Chapter Text
Chapter Sixty-Eight: Change on the horizon
Harry was still exiled from Black Castle due to the presence of Slytherin’s Locket in the vault, and so it was to Grimmauld Place he retreated with his guardians. The trio had not spoken much since leaving Hogwarts, and Harry had practically crawled into bed after brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas.
His sleep had been plagued with nightmares; frighteningly realistic dreams in which he had not successfully fought off the Broom Jinx as he had in reality, and had instead fallen out of the sky. He woke up repeatedly with the awful sensation of falling lurching him into wakefulness. The third time that happened, he had sat bolt upright in bed, Quirrell’s mocking laughter in his ears. A noise nearby had his hand shooting under his pillow, and with his wand in hand he pointed it towards the noise threateningly, a spell on his lips.
He had quickly dropped his wand when he realised it was Kreacher standing by his bed, heart racing at the realisation he had nearly cast a spell against the loyal house elf in his panic.
“The young master be troubled,” Kreacher declared, seemingly unaffected by just having a wand pointed directly at his head.
“Morgana, Kreacher, I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered into the dark hush of the room.
“Kreacher be preparing some Dreamless Sleep Potion,” the house elf stated, holding a steaming cup of tea up, no doubt laced with the potion.
Touched at the thoughtfulness, and the care with which the house elf looked out for him, Harry whispered, “Thank you, Kreacher.”
He reached over, picking up the cup and saucer. There was no need to blow on it to cool — Kreacher had already seen to it that it was the perfect temperature for him.
Unbidden, tears sprang into his eyes at the small kindness, and he rubbed them away furiously with his free hand. He felt so vulnerable, even though he was safe in his own home, surrounded by those who cared about him.
“Drink your potion, and Kreacher will watch over you for the rest of the night,” the house elf murmured. “No harm will come to the young master.”
Harry reached out with his hand, and Kreacher gently took it between his own tiny ones, patting it gently in a soothing pattern. Harry threw back the tea laced with Dreamless Sleep Potion, putting down the cup and saucer by his bedside once he was done.
He soon felt the heaviness dragging on his eyelids, the potion-induced drowsiness tugging him into oblivion. He fell asleep with his hand still clasped between Kreacher’s own, the house elf eventually tucking him in properly under the covers.
He watched over his young charge until the first touch of dawn crept into the room, and Sirius silently opened the bedroom door and peered his head inside.
He blinked in surprise at seeing Kreacher present in the room, an unspoken question on his face, though he held his tongue, no doubt to avoid waking Harry up.
However Harry was in an induced sleep, and so Kreacher spoke up, “The young master be having nightmares. Kreacher prepared Dreamless Sleep Potion.”
Sirius’ face fell at the realisation Harry had been silently suffering just a few rooms down and he had not been aware. He felt assured of his decision to insist on Harry coming home last night, rather than stay at school.
“I could not ask for a better protector for Harry,” Sirius murmured, with sincerity as he gazed at the house elf. “Thank you.”
“Kreacher be doing his job,” the house elf sniffed. But the tender way he gazed at Harry’s sleeping face made Sirius all the more grateful.
“I will leave him in your capable hands until he wakes,” Sirius murmured.
Kreacher’s straightened at the acknowledgement of the trust Sirius had in him, nodding in agreement.
It was only after he had quietly shut the door behind him that Sirius let his face fall, covering his eyes briefly with his hand in a moment of weakness.
All he wanted was to keep James and Lily’s boy safe. And he had sent him to a school where one of the teachers had tried to kill him, in broad daylight.
He felt like a failure, and uncertain what he was going to do from here.
“Share your burdens with me,” the voice of his grandfather murmured.
Sirius uncovered his eyes, ashamed his grandfather had seen him having a quiet breakdown outside of Harry’s room. Arcturus stood down the end of the corridor, leaning on his cane, concern writ across his face.
“I can’t do anything right,” Sirius confessed, blinking the tears away.
He heard the tap of his grandfather’s cane as he approached, coming to stand in front of Sirius. A gentle, weathered hand touched his cheek, and he leaned into the comforting weight.
“You love that boy,” his grandfather whispered. “As do I. If we act, guided by that love, then we are doing right by him.”
“He had nightmares last night” Sirius whispered brokenly, “Kreacher came in and fed him a Dreamless Sleep Potion.”
“I would be concerned if he had no reaction at all,” Arcturus insisted firmly, though he looked aggrieved at the news. “It is our job now to be strong for him. To give him support.”
Sirius let out a shuddering breath, focusing on the matter at hand to distract himself from self-pity and regret.
“I’ll call Specialist Healer Grace now to schedule an emergency appointment today. Harry needs to talk to a professional,” Sirius decided.
Arcturus nodded approvingly, stating, “A wise course of action.”
Sirius hesitated, before adding, “We also need to talk about when Harry should return to Hogwarts. If…if he should return at all.”
Arcturus straightened, insisting, “That is a conversation that Harry needs to be a part of.”
“I know,” Sirius replied, shoulders slumping. He paused, and then as though unable to resist asking he whispered fervently, “When you insinuated to Dumbledore that Quirrell was connected to Voldemort, did you actually suspect-”
“No,” Arcturus rushed to respond before Sirius could finish the thought. “It was unimaginable that a Hogwarts teacher would actually be connected to Voldemort. I fear that fate cursed me for my lies, by spinning them into truth to mock me.”
“So you think he might have actually been connected — acting on orders?” Sirius asked, fear writ across his face.
“We cannot rule it out,” Arcturus confirmed grimly.
“It’s foolish, I know…but I thought we had more time,” Sirius whispered.
“So did I,” Arcturus confessed.
Amidst the storm of media reporting on the death of Quirinus Quirrell, now publicly named as the Hogwarts teacher linked to undisclosed criminal activity, there was a side note in the Daily Prophet that the Wizengamot were meeting for the first reading of a new bill proposed by Lord Gareth Greengrass, Lord Levi Selwyn-Burke and Madam Amelia Bones.
Gareth Greengrass was not one to disrespect the gravity of a death, but he had to admit it provided an effective distraction for the media, who would have otherwise torn the proposed bill apart when he announced it at the first reading. The official debate would not commence until the second reading at the next hearing, but already voices were making themselves known in the Wizengamot, crying out in protest against the nature of the bill.
The Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Amendment (Werewolf Rights and Responsibilities) Bill 1992, received passing criticism and interest alike by the media, but otherwise became buried under the mountain of coverage on the mystery and scandal surrounding a Hogwarts teacher being implicated in criminal activity, and then dying during arrest on school grounds.
Three days after the incident, the head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, with a grave-faced Amelia Bones by his side, announced at a press conference that the investigative team had completed their examination into the cause of death, and he could now confirm Quirrell had been assassinated by way of illegal runecraft.
Although there was no formal statement made by the Auror Office or the DMLE, word somehow leaked to the press shortly afterwards that Quirrell had also been linked to the jinxing of a student’s broom during a Quidditch match last year. The identity of the student was proclaimed to be none other than Harry Potter, and the theories being touted in the press as to why the Boy Who Lived had been targeted ranged from Quirrell being a sympathiser of You-Know-Who, to him having some sort of twisted obsession with the famous child.
Most assumed this attack on a student was the criminal activity Quirrell had been linked to, given the news of him killing a unicorn and harvesting its blood was yet to be released publicly, and would undoubtedly send more shockwaves through Britain if it ever was.
After the leak of information regarding Harry Potter, the Auror Office had heightened its information security protocols. It was not the first time secure information had found its way to the media, and likely would not be the last.
There was a public outcry that such a thing could have happened at Hogwarts, shock that the incident had not been publicised at the time, and demands for an enquiry into the school and its response.
Fudge had held a press conference of his own, boldly promising a Senate-led enquiry into the school’s response to the incident, and expressing his own condemnation of the situation. It was before eager representatives of the media that he declared the Ministry would be reviewing Hogwarts employment procedures, background checks on staff, and the safety measures in place at the school.
The media were largely full of praise for the Minister’s proactive response, and the public were eager to see the Senate enquiry launched without delay, particularly those who had children attending Hogwarts.
Questions of Dumbledore’s competence, and his storied past of child endangerment — regarding the same child no less — starting doing the rounds once more. However, the Board of Governors released a statement affirming they had found no fault with the headmaster’s response to the incident, and they welcomed the Senate enquiry to prove there had been no failure on the part of the school leadership.
Harry weathered the media storm safely ensconced in Grimmauld Place that week, desperately relieved he was not at school. He could only imagine the mortification of the moment the story of his involvement in the case got leaked, had he been at school.
Professor Snape had been sending a daily owl with homework assigned in the various classes Harry was absent from, each teacher compiling an outline of what had been covered in whatever class Harry missed.
The first time he had spied a mention of DADA in a study package, he had frozen for a brief moment, before relaxing. It seemed Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were sharing teaching responsibilities for the class, presumably until the end of the school year.
He had also been receiving daily letters from concerned friends, all clamouring to check in on him and expressing their worry for his continued absence from school. Hermione had been particularly frantic about the impact Harry’s absence might have on his end of year results, with the exam period commencing in just over two weeks. Harry could not care less about exams at this point, but he appreciated with an exasperated fondness that Hermione could always be relied upon to be consistent with her grades obsession.
He took his time drafting responses to his friends, keeping his replies to some brief, and sitting on others for days. As for the letters he received from those he barely knew, he left them untouched, seeing no reason to reply to total strangers who were merely fishing for information.
His letters to Neville and Daphne had sat unsent for two days until Rosie and Gareth had hand delivered a follow up letter co-authored by both of his friends when they came to check on him at Grimmauld Place. He had quickly finished his letters to both, apologising for not replying quicker, knowing how worried they must be.
Draco had been likewise concerned, but unlike the rest of Harry’s friends, did not bother sugar-coating the situation at school. He wrote in detail about the gossip going around, and had added that many were whispering that Harry was probably not going to return to Hogwarts this year, if at all.
Draco had asked Harry bluntly if he was going to be withdrawn from Hogwarts.
Harry had stared at the question for a while, turning it over in his head.
If Sirius got his way, Harry would not be going back.
His godfather had sat down with him the morning he had woken up groggily from his Dreamless Sleep induced rest, Arcturus in attendance as well, and had outlined his concerns around Harry returning to Hogwarts.
Arcturus had reserved his own opinion, and made it clear he would not stand in Sirius’ way if he made an executive decision to withdraw Harry from Hogwarts. It was an acknowledgement of how far Sirius had come in taking on full responsibility for his godson, and Arcturus acknowledging Sirius as Harry’s primary caregiver.
Seeing Draco’s question bluntly put on the parchment, Harry pushed the letter to the side, revealing some colourful booklets underneath. Promotional material for Durmstrang in northern Europe, Ilvermorny in the United States, and Wandurla Academy in Australia were scattered underneath, each proclaiming the benefits of studying at the respective schools.
Sirius had handed the booklets to Harry and told him to genuinely look at the schools as options, instead of blindly insisting on remaining at Hogwarts.
They were all shaken at the realisation that Quirrell might have indeed been acting either on the orders of Voldemort, as Dumbledore believed, or otherwise by his own volition, to kill Harry. If even one Voldemort-sympathiser could infiltrate Hogwarts, there was no guarantee that others would not follow, even with tighter background checks and closer scrutiny on Hogwarts’ hiring processes.
Dumbledore had already requested a further meeting with Arcturus, with urgency, no doubt wanting to interrogate the patriarch of the Black family further on the anonymous source who had warned him of Quirrell’s association with Voldemort. The truth, of course, was that Arcturus had no source other than Harry, and that had been solely related to the business around the unicorn. So he avoided Dumbledore’s requests to meet, even though he begrudgingly admitted the man had acted with integrity in shielding Arcturus from Scrimgeour.
The thought of leaving all of his friends and family behind though, not to mention his home, was a daunting thought for Harry. All three schools taught in English at least, which was why they had made Sirius’ shortlist.
Harry also felt demoralised looking at the booklets, like he was somehow conceding defeat by leaving Hogwarts. He had started establishing something special with the Heritage Society, and had felt like he was really reaching out to his peers. Whilst he knew he could leave things in Daphne’s capable hands, he also knew understood two minds were better than one, and it was a lot of pressure to put on his friend’s shoulders to continue their work alone.
He had shared these feelings with Specialist Healer Grace, who he had been seeing every day in extended appointments during his week at home. He had built an excellent rapport with the man over the years of knowing him, and valued the thoughtful way he considered Harry’s concerns and gave him techniques to manage them. Specialist Healer Grace was helping Harry process those feelings of defeat associated with the prospect of leaving Hogwarts, and also the trauma from the discovery he had nearly been killed by an adult charged with looking after him.
And it was trauma.
Something Harry had been gently guided to recognise as truth by the Specialist Healer. He had not trusted Quirrell from the start, and for good reason it seemed, but he had never once entertained the thought that the man genuinely meant him any harm.
Harry had been abused by adults who should have kept him safe in the past, and Specialist Healer Grace helped him understand how this betrayal had triggered his trauma coping mechanisms. The important message given to him though was that this would not stop his ongoing recovery in its tracks — it was an obstacle, not a dead end.
Harry pulled his unfinished reply to Draco back in front of him, quill poised over the parchment. A drop of ink fell from the tip, blotting the parchment, and Harry angrily shoved his quill back in its holder, standing up from his desk and moving to pace his bedroom.
It was on Friday morning, just over three days since the truth of Quirrell’s attempt to kill him had come to light, that Harry sat on one side of the table of the dining room in Grimmauld Place. Sirius and Arcturus sat opposite him, both men unable to resist glancing to the single booklet placed on the table in front of Harry.
Durmstrang Institute.
“I have conditions,” Harry declared, hands folded on the table in front of him, green eyes hard.
Rather than respond with amusement or indulgence for the demands of a child, Sirius and Arcturus respected Harry with patient understanding, giving Harry time to order his thoughts.
“I’ll attend Durmstrang next year. To allow time for this all to blow over. But I want the option of returning to Hogwarts from my third year onwards,” Harry asserted.
“Only if we deem it safe to do so,” Sirius bargained immediately.
Harry’s jaw tightened for a moment, before his face relaxed, and he nodded stiffly. “Fine. If there are valid concerns at the end of my second year, I’ll stay at Durmstrang and not return to Hogwarts.” Harry stressed the word 'valid' - he refused to be kept away from Hogwarts by his godfather for some minor reason.
“You might find yourself preferring the curriculum offered at Durmstrang,” his grandfather interjected gently. “By this time next year, you might not even want to return to Hogwarts.”
“Even so, I want the option to choose,” Harry insisted.
“And you’ve considered the other schools — Ilvermorny and Wandurla?” Sirius queried.
“Yes, but Durmstrang is closest to home. And Ezra teaches there,” Harry explained. He hesitated before adding, “I know Durmstrang was on your approved list…but what about the headmaster?”
Sirius’ expression grew pinched and he replied, “I know Karkaroff was a former Death Eater. But he burned his bridges a long time ago by cooperating with the Aurors and betraying his former comrades. He has no place among Voldemort’s followers, and he knows it.”
“But what if he thinks he’ll be forgiven if he kills me, or gives me over to Voldemort?” Harry asked bluntly.
He knew he was stirring the pot at this stage, but he wanted to be certain Sirius was content with the choice of school before he got attached, only to be ripped away by a paranoid godfather again.
“There is no forgiveness for what that man did,” Arcturus spoke up. “Only death awaits him from the Dark Lord.”
A tense silence settled over the room at that pronouncement, before Sirius broke it by saying quietly, “You can return to Hogwarts next week to complete your exams at least, and I will begin preparing the application for enrolment at Durmstrang without delay. We can inform Hogwarts of your withdrawal during the summer break. I think it best to avoid informing any staff before then to prevent any…complications.”
Harry had no doubt Dumbledore would have some strong objections to his removal from Hogwarts, if only for a year, if all went to plan.
He wondered too how the public would react to the news he was being withdrawn, because as much as he wished it were not the case, his personal business often wound up in the public domain.
But most importantly, he worried how his friends would react.
Harry slipped discreetly back into Hogwarts that weekend by way of direct Floo to Professor Snape’s fireplace. He had completed his interview with the Aurors earlier that day, though he had not been able to share much with them about his interactions with Quirrell, given the man had gone out of his way to avoid Harry. Sirius had sat beside Harry throughout the interview, face stony and on high alert for any inappropriate questions as the female Auror interviewing Harry had carefully guided him through the process. The fact that Harry had seen the professor in the forest on Samhain, that he had attempted to get into Quirrell’s rooms, and that he had been the source his grandfather had referred to when he went to warn Dumbledore, were all carefully omitted.
Arriving back at Hogwarts he had been relieved to be treated exactly the same way by the surly Potions professor, who had handed over his homework to be completed and informed him there was a practice exam for Potions on Monday. His head of house had also reminded him what the password was for the common room, which Harry appreciated, as he had completely forgotten in the chaos of the week.
The sense of normality was lost though the moment he stepped outside the safety of Professor Snape’s office and into the corridor outside. A pair of older girls who had been walking by the office practically squeaked when they saw him, and hurried over like they were old friends to breathlessly ask him if he was okay.
Neither bothered introducing themselves, and Harry murmured something about being fine, and needing to get to his common room. Uncaring if he was being a bit rude, he had walked away quickly, the girls calling after him that they were glad he was back.
Baffled and uncomfortable at the interaction, wishing he had permission to use the Invisibility Cloak to simply disappear from sight, Harry ducked into an alcove. Breathing deeply in and out, he concentrated on changing his hair and eye colour to brown. It would be hard to maintain for long without having a visual aid in front of him to mimic, but hopefully it would be enough to get him to the common room without being waylaid again.
He crept out of the alcove, keeping his head down as he walked as quickly as he dared through the corridors of the castle to the Slytherin common room. He passed a few students along the way, and was deeply relieved when he passed them by unrecognised.
Daphne knew he was arriving back at school today by way of her parents, who had communicated the news to her directly. Harry had not been certain of the time though, so they had agreed to meet up in the common room at some point that day.
Harry reached the blank stretch of wall marking the secret entrance to the Slytherin common room, and murmured the password, watching the door appear. He slipped inside, noting most of the study nooks in the space were occupied, and there was a pair of older students playing a game of wizarding chess by the fireplace.
A few eyes looked up at his arrival, before returning to whatever tasks they were engaged with, his shallow disguise holding up to brief perusal.
All but one set of eyes.
Daphne was looking straight at him from where she sat at one of the study nooks, quill clenched in her hand and blue eyes boring into him, looking at his face closely.
Tracey and Blaise flanked her to either side, Tracey with her head down writing but Blaise was looking at Daphne, his eyes following her gaze to look at Harry too. His eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation.
Harry tilted his head towards the door leading back out into the corridor, and Daphne’s eyes widened, and to his consternation, also filled with tears.
She stood up, her chair scraping loudly and earning her a few annoyed looks from surrounding students. Without a single word to a surprised Tracey or Blaise who looked like he was about to ask her something, Daphne hurried across the room, waving at the duo to discourage them from following her.
Harry half-expected her to launch herself into his arms, but instead she grabbed him by the arm, yanking him out of the room and through the door leading back to the corridor outside. He figured she was trying to avoid any more attention from the other students, and did not want to risk Harry’s disguise being exposed before he was ready to reveal himself to his housemates.
The door had barely shut behind them, melting back into the stone, before Daphne used the arm she had in her grasp to tug Harry forward and then fling her arms around him.
He hugged her back just as tightly, the two saying nothing for a few moments, just clinging to each other. Harry was distantly aware he was no longer disguised, unable to maintain concentration to keep his features altered.
Daphne breathed out with a shuddering breath, pressing her head firmly into Harry’s shoulder as she whispered shakily, “I’ve been so worried. You weren’t yourself in your letters.”
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Harry murmured back.
Daphne pulled back, staring at Harry sternly with eyes that still threatened to spill tears, as she scolded him, “You have nothing to apologise for.”
She paused, eyes flicking down the corridor to double check no one was approaching them. Unsatisfied with the openness of the area, she added, “Let’s find an empty classroom.”
The two hurried down the corridor together, finding the first door near the common room, which was locked. A whispered Alohomora later and the two entered the dusty classroom, which was being used as a storage space, filled with stacked tables and chairs.
Finally in privacy, Daphne asked in a hushed voice, “Are you okay?”
Harry gave her a small, sad smile and replied honestly, “I’m working on it.”
“I can’t believe this whole situation,” Daphne whispered, starting to pace the cramped space left in the room, shaking her head with anger and upset.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Harry confessed suddenly. Daphne froze in her tracks. He had wondered if he should wait longer to tell Daphne, or perhaps gather the friends he wanted to tell in one place and get it over with at once. But seeing how upset his oldest friend was, and knowing how much she cared about him, Harry felt it was only right that Daphne learned the news first.
Daphne watched him in silence, eyebrows drawn tight with concern.
“I’m being withdrawn from Hogwarts,” he admitted.
“What?” Daphne asked incredulously.
“It’s what Sirius wanted from the start…everything that’s happened was just the final breaking point. I’m going to Durmstrang,” Harry explained quietly.
“Durmstrang,” Daphne echoed dully, processing the news.
“Just for a year,” Harry rushed to assure her. “I could be back to Hogwarts by my third year. This is just…a break.”
“A break is taking a week off school. This feels a little more permanent,” Daphne whispered, still looking a little shell-shocked at the revelation.
“I wasn’t left with much of a choice, Daph,” Harry pointed out, a note of annoyance entering his voice.
Daphne shook her head slightly, a hint of regret in her eyes as she murmured, “You’re right, I’m sorry. This is just…big news.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, shoulders drooping.
Daphne’s face softened and she assured him, “You can talk to Uncle Ezra about what to expect. And at least he’ll be around to look out for you.”
Warmed by her reassurances, Harry mustered a smile, agreeing, “I’m going to ask to meet with him over the summer break, to talk about everything.”
“And…” Daphne began, grasping for positives in the situation, “we’re going to meet other young people at the DAYS gathering in July. Some who will surely be attending Durmstrang. You can start to make new friends.”
Her voice grew quieter towards the end, face upset, despite trying hard to cheer Harry up and support him.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Harry whispered, and Daphne’s face fell, any pretence of cheer disappearing.
“I don’t want you to go,” she responded thickly, blinking away her tears.
“Come here,” Harry said softly, heart breaking at how upset his friend was.
Daphne let Harry fold her into a hug once more, the two standing in that dusty classroom for a long time.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur, though Harry spent the vast majority of it holed up in the relative privacy of the common room. His Slytherin peers were more reserved than the rest of the school when it came to approaching him and talking about what had been revealed, held at bay by the stony glares of Flint and Selwyn who kept everyone in line from being too invasive.
Even Higgs, who Harry had been expecting to deliver some sort of morbid quip about the whole situation, simply looked at Harry gravely, and moved on. He almost wished Higgs would have said something annoying and inappropriate, just to have a sense of normality back.
He had been greeted with a tight hug from Draco and admonishment for not telling him he was coming back, and for not replying to his latest letter. Underneath the chiding, Harry could see the worry in his friend’s eyes and felt the tight way Draco had gripped him when they hugged.
Tracey and Blaise had both been very glad to see him, and he felt safe sitting with the duo and Daphne, who kept him sheltered in their midst from the worst of the prying. Generally a hard stare down from the trio was enough to deter most from sidling up to the group to talk to Harry.
There had been a hushed conversation shortly after his return where Harry had confirmed for the two that Quirrell had been the one to kill the unicorn for its blood, and that his grandfather had spoken to Dumbledore and persuaded him to check the teacher’s rooms. He felt they were owed part of the truth given they had known about the unicorn, and Blaise had so helpfully shared the information about the use of unicorn blood.
The rest of the Slytherin first years ranged in their reactions to the whole situation. There was the openly kind response to his return on the part of Millie, the girl timidly welcoming him back and even offering to share her notes if he needed them.
Crabbe and Goyle had barely reacted to his return, acting like he’d never left, which Harry was actually grateful for.
Pansy had made a couple of snide comments early on about all of the media attention Harry was getting, before Draco had shut her down firmly. She had been tight-lipped since then, electing to ignore Harry, which suited him just fine.
Theo opted from the start to say nothing to Harry at all, avoiding eye contact with him and disengaging from any conversations Harry was a part of.
Harry wondered if he was avoiding Harry because of the rumours Quirrell was a Voldemort sympathiser, and his father had been associated with Voldemort. Draco seemed unbothered at those rumours though, and his own father’s connection, insisting to anyone who would listen that the teacher had likely just been crazy.
Harry and his guardians trusted Lucius, and knew he would have warned them in some way if he had known a Death Eater or associate of Voldemort’s had been planted at the school to harm Harry.
After classes one day the following week, Harry had gathered Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Draco, Neville and Hermione by the banks of the lake to share with them all the news Daphne had already heard — that he was headed for Durmstrang.
Draco’s response had been the most surprising — the boy had been openly envious, admitting he had begged his parents to enrol him at the school from the start, but his mother had refused because it was too far from home. With a determined glint in his eyes he had declared he would write home to his parents and ask if they would reconsider, knowing that Harry would be attending.
Neville had quietly sought assurances Harry would be returning for their third year and not be leaving for good. Although Harry confirmed that was the plan, Neville had looked unconvinced, but he had forced a smile for his friend’s sake, knowing the move would be hard enough for Harry without his friends acting like they were at a funeral.
Hermione had been fascinated, committing to research the school and share her findings with Harry. She had been sad as well of course to hear Harry would be moving on, but pointed out the advantages of studying at more than one school, and being exposed to a broader curriculum.
Tracey had promised to write to him, and offered to catch up whenever they shared holiday periods, which was quickly echoed by the others.
Harry had been curious to observe Blaise’s reaction to the news, but the boy had remained largely neutral, other than politely wishing Harry good luck at his new school and agreeing with the others that he would stay in contact.
It was Draco who had pointed out, “It’s odd isn’t it, that Harry is going to a school on the continent even though he was born here in Britain, and you Blaise — you were born on the continent but you’re going to a school in Britain.”
“Very odd,” Blaise agreed with a wry smile, his tone slightly mocking.
Draco’s eyes narrowed and he pushed on, “You said you were put down for Beauxbatons originally. Your mother didn’t consider still sending you there even though you moved to Britain?”
“It made sense to attend Hogwarts,” Blaise replied calmly, but Harry noticed the tension in his body the longer Draco dwelled on the topic.
“You’re the only people I’ve told about this,” Harry interrupted the interaction between the two boys, looking around at the faces of his closest friends. “I would appreciate it if you kept it to yourselves — I don’t want other people to know yet.”
Draco looked pained at being prevented from the gossip he wanted to engage in, asking Harry if he could still at least tell his parents so he could start persuading them to enrol him at Durmstrang too.
Harry had consented to Draco telling his parents, although he doubted Narcissa would ever agree to sending her son abroad with how protective she was. It was more complex than mere nervousness about Draco studying overseas of course — the true root of her worry was the fact Karkaroff was headmaster at the school. She and Lucius were no doubt concerned the former Death Eater would mete out frustration or dislike against Draco for being the son of his former Inner Circle comrade.
A few days later during Potions, Hermione had dramatically dropped her bag down on the floor beside the workstation Harry was sitting at and hissed, “Durmstrang doesn’t accept Muggleborns!”
Harry had discreetly glanced around to ensure no one had overheard Hermione, before turning disapproving eyes on the girl, who had the grace to at least look a little embarrassed. Sitting down quickly beside Harry and ducking her head close she whispered in a quieter voice, “Sorry. But I was looking up information on the school and all the books I was reading are claiming the same thing — they don’t accept Muggleborn students.”
Professor Snape stood to commence the class, and so Harry did not reply for some time as he got the fire lit beneath the cauldron and started pulling out the right ingredients. Hermione assisted him, but she was obviously tense, waiting to hear his response.
As he started to gently crush the yarrow, eyes flicking up to double check Professor Snape was on the other side of the room watching Draco and Theo, Harry finally muttered back to the girl, “It’s a bit more complex than that, Hermione.”
“I figured it might have been a previous school policy, and that the information was out of date, but the last book I looked at was published last year,” Hermione insisted.
Flicking the crushed yarrow in to the cauldron and giving it a single counter-clockwise stir, Harry took his time ordering his thoughts as Hermione nearly vibrated in her chair, upset on her face.
“The rest of the world has different ideas of what makes someone a Muggleborn — in Britain it means someone born to Muggle parents,” Harry began, passing the mortar and pestle over to Hermione, who took it distractedly, starting to crush the bluebells into a fine paste.
“So what does it mean in mainland Europe?” Hermione asked.
“Some countries don’t use the term at all,” Harry began, recalling what Aunt Cass had told him.
“The books all made it quite clear Durmstrang has a strict policy preventing students with non-magical parents from attending their school, even if they didn’t all use the term Muggleborn,” Hermione asserted, grinding the petals angrily.
Harry sighed, knowing this topic was bound to come up eventually, even though he had hoped to spare his friend the knowledge for some more time. Blaise had skirted the topic during the Heritage Society session on Muggleborns, but Harry had of course followed up by asking Aunt Cass directly what she knew about mainland European practices around Muggleborns.
“As you said, the policy prevents students with non-magical parents from attending. But it does not stop students who were born to Muggles, but raised by wizarding parents, from being enrolled,” Harry explained quietly.
Hermione paused, pestle in hand as she looked at Harry and asked uncertainly, “So…so it’s that practice Blaise mentioned? Where Muggle parents are approached when their magical child is a baby, and they are given the option of giving up their child for adoption?”
“That could be one way a Muggleborn comes to be raised by wizarding parents, and eligible to attend Durmstrang,” Harry agreed.
“What’s the other way?” Hermione asked, putting the mortar down on the table and giving Harry her undivided attention.
“Certain countries in the world, including some European countries, don’t give Muggle parents a choice in the matter,” Harry informed her.
Hermione paled, and hissed under her breath, “They steal children?”
“And have them raised in the wizarding world, never knowing their Muggle relatives,” Harry confirmed.
“That’s barbaric,” Hermione whispered, looking shaken.
“I agree,” Harry assured her, “but it’s the way some parts of the world integrate Muggleborns.”
Hermione looked like she had a lot more she wanted to say on the matter, but Professor Snape swooped down on them, causing the pair to quickly spring apart and turn back to the potion.
There was no further opportunity to discuss the matter together as they had to focus on finishing the potion and then all too soon the class was over and they were parting ways to go to different classes.
Harry felt bad to have dropped such disturbing information on Hermione without being able to talk things through to help her find some closure on the matter. He suspected she would soon be buried in books to seek more information about mainland European policies around Muggleborns, though he doubted she would find much in the Hogwarts library. Not only was most of the content in the school library censored for disturbing themes, but it was incredibly Britain-centric and tended not to provide information on cultures, beliefs and practices outside of their country.
Outside of school, Harry checked in with Sirius and his grandfather every night before bed over the mirror, assuring them he was doing fine and the nightmares had not reoccurred. Sirius had confirmed he had submitted the formal enrolment application to Durmstrang, and was awaiting a response from the school.
Final preparations for exams provided the perfect distraction from everything, Harry throwing himself into revision.
He had discussed with Daphne their plans for the last Heritage Society meeting, which would be in the week after exams had concluded, while they waited for their results. It was significant, as it was not only the last Heritage Society meeting of the year, but also the last one ever. Daphne had regretfully admitted she had no desire to continue running the meetings on her own next year, and the pair were not even sure of the process involved with getting permission for a club continuing across multiple years.
Harry had encouraged his friend strongly though to continue leading their peers in observing the sacred days as a cohort, suggesting she utilise Neville, Tracey and Blaise to help her plan and prepare the events. She had promised she would keep that part of the Heritage Society alive, and Harry felt comforted he would be leaving behind some sort of legacy.
The media continued reporting on Quirrell, many journalists digging into his past and trying to glean anything they could from it to explain his actions, though it did not reveal much.
Gareth led the second reading of his new bill that week, and the Wizengamot debates had begun, scheduled to run over a few days.
Although their guardians had been worried there would be some backlash at school against Daphne, and Harry by connection to her, everyone was still too distracted offering commiseration and sympathy to Harry over the fact a teacher had tried to kill him, to even consider giving he or his friend trouble.
In the first week of June as the weather grew distinctly warmer with the creeping arrival of summer, the Hogwarts students sat their exams. Harry found the written exams for each subject simple, although History of Magic was particularly agonising to complete with its irrelevant questions and the stuffiness of the poorly ventilated classroom.
The practical components of each exam were a lot more interesting to complete. Professor Flitwick called them in one by one into a classroom to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Harry made sure his pineapple gave the teacher a little bow after its performance, and the teacher had laughed delightedly, applauding the show.
Professor McGonagall had watched them each attempt to turn a mouse into a snuffbox — points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if the snuffbox still had a tail or whiskers. The stern woman had quietly complimented Harry on the silver detailing he had transfigured to decorate the snuffbox.
Professor Snape had breathed down all of their necks during their practical potions exam, as they brewed Forgetfulness Potions, and although Harry knew he could have done better, he felt confident he had at least passed.
As Harry finished his last exam he did not share in the celebratory atmosphere of his peers, some of whom cheered at they left the final assessment. He couldn’t help but feel a little wistful and sad, aware the end of the exam period meant there was only a week left of school, and then he would be going home and withdrawn from Hogwarts. Hopefully only temporarily, but as much as Harry assured his friends he would be back, he couldn’t help the feeling that he actually might not be ever walking these halls again.
It was hard fielding questions from the other first years at the end of the last Heritage Society meeting the weekend after their exams were finished. Everyone wanted to know what to expect next year, and if Harry and Daphne would be continuing the sessions. Harry had steeled himself, and informed everyone there would be no sessions next year, but they would continue to organise events for anyone interested in observing the sacred days.
Professor Snape had paused writing in his usual corner of the room, looking up and staring at Harry with an unreadable expression.
There had been some vocal protests at the announcement, many insisting they would be interested in continuing the sessions if Harry and Daphne were willing to offer them. Daphne had stepped up, knowing how hard this was for Harry, and told their peers with a regretful smile that they would not be able to do that. There had been distinct disappointment around the room, although most understood the work Harry and Daphne had poured into the program over the past year, and perhaps figured it was asking too much to continue the program beyond the one year.
Professor Snape asked the duo to stay behind as the members of the Heritage Society filtered out of the classroom for the final time to enjoy the sunshine.
Placing his quill back in its holder, Professor Snape laced his hands together and informed the pair in a neutral tone of voice, “Continuing this club or not is a matter for you both. However, my sponsorship of the program was not isolated to a single year. If you submit a new program for next year, I will consider it for approval.”
Appreciative of the man’s support, but knowing all too well that would not be feasible, Harry commented quietly, “Daphne and I have spoken about this. We won’t be in a position to continue the program.”
He kept his explanation short, although even that assertion seemed to rouse his head of house’s suspicions, the man probing, “Do you have concerns balancing school work, co-curricular commitments and running the club?”
Harry hesitated, wondering when Professor Snape got so invested in the club’s continued existence. He wondered if Umbridge’s disastrous after school program had anything to do with it. Though everyone agreed it was going to be discontinued, the announcement surely soon to come.
Daphne spoke up, replying quietly but firmly, “We can’t continue the information sessions, but as we told everyone, we’ll be encouraging they participate with us in structured rituals on the sacred days.”
“I see,” Professor Snape said smoothly, dark eyes looking between the two first years. “That is regrettable.”
Harry clenched his jaw, unwilling to reveal just how much he regretted the whole situation. Judging from the calculating way Professor Snape looked at him though, Harry’s reaction had been noted.
“Thank you for supporting us this year, sir,” Daphne commented quietly.
That shook Harry out of his self-pity, reminding him of his manners, as he quickly echoed, “Yes, thank you, sir.”
Professor Snape seemed a little uncomfortable at the sentimentality, stating, “It was a beneficial program.” He started packing up his materials, hinting to the pair dismissively, “If that’s all?”
They hurried out after the teacher, who locked the classroom and departed down the corridor, footsteps fading into the distance.
Harry found himself rooted to the spot outside the classroom they had enjoyed their Heritage Society meetings in, staring at the closed door with a far-away look in his eyes.
“That really is all, I guess,” Harry whispered.
“You’ll be back,” Daphne insisted, placing a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I know you will. And we’ll get everyone back together and hold another Heritage Society meeting.”
Harry put a hand over her own, turning to smile at his friend, who never failed to support and encourage him.
“We’ll make it a proper celebration,” Daphne continued, putting her head on his shoulder.
They watched the closed door for a couple more seconds in silence before Harry admitted, trying not to laugh, “This is a bit sad isn’t it? We should probably leave.”
Daphne snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter as she agreed, “Yeah, let’s go find our friends.”
On the final day of school for the year, exam results were distributed to the first to fourth year students. The fifth years and older would need to wait for their results over the summer break, as they were externally assessed.
Harry was pleased to see his strong results across the board, relieved all of the distractions in the lead up to the exam period had not affected his grades.
Hermione had been ecstatic, initially maintaining a bit of discretion about her grades, before unable to resist the temptation of boasting a little to Harry that she had scored one hundred and twelve percent, with bonus marks, in Charms.
He had been happy for her, quietly congratulating her. When he did not offer any indication of his own grades, Hermione had been surprised momentarily, before a flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks as she realised it was maybe a bit childish to declare your results.
The end of year feast was to be held on Saturday evening before the train back to London on Sunday. Harry took the opportunity before dinner was scheduled to begin to slip away from his friends for a moment alone.
He strolled down the sloping lawn towards the Quidditch pitch, as the sun began to set, sleeves rolled up and tie loose around his neck in the summer heat. Standing on the edge of the pitch and looking up at the stands, he watched the school banners snapping in the light breeze, lost in thought.
This place had been the site of some of his best memories at the school, and undoubtedly also the worst.
He wasn’t sure what exactly brought him back here, on his last night at the school — whether it was nostalgia or the need for closure.
He stood there, hands in pockets and face tilted up to catch the last rays of the sun as it set.
“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar voice called out softly, gently interrupting his solitude.
He opened his eyes and glanced over his shoulder to see Blaise standing nearby, shirt sleeves likewise rolled up, posture loose and relaxed.
“Why did you think I’d be here?” Harry asked quietly.
“Just a hunch,” Blaise responded.
A companionable silence descended, Blaise seemingly content to simply join Harry’s silent reflection on the edge of the Quidditch pitch.
“Do you think it’s weird, wanting to spend time in this place even though I might have died here?” Harry asked bluntly, unable to help but voice the thought troubling him.
If Blaise was shocked by the strange question, he did not show it, a thoughtful look coming across his face.
“I think it’s just in some people’s natures to be drawn to places that remind us of our mortality,” Blaise murmured.
Harry really looked at the other boy, from his peaceful expression to the casual and relaxed way he was standing as he discussed such a grandiose topic like mortality.
“I didn’t say I was drawn here for that reason,” Harry pointed out cautiously.
“Are you drawn here for that reason though?” Blaise asked him directly.
Harry stared back at him, lips parted slightly at the question, wondering how to even respond. Trust Blaise to turn a conversation between two children into a philosophical discussion. Eventually Harry looked away, confessing, “Maybe.” Watching a bird flying high across the colourful setting sky, Harry added, “Maybe I’m just more of a morbid person than I thought. Or maybe I have no idea, and I'm too young for this sort of conversation.”
He offered a wry smile Blaise's way, but the other boy was watching him calmly as he replied, “I don’t see anything wrong with having an interest in death."
As ever, Harry could not help recalling Blaise’s mother and her mysterious connections, and the tragedy around Blaise’s father.
Turning the conversation back on Blaise in the same way the boy had, Harry asked him directly, “Are you interested in death, Blaise?”
He met the other boy’s eyes, and in a breathless moment it felt like the other’s boy magic was reaching out to him, communicating in some language Harry could not fathom. Then the moment passed, leaving Harry’s heart hammering and his magic humming under his skin, close to the surface.
Blaise stepped forward slowly, coming to stand nearly toe-to-toe with Harry. He reached out unexpectedly, picking up one of Harry’s hands.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?” Blaise asked softly.
“Of course,” Harry agreed breathlessly. He didn’t bother calling out the other boy on avoiding his question, aware it was a rather invasive thing to ask.
“Durmstrang is going to change you,” Blaise continued, causing Harry’s brow to furrow slightly at the strangely ominous declaration. “But I know you have the power to decide in what way. Be careful of the people you meet. Not everyone will offer the hand of friendship for the right reasons.”
“How will I tell apart who is genuine?” Harry humoured the other boy, although he felt distinctly uneasy.
“You have good instincts, Harry. Trust them,” Blaise murmured, squeezing Harry’s hand tightly.
Harry’s magic surged suddenly, trying to break free of his tight control to reach out to the other boy. He quickly took his hand back, retreating from Blaise and hiding his reaction by ducking his head, as though considering Blaise’s words, using the moment to collect himself.
He didn’t understand the way his magic acted around Blaise, how it was drawn to him.
“I’m not sure what my instincts tell me about you,” Harry found himself confessing.
Blaise froze in his periphery, Harry catching the stillness from the corner of his eye with his head still down. Just as Harry wondered if he had offended the other boy with his honesty, Blaise laughed, the sound carefree and gentle.
Harry looked up, seeing the amusement on the other boy’s face. It was not a mocking sort of amusement, but genuine. Eventually the laughter faded, Blaise’s eyes creased in the corners with lingering humour as he spoke, “Listen to those instincts Harry, whatever they are telling you, and trust them.”
Bewildered now by the interaction, Harry stayed silent. Blaise’s humour faded into something softer as he surveyed Harry and he added, “I know I’m hardly making much sense right now. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Harry murmured, even though this entire interaction had left him with a hundred unanswered questions.
“I’m here for you, when you need me,” Blaise added, the words sending an odd shiver down Harry’s spine.
The way Blaise said ‘when’ not ‘if’ seemed strangely prophetic.
The Great Hall was decked out with Slytherin green and silver to celebrate the house winning the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner depicting the Slytherin serpent covered the back wall behind the staff table.
The hall was filled with excited chatter and boisterous laughter, everyone pleased to be going home for the holidays. Harry sat quietly between Daphne and Draco, soaking in the warm atmosphere, letting it fill him up.
Dumbledore took to the podium, calling out cheerfully, “Another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into another feast.”
His expression dimmed slightly and in a more serious tone of voice he declared, “What a year it has been.”
During the pause, whispers emerged across the hall, students craning their heads to find Harry in the room, who resisted the urge to sink lower in his seat.
“Students are reminded of the counselling services available, and I warmly encourage you to reach out if you need support.” Dumbledore continued, “Before I award the House Cup, I have also been requested to make an announcement on behalf of the Ministry.”
The whispers grew louder, and Harry shared perplexed looks with the people around him, a frisson of worry growing in his stomach. Dumbledore’s expression was neutral as he announced, “The Ministry of Magic has decided to continue the wizarding traditions program next year…and expand its operation.”
The members of staff looked grim-faced behind Dumbledore, and Harry wondered just how bad this was going to be.
With a tight smile Dumbledore stated, “The Ministry has decided to expand the program into a compulsory class for all first year students. It will be taught by the delightful Madam Umbridge, who I am certain you will all know very well by now.”
The way Dumbledore hesitated before declaring Umbridge ‘delightful’ would have amused Harry in any other context, but hearing the Ministry was flexing its influence even deeper into Hogwarts was horrifying. To think first year students would be forced to sit through the woman teaching them next year, the Muggleborns who did not know any better no doubt taking the woman’s word as the absolute truth, was awful.
The only small blessing was that the class was only compulsory for first years, and Harry’s friends would not be subjected to it. However, singling out the first years was dangerous — they in particular were like blank slates when they arrived, and vulnerable to indoctrination to a certain way of thinking.
This was bad.
Cutting over the rising voices in the room, tight smile still in place, Dumbledore announced with false cheer that did not fool anyone, “Now, the points stand thus: in fourth place Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points, in third place Gryffindor with three hundred and eighty-four points, in second place Ravenclaw with four hundred and twenty-six points and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.”
A storm of cheering broke out at the Slytherin table, but it was dampened by the news that had just been revealed moments before. The students at the other tables clapped politely, but everyone’s faces were troubled.
It was hard to feel celebratory knowing the Ministry was stepping up its efforts to interfere at Hogwarts.
As the end-of-year feast began it was all anyone could talk about, nervous conversations whispered between friends and heads shaking in disbelief that Umbridge was here to stay, joining the staff no less.
The awful woman was absent from the feast fortunately, but the threat of her future presence now loomed invisibly and inevitably over all.
At least there was one good reason for Harry to be glad he was not coming back to Hogwarts next year.
Wardrobes were emptied, trunks were packed and Professor Snape handed out notes to all of the students on behalf of the school, reminding them they were not to perform magic over the holidays.
As Harry took the note from his head of house, he murmured quietly, “Thank you, sir.”
He was not sure when he would next see the surly Potions professor, but he wanted to express some measure of gratitude to the man.
Professor Snape measured him thoughtfully with his dark eyes, before stating softly, “Goodbye, Potter.”
Something in the way Professor Snape said those words made Harry straighten, a sense of finality in the man’s voice that did not align with a teacher farewelling a student for the summer break.
He saw Professor Snape nod his head at him, a knowing look in his eyes. Harry gave him a small smile, realising that the teacher had his suspicions about Harry not coming back to school, but was staying discreet.
Harry watched the sweeping expanse of Hogwarts disappear behind him, eyes tracing the turrets and towers until the castle was lost to his sight as he travelled towards the Hogwarts Express.
He was subdued on the train ride home, his friends who knew the cause giving him sympathetic looks as they strived to distract him with energetic games of Exploding Snap and chatter about holiday plans.
Harry did take the opportunity to slip down the train corridor in search of Flint. He knew he didn’t owe the older boy an explanation, but he wanted to tell Flint himself he would no longer be on the Quidditch team. He admired the captain, and wanted Flint to hear it from him.
The fifth year prefect had made his friends wait outside the compartment when Harry had asked to speak with him, the other boys making dramatic faces at being effectively dismissed to allow Harry a private space to inform Flint of his withdrawal from Hogwarts.
Flint’s face had darkened, but he was not angry at Harry, which he was quick to assure the younger boy. He was furious that a teacher at the school had tried to kill Harry, right in front of him no less. And now his family felt they had no choice but to send him to a new school, for his own safety. Harry had assured Flint he was planning on coming back for his third year, which would be when Flint was in his seventh year.
“I hope you’ll invest some time training Draco — you know he’d be a good replacement for me next year,” Harry offered his opinion cautiously.
“There’s no replacement for you, Harry,” Flint declared. “But the team will make do until you return. Good luck at your new school.”
Flint had shaken his hand, and Harry had felt a little lighter leaving the compartment, letting Flint’s friends know they could head back in.
A few hours later the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, parents packed on the platform. Harry joined the press of students waiting to get off, eventually filtering out of the cramped train onto the platform.
Whispers and eyes followed him, and he weathered the attention with his chin up. He hoped his absence from Britain would allow the intensity of the public’s focus to settle down.
Stepping off the Hogwarts Express, the last link to the school, felt momentous. Familiarity lay behind him.
The rest of Europe lay ahead.