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1. Samhain
Ron talked and talked about how excited he was for the Halloween feast. “All the candy and sweets you could ask for,” he explained. “My brothers even told me they’re potioned a bit so you won’t get a stomach ache. So we can eat as much as we want and not worry.”
Harry doubted the truth of that—he didn’t understand how Ron could be so gullible after growing up with the likes of the Weasley twins. Harry had only known them a little under two months and already he knew better than to trust their words at face value.
Still, Harry nodded and tried to smile along. Just before the Great Hall, though, he hesitated. “I need to go to the loo,” he told Ron. “You get started without me.”
“Okay, mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry tried not to flinch. It bothered him how carefree Ron was with his touches. How rough he was with them. Harry couldn’t help how his body reacted to those swats, however playful they might be.
Harry turned around and walked back down the hallway. He paused outside the door to the nearest boy’s bathroom, then kept going. He didn’t have a direction in mind—he just knew that he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to eat candy and laugh and admire the candles and jack-o’-lanterns and whatever else. Not tonight.
“Lost, Potter?”
Harry jerked down and away. He didn’t like being surprised. He peeked through his fringe and saw a boy he vaguely recognized. He was dark-skinned, a little lighter than Dean or Hermione but still dark enough that bespoke pigment outside of a summer’s tan. He wore Slytherin robes and Harry glanced at his face, expecting to see the same disdainful sneer that Malfoy and his cronies always seemed to wear around Harry.
The boy wasn’t sneering. He stood still at a comfortable distance, making no move to approach Harry. His hands were empty of his wand and his face was politely neutral.
“No,” Harry said, finally remembering he’d been asked a question.
“Are you sure?” the boy asked, raising a dark eyebrow. “The feast is that way.”
“I’m not interested, thanks.”
The boy continued to watch Harry. Harry struggled to place his name. Zabini, he thought. He didn’t have a clue what his given name was, but he was pretty sure the surname was Zabini.
“Not a fan of sweets?” Zabini asked. “Or is it the crowds?”
He wasn’t a fan of crowds. All the movement and manic energy made his heart race, and not in a good way. But that wasn’t really why.
“I’m just not interested in celebrating tonight.”
Zabini continued to study him. Harry continued to look back through his fringe, his shoulders hunched. Ever since the midnight duel that never was, Harry had been reading up on magical attacks. He knew better now than to think he’d really be able to match anyone magically. He knew no defensive magic, no offensive spells. He’d been practicing the leg-locking jinx in secret, hoping he’d be able to buy some time while he ran away. He knew Ron would sneer just like Malfoy if he heard Harry’s plan, but Ron hadn’t grown up on the wrong end of a game called Harry Hunting.
“Ah,” Zabini said, eyes widening. “I forgot, but… this is the night your parents died, isn’t it?”
Harry flinched. Of course Zabini had forgotten. It seemed everyone had, even people who professed to have known his parents, like Hagrid. He hadn’t expected them to fuss about it, but… no one had said anything and that hurt more than he thought it would.
“Would you like to say goodbye to them?”
“What?”
Zabini smiled and Harry was surprised to see it was a kind one. “Come with me and with Magic’s blessing, you’ll get a chance to say farewell.”
Zabini gestured for Harry to follow him. Harry hesitated. He wanted to believe Zabini’s words, but this magical world he’d come to was still so vast and undiscovered. If there was any way he could… but then the serpent on Zabini’s crest held him back. Because all he’d known of Slytherins so far was bullying and anger. Why would he trust this one?
Zabini paused, turned slightly away from Harry, and took out his wand. Harry gripped his own, raising it, but Zabini didn’t point in his direction. Instead, he raised his wand toward the ceiling and said, “I swear upon my father’s spirit, may he rest in peace, that I do not plan to lead Harry Potter to harm tonight. So mote it be.”
Harry shivered. A cool sensation drifted from Zabini down the hall. It tickled Harry’s exposed neck and though it was cold, it felt nice too. A playful chill, not icy anger.
When Zabini walked down the hall, Harry followed.
Zabini led him through twisting passages and up several staircases Harry was sure he’d never been on before. The portraits on the walls talked quietly to themselves, unconcerned. Harry followed five steps behind Zabini, far enough back that he could see if Zabini raised his wand again. He’d put it away after his little oath—not in his pocket but along his wrist like Harry had observed several other students and all the teachers do. He wondered how they kept their wands from sliding down their sleeves to their shoulders.
At the end of a long corridor, Harry began to hear voices. Zabini stopped in front of a closed door and knocked once, before opening it. Harry peeked around the boy and saw other first years sitting on the floor. He nearly turned back then and there as he noticed Malfoy, Greengrass, Crabbe, and Goyle chatting.
“I’m hungry,” Goyle complained. “Why can’t we eat at the feast first, like the rest?”
“It’d be disrespectful to partake in a muggle farce tonight,” Malfoy stated.
“But the others are!” Crabbe protested.
“Well they’ve done rituals at Hogwarts before,” Greengrass said. “So she knows they don’t mean disrespect by it. But this is our first festival night here and we need to show that we mean to follow the old traditions honorably.”
Goyle grumbled.
“It’s just for this Samhain,” Malfoy drawled. “You’ll survive.” He rolled his eyes and looked up. His eyes met Harry’s.
Harry took a step backward, but Zabini’s hand darted forward and grabbed his wrist—his left, not his wand arm—before he could leave.
“I gave you my oath,” Zabini murmured. “I know you probably don’t understand what that means to a wizard, but I promise you this is not a trap.”
“Blaise,” Malfoy growled as Zabini pulled Harry into the room and closed to door behind them.
“He’s come to commune with his parents,” Zabini—Blaise Zabini, apparently—said. “And besides, we needed another.”
“We were just saying that thirteen was an ominous sign,” a girl said. Harry was surprised to recognize Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff. Why was she hanging out in a group of Slytherins?
Except, he realized, it wasn’t just a group of Slytherins. They made up the majority, certainly, but he saw MacDougal, Boot and Brocklehurst from Ravenclaw too. And, shockingly, another flash of Gryffindor red.
Lavender Brown cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t know you celebrated Samhain, Harry,” she said. “I would have thought you’d be at the feast with Weasley.”
“Show some compassion,” Zabini stated. “This was the night his parents were killed.”
Lavender Brown flushed and ducked her head.
Harry looked uncertainly from the hand still holding his wrist, to Lavender, and to Malfoy. Malfoy’s sneer was gone. He stared at Harry with those unnervingly bright blue eyes, like chunks of ice. Harry was as unsettled by them as the first time he saw them at the robe shop.
“I doubt Potter even knows what he’s here for,” Malfoy said, slowly, almost carefully.
“Then we educate him,” Zabini said. “This is a school, after all. And as Megan stated, thirteen is an unlucky number. Fourteen is better. Two circles of seven. There’s strength in that.”
Though Harry didn’t get it, that statement seemed to relax more than half the circle.
“Why not?” Boot said. “The worst that’ll happen is that he’ll stare at the fire until he thinks we’re all crazy and leave.”
Harry frowned. He wasn’t sure why, but it sounded like Boot was expecting him to fail at this, whatever this was, and he didn’t like that. Whatever was going on here, if it led to what Zabini promised then he was willing to try—and try his hardest. Anything for a chance to see his parents’ faces or hear their voices. Anything to get rid of the nagging worry that they’d be disappointed by him.
Zabini began to pull him toward the end of the circle where Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were sitting. Harry tugged his hand out of the boy’s grip and detoured to the other side instead. Lavender and Jones gave him surprised looks—he wasn’t sure why—but they made room for him between them.
Greengrass snorted. “What a poor ignorant lamb you brought,” she told Zabini.
Nott, sitting on the other side of Lavender instead of with the rest of the Slytherins, glared at her. “And if he isn’t? Do you find his place insulting?”
Greengrass rose her hands in the air. “Peace, Theo. I didn’t mean–”
“We’re too young to really know anyway,” MacDougal said. “And it hardly matters for Samhain.”
“Oh? Then do you want to light the fire tonight?” Brocklehurst asked.
MacDougal blushed and scooted away from the other Ravenclaw, so that she was closer to Nott’s side.
Harry studied the layout of the circle, trying to understand what everyone else seemed to be seeing. Malfoy sat across from him, Zabini on his right and Greengrass on his left. To Zabini’s right was Boot then Brocklehurst, to Greengrass’s was Crabbe then Goyle. Next to Goyle, though with several extra inches between them, was Davis, then Parkinson, Jones, then Harry. Past Lavender on Harry’s right was Nott, then MacDougal to finish off the circle before it got back to Brocklehurst.
“The feast will be over before we begin at this rate,” Parkinson said. “Draco, please, can we get on with it?”
“Yeah,” Malfoy muttered. He pulled out his wand.
Harry stiffened. Lavender put a hand on his knee, just a light touch. Harry glanced over at her and she gave him a small smile, before refocusing her eyes on the pile of wood at the center of their circle. Harry looked at the pile too. With a spell Harry didn’t recognize, Malfoy lit the fire. It burned with faint, red flickers that licked at the twigs and small branches.
“May Lady Magic bless us on this holy night,” Malfoy said. His tone was soft, pitched as low a timber as an eleven-year-old’s voice could get. “May she warm us with her firelight.”
Harry’s eyes widened. The fire was growing, though Malfoy had set his wand down on the ground in front of him. Something compelled Harry to do so as well and he let his wand drop to the stone.
“May our fire call the dead to us from beyond the veil. May our loved ones come forth to hear our last year’s tale.”
The fire continued to grow. It was a tower of orange and yellow flames now, so tall that Harry could no longer see Malfoy across from him. His eyes prickled behind his glasses and he blinked rapidly.
“May these visitors stay with us until the day’s release. Then may Lady Magic lead them back through the veil in peace.”
Harry blinked again, his eyes burning. When he opened them once more, he was overwhelmed by the intensity of the fire. It was so large now that Harry couldn’t see any of the other kids except as distant shadows. Flames dominated the center of the circle. In those roaring flames stood two figures. Harry almost called out for them to step away before they were burnt, but then he realized that they were fine. They were even smiling.
“Mum? Dad?”
His parents nodded. His dad was taller and broader than he was, but he had Harry’s untamable hair and he wore glasses. His mum stood a head shorter than him, tucked against his shoulder with his arm wrapped around. She had auburn hair, nearly as red as the fire around her, and familiar green eyes.
“Hello, Harry,” his mum said. “My beautiful baby.”
Harry felt tears begin to fall down his cheeks, but he didn’t dare wipe them away. Didn’t dare take his eyes off his parents. “Mum,” he said again, stronger this time. “You’re… you’re here.”
“Of course we are,” his dad said. “We’ll always come for you, when we can.”
Harry was truly crying now, enough that his glasses started to fog up. “Why?” he choked out.
His mum smiled gently, concerned in the way only a mother could be. “Because you’re our baby. There’s nothing you could do that would change that. We’ve been watching, as much as we could. You’ve been through so much…” she stopped herself, tears filling her eyes too.
“We love you,” his dad said. “And we’re so glad you called for us. We’re proud of you, Harry, never forget that.”
“Because I’m a Gryffindor?” Harry asked, though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should just let their words relieve him, let himself feel happy. But… he had to know.
“I don’t care if you’d never gone to Hogwarts,” his mum said. “Your father was over the moon about you becoming the youngest seeker in a century, of course, but that’s all just silly stuff.”
His dad nodded. “We only care that you live, Harry. Be as good a person as you can be, but most of all we just want you happy.”
“So talk to us,” his mum encouraged. “We can only see through the veil sometimes, when it thins enough. Tell us about your life.”
Harry talked. He told his parents about the Dursleys—“If that whale of a man ever tries to hurt you again, Harry, you go to Dumbledore and you tell him.”—and about Hagrid and the Weasleys and Snape—“Of course Snivellus is a terrible teacher.” “Shush, James. Severus acts like an overgrown bat but he’s got more heart that he seems to. Give him a chance, baby.”—and finally about Zabini inviting him to the ritual.
“It’s your choice if you want to follow the Old Ways or not,” his dad said. “Don’t listen when they tell you about blood traitors or any of that nonsense.”
“But if you do, Harry, you’re not betraying me either,” his mum added. “I cried during my first Samhain ritual too. I didn’t think I’d have a chance to say goodbye to my dad. He had a heart attack the first week of my seventh year. But James convinced me to come to the festival.”
His dad kissed her temple. “I’m glad you finally said yes.”
“Me too,” his mum agreed and Harry got a feeling they were talking about more than just the ritual.
The fire flickered and, for a second, his parents fractured—like he was looking at them through shattered glass.
“Mum? Dad?” Harry straightened up, scared. “Wait, don’t go!”
“Something’s happening,” his dad said. “Hogwarts is urging us away.”
His mum frowned, head cocked as if she were listening to something. “There’s an intruder in the castle. She needs to solidify the wards, but if she does that now we’ll be trapped here.”
“Wait!”
“We’ll see you again next year,” his dad said, already fading away against the raging flames.
“Don’t forget to live, baby,” his mum added.
“We’re watching you and we love you always.”
“Say hi to Severus for me, and tell him I sorry we never got a chance to have tea and talk things out, like I promised.”
“Kick butt at Quidditch!”
His parents continued to call out encouragements to him even as the fire around them glowed too hot and bright for Harry to look at it any longer. He closed his eyes, pained, and when he opened them the fire was back to low burning embers sputtering over a couple of charred sticks.
The door to the room opened and Snape loomed darkly in the doorway. “You need to go back to your dormitories,” he snapped. “Quickly.”
“What happened?” Malfoy asked, standing.
“It hasn’t even been an hour,” Boot added.
“A troll has found its way into the castle,” Snape explained. He began ushering the Slytherins out first. “It’s somewhere in the lower levels. Jones, walk with the Ravenclaws until you reach the main corridor. You should all be safe from there. I’ll walk my snakes through the dungeons. Brown–”
Snape stopped, suddenly, staring at Harry.
Harry ducked his head. “Mum says hi, sir,” he said. “And that she’s sorry that you guys never got a chance to have tea.”
If Ron were there, he would have been on the floor laughing. Snape’s mouth opened and closed and opened again. Harry didn’t feel anything funny about the image, because he couldn’t help but notice there was honest pain in those black eyes. He sidled closer to Lavender. “Will we be safe going up to the Tower?” he asked, hoping Snape wouldn’t take off points for his presumptuousness.
“Yes,” Snape finally said. His voice sounded half-strangled. “Yes, go.”
Harry and Lavender ran until they were almost there, and then both slowed down to a walk, panting.
“A troll!” Lavender burst out. “Stupid, terrible timing. Everyone knows trolls are crazy dumb. It must have just stumbled through the wards while they were thinned out for the ceremonies tonight.”
Harry looked at his fellow Gryffindor. He didn’t know much about Lavender and now that the ritual was several minutes and four floors behind them, he wondered about her. About the whole thing. Had it all been a dream or…
“Did you see my parents?” he asked.
Lavender blinked, looking startled. “Of course not,” she said. “They didn’t come for me.”
“Then who… what?”
Lavender seemed to take pity on his confusion. “It’s personal, you know, but I like to talk with my great-grandfather. He was a great seer. The dead don’t have much use for the future, but just the way he talks about the world really helps me.”
Harry hadn’t heard any of the others talking, he realized. It had almost felt like he was alone with his parents. Was that the magic of the ritual?
Lavender paused outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Harry, I know you’re really close with Weasley but–”
“What?”
“It’s just, he won’t understand. His family gave up on the Old Ways. I don’t want him to ruin this for you. Whatever you got to talk with your parents about tonight, that’s special.”
It was. And though Harry was still bewildered and unsure, he agreed that he wouldn’t talk to anyone about the ritual except the thirteen others that had been in the circle.
Together Harry and Lavender walked into the common room, both still slightly out of breath and shaking—either from the troll of the magic of the ritual, Harry wasn’t sure.
Later, they learned that the troll had come across Hermione Granger crying in the girl’s bathroom. Some of the teachers—McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape—alerted by her screaming had come running to save her, but not before the troll wacked a sink at her. The broken porcelain nearly killed her and she had to be transported to St. Mungo’s, a wizarding hospital. Her parents pulled her out of Hogwarts after that. Last Harry heard, she’d be transferring to Salem’s All Witches Academy starting the next year.
The Board of Governors investigated the wards and school security after the incident. A week later, Dumbledore announced that the third floor corridor was accessible again. Harry couldn’t help but think he looked upset when he said that, though Harry wasn’t sure why.
Ron flushed an ugly red when people pointed out that he was the reason Hermione had been in the bathroom. “She was a know-it-all anyway! Good riddance,” he said defensively whenever someone brought it up. His rhetoric didn’t win him any friends and Harry found it easy to drift away from the redhead.
Harry kept to himself, focusing on his schoolwork and his Quidditch practice. He made friends with the team, but of course they also had their own friends so he ended up eating most of his meals alone while Ron and Seamus Finnegan talked about pranks they’d love to pull on Snape.
Snape, for his part, stopped picking on Harry. He was still hardest on Gryffindors, but he focused his acidic attention on Ron and Neville more than anything. Because Hermione wasn’t there to be Neville’s partner, he’d pushed Ron on the shivering boy and paired Harry with Zabini—who’d been partnerless before. Without the negativity and with a competent partner, Harry’s Potions’ grades suddenly became a whole lot better. And so things went.
Toward the end of the year, Quirrell quit—promising he’d finish out the year but no more than that. Oliver Wood rolled his eyes at the news. “We get a new DADA professor every year,” he told Harry while they were practicing for the final match with the Slytherins, the one that would determine whether or not they win the House Cup. “Get used to it.”
So Harry finished off his first year at Hogwarts feeling content. Hogwarts was just another school after all, though a school where he learned magic and Dudley wasn’t pushing away everyone who would talk to him. They won the Quidditch Cup but lost the House Cup to the Slytherins and everything was fine.
And if Harry didn’t let the Dursleys know that he wasn’t allowed to use magic outside of school—well that was his secret. His parents had told him to live his life as happily as he could, after all.
2. Imbolc
“Rough year?”
Harry recognized Zabini’s voice well enough that he didn’t bother to raise his head from his knees. They were Potions’ partners again this year, though they hadn’t talked much outside of class. Only on Halloween, when Harry had approached Zabini at lunch and asked if he could participate in the Samhain ritual again. He’d had a whole night with his parents then, unlike the year before, and it was only the memory of that which had gotten him through the year thus far.
“Do you have to ask?” Harry mumbled into his legs.
He felt more than heard Zabini sit down next to him. They were in the same abandoned classroom that had held both Samhain rituals so far. Along the empty corridor were other identical classrooms—completely clear of desks and bookcases—where other small groups, one for each year, had done their own Samhain rituals. Harry had been relieved to see more Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in those older groups. That had been before the majority of those two Houses turned on him. Harry hadn’t been anywhere near the bodies of the last two petrified students, but just the fact that he’d talked to the snake during the fiasco that had been the Dueling Club…
Malfoy had apologized for that though, after. “If I’d known you were a parseltongue,” he’d muttered, “I would have never used that spell.” Then he’d fixed Harry with that unnerving pale gaze of his. “You aren’t the Heir to Slytherin, are you?”
“No,” Harry had replied. “I didn’t even know speaking to snakes was such a rare thing, until now.”
Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. But he, and the others of the Samhain circle, refused join in with any of the taunts or accusations and that was that. It wasn’t like any of them stood up to him—but then, how could they, when the worst accusations came from Harry’s own House? Ron had taken to spewing terrible things, almost as if he hoped that if Harry took the fall for this, people would forget how his own behavior had nearly killed Granger. Only Lavender and his Quidditch teammates spared him any amount of sympathy, but still they most avoided him.
“No one with half a brain really believes it’s you,” Zabini said. “You’re not a murderer and I doubt you’d be stupid enough to set a basilisk loose in the school for a prank.”
Harry lifted his head. “A basilisk?”
“With the petrification, that’s the only creature that makes sense. Unless it’s a curse gone wild, but if so it’d have a more predictable pattern. Curses always do. Like the one that does away with our Defense professor at the end of every year. Never happens before spring hols, does it? That’s a curse at work.” Zabini smiled, taking in Harry’s confusion. “Yeah, you definitely didn’t have anything to do with the basilisk, even if you can talk to it. I bet Flint’s right and it slipped in from the Forbidden Forest on Samhain like the troll did last year.”
Harry thought about the voice he’d been hearing the walls and shuddered.
Zabini shifted. “Today’s Imbolc,” he said. “The upper years are about to start the ceremony and… I know you probably didn’t know about it last year and that why you didn’t join us, but I figured out of all of us you probably need the blessing most this year.”
“Will I get to talk to my parents?”
“Not at Imbolc. This is actually one of the days of the year when the veil is thickest.”
Harry studied his knees. It felt like a big choice, for all that Zabini’s tone was blasé. He thought about the Old Ways, how much he still didn’t understand. He remembered his parents’ words, how they didn’t care what he chose. He considered his loneliness and the terrible, aching fear that eventually enough would be enough and he wouldn’t be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. Dobby and his stupid tricks flashed into Harry’s mind.
All he wanted was to belong somewhere.
“Okay,” Harry agreed.
The Imbolc festival was larger than Samhain’s—or at least it seemed so because all the circles from all the years were there. They congregated up in the Astronomy tower—though it was a bit of a tight squeeze.
“Back when my grandfather was in school, they did this at the Great Hall after dinner. But Dumbledore put a stop to it and so when my mum went, the ceremony had been forced to find somewhere else big enough to fit all of us. It’s too cold to do it outside like we can do on Beltane.”
Harry wondered what Beltane was, but he didn’t ask. The others stared at him as they approached. Harry shuffled half a step to the left so he was hidden behind Zabini’s back as much as he could be. He supposed they would kick him out. After all, this wasn’t just his yearmates. This was all the circles—first years to seventh—and Malfoy obviously wasn’t in charge here.
In fact, it was a Ravenclaw girl with the Head Girl badge pinned on her robes who stepped forward to address the situation. “Come to join us, Potter?” she asked, her tone neutral.
Harry licked his lips and glanced at her face, then down at his shoes. “If I’m allowed,” he whispered.
There was silence. When he looked up again, she wore a much softer expression. “Of course you’re allowed,” she said and held out her hand. “Come on, you’ll be mine tonight.”
Harry glanced at Zabini, but he was already standing next to Marcus Flint and they were talking in low whispers. On the other side, Lavender chatted excitedly with a sixth year Gryffindor. Jones stood with a Ravenclaw that looked like he could be her brother and MacDougal with a girl Harry vaguely recognized as a Slytherin reserve chasers.
They sat in two giant circles. The older students—fifth years through seventh years—facing inward. The younger students—fourth and down—facing outward toward one of the older students. It was obvious this way that the size of the circles had slowly decreased every year. Harry’s group was the second smallest, beat only by the current first years. Which did mean that everyone was able to match with only one, or in some cases two, partners, despite the inner circle having one more grade level.
The Head Girl, who’d introduced herself as Serena Selwyn, raised both of her arms up to the open sky above them once everyone was settled. She began to speak in the same melodic tone Malfoy had used during Samhain—though, Harry thought, more sophisticated than Malfoy’s was. “May Lady Magic join us on this dark eve. May she warm our hearts so fear does leave.”
Harry, who knew what to look for now, felt the rush of magical warmth spread from the tips of his fingers to his toes. He closed his eyes, chasing after that feeling.
“May Lady Magic guide us through the rest winter may bring. May she help us welcome the coming of spring.”
A glow made its way through the barrier of Harry’s eyelids. He peeked his eyes open and saw, hovering just above the floor between Selwyn and him, was a ball of silver light. It almost looked like a star from the sky above had fallen to rest peacefully at his feet.
“May Lady Magic bless us with her protection. And may our guardians shine with her affection.”
Selwyn lowered her arms and reached across on either side of the ball of glowing starlight to clasp Harry’s hands. “Who’s your guardian, Harry?” she whispered.
Harry watched as the ball of starlight grew and morphed. Long lines spread from the top, sprouting over its head. The bottom split into four and then thickened. It grew a neck, a tail, two pointed ears.
A magnificent stag stood on the stone ground between their interlocked arms. Harry wasn’t sure why, but it reminded him of his dad.
Selwyn let go of Harry’s hands and picked the stag up. The glow of its light spread through her fingers, until she muttered spells at it and the shine settled. The stag solidified between her palms until what was left looked like a doll—a very extravagant stuffed animal.
“Imbolc’s blessings to you, Harry,” Selwyn said and handed the stag over.
Harry held the stag to his chest. Its silver fur was soft and warm against his skin. The large set of antlers were bendable, though they sprung back to place if he let them go. The tail was a small puff of silky strands and the hooves were solid enough that the stag could stand on its own, but soft enough that they didn’t hurt as Harry hugged the stag tight.
“The Lady’s protections should last almost the whole year,” Selwyn explained. “Though depending on what happens, well, you shouldn’t be too surprised if your guardian ends up fading away even before the winter hols. But come back next year and you’ll get another one. It might not look like this one, but that’s part of the magic. Whoever this stag represents to you, they’ll keep you as safe as they can this year, with the Lady’s blessing.”
“Thank you.”
Selwyn smiled and stood. Harry looked around. It seemed as though the ceremony was over. Most pairs had broken up, all the younger students like Harry holding softly glowing stuffed creatures in their arms.
Harry wandered over to Lavender. She was frowning down at her rabbit, standing alone in the midst of the crowd.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concerned.
Lavender looked up. “It’s Binky,” she said. “My rabbit. This the first year I haven’t gotten a boar for my dad or a seagull for my mom.”
“I’m… sorry?”
Lavender shook her head. Harry was horrified to see that tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. “I think it’s a sign,” she said in a wet whisper. “They say you stop getting representations of your parents when you’re ready to start making your own decisions. Binky’s mine, you know. She’s my rabbit. It’s almost like it’s a sign that I have to protect myself this year.”
Harry could understand why that would be scary and he said so.
Lavender wiped her tears away with an angry fling of her arm. “No,” she said, louder. “We’re Gryffindors, aren’t we? And I’m done be scared.”
They walked together back to the Gyffindor tower. Most of the older years had hung back at the tower. Lavender said that a lot of the rituals, like Imbolc and Beltane, had older elements to it that they were too young to participate in yet. Walking slightly ahead of them were the two Gyffindor fourth years and one third year. There was no Gryffindor first year.
“Harry?”
Harry glanced at Lavender. She held out her free hand, the other clutching stuffed Binky. She smiled at his confused look.
“I’m done being scared,” she reiterated. “And you deserve more than what you’ve gotten, this year. If you can forgive me for not asking sooner… will you be my friend?”
Lavender’s hand, when Harry held it, was warm just like his new stuffed stag. And when they walked together into the common room, the glares didn’t bother him nearly as much.
A week and a half later, on February 10th, Harry found a small diary in the flooded girl’s bathroom. He’d taken to going in there to talk to Myrtle, a ghost, because she’d been really good at History and he needed all the help he could get at that. Besides, he figured, if Binns hadn’t changed his syllabus in all the years since the girl had died, that wasn’t his fault, now was it?
Except Myrtle was crying and there was a soggy little book on the ground.
The diary, the first time Harry wrote it in—on his bed with the curtains shut—stole his words. Harry stared as the reply came back. Hi Harry, my name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.
On his pillow, his stag glowed bright enough that he looked up from the book at it. With shaking fingers, though he wasn’t quite sure why, he picked the stag up. “Is it dangerous?” he asked the stuffed creature.
His stag didn’t answer, of course, but it pulsed warm against his chest.
Harry didn’t know much about dark artifacts, but he knew someone he did. He found Malfoy after Herbology and pulled him aside. Far enough back that they wouldn’t be able to overhear, he saw all the Slytherins of the circle—Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, Nott, Davis, and Zabini—waiting. Just a couple feet from them, Lavender examined her nails and tapped a foot impatiently.
“When I was at Diagon Alley this summer, I took a wrong turn into Knockturn Alley for just a minute and I accidentally overheard you and your father talking about the stuff he was selling because of all the Ministry raids,” Harry explained quickly.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you intend to do with that knowledge?”
Harry took the book out of his back pocket and handed it to Malfoy. “Nothing, except that I think your father’s probably a better person to handle this than I am. I don’t know what it is, but my Imbolc guardian already lost half the branches of its antlers and I think that’s because it’s been protecting me from this the last couple nights.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened when he saw the book, but he took it without a word.
That was the last Harry ever saw of that little black diary and he walked back to Lavender with a lighter step.
A couple weeks later, a basilisk was found exiting the pipes by Professor Lockhart and Flitwick. Flitwick subdued the beast with vicious efficiency. When Lockhart attempted to memory charm the Charms professor, Flitwick subdued him too—therefore exposing Lockhart for the fraud they all knew he was.
The rumors about Harry were summarily dismissed because, as Head Girl Selwyn was heard proclaiming at dinner one evening, “surely a parselmouth would have done better to control the overgrown snake?” Soon after, the petrified students were given mandrake cures and the year ended peacefully.
3. Lughnasa
Harry stuck close to Sirius as they walked down a cobblestone path. Malfoy Manor stood in the distance, a beautiful stone house with towering windows that glinted as the midday sun reflected off them. Sirius had apparated them just outside the wards, on the other side of a black iron gate that stood open to allow visitors easy entrance.
Harry glanced at his godfather as they walked. They traveled in silence, still a little uncertain around each other even after almost a whole summer of living together.
Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban almost exactly a year before. When Harry had mentioned that to his parents over Samhain, his dad had been surprised—explaining that Peter Pettigrew had been their Secret Keeper, not Sirius.
Later that night, they were ushered from their ritual into the Great Hall because Black had snuck into Hogwarts and tried to attack Ron in his bed. Or… could he have been after Ron’s pet rat? A grey rat with a missing toe?
Harry had told his circle his theory and within the month, they’d set a trap for the rat and captured Peter Pettigrew. By the new year, Sirius Black had been given a proper trial and officially pardoned.
For the first summer since before he could remember, Harry hadn’t had to live with the Dursleys. And though Sirius wasn’t perfect—he had spent twelve years in prison after all—and though the Black family home at 12 Grimmauld Place was decrepit—though it had been abandoned for those twelve years—he was happy. Besides, Sirius was slowly settling into his role as Harry’s guardian and Harry was slowly figuring out how to live with an authority figure who actually cared about him. And Kreacher, the house elf for 12 Grimmauld Place, was slowly getting used to both of them. Every day, the house was cleaner than the day before. Soon, Harry hoped he’d actually be able to consider the place home in the way 4 Privet Drive never was.
“So, this is your first Lughnasa?” Sirius asked.
“The Dursleys didn’t let me go last summer, even though Daphne did invite me.” The festival had been held at Greengrass Manor last year. Harry supposed it was a good thing Draco’s family was hosting it this year, though, because his mother was apparently Sirius’s cousin and it was through her heartfelt letter describing her hope that she and Sirius could reconcile that Sirius had agreed to come at all.
Sirius nodded, a flash of anger spreading over his face. His hatred for the Dursleys was surprising to Harry, though nice too. Sirius wasn’t always easy to live with—his nightmares woke Harry up more nights than not, even two bedrooms away—but it was obvious that he was trying. And that was more than Vernon and Petunia ever did.
“Is it okay if I hang out with my circle today?” Harry asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to abandon Sirius, who was obviously uncomfortable. Harry knew the rumors, knew that it was likely Lucius Malfoy had fought for the other side of the war, and who knew how many countless other guests likely to be there too.
Sirius smiled. Like that, he looked younger than the years in Azkaban had made him—grey hairs already laced through his black hair. “Of course, Harry. Don’t worry about me. I know it’s been… a long time. Twelve years is enough for anyone to change.” Then, quieter, “I know I have.”
Harry pretended not to hear the last bit. They reached the main celebration. There were pavilions set up around the well-manicured lawn. Some held refreshment tables, others large platters of food, others chairs for the guests to sit and chat. In the center of the ring of pavilions was an assortment of games. A giant rope ran through a small black ring and two different groups were tugging on either end, their laughter and chants resonating through the crowd. A small Quidditch field was set up past it. Closer to them were several chessboards and decks of self-shuffling cards and other small games.
At the nearest pavilion, a woman with strangely two-toned blond and black hair rose to greet them. “Cousin,” she said.
“Narcissa,” Sirius replied. He took her hand and kiss the air over the back of it.
Narcissa sighed. “Come, Sirius, surely we can be less formal than that?” And she pulled Sirius in for a long hug.
Harry watched as Sirius shuddered, then sank into it. He felt a little guilty—he knew from the times that Remus Lupin would visit that Sirius was touch-starved, but it was hard for Harry to make himself willing to touch someone and he couldn’t do much more than give Sirius a quick hug goodnight most days.
“Harry!”
Harry turned and smiled as he saw Megan waving him over. He jogged over to the Hufflepuff. “Come on,” Megan said. “The others are over at the blue pavilion eating lunch. Are you hungry?”
“Enough,” Harry replied. He was more interested in seeing everyone then eating.
Over the past year, with Lavender as his stalwart friend, he’d slowly become closer to his circle. The fourteen of them weren’t the only ones in their year who still followed Old Ways, Harry had learned. The others just didn’t prescribe to the same Old Ways. The Patil twins, Anthony Goldstein, and Su Li all did ceremonies in the traditions of their parents, or their grandparents, or their great-grandparents. Those ceremonies just happened to originate from outside the British Isles and therefore had a different flavor of magical worship.
The rest, according to Malfoy, were blood traitors—either they’d forgotten or they ignored the traditions. “Lady Magic is the reason we aren’t all bloody Muggles!” he exclaimed, passionately. “And they scoff when I give my thanks to her?” The Weasleys were the worst of the lot because they didn’t even have any muggleborns to influence their family into muggle holidays, they just chose to adopt them out of the blue—‘cause Arthur liked them. His obsession was almost creepy.
Regardless of the reasoning behind the group, Harry had become good friends with everyone in the circle. Soon he’d started calling them all by their first names and switching up who he partnered with in various classes. He’d learned that Blaise and Draco were the best partners to get in Potions, that being in Megan’s group during Herbology gained them Sprout’s favor, that Mandy was great at Charms and Terry at Transfiguration. Theo and Isobel were Harry’s study partners for Arithmancy while Tracy and Pansy often went with him to beg History study tips off of Myrtle. Vince and Greg ended up being hilarious partners during Divination—the class Lavender had convinced him to take because she hoped she had the Sight like her great-grandfather. The only thing that made Trelawney’s ridiculous predictions bearable were Vince and Greg’s sly comments.
His favorite classes were Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts, though. They were the two that his circle scrambled to get him as a partner for, since they were his best classes. It was only because of Harry that Draco hadn’t been attacked by a hippogriff their first day of Care and by the end of the unit he’d fixed things to the point where Buckbeak even let Draco touch him. Of course, Harry was still the only one who was allowed to ride Buckbeak and all his circle were envious of him for those monthly jaunts they took. In DADA, Lupin had often called on Harry and whoever his partner was to show off their spellwork at the end of class—awarding points to both Houses when they did so. Harry hoped the professor they got next year was as good a teacher as Lupin had been.
Under the pavilion, all the members of his circle were lounging around on pillows strewn across the rug covering the grass. Harry grabbed a plate and put a small pile of fruit on it before joining them. He sat close to Lavender, who bumped her arm with his companionably. Across from him, Blaise smiled in greeting. Harry smiled back and hoped his cheeks hadn’t turned red. He wasn’t sure why, but for the past few months now the thought of Blaise made his heart race and his face grow warm.
“Hi, Harry!” Terry said. “We were just talking about the Quidditch World Cup. You and your godfather planning on going?”
“Yeah,” Harry answered. “Fudge gave us tickets to the top box. I think he’s still trying to bribe his way back into Sirius’s good favor so Sirius won’t sue the Ministry for everything.”
“Oh, good, we can sit together,” Draco said. “Blaise’s mother always gets tickets because Fudge fancies her but they don’t usually go unless her latest consort is a fan.”
“We might go this year,” Blaise remarked casually.
“I thought your mother wasn’t courting anyone right now,” Tracy said.
“She’s not.” Blaise looked right at Harry as he said this. Harry’s mouth went dry, though he didn’t understand why Mandy and Daphne both laughed and Draco rolled his eyes.
After lunch, they played tug-of-war in various combinations—because they soon realized that if Vince and Greg were on the same team, it became a complete wash. The Quidditch pitch was occupied by some young kids—too young to be at Hogwarts yet. That was okay, though, because Harry got enough friendly competition with Draco during Quidditch over the school year and none of the rest of the circle were particularly interested in playing the sport.
Harry glanced at Sirius as he played a game of magical skittles with most of his circle—Theo and Isobel had decided to challenge each other in a game of chess instead. It was hard to tell from a distance, but Harry thought Sirius looked more relaxed than he’d been coming down the path. He sat in a pavilion with Narcissa, Lucius, and a bunch of other adult witches and wizards Harry didn’t recognize. As Harry watched, he threw his head back. Harry could just barely hear the barking laugh he’d grown fond of. He smiled and turned back to the game.
They had an early dinner of cheese wedges and lamb kabobs. Then the whole party migrated in waves to the other side of the Malfoy property, where floating fairy lights led the way up the tallest nearby hill.
“It’s tradition to make a little pilgrimage during Lughnasa,” Lavender explained as they walked. Draco led their party with Vince and Greg bringing up the rear. “The higher the hill, the more Lady Magic favors you. But we’re not planning on doing a ritual or anything, so just this mound is fine.”
“My aunt and her coven are doing Ben Nevis this year,” Theo said, referring to the tallest peak on the British Isles, “though she won’t tell me what they’re hoping the Lady to help them with up there.”
“Probably a fertility ritual,” Isobel said. “One of those ones you have to be naked for.”
“Ew! Now you put that picture in my head.” Theo shuddered. The rest of them laughed.
Up at the top of the hill, Lucius Malfoy turned to Sirius. “Will you lead the honors?”
Sirius looked at Narcissa, then back to Lucius. “It’s your land.”
“It’s your first Lughnasa in twelve years,” Lucius retorted softly. “Regardless of our differences, you must believe that I would have never let a peer rot in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I hardly care if you had blown up those muggles, but the law is the law and I thought you’d broken it.”
“You thought I’d broken it then been stupid enough to get caught after,” Sirius said with a wry, somewhat bitter smile.
Lucius’s chuckle was answer enough. Harry was surprised to see Sirius reach forward and give Lucius a companionable clap on the shoulder.
“You’re not a good man,” he said, “but despite myself, I think I like you.”
“Likewise, Black, likewise.”
Harry retreated back to where his circle was standing, sure that Sirius wouldn’t need him for the ceremony. He gave Sirius an encouraging thumbs-up as his godfather lifted his wand toward the phoenix-colored sunset.
“May Lady Magic look favorably upon us,” Sirius intoned. “May she send a message to us thus. That we may have a bountiful harvest this year. That the remaining months be filled with cheer. May Lady Magic show us a rightful path. And may she begin with a cleansing bath.”
Harry watched as overhead clouds drifted to cover up the fading sun. As Sirius said the last word, it began to drizzle upon the party. Sirius whooped and an echoing cheer went up among the crowd.
“It’s a sign of her blessing,” Lavender explained and she caught rain in her palms. “A warm summer rain means good fortune for the rest of the year.”
Harry turned his face up to the gentle rain and let the droplets splatter over his glasses. Though the idea was a little ridiculous, it almost felt like the sky had reached down to give them a hug. He stretched his arms out wide to accept it. Then he laughed as his circle began to dance. Blaise nudged him and he wiped off his glasses so he could join them in a cheerful jig.
Harry had a great time during the Quidditch World Cup, oohing and ahhing with Draco and Blaise while Sirius chatted with Lucius, Narcissa, and Carmenta Zabini.
Soon after, it was time for their fourth year at Hogwarts. The new DADA teacher turned out to be a little crazy, but he was a solid instructor and Harry enjoyed his lessons.
When Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire, his circle stood and yelled in his defense. “There’s a reason minors aren’t supposed to participate!” Mandy exclaimed.
Sirius went to Fudge and the contract was reviewed. As it turned out, as a minor, Harry didn’t have to do the tasks. He was still an official participant, but the judges all just gave him 0s and he got to sit in the bleachers with his friends and cheer on Cedric Diggory like the rest of Hogwarts.
Harry went to the Yule Ball with Lavender, though everyone in their circle ended up dancing with everyone else. Blaise spun him around during one of the slowest songs and Harry’s heart beat as fast as a snitch’s wings the entire time.
Diggory ended up winning the tournament, to the excitement of the school, and so ended Harry’s best year at Hogwarts to date.
4. Yuletide
It was the first evening of the twelve days of Yuletide. Harry was excited to really experience the holiday. Last year it had been overshadowed by the Triwizard Tournament, but this year it was back to the traditional feasts—hosted at a different house every evening from the winter solstice on December 21st to the start of the new year on January 1st.
Harry stood in the expansive flower gardens of Greengrass Manor, watching his timer charm count down to zero. Sirius had cast a ton of warming charms on his cloak, so he wasn’t cold even though his breath came out in puffs of steam. The rest of his circle were all hiding amongst the rose bushes and flowering vines. Hide-and-seek, he’d discovered, was much the same to wizards as it was to muggles—except that he had to cast Finite Incantatum at every quivering shadow in hopes of dissolving a hider’s disillusionment spell.
Just as the timer hit zero, an older wizard sat down next to Harry on the stone bench he waited at. Harry glanced over and was a little surprised to see Lord Riddle. He’d seen the man from a distance at the feast and over the traditional toast—a toast to the darkest night of the year for this first meal of Yuletide—but Riddle hadn’t met his eyes and so Harry figured his suspicions were wrong.
Or maybe they weren’t.
“Harry Potter,” Riddle greeted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied softly. “But I’m not that interesting.”
“Oh?” Riddle glanced at the scar which tingled under Harry’s fringe. “Aren’t you, though?”
In the flickering light of the fairy lamps hanging in mid-air over the gardens, Riddle’s amber eyes seemed almost to gleam red.
“No,” Harry said, stronger. “And I don’t want to be.”
Riddle’s pleasant smile twisted at that. “Lucius delights in gossiping about you,” he remarked. “The only scion left of the House of Potter, the current Lord Black’s heir, and yet young Harry seems more inclined to be a consort then a Lord himself.” He lowered his pitch slightly, as if he were reciting Lucius Malfoy’s exact words.
Harry refused to be insulted by the implication. He’d had long talks with Theo on the very subject, after all. There was no shame in wanting to submit to another wizard, or even a witch, in his future marriage oaths. It wasn’t like his line would actually die out. There were options—ways to make a willing witch pregnant without violating his bonded oath or blood adoption or even naming a distant relative, like Sirius had done for him, as heir.
“Yes, sir, that’s true,” Harry said.
“And should Lord Voldemort return, like some whisper he might?” Riddle asked.
There were whispers, indeed. Whispers from Dumbledore, urging Sirius to train Harry exactly as he’d planned because Voldemort was sure to return. Whispers from Trelawney, in those rare moments Harry thought she was actually Seeing something. But most of all, whispers from his circle. Whispers that spoke about the reason Draco, Vince, Greg, Daphne, and Theo’s parents took a little black book and a half-dead former DADA professor up Mount Elbrus during Lughnasa that summer, instead of joining the usual festival.
“If the Dark Lord returned to finish what he started, all those nights ago, what would you do then?” Riddle pressed.
Harry forced himself to meet those red eyes. He’d learned Occulmency last year, at the behest of his godfather, but he let his surface thoughts and emotions come free from his inner walls. “It would depend entirely on whether or not Lord Voldemort actually intended to finish what he started,” Harry answered. “Should my family and I be left in peace, then I see no reason to engage in some stupid war for a side whose politics I don’t even agree with.”
Because there were also fervent whispers that spoke of change. Whispers about Lady Magic’s blessing, a gift of sanity restored, a new path illuminated. Because, despite the horrible pink toad named Umbridge who took over for DADA that year, Harry’s circle had been so hopeful.
On the morning of Samhain, the papers had announced the return of Lord Thomas Riddle, after extensive traveling around the magical world. Lord Riddle, they’d said, was the last relative of the Slytherin line through his mother, Merope Gaunt. He was a halfblood, but he believed in Lady Magic and urged fellow halfbloods and even muggleborns to give those ancient traditions a try as there was nothing more beautiful than when Lady Magic bestowed a blessing.
Harry talked with his parents every Samhain. He would never not miss them, miss what he could have with them, but he’d found a new family. And though Harry remembered a little black diary and, on particularly terrible nights, a flash of green light, he also loved Riddle’s new column in the Daily Prophet where he encouraged new blood to engage in the magical society completely. The fifth year circle had grown from the original fourteen to twenty-one—though Harry still only considered the original to be his circle. It was true of the other grades as well and Harry doubted the Astronomy tower would be enough to fit all of them at Imbolc this year.
“So, if Lord Voldemort did happen to return,” Harry continued. “Do you think he’d attempt to finish what he started?”
Riddle reached up, quick and sure, to brush a thumb over Harry’s scar. Harry burned—a hot, thorough burst that spread from his forehead to his toes. Then, as quickly as it had come, the pain receded to leave the same warm tingling he’d felt all night in its place.
Riddle’s smile twisted even more, something sardonic and bittersweet now. “No,” he said. “If he did, he’d be a fool for it. You are safe, Harry Potter, from him and those loyal to him.” Harry relaxed as Riddle drew his hand back and stood. “Yuletide blessings,” the man said.
“Yuletide blessings,” Harry repeated. His scar tingled in time with Riddle’s footsteps.
Then—
“Thank the Lady.”
Blaise stood at Harry’s shoulder. Harry blinked. The other boy must have been disillusioned nearby.
“Blaise?” Harry asked, concerned, as Blaise pulled him close to his chest. He squirmed, and then settled down and let himself be held. Blaise was significantly taller than him now, enough that Harry could press his ear to that broad chest and Blaise’s chin could rest on the crown of his head. Blaise’s heartbeat was loud enough that Harry heard it pumping through the layers of Blaise’s cloak and robes.
“Thank the Lady,” Blaise murmured again. “I had hoped but…”
“It’s okay,” Harry murmured back. “It’s all okay now.”
“I didn’t know until he touched you, but, I was going to curse him. Damn the consequences, I couldn’t let you be hurt in front of me. I can’t lose you, Harry.”
Harry pushed himself closer to Blaise’s shaking body. “It’s all okay now,” he repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The rest of Yuletide passed without incident. Harry and Sirius hosted the second evening at Grimmauld Place. Kreacher was delighted to cater to with all the important guests. Sirius toasted to the departed and as Harry raised his cup, he caught Riddle’s eye and held it. Riddle tipped his cup in Harry’s direction and that, more than a decade later, was really all the apology Harry needed.
The 23rd celebrated those yet to come and Megan’s parents held it at their house. Not all of Harry’s circle came to that party, but Blaise did. Blaise and his mother came to every house Harry and Sirius went to that year.
On the 24th, the toast to mothers happened at the Zabini house. Harry found he rather liked the manor. It was smaller than the Malfoy’s, but there was comfort to that. He liked Carmenta Zabini too. She was both beautiful and wickedly strong like the Roman nymph she was named for. It made Harry wonder what Blaise’s father had to be like.
“He died when I was five,” Blaise said when Harry asked him. “I know my mum doesn’t make this seem clear, but Zabini’s love once and forever. Everyone else was just an attempt to find another dad for me, but, well, you know how that worked out.”
Harry did indeed know about the many bodies buried in that expansive forest that stretched across the Zabini grounds. Whether their deaths were honest accidents or not, he preferred not to contemplate.
On the 25th, the Goyles toasted to fathers. On the 26th, the Boots to generosity. On the 27th, the Crabbes held a wild hunt along their heavily wooded land.
Harry and Sirius stumbled across a twelve-point buck halfway through the night. It stared at them calmly. When they didn’t cast a severing charm to kill it for the feast, it slowly meandered away.
“I want to learn how to become an animagus,” Harry murmured. “Will you teach me?”
“Of course, Prongslet,” Sirius replied. “We can definitely do that.”
On the 28th, the Parkinsons toasted to good harvests. On the 29th, the Browns raised their cups in the name of love.
Blaise commandeered Harry for almost every dance that night, until Lavender dragged him away, giggling, to gossip in a corner with the other submissively-inclined members of the circle.
On the 30th, the MacDougals toasted to happiness and the 31st the Malfoys toasted to light. The final feast of Yuletide was held at the Nott’s and Theo’s aunt brought in the new year with a raised cup and a heartfelt speech about the beauty of new beginnings.
By the end of fifth year, Umbridge had made an enemy out of everyone at Hogwarts. No one knew who it was that led her into the Forbidden Forest during centaur mating season, but Harry had money on Filch.
Riddle continued to publish his column in the Prophet and the name of Lady Magic was heard with more and more frequency at the Great Hall and in the corridors during passing periods. There was talk that Riddle should run for Minister when Fudge finally bowed to pressure and stepped down from the post. But those kinds of political talks didn’t hold much attention to the students at Hogwarts.
“Weasley’s kind of starting to fill out, isn’t he?” Lavender said one evening, staring across the common room at Ron.
“Gross, Lavender,” Harry said. “If you want someone with thick arms, you should actually notice how much Vince stares at you.”
Lavender blushed. “Does he really?”
“Like you’re the brightest star in the sky.”
“Oh, you mean like how Blaise looks at you?”
“Does he really?”
Lavender laughed. After a second, Harry joined her.
5. Beltane
As the sun started to go down on the evening of May 1st, Harry and the other sixth and seventh years ushered the younger students back into the castle. It was a breezy spring day and the sunset cast caramel streaks across the sky.
This was the first year Harry and his circle were allowed to stay for the after-dark activities on Beltane. Of course, the festivities before sunset were fun too—with singing competitions and dance performances—but the real ritual magic of the holiday happened around the large bonfire as the moon rose in the sky.
“Your crown, Harry,” Lavender said. She reached up and straightened Harry’s crown of yellow May flowers for him. She wore one too, as did Megan, Isobel, Theo, Pansy, and Tracy. Daphne and Mandy had both glared when a couple oblivious seventh-years offered them crowns to wear.
“Thanks,” Harry murmured. He looked around the gathering, smiling. There were so many sixth and seventh years there—including ones he would have never thought would come, like Ernie Macmillian and even Dean Thomas. He’d overheard Ginny Weasley talking to her blond-haired Ravenclaw friend that she wished they were old enough to participate. Ron, of course, wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Harry’s sixth year had so far been his best year at Hogwarts yet. Dumbledore had died mysteriously in the night before the winter hols—he had been quite old, even for a wizard. The new term had started with Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress. Narcissa Malfoy had taken over as the Transfigurations professor and Harry quite liked her manner of teaching. Snape was now Deputy Headmaster, which means both Gryffindor and Slytherin had needed new Heads of Houses—because the Board of Governors, including his godfather, had convinced McGonagall that the Deputy Head shouldn’t have to split his time also being Head of a House. Considering how harried McGonagall had always looked with her many duties, Harry wasn’t surprised when she agreed. The Astronomy professor, Sinistra, had taken over Slytherin House and Hooch had taken over Gryffindor.
One of the lovely things about having McGonagall in charge was that she very easily caved to their demands—and the growing interest of the student body—and opened up more public areas of Hogwarts for the festivals of the Old Ways. Imbolc had been held in the Great Hall that year and now the Beltane festival was stretched across the front lawn between the Black Lake and the castle.
The sun disappeared below the horizon. Harry folded himself on a woven blanket next to Lavender and Theo. Megan, Isobel, Pansy, and Tracy settled around them. Along other blankets to the right and left of their group, similar collections of flower-wearing witches and wizards sat down. Standing up were all the crownless students, including those from Harry’s personal circle—Blaise, Draco, Daphne, Vince, Greg, Terry, and Mandy. They all had their wands raised and were levitating various tinder pieces and larger logs into a huge pile in front of the blankets.
“It feels weird sitting around not doing anything while they do all the work,” Harry murmured.
“That’s the point,” Pansy told him. “Beltane has the most romantic ritual. It’s a time for the future lords and ladies to show that they can provide for us.”
Harry knew that, because the rest of his circle and Sirius had explained the details of the holiday to him, but he still fidgeted uncomfortably until the wood was piled high and the others lowered their wands.
One of the crownless seventh years, a Hufflepuff whom Harry only vaguely recognized, stood tall on the other side of the pile. “Welcome one and all to Beltane night,” he said. “Shall we begin?”
Harry cheered with the rest. They quieted down as the Hufflepuff raised his wand. He didn’t, however, cast a spell to light the fire.
“May Lady Magic grace us with her gentle touch. May her presence light our fire and illuminate much.”
And without a single spell being cast, a small spark started over the smaller sticks and leaves in the pile. The spark very quickly grew into a blaze, eating the fuel like a ravenous hippogriff.
“May our fire call to the hearts of all caretakers. May they gather round so we may court our homemaker.”
Harry found he couldn’t take his eyes off the raging bonfire. His heart beat in time with the flickering flames.
“With the Lady’s blessing, may our dances impress our intended. And may the fire they light in our homes be splendid.”
The bonfire roared, spurting out from the center to make branches and rings that spread across the grass around them—not touching the blankets but encircling them. Harry sat up straight, gripping his ankles tightly to keep his legs folded. He wanted so badly to touch the fire, to reach forward and grab one of those blessed sticks and take it home to light hearth at Grimmauld Place.
Except—Blaise stepped between him and the fire and bowed. He wasn’t the only one, Harry realized in surprise. There were other wizards and witches bowing to Harry—more than Harry had expected—but his attention was fixed on Blaise.
The crackle of the bonfire began to thrum like a soft drum beat. All around the blankets, the crownless students began to dance.
Harry held his breath as he watched Blaise move, a graceful slide of his body. The others caught his attention briefly as they leapt and spun, but his eyes always wandered back to Blaise. The Slytherin clapped and stomped, jumped and twirled. He glided gracefully over the small fire pits, practically flying over the flaming walls and diving through the blazing rings.
The tempo slowed and Harry tore his eyes away to check on the rest of his friends—though mostly to give his rapidly beating heart a rest. Lavender had her gazed affixed on Vince, who stomped and shook his arms like a bear. Isobel blushed as Mandy clapped and kicked her legs up. To the left, Pansy sighed as Draco leapt over the fire in front of her, before moving on to dance at a different group—making it obvious that he wasn’t dancing for anyone in particular. Harry felt for her. Pansy had been sighing over Draco since third year but it was obvious to everyone in the circle that Draco was more interested in Daphne’s little sister, Astoria. If only Pansy would turn her head a little, she’d notice that Greg was dancing vigorously for her attention.
The tempo changed again, speeding up until it matched the rapid beating of Harry’s heartbeat. He twisted his head back to Blaise, holding his breath as he watched the Slytherin dance. Faster, frenzied, leaping higher and spinning quicker. Sweat dripped down Blaise’s face, glistening like diamonds in the firelight.
The humming beat stopped and Blaise fell to his knees, head bowed. Behind and around him, others were posed much the same. The only ones left standing were those who’d spread their dancing out, their lack of interest leaving them to only move half-heartedly instead. Harry barely noticed as they stepped backward, retreating away from their kneeling companions and the crowned students who slowly rose on the blankets.
Harry felt light as air as he got to his feet and glided forward. There was no hesitation in him, no more desire to avoid making a choice and take his fire back to his home instead. He held out his hands to Blaise, both palms raised up.
Blaise looked up at him, dark eyes betraying his relief. Harry wondered why the other had ever been nervous.
Then Blaise placed his hands on Harry’s and lifted himself up.
The humming began again, slow and sweet. Blaise led Harry in an easy dance—a twirl through the obstacle of flame. Harry trusted Blaise to guide him, stepping where he was led without worry. They brushed close to the fire but never once did they misstep and get singed, never once did they fall out of beat. They flew across the grass like long-time lovers, so in sync that it took Harry’s breath away. He felt dizzy and wonderful.
As their dance finished, Blaise pulled himself back and bowed. Harry did the same, though all he wanted was to stay close to Blaise’s side. He want to curl up against Blaise’s chest and press his ear there to listen to Blaise’s heart beat in time with his own.
But the bonfire called to him. Harry stepped up to it. Vaguely, he noticed other crowned students doing the same, but he ignored them. They fire was smaller now—many of the crowned had already taken their fires and heading back to their family homes to light the hearths there. Only the ones who’d danced like Harry were left.
Harry gave a thought to Sirius. He hoped a pretty witch with a big heart was dancing with his godfather, was perhaps contemplating taking blessed fire back to Grimmauld for him.
He reached his hand into the flames and smiled as they tickled his palm. The stick he drew out was no longer than his wand, but at the other end a lovely ball of orange flames burned like a torch.
When he turned around, Blaise watched him with naked longing on his face.
“You’re so silly, you know,” Harry told him. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t choose you?” He reached with his free hand and laced his fingers through Blaise’s
Blaise grinned like Harry had just given him the world.
They walked hand-in-hand up to the castle and through the open front doors into the Great Hall. Narcissa Malfoy and Snape were both there overseeing the single large hearth lit bright green.
Narcissa smiled knowingly. “Zabini Manor, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said. Blaise’s fingers tightened around his own.
Narcissa jotted their names down on the scroll in front of her. “Be back tomorrow by eight o’clock. We’ll make rounds at breakfast.”
“We will,” Blaise said. He tugged Harry to the fireplace.
Carmenta Zabini met them in the parlor of the manor. She took a shaking breath as she noticed the fire Harry carried, then silently led the pair to the family room deep inside the manor.
Harry let go of Blaise’s hand to kneel down in front of the fireplace. He laid his burning stick there and watched as it proceeded to catch the waiting logs on fire—a joyful blaze that burned brighter and hotter than a normal fire should.
“Blessed be,” Harry murmured, then rose.
Harry slept in Blaise’s bed that night. They kept their touches chaste, but curling up in Blaise’s arms was intimacy itself. Harry slept peacefully, lulled through his dreams by Blaise’s steady breathing.
The next morning, Carmenta drew him in for a gentle hug. “Thank you,” she said into his ear. “You don’t know how much it means to me, how happy you’ve made my son.”
“He makes me happy too,” Harry told her as he drew back. Blaise waited by the fireplace, a soft red glow to his brown cheeks.
At breakfast back in the Great Hall, Hedwig dropped a letter on Harry’s plate. Harry recognized Sirius’s scrawling handwriting. He read it eagerly and learned, to his delight, that even better than a witch, a certain werewolf had finally caved to his own desires and danced with Sirius last night.
They’d danced together once during the Beltane festival at Hogwarts, the letter told him, but war had made cowards out of both of them and Remus never lit Sirius’s hearth. Then again, Sirius hadn’t had a hearth of his own then and perhaps that was what had made the difference. But a bright fire burned in Grimmauld Place now.
The letter proceeded to give a detailed description of exactly what Sirius would do to Blaise if the Slytherin didn’t behave like a perfect gentleman during the courtship. Harry supposed Narcissa must have ratted him out, not that he really minded.
But, the letter ended, I’ll give your snake credit. He came to me a year ago asking if he had my blessing to court you. He’s loved you for a long time, Harry. I can’t fault him for that.
Harry stood from the Gryffindor table, carrying his breakfast plate with him. Lavender followed him, smiling. Together, they sat down at the Slytherin table. Blaise made room for him without a word. As Harry sat down inside intimate distance, only just leaving Blaise room to move his arms. Blaise kissed him—short and sweet. Harry smiled and kissed him back, before settling in to finish his meal.
+1
“Happy Birthday, Harry!”
Sirius had insisted on them having his birthday party at Grimmauld Place. It was still technically Harry’s home, though he’d spent most of his days at the Zabini Manor now. All the members of his circle were there, and some of their plus ones—Pansy glared discreetly at Astoria as she snuggled up against Draco’s side. Sirius stood with Remus along with some other key adults: the Malfoys, the Browns, and of course Carmenta Zabini.
“Thank you,” Harry told the gathered crowd.
Sirius grinned as he levitated Harry’s birthday cake into the room. A single candle lit the top of it—because wizarding tradition didn’t call for a candle per year, just a ceremonial white candle with which to make a wish on.
Harry placed his hands on either side of his cake. He looked at the cheerily burning candle and wondered. It had been more than a month now since he, and his circle, had graduated Hogwarts. Most of them had jobs or apprenticeships lined up. Harry himself was set to apprentice under his godfather’s consort, Remus, so that he could work towards his DADA mastery. He wasn’t sure yet what he wanted to do with that mastery—not be an auror, but maybe warding? He wouldn’t mind teaching, either, especially now that Riddle had broken the curse that had been on the DADA position—which had rocketed him up in the polls, making him now the favorite to win the election for Minister. But regardless, Harry wasn’t too concerned about his career path. He knew that if he just kept his mind open to opportunities, he’d stumble into something engaging.
So what would Harry wish for then? He cupped his hands around the top of the candle, closing his eyes to highlight the feeling of warmth that radiated into his palms.
“May Lady Magic guide me,” he murmured. “May I wish to go where she leads.”
Harry opened his eyes and looked down. Safely hidden between his hands, the candle flame drifted west, licking the center of his left palm.
Snorting, Harry bent down and blew out the flame. He sat back down as the party guests cheered. To his left, Blaise began to slice up the cake for him and levitate pieces out to the guests.
It had been a bit of a wasted message, Harry thought, though he did appreciate the sentiment. Blaise was many things—a sneaky Slytherin among them—but Harry had never once been given reason to doubt the man’s love for him.
Later, when Blaise offered him an emerald green ribbon—his final courting gift—Harry thought of that flickering candle.
“Yes,” Harry said, and he held out his hand.
Lavender squealed when Harry returned to the party with his left wrist encircled with the beautiful ribbon. His circle crowded around him and Blaise, asking for details and giving their congratulations.
“We’re going to do the handfasting on Samhain,” Harry explained.
“So all our parents can watch,” Blaise added, smiling at his teary-eyed mother.
Harry accepted Sirius’s tight hug with grace. Over Sirius’s shoulder, he looked at his circle, at his family. He considered that night, almost seven years before, when he’d still thought Samhain was called Halloween and all he knew of his parents was a couple cheap descriptions.
“Lost, Potter?” Blaise had asked.
In his head, Harry smiled. “No,” he told the eleven-year-old version of himself and his fiancé. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”