Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Minerva McGonagall was annoyed. A slight understatement perhaps, faced with the situation she was presently confronted with. When Albus had told her that the letter sent to the beloved son of James and Lily Potter had never been answered, she’d been perplexed. It was not usually done but she’d discussed it with the headmaster and they’d agreed to send another letter. After all, Harry Potter’s attendance at Hogwarts had already been paid for, and his parents were notorious war heroes, surely that deserved a little more effort put into the situation. So they had another letter sent. And another. After the third one, she volunteered to go herself and see what was going on in Privet Drive. Letter in hand, she’d apparated in a quiet corner and knocked at the Dursleys’ door. A tall woman with a long neck and a permanent scowl on her face answered, took one look at her pointed hat, and promptly slammed the door on her face.

So yes, Minerva was slightly ticked off, to say the least. She glanced at the letter in her hand to check if she had the right address, and promptly choked when she read it properly.

“Oh no, that won’t do. Alohomora.”

She let herself in, and tuned out Mrs Dursley's outraged screeching in favour of opening the cupboard door with another spell. Sure enough, it was locked, and a scrawny boy with messy dark hair and brilliant green eyes peeked out from under a rather large spiderweb. Minerva contained her growing fury and smiled politely at the boy.

“Mr Potter, is it? Nice to meet you. I am Minerva McGonagall, an envoy of Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?” he asked warily.

“The school your parents attended, young man. Your aunt hasn’t told you about it?”

She threw a venomous look at Mrs Dursley, who was still lamenting her presence, as well as muttering about how lucky it was that her husband and son weren’t there to see another freak. Minerva raised an eyebrow at the insult. She’d heard that sort of unpleasantness while visiting Muggleborns but never from someone already aware of the Wizarding World. Perhaps the woman was bitter, she thought.

“My parents died in a car crash,” Harry said with a blank look that had no place on a child’s face. “That’s all I know of them.”

The Transfiguration professor blinked.

“Pardon me?”

She turned to Mrs Dursley, took a deep breath. Her wand twitched with the desire to cast a few curses. She swore instead. The child looked vaguely impressed with her repertoire, and the Scottish brogue that slipped out due to her anger. Mrs Dursley’s ugly expression deepened.

“What was I supposed to tell him? That his parents were freaks who got tortured fighting in a freakish war and they’re in a long-term ward? And then, what would you have me do, visit them? We are decent people here, I refused to have any discussion of your kind’s abnormality in my house!”

“What?”

***

Harry trailed silently after the professor, his mind reeling. He’d known something would happen this summer. The scared expression Aunt Petunia had when he’d received his first letter and his being locked in the cupboard since the second arrived had announced that something unusual was happening, and it was well-known in the neighbourhood that the Dursleys abhorred anything unusual. He hadn’t expected this though. His parents were alive, though unable to care for him, and he was a wizard. The Orphan Relocation Bureau had dumped him at his aunt’s house many years ago, and an administration mistake had meant that he’d never been checked on.

Apparently it was illegal for Aunt Petunia not to tell him about magic and she would be fined a hefty amount, considering the money taken from his parents’ account for his care had never actually been allocated to him. Now he knew how the Durleys afforded his cousin's abondance of presents. The Transfiguration professor’s face when she’d found that out would have been hilarious if he hadn’t been so hurt at being simply forgotten by the society he should have grown up in. The Head of the ORB had scrambled to find him a wizarding foster family, looking through his father’s family tree to find some distant relatives who would want to take him in. Until then, he would be staying with the professor.

Professor McGonagall had taken him to the ministry first, then to Gringotts to talk to his account manager. Gringotts was beautiful, and the goblins were more polite than Harry expected from the professor’s warnings. A glance at her bemusement showed him that this was most unusual.

“Mr Potter here is a goblin-friend,” said Griphook as he led them to a private office. “His ancestor Peregrine Potter found the cure to the Carmine Plague which decimated thousands of the goblin population in the sixteenth century. My people have had a fondness for his House ever since, and they always held us in the same regard, even when it cost them a place among the Sacred 28.”

Harry brightened at hearing more about his family history. He asked a few hesitant questions as he was taken through maze-like corridors while professor McGonagall looked on, looking interested by the exchange. He learnt that another ancestor of his named Beatrice Potter wrote the treaty ending the last goblin-wizard war and that his grandfather Fleamont was a renowned potion master who made his account manager weep with joy with the profits rendered by the Sleekeazy Hair Potion, his most successful invention.

“It was originally invented to counter the curse on the Potter hair —you didn’t think your curls were this untamable for any reason other than magic, did you— but even it failed to make a single change on that terrible mane of his,” chuckled Griphook, before knocking on a door decorated with silver runes. “Your father’s hair was little better, though he managed to cut it shorter without the curse backlashing.”

Harry ran a nervous hand through the aforementioned curls. Aunt Petunia had never succeeded to cut his hair shorter than at his nape and his fringe was as untamable as Griphook described it. Said goblin opened the door and greeted his coworker with a stream of gobbledegook.

Harry was introduced to his account manager, a female goblin named Darkclaw, who presented him his family’s ledgers before assuring with a sharp smile that the Dursleys would get what they deserved for hiding him from the bank. They had apparently thrown away quite a few letters intended for him and the bank had been dismayed by the fact that they weren’t allowed to contact him directly until he received his Hogwarts letter.

“We were going to send a human employee to your address if we hadn’t received word by the fifth of August,” she assured him, before presenting him with a signet ring bearing a stylized P in royal blue and black. “The rings are more tradition than anything else these days, though they are enchanted with protections against common spells, potions and mind magic.” She paused, before looking at him with a pained expression. “You will be able to take the Lord ring off of your father’s finger by your seventeenth birthday, and will then be given full access of your accounts. James and Lily Potter will be named your dependents at your majority, unless they miraculously recover. Until then, I hope you can trust Gringotts to have your best interests at heart and manage it for you.”

Harry nodded dumbly and waited until his temporary guardian was done asking questions. The professor was taking notes so she would be able to transfer them to his foster family. Meanwhile, Harry’s mind whirled. The reality of his situation had finally sunk in. He had money and no matter what happened, he would never see the Dursleys again. His parents were incapacitated but alive, and he would meet them today. It was like a dream, a bittersweet dream he never wanted to wake up from.

He enjoyed the ride to his trust vault, though he was quieter than before. Darkclaw gave him a bag with family grimoires, heirlooms and three paintings from the main vault, one of which was a small portrait of Peregrine Potter. The others were both empty, though one was supposed to portray Lillian and Roman Potter, who had taught at Hogwarts during the 18th century and to whom he could ask questions to. The last one was Dorea Potter, his great-aunt and the only Potter of this century who had had her portrait painted.

He asked plenty of questions to the professor when they browsed Diagon Alley for clothes and toiletries —he would come back for his school supplies with his temporary guardian—, but his mind was elsewhere. They ate lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, where there was a commotion due to the Floo arrival of the Boy-Who-Lived, Neville Longbottom, and his grandmother. They greeted the Transfiguration professor briefly and Harry received a few envious looks for shaking hands with the famous boy. He didn’t think much of it; he’d hated being gawked at in Privet Drive, he didn’t want to do the same to a boy he barely knew. Professor McGonagall looked approving, which made him straighten up a bit. As the first adult who had ever been nice to him, he wanted to make her proud. She was a stern woman, not easily impressed, but he relished the rare moments of softness she showed.

They arrived in St Mungo’s at 1:30, and were let into the Janus Thickey Ward for permanent spell damage. A Healer took them to the appropriate room, and professor McGonagall withdrew to give him some privacy. Harry stepped closer to the beds his parents were on.

A woman with greying red hair was cradling an imaginary baby in her arms, humming a lullaby he recognized as one Aunt Petunia sang to Dudley sometimes. He shuddered and sat between her bed and his father’s, observing her silently. She had his bright green eyes, though hers looked too dazed to be aware. He stayed still, staring for long minutes before his mother blinked and turned her gaze to him.

“Harry,” she whispered.

His eyes filled with tears.

“Hello, mum.”

“Harry, shh, Harry,” she said, turning again to the empty space between her arms. “Shh.”

And she started humming again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He looked at her for longer, searching a trace of awareness on her face before wiping his eyes and turning to his father. He seemed less aware than Lily, his gaze blank as he stared out the enchanted window, unreactive when his glasses slid out of his nose. Harry pushed them back on his face with careful hands before letting his palm touch his father’s forearm. He shivered. James’ arms were trembling from the aftereffects of the curse.

At some point, professor McGonnagal pressed a glass of water into his hands before telling him she needed to send a few letters and run a few errands. She only came back when visiting hours were over. She offered him a sad smile before leading him outside. They ate dinner at the Leaky Cauldron again. Harry was completely silent during the meal.

His parents were lost so deeply in their own minds there was no precedent for recovery, had said the Healer. Well then, Harry thought, resolved, he would make a precedent. He’d become a Healer, like Peregrine Potter, and cure his parents.

***

The next few days passed in a blur. Professor McGonagall was busy with the preparations for the next school year and she often left him alone to sort himself out. He was unsure of what to do at first in a wizarding house that cleaned itself, sleeping in a normal bed in a normal room. But he entertained himself by speaking to the portraits of the previous Potters and reading about the magical world. The professor had good recommendations for Muggle-raised students, and made a stop at a wizarding bookstore in Edinburgh to buy him introductory books.

Lillian and Roman Potter were fascinating. Lillian had been the Charms Professor at Hogwarts, and Roman taught History of Magic during the eighteenth century. They gave him tips about his future school years, and Roman told him about the history of their family.

“We were Peverells before being Potters,” he revealed after a captivating retelling of the tales of Beedle the Bard. “We changed our names after one too many attempts by another bold wizard to steal our cloak. We led the world to believe our line had gone extinct and hid under a common name the purists disdained for being too Muggle. Eloise Peverell married Graham Potter and adopted her younger cousins under his name, and thus ended the line of Ignotus Peverell.”

When Harry asked what became of the cloak, Roman had no answer. Peregrine Potter taught him about goblin culture and healing practices. A lot of the old healing jargon went over Harry’s head, but he dutifully took notes anyway, remembering his goal. Dorea Potter told him about his grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia, his great-uncle Charlus, and a little of what she remembered of James Potter as a child. With this along with his future Transfiguration professor’s tales about his parents’ school years, he had more stories than he had ever hoped.

On the third day, professor McGonagall came back with good news.

“Your grandmother’s cousin owled the ORB demanding to meet you. His name is Ulrich Fawley. We’ll have lunch with him tomorrow, and you’ll decide if you want to stay with him.”

“I get to decide?”

“Of course, if you dislike him we won’t force you to stay with him. He’s a good man though. He was gone from Britain for a few decades, he worked as a wardmaker in several countries and retired recently—”

Having a choice, thought Harry. What a novelty.

***

Ulrich Fawley was nervous. He was an old man already, hardly fit for taking care of a child. But this was his dear cousin’s grandchild, who had little family left to care for him. He could do this.

Or so he thought, until he was presented with a tiny slip of a boy who fidgeted with his sleeves like he wasn’t used to having clothes that fit him. It was likely to be true, considering what the ORB letter he received implied.

“You have Euphemia’s nose and her cheekbones,” he said as he met him, a fondness in his voice he didn’t think was left in him. “The rest of you is all Fleamont.”

The boy looked happy about the comparison, at least, though Ulrich shouldn’t have disregarded proper introductions. He rectified that promptly, earning himself a wide-eyed stare from the boy who clearly hadn’t been around pureblood society. Nonetheless, he did an admirable job at returning the greeting and introducing his temporary guardian, the Hogwarts professor who had removed him from his home. Harry Potter was a sweet kid, he found out as they ate and chatted, a little rough around the edges and wary but polite and clearly intelligent. He was also surprisingly blunt, as Ulrich witnessed when he asked him if he was serious about taking him in.

“I am,” he said, though he wasn’t able to conceal his surprise. “I’m a Hufflepuff through and through, kid, loyalty is in my blood, and I want to take care of you. I don’t say that lightly. I know I am not anyone’s first choice for a guardian; I have no children of my own —I left this privilege to my older cousin Landon, who is Head of House Fawley— and I am 110 years old, but I loved Euphemia and I want to give her grandchild the chance to grow up happy and safe.” He paused. “It would just be for the summers, I know, but if you can bear with this old man—”

“I want to.”

Harry blushed, embarrassed.

“If you want me, that is.”

Ulrich smiled fondly.

“Of course I do.”

***

Life with Ulrich was even more awkward than the three days he had spent at his professor’s house, and that was saying something. They lived in a cottage in the south of England, close to the sea. It was a nice place, though a bit quiet. Harry didn’t quite know how to behave, but they settled on a few chores he could help with since Ulrich was so old, and hours for dinner and lunchtime. The man seemed completely out of his depths around a child, but it was obvious he did his best, which was more than Harry could say about anyone else. He had introduced him to his cousin Landon, who invited him to dinner with the rest of his family. Landon was a stern old man who reminded Harry of professor McGonagall. He seemed more interested in whether Harry could play chess than anything else. Apparently, his grandmother had been mighty good at it. His two sons were nice enough, though the youngest was a bit pompous. The only one around his age was Gemma, Landon’s granddaughter. She was a 5th year prefect at Hogwarts, a self-assured girl who was very patient with his questions. He thought she’d liked him, and she was definitely his favourite. Aside from Ulrich, that is. The Fawleys were nice people, overall.

They celebrated his birthday quietly, just Ulrich and him. Harry received a book full of pictures and accomplishments of his parents from his Transfiguration professor, along with a birthday cake and card from a man named Hagrid, who was the groundskeeper at Hogwarts and invited him for tea the first week of school. Ulrich knew Hagrid, he had written him a few letters about the wards around the Forbidden Forest and liked the man well-enough. He’d seemed pleased about the cake and muttered something about writing to the groundskeeper himself. Gemma sent him sweets from Honeydukes and a nice handwritten card. Ulrich bought him books on healing magic. He’d overheard him speaking with the portrait of Peregrine Potter. Harry had thanked him quietly, and tried really hard not to cry. Ulrich awkwardly patted his back. It was his best birthday ever.

The next day, they went to Diagon Alley. They had to take the Knight Bus, since Ulrich was too old to apparate. They first made a stop at Horizont Alley to buy him more winter clothes and to get his ears pierced.

“A Fawley tradition,” had said Ulrich, “For every Hogwarts age child of our Household. Your dad had it done too, though he gave it up because he kept losing his earrings. Euphemia was in a tizzy about it.”

“I won’t lose them, promise,” said Harry quietly, touching the golden hoops.

Ulrich chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“Good lad.”

Harry couldn’t quite hide how much that pleased him. They made quick work of the potions ingredients and supplies list, bought the textbooks then spent an additional hour at the bookstore to browse through Flourish and Blotts’ collection —Ulrich joked about him being a budding Ravenclaw, though Harry thought that was unlikely— before getting to Madam Malkin’s shop.

A blond boy was already getting fitted for his uniform when Harry entered.

“You go in alone, lad, I’ve got something to pick up around the Alley,” had said Ulrich before lightly pushing him in.

Harry let himself be led in by Madam Malkin’s and sat down next to the boy. He had a really pointed chin, noted Harry, it made his face look a little heart-shaped. As he observed the boy, he could see himself being observed in return. The blond’s gaze lingered a little on his signet ring, though Harry knew the insignia wasn’t visible at this angle.

“Was that your grandfather?” asked the boy.

“Er, no. Ulrich’s a distant relative. My grandmother’s cousin.”

The boy hummed a little.

“You’ll be a first year too, I’m guessing?” He paused long enough for Harry to nod and continued. “It’s a right shame we aren’t allowed our own brooms, though I’m sure I can convince Father to let me bring mine along. I do believe—”

Harry listened to the boy prattle on about his Father, his money, and his disdain for Muggles, his frown slowly deepening. He hadn’t been reminded of the Dursleys in weeks now, and he had been hoping that wouldn’t change, but that boy had Dudley’s sense of superiority and lack of subtlety down to an art, though he clearly had better manners. It came from the pureblood upbringing, he supposed, since the Fawleys were a bit posh like that too.

“—of course I’ll be in Slytherin. My whole family has been in Slytherin. How about you?” he asked, finishing his rant, completely oblivious to the way the shopkeepers were side-eyeing him.

Harry stood up at Madam Malkin’s behest with a polite smile as she took his measurements.

“It could go either way, but I think I might be more ambitious than I am brave, loyal or smart so far. I have goals,” he said, thinking of his parents. He remembered Lillian Potter’s enjoinment to “be better” when they spoke about unpleasant people and bit down on a sarcastic remark on his newfound reluctance to join the House of snakes. To be fair to Lillian, she was a Hufflepuff in her time.

The blond raised an eyebrow at that before standing up to pay.

“Well, I do hope to find you in Slytherin, it’s always good to find more wixen of the right sort.”

Harry chuckled, sitting back down as the seamstress left to arrange the garments that would make out his uniform.

“The right sort, huh? I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you,” said Harry softly. And he presented his hand for his future classmate to shake. “Well met, I’m Harry Potter.”

The blond flushed a dull red. It was well-known that the war heroes James and Lily Potter were respectively a blood-traitor and muggleborn. Harry was the heir of an Ancient and Noble House, yes, but he was still a half-blood.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said with all the grace he could muster, shaking the offered hand.

“I’ll see you at Hogwarts, then, Malfoy,” dismissed Harry before he turned away, ostensibly to ask a question to one of Madam Malkin’s assistants.

Harry was still shaking his head at the whole encounter as he waited for Ulrich outside the shop, the bags containing his uniforms and school supplies clutched in his hands. The old man arrived a few minutes later, levitating a cage in front of him. Inside was a beautiful snowy owl, blinking at Harry with mesmerising golden eyes.

“A gift from Hagrid,” explained Ulrich with a smile. “He bought her when he came to the Alley earlier and sent me a note about it so I’d know they’d set her aside for you.”

“She’s wonderful,” he breathed out.

“Isn’t she?”

They didn’t stop to buy a schoolbag or trunk, since Ulrich had perfectly nice warded ones at home, but did make a stop for the most important part of his supplies.

“Ah, Garrick, it’s been a while,” greeted his guardian.

The wandmaker’s eyes lit up, delighted to see his old friend.

“A few months, hasn’t it? The shop keeps me quite busy.”

“You’re not thinking about retiring yet?”

“Ah, no, I love my craft too much for that. Besides, I haven't chosen an apprentice yet and I still have a few years ahead of me.”

They chatted for a bit before the wandmaker turned to him.

“Your new ward, is it? You mentioned it in your letter. Nice to meet you, Mister Potter. I knew your parents, you know. They bought their wands in this very shop.”

His eyes became a bit distant as he rattled off what he remembered of his parents’ wands and Harry committed the information to memory. He wondered what had become of them. He’d have to ask the Healers at the Ward.

The three of them made idle talk as Ollivander rummaged for wands. It took two dozen tries before Harry managed to find one that suited him.

“Eleven inches, nice and supple, made of willow and phoenix feather,” he hummed. “An unusual combination, though quite suited for healing and defensive charms.”

He turned shrewd eyes towards Harry.

“I look forward to seeing what you make of yourself with such a wand, young man.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the summer passed in a blur of studying and getting to know his new guardian. Learning to relax in the man’s house was hard but made more doable by the fact that Ulrich was simply the least threatening person he had ever met. The old man was soft and a little awkward, and only raised his voice when he was speaking about something he was passionate about. He was also forgetful and a bit messy, far from Aunt Petunia’s meticulousness. It was both stressful and reassuring to Harry, who couldn’t bear the disorder he was so unused to but relished in the fact that his new life was such a far cry from Privet Drive.

He would miss this, he thought as he packed his trunk. He had already let Hedwig out of her cage to fly to Hogwarts —she was already used to flying there to deliver letters to Hagrid and professor McGonagall— and only had to bring his things down. He activated the featherlight charm and carried his trunk down the stairs.

“You have everything?”

Harry nodded.

“Then I’ll call the Knight Bus, hold on.”

The trip to the platform was spent quietly. Harry had difficulty digesting the fact that he finally had a proper home and was already made to leave it. Ulrich was glancing at him, no doubt guessing what he was thinking, yet too awkward to do anything about it. It brought a smile to the young wizard's lips. The old man sure was bad at being comforting.

They stared at each other in front of the Hogwarts Express, unsure what to say. Harry gathered his courage, put down his trunk and Hedwig's cage, and threw his arms around his almost grandfather before stuttering his goodbyes and bolting to the train. Ulrich chuckled as he watched him go and waved at him when the boy turned to ensure his reaction hadn't been negative.

"Have a good year, lad. Write to me," he called out to his almost grandchild.

“I will,” murmured Harry before disappearing inside the Hogwarts Express.

***

Harry found an empty compartment after a few minutes of searching. He wasn’t willing to put himself through attempts at socialising with people who most likely already knew each other. He activated the levitation setting of his trunk and hoisted up on the rack. He searched through his bottomless bag for the book on the moulding of magic and its relationship to wand movements and spell pronunciation he had picked up from the bookstore. Ulrich had recommended it, saying that it was extremely useful to understand the basics of spellcasting before even using a wand. He’d been too absorbed in his textbooks, magical customs lessons and healing treaties to finish it, but he wanted to do so before his first practical class.

He settled down next to the window and cracked open his book at the page he left off. Judging from the crowd forming outside, he expected to have a companion in his compartment soon enough so he wanted to try and finish the last chapters.

While he was cross-referencing something Peregrine Potter told him about the Reviving spell and downward strokes in common charms, he heard a knock on his compartment door.

“Come in,” he said, not looking up from his notes.

“Hi Harry,” said Gemma. “Do you mind if I sit here with my friends?”

“Oh, hello. No, of course not.”

He looked up to see four people behind his cousin, looking at him curiously. Gemma smiled at him encouragingly before coming in, letting

“So that’s the cute kid who joined your family,” asked a tall teenager with short black hair and strong eyebrows. “Look, he’s a nerd like you Terence. Well met, Potter. I’m Adrian Pucey.”

A shorter boy with dark skin and a tired expression rolled his eyes as he helped Gemma lift up her trunk before hoisting his own up. He sat down next to Harry and flicked his wand at Pucey, who yelped.

“Don’t listen to this idiot. I’m Terence Higgs, well met. The girl with the headwrap is Safaa Shafiq, from the Noble House of Shafiq,” the girl waved at him before settling next to Gemma, “and the blond in the back is Aspen Selwyn, of the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn.”

“Well met,” said the aforementioned blond with a cool nod in his direction.

“Terry and I are filthy commoners, so no fancy title for us,” singsonged Pucey.

“Don’t call me that,” hissed his friend.

Harry watched the back and forth, bemused, as their friends snickered.

“And this is Harry Potter, of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter,” introduced Gemma, “who is so baffled by your nonsense he forgot to introduce himself.”

“Is the title necessary?” grimaced Harry. Ulrich had tried to teach him some etiquette but most of it went over his head. He promised his guardian he’d make an effort, though, so he often sent letters to Gemma for help.

“Yes it is, little cousin,” she chided.

“The government is no longer ruled by the Lordly Council but it’s considered offensive to dismiss the Noble Titles,” explained Safaa with a sympathising smile.

“Especially considering that only ten of the Wizengamot seats are held by non-nobles,” added Terence. “And those are always sponsored by a recognized House.”

“Nepotism at its finest.”

The heir of House Potter vaguely remembered that Roman told him the creation of the Wizengamot and the elected Minister of Magic position had happened a few decades before he died, following the death of a Lestrange Dark Lord who had abused his position on the Lordly Council to establish his rule. He’d been vanquished by Tenacious Prince, who became the first Minister of Magic before ceding the position to Ulick Gamp in 1707.

“I understand someone might be offended if I don’t remember their title, but why is it offensive for me not to give mine?”

“It’s considered polite to inform non-nobles that they’re speaking to a Lord, even if that makes us seem arrogant. It also has to do with Family Alliances,” explained Aspen, who’d been searching through his trunk for a book while everyone was talking. “It’s customary to tell which House you’re affiliated to so that people know if they are allowed to speak with you or not. The Goyles and Crabbes are vassals of House Malfoy for example so they aren’t allowed to interact civilly with House Weasley, with whom the Malfoys have a blood feud.”

“Ugh,” moaned Adrian, “why are posh people so difficult?”

“I know right,” added Safaa. “Having to memorise everyone’s family trees just to know with whom I’m allowed to speak to is exhausting.”

Harry turned to Gemma, questioning.

“The Fawleys are enemies of House Carrow, but the Potters don’t have any Vow of Enmity that I know of. If they had been out of Azkaban, you would be honour-bound to declare the Lestranges your enemies, though. But they have been imprisoned for life, so that’s a moot point.” Harry’s heart clenched at the mention of his parents’ torturers. Gemma sent him a sympathetic gaze and continued. “We’re both allied with the Longbottoms, so that makes House Crouch our enemy since it was someone of that House who betrayed their location to You-Know-Who. That and House Slytherin, since You-Know-Who is its Lord. It’s a moot point, though, since he’s the only one of his line. His followers are also enemies of our House."

“Specifically his followers or their Houses too?”

He would hate to be judged based on the Dursleys, so he wouldn’t like to do the same to people who just happened to have a Death Eater uncle or something.

The older students looked approving.

“Good question,” said Aspen. “I think it’s appropriate that I answer this one, since my father was a Death Eater. He’s in Azkaban now,” he explained to Harry’s benefit. “Since no Vow of Enmity has been made, it only concerns the direct followers of You-Know-Who and not their House, unless that House has declared allegiance to the Slytherin Line.”

“That would be House Rowle, Lestrange, Travers, Yaxley, Carrow, Rosier and Avery for the Noble Houses, then,” enumerated his cousin. “As long as you avoid those, you’re golden.”

“It’s a shame,” said Safaa, “Spencer Rowle is pretty cute.”

“In sixth year?”

Harry zoned out while the discussion stirred towards topics he was less interested about, like who was dating who, and common school gossip. He did note that Terence and Gemma were a couple, and that the dark-skinned prefect took good care of his cousin. Judging by the soft looks they kept exchanging, they were pretty happy together. He listened a little when they talked about their summer homework before turning back to his book. The trip went smoothly, except for a few interruptions by first years, two of them looking for a toad and one of them being Draco Malfoy, who turned an interesting shade of pink when he spotted him.

“Potter!”

“Did you need something?” asked Harry, distracted by a particularly difficult sentence about the reason why most spells were made from a bastardisation of Latin and unwilling to break his focus for a probably uninteresting conversation.

“You—,” he started with a frown, before noticing he was surrounded by older students.

The Malfoy heir huffed before closing the door to their compartment.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” commented Adrian, looking delighted.

“Why did you snub him like that?”

Harry looked up to his strawberry blond-haired cousin and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. He explained what happened at their first meeting.

“Now that I think of it, I don’t think I introduced myself properly that time. He didn’t either, though,” he said defensively. “He was very rude, boasting about himself like that. He said he was happy to meet someone of the right sort, so I said I wasn’t sure I was the sort he was expecting and I introduced myself. He turned really red and left."

The older students laughed.

“A subtle rebuke is better than insulting his mother at least,” sighed Gemma.

“Who insulted whose mother?”

Aspen smirked.

“Gemma insulted Marcus Flint’s mom at a gala once. They’ve hated each other ever since. He’s the Slytherin Quidditch Captain.”

“That’s why he keeps harassing you?"

“It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry chuckled. Gemma’s friends were fun.

***

He left them to join the other first years on the boat when the train stopped at destination, though not without his hair being ruffled by five different hands.

“First years, this way,” said a giant man with an impressive beard and a strong accent. Upon spotting Harry the intimidating groundskeeper brightened. “Harry, glad to see you lad!”

“Well met, mister Hagrid!” he said softly.

“You look just like your father, with your mom’s eyes,” remarked the man as he led him to an empty boat. “I’ll talk to you later, Harry!”

The young wizard sat in a boat with three other people, though he spent the ride gaping at the sight of the castle. His companions, a boy named Justin and two twin girls named Parvati and Padma were similarly awed. The sisters spent their time arguing about being Sorted into different Houses though, so Harry spent the time he wasn’t gawking at his new school exchanging wry looks with Justin.

After stepping out of the boat, they walked through large stone corridors until the Great Hall, where the Enchanted Ceiling distracted Harry enough he didn’t hear professor McGonagall’s greeting the first time she spoke to him. He smiled sheepishly at her scolding and paid attention. Soon after, the Sorting began. Harry tried to memorise the names of his classmates, waiting for his to be called.

“Harry Potter!”

Gemma and her friends applauded at his name from the Slytherin table. Harry smiled nervously and made his way to the stool. He sat down and let professor McGonagall place the Hat on his head.

“Hmm. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — a nice thirst to prove yourself, and a goal in sight, a difficult one at that! Now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

“Hello,” Harry thought hesitantly.

“Hello, young man. Do you know where you want to go?”

“Not really. All the Houses seem nice enough.”

He hesitated.

“Hmm. You have somewhere in mind, I see it, yes… better be SLYTHERIN!”

His cousin and his friends clapped the hardest of all, and Harry could see money exchanging hands. The young wizard took off the hat and looked up at professor McGonagall, who was looking a bit shocked at his Sorting.

“Do you think…” my parents would be disappointed?

The professor’s expression softened and she took the hat from his hands.

“Your parents would be proud. Now, off you go. Your Housemates are waiting for you, mister Potter.”

Harry nodded with a tremulous smile before walking to his new House, fiddling with his green and silver tie. He sat at the spot designated for first years, next to Pansy Parkinson and in front of Theodore Nott. He chuckled at Adrian who was staring forlornly at his two galleons in Aspen’s hands on the other side of the table.

“I was sure he’d be a Ravenclaw,” he heard him grumble in the silence before another student was Sorted.

Harry introduced himself to the other first years —properly this time, though Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson didn’t return his greeting, probably because of Malfoy— then watched the rest of the Sorting. The other Slytherins all seemed to know each other, so he hadn’t tried to start a conversation. Soon after that, Blaise Zabini sat down next to him as the last of their year. He was half a head taller than Harry, with brown skin and unsettling gold eyes. They listened to the Headmaster’s speech, before Zabini turned to him.

“Well met,” he said, extending a hand to Harry, “Blaise Zabini of the Ancient and Royal Dynasty of Zabini.”

Harry blinked rapidly and returned his own greeting before asking.

“Should I call you your Highness?”

The boy smirked, visibly amused by his bewilderement. Malfoy looked to be very displeased two seats away from them but Harry ignored it.

“Ah, you would have to call me prince Zabini in a formal setting, but here you can just call me Blaise. I’m the son of the Principe’s sister, so I’m not really in line for the throne. Uncle Aristeo has four heirs to succeed him.”

“Call me Harry, then.”

He’d read somewhere that the South of Magical Italy was a principality, but he hadn’t expected to meet royalty at Hogwarts. He didn’t let it bother him too much and prayed that the etiquette lessons he’d had applied to Italian royalty as well.

“You don’t have to be so worried about offending me,” commented Blaise quietly.

“We’ll be classmates for seven years, of course I have to worry about offending you. I don’t know anyone in our year and I already pissed off the Malfoy heir by pointing out I wasn’t a pureblood heir.”

Blaise brightened at the admission. Harry wondered if he was happier to learn that he was also new to British magical society or if it was the mention of Malfoy that did it.

“I know. Malfoy called you a ‘pauper Lord’ when I met him on the train. You were raised by Muggles, right?”

Harry chuckled at the term.

“Well, I suppose he could have called me worse. Yes, until recently I lived with my muggle aunt and her family. Now I’m being fostered by House Fawley.”

Blaise’s expression grew a little solemn at that. He nodded and changed the subject. They spoke a little about Headmaster Dumbledore, and about Blaise’s moving into the country. He had only been here six months.

“My mother married a Yaxley,” he said with a quirk to his lips. “She kept her last name, though.”

Malfoy choked a little at that and Harry stared at him.

“He could make it a little less obvious that he’s listening,” muttered Harry.

Blaise laughed.

“Subtlety, your name is Malfoy. Anyway, Britain is very different from Mezzogiorno, but I don’t dislike it here. It’s nice to be treated with a little less… deference.”

The Potter heir’s eyes turned a little distant. Their situations were really different, but he recognised the loneliness in the boy’s voice.

“Hogwarts is beautiful too,” Blaise commented, taking a sip of his drink. “The food is a little bland, though.”

“Safaa was saying something about that, but apparently the meals are always like that during the welcoming feasts. I don’t have a lot of experience with foreign cuisine —my aunt didn’t cook anything other than British food, with a minimum of salt— but she said there’s more variety during normal meals, though it’s not spicy enough for her taste.” He paused. “Sorry, I was talking about Safaa Shafiq, of the Noble House of Shafiq. She’s a friend of my cousin, Gemma of the Ancient and Noble House of Fawley. They’re in fifth year.”

“Ah, they have a lot of ties in Iran, don’t they? That’s where the House originates from.”

“Mhm, and her mother is Egyptian.”

“So you do know people at Hogwarts,” said the foreign prince. “I wondered since you specified you knew no one in our year.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true either. I was introduced to Neville Longbottom this summer. I’m not sure it counts, we didn’t get to talk much. Our Houses are allied, though.”

“It should count then, as long as you make a later effort to get to know him.” He paused. “You’re firmly Light-aligned then?”

Ulrich had talked about this, remembered Harry. Roman Potter as well, though his information was a little outdated. Dark, Light and Grey were three possible alignments, but they meant different things in politics and in magic. House Fawley was Light-aligned in both ways. House Potter, however.

“House Potter is aligned against Voldemort and his followers, but we are a Grey House in blood and magic. I’m still learning what that means, however.”

“I see. The Dynasty Zabini is Dark-Grey. I know there is some prejudice on the Isles, so I thought I should ask if it bothers you.”

“If it only means your magic likes rituals and emotion-based spells, it wouldn’t bother me. If it means you consider muggle-borns and magical creatures lesser beings, then it would. I am a half-blood, after all, and House Potter have been goblin friends for centuries.”

Blaise laughed, looking delighted.

“Only in blood and magic, don’t worry. Oh, look, our housemates are ready to leave.”

They stood up and followed Gemma and Terence who had come and introduced themselves as prefects to all the first years through the corridors of Hogwarts, until they reached Slytherin common room. It was a beautiful room lit by silver candles holding up green flames flickering with the air current announcing their entry. One wall was entirely covered by elegant bookshelves, another blank save for a few portraits and a fireplace, and the third opened to another corridor leading through series of staircases. The last was not a wall but a large window looking through the inside of the Black Lake. In front of the fireplace and the bookshelves, there were dozens of armchairs, couches and tables disseminated around the room, built in a spiral leading to a strange throne-looking seat overlooking the room with three smaller armchairs surrounding it, which Blaise eyed with hungry eyes.

The two prefects invited them to seat on couches next to the entrance, which Gemma called the “designated resting place for firsties”. Harry understood quickly that there was a hierarchy in Slytherin, though he had already begun to guess from the subtext in his cousin’s conversations with her friends on the train. Terence rattled off the common school rules and guidelines regarding tutoring, passwords, curfews, and whatnot.

“Any questions?”

They all shook their heads. He nodded sharply and asked them to wait until their Head of House, professor Severus Snape arrived.

Right after that, a man with a long billowing black coat swept through the room and planted himself in front of the first years. Gemma and Terence took a step back, clearly deferring to him. He had long dark hair which gleamed in the candlelight, a strong nose and pallor which made his skin look greenish from where he stood. He looked at them with an inscrutable gaze, pausing on Harry’s face for a while before speaking.

“I am professor Severus Snape, potions master and the Head of House Slytherin,” he said in a silky voice. “I welcome you into the House of cunning, resourcefulness and ambition. You were Sorted here for a reason. You have seven years to figure out why, and to prove to me that it was no mistake.”

He paused to leave time to the students to ponder over his words. Harry wondered if he made the same speech each year. His words sounded so measured, deliberate that he’d be surprised if he actually came up with them on the spot.

“This House has a history, but it also has a reputation. There is no one more ambitious than a Dark Lord, and thus these walls have seen the birth of many of them. As a consequence, the colours on your tie are not only a source of pride within Hogwarts but sometimes of prejudice and fear. You must learn to rise above that prejudice. Some of you are of Noble blood and know it for the advantage it is. I trust you not to abuse that privilege. I also trust that you will place the honour of Slytherin above that of your blood while you are living within these walls. Yes, mister Malfoy?”

“How can those who declared enmity to the Slytherin Line honour its House?” asked the blond, throwing a look at Harry.

The Potter heir exchanged an incredulous look with Gemma. Was he really implying that those against Voldemort were unworthy of being Slytherin?

“Didn’t House Malfoy declare enmity on House Gaunt, the last confirmed descendants of Slytherin over a broken engagement proposal in the 17th century?” drawled Terence, who Harry had learnt was passionate about History. “Maybe you should answer that question yourself, Heir Malfoy.”

“That being said, I know that the pointed question was directed at my cousin, so I will answer it in the spirit it was asked. For that matter, I am also the scion of one of the Houses who proclaimed enmity on You-Know-Who. It is simply a question of trusting the values of the House instead of the blood of the person who built it,” said Gemma. “House Fawley rejected the new Lord of House Slytherin but we believed in what Salazar Slytherin stood for before he left Hogwarts.”

Why did Malfoy have to embarrass himself like that, thought Harry. He had only rejected an offer of friendship, not spat in his face. Though to a kid who had never been denied what he wanted, both of those slights might equal the same thing.

“Thank you for the answers, prefects,” drawled professor Snape, who seemed deeply unimpressed by the argument. “Any other questions?”

At the resounding silence, he continued.

“Then we will address the hierarchy of Slytherin, which the most observant of you will have noticed establishes itself in the seating arrangements of the common room. Each year has a designated area, prefects do as well, and the most influential Slytherin, the Argentum rex or regina sit over here with their lieutenants,” he gestured at the throne area. “It is a self-appointed position, which has to be defended from all possible claimants by sanctioned duels. This means that it is not something first years should try to challenge,” he added wryly. “The Argentum rex sets the tone for how the House will be structured and how it will behave in public throughout their tenure at Hogwarts -to an acceptable level, of course. It is an honour, but also a great responsibility. The Argentum rex of this year is William Robards, I believe.”

Professor Snape let them ask additional questions about the hierarchy system, mainly about what the rex could or could not make them do. Harry learnt that they were allowed to get the House to shun a specific person and decided whether Slytherins could walk alone in the corridors or had to go in groups, whether lower years had designated tutors or were left to fend for themselves. They also imposed dress codes, settled disputes and took favoured students under their wing. Harry thought this sounded like a lot of work, but Blaise seemed interested so he resigned himself to possibly becoming his lieutenant in a few years.

Now that he thought of it, Aspen had mentioned wanting to put Terence on the throne, hadn’t he? And the boy had laughed it off because he wasn’t from a Noble House. Their conversation made a lot more sense now.

After that, professor Snape made another announcement for his office hours and bid them goodnight. Before he left, however, he turned to Harry.

“Potter, a word.”

Harry blinked, unsure what it was about, but joined the professor as he walked toward the study desks.

“Take a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat down in front of his head of House, fidgeting nervously.

“I called you here because all four heads of House are informed about changes in guardianship for prospective and current Hogwarts students. I was thus made aware of who you were residing with at the time professor McGonagall came to see you personally,” said the professor stiffly.

Harry’s brows furrowed, trying to understand why professor Snape brought this up. The man noticed his confusion and sighed.

“I was a childhood friend of your mother, mister Potter. This means I am intimately aware of her sister’s opinion on magic. I called you here to check in with you regarding any… reservations you might have about your attendance at Hogwarts.”

The young wizard blinked.

“Oh, that’s alright, professor. I decided pretty early on that everything Aunt Petunia disapproved of had to be pretty good.”

And it was true. From foreigners to abstract art, from homosexuality to magic, he had elected to embrace it if it was something his aunt would have screamed about. Professor Snape relaxed a little at that.

“I’m not saying I don’t have… issues with my childhood at Privet Drive, but my perception of magic isn’t one of them.”

Magic will heal his parents, after all, he added silently.

“Very well. Do know that I am available if you have any concerns.” This really looked like this was painful to say. “I also needed to see you about the lack of medical records we have about you. This will also be announced to muggle-born students, but we will need to perform a check-up by the end of the week. Do you have any existing condition we should be aware of?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to the doctor,” said Harry softly.

“Not even with your new guardian?”

“Ulrich took me to an oculist for new glasses, but that’s it. I didn’t think to mention it.”

“Very well then, it will be a more extensive check-up than the other students but that doesn’t change much. That will be all, mister Potter unless you have any questions.”

Harry bit his lip. Should he?

“Could you… could you tell me about my mum?”

The man clenched his jaw before nodding jerkily.

“After your check-up, you’ll come to my office. We’ll talk about her then.”

Harry smiled, standing up to leave.

“Thank you, professor. Goodnight.”

"Goodnight, mister Potter."

Chapter Text

Blaise liked Harry Potter. The boy was funny, kind and clever, if a little bit clueless. He seemed completely unaware of the uproar he'd caused by getting Sorted into Slytherin and befriending a foreign Dark prince, which the Italian was utterly delighted by. He also seemed to miss —or deliberately ignore, Blaise wasn't sure — the way their yearmates seemed to consider him the perfect foil to Draco Malfoy's influence and weighed him up to see if he was someone to follow.

Blaise was glad he'd already chosen him, even more so when the boy received a letter the next day and promptly burst into laughter upon reading it.

"What is so funny about a… Gringotts letter?" asked Blaise, raising an eyebrow.

Harry wiped his eyes, his gaze twinkling with mirth.

"My muggle relatives swindled money from me while I was in their care and Gringotts found out. Let's say that their way of dealing with it was… creative."

And he handed the letter to his new friend, in a show of trust that warmed something in Blaise's heart, even if he knew Harry probably didn't intend it this way. As he read through the Potter heir's correspondence, his eyebrows rose up to his hairline. His friend's laughter was certainly justified. They’d bought back his uncle’s company and gotten him fired before sending him a declaration of debts. He smirked.

"Goblin bankers sure don't do anything by half."

And Harry was a goblin friend, wasn't he? He had such interesting connections.

The rest of breakfast was spent more sedately, both of them chatting in a quiet voice without minding the considering looks their prior discussion had caused. They wrote letters to their respective parent while waiting for the others to finish their meal. Then, they headed to their first class of the day.

The lessons weren't anything Blaise hadn't done before, though he struggled more with the British terminology than he cared to admit. Harry was good at reformulating things for him though, acting as a veritable dictionary of synonyms. In return, the Italian provided context for the magical intricacies the Potter heir didn't quite understand. It was nice to see his smile after using his wand for the first time, though the laugh they had when he overpowered the spell was even better.

The mutual help was nice, the camaraderie even more so. They explored the castle together at the end of the day, eager to locate the fastest ways to get to class and the best resting spots. They came back to their common room breathless and grinning before settling down for a game of chess.

Greengrass, Nott, and Davies settled close to them while Malfoy held court on the other side of the first year area with Goyle, Crabbe, Perks, Bulstrode and Parkinson. Their year group was utterly divided. Blaise wasn't surprised about the two girls, but Nott he didn't expect. It seemed like the boy was making a statement. He wondered if his father was aware of it.

Like always, Harry didn't seem to care. He simply pulled out a book about basic healing spells when their chess game was over —Blaise won, though Harry put up a good fight— and ignored pretty much everyone. Blaise stood up and started mingling.

***

Severus Snape didn't know what to make of Harry Potter. He bore such a strong resemblance to his father the potions professor expected it would have been easy to see him as another James Potter, but that idea had been shattered when the boy had faced him in his common room wearing green and silver with eyes a shade he’d never seen on anyone but Lily. He wasn’t much like her either; instead, he thrived in the in-betweens. He was a quiet kid, really, and Severus both dreaded and anticipated to have him in class. So far it looked like this child would be much less of a headache than the Longbottom kid.

Potter had come five minutes early to his check-up appointment and fidgeted outside the door until he was called. His new friend Zabini —and wasn’t that a surprise, to see the scion of such an influential european family following after the newly-dubbed “pauper Lord” in politically dark circles — wished him good luck at the door and left him to his and Poppy Pomphrey’s care with a cool nod. Potter came in after a muttered greeting and sat on the bed the mediwitch had set up for him. She explained to him what types of spells she would be using to diagnose him and he listened with a weirdly intense expression before asking a few questions. It looked like he was itching to take notes; his fingers twitched as the mediwitch answered. Severus was surprised by the depths of his curiosity —most children tried to make their visit to the infirmary as quick as possible, even if they were muggle-borns and introduced for the first time to magical healing— but maybe he shouldn’t have. Lily had had a deep thirst for knowledge too.

“You are malnourished and dehydrated, mister Potter,” announced Poppy after a few minutes of examination. “You have a fracture in your index finger who didn’t quite heal correctly, and a weakened tendon on your left ankle.”

“That was from Ripper’s bite,” muttered Potter, and Severus raised an eyebrow.

“You are also missing a few vaccines, but I expected that. And you suffer from a slight lack of vitamin D, calcium and anaemia. It’s nothing that cannot be remedied by a few potions and balms, as well as some proper nutrition.”

The relief on her voice couldn’t have been more obvious, though she managed to keep her anger under wraps. Severus only knew it was there because he had known her so long, and because he was feeling the same way. Thank Merlin Minerva had found the kid before something more drastic happened to him.

The boy didn’t even look bothered by the diagnostic, though he looked at his right hand in a new light, no doubt making conclusions about how the fracture had affected his handwriting. Poppy started casting the few vaccination spells that didn’t require a potion before rummaging around for the elixirs they would need. Severus took note of the ones she didn’t have. He would get started on brewing as soon as possible. The nutrition potions, for one, would have to be taken every day for at least a month to reverse the effects of ten years of neglect.

“Madam Pomphrey?” asked the boy hesitantly.

“Yes, mister Potter?” she replied absently as she levitated the vials she needed.

“Is Healing an elective at Hogwarts?”

Severus sucked in a breath. The boy who’d learnt his parents were permanent residents of a hospital ward wanted to learn to heal, of course. And considering the quiet determination burning under those eyes, he would see through it too. Well, better to have a boy focusing on sparing pain to others than someone vowing to get revenge, he supposed. Poppy must have thought the same thing because her eyes softened. She shook her head.

“I’m afraid not, but the students interested in Healing sometimes volunteer to help me around the infirmary. They’re not usually as young as you are but I don’t think that’s an issue. You could come assist me on Sunday mornings once you’ve gotten a bit more settled with your workload. I’ll give you a few lessons in exchange.”

Potter’s eyes lit up.

“That would be wonderful.”

He then went on to explain he’d gotten advice from a portrait of his ancestor, the famous Peregrine Potter —though the boy seemed to think the man was only known among goblins, for some reason — and that he’d been afraid the procedures he described were a little outdated. He took his potions without complaint, only grimacing after swallowing them and looking in wonder as his skin gained a healthier glow that had nothing to do with a sunburn. Poppy told him he would have to stay for another hour to set his bones and tendons right, and Severus excused himself to see professor Dumbledore, who’d summoned him with a flying piece of paper.

“I’ll come to collect you for our… chat after I’ve found out what the headmaster wants with me,” he told the kid, who nodded politely before asking Poppy about the most difficult things to heal.

“It would be the brain surely, we still understand so little of it—,” heard Severus as he made his way out.

Healer Potter, he thought with a rueful quirk to his lips. He would see what the boy’s potions looked like before pronouncing his judgement, but he had to admit he would like to see it. He liked this type of poetic justice, that of a boy who’d been so hurt by others’ hands he’d decided to use his to heal.

***

Ulrich sent silver earrings to Harry as a way to congratulate him for his Sorting. One was a jade stud with silver leaves surrounding it and the other was in the shape of a caduceus. Harry quietly put them on at the breakfast table before murmuring the spell to disinfect them and responded with a smile to Gemma’s wink. She and her friends were sitting next to him today, and Harry suspected that Ulrich had asked her for advice before picking them out. He gave an explanation to Blaise about the Fawley tradition, and his friend —his best friend, really — complimented them.

“It suits you. Why a caduceus, though?” he asked.

“They are Hermes’ symbol and are associated with wisdom, liars, and eloquence. I suppose it fits Slytherin House,” said Aspen thoughtfully.

“Which Greek god would fit which House best?” asked Safaa. “I don’t know much about the Hellenistic religion.”

“Dolus for Slytherin, Athena for Ravenclaw, Arete for Gryffindor, and Themis for Hufflepuff, I’d say.”

They devolved into a discussion about different mythologies and the patron gods of the Hogwarts Houses, which was fascinating —Harry definitely agreed that Loki was the best patron for their House — but got them a little off-topic. He dropped his voice to a whisper.

“He chose the caduceus because I want to be a healer.”

Blaise nodded.

“I thought I saw more healing books than anything else in your repertoire but I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence. Healing is tough, you’ll have to study hard.”

“I know. But I’m determined.”

His friend looked approving.

“That’s the spirit. If you think like that, I’m sure you can do anything.” He paused. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet, but I think politics are interesting so I’d probably go into that.”

“I can definitely see you doing that,” said Harry, thinking of the way Blaise had to talk in circles around people. He’d done it a few times to Malfoy when his pointed comments were becoming too annoying. “You have time to decide though.”

Blaise hummed at that and they got back to listening to the fifth-year conversations. Somehow from discussing mythology they’d gotten back to arguing about which one of them should make a bid to become the Argentum rex.

“With our OWLs this year? You’re crazy! That position is only tenable in sixth-year, unless you’re a crazy person like Regulus Black.”

“Yes, but Flint is eyeing the rex position this year, and Robards’ claim is too shaky. His House has been losing status and they’re barely holding on to their title. If little Malfoy supports Flint’s claim—”

Regulus Black was known for having held the argentum position from the middle of his fifth year to his graduation. Harry thought he was pretty cool. He had also been Quidditch Captain, a talented seeker and had gotten out of Hogwarts with straight Os. Terence idolised him, though the man had gone on to become a Death Eater and disappeared mysteriously. Speaking of Quidditch.

“We have our first flying class today,” announced Harry as he remembered.

Adrian turned away from the fifth-year conversation to give him and Blaise —who’d never flown either, it was considered too unsophisticated for the Principe’s nephew — a few tips before sending them off with a cheerful farewell.

Blaise and Harry joined the other Slytherin first years, saying hello to Nott, Greengrass, and Davies before stepping out of the castle. Harry thought the girls were nice enough, though they’d clearly been each other’s only friends for a long time and it showed in how they interacted with others. Nott, he was less sure about, mostly because the boy didn’t speak much and seemed to prefer spending his time alone. When he spoke though, everyone listened. It was quite nice to witness.

Harry offered a nod to Neville, whom he had been paired with in Herbology. The Boy-Who-Lived looked to be a nervous wreck most of the time, but he had regained all of his confidence in the greenhouse. They’d had a nice chat and Harry was saddened to learn Neville’s mother had been his godmother while Lily Potter had been Neville’s. He’d felt a bigger kinship to the boy after that, which unfortunately seemed to have put him under Malfoy’s disgraces. That was never more apparent than when Neville lost control of his broom during the lesson, and the blond prat used it as an excuse to prance around.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” scoffed Malfoy.

“The Boy-Who-Lived to be a disappointment,” sneered Parkinson.

Harry sighed. This would definitely not help their House's reputation. Malfoy bristled as he heard him, and redoubled his efforts to mock the Longbottom lord. Ronald Weasley, Neville’s best friend in Gryffindor exclaimed in indignation when the idiot heir took Neville’s remembrall and began tossing it around. His fellow Housemates were also starting to look annoyed.

“Give it back, Malfoy,” said Harry, his brows furrowed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The blond flushed an unpleasant red before jumping up his broom.

“You’re sucking up to the Boy-Who-Lived, Potter? If you want it so bad, come get it!”

And he kicked off into the air. Blaise rolled his eyes.

“Neville is his godbrother and their Houses are allied, you’ve ever head of family loyalty?” asked the Italian.

Harry bit his lip. If the remembrall fell and broke, Neville would be upset. He’d better go and get it, he thought. If he was fast enough they would hopefully not get in trouble.

Minutes later, as professor Snape led him by the arm to destinations unknown, muttering about his foolishness, Harry wasn’t so sure about his decision. He cursed Draco Malfoy, who’d gotten down from the air before he could be seen

“If the blasted thing broke, you could have taken it to a professor who would have fixed it. There was no need to go gallivanting into the air, Potter,” snapped professor Snape after he explained himself. “Arrogant, just like your father.” The man sighed. “Well, I suppose you had to get something from him.”

Harry didn’t know how to feel about that, considering that it had been pretty obvious from their chat the day of his check-up that his Head of House had nothing nice to say about his father. The man had many fond memories of Lily Potter, and they’d had a pleasant —if awkward — time discussing them, but of James Potter, the best he could have said was that the man was an adequate student.

The potions professor finally stopped in front of an unfamiliar door and knocked. A dark-skinned witch he didn’t recognize wearing a bottle green robe opened the door.

“What is it, Severus?”

“Pardon me, Bathsheda. Could I borrow mister Higgs for a moment?”

“Of course.”

They waited for a moment before Terence met them at the entrance of his classroom, looking thoroughly confused.

“You said you wanted to quit Quidditch, mister Higgs.” The fifth-year prefect nodded slowly, his expression now one of pure bafflement. “I found you a replacement.”

***

“You made seeker?” hissed Blaise. “That has to be because Snape was friends with your mother.”

“I thought so too, but it turns out he has a pretty deep rivalry with professor McGonagall over who would get the Quidditch Cup.”

His friend whistled. Harry was ready to add something else before he was put in a headlock.

“So you’re joining the ranks, itty bitty Potty?” said Adrian with a grin. The first-year blinked. He’d forgotten the boy played chaser for the team.

Harry swatted at the other boy to shake him off.

“It seems so. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” he asked anxiously. “I barely know the rules!”

“You’ll do fine,” said Terence, looking disturbingly peppy for such a laid-back guy. “I’ll teach you what I know and I’ll actually be able to sleep this year.”

He looked so cheerful at the thought Harry felt instantly better about his nomination.

“Are you kidding? It means you’re in the running for Argentum rex, Terence!” yelled Safaa triumphantly.

Harry’s lips quirked up as the prefect groaned in despair.

“Nope, no way.”

“We’ll convince you yet Terry,” said Adrian with a laugh.

“Don’t call me that!”

Chapter Text

Marcus Flint wasn’t very impressed with Harry, though he shut up after seeing him and Terence release the snitch and catch it a few times as a warm-up. He said Harry had good instincts and left it at that. Montague the chaser and Bletchley the keeper were pretty indifferent to him though happy to have a more dedicated seeker —Terence wasn’t bad but it was pretty obvious he only stayed on the team because there was no replacement —, but the two beaters Wright and Fletcher very obviously disliked him. He’d heard them snickering when Malfoy called him the pauper lord or any variation of the insult, and it seemed they decided to keep up with the childishness even on the Quidditch field. They convinced Flint to change the game strategy to prioritise offence instead of defending other players and generally left him at the mercy of nearby bludgers. It was only the first practice, and he could already tell it was going to be exhausting.

The most aggravating part was that they kept dropping hints to Malfoy about his position on the team despite professor Snape’s enjoinment to keep quiet, which made the boy increasingly irritated. He’d been crowing about Harry’s expulsion since their flying lessons, and seeing that he’d had gotten nothing but detention with Snape on the weekend wasn’t helping his mood. He took it out on Neville a lot, seeing that Slytherins were expected to remain civil outside of their common room. Harry started discarding his healing books to practice a few jinxes with his best friend, just in case they would become necessary to defend his godbrother. He only had the time to learn a simple babbling jinx, but it would be enough if Malfoy decided to draw his wand. After all, no first-year could cast spells when they were busy speaking gibberish.

Friday morning, Harry received a note from Hagrid inviting him and Neville for a cuppa. The young wizard sent a note back accepting the invitation before he and Blaise headed to their first potions lesson.

“Do you want to go with me to Hagrid’s?” asked Harry as they walked back to the dungeons, led by a sixth-year prefect to their potions classroom.

The Potter heir remembered Neville telling him that there was no such system in Gryffindor and that he and his friend Ron had arrived late to class more than once because of it. He silently thanked William Robards, the current Argentum rex for implementing the system.

“I’d like to meet him, he seems like an interesting guy, but I told Daphne and Tracey I’d see them this afternoon. They’re already gonna be disappointed that you won’t join us, they wouldn’t like it if I bailed.”

“Why would they be disappointed?” he wondered as he entered the classroom.

Blaise sent him an incredulous look and shook his head. Harry shrugged. His friend hated explaining things that felt obvious to him. He took a moment to stare at the pickled animals in glass jars decorating the wall and the earthy scent permeating the whole room before sitting next to Blaise on the right side of the room. Soon after, Neville and Ron sat on the same row as them but on the left side. Harry waved at his god brother and his friend, which the blond returned with a smile. Ron only nodded to him a little warily. Harry had the feeling he was a little prejudiced against his House.

Professor started taking the class roll call.

“Ah, Yes,” he said softly, “Neville Longbottom. Our new — celebrity.”

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began.

He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

“As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Harry mentally reviewed the potions designed to induce fame and glory but came up blank. He’d read a lot about healing potions but not much about others. Aside from his textbook of course, but the kind of skill needed to do such things wouldn’t be available to first years, he reasoned. Harry and Blaise exchanged looks. Professor Snape was a good orator. They’d had proof of that when they had met him on the first day, but his way of describing potions is something else.

“Longbottom!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for the boy, who paled and stuttered he didn’t know. Professor Snape’s lips curled in displeasure.

“In this classroom, you are expected to have done at least the basics of preparation, mister Longbottom. Let’s try again. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?”

“In the potions cabinet,” snarked Blaise under his breath when the silence stretched out. “This is uncomfortable.”

The Potter heir nodded, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle who were full-on laughing at Neville’s embarrassment. A bushy-haired Gryffindor girl stretched her hand out, almost waving it to catch the professor’s attention.

“Fame clearly isn’t everything,” tutted Snape, ignoring her. “One last chance before I take points from Gryffindor. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“This is starting to feel like bullying,” Harry whispered.

Fortunately, Neville knew the answer to this one.

“They’re the same plant, sir. Also known as aconite.”

Professor Snape hummed.

“At least you aren’t completely hopeless. For your information, Longbottom, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. Well? Why aren’t you writing it down?”

***

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing. The class had gone more or less smoothly, though the professor looming above their cauldrons made everyone nervous. Snape seemed to be especially harsh on the Gryffindors, which made Harry uncomfortable. His own potion had turned out pretty well; though he should have watched the fire a bit more closely.

Neville had to be taken to the hospital wing again though, and the Potter heir was worried about him. Especially because Malfoy seemed determined to tell everyone about his failed potion. Harry snapped at him to shut up and they headed to their next class.

When the time came, Harry separated from Blaise and picked up Neville at the infirmary. They had a fun time at Hagrid’s, though Harry had difficulty hiding his fear of Fang, the groundskeeper’s dog. He relaxed a little when it became obvious that the massive canine was nothing like Marge’s terror. Neville seemed interested in the Gringotts breakout, having met the groundskeeper at the bank the day it occurred, and Hagrid’s shifty reaction to his question only made the situation more suspicious. From the gleam in his godbrother’s eye, Hagrid had probably deepened his interest in the mystery. Harry thought it was curious too once he was told the story; what could their headmaster have had in that vault that was worth breaking into Gringotts for?

The week ended uneventfully, with a boring detention cleaning cauldron for his stunt in flying lessons and a slightly more exciting first time helping Madam Pomphrey at the infirmary. He didn’t get to do much; she simply showed him around the inventory and asked him to fetch labelled potions for some students, but she also taught him a spell to measure people’s body temperature, which he practised on an older Ravenclaw student who seemed endeared by his attempts to check her for a fever.

The following weeks passed with more of the same as Blaise and he got more acquainted with the castle, and organised a study group with the students who didn’t feel much like following Malfoy around. The boy was getting more and more insufferable, loudly insulting Neville, muggleborns and poor people in turns, completely oblivious to the looks he was getting from other students. The argentum rex, William Robards, didn’t seem very willing to do anything about it, likely very aware of the political clout the boy’s family had. In fact, few people were in a position to say anything to the Malfoy heir. In their year, only Harry had a similar status —though it would have been very different if he hadn’t been taken in by House Fawley. Blaise was technically a prince, but as a foreigner that status didn’t matter since his family’s political influence was based in Italy.

“You and I are the only ones who can tell him to shut up, but we don’t have the influence to get him to listen,” said Blaise mournfully.

Because unlike Malfoy who had a father who could throw his weight around to cater to his son’s whims. Or so Malfoy said. Harry hoped he would never have to see the consequence of that. Harry’s parents weren’t in a position to do any of that. He probably wouldn’t ask them even if they were, but it would still have been a good counter against the petulant lordling. As it was, Malfoy was wary of Blaise’s mother and tended to leave him alone. Until Blaise received a letter from his mother in mid-October.

“I’m gonna have to leave school for a few days,” he said, sipping at his pumpkin juice while pouring over his correspondence. “My stepfather died.”

Harry was suddenly reminded of the rumours he’d heard about Blaise’s mother being a Black Widow. He wondered if he should ask. Those who were sitting next to them at the breakfast table abruptly fell silent.

“That means Corban Yaxley will become the Lord of his House,” commented Theodore Nott quietly.

Nobody found a response to that. Breakfast continued, albeit in a subdued manner. Harry took Blaise aside before their first lesson.

“How do you feel about it?”

Blaise threw him an amused look.

“You’ve heard it by now. Everyone talks about what my mother does.”

“Well, yes. But it’s not because everyone says things that it means they know what they’re talking about.”

The Italian smiled fondly.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to talk about it so I didn’t press,” Harry continued, hesitant.

“I don’t mind telling you. But you’ll have to promise not to tell.”

Something told him he wasn’t simply talking about a pinky promise. Harry nodded gravely.

“I promise.”

Blaise stayed quiet for a while, undoubtedly searching for the right words. Considering the fact that Harry was pretty sure Blaise was about to confess a crime, he understood the need for solemnity.

“When my uncle was crowned Principe, a noble faction plotted to have him dethroned,” he said as they walked to their Charms classroom. “For several years, they sent assassins, tried to destabilise our rule and to have our House trialed by the International Confederation of Wixen by pinning their own crimes on my uncle. The situation got rapidly untenable, so my mother seduced the leader of the faction, pretending she was on their side. She married him, and he died on their honeymoon. You can probably guess what happened. Her scheme was so successful she decided to do it again. Their main financial backer died two years after the faction leader, and the man who’d committed the crimes the ICW was charging my uncle for three years later. Shortly after that, my uncle’s faction was able to expose the traitors.”

Harry thought about what he would be capable of to protect his family. He couldn’t imagine himself in Mrs Zabini’s position at first, but then he thought about his parents, stuck into a hospital bed for the rest of their lives because of three death eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, but what if the other two had escaped before being arrested? He would have killed them too, surely.

As Harry pondered over it, Blaise’s gaze turned a little distant. He’d looked proud before, but now his expression was wry.

“But my mother married five times, so you can imagine that her reasons weren’t always righteous. I guess you could say she developed a taste for it. She finds despicable men who are too rich and influential to be convicted by normal justice and she just— does that. My uncle says she likes making her own justice. I think there are less kind ways of describing it. ” He paused. “I love her, but I hate going to a new House and having to make nice with the scum of the Earth just so that she could feel useful.” He shook his head. “So, to answer your question, I’m not particularly happy about it. I’m not sad about Yaxley, he was a pedophile, but I’m not pleased about it either.”

“Do you need help?”

Blaise blinked and looked at him sharply. They were in front of the charms classroom now, much earlier than their classmates.

“I— what?”

“It sounds like you love your mum, but someone who loves you can hurt you,” he said, thinking about how much his aunt and uncle enabled Dudley and how it would probably hurt his cousin too in the long run, “if you need to, we can find a way to do something about it. But if you want to handle it yourself, I’d say you should talk to your mum. And your uncle too.”

His friend’s expression softened.

“You’re my best friend, you know.”

“Er. You too.”

“I’ll be okay,” said the Italian, chuckling at Harry’s discomfort. “But thank you.”

For not judging me, he didn’t say. For offering me a way out. But Harry understood anyway.

***

“She killed one of ours,” was saying Malfoy to his court when they entered the common room that day. “The Lord of a British Noble House, dead because of her. Do you know that she’s rumoured to have creature blood? My father says that—”

Blaise stiffened.

“One more word, Malfoy, I dare you,” said Harry coolly.

“Or what?”

“I’m sure you can use your imagination. We sleep in the same room, go to the same classes, eat at the same table. I’ll have plenty of opportunities to do something about your big mouth.”

Harry knew he didn’t know as many spells as his Housemates, considering they’d had years of listening to their parents cast and incant, but to stop his friend from wearing this blank expression, he was willing to do a lot. Malfoy just didn’t have that kind of determination.

“I’m getting tired of your disrespect, Potter. You need to be taught to respect your betters and I’ll gladly do you the favour of teaching you. What do you say? A wizard’s duel. That means no contact, pauper lord. Wands only.”

“I’ll be his second then, since it’s my honour Harry’s defending,” drawled Blaise, who seemed to have shaken himself of his stupor. “Who’s yours?”

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

“Crabbe,” he said finally. “We’ll meet you in—"

“Somebody get the Argentum Rex,” someone yelled from the third-year area. “The firsties are fighting.”

The blond heir paled a little, and Harry’s eyes widened. The boy hadn’t planned to honour that duel at all, it seemed. Blaise smirked, having apparently come to the same conclusion. A tall boy with auburn hair and tired hazel eyes made his way to them, followed by three of his classmates. It was the first time Harry saw the Argentum rex from up close. He hadn’t made many decisions for the House yet, mainly focusing on defending his position. He’d simply ordered the prefects to guide the firsties to their first classes and left the lower years alone. It seemed he was struggling to hold onto his position because his House had lost their Wizengamot seat a few years ago due to the manoeuvring of some death eater sympathising family.

“Potter and Malfoy, of course, it would be you,” said one of the Rex’ lieutenants with an eye roll as they approached.

“I’d been told the first years were divided, I didn’t know it was to this point,” commented Robards, his hawk-like gaze sweeping through them.

Harry blinked. Sometime during the confrontation, Nott, Greengrass, and Davies had risen to stand behind them. He looked at them, a little confused, but Greengrass only stared at him like he was slow and Nott shrugged.

There were murmurs in the upper year circles, some criticising Robards for not noticing. The Argentum Rex grimaced.

“Right. I’ll authorise this duel. Name your grievances and I will name your terms.”

“Can’t we name our terms ourselves?” complained Malfoy. “I want Zabini shunned for the rest of the year.”

Harry and Blaise exchanged incredulous looks. He couldn’t be serious, thought the Potter heir. It seemed Robards thought the same because he sent him a sharp look.

“It was not a suggestion, Malfoy. Know your place, unless you want to challenge me for my crown.”

Malfoy lowered his eyes. Harry heard a few sniggers coming from the upper years.

“Now, let’s try again. Name your grievances, Malfoy.”

“Potter has been disrespecting me and my House since we met, and his alliance with the half-breed foreigner has only made him bolder.”

Robards seemed unimpressed. Harry wasn’t surprised, the teenager probably didn’t want to deal with the squabbles of pre-teens.

“It is well-known in Europe that the Zabini line is descended from cambions,” said Robards’ right hand softly, with a faint Spanish accent. “But calling a demon-blooded line half-breed to their face is notoriously a bad idea.”

“Well, Malfoy is not exactly known for his brilliance,” remarked Harry. “What has he done except antagonise people he shouldn’t since he got into Hogwarts?”

Everyone seemed to remember the Malfoy heir’s harassment of the Boy-Who-Lived who was a Lord of his own right and of similar status. Harry knew the blond was aware that the only reason he hadn’t suffered the consequences of his bullying was that Neville did not dare to tell his grandmother, scared she’d call him a coward.

“Is that your grievance, Potter?”

Harry looked at Blaise in askance, and the Italian prince nodded.

“It is.”

“Then the settled terms will be such: because your grievances are over spoken words, the loser will make a vow of silence for a month.”

Malfoy took a sharp intake of breath, and others followed suit. Such a vow had to be sworn with magic. Robards had to be really annoyed at them for making him deal with this.

“Do you accept it?” asked his lieutenant.

Harry didn’t have to think about it. He’d had to keep his mouth shut for longer than this at the Dursleys; it was a small price to pay over the possibility of a month without Malfoy’s harassment.

“I accept,” they said in concert.

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy was feeling nervous, though he knew he probably shouldn’t. His little challenge had backfired on him somewhat, but the situation wasn’t unsalvageable. He was up against a muggle-raised wizard, after all, and he doubted Potter had done enough duelling practice in the four months he’d joined the wizarding world to be a real threat to him, a properly raised scion of House Malfoy. No, Draco wasn’t likely to lose.

But he was wary still, as he made his way to Slytherin’s duelling room, which Robards revealed by tapping his wand against a seemingly innocuous book hidden among many others in the common room’s bookshelves. Potter had been threatening the supremacy he’d expected to lord over the other Slytherin first years. And more infuriatingly, he seemed completely unaware of his influence. It was maddening. He’d ensnared Nott and Greengrass, who while not as rich and influential as his family, were heirs of Noble Houses —Ancient too in Nott's case— and could have used that prestige to stay neutral. Greengrass he understood, her family had been disapproving of the Dark Lord and His followers even if they hadn’t fought in the war, but Nott had been raised alongside Draco and should have known to follow his lead. Come to think of it, Father had mentioned Lord Nott had also started pulling away from their circles a few years before. There was something up with that House.

Draco was taken out of his musings by Pansy, who was tugging on his sleeve.

“Are you sure about this, Draco? The Vow of Silence is…”

She bit her lip. He scoffed with a confidence he didn’t truly feel. Since it was a duel between two Ancient and Noble Houses, the whole of Slytherin was watching, no matter that they were first years.

“There is no chance I’ll lose against a half-blood raised like a commoner. Zabini had to teach him how to hold his wand,” he lied, “surely you don’t think he’s any threat to me?”

Pansy relaxed and simpered reassurances that she had never doubted him. He forced himself to do the same and chanced the look at his opponent, standing on the other side of the room. They wouldn’t enter the duelling circle until the Argentum rex announced they could, and he and his lieutenants were busy setting up wards. It was an adequate precaution, though Draco had to admit he didn’t know why they thought it was necessary for a duel of first-years. Potter was joking quietly with Zabini, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world. Draco frowned. Why was he so confident.

“Flint,” he called out.

The Quidditch captain walked over to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“Fawley is in your year, yes?” He didn’t wait for a confirmation, the boy’s scowl was enough. “Did she say anything about Potter?”

Flint wasn’t as stupid as he looked. He heard his silent question perfectly. And since their Houses were allied, he had no reason not to answer. Especially if helping Potter’s opponent meant discrediting the girl he hated so much. Draco himself didn’t have a high opinion of the Light witch and her little group, who looked like the strongest possible contenders for an Argentum rex court. He dreaded to think about what their House would look like under their banner.

“She said things, most of them not within my hearing,” admitted Flint. “What I’ll tell you is this: don’t underestimate Potter. He prioritised catching up on magical knowledge over etiquette, that’s why his manners are shite.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. He did notice that his rival didn’t seem to struggle in lessons that even gave trouble to the know-it-all mudblood and that Flitwick and Quirrel had praised his charm work, but he hadn’t particularly minded it. It might not mean anything after all. Before he could ask for more details, though, Robards raised his wand.

“Duellists, enter the circle.”

***

Harry took measured steps to reach the duelling circle and shallowly bowed to Malfoy when the Argentum rex asked them to. The blond prat’s expression tightened at the perceived slight, but Harry was already turning.

“Begin,” ordered Robards.

Harry didn’t lose a second and muttered the incantation for the knock-back jinx. He heard a grunt confirming that the spell hit. He didn’t get to witness it however since he had to dodge a spell a second later, which emitted a mustard yellow light he didn’t want to find out the effect of. Malfoy, to his credit, got back up quickly and fired another curse at his head. Harry hissed as he evaded too slowly. The blond was not joking around: he could feel his shoulder burning. He heard people gasp outside the circle, confirming that the curse was too violent for such a duel.

“Did he just try to burn me,” he muttered, disbelieving. “What is wrong with you?”

“Shut up, Potter! Flipendo!” When the spell missed again, he almost stomped his foot. “Will you just stay still?”

“Fumos,” cast Harry, and took two steps forward.

Malfoy hadn’t heard him moving, too busy trying to see through the smokescreen as he frantically muttered the counter to the spell. Harry sent out green sparks on the other side of the duelling circle. He rolled his eyes as the blond heir turned towards the light, exposing his back.

“Ferula,” Harry incanted.

Malfoy didn’t turn around fast enough, and a stripe of bandages wrapped around the boy’s wrists. He let out a hiss and tried to dislodge them with no success. Madam Pomphrey would be unhappy to know he was using healing spells for this, thought Harry, but she’d probably forgive him if she knew his opponent aimed at his face with a fire spell. He made the motion for the cooling charm the mediwitch had shown him, and applied a swift downward stroke at the end of it, multiplying its effects. After a few seconds, Malfoy’s teeth started chattering. He had to thank Ulrich for his advice; reading about wand movements really was a good idea.

“Do you yield?” asked the Potter heir, pointing his wand at the boy’s throat.

Malfoy stayed silent for a while, attempting again to free himself. But his trembling fingers only fumbled with the conjured bandages, and the boy dropped his wand in the process. Harry heard someone snickering.

“I yield,” said the blond mulishly.

Harry cast the warming counter to his charm and silently cut through the bandages. They reluctantly bowed to each other again, then Malfoy picked up his wand. The petulant boy shoulder-checked him as he stepped outside of the circle. Harry shrugged, unbothered and joined Blaise on the side, who clapped his shoulder.

“That was pretty cool,” his best friend whispered with a smirk, and Harry rolled his eyes at the pun.

He straightened his glasses, which had fallen crooked down his nose while he was busy dodging. He and Malfoy watched the Argentum rex intently, awaiting his pronouncement.

“The victor is Harry Potter,” announced Robards, sounding bored. “Malfoy, your vow. Phrase it to say you will keep silent among your peers, and speak only when a professor tells you to or if you’re in mortal danger. I’d rather not have Dumbledore storming in our common room, and I’d like it even less if you ended up dying because you couldn’t scream to your daddy for help. Swear on your name or your magic, I don’t care.” He paused. “No, you know what, swear on your voice. If you break your vow, you’ll lose the use of the tongue you love wagging so much.”

Malfoy sent him a poisonous look.

“Come on, we don’t have all night.”

“I, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, vow to stay my tongue among my peers for thirty days and a night, and to speak only when spoken to by the professors of Hogwarts or to protect my life. I swear on my own voice I will keep to my word, and were I to break it, I vow to forfeit my right to speak.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Malfoy took the vow pretty seriously. Everyone stayed silent as they felt the magic seal his spoken words. When it was done, Malfoy touched his throat with his eyes closed, looking dismayed. He stormed out soon after, followed by his clique. Everyone waited for the rex to dismiss them. Thankfully, Robards didn’t have the will to drag it out.

“Well, thanks for the lost time kids,” concluded the Argentum rex before turning to his lieutenants. “Let’s go,” he said.

After they left, the rest of Slytherin house dispersed, save for Harry’s half of the first years, Gemma, and her friends.

“At least you were wearing your cloak,” his cousin sighed as she checked him over. “You did well kid, though you’re going to need some soothing balm for your shoulder,” she added with a frown.

“Mhm, it’s only a first-degree burn,” said Aspen, “it could have been way worse. Malfoy’s a crazy kid, that’s for sure.”

“It’s the Black blood,” commented Safaa.

“Your reflexes aren’t just good for quidditch,” said Terence, sounding a little impressed. “You’re a crazy kid too, though. What was up with those healing spells?”

Harry could feel himself blushing under their attention. He heard Blaise snickering next to him, enjoying his embarrassment. Nott, Greengrass, and Davies also looked amused.

“Harry knows more about healing than jinxes, and he’s resourceful enough to repurpose that knowledge”, said Blaise, sounding like a proud parent.

“You’re being taught by Madam Pomphrey?” asked Safaa, raising her eyebrows. “She never takes students so young.”

“Potter probably made the puppy eyes at her and she caved,” said Davies with a smirk.

“What puppy face?”

“Your eyes are just really big and bright, cousin. So when you ask for something but expect people to say no, you make this sad face that’s really hard to resist.”

Everyone nodded solemnly before cracking up. Harry let out an exasperated sigh, and pointedly did not pout at that.

“You should call me Harry, by the way,” he said to the other first years after they all calmed down.

“Then call me Daphne,” said the blond girl with a smile. She always looked calm and collected, it was nice to see her a bit more open.

“And me Tracey. I’ve been wondering when we’d stop being so formal for ages now, but it kept slipping my mind.”

Nott hesitated before sighing.

“I suppose you can call me Theo then. Not Theodore, please.”

“Does that mean we can have one firstie each?” asked Adrian, who’d been suspiciously quiet so far. “I want a little duckling like you Gemma!”

“Don’t you have a little sister?”

“She’s four, it’s not the same. Anyway, dibs on Davies! We, commoners, have to stick together.”

“I’ll take Zabini,” exclaimed Safaa.

“You’re all insufferable,” groaned Aspen. “I guess I’ll take Nott, he seems like a normal kid. I need a little sanity to balance out your crazies.”

“Don’t we get a say in this?” asked Daphne.

“No.”

All the fifth years turned to Terence.

“Fine. Greengrass?”

“... Sure.”

Harry’s lips twitched. The fifth years were fun.

***

Neville came to thank Harry for getting Malfoy to stop harassing him, so Harry had to tell him about the duel and the Vow of Silence —though he didn’t talk about the specifics of it, like the supervision of the Argentum Rex, which was a Slytherin house matter. Neville seemed weirdly impressed by it, and his friend Ron thought it was so hilarious he forgot to hate Harry and Blaise for being Slytherins. In exchange, the two Gryffindors told them about how Neville had forgotten his potions textbook at the library and they’d broken curfew to retrieve it. They’d somehow ended up on the third floor because of the moving staircases and came face to face with a three-headed dog. Blaise seemed fascinated by the idea of a Cerberus being there, as they were well-known for being used as guardians. Harry was curious too, and he and Neville exchanged a look, remembering their conversation with Hagrid.

They spent an afternoon together, where Blaise and Ron played the longest game of chess Harry had ever seen. Ron won in the end, but they promised to do it again.

Days passed, and Neville grew increasingly subdued as the date of his parents’ death approached. Harry offered him silent support and took him to the greenhouse the day before. He sympathised after all; fully aware that his parents had been tortured on November 1st. They had each other at least, and the added comfort provided by Blaise’s presence and Ron’s bad jokes went a long way to make period better.

On the afternoon of Samhain, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Bulstrode’s kitten zoom around the classroom when she’d tried to bring it to class. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practise.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practising!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

Harry got it on the third try, and Blaise on the fourth when he figured out how to adjust the incantation to his accent —a stronger swish and a lower flick did the trick. It was time for dinner right after. And Harry tried to ignore the gloomy undertones of the day to enjoy the feast. He wasn’t disappointed by the efforts put into the events, though he wondered why the celebration was so muggle when most wixen worshipped pagan gods. Safaa was of the Zoroastrian faith, Blaise’s family honoured Roman gods, Theo’s the North gods. Aspen, Gemma, Adrian and Daphne worshipped celtic deities, Terence’s family was agnostic and Tracey was Jewish. But of all of them, none of their families celebrated Halloween. Harry asked professor Snape who told him his own mother’s family was protestant, and Roman had already told him the Potters revered Thanatos and Hecate, the Greek gods of death and magic. Maybe that was why, thought Harry, the Muggle holiday was a more neutral ground for such an eclectic population.

The spectacle on the Great Hall was almost enough to make Harry forget the day that would follow, though a glance a the Gryffindor table showed him that it had certainly helped lift his godbrother’s spirits. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet. Harry was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.

Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore’s wand to bring silence.

“Prefects,” he rumbled, “lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Ravenclaw and Gryffindor moved at once, but the other two houses waited, all too aware that their dormitories were in the aforementioned dungeons. In the end, it was decided that Hufflepuff would be led back by professor Sprout and the Care of Magical Creatures professor while professors Sinistra, Babbling and Vector would take care of Slytherin. They made their way back to the dungeons in tense silence, and waited inside their common room. Professor Snape came after an hour with a noticeable limp, and told them the troll had been dealt with.

The next day, Harry was momentarily distracted from his moping by rumours saying Neville himself had slayed the troll. He thought that was ridiculous, but he got the story from the Longbottom lord after he was properly introduced to Hermione Granger, whom he’d only known as the overeager bookworm who loved waving her hand into the teachers’ faces. Blaise wasn’t very impressed by her, but thawed after she asked him a series of questions about the differences between Italian and British spellcasting. She particularly wanted to know about the Virgilio Nero school of witchcraft and wizardry, from which Blaise’s mother had graduated. Harry thought she wasn’t too bad. There hadn’t been any troll-slaying on the three Gryffindors’ part of course, but they’d still managed to knock it out, which was almost as impressive.

He still spent the day in a horrible mood, and ended up spending his free hours in the infirmary with Madam Pomphrey, begging her to distract him with healing magic tutoring. Since it was a low day, she obliged him with an indulgent smile.

***

Two weeks before the beginning of the quidditch season, Harry received a stamped parcel through the post and thanked the gods that Malfoy was still held under his Vow of Silence. When he’d written Ulrich, he hadn’t expected the man to just go and buy him a Nimbus 2000 like that. He wasn’t complaining, of course. He’d made do with the school brooms so far, but it wasn’t ideal. Harry swiftly took off the brand stamp to conceal it, but the other first years had already seen it. Malfoy looked apoplectic, and his mother’s French chocolates did nothing to soothe him, despite Perks’ best attempt at comforting him.

“You—” screeched Parkinson, before she was silenced by Flint, who’d come over with Adrian when they’d noticed the delivery.

“Shut it, Parkinson. I don’t like him any more than you do but you’re not ruining our advantage just because of that. Did you get it, Potter? We’re going to practice this afternoon.”

“I’ll take it for you if you don’t mind, Harry,” said Adrian. “Before anyone sees it.”

Harry nodded.

“Ulrich said it could be shrunk in his letter. It will be less conspicuous.”

“Smart kid.”

What followed was two weeks of intense practice. Flint was a slavedriver, and his rivalry with the Gryffindor captain was just as fierce -if not more- as his enmity with Gemma. Harry barely had time to go see Madam Pomphrey and had to cancel a few visits to Hagrid because of impromptu sessions. Thankfully, his grades didn’t drop though he was so tired he’d started nodding off in History of Magic. Usually, his outrage kept him awake. The portraits of his Potter ancestors had been very unimpressed by professor Binns’ depiction of the goblin nation, especially Roman, who was one of the ghost’s predecessors.

Since Harry was so tired now, he decided to spare himself the anger and either slept through the lessons or taught himself the northern goblin language -which was spoken by the goblin nations in the Isles, Iceland, Germany and Scandinavia- when he was awake enough. His actual History lessons happened during he and his friends’ study group, under a more competent if equally dead teacher.

Finally, the first Quidditch match of the season arrived. Harry wasn’t looking forward to it as much as he should since the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school had become icy grey and the lake like chilled steel. He could see his breath at each exhalation, and his fingers would have frozen on his broom if not for Adrian’s warming charm. The Potter heir was also very nervous, though he tried not to show it. Blaise had to force him to eat more than a slice of toast in the morning.

In the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team was changing into their green Quidditch robes. Flint made a speech after that, but Harry had to admit he wasn’t listening. He followed the team out of the locker room on autopilot and, hoping his knees weren’t going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers. Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, once they were all gathered around her.

Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to them. He wondered if he should be offended. His captain certainly wasn't. Harry thought nonsensically that Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fluttering banner high above, flashing Potter for President over the crowd. His heart skipped. He felt braver, which had probably been Tracey's goal. He'd have to thank her and Daphne, since the latter was probably the one who'd drawn it. “Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

He tried to tune out Lee Jordan’s commentary, which — while funny — was extremely biased and made all the more distracting for it. He focused on finding the snitch and keeping an eye on the bludgers, all too aware that the beaters weren’t willing to protect him. He kept out of the way, trying to avoid being targeted before there was any reason to.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Harry saw it. In a great rush of excitement he dived downward after the streak of gold. Gryffindor Seeker Cormac McLaggen had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was lighter and therefore faster than McLaggen — he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead — he put on an extra spurt of speed — and was about to close his fingers around the snitch when the sound of a familiar scream distracted him. He almost let the ball fly away but caught it just in time. Jordan announced the end of the match, but Harry wasn’t listening. He dove toward the stands, where a rogue bludger was attempting to murder his godbrother and shoulder-checked it away. He grimaced. He would definitely need some bruise paste. Neville and Harry locked eyes, breathing a sigh of relief when the bludger changed directions like nothing happened.

“A victory for Slytherin, and another for Longbottom who survived a possibly fatal encounter with a mad bludger!” screamed Jordan. “How did it get past the barrier anyway? I thought there were wards to avoid such a thing!”

Chapter Text

Theodore Nott was observant. It came with being the quietest in a room, probably, or maybe he’d gotten it from his father, who was also the type to sit back and watch.

“We Notts have mastered the art to let the silence speak,” always said Bertram Nott, Theo’s father.

So, of course, when his father stopped telling him about the glory of the Dark Lord, he noticed. He had been seven at the time, and his father had withdrawn for a week into his study. At the end of it, he had sat down with Theo at the breakfast table, looking calm and collected, his robes pristine and not a hair out of place. Despite that, his eyes held the kind of sorrow he only showed when thinking about Theo’s mother, Eleanor Belrose, of l'Ancienne et Noble Maison Belrose. He’d ruffled Theo’s hair when his son had asked him what was wrong, and told him they would take a trip to reconnect with their roots. That year, Theo met the Nott clan of Denmark, with whom his grandfather Cantankerous Nott had cut contact with over a political disagreement. He’d learnt many things then, one of which that blood purity wasn’t the big deal Draco made it out to be. His father had never been quieter, but when they came back to their manor in the Moors, he’d looked better, unburdened. They’d stopped meeting with the other Dark Lord followers. Theo couldn’t say he missed them.

Theo hadn’t dared ask what happened during that week until his eleventh birthday, the twelfth of december 1990. His father had closed his eyes, like he’d dreaded this question for a long time. He started by telling him a story of his youth. He told Theo how shy and scared of his own father he was. How he convinced the Sorting Hat to put him in Slytherin to please his father even if he knew he was better suited for Ravenclaw. He told him about meeting Tom Riddle.

“You must not repeat that name to anyone, Theodore,” he’d said urgently. “Never.”

He told him about observing this boy everyone thought to be a no-name muggleborn. How brilliant he was at magic. Catching him practising Dark Arts in their empty dorms. He told him about the attacks, and the heir of Slytherin. The death of Myrtle Warren. He told him about how Riddle revealed himself in the Slytherin common room, and became their argentum rex, with Bertram as his lieutenant. He told him about the man’s charisma, how he commanded a crowd.

“We all forgot he was a half-blood. He galvanised us, speaking about retaking the magical world, reigning over muggles and creatures. He knighted us after graduation, created a circle called the Knights of Walpurgis. And then he disappeared without a trace.” He paused, took off his glasses and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “He came back years later, under another name, and had us kiss at his feet. And we did. We did,” he repeated, sounding disbelieving. “Then he disappeared again, thanks this time to Neville Longbottom, a child with —as far as we’re aware— no remarkable power. And I would have probably awaited his most likely return. I had been waiting, until a few years ago.”

And he told Theo another story. He told his son about meeting his mother on a trip to France all those years ago. He talked about courting her and marrying her. He was then forty-five and had never met a woman like her. She was in her thirties and she loved him all the same. They were happy. Eleanor disapproved of his devotion to the Dark Lord, but she hadn’t met him, he had reasoned, it was only natural she didn’t get it. Then the war started, and the Dark Lord started calling them Death Eaters instead of Knights, after the nicknames they were given in a newspaper. He started to ask them to do more and more despicable things, and they obliged, believing in his greater cause.

Theo was smart for his age, and he understood what his father wasn’t saying. He didn’t like where this story was going.

“You had just been born when your mother finally met the Dark Lord. It was at a gala, and the Lestrange girl had brought muggles for…,” he grimaced, “entertainment. It was distasteful, really, but the Dark Lord was pleased. Your mother wasn’t. She threw up at the sight and begged me not to come back to him. I listened to her and locked the manor’s wards. For two months, we stayed there, and I ignored the pain of my Mark burning,” he explained, touching absently at his left arm. “But your mother received a letter from your aunt in France. She wanted to see her. So she took an international portkey at the Ministry."

“She never came back.”

His father had nodded, his expression pained.

“Abraxas —Malfoy, one of the first Knights the Dark Lord branded— told me it was an Auror, who’d mistaken her for a Death Eater. And I believed him. I joined the war again. And I was caught. I had you to raise, so I lied and bribed to get out of it. For seven years I tried to find the Auror who killed your mother, with no success.”

“Until that week.”

“The Auror had the Mark. I interrogated him, and he told me he hadn’t killed her. He brought her to the Dark Lord instead, who did to her what the Lestranges did to the Potters. She died from shock. The Dark Lord killed your mother, Theo, and it was because I foolishly thought he was a great man. Søn, min elskede søn,” he’d said gravely, cradling Theo’s face in his hands with an anguished gleam to is eyes. “The Notts are a clan of shadows, we are not meant for the light. But we must follow the sun, not engulf ourselves more in the Dark. Your mother was my sun, Theo. You must find yours.”

And Theo swore to his father he wouldn’t repeat his mistake. But the Notts had only ever interacted with Dark factions since the eighteenth century, and they were not welcome in other circles. He had to find a way out.

Theodore Nott was observant, but more importantly he liked to observe. So that was what he did when he arrived in Slytherin. He saw the Potter heir befriend both Zabini and Longbottom, and something inside him sat up to take notice. He stood aside anyway, close enough to indicate his interest but without directly interacting. Zabini saw it. Potter remained oblivious, but trusted his best friend to have his best interests at heart. He let Theo, Greengrass and Davies sit at his side but not at his back, and didn’t stop them from watching him. Theo wasn’t committed yet, but he saw things that made him want to be.

Skill, intelligence and determination to always better himself during their classes. Raw magical power, resourcefulness and respect during his duel with Malfoy. But most importantly, he saw kindness and loyalty when he stood up for Zabini and put himself in front of a bludger for Longbottom.

Theo liked Harry Potter. He didn’t know much about him yet, but he thought the boy would help balance out his shadows until he found his sun. The boy was bright enough for it. It was even clearer at the aftermath of the Quidditch game, where everyone sized him up in a new light. The lower year students were finding themselves more and more interested in the Potter heir, and even the upper years were taking notice of him, though they were wary because they couldn’t quite categorise him. He’d just won them the match then risked himself for a Gryffindor. He was a different kind of influential Slytherin from Flint, obsessed with winning and not much else, or Robards, who held onto his title out of pride and not a genuine desire to rule, or the self-serving Agatha Langley, and the cruel Avery siblings. He was similar to his cousin and her friends perhaps, but their friendship was the possessive kind, built over years, and they’d never reached out to anyone outside of Slytherin. Harry barely knew Longbottom and yet he’d been ready to get hurt on his behalf.

It was fascinating to Theo, who only had his father to take this kind of risk for him.

“Harry,” he said a few days after the quidditch match.

“Mm?”

The Potter heir closed his book —on warding theory this time, was the boy trying to find out why the barriers had failed at the quidditch match?— and looked at him with an unsettlingly intense focus. Blaise, who was playing chess with Tracey while Daphne painted her nails, paused to glance at him. He'd only been back from his stepfather's funeral for a few hours and had been acting so restless Tracey had roped him in for a game at Harry's suggestion. It helped settle him apparently.

“Longbottom is your friend, isn’t he? I know he’s your godbrother too, but that kind of thing only matters if you make it matter.”

Harry nodded, looking a bit confused. His expression was sharp, though, assessing.

“He is.”

“Professor Quirrell was pointing his wand at him. During the match, that is. Professor Snape too, but his wand movements were counter-clockwise so it’s likely he was trying to reverse whatever Quirrell did.”

The wizard’s green eyes flashed poisonous green, a sign that his magic was in turmoil. It was the only manifestation of his anger, but it was enough to give Theo goosebumps.

“Thanks for telling me, Theo.” He paused. “And you know you’re my friend too, right?”

Theo nodded with a conviction he didn’t feel a minute ago, and the warm grin he got in return —only a little sharp because of the darkened expression he had borne a moment before— made it all worth it.

***

Harry told Neville what Theo had told him about professor Quirrell, but it seemed his godbrother suspected the potions teacher instead, having seen him lurking close to the third floor corridor. Harry didn’t think it was him, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt and kept his distance from both professors. He focused on his studies instead, and his deepening friendships with the other Slytherins. Theo was quiet but thoughtful, while Daphne and Tracey were more talkative, switching between sweet tones and snark, but always extremely genuine when giving compliments. Harry wasn’t used to compliments, so naturally the girls delighted in embarrassing him by giving him a lot of them.

Malfoy unfortunately regained his voice, but Harry had made an art of tuning him out. Plus, the rest of their House wasn’t willing to have him try to bully their star seeker. He thus resorted to taunting Neville again, much to Harry’s exasperation.

Soon came the winter holidays, and Harry boarded the train to see Ulrich again for the first time since summer. Gemma’s parents were held up at work, so she would be spending the beginning of the holidays with them. They took the Knight Bus together, unwilling to force the old man to meet them at the station, and Harry tackled Ulrich into a hug upon arrival.

“Oof! Hello there, lad,” he said with the same gentle voice Harry remembered. “You grew a few inches or is it me who shrank?”

Harry chuckled under the man’s chin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled. “Letters are not the same.”

“Me too, lad, me too. How about you let Gemma come in instead of having her wait behind you with all the luggage?”

The Potter heir smiled sheepishly and helped his cousin set herself up in the guest room. They ate a nice dinner in a nearby coastal village’s restaurant, for which Harry had to give them a crash course in muggle fashion. They’d still looked a bit odd, but not completely foreign. The locals knew Ulrich as the eccentric living in the fancy cottage by the sea, and there had been quite a lot of gossip when he and Harry had gone grocery shopping in the summer. The waiter inquired about his boarding school in Scotland, and Harry demonstrated himself a much better liar than he was before getting Sorted into Slytherin.

“It’s a good life skill,” had said Ulrich. “We wixen need to do quite a bit of lying in our lives, it’s better to get in practise early. If you marry a muggle, you’ll have to lie to them until your wedding night.”

Harry protested that he was too young to think about such things and Gemma didn’t plan to marry anyone but Terence, so it was a moot point. Gemma blushed.

“Ah, Terence, yes Landon told me about it. Edward likes him, doesn’t he?”

“Father’s just relieved I found someone sensible who won’t contest my Ladyship. Mother thinks I should have just chosen someone of higher status, but I don’t really care about that.”

“He’s a half-blood, yes?”

“Sort of. His father is a Shacklebolt squib, and his mother a muggle. That makes him a half-blood by law, but most purebloods don’t see it like that. His dad took his wife’s last name, but he’s in good terms with his wizarding family. They offered tutoring for Terence when he showed signs of accidental magic.”

“And what does he want to do?”

“At the moment? Exorcise professor Binns and take his place,” she joked. “He doesn’t have any specific plans but he’s brilliant so I’ve no doubt he can do anything he puts his mind to.”

The discussion stirred towards the History of Magic professor’s abysmal teaching and Harry promised his cousin he would let Terence speak to Roman Potter when they were back at Hogwarts. They went back to the cottage after a pleasant meal, and wished each other goodnight. The following days were spent doing homework, flying under Ulrich’s wards, playing games and quietly reading. Gemma’s parents picked her up a day before the winter solstice and handed them a written invitation to a ball which would be held at New Year’s Eve. Harry and Ulrich celebrated Yule alone, and the boy presented his guardian with a carefully wrapped package.

Ulrich unwrapped it to find an enchanted snowball, charmed to show snow falling over their cottage.

“That’s quite an impressive bit of magic,” said his guardian, his eyes shining with pleasure.

“Professor Flitwick helped,” explained Harry quietly.

The man was as weirdly nice to Harry as anyone with goblin blood, and even more so because he knew his mother who had been quite a dab hand at charms apparently. He’d had tea in his office once, and mentioned searching for a suitable gift for his almost grandfather. With the charms professor’s magical expertise, Harry’s description and magic, and Daphne’s drawings —she was really good at depicting landscapes— , they’d been able to make something quite nice.

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Erm, you’re welcome.”

Ulrich gifted him with wand polish and a leather holster, a nice jumper and some fiction books. He received a nice bracelet from Gemma and her parents, a chess set from great-cousin Landon, an assortment of Iranian sweets from Safaa, a book about duelling from Terence, Quidditch Through the Ages from Adrian, and some invisible ink from Aspen. Theo, Daphne and Tracey sent him cards and chocolates, and Blaise sent him a two-way notebook so they could communicate. Neville sent him a remembrall, which made him chuckle. From Hagrid he received a hand-carved flute. He was relieved he’d sent appropriate gifts to everyone. There was one package left however, from someone he didn’t know.

“Do you know a Remus Lupin, Ulrich?”

The man shook his head, just as intrigued as he was

“This must be precious, though. The package has some impressive wards on it.”

Harry unwrapped it carefully, and gasped. There were three things in the parcel. One was a sealed letter written with a loopy handwriting, another was a book titled “The Marauders” and the last was a cloak he would recognise anywhere despite having never seen it.

“My family’s cloak,” he breathed out, holding it reverently.

He put it on, and delighted in the sharp breath Ulrich took when he saw him disappear. He ran off to find a mirror and admire the Peverell relic in action.

“So cool,” he murmured before taking it off.

He came back and unsealed the letter with impatient hands. He read it silently.

“This says Mr. Lupin was one of my father’s best friends in school. He added a photo album of his Hogwarts days and some stories about what they did at Hogwarts, and how my parents started dating. He’s not in the country so he couldn’t meet me in person. He says he got the cloak from headmaster Dumbledore after… that night. He’d borrowed it from my dad and he wanted it in safe hands until I was old enough to get it.”

Harry frowned a little.

“It sounds like Mr. Lupin wanted to take me in but couldn’t because of an illness. I hope he’s okay.” He paused. “I should write everyone back.”

“You should. But you can do that tomorrow lad, it’s getting late.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

“Right.”

The Potter heir spent the next few days corresponding with his friends and reading with Ulrich next to the fire. They made a stop to shop for formal robes at Diagon Alley and Harry got to practise his northern goblin speech with Darkclaw and Griphook. The teller delighted in telling him his accent was atrocious and gave him a few pointers. Harry promised to try practicing with Professor Flitwick. On New Year’s Eve, he and Ulrich dressed smartly to go to the ball in Fawley manor.

“They won’t expect me to dance, will they?”

“Not until you’re fourteen, lad. We’ll have to hire you a tutor next summer though.”

Harry nodded, relieved to at least be spared for a few years. He spent a part of the evening with Gemma and her friends before wandering off to say hello to his year mates. He met Daphne briefly, who wasn’t willing to part with her —adorable— little sister then greeted Neville who was looking a little intimidated by the circle made around him. There were Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abott and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, Su-a Li and the Patil sisters from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Harry found he quite liked Bones, Li and the Ravenclaw Patil, but the others were either too childish or pompous for his taste. He rejoined his cousin and her friends at the main table when it was time for dinner, and had to suffer through the embarrassment of kissing Safaa on the cheek when the New Year started. The girl laughed so hard at his face she turned as pink as her headwrap and dress —which was saying something considering she had light brown skin. They went home soon after that, and Ulrich wouldn’t stop teasing him.

The holidays ended. Harry said goodbye to Ulrich and climbed back on the Hogwarts express. He shared a compartment with Blaise, Theo, Daphne and Tracey, and they played card games while telling each other about their winter break. The first night, Harry couldn’t sleep. He took the cloak out of his trunk and went out of the common room for a walk. He wandered down the corridors, evaded Filch and his cat, until he found himself attracted to a room left ajar in an empty corridor.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Harry took off his cloak on impulse. He moved nearer to inspect the mirror and stepped in front of it. As soon as he did, he whirled around. His heart was pounding — for he had seen not only himself in the mirror but two people standing right behind him, whom he recognised all too well.

But the room was empty. Frowning, he turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was, reflected in it, with his messy hair and his bed-clothes, eyes wide and hands shaking, and there, reflected behind him, were his parents. His mother, looking whole and healthy, a fond smile on her face. His father, grinning at him with an air of mischief. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him.

“Of course they aren’t here,” he mumbled, “it’s an enchanted mirror.”

Slowly, Harry looked into the faces of his parents in the mirror, who smiled and waved at Harry. They made moving as if to embrace him, and only chuckled when they couldn’t. He stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, “I’ll come back,” and hurried from the room.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire,” he whispered when he was finally back in his bed. “I’ll make it real, mum and dad. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Harry didn’t get the opportunity to tell Blaise until their next Herbology lesson, so he told Neville about it at the same time. They were sitting on adjoint worktables, and Ron had his attention elsewhere, more preoccupied with bickering with Granger. He’d told them about using the cloak — which had required a little bit of explanation, since he’d forgotten to tell them about it — and wandering down the corridors, finding that hidden room and the mirror inside. His best friend had frowned as he’d heard.

“The mirror led you to the room, then?”

“Er, yes. I know,” he acknowledged as Blaise’s judgemental look. “It’s a powerful artefact, and it has the potential to be addictive. I know it’s dangerous. But.”

He’d stopped in his tracks, searching for words.

“But you want to go back anyway,” murmured Neville, his hands gripping his potted plant. “I get that. Would you— would you take me with you?”

Blaise had sighed then, and muttered something in Italian.

“I’ll guess I’ll be going too then, to make sure you don’t get trapped in the enchanted mirror you just acknowledged to be dangerous.”

So they’d planned it, despite Blaise’s reluctance. After curfew, Harry and Blaise had covered themselves in the cloak and met Neville in front of the Great Hall. They’d hidden him under as well and made their way to where Harry remembered the room being. Thankfully, it was still there.

“Circe,” murmured Blaise. “I can feel it trying to make me look.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply to collect himself. Harry had none of his self-control. He took off the cloak off their shoulders and sat down in front of the mirror. His parents beamed at the sight of him.

“I don’t see anything but you,” said Neville.

“Maybe it only works for one person at a time. Here.”

Harry stepped aside to let Neville look. His godbrother gasped and put a hand on the glass, trying to grasp at people who weren’t there.

“They look so happy,” he whispered, his voice cracking at the last word. “Gran too. I’ve never seen her smile that.”

Harry tore his eyes away from the mirror’s frame to escape the temptation to ask Neville if he could have a turn again. His gaze landed on his best friend, who was looking troubled.

“Harry,” he said gravely. “I know— I know you want to see your parents healthy, I can’t even imagine how important this must be for you but. I don’t like that expression you made when looking at the mirror.”

“What do you mean?”

“You looked like you wanted to merge with it. There’s something really wrong with this thing, and you’ve already seen its reflection twice, you’ll be more vulnerable to it if you look at it another time. Promise me you won’t come back.”

He wanted to protest, but there was real worry in his best friend’s eyes. He glanced at Neville, who seemed completely transfixed by the reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to,” he admitted.

“Then allow me to stop you if you do try.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay. But let’s let Neville have a moment with it, yeah? He needs it.”

“Alright.”

The Potter heir looked into Blaise’s golden eyes and, not for the first time, marvelled at having made such a good friend.

“You don’t want to see it? Your heart’s desire.”

“No. I don’t know what it’ll be, but I have a feeling I’m not gonna like it. Besides, my occlumency is adequate but it’s not enough to withstand such powerful magic. If I want to be able to stop you from going again tomorrow, I can’t have the temptation to go as well.”

Blaise had tried to explain how occlumency training worked, but it had gone right over his head. It was mandatory for the Zabini heirs, no matter how far removed they were from the succession. More than that, Blaise really liked it. He’d promised to teach him later on, but Harry’s magic was still a little too volatile yet. He still overpowered spells in Charms and Transfiguration. They would do it when he had better control.

Harry would have liked to let Neville have a moment longer, but a sound pushed him to unfold his cloak again. Sure enough, Mrs Norris was lurking outside the room. They made a hasty escape and dropped Neville off at the Great Hall.

The next day, they talked to Ron privately to tell him to keep Neville away from the mirror. He’d nodded readily enough, but the bags under Neville’s eyes when they met him for another joint Herbology class two days later showed that he hadn’t listened to them. Neville admitted he had convinced Ron to go with him.

“It’s fine,” he insisted. “I just. I need to see them. It’s— it’s different from pictures. It’s only for a little while. I’ll stop after a few days. But it’s the only occasion I’ll ever have to see them standing next to me, I don’t want to give it up yet.”

“I know. I get it, Neville, I do, but Blaise is right—”

“You don’t understand! Your parents are alive, Harry. They’re not, all there but you can go visit them and hold their hand and—” he passed trembling fingers through his hair and lowered his voice, unwilling to attract professor Sprout’s attention. “You don’t get it. The only way I could ever visit them was by standing over their graves. And now I have this chance, I’m not gonna pass it up.”

“You think I don’t get it? My aunt told me my parents died in a car crash. She refused to tell me their names or what they looked like. And now I can visit them, sure, but they’re not aware. Seeing them standing beside me, whole and healthy, was everything I’d ever dreamt of. Blaise had to restrain me the past two nights so I wouldn’t go again. I told him he could because this mirror is dangerous, Nev.”

“Students, pay attention, this part is a little tricky,” said the Herbology professor.

They turned away from each other and focused on their work. When Harry glanced at his godbrother again, his jaw was clenched and he was pointedly not looking his way. The Potter heir sighed. He wouldn’t manage to convince him, it seemed.

The next day, Neville marched up to the Slytherin table.

“Did you tell Dumbledore I was going to the Mirror?” he hissed.

“No, why, what happened?”

“He told me he’d move it away,” said Neville miserably, though the furrow of his brows seemed to indicate he didn’t quite believe Harry yet. “It does not do to dwell on dreams, he said, and some other nonsense about stronger wixen than me wasting away. Awfully convenient, isn’t it?” he snapped.

“I didn’t, Nev, I swear.”

Neville’s eyes strayed towards Blaise, who raised his hands up in the air.

“I didn’t either.”

The blond pressed his lips together as he stared at them, seemingly evaluating their sincerity. Harry bristled, but Neville just sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Okay. Sorry for accusing you like that. I’m not happy about it but it’s probably for the best. It was getting hard to think about anything else. Thanks for worrying about me.”

“Anytime, Nev.”

***

Neville had been restless since the mirror had been moved. It had been days already, but he missed its presence fiercely. Ron was feeling bad about it all, especially because he had disregarded Harry and Zabini’s warning and Neville had almost lost himself under the power of the enchanted object. Hermione, on the other hand, was only appalled at his rule-breaking and obsessing over the mystery of Nicolas Flamel’s identity, which Hagrid had let slip was related to whatever was hidden in the third-floor corridor when they’d visited him on a Saturday morning. They’d gone then and not on Friday like usual because Neville was avoiding Harry since the mirror debacle.

He was pretty sure the Slytherin hadn’t spoken to Dumbledore about it as he’d originally suspected, but his mind still associated the two events and he wanted to sort out his unfounded resentment before spending time with the Potter heir again. Harry had noticed though, and Zabini kept sending him filthy looks every time they crossed paths because of it.

So Neville was restless. This meant that when Malfoy started with his usual taunts and drew his wand at him to throw a leg-locker curse, crowing he’d been looking for someone to practise on, Neville snapped and punched the platinum blond prat in the face.

Malfoy had looked all shocked at first, before he’d left with his two goons, clutching at his bloody nose and exclaiming nasally that “you’ll pay for that, Longbottom.”

Neville looked at his hand, quietly horrified, and didn’t look up until Ron deposited a chocolate frog in it.

“He deserved it, mate,” said his friend with a glint in his eye. “He’s been harassing you for months now.”

“Exactly, Neville,” added Hermione, who was still looking a little shocked, “don’t worry about it.”

Neville’s lips twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog. He took a bite and looked at the card.

“Dumbledore,” he read out. “Wait! I know who Nicolas Flamel is.”

***

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn’t believe it. He’d done it — the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes.

“Congratulations, Potter,” said Snape with a nod.

“Thanks, professor.”

He smiled tightly, a little uncomfortable as he made his way to the locker room. He knew it was probably Quirrell who was after the stone, but he found it hard to completely discard Neville’s suspicions, even if the boy had distanced himself from him somewhat. He’d started speaking to him again after he’d punched Malfoy in the face — and that had been a sight to see, Malfoy clutching his nose as he ran to the infirmary, insulting Neville under his breath — but they weren’t quite as close as they’d been in the first months of school.

Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus 2000 back to the broomshed.

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry’s victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure’s prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner — what was going on? Harry jumped back on his Nimbus 2000 and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw his Head of House enter the forest at a run.

He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn’t see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and stayed up in the air, unwilling to risk making noise by touching down in a tree.

Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Snape, but he wasn’t alone. Quirrell was there, too. Harry couldn’t make out the look on his face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry had always thought his stutter sounded faked, and it was never more apparent than now. He shook his head and strained to catch what they were saying.

“… d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…”

“Oh, I thought we’d keep this private,” said Snape, his voice icy. “Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.”

Quirrell tried to mumble an answer but Snape interrupted him.

“Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I —”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” said Snape, taking a step toward him.

“I-I don’t know what you—”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry decided he’d heard enough. The conversation wasn’t telling him who was the one actually trying to steal the — Philosopher’s stone, was it? —, as he knew better than to trust those who appeared meek and innocent. Perks, one of Malfoy’s followers, liked to pretend she was being bullied every time his clique was caught harassing another student, and Dudley had always been good at pretending he hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, his head of House was doing a perfectly good job at acting shady.

He put it out of his mind and went back to the Slytherin common room, where the party had already started. He suffered through Adrian’s post-game heckling before settling on a couch with Blaise, who handed him a bottle of butterbeer, smuggled from Hogsmeade by upper year students. He told him about what he saw.

“You’re right, Quirrell is really suspicious but Snape doesn’t inspire confidence either. But the philosopher’s stone business is interesting.”

Blaise explained to Harry about the stone. He even took care to mention that the elixir made from it only prolonged life and could not be used for healing, well-aware of Harry’s interests in the subject.

“Are you gonna tell Longbottom?”

“Mm, probably. He’s the one who’s interested in the mystery, not me. Well, I’m curious but not really invested. Nev’s the one who was there when the robbery happened at Gringotts.”

Blaise hummed but didn’t comment. He wasn’t happy with Neville right now, having even reverted to using his last name. Harry understood, but he couldn’t hold it in himself to hold a grudge. He understood Neville’s perspective better than Blaise did. The Zabini prince was convinced that he wouldn’t have suspected him and Harry if they hadn’t been Slytherins, which in his opinion added insult to injury. The fact that Neville had avoided them for a few days made it even worse.

“He’ll be fooled by Quirrell’s act, no doubt.”

Harry was about to reply when quiet fell over the common room. They rose to see what was going on, just in time to witness Agatha Langley, a sixth year Slytherin sit in the argentum rex’ throne. They waited in tense silence for Robards to notice from the study corner. The seventh year looked up and stood before striding over to his seat, his lieutenants following after him. They were too far to hear what was being said, but the dismissive gesture Langley had made was clear enough; there would be a duel.

The entire student body of Slytherin House followed the two to the duelling room and set themselves up around the circle.

“Robards is exhausted,” murmured Theo at Harry’s right.

Theo was right, the argentum rex didn’t look so good. Langley had thought it through it seemed. This was the best moment to confront him.

“What kind of person is Langley?” he asked.

“She’s from a Grey Noble family, a bit Dark politically but not to the point of supporting Death Eaters. Her father married a rich German witch so their status has risen a lot in the recent years. There’s more girls than boys in her year, and she’s gotten them all under her thumb. She makes them compete for her good graces, do her homework and such. It’s pretty impressive, though it doesn't bode well for us,” said Blaise idly, his eyes trained like a hawk on the two opponents making their way to the circle.

They watched as the Argentum Rex and his would-be usurper bowed to each other and turned away, walking twenty paces in the other direction. Robards’ second announced the start, and they turned back just as quickly. The duel between Harry and Malfoy was laughable compared to this. They exchanged streams of curses and hexes, sidestepping and shielding the other’s spells in turns. Robards used primarily Light and Neutral magic, but Langley seemed to be emboldened by his pinched expression and countered with increasingly Dark curses, more dangerous and volatile than the controlled magic her opponent wielded. She grinned as he took a step back to avoid a particularly nasty blood-boiling curse only to find himself stuck at the edge of the circle.

“Glacio cor ex,” she intoned before he could get away from the edge, “concresco!”

The first spell didn’t hit, but the second landed. Robards choked, his limbs stiffening.

“What spell is this?” asked Daphne, whose family was magically Light though politically Neutral.

“The curdling hex,” answered Theo and Blaise at the same time before exchanging a glance.

Of their group, they were the only two with a Dark affinity. Tracey’s family was Grey-Light, so the five of them were pretty well-balanced, unlike Malfoy's clique who was all Dark and Dark-Grey.

“What is she curdling exactly?”

“His flesh.”

“Yikes.”

Robards closed his eyes and yielded. Langley smiled triumphantly and turned to her followers with an excited gleam. Robards’ second cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes. Finite Incantatem,” she said with a bored voice.

“Victory goes to Langley,” announced the second. “Rex mortuus est, vivat Regina,” he added, sounding resigned.

The King is dead, long live the Queen.

***

Robards’ former lieutenants all tried to contest Langley’s claim, but it gained them nothing except a trip to the hospital wing. Slytherin waited in tense silence for the new edicts, and they were not disappointed. The first thing she did was establish her court, composed of her entire girl dorm as lieutenants, with an outer circle of her favourite students in fourth and fifth year. Gemma and her friends were not part of them. Langley then started by dismantling everything the previous rex had begun to build, which was admittedly not much since the man had been so busy with his studies. Slytherins were no longer required to move in groups, and the mandatory tutoring system for struggling students had been thrown away, much to Malfoy’s dismay who now had to be the one to make sure his vassals did not fail their first year. She imposed a dress code that had everyone panic-ordering silk robes, and the students too poor to afford it were relegated to an outer corner of the common room, out of the regina’s sight. Her favoured students bore a silver brooch on those robes with the sigil of House Langley, a green and black wasp.

Harry thought it was ridiculous, but he was also a first year and unlikely to be able to contest her claim. Gemma and her friends had been redoubling their efforts to convince Terence into challenging her, to no avail. He was the best of them at duelling after all, having been taught by his Auror cousin.

In the meantime life went on. Harry’s group started reviewing for the exams which would be two months away, though they weren’t going about it the frantic way Neville’s friend Granger was. His godbrother could be seen at all times in the library, trying and failing to convince the stubborn girl to take a break. Hagrid was also a common sight at the library for some reason, looking up increasingly suspicious titles on dragon breeding. When Harry and Neville next visited him accompanied by Blaise, Ron and Granger — “Hermione,” she’d said, “wixen are so formal,” — they found out exactly why he made such frequent reading trips.

In the very heart of his fireplace, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, “That’s — er…”

“Where did you get it, Hagrid?” said Ron, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

Blaise and Harry exchanged a glance. What kind of person sold dragon eggs in Hogsmeade? Before they could ask, though, Hermione had more pressing questions.

"But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” said Hermione.

"Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow.

“Got this outta the library —Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit — it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ‘cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here — how ter recognize diff’rent eggs — what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t.

“Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,” she said.

But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

“Who gave that egg to you, you said?” asked Blaise, his chin tucked into his palm.

“Dunno. He had a cloak on, but that’s not unusual at the Hog’s Head.”

They resigned themselves to possibly having to see Hagrid’s house burning down sometime soon. Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brought Harry another note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It’s hatching.

“We’re going, of course,” said Blaise, sipping at his coffee. “I think this is madness, but I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to see something like that.”

When the bell sounded at the end of their Herbology lesson, they made their way to Hagrid’s hut with the Gryffindor trio.

Hagrid greeted them, looking flushed and excited.

“It’s nearly out.”

He ushered them inside. The egg was lying on the table. There were deep cracks in it. Something was moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it. They all drew their chairs up to the table and watched with bated breath. All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn’t exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes. It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hagrid murmured.

He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

“Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!” said Hagrid.

“Hagrid,” said Hermione, “how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?”

Hagrid was about to answer when the colour suddenly drained from his face — he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

“What’s the matter?”

“Someone was lookin’ through the gap in the curtains — it’s a kid — he’s runnin’ back up ter the school.”

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him. Malfoy had seen the dragon.

“How did he know where to look?”

“Er,” said Neville sheepishly. “He might have heard us mention it this morning?”

Harry and Blaise shook their heads, exasperated at the Gryffindors’ lack of discretion. They tried to watch out for Malfoy’s movements in the following week, but nothing indicated he’d done anything save for the gleam in his eyes. They spent most of their free time in Hagrid’s hut, trying to convince him to part with the dragon. The Slytherins were in favour of warning Dumbledore.

“If he let you put a Cerberus in the castle,” reasoned Blaise, “he won’t mind relocating a dragonet for you.”

The Gryffindors weren’t quite willing to risk it, and suggested contacting Ron’s brother Charlie, who worked at a reserve.

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea. He can meet you at the edge of the Forbidden Forest,” said Harry.

The next week was spent hashing out the details, and they decided the Gryffindors would borrow Harry’s cloak to transport the dragon. Neville and Hermione would carry it and Ron would play distraction if necessary. Harry and Blaise would be in charge of keeping Malfoy away.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to do much for that. Malfoy had read Charlie’s letter and knew the dragon would be moved out that day, but he didn’t count on the argentum regina deciding she wanted the whole Slytherin court to attend to her. They had to scramble to find things to give her, and those who didn’t satisfy her had to play the fools to entertain her. It was a maddening situation. When Malfoy actually managed to slip away, the dragon was already gone. The trio was still caught after curfew though, having dropped the cloak in their mad dash back to their common room. They got detention and twenty points each from Gryffindor for their trouble. They’d admitted to professor McGonagall they were helping Hagrid with his dragon problem, to which she’d shaken her head and informed them the professor of Care for Magical Creatures had already been planning to settle the issue and they needn’t have made all this fuss for nothing. Malfoy also got a detention, having been caught by Filch on his way to tattle on them.

Neville handed Harry the cloak back sheepishly the next day, admitting they probably should have gone to Dumbledore. His retelling of their detention a few days later set a chill down Harry's bones, as he realised the man responsible for the war that led his parents to a permanent ward was still alive and looking to go back.

Chapter Text

“So what did she say?”

“She thanked me for telling them and said she’d inform the director. They can’t interfere at Hogwarts though, so they’re going to ask professor Flitwick to keep an eye out and that’s it. Without evidence, it’s the best they can do.”

The Charms professor had dual citizenship with the northern goblin nation and the British ministry. He was thus often asked to serve as a liaison for the interests of the northern nation. As the bank was one of their best investments, the Northern King had taken a personal interest in the break-in. Knowing that the thief who had broken into Gringotts was at Hogwarts was both a boon and a curse considering the fact that they wouldn’t be allowed to interfere without proof. Harry’s speculations weren’t enough, unfortunately, even if Darkclaw seemed pleased he’d thought to inform them of what Neville had told him. He hadn’t mentioned what the object hidden at Hogwarts was and his account manager hadn’t cared to know; as far as they were concerned, what was not stolen mattered less than the attack on the bank’s reputation. Harry suspected they knew anyway.

“It means that if that Dark Lord ever returns he’s going to be declared an enemy of Gringotts,” commented Blaise as they strolled down the corridors.

They had just gone back from the owlery, where Harry had asked Hedwig to bring his latest missive to the bank. He’d told his best friend about the bank’s response on the way, since Blaise had been too busy with his own correspondence at breakfast.

Blaise wasn’t very impressed by Voldemort, which Harry wanted to attribute to the fact that the Dark Lord had mainly been feared in the Isles but probably had more to do with how flippant the Italian prince was at the best of times. Harry himself found it hard to muster the same fear those raised in the British Wizarding World felt at hearing the name, though he was perfectly capable of feeling resentment for the man and his fanatical followers. Knowing that he was still alive and waiting to reestablish his reign of terror left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“They almost declared it ten years ago, but some clause of the treaty written with Beatrice Potter forbids them from making Vows of Enmity on behalf of my family. It was added by the current Minister of Magic who feared that an attack on her would restart the war. Darkclaw is very happy to know they have a legitimate reason to do it now.”

“The fact that your family inspired such loyalty to them is kind of impressive,” said his friend as they made their way to class.

“From what Roman Potter told me, we gave back as good as we got. And don’t get me wrong, not all goblins like us, not even all of the ones from the Northern Nation. A lot of clans see us as wixen before they see us as goblin friends despite their king’s proclamation. And I get that. They’re not a monolith.”

“Hmm,” said Blaise. “Still, it’s pretty cool. My family doesn’t have this kind of alliance. Well, there’s no goblin nation in Mezzogiorno but you see what I mean. There is no other country or species protecting our interests.”

“Not even demons?” asked Harry teasingly.

Blaise laughed.

“My family doesn’t actually have demon blood, you know,” said Blaise with a smirk. “The rumour serves us well so we encourage it, but we’re not cambions. One of my ancestors found the Grimoire of Solomon, the mage-king and supposedly summoned demon guardians to protect our Dynasty. Someone suggested he also summoned his wife because nobody knew where she came from. She had eyes of gold and every child of the line has had them since. Azyam Zabini was actually descended from the Queen of Sheba,” he mentioned with a proud smile, “and Proteo Zabini might have found her at the same time he found the book.”

He frowned a little.

“I feel a kinship to people with creature blood, though. Mezzogiorno doesn’t have the kind of prejudice a lot of European countries have, but every time we left the principality we had to deal with the kind of speciesism Malfoy spews all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“Malfoy’s a hypocrite. There are rumours about his House having Veela blood too, I don’t know why he thinks he’s so different.”

Blaise huffed.

“It’s not even true. I’ve met semi-veelas before and the Malfoys are nowhere near being captivating enough to emulate them. My Occlumency lessons were taught by an Austrian semi-veela actually. The first thing she did was show me how to resist the Allure.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Of course, I will. I wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself in front of a veela. Besides, you got better at controlling your spells so we should be able to start Occlumency training next year.”

Harry smiled fondly. His friend was amazing.

***

“A detention, little cousin? And you had such a clean record for your first year.”

Tracey wiped her eyes, shaking with mirth. Terence looked at her curiously. Gemma had been shocked when she heard Snape grumble that her cousin had earned his first detention but they hadn’t been told what it was about.

“That’s not the best part, Gemma,” exclaimed Daphne, whose lips were twitching despite her attempts to maintain her cool exterior. Blaise and Theo had completely given up, turning away to hide their chuckles. “The detention was given by professor Binns!”

“Itty Bitty Potty has really done it now,” commented Adrian, his eyes twinkling. “I didn’t even know Binns was aware enough to give detention.”

“What did you do?” asked Aspen curiously, sitting down on the arm of Theo’s sofa.

“We were learning about the Werewolf Code of Conduct. Professor Binns said something about how one of his good friends also wrote a Goblin Code of Conduct —I don’t know why he mentions them so much, Goblin rebellions aren’t even on the first-year curriculum— which was also unfortunately never signed,” started Daphne.

“And Harry threw salt at him!” interrupted Tracey before laughing again.

Terence exchanged a long-suffering look with his designated firstie, though they were both reluctantly amused.

“Why salt?” asked Safaa.

“It’s a muggle thing,” explained Terence. “Salt is supposed to ward off evil spirits.”

Harry looked away, embarrassed. Gemma’s cousin really was a cute kid, even if his common sense seemed to leave him sometimes. Perhaps he’d been hit by too many bludgers on the head? The Ravenclaws had really profited off of the fact that Wright and Fletcher weren’t moving a finger to help Harry.

“I looked for books on exorcism in the library but they’re all in the Restricted Section,” he explained with an expression that was definitely not a pout, like he wasn’t completely capable of sneaking in, “so I thought I’d try the movie method.”

At the end of his explanation, even Gemma was chuckling, despite her best attempts at trying to look stern. Terence looked at her fondly. She sure took her older sister role seriously.

“What’s a movie?” asked Blaise, and the firsties were lost to Harry’s explanation of muggle entertainment.

It wasn’t rare to have no muggle-borns in a Slytherin year group but Terence thought it was a shame that the firsties didn’t have one. They definitely would have benefited from Harry’s protection. Maybe next year there would be a bright first-year the Potter heir would be able to take under his wing. He was definitely the type.

“He’ll make a good rex,” he whispered to Gemma after sidling up to her and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She hummed and Terence hoped he hadn’t kickstarted another argument about why he hadn’t challenged Langley yet. His excuses held up less and less, and he didn’t want another lecture about how he shouldn’t let his low self-esteem stop him from grabbing a position he deserved and would thrive at.

Well. Another speculative look from the current regina at his friends and he might actually change his mind.

***

“Does Finite Incantatem reverse the effects of a Confundus charm, madam Pomphrey?” asked Harry as he levitated the folded bedsheets into the cupboard.

“It would if cast in the right timeframe but it’s a bit rough on the mind. I would rather recommend a Clear Head charm. There is also a draught meant to ease the long-term effects of it, but I can’t think of its name. That’s something you might want to ask Severus, dear. And I told you to call me Poppy!”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Right, sorry Madam Poppy,” he said with a cheeky grin.

He was about to ask a bit more details about it when two redheads entered the infirmary, laughing as they looked at their joined hands. Joined was perhaps an understatement, as they looked like they had been melded together. Harry smiled a little, recognizing Ron’s brothers.

“Hello, dear Madam, we are in need –,” said one twin.

“ – of your assistance,” completed the other.

“What have you done this time?” asked Madam Pomphrey – Poppy –, clucking her tongue. “Oh, you twins will be the death of me. They’re almost as bad as your father and his friends were at Hogwarts,” she added, muttering things about James Potter and his best friend being responsible for all the grey hairs on her head.

Harry chuckled, used to the woman’s grumbling about her father. He’d even written a few letters to Remus asking him for details on a few of her stories. His sporadic correspondence with his father’s school friend was one of the highlights of his year. The man was currently working as the assistant of a magizoologist in Egypt and couldn’t be back in England before the end of Harry’s second year.

“They really weren’t that bad, Madam Poppy. Remus says they’ve only set fireworks in the infirmary twice. How many times have these gentlemen done it?”

“You’re right,” she shuddered as she led the two Gryffindors to a bed she enlarged with a flick of her wand. “You kids are much worse.”

The twins looked at Harry with an interested gleam in their eyes.

“Oho, good sir are you by any chance –”

“— a fan of our work?”

“As the son of a prankster—”

“— it would be par for the course!”

“Tell us more about your father’s adventures—”

“And you will get a front row seat to our best work!”

The Slytherin pretended to think about it.

“Don’t you dare give them ideas, Harry Potter!” exclaimed Poppy with an affronted look.

“I would never,” he assured her with an innocent smile she didn’t buy for a second, before mouthing, “Deal,” to the twins who guffawed under their free hands.

“Merlin have mercy,” she moaned before adding with a pleading tone. “Leave me out of it.”

“Of course. Everything for my favourite professor,” he winked.

Fred and George exchanged a delighted look.

“We like you, snakeling.”

***

“I can’t believe he befriended the Weasley twins,” said Theo, looking vaguely entertained and horrified in turns as Harry was carried on the shoulders of the Gryffindor beaters. They were leading him toward the lake, hopefully not to throw him at the mercy of the Giant Squid.

“Harry could befriend a rock if he wanted to,” snickered Blaise. “And they’ve probably sensed his penchant for chaos,” he added, thinking of the dragon incident, the deal with the mirror and the duel with Malfoy. Harry attracted almost as much trouble as Longbottom, who’d literally met a Cerberus, a troll and the diminished Dark Lord on his first year at Hogwarts on top of his shared shenanigans with Harry.

“True enough,” hummed Theo as their friend was dropped in the water but managed to drag the other two with him. It was most undignified, but what else could one expect of the Weasley twins? Harry seemed to be having fun though.

The Nott heir had started spending more time with them. He still tended to disappear behind a potion or herbology book when he had reached his quota of social interaction though. Blaise didn’t mind it, Harry was also less sociable than him. He could always go to Daphne and Tracey if he wanted to talk or play chess. He was friends with a few Ravenclaws too.

Blaise watched as Harry charmed the twins’ hair blond and ran back to Theo and him.

“Those guys are exhausting,” he complained, though his content smile betrayed his fondness for his newfound friends.

Harry valued friendship as much as he valued family and his loyalty was truly humbling. Blaise cast a drying charm at the boy, who thanked him quietly.

“We saw that,” chuckled Blaise. “But it’s good you managed to escape because our dear regina announced she wanted more gifts and entertainment. Try to make yourself presentable, will you?”

He showed his best friend the parchment summoning them back to the common room and nodded sympathetically when Harry groaned. Langley truly was exhausting. Last time, their group had managed to pass her requirements by having Daphne draw her portrait and each of them adding their own charm to make it more attractive, but they probably couldn’t use that again.

They stood up and made their way back to the castle.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, we do. The Quidditch season is over for Slytherin, there’s nothing stopping her from cursing you.”

And it had been concluded beautifully too, with another victory for their House against Ravenclaw, which had improved Harry’s standing with Slytherin even more. Snape had really given them a boon by having his childhood friend’s son placed on the team.

“Daphne and I thought ahead, unlike you all,” said Tracey when they entered the common room and settled in the first-year area. “We got her nice but not too expensive earrings.”

“Enough to show respect, but not enough to show esteem,” nodded Daphne. “And they absorb magic too, pour a Lumos spell in them and they’ll look nice enough that she won’t be able to say we’ve insulted her. If Harry gives it on our behalf, it will be a gift from all of us.”

“Why me, though?”

The four of them sent him an unimpressed look. Tracey had voted to tell him he was considered the leader of their court, but the others had wanted to bet on how long he would take to figure it out. Blaise bet twenty galleons it wouldn’t happen until midway through second-year, Theo had said third year and Daphne, ever the pessimist had said fifth. The bet would be off if someone directly told him, so Tracey had sighed and put five galleons on fourth-year.

“Right,” said Harry, well-used to them being annoyed at his obliviousness. Blaise hated that his previous family had taught him not to ask questions and thrived to make him get out of the habit of staying quiet, but on this particular occasion, it served them well. “Let’s do that then.”

They all contributed some magic to the flower-shaped earrings and watched them turn from a dull grey to a glowy silver resembling unicorn hair. Harry waited until he was called and offered the earrings to Langley with a displeased frown on his lips, his court behind him. The Argentum regina seemed pleased, though she noted Harry’s lack of enthusiasm. She switched out her diamond earrings for them and conjured a mirror to admire herself.

“You gave us four Slytherin victories, Potter, one could argue you didn’t even need to present a gift,” she said in a tone that might have seemed magnanimous if she hadn’t just accepted the present with a greedy smile.

“Only the best for our regina,” said Harry blandly.

“Hmm, why don’t you and your court sit down with me? Lauren, be a dear and summon them some chairs, would you?”

Her lieutenant nodded and presented them with five chairs with green and black wasps engraved in the wood.

“Lauren is so good at Transfiguration. She’s also our year’s prefect.” Lauren Macmillan stiffened and Blaise raised his eyebrows. It seemed the badge situation was a sore subject between them. Was Langley using them to torment her own lieutenant? “I’m sure you know that, since Robards had her guide you to a few classes at the beginning of the year. Nonsense, as if you need someone to hold your hand to find your classrooms. Would you like to be be a prefect, Harry? I can call you Harry, of course?” She continued without letting him answer. “Anyway, Lauren is so good at what she does she could give you a few classes, if you need it.”

This time she waited, expecting an answer.

“Not really.”

“Harry is the best in our year after Hermione Granger, in Gryffindor,” piped up Tracey, trying to divert attention from his lacklustre answer.

Blaise almost shook his head. Langley threw the girl a filthy look and kept asking Harry questions. She was offering him tutoring, advice, a place at her court, desperate for something to catch his interest. Blaise and Theo exchanged a look. She was trying to get Harry’s support for her reign. But why, he wondered. Malfoy was probably richer, his father’s influence was far reaching, and he was much easier to please.

“Aspen!” exclaimed Agatha as she noticed the fifth years approach.

The Selwyn heir nodded at her but didn’t speak, deferring to Gemma who was standing at the front of their rank with a gift in hand. Ah, thought Blaise, that’s what —or rather, who— she wanted. With Harry came Gemma and her friends, and the chance to get closer to Aspen Selwyn. Agatha Langley wasn't the heir of her House and her only talent lay in the kind of Dark Magic that was banned by the Ministry; marrying into a Dark House would be easier than finding a job that was high-standing enough to suit her family reputation. But the fifth-years were notoriously a close-knit group and she hadn’t made any friends of them by trying to impose herself on Gemma and Safaa.

Langley took the gift she was presented with and seemed delighted by the music box apparently made out of the enchanted wood from Aspen’s estate, though she appreciated less the rose gold and orange of Gemma and Safaa’s enchantments swirling in its veins, their own subtle way of staking a claim. The message was clear: we play along, but he is ours. Langley sent them a venomous look before stiffly inviting to Gemma to sit with them.

“I was actually going to ask you if I could borrow Harry. It’s a House matter, you see.”

Blaise had to press his lips together to stifle a snort. There was no House matter, she just didn’t want the regina so close to her baby cousin.

“Oh but surely it can wait? Harry was having such a good time, weren’t you, Harry?”

The Zabini prince rose from his seat when he saw Harry flinch as Langley put her wand hand at the back of his neck, brushing the tip of her wand at his ear, the other first years following right after him. The regina grimaced, likely feeling the ripple of Harry’s unsettled magic on her skin. Blaise had learnt to be careful when touching his friend unexpectedly both because he didn’t want to cause him discomfort and because the Potter heir’s magic was wilder than most and tended to lash out to anything it perceived as a threat. He’d worked hard to keep it under control but his triggers made it harder. As unexpected touch was one of them, Langley must have felt a nasty burn.

Thankfully for the first years who weren’t quite at the level needed to confront a sixth-year student specialised in Dark curses, the fifth years took the implied threat as it should be.

Slowly, the whole Slytherin common room stopped what they were doing to pay attention. Gemma hadn’t budged, her eyes fixed on Harry. She was fingering her wand with a distinct desire to use it, but Blaise had gathered from previous discussions that she wasn’t as quick a draw as was needed. Like Harry’s guardian, her true strength lay in wards.

Langley looked like she regretted her act but refused to back down. In fact, her hand tightened on Harry and the Italian prince felt ready to spill blood but tried to contain himself. Blaise chanced a look at Terence. He didn’t envy his position. The boy had pushed back against taking the rex position because he was too conscientious to give Slytherin a subpar reign and already spread too thin by his prefect duties and the upcoming OWLs, but it looked like he would have to. He also suffered from the Curse of the Vigil, which meant his magic kept him from sleeping. The fifth-year looked exhausted at the best of times, another duty would probably crush him.

And yet, as Harry was threatened, he didn’t hesitate to cast a disarming charm, drawing a startled gasp from Langley. She relaxed her grip on Harry, and he took the opportunity to step away from her, though not without shocking her again with his magic, deliberately this time. Blaise let out a mirthless chuckle at his friend’s pettiness, his body relaxing.

Terence didn’t hesitate to cast, but he did pause right after that.

“If you don’t, then I will Terence,” said Adrian, calm in a way that only happened before a raging storm. Compared to the boy’s usually cheery demeanour, the expression had an eerieness to it that made Blaise want to sit back down.

“No, you were right. I should have done something about this a long time ago. Aspen, you’ll take over as prefect if needed, won’t you?”

“Of course. We'll talk to Snape about it, but I think you can manage.”

“Don’t act like you’ve already won, Higgs,” said Langley.

“But I will win, Langley. Now stand up and defend your crown, regina. Indignum te pronuntio solio.”

I pronounce you unworthy of the throne.

***

By all accounts, the duel should have gone the same way Robards’ had. He and Terence both had been trained by Aurors, they were both Light wixen and less accustomed to the viciousness of Dark curses. But Terence had something Robards did not, and which Harry had benefited from in his own duel. Seeker reflexes.

Well, that, and a background in warding, courtesy of Gemma. Experience duelling Aspen, who was the Darkest wizard of their year despite his Light-aligned political values. A few added Iranian and Egyptian spells to his arsenal, entrusted to him by Safaa. And the general added survival skills needed to be the best friend of someone like Adrian, whom the Weasley twins would get along with immensely if they knew how chaotic he was.

The duel lasted a long time due to Langley’s admittedly large magical reserves, but stayed quite anticlimactic as she was unable to pierce through the light-powered wards —incidentally fed by Langley’s earrings— Terence had raised under his shield. Once that was done, he’d started his bid for the crown with a cutting curse aimed at the girl’s wand hand in an unsubtle reprisal for what she did to Harry. It didn’t make her bleed, but the shriek she let out when it sliced through her nail was extremely satisfying to the Potter heir.

He was still unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t felt her before she was too close, her sharp nails digging into his nape. He hadn’t let anyone touch his neck since the Dursleys, and he could feel his magic sparking at the assault, trying to give retribution for the attack on his safety. The fact that Terence was getting revenge for him through no request of his own or from his cousin was indescribable for Harry, but it didn’t keep his hands from trembling.

He didn’t know what had led Langley to threaten him in front of Gemma, but he hated that he’d been used against her. As he clenched his hands into fists, his eyes glued onto the duel, he resolved not to let it happen again.

Terence cast seven spells in succession. Harry recognised the bone vanishing curse Poppy had treated from a Hufflepuff seventh year a few weeks ago, another cutting curse, and the freezing heart spell Langley herself as tried to use against Robards.

“Victory goes to Higgs,” announced Lauren Macmillan when Langley finally yielded, trying and failing not to look happy about it.

“Regina mortua est, vivat Rex,” Slytherin House repeated. Even Malfoy looked reluctantly relieved.

Terence cancelled the spells on his opponent and bowed to her before stepping out of the circle. Langley did the same before leaving the duelling room, her face flush with humiliation.

Gemma walked up to Terence with a smile and kissed him passionately before he murmured something in her ear. Harry had to look away at the display but he heard his cousin ask her boyfriend if he was sure, and he looked back fast enough to see her wipe a tear from her eye and bow her head with a lovestruck smile that made his teeth ache.

“My first edict will be to crown a queen,” said Terence waving his wand to deposit a crown of roses and thorns on Gemma’s head.

Flint left the duelling room with his friends, looking livid. Malfoy followed right after, like many of the scions of politically Dark Houses.

“Is that allowed?” whispered Tracey.

Aspen, who was standing next to her with Safaa and Adrian nodded.

“Slytherins are often too self-serving for it but it’s been done before; a rex and regina in a relationship can share the throne and the duties. Anyone who challenges them has to duel them both, which makes the reign more stable.”

“The position is called Spinea Regina, the queen of thorns because it is still precarious,” added Safaa who was looking like the cat who caught the canary.

“More precarious than the Argentum Rex, that we’ve seen change three times in a single year?” asked Theo with a deadpan expression.

The fifth-years chuckled.

“Well, yes, both because there are more restrictions I won’t get into now and because if Gemma and Terence break up - which is unlikely but still -, their reign will be as good as over.”

“I can’t believe Terence went through with it. How long has he been considering it, you think?”

“Probably since we started harassing him about challenging Langley. He just needed a good incentive.”

Harry walked towards the couple, his head spinning. Gemma smiled fondly and reached out a hand but something about the expression on his face stopped her. She took a sharp intake of breath when he knelt before her and their king.

“Vivat aula spinis et argenteis,” he murmured.

A whisper took over Slytherin and one by one, those still present in the duelling room followed after him. The first were Harry’s friends and Gemma’s, then Robards’ court and the girls Langley had tormented who knelt with the deeply satisfied look of the avenged. The others exchanged looks, but none dared to step out of the room. So they took a knee and felt a rush of magic envelop them. They attributed it to the power of the ancient room witnessing the honouring of their House’s tradition and congratulated themselves for having made the right choice. Long live the court of thorns and silver, indeed.

Unbeknownst to them, Harry’s magic pulsed around the room.

Chapter Text

Aspen was watching Langley, idly turning his wand between his fingers when Theo and Blaise sat down in front of him. He’d been alone in the fifth-year area, wanting to get some time away from his lieutenant duties for a while. His argentum court could spare an hour or two without him. Merlin, he was so tired.

“You’re planning something,” said Theo.

Aspen hummed. His designated firstie was the observant sort, and Blaise had the uncanny ability to smell blood in the water. He wasn’t surprised they’d been the ones to approach him about this. Adrian and Safaa seemed like they wanted to for a while but they’d been more focused on helping the other two establish their court. As for the royal couple, well. Terence knew, but he preferred a clean win. As far as he was concerned, their grievance with Langley had been over once he’d taken the throne from her. Gemma didn’t fully agree — it had been her cousin who was threatened — but she was too busy consolidating their rule to retaliate herself. So she’d hugged Aspen and entrusted it to him.

“The others think they understand what having an affinity for Dark magic means,” he mused after a beat of silence. “They don’t. Not really. Adrian gets it more than the rest of my court; he’s a true Grey wizard, like Harry. Perfectly balanced. The others don’t. They know Dark magic is volatile, amplified by emotions. What they don’t know is...”

Theo and Blaise exchanged a look, no doubt wondering where he was going with this.

“What they don’t know is that Dark magic seeps into everything we do, shapes our thoughts, writhes behind our skin. You’ve felt it, haven’t you?”

The boys nodded and Aspen smiled grimly. It was good that they weren’t entertaining delusions about it. But still, they were too young to realise what he’d only found out when he was thirteen.

“It’s self-centred, and it hungers. We like to bind, to harm, to sacrifice. Our spells are stronger when angry, and weaker when scared. Contentment is the closest we’ll ever feel to the control Light wixen have. You’re a little more Grey, Blaise, so you probably feel it differently.”

It was more complicated than that, obviously. There were many schools of thought about the difference between the main wixen’s affinities, some spiritual and others more scientific. Some said that Light magic took core in the mind, Grey magic in the soul and Dark magic in the heart. But they contradicted themselves. Another explanation described Light magic as the seat of order, which did better with numbered magic like Transfiguration, Arithmancy or Alchemy. Dark Magic was the seat of chaos. It loved the senses and everything that required more intent than structure like Rituals, Curses and Mind Magic. Grey was at the edge, favouring language both for its rules and its freedoms, preferring Charms, Potions and Runes. Aspen had been sceptical of this when he’d first read about it. Because then, what did it mean to be Grey-Light or Grey-Dark? Balance was such a nonsensical term, for no wizard was ever truly one thing or the other. There was always a discrepancy between the affinity passed down by blood and that of the individual. He’d thought that, truly, before surrounding himself with wixen from the other side of the spectrum. People fluctuated, sure, and sometimes their affinities shifted from one to another, but once they settled they never strayed.

“That would be hard to say,” said Blaise. “Our House has been Dark for longer than it has shifted and we know very little of what caused the change. Some people believe it’s because our demon blood has diluted, others that our line lost the Frenesia, ah, Frenzy it used to be known for like the Blacks are known here for their Dark-induced Madness.”

“And what do you think?” asked Theo.

“Our magic feels like fire, and at some point, we learnt to wield it,” he replied with a dragon’s smile and a glint in his eye.

Aspen’s answering smirk was just as sharp. Along with his unsettling habit of playing with his wand, he must make a pretty picture.

“Well, like I was saying, the others don’t get how devouring our magic can be. I’m sure you’ve felt it? Since the duel.”

The boys tensed.

“We did. That’s why we came to you. Harry’s been…”

Blaise grimaced.

“The less said about it the better.”

“He’s focusing on making sure it doesn’t happen again, and that’s good but.”

“But you need to spill blood.”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it like that,” winced Blaise.

“I do. Because you see, I need to as well. I’m not so close to your friend. Harry’s a cute kid, really, but Safaa and I haven’t latched onto him as the others have.”

And it was true. Gemma loved the kid like a little brother so of course, Terence had adopted him too. Meanwhile, Adrian had bonded with him over their mutual place on the Quidditch team. Safaa and he had watched, vaguely entertained, but they hadn’t cared to do more than tease the firsties and try to make their year a bit easier. They were growing on him, though.

“Even if I’m not that close to him, Gemma’s one of mine, and her care for Harry is obvious to anyone with eyes. “ He paused. “You’re observant, the two of you. You know your friend was targeted because Langley wanted me,” he murmured, stopping the rolling of his wand between his fingers in a way that pointed it towards their former regina. His wand lit with an amber spark and his fingers trembled.

“Do you feel guilty?”

“No. I learnt very young not to take responsibility for the actions of others.” He ignored the way Theo tensed right back at the mention of the proverbial Death Eater in the room. They both knew what it was like to be judged for someone else’s mistakes. Rowan Selwyn would always be a stain on his family’s honour. “I don’t feel guilty, I feel insulted. She wanted the prestige of my House and was ready to threaten me and mine for it. It’s a slight I can’t allow. Boys. If the Nott clan deals in shadows and the Zabini line favours fire, what is the speciality of Selwyn House?”

“Nature,” breathed out Theo.

Aspen could see Blaise furrow his brow, confused, but the Nott heir shushed him by pointing towards Langley. And as the former regina’s wand twisted and circled her wrist, splintering inside her skin and growing thorns of its own, he made sure she looked his way before the wood seared itself down to her marrow.

***

“How did he even do that?”

“He placed a delayed Selwyn curse on it. They’re known for their ability with magical plants —especially enchanted trees—, and people don’t realise it doesn’t mean they make flowers sing. It demands a lot of energy though, that’s why he looked so pale,” explained the Nott heir with a look of unholy glee in his eyes.

“It’s a shame, though, I wanted to help.”

Severus held back a sigh. He would need to have a discussion with his only Dark first years about the appropriate time and place to discuss such House matters. If it had been any other class, their little gossip would have gotten Selwyn expelled. Perhaps that was precisely why they were discussing it now, he thought, that and the fact that Potter was currently paired with Longbottom, a decision made after one too many attempts by the imbecilic child to melt down his cauldron. Potter hadn’t been terrible at brewing before that pairing, but he did even better now. Something about the need to be constantly vigilant to prevent accidents, he supposed.

The potions professor sent a sharp look at the two Slytherins but didn’t prevent them from talking. In truth, he wanted to know more about the situation. The third year’s gossip in his previous class hadn’t been as forthcoming as theirs. He knew Higgs had won his duel against Langley and crowned himself a queen to rule with him. Despite their imminent OWLs exams, they had started an overhaul of Slytherin dictates in preparation for the next year. They’d gutted Langley’s dress code rules, recreated the volunteer-based tutoring and insisted on a buddy system for lower years who were more vulnerable to the other Houses’ Slytherin prejudice. More importantly, they’d rearranged the common room to ignore the year group sitting arrangements established by the regina who ruled before Robards and placed both the prefects and the Slytherin Quidditch team next to the announcement board for practicality. Of course, their main goal had been to get their firsties in full view of their court, which implied they had been targeted. And Langley had been admitted to the hospital wing with a wound she claimed to have gained petting a long-fanged rosebush on a dare, which certainly didn’t explain her absence of a wand.

That was what he learnt from listening to his students and observing the new common room, but he hadn’t managed to find out what exactly triggered the change of leadership. He’d been too busy making sure Quirrell hadn’t made another attempt on either the Stone or the Boy-Who-Lived. He let Zabini and Nott alone for a moment and waited for them to resume their conversation. It didn’t take long.

“Harry hasn’t been sleeping.”

“I know,” said Zabini grimly.

“Do you know why he’s like that?” chimed in Davies from behind them.

Zabini nodded.

“He doesn’t talk about it much but you know it’s public knowledge that he was living with Muggles before House Fawley fostered him? Think about why that is.”

Now all the firsties looked furious.

“That’s why he flinches sometimes,” observed Daphne, looking cold as the frost magic her family was known for.

Zabini hummed.

“It’s worse now. It used to be only unexpected touches but since Langley put her hand on him, his magic has been sparking on his skin non-stop.”

“His magic’s always felt like a storm, I’m not surprised it burns like lightning.”

Severus raised his eyebrows at Nott’s words. Selwyn had cursed the previous regina because she did something to Potter, then. And Lily’s son had difficulty controlling his magic. Come to think of it, Filius and Minerva had mentioned he used to overpower all his spells but got better after the winter holidays. He was now at the top of most of his classes, only surpassed by Granger because of her better grasp of theory. But if his magic was acting unruly again, it would hinder his performance at the exams.

Zabini raised an eyebrow too, but not for the same reason.

“Lightning, huh? Do you remember what happened in the duelling room?”

The other first-years nodded, casting subtle glances at Potter.

“The magic that blanketed the room, it felt familiar.”

“You think it was— ?” asked Greengrass.

“I do.”

“It still smells like petrichor around there,” commented Davies.

Severus dearly wanted to know what that was about, but the students seemed to notice him looming and focused back on their work. Still, he put it out of his mind. Potter’s control problems were more pressing. He mulled over what to do as he observed the students working, and contained a sigh as he had to vanish Finnegan and Thomas’ potion again, as well as stop Crabbe and Goyle from making a hole on the floor with the acid-like substance they created somehow. As he dismissed the students, he asked Potter to stay back, ignoring Malfoy’s smirk at the action. The blond had mellowed out since the duel he shouldn’t know about, but it didn’t stop him from antagonising the other court in his year on every occasion.

“Did you need something, professor?”

“Give me your wand hand, Potter.”

The child cast him a wary look and Severus had to force himself not to roll his eyes. The kid had trust issues, he wasn’t being difficult, he reminded himself. Besides, it seemed like someone —probably one of the inane Gryffindors he sometimes spent time with— had told him something that made him less trusting of his Head of House because he’d been a bit distant since the first Quidditch match. Severus hadn’t done anything about it, knowing that being too close with the son of James and Lily Potter would cast suspicion he didn’t need if he ever had to return to his role as a spy. Still, it had stung a little.

“I’m not going to hurt you, foolish child. I have some concerns about your wellbeing and would like to verify them myself.”

Potter stared at him for a moment before raising his right hand. Severus grasped it with a gentle but firm hold and winced at the sting of magic bit into his palm.

“Prodigius aspectum,” he murmured with a swirl of his wand.

A storm indeed, he thought as swirls of greys, greens, golds and blues entered his vision. With every ripple of static on his hand, there was a gale of colour rising from the kid’s fingers.

“What is this spell, professor?”

“A Mage Sight charm. I trust you can guess what it does,” he added with a smirk.

Potter relaxed a little and offered him a shy smile. Severus was absolutely not endeared.

“Your magic is unsettled, mister Potter. I won’t ask you why, I’ve heard enough of your housemates’ gossip to make guesses and know it is better to leave this as an Argentum court matter, but I do ask that if something like this were to happen again, you would come to me or to Madam Pomphrey.”

The kid’s mouth twisted. The potions professor sighed.

“I’m sure she told you that she is bound by the rules of patient-healer confidentiality. The only person she could possibly tell about what you confess to her is your guardian, whom I believe would hardly begrudge you such a thing.”

“Yes, professor.”

“Now, the instability you are feeling is the result of trauma and should settle down when you are no longer in a state of hypervigilance — don’t think I haven’t noticed you are barely sleeping and eating, child. But considering your exams start on Monday, I will prescribe you a vial of mild calming draught which will hopefully dampen the effects. I would also recommend you see a mind healer during the summer. I will make a note of it in your end-of-year report.”

Potter didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect but didn’t argue with him. Instead, he looked at him with a warm expression.

“Thank you, professor.”

“You can go now,” he said before stepping back to his desk and looking at the consistency of his students’ potions. “I can already see your friends peeking through the door.”

The child chuckled, his eyes twinkling and made his way for the door. Considering how dull they had been the past few days, it was relieving. Before he passed the threshold, Potter turned back to him. Severus paused in his marking.

“You’re a good Head of House, Professor Snape,” he said gently before closing the door behind him.

Damn kid.

***

The exams had been rough for Harry, though he thought he didn’t do too badly. That was probably thanks to professor Snape’s potions. He, Blaise, Theo, Daphne and Tracey were enjoying the end of the year on the lakeshore when the Weasley twins came to him, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Have you seen Ronnikins?” asked Fred.

“Not since the exams. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Neville and Hermione either.”

He turned to his friends but it seemed neither of them remembered seeing them.

“Maybe they’re at Hagrid’s?” he suggested.

“We’ve already been. The trio asked him some weird questions he wouldn’t tell us about before they rushed back in. They haven’t been seen since.”

Blaise and Harry exchanged a look. The twins looked at them with assessing eyes, and the rest of their friends straightened, curious.

“Do you think they went by themselves?” asked Blaise, incredulous.

“No, they must have talked to a professor,” said Harry uncertainly.

His best friend sighed.

“You want to go check, don’t you,” he grumbled.

“We go see if the door has been opened and if it has we talk to Professor Snape.”

“What’s going on,” demanded Daphne in a flat tone, the least patient out of all of them.

“That’s what we’d like to know,” replied George.

“If our baby brother got into any kind of trouble, we should be made aware,” added Fred.

Harry stood up, his friends following after him.

“Neville, Ron, and Hermione have been really curious about what’s hidden in the third-floor corridor. They found out what it was and that someone in the school was trying to steal it. They suspected Professor Snape, but we thought it was Quirrell. If they got additional information from Hagrid and didn’t find a professor, they might have gone there themselves.”

Snape was too caring for Harry to seriously think he was behind it all anymore, and the Potter heir trusted what Theo had seen. Quirrell did a good job at appearing harmless, but their Head of House was way more reliable than the man with the fake stutter.

“Especially since professor Dumbledore is not in the castle today,” added Blaise as they walked up the stairs. “Your Gryffindor friends will be the death of me, Harry.”

“Careful little snake, or we might think you have a grudge —”

“— against us lions,” finished the twins together with a snicker, though it was obvious their heart wasn’t fully in it.

“Considering how much you target Slytherins and how prejudiced your little brother was when we started the year, I’d say it’s mutual,” snarked the Italian prince.

The twins chuckled.

“Fair enough.”

“But we got a snakey friend now, so we learnt to tone it down.”

“We’re equal opportunity pranksters now!” exclaimed Fred.

“That’s right. No favouritism for the snakes.”

“To be fair, they probably target Gryffindors more just by proximity,” remarked Harry. “No offence but I wouldn’t like sharing a common room with you guys.”

“None taken!” said George with his eyes crinkled.

They seemed less tense now, which Harry considered a victory. However, their expressions darkened again as they saw the locked door in the third-floor corridor having been left wide open, revealing the sleeping three-headed dog inside, a playing harp making sure he wouldn’t wake.

“Merlin,” whispered Daphne faintly.

The twins exchanged a look.

“We’re going,” they said.

“Me too.”

“Harry, no.”

Harry turned to Blaise with a betrayed expression.

“You’re terrified of Fang, I’m not letting you close to a Cerberus.”

Harry’s mouth twisted but he conceded the point.

“Theo, Tracey, Daphne. Would you—”

“We’ll go find professors, don’t worry.”

They quickly agreed to separate, one heading to the infirmary, and the others to Professor Snape’s office.

“We’ll go down there and knock on the door when we have them. Harry can levitate it open while Zabini makes sure the dog stays asleep,” decided George, walking to the door.

They nodded their agreement and waited in tense silence for the twins to come back. Professor Snape and Madam Pomphrey arrived just as they climbed up the trap door. They were each carrying Ron and Hermione with grim frowns on their lips.

“Professor,” said Fred, “Neville is still inside but we couldn’t reach him.”

Snape muttered curses at idiotic students who should leave things to adults and disappeared through the trap door.

“Professor Quirrell is nowhere to be found,” said Poppy worriedly, “but professor Dumbledore is on his way back, children. Albus and Severus will take care of the rest. Now would you accompany me and these two troublemakers to the infirmary, Harry? I’ll need my assistant for this.”

Harry knew she only said it because she knew he liked to keep occupied when he was worried, but he thanked her nonetheless. Poppy waved off his friends, and the twins promised to visit Ron at the infirmary later.

“So, what happened?” he asked Hermione, who was the least injured of the two.

She started a wild tale involving an obstacle course, the shady man who gave Hagrid a dragon, riddles and Devil Snare. Harry followed her rambling with difficulty but didn’t interrupt her. She was clearly rattled.

“— and Neville went alone to protect the Stone! Oh, I really hope he’s okay!”

“He will be,” said Harry with a conviction he didn’t feel. “Why didn’t you fetch a teacher?”

“We did!” exclaimed Ron hotly. “Professor McGonagall didn’t believe us.”

Harry and Poppy raised their eyebrows at that. Surely she would have checked anyway? Harry changed the subject, asking Hermione about her exams to distract her. The girl knew what he was doing, but took the distraction with a grateful look. They reached the infirmary shortly and the Potter heir was left to prepare the beds and potions needed while Poppy cast her enchantments. Thankfully, Hermione only had bruises and Ron a broken arm. They were fine after an hour and Poppy shooed them out of the infirmary before they tried to argue they wanted to wait for Neville. It was good that she did because Harry’s godbrother came back magically exhausted, with bruises and burns all over. His curse scar looked an angry red, bleeding onto his face. Dumbledore and Snape looked grim as they levitated the boy into a bed, and Harry feared he would lose his friend.

Harry listened as Dumbledore explained that Neville’s father’s blood protection had burnt their professor alive, who had been possessed by the Dark Lord. Snape tried to argue he should leave to let Poppy do her work, but Harry argued vehemently. He needed to see his godbrother being healed with his own eyes.

The professor sighed and told him to fetch burn paste and a sleeping draught with a cutaneous application to make sure Neville wouldn’t wake up before his magic had recovered. Once Poppy had done most of the healing, he stayed by Neville’s bedside until curfew and came back after breakfast in the early morning until his friends had to haul him out of the infirmary for lunch. This continued until the second to last day of school, when Poppy told him that Neville had woken up while professor Dumbledore was visiting him.

“Hi, Harry,” croaked his friend when he rushed to his bed.

The boy was completely covered in sweets, plants and get-well cards, as well as a toilet seat courtesy of the Weasley twins.

“You gave me quite the scare, Nev’,” whispered Harry, blinking back tears.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to?”

Harry chuckled wetly.

“I’m glad you’re alright. Now I can say I told you so.”

Neville tilted his head, confused, before grinning.

“Right, about Quirrell? Yeah, that was my bad. I should have known, the guy had a fake stutter for Merlin’s sake. I’ve been stuttering half of my life, I could tell.”

“Do you…”

Harry hesitated.

“Yes, I can talk about it. Professor Dumbledore told me the whole school knows anyway.”

“Not really. Nobody’s talked about You-Know-Who and, um. Apparently, he was there?”

“As a wraith, but yes. He talked to me. Tried to get me to join him. He said he’d give me back my parents if I gave him the Stone.”

His godbrother looked away, biting his lips.

“I’d like to say it wasn’t tempting, but. I miss my parents so much and I never got to meet them.”

They shared a look of understanding.

“I said no, of course. I mean, I was talking to their literal murderer, how stupid did he think I was? But. Yeah. Do you think that makes me weak?”

“No, I think that makes you stronger than he’ll ever be.”

Neville looked at him fondly.

“You always say the right thing, it’s kind of incredible.”

The Potter heir looked away, embarrassed. His friend took pity on him.

“By the way, the Stone was in the mirror. Of Erised, you know.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm. Apparently, professor Dumbledore wanted to use it to trap Voldemort in it.” Harry shot him a curious look and Neville shrugged. “Professor Dumbledore says that not saying his name is what made people fear him more. I’m trying it out. Anyway. Zabini was right, that thing is seriously creepy. I wanted the Stone but not to use it so it gave it to me and…”

Harry felt himself relax as he listened to his friend’s tale, basking in the knowledge that they were okay. Voldemort was out there, yes, but Neville had won his first confrontation against him.

Chapter Text

When Harry walked into the Great Hall with Neville, he looked at the Slytherin decorations with a proud grin, for which his friend playfully punched him in the shoulder. As they were noticed a sudden hush took over the room, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Blaise and Theo at the Slytherin table and frowned at the people who were gawking at his godbrother.

Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away. Blaise patted his shoulder as his scowl eased at the stopping of their schoolmates’ nosiness.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You’ll have the whole summer ahead to empty them again before next year starts… Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Gryffindor with three hundred and seventy-two points; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, five hundred and twelve.”

A storm of cheering broke out from Slytherin table, which Harry had to work hard not to flinch at. Still he grinned with his housemates, basking in the pride they felt at their hard work, and the knowledge that he’d also contributed to it.

“Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”

The room went very still. Their smiles faded a little. Harry stared at the headmaster. Surely he wouldn’t…?

“Ahem,” said Dumbledore. “I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…first — to Mr. Ronald Weasley…”

Ron went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn. Harry exchanged a look with his group of friends.

“… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points. Second,” he added when Gryffindor’s cheers had become less deafening, “to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

“He’s really going to—”

Daphne shook her head.

“This is ridiculous. What they did was good, of course, but to be awarded points for it? It has nothing to do with school.”

“For their commendable family loyalty,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

He didn’t seem to care for the silence in Slytherin.

“I award our dear Weasley twins twenty points each.”

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had five hundred and thirty two points, surpassing Slytherin. Harry felt sick.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

“To Harry Potter, for his dedication to his friend and to the healers’ ways, I award twenty points.”

Slytherin clapped for him, but their heart wasn’t in it. They were now at an equal number of points with Gryffindor for an award that had nothing to do with schoolwork. Harry bit his lip. He knew it wasn’t over.

“And finally, to Mr. Neville Longbottom…” said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. “… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points.”

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Neville, though, wasn’t cheering along. He was looking at Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

Harry shook his head and offered his friend a wan smile. It wasn’t his fault after all.

“Nevertheless, this means,” Dumbledore concluded, “we need a little change of decoration.”

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Harry stood up. His housemates looked up at him. He could see others staring, from the other Houses and the professors’ table. But he didn’t care; only Slytherins’ opinion mattered. He stared back at his housemates, and especially the argentum court. His cousin and her friends looked gutted. His gaze landed on the Rex and the Regina.

“I don’t think we’re welcome here,” he said to Gemma and Terence.

He didn’t voice it, but what he was implying was obvious. They needed to make a statement. The couple exchanged a look. Silently, they stood up as well. Gemma ruffled Harry’s hair with a fond smile before turning to their court.

“Let’s go,” said Terence.

And Slytherin followed as one.

The word of the Argentum Rex was law, and none of them were particularly inclined to stay anyway. They all stood from their seats and walked out of the main door. Before leaving, Harry turned back to Dumbledore who was watching them from his half-moon glasses, his expression inscrutable. When his gaze landed on Harry, his brows seemed to furrow.

“You could have awarded those points at any moment during the last few days, but you decided to humiliate us. Why?” asked Harry in the silence of the Great Hall.

He shook his head and decided he didn’t want an answer. He was the last student to leave the room, but professors soon followed after him. Professor Snape first, then professors Sinistra and Babbling. When asked, the last two shrugged and said.

“We were Slytherins too.”

Professor Sinistra left to the kitchens to alert the staff that they would be having their feast outside. They ate together on conjured tables, completely disregarding the formal alliances. Even Draco Malfoy was looking less haughty than usual, mingling with fourth years and offering a polite nod to Harry and his friends. Nothing united Slytherin better than adversity.

***

“I reckon they’re mental, that’s all,” he said, his expression mullish.

“Ron!”

“What? I say it like I see it. There was no reason to make such a huge fuss about it! Potter got points and everything, what kind of humiliation is that?”

“I think their reaction was justified,” said Neville quietly.

“Neville’s right. We broke a lot of rules doing what we did. I’m not saying it was wrong but—”

“It was wrong!” exclaimed Neville. “Quirrell would have never gotten the Stone out of the mirror, there was no reason for us to get involved.”

“We didn’t know that!” replied Ron hotly.

The Weasleys had lost all their grimoires to the Malfoys — hence their unprecedented blood feud — but they used to be known for their fire spells. Not the raging inferno and scorching heat some families flaunted in Europe, but the tranquil fire of the hearth, which still burnt but didn’t seek to destroy. An ancestor of theirs had even been the one to invent the floo powder, back when witch hunting was a popular muggle entertainment. The twins had more Prewett in them than anything else, whose grimoires were too eclectic to be known for any particular thing, but Ron was all fiery Weasley. Their mum used to say it explained his and Ginny’s outrageous temper, though their father was way too mild for that to make sense to them. Still, right now George wished his brother simmered down a little. His fire wasn’t very welcome with Neville.

The Boy-Who-Lived was getting increasingly frowny at his best friend.

“... I don’t know if we should have been awarded points at all, but even if we did,” he looked sternly at their younger brother who was muttering that they did deserve those points, “he shouldn’t have given them last minute like that.”

“It was like he was pulling the rug from under them,” agreed Hermione, fidgeting with her sleeves.

George exchanged a look with his twin. Lee watched them curiously.

“What d’you think about…?”

He trailed off, waving his forkful of spaghetti to gesture nonsensically. George and Fred chuckled at it, though they understood he was talking about the Slytherins’ dramatic exit.

“We’ve never been given points for…,” started Fred.

“... breaking the rules before!” he finished cheerfully. “It’s certainly a new experience!”

“Besides…”

“Harrikins’ best friend, the delightful ickle prince Zabini made us see the error of our ways.”

“We’ve noticed that the treatment against Slytherin was getting pretty bad, so we toned down our pranking a little.”

“We never wanted them to think we were targeting them specifically.”

“We’re equal opportunity pranksters after all.”

“Still, it made us a bit more aware of the way they were treated by everyone else.”

“It’s quite concerning, truly.”

"I would say it's mad, even. Wouldn't you, Fred?"

“Quite. If the headmaster encourages the shunning of a House…”

“... I’d suppose the little snakes have every right to slither out!”

Lee chuckled at their bad pun, but he could see people around them look thoughtful. Well, most of them. Some, like McLaggen, looked like they’d suggested he should make out with the Giant Squid. Or maybe that was just his face. George and Fred exchanged a grin as the thought passed through both of them.

Most people didn’t notice that their minds were linked. Their parents hadn’t, for one. Lee had put it together after enough time spent sleeping in the same room. George wasn’t an early bird by any means and mostly communicated via their mental bond before nine a.m. Lee’d kept his mouth shut though, to their relief. Such a bond was something people associated with Dark magic, and it carried a lot of prejudice. The only twins with a mind link in their generation were Flora and Hestia Carrow, who were Ginny’s age. George and Fred’s father had mentioned it at dinner when they were eight and still figuring things out. Their mother’s reaction to it had been… less than ideal. They’d kept their mouths shut about it to avoid being more of a disappointment to her.

Lee didn’t care though. Some of his family was Dark and he’d never listened to the prejudice most people held over it since the war. He was someone they could laugh with instead of laugh at so he’d been the first person they’d ever really let close. The only one, even. Until Harry Potter, who tried — and failed, though not as often as they’d led him to believe — to tell them apart but accepted them as a unit. The firstie was just too sweet, it was sickening. Ronnikins was cute too, of course, but he was their brother. It was their brotherly duty to tease him. Harry though, he was their friend.

“What are you on about?” growled Ron. “There’s no shunning, people just don’t wanna associate with slimy snakes! Malfoy always tries to get us in trouble and—”

“Since when does Malfoy represent Slytherin?” interrupted Hermione.

“— You-Know-Who was in that House!”

George grimaced. To be fair to Ron, his opinion of Slytherin mostly came from their parents’ comments. He didn’t think they particularly hated the House of snakes, but their dad had cursed a few times about bloody Slytherins making his job difficult when Lucius Malfoy had managed to convince the minister to cut their department’s budget. It was bound to have influenced them.

“And Harry’s in that House!” thundered Neville. “His friends are too, and his cousin and they’ve all been perfectly nice to us.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to deal with you insulting my friend, Ron.”

“I’m not insulting Harry. I told you I thought the bloke was alright.”

“No,” intervened Hermione, “you said he was alright for a Slytherin, and that’s not the same thing.”

“We were almost Sorted into Slytherin,” blurted out Fred.

George inhaled sharply. That was something they’d only mentioned to Harry before. They’d figured he wouldn’t mind, being a snake himself. The thought of telling their brother had briefly skimmed his mind but as always, Fred was more proactive.

“What?” exclaimed Lee.

Gred and Forge grimaced before turning to their best friend. They stopped short for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“Hey, it’s cool. You’re sneaky enough for it and plenty ambitious. I was just surprised because you have the self-preservation of flobberworms,” said Lee with a smirk.

The twins snickered.

“The recklessness is what changed the Hat’s mind for sure,” winked Gred.

“Have you told mum?” asked Ron.

“No, why would we?”

“It’s not like it changes anything.”

“Does it?” asked Forge with a sharp smile.

“Of course it bloody—”

Ron was interrupted by Hermione stuffing a pastry in his mouth.

“Eat instead of being stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “Boys, really.”

Fred and George laughed at their brother’s face. He sure had chosen good friends.

***

“You look preoccupied,” observed Harry on his right.

Blaise looked up. He hadn’t noticed he’d been looking at the chessboard for longer than necessary. His pieces were waving at him, trying to catch his attention. In front of him, Tracey didn’t bother hiding her concern.

The Hogwarts express had only left the station thirty minutes ago and they’d found a compartment for themselves. The fifth years were across from them, but they’d decided against mingling their age groups for the last ride. Harry felt bad for monopolising Gemma’s time this year. Blaise was pretty sure the Potter heir’s cousin didn’t see it that way but well, that was Harry for you. Always so bloody mindful.

“Blaise?” asked Theo, looking concerned.

“My mother has started a courtship with an Austrian guy,” he said after a while. Harry took a sharp breath, and the others’ focus on him doubled. “She sent me a letter two days ago. She wants to enrol me at Durmstrang.”

“Are you—”

Blaise didn’t let Daphne finish her sentence before sharply shaking his head.

“I’m not going. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. It’s a non-issue because I’m gonna say no.”

He made sure to look into Harry’s eyes as he said this. He didn’t want his best friend to think he’d hidden it from him. He’d just been so preoccupied with Neville, that Blaise hadn’t wanted to add to that worry.

“She can see me in Mezzogiorno in the summer, but I’m not going to Austria and certainly not to Durmstrang.”

“It’s bloody cold out there, isn’t it?” mentioned Tracey.

“Not as much as Scandinavia, but definitely too much for our sensitive friend.”

The Zabini prince chuckled. His friends knew how much he disliked the cold. He’d complained as much as Malfoy usually did on a daily basis when the winter season came up. Daphne found it hilarious. She’d been taught frost magic since she was a child so the cold didn’t bother her at all. Theo, who spent his summers with his clan in Denmark was just as unsympathetic. The only one who got it was Tracey, and she was far from being as sensitive to it as him.

“That’s one of the reasons why I don’t want to go, yes.”

Left unsaid was the fact that he refused to abandon his new friends, but he didn’t quite feel the need to say it aloud. They understood anyway.

“Would she say no?” asked Theo.

“If she does, I’ll appeal to my uncle. He can reason with her. But I think that’s unlikely. It’s not like she needs me to be at Durmstrang. She’s just not used to me not going along with her plans.”

He’d never had a reason to say no to her. Mezzogiorno was his country, but the palace was cold and lonely. He wasn’t close to most of his cousins; they were all well into adulthood and although they dotted on him, he could feel the distance between them very keenly. He’d been the only royal child at court, with playmates more akin to sycophants so he’d jumped at the chance to leave the country the first time she’d suggested it. It had been just as lonely, but he had at least seen the sights. She’d probably assumed he would be just as unattached to Hogwarts. It was like she hadn’t read any of his letters.

“If you transfer, I will too,” joked Harry, though Blaise could tell there was some truth to it.

He and the others shared fond looks. Harry was so loyal to them, it was amazing.

“Or we can kidnap you and hide you in my basement,” exclaimed Tracey cheerfully.

“Didn’t you say your vampire uncle lived in your basement?” asked Theo, amused.

“Uncle Darragh is just going through a rough patch right now, or so Mum says. I tell you, if I find animal blood in the bathroom sink one more time, I am going to scream.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose.

“He still does that?”

Daphne and Tracey had known each other for years as their mothers had been best friends since their school years. Tracey’s father was muggle-born, making her a half-blood, though her mother was a pureblood witch from a prominent Irish clan. One of their ancestors had been turned into a vampire in the seventeenth century and he seemed to believe it was his descendents’ duty to take care of him. In other words, he was a freeloader. Or more specifically, a leech.

“It’s disgusting! Dad wants to kick him out but it’s not an option, and it’s not like we want to kill him!”

“They invited him in,” explained Daphne for Harry’s benefit, “so the only way they’d have to keep him out is to call the Aurors and they’re so prejudiced it might end badly.”

“How about anti-vampire wards?”

“They’re so bloody expensive,” muttered Tracey. “My family doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“I can ask my guardian how to make them,” suggested Harry. “He’s got books about it and he’s retired, it would not affect his business so he’d probably be okay with it. I can’t guarantee it though”

Tracey’s eyes were practically shining and Daphne also looked eager. Blaise just thought it was amazing Harry was talking about asking his guardian for anything, even if he sounded unsure about it.

“That would be lovely—”

She was interrupted by the sound of the compartment door opening.

“Ah, I thought I could hear your shrill voice, Greengrass. Don’t you think you should save your breath for when nobody can hear you? It’s really unpleasant,” said Parkinson as she stood at the entryway, half a step behind Malfoy.

Daphne laughed, but her expression was cold as ice. She flipped her blond hair in a practised motion, making the sapphire earrings she wore jingle.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than listen at the door, dear? It’s unbecoming.”

Blaise whistled lowly. Daphne pulled off the noble lady almost as well as his mother. Well, the Greengrass were a Noble family, he shouldn’t be surprised. Parkinson’s expression twisted.

“Careful, you might get stuck like that,” commented Tracey while checking her nails.

“Did you need something?” asked Harry politely.

His best friend had a beautiful way of implying people were wasting his time. He’d confided that he’d learnt it from the portrait of one of his ancestors, a Prewett-born Potter who’d learnt to turn kindness and a smile into a weapon just as sharp as any cutting word. Blaise threw a glance at Theo, but the Nott heir had completely checked out of the conversation. He was staring out the window, visibly disinterested.

“I just came to give you a warning, Potter,” started Malfoy who’s eyebrow had started ticking up since the beginning of the interaction. It seemed like Parkinson went off-script. “I let you off easy this year but don’t think that will continue. I will put you in your place if you keep disrespecting me.”

The five of them snorted. Harry lowered his head to hide his smirk and had to push his glasses back up his nose when they slid off. It seemed like the truce they'd had since the feast had lasted too long for Malfoy. Nevermind that it had been less than a day.

“You’re right, losing a duel and failing to antagonise me properly was pretty easy. But you didn’t let me do that. I made you and you know it. If you want to escalate this one-sided rivalry, be my guest. I’d rather do something more productive, but one thing I learnt about bullies is that they don’t listen. One question though. Why do you think I disrespected you?”

He tilted his head, looking genuinely curious. Malfoy sneered.

“Your very existence is disrespectful, pauper lord.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“This is embarrassing,” said Daphne. “You’re just throwing a tantrum because you expected us to bow to you, admit it.”

Malfoy reddened but didn’t deny it.

“We would have been great under my leadership,” he said instead, “and you know that. We could have been united under a single court. Potter ruined it all because he didn’t want to accept that I am his better—”

“Do we?” interrupted Theo for the first time. “Do we know that? Do you think we can’t hear you prattling on about your father and your money and what happens if we displease you? None of your group of ‘friends’ has ever had a single original thought. Why on Earth would you think we want that?”

“Because I would have made you stronger. My father’s political influence is as great as Dumbledore’s, the Malfoys have one of the biggest fortunes in Europe, and I am also the heir of the House of Black. My blood is pure and my magic strong.”

“Draco has the noblest blood in our year,” added Parkinson with a weirdly dreamy expression.

“Blaise is literally a prince,” said Harry, his expression deadpan.

Said prince shook his head at his best friend’s obliviousness. He still hadn’t realised. Blaise was surprised about Malfoy's proclamation of heirship though. He didn't even wear the Black heir ring, where did that even come from?

“Harry’s the Potter heir, his House has the same fortune and influence your family does,” remarked Daphne with a deadpan expression. “He was also second in our class rankings. His cousin is the spinea regina, and her court is allied with ours. Should I say more? I could talk about his magic too if you’d like. But you had a taste of it when you guys duelled, didn’t you?”

Malfoy’s expression darkened and his knuckles tightened on his hold of the door sill.

“Fawley won’t be regina for long,” said Malfoy. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

He slammed the door on his way out.

“Well,” remarked Theo, “that was ominous.”

They broke into laughter.

***

“Ulrich! Can I introduce you to Blaise, of the Royal and Ancient Dynasty Zabini? He’s my best friend. And this is Theo of the Ancient and Noble House of Nott, Daphne of the Noble House Greengrass and Tracey Davies of the Ó Gadhra clan — did I pronounce it right? Guys, this is my guardian, Ulrich of House Fawley.”

Tracey laughed.

“Yes, Harry, you did.”

“Oh, thank Merlin. Introductions are so bloody long in the magical world,” he sighed.

Ulrich ruffled his hair. Harry turned away to conceal his smile, but his friends’ soft expressions suggested he wasn’t being as discreet as he wished to be.

“Nice to finally meet you in person, lads. We didn’t have the time for the winter holidays, did we? I heard a lot about you. You’ll come to visit Harry during the summer, won’t you? He’ll get bored with only an old man for company.”

“I’d never get bored,” mumbled Harry.

“Daphne and I sure will,” said Tracey with a warm smile. “Blaise and Theo will be travelling though, so it’s less sure.”

“We’ll come back from Denmark in August,” said Theo in his usual careful tone. He was always so quiet but somehow he always managed to make himself heard. “I’ll miss your birthday but I definitely can visit after that.”

“Great!” said the Potter heir with a shy smile. He’d never had friends over. The Weasley twins had also promised to both visit and invite him, and Neville had suggested they celebrate their birthdays together. It would be the first time in his life that he was looking forward to the summer.

Harry was introduced to his friends’ parents too, except Blaise’s mother who sent some kind of bodyguard to fetch him. Daphne and Tracey’s parents were nice, and Theo’s father was polite enough though Harry felt the urge to squirm under his scrutinising look. He wondered what Theo told him to warrant such an expression. He didn’t seem to mind that his son’s group was so politically Light and Harry found it difficult to connect him to the image of a Death Eater. He hadn’t known how to even begin to ask Theo about it during the school year, but it was something he should probably do. It could wait, though.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

The Potter heir was distracted from his thoughts by Ulrich’s firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the station. Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

"I can see that. I was asking if you had a good year."

Harry remembered his quiet misery at Privet Drive. The fear of being hit, locked up, starved for days. The way words bit into him deeper than Ripper, Marge’s dog. The lies about magic, and his parents. Then he remembered professor McGonagall saving him. Meeting his parents, and learning about his family history. Getting a family in Ulrich, Gemma as much as he did in Lily and James Potter. Learning magic. Making friends.

He smiled brightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I really did.”

Chapter Text

“—and they insist on using me as a dressing doll! I’ve got more formal robes than I know what to do with, Gemma says it’s necessary because the social season starts after the summer solstice, which is in two days but I’m not going to be expected to attend every gala I’m invited to, am I? When I asked, Safaa laughed in my face.”

Harry was undeterred by the lack of response and launched into another retelling of his time at school, holding his mother’s hand. The woman was staring at his knuckles, blinking slowly.

“I miss Blaise, mum,” he said after a while. His voice had lost most of the animation of his earlier retelling, instead falling into a tone of quiet contemplation. “He wrote a brief letter to say he wasn’t leaving Hogwarts but I haven’t heard from him since. I’m a little worried.”

As he was readying himself to explain Blaise’s situation, she withdrew her hand and searched for something in her hospital robe’s pocket. From it, his mother took something with trembling fingers and let it fall into Harry’s open palm. Her son, as he’d stopped speaking to watch her worriedly, let out a tiny gasp when he saw the smushed paper flower in his hand.

“Thank you, Mum,” he said, holding back tears.

He delicately put the flower in his open bag, careful not to wrinkle it. It was the second she was giving him in as many summer visits, and it left him as choked up as the first time. She’d made a dozen of them out of paper napkins given by the hospital apparently, and refused to let the staff throw them away.

Lily smiled brightly before her expression dimmed and her rare moment of awareness ended. Harry swallowed and reminded himself he should not be greedy. He had to treasure those moments. He took her hand again and haltingly told her more anecdotes before turning to his father. The man was sitting at the edge of the bed, giving Harry the opportunity to climb at his side. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t breathing deeply enough to be sleeping. In fact, his eyelids fluttered open by irregular intervals, though his gaze never focused on anything. Harry took his hand and tried not to wince at the tremors coursing through it. He told his father about Remus’ letters, the Weasley twins’ pranks, and his time with Ulrich. He told him about the Quidditch practises he’d done with Terence and Adrian at Gemma’s house, and how he was confident he would win the cup again next year.

“Gryffindor will hold other try-outs but I don’t think they’ll find someone better than McLaggen, which isn’t saying much. He’s rubbish at seeking. He has the reflexes but not the dexterity for it. He’d be a better keeper probably.”

Harry trailed off, lost in thought.

“I wonder if your House pride would make you root for Gryffindor or if you’d wear Slytherin colours at my matches. I’d need to heal you before my seventh year to find out,” he sighed. “On another note, the twins invited me to the Burrow for tomorrow. Neville will be there too apparently. And I’m seeing Daphne and Tracey next week, they invited me to see a wizard’s play. I should take them to the cinema, I’m sure they’d enjoy it. We’d go with Terence and Gemma I guess because our guardians wouldn’t be happy about us going to muggle places without a chaperone. Then I’m seeing Neville again for his birthday, I’ll be sleeping over and we’ll floo back together for mine. See, dad?” He chuckled wistfully. “I’m almost as popular as you.”

He was interrupted in his time by Ulrich knocking on the hospital room’s door, looking regretful. Harry looked up.

“Visiting hours are almost over, lad,” he said softly.

The Potter heir looked down, unwilling to show his disappointment.

“Right.”

Harry hugged his father and stood up, pressed a kiss on his mother’s forehead, and murmured.

“I’ll see you next week.”

He walked out the door, pretending he wasn’t leaving a bit of his heart behind.

***

Harry stepped out of the floo and into a polished parlor decorated in creams and yellows, dusting himself off. It gave way to a deep corridor decorated with portraits and led to the rest of the manor. It looked less like a museum than the Fawley and Greengrass manors he’d seen before, respectively favouring whites, browns and rose golds, and green and ice blue. It was welcoming.

His godbrother grinned as he saw him.

“Happy birthday, Nev’.”

“Hiya, Harry. Thanks, and welcome to Longland Manor. This is my gran, Augusta Longbottom. Gran, Harry of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

Augusta Longbottom was standing next to her grandchild in a cardinal red robe, thankfully without her imposing hat.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Longbottom,” said Harry with a polite bow. “And I’m glad to meet you.”

“Me as well. I was pleased to hear that Neville befriended his godbrother. You two should have been raised together, it’s only right that you would at least connect at Hogwarts. I heard you didn’t even know about the bond our families share because of the muggles that raised you. Dreadful business, that.”

The Potter heir smiled tightly.

“Well. At least we now get to make up for the lost time. Are your other guests already there?”

“Ron and Hermione are —they arrived yesterday—, but not the others. You can join them in the reception rooms if you want.”

“How about I keep you company instead?”

He was friendly with Ron and Hermione, but not enough to want to spend time with them without their common friend present. Especially since the youngest Weasley had made his opinion of Slytherin’s walk-out heard by any and all during the end-of-year feast less than two months before. Harry wasn’t as sour about it as Blaise was, but he still didn’t appreciate the attitude.

Neville brightened. Standing in front of the fireplace for so long must have been tedious.

“We didn’t see you at the Bones’ summer solstice ball,” commented Harry. “Susan was disappointed.”

His friend threw him an amused look.

“You call her Susan now?”

“She’s nice,” said Harry, shrugging. He took the habit of calling people by their last names but it was honestly more natural to him to use their given names. Still, he liked that it helped differentiate between strangers, enemies, and friends. Susan wasn’t a close friend, but she was smart, and friendly, and their Houses were allied. It warranted a first-name basis. “I spent the evening with her, Daphne, Padma, Su-a, Cedric Diggory, and Eddie Carmichael, you know him? He’s a year older, in Ravenclaw. She wasn’t happy because most of her friends from Hufflepuff weren’t there but we tried to distract her. Then her aunt said you sent excuses and that you wouldn’t be able to come.”

Neville winced.

“My uncle Algie was ill. I told Aunt Amelia I couldn’t come since we were visiting him.”

Harry tried really hard not to ask if he was the same uncle who’d thrown him out of the balcony. Mrs. Longbottom wasn’t doing a very good job of pretending she wasn’t listening, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate the fact that Neville told him that at all. He also wondered about his calling Susan’s aunt like that but remembered she had been his father’s best friend. She was his godfather too, wasn’t she, he mused, his memories brought back by the fact that he’d thought that unusual at the time. Now he knew that godparents weren’t designated by gender in the wizarding world but by the person they were meant to replace, but it had puzzled him at the time.

He wondered who had been his godfather. Ulrich looked sad when he mentioned it and Remus always changed the subject. He figured whoever it was was dead since they hadn’t adopted him after what happened to his parents.

“That explains it. There’s been a lot of cases of wizard flu this summer. Gemma was sick too. It’s a shame you weren’t there, the bonfire was great and the food even better.”

“Yeah, it’s always pretty nice. But we can go together next year, right?”

Harry nodded.

“Did you invite a lot of people for today?”

Neville shook his head, looking relieved at not having a crowd over.

“I’ll be required to invite all Allied Houses for my fourteenth and seventeenth birthday but the other ones can be pretty low-key. We’re mostly waiting on my family members, the other Weasleys, Susan and her aunt, and Hannah and her family.”

“Your guardian was invited too,” added Mrs. Longbottom, looking disapproving.

“Ah, yes, but he had a prior commitment with Mr. Ollivander. Something about the wards of the shop and an attempted breach.”

“How terrible! Who would even dare try such a thing?”

“Surprisingly more people than one would expect. It’s just the first time that no magical signature was recorded. Ulrich thinks it might have been a squib or a house-elf.” He wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have house-elves, do you?”

“Goodness, no,” exclaimed Neville’s grandmother. “House elf keeping is a barbaric practice. My Frank tried to have it outlawed at the Wizengamot but we haven’t won that battle yet.”

Harry sighed in relief.

“Malfoy made it sound like it was perfectly normal to own slaves so I was a little worried. The Fawleys don’t have one and Blaise didn’t even know what I was referring to so I didn’t know who to ask about it. Then it kind of slipped my mind.”

“There are three types of elves: land elves, house-elves, and wild elves. All of them feed on ambient magic. A lot of Noble estates employ land elves to tend to their manor and allow them to feed on the magic of the estate. They’re paid a salary, though most of them spend it all on housekeeping. They like taking care of the land and it’s as much theirs as it is ours. Sometimes they even try to kick us out of it if we don’t respect the agreement signed at the beginning of the partnership,” chuckled Mrs. Longbottom. “Wild elves prefer staying in untouched magical areas, but there aren’t many of those left. And house-elves are even rarer. They feed on wizard magic, though it often isn’t enough to sustain them. They starve slowly instead.”

“Why would they do it then?”

Neville glowered.

“Binding spells, of the bad kind. It was a Burke who did it first. Tricked the land elf living at his estate and bound him into servitude. When people tried to get him to free him, he invoked the Family spell clause and argued there was no law against it. Then he started commissioning bindings on his friends’ elves. We have to wait until the Burke line dies out to get rid of the spell, or for the ministry to do something about it. One thing is more likely to happen before the other,” he said grimly.

“And nobody has tried to…?”

He made a slashing throat gesture that had his godbrother choking on a laugh. Even his grandmother looked amused.

“I have no idea. Something to think about though.” He shook his head. “Speaking of house elves, you wouldn’t happen to know how Malfoy’s elf is called, would you? We had the most interesting visit the other day. An elf named Dobby tried to convince me to stay homeschooled…”

***

“I can’t believe you’ve started the party without me.”

Harry turned around and beamed.

“Blaise!”

The Zabini prince smiled fondly as he dusted the floo powder off of him. He’d missed his friend.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he breathed out before sending a questioning glance at his guardian.

Mr. Fawley scratched his cheek, embarrassed.

“I thought you’d like the surprise.”

“I really do. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He hugged his guardian briefly before taking hold of Blaise’s forearm and dragging him to the packed living room, where everyone was already gorging on snacks. There were Daphne and Tracey in a corner with Padma Patil and Li Su-a, Longbottom speaking to Bones while sitting on a big couch, the rest of the Fawley family with most of the Argentum court standing close to what he recognised as the portrait of Harry’s ancestors. Blaise shook his head. Only Harry would display portraits to celebrate his birthday. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the Hufflepuff seeker speaking to Adrian, making hand gestures that probably referenced some kind of Quidditch manoeuvres. The Weasley were nearby, pretending to listen while actually slipping something into Diggory’s drink with matching grins that had Blaise and Harry choking on a laugh. The only ones of Harry’s loved ones missing were his parents, Theo, and the elusive Remus Lupin who was still working abroad.

They made the rounds to greet everyone and Blaise observed as his best friend literally glowed in the joy of seeing people who actually liked him celebrate the date of his birth. Harry had confided in him once in a hushed voice that he used to draw himself a cake in the dust of his room —which he’d paused at, almost as if he hadn’t actually slept in a proper bedroom before— and celebrated by himself, never receiving any present. Blaise was more glad than ever that his friend was out of that horrid house.

The party went on for a long time and was surprisingly fun for hosting such an eclectic group of people in such an informal setting. Blaise found Landon, the head of House Fawley hilarious with his caustic humour and dry commentary of the Weasley twin antics. They played games, told each other stories, and even went flying a little bit before listening to a riveting tale told by Roman Potter about the discovery of a magical artefact in the fourteenth century that resulted in the disappearance of hundreds of muggles. The Veil of Death as he called it was now being held in the British Department of Mysteries, but Blaise would be surprised if they’d actually managed to “unveil” its secrets as the Weasley twins put it. This type of magic was always hard to analyse.

Harry was invited to open his presents, and though Blaise suspected that he would have been just as happy if they’d given him old socks or something, the Potter heir was literally glowing with happiness. He received clothes from Safaa and Gemma —which made him scowl playfully and explain that the girls had played dress-up with him all summer—, a pranking guide from the Weasley twins, an interactive enchanted game from Daphne and Tracey, Quidditch gear from Adrian, books from Terence, Longbottom and the older Fawleys, an eagle feather quill by Aspen, a handmade sweater by Mrs Weasley, an enchanted notebook by Ulrich, Hagrid’s horrendous rock cakes, and a card from professors Flitwick and McGonagall. Then Diggory, Bones, Su-a and Padma gave more sedate gifts, as expected from people who didn’t know Harry well. The best gifts were probably Blaise’s, Theo’s, and Remus Lupin’s. Theo had sent over what had to be a priceless translation of basic seiðr spells. Mr Lupin sent an enormous package well-preserved assortment of Egyptian sweets that had Safaa looking envious before Harry obligingly gave her a few to sample. And Blaise, well.

“A pensieve?”

“Are you crazy?” said Longbottom, having probably lost his brain-to-mouth filter from the shock. He at least had the decency to blush at Blaise’s raised eyebrow. “That’s…”

“A filthy rich prince’s gift?” suggested Fred, looking both disgusted and awed.

“He is quite rich,” mused George. “Not very filthy, but we can arrange that, can’t we?”

Blaise decided to ignore that, and looked at Harry, who was staring at the pensieve without touching it like he was afraid to break it.

“I’m not going to give you over-the-top gifts all the time, but I did say I’d teach you Occlumency. Having a pensieve at hand helps. It’s spelled against theft too.”

“Thanks,” murmured Harry, probably unsure what to say.

The Italian prince looked away, embarrassed. He knew it was too much but Harry was his first friend, he wanted his first birthday gift to be special. And considering the fact that his best friend had given him an obfuscation necklace from his family vault for his own birthday in May that year, he had no room to speak. It was an heirloom imbued with some sort of notice-me-not charm that worked passively against muggles and had to be activated to counter wixen. While not as ostentatious as a pensieve, it was definitely not the kind of gift you’d expect from someone you’d only known a few months. More than that, it was complementary to Harry’s invisibility cloak. Blaise and Harry knew they would be friends until the end of times, such a thing didn’t seem to be too much.

Diggory skillfully changed the subject, for which Harry sent him a grateful look. After another hour of talking, the guests started going back to their families, with the main Fawley family leaving last. When he saw Blaise wasn’t leaving, the Potter heir tilted his head.

“Are you staying over?” he asked with a delighted grin.

“Actually,” said Blaise, “I’ll be staying for the whole month. If that’s okay with you,” he added a little anxiously.

“Are you kidding? That sounds brilliant! But won’t you miss your family?”

“I will, but I spent almost two months in Mezzogiorno, I saw them plenty. And Mother’s moving to Austria so...”

“The lad was planning to only stay a week but I thought it would make more sense if he stayed longer,” explained Mr Fawley. “So I wrote his mother, and she gave the OK. She also told me they’d send over a bodyguard tomorrow, which you’re not allowed to go anywhere without.”

“It makes sense. I forget that you’re a prince sometimes.”

Blaise tried to hide how much that pleased him, but Harry knew him too much by now and sent him a curious look. He would have to invite him to Mezzogiorno next year. Not just because he’d love to introduce his best friend to his family, but because it would help Harry understand how refreshing his lack of deference was. The British in general were so self-centred that they tried to ignore his status as much as possible —Malfoy being the best example for that— but Harry had just genuinely decided that his princely status had nothing to do with their friendship if Blaise didn’t want it to.

Mr Fawley invited him to sit at the table for a quiet dinner and Blaise found he quite liked the cottage Harry called home. It didn’t have the extravagance of his own home or the appeal of Hogwarts, but it was warm and his best friend was so utterly comfortable within those walls it instantly endeared them to him. They arranged an extra bed in Harry’s room, painted in pale green with a flitting golden snitch charmed to fly in and out. It was spacious but sparsely decorated. There were mostly photos, books, and Harry’s beloved portraits, as well as the gifts and trinkets he’d accumulated during the year, including four odd paper flowers he didn't know if he should ask about. Hedwig was perched in front of the windowsill, her cage nowhere in sight.

“Hello, beautiful lady,” crooned Blaise who had developed a deep affection for the animal. “I think I’d want to get a pet,” he mused, which earned him a sharp look from the owl.

“As far as she’s concerned, I’m the pet and she’s the owner,” said Harry with an amused grin.

The two friends showered one after the other and changed into their pyjamas before settling on the two bean bags Mr Fawley had summoned for them in front of Harry’s bookshelves. Blaise’s best friend settled into a yellow-coloured one before burying himself into the green quilt settled on top of it. The Italian prince imitated him as they talked idly about their respective summers.

“Mother wasn’t thrilled about my decision to stay at Hogwarts, but Uncle Aristeo reasoned with her. I might have brought it up during our family dinner,” Blaise admitted without shame when Harry asked him about the outcome of his decision. “We decided that we’d spend the summers in Mezzogiorno together and I’d stay in Britain for the other holidays while she goes to stay with whoever she’s courting, dating, or marrying.”

“That sounds pretty fair.”

“Mhm. I explained that I found it uncomfortable to stay at Yaxley’s home when she told me he preyed on children and she looked like the idea that I was a child hadn’t even occurred to her. She was horrified. Uncle and my cousins were so mad at her for that.” He shrugged. “There was a lot of screaming.”

“I’m sorry that happened. But I’m glad she understood.”

“Me too. It’s still a little tense, which is why I’m glad to be spending the rest of the summer there. Constantino, my eldest cousin — the heir to the throne —, is going to come here around the end of August. It’s an official visit so I won’t see him much, but he got us invitations to this Ministry Ball so I can introduce him to you. The family is interested to meet you. They also made me promise to invite you to Mezzogiorno next summer.”

Harry looked eager, though anxious to make a good impression. They talked about all the things they could do in his home country before Blaise shifted the conversation to Harry’s own summer. He told him about visiting his parents, the summer solstice, his healing lessons with Peregrine Potter, and Longbottom’s birthday.

“Ron was very rude about the whole situation at the end-of-year feast so I tried to avoid him,” explained Harry. “Neville and Hermione weren’t agreeing with him but they clearly thought it wasn’t worth arguing about it. I didn’t want to bring down the mood during Nev’s birthday so I stayed with the twins.”

“I like Fred and George. They’re fun. My cousin Antea would love them. She’s got the same sense of humour, Mother thinks it’s, ah, uncouth?” Harry nodded. Reassured that he’d had the right pronunciation, Blaise continued. “But their brothers are…” He wrinkled his nose, thinking about the oldest Weasley they’d met at school and the one in their year.

“Their little sister is cool too,” commented Harry. “She’s got Ron’s temper but more, er.”

“Brains?”

The Potter heir chuckled.

“No. I was going to say tact. She’s got a terrible crush on Nev’ though.” There’s no accounting for taste, thought Blaise, who was admittedly still bitter over the mirror debacle. “I think Ron gets it from his father. The guy spent an hour asking me about my experience in the muggle world, it was uncomfortable.”

“And you were too nice to tell him to lay off?”

He smiled sheepishly.

“I tried to humour him at first but once I realised he wouldn’t stop, I acted like Susan was calling me over.” He paused. “By the way, I was planning on inviting Daphne and Tracey to the cinema, you’ll come with us, won’t you?”

“I want to say yes but it depends on which bodyguard they send over tomorrow. If it’s Giosue he’ll probably say no. The man’s so uptight. Imagine Percy Weasley but with thirty more pounds of muscles…”

***

“The bookstore sure is busy,” commented Blaise. “Let’s go a bit later, shall we?”

“Mhm. Ah, I see Theo!”

They waved over at their friend who was looking around with his father. The quiet boy seemingly brightened upon seeing them, which Harry thought was amazing. Theo was a little withdrawn and it was hard to tell what he was thinking at the best of times. Seeing him so animated was great.

“Harry, Blaise, hi. And…?”

“Aurelio Salvatore, my bodyguard for this summer,” introduced Blaise, rolling his eyes.

The man who’d been shadowing them offered a deep bow to Theo and his father but otherwise did not speak. Instead, he retreated into himself, expecting to be forgotten. Harry thought it was weird that he didn’t even try to interact, but Blaise said it was part of his duty. He needed to be attentive at all times and couldn’t be distracted by conversations.

“Good morning, Lord Nott,” he said, to which he simply received a polite nod. “Hi, Theo. How was Denmark?”

“It was nice.”

Harry changed the subject, not expecting much more. At least their friend was more expansive in his letters, he told himself consolingly. Theo had written at length about the island his clan lived in, which was a place that hadn’t seen the sun in centuries due to some sort of curse placed on the common ancestor of the Nott clan, rumoured to be the primordial goddess of the night. The island was the host of —among other things— a thousand of wizarding houses, a beautiful lake, giant wolves named wargs, a small village of dwarves, and a herd of thestrals. The place was as saturated in magic as Hogwarts was, and Theo absolutely loved it. The Nott clan was big, making up about ninety percent of the population of the island, for whom the jarl protected the extensive clan grimoires. Clans differed in Houses in the fact that they were a community more than a family, brought together by a common ancestor but not defined by the continuation of their line. Harry thought it was nicer than the Houses system, though he loved his family history anyway.

They chatted amicably as they went shop by shop to gather their school supplies, the Head of House Nott and Blaise’s bodyguard two silent shadows at their side. They stopped for ice cream paid by Lord Nott before heading to the bookstore which was still crowded.

Theo’s father frowned as they got in.

“It seems Gilderoy Lockhart is doing a book signing,” he said, his face unreadable.

“Remus thinks he’s a fraud,” commented Harry at the same time as the exuberant author announced he would be taking the position of Professor Against the Dark Arts.

“That explains why the list only has his books on it,” said Blaise as they got closer, wrinkling his nose. “Wait, isn’t that Longbottom?”

Sure enough, Harry’s godbrother was being held in a tight grip by the blond author as he kept speaking. The Potter heir clenched his jaw and made his way further, pushing away Lockhart’s public as he went. As he reached Neville he forced a smile on his face.

“Nev’, I was looking for you!”

“Harry,” said his godbrother with blatant relief. “Excuse me, professor Lockhart, I need to see my friend Harry.”

“Ah, our new DADA professor, is it?” asked Blaise with a forced widening of his eyes. He’d followed after Harry with a put-upon sigh, Theo and his father not far behind. “A pleasure. Mother told me about you. She’s a big fan of your… exploits.”

“Ah, she wouldn’t happen to be Serafina Zabini, would she?” the man asked, glancing at Blaise’s gold eyes. He looked a little nervous.

Harry’s best friend grinned. He looked like a predator.

“Good guess.”

“Right. Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, children! Do remember your textbooks.”

“Are the textbooks so necessary for your class, professor?” asked Harry sweetly. “I mean, I just assumed you knew all of those books by heart.” He tilted his head. “Don’t you? You wrote them and lived them, after all. Wouldn’t it be so much better to hear it all from the source?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve already sent the list and I believe the textbooks will be invaluable to supplement my teaching.”

“Well, then, we better buy them. That will be a total of what, thirty-five galleons? Pocket money for the average wizard,” said Blaise, playing the clueless rich prince.

Neville was also frowning at Lockhart, and people always had eyes on the Boy-Who-Lived. There were murmurs in the crowd already, and their new DADA teacher definitely noticed.

“Oh dear, look at the time. I believe I have to go, dear readers! Until next time!”

Lockhart flashed everyone a bright smile and made his escape. Harry watched the crowd shake their heads before dazedly gushing about the celebrity.

“That has to be magic,” he murmured.

“I just hope he won’t be using it on the girls at school,” said Theo grimly, who’d approached as soon as Lockhart’s fans dispersed.

“If he tries anything…”

Neville exchanged a look with Harry, cutting him off. He made a slashing throat gesture before winking. The godbrothers cracked up laughing.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, meeting Lockhart wasn’t the only confrontation that happened that day. Though this time Harry wasn’t involved, he and his friends had a front row seat to the sight of Malfoy’s father getting into a physical fight with Ron’s dad.

“Right. Er. I’m gonna go back to Ron,” said Neville, biting anxiously at his thumb. Harry sympathised. The display was embarrassing, and he wished Mr Weasley wasn’t put into that situation in front of a reporter. “It was nice to see ya, Harry. Nott, Zabini,” he added before awkwardly nodding in Lord Nott’s direction, which the Potter heir thought was pretty restrained of him, considering. “You’ll be coming to Sunday lunch at the Burrow, won’t you? I heard the Weasley twins mention it.”

“Mhm. I’ll see you then, Nev’.”

While Neville made his way back to the Weasley family, the three Slytherins and their supervisors quickly did their shopping before leaving the shop.

“I need more potions ingredients, and a blade sharpener,” announced Theo. “What’s on your list?”

“Quills and ink, wand polish, and some ingredients too. Harry, you said you needed a new cloak didn’t you?”

“Ah, yes. Where should we go first?”

They did their shopping while chatting. They ended their errands by going to Mr Ollivander’s shop, both to buy polish and to meet up with Ulrich, who was catching up with his friend. There they said goodbye to Theo’s father, who exchanged a few quiet words with his son before sending him off. Theo would be staying over with them for two nights.

“You’ll take care of my son, of course, Mr Potter,” he said.

Harry nodded, though he had to fight hard to keep his expression straight. His friend’s father was really intimidating. He wondered why the man wasn’t saying that to Ulrich though.

“I will, sir.”

Lord Nott left with an approving gleam in his eyes.

“Sorry about Father. I know he’s… intense.”

“That he is. Do you know why he keeps looking at me like that?”

Theo looked away, a little embarrassed.

“I believe I can answer that if you want, Mr Nott,” said Mr Ollivander, coming out of his workshop with Ulrich in tow.

Harry startled a little, surprised by the sudden appearance. The man’s eyes unfocused a little as he stared at them, but he said nothing. Probably because his friends’ wands didn’t come from his shop. Ollivander tended to only recognise his own work.

“Mr Ollivander. Hi again.”

“Hi, Harry. Didn’t I tell you to call me Garrick?”

“Right. I forgot.”

“As I was saying, I believe that your friend’s father's stares have to do with your magic. Like me, Bertram Nott has a certain sensitivity to it. It is something he has likely developed over time, through exposure to certain types of spells.”

“Ah. Is it because mine is so… wild? Um. Garrick.”

Blaise snorted, likely thinking it was an understatement. Considering the fact that the two other boys were present in the aftermath of what happened with Langley, the sentiment was understandable.

“Your magic is tumultuous, yes, but also extremely dense and potent. This is what makes sensitive wixen look at you with more intent, I believe.”

Ulrich looked worried at that.

“It’s not going to attract unsavoury characters to him, is it? The lad has enough on his plate as it is."

“Not anymore than any other brilliant student who roams the halls of Hogwarts. Besides, I trust that young Harry has the tools to protect himself and some good friends to help him doesn’t he?”

Blaise and Theo nodded without hesitation. Harry offered them a thankful smile. His friends were really amazing.

“How much does your sensitivity help you determining which wand fits a wizard best?” asked Blaise after a beat.

Garrick laughed.

“Now, that would be telling.”

Harry liked his guardian’s friend. The wandmaker was eccentric, but also pretty fun.

Once they were back at the cottage and they’d gotten the tour of the place out of the way, Harry let out a sigh of relief before plopping himself into his bean bag chair. He hated crowds. Plus shopping was exhausting. He and Theo exchanged commiserating looks while Blaise laughed at them.

“You two are lucky you’re only heirs by title. The responsibilities of an actual aristocrat would kill you.”

“I still think it’s weird that we have to call people Lords when the Lordly Council doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“Most etiquette conventions are weird, Harry. But I think your historian portrait told you last time that since the Wizengamot is still at lordly majority, it’s like the Council still exists, right?”

Harry nodded.

“So it would stand to reason that most of the etiquette of the time would have stayed. Well. At least curtsying and proper bows aren’t mandatory anymore.”

The Potter heir wrinkled his nose.

“I’d hate it if Tracey and Daphne had to do that to Malfoy all the time.”

“Can you imagine? I think Daphne would find a way to poison him before suffering even a month of that.”

“Isn’t Tracey’s brother really good at potions?” asked Blaise with an eager grin.

“Tracey has a brother?”

The two other boys stared at him. Harry flushed. He knew he could be a bit unobservant but he thought he would have noticed something like that.

“She has two, actually. I don’t actually blame you for not knowing. Tracey doesn’t talk about them much. The one still at Hogwarts is a bit…”

“Unsufferable?” suggested Theo.

“Exactly. But still, he’s on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. You should know him.”

“Ah.” Harry searched through his memories. “Roger Davies?”

“Huh-uh. The other’s named Chester, but he’s like eleven years older. He’s the one who’s a potion maker.”

“I think I heard her mention Chester, but I thought he was her uncle.”

“He might be actually.”

Blaise frowned at the thought.

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s her older brother.”

“We could just ask her next time we see her,” said Theo.

“Right. When was the last time you saw them?”

“We wrote a little, but I haven’t met them since the end of the year. I only came back three days ago after all. You?”

“We went to the cinema together about a week ago. I saw them a lot this summer actually. Daphne’s birthday in June, galas, the summer solstice celebration, my birthday, that play we went to see and then the cinema. Daphne also came to help me with my dance lessons since Gemma and Safaa are too tall,” he enumerated while counting the events on his fingers.

“Oh, I forgot about those. How was it?”

Harry wrinkled his nose.

“The less said about it the better. But at least I won’t embarrass myself.” He paused. “Why does Tracey never come to social events? I know Adrian does sometimes and he’s muggle-born.”

“Adrian comes as Safaa or Aspen’s plus one, like Terence is always Gemma’s. Unless it’s one of his friends’ Houses, he doesn’t receive formal invitations. Technically Tracey could do the same but she doesn’t like stuffy parties,” said Blaise.

“Makes sense. I probably would skip most of them if it didn’t mean I’d offend Allied Houses.”

“About that. Are you going to have a Recognition of Alliance on your fourteenth birthday?”

“Mhm. I talked about it with Nev’. Since he’s the leader of our Alliance and he’ll be doing it, we decided it was better if I did it too. It’s going to be a mess though, both because the two events are going to be right after each other and because I don’t have a venue to hold mine.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t?”

Harry shook his head.

“Potter Manor was blown up during the war. You-Know-Who targeted it while my family was in hiding. That’s why there are so many portraits and heirlooms in my vault. Everything that could be salvaged was taken there. I’ll need to buy an appropriate property for it, but I want to wait until next year.”

“He blew up an ancestral manor? Isn’t he supposed to be this paragon of pureblood superiority?”

“I know right? What a dick.”

Theo choked on a horrified laugh at their irreverence before he paused.

“Wait. Is, not was?”

Harry and Blaise exchanged a look. Theo was their friend but he was still the son of a Death Eater. They knew he didn’t believe in blood supremacy, but they didn’t know if they could gamble on that. He still loved his father who had served the madman they were talking about.

Blaise shrugged, communicating that he’d follow Harry’s lead. The Potter heir took a deep breath.

“You-Know-Who didn’t die that night. Nev’ met him at the end of first year.”

***

“Vulnera Sanentur heals deep wounds, but only external ones. It returns the lost blood back into the patient and closes only the damage you can identify. If you want to stop internal bleeding, you will need to use the spell Caecos Sanare. The wand movement is…”

Theo observed with fascination as Harry took notes and mimicked wand movements with his finger, not at all bothered by the fact that the Renaissance painting didn’t have the depth perception required to properly mimic the movement. He simply adapted to Peregrine Potter’s circumstances and filled in the gaps by himself. Witnessing the short warding lesson Ulrich Fawley gave Blaise and Harry earlier had been interesting enough, but beginner wards had nothing on watching his friend being tutored in healing practises that were normally taught to adult wixen. Theo knew Harry wanted to be a healer, he hadn’t expected his dedication to his ambition to be this intense. He himself didn’t know what he wanted to do in the future; like Blaise had a vague idea of working in politics, Theo thought about doing something to do with magical research. He wasn’t committed to anything, though.

“Harry is brilliant at practical magic in general but his passion for healing is something else,” murmured Blaise who was sitting next to him.

Theo made a noncommittal sound, too focused on the lesson to reply. After a while, he did turn to his other friend.

“Do you know why he chose to heal of all things?”

“The first ancestor he heard about was Ser Peregrine and I think that played a big role in his decision, but it probably has to do with his parents.” Blaise paused. “Seeing them like that… it’s no wonder Harry wants to save people. I’m surprised he doesn’t dislike Dark magic more.”

Theo grimaced. Considering the fact that his own mother had succumbed to the same spell that had the Potters permanently residing in the Janus Thickey ward, he could understand the reluctance. However, unlike Harry who could decide to never use a Dark spell if he wanted, Theo couldn’t deny his own Dark affinity. At most he could force himself to change to Grey-Dark, but nothing more.

“A lot of healing spells are Dark, actually. It’s a common misconception. Ser Peregrine had to disabuse us of the notion that only Light spells mend when they started those lessons,” explained Mr Fawley, raising his head from the book he was reading on the sofa beside them.

“How so?”

“Binding spells can be used to force a beating heart to follow the rhythm of its healer’s own pulse. A lot of blood cleansing requires rituals only permissible by Dark magic, and mind healing, in general, is a Dark pursuit. Truly, Harry is lucky his magic is Grey. It would be much harder for him to learn some of what he needs for his goals if it wasn’t the case.”

“I didn’t know that. Though to be fair, before I met Harry the most I knew of healing magic was where I could find the physician’s ward in the palace.”

Theo nodded.

“Most of my illnesses and hurts as a child were healed by potions. Still, it’s fascinating.”

“Isn’t it so? Warding has always been my true calling but I’ve always had a deep respect for healers.”

“Warding is great too. It’s a shame it’s not taught at Hogwarts.”

Blaise tilted his head.

“Don’t you think you’d like to teach, Ulrich?”

Their friend’s guardian chuckled.

“Ah, lad, I’m too old for such things. Not everyone has your headmaster’s resilience. Besides proper warding practice requires an advanced background in Runes and Arithmancy, that’s why it is only taught to students after NEWTs.”

“But surely there is some part of the discipline that could be taught at a beginner’s level as you did for us this morning?”

“Remember, what I taught you was a core ward. It is not sustainable and only to be used in emergencies. It’s perfect if you need to hide, but it drains the magic in your core very quickly,” said Mr Fawley sternly. “Self-sustaining wards require complex structures to feed on ambient magic, but core wards and blood wards demand sacrifices.” Theo thought the ward master must have a Light-Grey core to even be able to do such a thing. House Fawley was Light, but maybe consistent practise had altered the man’s affinity. “You’ve surely noticed that very little sacrificing magic is taught at Hogwarts?”

Blaise’s mouth twisted unhappily as he nodded. Theo sympathised. The bias against Dark magic was strong still, mainly because a lot of it would horrify muggle-born sensibilities.

“Hm, so those wards could not be included in the curriculum. What about basic warding arrays?”

“I suppose that would be feasible but only for students with an OWL in Ancient Runes, or the dedication to learn Elder and Younger Futhark during the summers,” he added while shooting an amused look at Theo.

Well, it wasn’t a matter of dedication for him, runes were an essential part of learning seiðr. He’d been taught them very early in life. Though he supposed Mr Fawley might have been referencing his gift to Harry.

“Sixth and seventh-year students might not want to add to their workloads right before NEWTs,” mused Blaise.

“Exactly. Besides, I believe basic wards are part of the curriculum anyway, though not explored as extensively as you would have liked.”

“A shame. Ah, I think Harry’s done.”

“Good. We’ll be leaving for the botanical garden in about half an hour. Could you call your bodyguard back, Blaise? I think he was doing a perimeter of the house.”

***

“The snakeling princes have arrived!”

“All hail to their snakeyness!”

“And Harrykins! How dare you not tell us about your prank on Binns?”

“Throwing salt at a ghost, pure genius.”

Ron watched with a wrinkled nose as his brothers fawned over the two Slytherin visitors. He didn’t understand what was so cool about Harry. Neville he understood, the two were godbrothers. Even if he thought they took it a bit too far, he kind of got it. For orphans, that was something to treasure. But the twins had no reason to cosy up to him like they did. Maybe they thought it would make their mum mad if they made friends with a snake. Joke’s on them, their mum bloody loved Harry.

“I don’t understand why you don’t like him,” observed Hermione as they watched Neville hug Harry.

“I don’t dislike him,” he grumbled, “I just. I don’t trust him. He and Zabini are not bad for Slytherins, but they hang out with Nott and we all know who that one’s father is. Plus Zabini’s family is creepy.”

“Ah, yes, I read about that. But still, both of them are perfectly decent. You were even getting along before. And they called for help for us during the whole thing with the Philosopher’s stone.”

“I know!”

He put a hand through his hair, mussing it.

“I know, okay? But you don’t get it, Slytherins are just— they have ulterior motives, everyone knows that. I just can’t figure out what theirs are.”

“Ulterior motives for what?”

“For being so decent, even after their stunt with Professor Dumbledore. We’re supposed to be rivals, and yet Potter’s bloody mindful and stuff. And in the meantime, Zabini looks at him like, like a chess piece.”

Neville was throwing them questioning looks now, wondering why they hadn’t joined him. Harry and the twins were already on their brooms, pirouetting into the air.

“Chesspieces can be valued, you know,” said a voice from behind him.

Ron startled and turned abruptly. Zabini was looking at him with an unreadable expression. His unsettling gold eyes were dissecting him and finding him wanting.

“Harry is my king on the board. The most valued piece. He’s also my best friend, but that’s beside the point.” He paused. “I asked the twins, you only won the chess match at the end of the year because you sacrificed yourself. I don’t do sacrifice. Not of myself, and not of my friends.”

“Ron doesn’t sacrifice his friends either,” protested Hermione. “And there’s value in sacrifice for a good cause.”

“Perhaps it’s just me, but I’d rather make sure there’s no need for it. I’d rather live for a cause. What I like is to plan and observe, and make sure no one comes even close to threatening my king. I’m still learning how to do that, though.”

His gaze became a little distant, and Ron wondered what he was thinking about. It wasn’t like Harry was unsafe at Hogwarts, unlike Neville who had a bloody dark lord after him. It was probably the bloody Slytherin politics. The duel with Malfoy had been funny, but he’d heard rumours about a snake terrorising the whole House during the year. They were all mental.

“So you’re what, the queen?”

“If I have to be. Life is not chess after all. But I’d argue we all are. Theo, Daphne, Tracey, and I. We all recognise his value, and we want to protect him. Even your brothers do. Ever since we told them about the prejudice our House faced, they kept an eye on Harry, pranked the ones who even so much as looked at him wrongly. It’s pretty nice of them.”

Hermione frowned.

“Not Neville?”

“When has Longbottom defended Harry? When you were treating him like he was diseased for being a Slytherin and we still had to make nice with you? When he accused him of tattling to Dumbledore for the mirror and ignored him right after? Or when you received all those points you shouldn’t have received —I’m not arguing you didn’t deserve an award, but a Special Services to the School plaque would have been enough, don’t you think? Nobody said anything to the headmaster.”

“You’re painting him in a bad light on purpose. The mirror thing was a while ago and they’re okay now. Neville did defend Harry, he just didn’t want to make a scene. And we weren’t agreeing with Professor Dumbledore’s decision,” Ron made out to speak but Hermione sent him a warning look, “we just couldn’t protest about it. You’re being unfair.”

“You’re right. But wasn’t Weasley unfair too? You take the smallest things and blow them out of proportion to make it seem like we’re against you. We did nothing to you. Harry’s too nice so he won’t say anything about it but I’m sick of it. Either you go spend time elsewhere when he hangs out with your friend or your brothers, or you stop with the attitude. It’s honestly not that difficult.”

“Or what?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he said with an ominous grin.

After that, Zabini walked away and yelled at Harry and the twins to come back down because he wanted to play exploding snap. He dragged Neville further away too. Ron reckoned it was so they wouldn’t spill about the threat he just made.

“He’s right, you know. Not the bit about Neville, but the fact that he’s done nothing to make you distrust him like that.”

“Are you serious? He just threatened me!”

“No, he asked you to stop being rude to his friend or he’ll retaliate. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna do something bad, he’ll just prank you like the twins do or something. His loyalty to Harry is a little weird, but we would do the same for Neville, I suppose. And it’s not like Zabini’s Malfoy.”

“He’s not a bigot, yeah, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a git. His mum kills people for Merlin’s sake. I say Harry’s bloody weird for being friends with him!”

“So now Harry’s not the suspicious one, it’s just Blaise?”

Hermione shook her head.

“People are not their parents, I feel like you should get that in your head. You’re gonna tell me you don’t have a single blood supremacist in your family? Would I judge you for it?” She paused. “You know my uncle Andre is in jail for beating up a racist guy who called him a slur,” she said quietly. “He’s still my uncle. My family loves him. People would judge us for it, say that my uncle’s violent and we shouldn’t associate with him, but we do. I think it might be the same for Blaise.”

“It’s not the same,” said Ron weakly.

“How do you know? You don’t know anything about his life. I think you’re just angry because Harry and Blaise question what you thought you knew about Slytherin.”

Ron didn’t respond. He needed to think about it. After a while though, he furrowed his brows and turned fully to his bossy friend.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your family?”

Hermione bit her lip. Ron guessed she might have been blushing; she looked embarrassed enough for it but it wouldn’t show on her dark skin.

“Because there’s not much to tell. My parents are just dentists, I have an aunt who works as a secretary and my uncle is a mason. My grandparents on my mum’s side live in Nigeria, and the ones on my dad’s side live in London close to us. They’re not as impressive as the families in the Wizarding World, who have grimoires and Noble titles, and all that.”

“But they’re cool because they’re your family,” he said with a frown. “The Weasleys don’t even have grimoires anymore, and the only reason we’re Nobles is because of our Prewett blood. Our House lost its title because of the Malfoys." More or less. They were noble enough to have feuds but not enough for Ron's dad to be called a lord. It was bloody confusing. "We’re not that impressive either. And I think even Neville who has all those House Alliances and Ancient and Noble crap would like to hear about your family.”

“You are impressive, though! The invention of the floo powder alone is such an amazing thing to be credited for, and—”

Ron rolled his eyes fondly. His friend was bossy, but she was pretty cool.

***

“His Highness, Constantino of the Ancient and Royal Dynasty of the Zabini,” announced the man at the door. “Representing the court of Mezzogiorno as its ambassador.”

Blaise rolled his eyes at Harry’s side.

“Dino always has to be fashionably late.”

Harry tugged at his collar, annoyed by the texture of the elaborate hem hitting his neck. The royal blue robes he was wearing were nice-looking, but way too stiff. He hated formal events.

“Do you want me to loosen it, little cousin?”

“Please, Mrs Catelyn,” said Harry with a relieved smile.

Since her parents worked at the ICW, they had been invited to attend and brought their daughter along. They were their chaperones for the evening. Aurelio, Blaise’s bodyguard didn’t count as a chaperone for some reason. Bloody etiquette rules. Gemma’s mother widened his collar with a wave of her wand, and Harry thanked her quietly.

“Let’s go, Harry before Dino is swamped by politicians.”

Blaise led him through the crowd toward his elder cousin. Constantino Zabini cut an imposing figure. He moved more elegantly than Blaise did, whose gait matched more a cat-like sprawl than the princely manners of his cousin, but the family resemblance was otherwise obvious. Bronze skin, gold eyes and their hair in tame black curls, the Zabinis had the grace of predators. The first in line for the Mezzogiorno throne looked more mature perhaps, with his poised expression and his hair braided back. Harry liked Blaise’s lazy smirk better though. Which was probably obvious since he was his partner in crime.

“Cousin,” said the aforementioned heir with a delighted smile on his lips before letting out a rapid stream of Italian. Harry only knew the basics, taught to him by Blaise in preparation for his stay in Mezzogiorno next year. It wasn’t enough to understand any word of what was being said though.

Blaise replied in the same manner, before letting out an exclamation and continuing in English.

“Ah, can I introduce Harry of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter?”

“The best friend, isn’t it?” said Constantino Zabini, tilting his head curiously.

“Piacere di conoscerla, Sua Altezza.”

The man definitely looked approving. His smile was certainly dazzling, thought the Potter heir, a little bewildered. Harry knew he was about thirty-one, but he looked younger than that.

“Il piacere è mio. Call me Constantino, would you? A friend of little Biagio is a friend of the family.”

Blaise made a face at the nickname. Harry recalled he had been teased for being the only one of the family with a non-Italian name. His best friend didn’t mind the joke though; Harry wondered if there wasn’t a history behind the name. He did seem to be oddly proud of it. You'd think he had chosen it himself.

After that followed the most subtle interrogation Harry had ever witnessed. The man questioned his background, his academic achievements, and finally his intentions towards his friend while remaining most pleasant and polite. It was astounding. He, unfortunately, had to cut it short after a while, but he didn’t leave without giving Harry a once-over and saying.

“We’ll be expecting you in Mezzogiorno next year, Signore Potter. You’ll take care of Blaise, won’t you?” he said, before addressing Blaise in more Italian. He gave a brief hug to his cousin —managing to make even that look posh— and left to mingle.

Harry felt like he’d just passed a test but had no idea how. Blaise simply patted his shoulder.

“Cousin Dino is like that, don’t worry about it. He gets it from his dad. Come on, let’s get back to Gemma. She looks awfully bored and it seems like she’s hogging the petits-fours. That won’t do, I’m hungry. Ugh, is that Malfoy over here? Let's just ignore him.”

Chapter Text

“You had another row with Malfoy?” asked Tracey, incredulous.

“He had to make another scene,” sighed Harry, “in the middle of a Ministry gala at that, with about a dozen foreign ambassadors. It was really embarrassing, especially because his mother had to stop him from insulting Blaise right next to his cousin.”

“Is he a Gryffindor or what?” asked Daphne. “I mean, besides how rude he is, the sheer recklessness of it… unbelievable.”

“What did he say anyway?”

“Some crap about how Harry licks Longbottom’s boots. Then he switched on and talked about my murderous mother until cousin Dino appeared and he bit his tongue closing his mouth so fast.”

Blaise’s voice was detached, but Tracey could tell he was furious. Not because of the comment about his mother, he didn’t care about those, but the idea that Harry sucked up to the Boy-Who-Lived. She wondered if it bothered him because the two were genuinely friends and he didn’t like the insinuation, or if it was the idea that Harry could be subservient to anyone that upset him. Blaise treated their friend like a prince sometimes, which was ironic, considering.

“What was that gala about by the way?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“The inauguration of an exchange program between different magical governing bodies. Mostly in their magical research department. It’s to foster international cooperation, not provoke wars,” explained Theo with a put-out look. He probably wanted to be there and listen in on the Unspeakables’ conversations.

The Nott heir was a magical theory nerd and had long periods where he hyper fixated on a subject and then moved on to another. Six months ago it had been Herbology and Potions, and he had gotten the best grades in the subjects for as long as his interests lasted. Now at the end of summer, he was back to obsessing over seiðr. He wasn’t academically inclined in the common sense of the term, often too distracted by his personal reading to put too much effort into his essays. Despite that, he was probably the smartest of all of them. It really showed that grades didn’t mean much.

“The northern goblin nation was there,” said Harry with a smile. “It’s the first time they have been to such an event since before the war with Grindelwald.”

Tracey whistled.

“That’s a long time ago.”

“I know right? Their ambassador, Mr Goldfang is very interesting. He’s from an Allied clan to my House so he was willing to talk with me a little.”

Harry looked animated as he explained how the Scandinavian Wizarding Union, the Icelandic nation and the German duchies had lifted the wand rights restriction on the northern goblin nation and the Walpurga Hausmannin institute had accepted its first goblin student, prompting the Northern King to accept the invitation of the International Confederation of Wixen. They weren’t happy that the gala was held in the only wizarding nation in northern goblin territory to remain discriminatory against them, but they decided to attend anyway. It was the reason why they sent Goldfang, who was from a prominent clan but not a royal representative as both a gesture of goodwill towards the reasonable northern nations and as a snub to the British ministry.

“Britain is so behind,” sighed Harry.

“It is,” confirmed Daphne, looking faintly disgusted. “If duchies who followed Grindelwald can do right by the goblins, we can too.”

“To be fair, Grindelwald wasn’t prejudiced against them,” commented Theo. “His whole thing was the subjugation of muggles, not the discrimination of magical creatures.”

“True enough.”

“Cousin Dino-”

Blaise didn’t get to finish what he was about to say about his country’s heir to the throne before the compartment door swung open.

“We should really ward this door,” muttered Harry, raising his head to peer at the interloper.

“At least it’s not Malfoy,” said Tracey cheerfully.

It might not be such a victory, she thought as the group of Gryffindors expressions twisted upon seeing them.

“You,” hissed McLaggen.

“Do we know you?”

Daphne’s question was asked with the kind of aristocratic disdain Tracey’s best friend loved, which made her chuckle. Of course, they knew who the third-year Gryffindor and his friends were, they were the loudest in their prejudice among the lower years. They were usually the upper-year Slytherins’ problem though, so McLaggen hadn’t done much to them beyond hissing insults at them in the corridors and body-checking Harry in the corridor.

“I’m Cormac McLaggen. No need to introduce yourselves, I know all of you slimy snakes.”

“I don’t think telling us this has the effect you expect it to have,” said Blaise, inspecting his nails.

McLaggen ignored him but his three friends threw a dirty look at the Italian prince.

“After the way you insulted Gryffindor, I made sure I knew who you all were. It’s our duty to keep an eye on you.”

“You tricked the Weasley twins and Longbottom, but you can’t fool us,” added a guy with a square jaw and protruding ears. Tracey was pretty sure he was a Smith, but there were so many of those these days she couldn’t tell if he was from the Main House or one of the branches.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Tracey and Daphne exchanged a look. Considering the fact that he was the only one here who was friends with the Gryffindors, it was expected that he would be unhappy about the remark.

“I tricked them by doing what exactly?”

“They wouldn’t be friends with a slimy snake if you hadn’t played tricks on them.”

“And you know that how?” asked Blaise. “Have you ever talked to those people outside of George transfiguring your ears into feet?”

The maybe-Smith flushed.

“We’re housemates,” retorted McLaggen, “we know them better than you.”

“If you say so,” said Harry doubtfully. “Now, did you have a reason for coming here or…?”

“We’re doing all the compartments to try and find Longbottom,” chimed in a short boy with chestnut hair and an unfortunate pimple on his nose. Tracey wondered if McLaggen hung out with people less attractive than him to boost his own ego as Malfoy did, or if it was a coincidence. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, his three friends couldn’t even blame it on the inbreeding. “We’ll be warning him about you all.”

“Kevin,” hissed McLaggen, elbowing his friend.

“What? It’s not like they can stop us from telling the truth.”

“That’s… fascinating,” drawled Blaise. “Well, go do that. I’m sure Harry’s godbrother will love to hear you out.”

The third-year students exchanged looks.

“So you’re not gonna stop us?”

Harry shook his head.

“No, why would I? Nev’ can choose who he hangs out with. If it’s not me, well… I have plenty of other friends already. Right, you should probably tell Fred and George to stay away from the slimy snakes too, see what they think of it.”

“We will,” said the maybe-Smith, though his panicked expression showed he would do no such thing. Ah, Gryffindors could have a little self-preservation sometimes apparently.

After they were gone, Tracey’s friends spent a few minutes light-heartedly making fun of them. Theo stayed silent though, looking thoughtful. Tracey wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“What are you brooding about?” asked Harry with a teasing grin, his concern evident despite the good-natured expression.

“Slytherin is going to have a hard time this year. Our House already has a bad reputation, people like McLaggen don’t help. I was just thinking about the firsties. If this is how people talk about Slytherin in front of them, they’ll probably want to avoid wearing our colours.”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, thinking over Theo’s words. After a short contemplation, he abruptly stood up.

“We should make our rounds too then. Let’s talk to them,” he suggested, “and prove that Slytherin isn’t all bad.”

They all stared at him.

“... what?”

“The fact that you don’t plan to go into politics will probably be this country’s greatest loss,” said Blaise while rising. He was shaking his head, but his smile was fond. “Let’s do it then.”

***

Ginny Weasley was nervous.

It was her first year at Hogwarts and she was scared she wouldn’t be as good as her brothers, or that she wouldn’t make friends. Bill had been extremely popular and became a talented curse breaker, Charlie was a Quidditch star and a genius with magical creatures, Percy made up for his lack of social skills in academics, everyone thought the Weasley twins were brilliant, and Ron had befriended the Boy-Who-Lived. She sighed. She had little hope of being considered anything but the girl Weasley.

Tom had been good at distracting her from her doubts, but now that she was in an empty compartment, waiting by herself, her fingers were itching for her diary. It shouldn’t have been this way, Ron and Neville were supposed to be with her. But the two had never made it to the platform and her parents had been too busy trying to figure out why to give her a proper send-off. She’d told them she’d go on the train to try and make some friends but now that she was here, no task had ever seemed more daunting. She was about to give in and write to Tom again when the compartment door opened.

“Hi, Ginny,” said Hermione. “Have you seen Ron and Neville?”

“Hi. No, they were supposed to go after me but there was a problem with the barrier… they should be there soon.

“Oh, how terrible!” The older girl tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I hope they’re okay.” There was a quiet pause before she continued. “Are you excited about Hogwarts?”

“I am. It was getting pretty boring being alone at home.”

Ginny repressed a sigh as her brother’s friend launched into an animated lecture on everything she would need to know about Hogwarts. She liked Hermione, but she had heard all of this one too many times. She had no intention to read Hogwarts, A History, no matter how much the girl praised the book. Still, it was good to be distracted.

They were interrupted again by a knock at the door about an hour before they left. Ginny opened the compartment and blinked in surprise as she was confronted with the twins’ friend, Harry Potter.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hi, are you looking for Neville?” asked Hermione. “He and Ron were held up at the station for some reason. Goodness, I really hope they’re okay.”

“Hermione, Ginny. Ah, no I wasn’t looking, but it’s good to know. Do you know what happened?”

Ginny let Hermione explain despite being the one who informed her of the situation. While the girl speculated about what could have caused the hold-up, the first year observed Harry’s entourage. She knew Zabini who was also close with Fred and George though less friendly than Harry with the rest of the family - Ron said it was because the boy was stuck-up but Ginny didn’t think he would get along with the twins if it was so - and she recognised the look of a Nott in their third companion, a lanky boy with wavy brown hair, dark eyes and a mole on his cheekbone. She didn’t know who the other three were.

“Daphne and Tracey went the other way. We thought it would be nice to meet the first years and answer their questions so we split up to see everyone,” explained Harry to Hermione with a sheepish smile. “ I know the prefects are usually too busy making sure nobody gets into a fight. Oh, right. These are Aditya Sandhu, Colin Creevey, and Morgan Cadwallader. Guys, this is Ginny Weasley, she’s a first-year like you and Hermione Granger, our year mate in Gryffindor.” He paused and added for their benefits. “They’re muggle-born so they wanted to ask a bit more questions about the magical world. I suggested they come with us to meet their year mates and to get the opportunity to ask more questions on the way.”

The three first years waved awkwardly and Ginny returned it with a smile. She was glad to see they looked as nervous as she felt.

“Oh, this is a wonderful idea-”

“Can I come with you?” asked Ginny at the same time.

The two girls exchanged a look.

“Can we both come?” she amended. Hermione smiled, relieved not to be left alone. Ginny hadn’t meant to exclude her, but she really wanted to meet people her age.

“Sure,” said Harry. “It might be a bit crowded in the corridors, though. You can walk with the other firsties while we check out the compartments?”

He added that with a knowing smile. Ginny rose up and took her place with the first years. They introduced themselves by their first name and she was glad she didn’t have to let them call her Weasley. She was proud of her name but still, in such a big family it felt tedious to hear it. They made a little small talk as they walked. She learnt that Colin was as fascinated by Neville as she was and envious to know she knew him, Aditya was worried about being behind students raised in the magical world and Morgan hoped the classes wouldn’t be too difficult.

“How do you know Harry?” asked Aditya.

“He’s friends with Fred and George, my older brothers. They’re in their fourth year, in Gryffindor. He’s also Neville’s godbrother, and Neville is my brother Ron’s best friend,” she added more for Colin’s benefit. Considering how the boy’s eyes lit up, it was a good idea.

“So you can be friends with people from other Houses,” mused Morgan. “Professor Sprout implied that there were rivalries when she took me to Diagon Alley.”

“You certainly can,” said Harry from the front. He was just done closing another compartment door. “Some people think that competing for the House Cup means we’re not supposed to get along but I think that’s rubbish. Just be with the people you get along with; our differences should bring us closer, not set us apart.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Hermione.

She looked a little uncomfortable, probably because Zabini was staring at her. He was smirking a little too; Ginny wondered what that was about.

“Well, my cousin’s friend Safaa’s family is from Iran, right? So she taught their friend group a few spells they use there and told them about the differences between European potion making and West Asian practises. And their friend Adrian is an English muggle-born, so he introduced her to muggle music. Now she’s a fan of jazz and they can all use Iranian protection spells. Except for Gemma, she’s rubbish at pronunciation apparently.”

They all were a little thoughtful after that, though Aditya was looking a little starry-eyed. Ginny wasn’t surprised if he tried to follow Harry into Slytherin. She wondered if she should warn him about the House’s reputation. She didn’t see how to do that without offending Harry and his friends though.

She liked Harry, he was a little like Neville in that he was thoughtful and had a quiet presence, but he also had a tendency to be blunt and a little sharp which made her less scared of being true to herself. She was still too shy around Neville, who was too good and impressive to make it easy to be around him. But Harry wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived. He was kind and clever but didn’t rub in her face as Hermione did sometimes without meaning to, and he tended to adapt to the person he was talking to which made him easy to talk with.

They finally met another group of first years after a while, two girls and a boy who came from the magical world. Harry let them introduce themselves and ask questions. Hermione answered most of them, happy to lecture at someone in her best friends’ absence, and Ginny caught Nott and Zabini exchanging an eye-roll. Despite what Harry said about differences putting people closer, it seemed like he was the only one who got along with the Gryffindors in their year.

When they started looking a little overwhelmed, Zabini usually chimed in with a charming comment and Harry answered questions in a more sedate manner. He managed to tell Morgan about the Noble Houses - one of the first years introduced himself formally, prompting the second years to do the same - without making the Wizarding World sound like a bunch of elitist pricks. The Welsh girl sounded a little put-out at the idea that old wizarding families passed down grimoires with spells that wouldn’t be available to her, but the concept of intellectual property was familiar enough to her that she didn’t argue.

Hermione didn’t comment but it was obvious she hated it.

“I know it’s not exactly fair,” sighed Harry, “but it’s not actually as big a disadvantage as it seems. The Hogwarts curriculum has a standardised spell for most of what you want and need, and most family spells are often using a different incantation to do the same thing. It’s useful for duelling, since not knowing what spell someone is using makes it hard to predict its effect, but otherwise it just means we have a lot of useless variants of the same things we learn at Hogwarts. The few really original spells tend to be things only the family will need, depending on where they live.”

“The Nott clan lives on an island that has been cursed to never receive any sunlight. Instead of leaving, we developed a way to control shadows,” explained Nott as an example. Ginny was surprised he volunteered that information so readily. “It helped us protect livestock from wargs, among other things.”

Harry offered a thankful smile to his friend for the help before turning back to Morgan.

“My own House doesn’t have a specialised grimoire. Ours are pretty eclectic. A lot of cleaning charms, potions, hexes and some family wards, but no elemental magic. I’m actually a little jealous of Theo.” He paused before addressing all the first years. “Who knows, you might become a spellsmith and make your own grimoire? Then you’ll be the one who has to choose if you want to share it to the world or keep it to yourself.”

Ginny had no plan to take up spellsmithing anytime soon, but the quiet confidence with which the boy said those words made her want to do something great. Suddenly, she wasn’t scared about going to Hogwarts anymore.

***

“Sandhu, Adytia!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

Harry clapped hard and grinned as the first year took the Sorting Hat off his head and stood up to join them at the Slytherin table. The boy beamed at him from his seat next to Theo before starting to talk with Tristan Harper, another of the first years they’d met on the train.

“Our ninth firstie so far,” murmured Blaise. “And they all love you.”

Harry scratched his cheek, embarrassed. It hadn’t been his intention but even the ones who came from politically Dark Houses had been pretty happy that someone was checking on them. Out of the group who now wore green and silver, only one of them had refused to speak to them, a branch Yaxley who wasn’t exactly happy with the idea of speaking with the son of the previous Lord’s murderer. Blaise hadn’t cared about it, claiming that if that House was more offended by the murder than they were about his mother unveiling the crimes the man had committed against children, then they weren’t people worth knowing.

Even Felix, the Rosier heir who was technically not allowed to talk to Harry because his House had sworn allegiance to Voldemort had just quietly told them that he’d change it when he was allowed but that the laws of his House required him to be fourteen to do so. They’d joked about how Malfoy would have a conniption over the fact that his cousin - from his maternal grandmother’s side, Druella Black nee Rosier - wasn’t planning to back him up against Harry. Theo had even bonded with Felix over their fathers’ bad decisions. Though apparently Bertram Nott was a lot more self-aware about it than Evan Rosier had been, mused Harry, thinking back on the conversation they’d had when he’d decided to be honest with his friend about Voldemort’s return. Theo hadn’t expanded upon why his father had turned his back on the Dark Lord, but he hadn’t needed to. The Nott heir’s quiet anger over the revelation that Voldemort was still alive was reason enough for them to trust him.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Daphne.

“I was thinking that this year will be interesting,” he said, a half-truth considering where his thoughts had really taken him. He clapped distractedly as Amanda Walton was Sorted into Ravenclaw before continuing. “It’s Terence’s court’s first proper year of ruling.”

“They laid the foundations last year and now they’ll have to make sure it works,” said the blonde girl with a nod.

“And defend their title,” added Tracey.

Harry hummed.

“It’s not going to be easy. Flint still looked pissed.”

“He was too cautious last year. He took too long to make his play against Langley,” commented Theo.

“Wasn’t that because he was trying not to fail his OWLs?"

“He failed them anyway apparently,” said Harry. “He’s still in fifth year. He’s not a bad student so Aspen thinks he did it on purpose. He says it’ll be advantageous for him, the previous fourth years are all Darker politically, he’ll have a more solid court there.”

Tracey whistled, reluctantly impressed.

“All that to be Argentum rex? That’s some dedication.”

“It’s a prestigious position, and it opens a lot of doors around those in the know at the Ministry. I think Flint wants to join the Department of Magical Games and Sports. He doesn’t need good grades for that, but a good record for his Quidditch team and a proof of his leadership skills.”

“So he’ll make a bid this year,” summarised Blaise.

“Uh-huh. Or so Gemma says.”

“He’ll probably target us. It’s already been proven that you’re her weak spot.”

Harry tensed at the reminder. Daphne sent him an apologetic smile. He shook his head. She was right, and he appreciated her bluntness. He still had issues with what happened with Langley, but he thought he was better now. The mind healer hadn’t helped much - he hadn’t clicked with the two he’d seen so Ulrich had told him he’d try to find him a better one before the winter holidays- but he’d used the Pensieve Blaise had gifted him to sort through his memories at his best friend’s advice. It hadn’t resolved his issues, but it had calmed his magic somewhat. He still sparked a little when people touched him and had a few nightmares, but he was sleeping. It was fine.

“So we’ll make sure he can’t touch us,” said Blaise fiercely.

***

Albus twirled his wand in his hands, pensively staring into the fire of his office.

Neville Longbottom’s second year at Hogwarts was off to a great start. He’d arrived with a literal bang, crashing headfirst into the Whomping Willow with a flying car as a result of some plot to keep him away from Hogwarts Augusta Longbottom had already owled him about despite her reservations about Albus. He wished he had been able to foster a better relationship with the grandmother of the Boy-Who-Lived, but Augusta hadn’t taken kindly to his refusal to reveal to her the full contents of the prophecy. Still, she trusted him to keep Neville safe within his castle. Well. To some extent. He’d had to inform her about her grandson’s hospitalisation. Still, he thought dear Neville was doing well.

The boy had survived an encounter with Tom Riddle a few months before, surrounded himself with friends loyal enough to follow him into danger, and maintained an adequate enough grade score to not be alarming. He was glad that Augusta had at least listened to that concern of his about the boy’s wand. Really, the only worry he had lain in Neville’s friendship with his godbrother Harry Potter, and even that concern was minimal.

Harry Potter was a half-blood from an old family, ambitious, charismatic, an excellent student, and had been raised in less than ideal circumstances by people who had a strong disdain and fear of magic. Albus saw the parallels with another little boy and regretted more than ever that he hadn’t thought to check up on the second possible subject of the prophecy, at least to honour the sacrifice James and Lily Potter had made. But despite the boy’s Sorting into Slytherin, Albus realised pretty quickly that beyond their surface similarities, young Harry had little in common with Tom Riddle. He had made that conclusion after some careful observations of the boy’s behaviour and some very helpful discussions with Minerva, Hagrid and even Severus.

Even if he hadn’t seen himself the concern Harry showed for Neville when he put himself in front of a bludger for him, warned him against the Mirror of Erised and insisted on staying in the infirmary to check on his friend, he would have been assured of it by the gushing praises of his groundkeeper, the protectiveness of his deputy headmistress and the reluctant approval of his potions master whom he had feared would give the boy a hard time because of his enmity with his father. But Severus had described a conscientious boy who was a good influence on his Housemates and strived in adversity -as shown when partnered under the apparent health hazard that mister Longbottom was in the classroom. What perhaps sealed the deal was Poppy’s announcement that she would be taking him on as a student during his time at Hogwarts. Tom Riddle had never had the patience for the healing arts.

No. Though he could see how the two boys might mirror each other in some aspects, Harry Potter was very different from the boy who would become a Dark Lord. Albus’ concern lay more in the events of the end of year feast when a few words from the boy were enough for Harry to mobilise his entire House and turn against the school in response to his own -admittedly callous- decision to reward Neville with the House Cup for his courageous protection of the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry Potter’s charisma was dangerous, and Albus worried it would eclipse mister Longbottom who would inevitably grow to be held as a figure of the Light in the incoming fight against Voldemort. His strong friendship with a Grey wizard of great magical power and an influence over his peers that Neville didn’t quite possess yet could potentially ruin his chance to grow as a leader in his own right. A little distance would be appropriate. Of course, Albus wasn’t the sort of man to purposefully drive a wedge between two friends, especially not two boys who demonstrated such a beautiful show of inter-house unity and certainly not two orphans who called themselves brothers in all but blood. But if an opportunity presented itself… Well. He would be stupid not to nudge things along a little bit.

Chapter Text

"What do you mean muggles went to space?" exclaimed Daphne, leaning forward.

Harry looked up from the book he was reading and chuckled at Terence’s shocked expression at his designated first - well, second now - year’s outburst. Daphne was usually so calm and collected, it was rare to see her so animated. It only happened when they talked about something she was passionate about, like art or in this case, astronomy. She had the best grade in their year in the subject.

“You told her about the moon landing?” he guessed with a grin.

“Muggles landed on the moon,” repeated Tracey, looking away from her chessboard with wide eyes. “I didn’t know. When?”

“In 1969. Isn’t your dad muggle-born?”

“He is, but he’s never mentioned it. How did they even do that?”

Daphne looked at Harry with an eager expression, waiting for him to explain. The Potter heir raised his hands in defence.

“Sorry, I don’t know that much about it.”

“It’s okay, I do,” reassured Terence.

Their Argentum rex started explaining to the eager court of second years, whose seats were arranged in a semi-circle on the left of his and his lieutenants’ thrones, close to the study corner. The decision to split the common room by friendships and alliances instead of year group was the most popular of all the changes Terence and Gemma had made, though it created a clearer divide between the politically Dark faction of Slytherin and the other students. With the neutral majority -mostly third and fourth years- separating the court from them, it felt like they were oceans apart.

The split had even affected the first years who, despite having only been sorted a week ago, had taken to the House customs like ducks to water. It helped that they were introduced to Hogwarts under the rule of a stable Argentum court. Harry couldn’t imagine what it would have been like for them if Langley had still been regina. Speaking of her, she hadn’t come back to Hogwarts for her last year, leaving behind a seventh-year group destabilised by the power vacuum her loss and subsequent absence had created. The eight girls she had presided over looked both relieved and nervous to be left to their own devices. They trailed after Spencer Rowle, the best student of their year with what Safaa described as the look of lost puppies.

Gemma’s best friend was very harsh on those girls. She thought they were spineless cowards for having allowed Langley to dominate them so thoroughly. Harry knew from experience that it was difficult to rise against people who were stronger than you were. He had no sympathy for cowardice, the people of Privet Drive who looked away from how he was treated made sure of that, but he also understood the quiet despair one could feel when they thought they had no other option but to bear the abuse inflicted upon them. It was in those times that he wished Slytherin was less self-regulated. If professor Snape made more appearances in the common room, surely that kind of behaviour wouldn’t be allowed. Though considering the fact that he’d never said a word about how Malfoy treated Neville, maybe not. The man was very harsh, and hard to read.

“Do you think we could do the same with magic?” asked Felix Rosier, who was sitting next to Theo.

“It would take a tremendous amount of charms,” replied Aspen with a thoughtful look. “But maybe with enchantments instead of spells, and the use of carved runes… Runic matrices are more stable than wandwork generally.”

“I’ll do it,” vowed Daphne with a determination that had Harry grinning again. “I’ll take Muggle Studies to find out how they did it and study how to make it happen with magic. I’ll be the first witch asternot.”

“Astronaut,” corrected Adytia, bouncing a little in his seat. “I’m sure you can do it!”

The first-year group was more or less united, aside from the Carrow twin sisters, and Kieran Yaxley who joined Malfoy and Flint’s courts in the area they had claimed, as far as possible from the ruling court. They usually sat close to Harry’s group, but a distance away from the sixth-years. The first year’s “Light” court consisted of Adytia Sandhu, Tristan Harper, Lily Moon, Felix Rosier, Lixian Qin, Priam Travers, Julia Caulfield, and Mafalda Prewett. Like Harry and his friends, they didn’t have a clear leader yet. Blaise, ever the social butterfly, had already befriended all of them and Harry had followed suit with only a little reluctance. He admitted that he was usually more introverted than his friend, but the first years really weren’t that bad. They meshed well with his own friend group, though their bigger number made him want to retreat to the calm of the infirmary sometimes. He was more used to the quiet. Theo was too, and they usually escaped to their dorm room if the noise became too much to bear.

He watched as his friends kept peppering Terence with questions until the overwhelmed sixth year called out to Adrian - who was brainstorming with Flint and Bletchley, no doubt about their upcoming quidditch try-outs - so the muggle-born could help him a little.

“Here I am, your knight in shining armour,” exclaimed the Slytherin chaser when he walked up to them, draping an arm dramatically over his best friend’s shoulders. “What did you need me for, Terry?”

Terence shrugged him off, muttering under his breath that he would glue Adrian’s feet to the ceiling and leave him there if he kept calling him Terry.

“Aw, but you love me, Terry!”

“Shut up. The kids are asking me about astrophysics, I’m a little out of my depth here.”

“We were talking about the moon landing,” added Aspen with an amused smirk at his friends’ antics.

“Ah, well, I’m more the engineering type myself but I know a thing or two. I can also ask my parents to send me something on the subject. My mum’s a science nerd, she probably has stuff on the topic. Hey, have you seen Gemma and Safaa? They were dealing with a dispute between some fourth years earlier but I can’t see them anywhere now.”

Terence frowned.

“Gemma’s taking a nap before patrol, but I don’t know where Safaa is. It’s the third time she’s disappeared on us.”

Adrian’s eyes lit up.

“Do you think she’s got a fella?”

“A what?”

“Come on, old sport, you know what I mean.” Harry snorted at the nickname, and Adrian sent him a cheeky grin. He liked mocking some of the pureblood wixen's expressions by talking like a man from the '30s.“Is she secretly dating someone? Since Gemma hexed that asshole ‘Puff she was with before, she’s not exactly been keen on introducing her boyfriends.”

“Wow, he talks exactly like Fred and George,” whispered Mafalda Prewett, sounding impressed.

Harry and Blaise turned to her. Prewett was the Weasley siblings’ second cousin, and though they weren’t super close to her side of the family, they still met each other during big gatherings. Considering that the twins had a Prewett look with their stocky builds, shorter heights, and strong noses, they looked pretty similar aside from the girls’ lack of freckles. Fred and George had clapped pretty loudly at the girl’s Sorting, and made Harry promise to look out for her the next day. He’d said yes of course, but considering that she’d held her own against Parkinson when she’d tried to be rude to Adytia, he didn’t think she needed it much. Harry hadn’t even needed to intervene.

“I know, right?” said the Potter heir. “We’ve been trying to keep them apart, we’re not sure who would be a worse influence on the other.”

His best friend shuddered theatrically.

“Definitely the twins. If Adrian starts pranking people, we’re all doomed. We’re lucky he’s decided to go into maginery.”

“Maginery? What’s that?” asked Adytia.

“The making of magical machines. I think he mostly wants to blow things up, to be honest.”

***

“Mister Potter, a word.”

Severus shuffled his papers as the boy walked over to his desk with hesitation that the potions master would have found irritating from anyone else. He sent the student worksheets into an open drawer with a silent wave of his wand and levitated a stool over with another gesture, motioning for the boy to sit. He stared silently at the fidgeting boy, wondering how to start what would no doubt be an awkward conversation.

“Your guardian wrote me to explain that you hadn’t found an adequate mind healer.”

Potter looked down at his knees.

“I met two of them but they weren’t… Ulrich told me I didn’t have to go back if I didn’t like them. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, Potter. It is completely logical. An incompatible mind healer would likely make your issues worse. I do not begrudge you for it.”

“The first one made me uncomfortable. She was staring a lot during our session. When we were leaving, I heard her say to her assistant that she couldn’t believe she was going to be treating the son of James Potter. It was… yeah.”

Severus resisted the urge to gag. He’d known Potter Senior had had admirers -he was rich, charismatic, talented and conventionally attractive, of course, he did- but to think they would act so creepily toward his son… He might have to send a letter to his contact in the profession.

He kept his expression even and let the boy continue.

“The second one, well. He was fine but he kept interrupting me. It wasn’t really helpful.”

“I see. It does seem like they were inadequate. I will write to your guardian and refer him to mind healers I know and recommend. I will suggest he meet them first so that you do not lose time. Once Mr Fawley has found an adequate healer for you, we will work on getting a dispensation so you can meet them during the school week.”

The boy blinked, his surprise evident on his face.

“I didn’t know we were allowed to leave school for things like this.” He paused. “Well, Blaise left last year for his stepfather’s funeral, but that was the only time I heard about that.”

“Allowances are made for family emergencies and medical exceptions, mister Potter.”

Potter nodded.

“Thank you, professor.”

Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Now. How has your magic been behaving?”

“Do you want to see?” he asked, holding out his hand.

The head of house Slytherin took the proffered hand and murmured the mage sight charm. Like last time, his sight was flooded by the chaos of a lightning storm. It was more controlled, however, writhing behind the boy’s skin without lashing out at his surroundings.

“Blaise started teaching me Occlumency,” explained Potter with a shrug. “It’s hard to clear my head and meditation makes me twitchy - Theo says it’s because I’m more of a doer, I think I’m just bad at focusing - but I think I’m getting the hang of it. I’ll never be as good as Blaise but I should get decent shields before the end of the year. He also gave me a pensieve for my birthday and I’ve been sorting out my memories like that. Ulrich says it’s not a permanent solution, but it helps.”

“I commend the initiative, Occlumency is a worthy pursuit. And your guardian is right, detaching the emotional component of your memories by looking at them clinically will not help you make peace with them. I do believe it is a good way to not let them overpower you, however. Have you brought this pensieve with you?”

“Uh-huh. I keep it in my trunk, Ulrich added more wards so it would be even more protected.”

“Are you afraid that someone might steal it?”

The boy cast him a deadpan look.

“I share a dorm with Draco Malfoy,” he said with only a hint of wariness. “He wouldn’t steal it, but he might pour something in it when I’m not looking. He’s not exactly my biggest fan.” The boy paused. “He’s even nastier this year, you know. He can’t exactly do anything in Slytherin because of Terence and Gemma’s rule so he takes it out on the Gryffindors.”

Potter turned an accusing stare at him, searching for a trace of guilt on his face. He frowned when he found none.

It wasn’t that Severus approved of the Malfoy heir’s behaviour, on the contrary. He despised bullying of all sorts, even toward Gryffindors. But his standing in the politically Dark faction required him to adopt a certain attitude within the school. More than that, it depended on Lucius Malfoy’s goodwill as he was one of the few members of the Dark Lord’s inner circle out of Azkaban, and pandering to his son even the slightest bit went a long way to get the man’s approval. He couldn’t exactly tell the boy that, though.

“Mister Malfoy has done nothing in my presence that would warrant a warning, mister Potter. Rest assured he will receive an appropriate punishment should I catch him in the act.”

And he would make sure that he would see nothing of the sort, he added silently. There was no need to say it. Even if the boy didn’t understand his motivation, he understood that Severus would not intervene. Potter’s disappointed stare was hard to bear, the green shade of his irises so similar to Lily’s that it physically hurt to look at them. Severus levitated a few potion ingredients to his desk, allowing himself to look away.

“I believe it is almost time for your next class, mister Potter.”

It was not anywhere close to it, but the boy had the tact not to call him out on it.

Potter stood up but stayed rooted on the spot. Severus watched as the boy bit his lip, undecided.

“Professor?”

“Yes, mister Potter?”

“Why do you never visit my mother at St Mungo’s?”

Severus took a sharp breath. He had expected remonstrances, not… that. He clutched at his left arm in an unconscious gesture.

“The wards your parents stay in do not allow entrance to… specific people.”

Potter tilted his head, confused. Severus sighed, before looking directly into the boy’s eyes.

“I made a lot of mistakes in my youth, Mister Potter. Mistakes that cost me my friendship with your mother, and tainted my hands with blood. I trust you understand what I mean by that. I was given a second chance by the headmaster of this school who saw and accepted my attempts to make amends,” he repressed a slight sneer at that, “but I bear the mark of my mistakes on my skin. Such thing forbids my entry into your mother’s healing ward.”

The boy closed his eyes, and nodded.

“I see. Thank you, professor.”

If the disappointment he’d seen in that piercing green gaze before stung, the look of disgust on the boy’s face before he turned away was a stab to his heart.

***

Blaise closed the door after his best friend, who stomped his way over to Hagrid’s dining table with barely restrained fury. He exchanged concerned looks with Hagrid and the Golden Trio, who were already present. They’d probably heard from the twins.

Harry had probably had the same idea.

“You heard then,” he said, angrily raking his fingers through his hair.

He offered a grateful smile to Hagrid, who’d stood up and pressed a mug of hot chocolate into his hands.

“The twins told us,” confirmed Granger.

“What did they tell you?” asked Blaise, lifting an eyebrow.

“That Flint chased them off the Quidditch pitch. Something about how Snape had allowed it so they could train their new seeker. Are they really kicking you off the team?”

The Potter heir nodded slowly.

“Flint said I was good, but not good enough to pass up on a Nimbus 2001 for each of his team. He tried to kick off Montague first, but Malfoy wanted to play seeker.”

“Montague wasn’t happy about it, but he’s staying on the team because he wants to play professionally. Adrian resigned though,” added Blaise with a grim look. “Bole is going to replace him, he’s a fifth-year in Flint’s class.”

“And you can’t do anything?” asked Neville.

“No. The only one who could appeal Flint’s decision is professor Snape and he…”

The cup Harry was holding shattered in his hands. Blaise startled and looked at his best friend, who was hissing as the scalding liquid branded a red mark on his skin. The Italian prince took a few napkins and wiped his friend’s trembling fingers. He ignored the sparks of magic running through his friend’s hands, accustomed to their wild state. The boy gave him a tremulous quirk of his lips in gratitude - the most he could manage in his state - and took hold of his wand, muttering a healing charm.

“Professor Snape and Harry had a… discussion,” explained Blaise, “about Malfoy’s bullying, among other things. It didn’t go well.”

“He was a Death Eater!” exploded Harry. “He was a Death Eater like the ones who… and he’s here, teaching children and sucking up to Malfoy because his daddy was also in their little club of psychos and-”

Harry jumped as Hagrid held a soothing hand on his shoulder. The man practically dwarfed him. The groundskeeper didn’t even react to Harry’s magic. Blaise wondered if he had giant blood. He’d heard their skin was spell-resistant, like trolls.

“Professor Snape paid a harsh price for his mistakes, Harry, and he’s making up for them now.”

“How? How is he making up for them if he doesn’t do anything against our classmates’ prejudice and encourages them instead?”

“You have to understand, lad, Snape’s position is difficult. Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who’s still alive, which means your professor’s gonna have to get his position back as a spy in his ranks. D’you understand what that means?”

Harry nodded reluctantly and slumped in his chair.

“Sorry about the cup, Hagrid.”

“It’s fine, lad. I got plenty o’ them.”

***

“Remember, the first rule of Occlumency is that you have to keep a clear head.”

“I know, I know.”

“Visualise a fixed image. Something that calms you.”

Theo, Blaise, and Harry were sitting on the latter’s bed, the latter focused on their lesson. Theo was only half-listening, too focused on fiddling with the enchanting kit his father had sent him to stave off the boredom of his classes.

He’d started Occlumency training at eight so he was too advanced to join Harry’s training. It had been stagnating anyway, since the quidditch debacle. Harry and Adrian were grumpy and restless, and it affected everyone’s mood. Gemma and Terence were livid, and the war between them and Flint was at a hair’s breadth of devolving into an all-out duel. The only thing that stopped Flint was that he didn’t have a partner to take on the throne of silver thorns. It was their biggest advantage; the stability of the couple’s relationship ensured the stability of their reign. Unfortunately, the Argentum court had no power over the quidditch team selection. If professor Snape hadn’t approved of it they might have been able to do something, but the man had endorsed the team’s captain’s decisions, so their hands were tied. It didn’t stop Safaa from pouring a laxative potion into Flint’s coffee, though.

After a while, Blaise sighed and rubbed his temples.

“Let’s stop there for today.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Harry with downcast eyes.

“It’s fine, Harry. I told you, it’s a very difficult discipline. I know you’re used to being good at practical magic, but this is a lot more abstract than charms.”

“Actually, I think you might be really good at Legilimency,” mused Theo. “It’s more… active, I suppose.”

Blaise’s expression brightened.

“Maybe if you master Legilimency first your Occlumency will be more directed? Because you’ll be able to see what a protected mind looks like. It’s unconventional, but I’m sure you’re not the only one who struggles with that.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I’ll write to my former tutor. She’ll probably know.”

Harry hummed in agreement, his mouth still twisted into an unhappy frown. Theo poked his forehead, careful to telegraph his movement so as not to surprise his friend.

“Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Hm. It’s just that.” He sighed. “I was excited to go back to Hogwarts. Even if the summer was great, I wanted to be in the castle again, and the thing with Snape and Malfoy really ruined it. The fact that it’s ruining my Occlumency too is just. Awful.”

“Did you like quidditch that much?” asked Theo, carefully choosing his words.

“I love flying.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Blaise made a noise of understanding.

“Nothing says you have to be part of the team to fly. Let Malfoy have his glory. Go take your broom, grab Adrian and the twins, and just enjoy it like you did this summer. You can play friendly games or just enjoy being in the air without making it a competition.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. Theo and Blaise exchanged a triumphant look. It wasn’t a perfect fix, but it would do until they found a way to make Malfoy pay.

Happiness was a much better look on him, thought Theo while spelling the ring he was enchanting to give its wearer some resistance to the cold. He’d gift it to Blaise for the winter solstice so he’d stop complaining about the weather.

***

Daphne hated professor Lockhart with a burning passion. Considering she had been groomed to be a well-mannered lady of cool temper, the only way she could show it was in the ice of her gaze as the man expounded upon his glorious triumph over the ranking polls of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. She wanted to eviscerate him, and Perks’ painfully obvious crush on the man made her even more eager to try. While she heavily disliked Parkinson’s simpering cruelty and disdained Bulstrode’s fake brainless follower act -the girl obviously took her cues from Crabbe and Goyle when it was time to act stupid, but Daphne wasn’t fooled-, it was the meek girl she despised the most among the girls she and Tracey had the misfortune to share a dorm with.

Like her boys had done, they had separated their dorm room pretty early on in first-year, but a conjured curtain was not enough to keep the peace among the rival courts, though having Gemma’s help to place a silencing ward on it definitely helped. Still, hearing Perks gush about the perfection of the man’s blond locks made Daphne want to cut off her own hair in protest since she had the misfortune of sharing the same golden shade. As it was, she was holding a strand of it speculatively at breakfast, ignoring Tracey’s snickers at her right. She was so jealous of her friend’s wavy brown bob right now.

“You should dye it,” said Harry before he paused. The boy was looking much more chipper since he’d agreed on galivanting in the air with his flying-obsessed friends every Thursday afternoon. Malfoy was delightfully outraged at the way his over-the-top gloating had lost its effectiveness. “There are magical hair dyes, right?”

“There are potions, yes,” confirmed Blaise.

Daphne hummed.

“Which colour do you think I should do?”

“Do something really unique, like pink or orange!” chimed in Safaa from behind them. The girl was leaving the breakfast table early.

“Those are your favourite colours and I respect that but I don’t think it would suit Daphne,” said Tracey, shaking her head. “I’d say a dark blue, it will highlight your eyes. You can make it shimmer too, like the night sky.”

“Maybe silver?” asked Harry, looking at her straight hair with jealousy.

Daphne smirked. Everyone knew about the Potter curse.

“Only if you make it dark at the base and lighter at the tips.”

“Slytherin green?” suggested Blaise with a joking grin.

The Greengrass heiress shook her head, amused.

“A bit too on the nose, don’t you think? Well. I’ll try blue first, and if I don’t like it we’ll do silver.”

“Can we make the potion ourselves?”

“If we ask Gemma to supervise, it should be fine.”

They all stood up while discussing the ingredients they needed, readying themselves for the next class, which was -sigh- another hour of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As they reached the end of the hall, Daphne moved away from her group to straighten first-year Julia Cauldfield who’d just been tripped by an older year Hufflepuff.

“Alright there?” she asked.

The girl nodded, looking a little shaken by her near fall.

“Watch where you’re going, moron,” Daphne said to the older girl, who was straightening her yellow tie with a sneer on her face.

“Don’t talk to me, slimy snake,” she spat.

Her friend group who had stopped to watch where she was going stepped closer, Harry at the front of their court.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” asked the Potter heir with an unimpressed glance. “We should go, Daphne, even Lockhart’s company is more stimulating than interacting with whoever this is.”

The Greengrass heir nodded, turning her back to the girl with a last dismissive look. She brought Cauldfield back to her friends with a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Are they always like that? The other students.” asked the first year.

“It depends. The stupidest ones? I’m afraid so. That’s why we tend to prefer travelling in groups. But don’t mind them, really. Most of those idiots are all bark and no bite.”

“Most,” commented Sandhu grimly.

He was the first-year muggleborn, she remembered. She hoped he didn’t regret his Sorting. Between the blood prejudice in their House and the nonsense of the rest of the school, she wouldn’t blame him if he was having second thoughts.

“Well, we’ll just have to prove to them that they shouldn’t mess with us,” he added with a grin, his eyes sharp.

Never mind, he was doing fine.

Chapter Text

“The fertilisation charm is one of the most important spells you will learn in this class. As you can imagine, it is essential to the practice of Herbology. But remember children: such spells placed on soils devoid of magic will contaminate them and attract magical creatures to muggle lands. Such an act is considered muggle baiting and - unless you have a special authorisation - it was made illegal by the ICW. Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Is that why wixen don’t try to solve muggle poverty?”

“It is one of the reasons, yes. We could make more land habitable for muggles but it would come at the cost of attracting beings like trolls and gnomes to their villages, which would both endanger them and the Statute of Secrecy. Besides, muggles’ problems with poverty do not come from a lack of resources but from a bad repartition of what they have. It is not our place to command how they organise their society. Though we live in the same countries, we are not citizens of the same nations.”

Hermione seemed ready to ask another question - probably about what her own status as a muggleborn means in terms of her responsibility to help muggles when a simple quirk of genetics gave her the privilege of living in a post-scarcity society - but professor Sprout shook her head.

“This subject is part of the fifth-year History of Magic curriculum, I believe. I know it’s in a long time but you will have more opportunity to learn about the topic in depth then, with a professor that is more qualified to teach it to you. Let’s go back to our lesson. As I was saying…”

Neville offered a sympathetic grin at his friend’s downtrodden expression. It would have been rude to point out but professor Binns was a bit underwhelming in truth, and the idea of waiting another three years to talk about it was too much for his passionate friend.

“We can go to the library and do some research if you want,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“Can I come with you?” asked Justin Finch-Fletchley, leaning forward. “I have a free period.”

They had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs this year, and though Neville missed Harry, he was glad to share his favourite class with Hannah and Susan. Besides, Justin, his class partner for this year wasn’t so bad.

“Sure. You’re interested in the subject?”

Justin gestured for them to talk at the end of class. When the hour was over, they headed outside the greenhouse together. Neville waved at Susan and Hannah, who went in the other direction while they headed toward the library.

“I am interested, yeah. Professor McGonagall explained when she gave me my Hogwarts letter that I’d essentially have dual citizenship with the British magical enclave and the British government, but I hadn’t really thought about what that meant. My parents are businesspeople and I wanted to work in the family business - my older sister will inherit but still -, so I’m planning to open a branch of their company in the magical world. And if that branch could also provide services for muggles, well. That would be grand, wouldn’t it?”

Ron looked at him dubiously.

“You speak like a bloody Slytherin.”

Neville thought he mostly talked like a rich kid, but he didn’t voice it aloud. Ron had been a bit quieter about his disdain for the house of snakes since they’d seen that first year get tripped in the great hall but still, his misgivings about Slytherin were not worth getting into another argument. Especially since Ron was a bit sensitive about his financial situation. Unlike his best friend, Neville had tact.

Still, he wished his friend would - not get over it, exactly, but maybe learn to relativise. Most of the students at Hogwarts were either wealthy - since the tuition was so high -, or children of intermediate to high-ranked ministry workers. The only exception to that rule were muggle-borns, who were chosen among the ones who had had the most notable demonstrations of accidental magic in their childhood. Others were all taught in smaller state schools, considered less prestigious though no less effective at teaching magic. This meant that Ron was surrounded by well-off children for most of the year, it was frustrating to see him scoff at them for being posh. As far as he was aware, Fred and George weren’t bothered about it like he was.

Justin chuckled.

“Just because you’re in one House doesn’t mean you don’t have the quality for another. I just value hard work more than ambition. Or so the Hat said.”

“Right!” said Hermione. “The Hat wanted me in Ravenclaw but he said my sense of justice was stronger than my desire to learn.”

The Hufflepuff whistled.

“It must be incredibly strong then.”

“I just came back from the quidditch pitch, if you must know,” said a snide voice in the distance with a tone he recognised all too well.

Neville suppressed a sigh.

“Who asked you, Malfoy?” asked Harry, sounding as tired as Neville felt.

“Flint says our team will definitely win the Cup this year now that we have a more competent seeker.”

“How would you even know you’re more competent than Harry, you had to bribe the team to kick him off,” said Davies.

“Are you sure you’re qualified to speak about competence, Davies?” simpered Perks. “It’s not like you have any talent whatsoever.”

“Because you do?” asked Daphne with an incredulous look.

“Tracey’s worth ten of you, Perks. Now if you could stop wasting our time…”

“But I needed to tell you everything about my first practise Potter. I have to share the experience with my predecessor, after all. It's only polite.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” said Nott, eyes widening like he’d had a revelation. “I thought you were coming here to brag, but that’s not it, is it? You did so badly that Flint threatened to kick you off despite the fact that you’re Allied and you’re trying to get Harry to cough up some tips. Because your bribe covers your admittance to the team, but not the guarantee that you’ll stay on it. If you fail even one match…”

Zabini, Davies and Greengrass snickered at that, though Harry was still too sore about the subject to do more than smile tightly. Neville wished he knew how to get him his spot back.

“Are they always like this?” asked Justin as they strolled into the library.

Unfortunately, the only empty spaces were next to their Slytherin yearmates. It wasn’t that Neville didn’t want to be close to Harry - he always welcomed spending time with his godbrother - but he could have done without Malfoy’s antagonism for at least a day.

Madam Pince was already eyeing the group with a hawk-like gaze, waiting for them to speak even a decibel higher than authorised.

“Malfoy’s group is, yeah,” confirmed Hermione.

Neville nodded.

“Harry never provokes him. The prat’s been harassing him since they got Sorted in the same House. He and his goons started doing the same to me after we became friends too, as a way to get back to him. That’s mostly because Harry has an older cousin who’s a prefect so she doesn’t let anyone bully him. I don’t have that luxury.”

Justin shook his head.

“I knew he was a piece of work, but I didn’t know it was to this point.”

Neville grimaced. The Hufflepuff had spoken too loudly.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood!” snapped Malfoy.

Gasps resonated into the silent library, and it took only a second before wands were drawn. Ron threw the first spell, and Greengrass was next. Neville’s best friend’s wand had been wonky since their encounter with the Whomping Willow and it backfired on him; he had to hold his friend back as he started vomiting slugs. Malfoy didn’t have the time to sneer before Greengrass’ spell hit and hexed him bald.

Neville choked on a laugh, and the others followed. Even Ron sketched out a smile before vomiting again.

“Duelling! In my library!” roared Madam Pince. “Detention, all of you!”

Moments later, after an excruciating lecture from the librarian, they were out again.

“You’ll pay for that, Greengrass,” hissed Parkinson before following Malfoy out of the corridor, hissing and spitting curses at Harry’s group.

Greengrass faked a yawn.

“Come on, let’s get Weasley to the infirmary.”

“Sorry about the research, Hermione,” murmured Neville as they walked up the stairs leading to Madam Pomphrey’s territory. Nott had conjured a bucket for Ron to vomit in and was staying next to him to hold onto it.

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “We can always go back later.”

“What did it mean?” asked Justin abruptly. He was looking a little pale. “What Malfoy said.”

“It’s a slur used against muggle-borns. Not the kind of thing anyone wants to repeat,” explained Harry with a thunderous expression.

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.

“I knew the magical world had some prejudice, like the muggle world does, it was obvious, but I didn’t think it was to a point where they used slurs like - like - oh!”

She bit her lip to stop it from wobbling. Neville wanted to hug her, but he was already holding Ron. To his surprise, Greengrass and Davies beat him to it. They embraced his friend and held onto her as she sobbed. In the meantime, Harry and Zabini slowed down to stay near Justin, offering a more understated form of support.

Neville thought it was lucky they were all there while the two muggleborns heard that word for the first time. At least they didn’t have to face such bigotry on their own.

***

The story had spread like wildfire. Soon enough, most people knew that Draco had called the Hufflepuff a slur and been cursed bald for the trouble. The students in other Houses conveniently forgot that Greengrass had been the one to curse him, focused on the fact that Draco’s words proved that Slytherins were horrible, no good bigots.

Millicent didn’t mind. She didn’t consider herself as such but she knew that she was a bigot by the political Light’s standards. She just didn’t like muggles, their cities smelled unpleasant and they destroyed the planet. She had also talked to the portrait of her ancestor who had the same name as her. Millicent Bulstrode the first had been betrayed by her muggle-born friend who led her children to the slaughter during the witch trials and burnt down their ancestral mansion. Father always said it was a story to remember, so Millicent remembered it.

To be perfectly honest, she would rather ignore the muggle-borns altogether but her House wasn’t strong enough for her to stand on her own so she needed Draco’s protection. That meant following his whims, as ridiculous as she found them. Since she didn’t want him knowing her opinion, she played dumb, imitating Vince and Greg at their lowest. She didn’t mind, they were nice to her and she preferred their company to Pansy and Sally-Ann’s, who were just as mean as Draco. The only inconvenient was that Vince and Greg followed Draco around all the time per the vassalage agreement between their families - which was a ridiculous thing but what else could you expect from a French House? Though the fact that the Malfoys had managed to rope in the Crabbes and Goyles into their French nonsense was pretty impressive, admittedly. This meant Millicent had to follow him too, and listen to his non-stop complaining about Potter.

Potter was an alright bloke, all things considered. He wasn’t smirking at everyone like his infuriating best friend did, or looking down his nose at them like Nott. He didn’t even laugh meanly instead like Greengrass and Davies. His friend group seemed to enjoy the drama, but he didn’t seem to. He just looked tired everytime Draco called out to him, and like he’d rather be anywhere else. Oh, he joined in anyway, but it was obvious he didn’t like the confrontation.

If you listened to Draco though, it didn’t seem like it.

“... Potter just wants to make me look bad because I took his place on the team. Flint knew I was better than him, that’s all. My father…”

Millicent contained a sigh. He was going to go on for a long time, she was sure.

“I heard you go around calling people mudbloods, Malfoy,” drawled someone from behind her.

Draco stiffened. She turned around. Sure enough, it was Higgs and Pucey, looking pissed. She remembered the latter was a muggle-born and the Argentum Rex a squib and a muggle’s son, which was hardly better. She braced herself. They were in for it.

***

“Hello, Ginny.”

“Luna,” she said warily, closing her diary.

With Morgan, Colin, Lauren and her brothers always close to her, she had barely any time or privacy to write to Tom in the Gryffindor common room and she’d found an alcove to do so peacefully at his urging. Of course, her desire for peace didn’t matter to Luna. The girl watched her with her enormous dull eyes, her gaze dropping to the leather cover of Tom’s diary.

“Friends in books don’t make good friends,” she said airily.

Ginny bristled.

“What would you know about that? You don’t have friends.”

She regretted her words but she couldn’t bring herself to apologise. Ginny looked away.

Luna hummed. It sounded sad. A little wistful.

“You’re right. I don’t. I used to though.”

And she walked away, barefoot. Ginny remembered times spent running in the fields without shoes, chasing after fantastical creatures even Lady Ceridwen, the enchantress and Welsh goddess of inspiration herself couldn’t have dreamt up. She remembered a laugh that sounded like twinkling bells and eyes that used to sparkle with life.

She tried to pretend she didn't miss it.

***

“He’s going where?”

“To a Death Day party organised by their House ghost,” repeated Harry with a shrug, spearing a baked potato with his fork. “He says it’ll take his mind off things. I don’t see how being surrounded by dead people will help but well, who knows?”

Blaise shook his head, muttering in Italian something that sounded like “fuori di testa”, which Harry was pretty sure meant “out of his mind”. He chuckled.

“Granger and Weasley are going with them?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m telling you, Harry. You’re my best friend but there’s nothing you could ask me that would make me go to a ghost party.”

Harry laughed.

“Why not?”

“They can’t taste food so they let it rot and pass through it, hoping to get some sensation out of it. It’s nasty is what it is.”

“Oh, wow. I can imagine.”

“How do you know that?” asked Theo with a curious look.

“There’s a side palace that belongs to the ghost of Principessa Calpurnia Zabini, who ruled during the seventeenth century. We don’t go in there because she gives balls once a month,” he explained with a grimace. “Cousin Antea had me sneak in as a dare. The smell was horrible.”

“Where is the main palace, by the way?” wondered Daphne, twirling a strand of her midnight blue hair. Harry had to admit it suited her. It made her eyes seem brighter, or so Blaise and Tracey had said. He had to admit he didn’t know about such things.

“It’s on Aeris, a floating city on top of Napoli.” His lips quirked up. “We jokingly call it Mispoli, short for Mistiki Poli.”

“Isn’t that Greek for Secret City?” asked Lixian Qin, one of the first years who was listening. She was the daughter of a Chinese ambassador and had rapidly become Adytia’s best friend. Blaise had told him they had talked a little when she was feeling homesick, and she’d warmed up to her upperclassman a lot.

Blaise nodded.

“Not really imaginative, is it? But the city is really beautiful, and really old. We conserved most of the ancient architecture so magic permeates the walls of even the poorest streets. It has…”

Harry quietly finished his meal while he listened to his best friend answer questions about his home. Soon, the banquet was over and they were heading back to their common rooms. The Potter heir was morose, dreading the next day which was a remembrance of his parents’ fate. He wished he could spend it with them.

He was taken out of his musings by a shriek.

“You killed my cat! You killed her!” screamed Argus Filch.

The students who were before them and who had hurried to see what was happening were gasping. It took a moment for Harry and his friends to see what it was about but soon they were confronted to the stiff body of Mrs Norris, a shell-shocked Neville being shaken by the caretaker, and a bloody message on the walls saying the Chamber of Secrets had been open.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died quietly as people spotted the hanging cat staring emptily at the puddle on the floor. Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods.”

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. He didn’t have the opportunity to grin long though, as his mouth filled with soap at the use of the slur, a consequence of the curse Adrian has inflicted upon him.

Harry didn’t have the willpower to be amused at it.

***

“The Carrow twins are staring.”

Gemma paused, her hand stilling where it had been running through her cousin’s hair. Harry rarely let himself relax this way when it came to physical contact, as anything more than a short hug tended to make him tense up and his magic spark. Today though, he had been pushed by his friends onto Gemma’s side and made to lie down with his head on her lap. Blaise had only murmured something about a nightmare before giving them privacy. Well, as much privacy as they could have in the middle of the common room. Still, considering Gemma had raised wards around the Argentum court’s seating area, it was better than anywhere else.

Really, having Ulrich as family came in handy. She wondered how much she would have to bribe him to become his apprentice after Hogwarts. Who was she kidding. Harry’s puppy eyes should be enough.

She’d left Terence and their lieutenants to take care of the court affairs, mainly being establishing a plan for the prejudice the attack on Filch’s cat was creating against Slytherins. As if the school didn’t have enough disdain for them, an idiot had to add fuel to the fire. Gemma had had to take dozens of points against people harassing the lower years and it hadn’t even been two days. It was ridiculous.

“Are they now?”

“I think they want to talk to you.”

“They can’t. I’m the Fawley heiress, it could get them cast out of the family. The Vow of Enmity doesn’t allow it.”

“I know. And I’m sure they do too. I talked a little bit to Felix -Rosier, you know- and Priam Travers about their Vow of Allegiance. Priam’s branch was cast out so he’s not actually a member of House Travers and Felix plans to make it void when he comes of age, but they said that everyone from the Sworn Houses will be forced to fight for You-Know-Who if he comes back.”

The Spinea Regina inhaled sharply.

“Why are worried about it, Harry?”

“Do you remember, in first year? When Nev’ spent a few days in the infirmary.”

She grimaced. She’d been curious about it like anyone else. The Boy-Who-Lived injured, the disappearance of another DADA professor and rumours about an artefact hidden inside the castle… she had wanted to ask Harry but he’d been too frantic to explain anything more than what she already knew. Learning that the artefact in question was the Philosopher’s Stone explained a few things. Blaise on the other hand was too focused on cursing Longbottom’s name for being a reckless idiot. Then the matter had been forgotten in favour of dealing with Headmaster Dumbledore’s favouritism.

“Quirrel was possessed by You-Know-Who, according to Nev’. He was turned into a wraith that night, apparently. That’s why he wanted to steal the Stone. To get his body back.” He paused, looking grim. “He’ll try again and there are plenty of Death Eaters free to help him. To think that some people like Felix who don’t even want to follow him might also be forced to help him resurrect is… I don’t like it.”

“And you think the Carrow girls are the same?” she asked faintly, though her mind was reeling with the implications of what her cousin just said.

She had been only five years old when You-Know-Who was defeated and she had very few memories of what came before that. What she remembered better were the years after. The trembling hands of her mother as she held her, her father's haunted look when he mentioned a friend who died in the war. Besides Ulrich, who had smuggled muggle-borns out of the country from his residence in France and kept them all under wards until they could go back to their families, the Fawleys hadn't fought. Despite this they had still been collateral in the war. Gemma had lost an aunt to an attack on Diagon Alley, her uncle Philip’s twin. She didn’t remember Aunt Marian, but she knew her uncle and godfather hadn’t been the same since her death. He held himself at an arm’s length, hiding behind a mask of pompousness so nobody would get too close. The attack that day had been perpetrated by Alecto and Amycus Carrow, hence the Vow of Enmity. Those two were still fugitives on the continent and rumours said they were looking for a way to bring back their master. Gemma silently prayed to Arawn, god of the otherworld that they would get lost on their path.

After Aunt Marian’s death, her parents had pleaded multiple times at the International Confederation of Wixen where they worked for other countries to send aid. Only France, Ireland and Portugal had answered the call, and only around the end of the war. The Dark Lord Voldemort hadn’t been considered a serious threat before he’d wiped out the McKinnons, a Scottish family with many ties to the continent.

Harry didn’t grow up in the aftermath of that terror, so he didn’t know how horrifying such words were to her. But she could tell by the haunted look on his face that he at least felt a sliver of it. It was to be expected, she imagined. She had visited Cousin James and his wife; she knew how chilling the sight of their empty gazes was.

Her cousin wasn’t scared though, not like she was at the idea of another war. He was furious. His hand was twitching, itching for his wand, and his back tensed minutely at the idea of it. Still, his expression was solemn, focused on the problem at hand.

“I don’t know. Probably not, or they would have tried to join the Light faction. But maybe they’re angling for something else?”

“Something we could bargain to stop them from participating in an upcoming war? I doubt it, Cousin. As long as Amycus, Alecto, and Scylla Carrow live, their House will follow You-Know-Who.”

Harry frowned unhappily before he sighed.

“I guess you’re right. The timing is suspicious anyway.”

Gemma nodded.

“Right after that horrid message being painted on the wall. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Everyone knows You-Know-Who is the only confirmed Heir of Slytherin. But we might as well find out what they want. Let them come to us, though? I wouldn’t want to make it easy on them.”

“Uh-huh.”

She started stroking her little cousin’s head again. Harry relaxed a little, though his eyes were still trained on the two first years.

“And Cousin?”

“Hm?”

“You’ll be fighting in that war, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew his answer. She just needed to figure out hers.

“I will. If not for Nev’, then for my parents. And because it’s the right thing to do.”

“You should have been a Gryffindor,” she sighed fondly, shaking her head.

Well. Better to make a decision now than when it would already be too late.

Chapter Text

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Harry had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with any product he could find, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. Harry wanted to cheer up the distraught caretaker, but the way he glared at Neville held him back. The man knew they were godbrothers, he surely wouldn’t trust anything coming from him.

“Is there no way to buy mandrakes from abroad?” he asked Blaise as they made their way to Potions class. They’d just passed by Filch trying to put a fourth-year in detention for “looking happy”.

“There is, but it would be crazily expensive. No one wants to pay so much just to unpetrify a cat.”

“How expensive are we talking about here?”

“The equivalent of four months of your Hogwarts tuition,” chimed in Theo.

Harry bit his lip. That was a high amount, for sure.

“Maybe we could collect funds? If everyone pitches in… it’s not like the mandrakes will be unusable. They’re valuable potions ingredients.”

“That’s a good idea. It might even be smart to do so now, just in case there is another attack,” said Tracey.

“You think there will be another?” asked Blaise, his eyebrows raised.

“I know Gemma said it was probably a tasteless prank but we shouldn’t ignore the possibility.”

The Potter heir hummed.

“You’re right.”

They didn’t have time to plan more before they reached the classroom. What followed was another tense lesson spent never moving his eyes higher than his cauldron so he wouldn’t meet the unreadable gaze of his teacher. Professor Snape avoided calling out to him just as much, his expression impassible when he swept over his work without a comment. After the excruciating hour ended, Harry was held back and given a permission slip to leave the school every Saturday for a two-hour session with a mind healer. Harry thanked the professor stiffly and left as soon as he could.

“So, how should we do it?” he asked before anyone could mention his issues with the potions master.

“If it comes from us, nobody will trust it.” They all grimaced at the thought. The amount of times they’d been called slimy Slytherins in the past few days was enough to make them wary of coming forward. “We should ask someone from another house to spearhead it,” suggested Blaise.

“Not Longbottom, obviously,” said Daphne.

Harry nodded. Neville and his friends were the prime suspects for the petrification and although nobody truly believed it was him, it would be a bad idea to put him in the spotlight. People might even accuse him of planning the whole thing to garner some goodwill. He knew the newspapers published the most ridiculous things about his godbrother, and although Augusta Longbottom worked hard to avoid any negative comments being spread about her grandson, it was always prudent to make sure public opinion stayed positive. Neville didn’t like this kind of attention anyway.

“Padma and Su-a would be good at it,” suggested Blaise.

“Hannah Abbott might be a good choice too,” commented Daphne, thinking it over. “Everyone knows she loves animals. But they’re a bit young, no? Older students have more influence.”

Harry hummed at his friends’ suggestions.

“I was going to say Cedric.”

“Diggory is the best choice,” approved Tracey. “He’s older and everyone really likes him. He’s not from a Noble House but his family is established enough that the purists and traditionalists would listen too, and his dad works in the department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures at the ministry, so it would not be surprising for him to do something about it. Besides, nobody thinks Hufflepuff have ulterior motives.”

They chuckled at the thought. It was common knowledge in Slytherin that Hufflepuffs actually had them beat in the number of elected positions their former alumni boasted in the Ministry, especially the high-level ones.

“Let’s ask him and if he’s not up to it we’ll ask others.”

“We should ask others anyway. The more people are involved the better it will go.”

They didn’t manage to catch him during lunch but luckily stumbled upon him and his friend group during a free period, when they decided to take a stroll outside - though Theo decided to go back to the common room to read. The fourth year waved when he saw them. Blaise detached himself from their court to greet a third year Hufflepuff he was friendly with while the others made their way to Cedric. As Harry had made friends with him at the summer solstice that year - mainly over their love of quidditch unsurprisingly, but the Hufflepuff was also a good conversationalist in other subjects -, he was the one who approached him.

“Hi, Harry. Do you need anything?” the older boy asked, his shoulders relaxed and his expression friendly.

“Hi, Cedric. Yes, actually. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, what is it?”

His friends looked put-out over the fact that their conversation was being interrupted, but they seemed curious about what Harry wanted. The Potter heir bit his lip. He felt awkward asking this to someone he didn’t know well. Still, he soldiered on, emboldened by the presence of his friends at his back. Blaise even sent him a reassuring smile from where he was making small talk.

“It’s about what happened to Mr Filch’s cat. The mandrakes won’t be ready for another eight months according to professor Sprout and everyone’s worried someone else might be petrified too. We were thinking about creating a fund to buy the mandrakes from abroad -since they’re really expensive- but…”

“But people don’t really like Slytherins much right now and you’re worried about how people will take it,” guessed Cedric with a sympathetic smile.

Harry nodded, relieved to not have to say it. It was one thing to ask something like this of one of the most popular boys at school and it was another to admit in front of a big group of older students that your House was being treated with suspicion.

“We thought that if someone from another House organised it, people might be more receptive.”

“That makes sense. And I think it’s brilliant that you thought of that in the first place.”

Harry looked away, embarrassed at the praise. His friends snickered.

“It’s a really good idea. If we manage this it would probably cheer everyone up,” agreed Shafiq, one of Cedric’s close friends. He was a cousin of Safaa, the heir’s little brother if Harry remembered right. He couldn’t recall his name though. Since Gemma’s best friend wasn’t from the main branch, she didn’t have much contact with that side of her family. “I know the whole thing was probably just a prank but it’s still been worrying the firsties. If we can do something to help with that…”

“I’ll talk to professor Sprout,” decided Cedric and Harry offered him a grateful smile.

“So basically, you’ll have to do all the work, Cedric,” drawled a boy Harry didn’t recognise.

Harry could feel his friends tensing at his back, and see Blaise nonchalantly bringing his hand to his wand. Harry sighed. Why did people always have to be so antagonistic?

“Well, no. We were planning on talking to other people as well. I was thinking about asking Fred and George too - they’ll prepare something crazy to advertise it to everyone, I’m sure - and Lee Jordan, so he can talk about it before the Quidditch match, but we should talk to a professor first.”

“Besides, the more people work on it the better,” intervened Tracey, throwing Cedric’s other friend a filthy look.

“Mhm, but you’re still planning to use Cedric,” said another girl, sitting right next to the one who had accused them. Said boy shook his head with an aggravated expression.

“Slytherins are shameless, even the little ones.”

Cedric sent them a disapproving frown before throwing an apologetic glance at Harry and his friends.

“My father was a Slytherin, Bryan. I’m not sure I appreciate the way you’re talking about his House.” The two flushed, but the Hufflepuff seeker continued. “They’re twelve years old, of course they don’t want to be put on the spot like that when the whole school looks at them with suspicion.”

“We don’t want any harm,” sighed Harry. “If Cedric had said no we would have just asked someone else or done it ourselves. We’re planning to donate anyway so even if we didn’t do more we’d be participating.”

“Anyway,” said Shafiq, “ignoring those two, I’m thinking we could also do like, arts and crafts things and sell them at Hogsmeade. It will take a while to collect that much money - still less time than waiting for the mandrakes to grow - so if we plan it for the planned Hogsmeade weekend before the Winter Holidays, we could have students’ parents coming and…”

***

Blaise thought it was incredible that almost nobody outside of Slytherin knew that it had been Harry’s idea to collect funds for Filch’s cat. Diggory always mentioned Harry’s involvement of course, but that was completely ignored over the praise his admirers were insistent on showering him with. Harry confessed he was relieved, though; he disliked the attention. He only tolerated it in small doses and private settings. Blaise wondered why he liked quidditch so much then, but he supposed it was different when he was in the air and didn’t have to notice people staring at him. Still, he knew better than to ask. Malfoy was still crowing about his new place on the team and the match was approaching. The Italian prince was glad his friend had a project to occupy himself.

Harry started with getting the Weasley twins and Jordan on board. It didn’t take much to convince them, the twins loved any idea that put them in the spotlight. Filch probably wouldn’t appreciate them turning his cat’s plight into a short drama played in front of the whole school with Fred bearing cat ears, yellow lamp-like eyes, and a Cheshire grin while George played the part of the unknown monster but, well. If it wielded results, he probably wouldn’t complain.

Jordan on the other hand had already written down a short skit to introduce the topic to the students who had been sleeping under a rock. The twins confided to Blaise that he also had something planned to get back at Malfoy. He had a feeling the new Slytherin seeker wouldn’t get the glory and admiration he expected from his placement on the team. Blaise was looking forward to it.

The day of the match, Harry had his first session with the mind healer in the morning. He came back wearing a troubled expression and only murmured to Blaise that the healer was fine and he’d told Mr Fawley he would agree to go back before staying half a step behind him, quiet as a mouse. Blaise and Theo stayed with him in companionable silence while Tracey and Daphne fielded Malfoy’s increasingly irritating taunts, only dampened by the fact that the boy was slowly growing less confident as the time approached.

They were sitting with the Argentum court for the match, in support of Harry and Adrian. Already the Slytherins were sending glances at the two boys in the stands as they both sat with their friends instead of making their way to the pitch. While Harry’s replacement had been well-documented, Flint had kept Adrian’s resignation quiet. It didn’t look good to kick out someone from the team, but it was even worse to have someone leave in protest. Still, Adrian hadn’t made a fuss about it since it was ultimately no victory to brag about having to quit. In the meantime, he amused himself with hexing Flint’s teeth to fall out periodically. Considering Aspen had apparently suggested making him ingest a carnivorous plant’s seed and letting it grow in his stomach while Safaa wanted to vanish a small bone from his hand while he slept and wait to see how long it took for him to notice, it was a pretty small revenge.

“...and remember to donate to Mrs Norris’ fund to save the poor animal from her horrible fate! [...] Now, we have Gryffindor’s team with the captain and keeper Oliver Wood, chasers Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell, beaters Fred and George Weasley, and seeker Cormac MacLaggen! And on the Slytherin side we have captain and chaser Marcus Flint with his fellow chasers Graham Montague and Lucian Bole, keeper Miles Bletchley, beaters Henry Fletcher and Damian Wright, and seeker Draco Malfoy. All wonderfully equipped with amazing Nimbuses 2001 that absolutely did not buy anyone’s place on the team, I’m sure.”

Murmurs rose in the stands at that and everyone’s eyes fixed themselves on Malfoy, whose cheeks flushed an ugly red. It was very telling of how horrid the situation was that McGonagall didn’t reprimand Jordan on his little call-out. Blaise and Theo shifted slightly to shield their friend from the looks thrown his way, to no avail. Harry grew tenser as the match started, his eyes firmly glued to the Gryffindor team. Blaise had discussed with him the possibility of sitting in the red and gold stands, but after they considered it they ultimately had rejected the idea. While it might make a strong statement, it would also be stepping on their House pride in a moment during which they should stay united.

“The beaters Weasley and Weasley throw the bludger back and ... who is replacing Pucey again? Whoever that guy is has just dropped the quaffle, it’s a penalty for Slytherin,” was saying Jordan from the commenter’s stands. Everyone heard professor McGonagall tell him the name of the new chaser. “Right, I have been reliably informed that Slytherin’s new chaser is called Hole - ah, no, Mole? Wait, don’t hex me, Bole, his name is Bole. Lucian Bole drops the quaffle, then. Where was I… ah, Johnson - lovely girl if you ask me - throws it back into the game, Spinnet strikes, wonderful teamwork there, and… it’s a goal, another ten points for Gryffindor!”

Blaise snickered, and he could see that Harry was smiling a little at his side. The Potter heir turned and exchanged a smirk with Adrian. It seemed like they appreciated the commenter’s solidarity.

“And it looks like Malfoy and McLaggen both spotted the golden snitch. Now, Malfoy knows gold that’s for sure and Slytherin’ll be hoping he’s just as quick to spot it in quidditch as he is to rely on his daddy’s money. Ah, the snitch is moving again! And Gred - or is it Forge? - Weasley blocks a bludger coming towards Johnson.”

“McLaggen hasn’t improved his issues with mobility,” murmured Harry, his brows furrowed. “I hate to admit it, but even outside of that broom, Malfoy’s just better.”

“He’s not better than you, though, is he?” asked Theo, who like Blaise couldn’t care less about quidditch. They’d attended every game before to support Harry but now that he wasn’t on the pitch the appeal had diminished greatly. Even now they were only here because the Argentum court had to be and as their closest allies it was good to show their support. They needed to save face too.

Harry made a face like he always did when they tried to make him compliment himself.

“He’s not,” confirmed Terence from the upper row. He and Adrian were crouched close to them to follow their discussion. Gemma, Aspen, Daphne and Tracey were having their own chat, though Blaise suspected they were talking about court politics more than quidditch. Meanwhile, Safaa was nowhere to be seen. The Italian prince frowned. She had been more absent lately, hadn’t she?

“Harry has better reflexes and his dives are smoother,” said the former chaser, eyes trained on where Malfoy just made a sharp manoeuvre to follow after the snitch who had escaped from both his and MacLaggen’s grasp. “His turns too.”

“That’s just inexperience, though,” said Harry, biting his lip. “I don’t think I was better than he is now during my first match.”

Terence shook his head.

“You underestimate yourself. Despite his questionable decision to go back on it, there’s a reason Snape initially chose you as my replacement. If your inexperience had been a problem, he wouldn’t have risked it and would have simply made you a reserve seeker. He thought you were good enough to take the mantle immediately though.” He pointed at an empty spot, which Harry zeroed in on. “See? The snitch is already over there. I know you would have caught it by now. Meanwhile Bole is struggling, and Gryffindor’s chasers have a higher point count.”

“Their teamwork’s better than ours,” confirmed Adrian with an unhappy twist to his lips. Despite the fact that they weren’t on the team anymore, seeing Slytherin lose wasn’t something they wanted.

They listened as Lee Jordan made another reference to Malfoy’s buying his way into the team. Unfortunately, it was the only thing he could mention about the Malfoy heir. Despite her own feelings on the matter, professor McGonagall wouldn’t let him say out loud that Harry was better. Still, Jordan managed to make enough insinuations of it when he wasn’t focusing on the floundering of the main players. It all culminated when Malfoy finally caught the snitch.

“... and Malfoy catches the snitch, earning 150 points to his team! With 340-400, it’s a victory for Slytherin. A fairly close one, though. Well, I guess no seeker could have done better, right?”

“Ouch,” said Tracey, “Malfoy didn’t like that one.”

The cheers in Slytherin were subdued, the mood even more dampened by the fact that Terence pointedly hadn’t clapped to congratulate the team. As they went down the stairs, Blaise could see Aspen and Gemma judging the awkward chatter and deciding on the way they wanted the victory party to happen. They could decide not to attend and humiliate Flint, or they could plan a confrontation. So far it seemed like they planned to open the celebration and leave. Terence inclined his head at them to signify he would follow their lead, kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and walked ahead with Harry, Tracey and Adrian to discuss the match.

Blaise yawned.

“It was boring, wasn’t it?” commented Daphne, walking closer to him and Theo. While Tracey was a casual quidditch fan - especially of the Holyhead Harpies - and could keep up with the flying-crazed boys, Daphne only had a passing interest in it.

“The drama behind the whole thing kept me awake, but honestly if Harry’s not playing I’m not that interested.”

“We’ll keep coming to Slytherin’s matches, though, aren’t we,” sighed Theo. “I’ll bring a book, next time.”

Daphne and Blaise snickered.

“I suppose that’s a way to make a statement. Hey -”

The Italian prince didn’t get to start his sentence before a loud noise interrupted him. Everyone turned towards the noise. The stairs leading people out of the Gryffindor’s stands had collapsed in on themselves.

“Merlin’s beard!” exclaimed someone.

“Nev’” cried out Harry at the same time.

Blaise cursed and followed after his best friend who ran across the quidditch pitch. They arrived right on time to see Lockhart point his wand at Harry’s godbrother, who was passed out, his entire body covered in blood and dust. He had multiple cuts from the wooden stairs’ splinters, and his leg was twisted into a misshapen form. Blaise thought it was lucky he wasn’t bleeding from the head.

“Brackium Em--”

“Are you crazy?” yelled Harry, pushing Lockhart out of the way and knocking his wand out of his hand.”

“I was going to heal your friend, young man, there is no need to be rude.”

“You were going to cast a bone mending charm without even performing a diagnostic spell, cleaning the wounds and putting him on a stretcher? Are you mental? You’re not a medical professional, mister Lockhart, you’re barely a professor as it is. You can’t take care of Cornish Pixies and you think I’ll let you cast anything on my godbrother?”

“Detention, mister Potter!” exclaimed the charlatan.

“Piss off!”

And he turned toward Longbottom, conjuring a stretcher and doing exactly as he had remonstrated. He meticulously cleaned his friend’s wounds while holding his head up and murmured the diagnostic spell. Blaise stayed between Harry and Lockhart throughout it all, joined shortly by Longbottom’s friends, the Weasley twins, and their own friends. The DADA professor understood it was time for him to back off, though he didn’t do so before assuring he in fact knew perfectly well what he was doing.

When Madam Pomphrey made her way over to them, Harry levitated the stretcher to her and rattled off the information he had gotten from the diagnostic charm. The mediwitch grimaced.

“He’s going to need more than a bone mending charm, it looks like part of his kneecap shattered. I’ll have to vanish the whole thing and regrow it. Thankfully we have some Skele-Gro in stock, he’ll be right as rain tomorrow. Though I’m afraid to say you’ll have a painful night ahead of you, mister Longbottom,” she said to the unconscious boy with an unhappy frown before she turned to Blaise’s best friend. “Thank you, Harry. Do you want to come with me or will you stay with your friends?”

“I’ll come,” said Harry, leaving behind his teacher after throwing a filthy look at Lockhart.

Granger and the younger Weasley followed after him, walking alongside Longbottom. They left under the eyes of the entire school, eager for gossip. Some were looking at Harry with appraising eyes, but most were switching back and forth between Longbottom’s unconscious body and Lockhart, who was crying to whoever was willing to listen that he would uncover the culprit of what he called an assassination attempt. Blaise looked at the damaged stairs of the Gryffindors stands, pondering.

***

The day Neville came out of the infirmary, Hermione had to tell him Colin Creevey had been petrified.

“I know,” said Neville with a pained expression. They were walking toward class, having already eaten breakfast -Ron and her had done so in the Great Hall and Neville in the infirmary. “I woke up during the night and I heard the professors talk about it. He was visiting me apparently. That’s not all.”

He told her and Ron about his nightly visit by the same house elf who had tried to convince him not to go to Hogwarts in the summer. Dobby had apparently been the one responsible for the closing of the platform’s barrier when Neville had been trapped outside of it, and he collapsed the stairs while their friend was walking down, hoping that if he was injured enough he would want to go home.

“It’s not a bad strategy,” admitted her friend. “My gran has half a mind to take me out of there already, with all her bad blood with Dumbledore and the way I got injured in first year.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” corrected absently Hermione. Meanwhile, Ron grumbled about him being sure Dobby was Malfoy’s elf. Her stomach churned at the thought of being part of a society that still allowed slavery in some form. She was definitely going to do something about that.

“Right. Anyway, the only reason I’m not in Beauxbatons is that Gran thinks I should follow my father’s footsteps. That includes going to the same school apparently.”

Hermione didn’t try to hide her relief at that thought. She didn’t know what she would do if Neville wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore.

“We should still try to find out who is behind those attacks,” said Ron. “If we stop them, that crazy elf won’t try to kill you to keep you from whatever’s happening, right?”

Hermione nodded.

“Even if Diggory’s idea to collect funds for mature mandrakes is good, it’s better to prevent the petrifications from happening in the first place. I’m sure you can figure it out with some research.”

“Hopefully, yes. But it’s not that easy. We know that the Heir of Slytherin has to be a descendent, but they’re really hard to track.”

“I still say it’s Malfoy,” replied Ron again.

“It’s possible. His mother is a Black and that family tree’s well documented, but nobody knows who Lucius Malfoy’s mother was. She could have been a Gaunt. They’re the only descendent of Slytherin we know of, outside of Voldemort."

“Does that mean Malfoy would be You-Know-Who’s cousin?” asked Hermione, ignoring Ron’s grumbling at Neville saying the name.

“Well, technically we are both Malfoy’s cousins through the Blacks. It doesn’t mean much.”

“Oi, we don’t talk about that!”

The muggle-born shook her head, amazed at wizarding nonsense. Her lips twitched as Neville laughed at his friend’s indignation.

“So how do we find out if Malfoy’s the Heir?” asked Ron after a while. They’d just stopped in front of the Transfiguration classroom.

“We could ask Harry,” suggested Hermione. “Have you had the chance to thank him?”

Neville shook his head.

“We’ll see each other in Potions, I’ll do it then.”

“He was pretty impressive, wasn’t he? I knew he was taking healing classes, but I didn’t know he learnt so much. I wonder if I could ask Madam Pomphrey--”

“I know what you’re thinking, but no. Madam Pomphrey only takes students who want to be healers,” interrupted Neville with a stern look. “You value all knowledge and that’s great, Hermione, but those private classes aren’t meant for you.”

Hermione looked away.

“It was just a thought.”

Neville’s gaze softened. “I know. Besides, I’m sure you can self-study if you really want to know. And Harry can give you tips!”

“Back to the matter at hand,” said Ron. “We can’t ask Harry. Malfoy hates him, it’s not like he can just show up and ask him if he’s the Heir.”

Neville and her nodded. It was a good point. Hermione thought it over. After a moment, she lit up.

“What about Polyjuice potion?”

***

“We don’t need to steal it, we can just buy them!”

“But what if they don’t arrive on time? No, Neville, it’s better this way.”

“They do know we can hear them, right?” whispered Harry in Theo’s ear.

“I honestly don’t want to know what this is about,” he replied.

Harry chuckled before putting down his bag next to Longbottom and gathering his supplies. Theo did the same next to Blaise, listening distractedly as Longbottom thanked Harry for protecting him from Lockhart’s incompetence and offered to use his Boy-Who-Lived card to get him out of detention. (It was the third time he thanked Harry this week, once in another potions class, another time in the Great Hall, and now.) The offer was dismissed with a handwave and the excuse that Lockhart was so self-centred it probably only would make him double down. It was true enough, Theo supposed, but he thought Harry shouldn’t turn down things from Neville. The boy’s godbrother was getting rather desperate to repay all the favours he was starting to owe Harry.

“I was harsh on Longbottom, but Harry really doesn’t let him do anything for him,” commented Blaise, echoing his thoughts.

“What could he even do?” agreed Theo, slicing his ingredients while his friend managed the heat. “Harry helps him in Potions, diverts bludgers for him, calls for help when he’s in danger and tries to heal him. He’s even preparing to fight a bloody war for him. When Harry needs anything, he doesn’t ask. We’re the ones who have to force him to go to Gemma, and that rarely happens. The only thing he wants is Longbottom’s friendship and he has that.”

“Still, Longbottom could stand to be a little more proactive,” grumbled Blaise. “Especially with the Slytherin prejudice that’s going on right now.”

Theo hummed. He didn’t exactly disagree with Blaise but he remembered growing up in the blood supremacist circles the younger Weasley equated with Slytherin. He understood better than the Italian prince where the stereotypes that plagued their House came from. And it was hard to tell because they were currently ruled by a politically Light Argentum court, but the majority of the Slytherins were either aligned with or sympathetic to the Dark Lord’s rhetoric. Most of the seventh year, the sixth years Terence and Gemma’s court didn’t talk to, Flint’s fifth years, the fourth years, another half of the third years and Malfoy’s court were all isolationists - wary of Muggles and of their encroachment into their culture - if not downright bigots. When that was what most of the school was confronted to, it wasn’t surprising that people were wary. Especially so soon after the war.

He conveyed those thoughts to Blaise when the professor wasn’t looking, and the Zabini prince begrudgingly conceded the point.

“Your father is a traditionalist, isn’t he?” asked Blaise.

“He can’t call himself that since he was a Death Eater, but he toes the line between the purist ideology and traditionalism, yes. Apparently, the Dark Lord’s old agenda used to be less extreme.”

He bit his lip. If he was going to say more, he would do it in the comfort of their dorm, with Harry there under Gemma’s privacy wards and with the Eavesdropper curse Aspen had taught him at the tip of his wand. Revealing the real identity of the Dark Lord was something Theo’s father had warned him against and he ultimately meant to keep that promise. Harry and Blaise were exceptions, though.

Blaise must have seen something on his face because he smoothly changed the subject back to traditionalism.

“And are you? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about your view on muggle-borns.”

“Not in so many words, no.” He paused. “I’m… frustrated by a lot of things they do. The way they scoff at us for using quills and parchments like we don’t have reasons to live the way we do.”

The quill matter came up with Granger during one of their enforced time with Longbottom’s group, and he’d had to explain that muggle pens didn’t take to magic as well as quills because of the plastic they were made of and that even the old fountain pens that were completely made out of metal sometimes gained sentience for reasons the Department of Mysteries was still investigating to this day. There was a cultural aspect to it as well, but he didn’t know if pointing out that wixen simply had adjusted by making more functional quills instead of completely getting rid of them would have helped. He didn’t know Granger well enough to understand her, and he didn’t particularly care to.

“But I also understand the fact that they simply don’t know certain things, and that they have to learn them as they go. You can't really blame them for coming from a different culture. Harry struggles sometimes too, and that’s helped me understand it a lot.”

“That, and talking to Aspen,” observed Blaise. “I’ve noticed you spend time together. He takes his ‘mentor’ role seriously, doesn’t he?”

Theo nodded.

“I know it was a joke, the mentor thing, but talking to him helped a lot. Our situations are a bit different but having a Death Eater in the family… it really shapes your perspective. That’s why I try to do the same thing for Felix.”

“I think you’re doing pretty well. He’s been declared the leader of the firsties. With Tristan Harper and Lily Moon as his seconds.”

The Nott heir raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be Aditya, or Mafalda Prewett.”

Blaise shook his head.

“They have strong personalities, but not the charisma needed. Rosier has a vision, it’s made him more mature than his peers.”

They both glanced at Harry, who was watching Neville like a hawk as he deposited a small amount of crushed powder into their cauldron. Even doing the most mundane tasks, Harry had a certain presence to him. Theo remembered him on the quidditch pitch, checking on Longbottom’s health while glaring daggers at Lockhart, his eyes intense and focused, his magic crackling around him.

“I see what you mean,” murmured Theo.

***

“Duelling,” murmured Susan, reading the notice board.

“It could be fun,” exclaimed Hannah. “And it’s an inter-House event, so it’s a good way to gather everyone.”

“It’s still segregated by year though. It’s a shame, I would have liked to see how the older students fight,” said Justin with a glance at Cedric’s group.

Justin had gotten tired of his male friends' speculations on the Chamber of Secrets and decided to spend more time hanging out with Susan and Hannah. So far, he didn’t regret it. They were far more sensible about the whole thing, and spent less time making him feel like he was going to be attacked at every turn. Wayne, Zacharias and Ernie didn’t mean anything by it, but maybe that was the issue. For them it was fun speculation, for Justin it was a hate crime. Susan and Hannah seemed to understand that a little better.

They were less understanding about his wariness over Neville, though. It made sense, considering they’d known him since their early childhood. Truly, he didn’t believe Neville was behind it all. But he’d heard so many fantastical things since joining the magical world, he didn’t think it was too far-fetched to believe some part of You-Know-Who had lingered in Neville after that Halloween night. The same part could probably have possessed him and made him open the Chamber, he reasoned.

Now he sounded like a conspiracy theorist. He sighed and changed the conversation to talk about Cedric’s fund, which had gained a lot more attention now that Colin Creevey had been petrified too. The upper years were preparing for the fundraiser they would do in Hogsmeade in mid-December - Justin was so jealous he couldn’t go to the village yet - while the younger years passed around baskets among students and made cards everyone could send to their parents to promote the fund. It was mostly Hufflepuffs working on it thanks to Cedric’s influence, but there was also a fair amount of Ravenclaws, some Gryffindors - mostly the Weasley twins, who had given a hilarious performance that had ended with them in detention - and surprisingly even Slytherins, though mostly Potter’s group, a lot of first years and a girl who turned out to be Potter’s cousin.

Justin’s male friends weren’t participating but Hannah and Susan were so he was roped into it when he started spending more time with them. He didn’t mind really. It gave him something to do that wasn’t worrying over the very possibility of being hate-crimed over something he had no control over. As a white English boy born from wealthy parents, that was something he never really had to think about. He’d talked to Hermione though, and it was obvious that the biracial girl had had experiences like that in muggle schools. It was a little humbling to be honest. It made the situation no less terrifying, though.

In the end, when the day of the duelling club’s first assembly arrived, Cedric’s fund had already collected a fourth of what was needed to buy the adult mandrakes. Justin really hoped they would get it all before Christmas came around.

He contained a groan when he realised Lockhart would be giving the lesson. Even worse, Snape would be assisting him. Potions was his worst subject, Herbology coming in close. He just didn’t do well with things that required manual labour. And as for DADA, well. He’d initially thought Lockhart was great; his books were pretty cool at least. But after spending more time with Susan and Hannah, he’d been forced to admit that there was something off about him. The fact that he kept messing up his spells for one; Susan had already written her aunt about it, and he was being investigated. He hoped it turned out to be nothing, but it was becoming less likely by the minute. Hannah thought he was the one who’d opened the Chamber to get a new topic for his next book. Justin wanted to tell her that was going a bit too far, but considering how wild his own theories were, he kept that thought to himself.

The two professors were coaching them through the disarming charm, and Justin had to admit Snape’s explanation made a lot more sense than Lockhart’s demonstration.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I’ve lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Justin chuckled at the blatant lie. Then they made everyone practise. He was paired with Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw, with whom he got along pretty well. While practising the wand movements, he caught Hermione stealing a cat hair from Millicent Bulstrode’s robe as they got into a fistfight. That was weird, but who knew what went on in the head of a genius like Hermione. He wouldn’t question it.

Then came time to have a proper duel to show when it was appropriate to use the charm.

“No, no. Weasley and Longbottom are disasters with their wands, for entirely different reasons,” denied Snape when Lockhart made a suggestion.

“Ah, I must insist on mister Longbottom at least,” said Lockhart with a wink at Neville that had a few girls sighing. Weird.

“Very well, if you wish to publicly humiliate the boy. Might I suggest one of mine to pair him with— mister Malfoy perhaps?” said Snape with a smirk.

Justin exchanged looks with his friends. That was going to go terribly, wasn’t it. Neville reluctantly faced Malfoy in front of everyone, following the proper duelling custom of bowing at each other. It was kind of like fencing. Justin’s sister fenced; he liked watching her competitions when he was younger. He kind of missed it.

“Now, begin. Only minor spells, of course.”

And then of course Malfoy used a snake-summoning spell. Justin backed up as far away as possible, paling rapidly. It wasn’t a secret that he was scared of snakes. Justin glanced at Neville, hoping he’d do something but the boy only had a resigned look on his face. The snake hissed, but didn’t move. Malfoy made a face, disappointed at the lack of spectacle. And then of course Lockhart had to intervene.

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart.

He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, it slithered straight toward him and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. Justin closed his eyes, bracing himself.

And then he heard another hiss, which didn’t belong to the snake. Justin opened his eyes. Neville was speaking to it calmly, in a language he couldn’t decipher. He crouched down and the snake moved towards him, slithering up his arm.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

No, wait. What was it that wixen said in situations like this?

Ah, right.

Merlin’s balls.

Chapter Text

“So. A parselmouth, huh.”

Neville tensed, then sighed in relief as he recognised Harry’s voice. His godbrother settled right next to him. He was alone, which was uncharacteristic. He was rarely seen without his Slytherin friends. Neville glanced aside and there they were, sitting at another table. He could see Greengrass drawing while the others did homework. Nott was looking their way though, and offered Neville a cordial nod when their eyes met. Neville nodded back awkwardly, wishing he hadn’t left Ron and Hermione in Myrtle’s bathroom to rewrite his potions essay.

“I spent my whole childhood hiding from the world in Longland manor’s greenhouses,” Neville said, glancing down. “I was bound to meet a snake or two, so I’ve known for a while. Gran checked our family tree, we have no relation to Slytherin whatsoever.”

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t think you’re the Heir, you know.”

Neville raised his head. His friend was smiling at him, his eyes soft and understanding.

“You’re not a violent person and Hermione’s one of your best friends. You talk to plants like they’re your children and you have a pet toad for Merlin’s sake.” Harry shook his head. “Nobody with any sense believes you’re responsible for what’s happening right now.”

“You should tell that to Justin,” he snorted. “He thinks I’m being possessed by Voldemort. He says it’s not my fault of course, but that the fact that I speak to snakes proves something wrong’s with me.”

“As I said, nobody with any sense,” repeated Harry with a wink. He paused before continuing. “No, really. He’s scared. Fear makes people stupid.”

Harry’s eyes turned hard and his nostrils flared. It only lasted a second, but it was enough for Neville to look at him with concern. The Potter heir smiled wryly.

“Look at you, worrying about me when you’re the one who’s being stared at by the whole school.”

“Friendship goes both ways,” reminded Neville. “I can worry about you and about myself at the same time you know.”

“It’s just. Someone sent a tripping jinx at Tracey when we were walking down the stairs. I caught her in time but.”

“But you’re angry about what could have happened?” guessed the Longbottom lord.

His godbrother nodded, his jaw clenched.

“I suppose I’m lucky that even if people think I’m the one behind the attacks, they don’t try to attack me for it. They’re too scared I’ll retaliate, I suppose. It’s horrible that they do that to you guys.”

“And we can’t even fight back because it makes everything worse. Just look at how people reacted when we left the Great Hall last year.”

Neville grimaced. His friend had a point.

“I say do what you want. The people that matter know there’s nothing wrong with being Slytherins, they’ll understand that you have to defend yourselves.”

His friend chuckled. He stood up, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Take your own advice, Nev’. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Later, as Neville gazed down at the petrified forms of Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick, he clung to Harry’s words with the desperation of a castaway holding onto a piece of driftwood.

***

Adrian regretted convincing Terence to take up the Argentum Rex position so badly. He couldn’t believe he didn’t realise his best friend was onto something at the time. The whole thing was more trouble than it was worth.

He groaned, thumping his head on his study desk. Terence and Aspen snickered at him.

“You had the right idea, Terry. This is hell.”

They’d spent hours cross-referencing timetables to make sure an upperclassman was always available to watch over the first, second, and third years in case someone attacked them. Arthur Geraint in third year had already been sent to the hospital wing by a group of fifth-year Gryffindors looking for someone to blame for the Heir of Slytherin business. Though Adrian was pretty sure it had more to do with the Gryffindor’s team’s loss in quidditch. Bunch of self-righteous hypocrites.

“I told you so,” said their Rex, shaking his head. “Tutoring, House meetings, social events, settling disputes and supervising duels, protecting the House reputation-”

“And so on and so forth,” summarised Aspen, grabbing Terence’s hands to stop him from counting down, “we know, we’ve been doing it for what? Three months already?”

“I know, I just thought listing everything would convey how much I hate you all for making me do this.”

“Hey, you chose to do it yourself.”

“What was it that you said at the time?” asked Terence, cocking his head. “ ‘If you don’t do it, I will’, right? How about you switch with me?”

“Can I keep your Regina though?”

Adrian smirked, his shoulders relaxing at the familiar argument. It wasn’t the first time they’d complained to each other about it, but frankly, it could have been worse. They had a Spinea Regina after all, which meant their court could only be challenged by a pair. It made their reign significantly more peaceful than whatever was going on when William Robards was ruling. That had been painful to watch.

His lips twitched as he thought about Flint trying to court the branch Avery girl in his year to face up to the challenge of contesting the couple’s claim. Though she was interested in the benefits of being Spinea Regina, it seemed he hadn’t yet managed to convince her to forget she was a lesbian. Oh well. He wasn’t worried. Even if Avery did accept, she wasn’t a good enough duellist to face Gemma’s warding talent and Terence’s Auror training. Still, it would be funny to see Flint try. Maybe they’d be able to bargain his and Harry’s place back on the team when he inevitably lost.

Adrian scowled at the thought. He hated that this was what they had been reduced to. He didn’t regret resigning of course, it would have sent the wrong statement to stay on the team when Harry had been kicked out of it. Yet, it still grated. Snape was such a piece of shit for allowing this. He didn’t even have anything to gain from it, the asshole.

“You’re getting cranky,” observed Aspen. “When are you playing with Harry again?”

“Tomorrow. He’s invited Diggory this time, and he’ll bring Applebee - you know, the chaser in his year? I think her name’s Tamsin - so we’ll be doing two teams of one beater, one seeker, and one chaser each.”

“The beaters are still the Weasley twins, right? How do they even have the time? Wood’s a hardass,” asked Terence.

“Apparently Wood says it’s good for them to learn to play separately. They do tend to move as a unit.”

Aspen, who knew nothing about quidditch and couldn’t care less about it returned to his Arithmancy essay as they discussed the Gryffindor team’s quidditch strategy. Adrian could see a small smile dancing on his lips though, as their quieter friend let their conversation wash over him. The Selwyn heir had come far from the snappish and rude boy he had been in his first year, lashing out at anyone who looked at him too long. It was good to see the blond so relaxed, Adrian thought. He glanced away before his friend could notice him staring.

After a while, Safaa and Gemma joined them, looking exhausted after supervising a duel between fourth years, pinning the date of the next House party on the notice board, and giving an impromptu tutoring session to two first years who were worried about failing Charms.

Harry would have normally done so since his court had taken the firsties under their wing and helped smooth over their integration into Hogwarts, but he was busy helping out Diggory in his fundraising campaign. Adrian was glad something was being done; although he hoped he’d manage to defend himself against the coward who’d targeted a cat, a ghost, and two lower years students, he still kept in mind the possibility that Slytherin’s monster actually existed and every muggle-born was at risk. He and Terence had already taken aside the only muggle-borns currently in Slytherin - Adytia Sandhu in first year, Elise Gardner in third year, and Shane Williamson in fourth - to teach them some defence tactics in case they were ambushed. He hoped it would be enough.

***

Detention with Lockhart was the worst thing Harry had ever been subjected to, and he’d had to live through pretty nasty things at the Dursleys. Things like running from Dudley or getting locked in the cupboard for days at least had the advantage of giving him a minimum of adrenaline or some peace and quiet. But the mind-numbing experience of listening to Lockhart prattling on about how Harry needed to learn to tone down his jealousy against famous people and that while the professor understood his desire to be in the spotlight he shouldn’t be rude to adults to achieve it was absolutely atrocious. He even went as far as to say pretty insensitive things about his parents, and how Lockhart would definitely never have ended up in their situation.

Harry spent the whole time gritting his teeth and using every last shred of the Occlumency training Blaise had given him not to snap and hex the man right where he stood. There were some parts of the detention that were spotty in his mind due to the pressure he’d applied to his mental walls. He sometimes blinked and realised more time had passed than he’d expected. Still, at the end of the two hours, he had to duck into an empty classroom to wrestle his sparking magic back in control. He didn’t cast spells, too scared to overpower them but instead shaped his power into sparks of light that dissipated before they touched the ground. He had been so stressed lately, with the Heir of Slytherin business, the loss of his place on the team, his issues with professor Snape and sessions with the mind healer. He needed this.

He looked around. The room wasn’t damaged -he hadn’t been angry to the point of setting chairs on fire or anything like that- but the air was so permeated with magic he could feel the weight of it on his tongue.

“Prodigius aspectum,” he incanted, copying the spell Snape had used on him.

And he was assaulted by a whirlpool of colour. There for his eyes to see was a kaleidoscope of golds, blues and greens interspersed with shades of white and black swirling into soft greys which accompanied the hum of a song without lyrics, harmonious without rhythm. He blinked and focused, trying to figure out what part of the sounds and visuals belonged to him and which part was the school’s ambient magic given form. Soon enough, he could discern more than his own power and had to contain a gasp.

Hogwarts’ magic was beautiful. It was midnight blue, burnt orange and pale pink, protective and profoundly alive. It pulled Harry’s magic in and made it the castle’s, welcoming his sparks into its walls like they’d always belonged there.

Harry’s smile at the sight was a wobbly thing, tremulous in the face of his love for magic, his own and the one that surrounded him. Ulrich’s cottage was home in a way he had never understood when living at the Dursleys, but he had been saved by a letter sent from Hogwarts, taken in by a professor who had saved him and promised he would learn to wield the magic at his fingertips. His parents, his Potter and Peverell ancestors had all walked these very walls and he was the last of them. He would become someone great, he promised to the school his family had roamed since its creation. He would cure his parents and make sure they too would have the opportunity to realise their ambitions. They were still so young in the grand scheme of things; even if it took him thirty years they would have decades to spend together.

He hadn’t told Blaise but he was thankful for his suggestion to learn Legilimency to facilitate his Occlumency lessons. He had read about torture curses and he knew he would probably need to delve into his parents’ minds to heal them. He was sure that beyond healing magic, Legilimency was one of the keys to creating a cure, so his friend’s help in mastering it was priceless. Blaise’s professor had sent them a compendium on the mind arts he was planning to devour and his best friend knew more about the subject than even Theo, who was something of a living encyclopedia of magical theory. The mind arts were Blaise’s passion.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t told his friends about his ambition to heal his parents. He supposed he was scared they would dismiss him. As far as anyone knew, nobody recovered from the extent of damage James and Lily Potter had suffered from. Its horrific consequences on the mind of a person and on their nerve endings was the reason the Cruciatus curse was an Unforgivable, beyond even the pain the spell caused when it was cast or the fact that no shield could block it. If his friends told him they thought he couldn’t do it, Harry feared his resolve would break. The faith he had in himself was fragile and turned brittle every time he visited James and Lily Potter in the hospital. The barest pressure could make the thread of his confidence snap.

But he was good at healing, he reminded himself as the spell faded away. He closed the door to the classroom. He was good, and he would become the best if that was what it took to get his parents back. His magic purred in anticipation, and Harry shivered in the cold of the night, twirling his wand between his fingers to occupy his hands.

He was really grateful to have the cloak to go back to the common room. By the time he felt better, it was way past curfew. He opened the passageway silently, murmuring the password - “resilience” - as quietly as possible, and closed the hidden door behind him, resting his thumb lightly on the concealed snake making out the door handle.

“Who’s there?”

“Everyone should be asleep by now,” hissed a voice Harry didn’t recognise, though the first speaker sounded familiar.

He walked closer, making sure his steps were silent. His gaze caught on to a secluded couch in the common room, where two silhouettes were rising, their eyes trained on the now-closed passageway. He heard a sigh.

“Wait, I know who it is. Harry, be a dear and take off your cloak.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but did as Safaa asked and stepped closer to the couple. The sixth-year was standing in front of the one he assumed to be her mystery boyfriend, whose unknown identity had been driving Adrian crazy for weeks now. The boy was tall, with broad shoulders, bronze-framed glasses, curly blond hair, and a recognisable heir ring on his index finger.

“Rowle?” he muttered, surprised.

He supposed that if his cousin’s best friend was meeting someone in secret, it was not surprising for him to be someone from an enemy House, but still. As far as he was aware, Spencer Rowle was perfectly in agreement with his Lady mother’s Death Eater ideology. Madlin Rowle and her husband Thorfinn had been acquitted by the Wizengamot, but Harry was perfectly aware of how little that meant in the end when her House was still sworn to the last lord of House Slytherin.

“You can imagine why we’re not screaming it over the rooftops,” said Safaa, looking sheepish.

Her boyfriend nodded. He seemed supremely uncomfortable. Harry sighed.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, promise. Does Gemma know?”

They shook their head.

“Nobody does. I asked Safaa not to tell,” said Rowle, looking regretful. He had a really deep voice, noted the Potter heir. “I am watched at Hogwarts. My family is…” His expression twisted. “Complicated,” he settled, biting his lip.

Harry offered him a wry grin, pleasantly surprised by the fact that he was willing to say that much to a second year.

“Tell me about it.”

It was pretty common knowledge that something had gone wrong with his Muggle family to cause his fostering with House Fawley. It was rare that anyone asked. People tended to forget about it since he rarely told anyone outside of his own friend group or Gemma’s when he didn’t understand something that was common knowledge among the wizard-raised. Well, they forgot until Malfoy reminded them. Repeatedly.

Rowle seemed relieved to not have to explain.

“Do you want me to make a Secrecy Vow or something?”

He had read there existed minor Vows that simply prevented the swearer to speak until the witness released them from the secret. He’d never tried it, but he would if it made Safaa’s boyfriend safer. He knew what it felt like to be scared of family.

The couple exchanged a look, and the Potter heir realised they were as besotted with each other as Terence and Gemma were. They even had the silent communication thing down. Harry wondered how long they had been dating, but decided against asking. It wasn’t his business.

Safaa shook her head. Her head-wrap was a pale yellow with embroidered flowers. Harry thought it looked pretty nice.

“No need.”

“Right. I’ll be going to my room or you’ll have Blaise and Theo coming down too to check on me. And Malfoy trying to get me in trouble, I suppose.”

“You do that. Thanks, Harry.”

He excused himself and walked to his dorm room. He changed into his bedclothes, took off his earrings, and went off to brush his teeth and wash his face as quietly as possible. When he settled in his bed that night, he wondered how lonely it must be for Rowle to have to pretend all the time. He was glad the boy had Safaa, thought Harry, even if they couldn’t be publicly together.

***

Fred Weasley sent a mental word of gratitude to Harry Potter for thinking up this whole fundraising business. He and his twin built a stand of prototype prank items, tailored to suit the occasion. All the profit would go toward buying mature mandrakes of course, but it was good advertisement for their future joke shop. They had mandrake plush toys which screamed when you squeezed them, potioned sodas giving the drinker cat ears and whiskers in honour of Mrs Norris, and fake wands which turned into rubber snakes. Among other things. Fred could see the people working at Zonko eyeing their products with expectant eyes, but he pretended not to notice. He did wiggle his eyebrows at George though, who grinned as he noticed them too.

He sent a thumbs up at Lee who was walking by the different stands with a megaphone, presenting the different displays and hyping everyone up for the fund. Hogsmeade was very crowded that day, which was unusual for the sleepy village. It was one of the smallest magical enclaves, and if it were not for the school being right next to it the inhabitants would probably see little to no circulation.

Someone whistled at his right. Fred turned toward his potential client and grinned when he met Adrian Pucey and Terence Higgs, who were close to Harry’s cousin. Higgs had come a few times to their friendly quidditch plays though he rarely participated, preferring to nap instead. Gred thought he remembered Harry telling them he suffered from an insomnia curse. The Curse of the Vigil, supplied Forge in his mind. Higgs was a bit too serious for their taste, but he was the perfect straight man to his friend’s exuberance. Adrian was good fun and a pretty smart guy. He liked to tinker with muggle machinery and reconstruct magic-compatible versions of them. The twins thought he’d get along well with their father.

“That’s ingenious,” said Higgs, inspecting their display.

“Harry did say you guys were brilliant but I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting that,” agreed Adrian.

“Little Harrikins said that?” said George, batting his eyelashes.

Fred pretended to swoon.

“Our little snakey friend is so good to us,” he exclaimed, fanning himself.

The older boy chuckled, looking delighted while Higgs groaned.

“Introducing you guys was the worst mistake Harry ever made.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the twins and Adrian in tandem before staring at each other, dumbfounded.

“Huh,” said George.

“That’s new,” added Fred. “Have we acquired a triplet?”

They exchanged a smirk.

Adrian whined. “Wait, I’m older than you!”

“It’s fine, you can be Percy’s funny twin and we’ll steal you for ourselves. We just need to make you a Weasley now,” decided Fred.

“How do you feel about red hair?” continued his twin.

“And some freckles of course.”

The twins directed a slightly evil grin at Adrian. The Slytherin gulped before hiding behind Higgs who was snickering.

“Terry! Protect me!”

***

“Neville and his friends are staying in the castle,” said Harry without looking up from his parchment. “Gemma’s court is too so I asked her to keep an eye on him when she can.”

He was writing a letter to his guardian to confirm Blaise would stay with them for the winter holidays. He knew Ulrich had already agreed in the summer, but he preferred to be sure, especially when they had to coordinate with the Italian prince’s bodyguard and his own social calendar. This year, it was House Patil that would give a Winter ball for the Alliance members; the Greengrasses and Abbotts had invited them to their gala, and Harry had to be present for the first moon blessing of a branch member of House Fawley, a third cousin of Gemma’s who was just born this month. The Slytherin first year Tristan Harper, who was also a member of the Longbottom Alliance, had invited them to his birthday too, remembered Harry, sighing a little at the amount of socialising he would have to do.

“His grandmother is okay with that?” asked Daphne, raising a brow. She was reading a science fiction book Adrian had lent her about space travel. She and Theo were sitting on the common room’s couch with him. Tracey and Blaise had left an hour ago; they were playing in a chess tournament with the Ravenclaws.

“Judging by how white he was when he told me, I don’t think so. But he convinced her somehow.”

“Why, though? If I was Granger I wouldn’t want to stay anywhere near Hogwarts while the petrifications are still happening.”

“Do you think it has to do with whatever they stole from Snape’s cupboards?” asked Theo.

Harry chuckled, remembering the incident. Gryffindors were so unsubtle it was painful.

“Considering what happened last year, I guess they’re trying to solve the mystery again.”

“I wonder who they’re accusing this time.”

“I’ll leave them to it,” said Harry, shaking his head. He put down his quill and levitated his envelope to him. He’d be going to the owlery before it was time to see Poppy for his Healing class. She was going to teach him a charm to control blood coagulation. He tried not to think about how he would have to help her get nutrients into Finch-Fletchley and Creevey’s petrified bodies too. It was difficult to watch his year mate in such a state, let alone the tiny underclassman who used to follow Neville around. But healing wasn’t always glamorous. He still preferred that from having to clean up Ron’s slug-vomit like he had to do last time his spell backfired on him. He really needed to learn the vanishing charm.

“You’re not interested in playing Auror?” said Theo, who was half dozing at his side, fiddling with his tie to loosen it.

He’d used up too much magic by making enchantments with the kit his father had sent him - Harry suspected he was preparing gifts for the winter solstice - and had been drowsy and sluggish since.

“Not really. We have so much to do already with our classes, supporting Gemma’s court and helping the firsties. Then we all have our personal projects, it would be exhausting to chase evil wixen on top of that. I think Nev’s gran spent too long telling him about how cool his father was so he’s trying to follow her expectations.”

“You mean on top of the fact that everyone expects him to be some sort of fairy tale hero when they don’t act like he’s a budding Dark Lord?”

“On top of that, yes.”

“It must be stressful,” commented Daphne.

Harry hummed.

“He handles it well, considering.”

“You know people used to write in the papers that offing You-Know-Who made him lose his magic?”

The Potter heir scowled.

“His great-uncle spread that rumour.”

“The same guy who threw him out of a window?”

“Mhm. I think the guy wanted to declare him an unfit lord so his son could inherit. He also spread rumours about Nev’s mother, saying that her family produces a lot of squibs. And they’re still in contact with him.”

Daphne wrinkled her nose. Theo was too tired to make any sort of expression, but Harry could tell he was just as disgusted.

“Longbottom’s mother was a Fortescue, wasn’t she,” she said pensively.

“She was,” confirmed Harry.

Alice Longbottom was his godmother; he’d made sure he knew about who she had been, both out of respect for Neville and for his mother who had loved and trusted her enough to make him Alice’s godson. She had been five years older than Lily Potter and Harry’s mother admired her a lot. Remus had explained that Lily wasn’t very close with her year mates in Gryffindor. When she wasn’t hanging out with Severus Snape, she was trailing after Alice in the common room. Alice, who was a prefect at the time, treated her like a little sister and they wrote to each other even after Neville’s mother left Hogwarts. Considering who Lily Evans’ older sister actually was, Harry understood why she had bonded with the older girl. He liked to think their relationship would have been a little similar to the one he had with Gemma now.

“She was first of her Auror class apparently, and very magically powerful. I don’t know what Nev’s great-uncle was on about.”

“She was pretty cool,” added Daphne. “She dueled You-Know-Who to a standstill once, and there’s evidence that the only reason he managed to kill her that Halloween night was because she didn’t have her wand in hand. A lot of people praise Frank Longbottom because he was the last one standing, but I think it’s undermining her sacrifice.”

Harry glanced at his side; Theo had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He continued in a lower voice.

“It has a lot to do with the fact that Fortescue’s not a noble House. People seem to think we have more magical power than others for some reason.”

“I don’t know if there’s any basis to that. It’s probably propaganda, right?”

“It is. Madam Pomphrey told me magical potential’s not genetic. You can measure the density, potency, and width of someone’s magical core so the Department of Mysteries made a survey. Statistically, there’s no correlation between the power of a parent and that of their child. Core behaviour like your House’s tendency to give off a cold feeling is inherited but that has nothing to do with power.”

“Don’t say that to a blood supremacist, they’d have a stroke,” chuckled Daphne, her laugh barely higher than a whisper.

Harry smirked.

“It’s their fault for ignoring magical research and trying to pretend their prejudice is based on actual facts.”

“Hm. Wixen are just not logical sometimes.” Daphne pointed at her book. “Even when muggles write fiction, there’s a rhyme and a reason to it. I wish we were the same.”

“Oh, there are as many illogical muggles as there are wixen. You should hear the kind of things my Uncle Vernon believed in…”

***

“I don’t understand why you don’t get angry at Malfoy,” said Padma, shaking her head.

She, Parvati, Su-a and Lavender had decided to sit with Harry’s Slytherin group on the train ride to King’s Cross station. It was a little cramped, but they managed to make it work. Of course, that meant she’d witnessed what was apparently a cursory visit by the Malfoy heir. Padma thought it was ridiculous that the boy had made it a habit to seek his Housemates out on the train just to insult them and leave. What even was the point of that, she wondered.

“Oh, that’s because we tune him out. He talks and in my head, it goes, ‘blah, blah, blah, my father, blah, blah, blah, pauper lord, blah, blah, blah, I stole your quidditch position. It’s not like he has anything new to say.”

“Harry gets angry sometimes, but Malfoy doesn’t know what sets him off,” said Blaise with a rueful grin.

“What, there’s a pattern to it?”

“Are you giving people lessons on how to insult me, Blaise?” asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t dare,” replied his best friend with a smirk before smoothly changing the subject.

They talked about the incoming January exams, which Padma wasn’t too worried about. She had been third in the overall ranking last year, actually beating Malfoy by two points. And this year, it looked like she might even beat Harry who had slipped a little due to everything going on. Parvati mentioned that to the Potter heir, ribbing him good-naturedly. Padma could tell that while her sister didn’t actually care about grades, she was very proud of her.

Harry took it with grace, rubbing the back of his nape.

“I’m good at practical magic but it’s true that the theory part becomes a problem for me if I don’t study regularly. I should really get back to it.”

“But you’re worried,” remarked Su-a with an understanding smile.

“We all are,” corrected Harry. “I shouldn’t let it get to me so much.”

Theodore Nott, who was sitting on his right poked him in the forehead.

“Stop beating yourself up,” he admonished, before returning to his book.

They all chuckled a little at that. Padma was a little envious of their friend group. She got along fine with her classmates, but she’d only really bonded with Su-a. Parvati was the same with Lavender, though Padma could sometimes see them hanging out with Finnegan and Thomas.

“Anyway, my mission is to dethrone Hermione Granger,” she said brightly, “so I have to beat you first.”

Tracey whistled.

“That’s an ambitious goal. She had perfect grades all over, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I don’t know how she does it. It seems like she knows exactly what the professors want us to say.”

Blaise shook his head.

“No, that’s not it. Have you seen her essays? She always writes three feet longer than what is asked for. She gets extra credit for it.”

“Well, you know what to do Padma,” said Parvati with a grin.

Padma sighed a little.

“I’ll have to say goodbye to my free time.”

“You know what I really want?” asked Tracey suddenly. “I want to convince Weasley to join the chess tournament. Didn’t the headmaster give him fifty points for a game of chess?”

“That’s right! Why hasn’t he joined yet?”

“I think he doesn’t know it exists,” said Harry thoughtfully. “Nev’ and his friends are pretty secluded, aren’t they?”

Parvati scoffed. Padma prepared herself for the incoming rant. Her twin had a lot of thoughts about that. As the heir of the British branch of their House, she was extremely concerned with the politics of it all.

“Tell me about it! They only ever hang out together. Neville spends time with you or Susan and Hannah sometimes because of your family links but that’s it. His House is the leader of the Alliance, and he only talks to us when it’s mandatory. We’re called the Longbottom Alliance for Merlin’s sake! We have the chance to have so many Heirs at Hogwarts right now, we should be strengthening those relations!”

“I get what you mean, but we’re still kids. Hogwarts is a school, we’re here to make friends and to learn,” said Daphne. Padma remembered her family was the head of the Greengrass Alliance too, who led the more neutral Houses in the Wizengamot. They emphasised traditions more than muggle-born integration but didn’t have the bigoted views of the Malfoy camp. “Besides, McLaggen is part of the same House Alliance as me and I would rather kiss a flobberworm than spend more than a minute with him.”

That comment and her revolted expression drew a round of laughter.

“Nev’s uncomfortable in crowds and he doesn’t like the scrutiny that comes with being the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m not too surprised he sticks to Ron and Hermione the way he does,” said Harry. “And Hogwarts is actually a good place to get people to our side,” he added with a grin, glancing at Nott.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not joining Longbottom,” protested the boy. “My father is talking to Daphne’s mom, we’ll be sitting with the Greengrasses at the next Wizengamot session.”

Padma exchanged a look with Su-a, her sister and Lavender. After years of silence, House Nott was leaving the purists’ camp? That was interesting. There were currently five camps in the Wizengamot: two of them, the Revealers and the Isolationists were at minority. They wanted respectively to get rid of the Statute of Secrecy and to move the entirety of Wizarding Britain to a closed enclave away from the muggles. Padma privately thought they were both nutters. Then there was the Longbottom Alliance of Progressives, who wanted equal rights and opportunities for muggle-borns and magical creatures along with a better relationship with the muggle government, and the Greengrass-led Traditionalists who had similar goals except for their more isolationist position and their emphasis on bringing back the traditions of Merlin’s time - which Padma privately agreed with, but she thought it might be too difficult to do. Finally, there were the Purists of Lord Malfoy, who were so blatantly You-Know-Who sympathisers it wasn’t even funny.

“We’ll convince you yet,” said Harry with a good-natured grin.

“Wait, is that why you were invited to the gala? Theo! You should have told me!”

Chapter Text

Ulrich remembered how nervous he had been at the prospect of taking Harry in. He remembered discussing it with Garrick at the time, his old friend assuring him that as long as he treated his ward with care and respect, their relationship would flourish. Garrick’s wisdom had always been his greatest virtue, and Ulrich was relieved to find that his friend had been right once more.

Still, when the old Fawley had met Ophelia Merrythought for the first time, he had needed to ask more questions to the mind healer about how he could help a traumatised child like Harry. His ward was happy enough, but Ulrich was worried about his reluctance to ask for anything — except on behalf of his friends, like the time he’d wanted a book on anti-vampire wards to lend to Miss Davies’ family –- and his insistence to pay for all expenses with the money on the Potter accounts, which his guardian had to fight him on multiple times. He still ate very little, never let any of his belongings outside of his room, and always looked startled at physical contact. Since Harry didn’t exactly confide in him, Ulrich didn’t know what he could do to make him feel safer.

Healer Merrythought had been extremely helpful on the subject matter, mentioning it was natural for abused children to be cautious, and that Harry would relax over time.

“You have to be patient with him. A change of guardianship is a stressful thing, and you barely have four months a year to spend with him. Stay attentive to his needs and make sure he is allowed to make mistakes,” she had advised. “My job is to guide him as he processes what happened to him before he came into your care, yours is to support him throughout that process.”

Ulrich had kept it in mind, but he could admit he was sometimes out of his depth. He felt a little guilty for it, but he was glad Harry’s friend had elected to spend the winter holidays with them. Ulrich wasn’t good at conversation and even worse when it regarded emotions, so he thanked the stars for Blaise’s presence when they picked up Harry from a visibly difficult session with Healer Merrythought.

Blaise instantly embraced his ward’s shoulders as the boy took off his glasses and cleaned them mechanically with a frighteningly blank face. Ulrich could see Harry was still reeling from the discussion. He was shaking off the remnants of the empathy magic the mind healer had employed during their meeting. Merrythought used it to establish a bond with a patient and monitor their mental state, and it induced an effect similar to the use of a mild Calming Draught when they became too agitated. It seemed that Harry had burnt through the spell too quickly, however, and his breathing was quickening at a worrying pace. The mind healer excused herself to get a more potent potion and advised them to stay with Harry. The boy’s best friend was acting surprisingly level-headed for a twelve years old, and Ulrich found himself impressed by how quickly Blaise reassured Harry that he wasn’t obligated to tell them what had been discussed and that he should take his time to clear his mind.

Ulrich sat them both down on the visitors’ chairs outside Merrythought’s office. The waiting room was mercifully empty save for the quiet receptionist, so the old Fawley could dedicate his whole attention to his ward. He didn’t try to speak, unsure of what to say, but placed his wrinkled hand on top of Harry’s, waiting for him to come back to himself. He pressed onto the boy’s lips the draught Merrythought had come to fetch and let him take a sip, then another. Once he had finished the vial, Harry shuddered. He blinked rapidly, seemingly remembering where he was.

“Ah. I worried you,” he said, sounding upset.

“Of course you did. I was worried because I care, there’s nothing wrong with that, lad.”

“But–”

“I’d rather be worried and see with my own eyes that you’re getting better than for you to bottle things up,” interrupted Ulrich, ruffling his boy’s hair.

The old ward master tried not to be disturbed by little Blaise’s approving nod. It was unsettling for your parenting skills to be validated by a twelve-year-old, but considering the kid was way more eloquent than he was, Ulrich didn’t mind it too much.

Once Harry felt a little better, he took the two kids to Fortescue’s for ice cream, trying really hard not to notice the shimmer of Blaise’s newest rotation of bodyguard’s invisibility cloak. He understood the need to protect the young prince –-Landon had been the victim of attempted kidnappings when they were young, Ulrich supposed it would be worse for a Zabini child— but surely a friendlier guard would make the boy more comfortable? The Salvatore fellow in the summer had been weird enough with his habit of bowing at anyone Blaise interacted with, but this one’s insistence to remain unseen was really creeping him out.

“Giosue’s staying hidden because people are prejudiced against his race here,” said the boy, who seemed to have caught him glancing at the suspiciously shiny empty space next to him. “He’s a cyclops.”

Ah, that explained it, thought Ulrich, admonishing himself. Harry scowled, as he tended to do at the mention of any sort of discrimination against magical races. Ulrich tried to pretend he hadn’t caught him and Blaise brainstorming how to blackmail the Lord of House Burke into getting rid of the binding spell his ancestors had created to enslave elves. It wasn’t the weirdest conversation he had accidentally overheard. He definitely knew nothing about Harry and Gemma’s plan to exorcise their History of Magic professor so his little cousin’s boyfriend could take his job. Never mind that exorcising a ghost as old as professor Binns was had the potential to tear his soul to shreds. Ulrich might have to write the board of governors again; if the dead man had become as bad as they said he was, it might be high time to replace him. He understood the need of cutting costs, but really.

“People are stupid,” muttered his ward.

Ulrich smiled fondly.

“How about we go to the restaurant Lady Darkclaw recommended you try in the goblin district? The northern nation is less fussed about such things.”

Harry lit up.

“Can we? Apparently, they serve this stew they cook inside magical quartz that looks like—”

Ulrich crossed his hands together with a content smile, feeling like he had done something right.

***

While the celebrations weren’t nearly as extravagant as the ones Blaise’s cousin Antea threw for the winter solstice, he could admit that the Patils knew how to plan a ball. Saraswati Patil, the lady of the House had opened the evening with an impressive display of magic by conjuring fireworks from scratch into the sky. They were of course not celebrating Yule but Pancha Ganapati, a Hindu gift-giving festival in celebration of the god Ganesha. Padma, however, was bemoaning the fact that they weren’t there for Diwali, her favourite celebration of the year.

“Can’t you get a leave of absence for that?” asked Harry, looking at his giggle water dubiously.

Parvati chuckled and switched it out for a glass of mango lassi, which Harry tasted with caution. He thanked her for it once he realised he liked it. Parvati preened, glad to be a good hostess.

“We got one in first year but Mother and Father had to go to India unexpectedly this October so they celebrated there,” sighed Padma.

“It’s fine, we can always go next year. Now come on, I want to dance,” said Parvati.

Blaise laughed at his best friend who made a face but obligingly followed the twins around as they entertained themselves. Harry even let Parvati paint his nails black, though he refused to wear kohl.

“I don’t want anything poking my eye,” protested the boy.

The Italian prince declined too. Make-up was not his thing. The girls pouted but dragged over Daphne, her sister, and —to Blaise’s surprise— Ernie Macmillan to indulge their whims. He and Harry sat next to them, observing the adults as they did their politicking and drank where they thought the children couldn’t see them. Blaise could hear some of them congratulate themselves over collecting enough funds to get the adult mandrakes for January. It was good to know that Finch-Fletchley and the Gryffindor firstie Blaise had forgotten the name of would be able to enjoy the rest of their year. He hoped the professors would ward the mandrakes they didn’t use in case of another attack.

Harry waved at Gemma’s mother, who was accompanying them for the evening as a representative of House Fawley. Ulrich was too old to attend social functions like this, and as a foster of his House, Harry had to be accompanied by one of them every time he appeared at social events until he turned fourteen.

“Does that mean Ulrich will have to come to Mezzogiorno?” said Harry worriedly when they broached the subject. “He can’t always Floo, I don’t think he’ll be able to withstand it.”

Blaise shook his head.

“A member of my Household will come to your house so Ulrich can formally hand you over, and come back with us to return you to him.”

“You didn’t have to do that when you came,” observed his friend.

“Mhm, it was a little informal. It’s technically fine since I came with a personal bodyguard, but it would raise eyebrows if we mentioned it in high society. Next summer it will be a little different both because you’re being fostered and because you’re coming to the palace. We have to use a little more decorum. I think my cousin Lazzaro will be the one who’ll come. He wrote to say he wanted to see Diagon Alley before we go.”

“Is he the one who ran away to Brazil for a year? And tried to adopt a nundu a few months after?”

The Italian prince stifled a laugh.

“That’s him. He’s the Newt Scamander of our family.”

“He’s here tonight,” said Harry. “Scamander, I mean. Theo would have liked to talk to him, I think.”

Their friend was sick of enchanting and had shown them a book he’d found on warg taming in his library when they’d visited him a few days earlier. It seemed he had found a new obsession.

“He would. Should we ask him some questions on his behalf?”

“Let’s. I want to know if he’s ever been afraid of a creature and if he has tips for it. I want to stop being scared of dogs.”

“Why, are you planning to face another Cerberus?”

“Not really, but I was planning to take Care of Magical Creatures next year. It will make Hagrid happy, and I can’t do it if I’m scared of a mere crup.”

***

“We ask for a private audience with the Regina,” they said in the creepiest show of coordination the Slytherin prefect had ever witnessed.

Gemma stared at the twins a little blankly, pondering what to do. It had been obvious that the girls wanted something since Samhain, but it seemed a little late for them to do something about it. Maybe they had waited until they were alone in the castle, thought the prefect, glancing at the empty common room. Save for Terence, Aspen, and Malfoy’s little clique —who wasn’t in the common room at the moment, which might explain why the Carrow sisters had decided to approach her now—, the House was completely deserted. It wasn’t surprising, considering the current atmosphere at Hogwarts. Gemma already thought it suspicious enough that the Malfoy heir had decided to stay for the winter holidays, but she believed he meant it as a statement, a way to say he had nothing to fear from Slytherin's monster. She didn’t think strutting around in an empty common room was worth it, but then again she wasn’t twelve anymore. The only reason she and half of her court were at Hogwarts was because they wanted to prepare the social calendar for the second semester in advance so they could have a little breathing room to handle other tasks during the year.

Terence glanced at her, asking her silently what she wanted to do. She leaned closer to kiss him on the cheek and stood up from her throne —which was really a transfigured armchair Safaa had enchanted to match Terence’s own — before gesturing at the first years to follow.

“By all means.”

She led the Carrow twins to the far right corner, right next to the gigantic enchanted window that led to the Black Lake, and tapped her wand against one of the lights settled to the wall before walking straight into the brick edifice. She disappeared behind it, confident that the girls would stay behind her. She kept a hand on her wand though, discreetly activating the defensive runes sewn at her back. She wasn’t scared of firsties, but she wasn’t stupid either.

She entered the austere office, gesturing at the twins to take the guest chairs while she sat down in front of them. She grimaced and cast a small cushioning charm on the wooden seats.

Since most of the Argentum court’s business had to be held in public, this office was rarely used. It didn’t mean they couldn’t have made it more comfortable, Gemma grumbled to herself, and resolved to do something about it later.

Ugh. So many things to do.

“Now. Are you really consulting me as the Spinea Regina,or are you seeking the Heiress of House Fawley? Because any court business could have been handled by Terence, and yet you came to me despite the risks to both of our reputations. My cousin noticed you staring, I’m sure he wasn’t the only one.”

“He only saw because we let him. Nobody else noticed,” they assured, shaking their head, which wasn’t unsettling at all.

Unlike the Yaxley kid in first year, the Carrow girls were nice to Harry. They likely remembered that he had bothered seeking them out on the train, though he had let Blaise do the talking once he had realised whose House the twins belonged to. While the Longbottom boy was the obvious person of interest among the second years, Harry was rapidly approaching Diggory’s level of popularity with the lower years who were willing to see past the colour of his tie. Gemma thought it was cute.

The two sisters exchanged a look, which Gemma guessed was to facilitate the connexion between their minds. The mind link they shared was fascinating, but Gemma questioned the wisdom of making its existence so obvious. It unnerved most Light wixen and some Grey ones too, and their blatant use of it made any advantage it might give them completely obsolete. Everyone knew they shared a mind; nobody would risk telling Flora Carrow what they didn’t want Hestia to know or vice versa.

Maybe they were merged so thoroughly that they simply could not hide it. It would explain why they always spoke in tandem.

“We petition the heiress of House Fawley for her assistance.” The girls looked fragile for a moment, far from the expressionless dolls they had presented themselves as since they had come up to Gemma in the common room. “We have a younger brother,” they revealed, lowering their eyes to the table in a synchronised movement. “Our parents suspect he is a squib.”

Ah, thought Gemma. She was starting to understand what was going on.

Some Houses didn’t announce the existence of a child before the first manifestation of their magic. The Selwyns had such traditions so she had heard about it from Aspen, but she had never been given confirmation that the Carrows did too. It was considered taboo to talk about it since it was essentially admitting that squibs could be born at any time in purebloods’ magical lines. Most Houses were too arrogant to do such a thing and preferred pretexting sudden illness to justify their children’s disappearance.

The twins continued.

“They are waiting for his letter to arrive, but they have already started… watching him.”

“And if it doesn’t…”

“They will kill him.”

As the heiress of the only House with a personal Vow of Enmity with House Carrow — other Houses like the Shafiqs were the Carrows’ enemy only by proxy, through their decision to follow House Longbottom after the war and in response to the House’s allegiance to You-Know-Who. They had a weaker claim of Enmity than the Fawleys who had just cause to declare opposition—, she was the girls’ best bet for external aid. Technically, the Carrow twins could have asked Harry to help as well since he was fostered by her House, but he would have been forced to consult her about it before making any kind of decision anyway. She understood why Flora and Hestia might have wanted to cut out the middle man. It was bold of them. And it spoke a lot of how much they must cherish their little brother.

“What do you want from my House exactly?”

“We only ask that you shelter him until our parents stop looking. Achilles has to disappear during the spring holidays, months before he is due to receive his letter. We would appreciate it if you were willing to sponsor his integration into the muggle world.”

Because Gemma’s father Edward hadn’t wanted the Lordship and neither did his younger brother, the responsibility of the heirship had been foisted onto Gemma. She hadn’t minded it. Being the heiress of an Ancient and Noble House was both a burden and a privilege, which she had always considered with the gravity it demanded. Her grandfather had seen that and rewarded her for it with a substantial amount of trust. He was already letting her make decisions for their estate and consulting with her for anything that had to do with the future of their House. Landon Fawley knew he was getting old, and he no longer had the energy to attend to all of his duties. He had stopped attending Wizengamot sessions, among other things. He had instead appointed a steward that would serve until Gemma was ready for the responsibility and in the meantime, she was expected to keep up with the decisions this proxy made in their stead.

She knew her grandfather would defer to her judgement on this case so she had to consider it carefully. She thought about the possible complications such an accord could possibly create. The Vow of House Fawley was one-sided so far, Alecto and Amycus Carrow having fled the country before they were able to respond to it. It meant that their Houses weren’t feuding yet, the Vow serving as a simple warning not to interact with the House they had scorned rather than announcing an intent to harm. But if her House was caught stealing a scion of House Carrow, the outcome would be obvious. The accusation would start a feud, even if it wasn’t done by a formal declaration from the other party.

There were only four Houses that were outright feuding in Britain right now. The Malfoys and Weasleys, and the Smiths and Averys. None of them had come out unscathed. House Weasley was poor and had lost its title and all of its grimoires, the Malfoys were cursed with infertility so severe Abraxas had to take drastic measures to ensure the continuation of his line, the Smiths had lost all credibility and the less said about the Averys, the better. She wasn’t sure she wanted to risk such a fate for her and hers without any benefit to the Fawley name.

And yet, she was hesitating. Because Gemma was planning to marry Terence Higgs, the son of a Shacklebolt squib and a muggle. She would never be able to look at Terence’s father in the eyes if she let the Carrows kill their son for not having magic when she had the opportunity to do something.

“You will owe me a debt in blood and magic,” she said finally. “I will have the final say on how to settle that debt. But if you ever were to find yourself at the Head of your House, you will repay it by welcoming your brother into your home again and making a vassal pledge to House Fawley.”

The girls let out a sigh of relief. They didn’t bother to hide the trembling of their hands as they stood and bowed to Gemma so deeply the prefect had to look away in discomfort.

“I will give you an expanding bag in April. It will be warded with appropriate protections. You will hide your brother inside along with anything he might want to bring with him. Do your parents allow you to visit your House vault?” At their cautious nod, she allowed herself a satisfied smile. “Then you will Floo to Diagon Alley and go to Gringotts. There you will give the bag to the Potters’ bank manager. My cousin has access to his accounts, he will pick him up at my request. I will write to him and arrange a time, but you have to mind the clock: a bag is less stable than a truck. Your brother will only have six hours of air at most in that bag.”

They hashed out some more details, mainly on how to avoid suspicion when their brother would essentially disappear the day of their visit —she suggested making it seem like he was already long gone and she had a few ideas about how to achieve that— and how Gemma planned to secure a position for Achilles Carrow in the muggle world. It couldn’t be done until it was sure that his parents had stopped looking or tracking spells would find the boy easily. She planned to ask for Terence and Adrian’s help in the summer, but it wasn’t the most pressing matter. She had to figure out the logistics of the kid’s escape without burdening two little girls who had come to her for help first, and ask Harry to use his status as goblin friend to temporarily shelter their squib brother who —Merlin— was barely ten years old.

They only got out of the office after an exhausting hour, and Gemma let the girls out after casting disillusionment charms on them. She made sure to take heavy steps to cover for the sound of their shoes, but the twins were quiet enough to go unremarked to the corridor leading to their dorms. Gemma passed by Malfoy, who sent her a mild glare as he talked to his vassals.

“I wish I knew who it is,” said Malfoy petulantly. “I could help them.”

Gemma grimaced. She could guess what he was talking about. She slowed down a little, wondering if she should reprimand him. She had the power to do so, after all. But Terence was beckoning her over, probably wondering what had happened with the firsties. She cast an eavesdropping charm on Malfoy just in case he said anything she needed to know and sat down next to her boyfriend. He intertwined their fingers, and she smiled helplessly at their joined hands.

She explained the situation to Terence and Aspen while listening to Malfoy’s nonsense with a distracted ear.

“... Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mud…,” the Malfoy heir stopped there, remembering the curse Adrian had cast on him. He still hadn’t managed to reverse it. “Filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?”

“ — and we can enrol him in a school after a year of tutoring. I’ll write to my mother about it, she’ll have suggestions. Surely his parents will have stopped looking by then, and if they do we can always use concealment wards on his clothes— Gemma?”

“Mhm? Sorry, I’m listening to Malfoy complain about his father, it’s a little distracting.”

“Why would you subject yourself to that?” asked Aspen, raising an eyebrow.

“He was talking about the Chamber. It sounds like his father was aware it would open this year. It’s happened before.”

“Ho!”

Gemma turned to the second-years at the exclamation, just in time to see Crabbe’s hair turn Weasley red. Her eyes widened.

Thankfully, Aspen had seen the same thing she did.

“Malfoy!” he called out, motioning the boy over. “Get the polyjuiced idiots out of there,” murmured Aspen.

Gemma strode over to whom she expected to be the Weasley twins when Goyle’s hair turned blond and his face rounder. She cursed. She should have known. Harry’s twins weren’t at Hogwarts at the moment. His godbrother, however.

The two boys started running for the door, clutching themselves in the bad pretence of a stomachache. Gemma silently followed after them to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, watching as they slowly reverted to their original appearance. Their situational awareness sucked, she noted amusedly.

“What were you boys hoping to accomplish by sneaking into our common room?” she asked, leaning on the door frame.

Longbottom and Weasley jumped, turning toward her and fumbling for their wands. The Boy-Who-Lived sighed and lowered his slightly upon recognising her, but Weasley kept his trained in her direction — though she wasn’t worried, considering how crooked it was.

“We were— I mean, we—” stammered Longbottom before sighing in defeat. “We thought Malfoy might be the Heir so Herm— we brewed polyjuice to check if it was him.”

“Neville!” hissed Weasley.

“What? What did you want me to say?”

“Anything but that!”

Gemma pinched the bridge of her nose.

“And what was the plan if he was the Heir? You’d have explained to professor McGonagall you found out by brewing a restricted potion and impersonating your classmates?” She narrowed her eyes. “Where are Crabbe and Goyle right now?”

The Gryffindors shuffled on their feet, unwilling to meet her gaze.

“Wegavethemasleepingpotion’nputtheminacupboard,” mumbled Longbottom.

“What?”

The Boy-Who-Lived cringed.

“We gave them a sleeping potion and put them in a cupboard.”

“And that seemed more sensible to you than —I don’t know— asking Harry?”

She tried not to think about the fact that she would have to find her underclassmen stripped from their clothes and stuffed in a broom cupboard after this discussion. How many points could she take off of them without having the professors on her back asking what she’d taken them for, she wondered.

“Malfoy hates Harry, he wouldn’t have told him the truth!” exclaimed Weasley.

“And you think he couldn’t have just asked me to put an eavesdropping charm on him, which is exactly what I did five minutes ago when I heard him talk about the Chamber?” she questioned with a flat look.

Weasley turned as red as his hair.

“Thank Morgana I wasn’t placed in Gryffindor,” she muttered to herself, her eyes raised upward. “I would have gone mad surrounded by so many reckless people. Right, okay. Thirty points from Gryffindor each for being out past curfew and pranking your classmates. I would have taken more but you’d end up having to answer difficult questions. Now that that’s settled, I’ll say just one thing. You need to learn how to rely on other people. Your first reaction should not be ‘I am going to brew a borderline illegal potion —because Polyjuice is restricted for a reason, kids—, drug my classmates and strip them to their underwear to sneak into someone else’s common room’.”

“But we needed to know who the Heir was!”

“Why?” she asked Longbottom. “How is that your job? Aurors should be taking care of this. I don’t know what Dumbledore’s thinking —or if he’s thinking at all for that matter— but this has become a criminal case the first time a human was petrified. You kids are pureblood and you’re not being targetted, but if you cross the path of the person who is doing this, they will not hesitate.” Looking at their mulish expression, she could tell there was no convincing them. She sighed and moved her hand to massage her temples instead of her nose. Merlin saves her from exhausting pre-teens. Harry wasn’t this difficult. “You want to play detective? Fine! But do it in a sensible manner. Trust your friends and stop sneaking around doing nonsense.” She smirked. “You’re not Slytherins, you don’t have the subtlety for it. Now, off you go. I’ll escort you to your common room.”

The boys didn’t move, glancing at a toilet stall. Gemma’s eye twitched.

“Right. You’re usually a trio, aren’t you?”

She heard a sob, confirming her assumption. Come to think of it, she had heard someone sniffling. She’d assumed it was Moaning Myrtle, but it wasn’t near loud enough.

“Come out now, kid.”

“Um—”

“Now.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of a quiet sob before the sound of the latch being removed resonated into the silent bathroom. The girl —Gemma had no idea what her name was— opened the toilet door, revealing a feline face on a little girl’s body.

“Oh, my.”

***

Harry stuck his tongue between his teeth as he finished his letter to professor McGonagall. They had corresponded after he had sent her chocolates for the Yule celebrations, and he was responding to a question she had asked about the homework he had due for the start of the year. Besides him, Blaise was going through his own correspondence, consisting mostly of thank you letters from his family but also some from Italian nobles who wanted to flatter the royal family.

The Italian prince frowned as he saw a closed envelope he seemed to have forgotten. It was sealed with the image of a small bird on purple wax.

“That’s the emblem of my father’s House.”

Harry’s quill stilled in his hand. Blaise looked over at him, curious to see what had stopped him.

“Ah, I never told you about my father, did I? That’s because there isn’t much to tell. He's a scholar from Kenya. He wasn’t very interested in being a prince or a father so he and Mother agreed she would raise me alone. He was more interested in his research. He sends letters sometimes, like a distant uncle. I’m not torn up about it,” he said with a shrug.

Harry studied his best friend, but the boy truly seemed unbothered so he let it go.

“Is it a letter from him then?”

“Yes,” murmured Blaise as he read through the letter. “It seems like his team managed to find a thousand-years-old Bantu grimoire. That’s cool. I’ll have to ask him more about it. Can you imagine the kind of spells you could find on something old like that?”

“It’s probably a lot of the same as we have in ours, no? Defensive charms, household spells, maybe some wards.”

“Curses,” suggested Blaise.

“I’d love to see what kind of healing spells they used back then, though,” said Harry. “I mean, they didn’t have wands at the time, how did it affect their charms, you think?”

“That’s something you might be better off asking Roman Potter.”

“You’re right.”

Harry stood up and pulled the curtains hiding the portraits on his wall. Unfortunately, the History professor and his wife were absent. The Potter heir greeted Sir Peregrine before spotting his great-aunt.

“Hi, Aunt Dorea!”

“Hello, Harry,” said the older woman amiably. “It has been a while since we last talked.”

Harry thought about it. He winced. She was right, it had been a few months.

“I’m sorry about that.”

Dorea chuckled. Her grey eyes looked really warm, he thought.

“Don’t worry, I remember my own Hogwarts days. So much to learn and so many people to talk to, a lot of things go forgotten. Besides, we portraits gossip a little. I know you have been really busy learning healing on top of your normal coursework.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“Still, family is important. I’ll talk to you more, I promise. Oh, can I introduce you to my friend?” Blaise raised his head and offered the portrait a wave. “Aunt Dorea, this is Blaise of the Ancient and Royal Dynasty of Zabini. Blaise, this is my great-aunt, Dorea Potter nee Black.”

“Well met, madam.”

“The pleasure is mine, young man. It’s not often that we portraits encounter royalty.”

Blaise chuckled.

“I’d rather be known as Harry’s friend than as a prince if you don’t mind.”

Dorea shot him an appraising look before she smiled fondly.

“I will keep that in mind. Friendship with a Potter is forever, you know?”

“I sure hope so,” said Blaise with a cheeky grin. Harry rolled his eyes at him. It was a given.

“Then that means you are family.”

They made a little small talk, Harry’s best friend asking about her life before becoming a painting. He was impressed to learn she and her husband had been professional duelists.

“Speaking of family, son, have you heard from Sirius?”

Harry didn’t get to ask who Sirius was before they were called over by Ulrich. He and Blaise made their way to the living room, where his guardian was sitting. He had the Wizarding Wireless radio and was listening to it intently. It only took a few steps for Harry to figure out what it was about: they were recording December’s Wizengamot session. Harry completely forgot to ask Dorea who this Sirius person was.

***

Theo remembered the first time he had accompanied his father to a Wizengamot session. He had been eight years old and he had requested it for his birthday because he wanted to know what this Lord business was about. The session had been tedious and he had understood little of it, but Theo remembered the gravitas with which the Lords —and the few common seats— assembled considered their place in those walls. From the most self-important fool to the least arrogant of them, they all understood that their decisions affected thousands of people. It didn’t make most of them kinder, of course, but it made everyone appropriately serious. There was no murmuring, no laughter, just the careful consideration of the laws that would shape their government and the heated battle of wills between the different factions. Theo had been extremely bored.

He hadn’t expected it to be different. He had been wrong.

The fact that Bertram Nott attended at all was enough to have people straightening up in their seats. He hadn’t done so since Theo was nine after all. Some rumours even said the Nott House was planning to relocate back to Denmark. Utter rubbish, of course.

When his father bypassed the Purists faction’s seating area though, it felt like a thousand wasps buzzing at once. People eyed the camp of the Isolationists speculatively, expecting Theo’s father to join the crazy people who wanted to uproot centuries of infrastructure just so they wouldn’t have to look at a single muggle again in their entire life. Instead, Bertram coolly nodded to Lady Greengrass and sat down next to her. She returned his greeting with an equally unaffected expression. The buzzing became more intense. Theo made a face. He wished he had thought to bring his sound dampening enchantments.

Albus Dumbledore, Theo’s headmaster who was present in his quality of Chief Warlock called the room to attention and started listing the day’s proceedings. Theo sat back and angled his body just right to observe the reactions of the Purists’ camp. Lucius Malfoy looked furious. The Selwyn proxy —who wouldn’t be of use beyond this year if Aspen had anything to say about it— seemed contemplative. Surely he knew about his heir’s plan to join the Light faction. He didn’t seem too bothered about it. Felix’ steward in the Rosier seat however. He looked apoplectic. He was a cousin, if Theo remembered it right. One who would like nothing more than to pluck the Lordship off of his heir’s grasp and honour the memory of the late Evan Rosier by engaging in enthusiastic bouts of muggle baiting.

Theo was so glad he didn’t have to interact with these people anymore.

Sometimes, when the conversation lulled, he could feel headmaster Dumbledore’s eyes on him and his father behind the man’s half-moon glasses. Theo didn’t know why the man was staring at them with such a pensive expression, but he didn’t like the twinkle in his eyes. He could tell it didn’t bode well for his House. The man was a war general, and Harry had told Theo that it was expected for the fighting to start up again. No doubt he was already scheming for it to begin as advantageously as possible for his camp.

What did that mean for Theo, his father, and his friends?

Chapter Text

Coming back to Hogwarts after the holidays was always a little jarring, and Harry had to admit he was dreading going back to school. It wasn’t anything to do with Hogwarts itself —the castle was as wonderful as ever— but the atmosphere in it was gloomy since the beginning of the petrifications. The student body tried to put it out of their mind, and the fact that the mature mandrakes were already being chopped up into a potion helped but it didn’t change the fact that the professors still hadn’t found the person who had released a monster in their school.

“I tell you, it’s a basilisk,” repeated Theo to a stubborn Daphne. They were sitting in the common room, exhausted after the end of their exam week.

“That’s not possible. The students would have been killed then. And how would it even get around Hogwarts? I say it’s someone who got their hand on the grimoire of Medusa.”

Blaise shook his head.

“That thing has been lost for centuries. Besides, if it was found it wouldn’t be on the Isles but around the Mediterranea. Theo’s theory makes more sense. Only a basilisk could petrify a ghost.”

“It still doesn’t answer how the students survived it,” said Harry.

“The basilisk is weaker because it’s been starving under the school for so long.”

Harry inclined his head in agreement; he trusted Theo to know if there was a precedent for such things. After a minute of speculating about how exactly a basilisk could be getting around the school, he frowned.

“But the Chamber has been opened before, fifty years ago, and it killed one student. Nev’ told me that.”

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Neville going behind his back the way he did. He had already forgiven a lot of things to his godbrother, but the fact that he didn’t trust him or ask for his input hurt. Harry really wanted to have a talk with Healer Merrythought about it to sort out his feelings, but he wouldn’t be seeing her until the next week. He had already talked about it privately with his best friend, hoping for some advice. Blaise was all for getting some distance with the boy, and the Potter heir wondered if he might be right. But Harry was reluctant to lose Neville who wasn’t just a dear friend but also a connexion to his parents. Both of their mothers had wanted them to grow up together, forsaking that bond because of such a minor thing felt wrong.

He bit his lip. He glanced at his friends, who were visibly following his train of thought, and decided to ask them. He explained the situation since they hadn’t been there when Gemma mentioned it and Harry had only taken Blaise to get his godbrother’s version of the story. Theo looked impressed at Hermione’s brewing skills, though he shook his head when he heard she was still at the infirmary because of a mishap with cat hair. Tracey on the other hand wrinkled her nose when Harry explained Neville’s reasoning about why Harry couldn’t find out for them, though she relaxed a little when the Potter heir explained that Neville apologised. Daphne’s expression was unreadable, as usual when she was thinking.

Blaise raised his hands in the air, leaning back against his armchair.

“You know what I think,” he exclaimed, but he was smiling encouragingly, pleased that Harry was taking the initiative to ask.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” said Theo with caution. He thumbed the spine of the closed book he had been holding in his lap, thinking it over. “I mean. It’s stupid, sure, but not malicious. He didn’t do it because he didn’t trust you but because he thought he could get a better result by doing it himself.”

“But why didn’t he talk about it before?” asked Tracey. “It’s not like we haven’t seen his little group several times since they started brewing, why wouldn’t they mention it? It’s obviously because we would have told him they can’t come to our common room. I mean, come on! They’re hidden from other Houses for a reason.”

Harry looked over at Daphne, who was making a weird face. After a second, her expression cracked and she started laughing, doubling over from hilarity.

“I’m sorry, I just cannot get over the fact that they thought it made more sense to steal from Snape’s cupboards, brew a month-long potion, stay at Hogwarts during the holidays instead of seeing their family, knock out Crabbe and Goyle and impersonate them, sneak out into our common room and interrogate Malfoy than to, what? Use, I don’t know, a truth potion?”

Their composed friend’s mirth was obviously contagious; soon they were all laughing too.

“I bet it was Granger’s idea,” said Blaise, wiping his eyes. “She’s so smart but her brain always takes the longest route to solve problems.”

“Obviously. Nev’ would never think to solve anything with a potion.”

Harry shuddered, thinking about all the times he had to stop his friend from putting the wrong ingredient into their cauldron. Partnering with Neville had definitely improved his reflexes, but Merlin was it stressful.

“But to answer your question, no, I don’t think you should let that go. You and Theo are too nice,” tutted the Greengrass heir, pointing at them.

Theo and Harry exchanged a look, nonplussed.

“I don’t think it’s too nice. It’s just not a big situation. He made a mistake and apologised. If Longbottom was— um. ” Theo shifted. “I keep thinking that having a fight with Longbottom would look really bad right now. Nobody seriously thinks he’s the heir of Slytherin despite the weird rumours, and Harry breaking it off with him would make us look guilty, especially because we can’t exactly explain what he did.”

“That’s… true, but also a really pragmatic way of seeing it. I take back what I said, Theo.”

Theo raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised. I don’t care about Longbottom. If his stupidity is hurting Harry I’m all for keeping our distance. I’d even argue for cutting contact if it wasn’t such a bad move with the way things are.” He paused before looking at Harry. “But I know your relationship matters to you, and that’s what’s important.”

“But Harry’s been excusing a lot of things because of that relationship,” objected Blaise. “It will get worse if he doesn’t do something about it.”

“What did Gemma think?” asked Tracey. “She’s the one who told you about it first, right?”

“She just said Gryffindors were silly thrill-seekers with snitches for brains,” chuckled Harry. “I don’t think she took it very seriously.”

“I love your cousin,” smirked Blaise.

Harry’s lips quirked at his best friend’s admiring glance at the Argentum court, who was swamped by homework at the study table.

“Thank you for your advice,” he said honestly. “I think I know what to do now.”

***

“What does it mean exactly?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He straightened his glasses when they came out askew, and Neville blinked, still turning over what the boy had said in his head.

“I don’t want to stop being friends with you but I think it’s worrying that some of my friends think I should. They say I don’t stand up for myself. Tell me honestly. Do you think they’re right?”

Neville thought about how easily Harry accepted him after the whole mirror of Erised debacle, how he said nothing about Ron’s comments. He turned over the bluebell flame jar Hermione had given him once he’d told her he planned to meet Harry outside. They had both come alone, which was unusual. But in the letter his friend had sent, he’d mentioned he didn’t want the influence of outside parties. Neville wasn’t sure if it was fair since Ron and Hermione had been involved too, but he understood his godbrother didn’t particularly care for his friends’ part in the whole thing.

“They are,” he said finally. “But it’s not on you. You shouldn’t have to defend yourself in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Harry smiled.

“You already said that, and I forgave you.”

Neville shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have. I think you’re forgiving me because it’s not too important, but I hurt you, didn’t I? So you shouldn’t forgive me until I make up for it.”

Harry looked a little shocked for a moment, but he quickly recovered. He nodded then.

“Right. Let’s do that. And—” he hesitated, before bracing himself. “Let’s make promises to each other, things that we want the other to do or be careful about.”

“What do you want me to promise?”

“That you’ll think about telling me before going off doing your ridiculous plans.”

“Sounds fair. I promise. And, um. I’d like you to promise you’ll tell me right away if we do something you’re not happy with. Especially me, but also Ron and Hermione. Since you never tell them anything, it’s hard to tell if they’re upsetting you or not.”

“Okay, that sounds… fair. I promise. But I’ll also tell my friends they don’t have to play nice with them, then. I stopped them from saying anything, and that wasn’t fair I think.”

Neville contained a sigh. He could already tell meeting the Slytherins would mean twice as much bickering as he’d had to endure with Ron and Hermione.

“I think I liked that we didn’t argue like Ron and Hermione do all the time. They’re always… It’s exhausting sometimes.”

Harry conceded the point with a chuckle. He didn’t have problems like this with his friends. Neville told himself he wasn’t a little jealous.

“Blaise and Tracey bicker,” he said as if guessing Neville’s thoughts. “Over chess mostly. Daphne fights with Theo a lot because sometimes he just stops listening in the middle of a conversation, or he leaves without telling us where he’s going. And they all gang up on me once in a while.”

So they were simply more private about it, Neville figured. He thought it might have to do with the House they were Sorted in. Gryffindors were more hot-headed, it would stand to reason they would be louder when having arguments. It was reassuring, to know every group of friends had their disagreements.

“You know,” added Harry. “If you don’t like that they fight so much, you should tell them. I’m sure they’d tone it down.”

“Hm.”

He very much wanted to say he didn’t think that would do anything, but he thought Harry might tell him he should reevaluate his friendship with them the same way they just did. The truth was that Neville didn’t get along with Ron and Hermione as easily as he did with Hannah and Susan. With his two childhood friends, it was simple. They meshed well. They’d played with mud together, and built sandcastles. Their friendship had a strong foundation.

But Ron and Hermione were special to him because they understood what it felt like to be isolated. Ron had felt his parents’ unintentional neglect, and Hermione felt the pressure of being smarter than her peers and a muggle-born to boot. They understood what it was like to feel alienated. Neville grew up under the shadow of his parents, being told that his every accomplishment was either due to Frank and Alice Longbottom or to his status as the Boy-Who-Lived. He was put on a pedestal by his peers, and few of them attempted to try to see him as just Neville. So even if he, Ron, and Hermione didn’t have much in common, he wanted to keep them the same way he wanted to keep Harry. Because they understood him on deeper levels.

He tried not to think about how chasing after mysteries was somehow the way he had found to share something with them. Then he’d have to remember the words of Harry’s cousin, and the embarrassment he’d felt when she had pointed out how easily they could have figured Malfoy out without their ridiculous plan. Ron had been red and spluttering for hours after that, and even he had admitted their idea hadn’t been as brilliant as they’d thought it to be.

Harry probably wouldn’t want to hear about his thoughts on his two Gryffindor friends right now.

“I think we should meet alone more often,” said Neville instead. “It’s nice to just be the two of us.”

“You’re right. Wanna go to the greenhouse?”

Neville smiled brightly.

“Sure!”

Neville spent two hours showing off the new project he was working on with professor Sprout. Then it started getting dark and they resolved to go back to the castle. On their way to the great hall, Neville heard a voice.

“Not again,” he murmured as someone talked of ripping and tearing into flesh.

“What’s wrong?”

He tugged Harry into another corridor, close to one of the ground floor bathrooms.

“I keep hearing this voice every time there’s an attack,” said Neville. “Nobody else heard it, so I’m pretty sure it’s Parseltongue. I told professor Dumbledore but it didn’t seem to have helped.”

“Are you saying there’s been another attack? We should get someone, not go towards it, Nev’!”

But it was already too late. They heard the sound of a body hitting a hard surface and hurried to see a shimmering shield fading from the prone form of Gemma Fawley, petrified on the floor.

“Gemma!” screamed Harry. His godbrother ran towards his cousin, kneeling in front of her.

The sound shocked Neville into approaching too, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one. Terence Higgs burst out of the bathroom, his still-wet hands hastily wiped onto his robe before he hurried to his girlfriend’s side. Neville looked around frantically, searching for any trace of the culprit. Meanwhile, Harry was grasping his wand with trembling hands and casting the diagnostic charm, which, judging from his resigned expression, revealed nothing he didn’t already know.

Gemma had been attacked by the Heir of Slytherin.

Neville watched helplessly as the realisation sunk into the prefect’s loved ones.

“The potion,” he said suddenly, remembering it was meant to be finished today. Even better, Neville thought, they had probably administered the first doses to Justin, Colin, Mrs Norris, and Ser Nicholas.

He exhaled in relief as he saw some life back into his godbrother’s eyes. Higgs took the reins, levitating his girlfriend’s body with a gentleness that made Neville’s heart ache. They hurried to the infirmary, climbing up the stairs at a frightening speed. They reached the second floor panting, only to be confronted with the sight of an irate professor Snape whose expression shuttered as he glanced at the petrified student of his House being brought in. Next to him, Madam Pomphrey stared at them in horror.

“The remaining,” she swallowed, “the remaining vials of restorative draughts have been sh– sh— shattered by an unknown trespasser,” she explained with difficulty.

Neville smelled ozone, and he barely had the time to turn his head towards Harry before his vision whited out.

***

Severus cursed and threw a shield around the students and Poppy before striding over to Potter. He ignored the bite of the boy’s magic on his unprotected hands and face and raised his hands to grasp at the boy’s wrists, where he had been holding them by his temples. His eyes were scrunched close, and Severus could see deep cuts around them from where his glasses had broken into shards.

There was a deep ripple and the sound of something shattering before a shockwave tried to blast Severus away from the boy, but he held his ground. He flicked his hand, still holding his student, and levitated a Calming Draught to his face. He grasped it with two fingers and whispered a reinforcement charm to strengthen the outer layer of the vial.

“Potter,” he said, “Potter, you need to— Harry!”

The boy heaved but shook his head.

“Harry, you need to drink this,” he said urgently, trying to keep his voice soft but loud enough to be heard over the deafening ripples of the boy’s magic. His distress was palpable in the air.

Severus embraced him carefully, wincing at the sting spreading from his hands to the rest of his upper body at the contact. “Harry, Miss Fawley will be okay. More mandrakes will be ready by April, she will be fine. I promise, she will be fine.”

Harry trembled into his arms, shaking. He lowered his hands, then his whole body folded into himself, only supported by Severus’ grip on him. The potion master took a deep breath and presented the vial he was holding to the boy’s lips. He risked a look backward; the Longbottom boy was banging on his shield while Higgs held him by the shoulder, his hand curled around the stiff wrist of his fellow prefect. Meanwhile Poppy was repairing the damages to the entrance of the infirmary. Severus could tell she was speaking, but the buzzing was still too loud for him to hear anything. Harry let himself be fed the potion before he shuddered and started sobbing, looking more his age than he ever did before.

Severus hesitantly laid a hand on the boy’s curls, patting his head as the boy cried into his robes. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, Harry’s magic settled back into himself and he collapsed, exhausted. The potion master lowered his shield and levitated him on the bed next to the one Poppy had prepared for the boy’s cousin. He spoke a few words to the mediwitch before excusing himself, striding out of the room.

He had a vandal to catch.

***

Harry came back into himself slowly. His head felt fuzzy in a way he knew indicated magical exhaustion, and it took him a moment to remember what happened. He sat up abruptly at the memory of his cousin and held his forehead in his hand as the movement made him sway.

“Harry,” murmured a blur softly. He blinked a few times and connected the voice to Poppy Pomphrey, his healing master. He bit his lip to stop his tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Did I— Is Gemma—?”

“I’m afraid your cousin is still petrified. You had a… concerning reaction to it. Do you remember?”

He nodded slowly, feeling ashamed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, love,” said Poppy.

“But I—”

“You had a perfectly normal reaction to a stressful situation. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

He hummed in agreement, knowing better than to say otherwise to the healer.

“Now, you’ve seen magically exhausted students before so you know what’s coming, right?”

“Three days of rest, no magic, and no heavy food? And um, no visitors.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “But. Can I see Gemma? And um, my glasses?”

“Your glasses broke when your magic lashed out. Your guardian sent a new pair, it should arrive tomorrow. I would like you to stay in bed today, but you can spend time at her bedside tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Great,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little. “Just great.”

The next three days passed slowly. He tried not to think about professor Snape saving him from himself and instead his mind tortured itself with possible reasons why the Heir could have attacked Gemma. It didn’t seem to fit his normal targets. But, he thought, Terence had been there. The Argentum Rex was considered a half-blood only by technicality, and most purists didn’t acknowledge it. It was very likely that his cousin had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He tried to resent the boy for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He knew it wasn’t his fault, and that Gemma would hate it if he made her boyfriend upset. Knowing that he wouldn’t get to talk to her for another three months before she would be healed —and he hoped the wards around the greenhouse were more resistant than the ones in Snape’s office— hurt. Poppy tried to distract him with theoretical lessons, but he couldn’t focus.

He spent his time staring at his cousin’s frozen expression. Her eyes were downcast, immobilised in a resigned expression, and her mouth was still forming the last syllable of the mirroring charm she had used. Harry hadn’t realised how important Gemma had become to him. She had taken him under her wing, worn a crown to protect him and his, and offered him support and love he had never gotten before. Before he had thought that having a sibling would be similar to the way Dudley treated him, but Gemma had proven him wrong. She was his sister in all the ways that mattered.

After three days, he had to leave the infirmary. He did it with reluctance, unwilling to part with his cousin. But Poppy told him it wasn’t healthy to stay, and he left just in time for another painful session with the mind healer. Healer Merrythought pried him open, digging out his feelings on the situation in a way that left him both reeling and thankful. He was glad to have someone to help him sort his thoughts out, though he wished it wasn’t so mentally taxing.

Blaise welcomed him back in the Slytherin common room with a grim expression and a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. He let Tracey and Daphne hug him, but he couldn’t hold back a grimace when his magic writhed behind his skin, eager to be let out again. He wrestled it back under control and sat next to Theo, who just offered him a sympathetic glance before handing him a copy of the lessons and exercises he had missed. He looked it over for the rest of the afternoon, only stopping when one of the first years offered him some well-wishes. Of the Argentum court, only Adrian came to him as a representative of all of them; having lost their Regina was a harsh blow to their rule, and they had spent the last three days fending off attacks and snide comments. The Avery girl had cursed Terence badly enough in their duel that he still had a scar on his cheekbones, though he had retaliated with an uncharacteristic viciousness. Flint hadn’t made his move, which was suspicious.

“Malfoy looks happy too,” Blaise worriedly when he mentioned it. “He’s been crowing all day about how you completely lost it because your muggle-lover cousin was petrified,” he added with a careful tone, his eyes riveted on his best friend’s expression. Harry’s quill snapped in his finger, and Theo took it from him, letting him calm himself down. Blaise only continued after Harry was untensed. “The Avery boy and Flint haven’t been seen all day, and some seventh years are missing.”

They didn’t figure out why until later in the evening when Malfoy abruptly stood with his court at his back. He strode over the common room, stopping at the passageway which had just opened to let in Flint, Avery and—

“Rowle?”

Harry’s gaze led him to the Argentum court’s seat, where Safaa was also staring at the entrance. He stood, pushing his glasses up his nose, and gestured at his friends to follow. The first years followed him too, as well as some of the ones who had knelt for Gemma and Terence at the beginning of their reign. He stopped behind Gemma’s Spinea seat, his court at his side, and waited until the others arranged themselves behind them. While they were doing this, Flint and Malfoy were flanking Rowle as he advanced towards Terence’s seat. To his credit, the boy didn’t look happy to be there. He was staring at Safaa with an intensely apologetic expression, and it wasn’t difficult to realise he was being blackmailed. But that hardly mattered when he pronounced the words of challenge in front of the entirety of Slytherin, breaking his girlfriend’s heart in the process.

Terence snorted before settling down the book he had been reading.

“That is how you want to play it, then, Flint? A puppet king to warm the throne until I’m no longer there to challenge you for it?” It was a good strategy, Harry supposed, if a bit pathetic. Terence would probably not be able to hold the court in his seventh year, so if Flint inherited it from Rowle it would make more sense to wait to graduate instead of challenging him for it. Everyone had seen the disaster William Robards had been when he’d decided to hold onto it instead of gifting it to someone else. Terence shook his head, the sixth year's expression turning pitying. “Well, then, let’s see what your doll is worth.”

Aspen cocked his head, an interested gleam in his eye. The boy had been looking feral since Gemma’s petrification according to Daphne, and Harry could see it in the way his wand kept twirling in his hand.

“I think you’ll have a proper challenge.”

Theo stirred next to Harry. The Potter heir knew his friend enough to know he was worried.

Everyone in Slytherin knew that Rowle had been better at duelling than Langley, but that she’d established her supremacy by taking control of the girls in her dorm. Rowle was unambitious for a Slytherin, and she had profited from it.

But it didn’t mean that Terence wasn’t just as good. Harry only worried that his nerves wouldn’t stand another duel. It had been the third only that day, and while his anger over what happened to Gemma being channeled into violence had helped, Terence was ultimately a Light wizard. His magic listened to him best when he was level-headed.

They all reconvened in the duelling room and observed Terence and Rowle bow to each other. Harry walked up to Safaa and discretely took her hand in support. He had been the only one who knew and her best friend wasn’t there, so he had to support her. The girl looked at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears before she took a deep breath and her expression blanked.

“Begin,” announced Aspen.

And spells flew around the room. They watched in tense silence as Terence traded a disarming curse for a bone-breaker, side-stepped a sick yellow light, and sent back a volley of rocks transfigured into birds before casting a shield. The birds exploded into sharp shards that didn’t phase Rowle as he charmed them into needles who zeroed in on his opponent and used a spell Harry didn’t recognise.

“The Conjunctivitis curse,” hissed Adrian when he looked up in askance.

The force of the curse shattered Terence’s shield but didn’t reach his head; Harry sighed in relief. His cousin’s boyfriend sent a mean grin to Rowle before he murmured a long incantation.

Aspen whistled.

“That’s a Shacklebolt spell. They used it on slave traders to replicate the pain the people they’d saved from the trade had to endure.”

Harry remembered Safaa mentioning that. The Shacklebolt family was an Ancient Nubian House. A branch of them had changed their name in solidarity with the victims of the transatlantic trade when they had made it their mission to free as many of them as possible. This was back when the Statute of Secrecy wasn’t as restrictive since muggle technology hadn’t advanced to a point where pictures could be taken of wixen doing magic. The Shacklebolts had kept their name and worn it like a badge of pride, and it seemed that their grimoires were still full of the exploits of their ancestors.

Rowle flinched when the spell hit and hit his knee to the ground, but he rose back up after he took a short breath.

“His pain tolerance must be insane,” muttered Adrian.

Safaa’s hand tightened in his at that, and Harry could guess where exactly he had gained such an asset. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He understood better why Rowle had folded under Flint and Malfoy’s pressure.

The duel grew in viciousness beyond what Langley had been capable of as Terence threw curse after curse after his opponent, giving him no time to breathe. But Rowle gave back as good as he got, his riposts increasingly tinged with the desperation of someone who had too much to lose, until he threw a strangling curse at Terence that levitated him off the ground, choking him. Harry took a step forward in alarm, but Safaa kept him from reaching the circle. It would have been useless anyway, he couldn’t bypass the wards.

Rowle was panting, clutching at his severed arm with a harsh burn on his neck, but he was vindicated when Terence finally dropped his wand. The sound of it crashing to the ground resonated in the empty room, and it was soon echoed by Malfoy’s crow of victory. Rowle annulled his active spells and lowered Terence to the ground.

“Rex Mortuus Est, Vivat Rex,” announced Aspen, his expression blank. He was soon followed by the entirety of House Slytherin.

The dueling wards broke and Harry hurried to Terence’s side, the diagnostic charm at the tip of his wand. The damage was extensive. Bruises, cuts, a broken leg, and a possibly punctured lung, he noted with increasing panic. This was much worse than the duel with Langley.

Duels in Slytherin were meant to be performed with the acknowledgment that no one outside the House must be aware of what had taken place, and professor Snape could only be called to intervene in extreme circumstances. The man had been on the warpath to find the person who had destroyed the vials of restorative draught since Gemma’s petrification and had thus been incredibly moody. Harry couldn’t imagine how displeased he would be to be disturbed over something like this. Besides, what if Rowle died from blood loss before the man could even get there, thought the healer frantically.

Harry took a deep breath. He set out to heal what he could while instructing Aspen on the potions they would need when someone tugged harshly at his shoulder.

“Heal your king first,” snapped Flint before cursing at his burnt fingertips.

Harry exchanged a look with Terence, but the older boy was nodding in assent, enjoining him to do as Flint said. The Potter heir cast a stasis charm on his ribcage before standing up toward Rowle.

“I don’t know how to reattach severed limbs,” he said flatly.

“Do what you can,” growled Avery. “We’ll call Snape if we have to, but that will be on you.”

Harry distantly heard Malfoy complain about letting the pauper lord touch their Argentum Rex, but he could tell he wouldn’t be listened to. Outside from a seventh-year Ravenclaw and fifth-year Hufflepuff, he was currently the only apprentice healer at Hogwarts at the moment. Slytherin would have to make do. He cast a small sleeping spell at Rowle and disinfected their surroundings. He methodically cleaned Rowle’s wounds and closed the ones he could, asked for bruise and burn paste, and blood-replenisher. Those were always stocked in preparation for student duels. He then set out to preserve the nerves on his new Rex’s arm, calling forth memories of Ser Peregrine’s teaching. Poppy would kill him for this if she knew, he thought. He gulped when Flint handed him Rowle’s arm and resolved not to look at the boy’s face as he started reattaching it, regrowing muscle and skin while conjuring an improvised set for the bone.

“We’ll need some Skele-gro and some better nerve reconstructing potion or he won’t be able to use this arm,” he murmured before immobilising the arm completely and summoning a cast. “That’s the best I can do for now.”

He bandaged the other wounds before breathing out a shaky sigh. That was horrible.

***

Draco watched, dumbfounded, as Potter reattached Rowle’s entire arm back into its socket and rattled off the number of potions needed to make his temporary healing hold. The boy kept glancing at the cast with a frown like he had done a shoddy job, but the Malfoy heir was surprised their new rex was even actually alive. Twice, the Avery girl —Josephine, was it? — had to be convinced not to fetch Snape, who would have surely gutted the entire court system if he’d learnt how badly Rowle and Higgs had been damaged.

In truth, they had resigned themselves to the very likely possibility of punishment. They had only told Potter to heal him so they could shun him for his failure, but he had done it. And now there he was, staring at Flint defiantly and demanding to the new lieutenant to let him finish healing Higgs.

“He’s our age,” murmured Sally-Anne next to him. “How did he even do that?”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, then closed it immediately. He had no idea what to respond.

“It doesn’t matter,” barked Marcus. “We won. Who will do the honours?”

Right, they had to announce the first edict. Rowle should be the one to do it normally, but he was in no state to do so. Macmillan was already running around everywhere to find the necessary potions without having to ask professor Snape. They probably would have to anyway, but if they could minimise the damage beforehand Snape wouldn’t have to invoke the Rex Ex Machina rule — the king from the machine, giving the Head of Slytherin the reins of the Argentum court if the students were deemed incapable to self-govern until he chose an appropriate successor at the end of the year. It had only happened thrice, and Draco wouldn’t be able to stand the humiliation if it happened a fourth time while he was a student at Hogwarts.

“I’ll do it,” he decided.

He stood next to Rowle’s unconscious form and cleared his throat. Most of Slytherin was still there, either staring at Potter or waiting for something to happen. Good, he’d have their attention then.

“As the Argentum Rex’ left hand,” he said with the appropriate gravitas, “I proclaim Spencer Rowle a Rex Bellator.”

The warrior king proclamation was essentially a delegation rule, stating that the Argentum Rex would fight and his lieutenants would rule. This had been the entire point of choosing Rowle. With Draco as his left hand and Marcus as his right; the man would have to do nothing but wait as his final year ended while the two of them presided over his court. Draco thought he had been very lucky to decide to get down to the corridor leading to the common room and wait for Potter to come back that night in December. Finding out the scion of House Rowle pined after a Light witch had been a boon, and Marcus had seen the sense in using that to secure the throne as Rowle’s successor instead of challenging Higgs. Considering how their duel had gone, Draco didn’t think Marcus would have won.

The Malfoy heir glanced at Potter who was still trying to do something about Higgs’ damaged lung. His rival was floundering, having evidently not come across something like this in his lessons. Draco would have liked to announce a second edict about the little upstart, but Marcus caught his gaze and shook his head.

“Not now.”

Right. Draco could wait.

***

Ginny had been so relieved to hear the mandrake restorative draughts were ready. Seeing Colin back on his feet had saved her sanity, especially as she had been feeling so guilty over what happened to one of her best friends. She wasn’t stupid; she’d been able to tell the time she was missing from her memories corresponded with the moments a petrification had occurred. She had tried to tell someone, but her tongue always choked up once she tried. She was terrified. But Diggory had started his campaign and she’d thought that was it. Tom would stop now that he knew his plan had been thwarted, surely?

She had underestimated him. She didn’t know how he had been strong enough to destroy the wards placed around the potions in Snape’s office —whose stock was closed to the student outside of classes— but he had managed it and now someone had been attacked again. She’d heard Neville say that it was Harry’s cousin too and that the boy had freaked out so bad upon finding out that there weren’t any draughts left that he had lost control of his magic. Ginny felt horrible. She tried again to tell Percy, or walk to Professor Dumbledore’s office to denounce herself but Tom always stopped her before she could. Ginny was going crazy, and she was so, so scared. She didn’t know how long she could last under his influence before he killed someone.

She needed to get rid of the diary, and fast.

Chapter Text

Severus cursed every single one of the horrible decisions he had made that had led him to become a teacher. After that was done, he spent a long while cursing Albus Dumbledore too for good measure. The meddlesome old man was half of the reason why he was shackled to this accursed job, after all.

He dearly wanted to do something about the moronic actions of the dunderheads under his charge but he was unfortunately too busy to play overseer. Between teaching and grading, brewing for Poppy, probing at his contacts on the continent for any whisper of the Dark Lord’s return, maintaining his relations with the politically Dark faction, and figuring out how a bloody basilisk was moving around the school without being seen as well as who was the moron who decided to release it, he was swamped with work. He was fully prepared to invoke the Rex Ex Machina clause if they tested his patience any longer, but he dearly hoped he wouldn’t have to. He didn’t think his nerves could handle even more sleepless nights.

One of the first years —Priam Travers — had come to inform him of the change of leadership with the kind of shifty expression that made it obvious the little snake wanted to say more but didn’t know how to. He had thought briefly about waiting the next morning to find out what had gone on, but his intuition had warned him against it. So he had calmly asked if there was something else he should know about the takeover and the boy had folded like a deck of cards. First years, so impressionable.

Severus had strode over to the Slytherin common room and commanded the Travers kid to fetch everyone involved. While waiting, he inspected the duelling room. The elves hadn’t cleaned it yet, and Merlin. It was a blood bath. Severus could actually see splashes of blood strewn around the room, sizzles of acid and broken objects in the duelling circle, and the weight of wild magic permeating the air. When he left the room, the former and current kings along with their lieutenants were waiting at the study corner, pointedly not looking at each other. Flint had a black eye, he noted, and his more notorious second years were here too. The Malfoy heir looked petulant at being dragged out of bed, and Potter looked pale as a ghost.

Severus felt his dread mounting.

Higgs was breathing laboriously, so he skipped the interrogation he had planned and cast a diagnostic charm on the two duellists.

“What in the world…” he murmured.

Poppy had good reason to be as impressed with Harry —Potter damn it, he corrected himself, grimacing— as she was. She had called the boy a prodigy many times; it had never seemed more real than in the aftermath of Rowle’s challenge to his former king.

Severus murmured the counter-curse to a Dark spell that still clung to Higgs which Potter wouldn’t have been able to identify, then kept reading the diagnostic.

No wonder Higgs wasn’t breathing right; there was a slowly closing hole in his lung. Severus would have to ask Potter privately how exactly he had managed to stabilise the boy’s organ while it reconstructed itself —some faith, trust, and pixie dust might have been involved, he imagined— but that could wait. Higgs wasn’t in critical condition, and the healing Poppy’s apprentice had provided could be supplemented by potions tomorrow. Severus supposed that had been their plan. The puncture would have been concealed by morning, if still raw and painful. The potion master wouldn’t have been able to do anything more than Harry had done, he didn’t have the draughts ready for such a situation. This was a school after all, not a bloody Nundu reserve.

Poppy’s charm work was more precise than Potter’s from experience, but he didn’t think she could have done much better either.

If the prefect’s formerly punctured lung was easy to unconceal among the multitude of symbols the diagnostic charm had given him to slog through —the absolute absurdity of that spell’s functionment had been one of the many reasons Severus hadn’t become a healer, his preference for more esoteric potions notwithstanding—, the damage done to Rowle was incomprehensible.

“How did you manage to tear nerves from within his arm while leaving the flesh, muscle, and tendons intact?”

The way the two boys avoided eye contact with him told him more than a truthful explanation could have.

“You didn’t,” he deduced with a flat tone. “You let a twelve-year-old stitch back your arm?” he hissed.

"I wasn't exactly in a state to let him do anything," mumbled Rowle.

Severus wasn't impressed by that answer but he let it go. He turned to Potter, who was glaring holes at the table in front of him.

“Why did you think a second-year performing surgery was more appropriate than fetching an adult?”

“I wasn’t planning on it. ” The boy clenched his jaw before looking him in the eye. His gaze was haunted, the remembered terror obvious for all to see in the trembling of his hands. “I was doing damage control at first; I couldn’t leave them unattended and nobody looked willing to go and fetch you.” He sent a poisonous look to Malfoy, Flint, and the Avery siblings then. They sneered back at him but didn’t deny it. “I disinfected everything, made sure they didn’t pass out from blood loss. But if I didn’t stitch back Rowle’s arm immediately, he wouldn’t have been able to channel magic through it anymore. I had to try.”

Ah. The boy had done all this to preserve Rowle’s wand arm. Severus found himself reluctantly impressed. It was still moronic, but he could see how Potter might have come to the conclusion that he had to do it himself. Judging by the new Argentum rex’s expression, he hadn’t known how close it had been for him. Severus supposed the idiotic boy thought the worst that could happen was having to ask Madam Pomphrey to stitch it back in the morning. Those kids knew nothing about healing.

“I see. What about mister Higgs?”

“I’d barely finished with Rowle when the stasis charm I used to maintain his lungs collapsed. Too much strain. And—”

The kid looked sick. He had to take a deep breath. Higgs laid a hand on his arm to soothe him and gestured at the Shafiq girl at his right to explain.

“We can’t read diagnostic charms so it took us a while to figure out what was going on,” she started. “But Harry was getting more and more scared so we left to come to get you. This moron,” she pointed at Flint, her disgust palpable, “stunned us in the back as we were leaving. They said that since Harry managed to reattach an arm he could take care of Higgs just fine.”

“After about an hour, Terence started looking better. We put him to bed and tried to convince them to let us get you. They wouldn’t so we sent someone to announce the takeover. We were hoping you’d ask the right questions. Right after that, they used the throne’s magic to lock us in our dorms,” explained Selwyn.

That would explain why Travers scurried away as soon as he finished fetching everyone for him. He didn’t want the new Argentum court to pay too much attention to him. Judging by Malfoy’s speculative expression, he hadn’t been fast enough.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the mention of the throne’s magic. Lucius must have told his son about his own tenure at Hogwarts. Being the king of Slytherin wasn’t simply a matter of public agreement. The Argentum throne only allowed the crowned rex or regina to sit on it, the change of ownership activated by the pronouncement of the ritual phrases at the outcome of the duel.

Rex Mortuus Est, Vivat Rex was proclaimed in the duelling room, and enforced in front of the throne. Then the new court would have access to various enchantments meant to help them keep order. But the true capabilities of the throne involved a lot of guesswork since the so-called instruction manual had been lost through time. He knew for a fact that the throne’s magic had only been activated once during his tenure as a Hogwarts professor. It had happened seven years ago if he remembered well, and it was done by Lisbeth Bulstrode who decided to leave her potential challengers locked in their dorm during the entirety of the Spring vacations so she could have peace to revise her NEWTs.

He didn’t doubt that Aspen Selwyn knew about some of the throne’s enchantments; a few kings and queens had hailed from his House after all. But his court probably hadn’t seen the need for it. They had been uncharacteristically kind, allowing the political Dark courts to convene in their own half of the common room. It had been their downfall, he guessed, since they would have never been allowed to plot behind the court’s back if not for those concessions. To keep your friends close and your enemies closer was a valuable lesson to learn.

Speaking of lessons.

“I will not invoke the Rex Ex Machina clause. I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with you dunderheads,” he said with a sharp glance at the new Argentum court. Before the leaders of the new regime could start gloating, he continued. “But.” Their triumphant smirks faltered a little. Severus took great pleasure in it. “Do not test me. If you push me, I will strip you of your power. You,” he growled, “endangered the life of your classmates. You are lucky Potter was here at all. His assessment was correct; Rowle would have lost the ability to use his wand from his dominant arm, and Higgs his life before I or Madam Pomphrey would have even made it to the door. Imagine the headlines. Two Slytherin students almost die in a death match. Rita Skeeter would be thrilled.”

The morons had the sense to grimace at that.

“Let us start then. Avery —both of you—, Flint, and Malfoy, four weeks of detention for trying to keep me in the dark and risking the lives of your Rex and your prefect in the process. Higgs and Rowle, you will have two weeks once you are healed for the use of excessive force during a duel. Your conduct was unacceptable. You are not animals. Potter, three weeks. I don’t believe I need to explain why.”

Severus had to be careful now. He couldn’t punish the new court too harshly. Ultimately, there had been no consequences to their idiotic actions thanks to Mister Potter. He could already imagine Lucius Malfoy’s reaction if he ordered Rowle to choose new lieutenants. Merlin, what a mess. The potion master resisted the urge to rub his temples to alleviate his persistent headache.

He needed a drink.

“I believe that considering the start of its rule, the new Argentum court needs more supervision. I will be making weekly visits to the common room. If I see or hear anything that displeases me, I will gut your Argentum court and apply the clause. You will not like me as king, of this I warn you.”

Severus hated how much more work that would be for him, but he had been Regulus Black’s lieutenant in wartime. It would take more than that to scare him. Besides, Regulus had been just; Severus didn’t plan on being so.

“Now. Rowle, you will drink this and present yourself to my office tomorrow at eight o’clock for a second dose. Higgs, I will have the appropriate potion ready by twelve, no sooner. Until then, I want you to stay on a regimen of Breathe-Easy and Pain Relief potions. That is what mister Potter prescribed, I believe. I trust the common room cabinet is well-stocked enough for you to gather the appropriate supplies?” At their nod, he continued. “Good. Selwyn and Pucey will take turns waking you up every three hours to take them. Now, get out of my sight. Potter, you stay.”

The boy flinched and stayed put while the others slowly made their way back to the dorms.

“Apprentice healers make oaths, mister Potter. You have been spared from it by your master with the understanding that you are too young to swear them, is that correct?”

Potter nodded cautiously.

“But I do not believe Poppy to be careless enough to omit to make you read the Oath of Asclepius.”

“She did. Make me read it, I mean.”

“I will call my master or any fellow healer if their skills are needed,” recited Severus. “And I will apply healing in accordance to my ability and judgement. Do you believe that you are above such things?”

The boy hunched in on himself.

“I know I’m not.”

“You have inherited your father’s arrogance,” he said harshly. Then he sighed. He truly was exhausted. “And just as he could, you can back it up. It is no less grating, I assure you. More than that, it is more dangerous in your hands than in his. With the profession you have chosen, mister Potter, you will hold the lives of other people in your hands. I believe you have finally gotten a glimpse of what that means tonight.”

“I’m—”

Potter didn’t continue his sentence. To Severus’ horror, the boy started to sniffle. He raised his head, and the potion master was confronted to the glimmer of tears in the child’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

“Do not be. Your idiocy saved your classmates tonight.” Severus paused and tapped a finger against the hard wood of the table in front of them. He didn’t acknowledge the small smile the boy graced him with, instead continuing. “I am not fool enough to believe that such a thing will not happen again during your tenure at Hogwarts. Thus I will spend the three weeks of your detention instructing you on the appropriate ways to conduct field healing. If Slytherin has to have you as a healer, I will make sure you are competent enough for it. Now. Tell me which spells you used.”

Potter took a deep breath and started speaking.

***

“Safaa,” murmured a voice in the dark alleyway.

The girl stiffened. She was alone, having just come back from the Divination class she was the only one to take. She had planned to sneak into her boys’ dormitory, the only safe place she had in the Slytherin headquarters. They had been avoiding the common room since the night of the duel.

Spencer knew her schedule, of course he knew when to catch her alone. She chanced a glance at him, her eyes catching on the light glinting off the dark blond of his hair. His tall frame was really not conspicuous, but he knew from a lifetime of experience in his family home how to make himself invisible. The skill used to make her want to weep. It only grated now.

She kept her chin up despite her sudden desire to hide and made to walk past him.

“Safaa, please.”

“What, Spencer?”

She turned around in a fury, which predictably faltered upon seeing him fully. The desperation on his face, the hunch of his shoulders, it was all too much. To think that she had been planning to ask her Lord Shafiq to risk their House’s reputation and steal him from his parents. She would have killed his Lady mother too if Spencer wasn’t so adamant on forgiving her cruelty. Safaa was Light but that didn’t make her a good girl.

Spencer faltered too, an embrace away from her.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“For what? Betraying my trust? Or for almost killing my best friend?”

“All of that, and more. I’m sorry for being a coward.”

“I don’t forgive you. What good would that do? You made me keep secrets from my friends, something I’ve never done before. I did it because I loved you and I trusted you! I didn’t even tell Gemma and now she’s—” She cut herself off, her throat closing. “She’s— and you and your little group used that to take a throne you don’t even want from us. Why?”

“Malfoy saw us!” he said with a desperate edge to his voice. “I don’t know when but he saw us and he threatened to tell Mother if I didn’t challenge Higgs.”

“So what? Was I to be your dirty little secret until you became Lord? Were you waiting for your Lady mother to die before you’d gather the courage to introduce me as your girlfriend?” She sneered. “No, not even then. You would have married a pureblood Dark witch Madlin Rowle picked for you, and you would have fucked her thinking about how good it was that your mother approved, and I would have been the mistress!”

She cursed in Farsi, ignoring the way her voice broke at the end.

“You have no honour, Spencer, and I hate that I trusted you with my love.”

“But I do love you, Safaa, you have to believe me—”

He took hold of her, likely to stop her from leaving. His hold was gentle still, but that only made her angrier.

“Careful, your Grace,” spat Safaa. “Harry reattached your arm, but push me and I’ll slice it off again.”

He let go like she had burnt him.

She whirled around again, readjusting her headscarf. She charmed the kohl on her eyes off so no one could see it smudged and walked away. She didn’t go to the common room as planned but climbed up the stairs again in direction of the infirmary. She had no desire to see Malfoy’s smug little face right now, and even less to listen to Flint and the Averys’ jeers. She might hex them then, and they’d already taken too much glee in banning her and hers from staying in the common room. In some way, she wished that the new court had gutted their hard work but no. Flint and Malfoy had reused the systems they had implemented and then made sure they only benefitted those they approved of. They never went overboard, too conscious of professor Snape’s looming shadow over them. Still, the air in the Slytherin headquarters felt hostile.

Once she arrived, she greeted Madam Pomphrey with a subdued voice and sat down at her best friend’s bedside.

“Oh, Gemma,” she murmured. “I miss you so much.”

“Ah. Sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” said Harry, his hand on the curtain.

“It’s okay. We can share her,” she said with a weak grin.

Harry paused before nodding and stepping forward. He offered a brief hug to Safaa before sitting next to his cousin.

“Did you see Aspen, Adrian, and Terence?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

She shook her head.

“Did something happen?”

“Um, yes. But nothing bad!” he hastily reassured. “They’ll tell you later, it’s just an idea I had. They wanted to come to get you before they went to check it out but I guess you missed each other.”

“Is this about the Carrow twins Gemma wanted to help?”

“No, though we talked about that too. I got a letter back from my bank manager and she agreed to help. We’ll follow the plan Gemma and the boys worked out during the holiday. We had an issue at first because Gemma hadn’t finished the warded bag Achilles was supposed to hide in but I wrote Ulrich and he’s going to do another and owl it to us.”

“Great,” sighed Safaa, rubbing her eyes.

Harry observed her silently.

“Let’s talk about it later,” he decided. He rubbed his neck bashfully before taking a deep breath and starting to ramble. “Did you hear about what Lockhart has planned for Valentine’s Day? I think it’s going to give me nightmares. Padma heard him talk about hiring dwarves…”

Safaa let the boy’s voice wash over her, her shoulders loosening. He made awkward pauses sometimes, and the sixth-year could tell he wasn’t used to speaking so much, but he valiantly continued to take her mind off things. He had probably learnt from Gemma she didn’t like quiet when she was sad. Safaa smiled. Her best friend’s little brother was a sweet boy.

***

“Potter. Come heal me, I got a papercut.”

Felix sighed.

Harry’s group spent as little time in the common room as possible, but Malfoy made a scene every time they did. He hadn’t banned them like he did the sixth years and Priam, but what he was doing was hardly better. Felix wished he could do something for his older friends. He couldn’t see what though. They skirted the line professor Snape had set for them but never stepped out of it. And considering the man only cared about the reputation of their House and not so much about the happiness of the people in it, it allowed Rowle’s court a lot of leeways. Felix wondered if the Death Eaters had been any similar to this during the war. Abusing their powers, trampling those they considered beneath, and making a show of cruelty. He shuddered. Best not to think about it.

“Come on, pauper lord, I’m waiting.”

“Then you can wait longer,” said Blaise. “Hopefully you’ll bleed out by then.”

Felix bit his lip to stop himself from smirking. Malfoy couldn’t see him from there, the seating arrangements having been reversed to leave the "Light" faction on the outskirts. Aditya outright snickered from his place beside him. Felix still raged about the fact that his friend was being refused a proper seat because of his blood status. Somehow Malfoy had managed to curse all the seats to fold out if unapproved students tried to use them. The fact that their first-year group’s only way to protest had been to sit on the floor as well was still grating. Mafalda and Priam had gone to the Weasley twins with a note from Harry to collect a few pranking items to retaliate. Harry would have done it himself, but Malfoy had been hounding him for days now and he didn’t have a moment of peace.

It was the first time since the change of ruler that they had spent any length of time in the common room. They had only done so because Tracey reasoned they couldn’t avoid it much longer before the Argentum court would start sending them summons. Malfoy had made a show of ignoring them at first, but his and his friends’ snickering wasn’t subtle.

“Careful, mudblood or I might have you sleep outside like the dog you are,” warned Malfoy with a sneer. “We’ll see how long the Heir of Slytherin will take to get you.”

Aditya stiffened along with the two other muggle-borns present —Pucey was out, though he wouldn’t have been allowed to do more than pass through the common room anyway. Felix reached for his wand, just in case it turned ugly.

“I’d like to see you try,” said Aditya, pointing his wand at Malfoy.

“The Argentum Rex and his lieutenants rule over Slytherin,” exclaimed the boy, his grey eyes narrowed. “You have to do as I say.”

“We’re not your slaves,” snarled Lixian, who had been getting antsier and antsier since the beginning of the debacle.

“Are you not?” asked Malfoy, cocking his head.

“Am I, Draco?” sent back Felix with a biting tone.

He stood up and walked up to the blond, staring him in the eye. Malfoy faltered. The Rosier heir could hear his friends rising too to back him up.

Felix knew it had stung when he’d called him by his last name after being Sorted. He remembered their play dates as children, daydreaming about going to Slytherin and ruling the House together. Beyond their recent blood relation through the Blacks, the Malfoys and Rosiers had been allied for centuries. Felix’ father Evan Rosier had been Draco’s godfather and Lucius Malfoy had been his, though the former had been killed before he could fulfill the role. His grandfather still sat among the Dark faction as his regent until he turned fourteen and he had warned him that he would continue to do so until he was in a position to make him stop. His family believed in free will. They were set on letting him choose his path even if they disapproved. That was why his mother hadn’t stopped him from befriending a muggle who’d wandered near their estate, and why she had watched as Felix’s political views changed to match that friendship. That was why his grandfather had made sure that the family’s interests wouldn’t suffer when Felix booted his cousin from the steward seat.

His great-aunt Druella, Malfoy’s grandmother had called him the second coming of Sirius Black with a look of horror Felix still couldn’t forget. It had taken a Vow of Silence from his grandfather to stop her from breaking family tradition and announcing the next Lord’s political agenda before Felix could do so himself.

Felix mourned his relationship with Draco but he refused to uphold a legacy of cruelty and prejudice just to stay close to his cousin. Befriending Theo Nott had only made him surer of that choice.

The blond seemed to have similar thoughts judging by the conflict on his face. Felix let his godbrother make his choice, the last courtesy he would give him. After that, they would be opponents. Felix would fight under Harry’s banner to protect people like Adytia and William, his muggle friend.

“You’re a blood traitor,” the Malfoy heir finally concluded, his expression settling on resigned disgust. “You’re no better than a mudblood.”

Felix sighed, mirroring the feeling. He hoped that one day Draco would understand. Today was not that day.

“I am.”

“We are blood traitors as you put it. But that does not make us your slaves,” said Harry, stepping forward. He laid a hand on Felix’s shoulder, and the boy offered him a grateful smile. “The Argentum rex has as much power as we allow him. You can take our chairs, lock us in our rooms however many times you want, but it does not change the fact that we have pride like any respectable Slytherins. We bend to your whims, but we will not break. And at some point, we will refuse to bend as well. We didn’t choose you.”

“You didn’t have to choose us, our Rex took the throne.”

“And what do you do with it? You have no vision Malfoy. Ambition is not simply wanting things for yourself. It’s a drive to achieve something greater. You wanted the throne? You have it, with a nice warrior king to keep us in line. What do you do with it now?”

“We’re making Slytherins great!” said Malfoy.

Felix could see at the corner of his eye that Rowle, Flint, and the Averys were stepping out of the corridor leading to the dorms. He shifted. That wasn’t good. If Malfoy demanded a duel, Rowle would be forced to fight it for him. Harry was talented but he was still a second year.

“You said our year would have been great under your leadership too,” mused Harry. “How do you define greatness exactly.”

He gestured at the common room by making a sweeping motion with his arm. There was the Light faction in the corner, staring from their designated space. When they had realised their few muggle-born students wouldn’t be allowed chairs, they had moved the couches and extended a rug on the floor. In the middle, some unaffiliated students were pretending not to pay attention while the Dark faction following the new Argentum court was staring hungrily, likely hoping for Harry to be punished.

“Is this great to you?” Harry paused. “Agatha Langley was a harpy. But she wanted the House to stand out. Outside of her own selfish desires, she imposed dress codes because, in her mind, a sophisticated appearance reflected well on our House. William Robards was essentially useless, but he gave tutors to every struggling student and increased prefect oversight because he thought that academic excellence would do Slytherin proud. Terence and Gemma strove for unity. We walked together out of the Great Hall last year, they organised tutors, chaperones, and social events because the House looked best when it stood together. What the Argentum Rex does is for Slytherin. What do you do for our House?”

“I put those who deserve it at the top of it, how it should be,” sneered Malfoy.

Harry was unimpressed. He sent Malfoy a poisonous look before reaching over to his tie and loosening it. He paused for barely a second before slipping it off his neck. Then he reached for the snake pin on his robe and unclasped it while his wand drew the movements of the colour-changing charm. The trimmings of his robe turned white. Felix gasped among many others.

“Then I’ll lose the green and silver for as long as you pretend to have a claim on what I do. I have no respect for your court of bullies.”

Potter’s court imitated him like it was a given. Felix was impressed. He could feel his friends gaze anxiously at him, Tristan and Lily trying to catch his gaze. Felix reached for his wand and cast. Soon, the first years were all without ties or ribbons, bearing the same white trimmings on their pinless robes. Elise Gardner and Shane Williamson, the only two upper-year muggle-borns outside of Pucey did the same. They looked resigned when they saw that their friends hadn’t followed them, too scared of the consequences. Felix sent them a disgusted look.

“Rowle!” shrieked Malfoy. “Do something.”

“Potter,” sighed the Argentum Rex. His eyes looked strangely pigmented like he had cast a glamour over them. Had he been crying? “Do what he says.”

“Oh, right.”

Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy and healed his papercut.

“Let’s go,” he then said before the blond could demand something else. They followed him to the dorms, looking at each other with unsure eyes.

“What are we going to do?” asked Lixian.

“We’re going to get so many detentions,” moaned Julia, looking at the tie in her hand.

The Potter heir grinned, plucking a book out of his robe’s pocket. Felix squinted at it. The words “The Marauders” were printed on the cover.

“A family friend gave me this book about my dad’s exploits at Hogwarts. They explored the whole castle apparently. He wrote something about how I should do my own search for interesting places but since I was Sorted into Slytherin he did point an important location to me,” said Harry with a smirk. “Come on.”

And he kept walking past the doors leading to each year’s individual dorms, with the door of the girls’ rooms on the right and the boys’ on the left facing each other. Felix exchanged looks with the other first years. They had no idea what was going on, but it seemed like Harry’s friend did. They must have had a contingency plan in the unlikely case that Flint won —since no one had expected Rowle to challenge Higgs.

“My father was a prankster,” explained Harry. “He was also a Gryffindor, so he was a little prejudiced against Slytherin.” He grimaced then, and Felix wondered if that was an understatement. “I wasn’t really happy to learn that, as you can imagine, but Remus assured me he grew out of it. And, well. I looked at the records and guess who were the leaders of Slytherin while he was there? Lucius Malfoy, Corban Yaxley, and Regulus Black.”

Felix winced. Three Death Eaters. That probably wouldn’t have helped anyone who was already prejudiced.

“So my dad was a prankster and Slytherin students were right gits. You can imagine what happened next. He and his friends found a way into our common room in their fourth year, and they made good use of it.” He laughed then. “Imagine if the Weasley twins had access to our beds and a bone to pick with us.”

They all shuddered at that, except Harry who seemed to find the idea hysterical.

They finally reached the end of the corridor, next to where the seventh-year dorm rooms. Harry crouched down, pressed his wand on a random intersection of stone, and murmured.

“Per aspera ad astra.”

The floor started to glow at the intersections of its stones, the pattern infolding like multiple stars. They connected slowly together, running along the lines of the castle to form the shape of a door in front of them. The light faded after a second, leaving nothing in its wake. Felix blinked in confusion but soon shook himself. Wixen loved hidden doors. He was proven right when Harry pressed his hand right where the light had just outlined an entrance and disappeared behind the stone.

“Aren’t you scared Malfoy is gonna follow us?” asked Julia.

Harry shook his head.

“Terence already placed a disillusionment charm over the corridor. Unless he thought to go after us right after we left —and we would have heard him—- then he’ll think we all went to our rooms. With any luck, he’ll try to lock us in.”

“What about our things?”

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s go in, you’ll see.”

So they followed Harry through the hidden door. The passageway led to a stairway made of floating stones which they climbed carefully.

“We’re right inside the small condemned tower next to the Astronomy Tower,” explained Harry. “This room was set up by Phineas Nigellus Black when he was headmaster. He made it for his children to use apparently, but it’s big enough to accommodate us until Malfoy understands he can’t order us around. We asked the elves to bring smaller beds —there’s a room for discarded things at Hogwarts apparently,” he told the other second years, “we have to check it out— and put a partition for privacy. It’s not ideal—”

“It’s perfect,” interrupted Lixian. “Much better than having to deal with Malfoy.”

They finally reached their destination after a minute of climbing. Felix’ eyes widened. It wasn’t just a secret passage out of the common room, it was a secret dorm. The sixth-years were already there, laying on their beds. As they all stepped in, the already spacious room grew in size, accommodating to their presence. Then additional beds started appearing.

The room had nothing to do with the rest of Slytherin’s decorations. The ceiling showed the stars just like in the Great Hall, and everything from the sheets to the light was coloured in silver and white. He could glimpse an open bathroom door in a corner, and another door probably leading outside of the castle. Judging by its position, it probably led to the Astronomy tower. There was even an enchanted solar system made out of gold and silver wires hung at the door.

“Ah, so Malfoy already pushed your limits?” asked Pucey upon seeing them.

“He didn’t even do anything too bad, but I didn’t want to wait until he did.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck then, looking embarrassed.

“Smart choice. And what’s up with the fashion statement?”

Selwyn pointed at their black and white attire.

“So many detentions,” moaned Julia again.

Felix laughed.

“Worth it.”

***

“Harrikins!”

Two arms settled around his shoulders, startling him. The twins offered him an apologetic look as they felt the sting of his magic at the unexpected touch but they didn’t withdraw. Harry smiled a little crookedly at them.

“What’s this we heard about you and yours shedding your snake skins? With the sixth-years too.”

Harry grimaced. He had gotten an additional week of detention for his trouble, though professor Snape had at least made the concession to allow them to keep the white trims on their robes. Malfoy had not been happy. Their Head of House was delighted though, seeing it as a way for everyone to keep having a peaceful year without him having to intervene.

The rest of the school had speculated about it too, theorising that they were trying to distance themselves from the Heir of Slytherin’s actions. Cedric had even taken him aside to tell him he shouldn’t be ashamed of his House.

“My feud with Malfoy has kind of… escalated.”

“That’s one way to put it,” smirked Blaise.

“Mhm. I had to resort to a little bit of—” He paused, wondering how to phrase it. “— marauding to get back at him.”

In truth, Harry wanted to do way more than he had already done, but he was very aware that Malfoy was baiting him so he could order Rowle to duel him. It was safer to simply remove themselves from the situation until they could actually take action. If half of the common room backed them maybe they could pressure the new court, but most of the students who had been so content during Terence and Gemma’s rule were avoiding them now. They didn’t want to get involved. They would just have to hold on until Rowle graduated. Terence couldn’t make a bid for the silver throne again since it wouldn’t let him sit on it again but any of his former lieutenants could, or even Gemma if she was up to it. With Rowle gone, the purists’ group would be much less threatening.

And if it didn’t work out like that, well. Harry had other ideas. He might not like conflict but even his patience had limits.

“Pardon, did you say—” started Fred, eyes wide.

“Marauding?” finished George. “As in, the Marauders? Do you—?”

“Wait, do you?” asked Harry.

“What is going on,” whispered Daphne to Blaise, who shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How do you know the Marauders?” the twins asked in one voice.

“Um, my dad was Prongs.”

“And you told us about his exploits! We should have known that. How did we not know that, Gred?”

George nodded with gravity, his hand on his heart.

“How do you know them?” asked Harry.

“They’re geniuses! Our heroes!”

“Tell us more, oh heir of the Marauders!” demanded Fred, batting his eyelashes.

Harry shrugged and pulled out Remus’ book. For the first time in their entire tenure at Hogwarts, the twins were completely speechless.

The conversation was completely derailed after that.

***

On the other side of the castle, Neville found a diary.

***

Tracey was having the time of her life. She couldn’t stop laughing at her friends’ expressions.

Harry, Blaise, and Daphne had received a combined total of eight Valentine’s day cards. Their reactions were predictable. Harry was horrified, Blaise delighted and Daphne incredibly uncomfortable behind her ice queen mask. Tracey knew her best friend well.

She and Theo had the pleasure of observing the train wreck as it happened. Harry had resorted to wearing his invisibility cloak outside of classes, hoping it would somehow make the singing dwarves forget he existed. The two letters he got before he started hiding were not that bad.

“The second one was a little creepy,” commented Theo when she said that to him.

“It did talk about plucking out his eyes and wearing them like jewels. Ah, another one.”

“Harry, hide!” said Theo, because he was nice like that. If Blaise wasn’t busy flirting with the girl who had sent the first letter he probably would have pushed Harry toward the dwarves. Actually, Tracey felt inclined to do so as well.

She whistled innocently before pretending to trip and snagging the cloak off Harry. Daphne snickered from where she was setting her letters on fire.

“Tracey, you are a monster,” growled Harry as the dwarf started singing about how whoever had sent the letter found his lack of nargles very nice, and that the shine of his hair attracted flutterflies.

“At least we know who this one is. Lovegood, was it? She’s sweet. I doubt she actually has a crush on you though,” added Tracey as the dwarf continued on to say that she wanted to try writing a letter to him since everyone in her dorm was doing it.

“I think she’s a little lonely. Padma told me she’s a bit… strange so she has problems getting along with her classmates,” said Daphne.

“We should invite her to eat with us.”

They turned to Harry, surprised at his suggestion. He was watching the dwarf leave with a pensive expression.

“Is that allowed?” wondered Theo.

“I’m not sure, but we can ask. And if we can’t invite her to our table, we can always do something else with her, or have a snack in the kitchens. We haven’t been there yet.”

“Wait. I’m going to receive something from all the Ravenclaw first years?” asked Harry with a horrified expression.

Tracey laughed.

“Seems like it.” She paused. “Do you think Blaise is going to date that girl?”

“No. He’s turning her down.”

She, Daphne, and Theo looked again at their friend. He was still leaning toward Megan Jones, a smirk on his face. She was red in the face at the proximity but valiantly stuttered her answers anyway.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. Look, she’s leaving.”

And sure enough, Jones kissed Blaise on the cheek and left with a disappointed grin. Their friend came back to them with his hands in his pockets, looking unbothered.

“I think I want to try dating next year,” he said with a considering tone.

“Isn’t that a little young?” asked Daphne, looking at the ashes of her love letters with distaste.

They started discussing the pros and cons of dating early, walking toward their next class. Then Blaise teased Harry about having a fan club which made him splutter. They were still laughing when they crossed Longbottom and his friends who were immobilised by a singing dwarf.

“His smile is as bright as sunshine, his hair as blond as pure gold. I wish he was mine, he's really divine, the hero who conquered the Dark Lord,” sang the dwarf with a gruff voice.

Tracey’s lips twitched against her will but she abstained from laughing as she saw Ginny Weasley’s horrified face and the mortification on Harry’s godbrother’s expression. Her friends had to express the same restraint, but it was difficult. Tracey had to bite her cheek to keep it in, and she could see Blaise wiping a tear of hilarity. He had turned his face away from the scene to avoid laughing openly but he still couldn’t resist.

“Give that back.”

She looked away from Blaise to see Harry hold his hand out to Malfoy who hissed at him.

“Wonder what’s Longbottom written in it?” said Malfoy, ignoring Harry.

“It’s not yours, Malfoy. Everyone saw it fall out of Neville’s bag.”

A hush fell on the onlookers.

“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said the Weasley prefect sternly.

“When I’ve had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Weasley said, “As a school prefect —” but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”. Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air. They both made to grab it, but Harry had the faster reflexes. He snatched it and handed it over to Longbottom.

“Potter! No magic on the corridors,” reprimanded Weasley.

“If you hadn’t been so bloody useless I wouldn’t have had to use any spell,” retorted Harry.

“Ten points from Slytherin.”

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “I’ll see you later, Nev’? We’re late for class.”

They made their way to the Transfiguration classroom just as the crowd dispersed. Tracey could see Malfoy fuming from there, and arranged herself so Harry’s back wouldn’t be unprotected. Her friend was a little reckless sometimes.

“I didn’t know Longbottom journaled,” commented Blaise.

“He doesn’t. I didn’t know when I snatched it but it was someone else’s. Some guy named Tom Riddle. I suppose Nev’ was gonna return it to him.”

Theo stopped in his tracks, causing them to turn to him. His face was pale as death.

“Tom Riddle?” he repeated like he was hoping to have heard literally anything else.

Tracey and her friends exchanged looks.

“Who’s Tom Riddle, Theo?”

Chapter Text

“Neville wouldn’t.”

His friends exchanged looks.

Harry bristled. “He wouldn’t.”

“Of course not,” said Tracey before biting her lip. “Not voluntarily. But you have to admit something is going on there.”

“Tracey’s right. Longbottom is in possession of a book that used to belong to the Dark Lord the same year petrifications start to happen? That’s not a coincidence,” agreed Theo.

The boy was tapping his fingers against the floor in a nervous gesture. He was sitting cross-legged, his gaze focused on the enchanted ceiling of their temporary dorm. It was empty save for the five of them, and Harry almost wished the upper-year students were there to provide some input into the situation. But Gemma hadn’t told him if she had talked to her friends about Voldemort’s return and he didn’t think he should be the one to break it to them. Daphne and Tracey’s reactions when they had been told earlier showed that the subject was even more sensitive than he thought among British wixen, and he and Blaise didn’t have the cultural knowledge to handle it with the appropriate caution.

“I’m gonna talk to him,” decided Harry, propping his elbows to raise himself up.

Blaise shook his head.

“No, you’re not. Not alone, at least,” he amended after seeing Harry’s scowl. “What? It’s common sense. It’s almost past curfew, and you don’t go after a possessed person by yourself.”

“So now you all believe Finch-Fletchley’s theories? You thought it was nonsense not so long ago.”

“We thought it was nonsense when nobody was sure what was causing the petrifications and the only argument he had was that Longbottom’s a parselmouth. Now the whole school knows the monster’s a basilisk —all the unpetrified students’ eyewitness accounts made sure of that, even if nobody can tell where it’s coming from—, we know it’s probably commanded by the same person who broke Snape’s wards to destroy the Restorative Draughts and an artifact belonging to bloody You-Know-Who is in the castle at the same time all of this is happening!” enumerated Tracey.

Harry slumped. He sighed and took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“I know. But I was with Nev’ when Gemma was petrified. It can’t be him.”

Daphne slapped her hands against the floor and rose up daintily, brushing the dust off her skirt.

“There’s only one way to find out. All of us go. You ask him to bring you that book and see what happens. And in the meantime, maybe you boys can explain to us why you didn’t think to tell us about You-Know-Who before now,” she added with a cold stare.

They all stood up and made their way out of their private dorm by the Astronomy Tower exit. They had grown so used to this room it seemed unimaginable to stop using it by now. It was so much more peaceful than sharing a dorm with Malfoy, though the limited bathroom space did prove to be a challenge. Harry thought they would probably try to repurpose it into a quiet space for all of them next year.

“You weren't planning to say anything at all?” asked Tracey as they were walking.

“Er. We would have eventually. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It’s just. Blaise asked me what happened with Nev' last year, so I told him right after. Theo noticed we were talking about Volde—,” he bit his lip as he saw the girls and Theo flinch. While professor Dumbledore’s advice to Neville about the fear of a name increasing the fear of the person made sense, he didn’t think it was worth it since it made his friends uncomfortable. “He noticed we were talking about You-Know-Who in the present tense so I explained. I told Gemma when it came up too.”

“So you would have told us if we’d asked.”

Daphne looked unimpressed.

“I wouldn’t have lied to you. But knowing is a burden. We’re young, we shouldn’t have to think about whether or not we’ll fight in a war that might not happen until we’re adults.”

“But you already decided you will,” deduced Tracey. Harry thumbed his heir ring absently, nodding. She turned to Blaise and Theo. “What about you?”

“I will too,” declared the Italian prince, his eyes on Harry. “If there is a war, you’ll be on the front lines to protect your godbrother. I’m not letting you fight alone.”

Harry stared at his best friend. They hadn’t talked about it. Last year, when the only knowledge they had was of the existence of Voldemort’s wraith, it had seemed insignificant. A nebulous threat, more directed at Neville than anyone else. But Theo’s reaction when they had told him, the quiet evenings he had spent with Gemma telling him of Marian Fawley, cousin Philip’'s deceased twin sister, his visits to his parents, the many letters exchanged with Remus —who hadn’t come back to Britain except to visit Harry’s parents since the end of the war— had given him a more tangible taste of the after-effects of the last war. The petrifications coupled with Malfoy’s increasingly blatant prejudice both seemed to indicate that trouble was brewing again. It was an omen of worse days to come, where schoolyard fights would soon turn into something more terrible.

Blaise had the option of sitting it out. In fact, Harry wished he would. He wished he would have the guarantee that his best friend was safe in Mezzogiorno when the conflict would start again, whenever that may be. But Blaise’s greatest virtue was his loyalty, and he would have none of it.

“Are you sure?” he asked anyway.

“Of course. It could be decades from now but I doubt your Dark Lord is going to wait that long. And even if he didn’t, we’ve all noticed how comfortable Malfoy’s clique is getting. That kind of confidence from Death Eater kids…”

Daphne finished his train of thought.

“Their parents are tired of pretending. They had to tone it down after the war but their agenda can’t wait for You-Know-Who’s return.” She paused. “House Greengrass relocated to Ireland when it got really bad. Mother didn’t want us to be targeted. And since we’re the leaders of our faction, most of the Alliance followed our lead. Some stayed in Britain and fought anyway, but aside from the Prewetts and the Shacklebolts, nobody in our faction declared Enmity against the Death Eaters as the Longbottom Alliance did.”

“It was called the Bones Alliance at the time,” recalled Tracey. They had finally reached the bottom of Gryffindor Tower. “Edgar Bones was leading it. Then he died and they wanted to name Dumbledore in his place, but he’s not from a noble House so they had to choose someone else. The leading Houses were all systematically killed until the end of the war, where Augusta Longbottom took the reins.”

“Mhm. That actually made Mother more sure of her choice, and Mom agreed. What you have to understand Harry, is that You-Know-Who was winning by a large margin. That’s why everyone admires your godbrother so much. Knowing that the war might start again… it’s terrifying, even for those who didn’t lose family to it. I understand my mothers' choices.” Her gaze turned hard.”But that doesn’t mean I’ll make the same one.”

She turned her clear blue eyes to him and Blaise then.

“If what Malfoy is doing is even a fraction of what it’s like to live under You-Know-Who’s regime, I refuse to let our country live through that.”

“Me neither,” agreed Tracey. “Like Blaise, I could just leave the country. But ambition is a Slytherin trait and what I want is to make a difference. So I’ll fight. And that starts with kicking Malfoy’s ass. No more hiding. When we’re done with Longbottom’s business, we’re going to meet with the sixth years and make sure Slytherin is ours again. Right?”

Harry smiled.

“Right.”

***

“You’ve been quiet,” murmured Blaise as they watched Harry ask a Gryffindor first year to get Longbottom for him. The girl —Morgan Cadwallader, he recalled, one of the muggle-borns they had met on the train— looked at them a little nervously, no doubt anxious about what her upperclassmen would think of Slytherins waiting outside of their common room.

“That’s not new,” said Theo.

Tracey poked him on the shoulder. “True, but you usually say something in serious conversations.”

“What is there to tell? My father was a Death Eater who publicly deserted the purists’ faction. Whether I fight or not isn’t really up to me. We’ve made ourselves targets deliberately.”

There was a pause before Daphne blinked.

“You told Lord Nott about the wraith last year.”

“I did. We’d always suspected he would be back. All his followers know since the Mark is faded but not gone. It was his first appearance in Britain though, so now was the perfect time to make a statement.”

“Isn’t that reckless, though?”

Theo hummed. Longbottom stepped through the portrait entrance, followed by Granger, Weasley, and his sister. He talked to Harry briefly, and seemed surprised at his request before squinting suspiciously.

“We had two choices: declaring our intent or going to professor Dumbledore and offering my father as a spy of professor Snape’s calibre. Father made the choice that would preserve our House’s reputation.”

The Dark Lord thought of Bertram Nott as his possession, but in a different way than his later followers. Theo’s father had been his lieutenant at Hogwarts; like Abraxas Malfoy and a few others, he served as a reminder of his beginnings as Tom Riddle. He reveled in seeing them call him a Lord and kneel at his feet when they knew of his humble beginnings. Bertram theorised it was the reason why the Dark Lord had preferred killing his wife instead of him. He had wanted to keep him and his devotion.

“Why did your father change factions?” asked Blaise cautiously.

Theo snorted.

“I’m surprised you’re only asking now.”

“I wanted to ask during the summer but Harry thought you’d tell us on your own time.”

The Nott heir hummed. “It’s kind of him. I probably wouldn’t have said anything though. I’ll tell you later. It’s not a conversation for public spaces.”

Blaise nodded and looked back at Harry who had seemingly broken the news to Longbottom. The Boy-Who-Lived’s face was paling rapidly. His two friends looked horrified and the Weasley first year looked actually sick.

“He’s not showing any sign of possession,” murmured Blaise.

“Hm, but I don’t think he has any good news,” said Daphne as Harry and the Golden Trio walked over to them.

“The diary was stolen,” explained Harry grimly.

“We need to tell Professor Dumbledore,” said Hermione, already moving past them to go to the man’s office.

Weasley’s sister put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I’ll go,” she stuttered. “You and Neville shouldn’t move around the castle right now.”

“Are you sure? You’re not looking so good,” commented Longbottom with a concerned frown.

Unsurprisingly, the older Weasley volunteered to go with her.

“While you do that, we should talk to Hagrid,” said Harry. He explained to the confused Slytherins that the Dark Lord had tried to frame the groundskeeper when Longbottom wrote into the diary.

“You wrote into it?” hissed Theo. “Has your grandmother taught you nothing?”

“Oi, don’t talk to Neville like that,” hollered Weasley. “It’s not his bloody fault his Manor isn’t full of Dark stuff like yours.”

“Ron,” admonished Longbottom, putting a placating hand on Harry’s forearm before he snapped at the redhead. “Nott’s right, what I did was stupid. I should have given it to a professor the second I found it.”

While Longbottom convinced his friend to leave with his younger sister, Theo and Blaise brainstormed how to get rid of the influence the diary might have left on Longbottom.

“I know a spell but it’s meant to purge demonic influence, not… whatever is possessing the diary,” started Blaise, looking agitated. “What is it anyway? An imprint? I didn’t know anything like this existed.”

Theo shook his head.

“I don't know either. My father might, but at this point, Professor Snape would be easier to ask. It doesn't seem to be a demon though. A cleansing potion might be more effective.”

“You think the diary might have affected me?” asked Longbottom.

Harry nodded. “From what you told me, it pulled your consciousness inside of its pages. If it had just talked to you, it would have been similar to the Homorphus charm and we wouldn’t be worried, but it manipulated your mind.”

“That means whoever has it is probably not acting voluntarily, and they probably started getting influenced when they wrote inside the diary,” continued Granger. “Since you did too…”

“Okay, let’s split up then. I’ll take Nev’ to the infirmary and another group talks to Hagrid. He needs to know what’s going on,” said Harry.

They decided Theo would go with Harry and Longbottom while Blaise and Granger went to the groundskeeper with Harry’s invisibility cloak. Tracey and Daphne would fetch professor Snape.

The two Weasleys left first, Theo’s group was next.

The walk to the infirmary was quick, and Longbottom’s check-up even faster. There were faint traces of compulsion magic on him, but he hadn’t written in the diary long enough for it to be truly dangerous.

“There is a small cluster here,” explained Madam Pomphrey to Harry, gesturing at the schematics the diagnostic spell materialised in the air. It was incomprehensible to Theo, a combination of coloured lights and runic symbols along with written annotations that made no sense to those without an intimate knowledge of anatomy and healing magic. “If it had truly taken root, it would have started siphoning the magic out of Mister Longbottom’s core.”

Granger gasped.

“Do you mean that whoever is being possessed is having their magic stolen?” she asked.

Madam Pomphrey nodded gravely.

“I’m afraid so, Miss Granger. And I truly hope we find the diary’s victim before it realises we know, or a student’s life will be in grave danger.”

***

Lord Voldemort didn’t like when people got in the way of his plans.

The fundraiser had already been inconvenient enough; to destroy the wards, he had needed to cement his presence into Miss Weasley’s mind further than he had planned and her magic was now intertwined with the diary’s further than he was comfortable with at this stage of his plan. He wouldn’t be able to detach himself from her before he had completely drained her of her life force. On top of that, she was constantly wrestling with his control, pathetically attempting to free herself from his grasp and tell everyone the location of his chamber. Dumbledore didn’t suspect her yet, but that would only be a matter of time if he learnt of the diary’s existence.

“Ginny?”

Lord Voldemort relaxed his grip on the girl’s mind and let her answer her dull brother, though he brought forth to her memories the threat he had made to her family if she dared to betray him. He hadn’t managed to force her into a Vow of Silence, her mind was too compromised for that, so he had to make do with stimulating her imagination of what he was capable of.

Confident that she wouldn’t speak, the Dark Lord pondered over what to do. Entering the old fool’s office was unwise, but hiding the existence of the diary would only hold up to scrutiny if he could have silenced the other foolish children. While he didn’t doubt in his ability to kill them, wiping their memories or compelling them was trickier. The subtle skim of their minds he had attempted and the information he had gleaned from his foray into Longbottom’s subconscious taught him that three of them had varying degrees of talent in Occlumency and another was a Greengrass, a House which was in the habit of freezing their own memories at least once a day, preserving them from any sort of tampering. Lord Voldemort was the greatest wizard alive, but even he couldn’t force his way into a protected mind without breaking it beyond repair.

The Imperius curse would have been an option if he had his own body and his core intact, but his current dependence on the idiotic Weasley girl prevented him from using it on multiple targets. She would surely die from the strain of using so much Dark magic with an untrained Light core and he would be back where he started.

He swore to himself he would find a way to siphon ambient magic once Longbottom’s corpse lay at his feet. But for now, it looked like he would have to accommodate the unexpected.

He cursed the son of Bertram who had revealed his identity and wondered how far his foolish lieutenant had fallen to allow himself to sire a blood traitor. As he did so, the Weasley girl and her brother found themselves crossing paths with what looked to be unexpected help.

“Father said Dumbledore would be dismissed tonight, and he’ll be taking the oaf with him,” boasted the Malfoy heir before he spotted the two redheads. “What are you looking at, Weaslette?”

“Would you care to repeat that, Malfoy?”

Ginevra Weasley’s eyes flashed red as the Dark Lord took possession of her fully, and Lord Voldemort reveled in the boy’s expression as he realised who exactly he was talking to.

Abraxas’ grandson glanced at the Weasley brother before his face split into a mean grin.

“The Board of Governors is firing him since he’s been so useless at catching the basilisk. The Minister is already on his way to arrest the groundskeeper, and he’ll be booting Dumbledore out of the castle next.”

The Dark Lord turned the girl’s face away from her brother’s and indulged himself in an exultant smirk. It seemed like Fate was in his favour after all.

Lord Voldemort would rise again, no matter the cost. And he would make a statement of his rebirth by killing the boy who had been the demise of his older self.

***

“Are you going somewhere?” said Harry.

“Er, well, yes,” said Lockhart, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. “Urgent call — unavoidable — got to go —”

"What about Ron and Ginny?" asked Neville, outraged.

“Well, as to that — most unfortunate —” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. “No one regrets more than I —”

“You mean you’re running away?” said Neville disbelievingly. “After all that stuff you did in your books —”

“Books can be misleading,” said Lockhart delicately.

“You wrote them,” Harry deadpanned, an eyebrow raised. He didn't think this man could sink lower than he had, but here they were. He was really despicable, thought the Potter Heir.

“My dear boys,” said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at them. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all of that."

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” said Neville incredulously.

“Neville, Neville,” said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, “it’s not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms. No, it’s been a lot of work, Neville. It’s not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.”

Harry's expression twisted in disgust.

"I told you that man was a fraud. Let's go find an actual competent teacher."

"We don't have time."

The Potter heir bit his lip. It was true, they might get there too late if they doubled back.

"Guess he'll do then," he sighed. "Expelliarmus."

The wand shot from Lockhart's hand.

"I don't trust you not to Obliviate us while our back is turned. You'll get it back when we get to the Chamber. Come on."

They marched the fraudulent teacher down the nearest stairs, along the corridor Mrs Norris had been petrified in, and into what Neville explained was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Harry let his godbrother talk to the ghost while he kept an eye on Lockhart. They watched as Neville spoke to the carved image of a snake on the sink. The hissing seemed to have worked since it sank down into the floor, revealing a wide pipe.

"You're not planning on jumping down, are you?" asked Harry.

"Er."

"Do you think Salazar Slytherin jumped?"

Neville chuckled, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

"Right." He hissed again, and a deep rumbling sound resonated. Steep stairs climbed up into the pipe, leading the way to the Chamber. "That's better."

He started walking down, gesturing at Harry to follow. The Slytherin poked Lockhart with his wand.

"You first."

The man advanced and pretended to stumble before snatching his own wand out of Harry's second hand. Startled, the boy only barely avoided the first spell the man sent. They circled each other. The Slytherin felt his heart thundering in his chest and his magic light up at his fingertips, responding to the danger he was feeling. As Harry had his back to the entrance of the Chamber, Lockhart started speaking.

“The adventure ends here, boys!” he said. “I'll tell the school I was too late to save the redheads, and that you two tragically lost your minds at the sight of their mangled bodies — say good-bye to your memories! Obli—”

"Somnus," incanted Harry, ducking to avoid the spell. "Has no one ever told you it was stupid to monologue?"

He cursed in his breath as an orange light shot from Lockhart's wand, an unintended consequence of his unfinished incantation. The spell made contact with the stone. Harry heard a crack and turned around. The stairs were collapsing on themselves.

"Nev'!" he shouted, terror gripping at his throat.

"I'm okay!" he heard from a distance.

Harry breathed out in relief.

"What happened?"

"Lockhart attacked me. I put him to sleep."

"Merlin."

He chuckled at his friend's obvious disbelief.

"I know, what a wanker." After a pause, he continued. "What do we do?" he asked.

"I—" Neville hesitated. "I'll keep going. Go get a professor."

"I don't like that. It's Voldemort down there, you shouldn't — you shouldn't have to face him alone." Not again, he didn't say, but his godbrother heard it all the same.

There was a silence, then a low whisper.

"I have to."

"Gryffindors," murmured Harry fondly. "I'll get you help," he said louder. "Hang in there, yeah?"

"Always. Thanks, Harry."

***

“Follow the spiders, he says,” grumbled Blaise. “Completely mad.”

“Well, are you coming?” asked Granger, gesturing toward the forest.

The Italian prince stared.

“Absolutely not.”

“But there might be a clue!”

“A clue?” he repeated, aghast. “There’s no clue to find out there but a nest of Acromantula. Their mortal enemies are snakes, and particularly basilisks. Hagrid lives so isolated from the rest of the castle he’s apparently not aware that the whole bloody student body knows what Slytherin’s monster is. That’s no reason to go traipsing into the woods.”

Granger crossed her arms. “How do you know that?”

“Theo told me. Magical creatures are his new obsession,” he said, walking back toward the castle while cursing the idiocy of Gryffindors. “If you want to go die in the woods, be my guest but there’s no way I’m following you out there.”

He heard a huff and determined footsteps in the opposite direction.

“Granger? Granger! I wasn’t actually serious, I’m not leaving a muggle-born alone while a monster’s targeting them in the castle. Come back here. Granger! Circe, for all of her brains, she is an idiot.”

An hour later, they were back out of the forest.

“I—” Granger gulped. “I understand why Ron’s scared of spiders now.”

Blaise cast a spell to vanish the dust off his clothes and readjusted his tie before throwing the girl a venomous look.

“I hate you.”

When they returned to the castle pointedly not looking at each other, there was a commotion in the corridors. Blaise spotted Theo, Tracey, and Daphne, though there was no trace of Harry and Longbottom. He and his Gryffindor tag-along sidled up to his court.

“What is happening?” he asked Daphne.

“The two Weasleys never made it to Dumbledore’s office. Instead, we found this.” She pointed at the wall, where ‘their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever’ was written in blood.

“It must have been Ginny,” murmured Granger, looking horrified. “She’s been feeling peaky all year, we thought she was just stressed because of the attack. I can’t believe we didn’t notice sooner. Oh, Ron!”

She started sobbing.

“Where’s Harry?”

“Longbottom said something about pipes and took off,” said Tracey. “Harry went after him.”

“Pipes,” repeated Granger, wiping her cheeks. Her eyes widened. “Myrtle’s bathroom. The first attack was there and the floor was flooded! That’s how Mrs. Norris was petrified. The entrance has to be there!”

“Don’t even think about going there Granger,” hissed Blaise. “Weren’t the spiders enough?”

Granger scowled.

“Let’s tell a teacher,” said Theo, “before they ask us to go back to our dorms.”

They barely had the time to tell professor Flitwick before Harry came back with Lockhart on a conjured stretcher. His eyes looked a little wild, and sparks were running along his shoulders. His eyes were terrifyingly blank like he had been Occluding too hard. Still, Blaise sighed in relief at seeing his best friend in one piece.

“Mister Potter,” exclaimed Professor McGonagall. “What happened?”

“This idiot,” spat Harry while pointing at Lockhart's unconscious form, “tried to obliviate me. Nev’ asked him of all people to accompany him to the Chamber and I tried to dissuade him— it doesn’t matter. Here’s his wand if you don’t believe me.” He handed the wand to their transfiguration professor and continued while she cast the Priori Incantatem. Sure enough, the last spell was a memory charm. “I had to put him under a sleeping spell to stop him from attacking us. The entrance to the Chamber collapsed because of his botched spell and Nev’s stuck on the other side,” he added, looking at Professor Snape. The Head of Slytherin House nodded sharply and took off, Flitwick at his heels. “I came to get help.”

“You did well, mister Potter,” said the Head of Gryffindor. “Pomona, would you bring him to the infirmary? I’ll owl our Headmaster. And the Aurors,” she mumbled, looking at Lockhart in disgust. Louder, she added. “Everyone else, go back to bed.”

Blaise and the others got very little sleep that night.

The next day, Harry met them in the Great Hall. His best friend looked as exhausted as Blaise felt.

“Neville got to the infirmary a few hours after me,” he told them while sitting down for breakfast. “Professors Flitwick and Snape got there too late. Nev’ killed the basilisk and used its fang to destroy the diary. He couldn’t wake Ginny and Ron, though, so professor Snape had to do it.” He paused, his gaze turning haunted. “The basilisk bit him.” Before they could react with the appropriate horror, he held up a hand. “Dumbledore has a phoenix, their tears heal anything physical. Nev’s fine. Ginny, though… her magic was corrupted. The diary dug too deep into her core.”

“Is she going to be okay?” asked Tracey, a piece of toast in hand.

Harry shook his head.

“They’re transferring her to St Mungo’s. They have better treatments there for this kind of damage. She should be back in about a month.”

“What about Lockhart?”

This time he smirked.

“He was dragged out by Aurors this morning. I think we’ll be reading about his predilection for memory charms in the paper.”

“And the other Weasley?”

“He was just stunned and got a concussion. He’s okay.” Harry paused. “He did say something interesting when he woke up.”

He stared at Malfoy then, who was looking a little nervous.

“Malfoy saw them before Ginny attacked him. Ron can’t prove it but he thinks he knew.”

Blaise drew a sharp intake of breath. He could tell their friends were just as shocked. It was one thing to know Malfoy was a bully and bigot, and another to realise he was perfectly happy to let Voldemort roam the castle. They should have known, really. The Malfoy heir was horrid to muggle-borns.

They exchanged glances between each other, then looked at the sixth and first years on either side of them. Their group had managed until now by distancing themselves from the rest of Slytherin, but it was clear that this matter went beyond a simple question of having freedom in the common room.

Malfoy felt comfortable harming those he felt were inferior to him. They had to remind him it wasn’t blood or status that made people great.

***

They started in other Houses. A word to Padma, and they had Parvati and Lavender’s cooperation. Parkinson and Perks prided themselves in their talent for weaponising gossip but those two had nothing on the range of the Gryffindors. They began by rehashing old discussions about Malfoy’s bribe to get into the quidditch team, his liberal uses of slurs, and the reminder of how gleeful he had been when the Chamber had been opened. Rumours about how exactly Lucius Malfoy lost his position on the board of Governors went next, this time fuelled by adults’ gossiping circles. Neville inadvertently added fuel to the fire by telling Hannah and Susan how he had ended up freeing the Malfoys’ house elf and hiring him as a land elf, which offered him both credit among the Progressives and Traditionalists but also had the Purists frowning in disapproval.

Cedric Diggory was next, remarking upon how, for all of their bragging about wealth, it had never occurred to the Malfoys to donate to the fundraiser.

“Perhaps buying all of those Nimbuses 2001 wasn’t wise,” he mused to an assorted group of quidditch team players invited by Harry for a friendly game.

More and more rumours came out until Malfoy received an innocuous letter from home that had him blanching. He was later heard whispering to Flint that they needed to regain control of the situation because Minister Fudge was eyeing his father suspiciously since his friendship with the man had the voters worried.

The next day, an article about Gilderoy Lockhart’s multiple frauds came out and even Rita Skeeter couldn’t resist throwing a snarky line about the former governor Malfoy’s initial endorsement of the former DADA professor who would spend thirty years in Azkaban.

Next, they started talking to their Housemates. They never set foot in the common room, of course, but first years could be seen approaching the students members of the Greengrass and Longbottom Alliances and leaving them notes that burst into flames if they were grabbed by anyone but their intended recipient. Rowle’s Argentum court could tell there was a plan in motion, but they couldn’t tell what it was.

Then Malfoy won the quidditch match against Ravenclaw. When he came back to celebrate, he and his team were confronted with a half-empty common room, a glacial dungeon and no preparation made. The Avery siblings who were in charge of social events were nowhere to be seen. They later found out that the Weasley twins had targetted them and their helpers with a particularly inventive prank that left them stuck feet first to the ceiling of an abandoned corridor for hours on end until Penelope Clearwater thought to look up and saw them. It took another hour to get them down.

(The twins were later told about what exactly happened to Ginny, and Malfoy found himself the target of a few delightful pranks as well. One of them had him waking up tied to his bed with a dozen screeching mandrake plushies in another part of the castle. Adrian might or might not have assisted them. In any case, no one could prove it.)

Flint retaliated by getting professor Snape’s permission to summon Harry when the duellists were in need of a healer. The boy showed up without fail and did as he was asked. But before they could do anything to him, he disappeared without a trace. If they tried to torment him before he healed the quarreling students, he blew into a whistle connected to another —courtesy of the Weasley twins— and one of his court soon arrived accompanied by a looming professor Snape, whose free time had been significantly augmented by the lack of basilisk roaming the corridors. The man didn't appreciate being disturbed anyway. Flint only tried it once, instead redoubling his efforts to catch Harry before he managed to vanish. The Potters' invisibility cloak sure came in handy.

Rowle court’s second attempt at fighting back consisted in targeting the white-trimmed robed students in the corridors but the other Houses watched them like hawks, encouraged by public figures like Cedric Diggory, Zaida Sayyid, Roger Davies, and Neville Longbottom who, while not privy to the intricate politics of Slytherin, understood all too well that something was going on that was the direct result of Gemma Fawley’s petrification. Even the most vehement Slytherin detractors like Cormac McLaggen made an exception for Harry’s group, unwilling to be seen averting their eyes while those who protested their House’s bigotry were attacked.

Aditya Sandhu and Tristan Harper still ended up at the infirmary, but the suspension the Avery boy was threatened with as a result made it a lot less worth it. (Being caught by the Auror who had been hired as a temporary replacement to Gilderoy Lockhart certainly didn’t help.)

The only one who hadn’t yet been targeted was Rowle, but the Argentum Rex knew it was only a matter of time. Safaa and her friends had taken to staring at him contemplatively in the corridors, and he was constantly terrified of what she would do in revenge.

This silent warfare went on until halfway through March when the Argentum court was offered a modicum of respite because of the unprecedented argument between Harry Potter and his best friend Blaise Zabini.

Chapter Text

Blaise should have expected this.

He should have known really, but it still blindsided him.

It came up when Shane Williamson, the fourth-year muggle-born who had followed them to protect himself from Malfoy’s rule asked a question they should have broached a long time ago during their latest brainstorming session. They were in their secret dormitory for the second half of Wednesday’s afternoon, done with classes for the day. It was rare that their schedules coincided so well and they made good use of it. They had been arguing about starting to target Spencer Rowle and destabilise the Argentum court’s rule further, but the different age groups had different ideas about how it should be done.

Elise and Shane, as the more vulnerable of their group, advocated for a more prudent approach while the sixth-years wanted blood, Safaa especially. Harry had given him a broad explanation when Blaise had asked why the girl who had volunteered herself to be his designated upperclassman was so angry, and the Italian prince understood her desire for revenge. The Zabinis were notoriously vindictive after all. The first years didn’t have any personal stake in this and mostly wanted to go back to normal as soon as possible. They had been truly spoiled by Gemma and Terence’s rule. Theo and Harry were quietly listening to everyone’s opinions, and Tracey and Daphne were backing Aspen with his suggestion to engineer a situation that would force professor Snape to invoke the Rex Ex Machina clause.

“What’s the end goal?” had asked Shane, worrying his lip between his teeth.

They had all paused to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Are we trying to get the throne back or make sure Malfoy’s clique doesn’t have it? If it’s the former, who’s going to take it? Only Terence is a good enough duellist to fight Rowle and the rules won’t let him sit on the throne again. We could injure Rowle before contesting his claim but then what? A month later, Flint will curse our new rex just before another duel and it’ll be the same. How do we protect ourselves from them? Because Snape is not gonna protect us.”

“That’s a good point.” They all turned to Felix who had spoken up. “I don’t want to spend all my time scared that something like this is going to happen again. We need to make sure whatever we choose is a long-term solution.”

“I wonder why the Argentum court is set up this way,” mused Harry. He and Blaise were sitting at the front of Theo’s bed while the latter was behind them, leaning on the wall. “It's such a violent system, far from the subtletly we would expect from Slytherins. And it doesn’t allow for any type of stability. The rex has too much power on the students too, I don’t understand why anyone would think it was a good idea.”

“Actually, I’ve been reading about the history of it,” intervened Terence with a light in his eye Blaise hadn’t seen since Gemma’s petrification. He was glad to know their older friend was still capable to get passionate about History. It would have been even more concerning if he wasn’t. “It wasn’t always like this. The Argentum system changed over the years. At the time of Hogwarts’ construction, the Heir of Salazar Slytherin automatically took the seat if they were attending. If no one shared the blood of the founder, the Head of House appointed one among the scions of Ancient and Noble Houses. It was Mortimer Gaunt who changed this in the fourteenth century. He created the duelling room and linked the throne’s magic to it. But even then, contesting the rex’s claim wasn’t done lightly. You had to have a grievance bad enough to justify it, and the throne would weigh in to decide impartially if the duel would take place.”

“What happened?” asked Tracey. “He had to have a reason to do this since the current system benefitted his family.”

Terence nodded with an approving smile.

“He did. He actually wasn’t the Heir at the time, his elder cousin Malachi was. He duelled and killed him for raping his younger sister before putting her on the throne. He changed the rules as her lieutenant to make sure any Slytherin in a similar situation would be in a position to demand justice in the future.”

“That’s so interesting,” breathed out Aditya, the little first year’s eyes wide with awe. It seemed they had another History passionate in their group. Blaise looked at Harry, who had been planning with Gemma to exorcise professor Binns so Terence could take his place after his Mastery. His best friend was probably thinking about it now, judging by the wistful expression on his face. “How did it end up this way then? If the position was reserved to nobles and couldn’t be contested willy-nilly.”

“The Gaunts started going mad,” explained Aspen who was sitting in Adrian’s bed, the latter sprawled out on his stomach at his side. “Some say it’s because of the inbreeding but most pureblood families have ways to counter the worst of it. Their deterioration happened very quickly so I personally think it was a bloodline curse, but it’s not confirmed. When was it again?” he asked Terence.

“In the eighteenth century, during the ascension of Ramsey Lestrange, the Dark Lord who precipitated the end of the Lordly Council and whose end pushed the creation of the Wizengamot in its place. There were a lot more Gaunts at the time, and a few of them were involved in that civil war, it’s absolutely possible that one of them was cursed.”

“A Blood Mania Curse, probably,” mumbled Aspen, causing a few of the Light first years to side-eye him. Blaise smirked. Their upperclassman’s interest in Dark magic could be unsettling, but he personally thought it was pretty amazing.

Aspen wasn’t a good duellist because his reflexes weren’t fast enough, but his curse repertoire was extensive and frankly impressive. He had taught Blaise and Theo a lot of interesting things to prepare them into being the Dark lieutenants of a healer king. It was unclear what the boy wanted to do after Hogwarts — so far they knew Terence would pursue History of Magic and Muggle History as a double Mastery, Adrian wanted to become a Maginist, Safaa was owling Potions masters to secure an apprenticeship and Gemma would balance her duties as a Lady and her study of wards with her great-uncle— but he already probably knew enough Dark spells to give a Durmstrang academic pause.

“Right. It’s also during that period we lost the instructions for the throne’s magic. It’s unclear what happened but I’m guessing they added and removed a lot of rules. It’s impossible to tell which.”

“Is that why you didn’t use it during your rule?” asked Blaise.

The sixth-years nodded.

“We didn’t think it was worth the risk. The Gaunts were mental, what if some of them had linked their orders to blood status?”

They all conceded the point. As the discussion continued, Harry leaned towards him and murmured. Blaise took his attention away from the conversation to focus on his best friend.

“Tom Riddle was the last Gaunt to sit in that chair. He probably added his own rules without even telling his lieutenants. You were saying Nev’ doesn’t help me enough, right? I think—”

“How are you preparing to be the next rex, Harry?” interrupted Mafalda. Blaise stared at her in shock, jarred by the change of conversation.

Harry blinked.

“What? No, it’ll be Blaise.”

“What?”

Blaise exchanged looks with Tracey and Daphne who were on the bed facing Theo’s. The blonde girl —whose hair was currently midnight blue— was the first to crack. Her lips twitched up and soon she was chuckling.

“Oh my.” Tracey shook her head. “No one wins the bet then?”

“I said midway through second year,” protested Blaise, ignoring the bemused looks the others were throwing them.

“But that was contingent on him figuring it out himself,” remarked Theo. “Besides, we’re halfway through March.”

Blaise sighed dramatically.

“Fine. No one wins.”

“What are you talking about?”

The question had come from Harry, and it wasn’t said in a light tone. The Potter heir’s voice sounded oddly monotone, and his expression was blank. Blaise replied carefully, his eyes staring into his best friend’s.

“We betted on how long it would take you to notice we’d chosen you as our leader.”

“You chose me,” he repeated slowly.

As he did so, Blaise realised his mistake. He made it sound like they’d decided to be his friends to put him on the throne. He had known Harry hadn’t realised the implications of Theo, Tracey and Daphne choosing to follow him at the beginning of first year —long before they became friends— but he hadn’t thought about the consequences of that.

“What made you decide I would be the next rex? And what made you think I even wanted to?”

Harry slid off the bed and stood up a few steps away from it. He positioned himself so his back wouldn’t be facing Theo, at the perfect angle to face the four of them. Blaise saw Terence straighten up, looking concerned. The others watched, careful not to intervene.

“You’re the best Slytherin in our year, and you’re from a prestigious Grey House that fits the politics of both the traditionalist and progressive factions,” said Daphne flatly. “Of course, it would be you.”

“Why not you?”

The Greengrass heiress scoffed.

“My strengths lie elsewhere.” Daphne wasn’t a duellist either, and she had no interest in politics. She had confided in Blaise and Tracey before that she had had a few arguments with her Lady Mother about choosing someone else to head the Greengrass Alliance. But the traditionalists weren’t in the habit of changing their leaders frequently as the progressives did so Daphne had to bear it. It explained why she had been so eager to follow after Harry. “You’ve been leading us without even realising it all this time, Harry. It’s always been a matter of when you would figure it out.”

Sensing the discussion was growing heated, the sixth-years shuffled the others out of the door

“And what about what I want? Does it matter at all?” He turned to Blaise then, his eyes narrowed. “You’re the one interested in politics. I was prepared to put you on that throne because it looked like something you wanted.”

“It seems you have misunderstood something pretty fundamental about me. As your best friend, I don’t know how to feel about this.” Blaise paused. “My mother and I, we’re kingmakers, Harry, not rulers.” His best friend’s eyes widened at the reference to their conversation from so long ago. “I always knew I would make someone king. I didn’t plan for it to be you, it wasn’t your goal after all, but you chose this path because you don’t just want to heal people. You want to guide them. You always take the lead when things are happening, it comes naturally to you.”

Blaise could tell everyone was thinking about the Slytherin walk-out or Harry and Malfoy’s confrontation. But what was on his mind was the moment after Terence’s duel against Langley, where Harry had knelt in front of his cousin and her boyfriend to support their reign. He still remembered the pulse of magic in that room, and the overwhelming thought he’d had that his friend wasn’t meant to kneel. Slytherins valued power, as callous as it sounded. Harry, who carried this quiet strength but didn’t realise the magnitude of it, probably couldn’t fathom why they were so intent on seeing him rule. He’d grown up powerless and had been taught his magic must be kept hidden. He and Harry’s other loved ones had worked hard to prove to him the Dursleys were wrong, but they had clearly not worked hard enough.

Though he probably guessed what he was referencing, Blaise’s words didn’t appease Harry in the slightest.

“And you knew that when you approached me last year? Or did you think my House’s name was just enough for you not to be forced to suck up to Malfoy?” He looked at Tracey, Daphne and Theo in particular then.

“We didn’t have to,” Tracey said sharply. “I might have if I was on my own, but Daphne’s influence is strong enough to counter Malfoy’s. We could have stayed neutral, Theo too.”

“Houses Nott and Greengrass might not be as rich as the Malfoys or the Potters but we’re Ancient and Noble enough for it not to matter. We didn’t need you. But you were shaping up to be a good leader so we put our trust in you. What’s wrong with that?”

“The fact that you didn’t talk to me about it!”

“What did you think was happening?”

“United we stand,” said Theo quietly. “You thought we wanted to look less vulnerable. And in a way that’s true, but we chose to follow you specifically before we were even friends because you had the qualities of a good leader. It was a mistake to wait for you to figure it out, though. I’m sorry for that.” He paused. “Now I think you and Blaise need to talk.”

Daphne looked like she was about to protest but Theo sent her a meaningful look. She sighed and took Tracey’s hand, leaving the dorm with a last glance at Blaise. The Italian prince braced himself.

“Why are you angrier at me than you are at Daphne, Tracey and Theo?”

Harry frowned up at him.

“Because it’s obvious they followed your lead.”

“How so?”

The Potter heir ran a hand down his face.

“Don’t play dumb. I’m not in Slytherin because of my cunning. I learnt that from you. I’m ambitious and a survivor, that’s what earned me a seat at the table. You, though. You chose to sit down next to me on the day of the Sorting. Malfoy had saved you a seat, and there was another empty one next to Daphne and Tracey. I didn’t think about it at the time but it was deliberate, wasn’t it?”

Blaise didn’t bother to deny it.

“It was. But it wasn’t political. I was curious about you, like anyone else. It was a risk, you know? If you’d chased me off I would have lost the favour of the Malfoy heir and started the year badly because of it. I barely knew anyone because my mother had been married to a man no one would allow near their children. Still, I wanted to get to know the boy Malfoy was so offended by because everything he said about you showed me that you were honest. It had nothing to do with your title.”

Blaise grimaced. He and Harry had talked about how much he hated Mezzogiorno’s court, the fake sycophants agreeing with everything he said in hopes of securing an in into the royal family, the constant hypocrisy and lies. Even his mother was a professional liar. Sue him for wanting to meet someone who would scorn him to his face if he did something to deserve it.

Harry softened at the admission, but his shoulders were still tense.

“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t include me in your little plan to put a crown on my head. And made a bet about it.”

“We made a bet because it was harmless fun. We expected you to realise it, have a good laugh about it and that’s it.”

His friend snorted, crossing his arms with a judgemental glare like he couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. But Blaise knew the truth. If Mafalda hadn’t said it the way she did, there would have been no issue.

He continued speaking before Harry could interrupt.

“But let’s be honest. You would have said no. You would have said no but we would still have deferred to you because we trust your decisions and you would have second-guessed everything you said to us or on behalf of our group, and we’d have no leader at all because no one but you is suited for it. You would have said no and you’d have acted as our leader anyway and I’d have ended up snapping at you because you wouldn’t take responsibility for what you’re doing anyway. It was easier to let you do your thing and follow until you figure it out because you’re stubborn and you accept ideas better if you come up with them.”

Harry sneered. “You know me so well.”

“I do.”

Blaise was saying this with too much arrogance not to be grating, he knew, but in this he was confident. If there was one thing he knew, it was people. Especially Harry.

His friend looked indignant, but something in Blaise’s expression made him falter.

“I know you. You’re my best friend. I don’t know everything about you and your past because you talk so little about it but I know it’s affected you in ways that make you want to hide but that’s not what you are. You’re always stepping forward. In front of a bloody bludger, in front of the people of our House.”

The Italian prince closed his eyes briefly, measuring his words.

“I do better half a step behind you, talking to people and making things smoother. I step up as your second if it’s needed, and I stop you from doing stupid things like bypassing a three-headed dog to run after your idiot of a godbrother. Theo does better in your shadows, watching and providing insight we don’t always think about. Daphne and Tracey like to be on the side, giving you advice and making sure you always have support. We considered you our leader but it doesn’t mean we’re going to leave all the weight on your shoulders. It doesn’t mean we think we’re not your equals, it means we trust you to represent us. Why are you so against it?”

“I don’t— I’m not. You want me to be a leader but you don’t trust me enough to tell me that’s what you want from me. You act like you have to work around me to get the outcome you’re looking for and you’re expecting me to not feel betrayed? It’s not about the bloody throne!”

As he said this, Harry uncrossed his arms in a wild gesture and a spark of magic sizzled through the air. The smell of ozone and petrichor filled the room, the sting of lightning running down Blaise’s arms. He winced at the sensation. Harry flinched like he’d been burnt. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

“Wait, Harry, you didn’t hurt me, don’t—”

He grabbed at his best friend’s shoulder. The magic bit at his fingers but he ignored it. Harry was tense but he stopped moving.

“You didn’t hurt me, promise, it just surprised me,” he rushed out. “Listen, let’s sit, yeah?”

They sat down on Adrian’s bed, the closest to the door. Harry’s breath was laboured and his hands twitched minutely in his effort to reign in his magic. Blaise waited with him, careful not to touch him more than he already was.

“I’m sorry. No matter what I thought about the way you’d react, it wasn’t fair to you. You should be able to choose if you want to lead us. I didn’t want to betray your trust. I’m just… I’m better at talking about useless things than serious stuff.”

“I need to know the rules,” whispered Harry.

***

“What?” asked Blaise, startled.

Harry took a deep breath.

“I need to know what the rules are. I thought I knew them but apparently, I didn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Dursleys,” he clenched his jaw then, but ploughed on, “it took me a while to know all of their rules but they never changed them. Don’t let everyone know you’re a freak. Don’t ask for anything. Do your chores then go back to your cupboard. Make sure you’re neither seen nor heard. Don’t be a bother. Don’t talk back. Don’t do better than Dudley. Don’t expect anyone to care. And so on and so forth.” He paused. “I asked Ulrich to give me rules too when I came to live with him.”

There hadn’t been many. Ulrich had looked sad when he’d asked, but he’d understood Harry needed them. During the first days, Harry always recited them to himself before going to bed.

Clean up after yourself.

Be polite.

Curfew at nine-thirty.

Set the table and do the dishes.

Don’t leave the house without Ulrich.

Don’t invite people without telling Ulrich.

Ask if you need anything.

Remember Ulrich is here to help.

Don’t forget you are cared for.

The last three had been hard to understand and even more to say to himself but he’d done it dutifully, and with Healer Merrythought’s help, he could believe it most days. Ulrich cared, as crazy as it sounded for the version of Harry who still felt safer inside his cupboard than out in the whole wide world.

“Ulrich told me people didn’t ask for rules when they met and that they generally had to figure it out, but I still asked Gemma what the rules were for having friends. She said there weren’t many. That we needed to be kind, respectful and have trust in each other. That we had to forgive each other when the other apologised because we’re human and make mistakes.”

Blaise made a sound of understanding, surely thinking back to all the times they’d discussed Harry’s relationship with Neville and his willingness to forgive him.

“What are the rules for a friend who’s also a leader? Does a leader also forgive when you apologise?” he asked harshly. “Because that hasn’t been my experience with authority. So tell me, Blaise. Is being your leader different from being your best friend?”

“Terence was the Argentum Rex,” protested the Italian prince, “that didn’t seem to disturb you.”

“He didn’t want to. They had no hierarchy before Terence was forced to duel Langley, and they all put in the same amount of work. The way I see it, the only reason he was Rex is that he was good at duelling. That’s what I thought we’d be. I’m not better at duelling than you, there’s no reason for me to take the lead. But apparently I was wrong, so tell me. Am I supposed to treat you differently as a leader than I did as your friend?”

Blaise withdrew his hand from his shoulder.

“Is that what’s bothering you? You don’t want power over us?” He looked into Harry’s eyes then, his brows furrowed and his golden eyes intense. “You think being a leader is going to make you like the Dursleys?”

Harry flinched.

“That’s rubbish. You already have power, Harry. Look.” He pointed at the magic coiling between Harry’s fingers. The Potter heir watched it dance at his fingertips, mesmerised. “You have plenty of it but you’ve never used it to hurt anyone. That’s who you are. Why would a crown change that?”

“I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Don’t be angry at me because I see you more kindly than you do. We chose you because you have power but you use it to be kind. We’re self-serving assholes and since you’ve been Sorted in the same House as us, we expected you to be the same but you’re not. We should have said that to you earlier, yes, but don’t doubt that we care about you. The rules don't change, Harry. They don't.”

He sighed, defeated. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, exhausted.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

“You forgive me?”

Harry chuckled and bumped his shoulder against his best friend’s. Blaise relaxed, offering him a relieved smile.

“I do. But I’ve said it to Nev’, I’ll say it to you and to the others too. Don’t make plans without me.”

“Promise. And Harry?”

“Hm?”

“You’d make a good king. But if you don’t want to do it, we won’t force you.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“Let me think about it, yeah?”

“Sure. But you know, even if you aren’t our Argentum Rex, you’ll still be our leader.”

“I’m starting to understand that.” He paused. “You know, this is our first fight.”

“Huh,” said Blaise, eyes widening. “You’re right.”

“And we ended up making everyone leave the dormitory because of it. We better apologise for that. But I was just thinking, we could use this.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

Harry smirked.

***

“Are you sure they’ll be okay?”

Neville turned around to see Nott, Greengrass and Davies walking down the corridor. He was alone this time, having planned to join Ron and Hermione at the library later. He’d been down to the greenhouses to check on the mandrakes who still had another month and a half to mature. His two friends were currently fighting about Hermione refusing to help Ron write a particularly difficult potion essay which Neville had already done with Harry while his friend hung out with the other two boys in their dorm. While Ron was his best friend, Neville had to admit the boy might have been better suited to Dean and Seamus who had more similar interests.

Still, friendship wasn’t always about common interests. It was something one had to work for to maintain, even when it came easy.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t stay,” grouched Daphne.

“Harry was about to snap,” said Nott quietly. “He was already overwhelmed, us four ganging up on him wouldn’t have helped. We can talk again as a group later but for now it’s better to let Blaise take care of it.”

“Is Harry okay?” Neville couldn’t help but ask.

“Ah, Longbottom,” said Davies. “He’s fine. We just had a fight.”

Neville raised his eyebrows. Harry rarely fought with people.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Right.”

If his tone sounded dubious, they didn’t mention it. Neville said his goodbyes and met his friends at the library. Susan and Hannah were there too, so they sat down at their table, his two childhood friends telling them about the newest rumour on Malfoy’s group.

“It’s Flint this time,” said Hannah excitedly. “Apparently, he was trying to get Morgan Avery to date him and offered her this huge family jewel that’s been in the Flint family for centuries, which is hilarious because everyone knows she’s a lesbian. Apparently, it had to do with their weird House politics but still, you couldn’t pay me to pretend to court someone who everyone knows would never be into me. That’s so embarrassing. Avery rejected him so fast too.”

“Gossiping is wrong, you know it’s really—,” started Hermione before blinking. “Wait, she’s what?”

And that was how they ended up explaining to Hermione the wixenkind’s stance on relationships between people of the same gender. Neville idly wondered if Harry knew, then he remembered that he’d probably met Daphne Greengrass’ mothers.

“Cauldron babies?” shrieked Hermione. “How does that even work?”

Neville chuckled and pointed her towards the section of the library talking about conception potions. It was probably going to be the first and last time he would ever show her a library aisle she didn’t know.

Later, they walked to the great hall together to have dinner.

“I wish we could eat together,” sighed Susan.

“Why can’t you?” asked Ron.

“Well, aren’t we supposed to eat with our Houses?”

“According to Hogwarts, A History that’s only mandatory during school feasts. Come sit with us!”

They ate together animatedly and Neville was happy his friends got along. He glanced at the Slytherin table and noticed he wasn’t the only one doing so. Upon looking at it, two things were immediately obvious. Malfoy and his clique looked gleeful, and Harry and Blaise were carefully not looking at each other. In fact, the entire group was completely quiet. Neville frowned.

He hoped his godbrother was okay.

***

“The extinction of the Pendragon line and the end of the Golden Age of the kingdom of Albion are events that have been long shrouded in mystery. It is strongly believed that Mordred is the one who cast the fatal blow on his father and ended the royal line. The prophecy announcing that a child born in May would cause the end of Arthur Pendragon was never found, though it is said to have prompted the last king of Magical Britain to order the execution of children all around the continent to avoid that fate, his own son among them. He was rescued and raised by Morgana Le Fay, his half-sister and a powerful Dark witch.”

“Not a Dark Lady?” asked Harry, taking notes.

Roman shook his head.

“It is a common misconception borne from a later twisting of the events by muggles who believed the events to be fictional. Dark Lordship is a title conferred to a Dark Wixen who commits acts of terrorism and attempts to take over a sovereign territory. To be declared a Dark Liege, one has to mark its followers with a slave brand and declare oneself publicly against the government. As it is, Grey and Light Lordships are lesser-known terms that also exist to designate dissidents with such magical affinities —though I believe the Ministry of Magic has an unfortunate tendency to conflate the terms and use the word Dark Lord quite liberally. Morgana Le Fay was the queen of the Island of Avalon and never claimed any followers who weren’t already hers by right, though she did declare war against Arthur.”

“Is Mordred considered the Dark Lord then?”

This time, it was Terence who shook his head. The prefect loved Roman Potter’s lessons and had borrowed his and Lillian’s portrait more than once to Harry’s amusement.

“Mordred Pendragon was a squib, actually.”

“Huh.”

“Indeed,” confirmed Roman. “Muggle sources would have him be born of incest between Arthur and Morgana, but that does not hold true for the account wixen have of the past. Arthur conceived him with a servant woman in retaliation for his wife’s adultery. Morgana hid the pregnant girl upon learning of Arthur’s decree and—”

Harry wondered why Arthur and Merlin were so revered in Magical Britain. It seemed to him like all the historical figures of the time were rotten people in their own right. Merlin protected muggles but abhorred anything to do with Dark magic, Arthur was a good and fair ruler but he ordered his son and countless other babies killed to keep his throne, Morgana waged war with Lady Vivian and murdered a number of the fae folk and the aforementioned Lady enslaved Merlin to her so he would be with her forever. She did it with a Light spell too.

“Why was Merlin immortal?”

“He was a cambion, born from a Greater Demon and thus blessed with longevity. He hated his father with the passion of a thousand suns though, which explains his distaste for Dark magic. He is the only known wizard to have managed to change his core affinity from Dark to Light. Now let us speak of the transition between the Round Table and the Lordly Council of Albion.”

What followed was a fascinating lesson on mediaeval wixen history, after which Harry promised Terence to let him keep the portrait to ask questions to Roman about the destruction of Camelot and the disappearance of Arthur’s four lost relics.

“I really wish professor Binns taught as well as he does,” grumbled Terence as they left the dormitory to go visit Gemma at the infirmary.

“You and me both. And everyone in the castle,” said Harry with a sigh.

The prefect chuckled. They made small talk as they walked up the stairs and Harry stared wistfully at a window with a view of Hogwarts’ grounds, where his friends were spending time away from him. He knew the distance was necessary, but it was still disappointing. At least he had the sixth-years, the Weasley twins and Neville, he consoled himself. His godbrother hadn’t been impressed when Harry had explained why he was pretending to be on the outs with Blaise and giving the impression that Daphne, Theo and Tracey were taking the Italian prince’s side. Harry had to tell him everything about the Argentum court system —though he made him promise to keep it to himself— and Neville had been horrified by his retelling of Terence and Rowle’s duel.

Still, he had readily agreed to help when Harry had told him what his idea to redress the situation was. They would be breaking a ton of rules but if Harry’s idea worked, it would be more than worth it. Slytherin would hopefully no longer be a constant battlefield. Harry understood the appeal of a good duel to settle issues —he still dreamt of Malfoy’s month of silence in first-year—but what happened between Terence and Safaa’s ex-boyfriend was something he didn’t want to see again. That, and there had been so many more duels during Rowle’s reign that he’d had to be present for in order to heal the participants; while it was good practice, it infuriated him to see how silly the justifications for some of them were. Malfoy and Flint accepted just about any reason to duel without thought, using them as entertainment. It was ridiculous, and harder to bear without his friends’ public support.

It was still tense between Harry and the others. The discussion with Blaise had helped but they hadn’t found the time to talk about it as a group. It was both a relief and a curse; it gave Harry more time to decide on what he wanted to do about the Argentum rex situation, but it also made him unbelievably anxious.

Guessing his thoughts, Terence sent him a sympathetic smile.

“How long is your little scheme supposed to last?”

Harry sighed.

“Long enough for Malfoy to take the bait.”

His cousin’s boyfriend snorted.

“That’s not going to take long.”

“You think?”

“Mhm. If there’s one thing Malfoy loves, it’s stirring up trouble.”

Chapter Text

“Ah, Severus. Take a seat, take a seat. Would you care for a lemon drop?”

Severus grunted a polite refusal, taking his place in front of the headmaster. The man started inquiring after his classes and his plans for the end-of-year exams. The potions master ground his teeth.

“You know I do not care for pointless small talk, Albus. Why have you summoned me?”

Albus only offered him a genial smile before folding his hands together on the table.

“Patience is a virtue for those who teach, old friend.” Severus bristled. “You are not sleeping well,” observed the man. “I thought that the end of this year’s affair with the basilisk would allow you a few more hours of rest.”

Severus sneered.

“I’ve had to contend with Lucius’ whining about the loss of his slave and his place on the Board of Governors, as well as his increasing complaints about the rumours about his House going around the school. Speaking of this, has the replacement already been decided?”

Lucius had been forced to use ungodly amounts of money to convince a majority vote to depose the headmaster after Gemma Fawley’s petrification. He had known he would be unable to sway Augusta Longbottom and Griselda Marchbanks’ camp, but the substantial amount of traditionalists could be convinced with the right bribe. They had no love lost for Albus, after all.

It was somewhat ironic that within Hogwarts’ administration, the progressives were the most resistant to any type of change while the Greengrass camp advocated for the refurbishing of everything and anything. The Wizengamot sessions tended to go the opposite way, after all.

“There are several candidates being currently considered. We will put it to vote at the end of May.”

“Who are those candidates?”

“Tiberius put forward two names: Alma Sinclair and Bertram Nott.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. He knew the Greengrass Alliance had accepted the former Purist with open arms, but he didn’t expect them to trust him with such a position so early. He also knew that Tiberius Ogden had no love lost for Dark wixen; it was painfully obvious that the suggestion hadn’t come from him.

“The Purists will not accept it. Lord Parkinson especially. And the progressives will be wary of him.”

Albus hummed.

“I believe they are aware of that. They are simply making a statement of trust. If by chance he ends up voted in, maybe I will have the opportunity to ask him about his reasoning.”

Severus contained a grimace. He wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole. As long as Bertram Nott’s reasons for deserting were obscure to him, the Dark Lord could not pry them out of his mind. He always had an unhealthy obsession with his old schoolmates.

Of the original Knights of Walpurgis, only two remained beyond the Lord of House Nott. Scylla Carrow and Anton Avery knew better than to stray from the path their master had laid out for them. Scylla was currently on the continent, leading her children Amycus and Alecto in their search of the Dark Lord and designing ways to bring him back while she left her nephew in charge of maintaining their House’s standing. Severus had no idea what the Avery elder was doing in the meantime, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know. That man was madder than a bag of cats, and considering the general mental state among Death Eaters, that was saying something.

“Who else?” he asked, stirring his thoughts and the conversation back to the candidacy to the Board of Governors.

“Ulrich Fawley. The suggestion was made by Esmaeel Shafiq. I’m surprised someone convinced Ulrich of such a thing, but the man has a child in his care now, I suppose it changed his perspective. Amos Diggory and Ernie Macmillan’s mother —Mathilda, I believe her name was— were submitted by Lady Marchbanks. Lord Parkinson pushed forward a Yaxley and a Wilkes. I believe you know which ones.”

Severus hummed. He was a little surprised by Amos Diggory’s nomination, it wasn’t often that a non-Noble was invited to sit at the table. The nepotism around these parts was truly astounding.

“You went to school with mister Potter’s guardian?”

“Indeed. He and Garrick are my age, after all. We never quite bonded, I’m afraid. Are you interested in mister Potter's wellbeing again? Considering the situation with the quidditch team at the beginning of the year, I thought you had decided to finally see some of his father in him. Hagrid also told me that the boy learnt of your previous… entanglements.”

The potion master shot his employer an ugly look. Albus didn’t have the decency to look contrite at his unfortunate word choice.

“You asked me to behave like a Death Eater in your school, not like a professor. Do not act surprised at the undesirable outcome.”

Albus frowned. 

“That is not my intention. You did as I asked, Severus, and I commend you for that. I was simply asking for your thoughts on the matter. Last year—”

“Last year there was no proof of the Dark Lord’s imminent return,” he snapped. “I will admit I… relaxed my guard. It was short-sighted of me to grant him the privilege I gave him. But dark forces are stirring and you and I both know my position will be invaluable in this war. I cannot be found to show favouritism to Lily’s child.”

Sentimentality should not, must not hinder him. Teaching the boy how to heal curses he wouldn’t find in the Hogwarts infirmary under the guise of detentions was one thing, publicly endorsing him as he had done by offering him the seeker position on a silver plate was another. Severus had a role to play, a role he owed to Lily as he was responsible for her and her husband’s current states, the deaths of her friends and the target on her godson’s back.

Harry Potter had no place in that role, no matter how much he wished to give back to the boy he had taken so much from.

The boy would be fine, he told himself. He had friends, and a family, and would soon have more of it —though the thought of that man made him want to gag— as well as a perfectly adequate mentor in Poppy Pomphrey.

Albus hummed, his eyes twinkling. Severus sharpened his focus, his Occlumency shields tightening around his mind.

He knew the man wouldn’t skim his mind so brazenly, not for something so minor. But it was good practice and a reminder of who exactly was sitting in front of him.

Tobias Snape had been Severus’ first master, so to speak. Lord Voldemort was definitely the second, one he had chosen willingly and whom he would regret following until the end of his days.

Albus Dumbledore was the third shackle at his feet. The weight of that burden was more familiar to him than any form of kindness.

He missed Lily more fiercely every day.

***

Terence pressed a kiss on his girlfriend’s brow before straightening up. He ignored his friends’ sympathetic smiles as they left the infirmary.

One more month, he told himself.

“Any news from the Carrows?” asked Adrian as they walked back to their dorm.

Harry was playing quidditch with Diggory and his friends were wandering around moping somewhere. The firsties had a big exam and were at the library with students from other Houses —they had followed the second years’ example and mingled, unlike the old sixth years who’d never really cared to step outside of their tight-knit group. They would have the hidden room to themselves for the afternoon, which was really good to decompress.

“Mhm. I gave them the enchanted bag this morning while you were in Arithmancy. They finally told their brother of their plan, the kid is getting ready to leave.”

At Adrian’s suggestion, the twins had secured the cooperation of their house elf in exchange for freeing him from the binding demanding his obedience. It was the first time Terence had witnessed house elf double-speak, and it had been horrifying to hear the creature insist on how much he loved to serve. As a Shacklebolt in spirit if not in name, the very concept of a happy slave who willingly punished himself made his skin crawl. Harry’s suggestion to simply do away with House Burke to get rid of the heinous spell seemed more attractive every day.

The house elf named Clovis could not apparate Achilles Carrow to the goblin bank as space distortion magic sometimes had adverse effects on squibs, unlike the Floo network whose powder served as a binding agent to make the travel more stable. It was also the reason why the bag had to be adapted extensively; it didn’t just need to evade detection magic and give Achilles the space and air he required to stay inside of it for a few hours, it also needed to withstand the travel without the Network registering his presence and affecting him.

Instead, Clovis would use a potion made by Safaa to mimic Achilles’ voice and presence while the twins smuggled their brother out of the House. Terence’s friend had had a lot of fun altering the necessary potion to suit the biology of an elf. She joked about opening a line for other magical beings once she opened her magical cosmetics business after her mastery.

“There’s nothing to do but wait. Did your parents get back to you on the matter of schools he could be sent to?” asked Adrian.

“It depends if he agrees on us fostering him,” said Terence. They reached the hidden passage leading to their dorm as he finished talking.

Aspen snorted.

“He will. He doesn’t have any other choice.”

Terence’s father had been really emotional once he’d heard of the choice Gemma had made to help. If he hadn’t approved of his girlfriend before —and he did, both of his parents loved Gemma and were already saving up for the ring he planned to buy her despite his protests that he wanted to finance it himself—, he certainly loved her now.

“That’s true,” huffed Safaa as they climbed the stairs. “He’s never been out of his home, he doesn’t know anyone and his sisters won’t be able to contact him until their parents stop looking —which might be years from now. Outside of trusting the people who saved him, he can do nothing.”

“You know, he might have company soon,” said Terence grimly.

His friends’ heads whipped around to stare at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Ginny Weasley’s parents had her sent to St Mungo’s after the whole ordeal. I heard from Harry though, they’re not sure she’ll be coming back next year.”

“What happened to her?”

“The cursed diary that possessed her belonged to a Dark Wizard. She has a Light core.”

“It was corrupted,” realised Aspen, closing his eyes. “She won’t be able to do magic with a dual-core. Merlin.”

“It’s not certain yet. She might end up Light-Grey if they manage to merge the Dark parts the asshole left behind. The healers are still trying, but they don’t have high hopes. It’s been bothering the kid a lot,” sighed Terence. “Especially since he’s friends with the Weasley twins. The family’s gutted.”

“I can imagine. Poor girl.”

“Wait, is that why Percy Weasley sent McCarthy to the infirmary?” exclaimed Adrian.

Terence blinked at him. “When did that happen?”

“This morning. The whole school’s been talking about it. McCarthy said some shit about how she was an idiotic bint to pick up a diary that talked back. Weasley blasted him into a wall and told him that his sister was a grooming victim and he’d duel him to death if he insulted her again.”

Safaa made a sound of disgust as she flopped down on her bed. “He deserves it. I didn’t expect that of Weasley though. Good of him.”

“Yeah, he’s always been such a hardass so I was surprised too.”

Terence grimaced at Adrian’s remark. He dealt with Percy a lot as a prefect in the same year and he could definitely attest to that. The man was a stickler for rules and a pedant. He was smart though, right behind Penelope Clearwater in the class rankings. Terence and his friends surpassed them in a few individual subjects respectively, but not in overall academic excellence. The two of them were just consistently good, while the group of Slytherins was the type to focus only on their own interests. For Terence, that was History of Magic and Defence.

“I suppose finding out his little sister was possessed and nobody noticed is as good a wake-up call as any.”

Aspen’s detached comment had the prefect’s grimace deepening. He bent down and opened up his trunk, searching inside of it.

“Yeah. Don’t mention it in front of Harry, though. As I said, he’s really torn up about it. He’s been researching core corruption in some advanced healing books since he found out.”

“You don’t think he’ll try to heal her?”

“Eh,” shrugged Adrian. “He’s Gemma’s cousin and just as stubborn as she is. He might be crazy enough to succeed.”

Terence smirked. He pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and closed the lid of his trunk.

“Let’s drink to that, shall we?”

***

“What do you like about that kid?” Soheil asked curiously, glancing at Harry’s silhouette as the boy walked back to the castle, his broom in hand. “He’s a bit more… quiet than the people we usually hang out with.”

Cedric looked up, his attention taken away from the meticulous checking of the protective gear in his quidditch bag he had been undertaking. The mock games were good practice before Hufflepuff’s match against Slytherin, which would happen right before the Spring holidays. He still had a week to prepare. Their team had been running drills in the early morning that had Tamsin complaining for hours, but facing off against a seeker like Harry was more of a workout than anything he’d managed on his own. Their position on the team was a lonely one, and outside of dodge training, there was little he could practice with the others that wasn’t mandatory warm-ups.

Sometimes he wished there was someone else to take over for him as a seeker. He liked the cooperation of chasers more, but there was no replacement to take over for him.

“He’s kind. It’s rare for a Slytherin. Some of them are nice and polite, but kind? Not really.”

That was something he’d learnt from his father. The den of snakes was a good place for people who strived in adversity; it encouraged a kind of ruthlessness he knew himself to be incapable of.

“He’s a good influence on his friends too. They’re the least antagonistic group of snakes I’ve ever seen.”

While Harry was ambitious —everyone knew he’d asked to start apprenticing with Madam Pomphrey as soon as he got to Hogwarts— and exhibited other common Slytherin traits, he definitely lacked the edge most of his housemates wielded like blades in their smirks and their sneers. His gaze was sharp though, and Cedric had seen it flash a poisonous green a few times when something displeased him. He was kind, but he wasn’t soft.

Cedric’s best friend hadn’t had the chance to talk to him during the summer, which made him understandably confused when Harry had approached him for the first time at the beginning of the year. Soheil usually skived off social events if he could avoid it, allowing his older sister —Maryam Shafiq, the heiress to his House— and his cousin Safaa to take on the task of being sociable. Cedric tried not to be annoyed at it; it had taken a lot of work for his own family to be invited to these gatherings. He understood that they must seem tedious to those forced to participate, though.

Tamsin nodded in agreement from where she was jotting down Pucey’s advice on chaser drills. Cedric really didn't want to know what was going on in Slytherin for a former team member to sink to advising a rival team before a match against his own House. Though to be fair, it seemed like Pucey was just like that.

“They aren’t being kind to him right now though,” observed Soheil.

Cedric grimaced. Everyone had seen the way Harry had been isolated from his usual friends in the past few days. Judging by the little he knew about Slytherin politics, it didn’t bode well for him. The Hufflepuff seeker thought there was more to it than met the eye, though; it seemed too dramatic a separation to him for such close friends. The second years weren’t that cunning yet.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted. “But I told him to ask if he needed help.” He chuckled a little at the reminder. “He made a face like I insulted his pet owl.”

Harry’s owl Hedwig had disturbed one of their games once, flying around him to say hello while he had his eye on the snitch and distracting him enough for Cedric to take advantage of it. The Weasley twins made the mistake of cracking a joke at her expense about mother hens; they spent the next hour pursued by the sound of increasingly louder clucking chickens. They kept the charm up since they thought it was funny, but professor McGonagall put an end to the joke at dinner.

Cedric’s friends grinned, probably remembering the scene.

“I think he’ll be alright.”

“Speaking of our underclassmen, how’s Justin been?” asked Soheil to Tamsin.

Her mother was the younger sister of Zach Smith’s dad, which meant she had been entrusted with looking after her cousin’s year group. They had had a rough go of it during the boy’s petrification, which had made Cedric redouble his efforts in the fundraiser. If he had to be made popular for nothing more than his looks and his place on the quidditch team, it might as well be of use, he’d reasoned at the time. He wished someone cared about his other accomplishments too, though.

“He’s done a good job catching up but he’s nervous in the corridors. He’s a spoiled kid and Hogwarts was advertised to him as the safest place in the country besides Gringotts. He’s feeling a little disillusioned.”

“Gringotts was broken into as well last year, remember?” asked Soheil. “I don’t know what’s been going on the last two years, but it’s pretty weird.”

“Let’s not get too superstitious,” chuckled Cedric, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“Well, we’ll know next year, won’t we?” said Tamsin. “Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence and a third time…”

They exchanged mischievous looks. James Bond was something of a favourite of theirs, introduced by Tamsin’s muggle cousin.

“A third time is enemy action.”

***

Malfoy was staring.

Blaise resisted the urge to glance back. He skimmed the letter his uncle had sent him another time instead. He took his time with it, though the news from Mezzogiorno wasn’t that exciting. Someone tried to poison Dino, meh. That happened at least once a month. One day the enemies of their family would realise they had created a charm to detect such things. Until then, they had to deal with the unimaginative attempts to put another heir on the throne. For some reason, they seemed to think Antea would be easier to manipulate. Considering the fact that his cousin had to be talked down from setting on fire the last person who tried to do so, that was debatable. Of Aristeo’s four children, only Lazzaro had inherited his father’s temperance. Between Constantino’s ruthlessness and his no-nonsense approach to court politics, Antea’s pyromania and Crescenzia’s cold-heartedness towards anyone who wasn’t family, the Principe surely had his hands full.

Blaise couldn’t wait to introduce them all to Harry.

Speaking of him, the Italian prince missed his best friend fiercely.

Walking down the corridors of Hogwarts was not the same. He missed Harry’s gushing about goblin culture, the quiet rustle of his healing books, his terrible penmanship, the snark that came out at the worst moments. Even the smell of the abomination that was treacle tart felt nostalgic to him at that moment.

He wasn’t the only one. He’d caught Theo turning to tell someone who wasn’t there about his discovery of the specifics of Hungarian marriage rituals and his subsequent deep dive into soul pledges around the world. Blaise and Tracey were currently not talking to each other because Daphne and Theo hadn’t cared to check if they cheated during their regular game of chess and they’d spent two hours accusing each other of rigging the set they’d used for the game. The Greengrass heiress had resorted to aggressively sharpening her quill and amplifying the sound to get them to stop.

It was all kinds of terrible.

They could tell Harry missed them too. He kept busy with his Gryffindor friends and the sixth year students, but the former weren’t always there and the latter did not share classes with him. To Malfoy’s delight, he looked quietly miserable during most of the time he spent alone.

At least they could talk in the dorms, but Harry’s self-inflicted isolation and the still pending conversation about their plans to put him on the Argentum throne made the atmosphere tenser than it should. They hadn’t had the opportunity to meet without their allies present yet, which was highly frustrating. Blaise could tell Daphne was getting impatient; it was only her sense of propriety that kept her from either kicking them all out of the dorm or raising a privacy ward and having the conversation with them in the room.

Right now, Harry was eating at the Ravenclaw table with Luna Lovegood, Su-a Li and Padma Patil. The two girls of their year didn’t seem to know what to make of the firstie but listened to her amiably enough, despite how weirded out she made them feel. It was obvious from there that Harry found it amusing. He’d even told Theo that the boy would probably enjoy conversing with Lovegood. Despite her whimsical way of expressing herself, she had a solid grasp of magical theory and thrived when people questioned her unorthodox perspective.

Blaise wasn’t sure what good would come out of that friendship outside of a subscription to the half-satirical half-mad magazine that was the Quibbler but he’d learnt that Harry cared very little about politics when making a friendship. He’d benefitted from it too, so he wouldn’t judge.

The Italian prince chewed pensively, his gaze lost a few paces away from the Ravenclaw table.

Now would be a good time to bait Malfoy, he decided, putting down his fork and standing up. He gestured at his friends to continue eating, claiming he would go for a stroll. He didn’t make it far.

Sure enough, the Malfoy heir and his court found him sitting in an alcove on the first floor, watching the Whomping Willow sway from a low window.

Blaise angled his face so as not to betray the triumph in his eyes.

It was time for him to do what he did best.

***

Sally-Anne wasn’t too sure about this.

Zabini’s fight with Potter was convenient to the point it was suspicious. Their faction had won but Draco’s camp —her camp, she corrected herself, she was among the winners— had lost grip of one of the most important things to maintain: their reputation. The smear campaign run by their rival court had been abominably effective, made even more so by the fact that every single rumour had at minimum a sliver of truth to back it up.

They didn’t care to be seen as cruel and prejudiced. Might made right after all, and who was mightier than the purest of purebloods? With Draco to lead them, there was no way they could be in the wrong. But they understood that there was a fine line they were meant to mind, vestigial from the last war and the Dark Lord’s defeat. The Purist agenda was still welcome within Wizarding Society, but it needed new lingo to distance itself from what public opinion considered to be bad taste.

The muggle threat was no longer about blood and magic theft but about erased culture and lost practices, magical creatures were not filthy but lacked control, and purebloods were not superior but an example to follow.

Sally-Anne’s family knew words. They specialised in diplomacy. While the purity of their blood could only be traced back to four generations and they had neither the legacy of a Noble Title nor a family grimoire to boast of, they had the ear of powerful people in the Daily Prophet’s —very unofficial— censorship and propaganda office as well as the Department of International Magical Co-Operation.

Sally-Anne had been taught the magic of appearing weaker to come out stronger and to pay attention to what is being done over what is being said while drawing attention to the words only. And Blaise Zabini certainly talked pretty.

He wove a tale of a Harry Potter who, while politically more compatible with him than Draco, lacked the necessary drive to shape Slytherin into something worthwhile and deceived his allies into thinking he was someone to follow only to let them down in the end. It certainly sounded true enough. Zabini didn’t push it. He didn’t pretend he suddenly approved of Draco’s plans for their House. Instead, he hinted that he had wanted to be the one to lead and face off against their court but that Potter’s deeper connexions in Britain —mostly due to his Fawley fostering— had gotten him to believe he would be better suited as a second.

But he talked too well and that made her wary. Professor Lockhart had been eloquent and handsome too before he turned out to be a fraud who was uncovered by Longbottom of all people.

She tried to catch Pansy’s gaze but her best friend seemed to be vibrating with glee at the idea of swaying Potter’s allies into neutrality at the very least. Sally-Anne directed a pleading look to Millie after that, hoping for some support. She was not disappointed. Millicent had this narrow-eyed look that made her look sleepy but indicated she could discern a trick but wasn’t sure what it was.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked in her usual blunt manner.

Zabini looked her up and down before dismissing her with a huff.

“Quiet, Bulstrode. I don’t talk to underlings.”

He turned fully to Draco then. Sally-Anne bristled and took a step back, allowing Vince and Greg to shield her. It was a good move of Zabini; the Malfoy heir liked being acknowledged and it would ensure that any objection coming from anyone other than Draco would be seen as simple petty jealousy.

“I’m not going to follow you, Malfoy.”

“I know you won’t.” It looked like it pained him to say it, but Sally-Anne had to admit it was unlikely from the start. Zabini was a foreign prince, whose uncle was considered a Dark Lord in some parts of the world. Principe Aristeo Zabini the third wasn’t qualified for such a title by British standards and his sister tended to be more well-known, but he was certainly fearsome to those who had a good grasp of international politics. Sally-Anne remembered what her father had told her about what the man had done to the Austrian ambassador who dared slip a love potion into one of his daughter’s drinks. “We can simply negotiate neutrality. Do you represent Greengrass and Nott too?”

Sally-Anne tried not to be offended on Davies’ behalf. The girl was a half-blood from an insignificant clan which colluded with creatures, they were nothing alike. But they were both commoners and in the eyes of these nobles, that made them equally insignificant.

“I’ll talk to them,” said Zabini, his expression neutral.

“You do that,” approved Draco with a faux nonchalant air, “and you’ll have my word that you can return to your assigned dorms without fear of reprisal. And if you feel up to some revenge for Potter’s deception… there will be more benefits.”

Zabini’s golden gaze seemed to glow for an instant, his cat-like gaze taking on a predatory glint. Sally-Anne had to restrain a shudder. “Oh?” he murmured, his voice like velvet.

“You could start by telling us where you guys have been staying these past few months,” purred Pansy, blushing a little.

Zabini only looked amused at her seductive look. Sally-Anne cringed. Pansy was still too young to attempt something like this, especially on a cambion’s descendant. The Italian prince caught the tightening of her mouth and smirked.

“I’ll think about it.” He paused. “I’m curious to see what kinds of benefits you have to propose.”

***

Harry paused on the threshold, closing the door of their dorm with a careful hand. The restless atmosphere he could find among his best friends was unsettling.

They were alone for once. Maybe they would finally manage to have that discussion.

“Harry!” exclaimed Tracey, bouncing on her feet to greet him. “Guess what?”

She jumped a little in excitement. Harry caught Daphne and Theo’s twin smirks and Blaise’s satisfied expression. He looked like the cat who caught the canary. Or rather, a nundu who finally embedded its claws in the wings of a dragonet.

“Good news?” he asked with a grin.

“Great news,” corrected Blaise. “Malfoy wants me to lead him to where we’ve been staying. He promised me many things,” he added mischievously.

“That’s great! We’ll have to plan this right. We’ll need…” He trailed off and sat down in front of Theo.

He drew out parchment and a quill from his bag to start jotting out details they would need to sort out. Before he pulled out his inkpot, however, he glanced at the expectant gazes of his friends. He tugged lightly at the caduceus dangling from his ear in a nervous gesture and smiled at them sheepishly.

“But first, I believe it’s time for a discussion long overdue, no?”

Chapter Text

“What have you decided?” asked Daphne, not one to beat around the bush.

Her arms were crossed against her chest and she looked like she was resisting the urge to tap her foot against the floor. Tracey’s lips twitched at the sight of her petulant friend, but she forced herself to focus on Harry.

The boy took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms.

“I wish I hadn’t been tricked into it,” he sighed. “I wish we’d taken the time last year to plan things out from the moment we decided to go against Malfoy.”

Tracey looked away to hide the shame on her face. For a snake, she had difficulty masking her emotions.

She knew she wasn’t a conventional Slytherin. She had asked the Hat to put her there because Daphne belonged in that House. It had originally suggested Hufflepuff. She had watched her year mates in yellow since the beginning of first year. She understood why.

Tracey didn’t find herself particularly ambitious or cunning but she took pride in being good at reading people. Daphne wasn’t; they compensated for each other’s weaknesses. She had failed to read Harry though.

In truth, she had voted to tell him at the time. But she didn’t want to mention that when in the end she had judged it harmless to let the others have their way. In hindsight, it was obvious that Harry would have wanted them to talk about it. When they’d met in first year, he was the most honest out of all of them. Later, Tracey heard his muggle family had lied to him about his parents. She guessed that kind of thing left its marks.

Theo and Daphne didn’t lie much. Theo because he would rather not speak at all if given the choice and Daphne because she didn’t see it as necessary. She was blunt to a fault. Tracey admired that even if she liked her white lies.

Blaise, though. He lied all the time and often for no reason at all. He lied to the professors by purposefully making mistakes to see if he could manipulate his grade average, to his family by inventing anecdotes that had never happened, and to their year mates about everything under the sun. He fluttered around other friend groups when he wasn’t with them and lied with every breath while managing not to contradict himself even once. He made a game of it. It was habit to him, borne from his years in Mezzogiorno’s court where no one was honest with him if they could help it.

Harry found Blaise’s games amusing. He disliked lying but he wasn’t inflexible. He knew it was necessary to wixen and to Slytherins especially, and he admired the skill even if he didn’t use it much. He never begrudged his habits. But that had probably been because he thought his best friend wouldn’t lie to him, especially not about such important things.

Judging by the regret in the Italian prince’s eyes, he had realised that too.

“That’s too late though,” continued Harry. “And I get you wanted to ease me into it, to make it my choice. But I don’t want to be manipulated by my friends.” His expression tightened for an instant before it cleared. “I hope it won’t happen again. Especially if you’re going to put a bloody crown on my head.”

His smirk had a wry edge to it but they brightened at what was essentially an agreement. Daphne and Blaise exchanged a triumphant smile. They were the ones who wanted it the most, after all.

“It won’t,” vowed Theo.

The rest of them nodded. If Harry was to be their leader, they should treat him as such. And that meant clear communication.

“And we’re sorry,” said Tracey. She knew Daphne wouldn’t apologise, she was bad at it, and since Blaise and Theo had already done so, she was the only one left.

The Potter heir’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

“So you’re sure you’ll do it?” asked Blaise.

Their leader hummed. “You were right. I set myself up for it. I might as well follow through.”

Daphne worked on putting her hair in a tight bun, twirling loose strands with her wand to curl them around her face. Tracey knew she did it to occupy her hands. The previous tension had taken a toll on her, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “Good to know you’ve figured it out,” she exclaimed in her worst imitation of Pansy Parkinson’s nasally voice. Her brows furrowed. “I can’t find a name equivalent to Drakey-poo. What should I call you, esteemed leader?”

Harry shook in exaggerated shudders, his lips quirking up in his mirth as they all laughed.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Now.” His smile turned devilish. “We have a sabotage to plan.”

***

“Malfoy.”

Draco rose his head from the Transfiguration homework he was doing to see Zabini, Nott and Greengrass watching him outside of the study corner. He put down his quill.

“Zabini. Nott. Greengrass,” he acknowledged, carefully studying their expressions.

Greengrass looked frigid as ever, Nott supremely disinterested. Still, they stood behind Zabini. They had set foot in the common room for the first time in two months — outside of the times they’d come with Snape to protect Potter after he’d been summoned to heal some duellists, but considering the fact that they hadn’t stayed longer than a handful of minutes at each instance, he wasn’t sure it counted — and they were deferring to the Italian prince.

He quite liked this turn of events.

“After our little… discussion the other day, Theo, Daphne and I thought there was something you might like to see.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?”

Zabini inspected his nails, ignoring the way Draco’s court leaned forward in interest. The fifth-years were getting closer to, bracketing the trio to hear what they had to offer.

“It’s a good time for a stroll, isn’t it? And I’ve heard dragons like to add to their hoards. You might want to join us and see if there is any treasure to be found.”

“I know you Zabinis and Malfoys share a common passion for gold but surely you both have enough of it?” asked Greengrass, raising an eyebrow.

Draco commended the performance. The metaphors were a nice touch, and the back-and-forth proved that the three scions of Great Houses stood together. He spared a thought for the commoner who usually trailed behind Greengrass but he soon dismissed it.

They probably thought it wiser to leave the rabble behind.

“Ah, you’re right. Malfoy and his court might not be interested in shiny trinkets.”

“House Nott hoards secrets,” hummed the heir of the aforementioned House, his dark eyes finally resting on Draco’s face. He found them as unsettling as when they were kids, playing in their manors’ gardens while the adults talked. They gleamed in shades of brown in the sunlight, but in the shadows of the dungeons, they were abysses sucking in the meagre light in the common room. “Maybe that would be more to your liking?”

“Do they have to act so creepy,” muttered Morgan Avery, the seventh-year finally joining them.

Draco agreed but he preferred it this way. The three Slytherins had blunted their edges by staying with Potter, the fact that they were showing themselves as the predators they were was a good sign.

And if he was offered an invitation to their den… well.

He would be a fool to refuse it.

***

“Are you sure about this, Ulrich?”

The man levitated the pitcher of milk to his teacup, his expression pensive.

“I am. I know it’s a time commitment but it’s not like I’m lacking any of that. I’ve retired after all, and unlike you, I have no Lordly duty to occupy myself.”

Landon chuckled. “Admit it, you’ve been bored out of your mind since you retired.”

“You’re right. The most excitement I’ve had outside of the times Harry is at home was when he owled me about smuggling a squib out of the Carrow estate.”

His cousin and Lord shook his head at the reminder.

Ulrich laughed. “I know, I know. And to think this scheme comes from your granddaughter.”

“Young folks get such wild ideas, they would make me go grey if that wasn’t already a done thing.”

“The white hairs on your head were all the work of Edward, Philip and Marian.”

Landon’s expression turned pained at the mention of his deceased daughter but Ulrich knew his cousin felt sadder when the dear girl’s existence wasn’t acknowledged. Pretending she hadn’t existed was worse than being reminded of what happened to her.

“Gemma gives all three a run for their galleons. But I’m proud of her.” He sipped at his tea, appreciating the scent of bergamot. Ulrich preferred spicier blends but Landon had always been traditional. “And you’re proud of your little one too. He’s the reason why you’re doing this after all.”

Ulrich turned the little teardrop pendant at his ear, his eyes fond. The pair of earrings were a present from Harry for his birthday. The teardrops contained a little of the boy’s magic, like a storm in a bottle. It was a thoughtful gift. “He is. But I think Esmaeel would have convinced me anyway. The standards of Hogwarts have lowered since we were students there, and Albus’ fan club doesn’t seem inclined to do anything about it.”

Landon huffed. “For progressives, they seem weirdly intent on letting our children stagnate. Professor Binns was boring us to death even when he was alive but he at least kept his prejudices to himself.” He paused. “You know, I think us old fools have been leaving the new generation to sort themselves out for too long. Maybe it’s time to remind everyone that the elders can still advocate for change instead of squabbling about everything under the sun.”

Ulrich chuckled.

“And how do you plan to do that? Leaving you and Augusta Longbottom in the same room is an exercise in patience and you two are from the same faction.”

“Are we?” challenged his cousin. “Because it doesn’t seem like she represents our interests. The woman puts herself at odds with Albus when they meet but always bends to his whims in the Wizengamot, and you know the fool’s deepest desire is to see the wixen world as Light as during the Age of Merlin. There is no Avalon to give refuge to Dark wixen anymore. And the Fawleys might be Light but that wasn’t by design. My wife is a Grey-Dark Prewett if you remember.”

“Albus hasn’t mentioned the Enlightened Path since the seventies, Landon,” corrected Ulrich.

The Enlightened Path was a doctrine dating from mediaeval times. Its followers believed that wixen society as a whole should strive to shape their cores to be as Light as possible until Dark affinities saw no chance of resurfacing anymore. There were few practitioners and those who believed in it knew to keep quiet. It was in bad taste to claim half of the wixen population should change a fundamental part of themselves. And that was not even considering magical creatures. It also brought back bad memories to the older population. The younger generations might not remember but Ulrich’s father had been a veteran of the war against the Light Lady who called herself Lightbringer.

Ulrich didn’t think Albus was a devoted follower of that doctrine, though some of his talking points seemed dangerously close to it at several points of his career in the public sphere.

“He’s been pretty tame in political circles since then.”

Landon huffed.

“Tame is a nice way to say he’s acted like a spineless coward, hoarding positions of power without doing anything with them. That he stopped preaching doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe. He’s been determined to avoid the rise of another Dark Liege since Grindelwald’s arrest, that’s why he took the position of Supreme Mugwump in the ICW. When You-Know-Who announced himself Albus realised his attempts weren’t doing anything so he switched to doing damage control.”

“I have a theory about that actually. I told you about what Harry wrote me, yes?”

Ulrich had hated hearing about the possible rise of You-Know-Who and the possession of a first-year by a teenage imprint of the Dark Lord, but he commended his boy for his honesty. He only wished Harry had been comfortable enough with him to mention it directly after the events of his first year. Knowing that Neville Longbottom was a target and that Harry had decided to stand at his side was not helping his old nerves.

But he would let the youth make their own choices and support them as much as he could, whether it meant joining the Board of Governors, assisting in the kidnapping of the scion of a Dark House or facing off against You-Know-Who himself.

He continued after Landon’s nod. “I think it was finding out that You-Know-Who came from his own school that did it. That’s why Dark spells have been steadily disappearing from the curriculum. He wants to cut the problem at what he perceives to be the source.”

“He should get new glasses, that’s all I have to say about it.”

Ulrich chuckled. He pointed at his own eyes with a sigh. “Ah, but Landon, he’s not the only one getting near-sighted.”

***

They had only been walking for a few minutes when they were stopped by Patil of all people. She was coming out of professor Snape’s office, folded pieces of parchment in hand and a quill tucked behind her ear. She reminded Draco of Granger at that moment, though she wore it better.

Not that it was difficult. She might be Light, but she was a Pureblood witch, leagues away from the irritating mudblood.

“You’re hanging out with Malfoy now, Blaise?” asked the Ravenclaw girl with unconcealed disgust.

“Who gave you permission to speak, mongrel?” spat Pansy.

Draco winced. Mother told him racism was a muggle thing, he didn’t know how the Ancient and Noble Parkinsons had ended up favouring it. British culture was superior, but it just wasn’t done to speak to foreigners like this. This kind of language was reserved for filthy half-breeds and mudbloods.

He couldn’t tell her off here, though, or it would make it look like he didn’t know how to reign in his subjects.

Patil raised her wand and intoned what could only be a Marathi curse. Draco wondered if he should stop her, but he saw his new allies angling their bodies in her direction.

He hummed.

Better to let it happen. She deserved it, after all.

Pansy shrieked and brought a hand up to mask her mouth. She was too late; they all witnessed her tongue shifting to look like a snake’s. The Malfoy heir raised an eyebrow. That was an impressive human transfiguration. A family spell, probably.

The girl whirled around and pointed her wand at Zabini. “We’ll talk about this later, Blaise.”

“There isn’t much to talk about,” he said.

Patil’s eyes narrowed before she huffed and turned on her heels, though not before sending a filthy look at Zabini. The Italian prince was burning bridges. Draco chanced a glance at him. His expression was not the least bit regretful.

“Goyle, take Pansy to the infirmary.” As his vassal passed him by with the girl in tow, he leaned to whisper in her ear, careful not to get too close to her hissing mouth. “You’re lucky Zabini decided to let Patil take care of it, or you would have cost us our allies. Think before you speak, Pansy.”

She nodded with wide eyes.

“Good girl. Now go.”

Marcus snorted as Pansy exited the corridor. “You have that girl on a leash, it’s kind of pathetic.”

Gerald leered. “You’ll appreciate that more in a few years.” He yelped as his older sister sent him a stinging hex.

Draco hummed but didn’t respond. His mother would skin him alive if he dared speak about witches like this. The Avery boy should know better. “Shall we go?” he asked Zabini.

The prince and his companions were watching his court with a disdain that would have him bristling in other circumstances, but he had to admit it was deserved. Rowle looked disgusted too.

Zabini nodded and wordlessly led them through another corridor. Draco had never been so deep inside the dungeons. He exchanged an unsettled look with the rest of his court. Only Marcus and Morgan had retained their composure. Gerald’s eyes were darting in every which way, jumping at shadows, and he was blatantly clinging to his sister’s robe.

“I don’t like this, Draco,” said Sally-Anne, who had been quiet until then.

He scoffed with a bravado he definitely didn’t feel. “Don’t be a coward Sally. Think of the rewards.”

If his voice trembled, no one had anything to say about it.

Though he swore he saw Greengrass snicker, the shrew.

“We’re here,” announced Nott, stopping in front of a tapestry.

Draco examined it. Unlike the dusted corridors, it was completely clean though not particularly tasteful. It depicted a grotesque-looking wizard kissing the hand of a fae. The creature’s gigantic ears fluttered with pleasure and it offered the ugly wizard a grin with too many teeth before dragging him into a dance. The Malfoy heir shuddered.

Zabini tapped his wand on the tapestry three times and the nightmarish embroidery stopped moving. The cloth rolled itself up, revealing a wooden door behind it.

Draco looked at it dubiously.

“You’ve been sleeping there for two months?” said Marcus, echoing his incredulity.

“You didn’t exactly give us a choice, Flint,” snapped Greengrass, stomping forward. She opened the door and strode inside.

The Malfoy heir raised an eyebrow. Huh, the ice queen had character. He could use that.

They followed her into the hidden door, wands ready. Draco blinked a few times to get accustomed to the change in lighting.

They were faced with a narrow room with sad-looking beds and trunks stuck next to each other. There were weird metal contraptions on the walls and what looked like dried blood on the floorboards. It looked even sadder than the place his family’s house elves slept in. Draco turned askance to the trio, only to realise that they hadn’t stepped away from the door, leaving their backs to the wall. They were grinning with more malice than he’d ever seen on a human face. He looked at them in dawning comprehension.

“Have fun,” mouthed Zabini before stepping out of the door, which turned back into a wall.

He didn’t have time to shout a warning before Crabbe took a step toward one of the beds. The loud clinch of a mechanism screamed into the silent room, and the trap sprung.

***

“Psst.”

Neville startled at the feeling of a finger tapping his shoulder. He whirled around and found no one. He blinked a few times, wondering if he’d somehow attracted the ire of Peeves lately — very likely, considering the times Ron had insulted the poltergeist in his hearing only to have the terror dogging their steps for a week straight — before it dawned on him that he recognised this voice. It belonged to the only person he knew who possessed an invisibility cloak.

He resisted the urge to facepalm at the realisation and put down the potted plant he had been fussing over.

“Was that necessary?” he groaned.

Harry chuckled, lifting the cloak off of him and a smirking Davies. “No, but it was funny.”

Neville stood up and gestured at his godbrother’s companion.

“Is it time then?”

“Yes,” confirmed Davies, bouncing lightly on her feet. “Adrian sent the signal, Malfoy and his goons are otherwise occupied. They’ll let them stew for a while before facing them. Then it’ll be time for phase three.”

“I can’t believe it worked,” breathed out Neville disbelievingly. “I know Malfoy can be a little dumb when it comes to you Harry, but the whole thing is so obviously a trap.”

Davies and Harry snickered.

“I know,” exclaimed his godbrother. “But to be fair, he probably didn’t expect Blaise to douse himself in Trust-My-Word potions. They’re Safaa’s invention,” he explained at Neville’s confusion. He’d never heard of anything like that. “It’s kind of similar to what Lockhart had been using but way less concentrated. It makes people more susceptible to what you’re saying but it doesn’t make them like you automatically. And it works better if the people subjected to it want to believe what you tell them.”

“That’s pretty cool,” sighed Neville. “I wish I was good at potions.”

He and Davies exchanged a commiserating look. She also had issues in Snape’s class.

They waited for him to finish putting away his herbology tools and closing the greenhouse he spent most of the time he wasn’t with Ron and Hermione in before draping the cloak over him.

“Where did they take them again? I’m not sure if you told me that,” he whispered, more to get used to talking in a low voice than because anyone was around.

“I forgot. There’s a tapestry with a hidden door in the dungeons. It’s a creepy place so no one goes there but Terence knew about it because he read Hogwarts, A History.”

Harry laughed softly at Neville’s horrified look. “I know, you couldn’t pay me to read that book. It’s the driest thing I’ve ever seen. But Terence’s a history nerd, so…”

“Makes sense.”

“The room used to be a discipline room for naughty children,” explained Tracey. “From back when corporal punishment was still allowed at Hogwarts. The sixth-years have had to do a lot of renovating to make it look like a place we could have reasonably spent time in, and even then it still looks gloomy.”

“The biggest issue was actually avoiding Filch. He goes to that room from time to time apparently. I guess he’s daydreaming about actually getting to give us more than detention.”

The three of them exchanged a revolted look. It was difficult to feel any sympathy for the school’s caretaker. He hated children and no one was really sure why he worked at Hogwarts. Land elves were employed to take care of the castle and grounds, and paid extra to cook and clean for the students. Hogwarts was so old and saturated with magic it was the most sought-after place of employment for those creatures.

The only thing Filch did was chase students out after curfew, and that wasn’t even the main part of his job description. He was a strange man.

They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room in relative silence.

“It would have been more convenient to come at night,” mumbled Tracey as Harry murmured the password. It was Devil’s Snare this week, which made Neville smile a little.

“It would,” agreed Harry. “We could have waited for Malfoy and the others to be asleep; there would have been no need to lure them away from here. But we’re not just trying to stop the Argentum court from abusing their power, we want them to leave us alone.”

They shuffled through the narrow entrance. Their need to remain covered by the cloak made it a little awkward, but they made it work. Neville glanced around; no one was looking.

The Slytherin students looked restless, most likely because of the Argentum court’s absence. Harry led them to the centre of the common room, ignoring the people present. He murmured a clear air charm, pointing his wand at the three of them before smirking and digging into his pockets. He pulled out two packages which Neville recognised immediately.

The Weasley twins had been right terrors since they’d found out about Ginny’s health issues. They’d been especially vicious towards Malfoy’s clique, but anyone who made the mistake of saying anything bad about their little sister within their hearing ended up regretting it. Worse, Percy didn’t take off points despite remonstrating them, which was basically an endorsement on his part.

They’d set off the dungbombs Harry was holding a few times in Snape’s class because of ill-advised comments, and anyone who had classes in the dungeons was very familiar with the smell of them. Ron had been impressed and asked his brothers to show them how they looked so Neville could identify them on sight.

Harry offered him a crooked grin as his eyes widened; he threw them in two opposite directions.

Shocked and disgusted exclamations rang out into the room, and the students ran outside.

“Let’s go,” said Tracey.

Neville followed them to the Argentum throne presiding over the resting area. It was an odd-looking armchair of silver metal engraved with glowing runes and coiled serpents, the seat itself made of deep green velvet. The extravagance of it stood out among the more sedate and plush-looking green and black sofas that made up the rest of the seats, but it looked less terrifying than Neville had imagined.

He definitely didn’t like the look of the sculpture of a snake head at the top, though. The animal was way too close to the hypothetical sitting rex’s neck for comfort, and the size of the head compared to the other engravings reminded him of the imposing sight of the basilisk. He still had nightmares about the Chamber of Secrets.

He shuddered at the thought.

“You’re sure it will let me? I’m a Gryffindor.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re a Parselmouth first.”

“Besides,” chimed in Davies. “Snakes’ vision is bichromatic. They see blue, green and the colours within their spectrum, but not red. If anything, it will think you’re a Hufflepuff.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Thanks, Davies.”

“Call me Tracey,” she chirped. “It’s about time one of us starts to make nice with Harry’s godbrother. The chilly tension will only be getting more awkward with the years.”

Neville caught Harry’s fond glance at his friend and smiled. “Sure. You’re free to call me by my name too. Now let’s get to it before professor Snape starts running in.”

He took a deep breath and approached the throne. “Hello.”

“A speaker,” exclaimed the smaller serpents running up the length of the throne’s feet. “A speaker!”

The snake head hissed before it moved. Its body appeared out of the throne, elongating to greet him. Its eyes were closed when it said, “Hello, speaker.”

Neville winced. That was definitely the basilisk, he thought.

The creature scented the air before making a sound of detached curiosity.

“Ah,” it said. “A swordmage. I haven’t seen one of those since the fifteenth century.”

“What? I’m— I’m not a sword— I don’t even have a sword!” exclaimed Neville. He winced at the resurfacing of his speech impediment. If his grandmother found out, she would force him to drink speech-correcting potions again. He could still hear her clucking, “we can’t have a Boy-Who-Lived who stutters.”

The sculpture looked profoundly unimpressed.

“And yet the magic of Godric’s sword clings to you.”

That was news to him.

“That was— that was one time!”

Ah, this situation was so stressful. But he owed Harry for his support. He straightened his shoulders, his gaze turning serious.

“It doesn’t matter, that’s not what I’m here for. The throne’s commands, can you tell me what they are?”

The list was long and horrifying. The description of what would be done to a muggleborn sitting on the throne wasn't the worst of it, but it definitely rattled him. Learning that new magic was identifiable was worrying, though, he would have to talk about it with Hermione. She might know why that was. He couldn't even begin to guess. He knew that Terence Higgs was the son of a squib and a muggle and that had visibly been enough to spare him. It was baffling.

But for now, he had to get rid of those clauses.

The basilisk hummed like he was reading his thoughts.

“You cannot override them all, swordmage.”

Neville sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be so easy.

He relayed the information to Harry who was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. The boy tapped his index finger to his bottom lip, his expression pensive.

“How many can we change?”

Neville repeated the question to the basilisk.

“You can erase seven of your choice and replace them with three.”

Both magical numbers, he noted. The amounts didn’t make sense to him, he remembered his grandmother saying that it was easier to do things with magic than it was to undo them. He wouldn’t complain, though. It gave them some leeway.

He consulted with Harry and Tracey again. Once this was done, he turned back to the throne. His breath hitched as he noticed the other engravings had slithered up the throne and were staring at him, coiled around the basilisk’s silver body. Their eyes were opened and gleaming with green stones he hadn’t noticed until then.

Neville was only relieved that the basilisk’s eyes were still shut.

“Let’s start by removing the one that slowly kills muggle-borns if they try to sit on there, shall we?”

The creature hissed in agreement, seeming unbothered with the idea. He shouldn’t be surprised. Why would a throne care about the blood of those who sat on it?

“And the control the Rex has over the Slytherin quarters, that has to go,” he said.

He could see so many ways a rule like that could go wrong.

“Those are two different rules,” hissed the sculpture. “One for the common room, one for the dormitory.”

“Cheers. Three done, four to go then. How about getting rid of all the rules related to murder and maiming?”

The basilisk looked very unimpressed for a sentient lump of metal who couldn’t even open its eyes. “That goes beyond the amount of rules you are allowed to remove.”

“The number of rules is a rule in and of itself,” mumbled Neville. “Can you remove it?”

“Nice try, swordmage, but I am a Founder’s relic reshaped by the will of Mortimer Gaunt. I do not cater to loopholes.”

Neville sighed. “Thought so.”

“Remove the most harmful then add a no harm clause,” reminded Harry. “If we can’t erase all the potential damage we might as well minimise it. Contradicting rules probably cancel each other’s effects, which is good enough.”

“Right.”

It took a few more minutes of bargaining before both he and the throne were satisfied. Thankfully, it seemed like Mortimer Gaunt was not a horrible person; the basilisk seemed pretty willing to endorse changes to protect the students. Neville managed to remove the most dictatorial enchantments and add effects that would hopefully stop the House of snakes from being such a violent cesspit of horrors.

“You have one clause left to add,” hissed the throne head.

“Make it count,” whispered the other engravings.

Neville took a deep breath. This one, Harry had left it at his discretion, arguing that an outsider’s point of view of what made a good Argentum rex was valuable.

The Longbottom Lord thought his godbrother meant it as a show of trust, a way to prove that his input was wanted. Neville appreciated it.

After he gave his clause, the basilisk laughed and opened its eyes. Neville stiffened, but nothing came to him. He stared into the sculpture’s glowing white eyes, mesmerised by the opalescent gleam.

“You truly are a son of Gawain. Very well, swordmage. I await the crowning of your chosen king.” The creature turned towards Harry. Neville held his breath. “I hope you will not disappoint me when the time comes, medicus rex.”

Chapter Text

“What did it say?”

Harry listened to Neville’s paraphrasing with raising eyebrows.

“What kind of condition did you suggest for it to say that?”

Neville opened his mouth to respond but the sound of the common room’s entrance stopped him. As his friend covered him hastily with the cloak, Tracey whispered with a mischievous smile, “how about we keep it a surprise for your coronation? Since he chose the rule with you in mind.”

The Potter heir shook his head in disbelief. Neville shrugged. It didn’t really matter to him. He said as much to his friend. “It’s nothing bad anyway. I think you’ll like it.”

Harry snorted and made a slight sound of agreement. “Fine. Let’s go,” he murmured as professor Snape stepped into the room. The man cursed the Weasley twins under his breath. The three students had to bite their lips to avoid laughing.

They walked backwards toward the dormitories, intent on reaching the secret room Harry had told Neville about. The potions master would probably be at it for a while. They knew from experience that dispelling dung bomb smells was not easy; worse, the twins’ recipe changed frequently to make it even more of a hassle.

As they reached the corridors, Neville could swear he felt Snape’s dark eyes following them.

***

The door was warded silent, yet Blaise still thought he could hear Malfoy’s whining from behind it. He picked up his pocket watch from his trousers, twirling the magical artefact so it would show the time instead of the state of his family's magical cores. Daphne watched him with some interest. The Italian prince remembered watches weren’t given to British wixen children before their majority. It was an interesting cultural difference, but also utterly baffling. Did they expect students to rely on their parents until then? It wasn’t an issue at Hogwarts where the bell rang every hour —and sometimes when the castle felt like it, though it used a different melody then— but he could see so many ways it could pose problems outside of school.

He didn’t mention his thoughts on the subject out loud. Now wasn’t exactly the time for a lecture from Terence on how the wixen burnings and the proximity of British magical settlements with muggle cities had impacted the way the magical population of Great Britain cared for their young. While he understood that Mezzogiorno and its magical floating cities had left their wixen children less at risk and thus had evolved differently, he still thought that this behaviour should have stopped after the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy.

Eh. Not his cage, not his pixies.

Blaise was interrupted in his boredom-induced musings by the welcome arrival of his two wayward friends.

“How did it go?” asked Tracey breathlessly as she burst into the corridor, Harry in tow. They looked like they’d run there, probably anxious about what had happened on their side.

“They’re all in there,” replied Theo, looking up from his book. “Except Goyle and Parkinson. We’re letting them stew for a while.”

At Harry’s inquiring noise, Blaise explained the earlier confrontation with Padma. His best friend whistled at his retelling, impressed with their Ravenclaw friend.

“That’s a really cool spell. The only animal transfiguration in my family grimoire is an antler-growing spell,” Harry mourned, coming back to Padma’s curse.

Aspen frowned. “Anteoculatia? Why is it so widespread if it’s a Potter spell?”

The Potter heir grinned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not exactly. Anteoculatia is the version my ancestor sold to the department of Mysteries for fair use. It’s in our grimoires as an introductory explanation to another spell.” He grimaced. “Aubrey Potter thought it was too tame.”

Blaise wasn’t sure he liked what it implied about the other one. Who was he kidding? He almost wished Harry was given a reason to use it and show him. But knowing him, he wouldn’t try until he knew how to heal the effects of it. That was the reason why his best friend rarely tried Dark spells. They tended to be more difficult to counteract. That sense of responsibility was a healer’s burden, he supposed. Not Blaise’s style, but he respected it.

Terence leaned forward. Next to him, Safaa was pacing restlessly, disengaged from the conversation. Adrian rose to talk to her as their history-obsessed friend asked. “Aubrey, as in Roman Potter’s sibling?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Their portrait was destroyed along with the manor, unfortunately,” he said mournfully. “Having a spellsmith in the family is pretty cool, I wish I could have talked to them.”

“Especially a Dark spellsmith,” sighed Aspen, just as disappointed. “Maybe their maternal family had a portrait too?” he suggested.

The Potter heir brightened. “I hadn’t thought to ask. I think their mother was from the Sinclair family, maybe I could write to the head of that house?” His brows furrowed. “Is it Alma Sinclair or Rafael?”

“Alma. Rafael’s her son,” said Safaa absently. “What happened on your end?”

Harry let Tracey tell them of their little adventure in the Slytherin common room. A tension Blaise hadn’t realised had settled on his shoulders loosened. He didn’t think their effective ban from the common room and regular dormitories would bother him so much but his relief told him otherwise. They hadn’t neutralised the throne completely but they had gotten rid of its most difficult weapon. That was good.

Everyone seemed to think so; Theo especially, as the most introverted of all of them. None of them had loved sharing a dorm and a bathroom with twenty others but they had more or less made peace with it. Still, a return to normal would be appreciated.

“You sure about letting the lion cub keep you in the dark?” asked Adrian.

Tracey pouted. Blaise guessed it had been her suggestion.

“I am. I trust Nev’,” Harry said like it was the only thing he needed. Maybe it was.

They spent some time discussing their plan for the takeover of Slytherin House. Terence suggested giving them duelling lessons. Harry agreed, aware that his healer training wouldn’t suffice to challenge the next rex. Ideally, Terence would have declared Harry his heir at his graduation but circumstances had changed.

“Don’t assume you know who will rule when it’s your time to make your claim. It might be one of our allies.” Terence looked doubtful at that and rightfully so. The muggleborn older students who had thrown their lot in with them weren’t duelling specialists, and their other allies hadn’t had the guts to stand with them during the House divide. The purists were likely to come back in power even if they clipped their wings now.

“Then I’ll just wait until it’s not. It doesn’t matter when I challenge them, right?”

“For our peace of mind, I’d rather hope it will be sooner rather than later,” said Daphne, her nose wrinkled.

“Do you think Parkinson and Goyle will be a problem?” asked Harry, coming back to their more pressing concern.

Blaise snorted. “Even if they knew where we were, I doubt they’d be able to do anything. At best, they’ll try to gather Slytherin house in the common room to denounce us. It won't do much since we already asked the firsties to do that anyway.”

His comment had Safaa fully focused on the conversation again.

“Can we take care of Spen— Rowle and his idiots now? We’ve waited long enough, surely.”

They all exchanged looks.

“Sure,” exclaimed Adrian, “let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Blaise smirked with an edge he hadn’t needed since the last time he was in his palace's court.

He couldn’t wait.

“Wait,” said Theo suddenly, “is that smoke?”

***

Marcus didn’t even like politics.

It was tedious for very little reward and asked for manipulation skills he didn’t have. He was good at strategising on a quidditch pitch but the types of manoeuvres little Malfoy seemed so fond of bored him at best. His cousins Euclio and Pontia were decent at it but they went to Durmstrang. He would have gone with them if his Lord father hadn’t insisted on keeping at least one of them on British soil. It apparently was bad form for a Noble and Ancient family to not have a generational presence at Hogwarts.

Marcus didn’t like politics but they went hand in hand with power and he wanted that. He liked the respect his position on the team gave him. He wasn’t planning on forgoing that after graduating. He knew his father thought Euclio was more suited to the heirship so he needed a position that would grant him respect before people learnt he was being passed over.

A professional quidditch career could have been promising but such positions were fleeting and he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he had as bright a future in that field as Oliver Wood. So he’d set his sights on the Department of Magical Games and Sports where he could boss people around and use the expertise he gained leading the team. Ludo Bagman’s right-hand man, a respectable Slytherin alumnus had promised him a position if he could hold the Argentum throne for at least a month. He didn’t plan on disappointing him.

So he’d thrown his lot in with the little peacock and so far it had gone well. He didn’t particularly care for Potter’s clique’s challenges to their authority. Though they were annoying, what mattered was the fact that Rowle had the throne and soon he would inherit it. But Draco was greedy; he’d wanted to root out the little rats and let them find out what happened when rodents mingled with snakes.

Marcus had agreed, not exactly against the idea of tormenting Fawley’s mudblood boyfriend and his ilk. The more stable he could make his rule, the better.

He hadn’t planned on Zabini double-crossing them.

“I told you so!” shrieked the whiny girl with a forgettable last name who followed the Parkinson heiress everywhere.

“Shut up, Sally-Anne!”

The exclamation was followed by a strangled noise after one of the shadows got too close to Draco. The little tyke was perched on Crabbe’s shoulders and could be heard whimpering in a high-pitched voice at regular intervals. To be fair to him, the only one who had managed to stay unbothered was Morgan. The girl was more preoccupied with retrieving her useless brother’s wand after he dropped it. Marcus’ cousins were a pain but at least they weren’t as stupid as Gerald Avery.

The shadows weren’t painful per se but every touch from them made Marcus feel like his skin was going to crawl off his flesh. That added to the complete darkness was maddening. He didn’t think they could hold on for much longer. Crabbe sounded like he was about to cry and Marcus was pretty sure his House had done some kind of fucked up spell to mute their emotions.

“What spell is that anyway?” panted Morgan after she’d seemingly retrieved her brother’s wand. He could tell despite the obscurity because she immediately used it to wack him over the head with it. Marcus let out a pained snort when the sound rang out, followed by Gerald’s quiet thank you.

“Umbras Animae. House Nott’s signature spell,” replied Rowle, who’d been trying to expand a bubblehead charm to keep them all out of the shadows’ reach. So far he hadn’t been able to fit more than himself in. He probably hadn't tried too hard. They might need as much magic as they could get for the next part of their rivals' plans.

“Do you know a counter?”

“There isn’t one. Light spells strengthen the shadows and Finite Incantatem doesn’t work. Some rune sequences work apparently but…”

But none of them knew any runes, Marcus completed silently, all too aware that it was useless to specify. Rowle took Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures while all the others had chosen Divination instead of the former for the easy grade. Morgan took Runes, he remembered, but she'd dropped out after a few months.

“So we’ll have to wait for these bastards to come to get us? What’s their plan anyway?” asked Gerald.

“To keep us away, probably,” murmured Rowle.

“From what?” asked Draco, flinching all the while.

They traded possible answers but aside from the reasonable guess that they were doing something in the common room, it was difficult to tell. Their reflection was interrupted by Crabbe’s whimper and a stuttered charm.

“Crabbe, don’t!” yelled Draco.

The moron had set off a fire spell. In a closed, windowless room.

They were doomed.

***

“What in the Cailleach’s name…,” uttered Tracey, incredulous.

Their so-called rival faction was huddled at a side of the room, encased in what seemed to be layered bubblehead charms. The rest of the room was on fire. While Daphne and her best friend were staring at the wreckage with fascinated horror, the others were quicker to act.

Adrian put out the fire with the practised ease of someone used to set them, Harry cast a diagnostic charm and the others set off successive Expelliarmus, catching the wands as they jumped to the other side of the room.

“Vinculum com lego,” intoned Blaise. Daphne recognised the spell as the Italian version of Incarcerous, though the ropes seemed to be made of some type of metal.

Safaa held Malfoy at wand point with unconcealed glee.

“Did you have fun?”

“You little—”

“Ah, ah,” she tutted. “That’s not what I asked. Try again.”

“Safaa,” said Aspen, rolling his eyes.

She pouted. “Right. So. We talked about what we wanted to happen next. Ideally, the answer would be obvious. You,” she pointed her wand at Rowle, “would abdicate and swear to never look in my direction again. And you,” turning back to the others, “would swear a Vow to leave us the fuck alone and stop being bigots. Now, we both know it doesn’t work that way. Or rather, some of us are too good to let it work that way,” she added with an exasperated look at Harry and Terence, though she did a really bad job of hiding the underlying fondness behind it.

It was Terence who had vetoed the idea. Permanent Vows of this kind were illegal and it was guaranteed that Lord Malfoy would make a fuss about it. They could have found another solution but the prefect reasoned that although blackmailing an Argentum rex to make them abdicate might perfectly conform to the rules, it would make things more difficult for Harry in the long run.

Having the leadership of their House decided by duelling sounded like something Gryffindors would do at first glance, but in truth, the act embodied the most prised values of Slytherin House as surely as it did the lions’. Powerful duellists were not simply good at Defence; they had the ambition to win, boasted the most versatile spell repertoires and were the most resourceful of wixen. And that wasn’t even touching on their innate magical power.

Blackmail was what the other Houses expected them to do to achieve their goal but only assholes like Malfoy resorted to such means.

Harry had agreed with Terence. It was beneath them.

Their friend was intent on doing things properly and that meant earning his title in a way that would make it impossible for anyone to question his legitimacy. Daphne privately thought he was still smarting over the events with the quidditch team. She couldn’t blame him for being scared they would pull this from under him too.

“So we’ve decided to compromise,” said Adrian, picking up where Safaa left off. “You — Rowle, that is — are going to keep your title but you’ll Vow to revoke the rex Bellator decree. You wanted this throne: take responsibility for it. I don’t expect things to do any better considering you have as much spine as a flobberworm. But at least you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. Whether you choose to keep your court is none of our concern. However..."

He trailed off, summoning a document from his pocket.

"We’ve written down a two-year-long contract of non-aggression you’ll have to sign if you want to get out of this room in one piece. Hopefully, it will be enough to keep you in line.”

“And if it isn’t?” challenged Gerald Avery.

“Then you’ll find yourself beholden to the House of Fawley,” smirked Harry. “You took advantage of the attack on my cousin to start your reign of terror, we’ll see how you enjoy being her vassals.”

“What makes you think we’ll accept this? You can’t keep us here forever,” snarled Flint, incensed at the idea of having to serve Gemma’s House.

Daphne wondered why he hated the prefect so much. The animosity hadn’t seemed so bad during her first-year. They’d been ignoring each other for the most part, nothing like Harry’s relationship with Malfoy had been.

“Can’t we?” asked Theo. “Spring break is at the end of next week. Do you truly believe we won’t be able to come up with a reason for your absence? I'm sure I can summon enough shadows to keep you company.”

***

Safaa bounced impatiently on her feet. This was taking too long. She could see them trying to think themselves out of this and it had her stomach souring in anger. They’d been a lot more magnanimous than the situation called for. A simple defanging was the least they deserved after the chaos they’d put their House through. Terence still raged over Slytherin’s drop from the Inter-House rankings. They had no hope of redressing the situation, even if Malfoy somehow pulled a win against Diggory during the last match of the season.

“Your signature, Malfoy.”

“My father will hear about this,” he hissed, signing the document. He bit his lip to keep himself from whimpering when a shadow stirred beside him.

She didn't particularly feel charitable towards him but she was still too old to laugh in a twelve-year-old's face. His rival yearmates had no such qualms. Safaa suppressed a smile at their antics. It eased down her anger, though she could still feel it simmering under her skin.

“No, he won’t. If you’d read the contract before signing instead of acting like an idiot, you’d have noticed there’s a non-disclosure agreement clause. Maybe read it over to check you haven’t promised us your first-born child?” snarked Blaise.

Safaa snorted. Her firstie looked like his birthday had come early. The Italian prince had been one of the few who had backed her up when she’d suggested doing more than scaring the group. The nicer members of their court had won the argument by saying they wanted this whole drama over before Gemma was meant to wake up. They'd had a point so she let it go.

Tomorrow, she reminded herself. Tomorrow she’d see her best friend again.

She could see Spencer’s hopeful expression from this angle, but she kept her eyes trained on the bratty heir. She didn’t want him to think this mercy came from her. It really didn’t.

“Well, that’s done,” said Terence, clapping his hands. “Let’s announce the good news to our fellow snakes, shall we?”

The walk to the common room was awkward. Safaa had been the one to insist on at least humiliating Rowle’s court by delivering them tied up to the Slytherin headquarters but having to use stinging hexes to make Crabbe walk wasn’t exactly pleasant. Still, they went through with it.

Parkinson and Goyle were by the Argentum throne, encircled by the group of firsties who had thrown their lot in with them. She noticed the second-year girl had an oozing snake bite on her hand, undoubtedly caused by an ill-advised attempt to use the throne to enact some revenge. Sensing the changing tides, other students had bracketed the members of the purists' group. They were all staring at each other in tense silence when they entered, which made their arrival all the more dramatic. Gemma would have loved it.

The tension kicked up another notch to the point where it was getting hard to breathe.

She listened with a distracted ear as Harry explained the agreement they settled on and let herself enjoy some satisfaction at the exchanged looks of derision from the other students. Spencer might keep his throne but he’d have very little of his dignity to go along with it.

“Does our king have anything to add?” asked the Potter heir in a sweet voice, unable to keep the concern out of his tone. It stung all the more for it.

“I do, actually.”

Her eyes snapped back to her ex-boyfriend.

Safaa watched him as he took a deep breath, his hands trembling at his sides. His face was pale as chalk as he gathered his courage.

“My first edict,” — and the irony of that wasn’t lost on anybody, though Safaa was more preoccupied with how familiar this phrasing was. Where had she heard it before? — “will be to crown a queen.”

Ah.

Chapter Text

“No way. Absolutely not.”

“You can’t refuse,” hissed Aspen. Thankfully, Safaa hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard by anyone outside of their own group. “You’ll beat him up for it later. Now go get your crown.”

“I suck at duelling,” she hissed back. “And I don’t want to be skewered by his mother.”

“You should have thought of that before you started dating him in secret,” grumbled Adrian. “Now go get 'em. Dinner will be soon.”

“I hate you all.”

Harry contained a snicker as his cousin’s best friend walked up to her ex and murmured something in his ear. The blond giant paled before closing his eyes in resignation. After a second, he opened them again and conjured a crown of damask roses for her to wear.

“Isn’t the Spinea Regina supposed to be a significant other?” asked a fourth-year.

“Are you dumb? He’s announcing their relationship!”

“He’s gonna be killed,” murmured Terence.

“What a mad lad,” added Adrian, looking delighted.

Aspen hummed in agreement. “As much as I dislike him for what he put us through, I did understand his viewpoint. I have no idea why he’s doing this. He graduates in two months. Is he planning on going home to get disowned?”

“Or worse,” said Daphne grimly.

Wixen might reach the age of majority before muggles, but it didn’t free them from their parents. Especially in the cases of scions of Houses recognised by the Ministry. Heir titles often acted as shackles on children’s feet, tying them to ideals of family honour and duty in exchange for the inherited wealth they benefited from.

In Rowle’s case, it might as well be a noose around his neck.

“What did he think was gonna happen anyway? Safaa hates him more for Terence’s collapsed lungs than for stealing the throne.”

“Do you think he believes we’ll do the work for him? He’s essentially allying himself with us.”

Adrian shook his head. “The Vow was worded in a way that makes it impossible for him to shirk his responsibilities. He’s just cutting ties with the Purist faction.”

“And announcing he’s fine with getting disowned.” Or cursed went unsaid.

“Maybe he is,” suggested Tracey with a roll of her eyes. “You guys seem to forget that not being a Noble is not the end of the world.”

“It’s not, sure, but it’s all he knows. And it means he’ll be fending for himself right before graduation. I don’t think he’s made any preparation.”

“He has,” said Harry with a certainty that surprised him.

He thought about the hidden money he’d kept stashed behind a hole in the cupboard’s tapestry. Enough for a few meals and a bus ticket to London, painstakingly collected over the years in case he had to run away.

(He thought about the way he’d made the same plans after arriving at Ulrich’s home. He’d been so relieved to have the vaults inherited from his parents to rely on if anything happened.

It took their first Yule together for Harry to lower his guard.

He hadn’t managed to bring himself to discuss it with Healer Merrythought yet, but he remembered.)

If Rowle’s family was anything like the Dursleys, he would have planned for an emergency.

Abused children stayed because the familiarity of the pain they suffered was less daunting than the unknown. Better the devil you knew, after all. But it didn’t make them less conscious of how easily things could change, how quickly peace could be broken.

An awkward silence fell for a few moments. Harry rarely talked about his life before his fostering. It was easy for his friends to forget he knew what Rowle was going through a bit better than they did. He watched them exchange glances before nodding at him, trusting his word on the matter.

Blaise changed the subject. “That means Safaa will inherit the position when he’s gone.”

Terence grimaced. “That’s going to be a disaster. She won’t be able to hold onto it.”

“I could duel her for it,” suggested Adrian. “I’m the best at Defence after you. And I’m probably better than Flint, right?”

Harry took a step back from the discussion, letting their upperclassmen lead the planning. Blaise would tell him if he missed any important decision. He reached Theo who was standing a few steps away from the group. He looked paler than usual and had his wand in a white-knuckled grip. The exhaustion from casting his family spell was finally catching up to him.

“You good?” he murmured.

Theo inhaled deeply. “Give me a minute.”

The Potter heir nodded and poised himself to wait for his friend to recollect himself. He exchanged a look with Blaise who had noticed him moving away. His best friend blinked slowly and shifted, hiding them from the sight of the purists’ faction. They were all huddled around Malfoy’s group. Harry guessed they were dying to know what had gone on.

When Theo’s shoulders relaxed in increments, Harry pressed closer to him.

“The firsties should have already relocated everyone’s luggage. We can go to our dorm if you want.”

They would be repurposing the Starlight room – which he had started calling their secret dorm after finding an old journal referring it as such hidden under a bed – into a private space for their group but they were glad to no longer be sleeping there. It wasn’t meant for so many people.

His friend hesitated before humming in assent. “Warn the others? I’ll wait here.”

“Sure.”

***

She woke with stiff limbs and a bad taste in her mouth. It took her a moment to regain her bearings and another to remember why she was in a bed at the infirmary.

“How long has it been?” Gemma croaked, rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Gemma!”

Air was punched out of her lungs as she was tackled from both sides of her temporary bed. She yelped as a bony elbow dug into her skin.

“Safaa! Be careful with me, won’t you? I just woke up! And Harry, why are you crying? Has it been that long?”

Her little cousin didn’t answer, too preoccupied with burying his silent tears into her neck. Her best friend and boyfriend had a tight grip on each of her hands while Adrian and Aspen looked, visibly eager to join in on the group hug but all too aware of the logistics problem that came with the lack of space. Gemma exchanged a long-suffering look with Madam Pomphrey, although her pleased grin at being showered with so much love betrayed her true emotions as surely as the matron’s fond smile.

“You’ve been asleep for three months now, Miss Fawley. How are you feeling?” she asked with a pointed drawl, drawing a guilty sigh from Harry who realised he’d forgone his healer manners.

“A bit sore but alright.” She paused. “Famished as well. I don’t suppose it’s time for lunch?”

“I’ll call an elf in a minute, let me just check you over first.”

Harry turned pleading eyes towards her. “Can I do it?”

“Tell me what you intend to do and I’ll see if I approve of it.”

Gemma lost interest in the conversation, more interested in offering a reassuring squeeze to her boyfriend's hand. Terence was gazing at her with a fragile look like he was afraid she would disappear if he blinked too long.

As she had lost consciousness a few hours after being petrified, she did not truly feel the time pass between now and the attack. She still remembered the helplessness of falling to the ground, seeing Harry cry and fall apart in response to it and having to witness her friends’ anguish over her predicament. If that was rough for her, Gemma could hardly imagine what it must have felt like on the other side.

She was just glad it had been her and not Terence. She knew better than to say so out loud. Instead, she raised their intertwined hands and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles before asking with as bright a smile as she could muster.

“So, what did I miss?”

***

The days after the takeover were tense. The second and sixth years didn’t seem to notice, lost in the bliss of their former queen’s presence, although Safaa Shafiq and Adrian Pucey were looking a little strained around the eyes, being the only ones to formally participate in Spencer Rowle’s court rulings.

Unlike what Slytherin had expected, the turncoat rex hadn’t just gifted his court to his queen. Instead, he’d chosen the least hostile friend Shafiq had, then appointed Lauren Macmillan – who was apparently Agatha Langley’s former lieutenant – along with Miles Bletchley and Graham Montague – who were the least politically-inclined people in the entire House.

It was obvious to everyone that he was trying to set a neutral ground to finish the year without bloodshed. From the way he waited every morning with bated breath for a letter from home to arrive, the whole of Slytherin could tell he had other things to worry about.

So far, no one seemed to have dared write home about it, too aware that antagonising the current Argentum rex could very well have him duel them for the offence now that he seemed to have found his spine. Nobody wanted to go through that. They all remembered what he and Higgs did to each other.

That wouldn’t last, though. Rowle would have some respite since he was staying at school for the holidays but he would need to go home after passing his NEWTs.

But it was his decision and he clearly seemed to think it was worth it, judging from his puppy-like expression every time his Regina looked at him. Shafiq was a cold girlfriend though, which the first-year guessed made sense. She wouldn’t happy with her boyfriend either if he almost killed one of her best friends and took the crown of another. Still, if she’d agreed to be his queen their relationship couldn’t be that tense, right?

Mafalda was just happy the whole ordeal was over and done with. She’d missed sharing a room with Flora and Hestia. The twins were a lot more pleasant when they weren’t in public. Besides, they reminded her a lot of her favourite cousins. Fred and George sometimes spoke in one voice when they were too tired to keep up the pretence of simply being regular twins. (As if they could ever be regular anything, these crazy idiots). They never did it around their parents though.

The Carrow girls seemed happy to see her too. They didn’t particularly like her other friends, who were usually too creeped out to carry out a conversation with them but they made an exception this time to gossip about the recent turnover and the incoming Quidditch match. Mafalda wanted to root for Slytherin even if she disliked most of the team members.

“I get where you’re coming from. Besides, I wouldn’t be caught dead cheering for Hufflepuff,” said Lily in her usual caustic manner.

Lixian snorted. “Rude. The badgers are so nice.”

“Yes. It gives me hives.”

“Well, I’ll be rooting for Diggory,” said Julia. “Not because I care about Quidditch. Just because he’s so dreamy.”

They all snickered. Their friend’s infatuation for the Hufflepuff seeker was well-known after all.

“And it feels like betraying Harry. I can’t believe we won’t be able to see him play for our House until our third year.”

Mafalda sighed. “And even then, Malfoy might be named captain and refuse to let him back in. We all know Professor Snape has a soft spot for him.”

The Carrow twins shook their heads. “He doesn’t. He and Lord Malfoy trade favours at social functions. We heard him asking for something in exchange for favouring his son and not failing his vassals.”

They all leaned forward, curious.

“What did he ask?”

Flora and Hestia shrugged. “Rare potion ingredients maybe.”

Mafalda sniffed.

“He should have asked for his backing to claim the Prince Lordship. The seat’s been empty since Aldrich Prince’s death, it’s unsightly.”

“The Black seat too,” murmured the twins, looking pensive. “And no Steward has been appointed.”

“It won’t be for long though. Hasn’t Malfoy been bragging about being the Heir?” wondered Lily.

The Prewett girl quirked her lips at the way Lixian was following the conversation, her head swishing back and forth to look at them speak. As her mother had only taken up her position as the British Ambassador of the Jiangsu province recently, she was often catching up on the politics and social life of the recognised Houses and Clans of Great Britain. She didn’t need to know it since it was the kind of thing that only mattered in certain circles. But in a House like Slytherin, showing such ignorance was inadvisable.

Luckily, their dorm was a safe space.

“He’s bragged but there’s no proof of that. He doesn’t wear the ring. Since Sirius Black was disowned, his little brother went missing and Lord Arcturus Black didn’t announce a new heir publicly before dying, we’re not too sure. He’s the most likely to inherit though.”

“But if he’s dead, shouldn’t the inheritor be in his will?” asked Lixian.

“Not if the Lord delayed the reading of the will.”

“Why would he do that?”

Mafalda shrugged.

“Could be any reason.”

The discussion lasted until midnight. After that, they collectively decided to go to bed. They wanted to be well-rested for the match. The next morning, Mafalda greeted her friends and let Felix lead them towards good seats at the breakfast table.

“Are you coming to see the match?” she asked Harry who was seating three chairs away from her.

He nodded. “I’ll be rooting for Cedric though,” he said with a crooked grin.

“His House pride suddenly shrivels up every time he has to look at Malfoy’s stupid mug,” joked Blaise.

Harry laughed.

He looked a lot more relaxed now that his cousin was up and walking again. Mafalda spared a guilty thought for Ginny, who hadn’t come out as hale from the whole Slytherin heir debacle. While the two girls weren’t close, she still worried for her second cousin. She heard Hogwarts was paying for the expenses of her treatment at St Mungo’s, which was a relief, but it didn’t seem to have any effect so far. Last she heard, the healers were stumped. Mafalda dearly hoped she wouldn’t have to drop out. It would crush Aunt Molly.

“Are you going, Blaise?”

She knew Lixian and Priam were planning to go see professor Kettleburn’s kneazles instead and Fawley – and her boyfriend who, despite being a quidditch lover, clearly was more interested in making up for lost time than watching his former team – had promised to accompany them but she hadn’t heard about the others’ plans.

The Italian prince shook his head. “Theo and I are meeting Luna Lovegood. They’re going to debate the existence of – what was it again?”

“Glomping plimpies,” said Nott while cutting through his omelette like this was a perfectly reasonable to say.

“Yeah, that. And I’m going to sit back and watch.”

He said it like he was genuinely looking forward to the prospect. Mafalda tried not to react too much but something must have slipped out because the second years laughed at her good-naturedly.

“Luna’s an interesting girl,” said Harry. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Mafalda understood why Harry got along with the Weasley twins.

The second-years were cool, but they were also crazy people.

***

Slytherin lost the match.

Harry let out a disgusted sigh as they returned to the common room. The corridors were still empty, all the other students having returned to the castle a little earlier. He’d stayed behind to help Poppy with Miles Bletchley. The Slytherin keeper received a bludger to the head and dislocated his knee, which probably didn’t help the team keep up their score even before Hufflepuff caught the snitch.

He was happy for Cedric of course. But he was also angry that his position on the team had been traded for brooms that hadn’t even helped.

“That was tragic,” commented Tracey.

“Right?”

“Malfoy’s gonna be so mad.”

“I know.”

“Especially since Cedric smiled at you.”

“He did? I didn’t notice.”

Adrian hummed in agreement. “It wasn’t for very long. He probably didn’t want to remind people you’d trained together. But I think Malfoy saw it.”

Harry sighed. “Great. At least he won’t have time to find a way to make me pay for that. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

He was really looking forward to being home.

Finally, the spring holidays were upon them. He didn’t have any plans for them, aside from speed-learning Italian in preparation for his trip to Mezzogiorno and attending a few social functions to remind people his House wasn't extinct. It would be restful in comparison with the last few months.

***

Avril’uzn of the Kuzhdne clan contemplated her correspondence, her clawed finger tapping on the lie-name addressing her. Her lips quirked as she traced the word “Darkclaw” painstakingly written in goblin script.

“Cheeky boy,” she murmured with an amused smile.

He was perfectly aware that lie-names weren’t used in goblin language but he seemed to find it funny to write hers in an approximate translation.

Maybe she should tell him her true name.

“Is it little Potter? He’s sending the pebble over today, isn’t he?”

Avril’uzn glanced at Ghradim, who was assisting her in choosing the best investments for the Potter accounts. His judgement was invaluable; in his capacity of Griphook the goblin teller, he listened in and interpreted staggering amounts of information on the state of affairs of wixen and picked and chose which account manager would benefit from his advice. That a teller had chosen her at all was not surprising. She was good at her job and kept the keys of a goblin-friend.

But being chosen by Ghradim in particular was an honour. He had the keenest ear in his profession and was one of the nephews of the Rhok of the Kuzhdne clan, the director of the bank. Considering that their clan made up thirty per cent of the goblins working at Gringotts, that gave him a significant amount of influence. The fact that he used it to work at ground level rather than in the depths was still subject to gossip within the clan.

“His sisters are sending him, yes. I already asked Soldhur to bring him here.”

Ghradim’s lip curled. “In a bag. Wixen have such strange ideas.”

She shrugged. “I’d rather be carried in a bag than spend another day as a magic-sick in a House like Carrow.”

She grimaced at the phrase she used for squibs in Kho’bl-guk, the tongue of her people. It didn’t have an equivalent. The concept itself puzzled Avril’uzn greatly. For goblin-kind, like many types of faeries, being without magic was unthinkable. It ran through every fibre of their body, sang from the gems that decorated their skins and their homes, and gathered in their mouths for each breath they took. A magicless goblin was a dead goblin.

They had thought humans and wixen to be different species for a long time because of the assumption that this was the same for the latter. Discovering that some of them were born either totally human or unable to access their core was startling for her race.

“As do I. Still, they baffle me. Rierh is a good sort though,” he said, using the name their king had bestowed upon Harry Potter when he was born. They would share it with him when he came to pay his respects to the royal clan upon his fourteenth birthday. Avril’uzn only regretted that the boy’s parents wouldn’t be there to see it. A name bestowal ceremony could only be shared with immediate family.

She remembered when little James was given the name Kwharn, “tenacious” in their language. He’d asked her why he needed another name and laughed when she replied that you could never have too many, lest a fae steals a few from an unsuspecting little wizard.

“Children usually are when they’re not being poisoned by their parents,” she commented.

“True enough. So what’s our pebble saying?”

“He’s thanking me again.”

“Because you offered to house the Carrow pebble for a month rather than a day?”

The Achilles Carrow situation was something she normally wouldn’t involve herself in. She might dislike wixen but the magicless humans sometimes disgusted her more. Goblinkind was told as pebbles how it used to be like, roaming the land when religion made the people fearful and violent. Not that her people roamed much anywhere but some clans used to migrate seasonally between goblin dwellings until the fear of being decimated had them staying put.

Even now humans dried up the lands’ resources and her king had had to create an entire division dedicated to limiting the damage they did to the depths their people dwelled in without their finding out.

Wixen did many wrongs to her people but the Statute of Secrecy was not one of them.

She hummed. “He knows what it would mean for our nation if someone were to find out.”

Ghradim laughed.

“Our king would thank you. He’s been itching to remind British wixenfolk the respect we are due.”

Avril’uzn thought about reminding him how the other parts of their nation would be impacted if they were to be so reckless as to declare war on the British Ministry of Magic. The International Federation of Wixen might have turned a blind eye to the last Dark Lord but they probably wouldn’t do the same for a goblin rebellion.

In the end, she decided against it. Besides, Ghradim liked Rierh too much to truly desire such a thing. Avril’uzn had high hopes for the time the boy finally took his father’s ring from his finger and his rightful seat in the Wizengamot.

He didn’t have the political ambition of Beatrice Potter but he definitely had the will to right wrongs as he saw them. With the support of his entourage, he might just be able to accomplish great things. And if the Black House’s account manager was to be believed… ah, better not to speculate.

Avril’uzn had hopes for the new generation. She could hear the chimes of change in the air.

That was something she would like to nurture.

An amethyst lit up on her wall.

She stood up from her seat, stretching her sleepy limbs.

“Ah, here he comes. Now, what do humans eat again?”

Chapter Text

Ulrich sat Harry down for a talk soon after he arrived home for the holidays. Blaise flooed to Diagon Alley with his bodyguard, having apparently been forewarned that this would be a fraught conversation. He planned to meet up with Daphne and Tracey there. The agreement was that Harry would join them in Daphne’s home if he felt up to it in the afternoon.

“I received a letter from your father’s friend a week ago.” Harry tilted his head. It was the first time Remus contacted his guardian instead of him. The last time they had spoken was three days ago and the man hadn’t mentioned it. “He asked me about something I was not aware I should make plans for. He wasn’t sure how to talk about it with you. As you know, I only came back to Britain six years ago. I lived in France for forty years and saw very little of the aftermath of the war. As such, I was not aware of what happened to your godfather. I was only told that he was unable to care for you. I didn’t think to ask about it, I’m sorry for that.”

“My godfather?”

His guardian nodded gravely. “His name is Sirius Black. He was the one who should have had custody of you after your parents were attacked.”

“He’s not—”

“Dead? No. I was as surprised as you are. I'd been told both of your godparents were unable to take you in and made hasty assumptions. He is still alive, but in Azkaban, I regret to say. Has been since the end of the war.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “Why?”

“That is a complicated story, which starts and ends with a betrayal. I volunteered to tell you so Mr Lupin wouldn’t have to. It would be… painful for him to talk about it to you, I’m afraid. Have you ever wondered why your parents were attacked by the Lestranges?”

The Potter heir shook his head, looking down. Beyond the fact that they had been fervent opponents of Death Eaters, he wasn’t too sure why his family had been targeted. James and Lily Potter might have been fighting against Voldemort but they were recent graduates and his father had only recently taken the Lordship. They weren't of the same calibre as the other Houses and clans who had been relentlessly pursued. Come to think of it, he should have questioned it. The attack had happened right after Voldemort's strike on Neville’s manor, hadn’t it? And the Dark Lord had first targeted Potter Manor, destroying his House’s ancestral seat in his rage when he found out his parents weren’t living there.

“My family was in hiding,” he recalled, repeating what he had been told about the tragedy which had befallen the Potter. “I never thought to ask what they were hiding from. It seemed obvious. The Bones, the McKinnons... the most prominent leading Houses of the Alliance were targeted.” He looked up. “But they had more members and were bigger names than the Potters. That’s not all there is to it, right?”

Ulrich nodded gravely.

“Mr Lupin had reason to believe Houses Potter and Longbottom were both targeted for a specific purpose, though he didn’t know what it could be. More than that, they were aware of it in advance and sought the means to protect themselves. It was in vain, unfortunately. You-Know-Who went after them with a single-mindedness that shocked everyone.” He paused. “According to your father’s friend, they were members of a secret organisation dedicated to the fight against You-Know-Who. It was called the Order of the Phoenix. He speculates that the leader of it, Albus Dumbledore was the one who tipped them off. He had been monitoring You-Know-Who's movements closely. Mr Lupin is speculating, I'm afraid. He told me he was on a mission in Ireland on behalf of this Order at the time. But he said that the organisation suspected a traitor, one who was looking to find your and Neville’s parents' location and relay them to the enemy.”

Who would have dared betray them both, Harry wondered. He felt sick at the thought. But as far as he was aware, only his mother and Neville's knew each other long enough to establish that kind of trust. Alice Longbottom was older than her and Lily was a bit of a loner for most of her school years, they didn't share many friends. He didn't think his parents would have chosen someone they had just met at the Order. There had been two traitors, he realised. One for each location. Two close friends or family members turned their backs on their own. Ulrich was trying to ease him into the revelation. Harry trembled in rage at the thought.

“Who was it? And how?”

His guardian raised a placating hand, indicating he was getting to it. “Your parents and Neville’s opted for the same method to conceal themselves, a charm called the Fidelius.” His expression twisted. “I understand their choice, You-Know-Who was a talented ward breaker and the spell offered more protection than defending their home could afford them.”

At Harry’s uncomprehending look, he clarified. “The Fidelius charm is not a ward, it does not stop people from entering a house or alert its inhabitants. Instead, it keeps a location, thing or person secret, erases every memory of it from everyone’s mind and makes it impossible to attain by anyone who isn’t authorised by the Secret Keeper. You must understand, lad, this charm is as powerful as the trust you have in your chosen person.”

“And since the condition of loyalty is inherent to the charm’s functionment, it has to be an outsider,” guessed Harry, feeling cold.

“That is so.”

“And what happens if the Secret Keeper dies?”

“The charm holds, but only for a time. It must be recast and another Secret Keeper must be chosen before the moon finishes waning. You studied cosmic events in Astronomy, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “A waning moon can symbolise a vacillating resolve. Is that why? It destabilises the charm.”

“Very good," he praised. "There is more to it than that, of course. Nothing protects a Secret better than the death of its Keeper, but that means the location kept under Fidelius risks disappearing along with the dead. Mr Lupin said it was what happened to the Longbottoms and the cause of their downfall. Their first Secret Keeper, Caradoc Dearborn, was tortured and killed by You-Know-Who without betraying the secret. The Longbottom ancestral seat was almost lost because of it. The manor ran the risk of being abandoned to oblivion. It could have been worth it if they kept themselves inside, but doing that would have meant slowly starving to death. Any land elf leaving the manor to buy food would have promptly forgotten its location. So they recast the spell and chose Bartemius Crouch.”

“Who was he?”

“Frank Longbottom’s godfather and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time.”

“Was he a Death Eater?”

Ulrich shook his head. “No, but his son, Barty Crouch Jr was. He stole the paper his father had written the Longbottoms’ address on from his study and gave it to the Dark Lord.”

Harry tightened his hands into fists. “What about my parents?”

“Your parents chose Peter Pettigrew, their schoolmate.”

The Potter heir breathed out. For a moment he had thought… but why was Sirius Black in Azkaban then?

Ulrich rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I requested the trial transcripts so I could better explain to you what happened. It's a complicated story. As far as I understand, your parents almost got out unscathed. Pettigrew was planning to pretend he had never been a Death Eater, let alone a traitor. But the Lestranges caught him at the place he was meant to meet the Dark Lord and interrogated him. They wanted to find out how You-Know-Who had been defeated and believed the key to that answer lay with the Potters. When they realised he knew nothing, they let him go. But not before he revealed the location of your family’s hideout.”

Harry’s magic crackled along his arms and he gritted his teeth to control it. Seeing his turmoil, his guardian got up from the armchair he was sitting in to face him and sat down next to him on the sofa. He murmured a light pain-numbing spell and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders. The boy blinked rapidly to keep away his tears.

“Your godfather arrived at your house too late to stop them, but early enough to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. The Aurors got there while he was duelling her and convinced him to let them arrest Rodolphus and Rabastan. He was prepared to kill them too, I hear. He went after Pettigrew next. It turns out the man was a rat animagus. They confronted each other on a crowded street. Pettigrew attacked muggles to try to cover his escape and shifted to disappear into the sewers, but Black used a summoning charm and killed him in his rat form before he could.”

Ulrich sounded grimly satisfied. He pressed a kiss on Harry’s brow as he saw the same pleasure reflected on the boy’s face. The two weren’t violent people; Ulrich had chosen to study wards to defend people’s homes and Harry picked the healer’s path. It didn’t keep them from seeing beauty in the justice meted out by someone who had loved Harry’s parents as much as their son loved them.

“People originally thought Sirius was your parents’ Secret Keeper but Auror Moody, who was responsible for the arrest of the Lestrange brothers, vouched for him. They couldn’t argue against that and the fact that he killed Bellatrix himself.” He paused. “She was his own cousin, you know.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. His chest felt warm. Sirius Black must have cared for his father a lot to go against his own family like that. “How did he end up in Azkaban then?”

Ulrich made a noise of disgust, tightening his arm against Harry.

“Bartemius Crouch. According to Mr Lupin, Sirius accused him of child abuse and said he wasn’t simply responsible for failing to protect the Longbottoms but also for turning his son into what he was. How your godfather knew, I don’t know and neither does Mr Lupin. The problem was that the comments were made in public while Sirius was still held for questioning. Before Crouch resigned from his job, he made it his mission to take Sirius down with him. Mister Black was an Auror trainee at the time, having joined to support the war efforts. Crouch had him investigated for a charge of excessive force, then an additional conviction for being an illegal Animagus.”

He scoffed at that. “Coming from the very same man who authorised the use of the Unforgivables during the war, it was the height of hypocrisy. Crouch burnt a lot of favours to have your godfather incarcerated. He thought it would protect his reputation. It would have worked if Arcturus Black hadn't interfered and if Augusta Longbottom hadn’t sworn Enmity with his House for his mistake. As it is, he’s barely holding on to his post in the Ministry —he’s been named Head of the Department of International Cooperation for lack of a better replacement but the Ministry is looking for any reason to fire him.”

Ulrich sighed. “Sirius is being held in the lower levels of the prison. His contact with the Dementors should be minimal. Still, Azkaban is the worst place on Earth. I hope the lad is doing okay.”

Harry nodded, his eyes stinging at the thought of having lost the chance to grow up with this man who had been so loyal to James Potter he had killed for him with no hesitation. He wondered what it would have been like.

“Sirius gave your custody to Mr Lupin while the trial went on,” continued his guardian with another sigh. “The two of them were engaged to be married. He likely didn’t expect it to go so badly.”

The Potter heir blinked at that. He had read in the man’s letter that he had met him when he was barely a toddler but he hadn’t realised it was in such circumstances.

“He must have gotten really sick for the Orphan Relocation Bureau to take you,” mused Ulrich. “I wonder what he’s suffering from.”

Harry listed the illnesses he had crossed out since the mystery had drawn his attention and other possible ailments. “I asked Poppy and she gave me a lecture on patient confidentiality. She’s right though, I’m better off asking him myself. Blaise thinks he’s a Dark creature,” he confided. “Some kind who isn’t allowed to get custody of children. I’ll find out this summer anyway. Since I told Remus I’ll be in Mezzogiorno in June and July, he said he’d meet me there and come back with us to Britain. He sounded really excited.”

His eyes widened.

“Do you think…”

Ulrich smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Yes, lad. Sirius will be released in December this year.”

***

“How is Achilles?” asked Adrian before scooping out a bit of ice cream from his bowl, frowning down at his notes for Transfiguration. They weren’t looking forward to the end-of-year exam. “I haven’t seen him at all since I got there.”

Terence and Aspen went out to meet the former’s Auror cousin for a conference about curses that Gemma had bowed out of, her muscles still weak from her time spent petrified. She and Adrian were studying instead, though they had taken an ice cream break about two hours in.

“He’s settling in. He’s really polite but you can tell he’s terrified, he doesn’t talk to us much. Even less than Harry did, and that’s saying something. He talked to Terence’s father when he visited, though. It seemed to have settled him.”

Gemma tried to find the chapter about laws of substitution in her book about the transfiguration of objects of disproportionate weights, huffing in frustration when she couldn't.

“He’s moving with them in August, right?”

She nodded. “It will give us time to set him up with a false identity in the muggle world and to ward him away from his parents. The amulet he’s wearing now works well but Terence said it’s not inconspicuous enough. A muggle kid might take it off without knowing what it does.”

“Makes sense. I’d say stitch the warding array to his underwear but even that he’d need to take off from time to time. A tattoo?”

Adrian discarded his empty bowl and left it on the tray away from their study materials.

“Same problem. If someone sees it they’d ask questions and a glamour placed on top of it would weaken its effect. I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying. I know you can do it,” he grinned.

She smiled and returned to her studying. They worked for another hour, exchanging books and parchments and quizzing each other on the material before they gave up, unwilling to give themselves a headache by forcing more information into their brains.

In the middle of their game of exploding snap, Safaa’s owl flew into their room. Gemma stood up and gave the animal a scratch before taking the letter it presented to her.

“Thank you, Daeva,” she said to the fierce-looking bird before it flew away.

“That thing is evil,” muttered Adrian. “Every time I try to touch him he tries to peck my eyes out.”

Gemma laughed. “He’s just a bit prickly. You need to learn how to handle him.”

“Hedwig’s better.”

Adrian was enamoured with Harry’s owl and the Fawley heiress understood why; the bird was a beauty and very affectionate.

“You share that opinion with Daeva, he loves her. I’m not too sure how owls court but I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried it.”

Her friend scoffed. “Him and the entire owlery. That demon has competition.”

“Safaa hasn’t tried killing Spencer yet,” she said after having skimmed the letter. She moved back to her seat and took up her cards again, discarding the letter. “They’re planning the end-of-year social events. He seems to be focusing on distracting everyone with entertainment to keep us all from fighting.” She snorted. “I don’t see how keeping the different factions in the same room would help but oh well.”

“To be fair, the other seventh years would probably mutiny if he didn’t plan an end-of-year party.”

“Would they? Langley had them so beaten down it’s a miracle they have a shred of self-esteem left and Spencer hasn’t done much to fix that.”

Adrian looked at her curiously. “You call him by his first name.”

She made a dismissive gesture with her cards. “He won’t have a last name before the year is out. Better get used to it now.” She smirked. “What? Did you think I was giving him my blessing?”

He shrugged. She shook her head.

“No. I want to skin him for what he did to Terence. His gesture was cute but it's not enough to make up for almost killing my boyfriend. If he keeps going down this line and becomes someone worthy of our Safaa and she wants to take him back, maybe I’d accept it. But that would be years down the line. I doubt he has the fortitude to fight for her that long.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of fighting, did Safaa say she was going to keep the Regina position next year?”

“Not sure. She doesn’t care for it. She asked me if I’d be willing to duel her for it and make Terence the Spinea Rex to my Argentum Regina but we looked it up to see if there was a precedent for using that loophole. It’s been done thrice in the history of Slytherin House but has only been accepted once by the Head of House. I doubt Snape would let us considering how friendly he is with the purists. I’d like to leave it alone — we’ll have enough on our plates with passing our NEWTs— but I don’t want to leave Harry with a shitty court.”

Adrian hummed.

“Let’s groom a successor then. That’s how it’s usually done. Cassius Warrington is decent at Defence and a half-blood whose family supports the Greengrass Alliance. He might not be up to Flint’s level now but if Terence trains him until the end of the year…”

“He has no care for politics though,” countered Gemma. “There’s a reason Spencer didn’t pick him as a lieutenant while he was choosing among the most neutral students. Warrington didn’t stand up for Shane during the House split and the only reason he’s the fourth-years’ leader is because they’re the most unambitious students we have right now. They just go with the flow and none of them come from significant families.”

“It doesn’t matter though,” he said sharply. “He’ll have our backing and the support of those who can’t be bothered with having an overly political rex. We just need to give him the right motivation.” She cursed as her cards exploded. Adrian smirked. “I heard the guy wants to be a professional duellist but he needs funds and more practice to enter tournaments. He was very disappointed when Lockhart turned out to be a fraud. He was hoping to get some pointers.”

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “He couldn’t have asked Flitwick?”

Adrian shook his head, his nose wrinkling.

“He has something against goblins. I normally wouldn’t want a guy like that as Argentum rex but backing him and allowing him to be a disappointing leader might be the only way we can keep the seat warm for Harry without having to sit in it ourselves.”

“I don’t like it. But it’s an option. We’ll have to talk about it with—”

They were interrupted by a scream.

***

Achilles felt nothing but pain. He tried to crawl off his bedroom and call for help but the very act of shifting his arm had his nerves shrieking and his blood felt like it was going to burn him from the inside out. He gripped his own wrist, hoping to stave off the feeling spreading from his artery to the rest of his body.

He knew who was doing this. Rather than looking for him themselves, his parents must have called his great-aunt. Flora and Hestia had talked about how Aunt Scylla had been one of the Dark Lord’s favourites. He hadn’t known what that meant then but he was sure of it, his parents didn’t have the magical power to do this to him.

He would know, he had read any book pertaining to magical cores in their library obsessively. Trying to find any proof he might not be a squib, any way he could gain magic himself and not be doomed either to death or exile.

Achilles whimpered pitifully.

He was going to die like this. Writhing on the floor like a worm, his veins charred by blood magic. Away from the only people he loved and who loved him.

His sisters had risked so much for nothing.

“I don’t— please—”

Please. He didn’t want to die.

***

“Frigus arteria,” Harry intoned, pouring more magic into his wand than he’d ever had to before.

He repeated the incantation three times at each of the boy’s extremities before casting a soothing spell. He gestured at Gemma who was levitating the tray of potions he had asked her to prepare.

He silently thanked professor Snape for preparing him to heal these types of curses, so much more extreme compared to the benign injuries and ailments Poppy was teaching him to handle.

He didn’t know this spell; it looked like a family variant of the blood-boiling curse, but to work at such a distance it had to be linked to a House’s bloodline. The Carrow sisters had likely been unaware of its existence: their family was from a branch of their House, only temporarily put in charge while the main line was doing who knew what on the continent.

They wouldn’t have believed their family capable of such cruelty to keep them in line.

Harry restrained a trembling sigh and poured the first vial into the boy’s slack mouth, massaging his throat so he could swallow. He repeated the action with five different potions. One for numbing his patient’s arm. Another for pain relief. One for regulating his temperature, one to repair the damage and another to prevent the potions ingredients from interfering with each other.

The latter was an invention of his grandfather, whose recipe he had to allow Blaise to copy out of his grimoire while he stabilised Achilles and stopped the curse from spreading further.

His best friend was still looking shell-shocked at the show of trust like he hadn’t understood yet that Harry would give him way more than that if he asked. When all of this was over, they would talk about it. They still had a week of vacation. They had spent the first week in careless relaxation, their sole matter of preoccupation being Harry’s mind-healing sessions following the revelation of his godfather’s fate and the upcoming end-of-year exams.

Then Gemma had fire-called him in a panic.

“Spread the salve into his palm,” he instructed.“We’re lucky it didn’t reach his heart,” he added for himself.

He muttered a cleansing spell, pointing his wand at his cousin’s hands. The residue from the salve vanished from her hand, leaving behind a pleasantly smelling sheen.

He glanced at the boy, whose clammy temples were steaming in swirls of cerulean blue due to the potion he had just made him ingest.

“This will happen again,” he said with certainty. “Whoever did this must have felt my interference, they’ll try again.”

“And they know someone is helping Achilles hide,” murmured Blaise grimly.

Harry hummed in agreement. “They’ll probably focus on finding him for now, but they’ll soon realise they can just cast the curse again during a moment of inattention. That, and we’ll be gone in a week.”

It took him two hours to make the curse recede rather than stopper it. Achilles passed out after fifteen minutes, his body giving up on him despite the anaesthetic draught Harry had him drink, meant to numb his pain receptors.

“How can we stop it?” asked Adrian.

“I don’t know. Ser Peregrine?”

He glanced at the portrait Blaise had brought along with his grimoire. It was propped up against the wall in front of Achilles’ bed and had been instrumental in finding the right combination of spells to start with.

The man in the painting shook his head regretfully.

“I haven’t seen anything like it while I was still alive, son. I studied diseases, not curses. My apologies.”

Harry sighed. “It’s alright.”

He should have known. the healer would have told him beforehand if he knew what ought to be done.

“I’d write professor Snape but—”

“He can’t be trusted,” finished Blaise with a resigned frown. “What about Madam Pomphrey?”

“She’s a mediwitch, not a specialised healer,” said Harry wryly. “She’s not trained to heal something like this. She’d be obligated to follow the Oath of Asclepius: she would have to take Achilles to St Mungo’s.”

“Which would be as good as killing him since they would in turn be forced to call his family. Even if they didn’t, it’s the first place the Carrow would look for him. It would compromise us all,” concluded Gemma. “We can’t trust other healers.”

“I could maybe find a solution if I had time to research bloodline curses and to learn how to cast the appropriate counter. But there’s no time for it.”

There would be no time to test the results either and Harry was only a second year. He might be good at healing but professor Snape had cautioned him against being too confident. It only took one mistake to end up with a dead patient.

“No time to research, no one to trust,” lamented Adrian. “We’re fucked.”

Harry tucked at his caduceus earring before sliding down to sit on the floor. He put his wand back in its holster and buried his face in his hands.

He stayed like this for a moment, thinking over their options.

Blood adoption would work but it would mean draining Achilles so completely of his blood he had every risk of dying before completing the ritual. Besides, he wasn’t sure if it even was possible for someone without a magical core.

He mentally reviewed and discarded potions and charms.

He recalled the basic theory of healing arrays he had only started learning before dismissing it for that exact reason.

“This is going to sound stupid but a bloodline curse relies on the caster’s blood, right, Harry?” asked Blaise suddenly.

He looked up. “Er, yes. It targets specific characteristics in the caster’s genetic makeup to identify the curse’s recipient and heighten its effects. That’s why the amulet didn’t help, it’s essentially a curse the caster puts on themselves, linking them to their target. I’m guessing they must have a failsafe to stop them from feeling the curse’s effect themselves.”

“So, if we got rid of this failsafe…”

Harry took a sharp breath. “Then the spell would backlash and turn on everyone who shares their blood as soon as they tried to use it.”

“If we can’t keep Achilles safe from the curse, we can make it so the risk of using it isn’t worth the effort,” said Blaise with a smirk.

“Is there a spell for that?” asked Adrian.

“I don’t know, but there’s a Zabini ritual. I’ll owl my mother.” He turned to Harry. “You might end up meeting more of my family sooner than planned.”

***

“You have been quiet, dragon.”

Draco stopped juggling with his practice snitch and looked up at his mother from where she was standing, her concerned eyes gazing down at him.

“Hogwarts has been disappointing,” he admitted, picking at the wings of his toy while he shuffled on his bench.

His dreams of presiding over a court steadily ascending in Slytherin had been shattered soon after he was Sorted. Instead of rectifying the situation by successfully asserting his dominance over the rival court he had found opposing him, he had only made it worse.

Now he had lost his hard-won grip over the Argentum throne and was sworn to silence over his failure in a way that made it impossible for him to ask his parents how he could redress the situation.

His mother sat down next to him, folding her robes so as to not create wrinkles.

“Is it because of Felix?” asked Narcissa with an air of gentle sympathy she rarely allowed herself to show on her face.

“You told me House Rosier functioned differently. I didn’t understand what you meant then. I didn’t think they would have let him fall this low.”

His mouth twisted into a sneer but his heart wasn’t in it.

“House Black’s family motto is Semper pura,” said his mother with a thoughtful tone. “It has been written in French on our tapestries since Antares Black married Mirabelle Delacour. Toujours pur,” she repeated, sounding reverent. “Always pure, because our House strived to remain untainted. House Malfoy’s is Fierté en notre Lignée.”

Pride in our Line, translated Draco. He remembered his father showing him the golden carvings on the wall depicting all of their ancestors, much brighter than the austere Black tapestry he had glimpsed at Grimmauld Place before Aunt Walburga’s death.

He recalled the way he had felt bigger than himself at the momentous realisation that he was the proof House Malfoy had prospered and would continue to strive.

“House Rosier, however, chose la Liberté ou la Mort. Freedom or Death. When you’re older, I will tell you why.” She paused. “The heir has the privilege to choose where to guide House Rosier and his elders may not interfere. He weighed the future of his House in the balance and decided the path he had chosen was the better one. Respect it even if you cannot accept it."

Draco bit his lip and nodded.

“Maybe one day he will find that he was wrong,” mused Narcissa. Then, sounding more doubtful, she added. “Or maybe you will find we are the ones who have strayed. Hopefully, neither of you will be too far off the path that you cannot find each other again.”

He hummed noncommittally. He couldn’t imagine it.

“Mother?”

“Yes, dragon?”

“What’s the motto of House Longbottom?”

She hummed. “I believe it was Grow Together, Never Yield.”

“And House Potter?”

His mother chuckled, though her gaze was sharp. “That one I never understood.” She pursed her lips. “House Potter teaches its scions to Embrace the End. Whatever that means.”

Chapter Text

“You let me look at your grimoire,” said Blaise.

Harry stilled his wand, resting it against his patient’s inner wrist.

He technically didn’t need to do a check-up; Achilles’ condition hadn’t changed in the past hours. But it helped him occupy his hands, which he sorely needed. Blaise had received a letter from home a few days ago, announcing that help would be coming the next day.

Theoretically, Harry should be sleeping. There was nothing more he could do other than wait for the next morning. He was only exhausting himself and his magic, which wasn’t productive.

He should really be sleeping.

Harry glanced at his best friend. He knew Blaise wouldn’t go to bed until he did.

But he was too wired to lie still and he needed to do something. So he watched over Achilles for any sign of relapse, of a resurgence of the curse he could neither null nor counter, only stopper its effects for as long as it didn’t act up again.

“Of course,” he replied simply. “I trust you. And before you say anything, I don’t expect you to do the same. Your family wouldn’t let you for one. And you’re a prince, your grimoires are a little more valuable than mine.”

Harry wasn’t blind. He might have a few heirlooms and spellbooks people would kill him for without remorse, but some would do much worse just to catch a glimpse at the Zabini coffers.

He found it fascinating when he had the time to think about it more. Blaise called his mother and himself kingmakers, insisting on being supporters rather than leaders. But although they preferred to stand aside, by their very presence the throne cast more gold than shadows.

“But it’s not supposed to work like that.”

He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Says who?”

Blaise looked unimpressed. “It’s an unwritten rule, isn’t it? You do for your friends what you know they would do for you.”

“That’s rubbish. You don’t show trust only to those who can show it back.”

He snorted. If it was how it worked, his parents wouldn’t have been betrayed. But his father hadn’t been wrong to trust Pettigrew. It was the traitor who was wrong to prove himself unworthy of that trust. Sirius Black’s existence and his deeds proved that.

“Besides, our situations are different. I’m —functionally at least— the last Potter.” For now, he added to himself silently. “If I want to let you look at my grandfather’s potion recipes, then I will and no one can stop me.” He shrugged. “It’s not like it was one of the old ones.”

Harry might have given it more thought if it had been one of the Peverell spellbooks, or anything of Aubrey Potter. He would have let him look at it anyway, sure, but he would have measured his action with more gravitas.

He knew that the value of the grimoire wasn’t Blaise’s issue. It was what he saw behind the gesture. A gift of trust he wanted to reciprocate without knowing how.

It seemed like telling his best friend the truth about the Potters’ betrayal had affected him more than it did Harry. The Potter heir was angry, sure, but his parents were avenged and the man who had done so would soon be free. Knowing had settled him, where it seemed to have shaken Blaise who always saw his lies as games rather than breaches of trust and was revulsed by the very idea of someone turning on a friend.

Raised as royalty, Blaise never had to wonder if he could trust others. The answer to that was generally no, save for a few exceptions. He had never had to wonder if he inspired that trust, or if he deserved to have it.

Pettigrew’s story made him wonder if he was capable of betraying a friend like that man had. If his penchant for lies meant that he might turn out like the rat.

Harry thought he was being silly, but he knew it was no use saying so. If it bothered his friend, dismissing his worry wasn’t going to make it go away.

“You don’t have to give me secrets to prove to me that I can trust you,” he said in a softer voice. “You show me that by defending me from others and having my best interests at heart. And even if you sometimes speak lies, your face is pretty honest, you know?”

He smirked. “Your high society mask might be good but you haven’t used it around me and the others since first-year.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sniffed Blaise.

Harry snickered. “Sure you don’t.”

The conversation lulled until his friend broke the silence again.

“I would, you know?”

His voice was low enough that Harry had to strain to hear it.

“Hm?”

“Avenge you, I mean. I would. Like Sirius Black did for your dad.” He paused, then offered him a sardonic smile. “I would make sure it doesn’t come to that, of course. But if it ever happened…” and it might, they both knew, considering how bold the purists were acting and how much louder the whispers of a return to conflict sounded. “I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“I know.” Harry furrowed his brow. Would he do the same? He was only twelve, almost thirteen. It was hard to imagine himself taking someone’s life. And yet. “I’d heal you. And if you died, I’d find a way to resurrect you. And we’d go after whoever attacked you together.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “Of all things you could have said, I really didn’t expect you to mention necromancy.” He laughed, some level of tension leaving his body. “But you know what? I like it.”

***

Antea Zabini was excited.

It was rare for any member of her family to request help. Aunt Serafina writing on behalf of little Biagio was intriguing, especially considering how strained the relationship between mother and son had been since the Yaxley debacle. She would know; she had read a few of her cousin’s letters when her aunt came back to the Caladrius Palace after the funeral of her Austrian boyfriend, a peddler in creature parts who had set his sights on the non-human community of Mezzogiorno.

Antea sometimes wondered how Serafina’s scheme still worked considering her growing reputation in the international magical community. As far as she knew, her aunt didn’t use any sort of bewitchment potions. When she had asked, her father had muttered something sardonic about their cambion blood working wonders and Antea wondered if the Principe was jokingly referencing their family’s rumoured history or if he was hinting at something else.

She figured she would only find out if she ever needed to follow in her aunt’s footsteps.

Unlikely, but one never knew what Fate had in store for them.

As she landed on British soil, dropping the now inert International Portkey into her attendant’s hand, she bounced lightly on her feet, offering the official who had paled upon recognising her a toothy grin.

The man introduced himself, but she only offered him a noncommittal hum, her eyes glazing over. If she had to remember the name of every ass-kisser who introduced themselves to her, she’d have little brain space for anything else. Her attendant twitched, though.

Antea grinned a little wider. An important man, then. She wondered what he wanted from her.

Unfortunately, she thought mournfully as she looked at her watch, she didn’t have the time to find out what made him tick.

“Would you care to direct me towards a Floo? I have an appointment I really don’t want to miss.”

Oh, he didn’t like that.

“Yes, of course, your highness.”

She followed the disgruntled man to a secluded chimney probably made to accommodate foreign dignitaries, her bodyguard and her attendant a step behind her. A sharp flick of her hand had her wand materialising out of its holster and into her open palm. She brushed the length of it in anticipation, wondering what her little cousin needed her for. Hopefully, she would be able to play with a little ritual fire.

Either way, she was sure it would be fun. Blaise’s correspondence with the family had been sparse and probably full of lies but she knew him enough to read between the lines.

He was having a lot more fun than she’d had at Virgilio Nero Academy. It seemed he had even made genuine friends.

She was a little jealous, to be frank. It had taken her a lot longer than that to find people she could trust outside of their family. But she had painstakingly collected an inner circle loyal to her and dependable and, unlike her baby sister Crescenzia, Antea hadn’t been stabbed in the back yet.

She could afford to be happy for the littlest one in their family without being too suspicious of his foreign entourage.

It wouldn’t hurt to test their mettle, though.

“Well, let’s see what this is about, shall we?” she asked in the dialect of her homeland as she levitated Floo powder into her empty hand. “Fawley Manor!”

***

Adrian wondered what changed in the last two years to make the tail end of their Hogwarts schooling so eventful.

When he expressed the thought out loud, Aspen looked at him like he was an idiot.

“It’s because of Longbottom. Obviously.”

They’d been waiting with the kids — minus Tracey, who was on a family outing — in Gemma’s parlour for Blaise’s cousin, whom he tried really hard to forget was royalty. Adrian had had no etiquette lesson and while the little Mezzogiornese boy had assured them Antea Zabini preferred informality, it was still a little nerve-wracking. He’d almost asked to stay at Achilles’ bedside with Harry’s great-uncle but he knew that would have only delayed the inevitable meeting. Perhaps he could get away with feigning sudden illness? It’s not like he was needed here.

But Aspen had invited him this morning to plant seeds with his family during Ostara and Adrian needed to stay to clarify if he was being propositioned or if his presence at his side was meant to be a statement for his Death Eater-affiliated relatives. No one in their group had ever stepped inside the Selwyn lands so the invitation was coming a little out of the blue.

“Huh? How?”

Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation he had initiated. Something else he had to thank his attention deficit disorder for.

Aspen lifted his closed fist before raising a finger. “The first year he arrived, a professor tried to kill him multiple times.” He raised another. “Second year, a girl is possessed and sets a basilisk on the students. Both of these incidents are related to the Dark Lord and coincide with the attendance of the boy who defeated him at Hogwarts.”

“I’d say it’s a coincidence but I wouldn’t like being proven wrong. If it does have something to do with him, I’m not eager to find out what seventh year will be like,” commented Terence.

Harry and Gemma exchanged a look, which Adrian observed with intrigue.

He remembered his friend had been preoccupied for weeks before she was petrified. When her boyfriend had asked her about it, she’d said something about Harry bringing her unsettling news. They had held their curiosity, all too aware that Gemma handled things better when she could explain things in her own time. They probably should have pried sooner but in their defence, they hadn’t expected her to be petrified.

But Hogwarts was supposed to be safe, for fuck’s sake.

“About that.”

Harry shifted, his lips forming a little pout. The pint-sized kid was cute, dammit. Adrian wanted to smoosh his cheeks like he did his little sister. Unfortunately, the kid was far from comfortable enough with physical contact for him to try. Besides, Laney usually bit his hand when he did that, he doubted a twelve-year-old would appreciate it more than she did.

What he was saying was far from cute, though.

As a muggle-born, Adrian was well aware of the gravity of the situation.

He didn’t have the visceral fear of the Dark Lord cultivated in those who had grown up hearing his name unsaid and his deeds only whispered but he had looked at the statistics, and read the trial transcripts. He heard the names of his classmates and he knew exactly which of them had relatives who wanted him either dead or on his knees.

He had embraced their religion and learnt their norms, close to his own yet sometimes so foreign he had to blink and take a moment to process the dissonance, but he’d never bothered to hide or shy away from where he came from. He had been proud of being a Slytherin muggle-born, speaking overtly about his own society’s advancements and idiosyncrasies as he settled into his newly earned dual citizenship.

In his friend group, only Terence understood what it was like.

Adrian was a child of magic and science, and he was proud of it.

That didn’t stop him from being afraid.

The likes of Marcus Flint were one thing, sneering and taking every opportunity to denigrate those they considered lesser. But the violence perpetrated during You-Know-Who’s rule was another.

Casual discrimination was gross and needed to be snuffed out but the dehumanisation, the hatred, the relish in suffering that Death Eaters and Snatchers demonstrated during the First War… it was the stuff of nightmares.

And a twelve-year-old was telling them that this was the future they needed to prepare for.

Judging by the resignation in Aspen’s eyes, word had already gotten around among the purists. At least in whispers if not confirmations, words from the continent from those exiled Death Eaters who had sworn their Houses to their cause and were still searching for their master.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

***

“You must be Harry, the healer in training! I’ve heard a lot about you,” exclaimed Antea.

Antea was pretty. Less imposing than her older brother, she had a bounce in her step that made her seem more personable. She favoured heavy gold jewellery that clinked as she walked up to them, and her hair was cut as short as Harry’s own, though it looked a lot more polished. Her smile was a little lopsided, enough for him to spot a sharp bedazzled canine.

Unlike Constantino and Blaise, she had no accent when she spoke.

She had come out of the Floo without leaving a single speck of dust on her silk red pantsuit. Harry was a little jealous. He still had trouble with it.

She had introduced herself to Gemma first, as appropriate for the hostess, before ruffling Blaise’s hair in a way that had him whining and engaging her in a rapid conversation in their home tongue. Then she had flitted to the three sixth-years, offering bubbly introductions before visibly losing interest and pinning Harry and his friends with her golden-eyed stare.

It didn’t feel like Prince Constantino’s politely dissecting look or Blaise’s appraising stare — the one he reserved for strangers before determining where exactly they fitted into the mental game of chess he played against the world —, though it had some similar quality to it. It was warmer, yet impersonal.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a small smile, bowing his head lightly. Blaise had warned him ahead not to bother calling her any title.

“And that’s Theo and… Daphne, right?”

They nodded more sedately. Theo began introducing himself more formally before she waved him off.

“No need, no need. We’re in a bit of a hurry, aren’t we? It’s not every day I’m getting called to perform a family ritual. My school years certainly weren’t this exciting.”

Blaise shook his head in exasperation, but his gaze was fond. “If you’re wondering if she’s always like that, the answer is yes.”

“That’s a good thing though!” said Adrian. “Slytherins can be so reserved sometimes. We need more Weasley twins energy in our lives.”

They all chuckled. Antea observed them, intrigued.

For her benefit, Harry’s best friend explained. “They’re pranksters in our school that share a brain. They’re probably the reason for half the grey hair on our professors’ heads. They did the same animated soup prank you did last year, professor Trelawney really didn’t appreciate it when her chowder started biting back.”

“Sounds like my kind of people. Anyways. What did you need me for, cugino? Your letter was a little vague.”

Blaise turned to Gemma, silently asking if she wanted to explain. It was her decision to take in Achilles Carrow, after all. She nodded before offering Antea a seat, unwilling to leave her guest standing in the parlour. They all followed her lead, gathering in the sitting area.

“My family has been in Enmity with House Carrow for about fifteen years. Consequences of the last war,” she elaborated with a tight smile. “It hasn’t amounted to much since the main family has been on the continent for a while, but it did create an incentive for two of their branch members to talk to me at Hogwarts. They asked for help smuggling their squib younger brother out of their home before his parents killed him.”

“You accepted, I’m guessing,” she said with a more serious expression, listening attentively.

“I did, though I gave a few conditions,” affirmed Gemma with a sardonic smile. Harry hadn’t known that but he wasn’t surprised. His cousin wasn’t suicidal. Antea looked approving. “We got him out at the beginning of spring break. We expected his parents would search for him.”

They all grimaced.

Terence continued. “They cursed him instead. And finding a cure might be delicate, on our timeframe.”

“What curse is it, exactly?”

They all turned to Harry.

“A family variant to the blood-boiling curse, tied to their bloodline.” It was trickier than that, as Harry had found out later. A component of the curse had transfigurative properties; Harry only caught it because he recast a diagnostic spell a few hours after the boy first collapsed. “Since we don’t know the specifics of it and I only have two years of training, we can’t come up with a cure on the fly and calling in another healer is… difficult, considering we essentially kidnapped him.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Antea’s eyes lit up. Harry blinked at her expression.

“I see! Since it’s a bloodline curse, you intend to dissuade them from using it by turning the backlash on the caster. Clever.” She sighed, looking pleased. “Mutually assured destruction, I like that. That’s an unorthodox solution to a thorny problem. I understand why you didn’t want to call in another healer. The ones that aren’t Oath-sworn are not what you’d call trustworthy and few of them are actually, ah, what’s the expression? Worth their salt?”

“That’s the one,” confirmed Blaise.

“Thank you. We do have a ritual for that, I’m actually proud of you for remembering which grimoire it was on. The thing doesn’t even have a name. Oh, I knew bringing all that brimstone was a good idea. Beatrice, if you would?”

Antea’s attendant opened the case she was holding and pulled out an old grimoire locked by what Harry recognised to be a hand-eater lock, a ritual dagger before levitating a few jars of fresh blood. Harry pointedly didn’t ask whose it was.

(He also tried to ignore the fact that the grimoire was most certainly bound in human skin. He didn’t quite succeed.)

She clapped her hands excitedly and turned to Gemma. “Where’s your ritual room? We’ll need to bring the boy there and place him at the centre of the array. We’ll have to use his blood to draw the inner circle too.”

The three older boys volunteered to fetch Achilles and tell Ulrich they would be starting the ritual. Harry and his friends followed after her and Gemma. He didn’t understand why he was so unsettled by her cheerfulness. He figured that this was probably the healer in him that was bothered. He had hated feeling so helpless in the face of someone’s hurt and he wasn’t exactly thrilled about gambling his patient’s life on a rebound ritual.

That, and his exhaustion made him snappish. After spending the last few days glued at Achilles’ side, obsessively monitoring his condition to prevent any further attack as he found himself unable to sleep, worried he would have a younger kid’s death on his conscience if he did, he was a little on edge. He’d had to pretend to go to bed so Blaise wouldn’t miss out but he hadn’t slept a wink.

He bit his tongue and ignored Theo’s knowing look. Blaise hadn’t noticed; he’d moved closer to his cousin and was absorbed in the grimoire the attendant —Beatrice? — had handed him at his request.

***

House Greengrass didn’t always own the Grimoire of Beara. Before it came into their possession, it belonged to a Scottish clan their ancestors had feuded with, who themselves had taken it from an Irish coven.

No records documented the beginning of that feud but later accounts from that era suggested that the now-extinct clan had obstructed the family’s attempts to gain their seat on the Lordly Council. House Greengrass had allied with the MacKinnon Clan and plotted their destruction. They had come out of that fight with a title, an ancestral grimoire and a betrothal that cemented their place in the political landscape of Albion.

Daphne wasn’t necessarily proud of what her ancestors had done but she had to admire their ruthlessness and cunning.

Before this master stroke, they were merely merchants of influence with no notable pedigree. Then they were sitting among Houses and Clans old enough to have sworn allegiance to the Pendragon line and survived the end of the magical monarchy of Britain, then called Albion. The very same people they used to bow and curtsy to and whose eyes they were forbidden to meet were now their peers.

All thanks to an ancestral grimoire they took by force and negotiated to keep, whose original spellsmith was rumoured to be the Divine Hag herself.

Daphne wasn’t sure how much she believed it. She didn’t have much interest in history but she had listened to Terence’s rants enough to know that it was custom for Houses and Clans to boast the ownership of ancestral grimoires to boost their family’s standings.

The old thing definitely had character but grimoires of that value didn’t tend to stay in one family’s possession unless knowledge of it was somehow disappeared or if said family had an army to defend it.

It would be hard to tell now since House Greengrass had treated it with more practicality than reverence. In their hands, it had been a learning tool rather than a prize.

A multitude of its spells, ritual arrays and potion recipes had been modified throughout the centuries and a dozen more of them had notes of caution inscribed at the top of their pages, a sign of the time passing and of her ancestors learning as they made of Greengrass House a Noble House of standing and invited winter into their cores in honour of the Cailleach.

Wherever it came from, the Grimoire of Beara was much more now than what its original spellsmith had probably envisioned. Reshaped and transformed by a family who cherished the relic they fought for and made great use of it to lead their House to greatness.

The only page they left untouched was that of their oldest and most infamous spell.

The Frozen Thought charm didn’t seem like much at first glance and Daphne had never given much weight to its potential.

(It definitely explained why her mothers moaned so much about her lack of political acumen. She just wished they’d realise that acumen wasn’t so much an issue as interest was.)

It was simply habit for children of her House to press their temples to their parents’ wands, think of the most memorable parts of their days and let them make a frozen crystal copy of them for later viewing. It was a rite of passage to learn the spell and perform it themselves on their first Yule after receiving their wand, but never something she thought much about beyond it being a cherished family tradition.

Once a year, they reviewed the memories frozen in the crystals before they chose whether to let them melt or make the thought-infused ice eternal. They kept at home the crystals with the most sentimental value and in the family vaults those that were deemed materially useful to their clans.

Political secrets, magical inventions and keys to buried treasures were stored there for later use by descendants of their House, a veritable wealth of information for anyone who was patient enough to peruse it.

Daphne certainly wasn’t. She used the charm out of habit and indulgence more than anything, too young yet to appreciate its value beyond the theoretical idea of it. She certainly appreciated it a lot more after the Lockhart debacle and all the discussions that ensued about memory charms but she still preferred to immortalise nice memories by drawing portraits rather than by preserving them.

Expressing that sort of sentiment in front of Terence had made him puff up in so much outrage the sixth-years had gone into hysterics.

She had redeemed herself by saying she would definitely be making use of the charm extensively when she started researching a way for her to become the first-ever magical astronaut.

As she watched Antea Zabini in action, she wondered whether she could get away with keeping today’s crystal to herself. And as she looked at her friends for a brief moment, unwilling to turn away too long from the spectacle, she realised that she had signed herself up to make many memories that would make their mark on history.

She thought she understood Terence’s point of view better now.

“What language is this?” she asked her designated upperclassman as the Mezziogiornese princess carved the soft soil of the ritual room, her attendant pouring blood into the indents making up words.

The magic she was pouring into her work soaked the room. Daphne was soundly reminded of why Principe Aristeo Zabini was considered a Dark Lord in fifteen countries.

She felt like she was standing over the edge of a volcano about to erupt.

“Safaitic,” the history lover replied distractedly, his eyes glued to the ritual. “A South Semitic script used by the nomads of the basalt deserts of Southern Syria. I don’t know much about it, I’m afraid.”

Daphne watched, entranced as Antea Zabini danced around the room and made the ritual floor a work of art. The design was three-fold and intricate: two outer circles curved around an inner circle where Achilles Carrow lay in a foetal position, sleeping like the dead among candles and brimstones. His expression would be peaceful if not for the tremor in his brow and the way he seemed to murmur his sisters’ names at intervals, calling for comfort that wouldn’t, couldn’t come.

She was silently grateful that blood adoption wasn’t a viable option. It wouldn’t have done this boy a kindness, him who found so much solace in the last thing he had in common with them. That, and their shared blood. She wasn’t there when Harry had explained to him what they were planning to do but she wondered what Achilles thought of the fact that his sisters would suffer the backlash as surely as his attacker would.

Maybe he hadn’t thought that far. He was only ten after all.

She felt ridiculous thinking it. She would only be thirteen in a month. But being an heiress made her feel old sometimes, and she knew her friends shared the sentiment. All, except Tracey, who was frankly a breath of fresh air.

Harry, his hands shaking and his expression wan, passed the jar of fresh blood he had just collected from the Carrow boy to the princess’s bodyguard, who poured it with meticulous care into the indents Princess Antea had left to surround Achilles’ body.

Once this was done, the bodyguard and the attendant stepped back to let their liege work.

Ulrich Fawley put the final touch on the wards he had placed on the walls, containing the magic to this room and avoiding any chance for their enemies to find out where the ritual had been performed.

He then nodded to Blaise’s cousin and took his place next to Harry among the observers on the outskirts. They all waited with bated breath for Antea to signal to Blaise to step back as well. After he did so, she smirked and started chanting her incantation.

The Latin surprised Daphne, considering the origin of the script, but perhaps it shouldn’t have. The Zabinis founded their Dynasty upon the ruins of the Roman Empire, after all.

The incantation was long, but mesmerising to hear. Antea Zabini spoke in crooning tones, her tongue curling over the words of power like they were a love language. Her magic, thick and heated in the air followed along the intertwined paths of her commands written and spoken, making Daphne dizzy from its potency.

They wouldn’t know if the array had worked until the Carrows’ next attempt to murder their kin. But Daphne had no doubt that it would.

“... et igne pugnare!” Antea finished with a flair of her wrist, and the circles were set alight.

***

Flora and Hestia crumpled to the ground at the same time, right after Great-Aunt Scylla did. Their parents followed, the dull thud of their bodies drowned out by the sound of their chocked-off screams.

The spell cut off, forcibly, caught by their Great-Aunt before it could kill them as it sought to kill their brother.

The twins slowly caught their breath and pushed themselves off the floor. They wanted to cry of relief but they knew such a show of weakness was unwise. They contented themselves with a shaky breath and a silent word of gratitude for Gemma Fawley, who had apparently found one more way to save Achilles from certain death.

“Who?” bellowed their elder. Her wand was trembling in her hand. Her eyes were wild, her rage palpable. She looked every inch the Knight of Walpurgis she had been during the war. Her magic pulsed around the room, heavy on their shoulders. Flora and Hestia struggled not to bend to its weight. “Who defies House Carrow?”

They stayed silent as the Lady of their House vowed to take revenge for the insult and grabbed each other’s hand for comfort, praying the gods to have mercy on their beloved brother.

Chapter Text

“House Fawley thanks the Dynasty Zabini for its assistance,” said Gemma with a curtsy. She kept it shallow enough to respect Antea’s desire for normalcy but well within the margin of appropriate deference.

She, Harry, Blaise and Antea were alone at the moment, the others having been led out of the ritual room by Terence so she could get the formalities over with before dinner. Gemma’s parents were away at an international conference in the MACUSA headquarters and wouldn’t be back until the next week. Her grandfather and uncle were similarly detained: they were attending the wedding of a branch member of the House who was marrying a main House Dagworth-Granger. Meanwhile, Ulrich was getting himself into a tizzy in the kitchens, fretting about having to set a table fit for royalty. They had ordered catering from a respectable establishment well in advance, but that didn’t alleviate his stress.

She was glad her great-uncle was there to worry about hosting their guest in a way that befitted House Fawley. Gemma had been too preoccupied with the Carrow situation to devote much thought to it. She wished her grandfather was there to guide her. The wedding couldn’t have come at a worse time.

The heiress was all too aware that her lack of foresight might have resulted in Achilles’ death. The safeguards she had put in place hadn’t been enough. If the princess hadn’t intervened in time, she would have had that failure on her conscience.

“You’re beating yourself up,” observed the Italian princess, her head tilting like a curious cat.
“Gemma — can I call you Gemma?” Antea didn’t wait for her nod before continuing. “I’ll admit I do not know much about the situation —mainly because my incorrigible cousin is stingy with words and the family has only gotten a vague sense of the happenings at his school, which is baffling considering how much your local paper has blathered on about his particular year group. Neville Longbottom, davvero, Biagio? I’ll want to hear more about that at dinner. Anyway. One thing I can tell you is that no plan survives contact with the enemy. There is nothing you can do about that but learn from it and adapt.”

She paused then and offered her a sympathetic look.

“Now that they will be looking for you, you will probably have more close calls. You will have to be on your guard, especially since your enemy House sounds like a piece of work. But you have a lot of allies and a lot of resources. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Well, that and the willingness to spill blood to achieve the outcome you desire.”

Gemma breathed out and offered the princess a wan smile. “That’s actually helpful advice, thank you.”

Antea threw her head back and laughed.

“I should be thanking you! I haven’t done such an interesting ritual since the whole mess with Zia.”

Blaise scowled at that. “I almost forgot that happened.”

“What happened?” asked Harry.

“My sister Crescenzia is the same age as your cousin, Harry, but she wasn’t as lucky with the friends she made.” Blaise let out a scornful sound at his cousin’s words, which had Gemma thinking that was probably an understatement. Antea’s expression darkened. “One of Zia’s oldest friends had an older brother. The Don of House Mancini, an Ancient and Noble Roman House. Like House Zabini, it existed before the Sack of Rome and the creation of Mezzogiorno.”

Gemma wracked her brain at the mention. She remembered her boyfriend telling her about the history of the principality when Blaise made friends with Harry in the kids’ first year, but the details were a little vague.

From what she recalled, the Principality of Mezzogiorno —sometimes sneeringly called the Cambion Empire by its detractors— was created to protect the Southern Italian Magical Community from the Visigoths. The First Principe, Proteo Zabini was the seventh son of a Patrician, the aristocratic class of Ancient Rome. He found the Grimoire of Solomon in his travels and came back to his native lands with an army of demons. But instead of laying waste to the invaders, he built floating islands and whisked away those of the magical community who wanted to live away from muggle wars. Most magical creatures followed him, all too aware of the fact that they would be the first casualty of human conflicts.

Wixen took more time to take his offered hand, but it only took a century for the southern regions of the dying Empire to relocate, bringing their ancestral grounds with them and swearing allegiance to the Principe. The majority had Dark and Grey affinities, increasing the rumours of demonic influence.

The Duchies of Northern Magical Italy were formed out of those who remained behind. And although both northern and southern communities now called themselves Italian and spoke the same language if different dialects, they often treated each other with unveiled scorn. While Dark and Light didn’t have the same political connotation as in Albion — where wixen often conflated the blood purist ideology with Dark magic and progressiveness with the Light —, the underlying idea that what was Dark was also evil made itself just as prevalent in the North of Italy as it was in Gemma’s home.

Terence often lamented that the Zabinis kept the memoirs of Proteo and his wife Azyam under lock and key, refusing to provide scholars any insight into Proteo’s motivations or anything about his life before the establishment of his dynasty. Gemma thought it probably had to do with the secrets of the Grimoire of Solomon and the demons it contained, but her boyfriend seemed convinced that the Visigoths brought a threat to the Empire great enough to convince nobility and common people alike that they would be better off abandoning their lands to muggle whims. Proteo had even gone as far as to section entire chunks of magical territory to add to his islands.

When he’d asked Blaise, the boy had weaved the tale of a Christian Light Lord named Arius who poisoned the lands and made it toxic to Dark creatures and wixen. But immediately after, Harry had tilted his head and asked his best friend if he was telling the truth and the boy had laughed without answering the question. Gemma had to stay seated on Terence’s lap to stop him from leaping at the Italian prince and strangling him.

Her lips quirked at the memory before she made herself refocus on the conversation.

“Don Mancini wanted the prestige of marrying a Zabini princess so he gave his younger sister a love potion he brewed and asked her to procure blood from Crescenzia to attune it to her.”

Gemma stiffened.

“If it was only that, we would have handled it,” commented Antea, her eyes clouded. “Attempts to slip us love potions are common. Recently, someone made an attempt on me when I was visiting Blaise’s mother in Austria. We are very careful with what we ingest and have developed plenty of spells to check our food and drinks. Paranoia is the price royalty pays to keep their throne.”

“The potion was topical,” deduced Harry, rubbing at the back of his palm to mimic the gesture of applying through skin contact.

Blaise translated for his cousin at her inquisitive noise before continuing. “That's right. The Mancinis bought off the rest of Zia’s friends so she wouldn’t suspect it. They coated their hands in the potion before seeing her. Every handshake, every hug… the barest brush of skin would transfer the potion to her, and we didn’t suspect anything.”

“How did you find out?” asked the Fawley heiress, though she was scared of the answer.

Antea laughed. It was an awful sound, bitter and brittle.

“Lazzaro brought home a flock of birds.”

The two British kids blinked. “Birds?” repeated Harry.

“Caladrii, to be exact. The caladrius is a magical bird with healing power who is known to make nests in palaces. There used to be an entire aviary of them in the Roman Emperor’s palace but most were slaughtered during the sack of Rome. The Principe’s palace is even called the Caladrius Palace in their honour. Don’t ask me why, Dino’s the one who’s interested in history. The lessons bored me,” said the Zabini princess, shrugging. “Anyway, Lazzaro found a nest of them while he was exploring ruins Down Below.”

At their questioning look, Blaise explained.

“Mezzogiorno’s territory consists mostly of the floating islands but the magical remains of the Roman civilization and the creature reserves belong to us as well. We have an agreement with the muggle Italian government. They’re not too happy about mediating between us and the Duchies but because of the… tense history and the need for communication, we’re a lot better at magical-muggle interaction than the British ministry. They also appreciate that the South’s isolation means that we don’t go around mindwiping muggles every three days. We don’t interact much with them but it usually doesn’t go too badly. As long as the Vatican doesn’t get involved, that is.”

Gemma grimaced at the well-deserved dig to the Obliviators’ division of Britain. The inability of British wixen to fit in with muggles coupled with the fact that most magical districts didn’t even try to stay separated from muggle cities made the necessity of memory manipulation much too prevalent. This was a common debate in the international magical community, even outside of the tired blood purity argument.

Some wixen were unsure if isolation was the right solution when it meant completely alienating themselves from people who were ultimately members of the same species as them and that they had a lot to learn from, as historically proven when muggle inventions greatly benefited the community. Others thought that magical humans had more in common with goblins and dwarves than the magicless and that the integration of magical creatures should be prioritised, and the fact that the muggle world was incredibly hostile to them should be taken into consideration.

Despite the way it had in some ways furthered wixen ignorance and bigotry towards muggles, the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy had first been brought up when it became increasingly clear that magical creatures would either need to hide or to attack to be protected from muggles. Sectioning off the magical world both made muggle lands safer and made it possible for those who could not fit in within their society to create their own spaces without being subjected to scorn, disgust or exploitation. Muggles might be weaker than their magical counterparts but they greatly outnumbered them and proved themselves very resourceful when it came to improving both their weaponry and their rhetoric.

The Statute had stopped the situation before it became untenable even if it created other problems. They were yet to find a perfect solution to the magical community’s dilemma, so it would probably be debated until they had a better option.

“Huh.”

Harry looked as fascinated as she was by this glimpse into the life of the Zabinis. She knew he was very excited to visit in the summer and her friends told her he had spent many afternoons learning the language with Blaise while they were sleeping in the hidden dorm. He’d had to pause his Occlumency lessons due to the lack of privacy so she’d been happy to learn he hadn’t been left completely bereft.

“So, we call everything under the islands Down Below. Lazzaro goes there often since he’s the Head of the creature division of the foundation for …ah, como si traduce questo? La fondazione per la conservazione del patrimonio magico? Biagio, aiutami!”

“Uh.” Blaise furrowed his brows. “You know, I think my English gets worse when I spend time with other Italians. It’s the foundation for the preservation of magical heritage.”

“Your accent too,” commented Harry with a little smirk. Gemma elbowed him.

“Right. That. So, he brought back the nest — the eggs were in stasis in an abandoned summer palace, apparently, and the foundation had to hatch them magically— since caladrii are known to thrive among royalty. As soon as he did, they pounced on Zia and drained the potion out of her. She was… badly shaken.”

Blaise took a step closer before he wrapped a hesitant arm around his older cousin who looked stunned at the show of affection before huffing fondly and ruffling the boy’s hair. Harry had told Gemma that his best friend wasn’t close to his family due to the significant age gap between them and their many responsibilities. But this didn’t look like a distant family to her, just one who was so used to watching out for knives in the dark that they forgot they could count on each other even when they weren’t looking out for threats.

“Let me guess, House Mancini doesn’t exist anymore?” asked Gemma with a smirk, hoping to lighten the conversation.

Antea sneered. “They died by fire, as vermin should. Father let me choose the ritual,” she added with a grin. “It was grand.”

The responding smile on Blaise’s face was savage. Harry looked back and forth between the two with an impressed expression that had Gemma chuckling. She ruffled her cousin’s hair, unheeding his exasperated groan.

“I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Shall we join the others?”

***

Dinner was nice, though Blaise didn’t get to speak much to Antea alone while she was there. It would have been rude to converse in Italian in front of their hosts and the other guests.

Before she left Fawley manor, she ruffled his hair again and said her father had enlisted her into checking on the Principality’s trade guild representative whom he suspected to be embezzling money.

This kind of job was usually reserved for Lazzaro as he was the least likely to cast first and ask questions later but considering Antea’s little brother refused to leave the palace until the caladrii were adults, he understood why she was sent instead. Constantino was too busy and Crescenzia was in no state to speak to people outside of the family. She still flinched when strangers touched her, even after two years. Now she spent as much time in the palace’s magical menagerie as Lazzaro did when before it would have been impossible to drag her there of her own volition.

Before his cousin grabbed the handful of Floo powder her attendant was handing her, he intercepted her.

“Antea,” he asked hesitantly in Italian, “did you talk to Healer Alfieri at all before you left…?”

His cousin’s eyes widened at the question.

She nodded. “He said you’ll have to purge the draught when you arrive and he’ll prescribe you an appropriate regimen before you leave.” She paused before fixing him with her piercing stare. “Have you told your friends about it?”

He wrinkled his nose.

“No. I didn’t see the point. I’m planning on telling Harry this summer, but that’s because I want him to be there for my check-up. I think Theo knows, he had a potion phase last year and the others will probably find out once I start taking draughts.” He paused. “I don’t mind them finding out but it’s not something I’m interested in discussing.”

She tilted her head, seeming a bit puzzled. “If you think it’s best.”

He sent her a deadpan look. Of course, he thought it was best or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Also, I wanted to write him and ask if he could have some of his assistants compile research into core corruption for me. They don’t need to send it to me, I’ll pick them up in the summer.” He glanced at Harry, who was leaning on Theo’s shoulder, exhausted by the eventful day. “Just a little side project.”

Antea raised her eyebrows. “You’ll have to tell me more about that if you want Healer Alfieri to agree. Some of these books are a little above your grade.”

“I told you Harry was apprenticing as a healer. We’re only in second-year and he’s about as good as a muggle surgeon. Circe, he sewed someone’s arm back a few months ago. The only things he can’t deal with are specialised diseases, brain injuries and magical damage. The Carrows’ curse really shook him up but before that…” He looked down. “There was this first-year girl. Our friends’ little sister.”

And wasn’t it strange to call the Weasley twins his friends? Blaise had gone to Hogwarts with the conviction that he would spend his education feeling alone in a crowd. Surrounded by people with no meaningless connexions as he had been in his home country.

But then he met Harry at the feast and they’d clicked immediately. Theo, Daphne and Tracey had taken him longer to warm up to, though he’d been friendly from the start. He was always a social butterfly. He just had difficulty connecting with people on a deeper level. But something about Hogwarts made it easy.

And soon he’d added people outside of their tight-knit group to the small circle of people he cared about. Susan, the Hufflepuff he always went to when he didn’t feel like staying cooped up in the castle. Padma and Su-a, the Ravenclaws who gossiped and discussed politics with him.

The Weasley twins, who listened when he made snarky remarks about the prejudice Slytherins faced and invited both him and Harry into their home.

He didn’t trust them as much as he did his court but they were genuine people who’d never made him feel like his last name mattered more than what he asked to be called.

“She was possessed by a cursed artefact, I’m not sure what. I’d never heard of anything like it. She was taken to the hospital, St Mungo’s. She hasn’t come back. Her brothers said her core was corrupted. Harry’s been reading up on it, trying to find something but it’s… rare. I was hoping we had more records than Britain.”

Antea hummed before she turned to her attendant. “Make a note, we’ll make an appointment to the physician’s wing when I’m back. We’ll see what we can find,” she promised. “I’m proud of you, Biagio. I know the situation with Zia was… but you didn’t let that scare you off. You have something good here. But…”

She hesitated.

“I know. I’ll be careful,” he promised.

“Good. And you’ll tell Dino about his artefact when we’re back. He’ll want to know.”

***

Theo watched the Carrow twins as they carefully didn’t look at Harry and his cousin while they boarded the train. His gaze trailed towards the girls’ parents, a couple with eyes so empty they seemed chiselled from marble. Behind them was an elderly woman with a look so severe it made Professor Snape look jovial.

She was short and stocky with long bony fingers which she’d tightened around her cloak once she made eye contact with Theo’s father. She bore the emblem of her House at her breast, a white spider at the centre of a plum embroidered webbing.

If Theo glanced at her shadow, he wouldn’t be surprised to see it try to writhe away from her.

He shivered when he realised she was approaching.

He hadn’t told his father about Achilles Carrow. He was too removed from the situation for it to do any good, and he had known the man wouldn’t appreciate him putting himself at risk by visiting Gemma’s house while she was harbouring a fugitive. Theo had mostly been invited because Harry thought he would want to see the ritual —and his friend was right, he very much did, and he couldn’t wait to read the books he’d brought from home about Norse rituals— but he doubted that the nuance would go over well with his overprotective father.

“Scylla. Back from the continent, I see.”

“Bertram,” she hissed with a mean grin. “What a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Her presence was oppressive. Unlike Harry who couldn’t always control the potency of his magic in the air and the way it seemed to hang heavy in the room when his emotions got away from him, it seemed that she wielded the density of her power like a weapon. It wasn’t to the point where it was crushing, but enough for the taste of it to weigh on his tongue.

Theo despised it. This wasn’t the chill of the starless days and nights on his ancestral island. This wasn’t the ozone and petrichor of Harry’s magic, the sulphur of the Zabini ritual, the cold of the crystals holding Daphne’s Frozen Thoughts or the indescribable feeling of the wards around the Davies’ household.

This was an intrusion. A thinly-veiled threat.

(Behave, or I will crush you.)

He wondered if the Dark Lord had done something similar with his followers. He remembered his father musing that it sometimes felt like they were all drunk on his power.

He hadn’t dared to ask what the man he loved and respected had found so addictive in the venom of a snake.

“Has it been so long?” asked Theo’s father, mild as always.

Subtly, the man shifted so his son could hide in his shadow. Theo breathed out.

His wand hand did not tremble.

But it dearly wanted to.

“It has been a while.” More than twelve years, thought Theo. Scylla Carrow had left the continent in search of her master right after the Dark Lord’s defeat, taking her heir and her spare with her. “Long enough for you to have forgotten your friends.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he replied. “But I had a wife to mourn and a son to raise.”

The Carrow elder’s mouth twisted in disgust at the mention of Theo’s mother. She didn’t seem to have caught the implications behind his father’s words.

She clearly wanted to say more about what the man had forgotten, but something stopped her.

“Ah, yes, your little heir. The last scion of House Nott.”

Theo shivered at the way she said those words. He knew that the absence of a branch family on the Isle made their House vulnerable in the eyes of others, especially considering the fact that his father’s marriage to a foreigner hadn’t given them close allies for this generation. He’d done the work to remedy that with his friendships but that mattered little to their enemies.

Knowing of a potential weakness was completely different from being confronted with a threat, he realised.

“I wonder if he is as talented in seiðr as his father was,” she mused, her sharp eyes focusing on his half-hidden figure.

“He will surpass me in no time. Theodore has a knack for runic work.”

Scylla’s eyes narrowed. “And he will use this… knack for our cause, of course? I’ve heard interesting things about the Selwyn boy who just took his mantle. Just like I’ve heard interesting things about you.”

“He will do what he must.”

Theo suppressed a smile.

“Hm. We should talk more, Bertram. You and I are the only Knights left.”

“Oh? What happened to Anton?”

That was the name of the Avery elder, he remembered. The one his father had told him never to approach alone because he was madder than a Black and easily offended.

“Haven’t you heard? He was caught trying to break Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. Like that old fool would do us any good!” she spat.

Her magic rippled around her. Theo swallowed.

“Theo. Run along now. The train is about to leave.”

He hummed and pressed a careful hand on his father’s back, away from the harpy’s sight.

Take care, he didn’t say.

I love you.

I will see you in the summer.

He gripped his luggage more firmly and, after one last look at his father’s inscrutable eyes, he walked away in silence, knowing that it was worth a thousand words.

***

Achilles rubbed at his wrists under the stream of water. He tried not to scratch it raw despite the temptation, unwilling to submit himself to the smell of blood so soon after he’d almost died from his veins being burnt from the inside out.

He focused on the bubbles of soap seeping away and rinsed his palms, taking a deep breath. And another.

“I’m safe now,” he murmured, ignoring the clump in his throat. He turned off the faucet and dried his hands.

He was safe. For now.

He tried not to wonder how long it would last.

He thought about better things instead.

Miss Fawley —Gemma, call me Gemma— had promised she would get him letters from his sisters around May when there would be less scrutiny around the twins’ actions. The new Spinea Regina of Slytherin was her best friend, she’d assured, and no one would find it strange if she asked them to hand over their correspondence.

Achilles wondered what was wrong with Slytherin to have had two blood traitors as queens in the span of a year. His great-aunt was probably seething.

But he would rather not think about Scylla Carrow right now. He would rather not remember staring at the motto of their House engraved on their silverware, the words he’d stared at when his father had casually pressed a steak knife against his wrist and told him he had half a mind to cut off his hand and see if his magic would regrow it.

His vision blurred. He put a hand on the door handle of the bathroom. He leaned his head against the doorframe.

He was safe.

“Achilles?”

He jumped. The boy blinked rapidly.

“Yes?” he croaked.

“Young man, are you okay?” asked the kindly guardian of the boy who had saved his life, Ulrich Fawley.

These people had saved him twice and were preparing to give him a future. An education, a chance at integration in a world he despised yet couldn’t help but long for. A place where he would hopefully belong.

He had accumulated so many debts he had no hopes to pay any of them for a lifetime.

“Don’t worry, little champion,” had murmured his sisters when he’d voiced his worries, questioning the wisdom of trusting a family who had sworn Enmity against their kin. “We would have done worse than reach out to an enemy to keep you safe. No matter the price, it will be worth it if you live. We are both Carrows and traitors to our names. The former might have given the Fawleys cause to resent us, but the latter will save you.”

They had told him to trust in them and the allies they had found.

The healer who walked like a king and the prince who talked like a merchant.

Harry Potter, who hadn’t yet sworn the oath of physicians but behaved like it was his responsibility to see him safe and healthy. A Potter brought up among muggles, whose House was in shambles yet as rich as the Malfoys if not quite at the level of the Blacks, the Bones and the Ollivanders. They’d allied with goblins in the past and taken a hit to their reputation, but Achilles had always been told that Lucius Malfoy would never have gained so much influence in the Ministry if the Potters hadn’t been attacked.

(Flora and Hestia told him he had come to them on the train and they had spent a long time observing him. They said he was the reason why they approached Gemma in the first place. Because she cared for him like his sisters cared for Achilles.)

Blaise Zabini, who called the favour of the second in line to Mezzogiorno’s throne just to save a boy he’d never met because his best friend wanted him alive. Who came from a land where wixen and muggles barely interacted. Achilles hadn’t dared ask what happened to squibs in a principality where everyone lived and breathed magic. He wasn’t quite sure he would ever have the nerve to do so.

The lady without a ring and the man she intended to elevate.

Gemma Fawley, the heiress groomed to take a seat her father rejected, who was both kind and pragmatic. Who treated a distant cousin like a brother, and the squib son of an enemy like someone worthy of her protection.

Terence Higgs, who shouldn’t have had magic and yet did, whose father should have been a wizard and yet wasn’t. Whose family would teach him how to walk and talk and behave like a filthy muggle, just so he could survive in the world least hostile to his existence.

The mudblood jester who ran ahead of them and the pureblood lord who followed when he should have led them all.

Adrian Pucey who joked to relax him and hid his sharp edges behind a friendly expression, and Aspen Selwyn who was all thorns and cool cordiality but who softened every time his friends smiled at him.

“I’m— I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Achilles had never met anyone outside of the members of his House. His existence was never declared, as expected of a child who hadn’t yet manifested any magic. He didn’t know how to interact with these colourful personalities who spoke of things he recognised only because he had nothing to do but read and hide from his family’s scorn.

He saw all of these people he didn’t know or understand and he was terrified. Of the unknown. Of the way his resignation had settled among them and he’d slowly accepted that he would never get a letter. Of the way they all made it sound like it might be okay to not have magic.

Achilles had lied. He wasn’t fine. He was terrified.

But he was safe. For now.

***

“I’m going to kill him before the year ends,” murmured Safaa under her breath, watching Spencer wave awkwardly at her from the other side of the room. She waved back with a fake grin, imagining how it would feel to tie the boy’s intestines into a bow.

“No, you won’t. We need him to stay on the throne if we want to finish the year without bloodshed,” said Aspen. The two of them were alone that morning. The kids were in class, Terence and Gemma were doing couple things, and Adrian had some bone to pick with Warrington. He had gone to bother him as soon as he found out the fourth year also had a free period on the first day back, waving them goodbye and promising he’d be back soon. She hoped he was okay. He looked a bit peaky.

“Just a little maiming? Please?”

Her friend pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You’re supposed to pretend you two are madly in love. If you start cursing him now, they’ll question your legitimacy.”

She watched him for a moment, cataloguing the signs of exhaustion. His eye bags could rival Terence’s —an impressive feat, considering the prefect’s magic literally kept him from sleeping due to the Curse of the Vigil— and his uniform looked more rumpled than he’d ever allowed. And there were ink stains on the pads of his fingers, which he would have already banished if he had noticed them.

“Wait, is that— Aspen!” She grabbed at his hand. “That’s not your heir ring. When did they make you a Lord?”

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “You noticed faster than I expected. I asked Adrian not to say anything. I wanted to see how long it would take the rest of you,” he smirked. “Oren,” his first cousin and the steward of House Selwyn if she remembered right, “gave me the Lord ring during Ostara. We did the… rites.”

Cagey as always, she thought. Some Houses really didn’t like sharing their magical practices.

“Ah, because the celebration is associated with new beginnings?”

“Mhm. Everyone was there.”

“Even your cousins from Durmstrang?” she asked, blinking in surprise.

“All of them.”

She whistled. “And how did it go?”

Aspen sighed. “It was a shitshow. Mother protested. She argued that I had no right to the Lordship as long as Father was alive. Juniper,” Oren’s younger sister, she filled in, mentally reviewing the Selwyn family tree, “told her House Selwyn wasn’t House Wilkes and her family’s laws didn’t apply. A Selwyn Lord who hasn’t stepped foot in the estate in twelve season cycles loses his right to the ring. That is our way,” he explained to her benefit. “Mother didn’t like that. She liked it even less when we announced that our House would make overtures to join the Longbottom Alliance. She’s been asking me to grant her a marriage annulment.”

Safaa winced sympathetically and bent down to reach for her purse. She rummaged through it and let out a cry of triumph once she’d found what she was looking for. She handed her friend a chocolate frog.

He snorted and took it, thanking her with a look. “Like she can’t divorce herself.” Aspen rubbed his face with his palm before opening the wrapping and beheading the frog, throwing its head into his mouth. “I shouldn’t have brought Adrian to this madhouse.”

“Why did you?”

He looked briefly embarrassed. When he started explaining, he didn’t meet her eyes.

“My cousins asked to meet him. Well, Marlowe asked.” That one was a second cousin, who went to Durmstrang with Juniper. He had five siblings and was the most tolerable of the lot, apparently. “Then Oren blackmailed me into it.”

“Oh-ho, I see.”

“You don’t see anything,” he deadpanned.

“Yes, I do. But I know getting you to admit it will be like pulling teeth so I’ll just ask Adrian if you finally confessed and call it a day. You've been pining for what, three years now?”

Aspen shook his head, exasperated.

“Right.” She took his lack of protest as confirmation and grinned at him. “Shush, you. Back to what I was saying. There was a lot of screaming, and most of the elders sided with Mother. But Aunt Laurel said politics didn’t matter, only the magic did. If I performed the rite and the grimoire in the sacred tree ate me,” he said with a side glance at her, though she kept her expression incredibly composed for someone who just learnt her friend’s Lordship ritual involved a man-eating grimoire, “then I wouldn’t be worthy of the ring. If it didn’t, then we’d talk.”

Adrian probably freaked out. She wondered if that was why he looked so ill. Come to think of it, he hadn’t looked Aspen in the eye the entire evening yesterday. She would have to talk to him, she decided.

Aspen didn’t need Safaa's mother henning so she made plans to address that later, both privately with Adrian and with their whole court.

“You survived, obviously.”

He shot her a tired smile, his exhaustion even more obvious.

“Yes. But at what cost?"

***

Harry was meeting Neville at Hogwarts’ greenhouse for the first time since classes picked up again.

Between the changes in Slytherin House, Gemma’s awakening and his eventful spring break, he hadn’t had the chance to see his godbrother much. He had even skipped the usual social events to take care of Achilles, which had worried his friends from other Houses enough that he had received several letters asking about his well-being. Ulrich suggested he tell everyone his foster guardian took ill and he needed to stay at his bedside as a way to explain both his and Gemma’s absence. Harry wished he didn’t have to lie but he understood that the truth should be kept among his and his cousin’s allies.

They didn’t know what information might spread from society gossip and there was no need to tickle the sleeping dragon.

“How’s Ulrich?”

Harry leaned against the glass wall of the greenhouse, careful to keep his hands on the paved walk. Being bitten by a magical plant was not his idea of a good time.

Next to him, Neville was crouching close to a flowerbed, putting on his gloves and methodically coating them with his magic.

Harry wasn’t as good at describing magic as his friends were —though Tracey was more like him as well, down to earth rather than flowery. Theo on the other hand, had a tendency to wax poetic about anything pertaining to magic, choosing his words with the care and reverence of a worshipper— but he’d always thought Neville’s magic was a bit like what it felt to have sunshine on your skin. It was gentle and warm, and oh-so appropriate for a boy who preferred handling plants to humans.

“Better now. He’s been sending all sorts of letters these past few days but he won’t tell me what it’s about. He said he wants it to be a surprise.”

He knew some of them were for Remus, whom he’d been helping prepare for Sirius’ release as well as asking for advice on choosing a proxy for the Potter’s seat in the Wizengamot, which had been left empty for years now. As Harry’s legal guardian, it was Ulrich’s responsibility to find a steward for Harry’s House. If the Potter heir had a suggestion to give he would have followed it, but Harry didn’t know enough about politics nor have enough connexions to make an informed decision yet, so something had to be done.

Harry privately thought Ulrich was trying to figure out if his father’s old friend would be amenable to accepting the role but they couldn’t ask Remus directly without knowing if his mysterious illness would be an obstacle.

“Huh.”

“What about your gran?”

“She’s… as well as ever. She’s brought me to two interviews,” he sighed while repotting a plant, which made a chiming sound to signal it liked the quality of the soil. Neville smiled down at it despite his apparent weariness. “She says I’m old enough now, that I should be doing it more than once a year. That and I needed to talk about what happened in the Chamber. Everyone’s been… I don’t know if you’ve read the papers.”

“No, I didn’t. Should I? Or would you rather tell me?”

“You can read them if you want but I’ll tell you how it went. They were mostly interested in the whole mess with Lockhart. I’m actually surprised you weren’t contacted about him, since you knocked him out and all.”

“They sent a letter to Ulrich after it happened. He refused on my behalf. They didn’t insist, I’m not a celebrity,” he said with a playful smirk.

“Lucky you,” Neville grumbled. “At least she didn’t make me talk to Rita Skeeter. If Gran thinks I’m old enough to give more interviews, then Skeeter probably will think I’m old enough to be ripped to shreds. I remember she had a field day when we had that whole debacle with that quack writer who published books about my life. I was eight then and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many ways to insinuate someone might be a squib before.”

Harry grimaced. “And you couldn’t sue her for libel?”

“No, she was careful about it. It made Gran so angry.”

“So… did you say the whole truth to the papers? You know,” he gestured at Neville’s scar before making a nonsensical movement, “with the… diary?”

“To say the whole truth I would have to understand what happened. We still don’t know what that diary was. I can’t just tell everyone in Magical Britain that I met a teenage version of Voldemort. Even if it would be good to tell everyone he’s a muggle-raised half-blood and therefore full of crap.”

Harry hummed.

“I don’t think that would help. He didn’t really hide it from his followers, you know? The Knights of Walpurgis all went to school with him.”

“How do you… ah, right. Nott.”

“Yeah. Actually, I think that made it even more legitimate to them. Like, he’s lived among them, he must know what he’s talking about, right? That’s what they would think.”

“But he didn’t!”

“Of course not.”

Harry carefully didn’t say that if the only muggles Voldemort had met were people like his aunt and uncle, he could somewhat understand where he was coming from. He remembered the scorn, the hatred they felt for him. He remembered the way his neighbours’ indifference to his obvious mistreatment was sometimes even more cutting than his relatives’ disgust of him.

He had no pity for Voldemort. The man had inflicted upon others untold atrocities that nothing could excuse.

But Tom Riddle, on the other hand… Harry knew muggle history. The man was at Hogwarts during the Second World War and if Theo’s father was to be believed, he had been living in an orphanage during the summers. He doubted the man had known any kindness or safety during his childhood.

He wondered if the man would have turned out the way he had if he’d had someone like Ulrich to take him in. Or if the Curse of Blood Mania inflicted upon House Gaunt during the civil war led against Ramsey Lestrange would have twisted him the way it seemed to have twisted so many of his family members.

Was it nature or nurture that made monsters?

“So you didn’t talk about Tom Riddle?” he said in a low voice.

Neville shook his head. “I said the diary was cursed by an evil wizard. I had to talk more about the basilisk to distract the journalist. I don’t want people to take it as inspiration or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I bet they lost their minds when you told them you killed it with a sword.”

His godbrother grinned sheepishly. He made an aborted motion to rub the back of his neck before remembering he probably shouldn’t touch his skin with plant sap all over his gloves.

“The article called me the second coming of Godric Gryffindor. It was ridiculous. The twins have been reading it dramatically in the common room every night, it’s terrible.”

Despite his words, Neville looked bashfully pleased. He had managed to cheer up the Weasley brothers, which was no easy feat. The longer Ginny spent at St Mungo’s the more difficult it was for her family to keep a smile on their faces.

It probably hadn’t helped Ron, though. Harry had heard that the boy was taking it harder than anyone else, probably because he hadn’t noticed Ginny was possessed until Tom Riddle revealed himself. He’d been lucky to have come out of the Chamber unharmed; although the cursed diary had mentioned plans to drain him of his magic as well, it hadn’t done more than stun him before Neville arrived.

The only thing that seemed to cheer him up was ragging on Malfoy apparently, the family feud between the two Houses having worsened due to the incident.

“Well, they’re not wrong, beast slayer. You’d certainly make a dashing knight,” said Harry with a laugh to steer his friend away from thoughts of his best friend.

Neville shushed him. “Don’t call me that. You’re exaggerating.” He paused. “The Argentum throne did call me a sword-mage, though. It said it hadn’t seen one since the fifteenth century. I’m not sure what that means.”

“Maybe you should find out.”

“I’ll ask Hermione,” he said with a smile, “she loves research.”

He pushed himself up before taking off his gloves. “We should head back. We’re meeting everyone in the library, right?”

Harry nodded and stood up as well. They’d decided to make an inter-house study group to prepare for the final exams and at least half of their year mates had said they would come. Padma had apparently spent the first days back to school making study cards for everyone to use so she could quiz people later. The Ravenclaw was really frazzled, determined as she was to beat Hermione’s grades this year.

They walked up to the castle in companionable silence.

“I think Professor Dumbledore knows what the diary was. He did that thing where his eyes twinkle when he looked at it,” said his godbrother after a bit.

Harry made a face.

Neville sent him a curious look. “What? You don’t like him?”

The Potter heir hummed before tucking at his caduceus earring.

“Headmaster Dumbledore is a bit… I just don’t understand what he’s doing at Hogwarts.”

“How so?”

“Er. I’m not sure how to explain it.” He paused, searching his words. “I talked a bit with Lee Jordan about a day ago, he and the Gryffindor chasers had come to our weekly Quidditch meeting —by the way, Cedric apologised to me for winning the match against Slytherin. Something about how it didn’t feel fair since he didn’t have a proper opponent and he should have been playing against me. He said it with a really innocent face too but I think he was pulling my leg. It was really funny. Anyway. Lee, Tamsin and I were the only ones there who’d been to muggle primary school and we mentioned how different wixen’s view of education was. Like, just an off-handed comment, you know?”

Neville nodded to show he was listening. Harry smiled and continued. “Our professors are all higher scholars. Well, aside from the DADA professors. I mean, even Professor Hooch writes sociology articles about the importance of Quidditch."

Judging from Neville’s expression, the boy hadn’t known that.

“The professors at Hogwarts… they teach us and do research on the side. Theo found a book about ritual arrays dependent on the movement of planets written by Professor Sinistra and he’s been raving about it since we’ve been back— sorry, sorry, I keep getting off-topic. Anyway, professors in the muggle world are not usually researchers. Some of them do it, but it’s not common. They’re usually people who have knowledge in a subject and do teacher training to be able to share that knowledge. School principals are former teachers, like the headmaster. So that’s not different.”

“The only thing that’s different so far is the teacher training,” commented Neville. “Well, that and what you said about the teachers not being scholars.”

It was a little obvious that his godbrother didn’t get what he was trying to say. He seemed genuinely curious though.

“I know, I know. The differences are really in the nuances. Like, Lee was saying that his mom complained about the fact that Hogwarts didn’t teach mathematics or literature. But we do. We do arithmetic in Transfiguration and geometry in Astronomy class. It’s like complaining about us not learning physics when most of it doesn’t even apply to the wixen world and what does is taught in the magical theory portions of our classes.” Harry sighed a little bit. He was not looking forward to revising his notes on the shrinking charm. “We could do with some English lessons though. Ulrich kept telling me my spelling was awful in first-year.”

“So we have different priorities?”

Harry nodded. They were almost at the castle’s doors.

“Yeah, that’s where I was getting at. It’s a different mindset. Muggle teachers don’t need to be geniuses to teach, they need to be able to explain difficult concepts in a way that’s easy to understand. Our professors are experts in their field the way college professors are in the muggle world.”

It was really admirable when you thought about it. Other experts usually devoted themselves to their research and took on a few apprentices or signed on with Magical Academies where they had two classes to teach per week. Hogwarts professors taught around fourteen different classes on top of their research and most were still at the top of their fields.

Ulrich had told Harry he suspected the professors who taught core classes used time-turners to get some sleep time and wrote most of their research during holiday periods. Harry thought it still made for a crazy workload. He understood why Professor Snape gave insane requirements for OWL-level students to be accepted in higher classes.

“And Headmaster Dumbledore is like that too. He made amazing contributions to his research fields, especially in alchemy.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?”

They turned left at the entryway, intending to take a shortcut to the library.

“Yeah, it is. But that’s not why he was made headmaster. That’s what bothers me.”

Neville frowned before he made a noise of understanding. “He became headmaster right after he defeated Grindelwald.”

Harry fidgeted with his heir ring. “Ulrich told me that after the war with Grindelwald, the magical world kept throwing positions at him. He accepted all of them except that of Minister of Magic. And he did nothing but the bare minimum with all of them. And it’s the same for his role as headmaster.”

“Is that so?”

Harry jumped and turned around, opening his palm to let his wand slide out of its holster and stepping forward in front of Neville. His godbrother did the same a beat after, placing himself at his side.

“Professor,” they both said when they recognised their interlocutor, watching the wizard with stunned expressions.

Albus Dumbledore glanced down at them with an affable expression, his eyes glinting behind his half-moon glasses.

“Hello. It’s a wonderful afternoon, isn’t it?”

The godbrothers exchanged a glance.

“It is, sir,” said Harry slowly.

“Very, um, sunny?” added Neville.

“Would you care to follow me to my office, young men? It will only be a moment, I’m sure. I don’t want to keep you. I’ve heard that you second years have planned quite an interesting studying session.”

Chapter Text

Fred blew air through his bangs, twirling his quill between his thumb and index finger. He was so bored. George was sleeping at the moment, and the part of his mind that led to his buzzed with half-formed dreams, rendered fuzzy by his unconsciousness. He knew that a brief tug at their bond would awaken his better half but he wanted to let his twin sleep. After all, George had been the one to draw the short straw in their latest experiment, which had led him to eat a faulty attempt at a Nosebleed Nougat and had him losing enough blood to leave him dizzy for several hours.

Lee hadn’t been impressed when he had come back to their dorm, especially when they found out that blood-replenishing potions didn’t work. He had confiscated the Marauders’ Map before marching them both to Hagrid’s hut, where Harry was having tea with Tracey Davies and Theodore Nott, the other two Slytherins of the group having begged off so they could meet up with Ravenclaws.

Harry had seemed fondly exasperated when he’d seen Georgie’s predicament but he cast a diagnostic charm without complaint before proceeding to heal the damage with methodic waves of his wand. After that, he made them agree to let him take a look at the ingredients list before they tried their inventions on themselves. It seemed to be a pretty reasonable way to avoid a potential disaster so Harry didn’t have to argue much to convince them. Fred sure hadn’t known to account for blood type when using albino bat wings in their concoctions. Being good at potions and knowing how they interacted with the human body were two different things. They would have to make sure to substitute ingredients that produced this type of adverse reaction with more universal alternatives, even if they were less effective. They weren’t trying to kill their clients after all.

Their healer friend was going to be very helpful in setting up their catalogue. He often had perspectives Fred and George didn’t quite account for as a prerequisite of his studies, and his help was invaluable. They would definitely have to thank him for his kindness.

Luckily, they already had a ready-made plan for that. After finding out the identity of the inventors of the Marauders’ Map, they promised to work harder at copying the spells on the Map so they could give it to Harry while keeping a copy for themselves. It was the only way their friend would accept them giving him back his father’s invention. When they had first tried, Harry had argued that they’d earned the Map fair and square. They had accepted it but keeping this bit of legacy from him had still left a bitter taste in their mouth.

Thankfully, they were almost done making their own copy and should be able to present the original to their friend on his birthday. Fred wasn’t sure the healer would get much use for it considering how busy he was being a goody–two–shoes (that boy studied almost as much as Hermione), a snakey politician and a healer apprentice but it was a matter of principle. He deserved that Map and so he would have it. They also planned to let him and his friends examine a few of their inventions; the second-year Slytherins seemed to appreciate their creative genius more than their Gryffindor counterparts did. The twins had already gotten a request from Nott to use Ravenclaw third-years as targets for their next prank. Something to do with them bullying a firstie if Fred remembered right. He even thought the kid in question might be Luna Lovegood, Ginny’s childhood friend. It wouldn’t be a hardship to help her out.

Fred sighed. He was still bored. Could he bother Harry, he wondered. A glance at the Map showed him that no, his friend was busy with his godbrother in…

“Huh. What are they doing in the headmaster’s office? I thought he said they’d meet at the greenhouse,” he wondered before shrugging. It wasn’t his business.

Another look at the Map showed the girls from the Quidditch team all huddled in Angelina’s bed in the fourth-year girls’ dorm. Lee and their two dormmates were at the library — poor Lee was cramming for his OWLs, convinced that his mothers would skin him alive if he dared flunk his exams — and Harry’s friends were in their common room. Fred tilted his head, looking at the area next to the Black Lake. Adrian was alone with Warrington of all people. His other friends were also in the den of snakes, save for the Selwyn heir — though the guy was a Lord now, wasn’t he— who was walking towards the Astronomy tower.

He stretched with a groan and stood up from his bed. Maybe he’d try to bother the former chaser. Adrian was always a laugh. Plus, he was curious to know what the guy was doing with his yearmate. Warrington was a right bore at the best of times, he certainly didn’t make for good company.

***

Neville sat on his hands, knowing that keeping them free would have him fidgeting throughout the entire discussion. He chanced a glance at Harry, who had sat at his side a beat after he did, his eyes fixed on the headmaster of their school. He hadn’t looked away from the man once, and his shoulders were rigid with tension. Neville wondered if this was the first time his godbrother got in trouble at school. He cocked his head. Surely not, he’d had plenty of detentions with Professor Snape for one, and Professor Binns occasionally.

Being taken to the Headmaster’s Office was more serious, he supposed, but Neville had been dragged here so many times this year due to the bloody Heir of Slytherin debacle that it hardly registered anymore. Well, that and Professor Dumbledore had visited Longland Manor several times when he was a child, though said visits always ended with his Gran cussing him out for daring to suggest she didn’t take Neville’s safety seriously enough because she refused to let the man study the blood protection wards his father’s sacrifice had apparently activated around the property.

He’d said something or another about making sure they weren’t weakened by the already existing manor wards, as Professor Dumbledore was somehow convinced that Neville’s continued survival depended on the way his father’s love had shielded him from You-Know— Voldemort. The whole debacle with Quirrell had only comforted him in his idea, though Neville wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about having burnt a man to death with his bare hands. He wondered why nothing had happened when he’d touched the diary. Was it that young Tom Riddle’s intent to harm him hadn’t been strong enough at the moment he’d had it in his hands? And shouldn’t that magical protection shield him from curses rather than keep people from touching him? They were wixen, for Merlin’s sake, only Quirrell was stupid enough to forget he wielded a wand.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here,” said Professor Dumbledore with an affable smile, his hands resting on his desk. “I am, after all, not in the habit of summoning students to my office because I hear them repeat the words of their elders, no matter how unflattering their portrayal of me may be.”

Neville nodded slowly. If the headmaster did that, Malfoy would probably end up camping in his office considering how often he criticised the running of the school.

Still, he didn’t like much the way he had dismissed Harry’s words as him simply parroting someone else’s. While the man didn’t owe them an explanation for the choices he made, Neville thought it wouldn’t hurt him to provide one anyway, especially considering the fact that they were not just students but also the Heads of their respective Houses who would inherit seats at the Wizengamot as soon as they reached the required age. Surely Dumbledore would stand to gain more by explaining himself?

He didn’t protest, all too aware that demanding answers from the Headmaster wouldn’t amount to much. On the contrary, it might get them detention for disrespect. Neville thought that showed the all too real conflict between the man’s position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and his position as Chef Warlock. The fact that the future heirs to the seats of Magical Britain’s legislative body had to think twice before speaking about their elected representative at school was a bit worrying.

“Your guardian will have the opportunity to question my leadership more directly if he wins the seat he was nominated for on the Board of Governors, of course. I look forward to experiencing it,” he added to Harry’s benefit.

Neville whipped his head towards his godbrother. He hadn’t heard anything about that.

Judging from Harry’s expression, he hadn’t either.

“He’s been nominated?” asked the Slytherin boy, blinking rapidly. The shock had made him untense, though he didn’t particularly more relaxed.

“His name was put forward by Esmaeel Shafiq, a long-standing member of the Board. Did he not tell you?”

Dumbledore looked politely curious, though there was a weird twinkle to his expression that Neville couldn’t interpret.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “He probably thought it was no use telling me about it if he didn’t get the position. Ulrich is weird like that sometimes.”

“And you do not mind being kept in the dark?”

***

Harry tilted his head, his brows furrowed. He didn’t understand what the headmaster was getting at.

“Not really. And even if I did, that would be something for us to discuss in private, I think. Why are you so interested in what my guardian does or doesn’t tell me, headmaster?”

He supposed he might have been more upset if the spring holidays hadn’t been so hectic, between the whole Carrow debacle and learning about his godfather’s incarceration. In truth, Ulrich seemed more worried about whether Sirius would petition for custody after he was released than about the Board of Governors.

Harry himself was a bit preoccupied by the thought. While he was looking forward to meeting his godfather and would always mourn what could have been, he was a bit apprehensive about the possibility of being made to move from his home. But they had agreed not to worry about it until the man was actually free, reasoning that after twelve years in Azkaban, it would probably take a bit for Sirius to recover and start making plans for the future. They would get to discuss their next step when his godfather was actually there to give his input on the matter.

So no, Harry wasn’t particularly worried about Ulrich forgetting to tell him he might replace Lucius Malfoy on the Board. Considering the fact that the vote would take place at the end of the school year, it wasn’t exactly relevant yet.

He hoped his guardian would get the seat, though. Maybe he’d be able to get people to do something about Professor Binns. History of Magic lessons were only getting worse.

“Ah, I do not mean anything by it, my boy.”

Harry carefully did not flinch at being called a ‘boy’, though he did grimace at the proprietary way the headmaster said it. He didn’t know what he hated more; the echo of Vernon Dursley this brought up in his mind or the over-familiarity of it. Either way, he would probably have to discuss it with Healer Merrythought. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

The headmaster kept going, briefly bringing his half-moon glasses higher up his nose with a twitch of his finger. The display of wordless and wandless magic was impressive, though not unexpected coming from the one who was called by many the ‘Second Coming of Merlin’. Harry thought his portrait of Roman Potter would have a field day discussing the implications of that. The historian always had a few choice words to describe the practitioners of the Enlightened Path, and none of them were flattering.

“It only touches upon one of my worries as an old man well-versed in keeping secrets. I often find myself pondering on what can be considered an acceptable omission and what is harder for the younger generation to forgive.”

His gaze grew a little distant then and Harry once more wondered what he was doing here. Neville he understood: his godbrother had confided that the Chief Warlock had always tried to develop an amicable relationship between the two of them, most likely due to Dumbledore having been the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, which both Harry and Neville’s parents had been a part of along with their friends.

Harry thought that these leading statements about keeping secrets might not even have been directed at him after all; he was just the pretext the headmaster used to have that discussion with Neville.

His godbrother seemed to have had the same thought.

“Is this about you not telling me why You-Know— Vol— Voldemort was after my parents? When I asked you after the disaster with Quirrell, you said I was too young to know.”

Harry straightened. Maybe there was a reason he was there too, after all, he thought. He remembered the conversation he had with Ulrich about the reason why his parents went into hiding.

The headmaster’s eyebrows raised like he was surprised by Neville’s deduction before he inclined his head. “That’s right.”

“Gran hasn’t told me either though,” Neville pointed out. “If I had to be angry at someone, it should be her, shouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. “Perhaps I am being self-centred. But I believe that this responsibility still should have been mine, as I am the most informed on this subject.” At their confused look, he sighed. “It is the burden of knowledge, I’m afraid. Information on the first war is a heavy weight to bear, my boys, and I took it upon myself to shoulder most of it so that others could have some measure of relief. I have often acted as its keeper to ensure that it wouldn’t fall back into the hands of the enemy. And I still do so now that proof of Voldemort’s continued survival has been given by you and others.”

“Others?” asked Harry, the previous topic forgotten. “Do you mean Professor Snape?”

The headmaster inclined his head.

“Does that mean he’s contacting Death Eaters?” he continued urgently. The alarm he felt at the thought had him half-rising out of his seat.

“No, not yet.”

Harry settled back down, letting Dumbledore speak. “But the Dark Mark’s magic is no longer inert. During the time he was possessing Quirinus Quirrell, the Mark had darkened enough to indicate he was close. Now it has faded yet again, but its magic hasn’t gone dormant.”

“So he’s not on British shores,” concluded Neville, looking a little queasy, “but he’s still a wraith looking to revive himself. How would he do that? The Philosopher’s Stone has been destroyed, hasn’t it?”

“Ah, yes, but practitioners of the Dark Arts have created many vile ways to escape death,” said Dumbledore, his eyes lowering down to his wand. “I do not doubt Voldemort will find one that suits him, given time.”

Harry grimaced. That was true enough. The only Light immortality ritual he could think of was the one the fae folk performed when they kidnapped mortal children to let them survive in their realm, and that hadn’t happened since Morgana Le Fey had killed a good number of them in retaliation for supporting Vivian and Merlin’s crusade against Dark creatures. The records said that she only stopped when Vivian promised they wouldn’t cross the barrier between realms for as long as Morgana’s descendants still lived. Vivian then enslaved Merlin to her and took him with her to the fae realm. The pair were never seen again.

“Then wouldn’t it be prudent to make a list of all the rituals – Grey and Dark – he could potentially use and work on ways to prevent the ones he is most likely to perform?” suggested Harry.

Dumbledore blinked, staring at him like he’d never seen him before.

“That… would be a gargantuan task,” he said slowly. “Those rituals number in the dozens in every country and no Auror force has managed to eradicate them.”

“That’s true, but it would slow down his resurrection enough for us to be more prepared,” he pointed out. “And it would give Neville some breathing room; if… Tom Riddle,” he said, enunciating the name slowly.

He understood better what Darkclaw and Griphook meant when they said names had power. There was something chilling about saying the Dark Lord’s real name, though Harry preferred it to the alternatives. You-Know-Who was a ridiculous name, taboo or not, Dark Lord was accurate but had unfortunate connotations, and Voldemort made people flinch hard enough to make Harry supremely uncomfortable when he slipped up and used it.

He continued, repeating the name with more conviction. “If Riddle is too busy chasing ways to resurrect himself in distant countries, Neville will have the time to grow strong enough to be able to defend himself against him.”

Neville smiled at him. “It’s not just about me. We’ll also be old enough to do something about people like Lucius Malfoy, which will make Voldemort weaker.”

Now Dumbledore looked flabbergasted.

Harry thought it was strange. Did the man really think they hadn’t thought about it? Yes, their education was their priority and they did try to enjoy the time they had before war raged on again, but Neville had already tangled with Tom Riddle twice. Not only that, but Harry wasn’t stupid. He had noticed that the schoolyard struggles he and his court had had to contend with tied closely with the tensions remaining from the opposing factions in the last war. They’d had to talk about what they would do if the Dark Lord succeeded. Talking was all they could do for now; they would have to get better before making concrete plans, for which they would have to rely on their elders.

“From the mouths of babes,” murmured the Headmaster before shaking his head. “But, my boy, do you really wish to spend your entire life looking out for Voldemort’s return?”

***

The Boy-Who-Lived smiled at the old wizard, though his expression was sad.

“Isn’t that what I’ll be doing anyway?” He paused. “He’ll be after me no matter what. I’d rather have a fighting chance than rush into a confrontation that’ll end badly. Especially because there’s nothing special about me, unlike what other people who believe in the Boy-Who-Lived hype seem to think. The longer he stays a wraith, the better my chances are, right?”

Neville was twelve and had to live with the fact that the murderer of his parents was intent on ending him. He grew up as a figurehead, a symbol of peace who only avoided being paraded to the masses every week because he had taken too long to manifest his magic. If the man could manage it, his death would be the symbol of Voldemort’s triumph and the start of a new war.

He wished he could simply bury his head in the sand, lose himself in the greenhouses of Hogwarts and forget there was a world beyond the plants he had to tend to, the friends he liked to care for and the homework he had to work on. But he was the face of the Longbottom Alliance and the Boy-Who-Lived-When-His-Parents-Didn’t. He wasn’t afforded all the luxuries of childhood, the blissful ignorance that came with being secure in your own home, in your school, in the streets of Diagon Alley.

Only Harry understood that. So they spoke of it when they met alone in the greenhouses, though never as in-depth as Neville wished. They’d only started broaching the topic this year, though he knew Harry had also touched base with his and his cousin’s friends about it so they would know what they were getting into.

They didn’t plan because they didn’t have all the facts and weren’t old enough for the information they did have to make sense yet, but they knew they’d have to organise their future around an impending war and figure out what to do if the hostilities started before they were ready.

Dumbledore released them shortly after a bit of back and forth, claiming that they had given him much to think about. If he planned on heeding their suggestions, he didn’t confirm it and Neville also noticed that he hadn’t quite gotten around to telling them why their parents had been targeted by Voldemort. But he thought that might not have been the goal. Rather, it seemed like broaching that topic had been a test of some sort. Neville had no idea if they passed it.

When they arrived at the library for the study group meeting, everyone was already there.

Neville sat between Susan and Hermione, smiling at Hannah and Ron on either side of the girls. Harry split off from him with a last wave before taking the seat between Padma Patil and Nott. The two seemed to be having an animated discussion about the different applications of the Engorgement charm. Neville pulled out his school supplies and grinned tiredly at his friends, already dreading all the studying they would have to do.

“So, where should we start?”

***

Roger Davies watched his little sister as she gestured animatedly, explaining some concept to a Ravenclaw boy who seemed more interested in her than in what she was saying. He grimaced, displeased at the reminder that Tracey would soon be at the age where she might start expressing an interest in dating.

He wasn’t quite close to his siblings. There was too much of an age gap between him and Chester, and his eldest brother was always more interested in his potions than in him. They didn’t have much in common; Roger liked Quidditch, football and playing drums while Chester was a proper nerd who willingly wrote letters to Professor Snape in the summers while he was still a student. Their personalities clashed too, one being an extrovert while the other was much less sociable.

Tracey had more in common with him and they were closer in age but she’d been attached to Daphne’s hip since they were toddlers and there was no dislodging her from the blonde – now blue-haired– girl’s side. Roger had had to find friends elsewhere. As a result, he spent more time with the neighbourhood muggle boys than he did with magical folks – except his clanspeople, but they didn’t visit Ireland as much as they should — until he reached Hogwarts age. He’d gotten a lot out of it, but it did make him a bit more isolated from his siblings.

They loved each other, though, as every decent family did.

Which was why Roger had watched carefully when Tracey joined a Slytherin clique – following Daphne there, of course, because his sister had never had a thought Daphne hadn’t had first — and deferred to a leader who was shorter than she was. He didn’t hate the Potter kid, especially since he and his guardian had helped them get rid of their freeloading uncle-ancestor Darragh, that was pretty grand if he was honest about it. But the type of friendship that required a leader was something that made him undeniably wary. Slytherins were bloody weird, man.

Sometimes he wished she hadn’t, especially considering the rumours he sometimes heard from Slytherin. But then he saw her like this, happy and confident and with more friends than only Daphne, and he didn’t wish she had gone to Hufflepuff instead.

“I was worried because half the time you pretend she doesn’t exist but I shouldn’t have been. You act like you don’t care but you’re totally soft on your sister, aren’t you,” asked Simeon with an impish grin.

Roger cast a mild stinging hex at his best friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

***

“Severus has been cursing your name quite a bit these last few days,” commented Poppy as she wrote the report she would add to the file of the student who had just left the infirmary. “Yours and Mister Longbottom’s, actually.”

Harry grimaced. He knew. The potions professor’s ire was really quite obvious when he attended his supplementary healing lessons disguised as detentions — this time, Snape hadn’t even pretended to find something to punish him over and just told the whole class he’d scrub cauldrons all day for “breathing too loudly”. Malfoy’d had a field day. Harry was surprised; he hadn’t expected the professor to continue the teaching sessions beyond the detentions he was already granted after the duel debacle but it seemed that the man was serious about wanting to prevent both injury and scrutiny for their House. It had already served him once when two fifth-year girls had gotten it into their heads that duelling would be the smartest way to handle whatever issue they’d had. It had evidently worked since the two were now the best of friends but Harry could have done without having to reverse the effects of a Decaying curse.

Harry didn’t know what he expected to come out of his and Neville’s conversation with the Headmaster but him delegating the implementation of their suggestion to his already overworked potions professor wasn’t it.

“We gave him extra work,” admitted Harry as he paged through the compendium of healing spells his mentor had assigned to him.

As the infirmary was currently empty, he didn’t have much to do but study and practice spellcasting. Since Poppy always had something to do, he spent the off-moments where she didn’t have a patient discussing proper spell applications and their possible interference with healing potions and patients’ pre-existing conditions.

Poppy hissed in sympathy. “As if he didn’t have enough to do. I swear, he’s running himself ragged.”

“You all are,” agreed the apprentice healer. “But Professor Snape especially, that’s true. It’s a wonder he doesn’t break under all that pressure.” He paused. “I truly didn’t intend for him to be saddled with more. When we suggested a— research project to the Headmaster—”

“If it has to do with You-Know-Who you can just say it,” interrupted Poppy. “I’m very aware of Albus’ priorities, and there isn’t much to connect Mister Longbottom to Severus besides this.” At Harry’s startled look, she chuckled. “I wasn’t born yesterday, son. I volunteered as Healer for the Order of the Phoenix after poor Benjy Fenwick went missing. They needed all the help they could get. That, and I’ll remind you that I was the one who took care of your godbrother in the aftermath of last year’s debacle, never mind the whole mess with the basilisk.”

Harry rubbed at his nape with a sheepish grin.

“Right. We suggested that research should be done to block Tom Riddle’s attempts to resurrect himself. Since resurrection rituals usually require things like unicorn blood or other nasty ingredients, making sure that those resources aren’t available to him would delay his return as much as we can. And that requires researching the rituals themselves to find out what he’s most likely to go for. We didn’t quite expect Professor Dumbledore to tell Professor Snape to do it all.”

Poppy whistled.

“That is a gargantuan task poor Severus is saddled with.”

Harry sighed.

“I know. Professor Dumbledore said so too and I figured that out myself after I thought about it more. It would be more appropriate to dedicate a Ministry taskforce to it. Aurors and Unspeakables.”

“But that would require them being made aware of You-Know-Who’s continued existence,” said the mediwitch. “And I don’t believe our current Minister is at all willing to entertain such thoughts.”

Harry grimaced. Yeah, Minister Fudge didn’t strike him as the type of man you’d want to lead a community preparing for the resurgence of a civil war.

“Why don’t you ask your guardian? Mister Fawley is a very knowledgeable man. He might be able to help, even if it’s not his area of expertise.”

Harry started shaking his head before slowing down and thinking about it. He was about to say it wasn’t a good idea; Ulrich was still busy working with Gemma on designing ways to ensure Achilles’ safety for when he finally moved in with the Higgs’ and started muggle schooling. But that wouldn’t stop Harry from asking for his advice.

“I’ll do that,” he said, furrowing his brows. He would ask Remus too, he decided. From their correspondence, he knew that the man was really knowledgeable about Dark magics of all kinds, though he generally knew more about creatures. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Good. Now, why don’t you tell me what you’d do to heal a concussion?”

Harry brightened. Healing head wounds was always a challenge.

“It depends if…”

Soon enough, the year was over. The exams went better than Harry hoped, the studying sessions having helped him catch up on all the notes he hadn’t taken during the year due to his distraction. He would have to do better next time though, especially in Transfiguration. He was glad to know that with the help of a competent teacher like the Auror who had served as Lockhart’s for the remainder of the school year, he was actually quite talented at Defence Against the Dark Arts. He and Neville had already resolved to petition for the duelling club to be reinstated next year. That, and they planned to start self-studying in preparation for the war. They needed to know how to defend themselves before it became necessary to do so.

In Harry’s case, he also planned for the inevitable confrontation he would have with Malfoy’s court when their non-aggression contract would be up in fourth-year. That was when he and his friends had planned for him to make his bid as Argentum Rex, though he knew better than to expect everything to go according to his plans.

Third year would be busy. Along with the duelling, healing lessons and looking out for movements from the Carrows, Harry had already chosen three electives, one being a completely self-indulgent choice and the other two a more practical one. Care of Magical Creatures simply sounded fun while Ancient Runes and Arithmancy were incredibly useful for ritual craft and spellsmithing. He had thought about Divination long and hard – especially when he’d learnt from Neville that the Headmaster had written and encouraged him to take the elective — before he’d decided that it wouldn’t serve him much. Theo made the same choices as him while Blaise had opted for Divination and Arithmancy only. Daphne had chosen Muggle Studies, Arithmancy and Runes while Tracey had dithered a bit, not especially interested in any of her options before writing out Care and Runes.

“What do you think?”

“Huh?”

Harry turned away from his Salisbury steak. Daphne was waiting for his answer with an exasperated frown, though her expression was relaxed enough for him to know she wasn’t really mad.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought. What was that?”

“What do you think is happening between Adrian and Aspen? They’ve been really weird around each other since Spring break.”

Harry tilted his head.

He had noticed that the two were carefully avoiding each other. Even now, at the end-of-year feast, they sat on opposite ends of their group when they usually took seats in front of each other. He remembered asking Gemma what it was all about and she’d huffed and said they were both being stupid.

Honestly, he was glad he wasn’t a sixth-year. Between this and the Spinea Regina’s cold war against her Argentum Rex who moped around all the time when he wasn’t holding court and worried over going home to his parents — everyone in Slytherin had noticed he wasn’t receiving any letter from home and Harry knew the seventh-year was probably as relieved as he was terrified —, it seemed to be an awkward time all around. The only ones who seemed happy were Gemma and Terence who were still blissfully overjoyed to be reunited even months after Gemma was cured of her petrification.

“I know something happened when Aspen took his Lordship. Gemma said the others have been trying to get them to talk about it but they’ve been semi-avoiding each other instead. And since Adrian and Safaa had Argentum court duty, they haven’t exactly had that much free time. They won’t have that excuse this summer.” He shrugged. “They’ll have to talk about it.”

Theo frowned. He looked like he was about to say something before he looked around and seemingly thought better of it. Harry looked at him curiously. It seemed like his friend knew a bit more about the situation. Considering the fact that Aspen had all but taken him and Felix under his wing, he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised.

“I hope so,” said Theo instead.

The conversation lulled for a few seconds before Blaise leaned forward. “So. Shall we place bets? Three galleons that Padma takes the top spot from Granger.”

Tracey shook her head. “No way. I’ve seen her study notes. She’s a research devil. I’ll take that bet.”

Harry leaned back and watched the devolving argument with a content smile.

***

Ulrich walked up to the empty chair. He pressed wrinkled hands to the smooth table in front of it and lowered himself into the seat before looking at his companions.

“May I introduce Ulrich Fawley, of the Noble and Ancient House of Fawley, our new school governor?” asked Esmaeel Shafiq with a smug grin and a glint in his eye.

The old wardmaster returned his friend’s grin with one of his own as everyone clapped politely.

It was time for the elders to get to work.

Chapter Text

Spencer crossed Rollo’s Keep’s wards with dread pooling in his gut.

He ignored the part of him that told him he should run, run and never look back. He didn’t have that luxury.

The family house elf, Meady directed him towards the sitting room, where she claimed his mother was receiving a guest.

The first thing he saw was blood pooling on the carpet.

He had never told Safaa.

He wouldn’t have dared defy his mother like that. Oh, but he had wanted to. Spencer had wished he could talk to her about his cousin whose custody had been given over to his mother while her father languished in Azkaban. His precious cousin who had been robbed of a chance to attend Hogwarts by Fenrir Greyback. Lizzie Rowle was eight when she was bitten. The same age as him. He’d had to beg his parents on his knees not to put her down. They’d called him soft and scorned him for it, but he got his way. He was their only heir after all, and though he had never been told in so many words, he knew his mother had sacrificed her ability to give birth in a failed attempt to resurrect the Dark Lord she still worshipped. The ritual they attempted hadn’t worked for reasons he was still unclear about, though he still thanked any gods that would hear it for that.

They used Lizzie as a tool to guarantee his obedience. And it had worked.

He had been the perfect heir, sometimes beyond expectations. In exchange, he’d been allowed to tutor his cousin, to grant her the magical education she had been denied. To give her a future.

As far as anyone at Hogwarts was aware, Lizzie studied at the Salem Institute of Witchcraft. And when it came time for her to ‘graduate’, no one would be the wiser. She would integrate back into British pureblood society with a supply of wolfsbane potions at hand, study under a more tolerant Master and live a happy life, if one shrouded in secrecy. Spencer shackled himself to his family seat for her life and freedom. He never regretted that choice.

He had only allowed himself to look at Safaa because Lizzie encouraged him to do so after he confided his eyes sometimes sought her out in the common room. She didn’t want to deprive him of a chance at love. His cousin always felt guilty for all he’d given up for her sake. He’d agreed to try, if only to soothe her guilt. He had never known how to tell her no.

So he had tried. He’d been reckless with it, his growing love for Safaa emboldening him to take risks he would have never dared to attempt. And for months, it was wonderful. The Light witch was a breath of fresh air. She was brilliant at potions, a passionate storyteller. She shared tales of her family in Egypt and Persia, took him to the kitchens and cajoled and bribed the hired elves until they made her favourite recipes for him to try and talked about her dreams to open a magical cosmetics business that would set new trends in the wixen world and encourage people to be bolder, brighter and more at ease in their skin.

She used him as a canvas sometimes and painted artwork onto him with potions, unguents and powders of her design, humming songs he’d never heard before as she worked. When she did that, Spencer always stayed still and stared at her unblinkingly, afraid that the wonderful mirage his mind had concocted would somehow disappear if he closed his eyes. She always laughed and covered his gaze then, saying he was making her blush. She called him her gentle giant.

She was so beautiful it sometimes hurt to look at her.

He spent months in bewildered bliss, unable to fathom that she had chosen him of all people, despite his inability to express himself, despite the way he sometimes flinched when she made to touch him, despite the enforced secrecy.

Lizzie was thrilled when he told her all about it. She started making plans for when he would finally challenge his Lady Mother, take the Lordship of House Rowle from her and marry the girl he loved. He’d never had the heart to tell her he was too much of a coward to try. He let himself dream nonetheless, imagining a world where he would be strong enough to take on the woman who had been called Madlin the Dread by her fellow Death Eaters and who had only escaped Azkaban because she had never been caught without her mask.

(Madlin Rowle had been a Gryffindor, like most Rowles before her. Their house sigil, two gold manticores on a crimson shield, reflected this tendency. Spencer had no doubt Lizzie would have been one too, if she’d been given the chance. They were both proud, fierce and brave.

Spencer… was not.)

He let himself dream.

Then Draco Malfoy found out and his world came crashing down.

He was forced to betray the girl he loved for the sake of his sister in all but name, who would be the one punished in his stead if the little worm of a blackmailer actually dared to tattle.

(Malfoy didn’t seem to understand that his threats might have worked but enforcing them would result in his death.

Spencer wasn’t willing to kill a prepubescent teen. He would do it if he had to. He almost had, before the little worm who thought to call himself a dragon had assured that if anything happened to him, his secret would be outed by his personal house elf and the Malfoys would know where to point fingers.

Spencer couldn’t protect Lizzie if he was dead, and it would be the most likely outcome of putting himself in the path of Narcissa Malfoy’s wrath, nevermind his own mother’s.)

The two months he spent as a puppet king were miserable, both due to Safaa’s refusal to even look at him and to the stress of having to figure out an exit plan for Lizzie before the truth inevitably outed. He’d told her immediately of course, and they’d found a way. They waited until the Daily Prophet announced a new sighting of the Greyback pack and Lizzie claimed her Right to Hunt, an old Rowle tradition from the times their family, the only magical descendents of William the Conqueror, himself a scion from the line of the Viking Rollo and the only son of the enchantress Herleva still kept to the ways of their ancestors. They hunted their enemies after coming of age and bathed in their blood to strengthen the magic in their cores.

She argued she was of age and House Rowle’s traditions allowed it. Madlin found it amusing enough to let her. They’d reasoned it would surprise no one if she never came back from it, especially if Lizzie left blood near Greyback’s settlement to cover her tracks. Of course, she had no plan to approach the pack’s den until they had already vacated it.

When Spencer received a message from her telling him the deed was done and she would now be headed west, he had breathed easier. Shortly after, Safaa’s court enacted their own plans. And he gave her the crown of thorns as both an apology, a way to ensure she would have control over Slytherin after he graduated, and a statement both to Malfoy and to his parents. His mother’s silence rang loudly, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Although Safaa still scorned him — and for good reason —, she played the game well enough and he was granted the guilty pleasure of her company. He had the time to memorise her features, all too aware that he would likely never see her again. Because he had to go home and the only certainty he had was that his mother wouldn’t let her heir die. He could expect his re-education to be painful but as long as he complied, he could leverage Lizzie’s safety for his obedience again. As long as she stayed far, far away it would be fine. He had only strayed once after all. His mother wouldn’t forgive it but he was sure he could make her forget it.

Or so he thought.

But here Madlin Rowle was, his beloved cousin’s corpse at her feet, calmly sipping tea in front of the mirthful eyes of Scylla Carrow.

His mother calmly set down her teacup before appraising him, her expression unreadable.

“Welcome home, Spencer. Say hello to Aunt Scylla, would you? It’s been a long time since she visited. For shame, her children are your godparents and yet we haven’t seen them in a decade.”

She shook her head in mock disapproval.

“You—” Spencer choked, feeling like bands of steel had encircled his heart.

Madlin Rowle tilted her head, as if puzzled before she put on a look of affected understanding.

“Oh, that? Fenrir made a mess of the carpet,” she tutted, shaking her head with mock disapproval when she noticed his gaze was still focused downwards. She gestured towards the bloodied body on the floor. “He hasn’t changed at all, after all these years. When I told him his pup would be looking for him, he was thrilled,” she said in a musing tone. “Of course, he was a little disappointed when she ran from him instead of challenging him. But dogs love a chase, don’t they? It gets their blood pumping. Now, why don’t you come sit, dear. We have a lot to talk about.”

***

Harry’s mother looked like a wax doll. Pale and pink-cheeked, with her blood-red hair streaked with silver and her glassy, empty eyes, so dull compared to her son’s they almost seemed a different shade. She rarely regained her awareness, though when she did she always had her son’s or her husband’s name on her lips. It was heartbreaking.

James Potter’s state was even sadder. His gaze always stayed blank unless he was having an episode, which Harry had confided happened rarely now. According to the comprehensive diagnostic charm Harry had surreptitiously cast during a prior visit, it used to happen once a day during the first months of the man’s hospitalisation, as opposed to once every six months in recent years. Blaise had only seen it happen once, when they had visited after Harry’s last birthday. It hadn’t lasted long, though Harry’s sombre mood after he was subjected to it had taken a few days to dissipate.

The constant tremors in Lord Potter’s hands and legs were worrying, though not as much as the way his magic sometimes thrashed as if he was still under attack.

A callous healer – new to the Janus Thickey ward, they later learnt — had wondered aloud why Lily was less affected than James when it was well-known that Death Eaters were always especially more vicious against muggle-borns. The curse Ulrich had sent him for that remark hadn’t quite made Harry smile but it had certainly kept his magic from lashing out, which was as much of a victory. Blaise had only recently learnt the answer to that question, the story of the incarceration of Sirius Black shedding a lot of light into the more personal motivations of the Potters’ attackers. Blaise thought Bellatrix Lestrange should count herself lucky she was already dead. Her husband and brother-in-law better pray he never found a reason to visit Azkaban.

Harry spent most of his visit telling his parents about his year and his plans for the summer. He apologised to them for not being able to visit again until the end of August, since they would be leaving for Mezzogiorno in two days. After that, he asked Blaise to watch for and — if necessary — distract the healers and medi-wixen in charge and cast another diagnostic charm. The results of it were completely unlike what he usually got when examining Slytherins needing to be healed after a duel. It was so extensive that the charm that generally presented itself as long lines of symbols curling around the patient was instead encompassed into multiple spheres containing each hundreds of symbols that shimmered above the Potters’ heads in a language that was gibberish to anyone who wasn’t familiar with healing magic. Harry would need several more visits before he could finish copying down all the information provided.

Blaise had an inkling of what his best friend planned to do with it, though he hadn’t found an appropriate time to bring it up.

The Italian prince watched from the corner of his eye to see if he was finished, just in time to see his friend dispel his charm and press a wand to his mother’s forehead.

“Legilimens,” he murmured.

Blaise’s eyes widened. He had taught Harry Legilimency in an effort to help him create decent Occlumency shields, though the year had been too eventful for him to truly dedicate himself to the lessons. He didn’t expect him to attempt it on his parents though. Especially not considering that Legilimency was technically illegal in Britain.

He took an aborted step towards his best friend, only halted by the fact that Harry himself retreated and looked over at him.

“Just a probe, don’t worry. I’m checking that their mindscape still stands,” he whispered with a sad smile before moving over to his father and repeating the process. As he stepped aside, his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Huh. Turns out my dad’s an animagus too,” he said wonderingly.

“Oh? What type?”

Blaise had mentioned that animagi’s minds often contained a spiritual form of the animal whose shape they adopted, though he hadn’t expected for the knowledge to be relevant to Harry in any way. Few wixen became animagi; while it was a pretty impressive magical feat, it didn’t necessarily have practical uses in day-to-day life and the animal instincts were sometimes such an inconvenience that it made the transformation less than worth it. Unless you were a spy. His uncle had a few of those under his employ. One of them transformed into a mosquito, which was both very unfortunate and very useful.

“A stag,” he replied, walking up to him.

Blaise grimaced. More mundane animals were generally better, in his opinion, unless you were one of the lucky few who could turn into a magical creature. Harry snorted at his expression, guessing what he was thinking. The Italian prince smiled ruefully. It was hard to shed their Slytherin mindset.

“It’s not on his medical chart so I’m guessing he’s unregistered,” continued his friend. “I wonder if Remus knew. He’s never mentioned it to me.”

“Are you going to ask him?”

Harry shook his head. “He’s very knowledgeable about legal matters and I still haven’t figured out if it’s because he follows the law to the letter or if it’s to better circumvent it. If it’s the latter – and since he was a prankster, it probably is – then I’ll ask. But I have to check.”

They exchanged a smirk before they left the hospital room, nodding at Blaise’s bodyguard on their way out. Aurelio, who had been waiting outside the door, straightened and made to follow.

“So, how are they?” asked Blaise as they walked to the staircase, his tone cautious.

Harry didn’t like taking the lift, claiming it was always too crowded. Besides, it was the best place to catch a weird magical virus.

“They were probably trained in Occlumency. I could see a mind palace in both of their mindscapes. They’re in bad shape and they’ve probably retreated too far into it for me to reach, but it still holds.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

They reached the second floor of St Mungo’s. Blaise watched as Harry pressed an absent-minded hand next to the name of Peregrine Potter, who had given its name to the Magical Ailments and Diseases ward. He smiled wryly. His friend had some legacy to live up to.

“Shall we go visit Ginny? The Artefacts Incident ward is on the ground floor, isn’t it?” he proposed.

He knew his friend had contemplated the idea, though he hadn’t been sure of his welcome. They weren’t friends with the first-year after all. They had spoken with her a bit the previous summer when they visited the twins at the Burrow, but the conversation had never gone beyond the superficial. Then she’d been possessed for most of the school year and the Dark Lord wouldn’t have risked her getting too close to Slytherins when everyone suspected them of opening the Chamber. The added scrutiny wouldn’t have done him good, he supposed.

It was a mix of compassion for a student who’d had it rough, common courtesy towards their friends’ little sister and a healer’s misplaced sense of guilt that made Harry want to visit her. That, and the fact that he was all too aware of how depressing St Mungo’s could be.

In Blaise’s case, it was mostly pity and curiosity that motivated him, though he’d never say it to the girl’s face. He thought it was very unfortunate that she had to pay such a hard price for her ignorance, but he also really wanted to know more about the artefact that did this to her. Of course, he had enough tact to keep it to himself.

Harry nodded in agreement, his expression growing even more solemn.

It took them a few minutes to get down and find the appropriate room. Unlike most of the patients of the ground floor’s healing ward who suffered from relatively benign backlash from otherwise relatively harmless magical objects like wands or cauldrons, Ginny was staying in a more private area dedicated to repairing the damage done by cursed artefacts.

When they got there, the first year Gryffindor was staring glumly at an assortment of muggle textbooks.

“Ah,” said Harry from the ajar door. “Hi, Ginny. We were around so we thought we’d come by and say hello. How have you been?”

“How do you think?” she snapped before flinching. “Sorry, sorry. Come in. It’s a bit lonely today. My family’s usually visiting but I’m gonna be discharged soon and after that we’re going to Egypt to visit Bill – Dad won the lottery or something —, he hasn’t been able to come here in ages and, anyway. They’re packing today so I’m on my own. Sorry again, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s very nice of you to visit, and I know it could have been way worse and I kinda deserved it anyway, it’s just…”

Blaise shook his head as they let themselves in. He interrupted the redhead before she could ramble herself into self-flagellation. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Ginny’s eyes watered.

“But I was so stupid! Dad said, if you don’t know where it keeps its brain —”

“And where does a magical painting keep its brain exactly?” asked Harry, his eyes flashing. “The Homorphus charm mimics people well enough that it’s really not as straight-forward as that. Even if you’d known the dangers, there was no guarantee you could have detected ill intent from the diary. Neville had it too and he didn’t notice anything wrong with it either.”

Blaise nodded. “You should have been more careful, yes, but you’re not to blame for being duped by someone who was older and cleverer than you. From what everyone’s said, your British Dark Lord was an expert manipulator and very charismatic. It’s no surprise you fell for it. Besides, I don’t know what that artefact was but it wasn’t anything I’ve heard of before.” He paused. “Have the healers said anything about it?”

Ginny hiccuped, holding back tears, before shaking her head. “Professor Dumbledore kept it.”

Blaise blinked in surprise. At the same time, Harry frowned.

“Why?” he asked, more to himself than to the poor girl. “The Artefact Incident ward specialises in studying cursed objects, it’s necessary to design treatment plans.”

The red-head shrugged.

“They already know what’s wrong with me, though,” she pointed out, sounding heartbroken. “And it’s not something that can be healed. That’s why I have all this,” she said, pointing at all the muggle books in her lap.

Blaise grimaced. They had heard from the twins that the diary’s magic was so fundamentally incompatible with hers that it was impossible to make them merge, and dual cores were unusable as the conflicting natures clashed and tried to cannibalise the other rather than coexist.

He had been horrified when his healer friend had explained the problem to their court after he’d researched the condition.

“Think of Light and Dark cores like a cluster of magical particles that are constantly moving,” had said Harry, his expression grave. “This is all very simplified but technically, they coalesce into what looks vaguely like a sphere. A Light core whirls in one direction, a Dark core whirls in the other because the particles within them do so as well. This movement is the reason why they're understood to be opposing forces, no matter what different cultures call them. It's only possible to use Dark magic with a Light core if you draw on natural magic, which is more exhausting than using what you already have. A completely balanced core — what people call True Grey, though it happens very rarely — is one sphere so perfectly balanced that the Light and Dark particles seem to have merged.” At that, he’d traced one swirl of red lights and another of deep blue lights with his wand and let them spin until they took the look of small suns. The first went clockwise, the other spinned counter-clockwise. Then he made a third one. The Grey core was represented by a purple sphere. Upon closer inspection, it had been evident that both blue and red lights swirled in opposite directions inside of it yet maintained a complete harmony, as if completely in sync.

“A more common Grey core – like mine — would be more like this.” He materialised a core that was not entirely purple, rather going from blue to red with a harmonious purple ring at the centre.

“What we call a Light-Grey core works like this,” and he’d made a sphere of red lights surrounded by unevenly-distributed blue lights that whirled counter-clockwise. “And a Grey-Light core like that”, he had said as he showed a purple sphere ending in a red gradient. “Then Dark-Grey and Grey-Dark cores are the opposite but it’s the same principle, see?”

He had materialised a blue sphere with orbiting red lights and a purple one ending with a blue gradient. Then his expression had turned sombre. “A dual-layered core doesn’t occur naturally. It’s always the consequence of corruption. This,” he had summoned a red sun, “is what is happening to Ginny.” And he had materialised blue lights that slowly spinned around the already formed core. They had watched with sickened fascination as the representation of Riddle's magic encased the young girl's like a cage made of light. "If Riddle had used Light magic, integrating it into Ginny's core would have been difficult but possible. Doing so as it is is not."

“She can't control his magic, and she can't draw out hers. The more she tries,” had explained Harry grimly, “the greater the risk of crippling injury.”

Not only was Ginny no longer able to attend Hogwarts, had explained Harry, she also had to be careful to avoid putting herself in situations where her magic might release accidentally.

Harry softened. “Have you been enrolled at a school yet?”

“Not yet. There’s a squib in our family — on my dad’s side, he’s an accountant —, and we were hoping he might be able to help, but he hasn’t answered any of our owls,” she said, looking miserable and angry.

Blaise and Harry exchanged a look.

The Italian prince pulled out his wand and cast a privacy spell, one of the first charms he’d learnt from the Zabini grimoires.

“Terence – you know, my cousin Gemma’s boyfriend? —, his dad is a squib and his mum a muggle. They’re sponsoring another kid who’s in a similar situation right now,” said Harry cautiously. “I won’t tell you his name because the situation with his parents is a bit complicated, but I’ll talk to them and ask if they can help you out too, if you’re okay with it?”

The relief in her eyes was a little hard to watch even for a heartless bastard like Blaise. Even if it took years, they would try to help her, he resolved, and saw the same thought reflected in his best friend’s eyes. After all, Hagrid’s life had been ruined by the very same Heir of Slytherin who had messed up Ginny’s core and he’d finally been vindicated, his innocence proven after fifty years. There was no reason for Ginny not to be able to learn magic later if she was healed.

***

Lazzaro Zabini didn’t come alone. His younger sister Crescenzia was there with him.

Harry was surprised he came at all.

Though the third prince of Mezzogiorno had previously told Blaise he had things to see in Diagon, he had also told his older sister he didn’t intend to leave the palace until the caladrii he cared for had reached adulthood. Harry could tell his best friend wanted to ask about it, but they had some formalities to go through first.

Lazzaro looked less wild than Harry had imagined, influenced as he was by the image of the other creature-lovers he knew, namely Hagrid and Charlie Weasley. By contrast, the Zabini prince looked the most like Blaise out of all of his siblings, though his nose was hooked and he kept his hair long and braided at his back. He wore gold and amber jewelery. His robes were close-fitting, with a conservative cut reminiscent of muggle priests robes, though the modesty was offset by the rich burgundy silk they were made of and the gold sash at his waist encrested with House Zabini's symbol.

Crescenzia wore muggle-inspired clothing, a black poodle skirt dress with embroidered sigils Harry didn't recognise. The only jewelery she wore was in her hair, a diamond-encrusted pin keeping her hair out of her face and nape. He noted that she was also wearing white silk gloves and inwardly grimaced, remembering Antea's tale. Crescenzia's face was rounder than the other Zabinis he had met, whose sharp features were their most distinguishable trait outside of their colouring. It didn't make her look softer.

Both siblings walked with the feline grace Harry had come to associate with the family and stopped to exchange formal greetings with Ulrich as he invited them into the house.

Harry and Blaise watched as Lazzaro made his Vow of Protection to Ulrich in accented English. Harry's guardian accepted it and returned a formal declaration of trust.

Crescenzia stayed silent, though that wasn’t particularly surprising. Blaise had told him she had rarely spoken to anyone outside of the family since the love potion incident.

Then it was Harry’s turn to play his part in the formal handover, so he bowed as he was taught and told Blaise's cousin he was in his care. The man inclined his head with a small smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harry. We’ve heard some interesting things about you.”

“Likewise,” said Harry with a shy grin.

"Why don't you boys go get your things so the servants can pack them away? We'll have tea in the meantime, if that suits you, Prince Lazzaro? Or do you prefer coffee?" proposed Ulrich.

"Tea sounds perfect," he said, inviting his younger sister to sit down first.

"Delightful. I have this great Russian blend I've been meaning to try…"

Harry and Blaise obediently went to fetch their things, leaving the adults to their conversation. When they came back after handing their luggage over to the Zabini attendants, Ulrich and Lazzaro were discussing the prince’s plan to visit Diagon before taking a portkey to Aeris, the island where the residence of the royal family was located.

“... I was hoping to talk to the new head of the Snidget Reservation in Somerset since their conservation efforts are very similar to what I’m attempting with the caladrii. Owls aren’t allowed into the sanctuary so I needed an alternative route, and I heard that the best way to get in contact with her was to enquire after her son who works as a creature healer for the Magical Menagerie. Brian Clagg, his name was.”

“Ah, that fellow,” said Ulrich with a wince.

Lazzaro leaned forward.

“You know him?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Young mister Clagg has become rather infamous. My friend Garrick, who owns a little store in Alley,” Harry repressed a smile. He didn’t think anyone but Ulrich could be so flippant when describing the most famous wand shop in Britain, “has written me frequently about young Brian’s recent attempts to tame a demiguise — he’s a big fan of Mr Scamander, like many lads his age — and the creature’s frequent escapes from the store. It doesn’t get along with the crups, you see,” he said with a chuckle.

Lazzaro’s lips twitched like he was trying to repress a smile. “I see. His efforts are commendable. I will have to ask him about it when I meet him.”

“If you have time after stopping by his store, I would recommend that you visit the goblin district’s creature sanctuary. Lady Darkclaw, the Potter accounts’ manager told me that there would be a prickle of — ah, it seems I forgot the name. It’s some sort of magical hedgehog that grows tourmalines out of its back. They also have those glowing mushroom crabs that sell at quite a high price as potion ingredients. None of their creatures can survive on the surface so I doubt they’re found anywhere outside of the Northern Goblin nation’s territory. The entry to the district is in Knockturn Alley so you’ll have to be careful not to let the children out of your sight but once you’re in you’ll be fine.”

It was evident that the prince was very willing to go and see magical creatures he had never encountered before but the possible danger of bringing his sister and cousin in unfamiliar territory had him hesitating.

“Harry is a goblin friend, cousin,” said Blaise to reassure him. “About half of the British clans are allied to his family, and the other half are at worst neutral to him. As long as we’re with him, it’s probably the safest place we could find in Britain.”

Harry wrinkled his nose but nodded.

Although what Blaise said was not exactly wrong, it was an over-simplification. It was true that his family had acquired a lot of goodwill from the goblin nation and both their House’s official naming as kho’bl-bal — goblin friends — and their alliance with the royal clan went a long way to give them good standing among the kho’bl population, but political dissidents would always be hostile towards him because of that very alliance and some warmongering goblins resented the Potter family’s involvement in the drafting of the last kho’bl-wizard treaty.

But none of those dissenters would do anything against him and his guests when the number of allies he had in the British clans outnumbered them so overwhelmingly. In that sense, Blaise was essentially correct.

Besides, Harry wasn’t about to nitpick at what his best friend said when he was well aware that Blaise understood the politics of his alliance with the Northern Goblin nation as well as he himself did. The youngest Zabini prince probably had a reason to frame things the way he did.

“What do you think, Zia?” asked Lazzaro, turning to his little sister.

The Zabini princess narrowed her eyes in thought before nodding her approval. Blaise’s eyes crinkled. Harry watched his best friend sidle up to his cousin, catching her gaze before exchanging what seemed to be an entire silent conversation.

Harry blinked incredulously. Was she doing wandless and wordless Legilimency?

“We will pass by after I’ve talked to mister Clagg then,” said Lazzaro with a satisfied smile. He stood up slowly and turned to the youngest in the room. “Are you ready to go?” he asked Harry and Blaise.

Harry nodded while Blaise replied in Italian. They both said their goodbyes to Harry’s guardian before they made their way out of the property, bodyguards and attendants following behind them. The Potter heir stayed half a step behind his best friend, letting him catch up with his cousins. After the last few months of practice, he had gotten good enough at the language to follow the cousins’ conversation, though a few words still escaped him. Blaise was talking about his encounter with Aragog, Hagrid’s pet spider and his acromantula brood. Harry chuckled along with Lazzaro and Crescenzia at the animated retelling, although he had heard the story before. Blaise had ranted about Hermione's stupid idea many times.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” said Blaise as they arrived at the edge of the property, where a magical carriage was waiting for them, pulled by Aetnaian, a Sicilian breed of winged horses very popular in Mezzogiorno. Recognisable by their manes of lava, they grazed on the floating island that sat on top of the Etna volcano. The carriage bore the crest of House Zabini, a demon’s head in a five-pointed star encircled in gold. “The new clutch of caladrii has been your main preoccupation for months now.”

“Hm, their first year of life is a delicate time,” said Lazzaro as he directed his attendants with a few gestures.

The ivory carriage had two doors, leading to two expanded rooms. One was located at the back and only appeared after an attendant knocked on the smooth ivory surface. Although it was intended for the servants and their bags, the glimpse Harry caught of the room was as lavish as a muggle queen’s sitting room. The other was on the side and opened into a tasteful rococo apartment with a ceiling painted to look like a clouded blue sky whose serenity was intermittently interrupted by flying creatures of all sorts.

“And since the species is endangered to the point of near-extinction, it is vital to take as many precautions as possible when rearing them. But Zia pointed out that I could only stay hidden in the magical menagerie for so long before people would start talking. It’s already bad enough that she can’t— ah, nevermind.” At his sister’s look, he smoothly redirected. “I could have made a presence at a banquet, I suppose, but you know how people at court are. You give them a finger and they’ll take your wand hand. So I decided to make sure I was seen coming out to get you, since I’d been wanting to come either way. And I brought the caladrii with me,” he said with a conspiratorial smile, tapping at the briefcase he was holding.

Harry blinked. He hadn’t noticed it before. There must have been a notice-me-not rune carved into the leather, he thought.

“Speaking of caladrii. Harry, do you mind if I take a look at your owl?” he added in English, eyes fixed on the cage he had just taken from the attendant before he followed Blaise inside the carriage. While the rest of the luggage went in the expanded room at the back, Blaise had warned him Lazzaro would likely want to see Hedwig up close and it would be good to take her with him on the trip.

“I don’t mind,” he said, opening the cage slowly. “Will you come out, love? Prince Lazzaro wants to look at you.”

Hedwig sent him a haughty look, preening as if to say it was par for the course for royalty to want to admire her. She hopped onto Harry’s outstretched arm and stayed obediently still as he let his friend’s cousin look at her.

“Fascinating,” said Lazzaro after a moment of examination. “Did you know your owl was a hybrid?”

Harry’s eyes widened. He shook his head. “No, I had no idea.”

Crescenzia and Blaise looked just as surprised.

Lazzaro hummed. “I am not surprised. To the untrained eye, she looks like an ordinary owl. Where did you buy her, if I may ask?”

“She was a gift from a family friend. He bought her at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Ulrich went to pick her up when we shopped for school supplies before my first year. So she is half-caladrius, you think?”

“I believe we’ll have to pay them a visit too, then. And yes, though I do wonder how that came to be. There are few occasions for a snowy owl to encounter a Mediterranean bird and if it had been the breeder’s doing, your family friend probably would have had to sell an arm and a leg to acquire her. I hope you’ll let me study her once we’re at the palace. I’m quite curious to see how much of a caladrius’ magical power she has inherited and how being raised solely as a post owl has affected her. I’d also like to look at your familiar bond. That she has chosen you despite the caladrii’s general preference for royalty is intriguing.”

“Of course I’ll let you study her. I’d love to know what you find. I didn’t know we already had a familiar bond,” Harry said faintly. “I thought I felt… something but I rarely get time with her at Hogwarts so I thought it would take more time.”

“It’s not fully formed yet, but it’s pretty strong considering how little time you’ve had with her.”

Blaise grinned. “Man, Hagrid’s gonna be thrilled. You should write to him about it.”

The mention of the Hogwarts groundskeeper brought a questioning noise out of Crescenzia, which prompted Harry and Blaise to describe the various creature-related misadventures of the man, leading Lazzaro to understand Hagrid and him were kindred spirits. It got them a few considering looks from the princess though, who seemed less interested in the creatures they mentioned and more concerned about what they were doing in their school in the first place.

Harry knew that Blaise had been less than forthcoming on the details in his letters as he had no intention to tell his family about Voldemort but he ultimately decided it was harmless to mention certain things without revealing their connexion to the British Dark Lord’s attempts to resurrect himself. The Potter heir thought the lie of omission would probably come back to bite them, but the very real possibility that his best friend would be pulled out of school if they said anything made him selfishly keep his silence. They would argue their case when they were older, he reasoned, nothing indicated that Voldemort was any closer to regaining his power. And it was Blaise’s choice anyway, he wouldn’t break his friend’s trust by telling his family when the Zabini prince had no intention to do so. He ignored the guilty feeling that told him it was up to Blaise’s family to decide if the risk was worth taking.

The trip to Diagon Alley was pretty short and they only spent a little time there. Crescenzia, Blaise and Harry left Lazzaro at the Magical Menagerie to eat some of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream. The sight of the opulent carriage drew some attention but the forbidding looks of the Zabini family’s guards prevented them from being accosted. Harry and Blaise did wave at Eddie Carmichael, a member of one of the Longbottom Alliance families who seemed to be doing some shopping.

Lazzaro came back with a contented expression and the Floo address of Madame Clagg, whom he would contact later in the week. The visit to the Owl Emporium wasn’t as fruitful. The clerks at the store seemed to have no record of Hedwig whatsoever, and none of them remembered the name of the trainer who sold her. The only thing they could tell them was that she had come with a younger parliament of snowy owls born from the same mother, but that she had been the only owl of her clutch.

“I’ll write to Hagrid and see if he remembers anything,” said Harry as they left the store, hoping to ease the prince’s discontent.

“Let’s go to the goblin district now,” suggested Blaise. “We can even have lunch there before visiting the sanctuary. That restaurant we tried last time was pretty good.”

“Lead the way then,” said Lazzaro, the corners of his lips lifting in reaction to his cousin’s enthusiasm. He signalled to his attendant to move the carriage to a side street so it wouldn’t bother passers-by.

They made their way into Knockturn Alley, ignoring the wary looks of the cloaked figures they passed by. When Harry glanced back, the Zabinis looked perfectly composed in the shabby district, keeping their heads high and never making eye contact with the distrustful citizens. He himself offered a blandly polite smile at a few hags and a vampire he crossed gazes with.

Despite the disreputable reputation of the district, Harry knew that most of the residents were part of the marginalised communities of magical Britain, who often struggled to find employment and lodgings in the more “acceptable” quarters due to their poverty, magical creature status or the curses they were affected by. While it was true that black markets and illegal stores were set up in Knockturn, it was mostly a refuge for the downtrodden and the Northern goblin nation had made a loud statement when they had moved the entrypoint of their British district into the Alley rather than leaving it at the side of Gringotts. This was a recent choice, made a few years before the first war with Voldemort in response to the ministry passing a bill that would allow them to claim goblin artefacts in the possession of deceased ministry workers who did not write a will if they did not bear the crests of the clan that crafted them.

That the ministry presumed to claim goblin artefacts at all was already insulting but that the bill disregarded goblin laws by implying that their crafts could be willed in the first place when such practice was forbidden by the treaty made it doubly so. They hoped to take advantage of the fact that Beatrice Potter’s treaty was written on behalf of goblin clans, leaving room for manoeuvre to prey on clanless goblins and anonymous crafters. Moving the district’s wixen entry to Knockturn, a place where wixen were known to sometimes disappear without trace made it very easy to dispose of ministry workers stocking up on goblin goods on behalf of the ministry without breaking the treaty.

This little tidbit of information explained the terrifying looks of the goblin sentries placed by the district’s entrance, who were just as intimidating if not more than those who guarded Gringotts bank.

Harry greeted them in kho’bl-guk, noting that both guards bore the crest of an allied clan. They returned his salute with a friendly baring of teeth that had the Zabini guards tensing.

“They’re happy to see you,” noted Lazzaro with interest. Harry grinned. He could expect a creature lover to differentiate a grin from a threat, no matter how pointy the teeth that showed it were.

“Goblins like kids and they like House Potter,” said Blaise, “so Harry’s generally treated as one of them, especially since he’s making the effort to learn their language.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I? I’ll have to present myself before their king in two years for the name bestowal ceremony. I certainly won’t show up speaking English.”

Harry started his way down the stares leading to the goblin district, smiling softly at the way the steps lit a fluorescent blue when he stepped onto them. In no time at all, they reached a bustling goblin street where artisans of all sorts worked at their craft and presented their wares. There were no goblin children so close to the surface, but workers and buyers chattered amiably in kho’bl-guk, the harsh sounds of the language echoing melodically in the cave entrance. Further along, a river ran illuminated by glowing mushrooms and stones imbued with goblin magic.

Crescenzia’s soft gasp and Lazzaro’s pleased hum had him smiling proudly.

“It didn’t take long to get down but we’re actually pretty deep, aren’t we?” murmured the older Zabini prince.

Harry confirmed with a hum. “They use space distortion magic on the stairway. Come on, the sanctuary is by the river.”

Ulrich’s suggestion was a good one; the Zabini cousins were visibly delighted by their experience, and Lazzaro even made friends with one of the carers who recommended a few books with information on the Northern goblin territory’s wildlife. When it came time to eat, they were ravenous and barely paused to speak. The Mezzorgionese royals found goblin cuisine peculiar but quite rich, and they finished their meal with a tale from Lazzaro, who recounted some of his experiences during his year in Brazil.
As they got up from their seats — low cushions on the floor surrounded a table carved from a beautiful marbled stone — sated and ready to leave, Harry’s gaze caught onto that of a child who was staring intensely at him. He offered her a smile and a salute, the latter of which she returned before tugging at her mother’s sleeve. They had a short discussion before they both stood up. His eyebrows raised as they made their way to him. The Zabini guards straightened. Crescenzia’s guard in particular seemed ready to pull out his wand, but Harry shook his head at him before taking a step forward so he could meet the family a distance away from the twitchy protectors of the family.

“You are Mister Potter, aren’t you? My apologies for disturbing your meal. My lie-name is Ironspear. I am of the Dhuk’raen clan. This is my daughter Wendy Bagnold,” said the mother.

Harry pushed his glasses up, thinking. The Dhuk’raen clan weren’t formal allies to House Potter. They were a clan of warriors first and foremost, but not one of the proponents for a kho’bl-wizard war. He had no idea what they wanted from him. Judging by the girl’s name, he could make a guess though. Her features should have clued him in. She almost reached her mother’s height despite her young age, her teeth were less sharp and her ears more rounded. Her eyes, though black from iris to sclera like her mother’s, were much smaller.

“Nice to meet you. Yes, I am Harry Potter.”

“As you can see, my daughter is half-kho’bl. We have recently received her Hogwarts letter.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Congratulations.”

Ironspear inclined her head and Wendy smiled at him.

“I would like to request your assistance in acquiring her wand. Most of her Hogwarts supplies are sold at stores that our people can access without trouble, but wand shops are a different matter and her father is dead, he cannot advocate for her blood.” She paused. “You are the only goblin friend in Britain at the moment. We can ask no one else. I know that our clans are not allied but my brother is the Rhok of Dhuk’raen clan. If you would do us this service, it would be an honour to negotiate an alliance on his behalf. I will honour our debt to you, I give you my Word,” she assured him, pressing her fist against her chest and flaring her magic, giving power to her words.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, startled.

As kin to the fae folk, the word of a goblin held a lot of magical weight. Even if she was unable to secure an alliance, her magic would bind her to find an equivalent boon to bestow upon him.

“I’ll do it,” he said without hesitation. He would have done it without asking for anything in exchange, but it would insult her if he said it. “I’ll ask my companions if we have time to do so now, otherwise we’ll arrange it for late August. I’m leaving the country for a month and a half,” he explained.

The tension in both of their shoulders lessened significantly.

He went back to the Zabinis and explained the situation with a few words. Lazzaro agreed to pass by Ollivander's before they left. Crescenzia nodded, looking at him with an appraising look.

They made their way out of the goblin district and Knockturn Alley. The Zabini cousins walked behind them, bracketed by their guards and attendants while Blaise trotted up to Harry, making small talk with the Dhuk’raen-Bagnold duo.

“There hasn’t been a half-kho’bl student at Hogwarts since Professor Flitwick, has there?” asked Blaise.

“That’s right,” said Ironspear. “We considered asking for his support but our clan and his are in conflict at the moment. We didn’t wish to put him in a difficult position. And we weren’t sure about the shop owner’s reaction, adding another kho’bl to the mix didn’t seem like it would make it easier.”

“I heard Professor Flitwick’s wand was made by Gregorovitch,” mused Harry. “Ah, but don’t worry,” he hurriedly added. “Mr Ollivander is a friend of my guardian, he won’t give you any trouble. Are you excited about Hogwarts, miss Bagnold?”

“Please call me Wendy,” she said, her ears twitching. “I am. But I am apprehensive too. I have never spent longer than a few hours above ground. It will be an adjustment.”

“I can imagine.”

Their group attracted even more looks than when they entered the Alley the first time via carriage. Thankfully, no one stopped them from entering the shop, though a group of frowning wixen who were exiting a hat-selling shop seemed like they wanted to. One look at the expressionless faces of the Zabini guards had them refraining, to Harry and Blaise’s amusement.

Lazzaro and Crescenzia begged off, deciding to accompany their attendants as they fetched their carriage. They had to check the Aetnaians’ health and the strength of the enchantments before starting the trip, to make sure no issue would occur while they travelled back to Mezzogiorno.

“Welcome to Ollivander's… ah. Harry. And Blaise, hello. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Hi, Garrick,” he greeted with a shy smile. “Since the winter holidays, I think. You had lunch with us after New Year.”

“That’s right, that’s right. How was your second year?”

Harry’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

“Eventful. And you? How has the shop been?”

“Uneventful,” he retorted with a chuckle. “I still haven’t found an apprentice, unfortunately so the shop is quiet as always.”

“By the way, did you ever find out who breached the wards last year? Ulrich didn’t say,” he asked, remembering the issue from the year before. He had completely forgotten about it.

“Hm. As a matter of fact, I did. It was the most peculiar thing. The intrusion was made by a wild elf from the Isle of Man who befriended a family of bowtruckles. I often visit the Archagallan forest there as it has quite a wonderful selection of wand trees. It seemed that on my last visit I collected an unwitting passenger. A newborn bowtruckle had gotten tangled into my robe in its eagerness to stop me from collecting a fallen branch of elm. The wild elf came to my shop to retrieve the poor thing and left without doing any damage.”

Harry grinned. He was about to comment on the strange tale when Blaise cleared his throat pointedly, reminding him what they were here for.

“Right. I brought you a client.”

Ollivander pushed his glasses up. “I see. And who have you brought me here?”

“I’m Wendy, sir. Wendy Bagnold.”

“Ah, Killian Bagnold’s daughter. I remember his wand. Alder wood, with unicorn hair. Reasonably flexible. It was one of my smallest wands. Very appropriate for transfiguration. Do you still have it by any chance?”

Wendy’s mother nodded. “We have it displayed in the living room.”

Ollivander smiled approvingly. “Very good, very good. Now, let’s get you sorted, shall we?” He turned and started humming, examining different wands. “Here, try this one…”

Chapter Text

“You’ll regret this, Aspen,” the man spat out as the young Lord was smoothing out the lapels of his cloak.

“I’ll thank you to call me Lord Selwyn, Steward Parkinson,” said Aspen calmly. “And will I really? Who will make me regret it, exactly?” he asked, looking the man up and down doubtfully.

Sergei Parkinson was a fourth cousin of the current Lord Parkinson, and the poor unfortunate soul who’d been relegated to the task of representing the entire family in the Wizengamot since the Lord himself was too preoccupied with jugging his multiple affairs to pay attention to politics. Of the Ancient and Noble House, all the male members were marked or wishing they had been when the Dark Lord was still terrorising Albion. Raised by his maternal family, the Dolohovs due to his parents' incarceration following the end of the war, he had been one of the lieutenants of the Argentum Regina that preceded William Robards.

Upon seeing his considering glance, the man gulped and stepped aside.

“I thought so,” concluded Aspen. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He made his way out of the council chamber, listening to the whispers in his wake with one ear. One could never know what would be useful to hear.

“The second purist House to change camp in a year,” he could hear, “and to join the Longbottom Alliance this time?”

“What would Rowan Selwyn say of his son?”

“He’d kill him for sure. Thank Merlin he’s still in Azkaban.”

“But the new Lord has such a forbidding look, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d be willing to kill his own father.”

Aspen suppressed an eyeroll.

“Wouldn’t you kill him too if it were you? That man sacrificed a dozen muggle-borns to fuel an explosive array he set off into the office of a Bangor prosecutor! He didn’t even need that many victims, he just liked hunting them!”

He bit his tongue. Blood burst into his mouth. Something pressed on his arm. He pulled out his wand and turned, ready to burn off the offending hand when he recognised Gemma gazing at him with concern, her grandfather standing a few feet away from them. His jaw unclenched. He rolled his shoulders and discreetly pulled his wand back in his holster.

“Do you want me to go home with you?”

“I - what about Terence? Aren’t they taking the kid in tonight? You said you wanted to be there.”

“Hm, I wanted to. But one of my best friends just announced to the entirety of Albion that his House disavows the values it has followed since its founding.”

“Not since its founding,” he corrected the Light witch tiredly. “The Lady Morgana would never have allowed an upstart like the Dark Lord to breathe the same air as her. They are not the same.”

Gemma shook her head. “I think you need company right now, and I’m not talking about your cousins. They don’t know you like I do.”

She was right. He’d never been as unguarded with his family as he’d been with the group of friends who had forcibly adopted him in his first year. And his cousins were busy managing the elders anyway. He’d been given a week of respite before having to deal with the branch families.

“Fine,” he sighed.

His friend smiled brightly and turned to say goodbye to her grandfather, who was in deep conversation with Lord Shafiq. Aspen waited for her before making a beeline for the Floo.

Aspen had just patted himself free of dust when the fireplace changed colour, indicating someone was requesting a call. He and Gemma exchanged a loaded glance. Aspen sent his magic through the Floo connection and Adrian’s head appeared.

“Hi.”

Gemma moved slowly, so as not to warn Adrian of her presence. She sat on the couch, on the left side of the sitting room’s chimney.

“Hi, Adrian.”

“Can we talk?”

Aspen sighed. “What is there to say?”

“A lot of things. I... I want to apologise.”

“For what? For rejecting me? Or for avoiding me the rest of the year?”

Adrian winced. “Definitely the latter. I know I’ve been... distant. But I needed time to process, and then I got distracted taking care of the mess with Warrington, it’s been... anyway.” He paused. “I didn’t reject you. I rejected Lord Selwyn.”

“Lord Selwyn is me!”

“No, it’s not. It’s who you have to be to represent your family. I have no interest in being the sidepiece of the turncoat Selwyn Lord, bold enough to raise his head and announce to the entire world that he wants to steer his family into a better direction. Do you have any idea what people will do to me?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I didn’t ask you for anything. I just told you I loved you.”

His voice broke as he said it, and Aspen hated himself for it.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. We don't need to talk about it. Let's just... move on, okay? I'll see you... when I see you."

"Wait, Aspen!"

He pointedly didn’t look at Gemma as he raised his wand and doused the flames with a whispered Aguamenti.

"You know he loves you too, right?" she said after a beat of silence.

"I know. It doesn't change anything."

***

The floating city of Aeris was glorious.

The celestial capital of the Principality of Mezzogiorno was nestled atop a colossal, cloud-kissed island bordered by waterfalls of magical dust – a common residue to find in places of concentrated magical power and the bane of Argus Finch, the housekeeper of Hogwarts. Coincidentally, it was also the favourite snack of land elves – that evaporated into thin air before it could even reach the roofs of the buildings of Napoli, the unknowing sister city it overlooked. Gigantic arrays hovered above the island, maintaining it afloat and regulating the oxygen for the comfort of its residents and visitors. Lush magical lands kissed the city walls they surrounded, vines of golden ivy climbing up the arches marking up Aeris’ entrances and playfully waving at those who chose to enter the city on foot.

The cheekily nicknamed “Mispoli” was an architectural marvel blending old Roman constructions with Baroque flair, the highly decorative and theatrical style of the 17th century adding colour and richness to the harsh lines and imposing classical structures that composed the city’s main landscape. Aeris' structures, crafted from a variety of white marble, gleaming obsidian, and iridescent glass, seemed almost excessive in their opulence. The facades of even the most common households were adorned with intricate carvings of magical creatures and feats, arcane cuneiform and Latin script were sculpted into the doorframes, providing wards and miscellaneous spells to its inhabitants. As was the case for many magical buildings, habitations were built with little care for the laws of physics; they leaned every which way and the most sentient edifices sometimes twisted into themselves into a spiral at their leisure, breathing sighs of contentment as they moved themselves into the shape that suited them. An exasperated wizard had to tap his wand to the front of his shop to make it stop encroaching on the street and blocking the way of the disgruntled passersby.

Harry observed all of this with a slack jaw as he let himself be led by his best friend from the platform where the Aetnaians’ carriage had landed into the busy streets, his fingers twitching every time the city’s magic greeted him, as if weighing the worth of the boy Mispoli’s prince seemed so attached to carefully. When Harry inquired about making the proper introductions to Blaise’s family before gallivanting off into town, the boy chuckled and waved it off, claiming that “Uncle Aristeo would be in state meetings until the evening and mother isn’t even back from Tunisia yet. The only thing waiting for us at court is boring sycophants.” Then he simply tugged him deeper into the streets, followed by an amused-looking Lazzaro and a blank-faced Crescenzia as well as harried-looking bodyguards who cast perimeter wards as they walked to let the youngest prince do what he pleased while still minding his safety. Harry noticed they didn’t have the same alertness as when they’d walked down Diagon Alley, secure as they were that few in the streets would be able or willing to harm the royal family.

The city's heart lied in the Piazza Delle Strige, a grand cobblestone square surrounded by imposing edifices, their spires reaching higher into the sky and glowing with ambient magic. Countless lanterns illuminated the city’s streets, casting a warm glow on the people ambling about, wixen and other magical races alike. Cyclops, fauns, lymphae, centaurs, cambions and sirens mingled with humans with no care for the boundaries of races usually enforced in other nations, gathering in the city square with the ease of a people that never had to worry about being made to feel unwelcome.

Blaise showed Harry the Biblioteca Nazionale, cosseted within a labyrinth of gleaming gold and red cobblestone streets. The sanctuary of ancient knowledge was second only to the palace’s library, his friend murmured as they walked through the imposing building. Its walls, lined with towering bookshelves, were adorned with intricate carvings of caladrii and strige perched atop open books, their wings occasionally stretching as they observed the visitors with gleaming eyes. The library's atmosphere crackled with a tangible energy, the ancient texts brimming with power greeting the ambient air with the caress of their magic. Then he took him around the market stalls, letting him try local games and foods offered by obliging merchants who were both honoured to find themselves in company of royalty and eager to make a good sale. They passed next to the Virgilio Nero Academy, whose stairs and entranceway disappeared as soon as unauthorised visitors tried to step towards them. Harry barely had the time to catch a glimpse of a mother-of-pearl roof before the entire building vanished from view, an old woman swearing up a storm at her thwarted attempt to get in, claiming that she needed to have a talk with her good-for-nothing son. A stone colossus appeared and sternly told her to request an appointment instead of simply showing up.

“They don’t like my mother much over there,” commented Blaise. “They were very offended by her decision to send me off to Hogwarts. Let’s not linger. I want to show you the Museum of Sentient Pottery. They have interesting things to say about the politics of Ancient Rome and they’re not too bad at remembering not to speak Latin too much.”

They arrived to the Caladrius palace in the early evening. By that time, Harry was almost dead on his feet and his head was spinning with the wonders he’d seen during the day. If the rest of Aeris was beautiful, the palace was dizzying in its majesty. Up a cliff ending in a waterfall, it sprawled across the entire Eastern side of the floating island and overlooked the entire city. The first thing Harry noticed was the crimson windows adorning the black marble walls veined with gold. They were shaped like eyes and set upon Mispoli, their intense glare illuminating the roofs of the city and casting a protective glow over the city's inhabitants. Harry would have thought their intensity frightening if the magic emitted by the Latin script carved around them wasn’t so warm and loving, dark and possessive in a way that only a very distinctive type of defensive Dark magic could be. The imposing white arches sculpted with a representation of all the demons said to have once been summoned by the mage-king Solomon first and Proteo Zabini after him were just as breathtaking, and Harry was once more reminded why his friend’s family were thought to have demon blood. An immense fire crackled in the main courtyard beyond the entrance, which Blaise told him was the domain of the genius loci of the Caladrius palace, a protective spirit who had coexisted with House Zabini ever since the edifice was built.

They were greeted by Antea Zabini, who was surrounded by an entourage of a dozen people who seemed to hang over her every word. Crescenzia made a disgusted face upon seeing them and proceeded to kiss her siblings and cousin on the cheek one after the other, finishing with her older sister. Once that was done, she turned around and nodded at Harry before turning on her heel, leaving the group behind. Antea watched her go with a sad smile.

Lazzaro was the next to beg leave, claiming that he needed to get his menagerie in order.

“Dino will join us soon,” said Antea to Blaise, “he’s settling a few things with Donna Aragona. You know they’ve been hounding us about getting a permit to settle a hydra in their waterways. As if we’d allow these shady bastards unregulated access to a man-eating sea monster.” She shook her head. “So how do you like Mispoli, Harry?” she asked in English.

“It’s wonderful,” he replied in Italian. “I've loved everything about it so far, and I’m excited to see more.”

She smiled a bit more genuinely. “I’m glad to hear that. You boys won’t need to make an appearance at court until tomorrow night, so we’ll have a family dinner later in the evening.”

Blaise groaned. “Looking forward to it,” he sighed before explaining to Harry. “The first family dinners back home always contain some form of interrogation.”

“Ah,” he said, his askance expression clearing. “Sounds stressful.”

Blaise nodded solemnly. “It is.”

“Biagio’s exaggerating, it’s not that bad,” chuckled Antea. “But Father will have more questions about the events of the last two years. You’ve done a good job evading them last year by bringing up Aunt Serafina’s failings, but you won’t be able to escape it this time. Our spies in Britain told us interesting things.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Sure, I will.”

“And now off you go! You have an appointment with Healer Alfieri.”

“An appointment for what?” asked Harry, tilting his head.

The Italian prince blinked, looking caught off-guard, as if he hadn’t expected Harry to ask. “Ah. Maybe we should talk first?”

***

Ron watched Ginny reading her letter with a small smile, his heart easing a little at the sight of his sister's tentatively renewed cheer.

He would have to thank Potter —Harry— for it, he thought resolutely. The boy did help his sister tremendously by telling Mr Higgs about Ginny. Ron's mum cried when the man reached out with an offer of assistance to get Ginny settled in muggle school. The fact that she now had a pen pal who could understand what she was going through on top of that made the whole thing much less daunting for her, especially paired with the muggle culture classes the Higgs family had offered to both students. Ron wasn't sure he liked Ash, the squib his sister was exchanging with — he could understand context cues enough to gather the boy was from a Dark family, fake name notwithstanding — but knowing that Ginny had someone to talk to who understood was reassuring.

Ron wished it had been him, though. He wished for so many things. He wished he'd seen his little sister was possessed before being caught off guard. He wished he'd paid more attention to her that year. He wished he'd been strong enough to help Neville against Riddle. He wished he could wring Draco Malfoy's neck in front of the boy's father and get away with it.

He wished he could find the right words to say so his mum stopped crying herself to sleep. He wished he could figure out how to help his dad fall asleep in the first place. Arthur Weasley hadn't slept a wink since he'd found out that Lucius Malfoy was the one who'd slipped the diary to Ginny in the hopes of getting him in trouble so the law he passed could be overturned. The man was wrecked with unwarranted guilt, and no amount of reassurance had appeased it so far. Ron's mum worried his magic would unsettle enough for him to develop the Curse of the Vigil. Then he'd never sleep again.

Even the twins struggled to find the words to cheer them all up, though they tried their hardest to do so. Percy indulged them too, when he wasn't standing protectively over Ginny or reading law books in an attempt to find something, anything that would help them bring Lord Malfoy to justice. He'd had no luck so far.

Their only recourse was to settle the Feud with blood. There had never been a settlement between their two families, not after the Malfoys stole their grimoires, ruined their reputation and forced them to pawn off their seat on the Wizengamot and their title as an Ancient and Noble House to prevent the destruction of their ancestral hearth in Wistman's Wood — where the Matriarch of the Weasley family, Ron's great-grandmother still lived in to this day, tended to as best they could by her many descendants. Of course, the Malfoys hadn't come out of it unscathed; their line was cursed not to be able to bear more than one child at a time, heavily dwindling their numbers. Their old sprawling manor was burnt down with Cleansing Fire, leeching the ambient magic they had built on their territory and forcing them to rebuild in another land. Cedrella Weasley famously killed Draco Malfoy's great-grandfather to court Septimus Weasley, Ron's great-granduncle. But all that was small compared to the indignities Ron's family had suffered throughout the centuries, because most Weasleys refused to resort to underhanded means to one up their enemy House.

Bill, the best duellist in the family had offered to challenge Malfoy Senior to a fight to the death, but their mum had been hysterical at the very thought of her son facing down a Death Eater.

They all felt helpless.

It had brought the entire family closer, but it had also made them aware of how isolated their family was from society, and how much power the Malfoys still held over them as a result. It was infuriating. And Neville couldn't even help; the Longbottom Alliance hadn't managed to do more than push back against the purist faction, whose deep coffers had been instrumental in their rapidly growing influence.

Ron seethed at the thought.

Well then. If they couldn't reach Lord Malfoy, maybe there was something to do about his son, he resolved.

He just needed to figure out how to get the Slytherins to help.

***

Blaise took Harry to the guest room allocated to him. It was actually Blaise's drawing room, meant to entertain visitors, but he had written ahead and requested it be repurposed for his friend's use. Normally, guests would not be allowed to stay in the family wing. Blaise had needed to argue for a long time to get his way, but he had. Obviously.

The room was nice. They'd taken care to decorate it in royal blue, black and white gold, the colours of House Potter. There was even a House sigil on top of the bed, with the white stag's head's profile in a blue background facing towards the large window illuminating the room in the evening's soft glow. The black eye of the regal creature gleamed when the light hit the white stag just right.

They sat down on the armchairs one after the other, and stared at each other anxiously.

"I'm not ill," said Blaise, knowing what must be going through his best friend's mind. "I... hm."

Blaise was all too aware that his friend had been raised muggle, and that there were certain concepts he had likely not been introduced to. He had reacted well to the idea of cauldron babies when Daphne had told him about it, but the Italian prince wasn't sure if that extended to other things. Madam Pomphrey hadn't broached the topic either, he knew, and he doubted Mr Fawley would have. The old man was sweet, but Blaise was convinced he would forget his own head if it wasn't attached to his body. There had been more pressing things to teach Harry in the two years he had been in Ulrich's custody.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't grown an inch since we've met."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I guess it didn't register because you're still taller than me." Blaise chuckled. He could see him searching through his memories. He waited to see his eyes widen before continuing with a half smile.

"Still as unobservant as ever. But to your credit, you're not the only one who hasn't noticed. I think Theo's the only one who did, unless the girls figured it out and didn't mention it," he said doubtfully. "I don't see how they would. Theo knows because he woke up early one day and saw me apply a very distinctive salve meant to renew the effects of the puberty seal I took during the summer before first year."

"A puberty seal," muttered his friend to himself, processing the information.

"When I was nine, I met a girl about three years older than us in the city of Kêr-Is, in Brittany. My mother had seduced a French Lady who amused herself by making kidnapped magical creatures fight to the death. She found me tearing my hair out."

"Why?"

From Harry's expression of dawning comprehension mingled with confusion, he could see where Blaise was going though he didn't have the terms for it.

"Nothing, really. I just... my skin itched all the time, like there was this sense of wrongness I couldn't quite shake off. I was too young to understand why. The only thing I knew is that I hated my hair, I hated wearing feminine clothes, I hated my name and I hated being called a witch. I thought I couldn't do much about the latter two but I quickly replaced all of my clothes with things that suited me better and that day, where I was feeling particularly terrible about my hair, I tried to rip it out entirely. She stopped me and brought me to her mother, who cut my hair herself. Then she asked me questions, and explained what was most likely bothering me." He paused. "I'm trans, Harry."

He looked out the window, studiously keeping his eyes away from his friend.

"I was born female, but I identify as male. It's... uncommon, but it happens in the muggle world too. They just have a harder time making the transition. The magical world has more options." He paused. He wished they could offer this service to muggles, but their lack of innate magic got in the way of that. It had been tried before, to disastrous results. "I was too young to make deep changes, so my healer gave me a potion to seal the puberty process. I'll be purging it from my body and starting a new treatment this summer to begin with surface changes that would allow me to develop normally. Reversible things to start with. Healer Alfieri said we'll go more in depth once I've finished growing."

Blaise chanced a look at his best friend. Harry looked thoughtful. "What does that entail? Is it still potions or transfiguration? Hm, a ritual maybe?"

The Italian prince replied without thinking. "Alchemy actually. Transmutations don't revert to their origin state by themselves, unlike transfigurations. And rituals are too invasive on your magic, especially for young people. There are a few potions that have the desired effects, but I'd have to take them every day so alchemy was deemed more suitable."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Can I ask your Healer about it? That sounds fascinating."

Blaise shook his head, a smile dancing on his lips. He didn't know why he expected anything else.

"Sure."

"And, uh, thanks for telling me." Harry tilted his head. "I hope you didn't feel like you had to."

"No, I... I prefer not to mention it. I'm not ashamed or anything like it, I just hate discussing it. But you're my best friend and I knew you'd like to be there during my consultation if it didn't weird you out too much, so..."

He shrugged.

"I knew about trans people before, you know," commented Harry. "Though Uncle Vernon wasn't talking about them in such nice terms."

Blaise snorted. Knowing his friend, it had prompted him to be wholly accepting before he'd ever figured out what the term meant.

"I am not surprised. You know, I knew they existed too, but at nine years old I didn't exactly put two and two together. I'm glad to have met Fleur and her mother," he mused. "She's trans too, you know. That's why they knew so much about how to help me."

"Did they choose your name?" asked his friend, leaning forward.

"Fleur did, yes. She said it was her grandfather's name, if I remember right. Antea pouted a lot, she would have preferred me to have an Italian name. I think I told you that she's the reason everyone in the family calls me Biagio?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "I don't mind it, she used to call Dino way worse. She and him had a terrible rivalry, she'd gotten it into her head that she wanted to be Uncle's heir - then she had a taste of politics and decided she'd rather have the opportunity to take breaks from it. She called him every name under the sun. Ah, I think Lazzaro made a list. It's somewhere in my room, I'll show you before we go see Healer Alfieri. I think you'll like it, some of them are quite inspired..."

***

Chapter Text

Silvano Alfieri was an impossibly tall faun.

He was handsome; long-limbed, graceful, and polished to the hoof. Harry knew little about fauns and the way they aged, but enough to guess that his having the appearance of a middle-aged man likely meant he was in fact centuries old.

When he spotted Blaise upon their entrance into the healer’s wing of the palace, his expression cleared and he bowed, though not before sending a curious glance at Harry.

“My prince,” he said in English, surprising Harry. “And this must be Harry Potter, the apprentice healer.”

“Healer Alfieri,” replied Blaise. “It is good to see you.”

Harry nodded after a beat. He didn’t expect to be acknowledged.

“It has been too long,” tsked the healer. “Those check-ups should be happening more frequently.”

“So you’ve said,” shrugged the Mezzogiornese prince. “But you also mentioned that it wouldn’t impact my health if they didn’t.”

The healer sighed. “It did not hurt you, I suppose. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t better to err on the side of caution.”

“The desire for safety stands against every great and noble enterprise,” said Blaise primly, prompting a snort from Harry. They exchanged a grin.

The faun shook their heads at their antics, before opting to change the subject. He turned to Harry.

“My prince mentioned you had an interest in the mechanics of core corruption.” The British wizard glanced at his best friend, who hadn’t said a thing about telling the healer anything before then. Blaise inspected his nails, his expression innocent. Harry sighed, then nodded. Healer Alfieri hummed. “I asked for the details of the case to the relevant unit at St Mungo’s so I would know what to search for, both to fulfil the request and for the archives of the research department. Dreadful affair, what happened to that child,” he lamented, shaking his head.

“... yes, Ginny, er. It’s difficult on her and her family, especially because it was only her first year,” said Harry, lowering his eyes.

He resisted the urge to pick at his fingernails at the thought of Fred and George’s worry, of Ginny’s resignation to her fate. He didn’t know what he would do if practising magic became an inaccessible path to him.

“Well, I hope you will find some solace in the material my assistants have compiled. Let’s get down to business, shall we? You have some unpleasant hours ahead of you, my prince. The purging potion is... rough on the stomach. I have prepared a private room for this.”

“Thank you, Alfieri,” said Blaise. “Would you mind showing Harry the Alchemy room in the meantime?”

The healer bobbed his head before tapping a gleaming hoof against the tile beneath his feet.

“Outsiders are not normally allowed in, but I am the Head of the Research Department of Alchemy. I suppose I can make an exception for the prince’s friend, if he will consent to swearing a Secrecy Vow.”

“I do. Consent, I mean.”

“Beautiful.” The faun took a sharp intake of breath and raised a hand. A beat after, a staff jumped into his hand. His magic swirled green around his clawed fingertips as he did so, and Harry blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what just happened. The staff was carved with Latin script and adorned with flowers. It glowed faintly for a while before settling back to its presumably usual brown colour. “Shall we, then?”

***

Harry Potter was a strange creature.

Silvano had rarely seen magic so potent and restless coming from such a young magical child. It ebbed and flowed around his core, swirled around his head and sparked at his fingers at each unconscious twitch of his body. If he had been anyone else, he would have needed shades to spare his magic-sensitive eyes. But Silvano was the Head Alchemist of the Caladrius palace and Mezzogiorno’s lead researcher in organic transmutation. He had long since made sure that his eyes could withstand any and all magical output so as not to impede his work.

The faun asked him a few questions about his healing apprenticeship, and the boy spoke about the variety of lessons he was given from different masters, one being his school’s mediwitch, the other a renowned potions master – who hadn’t read Severus Snape’s essays on liquid curses and their antidotes? –, and the last being the portrait of one of the greatest healers in history.

The boy seemed both perfectly suited and utterly unsuited to healing; while he had the knowledge, talent, magical ability and empathy to make a good healer, his magic lacked the temperance one usually expected of masters of the craft, and Silvano doubted this boy would ever recite the Oath of Asclepius and mean it. His research interest in core corruption was proof of it; Harry Potter didn’t so much want to become part of a healing institution and rather sought to use the field to correct wrongs done to those he cared about. It was a means to an end. He would wager his staff that the boy had already broken the spirit of the Oath multiple times even before he was made to swear it, and intended to break it several times more.

Silvano didn’t know his background, but one would have to be blind not to realise Potter must have been prompted in this path of magical learning by a desire to save someone in particular rather than to build a career helping others. Interest in healing didn’t come at eleven as anything but a distant goal for those who did not have a stake in the matter.

It was as admirable as it was deeply foolish, but such was a way of youth, especially the wixen kind.

To be fair, he really doubted that a healer by vocation would have gotten along as well as this boy did with the palace’s youngest prince. And it wasn’t to say that the boy wouldn’t adopt a healer’s mindset later in his life, and properly follow the tenets of the Oath, namely that one could do no harm onto others, one must never refuse to provide healing and one must always protect the secrets of a patient unless in pursuit of more adequate treatment. It was a radical Oath, yet a rewarding one for those who found sense in it. The young apprentice very well could learn to appreciate its meaning.

If Prince Blaise was an influence on him, however, Silvano doubted he would be so. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; he could still make a competent healer if not a professional Oath-abiding one, and would find success in healing research if not as an employee of a healing institution, where he would never be trusted with a patient if he did not swear the healer’s Oath. No, Harry Potter was either destined to give up his ambition once he realised his magic rebelled against the principles of it, or become the kind of pioneer his ancestor Peregrine had been and revolutionise healing magic as they knew it without ever taking a shift at a magical hospital.

Who was Silvano to judge, really, when a third of his department was composed of people like this boy? And although the faun had taken the aforementioned Oath, there was a reason why he himself had discarded the traditional path to delve into alchemical healing. The healing wing of the palace would often be idle if it were not for the fact that it was almost entirely composed of researchers who did not suit the rigidity of the hospital of Mispoli.

He kept his musings to himself and showed the boy around the room he conducted most of his experiments in. Alchemical procedure rooms were often described as an unholy mix between ritual rooms and potions laboratories; cluttered with candles, brimstone, and ingredients alike. Silvano was quite proud of his this room, however. He had diverted the energy flow of the palace wing to converge into his alchemical circle, and the gold veins of the ley lines glowed with unfathomable power. On the side of the room grew a cutting of an Yggdrasil imported from Norway, who had already started to bear small fruits, one of whom would have to be fed to the young prince during and after the harrowing ritual he would endure. It had taken weeks to prepare, but the usually cluttered space was perfectly ordered to start the alchemy procedure, from the equations meticulously written with his own raw magic to the ingredients prepared and conditioned to perform the equivalent exchange.

As Silvano was a researcher sponsored by the principality before being a healer, young Prince Blaise was his only patient and the family had only requested gender affirming alchemy a few months before the boy started studying at Hogwarts. They had reviewed multiple options before that, worried about doing permanent modifications to the boy’s body before his core had fully matured, and Silvano had conceded that further research had to be done before attempting it. He had brewed Prince Blaise the hormonal stasis draught and set to work.

The theory of gender affirming alchemy was very new; theorised by an Indian witch only fifty years prior, it had taken some time to reach the international scene. Silvano had himself only performed the transmutation a dozen times. Less permanent magics like transfigurations or potions that needed to be reapplied regularly were usually favoured, both because they were more cost-effective and did not require the services of an exceptional healer. But Prince Blaise was Mezzogiornese royalty; he would have the best services one could offer. So he reached out to the now retired Indian alchemist and interrogated her on the possible effects the ritual could have on immature magical cores, and the backlash a – unlikely, but one was never too cautious – hypothetical reversal of the procedure could create. She portkeyed to Mezzogiorno the next day, and they spent several months testing things out.

He explained all of this to young Harry Potter as he showed him around, and the boy hummed at the right moments and asked appropriate questions. It was obvious he knew very little of alchemy and would likely not delve much further into the field, but he was very interested in the theory behind organic transmutation and the way it vastly differed from the more well-known inorganic enterprises.

“Is the Philosopher’s stone considered inorganic transmutation? Since by granting people immortality, it is proven to have effects on the organic systems,” asked the boy.

Silvano stopped short and chuckled.

“Good catch, Mr Potter. To answer your question, it is both. I cannot presume to know what Professor Flamel has done to create such thing – though I have my ideas, as any decent alchemist I have studied the matter quite extensively – but he managed to give organic properties to the unliving. And even beyond that, he made his working compatible enough with the human body to grant himself a magical attribute he did not have before, that of longevity.”

The boy’s eyes sharpened.

“Not immortality.”

“No, Professor Flamel can still die, after all, only not of age. And the alchemical procedure must be repeated,” – which made it a flawed working, in Silvano’s opinions. Who had heard of alchemy that faded with time? Could Professor Flamel not bother to improve his design after six centuries? Although, considering what the faun suspected must have been exchanged to grant a human such longevity, maybe it was for the best that it stayed that way – “so the circumstances are different from what we understand as immortality.”

“I see.” Harry Potter paused. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, since the stone is destroyed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The boy blinked, before rubbing the back of his beck sheepishly. “Ah, I wasn’t supposed to say that. I don’t suppose you’d consent to a Secrecy Vow?”

Silvano agreed to it, well aware of the consequences it would have if such a thing were to spread. The young apprentice then explained a truly ridiculous series of events involving a three-headed dog and a resurrecting Dark Lord, which concluded with an assurance from Albus Dumbledore of all people that Professor Flamel had accepted the destruction of his lifework and had resigned himself to his last years of mortality.

“He’s not dead yet, is he? The Headmaster told Neville he and his wife needed to get their affairs in order. Plus, it would have made the news.”

“Ah, child, what long-lived beings understand to be a short time is very different than what you would conceptualise. Besides, I very much doubt the stone your Headmaster hid in the castle is the only one Professor Flamel has created. Do not expect his obituary to be written for a long while yet.”

Harry Potter nodded, his brows furrowed in thought.

Silvano was about to ask him what bothered him about this situation when his watch warmed around his wrist. He glanced at it.

“Prince Blaise must be done purging the potion. I will check on him now and see if he is ready to proceed. It should be conducted in about three hours. I know he wished for you to be present for the procedure, but your magical core is uniquely… vivacious, and could possibly disrupt the alchemical exchange by diverting the energy flow in the room.” The boy nodded, disappointed but unsurprised. He must have known it was unlikely in the first place. Healing procedures rarely were the kinds of magical undertakings that allowed for tag-alongs. “As such, I will charm the wall transparent and let you bear witness to the procedure from the other side of it, with my apprentices. Of course, you will still be beholden to the Secrecy Vow you have sworn.”

“I understand.”

***

The alchemical procedure started like any ritual.

Sat on a rug littered with cushions a little ways away from Healer Alfieri’s apprentices, Harry observed intently as the golden circle the alchemist had painstakingly laid out sank in on itself, the bright veins taking on a wine red hue. Blaise levitated into the air along with the ingredients the healer would be transmuting to alter his form.

The fruit of an immature Yggdrasil. A jar of dragon blood. A kitsune ball, surrendered willingly. The shed skin of a lamia. Hecatolite and amber. Various plants he couldn’t remember the name of. Pensieve memories of Blaise’s male ancestors.

Most of these were priceless ingredients, with equal intents of alteration and permanence, transmutation and stabilisation. All the best for the beloved youngest prince of Mezzogiorno.

Harry approved.

And as these ingredients were transmuted and reduced to their barest forms, coalescing in the air around Blaise before forcing their way under his skin, the apprentice healer was mesmerised. He leaned forward and watched with clinical fascination as his best friend was reshaped into his desired form. If his hand trembled in worry, he would attribute it to his young age, and the many ways his care for his friend wore at his composure. He trusted Healer Alfieri, who was a really competent healer and was also very aware of what would happen to him should he harm the youngest prince of Mezzogiorno. But although Harry was now more familiar with emergency healing than planned procedures – due to the ridiculousness of Slytherin’s dueling practices – he was well aware that things could still go wrong despite the expert’s preparedness.

But nothing went wrong; after a seemingly interminable transmutation, during which the alchemical circle glowed in various colours and the ley lines were thoroughly abused, Blaise was deposited back on the ground, and Healer Alfieri ceased feeding his magic into the construct to check on his patient.

The apprentices, who had taken frantic notes while their master was at work, clapped with fervour and whispered between themselves.

Harry stood up and stumbled his way to the alchemical room’s door on the other side. He had to wait a few minutes until it opened.

“Principe Blaise sta bene – ahem, that is, he is fine, do not worry, Mister Potter. He will awaken soon. If you could pass me the potions tray next to the door…?”

“Er, of course, yes.” Harry took the aforementioned tray and stepped in. He hurried over and knelt to his friend’s side. The healer, seeing how anxious he was, took pity on him and started instructing him on the order of ingestion of the three drinkable potions as he took care of the topical salves. They worked in relative silence, only stopping Blaise’s eyes fluttered open.

“Circe, I feel like I’ve been trampled by an Erumpent,” muttered the young prince with a much hoarser voice than he’d had before, both a sign of his exhaustion and of the procedure’s effectiveness. “So, Harry, how tall am I now?”

Chapter Text

Constantino was thrilled to see his cousin so comfortable in his own skin.

Blaise had grown half a head taller and now positively towered over his friend, to whom he was currently explaining the various dishes laid out on the dinner table under the attentive eyes of his family – bar Aunt Serafina, who would be in Tunisia for another two weeks.

The boys spoke in hushed tones and occasionally giggled or smirked at each other most endearingly. He was sure they thought themselves very dignified and mature, but to his eyes they very much looked like the thirteen-year-olds they were.

(Well, their little guest wasn’t thirteen yet. Dear Juventas, goddess of youth, Constantino didn’t remember being that young.)

Harry Potter had been amusingly intimidated when he was introduced to their father, but he had followed proper protocol and spoken much better Italian than he had when Constantino first met him. It was obvious that Blaise had put him through his paces. Father had been very amused by it, and he had even played up the attitude of a protective uncle to see the boy squirm. Harry had handled it admirably, though he kept throwing cautious glances at the man since.

The heir to the throne of Mezzogiorno leaned towards Antea, who was sitting on his right.

“The procedure went well, I take it?”

They had complimented their little cousin, of course, but no one except their father had enquired after Healer Alfieri. Aristeo Zabini was fond of the faun, and very much liked to hear of him when he had the time.

His sister shot him a confused look.

“You tell me. Weren’t you supposed to accompany him?”

Constantino stilled.

“Do you mean to tell me Biagio went through a life-changing medical procedure without a member of the family present to monitor?”

They couldn’t have been so negligent, could they?

“Lazzaro,” he asked faintly, “what did you do today?”

“Huh?” asked his little brother, looking up from his braciole. “I was tending to the caladrii, of course.”

Constantino didn’t bother asking Crescenzia; he knew she had spent her time with their father as he conducted state business because he was in the same room as her, dodging inquiries as to his choice of spouse.

“I owe you an apology, cousin,” he said after taking a second to collect himself. Blaise looked up from his discussion and shot him a confused look. The way he raised his eyebrow was so unmistakably like his mother that the older man felt the sudden urge to smile. He refrained. “You were not meant to go through such a harrowing procedure alone. I have been remiss in my duties.”

No need to tell him about the mix-up, it would seem like they were avoiding responsibility. In any case, Constantino as the eldest should have made sure their youngest family member was well-cared for. They had already failed at it by letting Aunt Serafina run wild, they couldn’t afford to keep doing so.

Blaise and Harry stared at him like it hadn’t even occurred to them that it wasn’t normal for children to go through such thing without parental supervision. Constantino’s cousin recovered quicker from his bafflement, likely thinking that he wouldn’t like the interrogation that would follow if he admitted that he had lost the habit of relying on adults.

It was too late, however. Father had seen, and he already had plenty of questions about the goings-on at Hogwarts.

Blaise nodded, for all the world giving the impression that he was accepting his apology. Constantino could see the wheels in his brain churning however and had to repress a laugh. What lie would their little cousin come up with, this time?

“I assumed an urgent matter had taken up your time,” he said. “I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” replied Constantino, his eyes crinkling. “Now that this is settled,” he added, rising. To prove his apology was sincere, he would throw himself under the Aetneians’ hooves for his cousin’s sake, though that would only give him a small respite. “I would like to make an announcement.”

He had planned to wait until Aunt Serafina came back, but now was as good a time as ever. Besides, if his aunt wanted to be in the loop, she should have made sure to be back in time for her son’s return.

His family watched him with intent eyes, and for the first time of his life, Constantino understood what his peers meant when they said that a Zabini’s gaze was intense to the point of being predatory. His father in particular looked like a Nemean lion who held in his paws a particularly succulent morsel. He did not gulp, though he dearly wanted to.

“I plan to marry.”

“Who?” exclaimed Lazzaro incredulously, half-rising himself to meet Constantino’s eyes, “and since when?”

Crescenzia looked up at him with wary eyes, though her hands were tapping against each other in a soundless simulacrum of a clap.

“I proposed to the Lady Lazaria Nerone, and she accepted my suit?”

“Lady Lazaria is a cambion,” remarked Antea with a mirthful expression. “Are you that eager to lend credence to the rumours?”

“It seems,” started their Father, “that your brother desires to make them come true. It is quite surprising in fact that no one in our line has before married a demon-blooded individual. I trust that you have vetted the girl’s suitability?” At Constantino’s nod, Aristeo smiled. The man’s son noted that his father was utterly unsurprised by the announcement. “Congratulations, my son.”

***

After the table’s excitement following the announcement had died down, Blaise’s uncle turned to him once more and asked if he had anything to say about his two years at Hogwarts.

Blaise tilted his head. “I don’t know what you mean, Uncle?”

“It has come to my attention that a few stories have been omitted from your letters, nephew. If you are amenable, I would like to hear them.”

Harry shot him a worried look and Blaise sent him a reassuring smile.

“Oh, do you mean the stories I told Lazzaro and Zia? We did see a dragon hatch and I did have a run-in with a nest of Acromantula, but I was fine. Isn’t that a usual school experience?”

Constantino’s pained look said more than a thousand words. Antea’s hilarity did too. Lazzaro was nodding, though, and Blaise wondered what his cousin had gotten up to while he was in school.

“That... no, it isn’t a normal school experience, child, but I will give you this one. This is not what I was referring to. A teacher died on your first year, and a student was possessed and sustained magical damage during your second. A basilisk was roaming the school petrifying students, and you did not see fit to inform us?”

Blaise clenched his jaw, though he made sure his expression looked appropriately sheepish. His uncle must have reached out to a student or teacher to keep an eye on him.

Already he had four suspects in mind.

Graham Montague, whose House was a British offshoot of the Montecchi.

Professor Sinistra, the third daughter of the reclusive Don Sinistra.

Fidelio Aloise, a first-year Hufflepuff. He was muggle-born who had been meant to attend Virgilio Nero before the school arranged his pre-enrolment transfer to Hogwarts following his parents’ decision to move to Wales.

Bellona Goldstein, a sixth-year Gryffindor whose mother was a former citizen of Mezzogiorno.

He would find the spy when he returned to Hogwarts and make sure the monitoring would cease.

“None of that had to do with me,” Blaise replied airily. “Everyone at school was talking about it, I got kind of bored with it. I didn’t want to rehash it. And besides,” he added with more bite than he meant to, “it made me feel right at home.”

His uncle couldn’t argue that Hogwarts was unsafe for him when the Palace was just that and more. He had survived it. He’d survive a Dark Lord and the schemes of people who, for once, sought to kill someone other than him. He much preferred the intrigues of Hogwarts than the bed of lies he was forced to lie on here.

He loved his home, of course. But he had a purpose in Hogwarts, and the loyalty of people who weren’t his family. He wouldn’t trade that for anything.

Uncle Aristeo dipped his head, as if conceding his point. Blaise was about to relax when the Principe instead turned to Harry, and asked, “what do you think, Mr. Potter?”

Blaise tensed right back.

He glanced at his best friend, who was looking down at his plate while gathering his thoughts.

“I think Hogwarts has its flaws,” said Harry carefully. “But Blaise is happy there.”

The youngest Italian prince nodded without thinking, corroborating his best friend’s words.

His family watched Harry intently, as if waiting for him to say more. But he only looked at them confusedly.

“What? Do you need more than that?” he asked, as if the idea that Blaise’s happiness shouldn’t be the only factor in consideration hadn’t occurred to him.

Blaise smirked.

“No,” said Crescenzia, startling them, “we do not.”

And in the face of his usually quiet daughter’s conviction, Aristeo could do nothing but agree.

***

The next day was spent more quietly than the previous. Blaise explained it by telling Harry that he would have enough excitement in the evening, where a welcoming ball would be held at court for the youngest prince’s return. After a late breakfast, Harry was led to the Palace’s library, where many scrolls and books about core corruption were awaiting his perusal. Some were in English, having seemingly been translated for him. When Harry shared his amazement with this fact, Blaise only shrugged and told him with a smirk that he should get used to it. As a guest of the royal family, he would be treated with the highest honours.

Harry was uncomfortable at the thought of someone spending an entire night translating things for him, but he did his best to put it out of his mind.

The reading he was doing was engaging enough to distract him, at least. A lot of it was beyond him; Poppy had only given him the bare bones of the theory behind magical cores. Her more in-depth lessons were reserved for physical ailments, and the supplementary lessons Professor Snape gave him covered curses, nothing that targeted the core, which rivaled the mind in its difficulty.

To fully understand what was discussed in the reading he had before him, he needed to go back to the fundamentals and supplement his knowledge of magical cores. That included a lot of theoretical musings, as the theory was developed in some areas but mainly guesswork in others.

One specific concept attracted his attention.

“Does nothing come from nothing?”

“Hm?” asked Blaise, who was leisurely reading a novel as he lay on a lounge chair at his side.

“There are two prevalent theories about the formation of magical cores. One says that they are made from something within the human body, a specific, undetectable organ that differentiates muggles from wixen. It would be considered superfluous since we could survive without it.”

“Like the appendix?”

“Exactly. But this organ theoretically would produce the magical particles that coalesce into what we call our core and “pumps” like a heart does to move the magic throughout our body. That theory is called creatio ex materia; the core is formed through pre-existing matter. Hence the dictum, ex nihilo nihil fit. Nothing comes from nothing.”

According to this theory, squibs either weren't born with this organ or it atrophied in the womb. But since the organ had not been found in either wix or squib -- which was the main argument against creatio ex materia --, it couldn’t be repaired with healing magic. No healer could heal what they couldn’t locate, and since wixen didn't do open surgeries, finding out where this supposed organ was necessitated some level of guesswork.

“And the other theory?”

Blaise had put down his book, fully interested.

“Creatio ex nihilo says that the core is the organ and that comes from nothing. It just... spontaneously forms the same way ambient magic does. The first theory is more popular, because it explains magical lineages better. After all, if magic comes from nothing, we could assume that it would form arbitrarily and not be inherited. I’m not sure the argument holds ground, but that’s what this guy argues,” said Harry, pointing at the parchment in front of him with a frown. “But then it doesn’t explain muggle-borns – which is why the people who believe in creatio ex materia also think muggle-borns are the descendants of squibs.”

Technically, a third theory assumed that magic came from magic, or more specifically, that ambient magic entered the human body and stayed there, but only magically gifted creatures could gather it and make use of it. It was technically sound, since wixen had proven capable of manipulating ambient magic and feeding it into wards – it had just never been done through someone’s body. But that theory was an offshoot of creatio ex materia; it assumed the existence of an unseen organ capable of manipulating the pre-existing ambient magic.

“Those theories mirror the schools of thought that talk about the creation of ambient magic,” mused Harry, “and creatio ex materia is generally the more popular one. It is more grounded in logic, which has a certain appeal, I suppose. Creatio ex nihilo is more of an esoteric way of thinking, and the people who argue for it often believe in the concept of a magical deity choosing who should have magic.” He paused. “If it was the muggle world, something like this would be discounted immediately as unscientific, but the rules of magic are more obscure. Concepts are important magical foci, the idea that the notion of magic itself would create its existence is not entirely far-fetched.”

“And which do you think is the right one?”

“I don’t know.”

The first theory would explain Ginny’s condition very neatly – akin to blood donations, incompatible magical particles could not be transfused lest the body reject them – as her body was rejecting the foreign magic that her organ didn’t recognise as safe. But it would also make it very unlikely for a cure to exist. But if core formation occured in creatio ex nihilo, Harry thought there could be a way to trigger a core reformation, so he wished he could prove that the second theory was sounder.

***

Harry was still thinking about it as they prepared for the ball. Harry wore a royal blue open robe decorated with gold chains on top of a white shirt and slacks, while Blaise was dressed in black and gold with burgundy trimmings. His ensemble was more conservative and close-fitting, and the gold of his buttons matched the thin circlet adorning his forehead.

His friend had told him it was important to wear the colours of your House on the first social gathering of the season you were made to attend, and that they should not match in any way to avoid rumours of adoption or betrothal.
They eschewed tradition a little by entering together, while Blaise was normally supposed to come in at the same time as his cousins. The prince simply refused to leave his friend alone in the cesspit that was Mezzogiorno’s court.

The ballroom wasn’t as full as it sometimes was; though this was a family event and meant that many had brought their children, bolstering the number of attendees, only those within Blaise’s age bracket were thought useful to bring, and the others were left to stay at the Academy, which organised vacations differently than Hogwarts and let its students out a week per month rather than for extended periods of time.

Blaise was often complimented on his growth spurt, and the squaring of his jawline, and Harry could tell it was doing him a lot of good. The puberty seal had helped, but it had nothing on gender-affirming transmutation.

Harry and Blaise amused themselves by acting like the former didn’t speak a word of Italian and embarrassing guests who thought it appropriate to treat the Heir of House Potter like he was the prince’s pet. Harry spent the evening following his best friend around and taking the measure of the court, whom he already had a poor impression of. Blaise was right that most of the people who addressed him generally desired to gain one thing or another, but he spotted a few of their peers who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

One of them, the Heir of House Salvatore asked if they planned to watch the dueling tournament that would take place at the end of the week. Blaise had lied and said he had been considering it, though Harry could tell he hadn’t even known this tournament would take place. They had resolved to ask Blaise’s uncle for permission as soon as possible.

Two siblings of House Priore asked Harry if he would be willing to play some Quidditch with them, which instantly put them in Blaise’s good books.

Marian Fata, second daughter of Donna Licia, invited them for tea the next week and strongly implied that she would be willing to share some Academy gossip with Blaise if he pretended to date her. Seeing as she had no interest in him and only wished to get her mother off her back, Blaise agreed. Harry was very amused.

As they made their rounds in the ballroom, Harry watched his best friend often and noticed his expression sometimes seemed troubled.

“I think that being here with you makes me see these people with new eyes,” Blaise admitted around the end of the evening. “I thought they were all...”

“Most of them are,” said Harry.

His friend would do well to be fairer to himself.

Blaise hummed. “Maybe. But not all. And now that I know what trust and friendship are like, I can see who here is genuine and who isn’t. It’s nice.”

“I’m glad," said someone from behind them.

The two friends turned around. Antea and Crescenzia were standing with glasses in their hands, looking at their cousin with fondness. This time, Antea’s entourage was nowhere to be seen; it seemed like Antea had decided to spend her time with her sister this evening.

“I’m glad you have this, cugino,” repeated Antea. “Treasure it.”

Crescenzia nodded before leaning down to whisper in her cousin’s ear. Close as he was, Harry could hear her faintly, “it makes me wish I had followed you to Hogwarts. But I have decided to try Durmstrang instead. I will be repeating the year. Father agreed. Anything to make me get out of the palace, he said,” she repeated with a little laugh.

Blaise chuckled, and Harry restrained a smile at the sight.

He hoped everything would work out for her.

She deserved it.