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Chapter Text

Lillian Alexander Potter has always been a weird kid. Well, he and his twin brother Harry were both weird kids. Ever since they could remember they were labeled as 'weird'. At school, for example, no one wanted to hang out with them. Probably because their cousin, Dudley Dursley, with whom they lived, always tried to make their lives a living hell. 'Potter hunting' as he called it. On an almost daily occurrence at school, where Dudley and his friends would chase the two boys around and beat them till they were purple all over. It, definitely, was not better at home. The twins never knew peace. Although there were two unused extra bedrooms in the house, Dudleys' playroom and the guest bedroom, they had to share a small cupboard under the stairs. They shared one mattress and their clothes. BUT let's not spoil all the fun and get on to the present day.

Sunday, June 23rd, 1991

Today was Dudleys' eleventh birthday. It's probably one of the worst days of the year for the Potter siblings, at least if you ask them. It always meant more slave labor for them. They awoke to Dudley jumping on the stairs above them, making ash and dust fall onto them. Lillian groaned silently as he rolled off their mattress. He carefully exited the cupboard under the stairs, letting Harry rest for a few more moments. Growing up Harry was always the one who got the worst of the treatment at home, no one knew why that was but both boys had their suspicions, Lillian only wanted to help him as best he could. He went into the kitchen and started to prepare breakfast, eggs and bacon. This one was quite easy, but what wasn't easy for someone with years of experience? Anyways let's not make this a sob story, okay? Dudley was exceptionally annoying that day.

"Thirty-six? BUT LAST YEAR! LAST YEAR WAS THIRTY-SEVEN!" The youngest Dursley yelled as he entered the kitchen and saw the stack of presents on the table. 

"Well, some are quite bigger than last year." His dad tried to argue but was quite unsuccessful. They never could tame that beast of a child, and they were completely at fault for that. If they hadn't spoiled the boy rotten then maybe he wouldn't have behavioral issues.

"I DON'T CARE HOW BIG THEY ARE!" Dudley yelled once more and sat down on the chair. 

'I'd like at least one for once'. The thought passed as quickly as it had appeared in Lillians' head. 

"Boy, is the breakfast ready?" Petunia asked with a snarl to her tone. If it wasn't for primary school he wouldn't have probably even known his name. It was always 'boy' or 'freak' or sometimes it was just a slap on the back of the head.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said emotionlessly and gave the three of them their plates, full of food. They looked down and, surprisingly, did not make any comments about it.

"Miss Figg is ill, so you two will be going with us." Aunt Petunia said, venom and disgust filled her words. At that moment Harry came out from the cupboard and rubbed his eyes. Immediately as he walked into the kitchen he received a big slap on the back of his head, making him stumble a little. "You should've been up earlier, you freak." Was all that Vernon spat out to Harry, Dudley only laughed. Lillian only sent him an apologetic look. It was only yesterday that Harry was beaten black and blue for not trimming the grass on the lawn evenly.

"Dad has an important meeting today, so I will be driving you Duddykins, and your friend." When Petunia turned to Dudley her tone and face softened up a lot. If you would completely disregard the abuse of the Potter twins, and overlook the fact that she's spoiling her son a little bit too much, you could call her a good mother.

"Do they have to go?" Dudley whined, pointing his finger at the brothers.

"I'm sorry Duddykins, but we can't leave those two alone in the house. We don't know what would be left of the house." The second sentence was spat out by the middle-aged woman.

"We can stay Aunt Petunia. I promise we won't destroy anything." Lillian pleaded. He really did not want to be subjected to their family for longer than it required. 

"No Lillian and my decision is final." She spat out, only a second later did she recognize that she said the boys' name for the first time, probably in her life, and she paled immediately. She shrugged and walked away. 

~~~~~~~~~~  

When they reached the zoo Dudley and Piers, Dudleys' friend, quickly ran to the cages to see the animals. Petunia then turned to the twins and bent down. "No funny business today." They just nodded at her words, not really knowing what she meant.

As Petunia straightened up and joined the others observing the animals, Lillian and Harry exchanged a knowing look and followed their aunt. They had long become accustomed to the warnings and threats that came their way. However, today felt different, there was an unusual tension in the air.

The Potter twins wandered through the zoo at Petunias' side, casting occasional glances at the exhibits while remaining cautious not to attract any attention. Lillian, being the older of the two (by only 8 minutes! Harry always reminded his older brother), always felt a protective instinct towards Harry.

As they strolled past the reptile house, Dudley couldn't just contain himself at the thought of seeing a scorpion or a venomous snake. He dragged all of them inside and there they spread. The dark, humid air inside the reptile house enveloped them as they cautiously approached the python enclosure. The twins saw a python enclosure and decided to come close. The large snake was lazily coiled around a branch, seemingly uninterested in its surroundings.

"Hello there." Lillian said, directing his words toward the python. To his surprise, the snake lifted its head and regarded him with a certain level of intelligence gleaming in its eyes.

"Finally! A speaker!" the snake hissed in a low, almost amused voice. Lillian and Harry exchanged astonished glances. Snakes talk? 

"You can understand me?" Asked Harry, raising his eyebrows. Why did the snake speak?

"Two speakers?" The snake hissed again.

"Move!" Dudley yelled at Lillian and pushed him out of the way. The boy felt his anger building up, but under Petunias' stern gaze, he let the emotions go. The snake reared as Dudley started to bang on the window. Eventually, the python had enough of Dudleys banging, and attacked the glass, hard, causing a small scratch to appear. Dudley fell to the floor, scared shitless, and began crying. Petunia was quick to scold the nearest worker, he must've been just a teenager in his summer job, and turned to fuss over Dudley.

Lillian quickly dragged Harry away and gave him a warning look. "No matter what Harry, you can never say we talked to that snake, okay?" The younger just nodded and gulped. Petunia quickly gathered all the boys and took them for ice cream, obviously leaving out the twins.

~~~~~~~~~~  

Monday, July 24th, 1991

The day started off as usual, with the Dursleys screaming for breakfast. There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when both boys went in to make it. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Lillian went to have a look.

“What’s this?” he asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

“Your new school uniform,” she said.

He looked in the bowl again. “Oh,” he said, “I didn’t realize it had to be so wet.”

“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Aunt Petunia. 

Twins seriously doubted this but thought it best not to argue. 

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell of the new uniforms. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table.

They heard the click of the mail slot and the flop of letters on the doormat.

“Get the mail, Dudley,” said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

“Make Lillian get it.”

“Get the mail, Lillian.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Four things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon’s sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry and himself.

He picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? They had no friends, no other relatives — he didn’t belong to the library, so he’d never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake. He quickly shoved both letters deep into the pockets of Dudleys' old, too-big, jeans, that he was forced to wear as his own. He went back to the kitchen as if nothing unusual had happened, and handed the bill-looking letter and the letter from Marge to Vernon, as Petunia was still dyeing the clothes. 

“Marge’s ill.” He informed Aunt Petunia. “Ate a funny whelk...”

"Oh, poor dear." She replied, with a fake sweet tone that she learned to mask as a true one. It seemed like the only people who liked Marge were Dudley and Vernon. To be completely honest Marge is quite the bitch.

After Vernon went to work at his super-duper-extremely-important drill company, and Dudley left to have fun with his friends, probably tormenting other kids from the neighborhood, Lillian and Harry were left in the house with Petunia. After spending over an hour, working, under the blazing sun in the garden, Lillian came back inside and went to the cupboard to read the letters.

Mr. L. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

For Harry, it was the same address, so Lillian opened his letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

He read the letter a few more times and was baffled. Magic? Magic does NOT exist. Or does it? Are we wizards really? He thought and looked over the letter once more. Forming a plan, on how to approach Aunt Petunia about this he decided to just go with the flow. He went into the kitchen, where his aunt was finishing her dyeing.

"Aunt Petunia?" He started. "How exactly did mom die?" He asked that question probably a million times already, but the answers to this always were kind of messed up and slightly different every time.

"I already told you, you stupid boy." She barked from over the pot. "She and her stupid husband died in a car crash."

"Yeah, I know that." A deep sigh escaped his lips. "But are you sure..." His voice trailed off. "Are you sure there wasn't anything special to it?" As he emphasized the word 'special', Aunt Petunia froze in her actions, but recovered quickly.

"Special?" Her voice was on the verge of breaking. "Special, like what?"

Lillian looked around to see if Harry was still in the garden. As he noticed his twin working with the flowers he pulled out the open letter. "Like magic perhaps."

Petunia was stunned. She quickly snatched the letter from her nephew and read it through. "Where did you get this?" She asked venomously, her eyes narrowing at him.

"It came with the mail." He shrugged. "So it's true then. Magic does exist."

"Of course it doesn't you freak." She snapped and threw the letter in the trash. 

"Yes, it does." He reiterated. "If it didn't you would laugh it off. But you didn't. Your response was very unusual." He studied his aunts' movements and overall body language very carefully. "Now. Me and Harry are going to go to this school. I don't care what you're saying, Aunt Petunia." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I do not support this. Nor will Vernon." She snapped. "And if you think we're going to fund this mess then think again."

"Don't worry." He said slowly. "I'll find a way."

Chapter Text

The stress was building up. Petunia was shooting weird stares at Lillian on the daily, and they weren't just because she didn't like him. No. This time she had a reason. You see. Lillian, after all still a 10-year-old boy, tried to snatch an owl out of the air. Whoever was Minerva McGonagall, she expected an owl until their birthday on the 31st of July. FINALLY Petunia decided to be a decent person, and after a week she stopped him. 

"Just address it to them and send it through the mail." 

And so he did. Well, firstly, he had to write a letter.

Dear Deputy Headmistress,

That sounded stupid. Can you even address her like that? 

Deputy Headmistress,

both me and Harry accept the invitation to the school. We have a small problem. We were raised by non-magical humans. None of us know how to obtain the items, that were enclosed with the letter. Could someone from the school take us shopping for school supplies? Moreover, me and my brother do not have the funds to buy the supplies. Is there a way for the school to fund them? Maybe as a scholarship? I await your reply.

Lillian Alexander Potter

After a few days, they heard their doorbell ring. It was a sunny day. Lillian and Harry were working in the garden, while Petunia was relaxing in the living room. Vernon was out at work and Dudley was out with his friends. Lillian stood up, brushed the dirt off of his knees, and ran inside to answer the door since Petunia never opened them for the guests. Outside stood an elderly woman, dressed in some sort of green, long, and heavy dress. Her grey hair was up in a tight bun. Her face had a stern and kind of an 'all-knowing' look to it.

"Mister Lillian Potter?" She asked, scanning him with her eyes.

"Who are you?" He asked back. Usually, adults did not really spring up any thoughts of safety in him. Which is weird, considering he's a child.

"Minerva McGonagall. Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and transfiguration professor." She responded with a stuck-up tone 

"Come in." He opened up the door and let her inside. She eyed him suspiciously and came inside, walking straight into the living room. "Aunt Petunia we have guests!" He led the older woman to the living room. "Harry come in here!"

To say that Minerva was surprised by this boy's behavior would be an understatement. She was baffled by his bluntness. Minerva McGonagall entered the Dursley residence, her eyes still fixed on Lillian as he ushered her into the living room. Petunia, sitting on the couch, looked both annoyed and curious at the unexpected visitor. Harry, who had been working in the garden, rushed in at Lillian's call.

"Who is this, then?" Petunia asked, eyeing McGonagall with suspicion.
"I am Minerva McGonagall. Transfiguration professor and Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you are?" This was the most subtle pettiness Lillian had witnessed in his life. To be honest he aspired to be that petty in life
"Petunia Dursley. Guardian of these two." Petunia snarled back.

"I've come to discuss some matters related to Lillian and Harry's education," McGonagall explained, her gaze shifting between the two boys.
Lillian, unfazed by the tension in the room, took charge of the situation. "Professor, I hope coming here did not disrupt your schedule. I was hoping to get some questions answered."
"Well then." The older woman started as they settled in the living room, eyeing both boys with concern in her eyes. "Ask your questions."
Lillian nodded, satisfied, and flooded her with his questions. "How can we afford Hogwarts? Where do we buy the books and other stuff? Is there tuition? Maybe a scholarship is available? I swear we will be the best students in class."

"Hogwarts is an entirely free school. No tuition." She answered, trying to calm the boys. Harry remained completely silent as Lillian exhaled, satisfied. "I will take you shopping, preferably today if you have time, if not we can arrange another day." Lillian didn't waste any time and replied immediately. 

"Today works for us." He squeezed Harry's hand. "Can you show us some magic please?" Harry asked quietly.

Minerva nodded and stood up. In a blink of an eye she was gone, and in her place stood a tabby cat. The boys smiled and the professor turned back into her human form. Lillian shook himself from the shock and spoke up again. "How can we afford the school supplies? We don't really have any money to pay for it all. The list was quite extensive."

At his words, the elderly woman narrowed her eyes towards Petunia. "Don't worry about it. Now before we go I'll have a quick chat with your aunt and then we'll pick up another student on our way to Diagon Alley." As if on queue the boys stood up and walked to the cupboard to change into some fresher clothes. They heard some fast, raised voices but tried to ignore them. They were quite good at silencing the yelling that happened around them. After changing, into other hand-me-downs from Dudley, since they never received any clothes of their own, they came out of the cupboard.

"Let's go, we don't have that much time." The professor spoke quickly as she straightened her robes, giving Petunia a judging side-eye. She grabbed both boys by their shoulders and with a loud popping sound they were gone.

After appearing in the backyard of another house Harry fell to his knees and Lillian covered his mouth. "What was that?" Harry asked through loud gasps.

"Apparition. I'm sorry I haven't warned you. I forgot that the first time is always horrible. You'll get used to it." She glanced at them both. "Someday." She walked over to the backdoor and knocked. A pair of two adults opened the door. They had warm, welcoming smiles plastered on their faces.

"Good morning professor!" The lady said happily. "Hermione is almost ready to go. She's just finishing breakfast." Hermione? The name sounded familiar. The couple then looked at the two boys beside her. "Potters?" She asked in disbelief.

"I'm really sorry ma'am but do we know you?" Lillian asked.

"Jean and Daniel Granger. Hermiones' parents." OH. Granger. The girl from the year higher. That explained a lot. Hermione ran out to the backyard all smiling and giggling. She kissed her mother and father goodbye and that was the first time that Lillian felt a pang of jealousy in his life. McGonagall quickly grabbed the three of them and apparated again, without warning.

They appeared in front of a large, white building, probably marble stone.

"This is the wizarding bank called Gringotts." Spoke the elderly professor as she guided the three inside the building.

Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn,
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.

The inscription sent a shiver down all of the kids' spines. They walked in and swiftly made their way to the main desk.

"Potter Vault." McGonagall stated to the small angry-looking being that sat at the big desk. Then she whispered something to the Granger girl and the small frizzy-haired young lady quickly made her way to another part of the bank.

"May I see the key?" The creature said slowly in a kind of broken English. The professor pulled out a gold key from her pocket and gave it to the small thing. It made a very hard-to-read expression and grumbled something under its' breath. In its quick and swift movement, the creature jumped from the still it was sitting on and stood in front of the three humans. It was quite small and had a judging and sharp look in its eyes. "Follow me." It said and started walking as the three followed it and it quickly stopped. "It is a matter that involves only the Potters, witch." The creature sneered at the elderly woman and in response she scoffed, muttering the word goblins under her breath.

'So that what those things are. Goblins.' Lillian thought to himself as he nodded and dragged Harry by his hand away from the professor, following the goblin. They made their way to a corridor nearby. In contrast to the grand of the entryway and the main hall, the passageways to the vaults were stone and dimly lit with flaming torches.

"I'm so sorry mister goblin, but I didn't catch your name." Lillian started slowly as the head of the goblin slowly turned to him. "It would be impolite to do business with you without any proper introduction."

"My name is Ragnok. Chief of the Goblin Horde in Britain and director of this establishment." Ragnok replied with a polite nod.

"My name is Lillian Alexander Potter. Pleasure doing business with you." He nodded back and extended his hand. Untrustingly the goblin shook it slightly as he eyed down Harry. 

"You are a very strange wizard Lillian Alexander Potter." 

"I'd take that as a compliment." He said with a bit of pride in his voice.

"Very strange indeed." The goblin extended its hand to Harry which the younger twin shook just as untrustingly as Ragnok. "My name is Harry James Potter." His voice was shaking.

"Which one of you is the heir?" The goblin asked as he looked at Lillian.

"The heir?"

"The oldest son." The creature scoffed as if it was common knowledge.

"That would be me." Lillian replied, trying to sound at least a little bit confident. At his response, Ragnok only nodded and led them to the mining cart. When they all settled in their seats the cart moved. The speed increased rapidly and didn't slow down for any twists or turns. After a few minutes, they stopped abruptly. On their right, they could see a huge black stone door. At the top of the door, or more suitably a magnificent entry, there in stone was inscribed the number 687. Ragnok put the key inside a barely visible hole in the stone, opening the sealed vault. Inside there were mountains of gold, silver, and bronze coins. Behind were books, furniture, jewels, and other undescribable treasures. None of the twins ever dared to imagine anything close to this belonging to them. It was a surreal experience.

"Is that?" Lillian stuttered out, pointing to the contents of the vault.

"It's all yours. Everything in this vault belongs to you two, being the last Potters there are." Ragnok explained with a bored tone.

Both Lillian and Harry just let out a silent wow and Lillian garnered, what he had thought to be enough, coins and put them in his pockets, instructing Harry to not touch too much. They quickly got out of the vault but before Lillian could climb back into the cart Ragnok stopped him.

"As the Chieftain of the goblin horde, I, Ragnok, entrust you with the key to your family's treasure and legacy hidden in the depths of Gringott bank, and pronounce you heir, and future head to the House of Potter." A swift flash of magic appeared as Lillians' hair was blown by a gush of wind.

"W-what?" He asked. "What did you do?"

"You are now legally viewed as the leader of House Potter by the Gringotts bank and the goblin horde. Until you reach the age of wizarding maturity it will give you no real power outside of the establishment but from now on you are the only one able to make any purchases, investments, or even look inside the vault." Ragnok smirked and gave the key to the boy. "This key will never be lost. It will always come back to you safely."

They climbed back into the cart, while Harry gave his older brother an incredulous look. The ride back was just as mad as the ride down the depths of the bank. At the entrance Minerva and Hermione were waiting for the twins.

"I was worried the goblin might try some tricks." The professor scoffed once again when the boys parted from Ragnok. She gave Lillian a quick, weird look, but led them out of the bank. They made their way up the street to a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside there was only one boy and two women.

"Good morning and welcome to my shop!" The shorter woman exclaimed as she hurried to the new arrivals. "Hogwarts?"

"First year. Just new robes." McGonagall did not play with anyone. Lillian already liked that about her. Madam Malkin, Lillian presumed, nodded and hurried him to the stand next to the other boy.

"Hi." He spoke shyly to the other boy. He had platinum blonde hair that was slicked back, a pale pointy face, and was quite slim for the first look. "I'm Lillian. Lillian Potter." He extended his hand to the boy.

The boy and the woman next to him gasped and he quickly shook Lillians' hand. "I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Is it your first year too?" Lillian asked.

"Yeah." Draco had a star-gazed expression as he looked at Lillian. 

"Why do you look at me like that?" He asked, shyness overtaking him.

"Uhhhhhhh." Draco shook himself. "Well, you're THEE Lillian Potter. One of the wonder twins? Boys who lived?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Lillian released a nervous laugh. Madam Malkin was quietly taking measurements.

"What?!" Dracos' face shifted from this amazed expression to one that displayed confusion. "How do you not know?"

"I was raised by my aunt and uncle. They're not uh-" He was at a loss of words. "... magical?"

The blonde's face shifted to disgust for an unnoticeable second and then back to amazement. "You were raised by muggles?"

"Muggles?"

"Non-magical people." 

"Oh yeah." Lillian nodded. Draco was then hurried off the stand by Madam Malkin. 

"Do you want to sit with me and my friends on the ride to Hogwarts?"

"Sure." He smiled warmly at Draco, as he, and presumably his mother, went out of the shop with bags full of clothes.

After what felt like hours all three kids finally got out of the robe shop. "Ollivanders next." They made their way to the wand shop. McGonagall instructed them to go in one by one to 'experience it all', so as a volunteer, Lillian went first.

"I have been expecting you for quite some time, Mr. Potter." Said Ollivander. The inside of the shop was tiny, empty except for a single, spindly chair in the corner. Thousands of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling of the tiny shop, and the whole place had a thin layer of dust about it.

"I haven't told you my name." Lillian responded confidently. "How do you know me?" 

"Rumors travel fast around here Mister Potter." The older man hurried off to the shelves and came back with a few boxes. He took out a stick, probably a wand, out of the first box and handed it to Lillian. "Applewood, dragon heartstring, 11 and 3/4 inches, stiff." Lillian took it in his right hand and swished it intuitively. A vase next to them exploded into a million pieces. With a simple movement from Ollivanders' wand, it gathered and put itself back together. "Definitely not this one." He quickly grabbed the wand from Lillian and pushed another one into his hand. "Blackthorn, phoenix feather, 12 inches, pliable." This one caused destruction too. After trying at least ten more wands, all with the same effect, though different levels of it, Ollivander gave the older twin a studious look. "Maybe, just maybe." He scurried next to the most dusty boxes. "These ones were made when I was experimenting with different woods and cores. Definitely for everyone." He gave Lillian a beautiful two-colored wand. The base was the color of acacia, deep brown, that slightly went into shades of dark red. Around the base, there was a beautiful vine that enveloped it. 

"Acacia and vine wood, horned serpent horn, precisely thirteen inches long, not less nor more, pliable. Probably my most beautiful creation." As Lillian took it in his hands the wand hummed a familiar tune in his head and green sparks came out from the tip. Ollivander smiled, probably relieved that his shop wouldn't be destroyed. "7 galleons." Lillian gave the man double the amount. "The other seven is for my brother, he's coming next." With his wand in hand, he came out of the shop and hurried Harry inside.

"Where is McGonagall?" He asked Hermione when he noticed the professor was not with them.

"She went to buy our books so that we wouldn't have to all stand in line." Grangers' reply was cold. She was a confusing person. Being bullied for her looks and smarts must have taken a toll on her.

"I'm not your enemy Granger." He looked her in the eyes. "Don't treat me like one."

McGonagall came back just as Hermione was about to reply. She was carrying bags and bags of books and other equipment for school. "How much do I owe you for me and Harry professor?" 

"50 galleons." Lillian gave her the precise amount and took the bags from her. Harry came out with his wand, 11 inches long, made of Holly, and possessed a phoenix feather core. Hermione came in and after a few minutes, she got out with her wand, vine wood, dragon heartstring, 10 and 3/4 inches long. McGonagall instructed them to breathe in as she apparated them all out of Diagon Alley back to Hermiones' backyard. Then she spun on her heel yet again and apparated into the Dursley living room. Petunia was startled but quickly pulled herself together.

"Your new room is upstairs." That was all she said before the boys bid their goodbyes to the older professor and went back to their bedrooms.

Chapter Text

Summer was weirdly very chill for the twins. The Dursleys left them alone. For the first time in their lives, they had peace for DAYS. No cooking, no chores, no YELLING at them for the smallest mistakes. They finally got upgraded to a full-fledged room, instead of a cupboard. They had a bunk bed, a desk, and a wardrobe! There was so much space. SO MUCH SPACE! Sadly, they still weren't fed enough but their portions were increased so much that now it could count as one full meal daily. 

31st July 1991

Their eleventh birthday. Finally, they were slowly going into their teenage years. None of them ever thought they'd make it. Lillian woke up with a smile, climbed down from his upper bunk, and went to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror, something he tried not to do very often. In it he saw a small, way too skinny for his age, but a smiling boy. His skin was dry and his complexion was as pale as they came, though not as pale as Dracos' from the robe shop, baby fat was nonexistent so his face already looked too mature for eleven years old. The color of his hair was practically washed out. What in normal circumstances would be a pretty strawberry blonde was now more reminiscent of a mousy blonde that went slightly into greyish tones. The only part of his face that had vibrant color was his eyes. Deep, brown, like the color of a beer bottle. In contrast, his twin Harry was completely different. If you did not know they were related you wouldn't be able to guess it from their appearance. Harry had a dark complexion, raven dark hair, green eyes, and glasses. His face looked quite fuller than Lillians' did. Probably due to the older one sacrificing food to give half his portions to Harry up until not so long ago. As Lillian finished getting ready for the day, he felt a mix of emotions. Gratitude for the newfound peace they experienced during the summer, but also a lingering sense of sadness for the years of mistreatment they had endured. He wondered why the Dursleys had suddenly become more lenient, but he didn't dwell on it for too long, not wanting to jinx their current state of tranquility. The twins cautiously made their way downstairs, unsure of what the day held for them. To their surprise, the Dursleys were nowhere to be seen. The absence of yelling and criticism was a welcomed change, and it allowed them to savor the rare freedom they were experiencing. As they explored their upgraded room, Lillian couldn't help but appreciate the small details—the desk where they could study, the wardrobe where they could finally hang their clothes, and the spaciousness that seemed like a luxury compared to their previous living conditions.

"Happy birthday Harry." 

"Happy birthday Lillian."

They smiled at each other softly and made breakfast together. Eggs and bacon never tasted so good. 

"Any plans for today Harry?"

"Not really, no"

"How about we go shopping?" At that suggestion, Harry smiled, genuinely for the first time in so long. They got ready in the best clothes they owned, which to be honest were still rags, but they were their best-fitting clothes.

"How do we even get there?" Harry asked when Lillian was gathering the wizarding money into his pockets, along with the vault key.

"Well, McGonagall kind of just made us all disappear into thin air." Lillian paused for a moment. "Grab my hand and I'll try something out." Harry was always compliant with what his older brother told him. They made their way to the front door, but before they opened the door Lillian stopped them and squeezed Harrys' hand tighter. He closed his eyes and swished his wand in the air but didn't feel the same stuff as when McGonagall teleported them. He opened his eyes, only to see the same front door of the home at number 4 Privet Drive.

"I guess we're walking there." He sighed and opened the door, letting his brothers' hand go. To their surprise, a purple bus stopped abruptly in front of their home.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening." Stan was a tall guy, couldn't be older than seventeen or eighteen at most. He had large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples. He wore a purple uniform to go with the color of the bus. He was quite average-looking guy, someone who would blend in with the crowd very well. 

"How much to go to Diagon Alley?"

"11 sickles per person." They boarded this weird-looking, empty bus, and it started almost immediately. Inside there were no seats, instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows. Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls. 

"Your names?" Stan asked as he pulled out a small notebook and a pencil.

"Lillian and Harry"

He gave the two boys a judging look, but when Lillian gave him twenty-two sickles he seemed to brush it off. The bus driver violated practically every traffic law there was in place. Speeding up to what seemed like German autobahn speeds, swerving without slowing down, overtaking over 5 vehicles at the same time.

"How come the Muggles don't hear the bus?" Harry was the first to ask the question.

"Them! Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either. Never notice nuffink, they don'." As abruptly as the bus started, it has now come to a stop with Harry falling off the bed they were sitting on, while Lillian was very tightly holding onto it.

"Leaky Cauldron, London."

"How exactly do we get to Diagon Alley?"

"Go through this bar, to the back, the wall should be opened, if it's not ask the bartender." With that, they stepped off the bus and went inside the Leaky Cauldron. It was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. 

"Keep your head down Harry." He whispered and led his brother to the other end of the bar. Happily, without trouble, they got to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. The entrance was behind the Leaky Cauldron in a small, walled courtyard with a dustbin. Thankfully it was open to the street. They quickly made their way to the bank that was on the other end of the long street, trying to blend in with the crowd. They quickly got inside the bank and made their way to the main desk, like the last time they were there.

"Good morning Mister Ragnok."

The goblin looked down at the boys from behind the high desk. "Ahh the Potters. Good morning to you too. What can I do for you on this fine day?" The goblin smiled, showing all of his sharp and pointy teeth. Shivers went down the twins' spines.

"We need to get some more money from the vault, and exchange a part of it to muggle money."

Ragnok nodded and climbed down to the floor. "Do you wish to travel down yourself or do you want me to send someone down to collect it for you?" 

Lillian gasped at the suggestion. "Is that an option? We don't have to use those carts?" 

"This option is reserved for our top clients only, seeing as the rides to those vaults are long and often cause nausea for wizards.

"Then please withdraw 50 galleons from our vault and transfer half into muggle money." Lillian nodded his head to Ragnok as he gave the goblin the key to the vault. Chieftain nodded back at him and sent the nearest goblin to retrieve said gold.

"While your money is being retrieved I'd like to speak with you in a private setting Mister Potter." Without another word, the goblin started to walk towards a hall opposite from the ones used to get to the carts. The twins followed, exchanging only weird looks between them. They finally reached huge mahogany doors at the end of the white marble corridor. Ragnok opened them with ease which brought surprised expressions on the faces of Lillian and Harry. He gestured for them to sit down at the two chairs in front of another large desk while he sat behind it.

"After your parents' unfortunate passing all investments have been stopped. This means that the gold sitting in your vault will sadly be wasted away if you do not take action." His face was unreadable. "Normally our bank does not care for our clients' earnings but the Potter family has been a great ally to the goblin nation for years, even before your father or grandfather had taken over as heads of the house. We decided to give you the option of continuing this alliance."

"Excuse me?" Harry spoke for the second time ever in front of the goblin who in response only gave him a sharp look.

"We have compiled a list of investments, calculated to bring in the biggest profits to you."

"I'm very sorry for interrupting Chieftain." Lillian started. "But why are you doing this? What profit does it bring to you and your people?"

"Excellent question." Ragnoks' tone remained stoic as he spoke and pulled out two rolls of parchment. "This allyship helps out both parties. You receive financial aid and we receive a prominent member of the wizarding society as our ally." The explanation was vague in its nature but Lillian knew that if he pressed Ragnok to explain further the goblin would keep on giving vague statements. 

"I guess I can take a look at the list." Lillian said reluctantly when Chieftain handed him the scrolls. As he extended the scrolls he saw a list with names of different businesses he had no idea about. They were sorted from top to bottom, descending based on the return on investment. "I have no idea what that means. What are these businesses? What is 'Twiflitt and Tattings'?"

"These are the most prestigious businesses in wizarding Britain Mister Potter. And said shop provides luxury clothing articles for witches and wizards alike."

"I guess we could invest in the top 5?" It was more of a question than an answer. But he was eleven and knew fuckass anything about investing and the economy and even far less about the wizarding world. "How and why am I even allowed to do this? I'm a minor. There is no adult present. I cannot make legal decisions."

Ragnok looked at him like he was a fucking idiot. "Goblins do not recognize you as a child. You're the head of the house. In our eyes, you're legally an adult. Though same sentiments will not be recognized by the Ministry of Magic so don't let that get to your head." The goblin sent to retrieve the gold came back with a pouch and a ziplock bag. "25 Galleons in the pouch and 125 pounds in the bag. Lillian took both items and his vault key from the random goblin and thanked him with a head bow. "Do I need to sign something in order for the investments to go through?"

"Actually yes." Ragnok took out five contracts written down by hand on parchment. When signing the first one Lillian felt a slight burn to his hand and winced. "What is happening?" He hissed from the slight, annoying pain.

"It's a blood quill of course." Ragnok looked baffled that the boy lacked such basic knowledge. "The only way to prove your identity on a legal document. Otherwise, anyone could just forge a signature." Lillian ignored the pain when signing the rest. On their way out Ragnok spoke again. "I recommend that you study the culture ahead next time." The older twin only nodded and bid his farewells to the goblin.

"Finally." Harry sighed. "Let's go shopping." 

"We need a way to sneak everything into the house. I don't think Dursleys would like to see us coming back with shopping bags. I wouldn't feel comfortable with them knowing we have money now." Harry nodded and they decided to have a look around Diagon Alley. While walking up the main street towards the pub they saw a shop called Portkey Provisions: Your Magical Travel Emporium and decided to go in. Inside the shop, they saw a clean and organized space, which was seemingly unusual compared to other shops they had seen previously. Complete with centerpieces, that were creatively made out of bags and trunks. Other stuff was carefully stacked on the shelves. They walked up to the counter, where an older man stood smiling at the coming customers. 

"Mornin' lads! How can I help yeh?"

"We're looking for a bag that can hold a lot of stuff while still being small. I don't know how to explain it really." Lillian sighed, hoping that the salesman would understand.

"Oi yeh want a bag with extension charm?" He ducked under the counter and pulled out three bags in different sizes. "Smallest 13 galleons, the medium is 20 galleons, and the large is 35 galleons."

"We'll take the medium one." Lillian replied and pulled out said amount from the pouch. He took the bag from the man and bid him a good day on the way out. They made their way back to the pub and out to the muggle side of London.

"So Harry." He looked at his brother. "We need some clothes that fit, toiletries, and a nice dinner today." He smiled at his brother. "Where to first?"

"Let's get clothes first. I think I see a thrift shop there." Harry pointed in the direction behind Lillian. It was quite incredible that Harry could see it, given his horrible vision and broken glasses. They made their way to the store and browsed for a while. It was delivery day which meant crowds of people flooding the place. After about an hour they had a bag full of clothes each, a total spending of 40 pounds and 87 pence for both of them. Then they made their way to the closest mall and the first drugstore they could find, buying two bottles of nice-smelling cheap shampoos each, a bottle of conditioner each for their destroyed hair from lack of proper nutrition for years, and body washes, hoping it would last till next summer. Total spending of 37 pounds and 92 pence.

"What do you want for dinner, Lillian?" Harry asked as they walked out of the drugstore, both smiling and carrying their bags.

"I've always wanted to try some fast food." He laughed. They went to one of the big fast-food chain restaurants and ordered their meals. Eating a full meal for the first time in a while felt like a victory to them. They walked out of the mall after they were done eating and found an empty back alley. There they stuffed their bags into the magically extended bag and called for the Knight Bus and went home.

1st September 1991

Lillian woke up with a smile on his face at nine a.m. The whole month of August was a blessed, peaceful time. Did he have to threaten Vernon precisely seven times? No! But was it fun to be in a position of power over your lifelong tormentor? Very fun! 

For the past month, Lillian was reading all that he could find about Hogwarts, wizarding society, culture, and politics, which meant a few more trips to Diagon Alley and the bookshops within. While it was very exciting to be a wizard he also noticed how backward was the wizarding world compared to the muggle one. It was mostly noticeable in wizarding fashion. They dressed like they were still stuck in the Victorian era. Another way to see this weirdness about wizards and witches was their heavy, and troubling, belief in what's called 'pureblood supremacy'. Wizards from very old families, that had no proven muggle in their family, believed themselves to be better than the rest, while also holding most of the money and being very influential in the Wizengamot, part of the government of wizarding Britain. While learning all that, he stumbled upon their own family history. Apparently, the Potter family was a part of this very closed section of society called 'the sacred 28'. They had a hereditary seat in the Wizengamot, just waiting for them to be adults and take it over. He also finally found out why Draco was so surprised at Madam Malkins when Lillian introduced himself. His parents were brutally murdered on Halloween 1981. When their murderer, called 'you-know-who' or 'he-who-must-not-be-named', tried to murder them the curse rebounded and caused HIM to die. Weird. But that marked the end of the great wizarding war and they were dubbed as the 'wonder twins' and other bullshit nicknames like that.

"Harry wake up we have two hours!" He swatted his brother on the back of his head. Groggily, the younger twin opened his eyes and stretched in his bed. Both boys have started to look better than before, someone could argue they started to look their age. For example, Lillians' hair was no longer of this faded shade. Instead, it was a pale strawberry blonde. Like it was supposed to be. Harry actually grew two centimeters due to somewhat proper nutrition that was finally put in place. They slowly got ready. One by one they occupied the bathroom, taking a quick shower and brushing their teeth carefully. They ate a simple breakfast and when the clock struck 10 a.m. they brought their trunks down the stairs.

"Get in the car freaks." Vernon addressing them was quite uncommon lately.

"No thanks, Vernon we won't!" And they were out the door, wand in hand, calling the Knight Bus.

"Kings Cross?" Stan asked when he saw the twins again. They nodded and got on board. After getting to the station they paid for the ride and got off.

"What platform did the ticket say?" Lillian asked as he put both their trunks onto the luggage cart.

"Nine and three quarters."

As Lillian mounted up Harrys' trunk onto the cart he looked back at him with this weird expression on his face. His mouth was slightly agape and his brows furrowed. "What?"

"Yeah."

In spite of not knowing where to go exactly they decided to move to where platforms nine and ten were. It was 10:27 when they noticed a couple with a child disappearing into the column next to where they were standing so it must've been the entrance. They quickly followed, albeit scared shitless, headfirst into a wall. Instead of crashing though they appeared on a secret platform. There they saw a magnificent bright red steam-engine train. Next to it was a crowd of kids and their parents, bidding their goodbyes, and hugging, some were crying. In the crowd, he picked out the familiar blonde head. Draco was standing with both of his parents this time. His mom was strikingly beautiful. With her platinum blonde head, sharp features, and a loving smile directed at her son. His dad sported the same platinum blonde hair color as the rest of the family. He had the same sharp features as his wife and sported an inert expression. Lillian hurried Harry towards an entrance to the train cart before the rest flooded it last minute. When Harrys' trunk was safely on board Draco ran up to them.

"There you are, Lillian. You said you'll sit with me and my friends. Come." He spoke fast with excitement, not even noticing Harry, who was already on the train. Lillian gave Harry an apologetic look and motioned for him to go before following Draco further along the train to the carts in the back. They climbed into one of the last carts, with Draco helping to get Lillians' trunk on the train. Upon reaching the compartment Draco swung open the door. Inside there were only six seats, four already occupied. 

"Everyone!" Every head turned to Draco. "This is Lillian, the one I've been telling you about!" He only waved shyly as the others looked shocked. Inside there were two guys and two girls. The first guy looked like he just came back from a lifelong holiday in the Mediterranean, he had dark curly hair, a brown complexion, and dark eyes. The guy next to him was paler, though not as pale as Lillian or Draco, had jet-black wavy hair, and some light shade of blue eyes. The girl closer to the entrance was strikingly pretty for being eleven. Blonde hair, soft but royal features, very intense shade of blue eyes. She looked like a princess. The girl next to her was also very pretty but not princess-pretty. No. This girl was a soldier. A leader. Even at eleven, her expressions were dimmed but she did look very pretty. She even sat with a sense of authority.

"Hi." He looked between them. "I'm Lillian Potter." He extended his hand first to the boys, as per pureblood customs. The darker boy was named Blaise Zabini (not sacred 28), and the other was Theodore Nott, his ancestor wrote the Pureblood Directory. Then he extended his hand to the girls. The princess was named Daphne Greengrass, which meant that the 'princess' title was not misused. The other one was Pansy Parkinson. Another prominent name in the directory. "It's great to meet you all." He smiled and took the free seat next to Pansy, while Draco sat across from him next to Theodore.

"What house are you hoping for?" Daphne asked. For an untrained ear, her tone and the overall nature of this question might have seemed innocent, but not for Lillian. He has been always trying to fish out undertones and hidden messages behind questions and statements directed at him. It was a survival method. 

"Hopefully Slytherin, but I wouldn't mind Ravenclaw." That answer in and of itself told them all they needed to know about his character at this moment. Also, it gave them the answer they were looking for. He doesn't mind their presence and doesn't judge them based on their family history. You see, some families are associated strictly with certain houses in Hogwarts. Malfoys, Notts, Parkinsons, and Greengrasses all end up in Slytherin. Moreover, their families were affiliated with you-know-who during the great wizarding world. 

"Same here." Notts' tone was almost absent. It was as if he wanted to be a part of the conversation but did not at the same time.

"We're all hoping for Slytherin actually. Maybe we will all end up in the same house." Pansys' voice was just as authoritarian as her looks. She demanded respect with every part of her being. Even in casual conversations, she wanted to be the leader. "Although Draco is practically a shoo-in for Slytherin." 

"Why is that?"

"My family has always been in Slytherin on both sides of the family. My dad's a Malfoy and my mum's a Black." Draco had two sides to him. Privately he was an excited boy who had a kindred spirit. When he was in company he was in control of everyone and everything. He didn't want to be in control. He just was. Probably because his parentage on both sides was considered to be the best combination. A great ally to have.

Zabini did not speak unless he was directly spoken to. He was definitely in the friend group but was he really friends with them? Or was it a power move made by an adult to ascend the social ladder? 

"Draco told us you lived with muggles your whole life. What was that like?" It was Pansy who asked the question this time and Lillian realized that it wasn't just a ride to school and making friends. It was a whole interview that would determine his position in the school's societal ladder.

"While it wasn't as bad as everyone may think I definitely wish I grew up in the wizarding world instead." Very vague, but precise enough to have them be satisfied with it. At exactly eleven a.m. the train has started its journey. The journey to Hogwarts was filled with those types of questions, which after the trolley witch has passed, turned into a more casual conversation. Although it was unofficial he has been assimilated into this weird friend group. Around 4 p.m. he stood up. "I need some air." The rest only nodded and he walked out. Making his way towards the front of the train he looked inside every compartment. After passing the third cart he noticed his brothers' faint reflection in the window opposite the compartment. Harry was laughing along with Granger, a ginger, and some random chubby boy. He turned back only to meet eye-to-eye with Pansy. 

"You're not running away from us are you?" She tilted her head.

"No, I just needed to check on someone."

"Your brother right? It's a shame he associates with those of lower status. At least you have a brain inside this skull." She shrugged and took his hand, dragging him back to their compartment. 

"Why were you following me?"

"You were gone for quite some time and nobody abandons us. We wanted to check if you're okay."

"That's sweet." 

After they reached the compartment the conversation turned to expectations about Hogwarts and classes and Slytherin, with Lillian trying to integrate Blaise in as much as he possibly could.

When the sun began to set they reached Hogsmeade Station. A literal giant man was calling for them. "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!" He heard his new friends scoff when they saw the giant so he chose not to comment. They, along with a crowd of other eleven and twelve-year-olds, made their way along a shady path to the shore of a giant lake. On the horizon, they could faintly make out a shadow of the castle. In front of them though was a fleet of boats.

"No more 'n four in a boat" It was quite awkward to see Everyone scramble to be in the boats with their new friends. Lillian only stood there, waiting for everyone to settle down so he could find a seat.

"It's pathetic isn't it?" He heard Pansy speak beside him.

"I have to agree. Honestly, it's just a short-distance boat ride. Everyone can wait to talk with their friends until we're at the castle."

And then the two of them waited until everyone else was settled in and instead, they made their way to the last free boat. Surprisingly it was just the two of them in it. The boat ride in itself was peaceful. Pansy wasn't that talkative, which Lillian appreciated. The castle was magnificent. Extravagantly big, lit up by torches. Not every part was visible, due to it being dark outside, but it was simply magical. They ducked their heads when the giant instructed them to and then Lillian helped Pansy out of the boat, as per wizarding customs, and just being a decent human being. The two caught up to Draco and the rest, noticing two new other boys whose eyes did not possess a single thought behind them. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

The giant man led them outside of another pair of huge doors and left them in the care of Professor McGonagall. 

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts." 

Murmurs spread among the future students but when the professor cleaned her throat everyone went silent.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Wait here and I'll come back for you when we're ready." With that, she went inside the room behind the door. The group stood silently behind everyone, waiting desperately for the ceremony. After a few minutes, just like McGonagall promised, she came back and led them inside. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Lillian looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open onto heaven. They were led to the front of the hall, where an old dusty hat was sitting on a stool. McGonagall moved next to it and it began to sing.

"Oh you may not think me pretty,
But don’t judge on what you see,
I’ll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There’s nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can’t see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you’ve a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
And don’t get in a flap!
You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
For I’m a Thinking Cap!"

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbot, Hannah!" A blonde girl walked up and sat on the stool and after a few seconds the hat screamed 'Hufflepuff'. The table that was filled with students wearing yellow and brown colors with the badger emblem erupted with cheers. She was part of the sacred twenty-eight. A few names passed and a girl called Millicent Bulstrode was the first Slytherin. She was ugly like Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe was immediately sorted into Slytherin. Granger was sorted into Gryffindor, then it was Daphnes' turn. She made a quick Slytherin. Tracey Davis was another girl to be sorted into Slytherin house. Neville Longbottom was the chubby boy who sat with Harry. Another prominent surname. He was sorted into Gryffindor. When it was Dracos' turn the hat didn't even touch him before screaming Slytherin. Theodore was also a very quick addition to the house. Pansy was up next.

"See you in a few minutes." She whispered to Lillian and went up to the hat. After about a minute she was sorted into Slytherin as well.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonnagal exclaimed and the hall went completely silent. About four minutes passed and the hat was screaming Gryffindor while two identical red-headed boys were screaming 'We have Potter!' over and over.

"Potter, Lillian." His breath hitched as the Great Hall went silent again. With confidence in his step, he made his way and sat on the designated stool.

"Strong desire to succeed is inside you. You would make a fine Slytherin." He was startled by the sudden voice in his head.

"Don't be scared now. Great mind of yours. Hungry for knowledge. Though not for the sake of knowing but for your own gain. A lot of courage too. Massively brave. Big heart. An excellent Gryffindor trait." The hat went silent. The whole hall was dead silent. So much so that you could hear a pin drop. It went on for another five minutes before the hat screamed Slytherin. He was the first to not receive immediate applause. McGonagall took the hat off his head as his tie turned to green and the Slytherin emblem appeared on his school robes. Pansy started clapping, which prompted the rest of the house to do so. A faint smile appeared on his face but as he glanced towards Harry he only saw disbelief on his face. Lillian quickly walked to the Slytherin table and sat down between Pansy and an older student.

"Knew you'd make it."

"What took you so long?" Draco asked as he extended his hand, which Lillian shook immediately. Another power move that showed that Draco was the leader of first-year Slytherins.

"I have no idea." He released a faint laugh. "The hat was silent for the most part honestly."

"Can't believe we have a Potter." The older girl next to him shook her head. "Not only THEE Lillian Potter but also a hatstall. In Slytherin!" He turned his head to her. "My name is Gemma Farley. Fifth year, prefect."

"Lillian, Lillian Potter."

"I know that." She smirked. "Everybody knows that."

"Yeah. Right."

The ginger Harry sat with during the ride was sorted into Gryffindor almost as quickly as Draco. The hat took its time with Blaise, but after three minutes he joined them at the Slytherin table.

"What's a hatstall?" He asked Emma.

"It's when the hat takes five, or more, minutes to sort a student. Very rare occurrence." 

An old man in purple robes stood up. That was Albus Dumbledore. Possibly the greatest wizard to have ever lived since Merlin himself. "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you."

"Is he mad?" Lillian asked into the ether as food started appearing on the table. 

"Absolutely." Gemma replied with a grin. "He's lost his marbles a long time ago." She turned to her plate and served herself. 

The Slytherin table ate in silence. Nobody spoke during the meal. Starking contrast to the other houses which were bustling with conversations and laughter. For the first time in his life, Lillian ate a full healthy meal. For the first time in his life, he did not have to share the scraps he received with his younger brother. After he was done eating he looked across the hall to find Harry looking right back at him. His intense green eyes staring at him with sadness and confusion. In shame, he turned away his gaze from his brother back to his plate. The food disappeared a while later and Gemma stood up along with, what he assumed were, other Slytherin prefects.

"Come on firsties we're going to the common room." They stood up in silence and followed Gemma and another guy. The walk to the common room was long. First, they had to exit the Great Hall, turn to the Grand staircase, and walk down to the dungeons. There they were met with a maze of corridors. Lillian tried to memorize the way but found himself unable to do so. After a while, they reached a stone wall. 

"Now. We have reached the entrance to the common room. The password to get in is ' Always Pure' so do not forget it or else you will be sleeping outside!" The wall parted at the mention of the password. The common room was a dungeon-like room with greenish lamps and chairs. This dungeon extended partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room had lots of low-backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas; skulls; and dark wood cupboards. One wall was completely made of glass which looked over the bottom of the lake.

"Gather round!" Exclaimed the name-less boy. He was tall and looked muscular. He wasn't extremely good-looking nor was he particularly ugly. "We are the Slytherin prefects. My name is Marcus Flint and I also hold the position of our Quidditch Captain. This beautiful human is Gemma Farley. The first thing is. If you have any problem you come to us. Whether it's a conflict between any of you, a school problem, adjustment problem. You find and come to us."

"Next thing. Slytherins do not fight in public. We do not get caught either. We already have a bad reputation in school, none of you have to make it worse. Do not bring down guests from other houses." Gemma looked around them. "If you have a bone to pick with one of our own you do it in private after consulting us. Understood?" They only managed a nod as a collective. "There are not many of you this year so I hope there won't be much trouble." Marcus stifled a laugh. "Something funny Marcus?"

"I think that with a Potter and a Malfoy in one house, the problems will be endless." He couldn't hold himself back anymore and burst out laughing. Gemma only gave him an unapproving side-eye.

"Oh yes." A tall man with black greasy long hair appeared in the doorway. "Our new celebrities arrived."

"Good evening professor." Both Gemma and Marcus bowed their heads to the older man.

"I only came down here to take a quick look at our new... additions." His face was practically emotionless. His eyes were black and dimmed and every muscle on his face was constantly relaxed. "I'm Professor Snape. Head of Slytherin and potions master. I hope none of you are as utterly idiotic as some of you may look." He turned on his heel and walked out.

"Is he always like that?" A scared voice came from Bulstrode. 

"Better get used to it." Marcus shrugged his shoulders. "I think that's it. If you have any questions find us tomorrow."

"And we will be escorting you to classes and meals throughout the first week. Don't wander on your own or you might get lost and never found." Gemma added with a mischievous smile. "Now off to bed. Girls on the right, boys on the left. " She pointed to a set of corridors that led further down. The boys took to the left corridor and walked down. There were seven doors along the way starting with the seventh-year boys' dormitory. They walked down to the end and opened the door. Inside there were six four-poster beds with their trunks already sat next to them. The six boys quickly found their beds, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.

Chapter Text

Life at Hogwarts became a routine for Lillian. He would wake up at 6 in the morning, get ready for classes, read ahead till 7:15, quietly perform the charms he read about till 7:30, go to breakfast with the other Slytherins, go to classes, answer all questions he could if Granger didn't first, go to lunch, go to the library, do homework, read ahead for the next day, go to dinner, talk for a while with his new friends, back to the common room to help those who struggled that day in classes, check homework, perform spells for the next day, memorize formulas for potions, go to astronomy at midnight, and then go back to bed.

The only thing missing in this routine was Harry. They have not talked since the sorting. Harry only gave Lillian glances that were hard to read.

Nevertheless, Lillian continued with his extra reading of The Pureblood Directory. It quickly became his favorite book, with Hogwarts a History becoming a close second. Becoming every teacher's favorite student was easy enough. He didn't really have to do anything other than answer their questions and be the first or second person in the class to master the spell or prepare the potion perfectly. 

McGonagall, even though he wasn't a Gryffindor, took a great liking to him as he was one of the only two to master both the theoretical and practical sides of a topic they were currently discussing. 

In Charms, with the half-goblin Professor Flitwick, he was the best student, quickly mastering every spell they were practicing, even beating Granger. 

The potions professor was a bizarre man. At first, Snape only glared at the other Potter as if the boy was nothing more than a worm. After Lillian answered all of his targeted questions correctly he stopped. Add in the fact that Lillian was the best brewer in the entire year and suddenly Snape is just as indifferent to him as he is to the NEWT students. 

Herbology wasn't something he particularly enjoyed, yet he still did his best to earn Sprouts' approval, only Longbottom beat him in this class.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was led by a stuttering, eccentric man by the name of Quirinius Quirrell. The class was a bore but Potter did his best to pay attention and answer his professors' questions thoroughly.

History of Magic was taught by a ghost. Professor Binns was said to have died in his sleep while checking homework of his students, wake up as a ghost and without noticing continue to do his duties. His voice was so monotonous that most students fell asleep during lectures. Never he nor Granger.

Astronomy wasn't very exciting, as it took place every day at midnight. Lillian found himself involuntarily falling asleep on Dracos' shoulder, only to be woken up by the blonde after a few minutes.

With all seventy points he had earned for the house in the first week he became a favorite of the prefects, Marcus Flint took a particular interest in him and even invited him to sit with the fifth years in the common room a few times, which wasn't very common. In Slytherin, there was a hierarchy. Each year had their own space in the common room and students weren't easily invited to join other groups outside of their own. While he wasn't able to join conversations unless he was directly addressed, he absorbed every word like a sponge whenever he had the opportunity to be invited to join older students. 

To be honest the hierarchy was present everywhere in Slytherin. The common room, eating in the Great Hall, even things as simple as walking through the corridors. The leaders of the year led the group, while the rest followed. It just so happened the the leaders of 1991-1992 first years were Draco and Lillian.

Life was peaceful.

Well until flying lessons.

21st September 1991

Marcus hyped flying a lot. He said that flying was such a freeing experience, that if he could he would never get off a broom. Lillian saw it differently though. No ground beneath your feet and high speeds in the air without much external protection. Sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

The Slytherins were the first to arrive, at three thirty in the afternoon, at the flying lessons that were held on the grounds. Twenty brooms were put on the grass. Ten Slytherins for ten Gryffindors. Just seconds before the class was supposed to start the lions ran to the brooms. Slytherins, as always, stood in a perfect line, silent, awaiting their professor.

"Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up. Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say 'Up!" Loud voice of Madam Hooch was heard as if she stood behind them, yet she was about 20 meters from them.

Lillian tried. He tried hard. That broom just wouldn't listen to him. He said 'up!' five times and it only rolled on the ground beneath him. Harry and Draco got it on the first try. Theodore and Blaise on the second. Hell, even Crabbe and Goyle managed on their third try. He was standing there like an idiot with only Pansy, Daphne, Granger, and Longbottom without brooms in their hands. Bulstrode and Davis also managed to summon their brooms. Finally, he had enough and just picked it up from the ground.

"Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —" Longbottom started rising before three. He rose so high nobody could even snatch him from the ground. He was visibly distressed, screaming frantically and directing his broom, and then he fell. It was quite impressive that when he did no bone-cracking sounds were heard. Strong guy.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing! You leave those where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'."

And then the professor just left them. Nobody really knew what to do. Until Draco picked something up from the ground. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

Then of all people, Harry emerged from the group of the Gryffindors. "Give it back Malfoy!"

"Or what, Potter?"

"Or I am going to kick your ass!" Draco just laughed, making the rest of the Slytherins do so as well. Lillian just stared at his younger twin, his mouth slightly open.

"Why don't I leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find?" He turned around with his arms spread and a smirk on his face. The platinum blonde mounted the broom and lifted from the ground a few meters. "Maybe up a tree? Or on top of the roof?"

Without hesitation, Harry mounted his broom as well and kicked off into the air. "Give it back Malfoy!" 

Draco only smirked and threw the ball far ahead. Harry leaned down to his broom and somehow increased the speed he was flying at with every passing second. He was getting close. Too close to that blasted castle. Lillian stopped breathing and focused on his brother and didn't even notice when Draco landed to the applause of other Slytherins. Harry caught the ball and halted mere centimeters from the castle's outer walls. Gryffindors erupted with cheers as the raven-haired boy slowly moved back to their place on the training grounds. The excitement was short-lived as Professor McGonagall stormed out of the castle and forced Harry to come with her.

"What the hell just happened." Lillian whispered to himself.

But he couldn't find his brother the whole day. There were whispers going around that he was kicked out after merely three weeks. Given up, he came back to the common room where Marcus called him over to sit with other fifth years.

"Potter!" Flint waved at him. "Sit down golden boy." Although he wasn't in the best mood, Lillian still put on a small smile and sat next to the prefect. "How was your flying lesson?"

"I didn't really get to fly." He replied shyly.

"What? Why?"

"Longbottom fell off his broom and Hooch had to take him to the Hospital Wing, then Draco and Harry got into an argument and now I don't know where he is."

"Where Draco is or your brother?"

"Harry, my brother. McGonagall took him away after she caught him in the air." Potters' smile faded.

"Don't worry Lillian." Flint gave him a side hug. "He will be okay." Lillian only blushed slightly at the contact but didn't utter a word. 

"You know what? Let's go. I'll give you a flying lesson myself."

"You really don't have to."

"But I want to." The older boy stood up. "Come on. I have a better broom than these old, school ones anyways. Much more comfortable." What else could he do but listen? So the two made their way to the Quidditch pitch after Marcus took his own broom from his dorm. Lillian was scared shitless but he wasn't about to admit it to the older boy.

"You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be I think." 

"I'll go with you on the first try." The older grinned. "No need to worry." Marcus crouched behind him so their heads were on the same level. "Broom between your legs, and then push up." 

Lillian was great at following instructions. When he felt arms around his waist though a shiver went down his spine. With the broom settled between his legs he pushed upwards, finding himself suspended in the air, sitting on the broom with Marcus Flint behind him.

"You're doing great Potter." He felt himself blushing slightly at the praise. "Now lean to the front and increase speed." 

And so he leaned to the front, while Marcus was holding him in place. The speed increased and Lillian found himself terrified. It didn't feel right. Images of him falling off or crashing into the stands flared in front of his eyes and he froze, leaning on the broom, holding onto it for dear life.

"Potter slow down." He couldn't move.

"Potter slow down!" When he still didn't respond in any way Flint jolted the broom to a stop. The prefect made them fly back down to the ground. "What happened Potter?" He asked when they reached the ground.

"I-" The younger stuttered, trying to slow the lump in his throat. "I got scared."

Marcus hugged the boy tightly. He cringed at the sudden touch. "It's okay golden boy. I'm sorry I made you go." Lillian didn't speak as he tried to calm down.

"It was so scary. I thought I was gonna fall off."

"You wouldn't Potter I was holding you for a reason."

"I know but it got so fast and I started imagining myself dying and-" He started breathing rapidly. "I can't let Harry grow up alone."

"Shhh it's okay." Flint patted the younger on the head gently.

"Thanks, Marcus." Lillian sniffed. "I don't think flying is for me."

"No problem." The quidditch captain smiled down at the boy. "Wood." Lillian pulled back from Flint and turned around to see Harry with a guy that Marcus referred to as 'Wood'.

"Flint." Ah, that's his last name. Lillian thought to himself. He ran towards his brother and enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug.

"I was so worried. People were saying you got expelled and I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I'm fine Lils. I'm not expelled. I was made seeker of the team or something."

Lillian rolled his eyes. "So McGonagall rewarded you for breaking the rules?"

"I guess so." And that's how Harry received his first, out of many, swats on the back of his head from his brother.

31st October 1991

Halloween started out as a normal Thursday would. Potions first thing after breakfast, then off to transfiguration, and then charms. Today in charms they were learning the levitation spell. Of course, Lillian has already mastered it the night before, as usual. 

"Welcome class." Professor Flitwick stood on a stack of books, situated on a podium so that everyone could see him since he was unusually small, apparently half-goblin. "Today we will be learning the levitation charm. The incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa'. Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing! Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the properly is very important, too - never forget, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest." The professor smiled at the students. The classroom was filled with Gryffindors and Slytherins. No one knew why they set up most of the classes with this setup since the two houses couldn't stand each other. "The feathers in front of you are meant for practice. Try and make them levitate."

Lillian looked down at the white feather on his desk and tilted his head before looking to his left, Parkinson took to sitting with him in every class she could, except for Potions, where Theodore beat her to it.

"Merlin this is boring." He whispered to her and before she could respond he turned back to his feather. He swished and flicked his wand. "Wingardium Leviosa." And the white plume started to rise steadily, as he commanded with his wand.

"Oh look!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. "Mister Potter has done it! Five points to Slytherin!" The older of the Potters sent a charming smile at his professor and bowed his head.

"How?" Parkinson whispered. "Tell me how."

"You're pronouncing it wrong Pansy." He shook his head. "It's LeviOsa, not Leviosaaaa. Try again." This time Pansy succeded with her spell and Flitwick awarded another five points to the snakes. The next one to do it was Hermione Granger, with a smug look on her face she was also awarded five points. Ronald Weasley sat with a scowl next to her, while Harry was sitting next to another Gryffindor girl.

After the lesson ended, which meant the whole period of doing nothing for Lillian and Pansy, they quickly left the classroom.

"It's LeviOsa, not Leaviosaaaa. She's a nightmare honestly." Weasley couldn't keep his mouth shut for a second as Granger stormed by him and Harry with her head down and probably tears in her eyes. 

"Harry, Weasley." Lillian stopped in his tracks. "Do you both have no shame? Insulting her when you know exactly that she's nearby? Honestly, I'm disappointed Harry. Go and apologize to her, both of you!" He stormed off with Pansy on his side.

"Why were you so upset about it? It doesn't concern you, Lillian."

"Pansy my family's honor is on the line!" That was the best excuse he could come up with. To pureblood Slytherins, especially those of sacred twenty-eight, family honor was everything. He couldn't just say he was a loser before coming to Hogwarts, that would just ruin his reputation. "Anyways let's go get ready for the feast."

-Time Skip-

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. Lillian was seated between Pansy and Theodore, while in front of him sat Daphne, Draco, and Blaise, from left to right in this order. They were eating in peace and silence when suddenly Professor Quirrell burst through the door.

"TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" The DADA professor got weak in his knees. "Thought you ought to know." He fainted and the whole Great Hall erupted in screams.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledores' voice boomed through the hall. "Prefects lead the students back to their dormitories." Marcus and Gemma quickly made their way to the first and second years. They all got up in silence, as always, and followed the prefects back to the dungeons. 

"Honestly what is Dumbledore thinking? The troll was said to be in the dungeons, and WE LIVE IN THE DUNGEONS!" Daphne was freaking out. Pulling on her hair, biting her lips, and scratching her hands. It was weird seeing the pureblood princess in a state like that. Pansy was quick to protectively throw her arm on the shoulder of her best friend, whispering something into her ears. It worked, seeing as Daphne was no longer in a state of mental breakdown. Something foul reached everyone's noses and when they turned a corridor that led directly to the entrance of the common they saw it. The mountain troll was standing, looking down at the group of students, almost crouching, since it couldn't fit under the ceiling. It took a first step towards the group, and as soon as it started to swing its' cub Lillian whipped out his wand.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" The troll stood frozen for a few seconds but then started to move again. Happily, other prefects, in the seconds Lillian gave them, were able to pull out their wands as well, firing various spells at the beast.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" He yelled again, putting most of his power behind the spell. One of the older students opened the entrance as the troll stood in the middle of the corridor, frozen. Everyone started to run to the entrance, quickly filling the common room. As almost everyone was safe he backed to the entrance, as the prefects surrounded him, not letting his eyes even blink so as to not lose sight of the troll. He felt a sharp tug on his school robes and was pulled inside. Someone sealed the entrance and he felt arms around him. He whipped his head around and cringed at the sudden contact. Surprisingly it was Theodore. 

"You're so stupid, golden boy." He whispered into Lillians' ear. "If you died we would lose the house cup." Potter couldn't help but let out a laugh. He patted Theo on the back and pulled him away. 

"Nobody died Theodore, everyone is okay." They heard a loud bang outside the entrance and the girls let out a loud, and surprisingly synchronized, scream. "SOMEONE! PORTRAIT! HEADMASTER!"

The Head Boy, who went by the name of Isaac Bay, made his way to the portraits that were hung on the wall above the massive fireplace and ordered them to find and alert someone in charge. Another loud bang was heard and the wall separating them from the corridor shook. Every single one of the students pulled out their wands and pointed them at the entrance.

After a while, they heard spells firing outside. Another loud thump was heard and the entrance was opened. Severus Snape stood there, panting, with Dumbledore and McGonagall behind him.

"The troll has been dealt with." He spoke through the panting. "How did you not die?" Every head turned to Lillian and the prefects, who stood close to the entrance. 

"For your bravery, all seven of you receive fifty points each." Dumbledore beamed at the students. That's how Slytherin was leading for the win of the house cup by over four hundred points in the first two months.

Chapter Text

"How did you even know that spell?" Draco asked him when they were getting ready for bed.

"Must've read it somewhere."

"But where? It's far too advanced for you to perform on a MOUNTAIN TROLL!" Theodore interjected.

"Oh come on let me rest. I'm exhausted."

"No shit you're exhausted." Blaise rolled his eyes. "You performed an unknown spell that we did not learn yet, twice, and literally made the troll freeze for over a minute, on the second try."

Lillian groaned and got under the covers of his bed. "It's nothing."

Apparently, Draco made it his personality to annoy him that night. "Also what is going on between you and Flint? It's weird. He's too old for you to be hanging out."

"Draco it's literally nothing. He just likes me I guess."

"It's still weird." The blonde murmured.

2nd November 1991

The first Saturday of November meant the start of the Quidditch season in Hogwarts. Slytherins were still on the high from the troll attack on the school. Spirits were through the roof.

Even at breakfast. Slytherins were always quiet and reserved in public. Not today though. Today the Slytherin table was overcome with joy, laughter, and excitement at breakfast. Especially the Slytherin team. The players, although from various years, sat together.

Marcus, fifth year, and the captain of the team, was probably the loudest. He was the chaser along with Adrian Pucey, the fourth year, and Graham Montague, the sixth year.

The beaters consisted of Titus Mitcham, fifth year, and Lucian Bole, sixth year.

The Slytherin seeker was Terrence Higgs, a third year, while the keeper was Miles Bletchley, a second year.

They were discussing strategies, while also sneaking a few glances at Lillian, who tried to ignore it completely and focus on the conversation about a transfiguration essay with Daphne. Every time they looked in his direction their voices dropped, as if they were gossiping about him. 

He glanced at the Gryffindor table, looking for his brother. Harry was very visibly upset and distraught. His hands were shaking, he looked paler than usual, and he couldn't keep his eyes on one thing for even a second. 

Despite all the usual Slytherin mannerisms, Lillian couldn't just sit there while his brother was on the break of a mental breakdown he had witnessed so many times before.

*flashback*

2nd August 1989

Lillian was sitting on the mattress in the cupboard, Harrys' head in his lap. He caressed his brothers' cheeks and hair to calm him down. 

"Lils I don't want to die." He whispered into his brothers' thighs. He had picked up the nickname seemingly from nowhere. Harry has accidentally ruined a flower when they were working in the garden. When Aunt Petunia would eventually find out she would be furious.

"You won't Hazza I promise." Lillian whispered back.

"How can you know that?"

"Because I will always be here to protect you. I'm your older brother. It's what older brothers do." He felt Harry shaking.

"You're only older by like thirty minutes."  Harry smiled and laughed silently.

"Well, that makes me the older brother."

Lillian has eventually taken the blame when the lashings came. He was beaten by Vernon to the point of spitting blood on their mattress at night. Thankfully, Harry never found out about the blood stains. 

*end of flashback*

He got up from his seat and marched over to the table of the lions. When he was approaching his brother he felt the stares of the Gryffindor students on him. Whispers spread through the hall faster than the speed of light.

"Come Harry." He said as he tapped his brother on the shoulder. The younger Potter jerked his head back and smiled, the smile was so obviously faked and weak it made Lillian roll his eyes. Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor team, fifth year, was sitting right beside his little brother.

"Sorry, but we're discussing strategies." Oliver glared at him. "You can't just take our seeker now."

"It can wait Wood." He hissed at the older boy and dragged his brother from the Great Hall into the nearest alcove. When they were inside He quickly pulled his brother into a tight hug.

"You're going to do great Harry, don't worry."

"How do you know?" His voice was trembling as he tugged on Lillians' clothes.

"Because I believe in you." He whispered into his brother's ear as he began stroking his black hair. "And because you're the most amazing person I know."

Harry only sobbed quietly into his brother's shoulder. 

They stood there for a couple of minutes. Lillian stroking Harrys' hair, while Harry let out his tears onto his brother's shoulder.

"Better now?" Lillian asked as he pulled his brother away.

"Better." Harry nodded and smiled weakly.

"Now go and do your best." Lillian laughed. "If you die on that broomstick I'm going to kill you."

Harry laughed in response. Both of them left the alcove and returned back to the Great Hall. Lillian went back to his place between Pansy and Theodore and sat down. 

"Why is your shoulder wet?" Theodore raised his brow at Potter. 

"Water." The short boy answered with a soft smile.

"From where?" Pansy asked sarcastically.

"Wherever water comes from Pansy."

And just like that the first year Slytherins went back to silent eating.

After breakfast was over everyone marched towards the Quidditch pitch, ahead of the match.

"Hope you're cheering for our house golden boy." Flint ruffled his hair when he passed him.

"Who else would I cheer for Marcus?" Potter laughed and fixed his hairstyle. Flint laughed as well and strode down the grounds with the rest of the team.

"Your relationship with him is so weird." Theodore muttered to himself, which did not escape Lillians' ears, though he did ignore it as well as he could. 

They got to the pitch and quickly filled the stands.

"I expect a nice, fair game of quidditch from both teams today." Madam Hoochs' voice boomed through the pitch. Although she mentioned 'both teams' her gaze lingered on the Slytherin players. "Mount your brooms!"

At her whistle, both teams flew upwards.

"— Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger— sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

The Slytherin students booed the lions' team when Johnson scored for their team. Shortly after, Pucey was once again in possession of the Quaffle, dodging two Bludgers, when suddenly both Seekers noticed the Snitch. They soared downwards, the rest of the match frozen to watch, Potter was faster than Slytherin Seeker and nearly caught the Snitch, but Flint rammed into him, fouling him and losing the Snitch. Hooch gave Gryffindor a penalty shot and Alicia Spinnet scored, making it 20 to 0.

When Harry dodged a Bludger that nearly hit his head, he noticed that he was suddenly starting to lose control of his broomstick. 

"Give me that." Lillian ripped binoculars straight from the hands of Daphne Greengrass and zoomed in on his brother. Harry was being thrown around like a bag of potatoes. Then, Lillian searched through the stands, looking for a wand out.

"Who's doing that?"

"Don't know." Theodore replied. "Must be some dark magic though. Brooms are hard to interfere with."

Lillian zoomed in on the highest-placed stands, the teachers' lounge. 

Dumbledore, silent.

McGonagall, silent. 

Flitwick, silent. 

Sprout, silent.

Sinistra, silent.

Snape and Quirrell were mouthing something though, not even blinking. Almost in synchronization.

Lillian gave the binoculars back to Daphne and started to push through the roaring crowd. It was hard. Marcus has just scored ten points for the snakes and the Slytherins were going wild. After what felt like an eternity he finally reached the teachers' stands. He snuck in behind the seats.

"Incendio." He whispered as he pointed at the wooden beams that separated Snape and Quirrell. The fire quickly spread, engulfing the whole beam and a part of Snapes' cloak. He quickly ran back to his place with Daphne glaring at him.

"What did I miss?"

"Flint and Pucey scored sixty points. We're in the lea-"

"HARRY POTTER SPOTTED THE SNITCH AND IS DIVING DOWN TO THE GROUND!"

He watched his brother with bated breath.

Harry was going at incredibly high speeds. Too fast. Too fast. Too fast.

Images of Harry crashing on the ground started to flash before his eyes, making Lillian paler than usual.

But the younger Potter landed on the ground. In the middle of the match. 

He looked like he was going to throw up. 

He coughed up a small gold ball and held it high in his hand. Gryffindor won.

Flint was furious in the common room. He moped and complained for a few days that Gryffindor shouldn't have won since Harry did not catch but almost swallowed the golden ball. He just couldn't stand the fact that Slytherin lost the first match of the season. At least he didn't take it out on the older Potter.

9th November 1991

Today was probably the most dreaded Saturday in Lillians' life. You see, there is a tradition in the Slytherin house that parents of first year students come in to check on their children on the second Saturday of November. He was the only one who would spend this day alone. So he headed to the library. The only safe haven that would be uninterrupted by first year Slytherins and their happy families.

"Whatchu readin'?" Lillian turned his head around only to be faced with Granger.

"The Pureblood Directory." His tone was as flat as it could possibly be. "Why are you not with your friends?"

"Sometimes I prefer the company of a book instead." A fucking ice queen, just like Lillian. "You know that book is filled with racial and derogatory terminology right?"

"I do." He rolled his eyes. "Doesn't change the fact that it's the only book to ever talk about wizarding traditions, at least that I know of."

She sat down next to him without asking. "Well, I think that this book is absolutely disgusting and derogatory."

"Have you even read it, Granger?" He gave her a side-eye. "I think you would benefit from it."

"I will not be reading that filth thank you very much."

"Suit yourself then."

They sat in silence as Hermione took out a potions textbook and started doing an essay they were assigned yesterday.

"You have it wrong." He chimed in, not bothering to look up from his book. "You need to crush the bezoar into a very fine powder. Not just fine powder."

"Thanks." She muttered in response.

Silence dawned upon them again as they resumed their studying. 

That was until Draco came in.

"Lillian come. You're needed in the common room." Potter groaned and gathered his things into his bag.

"Why though? Everyone is occupied with their parents and stuff."

"Non-negotiable. Just please come with me."

Another groan escaped Potters' mouth but he followed the snarky blonde.

"Why were you sitting with the mudblood?"

"The what?"

"Mudblood." Draco shrugged. "Why were you sitting with her?"

"She sat down next to me. Did not even ask if she could. Very rude." 

They reached the common room and it was just like Potter imagined it would be. His peers with their parents, sitting around, smiling, laughing. A knot tightened in his stomach.

"Keep up." Draco grabbed his arm and started dragging him to the side.

"Draco what is going on? Where are you taking me?" 

But Draco did not respond. Instead, he dragged him to one of the more secluded couches in the common room, where the Malfoy parents sat.

"So this is the famous Lillian Potter." The eyes of the boy in question widened immediately. After all, it's not every day that THE Lucius Malfoy speaks your name. "Lucius Malfoy." He shook the young boys' hand.

"Narcissa Malfoy. I believe we have met before Mister Potter." He kissed the knuckles of the older woman. "Oh, what a gentleman."

"I try my best." He flashed them a charming smile.

"You might be wondering why we requested your presence, Mister Potter." Oh, so we're back to business. "You see, every year we throw a great gala of sorts, right before Yule. Me and my wife were just so surprised when we heard that our son has become friends with you. We were even more surprised when we heard you were the first one to take action when the rogue troll entered the castle and tried to attack the Slytherin students."

"I was just trying to survive Lord Malfoy."

"Nevertheless Draco told us you managed to freeze the troll for over a minute, two months into your education. That's a great achievement."

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy."

"I am just stating facts, Mister Potter. There is no need for pleasantries." Lucius scanned him from head to toe. "We wanted to personally invite you to the annual Yule Gala at Malfoy Manor." The older blonde man took out an envelope, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave it to Lillian. "We would be extremely pleased if you could come."

"I'll consider it." 

Chapter Text

November came and went without another hitch. Lillian mostly focused on his studies and gaining even more points for Slytherin. Even with it being only the third month of school Lillian managed to put Slytherin in the lead so far ahead that others would struggle for months to catch up. After all, seven hundred and twenty-five points are not nothing.

December was approaching and it was approaching fast.

Draco was becoming more and more persistent about Lillian joining his family for the Yule celebration. On one hand he knew that passing up an opportunity like that would alienate him from his classmates, on the other hand, he always did everything with his younger brother. Until Hogwarts that is. What would Harry think of him if he went to Dracos' for Yule, and abandon him at the castle. There was also another problem at hand. What should he gift Harry for the holiday? What do people even gift each other for such occasions? He, after all, has never experienced a real Yule celebration. The Pureblood Directory only gave so much information, and concerning presents it only talked about for engagement and courting, and what to give to friends and acquaintances. Not family. Obviously, he went to the best source of such information he could find.

"Pansy, what would you give a family member for Yule?"

"I don't gift gifts. I receive them." She didn't even look up from the magazine she was reading.

"But if you were to give something to a brother, or a sister. What would you give them?"

That was when she finally looked up at Lillian, who was sitting right next to her, doing Potions homework. "You've never celebrated Yule?"

"Never really had a chance to. My family isn't uh... Of the most affectionate sort per se." His tone didn't betray a single thing, yet Pansy narrowed her eyes at the boy, thinking, calculating.

"I suppose, that if I were you, I'd give him something related to his interests. What does Harry like?"

Lillian stopped writing and looked down in his lap. Has he ever thought about it? For the better part of his life he was more concerned about keeping his brother alive. "Quidditch might be his thing. He's quite sporty. When we were at muggle school he used to be on the football team."

"You don't know your beloved brother?" Her left eyebrow rose slightly, wrinkling her forehead. "What a surprise."

"Don't judge me Pansy. If you knew what I went through, you wouldn't say it like that." For the first time since joining Hogwarts he allowed himself, foolishly, for his mask to slip. Pansy's eyes widened, and then quickly came back to normal. "I'll tell you. One day I will. I just need help with that stupid gift."

"Well, since you're buying a gift, you won't be here for Yule, meaning you are going to the gala. We can go shopping together if you'd like. You'd need help with picking out something to wear that is appropriate for the occasion anyways. And don't get mad, but your style is horrible." She dropped the topic of his homelife as quickly as he picked it up.

"Thanks, Pans."

24th December 1991

"Harry, are you sure you're fine here by yourself?"

"Lils, I told you already, I'm not gonna be here by myself. Ron is staying at the castle too." Ah yes. Ronald Weasley. The big-mouthed, stupid, red-headed sidekick of his little brother.

"You know? That doesn't make me feel any better, quite the opposite really."

"Lillian, come on. My parents are picking us up from the station in Hogsmeade in an hour. We have to go." Pansy interjected their conversation in the Entrance Hall.

"Lils, go, have fun." The younger of the twins smiled lovingly at his older brother. Pansy ushered Lillian outside, where professor Snape waited for them, looking as unfazed as ever.

"Pray tell me, why couldn't the two of you go on the train ride with the other students?" It was truly fascinating with how his monotone could bore and threaten at the same time.

"Lillian didn't have a place to go, and my parents just came back from their vacation, professor. They're only here for the gala-"

"Yes, I know that Miss Parkinson. I was assigned to bring you to your parents. What I cannot understand is why Mister Potter couldn't have joined his classmates on the train. Are your guardians incapable of taking care of you?"

Lillian was silent as they walked. "They are visiting family for Christmas."

With a hum from the professor they kept on walking in silence to the carriages, which then took them to the station. There stood two figures, Pansys' parents. With a proper introduction they took the kids from Snapes' supervision and spun on their heels, apparatingto Diagon Alley in milliseconds.

"Meet us at the Leaky in three hours." Was all that Mister Parkinson said before the pair of grownups went on somewhere. Pansy turned to Lillian with a smile.

"I haven't played dress up in forever! And never with a boy. Come on, doll. To Gringotts."

Lillian only chuckled in response as he followed his friend. Even though the concept of Pansy dressing him up like a human doll sounded mildly terrifying he was oddly excited for it. He withdrew about 250 galleons from his vault since 'you can't put a price on a great outfit', at least that's what Pansy said. After a very mild trip to the bank Pansy decided that the most expensive store in Diagon would be the only one fitting for a Malfoy Gala.

They entered Twilfitt and Tattings to find the store completely empty. The day being Yule Eve night have been one of the reasons the other being that anyone who could afford shopping at the store was getting ready for the gala.

The owner of the shop came out of the backroom and when she saw her newest shoppers a bright smile appeared on her face. "For the gala I presume?" The kids didn't even have the time to answer before she pulled out two packages.

"Lady Malfoy told me what to prepare for the two of you beforehand. Now we just need to adjust them to your measurements." She led the two kids into fitting rooms, taking the two packages with her. "Here we have for Miss Parkinson." She gave the first package to Pansy. "And here for Mister... Potter." She gave the boy a brief look of confusion before closing their respective doors. "Get dressed and come on out."

Lillian proceeded to do as he was told and quickly undressed before putting on the clothes.Once he looked in the mirror his eyes widened. He looked very feminine. "Excuse me, are you sure we have the correct ones?"

"I don't make mistakes Mister Potter. Now come on out and let's adjust the outfit." He stepped out of the fitting room. The older woman swished her wand through the air and Lillian felt the clothes tightening and adjusting to his body. He looked in the mirror once more and blushed. A pastel violet button-up made of silk hugged his small torso tightly. The beige pants suited him nicely enough, although, they were showing a lot. It felt weird to be wearing such tight pants.

"A few additional touches..." The woman murmured to herself before swishing her wand again. Vines started growing out of nowhere on Lillians body and a bit of fake snow rested on his head.

"I look-"

"Absolutely incredible. Please wear stuff like that more often." Pansy interrupted him as she stepped out of the other fitting room. "Honestly? I will burn all your rags in a bonfire."

Lillian only blushed at the compliment as the older witch adjusted Pansys' pastel blue dress. While he didn't share his friends enthusiasm for the new style that was picked out for him, he did appreciate the compliment.

"Personally, I always found Lady Malfoys' style superb." The shop owner spoke absentmindedly as she examined Pansy for the last time.

"You look incredible Pansy." He gave the girl a truthful compliment. It felt nice to be real sometimes. He always had to keep up appearances. The icy persona he adapted was a great mask to cover up his constant anxiety. After all, being called the Wonder Boy, or the Golden Boy, or whatever else Flint and other Slytherins were calling him was social currency. But Pansy was safe. Pansy was real. Pansy felt like home, if home could be a person. "You're going to have everyone looking at you."

"So will you. I know at least one person who won't take their eyes off of you." She smirked knowingly at the boy, and in response he just rolled his eyes.

"How much for the clothes?" He turned to the older woman.

"It's all been paid for already. Have a fun Yule, kids."

With that they put on their winter coats and took their old clothes in a bag.

"We have like two and a half hours until we meet my parents at the Leaky, and we still need to buy presents." She elbowed him in the ribs and wiggled her eyebrows. "Especially for a special someone."

He groaned in response. "Will you ever stop insinuating that? He's not into me!"

"Keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll believe it." She steered them towards the bookstore. "I am still grossed out by the thing that Flint has for you though. He's far too old."

"There is no 'thing' between me and Marcus. Quit your delusions Pansy."

"But he looks at you like you're the seventh wonder of the ancient world!"

"There were seven wonders. I think you meant eight, but also you would be wrong. He doesn't look at me like that. Stop saying that. It's weird."

"Whatever you say, Golden Boy."

The gift shopping went as well as it could. For Draco, he bought a broom cleaning set, for Theodore, a book on magical artifacts, for Blaise, a guide on flirtation, for Daphne, a wand holster, and for Harry, an owl. It didn't make any particular sense but it felt right. As if there was something about the snowy, majestic bird that pulled him in. He wasn't sure if he should get something for Flint as well, but with Pansys' convincing he bought him a box of chocolates. As the hours neared they met with Pansys' parents once more and side-along disapparated to Malfoy Manor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say it was grand would be an insult. It was more than magnificent. The grandeur of the place was quite indescribable to Lillian. A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering the stone floor. The walls of the entrance hall displayed pale-faced lining the walls, and at the end of the hall was the bronze-handled door to the drawing room. Lillian found himself completely, and utterly, speechless at the gothic statues and columns.The ball was already in full blast as guests were already dancing, probably already tipsy.

"Hello, heir Potter, miss Parkinson. Welcome to Malfoy Manor." Lord Malfoy greeted them with a very incredibly small smile. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. Lillian was sure of it.

"Thank you for your generous invitation Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy." He nodded at both respectfully, minding his manners.

"The rest of the kids are up in Dracos' room. Pansy, I think you know the way." Narcissa spoke with a hint of teasing to her tone as she scanned both preteens from head to toe. "I must say you two look marvelous."

"That's thanks to you and your immaculate style auntie." Pansy teased back and then she led the boy up the white, marble stairs to the first floor. They turned right and followed a long hallway. It was filled with moving portraits of men that extremely resembled Lucius. They opened the door at the end of the hallway. Inside there was everyone under the age of seventeen from Slytherin.

Draco quickly appeared next to them, a big smile on his face. "You guys look incredible."

"Thanks Draco. You don't look half bad yourself." Pansy elbowed the platinum blonde.

The gala went as smoothly as it could. Nothing out of the ordinary. They were even invited to the proper banquet at midnight, and the ceremonial bonfire outside. Lillian could swear that Marcus Flint was stealing glances at him. Maybe Pansy, and the rest of their year, was right? Nah. Their words have just influenced his thinking. That's right. Lillian didn't make mistakes. Lillian couldn't afford to make a mistake with judging character.

Chapter Text

December 25th 1991

Lillian awoke peacefully in his dorm. He was the only first year Slytherin to spend the holidays at school after the ball. He put his feet into his fuzzy warm slippers and cast a warming charm over himself before putting on a hoodie that belonged to Theo, or maybe Draco? He wasn't sure fully whose it was but in that moment he didn't care. With slow movements he sat down by the bed and smiled at the presents. First Christmas, sorry, any presents he ever received. He took the first box in his hands. Bottle green colored wrapping paper. It was small, only signed with D.M. on a tiny card attached to the ribbon. Draco got him something. He smiled to himself while opening the tiny box. Inside was a small frame with a moving picture. It was just Lillian and Draco sitting by their dorm room fireplace, preparing for a test, but it warmed his heart. Draco was always thoughtful and nice, to Lillian, at least. Next was a gift from Blaise. They didn't talk much, or spend a lot of time alone. The Italian boy gifted him a small bottle of some perfume with a card attached "use only for the one person that will steal your heart". Theo gifted him a book on trolls, Daphne gave him a magical comb that supposedly helped with keeping the hair healthy, and then there was a gift from Marcus. Marcus Flint sent him a box of chocolates. Thank Merlin it wasn't anything outrageous. He placed the gifts on his bed before walking up to the Great Hall. The Great Hall had been transformed in a way that only Hogwarts could manage. The house tables were gone, replaced with a single large round table draped in deep crimson velvet. Twelve enormous Christmas trees stood proudly around the hall, their branches heavy with shimmering ornaments and soft golden fairy lights that bobbed gently like fireflies. The enchanted ceiling showed a lazy snowfall drifting across a pale morning sky.

Lillian slipped into his seat next to Harry, who grinned widely at him, cheeks flushed from the cold. His brother had never looked so happy before.

"Thanks for the owl. I called her Hedwig," Harry whispered with a conspiratorial smile.

"I figured you'd pick something old and fancy," Lillian teased, ruffling Harry's hair as he took his place. The simple act of giving Harry a gift had felt monumental. For years they'd had nothing—no cards, no presents. Now, with only the warmth of Hogwarts around them, it felt like they had more than enough.

On Harry's other side sat Ron Weasley, who was already halfway through a monologue about the Chudley Cannons' latest tragic defeat. Lillian found it oddly comforting, even though he had no idea who or what a Chudley Cannon was.

As they ate breakfast, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were chatting quietly, Hagrid booming with laughter over something Flitwick had said. The atmosphere was relaxed in a way that Hogwarts rarely was. Lillian allowed himself to enjoy it.

But the gifts weighed on his mind.

Draco's gift had been perfect—personal, thoughtful. Blaise's perfume had confused him more than he cared to admit. It felt... significant. And then Marcus Flint's chocolates—completely harmless on the surface, yet every glance Marcus threw him lately made Lillian's skin tingle with uncertainty. Was it admiration? Amusement? Or something more? He didn't know.

For once, he didn't want to overthink it. It was Christmas.

After a long breakfast, most of the remaining students wandered off to the common rooms or to explore the snow-laden grounds. Lillian wasn't in the mood to go outside. His fingertips were still tingling from the cold walk to the Great Hall.

Harry had bolted off with Ron to play wizard chess in the Gryffindor common room. "You coming, Lils?" Harry had asked, but Lillian had shaken his head. He didn't belong in Gryffindor Tower. That wasn't his space.

Instead, Lillian returned to the Slytherin common room, which was surprisingly empty and quiet. The greenish glow of the lake filtered through the windows, casting soft patterns on the stone walls. He curled up on the long sofa near the fire, unwrapping one of Flint's chocolates while absently flipping through Theo's troll book.

There was something about being alone in Slytherin that was different from Privet Drive. The solitude wasn't suffocating. It felt like... peace. But after a while, even that peace turned into restlessness.

Curiosity eventually got the better of him.

While Harry and Ron were off doing Merlin knows what (probably still playing chess), Lillian decided to take advantage of the emptiness in the castle. The dungeons had begun to feel claustrophobic. He wanted to roam, just to walk and let his mind wander.

He didn't expect to bump into Professor Quirrell.

The man startled when he rounded the corner, pale as a ghost, his turban askew. His hands were clutching a stack of books that looked too heavy for him.

"S-s-s-sorry, Mister Potter!" Quirrell stammered, bowing his head and scurrying past, disappearing around the corner like a frightened rabbit.

Weird.

Lillian was about to head back when a strange feeling prickled the back of his neck. He turned. An open door was propped ajar down the corridor.

Curiosity, his ever-faithful curse, dragged him towards it.

The room was silent. Dust motes floated lazily in the dim light. And there, standing tall and ancient, was a mirror.

It was cracked and ornate, with clawed feet and a frame etched with strange inscriptions.

Lillian stepped closer. His breath caught in his throat.

Reflected back at him was himself, but not the version that stood in the cold classroom. In the mirror, his face was fuller, his hair healthy and golden. But it wasn't just him. Standing proudly behind him were his parents—a man with messy black hair and round glasses, a woman with fiery red hair and a smile that could shatter stone walls.

But that wasn't all.

His brother stood beside him, taller, older, no glasses—Harry as he might've been if they had grown up loved and whole.

He reached out a hand, but his fingers met cold glass. The Lillian in the reflection smiled at him, and for a moment, it was like a part of him healed.

He didn't know how long he stood there. Time blurred in that empty room.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, Lillian."

The voice startled him, but Dumbledore's tone was gentle.

Lillian turned, flustered and vulnerable in a way he hated. "What is this, sir?"

"The Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore said, stepping forward with his usual serene presence. "It shows us the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. But it gives neither knowledge nor truth. Many men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they see."

Lillian looked back at the mirror, then to Dumbledore. "Why would you leave something like this just... lying around?"

"Ah, I did not, my boy. I expected someone to find it. Curiosity tends to run in the family." His blue eyes twinkled, but there was a shadow behind them. "I will be moving it after tonight. Best not to come looking for it again."

Lillian understood the warning, though his chest ached as he nodded. "I just... I wanted to know them."

Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You carry them with you, Lillian. You and your brother are their legacy. Do not underestimate the power in that."

It was too sentimental for Lillian's taste, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

June 5th 1992

Lillian woke up at 3 am with an extremely weird feeling. As if there was something happening that he should be in the know about. The past few months after Yule have been so calm that it felt like silence before the storm. Obviously there were a few hickups, just a few days ago Draco had been caught out of bed babbling something about Harry, Granger, and some dragon. But Lillian was too busy studying with Theo to care about some stupid dragon. He put on a muggle, warm hoodie, grabbed his wand, cast a lumos spell and walked out of the first year boys room before heading into the common room right as Professor Snape had walked in. The older man's gaze narrowed as he looked at his pupil and beckoned him closer.

"While normally I would take away points for being out of bed in the middle of the night, I was just ordered to bring you to the hospital wing, mister Potter."

"The hospital wing? What happened professor?" Lillian asked with his eyes wide open.

"That will be best explained by the people involved tonight." There was no point in arguing with the great bat-like dungeon demon professor, the stealer of children's joy.

The walk upstairs was silent. The castle was far too quiet for Lillian's liking. The usual hum of magic that thrummed through the stone walls—constant, like a heartbeat—felt stifled tonight. Muted. As if the very air was holding its breath. He couldn't explain it, but every step up from the dungeons made his skin prickle. Something had happened.

Professor Snape's dark silhouette led the way, his robes billowing dramatically even without the usual draft. Normally, Lillian would have found some amusement in that, perhaps made a mental note to tease Theo about how the man really was part-bat, but not tonight.

The hospital wing.
Harry was in the hospital wing.

He didn't need anyone to spell it out for him. Not really. He knew his brother. Harry had been... restless. Ever since Christmas, there had been this subtle shift. It was in the way Harry's gaze lingered on professors mid-lesson, as if weighing their trustworthiness. The hushed conversations with Granger and Weasley that would abruptly end when Lillian or any other Slytherin walked by. The trio had been up to something.

And Lillian had let them.

He had brushed it off, focusing on his studies, on keeping his head down. Theo had convinced him to ignore the "Gryffindor dramatics" and to let whatever ridiculous scheme they were concocting fizzle out. Dragons, trolls, now what?

But now, as the hospital wing doors loomed closer, every excuse he'd made felt like a betrayal. A betrayal of Harry. A betrayal of the promise he made himself after they left the Dursleys—that he would look out for his little brother. Always.

Snape paused outside the infirmary, placing a hand on the heavy oak door.

"Mister Potter," Snape's voice was lower than usual, quieter, as if even he respected the weight of the moment, "I expect you to not make a scene. Potter junior or not, Headmaster Dumbledore is not to be questioned tonight."

Lillian didn't reply. He just nodded sharply, his grip on his wand tightening until his knuckles whitened.

The door creaked open.

There, in the furthest bed, lay Harry. Pale. Too pale. His usual mess of hair was even more chaotic, sweat-dampened and curling at his temples. Granger sat beside him, eyes red-rimmed, while Weasley—his arm in a sling—stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed. Madam Pomfrey was fussing over Harry's vitals, muttering about dunderheaded Gryffindors.

Lillian's heart clenched.

He approached slowly, Snape's presence melting away behind him as the professor retreated to the shadows. Granger looked up and opened her mouth as if to explain, to offer some Gryffindor excuse, but Lillian silenced her with a look. A cold, furious look.

"Harry James Potter," Lillian hissed under his breath, sinking into the chair beside the bed, "if you ever do something that idiotic again, I will fucking put you through a wall. What the hell did you do?"

Harry's eyes jumped at the sudden appearance of his brother. "Stone. We went after the stone."

"What stone? What are you even talking about? Are you delirious?"

"I'm not delirious, Lils. The Philosophers Stone. It's real. It was here. In Hogwarts. Quirrell, he wanted to get it."

"You're going to give me a heart attack one day. I swear to Merlin, you can't be left unsupervised."

"But Lils listen-"

"No. You listen. Whether or not the philosophers stone was in trouble it wasn't your job to protect it. You are eleven. This could've been easily handled by a teacher. The professors are more than capable of taking care of this. You are not the hero. Got it?"

"But Lils nobody listened-"

"Then you should've gone to anybody and not plot with the ginger and the bookworm." Lillian interrupted once more. "ANYBODY else who actually knows what they were doing and not going off of an adventure in the middle of the night."

Lillian stopped and looked around the hospital wing with a curious eye. Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonnagall were standing a bit further away from them while Madam Pomfrey was pouring some potions down Weasley's throat. "Where is Quirrell anyway?"

"He died." Dumbledore stepped forth. "You see, Voldemort has attached his weakened spirit to our teacher, like a parasite feeding off its prey."

"Oh, so on top of my brother almost dying, our teacher dying, our parents killer is still alive? Well isn't that just peachy." Lillian almost spat out with a sour expression. Of course he knew who Voldemort was. Theo, Draco and Lillian stayed up one night in the common room sometime in April and got talking.

"Mister Potter, please listen to me." Dumbledores tone had left no room to argue. His presence alone felt suffocating for Lillian as he stepped away from Harry's bed. "If it wasn't for your brother, Voldemort would still be at the back of Quirrells head. When your mother died she left a protective enchantment over you. Voldemort cannot stand being extremely close to either of you, much less physical contact. Harry, in self defense has pushed back the man and he began to simply disintegrate."

"I... I think I need to go back to sleep." Lillian muttered before storming out the hospital wing and down to the dungeons, wand in hand, lumos spell back in place, trying to get as far away from everyone as he physically could.

"Lillian? Why are you awake?" He didn't even notice when he got back to the common room. Draco was sitting on the couch staring right into his soul.

"I... Professor Snape woke me up. Harry was in the hospital wing."

"You look terrible. And what is this?" Draco pointed to Lillian's green hoodie as the smaller boy walked closer to the couch. "It's a jumper with a hood. very comfy. Muggle clothes."

"Is everything okay?"

Lillian just sat down and shook his head. "It's... It could've been worse."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco shifted closer, wrapping his arm around Lillian's shoulder in a side hug.

"No. I just wanna sleep now." Draco helped him up and guided him back to the dorm room before laying down and pulling Lillian on top of him. Potter just laid his head on Draco's chest and passed out. Draco's arms were so safe, so warm. He felt like an anchor to everything that Lillian had gotten used to over the past months.

June 7th 1992

The Great Hall was bathed in green and silver.

Slytherin banners hung from the enchanted ceiling, catching the light of a thousand floating candles. The air thrummed with excitement, the Slytherin table practically vibrating with pride. For the seventh year in a row, Slytherin would take home the House Cup.

Lillian sat between Theo and Draco, head propped on his hand, watching the sea of smug faces with a half-hearted smirk. Draco was in his element, holding court as if the feast was being thrown in his honor. Blaise sipped his drink with the air of someone who had expected nothing less. Theo, as always, sat quietly, though Lillian could see the satisfaction in his eyes.

Across the Hall, the Gryffindor table was far less jubilant. Hermione Granger sat stiff-backed, pointedly ignoring the gloating glances from the Slytherin side. Weasley slouched in his seat, scowling into his empty plate. Harry... Harry just looked tired.

Dumbledore stood, arms wide, his usual twinkling expression in place.

"Another year has come to an end," he began, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of the students. "And as is tradition, we must tally the House Points to determine which House shall carry the Cup into the next year."

A hush fell as the numbers appeared in shimmering gold above the staff table:

Gryffindor: 312.
Hufflepuff: 352.
Ravenclaw: 426.
Slytherin: 897.

The Slytherin table erupted in cheers.

Draco whooped so loudly that Lillian had to elbow him in the ribs. Even Flint, seated further down, had a grin plastered across his face as he banged his goblet on the table.

But Dumbledore raised his hand, and the Hall quieted once more.

"However," Dumbledore said, eyes glinting mischievously, "before we proceed to the celebration, there are a few last-minute points to award. Points for acts of remarkable bravery, cunning, and intellect that occurred beneath the very foundations of this school."

Whispers broke out instantly.

"To Miss Hermione Granger, for her brilliant application of logic—fifty points."

"To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for an exceptional display of chess strategy and sacrifice—fifty points."

"And to Harry Potter, for courage most profound—sixty points."

The Gryffindor table cheered, their House total shifting to 472.

The points shifted once more.

Gryffindor: 472.
Hufflepuff: 352.
Ravenclaw: 426.
Slytherin: 897.

The gap was undeniable. Slytherin had won—not by a narrow margin, not by a technicality, but by a landslide.

The Slytherin table erupted again, this time with an even more ferocious intensity. Theo leaned toward Lillian, murmuring, "A massacre, really."

Draco was already standing, leading the cheer. "Slytherin! Slytherin!" echoed off the walls, punctuated by Flint banging the table like a war drum. Even some of the Ravenclaws looked mildly impressed. Gryffindor sat stunned. The points awarded had been a gesture of respect, but the numbers were undeniable.

Harry, however, caught Lillian's gaze across the Hall and smiled. Not a bitter smile—something soft, knowing.

Lillian felt a wave of emotions crash into him. Pride for Slytherin. Relief that Harry was okay. Annoyance that the idiot had put himself in danger in the first place. Gratitude that Dumbledore hadn't robbed Slytherin of their victory, yet still acknowledged the bravery of the trio.

It was a political move, Lillian realized. One designed to appease everyone, yet still maintain the balance of power. Typical Dumbledore.

The feast commenced, food appearing in golden platters across the tables. Draco was talking Lillian's ear off about "sending a message to the Gryffindors next year." Blaise, naturally, was already planning how to "capitalize on this beautiful win." Flint even raised his goblet towards Lillian in a slow, deliberate toast, which Lillian purposefully ignored.

Through it all, Lillian found his gaze drifting once more to Harry.

No matter the House Cup, no matter the banners, Lillian knew things were far from over.

Next year was going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

June 19th 1992

The days after the year-end feast were filled with sitting about the castle, or by the lake, or near the forest, or huddled in a dorm room. No one cared about the exam results, well, aside from Lillian, Granger, Draco, and Theo. All four were top of their year in that exact order.

It wasn't planned. Not really.

But somehow, after the laughter and another ridiculous round of Exploding Snap (probably tenth just that day), none of them wanted to go to bed, it was the last night in school after all. The older years had all vanished into their own mischief, and the common room was theirs for the night. It felt earned.

The house-elves had even sent up a tray of snacks — leftover feast desserts and a pot of hot cocoa charmed to refill itself. Blaise insisted he had "sweet-talked" them into it. Theo muttered something about bribery. Either way, it was a win.

Draco conjured a nest of pillows and blankets near the fire, boasting that his was "much better than the Ravenclaw design." Pansy commandeered the central couch, stretching out like a queen overseeing her court. Daphne and Theo started transfiguring random objects into more pillows. Lillian? He claimed a spot on the rug, leaning back against Draco's makeshift pillow throne.

It was Theo who said it first.

"Truth or Dare."

Five heads turned.

"What are we, Hufflepuffs?" Draco groaned, but there was no real venom in it.

"Oh, come on, Draco," Pansy grinned wickedly. "What's the matter? Afraid someone will dare you to admit you're not actually the most charming Malfoy ever born?"

"You wish."

"Truth or dare, Draco?" Daphne asked, eyes gleaming.

Draco huffed. "Dare."

Daphne didn't even hesitate. "I dare you to—no magic—run to the girls' dorms, fetch Pansy's pink slippers, and wear them for the rest of the night."

The scandalized gasp that Draco let out could have won an award.

But a dare was a dare.

When he returned, blushing furiously with fluffy pink monstrosities on his feet, the room descended into wheezing, breathless laughter. Draco flopped onto the sofa, muttering about "potions accidents" and "blackmail material" while Pansy preened with pride.

The game spiraled.

Lillian dared Blaise to read aloud from Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography in his most dramatic voice. Blaise delivered a scathing Lockhart impression that had Theo choking on his cocoa.

Theo, in turn, got dared to serenade a couch cushion as if it were his long-lost lover.

Daphne was challenged to hex Marcus Flint's name into the fireplace with glittering sparks (which she did with a smug flourish).

Pansy got the worst of it — Lillian dared her to braid his hair. Only, halfway through, he dared her back to make Draco help her. The result? A very flustered Draco trying to remember which hand did what as Pansy bossed him around.

But it wasn't all chaos.

Somewhere past midnight, when the dares dulled into quieter truths, the atmosphere softened.

Theo, looking half-asleep, asked, "If you could live anywhere after Hogwarts, where would you go?"

"France," Blaise said immediately. "Mother has a villa there. No Ministry breathing down your neck."

"Somewhere cold," Daphne mused, "so my family stops trying to marry me off to sunny rich idiots."

"I'm staying in London," Pansy shrugged. "But not with the family. I'll get a flat. Maybe something high up. Big windows."

They all looked at Lillian then.

He took a long breath. "Anywhere I don't have to look over my shoulder. Anywhere that feels like... this." He gestured to the circle of them, the pillows, the fire. "But permanent."

No one laughed. No one teased. Even Draco, in his ridiculous pink slippers, simply nodded, like he understood exactly what Lillian meant.

"Alright, sappy moment's over," Blaise drawled, stretching lazily. "Potter, truth or dare?"

Lillian smirked. "Dare."

"I dare you to let Theo and Pansy raid your wardrobe over the summer. Merlin knows you need their help."

"Oh, absolutely," Pansy chimed in gleefully.

Lillian just rolled his eyes and accepted his fate. They'd probably dress him in silk and murder him if he resisted.

By the time the fire died down to glowing embers, the first-years were sprawled across the pillows and couches in a messy pile of tangled limbs, half-asleep, half-heartedly bickering about who had the best taste in Quidditch teams.

Draco was snoring. Pansy had curled herself into Daphne's side. Theo's head was balanced precariously on Lillian's shoulder, while Blaise, ever the observer, had claimed the corner seat, sketchbook forgotten on his chest.

For a few precious hours, they weren't Slytherins expected to uphold pureblood legacies. They weren't heirs, or rivals, or "the bad guys" in some Gryffindor tale.

They were just kids.

A team. A family.

And Lillian, nestled among them, realized, this was the first time in his life he fell asleep without flinching at shadows.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lillian noticed when they returned to Number 4 Privet Drive was the silence.

Not a calm, peaceful silence. No, this was the sharp, suffocating quiet of a house pretending it had no Potter children living in it. As soon as Uncle Vernon had slammed the car door shut behind them, Lillian knew the brief taste of home he'd found at Hogwarts was over.

The Dursleys had not changed.

Not one bit.

It was back to the familiar regime: endless chores, rationed food, the occasional backhand when Vernon's temper boiled over. But worst of all was the silence.

It wasn't just the Dursleys' calculated, cold treatment of them. No, this silence was deeper. It followed Lillian everywhere, even when he was alone. A silence born from the void where letters should have been.

At first, he had made excuses for it. Maybe Theo was dragged into some pure-blood gala nightmare. Maybe Pansy was on some elaborate family vacation. Maybe Draco had written, but it got lost in the post. Maybe.

But days turned into weeks. The excuses wore thin.

No letters. Not a single bloody letter.

Every morning, Lillian checked the mailbox while hanging laundry or scrubbing the patio. Every afternoon, he watched the skies, hoping to see an owl circling overhead. By evening, all that hope turned into a bitter ache in his chest.

Were they too busy? Had they just moved on? Forgotten him after just one year?

Piece by piece, the little foundation of belonging he'd built at Hogwarts crumbled.

Harry, of course, noticed. He wasn't blind. But they didn't talk about it. Not properly. Not with words. Instead, Harry would share the last bite of his toast with him or quietly shoulder some of Lillian's chores without being asked. It was their own quiet rebellion.

But July 31st—that was the real gut punch.

His twelfth birthday.

Not that the Dursleys acknowledged it. They hadn't celebrated it last year, nor the year before, but this year the absence stung more. Because now Lillian knew what it felt like to be celebrated. To have friends who cared.

And yet... no letters.

Today, however, the Dursleys were in a flurry of activity. Vernon was vibrating with smug self-importance, muttering about "the biggest deal of his career" and "the Masons will see just how superior Grunnings is." Petunia was bleaching every surface within an inch of its life. Dudley had been stuffed into his scratchiest formal wear, which was enough to put him in a foul mood all day.

Lillian and Harry were told the plan repeatedly.

"We'll make no noise and pretend we don't exist," Lillian recited, deadpan, as they sat on the narrow stairs.

"Just like always," Harry muttered back with a sardonic grin.

Petunia poked her head out from the kitchen, her face pinched. "Upstairs. Now. Both of you."

They obeyed.

Lillian barely noticed the way Petunia's eyes lingered on him, sharp and mistrusting. As if she expected him to explode into magic at any given moment. She knew. Somehow, in that nosy, awful way of hers, she knew they couldn't do magic outside of Hogwarts. She had probably dredged up every bitter memory of their mother's Hogwarts letters, just to hold this over their heads.

It was only when they were locked in Dudley's spare bedroom, that Lillian let the weight settle on him fully.

That's when something moved in the corner.

Both twins flinched, eyes snapping to the small, trembling figure perched atop Dudley's desk.

Lillian's breath hitched. "What the—?"

The creature was unlike anything they'd ever seen. Barely three feet tall, with bat-like ears and enormous, lamp-like green eyes that shimmered with anxiety. He wore what looked like a filthy pillowcase, knotted at the shoulders.

"Harry Potter," the creature breathed, wringing its long fingers. "Lillian Potter. Dobby has been waiting—oh, how Dobby has waited for this moment, sirs."

Harry's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Lillian recovered first.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" he demanded, a little sharper than intended.

"Dobby is a house-elf, sirs. Dobby has come to warn you—terrible danger is at Hogwarts this year. Dobby had to come, even if it means getting punished terribly."

The air felt suddenly suffocating.

"What danger?" Harry asked.

But Dobby wasn't listening. He was fidgeting, tugging at his ears, eyes darting nervously around the small, cluttered room.

"Dobby shouldn't be here. Dobby is breaking so many rules, but Dobby had to—because Harry Potter and Lillian Potter must not go back to Hogwarts! Terrible things are being planned, sirs."

Lillian exchanged a glance with Harry. "Planned by who?"

Dobby's lip quivered. "Dobby cannot say, sirs. Dobby mustn't tell. But Dobby can protect you." His eyes brightened with a disturbing sort of glee. "If Harry Potter and Lillian Potter stay here, safe, then Dobby won't need to—"

The sound of the doorbell chiming downstairs snapped all three of their heads toward the hallway.

"The Masons," Harry hissed, dread settling in his stomach.

Dobby, however, seemed unfazed by the rising tension. Instead, his ears perked up. He hopped off the desk, landing silently on the carpet.

"Dobby will make sure, sirs, that you must stay here. If Dobby has to get the Potters in trouble, then Dobby will!"

"What are you—Dobby, wait—!" Lillian lunged, but the house-elf scurried away faster than expected, vanishing through the door with a snap of his fingers.

A pit formed in Lillian's stomach.

"Harry," he muttered, already sprinting for the door, "he's going to do something stupid."

Moments later, from the top of the stairs, they watched in horror as Dobby appeared in the Dursleys' kitchen, levitating Aunt Petunia's perfectly crafted violet pudding high into the air. It wobbled ominously as Dobby's long fingers snapped again.

Time seemed to freeze.

"Dobby, no!" Lillian shouted, but it was too late.

The pudding tilted. It hovered for one heartbeat longer.

Then it fell.

The pudding hit the kitchen floor with a sickening splatter, violet icing oozing like blood across the pristine tiles. For one, suspended second, no one moved.

Then Aunt Petunia's shriek pierced the air.

"My pudding!"

Uncle Vernon's face turned a violent shade of puce as he rounded on Harry and Lillian, who were frozen at the top of the stairs.

"You—you—!" Vernon's finger jabbed the air, shaking with rage. "UPSTAIRS. NOW."

Lillian didn't need telling twice. He grabbed Harry's arm, hauling them both back into the bedroom just as Uncle Vernon's booming voice followed them up the stairs, peppered with threats of locking them in and starving them into extinction.

But Dobby was already there, hopping from foot to foot with an odd mix of triumph and regret.

"Dobby had to do it, sirs. Dobby is sorry, but he had to protect you. Now the Dursleys will lock you in and you'll be safe. Safe and sound. Dobby's plan worked perfectly!"

Lillian's patience snapped.

He slammed the door shut and rounded on the house-elf, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. "You dropped a pudding on their dinner guests, you absolute lunatic! Do you have any idea what they'll do to us now?"

Dobby's ears drooped, but his wide green eyes stayed stubborn. "Dobby had to stop you from going back to Hogwarts, sir. Dobby knew it would take something big."

Harry stepped in, voice calm but strained. "But why? Why do you care if we go back or not?"

Dobby hesitated. His fingers wrung together, twisting so tightly it looked painful. Then, in a very small voice, he said, "Dobby has heard... that terrible things are to happen at Hogwarts. That the Chamber of Secrets is to be opened again. Dobby had to stop you."

The words meant nothing to Lillian yet. But the look on Dobby's face—that mix of terror and desperate pleading—said everything.

"And our letters?" Lillian demanded, stepping forward. "Where are they, Dobby? You've been stealing them, haven't you?"

Dobby let out a squeak of guilt. "Dobby didn't want Harry Potter and Lillian Potter to think their friends forgot them! But if sirs thought they weren't missed, maybe sirs wouldn't want to go back..."

He didn't finish. Lillian's chest tightened as though a fist had closed around his lungs.

"Give. Them. Back."

Dobby shook his head frantically. "Dobby can't! Dobby—"

But before the elf could vanish, Lillian lunged. His hand shot out, grabbing Dobby's thin wrist with a force that startled them both.

"Give. Them. Back." Lillian's voice was deadly quiet. There was a quiver there—not of fear, but of heartbreak. Of the gnawing ache of weeks of silence, of letters never read, of a summer spent crumbling piece by piece.

Dobby's resistance melted. With a trembling hand, he snapped his fingers. A small bundle of envelopes appeared in the air, fluttering down like fragile ghosts.

Lillian snatched them up. He didn't read them—couldn't—not yet. The tightness in his chest was too raw, the betrayal too fresh.

"Dobby will have to punish himself now," the elf said mournfully, stepping back. "But Dobby is glad he came. Goodbye, Harry Potter. Goodbye, Lillian Potter."

And with a sharp crack, Dobby vanished.

The silence left in his wake was deafening.

Lillian's hands shook as he held the letters, staring down at the familiar scrawls of Hermione's neat handwriting, Ron's chaotic scribbles, even Draco's sharp, precise strokes.

He felt like his ribs were caving in.

Harry was watching him, brow furrowed in concern. "Lil... are you alright?"

"Alright?" Lillian's laugh came out hollow. "Harry, they were never going to let us out of this house. Now they've got an excuse to nail the doors shut. Dobby just made sure of it."

Harry flopped onto the bed, looking utterly defeated.

But Lillian's mind was spinning.

Dinner was a disaster.

Not just in the "Vernon Dursley's reputation is in tatters" sense. No, this was a grand-scale, career-suiciding catastrophe.

By the time the Masons fled Number 4 Privet Drive—Mrs. Mason shrieking about "psycho children" and "unsanitary pudding warfare"—Uncle Vernon was vibrating with silent, nuclear-level fury.

The door slammed so hard the walls trembled.

Lillian and Harry didn't dare breathe as Vernon trudged up the stairs, his footsteps like gunshots. His face was a kaleidoscope of colors no human should possess, a storm of rage bottled up into the most dangerously polite snarl.

"Congratulations," Vernon hissed, voice so falsely sweet it dripped venom. "You two have finally done it."

Petunia appeared behind him, wringing her hands. "Vernon, dear, maybe if we—"

"No, Petunia. They've ruined my deal. Sabotaged my business. Embarrassed me in my own home." His cold stare sliced toward Lillian. "You lot want to be invisible? Fine. I'll make sure of it."

The next morning, the drills came out.

Literal drills.

Uncle Vernon spent the entire day installing locks. Not just on their bedroom door, but also a cat flap at the bottom for meals—when he felt like feeding them. As the sun sank, the crowning touch appeared: iron bars across the window, bolted in as Vernon whistled a cheerful little tune.

"This'll keep the little monsters from ruining any more dinners."

Lillian sat on the bed, watching the world shrink into a small, suffocating square.

The stolen letters lay piled on the mattress. He hadn't even had the strength to read them yet. They felt like whispers from another world.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "We've officially been imprisoned."

Harry flopped next to him, dead-eyed. "At least they're feeding us. Sort of."

"Wouldn't count on that lasting."

That night was the hardest.

The house was deathly quiet again. A different kind of quiet than Hogwarts, or even the tense silences of the Slytherin dorms. This was a silence that erased you. That made you feel like you never existed.

Harry had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. But Lillian stayed awake, clutching one of Hermione's unopened letters, wondering how in Merlin's name they were supposed to escape.

He felt like he was caving in from the inside out.

Then came the noise.

A low, rumbling grind, distant but unmistakable. Not from the house. From outside.

Lillian scrambled to the barred window, nearly tripping over Harry in his haste. His heart stuttered.

A car was floating.

A battered old Ford Anglia, hovering outside their window, headlights beaming straight into his soul.

And Ron Weasley was in the passenger seat, grinning like a maniac.

The bars clattered onto the flowerbed, louder than expected, but the adrenaline roaring in Lillian's ears drowned out everything else.

"Come on!" Ron hissed from the car window. "We've got to go before they notice!"

Harry was already scrambling through the gap, landing clumsily in the backseat of the Ford Anglia. Lillian followed, battered trunk in hand, heart hammering.

He was halfway through the window frame - one leg out, freedom a breath away - when a meaty hand closed around his ankle.

"Gotcha, you little freak."

The world flipped. Vernon yanked with all his weight, dragging Lillian back into the room like a fisherman reeling in a prize catch. His back hit the wooden floor hard, knocking the air from his lungs.

"LILS!" Harry screamed from the car as Fred and George lunged forward, but it was too late—the window slammed shut with a deafening crack.

"No! LILLIAN!" Harry's fists pounded uselessly against the glass as the Anglia started to drift upward, the weight shift forcing the Weasleys to retreat before the whole plan came crashing down.

Lillian pushed against Vernon's iron grip, thrashing. "Let-me-GO!"

But Vernon was red-faced, snarling. "Think you can run off with your kind? Think you can humiliate me? Not on my watch, boy."

The car sped away into the night sky, Harry's anguished face pressed against the rear window, shrinking into a dot against the dark. Lillian's throat tore with a shout, but no one was left to hear it.

Vernon's fist cracked across his face, snapping his head sideways. The second hit was harder. Then the third, fourth, fifth, and after the tenth punch Lillian lost consciousness.

Vernon's breath hitched, startled. Every light in the room was flickering. The walls groaned ominously.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

He woke up in the cupboard under the stairs, too small for him now. His knees were pressed to his chest, ribs aching with every shallow breath. He hadn't eaten in... two days? Three? He wasn't sure. Time blurred when you were trapped in the dark.

The punishment had been swift and brutal.

Vernon had been smart this time—no bruises on his face where anyone would see. But his ribs were another story. Every breath was like swallowing glass. His wrists were raw from where Vernon had tied them too tight the night before, and his throat ached from screaming into nothing.

Harry was gone. The letters were gone. The hope was gone.

Or so he thought.

The latch clicked.

Lillian's eyes snapped open to the sliver of light.

Dudley stood there. Lillian's Hogwarts trunk in his big meaty hands.

His cousin was pale, sweating nervously, a flashlight shaking in his hand. For once, there wasn't a smirk or sneer twisting his pudgy face. He looked... sick. Ashamed.

"Get up," Dudley muttered, voice cracking.

Lillian stared, not comprehending. "What-"

"Shut up and get up. I... I unlocked the back door."

Lillian's legs didn't want to cooperate. When he finally dragged himself out, he realized Dudley had laid one of his oversized jackets on the floor. For the bruises, maybe. For the cold. It swallowed Lillian's frame when he shrugged it on, but it was the softest thing he'd felt in days.

"Why are you doing this?" Lillian croaked, voice raw.

Dudley fidgeted, glancing nervously toward the staircase where Vernon's snoring rumbled through the house. "I... I saw you, alright? After. What Dad did. You looked like... like one of those stray dogs. I didn't-" he broke off, scowling as if hating himself for caring. "Just go, Potter. Before I change my mind."

The back door was already ajar. The cool night air rushed in, tasting like freedom and cold pavement and escape.

Lillian hesitated. "Dudley... thank you."

Dudley's face twisted into a scowl. "Don't make it weird. Just go."

Lillian slipped out into the night, careful not to limp until he was past the neighbors' fences. His ribs protested, his legs shook, but every step away from Privet Drive was worth the pain. He didn't know where he was going yet, but Hogwarts had taught him one thing, he wasn't alone anymore.

Chapter Text

Lillian didn't make it far.

The cold night air turned from relief to a biting wind against his thin frame. His legs kept buckling, the weight of Dudley's oversized jacket a cruel mockery of safety. His vision swam. The world tilted.

He stumbled onto a dimly-lit street, somewhere far from Privet Drive now, but not far enough.

He couldn't breathe.

His hand slammed against a lamppost to steady himself. The pain shot through his ribs like lightning.

"I'm not- going... back- " he gasped.

Then he fell.

His outstretched hand hit the pavement first, fingers curling desperately as if grabbing for something that wasn't there. The night swallowed him whole.

But somewhere deep inside, whether it was the last spark of magic or sheer will to survive, his fingers twitched.

BANG!

The Knight Bus screeched into existence, tires skidding to a halt beside his crumpled form.

The doors hissed open.

"Merlin's beard! Ernie, look at 'im!" Stan Shunpike's gawky frame leapt down from the steps, his eyes wide as saucers.

It wasn't often you found a bleeding wizard kid passed out in the middle of a Muggle street.

"Oi, kid! Can y'hear me?" Stan crouched, gently shaking Lillian's shoulder, blanching at the way his bruised body sagged like a ragdoll.

Ernie Prang was already climbing down behind him. "Stan, get 'im on the bus. We're goin' straight to St. Mungo's. Poor lad's a mess."

Stan didn't hesitate. Scooping Lillian up, far too light, far too broken, he muttered a string of words no twelve-year-old should ever hear. As the Knight Bus vanished into the night, Stan kept murmuring, "You're alright now, mate. You're alright now."

~~~~~

THE BOY WHO LIVED LEFT TO DIE?

Lillian Potter Found Beaten, Near-Death in Muggle London, rushed to St. Mungo's by Knight Bus Staff

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

The Wizarding World woke up to shock and outrage this morning as news broke that Lillian Potter, twin brother to Harry Potter and one of the famed "Boys Who Lived," was found unconscious and severely injured on a Muggle street last night. Sources inside St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries report Potter is suffering from multiple fractured ribs, internal bleeding, and extensive bruising consistent with prolonged abuse.

The twelve-year-old was discovered by none other than Knight Bus conductor Stanley Shunpike, who immediately transported him to St. Mungo's after Potter's accidental magical summon of the emergency vehicle.

Questions are already being raised about the Ministry's oversight of the Potter children's welfare. Neither Hogwarts nor Ministry officials were available for immediate comment.

~~~~~~

August 6th 1992

Draco Malfoy's POV:

The Prophet crumpled in his fists as he shoved through the Floo Network, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.

He didn't care about the stares.

Didn't care about the Ministry witch at the fireplace who called after him with some nonsense about "visitor procedures."

He was going to kill someone.

No, worse.

He was going to ruin them.

The article had hit the Malfoy breakfast table less than ten minutes ago. Narcissa had gone pale as the parchment trembled in her hands. Lucius's reaction had been quieter, his lips thinning, eyes sharp, but Draco hadn't stayed to hear the inevitable plotting. He didn't need strategy right now.

He needed to see Lillian.

Now.

"Room 402," he snapped to the reception witch, who fumbled her paperwork, wide-eyed. He didn't wait for directions. He already knew where to go.

The door was ajar.

Inside, sterile white light spilled across a tiny bed that seemed far too big for its occupant. Lillian looked wrong there. His skin was a canvas of bruises—yellows, purples, deep reds. Bandages wrapped around his ribs, enchanted to hum faintly as they worked to mend the fractures.

He wasn't waking up.

Draco's throat closed.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to Lillian. Not to his first friend.

"Oi, Malfoy-" Blaise's voice echoed down the hall, but Draco didn't turn. He heard the shuffle of feet, Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, Theo, all of them, arriving faster than expected, because Slytherins took care of their own.

But right now, it was just him and Lillian.

"You stupid, reckless idiot," Draco muttered, pulling a chair close to the bed. "You should've sent a letter. Should've flooed. Should've done anything but this."

He wasn't sure if he was angry at Lillian or himself.

Probably both.

"I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you don't wake up soon, I'm hexing your arse off."

A faint pulse of magic from the bandages answered, as if Lillian was laughing somewhere beneath it all. It wasn't enough.

~~~~~

MALFOY HEIR LEADS ST. MUNGO'S SIT-IN FOR LILLIAN POTTER

Slytherin Students Flood Hospital in Outcry - "The Ministry Has Failed."

~~~~~

Photographs filled the front page. Draco, sitting beside Lillian's hospital bed, head down, jaw tight. Behind him, a gathering storm of Slytherins, their green and silver ties sharp against the sterile hospital corridors.

For once, the Prophet headlines weren't twisting his intentions. The world was furious. Hogwarts was furious. The Slytherins had staked their claim publicly: Lillian Potter was theirs to protect.

And for Draco Malfoy, the world had just narrowed to the rhythm of one beeping spell monitor, and a promise:

No one touches Lillian Potter again.

August 9th 1992

The Healers had dimmed the lights.

It was quiet now. The others had gone home hours ago—Blaise practically dragging Pansy by the elbow while Daphne promised she'd be back at sunrise.

But Draco hadn't left.

He couldn't.

He sat beside Lillian's bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the sleeping boy who looked too small beneath the hospital blankets. His breathing was steadier now, but shallow. Like every breath was a fight.

"C'mon, Potter." Draco muttered. "Stop being dramatic and wake up."

Nothing.

Draco scrubbed a hand down his face. He hated this. Sitting. Waiting. He wasn't built for helplessness. He was built for biting words and sharp spells and the kind of Malfoy threats that got things done. But none of those things could fix this.

The clock ticked.

And then-

A groan.

Draco shot upright.

Lillian's face twisted, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused. His lips parted like he was trying to say something, but no sound came out.

"Oi! Lillian." Draco's voice was tight. "You're awake."

Blink. Blink. Confusion gave way to recognition. His lips moved again.

"...Draco?"

Draco exhaled, half a laugh, half a growl. "Well, it's about bloody time. You've had us all in a right state, Potter. Do you enjoy giving people heart attacks or is it just a personal hobby?"

Lillian smiled faintly. It was so small it nearly broke Draco.

He didn't say anything more.

He just reached forward and curled his fingers around Lillian's hand, gently, like he was afraid Lillian would flinch away. He didn't.

For a long, fragile moment, the world shrank to that point of contact.

And in Draco's chest, something unfamiliar, something dangerous, coiled itself around his heart. Possessive. Protective.

August 10th 1992

Lillian's eyes fluttered open to a soft, persistent ache—not sharp, not unbearable, just there. The sterile white ceiling above him swam into focus, blurred at the edges. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was.

Then the noise hit him.

It wasn't loud. Not like the Dursleys' shouting or Dudley's gang jeering. No, this was hushed but fierce whispers laced with anger and something sharper beneath. Protection.

"I don't care what the Prophet says, we should've hexed the Muggles and been done with it." Pansy Parkinson's voice. Sharp as a blade, yet when she glanced at him, her glare softened. "Oh. He's awake."

Draco was at his side instantly. His hand found Lillian's, gripping gently but not letting go. "You complete idiot," he muttered, though his thumb brushed over Lillian's knuckles with something so careful it made Lillian's throat close up. "You scared us."

"Scared you, you mean," Blaise Zabini quipped from the window, though his crossed arms didn't fool anyone.

"...What's all this?" Lillian croaked, eyes catching on the piles, no, mountains of letters, sweets, and parcels stacked on every available surface of the room. Green and silver ribbons laced through every bunch. Some gifts hovered midair because there wasn't enough room on the floor.

"Letters," Draco said, as if it was obvious. "You've got about a thousand from Hogwarts students. Every house. You're a celebrity, Potter." His nose wrinkled, though not with disdain. "We made sure they delivered ours first."

"I thought..." Lillian's voice cracked. "I thought everyone forgot about me."

"Tch. You're a Slytherin, Potter," Pansy said, with none of her usual cattiness. "We don't forget our own. The rest of the school's catching up."

"Besides," Draco added, more quietly now, "I was first. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

And for the first time in weeks, Lillian didn't feel cold. Not even a little.

He looked down at their linked hands and gave a small, shaky smile. "You're a terrible influence, Malfoy."

"I'm the best influence. Ask anyone."

There were still bruises under his skin, still echoes of fists and walls and cruel words in his mind. But right now, in this hospital room overflowing with letters, guarded by fiercely protective Slytherins. 

~~~~~

"Ministry Demands Statement from Hospitalized Potter: Outrage Sparks Calls for Emancipation"

By: Rita Skeeter

It seems the Ministry of Magic has found a new low. Just days after Lillian Potter—one of the Boys Who Lived—was discovered unconscious and severely injured on a Muggle street, sources reveal that Ministry officials are pressuring the barely-healed child to make a public statement.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, citing "public clarity," has suggested a press conference, ignoring Healer advisories that Mr. Potter is still undergoing critical treatment for internal injuries and magical exhaustion.

"It's disgusting," said one St. Mungo's healer, speaking on the condition of anonymity. "He's a child. They want to parade him like a trophy before he can even stand without pain."

What's more, whispers within the Wizengamot hint at a rising demand for emancipation. Given the Ministry's failure to protect Mr. Potter and the... lack of adequate care from his Muggle guardians, many are asking the inevitable question: Should Lillian Potter remain under Ministry authority at all?

~~~~~

Lillian skimmed the article with a numb expression, the words blurring together until Draco snatched the paper from his hands.

"They're vultures," Draco spat. "They don't care about you. They just want to slap your face on the front page and pretend they fixed it all."

"You're not doing it," Pansy declared, hands on her hips.

"I wasn't planning on it," Lillian murmured, but his voice wavered. "But if it helps-"

"Don't you dare." Draco's tone cracked, and suddenly his fists were clenched at his sides. "You don't have to fix this. Not when they're the ones who failed."

There was a tension in the air. Like the moment before a spell explodes. Lillian could see it in their faces—Draco, Pansy, Blaise, even Theo Nott leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Emancipation..." Lillian said, tasting the word like it was foreign.

"It's not fair," Blaise muttered. "But it might be the only way to keep them from touching you again."

~~~~~

"MINISTER FUDGE AND DUMBLEDORE: WHO FAILED THE POTTERS?"

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

For over a decade, the Wizarding World has sung praises to Minister Cornelius Fudge and Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore for safeguarding the Boy-Who-Lived.

But after the harrowing discovery of Lillian Alexander Potter, battered, starved, and left for dead on a Muggle street, the public is asking: where were they?

Minister Fudge, when questioned at a press conference yesterday, dismissed concerns, claiming "procedural oversight" and "respect for Muggle family dynamics." However, when pressed about why no welfare checks were performed, the Minister was quick to shift the blame to Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore, long revered as the paragon of Light, has remained silent. Silent, even as one of his students suffered systemic abuse under his very nose.

Is this the care and vigilance we expect from our so-called leaders?

According to sources within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Dumbledore was fully aware of the Potter twin's guardianship arrangements. Yet, not once during Lillian's first year at Hogwarts did any staff intervene or inquire into visible signs of neglect.

"He's a boy, not a prophecy artifact," an anonymous Hogwarts staff member confided. "But they all treated him like some untouchable relic."

The revelations have ignited a storm within the Wizengamot, as prominent families, both Light and Neutral,demand accountability. Notable among them is Lucius Malfoy, who delivered a blistering petition for Lillian Potter's emancipation, condemning Ministry incompetence and Hogwarts' failure in equal measure.

Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, is said to have personally taken charge of the investigation.

The public is left wondering: Are the Boys-Who-Lived the only children falling through the cracks? Or is this merely the first exposed wound of a much deeper sickness in our institutions?

~~~~~~~~

The Wizengamot Chamber was a tempest of murmurs, robes swishing as witches and wizards filled their seats. The dark-stoned walls seemed to close in with the weight of the scandal. At the center of it all, a single empty chair stood out, where Lillian Potter should have been.

Lucius Malfoy, ever the embodiment of poise, stood at the heart of the chamber. Immaculate in his silver and black robes, his expression was carved from marble. Yet there was a glint in his eyes—predatory, calculating, but masked in righteous fury.

He didn't have to tap his cane twice for silence. The moment his voice rang through, the room hushed.

"Lillian Alexander Potter, the heir to the Potter name, and the Potter Wizengamot seat, lies in a hospital bed, unconscious, bruised, and broken, not from any Dark wizard, not from any curse, but from Muggles entrusted with his care."

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the gallery.

"He is twelve years old."

Lucius let that settle. He could feel the mood shifting.

"And yet, we sit here debating paperwork while the Ministry of Magic, this very body, allowed such neglect to persist. I ask you, is this justice? Or is it bureaucratic cowardice hidden behind a stack of outdated decrees?"

Madam Bones was watching him closely. She was no fool, but even she couldn't deny the truth in his words.

Lucius turned slightly, producing a document sealed with Malfoy wax.

"I hereby petition for the immediate emancipation of Lillian Alexander Potter, citing magical neglect, Muggle abuse, and Ministry oversight as grounds. Furthermore, I propose a temporary guardianship overseen by a neutral party until such a time as Mr. Potter is capable of making a full recovery."

The room exploded in murmurs. Neutral party? That was a clear challenge to Dumbledore's influence. Lucius had worded it perfectly, non-confrontational, yet cutting. Everybody was going to know it was Dumbledore who sent the Potter twins to the Dursleys. The old headmaster shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

~~~~~

"DUMBLEDORE PLACED POTTERS WITH ABUSIVE MUGGLES—THE GREATER GOOD?"

By: Rita Skeeter

In a revelation that has left even the most steadfast Dumbledore supporters speechless, documents surfaced early this morning confirming that Albus Dumbledore personally orchestrated the placement of Lillian and Harry Potter in the care of the Dursley family.

A confidential letter, dated November 1981, was leaked to the Prophet, bearing Dumbledore's own words:

"It is best they grow up away from fame, in the care of Petunia Dursley, where they will be safe and unspoiled."

Safe.

The same safety that left Lillian Potter hospitalized with life-threatening injuries.

Wizarding Britain is in an uproar. Protests have already begun outside the Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts Board of Governors has called an emergency assembly to discuss Dumbledore's future.

~~~~~

Chapter Text

August 11th 1992

Harry sneaked in, visibly tense, guilt heavy in his eyes. Lillian, pale and wired up to magical monitors, was awake but frail. Draco had finally left the hospital due to Lillian's health getting better day by day, and his hatred for hospital food.

"I'm sorry Lils..." Harry spoke through tears while clinging to his older brother. "I should've gone back for you-"

"No. You did the right thing. If you had gone back it would've been worse. Don't cry Harry. I'll make sure we won't be back there again. Got it?"

"How can you be sure?" Harry still didn't let go, tears choking his words. 

"Because no matter what, I will always protect you."

The next few days were rehabilitation, trying to respond to letters, and visits from friends. The nurses went out of their way and got him the full set of books needed for the upcoming year and as the end of August neared Lillian got more and more excited to escape the hospital.

August 20th 1992

The golden morning sun slanted through the enchanted windows, casting warmth over the sterile hospital room. Lillian was sitting up now, his frail frame still thinner than it should be, but his eyes were sharp, calculating, alive.

A knock came, and Madam Amelia Bones entered, parchment folder in hand, accompanied by a goblin in immaculate silver-and-green robes. The air shifted.

"Lillian Alexander Potter," Madam Bones began, her tone clipped but respectful. "The Wizengamot has ruled in favor of your petition. Today, you will be emancipated and named the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter."

The goblin stepped forward, carrying a small black velvet box. Inside gleamed the Potter Signet Ring, a deep red ruby set into an ornate gold band, magic humming beneath its surface.

Lillian's fingers trembled as he picked it up.

"Once the ring accepts you, you will no longer be under the guardianship of anyone. You will stand as an adult in the eyes of wizarding law." The goblin explained with a courteous bow.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Then Lillian slipped the ring onto his finger.

The magic pulsed. Fiercely. It rippled up his arm, through his core. The air crackled as ancient Potter wards, slumbering since his parents' death, awakened around him. Lillian gasped, but he didn't flinch.

When the magic settled, it felt... right.

Madam Bones offered a small, proud smile. "Lord Potter, your emancipation is official. The Ministry will be holding a press release, but given the Wizengamot's unanimous vote, there is nothing Fudge can do to contest it. You are free."

"Thank you." He spoke through choked words as tears began flooding his eyes.

August 30th 1992

The last few days were a whirlwind. Letters piled like small mountains in his room. The press demanded interviews. Allies sent congratulations. Enemies sent veiled threats. But Hogwarts was just around the corner, and with each step Lillian took during his rehab, he counted down the days until he could walk through those castle doors again.

Draco had returned, of course, bringing Zabini and even a reluctant Theo Nott with him, their visit turning into a "last-day-of-hospital" sleepover. They sat in ridiculous armchairs conjured by the nurses, playing wizard chess, mockingly reading the Daily Prophet's latest headlines about the "Ministry's Failed Duty of Care."

But it was the quiet moment before midnight, when the room was empty, that the weight of everything hit him.

September 1st 1992

Lillian stepped onto Platform 9¾ with a calm he didn't quite feel. Dressed in plain Muggle clothes, sleeves carefully hiding the scars still fading, he looked... normal. A boy among hundreds of other students, all eager to return to Hogwarts.

The only visible change was the Potter ring, now charmed to appear as a simple silver band. Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne had met him at the platform, keeping things light—mocking his "tragic hero brooding face" and distracting him with petty House gossip.

For now, Lillian was just another student returning to school.

He sat in a compartment with his Slytherin friends, feet kicked up, the rhythmic clatter of the train soothing him. For a while, it almost felt like the summer hadn't happened.

The compartment door slid open and Marcus Flint filled the space with his broad shoulders and easy swagger. But this time, his smirk was slower, more measured.

"Potter," he greeted, voice smooth, almost too smooth. His gaze flickered over the others—Draco, Blaise, Theo, Daphne—before settling back on Lillian, sharp and assessing. "Glad to see you're still standing."

Lillian gave him a grin. "You're going to have to try harder to kick me out of Slytherin, Flint."

Marcus chuckled, but it wasn't the usual boisterous sound. It was quieter. Measured. "Oh, I'd never let that happen. You're valuable, Potter. More valuable than you know."

There was a beat too long of silence. His words hung heavy in the air, laced with something possessive.

"I'll be keeping an eye on you this year," Marcus added, stepping into the compartment with a lazy kind of dominance. He ruffled Lillian's hair, fingers lingering a fraction too long before pulling away. "Someone's got to make sure no one takes advantage of you."

The others exchanged glances. Draco's brow furrowed, but his mouth stayed shut.

"I appreciate that, Marcus," Lillian said, though something in his gut twisted.

"Good lad." Flint's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll have a talk later, just you and me. I've got some advice for you, quidditch, politics... life at Hogwarts. Things no one else will tell you."

With that, he turned and strolled out, whistling, his presence lingering like a shadow even after the door clicked shut.

Blaise was the first to speak, tone light but laced with something sharper. "Well, that wasn't unsettling at all."

"I don't like the way he said 'valuable,'" Theo muttered.

"Marcus can be..."

"Weird, creepy, completely inappropriate?" Pansy interrupted Lillian's sentence halfway through. 

"He's harmless." Lillian rolled his eyes but something inside his gut twisted again. It was like his gut didn't trust the words coming out of his mouth. 

The Sorting had just finished. Plates were brimming with food, the hall alive with laughter and chatter. At the Slytherin table, Lillian sat amongst Draco, Blaise, and Daphne, smiling faintly at their commentary, though his eyes constantly flicked to the entrance.

Harry wasn't here.

He should be here.

The back of Lillian's neck prickled. Something was wrong.

Then, the massive oak doors creaked open. The hall didn't notice at first. Only a few heads turned.

But Lillian saw it.

Severus Snape, robes billowing ominously, strode into the hall with his trademark glower, a silent storm brewing behind his dark eyes.

The potions master walked straight to Dumbledore and Mcgonnagall before the three professors walked out of the Great Hall together in a hurried pace. 

"What's that about?" Asked Theo, his eyes, as ever, sharp and quick. 

"Something inside my gut tells me that Harry messed up and is involved." Lillian swallowed hard, the thought entering his brain with dark scenarios filling in quickly. 

"It will be fine Lils. He's unkillable. You both are." Blaise said softly while Crabb and Goyle muttered something with their mouths full.

"Vince, Greg, manners at the table." Daphne hissed at the two overgrown boys and they blushed hard at being reprimanded. 

Draco's hand wrapped around Lillian's under the table, a soft squeeze followed soon after. 

"Mister Potter." A low voice appeared behind them that made Lillian jump. "Follow me." 

Lillian stood, calm on the surface, but inside his heart was pounding. The weight of every stare followed him as he followed Snape out of the Hall.

They didn't speak as they traversed the stone corridors, Snape's robes whispering with each precise stride. Lillian matched his pace easily, head held high despite the anxious churn in his stomach.

"Is he okay?" Lillian knew it had something to do with Harry. Maybe it was a twin instinct, or maybe he just knew his brother a bit too well. 

"Surprisingly still alive."

That's all he needed to hear. The walk to the dungeons was quick. It felt like the castle was trying its hardest to reunite the Potter brothers. Snape's office was unchanged, except for so many people standing in it. The redheaded Ronald Weasley, furious McGonnagall, slightly amused Dumbledore, and finally Harry. 

"What's did you do?" Lillian asked breathlessly, not even noticing how quickly he crossed the room, enveloped his brother in a hug, before eventually slapping the back of his head. 

"Mister Potter and Mister Weasley thought it to be wise to steal an illegally charmed car and fly from London all the way to here." Snape replied with a bit too smug of a tone to his voice. 

"Harry?! Do you have a bloody death wish? Are you out of your mind?" Lillian swatted the back of his brother's head again. 

"It's not his fault-"

"I'm not talking to you Weasley." Lillian's eyes sharpened, his tone becoming more icy than before. "What you did was completely and utterly idiotic. How did that even happen?"

"The barrier. It was closed when me and Ron tried to go through it. We had to find out a way."

"You have an owl. Don't you use your brain? Maybe if you sent a letter explaining what happened, maybe, just maybe, a teacher would help you get to school? And where were Weasleys parents? I'm assuming they were the ones you stayed with?Why couldn't you wait for them, explain the situation and they could side along apparate you two to Hogsmeade without breaking the law? Haven't we gone through enough Harry? Do you want to be the next headline? You could have died!" Lillian was positively fuming, the air thicker as his anger brought his magic forwards. The Potter ring on his finger shone dimly, trying to steady the approaching outburst.  

"I'm sorry..."

"This year, you step so much as a toe out of line, and I swear to Merlin, that the next summer we will be somewhere in the countryside with no outside contact and you will be grounded." The threat was dumb, but it worked, especially since Harry knew that his brother was more than serious. 

Snape's lips twitched in the back, the other professors were just looking at the dressing down between the Potter brothers and the silent Weasley. 

"Where is the owl? I need to write to Ronald's parents."

"My parents? What for? You're not in charge of me."

"To apologize for the utter insolence of your and my brother's actions, you dimwit. Stealing their illegal car, probably almost dying on the way? Trust me Weasley, I will put you through a wall if you speak again." With that Lillian exited the room in fury, spotting Hedwig right outside in her cage. He opened Harry's trunk, took out a piece of parchment and began writing, bird cage in hand, as he walked up to the courtyard before sending the furious apology. 

Mr. and Mrs Weasley,

I am so sorry that this is how we contact each other for the first time, but I have just been made aware of your son's and my brother's entrance to the school via a flying car. I'd like to formally apologize for the stress caused by such idiocy, and offer monetary support for the damages done to your property, broken nerves, and for helping with housing Harry for the last month while I was in the hospital. 

Lord Potter. 

Hedwig flew through the night sky as he rejoined his friends, just leaving from the first feast of the school year. 

"Where were you?" Draco asked while pulling him closer to the group. 

"Harry and Weasley almost died in a flying car."

"What's a car?" Asked Blaise with a raised eyebrow as other Slytherins around them mimicked his expression

Chapter Text

The library was quieter than usual, the lingering excitement from the start-of-year feast yet to reach these shadowed alcoves. Most students were still bustling about the common rooms, swapping stories of their summers or speculating on the next Quidditch lineup.

Lillian and Draco, however, had claimed a secluded table in the far corner, parchment sprawled between them, half-heartedly trying to memorize the absurd details of Gilderoy Lockhart's "Achievements."

Lillian's head rested in his hands, elbows propped against the table as he sighed heavily. "If I have to read the words 'Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award' one more time, I'll personally mail him my dental bill."

Draco chuckled quietly, quill tapping against his lip as he reclined lazily. "At least the man's consistent. All ego, no brain." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I wouldn't mind being that famous one day. For real reasons, obviously."

Lillian lifted an eyebrow, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips. "Draco Malfoy, Quidditch hero and renowned philanthropist?"

"Exactly," Draco replied, the playful smirk softening into something more genuine. "I'm trying out for Seeker this year. Flint's not going to last forever, and Father says once I'm on the team, he'll buy me the best broom there is. Probably a Nimbus 2001." His eyes sparkled, excitement bubbling beneath his usually polished exterior.

"You'll get it," Lillian said quietly, a certainty in his tone that made Draco pause. "You're faster than you give yourself credit for. Slytherin would be lucky to have you as Seeker."

Draco preened a little at the compliment, but then, noticing Lillian's tired posture, his expression shifted. "You should try out too, you know. You'd wipe the pitch with Flint's ego."

"I hate flying, could never do it to be honest. The height the speed... It's all a bit much for me."

They fell into a companionable silence, the occasional scratch of quills and rustle of parchment filling the space between them. The heavy library air, thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, felt... safe. For now.

But in the background, whispers had started. Not about Lockhart, not about the Quidditch Cup. About him. Whispers that carried the words "Lord Potter" and "Emancipated." Lillian heard them, faint but growing, like cracks spidering across glass.

Draco noticed too. His eyes flickered briefly to a pair of first-years huddled behind a nearby shelf, sneaking glances.

"Ignore them," Draco muttered, leaning in, voice low but sharp. "They're not worth your attention. They'll get bored eventually."

Lillian smiled wryly. "They never get bored, Draco. They just find new rumors."

Draco scoffed, tone dripping with aristocratic disdain. "Well, let them talk. You've already outgrown them."

Lillian appreciated the sentiment, but it didn't lessen the weight settling on his shoulders.

"C'mon," Draco said, nudging him lightly with his foot under the table. "Let's finish this disaster of a test, and after, we'll go down to the pitch. You can watch me fly rings around Flint."

Lillian's grin returned, this time warmer, less guarded. "Deal. But if Lockhart asks us to write an essay on his hair-care routine, I'm setting the library on fire."

Draco chuckled, rolling his eyes as he dipped his quill in ink. "The faculty would probably thank you."

5th September 1992

"At least nobody on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in." Lillian heard Granger say. Why does she have to run her mouth every time? Lillian picked up the pace along with Theo and Blaise. 

"You filthy little mudblood." Hermione's face fell. The word hung in the air, cold and ugly. Lillian stiffened instantly.

Ron's ears went red. "You'll pay for that, Malfoy!"

Ron pulled his wand, but the moment it flicked, it snapped in half again, letting out a wet, spluttering noise. A thick stream of slugs spewed out of his mouth, sending him gagging to his knees.

The Slytherin team roared with laughter. Flint clapped Draco on the back like a war hero returning home.

Lillian looked at how the Gryffindor Quidditch team was holding each other back while the Slytherins laughed. What was the word that Draco used? Mudblood? What does that even really mean? It can't be bad, right? Draco isn't bad, right?

The second year Slytherins gathered together by the fireplace in the common room after dinner. Lillian was helping Greg and Vince out with their homework, only Merlin knew he was the only one with enough patience in his mind for the job. Draco was sitting right next to him, one hand casually resting on Lillian's back as the platinum blonde was reading a book about brooms and their history, Theo was joking around with Blaise, all while Daphne, Pansy, Millicent, and Tracey were gossiping about which boys they found the most handsome. 

"What does mudblood mean?" Lillian asked out of the blue, giving a break to the barely thinking Crabbe and Goyle. 

"It's a word for muggleborns, to remind them of their place." Draco replied calmly while flipping a page, his fingers dancing across Lillian's back. 

"Am I a mudblood?"

The room fell silent. Even the girls turned their heads to watch as Draco got slightly tense. 

Draco's fingers, which had been idly tracing patterns across Lillian's back, stilled. His posture stiffened, but he didn't look up from his book. "Don't be stupid, Lils. You're not a Mudblood."

"But my mum was Muggleborn," Lillian said, voice calm, but his gaze was sharp, pinned directly on Draco's profile. "That's what you said it means, right?"

The silence in the common room was suffocating now, as if the entire House was teetering on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see which way Draco would fall.

Draco's jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line. Slowly, as if weighed down by the conversation, he closed his book. "You're not like them, Lillian," he said, voice carefully measured, a quiet insistence in it, like if he spoke gently enough, the words would simply become true. "You're a Potter. You belong here."

Lillian's stomach twisted. There it was. The truth Draco was clinging to so desperately.

"That's not an answer," Lillian said quietly. His heart was pounding, but his voice stayed level. "You can't pick which people the word hurts, Draco. It's not a curse that skips over your friends."

Draco's expression faltered, just for a moment, the cool Malfoy mask cracking. But pride, especially Malfoy pride, reassembled itself just as fast. "It's different with you," he muttered, but his voice had lost its sharpness, sounding almost... defensive.

Theo and Blaise exchanged uncomfortable glances, and even Pansy had gone oddly quiet, her usual sharp tongue stilled.

"Different how?" Lillian pressed. "Because you like me? Because I'm the 'acceptable' half-blood? You can't say things like that on the pitch and pretend it doesn't mean me too."

Draco's hands curled into fists, his knuckles pale against the dark green of the couch. "I don't care what Father says," he ground out. "You're not a Mudblood. You're not."

"That's not for you to decide," Lillian said, softer now, but the weight behind his words didn't ease. "It's a choice you made. You chose to humiliate Granger in front of everyone. You chose to use that word."

Draco stood abruptly, the sudden movement making Crabbe and Goyle flinch. He wasn't angry, at least, not with Lillian, but his fists trembled at his sides. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You meant it exactly like that," Lillian said. "You just didn't mean for me to hear it."

The truth hung between them, stark and unrelenting.

"I don't want to fight with you, Lils," Draco said, softer now, as though the energy had drained out of him. His eyes were pleading, desperate for Lillian to accept the weak excuse. "You're my best friend. You're not... You're not like them."

Lillian stood too, stepping into Draco's space, his voice dropping so only Draco could hear. "Draco, I am them."

Draco's breath caught.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The common room felt like it was miles away.

Lillian stood up and walked out. Out of the common room, out of the dungeons, out of the castle. The night sky was beautiful. Stars danced above him as he sat in the courtyard. 

Alone. 

Again. 

The next morning the Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos. Owls swooped overhead, delivering post; first-years jostled plates, half-awake and clumsy. Laughter rippled through the Hufflepuff table.

At Slytherin, the second-years were filtering in slowly.

Draco dropped himself onto the bench beside Lillian with a triumphant grin, his usual arrogant charm dialed up as if last night's conversation had never happened. "Flint says I've got the Seeker position locked down. Honestly, it was obvious the moment I touched the broom. You should've seen his face, he nearly swallowed his whistle."

Lillian turned a page in the Daily Prophet, not bothering to look up. His face was blank, unreadable, a cold mask of indifference. He let Draco's words slide over him like water on glass.

"Lils, did you hear me?" Draco prodded, giving him a light nudge with his elbow. "Flint said I'm a natural."

"I heard." Lillian's voice was calm, even pleasant, but the air around him had chilled. His eyes never left the paper.

Draco frowned slightly, the reaction not what he expected. "You're in a mood this morning," he said with forced levity, glancing around as if expecting Blaise or Theo to rescue the conversation. "Is this about Lockhart's homework? Merlin, I'll do it for you if it makes you less grumpy."

Lillian folded the newspaper neatly and placed it down with deliberate care. "I'm not grumpy, Draco. Just tired of conversations that don't matter."

Draco blinked, the words not quite landing yet. "Well, we can talk about something else, then. You'll come down to the pitch later, right? Watch me fly? Father's sending over the Nimbus 2001s soon, it'll-"

"I'm busy." Lillian's tone was ice, his smile courteous but empty. "Maybe ask Flint to watch you."

Theo and Blaise exchanged a look from across the table. Pansy's chattering died mid-sentence as she turned to watch the sudden quiet between them.

Draco, flustered now, let out a short laugh that sounded too loud in the hush. "Come off it, Lils, don't be dramatic."

Lillian stood, gathering his things with meticulous precision. "Enjoy your breakfast, Draco." He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back, just walked away, shoulders straight, expression smooth, like he'd never been touched by Draco's words in the first place.

Draco sat there, mouth slightly open, as if the conversation had been snatched away before he even realized they were having one. The others watched him, but no one dared to say anything.

The dungeons were colder than usual, but Lillian didn't feel it. His footsteps echoed down the empty corridors, deliberate, yet aimless. He wasn't going anywhere in particular, just... away.

The castle was too loud. The whispers, the glances, even the concerned looks from Theo and Blaise, it all grated on him. He didn't want to be seen. Not by them.

He pushed open the door to an old, forgotten bathroom on the second floor. The hinges creaked a protest as if they knew better. The place was damp, the mirrors cracked, and the floor scattered with water stains. No one ever came here.

Except her.

"Who's there?" came a watery voice from one of the stalls. It was more curious than annoyed.

Lillian didn't answer. He just sat down on the cold stone floor, his back against the sink, legs pulled to his chest. His chin rested atop his knees as he stared blankly at the cracked tiles.

"I know you're there," Myrtle said again, drifting out through the stall door. Her translucent form hovered, peering down at him. "Most people don't come here unless they want to cry."

Lillian said nothing.

Myrtle floated closer, tilting her head, inspecting him like a curiosity. "You look like you've been holding it in," she said matter-of-factly. "Boys like you always do. Until they can't."

The words dug into him. His throat tightened. His vision blurred. But he still didn't cry.

"I'm not like you," he muttered, voice hoarse. "I'm not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself."

"Oh, of course not," Myrtle sniffled mockingly, though her tone was more wistful than cruel. "You're far too noble for that. Too proud to let anyone see how miserable you are. You'll just sit here and be alone because it feels better to be lonely on your own terms, right?"

Lillian's jaw clenched. He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, rough and angry. But the sting didn't stop.

Myrtle hovered beside him, oddly gentle now. "It hurts, doesn't it? When someone you care about says something awful, and you realize they don't even understand why it hurts you."

He didn't respond. He didn't have to.

"I used to think if I just ignored them, they'd stop," Myrtle continued softly. "But they didn't. They never do."

"I'm not going to give them the satisfaction," Lillian said, voice sharp, but his chest ached with the force of it. "Not Draco, not anyone. I won't let them think they've won."

Myrtle smiled, though it was a sad, watery thing. "Then you're already braver than I ever was."

The bathroom lapsed into silence, broken only by the occasional drip of a leaky faucet.

Lillian sat there a long time, the ache in his chest heavy but contained. He didn't sob. He didn't collapse. But the tears fell, silent and steady, his face cold and expressionless as they did.

Myrtle floated nearby, watching but not intruding.

Chapter Text

The days blurred.

Lillian went to classes. He sat where he was supposed to. His quill moved across parchment, though the words he copied didn't seem to register. He answered when called, though his voice was flat, mechanical.

It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness.

It was nothing.

In Potions, Professor Snape's eyes lingered longer than usual. He never said anything directly, but Lillian caught it, the subtle narrowing of eyes as if he were waiting for a snide remark or sharp observation that never came.

During Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall paused mid-lecture when she noticed Lillian staring blankly at his desk, his wand untouched beside him. "Mr. Potter," she said sharply. "Are you quite alright?"

Lillian blinked slowly, as if returning from a distant place. "Yes, Professor."

But he wasn't.

He could feel Theo watching him from across the aisle. Blaise too, though neither said anything. They tried once, a casual invitation to lunch, a nudge at breakfast, but Lillian had responded with a polite, distant smile. The kind that ended conversations before they began.

Even Draco had tried, slipping into his usual seat beside Lillian in the common room, pretending that afternoon by the fireplace had never happened. But the warmth wasn't there anymore. Lillian's replies were courteous, hollow.

He wasn't angry. He was simply... elsewhere.

And in that elsewhere, a new presence began to stir.

It started faint. A hiss, barely distinguishable from the usual creaks of Hogwarts' stone walls. A slithering whisper that brushed the edge of his consciousness, like silk sliding over skin. He couldn't make out the words at first, but the tone was unmistakable. Cold. Insidious. Hungry.

"Come..."

Lillian flinched, eyes darting toward the corridor as they exited Defense Against the Dark Arts. No one else reacted.

The whisper faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind an uneasy silence in its wake.

October 31st 1992

The Great Hall was alive with flickering candlelight, carved pumpkins grinning from every corner, and bewitched bats swooping in lazy circles under the enchanted ceiling. The laughter and chatter echoed warmly off the stone walls, filling the hall with a hum that was nearly enough to make Lillian forget the last two months.

Nearly.

He sat with the Slytherins, Draco lounging beside him, smugly recounting his latest Quidditch practice to anyone who would listen. Theo and Blaise were snickering at something Pansy had whispered, Greg and Vince were too busy shoveling treacle tart into their mouths to care about anything else.

Lillian was... present. Smiling when appropriate. Nodding along. But his mind wasn't here.

The whispers had been quiet tonight. Too quiet.

"Oi, Lils, you're drifting off again." Draco nudged him, not unkindly. His smirk didn't hold the same edge it used to. "Try not to fall asleep in your pie."

"I'm awake," Lillian muttered, forcing a small smile. "Just... thinking."

Draco huffed, leaning back dramatically. "Don't know why you bother with that. Tonight's for eating, not thinking."

Lillian almost laughed. 

Almost.

The feast ended in the usual flood of students, house tables emptying as everyone ambled toward their dormitories, still buzzing from too much sugar and laughter.

The Slytherins were weaving their way through the dungeons when a loud, wet squelch echoed from the corridor up ahead.

"Did you hear that?" Daphne asked, pausing mid-conversation.

Blaise squinted ahead, his casual smirk slipping into something more alert. "Someone's pulled a prank, probably. Peeves again?"

But as they rounded the corner, it was obvious this wasn't a prank.

Mrs. Norris hung stiffly from a torch bracket, her fur matted and rigid as stone. The corridor was silent, except for the chilling drip of water pooling beneath her.

Then, the wall caught their attention.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

The letters gleamed wet and red, dripping down the stone like fresh wounds.

For a moment, no one spoke. The Slytherins stood frozen, even Draco, whose usual bravado dissolved into stunned silence.

Lillian's stomach twisted. The words on the wall. The whispers that had been haunting him. His mouth went dry.

"Is she dead?" Pansy asked, her voice high, almost a squeak.

"No," Lillian said before he even realized he was moving. He stepped closer, inspecting Mrs. Norris with a detached calm that unnerved even himself. "Petrified."

The word tasted bitter.

Footsteps thundered behind them as students poured in, voices rising into a wave of confusion and fear. Then came Filch, his wail of horror cutting through the crowd like a knife.

"You!" Filch's finger jabbed in Lillian's direction. "You did this! I'll have you expelled!"

"I didn't," Lillian said quietly, but his tone lacked defensiveness. He wasn't scared. Just tired. "I've been at the Feast all evening."

But his words barely registered to Filch, whose frantic, guttural accusations drowned in his own panic.

Teachers arrived soon after, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, their presence doing little to quell the rising storm of whispers around the students.

Yet through it all, Lillian stood still, eyes fixed on the blood-red letters, his mind racing not with fear, but with recognition.

He had heard that voice in the walls.

Later, back in the Slytherin common room, no one was laughing.

The usual after-feast buzz was gone. Conversations were subdued, glances flickering toward Lillian when they thought he wasn't looking.

Even Draco was unusually quiet, though he sat beside Lillian on the sofa, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, as if unsure whether to say something or stay silent.

Lillian didn't offer him a choice.

He stood, excusing himself to his dorm, but the truth was, he needed to breathe. Alone. Again.

But this time, it wasn't pride holding him back.

It was something else.

Once Lillian had retreated to his dorm, the remaining second-years stayed behind, lingering around the fireplace.

Draco was the first to speak.

"He's going to get himself killed."

The words hung heavy, not dramatic, not flippant. Just fact.

Theo leaned back, arms crossed, watching the firelight flicker against the stone walls. "He won't ask for help."

"Doesn't mean we can't give it anyway," Blaise said with a shrug, though his tone was far too serious for his usual laziness.

Pansy, for once, didn't snarl or sneer. She looked towards the stairs leading to the boys' dorms, a frown creasing her brow. "We can't let him be alone. If someone's targeting Muggleborns... Half-bloods are next."

Draco's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. "No one touches him. Ever."

Daphne smirked faintly. "Then we'll need to be clever about it. Lils isn't going to take kindly to us smothering him."

"I don't care if he takes kindly to it or not," Draco snapped. "He's not going to die because he's too stubborn to ask for help."

So the plan formed—subtle but thorough. No matter where Lillian went, one of them would follow. In the library, in the corridors, even in classes, they'd position themselves around him. It wouldn't always be the same person, to keep him from noticing. But alone? He wouldn't get that luxury again.

Chapter Text

At first, Lillian barely noticed.

The next morning, Blaise strolled alongside him down to breakfast, chattering lazily about Quidditch strategies. Later, in Potions, Theo took the seat beside him, instead of his usual spot next to Blaise. In the corridor after Charms, Pansy slowed her pace to match his, arms crossed as if she was simply annoyed, but her gaze was flicking constantly down the hallways.

Even during his afternoon library retreat, Daphne and Millicent just happened to be there, occupying a table nearby, close enough to intervene but not close enough to seem suspicious.

Lillian chalked it up to coincidence. For a while.

It wasn't until a few days later, while he was trying to escape into the Astronomy Tower for some peace, that it clicked.

He had barely reached the second staircase when Draco appeared out of nowhere, leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed.

"Going somewhere?"

Lillian's eyes narrowed. "Since when do you take evening strolls up here?"

Draco's grin was infuriating. "Since you got a fan club of homicidal maniacs."

Lillian stared.

And then it hit him.

"You're following me."

"Not me, personally," Draco said, as if that excused it. "We're... coordinating."

Lillian's stomach twisted, not with anger, but something colder. "You're babysitting me."

"Protecting you." Draco's tone hardened. "And before you go on about how you don't need it, spare me. You're not going to be alone, Lils. Not anymore."

Lillian felt the walls closing in. The coldness he had used to keep everyone out was now trapping him in.

"Draco..."

"No." The finality in Draco's voice startled him. "No arguments. You don't get a say in this."

Lillian's hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to shout, to storm off, to break something, but none of it would change the fact that his friends had moved without him.

November 7th 1992

The stands were alive with color and noise, banners waving in the cold November air. Slytherin green dominated one side, while Gryffindor's scarlet roared defiantly on the other. The rivalry had never felt more personal.

Lillian sat with the Slytherin contingent, flanked by Theo and Daphne. His scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck, more as a shield than for warmth. The cheers around him felt distant, muffled by the gnawing discomfort in his chest.

Because today wasn't just about House Points.

Today was Draco's first match as Seeker.

And Harry Potter was on the opposing side.

Theo nudged Lillian. "He's going to thrash him, you know."

Lillian's eyes flickered to him. "Which one?"

Theo smirked. "Take your pick."

Madame Hooch's whistle pierced the air, and the players launched into the sky. The crowd's roar was deafening. Lillian's gaze found Draco immediately, lean, focused, silver hair glinting in the sun as he dived into a textbook-perfect loop. His movements were sharp, honed, and for a moment, Lillian felt a flicker of pride.

But then his eyes tracked Harry.

Harry flew like the broom was an extension of himself, no showmanship, no theatrics, just pure, effortless control. And it made something ache deep in Lillian's chest.

"You alright, Lils?" Daphne asked, subtle but perceptive as always.

"I'm fine," Lillian muttered. He wasn't.

The match turned quickly.

It was a Bludger.

But not just any Bludger.

It had been cursed.

And it wasn't targeting Draco.

It was gunning for Harry.

Lillian's knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing. "Something's wrong."

"What do you mean?" Theo asked, leaning forward.

"That Bludger, it's locked on him. That's not normal."

The realization spread quickly. Even the Slytherins weren't cheering anymore.

Harry was weaving, spiraling, trying to evade the Bludger while keeping an eye on the Snitch. Draco, oblivious to the sabotage, was tailing him, eager to prove himself. The crowd was torn between awe and horror.

"Shouldn't someone stop this?" Daphne muttered, glancing towards the staff stands where Lockhart was already preening, oblivious.

"Fat chance," Blaise said darkly.

Lillian stood up abruptly. He was halfway down the stairs before Theo could grab him.

It was over in a flash.

Draco caught the Snitch.

But the Bludger struck Harry with a force so strong it threw him off the broom.

The impact echoed across the pitch, and Harry spiraled down, his broom veering wildly before he crashed into the ground with a sickening thud. The stadium held its breath.

Lillian was frozen, rooted to the spot, even as Lockhart pranced forward, wand drawn in exaggerated flair.

"No-" Lillian whispered, but it was too late.

One flick, one idiotic incantation, and Harry's arm collapsed into a boneless, rubbery mess.

The Gryffindor stands screamed. The Slytherins were caught between gleeful sneers and genuine concern. Draco stood on his broom, frozen mid-air, staring down at Harry, his face pale.

Lillian couldn't move.

He couldn't stop seeing his brother's face twisted in pain, couldn't stop the cold dread that had been building for weeks from curling tighter around his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin common room was alive with celebration, green and silver scarves tossed carelessly over chairs, goblets raised high. Draco Malfoy was the star of the night, basking in his victory as Slytherin's newest Seeker. The House's golden boy, reveling in the adoration.

And yet, his eyes kept darting to the corner where Lillian Potter sat, silent and detached, pretending to read while the festivities swirled around him.

Draco downed his drink, shoved Pansy's hand off his arm, and marched over.

"Lils," he said, plopping uninvited into the seat opposite. "You're really determined to keep up this dramatic loner act, aren't you?"

Lillian didn't look up. "I'm not in the mood to celebrate."

Draco snorted. "Oh, come off it. This is about that Mudblood nonsense again, isn't it?"

Lillian's fingers tightened around his book. "It wasn't nonsense."

"Yes, it was," Draco said firmly, leaning in, eyes sharp with conviction. "A stupid word that you're letting ruin months of friendship. You know I didn't mean you."

Lillian's jaw tensed. "You shouldn't mean anyone."

Draco huffed, exasperated. "It's just how things are, Lils. You're acting like I murdered someone. It's a word. A bad habit. Not some unforgivable crime."

"It felt like one."

Draco's tone softened, coaxing now, almost gentle. "I was angry. Granger insulted my family. What was I supposed to do, let that slide? You know what it's like. You'd defend your family too, wouldn't you?"

Lillian hesitated. His gut twisted uncomfortably. Of course he'd defend his family. Even if they were complicated. Even if it meant saying things he didn't really believe. The loneliness of the past weeks clawed at his insides. He was tired. Tired of sitting alone. Tired of pretending he was above it all.

Draco saw it, the hesitation, and seized it.

"You're not like them, Lils. You've always been different. Special." Draco smiled, not his usual smirk, but something more personal. "I don't want to fight with you. None of us do. You're the heart of this group, and it's bloody empty without you. So, stop punishing yourself over this. Come back."

Lillian's throat felt tight. His heart ached with how badly he wanted to believe Draco. How badly he wanted to sit with them again, laugh with them again. Maybe... maybe Draco was right. Maybe he was making too much of this. He was tired of fighting.

"Maybe I... overreacted," Lillian said quietly, almost numb as the words left his mouth.

Draco's grin returned, triumphant but relieved. "Finally. There's the Lils I know."

Draco stood and tugged him up by the arm, pulling him towards the others without giving Lillian time to second-guess himself. "Come on, Blaise is about to try and juggle butterbeer bottles. You can't miss that disaster."

Lillian followed, a hollow ache in his chest where his anger had been. The guilt was still there, tucked into the corners of his mind, but the noise and warmth of his friends pressed it down.

For now.

Chapter Text

The castle was eerily silent.

Lillian's bare feet padded softly against the cold stone floor, a faint echo the only company as he slipped through the corridors, careful to avoid the gaze of lingering portraits. His heart thudded, a dull ache of worry pressing against his ribs. He shouldn't be here. He knew that. But he had to see him. Had to make sure.

The doors of the hospital wing creaked faintly as he pushed them open.

Harry lay still in the far bed, pale and fragile beneath the moonlight streaming through the high windows. His chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. That was all Lillian needed. Proof that he was breathing. Proof that he hadn't failed him. Not this time.

But the sight dragged him back anyway.

Uncle Vernon's fists were like bricks, each blow punctuated with a growled slur or a barked insult. Lillian had learned to stay quiet through it, learned that tears just made it worse.

He didn't remember much of that particular night, just the taste of blood and the ache in his ribs as he crawled out of the cupboard after the door had finally been unlocked.

Harry had found him curled up on the floor, bruises spreading like ink under his skin. Harry, terrified but determined, had stayed up all night, sitting by Lillian's side, hand lightly resting on his back, just to feel him breathe.

"Don't leave me, Lils," Harry had whispered, over and over, like a prayer.

Lillian blinked away the sting in his eyes, brushing a knuckle roughly across his cheek as he stood beside Harry's bed now.

"I'm still here, Harry," he whispered. "I'm not leaving you."

He stood there for a long while, watching the steady rhythm of his brother's breaths. It was only when his limbs began to ache from standing so still that he turned and left the infirmary, the cold castle air feeling sharper now, cutting through the thin fabric of his pyjamas.

There was a second attack. Some kid was lying there, petrified, camera in hand. He looked lifeless. Some Gryffindor. But it felt so chilling. 

When he pushed open the door to the Slytherin dormitory, Draco was sitting up in bed, bleary-eyed but alert, as though he'd been waiting.

"Couldn't sleep?" Draco asked, his voice soft, stripped of its usual smugness.

Lillian didn't answer. He just stood there, expression unreadable, but his eyes were glassy. Draco frowned, patting the space beside him.

"Come here, you stubborn idiot."

Lillian obeyed wordlessly, slipping under Draco's blanket, the chill of his skin making Draco flinch slightly before he threw an arm around him, pulling him in without hesitation.

"Was it Potter?" Draco asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Lillian gave a faint nod.

"I get it," Draco murmured into his hair. "Brothers. Complicated messes."

Lillian didn't respond, didn't cry, but his body trembled, not enough to be called shivering, but just enough that Draco noticed. He tightened his hold, fingers gently brushing Lillian's back, grounding him.

"You're not alone, Lils. You don't have to keep doing this alone."

The words were a quiet promise, so unlike Draco's usual bluster. Lillian closed his eyes, allowing himself, just this once, to believe him. To let someone hold him up when he was too tired to stand alone.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it found them tangled together, just like that night on June 5th. As if nothing had changed.

Lillian awoke slowly, as though his mind was reluctant to surface from the quiet haze of sleep. Warmth cocooned him, a steady rhythm of breathing beneath his ear. It took a moment for him to register the weight of Draco's arm slung over his waist, the soft press of fingers against his ribs, like Draco was still holding him in place even in dreams.

For once, the walls Lillian kept around himself didn't feel necessary.

The dungeons were dim, only a faint emerald glow from the enchanted sconces on the walls marking the passage of night into morning. The usual cold didn't seem to reach him here, not in this narrow slice of the world where everything was still, quiet, and safe.

Draco shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent into Lillian's hair, but didn't wake. His grip didn't loosen.

Lillian let his eyes fall shut again.

It wasn't a big deal.

That thought nestled into his mind, unbidden but persistent.

Draco's right. I overreacted. He didn't mean it the way it sounded. He's not like his father. Not with me. People say stupid things sometimes... It doesn't mean they're bad. He's here, isn't he? He cares.

It was easier, this way. Easier to believe that word hadn't changed anything, to believe the cold distance of the last two months had been unnecessary. That the aching loneliness he had wrapped himself in had been his own fault, a needless punishment for something that could have been forgiven.

He needed this. Needed to believe Draco was still his friend. Still safe.

I've been a right prat, he thought bitterly, guilt coiling in his chest. He never gave up on me. I'm the one who made it all complicated.

He sighed softly, leaning a little closer, as if the mere contact could drown out the noise in his head. For now, it did.

When Draco stirred again, blinking blearily down at him, his first instinct wasn't to tease. He just smiled, half-asleep and content.

"Morning, Lils."

Lillian smiled back, small but real. "Morning."

They didn't need words beyond that.

For now, everything was simple again.

By afternoon, it was as if the past two months had never happened.

The Slytherin common room was alive with its usual quiet arrogance: Theo and Blaise had resumed their endless chess rivalry in the corner, Tracey and Daphne were sprawled across the emerald couches gossiping about the latest Witch Weekly, and Crabbe and Goyle were happily arguing over Bertie Bott's Beans, too engrossed in whether a flavor was "vomit" or "cauliflower" to notice Lillian had quietly snagged the last chocolate one.

Draco, perched beside him, was in the middle of a passionate rant about how the Nimbus 2001's tail twigs were obviously superior to the Gryffindor's pathetic brooms. He was animated, bright-eyed, and every now and then, he'd nudge Lillian with his knee, as if daring him to argue back.

Lillian didn't.

He just leaned back, soaking in the familiar cadence of their banter, the soft crackle of the fireplace, the warmth of his housemates spread lazily around the room. The shadows that had clung to him for weeks seemed distant, diluted by the comforting hum of normalcy.

No one mentioned the argument. No one brought up the word that had fractured everything. It didn't exist here.

Not today.

When Pansy plopped down beside them, dramatically complaining about Lockhart's latest attempt to charm the suits of armor into serenading the students, Lillian found himself laughing. Not the hollow, forced sort of laugh he had grown used to, but something light and genuine. Draco glanced at him then, and for a heartbeat, their old rhythm clicked back into place.

"See, this is much better," Draco said, his tone smug, but the way his eyes softened told Lillian it wasn't just about him. It was about them, this unspoken victory of things being right again.

And for now, Lillian let himself believe it.

November 9th 1992

The day unfolded like something out of a silly storybook.

Classes were laughably easy. Snape was in an uncharacteristically sour mood (even for him), grumbling over the Gryffindor team's crushing defeat, which meant that he barely spared his usual venom on the Slytherins. Lillian and Draco spent most of Potions swapping quips about Flint's ridiculous victory speech, causing Theo to nearly botch his shrinking solution from trying to hide his snorts.

After lunch, they'd skipped off to the Quidditch pitch under the pretense of "training" but had ended up lazing around, tossing the Quaffle back and forth while arguing over who had worse fashion sense: Gilderoy Lockhart or Cornelius Fudge.

By the time evening rolled in, Lillian's cheeks ached from laughing.

Dinner in the Great Hall was more of the same. Pansy and Daphne had cornered them into planning a "Slytherin-exclusive" prank war against Ravenclaw, and even Theo, usually aloof and dry, was cracking up at the ridiculous ideas being thrown around.

For the first time in months, Lillian wasn't waiting for the weight to drop. There was no lingering ache behind his ribs. No cold. Just normalcy.

But the castle didn't care about his peace.

It was well past curfew when Lillian found himself in the common room alone. He should've gone to bed with the others, but he wasn't ready to let go of the calm just yet.

Then, it started.

"Come to me..."

"Let me carve you open..."

"I smell blood..."

The whispers slithered through the stones, soft at first, but rising—relentless, angry, starved. His throat tightened, breath hitching as his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

No. Not now. Not again.

His body wouldn't listen. The common room spun. His lungs constricted, dragging in sharp, shallow gasps. His chest hurt. His head hurt. It was too much.

He barely registered the sound of footsteps before Draco's voice cut through the haze, sharp and alarmed.

"Lils? Lillian, what's wrong?"

Lillian tried to answer, but it came out as a strangled gasp. Draco was suddenly there, hands gripping his shoulders, grounding, solid.

"Breathe. Merlin's sake, Lils, you're safe. You're here with me, you're fine."

Lillian focused on the warmth of Draco's hands, the steady tone of his voice, clinging to it like a rope out of the storm. Slowly, painfully, his breathing evened out, the suffocating grip loosening bit by bit.

"Talk to me," Draco whispered, softer now, his hand moving from Lillian's shoulder to his hair, fingers combing through gently. "What happened?"

Lillian's throat was raw, but the words came automatic, familiar, safe. "It's just... a nightmare. About... about the Dursleys." His voice wavered, but he forced the lie to hold. "They used to- when I was little-"

Draco's face darkened instantly, his jaw set with a cold, burning fury. "Those filthy Muggles. Lils, you should've told me. You don't have to face that alone."

Lillian nodded, hollow. It was easier this way. Easier to let Draco believe in the old scars than explain the serpent-words gnawing at his mind.

Draco pulled him closer, their usual snark stripped away, replaced with a fierce protectiveness. "You're safe here. With me. I won't let anyone touch you."

Lillian closed his eyes, let himself believe it.

Chapter Text

December 5th 1992

The first snow of the season had turned the Hogwarts grounds into a glistening white playground, the kind that invited mischief and laughter. Lillian squinted against the bright winter sun, feeling the cold bite at his cheeks as he crouched behind a low stone wall with Draco beside him.

"Ready to lose, Potter?" Draco teased, snowball packed tightly in hand, a mischievous gleam in his pale eyes.

Lillian smirked, his fingers already gathering snow. "In your dreams, Malfoy."

Theo and Blaise, their opponents, were just on the other side of the courtyard, bent over, preparing their own arsenal of icy ammunition.

With a sharp cry, Blaise lobbed the first snowball, which whistled through the air, too slow, and Lillian caught it effortlessly. "Is that all?" He taunted, flinging his own missile with surprising accuracy. It hit Theo squarely on the shoulder, and the Gryffindor yelped, shaking off the cold.

Draco burst into laughter, and Lillian was surprised to find himself laughing too, light, free, without a care.

Suddenly, Draco took off running, throwing himself into the chase, snowball after snowball flying. Lillian dodged, ducked, and then took aim, hitting Draco right on the side of his head. The blonde staggered dramatically but grinned.

"You're cheating!" Draco accused, snow trailing from his hair.

"All's fair in snow and war," Lillian quipped, the two collapsing into a heap on the cold stone ground, breathless and grinning.

From the sidelines, Pansy called, "You two look ridiculous."

"Yeah, but we're winning," Draco shot back.

December 17th 1992

The Great Hall had never looked so bizarre.

Tables had been vanished, replaced with a long, narrow platform in the center of the room. Candles floated high above, casting flickering shadows over the crowd of students buzzing with excitement. The Hogwarts Dueling Club, as Lockhart dramatically proclaimed, was officially in session.

Lillian stood with the Slytherins, Draco practically vibrating with anticipation at his side, Theo and Blaise exchanging bets on how many times Lockhart would trip over his own cape.

It was supposed to be harmless. Silly. Another Lockhart-fueled disaster.

Until it wasn't.

"Potter versus Malfoy!" Snape announced, voice silky with poorly masked amusement.

Draco gave Lillian a wink as he strutted to the platform, his wand twirling expertly in his hand. Harry followed, his movements tense, his eyes flicking briefly to Lillian. But Lillian didn't move. He stayed still, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the platform.

The duel was short, messy, and exactly what everyone expected, a swirl of Lockhart's useless commentary and Snape's thinly veiled disdain.

But then, Draco conjured a snake.

It wasn't meant to be anything special, a typical Slytherin show-off move. But when the snake slithered towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, rearing to strike, the air changed.

"DON'T MOVE, Potter!" Lockhart bellowed.

He shouldn't have tried a spell.

The snake hissed, scales gleaming under the candlelight, and struck-

-and Harry spoke.

Words that weren't words, a strange, twisting tongue that made the air itself coil and recoil.

"Leave him alone!" Harry hissed.

The snake froze.

But the hall didn't.

Whispers exploded through the crowd, loud, sharp. He's a Parselmouth. He's a Dark wizard. He's the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry looked confused, lost, as Justin scrambled back in terror. His eyes sought Lillian in the crowd.

But Lillian said nothing.

He could feel the Slytherins watching him, waiting for him to chime in, to throw a smirk, a jab, a Potter twin solidarity quip. But his lips stayed sealed. He crossed his arms tighter, let his expression harden into something unreadable.

Because if they were all so eager to believe in the "Heir of Slytherin," then let them stare at Harry.

Lillian couldn't afford more eyes on him.

The tension in the Slytherin common room that night was electric.

"Did you see his face?" Pansy shrieked. "He liked talking to that snake."

Draco was eating up the attention, already crafting his next "Heir of Slytherin" jab, but Lillian stayed distant, slouched into the far corner of the couch, thumbing through a Quidditch magazine without reading a single word.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Theo remarked, plopping down next to him, eyes sharp as ever.

"Nothing to say," Lillian replied, tone light, careless. "Harry does a fine job embarrassing himself without my help."

It was a lie, and Theo knew it. But, to Lillian's relief, he let it go.

For the first time, Lillian didn't seek Harry out after a disaster. He didn't go check on him. He didn't offer a brotherly nudge or an awkward shoulder bump.

And Harry noticed.

December 18th 1992

The next morning, their paths crossed in the corridor outside Charms. Harry's expression was a mix of frustration and betrayal, his green eyes a mirror of Lillian's own.

"You knew, didn't you?" Harry said, voice low. "You knew you could do it too."

Lillian's smile was razor-thin. "Guess it skipped me."

Harry's frown deepened, but before he could say more, Draco appeared at Lillian's side, throwing an arm over his shoulder and steering him away.

The distance between the Potter twins grew with every step.

The warmth of the common room was a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. Lillian sat by the fire with Draco and the others, still flushed from the snowball fight earlier in the day. For a moment, the world felt light and ordinary.

But then came the news.

The hallways buzzed with whispers and anxious murmurs. Justin Finch-Fletchley, a fellow student, had been found petrified near the library. Panic rippled through the castle.

The festive atmosphere vanished like mist. Lillian sat frozen, heart pounding as the weight of the threat settled over them.

Lillian felt the cold grip of fear tighten inside him, but before he could even react, Draco's hand found his arm and held on tight, as if afraid that letting go would mean losing the last thread of safety.

"Lils," Draco whispered urgently, his voice trembling despite the usual coolness he wore like armor. "We'll get through this. Together."

Lillian's breath caught. Draco's usual arrogance was replaced by a raw, desperate need for security. The platinum blonde's grip didn't falter as the room around them seemed to close in.

For a moment, all the whispered rumors, the slights, the distance, they vanished.

They were just two boys, clutching to each other in the growing darkness.

December 20th 1992

The invitation came wrapped in the finest parchment, sealed with the Malfoy crest in glistening silver wax. Draco had shoved it into Lillian's hands before breakfast with a grin that was impossible to refuse.

"You're not spending Christmas alone in that drafty castle," Draco had declared. "You're coming home with me."

Malfoy Manor was exactly as grand as the stories whispered through Hogwarts hallways. Towering iron gates, pristine marble floors, sweeping staircases that spiraled into vaulted ceilings of enchanted constellations.

But what Lillian hadn't expected was how warm it felt.

Not literally, Lucius Malfoy wouldn't dare sacrifice aesthetic chill for something as plebeian as a roaring fire, but in the way Narcissa greeted him, soft and genuine, her cool fingers cupping his cheek like he belonged there.

"Welcome home, Lillian," she said, as if it had always been his place.

Lucius, ever the composed lord, inclined his head in a manner that was both regal and, surprisingly, not patronizing. "Our home is at your disposal, Lord Potter."

Draco had just rolled his eyes at the formality and tugged Lillian upstairs.

At night, the Manor felt endless. Lillian would wake up sometimes, restless, wander through those silent, candle-lit hallways, only to find Draco doing the same.

They didn't need words. Just silent company. A glance. A nudge.

One of those nights, Draco had whispered, "This is what it'll be like, Lils. When we're older. The world outside can tear itself apart. But here? Here, we're safe."

And Lillian believed him.

Chapter Text

February 14th 1993

Hogwarts had descended into absolute madness.

Lockhart's deranged sense of romanticism had reached its peak, and the castle suffered for it. Enchanted pink and red streamers hung from the rafters, heart-shaped confetti rained perpetually in the corridors, and most horrifyingly, armor sets had been bewitched to sing sappy ballads as students passed by.

Lillian stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, expression flat. He could hear Blaise cackling behind him as one suit of armor crooned a particularly screechy rendition of "My Enchanted Heart Beats For Thee."

"Make it stop," Lillian muttered, but Blaise only laughed harder.

"Not until Lockhart gets thrown off a tower," Theo grinned, throwing a protective arm around Lillian's shoulder. "We suffer together, mate."

Further down the corridor, a squadron of dwarves dressed in lumpy cherub costumes, stormed after unsuspecting students, Lockhart's infamous Valentine's Cupids, delivering musical messages of affection.

"Bet five Galleons one of those things tackles Potter before the end of lunch," Daphne said, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk.

Lillian let himself laugh, genuinely laugh, for the first time in days. "Make it ten."

Draco was beside him, but quieter than usual. His eyes weren't on the cupids or the confetti-stained mess of Hogwarts Valentine's insanity. They were on Lillian.

And on the black-bound diary peeking out of Harry Potter's satchel as the younger Potter was busy dodging a cupid in the Entrance Hall.

Lillian didn't notice when Draco slipped away. He was too busy shielding himself from a rogue handful of glittering rose petals and trying to keep Vince and Greg from challenging the singing armor to a duel.

It was only a few minutes later when Draco reappeared by Lillian's side, looking smug, victorious, and, most importantly, hiding something in his robes.

"What did you do?" Lillian asked suspiciously, nudging Draco with his elbow.

"Nothing illegal," Draco said, his grin just a little too sharp. "And nothing you need to worry about, Lils."

Lillian rolled his eyes, but Draco's hand slid to his back again, grounding, possessive, familiar.

Late February 1993

Draco traced his fingers across the diary's cover, the texture of aged leather cool beneath his skin. It had been two weeks since he'd slipped it from Potter's bag, a quiet theft amidst the Lockhart-induced Valentine's chaos. At first he took it only to see what kind of stupid secrets Harry Potter could hide in his precious diary. But the pages were blank. No invisible ink either.

He hadn't told anyone. Not even Lillian.

It had started innocently enough. Scribbles in the margins, idle curiosities, thoughts he'd never voice aloud. And the diary had answered back.

At first, Draco had been amused. A trick, surely. A clever charm. But the longer he wrote, the more... understood he felt. Tom Riddle didn't mock him, didn't judge the insecurities he wouldn't breathe near his friends. The diary was patient, always ready, always listening.

"People are beneath you, Draco. Even your friends. They need you more than you need them."

Draco slammed it shut, breathing shallow. That line had echoed in his head for days now. And yet, he kept writing.

Still, no matter how clever Riddle's words were, Draco found himself gravitating back to one constant. Lillian.

The diary had opinions about that too.

"You shouldn't let yourself get attached to someone weaker than you, Draco. You're destined for greater things. Even he will weigh you down in the end."

And yet... Riddle didn't understand. He didn't know how it felt when Lillian looked at him like he mattered, like Draco Malfoy was more than just a name his father polished for political gain.

It was Lillian's stubbornness, his infuriating loyalty, that kept Draco tethered.

But lately, it felt like the diary had planted seeds of doubt in every other friendship. Conversations with Blaise felt hollow, Theo's sarcasm felt grating, Pansy's chatter turned to background noise.

Only Lillian still felt real.

March 3rd 1993

"Draco, you're spacing out again."

Lillian's voice was sharp, but not angry. Concerned.

Draco blinked, startled by how cold the wind felt against his face. He hadn't even realized he'd stopped walking.

"I'm fine," Draco lied, forcing a smirk onto his lips. "Just thinking about how much money Father would donate to have Lockhart forcibly removed from the school."

Lillian gave him a look, one that pierced straight through his carefully curated walls. "You've been off lately."

Draco's fingers twitched, craving the familiar weight of the diary hidden in his robe pocket.

"I'm fine, Lils," Draco repeated, a little too fast, a little too defensive. "Not all of us wear our emotions on our sleeves, you know."

Lillian's eyes narrowed. "You can talk to me, you idiot."

Draco hated how much he wanted to believe that. Instead of answering, he looped an arm around Lillian's shoulder, pulling him close in a rare display of public affection. "Let's go to the library. You can help me destroy those Lockhart essays."

Lillian didn't push. He just let it slide. As he always did.

Draco's grip on his friend tightened slightly. Riddle didn't understand this. He never would.

March 10th 1993

The dungeons were humming softly with the chatter of post-classes boredom. It was one of those rare afternoons where homework had been collectively ignored in favor of mindless lounging.

Lillian sat curled up on the emerald-stitched sofa, Pansy perched next to him, legs tucked under her. Their conversation was light, aimless, a swirl of nonsense about Valentine's Day disaster-grams and which of Lockhart's hairstyles was most criminal.

Draco watched from across the room.

Watched how Lillian's lips curved into an easy smile at something Pansy said.

Watched how Lillian leaned in when Pansy whispered a joke, both of them stifling laughter behind their hands.

Watched how comfortable it all looked.

His grip on the diary, hidden beneath a Transfiguration book, tightened.

"You see how easily they move on without you, Draco?" Riddle's words slithered through his mind, more vivid now, like a constant pulse beneath his skin. "You're an accessory to them. Replaceable."

Draco snapped the book shut with a sharp thwack, standing up abruptly. Heads turned briefly, but he didn't care.

In three strides, he was in front of them, his shadow casting over Lillian and Pansy.

"Mind if I borrow him, Pans?" Draco's tone was smooth, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Pansy blinked, slightly taken aback. "We were just-"

"I know," Draco interrupted, extending a hand to Lillian, his fingers curling in a silent demand. "But I need him now."

Lillian looked up, confusion flickering across his face. "Dray, we were just-"

"Now, Lils." The words were softer this time, but edged with a quiet, dangerous finality.

Pansy, ever the Slytherin, recognized the undercurrent and slid off the sofa gracefully, muttering a half-hearted excuse as she retreated.

Lillian sighed, standing up. "Alright, alright. Merlin, you're dramatic today."

Draco's hand didn't leave Lillian's wrist as he steered him towards the far alcove, a secluded spot partially hidden by stone pillars.

"What's gotten into you?" Lillian asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was light, but there was a thread of tension beneath it.

Draco didn't answer immediately. He pressed Lillian back against the cool stone, not roughly, but firmly enough to make a point. His hand remained on Lillian's wrist, thumb brushing over the pulse point, grounding himself.

"I don't like sharing you," Draco said simply, voice low, intimate.

Lillian's lips parted in surprise. "Draco, you're acting-"

"I'm not acting," Draco cut in, his gaze sharp, imploring. "I'm serious. You don't see it, but I do. They're going to pull you away from me, Lils. I won't let that happen."

Lillian's breath hitched, caught off guard by the rawness beneath Draco's words. For a fleeting moment, it was easy to believe it was just protectiveness, just Draco being Draco.

Lillian's free hand reached up, cupping Draco's cheek, thumb brushing against the tense line of his jaw. "You're being ridiculous, Malfoy."

Draco leaned into the touch, but his grip didn't ease. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong."

The diary's weight in his pocket felt heavier than ever.

April 14th 1993

For Ostara (or easter how most called it), the Slytherins went to the Malfoy Manor. To rest, live, and breathe a little.

The diary wasn't speaking aloud, but its presence sat heavy in Draco's chest, curling like a serpent around his ribs. It whispered in the weight of his own thoughts now, feeding his mind lines it no longer needed to write.

"He's slipping away. You saw how he smiled at them. How they pull him away from you."

Draco sat by the window, staring blankly at the moonlit gardens where Lillian laughed with Blaise and Daphne. Every laugh that wasn't meant for him felt like a splinter under his skin.

The door creaked open.

"Draco?" Lillian's voice was soft, casual, unaware. "You disappeared on us."

Draco didn't move. "I was tired of sharing."

Lillian blinked, tilting his head. "Sharing?"

"You know what I mean." Draco's tone was sharp, impatient. "You always let them pull you away. Blaise, Daphne, Theo... anyone. Like it doesn't matter."

Lillian's brows furrowed, stepping further into the room. "Dray, they're our friends. We hang out. That's... normal?"

Draco stood abruptly, the words digging under his skin like needles. "But it's not normal for us, Lils. We're not like them. You and me. We're supposed to be together."

Lillian gave a small, confused smile. "Dray, we are together. We're in the same house, the same friend group. We literally sleep in the same room."

"That's not what I mean." Draco's voice lowered, trembling with frustration, his fists tightening by his sides. "You don't get it. When they look at you, they see someone they can claim. They're trying to take you from me."

Lillian's expression softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features. "Dray, no one's trying to take me anywhere. You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not," Draco insisted, stepping closer. His fingers reached out, curling lightly around Lillian's wrist, like a tether. "You don't see how easy it is. You laugh with them, you smile with them, and one day, you'll realize you don't need me anymore. That's how it happens."

Lillian stared, the words bouncing off him like raindrops against glass. "Draco... I've never thought of you as something I need to keep." His voice was calm, genuine. "You're my best friend. There's no keeping or losing in that."

But Draco's grip, though gentle, refused to let go.

"He's lying to you." The diary's whisper coiled in his skull. "He's already drifting. You must make him stay."

Lillian reached up, his hand resting against Draco's cheek, his thumb brushing softly over his skin. "You don't need to hold me this tightly, Dray. I'm not going anywhere."

The words should have soothed him, but they didn't. Not fully. Because Lillian didn't understand. He couldn't see what Draco saw. How fragile it all was.

But for now, Draco allowed himself to believe him. He pressed his forehead against Lillian's, breathing in the closeness, clutching him like a lifeline he wasn't ready to drown without.

May 8th 1993

The castle was in chaos.

Hermione Granger had been found in the corridor near the library, frozen in mid-scream, clutching a mirror shard in her rigid hand, Penelope Clearwater right next to her. The whispers echoed through every hall, a storm of fear swelling faster than the professors could contain.

Lillian stood near the edge of the courtyard, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, watching as students huddled in frightened clusters.

Draco found him there.

"Lils," he called, breathless from having run the entire way. "I just heard. Granger and Clearwater-"

Lillian's gaze flicked to him, impassive. "Yeah. They're the latest."

Draco's stomach twisted. He hadn't wanted this. But a selfish part of him relished the way Lillian had drifted away from the crowd, standing apart. Alone.

He moved to stand beside him, not too close, but close enough.

"You alright?" Draco asked, softer now.

Lillian shrugged. "She didn't deserve this."

"I know." Draco swallowed, feeling the weight of the diary burning in his pocket. "But... maybe this will finally make them see. Make them realize they're not safe, that they should stay where they belong."

Lillian shot him a glance, brow furrowed. "You sound like you're glad this happened."

"I'm not," Draco lied. "I'm glad you're safe."

For a moment, Lillian didn't respond. Then, his posture eased, if only slightly. "I can take care of myself, Dray."

Draco's smile was thin, brittle. "I'll still do it for you."

Chapter Text

The lake shimmered under the rare warmth of the spring sun, the Black Lake reflecting patches of blue sky like scattered glass. For once, there were no whispers of attacks, no glances filled with suspicion. Just the Slytherins. Lillian, Draco, Theo, Blaise, Daphne, Pansy, Millicent, Tracey, Greg, and Vince sprawled on the grass, tangled in lazy conversations and bursts of laughter.

It was normal.

Theo had charmed a deck of Exploding Snap cards to hover midair, diving dramatically every time they burst into harmless showers of sparks. Pansy was lying across Lillian's lap, dramatically recounting a story about a Hufflepuff who'd tripped over her shoelaces and taken down an entire suit of armor with her. Blaise and Daphne were arguing over whether or not squid ink could be used as a proper hair dye.

Draco sat next to Lillian, close but not clinging for once, the obsessive edge in him was quiet, lulled by the warm breeze and the soft sound of Lillian's absentminded hums as he idly braided strands of Pansy's hair.

It felt like summer had come early. Like they were untouchable, just a group of kids with no war to fight, no dark secrets, no words like Mudblood or Heir of Slytherin hanging in the air.

"I vote we skip all our classes tomorrow," Theo declared, hands tucked behind his head. "Declare it a Slytherin holiday. No books, no professors, just us."

"You'd declare every day a holiday if you could," Blaise snorted.

"Blame Hogwarts for being a pit of trauma," Theo shot back, grinning.

Lillian laughed, really laughed, and Draco felt it vibrate through his bones. He turned his head to watch the way the sun caught in Lillian's hair, how his eyes crinkled when he smiled like that.

For a moment, Draco let himself believe that nothing would ever come between them again.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the grass, the group remained a tangle of limbs and sarcastic quips. Vince fell asleep sitting up. Millicent tried and failed to balance an apple on Greg's head. Pansy threw flowers at Theo whenever he made another snarky remark.

It was... perfect.

But perfection, Draco knew, never lasted long.

As they eventually trudged back to the castle, still basking in the lingering warmth of their easy afternoon, Draco's hand brushed against the weight of the diary hidden in his robes.

May 29th 1993

The common room was too quiet.

Draco was gone.

The others had tried to brush it off at first. Maybe he was sulking in the Astronomy Tower, maybe Professor Snape had given him detention for sneering at a Ravenclaw prefect, but as the hours stretched, the excuses frayed. Even Theo's jokes had dried up.

Lillian sat by the dying embers of the fireplace, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring into nothing.

He's calling...

The whispers had been relentless since sundown. They slithered through his mind, sharp and cold, a chorus of hisses curling around his skull.

Come below... come and see...

He pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars, but it did nothing to stop the sound.

"Lils?" Pansy's voice was hesitant, tired, but she didn't step closer. "You're going to make yourself sick. Come back to the dorm."

"I'm fine," Lillian said, too quickly.

No one believed him, but no one knew how to stop him either.

He's waiting...

Lillian stood, movements wooden. He didn't look at them as he left the common room, but he felt their eyes following him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was alive.

Not with the bustling, noisy life of students, but something deeper, older. The walls breathed around him. The stones pulsed faintly beneath his feet, guiding him. Every turn of the corridor felt inevitable, like the path had always been carved for him.

The whispers grew louder. Clearer.

Below... come below...

He wasn't thinking when his hand pressed against the snake-engraved tap in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. He didn't flinch when the sink shuddered and spiraled open, revealing a yawning dark mouth.

He jumped.

Bones were scattered everywhere. Small bones. Probably rats. Probably. 

Lillian walked forwards slowly. It was like a trance that he couldn't wake up from. His movements were mechanical. 

The air was wet and heavy, tasting of decay and something sharp, like iron. The whispers had dulled, now a steady pulse threading through his mind like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.

The Chamber was colossal, its ceiling lost in shadows, the stone serpents lining the walls looming like silent sentinels. But Lillian wasn't looking at them.

There he was. Draco. Laying at the food of a massive statue of some guy's face. 

"Draco!" He ran forward to the unconscious body of his best friend. 

"He won't wake." Said a deep voice, appearing out of thin air. Lillian's eyes shot up, spotting a boy, a bit older from him, devilishly handsome. Pale, tall, with black, perfectly styled hair, Slytherin robes. He couldn't recognize him. 

Lillian has never seen the guy before. Not in the common room, not in the hallways, nowhere. 

"Who are you?"

"Tom Riddle." The boy answered as if it was a solution to all the problems, now standing in front of the crouching Lillian and unconscious Draco. 

"Quick help me with Draco. He looks-"

"Dead? Then everything is working with the plan."

Lillian's eyes narrowed at the handsome boy. 

Lillian's breath quickened, his hand trembling over Draco's chest. The boy was cold, too cold, but there was a pulse, faint beneath his palm.

"Tom," Lillian repeated, tasting the name like poison. "What did you do to him?"

Tom smiled. It was a serene, patient expression. "He's not dead, if that's what you're asking. Yet. His life is... tethered, you could say. Feeding me, slowly."

Lillian's stomach turned. "Feeding you?"

"You should be honored," Tom said, almost gently. "Few get to meet a memory so powerful it carves itself into the bones of this castle."

A memory? That didn't make sense.

"What do you want from me?" Lillian stood, his voice sharp, but his legs felt like lead.

Tom's eyes gleamed. "I wanted you to come. The whispers were merely an invitation. I thought you'd understand, being a Parselmouth and all. But you've been so... slow, Lillian Potter."

The name hit like a slap. His fists clenched.

Tom smiled wider. "Yes, I know who you are. Draco Malfoy has a loud mouth about what, or who, he considers his. But it isn't about him. This is about you. And me. Two heirs of Slytherin, standing where we belong."

"I'm not the Slytherin's heir. You're wrong."

"I am never wrong, Lillian, or do you prefer Lils? You see, when you are trapped in a diary for decades there is nothing else to do but wait, and study. So I studied. All the old branches of my family. Squibs cast out of the Gaunt family tree, yet their descendants have been kept in, for faint hope that one of them will be magical."

Lillian's breath had stilled. 

"Once poor Draco started pouring himself into the diary I began to have the strength to leave it. At first only for minutes, pulling on this weak boys magic is a hell of a job. But the more he talked to me, the more magic has seeped into my anchor. I could leave the blasted book for hours. I went to the Slytherins library. The ancestry books there are magically updated whenever a new child is born. To my surprise there were two additions that weren't there when I was alive.  Lily Evans-Potter, deceased, and you. Lillian Alexander Potter. Conveniently the same boy that Draco seemed obsessed with."

Tom's words seemed like poison. Entering Lillian's mind and body, stilling him, making his guts twist. 

"It seems like Salazars blood didn't deem your brother worthy enough, but you are a different topic, my dear boy."

Tom took a slow step forward, hands clasped behind his back, his voice a silky knife.

"Tell me, Lillian. How many times have you been the sacrifice?" He tilted his head, like a curious cat. "How many bruises, broken bones, locked cupboards? How often did you choose your brother's life over yours?"

Lillian's throat tightened. His mind flashed. Vernon's belt, the cracked ribs, the suffocating dark under the stairs. The sacrificed meals. Spitting blood on the dingy mattress under the stairs. Getting hospitalized for trying to escape the abuse. An inch away from death. 

He crouched, now eye-level with Lillian, his words a venomous whisper. "You could be so much more. No longer Harry's caregiver. No longer the victim of every adult that has wronged you."

Lillian's eyes flickered to Draco, limp and pale on the cold stone. His hands balled into fists.

Tom's tone softened, coaxing. "He's already given you his magic, Lillian. His life is ebbing into me, but it doesn't have to be for my benefit. You could take it. Use it. Imagine it, no more whispers in the dark, no more fear. You could be stronger than all of them."

"You and me together. Imagine what we could do. Takeover the world. Both magical and the mundane. Think of revenge you could have over your aunt and uncle. Help me come to life and I'll make you my prince." 

Lillian's eyes shone. For once he imagined punishing Vernon instead of being punished for nothing. For once he looked at Tom and saw a future that was only about him. But then the Potter ring felt heavier than ever, bringing him back to reality. This was about Draco. The same Draco that didn't leave his bedside for days when he was unconscious at Saint Mungos the previous summer. The same Draco, that even when Lillian was icing everybody out, stuck to him and arranged a system to protect him from Slytherins heir. 

Tom extended a hand, palm up, inviting. "Choose yourself. Just this once."

In seconds Lillian was standing, wand drawn, facing Tom like an enemy to be killed. 

"So you've chosen death. Shame. You're too pretty to die, Lillian."

A massive serpent emerged from the shadows. The hiss of scales on the cold, wet stone was deafening. Bigger than a two story bus and the length of the London underground train. 

The beast looked between the two standing boys and stilled. 

"What are you doing, you stupid beast, kill the boy."Tom hissed at the serpent but it still didn't move. 

"Please, help me protect my friend. He's dying. Tom is sacrificing a pureblood to come back to life." Lillian spoke before he could think and the serpent moved again. But not at him, not at Draco, not even at Tom. It circled the three boys and opened its deadly mouth. It's teeth like swords. Its breath was death. But Lillian understood. He picked up the diary and pushed it down onto one of its saber teeth. Within seconds, and screams of pure agony, Tom was gone and Lillian took the diary back, sadly with the tooth still inside. The beast reared back at the sudden loss in its mouth but didn't attack him. Lillian reached out with his hand and slowly petted the snake as Draco regained consciousness.

"Go back to sleep girl. You don't need to kill anymore." Lillian whispered in the ancient tongue as the beast moved back into the shadows. 

"Lils? Where are we?" 

"The Chamber of Secrets, I presume." Lillian shrugged and crouched down beside his friend, helping him to his feet. "Take it easy. Your magic is spent. You need rest."

"Lils I'm sorry." Draco cried on his shoulder. "It's all my fault. I didn't want to attack Granger. I-"

"Shush. Okay? It's fine. I took care of it."

"But I'll go to Azkaban. This is horrible. I can't go to prison. I'm too young. Father will send me away. He'll say I'm weak, that I failed the family name-"

"I'll take care of that too. But the diary is dead. Tom won't bother you anymore. Okay? It will all be fine. We just need to get you out of here and to the hospital wing."

And so they walked through the chamber. Slowly, of course, due to Draco's weakened body, but they finally managed to get to the slide down from Myrtle's bathroom. "How did you ever go back up?"

"Tom... He summoned stairs. It was like a hiss."

"I need stairs." Lillian hissed into the abyss like a second nature. And the stairs came. And they walked back up. Going through the castle in the middle of the night until they reached the hospital wing. 

"Madam Pomfrey?" Lillian asked out into the air while helping Draco lay down on the hospital bed. 

"Mister Potter it's far too late to be-" And she stilled once she saw Draco looking like he went through war, and Lillian's sleeves drenched with an unknown sticky substance, and a book with a massive tooth inside it. 

"Draco is spent magically. I don't know what to do to help him and need to go see the headmaster immediately."

Madam Pomfrey just nodded and passed him a small note that said Cauldron Cakes before shooing him out of the infirmary. 

And so Lillian walked to the headmasters office, he said the password to the statue blocking the path, and ascended the stairs before knocking on the door. 

"Enter, mister Potter."

"How did you know it was me, headmaster?"

Dumbledore sat behind the massive desk with a soft smile on his lips. "Portraits. They tell me everything."

"But they didn't tell you about a massive snake moving through the walls of the castle? Damn. You need to fire some of them." Lillian smirked weakly as he walked up to Dumbledores desk.

"I wouldn't recommend touching the tooth. I think it's poisonous." Lillian dropped the diary onto the desk with a dull thump, the Basilisk fang still jutting from its cover like an accusatory finger.

"What even is this, Mister Potter?"

"Solution to the petrifications." Lillian smiled innocently. "The problem has been dealt with."

"And why on earth, did you not use your own advice from last year and go get someone competent to handle it?"

"With all due respect headmaster, you had months to solve it. I did it in an evening." The boy shrugged. "Now what can you tell me about Tom M. Riddle?" He read the initials from the books spine. 

For a heartbeat, the usual twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes dimmed to something colder. Calculating. "Tom was a student here. A long time ago. Around fifty years. He was the boy who apparently found the culprit from the first opening of the chamber. A girl died and the supposed attacker was expelled, his wand was broken, and he was never allowed to do magic again."

"Well it seems like Tom Riddle was a great manipulator because I just had a talk with him, and he didn't look a day over 17." His knees nearly gave out as the adrenaline drained away, but he kept standing. Barely.

"You have been through quite the ordeal tonight, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said softly. "It would seem I owe you my gratitude."

"You owe me a lot more than just gratitude, but it will have to do for tonight." Lillian replied a bit more sharply than he intended. "Nevertheless, the petrifications have stopped. They won't happen again."

"And how can you be so sure of that, Mister Potter."

"Because only the heir of Slytherin can truly control the beast." Lillian's eyes shone in the candle light. Tom Riddle, in all his foolishness and confidence, only gave Lillian more cards to play with. 

Dumbledore, for a split second, seemed to shrink. This twelve year old boy seemed to openly threaten him. 

"You've grown, Mister Potter."

"Out of necessity."

"And what would you have me do, now?"

"Not a word about Draco's involvement to anyone. He's completely innocent."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, as if the decision had already been made. "Consider it done. But out of pure curiosity, what was Salazars beast?"

"Isn't it obvious, headmaster? A big snake. Duh." Lillian pointed to the house crest on his robes. "But there's no need to worry about her anymore. She's gone back to sleep. And if I was you, I wouldn't want to wake her up."

"A basilisk?" Dumbledore gasped and the candles in the room seemed to burn a bit dimmer than before. "How on earth did you put a basilisk to sleep?"

"As I said, headmaster. Only the heir of Slytherin can control Salazars beast." Lillian leaned against the desk out of pure exhaustion. "Do you think basilisk venom could be used as a potions ingredient?" 

"Yes, why do you ask?" Dumbledore tilted his head. 

"I'm gonna need a bribe for professor Snape so that he doesn't rip my head off after tonight. He'll appreciate the irony, I think." Lillian's smirk was all Slytherin as he turned on his heel, leaving Dumbledore staring at a diary that had nearly rewritten history.

Dumbledore's gaze softened, yet there was something in his posture, the faintest hunch of a man who had gambled and lost. "You should rest, Mister Potter."

Lillian's mouth quirked. "I will. After I make sure my best friend is breathing properly."

Chapter Text

It wasn't long before the news spread across the school. Draco was the last victim of the Slytherins Heir and his monster while Lillian was the schools champion. Many rumors arose, most painting the older Potter as some sort of knight in shining armor. 

Lillian, as usual, woke up, did some reading, practiced his spells, and decided to go to breakfast. When he stepped inside the Great Hall he could feel every pair of eyes on him. Whispers died down. Even the professors were quiet. If you tried you could hear a pin drop in these halls. 

He moved to his usual place at the Slytherins table, but with Draco still in the infirmary, the place next to him was empty. 

"Where were you last night?" Asked Pansy with her usual confidence. "Theo couldn't find you for your scheduled homework comparison. After we talked you just... vanished."

"I was busy." Lillian replied while buttering his toast. From across the room he could feel his brother's gaze burning into his forehead. 

"Okay, cut the bullshit. What petrified everyone?" Blaise couldn't hold himself back. 

"A snake."

"What kind?"

"The kind that petrifies people."

The Slytherin table erupted into whispers again. Lillian could see his brother moving to get up until Dumbledore cleared his throat loud enough for everyone to hear. 

"There were some events that happened last night that I would like to address." The old man stood up from his seat and every student, besides Lillian, turned to watch the headmaster. "As some of you may know, last night Draco Malfoy was taken into the Chamber of Secrets to never come back. The last of the Slytherin Heir's victims. Miraculously, by a strange choice of fate, his dedicated friend jumped into action, found the Chamber, and fought the beast. Without him, we would all be in a danger so grave that I am not able to describe with words. For that I would like to award the Slytherin House with 500 points, for immense strength, undoubted immense bravery, loyalty, and most importantly, willingness to sacrifice yourself for a friend. In top of that I would like to give Lord Lillian Alexander Potter an award for Special Services to the School, and applaud him for his actions."

Everyone stood up and clapped as Lillian tried to hide in himself. 

VICTIM BECOMES A HERO, LORD POTTER SAVES HOGWARTS!

by Rita Skeeter

We all know the story of one Lord Lillian Alexander Potter by now. Beaten, bruised, and bleeding he arrived in the hospital of Saint Mungos last August. But it seems like now not only did he make a full recovery, but also became a hero. Over the past months an ancient terror has been plaguing the Hogwarts school. Nobody knew what to do, who was the culprit responsible, or how it managed to, thankfully, only petrify a few students. Last night Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, and most importantly, a pureblooded wizard, was taken into the legendary Chamber of Secrets by Slytherin's Heir. All despite the fact that this supposed heir was targeting muggleborn students. Our favorite 12 year old boy, and heir Malfoys friend, Lillian Potter, was quick to jump into deathly peril to save his friend, and all the children in the school. According to headmaster Albus Dumbledore, the same one responsible for putting the Potter twins into the abusive home, Lillian has defeated the beast and sealed the Chamber. Apparently the thing responsible for the chamber disaster was an old diary of a long lost ex-student. We managed to interview Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother.

It is a rare privilege to be granted an audience with Lady Narcissa Malfoy, the ever-elegant matron of one of Britain's most esteemed pureblood families. In the aftermath of the Chamber of Secrets incident, Lady Malfoy welcomed me into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, poised yet visibly shaken, a mother's veneer of composure tested by recent events.

"Lady Malfoy, first let me say how relieved we all are that young Draco has been safely returned. What went through your mind when you heard of Lord Potter's actions that night?"

Narcissa's expression remained schooled, but her fingers, adorned with subtle, ancestral rings, curled slightly around her teacup. "Relief, Miss Skeeter. Relief that there are still young men of proper breeding who understand what it means to protect one's own. Lillian's intervention was... timely."

She paused, eyes glinting with cold pride.

"Of course, as a mother, I was horrified. My son was taken beneath the very floors of the school, and the so-called authorities could do nothing but speculate and panic. But Lillian? He acted. Alone. That says something about his character—and, frankly, the state of Hogwarts' leadership."

I inquired if she found it concerning that the headmaster allowed such danger to persist for so long.

Her lips curved in a smile that did not reach her eyes. "Concerning would be an understatement. This is not the first time Albus Dumbledore has failed the Potter children. The entire Wizarding World recalls last summer's scandal with disgust. And yet, here we are again, with a child forced to clean up after the incompetence of his elders. Fortunately for Hogwarts, Lillian Potter is not the type to sit idly by."

When asked about her son's friendship with the elder Potter twin, Narcissa allowed a moment of genuine softness to flicker through her aristocratic demeanor.

"Draco has always had a discerning eye for true allies. Lillian is a young man of noble lineage, yes, but beyond that, he possesses a rare loyalty, an instinct to protect those he considers his own. That is not something one can teach. It's in the blood. My family recognizes such qualities."

Leaning in conspiratorially, Lady Malfoy's voice dropped just enough for me to sense the unspoken warning beneath her words.

"It would do the Ministry well to remember that House Potter is not merely a symbol on a Chocolate Frog card. Lord Lillian Potter has proven that. He is a Lord, a Slytherin, and now, whether the Ministry likes it or not, a hero in the public eye."

Before I could press further, Lady Malfoy gracefully rose, signaling the interview's end.

"There will be inquiries, Miss Skeeter. Formal ones. This time, we'll make certain the right people are asking the right questions."

The rustling of the Daily Prophet was the first sound that greeted Lillian as he stepped into the hospital wing. A stack of newspapers lay abandoned on the bedside table next to Draco Malfoy, who was lounging as if he owned the place, even with half a dozen potions bubbling in his bloodstream.

"Well, well, well," Blaise Zabini drawled from where he was perched on the window ledge. "If it isn't Hogwarts' latest celebrity." He flicked a rolled-up copy of the Prophet toward Lillian's head. "Shall we start bowing, or is kissing your ring sufficient, Lord Potter?"

Pansy snorted from Draco's bedside, legs crossed, looking far too comfortable in a chair meant for visitors. "We should probably get him a personal herald. Announce him in the hallways. 'Make way, the Saviour of Slytherin approaches!'"

Theo Nott, ever the quiet one, grinned over his book. "You lot are underestimating him. He's going to make us do coordinated standing ovations every time he enters a room. It's going to be a House rule."

Lillian rolled his eyes and shoved Blaise's newspaper missile back at him. "If any of you start clapping, I'll hex you out of your shoes."

"Oh, so modest," Pansy sighed dramatically. "A true hero, humble in his glory."

Draco gave a theatrical groan from his bed. "Please stop. I'm the one who had to get kidnapped and petrified to give him his hero moment. The least you could do is show some gratitude for my suffering."

"You're welcome, Draco," Lillian deadpanned, pulling a chair up to his bedside.

"Madam Pomfrey says I'll be out of here tomorrow." Draco's lips quirked. "I hope you're ready."

"I can't wait until you're out and back to normal. Honestly, all this disassociating Draco of the past months was too much for me." Lillian chuckled as he sat down next to Draco. "It was worse with you than when I was ignoring all of you for like two months."

"So it was a deliberate choice?" Pansy asked smugly while holding out her open palm to Blaise, who just groaned and put 5 galleons in her hand. 

"Merlin damn it, Pansy. You're too good." Blaise groaned. "I thought he was just depressed or something."

"What can I say? I know our Lillian the best." Draco stiffened at Pansys words slightly, remembering how he, on multiple private occasions, claimed his friend for himself. 

"I think I need to buy an apartment." Lillian changed the topic out of the blue. "I was thinking somewhere like Diagon Alley, close to everyone, and so that I can do magic at home."

"Why don't you just buy an estate?" Theo asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Aren't you extremely loaded?"

"Honestly? I don't have the energy to clean and tend to a whole estate."

"Just get a house elf? They are so cheap nowadays."

"What, in Merlin's beard, is a house elf?" Lillian asked bluntly.

All of his friends stared at him as if he was an idiot. "How are you so smart, yet so dumb, to not know what a house elf is?"

"I think it's smart." Draco chimed in for the first time in a moment. "Lillian has dead weight clinging to him, aka, Gryffindor Potter. He can't do anything outside of bringing trouble. An apartment in Diagon Alley, where Lillian can get help with babysitting is a better choice."

"Harry is our age, may I remind you, and he's not dead weight. He's my brother." Lillian replied sharply, his overprotective brotherly instincts kicking back in after months. "I just need to get us on our feet, it'll be a stepping stone."

"Just make sure it's an apartment in a nice part of the Alley, not somewhere that I have to hide and sneak in for gossiping." Pansy rolled her eyes, pushing Lillian's shoulder. "And Pansy and me are taking you clothes shopping. You can't go into the Wizengamot looking... like you do." Daphne chimed in. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lillian asked almost offended. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lillian found Harry sitting outside with Granger and Weasley. At first he looked from afar at his brother. The late spring sun dancing on his face. 

The older Potter moved forward, almost robotically. "Harry can we talk? Alone?"

"I don't see a reason why." Harry responded coldly while Granger shoved his arm and whispered something in his ear. "Fine."

And so they walked, shoulder to shoulder towards the lake. "So are you done playing the hero-" 

But Harry wasn't able to end his sarcastic question as Lillian pulled him into a bone crushing hug. "I'm sorry." He whispered in his brother's shoulder. "I've been a total dick. I should've helped you after the dueling club," Lillian continued, stepping back just enough to look him in the eye. "I should've told you about the voices. I should've... I should've been there, instead of icing you out." Harry didn't know how to respond. He just stood there, frozen, hugging his brother back. 

"And I know that words don't mean anything, so I am buying us a place. Somewhere nice. Just the two of us. Okay?" Harry's lips pressed into a thin line, blinking furiously against the prickling in his eyes.

"You think buying us a flat is going to fix this?"

"No," Lillian admitted. "But it's a start. We need a place to stay. For the two months that we won't be at school, maybe Yule and Ostara breaks. We can't be couch hopping."

That hit home. Harry's throat tightened. The idea of a home that wasn't a cupboard or a borrowed bed in Gryffindor Tower felt... impossible. But the way Lillian said it, so matter-of-fact, as if it had already been decided, it made it feel real.

"And we are definitely fixing your eyes. If they can basically bring me back from the brink of death, they can fix your eyesight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dungeons were quiet that evening. Lillian made his way down the familiar, cold stone corridor, clutching a small, velvet-wrapped bundle in his hand. He knocked on Professor Snape's office door with his knuckles, sharp and to the point.

"Enter," came the drawl from inside.

Snape was hunched over his desk, quill scratching across parchment. He didn't look up when Lillian stepped in. Only when the boy placed the small bundle on the desk did his obsidian eyes flick upwards.

"What is this, Mister Potter?" The name, as always, was spoken like a challenge.

"A gift. Payment. Bribe. Just so you don't kill me for the paperwork you probably have to do as my head of house." Lillian said flatly.

Snape raised a brow and unwrapped the bundle with slow, precise fingers. The glint of ivory-white and venomous green caught the candlelight.

"A basilisk fang," Snape murmured. "How quaint."

Lillian tucked his hands into his pockets, nonchalant. "It's the one I used to stab the diary."

Snape's fingers paused, just for a fraction of a second. His gaze shifted from the fang to Lillian, sharp and calculating.

"And where on earth, does a twelve year old boy, acquire a basilisk fang?" Snape's voice thickened. 

"When he saves the school from petrifications?" Lillian asked sweetly, almost innocently. 

"You stood alone, against a basilisk, and a memory of Lord Voldemort himself, and not only survived, but won?" Snape's fingers pressed against his temples. 

"Excuse me, who's memory?" Lillian's mouth fell open. "You're telling me that Tom Riddle is..."

"The man single-handedly responsible for your orphan status? Yes. One and the same."

"So Dumbledore told you about the diary, and not the snake?" Lillian asked, trying to switch the topic he started, as it suddenly felt too heavy to handle. 

"Headmaster only mentioned that you had something I would find useful and interesting." Snape looked at him, his right eye twitching slightly. "What are you even bribing me for with this Mister Potter?"

"I need to go to Gringotts on Saturday," Lillian said simply. "To discuss my... future arrangements. I came to ask for permission."

Snape's lips twitched. It might've been a smile, or it might've been irritation. With Snape, it was often both.

"Permission," Snape repeated, tasting the word as if it were foreign on his tongue. "Tell me, Lord Potter, do you often ask for things you already possess?"

"I'm not sure what you're implying...?" Lillian responded. 

"I'm saying, Mister Potter, that due to your emancipation, since August of last year, you are a free man. Do as you please, leave the castle, don't leave the castle. Nobody can do anything about it. Just make sure to not skip my classes."

"Never skipped, and am never planning on it professor." Lillian grace his head of house with a soft smile. 

"I trust you'll be discreet. The press will be insufferable after Skeeter's latest drivel."

"I'm not planning to battle more beasts for at least two years." Lillian smirked. "And goblins don't gossip."

Snape hummed in a way that was almost approval. He picked up the basilisk fang, turning it between his fingers. "This will suffice as compensation for the headaches you've caused me."

"Glad to be of service," Lillian said, already turning to leave.

"Oh, and Lord Potter," Snape's voice stopped him at the door, silk-wrapped steel. "Do try not to acquire another title before the school year is over. Two is quite enough for a twelve-year-old."

Lillian didn't turn around. He just smiled. "No promises, Professor."

Chapter Text

Gringotts was always a little unsettling.

Even with the marble floors gleaming and goblins bowing with contractual politeness, Lillian felt the weight of centuries of gold and grudges hanging in the air. It was a place of power. Old, cold, and immovable.

Just his kind of place.

"Lord Potter." A goblin in fine, blood-red robes greeted him with a shallow bow. His nameplate read Ironspine, which Lillian thought was overcompensating, but wisely kept that observation to himself.

"Ironspine," Lillian acknowledged with a nod. "I'm here to settle a few... personal matters. Property acquisition, specifically."

"Of course." The goblin's smile was razor-sharp. "Right this way."

They navigated through a maze of high-arched corridors, far from the bustling main hall. Eventually, they reached a private negotiation chamber, its walls lined with ledgers thicker than Hogwarts textbooks.

Ironspine gestured for Lillian to sit. "I understand you're looking for a residence suitable for yourself and your brother."

"Yes. No manors, no sprawling estates. I need something practical. Private. Comfortable, but not so large that it feels like I'm rattling around in a tomb." Lillian steepled his fingers in a very Malfoy-like gesture. "A two-bedroom flat. Diagon Alley or its immediate vicinity. High warded, obviously."

Ironspine's long fingers tapped against a ledger, muttering to himself before producing a thin portfolio. "We've recently acquired several properties that might suit. May I suggest viewing them in person? The wards will respond to your presence."

Lillian followed the goblin through a side passage that opened, unexpectedly, to a floo-connected viewing room. The portfolio had a series of small, rotating crystal models, and with a tap of Ironspine's claw, the first property materialized into a life-sized illusion around them.

The first was too cold. All dark wood and iron, dimly lit like a bank vault. It was secure, no doubt, but suffocating.

The second was too grand. An upper floor townhouse with gilded ceilings and chandeliers, the kind of place that screamed "old money" louder than Narcissa at a charity gala. Lillian could already feel the headaches it would bring.

The third... The third was different.

It was a loft.

Exposed brick walls, tall arched windows that let in torrents of sunlight, making the hardwood floors glow. It had two spacious bedrooms on opposite ends, a central living area with plush sofas and a fireplace, an open kitchen with dark marble counters, and a dining table that could easily seat eight.

It was elegant. Modern, but timeless. Slytherin in its understated luxury, yet undeniably Gryffindor in how alive it felt. The sunlight pouring in would make Harry look like he was carved from light itself.

Lillian didn't mean to fall in love with it. But there he stood, hands in his pockets, jaw set, silently admitting to himself that despite every plan to be practical and strategic, this was it.

Ironspine, ever observant, tilted his head. "You seem... invested, Lord Potter."

"It'll do." Lillian said curtly. "I want it. I assume the wards are up to standard?"

"Of course." Ironspine's grin widened. "Blood-anchored, keyed to your magic and whomever you designate. High-grade privacy charms, curse-breaker vetted. Goblin craftsmanship, naturally."

"And the price?"

"A hundred thousand galleons. But I assure you, Lord Potter, that you could buy at least ten and still have enough gold left over to decorate them lavishly."

Lillian, to his credit, didn't flinch. "Add an extra five percent. I want an iron-clad non-disclosure clause in the contract. No leaks about the purchase to the Prophet, Skeeter, or anyone."

The goblin's grin sharpened. "Done."

They finalized the contract on parchment that shimmered with old magic, Lillian signing with a flourish.

As the illusion faded and they stepped back into Gringotts' stone corridors, Ironspine regarded him with a glint of respect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dungeons were colder than usual that night, but the Slytherin Common Room was alive with low murmurs and crackling firelight. It wasn't a celebration, not openly, but there was a pulse in the air, like the entire House was collectively acknowledging something unspoken.

Lillian pushed open the heavy door, and the noise died down by a fraction. Not in the way Gryffindor would've cheered their hero, not with claps on the back or cheers, but with the weight of assessing gazes. Judging. Calculating. Approving.

Across the room, the older students lounged on the leather sofas. Marcus Flint, leaning lazily against the mantle, caught Lillian's eye and gave a sharp, curt nod, a far cry from his usual looming presence.

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Daphne Greengrass drawled from her seat near the chessboard, her tone cool but her smile real. "Our very own knight in cursed armor."

Several students nearby chuckled. Lillian felt his lips twitch.

"I was expecting a new House banner with my face on it," he replied, unbothered as he made his way toward the usual cluster of second-years. "Bit disappointed, honestly."

"Oh, don't worry. We're commissioning Skeeter for a life-sized portrait," Blaise said from the armchair, smirking. "Something tasteful. Maybe you holding Draco over your shoulder, damsel-in-distress style."

Draco, newly released from the Hospital Wing, flopped into a chair with all the drama of a Victorian widow. "Make sure my hair looks good in it, Zabini. I've suffered enough."

But beneath the teasing, there were subtle shifts happening.

Seats were made available for Lillian without a word. First-years whispered his name, glancing at him like he was no longer just a fellow student, but someone to be aware of. Upper-years nodded respectfully as they passed, acknowledging him as one of theirs, not as a charity case, not as the damaged Potter twin, but as Lord Potter, the boy who faced a Basilisk and won.

Slytherin House didn't parade their victories.

"Where were you today Lils? I've been searching all day for you." Draco spoke slowly as Lillian sat down next to him.

"Had a meeting at the bank. Buying a flat is so much hard work."

"Wait... You actually bought a place?" Daphne asked excitedly.

"Yeah. I can't be a hobo on the streets, now can I?" Lillian chuckled as Pansy materialized next to him immediately. "We are going to have the best summer ever. A flat in Diagon Alley, no adults, so many opportunities."

"Did I hear something about Golden Boy living alone? We can't have that." Marcus appeared right in front of them, a drink in hand as his other palm gently caressed Lillian's face. And suddenly he felt revolting. Lillian could feel everything inside him twist painfully.

Marcus Flint's fingers brushed his cheek again.

Lillian went cold. Not the sharp, battle-readiness kind of cold. This was worse. A hollowing out, the kind of cold that crawled beneath your skin and sat in your bones.

He hated the way his stomach twisted, hated that his body flinched instinctively even though his mind was roaring don't show weakness. He hated that Flint's smirk said he'd noticed.

The Common Room was watching. Of course they were. Slytherins never interfered. They waited to see who came out on top.

Flint's voice was low, oily. "Wouldn't want you getting lonely in that fancy new flat, Golden Boy. No adults. No rules. I'm sure you'll... appreciate some experienced company."

The bile rose fast.

Lillian's hand shot out, fingers closing like a vice around Marcus's wrist, twisting until the older boy's breath hitched, just shy of a full-blown wince.

"Marcus," Lillian said, tone glacial, "there's a basilisk sleeping in the Chamber of Secrets, buried beneath this castle. It's very well-trained. Very obedient."

The Common Room went silent.

"I wonder," Lillian continued, his grip tightening, "how long it would take for a body to be missed down there. Maybe a day. Maybe a week. Maybe never."

His eyes never left Marcus's. He wanted him to see it. The line he was crossing.

Marcus's grin faltered.

"That wasn't an invitation," Lillian said, his voice barely above a whisper, "that was a warning. You touch me again, and you'll get a personal tour of the Chamber. From the inside."

Flint tried to yank his arm back. Lillian didn't let go.

"You think I'm bluffing?" Lillian leaned in, breath ghosting over Marcus's ear. "You're not the first to think that. They're not around anymore, either."

It was a lie. But it was Slytherin.

Flint's face twisted, caught between pride and instinct. But the House had gone too still. The predator's eyes were now on him, assessing, calculating. He'd misplayed his hand.

Lillian released him, stepping back with cold precision.

The message was clear. This wasn't a game. This wasn't House banter. This was a line in the sand.

"Careful, Marcus," Lillian added softly, "I've had a long year. I'm not feeling patient anymore."

Flint gave a forced chuckle, muttering something about "joking, Potter, just joking" as he backed away, slinking into the shadows like a wounded animal.

The Common Room exhaled, tension snapping. But the shift in the room was undeniable. Lillian wasn't marked as prey anymore.

He was dangerous.

Pansy, to her credit, didn't rush to fill the silence. She slid into the seat beside him with feline grace, pretending as if nothing had happened.

"Well," she said airily, "looks like someone's claiming their House at last."

"I'm not claiming anything," Lillian muttered, nauseated, wiping his hands on his robes as if Flint's touch had left a stain. "I'm just not anyone's toy."

Daphne gave a soft, approving hum. "Good. Slytherin doesn't need toys. We need weapons."

"And what's a Potter if not a weapon?" Blaise added with a wicked grin.

Lillian didn't smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silencing charms were up.

Not because Lillian didn't want people to hear.

Because he couldn't bear to hear himself.

The bathroom mirror showed him a stranger. Gaunt. Pale. His eyes were wild and red-rimmed, a twitch in his jaw betraying the effort it took to stay upright.

Marcus's hand was still there. It lingered, not physically, but in a deeper, filthier way. Just like Aunt Petunia's hissed insults, like Vernon's fists, like the cold pavement he'd once bled onto when the streets of Little Whinging were more of a home than Number 4 had ever been.

He was tired of being touched. Of being owned.

His fingers clawed at the sink's edges, white-knuckled. His own skin felt foreign. Like it didn't belong to him anymore.

"I'm not theirs," he whispered.

But the Dursleys had thought they owned him. Marcus thought he could own him. Even Hogwarts, in its twisted way, wanted to define him. Gryffindor's brother, Slytherin's hero, Potter Lord.

And Lillian... Lillian had let it happen.

He'd been so angry. Angry at Harry for being safe in Gryffindor. Angry for not noticing how Lillian was suffocating. Angry at himself for caring.

"I'm a bloody hypocrite," he choked out, laughing, except it wasn't really a laugh. It was a crack, a fracture, the sound of something breaking beyond repair.

He stumbled towards the shower, tearing off his clothes with trembling hands. His skin crawled, like vermin skittering under his flesh. The water hit him, but it didn't cleanse. It only made him more aware of the filth.

His breath hitched. Then again. Faster. Shallower. Panic coiled in his chest like a vice.

He remembered the cupboard. The darkness. The loneliness so deep it had teeth. He remembered curling in on himself, too weak to cry for help because he knew no one would come. He remembered sleeping on cold streets after the Dursleys had thrown him out for a week, thinking he might die, and part of him wanted to.

He remembered Harry.

Sweet, stupid Harry, who still smiled at him after everything. Who still cared.

And what had Lillian done? He'd spit venom. Pushed him away. Hurt him. Because it was easier to hurt than to be hurt.

"I'm sorry," Lillian whispered, even though Harry wasn't there. "I'm so sorry."

The words unspooled something fragile inside him.

The sob that tore out of his throat wasn't human. It was raw, an animal noise of grief and rage and guilt. He crumpled to the floor, knees scraping against tile, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to hold something together.

But there was nothing left to hold.

It all came out. The tears, the screams, the broken apologies whispered to ghosts that never left him. His body trembled violently, shudders wracking him until he couldn't tell if he was cold from the water or from himself.

He didn't know how long he stayed there. How long he cried.

Minutes. Hours. Time blurred when you were drowning.

But slowly, when his throat was raw and his body ached from the violence of his own breakdown, the shaking lessened. He was hollowed out, like everything inside him had been scraped clean.

For the first time, there was silence.

Not numbness. Not walls. Not rage.

Just silence.

He was still there. He had survived. Again.

Lillian pressed his palm against the tile, grounding himself, breath by breath.

You're not anyone's toy. You never were. You never will be.

He stood. Weak, but upright. And as he wrapped a towel around himself, he caught his reflection again.

The boy staring back was broken. But not shattered.

Chapter Text

The flat felt huge when it was almost empty. Their trunks echoed as they thudded to the floor just past the doorway, not shoved into a cupboard, not hidden out of sight, but sitting brazenly in the middle of their new home.

Harry stood in the entryway, backpack still slung over his shoulder, glasses slightly crooked from the train ride. He was staring around like he didn't quite believe it was real.

"No cupboard," Lillian announced, kicking off his shoes. "No Petunia. No Vernon. Just us."

Harry's throat worked, but no sound came out. He nodded, a little too quickly, like he was trying to hold back something.

"C'mon, you've got to see the best part." Lillian grabbed his brother's wrist and practically dragged him into the main living space. The setting sun was pouring through the massive windows, turning the wooden floors to gold and throwing light across the soft, dark green sofas.

Harry dropped his bag with a dull thump. "It's... Merlin, it's ours, isn't it?"

Lillian smirked, slapping a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "You're slow on the uptake, aren't you? Of course it's ours. All of it."

"I'm not used to having space." Harry admitted softly, running his fingers across the back of the sofa like it might vanish.

"That's Gryffindor talk." Lillian said, plopping himself onto the couch.

Harry laughed a real, unguarded, laugh as he flopped down next to his brother, nearly knocking him over.

"I didn't know you'd buy a place this... fancy."

"Blaise said it was too Gryffindor. I told him to shut up."

"Blaise is going to visit, isn't he?"

"Oh, absolutely. With Pansy. Probably with champagne. We might have to throw a housewarming party just to shut them up."

"Deal."

A knock on the door interrupted their moment. Lillian, predictably, didn't move. "That'll be the takeaway."

Harry bolted up, his excitement palpable. "Wait, we're allowed to get takeaway?"

Lillian raised an eyebrow. "It's our place, Harry. We can order as much takeaway as we like."

They feasted on charmed boxes of Diagon Alley's finest. Roasted meats, pastries filled with spicy cheese, butterbeer still foaming as it was delivered. No plates. No formal table. Just two brothers, sprawled on the living room floor with food containers balanced precariously on a coffee table. "The goblins will be here tomorrow with the furniture and all that."

By the time the sun was setting, both their trunks remained unpacked by the door. Their plates were abandoned. The only thing that mattered was the two of them, lying shoulder to shoulder on the sofa, half-watching a wireless that was softly playing Celestina Warbeck (Harry pretended not to like it).

Harry fell asleep first, his head slumped against Lillian's shoulder.

Lillian didn't move him. He just stared out at the London skyline through their windows, one arm draped lazily over his brother's back.

For the first time in his life, no Dursleys, no Hogwarts politics, no ancient monster hunting them, just peace.

"We're home, Harry." He kissed his sleeping brother's forehead before falling asleep himself. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

The flat was alive with noise.

Goblins moved like clockwork, their tools hovering mid-air, pieces of furniture assembling themselves with terrifying precision. A massive four-poster bed floated through the hallway, bumping the walls with an apologetic hum before settling into one of the bedrooms. The shower was being enchanted with a "self-scaling temperature charm" (whatever that meant) while another goblin was busy lecturing Lillian about the durability of dragonbone dining tables.

Lillian, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a towel slung over his damp hair, stood in the middle of it all, clutching a mug of coffee like it was a lifeline.

"Are you quite sure the bathtub needs that many clawed feet?" He asked dryly, watching the ornate tub being levitated into the bathroom like it was about to be crowned monarch of Plumbing.

Ironspine gave a snort of amusement. "Aesthetic, Lord Potter. Luxury is in the details."

"Of course it is." Lillian muttered, sipping his coffee as a bookshelf sprouted out of a wall like a fast-growing tree.

By noon, the goblins were bowing and clicking their heels, vanishing with a final flourish that left the flat transformed. Sunlight gleamed off polished surfaces, the air smelled faintly of new wood and magic, and for the first time, it truly looked like a home.

Lillian headed for the bathroom, peeling off his shirt as he went. The idea of a long, uninterrupted bath was entrancing. Harry was decorating his room anyway. 

Lillian was just stepping out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling around his ankles, when the front door slammed open.

"I knew you'd pick this one."

Draco Malfoy's voice echoed through the flat as he strolled in like he owned the place, a silver-buckled bag in one hand, his perfectly pressed robes utterly at odds with the casual chaos of moving day.

Lillian froze in the hallway, shirtless, dripping, holding his towel with the patience of a saint.

"Draco," he greeted flatly, "you've heard of knocking, haven't you?"

Draco's eyes flicked up from Lillian's bare chest, to his still-wet hair, to the towel hanging precariously low, and then back up. "Apparently not. You did give me the Floo address. That's as good as a welcome mat. Besides, you clean up nicely."

Harry peeked his head out of his room, half-amused, half-concerned. "Malfoy... are you just going to barge in uninvited every time?"

"Of course." Draco said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This is practically my flat too. I refuse to let you two live unsupervised. Merlin knows what tragic design choices you'd make without me."

Lillian gave him a slow, warning smile. "I will hex you out the window, Draco."

"I'll land gracefully."

"You'll land in a bin."

Before Draco could deliver another one of his dramatic rebuttals, the fireplace flared bright green, and out stepped Blaise Zabini, as cool as ever, brushing soot off his immaculate robes.

"I see the invasion's already begun." Blaise said, surveying the scene with a smirk. His eyes deliberately didn't linger on Lillian's state of undress, but the smirk deepened anyway. "You should really consider locking the Floo, Potter."

Before Lillian could retort, the flames roared again, and Pansy Parkinson stumbled out, balancing an enormous basket of enchanted houseplants in one arm and a bottle of something expensive in the other.

"Did I miss the grand tour?" she chirped. "I brought gifts. The flat is criminally Gryffindor with all this sunlight, so we're going to fix that with proper greenery." And then her eyes landed on Lillian. "Damn, Lils, have you thought about a modeling career? How do you even achieve such a waist?"

Harry gave Lillian a helpless look from the hallway.

"I hate you all," Lillian said to no one in particular, tightening his grip on his towel as Draco sauntered closer, smug as ever.

"Oh, you love us," Pansy sing-songed, plopping the basket onto the dining table. "Besides, this is how it starts, Potter. One flat. A few charming guests. Then, before you know it, it's tea on the balcony every Sunday and an annual Malfoy-hosted gala in your living room."

"I'm moving out," Lillian announced, deadpan.

"Too late, Potter. We've claimed squatter's rights," Blaise said, kicking back on the sofa with infuriating ease.

"Lillian! Look at you!" Daphne basically screeched as she walked in with a couple of bags in her hands. "On Merlin's left tit, I wish I had your waist."

"Right? If I was into dudes I'd definitely want him." Blaise joked as Lillian huffed and went over to his still unpacked trunk. 

"Make yourselves comfortable, I'll get dressed, so you can stop ogling me like the latest broomstick." Lillian huffed and grabbed a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt before heading back to the bathroom. 

Lillian had barely closed the bathroom door when the Floo roared to life again.

No grand entrance. No dramatic declarations.

Just a soft thump of polished boots on the hearth, followed by a slow, deliberate, "You lot are loud."

Theodore Nott leaned against the fireplace like he'd been there the whole time, hands in his pockets, wearing a loose-collared shirt that made him look like he'd just strolled in from a dark academia catalogue. His expression was unreadable, eyes flicking lazily over the scene: Draco perched like a smug cat on the arm of the sofa, Blaise lounging with a grin, Pansy rearranging their new houseplants with far too much determination, and Daphne now halfway through Lillian's fridge, muttering about 'Potter, where's your proper tea?'

Harry spotted Theo first, offering a small, amused wave. "You're not going to criticize the décor too, are you?"

Theo's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "No need. Draco's already working through his checklist."

"Someone has to." Draco sniffed, smoothing his robes like a Victorian auntie. "I refuse to let Potter die in an aesthetic tragedy."

Theo's eyes drifted towards the hallway, where Lillian's damp footprints still ghosted across the wooden floor. "He's already regretting inviting us, isn't he?"

"Oh, we're past regret." Blaise stretched luxuriously. "We're at the 'Potter is one minor inconvenience away from throwing all of us out the window' stage."

Theo hummed, unimpressed. "Good. That means we're settling in."

The bathroom door creaked open, and Lillian emerged, now dressed in an oversized Slytherin-green jumper and sweatpants, toweling his hair dry with an expression that promised violence if provoked.

"Oh, you're here too, Theo. Fantastic. The infestation is complete."

"Technically," Theo said mildly, "it's an infestation only if you didn't invite us."

Lillian opened his mouth, closed it, pointed the towel accusingly at Theo, and said, "That's cheating."

"That's Theo," Blaise corrected.

Pansy finished arranging the houseplants into a perfectly aesthetic jungle by the windows and turned, hands on hips. "Since we're all here, we might as well start planning the housewarming."

Harry's head snapped up. "Wait, is that actually happening?"

"Harry, darling," Pansy cooed, "you don't get to own a Diagon Alley flat with this much natural light and not host a scandalous housewarming party. It's practically treason."

Draco nodded sagely. "It'll be tasteful, obviously. Exclusive."

"Which means half of Hogwarts will show up uninvited anyway," Theo muttered.

"Exactly," Blaise said, completely unbothered. "But we'll only pretend to be annoyed."

Lillian sighed, dropping onto the couch with the weight of a man who had resigned himself to fate. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don't," Draco said, smug as ever, sliding a glass of whatever Pansy had brought into Lillian's hand. "You love us. We're your burden now."

Harry plopped down next to his brother, grinning wide. "Face it, Lils. You're stuck with them."

Lillian looked around. Draco arranging imaginary place settings in his head, Blaise spinning an unopened bottle of champagne between his fingers, Pansy now hanging up enchanted fairy lights like it was her birthright, Daphne reorganizing the entire pantry by obscure herb categories, Theo watching everything unfold like a crow perched on a windowsill.

It wasn't the peace he imagined.

It was better.

It was loud, chaotic, theirs.

He clinked his glass against Harry's butterbeer and muttered, "Alright, fine. But if they start redecorating the bathroom, I'm moving into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Deal," Harry laughed, leaning into his side.

"And I'm keeping the claw-foot tub," Pansy called.

Theo's voice, dry and amused: "Merlin help us when Granger sees this."

Chapter Text

The flat was unnervingly quiet.

For exactly five minutes.

Lillian, dressed in utterly disgraceful black bunny slippers and an oversized "PROPERTY OF HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH" sweatshirt (that was most definitely not his), was in the kitchen, half-heartedly flipping pancakes. His wand stirred a pot of tea on its own while a butter knife lazily floated through the air, attacking a stack of toast like it was a sentient threat.

Theo was already at the dining table, legs crossed, sipping black coffee, and reading the Daily Prophet like a retired pure-blood patriarch judging the downfall of wizarding society. He hadn't said a word since sitting down. He didn't need to. His judgment was palpable.

"Your spatula technique is appalling," Draco announced as he swept into the kitchen, fully dressed like he was going to a Ministry gala, and not, in fact, invading a friend's flat for breakfast. "You're assaulting those poor pancakes."

"Draco, it's eight in the morning," Lillian said without turning, "don't make me start the day by hexing you into the rubbish bin."

"Brunch is a sacred ritual, Lils," Draco sniffed. "You wouldn't understand."

Blaise sauntered in, yawning, barefoot and devastatingly smug. He didn't bother commenting, just plucked a pancake straight from the plate with his fingers and disappeared onto the sofa.

Pansy and Daphne appeared moments later, equally disheveled but armed with a terrifyingly organized breakfast agenda.

"Okay, Potter, we've got a brunch plan," Pansy said, setting a stack of color-coded napkins onto the table. "You'll be in charge of hot food because we trust you not to ruin it. Blaise is handling the drinks-"

"Which means champagne at nine," Daphne cut in, grinning.

"And Draco will oversee table aesthetics because otherwise, we'll end up eating like cavemen."

Lillian flipped a pancake with more force than necessary. "And what will you two be doing?"

"Looking fabulous and fixing your plant arrangements," Pansy said primly.

"That's Gryffindor labor, darling. We're above that." Daphne winked, stealing a piece of toast.

Before Lillian could respond with the sarcasm loading on his tongue, there was a knock on the door.

A polite, precise knock. One that said I know you're in there and I'm giving you ten seconds to open before I take matters into my own hands.

Harry scrambled out of his room, hair a disaster, shirt inside out. "That's Hermione. I told her to come by."

"Oh, this will be good," Blaise called lazily from the sofa.

Lillian, still holding the spatula like a weapon, sighed. "Let her in, but if she comments on the slippers, I'm hexing her."

Harry grinned and yanked the door open.

Hermione Granger stood there, arms full of books, looking utterly scandalized. "Harry! I came to see the new flat and-" She stopped. Her eyes took in the scene. 

Blaise Zabini, sprawled like a Renaissance painting on the sofa, eating a pancake with his fingers. Pansy Parkinson adjusting the alignment of enchanted fairy lights while Daphne carefully inspected the tea leaves. Draco Malfoy, arms crossed, lecturing Lillian about "proper brunch etiquette", while Lillian, in bunny slippers and looking about five minutes from a breakdown, flipped pancakes with all the dignity of a condemned man. Theodore Nott, completely unbothered, flipping a page of the Prophet, and greeting her with a dry, "You're late. Lillian's culinary crimes have already begun."

Hermione's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"I... what...? Harry, are you being held hostage?!"

Harry just beamed, looking happier than he had in weeks. "Nope. This is just... them."

Hermione blinked.

Lillian raised his spatula in greeting. "Morning, Granger. Tea's on. Take a seat before Draco monologues about proper cutlery alignment."

Draco, unrepentant, adjusted a napkin with surgical precision. "A flat with this much potential deserves respect."

Hermione finally stepped inside, setting her books down, utterly overwhelmed but intrigued. "Is this... is this normal?"

"For us?" Theo said dryly. "Yes."

Pansy looked at her with slight disgust but didn't say anything mean, surprisingly. "You'll get used to it, Granger. Welcome to the madness. We're calling this an unofficial housewarming brunch."

"And by unofficial, she means it's happening weekly," Daphne added, already plotting.

As Lillian set down a massive plate of pancakes, Harry whispered to Hermione, "It's been insane, but I think this is the first time Lils is actually happy."

Hermione's expression softened as she watched Lillian elbowing Draco away from the syrup jug. She nodded, understanding.

"This is good for him," she said quietly. "Even if it's... loud."

"Hey, Granger!" Lillian called from the kitchen, waving a spatula. "You're in charge of making sure Theo eats something other than passive aggression."

Hermione rolled up her sleeves. "Fine. But I'm reorganizing your bookshelves after this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione arrives with a bright smile and a stack of housewarming books, but her polite greeting is met with a cold, assessing glance from Pansy and a raised eyebrow from Draco.

"Oh, Granger in the wild," Pansy murmurs, not quite under her breath.

Draco adds with a smirk, "Charmed, I'm sure. Potter, you do collect strays, don't you?"

Harry's fists clench, but Lillian cuts in smoothly, "Don't mind them, Hermione. Pansy's just jealous she can't pass a single History of Magic quiz without crying."

Pansy huffs, scandalized, while Blaise chuckles approvingly.

Neville, awkward as ever, is standing by the kitchen counter, clearly out of his depth as he watches Theodore Nott lean lazily against a bookshelf, flipping through a herbology tome and correcting Neville's plant care mutterings with sharp, clinical precision. It's hard to tell if Theo is being helpful or mocking, but the tension is palpable.

Seamus and Dean burst in next, boisterous and loud, their arms full of snacks and charmed fireworks, only for Draco to recoil like they'd tracked in dragon dung. "Merlin, is this a wizarding flat or a Quidditch locker room?"

Dean throws him a cocky grin. "Didn't know purebloods were this fragile."

Draco's lips curl, but Lillian, half amused, half exasperated, just gestures for everyone to sit. "If anyone so much as pulls their wand, they're scrubbing this flat with a toothbrush."

As the day stretches on, the air gets thicker. Every conversation feels like a game of verbal dueling. Hermione tries to engage Theodore in a discussion about ancient runes, only to be met with polite, condescending corrections. Pansy flirts shamelessly with Harry, just to watch him squirm, while Dean and Seamus plot how to prank Draco without getting hexed.

Meanwhile, Lillian drapes himself over the armrest of the sofa, sipping his butterbeer with the energy of a man witnessing a slow-motion disaster and choosing to let it unfold.

But it's Blaise, of course, who cuts through the tension. He lounges back, toying with his glass. "You know, this would be a lot more tolerable if we had champagne. Potter, do be a dear?"

It's so absurd that everyone pauses, and Harry, after exchanging a look with Lillian, just laughs. "You do know we are twelve, right?"

Draco's scandalized expression finally breaks the ice, and for a fleeting moment, it's not Slytherin versus Gryffindor. It's just teenagers in a too-fancy flat, surviving a bizarre housewarming together.

Blaise, sprawled across Lillian's newly conquered sofa, lazily waves his hand. "I refuse to sip pumpkin juice like some common Hogwarts prefect. Lillian, surely you didn't drag us into this blindingly Gryffindor sunbox without arranging for proper refreshments."

"I've got butterbeer," Harry offers, gesturing towards the kitchen with hopeful Gryffindor innocence.

Draco grimaces like Harry just offered him bathwater. "Potter, we're celebrating, not mourning."

Pansy perks up, clapping her hands with gleeful menace. "I know a shop in Diagon Alley. They've got those Sugar Pixie Fizz bottles! They scream Potter's taste in décor."

"I'll get them," Lillian mutters, snatching up his coin pouch as if regretting all of his life choices.

When Lillian returns, he's lugging three crates of the most absurd, hyperactive wizarding sodas ever crafted. Bottles shaped like potion vials, swirling with glittering liquids that hum, pop, and occasionally belch tiny bursts of confetti.

Fifteen minutes later, the flat is vibrating with the collective sugar rush of twelve-year-olds pretending to be grown-ups.

Dean and Seamus are seeing who can chug a "Banshee Berry Blast" the fastest (it screams louder the quicker you drink it), while Pansy and Hermione are locked in a tense standoff over a "Silver Sickle Soda" tasting contest, both too proud to back down.

Neville, bless him, accidentally opens a "Whomping Willow Limeade," and the bottle tries to assault him. Theodore snatches it mid-air, casually disarms the rogue drink with a flick of his wand, and hands it back to Neville with a muttered, "You're welcome."

Draco, meanwhile, is at the window, frowning down at Muggle London with a bottle of "Mermaid Mist Grape" that fizzes in his hand. "Why do Muggles always look like they're in a hurry? It's vulgar."

"Draco, you're literally vibrating from sugar," Lillian deadpans.

"I'm refining my senses."

"Sure you are."

The sugar rush had long since burned itself out.

The flat was a battlefield of empty soda bottles, confetti sticking to the walls like glittering scars, and a faint hum from the enchanted wireless playing a mellow Celestina Warbeck lullaby.

The Slytherins had claimed the sofas and chairs like lounging cats, while the Gryffindors sprawled out on conjured cushions and rugs, the "Housewarming Squad" now reduced to a mess of yawns, blanket thieves, and half-hearted pokes at each other.

"Truth or Dare," Blaise announced lazily, stretching like a satisfied predator. "If we're already ruined the place, might as well ruin our reputations too."

"I thought we already did that when Thomas nearly hexed the fizzy bottle through the ceiling," Lillian muttered, draped upside down off an armchair.

"That wasn't me!" Dean protested, though even he didn't sound convinced.

Pansy's eyes glittered dangerously. "Alright, Potter." She flicked a finger at Lillian. "Truth or Dare?"

Lillian considered. He was too tired for something elaborate, too proud to fold completely. "Truth."

"What do you actually think of Gryffindors?"

The room stilled, a few glances exchanged.

Lillian smirked, but his voice came out soft. "I think they're brave. And bloody reckless. And sometimes..." He glanced at Harry, who was watching him intently, "sometimes it's nice to have people who jump headfirst into disaster, just because they refuse to let you go alone."

Harry's ears turned pink.

"Alright, fair play." Blaise nodded approvingly. "Potter's turn to pick."

Lillian's grin turned sharp. "Draco. Truth or Dare?"

Draco, despite the hour and his impeccable hair being a glittery mess, sat up with pure Malfoy dignity. "Dare."

Lillian's smirk widened. "I dare you to say three genuinely nice things about Hermione Granger."

The flat collectively inhaled.

Draco's eye twitched. He turned slowly to Hermione, who was seated cross-legged on the floor, arms folded, waiting like a queen about to be serenaded.

"You're... terrifyingly competent with spells," Draco managed.

"One."

"Your insults are... less plebeian than Weasley's."

"Two."

Draco sighed, slumping against the sofa dramatically. "And you're not entirely abhorrent company."

"Three." Hermione beamed like she'd just won a duel.

Dean howled with laughter. Even Theo cracked a grin, murmuring, "We'll frame that moment in gold, Draco."

The dares got stupider after that.

Seamus was dared to balance a soda bottle on his nose and recite Hogwarts' school motto (he failed spectacularly). Pansy dared Daphne to charm Lillian's hair pink (she did, much to everyone's delight, except Lillian, who threatened legal retaliation). Harry, half-asleep, chose Truth, and Blaise asked him why he always wears that stupid Gryffindor tie so tight. Harry shrugged. "It's harder for people to grab me by the collar if it's tight."

It silenced the room more than expected.

"That's sad. Who grabs you? I'll put them through the wall." Lillian said softly, ruffling his brother's hair.

As the game fizzled into quiet, the group settled into an unspoken truce of shared exhaustion. Lillian caught Theodore watching Harry and Hermione with that particular pureblood stare, the kind that was meant to be cold. But Theo's gaze was... considering, not cruel. Like he was trying to understand how these Muggleborns fit into a world that had lied to him.

It was a start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning light crept gently through the tall windows, soft and golden. The flat was unusually quiet except for the distant hum of a city just waking up.

Lillian blinked against the light, feeling the warmth of an unexpected weight pressed against his side. Slowly, he turned his head and froze.

He was resting on Theo's chest. Both were still tangled in the exhaustion of last night's sugar-fueled chaos, pajamas wrinkled and hair tousled.

For a moment, Lillian just stared, heart thudding in a new rhythm. He'd never thought he'd find this kind of closeness with anyone outside the chaos of family or the battlefield of school rivalries.

Theo's eyelids fluttered open, revealing those dark, thoughtful eyes that had always seemed a little too serious for someone their age.

"You're warm," Theo murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Lillian managed a crooked smile, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from Theo's forehead. "Yeah, well... it's a nice change from being cold."

Theo chuckled softly, the sound rough and genuine. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who crashed early."

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, quiet, together, sharing the kind of easy comfort that felt rare and real.

Somewhere down the hall, the rest of the flat was stirring. But in that moment, the world outside didn't matter.

Lillian knew something was shifting. Not just the flat, not just the freedom they'd carved out, but this, whatever it was, was new, unspoken, and maybe... something worth exploring.

Chapter Text

"This is not shopping," Pansy declared, arms crossed, eyes narrow. "This is armory. You are going to march into that Ministry looking like you own the place because technically, you do, and they need to remember that."

"I'm beginning to regret giving you full creative control," Lillian muttered as Daphne draped a roll of dark emerald fabric over his shoulder, assessing him like a tailor about to skin a very expensive snake.

"You don't have creative control," Daphne corrected sweetly. "That's the point of delegation, darling. Now stop fidgeting."

Pansy snapped her fingers, summoning a grumbling assistant with a rack of robes. "You're going to be surrounded by fossilized purebloods who think the last century was too liberal. Every hemline, every stitch, is a weapon they'll either respect or sneer at. And you don't have the luxury of being sneered at, Potter."

Lillian sighed, surrendering himself to the swarm of floating measuring tapes that began circling him like predators.

Daphne's fingers worked deftly, adjusting a collar here, a cuff there, murmuring spells that subtly elongated Lillian's silhouette. "High collars. Gives you height. Cinched waist, because if you've got it, weaponize it."

"I'm going to die in this outfit, aren't I?" Lillian deadpanned.

"No, you're going to kill in it," Pansy corrected, stepping back with a satisfied smirk as a full-length mirror conjured itself in front of them.

The reflection was... lethal. The dark green robes shimmered like polished jade, tailored within an inch of his life, the silver-fastened cloak falling just dramatically enough to imply both nobility and "try me." His wand holster, a sleek black leather band across his forearm, gleamed like an unsheathed dagger.

"Now that," Daphne said, lips curving wickedly, "is a Lord Potter who will make Lucius Malfoy piss himself."

Lillian sighed dramatically, but the corner of his lips twitched. "Fine. Dress me like your little Lord weapon. But I'm choosing my own shoes."

Daphne exchanged a look with Pansy.

"No, you're not," they said in unison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lift doors parted with a soft chime.

Lillian stepped out, looking every inch the poised young Lord, but the lingering awkwardness of his age clung in subtle ways. He was too slim for the power his clothes suggested, his hair refusing to lie flat despite Pansy's best efforts. Yet, beside him, two goblins from Gringotts, Ironspine and Stonecutter, gave the entire affair a gravity that turned heads and quieted whispers.

He wasn't alone in this. He never was.

Lucius Malfoy was waiting. His cane tapped softly as he approached, a measured smile gracing his lips.

"Lillian," Lucius greeted, a hand resting briefly on Lillian's shoulder with a possessive familiarity. "On time. As always."

"Lord Malfoy," Lillian returned, with a respectful incline of his head. He didn't need to fake the fondness in his tone. Lucius had been there since the first moment the goblins took his inheritance claim seriously, advising in a way no Ministry official ever would.

Lucius glanced at the goblins and nodded once. "Ironspine, Stonecutter. Shall we proceed?"

Inside the inheritance chambers, Lillian sat not as a challenger, but as a student seated at the right hand of his patron.

Lucius had already softened the battlefield. The Ministry officials were polite, courteous, their sneers tucked safely away. The goblins' presence wasn't a threat today, it was a formality, a reminder that the Potter estate was being overseen with proper dignity.

Lillian listened as Lucius guided the conversation with elegant ease, letting him interject at precise moments, "Yes, those funds will be directed to the Muggleborn Integration Scholarships", giving Lillian the illusion of full control, but never allowing the boy to walk into bureaucratic traps.

It wasn't until the formalities ended, scrolls signed and sealed, that Lucius leaned slightly closer, murmuring for Lillian's ears alone:

"You've done well. But remember, the wolves smile when they sense new blood. It's up to you whether they see prey... or a rival pack."

Lillian nodded, absorbing the lesson. Lucius always taught in double-meanings.

As they left, Lillian matched Lucius' stride, goblins trailing.

"I assume Blaise and Pansy are waiting to interrogate me?" Lillian asked dryly.

Lucius smiled thinly. "Naturally. And you'll indulge them. A proper Lord must entertain his court, after all."

He paused, turning to Lillian with a rare, softened look. "Your father would've handled this with more bluster. You, however, understand patience. That will be your greatest weapon."

Lillian didn't trust himself to answer. Not yet.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, spit it out, Lils," Pansy demanded, sliding a sundae across the table. "Did you annihilate any bureaucrats?"

Lillian sighed into his spoon. "No, Pansy. We were polite. Lucius handled it. I stood there and looked pretty."

"You do that well," Blaise quipped.

Draco smirked across the table. "Father says you'll be lethal once you outgrow that inferiority complex."

"Oh, thank you for the vote of confidence, Draco," Lillian said, voice dry.

"Eat your ice cream, Potter," Daphne instructed. "We'll let you have a week to celebrate before we start on the Wizengamot etiquette drills."

"Joy."

~~~~~~~~~~

It was agony.

His first Wizengamot session had devolved into a three-hour debate about cauldron bottom thickness. Lillian Potter, seated among rows of somber, self-important lords and ladies, had spent the entire session resisting the urge to gouge his eyes out with his quill.

He could feel Lucius' gaze from across the chamber, silent, unreadable, no doubt grading his patience.

When the final clang of the ceremonial gavel echoed, Lillian rose gracefully, careful to keep his face neutral despite his internal screaming. He had nearly escaped through the back corridor when a flashbulb exploded in his face.

"Lillian Potter! Darling boy, you've been hiding from me!"

Rita Skeeter swept in, vivid green robes glinting under enchanted lights, her Quick-Quotes Quill already poised mid-air.

Lillian barely concealed his grimace. "Ms. Skeeter. How... surprising to see you lurking outside a closed session."

Rita clapped her hands with faux delight. "Oh, charming wit! But come, dear, the public has been aching for a word from you. The Boy-Who-Lived, now Lord Potter! A young man of mystery. Secrets. Independence! Let's give them something to swoon over, shall we?"

Lillian's jaw tensed, but his smile was flawless. "I'd hate to disappoint the Prophet."

THE SLYTHERIN LORD POTTER: BOY HERO, LORDLING ICON, OR WIZARDING BRITAIN'S NEWEST WILDCARD?

By now, every witch, wizard, and sentient hat in Britain knows the name Lillian Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Basilisk Slayer. The newest (and youngest!) member of the ancient Wizengamot.

But who is Lillian Potter, truly? Is he just the golden boy of Slytherin, or is there a cunning streak lurking beneath those deep brown eyes that rivals even the most seasoned Slytherins?

In an exclusive, the Prophet sat down (or rather, pounced upon) the elusive young Lord after his first official Wizengamot session, where sources say he weathered three hours of heated debates over cauldron bottom thickness with all the grace of a seasoned politician. (I daresay, some of our older Lords could learn a thing or two about patience from this fresh-faced upstart.)

When asked about his newfound independence, Lillian was all wry charm:

"A Lord protects what's his, Ms. Skeeter. Doesn't matter where the allies come from, so long as they're sharp."

Sharp allies indeed. Whispered sightings place Potter in the company of notorious Slytherin heirs, including one Draco Malfoy (of the Malfoy Malachite Empire) and Blaise Zabini, son of the enigmatic widow enchantress, Miranda Zabini. Coincidence? Hardly.

Our photoshoot revealed a Lillian Potter far removed from the scruffy orphan tale we've been fed. Dressed in sleek black slacks and an artfully untucked white shirt, wand twirling between deft fingers, Potter is every inch the image of a modern Lord—equal parts refined and rebellious. The kind of image that would make both pureblood matrons and progressive upstarts weak at the knees.

So what's next for Lord Potter?

When asked about his future plans, he offered only a knowing smile:

"You'll see."

One thing's for certain, Lillian Potter isn't going anywhere. Whether a shining beacon of Gryffindor courage, or Slytherin's newest secret weapon, one of Britain's Boys-Who-Lived has officially claimed his seat at the table, and he intends to keep it.

Chapter Text

The apartment had been blissfully quiet that morning.  Harry gone early for Quidditch practice, Lillian enjoying the rare peace with a pot of tea and a new book from Flourish and Blotts.

That peace shattered with the rap-rap-rap of the Floo. Then another. Then a third, so insistent that the flames all but leapt from the grate.

Before he could reach it, the Slytherins spilled through like green-and-silver smoke. Blaise first, coat still half-buttoned; Pansy in what had to be her most expensive dressing gown; Draco with his hair immaculate despite the hour; Theo bringing up the rear, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet as though it might bite.

"What-" Lillian began.

"Read it," Pansy ordered, shoving the paper into his hands.

The headline screamed at him.

SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN

Mass Murderer at Large. Ministry Warns Public to Remain Indoors After Dark

Below, a moving photograph of a gaunt, wild-eyed man stared out from the page, chest heaving as though the image itself couldn't rest.

"That's-"

"Your godfather," Blaise finished quietly. "And not the good kind."

Lillian's brow furrowed. "Godfather? Since when-"

Theo dropped onto the arm of the couch, voice low and matter-of-fact. "Since before you could walk. Sirius Black was James Potter's best friend at Hogwarts. The Ministry says he betrayed your parents to the Dark Lord. He was their Secret Keeper. Gave him the location himself."

Lillian's throat went dry. "Secret Keeper? What?"

"The Fidelius Charm is an extremely strong and complicated spell. It hides a certain secret within the Secret Keepers soul. Only that person knows it, and can reveal it." Draco explained with a certain sharpness to his tone. 

Pansy crossed her legs, her expression sharpened to a knife's edge. "When the Aurors caught up to him, he allegedly confronted another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew, in the middle of a Muggle street. One curse. Blew Pettigrew to pieces. Killed a dozen Muggles in the blast. All that was left of Pettigrew was a finger."

Lillian could barely process the words. "He's been in Azkaban ever since?"

Blaise nodded. "Twelve years. The first to ever escape. And the Ministry says he's coming for you. You and Harry."

Lillian sat back, heart pounding. Sirius Black. The man who stood as his godfather, the man his parents had trusted, was a murderer, a traitor, and now a fugitive.

And apparently, hunting him and Harry. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry stumbled through the apartment door, hair windblown from the Knight Bus, dragging his school trunk behind him.

Lillian was up from the sofa in seconds. "You're late."

Harry blinked. "Er... hi? Miss me?"

"You didn't send a single owl from Woods." Lillian snapped, crossing the room in three long strides. "Do you have any idea what's going on right now?"

Harry froze, sensing the edge in his brother's voice. "I heard something about a prison escape. Oli's dad said the Ministry's making a fuss, but-"

Lillian cut him off, voice low and fierce. "Not 'a prison escape.' Sirius Black. The Ministry says he betrayed our parents, gave their location to Voldemort, and then murdered another friend and twelve Muggles in broad daylight. They think he's after us."

Harry stared at him, throat working. "...After us?"

"Yes. And they're probably right." Lillian's hands came up, gripping Harry's shoulders. "You've been out all day, surrounded by strangers. What if he'd been there? What if he'd been waiting in the bus? In the Diagon Alley"

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. "But... he's been in Azkaban for twelve years. He can't just-"

"He can," Lillian said flatly. "He broke out of Azkaban. Nobody's ever done that before. He's dangerous, Harry. This isn't some random Death Eater with a grudge. He's the reason we grew up without our parents."

The silence between them stretched taut.

Harry swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"

Lillian's tone softened, but his grip didn't loosen. "We stay together. You don't go anywhere alone. Not Diagon Alley, not London, not even down the street for pumpkin pasties. If you're out, you're with me, or with someone I trust."

Harry managed a small, wry smile. "You sound like a Mum."

Lillian's jaw tightened. "Good. Someone has to."

Behind them, Blaise's voice floated lazily from the sofa. "If you think you're escaping chaperoning, Potter, you're tragically mistaken."

Harry blinked at the cluster of lounging Slytherins who'd made themselves entirely at home in the living room. "You've... been busy while I was gone."

Lillian sighed. "You have no idea."

Harry was still standing in the doorway when Lillian shoved the Prophet into his hands. The front page screamed in bold, black letters:

BLACK STILL AT LARGE. MINISTRY TO DEPLOY DEMENTORS

Below, an animated photo of Sirius Black glared out, hair hanging in matted ropes, eyes wild.

"They're putting Dementors at the entrances to Diagon Alley," Lillian said grimly. "After dawn, no one goes in or out without being checked. They'll be stationed at King's Cross too, maybe even Hogsmeade."

Harry's brows furrowed as he skimmed the article. "What are dementors?"

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life, and you will just be an empty shell that lost its soul." Theo spoke slowly, as if he encountered them before. 

Lillian gestured sharply at the column. "They think he could be anywhere. And the Minister's quote..."

Harry tilted his head a bit before reading it. "'It is imperative that every person involved in safeguarding the wizarding public is equipped with every resource available to us, including, in this case, the use of Dementors. While some may find them unpleasant, their presence is a necessary precaution in light of the extreme danger posed by Sirius Black.' - Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic."

Harry's hands tightened on the paper. "...They're sending those things near kids?"

"Near us." Lillian corrected quietly. "We are his likely target, which is why you don't leave the apartment without me. Or without someone I trust to hex Black into the nearest brick wall."

Blaise, sprawled on the armchair, raised his hand without looking up from his Butterbeer. "Volunteering as tribute."

"Seconded." Pansy said from her spot on the sofa.

Harry glanced between them, baffled. "Why are you all here?"

"Because you're both walking targets." Daphne said matter-of-factly. "Lillian is our friend. Who do you think we are?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last week of August in Diagon Alley had always been a chaos of owls, children, and impatient shopkeepers, but this year, it was worse.

Sirius Black's escape had put the entire wizarding world on edge, and that meant security. And in Lillian Potter's case, security had turned into something between a parade and a siege.

Lucius Malfoy had named it, with a faint smile, the Potter Protection Program. Two Gringotts goblins marched at the head of the group, gleaming axes strapped to their backs. Behind them, a loose diamond formation of pureblood Slytherins and family retainers created a moving wall, with Lillian in the middle. Anyone who looked twice at the Boy-Who-Lived saw not just a boy but an heir under guard.

Unfortunately, the Ministry's choice of additional company made the whole thing look like a badly matched circus troupe.

Because directly on Lillian's right, chattering in oblivious good humour, was the Weasley clan. All of them.

"Oh, we'll get your books first, Harry, then pop into the apothecary for Ginny's potion kit, and oh! Lillian dear, you'll need third-year textbooks too, won't you?" Molly Weasley beamed, as though she'd just remembered he was a living person.

Lillian forced a polite nod. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

On his left, Pansy Parkinson made a noise like she'd bitten into something sour. Blaise and Daphne followed suit with faintly amused expressions. Draco didn't bother to hide his smirk.

"Why," Pansy asked no one in particular, "must we all crowd like this? Surely the Weasleys can keep to their own lane."

"Because," Daphne murmured, not bothering to lower her voice, "Lord Potter's protection is best served when he is in the centre. Which means they are too. Tragic, really."

Hermione Granger's cheeks flushed, but she said nothing. She was keeping close to Harry, chin lifted stubbornly as though refusing to be pushed aside by silk and galleons.

Lillian didn't intervene. If anything, his mouth twitched. Not into a smile exactly, but into the faintest ghost of one. A few weeks ago, he might have tried to smooth things over. Today, he simply let the comments slide.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was packed.

Molly Weasley ushered her brood inside, already calculating prices. "Second-hand where we can, but we'll get new hems for you, Ginny dear. Harry, you'll need-"

Pansy breezed past her, summoning an assistant with a flick of her manicured fingers. "Four sets, emerald-trimmed, high-quality dragonhide reinforcing the cuffs. Custom fit. And a traveling cloak, midnight green, silver fastenings."

Daphne, not to be outdone, added, "And adjust the collar to sharpen the jawline. For Lord Potter." She didn't bother asking Lillian if he agreed.

"Harry, come here, we are getting you new robes. You outgrew your old ones. Can we have it with golden stitching? I think it would compliment your... house... quite well." Lillian spoke, seemingly, with a tiniest hint of superiority to his tone. 

In the far corner, Hermione was quietly touching a simple, sturdy set of study robes. Pansy drifted near, eyes scanning the fabric with a faint curl of her lip. She didn't say a word, but the message was obvious.

Harry caught Lillian's gaze, a silent, aren't you going to do something?

Lillian tilted his head, voice perfectly neutral. "Ready to go when you are." And that was that.

By the time they reached Flourish and Blotts, the Weasleys were noticeably quieter. Ron kept shooting murderous glances at Draco, who was having a grand time loudly requesting "the uncensored version" of their Defence Against the Dark Arts text.

The goblins at the front ignored it all. Professional, unbothered, their sole concern were the boys at their centre.

Their last stop was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, where Lucius Malfoy himself was waiting at a corner table.

"Lillian," Lucius said smoothly, rising just enough to acknowledge him. "I see the Protection Program is functioning." His eyes flickered briefly over the Weasleys, his expression politely unreadable.

"It is," Lillian replied, sliding into the seat beside him.

Lucius inclined his head, then looked over at the other children. "Enjoy your day, all of you. And remember, crowds are protection, but also a distraction. Keep your eyes open."

Lillian didn't miss the faint, approving glance Lucius sent his way when he didn't rise to defend Hermione or the Weasleys from subtle slights. It wasn't much, but it was something.

By evening, Harry would privately say that the trip had been "the single most exhausting shopping experience of my life."

Lillian, however, went to bed thinking that maybe, just maybe, Pansy was right. Not everyone needed defending.

Chapter Text

The apartment was half-chaos, half-organization. Piles of neatly folded robes on one side of the sofa, half-empty trunks on the other, and a tangle of schoolbooks in between.

Harry was on his knees, trying to wedge his books into the trunk without breaking anything, while Lillian rolled his eyes and wordlessly resized the space with a flick of his wand.

"You're welcome," he said dryly, returning to folding a set of midnight-green traveling cloaks Pansy had insisted on buying him.

Harry didn't look up. "You didn't stand up for Hermione."

Lillian's hands stilled mid-fold. "...What?"

"At Flourish and Blotts. And Madam Malkin's. You just stood there. You used to hate it when people looked at her like that." Harry shoved his socks into a corner of the trunk a little harder than necessary. "Now you just... let them."

"It wasn't my fight. Doesn't Granger have a mind of her own? I'm not her knight in shining armor." Lillian said lightly, though the words felt heavier than he meant them to. "Besides, they weren't wrong about-" He cut himself off.

Harry turned to look at him, brows furrowed. "About what?"

Lillian opened his mouth, then closed it. "Forget it."

Harry didn't.

The silence stretched until the crack of the Floo broke it.

Lucius Malfoy stepped through first, every line of his tailored robes immaculate. Draco followed, smirking at the sight of the two of them mid-pack.

"Lord Potter," Lucius greeted with a faint inclination of his head. "We thought it prudent to escort you to the station personally. In times like these..." His eyes slid briefly to Harry, "...one can't be too careful."

Harry muttered something under his breath that might have been "gee, thanks," but Lillian didn't answer, his tone toward Lucius was effortlessly warm. "That's very kind of you."

Another crack from the fireplace.

Molly Weasley bustled in, Arthur just behind her, cheeks pink from the Floo. "Boys! We thought we'd stop by early, make sure you got to the station all right!" She spotted Lucius and went stiff. "Oh. Mr Malfoy."

Lucius's answering nod was polite but cool. "Mrs Weasley."

Draco leaned against the doorframe, grin widening. "This should be fun."

Harry glanced at Lillian, who was smoothing down the folds of his cloak, already pulling on the polished mask he wore around his Slytherin friends. Whatever Harry had been hoping to get out of their conversation, it was gone now, smothered under etiquette and pureblood civility.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hum of the Hogwarts Express was a welcome cover for the awkward goodbyes on the platform. The Malfoys had lingered just long enough for Lucius to give Lillian a parting pat on the shoulder, and the Weasleys had clustered protectively around Harry, glaring at the Slytherins like they were about to bite.

Inside the train, Theodore was already in their compartment, leaning against the window. Without a word, he reached for Lillian's trunk as soon as he stepped in, lifting it effortlessly onto the luggage rack.

"You didn't stand up for Granger yesterday," Theo said casually, like it was an observation about the weather.

Lillian froze halfway into his seat. "...Wasn't my problem."

"That's not what your brother thinks," Theo replied, eyes flicking toward the door where Harry was still in the corridor with the Weasleys. "You two were talking about it this morning, weren't you?"

Pansy, who was smoothing her skirt in the corner, raised an eyebrow. "Talking about what?"

"Harry's little moral crisis," Theo said, settling back into his seat. "Apparently our Lord Potter is too good to tell off his Mudblood friends for causing trouble in shops."

Pansy smirked, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, that's a start."

Daphne tilted her head, studying Lillian. "You don't look convinced. You are convinced, aren't you?"

Lillian adjusted his cufflinks with a deliberate calm. "I'm... thinking."

Theo's lips twitched like he wanted to say more, but the door slid open and Draco stepped in, tossing his own trunk up beside Lillian's. "What are we thinking about?"

"Politics," Pansy said smoothly. "And how our dear Lord Potter is finally learning them."

The train swayed gently, the hum of wheels on tracks and the occasional whistle filling the lulls in conversation. Lillian had slid closer to Theodore sometime after lunch, his eyes half-lidded, the weight of the last few days finally catching up with him.

Theo didn't move when Lillian's head came to rest against his shoulder, the strawberry-blonde hair tickling his jaw. He only shifted slightly to make it more comfortable, his long fingers drumming idly against the armrest.

Across from them, Daphne watched with an amused smirk. "He's different." She murmured.

"Different how?" Draco asked, leaning back with his arms crossed.

"Since the Wizengamot session," Pansy said, voice low but pointed. "He's... sharper. More careful. Like he's actually thinking about who he's seen with and what's said around him."

Theo's gaze flicked to her, expression unreadable. "That's politics. He's learning."

"It's more than that," Daphne said. "He's stopped jumping to defend people who can't defend themselves. Yesterday in Diagon Alley-"

"I know," Theo interrupted softly, his voice pitched so as not to wake Lillian. "And maybe that's a good thing. He's got to think about the family name now."

Draco's eyes lingered on the sleeping boy. "The Potters never had the best instincts when it came to loyalty. Maybe Lillian's finally realising that loyalty to everyone means loyalty to no one."

Pansy's smirk widened. "And with the right guidance, he might turn out to be the best Lord Potter yet."

Theo didn't answer, but his hand stilled, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth as Lillian's breathing evened out against his shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was buzzing. Lillian was watching the sorting with a bored expression. 11 new Slytherins that watched him with awe in their eyes. Whispers of "That's him?" "Lord Potter-" "He saved the school last year." "Shouldn't he be taller?" "He's cute." could be heard from the front of the table. 

"Heard that, Lord Potter? Cute as a button." Blaise chuckled, making Lillian roll his eyes, though a small flicker of satisfaction betrayed him for a second before he masked it.

"Let them have fun." Daphne poked Blaise's shoulder. "It's not everyday you see a school hero."

"Daphne, I swear to Merlin-"

"Potter. I'm expecting the cup this year again. It's my last one and I'm not planning on loosing the streak." Gemma Farley interrupted him. 

"Congrats on making Head Girl, Farley." Lillian had barely lifted his head towards her before she disappeared off to the furthest end of the table, sitting with her fellow seventh years. "As I was saying, Daphne, I swear to Merlin, call me a hero again and you'll never get to see my homework again."

"Geez, damn, sorry. Just don't curse me Lils." She laughed softly. 

"Your brother fainted on the train." Draco pointed out in a hushed voice. "Apparently there was a dementor to check it for Black."

Lillian's eyes instantly scanned the Gryffindor table. Harry was paler than usual but overall looked fine. "He looks... almost okay."

Almost.

And in times like these, almost was never enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~

First day of classes. Normalcy was back. Instead of choosing the easy way out Lillian decided to take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Divination was useless, he didn't really like animals that bad to choose to care for them in Care Of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies was pointless. He grew up with muggles. But right after his first class in Arithmancy there wasn't any good news waiting for him. 

"Draco's injured." Pansy caught him as he was leaving the classroom. "In the hospital wing, come on."

Indeed the blond was. Sitting on a bed with his arm in a sling. 

"What happened?" Lillian asked, scanning Malfoy like a hawk.

"The hippogriff slashed him. Real bad." Crabbe responded for Draco, who was still wincing.

"It doesn't look deathly."

"He's overreacting. It's just barely anything more than a scratch. Mister Malfoy will be fine tomorrow." Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Life at Hogwarts had settled into its familiar rhythm. Classes, homework, gossip in the common room, but the air was never quite warm anymore. Even when the sun was shining, there was a thinness to the light, a bite to the breeze that slipped in through the high windows.

The dementors never crossed the wards during the day, but their shadows lingered at the edges of the grounds like stains no one could wash out. Every now and then, if the wind came from the wrong direction, a chill would curl down the back of Lillian's neck, making the fine hairs there stand up.

He told no one, but the cold hit him harder than most. Not enough to send him fainting, like Harry, but enough to make his fingers numb and his breath feel tight. It was subtle. Something he could push past, but it left him seeking warmth without realizing it.

A sidehug from Theodore as they walked between classes. Daphne's hand brushing his sleeve when she leaned in to make a dry comment about their Charms professor. Pansy looping her arm through his while they crossed the courtyard in the wind.

None of them seemed to notice the small ways he stayed close, matching their pace so their shoulders touched, lingering in doorways so they'd have to brush past him. In Slytherin, physicality wasn't common. Affection was quieter, sharper-edged, but his friends allowed it from him, and from no one else.

If anyone commented, Lillian would laugh it off. Say it was just the drafty corridors, or his fondness for expensive fabric and the need to leech other people's body heat. But sometimes, when the frost-tinged air slipped through a window, he'd find himself pressing just a fraction closer to Theodore's side and think, just a little longer.

And the strangest part? None of them ever pulled away.

The Slytherin common room always felt warmer than the rest of the castle, but that night the fire seemed especially inviting. The wind outside howled against the Black Lake, rattling the enchanted windows, and every now and then, the flames flickered as though something cold had passed just beyond the walls.

A pile of books sat forgotten on the low table. Homework had been abandoned hours ago in favor of lazy conversation, the kind that meandered from Quidditch scores to which professor had the worst handwriting.

Theo had claimed one end of the sofa, long legs stretched out, posture deceptively relaxed. Lillian had sat down beside him with the intention of going over his Transfiguration essay, and promptly forgotten it. At some point, without quite meaning to, he'd leaned sideways until his shoulder brushed Theo's. Theo had shifted just enough to make room, draping an arm loosely along the back of the sofa.

Now, Lillian was curled there, half-tucked against him, legs pulled up under himself, head resting lightly against Theo's shoulder. The position felt natural. Easy.

Across from them, Daphne lounged with her ankles crossed, idly flipping through a magazine. Pansy was leaning on the arm of her chair, chin in hand, eyes glinting as she watched them without comment. Blaise, sprawled in an armchair, smirked every time Theo's fingers absently brushed Lillian's sleeve.

Someone, probably Blaise, had charmed the lighting so the shadows danced lazily across the ceiling. The low murmur of voices and the occasional crack of the fire blended into something almost hypnotic.

For a few hours, it didn't matter that dementors stood watch beyond the wards, or that the world outside the common room was brittle with cold. Here, surrounded by the familiar press of his friends, Lillian could almost forget the way the air had started to feel thinner lately.

Almost.

But when Theo's arm tightened fractionally around his shoulders, Lillian didn't move away.

Chapter Text

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was warmer than usual, thanks to a dozen floating candles and a roaring fire in the grate. Even so, the cold seemed to cling to Lillian's skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade since the dementors' arrival.

Harry stood beside Ron and Hermione at the front, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes fixed on the large, rattling wardrobe. Lillian lingered further back, surrounded by Slytherins. Theo to his right, Daphne and Pansy a half-step behind.

Lupin's voice was cheerful as he explained what they'd be facing. "A boggart," he said, pacing lightly. "A shape-shifter. It takes the form of whatever you fear most. Which is why we'll be working together to confuse it."

A murmur rippled through the class. Curiosity, nervous laughter. Lillian stayed silent, gaze sliding toward Harry again. His brother looked pale, shoulders tight. Ron leaned in to whisper something that made Harry's mouth twitch in a half-smile.

Theo nudged Lillian's arm. "You're staring," he said under his breath.

"I'm checking on him," Lillian murmured back, eyes narrowing as Harry's hands clenched just slightly. "This is the sort of thing that-"

"-will be over in ten minutes," Theo interrupted, his tone dry but not unkind. His arm brushed Lillian's, not moving away.

Neville went first, then Parvati, Seamus, each fear melting into something absurd under the right spell.

When Lupin called, "Lord Potter, if you please," the classroom stilled.

Lillian stepped forward, wand loose in his fingers. The wardrobe creaked open.

It wasn't cold this time.

Instead, the light dimmed.

In the center of the floor, a small, cramped cupboard appeared. Its door hung crooked, paint peeling around the edges. A bare lightbulb flickered faintly inside, illuminating a thin, filthy mattress in the corner, and the dark, rusty smear of dried blood at its center.

The smell of dust and old rot clung to the air.

The class was utterly silent.

Somewhere deep in his chest, something twisted. The echo of years pressed into that space, every breath small and controlled, every sound outside a reminder of the locks on the door.

He could feel eyes on him. Curious, confused, but all he could think of was the single shadow inside the cupboard. Small. Curled in on itself. Breathing shallow.

Harry.

His throat tightened.

He forced his wand up, his voice steadier than he expected. "Riddikulus."

The cupboard exploded outward, wood reshaping itself into an enormous, gaudy four-poster bed in baby pinks and golds, piled high with velvet pillows. A ridiculous chandelier dangled where the bulb had been.

Nobody laughed.

But Lillian stepped back quickly, head ducked. Theo didn't comment, just fell into step beside him, one arm settling over his shoulders as the next student was called forward.

When Harry's turn came, Lillian didn't miss the way his brother's boggart, a dementor, made his breath hitch.

The class was still buzzing about the boggart when Lupin dismissed them.

Slytherins tended to walk in loose formation. Theo always just off to Lillian's left, Daphne and Pansy a step behind, Blaise drifting close enough to hear without looking like he was listening.

They were halfway down a quiet corridor when Daphne finally asked, in a voice soft enough not to carry, "That cupboard... was that real?"

Lillian didn't stop walking. His voice was even, but it scraped at the edges.

"Yes. Real."

Pansy made a low sound. Not quite a scoff, more a warning, but Daphne pressed on. "Was it... yours?"

That stopped him.

He turned, leaning back against the wall, eyes distant. "It was ours. Mine and Harry's. Ten years of it." His gaze flicked between them, daring them to look away. "A locked cupboard under the stairs. One flickering bulb. No windows. The mattress was stained. Blood, mould, I don't even know. It always smelled of damp and dust and... something rotting."

Theo's hand tightened on the strap of his satchel.

"They didn't feed us much. Canned soup if we were lucky, sometimes just stale bread. Water from the upstairs bathroom sink. Summers meant more chores. The garden, the gutters, scrubbing the floors on our hands and knees until they bled. Winters were worse. It was cold in there, even with blankets. You could hear the Christmas dinners upstairs. Smell them. Sometimes I thought that was worse than the hunger."

The words were spilling now, sharp and unpolished.

"They didn't like magic. They didn't like us. So they locked it away. Beat it out, when they could. Harry got the worst of it because I... learned to play nice earlier. Smile. Work. Do the chores without being told. I thought maybe if I was good enough, they'd leave him alone. Sometimes they did. Sometimes they didn't."

No one spoke.

"I dreamed about burning that house down," he said finally, voice low. "I still do. But then I remember, there's nothing in that cupboard worth the ash it would leave."

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

Pansy, surprisingly, was the one who broke it, stepping closer, sliding her arm through his with a practised, easy motion. "Then it's a good thing you've got better furniture now."

It wasn't much, but it loosened something in his chest.

Theo reached over, tugging him away from the wall. "Come on, Lils. We've got class."

Theo's arm stayed over his shoulders as they turned down the next corridor. Lillian's eyes caught on a flash of pale hair ahead. Draco, striding away with Crabbe and Goyle in tow, laughter curling sharp and private over his shoulder before the crowd swallowed him up.

It wasn't the first time.

He hadn't spent time with them since the train. Barely glanced their way in the common room. Always surrounded by the same three or four boys, their heads bent together over whispered jokes Lillian wasn't invited to hear.

Lillian's stomach twisted, the cupboard memory bleeding into something tighter, meaner.

Theo must have noticed the way his pace faltered. "What?"

"He's..." Lillian's voice caught. "He's pulling away. We used to-" He broke off, shaking his head. "Never mind."

Theo slowed, steering him toward a quieter stretch of wall. "People pull away sometimes," he said simply. "It's not always personal. Sometimes they change. Sometimes you change. And sometimes it's just..." He shrugged one shoulder. "Life."

"That's comforting," Lillian said dryly, but his throat was too tight for it to land as a joke.

Theo's gaze softened, the kind of steady, unflinching look that made it feel like the ground wasn't tilting under him anymore. "It's not about replacing people. It's about the ones who stay."

And he didn't move his arm until they reached the classroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few weeks Lillian would just give Draco those longing looks. The platinum blond even switched his seating in the Great Hall. He no longer sat at Lillian's side, instead opting to sit between Crabbe and Goyle. Now Theo sat at Lillian's right, Pansy in front of him, Daphne right next to her, Blaise to his left. Millicent and Tracey separated them from Crabbe, Malfoy, and Goyle. Wizengamot every second Saturday, classes, late study nights with Theo and Daphne. While Pansy, Blaise, Millicent, and Tracey sat close. Another routine. It was just a simple routine. 

Breakfast was winding down in the Great Hall, the air filled with the clatter of cutlery and the low hum of excitement. The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year always made the castle feel lighter, like everyone was already halfway out the doors in their heads.

"Lils?" A barely audible, yet warm and familiar, voice broke through the noise behind him. "Who's my legal guardian?"

"I am. Why?" Lillian didn't even have to look. He knew it was Harry.

"Hogsmeade permission slip," Harry said, holding out a folded bit of parchment. "I need my guardian to sign it. Came with the school letter but you were busy with Wizengamot and the goblins and everything. Didn't want to bother you."

"Weird I didn't get one..." Lillian muttered under his breath.

"Lillian," Theo said with a dry edge, "you're legally an adult. It'd be sort of pointless for you to sign your own permission slip."

"Thanks, Theo, almost forgot." Lillian took the parchment, signed it quickly, and handed it back. "No wandering off, no chasing adventures, and no trouble. Got it? If there are any problems, you come find me, and keep Granger with you at all times."

"Yes, dad," Harry groaned, but his grin betrayed him. The nearby Slytherins chuckled as he headed back to the Gryffindor table.

"You're going to be a great dad one day," Daphne remarked, head tilting slightly.

Before Lillian could answer, a voice rang out from the front of the hall.

"Mr. Potter, a word."

Harry froze mid-step, turning toward Professor McGonagall. Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy looks as he followed her a few paces to the side.

Lillian caught the tension instantly. He rose from the Slytherin table, weaving between benches until he was close enough to hear.

"...the Headmaster feels it would be safer for you to remain at the castle today," McGonagall was saying, her lips pressed into a thin line. "The dementors-"

"Funny," Lillian cut in smoothly, "because as Harry's legal guardian, I already gave permission for him to go."

McGonagall's gaze sharpened. "Lord Potter-"

"-is making sure his brother doesn't spend another weekend locked away while his friends enjoy themselves," Lillian said, still polite, but unyielding. "I've set clear rules, and I trust him to follow them. That's enough."

Her mouth tightened. "Your concern is admirable, but the safety of my students-"

"-is your responsibility. Harry's welfare is mine." He held her eyes. "And I'm telling you he's going."

A beat passed. The quiet between them felt like it hummed.

Finally, McGonagall inclined her head. "Very well. But should there be even the slightest incident-"

"I'll take full responsibility," Lillian said, already steering Harry toward the doors.

Once they were clear of the hall, Harry let out a low whistle. "You just talked back to McGonagall."

"I defended you," Lillian corrected. "Talking back is when you lose. I didn't lose."

Theo, Daphne, and Pansy caught up to them by the entrance hall, falling into step as the group made their way outside. The morning air hit cold and sharp, the grey sky heavy over the castle.

The dementors waited at the edges of the grounds, dark shapes hovering just beyond the wards, their presence like a damp chill creeping into the bones.

Lillian slowed without meaning to, his breath catching faintly. Theo noticed.

Without a word, he slipped an arm around Lillian's shoulders, tucking him close as they walked. "Ignore them," Theo murmured, quiet enough that only Lillian heard. "They can't touch you here."

Lillian exhaled slowly, letting himself lean into that solid warmth, and they crossed the last stretch to the gates together.

By the time they reached the road to Hogsmeade, the village's crooked chimneys were just visible through the mist, and the air was full of the sound of laughing students.

"First stop?" Daphne asked lightly, looking between them.

"Zonko's," Pansy said before Lillian could answer, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Then Honeydukes. We're starting with sugar."

"Typical," Theo muttered, but there was a faint smile on his face as they headed down the hill toward the promise of warmth, noise, and a day away from the shadow of the dementors.

The cobbled streets of Hogsmeade were already bustling by the time they reached the village. Frost clung to the shop windows, and the smell of fresh bread and woodsmoke curled through the cold air.

"Right," Pansy declared the moment they stepped past the post office. "Honeydukes first. Sugar now, anything else later."

"Are you five?" Daphne asked dryly, though she didn't exactly slow her pace toward the sweetshop.

Inside, warmth wrapped around them like a blanket. Every shelf was piled with jars and boxes, colours so bright they seemed to chase the grey out of the day entirely.

Pansy made a beeline for the display of Peppermint Toads, while Daphne inspected an array of chocolate wands. Theo wandered toward the back shelves, tugging Lillian with him almost without thinking.

"Get something for Harry?" Theo murmured, nodding toward the sugar quills and treacle fudge.

"Yeah," Lillian said, scanning the shelves. "Something that doesn't scream 'I'm trying too hard.'"

Theo's mouth twitched. "So... not the chocolate broomstick that actually hovers?"

Lillian gave him a look, but the corner of his mouth softened. "Alright, maybe that. But for me."

By the time they regrouped, Pansy had somehow amassed a small fortune in assorted chocolates, and Blaise had a paper bag of crystallised pineapple chunks. Outside, the cold bit at their faces again, but nobody seemed to care.

Zonko's was chaos. Whizzing fireworks, Fanged Frisbees snapping at fingers, and a wall display of Sneezing Powder that Theo steered Lillian firmly away from after Blaise made a very suspicious purchase.

It was leaving Zonko's that they spotted Harry and his friends. Ron had his nose pressed to the window of the Quidditch supply shop, eyes alight. Hermione was trying, and failing, to read a pamphlet over the noise.

"Potter!" Ron called, spotting Lillian. "Didn't think you'd be slumming it in the shops with the rest of us."

Before Lillian could answer, Pansy's voice slid in, sharp and sweet. "Slumming it? We're shopping in the same stores, Weasley. The only difference is we can actually afford to buy something."

Ron's ears went red. Hermione's jaw tightened. Harry stepped between them, clearly used to this routine.

"Don't," Harry muttered under his breath. "Not today."

Lillian glanced at Theo, who looked entirely unbothered, then back to Harry. "We'll catch up later," he said, tone firm enough to be a warning to his Housemates.

They did catch up, briefly, in the Three Broomsticks. The pub was warm and loud, packed with students and villagers alike. Madam Rosmerta was weaving between tables with butterbeer mugs balanced on trays, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and honey.

Lillian slid into a booth beside Theo, across from Daphne and Pansy. A table over, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were laughing over something, steam curling from their mugs.

"Good?" Theo asked quietly, nodding toward Harry.

"Yeah," Lillian said, taking a sip of his butterbeer. The heat spread through him, chasing away the last of the dementor chill. "Yeah, this is good."

For a little while, Black, and the Wizengamot and the slow, painful shifting of friendships felt far away. There was only warmth, and laughter, and the clink of mugs in a crowded pub where the world beyond the village couldn't quite reach them.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the castle was quieter. Snow had started to fall in lazy, drifting spirals, dusting the path and catching in Theo's hair.

"Still think you should've bought the broomstick," Theo murmured.

Lillian smirked faintly. "Still think I'd have ended up in the Hospital Wing if I did."

Theo's gloved hand brushed against his in that casual, unthinking way he sometimes had. "You'd have looked good flying it, though."

Lillian didn't answer, but his mouth tugged into a crooked smile. The chill in the air didn't seem quite so sharp.

By the time they reached the castle, the sun had slipped low. Dinner was hours away, the Slytherin common room warm and lit with a soft green glow from the lake beyond its windows. Students were scattered across couches and tables. Blaise bent over his Arithmancy work, Millicent quietly mending a scarf, Daphne and Pansy playing a lazy game of wizard's chess.

Lillian had barely settled into the seat beside Theo when the door to the common room swung open. The warmth seemed to drain out of the space as Professor Snape stepped in, black robes billowing like a shadow in the doorway.

"Up," he said, voice clipped. "All of you. You will proceed to the Great Hall immediately."

A ripple of confusion moved through the room. Blaise looked up from his parchment, Pansy frowned, and someone near the back muttered, "What's going on?"

Snape's gaze swept over them, silencing the question. "The Fat Lady's portrait has been... damaged," he said, his tone giving nothing away. "Move quickly."

That got them moving. Theo stood first, steadying Lillian with a hand at his elbow when they merged into the flow of students toward the door.

As they filed into the corridors, the atmosphere shifted, no casual chatter now, just the echo of footsteps against stone and the distant murmur of other Houses being ushered along. Somewhere above, Lillian could hear Peeves' gleeful voice shouting about "slashed canvases" and "nasty temper tantrums."

When they entered the Great Hall, it was already filling, Gryffindors clumped together in anxious knots, Hufflepuffs whispering, Ravenclaws craning to see who else was arriving. Teachers patrolled the edges, wands in hand.

Harry caught Lillian's eye from across the room, his expression tense. Lillian didn't have answers yet, but the tight knot in his stomach told him whatever had happened, the peace of the afternoon was over.

The buzz of voices died the moment Dumbledore entered. His deep purple robes swept the floor, and the silver threads in his beard caught the light from the floating candles. Professors trailed after him. McGonagall, stone-faced and tight-lipped, and Filch, muttering under his breath with a rag still clutched in one hand.

Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. "Tonight, the Fat Lady's portrait was attacked."

The tension in the hall thickened.

"She is unharmed, though understandably distressed, and is being attended to." He paused, his gaze sweeping over them with that same strange, measured weight Lillian remembered from the summer's trial. "The culprit was none other than Sirius Black."

Gasps and murmurs broke out instantly.

Lillian barely had time to process the name before Harry appeared at his side, weaving through the crowd. His younger brother's face was pale, his eyes wide and alert, searching the corners of the hall as though expecting Black to emerge from the shadows.

Without thinking, Lillian shifted, placing himself slightly in front of Harry. His hand brushed against his brother's arm, grounding, steady. Harry didn't step back. If anything, he leaned just a fraction closer, shoulders tucked against Lillian's.

"Tonight, you will all remain here," Dumbledore continued, unruffled by the noise. "Prefects, assist in arranging bedding. No one is to leave the Great Hall until further notice."

The rest of the announcement blurred into background noise. Harry's quiet, tense breathing filled the space between them. Lillian kept his eyes forward, scanning the staff, the exits, the shadows above the rafters.

It wasn't until much later, when the Hall had been transformed into a makeshift dormitory, that the adrenaline began to ebb. Theo had claimed a space beside him without asking, sitting close enough their shoulders brushed. When the candles dimmed and the low murmur of students settling into sleeping bags filled the room, Theo shifted closer still.

"You're thinking too much," Theo murmured.

"I'm making sure my brother doesn't get murdered in his sleep," Lillian muttered back.

Theo's hand found his under the blankets. Warm, steady, firm. "Then you can do that while you sleep."

Lillian exhaled slowly. Harry, curled on his other side, was already breathing evenly. Between his brother's quiet weight against his arm and Theo's fingers twined with his, the tension in his chest eased just enough for his eyes to finally close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom felt colder than usual. No candles, no warm fire in the grate. Just the snap of quills and the faint scratch of parchment as Snape prowled between the desks like a restless shadow.

"Professor Lupin," he drawled, "is, regrettably, indisposed." The pause was deliberate, his gaze flicking across the room, lingering a fraction too long on Harry and then sliding toward Lillian. "I will be filling in for him."

Theo shifted in his seat beside Lillian, idly spinning his quill between his fingers.

Snape reached the front of the class, his black robes settling around him like a pool of ink. "Today's lesson will be... theoretical. I expect a two-foot essay on how to recognise and kill a werewolf. Due at our next meeting."

A faint rustle of unease moved through the students. Lillian felt his brows draw together. The pointedness wasn't subtle, not if you knew what to look for.

Across the room, Harry sat stiffly, jaw tight, but his quill had already started scratching. Hermione's hand shot up, predictably. "Professor, there's no need to kill a werewolf if you-"

"That will do, Miss Granger," Snape cut in silkily, "unless you wish to add an additional three feet to your essay discussing the Ministry's regrettable leniency toward dangerous creatures."

Pansy gave a faint, pleased hum under her breath. Blaise smirked. Theo's eyes flicked toward Lillian, a silent he's doing this on purpose.

Lillian leaned back in his chair, spinning his quill slowly. He didn't say anything, not yet, but his gaze never left Snape.

By the time the bell rang, the room felt tighter, air heavier. Students filed out in uneven groups, muttering. Harry was one of the last to leave, shooting Lillian a glance that spoke volumes: He knows.

Theo fell into step beside him as they walked down the corridor. "You're going to do the homework?"

"When was the last time I didn't do Snape's homework?"

The library was quiet except for the soft shuffle of parchment and the faint scratch of quills. Theo sat opposite Lillian, one arm draped lazily across the back of his chair, eyes scanning his own essay with a look that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else.

Lillian's parchment, by contrast, was covered in neatly sectioned notes. Some were factual, Ministry classifications, transformation cycles, but others were scattered observations, written in smaller, tighter script.

Only absent on the full moon.
Stocked with chocolate.
Tired the day after certain classes.

Theo leaned forward, craning his neck. "That's not Snape's assignment."

"No," Lillian murmured, underlining the word silver. "It's mine."

Theo's brow furrowed. "You're writing a second essay?"

"I'm not handing this one in," Lillian said simply. "Just... keeping track."

Theo eyed him for a long moment, then smirked faintly. "You've already figured it out, haven't you?"

Lillian didn't answer directly. His quill tapped against the paper, once, twice, before he murmured, "He's not dangerous. Not unless you're stupid. Or cruel." He glanced up, meeting Theo's gaze squarely. "And I'm not going to be either."

Theo tilted his head, studying him. "So you're keeping it to yourself?"

"Obviously." Lillian rolled up the parchment with the notes and slid it into the bottom of his bag, under his Wizengamot briefs. "Last thing Lupin needs is someone making a spectacle of it."

Theo's mouth twitched like he might argue, or maybe just tease, but instead he leaned back again, a rare look of approval flickering across his face. "Good man."

The rest of the evening passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the rustle of pages and the soft scrape of chairs. But Lillian's mind stayed on his hidden parchment, and the unspoken promise that he wouldn't be the one to betray Lupin's trust.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What happened?" Lillian asked with worry in his voice as Harry laid in the hospital wing bed.

"Dementors. The got on the grounds when we were playing. I fell off my broom." Harry groaned painfully. Lillian looked to the side. The Weasley twins were holding something wrapped in material.

"What's this?" He asked cautiously while raising his eyebrow at the redheads.

"My broom." Harry muttered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was empty when Lillian stepped inside, the fire low in the grate. Lupin was at his desk, carefully arranging a stack of essays.

"Lord Potter," Lupin greeted, looking up with that faint, easy smile he always seemed to wear. "What brings you here after dinner?"

Lillian shut the door behind him. "I wanted to... talk. Not about class."

One of Lupin's brows arched slightly, but he gestured to the chair in front of the desk. "Go on."

Lillian sat, leaning forward just enough to rest his elbows on his knees. "You knew my parents. Really knew them. Didn't you?"

"I did." Lupin's voice softened in a way that made it clear the memories were both a comfort and a wound. "James was one of my closest friends. And Lily... well, she had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room. You look a great deal like her when you're thinking hard."

Lillian's lips twitched into a small, rueful smile. He paused, studying Lillian with a sharpness that didn't quite match his gentle tone. "This isn't just about your parents, is it?"

Lillian's gaze slid briefly to the fire, then back. "I'm good at seeing patterns. And I know when something's not my business... unless it's going to hurt people I care about."

Something flickered in Lupin's expression, not surprise, exactly, but acknowledgement. "And you've decided it's not going to."

"Exactly." Lillian's voice was steady. "So I'm not saying anything. Not to Theo. Not to Harry. Not to anyone."

For a long moment, Lupin just regarded him in silence. Then he said, "Your mother would've liked you."

That caught Lillian off guard more than anything else had. "Why?"

"Because you've got her compassion," Lupin said simply. "And your father's nerve." He smiled faintly. "I think they'd both be proud."

Lillian didn't quite trust himself to answer, so he just nodded once.

As he stood to leave, Lupin added, "Thank you, Lillian."

The words hung in the air, loaded with the meaning they'd both agreed never to speak aloud.

Chapter Text

Harry sat cross-legged in one of the armchairs in the library, an open letter from Mrs. Weasley in his lap. Lillian spotted him on his way past and slowed, tilting his head.

"You're still up," Lillian said, dropping onto the arm of Harry's chair.

"Yeah." Harry folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. "Mrs. Weasley wants me to come for Christmas."

Lillian gave him a half-smile. "And you're thinking about it."

Harry shrugged. "It's tempting. No dementors, no Snape, actual food..."

Lillian snorted. "Don't forget the sweaters."

Harry smirked at that, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're staying here?"

"Yeah." Lillian's tone was casual, but his gaze was steady. "Security's tighter here than anywhere else in Britain right now. You've seen the wards they've got up. Plus..." He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "Black's after us. And if you think I'm letting you out of my sight for an entire holiday, you've gone mad."

Harry blinked at him. "You'd really stay just so-"

"Yes." The answer came before Harry could finish.

For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Harry muttered, "You're worse than McGonagall."

"Higher praise has never been given," Lillian said with mock solemnity, nudging Harry's shoulder. "So, we're staying. We'll make it a proper holiday. You, me, and whoever else stays behind. Hot chocolate, snowball fights, maybe I'll even let you win one."

Harry grinned now, properly. "You'd have to actually play fair for that to happen."

Lillian ruffled his hair. "Go to bed, brat."

Harry rolled his eyes but stood, and they walked toward the stairs together. For a moment, it didn't feel like Sirius Black was out there, or that the world beyond Hogwarts was dangerous. It just felt like family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry knew the day was doomed the second he saw the empty bench opposite near the Slytherin table at breakfast. No Lillian. No Nott. Not even Greengrass pretending not to look bored.

It wasn't hard to guess where they were. The Slytherins went early for Hogsmeade weekends, some complicated strategy involving beating the rush and not getting stuck behind third years who stopped every five feet.

He wasn't annoyed, exactly. Not much.

He was halfway through his toast when a shadow fell over him.

"Potter." McGonagall, spectacles catching the morning light in that sharp, dangerous way.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry tried for polite, but it came out with just enough edge to make her mouth thin.

"I don't think you should be joining your friends in Hogsmeade today."

"Oh." He swallowed his bite, eyes flicking toward the Slytherin table. Lillian was in the middle of laughing at something Theo had said, completely oblivious. "Well, he-"

"Therefore," McGonagall went on briskly, "you will remain in the castle today."

Harry blinked. "But-"

"This is not negotiable, Potter." And with that, she swept off toward the staff table, tartan robes billowing like a storm cloud.

Right. Brilliant. Guess he'd just sit here in the castle and think about all the things he wasn't doing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the rest of Gryffindor House was heading out, Harry had resigned himself to his fate. He slouched down in his seat, picking at the crusts of his second slice of toast, trying not to notice the hum of excitement from every table.

The corridors felt different when they were empty, colder, somehow. His footsteps echoed against the stone, and every suit of armor he passed seemed to watch him with a sort of metallic pity. Even the portraits didn't bother starting conversations.

"You'd think," Harry muttered under his breath, "with a murderous escaped convict on the loose, they'd at least let me have a butterbeer before the end comes."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By mid-morning, he'd wound up outside Lupin's office. The knock sounded loud in the quiet hallway.

The professor looked up from his desk when Harry entered, surprise flickering across his tired face.

"Not in Hogsmeade?"

"McGonagall said no." Harry shrugged like it didn't matter, even though it did. "Figured I'd... learn something instead."

Lupin's eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn't comment.

That was how Harry ended up with the first real talk about the Patronus Charm. Not a full lesson. More a story about how it worked, the kind of magic it was. It felt warm, hearing about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By lunch, Harry had bumped into Fred and George, who , after some whispered plotting, pressed something flat and folded into his hands.

"Marauders Map," Fred whispered.

"For when you're tired of being left behind," George added with a wink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day stretched on, the sky outside turning from bright winter sun to the dull gray of afternoon. He sat on his bed with the map unfolded across his knees, watching little names drift lazily through corridors and into shops in Hogsmeade.

Everywhere, there were pairs and clusters of people. His eyes found Lillian moving in the middle of a tight knot of Slytherins, heading toward Honeydukes.

Harry traced the ink lines of the castle, his own dot sitting stubbornly still.

The Marauders' Map was magic. But it couldn't make him feel any less alone.

Chapter Text

By the second week of December, the lawns were buried under a glittering white blanket and the Black Lake steamed in the cold like a cauldron about to boil over.

Lillian had gotten used to the rhythm of the castle in winter. The way the corridors smelled faintly of pine from the Great Hall's trees, the way Pansy always ended up with a scarf artfully draped around her neck even indoors, the way Theo's gloves always seemed to disappear and reappear in Lillian's bag.

It was... nice. Predictable.

Even Draco's absence had settled into the background noise of life. The distance didn't hurt quite as sharply now, more like an old bruise he'd learned to ignore.

The Slytherins were scattered across the courtyard after lunch, the crunch of snow underfoot mixing with bursts of laughter as Blaise tried to charm a snowball into orbit around his head.

"You're going home for Christmas?" Daphne asked, brushing snow off her gloves.

"No," Lillian said, without hesitation. "Too much to do here." Too dangerous to leave, really, but he didn't say that part.

Theo gave him a sidelong look that said he'd heard it anyway.

Later, over steaming mugs of cocoa in the common room, Theo leaned closer.

"You're really not going back?"

Lillian shook his head. "And neither is Harry. Safer if we both stay. Plus..." His voice softened without meaning to. "We've never actually had Christmas here together. Not really."

Theo didn't smile much, but he did now, just barely. "Then it's settled."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was quieter than Lillian had ever seen it. The enchanted ceiling showed a pale winter sky, streaked with gold where the sun had just cleared the mountains. Only two tables had been pushed together for the handful of students staying over the holidays, their places set with gold plates and steaming platters of breakfast.

Harry was already there, hair sticking up worse than usual, a thick Weasley jumper swallowing his frame. He grinned when he saw Lillian.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Lillian said back, dropping into the seat beside him instead of across. He snagged a slice of toast, passing Harry the jug of pumpkin juice without thinking.

For a while, they didn't talk, just filled plates with scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and too many rashers of bacon. Around them, the few other students chatted quietly, the clink of cutlery echoing in the cavernous room.

"You know," Harry said finally, keeping his voice low, "it's kind of nice. No noise. Noone trying to hex me from across the table."

"No one's hexing you while I'm around," Lillian replied easily, but there was a thread of steel in it.

Harry shot him a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Don't think you can guard me all the time."

"Watch me," Lillian said, and took a sip of juice like it was settled.

A few minutes later, presents arrived in a neat pile at their feet, delivered by a procession of small, excited house-elves. Harry tore into his with that unguarded joy that made him seem younger, sweets from Hermione, another jumper from Mrs Weasley, a few joke items from the twins.

Lillian's gifts were smaller but no less thoughtful, a sleek new quill from Theo, a scarf in Slytherin green from Daphne, chocolate from Pansy, and, surprisingly, a peacock feather from Lucius Malfoy. 

"Guess we did all right," Harry said through a mouthful of fudge.

"We did," Lillian agreed, and for a moment the castle felt safe.

But when the wind rattled the frosted windows, he caught himself glancing toward the doors, toward the thought of the man still out there, hunting.

Christmas or not, Sirius Black didn't rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After breakfast, the castle felt almost abandoned. Their footsteps echoed in the long corridors, the portraits whispering to one another as the brothers passed. Without the constant press of students, every detail of Hogwarts seemed sharper. The faint hum of magic in the stone walls, the smell of evergreen from the wreaths still hanging by the windows.

Harry walked a half-step ahead, his Weasley jumper bright against the muted light. "You're not going to hover the whole holiday, are you?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I'm not hovering," Lillian said, keeping pace easily. "I'm... monitoring."

Harry snorted, but didn't argue.

They ended up in the Great Hall, right on time for the Yule dinner.

It lasted maybe ten minutes before an owl dropped two things before the twins. One long and oddly shaped package, the other a simple envelope.

Harry's eyes went wide the second his fingers brushed the paper. "It's a broom," he breathed, tearing at the brown wrapping before Lillian could react.

Sure enough, sleek, polished, gleaming, a brand-new Firebolt lay across Harry's lap, the name etched in gold along the handle.

Lillian barely glanced at his own envelope before saying, "Absolutely not."

"What do you mean 'absolutely not'? It's a Firebolt!" Harry's voice jumped an octave.

"And it came from an unsigned sender," Lillian countered, already standing to lift the broom from Harry's grip. "Which means we have no idea who it's from, or if it's safe."

Harry lunged for it, but Lillian simply stepped back. "You can't just-"

"I can, and I am. You'll get it back after it's been thoroughly checked for hexes, curses, and other nasty surprises. Until then-" Lillian leaned the broom against the far wall, firmly out of reach.

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You are the worst."

"I'm alive. You're alive. I can live with being the worst."

Harry's glare lacked any real heat. He flopped back onto the sofa, muttering about "overprotective, bossy brothers" while Lillian finally opened his own envelope.

Inside was a single folded sheet of parchment. No signature. No greeting. Just a few words written in unfamiliar, slanted handwriting:

You're not safe. Neither is he. The murderer is closer than you think. 

The fire crackled softly. Lillian folded the note once, twice, slid it into his pocket, and didn't mention it to Harry. He didn't need to know. 

Lillian turned the note over once, twice, feeling the paper flex under his thumb. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the warning rang sharp enough to make his skin prickle.

Harry was still sulking about the broom when Lillian slipped out of the Great Hall, Firebolt in hand. The corridors were mostly empty, only the occasional tinsel-garlanded suit of armor humming carols to itself.

Snape's office door was closed. Lillian knocked once.

"Enter."

The familiar scent of parchment, herbs, and something faintly metallic met him as he stepped inside. Snape looked up from his desk, quill pausing mid-line. "You are supposed to be relaxing," he said, voice flat but not unkind.

"I will," Lillian replied, setting the Firebolt gently on the edge of the desk. "After this is handled."

Snape's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

"It arrived just now. No sender. I'm not letting Harry near it until I know it's safe." Lillian slid the folded letter across the desk. "This came with it. For me."

Snape read it once, then again, eyes narrowing. "Where exactly did you receive this?"

"Great Hall, just now. Owl flew in, dropped it, and flew right out."

There was a long pause. Then Snape set both the broom and the letter aside with precise care, as though handling volatile ingredients.

"You were right to bring this to me," he said finally, his voice low. "Leave them here. I will see to their examination personally. And, Lillian..."

He waited until Lillian met his gaze.

"You will tell me if you receive anything else. No matter how trivial it may seem."

Lillian nodded once. "Understood."

When he left the office, his hands were empty, but the weight of the note felt heavier than ever.

Chapter Text

Snow clung stubbornly to the castle roofs well into January, glittering in the pale winter light. Inside, the corridors were warmer than they had any right to be, filled with the echo of laughter and the scrape of boots against stone.

Lillian pushed a fork through his eggs at breakfast, watching his friends with half a mind. Theo had taken it upon himself to butter a scone and slide it wordlessly onto Lillian's plate. The gesture was casual, but the weight of it wasn't lost on him. Since the letter over Christmas, the note with its jagged warning, sleep had been a little thinner. Theo didn't press, but he noticed. Theo always noticed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first Hogsmeade trip of the term had brought biting wind and the smell of butterbeer drifting down from the Three Broomsticks. Theo browsed Zonko's with the seriousness of a diplomat, inspecting trick wands as though considering a treaty. Daphne had engaged in a fierce price debate with Honeydukes' shopkeeper over sugar quills, and Pansy had dragged Lillian into Madam Puddifoot's just to watch him recoil at the overwhelming pink lace.

By the time they stepped back out into the snow-dusted street, Lillian's scarf had come loose in the wind. Theo didn't say a word, just tugged it into place, fingers brushing his neck for a heartbeat longer than necessary before letting go.

~~~~~~~~~~~

In Potions, Snape's sharp eyes tracked the class like a hawk. Professor Snape asked Lillian to monitor one of his classes and help with chopping up ingredients. A second-year Slytherin at the next table was pale and sweating over a ruined Shrinking Solution, and Lillian found himself leaning over to correct the stirring movement, low and quiet. Snape didn't praise, but there was a flicker, something like approval, before he moved on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

February's Wizengamot session had the air of a storm brewing. The vaulted chamber echoed with murmurs about foreign alliances, trade disputes, and, unexpectedly, the return of the Triwizard Tournament. Lillian kept his expression neutral, but the mention lingered like a shadow. He needed to do some research about this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

March brought another Hogsmeade weekend, and with it a stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies. The shopkeeper raised his brows when Lillian placed gold on the counter for two VIP box seats to the Quidditch World Cup.

"For you and your sweetheart?" the man asked, smile sly.

Lillian's lips curled into something halfway between a smirk and a warning. "For my brother."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The library at night was a cathedral of shadow and dust. Lillian sat alone at a corner table, poring over Prophet reels and Ministry records from thirteen years past. The timeline pieced together slowly: the Potters' deaths, the Fidelius Charm, Sirius Black's arrest without trial.

A soft thud pulled his gaze up, Theo, setting down a flask of cocoa with a frown.

"Thought you might've frozen in here," he said, sliding into the chair opposite. "Or died of boredom."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some nights were quieter. The Slytherin common room glowed with firelight, the surface of the Black Lake casting shifting shadows across the ceiling. Lillian leaned over a nervous first-year's parchment, murmuring corrections for a particularly tricky charm. Theo sprawled nearby in an armchair, pretending to read, though the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.

Blaise strolled past, smirking. "Careful, Lils. Keep that up and they'll start calling you Professor Potter."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By June, the snow was long gone and the air hung heavy with summer heat. Lillian and Theo sat shoulder to shoulder on the common room sofa one quiet evening, knees brushing. Theo's book lay open in his lap; Lillian's remained unread in his hands. His mind kept circling back to the note, to Sirius Black, to the threads of a story that didn't quite fit.

Outside, the Black Lake rippled silver under the moonlight. It felt calm. The kind of calm that always, always broke.

That's when he noticed it. Harry, Granger, and the redhead. Screaming by the Whomping Willow. Dog. Big black dog. It was dragging Weasley towards it.

"Theo?"

"Yes Lils?" Theodore asked, not lifting his gaze from the pages.

"Do you see this as well or am I hallucinating?" Lillian turned his friend's head towards the scene.

"It's either a joint hallucination or Weasley is being dragged to the Willow by a massive ugly dog."

"Okay."

In a matter of seconds Lillian was on his feet, running towards his brother, wand drawn in his hand, Theo, trying to catch up to Lillian's adrenaline induced speed.

One of the Willow's branches came down with a whoosh, missing them by inches. Harry dodged left, Lillian right, both keeping their eyes on Ron as the dog dragged him into a gap at the tree's roots.

"Harry! There!" Hermione shouted, pointing at a low branch.

Before either Potter could answer, a branch swung sideways, knocking Harry off his feet. Lillian grabbed his brother by the sleeve and yanked him upright. "Stay with me!"

Another blow from the Willow nearly clipped Theo. He swore under his breath and rolled away.

Hermione darted forward, eyes locked on the knot at the trunk. "That's it!" she cried, slamming her hand onto the knot just as a branch swung toward her. The tree shuddered, then froze.

The silence that followed was sharp and strange.

The hole at the base of the tree yawned wide and dark. Without waiting, Harry dropped to his knees and crawled inside.

"Harry-" Lillian started, but Theo was already crouching beside him.

"Go," Theo urged, eyes flicking toward the now-still branches. "I'll be right behind you."

Lillian swore, ducked into the tunnel, and followed his brother into the earth.

"I swear to Merlin, Harry, I will kill you myself if we have to pay for Weasley's rabies shot." Lillian muttered under his breath, speed walking through the tunnel.

"What's a rabies shot?" Theo asked behind him. "And why would you pay for that?"

"It's an animal disease, carried mainly by strays. It can infect humans. Deadly."

"Then just put Weasley down. I don't think that dog was normal." Theo muttered as Granger slapped his back. "Ow! Granger! That hurt."

"We are not putting Ronald down. Even if he's an ass."

The tunnel sloped downward, narrow and damp, the smell of earth thick in the air. Lillian's hands scraped on the packed dirt as he crawled after Harry, Theo's breathing steady behind him. The space was barely wide enough for one person, and the occasional root snagged at his sleeves.

For what felt like forever, they crawled in silence but for the sound of Ron's pained moans echoing faintly ahead. Then the tunnel began to rise again, the earth giving way to rotting floorboards under their knees.

Harry was first out into the gloom of the room beyond, a large, filthy chamber with tattered curtains, cracked furniture, and dust hanging in the air like fog.

"Weasley, get up, we need to get you to the infirmary." Lillian spoke, disgust in his voice as he brushed off dirt off of his clothes.

"Th- That's... That's not a dog-" The redhead whimpered while pointing to the other side of the room. Lillian's head immediately swooped in that direction and within seconds his fist connected with Sirius's Blacks nose.

"What the fuck!" The filthy man crouched, holding his bloody nose.

But Lillian didn't care. Instead he grabbed a handful of Black's matted hair and pulled it back, pressing his wand against the man's throat. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you."

"I didn't sell out your parents! I'd sooner die than betraying James and Lily!"

Lillian punched him again, this time in the stomach, his face was twisted in fury. "Stop lying, scum."

"Peter Pettigrew is alive! I can prove it!"

"How wou-"

"Expeliarmus!" Lupins voice echoed, but the spell didn't hit Lillian, but Harry. His brother was wandless, in front of the criminal that betrayed their parents. Lillian and Sirius were behind the open door.

With Black's hair still in his hand he redirected his wand at his teacher. "Expeliarmus!" He shouted and Harry's, and Lupin's wands came flying across the room from his teachers grip.

"You're cooperating with a criminal? I thought better of you. Such a shame." His words dripped like venom. "I guess we will be having two trials, and two dementors kisses soon."

"Lillian, just let me explain. Sirius Black wasn't your parent's Secret Keeper. It was Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew is dead!" Lillian pressed his wand against Sirius's temple hard enough to make the man wince in pain and tear up.

"He's in this room!"

That took Lillian off beat but his grip didn't loosen.

"Get away from the children, both of you!"

Snape barged in, and Lillian couldn't help but feel relieved at the sight of his professor.

"Mister Potter...?" The potions professor tilted his head when he saw Lillian holding Black by his hair, wand at his temple, blood running from the man's broken nose.

"Oh, hello professor. Traitor professor Lupin was just about to bring a dead man to life to help the case of the murderous traitor right here." He spoke as if he didn't threaten Sirius's life mere moments ago. Theo looked at him as if he had seven heads.

"Which dead man are we talking about?" Snape raised his eyebrow while shoving a flask in Lupin's hand. The man downed it quickly.

"Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew." Lillian tilted his head. "Are you this stupid to run out of the castle to save his life before taking your wolfsbane potion? Fucking Gryffindors." His eyes were narrowed at Lupin. "Anyways, Black, plead your case, come on. Where in this room is Peter Pettigrew? Maybe you can sniff his ghost out with your dog nose?"

Snape looked almost proud at Lillian's taunting. Almost. After all, Dumbledore had said that as a professor he cannot condone bad behaviors.

Black just pointed his fingers to Weasley, or more like Weasley's lap.

"Me?" The redhead screeched. "I'm not Pettigrew." But a tail flickered in between his hands.

"You're too dumb to survive on your own, of course you wouldn't survive 12 years undercover." Lillian pushed Black to the ground and stormed over to Weasley, laying on the ground, still wincing from his wounded ankle. "Give me your rat."

"Scabbers? But Scabbers is innocent he's been in my family for years!"

But Lillian didn't argue with him. He just wrestled the wriggling animal out of his trembling hands and shoved it into Snape's.

"Turn it back. I'm not giving Lupin his wand back unless it's all proven."

"Turn what back?" Snape asked, sounding a bit too confused than his character allowed him.

"Rat back into Pettigrew. If Lupin and Black are correct, Black will live. If not, I'll kill him myself. Or both. Haven't decided yet."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the rat and pointed his wand at its head before muttering some spell under his name.

"Well I'll be damned." Lillian spoke breathlessly, watching the rat convulse and drop to the floor before growing rapidly, turning into a short, chubby, disgusting man. "But it still doesn't explain everything." Lillian flicked his wand and stunned Pettigrew unconscious. He turned his attention back to Black and Lupin before stunning them as well. Another swishes of his wand bonded all three men.

"Let's get back to the castle. I'm assuming Professor Snape has a few doses of veritaserum somewhere, right?" He looked to the potions master with a soft smile and gave Harry his wand back.

The walk back to the castle wasn't silent because there was nothing to say, it was silent because Lillian was thinking.

He didn't dwell on the stunned bodies levitating in front of Snape, or the way Harry kept glancing between him and Sirius Black like he didn't know who to believe. He was calculating. Every step up the slope from the Whomping Willow was another beat of strategy hammering itself into place.

If he let Dumbledore steer this, Pettigrew would vanish into a locked room and never see trial. Black would rot in Azkaban, and the Ministry would pretend the whole thing was just a fever dream under the Willow.

Not this time.

By the time they passed the gargoyle to the Hospital Wing corridor, Lillian had made his decision.

Pomfrey nearly fainted at the sight of them. Ron was carried in between Harry and Hermione, ankle swelling like a balloon, while Pettigrew's unconscious form floated in behind Sirius and Lupin, both bound.

"Good heavens, what-"

"Minister first," Lillian cut across her, already turning for the door. "Medical care after."

"Potter-" McGonagall's voice snapped across the room, but he didn't slow.

"Three men, one of them an escaped convict, one of them supposed to be dead, and one werewolf professor. That's not for the Headmaster, Professor. That's for the Minister." He didn't even look back. "Where's your Floo?"

Her mouth tightened. He could see the argument forming, the list of reasons she was going to tell him no, and then her eyes flicked to Pettigrew's face, pale and greasy under the torchlight. Whatever she saw there made her jaw snap shut.

"This way," she said stiffly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire roared green as he knelt, voice crisp and unhurried.

"Minister Fudge, this is Lillian Potter. I'm invoking my Wizengamot privilege to summon you immediately to Hogwarts on a matter of national security. Involving the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Crouch family, and the Azkaban sentencing of Sirius Black."

He let the silence stretch after that, knowing full well the bait was dangling.

The Minister's face swam into view in the flames, flushed, startled. "Potter? Good lord, what-"

"Minister, I won't discuss it over the Floo. It concerns the Potter family directly, and it will be resolved publicly, not buried in a department memo."

Fudge swallowed, eyes darting like a man already imagining the Prophet headline. "I'll come at once."

"Make sure to bring Head Auror Madam Bones. She's gonna wanna see this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Fudge swept in, flanked by Madam Bones and one big Auror, Lillian was waiting just inside the door.

He didn't let Dumbledore speak first, didn't even let him breathe.

"Minister, allow me to introduce Peter Pettigrew. Officially declared dead in 1981. Awarded a posthumous Order of Merlin for supposedly confronting Sirius Black. You'll notice he's breathing."

The room went utterly still. Even the portraits seemed to lean in.

Fudge's eyes went round. "Sweet Merlin-"

"He's confessed under Veritaserum once already to me," Lillian lied smoothly, "but for the record, we'll do it again here. You, me, Hogwarts staff, and any Auror you trust. Transparency, Minister."

"Who in Merlin's name captured them? And why is this... one... bound as well?" Madam Bones pointed to transformed, unconscious, Lupin.

"Self preservation, Madam Bones, and I did, with Professor Snape's help."

It was a trap. To object now would be to admit the Ministry was afraid of the truth.

Fudge hesitated, then puffed himself up. "Yes. Yes, of course. Proceed."

Snape administered the Veritaserum with clinical precision after waking Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black. Lillian took the seat opposite Pettigrew, his voice a scalpel.

"State your full name."

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Were you the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

"Yes."

"Did you betray their location to Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Why did you fake your death?"

"To frame Sirius Black and escape."

The Minister's color went from pink to a mottled gray.

Lillian moved to sit in front of Sirius Black. His eyes were dead, maybe the effect of the potion, maybe the effects of being around dementors for 12 years.

"State your full name."

"Sirius Orion Black."

"Were you the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

"No."

"Why weren't you the Potters' Secret Keeper."

"I was the most possible option. James and I didn't want deatheaters trying to kill me for information. Lily thought to make Peter the Secret Keeper instead, to throw them off."

Lillian leaned back, folding his arms.

"Minister, in front of witnesses, including two Aurors, I'll have your word that Sirius Black receives his first, full and public trial. Anything less, and I will bring this to the full Wizengamot myself. You understand, of course, what that would do to the Ministry's reputation."

It was not a request.

Fudge licked his lips. "You have my word."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where have you two been?"

"And why are you two dirty?"

"Romantic escapade?"

"We've been searching for you two all evening."

Pansy, Daphne, and Blaise descended on them with questions as soon as they stepped inside the common room.

"I'm tired." Was all Lillian said before collapsing on the green leather couch.

"Well, that explains nothing." Draco muttered under his breath, reading by the fireplace. Lillian's eyes narrowed at the platinum blond.

"And where have you been for the past months, Draco? Abandoning us for the sake of Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Where have you been?" Draco demanded again, his voice not letting down.

Lillian blinked at him. "I asked you the same question. You've been avoiding us for weeks."

"I wasn't avoiding you," Draco said quickly, but he shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. "I've just- things at home have been...complicated. My father-" He cut himself off, jaw tight. "I didn't want to drag you into it."

Lillian tilted his head. "You thought ignoring us was better?"

"I thought..." Draco hesitated, eyes flicking to the others in the room. Then, softer, "I thought you'd hate me if you knew."

For a moment, Lillian just looked at him. Then he sighed, stood, and crossed the space between them. "Draco, you're an idiot."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched. "So you've said before."

"I don't hate you, we don't hate you." Lillian said, and before Draco could react, he pulled him into a quick, rough hug. "Don't disappear on us again."

Draco stiffened for half a second, then patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Alright. I won't."

From the sofa, Theo snorted. "Touching. Truly."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous."

"Ridiculously handsome," Blaise said under his breath, earning himself a cushion thrown to the head by Theo.

Chapter Text

BOY-WIZENGAMOT MEMBER NABS NOTORIOUS MURDERER!

In a scene that could have leapt straight from the pages of a sensational novel, Lillian Potter, yes, that Potter, Lord Potter, stunned the wizarding world last week by personally capturing the infamous fugitive Sirius Black.

Eyewitnesses (who have asked to remain anonymous, but whose accounts match perfectly) claim that young Mr. Potter confronted Black single-handedly in a derelict building near the edge of Hogsmeade, disarming and subduing the alleged murderer with "a level of composure and force rarely seen outside seasoned Aurors."

But the drama did not end there. In an extraordinary twist, Potter is also credited with the discovery, and magical unmasking, of one Peter Pettigrew, a man long believed dead and mourned as a hero. Details remain murky, but certain sources within the Ministry confirm that Pettigrew's sudden reappearance "could change everything we thought we knew" about the events leading to the downfall of You-Know-Who.

Also present at the scene was Professor Remus Lupin, Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who, according to whispers in Ministry corridors, has now resigned his post under mysterious circumstances. Neither Lupin nor Headmaster Albus Dumbledore have issued public statements.

When asked for comment, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge praised Potter's "quick thinking" and assured this reporter that "dangerous criminals will always be brought to justice, preferably by trained professionals." Sources close to the Wizengamot suggest that the Minister's tone was "pointedly paternal," though those who witnessed Potter's calm testimony at the Ministry question whether the boy requires such guidance.

Still, one cannot help but wonder: is this a glimpse of the man Lillian Potter is destined to become? A young leader stepping boldly into the shadowed legacy of his family... or a boy playing a dangerous game in a world where one misstep could be his last?

For now, the wizarding world watches, and waits.

The Great Hall was in full end-of-term chaos, owls swooping overhead with last-minute parcels, the clatter of trunks being levitated toward the doors, and the endless chatter of students who suddenly remembered a dozen things they "absolutely had to say" before summer.

At the Slytherin table, a copy of the Daily Prophet lay spread open between Theo and Draco, the large, bold headline practically glowing in the morning light:

BOY-WIZENGAMOT MEMBER NABS NOTORIOUS MURDERER!

"I can't believe you let Skeeter get away with this," Theo said, tapping the page like it had personally offended him. "Single-handedly captured Black, really? I was right there. I nearly got brained by the Whomping Willow."

Draco smirked over his toast. "She probably thought you wouldn't look heroic enough in print, Nott."

Theo scowled. "And you would?"

"Obviously," Draco replied without missing a beat.

Lillian snatched a piece of toast off Theo's plate. "You're all acting like Skeeter asks permission before writing her nonsense."

Across the hall, Harry, sitting with Ron and Hermione, held up his own copy of the paper, mouthing single-handedly at Lillian and giving him a very obvious thumbs-up. Ron was grinning like a loon.

Theo caught it too. "Oh, brilliant. Your brother's never going to shut up about this. We're going to be hearing 'single-handedly' until at least Christmas."

Pansy slid into the seat beside Draco, glancing at the paper. "I don't know, it's not entirely inaccurate. You did get the rat, Potter."

"I got the rat because Weasley was too stunned to hold onto it properly," Lillian said. "Heroic, sure."

"You literally almost killed Black in animalistic rage. I'd call that single-handedly." Theo mumbled and Daphnes jaw fell.

"You almost killed a guy?" Her voice was a bit too loud.  And suddenly a lot of eyes were on him.

"How about we shut up for a while and eat our food?"

Draco leaned back, arms folded. "Look, you can complain all you want, but the point is you're in the Prophet looking like you're about to run the Ministry one day. Some of us work our entire lives for that kind of press."

Theo nudged Lillian under the table. "Just remember us little people when you're running the country, yeah?"

Lillian laughed, shaking his head as he stood, slinging his satchel over one shoulder. "If I ever run the country, the first thing I'm doing is banning Skeeter from publishing."

Theo grinned. "Finally, a campaign promise I can get behind."

They left the hall together, the clamor of summer goodbyes echoing behind them, sunlight spilling through the open castle doors as they made their way toward the carriages, another year gone, and another waiting ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The compartment rattled gently as the Hogwarts Express sped south, sunlight flickering through the countryside. The air smelled faintly of treacle tart, a remnant from the trolley lady's visit, and the lazy hum of conversation filled the small space.

Theo had claimed the window seat, legs stretched out, one arm propped along the sill. Lillian sat beside him, picking at a Chocolate Frog and half-listening to Draco and Pansy arguing over the Prophet article again.

"...I'm just saying," Draco huffed, "if she'd written my name in the headline, it would have been a public service."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "If she'd written your name in the headline, people would think you were the escaped murderer."

Theo chuckled quietly beside Lillian. "You realise they could keep this up all the way to London?"

Lillian's reply was a muffled hum, he'd slouched sideways, cheek resting against Theo's shoulder. "Better than Weasley and Harry singing the Cannons theme on repeat," he muttered, already sounding half-asleep.

Theo went still for a second, then relaxed just enough that his head tilted toward Lillian's without him seeming to notice.

Draco did notice. His gaze flicked to them, his sentence to Pansy trailing off. He blinked once, mouth tightening slightly, then he looked back down at his lap, though he didn't seem quite as invested in the conversation anymore.

The train hit a small bump in the track. Something slid out from the unzipped side pocket of Lillian's satchel and landed on the floor with a papery thwack.

Theo leaned forward, reaching to pick it up before anyone stepped on it. His brow furrowed when he read the label written in Lillian's neat, slanted handwriting:

Ministry Bullshit Tournament

Draco's eyes sharpened, catching the words upside-down. "What in Merlin's name is that?"

Theo smirked, tucking the folder back into Lillian's bag before he could answer. "Something for next year, apparently."

Lillian gave a sleepy grunt, barely lifting his head. "If anyone says the word tournament before September, I'm hexing them."

"Promises, promises," Theo murmured, settling back as the train rolled on. "Why are you asleep anyway? We woke up only a few hours ago."

"I need to go buy groceries. No food at home. And then cook dinner." Lillian yawned, readjusting his position on Theodore's shoulder.

"I swear, you need a house elf yesterday. You're a Lord. Act like it. Don't cook." Daphne rolled her eyes, shifting in her seat to give Lillian a bit more space.

"Let's sleepover at Potters again." Blaise spoke up from his book when he was sure Lillian fell back asleep. "Lils clearly needs to relax after this year, and whatever the Ministry is doing. Plus... No adults there. And I bet his brother won't care that much. We practically lived there all last summer anyway."

"Good idea. We should have a spa day all together." Pansy replied immediately, already writing a letter to her parents. The others quickly followed.

Outside, the fields blurred by in gold and green, the steady rhythm of the tracks lulling the compartment into companionable quiet. Draco stared out the opposite window, but every so often his eyes slid toward the pair in the corner, thoughtful and faintly tense.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lils." Theo shook him awake. "Get up, we are in London."

"What?" He rubbed his eyes, his trunk already down on the compartment floor

"I said, we are in London, get up. We have dinner to cook."

"What do you mean we...?" He finally stood up, stretching his back and before he could reach for his trunk it was already in Draco's hands.

"We are coming uninvited for a sleepover." The platinum blond shrugged and everyone began leaving the train. Harry met them at the platform, Granger right next to him, a smile on his face.

"Okay circus party, we have London to travel and groceries to buy. Let's move." Lillian groaned, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder, moving to the barrier. "Is Granger spending the night as well or just walking with us out to the station?" He looked at Harry.

"Oh, no, her. parents just can't get on the platform." He shrugged and they all walked. Outside the magical barrier Hermione's parents were standing with bright smiles as she ran up to them. The Slytherins made a beeline around them, avoiding them fully, with Lillian grabbing Harry's arm, leading him out of the station.

"Okay, everybody, hold hands. I don't want any purebloods lost in muggle London, got it?" He groaned like a tired parent before all of them exited Kings Cross.

Theo tensed as he looked at the bright neon signs, crowds of muggles, the cars, and the overall technology of the muggle world. None of them said a word as Lillian maneuvered them through the crowd at the front, Harry at the back. They got in a local Tesco near the entry to the Leaky Cauldron.

"We need eggs, bread, butter, fruits, vegetables, milk, coffee, tea, sugar, orange juice, and some snacks." He listed off his shopping list while grabbing a big cart. Draco looked around the store half disgusted, half amazed.

"Is this how mugg-"

"Yes. That's how people live. Shut up." Lillian muttered as the group moved through the aisles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Potter apartment smelled faintly of fresh bread and coffee, the scent drifting in from the open kitchen where Lillian was unloading the last of the groceries onto the counter. His hair was still a little windswept from the walk back through Muggle London, and he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Pansy, what is this?" he asked suddenly, holding up a suspiciously shiny red-and-blue box that had been buried in the shopping bag.

"Cards." She plucked them neatly out of his hand. "I want to play poker."

Lillian gave her a long, measured look. "Poker? As in betting? Gambling?"

Pansy shrugged, perfectly unbothered as she flipped the box over and examined the rules printed on the back. "You don't know how to play?"

"You know how to play?" Lillian shot back.

"Obviously. My uncle taught me." She smiled sweetly. "It's a Muggle game, isn't it? I thought it would make you feel at home."

Theo snorted from where he was sprawled across the sofa, already opening a bag of crisps. "Right. Because nothing says home like losing your money to Pansy Parkinson."

Blaise appeared from the hallway holding a rolled-up blanket like a trophy. "I call dealing first."

"Absolutely not," Draco said sharply, stepping into the kitchen with his arms folded. "I am not letting Blaise Zabini near a deck of cards. He cheats."

"That's not cheating, it's strategy," Blaise replied with mock offense.

Lillian groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, but he was smiling faintly despite himself. "Fine. But no betting anything you actually care about. And no hexing each other when you lose."

Within minutes, the kitchen table was cleared, the deck shuffled, and snacks spread out like a miniature feast. Bowls of crisps, biscuits, and a plate of cut fruit that Theo swore he wasn't going to touch.

At first, the game was pure chaos. Pansy tried to explain the rules over Draco's protests that they were "clearly wrong," Blaise kept mysteriously ending up with better hands than anyone else, and Daphne somehow convinced Theo to bet away his right to the window seat for the next train ride.

Half an hour in, Lillian had given up on playing properly and was leaning back in his chair, sipping tea while watching the others bicker like an overexcited litter of Kneazles.

"Potter," Blaise called, tossing a card in his direction, "are you going to play or just sit there looking smug?"

"I'm the bank," Lillian said simply. "Someone has to keep you from accidentally wagering my flat."

That earned a few laughs, and for the rest of the evening the apartment filled with the sound of shuffling cards, light teasing, and the occasional dramatic groan when someone lost a round. By the time Harry wandered in from his own evening out, he found them all piled around the table, Draco leaning precariously on the back legs of his chair, Theo with chip crumbs down his shirt, Pansy wearing an expression of utter triumph, and Lillian, for once, laughing freely.

By the time the last hand of poker was played, Pansy was looking entirely too pleased with herself and Draco was sulking with his chin in his hand. Theo had retreated to the sofa to lick his wounds, and his biscuit, in peace.

"Right," Pansy announced, sweeping the cards into a neat pile. "We're done with gambling. Now it's time for something useful."

"Like what?" Theo asked suspiciously.

Daphne emerged from the bathroom holding a collection of jars, tubes, and bottles like some sort of apothecary. "Skincare."

Draco's head snapped up. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes," Pansy countered, already dragging a dining chair into the middle of the room like it was an execution spot. "Sit."

"I'm not-" Draco began, but Pansy simply raised an eyebrow and he sighed in defeat, muttering something about "peer pressure" as he sat down.

Blaise, ever the opportunist, had already claimed the other chair. "Do me next. I want to see what all the fuss is about."

Within minutes, the flat smelled faintly of lavender and cucumber as Pansy smeared a green clay mask across Draco's face with alarming precision. Daphne was working on Theo, who looked like he was fighting not to laugh as she tried to keep him still.

"This feels... weird," Theo admitted as Daphne dabbed under his eyes.

"That's the hydration serum," she explained. "Your skin's been suffering in the castle air."

Lillian, meanwhile, was slouched on the floor with Blaise, both of them looking like they'd lost some sort of bet. Pansy painted a mask across Lillian's face anyway. "Hold still, Potter. You're blotchy from the sun."

"I'm not blotchy," Lillian mumbled, but he didn't move away.

"Shh. Beauty is pain," Pansy said in her most serious tone.

By the time everyone had a mask on, the room looked like a gathering of particularly glamorous trolls.

It was Blaise who broke the moment's peace. "Alright, confession time. Who's the most attractive person in Hogwarts?"

Theo grinned instantly. "Oh, I'm not touching this one."

"Yes, you are," Daphne insisted. "I'll start. Cedric Diggory. Obviously."

"That's a safe answer," Blaise said with a smirk. "Everyone thinks Diggory's attractive."

"Because he is," Pansy shot back. "Lils? Your turn."

Lillian thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Probably Cho Chang. She's nice, too."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Predictable."

"Fine," Lillian said. "What about you, Malfoy?"

Draco hesitated, glancing around at all the eager faces. "...I'm not saying."

"Oh, so it's someone scandalous," Blaise teased.

"It's not scandalous-"

"Then say it," Pansy sing-songed.

Draco sighed dramatically. "Alright. It's Pucey."

Theo nearly choked on his tea. "Pucey?!"

"Yes, Pucey," Draco said defensively. "He's... well-groomed."

That set the group off into laughter and teasing that lasted through the whole face mask removal process. By the end of the night, they were all sitting around in pyjamas, skin faintly glowing under the soft lamplight, tossing more "most attractive" votes back and forth until the list had grown to include at least half the school.

Chapter Text

The Wizengamot chamber was stifling on the last day of July. The thick purple robes they insisted members wear were heavy enough in December; in the summer heat they felt like punishment. Lillian stepped out into the cooler marble corridor with relief, loosening the clasp at his neck.

Behind him, the murmur of voices still echoed, talk of "prestige" and "international cooperation" and "upholding centuries-old tradition." Not a word about the actual safety of the students who'd be competing in the Triwizard Tournament. He'd stopped counting how many times he'd heard the phrase "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity" tossed around like a sales pitch.

"Keep your head, Potter," Amelia Bones murmured as she passed him, her hat casting a neat shadow across her face. She slipped a folded note into his hand. "Some of them will try to use you as a mouthpiece. Don't let them."

By the time he got back to the Potter apartment, the smell of London in late summer, warm pavement, faint petrol, the tang of the Thames, was a relief. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his satchel on the counter, and took out the small wrapped parcel he'd picked up in Diagon Alley that morning.

Harry was already there, sitting cross-legged on the couch with his own slightly lopsided gift-wrapping job resting beside him.

"Happy birthday," Harry said, grinning.

"Same to you," Lillian replied, tossing the parcel onto the coffee table.

They'd agreed on no big fuss this year, no parties, no crowds, just them. The only indulgence was the cake: a neat, round thing from a bakery off Diagon Alley, its frosting plain but dusted with gold sprinkles that caught the lamplight.

Harry teased him immediately. "Didn't bake it yourself?"

"Do I look like Molly Weasley to you?" Lillian poured tea into two mismatched mugs. "Be grateful I didn't buy one of those sad little Tesco ones."

They cut generous slices, curling into the couch with plates balanced on their knees.

"So," Harry said around a mouthful of cake, "what's the Wizengamot gossip?"

"Gossip?" Lillian gave a short laugh. "If by gossip you mean listening to grown adults argue about which crest will look more dignified on the official banners, then yes, plenty. Half of them want to milk the glory of hosting, the other half want to make sure every ceremony is 'in keeping with tradition', without having the faintest clue what the actual tasks are going to be."

Harry grinned. "Sounds thrilling. Meanwhile in Gryffindor Tower..." And he launched into it: Angelina and Alicia trying to recruit every vaguely athletic student in sight, Lee Jordan's prank involving self-rearranging furniture, and the ongoing Lavender-Seamus-Padma triangle that seemed to involve more slammed doors than actual romance.

By the time they'd traded a few of their own House's more ridiculous stories, they were laughing so hard Lillian nearly dropped his tea onto the carpet.

When they finally caught their breath, Lillian leaned back against the cushions. "You know... I don't like the way they talk about the Tournament. They keep insisting it's safe, but they sound like they're trying to convince themselves more than anyone else."

Harry shrugged, in that way he had when he wanted to be reassuring without making it obvious. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

The lamplight cast soft gold over the room, the window open to the warm night air. They finished the last crumbs of cake in companionable silence, the rest of the wizarding world, with all its politics and gossip and danger, feeling, for once, very far away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lillian woke to the muffled thump of something heavy hitting the floor.

For a second, he thought it was Harry dropping a book in the living room. Then he registered the weight pressed against his left side. And the right.

He cracked one eye open.

Theo was sprawled half on top of him, hair sticking up at odd angles, one arm possessively hooked over Lillian's middle like he was guarding a pillow. On the other side, Draco was curled up with his back toward them, the hem of his pale silk pajama top peeking out from under the duvet.

"...what in Merlin's name-" Lillian mumbled.

"Oh good, you're awake," Blaise's voice came from somewhere near the foot of the bed. He was sitting cross-legged there, perfectly composed in dark satin pajamas, sipping what looked suspiciously like tea. "Your floo connection works beautifully, by the way."

"You broke into my flat?"

"Technically," Pansy called from the doorway, "we flooed in. The wards didn't even slow us down. Might want to look into that, Lord Potter."

Daphne brushed past her, a tray of something that smelled like fresh pastries in her hands. "We brought breakfast. Well, Pansy did. I'm just here for the tea."

Theo made a vague, sleepy noise and tightened his grip, like letting Lillian go would mean he'd have to get up.

Draco shifted, muttering without opening his eyes. "It was Pansy's idea."

"Of course it was." Lillian sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "And why are you in my bed?"

"Because it's bigger than than the couch," Blaise replied smoothly. "And closer to the tea. Obviously."

"Besides," Pansy said, setting the tray down on the nightstand, "we didn't get to celebrate your birthday properly. You didn't think we were going to let you hide in here with just your brother, did you?"

Lillian glanced toward the half-open bedroom door, catching sight of Harry shuffling past in the hall, hair even messier than usual, holding two mugs of tea and wearing the resigned expression of someone who'd already given up trying to stop this.

"They were here when I woke up," Harry said simply, then disappeared into the kitchen.

"Fine," Lillian muttered, surrendering to the inevitable as Daphne handed him a warm croissant. "But if anyone spills tea on my sheets, you're all banned from flooing here for a month."

Theo just smirked against his shoulder without lifting his head. "Sure you'd survive without us."

The rest of them piled onto the bed with varying degrees of grace, plates passed around and cups refilled, the early morning sunlight spilling through the curtains. It was just them, messy, loud, and entirely at home.

By midmorning, the Potter apartment was a war zone of blankets, half-empty mugs, and the faint scent of toast. The sun streamed through the big windows, catching the dust motes in the air, but no one had any intention of doing something productive.

Theo was still in his pajama bottoms and one of Lillian's t-shirts, stretched across the sofa with a book balanced on his chest. He hadn't turned the page in twenty minutes.

Draco sat cross-legged on the rug, sorting through a pile of Exploding Snap cards with the kind of focus most people reserved for bomb defusal.

Blaise had claimed the armchair and was idly tossing Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into the air and catching them in his mouth, occasionally grimacing at an unfortunate flavour but refusing to stop.

Pansy and Daphne were in the kitchen, arguing over whether Muggle instant coffee was an abomination or a miracle.

Lillian emerged from his bedroom barefoot, hair sticking up in a dozen directions, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You know, normal people knock before barging in for a sleepover that never ends."

"Normal people are boring," Pansy replied, shoving a mug into his hands before he could protest. "Drink. You look like you got hit with a Stunning Spell."

"I feel like it too," he muttered, sinking into the corner of the sofa and tucking his legs up. Theo shifted without looking, automatically making room so Lillian's knees brushed against his thigh.

"Right," Daphne said, carrying over a plate of toast, "what's the plan for today?"

"Plan?" Draco looked up from his cards, eyebrow arched. "It's summer. The plan is to not have a plan."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stadium was huge. Not just big. Overwhelming. Stands soared into the sky like layers of a giant cake, each crammed with people waving banners and wearing flashing badges. Music and shouts ricocheted off the enchanted walls, and somewhere overhead, a leprechaun mascot was scattering golden light in lazy spirals.

Lillian had been to Quidditch matches before, but never like this. This wasn't sport; this was theatrical warfare.

"Merlin," Theo breathed beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. "We should've brought Omnioculars. We're practically peasants."

"Don't insult peasants," Lillian muttered, craning his neck as the first team emerged.

Ireland burst onto the pitch in a blaze of green and gold, the roar of their fans shaking the seats beneath them. Fast, flashy, cocky, the Irish chasers waved like celebrities, soaking up the noise.

Then the announcer's voice boomed again. "And now... BULGARIA!"

The response was instant. A deep, guttural cheer that rolled across the stadium.

And there they were.

The Bulgarian team strode out like they owned the ground they walked on, crimson robes catching the late sunlight. They didn't wave. They didn't grin. They looked. Lillian's gaze snagged immediately on one of the Chasers. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair tied back to keep it from whipping across a sharp, angular face. Every movement was precise, like he'd been carved from something solid and dangerous.

Lillian's stomach did something odd.

It was probably just the heat. And the noise. And the way the man's jaw tensed when he scanned the stands.

...And the arms. Merlin, those arms.

Lillian crossed his legs under his seat and forced himself to look away, only to immediately glance back as the player adjusted his gloves. It felt like his face was on fire.

"Oi," Theo said, nudging him with a smirk. "You're staring like you've forgotten what a Quidditch player looks like."

"I'm observing tactics," Lillian said, much too fast.

Theo snorted. Draco glanced over, eyebrow arched, and Lillian made a great show of pretending to find the grass patterns on the pitch very interesting.

The match itself was chaos. Quaffle darting between emerald and crimson, Bludgers whistling between player's heads, and the hot, beefy Bulgarian chaser diving extremely fast, so sharply that the crowd gasped almost in unison. By the end he caught the snitch but Ireland still won. Lillian never fully got Quidditch, but the players were fun enough.

The match was over, Ireland celebrating wildly while Bulgaria's players trudged off the pitch. Even from high in the stands, Lillian could see Krum's scowl as he disappeared into the tunnel.

"Well," Draco said, stretching, "now we go to the real part of the night, the celebrations."

"I thought we were just going home," Lillian replied, still catching his breath.

Draco looked scandalised. "And miss the parties? Come on, Father has a tent. Proper champagne, not the watered-down cider they're selling in the stands."

Theo gave Lillian a look that said free food and better seats, and that was that.

The Malfoy tent was absurd. It was all silk drapes and polished wood, like someone had transplanted a corner of a stately home into the middle of a muddy field. Servants in neat robes moved silently with trays of drinks, and a few other pure-blood families mingled around a table heavy with delicacies.

Lucius Malfoy stood in the centre, silver-topped cane resting lightly in his hand as he discussed the match with a man Lillian vaguely recognised from a Wizengamot session. Narcissa was nearby, her pale hair gleaming in the lantern light, speaking quietly to a witch in glittering green robes.

"This," Draco said smugly, "is how you do the World Cup."

Lillian took a drink from a passing tray, careful not to spill it on the expensive rugs, and tried not to stare at the fact that Draco's father was very much in his element.

Theo, meanwhile, was leaning against a table, eyeing the petit fours like they might vanish.

The party in the Malfoy tent was still in full swing when Narcissa's gaze sharpened toward the flap. A low roar, too jagged to be simple celebration, drifted from outside.

She didn't raise her voice, but there was steel in it when she said,

"Draco. Theodore. Lillian. We're leaving. Now."

Draco frowned. "But Mother-"

"Now," she repeated, already moving toward the back exit.

The boys exchanged glances. Outside, the air was different, charged, unsettled. The rows of tents beyond were lit with a strange, flickering light that didn't come from lanterns.

By the time they reached the main path, the noise had grown into shouts, screams, and the distant crash of canvas being torn apart. A group of wizards in masks moved in the distance, wands raised, levitating struggling figures high into the air.

Lillian's heart lurched. "Harry's here," he said suddenly, scanning the crowds.

Theo grabbed his arm. "You can find him later-"

"No," Lillian cut in. "He's not from here, he won't know where to go."

And before either Slytherin could stop him, he slipped into the stream of people fleeing toward the woods.

The campsite had turned into a maze of panicked witches and wizards, overturned chairs, and half-collapsed tents. Lillian ducked under a guy rope, heart hammering. Spells lit up the night in bursts of green and red. The masked figures were closer now, their laughter a cold, ugly sound.

He caught sight of a familiar flash of red hair, Weasleys, and sprinted toward it, only to have a beam of magic slice through the air between them, scorching the ground. People shoved past him, desperate to get away.

Somewhere to his left, a voice bellowed, "Get to the woods!"

He finally found Harry at the edge of the treeline, Hermione gripping his arm. "Lils! What are you doing here?"

"Saving your life, apparently," Lillian panted. "Now move."

They plunged into the trees, the noise muffled slightly by the canopy overhead. The crowd scattered in all directions, everyone just trying to get further from the madness.

The clearing stank of smoke and damp earth. Harry's breathing was still fast, ragged, and Lillian's heart hadn't slowed either. They'd barely escaped the chaos at the campsite; the shouting and flashes of light still carried faintly through the trees.

A sudden crack split the night air. Four robed figures Apparated into the clearing, wands drawn. At the front was a tall, thin man with iron-grey hair and a narrow, hawkish face. His eyes swept the group like a knife.

"Stop! In the name of the law!" Bartemius Crouch's voice cut through the clearing, sharp as a whip.

Lillian froze, a hand automatically coming up to steady Harry beside him. "Bartemius," he greeted, voice calm and clipped, as though they were meeting at a Wizengamot luncheon instead of in the shadow of the Dark Mark.

"Which one of you did it?" Crouch demanded, pointing between them and the great green skull hanging above the trees.

"Excuse me?" Hermione blurted.

Crouch ignored her. "You were found at the scene of the crime!"

Lillian took one step forward, deliberately placing himself between the officials and the other teenagers. His posture shifted. Shoulders back, chin up, every inch of him composed despite the mud streaking his robes. "That would be quite the feat, Bartemius, for four underage witches and wizards who were running away from the attack."

"Don't take that tone with me-" Crouch began, but Lillian's voice cut across him, smooth and formal.

"With respect, sir, I suggest your attention would be better spent on apprehending the masked wizards still terrorising the campsite. The Ministry's failure to secure the grounds in a time of international gathering is... unfortunate." His gaze slid briefly to the witch standing behind Crouch. "Madam Bones, I assume the Department is already coordinating Auror units to the north field?"

Bones's mouth twitched, just slightly, in acknowledgement.

Crouch bristled. "We have procedures-"

"And I am sure they are excellent ones," Lillian said, tone perfectly courteous. "But at present, the safety of citizens is the more pressing concern. My companions and I are prepared to give a full account, once the area is safe."

Harry was staring at him like he'd grown an extra head, but Lillian didn't look away from Crouch. The older man hesitated, then jerked his head toward one of the others.

"Take them to the edge of the woods. Keep them there."

Lillian inclined his head, the picture of politeness. Only when they were moving again, led away under watchful eyes, did he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Harry hissed under his breath, "What was that?"

"That," Lillian murmured back, "was making sure we don't get blamed for something we didn't do."

Chapter Text

The air at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was the same as every year: a wall of steam, a clamor of owls and shouting children, and the steady undercurrent of parents giving last-minute instructions their kids would immediately ignore.

Lillian shifted his satchel higher on his shoulder, trying not to trip over a small first-year dragging a trunk twice his size. Harry had already spotted Ron and Hermione across the crowd, giving Lillian a brief wave before disappearing toward a Gryffindor-bound compartment.

The Slytherins found him first.

"Finally," Pansy declared, snagging his arm like she was rescuing him from mortal peril. "I thought you'd get swallowed up by the Weasley infestation."

"They're harmless," Lillian said, though he let her tow him toward the train.

"Debatable," Draco drawled from just ahead, already half-lounging in the doorway to a compartment. "Come on, we're losing the good seats."

By the time Lillian stepped inside, Theo was sprawled against the window with his feet up, Blaise was in the opposite corner with his arms folded, and Daphne had already unpacked a tin of biscuits.

"You'd think this was a cross-country holiday instead of a trip to school," Lillian muttered, shoving his satchel into the rack.

"It is, if you do it right," Blaise said, nodding toward Daphne, who was already pouring tea from a thermos.

They fell into the usual rhythm: trading summer stories, complaining about how fast the holidays went, and, when they thought no one was listening, whispering about the World Cup.

"-and then," Theo was saying between mouthfuls of biscuit, "they just disappeared into the woods. No one knows who they were."

"No one officially," Blaise corrected. "Plenty of people know." He gave Lillian a sidelong look. "You were right there, weren't you?"

Lillian picked a bit of lint off his sleeve. "Near enough to hear the screams. Not near enough to do anything about it."

That didn't stop the quiet in the compartment from stretching a fraction too long.

Draco broke it first, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Rumor says the Ministry's trying to keep it quiet. The skull in the sky, the Muggle family, horrible for the country's image."

"Yeah," Lillian said, leaning back, "horrible for the image. Forget the people."

The words sat heavier than he'd intended, and Pansy nudged him with her foot. "Well, if they're going to insist on throwing dangerous tournaments at a school, they should probably focus on that."

Theo's head whipped around. "Dangerous tournament?"

"Oh, come on, it's all over the Prophet, our fathers sit in the Wizengamot. And Lils is literally right here." Daphne said, rolling her eyes. "Some big announcement coming. International something-or-other. Bet you anything it's not just Quidditch."

Blaise smirked. "Care to put money on that?"

By the time the trolley witch knocked, the compartment had turned into a running debate over what sort of event would justify all the secrecy, half of them betting on dueling tournaments, the other half on something far worse.

The sun was dipping low by the time the train slowed for Hogsmeade, the lamps in the corridor flickering on. Outside, the familiar outline of the castle loomed against the darkening sky, warm and unchanging, no matter what had happened over the summer.

Lillian caught Theo's reflection in the window, grinning at something Draco had just said, and let himself believe, for just a second, that the year ahead might actually be simple.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall blazed with candlelight, the enchanted ceiling a clear reflection of the star-scattered September sky. Platters of roast chicken, bowls of steaming potatoes, and enough treacle tart to satisfy even Harry were already waiting when the Sorting Hat finished its last verse.

Lillian was halfway through buttering a roll when the chatter died down and Dumbledore rose from his seat, beaming at the room like he'd just been handed a box of sherbet lemons.

"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he began, voice carrying easily over the clink of cutlery. "Before we turn our attention to the start of lessons, I have several announcements."

Theo groaned under his breath. "Here it comes."

"First," Dumbledore continued, "the third-floor corridor is no longer out of bounds-"

"Thank Merlin," Draco muttered. "That was so first year."

"-and secondly," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling far too much for Lillian's comfort, "this year, we are honored to host an event that has not been seen for over a century: the Triwizard Tournament."

All around him, students gasped, whispered, and craned toward their friends. Lillian just set down his roll and gave the Headmaster a long, slow blink.

"Oh, brilliant," he murmured to Theo. "Another year, another magical disaster. Can't wait."

"The Tournament," Dumbledore went on, "will see three champions! One from Hogwarts, one from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and one from Durmstrang Institute, competing in a series of magical tasks designed to test their courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness."

Across the table, Daphne was already leaning toward Pansy. "Beauxbatons uniforms are supposed to be gorgeous," she whispered, eyes alight.

"Durmstrang's supposed to be all dueling and blood magic," Theo added, sounding far too excited.

Lillian propped his chin in his hand. "So, one school of fashion, one school of aggression, and one school of 'let's throw children into danger for bragging rights.' Perfect."

Dumbledore's voice softened as he delivered the final bit. "I must warn you: the tasks will be dangerous. Students under the age of seventeen will not be permitted to enter."

"Which," Draco said with a smirk, "means some people can't try to get themselves killed for glory."

Lillian gave him a flat look. "If I wanted glory, I wouldn't start with fire-breathing monsters. I'd start with Skeeter's desk and a large amount of ink."

"Fire breathing mons-" But Lillian slapped Theo's thigh before he could repeat. 

The feast continued, buzzing with speculation. By the time dessert vanished and the prefects herded everyone toward their dormitories, Lillian had heard at least five wild theories about the first task and seven different bets about which school's champion would be the first to cry.

As he passed the staff table, Dumbledore's gaze caught his for a brief moment, warm, assessing, and, Lillian thought, a little too knowing.

Great. Another year of twinkling secrets.

~~~~~

September at Hogwarts always came with the same rhythm: the echo of early morning footsteps on stone, the clatter of quills in the library, the low drone of professors reminding everyone they should have revised this last year.

By the second week, Lillian's days had settled into a comfortable, if slightly exhausting, routine. Mornings meant classes. Transfiguration, Charms, and whatever fresh horrors Snape had devised for Potions that day. Afternoons often ended in the library, surrounded by Slytherin friends who treated "group study" as an excuse to sprawl over furniture and bicker about homework until Lillian inevitably just did it for them.

"You realise," Theo said one Thursday, chin propped on his palm as Lillian's quill scratched across parchment, "you're enabling us."

Lillian didn't look up. "Yes. And in return, you're buying my Hogsmeade sweets for the rest of the year."

Evenings, though, were where his routine splintered. At least twice a week, he found himself drifting toward the Gryffindor table at dinner or lingering outside the common room portrait to catch Harry. Sometimes it was just a five-minute exchange. Harry passing along some Tower gossip (apparently Lavender Brown was keeping a 'Most Kissable Boys in Gryffindor' list) and Lillian giving a dry summary of whatever new nonsense the Wizengamot was debating. Other times they'd walk the long way back to their dorms, trading complaints about homework and Professor Binns's ability to suck the life out of history.

But threaded through the familiarity was something... off.

Professor Moody, or Mad-Eye Moody, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, was impossible to ignore. The man stomped through corridors like he owned them, his magical eye spinning unnervingly in all directions. Lillian didn't scare easily, but something about Moody's gaze made his skin prickle, like the man was seeing through more than just his robes.

"Maybe he's just... intense," Harry suggested one evening when Lillian mentioned it.

"Maybe," Lillian said slowly, though his gut told him it wasn't that simple. He'd caught Moody staring at him twice in class, not in suspicion exactly, but in a way that felt calculating. Weighing.

By the third week, whispers about the Triwizard Tournament had reached fever pitch. Everyone was theorising about the champions, the tasks, the glory. Draco insisted Slytherin would naturally produce the Hogwarts champion, Theo thought it would be hilarious if a Hufflepuff won, and Pansy was already designing a "support banner" for whichever Beauxbatons boy turned out the most handsome.

Lillian just rolled his eyes. If this was the calm before the storm, he intended to enjoy the calm.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons delegations were due to arrive, the Great Hall was buzzing like a beehive someone had smacked with a broom. Students kept craning their necks toward the doors, whispering theories about which school would get there first.

At the Slytherin table, Pansy and Daphne had somehow turned it into a betting pool.

"I'm telling you," Daphne said, counting a small stack of sickles, "Beauxbatons will arrive late and dramatic. Floo powder in the middle of the Hall or something."

Pansy smirked. "Please. They'll want to make an entrance, not sneeze their way in. I'm saying winged carriages, something massive."

Lillian, halfway through his pumpkin juice, just muttered, "Bet they're all insufferable," which Theo heard and promptly grinned at.

Then the doors banged open.

A collective "ooh" swept the Hall as a gigantic powder-blue carriage, bigger than most houses, rolled into the courtyard outside, pulled by winged horses the size of elephants. Students pressed against the windows to get a better look, and moments later, the Beauxbatons students swept in.

They were... ridiculous. All silk and perfect posture, moving like they were on a stage. Half the Gryffindor table forgot to breathe, and Pansy, entirely vindicated, smirked like she'd won the lottery.

Lillian took one look and rolled his eyes. "They're not walking, they're floating. Bet their common room smells like perfume and money."

Before the whispers could die down, a sound like rolling thunder shook the Hall. Everyone turned as a long, black ship burst from the surface of the Black Lake, water streaming off its sides. It glided to the shore with eerie smoothness, and from its deck came the heavy thud of boots.

Durmstrang students filed in behind their headmaster, all in deep red and black, looking like they'd walked out of a duelling poster. And then-

"Holy Merlin," Theo breathed, not even trying to be subtle.

Viktor Krum himself strode into the Hall, sharp-eyed and utterly unimpressed by the gawking crowd. The whispering reached fever pitch. Even some of the staff craned for a better look.

Lillian had meant to scoff. He really had. But something about the heat in the room, or maybe it was just him, made his collar feel a little too tight.

Theo, noticing, smirked sideways at him. "You're looking a bit warm, Potter."

"Shut up," Lillian muttered, taking a long drink of pumpkin juice that did absolutely nothing to cool him down.

Dumbledore rose, smiling in that infuriatingly calm way of his, and welcomed their guests with grand flourishes. "For the coming months, Hogwarts will be home to students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," he said, "as we host the legendary Triwizard Tournament-"

The cheering nearly shook the enchanted ceiling.

Lillian just slumped slightly in his seat. "Brilliant. Months of people trying to kill themselves for a trophy."

Theo grinned. "You say that like it's not going to be hilarious."

"Is this seat taken?" A low, thick voice asked behind Lillian, and the boy blushed immediately. 

"N-no...?" He responded with a slight stutter before turning his head. 

Viktor Krum. The hot, beefy Quidditch player from the World Cup. And he sat right next to him. The older Durmstrang student was analyzing Lillian from the side. 

"I'm Viktor. And you are... Potter? Lillian Potter?"

Lillian could basically hear his stomach doing backflips at the way the Bulgarian said his name. The sharp i's, hard r's. 

"Ummmm yeah... How do you know me?" Pansy was kicking him underneath the table, so he kicked her back. 

"You vere in the paper. Many times."

"Hear Lils? You're famous even on the continent." Theodore chuckled at his flustered friend. 

Other Durmstrang students settled in with the Slytherins, eating together. 

"So... what do they write about me in Bulgaria?" Lillian asked while serving himself a small portion of mashed potatoes and one chicken fillet. 

"You haff almost died on a street near London. Something about being a lord. Basilisk. And a few months ago something about Sirius Black and you capturing him." Krum looked at Lillian's plate and something flashed in his eyes. "You eat little for a hero."

Lillian blinked. "What, is that some kind of Eastern European insult?"

Krum didn't answer immediately. He reached across the table, past an entirely frozen Draco, and scooped a serving of potatoes onto Lillian's plate. "Heroes need strength. Strength comes from food." His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a strange note there, like he wasn't teasing. Like he actually cared whether Lillian ate.

Theo made an obnoxious "ooooh" sound under his breath, which Lillian ignored with the skill of a boy who'd had Slytherin friends for years. "I'm fine," he said, though he did take a bite just to avoid further commentary.

Krum studied him for a moment longer, then cut into his own food with the precision of someone who approached meals like a mission. "You are not how I imagined."

"How did you imagine me?"

Krum's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Taller."

Across the table, Pansy made a choking noise that might have been a laugh. Lillian kicked her again under the table, harder this time.

"I don't know whether to be offended or relieved," Lillian said dryly, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the start of a grin.

Krum didn't grin back, but his eyes softened. "Not offended. Vill see... maybe you surprise me."

There was a small, odd pause there, one that made the chatter of the Hall seem too loud around them. Lillian became aware of how close Krum was sitting, the faint scent of broom polish and cold wind clinging to him, the deliberate way he seemed to focus on Lillian and not anyone else in the room.

Chapter Text

From that first night at the feast, it became... a thing.

Krum never made a production of it. He didn't wave across the Hall or shout Lillian's name. He simply appeared.

At breakfast two days later, Lillian slid into his usual seat beside Theo, only to realise there was a very large Durmstrang Quidditch player already next to him, stirring porridge with grave focus.

"Morning," Krum said, as if he had been there all along.

Theo's brows climbed into his hairline. "You're collecting strays now, Lils?"

"Shut up," Lillian muttered, reaching for toast. Krum didn't seem to notice, or care, that half the table was side-eyeing them.

It wasn't just meals. Lillian caught him in the library one evening, hunched over a book of advanced hex theory. When Krum looked up, there was that same assessing glance, like he was checking if Lillian had grown taller since the feast.

"You read?" Krum asked, tone somewhere between curious and approving.

"No, I just steal books to use as coasters," Lillian deadpanned, earning the faintest flicker of a smile before Krum returned to his reading.

By the end of the week, it was almost a game among the Slytherins. Blaise started keeping tally of "Krum sightings." Pansy claimed she was going to charge admission for the next time Krum casually sat down beside Lillian without invitation. Draco muttered something about "international incidents" under his breath whenever he passed them.

Lillian tried not to care. He really tried. But there was something about the way Krum seemed to watch him, not in a predatory way, but like he was quietly collecting pieces of a puzzle only he understood, that made it hard to ignore.

~~~~~~~~~~

When dessert plates vanished, Dumbledore stood once more. The Hall hushed instantly, every eye drawn to the Goblet of Fire burning in its place of honour at the front.

"As you all know," Dumbledore began, "the champions for the Triwizard Tournament will be selected tonight." His voice rolled warmly over the room, but the tension was sharp enough to taste.

One by one, the champions were named. First, a girl from Beauxbatons. Tall, graceful, with hair like molten gold. Then, Viktor Krum for Durmstrang, his name met with deafening cheers.

And then the Goblet flared a final time.

The slip of parchment drifted down into Dumbledore's hand. He glanced at it, and the twinkle in his eye seemed to sharpen.

"Lillian Potter."

The Slytherin table went still. Every eye turned to the fourth years. Lillian could feel every stare on him. From Theo, Pansy, Daphne, through Harry, Granger, the Weasleys, all the way to the professors. He stood up and walked towards Dumbledore, his footsteps echoing through the hall as if he was a criminal. 

"I didn't do it." He whispered to Dumbledore before taking the paper with his name and heading to the Antechamber. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Zis is 'ogwarts champion? Zis is a child!" The half giant Beauxbatons headmistress exclaimed in an offended manner. 

Krum was looking him up and down in what seemed like a mix of shock and subtle pride. 

It didn't take long for the Hogwarts professors to get in. 

"Mister Potter, did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?" Snape's tone was calm, but for, probably, the first time in his life, the eyes betrayed the frantic feelings the potions master hid inside him. 

"No."

"Did you ask any of the older students to do it for you?"

"No-"

"But of course 'e iz lying!" Madam Maxime interrupted. 

"I can swear on my life and magic that I did not do it." Lillian's head snapped in milliseconds. 

"Whether Lord Potter threw his name in, or not, is irrelevant." Bartemius Crouch Senior stepped into the Antechamber. 

"He is fourteen-" Snape cut in. 

"But according to the law he is an adult, professor Snape." Crouch took a closer step towards the three champions. "Lord Potter can enter binding magical contracts, legally, moreover, the goblet of fire has deemed him worthy to represent Hogwarts as a champion. Out of all the possible students that entered their name."

"Someone is trying to kill me." Lillian whispered more to himself than to anybody in the room. 

"It wouldn't be the first time, Lord Potter. Some would think you've gotten used to the feeling by now." Crouch's lips twitched in a subtle half smirk.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Who did it?!" Lillian's voice bellowed as he barely entered the common room. "Fess up! Which one of you wants to see me dead?"

"Lils, nobody wants to kill you-" Daphne tried calming him. 

"Well, obviously, the person responsible for throwing my name in is too big of a fucking coward to get their hands dirty." Lillian spoke with venom to his voice, his eyes scanning the seventh years like enemies. "Once I find out, and trust me I will, we are going to duel to death. I don't care who you are, what you do, or what's your motivation. For an attempt on my life, I'm ready to kill."

~~~~~~~~~~~

It turned out that being Hogwarts' Triwizard champion came with two guarantees: One, half the school wanted to know every detail of your life. Two, the other half wanted to see if you'd crack under pressure.

The Slytherins had decided they weren't about to let the second happen.

Which was how Lillian found himself standing at the edge of the grounds on a crisp Saturday morning, wand in hand, facing a semi-circle of fourth, fifth, and sixth-years armed with very smug expressions and a bucket of fist-sized stones.

"Rules are simple," said Cassius Warrington, tossing a rock in one hand like it was a Quaffle. "We throw. You block. Don't get hit. Easy enough for our big hero, yeah?"

"Shouldn't we start with something less likely to give him a concussion?" Daphne asked from the sidelines, arms crossed.

"Concussions build character," Cassius replied cheerfully, and then flicked his wand.

The first stone shot forward like a Bludger. Lillian barely got a Shield Charm up in time; it ricocheted with a satisfying thunk.

"Better," said Cassius, already sending two more.

From there it turned into a relentless barrage. Some of the older students hurled them straight; others curved the projectiles, sent them bouncing off the ground, or even transfigured them mid-flight into something nastier before they struck.

"Diffindo!" Lillian slashed one stone in half before it hit him, the shards spraying harmlessly into the grass. Another came in from his left, "Bombarda!", and exploded into a harmless puff of dust.

His arm ached, his reflexes screamed, and he'd lost count of how many spells he'd cast in under five minutes.

From the sidelines, Theo and Blaise watched with identical smirks.

"He's not half bad," Theo said.

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "But if he drops his guard once, he's dead."

Another stone came flying, and this time Lillian spun on his heel, transfigured it into a clump of wet clay midair, and let it splatter across Cassius's robes.

The fifth-year froze, staring down at the mess. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

"Alright, Potter. Maybe you'll live after all."

By the third round of drills, sweat had soaked the collar of Lillian's robes. The stones came faster now. Cassius had roped in two more fifth-years, and they were all clearly enjoying themselves far too much.

A jagged rock the size of a Quaffle came hurtling straight for his face.

"Protego!" Lillian snapped, deflecting it, but before he could breathe, another whistled in from his blind side.

Something in him twisted.

No more playing defense.

He planted his feet, magic crackling hot along his fingertips.

"Fractus Spina!"

The ground between him and the oncoming rock erupted, sharp spears of stone bursting upward in a vicious arc. The projectile never reached him; it was impaled midair, shattered to powder as the spikes withdrew back into the earth.

Every Slytherin on the field froze.

"...bloody hell," Theo murmured.

Cassius let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to be on the wrong side of you, Potter."

Lillian just rolled his shoulder, trying to make it look like it hadn't taken half his focus and every ounce of temper to pull off.

"Then don't throw rocks at me."

For a beat, they all stared, and then, as if some unspoken agreement passed between them, the Slytherins grinned and raised their wands again.

"Alright," Cassius said, eyes gleaming. "Again."

~~~~~~~~~~

The mist off the Black Lake was thick enough to bead on Lillian's lashes as he jogged the shoreline, breath fogging in the chill air. The castle loomed on one side, the dark, still water on the other.

Running had become his way to burn the knots out of his muscles before the day's chaos, even if it meant dragging himself out of bed before sunrise. Out here, there was no gossip, no stares, no speculation about the Tournament. Just the steady rhythm of his footsteps on frost-tipped grass.

Halfway through his second lap, the crunch of heavier boots joined his own.

He glanced sideways, and nearly tripped.

Viktor Krum was matching his pace with unnerving ease, hands tucked into the pockets of his training clothes.

"You run early," the Bulgarian said, voice low, like speaking too loud might shatter the fog.

"Helps clear my head," Lillian replied, pulling in a lungful of cold air. "Why are you out here? Thought you lot preferred the Quidditch pitch."

Krum shrugged. "In season, yes. Now... need to stay sharp." His eyes flicked over Lillian, assessing. "You are... fast for a boy."

Lillian huffed a laugh. "And you're observant for a celebrity."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, broken only by the slap of their feet against damp ground. Every so often, Krum's gaze drifted to him, not in the starstruck way most of the school did, but like he was sizing up a teammate.

"You vill do fine," Krum said at last, as if pronouncing a fact.

"In the Tournament?"

A slow nod. "You haff... something in you. Not fear. Not quite anger. Enough to win."

It lodged in Lillian's chest, heavier than he expected. Praise from Viktor Krum wasn't the sort of thing you brushed off.

They finished the lap together, not speaking again until they slowed to a walk near the boathouse.

"You run tomorrow?" Krum asked.

"Yeah."

Another nod. "I join you." And with that, he strode off toward the castle, leaving Lillian in the thinning fog, pulse still hammering from something that had nothing to do with the run.

Chapter Text

The dormitory was wrapped in blue-dark stillness, the only sounds the occasional pop of the dying fire in the hearth and the soft slap of water against the Black Lake's stone walls outside.

Lillian sat hunched under his sheets, wand rolling idly between his fingers. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw wings and fire.

"Can't sleep?"

Draco's voice drifted from the next bed, lazy but sharper than usual.

"No," Lillian admitted. His voice was muffled by the covers. "I don't know if tomorrow we'll still be sitting here like this. All together."

"Don't be grim," Draco said, shifting to lean on one elbow. "It doesn't suit you."

"You'll win," Crabbe rumbled from across the room, his tone unexpectedly sure. "You're the smartest guy I know."

"Exactly," Goyle echoed with a nod.

Lillian let out a weak laugh. "Just because I help you pass Potions doesn't mean I stand a chance against whatever they throw at me."

Theo stirred and crossed the room, dropping onto the edge of Lillian's bed. "And what is the first task, exactly? Don't tell me you don't know. You were sitting in the Wizengamot chambers all summer, and my father wouldn't spill a single word."

"I—"

"Come on," Blaise pressed, dark eyes narrowing. "You know."

The others leaned in unconsciously, the air thick with expectation.

Lillian swallowed. "Dragons."

The silence that followed was so sharp it hummed.

Theo was the first to whisper, "Dragons?"

"Yeah."

In the next breath, the entire dorm was crowded onto Lillian's bed, limbs tangling, blankets pulled aside without ceremony. Even Crabbe and Goyle.

"I'm scared," Lillian admitted, voice cracking. He hated how small it sounded in the cavernous stone room.

"It's okay," Theo said at once, throwing an arm around him, pulling him in tight. "It's okay to be scared. But you've survived so much worse than a dragon. The Dursleys. The basilisk. Black. You can do anything."

"The basilisk was just luck," Lillian muttered.

"You never told us how you defeated it, though," Goyle said, brow furrowed as he patted Lillian's shoulder with surprising gentleness.

"I can speak to snakes. Like Harry. I... talked it down. There wasn't any grand duel. No heroic victory. Just... words."

The silence stretched again. Then Crabbe, after a long moment, squinted. "Aren't dragons just snakes with legs?"

The room exploded in laughter, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls until even Lillian was wheezing, tears pricking his eyes.

It didn't banish the fear gnawing at his stomach, but pressed in among his dorm mates, blankets rumpled, warmth radiating from every side, he felt something stronger than dread: the bone-deep certainty that whatever came tomorrow, he wouldn't face it alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tent smelled faintly of damp canvas and scorched wood. Outside, the roar of the crowd rolled like a distant storm, growing louder with each passing minute.

Lillian sat on the edge of a camp bed, fingers clenched around his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. The Wizengamot had called him an "adult," but right now he felt nothing of the sort. His palms were clammy, his mouth dry.

Across the tent, Fleur was pacing, muttering under her breath in quick, fluid French. Krum sat slouched, unreadable, only the twitch of his jaw betraying nerves.

Every so often, the crowd would erupt into cheers, and each champion flinched as if struck.

Lillian tried to breathe evenly, but his thoughts kept racing back to the night before. Theo's arm around his shoulders, Crabbe's ridiculous "snakes with legs" theory, the warmth of all of them pressed close. It already felt a lifetime away.

The flap of the tent rustled, and he looked up sharply.

"Harry?"

"Lils?" Harry's voice was shaky, unstable, and suddenly it felt like the cupboard all over again. Harry needed him. And he needed him alive. Breathing. He had nobody else that could take care of him. 

Lillian shot up from his seat and wrapped Harry in a tight protective hug. 

"It's okay Harry. It's all going to be okay."

"Lils..." His brother cried into his shoulder. "Please don't die. It's dragons. Why is this dragons?"

The champions were gathered at the edge of the arena, the November wind biting through cloaks and tugging at hair. The sky above the stadium was clear, but the air shimmered faintly with wards Lillian could feel even without concentrating.

Crouch stood stiff as a post, his expression carved from stone, while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled far too much for the situation. Bagman, all smiles, practically bounced on the balls of his feet.

"In this bag," Crouch intoned, holding up a velvet sack embroidered with golden thread, "are models of the creatures you will face."

The words washed over Lillian, but his stomach still lurched when Fleur, graceful even with tension threading her shoulders, drew out a tiny green dragon.

"Welsh Green," Crouch announced, his voice flat, as though he were naming a type of teacup.

Krum was next, his broad hand fishing into the bag. He pulled out a scarlet dragon with glittering wings.

"Chinese Fireball."

The toy bared its teeth in a miniature snarl, and Krum's jaw tightened.

When Lillian stepped forward, every eye seemed to pin him in place. He plunged his hand into the bag, heart hammering against his ribs. The model he drew writhed in his palm, obsidian scales glinting like shards of midnight.

"Hungarian Horntail" Crouch said, and something like dread flickered in Snape's dark eyes across the field.

Lillian swallowed hard. He forced himself to look at the tiny beast, its wings twitching. Somewhere in the distance, the crowd roared as though sensing blood.

Bagman's grin widened. "Right, champions! You know the task. Each of you must retrieve a golden egg guarded by your dragon. Best of luck!"

The tent smelled of canvas and dragon smoke, the air hot enough to sting his throat. Lillian sat rigid on a camp stool, his wand balanced across his knees.

Fleur had gone first. He'd heard her start strong, voice clear and steady, then a scream of fire, a cry of pain, and the deafening roar of the crowd. The sound of clapping told him she had succeeded, but the silence that followed pressed in like a weight.

Then came Krum. His approach was harder to gauge. The crowd had gasped, cheered, gone abruptly quiet. Then another roar, more shouting.

Every muscle in Lillian's body coiled tighter as he waited, each thud of his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

He tried to focus on breathing, on the feeling of his wand in his hand, but every gust of dragon-fire outside sent a fresh wave of nausea through him.

When the tent flap opened and a harried-looking wizard peeked in, his voice almost startled Lillian out of his skin.

"Potter. You're up."

The world lurched, narrowing to the pounding in his chest. He stood, every step toward the exit feeling both impossibly heavy and terrifyingly light.

Outside, the roar of the crowd rose like a storm, and over it all came the guttural, bone-rattling bellow of the Horntail waiting for him.

The stadium erupted as Lillian stepped onto the rocky enclosure, the air shimmering with the heat radiating from the dragon's scales. The Hungarian Horntail loomed at the far end, black spikes jutting from its neck and tail, eyes like molten gold narrowing as they locked on him.

Lillian's first instinct screamed hide, and he obeyed it.

"Accio!" he shouted, voice cracking, and half a dozen boulders rolled and leapt toward him, grinding against the dirt until they formed a jagged barrier. The dragon's head snapped forward, fire searing the space where he had been standing a heartbeat ago.

The heat licked against the stones, their surfaces glowing faintly red. Lillian pressed his back to the rock, heart slamming against his ribs.

Another roar shook the ground, followed by the impact of talons gouging stone. The Horntail was coming closer, sniffing, hissing.

Lillian darted to the side, blasting another boulder loose and shoving it into place with raw magic. The dragon's fire struck, but the rock held.

The crowd above roared approval, but Lillian barely heard them. His wand hand trembled, his other arm still braced against the cooling surface of his barricade.

Survive. Just survive.

But survival wasn't enough. Not when Harry was in the stands. Not when the Ministry had dragged him into this as if he were some grown wizard on trial.

The Horntail reared up, chest swelling with another breath of flame.

Lillian stepped out from behind the stones. His wand cut a sharp, vicious line through the air.

The force of his magic erupted wordlessly, a spear of raw intent, invisible but unstoppable. Stone erupted from the ground. Sharp. The magic stone pilar grew within milliseconds, aimed perfectly, as if the magic was guiding it without Lillian's brain at all. It slammed into the dragon's chest with a sickening crack.

The dragon's body slowly, but surely, slid the down the pillar. Blood was slowly leaking out right from where it was pierced. It the ground with a final shudder, wings twitching once before lying still. Dust plumed upward, rolling across the enclosure like smoke.

Lillian stood alone amid the silence, the Horntail's corpse sprawled beside him. His wand trembled in his grip, the spell still buzzing in his bones, a sharp tang of iron on his tongue.

Above, thousands of witches and wizards stared down at him in stunned quiet. Not even Bagman's booming voice dared to break it.

It was Harry's voice he heard instead. Please don't die. Please.

With stiff legs, he walked to the nest. The golden egg sat untouched among the real ones, gleaming dully in the settling dust. Carefully, almost reverently, he picked it up. It was warm against his palms.

When he turned back to face the stands, the silence cracked. Gasps, whispers, hurried conversation flooded the air. The shockwave of noise spread outward like fire racing through dry grass, building, building-

"Merlin," someone shouted.

"Did he just-"

"He killed it. He killed the Horntail."

The golden egg glinted under the sunlight as he raised it.

At last, Bagman's voice returned, high and unsteady:

"W-Well! Extraordinary! Absolutely extraordinary!"

The judges were conferring in low, urgent voices. Madame Maxime's wide eyes betrayed her shock; Karkaroff looked pale and sour; Crouch's expression was unreadable. Only Dumbledore's gaze followed Lillian steadily, piercing and unblinking.

Finally, the scores rose.

Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten.

Even Karkaroff, grudgingly, raised a nine.

Highest marks ever given in the Tournament's history.

The crowd erupted at last, a wild and uneven sound. Cheers tangled with cries, fear and awe and disbelief mixing until the stadium trembled.

But Lillian didn't smile. He just clutched the egg tight against his chest and walked from the enclosure without looking back at the body sprawled in the dust.

The canvas flap slapped shut behind him, cutting off the roar of the crowd. Inside the champions' tent, it was eerily quiet. Just the smell of dragon smoke clinging to him and the golden egg heavy in his arms.

Fleur, pale and still shaking from her own task, froze when she saw him. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Krum gave a stiff nod, eyes sharp, something wary lurking in them that hadn't been there before.

Then the judges entered.

Crouch looked almost ashen, his movements stiff as though each step was forced. Bagman was grinning, but it was too wide, too desperate, his voice booming as if volume alone could make the moment normal. Madame Maxime's stare cut into him like a blade, measuring and unsettled.

And Dumbledore. Dumbledore only looked at him, long and searching, blue eyes catching every tremor of Lillian's hand, every shallow breath. For once, the Headmaster's expression was unreadable.

Behind them, Snape slipped in quietly, cloak billowing. He said nothing, only crossed his arms and inclined his head ever so slightly. The faintest of nods. Private, unspoken approval.

"Remarkable," Bagman barked, breaking the silence. "Absolutely remarkable, young man! Fastest time on record, and clean, too. Didn't so much as scorch an egg-"

Fleur interrupted sharply, her French accent thickening with disbelief. "You killed it."

Her voice cut through the tent like glass shattering.

Lillian tightened his grip on the golden egg. His throat felt dry. "That was the task," he said, voice steadier than he felt. "Retrieve the egg. There were no rules about how."

Another silence followed. Karkaroff gave a sharp laugh, hollow. "You think like a Slytherin, boy."

Nobody contradicted him.

Harry pushed through the tent flap then, breathless, eyes wide. "Lils!" He didn't care about the judges or the champions. He launched forward and clutched his brother's arm, searching his face as if to prove he was still alive.

Lillian let out a shaky breath and, for the first time since the dragon fell, managed a small, fragile smile.

The golden egg gleamed between them, heavy and perfect.

By the time Lillian pushed through the stone arch into the Slytherin common room, his legs were trembling with exhaustion. He half-expected the usual quiet hum of parchment rustling, fire snapping, a few younger years whispering over chessboards.

Instead, the room exploded.

"Dragon Slayer Potter!" someone bellowed, and in an instant the chant caught like wildfire.

"Dragon Slayer Potter! Dragon Slayer Potter!"

The walls themselves seemed to shake with the force of it. Green-and-silver banners had been pulled down from the walls and draped around shoulders like cloaks, students stomping their feet in rhythm. The younger years were on chairs, shrieking the chant as though he'd scored the winning Quidditch goal, while the older years raised tankards in his direction, ale sloshing onto the carpet.

Theo was the first to reach him, gripping his shoulders so tightly it almost hurt. "You bloody insane bastard," he said, voice breaking between laughter and something frighteningly close to tears. "You actually killed it."

Draco shoved in next, smirking like he'd personally orchestrated the whole thing. "Fastest record on a dragon. Of course it'd be a Potter," he drawled, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed the relief.

Pansy hugged him tightly without asking, Daphne pressed a butterbeer into his hand, and even Blaise, normally too cool for the chaos, was grinning wide. Crabbe and Goyle were stomping with the others, chanting louder than anyone, voices echoing off the stone.

"Dragon Slayer Potter!" the room roared again, a tidal wave of voices crashing over him.

Lillian managed a weak laugh, sinking onto one of the green leather sofas as students crowded close, clapping his back, shoving cups into his hands. His head swam with it all. The firelight, the laughter, the press of his friends, the chant that refused to die down.

For the first time since the fire and wings and fear, warmth finally bloomed in his chest.

He was alive. And in this moment, to Slytherin House, he wasn't just alive.

He was theirs.

The common room had been transformed. Someone had conjured shimmering green serpent streamers that slithered lazily through the air, while charmed lanterns floated over the Black Lake's windows, casting silver ripples across the walls. Tables that normally held books and chessboards were piled high with stolen treats from the kitchens. Pumpkin pasties, butterbeer bottles that clinked as they were passed around, and a suspiciously strong-smelling punch that definitely hadn't come from any elf's cauldron.

The chanting had dissolved into singing, Slytherin songs twisted into new verses about Potter the Dragon Slayer. Even the usually aloof seventh-years joined in, smirking with pride as they raised their glasses.

Theo and Blaise had cleared a space near the fireplace, transfiguring cushions into a makeshift dance floor where Pansy and Daphne were already dragging Draco in against his protests. Crabbe and Goyle were arm-wrestling first years who shrieked with laughter when they inevitably lost.

"Come on, Lils!" Theo shouted over the noise, thrusting a butterbeer into his hand. "You're the guest of honour!"

The crowd closed in, lifting him bodily before he could argue, hoisting him onto the table like a Quidditch captain after a Cup win. He wobbled, clutching his bottle, while the whole room bellowed:

"Dragon Slayer Potter! Dragon Slayer Potter!"

Heat rushed to his face, equal parts embarrassment and exhilaration. He hadn't felt this alive in months.

For a moment, as he looked out over the riot of green and silver, laughter and firelight swirling together, he let himself believe it: not the Wizengamot, not the Dursleys, not even the dragon. Just fourteen years old, surrounded by friends, basking in the wild, reckless joy of being celebrated, truly celebrated, for once in his life.

Chapter Text

"CHAMPIONS FACE FIRST TRIAL — AND A LEGEND IS BORN"

by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

The first task of the legendary Triwizard Tournament has concluded, and with it the wizarding world has borne witness to feats of bravery, brilliance, and beauty.

Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons Academy dazzled spectators with her unique brand of enchantments, her every step radiating the famed allure of her Veela ancestry. Though scorched, she emerged triumphant. Egg in hand, her poise untouched.

Durmstrang's Viktor Krum, already a household name as Seeker for Bulgaria's National Quidditch Team, proved his reputation is not limited to the pitch. Muscular wand-work and unflinching courage brought him to victory, though not without injury. His grim silence afterwards only heightened his mysterious allure.

But the true shock of the day came not from across the seas, but from Hogwarts itself.

Lillian Potter, barely fourteen years of age, faced the most feared of the dragons: the Hungarian Horntail. Where others dodged or distracted, young Potter slew the beast in record time, leaving the crowd stunned into silence. With but a thrust of his wand, the dragon fell. A sight both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

How could a boy so young accomplish such a feat? The Ministry reminds us that, by ancient law, Potter is recognised as a full legal citizen and thus eligible to compete. Still, one must wonder at the dangers of placing a child before such peril, and what sort of magic he wielded to destroy one of nature's deadliest creations so effortlessly.

Harry Potter, his brother and fellow student, was seen rushing to his side before and after the task. In a brief interview, he said only: "Lils is... he's always looked after me. He's brave, but he didn't want this. He just... he just did what he had to."

We all know the tragic tale of the Potter twins. Domestic Abuse they had to face for over a decade. Lillian Potter almost dying on the muggle streets, escaping the horrors of that home two years ago. Then came emancipation. Lord Potter was born.

"Lils always survived everything. He's like my knight in shining armor. Always looked out for me too. Even when we fight he always puts me first. He may not be a hero to most, but to me... he's everything I have." The younger Potter shared to me after leaving the arena.

There have been whispers in the Hogwarts school. Whispers that say that Lord Potter did not throw in his name into the goblet. Lord Potter, after all, is a Wizengamot member, ergo, he knew what the task ahead would be. Would a normal teenage boy, with his brother under his care, throw himself headfirst into deathly peril? Or is it a ploy to get him killed?

It makes us think back to the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, where amidst the celebrations, death eaters began terrorizing the crowds, torturing muggles for sport. Is it a sign?

But the question remains. How did this fourteen year old boy kill a dragon with such limited magical knowledge?

Lillian set down the paper at breakfast. The Slytherins, mostly hungover, especially the older ones, were still slowly going through it.

"Is... Is Rita Skeeter making sense or am I still drunk?" One of the older boys at the Slytherin table mumbled.

"Lils?" Theo asked from his left side. "If someone is out to get you-"

"Constant vigilance." Lillian muttered, echoing Moodys favorite saying.

"You're not getting out of our sight." Pansy said firmly.

"Again? That's like the third year in a row." Lillian groaned but he was interrupted by one of the older Slytherin girls standing up from her seat and moving to face the Great Hall.

"Whoever is out to kill our Potter, the dragon slaying one, better think twice now!" She sat back down, still visibly drunk from last nights celebrations as the older Slytherins clapped sloppily in agreement.

"Mister Potter, a word."

"Yes professor." Lillian stood up and followed Snape out the hall.

The door shut behind them, muffling the chatter of the Hall. For a moment, there was only the echo of their footsteps in the corridor. Snape's robes swept the stone floor, deliberate as always.

"You performed... adequately," he said at last, voice low but edged.

Lillian frowned. "Adequately?"

Snape's gaze flicked down at him, unreadable. "You slew a Horntail in under three minutes, Potter. Adequately hardly covers it." His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Do not let it swell your head."

Lillian tried not to grin, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "Thank you, sir."

Snape stopped, turning sharply. "There is, however, another matter." He studied Lillian for a long moment before continuing. "The Yule Ball. Tradition demands the champions open it with a dance."

The words hit harder than the dragon had. "A... dance?"

"Yes, Potter. Do not look at me as if I've asked you to duel Grindelwald. You will require a partner. And you will not disgrace this House by fumbling about like a troll in hobnail boots."

Lillian groaned. "I'd rather face another Horntail."

Snape's expression sharpened, and for a fleeting second, there was almost, almost, amusement in his eyes. "Unfortunately, dragons do not wear dress robes. Practice, Potter. Impress them. If the world insists on watching you, give them something to choke on."

He turned again, robes snapping as he swept down the corridor.

Lillian stood there, stunned, then whispered to himself, "A dance. Bloody brilliant."

When Lillian reentered the Great Hall, the buzz of whispers swelled again, like wind catching in sails. Heads turned, eyes darted. Dragon Slayer. Youngest Champion. Skeeter's words were everywhere.

But instead of shrinking from it, Lillian Potter stood straighter. Snape's words still rang in his ears. If the world insists on watching you, give them something to choke on.

He sat back down at the Slytherin table, sliding in between Theo and Pansy, who was halfway through her pumpkin juice. She gave him a sharp look. "What did Snape want? Trouble already?"

"No," Lillian said casually, his eyes sweeping the hall before coming back to her. "Just... reminding me of traditions."

Pansy arched a brow. "That doesn't sound good."

"The Yule Ball," he said simply. And before she could respond, he turned to her properly, ignoring the way half the Slytherin table leaned in, waiting. "Pansy. Will you be my partner?"

The cup froze halfway to her lips. For a heartbeat, she only blinked at him, and then the sharp edges of her smirk curved into place. "Obviously. Who else would you ask?"

Theo snorted into his porridge. Blaise muttered, "Merlin's beard, he doesn't waste time."

Lillian just let himself grin. "Done then."

The whispers that followed weren't the stunned silence of the dragon arena. They were sharp, delighted, scandalous. And Lillian felt Snape's words again. Give them something to choke on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky over the Black Lake was the color of iron, streaked with the faintest blush of dawn. Mist clung low to the water, curling around the reeds, and every breath puffed white in the air.

Lillian's trainers slapped against the damp grass in an uneven rhythm. His lungs burned, and the cold morning air scraped his throat raw.

Ahead, Viktor Krum ran as though it were nothing. Shoulders rolling, long strides steady, the faintest huff of breath the only sign of effort.

"Slow...down..." Lillian gasped, nearly tripping over a root.

Krum didn't slow. He glanced back once, dark eyes narrowing. "No slowing. You vant to face... vat comes, you keep going."

"Easy for you to say," Lillian muttered, though he forced his legs to keep moving. His calves screamed in protest. He thought wildly of his dorm mates, still wrapped in blankets, probably snoring. Even Draco. Lucky bastards.

They reached the far edge of the lake before Krum finally stopped, hands braced on his knees, though he looked far less wrecked than Lillian felt. Lillian bent double, dragging air into his lungs, sweat already prickling under his shirt despite the cold.

"Not bad," Krum said after a long pause. His accent flattened the words, but there was something almost kind in them. "For... first weeks."

Lillian straightened slowly, still gulping air. "You... call this... not bad?"

Krum shrugged, the faintest curl tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You did not fall in the lake."

Lillian snorted, half-amused, half-exasperated. He pushed damp hair back from his forehead and looked out over the mist rolling across the water. "I still don't know if any of this helps. Running won't make me beat... whatever's next."

"Helps mind," Krum said simply. He tapped his temple with one finger. "If body is strong, mind stays clear. In task, fear makes you stupid. You do not vant to be stupid."

Something about the bluntness made Lillian grin, despite his aching legs. "Fair point."

They stood in silence for a while, the dawn rising brighter around them, the castle windows catching pale gold. For the first time in days, Lillian felt the knot in his chest loosen.

Krum finally stretched, turning back toward the path. "Tomorrow, ve run farther."

Lillian groaned aloud, but followed.

~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin fourth-year dormitory was ringing with an unholy noise. The golden egg, cracked open in the middle of Lillian's bed, shrieked like a banshee drowning underwater.

Theo had his pillow jammed over his head. Blaise had retreated to the very edge of the mattress he and Draco shared, muttering threats in Italian. Crabbe and Goyle were on the floor, groaning like they'd just survived another Defense lesson with Moody.

"Merlin's beard, shut it, Lils!" Draco finally snapped, dragging his wand out from under his pillow and aiming it at the egg. "Silencing charms don't even work on this thing-"

"I'm supposed to figure it out," Lillian shouted back over the noise, hair standing on end as he bent over the egg. "It's a clue!"

Theo groaned louder. "A clue to deafness!"

Finally, Lillian snapped the shell shut. The silence that followed was so sudden, everyone froze, blinking against the ringing in their ears.

"Sweet silence," Blaise muttered, collapsing dramatically against the headboard.

Draco sat up, glaring daggers at Lillian. "You've been at this for weeks and you still don't know? Honestly, Potter, you're meant to be the clever one!"

"I am clever," Lillian said defensively. "This just isn't... normal."

Crabbe scratched his head. "Why don't you just smile at it?"

Every head turned.

Crabbe flushed. "Well... you know... you've got the hair and the... the whole thing. Use your pretty looks. Maybe it'll stop screaming at you."

Goyle nodded solemnly. "Could work. People get distracted when you smile."

Lillian dropped his face into his hands. "I'm not flirting my way through the second task."

Theo snorted into his pillow. Blaise perked up, smirking. "You could, though. Imagine it: Potter, seducing your way out of deaths grip. Sounds very Potter to me."

Even Draco cracked a laugh, though he quickly smothered it with a hand. "Pathetic," he muttered, but his eyes gleamed with amusement.

Lillian peeked out between his fingers, cheeks pink. "You lot are no help at all."

"On the contrary," Theo said, dragging the covers back over his head. "We're keeping you humble."

"Or insane," Blaise added.

Lillian groaned again, flopping backward on his bed, egg clutched to his chest. He was starting to think the mermaids might kill him before the Tournament ever had the chance.

"Maybe you should just drown the egg and let us sleep." Goyle mumbled from his bed.

Drown it. But where?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The common room was hushed, fire crackling low as most of Slytherin settled into late-night study or whispers. Cassius Warrington lounged near the fire with a handful of fifth-years, his prefect badge catching the light whenever he shifted.

Lillian slid into the seat beside him with a deliberately weary sigh, dropping his books onto the table. "I swear, I'll never get clean in this castle. The baths in the dungeons don't scrub half the dirt away."

Cassius quirked an eyebrow, looking amused. "You're not doing it right."

Lillian leaned back, stretching just enough that his shirt rode up a fraction under his robes, feigned innocence in his eyes. "Maybe you'd like to show me how it's done?"

The other fifth-years snorted, elbowing Cassius, but he waved them off, smirking. "Careful, Potter. That's dangerous territory you're treading."

"Dangerous is relative," Lillian replied smoothly, green eyes catching Cassius's in the firelight. "I did just fight a dragon. What's a little bath between housemates?"

Cassius chuckled, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

"Persistent," Lillian corrected. Then, lowering his voice, he added: "Come on. I heard the prefects' bathroom is practically a swimming pool. All those taps with different soaps... imagine actually coming out clean for once."

Cassius tilted his head, watching him for a long beat. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that."

"Mm," Lillian hummed, a sly smile curling his lips. "Nerve gets you things. Passwords, for example."

For half a second, Cassius looked as though he might refuse, but then, perhaps because of the dragon-slayer's grin, or because Lillian had dropped his voice into something just a shade too soft, Cassius muttered the word under his breath.

Lillian's smile broke into something genuinely boyish. "Knew you were kinder than you look."

"Don't get caught," Cassius warned, smirk tugging at his mouth as he leaned back in his chair.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Lillian said, gathering his books and standing with deliberate grace.

Later that night, steam curled in thick clouds around the massive marble bath as Lillian lowered the golden egg into the water. The moment it hit, the screeching crackle warped into something melodic, words bubbling up in ghostly song.

"Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground-"

Lillian's breath caught. He leaned closer, water lapping at the egg, when a ripple of laughter echoed around the tiles.

"Myrtle?"

The ghost drifted out from behind a tap, her pale face split in a dreamy grin. "Ohhh, Lillian Potter. In the bath all alone."

He nearly slipped on the wet marble. "I'm not- Myrtle, I'm here for the clue."

But she only giggled, floating closer, eyes shining. "Handsome boys never come in here just for the baths. Not that I mind. You can stay as long as you like. I'll keep you company."

"Myrtle-" Lillian started, exasperated, but her voice echoed with the egg's song, and between the ghost's giggles and the words about "an hour long you'll have to look," his stomach sank.

Mermaids. The lake. Breathing underwater.

By the time he left the bath, his hair damp and his mind spinning, Cassius's smug little grin was still burned into his thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast was loud, the Great Hall buzzing with chatter and owls swooping in with mail. Lillian sat at the Slytherin table, poking half-heartedly at toast while Theo and Blaise argued over whether the song had meant "lake" or "sea." Draco rolled his eyes so often it was a wonder they hadn't stuck that way.

Crabbe, meanwhile, leaned over with his mouth half full of eggs. "Told you, didn't I? Pretty face. Works every time."

"I didn't use my-" Lillian began.

"Yes you did," Goyle cut in, grinning like an idiot. "You totally fluttered your lashes at him. I've never seen Cassius give up a password so fast."

Blaise smirked. "Potter the seducer. Imagine that."

Draco, for his part, looked torn between indignation and fascination. "You mean to tell me you actually flirted with Warrington, Cassius Warrington, to get into the prefects' bathroom?"

Lillian hid his grin behind his goblet. "Worked, didn't it?"

And as if summoned by the very words, Cassius strode past their section of the table, tray in hand. He slowed just enough to catch Lillian's eye, a sly smile curling his lips.

"Next time, Potter," Cassius murmured smoothly, leaning just close enough for the nearby fourth-years to overhear, "we'll make it a joint bath."

He didn't wait for a reaction, just kept walking, smug as a kneazle in a creamery.

Chapter Text

Snow powdered the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, crunching under boots as students spilled into the village. The shop windows gleamed with enchanted garlands and frosted ornaments, a reminder that Christmas, and the Yule Ball, was fast approaching.

"You're hopeless without me," Pansy declared, dragging Lillian firmly by the sleeve toward Twilfitt and Tatting's Robe Shop. "You'd turn up in your school uniform if I let you."

"I would not," Lillian protested, though weakly. "I'd- I'd find something."

"Uh-huh. Like the moth-eaten thing Draco tried to pawn off last year?" Pansy shot back, rolling her eyes. Draco, who had been sulking behind them, bristled.

"It was vintage," he snapped.

"It was hideous," Pansy retorted, sweeping into the shop with the confidence of a queen entering her court.

Inside, bolts of fabric shimmered in rich greens and silvers, while enchanted mannequins twirled in polished dress robes. Lillian hesitated, hands shoved in his pockets, until Pansy plucked a deep forest green robe from a rack and shoved it against his chest.

"Perfect. Brings out your eyes. Try it on."

He frowned. "I don't-"

"Lillian Potter, you slew a dragon," she cut in, exasperated. "You can manage a robe fitting without looking like you're about to duel it."

Draco snorted as Lillian, cheeks burning, disappeared into the fitting room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, back in the quiet of the Slytherin common room, Pansy crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "You're a disaster."

Lillian scowled, shoving his hands out stiffly. "I'm not that bad."

"You're stepping on me every other beat," she shot back, tugging him back into position. "Left foot first. Relax your shoulders. No, don't- Merlin, you're worse than Crabbe."

"That's harsh," Lillian muttered, but he tried again. This time he focused. The soft glow of the fire, Pansy's hand in his, the steady rhythm she hummed under her breath. Slowly, the clumsy shuffling eased into something resembling a dance.

When he spun her, almost smoothly, she smirked. "There. See? You'll do. Barely."

Lillian exhaled a laugh. "Barely's better than nothing."

Her expression softened, though only for a heartbeat. "Don't forget, all eyes will be on you. Champion, Lord Potter, Dragon Slayer. You'll be opening the floor. You can't afford to look like an oaf."

"I'll try not to ruin your reputation," he teased.

"You'd better not," Pansy shot back, but her smile lingered as they kept moving in slow circles, laughter slipping between the steps.

The common room had long since emptied, but Lillian and Pansy still lingered in the glow of the fire, breathless from laughing at his latest misstep. The music charm she'd cast finally fizzled out, leaving only the crackle of flames and the distant rush of the Black Lake outside the walls.

For the first time in weeks, Lillian's shoulders didn't ache with the weight of the Tournament.

When Pansy finally pulled away, she adjusted her sleeve with a briskness that couldn't quite hide her grin. "That'll do. You won't humiliate me completely."

Lillian bowed in mock gratitude. "High praise, Parkinson."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who are you taking to ball?" Lillian asked his brother while giving him a chocolate bar in the halls. 

"I don't know..." Harry moaned, clearly tired from his classes. "And I don't care about that stupid dance."

"Well, I care. You can't embarrass me by going alone. The Prophet will be there. You need to go with someone." Lillian responded almost immediately. 

"What if I don't go?"

"Then I'll look like the one with the loser brother who can't find a date." He chuckled under his breath. "Come on Harry. Why don't you ask Granger?"

"She's already going with someone..."

"And how does that make you feel?"

Harry stopped unwrapping the chocolate bar and gave his brother a long look. "Nothing? How's that supposed to make me feel?"

"I thought you and... her... had something." Lillian shrugged as they walked down the stairs. "Always hanging out together-"

"Hermione is my friend- Ew!" Harry laughed like a child. 

"But anyways. You need to get yourself a date or I will find someone to go with you."

Harry took a bite of the chocolate and licked his thumb where it had smeared. "So what are you even getting me for Christmas?"

Lillian gave him a sidelong look. "If I tell you, it won't be a surprise."

Harry grinned. "That's because you haven't thought of anything yet."

"Excuse me, I am very thoughtful," Lillian said with mock offense. "Maybe I'll get you socks."

"I like socks," Harry said at once, shrugging.

Lillian laughed softly, but there was a pang in it too. "Merlin, you're too easy to please. Socks. Next you'll say you want a treacle tart and a sandwich."

Harry bit into the last of the chocolate and mumbled through his mouthful, "That's actually not a bad list."

They turned a corner, the castle buzzing with talk of dress robes and partners. Harry slowed, more thoughtful now. "What about summer?"

"What about it?"

"I mean..." Harry hesitated, then looked at his brother, almost shy. "Do you think we'll get to stay in Diagon Alley again? Or maybe... I dunno, travel? Go somewhere warm?"

Lillian's heart tightened. For Harry, summer wasn't just a break from school, it was escape. Freedom. A promise that he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys. That they wouldn't have to go back. Ever. Sometimes it still lurked in Lillian's brain. That this was all a fever dream and he was bleeding out on the streets of Surrey. 

"Yeah," Lillian said firmly, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll figure something out. Maybe Paris. Or Rome. Or, Merlin, I don't know, somewhere with sand, and food that isn't shepherd's pie."

Harry laughed, the sound bubbling up bright and boyish. "And no dragons."

"And no dragons," Lillian agreed, smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Hall was alive with clatter and chatter, owls swooping low with the morning post. Lillian sat slouched at the Slytherin table, pushing eggs around his plate as Pansy tried to lecture him on posture.

Across the room, Harry was at the Gryffindor table, laughing at something Ron had said, but the way his shoulders slumped told Lillian everything. His little brother still hadn't found a date.

Lillian leaned across Pansy, tapping Daphne on the arm. "Greengrass. Do me a favor?"

Daphne arched a perfect brow, sipping her pumpkin juice as if considering whether he was worth the trouble. "That depends. What sort of favor?"

"Ask Harry to the Ball," Lillian said flatly.

That got her attention. Pansy nearly choked on her toast, and Theo smothered a laugh into his sleeve.

"Excuse me?" Daphne said, blinking.

"Look, he's hopeless," Lillian muttered, lowering his voice. "If he doesn't get a date soon, I'll never hear the end of it. Plus the Prophet will have a field day if I show up with someone and he doesn't. Please, just throw him a lifeline."

Daphne tilted her head, watching Harry across the hall. Her lips curled into a faint smile. "The Boy Who Lived, dateless at Christmas. How tragic."

"Exactly!" Lillian said, exasperated. "Do it for me."

Pansy leaned in, smirking. "Or do it for the bragging rights."

Theo added under his breath, "Or the family connections."

Daphne set her goblet down, thoughtful. "Hmm. I'll think about it."

Lillian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You don't have time to think! The Ball's in a week!"

Daphne didn't say another word. She just rose gracefully from the bench, smoothing down her robes as if she'd been planning this all along.

"Wait... you're actually-?" Lillian began, but she was already gliding toward the Gryffindor table.

Theo leaned forward with wide eyes. "She's really doing it."

Pansy clasped her hands together, delighted. "This is going to be so good."

Across the hall, the Gryffindors went quiet as Daphne Greengrass. Cool, elegant, untouchable Daphne Greengrass, stopped directly behind Harry's chair.

Harry turned, mouth still full of toast. "Uh... hi?"

Daphne's smile was polite but firm. "Potter. You're going to the Yule Ball with me."

Ron nearly spat pumpkin juice across the table. Hermione's fork clattered onto her plate. Seamus and Dean gaped like they'd just seen Peeves in a tutu.

Harry choked, coughing into his sleeve. "Wait- I- what?"

"You're welcome," Daphne said smoothly, and without another word, she walked back to the Slytherin table.

The Gryffindor table erupted in noise, half disbelieving laughter, half indignant protests about betrayal and house lines being crossed. Harry sat frozen, still pink in the face, looking like he'd been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Back at the Slytherin table, Pansy was practically in tears with laughter. Theo leaned in to Lillian. "Your brother's never going to live this down."

Lillian, red-faced, buried his head in his hands. "Oh Merlin. What have I done."

The last bell of the day had barely rung when Harry found himself cornered in the corridor outside Charms, Daphne Greengrass standing opposite him with her arms folded.

"I'm wearing ice blue," she announced, tone brooking no argument. "It's elegant, it's seasonal, and it suits me."

Harry frowned, clutching his bag tighter. "Okay? So what does that have to do with me?"

Daphne gave him a look that could have frozen the Black Lake. "It means you're not showing up in burgundy, or maroon, or whatever dreadful shade of red Weasley's mother picks out for him. Clashing is unacceptable."

Harry blinked. "You want me to... coordinate?"

"Yes," Daphne said, as if speaking to a particularly slow first-year. "You'll wear silver. Or black. Something that won't make you look like a Christmas pudding next to me."

Harry groaned. "Merlin's beard. I didn't even want to go to this thing. Now I've got homework on colors?"

"You're lucky I even asked you-"

"You didn't ask me!" Harry cut in, exasperated. "You walked up and declared it!"

Down the hall, Lillian, Pansy, and Draco loitered by the staircase, watching like hawks. Pansy was biting her lip to hold back laughter, Draco's smirk was sharp enough to cut glass, and Lillian just buried his face in his hands.

"Tell me again," Draco drawled, "how you didn't force this on your brother."

Lillian groaned louder. "I'm never hearing the end of this, am I?"

Pansy cackled. "Not in a thousand years."

Harry finally threw his hands up. "Fine! Silver robes. Whatever keeps her happy."

"Good boy," Daphne said sweetly, patting his arm as if he were a well-trained Kneazle before striding off down the corridor.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was unrecognizable. Icicles glittered like chandeliers from the enchanted ceiling, frost rimmed the walls, and the air hummed with the soft swell of music. Lillian stood with the other champions, waiting for the first dance to begin, Pansy's arm looped neatly through his. She looked radiant, sharp-eyed even in silk, like she owned the room by sheer force of will.

Fleur drifted past in pale blue, her date, Roger Davies, practically tripping over himself to keep up. Krum, stiff but handsome in Durmstrang robes, had Granger on his arm. The sight of her nearly made Lillian grin. His brother really was doomed, Harry hadn't taken his advice fast enough.

"Smile," Pansy whispered under her breath, jabbing him lightly with her elbow. "You're supposed to look like you're enjoying this."

Lillian forced one, and it wasn't so hard when the music started and she swept him confidently into motion.

Later, when the first dance was over and the champions were ushered toward a side alcove, Rita Skeeter was already waiting, quill in hand, but without the gaudy flourish of scandal. Tonight, she was all velvet professionalism.

"My darlings," she purred, "you've made history tonight. A Bulgarian Quidditch star, a Beauxbatons beauty, and our own dragon-slaying lord, all gracing the same floor."

Her quill scratched as she spoke, but her smile was warm, almost conspiratorial.

"Tell me, Viktor, Miss Granger, how does it feel, balancing books and broomsticks?"

Hermione flushed, and Krum gave one of his short, gravelly grunts that Rita somehow spun into a full paragraph of praise. Fleur answered her own question before it was even asked, extolling the "grandeur of unity" while Roger continued to look utterly star-struck.

Then her eyes turned to Lillian and Pansy.

"And Hogwarts' youngest champion. You've faced dragons, Wizengamot politics, and now-" she flicked her quill toward Pansy with a grin, "-the greater challenge of keeping step with a lady. How was your first dance, Lord Potter?"

Lillian straightened, trying not to fidget with his cuffs. "Easier than the dragon," he said dryly.

The surrounding group laughed, even Krum, and Pansy's smirk was wicked enough to suggest she'd coached him into the line.

Rita leaned in, eyes glittering. "And how do you both feel, representing Slytherin House, often maligned, but tonight shining bright at the very heart of Hogwarts?"

For once, Pansy answered without hesitation. "Proud. And about time."

The quill flew across the parchment, Rita's smile widening. "Perfect. Perfect."

At the champions' table, place cards gleamed in curling gold script.

Fleur sat in dazzling silver, her hair woven with tiny crystal charms that caught the light, her date, Roger Davis, a handsome Ravenclaw boy, hanging on her every word. Across from her, Krum looked stiff and uncomfortable in his dark maroon robes, though Hermione glowed beside him, her curls charmed into soft waves.

Lillian slid into his seat with Pansy at his side, her pale pink robes swishing as she adjusted herself with deliberate poise. Immediately, Daphne plopped herself down with Harry in tow, tugging him into his chair with all the subtlety of a general deploying troops.

"Sit up straight," Daphne whispered at him, smoothing the sleeve of his silver robes as though he were a child.

"I can breathe on my own, thanks," Harry muttered, though his ears burned scarlet.

Draco, Theo, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle claimed the surrounding seats, their smirks practically identical. For once, the professors didn't interfere, after all, Lillian was Hogwarts' champion, and Hogwarts' honor was at this table.

Fleur glanced across at Lillian with a faint, knowing smile. "'Ow deed eet feel? Keelleeng the dragon?"

"Didn't really think, did I? It all happened so fast."

"It vas fast. Too fast. I thought..." He trailed off, shrugging broad shoulders.

"You thought wrong," Pansy cut in sweetly, laying her hand over Lillian's with a look that dared anyone to argue.

The tension softened slightly when Daphne leaned past Harry and muttered, loud enough for half the table to hear, "He's only good for killing dragons, not for dancing."

"Greengrass," Harry hissed, scandalized, as Draco nearly choked on his wine.

"That we'll see soon enough," Lillian said with a grin, pushing his chair back as the enchanted orchestra swelled. He offered Pansy his hand, and together they rose to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Merlin's beard," Blaise groaned, tipping back his goblet. "They spiked the punch already."

Theo smirked. "And you're complaining?"

Within minutes, the entire Slytherin contingent was flushed and giggling. Crabbe and Goyle attempted to waltz together, crushing each other's toes and sending nearby students scattering. Draco, pink in the face, had somehow wound up trading partners with a very smug Hufflepuff girl.

At the champions' table, the goblets refilled themselves endlessly, and Pansy tugged Lillian back onto the dance floor, her laughter ringing above the music. He spun her clumsily, both of them nearly colliding with Krum, who scowled but kept moving with Hermione.

"Relax!" Pansy shouted over the violins. "You're supposed to enjoy yourself, Dragon Slayer!"

For once, he did.

Even Harry, dragged by Daphne into the chaos, was flushed and laughing, his protests drowned out by her determined twirls. When Rita Skeeter swooped by with her Quick-Quotes Quill, she found Harry and Daphne mid-argument about robe colors on the dance floor and Lillian hiccupping through a grin while Pansy practically steered him like a broomstick.

By the third refill of his goblet, Lillian was tipsy enough to let Theo cut in for a turn, then Blaise, then even Crabbe, who nearly dropped him. The Great Hall blurred into warm candlelight, silver snowflakes, and the pounding of the orchestra.

The music slowed, the orchestra slipping into dreamy waltzes as the enchanted snow drifted lazily from the ceiling. Most of the younger years had long since been ushered back to their dormitories, leaving the champions and upper years still swaying beneath the golden light of the floating candles.

Lillian sank into a chair at the edge of the dance floor, cheeks flushed, hair sticking out in every direction from too much spinning. Pansy plopped down beside him, tugging her shoes off with a dramatic sigh of relief.

"You survived the Ball," she declared. "Barely. Honestly, I thought you were going to faint halfway through."

He groaned, rubbing at his temple. "If I never hear another waltz in my life, it'll be too soon."

"You looked good, though," Blaise drawled, dropping into the chair across from them with a goblet in hand. "Didn't make a complete fool of yourself. Thought you'd drop Pansy on that first dance."

Before Lillian could retort, Cassius Warrington, flushed and clearly several goblets in, stumbled over with a lopsided grin. He leaned against the table, eyes glittering.

"Potter," Cassius slurred with theatrical seriousness, "you looked like some- some kind of fairy prince out there tonight. All green silk and tragic eyes."

The table erupted in laughter.

"Fairy prince?" Theo wheezed. "Cass, you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Cassius said, immediately tripping over the leg of a chair. "I'm... poetic."

Pansy was laughing so hard she had to clutch Lillian's arm for support. Lillian buried his face in his hands, groaning, though his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

"Fairy prince," Draco repeated mockingly, grinning far too wide for someone usually so composed. "Oh, that's going to stick."

Cassius pointed a finger at Lillian, swaying dangerously. "You are, though. Just-" he waved his hand vaguely, nearly toppling over again, "all of it. Fairy prince Potter."

By the time the music finally faded and the professors began ushering everyone out, the Slytherins were still snickering, leaning on each other as they stumbled down toward the dungeons.

Lillian trailed behind, tugging his robes tighter around himself, his ears still burning. Pansy fell into step beside him, smirking.

"Fairy prince," she whispered teasingly.

"Don't you start."

But her laugh echoed down the corridor, and even Lillian found himself smiling as the night ended.

The Slytherin common room was already glowing with green firelight and laughter by the time Lillian and the others made it back. Someone, Theo, probably, had charmed the punch bowl to refill endlessly, and the room smelled faintly of spiced cider, snow, and too many perfumes mingling together.

"Champions only," Blaise announced dramatically at the entrance, swaying with a goblet in hand, before collapsing into giggles when Draco shoved him aside and dragged Pansy in.

"Honestly," Pansy huffed, but she was laughing too.

Music thrummed from a wireless in the corner, fast and loud, nothing like the stiff waltzes from earlier. Robes were shed over chairs, shoes kicked off, hair tumbling down from careful styles. The Slytherins, free of professors' eyes, finally let themselves breathe.

"Fairy prince!" Cassius bellowed across the room the second he spotted Lillian, nearly spilling his drink as he raised it in a toast. "All hail our fairy prince!"

A chorus of cheers went up, drunken and sloppy, echoing off the stone walls. Lillian buried his face in his hands, though the flush on his cheeks wasn't entirely from embarrassment.

Crabbe and Goyle were attempting some sort of clumsy dance with Millicent, who shoved them both away only to pull Theo onto the floor instead. Blaise leaned against the wall, already halfway to snogging one of the sixth-year girls.

The punch was stronger than anything Lillian had tasted before, firewhisky, definitely, someone had gotten their hands on it. His head spun pleasantly after only a few sips. Pansy, beside him, was already laughing into her goblet, eyeliner smudged and hair falling in messy waves.

"You're not allowed to brood tonight," she declared, poking him in the chest. "Not after dancing like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you actually had fun." She grinned wickedly, then leaned up and pressed a quick, sloppy kiss to his cheek. "Don't say I never gave you a first kiss."

Lillian blinked, stunned into stillness, before laughter from across the room broke the moment. Theo and Millicent had toppled onto the couch in a heap, Draco was red-faced and furious as Blaise teased him about not daring to kiss anyone, and Cassius... Cassius was still sprawled dramatically on the rug, crooning about fairy princes and tragic beauty.

The night blurred into warmth and noise. Dancing turned into laughing, laughing into kissing, kissing into more punch. Someone started singing off-key. Someone else levitated the furniture just to see if they could.

By the time the fire dimmed low and the last of the enchanted snow faded from the ceiling, the common room was littered with empty cups, discarded shoes, and a dozen sleeping Slytherins curled together on couches and rugs.

Lillian ended up on the floor with his head pillowed against Theo's shoulder, Pansy's arm draped over his waist, and Draco snoring loudly in the armchair nearby.

For the first time in months, he didn't feel like a champion or a lord or a dragon slayer. He just felt like a fourteen-year-old boy, drunk and safe and surrounded by friends.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning was different this year. Instead of waking up alone in the Slytherin boys dorm he woke up with his friends in the common room, with a headache. 

So thats why kids shouldn't drink alcohol.

He got to his feet, slowly, sloppily, before moving to the dorm room and collapsing onto his bed, shedding last nights robes off and getting under the covers. 

When he woke up again it was nearing noon. Most of his dorm mates were back in their beds, choosing comfort over anything. Damned be shame after the best night of your life. 

Lillian sat up on his bed and groggily opened his eyes to the stack of presents at the foot of his bed, much bigger than the one last year, or the year before that.

But Lillian ignored it, rushing to the bathroom and opening the tap to drink water as his throat suddenly felt too dry for him to feel alive enough to be excited. After gobbling down what felt like gallons of tap water he wiped his face and exited the bathroom. 

"Lillian...?" Asked Draco, covered up in his sheets. 

"Yeah?"

"Stop flaunting your body on everybody in the room and cover up." The platinum blond mumbled before rolling to the other side. 

"Someone's groggy." Lillian mumbled and sat on the floor, not bothering to put on pants or a shirt. It would take too much effort.

Countless fan letters were stacked on top of another, wishing him the win, even from countries like Bulgaria, or France, despite them having their own champions to root for. 

Suddenly Crabbe plopped down next to him, and then Blaise, and then Theo, and Draco, and Goyle. 

"Fanmail? On Merlin's left nut, there's so much..." Crabbe mumbled and opened one of the letters, from which a polaroid picture dropped to the floor. 

"Ew! Not this early in the morning!" Lillian covered his eyes while the other boys giggled.

"It's noon, besides, it could be worse, at least you know your fans are fit." Theo picked up the lewd photo of some wizard that was barely older than them, from the looks of it. "Just like you, tiny waist, fairy prince, dragon slayer, Lord Potter."

"Damn, how many titles do you have?" Goyle chuckled while reading the letter with intense focus. 

"We could add in Sirius Blacks nose breaker, basilisk commander, Harry Potters eternal guardian and so on..." Theodore picked up another letter. "Why is Lupin writing to you?"

"Last year professor Lupin? The werewolf?" Draco asked with sudden attention but Lillian snatched the letter from Theodore's hands before anyone else could. 

"It's the first time. What does he want? Last time I've seen him was bound, unconscious at the Hospital Wing...."

"Yeah, after you knocked him out and bound him." Theodore rolled his eyes. 

"Honestly Potter? Pretty kinky." Blaise chuckled while reading a letter from some crazed girl professing her undying love to Lillian. "Binding your teacher at thirteen? Didn't know bondage was your thing..."

"Shut up Zabini. At least I didn't get slapped for trying to charm a sixth year girl last night." Lillian replied while reading Lupins letter.

Dear Lillian,

I'm sorry for the events in the shack, and how it all has unraveled. I just want to assure you that your anger and actions were valid in that moment. Sirius and I are doing just fine. Ever since his newfound freedom we have decided to travel across Southern Europe, and we are currently in Mykonos for a little holiday as we try to patch up our old friendship. Sirius is doing fine, he says you punch just like your mother. She too, once broke his nose. He seemed very proud of that fact, especially now that I'm writing this letter. The two of us want to be there for you, as your godfathers. Yes. You read it correctly. Godfathers. Sirius is Harry's godfather, while I am yours. I am sorry for not informing you of that fact earlier, or for taking both of you in when I had the chance. I fear that most of what had happened to you would not have come pass had I been present in your lives like I was supposed to be. But I was scared. After James and Lily were murdered, Sirius in Azkaban, and that blasted rat supposedly dead, I was alone. I couldn't raise two kids, or even one, all on my own. I hope you have it in your heart to forgive me one day. Sirius has decided that we will be coming to Hogwarts to watch you in the tournament on the last task, whenever it may be. 

Hope to see you soon,

Your godfather, Remus Lupin. 

PS.: Sirius says hi. 

Lillian set the letter aside and just stared at the wall. He had to endure over a decade of abuse because a werewolf was too scared to raise him like he was supposed to? He had to raise Harry, and himself ,in a house that hated their very existence? All while he was still a child? Anger rushed through his body stronger than last nights alcohol. 

Theo seemed to notice the mood shift first and he picked up the letter, scanning it quickly before pulling Lillian into a hug. 

The other boys picked up as soon as the first tear fell from Lillian's eyes. Though they were a bit more confused.

And then the vase on Lillian's nightstand shattered into pieces. Flowers fell to the floor as water streamed down its sides. 

"Ps. Sirius says hi?" Blaise muttered angrily while taking the letter from Theos hand. "What kind of bullshit is this? 'I'm sorry for leaving you to fend for yourself, I hope we can patch it up?' Is this guy fucking serious?"

"What?!" Draco's outraged tone seemed to sober up the rest of the guys. "Who does he think he is? I'm-"

"It's fine." Lillian's voice cut him off. 

"What do you mean-"

"It's fine." Lillian said softly again while picking up his wand and fixing the vase and putting the flowers back in after freeing himself from Theo's arms. "I'm fine. I don't need him, or any adult for that matter. I've survived worse."

"Exactly Lils. You killed a dragon last month. A werewolf is like... nothing for you." Goyle added, making all the other boys crack a soft smile. 

"Let's open the presents, shall we?"

And all the boys pilled their presents together, sitting in a circle while going through the stuff they had gotten.

Presents were torn into with the eagerness of children, the pile in the middle of the circle dwindling fast. Wrapping paper and ribbons littered the stone floor like confetti.

Crabbe whooped loudly when he discovered his parcel from his parents contained nothing but a massive box of Honeydukes sweets. He immediately passed it around, sharing fistfuls of chocolate frogs and fizzing whizbees as if generosity were second nature.

Theo cracked a grin as he unwrapped an elaborate silver quill that scribbled insults about whoever was nearest when dipped in ink. He tested it instantly on Blaise, the parchment proudly reading "preens like a peacock." Blaise's offended look sent the others into howls of laughter.

"My mother has no imagination," Draco sniffed, holding up a perfectly folded set of silk handkerchiefs monogrammed with the Malfoy crest. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Cry into them," Blaise suggested, dodging the quill as Theo turned it toward him again.

Goyle, meanwhile, was beaming ear to ear over a pair of enchanted mittens that clapped loudly whenever he snapped his fingers. He made them cheer for him three times before Draco swiped them off his hands in disgust.

And then it came down to the last package. A modest one, wrapped clumsily in brown paper. The handwriting on the tag was unmistakable. To Lillian, from Harry.

The laughter quieted a little as Lillian peeled it open. Inside was a worn but carefully restored leather journal, the first page charmed with a neat spell. "For when you need to think things out without anyone watching. -H."

Lillian blinked at the page. For a moment, the weight of Lupin's letter threatened to resurface, but he pushed it aside. Harry hadn't given him something flashy or ridiculous. He'd given him something thoughtful. Personal. Real.

"Nice," Theo said softly, breaking the hush.

Lillian smiled faintly, running his thumb over the leather. "Yeah. It is."

Crabbe tossed him another chocolate frog, and the circle erupted back into chatter.

The door to the boys' dorm banged open without warning, making Crabbe nearly choke on a fizzing whizbee.

"Well, well," Pansy's voice rang out, dripping with smug amusement. "What a sorry sight."

Lillian groaned as Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent marched in, still in their dressing gowns, hair mussed from sleep. They all looked far too pleased with themselves for people who had only just rolled out of bed.

"Oh, Merlin," Daphne drawled, eyeing the pile of discarded wrapping paper. "It smells like owl droppings and boys in here."

"And alcohol," Tracey added with a wicked grin.

Blaise, who had been lounging shirtless against his trunk, immediately stretched like a cat. "Ladies. Merry Christmas. You're just in time to admire the male form in its natural state."

"Natural state?" Millicent barked a laugh. "You look like a hungover scarecrow."

Draco yanked his blanket higher up his chest, scowling. "You can't just barge in here! This is the boys' dormitory."

"Please," Pansy scoffed, stepping over a pile of wrapping paper with a flick of her slipper. "As if any of us care. Besides, we've got gifts, and unlike you lot, we know how to deliver them with class."

She plopped a small pile of carefully wrapped boxes into the middle of the circle and sat down, crossing her legs with queenly grace. The other girls followed, teasing the boys mercilessly as they all crowded in together.

"Nice pants, Potter," Daphne remarked airily as Lillian shifted awkwardly on the floor in just his boxers.

He gave her a flat look. "At least I'm wearing pants."

"Merlin damn it, you really should do modeling Lils... That waist is wasting away under all those uniforms..."

Tracey giggled and elbowed Pansy. "He's blushing."

"I'm hungover, not blushing," Lillian muttered, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed him.

"Uh-huh," Pansy smirked, clearly unconvinced.

The teasing only grew louder as the presents were passed around. Millicent's delighted squeal at her enchanted music box drowned out Draco's indignant protests when Daphne handed him a bright green jumper with a glittering silver D on the front.

"It's hideous!" Draco declared, holding it at arm's length like it might bite.

"You'll wear it or I'll hex it onto you," Daphne threatened sweetly, which made Theo snort into his chocolate frog.

By the time the last ribbons were torn away, the dorm looked like a battlefield of paper and half-eaten sweets. But the laughter, loud, rowdy, genuine, filled every corner of the room.

The enchanted snow drifted lazily from the bewitched ceiling as students filed into the Great Hall for the Christmas feast. Instead of four long house tables, there were only a handful of massive round ones, gleaming under golden runners and tall centerpieces of poinsettias.

Lillian blinked in relief, thank Merlin for tradition. He wasn't sure he could survive another meal with Draco groaning theatrically at every clatter of cutlery.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione waved him over the moment they spotted him. He hesitated, glancing back at his own pack of Slytherins, but they were already slipping into seats at the next table, far enough to keep up appearances, close enough to glare protectively if need be. Pansy gave him a pointed look that clearly said, don't let them embarrass you, before she sat beside Daphne.

Lillian dropped into the empty chair between Harry and Hermione, tugging his robes a little tighter. "Merry Christmas," he said, forcing his voice into something lighter than the pounding in his head.

"Merry Christmas," Hermione answered warmly, sliding a platter of roasted turkey toward him. "You look... tired."

Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice. "Tired? He looks like he got trampled by the dragon he killed."

Harry smirked sideways at his brother. "Let me guess. Slytherin 'study group' ran late last night?"

"Something like that," Lillian muttered, piling food onto his plate.

From the next table, Blaise and Theo were watching with half-lidded eyes, murmuring behind their hands. Draco leaned in, and though his words didn't carry, the way his gaze slid disdainfully to Hermione's bushy curls made it obvious enough what they were whispering about. Pansy elbowed him in the ribs before he got too smug, though she herself wasn't above a faintly curled lip.

Lillian caught it all, and for a moment the warmth of Christmas morning warred with the prickling guilt that his worlds didn't quite fit together. But Harry bumped his shoulder gently, a reminder that he wasn't alone at this table, and Lillian exhaled, letting himself relax.

They ate, they laughed. Ronald inhaled an entire plate of sausages and nearly choked when the enchanted snow landed directly in his mug. Hermione launched into a story about the library's Christmas decorations. And even though he felt the sharp Slytherin eyes on his back, Lillian found himself smiling anyway.

Christmas was different this year. Messier, perhaps. Complicated. But warmer, too.

Chapter Text

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet for once, most of the younger years already tucked away in their dorms. Only the fire still popped and hissed, throwing long shadows over the leather chairs where Lillian and his friends had gathered.

He had parchment spread out across the table in front of him, but most of it was still blank. Just a few scribbled words: bubbles? charm? transfiguration? Nothing concrete.

"All right," Theo said, leaning back with his legs thrown over the arm of his chair, "second task: underwater. You need to breathe. How do we make that happen without you drowning like an idiot?"

Crabbe raised his hand lazily, as though they were in class. "Hold your breath really long."

Lillian gave him a flat look. "For an hour?"

Crabbe shrugged. "You've got big lungs. Worth a try."

"Brilliant," Blaise drawled, rolling his eyes. "Why not just grow gills? Someone's probably invented a spell for that."

Theo perked up. "Actually... that might not be the worst idea. I think there's an old transfiguration theory about-"

"Merlin's beard, no." Draco cut him off with a sneer. "You'd end up half-fish forever. Imagine Potter flopping around with a tail." He smirked. "Though it would suit your whole 'fairy prince of the lake' aesthetic."

Lillian chucked a crumpled bit of parchment at his head.

"Or," Goyle said, his voice slow but thoughtful, "just bring an oxygen tank. Muggles do it all the time."

The room went silent for a moment. Then Blaise let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, Greg, I'm sure Dumbledore will allow scuba gear at the bottom of the Black Lake."

"Still makes more sense than half your ideas," Lillian muttered, jotting it down anyway just in case. He then turned to face Goyle. "How do you know what an oxygen tank is?"

Theo leaned over the table, more serious now. "No, really. Plants. There's something. I've read about magical herbs that help you survive underwater. If we find the right one, it might buy you time."

Blaise raised a brow. "So what, Potter chews on a salad and prays it doesn't kill him?"

Theo shrugged. "Better than drowning."

"Mermaids," Crabbe said suddenly. "Bet they've got a trick. You could... bribe one?"

The other boys dissolved into laughter, Blaise wiping tears from his eyes. "Yes, Crabbe, just swim up to a mermaid and say, 'Excuse me, could I borrow your lungs for a bit?' Genius."

Lillian dropped his head into his hands, though he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his mouth. It was ridiculous, all of it. But it was better than sitting alone and stewing over failure.

When he finally lifted his head, Theo was watching him carefully. "We'll figure it out. You don't have to solve everything today."

"Or alone," Blaise added with unusual sincerity, though he ruined it a second later by smirking. "But if you do end up sprouting gills, I expect a front-row ticket to the freak show."

The laughter came again, softer this time, filling the shadows of the common room. And though nothing on his parchment looked any clearer, Lillian felt just a little lighter than before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The library was deserted, save for Madam Pince skulking at the far end with her usual suspicious glare. Stacks of books towered across the table where Lillian, Theo, and Blaise had been combing through every half-forgotten volume of Herbology and Magical Creatures they could sneak out without raising suspicion.

Crabbe and Goyle were technically helping too, by keeping watch and occasionally carrying armfuls of tomes so heavy they'd nearly split Lillian's spine. Draco, predictably, had claimed the role of "supervisor," though even he had cracked open a book once Blaise made it a competition.

"Listen to this," Theo muttered, running a finger down a yellowed page. "Gillyweed, a rare aquatic plant found in the Mediterranean, allows a witch or wizard to grow gills and webbing for approximately one hour after consumption. Caution: side effects may include restricted speech and impaired motor skills on land."

Lillian sat up straighter, eyes sharp. "That's it. That's the one."

Blaise leaned over Theo's shoulder, smirking. "So we're back to the 'grow gills' idea. Guess Draco was right."

Draco sniffed. "If Potter sprouts fins and flaps about like a trout, don't blame me when the Beauxbatons champion wins."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Lillian shot back, but his grin betrayed him. He scribbled down the entry. "An hour's perfect. Long enough to find whatever they're going to throw at me, short enough to keep me human after."

Theo's brow furrowed. "It's rare. It won't be sitting on the Hogwarts supply shelf."

"That's where I come in," Lillian said firmly. "I'll owl Gringotts. Pull some gold from my vault. We'll find a seller. There's always someone willing to part with rare stock if the purse is heavy enough."

Blaise gave him a sly look. "Ah, so this is what having a Potter vault is for. Not shiny broomsticks or posh robes, but buying questionable underwater weeds."

"Exactly." Lillian smirked, though the determination in his voice left no room for argument. "And not just one plant. Enough to practice with. If I go under that lake blind, I'll drown before the mermaids get a chance to touch me."

Crabbe, who had been flipping through a book upside-down, grunted. "So... training sessions in the Black Lake? With the grindylows?"

"Obviously," Theo replied, a little too eager. "Control the environment, test the effects, learn the limits. That's how champions prepare."

Draco finally looked intrigued. "If you insist on poisoning yourself with seaweed, I'll make sure we get the good stuff. My family has connections. Legally gray, but efficient."

"Legally gray?" Blaise echoed with a snort. "You mean smuggled."

"Semantics," Draco said coolly.

Lillian leaned back, looking around at them. Theo scribbling notes, Blaise still smirking but already calculating, Crabbe and Goyle nodding with grim determination, Draco pretending to be above it all but clearly invested. His chest tightened with something warm and fierce.

"Then it's settled," he said. "We get the Gillyweed. We train. And when the second task comes, Hogwarts won't just have a champion. It'll have a Slytherin champion."

The fire in their eyes told him everything he needed to know, they weren't going to let him face this alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Black Lake looked uninviting at the best of times, but in mid-January it was downright murderous. A thin crust of ice clung to the shallows, cracked into jagged sheets where the Slytherins had stomped through it. Their breath puffed white into the air as they stood huddled in cloaks and scarves, looking every bit like they'd been forced on a punishment march.

"This is insane," Draco muttered for the tenth time, tugging his gloves tighter. "Completely insane. Do you have any idea what the water temperature is? You'll freeze before the Gillyweed even kicks in."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not the one standing around uselessly in a cloak," Lillian shot back, tugging off his shirt. His pale skin prickled instantly in the icy air, but he forced his jaw not to chatter. He stepped out of his shoes, shucked off his trousers, and stood on the shore in nothing but swimming trunks.

The collective hiss from his friends was loud enough to scare off a flock of crows.

"Oh, Merlin. Cover yourself before you catch something," Pansy's voice would have said if she were there, but she wasn't. Instead it was Theo who muttered, "You look like you're about to die of hypothermia."

"Pansy is right though. You should really look into modeling." Crabbe nodded thoughtfully.

"That's what I've been saying!" Pansy lit up instantly, high fiving Crabbe.

"Charming," Lillian replied, crouching to unwrap the small, slimy bundle of Gillyweed from the waterproof paper Draco had secured. The stuff looked worse than it smelled. Stringy, gray-green, and still dripping lakewater from wherever Draco had acquired it.

Blaise crossed his arms, smirking despite the cold. "You know, if this doesn't work, we get to explain to McGonagall how the Triwizard Champion froze solid while chewing pond scum."

"Helpful," Lillian muttered.

"Go on, then," Theo urged, bouncing a little to keep warm. "Before Draco talks us all out of it."

Lillian held his breath, pinched his nose, and shoved the Gillyweed into his mouth. It was like swallowing rubbery kelp dredged from the bottom of a sewer. He gagged but forced it down, the bitter taste burning his throat.

And then the change began.

His neck prickled, and within seconds, slits tore open along the skin just below his jaw. He gasped, the sudden sensation of water-air rushing in strange and alien, though he hadn't even touched the lake yet. His hands flexed, the webbing between his fingers stretching like translucent silk.

"Bloody hell," Crabbe whispered, eyes wide.

"That's... horrifying," Draco managed, though he couldn't look away.

Lillian ignored them. He turned once toward his friends, gave a short nod, and then dove straight into the black water.

The cold was a knife. For a heartbeat his body screamed against it, but then the Gillyweed's magic surged through him, dulling the chill, filling his lungs with liquid that felt like breathing air. His eyes, once blurred by the sting, sharpened until he could see clearly through the murky depths.

The world below was silent, eerie, weed swaying like skeletal fingers, shadows darting just out of reach. He kicked, faster than he'd ever swum before, the webbing slicing him through the water as if it were second nature.

Back on shore, his friends were reduced to pale smudges peering over the edge.

Lillian twisted and swam deeper, heart hammering with exhilaration. He could breathe. He could swim. He could survive down here.

But then, movement. A grindylow shot out of the weeds, claws snapping. Another followed, eyes gleaming yellow in the gloom. They darted at him in quick, jerking bursts, and suddenly training became very, very real.

Lillian thrust out his wand, a muffled "Stupify!" bubbling out in a stream of silver. The spell crackled underwater, startling the creatures just enough to give him space. He bolted upward, kicking hard until the surface shimmered above him.

He broke through with a gasp, water streaming down his face, gills fluttering uselessly as he coughed and gulped for real air. His friends were shouting before he even dragged himself onto the icy bank.

Theo grabbed his arm. "What happened?"

"Grindylows," Lillian panted, spitting out lakewater. He glanced back at the dark, endless water. A shiver ran through him, but not just from the cold. "If that was just a warm-up, the actual task is going to be hell."

Draco shook his head, equal parts awe and exasperation. "You really are insane."

"Maybe," Lillian said, forcing a grin as water dripped from his hair, his skin flushed pink from the cold. "But I'm a prepared kind of insane."

Theo threw his cloak around Lillian's shoulders, and Blaise was already smirking again. "First round to Potter. Next time, though, I vote we bring a bloody warming charm."

"Next time?" Draco repeated in horror.

But the others were already grinning at each other, the adrenaline catching like fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next evening, the Black Lake felt even darker. The ice at its edges had thickened, brittle underfoot as Lillian and the others stomped through to their now-familiar patch of shoreline. He stripped down again with less hesitation this time, though he could still feel the collective wince from his friends.

"Honestly," Draco muttered, drawing his cloak tighter, "if pneumonia doesn't kill you, the grindylows will."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Lillian shot back, though his heart was already beating harder at the memory of claws and yellow eyes. He unwrapped another knot of Gillyweed, shoved it in his mouth, and dove.

The transformation was easier this time, but the water seemed colder, hungrier. The grindylows were waiting. More of them. Dozens, darting from the weed beds in twitching bursts of motion.

They came at him in swarms. Too many. He lashed out with spells. Stupefy! Impedimenta! But the magic fizzled weakly underwater, and the creatures barely slowed. Their claws grazed his skin, tugging at his hair, pulling him down.

Panic knifed through him. He kicked wildly, tearing upward, but they followed, swarming like living nets. One snatched at his wrist, another at his ankle. Lillian slammed his boot into the nearest, forcing himself free, and shot for the surface.

He broke through gasping, coughing lakewater, his chest burning with more than just the cold. "Too many!" he choked, flailing for the bank where Theo and Blaise dragged him up by the arms.

Draco crouched beside them, wide-eyed. "You look like you've been mauled."

"I nearly was." Lillian spat out another mouthful of water. His hands shook, webbing trembling between his fingers before it dissolved. "There were at least twenty. Maybe more. If that's what's waiting during the real task..." He trailed off, jaw clenched.

For once, the others didn't tease. Even Blaise's smirk faltered.

"They'll overwhelm you if you try to fight them," Theo said finally, practical and grim. "You need a way around them. Some path they won't follow."

Crabbe, who had been silent up until now, frowned thoughtfully. "The lake's got to have more than one way in. Doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Lillian asked.

Crabbe shrugged. "All the water that fills it... it's got to come from somewhere. Pipes, or drains, or something. Hogwarts has loads of pipes. Big ones. They'd have to go somewhere."

There was a moment of silence as the words sank in.

Blaise's brows lifted. "That... actually isn't idiotic."

Draco sniffed, though his interest betrayed him. "If the castle's plumbing really does reach the lake, it might give you a direct passage. No grindylows, no drowning, no showboating in front of Durmstrang."

"Just crawling through a freezing, disgusting pipe," Theo said dryly.

But Lillian's pulse had quickened. He could almost see it, dark stone tunnels, iron grates opening into the lake, a hidden route the other champions might never think of. A proper Slytherin path.

He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. "Then that's what I'll do. If the grindylows own the lake, I'll use Hogwarts itself. It's my castle. Let's see if it's willing to help me win."

~~~~~~~~~~

It took Lillian nearly a week of late nights and sneaking through half-forgotten dungeon corridors before he found it.

The pipe wasn't grand, not some massive sewer that you could march through. Just a wide, iron-grated drain tucked into the lowest corner of the castle foundations, where the flagstones bled damp and the air stank of mildew. Water gurgled faintly beyond the bars, rushing away into the dark.

He crouched, fingertips brushing the slick stone, and felt the faintest current of icy air pushing back against his hand. His heart beat faster. This was it. One of the castle's arteries.

He whispered a charm to lift the grate, but the opening beyond was barely wide enough for him to crawl through. The walls were slick with slime, the water black and bottomless. He could imagine the tunnels twisting away in a hundred different directions, some ending in dead ends, some leading straight into nests of grindylows.

His chest tightened. Going in blind would be suicide.

And then, like an echo in the back of his mind, a memory surfaced: a hissing voice, a coiling tongue not his own, the Chamber of Secrets, Parseltongue. He blinked, heart hammering harder now for a different reason.

Of course. He didn't have to go alone.

Leaning close to the pipe, he whispered in the language that always felt half-borrowed, half-blood-deep: "Who slithers in the dark? Come forth. Speak to me."

The sound of it rippled down the tunnel, echoing wet and strange. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a faint movement. Scales scraping stone.

A thin head slid into view, tongue flickering. A water snake, its eyes catching the dim light. Behind it, more shifting, coils sliding in the unseen dark.

"You seek the water?" the snake hissed, voice low and curious.

"Yes," Lillian replied in the same tongue, a thrill running down his spine at how natural it felt. "The lake. The paths beneath. I need to know them. Will you guide me?"

The snake blinked slowly. "The paths are many. Dark. Dangerous. But we know them. We always know."

Lillian exhaled, relief curling warm through his chest. He'd found his map, not drawn in ink but carried in scales and memory. The labyrinth wasn't his to conquer alone, it was theirs to lend him.

He sat back on his heels, the grin spreading across his face. "Good," he whispered, switching back into English. "Looks like Hogwarts really is on my side."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hiss of Parseltongue echoed off the tiled walls as the sink ground open, stone grating against stone. Lillian's voice caught slightly in his throat, but he forced the word out again, sharper this time.

"Open."

The sink widened, revealing the familiar dark chute spiraling down into the unknown. For a long moment, Lillian just stared at it. He remembered what happened two years before. Draco almost dying, his parent's killer offering him the world, all for Draco's life.

Taking a steadying breath, Lillian slid into the tunnel. The descent was just as awful as he'd remembered, cold, slimy, pitch-black. He landed hard in the damp, and his footsteps echoed as he followed the winding passage into the vast Chamber.

The carved serpents along the walls seemed to watch him, their eyes glinting faintly in the wandlight. He swallowed, the air heavy with damp stone and something far older, muskier, that made the back of his neck prickle.

When he finally stepped into the Chamber proper, silence swallowed him whole. The giant statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed above, its face stern and severe, beard curling into stone folds that almost seemed alive.

And then, movement.

A low scrape, like scales against rock. The sound shuddered through the chamber, followed by a long, deep hiss. Dust sifted from the statue as something shifted in the darkness below.

The basilisk.

Lillian's breath caught. It was bigger than he'd remembered, coils thicker than tree trunks, scales glistening like wet iron. Its massive head lifted, eyes closed, yet he felt their weight upon him.

"Another Speaker..." The voice slithered into his mind, heavy and ancient. "The boy who was not the boy who opened me... You return after so long..."

Lillian's knees wanted to buckle, but he forced himself to stand tall. "Yes," he answered in Parseltongue, the syllables sharp and unnatural in his throat. "I am the Heir's kin. But I am not his puppet."

A ripple passed through the basilisk's body, slow and deliberate, as though it were tasting the air. "I remember his name. Riddle. He thought himself a king. You do not carry his scent."

"He's nothing," Lillian hissed, his voice steadier now. "You know it as well as I. He bound you in this place, treated you like a weapon. I offer something different."

Silence fell again, broken only by the faint trickle of water down the walls.

"What do you offer, speaker?"

Lillian's palms were damp, but he clenched them into fists. "Freedom, when you need it. Purpose, when I need you. I will not chain you, basilisk. I will call when danger comes, and you may answer if you wish. Not as a tool... but as an ally."

The serpent's head lowered until the ground trembled beneath the weight of its jaw. Its fangs, longer than Lillian was tall, gleamed in the shadows. He could feel its breath, hot and heavy, ruffling his hair.

"You would not command me?" the basilisk hissed softly.

"No," Lillian whispered. "Only summon. Only respect."

For a moment, he thought it would strike, thought he'd feel the last heartbeat of his life in the echo of fangs piercing through.

Instead, the basilisk's tongue flickered out, tasting him. Then it pulled back, coils shifting like an avalanche through the chamber.

"Then call, speaker. The waters are mine. When you call, I will swim."

Its massive body slid back into the darkness, leaving only the whisper of scales. The silence that followed was deeper, heavier, the kind of silence that promised both death and protection.

Lillian stood there, breath ragged, chest tight. He realized only then that he was shaking.

But he also realized something else.

He had the most dangerous creature in Hogwarts, maybe in Britain, waiting for his call.

The echoes of scales against stone faded until the basilisk was gone, leaving only the steady drip of water and the hammering of Lillian's heart. His knees wanted to give out, but instead, he straightened his back and raised his wand.

This place... it wasn't just a lair. Slytherin had built it for something greater.

As he walked deeper along the chamber's edge,

he noticed, the statue wasn't the only landmark. Behind it, partially hidden by centuries of dripping mineral deposits, stood another archway. The serpents carved there were smaller, their mouths half open as if whispering secrets.

Lillian hissed experimentally, "Open."

The doors creaked apart, a stale gust of air rushing past him that smelled of dust, parchment, and time. His wandlight spilled into a long corridor lined with alcoves, and shelves. Actual shelves.

Books.

His chest tightened with excitement as he stepped inside. It wasn't a grand library, not like Hogwarts upstairs, but it was older. The shelves sagged with the weight of crumbling tomes, scrolls bound with cracked leather, even tablets of etched slate stacked in corners. Every surface was covered with the evidence of knowledge long forgotten.

He reached for the nearest volume. Its cover was scaly, green-black, embossed with a curling serpent sigil. The text inside was cramped, spidery, written in an archaic hand. He couldn't make out every word, but what he could read sent a chill down his spine, notes on blood rituals, serpentine magic, and enchantments that blurred the line between beast and wizard.

The further he went, the more staggering the discoveries became: jars of preserved herbs, stone basins filled with powdery residue, maps of underground waterways stretching out beneath Hogwarts like veins.

One wall held nothing but a great mural, painted in faded greens and silvers, showing a robed figure with a serpent coiled around him. At his feet, Hogwarts itself was depicted, but beneath it sprawled a labyrinth of tunnels that seemed to stretch forever outward, some ending in the lake, others vanishing into the depths of the earth.

Lillian traced one with his finger, pulse quickening. The pipes. Salazar had built them deliberately, not just for the basilisk, but as arteries connecting Hogwarts to the world beneath.

And tucked away in the corner of the room, half-hidden under a pile of dust, was something even more startling: a lectern, its surface carved with Parseltongue script. Unlike the fading tomes, these letters lit faintly when his hand brushed across them, as if acknowledging his presence.

"Only a Speaker may claim what is here."

The words shimmered and faded, leaving Lillian staring.

He was the only one left alive who could. At least the only one allowed in Hogwarts, and who knew where the chamber was.

For the first time since his name had come out of the Goblet, Lillian felt a flicker of something dangerous, intoxicating. Power. Real power, old and waiting for someone to take it.

Chapter Text

The February air bit sharper than steel, the surface of the Black Lake glazed with frost. Students stamped their feet on the icy stands, bundled in scarves and cloaks, while the champions lined up at the water's edge.

Bagman's voice boomed magically over the crowd, "Champions, you have one hour to recover what has been taken from you. On my whistle. Three, two, one- GO!"

Viktor Krum surged forward first, half-transformed, grotesque gills already sprouting from his neck. Fleur dived after, wand clenched.

Lillian Potter did not hesitate.

He stripped off his cloak, boots, and shirt in one motion, revealing nothing but trunks and the steady, sharp grin of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He swallowed the gillyweed before cheers and jeers rang from the stands as he dove straight into the lake, the water slamming cold against his skin.

But instead of forcing his body through the weeds and grindylows, he swam hard and sure, kicking downward until he reached the jagged edge of stone where a pipe mouth jutted from the lakebed.

He raised his wand. "Sonorus." His voice echoed like a storm in the depths.

Then he hissed, the words vibrating through the water, ancient and commanding:

"Awaken. Come to me."

The pipe shuddered. Silt billowed. And then, like the earth itself exhaled, something vast and terrible slid forward, uncoiling into the lake.

The basilisk.

Its golden eyes were veiled, lids half-closed against the water's sting, making its deadly gaze harmless. Its body shimmered dark and scaled, stretching longer than the merfolk's tallest towers, its hiss a thunder that rippled through the depths.

Lillian didn't flinch. He swam forward, planted his hand on the serpent's ridged back, and with a single fluid motion, hauled himself astride it like a knight mounting his steed.

The basilisk responded to his presence like a loyal charger. With one colossal thrust of its body, it surged through the water, cutting through weeds and swarms of grindylows as if they were nothing more than gnats. Creatures scattered in terror. Even the merfolk guarding the hostages froze, wide-eyed, their spears wavering in the current.

Lillian leaned low, pressing his hand to the serpent's scales, guiding it toward the cluster of captives bound at the lakebed. His heart lurched when he saw the one meant for him: Harry, pale and unconscious, his limbs bound by thick weeds.

"Hold," Lillian hissed, and the basilisk obeyed.

He slashed the bindings free with his wand, tugged Harry against his chest, and with a single Parseltongue command, the basilisk obeyed again.

"Take us up."

The serpent coiled, then whipped upward like an arrow shot from a bow. Water frothed and roared as the basilisk catapulted Lillian and Harry toward the surface, then vanished, slipping silently back into the pipe's darkness.

The brothers broke through the water in an explosion of spray, Lillian dragging Harry with one arm as his gills fluttered, fading fast. Gasps erupted from the crowd, applause breaking like thunder when the pair were hauled onto the dock.

Harry sputtered awake, coughing lakewater. "What- what the hell was that?"

"Later." Lillian muttered, wrapping a towel around them both as Madam Pomfrey descended.

On the lakebed, merfolk still hovered, staring at the place the great serpent had disappeared. When Dumbledore descended among them moments later, he raised a calming hand and spoke in their tongue. Later, when he returned to the judges' table, his eyes were twinkling but unreadable.

Raising his voice for the crowd, he said simply:

"Mr. Potter showed remarkable resourcefulness, befriending a giant water serpent that carried him through great danger to his hostage. An unusual choice, but one that showed both cunning and courage."

A ripple of whispers broke through the stands. Giant serpent? befriended it? But the word "basilisk" never once passed his lips.

And seated with Harry beside him, dripping wet but grinning like the devil, Lillian Potter knew it would stay that way.

The champions were herded back onto the dock, wrapped in steaming towels, coughing water out of their lungs. Viktor Krum's shark-head transformation had worn off, leaving him pale and raw-cheeked but with Hermione safe beside him. Fleur was openly weeping with relief as the merfolk pushed her little sister, Gabrielle, gently into her arms.

Harry sat slumped beside Lillian, still pale but breathing evenly now. He was alive, thanks to him.

Bagman's voice boomed across the stands. "What a marvelous display from our champions! They have all retrieved their hostages, though not without difficulties!"

Karkaroff sneered openly. "Difficulties? That boy-" he jabbed a finger toward Lillian. "-cheated. No wizard commands such a beast!"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore said mildly, folding his hands. "Mr. Potter used his talents. He did not conjure or summon the serpent. It was already part of the lake's ecosystem. He simply... commanded it." His eyes twinkled knowingly.

Madame Maxime tilted her chin, less certain. "It was... effective. But dangerous. The merfolk were terrified."

"They were unharmed," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "And the task, as I recall, was to retrieve what was taken, not to make friends of all who dwell beneath the lake."

Crouch cleared his throat stiffly. "Efficiency and speed must be considered. The Hogwarts champion completed his task swiftly, and with his hostage intact."

Bagman grinned wide. "Then, to the scoring! Viktor Krum eight points! Though his methods were effective, he was... shall we say, less graceful."

A smattering of applause.

More applause, especially from Hufflepuff.

"Fleur Delacour six points! She was unable to finish unaided, though we commend her bravery."

Sympathetic clapping followed as Fleur clutched Gabrielle tighter.

"And finally..." Bagman paused for drama, swinging his arm toward Lillian. "Lillian Potter!"

A wave of murmurs. Everyone leaned forward.

"Mr. Potter not only retrieved his hostage first, but showed remarkable resourcefulness and cunning in enlisting aid from a creature most wizards would flee in terror. For that... we award him-"

The judges lifted their wands, conjuring bright silver numbers into the air one by one:

Ten. Ten. Nine. Ten.

The stands exploded. Slytherin banners unfurled with a roar of green and silver; Blaise and Theo practically strangled each other in celebration, while even Crabbe and Goyle jumped and hollered. Draco was on his feet, smirking like he'd been the one to win.

On the dock, Lillian just wrapped the towel tighter around his shoulders, smirk tugging at his mouth as Harry muttered in disbelief beside him.

"You actually rode a snake," Harry said hoarsely. "Like... a massive snake."

"Not just a snake," Lillian murmured, glancing back at the lake where the water had already gone still again. "An ally."

The final scores glimmered in the winter sunlight, floating above the lake for all to see:

Hogwarts, First Place: Lillian Potter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dungeons rang with noise long before Lillian even made it back. Someone must have sprinted down from the stands to spread the news, because by the time he ducked into the common room, the place looked like a Quidditch Cup had been won.

Green banners rippled in the drafty air, goblets of pilfered butterbeer and contraband firewhisky were being passed around freely, and Theo was standing on one of the tables dramatically retelling the story to a crowd of rapt younger years.

"-and then, hiss hiss hiss, down into the depths of the lake he goes, and who does he call but the bloody giant serpent of legend-" Theo's eyes caught on Lillian in the doorway, and he spread his arms wide. "Speak of the devil! Or should I say, speak of the Serpent King himself!"

The room erupted into cheers and laughter, cups raised high.

"Oh, Merlin," Lillian muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Not this again."

But it was too late. Blaise and Draco had already pounced, slinging their arms over his shoulders like bodyguards.

"Don't look so modest, Your Majesty," Blaise drawled, bowing with exaggerated flourish. "King of Snakes, Lord of Scales, Master of the Lake. Shall we add that one too?"

"Don't forget Champion of Hogwarts," Draco added smugly, clearly enjoying every second. "Honestly, Potter, you're singlehandedly saving our house's reputation."

Crabbe raised his goblet in earnest toast. "To the Serpent King!"

The chant picked up immediately. "Serpent King! Serpent King!" Until the walls themselves seemed to shake with it.

Pansy elbowed her way through the crowd, eyes bright. "Oh, don't sulk. You should be thrilled. Do you have any idea what this does for your image?" She gave him a wicked grin. "Dark, dangerous, untouchable. Half the girls in Slytherin are already swooning."

"Half the boys too," Blaise added without missing a beat, smirking.

Lillian groaned and sank into the nearest armchair, burying his face in the towel still draped over his shoulders. "You're all insufferable."

Theo slid him a fresh goblet. "Insufferable, maybe. Loyal, definitely. Face it, Potter. You're stuck with the title now."

And as the chanting swelled louder around him, cups clinking and laughter echoing through the dungeon, Lillian realized, annoying as it was, there was something comforting about it too.

By the time the firewhisky really started flowing, the Slytherin common room had dissolved into glorious chaos. Someone had transfigured quills into tiny paper serpents that wriggled across the tables, Pansy was dancing on the back of a sofa with a green scarf wrapped around her head like a crown, and Theo had challenged half the lower years to a game of "who can hiss the loudest in Parseltongue" (none of them could, but that didn't stop them from trying).

"Serpent King! Serpent King!" The chant came again, sloppy and uneven now, but still enthusiastic, echoing off the stone walls.

Lillian had tried to slink away to a corner with a butterbeer, but that only made him more of a target. He could feel the weight of eyes on him. Hungry, mischievous, curious. Pansy wasn't wrong; the image of him riding a giant snake through the Black Lake had apparently made him some sort of Slytherin fantasy figure.

"Oi, Potter." Blaise, already flushed and smirking from drink, slid into the chair next to him, draping an arm around his shoulders. "You're enjoying this far less than you should. Dark hero, serpent rider, golden prize of Slytherin, take your pick. Half the House would sell their wands for a chance at you tonight."

"I'd rather not be sold off like a-" Lillian started, but he didn't get to finish.

Because Cassius Warrington, older, broader, very drunk, and clearly egged on by the chants, dropped heavily into the seat across from him and leered with a grin. "Our King deserves tribute, don't you think?"

There was a chorus of wolf whistles. Pansy shouted, "Kiss him already!" Theo howled with laughter.

And before Lillian could protest, Warrington leaned across the table, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him full on the mouth. It was messy, heated, and more teeth than finesse, but the common room roared in approval. Someone actually knocked over an entire goblet in excitement.

Lillian shoved him back after a moment, breathless and flushed, glaring even as the older boy laughed and ruffled his hair like he'd just won a Quidditch match.

"Long live the Serpent King!" Casssius bellowed, raising his drink to another round of cheers.

Lillian buried his face in his hands, torn between horror, embarrassment, and an unwilling spark of exhilaration.

"You're welcome," Blaise purred at his side, clearly delighted. "Now you're officially untouchable."

"Untouchable?" Lillian muttered through his fingers. "I think he nearly swallowed my tongue."

Theo leaned across the table, smirking. "Oh, come off it. You didn't hate it."

The laughter that followed was deafening, and if Lillian felt his ears burn red, no one was cruel enough to mention it directly. Not when the Serpent King had clearly just been crowned in the most Slytherin way possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin common room looked like a battlefield. Empty bottles littered the tables, cloaks were strewn across the floor, and at least three second-years were snoring under an upturned armchair. Blaise was draped across the piano bench like a fallen general, and Theo had passed out face-first in a pile of parchment that now stuck to his cheek.

But none of them compared to Lillian.

He groaned as the sunlight filtered in through the enchanted windows, rolling over, and promptly smacking into someone warm. His bleary eyes blinked open to find Cassius Warrington beneath him, equally shirtless, hair mussed, lips swollen, and an impressive trail of hickeys scattered across his throat.

The collective gasp from the other Slytherins who were just stirring awake was deafening.

"Oh, Merlin," Pansy croaked, her voice shredded from too much cheering. "You're practically on top of him-"

"I am on top of him," Lillian muttered hoarsely, dragging himself upright only to realize his shirt was long gone, his trousers were half undone, and Cassius' hand was still resting loosely on his hip.

"Nice..." Cassius mumbled, half awake, trailing his hand down Lillian's neck, also covered in hickeys. 

Before he could scramble to salvage the situation, the sharp flutter of wings filled the room. An owl swooped through the open window, dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet directly onto his bare chest, and took off again with a screech.

The headline screamed in thick, gleaming ink:

"SERPENT KING OR SON OF APOLLO? – Triwizard Champion Leaves Hogwarts Swooning"

Lillian froze. The common room erupted into drunken laughter and horrified shrieks as Blaise staggered up, snatched the paper, and began reading aloud.

Excerpt from The Daily Prophet

by Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

It seems seems like our own Lord Potter has a flair for the dramatic. During the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts champion Lillian Potter stunned the audience, not merely by his daring rescue of his younger brother, Harry Potter himself, but by the sheer spectacle of his entrance.

Witnesses describe how the young champion stripped down to nothing but swimming trunks before diving into the Black Lake with the confidence of a god. Gasps rippled through the student body as Potter revealed himself to be a figure worthy of classical myth. Thin waist, unblemished skin, hints of muscles coming in more than nicely, a physique more fitting for the son of Apollo than for a fourth-year Hogwarts student.

"It wasn't even the magic," one breathless Beauxbatons girl confessed. "It was the way he looked. Like he was born for everyone to watch him."

Even the merfolk, usually hostile to human presence, were said to have been startled by his appearance. "He cut through the water like he belonged there," remarked another student observer. "It wasn't just swimming. It was... something else."

Sources confirm that when Potter surfaced victorious, dragging his younger brother safely to shore, several female (and a lot of male) students erupted into cheers that had little to do with the competition itself.

But perhaps most shocking was the revelation, whispered through the corridors, that Potter did not swim alone. Several merfolk described seeing a massive serpent at his side, carrying him through the water with impossible speed. "A guardian spirit, summoned by his will," suggested one awed Durmstrang student. Potter himself was later overheard describing it as 'a giant underwater serpent,' though offered no further details.

Whether champion, savior, or mythic figure come to life, one thing is certain: Hogwarts has gained a new icon. And the whispers have already begun in earnest, how long before 'The Serpent King' ascends beyond mere schoolyard titles?

By the time Blaise got to the end, the Slytherin common room was howling with laughter, catcalls, and wicked jeers.

Lillian buried his face in his hands. Beside him, Cassius just smirked, voice rough but amused: "Son of Apollo, huh? Not bad company."

"Shut up..." Lillian lazily pushed Cassius's shoulder, but didn't move away. 

Theo, still half-asleep, raised a hand weakly. "All hail our beautiful, scandalous Serpent King."

The chant started again.

"Serpent King! Serpent King!"

And Lillian wished the Black Lake would swallow him whole.

The "Serpent King" chants finally died down, but not before Lillian threatened to hex Blaise bald if he didn't shut up. Most of the Slytherins drifted back to their dorms to sleep off the last of their hangovers, leaving only a handful sprawled around the fire.

Cassius stayed.

He leaned back against the sofa cushions with that easy grin of his, eyes flicking over Lillian like he was amused by something no one else could see.

"You know," Cassius drawled, voice still husky from last night's drink, "Rita wasn't wrong. You really do look like something out of a story. Fairy prince, serpent king... son of Apollo. She didn't even exaggerate."

Lillian nearly choked on the pumpkin juice he'd been nursing to settle his stomach. His ears went hot. "I- I do not look like that. She was just... just making things up to sell papers."

Cassius chuckled low in his throat. "Mm. No, she saw what we've all seen. You're just too young to notice it yet."

Lillian buried his face in his hands. "Stop. You're impossible."

"Impossible?" Cassius shifted closer, lazy and feline, until his knee brushed Lillian's. "Maybe. Or maybe I just know what I want."

That made Lillian sit bolt upright, cheeks burning. "Y-you can't just say things like that!"

"Why not?" Cassius smirked, leaning back as if the reaction was reward enough. "It's true."

Lillian sputtered, searching for words, his mind flashing back to the hickeys on Cassius' throat this morning, the weight of Cassius' hand still on his hip when they'd woken up. He pulled his robe tighter around himself, as if that could shield him from the heat creeping up his neck.

Cassius only laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Relax, Lils. You don't have to answer anything. You've got time. I'm just enjoying watching you squirm."

"Y-you're the worst," Lillian muttered, shoving at him halfheartedly, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

For all his titles and Rita Skeeter's praise, at the end of the day, he was still just a fourteen-year-old boy, flustered, awkward, and maybe, for the first time, realizing that someone might really like him in ways he wasn’t liked before.

Chapter Text

Valentine's Day arrived draped in pink streamers and confetti that refused to vanish even after Flitwick swore he'd banished them. The air buzzed with perfume, charmed roses floated through the corridors, and even the usually aloof Slytherins weren't immune to the frenzy of it all.

"Going to Hogsmeade?" Cassius asked casually that morning, as if it were nothing. As if he hadn't just set Lillian's heart hammering against his ribs.

"I-um-maybe," Lillian stammered, fumbling with his toast.

Cassius leaned in closer, lips curving. "Good. Because you're going with me."

And just like that, it wasn't a question.

~~~~~~~~~

Hogsmeade was crowded with couples, hands twined, laughter spilling out of Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot's. Cassius didn't drag Lillian into the syrupy teashop though, thank Merlin, but steered him instead toward the quieter end of the village. They grabbed butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, then wandered, Cassius keeping the conversation easy while Lillian tried not to look like he was floating.

At one point, Cassius reached for his hand. Just like that. No hesitation. Lillian froze for half a heartbeat, then let him, their fingers twining together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"See?" Cassius murmured, leaning down, his breath warm against Lillian's ear. "Not so terrifying."

Lillian's ears burned crimson. He managed a strangled, "Shut up," which only made Cassius chuckle.

~~~~~~~~~

When they returned to the castle, the corridors were still buzzing with the aftermath of pink confetti and love charms gone wrong. Cassius walked him right back to the Slytherin common room, not letting go of his hand until the very last step.

"You did well today," Cassius teased, his voice low, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Didn't faint even once."

"I wasn't going to faint," Lillian shot back, though his voice cracked halfway through.

Cassius leaned in, close enough that Lillian could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint spice of his cologne. "You really are something else, you know that?"

For a moment Lillian forgot how to breathe.

Then Cassius brushed a kiss against his lips, light, deliberate, dizzying, and pulled back with a grin. "Goodnight, serpent king."

And just like that, he left Lillian standing there, blushing furiously, trying to remember how his legs worked.

~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin common room was always quietest just before breakfast. Lamps still burning low, green light shifting across the walls, the fire crackling lazily. But not today.

Today, the fourth-years had gathered like sharks scenting blood in the water.

"So," Blaise began smoothly, perched on the arm of a chair, "our illustrious champion returns from Hogsmeade yesterday looking a little flushed. Care to explain, Potter?"

Lillian, hunched over a book he wasn't even pretending to read, muttered, "No."

"Oh, absolutely yes," Pansy cut in, eyes sparkling. "You went with Cassius Warrington. Cassius. A fifth year. Do you know how many girls, and boys, would sell their cauldrons to be seen with him on Valentine's Day?"

Theo leaned forward with a foxlike grin. "So? Did he kiss you?"

Draco, lounging nearby with arms crossed, smirked like a cat who already knew the answer. "He did. Just look at him. He's gone all blotchy."

"I am not blotchy," Lillian snapped, heat crawling up his neck.

"Darling, you're scarlet," Blaise purred.

Pansy clapped her hands, delighted. "Tell us everything. Was it dinner at the Three Broomsticks? Butterbeers by the fire? Oh Merlin, did he-"

"No," Lillian groaned, burying his face in his hands. "None of your business."

Theo chuckled. "Which means it's exactly our business."

They were still circling him like vultures, pressing questions, when the dormitory stairs creaked. Heads turned.

Cassius Warrington appeared, tall and broad-shouldered, hair slightly mussed, looking infuriatingly awake for this hour. He spotted Lillian instantly, and, without hesitation, crossed the room.

"Morning," Cassius said warmly. Then, in front of everyone, he bent down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Lillian's cheek. "Sleep well?"

The fourth-years froze. Pansy's mouth fell open. Blaise made a strangled choking sound.

Lillian, meanwhile, had gone very, very still. "Y-yeah," he squeaked.

"Good." Cassius laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Come on, let's get breakfast before the Hufflepuffs steal all the good sausages."

And just like that, Cassius tugged him toward the exit, leaving the stunned fourth-years behind.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Pansy shrieked, "HE'S YOUR BOYFRIEND!" so loudly that the fire crackled in protest.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, owls swooping overhead with post. But as Cassius and Lillian walked in, hand in hand, the air seemed to change. Heads turned. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"Is that—?"

"Warrington?"

"With Potter?"

"No, the other one. The Champion."

Lillian tried to keep his head high, though his ears burned. Cassius, for his part, looked perfectly calm, like he didn't notice the stares, or didn't care. He tugged Lillian to the Slytherin table, settling in with an easy confidence that was both comforting and overwhelming.

But across the hall, Harry had noticed.

His fork froze halfway to his mouth as he watched his brother laugh nervously at something Cassius said, their fingers still twined together. Hermione leaned closer, whispering, "Looks like Lillian's... seeing someone."

"Cassius Warrington," Ron muttered around a mouthful of toast. "Big bloke. Chaser. Brutal on the Quidditch pitch."

Harry didn't reply. He was still staring. He'd never seen Lillian like this, cheeks flushed, glancing shyly at the boy next to him, almost... small. It was strange. Wrong, even. Lillian wasn't supposed to get flustered over someone holding his hand. Lillian was supposed to be unshakable, the one who kept Harry alive when nobody else cared, the one who fought dragons and basilisk-sized nightmares.

Not... this.

Lillian caught his gaze then, across the hall, and for a moment Harry thought he'd let go of Cassius's hand. But Lillian didn't. He smiled, awkward, soft, almost apologetic, and then looked back to Cassius.

Harry blinked down at his porridge. He wasn't angry. Just... unsettled. He wasn't sure he liked being reminded that his brother wasn't untouchable. That he was human.

Later that evening, Harry found Lillian in a quieter corridor, heading toward the library with a stack of books under his arm.

"Hey," Harry called, jogging to catch up.

Lillian turned, his face brightening. "Harry. You all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said quickly, though his tone made it sound less convincing. He hesitated before blurting out, "So... you and Warrington?"

Lillian blinked, then laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Um. Yeah, I suppose so."

Harry frowned. "Since when?"

"Yesterday," Lillian admitted, looking almost sheepish. "He asked me out."

Harry made a face he didn't quite mean to, half-wince, half-bewildered. "You said yes?"

"Well... obviously." Lillian's ears went pink. "Why wouldn't I?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I just didn't think you... y'know... had time for that. With the tournament. And everything else."

For a moment, Lillian's expression softened. "Harry... I'm still allowed to be a person. Even if I'm a Champion."

Harry's chest tightened at that. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, unsure what he even wanted to say. "It's just weird," he muttered finally. "You're always the one looking out for me. You've never... done this before."

Lillian reached out, setting the books against his hip so he could squeeze Harry's shoulder. "I'll always look out for you. That doesn't change. But... maybe someone's looking out for me now, too."

Harry didn't quite know how to answer that. His throat felt tight, but he managed a small nod. "Right. Yeah. Just... don't get too distracted, all right?"

Lillian chuckled softly, already moving again. "I promise, Hazza. Tournament first. You second, only for now. Everything else later."

But as Harry watched him go, he wasn't sure he believed it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dormitory door clicked shut behind them, and the silence that followed was thick, charged. Books and parchment lay forgotten, scattered at the foot of the bed, but Lillian wasn't looking at them. He was looking at Cassius, tall and broad in the dim green light, tugging his tie loose with one hand before dropping it carelessly aside.

"Homework, right?" Cassius teased, his mouth curving.

Lillian meant to fire back something sharp, but Cassius closed the distance and kissed him instead, and the thought shattered.

It was messy immediately. Cassius's lips hot and sure, Lillian's frantic and sloppy, both of them breathing too hard, too fast. Cassius steered him back onto the bed with practiced ease, and Lillian went, gasping into the kiss as hands framed his jaw, then slid lower, dragging over his chest before slipping under his shirt.

The warmth of it burned. His stomach clenched, his skin alive with every brush of Cassius's fingers. A thought tried to break through I don't know what I'm doing I've never- but he shoved it aside, kissing back harder, desperate not to look inexperienced, desperate because it felt too good to stop.

His own hands fumbled up to Cassius's collar, tugging, loosening the tie until it dangled loose, then popping open buttons with shaking fingers. He had no finesse, no plan, just want. When he got the first glimpse of skin, smooth and toned, his breath hitched, and he knew he was staring. Cassius smirked against his mouth like he'd noticed, but he didn't pull away.

"Touch me," Cassius murmured, low and rough.

Lillian's fingers obeyed before his brain caught up, sliding over warm skin, tracing muscle. He swallowed hard, heat pooling low in his stomach. His ears burned crimson, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to.

Cassius rewarded him with another kiss, deeper, hotter, pressing him down into the mattress, both of them half tangled in shirts and limbs. Lillian clung to him, kissing back with a kind of reckless hunger, his whole body buzzing. Every brush of skin, every scrape of teeth, every hitch of breath only dragged him further under.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was too eager, too sloppy, that he was showing how new he was at this. But Cassius didn't seem to care. He matched Lillian's frantic pace, hands exploring, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between them at all.

When they finally tore apart, gasping, Lillian's shirt was wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, Cassius's chest bared, tie hanging loose, both of them flushed and panting.

Lillian's lips tingled, swollen from the kisses, his heart pounding so loud he could barely hear himself think.

Cassius leaned back just enough to look at him, hair mussed, lips red, eyes glittering. "Merlin, Potter," he said, voice low, husky. "Didn't think you had that in you."

Lillian, dizzy and breathless, blurted the only thing his scrambled brain could produce. "Shut up."

Cassius grinned, sharp and satisfied, and kissed him again.

About fifteen minutes later the dorm was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the grate and their uneven breathing as it slowly evened out.

At some point, in the blur of heat and hands and breathless kisses, Lillian's shirt had vanished. Cassius's, too. As did basically all their clothes. And now, in the aftermath, Lillian found himself curled against him, wearing the older boy's loose, half-unbuttoned shirt, the fabric warm from Cassius's skin.

He lay with his cheek pressed to Cassius's chest, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat. It was grounding in a way he hadn't expected, safe and overwhelming all at once. His fingers toyed absently with the open edge of the shirt, brushing against Cassius's collarbone.

Cassius shifted just slightly, one arm tightening around him, lips brushing against his messy hair. "Comfortable?" he asked, voice low, still rough from earlier.

Lillian's face burned. "Maybe."

"Sore?"

"A bit." Lillian smiled shyly before biting Cassius skin with playfulness he didn't know he had inside. 

Cassius chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest under Lillian's ear. "You look good in my shirt."

Lillian groaned, hiding his face deeper against him, which only made Cassius laugh again, soft and satisfied.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind something slower, warmer. Lillian let his eyes fall shut, breathing in the faint spice of Cassius's cologne clinging to the fabric, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath him.

It felt... impossibly new. Terrifying. Wonderful.

~~~~~~~

The Slytherin table was already humming when Lillian slid onto the bench, yawning wide behind his hand. He'd hoped, prayed, that maybe everyone would be too drowsy at this hour to notice anything.

He was wrong.

"Merlin's beard," Pansy gasped dramatically, dropping her spoon into her porridge with a clatter. "That is not your shirt."

Lillian froze with his toast halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Theo leaned over, eyes glittering like a fox who'd cornered a chicken. "It's Warrington's. Look at the shoulders. Absolutely drowning him."

"I'm not drowning," Lillian muttered, tugging at the sleeves that hung past his wrists. "It's comfortable."

"Comfortable," Blaise echoed in his silkiest voice. "Such an innocent little word for sleeping in someone else's bed."

"I didn't-" Lillian started, but Draco cut him off with a lazy smirk, swirling his pumpkin juice like he'd been waiting all morning for this.

"Your bed was untouched, Potter. Everyone saw. And here you are, with a tie practically strangling you and your hair-" Draco gestured vaguely toward the mess of it, sticking up in directions gravity had no business allowing. "looking like you wrestled a hippogriff in your sleep."

"Or," Pansy said sweetly, "like you didn't do much sleeping at all."

Lillian nearly choked on his toast. "You lot are insufferable."

"Adorable," Blaise corrected smoothly.

Theo leaned in closer, voice low and wicked. "So, tell us, was it the shirt first or the tie? Or did Warrington just-"

Whatever indecency Theo was about to say was cut off by the scrape of the bench. Cassius Warrington dropped into the seat beside Lillian, fresh from Quidditch practice, hair damp, grin lazy. He reached out without a word, fixed Lillian's crooked tie with a single tug, then stole half his toast.

The table went dead silent.

"Morning," Cassius said warmly, eyes lingering on Lillian for just a beat too long.

"...Morning," Lillian replied calmly, leaning in for the kiss Cassius was prepared to give him.

Cassius smirked like he'd won something, leaned back right after the quick peck, and started piling eggs onto his plate as if the entire table weren't watching.

Pansy made a strangled noise, slapped her hands on the table, and hissed, "HE'S WEARING YOUR SHIRT!" so loudly that even a few Gryffindors turned to look.

Across the hall, Harry nearly dropped his fork.

Chapter Text

"You have like... really pretty eyes." Cassius said as he caressed Lillian's sides. 

The younger boy was straddling his boyfriend, trying to wrestle out his pencil for the older boy's grip. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere Warrington. Give me back my pen!"

"But homework is so boring..." Cassius droned on, still not giving up. 

"I'm not trying to do homework, I'm trying to plan for the third task!" Lillian gave up wrestling the pencil out, but still sat on Cassius as if he owned him. 

"Awwww. My cute little boyfriend is planning to kill something again?"

That made Lillian freeze. Cassius has never used the word before. Of course little terms of endearment were to be found, especially when Cassius was on top of him in less than public situations, but he never used the word boyfriend. Not that Lillian remembered at least. But then the boy leaned down, kissing Warrington. But not the heated kiss that was basically trademarked between them. No. This was way different. Potter put everything he felt into it, and Cassius seemed to melt. It was the first time that the younger boy showed this much initiative. And then Lillian grabbed his pencil back, leaning back up with a victorious smile. 

"You're a devil." Cassius muttered, still feeling flustered from the sudden kiss. 

"I'm just a cute, pretty, fairy prince killer, aren't I?" Lillian smiled innocently, putting his sketchbook on Cassius's chest as he started writing down potential threats that could come in the maze. 

Cassius raised an eyebrow before settling down to be more comfortable on the mattress beneath him. "So... why'd you freeze when I called you my boyfriend?"

"I..." Lillian started, his hand stilling for a split second. "You never said it before. Explicitly. I never thought-"

"I thought it was implied?"

"Yeah... but..."

"But what?"

"I never thought I'd have it, you know?" Lillian sighed, putting his pencil and sketchbook away. 

"You never thought you'd have what, exactly?" 

"This. You. Feelings. Lo-" But Lillian stopped mid sentence. 

"Finish that thought for me darling." Cassius massaged Lillian's hip slightly. 

"Love. I never thought I'd have love." Lillian laid down on Cassius's chest. "All my life I was... A caregiver, an abused kid, forced to grow up before I could reach the stove. I thought it wasn't in the cards for me. Harry, sure, absolutely. I'll kill him if he doesn't find it. But me? I thought I'd just be one of those weird, old men that sit in the park feeding pigeons alone when I'm grey."

Cassius reached his hand out, caressing Lillian's hair. "I love you Lils." He whispered like a promise. "Not because you're the Dragon slaying, snake riding hero. But because you're my pretty flower. You're so... cute. Delicate."

Lillian lifted his head before planting a soft kiss to his boyfriend's lips. 

"But the snake riding is definitely a huge upside." Cassius smiled lewdly and Lillian immediately slapped his arm. 

"Perv." The boy muttered before pressing another peck to Cassius's lips. 

"Your perv."

"Yes. My perv." Lillian muttered. "I love you too Cassius."

"Come on. Let's have this plan ready so that you don't die. I want to introduce you to my parents properly this summer and I'm not planning on taking a corpse on a date." Cassius mumbled with a stupid grin on his face that Lillian couldn't see. 

"Well... Now I just want you to hold me. We can plan tomorrow. You big brute."

"You forgot the word handsome."

The next morning, the Slytherin common room was its usual half-dark, half-awake chaos. Blaise was stretched across two armchairs like a prince, Pansy was already gossiping in rapid-fire whispers with Daphne, and Theo was dozing with his face smashed into an open book. 

And in walked Lillian Potter.

Or rather, Lillian Potter wearing a shirt that was very obviously not his. Too broad in the shoulders, too long at the hem, sleeves rolled haphazardly up to his elbows. His tie hung loose and crooked, as if it had been tugged on one too many times. His hair was a hopeless mess, and there was a faint red mark on the side of his throat that the torchlight seemed to deliberately catch.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Pansy screeched, "OH. MY. MERLIN."

Theo lifted his head, bleary-eyed. "What's- holy hell."

Blaise sat up so fast he nearly tumbled off the chair. "Darling... is that Warrington's shirt again?"

Lillian froze halfway into the room. "...No?"

"YES," Pansy wailed, clapping her hands like it was Christmas morning. "It's huge. It smells like him, doesn't it? Look at you! You're glowing."

"I am not glowing," Lillian muttered, cheeks blazing, tugging uselessly at the oversized fabric.

"You so are," Blaise purred. "Honestly, it's nauseating."

Draco, leaning lazily against the mantel with arms crossed, smirked like the cat who got the cream. "So it's official then. Boyfriend. Love confessions. The whole bit?"

Lillian gaped. "How do you-"

"You look like someone dropped you out of a romance novel," Draco drawled. "Even I'm embarrassed for you."

Pansy gasped so loudly she nearly toppled over. "WAIT. You said it. You said love, didn't you?!"

Lillian buried his face in his hands. "I hate all of you."

The laughter and squealing drowned him out completely, until the dormitory stairs creaked again. Cassius Warrington appeared, broad-shouldered and smug as ever, still buttoning his cufflinks. He glanced at Lillian in his shirt, smirked, and without a shred of shame, walked over to press a kiss against his temple.

"Morning, love," he said easily. "Ready for breakfast?"

The room exploded.

Theo actually fell off the couch. Blaise made a sound like he was dying. Pansy shrieked into her hands until Daphne told her to shut up.

And Lillian, scarlet from ear to collar, just let Cassius take his hand and drag him out into the corridor, muttering, "You're going to get me murdered."

Cassius only grinned wider. "Worth it."

It happened after lunch, in one of the less-used corridors that smelled faintly of dust and parchment. Lillian was heading toward the library, sketchbook tucked under his arm, when a hand shot out and yanked him into an alcove.

"Harry-?"

"Are you serious?" Harry demanded, eyes flashing, though his voice stayed low enough not to echo. "What was that this morning?"

Lillian blinked, thrown. "What was what?"

Harry gestured at him furiously. "You. Warrington's shirt. Him kissing you in front of everyone at breakfast like it was nothing. You-" his voice cracked slightly. "You looked like you didn't even care who saw."

Something in Lillian's chest softened, though he rolled his eyes anyway. "Hazza. Calm down."

"I am calm," Harry snapped, clearly not. "I just- When did this even happen? Since when do you... have time for-" He cut himself off, shoving his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"Time for what?" Lillian asked gently.

Harry's jaw worked. "For him. For anyone. You're supposed to be... you. The one who has it together. The one who doesn't- Who doesn't get distracted."

For a moment, the only sound was the muffled chatter of students down the hall. Then Lillian sighed, reaching out to squeeze his brother's shoulder.

"Harry... I don't stop being your brother because I like someone. I don't stop looking out for you. You're still my baby."

"Then why does it feel like you're... slipping away?" Harry whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

The words punched the air out of Lillian's lungs. He pulled Harry into a rough hug before he could think about it, arms tightening like he could anchor them both in place.

"I'm not going anywhere," Lillian murmured into his messy hair. "I swear to you, Hazza. You'll always come first. Always."

Harry didn't hug back right away, but when he finally did, it was fierce, desperate, like he was terrified letting go would mean losing him for good.

When they pulled apart, Harry sniffed and muttered, "I still don't like him."

Lillian managed a crooked smile. "That's fine. I like him enough for both of us."

Harry scowled, but his grip on Lillian's sleeve didn't loosen until long after.

Spring arrived slowly at Hogwarts, softening the stone walls with sunlight and coaxing students onto the grounds. For Lillian, it brought with it something new, something almost ordinary. He and Cassius began to move together like it was second nature, as if everyone had always known the two of them belonged to each other.

On the slope by the Black Lake, Lillian sat drowning in Cassius's Slytherin Quidditch jersey, the fabric brushing against his knees as he leaned into his boyfriend's shoulder. The breeze tugged at his hair while Cassius idly played with his fingers, twisting their hands together. Draco passed with an unimpressed look, muttering, "Pathetic." Lillian didn't even bother lifting his head, just raised a hand and flipped him off lazily, making Cassius snort with laughter.

Other moments weren't so serene. Behind the dungeons, Cassius had Lillian pinned to the wall, kissing him messy and fast, their laughter muffled against each other's mouths. When Peeves swooped overhead with an ear-splitting wolf whistle, they sprang apart like guilty children, doubled over in helpless laughter.

Not that the library offered any more dignity. Lillian had been scribbling furiously, determined to finish an essay, when Cassius leaned down over the back of his chair. Lips brushed his neck, warm breath tickling his skin until Lillian dropped his quill with a mortified squeak. "I'm going to fail thanks to you," he hissed, cheeks burning. Cassius only smirked and murmured, "You'll survive. You always do," which didn't help the flush in his ears at all.

And then there were the mornings, Merlin, the mornings. Lillian would shuffle into the Great Hall bleary-eyed, his hair sticking up in every direction, swallowed by a hoodie so obviously Cassius's that even first-years whispered. Cassius poured him pumpkin juice without a second thought, sliding it across the table like routine. Blaise leaned toward Pansy, whispering with a grin far too wide, "Domestic already." Lillian nearly hexed him.

But it was the evenings that felt like magic. They'd sprawl on the grass by the lake under a sky littered with stars, Cassius's hand resting beneath Lillian's shirt, warm against his stomach. They'd point out constellations until Lillian squinted at one cluster and muttered, "That one looks like a drunk hippogriff." Cassius laughed so hard he nearly choked, rolling onto his side and dragging Lillian with him. Lillian only grinned wider, proud of himself for reducing the usually unflappable Cassius Warrington to breathless, gasping laughter.

For once in his life, Lillian Potter wasn't just the Boy Who Survived dragons or deadly tournaments. He was a boy in love, wrapped in a jersey far too big for him, kissing until he couldn't breathe, smiling until his face hurt. And it was perfect.

It started innocently enough, just whispers echoing through the corridors, laughter in the common rooms, heads turning when Cassius laced his fingers through Lillian's as they walked to class. By breakfast the next morning, it had already spread across the school like Fiendfyre: Lillian Potter had a boyfriend.

"Potter? With Warrington?" a Ravenclaw girl whispered loudly enough for the entire table to hear. "He's a fifth-year! A Quidditch star! Do you think it's serious?"

"I saw them outside the library," a Hufflepuff added, eyes wide. "They were totally snogging. In broad daylight."

By dinner, Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill had already made itself known. The next morning, the Prophet headline greeted Lillian with his own flushed face splashed across the front page.

Triwizard Champion's Secret Romance Revealed: Young Love Blooms at Hogwarts

Lillian Potter, the mysterious Slytherin twin and current Hogwarts Champion, has found comfort in the arms of none other than Quidditch Chaser Cassius Warrington. Sources close to the pair describe them as 'inseparable,' often seen hand in hand around the castle. Even homework, it seems, cannot keep the two apart, with witnesses reporting laughter, teasing, and kisses exchanged over parchment and ink. Mr. Potter, once considered an elusive and stoic figure, is now proving that even heroes are not immune to the charms of young love.

There were even "quotes":

"They're actually... kind of adorable," said Pansy Parkinson (who had very much not said that, at least not where Rita could hear it).

"Warrington's lucky, that's all I'll say," said an anonymous Slytherin Chaser, whom Lillian strongly suspected was a seventh year that looked at him for moments too long at breakfast for years.

"I've never seen him smile so much," added a Gryffindor student, who was clearly meant to be Harry, though he would never admit it.

Cassius only smirked when he saw it, sliding the paper across the Slytherin table toward Lillian, who looked ready to sink under the floor. "I think it's flattering," Cassius drawled. "They've captured your good side."

"I don't have a good side," Lillian hissed, burying his face in his hands as Blaise and Theo read the article aloud in exaggerated voices.

But the damage was done. Everywhere they went, heads turned. Second-years giggled behind their hands. Hufflepuffs pointed when they thought Lillian wasn't looking. A pair of Ravenclaws tried to ask Cassius what his "favorite thing about dating THEE Lillian Potter" was.

Even Harry caught wind of it, though his reaction was mostly an exasperated groan as he shoved the Prophet away. "She couldn't leave one thing private, could she?" he muttered, though Hermione's soft smile suggested she didn't see it as a bad thing at all.

For Lillian, though, there was no escaping it now. He wasn't just a Champion. He was a headline.

Chapter Text

The morning of the Third Task dawned grey and heavy, clouds pressed low over the castle like a warning. Lillian stirred awake not in his own bed, but in Cassius's, as he had more often than not these past weeks.

He blinked blearily, the soft scratch of worn Quidditch sheets against his skin reminding him exactly where he was. And the dull ache in his body, the pleasant kind, reminded him of last night. Of Cassius's hands, his laugh, the way he whispered his name in the dark.

Lillian shifted, wincing faintly at the soreness, then stilled when Cassius's arm tightened automatically around his waist, pulling him back against the warmth of a broad chest.

"Mornin', pretty." Cassius mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. His breath tickled the back of Lillian's neck.

"You're heavy," Lillian grumbled, though his hand came up to hold the one splayed across his stomach.

"You love it." Cassius pressed a lazy kiss into his shoulder.

For a moment, Lillian let himself melt into it. The quiet. The safety. The illusion that today was just another morning, that he didn't have to walk into a maze designed to kill him. He traced idle circles over Cassius's knuckles, his mind drifting back to the Prophet article, to the way people looked at them now. But here, like this, none of it mattered.

"I don't want to get up," Lillian admitted softly, almost childlike.

"I know." Cassius shifted, rolling them until Lillian was half-pinned under him, Cassius bracing his weight on an elbow. His free hand brushed a stray lock of dark hair from Lillian's face. "But you've got a maze to conquer, serpent king."

Lillian tried to smile, though it wavered. "Don't remind me."

"Have to." Cassius leaned down, kissed him slow, steady, as if he could pour strength into him that way. "Because I want you back here tonight. Whole. Breathing. Complaining about how sore you are."

Lillian's throat tightened. He grabbed a fistful of Cassius's shirt and tugged him closer, whispering into the space between them, "I love you."

Cassius's smirk softened into something far rarer. He cupped Lillian's face like he was fragile glass. "Then do me a favor, Lils. Don't make me live in a world without you."

The words lodged deep in his chest, terrifying and comforting all at once. And when Lillian finally slipped from the bed, tugging on yesterday's wrinkled shirt, the weight of Cassius's gaze followed him, warm and unyielding.

The hours leading up to the Third Task stretched endlessly. The castle felt quieter than usual, even with the buzz of spectators trickling in from outside. Every hallway Lillian walked seemed heavy with eyes.

He spent most of the day in the common room, where Cassius never strayed too far. Sometimes he lounged in an armchair, pretending to read. Other times he stood at the edge of the room, speaking low with upper years, but his gaze always slid back to Lillian. Like he was guarding him. Like if he looked away too long, Lillian might vanish.

By late afternoon, it became clear who had shown up for him. Families poured into Hogwarts for the spectacle, filling the courtyard with chatter and color. Champions greeted parents and siblings with hugs, with kisses. Lillian lingered on the edge, eyes darting hopefully. As if his parents would rise from the grave and come to see their son off before he joins them.

But no one came.

Except Harry.

With Lillian's Slytherin friends running behind him. 

"We ditched Divination," Harry muttered by way of greeting, as though it were a war crime. "You're stuck with us until it's time."

Lillian blinked, startled, then something inside him cracked open, warm and fragile. "You skipped class? For me?"

"Obviously," Hermione said, folding her arms but unable to hide her smile.

Ron shrugged. "You're about to walk into a giant death maze. Homework can wait."

Lillian laughed then, a little breathless, and pulled Harry into a quick, tight hug before ruffling his hair. "Thanks, Hazza."

For the next hour, they roamed the grounds together. It almost felt normal, Ron arguing about what creatures might be inside the maze, Hermione worrying about spellwork, Harry quietly keeping close, Draco mumbling about the spectacle, Theo joining Granger in the spellwork debacle, Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy arguing over Lillian's theatrical entrance, and Crabbe and Goyle just standing there, rubbing Lillian's back softly while mumbling about the feast after Lillian wins. Every so often, Lillian caught Cassius at a distance, leaning against a wall or shadowing them across the grass. His eyes met Lillian's once, a faint smirk quirking his lips, and it grounded him.

But just before the call came for Champions to gather, Lillian froze.

Across the courtyard, half-hidden in the crowd, stood two figures he hadn't seen since last year. Remus Lupin, hands shoved into his shabby robes, watching with tired, careful eyes. And beside him, Sirius Black, hair long and wild, yet neat and handsome, looking restless, like he wanted to break through the barrier and drag Lillian away from all of this.

The world tilted. For a heartbeat, Lillian couldn't breathe. He hadn't let himself think about them in months, it hurt too much.

"Lils?" Harry's voice tugged him back, soft with concern.

"I'm fine," he lied automatically, tearing his gaze away. But his chest ached, sharp and hollow.

The Slytherin common room had turned into a makeshift dressing chamber. Pansy Parkinson had commandeered a chair by the fire and planted Lillian in it like he was her personal doll. Daphne sat cross-legged on the rug, wand in hand, and Millicent hovered by the wardrobe, digging out bits of green and silver fabric until they settled on the perfect combination.

"This isn't just Hogwarts colors," Daphne muttered, flicking her wand. Lillian's plain robes shimmered, threads tightening and twisting until they fell sleek and sharp, the edges lined with silver embroidery. "This is Slytherin. We're not letting you walk out there looking like a Ravenclaw hand-me-down."

"And the hair," Pansy added, comb already in her fist. She tugged through his messy strawberry blond strands, her wand smoothing them into soft waves that caught the firelight. "Merlin, Lils, you've got cheekbones that could cut glass and you hide them under a rat's nest. Tragic."

Lillian caught his reflection in the mirror propped against the wall. For a moment, he didn't recognize himself. His robes gleamed, his hair framed his face, and his posture looked almost regal. He looked every inch the Champion.

But then something inside him twisted.

Because he knew what it really meant to be Champion. He knew the weight of it: the screaming crowd, the way danger always found him, how death seemed to creep closer every year. His chest tightened, his hands shaking just enough for Pansy to notice.

"You alright?" she asked, brows furrowing.

He wasn't. His stomach had gone cold. The hair, the robes, the laughter of his friends. It all felt fragile, like paper that could tear at the slightest wrong move. He thought of Harry. Of Cassius. Of his friends. Of Viktor and Fleur. Of Sirius and Remus, half-glimpsed in the crowd. Of the way this Tournament felt more like a trap than a contest.

Before he knew it, he was on his feet, striding to the floo. He snatched a pinch of powder, his voice rough as he called, "Amelia Bones, Auror Office, urgent."

Pansy and Daphne exchanged alarmed looks, but stayed quiet.

Madam Bones's stern face appeared in the green flames, sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of him. "Potter."

"Please," he said, and his voice cracked in a way he hated. "I need more Aurors tonight. Not just the usual presence. Something's wrong... I can feel it."

Bones studied him for a long moment. She wasn't the type to dismiss a hunch, not from this boy. Not after the Chamber. Not after last year.

"I'll be there," she said finally. "With backup."

The fire went dark.

Lillian stood frozen for a beat, heart still hammering. Then Pansy gently tugged him back to the chair.

"You could've just asked us to mess up your hair again if you wanted an excuse to run," she muttered, trying to lighten the mood.

But Daphne's hand slipped into his for a moment, grounding. "We've got you. Alright?"

Lillian gave a weak nod. He let them fuss over the last details of his robes, though his mind was already in the maze. Already counting shadows. Already preparing for the worst.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The stands were packed, a wall of sound that made the air vibrate. Thousands of people came to watch the final task. Lillian stood at the entrance of the maze beside Fleur and Krum, every muscle tight. Bagman's voice boomed cheerful as ever, gesturing grandly to the looming hedges that cut off all view of the pitch.

"Champions, your task is simple: reach the Cup in the center of the maze. Obstacles lie ahead, of course, but only the clever, the strong, and the brave will succeed!"

The crowd roared, drowning out the drum of Lillian's pulse. Fleur adjusted her wand grip, her face sharp with focus. Krum only cracked his knuckles and scowled at the hedges like he could will them to fall apart.

Lillian stood between them, hair still styled into Pansy's waves, Slytherin green catching silver in the fading light. He felt like a fraud in such fine training clothes, but Cassius's eyes on him from the stands held him steady.

"And don't forget our special treat tonight!" Bagman bellowed, and above them the enchanted air shimmered, resolving into vast, floating panes of light. The crowd gasped as images bloomed on them: the maze, the champions, their every movement. The Spectacle Charm. They would be watched from above, from behind. No hiding, no retreat.

"On my whistle!" Bagman lifted the silver whistle to his lips. Lillian tightened his grip on his wand.

The shrill note cut through the pitch, and they plunged forward.

Inside the maze, the roar of the crowd cut off like a slammed door. The hedges towered over him, leaves shifting in an unnatural wind. The silence pressed down, broken only by the crunch of his boots on the dirt path.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Lillian's shoulders slowly loosened. Maybe-

A sudden screech split the air. A blast-ended skrewt barreled out of a side path, armored shell glistening, tail sparking.

"Bloody hell-" Lillian leapt sideways as fire blasted where he'd just stood. He raised his wand but froze. He could kill it, quickly, but the memory of the dragon, of its lifeless body at his feet, clenched around his throat.

"Stupefy!" The spell hit hard, bouncing off its armor. The skrewt roared, lashing its tail. Lillian dodged, rolled, and fired again, higher this time. The stunner caught its softer underside. The creature screeched, legs thrashing as it collapsed, unconscious but breathing.

Lillian's chest heaved. He swallowed bile, forcing himself upright. "Not today. No more killing." He whispered it like a promise, even though no one could hear him.

The maze twisted on, the hedges shifting subtly behind him as if sealing off his path. At one junction, golden mist pooled across the ground. It shimmered, enticing, a trap if ever there was one.

Lillian flicked his wand. "Ventus!" The gust scattered the mist, revealing a yawning pit beneath. He edged past, jaw tight.

The second challenge was worse. A sphinx stood tall in the center of a crossroads, golden eyes gleaming. Her voice purred like silk:

"To pass, young Champion, you must answer my riddle. Fail, and you will not walk away."

Lillian forced himself to listen, brain spinning through the riddle's clues. His heart raced, not from the threat, but from the eyes he imagined on him, the world watching him think. Finally, he whispered the answer.