Chapter Text
Harry had never given much thought to how he would spend the last afternoon of summer before starting his seventh year at Hogwarts. The possibility of exploring the dilapidated Gaunt home in company with Dumbledore would probably not have even made it on the list.
But here he was. The ancient shack looked exactly like it had in the Pensieve memory and yet, completely different. It was disintegrating in place. Holes gaped in the walls, floorboards warped from the elements, covered in dirt and leaves and Merlin knew what else. Nothing remained intact. What furniture and pottery had been left behind lay broken and scattered.
Harry wrinkled his nose and dialed down his sense of smell to filter out the odor of decay and neglect.
"Do you really think Voldemort would have left a Horcrux here? If he actually made more than one, wouldn't it be too important to leave to the chance of scavengers running off with it?"
A shiver crept down Harry's spine at the thought of what Riddle had voluntarily done to his soul, at least once, and most likely over and over again. Since the beginning of summer, Dumbledore had been giving him 'lessons' that were really a horrifying trip into the life of Tom Riddle. A variety of Pensieve memories and conjecture which had eventually led them here.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. The location is meaningful to him and he is more than capable of protecting that which he does not want found." Dumbledore's eyes swept over the jumbled remains. "I had intended to come here last summer, but Mr. Malfoy's early arrival at school, followed by yours, changed many things. It's probably better you're with me, Harry. Does anything seem out of place to you?"
Harry shook his head without thinking about it. The shack had been abandoned for decades, left open to the elements all that time. Not to mention whatever stray animal or transient drifter wandered in. How was he supposed to find something out of place when nothing had a place to begin with?
The Headmaster continued to wander around the shack, though, poking here and there at trash and former treasures of a long forgotten family.
With a sigh, Harry opened his senses to make a more thorough search of the ruins. Once he got past the urge to gag at the mingled foul odors threatening to overwhelm him, an unfamiliar scent took center stage. It was sharp and dark, a metallic rot unlike anything he'd ever experience. He followed it to a darkened corner cluttered with rotting leaves, an overturned pot and the remains of what might once have been a wooden stool.
He nudged the accumulated debris with his toe and realized there was something very odd about the pot. Once he cleared the leaves and rotting wood away, it was as bright and shiny as anything in Mrs. Weasley's kitchen. No matter how many times his foot had brushed against it, it hadn't moved at all.
"Professor? I think I found something."
Dumbledore hurried over and Harry stepped back to let the Headmaster work. Several unfamiliar spells later, the pot reluctantly tipped out of the way.
Underneath, gold glinted in the afternoon sun, cradling a black stone etched with some family crest.
Twin, warring reactions coiled through Harry. Satisfaction they'd found proof they were on the right track. Disgust that anyone, even Voldemort, could so thoroughly shed his humanity and sink to this level. Beside him, Dumbledore stared at the ring with a bemused expression.
When the older wizard reached for it, a faint shimmer blurred the edges of the gold, like light bending around the metal. A jolt of unease pushed Harry into motion, reaching for Dumbledore's hand and knocking it away a heartbeat before his fingers closed around the ring.
Dumbledore blinked at him, the usual sparkle damped with surprise and confusion.
"Sorry, sir, but I think there's a curse or a spell on it."
Old eyes sharpened and focused, narrowing in concentration. "I think you might be right, my boy."
Another round of esoteric spells and the blurriness disappeared but this time, when Dumbledore reached for the ring, he picked it up with an insulating silk cloth, just in case.
"Well, I think we have what we came for, Harry. Let's return to Grimmauld before the gloom sinks into our bones."
#
Neville tensed when he heard the opening of the front door, wand ready to cast a silencing spell in case whoever entered set off Mrs. Black's portrait. Something about the screech of her voice sent him into a zone every single time.
When soft footsteps passed by her and headed for the kitchen without an outburst, his shoulders loosened and he leaned his head back against the top of the armchair. His control had greatly improved since the beginning of summer, when he'd spent more time unconscious than awake. Even with the help of Draco and Sirius and Hermione, though, zones and spikes remained a daily problem.
He missed his grandmother and his garden, but it had made more sense for him to be in a place where all of the people who'd taken the time to learn about the phenomenon would either be in residence or regular guests. The potential Guides in and out of Grimmauld Place helped him some of the time. None of them, though, felt the way Harry had described Draco. Like a key to his lock. A perfect fit. At best, they were lockpicks. Able to get the job done, but not a dependable, permanent solution.
Tomorrow he'd go back to Hogwarts like this. Madam Pomfrey had researched some obscure condition they could blame his 'spells' on. No one would know about the Sentinel abilities. It just meant one more thing that made him look like a loser in the eyes of his classmates.
Neville took a deep breath and reminded himself he still had many blessings. Friends who understood what he was dealing with and who went out of their way to help him. A grandmother who was proud of him for finally living up to the family name. The ability to function at all through the skills and lessons Harry passed on. Lessons the other Sentinel had had to learn the hard way the year before.
Neville was a Sentinel, now. A guardian and a protector. No matter how difficult the first few months might have been, he was getting better and there was hope for the future.
If he spent the time in his secluded top floor bedroom imagining a Guide of his own, no one else ever needed to know.
#
Apparating to the square across from 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry looked around carefully for signs of anything unusual. The early evening was quiet, though, and no one looked out of place. Harry started for the front door, but Dumbledore stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist.
"Harry, before you go in, remember, our whereabouts tonight, and what we've found must remain secret from everyone but those you have already shared this knowledge with."
With a deep sigh, Harry nodded. As exciting as it was to get one step closer to putting an end to Voldemort once and for all, Ron and Draco and Hermione were the only ones who knew the whole truth of what Dumbledore had revealed to him over the summer.
He didn't like keeping secrets from Sirius or Lupin, or any of the others, but he understood. The Dark Magic they were dealing with was the kind of thing only whispered about in darkest corners of history. The more people who knew, the more likely Voldemort was to figure out his secret was no longer safe. They needed to believe he was safe right up until Harry could kill the last piece of the bastard's soul.
They tiptoed inside, careful not to wake the portrait. The interior of the house was still dejected and depressing looking but regular visits from Molly Weasley made sure it was spotless and free of all unwanted pests. Especially since Neville and Harry had taken up residence for the summer. She had made it her mission to ensure Grimmauld Place was as Sentinel-friendly as possible.
Harry automatically checked the house while they moved toward the kitchen. Two heartbeats pulsed within it. Snape was locked away in the old dining room, which had been turned into a potions lab.
The other heartbeat in residence at the moment seemed to be Neville. Harry concentrated for a minute on the steady beat coming from Sirius's old room but the other Sentinel showed no signs of distress. The fourth floor room gave him the most insulation from stimulus overload when it was necessary to seclude himself and Sirius had graciously agreed to move into his brother's old room.
In the kitchen, they helped themselves to tea and Dumbledore cast a Silencing spell when they settled at the table. Harry stared gloomily into his cup and wondered what doom Trelawney would see in it.
"Do you really think there are four more of those things, out there somewhere?"
"Yes, Harry I do. Despite his many faults, Voldemort was very methodical. It took many years and being chased across the continent by Death Eaters to get Slughorn to give me the true memory of that night. I have no doubt, though, Tom had already decided on the number. The conversation just confirmed the choice for himself. Short of Slughorn telling him it would kill him outright, I doubt anything would have turned him from the path he'd chosen."
"Yeah. So we've got two, now. The diary and the ring." He furrowed his brow. "That leaves four. And we don't know what they are or where to look."
Dumbledore nodded sagely. "That's true, but we have a lot of pieces of knowledge. And Hermione is doing her part to gather us even more."
They both smiled a little. Hermione was convinced the answers to every problem must be written down somewhere. Once Harry had begun filling her in on the bits and pieces Dumbledore shared with him, she'd spent the summer in libraries, Muggle and magical, combing through everything she could find from the time Riddle graduated until the time he disappeared. She'd even gone into the archives of the Prophet and several Muggle newspapers. So far she'd turned up the obituary of Hepzibah Smith, including a photograph of her mausoleum in Wales, which doubled as tribute to her famous ancestor, and an article about a Muggle tramp who'd died of exposure and once lived at the same orphanage where Riddle grew up.
"We never know what pieces might fit into the larger picture, but eventually we will be able to see enough. Have faith, Harry."
"Yeah. I know. It's a good bet he used the cup and locket he stole, just like he used the ring he stole."
"Precisely. Also, I feel certain Nagini, while not his original intention, became a Horcrux of convenience. There is something too self-aware about her for it not to be the strong influence of another soul."
Harry shuddered at the time's he'd seen through her mind. The feeling had been so very much like the cold violence of Voldemort's that he couldn't help but agree.
"So that just leaves one more. Something of Gryffindor's do you think?"
"The only known relics of Godric Gryffindor are the sorting hat and the sword, both of which, I can assure you, Voldemort never got his hands on. Though it is possible he discovered some unknown prize that once belonged to the founder, I don't think that is the case."
"What about Rowena Ravenclaw?"
The headmaster sighed and sipped his tea, looking his age for once with strained lines deepening around his eyes.
"She left behind several books and journals. I've tracked them down over the years and all have been accounted for."
"Oh," Harry muttered into his teacup and deflated, squeezing his eyes tight.
"There is, however, her lost diadem to consider."
Perking up, Harry tried not to let his hopes rise too high this time. "Oh?"
Dumbledore waved his wand and an image of a tiara appeared floating over the table.
"Where's the crown now?" Harry asked, eyes glued to the sparkling image as it slowly faded.
"No one's seen it in centuries," Dumbledore sighed, looking melancholy while he turned the teacup about in his hands. "I've been researching many things, this past year, among them the diadem. I finally convinced the Grey Lady to tell me what she knew of Rowena and she shared her sad tale."
"The Grey Lady?" Harry asked. "You mean, the Ravenclaw Ghost?"
"The very same. Her story is full of woe and I promised to keep her secrets, but I did discover the diadem was last seen in the hollow of a tree in Albania."
"Albania? How am I supposed to find something in Albania? I have to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow."
"Let's focus on one thing at a time, shall we, Harry? Knowledge has a way of turning up when we need it."
Before Harry could argue, the front door opened and the feel of his Guide washed over him, easing tensions he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. He was on his feet and heading toward the stairs before the shouting started.
#
Draco laughed when Sirius shoved Remus through the front door of the house, grumbling good-naturedly about the wolf's ability to elude them in the latest game Incacha had them playing.
He immediately covered his mouth when he caught sight of the drape-covered portrait. Sirius kept muttering, however and Lupin rolled his eyes and nudge Sirius with his shoulder but they continued to tease and laugh.
The creak of the dining room door brought instant silence as Snape loomed and glowered at them.
"If you don't mind, some of us have work to do." He raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "Not all of us can sleep away the day and play away the night."
Sirius snarled at him and shrugged off Lupin's restraining hand. The fact that he was still technically a fugitive was like an open, bleeding wound. While Fudge had been willing to acknowledge the man's innocence and heroism after his death, Scrimgeour had refused to 'undermine the wizarding public's faith in the Ministry's legal system in these trying times.' Considering the Minister had flat out refused to free even obviously innocent men like Stan Shunpike, Dumbledore had declined to inform him of the fugitive's miraculous recovery.
Which meant Sirius was again trapped in the gloomy reminder of an unhappy childhood. Their weekly trip for training with the jungle shaman was the only escape he had. He'd come back from the dead only to be once more imprisoned by the short-sightedness of the Ministry of Magic.
"And not all of us can swan about, having tea with a Dark Wizard every afternoon or so," Sirius snarled.
Snape's sneer deepened and he stepped out the doorway, invading Sirius's space. Lupin rolled his eyes and tried to shoulder his way in between the two, but it was too late. The harsh whispered insults escalated to shouted nastiness.
Beneath the drape, Mrs. Black began screaming. The familiar vitriolic streams of blood-traitor and half-breed trespassers, bled into the shouts of Slytherin scum and arrogant Gryffindor.
Draco sighed, crossed his arms and leaned against the door. If they were going to do this, again, the least they could do was try to be a little more creative. The whole thing had gone beyond boring.
A throat cleared and all but the portrait dropped into silence. Dumbledore strode forward, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. Harry hung back by the stairs, a scowl darkening his features and his hand pressed to his temple.
Draco immediately pushed past the knot of Remus, Sirius and Snape to wrap a hand around Harry's wrist and lean in close to his side.
The headmaster had pulled back the curtain and talked in low, serious tones to Walburga, who stopped screaming but continued to mutter even after he closed the drapes.
Then Dumbledore turned his eyes on the three men behind him. "Severus, how goes the potion?"
"It is coming along." He sniffed the air. "Just about time to add the aconite, I think."
Without another word, he turned with a swirl of robes and slammed the dining room door behind him.
"And the lessons were successful?"
Remus grinned a little, his face lighting up with a youthfulness that was starting to show more and more. As he continued to learn from the were-jaguar, he'd gained increasing control over his shape, able now to change from human to wolf at will. Combined with the control the Wolfsbane Potion gave him during the full moon, the stress he'd lived with most of his life had eased greatly. The pre-mature aging had halted and, while the gray remained in his hair and the strain lines remained in his face, he'd developed an enthusiasm and an optimism that made him seem years younger.
"Incacha is teaching Sirius and Draco to track people on the physical plane by following their spore in the Astral. Otoronco has been teaching me to hide my trail on both the spiritual and physical planes." Lupin's grin got brighter while he spoke and Draco's glare matched the one Sirius wore. "I managed to beat the shamans three times out of four."
"Excellent," Dumbledore said and patted the werewolf on the shoulder.
Without a word or gesture, the Headmaster seemed to silently nudge Sirius and Lupin up the stairs, while he maneuvered Draco and Harry toward the kitchen.
Once quietly ensconced in the Silenced kitchen, the tension remained in Harry's shoulders though it had shifted from the stress of yet another round of Slytherin versus Gryffindor, adult addition. Now, he looked uncertain, eyes darting from the Headmaster to Draco and back again. Dumbledore nodded at Harry and pulled a carefully folded scrap of silk from somewhere in the pleats of his robe.
"Go ahead, Harry. Tell him where we've been."
Draco tensed. He didn't like the idea of Harry going anywhere without him. Of course, Harry hated that he had to let his Guide go off to some unknown jungle without him every week, as well.
"Harry?"
"We went to Gaunt's shack. It was…" Harry shuttered and Draco shifted closer, but Harry straightened and smiled slightly. "We found one, Draco. Found one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
He blinked, then stared while Dumbledore carefully unwrapped something from the insulating silk. As soon as he freed the object, a heavy shutter rolled through Draco. Whatever the glint of gold belonged to, it felt wrong. Off. Unnatural.
The way the Arch had felt when Draco had encountered it while saving Sirius. Incacha had called it an abomination. That's exactly what this felt like.
He moved closer, standing next to Dumbledore, and stared down at the ring. Then he closed his eyes and let his sight slide into his other vision.
His frowned deepened and he shook his head.
"That's not a Horcrux."
"What?" Harry moved to his side in an instant. "But… It has to be. Why else would he have gone to the trouble to hide it? To protect it? To curse it?"
"I don't mean…" His vision snapped back into normal and he shrugged. "It's definitely something. And, whatever it is, it's not right."
"What are you seeing, Draco?" Dumbledore asked calmly, but a hint of concern tightened the skin around his eyes.
"Well, in a Horcrux, the piece of soul is supposed to be trapped in the physical object, right?"
"That is what the information I've encountered says, yes. Are you saying there is no soul-piece in the ring?"
"Not… exactly. It's acting more like an anchor. And a portal to another plane. I can't tell which one without following it."
Harry wrapped tight fingers around Draco's wrist and Draco couldn't help the faint smirk. His Sentinel's over-protectiveness and possessiveness could be both endearing and frustrating. At the moment, in the bleak, foreboding atmosphere around him, Draco was definitely glad to have Harry's strength to lean into.
"I don't think that is necessary at this time." Dumbledore's sharp eyes missed none of their momentary interaction. He tapped his nose thoughtfully. "So, Tom used what he learned of Horcrux magic combined with corrupted Astral magic to protect the pieces of his soul even further."
Harry stared hard at the ring, and, for half a second, Draco was afraid he was going to zone. Then he sighed and shook his head. "What will happen if we destroy this?"
Draco looked at it and tried to sort through everything he'd learned in the past year. But this wasn't like anything he'd encountered.
"I have no idea. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't destroy the soul-piece, though." His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. "It could make it impossible to find on the other plain, however."
"The diary?" Harry's eyes flew to Dumbledore, who looked just as stunned and concerned.
"I'll retrieve it. Wait here," the headmaster ordered and headed out the door.
Draco turned back to Harry and raised an eyebrow. "The diary?"
Harry blushed and ducked his head. "Uh, yeah, I guess I never told you about the Chamber of Secrets, huh?"
"No."
Harry gave him what sounded like it might be an edited version of the story and Draco began to understand why they'd never talked about it. His father was a very sore subject for Draco. He could feel his lips peeling into a snarl and his face tightening in disgust while he listened. The worst part was, if he'd been aware of the details in second year, he probably would have been proud of Lucius.
When he was done, Harry fell silent, but he stepped close and wrapped his arms around Draco.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered in his ear.
"Not your fault."
Still Draco, clung for a second or two longer. He missed his family, missed the simplicity of his life. His point of view had changed a great deal in the past year, and he didn't regret it. Sometimes, though…
"So, since Tom's soul came through the diary, Dumbledore was certain it was a Horcrux," Harry spoke again, but continued to hold on.
"And you destroyed it with the basilisk fang. Now you're worried we won't be able to get to the soul-piece to destroy it."
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence and just clung to each other until the sound of Dumbledore climbing the stairs forced them to reluctantly separate.
Draco warily accepted the diary from Dumbledore, trusting him that the danger had been removed by the gaping hole in the center of it. Once again, he let his vision shift to clearly see.
"The portal is damaged, but it is still an anchor," he murmured, exploring the nuances of the magic that remained. "The connection is still there. I can follow it."
"No."
Harry's denial rang sharp and clear, pulling Draco's attention back to the physical plane.
"Not now. We don't know enough yet to risk you." Harry's hand covered Draco's gently where it held the book. "And you definitely need to talk about this with Incacha before we do anything."
"But we're not going back until October," he whined.
Both Draco and Remus were returning to Hogwarts and it had been decided that the lessons could wait a few weeks to resume.
"We have time yet," Dumbledore finally cut in. "We still have four more to find, whatever these things are that Voldemort has created. Besides, you boys have a busy day tomorrow. It's best that you get some rest."
#
Sirius lay in his bed unable to sleep. The room felt wrong around him, surrounded by Regulus's treasures instead of his own. The green and silver were an affront to his vision but he couldn't make himself paint over it the way he'd blotted out the family motto. He and Regulus may have ended up on opposite sides, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to erase the last reminders of his brother that remained in the house.
Sometimes, he wondered if his own rebellion had led to Reg trying so hard to be the perfect Slytherin. The perfect Black. If his choices had led directly to his little brother joining Voldemort. And how much of that had led to his death.
So many mistakes. His entire life had been one impetuous choice after another and it had lost him everything. His best friend. His opportunity to be Harry's godfather. Even his life, for awhile.
He had a second chance, and here he was stuck in another prison. One made of memories and his own frustration.
Tomorrow, it was going to get worse. Everyone would be leaving, again.
He'd have no one but Kreacher to talk to and he was sure it would drive him mad. But he'd promised himself, and everyone else, he wouldn't act on impulse and frustration any more.
With all the mistakes he'd made, he'd been given second chance after second chance and still he'd squandered them. This time, he'd find a way to stay productive. Useful.
No matter what Snape said.
Unable to sleep, he slid out of bed and wandered over to the bookshelves that once belonged to his brother. Perhaps Regulus had left something behind that might help them bring down Voldemort once and for all.
#
The fox loped through the blue-tinged trees, listening to the sounds of the forest around him.
Something drew him on, called him forward to see what sight alone couldn't show him.
When he got to the lake, he was unsurprised to find his reflection showed, not pointed ears and red fur, but blond hair and a very human face. On the spiritual plane, Draco and the fox were one as often as they were separate.
He didn't expect the reflection to shift, however. To age and grow until his father's disapproving eyes glared up at him from the shimmering waters.
"You've chosen your path, then, son?" His voice was sharp, angry and disappointed.
For a second, Draco's resolve shivered under the onslaught of his father's disapproval. But he dwelt in the fox and nothing and no one could make him second guess the place he'd accepted as his own.
"I have, father."
"You chose Potter. And Dumbledore. You are no son of mine."
The words were a deep, painful slice. A final severing of everything he'd once held dear. He'd expected it. Yet it left an empty place where he'd held on to a fragment of hope.
Lucius snarled. "You've chosen the wrong side, Draco. You will fail."
The water swirled, a dark, violent vortex sweeping away the last of his past and the fox yowled in pain.
Draco woke with a start, heart hammering in his ears. Harry, still asleep, rolled over to plaster himself against Draco's side.
Several, deep gulping breaths later, Draco managed to get his heart back under control before it woke Harry. The first hints of false dawn crawled through the window, telling him he had a couple more hours to sleep.
The dream had made sure that wasn't going to happen, however. It seemed straight-forward enough, but these dreams were never simple.
No matter what he'd said, he'd always hoped, somehow, his old life and his new one could merge.
The dream was telling him it was time to stand firmly on one side or the other. That there was a part of him that was still Lucius's son. If they were going to succeed, he'd have to excise that part from his heart.
He should talk about the dream with Harry. Or Remus. Or Snape.
But he wouldn't. He couldn't.
He'd mourn in private, until his shamanic magic forced him to share it.
#
Harry dropped into his seat on the Hogwarts Express with a relieved sigh and Draco settled next to him, echoing the long exhale. Across from them Neville slumped, looking pale and exhausted.
The morning head been hectic and heart-wrenching. All the last minute packing, searching out stuff that had gotten misplaced over the summer, and general chaos of choosing what to take and what to leave.
Then, the ache of saying goodbye to Sirius while holding off the tears. He'd seen his godfather every day since Draco had brought him back from the land of the dead. Some superstitious part of Harry feared he might disappear again if he wasn't somewhere Harry could talk to him at a moment's notice.
Then had been the hectic rush of King's Cross Station and trying to get Neville through the chaos without zoning out or collapsing.
All in all, Harry was glad for the quiet surrounding the three of them. He was looking forward to seeing his friends again, but he was happy to have a reprieve before they tumbled in. Hermione, of course, had been chosen Head Girl and took the responsibility very seriously. She'd been a little disappointed Ernie Macmillan was chosen Head Boy over Ron, but Ron had been relieved. Being Prefect was still a little more authority than he was comfortable wielding. They both would be in and out, as their duties allowed.
Ginny had disappeared, again, almost as soon as they'd gotten on the train. She'd been going off by herself a lot since the end of the previous school year. Ron thought she had a secret boyfriend she was writing letters to. Hermione thought she was studying to get a head start on her NEWTs. Harry just thought she probably wanted some privacy for a change. There was very little at the Burrow and even less to be found when the Weasleys stayed at Grimmauld place.
Next to him, Draco sat with rigid posture, eyes glued on the unmoving view of the station. The link between them had been quiet all morning and it was starting to make Harry uneasy.
"Draco, what's wrong?"
Draco stiffened, inching slightly away and continued to stare out the window.
"What makes you think anything is wrong, Potter?"
His voice was clipped and cold, more reminiscent of the Malfoy who'd rather push him down the stairs than the Draco who'd slept next to him every night for the past couple of months.
Maybe that was the problem. They were headed back to Hogwarts. Where their time together would be limited. Where Draco would be surrounded by former friends who hated his guts and former enemies who didn't quite trust him.
"It's going to be better this year, you know. I mean, not so much with the Slytherins, but the rest of the school has gotten use to us being together. They know you played an important part in saving Hogwarts from the Death Eaters."
Draco sighed and relaxed a little, allowing himself to lean into Harry. "I know."
While his Guide looked more at ease, tension still vibrated along his skin and his heartbeat hit a little too hard, a little fast. Banked pain and old fears hummed along their bond, despite Draco's efforts to hold it back.
With a sigh, Draco slid his fingers through Harry's and squeezed. "I had a dream last night. I'm not ready to talk about it, yet. Just let it go, for now, all right?"
Reluctantly, Harry nodded. His instincts screamed to protect the Guide from whatever upset him. The possessive nature insisted Draco share everything. They were a team, partners, unbreakable.
Sometimes that could be overwhelming, though, even for Harry. He understood the need to step back and breathe a little. So he ignored the sliver of rejection lodged in his chest and squeezed Draco's fingers in silent acceptance.
"Okay. For now."
Glancing around for a distraction, Harry noticed the way Neville slid down farther in his seat, the hunch even more pronounced while he cradled his head in his hands.
"Neville, are you doing all right?"
Slowly pulling his fingers away from his face, Neville blinked blearily back at Harry. "I think I can smell every flavor of Bertie Bott's. All at once."
His voice cracked when he spoke and Harry heard the pain and the fear threatening to boil over.
"Okay, Neville," Draco murmured, getting up to kneel in front of the distressed Sentinel. "Take a slow breath through pursed lips and start filtering scent. Focus on one at a time, note it and file it away. Just like we practiced."
Harry wanted to snarl when Draco took hold of Neville's wrists. Coming so close on the heels of his Guide's withdrawal, it felt like a threat to their bond, even though he knew better.
Draco turned his head just enough to roll his eyes at Harry before focusing back on the task at hand. Through their bond though, Harry felt a wave of reassurance and love and the distance between them disappeared. Calmer, Harry moved to sit at Neville's side to help him through it, as well.
#
The rest of the ride was relatively normal. Neville regained control and, thought he continued to look wan and tense, he no longer looked in imminent danger of collapse. Hermione and Ron popped in and out. Ginny eventually found them, with Luna in tow and they settled into comfortable, familiar conversation.
The carriages waited for them and the usual chaos surrounded them when they got off the train. First years trying to figure out what to do, students juggling their belongings and jostling for the closest carriages, every one babbling with excitement.
Harry was startled when the voice calling for first years was familiar, if different than what he'd come to expect. Dumbledore had told him Hagrid wouldn't be there for the start of the semester. Another abrupt change in the leadership of the Giants led to them withdrawing from Voldemort's ranks. Hagrid had gone to try to negotiate with them once again. The Headmaster, however, had never mentioned exactly who would be substituting for the gamekeeper in his absence.
"Charlie?" Ron shouted, eyes bulging when he twisted around to catch sight of his brother. "What are you doing here?"
"What's it look like? I'm the Care of Magical Creatures teacher while Hagrid is… on sabbatical."
"But… but…"
"Really Ron, you sound like the Muggle motor-boat engine Dad tried to figure out the summer before my fifth year. How are the first-years ever going to take you seriously?"
Before Ron could respond, Charlie hugged Ginny and greeted everyone in turn, stopping to frown at Neville. "Is he okay?"
Harry turned and realized Neville stood stone-still, eyes wide and unblinking. "Oh, no."
"He's fine," Hermione assured Charlie with false cheer, moving to block everyone's view of the catatonic Gryffindor. "Someone slipped him one of your brothers' Wheezes, it should where off in no time."
Charlie didn't look convinced but Hermione shooed them all along, before anyone else could even react to protect Neville's secret.
"Really have to get going. Don't want to be late for the Sorting. Wouldn't do for the Head Girl and one of the Prefects to be tardy," Hermione continued to talk while she walked backwards, obscuring the view while Harry and Ron got Neville into one of the carriages.
Once shut inside, they all sighed with relief. Nothing any of them tried brought Neville around, though.