

Professor Quirinus Quirrell was one of the most pathetic people, let alone mages, who Peter had ever seen. He was physically weak, only alive after Azkaban due to luck in not catching the dementors’ interests. He was stuttering so badly that he was almost incomprehensible most of the time, and his eyes were generally wet with tears and panic. Not to mention that the Professor was badly disfigured after some no doubt Dark Creature got their hands on him. His face was rather badly burnt, with longer traces of what might have been fingers, which made Peter assume a fire-being might have touched him. His hands were heavily burnt, reaching up to his arms like red blisters. 

The backside of his head was rumored to be scarred to look suspiciously like a face, with two eyes, a nose and some manner of grotesque, wide mouth underneath them, shaped entirely out of loose skin. However, Quirrell always wore a red beanie hat which he had found abandoned somewhere to keep anyone from knowing what was actually hiding upon the back of his head. Due to his various injuries, Quirrell was prone to seizures and attacks which rendered him completely immobile and sometimes frothing. 

Quirrell was the most pathetic, most useless thing in the entire Lestrange estate. He was terrified of everyone, and all the more frightened by his own shadow. He might have been a very educated Professor in Dark Arts once, but as it was now, his stuttering was so bad that he couldn’t share that information with anyone in a comprehensible form. 

The former teacher at Hogwarts was the perfect victim for most repressed and angry people within the Lestrange estate. Many mages, feeling victimised and terrified by the world, took up on childish bullying to feel less powerless in their situation. Yet Peter found that nobody ever targeted him, or even spoke bad of him. In fact, many people had Peter, and his rat-shape, to thank for finding the estate in the first place. Nobody really saw him as a traitor anymore, but more of a needed and loyal companion who guarded them from the Ministry of Magic. Most even saw his silvery hand as a sign that the Dark Lord loved and trusted him, thus treating him as a close associate of the man. The position was entirely unlike anything Peter had ever had, and he found it rather terrifying while also secretly revelling in the feeling of being special. Of being needed. 

In contrast, many of the mages knew somebody who had been taught by Professor Quirrell. There were even some people who had been taught by him. Some blamed Quirrell for not succeeding in resurrecting the Dark Lord when he attempted to, others blamed him for having hosted the Dark Lord in the first place. He was damned by everyone for various reasons, and a perfectly weak target who could do nothing but cover, cry and stutter in return. 

It was beyond incredible to think of the fact that Peter had ended up in a position similar to Sirius, while Quirrell, a formerly respected scholar, was in a position where he was basically the same as Peter had been all of his life. Nobody would blame Peter for pushing Quirrell around. Nobody would even notice. For once, Peter could be Sirius, and someone else had to be ‘Peter.’ 

The power was maddening, like standing on top of a high cliff and staring out over an endless ocean. So powerful, so dizzying, so impossibly real. 

This was the way it had to be: the strong and the weak. Those who could and those who could not. It was natural and although it might be horrible, the reality of the world was that people are victims of others. The only way to not be one was to be strong and to be useful to others. The only way was to be born a ‘Sirius’ and not a ‘Peter.’

It should be natural and it should feel good to finally be a Sirius. It was his right after all, his right and his turn to be superior and great, and for somebody to grovel for him in return. 

“What are you doing in here… In the darkness?” Peter shut the door behind himself, staring at the scarred face underneath the red beanie. 

“Baking,” Quirrell stuttered out as he gestured towards the ovens. “The dark… The Dark allows me to… to think, yes. See clearer… should someone come inside.” 

Peter slowly detangled his words and made sense of them in his head. He came closer to the other man and glanced at the ovens, prompting Quirrell to flinch back and re-located himself next to the wall, his hands raised in front of him as if it was a reflex he couldn’t help. Peter could see the white of his eyes in the darkness as he recalled that Quirrell was a former prisoner of Azkaban. Just like Sirius had been. What had made Sirius all the more dangerous had made this man beyond weak. 

“Why are you baking so much? You’re spinely, you couldn’t eat all of this…” Peter straightened up again, pushing Quirrell into speaking when he knew that the other would rather not speak at all. It was his way of being Sirius, he reasoned with himself. His way of finally being in control. 

“Not for… it is not for… It is not for me,” Quirrell struggled. “Many… raspberries outside… outside of the house. I gathered them and… I gathered them and I thought that… peo-... pe…”

“People?” Peter filled in after Quirrell gave him a rather desperate look. 

“Yes, thank you. That they might… Might be happier… Happier with me… then.” Quirrell summarised. Somebody else might have minded, but the former teacher appeared happy to have been assisted when his own mouth failed him. 

Peter felt as if he had been punched in the stomach as all the air left him, leaving him breathless and in pain.

The people in the estate used Quirrell as a victim for their own pent up emotions and conflicted feelings of being hunted and persecuted. The people used him as their scapegoat. Quirrell struggled with everything from speaking to moving, and the only thing he had thought to do to ease his situation was to go outside and gather raspberries for the mages who used him, and bake them pies in an attempt for them to like him. Likely not to like him, but to at the very least prompt them to leave him alone. He was the child whose parent made biscuits for their bullies in an attempt to save the child from them by the use of gifts and presents. 

The thought horrified Peter, because his mother had always done the same thing to the people who had hurt him. And there Peter was, having sweets made for him in a desperate plea by a victim to be left alone. There he was, being the ‘Sirius’ he had always wanted to me, while ‘Peter’ pleaded for him to not even stop, but maybe just be a little nicer. If he could. If it wasn’t an inconvenience. 

Before Peter's eyes, Quirrell morphed into a younger version of Peter, holding a tray of sweets which his mum had made, the witch baker who had decided to live as a Muggle baker and remove herself from the mage community altogether in favor of being happy. The tray emptied, and nothing was left for Peter, as everyone in middle school had decided that they desired two of each treat, and that Peter deserved none. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Sirius sneered at him, his face so impossibly vivid as if he had actually been real and standing in front of Peter as a teenager. “You need to lose weight as it is.” Another time, another life, another bully like those in middle school. 

“Sir?” 

Quirrell woke Peter from his living nightmares as he spoke to him, prompting Peter to jerk awake once more. 

“Yes?” Peter found that he was breathless. As if the punch truly had happened, and if he was actually suffering the side effects from it. 

“I need… I need to… I n-...” He gave up and gestured towards the ovens. 

Peter scooted to the side, leaving the other all the space he needed to take out the pies. The scent was lovely. Not as perfect as mum had made them, but all the more homely because of it. Peter found himself smiling weakly, recalling that his mum might actually be alive somewhere in the Muggle world, somewhere where no Death Eater could find her. He wondered if she was still baking, baking like she always had, only having looked up to feed Peter every now and then. 

“It smells really good,” Peter complimented the other. “And you don’t have to call me sir. In fact, you never have to call me sir.” 

“So… Mr. Pettigrew?” Quirrell struggled through his name. 

Peter shook his head. 

He couldn’t do it. 

He would not be another Sirius. 

He refused to be a bully simply because he was hurting. 

“Just Peter is fine,” he assured the other. “If you are not busy, would you mind sitting and talking for a while? I’m not very sleepy, and I haven’t really spoken to someone for… Quite some time.” He chuckled weakly as he shrugged. 

“You? To… Talk me?” Quirrell was so confused and surprised by the offer that he ended up only being comprehensible in a few parts of his sentence. 

“Why not? You seem nice enough,” Peter found a chair which he pulled over so that he could sit next to Quirrell. 

The man didn’t approach him, but remained by the ovens, the scent of his pies filling the room with their pleasant aroma. Yet he stared at Peter as if Peter had just hid a large and very pointy knife behind his back, one which he had made no attempt to actually hide from Quirrell. “But you’re… You’re a hero. You resurrected… him. I couldn’t. Why would… Why would somebody like you speak to me?” 

Peter’s face heated as he quickly shook his head, raising both his hand and the Dark Lord’s hand in front of himself. “I had a lot of help!” he objected. 

“Still,” Quirrell insisted. “You did it. Nobody has… has done it before. Not… Not… Not like that… Not successfully.”

“It really was all him!” Peter shook his head again. “I was just his hands! Besides, it would have been impossible without the horcrux. That is the special thing here, not me.” 

Quirrell appeared about to object, but he realised that he would get nowhere with such a venture, and therefore simply gave in, his shoulders lowering. Peter saw him begin to chew on his lower lip, glancing around the room before lowering his voice to almost whisper to him. Peter leaned forward in a somewhat optimistic attempt to hear him better. 

“What did he say to you?” The request was surprisingly coherent for Quirrell. “How did… How did he soothe… soothe you?” 

Peter felt his face heat with embarrassment and shame yet again, and he quickly glanced to the side as he bit his lower lip. “I don’t know if I…” 

“Do you lo… love him?” Quirrell continued to speak. “Do you love our Dark Master?” 

“I…” Peter hadn’t expected such a question. “I don’t know if I love him, exactly, but…” Peter had loved Sirius. He had been hopelessly in love with Sirius, and was confused over the idea of loving and being in love, thus, Peter struggled to gather his feelings into words. Although, he had never loved the Dark Lord. He had never even known the Dark Lord, not really. He had just served the Dark Lord where there was no other place for him.

Quirrell nodded before he wrapped his arms around himself, staring into nothing as he appeared to search for any words which he might be able to communicate properly. “He soothed me… soothed me greatly. I was so… so… so afraid back then. He made it all better. With him with me… inside… inside of me. I was never… I was never alone.” He sighed, as if he had lost something of perceived immeasurable value. Something like his ‘dignity,’ or his ‘innocence,’ or even his virginity, if such a thing had been a concept which was real and could be lost, rather than a made up value and boundary.

“I was de… deformed for him, I accepted him fully and he… he protected me from my mind. He was my comfort, he was my protector… My Master,” Quirrell was becoming more coherent as he pressed his burned hands to his chest, staring into memories and comfort he no longer possessed. “I went.. went to... to Azkaban for him… I attempted to kill a child for him… He was gone, he returned… I understand that he is busy, but he has not once spoken to me since then, and his followers loathe me for all I didn’t do. I feel… I feel… I feel. I feel so much.” 

He raised his head and looked towards Peter. He might have been crying, Peter couldn’t tell for certain. “Please tell me, how do I find my way back to loving him? When everything had turned so utterly against me, how can I still love and serve my Master with this doubt in my heart?” Like a man desperately clinging to his convictions, to his religion, Quirrell begged Peter for guidance. Pleaded with him like a sinner seeking repentance. 

Peter sat silent for a long time until he finally admitted something he had never thought that he would dare say. “I don’t know.” 

Quirrell’s shoulders fell and he appeared to become smaller again, shrinking into a frightened, small reflection of the man he could have been. “I… I… I… I see,” he struggled once more. 

In the silence which followed, Peter hesitated to speak up. At long last, he surrendered to his need to talk. “I was in love once. For a very long time. With a rather bad person. He died recently, and I’m feeling rather lost when I think of the fact that we won’t ever talk again. That I can’t ever have his forgiveness for what I’ve done. I really didn’t know what to do, and I was hounded by a Lycan at Malfoy Manor.”

Judging by the other’s stuttering, Quirrell was rather frightened by the idea that there was a real life Lycan simply walking around with the rest of the people at Malfoy Manor. 

“Yes, there is a Lycan there. He is rather kept in control by the Dark Lord though.” Peter paused for a second. “Or so I think. Either way, I always thought I wanted to be like the man I was in love with, but now… right now, that is, I think I might not want that.” He trailed off, then realised that Quirrell was silent, waiting for him to continue speaking. “I think what I’m trying to say is that I feel rather lost too, and without direction. I think everyone here feels roughly the same feeling of uncertainty, but out there, the Ministry of Magic would throw you back into Azkaban. Or they would give you a dementor’s kiss without hesitation. Even if you can’t find yourself believing in our Dark Lord for the moment, you can still be of use to the rest of the people who are in a similar situation.” 

“The people who… who… ha-, hate me?” Quirrell didn’t sound particularly happy as he hugged himself tighter. 

“They don’t hate you, they are just scared and stupid,” Peter snorted, speaking the words he knew to be true but had never planned on uttering. Words he had never dared uttering about his own situation or his own bullies. “However, if you’d like, you could spend time with me. I apparently have some respect around here, somewhat. You should be left alone if you stay around me.” Somehow, the idea of having someone spend time with him because they wanted to feel safe was even more dizzying and all the more empowering than the idea of hurting somebody and getting away with it. “You can move to my room too, and give up yours to other people who need it more.” He hoped that the final offer wasn’t too familiar and suggestive. He truly hadn’t meant it as suggestive. 

Quirrell hesitated, then switched topics rather abruptly. “I rem-, I remember you from… from school. Your friends… threw a bucket of water over me. They said… they said… ‘Do tell the teachers about it, when you finish, we will have graduated.’ You… you all laughed at me, laughed at me.” He sounded between accusing and miserable, his stuttering prominent but not impossibly reoccurring. 

Peter’s heart sank in his chest as he attempted to remember a prank like that. It sounded like something which had happened, but he couldn’t remember doing it and to whom it had been done to. Yet he didn’t doubt that Quirrell was honest, as there was very real pain in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry… That must have been awful,” Peter didn’t hesitate to apologise. 

“It… it was,” Quirrell concluded. “I was seventeen… At the time. Seventeen at the time. Being targeted by… by first years… It was hu… hum… humi…”

“Humiliating?” Peter automatically assisted him. 

The other man sighed and nodded, shifting as he stared at Peter, studying his expression. 

“I’m very sorry that we did that… I understand that you are upset, and with every right.” Peter fumbled somewhat with his clothes as he spoke, his silver hand casting a faint light upon his dark trousers. He briefly wondered if it was lighting up his face as well. 

Quirrell studied him as the silence stretched between them, before he appeared to relax ever so slightly. “I think… I think I should like to spend time… time… to spend time with you, Mr. Petti… grew.” 

“Peter,” he smiled weakly in return. “Just Peter. Pete is fine too if that is easier. Do you need any help carrying things over to your new room? That is, uh, our room?” That felt weird to say. Peter shook away thoughts about being too forward. After all, he was only offering his friendship and the apparent protection which came with it, nothing more. 

“My pies…” Quirrell nodded towards them, communicating that he couldn’t simply just leave them. 

“They are too hot to touch, if we leave the room dark, I don’t think anyone will know that they are there,” Peter stood up and brushed some imaginary dust from his clothes. 

Quirrell considered the suggestion before he nodded. He appeared very enamoured by the idea of feeling safe, or at least with the idea of being left alone, which he would be if his new living quarters were together with the man who most in the estate considered a hero. 

Thus it came to be that the two of them moved Quirrell’s rather few possessions into Peter’s room, and then returned to the kitchen to find the untouched pies. They would have to share beds but to have a bed for oneself was a rare thing among the refugees, and sharing one was preferable to the many mattresses which made up most people’s living accommodations. Seeing as Peter was risking himself and his safety every day out in the woods to guide refugees or remove Aurors, he had been given a small servant room with a bed of his own. It would be a bit of a tight squeeze since Quirrell was by no means short, but Peter didn’t hate the thought of hugging or being hugged in his sleep. At least not by somebody harmless. As for the Professor, he had shared his very body with the Dark Lord, and Azkaban had left him longing for any kind of human contact. 

Together, the two men shared some of the raspberry pie, which was really very good, and talked about trivial things. The stuttering was taking some time for Peter to get used to, but he found that Quirrell didn’t truly become incomprehensible in the same way when he was beginning to relax. The two of them shared stories in regards to how they had met the Dark Lord, and what they had done to attempt to help their Master to achieve his goals. Peter mostly listened as Quirrell’s story was somewhat more interesting than his own. 

When the lazy morning light began to gently probe at the covered windows, sneaking inside where it could find a crack, the two men realised that they had been speaking for hours, and that they had done so while eating the most of two pies. They agreed that they should go to sleep and so they did, indeed curling together in the same bed after some slight squabbling over where Quirrell’s legs should go and whether he should sleep in his hat or not. The hat ultimately stayed on.

Before the animagus fell asleep that morning, he concluded with some satisfaction to himself that being a Peter might not be so bad. Being a Peter could mean whatever he wanted it to be, it didn’t have to be a synonym to ‘victim.’ Likewise, being a Sirius didn’t have to mean that one was strong. 

At least, he knew for certain that 'Peter' could be the friend and strong person who he had always longed for in his past, who he had searched for and never found in Sirius, who he had always dreamed would save him from his torment, and make his life less miserable.

Peter still believed in the rights of the strong and of the weak, but his perception had begun to shift slightly. In the future, it would shift completely, but Peter wasn’t quite there yet. 

Not quite yet. 

Chapter Text

When Ron woke up with enough energy to remain conscious, he was informed by Madam Pomfrey what had happened, as well as given assistance to the bathroom. When he was slowly eating his dinner, staring into the nonexistent eyes of the cast which entrapped his once again broken leg, the same leg, of course, he was visited by his friends. 

Harry was apparently busy with something, but Teddy, Hermione and Neville came to see him. Ron felt oddly relieved that Lavender hadn’t been the first person he talked to out of his friend group. He didn’t want his return to the land of the awake to be plagued by her questions and blame as to why he had saved Draco at the risk of himself. At least Ron’s friends wouldn’t make it a huge deal which would forever hang above his head. Forever place a stain upon his relationship. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to his girlfriend, but this was an easier starting point. 

“You dingus!” Teddy laughed as he lightly tapped Ron’s head with his fist before more or less flopping over him in a hug. “You scared us half to death,” the following words were mumbled into his shoulder as Teddy clung to him. 

Ron felt the familiar scent of Teddy filling his nose, the mixture of oil and metal which remained with his best friend no matter how much time passed, and no matter how many showers he took. “Sorry,” Ron mumbled as he squeezed the other teenager back, forgetting temporarily that Teddy was insecure about that amount of physical contact. This once, Teddy didn’t mind. 

“It’s great to see you back and awake,” Neville smiled, patting Ron’s undamaged leg. 

“How are you feeling?” Hermione stood on the opposite side of the bed, playing with her hair as she studied his face. 

“Truthfully, it hurt more when my distant cousin nearly ripped my leg off,” Ron laughed as he attempted to sit up a little better. “It’s always the same leg, I swear. For how long have I been out?” 

“You’ve been in and out for about three days,” Neville began.

“You missed Apparition class two,” Teddy interrupted. 

“Oh bollox,” Ron muttered under his breath.

Neville continued to explain, “Draco left sometime yesterday with minor bruises. All thanks to you. You mad hero.” 

Ron’s face heated up, to his great embarrassment, and he looked to the side while wetting his lips. “I really didn’t plan it or anything. I saw him fall and I kind of forgot where I was and then I just improvised on the way down. I better thank… something, that there was rather heavy snow below as well.” 

“And your protective gear. That did some good saving as well.” Teddy commented as he picked up Ron’s helmet and sat down upon the chair where it had previously reigned as queen. Teddy put the dethroned queen in his lap instead and rested his elbows on it, grinning at Ron. 

“I’ll be sure,” Ron smiled at Teddy before he recognised why his friend looked so different. “You are dressed in Gryffindor robes still, huh?” 

“I’m officially a Gryffindor now, actually!” Teddy beamed at his friend before he patted the red on his robes with a loving grin. “I switched Houses officially. It is so weird to wake up with light coming through the windows and know that that is my everyday now.” 

“That’s great, welcome to team reckless,” Ron laughed. 

“Team get-hurt-more-than-other-Houses,” Teddy snorted in agreement. 

“Team there-goes-more-House-points,” Hermione chuckled as she smiled softly at Ron. “I’m so happy that you are awake. I missed you,” she confessed in a quiet voice. 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Ron smiled at her, which evidently made her shy as she quickly avoided his gaze. “I’ve missed you too. All of you.” 

The three friends appeared flattered, but Ron could tell that something was off, or at the very least wrong as the mages exchanged somewhat strained glances. Before Ron could ask what was wrong, Teddy spoke up, confirming what Ron hadn’t actually wanted to think about. 

“We all felt rather… Like you had forgotten us,” the new Gryffindor student mumbled. 

“That’s not to say that we thought that you weren’t allowed to be with your girlfriend, of course!” Hermione quickly corrected Teddy. “We are all very happy for you and your relationship, and well… It really wouldn’t have been a problem but… I… I mean, we…” 

“What they mean to say,” Neville assisted the two embarrassed and frightened friends on both sides of Ron’s bed. “Is that we have all felt that Lavender Brown has been antagonistic towards us. We don’t mind that you are spending time with your girlfriend, and we are not claiming that we think you should place us before her, but Lavender has been targeting Hermione and even been unpleasant towards Teddy when he was alone. We aren’t claiming that she is keeping you away from us, but we’ve been wondering if you are actually happy in a relationship where your girlfriend doesn’t allow you to interact with, well, us. If you are happy and if everything is fine, we don’t mind you being with her, but what we do mind is her senseless attacking of people in an effort to keep everyone away from you.” 

Ron stared at Neville as he gave voice to a number of things which he had been personally fearing. Neville made real those little stray suspicions and the nagging worry in the back of his mind which told him that he wasn’t truly happy. Yet Ron didn’t quite want to believe that Lavender would have attacked either Hermione or Teddy. “Could you… define targeting?” he mumbled. 

“She came up to me and Blaise with her friends and was asking really weird and direct questions about us dating,” Teddy exclaimed as he hugged the helmet in his lap. “You know how Blaise doesn’t do either love or dating? He was really uncomfortable with all of that, and in the end I heard Brown leave with her friends saying that I wasn’t a threat to her. Afterwards, Blaise avoided me for a week since he was that displeased with people thinking that we are dating again.” The new Gryffindor student sighed weakly, his voice quivering slightly as he recalled how easy it was for his supposed friend to abandon him for weeks on end, simply because someone else did something he found uncomfortable. It wasn’t hard to see why Teddy would be hurt from the fact that he was being punished for other people’s actions, especially since the Death Eater hunts had begun in Britain. 

“And Lavender and her friends cornered Hermione in their room and began asking uncomfortable questions about her and your relationship,” Neville explained with Hermione’s consent. She had evidently given that consent before this point, as all which passed between the witch and the wizard was a look and a nod. 

Ron realised that he had actually been involved with something similar when Lavender had brought him up to the Slytherin Quidditch captain and had been… uncomfortable. He had seen the side which they were describing, but he had pretended that he hadn’t. Ron found that he was hugging himself, avoiding their kind and worried gazes. 

“It’s just… it’s the first relationship I’ve ever had…” Ron mumbled. “I was… I was so happy at first, when I learned that somebody wanted me. In the beginning, it was so nice, but I was always frightened that I would do something to upset her. I was always afraid that she’d grow bored, that she’d realise I wasn’t great or… anything of what she wanted. I really wanted her to want me, but I… I ended up doing a lot of things I wasn’t quite comfortable with doing. She is very physical and I’m… I don’t know... I just don’t feel like I really want it as much as her. So I pretended I did, and when I finally told her, I felt like a monster for… for I guess, ‘holding out’ on her.” 

Ron avoided their gazes as he stared upon his own hands, looking at the scars upon his fingertips. “Lately… I’ve been feeling really weird about it all. I somehow started to compare her to Tom, which is weird, I know!” he added hastily. “Since he’s not, I mean, since he was the Dark Lord and everything like that, but I… I realised that I felt like Tom was more respectful of my boundaries than she is. And he was trying to make me kill all the innocent Muggle-borns in the bloody castle!” Ron realised that he had raised his voice and quickly placed a hand over his mouth, still avoiding their gazes. 

“I’ve missed you,” Ron whispered “and I wanted to talk to you about my feelings, but Lavender kept on telling me that she ‘hated it when other people got involved in a relationship.’ So I didn’t dare to. I was so scared that our relationship would end that I just chose to blindly listen to her and reject the idea of confessing things about my relationship to people who aren’t involved in it.” 

Before anyone could speak up, Ron continued to blurt out “I’ve made mistakes too, though! I’m not trying to blame everything on her, because she isn’t alone in not making this relationship work. She has also been really nice, and she backed off when I asked to not always be snogged by her. But I… I’m starting to feel really trapped… She has all of her friends but I’m expected to sit around somewhere alone and just wait for her to come back? It’s… I thought relationships were supposed to make you happy, like with Harry and Draco, or Bill and Fleur Delacour but I feel more like mum and dad…” He groaned and hid his face in his hands, opting to flee altogether. 

“Like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” Teddy echoed what everyone was thinking as he leaned his head to the side, frowning at his best friend. “What about them?” 

Ron steeled himself for what he should probably have told everyone else sooner, but hadn’t quite managed to as he was kept away from them by Lavender’s needs and his own perceived blatant cowardice.

It truly was not easy to confess to relationships changing between one’s parents, as parents often felt like a set combination which couldn’t actually be kept separate. Despite everything Ron knew to the contrary, there was a small aching in the back of his mind, the beats of dull pain shaping the doubt that it might have been the children’s fault. Might have been his fault. Ron knew it wasn’t, but Lavender couldn’t speak about divorces after a traumatic one between her own mother and her previous husband, and so Ron couldn’t actually vocalise his worries to somebody capable of helping him. 

The longer he waited, the harder it had become, and now he was here, having to confess to the woman who had been rejected by her parents, the boy who hadn’t had parents since he was a baby, as well as the young man who had always feared that his own dad might kill him, that the seemingly happy Weasley family was to go through a divorce. All of his friends were, in one way or another, at least slightly dependent on the Weasley home. All of them did know Molly Weasley, and they had lived under the same roof for extended periods of time. To give them all the news that everything was about to change was nowhere near easy. 

“Ron?” Hermione asked as she hesitantly and painfully gently reached out to touch his hand. “Is there something you need to speak of?” 

To his great shame, but also overwhelming relief, Ron felt how tears shaped in his eyes and dripped down his face. He carefully grabbed Hermione’s hand so as to not frighten her with his strong grip, and he met her beautifully brown eyes with his own. “I’m sorry…” his voice sounded so very loud in his ears, but it had not been more than a whisper. “My parents are divorcing. I’m so sorry…” he repeated it again, with more complex and negative feelings clustering every syllable. 

Hermione appeared appalled for a second before she managed to regain her composure. Carefully, she smiled at him and squeezed his hand back, not shying from him. “Whatever are you apologising for?” she whispered sweetly, her voice like the soothing, cold comfort of chilled water. 

It was like Tom’s, and Ron felt ashamed that it was so very calming to him because it was familiar. Perhaps Ron really had loved that image of the Dark Lord with the innocence of a twelve year old’s love, or perhaps Tom had truly been the older sibling Ron had needed at that time. Ron didn’t know, and because he didn’t know, the thoughts in regards to Tom remained clustered in a ball of shame deep within his being. One day, he really needed to talk to someone about it. Yet at that moment, the resemblance to Tom in Hermione’s tone truly was pleasant. 

Hermione’s hand was nothing like Tom’s though. It was warm and real, slim but not slender, slightly softer than Ron would have expected. It was baffling to think that he was holding the hand of the most capable witch of what was possibly generations, yet also just holding the hand of his friend. 

“Yeah, what are you sorry for?” Teddy reached out and grabbed Ron’s other hand, holding it in turn. 

Teddy. Familiar, wonderful, comfortable Teddy. He held Ron’s hand and smiled at him with a smile which had hid so much hurt for so long, but which Ron had earned the true version of by being his best friend.

Ron squeezed both of their hands in return, as Neville patted his undamaged leg. Ron was still crying, much to his own embarrassment, but there was no longer any shame in his chest. “I really… That’s funny, I can’t quite… I dunno…” Ron finished weakly as a small smile formed on his lips. 

“For how long have you needed to talk about it?” Neville asked a question which didn’t really need an answer for them all to know. 

“Too long,” Ron reprimanded himself. “But I… I don’t know what to say about it. Where do you even start in this kind of… talk situation?” 

Teddy and Hermione exchanged looks, during which they both communicated that they didn’t know what to say. It was Neville who once again spoke up for the collective, taking Draco's and Harry’s place as the one to guide the conversation when nobody else could. He was filling shoes which none of them had guessed would ever need filling. 

“If it’s too hard to speak about your own reaction or feelings, how did your siblings react? Have you spoken to them about any of this yet?” Neville asked. 

Ron pulled a hand back to rub his eyes as he attempted to gather himself once more. It worked a little bit, but not as much as the tissue which Teddy mercifully found for him. After using it, Ron turned his focus on his knees, feeling too insecure to look at his friends as he spoke. His knees offered less of a challenge, mostly due to the fact that they were lacking in eyes to be met. “Me and Ginny have talked a little about it. She has uh, kind of has the attitude of not really caring, seeing as it really is our parents’ choice. She doesn’t appear upset, but since she doesn’t want to talk to me and is instead focusing completely on Quidditch, well… I think that she is trying to deal with it all in her own way and I don’t want to bother her with, well… me.”

Ron took another deep breath to steady himself before he continued. In doing so, his knees quivered slightly under the coarse hospital blanket, surprising Ron enough to jump slightly. He concluded that he truly wasn’t in a good state of mind, if he was that easily frightened. “Fred seems rather indifferent to the whole thing. If he was not my older brother, I’d say it almost appears as if he doesn’t get it. Like he might be thinking it’s a joke and will just pass. George on the other hand appears relieved. I’m not sure if he has known something we others didn’t, and is just happy that he doesn’t have to keep it a secret but…” Ron groaned weakly as he squeezed his friends’ hands. “You know Fred and George. There’s no real talking to them. Less so Fred, but George hasn't had the time since his work became really busy around the winter holidays.” 

“What about your older siblings?” Teddy asked with an attempt at politeness which fell flat due to the fact that Teddy’s voice really didn’t carry consideration of the usual kind. Ron’s best friend might be lacking in manners, but his heart was twice as big for it, and Ron knew how to speak his language. 

“I don’t know them well enough to talk to them,” Ron sighed deeply as he glanced at Teddy. “Percy is gone to the Ministry and there is no reaching him. I’m not even sure he knows. Even if he did know, then he likely wouldn’t care, as he is not really part of the family anymore. Charlie is well… I feel like he’s my uncle, or even cousin. I don’t feel like we’re brothers. As for Bill… I have no idea how to talk to him. He also doesn’t feel like my brother. I used to be scared of him as a little brat, because he felt so distant and hard to talk to. I couldn’t even begin to guess what they feel about the divorce.” He blinked at his own words, surprised that saying ‘divorce’ truly wasn’t as hard as it had been the first time. 

“Do you feel like your own emotions are similar to any of your siblings?” Neville continued to lead the discussion. “Out of the ones you do know, that is.” He appeared slightly uncomfortable with the leadership role, but he was nonetheless attempting to act in a manner which would at least improve the current situation for the better. 

“Now that’s the problem…” Ron heaved another sigh from his chest, staring at his knees yet again. “I don’t. I feel like I’m the only one who is reacting. I feel like I’m the only one who… well, feels. I feel like I’ve done something wrong for this to happen, I feel like we children are at fault and I feel like… like… Like somehow, nothing actually changed. Mum is still staying at home, seeing as she doesn’t have the economy to move and dad and us, even the house, still need her to survive. Dad is still gone all the time, Fred and George are working, Percy ran off, Charlie isn’t there and Bill is this illusive ghost of a person who I can’t talk to. Crookshanks still lives there, and the house is still all the same. The entire world has changed, and still home is no different in the least. Everyone is doing the same things as always but… Mum appears happy. I don’t know if I’ve ever really seen her this… uh, animated, I guess?” 

The group sat silent for a while, as everyone considered a proper, or at the very least respectable response. 

“But if she is happy,” Hermione began, “then something must have changed. If she is happy, and if it is their choice to separate, which it is, then… Maybe this is the start of something better for her.” 

Before Ron could answer, Teddy appeared to have an idea which was so overpowering in his mind that he had to speak it right away. “Hey… Why don’t you talk to your mum about it? She’s still there, you know. Harry is always talking to adults about all his problems, and if he was here, he’d tell you to speak to your mum.” 

Hermione and Neville both nodded, agreeing that Harry Lupin would beyond doubt advocate for communication, especially with one’s parent or parents. 

Ron groaned weakly, “but she’s my mum… How am I to talk to her about things?” 

“I imagine it’s much the same as you do with anyone else,” Neville placed his hands on his hips, giving Ron somewhat of a stern look. 

Ron’s face immediately became flushed as he recalled that neither Neville nor Teddy had a mum, and here he was complaining about not being able to talk to his, when all that held him back was, well, him. Molly Weasley had never been that capable of a mother, as she had been a little too lost in fairy tales and stories to recall reality at some points. Rather, a lot of points. Then again, Molly Weasley was there. She had always been there and for the first time in Ron’s life, his mum did feel present. Perhaps talking to her wasn’t as impossible as it had felt like in the past. Perhaps she could actually understand him better than anyone else could, because she had lived a lot of his life with him. She had lived through many of the same hardships together with her family. Some had been caused by her, in some sense of the word, but not all of them. Far from all of them. 

Ron chewed on his lower lip and then nodded, his shoulders relaxing as he came to a conclusion of what was a good action to choose. Like George, and like Molly, Ron opted for the same solution. He, too, would keep talking. 

The venture of speaking began with Lavender. Even if Ron would rather have chosen to delay that conversation for perhaps ten years, he also feared ending up like his mum and dad if he simply continued the way things were. While it was slightly paranoid to think that he’d end up in a ragged old house with seven children and a wife whom he couldn’t make happy, Ron still felt the pressing need to do something, rather than nothing. Nothing might have been good for a while, but it was no longer good enough. 

Strangely, and relieving enough, it appeared that Lavender wanted to speak to Ron as well. Their talk wasn’t easy, and it most certainly wasn’t fun, but it continued to happen as they both spoke, at least moderately earnestly about their own experiences. Lavender cried a lot, but she wasn’t alone in needing a good many sets of tissues. Ron felt very emotional as well when he ended his very first relationship, and thus broke up with his girlfriend. He felt like he gained some more appreciation for how hard the divorce likely was for his parents, as that surely must be much harder than what he was going through. 

Lavender wasn’t happy, and the two didn’t separate from one another that day as friends, but they were likewise not enemies. She hadn’t been gracious or entirely understanding, but she hadn’t been unpleasant or vile. There had been a lot of hurt in their relationship, yet it still hurt them both to conclude that it had been enough as it was. Ron secretly hoped that they might be able to be friends in the future, but it had felt too naïve, if not patronising, to tell her at that moment. 

He was glad when Lavender left the hospital ward, leaving him to his own thoughts. Ron was quite satisfied to know that the most prominent emotion in his body after the talk was relief. He shut his eyes and pretended to have fallen asleep when Madam Pomfrey came up to his cubicle to scold him for having an emotional breakup in her hospital ward. He would have to face that discussion later, but for the moment, he really did want a nap. When Ron woke up, he’d think of what to write to his mum, but for now, he wanted to temporarily not think at all. But only temporarily. 

Chapter Text

“Hi!” George sounded almost breathless as he came up to Percy, his eyes conveying both joy and worry as he appeared to consider if he should or should not hug, or even touch, his older brother. 

“H-, hello. I mean, greetings.” Percy corrected himself twice, attempting and failing to sound dignified.

George did not look like Percy remembered him, but then again, he always had struggled with what mental image to project onto his younger brothers. Were they truly graduated students of Hogwarts with NEWTs under their belts, or were they children playing in the plastic kiddie pool next to Molly Weasley’s vegetable patch? Percy knew the answer, but the mental image shifted nonetheless. He supposed it might be a sign of accidentally becoming his younger brothers’ and sister’s parent when their mum failed them.  Firmly, Percy shook the images of his not-child out of his mind, and focused on the young graduate who was standing before him. 

George was dressed more professionally than Percy had ever seen him, which was to say that he had chosen his clothes with some manner of care, rather than simply gotten dressed in the morning. In fact, the two brothers probably appeared more related than they ever had, with their similar style of casual yet slightly formal clothing and their curled hair. Although one would probably describe George's as wavy, rather than curly. Growing up, Percy had experienced periods of time when he had been mocked for his unruly and differently textured hair compared to most of his family. In fact, had he not missed George so much, Percy might have fooled himself into assuming that his younger brother was mocking him by adapting a hairstyle similar to Percy’s, even though their hair truly only shared one similarity in being red. 

“Nice weather,” George laughed as he tucked his hands deeper into his pockets, a cloud of steam forming from his lips as he spoke. The snow laid thick around them, which is to say that there was at least a layer of snow upon the streets, which was rather much for the middle of London. Yet despite the cold, the sun was bravely shining above them, doing what it could to ease the grip of winter upon the capital of England. 

Percy smiled weakly, surprised to have identified nervousness in George’s laughter. He wasn’t used to hearing that. Perhaps absence had made him more aware. “Thank you for your letter,” the older brother surprised himself by his words and by the honest humbleness in his voice. 

George appeared equally surprised but then grinned weakly, not quite as big as he usually did, which made him feel distinctly different from Fred. Even though Percy had always been able to tell them apart, it was curious to see that George was making an effort in separating himself from his previous role as ‘one of the Weasley twins.’ 

“You really ought to thank Bill for that,” George shrugged, although he was still smiling. “I wouldn’t have dared to write to you unless he had encouraged me. Truth to be told, I… I didn’t think you’d respond…” He chuckled again, wagging back on the heels of his shoes as he avoided looking at Percy. “With the feud going on and… Oh, sorry.” He had noticed Percy’s displeased expression and hurriedly tried to mend his misstep. “I mean to say that… What I was…. uhm…”

“It’s alright,” Percy cut him off, somewhat hurriedly. He didn’t want to think about Arthur Weasley right now. “You wanted to go to the Cinima, correct? You said you’d take care of the tickets, how much do I owe you?” 

Percy noticed that he wasn’t speaking the way he wanted to. He was too short, too direct, and it made him come off as unfriendly or even hostile. The humbleness from his earlier words had completely gone and wasn't coming back. That was not the way he wished to appear to his younger brother, but Percy had quite forgotten how to simply be himself, much to his own worry. He didn’t want to scare George away from him, not when he was in desperate need of the company of someone who didn’t find him to be the enemy. 

Yet all the same, the young man before him felt like a stranger. Despite their previously close relationship and Percy’s emotions in regards to needing to see George, the magic had shattered upon actually meeting and finding that they were awkwardly stumbling for any communication, almost immediately. As if they didn’t really know each other.

“Cinema,” the younger brother corrected the older, some familiar mischievousness making its way back into his voice. The familiarity almost felt like a relief, even if Percy abhorred feeling like people were mocking him.

Percy felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment as he was corrected and he sternly huffed before he disappeared halfway into his store bought, completely grey, scarf, which looked nothing like anything Molly Weasley might have made. “Well, how much do I owe you?” he repeated, almost grumpily, which further added to his humiliation. 

“Nothing, Perc,” George shook his head. “I was the one who wanted to drag you along, so I can pay.” 

Percy considered correcting him about the further shortening of his name, but then decided against it. “Very well, then I will pay for our dinner,” he decided. 

George’s face lit up and he nodded, apparently happy to have more time with his older brother than simply time spent in a cinema where they couldn’t actually talk about anything. “Pizza?” he asked excitedly. It was rather perplexing to find that despite how Percy was acting, George seemed to pretend like nothing was wrong between the two of them, and like he really did want to be around him. 

Percy couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, pizza is fine with me. I suppose we aren’t likely to run into someone we know if we go to some pizza-place.” 

“Or if we order to Bill’s place,” George innocently leaned his head to the side, appearing hopeful. 

Percy felt his heart sink in his chest as he quickly averted his gaze from the other young man’s face. “I don’t know if… I agreed to meet you, not him.” Bill had to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Percy suspected that his older brother wouldn’t want anything to do with Minister Scrimgeour's own secretary, especially not in his house. He wouldn’t admit it to himself but he was far too scared.

George realised that he was asking too much of his older brother, and so he quickly backtracked, but not without revealing his disappointment by means of his face betraying him. “Of course. But we can decide that afterwards, can’t we?” 

Percy sighed, “very well. I will think about it.” 

Yet again, the younger brother appeared satisfied. “Please do,” he more or less chirped, sounding so hopeful that Percy almost said yes on principle.

That day, Percy learned what a horror movie was. 

He hadn’t expected it to be quite so good at what it set out to do, but the movie was most definitely frightening. The movie was named Scream, and it was apparently a movie which attempted to subvert horror troupes connected to the genre, which it openly discussed and made fun of. Now Percy didn’t know any of the troupes, so he mostly found the movie scary in its own right, much to George's amusement. It appeared that George was becoming a bit of a horror movie fan, something which Percy didn’t approve of, but couldn’t actually say anything about. His approval didn’t mean anything in the young adult’s life, not actually, and besides he wasn’t actually a parental figure.

As the two of them sat down to eat dinner together at a rather crowded but nonetheless pleasant restaurant which served both pizza and pasta, George told Percy that Scream was his favorite movie, at least for the moment. 

“I’ve seen it three times,” George said, counting on his fingers. “Once with Bill, once with Fred and the final with you, of course. Horror movies are so much fun! It’s such a thrill without really being all that scary. Bill and Fred like them too, we are definitely going together the next time we find something that looks good. Although I doubt anything will top how clever Scream really is.” He excitedly informed his much less of a horror enthusiast of an older brother about his newfound shared passion between him and his other brothers. 

“Mhm…” 

Percy, who had very much found the movie to be more than frightening, did not make any comment in regards to the fear he had experienced watching Scream. He was very glad that he didn’t own a phone, as those had been heavily featured within the movie as a horror element. At the very least, nobody would ever be able to call Percy from within his apartment. 

Yet George was right when it came to one thing, horror movies really did appear to be more than distracting enough for Percy to forget most other worries. 

The two ended up talking about simple things in the back of the pizza and pasta place. Percy then mentioned breaking up with Penny, to which George offered his sympathies. It felt strange to hear his younger brother rather competently give the little comfort he could regarding the situation with Penny, but Percy supposed he really had to give it to the young man that he had changed and grown while Percy was away. He avoided talking about other struggles in regards to convictions, the Ministry and politics. George spoke of work at the Potions brewery, and Percy gave his condolences for what he had to deal with. 

By the end of their outing together, Percy returned home feeling refreshed and happy, despite also being tired and somewhat out of it. Communication hadn’t been easy and they stumbled a lot around each other, but George still seemed determined to try, and even wanted to meet up again. 

Percy slept with the lights on, but he slept easier after learning that at the very least one person in the world considered him worthy of his time. Which might be, Percy told himself, one more than he was actually worthy of. 

The next time George brought him to the cinema, Percy insisted on paying for the tickets. They watched another horror movie which was mercifully less frightening to Percy than Scream. It was called The Relic, and George was slightly displeased with the movie. However, like he himself said, it had been foolish to expect it to be as good as Scream. Nonetheless, he was happy to have spent time with Percy, which still felt perplexing to the older brother. At this point Percy was beginning to wonder if he had some other hidden agenda behind all this, but it felt rather paranoid and silly, no matter the past of the twins and their behaviours.

“Do you want to come with me to Bill’s?” George asked after they left the cinema, walking down the ice covered streets of downtown London. 

George was hiding his lower face from the cold evening in his homemade and colourful scarf, his knitted gloves hidden within his pockets and his curled bangs peeking out from under another knitted hat. His intelligent eyes studied Percy from within the lovingly crafted work of Molly Weasley’s. Why, he almost looked loved within his mother’s knitted cave, maybe because he was. 

“I’m not trying to trick you,” the younger brother hurriedly added. “I told Bill I was watching a movie with you, and he told me I could invite you over afterwards. He also wants to order pizza.” George added, as if that would convince Percy. 

Percy hesitated. He had every reason to say no. He didn’t know Bill, and he barely knew George, even if he had grown up with them. Although, if his younger brother was telling the truth then Bill had actively suggested to want to meet with him… 

Bill was a very distant figure in Percy’s life, one he had never quite forgiven for running away from the family, leaving Percy to be the eldest brother when he wasn’t. Or rather, part of why Percy struggled to forgive Bill and Charlie was because they had all been raised on fairy tales of the older brothers protecting the younger siblings. Molly loved fairy tales, and she had often looked to them for what was supposed to be ideal for a family. His older brothers were supposed to be his protectors and guardians, and they had been for a while. Then they had both left, leaving Percy to scramble from the protected to the protector. It hadn’t been fair to expect Bill and Charlie to become the guardians of their younger siblings, but it equally hadn’t been fair to leave that task to Percy without any form of warning. The task had proved demanding enough that Percy had chosen to start school a year later than he should have, only for the sake of making sure Fred and George weren’t too much for his mother to handle.  

George surprised Percy by actually touching him. He placed a gloved hand on Percy’s arm, leaning in slightly so as to not appear intimidatingly tall next to him. When had George outgrown him? Percy recalled his little body sleeping half on top of his twin brother in a bed which had been large enough to house the three of them without problem. He recalled a young boy, barely formed into a human being, running around on fields coloured golden by rose tinted nostalgia. The fact that it had taken distance, as well as some other events which Percy wasn’t entirely aware of but suspected had occurred, for Percy to see how much George had grown, frightened the older brother somewhat. 

“Won’t you please come?” George pleaded in a quiet voice. “There are so many things I want to speak about that I can’t tell you out here. I want to speak more openly, about life, changes and such, but I can’t do it outside.” 

He should have said no. With every reason, he should have said no. Everything about his life and his career demanded that he said no. 

He had never once seen his younger brother openly plead, or sound honest in the manner which he did as he held onto him, actually willing to touch him despite their differences.

“Fine,” Percy yielded. “Fine. I’ll come with you.” 

The joy on George’s face made Percy think of the times when the Weasley family had gone to the local Muggle carnivals. It was odd to think that simply agreeing to come with him would bring the young adult the same joy as winning a piece of cotton candy for free at the age of six. 

Bill and Percy couldn’t have been more different visually and in terms of personal style. Bill wore a collection of jewellery and gold while Percy only carried a pair of reading glasses with him in his front pocket. Where Percy wore stylishly tailored mage fashion which did not reveal much of his body while still acknowledging that he had a body underneath, Bill wore clothing pieces which were either too loose, or leaving nothing to imagination. Percy was thankful that his shirt was that big, as it did cover Bill’s crotch which was just barely concealed in his skintight leather trousers. 

George walked straight up to his eldest brother and exchanged a hug in greeting, one which Bill returned with a smile and a nod. Percy experienced a throb of annoyance and jealousy as he saw his absent older brother embrace the brother whom Percy had practically raised in his stead. He failed to recognise that asking any child to raise the other children in the stead of the parents wouldn’t have been the right thing to do, and if it had been hard and unfair on Percy, it would equally so have been hard and unfair on Bill. He also failed to recognise that he could have reached out and hugged George as well, or that if he had asked for a hug, Bill would have given him one. In Percy’s mind, the display of affection was a mockery of the effort Bill had pushed upon him, something the absent brother shouldn’t be allowed to have after he left the Burrow. 

“Hi,” Bill said as he awkwardly presented a hand to Percy. “Welcome. It’s not big, but it’s my home, make it yours and all that jazz.” 

Percy didn’t take the hand, instead he began pulling his outer layers off and hung the coat up by the door, his gaze focused on his task and not his older brother. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only here because it was apparently important to George.” He didn’t want to be unpleasant, but he was too hurt by Bill’s previous actions to dare be familiar, or even polite. Too long had Percy been hurting from passive acceptance, he wasn’t about to allow its poison to make him complicit once more. 

George glanced at Bill, who simply let his hand fall and shrugged to display that he wasn’t dejected. The gesture helped ease George’s mind, and he guided Percy towards the kitchen with a hand gesture. “What do you like on your pizza, Perc?”

Percy was starting to feel nervous about whatever it was that made George desperate enough to bring him here, as he could recognise the desperation in the other.

“I like it with as little animal products as possible,” Percy concluded as he walked past Bill, following his younger brother into a home which wasn’t his. 

“No cheese?” Bill made conversation as he in turn followed Percy. His leather trousers made weak noises as he moved, which irritated his already stressed younger sibling.

It was more due to that stress than to malice that Percy said what he said next. He took one glance around the kitchen, noting the overripe fruit in the bowl upon the table, and the mountain of dishes upon the kitchen counter, and then commented on it in a derogatory manner. “How adult of you, being able to keep your kitchen clean and such.”

Percy saw George bite his own lower lip as he stiffened up. It was evident that Percy was behaving just as badly as George had feared that he would, and that the meeting between the two older brothers was at least twice as uncomfortable as he had expected. Percy immediately felt guilty for confirming all of George’s fears, and he even considered apologising. Or rather, he would have, but his pride forced the words back in his throat, threatening to choke him if he tried to attempt such a venture once more. It almost felt as if the invisible and personified hand of the Ministry of Magic itself was wrapping around his throat, silencing Percy. 

Bill laughed.

It was short, pleasant and overall merciful. Both Percy and George stared at him, at a complete loss over his reaction. 

“Sorry,” Bill said. “It’s just so weird thinking that a child is calling me a bad adult, as if it meant something.” 

“Child?” Percy echoed, somehow managing to fit years of barely held back resentment into a single word. Pride once again choked him, causing what he wanted to say next into an odd croak. 

“You’re what, twenty-something?” Bill looked down at Percy, shifting slightly as he did realise that he was heading into a confrontation. “That’s not old enough to be an adult. It might have been when mum and dad were young, but that’s not really the way the world works these days.”

“I am the secretary of the Minister of Magic!” Percy objected loudly. 

“You were lucky. Insanely lucky,” Bill countered. “You seem to think that adulthood is a number, or even a work title. You’re wrong. There is no quick switch which suddenly makes a person an 'adult' once they reach a certain age. One is always the same person trying to grow into themselves and get used to their current situation. That never stops. Growing up only means being responsible for yourself, and it does not change one into an ‘adult,’ as if it's some kind of different being altogether. I’m no less an adult because I struggle with the dishes and laundry.” 

“But you are for leaving!” Percy spit the words at his older brother, feeling shame and emotions swell within him to the point where tears shaped in the corner of his eyes. “You grew up, Charlie grew up, and the two of you ran away like thieves in the night! You became adults and you decided that we weren’t worth anything anymore. You told me you’d always be there for me, and you weren’t. You said you wouldn’t be like dad, but you were. You left too!” 

The silence which followed his words was so heavy that all three siblings felt like they were underwater. Bill stared at Percy for a second, but then turned away, seemingly struggling to breathe properly. Percy realised that he was panting, and so he attempted to straighten himself up and gather his dignity. He rubbed his face with his hand, seeking to stop the pesky tears which continued to drip despite his own efforts. 

“I was an idiot for coming here and thinking that-”

“No you were not,” George interrupted Percy as he grabbed his arm, assuring that Percy couldn’t apparate away from them. Assuring that he couldn’t run. “It’s good. What you are doing is good,” George continued, further confusing his older brother and accidental third parent. Someone who shouldn’t have been a parent.

“...What?” Percy dried tears from his face once more, his voice breaking as he spoke. Yet the word still appeared annoyed, rather than confused. 

“Don’t be silent,” George explained. “Don’t hold your feelings back. Don’t pretend that they aren’t real.” 

The youngest Weasley brother appeared almost calm, perhaps slightly serene and so very emotionally mature. Percy had never seen him like that. He would never have believed that George could be like he currently was. He had no idea what could prompt such a thing.

Bill hugged himself where he stood in his own kitchen, staring down at the floor as a small smile spread over his lips, one which was not so much joyous as it was bitterly amused. “We’re all dealing with abandonment issues. Everyone in our family, really.” 

“Except Fred,” George objected with a chuckle. 

“Fred is a sociopath,” Bill responded, only half joking. 

“I don’t…” Percy looked between his brothers. “I don't understand.”

George pulled Percy over to sit down in one of the two chairs in the kitchen, while he himself took the other. Bill elected to lean against the wall, blocking the doorway without really attempting to. “Our family is rather… messy,” George sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his burned palms. 

Percy felt a throb of guilt as he saw them. He had been able to save Ginny from the fire by cutting her hair off before all of it burned, but he hadn’t been able to stop George from going back into a flaming tent. To add to it, Ginny’s face had been scarred as well, even if he did manage to save her hair, which she cut off the very next day. 

“We all ended up rather unhappy, and we blamed most of it on mum and dad, or our missing siblings,” George continued to speak. “Basically, we all blamed one another, and we all tried to run away in some manner. Mum blamed dad and herself, and dad mostly blamed himself, or so he says.” 

“If this is a trick to make us all make up and pretend to be a happy family…” Percy whispered, yet the threat was not very effective, despite his own anger in regards to the topic of family. 

“It’s not, Pearl,” Bill accidentally used Percy’s old nickname, one which he hadn’t been there to use for at least ten years. “You need to hear this. I know I needed to. Both talk and hear about it, that is.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Percy attempted to spit at his older brother, but the words came out as a weak whimper, accompanied by a pathetic trembling of his lower lip. 

Bill realised what he had said and quickly, earnestly, apologised. Percy sniffed in return as a roll of tissue paper floated over to him. He pulled some off and blew his nose. 

George took a deep breath and began to speak, telling Percy about everyone else in his family, and their feelings in regard to said family. He began speaking of himself and Fred, but while placing minimal words into Fred’s mouth through speaking mostly of his own experiences. He spoke of loneliness, of the comfort of being the same, of the guilt of having traumatised their mother by their own birth, and the hurt in that Molly Weasley couldn’t tell them apart. Of how the world had felt so hostile and alien that he and Fred had needed to fight it, and to act as if they weren’t part of it. How terrified and hurt they had been by Percy leaving all of a sudden,... just like Bill had left him. 

He didn’t want to feel guilty. He attempted hard not to. He had plenty of very valid reasons as to why he had needed to escape the Burrow. 

Next, George spoke of Ron, the child who had been so lonely and so rejected at home that he had fallen headfirst into the arms of something who had offered him support and love. The description reminded Percy of Bartemius Crouch Junior, and it made him feel all the more guilty. 

George then told Percy of Ginny, who placed little to no value in ‘family’ for the sake of living her own life, unbound by all her siblings, and the expectations which came with being the youngest sister of six older brothers. He spoke about the femininity which Molly had expected of her daughter, and of Ginny’s rejection of being the girly princess who her mother had expected from reading too much Muggle fiction. Ginny was making herself happy, and would not let anyone get in her way or stop her from pursuing her own happiness.

Next, Bill spoke of himself and of Charlie. It was very hard for Percy to hear the reasons as to why they had left, but part of him already knew why. He had been little more than a child, but like most other of his siblings, he had realised that things truly weren’t as they should be at home. Bill and Charlie had left for many reasons, not only one, but they all came back to being trapped by family, as well as their family name. It all came back to wanting to be happy, and knowing that adhering to the needs of a family which they had never chosen to belong to couldn’t come at the cost of their happiness. Percy understood the feeling well, as he himself had left for the very same reasons. 

Then came the unbelievable news. The knowledge of a change which was so significant that Percy struggled to understand what he had heard. 

“Mum and dad are separating,” George said. 

“What?” For the third time that day, Percy couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Where… are they separating to?” As his mind recovered, he slowly spoke up again, not able to understand what he had heard. 

“They are divorcing, Percy,” Bill said, using the correct name this time, rather than the old, familiar nickname which had hurt Percy more than he wanted to admit. 

“Oh…” Percy sat still and silent by the kitchen table, staring out into nothingness. He felt like he had been feeling so much that he didn’t know how to feel anymore. It was as if everything had shut down in an effort to protect him from the repercussions of pain. “Where will mum live?” In the moment, he yet again forgot to not address his parents by their parental titles, like he had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t do ever again. 

“She’s still living with us,” George carefully spoke up, studying Percy’s expression to make sure that his brother wasn’t too overwhelmed. In actuality, he probably was, but none of them could do much about that for the moment. “There are sort of a lot of things going on out here, and mum doesn’t have an economy of her own. Not to mention, we’d all starve to death without her cooking. Also the house would probably break. She’s staying for the moment, and to be close to us.” George laughed weakly and without mockery. “It doesn’t feel all that different, except that mum is genuinely happy for the first time ever. At least since she had me and Fred.” 

“You weren’t the cause of their unhappiness,” Bill objected, saying what Percy had wanted to say. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

George smiled at him, evidently relieved to have been consoled. 

“But… What is dad, I mean, Arthur, saying about it?” Percy looked between his brothers as if he had never seen them before. “Is he mad?” 

“No,” said George. 

“He is also less burdened than ever before,” Bill agreed. “We went to a jazz bar together, me, George and dad, and it was fun. He has stopped pretending to be confused and fascinated by all things Muggle. I always thought he knew better and was kind of playing stupid, but now I have it confirmed.” 

“Oh…” Percy, who had always thought that his parent really was that stupid, blinked slowly. He could hear an odd drilling sound in his ear, weak tones playing an almost painful melody which caused his vision to come in and out of focus. Somehow, probably courtesy of George, a glass of water appeared next to him on the table, and Percy drank slowly. 

He felt like he couldn’t think. A constant in his world had crumbled, beliefs he held as truths shattered and people were no longer who he had thought they were. Had they ever been the same as Percy had assumed them, or had they always been different? Had his dad always been clever and capable? Had Minister Scrimgeour always been cruel and merciless? Had George always been emotionally mature but pretending to seem more like Fred? Had Bill ever been happy with his role as ‘the eldest brother?’ Percy found himself with his head in his hands, leaned forward and breathing hard. Unbeknownst to him, he was feeling and acting almost exactly like George had a year back, when his world had come crashing down. 

It was all too much, like an avalanche smothering him. It felt like everything happened at once in a manner which didn’t even seem realistic or possible. Which made it even harder to accept. Percy failed to realise that it wasn’t that changes had happened suddenly, but that he had left, and therefore missed the changes as they happened in the lives of the people he didn’t want to call his family. Before then, he hadn’t acknowledged changes, despite seeing them in people like Ginny and Ron. Further, a person could never really see everything experienced and which was changing for other people, even close ones, and thus some changes seemed sudden just because Percy, even if he had been around, wouldn’t be able to see and experience the full extent of the emotional changes in his siblings. Thus, everything felt a lot more sudden, a lot bigger and a lot less possible than it actually was. 

“Anything… else you want to tell me… before I faint ?” He added the last in a voice which was too quiet for any of his brothers to understand what he said. 

Bill and George glanced at one another over Percy’s bent over figure. Bill began to say something but his words were overpowered by George’s statement. 

“Sirius Black was innocent.” 

Percy raised his head, staring at his younger brother with a look of utterly empty confusion. 

“George…” Bill sounded as if he was about to stop George from speaking up further. 

“Sirius died in front of my eyes. We were standing side by side when he was struck by the Killing Curse.” George was struggling to speak, his voice leaving him in gasps and his words shaped through struggle. Yet, he kept on talking. “He was my friend. He was Bill’s friend. Sirius never killed anyone, and he didn’t deserve to waste in Azkaban. He wasn’t supporting the Dark Lord, and somebody else had committed all those crimes. He never wanted to kill Harry Lupin, he was searching for a different target who was the man actually guilty for the crimes they accused Sirius of, and the Ministry of Magic wanted him to die without listening to anything he had to say. They committed an innocent man to die, and they are doing it again, right now. To far more people than just Sirius. Azkaban is being filled with innocent mages with the flimsiest connections to crimes and the Ministry would let it all happen without dad. Sirius should have died a hero, he should be remembered as someone good, who protected his community against Death Eaters, but he will be remembered as a crazed fanatic in the history books.”

Bartemius Crouch Junior’s sleeping form presented itself to Percy, where he laid alive but almost dead in an empty hospital bed. There were no friends to visit him, and there was no family to sit by him as he struggled to recover from something which had never been recorded as something which could be overcome. A pale, hollow shell of somebody whose life had been stolen by his very own father. Not only once, but at the very least twice. Percy knew that now, as he had dared to read the file which Albus Dumbledore’s testimony had shaped. As desperation and hunger for the truth had made him read it. Percy didn’t blindly trust in the old wizard, but he had seen enough to not doubt the statement. Percy could still recall Crouch Senior calling himself a monster when Percy had attempted to defend him. Crouch Senior himself had been certain of his own guilt. 

Bill looked between his brothers and then sighed, hugging himself before he spoke up. “Sirius was not flawless. He was rather damaged from his years in Azkaban, but he wasn’t a bad friend. Might have been somewhat of a bad person, but that isn’t a sin, no matter what people might think.” His gaze came to rest upon George. “He was one of your idols growing up, right?” 

“He was, but I really didn’t know it at the time,” George confirmed with a weak smile. 

Percy was glad that he didn’t try to explain it. He didn’t feel like he was ready to try and understand that particular part yet. A lot of other things were more important to his mind than understanding that cryptic reference. “Why are you telling me all this?” He searched for George’s eyes but then avoided his gaze. It was too steady while his own was far too weak to meet it. “What do you want from me?” 

“From you?” George sounded surprised as he raised his eyebrows at the comment. “I don’t want anything from you, Perc. I just want you to know the truth.” 

“And what truth is that?” Percy felt defensive as he turned his head away, staring into a corner like a stubborn child. “That the Ministry of Magic is evil? That the Death Eaters and Dark Lord supporters are all innocent? That I’ve been wrong about everything?” He was slightly surprised and all the more frightened by the anger which seeped into his voice. 

“Wouldn’t that be easy?” Bill snorted, prompting Percy to look towards him with a sharp scowl. “If we could just call everything black and white and then clock out early.” 

“You haven’t been wrong about everything,” George interrupted whatever it was that Percy had been about to answer, which was probably for the better. “You simply didn’t have all the facts to know. Which is why I’m telling you now. So that you will know.” 

“You are not asking me to become some spy for the Order of the Phoenix, are you?” Percy crossed his arms over his chest, staring displeased at his younger brother in what he hoped wasn’t a threatening manner. “I am willing to accept that Minister Scrimgeour isn’t perfect, but his methods are yielding results and a lot of people feel safe with his guidance and protection. Sure, his methods are harsh and it is true that there have likely been… mistakes,” he licked his lips, “in some condemned criminals. Yet surely it is better that few suffer for the overall happiness of the masses?” 

“You mean for the Greater Good?” Bill asked in a calm voice, his face completely emotionless. 

It would have hurt less if Bill had physically cut him open. It would have hurt less if Bill had told him that he had run away because he didn’t want to deal with Percy anymore. All the air escaped Percy as he finally broke down crying in his own hands. It was too much and he knew that what Scrimgeour was doing was wrong. He knew that he, himself and personally, was contributing to that wrong, but he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t see any other solution. The badge of the Ministry of Magic was so heavy that it had kept him at the bottom of a sea of lies. Now that he had taken the badge off and was reunited with people who hadn’t breathed those lies for so long that they mistook the water for air, Percy had surfaced and realised once and for all that he was drowning. Going under once more was utterly unimaginable. It would kill him this time. 

Then George was there, next to him, kneeling by him and hugging him. Like Percy had hugged the frightened or hurt twins when they were boys. Then Bill was on his other side, hesitation forgotten as he too hugged his younger brother. One of Percy’s hands found George’s sleeve and the other one Bill’s shirt as he clung to them in return, not entirely sure of whose shoulder he was actually pressing his face against. He apologised. Profoundly and for everything, even things which he knew to not be his fault, and things he had always denied to be his fault. It was messy, it was loud, and it was the reaction to finally seeing the sunlight again after so many years at the bottom of the ocean. 

Somewhere during that breakdown, Percy admitted to himself what he knew to be true but had denied. He had done the same thing which he blamed Bill and Charlie for doing, in that he had run away also. He had waited until everyone was older, and he had even stayed at home for one more year before he started at Hogwarts at the age of twelve, but in the end, he had fled. Percy realised that he understood his two older brothers perfectly fine, and that he had followed in their footsteps despite telling himself that he was somehow better for staying longer. In fact, it had been Bill and Charlie’s right to leave, just as it had been Percy’s. It wasn’t because they were cruel or even because they disliked their family or siblings. It was because they had every right to leave the place where they were hurting, and instead find a place where they were happy. If their happiness wasn’t with the Weasley family, then they owed it to themselves to leave, not to their family to stay. 

As he clung to one of them while also both of them, George and Bill looked at one another over the curly locks of Percy’s head. 

Bill smiled weakly, “we never did order that pizza.” 

Somehow, you did it. You reached him. 

George chuckled weakly in return. “Better get on that soon. I’m a little hungry.”

I knew I could. 

Chapter Text

Harry, 

if you get this message, meet me at the upper floor of the castle. Go as far East as you can come and wait for me. 

Everything is fine, but don’t try to contact me. It’s too big of a risk. 

I love you. 

The letter was short and evidently scribbled in an unsteady hand, but the hand was nonetheless recognisably Draco’s. The letter was immensely reassuring to Harry, who pressed it tightly to his chest as he beamed at Dobby, who had just delivered it to him. The two were standing in Harry’s room, giving Harry the opportunity to not hold any of his feelings back in an attempt to remain dignified. Thus, Dobby was the one to face the blunt of the young mage’s tremendous happiness. 

Dobby had been in the middle of explaining how Draco had managed to sneak him the letter, managing to hurriedly tell the former House Elf to bring it to Harry, when the son of a werewolf picked the elf up and kissed both his cheeks in a display of gratitude. Dobby’s large eyes blinked at Harry as his face rapidly turned red. He chuckled weakly and shook his head, giving the overjoyed teenager a crooked smile as he was placed back upon the floor. 

“Really?” Dobby straightened his clothes, still smiling. “You’re much too young for me, Harry.” 

Harry laughed in return as he more or less spun around the room with the letter pressed to his chest, feeling silly with joy. Draco had written to him. They were going to meet up. Hermione and Neville were making progress with the Floo Powder and Al and Severus were on their side, aware and assisting them. Just a little more… things would be alright. Not good, not perfect, but it would be alright. 

“I guess you only have eyes for older elves?” Harry teased his friend back, referring to Kreacher. 

“Well,” Dobby’s ears twitched slightly as he covered up a smile with one of his hands. “He’s awfully handsome. Too bad he isn’t so much an elf as a House Elf. If I asked him out for something to eat or drink, he’d sooner report me for hate crimes than he would accept my invitation.” It was evident that Dobby was joking, judging by the way he was grinning at Harry. 

“Have you always had a dark sense of humor?” If Harry hadn’t been so overjoyed for the moment, the comment would have frightened him slightly, or at the very least have made him uncomfortable. 

“I discovered my humor in the far recesses of my mind, in a very dark and dusty corner. Naturally, it proved to be very dark as well,” Dobby sounded satisfied with his own joke. He was all the more satisfied when Harry snorted at it. 

“Would Kreacher really try and report you for hate crimes if you asked him out?” Harry couldn’t help but at the very least ask.

“Oh no,” Dobby shook his head. “There is no division which would accept hate crimes as real when directed towards what they perceive as a House Elf.”

Harry felt his spirits sink somewhat.

“Want to join me and Hermione in being politicians when we grow up?” In an attempt to keep the mood at least a little cheerful, Harry made a joke which was only about twenty percent joke and eighty percent serious. 

Dobby considered the proposal before he surprised Harry by nodding. “You know what? That might not be so bad.” He thought some more as a smile reformed itself upon his lips. “Might not be so bad at all, actually.” 

Dobby had likely managed to deliver the message almost right after Draco gave it to him, which made it possible for Harry to simply leave his room after Dobby had departed, and then sneak his way upstairs to wait. He recalled what Draco had said about the entrance to the attic being hidden behind a false wall, but he had no other information than that and ‘East.’ They might be clues but they weren’t precisely directions. 

Hidden underneath his invisibility cloak, Harry ascended within the castle until he could reach neither higher nor more East. All which was waiting for him was a pale marble statue in the shape of a satyr which had been absolutely covered in colorful writing, spelling out phrases as ‘F loves A’, ‘Filch’s cat is an animagus in disguise’ and ‘Achilles and Patroclus were lovers, Stuart!’ As Harry pulled his invisibility cloak off to breathe, since he had not only lost his breath but become somewhat sweaty from his tense but altogether uneventful tour through the castle, Harry wondered if F and A were Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson. 

Harry waited for what felt like five hours, but which was actually only five minutes. He was restless, his heart was beating too fast for comfort, and the sweating only appeared to become worse the more time slowly passed. Finally, Harry couldn’t stand it any longer, and so he elected to implement his previous comfort strategy, namely to become a snake. 

After securing all of his items by the statue and underneath the invisibility cloak, Harry transformed. The world was immediately less overwhelming, and the snake breathed a snakely sigh of relief as he curled together in a corner opposite of where he had come from. After bundling himself up there, he rested his head upon his body and stared with unblinking eyes towards the end of the corridor. He didn’t need to look as the vibrations were enough to catch his attention, but if he didn’t pay visual attention, Harry feared that he might go mad. At least temporarily mad. 

A loud, trembling vibration jolted Harry awake and he raised his head to send a warning hiss towards the person, in case they thought it wise to try and step on him. Yet his opinion changed the moment he spotted the pale shape of Draco standing in the other end of the corridor, his eyes on Harry and his cane raised to tap the ground again. Harry’s annoyance was completely forgotten as he made his way over to Draco with a few flicks of his powerful body. It took until he was located by Draco’s feet to realise why he couldn’t hear his friend, and why the world was so silent. Snake. The answer was snake. Somehow, he had managed to fall asleep in the pleasant bundle of his own body as the cold of the empty castle chilled it into sleep. 

In a flurry of limbs, Harry came to stand in front of Draco, beaming at him and about to speak. However, Draco recognised his intentions and placed a gloved hand over Harry’s mouth, silencing him with a weak hush. Harry signalled that he understood, but Draco signed back for him to be completely silent as he let his face go. The son of a werewolf understood and agreed with a thumbs up, a gesture one of the Weasley twins had taught him once upon a long past summer. 

Draco took Harry’s hand and led him towards the other end of the corridor, where the snake had previously fallen asleep due to the cold. No matter how happy Harry was in following his secret boyfriend, it hurt to notice how badly off Draco’s body appeared to be, as what had previously appeared to be a slight limp seemed far more severe when Harry felt the body’s movements through their interconnected hands. 

Draco reached the wall and led him through it. Looking back, Harry could see that only a small part of the wall was actually an opening, rather than the entire thing. It meant that even if he had touched the wall on his own, he might not have figured that it was the correct, open one, based on being unable to locate the place where the old brickwork actually parted. 

In the darkness behind the wall, Harry could see nothing. The sound of the cane hitting wood and Draco beginning to ascend made Harry aware of the fact that he was leading him up a set of stairs. The scent of dust and a vague, oddly sweet smell which might be rot or mold, drifted over towards Harry, crowding his nose as they reached the top of the stairs, beyond which a dim light was visible. Draco pulled Harry into a room which he couldn’t see, and closed a door behind them which had been invisible to Harry. Once the door was actually shut, Draco turned towards his secret boyfriend. In the dim light, his pale face and hair were the only things which Harry’s eyes could really make out. 

“You might want to close your eyes for a second,” Draco spoke up in a quiet tone which was not a whisper. 

“Done,” came the response. 

“Lumos.” Draco’s response did not mask the fact that he was smiling. 

Once Harry had slowly adjusted to the light which came from Draco’s cane, he focused on his partner with a weak yet nonetheless honest smile upon his lips. “Hello,” his voice said. I love you, the tone conveyed. 

Draco smiled in return, leaning his head only ever so slightly to the side. “I hope I didn’t disturbed your evening?” 

“By making it better?” Harry raised an eyebrow, allowing himself to chuckle despite keeping his voice down to below conversation tone. “By allowing me to spend time with you outside of the hospital ward?” 

“Oh very well. You’ve made your point,” the unwilling Death Eater sighed. 

“Before I fully take in this attic space, may I ask you a question?” Harry quickly spoke up when it appeared like Draco was about to turn around. 

With his attention fully on Harry, Draco turned back. “As long as it is not about… my glorious mission, I shall hear it.” 

“It’s about the cane,” Harry gestured towards it. “I, well… I was under the impression that it was your father’s wand. Are you using Mr. Malfoy’s wand? Can you use it?” 

Draco shook his head, his chapped lips having formed into a smile. “This is a cane with a place for a wand. The snake’s head comes off. Any wand can be stored within it, not only my father’s.” 

Harry frowned. “And it doesn’t affect your ability to cast magic in the least?” 

“I don’t think it would be any good in a life or death situation, but most people don’t have to worry about those very often,” the smile on Draco’s lips was still there, yet it had become somewhat bitter. 

“I envy most people,” Harry sighed, only half joking. 

“I’m sure you do, boy-who-lived.” It didn’t sound so horrible when Draco said it like that. “If that is all, would you like me to show you around?” 

“Please do, Lord Malfoy.” Tease and get teased in return. 

Draco was most definitely smiling. He gestured around the room with his father’s cane, displaying the space to his secret boyfriend. Attic space was too small a word to describe what was revealing itself to Harry in the magical light. While the space was not impressive in the upwards direction, the size of it as it spread both to the left and the right, creating a long corridor, was at least the length of half the Great Hall. It appeared to have once been divided into smaller rooms within the larger room, but the walls had been torn down and replaced by walls built out of storage boxes, forgotten or too old equipment, as well as the odd thing which Harry couldn’t make sense of. In a corner, he spotted what he assumed to have been part of Al’s planetarium once, but he couldn’t begin to guess how it had ended up there. Faint light came from the ends of the hall-like room, but the sky outside of the windows was quickly darkening, diminishing that light by the second. As Harry trailed after Draco as he headed left, he caught sight of Draco’s breath in the air and realised at last that it was cold in the attic space. He wrapped his arms around himself and used his magic to heat himself up, trembling slightly. His footsteps left some marks upon the dust on the floor, but he was mostly following Draco’s trail which had been created out of repeated visits. 

Draco stopped at the other end of the attic space and in front of an old but sizably large open fireplace made out of dusty grey bricks. It appeared fragile, but clean. To the right of the fireplace stood a collection of firewood in a rusty basket and in front of it laid a bed shaped out of a mattress and with a collection of blankets upon it. That answered the question of where Draco had been when he wasn’t sleeping in his dormitory, however the knowledge furthered Harry’s sympathy for his best friend’s horrible plight. 

The unwilling Death Eater followed Harry’s gaze before he smiled weakly and shrugged. “It wasn’t very comfortable, but at least I got away from Crabbe’s watchful eye.” 

The name left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth as he swallowed. “I’m so sorry.” 

The statement surprised them both because it was a little too honest and unfittingly raw. 

“There was nothing you could do that-” Draco began, but he was interrupted. 

“I know!” Harry’s words were a little too loud as they bounced against the many item-walls which surrounded the two secret boyfriends. “I… I know,” his voice was less loud as he tried again. “I know, but that doesn’t make me feel better. I know, but I am still sorry that I couldn’t help you. I hated seeing Crabbe being like that. He was so… touchy, and it didn’t appear like you wanted it. It’s been weighing on my mind and I hate to ask but I need to know… He didn’t… force you into more, right?” He couldn’t look Draco in the eyes as he asked, he could only focus on his own feet and his trembling hands. 

One of Draco’s hands found Harry’s and gently closed around it, before Draco rested his head against Harry’s, scarred forehead meeting scarred forehead. “Nothing happened. He is still dating Pat Parkinson, and he wouldn’t do that to her.” 

“Thank Merlin,” Harry breathed out and squeezed Draco’s hand back, closing his eyes as their foreheads remained connected. “I mean… It’s not that I wanted to think-”

“I really would rather not talk about it,” Draco sighed, interrupting Harry before he could be too considerate and bring up more unpleasant memories. 

His secret boyfriend shut his mouth, realising that now truly wasn’t the time to push and risk hurting Draco worse. After all, his body was already giving in from stress and anxiety, it wouldn’t do to push him when he explicitly said no. It was never an alight thing to do, but even less in this scenario. Thus, Harry changed the topic, “was there something you wanted to show me here?” 

Draco sighed, leaning heavily on his father’s cane before shrugging without conviction. “It is not that I wanted you to see something as I wanted to spend time with you. After meeting in the hospital wing, and realising once and for all how much I’ve missed you, I wanted to simply be with you. This is the only place at Hogwarts where I know for certain that we can be left alone.” Draco glanced around himself, then sighed once more. “Rather gloomy, I admit, but it was all that I could think of.” 

Harry’s smile was gentle as he leaned his head to the side, attempting to his fullest to not allow pity and worry to cloud his expression. “It’s a little gloomy, yes, but it’s better with you here.” That wasn’t really what he wanted to say. He wanted to say much more, and wanted to not speak at all at the same time. As he did not trust his voice, he reached out to touch Draco’s right arm instead, with the intent of simply laying a supportive hand upon his boyfriend’s body.

Instead, what happened was so terrifyingly visceral that Harry would always struggle to forget it. 

Draco flinched.

It might be a simple reaction, but it was horrifying in its simplicity. Perhaps even because it was so simple, and yet so telling. Fear flickered over Draco’s features, made paler and yet deeper by the light from his cane, his eyes widening as if they appeared to want to absorb the magical brightness from the world and hide his physical reaction to Harry’s touch. Yet for all his fear Draco did not make a sound. 

The two secret boyfriends stared at one another, Harry terrified and Draco disgusted with himself and embarrassed in an attempt to hide his own discomfort. Sometime during the time when they had been separated, someone had made Draco fear touches. Someone, or even more than one person, had caused even the gentle touch of a beloved to seem frightening, something to shy away from, rather than embrace. To the rather physical and perhaps even needy Harry, having someone fear his touches hurt incredibly much. So much so that his eyes were wet with tears and his voice thick with emotions as he apologised immediately. 

“No, don’t say that,” Draco was closer then, his arms closing around Harry and pulling him into a desperate embrace. “It’s not your fault. If it’s you, I always want you to touch me. I… I might not be able to help the ways in which my body reacts, but you have to believe me when I say that I do want you to touch me. Always.” 

The reassurance helped Harry to dare wrapping his arms around his boyfriend in return, hugging him closely. “A-are you sure?” His words faltered slightly as he made himself speak. 

“Yes,” Draco reassured him, almost whispering directly into Harry’s ear in his familiar tone of voice. The tone which had been so dearly missed in Harry’s life. “Don’t ever feel bad, or even hesitant in touching me. I truly want it if it’s you.” 

Harry nodded against his boyfriend’s shoulder, allowing himself to relax again as the fear and worry settled within his body. “I suppose it really is… Gloomy here,” he concluded out loud. “Would you like to go someplace else? After all, my room is hidden. Only our friends know where it is.” 

Draco considered the proposal, then took a look around them before he nodded, quickly and shortly. “Yes… It’s a bit of a risk, but as long as we are careful…” 

Harry nodded enthusiastically in return, “we will be.” 

While it was rather nerve wracking to make it back to Harry’s room in the hospital wing under the same invisibility cloak with a Draco who struggled to move, they managed. Rather than having the cane make continuous sounds, Draco was mostly leaning on Harry instead, while Harry held onto said cane for him. The castle was even emptier than when Harry had sneaked through it, and Mrs. Norris didn’t actually care about them when they did run into and then passed her. Perhaps she was getting old, perhaps she had missed them completely, or perhaps the cat which had appeared so evil to the eleven year olds simply didn’t care enough about them to report to her Master with the current climate at the school being what it was. Nonetheless, Draco was now standing in Harry’s little hidden room, like a phantom of past days entering the modern world. 

“So this is where you’ve been…” Draco looked around in the small room, passively interested in what he was seeing. His trembling legs gave him away as tired however, and thus Harry insisted upon him sitting down on the bed, rather than remain standing in an effort to appear dignified. “It’s funny, I can see quite the number of traces of other people here, yet it is recognisably yours.” Draco laughed weakly as he studied the desk in front of him. 

Harry looked and spotted some additional vials of the snake venom antidote which Hermione had made, the jumping werewolf created by Teddy, a plant gifted to Harry by Neville, and a collection of photographs taken by Colin. Further, there were letters from Remus, origami birds given to Harry from Al, as well as old jewellery gifted to him from both the Malfoys and the Blacks. 

Draco was studying the portraits which Colin had taken of Harry with a weak smile on his lips. “He has become ever so accomplished in that art, and at such a young age. Naturally, it’s not perfect, that would be naïve to claim, but he has improved.”

Harry sat down and looked at the photographs, his hand resting on top of Draco’s as they finally sat side by side once again. Like they should. “I wish I had some pictures with Colin in them too. It feels a little sad that he is always behind the camera, and not in front of it.” 

“Some people are happier like that, but I do agree with you.” Draco’s gaze found Harry’s and he smiled weakly, honestly and lovingly. “It’s been good to know that you haven’t been isolated and alone this year.” 

Harry leaned closer, telegraphing what he was doing so as to not startle his traumatised boyfriend. He stopped just short of his lips, enjoying the scent which might not be entirely familiar, but yet possessing the undertones of his beloved friend. “They’ve been so patient with me, I really love them. This year has sort of been hard for everyone. I also made friends with Albus Dumbledore himself. He taught me so many things that I want to tell you all about in detail.” He trailed off, absently studying Draco’s lashes as he thought about kissing him and never stopping. 

“Mhm…” Draco responded. He might very well not have heard anything, as he was too busy looking directly at Harry’s lips. 

Harry couldn’t remember who leaned in all the way, but they were suddenly, or perhaps not suddenly at all, kissing. At first, the kisses were almost shy and explorative, but they weren’t for long. Their shared desire grew, and soon they were more or less interconnected, limbs lacing together and breaths flowing over breaths. There was a sort of familiar fire burning inside Harry’s stomach and his lower regions, and a somewhat careless slip of his leg confirmed to him that he wasn’t the only one excited beyond simply his racing heart. 

Then there was a knock on the door. 

Harry and Draco separated from each other as if they had been burnt, their earlier desire completely smothered by fear. Draco was furthest into the room, and his cane had fallen to the floor. He was essentially trapped. 

In his panic, Harry didn’t think too hard, but he thought fast. He more or less threw himself on the ground to get to his invisibility cloak, scraping his knee at the same time but managing to throw it to Draco. Draco gave Harry a somewhat alarmed, worried look, but then he was gone, having disappeared in a flurry of fabric which then settled into non-existence as the magic of the cloak was activated. From Harry’s somewhat newfound position on the floor, he kicked the cane under the bed. It made a loud noise as it rolled out of sight, hidden by objects rather than magic. 

However, Harry didn’t have enough time to get up as the door opened. He could only watch in horror as it slid open, both far too quickly, and yet mockingly, painfully slowly. Harry couldn’t tell which one was more accurate as the blood throbbed in his chest and rushed loudly in his ears. 

Thus it was that Colin found Harry on the floor, arms stretched out and legs sprawled behind him, looking terrified and then relieved when he realised just who had knocked on the door. 

“I heard a loud crash… Are you alright?” Colin was by Harry in a few steps and knelt down by him, forgetting to shut the door in his hurry to make sure that his not-boyfriend wasn’t hurt. 

Harry answered by laughing and then captured Colin in a hug, pulling him down on the floor. “Oh Colin, you scared us!” 

“Us…?” Colin blinked as he returned the hug. 

The door closed behind Colin, whereupon it locked itself. Only when he had done that did Draco pull the invisibility cloak off, revealing himself to Colin. “You did indeed scare us,” he confirmed, managing to almost sound unbothered by the disruption. 

“Oh fuu...llo. Hello.” Colin grabbed Harry harder as a person appeared out of nowhere. Harry felt him swallow once, and heard his heart race before Colin managed to calm down. “Hello, Malfoy. Are the two of you finally back together? Ah, wait, no, that came out wrong…” Colin realised what he had said and made an effort to amend it, but instead ended up stumbling over his words. “What I mean to say is, is that it is nice to see you again.” 

“Nice save,” Harry chuckled weakly before he leaned in and kissed Colin’s cheek, then pulled back to go and retrieve Draco’s cane. He could have leaned in and picked it up from under the bed, but instead he used magic to call it to Draco, upon which it was returned to him. 

“Thanks?” Colin stood and brushed himself off. His cheeks then became rather red as he realised something. “I didn’t bother the two of you, right? I just meant to check up on Harry, I kind of had this silly but really bad nightmare and I really felt like I needed to see him. Just to calm myself down,” he rambled in quick succession. 

“You couldn’t have known,” Draco spoke, trying to adjust his hair after the assault of the invisibility cloak. He was doing a rather decent job in recovering from the earlier fright, but the effects were revealed upon him in the form of his trembling hands and slightly shaking legs. “Although it might have been more polite to not enter until you had been given permission.” 

“Yeah, uh… that would have been clever, but I really thought Harry just fell and might have hurt himself,” Colin rubbed the back of his neck, shifting from side to side. 

“I technically did fall…” Harry stifled another laughter of relief with his hand. “So you weren’t wrong about that.” 

“Did you hurt yourself too?” Colin said as both he and Draco focused on Harry. 

“No…” he tried. 

“Liar,” both Draco and Colin spoke as one. 

Harry licked his lips and looked to the side, trying not to rest his weight upon the slightly bruised knee. “Oh come on…” he mumbled. 

Draco smiled weakly but with an amused glint in his eyes as Colin chuckled into his hand. 

Colin then turned to Draco, carefully maneuvering the, to him, rather unknown territory which was Harry’s best friend. “I know we don’t know each other very well, so I won’t assault you by asking how you’ve been or what you’ve been up to. I won’t even ask if you’re alright since you couldn’t possibly be, but I want you to know that it’s really nice to be able to talk to you again. With the whole I’m a Muggle-born and you’re a Pureblood waltz, I mean.” 

“Please, I overcame that when I was twelve,” Draco laughed weakly and shook his head. “You’ve improved my mental health quite some this year through the knowledge that you’ve kept Harry company when he needed it. Not that he is a puppy who demands constant company or anything, but it was very emotionally calming to know that he had someone as reliable as you to keep him company.” 

Harry and Colin blushed equally much, but due to Harry’s darker skin, he told himself it wasn’t as visible on him. It was still very visible on his body language though. The two not-boyfriends glanced at one another, and then both quickly looked to the side. 

“Well,” Colin finally found his voice. “Puppies are cute.” 

Draco smiled, “very cute.” The way his gaze travelled over Harry and Colin made them both feel as if he was somehow talking about them, rather than the offspring of dogs. “The bed is big enough for three people to sit on, would you like to stay a little longer, Colin?” 

Blushing once more at the use of his first name, Colin turned to Harry. “You don’t mind?” He sounded hopeful. 

Harry considered if he minded or not. He recalled the annoyance he had felt when Hermione had interrupted his time alone with Colin sometime before the winter Holidays, but he felt none of that annoyance for the moment. He very much wanted to be alone with Draco, but that didn’t mean that Colin couldn’t stay for a little while, as Harry had decided that Draco was sleeping in his bed tonight, and not upon that thin, cold mattress up in the attic. He would accept no complaints. 

Harry then thought about the situation from another point of view, namely if there would ever be a time where the three of them could spend time together like this again? The thought was depressing, seeing as the answer appeared to be a rather decided ‘unlikely.’ This might be their only chance, as their lives might rip them apart so thoroughly that the three very differently born mages might never be allowed the comfort of each other’s company again. To simply remove Colin right that second, and thus risk losing this very unique opportunity, wasn’t something which Harry wanted. 

“Please stay,” the son of a werewolf said. “At least for a while?” 

The way Colin’s face lit up assisted Harry in knowing that he made the right choice. Simply seeing his happiness made Harry feel happier. 

Harry, Draco and Colin spent a rather pleasant evening and beginning of the night together. Harry was more or less sitting over his boyfriend’s and not-boyfriend’s legs, looking at them both with the feeling of being starstruck. The two of them were both handsome, and both blonde, but in very different ways. Despite Draco being the one with an active interest in sports, Colin appeared to be the more athletic of the two, even though he wasn’t. 

To Harry, Draco felt like the moon, calm, collected and soothing, while Colin was the warming sun, open and bright and energising. Looking at the two of them next to one another and knowing that they all got along made Harry feel at peace with the fact that he really loved them both, but in slightly different ways. He made no effort in deciding who he loved the most, or who he wanted to be with the most, simply because he didn’t need to. Harry could be with both of them, he loved both of them, so why depress himself by ‘what ifs’ and doubts? Those what ifs weren't relevant or real.

There was no need to compare, as they weren’t the same person. Both Draco and Colin offered different things, and Harry decided to drink from both their cups, happily accepting both their tastes in how different and unique they were. Some might call that greedy, Harry called it wise, as did most of the mage community. 

When the clock approached midnight, Colin decided that he needed to sleep. He understood that Harry likely wanted to be alone with Draco for the night, and so he didn’t ask to stay. Instead, he walked to the door, accompanied by Harry and a slightly unsteady Draco, who appeared far more tired than both the other wizards together. Yet, he followed Colin and Harry to the door, standing by Harry’s side as they said good night. 

“Colin…” Harry drew the attention of his sun-like friend back as Colin placed his hand upon the door handle.

Harry gathered all his courage and then asked without managing to look at Colin’s face. “M-may I kiss you? Before you go? I… I feel like… I can do it now. For you. Uh, I mean, just for you…” 

“Eloquent,” Draco softly teased Harry from beside him. 

Harry gave him a sharp look, but the sharpness melted with love as he looked upon the creature of moonlight whom he had the pleasure of dating. He just couldn’t stay upset, especially not right now. 

“You want one? Really?” Colin was clearly nervous, but he was also evidently excited as he let go of the door handle. “Can I?” His gaze travelled between the two of them, as if he was asking them both permission. 

Draco scoffed, but it didn’t escape Harry’s and Colin’s notice that his cheeks had turned ever so slightly red. “That is between the two of you, whatever are you looking to me for?” 

Colin turned to face Harry, “are you sure?” 

“I am,” Harry stifled a laugh as he reached out and placed his arms around Colin’s neck, smiling up at the slightly taller teenager. “I think I told you that I wanted it, but I wasn’t ready. I feel like I am now.”

Colin moved his arms around Harry in return, smiling softly at him as he steadily began to drown within Harry’s eyes, or at least so he appeared to be doing. “Wow…” was all he could muster. 

The kiss proved Harry to be right. He wasn’t thinking of Draco, but only of Colin, enjoying the scent which was his, the feeling of him, as well as the taste which he left upon his lips. When they parted, the familiar, pleasant feeling of warmth had returned to Harry’s stomach. 

Colin’s eyes fluttered open and the two of them looked at one another, smiling both openly and honestly.

“Wow…” Colin repeated weakly. “That was… I’m… wow…” The last word was more of a whimper. 

Harry laughed gently as he let the other go, still more or less giggling to himself as he took a step back, beaming at Colin. He truly hadn’t been that good at kissing, but that was to be expected from someone less experienced. Yet it felt good. Everything felt good and nothing had been bad. 

“Cute,” Draco commented, most evidently amused by their open and honest excitement from their, not too great but still wonderful, kiss. Harry could tell that he had enjoyed the display personally as well.

Colin returned to bright-red-land and scoffed defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not like I don’t know that you’re better than I at that,” he objected. 

Then Draco was standing in front of Colin, and before either Harry or Colin knew what he was doing, Draco had moved in to kiss Colin on the lips, unabashedly connecting the two of them in what to Harry was a very, very appealing display of a kiss. Colin blinked before he more or less melted into the kiss, showing no regrets to having been kissed by his not-boyfriend’s boyfriend. 

When they parted, Draco gave Colin a mischievous smirk, “I think you have plenty of potential.” 

Colin supported himself against the door as he attempted to comprehend what had just happened to him. His gaze came to settle on Harry and he blinked at him as if he had just woken up from a dream. “Holy Hell, I was just kissed by Draco Malfoy!” he told his not-boyfriend. 

Harry nodded, feeling a little nervous over what he thought was a bit of an overstep on Draco’s part. “So you were,” he confirmed. 

“Holy Hell,” Colin repeated, more to himself than anyone else. “I was… I mean, Harry was always a possibility. A kind of distant, happy, almost impossible but still possible possibility. Draco Malfoy himself is like… it’s like… That wasn’t even something I would have been stupid enough to dream about!” 

Draco chuckled weakly as he sat down on the bed, smiling at them from it. “You’re both rather like puppies.” 

“I have to go now before my ability to walk is stolen by my emotions,” Colin leaned in and hugged Harry before kissing him on the cheek. “Love you, sleep well.” 

And before Harry could properly wave him off, Colin was gone, almost skipping down the corridor like a joyful alpaca. He had evidently wanted both kisses, and had apparently been overjoyed to have them both kiss him. 

“You know,” Harry scolded Draco as he locked the door and climbed up on top of him on the bed. “You really should have asked before you did something like that.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow, “I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t known he wanted it. Which he did, he has been wanting it all evening.” 

“Are you a mind reader?” 

“No, but-”

“Then there is no knowing for sure. You should have asked first.” Harry settled on top of Draco’s chest, trying to not put too much weight on him. 

Draco surrendered as he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend. “You are correct. I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t think as far as that.” 

“Bad Draco,” Harry joked as he flicked his partner’s nose lightly. 

“Oh fine, I guess I was,” Draco groaned as he hugged Harry back, pulling him close and then kissed his head. 

Harry’s answer was not a response but a yawn. “Sorry, I mean, that’s good. Just don’t do it again. Since it did turn out to be what Colin wanted, I don’t want to force you to apologise but do be mindful.” 

“You do seem to have found yourself a pleasant not-secret boyfriend.” Draco settled back against Harry’s pillows, sighing weakly as he allowed himself to stretch out. 

“We’re not boyfriends. We’re not-boyfriends,” Harry explained sleepily as he nuzzled against Draco’s chest. 

“That didn’t make any sense, dear,” Draco tapped his head before he began to pull his fingers through Harry’s long, slightly tangled hair. 

“Mhm…” Harry shuddered with pleasure, wondering but not daring to ask if Draco wanted to do that with him. It didn’t feel fair to ask him for it right then, simply because he was worried that they wouldn’t have the chance again. 

“We’re not dating, but we are sort of friends with cuddle benefits. And now kissing privileges,” he added proudly. 

The Pureblood wizard understood. “I’m glad you’ve found that.” 

“Only downside is that Colin is scared of snakes,” Harry sighed, sinking deeply into the scent of his beloved.  

“Why is… Oh, yes. The Basilisk.” 

“Secrets.” 

Draco chuckled and kissed Harry's scarred forehead in response. “I love you.” 

Harry hugged his boyfriend closely to himself, smiling widely into the fabric of Draco’s shirt. For that night, at least for right now, everything felt right and nothing was wrong. 

“I love you too.” 

Chapter Text

Despite having been so worried about the night with Draco being their final night together, it proved to not be.

While Draco was officially still working on completing his mission, hidden somewhere in the castle, he was actually spending all the time he could together with Harry in his room. They couldn’t speak or even really look at one another outside of that small room, but within it, they were allowed to be boyfriends again, which they had both missed immensely. While it wasn’t quite the same as before, it was nonetheless wonderful to be allowed that comfort. Every night felt like the final night as the two of them worried about whether they'd be forced to part, but they didn't let it stop them from trying to remain together.

For all that Crabbe and the Dark Lord sympathisers knew, nothing had changed for Draco, which was the way they wanted to make it appear. They believed his important task to near its deadline which made him far too busy to remain around them. Yet Hermione, Neville, Teddy and Ron were informed of the fact that Harry and Draco had managed to figure out a way for them to be together in secret, and so they all stayed away from Harry’s room out of consideration for the two friends and secret boyfriends being allowed time together. Al was informed by Harry, and Severus was informed through Al, making it so that the adults knew the situation as well. 

Further, to Harry’s surprise and great excitement, Draco and Colin appeared interested in one another as well. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely romantic on their part, but they were at the very least evidently happy to be physically close with one another and even kiss. Yet they were taking it slow, partly because they were both aware of their political situation brought about by their blood, and partly because Draco was not physically able to give himself to yet another relationship. He was far too exhausted and tired to fully be himself. 

Draco was sick a lot, but he wasn’t sick with anything infectious as much as his body was failing him. He continued to apply the ointment upon his fingers, and he slept a lot in Harry’s bed, going through a collection of fevers brought about by the mental abuse which Draco’s body had been put through. Draco desperately needed rest and water above everything else, as his body had finally realised that he was no longer completely alone in such an extreme situation and it could revert from its state of panic and survival. While Harry wanted nothing more than to help care for Draco, he had to remain in school so as to not wake suspicions in anyone. Thus the work fell on the ever reliable Dobby, who was almost as worried as Harry was for the state of Draco’s body. 

“Say, Colin,” Harry asked as he held onto his not-boyfriend’s hand, while the two of them wandered around the school grounds rather aimlessly. The cold was persistent and there was still snow upon the ground, as if nature was attempting to apologise for the horrendously warm summer of 1995. The grounds were desolate that early morning, which was why Harry decided to speak up. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you would want to become not not-boyfriends, but boyfriends?” Harry looked up at the other’s face, smiling weakly at him to hide his own nervousness. “It’s not that I don’t like it as it is, but enough time has passed that I feel like I should ask again. I wouldn’t mind it, but I’m also equally happy as it is. I feel like you wouldn’t be ‘punished’ or something, by me struggling to overcome my past relationship.” 

Colin nodded along to Harry’s words as he focused on the path before them. He had almost fallen once that day, he wasn’t about to risk another meeting with the ground. “Thanks for asking me,” he began, “I’ve been thinking about it too and I feel like I would actually want to try being your official boyfriend, if you will have me? If it doesn’t work, we can always go back to being not-boyfriends, right? We don’t actually have to tell anyone about it, right?” He thought for a moment. “Or rather, we should tell Draco, but other than that, can’t it just be like… our secret?” 

Harry felt his heart jump with joy and he pulled Colin to a halt so that he could hug him, feeling himself almost vibrate with said joy. Could he have this? He wanted it. He wanted to have two boyfriends and nobody evidently minded. There was likely a war coming, maybe throwing caution to the wind wasn’t so bad after all? Colin wanted him, and Harry wanted Colin. Draco didn’t mind it the least. It was really that simple; Harry could have this. 

Their first kiss as official boyfriends was nicer than the first one, and perhaps even more hungry as they shared a moment of heat upon the cold school grounds, embracing one another as they did. 

“I can’t believe this could ever be… I mean… I remember meeting you for the first time and this is just… Nobody could have possibly expected this!” Colin laughed as he nuzzled his nose against Harry’s cheek, grinning widely. “I feel like I’ve somehow cheated the system.” 

Harry laughed as they began to walk again, closer together this time. Harry felt shy and giddy, but in a very pleasant manner. “And what system would that be?” 

“I don’t know, the Muggle system?” Colin chuckled in return, squeezing Harry’s hand. “You know, I don’t think I’m a very big fan of labels in general. I know that they are really important to some people, and I would never take that away from them, but to me, they feel rather constricting. I feel like they define you too much, shapes too many expectations and too many ideas of what a person is at face value. I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with ‘boyfriend’ yet, but for now, I feel rather awesome! I just wanted you to know that I don’t know if it’s what I actually want, yet. You don’t mind that, do you?” 

Harry shook his head. He didn’t mind. However, there was one more thing he wanted to talk to his new boyfriend about. “You and Draco appear to get along very well, which is lovely to see. How do you feel about him? It’s not like you have to date, but I thought I should ask either way.” 

Colin blushed in response, “it’s so easy to see why you love him. I don’t know if I love him too, not like I love you, but I do like him and boy does his kisses do some things to me!” He quickly looked around to make certain that nobody had heard him and then lowered his voice to not risk anyone overhearing. “Basically, I’m having a great time, and I’m happy but so far, I guess you’re the only one in two relationships. However, I have to admit that polyamory doesn’t sound as impossible as it once did. Not with you and Draco. Are you really sure I can call him by his first name though? It feels odd.” 

“It is his name,” Harry reminded him for the fourth time that week. “And he said so himself. He even said so last year, and again this year.” 

Colin hummed and almost slipped on an icy patch as he lost focus of the road. Harry pulled him up again before he could fall. “Well, my point is that it’s a little hard to get over him being practically an aristocrat. And you’re new money, so you’re also pretty impressive, but that leaves me being the peasant of this relationship.” 

“I’m new money? How am I… Oh. Yes. Heir to the Black fortune. I forgot.” Harry gave himself a light mental kick for forgetting what Sirius had given him. Not that he had needed the money, but it offered up wonderful opportunities for further studies, and other things. If there was a future for him. Harry shook those thoughts away. “Well,” he decidedly changed topics. “If it was a book, then you would most definitely be the main character. That’s main character predicament right there.” 

Colin wheezed with laughter at his comment, then pointed over towards a gathering of trees where they would be hidden from the path. “Then would you teach me how to make out over there, Mr. Heathcliff?” 

Somehow, it sounded so forced when Colin said it, but Harry absolutely loved references to literature, and therefore snorted with joy at the statement. “Sure thing, Catherine,” he said as he pulled Colin off the path. 

“Wait, wasn’t she named Cathy?” 

“That’s her daughter.”

“Rats.” 

Colin cursed softly but was immediately distracted as Harry leaned against a tree, pulling Colin with him so that his boyfriend was leaning slightly over him. This was fun, and thrilling, he’d have to bring Draco into a similar position one day, simply for the joy of it. While it was evident that Colin was nervous, he nonetheless shifted into the expected position, placing an arm above Harry’s head and leaned over him. Harry raised a hand to place upon Colin’s cheek after having pulled his glove off. There was also a slight roughness to Colin’s lower face where his stubble had begun to grow, pressing against his palm. 

“Your eyes are very green,” Colin commented. 

Harry could almost hear his heartbeat race in his chest despite their distance to one another. “And yours are brown,” Harry noted with satisfaction. 

“So, uh… I just kiss you?” Colin continued. 

“Hmm,” Harry felt as if he had purred the noise into existence. “You start to kiss, and you become greedy enough to not stop.” He placed his arms around Colin’s neck, looking deep into his eyes. 

“I like ‘inspired’ more,” Colin leaned in, his words formed in a weak pant.  

“I like that better too,” Harry decided. 

Then they kissed, and were indeed inspired enough to not stop for a while. 

School continued like normal, and Harry felt happy in classes for the first time that year. He only needed to think of the fact that Draco was in his room, waiting for him when he finished classes, or that Colin would be there for him at lunch and dinner, to feel like he had enough energy to complete every class and marathon his homework. While he still made an effort to be dignified and collected, he no longer put his hair up the way he had, and had stopped insisting that his name was actually Potter, despite most people feeling like it couldn’t possibly be after all this time denying it.

It was immensely frightening to go back to being called the name which he felt safe and comfortable with, not because of the name, but because it felt as if he had made a grand mistake in insisting on Potter, now fearing that people would use it against him to take away his right to his name. However, most people were indifferent and seemed to go back to calling him Lupin. He stayed away from Crabbe and the supposed Dark Lord sympathisers in general, meaning that he didn't yet know what they called him, although he suspected he knew the answer anyway.

Another Apparition class came and passed, and since some people managed to apparate that lesson, Harry decided to actually try and see if he managed. While the uncomfortable feeling in his body made him regret the choice, he nonetheless managed and was congratulated briefly by the instructors. Harry felt comfortable with the knowledge that he would likely manage apparition if he only continued to work on the magic. 

The Slug Club meetings proceeded as they had throughout the year, with some less members as the students retracted from Hogwarts out of fear of the political tension in the United Kingdom. Yet the spots opened up for other people, and Cho Chang came to attend the Slug Club parties with a brand new badge upon her lapel. She was always seated next to Pat Parkinson, who Draco had informed Harry hated the name Pansy and had begun going by Pat instead, and the two of them appeared to get along very well. Even at her happiest, Parkinson had never before looked so relaxed in her joy. Harry came to notice that Parkinson no longer spent time together with Crabbe, and upon asking Draco, he was informed that something appeared to have happened between the former partners. Crabbe refused to speak of or even look at her, but according to Draco, who wasn’t only confined to a sickbed even if he perhaps should be, Crabbe told everyone else to leave Parkinson alone. 

Professor Slughorn surprised and excited Harry by addressing the group of students in his club, telling them that Harry preferred Lupin to Potter, as was his right to choose, and to change his mind about as well. He also appeared far more relaxed around Harry, who felt like he could afford to be himself around the man and at the club dinners.

The old Professor then surprised Harry once more when Al failed to be there for the students of Hogwarts as he should, when the political world outside of the school demanded his attention and time. Professor Slughorn was attempting to address and unify the students of Hogwarts with the understanding that despite their differences and their blood, they were all mages, and all students at Hogwarts. That hadn’t changed simply because the situation outside of the castle walls had changed. Other teachers tried to do the same, but none was quite as persistent about it as Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall. Harry found that he had expected such actions from the deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, which was why he was more impressed with Professor Slughorn’s efforts to be like her. 

“I felt like I learned a lot from Al, and all that he showed me,” Harry concluded as he finished retelling everything about Al’s memories to Draco. 

Harry had told him about Gellert Grindelwald, about the famous mage duel in the cave, and the lie of the Greatest Wizard of the century, as well as Al’s relationship to Tom Riddle. Speaking about the adoptive dad who hadn’t managed to raise a child, Harry found himself missing his dad immensely. He wanted to tell him everything which had happened, but he knew it wasn’t safe to do so in a letter. He concluded that he would have to write it all down and then give the letter to Kreacher so that he could deliver it to Remus. That would have to be enough for the moment. 

Draco stared into his teacup, his crooked reflection looking back out at nothing as the two proceeded to have a silent stare down. Harry was laying on his legs, looking up at his boyfriend as he waited for him to respond, the two of them struggling to be anywhere within the same space and not touching. Yet here, in their own world, that wasn’t a problem.

Draco startled slightly when he realised that he had zoned out, and he came back by means of rapid blinking. “I… Suppose I feel a little odd in relating to aspects of Professor Dumbledore’s life. However, I must say that it makes me ever so inspired to not simply let go of what I have together with you. It truly puts into perspective how much two people can mean to one another, even when they are apart.” He smiled weakly as he reached out to stroke over Harry’s forehead, moving some of his hair away from his face to see him better. 

Harry returned the smile as he leaned his head against Draco’s fingers, feeling the warmth of the teacup upon the otherwise cold limbs. “It won’t happen to us. I refuse to let it happen.” He whispered the words which felt too important to be said with all the force he had used back at Al’s office. It was a promise, one so delicate and important that it couldn’t be vocalised too forcefully, yet it might be broken. 

“I know…” Draco placed the cup aside and leaned in to kiss Harry’s lips. He didn’t pull back fully, but remained resting over Harry, their foreheads connected once more, as had become a ritual of theirs. “I don’t want that either… But I’m worried that…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence, they both knew what he was worrying about. 

Harry raised his hand and touched Draco’s cheek, nuzzling their noses against one another. He liked the way his hand looked against Draco’s skin, like a dark yet not cruel handprint upon the young man he loved. A reminder which might help Draco remember that touches were pleasant, not painful. “It will work out somehow… We’re not alone.” 

Draco kissed Harry’s wrist before he stretched up once more. Harry felt a sting of worry and abandonment before Draco signalled that he wanted his boyfriend to come and sit upon his legs. Harry happily took his place upon his throne of moonlight, straddling Draco before cupping his face and showering his pale, scarred and perfect face with kisses. 

Draco laughed at the attention as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “You puppy,” he teased in a loving manner. 

“Werewolf pup in that case,” Harry objected as he sat back, careful not to place his full weight upon Draco’s thighs. “As the son of a werewolf, nothing else would really be accurate.” 

“I would have to agree,” Draco moved his hands upwards along Harry’s sides, carefully squeezing him on the way there before the hands settled upon his chest. “It feels immeasurably good to touch you again. I cannot possibly imagine a life where one cannot touch who they love.” 

“But we’re not like them,” Harry reminded his boyfriend. “Our situation is different. We are different. And we are together.” He squeezed Draco’s hands on top of his chest as he looked within his grey eyes, smiling at him. “We’re not alone.” 

“You are right,” Draco sighed weakly with relief as he shrunk back upon the pillows. 

Harry climbed yet a little more on top of him and leaned in to kiss Draco’s lips, then left a trail of kisses down to his collar, where he stopped. “May I open your shirt?” He hoped that his physical desires weren’t quite so audible in his voice as he felt like they were. 

Draco gave Harry a slightly puzzled look but then smiled weakly and ruffled his boyfriend’s hair. “If you’d want to.” 

“And I can kiss you?” Harry followed up by a breathlessly excited plea. 

His excitement appeared to be amusing and all the more welcomed by his partner. “Just don’t do anything you don’t know how to do.” 

“And how would I know how to do it if I don’t practice?” Harry objected with a groan. 

Draco sat up a little more, leaning closer to look directly into Harry’s eyes with a confident smirk upon his lips. “And what exactly is that you’re thinking of?” 

Harry felt the words like they were a snake, wrapping around him and squeezing him tightly, hugging him in all the right places before teasing his ears with its tongue. He shuddered before leaning in all the way to nuzzle his nose against his boyfriend’s. 

“What am I thinking of indeed?” 

“I thought we established that I’m not a mind reader.” 

Their voices were quiet, intimate, and honest while also not being overly serious. 

“Then would you like to guess?” 

“Perhaps something indecent?” 

“Never!” The response was half giggle, half breath. 

“Never,” Draco echoed, equally breathless. 

Harry’s hand found the other’s collar, and he unbuttoned it slowly, partly because his fingers were trembling with excitement. The scar was visible against Draco’s pale skin, but not as evident as it would have been upon someone else who wasn’t made out of moonlight. It had been shut crudely by Lucius Malfoy, and then the skin had been slightly eased by the efforts of Al. Harry carefully ran a finger along it without touching the scar itself, exploring it to the sound of their heartbeats and their panted breaths. Harry yet again found himself loving the contrast where their two skin tones met, separating them yet complimenting the other. Even if they melted together, they could still be told apart, which was something Harry found highly romantic. He didn’t want to become one, he much rather wanted to be two parts of a whole.

Draco let out a weak sigh as Harry’s hand reached his hip, prompting Harry to dare leaning in and kiss over his skin, carefully exploring his best friend with his lips. Draco appeared to be relaxing into the care, but he would stroke over Harry’s head from time to time, whispering weak encouragements.

It was pleasant, it was nerve wracking, and it was fun. The two teenagers enjoyed themselves greatly, although they did not go, as Muggles would say ‘all the way.’ 

In their comfort and happiness they found that there might not even be such a thing as ‘all the way’ to begin with, and that which they had been led to believe was the one way to be intimate with one another was indeed not the only thing to bring pleasure and happiness, and not the only way which counted. It wasn’t a set script, Muggle and mage literature alike had failed them in making it up to be something so daunting and specific, a single repetitive action which everything else was simply building up to, when it really was about their shared pleasure in various forms, and nothing else.

That night, Harry fell asleep on Draco’s arms, their skin touching rather than having clothes to keep them from the other’s warmth. He mused to himself that if he was different after such an act, he didn’t feel any different. It truly appeared to be a made up concept that one would be different after being intimate with another, as Harry simply felt himself, but a little happier and a little less tense and stressed. He felt lucky, safe, happy and content. 

Draco appeared to feel the same as he fell asleep almost immediately, leaving Harry to absentmindedly count his breaths in the dark of the little room. To Harry’s extreme delight, Draco didn’t speak in his sleep at all, which was a sign that he wasn’t troubled by nightmares. 

Thus, Harry fell asleep in the arms of his beloved friend and now lover. 

How sweet, emotional and thrilling a word; lover. 

As the days, weeks and months steadily passed ever onwards, Harry continued to meet with Al when the Greatest Wizard of the century wasn’t overwhelmed by all of his other work. It started with every Monday, but became less and less as Al simply didn't have time for him. Despite the fact that he appeared to age for every time Harry saw him, Al continued to insist that there were still options for them and that the prospects were rather decent, all things considered. 

However much Harry wanted to believe him, the fact that Severus hadn’t had any success on his end made it hard to trust his old friend fully. Severus had not found a way to be allowed to the Lestrange estate and was continuously swarmed with expectations and work from the Dark Lord. From an outsider’s perspective, it almost appeared to Harry that Lord Voldemort knew something, and was almost mockingly keeping Severus out of reach for what he needed to do to help save the Malfoys. The thought was too frightening to elaborate on, so Harry left it be, hoping that he was wrong.

After all, there were other ways to steal the key from the Lestrange mansion. A spy. An animagus. All which was needed was one successful theft. The problem was finding the estate as it was located somewhere in the middle of a forest in Scotland, where mages of various abilities and magical powers were doing their utmost to keep it hidden. They only had something to lose if the mansion was found, and would likely stop short of nothing to assure the safety of their own safe haven. 

Yet Al was becoming more distant with work, disappearing out of reach of Harry, as the Order of the Phoenix, as well as other political engagements, kept him away from Hogwarts. Harry himself had done his best alongside the teachers to advocate for unity within Hogwarts, but wasn't really able to do anything outside of the school

Time was running ever forward, and in its wake, May ended, Hermione and Neville finished the Floo Powder, and Lord Voldemort decided to set a date for the operation. 

The date was June 5th. 

The day that Hogwarts would be invaded. 

The day that the Greatest Wizard of the century was scheduled to die.

Chapter Text

“Thank you all for coming today,” Albus Dumbledore smiled at them from in front of the desk, located by the opposite end of the long room which served as the Order of the Phoenix’s meeting spot for that particular meeting. 

He appeared to Remus much like the teacher, like the Headmaster, who had met him once upon a teenage, when he had been but a newly made werewolf, and deeply loathing himself. Dumbledore was a father of none born by his blood, but a father of a community, an icon and a constant which they all thought of as eternal. The wizard stood before them, crooked, old, yet smiling pleasantly. Remus expected him to sit down upon the desk and maybe give a lecture, as he had a habit of doing even when he was no longer teaching. 

“I would like to thank you all,” Dumbledore continued. “I would want to do it personally, and shake all your hands, but time is short, and mine is even shorter. For you see, the date of my death has been set. I am to die on the 5th of June, and so I wanted to thank you all, and welcome you to my funeral.” He finished his lecture with a bow, as if he had not just announced his own funeral. 

The room appeared to erupt in noises, objections and even some crying. It came alive in the ugliest, messiest of ways, where some of them expressed their opinions louder and louder to attempt to reach the Greatest Wizard of the century. It was like a press conference, only it was messier in that the people involved were all handling their emotions differently, yet imposingly.

Remus turned. Around him, Bill, Fleur and Tonks were participating in the overall noise of the room but the space where Severus had been by the door was empty. The Auror who was tasked with accompanying him was absent as well. Remus wanted to go after him, but his legs felt too weak. He felt like he could neither think nor move, like the world had left him behind and he was stuck, and still he watched the world float further and further out of his reach of understanding. 

The Order was out of options, that much Remus knew. Professor Dumbledore had tried many ways in which to find a way to destroy the Dark Lord before the supposed assault and threat to the Malfoy family, and they were out of options. They couldn’t prolong it longer either, as Severus had witnessed that the Dark Lord had rushed Draco and decided upon a date sooner. It all felt crushingly hopeless, and beyond uncomfortable. 

“Please, I can’t hear you over all this noise,” Dumbledore's patient voice managed to calm the crowd somewhat as he stood before them. Somehow, he managed to appear calm, because he could not possibly actually be calm, could he?

“Dumbledore, you’re making a huge mistake!” A dark voice spoke up over the crowd. “If you die, then the Ministry will have nobody to oppose their targeted violence, and the Dark Lord will rally all the more people to his cause without you as his greatest enemy.” 

“You can’t die!” someone else yelled. “Not for the sake of the Pureblood scum Malfoys!” 

“I have made my choice,” Dumbledore was still calm, smiling as if he was overhearing an academic argument between students. 

“The world needs you more than the world needs Malfoys,” someone muttered loudly. 

“She is right,” Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded. “You are the only thing keeping a full blown war from happening. Without you, people will not believe enough in our cause, and we might even be decentralised without a clear leader to look to for absolute choices. The community would fall apart, we would fall apart without you.” 

“The world does not exist simply because I do,” yet again, the old wizard’s voice was patient. “You give me too much credit, and I cannot help but express disgust towards a community where only one absolute can rule. I was never going to live forever. You must look to yourself and to what is right to do, not to somebody else. You cannot all live in my shadow.” 

“So you’ll let Death Eaters into the castle then?” Tonks called over the room, following up on their previously discussed strategies of how to accomplish Draco Malfoy’s earlier task. “Have them roam freely and then just let them go after they’ve murdered you?” At the cost of manners she was almost painfully direct. 

Dumbledore nodded. “They must never be allowed to suspect that something is wrong. They have to be allowed to complete their task and leave, lest risk persecution of the Malfoys.” 

“But why do you care about them?” Mundungus Fletcher crossed his arms over his chest. “They are just some dusty Pureblood-crazy aristocrats, as someone else said, you’re worth a lot more to this world than they are. I’m going to say what most of us think: they had it coming after what they’ve gotten away with since the first war. Let them burn.” At his words, many voices made noises of confirmation. Still, they were a minority in the room, one which only sounded larger than it was because it was objecting loudly, thus making the most noise.

“There is no legal evidence that the Malfoys have ever done anything illegal,” Arthur Weasley objected. “Your hostility towards them is based on ideas which have not been proved, and your willingness to condemn even the wife and the child when you are upset with the husband is frankly disgraceful.” 

“Oh please,” Fletcher growled back. “You’ve hated them for longer, and far more strongly than I have. Besides, Malfoy was arrested and escaped, so there is a crime for you!” Fletcher sneered, proud to have thought of that little fact.  

“And I’ve stopped and now I only see the reasons for what they are,” Arthur objected back, equally aggressively. “And the man was only there to try and save his son, he should not have been sent to Azkaban as he was not involved with the attack on the Ministry, but was actively trying to prevent it.” 

“Bollocks to that!” Fletcher yelled. “You don’t actually believe that!”

“They are a family of three,” Dumbledore told the crowd as the two men continued to argue. “I am just one person. It is a simple matter of mathematics.” 

“But then, if there are Death Eaters coming to Hogwarts,” Daelalus Dinkle said, “shouldn’t we focus on capturing them? The most prominent danger to our community is those religious zealots of Death Eaters. Surely the Dark Lord will send at least Bellatrix Lestrange as well as other notorious members of his inner circle to do something as important as try to assassinate Albus Dumbledore himself? If we capture them, then Dumbledore won’t have to die, and we will have ensured that the Dark Lord is weakened in the future?” 

“That’s a great idea!” Some people agreed, eager to stop what they perceived as Dumbledore’s suicide attempt. Some people looked doubtful.

“Then you must do so after I am dead,” Dumbledore objected. “The Dark Lord have placed me in such a position where my survival would cost people their lives.” 

“There will be a war!” Shacklebolt slammed his hand into the wall next to him. “If you die, a war will break out and even more people will die. Are you simply trying to run away from your future responsibilities, Dumbledore? There will be a war, it’s only a matter of time.” 

“If there will be a war no matter what I do, then I might as well choose my place of death and die knowing I chose it.” Dumbledore’s expression was slightly disappointed as he looked towards the man, frowning disapprovingly at him. 

“Besides, sending more people to Azkaban would only make it easier for them to break out again,” Bill Weasley spoke up. “Even if we did put the entire operation at risk and did leave with a few more prisoners to Azkaban, they would likely be out again soon enough, as the dementors continue to fail as guards. 

Fleur nodded and then raised their voice. “We’d pay in the Malfoys’ blood and only gain a few months at absolute most.”

“The Dark Lord is scared of you, Dumbledore,” Emmeline Vance objected. “That is a fact. He remains passive because you are still alive. Without you, he will have no boundaries, he will rise again and risk exposing us all to the Muggles in his mad attempts to conquer the UK.” 

“You forget about his body,” Dumbledore politely reminded the witch. “He is not what he once was, and we know about a great number of his horcruxes. If his body is destroyed once more, that could give you plenty of time to find and destroy them, even if I advocate for finding and destroying them before one attempts to destroy his body.” 

“Wonderful, the horcruxes again!” 

“Two of which we know and can’t get to without alerting him, and one which may or may not exist and might or may not be connected to something Gryffindor.” 

“I was never going to live forever,” Dumbledore repeated. “There would have been a time when you had to be expected to do this without me. I’ve already been given a great many years, and it would be foolish to expect more.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered to Fleur as he carefully pushed past them. If he didn’t leave the room now, he felt like he would faint.  

Severus appeared like a dark shadow against the river Thames, which was faintly lit up by electric lights. The light was reflected within the dark water, dancing like lures upon the currents. He was leaning against the railing, seemingly holding his head in his hands. The Auror spotted Remus and she concluded that she could go back to the meeting, thus leaving the two husbands to be without a word. However, she did stop to squeeze Remus’s arm in a supportive gesture before she left. 

Remus breathed in the scent of London as he came to stand beside Severus, still slightly transfixed by the lights in the water. The streetlight next to them had died, perhaps by Severus’ assistance, rendering the two of them in a soft, almost gentle darkness. A street dog howled somewhere and Remus repressed the urge to howl back as he reached out and touched Severus’ arm. The next thing he knew, his husband to be was in his arms, hiding against his chest. 

“I… I can’t…” Severus more or less gasped. “I can’t… breathe… right.” He was trembling and shaking, his breaths indeed leaving him in uncomfortably quick, yet raspy breaths. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” Remus whispered to him as he held him without squeezing him. “It’s okay. It will pass if you let it.” 

“It hurts…” Severus whispered between his gasps. 

“I know,” Remus hoped that he was being soothing as he stroked over his beloved’s head. “I know.”

“I… I never… I never saw him as my father,” Severus appeared to be rambling slightly, which was entirely unusual for him. “I know how he saw me, but I never… I never wanted to… because I knew that he would leave. One day, he would leave. Well, he is leaving now and I don’t feel any better for having stayed away. In fact, I regret not having known him better. Why is that? How can that be? I… I tried so hard, why does it still hurt?” 

Severus was usually not this honest about his feelings, thus, Remus was able to confirm once and for all just how shaken he was about the loss of the father figure which he had tried so desperately to reject. 

“I’m sorry,” the werewolf couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“He… He could never live at the cost of the Malfoys,” Severus swallowed and Remus became aware that he was crying. “He would never. Even if it was the logical thing to do, Albus wouldn’t. Always sacrificing for others, as the… the… absolute loving fool that he is. But it is the right thing to do. The Dark Lord isn’t going to stop targeting him. The Malfoys wouldn't’ be the only-...” 

“Mhm,” Remus didn’t know what to say and how to say it, but he could be there physically for his partner by hugging him, and he could listen to what he had to say. Both of those things were what Severus needed, rather than somebody who would argue his points with him. 

From that point on, it was harder and harder to make sense of Severus’ words until the man was simply crying against Remus’ chest, mourning the loss of the man he had never dared to welcome as a father, but who he had wanted to accept as such. 

Severus mourned as he attended the pre-funeral of a man who was still alive, but who wouldn’t be for much longer. Severus mourned the loss of what he had and what he hadn’t accepted having. Severus mourned into the chest of his husband to be, as the noises of the Thames and that of London accompanied him at irregular intervals, both adding and subtracting from his expression of loss. 

“Hey, King? Can I talk to you for a bit?” Mundungus Fletcher rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers, almost nervously playing with it as he approached Kingsley Shacklebolt before the man had a chance to apparate away after the meeting. A meeting which Mundungus considered quite disastrous. 

Shacklebolt looked around the alley before groaning weakly. “Only if you hand over your cigarette and swear to never call me that again.” 

Mundungus wasted no time to hand his prize over, giving it a short prayer of luck as it disappeared inside one of Shacklebolt’s pockets, perhaps never to fulfill its purpose of being consumed. Mundungus was about the same age as Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy, and he could have been Arthur’s brother when younger, but nobody would think that of him these days as their features had grown rather starkly different over the years. The only similarity they shared was their ginger hair, pale skin which only got red and not tanned, and a set of mysteriously fickle freckles which might appear in sunlight but also might not. Mundungus features were both too big and too small for his face, depending on where one looked, and his hair has become a tassel which was best secured by a hairband and not thought about extensively. He might not be the most traditionally appealing wizard, but some found him very handsome in his uniqueness. Mundungus liked those people. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Mundungus gave the Auror a crooked grin as he raised his hands. Then his expression became serious and he shoved his hands deeply into his pockets, performing magic in secret to make sure that nobody was listening to them. “Look, what I’m about to say might seem like high treason or whatever, do you still mind listening?” 

“Is it about the Head of our Order?” Shacklebolt guessed as he leaned his heavy body back against a wall, absentmindedly rubbing an arm as if he was cold. 

“You got it,” Mundungus confirmed as he continued to glance around. “I know that my loyalty might seem fickle to you people. Especially Aurors, but I’m as enamoured with Dumbledore as the rest of the British mage community. I have to say that he doesn’t seem to understand just how important he is. It might make me seem a bit of an arse, but we can’t actually be meaning to sit down and wait while Death Eaters walk through Hogwarts, kill him, and then leave again? Surely, we both agree that we can’t let the old man do that to himself and to us?” 

Shacklebolt sighed once more, his heavy, large body heaving with the action in a rather impressive and slightly terrifying manner. “You mean to suggest we go behind his back?” 

“If you want to be direct, yes,” the somewhat notorious kleptomaniac responded. “I know you see it the same way as I do. The Malfoys had their chance. In fact, they had many. It’s like watching a king die for the sake of a family of common thieves.”

“Don’t you know all about thieves, Mundungus?” Shacklebolt answered, but the thief could see that the man was considering his words or even agreeing with him. 

Mungunus sneered, pretending as he always did that his kleptomania wasn’t the biggest, most uncomfortable problem of his damned life, and instead just a silly little quirk that he was perpetuating willingly. “Dumbledore will pick you as part of the operation as he knows how capable you are. I’m not so sure I will be picked, but you will have a good chance to convince everyone that the right thing to do is not assisted suicide, but to save him. Once again, I’m not trying to betray Dumbledore or anything, I’m just doing what I think is right. Saying what needs to be said.” 

Shacklebolt was silent for so long that Mundungus almost couldn’t resist lighting a brand new cigarette just to calm his nerves. 

“I don’t like that I agree with you, but I do agree with you,” he finally concluded. “It might be seen as a betrayal, but the kid wouldn’t actually suffer for it, only the adults who did make those mistakes. If the Dark Lord is half as wise as everyone claims him to be, he wouldn’t actually kill both adult Malfoys as he is using their estate as a base of operations. Thus, it is likely that the only one to finally face the blunt of his actions would be Lucius Malfoy.” 

“I can live with those losses,” Mundungus muttered, remembering all the times that Prefect Malfoy had loudly demanded that he empty his pockets in front of the entire class or common room, or even at the dinner table. He sometimes still had nightmares about it. “Like Dumbledore said, it’s simple mathematics. One for one, and one is more useful to the BMC.” 

“The what?” 

“British mage community. What? You can’t possibly think that everyone has the time to say that whole title every time?” 

Shacklebolt sighed again, shaking his head at the somewhat younger mage. “I… think you are right. It wouldn’t do to let Dumbledore do this to himself out of some sort of misplaced guilt in regards to the Malfoys. Especially since the person he would be dying for is a criminal already condemned to death. Whatever Arthur claims, his sentence was just.” There was a flicker of doubt in his dark eyes as the Auror claimed to not believe Arthur Weasley. 

Mundungus felt like he could actually breathe out for the first time since he entered the meeting spot that evening. “So we will do it, right? We’ll save him from himself?” 

Shacklebolt nodded. “It is the right thing to do,” he agreed. 

“Perhaps even the good thing to do?” Mundungus agreed with a little laugh which by no means sounded half as confident or strong as he had wanted it to. 

Chapter Text

It should have felt good to be back at Hogwarts, but it didn’t. It should feel good to know that Remus was in the same building as his son, protecting him and all the students, including Draco, but it instead only served to make him feel almost anxiously sick. Naturally, he could have declined the offer to be part of the guard, as Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t have minded, but Remus couldn’t pick such an option. Despite having promised Harry to not endanger himself, he couldn’t let the people who had continuously targeted and tried to hurt or kill Harry into the castle without being there to protect him. 

The night before Remus had spent with his partner at the grim old place, together at last for the first time in months. Severus had yielded to his need to not be alone, and the two of them had spent every second as close to the other as they could for that moment. It had been a heavy night, with many tears and desperate closeness, of self hatred and regrets, yet also of warmth and love. It had been incredibly hard to part in the morning, but at the very least they had been able to be together for hours on end.

Upon his finger, Remus wore his engagement ring for the first time outside of the house. For what was to come, Remus would need the strength and comfort of his relationship and the memory of his beloved partner. The jewellery piece felt odd upon his finger, yet nonetheless welcomed. 

The people who had been picked for the guard were Remus himself, Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones and Nymphadora Tonks. As Bill had been picked, Fleur insisted to Dumbledore that they were allowed to come, and so they joined the guard as well. The younger people who had recently graduated were welcomed in the guard, as they logically knew the inside of Hogwarts best because they had more recently left it. It was harder for people who hadn’t been there for twenty years to remember the layout of the castle. 

There had been many reasons for Dumbledore to pick Remus, but one of them was the recent teaching position at Hogwarts which enabled him to recall the castle better than anyone else in the guard. Someone had complained about the safety of bringing a werewolf on such a sensitive mission, but as today was the night of a new moon, Remus was as little a beast as he could possibly be with his condition.  

The guard was crowded in the hallways beneath the attic space, close enough to the hidden opening in the wall to easily be able to enter, but also far away enough that they could hide should the Death Eaters for some reason appear three hours early. They would move up to the attic soon, but they were waiting for Draco Malfoy to join them before they positioned themselves, so as to not hide from the teenager whose life they were attempting to save.

Remus went over the operation in his head, repeating it once more as three hours turned to two and three quarters. The Death Eaters would appear through the Floo Powder network, they would descend into the castle and reach the open Headmaster’s office and assassinate Albus Dumbledore. Then they were supposed to return, but everyone expected that the Death Eaters were more likely to go to the Great Hall or the entrance hall and leave the Dark Lord’s mark in the air to signal their deed. During this time, the guard was supposed to simply wait, and if the Death Eaters hadn’t returned back in one hour, they would have to move out to arrest them. 

Invisible House Elves were positioned outside all common rooms, that was to say that Dumbledore had convinced some of the elves working at Hogwarts to protect the students in secret, since they could go completely undetected and were more powerful than mages in general. Their aim was to keep the students safe within their chambers, and stop the Death Eaters should they try to enter. House Elves were also positioned within the Great Hall, where they would be able to observe the Death Eaters and possibly move to stop or stun them if the time limit of their retreat passed. Dobby was in charge of picking the most suitable ones for the task, and he himself had volunteered for the Great Hall guard. Dobby truly was nothing like the thing which had shown up in Remus’ and Harry’s home four years ago. 

“Professor?” Tonks spoke up by Remus’ elbow, whispering to him in a quiet voice which startled the werewolf more than he wanted to admit. She looked highly uncomfortable with having unsettled him.

He took pity on the young woman and offered her a weak smile in apology, as well as the usage of his name. “Remus is fine.”

Tonks perked up at the gift of his permission. “Can I talk to you for a second? It’s important.” 

Remus considered telling her that it could wait, but she appeared so sincere that he surrendered and came with her a little further away from the hole in the wall. 

“I’m telling you this because I want to show you that I trust you,” Tonks began. “There has been a change of plans. We’re not going to simply sit back and let the Death Eaters kill Dumbledore. We’ll save him instead.” 

“What?” Remus blinked at her, feeling his heart sink with worry. 

“Yeah, I was against it too first but think of it!” she hurried on, still keeping her voice low. “He’s too important, it just isn’t right. I want to listen to him and find him infallible but this is madness.”

“But… but the Malfoys…” Remus objected, thinking about Narcissa Malfoy and the friend he had found in the rather lonely woman. 

“Think about it,” Tonks repeated. “We have the kid here, we can nab him and keep him safe. None of those mad Death Eaters are crazy enough to hound a child because they are mad with his parents. Just look at how nobody is really coming after Harry, why would they come for Malfoy? And the Dark Lord needs Malfoy Manor, so he can’t just kill both parents. He’s mad with the patriarch, not the matriarch, and he is actually a convicted criminal.” 

Remus thought of Severus’ regrets and his tears, he thought of his anxiety attacks at the thought of losing the father he never dared accept. If Dumbledore survived, then… then Severus would not be crushed by the weight of his death. As for Narcissa, she would tell Remus to save her son. She would be frightfully cross with him if he even considered risking Draco’s safety for hers. Not to mention that Remus didn’t want Dumbledore to die for many personal reasons, most of which came back to gratitude. 

“Does Dumbledore know?” 

Tonks shook her head. “We can’t risk him moving away from his office and possibly getting himself killed either way.” 

Remus hesitated for three more heartbeats. “I… F-fine. What is the new plan?” 

Tonks breathed out a sigh of relief as he agreed to the change. “We’ll let the Death Eaters pass us as we hide rather close to the fireplace up there, and then we will stun them all, with silent spells, from behind and capture them. Bill Weasley will grab Malfoy and pull him to safety, as he’ll be up in the front, and Emmeline Vance will be invisible by the door so as not to allow any stray Death Eater to bolt for it and get into the castle. Dumbledore will live, the kid will be saved, and we will put a bunch of nasty mages behind bars where they belong. Nobody will get hurt, or well, only they will be hurt.” 

“Bill already agreed to the change?” Remus glanced towards the younger man, who was currently speaking to his fiancé. 

“He didn’t really like it, but can't exactly put a stop to it” Tonks admitted, “he was the one to propose that he save the kid in the manner I just told you. Nobody here wants Dumbledore to die, it rather is that simple.” 

“I don’t like doing this to him…” Remus chewed on his lower lip as he hugged himself, suddenly feeling cold. 

“None of us do,” Tonks agreed. “But we have to, it’s what is best.” 

For the Greater Good, Remus thought with a shudder. How frightfully easy it was to see the meaning behind those words during extreme times. He balled his fist and felt the ring dig into his skin. For Severus, for Narcissa, for Draco.  

As agreed upon, forty minutes to the arrival of the Death Eaters, Draco appeared. It was terrifying to see how much he had hurt that year, and the effects it had upon his body. Remus couldn’t resist hugging him, which the teenager didn’t resist in the least, and welcomed it all the more with slight desperation. The teenager was informed of the plan, and he switched the placement of his wand from his father’s cane to his inner pocket, should he need it. Draco was not informed of the entire plan, but he was told to let the Death Eaters pass and remain in the attic room for his own safety, with the Floo Powder. He was told that the guard would have to act one hour after the Death Eaters’ arrival, had they not returned yet. To all of this, he nodded, evidently attempting to steel himself for what was about to happen. 

The guard moved themselves up the stairs with Draco waiting to shut the door until everyone was inside. He then insisted on locking it himself before he gave the key to Emmeline Vance. Naturally, the key was nothing more than a symbol of trust, seeing as any half decent mage could open a Muggle-locked door. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness and their lungs filled with old dust, the guard spread out in the room, mindful to cover their tracks as they found hiding places which covered them from both up front and behind. It was easier and less distracting than straight up using means to become invisible, since nothing impaired their vision or focus that way.

Draco walked over to the front of the room, but he kept glancing behind himself, seemingly checking to assure himself that none of them were visible. Bill crouched by a tower of boxes up front, and Vance disappeared underneath an invisibility cloak. Remus found a good hiding spot in a corner, by the remains of a wall. He got down on his knees and assured himself that he wasn’t about to sneeze from the dust and found a hole within the many stacked objects, boxes and broken furniture which nobody had cared enough about to restore. Through the hole, Remus could see the fireplace perfectly, alongside Draco’s darkly dressed but pale shape. The father silently promised both Harry and Narcissa that Draco would be safe as he squeezed his wand for assurance that it was there. 

Then they waited. 

Somewhere in front of Remus, he could see the paleness of Fleur’ hair when they shifted in place to stay active and not become stiff. Once, someone coughed, but it was impossible to tell who. Draco continued to glance behind himself, keeping from pacing by sheer force of will. The guard remained still, all of their eyes resting upon the open fireplace, but all of them were ready to look away should it flare up. They wanted the advantage of seeing in the dark, while the Death Eaters would likely be blinded by the attic as Draco refrained from using magic to light up the room. 

There was a flicker in the fireplace. 

A teasing of a light danced by the black firewood, which then burst into flames, lighting up the room as something came through. 

Only it was not a Death Eater. 

What came through the fireplace wasn’t even human. 

Remus couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He could only stare as the flames formed the shape of his worst nightmares.

He was nine again. He was nine and laying in his bed, his mum’s bedtime kiss still warm upon his forehead. He was nine and the window was opening, as slowly as in a dream.

Something. Something. Something was entering his room, slipping into it gracefully and almost soundlessly.

Something was by the bed. Looking at him. It bent over his body. He could feel the breath upon him even through the blanket. He could hear it breathe. The shimmer of white teeth and blood red gums. Then pain. Pain, pain, pain. Followed by years of shame, powerlessness and more pain. 

A face was forming in the fire, a long snout which was pulled back in a frightful grin, full of sharp teeth which were on display in a crooked smile. The face formed, eyes took shape as the head and neck followed, arms coming out of the fire, shaped by it and then made flesh. The rest of the body followed, and the werewolf, no, Lycan, sniffed the air. It did not need to adjust itself to the darkness, it did not need to guess what might be hidden in the room. A single breath as the monstrous shape rose to its full height. A single breath was all it needed. 

The Lycan’s eyes turned towards Draco, who had stepped back out of fear, and then it looked past him, towards the tower of boxes behind the young mage. The monster grinned wider as it got down on all fours and dashed past Draco, crashing into the tower and straight into Bill’s hiding spot. The clatter of the boxes masked the noise of Bill’s wand falling out of his hands and rolling away, but it did not mask Bill’s scream as the Lycan mercilessly dug it’s sharp teeth into his shoulder, holding him stuck on the floor with its weight and its beastly strength. 

Remus covered his ears, curling together as he pressed his head to the floor, magic all forgotten as he suffered from the fallback which came with seeing Greyback once more. With seeing the beast who had infected him. 

He was nine again and he was screaming.

His thigh was burning with pain and blood stained the sheets as the monster from the window bit him and didn’t let go. He was nine and he was screaming. Mum and dad came to save him, dad chasing the monster away with his magic while mum held her crying, bleeding and infected child.

He was an adult and he was screaming.

Nobody came to save him this time. He was alone with his panic, useless to the cause he had been picked for. He was an adult and he was acting the same as his childhood self. He was an adult and he was endlessly thankful that the Lycan was not tearing into him once more. 

“Bill!” 

Fleur screamed as they got to their feet, abandoning the plan in favor of running to their partner. They jumped over a stack of items and ran towards the Lycan, raising their wand to try and stun him. Instead, a stunning spell hit them from straight ahead. They might even have run into it. Fleur was flown off their feet and crashed into a collection of old desks which wobbled dangerously but did not fall over them. However, the impact was more than enough to knock the wind out of them as they shrunk down on the floor. 

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed loudly as she yanked Draco up from the floor, sending his cane clattering as she pointed her crooked wand against his neck, seemingly ready to stab into him with the blunt object if he resisted. More Death Eaters appeared behind her from the fire, bleeding into the room as if they were darkness more deep than that of the naturally dark attic space. 

“Traitor,” Bellatrix sang sweetly into Draco’s ear, causing him to shudder. She turned towards the Lycan, who just threw Bill to the side as if he was no longer a fun toy to play with. He was bleeding profoundly but he was still breathing. Her voice became soft once more, but all the less false. “Wanna hunt some more mages, dear?” She cackled but then stopped as a stunning spell hit one of the Death Eaters behind her. 

The Lycan howled excitedly and dashed towards Shacklebolt, whom it singled out as the biggest threat at that moment. The wizard swallowed but defended himself, causing the beast to crash into an invisible wall of force. 

“Anyone aims anything towards me and my traitorous nephew gets it!” Bellatrix hollered as she began heading towards the door. 

“Let her pass!” Tonks pleaded. “She means it.” 

If people listened to either witch, or if they were simply too busy with the newly arrived Death Eaters, it was hard to tell in the chaos of spells flying everywhere and the sounds made by the violent Lycan as it crashed around the attic space. Bellatrix reached the door and blasted it open, perhaps injuring Vance in the process. 

Everything was chaotic. The plan was completely out of order.

The Dark witch descended the stairs dragging Draco with her. He should have been too heavy for her, but perhaps adrenaline or madness made her forget that fact as she struggled towards her goal with the limping teenager at wand point. 

Draco did not resist as he considered his aunt too mad to be reasonable, and thus he dared not do anything but yield to her will, lest she decided to cut him open once more, as she had last year. With no father to heal him, and with Albus Dumbledore’s life seeming to be leading towards its end, Draco dared not think of what would happen if she decided to use the same spell once more. 

Draco could only hope that Harry hadn’t decided to follow him. Whatever kept Bellatrix from killing him would not apply to the boy-who-lived. 

“I have to leave now, or I will be late,” Draco had previously said as he gathered his father’s cane from the side of Harry’s bed and pulled himself up using its assistance. 

He had looked back at Harry, who also stood up, holding his invisibility cloak in his arms as if it was a newborn puppy whom Harry did not put down out of fear that it might not live without his warmth. 

“Are you sure that Professor Lupin won’t be able to tell that you are there?” Draco tried yet again to reason with Harry, but he was running out of real objections and they were both aware of that fact. 

Harry smiled without joy. “You’re getting rather close to sounding like werewolf fear mongering. Tonight is a new moon, dad’s senses won’t be as strong as they could otherwise be.” 

“You know that was not my intention…” Draco sighed as a look of guilt passed over his face. 

“I do. Sorry. There is nothing you can do to stop me from coming with you.” Harry smiled once more, a rough mimicry of his usual smile. 

Draco began walking towards the door, “I know. I do know that. But you must promise me to not get involved if you can avoid it. If things go wrong, stay with your father.” 

“You’re very stressed to refer to him as my ‘father’ and not my ‘dad,’ Harry commended as he leaned forward to kiss his lover’s cheek. “I won’t take any risks.” 

“You don’t have a good track record of not taking risks,” Draco commented dryly as Harry disappeared from view inside of his invisibility cloak. 

“I’ll be good,” Harry promised, knowing very well that it was a promise he would only keep if everything went right. 

The two met up with the Order of the Phoenix and Harry felt a sting of jealousy as Remus hugged Draco. He wanted to hug his dad as well, but he couldn’t let Remus know that he was there, or he’d risk being sent off or even worse, distracting his dad in what was about to come. If everything went as it should, then nobody would ever know that Harry was there. Or rather, he would confess the truth to his dad, but he would do so later. When it was over. 

Draco assured that Harry had enough time to get in, and Harry then stopped as close to the door as he could, highly aware of the fact that he was practically standing right next to a highly trained Auror. Harry didn’t dare move from his spot opposite the door as that would risk leaving footprints in the dust and he wasn’t convinced that he could cover them up without the witch noticing. Thus, it was all he could do but wait alongside the members of the guard, as well as Draco, for what was about to come. In the long silence which followed, Harry decided that he would go up to Remus as soon as the Death Eaters had passed into the castle, as he felt too frightened, guilty and hot to hide for another unknowable stretch of time even afterwards. He might get stunned, but none of the Aurors, Remus or Bill and Fleur would actually aim to kill him, no matter if he appeared out of nowhere. That wasn’t why they were there. 

Time stretched. Harry was becoming hotter and his legs were trembling from all the mixture of emotions he was feeling. Part of him suspected that the invisible Auror might be right next to him, silently searching for the source of the painfully loud heartbeat. 

Then there was a flickering of light, signalling the beginning of a nightmare. 

A gigantic werewolf, which made Remus appear almost cute in his transformed state, appeared from the fire within the fireplace, bursting out as the scent of burnt hair filled the room. Yet it could not be a werewolf. How could it be a werewolf? There was no full moon tonight. The beast was seemingly not in pain, not confused, and appeared frightfully intelligent, even from afar. Harry heard the Auror next to him gasp weakly. He stared at the beast once more as it sniffed in the air. 

A single word appeared in his head: Lycan. 

That was Fenrir Greyback. 

The werewolf who could transform at will, making him a Lycan. Perhaps the only one in Britain. 

He heard his dad scream, or was it maybe Bill who screamed first, as the Lycan crashed past Draco and tackled Bill to the ground, tearing into him with teeth and claws. Another scream. Another person through the fireplace, and Draco was suddenly a hostage. Remus was incapacitated and Bellatrix Lestrange was approaching Harry’s hiding spot. Harry forgot his fear of the Auror noticing as he moved to the side. It proved to be a good choice as Bellatrix caused the door to explode, sending splinters everywhere. The invisible Auror cried out as she was blasted to the side, likely harmed by the wood which flew after them both. Harry gasped in pain as the splinters reached him, but he was protected from them by the cloak, which was enchanted to offer some more protection than just being simple cloth. It was a spell courtesy of James Potter, but one Harry would never know about. 

The spot where Bellatrix had been standing with Draco was completely empty. Harry could hear her down the stairs as she reprimanded Draco for being slow. Harry threw a glance back at his dad, where the man was curled together, pressing his forehead down onto the dusty floorboards, hugging himself as his body was in the middle of a severe panic attack. The bubble gum Auror, Tonks, was by his side. That would have to do for now. Wishing desperately that he had announced himself to his dad before this happened, Harry followed Bellatrix’s shouts down from the attic and out in the castle. 

Only, he had lost them. He could hear her voice from somewhere, but he didn’t know what path she was taking to the Headmaster’s office. Everything had gone wrong, and Al didn’t know anything. Seeing as Bellatrix had a hostage, it was not unreasonable to think that she might use him as a shield as she strove to fulfill her Master’s wish. Harry couldn’t save Draco on his own, but with the help of someone more capable, Draco might not be harmed. 

Thus, Harry abandoned his plan of following Bellatrix and stunning her from behind, and instead ran through side passages with his cloak underneath his arm. He felt his breath in his chest, he heard his heart in his ears. Harry’s legs ached and his head felt empty with fear and yet utterly filled with stress and anxiety. He ran, aware that his body was beating against a collection of walls as he failed to turn properly in his hurry, but he couldn’t care about that now. Harry had to hold all the pain back, as he ran towards his goal. He couldn’t feel it now, and he ran as if he could outrun his own hopelessness if he only ran fast enough. Yet Harry could not keep the tears from streaming down his face as his emotions had to go somewhere. 

Harry was faster than the witch and her limping hostage, and he reached the Headmaster’s office, only to find the door slightly ajar. From inside, he could hear voices. 

“It will be alright,” Al said. “Everything will be alright.” 

Harry bursted into the room, fearing that he had not managed to reach the location before Bellatrix. However, only Al and Severus were in the room, standing a little behind the desk as Al kept one hand on what to Harry appeared to be a large mirror. He absentmindedly realised that it had been hidden underneath a piece of fabric, and that he had noticed it when he first began spending time with Al that year. Severus was closer to Harry, standing by the side of the desk, his expression a white mask of so many emotions that Harry couldn’t even begin to name one. 

“Coming…” Harry gasped as he leaned against the bookshelves behind him, holding over his own chest. “Bella...trix… Draco… hostage. She is… is… she is coming…” He panted in Al’s direction, hoping that Severus could read the rest in his racing mind. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Al smiled serenely at Harry as he kept his hand on the mirror, leaned his head to the side. He appeared a specter of white and gentle blue as he stood still and calm where he was. Harry noticed that it was Al’s left hand which rested upon the mirror, and that the ringfinger was bare while all other fingers were decorated with rings. “You’ve been a very good friend to me this year. I want you to know that.”

Harry gasped and wheezed in response, yet managed to nod his head. 

“Severus?” Al turned back to the man who had never dared to be his son. “Shall we save the world?” 

Harry couldn’t hear what Severus responded as he drew his wand. 

Al laughed pleasantly at whatever it was that he had said. “As do I you,” he said. 

Chapter Text

“Hello there, my young friend.” 

Albus spoke to the mirror, smiling at it as it shaped what he desired to see. In front of him, he saw himself sitting within the Sorting Hat, waiting anxiously for the announcement of where he belonged in life. The talentless young mage sat within the hat, trembling slightly as he waited, feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders. 

“And such a small world it was, my friend,” Albus continued to speak as he touched the brim of the Hat in the mirror, unable to reach anything inside the world of his desires. “The burden of the real world is somewhat heavier.” 

The scene within the mirror shifted to the Hogwarts library, where a slightly older Albus sat in an armchair, staring at the handsome young boy who was standing before him. 

“Rascal,” Albus said lovingly as he stroked the cheek of the reflection as El soundlessly told him hello. “How young you look. Nothing like the man you became.” 

In the mirror, El bowed down to kiss the seated Albus’ hand, grinning cheekily at him as he often would when he became an adult. Albus stroked over his head once more, as if he was actually able to touch him. 

The scene shifted again, and Albus was wading around in the water as El sat on the shore. In the desired version of the memory, Albus didn’t give El his political slogan, and he was able to make El see that what he wanted wasn’t possible. That they couldn’t possibly rule over Muggles, as they were far too many and far too strong to oppose in the way El wanted. Instead, the two teenagers spent a pleasant day by the Hogwarts lake, enjoying the cool water, and laughing about things which they had to amuse themselves with. They were not at the beginning of a political regime, and they went on to simply be as they were. No changing of the world needed, no Greater Good, just the two of them. 

“I wish I had done that,” Albus told the reflection. “I wish I had saved you before it went too far. I think you were reasonable, at least once.” 

Over the clearer reflection, something was stirring, as if reflected through a window. The shape of a man, as he was standing next to Albus, watching the desired versions of events pass them by. The shadowy reflection huffed and shrugged, saying nothing as it grinned at Albus. 

Other memories passed, the two of them dancing at the Yule Ball, the two of them buying a house rather than living as tenants to the Dumbledore family, as was societally expected at the time. The two of them became engaged and then got married, surrounded by friends who were not yet born at the time Al and El would have been married. In the reflection of his hand, Albus saw a wedding ring upon his finger, and he reached for it only to realise that it was not there. Albus wished that he had the courage to go gather it on his own and wear it, but he had not. He was too frightened by the implications of wearing it. 

You look good in white. 

“So do you, my love.” 

Albus and the shadowy reflection continued to watch as the two of them moved in together in their own house, and then they went to adopt Tom together. The boy was overjoyed, apparently having waited for them, and he threw himself around their necks, hugging both his dads with great joy. He wasn’t afraid of ‘the homosexuals,’ but happy that his family had come to get him at last. 

They all moved inside their house. Tom was sorted into Slytherin and he decorated his room with green and snakes. He adopted Nagini, and El would often sleep with the snake on the couch, with her resting on top of his chest. He did not become a politician but a teacher, prompting Albus and El to teach together at Hogwarts. The American Mage War came and went, and El remained by Albus’ side as a fellow Professor. 

Tom was immensely proud of his two dads and they were equally proud of him as he graduated. They were both there, and they hugged him openly in front of the entire school. Tom stayed at home for a while, and then he went on to study further, until he took over the position of Defense against the Dark Arts teacher when Albus retired early for his son’s sake. Albus then went on to have a very fulfilling life as an author, writing stories from home which were beloved by many, and disliked by some, as so often happens in life. Tom found his stories a little silly, but El loved it when Albus read his new chapters to him when he came home from work. 

You always loved books. 

“I suppose I always did, yes.” 

Then one day, a young child appeared before him and El when they were out walking. A young, black haired boy whose nose was red with emotions, and eyes wet with tears. Upon investigation, they learned that the boy was a mage, and that his mother was rejecting him, as can happen to some parents. Albus and El took pity on the boy, and so Severus came to be Tom’s much younger brother as he grew up in a loving home. Severus was sorted into Ravenclaw, not because of Albus’ biases against any House, but because Severus knew the joy of sharing his knowledge from his two dads. 

A young Remus Lupin came to visit their home, and in the next imagined memory, Albus, El and Tom were all attending the wedding between Severus and Remus, who had a young Harry Lupin by his side throughout the ceremony. Tom was immensely proud of his little brother, and he hugged him quite the number of times throughout the ceremony, to Severus slight embarrassment. Despite their age difference, the two brothers got along very well, and enjoyed the other’s company. 

At the wedding dance, El asked Albus to dance, and the two wizards danced together as if it was their own wedding, completely and utterly in love, and together until time stole them apart. Only that would be far, far away in the future. 

You always romanticise dancing. You’re so embarrassed when you’re asked to dance in reality.  

“A little dreaming is healthy,” Al laughed. 

The pictures all faded, and what was left was El’s reflection, smiling at Albus through the mirror, where he was standing with his hands in his pockets, his body overall relaxed. He was old, or as Albus imagined that he looked like when older, as he didn’t actually know. You look old, my love. 

“I’m old and tired, my love.”

You’ve been tired for ages.  

“Was it enough? Did I do enough? Was I good enough? Did I do what I was supposed to?” 

Who is to say if there is such a thing as enough? By what measure do you ascribe ‘good’?

“You mean to say that there is no answer to my questions?” 

You can’t save the world any longer. 

“Did I ever save anyone? What if I was only a failure?” 

You have done enough. 

“What if I fail to die now? I’m scared, El… I don’t want to go without you.” 

El raised his hand and placed it upon the glass, as if they could reach each other if they only tried hard enough. Albus slowly raised his hand and placed it upon the glass. In the reflection, both their wedding rings were visible. 

It’s magic, Al. It won’t hurt. 

“Will you stay with me?” 

I’m here, my love. 

Albus smiled, feeling tears run down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his sleeve, then smiled at the reflection. “They are taking their time. They must hurry, or I might falter.” 

You won’t falter. You didn’t come this far to choose yourself the one time when you don’t want to. 

“I love you.” 

I love you too. 

The door flew open and Albus turned towards it, watching Severus hurry over to the middle of the room. Albus kept his hand upon the mirror, watching him as if Severus was a curious guest, and not someone he secretly considered his own son.

“Something has gone wrong,” Severus said, his breath almost lost as he gasped the words into existence. “There were noises. Screams of pain and panic. Bellatrix Lestrange came down the stairs alone with a hostage. I had to turn and rush so as to not allow her to spot me. I think she is taking a longer way around. Yet the problem is that we don’t know if she will make it here. The Aurors might follow her and stop her. The operation might have failed completely.” 

Albus stopped himself from making a displeased frown. He had hoped that maybe this once things would go his way. He knew the members of the Order to not blindly follow his instructions, nothing involving human beings was ever quite that simple. It was foolish to expect that things would be so easy. Yet Albus knew himself to be a fool.

His heart quivered with what he was about to ask of the man in front of him. The lost, unwilling Death Eater who had finally found love. “Severus… What I’m about to ask is the cruelest thing anyone could ever ask another. But Tom will not stop until I’m dead. Would you be so kind as to grant me one final, selfish request?”

Severus opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find a response as his eyes became wet with tears and he almost bit through his lower lip in an attempt to not feel. It didn’t work as well as he might have wanted it to. 

“For the Greater Good, Severus?” Albus smiled weakly. 

When Severus continued to hesitate, Albus spoke up once more. “It will be alright. Everything will be alright.” 

A noise came from outside the door, but unlike what either of them expected, a sweaty, panting and crying Harry appeared in the doorway. Albus softly cursed death for letting this young teenager see what was about to commence. 

“Coming…” Harry gasped as he leaned against the bookshelves behind him, holding over his own chest. “Bella...trix… Draco… hostage. She is… is… she is coming…” He panted in Al’s direction, while looking at Severus.

“Thank you, Harry,” Albus smiled serenely at his young friend as he kept his hand on the mirror, yet leaned his head to the side. “You’ve been a very good friend to me this year. I want you to know that.”

Harry gasped and wheezed in response, yet managed to nod his head. 

“Severus?” Al turned back to the man who had never dared to be his son. “Shall we save the world?” 

In a very quiet voice Severus formed his response as he drew his wand. “I… love you.” If he didn’t say it then, he would forever have missed the chance to tell his father figure what he felt towards him. 

Albus blinked but laughed pleasantly at the words he had desired to hear for quite some time. “As do I you,” he said. He closed his eyes and held on to the ghost of El’s hand in the reflection. Hoping that neither Severus nor Harry would be irrevocably scarred from what was about to come. 

Chapter Text

“Harry,” Severus addressed him with his back to him, his face hidden from the teenager who would have been his son. “Hide under the cloak. Hide away. When you get the chance, if you get the chance, help Draco.” 

Harry had never heard him sound so short and direct before. The unusual manners of speaking had him obeying the orders without being able to think. From the slightly opened door to his right, Harry could hear the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange as she came closer. The fact that she was still talking to Draco gave Harry hope, as it meant that he was at the very least still with her. He backed from the door, his gaze returning to Severus, whose wand was now pointed at Al. 

In hindsight, it was not hard to understand what had happened, but at that moment, it was beyond impossible to comprehend. It was as if his eyes could see it unfold, but the connection between his eyes and brain was somehow lost, and Harry couldn’t move or even think as he witnessed the murder of Albus Dumbledore. 

A flash of green appeared from Severus’ wand, and it struck Al where he was standing by the mirror. The old wizard smiled weakly, even as the blast connected to his chest. Like Sirius had a year ago, Al began to fall. Or rather, he sank together. His knees hitting the stone floor below him with a horrifying crack, followed by the sound of his head connecting with the very same floor in an equally frightening noise. Yet even as he died, Al did not look frightened. He simply looked calm, and perhaps a little sad. 

Harry wasn’t sure how he sank to his own knees, but he found himself looking up at Severus from the floor, staring incomprehensibly at the wand which had just fired the killing curse. He stared at the magical tool, as he could no longer see Al’s body because it had fallen down on the other side of the Headmaster’s desk.

Severus had claimed to never have killed during the first war. Had he been lying? He had killed so easily, surely that meant that he was a liar? Or was this the same as Pettigrew and his killing curse? Would Al rise again in a little bit, shaken but alive? That had to be it. Severus wasn’t a murderer. He couldn’t be. Remus loved him, and he loved Remus. How could the man his dad loved be anything but a kind, wonderful and somewhat misunderstood man? Harry stared as Severus raised his other hand and wiped away tears with his sleeve, his expression changing from one of utter despair into one of resigned acceptance. Harry felt like his own expression mimicked the first one which the father-killer had shown. 

He still didn’t understand what happened as the door flew open once again, Draco was pushed inside so quickly that his hip gave way and he fell to the floor in a display of helplessness which made his face burn with the shame of his state. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing behind him, her wand pointing at the unwilling Death Eater and then towards Severus. Her hair was completely on end, and her face appeared feral and manic as she bared her teeth in an almost dog-like snarl.

“Two traitors in the same room!” she howled madly. “That doesn’t matter now! Where is Dumbledum? I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him for our Dark Master, as has been entrusted to me.” 

“He is dead,” Severus responded with a calm which was so maddeningly calm that Harry once more rejected the idea that he had just seen Al die by his dad’s lover’s hand. Severus gestured behind him, towards the mirror. 

With another snarl, the mad witch glared at Draco. “I’ll break your legs if you try to run from me.” 

Draco nodded at his aunt’s threat as he slowly began to rise to his feet, struggling as his right hip troubled him. It was seeing this struggle that finally helped Harry realise that he had a job to complete as well. He focused all his energy into that task and approached Draco in silence as Bellatrix Lestrange walked around the Headmaster’s desk to find Al’s corpse upon the floor.

Harry didn’t have time to tell Draco that he was there, he simply moved as quick as he could, sweeping both of them up in the invisibility cloak before Draco could stand up, thus making them disappear from view. Draco’s breath hitched, but he spotted Harry’s face and relaxed once more, understanding what was happening, but unable to tell him that he did. Together, the two struggled to move backwards without disturbing the fabric which kept them safe and out of view. 

“Die!” Bellatrix Lestrange called out. Her voice was followed by a green flash of lightning as she cast the killing curse upon Al. The green light was followed by a weak thud, and Harry experienced a moment of mad rage when he realised that she had likely kicked his body. 

“He was already…” Severus half objected but stopped as the mad witch aimed her wand towards him instead. 

“He was not!” she insisted. “As if you could kill, you traitorous, loveless coward of a Dumble-lover. He was alive, and I killed him! I killed him for our Dark Master!” Bellatrix Lestrange appeared to be at the beginning of a hysteric fit.

Severus closed his mouth and stepped back, allowing her the credit she so desired in having killed the supposed enemy of her Master. Harry and Draco managed to reach the Pensieve, where they stopped, unable to find a better hiding spot upon the floor. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, struggling to not cry as loudly as he wanted to. Al was dead. Whatever hope there was for his survival has disappeared with Bellatrix Lestrange's second killing curse. 

Then something happened with Bellatrix Lestrange.

She had caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror of Erised, and whatever she saw caused her to become very still. She blinked, and then approached it, staring deeply into an image which nobody but she and the mind reader in the room, would ever see.

What she saw was herself, restored to her old beauty, untainted by the madness of Azkaban. In the mirror, she was plump and soft, her belly and her face round, her eyes bright with joy as she held onto the hands of two different men. On her right was the handsome, younger Dark Lord, his hair slightly greying but still dark with youth. He was smiling at her as their child stood between them, her beauty a mix of his and Bellatrix’s. 

Then her gaze travelled to the other man, the one who was standing by her left side. He was still rough and still inhuman, but he was nonetheless more handsome, less tainted by Azkaban. He even had a wand in his pocket, and he laughed a lot, but it was nonetheless Fenrir Greyback. Between them was a little rascal of a son who was happily holding onto Bellatrix’s skirt while playing with his father. 

The girl on her right looked disapprovingly at the young boy on her other side, as she herself remained dignified while her little brother was dirty and rough. Yet Bellatrix knew that her children loved each other as siblings should. She also knew that they were both secretly happy for their upcoming, new sibling, and had made bets between themselves if it was a boy or a girl. Bellatrix continuously reminded them that her child might not have either of those genders, but the children were so convinced of their predictions that they didn’t want to listen to her reasonable reminder. 

As she stared at the surface which projected her own desperate desires, Bellatrix’s hands found her stomach, and she gave a weak whimper as she recalled that she was not pregnant. That she couldn’t be pregnant because her body had failed her in her own desires. She did not think this made her less of a woman, and she was correct that it did not, but she felt like her inability to have children made her less of a Pureblood. 

Made her less than her sister. Less than her sister’s traitorous husband. Less than her own peers and her husband. Less than all those supposed to rule this world.

Less than the Dark Lord himself.

Rage filled her as so often happened when she felt a sadness too deep for her mind to comprehend as anything other than rage. She forgot all about magic, she forgot all about dignity, she forgot all about pain as she raised her fists with a scream of utter madness. Said fists slammed into the ancient mirror as she raised them again, hitting and striking and slamming until the surface finally gave in and the glass shattered under her assault. It rained over her but she did not care, it clattered all around her, some of the shards hitting and bouncing off the corpse which lay forgotten behind her. Bellatrix Lestrange stood panting in front of what had once been a mirror, her tears burnt away by her anger as she turned towards Severus, and then the spot where her nephew should be. Only he was not there. 

“What did you do to him, traitor!” Bellatrix Lestrange spit the word at Severus as she bared her teeth, recalling that she was a witch and therefore pointed her wand towards him. Her bloodied and bruised hands made it hard to hold onto it properly, and her hand trembled alongside her lower lip. 

Yet before Bellatrix Lestrange could seek to kill anyone else that day, there came a noise from far away, and far up, in the castle. The noise of a werewolf howling. Bellatrix flinched at the sound, and then listened. The howl came again, perhaps sounding more desperate now, and the witch abandoned Draco, Severus, the mirror and Dumbledore’s corpse as she hurried towards the door. Severus glanced at Harry and Draco, knowing where they were due to hearing their thoughts. He offered them a glimpse of his true feelings, and then he followed the other Death Eater out the door, joining her in hurrying through the castle and towards the entrance out of Hogwarts from the attic. 

“Al!” Harry broke out of the invisibility cloak as the two adults were gone, leaving Draco to free himself from the cloak and the floor on his own. “Al,” he repeated as he rounded the desk and found the man lying perfectly still in a heap of his own limbs and shattered glass. 

Al’s face was mostly covered by his hair and beard. A bruise was forming upon his cheekbone where Bellatrix Lestrange had kicked him, yet there was no life to the form. His chest didn’t move, his position appeared awkward and to Harry’s horror, some of the glass appeared to have hit his legs, actively causing wounds upon his body after his death. He was still. So still. As still as Cedric Diggory had been, but all the more peaceful in appearance. Mercifully enough, his eyes were shut. 

“Al…” Harry touched his face, feeling that it was beginning to become cold. 

Harry’s vision became blurry with tears as he rested his gaze upon the Greatest Wizard of the century, who was really nobody but Al. Failed father to his son, unhappy lover and fiancé of Gellert Grindelwald. Untalented, friendless, frightened Al who somehow managed to find his courage and become a Professor. The Hufflepuff protegé who wasn’t allowed to be because he was too great for his House. 

“Harry?” Draco carefully spoke up next to Harry, unsure if he could touch him or not. 

Harry looked up at the blurred form of his beloved. “Help me move him, please?” he whispered. 

Together, the two teenagers carefully dragged Albus Dumbledore away from the glass, watched through their efforts by Fawkes the phoenix, who was but a baby chick in the ashes, sleepily moving around as the noise had finally calmed down. They dragged him to the middle of the room, where Al rested in front of his desk and below his planetarium. They found a pillow to rest his head on, and they tried to remove the splinters of glass from the man’s legs. To preserve his dignity further as the wounds left holes in his clothing, they found a blanket to place on top of him. Harry sat by his side, methodically arranging his hair and beard as he tried to not drop tears onto his old friend’s face. Draco repaired Al’s glasses which had broken in the fall or from Bellatrix Lestrange’s kick, and placed them back upon his face. 

“He… died for me?” Draco whispered weakly as he looked upon the deceased man’s face. There were tears upon his cheeks then, and his lower lip trembled. “He died for me, and he died for my family… How… why would he do that?” 

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t speak as the sadness within him was too great to allow him to. He looked at Al’s face and found the strength to force some words from his lips “because he loved us.” 

Draco appeared unconvinced by his partner’s statement, but he did not say anything. He simply nodded, accepting the explanation for the moment. 

At the mention of love, Harry realised something. He blinked and then touched Al’s chest, searching for the bottle. To his great horror, it was not around his old friend’s neck. “W-where is it?” 

“Where is what?” 

“The bottle,” Harry raised his head as he met his boyfriend’s gaze with one of almost pure panic. “The bottle is gone. The bottle of his and El’s blood! He loves it more dearly than anything else in his life… where is it?” The last statement became aggressive. 

Draco finally realised what the bottle referred to, and he looked as well, but could not find it around the former Headmaster’s neck. Together, the two of them got up and began to search the area where Al had fallen, thinking but not stating that they both feared that it had been smashed upon the ground. Yet no amount of blood could be found anywhere upon the ground where Al’s head had been. They searched the desk next, but Harry only managed to find Al’s beloved copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. Feeling like he had failed his friend, he returned to the old wizard with the book and placed it upon Al’s chest, then moved his hands on top of it so that Al was at least holding on to something in his time of utter solitude. 

“I’m sorry… I can’t find your necklace…” Harry whispered to the corpse. “I can’t find it… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

“Harry…” Draco touched his shoulder to make Harry remember that he wasn’t alone.

Harry more or less tackled Draco as he broke down crying, clinging to him while wailing out his sorrow into Draco’s chest. Draco hugged him tightly in return, stroking over Harry’s head as the two of them sat alone under the softly spinning planetarium. The baby phoenix cooed weakly in a possible attempt to console the sorrowful wails which Harry brought into existence. 

Al was dead, yet he had welcomed its embrace, as could be witnessed by the gentleness of his face. He lay still in his office, hugging the book which his beloved had given him once upon a different world. 

“You can all stop fighting!” Bellatrix Lestrange thrilled with joy as she more or less bounced up on the attic. “The king is dead, the castle has fallen!” she laughed. “Dumbledore is dead, killed by a man he trusted!” She pointed back towards Severus’, who felt himself shrink slightly from her finger, but all the more from the looks which were aimed towards him.

The attic space was damaged by the battle which had taken place there. Almost every member of the guard with the exception of Kingsley Shacklebolt were down on their knees, some even upon their backs. Most Death Eaters were still standing, but they seemed almost awkward as to what to do with themselves. The one who was completely knocked out appeared to be Amycus Carrow, as his mask had fallen off, forgotten upon the ground. That meant that underneath one of the other masks was likely Alecto Carrow, as the witch would never allow her brother to do anything which she was convinced that she could do better. For all that he had seen during his life, Severus had never quite encountered a pair of siblings who got along as badly as the Carrows, yet who would continuously stay around the other for the possible opportunity to ensure that their sibling became more miserable than they already were. 

Further, there was Thorfinn Rowle, a man who had a background in Muggle violence, illegal game hunting for sport, as well as rifles and guns. Even now, the large man was eyeing the Lycan as if he considered how much fun it would be to hunt it. Next to Rowle stood a much smaller mage, cowering by the large hunter’s elbow as to avoid the Lycan. Their name was Gibbon, but Severus didn’t know if that was their first name or surname. The mage appeared unlike the rest, cowardly and flinching, yet they must be highly loyal to be there at all. Finally, there was Corban Yaxley, whose wand was aimed at a bloody but still standing despite his wounds Kingsley Shacklebolt. He did not appear to have been bitten, but he was evidently suffering some damage in refusing to sit or lay down. Behind him stood Hestia Jones, also bloody, but less so than the Auror who had directly fought a Lycan. Yaxley did not take his gaze off Shacklebolt while everyone else’s gaze turned to Severus. 

“Good, stupid mutt!” Bellatrix thrilled again as Fenrir Greyback, the beast, came over to her. She reached up and smooched his face, which was covered in blood and saliva, like one would a beloved pet. “Did you make some werewolf babies? Did you?” She spoke to him like one might speak to a baby as he in return licked the blood off her fingers and hands. 

Severus quickly surveyed the rest of the room as the Death Eaters began to stand up, their attention moving towards the fireplace from which they had come. Remus was in a horrible state, but he did not appear to be wounded. Severus wasn’t even sure if he was still conscious, or if he was simply sitting without seeing anything. Tonks was by his side, more or less holding him up with all her strength. She looked at Severus like a trapped animal looking at a predator. Right to Severus’s left lay Vance in a pile of her own body, she was evidently alive, but in rough shape after having been blown to the side and attacked by splinters. Her watery eyes looked up at Severus, staring at him with such hatred that he looked forward instead. Fleur Delacour was on their knees by Bill Weasley, who lay bleeding upon the floor, the victim of the same werewolf who had turned Remus as a child. Delacour was using magic to close the wounds, whispering to themselves in French as they worked, unaware of the rest of the world. The Death Eaters had won, perhaps even without much of a battle. 

When nobody said anything, Bellatrix Lestrange called again, once more pointing to Severus. “He killed your hero and your god! He killed your king and your daddy! He’s a murderer, just like us now!” 

“Severus…?” Remus spoke up, struggling and failing to get to his feet. “Severus… what is…”

He didn’t get to finish as Shacklebolt barked at him. “Is it true? You killed him?” 

“He did,” Bellatrix Lestrange sang. 

“Then we are done here,” Alecto Carrow turned away from her fallen brother and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. She grabbed the stunned body of her brother and then threw him into the fireplace as she gave her destination in a voice quiet enough for no Auror to be able to hear it. The wizard vanished and the witch followed after a quick glance behind herself. 

The rest continued to stare at Severus, expecting a confession or a denial. Remus’ gaze was pleading, begging for Severus to tell him that there was a mistake as both Rowle and Gibbon backed to the fireplace and were eaten by the flames. 

“Don’t forget to bring your beast home,” Rowle called to the Dark witch before he disappeared. 

“He asked me to,” Severus finally confessed. “He begged it of me, so that the Dark Lord couldn’t boast with having killed him, or so that Lestrange couldn’t torture him before she decided to kill him. He asked me to and I…”

“Murderer…” Tonks whispered, interrupting Severus' explanation with a hateful hiss. 

Severus silenced himself, surprised by the pain which the word caused him. It was so powerful that it felt physically painful. He settled on a weak confirmation, “yes.” It didn’t matter if Severus had killed Dumbledore, or if the fall had, or even Bellatrix Lestrange herself had done it. The Greatest Wizard of the century was dead, and there was no taking that back. 

“But… But…” Remus tried to stand once more but didn’t manage to. “I… he… he was your father?” 

Bellatrix Lestrange and the Lycan both howled with amusement, she laughing and he snickering despite being inhuman. 

“Why…?” Remus repeated, unable to hear the two of them. 

“Because he is a traitor, and he always was,” Shacklebolt’s lips said one thing, while his mind said something different. 

Shacklebolt understood that if Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Dumbledore, it was a victory for the Dark Lord and a failure for both Hogwarts, the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix. It was something they all knew of, something that could, and should, have been stopped. Yet if a traitor from within killed Albus Dumbledore, if an unseen threat which had been declared as innocent turned against the man, then the reputation of the Greatest Wizard of the century wouldn’t be tarnished. Then the only one who would bear the consequences of failure was Severus. The Dark Lord wouldn’t gain political advantage in the same manner, the Order of the Phoenix would still remain intact, and Dumbledore’s death would be a terrible betrayal, rather than planned suicide. It was the way it had to be. It was the only way it could be. 

Severus shut his eyes and then opened them again, looking at Remus with a look he hoped was forgiving. He knew Remus wouldn’t actually believe the cover up which was going to be created. He would probably even fight to make the truth come out about Severus’ actions and defend him as a good, virtuous member of the British mage society. “It is the way it must be, Remus. Try to understand and don’t hate yourself for what I have done to us.” Severus then turned away quickly before Remus tears convinced him to abandon his current path. 

Bellatrix helped the Lycan leave, then she followed. Then Yaxley gave Severus a distrusting look, before he removed himself from the scene as well. Severus was left looking into the eyes of Shacklebolt. 

“You’ll burn for this,” the Auror said solemnly. We’ll use you as the political scapegoat for this disaster , is what he meant. 

Severus nodded towards him, knowing that the Auror couldn’t capture him in the state he was currently in. He reached out and took some powder into his hand, feeling the weight of all that the people around him had done, and which had brought him to this moment. 

The murderer of the Greatest Wizard of the century wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban, he would receive a dementor’s kiss for his betrayal to the British mage community.

Not quite able to stop himself, despite knowing far better, Severus glanced towards Remus one last time and spotted a faint gleam of gold upon the man’s hand. He bit his lower lip, already regretting his actions, a familiar regret which left Severus feeling as if it would drown him.

However, it was not enough regret for him to give up or give himself up to the Aurors. Severus had too much to live for, and he was going to try his hardest no matter how many bridges burnt and how many risks there were. He wanted to believe that at the end of this war, he could still have a future together with Remus. An old life which they shared until their deaths, and then a rest in a family grave, side by side. It felt impossible at that moment, but he had doubted Remus before, and they had still found a way back to each other. Remus was not the type of person to simply allow his life to slip through his fingers yet again. He might have been when he was sixteen, but he would not repeat that mistake. 

One day, they would be together again. 

Then they would remain together always. 

Severus opened his hand, gave his location and stepped into the flames. For a moment, he wished that he had been burnt by them, and left to not have to think or feel again. Yet the fire didn’t hurt him, it simply brought him to his location and into the metaphorical claws of the Death Eaters, followers and sympathisers, and into the arms of Lord Voldemort himself. 

Chapter Text

Harry and Remus were reunited in the hospital wing, where the father captured and embraced both Harry and Draco as they were brought inside the wing by Tonks and Jones, who had both gone to check on the claims about Albus Dumbledore’s death. Both teenagers began to cry as they were hugged, and Remus might have cried too. It was a little hard for them all to tell what was happening, even within their own heads. 

Bill Weasley had been mostly saved by Fleur’s magical first aid, and thus he had been left alone, sleeping on a bed while Madam Pomfrey took care of Shacklebolt and Vance, who both needed more immediate care. The Madam asked no questions since there were lives to save, but neither she nor her assistant nurse were happy with the sudden introduction of wounded adults in her school hospital ward. 

Someone had collected Professor McGonagall and relayed the information about Dumbledore’s death to the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. She had paled, then needed to sit down for almost a minute before she somehow gathered herself and rose. “I shall collect the teachers of Hogwarts. Someone might want to collect Mrs. Weasley since her son is hurt, but then I want that fireplace destroyed this very night.” She left the room, expecting her orders to be followed as she did not look back. 

The family and Draco were left alone in a corner. Harry was holding on to the newborn phoenix which he had brought with him out of fear that everyone would forget about the baby animal when so many more things were occurring. Fawkes had been El’s and he had later been Al’s, and Harry felt as if he would let them both down if the bird was simply forgotten in an empty office. It was equally possible that phoenixes could die unless they were fed, so Harry’s choice had practically been made for him. As of currently, the bird was asleep in Harry’s hands and the owner of his bed was leaning against his dad’s arm. Draco and Harry were sitting on opposite sides of Remus as he held them with one arm each, as if to convince himself that they were still there, and to ensure that they were safe. 

After a prolonged stretch of silence, Remus spoke up. “I cannot in any way reach Narcissa, but I will forever find it a personal failure of mine if I do not help you. You won’t be going back to Malfoy Manor. You will likely be forgotten by the Dark Lord now that the… the... deed has been done, but you might not be safe. I intend to bring you with me and Harry. It’s what Narcissa would want me to do.” 

Draco hesitated. It was evident that he didn’t want to return to his home and the people who now lived there, but he was not comfortable with running away from his parents, or at the very least his mother. Then, he appeared to fold in on himself, becoming too tired to argue as he realised that his mother would indeed want him to not come back and place himself in danger amongst Death Eaters, sympathisers and criminals. Narcissa Malfoy would feel far better if Draco simply stayed away. As a mother, she would lament the loss of her child by her side, but as a mother, she would also want her child to be safe. Draco simply could not be safe in Malfoy Manor, not even if he remained by her side. That much was clear. 

“I would like to come with you, Professor,” Draco agreed. 

Harry smiled as he reached out and took his lover’s hand, squeezing it tightly as a burden was lifted from his shoulders. Like this, he wouldn’t have to fear what might be happening to Draco in a place he couldn’t reach. Like this, neither Crabbe nor Bellatrix Lestrange or the Dark Lord could touch him. 

Remus smiled but then frowned weakly. “Have I not given you permission to call me Remus? Surely I have?” 

“I can’t remember you doing that,” Draco admitted, frowning in return. 

“Oh, well…” the werewolf smiled. “Call me Remus.” 

Draco mimicked the expression, appearing relieved. “I shall,” he promised. 

“Are we leaving Hogwarts tonight?” Harry asked, realising that his dad might have different plans than he did. 

“As soon as I am strong enough to apparate,” Remus confirmed. 

“But… But our friends! We have to at the very least talk to them before we just… run away!” Harry felt stressed and within that stress, he failed to be as polite as he wanted to be. He realised the accusatory tone of voice and so he backtracked quickly. “I’m sorry, I just… I have some things I need to say to some people before we leave. My room is right outside of this ward. We can lock the door and then ask Dobby and Kreacher for help to gather everyone.” 

Remus looked like he was about to argue but then he surrendered to the idea. He nodded once before sighing weakly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t steal you from your friends in that manner. It would be cruel of me.” 

Harry grinned, but not as widely as he usually did. “You could never be cruel dad. Even if you tried.” 

Remus leaned in to kiss Harry’s forehead, then smiled gratefully at his son. There was nothing he could say to communicate how much he had needed to hear such a comment, but his actions served in the absence of words. Harry returned the smile, a little easier this time. 

“Bill!” 

The voice of Molly Weasley interrupted their conversation as the witch came rushing inside the room, her hair and clothes on end and her face red with emotions. She appeared to have cried, as her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks carried traces of wetness even after running. The mother spotted Fleur and so she ran over to Bill’s bed, almost slamming into it in her hurry to get to her son. 

“My baby!” Molly’s eyes filled with tears as she looked upon the pale and scarred form of Bill. “My little boy… my child…” she sniffed. 

Her tears appeared to rouse Fleur to emotions as well, and they silently handed Molly a tissue as they tried to not cry again. Molly accepted it with a weak whimper but she used it to gently dab some sweat off her son’s forehead rather than use the tissue for her own needs. 

In her grief and worry, Molly Weasley became unreasonable, as people have a habit of becoming when experiencing strong feelings. “Bitten by a werewolf! And he was so handsome!” she sniffed. “He was about to be married… and now he… Oh, Bill, I am so sorry…” 

Fleur appeared to react as if they had gotten an electric shock. Then tears began to run down their cheeks before their face became red with anger, making for an oddly emotional, human look upon their almost otherworldly face. “Excuse me!” their accent was so heavy that the language was barely recognisable as English. “ Was ? Was! There is no was here! I am going to marry Bill no matter what he looks like, and no matter how werewolf he is! Over there sits a great man and werewolf, he can teach and help Bill and I will never be afraid of him! Never! Bébé lived his entire life with werewolf and so will I! I love Bill, and I always liked dogs more than cats!” They finished with a decided stomping of their foot to create an outlet for their feelings, tears of anger still streaming down their face. 

Remus cowered somewhat as he was addressed and pointed to, and Harry and Draco simply stared as the baby phoenix stirred in Harry’s hands, having woken up by the declaration of love. 

“We don’t know if Bill is a werewolf yet…” Remus tried to be reasonable, but the witch and the mage couldn’t hear him. 

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, before Molly realised exactly what she had insinuated. “I… I didn’t mean… of course you will be… and the werewolf part is… well I didn’t mean to…”

Fleur gave a rather hefty, undignified sniffle and then suddenly fell forward and into Molly’s embrace, crying as if their heart had broken. “I couldn’t help!” they hiccuped. “I did my best, will he not hate me for not saving him from scars? I only blood could... Oh Bill, I’m sorry!” 

“Hush, hush, dearie,” Molly patted their back while still crying. “You did what you could. You did everything right. Without you, I might not have had my firstborn by now. Thank you so much.” 

At the praise, Fleur wailed louder, much to the displeasure of Shacklebolt, who was closer to the emotional pair, as well as Bill, than he wanted to be. Shacklebolt wasn’t a man who particularly enjoyed open displays of emotions, mostly because he was very much affected by them and didn’t want anyone to know that he cried easily when he allowed himself to. 

In an attempt to give the two some privacy, Draco turned towards Harry and Remus. “Have you told him about Colin yet?” he asked his boyfriend. 

“Oh!” Harry had completely forgotten to write that letter and give it to Kreacher. “Dad, I got a second boyfriend. Do you remember Colin Creevy?” 

Remus nodded, “I recall his letter campaign to reinstate me as a teacher. Surely he must have stopped with that effort by now?” 

Harry and Draco looked at each other. 

“He’s still doing it,” they both said as one, having no doubt that Colin was not the type to quit a venture he believed in. 

“Oh…” Remus appeared a little redder at the thought that somebody wanted him back to such an extent. “Well, is he nice? I don’t know much about him except that he most definitely always knew how to use a phone.” 

“He’s so nice,” Harry sighed happily as he petted the phoenix in his hands. “I want to say goodbye to my friends too, but I especially don’t want to just leave Colin without a word.” 

Remus nodded, “I understand. The demand was rather unreasonable of me, when I overthink the logistics of things. Are you dating him as well, Draco? Oh, wait, that might be rude to ask. I apologise.” 

“No insult taken,” Draco assured him. “No, I am not dating Colin as of currently, but we get along rather well.” 

“Pardon for snooping, though…” Remus appeared embarrassed as he shifted. “It was still out of line.” 

“Uhm… Professor?” Tonks' voice saved Remus from some of his embarrassment as she suddenly spoke up, having more or less materialised herself in front of the family and their friend. “Can I steal you for a sec? I just wanted to talk to you about something.” 

After quickly glancing at his wards, Remus stood up and walked into the corner of the hospital ward with the younger witch. Harry and Draco moved to sit closer together, and the shorter teenager leaned against his boyfriend, shutting his green eyes to the world while attempting to pacify the baby bird back to sleep. They were so young in Remus’ eyes. As a sixteen year old, he had felt so old, and life had appeared so boringly simple, and so black-and-white cruel. Yet Remus was now a father, and had somehow been for fifteen years. Yet he did not feel old, not like he had when he was sixteen and the world was monotone. 

“Remus?” Tonks sounded almost annoyed with him that he wasn’t paying attention to her. 

“Yes?” Remus looked away from his son, shaking his head slightly as he focused on her. 

“He doesn’t deserve you!” Tonks spoke with emotions which made her sound childish, rather than anything else. 

Remus blinked, staying silent as he watched her, not understanding.

“He doesn’t deserve you, he clearly doesn’t care about you,” the Auror continued and only now did Remus understand that she spoke of Severus. “He betrayed us and all our efforts in saving Dumbledore!” 

“He didn’t know,” Remus responded reasonably. “The plan was changed without anyone telling him. How was he to know something you didn’t inform him of?” 

“Isn’t he a mind reader or something?” Tonks objected. “Couldn’t he have figured it out and then just betray us based on that?” 

“He can’t read minds through an entire castle and you didn’t tell him anything!” Remus heard how his voice shaped into a growl. “Severus did what Dumbledore asked of him. What he had asked of all of us. We were the ones to complicate the plan on our own. We were the ones to force Severus' hands. If we had only listened to Dumbledore-...” 

“But we didn’t even do anything! That monster was to blame for everything going wrong, not us.” Her voice was loud and accusing, and her voice broke at parts. 

“This serves no purpose!” Remus scolded her. “We can point fingers all we like and shift the blame to whoever we wish, but it won’t solve anything. This was Dumbledore’s plan all along. We know how to react to this, we know what we have to do to try and end the war when it comes. We know how to kill the Dark Lord in theory. He died, yes, but he left instructions and assistance.” 

“Don’t you see…?” Tears filled Tonks’ eyes as she looked up at him, her face red with emotions and her lower lip protruding slightly in a pout. “That Death Eater doesn’t love you like he should! He destroyed everything you have to do what Dumbledore wanted. He doesn’t care about you. I would! I would care about you, and I would not betray you for… for the world!” 

Remus stared at her, shocked and uncomfortable by her proclamation of love. She was hardly more than seven to nine years older than Harry! He could have been her teacher, and she his student. He was far too old for her, and they had absolutely nothing in common. In fact, they didn’t know each other enough to know if they could even possibly have anything in common, and yet she proclaimed her love for him? Love! What love? He could see nothing but obsession and desperation within her eyes, twisting her features into a mockery of the love he and Severus shared. Somebody in love with an idea of loving something without even knowing that person. Someone who thought his condition was fascinating enough to want him without even understanding what makes people feel for one another.

Remus had to gather himself for a few seconds before he could speak steadily enough to not yell his emotions into her face. “This,” Remus began, “is my engagement ring.” He showed it to her. “I’m engaged to Severus, and I intend to marry him. He might not have handled the situation in any way I wanted it to be handled, and I am terrified for the future. Or rather, a future without him. But you mock me with your cruel remarks and your selfish idea of your love. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You can’t replace Severus, because people aren’t replaceable! I don’t want to hear anything else about this from you, or so help me I will never be able to speak to you again. Severus didn’t throw our relationship away. He didn’t throw my love away. You don’t understand what you speak of. Severus will come back to me, and we’ll be married. It’s… it’s… inevitable.” He settled on a word and then turned his back to her, stomping back to Harry and to Draco. 

Both teenagers saw him coming, but none said anything as he sat back down and hid his face in his hands, trying to keep from crying. Remus felt tired. He wanted to sleep for ten years, as his body trembled, both heated and chilled from the emotions he was feeling. Upon his finger glimmered the engagement ring. Remus knew that he loved his husband to be, and that Severus loved him. He knew that with a fierce passion which he would never allow himself to doubt. 

Severus would return to him, and Remus could afford to wait. After all, he wasn't even forty yet. He had so much life left to live. They would definitely live it together. 

Remus simply tried to breathe, focusing on nothing else but that task. He didn’t want to appear upset and cause further distress to the two teenagers. Yet he couldn’t get the conversation from moments prior out of his head, it repeated within the walls of his mind, bounced endlessly and made him feel more stressed.

As his racing mind slowly calmed down ever so slightly, it became a little easier to think again. Remus avoided glancing towards Tonks, not even sure if she had remained in the hospital wing or not.

Doubt slowly poisoned his mind, and made him wonder if he had handled the situation correctly. With everything which had just happened with Severus, with his own fears, feelings and worry, all he could focus on was the fact that he was not giving up on the man, not yet, not like this.

Yet, maybe it was easier to tell a person that he was unavailable rather than tell the actual truth: that he was not interested in or comfortable with her personally. It had happened so quickly and automatically that part of him almost regretted not being clearer about the fact that he held no interest in her. He didn’t blame her for her feelings, not actually, it was just a plain reality that there were no reasons for him to not consider his own happiness. 

The father sighed heavily and glanced towards his son, where he sat by his side, pretending not to glance at and worry about his dad. As he looked upon his son’s form a realisation came to the werewolf who had found himself unworthy of everything and anything.

Remus was loved for real, and in more than one way.

He was loved and understood his own value as a person despite all the doubts, insecurities and fears which he had dealt with most of his life. He loved himself enough to understand that in no situation would it be fair towards himself to just resign to a person claiming to love him. He understood his own happiness enough to know that getting together with someone simply out of fear that nobody else would love him would not actually lead to happiness. He knew that he deserved better than being treated as fascinating and exotic for a condition which hurt and harmed him, but didn’t define him in his entirety as a person. He knew that he was more than those few things Tonks found intriguing and attractive, and knew that he had the right to express all of those things and be all of those things. He knew that he had the right to say no, simply because he didn’t want her. He didn’t need to motivate his choices. He knew that her feelings for him could never become more important than his own life and how he wanted to live it.

How had it… come to that?

Remus was fairly certain that he still loathed himself in many ways. He had struggled with his self worth and general worth all his life, and still believed that his condition defined him in many ways. Yet, that wasn’t enough to have him resign to become an object of desire to somebody else. It wasn’t enough to not consider the reality that a relationship went two ways. It wasn’t enough to not want happiness.

A part of him wondered if he, when he was younger, would have allowed himself to be with a person simply because that person claimed to love him, and would have thought that was the best he could ever have. It had never happened to him, so he wasn't sure.

Yet if Remus hadn’t raised Harry, if he hadn’t allowed himself to make connections with the people around him, would he have been desperate enough to let somebody be with him simply because they wanted him, despite his own comfort? 

It felt a little impossible to imagine and he would never really know for sure. However, Remus hoped dearly that he wouldn’t have. Nobody deserved doing that to themselves. 

“Professor McGonagall!” Harry spotted the woman’s return to the hospital wing, as he tried and failed to not display worry in regards to his suddenly very quiet dad. 

The rather suddenly instated Headmistress of Hogwarts looked up as Harry called out to her, and waited as he handed the baby bird to Draco so that he could approach without waking it. She gave him a weak, strained smile. “Yes, Mr. Lupin?” 

Harry felt himself hesitate as he knew what he was about to ask might be the most personally important thing he had ever asked anyone. It wasn’t quite true, but it felt true to Harry at that moment. Not to mention that he barely knew Professor McGonnagall and had little to no reference of how reliable she would be. “Al… he… There is something he must be buried with. It’s important. So important I can’t even think of parallels to how important it is.”

Professor McGonagall nodded despite frowning slightly. “I shall see what I can do.”

“No!” Harry interrupted her, feeling as his own lower lip began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears. “It’s not enough to try. It has to be, or else Al will never be able to rest in peace.” 

The Headmistress studied him for a second, then yielded to his desperation. “Very well… I shall make my utmost effort to see it done. What is it you think he needs?” 

“There is a ring,” Al’s friend said, “an engagement or even wedding ring. I don’t know these things well enough to know for certain, but I think engagement. Either way, it is hidden because Al couldn’t wear it openly. I know the exact location of the ring, and if Al isn’t buried with that ring, I will never be able to forgive myself.” 

“You would have me find the ring and assure that it is given to him?” she asked for confirmation. 

Harry nodded. “It’s been waiting to be worn since before 1945. Al has been waiting to dare to wear it again. Please, we need to do this for him. He deserves it. He deserves so much more, but this one gesture would be enough to make him weep with joy.” 

The Headmistress believed him without doubt. Because of her reaction, Harry suspected that she might have known Al personally to a degree of knowing what he was speaking of. In fact, her eyes watered slightly as she thought of the previous Headmaster and how much he had meant to her personally, as a friend and as someone to look up to. “I give you my word that I shall retrieve the ring,” she promised. “Where would I find it?” 

“In the Dumbledore mansion. The ring has been hidden underneath the floorboards in the room Al shared with his partner, El. I think that if you used a finding spell, you could locate the ring fairly easily.” Harry concluded. “Do you need a description of what the ring looks like?” 

She hesitated but then asked “how do you know all this, Mr. Lupin?” 

Harry blinked before his expression settled into a calm and relaxed one. He smiled, leaning his head to the side as he did. “Because Al told me. Because Al was my friend.” 

“I… see,” Professor McGonagall smiled in return. “I see,” she repeated. 

When Harry turned back to his dad and boyfriend, he found that the bird had been passed to Remus, and that Draco was on his knees, being hugged by Dobby. 

“I’m so happy you’re alright,” the elf said as he parted from the blonde wizard, his big eyes slightly watery and his lips pulled back in an honest smile. “I’ve been worried… It is…” he sighed, “such a relief.” 

“Come now,” Draco said as they parted from one another, his own eyes wet with tears as well. “I’ve already cried more than enough today.” 

Dobby smiled a smaller, just slightly teasing grin. “I suspect you shall cry much more still when I return with your friends.” 

Draco chuckled as he dried a tear away from his cheek, “I suspect you might be correct about that.” 

With a weak noise, Dobby apparated away, leaving to collect Draco and Harry’s shared friends. 

“The Madam will be upset,” Remus mumbled as he glanced towards Madam Pomfrey and the assistant nurse. 

“I told you my room is just outside the door,” Harry repeated. “We can relocate as they arrive.” 

“Good idea,” Remus agreed as he quickly avoided the Head nurse’s sharp gaze which happened to find him looking at her. Fawkes snored in his sleep and rolled around in Remus’ hands. 

Upon being brought to the wing by Dobby, Colin hugged Harry tightly while Hermione and Teddy ganged up on Draco, refusing to let him go as both of them ended up crying on him. Draco appeared somewhat confused at first, but he then settled into holding onto them, assuring them that he was alright and that he had missed them. Neville and Ron had both hugged Harry, but had now stepped back to join Remus while their respective best friends celebrated their reunion with Draco. 

Remus had handed the little bird to Ron, who was happily accepting the role as animal caretaker, seeing as he was by far the most interested in Care of Magical Creatures among his friends. It was evident that Ron needed the company and distraction of something to keep the strong emotions under control after what had happened to Bill. Fawkes was such a distraction. 

The group had gathered in Harry’s room, and were soon joined by Dobby as he returned with Lucius Malfoy’s cane. Nobody had asked him to get it, but he had nonetheless left to complete his self given task. Draco was thankful, but he was still stuck between Hermione and Teddy, both of whom had yet to let him go. 

“Children?” Remus made an effort to get their attention. He then quickly changed his mind and backtracked. “Students? Uhm… You know I’m speaking to you, even if I don’t know how to refer to you all by a noun. I don’t want to make light of the situation. What happened tonight will close Hogwarts down. The Headmaster has been murdered, the castle breached… A war is coming. It might even have started. A lot of things have changed and will keep on changing, and the school will not remain open during such a time as war.” He attempted to speak without too much emotion, but it was evident that it was hard on him. His voice was breaking at many points, and he couldn’t look anyone in the eyes. 

“A war…?” Ron croaked out. “But… but we don’t know that for certain yet…” 

“It will come,” Remus promised him in a quiet voice. “Nobody wants it, but it is nonetheless happening around us.” 

“What makes you think that Hogwarts will close?” Neville asked next in a careful voice. “Did it not remain open during the last war?” 

Remus sighed deeply. “Last time, Hogwarts wasn’t invaded. Must I remind you that the public already considers the school unsafe? Dark Lords possessing teachers, the Chamber of Secrets, mass murderer break-ins, a werewolf loose on the school grounds, Diggory’s death… Dumbledore’s murder just a few hours ago. Hogwarts hasn’t been safe for a long time.” 

The students stood silent, all secretly agreeing with what the Professor was telling them. 

Last year, they had been having carrier talks in school. Last year, they had been planning their futures and considering their options. Nobody expected it to have turned out like this. Even though the war was expected, the effects it would have on their lives had been hard to picture. Yet that picture was quickly becoming uncomfortably clear. There would be no school, no Hogwarts next year. Their education could not continue as it was, because the war did not allow for such necessities. The realisation made Harry’s brain feel utterly empty, and he felt how Colin trembled as he hugged his boyfriend tighter, seeking to steady himself. 

“But what happens to us?” Colin asked. “Do we just… go home?” 

Remus appeared guilty once more as he shifted from foot to foot. “Me and other parents have been discussing these matters on our own. I shall be taking Draco with me and Harry back to the house Sirius left for us, as it is by far the safest place for us. Augusta Longbottom will come join us, and of course you are expected to come with her, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville nodded as his name was mentioned, yet he didn’t seem to be entirely mentally present. 

“As for Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger and Mr. Nott,” the father continued, “Molly wants you to stay with her at the Burrow. As for Mr. Creevy… You were not part of our plans as we don’t know much about you.” Remus admitted in a small voice and then shifted uncomfortably once more. “You do have the advantage of being able to go back to your Muggle family and remove yourself from the mage society. It would be the wisest thing to do, as you would remove yourself from immediate danger in the war which is coming. There are no direct registers about blood, so you could actually choose to disappear, should you wish to. I truly think that it would be your best option, but it feels ignorant to presume that you would want to shut yourself away from this community which is yours also.”

The room turned to look at Colin as he was clinging to Harry, appearing pale, slightly ill and evidently unsteady where he stood. Harry could feel the anxiety and worry almost ooze from him. Yet the guilt of being able to simply escape it all appeared to make Colin doubt what he should do. 

“We still have the phone,” Harry told him in a weak whisper as he touched his boyfriend’s cheek to return him to the present. “We can talk all the time, or well, within reason. You wouldn’t be alone.” 

Colin gave Harry a deeply thankful look as he leaned into his hand, closing his eyes. “I’m worried about Dennis,” he admitted. “If it is true that nobody can trace us for being Muggle-born, then that is a relief, but should anyone find out, then Dennis would hardly be able to defend himself at all. I want to… No, I need to be there for them. I’m not running away from this community, and I don’t want to leave you as you’re my friends. But… but… Dennis…” He finished weakly. 

Harry kissed him, overwhelmed by the relief that Colin, at the very least, would be safer than most of them. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll call you a lot.”

Colin smiled weakly. “You don’t think I’m a coward?” 

“Never,” Harry shook his head. “I’ve come to a point where I’m not even sure cowards really exist. I think it’s just a title given to people who aren’t as willing to risk themselves or things for others, and who people simply decided to hate based on them not being as much 'fun' as others, or used to shame them when they don't do what the people around them want.”

Colin laughed weakly before he nuzzled Harry’s cheek. He whispered in his ear, making sure that only Harry could hear his comment. “It’s hot when you hold lectures.” 

Harry squealed weakly in response, hoping that his complexion was hiding his blushing face as he pretended to bite Colin’s cheek. 

Hermione finally let go of Draco and walked over to hug both Ron and Neville at once as she took a few deep, shaking breaths. Teddy got a pat on the back from Draco before he came to stand next to Ron. Draco returned to Harry’s side, where Harry quickly grabbed him and held on to both his boyfriends’ hands. 

Things were changing. Things which were impossible to think of as temporary became obviously impermanent. They all came to understand the effects the war would have on their lives. For a while, they all stood in silence, staring out at nothing as they struggled to not give in to the hopelessness of it all. 

Then Harry breathed a deep breath and looked up at his friends, giving them an honest, emotional smile. “Hey?” he began to gather their attention. “I love you all. Everyone in the room. I want you to know that.” 

Remus, Draco, Colin, Neville, Hermione, Teddy, Ron and Dobby all smiled back at him. 

“We love you too.” 

Chapter Text

“If we find that any werewolves have found their way to our things,” Fred said. 

“Or if they’ve gotten to our tools,” George continued. 

“Then we will…” the twins continued as one. 

“Die,” Fred said.

“Cry,” George said. 

Then they looked at once another, staring blankly at the other’s not-so-identical face. Fred cracked first and began to laugh, followed soon by George. Their laughter no longer sounded identical. Harry figured that they must have tried very hard to actually become one, as they really weren’t as alike as they had wanted everyone to think they were. 

Bill Weasley was approaching his first full moon as a newly made werewolf. He had been given quite some magical treatment for his wounds so that the stress and pain of transforming wouldn’t be as bad as it could be, but he was still in rough shape, even before the transformation. Yet even worse, without Severus, neither Remus nor Bill had a Lycanthropy potion to assist them in keeping their minds clear and aware of their humanity. Harry knew how anxious his dad was about the lack of potion, but the ingredients were simply too hard to obtain for them to be able to afford on such short notice, especially in such uncertain times. George had made a promise that he would see what he could do for the next full moon, but during this, the first, they were all caught somewhat off guard. There had been so much to do, and so many people moving in and about both the grim old place and the Burrow that they had all been somewhat surprised when half a month had already passed. 

That is to say, there was no potion to assist the werewolves, but there were now two animagi to keep them company. 

“Harry!” Fleur had told him over the phone, half barking with nervousness. “Teach me how to become animagus!” 

“...I… How did you know that I am an animagus?” Harry had responded. 

“Ron,” they sounded proud. “I asked him how you lived with your dad in such small space without worry. He told me: animagus. I need to become one so I can keep Bill company.” The honesty, desire and genuine love in their voice made Harry promise to assist them in achieving their goal. 

Thus, for the next few weeks, Fleur had visited the grim old place a lot when they weren’t caring for Bill. The two of them had practiced together while Draco kept them company, usually half asleep in one of the armchairs as his body and mind recovered from his terrible school year. Augusta Longbottom took to directing Kreacher in how to clean the entire house to her liking, Kreacher was relieved about finally having directions of where and what to clean compared to Sirus who had told him to ‘do whatever’, and Remus who said he ‘did not have to clean.‘ Neville discovered a greenhouse in the backyard of the townhouse, which he quickly took to working with and restoring. Remus remained largely absent through his working for the Order of the Phoenix, but he always came back home by the end of the day. 

Augusta Longbottom was an odd presence in Harry's life. She had displayed certain behaviours which made her appear to be prejudiced against werewolves, less talented mages, and various other people. Thus, it was somewhat surprising to watch the woman abandon any such strong opinions against werewolves for the sake of making certain that she and her grandson were safe with good people as the war was becoming a frightening reality. In the end, the woman seemed willing to abandon her ideas and to be proven wrong in terms of werewolves when it really mattered. It was odd, and Harry wasn't exactly comfortable with her presence, yet she never spoke down to him or Remus, so there really wasn't anything to complain about.

Harry wanted desperately to go to Al’s funeral, but it was deemed too dangerous by everyone for him to go. Thus, he had begged for a photograph of the grave so that he could at the very least offer it flowers and gifts in some manner. Harry hated not being allowed to go, but there was nothing he could do if nobody would take him there. He told himself that he would go visit the grave as soon as everything was over, for he had to believe that it would be. At the very least, Al had been wearing his engagement ring at the funeral. It had been all that Harry could do for him, and while he knew that Al would consider it enough, Harry was still upset about being unable to be there to say farewell one last time. 

Augusta Longbottom had argued against having two werewolves in the house, seeing as if they for some reason got out, they would become ‘the two werewolves of London,’ and she refused to be part of that narrative. She also argued that it was safer to know how the lack of Lycanthropy potion affected the old beast and the newborn before they decided if it was even remotely safe for them to be in the same house as people. While Harry didn’t precisely like her logic, he could not fault it. 

It was decided that the two werewolves were to stay at the Burrow, but in George's and Fred’s house rather than among people in the main house. Protection wards were put up around the building, and the two floor building itself offered the two beasts some room to move around rather than be locked up in small cages, which had been Remus' suggestion. It had been shut down by Molly, Fleur and Harry, who objected to the inhumane treatment by the use of the cages. While the objection had made his cheeks heat, Remus had still been touched by their reaction. Bill seemed relieved that he was not about to become a caged animal for a night.

Thus it was that the twins showed their differences as they instructed Harry and Fleur on what to not let the werewolves do when roaming around their home. Behind the two animagi stood the two werewolves, both of whom struggled with the desire to run into the fields which surrounded the Burrow on almost every side. It was also evident that the two of them enjoyed being together, in the sort of way where dogs and other canines enjoyed it when they saw a playmate. Harry thought that the two untransformed werewolves appeared happier than Remus had ever been on the night of a full moon. Despite the worries in regards to their transformations, it was evident that werewolves appeared to be pack members before they were lone animals. 

“It’s our idea to keep them on the upper floor,” Fleur explained. “They won’t come near the tools.”

“Good,” George breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Don’t break any of our pillows, please,” Fred laughed. 

“I finished gathering everything,” Teddy opened the door to the twins’ home and stepped out, carrying a sack over his shoulders. “The workbench is clear of tools and prototypes. Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“No reason,” Fred grinned awkwardly as the younger tinkerer finished doing what none of them had even thought to do. 

“Thanks, Teddyster,” George, having accidentally awaked some trauma in calling Teddy ‘Tedster’, had invented a new nickname for him. One which Teddy liked a lot better. 

“No problem,” Teddy grinned. “How are they doing?” he asked Harry and Fleur next. 

“About to run off into the woods like crazy puppies,” Fleur sighed. 

“We’re a little worried about Bill’s body since it’s the first time, but I’ve never seen dad have a werewolf companion before. I know it has helped him in the past, so it should help now too.” Harry beamed as he spoke. “I think this will be a rather nice night compared to... others. Company will definitely help, I am certain. That reminds me, don’t look directly at the transformation. It’s gruesome and a little rude.” Harry said the last to Fleur. 

They sighed once more, “for the tenth time, I shall not.” 

“I already told you?” 

Fleur nodded. 

Harry licked his lips and averted his gaze. He supposed that he was nervous as well. He hoped that Draco and Neville were having a nice night at home where they didn’t have to stay up until morning. He envied them a little, but he was far more determined to be there for his dad. 

Fleur glanced at the sky and then nodded to themselves before turning around. “Bill?” 

The two werewolves turned towards them, reacting equally to the call. 

“We should head inside. It’s becoming time.” 

“Wait, before you go!” Molly called as she hurried over to the group of people from inside the main house. She was holding a large plate of meat and a collection of dried pig ears which she handed to Harry. “I was thinking that you ought to bring that, dear. I’m sure the transformation will be taxing, maybe some food will help with that? Oh, those ears I prepared for Snuffles…” she sighed sadly. “That was before I knew he was a person. Now I’ve got quite the collection and nothing to feed them to.” 

“I… uhm… T-thank you,” Remus answered her with a shy nervousness which didn’t do much to mask how much he thought those ears looked tasty. “You didn’t have to… that’s quite some meat too…”

“Nonsense! My son won’t be a hungry werewolf on my property. Arthur’s property!” She quickly corrected herself. “My son won’t be a hungry werewolf if I got something to say about it.” 

Bill smiled weakly and then stepped over to give his mum a hug. “You’re the best,” he mumbled, his state of being making him more affectionate than he might otherwise have been comfortable with showing. 

Molly hugged him back carefully and then squeezed his cheeks in a way which made her son embarrassed. “In you go. Don’t break your brothers’ things now.” 

“That’s what we said,” George and Fred said as one. Then they laughed loudly and gave the other high fives. Or they tried to, they missed the first two times, only managing on the third. 

Harry carried the plate inside the house and the wards were closed behind them, keeping the house safe from werewolf escapes. The group of four trailed up to the second floor and made themselves comfortable on top of pillows on the floor. Then they proceeded to play Monopoly together, the werewolves looking longingly towards the plate of meat while the two animagi tried to keep an eye on the time. 

The shift was heralded by a tremble which suddenly passed through the two men. Remus bent forward, trying to not touch his own body as the change began, but Bill did not have his experience, and ended up touching his own face. His expression shifted between terror and pain as the transformation continued. Harry and Fleur stood up and backed away, changing into their animal shapes as they took cover by the stairs to the first floor, which they had planned together beforehand. 

With the help of Missy the snake, Harry understood his snake body better than ever before. He had little trouble whatsoever moving now, and it felt natural to not have limbs, at least while he was in the shape of the animal. Meanwhile, Fleur still struggled with their shape, as they did not possess any ability to speak to the animal which they took the shape of. 

Fleur was a swan. A mighty, large animal with an deep orange beak and a dangerous stare to their eyes. The feathery coat was in the same hue as their hair, and appeared to glitter in certain light. They were awe inspiring, and very loud. Harry was glad that he could not hear them, not even while cowering together upon the same step. He was also relieved to not hear the rest of the transformation, nor the howls of pain which came from the two werewolves. Yet he had no trouble understanding when they had fully changed, as the vibrations which followed their movements changed significantly with their new forms. 

It took the werewolves some time to calm down. At first, they were in pain and aggressive, but the older and larger werewolf quickly made certain that the younger learned who was the mightier of the two. After their short scuffle, the two did calm down once more, and began to explore their new surroundings. Thus it was that the werewolves came around the corner, one larger and with older scars, and one smaller with slightly redder hair in the places it had hair, fresher scars, and a tattoo upon its left arm. 

Harry raised his head and gave a warning hiss, but the reaction he installed was nothing compared to the mighty honk from the swan which sent the two canines sprawling backwards into the room where they had come from. There they found the meat which had been left for them, and began to eat. The swan followed them and sat down in the doorway, while the snake slowly made his way over to lay next to the bird. 

The werewolf who was Remus quickly began to calm down after the painful transformation, and he came to lay down on the ground, keeping an eye on both the mighty honker and the hissing piece of black rope. Meanwhile, the newly turned youngling became agitated and stressed, and he ended up both wandering around the room and rolling on the floor, his being aflame with the staining muscles and the new body. Fleur made sure to honk loudly every time the werewolf who was Bill tried to scratch his face or himself, prompting him to stop. Or at least Harry assumed the honk to be loud, seeing as the werewolves appeared to think it was. Thus, Bill took to fighting something he felt capable of overcoming: namely a curtain. 

Time passed, with Harry and Fleur keeping guard, Bill rolling around or playing with whatever he could find for amusement to distract from the pain, and Remus mostly snoring in a corner as he realised that he wasn’t getting anywhere. After some careful persuasion, the werewolf dad allowed his snake son to lay with him without being scared of him. Harry was very satisfied with that accomplishment. 

Thus, the night passed and the sun rose above the Burrow. The two werewolves, Harry and Fleur slept until ten, when Remus woke up. He was almost assaulted by the newly awoken swan, but they stopped when they recognised the man and not the beast. Remus got dressed and then carefully woke the two sleeping wizards. 

“Oh man… I feel drunk and… beaten up?” Bill objected as he pulled his clothes back on, rubbing his back. 

“Does it hurt?” Fleur asked in a worried voice. “Oh, well… does it hurt… horribly? Are you,” they tried to think of something better to say. “Will you be alright?” 

“I will,” Bill smiled as his partner pulled him up from the floor. “But a massage would most definitely help.” He leaned in and kissed their cheek. 

“Gnuurm?” Harry said as he was woken up and assisted to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and almost knocked his glasses off his nose. “Did we manage to keep the werewolves in here?” 

“You did,” Remus chuckled as he stopped his son from falling over. “Long nights clearly aren't for you.” 

“As if I didn’t know that already…” Harry elbowed his dad very carefully so as to not hurt him. “But hey, the werewolf let me lay next to it. I thought it would be more scared of the snake.” 

“It wasn’t?” Remus perked up. “That’s great.” 

“Maybe Fleur was just more terrifying than I?” Harry mused out loud. 

Fleur heard him and flexed. “Bane of naughty werewolves.” 

Bill’s face went from pale to sunset red as he stuttered and looked to the side, no doubt thinking something inappropriate. Harry chuckled as Remus shook his head. Then they walked together to the Burrow, where the scent of Molly Weasley’s food reached them even before Harry opened the backdoor which led directly to the kitchen. 

Molly was ready with tea, coffee, and some rather heavy meat pies. Everyone knew that Remus and Bill would by no means be fine for quite some time more, and they would be allowed the rest they needed. Harry was really proud of his dad for not feeling the need to hide away in shame while resting. Yet before the group could finish their brunch, people gathered in the doorway, trying to not crowd the group by staying outside the kitchen. 

“Is our house still standing?” Fred said. 

“You know it is,” George sighed. 

“Did it all go well? Nobody was hurt?” Hermione asked anxiously. 

“We heard some mighty impressive honks?” Ron said. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” 

“Yeah, why were there honks?” Teddy agreed. 

“There were honks?” Molly asked, utterly confused. 

“Honks, huh?” Harry looked directly at Fleur with a smirk as he rested his head on top of his knuckles. “I heard nothing.” 

He was rewarded for his cheekiness by Fleur looking him right in the eyes and honking at him through their human mouth. The action prompted everyone in the room to chuckle or laugh, except for Bill, who fell off the chair because his laughter evolved into a wheezing fit of joy in less than two seconds. 

Fleur threw their hair behind their shoulder. “Bane of werewolves and nonbelievers,” they said as they puffed their chest out. 

“Mighty honker?” Teddy suggested. 

“Mighty honker,” Fleur agreed. 

Harry supposed the honking really must have been as loud as he had presumed, if Fleur had been given that title. 

Chapter Text

Some would likely have said that Bill and Fleur were getting married too early. Others would point to the fact that Bill should have allowed himself more time to heal. Some would say that there wasn’t enough time to prepare the wedding clothes, the food and the reception areas. Yet those people were not living at the brink of a war which might make a wedding impossible for the foreseeable future or ever, and they also didn’t have magic to help with the finer details. It was not the dream wedding which one might imagine from stories and romantic narratives, but it was a wedding, and it would be a happy one despite the drawbacks of the situation. 

There was little trouble for Ron, Hermione and Teddy to attend the wedding, as they all currently lived in the Burrow. While Harry and Neville lived further away, there was little problem for them attending as well. However, Draco was not as safe as anyone would like him to be while being outside and around people, especially people who did not know his circumstances fully. Everyone might have wanted to believe that the unwilling Death Eater could show his face at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but as a collective, they were far more bothered by the idea that he might not be safe. 

The answer to the conundrum was simple: polyjuice elixir.

With the help of Fleur and some trusted friends in France who wouldn’t come to the wedding, Draco was given some hair to become another person. The idea was to pass him off as a distant friend and old mentor from Beauxbatons, seeing as he spoke French fluently enough for Fleur to believe in the idea. However, this meant that Harry wouldn’t be able to spend time with him during the wedding, or he’d give Draco away. Or even worse, the poor witch who they were borrowing the appearance of might be taken for dating below acceptable age. Nobody wanted that misunderstanding.

Thus, the solution was the same as to the last conundrum: more polyjuice elixir.

As they were only using it once for a single day, it wasn't particularly dangerous or harmful. Harry would be given a potion based on hair from a long dead aunt from Arthur’s side of the family; and so Aunt Prewett and Madam distant-friend-of-Delacour could attend as a couple, allowing Harry his desired proximity to his boyfriend. 

The day of the wedding, the teenagers were mostly staying out of the way as quite the activity was happening in the Burrow. Fred's and George’s house was conquered and used by the wedding couple and their best-mages, so Fred has returned to be amongst the Weasley children and friends, while his brother fulfilled his duties as potion brewer and best-mage for Bill. Fred had complained about not being picked, but as Charlie was equally not a best-mage, the complaining was mostly in jest. Everyone secretly agreed on that Fred probably didn’t want to have the responsibility of the position either way, which Fred also agreed on. 

Meanwhile, Molly occupied the kitchen and was working on bringing about the wedding meal with the help of Remus and Andromeda Tonks, who Molly counted as her two best friends. While Andromeda was more reliable in a kitchen than Remus, who had gotten accustomed to Kreacher’s cooking, he was still of use and the demanding activity took his mind off the events with Severus and Albus’ passing. The trio had requited Charlie to their efforts, and his duties ranged from everything-that-needs-doing-outside-of-the-house, to carrier-owl-of-whatever-was-needed-for-the-moment. Needless to say, Charlie was rather busy, and his muscles were put to the test. The reception was primarily hosted by the Delacour family, as the Weasleys were busy and no more people could fit into the kitchen. The two to be wed were busy on their end, and so Gabrielle Delacour practiced her people communication skills by acting hostess instead of her sibling, much to many people’s delight as the girl was both charming and capable. Of course Gabrielle Delacour, in turn, adored the attention, and proving herself capable at her young age.

The Weasley children, the two new members of the group, as well as Harry, Draco, Neville and Luna, had mostly gathered within Percy Weasley’s old room which had fallen to Hermione as hers since she sort of moved in. It was a little crowded, and so some of them sat upon the landing, talking loudly to be heard over the buzz and noise from below. Teddy received the twins’ old room, which he was more than satisfied about since he liked the faint scent of what was possibly gunpowder and oil which clung to the walls despite magical efforts to remove it. Fred had left a minute earlier to go check if the polyjuice elixir was complete yet, and they all passively expected his return soon. 

“Quite done there,” Draco let go of his creation which was usually referred to as ‘Hermione’s hair’ and handed her a mirror through which she might admire his work. “What do you think?” 

“Oh it’s perfect!” she praised him while looking in the mirror, smiling happily. “You’re a magician, Draco.” She turned her head this and that way, admiring the complex, somewhat reminiscent of floral patterns which her curls formed, almost in denial of gravity. 

The Pureblood wizard looked down at her with a small frown from where he sat upon her bed and she between his knees. “Why… yes?” 

Hermione giggled, “Muggle saying.” 

“Oh,” Draco, Harry, Ron, Teddy, Neville and Ginny said. 

Luna simply nodded to herself, as if she already knew. Apparently, Luna and her dad lived very close to the Weasleys and could easily travel there without much inconvenience to themselves. They and the Diggory family had been invited to the wedding based on being neighbours, but only the Lovegoods had said yes to coming, much to Ginny’s delight. According to the same young woman, Astoria Greengrass would soon come to live with the Lovegoods in the countryside to keep her out of danger from the approaching war. Ginny had shared few details about why this was, other than that Luna and Astoria were dating, and that Astoria’s parents didn’t want her caught up in something as terrible as blood based war, where they as Purebloods were expected to not remain neutral. How the Greengrass family knew Xenopholius Lovegood, or perhaps even why they trusted him to keep their children safe, was anyone’s guess. 

Luna sighed happily as she rested her head on her knees, hugging herself slightly. “You look divine.” 

Hermione appeared to blush as she waved the compliment aside. “Oh, thank you.” 

“Hello brats, delivery of two smoking hot pipes of polyjuice right here!” Fred interrupted as he pushed Ron aside with his foot and stepped inside the room, grinning towards Harry and Draco. 

“Ow!” complained Ron. 

“Brats?” Ginny echoed. 

“Brats and my darling widdle siblings,” Fred cooed in their direction, making both brother and sister appear as if they wanted to either jump him, jump over the railing of the landing or jump out the window. 

Harry stood up and took the tray from Fred, then stood aside as everyone else exited the room to allow him and Draco to be changed and then get changed in peace. Molly Weasley had given them some of her clothes suitable for the bigger redheaded woman, and Draco had collected some clothing which he thought would fit the blonde witch to be from the Black wardrobes. Everyone exited with the women walking upwards so that Ginny and Luna could help Hermione with the back lacing of her new dress, also courtesy of Walpurga Black who really didn’t need any of her clothing anymore. Augusta Longbottom appeared to have known Mrs. Black personally, and seemed to find great satisfaction in handing the dead woman's clothes to the young Muggle-born witch in need of them.

“Which is which?” Draco turned to Fred, who was just about to point that out for them as the room was cleared of people. 

“Left for Lupin, right for you,” the mischievous twin winked before he closed the door. 

They took one glass each and tried hard to not breathe the scent in. It was, to put it mildly, terribly foul. It appeared to fill the room in simply the short span of time it had been there, and they wanted it gone before it settled into any of Hermione’s things, clothes or even worse, the sheets upon her bed. 

“Cheers?” Harry suggested with a stoic and not at all honest expression.

“Cheers, my love,” Draco sighed, not entirely willing to partake in the unpleasant drink. 

The two of them toasted and then drank quickly, trying to swallow without tasting it. Harry even held his nose in what felt like a futile attempt to achieve that goal. He tried to imagine that this was what his dad had to go through every month with the Lycanthropy potion. The mindset helped a little, but not much. 

The transformation was uncomfortable, but it was not inherently painful. Not like how it was for werewolves. Harry took solace in that fact as he closed his eyes and felt his body shift and change around him. He thought he had some idea of what to expect from the polyjuice elixir since he was an animagus, but he came to realise that he really had no idea as the two experiences had little in common. Becoming a snake was a hot and stinging event, to become somebody else felt wrong and unpleasantly bubbly, as if his skin was cold boiling while also having gone numb. It was not pleasant at all, but it wasn’t exactly mentally scarring. 

When it all finally ended, Harry opened his eyes and looked down upon a much smaller, pleasantly soft woman with bright red hair. Her face was heart shaped and covered in freckles, and her nose small and round. She truly looked related to Arthur Weasley, as their complexion was almost identical, at least in Harry’s humble opinion. The woman looked up at him and Harry saw confusion, denial and then subsequent realisation. 

“Oh you can’t be…” The woman who sounded nothing like Draco spoke like him and moved just like Harry’s boyfriend. She touched her forehead and groaned weakly, staring towards the door with disapproval coming off her like a physical radiation of heat. 

Harry finally realised what had happened. He reached up and touched his hair, noticing that his hair was blonde and that his skin was white. That was quite the shock. He couldn’t believe that the arm belonged to him. Which it really didn’t. It was only temporarily in his care. 

When Harry stared down at the pale hands which moved according to his own directions, the door opened and Fred and George Weasley looked inside the room, both of them smiling from ear to ear. 

“Hello auntie Draco,” Fred smirked at the mage in question. 

A flush of redness passed over Draco’s currently heart shaped face. “You… You… We had chosen for me to be the friend of Delacour since I speak French!” he objected. 

“You really should have known better than to trust Fred,” George giggled into his hand. He had evidently been in on the plan. 

“You should!” Fred laughed. “But it was George's idea.” 

“Was not!” 

“See how he lies, your auntiness!” 

“That’s it! You’re both grounded!” Draco walked up to the door and shut it in their faces, huffing loudly as their laughter died away. 

Draco then looked back at Harry. They were silent for a heartbeat before they both began to laugh as well, bending over to chuckle at the rather harmless prank. 

“We sure walked into that!” Harry laughed. 

“We did,” Draco sighed. “I can’t even be upset since it was that obvious in hindsight. Never you mind, I’ll simply dress you up in what I had planned for myself. Here, put this on. I will help you with the corset.” 

Harry was handed an overall black garment. Walpurga Black might have taken her name to be a literal instruction for how she was expected to dress, as her wardrobe had consisted of nothing but ‘mourning garb,’ as Draco had called her clothes with some distaste. He did so completely forgetting that he and Lucius Malfoy almost only dressed in black as well. Or perhaps he was referring to something else. Harry had not actually asked. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. 

“I keep on thinking I’m sick because I just caught a sight of this paleness…” Harry mumbled as he avoided looking down upon the body which wasn’t his as he began to dress himself. “It’s... spooky.” He summarised in an eloquent manner.

“I didn’t even think of that,” Draco admitted as he placed the corset upon Harry’s current body and began to lace it up from behind, seemingly unbothered by their new forms. Harry suspected he was bothered with not being himself, but was better at hiding it than Harry was. “Is it very uncomfortable?” 

“More strange than anything. Is it weird to say I miss my skin? Hurk! That one was hard!” 

“Sorry, different muscle mass. I pulled too hard.” He adjusted accordingly and pulled a little more carefully on the lacing. “At the very least, it is temporary. For both of us.” 

“Indeed,” Harry sighed in return. “And it’s nice to be at a wedding. Have you been at one before?” 

“Some distant cousin somewhere, I’m certain. Come to think of it, I am most definitely the distant cousin to the Weasleys, so I guess this counts as that as well. Any tighter or do you feel good?” 

“Little loser, I think.” 

Draco adjusted accordingly. “Better?” 

“Perfect,” Harry smiled as he adjusted his glasses. The potion did not have the ability to remedy his bad eyesight, and thus the fit for the spectacles was slightly off on his unfamiliar head. Equally, the new body did not cure Draco’s hip, and he would be needing Harry’s support throughout the event to put some strain off himself. Naturally, Harry was happy to oblige. 

“Good, now just let me dress myself and we can go downstairs,” the red haired Draco gave Harry a smile before he turned towards the pile of clothes which Molly Weasley had given them to pick from. “So… colorful,” Draco mumbled to himself. 

Harry simply smiled. “It will look good with your complexion.” 

“I shall make it so,” Draco agreed as he eyed a patchwork sweater with some suspicion. 

Bill was getting married. 

It was happening, and he was filled with the most joyous feelings of excitement, giddiness and delight. If he had not actually still been recovering from the rather one sided fight with Fenrir Greyback, he might have been pacing around the room, or maybe even dancing around in it. He was so happy. Unfiltered and unapologetically happy. He rather liked the feeling, as happiness was rather hard to come by in Britain. Or at least so he had thought, until he discovered Fleur, Sirius, and then rediscovered George, who had in turn reintroduced him back to some members of his family, namely his busy dad and his Ministry worker-bee of a little brother. 

Fleur was upstairs, getting changed with their best-mages. If he listened closely, he could hear the sound of footsteps and movement coming from above. One the best-mages was just coming down the stairs as George opened the door to the twins’ house, returning from his errand to the main house. Bill raised his head from polishing his shoes for the fifth time that hour and placed them to the side, also for the fifth time that hour. He would likely pick them up in just a minute or two, but he pretended to himself that he wasn’t nervous within his happiness. It was simply because he wanted the shoes to be very, very shiny. Yes. 

“Hello,” Bill greeted both his brother and the best-mage, nodding at them both in turn. 

“Hello,” the best-mage responded in a heavy Bulgarian accent. Bill didn't exactly know this person, but he thought this was the one Fleur had mentioned to have been another Trimagus champion. Maybe. “Was not needed anymore. I was going to say hello, is Hermione in the house?” He looked towards George as he asked. 

“I think so?” George guessed. “Where else would she be?” 

“If not, I’ll have something to drink,” the best-mage shrugged and made his way outside of the twins’ house. 

When Bill and his first best-mage were left alone, Bill asked “is he here yet?” Some anxiety slipped into his voice despite his efforts to not make his worry known. 

George shook his head. “Not yet. I checked after I got Fred to deliver the P-juice to Lupin and his boyfriend. But don’t worry, it’s not like he’s actually late.” George added quickly. 

“Do you really think it was acceptable to ask him to be my second best-mage?” Bill absentmindedly scratched the scars which had formed upon his left shoulder as Greyback had torn into him with his fangs. “I could always ask Charlie if he doesn’t come, maybe I should have done so from the beginning?”

“This means the world to him and you know it,” George scolded his nervous older brother. “It will be fine.” 

“Do you really think he’ll come?” The werewolf within Bill made the question a whimper. 

“No doubt.” 

George was so certain that Bill believed him without argument. He almost picked up his shoes again, but George stopped him by asking if he needed help getting dressed. Bill really should start on that. Yet in his excitement and slight nervousness, Bill had forgotten to. It had seemed too big and too scary of a task to try and undertake on his own. Yet with his first best-mage by his side, Bill was able to actually undertake the dressing. The clothes were courtesy of Fleur and their family. They felt too fine for Bill to touch, even if he logically knew better than to think so little of himself. 

“Hermione?” 

A semi-familiar voice called out to Hermione from the landing, and she stood up, gathered her skirts and exited Ron’s room to see if anyone needed her help. She had joined her friend group a minute earlier, and she felt ever so pleased with all the praise she had received for her new dress which was not quite to her liking, but still rather pleasant to wear. She would have liked something less black, but she didn’t really have any other options for the moment. As she left the room, Fawkes the phoenix cooed loudly for Ron to feed him, as the wizard had been doing since Dumbledore’s passing. Nobody truly knew what to do with the bird, but with the help of Charlie, Ron had learned to take care of it until an owner presented themselves. In the meantime, Ron felt rather excessively proud to be the current caretaker of a phoenix. 

Yet the person who met Hermione outside Ron’s room was not one of the adults needing assistance, but none other than one of her best friends, Victor Krum. No longer was he hidden behind words on a paper, but he was standing before her in the flesh, halfway up the stairs. Victor was a very traditionally masculine wizard by Muggle standards. He might not be as tall as he had appeared to the fourteen year old girl, but he was nonetheless broad shouldered and broad chested with a deep voice, short cropped haircut and a weather beaten but otherwise pale complexion. Whenever he smiled, which wasn’t that often, he revealed a set of perfectly white teeth which Headmaster Karkaroff of Durmstrang Institute had insisted upon being necessary for an athlete. 

The two of them locked eyes and Victor did smile as he recognised her. He held out his muscular arms in a greeting and she happily jumped into his embrace, laughing with joy. 

“Victor!” 

“Hello, my friend,” Victor laughed in return, hugging her tightly in a manner which would have bothered Hermione had it not been for the fact that the person hugging her was traditionally Muggle-manlier than she could ever be. “How beautiful you keep on becoming,” he grinned as the two parted and he had the chance to take in her full appearance. The two held no romantic interest in one another, but they were the type of friends who were comfortable praising the other without restraint. 

“And you are as handsome and strong as ever,” Hermione responded. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming!” She laughed without any ill will as she backed away. 

Behind her on the landing, Neville, Ron and Teddy appeared to see what all the noise was about. The shout of ‘Victor’ was a clue, but they wanted nonetheless to see if the name truly did belong to the renowned Quidditch Seeker. They waved at him, and Victor waved back before giving Hermione his full focus. 

“Because I wanted to see that joy on your face,” Victor smiled honestly at her. “I didn’t want you to worry or be anxious about me coming, so I… guess I wanted to surprise you? Was that alright?” He added with some worry. 

“You’re so sweet but you didn’t have to worry,” Hermione assured him. “I’m never anxious to see you. Are you here as Fleur’s best man?” 

The Bulgarian wizard frowned, “no, I’m one of the best-mages.”

Hermione licked her lips as she felt her face burn with embarrassment. “Of course. Best-mage. How silly of me to forget.” She said, despite the truth being more of that everyone had forgotten to tell her. 

“Are they beginning to gather yet? For the ceremony, I mean.” Neville asked politely from behind Hermione. The question was addressed to Victor. 

Victor shook his head. “The mum is still preparing the food with some other people. Although Fleur is almost ready, so it’s probably not long now. Bill hadn’t gotten dressed when I left. He seems nice, but a little… thought fleeting?” Victor mashed together two words to make himself understood. 

“He’s also a newly made werewolf,” Teddy said, helpfully. “So he’s a bit easily distracted for the moment.” 

“Oh,” was all Victor said to the revelation about Fleur’s soon-to-be-husband. Hermione suspected that he would have reacted about as much if they had told him that Bill’s shoe size was 9.   

“My oldest brother is getting married,” Ron said to Teddy. “How strange, I remember it as yesterday when he left to become a fugitive of the Burrow.” It was evident by his tone of voice that he was joking, thus he prompted Teddy to snort into his hand. 

“If you want, we can head over to the altar and sit down?” Victor suggested, likely not hearing what Ron had said at all. “House is stuffy, and loud.” He pointed towards his damaged ear when mentioning the loundness, signally that all the noises made it a little hard for him to hear. He was correct in that the air in the Burrow was not the most pleasant since the cooking and the heat of summer was starting to get to the upper levels of the house. It was the prize they paid for the clear blue summer sky outside. 

“Air sounds nice,” Neville agreed. 

Hermione repeated the sentiment to Victor and so they sat off towards the altar and the seats surrounding it. All the while, Hermione rambled at Victor about all that she wanted to tell him but which a short letter didn’t really allow. There proved to be a lot of things to say in the span of two years which she had not managed to write about. Neville, Ron and Teddy followed them, engaged into a conversation which Hermione didn’t hear over her own retelling of her own vices and, some would say, adventures. Victor appeared to relax the more she talked as he didn’t take his eyes off her lips, perhaps trying to read that which he could not hear. Yet Hermione had no trouble with his gaze upon her face. After all, Victor had, with the exception of Neville, been the first to know what she had been ashamed to share, and he hadn’t let her down once in the time in which they had known one another. Thus, she relaxed as well, and simply allowed herself to speak. 

The Burrow looked familiar enough to make him feel ill, but there were nonetheless differences which marked the fact that time had passed. After all, there was a new house on the premises, a small one but nonetheless a fully formed house. He assumed that to be the place where the twins currently lived and he was correct. 

Past the Burrow and past the little house, he could see large and open pavilion tents which had been put up to protect the food and drink from the sunlight while still allowing access on every side. There was a collection of tables and chairs, wooden and plastic, crowding under the white fabric. Upon the tables teemed all manners of plates, glasses and utensils, all of which clustered in the usual Weasley family brand of messy. Colorful and varied tablecloths lay upon the tables, clashing horribly with the mixture of napkins bought from second hand stores over the years. 

Yet past the celebratory space was the altar and the reception area. Some people stood close to it but not within the altar space, and their voices drifted over the open field in front of the Burrow. The altar was a generally simple space with an arch made out of leaves on top of a small, raised platform. It was surrounded by benches of all sizes and shapes, all of which faced the altarless altar. Soon, Bill and his partner would stand on top of it, marrying one another under the eyes of the sun, moon and stars. He couldn’t help but feel a small jolt of happiness, followed by an unwelcomed ache as he remembered that Bill truly was getting married. He presumed the ache to be out of jealousy, seeing as he had lost his partner just a few weeks before he planned on proposing, but it could also be from fear that Fleur Delacour would once again steal Bill from his reach. 

Ron walked out of the Burrow with a collection of his friends, followed by a red haired witch who held the arm of a tall, blonde mage whose face he couldn’t make out. The two older people walked a little behind Ron’s gang, but not out of hearing. As he followed them with his gaze, he recognised another shape coming out of the Burrow and hurrying towards the food and drink area with a large ceramic food pan. Molly Weasley placed her burden down and wiped some sweat off her forehead. Her face was slightly red from work, but she did not appear angry or even all that stressed. 

He had moved towards her before he had the chance to regret his choice and apparate away much in the same way he had arrived. He moved because he didn’t dare to stop. He forced himself to push on while continuously feeling positively sick with discomfort and worry in regards to her reaction to his presence. 

“Mum?” Percy said as he was close enough for her to hear him. 

Molly turned around so quickly that Percy wasn’t sure that he had actually seen her move. She then became very still, staring at him as if he was not there, but a projection of her own desires. Molly blinked, then blinked again. Percy was still there, and he was turning increasingly red. 

“I… I was invited by Bill… And George,” Percy stuttered while blaming his own voice for betraying him. “I’m… I am as surprised as you, but Bill wanted me to be here, as his best-mage, and I-”

Percy was practically tackled by his mum, who approached him and wrapped herself around his waist, more or less squeezing the air out of him. “Percy!” she called out as she hugged him tightly. “Oh my boy! My boy! You are always welcome here, no matter how you’re fighting with Arthur. Oh my little boy… But you are not so little anymore, are you?” She pulled herself back and looked up at the secretary of the Minister of Magic with undivided love and happiness. Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes. 

Percy swallowed back his own tears as he hugged his mum and was then seized up by her as if they had been apart for ten years, and not just one. She was not launching into any of the speeches or complaints which Percy had expected of her. She wasn't trying to blame him or make him feel guilty for having been gone, or made her miss him. She was only honestly happy to see him. 

“T-thanks…” he croaked out. 

“Now don’t you worry about Arthur at all. He won’t be coming until very late, if even then. You know how he is. And if he does come early, which we both know he won’t, but if he does, I’ll put my foot down on the fighting. You are welcome here. You always were and always will be.” His mum smiled at him as she squeezed his upper arms in a friendly manner. 

“T...thank you…” Percy swallowed back the desire to throw himself around his mum’s neck and tell her all about how horrible work was. He had never before had such an impulse. She was evidently proving herself a source of comfort with every second which passed since he had come to revisit the Burrow. He had never thought that she could be. 

“My son, I love you always,” Molly promised him as she swallowed back some tears of her own. “But I’m keeping you! Do go to Bill and George. They are in that building there. Just go inside and see if they need you.” 

He was quickly shooed towards his destination by the somewhat stressed woman. Percy obeyed her instructions, feeling the air of the countryside gently sink into his lungs, filling him with a sense of freedom and relief which truly had more to do with his mum than the air around him. Only Percy wasn’t allowing himself to think of that for the moment as he pushed open the door to the twins’ new home. 

Well inside, he was attacked by George, who hugged him without a doubt in the world this time. Percy was highly surprised by the display of affection, yet he returned it nonetheless by hugging his little brother, who had outgrown him. The hug was followed by a hug from a scarred Bill who seemed beyond excited to see him. George had informed Percy of the change in their brother as he had become infected with Lycanthropy, both the physical and mental changes which came with the condition. Percy imagined that Bill would have wagged his tail at seeing him, if he had possessed one. The thought made him feel included and welcomed as he hugged his oldest brother back. Any fears of Lycanthropy and werewolves seemed far fetched and silly at the time, whatever prejudice he had felt long ago had long since been disproven by sound logic and the Lupin family.

“Welcome, fellow best-mage,” George said as Bill moved back.

Percy pretended that he wasn’t blushing with pride and embarrassment at the title. “I see I came just in time,” he concluded after having surveyed the dressing scene. “Allow me to actually tie that correctly.” While pretending that he couldn’t see the scars upon his brother’s previously scarless body, Percy got to work at sorting the clothing out, much to the relief of both Bill and George.  

“Is everything alright, Molly?” Remus asked carefully as he found the current matron but not wife of the Weasley Household standing in the middle of the yard with tears in her eyes and her gaze focused on the twins’ home. 

The witch nodded her head and dried her tears off her cheeks. She took a deep breath and then turned towards the werewolf, smiling happily up at the father of one. She appeared to beam with joy. “Better than fine, my friend,” she said before returning to the kitchen with a happy skip to her steps. 

Remus looked after her with some confusion, but then shrugged and put down the pot he had been carrying upon the food table. The sun was shining above their heads, and sometimes clouds passed over the otherwise bright, blue sky. The wind carried the scent of the fields and the forest to him, which his sensitive nose revelled in, if only to not be tempted by the much more easily accessed scent of food. 

Remus touched his engagement ring and thought of Severus, hoping that he was well and that he wasn’t blaming himself for what had happened. “Don’t you worry,” he whispered to the ring. “We’ll have our wedding one day.” He leaned in and kissed the ring softly, before turning back to continue to help Molly with the rest of the wedding food. While he missed his partner’s presence, he would not allow himself to drown in abandonment and sadness. Severus wouldn’t want that for him, and so he didn’t let himself doubt. 

One day. 

One day, everything would be right again. 

Bill, as a newly turned werewolf, had to use all his strength of will to not jump off the raised platform and simply bounce over to his partner to hug them and cover them in kisses when he saw Fleur coming around the corner of the twins’ house and up the aisle. They were so beautiful that all Bill could think about was how much he wanted to be as close to them as possible, and never step away again. He couldn’t even see or hear the people around them, as his vision was so filled with Fleur and only Fleur. The mage whose name he would soon be sharing, as Bill didn’t want to remain a Weasley for the rest of his life. Thus, he was ecstatic to think that by the end of this day, he would be Bill Delacour. Mx. and Mr. Delacour, united under the sun, moon and stars. 

Fleur was dressed in the outfit which they had worn at the Trimagus Tournament Yule Ball, which felt like forever ago for everyone who had seen the outfit once upon a time. Once again they appeared much taken from a fairy tale with a widely bell sleeved blouse which incorporated endless intricate lace appliques and decorations. Said blouse was tucked into tightly fit and heavily decorated trousers with lace trims and gems down the sides, as well as a corseted belt sash in several layers, ending up in a decorative silver belt. The trousers ended up in silvery decorated boots which had a metallic enchanted sheen to them. To the outfit they now had a rather decorative one shoulder cape with a longer trail which might have been something they had gotten from relatives or something they had managed to commission on short notice. As Fleur had pointed out, they adored the outfit which had been commissioned for them, and there was no reason to not wear it now that they had reason to and a good opportunity to look their best. 

Seeing the fact that Fleur’s family had paid for their date’s outfit for the Trimagus Tournament Yule Ball as well, and the man in question had a rather similar body type to Bill, the family had offered to let him use the very same outfit. Fleur’s friend had no objections as well.

Bill had never even thought about what he wanted to wear on the day of his own wedding. Coming from the Weasley family’s economic situation, the dazzling and decorated outfits which Fleur incorporated into their daily wardrobe seemed a bit of a far fetched dream. Something which wasn’t quite for him. Yet it was, Fleur had taught him that money was simply about whether or not a person could afford something or not within context, not in any way a reflection of them as people. Bill had the opportunity and was allowed such a thing. 

Thus it came to be that he dressed in the likely most expensive and breathtaking outfit which he had ever seen, even more so as he truly felt himself match Fleur, finding it wonderfully romantic that they for once matched as much visibly on the outside as they had come to match as two parts of one happy lifetime together. 

The outfit almost matched the grace, volume and impressive detail of an elaborate ball gown, something which traditionally masculine Muggle fashion never quite managed to make up for. It had a corseted top in a single piece, paneled and decorated in layers of lace and silver decorations matching his partner. The bell sleeves were far larger than Fleur’s and layered to have more than one fabric, decorated with pearls and gems. It fit him comfortably, and hadn’t been too tightly tied given his injuries. He wore decorated white trousers as well, with lace down along the outer sides of his legs. Then the part he was the most excited about was the layered lace trail skirts big enough to rival a large ball gown, which was still open in the front and thus giving him free movement. It was further enchanted to move out of the way to not have him stumble over the fabrics. 

The two soon to be married mages came to stand opposite of one another on the platform. The audience was completely forgotten as the two of them reached out and took the other’s hands, smiling without restraint at their soon to be wedded partner. Behind Bill stood George and Percy, his two best-mages. Had Sirius still been alive, he would also have stood behind Bill, but as it was now, a chair had been left empty for him in the front row. Behind Fleur stood two of their friends from Beauxbatons as well as the well renowned Quidditch Seeker Victor Krum, all of them their best-mages. 

On Fleur’s side of the aisle sat their family. A chair had been removed to allow Gabrielle Delacour to sit closest to the aisle itself, and right before the couple who was to be married in just a few seconds. On Bill’s side sat his family upon the front row; Molly, Charlie, Fred, Ron and Ginny. yet Arthur wasn’t there, as work kept him. Bill wasn’t upset, as he hadn’t counted on Arthur being able to leave in the middle of the political crisis which they were living through. Bill hadn’t really paid attention to where everyone else was sitting around them, and he forgot it, if he had ever known it, when he looked at Fleur’s smiling face. 

The ministry official who was to wed the two of them called for everyone’s attention. Bill and Fleur then turned towards the person in question, a rather squarish, past middle aged witch with a collection of white hair, dark skin and piercing hazel eyes. “We shall now begin the wedding ceremony,” the witch said. “We have all gathered here today to partake in the joy of this young couple, who are to be united beneath the sun, moon and stars, as is tradition. Your hands, please?” 

Bill and Fleur raised their hands and then turned towards each other, both smiling as they saw the other’s face once more.

“With the sun as the symbol of the wizards of this Earth, we wish you passion,” the first line of the ceremony began. The Ministry official wielded the magic required and so a ribbon of golden yellow, which appeared to be made out of woven sunlight, took shape around the two partner’s wrists and hands, binding them together. 

“With the moon as the symbol of all witches of this Earth, we wish you stability,” the vows continued. This time, a silvery ribbon materialised and began to wrap itself around their wrists and hands. 

“With the stars as the symbol of all mages upon this earth, we wish you happiness.” A black ribbon appeared and gently secured itself with the other two, creating a total of three different ribbons which tied Bill and Fleur together. 

“These ribbons are your pasts: time, space and the infinity between,” the official said. “Upon breaking these ribbons, you are welcomed into your future, shared together not by hardship, but by the gift of love. As children of magic, you are now family until time parts you. The past is yours to shatter, Mx. and Mr. Delacour.” 

“One,” Fleur said, raising their arm.

“Two,” Bill said, doing the same. 

“Three!” the two and the crowd yelled as they pulled away from the other, breaking the shackles of their past. 

The threads of the ribbons fell around them as the two moved in, embracing and kissing all at once, much to the delight of the people who had witnessed their rebirth as spouses. The two of them kissed once on the lips, deeply and passionately, and then Bill proceeded to cover their face in an avalanche of smaller kisses. Fleur laughed as they hugged him around his neck, leaning into the love which the werewolf desired to give them. All around them, people applauded, yelled and cheered for them and their love. 

Bill had never felt happier than he did at this moment. His body might be aching and his face might hurt slightly from the continuous smiling, due to his freshly scarred face. Yet he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than with Fleur, together under the sun, moon and stars until time parted them. 

Someone who didn’t know Draco Malfoy might have thought that he would be suffering from being a Weasley. If that had been true once upon a time, it was not true today. Draco’s only struggle was the increased body mass because maneuverability was different than he was used to, as well as the fact that he was still suffering from what had now become phantom pain from his prominent scar. The heavier body also made it harder for Draco to put weight on his right hip. Thus, Harry and Draco remained seated a lot that day, but that really wasn’t a problem for them, as staying to the side with Remus suited them just fine. 

Harry had approached his dad and expected to tell him through a series of gestures and hidden clues in his sentences, who he was. Yet the conversation had gone as follows: 

“Hello, my favorite Professor,” the tall blonde woman with pale skin and glasses had told Remus as she approached him. 

Remus had blinked with confusion, then looked to the red haired woman, who should by all means have been Harry according to the arrangement. 

“Fred and George,” Draco sighed weakly. “Appears they could not resist a final prank.” 

Harry dropped all ideas of subtly trying to clue his dad in on the situation, as Draco had evidently had no trouble explaining it all in such a direct manner. Harry was impressed, and just slightly disappointed that he didn’t get to implement his plan of gestures. 

Remus had smiled at Harry and nodded, “the glasses clued me in.” 

Thus, the three of them had come to sit at the back of the wedding together, watching as it unfolded, smiling alongside the rest of the audience, and cheering at the end for the wedded couple. The ceremony itself was rather simple, and very poetic, in Harry’s humble opinion. He noted somewhere in the back of his head that some people must struggle with it, since not everyone had arms, but the note was simply an acknowledgement and nothing more substantial. 

After the wedding itself followed lunch, which was somewhat of a magical marvel considering Molly Weasley had made most of the food herself together with her best friend Andromeda Tonks, as well as minimal assistant from some of Delacour’s relatives, and from Mr. Lovegood, who had done his part for being invited and brought along some trays of food from his own home. Harry and Draco sat very far away from the wedded couple, almost on the opposite end of the table with the lesser known family members. It once again suited them fine, as they were happy to speak with the people around them, or simply to themselves. They did not feel excluded, simply a little removed from the center of all the noise, which neither of them really wanted to endure in the first place.

Over by the head of the table sat Bill and Fleur, speaking to one another and the people the closest to them. Harry was happy to see that Percy Weasley had been invited, and he appeared to be at least decently comfortable where he sat with George on one side and Charlie Weasley on the other. Molly was sitting next to Andromeda Tonks and her husband, Ted Tonks. Their daughter was there as well, but she rather refused looking in the direction where Harry, Draco and Remus sat. Remus appeared relieved that she was leaving him alone. She didn't appear as if she was ignoring him out of spite, but rather trying to keep her emotions under control and simply make the event as painless as possible for herself and Remus.

Their friends had been accompanied by Victor Krum, who Hermione adjusted to by almost speaking directly into his ear over the buzz of the other guests. She did so without shouting, naturally. The group appeared to have a good time on their own, but it made Harry happy whenever he saw one of them sigh and look around for him and Draco, wondering which couple around the table they could be as they hadn’t been told as an extra safety measure. After all, it was only for a few hours, not days or weeks. Harry was decently sure that Hermione and Teddy had both figured out who they were, but Ron and Neville appeared at the very least uncertain. Perhaps Neville knew and was simply very good at pretending. 

After lunch had been mostly completed, the chairs and tables were pulled to the side and a space cleared in the middle to allow people to dance. A collection of enchanted music instruments began to play, and the two spouses opened the event by dancing on their own, with Fleur leading and Bill being led, due to wearing the bigger skirts and garments. Their dance concluded to great applause, and people began to enter upon the little dance floor, while others simply stood or sat talking around it. The air had a feeling of joy and happiness within it, as the buzzing of many voices filled the warm day which was slowly creeping towards a bright and star filled evening. 

“I do believe that is enough sitting around,” Draco concluded as he slowly stood up, brushing crumbs off his skirts simply to make sure that he was decent. “Would you like to dance, my dear?” 

Harry felt the face which wasn’t really his heat, and he realised with some trepidation that he was no longer able to pretend he wasn’t blushing since his skin gave his feelings away. Thus, he coughed into his hand and stood up, taking the hand which was offered to him. “With pleasure,” he confirmed. 

Together, the two of them entered the dance floor and took up a little corner of their own, where they shifted into position. As they passed Fred and George, Harry overheard the latter say to the former that “if he ruined this for Percy in any way, he’d sleep out in the fields for a month,” and he would do so as a capybara.

Harry placed his hands on the shorter Draco’s shoulders, while Draco placed his on his hips. Due to Draco’s injuries, they did not dare be too expressive with their dance moves, but allowed themselves to be careful and to dance slowly. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that they weren’t really looking at the face they wanted to see, but at the very least they were having fun together. 

Hermione appeared beyond overjoyed because Ron had asked her to dance with him. The two whirled past the two rather stationary boyfriends in disguise, and Hermione’s pleasant giggling made them both smile. Ginny and Luna were partaking in some experimental dancing together, much to their own enjoyment and to many others’ confusion. Molly Weasley had been invited to dance with Andromeda Tonks, while Ted Tonks was sitting and talking to Remus about music and Muggle culture. Remus appeared to find it interesting, and he even smiled appreciatively from time to time. 

Teddy found company with George Weasley while Fred went off to presumably not cause mischief, or at the very least not cause it for Percy. Neville remained with Victor Krum on the side, as the two of them spoke calmly to one another. Krum appeared to be looking towards Luna’s dad with disapproval and worry, and he appeared to be telling Neville something while gesturing towards the man. Neville nodded and stood up, pulling Mr. Lovegood from the dance floor with his permission. The two of them ended up close enough for Harry and Draco to listen in on the conversation, even if they weren’t expressively trying to. 

“I’m sorry to bother you sir, but my friend finds your jewellery to be distasteful due to the meaning behind it. I was wondering if you could take it off or at the very least hide it, as you are making them uncomfortable.” Neville spoke politely but directly, choosing to keep Victor a secret through neutral pronouns. 

“This?” Mr. Lovegood held up a rectangular jewellery piece which incorporated a circle and then a line in the middle, going from the top of the triangle to the bottom of the foot of it. It was a rather simple but elegant geometric design. One which Harry recognised seeing in many textbooks and history books as Gellert Grindelwald’s mark. It was the mark which had been used and promoted by his followers and his political regime. The symbol of the Greater Good. 

“Oh, but you see, this isn’t what they think it is,” continued Mr. Lovegood “This is the actual original mark of the Deathly Hallows! Not Grindelwald’s mark. It was never his, he simply stole it. I’m not supporting that terrorist, simply enjoying the legend of the Deathly Hallows, you see. They all represent parts of the story, see, the elder wand here and-...” 

“However true your statement might be, sir,” Neville continued in a stern voice. “That is not what the majority of people see it as. The symbols are exactly the same, and it is causing my friend distress. It does not matter what you know it to have meant in the past, if the majority of the people around you will think of it as something which has caused a lot of people grief and harm, and if that something else makes them uncomfortable. Seeing as your jewellery doesn’t even appear to be a statement of any kind, would it be acceptable for you to remove it just for today when in their company.” It truly wasn’t a question which he posed towards the man. 

Xenophilius Lovegood became even paler, however that was possible with his almost snow white complexion. He appeared to realise the weight of what Neville was actually telling him, and how he appeared to the people around him, despite his own idea of himself and his statement jewellery. “I… I see. I did not consider that…” With those words, he pulled the necklace over his head and stuffed it into a pocket. “Might I apologise personally to your friend for the discomfort I caused?” 

“I will relay your apology, but they would rather not think of this topic any longer.” Neville shook his head. “After all, this is a wedding, not a political engagement. Thank you for being reasonable.” 

“O-of course,” Mr. Lovegood stuttered. “I’m terribly sorry.” 

“Thank you,” Neville nodded and smiled once more before he returned to his own seat next to Victor. On the way there, he locked eyes with Harry and smiled, confirming to Harry that he truly had known that it was them all along. 

“I need to sit down,” Draco mumbled as he pulled on Harry’s sleeve, then directed him towards the chairs to the side of the dance space. The freckled face was somewhat held together in an expression of pain, but he didn’t seem to be in excruciating amounts of it. 

Harry nodded, and they returned to sit on the side, holding the other’s hand as they watched the people around them for a few minutes, simply allowing themselves to catch their breaths and passively study the others’ various dances and expressions of happiness. 

After the pleasant silence had lingered between them for a while, Harry felt an odd tingling in his body which told him that the effects of the polyjuice elixir was wearing off. The two of them quickly left the gathering, trusting that their friends would understand where they were when they were no longer among the celebrations. As everything had been so very calm, they both felt just a little silly for having been overprotected by their hidden identities, but then again, if they hadn’t been, something might have happened to make them wish they had been more careful. 

Harry sighed happily with relief as he looked down upon his own hands. It felt incredibly good to return to being himself, so much so that Harry gave himself a hug without thinking, smiling happily as he sat down upon Percy Weasley’s old and Hermione’s current bed. “Body sweet body,” Harry cooed. 

“What a statement, Frankenstein,” Draco, who had turned back not long after Harry, sat down next to him and put his arms around him, pulling Harry close to himself as he leaned back in the bed. They were both still dressed in unfamiliar clothes, but Harry didn’t mind as Draco’s current sweater was very soft to cuddle up against. 

“Literature,” Harry sighed happily as he lay on his stomach on top of Draco, resting his head on Draco’s currently fluffy shoulder, while his boyfriend unlaced his corset,. “I love literature.” 

“Do you now? I had simply no idea,” Draco teased him while kissing his head. 

“Nrrmm,” Harry sleepily responded as he gently pushed his hand against Draco’s cheek. The events of the day had been fun, but by now he was utterly exhausted. He wondered if Hermione would mind if he took a nap on her bed. 

“Have you been reading anything interesting lately?” Draco made conversation as he pulled the corset off Harry and placed it to the side. 

“Wuthering Heights,” Harry nuzzled into the sweater. “It’s horrible. Everyone is awful and I feel like Sirius would have liked it a lot. It’s not a story about love, but obsession. Cruel, unreasonable, almost childish obsession. And yet I can’t stop reading. The author is amazing. It’s also the first classical literature piece I can remember reading where the main character has my skin color. Heathcliff is not anything I want to be associated with, but it still makes me happy to know that somebody knew that not only white people existed back then in the UK.” 

Draco hugged Harry closer to himself, smiling up at the ceiling as the two of them listened to the sounds which drifted up to them from the wedding. The scent and the voices and noises from the music felt close enough to reach out to, but not intrusive enough to be painful. It felt a lot to them both like that time when they had first become boyfriends after the Yule Ball during their fourth year. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

Draco laced their fingers together and hugged Harry tighter to himself. “I won’t leave again,” he whispered, revealing to them both that he was crying. “I’m not.” 

Harry moved around until he came to straddle Draco’s legs, whereupon he gently kissed the tears away before simply allowing Draco to cry against his chest as he held him. So many things were different, so many changes were yet to come, but at the very least, they still had one another, and they would not allow themselves to be parted like Al and El had been, like Remus and Severus had been. Last year, they had thought they would be together always. This year, it was true. They wouldn’t be parted. Upon the desk next to them lay Harry’s golden snake ring, and Draco’s silver cufflinks, which they never took off unless absolutely necessary. Never again would Draco be forced to give them up.  

“I… I love you…” Draco mumbled against Harry’s chest, clinging to him with desperation and love. In the steady darkness of the room, he appeared to once more be made out of moonlight. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Harry stroked his beloved’s hair to the side and kissed his lips, gently holding on to his face as he did. “So, so much.” 

They rested their scarred foreheads together and closed their eyes, knowing that the other was there and that everything was calm for the moment. The son of a Death Eater and the son of a werewolf, together at last.

Chapter Text

The grass was soft underneath his naked feet and slightly wet with the droplets of an already passed fall of rain. The forest smelled heavy of said rain, and a fog had shaped over the Hogwarts lake, shielding it from view. No wind blew as the stars and the moon peeked from behind grey clouds, every now and then lighting the scene up by moonlight. The school grounds were eerily dark, as the castle lay silent and utterly without light. Not a single bright spot could be found upon the dark walls, towers or in any window which should otherwise have been lit up. He wondered if Hogwarts had ever been completely dark since the days when it was built. 

Hogwarts had been everything to him once, and so he stopped to take in the view of the castle where he had lived for about ten years. He knew it dearly and he recalled it for what it was, rather than all that it could be. No matter from what angle he was looking at it, the castle was so familiar that he could have painted it from memory alone, and the drawing would be accurate. The only thing which wasn’t familiar was the odd, rather aggressive tree in the corner of the grounds, and a pale grave located somewhere not too far away from Hagrid’s Hut, which he recalled by a different name. Even that hut was cold and silent for the moment, but he took care in not coming close to it as he continued on towards his destination. 

The gentle, wet grass under his feet became hard gravel as he continued down a newly made, white path which led him to a clearing which had not been there before. Within that clearing stood a white stone casket, risen up by a base of white stonework. It was as if the grave was the backbone of a long dead beast which had been exposed to the elements by chance. The casket was marked, so no gravestone was needed to tell whose grave it was. Not that he would have needed that to know who rested within the bone white grave upon the school grounds of Hogwarts. 

“Hello, dad,” the Dark Lord whispered to the grave as he placed a hand upon it. 

He and the stone matched each other in whiteness, but then the clouds passed and he could see the bones, muscles and veins within his own supposed body. It was a reminder that he was but a golem of flesh, one who would never quite pass for human again with the exception of within very dark rooms with dim lighting. Yet it was not without its benefits, he would tell himself. He didn’t feel hunger, warmth or cold, he didn’t need many of the things which humans could not escape needing. The Dark Lord liked to think that while he was not quite human, he had transcended humanity, and that was a good thing. He would also not have to fear death claiming him in the manner it had claimed the man beneath this stone. He told himself the pain was temporary.

“‘Here lies Albus Dumbledore 1881 - 1997, the Greatest Wizard of the century, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Grand Sorcerer and Warlock extraordinaire,’” The Dark Lord traced his fingers over the letters upon the grave, reading them out loud in the still and empty July night upon the silent grounds of Hogwarts. 

“‘Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a mage is what you do when that storm comes.’” The Count of Monte Cristo. Really? You chose a quote from that story?” The Dark Lord huffed and sneered at the coffin, not certain whether he was bothered or amused by the fact that the story was one of hatred and completed vengeance, as well as revenge. “How perfectly humorous.” 

He remained standing with his hand upon his father’s grave, staring out into the mist above the Hogwarts lake without truly seeing anything. Without really being able to formulate any direct thoughts within the cluster of his mind. 

“You asked me if it was worth it, did you not?” he slowly began to speak out loud once more. “I’m sure you remember. I told you it was and now I ask you the same: was it worth it?” He traced the letters for ‘friend’ upon the stone. 

“Was it worth dying at the hand of your second son to protect a family which the world already deems guilty? Was it worth adopting the child who would grow up to be the enemy of the world, and the one to order your execution? Was it worth meeting and loving the man who began the American Mage War and who you never saw again? Was it worth saving them? Was it worth believing in them? Was it worth sacrificing me and that man for the convenience and happiness of the masses, for the Greater Good? Was it worth dying for them, like the bloody Lord upon his self constructed cross?” He spit the last words, the disdain for religion evident in his otherwise soft and pleasant voice. 

After the convulsions of anger calmed down, the Dark Lord rested his head in his hands, putting his full weight upon the grave inside which his father’s corpse was slowly becoming one with nature. “I wanted you to die,” he told the grave. “I wanted you to leave me alone. I wanted your shadow to be gone, and my name to be my own. But you returned it over and over. ‘Tom’ and ‘Riddle.’ Did you think you were doing me a kindness by attempting to make me human? I’ve always been human, dad. Always, always, painfully human. It has always been my one weakness, just as it always was yours. Now, you mark the last part of my humanity which is dead. With your death, I can finally be what I longed to be, in all my inhumanity.” 

He stepped back and took a few deep breaths to steady himself as he wrapped his arms around his functioning but miserable excuse for a body. Despite not being able to feel cold, he imagined that he was cold. He felt cold, somewhere deep inside of his wretched golem’s body’s stolen guts. “I won’t cry for you. You know I can’t cry anymore. Out of all the people I’ve killed, you’re the only one I haven’t cried for, surely that must hurt you a little? I hope it does.” The Dark Lord began to pace around the grave as he spoke, never taking his gaze off it. 

He stopped by the foot of the grave and looked at the empty end of it, completely untouched by any writing or mark. The Dark Lord did remember one quote from The Count of Monte Cristo which throbbed to the surface of his mind as he looked upon the empty surface. He raised his hand, and words began to inscribe themselves into the foot of the stone, forming what was so stubbornly present in his mind. When he had finished, the previously empty surface read ‘We frequently pass so near to happiness without seeing, without regarding it, or if we do see and regard it, yet without recognising it.’

The Dark Lord took a deep breath and turned his back to the grave, beginning to walk away the same way he had come. “I’ll make our community what it always should have been,” he said. “Goodbye, dad.”