Do I Want to Make Sense at All - BetsyByron - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: July

Chapter Text

Draco hadn’t seen Hal since the end of June, when they’d said goodbye in King’s Cross, and he was a little alarmed to realise how much he was missing him. They had written – Draco first, in one of the biggest tragedies of his young life, when he’d had to tell him he couldn’t come to his birthday party, an hour before the actual party, because his mother had forgotten and made other plans he’d had no choice but to tag along for. Hal and his cousin had organised a combined party mid-July, with common and new friends, and Draco had been so excited to go, until suddenly he wasn’t going.

He had been furious. He had been heartbroken. He hadn’t spoken to his mother for three days, until she arranged for Hal to come to the Manor later that month, the day before his actual birthday, so they could celebrate together.

But that was another four days away. In the meantime, Draco was at a loose end, erring around the manor, listless, and missing him. He knew it wasn’t that surprising to miss his friends, the first true friends he’d ever really had, after spending nine months seeing them every day, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t miss Anthony, or Hermione, or Ron or Neville, half as much as he missed Hal.

And it worried him, because what if Hal didn’t miss him as much either? What he wasn’t even thinking about him? He had his cousin, he was surely having a much more exciting summer. He’d probably barely even noticed Draco’s absence at his party, since everyone else was there. His heart probably didn’t beat faster, louder, when he thought about Draco, the way Draco’s did when he thought about Hal.

He’s my best friend, he told himself. He’s the first person I met who gave me a chance, who wanted to know me, who didn’t judge me first. That’s why he seems more important than the others. That’s all.

Never mind that he’d read each of Hal’s letters about six times. Never mind that he didn’t know what to do with himself, waiting for the day he’d see Hal again. He wasn’t going to think too long and hard about what it said about him, or the loneliness of his life. (Or how he felt about Hal.)

His feet took him to his father’s old study – he spent time in there sometimes, sitting on the large chair, his feet only just, this year, brushing the floor. Imagined himself writing important letters, signing important documents, owling important people. Imagined being a little bit like his father, only the part he could be proud of – Lucius’ dedication to his work, to a job well done.

The room was spotless – the elves would keep it so – but it was musty from disuse. Draco had been in awe, almost afraid of the room for several years, but he cast a look on it now and realised it didn’t feel so sacred anymore. The shadow of his father was mostly gone, and it no longer felt like he’d anger anyone or be disrespectful if he, say, opened a window.

He set out to do just that, but he hadn’t counted on the fact that having remained shut for years, it was going to resist him. Next thing he knew, he had lost his grip on the stubborn handle, and he came crashing backwards into the bookcase. The rows of books rattled, and for a second Draco thought the whole thing was coming down on his head, until he realised the panel had simply moved a few inches towards him, revealing not the wall behind it, but the dark damp space of a room beyond.

Draco was hardly surprised. The Manor was full of secret passageways, chambers and shortcuts, a lot of which had been the grounds of many an adventure when he was younger. He knew his father had kept some pretty dark stuff hidden from his younger self for safety – or from the law, and probably often both.

He pulled the bookcase fully open, and cast a Lumos to shine into the room (his mother always allowed him to do magic inside the house). It seemed to be a small library – no doubt full of forbidden texts, dark magic grimoires and other dangerous tomes, knowing his family history. Draco knew better than to open any of them, but as the light from his wand shone upon a small reading desks, he spotted an inconspicuous black notebook, and thought maybe he could learn something from the notes his father may have taken on the content of the shelves.

Making sure things were not cursed or poisoned before he touched or even approached them had been part of his education, so before he picked it up, he made sure to cast the spell his mother had taught him the minute he’d come home with a wand. It could detect immediate danger, Narcissa had designed it herself and it was linked to the wards and blood bonds of the Malfoy household; as such, it only worked for the Malfoys and within the Manor, but given the number of dodgy artefacts bequeathed, stored or hidden between its walls by generations of Blacks and Malfoys over the years, it did come in handy. A lot.

When the spell returned nothing, Draco grabbed to book and brought it back to the study to look at it in natural light, leaving the rest of the room to potential future exploration – for now, he pushed back the shelves, which clicked shut seamlessly. You’d never suspect they were anything but shelves.

Flipping through the notebook, Draco was disappointed to see it was completely empty. Its dark leather cover did not bear any inscription other than the embossed name and address of the store it had been purchased in, and apart from a very faded name inside (T or J… M… Pridle? Rifle?), there were no notes at all on the yellowed paper.

Deprived of an insight on his father’s collection, and of something to distract him, Draco sat at the desk with the notebook in front of him, dejected and bored.

I miss my friends, he thought.

Absent-mindedly, he picked up a quill (enchanted to always be wet with ink when used) and flipped the notebook open again.

I miss my Hal, he wrote.

Before he could full be mortified to realise he’d written Hal instead of friends, the words disappeared into the page. A moment later, new ones appeared.

What is a Hal?

Draco blinked, quill hovering above the page, unsettled by this turn of events. He’d heard of spelled books that would hide your notes, for confidentiality, privacy or secrecy – he should have thought of it really, not that he would have been able to reveal them had it been the case – but one that wrote back? That was a whole different plane of magic.

Cautiously, as the words that weren’t his faded, he put his quill to the paper again.

I meant friends. Hal is one of my friends.

The same thing happened again, and Draco found himself holding his breath as he waited for the response to appear.

This Hal sounds like a special friend.

Draco could feel himself blush. Whatever power the notebook was imbued with, it had intelligence – enough to see right through him in only a few words. He suspected the previous owner was tied to it by an enchantment akin to the one used on paintings, retaining some of the memories and personality of the past life of whoever was portrayed.

Maybe the reasonable thing would have been to leave it, because he knew intelligent objects were usually to be approached with caution, and Draco did almost put down the quill, but… he had nobody to talk to about this. His mother wouldn’t understand.

And so he found himself scribbling once more.

* *

*

Petunia was starting to wonder what on earth had possessed her, and how she had come to think trying to teach two twelve year-old boys how to cook was a good idea.

An hour in, Ley had broken a knife trying to cut into a swede, Hal was picking lentils off the floor (and from his hair, somehow), the kitchen smelt of burnt potato and there were smears of tomato purée all over the wall behind the cooker.

Two hours in, both of them had managed to get chocolate EVERYWHERE, but they had a semi-decent-looking cake to show for it, and there had been so much joy and laughter throughout the preparation, she hadn’t had the heart to stop them.

Three hours in – because they had decided either not to accept failure, or not to rest on their laurels, or both, and to have another crack at savoury – they had actually fallen into some kind of rhythm, perusing the recipes they had chosen and sharing out the tasks. At that point, it had become clear that Hal was a natural, and Ley was a disaster, so the division of labour was mostly Ley chopping and lining things up ready to be used, and Hal doing everything else.

“I love it.” He beamed with a satisfied sigh, once they had successfully plated a vegetable stew and nice grilled chicken strips. “It’s like Potions, but without Snape on your back, and you get to eat the results.”

He really did like the class. He had gotten decent grades throughout the year, mostly after Draco had spoken to his godfather, and probably even more after Hermione had told him she’d found out his mom had been really skilled at it.

“I remember Lily liked potions.” Petunia smiled, echoing the thought.

She glossed over the fact that she had turned a deaf ear to whatever Lily was saying about it at the time, so she didn’t know much more than that.

“Can we brew one?” Ley asked animatedly, conspiratorially, and impatiently.

It had been one of their favourite activities of the summer since the day after their joined birthday party, when a large owl had swooped in carrying a parcel for Hal – a potion-brewing kit from Draco, with another note reiterating how sorry he was for missing the event.

Hal had been gutted that he couldn’t make it, but the gift, if not making up for it, had certainly distracted him from the dejection, as had the plan a few days after that that he would visit the Manor and see him soon.

“It’s too late.” Petunia told the boys. “No potions after dinner.”

Ley huffed and puffed, but in the end he joined Hal on the sofa, who didn’t really mind, because he was playing with Little John Silver. He’d hold a little piece of parchment up, and the young cat would jump to try and catch it, as Hal lifted his hand at the last moment to pull it out of his reach. Three out of four times, Sil was quicker.

“He should get a little sister.” Ley mused.

“Definitely not.” Petunia said flatly, not looking up from her book.

Ley was about to start whinging again, but he noticed an odd look on Hal’s face.

“You alright?” He asked.

Hal looked a little like that time he’d had some bad lamb at the Indian takeaway and had ended up throwing up all night. He didn’t say anything for a minute, then he got up, picking up Silver as he did so.

“Can I show you something?” He asked his cousin.

Ley followed him into his room, and Hal pulled out the notepad Ley had gotten him last Christmas, which was now full of sketches. He flipped it open to a specific page, and turned it towards Ley.

Looking at the drawing, Ley saw a large group of people. He recognised himself, and Hal, and his mom, and his aunt Lily and a man who looked a lot like Hal whom he supposed was his dad.

“You’re really good.” He commented before he looked at the rest.

Hal put his finger on the figure of a younger girl, delicately drawn, wearing dungarees and welly boots and her curly hair down.

“A little sister.” He said quietly.

And he told Ley about the magic mirror, which had shown him what could have been. He hadn’t mentioned it six months previous, the emotions still too raw, and then quite a lot had happened in between and it had kind of slipped his mind, until Ley had spoken those two words.

“It makes me sad thinking about it.” He confessed. “Not because I want a sister.” He added quickly. “But… because I have you, and Auntie, and we’re happy, you know? I’m happy. And then the stupid magic mirrors shows me that, which is supposed to be my truest desire or something, and what am I meant to do with that? I don’t want to be told I should miss something I never had, when what I have is perfectly fine.”

He finished by crossing his arms in a bit of a sulk, getting ready for Ley to make fun of him, because Ley didn’t really do sentiment, he tended to deflect anything coming too close to resembling a feeling. Usually with farting noises. But Ley simply tapped his finger on the paper.

“This.” He said with determination. “Is a really good drawing. And I think you’ve overthinking it.”

Hal understood what he meant, between the lines. It was a drawing. A fantasy, which he was allowed to have. It didn’t make him ungrateful for the life he had.

So he made a farting noise, and changed the subject.

* *

*

Draco hadn’t seen Hal since the end of June, and he could feel his mouth hanging slightly open at the sight of him. He had grown, mighty Morgana. He was several inches taller, maybe even taller than Draco now, and he was all tanned from playing outdoors (no doubt a lot more than Draco had, but then with his skin, it was ill-advised. He just burned.) and he had such a bright smile and he – he was smothering Draco in a hug. Definitely a tiny bit taller.

“I missed you so much!” Hal squeezed him enthusiastically.

“I missed you too.” Draco smiled easily – because things always came so easily, with Hal, and it was never weird. Draco didn’t want to make it weird, even if he has had a crush on him.

I was one of the realisations he had come to when speaking to Tom – the boy in the diary, as it had turned out to be. He had been right about that, it was a bit like a portrait. Tom had lived a long time ago, long enough that the name Harry Potter, when Draco had mentioned it, hadn’t seemed to ring a bell.

Over the next few days of finding the diary, he had had long conversations with Tom. It was liberating, thrilling and addictive to have someone (or at least an illusion of someone) he could tell absolutely everything to, with no fear of revealing too much, of offending or of being judged.

Tom had been very patient with him, considering, and he had helped him admit to himself that what he felt for Hal was not simply friendship. It was too consuming, verging on slightly obsessive, and he certainly didn’t feel this way about any of his other friends.

Draco wasn’t particularly surprise he had a crush on a boy. He had been eight the first time his betrothal to a well-born girl had been mentioned, and it had filled him with disgust. A couple of years after that, he’d realised even the suggestion that he might be “lucky enough” to marry the girl of his choice inspired just as much dread, and it really wasn’t about the arranged marriage part of it, but rather about the… girl, part of it. He didn’t want to marry a girl. He had said as much to his mother, and she’d said he was still too young. He had said as much to Tom, and, well, his conclusion had been a little different.

There is nothing wrong with being attracted to your own sex.

Draco had disagreed at first. There was a great many things wrong with being attracted to your own sex – people would shun you for it and try to cure you and maybe disinherit you. He’d heard plenty of stories. But then Tom had clarified-

I didn’t say you had to tell anyone about it.

Ah. While that made more sense, it didn’t sit right with Draco. He didn’t want his crush on Hal (he didn’t want anything related to Hal) to be a dirty little secret, and he didn’t like the idea of having to pretend. One of the clearest memories he had of his father was Lucius telling him:

“Secrets are part of the game, information is power and you should always know what to disclose, and when. But you should never have to hide who you truly are. And if who you truly are isn’t good enough to show off – better yourself.”

Draco was pretty sure his father would have been of the opinion that bettering yourself included getting rid of your silly crush on a school friend. In that, at least, Draco agreed with Tom – nobody had to know, least of all Hal himself. He’d decided not to mention the diary to him either.

Draco’s mother collected the used Portkey they had owled Hal for him to travel, and put it back on the mantelpiece – it was an old clay vase Draco had made when he was six, shortly after his father’s death, and he had no idea why she’d kept it, it was hideous. She kept saying it was useful to charm into a Portkey at a moment’s notice, but really she could have used anything.

Draco knew his mother wasn’t going to entertain them, so he grabbed Hal for a tour of the manor. He started with his room, which Hal commented was about the size of half his house, but didn’t linger there – Draco didn’t particularly like his room. Like Hal had spotted, it was too big. If felt a little impersonal. Even the room he shared with Anthony at Hogwarts had come to feel more like his.

“This is so huge.” Hal laughed when Draco had shown him, maybe, a quarter of the house. “Don’t leave me anywhere because I’d never find my way back.”

“I’d never leave you.” Draco said, maybe a little too intensely.

Hal didn’t seem to notice, or at least he didn’t find it odd.

“What’s your favourite place?” Hal challenged him, clearly giving up on the rest of the tour.

Draco smiled, and beckoned Hal to follow him.

* *

*

Hal could understand why this was Draco’s favourite place, because it was amazing. He had led them to the East wing, on the second floor, into at small library with floor-to-ceiling shelves full of beautifully bound books, and Hal had thought that was the place, it was cosy and homey and more Draco than the rest of the grand mansion, but then Draco had pushed open the double doors at the other end, and Hal’s jaw had dropped.

It opened onto a greenhouse, the tallest plants reaching all the way up to the balcony they were on. The wrought-iron balustrade winded down into a spiral staircase taking you to the lower levels - another balcony on the first floor Draco said was to a music room, and all the way down to tiled paths weaving through beds of earth holding more plants that Hal could name.

“Up here is my favourite spot.” Draco commented. “I sit here to read, and it feels like being on a ship, but it’s in a forest instead of being on the sea.”

Hal looked down, and ahead, considering it. The balcony was curved, in fact, a bit like the front of a ship.

“I see what you mean, actually.” He recognised. He gave a small contended sigh. “This is so cool.”

“We can stay here a bit.” Draco smiled. “Want some ice cream?”

That seemed contradictory to Hal, but then this was a magical household – Hal didn’t know any summoning spells, but maybe Draco had ways to-

“Dobby.” Draco said, inexplicably, until a second later a little creature appeared with a loud crack.

Hal jumped a foot in the air with a yelp, and the… goblin? thing gave him a distressed look.

“Dobby is not wanting to startle Master Draco’s friend.”

“That’s okay, Dobby.” Draco said, though Hal reserved that judgement for when his heart stopped hammering. “Could you get us each a bowl of ice cream? The way Dilly makes it.”

“Right away, Master Draco!” The creature said enthusiastically, before another crack, and it was gone.

“What the hell was that?” Hal asked.

“One of our house-elves.” Draco said like it was obvious.

“A house elf?” Hal repeated disbelievingly.

Draco frowned.

“You know about them. They have them at Hogwarts.”

“I thought it was a figure of speech!” Hal could hear his voice was more high-pitched than usual, but the elf (elf!) really had given him a fright. “Like, Oh, the house elves did it, is like, I don’t know, Mister Sandman or something.”

“What?” Draco’s frown intensified.

“I just thought it meant it’s magic, I don’t know.”

“No, they’re real.” Draco explained. “They’re a submissive species, they serve Wizarding houses and families. We have a few, I don’t know them all to be honest. Dilly is in the kitchen, and… well, Dobby. You call him when you want something.”

“Like a… valet?” Hal said hesitantly.

The idea of servants made him uncomfortable, even though he should have known Draco was posh enough to have them.

Draco shrugged. “I guess, yeah. But they don’t help me dress or anything. That’s just be… no.”

“No.” Hal agreed. “Weird.”

Desperate to change the subject, he started: “Your mom is…” He realised he had nothing to say about Draco’s mom, but it was too late to backtrack. “Nice.” He finished lamely.

Draco gave him a look.

“She’s a lot of things, but I’m not sure nice is one of them.” He said with some humour.

Hal knew Draco loved his mother, but he was right – the word didn’t suit her.

“Was she always like this?” He asked, because he couldn’t imagine Narcissa giving Draco hugs and kissing him good night, but he also couldn’t imagine growing up without all that.

Draco sighed. “Maybe not.” He said quietly. “I think…”

He hesitated, and Hal didn’t say anything, giving him time to find the words.

“You know, I think, maybe she’s protecting herself.” Draco explained. “She loved her mother and father, but they weren’t exactly nurturing. She loved her sisters, and one was disowned for marrying a Muggle-born, the other is in prison, she’s not seen either for fifteen years. She loved my father, and he died. She loved me, and I almost died.”

“What?” Hal started.

“Oh, yeah, when I was about… nine?” Draco shuffled, uncomfortable. “I got really, really ill over the winter. It was touch and go for a few weeks… Anyway, I think it was from this point on she became more… detached. Like she didn’t want to care too much about me anymore, in case I was taken from her, like everyone else.”

“But it’s horrible.” Hal blurted out, feeling distraught at the thought that he could have never met Draco.

“It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me.” Draco said in a small voice.

“No, I know, I meant…” Hal stopped, biting his lip. “Where’s your elf?” He squeaked distressingly.

A ghost of a smile made Draco’s lips twitch.

“Probably waiting for this extremely awkward conversation to be over.” He said. “Dobby, you can come in.”

Hal felt immensely relieved for the distraction, as they enjoyed the ice cream Dobby brought (twice as they went for seconds, and Hal was proud of himself when he didn’t jump the last time he cracked back) and they decided to spent the rest of the afternoon flying it off – Draco had two broomsticks, and they improvised a game of chase with an enchanted goblet.

“We should have asked if I could sleep over.” Hal said with a pout at the end of the day, hating that it was over, as he got ready to use the Portkey again.

“Next time.” Draco said with conviction.

Hal like the sounds of that.

“Next time.” He grinned back.

Chapter 2: August

Chapter Text

Hal and Draco hadn’t gotten a chance to organise a sleepover, but they had managed to get everyone together to go shopping for supplied in Diagon Alley – except Anthony, who was in America visiting his relatives. They had even convinced Hal’s aunt to let Ley come along, and he had been unable to contain his excitement for the last eight days leading up to it.

The happy task of managing the six of them had fallen onto Arthur Weasley, while his wife took the rest of Ron’s siblings (namely Ginny who had just gotten her letter) to get their things. As it was, the two groups ended up pretty much shopping together, in an unruly gaggle of excited children.

Ley cried out in surprise and delight at nearly everything, and while it made Hal laugh he couldn’t really judge, he remembered being in the same situation, he knew the feeling. The only time he fell silent was when Hal took him to his vault. Ley’s mouth opened and closed silently for a long minute before he was able to breathe out the words Holy sh*t, though he recovered quickly when Hal shoved a dozen of gold pieces in his hand with a grin and told him it was his to use.

As Hal had expected, Ley also got on with Fred and George like a house on fire. Hal carefully pretended he wasn’t aware of anything they were discussing when they started talking about testing magical sweets on Muggles (Ley volunteered to pretty much be their dealer).

But that meant he had to actually listen to Arthur, who kept asking him things like: Does your aunt have a toaster?

“He’s obsessed with Muggle tech.” Ron told him when Hal could get away without being rude. “Sometimes it’s fun – like he’d got this old car and we’re trying to make it fly!” His excited beaming died down. “But mostly it’s just annoying.”

“I actually think more people should show an interest.” Hal said. “Magic is amazing, don’t get me wrong, but you need to evolve as well, you know?”

Ron was saved from having to express an opinion as they reached Flourish and Blotts, and there seemed to be way too much commotion there for a bookshop.

“It’s Gilderoy Lockhart!” Draco, who’d scouted ahead, came back looking really animated.

“Oh my god!” Hermione jumped. “All his books are on our list this year!”

“I know!” Draco squealed excitedly.

“Oh no.” Ron sighed. “My mom loves him.”

“He’s brilliant.” Hermione said dreamily.

“And those blue eyes.” Ron added in a stupid voice, batting his eyelashes.

Neville, Hal and Ley laughed, but Hermione glared, and Draco seemed to be sharing her opinion since he was on tiptoe, trying to get a better look at the man.

“He’s signing books!” He cried.

Him and Hermione proceeded in trying to get neared the front of the queue, Lockhart’s works under their arm for signing – at least, Hal thought, they weren’t buying them just for the sake of an autograph, since they were indeed on their school supply list. In doing so, they created a movement in the crowd so that, for a moment, their line of sight to the book signing table was completely free.

Obviously, it was in that exact moment that Gilderoy Lockhart looked up, and his brilliant smile froze on his lips as his eyes fell upon Hal.

“Good heavens!” He exclaimed. “Harry Potter!”

The crowd split again, everyone turning to look at Hal. Hal turned around, feigning ignorance.

“Who?” He looked over his shoulder.

Ley snorted behind him, but Lockhart ignored the sass – or it didn’t deter him – and marched right up to him.

“Harry Potter!” He boomed again. “What a delight! What a pleasant coincidence! For two famous wizards such as ourselves to meet!”

He suddenly had an arm around Hal’s shoulders, dragging him back to the table as he kept talking.

“Of course you must have been waiting for me to sign your books! I will be delighted, delighted, to treat you-” as they reached the table, he snapped his fingers at a man Hal realised was a photographer. “-to my entire work collection, signed!” Lockhart finished with a flourish, dumping a huge pile of books into Hal’s arms (whose legs nearly buckled under the sudden weight) and grabbing his shoulders again to angle him towards the photographer.

Hal could only blink, blinded by the flashes and completely unprepared for this turn of events. Fortunately, maybe, Lockhart did not seem to notice or care about his reaction, because he just blabbered on.

“And of course, young Harry here is entering his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! And I take this opportunity to announce -” another calculated pause, to shoot a million-Lumos smile at the photographer and the audience “-that it is with great pleasure that I will see Harry again in September, as I embark in a new adventure, not in the faraway lands were so many evils lurk, but still, still! In my journey to educate, and make the world a safer,a better place…”

He almost seemed to forget what he was even getting at for a second, before he finished with a swish of his cloak and a smile even brighter than before, if that was even possible.

“As I have gracefully accepted the honour of taking up the position of Hogwart’s Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

There were several gasps and squeals from the crowd, one of which Hal was pretty sure came from Hermione, and then it was chaos again, with people rushing in to ask questions, to get their books signed, and a distressing number of them trying to touch Hal, to get him to sign something, take his picture and ask if he was excited to have Lockhart as a teach next year.

In the end, Ron’s dad managed to extract him – and the rest of his charges – from the shop, and ushered them to a quieter spot (all relatively, because the entire Alley was bustling). He announced they’d come back for their books when the signing was over, for those who didn’t have everything yet, that maybe then they’d be able to see where they were walking.

“Are you okay, Harry?” He then asked him.

“Yeah.” Hal said, although he felt a little shaken.

His arms were tiring under the weight of the books, and Ley grabbed half the pile from him – he was looking at him with a little frown.

“What?” Hal asked him.

“When you said you were famous and sh*t…” Ley shrugged. “I just didn’t realise it was like that. It was weird.”

There had been some occurrences, as children, before Hal knew what it was all about, where random people had started at him or congratulated him in the street, but they had always dismissed those, thinking they were either mental or were confusing him for someone else. Hal could tell Ley was remembering those instances now.

“Tell me about it.” Hal muttered.

Looking down, he saw some of the books remaining in his arms were not even text books for their year. Lockhart really had given him everything. He quickly sorted through them, swapping some with Ley until they had three piles. Hal carried one of them to Mr Weasley.

“Here.” He handed them to him. “For Fred and George, and Percy, and Ginny.”

“Oh, Harry, no, I can’t accept that.” Ron’s dad protested, but Hal pressed on.

“They’re for their years.” He insisted. “I’m not going to use them.”

He had no-one to give the third-, fifth- and seventh-year books to, but he supposed he could keep the third-year ones for the following year, if they were still on the list. The third pile, with fifth and seventh, he wasn’t sure what to do with yet. Which was why he thought Mr Weasley looked more touched than it warranted, when Hal gave him the books. Really, he was doing him a favour, taking them off his arms.

“Thank you, Harry, that’s… Thank you.” He said. “Let me quickly find Molly to let her know she doesn’t need to buy them.”

They had lost half the group in the hullaballoo in the bookshop, but they couldn’t be very far. Hal got Ley to help him put the rest of the books in a bag Mrs Weasley had let him borrow, which had a charm on it to make everything feather light.

Their progression for the rest of their shopping was arduous. It was almost like the word had gotten out that Harry Potter was in Diagon Alley, because they were stopped by countless wizards and witches wanting to say hello and how much they admired him. Some of them were asking random questions as well, which Hal avoided answering in favour of getting away as quickly as humanly possible in that crown, and some of them were downright inappropriate, such as the one who told him he was so chuffed his parents had died – which had Neville actually tell the wizard to f*ck off while Hal could only gape.

After that happened, and as Hal’s annoyance steadily grew, Ley started jumping in front of him and shaking people’s hand with exaggerated enthusiasm, going Yes, Oh my God, you too it’s so nice to meet you, thank you, thank you, and Hal ended up laughing so hard he could barely stand.

When they ended up in the ice cream parlour, having collected everything they needed, Hal managed to hide himself in a corner, leaving Ley to chat and laugh with the twins. Draco sat next to him, and once they had fallen onto the first few mouthfuls of their sundaes as if they hadn’t seen food in a week, they paused to breathe and talk.

“Your cousin has your back.” Draco said. “It’s nice to see.”

“He’s the best.” Hal nodded. “Honestly, it was so weird being here last year as well. My aunt didn’t react like that at all.” He laughed. He looked over at Ley at the other side of the table, smiling to himself. “He always seems to know exactly what I need.”

Draco had a bit of a wistful look, but he changed the subject.

“That was a nice thing you did for the Weasleys. Giving them the books.”

“Oh.” Hal frowned, surprised. “Really? I mean, I didn’t want them anyway, and I figured Ron’s brothers and sister would need them.”

“Yes, but…” Draco hesitate, casting a glance towards the various Weasleys, but nobody was really paying attention to them. “Hal, they don’t have a lot of money.” He revealed. “Several course books like that, expensive as they are? It’ll make a big difference for them.”

“Oh.” Hal said again.

Ron had never really said anything, and Hal had never really thought about it, but now he did, he could see all the little clues, and really it made sense, having to raise seven children on one salary – Hal didn’t think Molly worked, and fair enough, even with magic to help around, she must have her hands full keeping up that household.

“Well.” He shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m glad.”

He resolved to pay more attention to Ron and his siblings, and if he could do things like that more often, without making it a charity case, he was more than happy for all his (still incongruous to him) wealth to have somewhere to go.

* *

*

Spending an entire afternoon with other Pureblood children while their parents where having a garden party had never been Draco’s idea of a good time, even in previous years; they were always just hanging together, half bored and half looking for trouble, and each time Draco thought he’d rather be in the library, left alone to curl up with a book. But now that they were also all Slytherins, and he wasn’t, he most definitely felt like he’d rather eat a pot of bat livers.

Still, he supposed it could be worse, since Flint wasn’t there this time, nor any of the older kids (Draco longed for the day he’d also be old enough to get out of these gatherings). It was just Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, Vince and Greg.

“Let’s Polyjuice.” Pansy suggested after they had hanged together, fully bored, for half an hour. “My dad got me a supply.” She preened.

Pansy’s dad got her literally everything and anything she asked for – she was spoilt rotten, Narcissa had once said about her.

“Into who?” Blaise said disinterestedly.

“I gathered some hair last time Daddy had a dinner.” Pansy smirked. “Let’s go to a bar!”

Things got a little unruly from there, as they went into Pansy’s ridiculous dressing, picked some clothes and enchanted them to be adult sizes – Pansy’s dad, of course, had a permanent permission spell cast around the house so she could pretty much do any magic she wanted during the holiday. And unlike the one Draco benefit from at the Manor, that one included any underage wizard walking into it. It was already making Parkinson Hall the place to be for a lot of kids , and Draco had no doubt it would only intensify as they got older and bolder and learnt more spells.

Once dressed in their new attires – and even Draco had to admit, he’d gotten as caught up in as the others, and they were having a lot of fun – Pansy distributed the hair and they drunk the potion, which was honest to Merlin the most disgusting thing Draco had ever put in his mouth (and that included a snails and sprouts purée he’d had to stomach when once staying with a distant French relative of his mother’s).

It was also an extremely weird sensation, feeling your limbs grow and your chest expand, feeling your features change. Draco didn’t think he liked that very much. Before long, they were six adults looking at each other with various expressions of mirth and confusion.

“You gave me the wrong one!” One of the women cried.

When it turned out she was neither Pansy nor Daphne, but Greg, it took them all a while to recover – even Draco thought it was pretty funny, until Greg stopped being miffed about it and started being disgusting, squeezing his – her – breasts first experimentally, then downright inappropriately.

“Aren’t we meant to go to a bar?” He prompted, feeling extremely uncomfortable at the display. “This only lasts an hour.”

“Yes.” A young man said with determination, and the tone alone told Draco this was Pansy. “Let’s go.”

She led them out – Greg in his female form still making unbecoming gestures and comments, Daphne as a shorter woman (she changed her shoes for heels so high Draco wondered how she could possibly walk without breaking an ankle), Vince and Blaise as nondescript blokes who looked like they’d worked in an office for a little too long and were just resigned to keep going through the motions.

Draco caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror when they entered the bar, and he didn’t look anything noteworthy either. Only the body Pansy was in was striking, really, tall and muscular but lean, with sharp blue eyes and dark brown hair. She seemed to be loving it, too, as she directed them to sit down and act like they belonged there and weren’t twelve, ordering and being served like she owned the place.

She’s been here before, Draco suddenly realised, as one of the girls behind the bar giggled at something man-Pansy said. And looking like that, too. They knew the man, here. Not so much for any familiarity, and maybe it wasn’t that kind of establishment anyway, but it was definitely not the first time they’d seen him.

After their hour was up, and they had turned back into their younger selves on the way back, Draco managed to grab an opportunity to hang back with Pansy.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

Pansy’s chin went up, as if she was daring him to make fun of her, but as she looked over at Draco and saw he wasn’t going to, she softened.

“Can I tell you something?” She seemed to challenge.

Draco considered it for a moment, but he thought he was truthful when he answered.

“I can keep a secret, if that’s what you’re asking.”

That seemed to satisfy her, as she leaned closer to him, and spoke so the others wouldn’t hear.

“I swapped them on purpose. Giving Greg the woman.” She winced. “That backfired a bit, but…” She shrugged. “I love it. Being a man. The way people look at you, the way they treat you, it’s so… You wouldn’t know, you’re a boy. You should try being a girl, maybe you’d understand. I want…”

She hesitated, giving Draco another measuring look.

“I want to be a man.” She said quickly. “For real. Permanently. When I grow up, I mean. I think I want… You know how there’s spells and potions to…” She stopped, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’s stupid.” She muttered.

“It’s not stupid.” Draco said.

He was surprised, because it was one thing enjoying being polyjuiced as a bloke, and an entirely different thing wanting to enduringly become one, but he didn’t let it show. Pansy had trusted him with this, and what she needed right now was support.

“You should be able to be whatever you want.”

“It’s not natural.” She sneered. Draco could tell she was quoting. But then she looked down, and she almost looked like she was going to cry. “But I want to.”

Draco had no idea what to say. He didn’t know how to tell her it would be okay – because he didn’t know if it would be. He didn’t know of many people who changed the sex they were born with, and he knew it wasn’t… it was even less accepted than… it would never be easy.

“I’d still be your friend.” He tried.

Pansy scoffed. “‘Cause we’re friends?”

Draco didn’t let that sting, he knew she was probably right. They tolerated each other, and she’d just opened up to him for some reason, but they weren’t really friends. However, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be.

“You’d better hope we are.” He retorted. “Since you just told me your darkest deepest secret.”

“I’d deny it.” She snapped. “You can’t use it against me.”

“Pansy.” He sighed. “I’m not saying I would.”

“You’re a Ravenclaw.” She stated out of the blue.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I can’t be friends with a Ravenclaw.” She assessed.

“Just like you can’t be a boy, then.” Draco snapped.

Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t seem to be able to come up with another barb, and Draco was alarmed to see that her eyes started to shine.

“But you can.” He said more gently. “If that’s what you want, you can, when you grow up.”

“It’s not natural.” She said again. “It’s deviant, it’s… it’s disgusting.”

“It’s not.” Draco countered. “I-” He took a breath, and released it with his next words. “I like boys.”

“Well, duh.” Pansy rolled her eyes. “You are a boy.”

“No, I mean.” Draco said quietly. “I like boys.”

There was a long pause, and Draco saw on her face the exact moment Pansy understood what he meant.

“Oh.” She blinked.

She stayed silent for another while, and eventually she sighed.

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes again. “Okay. We’re friends.”

Chapter 3: September

Chapter Text

When Hal saw the clock go over midnight, and realised it was the first of September, he knew he wouldn’t be in King’s Cross by 11 o’clock. He’d miss the train. He had no idea how else he could get to Hogwarts – there was the Floo that Petunia had taken to visit him a few months back, but it had been disconnected since. He didn’t have a Portkey. He didn’t even have an owl to contact the school and ask what to do.

And right now, he didn’t care. He was curled up against his aunt in the hospital waiting room, and although she had told him to try and sleep, he couldn’t. They had been there hours, it was way past his bedtime, and he was exhausted, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew Ley was okay. The last image he had of him was him lying on a stretcher as the doctors rushed him to the operating room, his face pale and twisted in pain, and maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all until he saw his face again, his proper face, with a light in his eyes and a goofy smile.

His appendix had burst, a nurse had told them. He had to have surgery right away, but it was a common procedure and they shouldn’t worry. Hal knew getting your appendix removed was a common procedure. He also knew it was less common, and a lot riskier, when it had already burst.

It had started late afternoon, when Ley had complained of a tummy ache, but then he’d just eaten ALL of the chocolate that his aunt Marge had sent him for his birthday (almost two months late, which was rather like her), in one go, and it had been a very, very large box. His mom had only chastised him. He’d been ill over dinner, but they’d still put it down to the chocolate.

Ley wasn’t at all a wimp about pain. He picked himself up and barrelled on, and it took a lot for him to even admit he was in pain. He’d once walked miles on a broken ankle, when Hal and him had been exploring and he’d landed badly when climbing down (falling off) a tree. So when, hours after he’d first complained and a little while after claiming he felt better for a bit, he started crying in pain, Petunia knew it wasn’t just indigestion and she called an ambulance.

“He’ll be okay.” Hal’s aunt whispered in his ear for what must have been the thirtieth time, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Of course he’ll be okay.” Hal had replied the previous times.

“I wish I could do magic.” He said this time.

“Oh, darling.” Petunia sighed. “Magic doesn’t solve everything. I’m sure medical spells would be just as hard to learn as regular medicine.”

She was probably right, Hal thought. He knew there were Healers in the Wizarding world, which was proof not everyone could just wave their wand and make it all better. Even the fact that they had a school infirmary – it wasn’t just about doing a spell, or administering a potion, otherwise the teachers could do it, and they wouldn’t need Madam Pomfrey.

Hal still wished he could do something. Maybe he’d be a Healer when he grew up. Petunia worked in an office, and that didn’t appeal to him at all. Ley wanted to be a pilot – or something that involved him having his own private jet, it wasn’t always clear. With a jolt, Hal peeled himself off from his aunt to ask her what he’d suddenly realised he didn’t know.

“What did my parents do for jobs?”

Petunia’s lips parted, but she said nothing, and had that look Hal recognised from when she was on the phone to a friend, and told a lie explaining why they couldn’t meet up. Guilt.

“I don’t know.” She confessed, her voice apologetic. “You know how I didn’t… I wasn’t really in touch with Lily, at the time.”

“And you didn’t like my dad.” Hal completed, because his aunt had always been honest about that.

He understood. It was in the past. She’d more than made up for it, raising him. And she’d told him she’d reviewed her opinion since, because if Hal was such a great kid, surely his father couldn’t have been that bad.

“I’m sorry, love.” She stroke his hair again. “I wish I could tell you more stories about them.”

Hal shrugged. He wished it too – true stories, not the ones from all those people who knew the wizard who knew the witch who’d cut Lily’s hair once. But he didn’t want his aunt to feel guilty about it, and he’d stopped asking her to tell him more about his parents when he was about seven, after he’d realised it was paining her.

A nurse came through the doors leading to the operating rooms, and both Hal and his aunt jumped to their feet. She gave them a warm smile.

“The surgery went very well.” She said. “Dudley will need to take it easy for a bit of recovery time, but he be completely fine.”

“Oh thank God.” Petunia breathed. “Thank you.” She told the nurse.

“Can we see him?” Hal asked.

They were allowed to see him for a few minutes, though he was out of it, before they were kindly, but firmly told to go home, sleep, and come back in the morning. Hal tried to argue it was already morning, because it was getting on 1am by the time they were pushed out of the hospital, but that didn’t really work.

The realisation that had filled Hal in the waiting room earlier only seemed to his aunt as she tucked him into bed and started saying they’d see Ley tomorrow.

“Tomorrow!” She gasped, a hand over her mouth. “But I was meant to take you to the station!”

“I know.” Hal said, trying to sound appeasing. “It’s okay.” He’d thought about this in the car, on the way home. “We can call the Grangers, they should be in the phone book, and I’ll let Hermione know.”

“Maybe they can take you.” Petunia mused. “Where do they live?”

“What? No.” Hal interrupted, giving her a stubborn look. “I am not going to school without seeing Ley.” He asserted.

“Oh, Hal, you can’t miss your train. How else are you going to get there?”

“I’ll fly there if I have to.” He said ferociously.

“Darling…”

“No.” He stopped her again, crossing his arms, his face in a frown and pout.

Petunia looked like she was going to keep arguing, but in the end she just sighed tiredly.

“Alright.” She yielded. “Let’s call your friend in the morning.”

“Just to let her know.” Hal added, wary of getting tricked.

“Just to let her know.” His aunt repeated with a smile. “Now get some sleep.”

* *

*

Draco understood why Hal had missed the train. He really did. He’d spoken to Hermione, and she had explained – his cousin was in hospital, it was only fair. Draco thought, if he’d had a brother or someone in his life this close to one, he’d have done the same.

It still hurt. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see Hal in weeks, not since shopping in Diagon Alley, and he missed him. It seemed that since he’d admitted to himself that he missed Hal more strongly than anyone else, he only started to miss him even more cruelly.

As he had taken to do since earlier that summer, Draco did not let any of that show, and poured his feeling into the diary instead.

He started writing hoping for a little comfort from Tom, but Tom seemed to be angry.

He chose him.

Bitterness welled inside Draco. Hal did have a choice. His cousin wasn’t going to die, he could have come to school. Didn’t he want to see Draco again? Even if his cousin was like a brother to him. He’d told Draco he’d be his brother.

Liar.

The word on the page startled Draco, and snapped him out of the bubbling anger that was starting to rise beneath his skin. Liar? No. Hal was anything but. Draco had actually always admired how he would just speak his mind, even when it was ill-advised. He didn’t conceal, he didn’t pretend. He was as honest as they came.

Don’t speak about my friends like that. He wrote to Tom.

Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression I was your friend as well.

Draco sighed at the small book. He’d gone and upset him now. But he’d been having a nagging feeling, for the past few days, that Tom was, if not actively trying to turn him against his friends, being a little petty about it, like he was jealous or something. Draco had once been tempted to tell him Yeah well, you’re just a diary and they’re actually real, but he didn’t want to piss him off. He’d gotten used to having him as an outlet for all his thoughts and feelings.

“Draco?”

Draco looked up, slapping the diary close. He’d arrived at the station early and boarded the train for a quiet space to write, assuming his friends would find him. It seemed Pansy had found him first.

“Oh, hi.” He greeted her.

He leaned to look behind her, but she seemed to be alone. His little movement did not escape her, and she sat down next to him trying her best to look uninterested.

“Yeah, I ditched them.” She shrugged. “Greg has apparently decided to just be gross, and Daphne is being such a girl.”

Draco had a startled chuckle. “What does that mean?”

“Something I don’t want to be around.” Pansy retorted. “Can I sit with you?”

“If you can stand sitting with Ravenclaws, a Muggleborn and people I’m sure your father would call blood traitors.” Draco told her drily.

“If you can manage it.” She sniffed.

But Draco could see through her bored attitude, into her insecurity.

“Well, if we’re friends, I guess you’ll need to get to know my other friends.” He said like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Here’s to breaking my dad’s heart.” She snorted. After a pause, she said with a wicked smile. “Zabini is going to be so jealous I’m hanging out with Harry Potter.”

Draco’s face fell.

“Oh. Well, not right now.” When Pansy frowned at him, he added. “His cousin is in hospital, he won’t be on the train. But he’ll join later.”

She looked at him for a minute, and then spoke carefully.

“Draco. When you said you liked boys.”

He could feel his face heat up, and she nodded thoughtfully.

“I see.”

“It’s not…”

Draco wasn’t sure what he was even going to say, but he was interrupted anyway as the door slid open, and Anthony and Neville appeared in the door-frame.

“Here you are. Oh. Hey.” Anthony, without missing a beat, actually held out his hand for Pansy to shake. “It’s Anthony. Don’t call me Tony. Bloody hate it.”

“Alright.” Pansy looked at his hand like it was covered in something sticky and didn’t touch it, looking half disgusted and half confused, but she smiled as Draco kicked her ankle. “I’m Pansy. I bloody hate it to, but what can I do.”

“I read Peter Pan, this summer.” Neville said out of the blue. “The Muggle version, which somehow is even weirder than ours.”

“That’s great.” Pansy said sarcastically.

“I was going to say.” Neville gave her an unimpressed look. “You could go by Pan. It sounds cool.”

Pansy looked like she was going to snap something back at him again, but she paused, her lips parted, considering.

“I like it, actually.” She said eventually.

“Pan.” Anthony said as if that sealed it. “So, what brings you here with our Draco? Did your parents announce your engagement or something?”

Pansy and Draco both made the expected retching sounds and vehemently denied it, explaining that they’d just seen each other a few times over the summer – as always – and had ended up friends.

“Dropped your prejudices long enough to notice Draco’s worth even though he’s not in your House?”

“Anthony.” Draco reprimanded him.

There was no need for that. But Pansy – Pan – raised up a hand, shaking her head.

“No, fair enough. I suspect we’ll be sizing each other up for a while.”

Anthony grinned like she had paid him a compliment.

They repeated their introductions, expressions of mistrust and non-promises of friendship when Hermione and Ron found them, but Draco’s friends – and he marvelled a little at that – seemed to just accept that Pan was going to be part of their group now, sometimes, maybe.

“So how’s Potter going to travel?” She asked at one point.

“First of, his name is Hal.” Draco started defensively.

She raised a brow. “Hal? Bit pretentiously Shakespearean, but okay.”

Anthony gave her a look of marvel. “You read Shakespeare and you’re not in Ravenclaw?”

“Don’t insult me.” Pan snapped back, but there was humour in her voice.

“What’s Shakespeare?” Ron asked.

“Oh my God.” Hermione gasped.

The debate that ensued touched on whether Shakespeare had been a wizard (unlikely) or had known some actual witches (less unlikely) and ended with Pan and Hermione almost shouting at each other about how realistic Prospero was, but Draco knew they would probably be fast friends after that. Ron was just looking at them in mild panic the whole time, and Draco didn’t think he learnt all that much about Shakespeare.

“I don’t know about Hal.” Pan eventually got her answer, from Hermione, once she’d stopped ranting about The Tempest. “I think the DAMSELS can Apparate him to Hogsmead, or he could Floo… I’m sure McGonagall will know. Surely it’s not the first time a student has had a family emergency.”

“I’m sure if an exception can be made for anyone, it’ll be him anyway.” Pan mused. “Wouldn’t want to stop your most famous student from attending.”

“Pan.” Neville, surprisingly, intervened. “I think if you’re going to hang out with us, you’re going to have to get over the fact that Harry’s famous. It’s not by choice, and he doesn’t like it, alright?”

“He’s the least celebrity-like celebrity I know.” Ron added.

“I don’t know what that means.” Anthony pointed at Ron. “But he’s right.”

“Alright.” Pan raised her hands in defence. “Keep your wands sheathed.”

* *

*

At some point in the evening, presumable shortly after the Hogwarts Express had reached Scotland and Hermione had been able to speak to McGonagall, Hal received an owl (luckily they had just made it back from the hospital, where Ley was going to spend another night, and didn’t have to deal with a massive bird of prey bursting through the Gastroenterology department) instructing him to be at the Leaky Cauldron at 8:30am the next day, where a member of the faculty would pick him up.

Petunia firmly refused to let him miss transport to school a second time, and even Hal had to admit it was wise not to skip the first day of classes, so he obediently prepared to get on a train at the crack of dawn. They’d booked him a connection for Charing Cross station, so he only had a short walk from there. His aunt still wasn’t very happy about it, leaving a 12 year-old make a two-hour journey into London on his own with a large trunk and a cat, but she had to go to work and take care of Ley, and Hal had promised her he’d be careful, and stay safe and not speak to strangers and all that, he’d just sit on the train and go straight to the pub, and he’d be alright and ring when he got there.

The train journey was fine, and Hal had no problem finding the Leaky Cauldron. He gave his aunt a quick call, as promised, and with ten minutes to spare, he accepted a hot chocolate from Tom-the-Landlord (“On the house, Harry Potter! It’s an honour!”) and sat down at the bar, waiting for… he thought maybe McGonagall, as his Head of house, or was that something they asked Filch to do?

It wasn’t long before the chimney flamed green, and Hal guessed they were getting him through the Floo (he did vaguely remember Hermione saying something about Apparition being impossible within Hogwarts wards). The blood drained from his face as he turned, and saw Gilderoy Lockhart step out of the fire with a flourish.

“Harry!” Lockhart spread his arms, and for a horrible moment Hal thought he was going to hug him, but he simply put his hands on his hips, looking like a cliché superhero, complete with the blue cape floating behind him, the great hair and the brilliant smile.

He stayed like that for several seconds, as if keen to give the opportunity to someone to take a photo. Which was when Hal realised, the two wizards who had been sitting at a table behind him were, in fact, and journalist and his photographer, and sprung up to buzz around Lockhart, who waved at them like he was greeting old friends.

“Oh, my dear Harry.” He focused his attention back on him. “When I learnt that you were stranded, of course, I immediately volunteered to assist.”

Another smile flashed at the photographer. As he reached Hal, he flung an arm around his shoulder, and more photos were taken.

“Professor Lockhart, what drove you to such a selfless act? And Mister Potter, do you feel grateful that a Professor of such influence as Professor Lockhart would personally accompany you?”

Ignoring the question directed to Hal, Lockhart started blabbering happily, and Hal understood he had been expecting this. He had tipped them off, making this whole thing a publicity stunt. No wonder he had bloody volunteered.

Hal gritted his teeth, forced himself to look amenable (after Lockhart told him to smile for the second time – he managed it by giving some attention to Sil rather than to the ridiculous adults surrounding him) and only politely cleared his throat when he noticed the clock was pointing to five minutes to nine.

“Professor?”

“Of course, my dear Harry, you would like to share your story!” Lockhart said enthusiastically. “Tell them how thrilled you are at the prospect of your Defence classes this year.”

“No, well, I mean, speaking of classes.” Hal really felt proud of himself for not rolling his eyes. “They start at 9.”

“Dearie me!” Lockhart laughed. “How time flies! Gentlemen, a pleasure as always, but I am afraid young Harry and myself must go!”

Waving his wand (and his entire arm) with exaggerated scope and unnecessary fanfare, Lockhart made Hal’s truck levitate behind them – Hal made sure to hang on tightly to Little Silver’s bed – and pushed them towards the fireplace.

“Worry not, Harry!” Lockhart told him as he threw a handful of Floo powder in the flames. “Your first class is with me.”

“Oh, how lucky.” Harry said drily.

“I know, isn’t it fantastic!” Lockhart entirely missed the sarcasm. “Now, come along. The wards are set to let you in. Hogwarts, Defence office!” He shouted as he walked into the flames.

Hal suppose it was his cue to follow, thought he took a few seconds to himself to take a deep breath and give Sil a few soothing strokes – the young cat did not seem impressed at the prospect of walking into a live fire. Behind him, he could hear the clicking sounds of the photographer’s camera, and that was what pushed him to get on with it.

He followed the same gestures Lockhart had done, but he didn’t expect the puff of powdery smoke that rose up when he stepped in, and made him cough and splutter something like “Hogwa-hrt-tch-Derhk-fish!”

As the world spun, he could only hope he would land somewhere sensible.

He didn’t. He stumbled out of a fireplace, and quickly realised it couldn’t have been much worse as he recognised Filch’s office. He had never been in there, but the three taxidermied cats in pride of place on the mantelpiece, surrounding a large photo of a snarling Mrs Norris, kind of gave it away.

Little Silver hissed, endearingly looking almost like he was placing himself in front of Hal to protect him against the threatening other cats.

“It’s okay, Sil.” Hal told him soothingly. “They’re stuffed.”

But Mrs Norris wasn’t, and Hal needed to find a way to get out of there, fast, before she or her master returned. He glanced back at the fireplace, considering using it to Floo back where he was meant to be, but he didn’t really fancy going through that again. The door was locked, he tried it cautiously. It left the window.

Except, Hal saw as he turned around, there was no window. Alright then, door it was. Luckily enough, Hal had almost forgotten his invisibility cloak at home, because it had been in Ley’s room, and in grabbing it at the last minute, he had shoved it in Sil’s bed (who had learnt not to sharpen his claws on it).

He swung it over his head, and it took him several tries to properly remember the spell Anthony had used the previous year (Aloha? Aloarma? Alohara? What was it?) before he finally succeeded (Alohom*ora!) and the door opened with a soft click.

At least – as a clock reminding him by striking nine times on the desk behind him, making him jump out of his skin – since he was now officially late for class, the corridors were empty. Hal only kept the cloak on until he was a safe distance from the office, then removed it, tucked it back with Sil and ran to the Defence classroom.

Lockhart was swishing about, apparently telling a story to bewildered-looking students, looking completely unaware that he had lost his charge on the way back from London.

“Oh, Mister Potter!” He beamed when Hal crept into the classroom. “Perfect, I was just about to demonstrate how I conquered against the Man-Eating Pygmy Sorcerer! Join me!”

“No?” Hal tried.

Lockhart had a great hearty laugh. “He’s modest.” He told the rest of the class with a wink. “You can embrace your fame, Harry!”

“My fame as a Pygmy Sorcerer?” Hal mocked.

Again, the tone went straight over the Professor’s head, even as several students snigg*red. Hoping to get away with it, Hal sat down next to Ron, placing the cat bed – Sil was quiet inside it, bless him – carefully in front of him as if that could protect him.

No such luck.

“Harry, come up!” Lockhart did not seem to care about anything else but his little performance. “Let me show you – I won’t hurt you of course, there is nothing to worry about! – let me show you how I defeated the great sorcerer, when, towering over me-”

“I thought he was a Pygmy.” Hal pointed out.

The laughter in the room was a little more pronounced this time, and Lockhart did briefly look annoyed.

“You were late for class, Mister Potter.” He said a tad more coldly, though still smiling – as if it hadn’t been his responsibility to get him here on time. “Now, we wouldn’t want Gryffindor to lose points so early in the year, would we?”

Hal’s mouth dropped open, and he only swallowed back the words Are you threatening me? because Hermione kicked the back of his chair and whispered “Just go!” and he thought maybe she had a point, and it was best to just get this over with.

After the class, and an hour of being directed by Lockhart to play various characters from his adventures, Hal caught his friends up on what had happened earlier that morning, and they all agreed that his day could not get any more ridiculous.

That was, until a first year in Gryffindor colours sprung up in front of him and snapped his picture, jumping up and down and repeating his name excitedly.

“Oh what now!” Hal barked, having had enough.

The boy stilled, and he looked like he’d just been slapped.

“I’m sorry.” He squeaked.

Hal forced himself to breathe, and he pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

“No, I’m sorry.” He said, forcing some patience into his voice. “Do you need something? I need to get to class.”

“I- uh.” The first year didn’t seem to expect Hal would talk to him. “Harry Potter.”

“Yes.” Hal confirmed flatly.

“Colin!” Someone called, and Hal spotted Ginny’s flaming red hair slicing through the crowd.

Gryffindor as well, obviously, and Hal briefly regretted missing the Sorting. She reached “Colin” and started ushering him away.

“You are embarrassing.” She told him between her teeth.

“Hey, Gin.” Ron vaguely waved at her.

“Bye.” She said forcefully, dragging her classmate off with her.

“Okay.” Anthony said from behind Hal. “So that was weird. You sister is cute, though.”

“Don’t.” Ron winced.

“What? That was a compliment.”

“Please don’t.” Ron insisted.

“Class.” Hermione rolled her eyes, and strode off.

Chapter 4: October

Chapter Text

September had flown by, and had been thoroughly exhausting. Hal was having to contend with the facts that he had fans now, not just people excited to see him in the street, but proper fans – Colin Creevey was following him around like a forlorn puppy, and it was seriously getting on his last nerve – and that Lockhart was downright ridiculous.

He was always picking Hal to demonstrate ludicrous showdowns from his books, his quizzes were only about himself, and when he’d realised there was a photographer in the school, he’d wanted to bloody pose together (Colin had been so ecstatic Hal had thought he was going to faint). He seemed to be convinced that Hal had undying admiration for him, and had taken it upon himself to try and “mentor him”. Hermione’s death stare was the only reason Hal didn’t pretend to be sick for every class.

DADA, however, was not the only subject Hal had started to attend reluctantly. Potions seemed to be a step up from the previous year and Snape was always in a foul mood (what else was new), McGonagall to everyone’s horror’s (and Hermione’s exhilaration) had started talking about exams from the second week of classes, and even Herbology was hard work, dealing with mandrakes, of all things. These things were just nasty.

On top of everything, with Quidditch practice kicking in and the arrangement of their classes this year, Hal barely got a chance to spend time with Anthony and Draco, and he missed his friends and the easy dynamics they’d had the previous year. Those dynamics had changed a bit anyway with the addition of Pansy, though Hal didn’t mind her. She was mean, but quite funny a lot of the time, and Hal thought she was using insults to cover up some serious insecurities, so he was willing to let her protect herself that way until she felt more confident and trustful around them.

Especially as she was the one who gave him the idea of turning Colin Creevey’s obsession with him to his advantage.

“Use him.” She’d shrugged one time Hal had been complaining about getting ambushed for an autograph again.

“What do you mean?”

“Your family are Muggles, aren’t they?” Her disdain of that fact was still clear, but she was getting better at toning down her prejudice. “The only way they’ll get any idea what you can do here, is pictures. So get your fanboy to give them to you.”

Hal felt a bit stupid for not having thought of that before, considering how he’d wanted to find someone with a video camera the year before. But wizard photos were almost as good as film, in that they moved. If Colin agreed to document something a tad more interesting than him walking down the corridor, maybe Hal could show is aunt and Ley a game of Quidditch, a few spells, how the castle looked.

Colin, of course, was ecstatic when Hal asked him. Not only did he have permission from Hal to take his picture, but he’d be doing him a favour. Hal was treated to a long stream of babble about Colin’s own Muggle family and how they had that in common – Yes, minus the dead wizard parents, Hal narrowly refrained from biting back. When he finally managed to shake him, he allowed himself a moment to sag against the wall, feeling drained.

“Ah, fame.” A voice spoke right next to his head.

Hal jumped away from the wall, a strangled cry catching in his throat as a blooming ghost emerged from just where he’d been leaning.

“Nearly-Headless Nick!” He blurted out, his heart beating like crazy. “You scared the sh- You scared me.”

“I prefer Sir Nicholas.” The ghost inclined his head – which looks dangerously close to tipping over. “But I suppose you can call me Nick.”

Hal nodded vaguely. He had spoken to the ghost a few times, he was friendly with all the Gryffindors, but there was still something very awkward about it.

“Fame is something fickle, young Harry Potter.” Nick mused. “It can turn friends into foes and enemies into your most vocal supporters.”

“Were you famous?” Hal asked. “When you lived.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment, and Hal worried he had offended the ghost.

“No.” Nick eventually answered shortly. “I suppose not.”

After another moment of silence wherein Hal was desperately trying to find a way to politely take his leave and go meet his friends for dinner, Nick started talking again a lot more cheerfully.

“Do you know, this year will be my five-hundredth deathday!”

“Five hundred?” Hal breathed, impressed in spite of himself.

He’d known Sir Nicholas was well old, the clothes gave it away a bit, but to be haunting a castle (and a school, at that) for five hundred years? It sounded very boring.

“Congratulations?” He added hesitantly.

“Quite.” Nick smiled somewhat smugly. “Would you like to come to my party? I must say, a lot of us ghosts are rather intrigued by you, Harry Potter. I have some friends, in particular, who have succumbed to the Killing Curse, and would very much like to meet you. The esteemed members of the Headless Hunt are bound to be most impressed.”

“Err.” Hal said, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Excellent!” Nick took that as a yes. “I am looking forward to it, my young friend.”

Without waiting for a response, he glided back through the wall, leaving Hal wondering what the hell had just happened.

* *

*

Draco was pretty sure he didn’t have a history of sleepwalking, but he also was pretty sure he had gone to bed with his slippers positioned straight, parallel, and right by the foot of his bed (he was particular like that). When he woke up, one was upside down near the bedside table, and the other had slipped under the bed. He supposed Anthony might have accidentally kicked them while walking across the room, but that would have implied he’d come all the way around Draco’s bed, which was the furthest from the door. Maybe he’d gone to open the window? It was either that – Draco didn’t think Anthony would otherwise kick his slippers about for the fun of it – or Draco had gotten up and disturbed them himself, without realising it.

He wouldn’t have thought much of it, if that had been the end of it. But similar occurrences seemed to keep happening from that point. Draco would find things not where he’d left them – and call him slightly compulsive, but he tended to be careful and know exactly where he left things – and he started feeling like there was gaps in his days where he couldn’t remember what he’d been doing.

Maybe he was just tired. He felt like the start of the year had been stressful. He’d felt stressed about Pan joining their group, and how the others would react. He’d felt stressed about hanging out with the Slytherins a bit more often as a result, and putting himself in the way of Flint – though nothing had happened, so far, the very few encounters he’d had had been short, distant, like Draco was just another kid and there was no history there. He’d felt stressed about hiding his crush on Hal, half the time convinced that everyone could see right through him.

He’d also felt stressed about trying out for the Quidditch team, which, combined with everything else, could have explained why he far from played his best. He still made the team, just avout, but a fifth year was given the main Seeker position, and Draco was appointed as reserve. He wasn’t happy about it, but he had to admit it was fair. He had to pull himself together.

“Decent flying out there, little bird.”

The voice made him jump, and he looked up in a start. A few feet from him in the corridor leading back to the changing rooms, Flint was casually leaning against the wall. Tired, annoyed, entirely out of patience, and did he mention tired, Draco did not think, and he snapped.

“Oh piss off, Flint.”

Unexpectedly, although Draco’s heart skipped a beat when he realised what he’d just said, and who to, Flint did not pounce to slam him against the wall with his arm across his throat, nor did he come to knee him in the stomach or anything like that. No, he smiled, and he swaggered closer.

“Bit of a fight in you, innit?” He sneered. “I did think you looked all grown up after the summer.”

Draco couldn’t help but take a step back, because though Flint’s attitude had somewhat changed from the snarling brawny teen who was never wasting an occasion to shove and punch him the year before (and that certainly had something to do with the fact that, Flint himself having repeated a year, most of his mates had now left school, leaving him behind to finish seventh year a lot more on his own), there still was something predatory in his stance.

“Oh, you thought I hadn’t noticed?” He carried on, falsely chagrined.

Another step back brought Draco’s back to the wall, and there was nowhere else to go. And he had grown a bit over the summer, sure, but the other boy was still six years his senior and a foot and a half taller. And he was still moving forward.

“It’s a real shame you’re not in Slytherin.” He said. “You seem to get along with the kids there alright.”

“Is that meant to be a compliment?” Draco asked coldly.

He wasn’t going to give Flint the satisfaction of looking scared or asking him to step back. He was still expecting to get punched, but Flint leaned right into Draco’s personal space, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone.

“I’d show you a good time if you were in Slytherin.”

And with that, and one last unscrupulous grin, he walked away, leaving Draco with his heart beating in his throat.

It took him a few minutes to feel like he could think again, pulling his mind back from the blank fuzziness Flint’s actions had caused. He had been so convinced he was going to get hit, he hadn’t braced himself for anything else, but that…

That was so much worse. Draco couldn’t completely grasp what had just happened, but he thought the word was propositioned. His sense of danger, from a dull rumbling he’d always felt when Flint and his cronies approached him, was now screaming at him to never, ever find himself alone with him again.

He needed to tell someone about this. This was bad. Draco went to grab his bag, did not bother getting changed out of his muddy Quidditch kit, and went straight for his room. He didn’t know what he would have done if Anthony had been there, if things would have spilled out, but as it were, the room was empty, and Draco reached for the diary. Tom would listen. Tom wouldn’t judge. Tom would reassure him, and tell him what to do.

* *

*

Hal was not in a good mood. In fact, Hal was just about ready to commit murder. He had had it with stupid Lockhart and his stupid books and his stupid re-enactments. One day he would snap, and he would kill-

Kill.

Hal stopped dead in his tracks, Neville collapsing into his back and Anthony into Neville’s, Ron tripping over his own feet as he turned around to see what was happening and bumping into Hermione, and the whole group came to a stumbling halt. Only Draco stood perfectly prim and composed, looking at them fondly but clearly as if all this clumsiness was beneath him and they were all idiots.

Blood… Kill…

“Can you hear that?” Hal asked the rest of them.

There was a moment of silence, which Anthony broke.

“I can hear Ron’s stomach rumbling.”

The others started laughing, but Hal shushed them sharply. He thought he heard another hissing sound, maybe words though he couldn’t make them out this time, and then nothing.

“Mate, are you alright?” Ron asked.

“None of you heard that?” Hal checked. “There was a sort of, of hissing voice talking?”

His friends looked at each other, and all shook their heads.

“Okay.” Hal shrugged. “Probably just a ghost passing through or something.”

They carried on towards the Great Hall for dinner, and Hal pretended that had been nothing and he’d forgotten about it already, but he was unsettled. Because he was sure he’d heard the words, and they weren’t good words. He didn’t think any of the ghosts in the castle were particularly murderous – Bloody Baron aside, maybe, but even in his case his slaughtering spree days seemed to be over, since a few centuries ago. Hal had certainly never heard of him being a real threat, even if he scared the hell out of a lot of younger students, and being the only one able to knock some sense into Peeves certainly meant he had some kind of strength or power.

But in spite of what he’d told his friends, he didn’t think it had been a ghost. And, and that was probably the most upsetting thing about it all, Hal couldn’t help but recall the last time he’d heard a hissing voice, a slithering tone that made a chill creep up his spine. He had never told his friends, or even his family, but he’d been having nightmares since the previous year’s encounter. More than once, he’d dreamt of trying to escape black hands that would harm him if they touched him, while a hissing voice ordered Use him, get him. He did not fancy living through anything like that again.

Even briefly entertaining the possibility it could be a ghost (how many ghosts were in the castle that they didn’t know about?) at least served the purpose of distracting him as he remembered Halloween was getting near.

“Hey, who wants to come with me to Nick’s party?”

He had mentioned the bizarre conversation and subsequent invitation to his friends.

“Because you’re going?” Anthony asked, surprised.

“Well. Yeah.” Hal hesitated. “I mean, wouldn’t it be rude not to?”

“I think it would be incredibly weird to.”

“Are you kidding?” Ron spoke up, having swallowed enough of the food stuffed in his mouth to leave space for words. “It’s amazing! I’ll go with you.”

“Pass.” Anthony shook his head.

“I’m… not sure.” Neville said, which meant no.

Draco said he’d come, and Hermione pretended she would join only so that someone could keep an eye on them and make sure they didn’t get into trouble, but Hal could tell she was almost thrumming with excitement at the idea of speaking to ghosts, which were only second to books in terms of sources of knowledge – and only because there were no intricacies about getting the knowledge from a book, as opposed to ghosts who Hal presumed, some of them, might quite tetchy about being asked about their past life. This being said, some magical books had a mind of their own too, and Hal did know of some that would only let you read them if you asked nicely.

“I cannot believe.” Anthony shook his head, looking between Hal and Draco. “That after last year, you are willingly planning to spend Halloween in the dungeons.”

“Unless Hogwarts is starting a new tradition, I don’t think the likelihood of encountering a troll two years in a row is very high.” Hal argued.

* *

*

By the time Halloween came around, Anthony hadn’t changed his mind, neither had Neville, and while they had also opened up the invitation to Pan, she’d only laughed in their faces.

As their made their plans – Hal, Ron and Hermione would meet Draco at the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons, make an appearance at the party, then go back up to the feast with the rest of the school, ideally only a little late – Hal was happy for the distraction, for the way all this preparation kept his mind busy. He still felt weird about Halloween, he missed Ley, right now, and he knew tomorrow he’d miss his parents, and a hug from his aunt.

I hope we can come back as ghosts, and meet you there.

Ever since the fact that he was going to a ghost party had sunk in, since he’d realised he’d be surrounded by hundreds of ghosts (if Nick’s excitement when he talked about it was to be believed), he hadn’t been able to get his father’s words out of his head. He still had the letter, tucked at the back of the frame in which he’d put the moving photo of his parents, on his bedside table.

But I don’t think it works that way.

“Hal, what do you think?”

They were standing at the top of the stairs leading up to the dungeons, waiting for Draco, and Hal had spaced out.

“It’s almost ten past.” Hermione added.

Draco still wasn’t there.

“We were two minutes late.” Hal recalled. “Maybe he’s already gone down.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ron said. “Shall we go?”

“He’ll know where to find us if he isn’t already there.” Hermione agreed.

They made their way down, and it quickly became clear which direction to go as the sound of voices and music filled the air. At least, Hal presumed it was meant to be music, when they got there and saw nobody was re-enacting a medieval witch burning, which was what it sounded like.

The room was filled with hundreds of ghosts, just as Nick had boasted, all of them together spanning centuries going by the various fashions of their garments – unless ghosts were into fancy dress (could they even change outfits? Hal thought not, they looked to be stuck in what they died in), but that seemed unlikely. Hal was pretty sure he glimpsed a Roman centurion, and one girl hovering in a corner looking sulky was in a Hogwarts uniform that only looked slightly outdated compared to theirs. Difficult to tell which House, seeing as all of her was a silvery transparent colour.

“Oh no.” Hermione whispered. “That’s Moaning Myrtle, don’t go near her.”

“Who’s that?” Ron asked.

“She haunts a cubicle in the girl’s bathroom.” Hermione explained (“Glamorous.” Ron commented, which she ignored). “And she is… well, there’s a reason why she got that nickname. It is extremely uncomfortable when she starts crying.”

“Icky stinky living children here?” A cackling voice sounded behind them, and Peeves came through them before they could turn around. “Making fun of Myrtle, are we? My favourite! Myrtle!”

“Please, no.” Hermione went pale. “We weren’t…”

But the other ghost was already making her way towards them, and Merlin, Hal thought, she didn’t look much older than they did. When had she died? More worryingly, how had she died? She looked slightly vintage, but not like was from a different era altogether. Hal felt like if a horrible accident had happened in the past few decades, they’d have heard about it. Then again, transparency and the safety of children, around here…

The scene that followed, true to Hermione’s warning, was extremely uncomfortable indeed. Peeves abandoned them with the poor girl after insulting her, leaving her wailing in distress, and they had the hardest time trying to convince her that her glasses did not make her face look fat and that of course there were people who liked her.

By the time she floated away sniffing, the best part of an hour was gone, and the three of them realised Draco had never made it. They made an effort to seek out Sir Nichloas to congratulate him on the party before they left, but that took another while as several ghosts stopped them on their way to greet Hal and asked him questions, most of them weird and some downright uncomfortable, such as the forlorn-looking wizard who asked:

“Did you feel the cold hand of Death’s grip you before He released you back among the living?”

Thankfully, he sunk through the floor looking tormented without waiting for an answer.

When they finally could leave without being rude, having greeted the host, Ron was regretting his life choices. All they had been surrounded by was dead people and rotten food, and he was pretty sure now they had missed the feast.

“We were only meant to be there for like ten minutes!” He moaned. “There might not be-”

Kill. Time to kill. Blood, blood.

“Ssh!” Hal flipped a hand up, and Ron’s mouth snapped close. “Hear that?”

Don’t belong, don’t belong, time to kill.

There was definitely a voice, Hal could hear it clearly even if Ron and Hermione were straining their ears and shaking their heads. It was moving away, and Hal started after it.

“Mate!” Ron called behind him, but they both followed him.

Blood, need blood, filthy blood, time to kill.

Oh Merlin, there was going to be a murder. Hal panicked, running frantically after where he thought the voice was coming from, which was made difficult because although clear to him, it was only a faint hiss, and his own footsteps covered it as he followed it.

“It’s going to kill!” He answered frantically as Hermione told him to slow down and what the hell had gotten into him. “It’s-”

He stopped as his foot made a splashing sound, and he looked down to see water all over the corridor.

“Oh, see, that’s what I was talking about.” Hermione said behind him. “Myrtle’s flooded the corridor again. She does that when she gets-”

She stopped herself as she looked up, and her face mirrored Hal’s, who had already spotted the inscription on the wall and had frozen in shock where he was standing.

Obviously, that was when the other end of the corridor filled with students coming out of the feast, and the first screams started sounding.

* *

*

When Neville came to sit down next to Hal, he didn’t say anything for a long moment. Ron and Hermione had tried talking to him and had eventually given up, and little by little the common room had emptied, until Hal was alone in front of the fire – only for ten minutes or so, before Nev came and took the other spot on the sofa. Eventually, it was Hal who spoke.

“Filch thing I killed his cat.” He said quietly, and he could hear how small his voice sounded.

In his lap, Silver mewed softly as if sensing his distress. He missed home.

“Dumbledore said she’s only petrified.” Neville reminded him.

“He thinks I did it.” Hal insisted, because the bottom line was the same. “He’s convinced- how would I even- f*ck, why would I hurt his cat?”

“He freaked out.” Nev said. “He only latched onto you because you were there.”

“Ron and Hermione were there too.” Hal muttered.

“Yeah, but I doubt he knows their names.” Neville pointed out.

“Fantastic.” Hal snarled. “Another great advantage of being famous. Now I’m a cat-killer.”

“She’s not dead.” Neville reiterated.

When Hal didn’t say anything else, he tentatively started. “Hal, are you-”

“No.” Hal cut him off. “I’m not okay.”

“It’s just a cruel prank.” Neville reasoned. “Even if Filch thinks you might have done it, it doesn’t mean he thinks you’re a killer.”

“But what if something was trying to kill it?” Hal shook his head. “I don’t think it was a prank. I-”

He stopped himself, but Neville looked like he know what he was about to say.

“The voice?” He asked. When Hal looked up and frowned, he added: “Ron told me you thought you heard a voice.”

Hal’s brow furrowed even further. “I didn’t think I heard it.”

Neville contemplated him for a moment, then gave a little shrug. “I believe you.”

“You do?” Hal’s eyes widened. “Because Hermione thinks I’m mental.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, how else am I meant to take hearing voices is not a good sign?”

Neville had a wry smile. “Well, you know Hermione. She’s a hard evidence kind of person. It’s not easy for her to believe something she cannot verify through at least three different reliable sources.”

Hal snorted. “Guess you have a point.” But he sobered up almost immediately. “The stuff it was saying, Nev. It wanted blood.” He shivered.

“It could have been a ghost.” Neville suggested. “Every now and again, apparently, a poltergeist gets in. Well, Peeves lets them in. I heard Professor Sprout talking about it, apparently they had to call an exorcist a few years back.”

“That could explain the voice.” Hal conceded. “But not the petrified cat or the writing on the wall.”

“Poltergeists can have some corporeal strength.”

“I know that.” Hal sighed. “If nothing else, we’ve seen Peeves mess up with enough sh*t to know that.” He shook his head. “But I’ve never heard of any ghost going around petrifying cats.”

“It could still be a prank.”

“No.” Hal argued. “Petrificus Totalus wouldn’t have lasted that long. So unless someone invented a spell that Dumbledore cannot counter?”

“sh*t.” Neville sighed. “Yeah, it’s unlikely.”

“Also, did you see the teacher’s faces?” Hal recalled. “When they read the inscription.”

“Not really.” Neville admitted. “Did they look confused?”

“No.” Hal said sombrely. “They looked worried.”

Chapter 5: November

Chapter Text

“Okay.” Hermione made everyone jump as she slammed a pile of books onto the table. “So the Chamber of Secrets is this old legend dating back to when Hogwarts was founded. There is almost nothing about it in the books.”

She glared at the books in question as if they had personally offended her. Ever since the events on Halloween night, she had been relentlessly going through every book she could think of that might refer to it.

“I’ve heard about it.” Pan inputted nonchalantly.

“Really?” Hermione perked up. “Which book?”

Pan rolled her eyes. “I said I have heard about it, Granger, not read.”

“Hermione.” Hermione sighed. “So where have you heard about it?”

“It was one of the bedtime stories my mother used to tell me.” Pan described. “When Hogwarts was built, Salazar Slytherin wanted it to stay pure. Sadly, his friends betrayed him, united three to one, and decided Mud- Muggleborns would be accepted into the school too if they showed magical abilities. Salazar knew his friends were making a serious mistake, and one day the Wizarding world would curse them for it. Salazar had to do something about it, but he couldn’t at the time, not without engaging in an unbalanced fight. So he built a secret chamber without telling the others, and he left some of his magic in there. And when the time would come, the Chamber would open, and Salazar’s magic would save the world.”

“How, exactly?” Anthony asked in the pause in her story.

“By getting rid of all the Muggles, of course.” Pan shrugged like it was obvious. “So only deserving wizards will remain and magic can be pure again.”

“Sorry.” Hal intervened. “Did you mother tell you bedside stories that were essentially about genocide?”

Pan shrugged again. “Wasn’t one of the worst.”

“And now we know why you’re growing up to be a psychopath.” Ron concluded.

“It rings a bell, actually.” Draco said uncomfortably. “I’ve heard that story. But I thought it was a monster he left in the Chamber.”

“I thought it was a curse.” Pan countered.

Either way, it didn’t sound good. It had been a week since Halloween, and worryingly, proving Hal right about it not being merely a prank, none of the teachers had been able to un-petrify Mrs Norris, or get the blood letters off the wall – chicken blood, apparently, small mercies, but blood nonetheless. In fact, apart from Lockhart trumpeting to anyone who would listen (as well as those who wouldn’t) that his counter-curse expertise would have this sorted in no time, none of the teachers seemed to know what to do.

Binns had told them a little more, reluctantly, about the legend of the Chamber of Secrets, when Hermione had brazenly asked. Rumours had then started spreading like wildfire, and everyone was whispering suggestions about who the Heir of Slytherin could be. Hal seemed to be a strong contender, on grounds obscure to him, to his mounting frustration.

He tried to ignore all of it and focus on Quidditch, because their first game was coming up, and Hal realised that if he’d thought Oliver had been intense the year before, it was nothing compared to his attitude when the team was playing Slytherin. This year, he seemed particularly incensed, for reasons that Hal came to understand had nothing to do with Quidditch.

“He’s carried a torch for the new Seeker since second year.” Fred informed Hal at the end of one training session.

“Who’s the new Seeker?” Hal frowned. “I thought Slytherins were known for having all-boy squads?”

“Ha, well, yes.” George confirmed. “Ollie flies for the other team.”

Hal was confused for a moment, before he recognised the expression. Figured, that Quidditch was the Wizarding world’s equivalent of cricket.

“Gillian Hollyhock.” Fred provided. “I have to admit, though not quite my type of course, the guy is fit. And actually really nice, for a snake.”

Once Hal was able to catch a glimpse of him, he knew what Fred meant. Hollyhock looked like someone had taken a Michelangelo marble and given it life. His smile was sincere, he didn’t sneer like the rest of his team – he even exchanged a few words with Hal as they crossed path in-between their respective practices, asking how he felt about the season.

And the fact that Oliver did not berate him for talking to the enemy, but instead looked very flustered as he asked Hal what he’d said, told Hal that Fred and George had been right. Now, how that crush translated into Ollie’s intense desire to destroy the Slytherins, Hal wasn’t entirely sure (it may or may not have had to do with the way Flint smirked and seemed to always casually fling an arm over Gillian’s shoulders whenever Oliver could see them) but it sure did fuel his frenzy.

“Do you think Flint is gay?” Hal asked his friends over breakfast one morning – after Quidditch practice, because the game was in two days and Oliver had made them get up as the arse-crack of dawn to train.

Most of them looked startled by the sudden question, and Draco dropped his cup of hot chocolate, which smashed into the plate underneath it and splashed the brown liquid everywhere. He looked too shocked to clear it up, so Hal did it for him without really a second thought.

“As far as I know, he’s only had girlfriends.” Anthony said. “Why?”

“He’s always a bit cosy with this other guy on the team.” Hal explained. “I think it’s only because he knows Oliver likes him, but it doesn’t seem to bother him either, so I was just wondering.”

“Guys like Flint, I think it’s about power.” Anthony said with distaste. “I don’t think it would matter to him if someone is male of female as long as he can, I believe the words he’d use would be make them his bitch.”

“Excuse me.” Draco suddenly got up from the table – he seemed to be shaking – and made his way out of the Great Hall.

“What’s up with him?” Ron frowned.

“hom*osexuality is a weird thing among Purebloods.” Hermione said. “What?” She adopted an innocent stance when everyone started at her. “I read about it. I guess it’s a bit like… royalty for Muggles, maybe? Maintaining the bloodline is crucial. Bastards are unacceptable. So on the one hand, I think some young Purebloods are advised to, well, relieve their urges with someone of the same sex to avoid inconvenient pregnancies. On the other hand, a same-sex romantic attachment would be the worst thing you could do to your family.”

“Right…” Ron said slowly. “And so, what’s up with Draco?”

“I’m sure he’s been raised to think a very specific way about it.” Hermione construed. “Maybe it’s weird for him to discuss it so casually.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him.” Hal murmured contritely.

“He’ll be alright.” Hermione patted his hand. “It’s nothing you did.”

Hal nevertheless resolved to not mention the subject again, and to keep his deductions regarding Oliver and Flint’s feud to himself. At any rate, the result was the same: Ollie hated Flint’s guts (although who didn’t, really), beating the Slytherins was an all-encompassing obsession and nothing else mattered to him when that was on the line. On the morning of the game, he literally told Hal to catch the Snitch, or die trying.

Of course, when by the end of the game Hal was lying in a pool of his own blood with his skull cracked half open, he was sure Oliver didn’t quite mean it like that.

* *

*

It was all Draco’s fault.

He had been unsettled for days, after that conversation about Flint and Wood and the boy they may or may not be fighting over. It had brought back his little encounter with Flint in the changing room corridors, which made him feel sick just thinking about it, which made him wonder how wrong it was for him to like Hal that way, or to look at Anthony that way (they shared a room, okay, he’d looked).

He wasn’t sleeping well, he couldn’t remember where he’d been sometimes, like he’d fallen asleep during the day or something. It wasn’t like him, but so much had been changing and happening lately, he didn’t know what to attribute it to.

And the morning of the Quidditch match, after he’d gone to wish Hal (and the rest of the team, but mostly Hal) good luck in the changing rooms, obviously Flint had found himself conveniently in his way, but Draco had fought back the nausea and summoned the courage to tell him to stay the f*ck away from him.

Flint hadn’t done or said anything to that, though that probably had been because the rest of the Slytherin teams had started filling the corridor and Draco had skedaddled as fast as his legs could carry him while maintaining dignity. He’d had the mad hope that that would be it, for a couple of hours. He was able to enjoy the game, cheer the Gryffindors on, watch them get well on their way to winning. He didn’t think much of it when Slytherins multiplied fouls, because that was they always did, Flint wasn’t the first captain to encourage that. They only got nastier as the game went on – it wasn’t unusual.

Until he saw Flint say something to one of the Beaters, and then, though Draco could have imagined it, he was sure for a moment that Flint looked straight at him. And a few minutes later, instead of a Bulger, that Beater smacked his bat into the back of Hal’s head, barely even trying to make it look like an accident.

Draco was off his seat screaming as Hal slipped off his broom and started plummeting to the ground – he wasn’t the only one, and the game had to be interrupted as the whole stadium exploded into roars of rage (and disturbingly, some cheers from the Slytherin corner).

“ARE YOU f*ckING KIDDING ME!” Lee Jordan was yelling into the amplifier.

And for once, McGonagall did not seem ready to berate him, but would rather have had a few choice words of her own. She’d slowed Hal’s descent, but she stayed behind to exert some crowd control rather than rush to his side like Hooch, Lockhart and the rest of the Gryffindor team. Draco, alongside Ron, Hermione, Nev and Anthony, could only get as far as the ward McGonagall had cast to prevent the rest of the school from flooding the pitch. But that was close enough to see Hal lying on the grass, pale and bleeding from the gash in the back of his head.

“Not to worry!” Lockhart flapped his sleeves around. “I have seen my share of injuries! This spell will stop the bleeding!”

He cast something on Hal, and Katie Bell screamed as blood started gushing a lot more abundantly from and around Hal’s head and into the ground.

“Get Madam Pomfrey.” Hooch barked at Katie, while pushing Lockhart aside unceremoniously. “Now!”

Just as if he hadn’t endangered the life of a student (again), Lockhart started making shepherding movements towards the students saying “Come now, come now, give him space” cheerfully, while Hooch crouched next to Hal to start stemming the blood flow.

“He’s moving!” Neville suddenly cried. “I saw his hand- He’s moving.”

“Oh thank God.” Hermione breathed out shakily.

“Hooch is good at first aid.” Ron tried to sound reassuring. “She’ll know what to do while waiting for Pomfrey, and she’ll set him right. He’ll be alright.”

“If f*cking Lockhart hadn’t done that…” Anthony started.

“If f*cking Bole hadn’t done that.” Ron retorted venomously. “Seriously, what in the name of Merlin was that? He wasn’t even anywhere near the Snitch!”

Draco tuned out to the rest, white noise filling his ears. It hadn’t been about the Snitch. It might not even have been about winning the game. Flint had targeted Hal not in his capacity as Seeker, but because he was Draco’s friend, and Draco had rebuffed him. It was all Draco’s fault.

Which was what found him crying quietly by Hal’s bedside in the infirmary an hour later, distraught, guilty, and with no idea what to do, when Hal opened his eyes. Pomfrey had treated him as soon as she’d arrived on the pitch with a Wound-Cleaning Potion and a bandaging charm on his head, and had taken him back inside for a Blood-replenishing potion.

His friends had been allowed ten minutes, and then the unyielding Matron had insisted only one of them could stay, because visiting hours were over, but she had other patients to see to, and even in the magical world patients having sustained head trauma weren’t ideally to be left alone. Draco volunteered (insisted) to stay, and she told him not to wake him unless his breathing slowed down, or it’d been over two hours, and Draco had honestly no idea how long it’d been, how long he’d been sat there crying – another reason to feel guilty – so he was more that relieved when Hal woke up all on his own.

“Hey.” Hal said weakly. “Hey, Draco? What’s wrong?”

Draco choked on a sob, because trust Hal to worry about him.

“I’m sorry.” He hiccupped. “I am so sorry.”

“What happened?” Hal frowned.

“You got hit by a beater.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” Hal sat up, winced, and patted at the back of his head gingerly.

“It’s my fault.” Draco said brokenly.

“How can it possibly be your fault?”

“Flint.” Draco’s tears had dried up, but that came out as little more than a whimper.

Then, to his surprise, Hal reached out and took his hand, and with a serious look, asked him to start from the beginning. So Draco did – he told him about the bullying from the previous year, and the turn it had taken lately. He told him about his latest encounter with Flint, just before the game, and how that was why Hal had gotten hurt.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered again at the end of it.

Hal had gone pale, and silent, and after a moment he took a shaky breath, and Draco realised he wasn’t incredulous, or annoyed, or frightened by Draco’s revelations. He was furious.

“Right.” Hal released his breath, his voice like steel.

Then he started getting out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Draco panicked.

“I’m going to find Flint.” Hal said sharply, and Draco had never heard a tone with less room for negotiation.

“What? No!”

“He hurt you!” Hal shouted.

“He hurt you!” Draco threw back. “And I’m not about to let that happen again!”

“What’s going on here?” Pomfrey appeared came around the partition between the beds. “I will not have any shouting in my ward.”

Contritely, they both apologised to the Matron, who checked Hal over, and decreted he was good as new and could go, though made him promise to come back at the first sign of headaches, nausea, trouble with his sight (Hal clearly bit back a comment there, probably related to the fact he was already blind as a bat without his glasses) or any unusual mood or behavioural changes.

It was dinner time. Draco pleaded with Hal the entire way to the Great Hall, but he charged on like an Erumpent, and only stopped at the Slytherin table.

“Flint!” He called out.

Flint turned around, and stood up with a smirk, towering over Hal.

“Problem, Potter?” He scorned. “Something that didn’t get through that thick skull of yours properly, earlier?”

Hal punched him in the face. Immediately after, while the older boy was distracted by holding his hands over his face in shock, he cast a Petrificus Totalus. The Slytherins around them seemed too shocked to react, although Hal also heard Pansy say to them I wouldn’t, in her drawling, but compellingly authoritative voice.

“See what hit you?” Hal raised his fist – and Draco couldn’t help but gasp as he saw his knuckles were already bruising. “I figured that was adequate payback for what you did to me.” Hal bent towards Flint, now frozen on the bench, and his voice dropped to a deceiving softness. “But if you ever get near Draco again, you won’t know what hit you.” He threatened. “Got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, and he would have just walked away like a boss had Snape not swooped down on the scene and ask to see them both in his office.

* *

*

At first, Hal figured he’d only gotten away without detention thanks to Draco’s mediation. They had pointed out the Quidditch foul (and God, he hoped Colin had had the sense to stop for a minute in his “report Harry Potter’s every move” frenzy and hadn’t been taking photos of that. How embarrassing) – but there was no proof Flint had ordered the hit, so to speak, and Bole had already lost his House fifty points and would be serving a month of detention. And they had, reluctantly on Draco’s part, mentioned the bullying, but there as well, apparently, revenge wasn’t the answer and Hal shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to go settle the score.

“Stay here while I fetch Minerva.” Snape told them tiredly at the end of his lecture. “She will decide of the adequate punishment for you, Mister Potter. Draco.” He added more softly. “If you don’t mind staying behind, I’d like to talk to you.”

Snape left the room, and Hal started to rethink his relief that he hadn’t gotten detention. McGonagall might still decide otherwise. But as he sat there, he realised he didn’t care. He’d do it all over again if he had a choice. He looked sideways at Draco.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He asked, trying not to sound critical. “Why didn’t you tell me last year?”

Draco didn’t answer, he only gave a small, noncommittal shrug, and Hal noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, and started kicking himself. Draco wouldn’t have had to tell him if he’d bloody noticed.

But he had noticed, he remembered. He had noticed the bruise on his jaw at Christmas the year before. He had noticed he was a little fidgety, sometimes, a little distant, since the beginning of this year. He just hadn’t said anything, respecting Draco’s agency in the matter. He should have said something. Anything.

But he hadn’t wanted to force Draco to talk about it, and he realised he’d waited for Draco to come to him, to trust him with whatever was going on.

“You didn’t trust me?” He asked, and he knew some of the hurt he felt went through his voice.

Draco gave him a troubled look.

“Of course I trust you.” He pledged. “I- I didn’t think it was that bad, I didn’t want to burden you guys.”

“You didn’t trust me to protect you.” Hal insisted.

He didn’t know why he took it personally still – Draco hadn’t told any of them. Even Anthony, and they shared a room, for Merlin’s sake. Unless Anthony knew, in which case Hal would need to have words.

Draco looked down. “It’s not your job to protect me, Hal.” He said.

“Yes, it is.” Hal said softly.

When Draco looked up, eyes wide, he could feel himself blush.

“You’re my best friend.” He added.

He’d never claimed one till then, but it felt right to say it. He loved Ron, Hermione, Neville and Anthony to bits, but Draco was special. He was the first wizard his age he’d met. He was the one who didn’t ooh and aah at his name, he was the one Hal wanted to take on his outdoor adventures, and if he was honest with himself, the one he’d missed the most over the summer.

The conversation was interrupted as Snape returned with McGonagall, who took Hal back to Gryffindor Tower. She walked in determined silence on the way up, but kept him in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait for what felt like ages to lecture him at length when they got there; and she did deck twenty points from Gryffindor (ten for punching another student, ten for jinxing another student) and gave him a night’s detention, details to follow.

Doing his best to look chastised and remorseful, though it couldn’t be further to how he truly felt, and focusing on what the professor was saying so as not to get himself into more trouble, Hal did not hear the faint hiss moving through the corridor.

The following morning, the whole school heard that a student, this time, had been found petrified.

* *

*

Hal’s life had gotten weirder, which was a spectacular feat in his opinion. Ever since the news about Colin Creevey, the atmosphere had been tense, and there were countless theories as to what was going on, was the Chamber of Secrets real, what monster was in it, and who the Heir could be.

On that front, there were two particularly popular theories, both of which explained why people were turning to stare at Hal in the corridors and whispering behind his back – this had happened before, at the start of first year when everyone was excited to see the Harry Potter they’d heard so much about, and again in the last few days of last term after Hal’s little stint with Quirrell, but it felt a little darker this time around.

The first theory was that Hal was the Heir of Slytherin – the dark power of his powerful lineage had protected him against the Killing Curse as a baby, and after defeating another dark wizard at the end of last year, he was continuing on his way to take the Wizarding world by storm and show everyone that he was a force to be reckoned with.

Nobody seemed to care that it didn’t add up if the legend of the Chamber of Secrets was about targeting Muggleborns, and that Hal’s own mother had been one, as well as one of his closest friends. Or, you know, that he was twelve.

The second theory people seemed to favour was that Flint was the Heir – he was an actual Slytherin, which made more sense, and his family was one of those voicing the Pureblood ideology rather strongly; Marcus himself had never been short of a racist comment or other.

In the first theory, Hal had picked Colin because he was annoyed at the constant harassment. In the second, Flint had picked Colin in retaliation after his altercation with Hal, to show him that he’d target the ‘followers’ of whoever challenged him.

The result was that factions of students had seemingly decided it was their job to protect Hal, while others avoided him like the plague.

“Why me.” Hal complained one evening, exhausted by another day of fending off supporters and opponents in equal measures.

“Lack of imagination.” Hermione said. When everyone else raised an eyebrow at her, she sighed and explained. “You were already high profile. You’ve survived You-Know-Who, twice. It stands to reason that you’ve either got special powers, or you’re a target. Either way, it puts you in the limelight.”

“I don’t want to be in the limelight.” Hal muttered.

“You’re the Boy-Who-Lived, mate.” Ron pointed out. “You’re always going to be.”

“This sucks.” Hal groaned, burying his head into his arms.

What sucked even more is that Lockhart had apparently claimed Hal’s detention for his own, and whatever he had in store for him, Hal really wasn’t looking forward to spending his Saturday evening in the idiot’s company. Which was why he was there moping in the common room, feeling immensely sorry for himself, looking at the clock moving closer and closer to his doom.

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen.” Hermione huffed. “I bet Lockhart will make you, I don’t know, copy one of his portraits or something.” Her admiration of the man had steadily decreased throughout the first few months of the school year, until nothing but disappointment and scorn remained. “There are worst ways to spend a detention.”

Hal wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but he only answered with another groan, and inwardly resolved to never, ever, under any circ*mstances, give Lockhart any indication that he was quite good at drawing, in case he actually got the same idea as Hermione.

As it turned out, she hadn’t been that far off. Hal himself has suspected whatever he’d have to do would be Lockhart-centric, but he hadn’t imagined it’d go so far as helping him answer bloody fan mail. What was this man doing being a teacher? What had Dumbledore been on when he’d thought that was a good idea? Surely, with one magic school in the whole of Great Britain, there were other candidates for the post. Surely not all of them believed the rumours (which Hal had heard from Fred and George, who loved spreading them with great dramatization around first years) that the job was cursed?

However, once it became clear that Lockhart was so busy talking about himself that he only barely glanced at the sheets Hal was handing him before signing them, Hal started having a lot more fun (and volunteered to put the signed letters into envelope and seal them, so Lockhart wouldn’t be able to check them again, because he wasn’t an idiot).

Dear Belinda,

I was so pleased to receive this poem as proof of your undying love. Your lack of talent moved me to tears, and I am really quite ugly when I cry. I would enclose a picture but sadly, seven of my photographers ran away already and the word is spreading that I am a terrible person to be around.

Dear Urde,

What kind of a name is Urde? Although maybe I should speak for myself as my name is Gilderoy. That is a stupid name if I ever heard one! There was hope years ago that my friends would call me Roy. Unfortunately, I am so full of myself that I do not have any friends.

Dear Jean-Baptiste,

You wrote me a letter in French which is pretty useless since I do not speak French. Sometimes I pretend to my students that I can speak other languages, but all it is really is gibberish. However, I would be thrilled to have a male lover and especially a French lover. Please spread the word.

Hal’s stomach was hurting and his hands shaking from refrained laughter, so he had to stop and do a few normal, boring ones, taking Lockhart’s dictation to calm himself down.

The man was a non-stop flow of words, and Hal was tuning out most of it, but his ears pricked up when he heard duelling club.

“A duelling club?” He interrupted.

“What better way to reinject some spirit and bravery into our students!” Lockhart carried on enthusiastically. “Of course, this matter will be solved in no time, as I have several ideas as to how to deal with it, but in the meantime, it cannot do any harm for every boy and girl to feel a little safer.”

“By… learning how to duel?” Hal asked for confirmation.

“Well, not in any harmful way of course. But knowing a few defensive spells, and if you don’t mind me saying, a few offensive ones, can go a long way in protecting your life! Many a time, in my adventures…”

Hal stopped listening again as Lockhart went on about the many times he’d had to use one spell or other to save himself (and, probably, a damsel in distress, ten orphans and a puppy. Either that or an entire village). A duelling club was actually a good idea, surprisingly, given its provenance.

Hal of all people realised that life didn’t give you a warning before putting you in situations where you’d need more than Petrificus Totalus and Tarantallegra. And whatever was happening in the school, being able to defend yourself could be no bad thing.

Chapter 6: December

Chapter Text

The first meeting of the Duelling Club happened on the first Friday of December, and the turnout was phenomenal. It seemed like over half the school was interested in the event, in spite of the fact that Lockhart was heading it. Hal had very little hope that they’d learn anything from him, but since Draco had mentioned Snape was the other professor who’d agreed to supervise the evening, he trusted they had a chance of going away with something useful there.

If nothing else, they’d get the spectacular sight of Lockhart landing flat on his arse from Snape’s spell, and Hal would forever be grateful to the Potions master for this great moment. After this little demonstration, Snape directed – and Lockhart repeated it to try and pretend he was the one in control – the crowd of students to split into two groups, later years with the DADA professor and earlier years with him. He’d probably figured younger students would need more help, and therefore someone with any actual competence to mentor them.

“Now, the spell I’ve just used on Professor Lockhart is a simple disarming spell.” Snape told the large gaggle of first, second and third years gathered around him. “Simple, but essential. It is actually a hard spell to block if you perform it well and quickly. The wand movement is less showy and therefore less predictable, and your adversary might expect you to open up with a more aggressive spell. In fact, a lot of duellists scorn Expelliarmus, as they consider it to be a beginner’s evasion. But guess what, you are beginners. If you can even manage this, it will be a feat.”

There was the spiteful Snape Hal recognised. For a moment there, he’d been caught thinking Snape was really good at this, and he’d make a great DADA instructor.

“If you can manage it, however.” Snape continued. “You’d do well to remember it when you are older, and out in the world. In a real duel with real stakes, it might just save your life, because even if some good wizards are skilled enough to perform wandless magic, the truth of the matter is that a lot of them are pretty useless without their wand.”

He briefly glanced over to the other side of the room where Lockhart was gesticulating to the older students, most of them looking dismayed, and everyone heard the unspoken addition of and some of them are pretty useless with it too.

“Alright then, get into pairs and practice.”

Hal started training with Draco, and they were both pretty good at this. Snape made them perform Expelliarmus and then Protego, and as it became clear some students were catching on quicker than others, he beckoned a couple of seven-years over to take over with the ones that were struggling, while he shared a few more spells with the rest of them.

He made them swap around after a while, citing the need to face people they were not familiar with so they would be less likely to anticipate their next move. Hal found himself paired up with Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff, who seemed unhappy with the outcome. Hal guess he was part of the ones that thought he may somehow be responsible for unleashing an unidentified monster into the school.

“Okay, which ones do you want to practice?”

“No, no, no!” Lockhart’s cheerful, booming voice made them both jump as he was suddenly, somehow, right behind them. “Do you think your opponent in a duel would ask you kindly what spells you’d like to use? When I was in Romania…”

Hal shot Justin a despairing look, and they actually had a bonding moment as the other boy answered with an eye roll and they both tried not to laugh.

“…think fast!” Lockhart was carrying on with his story. “And that is what we are here to learn, boys and girls!”

He turned, beaming, to the circle of students he probably thought had formed around him. In reality, a lot of them were trying to discretely edge backwards.

“Severus, what have you been teaching them?” Lockhart said contritely, turning to Snape, who admirably kept his face neutral and did nothing in way of murdering his colleague. “You don’t discuss a duel! You act!”

“Professor, this is only the first meeting.” Neville, who’d paired with another Hufflepuff near Hal and Justin, tried to argue.

“The first meeting! Yes!” Lockhart cried out. “Your first duel! Do you want your first real duel to be your last!?”

“We’re children.” Someone else said.

“There can be dangers at every corner!” He was clearly on a roll now, performing as if cameras were capturing his every move. “Once in Peru, I was attacked by a flock of wild birds, with beaks and talons as sharp as knifes! Birds!”

He gave a wide twirl of his wand, and bir… bats, actually, flew out and around the room. A few students shrieked, but the little creatures were quite harmless and most of them settled somewhere in the ceiling almost immediately, as Lockhart started miming wading through the jungle.

“And everywhere, the vines, the snares!”

Another swish of a spell, and a bunch of freaking snakes materialised on the stone floor. More people shrieked, Lockhart among them.

“Oh dear!” He jumped off to the side, away from the reptiles. “See what I’m saying? Unexpected danger! Potter!” He grabbed Hal, who was closest to him, and placed himself behind him like a shield. “Now let’s see what Professor Snape has taught you!”

“What?” Hal tried to wiggle out of the man’s grip. “Are you bloody-”

“Hal!” Hermione cried.

While most of the snakes were lazily coiling around themselves and barely moving from the spot they had appeared, all students giving them a wide berth, one of them had become agitated and had risen up; it was hissing, looking ready to strike, only a few feet away from Hal.

“Back off.” Hal told it. “Go back to your friends.”

Lockhart’s hands left his shoulders, and when he turned around, there was a wall of shocked faces before him, and Hal felt like people were shying away from the snakes and him.

“Vipera Evanesca.” The nest of snakes disappeared and Snape sliced through the crowd, and glared viciously at Hal. “What do you think you’re doing, Potter?”

Whispered erupted around them, and Hal spotted Hermione with a hand over her mouth, and the rest of his friends – and the rest of everyone – looking somewhere between surprise, awe and fear.

Lockhart, in one of those rare moments he seemed to remember he was one of the responsible adults in the room, started ushering people out, go on now, meeting’s over for tonight, well done everyone, see you next time. Most of them seemed to reluctantly tear themselves away from the scene, though Hal’s friends stayed back when Lockhart ran off with the remaining groups of students, and Hal was left mostly alone with a scowling Snape.

“Explain yourself.” He reiterated impatiently.

“What have I done?” Hal asked, honestly confused.

It must have shown, because Snape’s stance softened infinitesimally, going from repressed anger to mild confusion.

“You don’t… Potter, what did you just say to the snake?” He asked.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Hal frowned. “I told it to back off and go back to his friends.”

“You spoke Parseltongue.” Snape stated.

He then looked at Hal with something like expectancy, so Hal felt like he had to clarify:

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It is the ability to speak to snakes.” Snape explained, though by his facial expression, he would much rather have strangled someone. Probably Hal. “As you have just demonstrated.”

“I- what?” Hal stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

“Did this ever happen before?”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Did I ever speak to a snake before?”

“Do not be impertinent with me, Potter.” Snape snapped.

“No!” Hal cried, because he hadn’t done anything wrong, damn it. “I didn’t even- I didn’t realise I just spoke snake!”

“Alright.” Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “I will speak to the Headmaster about this, he may want to see you.”

“I’ve not done anything.” Hal muttered, feeling mortifyingly like he wanted to cry.

“I know.” Snape said, surprisingly.

He seemed to consider something for a minute, then sighed, and beckoned Hal’s friends, still hovering by the doorway, to join them.

“Let me briefly give you a little bit of context.” The Professor addressed all of them long-sufferingly. “Mister Potter here, apparently unbeknownst to himself, just spoke Parseltongue, which is the language of snakes.”

“Unbe…” Ron trailed off. “You didn’t realise you spoke another language?”

“Do not interrupt.” Snape ordered. “I believe you all need to know a few details but I have better things to do with my time. Now. Under any circ*mstances, this is a very rare ability, Parselmouths are few and far between, and it isn’t something that is learnt – it is thought to be a recessive hereditary trait.”

“So someone in my family…” Hal started.

“Possibly.” Snape said shortly. “However, under current circ*mstances, what just happened is, to say the least, not going to do you any favours, Potter. Although there is no evidence that it is linked to anything nefarious, the ability to speak to snakes is not perceived in a good light, for one considerable reason, which is that the only known Parselmouth in the last century was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Snape gave them a moment to absorb the shock before he carried on.

“Parseltongue has been associated with Dark magic ever since.” He explained. “Not that it had a clear reputation before that. The first known Parselmouth in history was Salazar Slytherin. That is why the snake is the symbol of his House.”

“Did Gryffindor have the ability to speak to lions?” Hal blurted out dazedly. He realised it was a stupid question even as it left his mouth, but it had just popped into his head as he was trying to take in and process everything else.

“Focus.” Snape grunted. “Do you realise what this means, Potter?”

It took Hal a few beats, but he resigned himself to the only conclusion that was obvious.

“I could be the Heir of Slytherin.”

“I personally very much doubt it to be the case.” Snape countered. “But your schoolmates will certainly think so. So keep yourself out of trouble, will you.”

Of course, nothing Hal did or didn’t do the next day made any difference. People were whispering behind his back with renewed energy, regardless of if they thought he was or wasn’t the Heir – and his little animal language performance at the Duelling Club seemed to have swayed the balance for the former.

Even the Gryffindors, now, were eyeing him with suspicion, with the exception of Neville, Ron and Hermione of course, Dean and Seamus who claimed they would have noticed if Hal was sneaking out all the time to do nefarious deeds, and Fred and George (and probably Lee alongside them) who found the whole idea simply hilarious.

Hal had resigned himself to spending the afternoon in the dorm playing with Sil, after a first year had started crying at the sight of him in the common room, until Ron cuffed him over the head and told him to stop moping.

“Let’s go flying.” He suggested.

“Ron, it’s snowing.” Hal grumbled back.

Ron gave him a look. “Because you think that would stop Oliver if this was a match day, or even a practice day? Better get used to it, mate. Come on. If you keep stewing in here one minute longer, we’ll be able to bottle you.”

With reluctance and a lot of complaints Ron pretended he couldn’t hear, Hal let himself be dragged into his Quidditch kit and out into the cold, but once there were up in the air, he had to admit it had been a great idea, and he felt the tension of the past few days lift off his shoulders as they flew around, passing a ball back and forth between them.

They didn’t stay long, because it was bloody freezing and the snow intensified rather than the opposite, but Hal was grateful to Ron for getting him out of the castle, and allowing him to forget everything for an hour.

Because when they got back, everything went to hell again, as the news that Justin Finch-Fletchley had been found petrified spread around the school.

* *

*

Hal was sitting in Dumbledore’s office, waiting for McGonagall the return with the Headmaster, gnawing on his thumb and trying to convince himself that surely, they couldn’t think he was responsible for petrifying a cat, two students and a ghost? He wouldn’t even know where to start.

Then again, he wouldn’t know where to start to survive a killing curse, defeat the evilest wizard of the century, beat a mountain troll, fight out someone possessed by the aforementioned dark wizard’s soul, or speak to snakes, but he’d done it anyway, so there was that.

He tried to make himself small, as he couldn’t help but feel like the portraits along the top of the wall were watching him, judging him, and sharing thoughts about him. He did see one slip into his neighbour’s frame and whisper something in his ear. Did they all knew who he was too, or were they too old to be up to date on current affairs?

A weak chirp dragged him out of his thoughts, and he saw a miserable-looking bird perched on an intricate golden contraption next to Dumbledore’s desk. It looked really old, and probably like it couldn’t fly anymore. Hal got up to say hello.

“Oh, look at you.” He whispered, feeling sorry for the creature but not quite daring to reach out and stroke his lacklustre feathers.

He’d thought it was a parrot of some kind, but now he was closer up, he could see it looked nothing like. It wasn’t like any bird he’d ever seen, actual, and Hal had no idea if it was even one of those tropical birds you might see on those nature documentaries that looked so odd and colourful, or if it was a magical bird that Muggles wouldn’t even be aware of.

He quickly got his answer when the bird burst into flames right in front of his face. He jump back with a yelp, and of bloody course, that was when the Headmaster stepped into his office.

“Ah, Harry.” The old man said cheerfully, like there weren’t remaining flames and a pile of ash where his pet had just been.

“Your bird.” Hal said in a strangled voice. Was he going to pin that one on him, too?

“Oh, it’s happened, hasn’t it.” The headmaster continued calmly. “It was about time, poor Fawkes was exhausted.”

“But-”

Dumbledore approached, and peered into the ashes, smiling.

“He’s a phoenix.” He said. “Look.”

Hal had heard about phoenixes, vaguely, though mostly as an expression. Like a phoenix from its ashes? He thought it meant something like coming back stronger? But there, he spotted it – from what he believed were just charred remains, a tiny baby bird head poke out and gave a healthy little pip.

“Oh.” Hal breathed. “It’s amazing.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Isn’t it just? You should see him when he’s at his peak. He’s beautiful.”

“How many times can he do that?” Hal asked.

“Truthfully, nobody’s sure.” The old wizard said. “Some say phoenixes live forever.”

They looked at the reborn bird for a few minutes, Dumbledore gently brushing ashes off his feathers, until he straightened up, and Hal knew they were getting down to business.

“Take a seat, Harry.” The headmaster invited. “I wanted to speak to you in light of recent events.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Hal said defensively.

“I’m not saying you did.” The reply was calm, level, though with maybe a hint of amusem*nt.

“Are you speaking to many students?” Hal asked.

“Not so many.” Dumbledore admitted. “I wanted to speak to you because of the rumours about you.”

“I’m not the only one people think could be the stupid Heir.” Hal muttered.

“No. But you’re the one who’s been seen talking to snakes.”

Hal gave him a slightly outraged look. Low blow.

“I didn’t do anything.” He repeated.

“I simply wanted to ask how you’re holding up.” Dumbledore said kindly. “See if there is anything you would like to share, or ask me.”

“I’m fine.” Hal mumbled.

He didn’t want to talk about it at the best of times, let alone with the Headmaster.

“Snape, Professor Snape, explained about the… Parsley thing.” He added, so as not to appear completely ungrateful.

“Parseltongue.” Dumbledore corrected. “Yes. How do you feel about that?”

Hal shrugged. “I guess it would be pretty cool, if it didn’t make people think I’m the kind of person who goes around attacking whoever I can find in the corridors.”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything, and Hal knew he was waiting for him to ask a specific question again, and he wasn’t sure if it was that one, but he queried anyway, hesitantly.

“Sir… Could I be the Heir of Slytherin? I mean, I don’t know much about my family, but I thought they’d mostly gone to Gryffindor, and I’m in Gryffindor, and I know it doesn’t necessarily mean anything or I don’t know, but… I don’t know.” He repeated.

“I suppose it is not impossible.” Dumbledore answered. “The founders lived a long time ago, and their descendants could be many. But as you can see for yourself, the lineages have been lost along the centuries, and no witch or wizard nowadays can confidently claim to the illustrious inheritance of any of them. We would know about it.” He added with a chuckle.

“Except the Heir of Slytherin, apparently.” Hal pointed out. “He seems confident enough to graffiti it on the wall and all.”

But as he said it, he reconsidered it for a minute. It was just a graffiti on the wall. That didn’t exactly prove that the real Chamber of Secrets had been open (if it even existed at all), let alone that the actual Heir of Slytherin (if there still were any) had opened it.

“You think it might be a hoax?” Hal prompted almost hopefully.

“I fear it is not.” Dumbledore said seriously. “Our petrification cases are, unfortunately, very much real. There are not many sources of magic able to do this without an obvious counter-curse.”

Hal felt his throat close up. “What will happen to them?” He asked in a small voice.

“Well, I believe Professor Sprout has got you raising mandrakes. Once mature, their properties are quite extraordinary. Mrs Pomfrey and Professor Snape will be able to devise a potion to fully heal Colin, Justin, Mrs Norris and Sir Nicholas.”

And anyone else who gets petrified till then, Hal thought. Because the teachers did not really seem confident they were on the verge of stopping whatever was happening – whatever Lockhart was claiming. But maybe he was being negative.

“Do you think the attacks will continue?” He wondered, looking for reassurance.

Dumbledore seemed to consider telling him something for a long moment, but in the end he almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“I am not sure, Harry.” He told him. “But rest assured we are doing everything we can to keep the students safe.”

Hal held back any reaction as he forced himself to keep his face neutral. Yeah, he wanted to say. Like that little adventure with Quirrell last year. Hal just nodded, figuring the headmaster (as was usual) knew a lot more than he was letting on, and probably wasn’t going to start sharing secrets and theories with him anyway.

“Alright, well.” He said, fidgeting on his chair. “I should probably get going.”

He really wanted to just go, now. This conversation hadn’t done much in way of making him feel better. But Dumbledore did not seem to be in a rush to let him out.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, Harry?” He pushed.

“No.” Hal tried to sound convincing. “Thank you, Sir.” He added, hoping he appeared polite and not like a hypocrite, because he rather felt like saying Leave me alone instead.

“Alright.” The headmaster finally got out of his chair, after a moment, and walked Hal to the door as Hal jumped to his feet. “Don’t hesitate to come and see me if you ever want to talk.” He offered.

“I will.” Hal lied.

There was probably about twenty people he could think of whom he’d rather talk to if he needed to, before he chose to come and see Dumbledore. He didn’t know why, because the man was nothing but kind and considerate, but in all honesty, he gave him the creeps just a little.

The phoenix chirped after him as Hal left the room, and at least that made him smile.

* *

*

“What are you doing here again?” Anthony asked Blaise scornfully.

Not this again, Hal refrained from rolling his eyes. Anthony tolerated Pan, but he did not get on with the other Slytherins. Not that they spent a lot of time with them, because the other Slytherins were still very much abiding to whatever their parents fed them, which meant that did not get on by Gryffindors on principle, scorned at Ravenclaws as well, just because, had been warned against Harry Potter and the whole Weasley family, and wouldn’t be caught dead with Muggleborns.

Blaise was a bit more of a free spirit, on account on his family not being an old House – in fact, his family history seemed a bit hazy. They had come to Britain a few generations ago from the United States, another a few generations after immigrating there from Italy… something like that anyway.

Either way, Blaise did not have a father whose reputation in political circles depended on how his offspring behaved at school (his father, in fact, had died when Blaise was three years old of a bout of “bad health” that may or may not have been poisoning).

And his mother had taught him throughout his childhood to play the field. At the moment, for Blaise, it seemed to mean less being chummy with Purebloods, and more getting close to the Boy-Who-Lived, even if that meant being friendly with a group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in the process. And that group still included Purebloods and the Malfoy heir, albeit wrongly sorted, so that was a bonus.

“Because it’s my story and I’ve not given Pansy permission to repeat it to you guys?” Blaise answered Anthony, grinning like he knew exactly how much his mere presence was riling him up, and basking in the satisfaction. “Now do you want to hear it or not?”

Blaise had been off on a self-appointed mission to find out more about the Chamber of Secrets, by way of getting gossip from his mother, who’d get it from her numerous relations in the Wizarding world.

“Come on.” Ron nudged Blaise’s leg under the table. “Don’t be a dick.”

They were huddled up in the library, creating an odd looking group of green, blue and red. Madam Pince had given them an appreciative look, like they had taken it upon themselves to actively promote House unity, rather than just being a random group of normal schoolchildren. Something was so wrong with the House system, Hal thought, probably for the hundredth time.

“So get this.” Blaise dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s not the first time the Chamber has been open. This happened before, about fifty years ago.”

“For real?” Hermione asked. “Or is it just part of the legend?”

“For real.” Blaise continued. “My mom’s heard it from her third husband. Or fourth. Or the lover she had in between the two, I can’t remember. Either way, his father was at Hogwarts at the time.”

“So what exactly happened before?” Anthony asked, in spite of himself interested in the story even though Blaise was telling it. “I mean, obviously they sorted it out at the time, right?”

“Yeah, well it started like now. Threats on the walls, attacks, petrification. And…” He paused, wincing.

“What?” Neville prompted, looking worried.

“A girl died.” Blaise said quietly. “A Muggleborn.”

Hermione put a hand over her mouth, and everyone else shared looks of horror.

“At that point, they were going to close the school.” Blaise carried on. “But a student apparently caught the culprit, who was letting a monster loose in the school, and so it stopped.”

“What kind of monster petrifies people?” Anthony frowned, looking like he was going over a list of creatures he’d heard of in his head.

“What kind of monster petrifies ghosts?” Ron added, looking slightly green.

“So wait.” Hal held up a hand. “If that happened fifty years ago. It can’t be the same monster.”

“Well no, haven’t you heard, it’s you this time.” Blaise joked.

Pan jabbed her elbow into his hand resting on the table.

“Magical beasts can live for a long time.” Hermione pointed out. “It could very well be the same monster.”

“But they were caught.” Hal insisted.

“The person controlling the beast was caught.” Blaise argued. “I don’t know about the beast itself. It wasn’t clear, actually. It seems it was covered up from the students at the time, so the details got a bit lost. I only know the student was awarded a trophy, I checked it out actually, it’s still there in the Trophy Room. Tom Riddle.”

“So you think it could happen again?” Neville worried his lip. “Someone… dying?”

“You’d be safe, Longbottom.” Blaise said drily.

“That’s not the point.” Neville snapped back.

“They can’t let it go on anyway.” Ron nodded thoughtfully. “I know there’s already some folks who’ve considered pulling their kids out. My mom’s freaking out, for one. Purebloods or not.” He added with a defiant look towards Blaise.

“Yeah, the Board of Governors is not happy.” Pan sighed. “Father’s been ranting about how incompetent Dumbledore is for not even being able to figure this out, while also gloating about Mud- Muggleborns being attacked.”

“One day.” Hermione sighed. “You’ll be able to say that word without starting to say that word.”

“Hey, I’m working on it.” Pan waved a dismissive hand at her.

“Lockhart says he knows where the Chamber is.” Neville started.

“Lockhart says a lot of sh*t.” Hal retorted – having personally been the subject of some of that sh*t, he tended to dismiss anything that came out of the man’s mouth even more promptly than before.

“Yeah, I’m with Potter.” Blaise piped up. “I don’t think he’s got the shadow of a clue.”

Hermione sighed. “What a…”

She paused, and Pan patted her on the back. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘clusterf*ck’.”

* *

*

Draco had felt his heart skipped a beat when Blaise had dropped the name Tom Riddle. Nobody had really noticed, carrying on with the conversation, but Draco had slipped away as soon as he inconspicuously could to get to the diary.

You were there. He wrote.

The response came quickly, as always.

I’m going to need a little more context.

I told you about what was going at school, the Chamber of Secrets thing. You were there when it happened before.

This time there was a longer pause. Draco hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but he didn’t understand why Tom hadn’t said anything.

Yes, I was. He eventually admitted.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I didn’t want to worry you.

Someone died.

And I suppose it felt a bit like a personal failure that it’s happening again.

Oh. Draco hadn’t thought of that.

Because you caught him the first time?

Apparently, I didn’t. Or at least not everyone responsible.

You can’t blame yourself. Draco immediately wrote.

It is kind of you to say. But you weren’t there.

But maybe…

Draco waited, and when nothing further came through the page, prompted.

What?

Would you like me to show you?

Draco didn’t really have time to wonder how, or really assent, before he found himself sucked into the page – metaphorically speaking – and understood Tom was showing him his memories.

He saw Hogwarts, unchanged though fifty years younger, and a boy of about sixteen in Slytherin colours. Tom, he surmised, and embarrassingly thought he was quite handsome – embarrassingly, because being in Tom’s memory, Tom certainly picked up on that appraising thought. Draco felt his smile.

But the memory turned more serious. Tom gave him a bit of context, made him feel the mood of his time – Hogwarts was home to so many students, Purebloods and Muggleborns alike, and seeing it become unsafe was heart-breaking. Tom, among his Slytherin peers, had this haughtiness about him, but he also harboured a secret, a terrible and dangerous secret in these trouble times: his Muggle father. Something about him desperately did not fit, but Hogwarts gave him the chance to forget that it mattered, and Draco could relate to that.

Tom showed Draco how after a girl was killed, the Headmaster (not Dumbledore yet, at the time) decided he had no other choice but to close the school, and Tom simply could not let it happen. And he was clever, and resourceful, and it didn’t take him too long to find the offender – not the Heir of Slytherin, and Draco felt Tom’s contempt at the mere idea that his culprit could have anything to do with this noble lineage, but a boy with a dangerous history of becoming besotted with lethal magical beasts.

A boy Draco recognised with a jerk of horror, even with the lack of excessive facial hair and 50 years younger. Hagrid. The maybe not-so-gentle giant. Who even as Tom, in the memory, caught him red handed with his dangerous creature, continued to argue that the thing was harmless, and it was not its fault.

Draco snapped back to his present gasping for air, the vision of Hagrid and the horrifying creature he thought would make a good pet still swimming beneath his eyelids. He barely managed to read as new words appeared on the page, Tom explaining that the events caused by Hagrid were terribly unfortunate, and that a group of Slytherins had dug up the Chamber of Secrets legend, having heard it all their lives from their families, and had superimposed the spooky messages and rumours to events they actually had no control over.

But now, Tom wrote. I am wondering if maybe I missed something. If someone else was orchestrating these attacks.

Don’t get me wrong. He added. I don’t think I made a mistake stopping Hagrid.

That man is dangerous.

The words were still sounding in Draco’s head, making him feel sick, when Anthony barged into the room.

“Oh, there you are. We were wondering where you’d gone off to.” He only then seemed to notice how pale and shaky Draco looked. “You alright?”

Draco made a split second decision that he couldn’t handle this alone.

“I need to speak to you guys.”

“Okay.” Anthony frowned, immediately catching on to Draco’s seriousness. “Well, the lads have been roped into having tea at Hagrid’s...”

Draco felt the blood drain from his face, which Anthony again noticed immediately.

“What?”

Draco did not fully believe Hagrid had voluntarily, fifty years ago, unleashed a monster on schoolchildren and killed a girl. But it had happened. And Draco and Hal also had busted him with a freaking dragon. Not to mention “Fluffy”. And the attacks were happening again – what if Hagrid had another of his crazy pets wandering into the corridors at night? What if his idea of a fun teatime was to introduce it to Hal, Ron and Neville?

“We need to get them, now.” He urged Anthony.

To his friend’s credit, he didn’t stop to question his sanity, and followed right after him as Draco ran out of the room, leaving Tom’s diary on his bed.

They bumped into Hermione on their dash from the Ravenclaw common room (on her way to the library) and Anthony did not even pause, he grabbed her hand and told her to come with them. She started a few questions but in the end seemed to decide to save her breath, and went along with it. Draco felt a surge of love and gratefulness for his friends, but in that moment, it didn’t quite overpower the mad worry that threatened to overwhelm him when he thought about the other three in the gamekeeper’s hut.

They got there dishevelled and breathless, and must have looked quite a sight as the three of them burst through the door. Neville and Ron visible jumped, Hal looked incredibly relieved at seeing them, and Hagrid simply looked pleasantly surprised, said it was nice of them to join their little team party.

“You take a seat, I’ll put the kettle back on.”

“No.” Draco said shakily. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

Everyone cast him a startled look, and it turned to concern on Hal’s face.

“Did something happen?” He asked.

“It was him the first time.” Draco blurted out. “It was him…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say any more, and he felt like his legs were about to give out. Come to think of it, throwing accusations of murder at a man five times their age and size in a very confined space was probably not the best idea.

But Hagrid simply looked sad, and grave, and he put the kettle back down, and let himself drop onto his seat – which somehow miraculously did not break under his weight.

“’Ow did yer find out?” He asked.

Draco gave him a distressed, disbelieving look, and realised part of him had still been hanging to the hope that this whole thing was just a big misunderstanding.

“It’s true?” He breathed out weakly.

“What’s going on?” Ron spoke out, looking completely lost. They all did.

Hagrid let out a loud sigh, and gestured between Draco, Hermione and Anthony, and the bench where Ron, Hal and Neville were already squeezed.

“Sit down, will yer.”

Anthony and Hermione readily joined their friends, and Draco a little more warily, ending up only half perched on the edge of the bench – not so much to be able to run away, he wouldn’t leave the others behind anyway, but because six of them on that bench was really a tight fit.

“I was a goat.” Hagrid said suddenly.

Everyone stared at him.

“A goat.” Hal repeated carefully.

“Yer know. When they blame you.”

“A scapegoat!” Hermione realised.

“Ay, the escape goat.” Hagrid nodded gravely, and in spite of himself, Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing, and he could see the same pinched expression on Hal’s and Anthony’s faces.

Hagrid explained to them how, when he was himself a Hogwarts student, the events currently unfolding in the school had been happening too – which they already knew from Blaise’s gossip, but somehow getting a first-hand confirmation made them all feel a lot more uncomfortable. And as another student had caught him with ‘Aragog’, he’d believed it was him attacking the student, and Hagrid had been expelled. Incidentally, the attacks had stopped after that, but Dumbledore had never believed Hagrid had been guilty of harming anyone, and had offered him a home and a job on the grounds.

“And ‘a swear, ‘a swear.” Hagrid shook his head. “Aragog never hurt a soul, he didn’t. He was just a lil’ one. Teaching him to speak, I was.”

They exchanged looks, the same question on everyone’s minds, but it was Hermione who eventually volunteered to ask it.

“Hagrid… what was Aragog?”

Hagrid mumbled something unintelligible, and seeing the expectant look still on their faces, repeated it only slightly more understandably.

“Acromantula.”

Ron physically seized, and everyone else but Hal made faces of horror and disgust.

“What’s an acromantula?” Hal asked.

“A giant bloody spider, that’s what.” Ron said, looking like he was going to be sick. “Tell me it was killed when they found it?”

Hagrid gave him a look of absolute outrage.

“Of course not! Helped him escape I did, thank Merlin. He lives in the forest.”

Ron made a squeaky noise that may or may not have been the word help and cast an anxious look through the window overlooking the Forbidden Forest. Draco could only guess he had proper arachnophobia – although the idea of a spider that could be 20 feet tall certainly did not make him feel comfortable, he wasn’t squirming just thinking about it either.

“So…” Hermione started cautiously. “Could he be going back to the castle?”

“Wasn’t him the first time.” Hagrid countered grumpily. “And isn’t him this time either.”

“To be fair.” Anthony intervened. “While the statement that an acromantula several decades old never hurt a soul does seem a little bit optimistic, I don’t think they petrify people. Never heard that. I can ask Rolf to ask his grandad, but…” He shook his head, unconvinced.

“’S’not him.” Hagrid insisted. “He was real scared at the time, too.”

“We believe you.” Neville said.

Draco sent him a Do we? look, to which Neville shrugged slightly.

“Do you have any idea what it could be, then?” Neville continued. “Or who?”

Hagrid shook his head. He’d tried to think about that, at the time, obviously. But if Dumbledore couldn’t figure it out, he said, what were his chances? Draco tried not to blatantly agree.

They took their leave not long after that, and walked back in thoughtful silence, but upon re-entering the castle, Hal nudged Draco.

“Okay, you’ve got some explaining to do.” He said.

“Our room.” Anthony volunteered. “It’ll be more private.”

When they were settled there, with a little reluctance, Draco told them about the diary – omitting the parts where he confided in Tom for just about everything, including his confused and confusing thoughts about some of the boys in this very room – and what Tom had showed him regarding the events fifty years ago.

“And you believe him.” Hermione said at the end, less a question than an observation, but with something between sceptical and slightly judgmental in the tone of her voice.

“He’s not given me a reason not to.” Draco said sulkily.

“Except you found that diary in a room full of dark texts and you have no idea what kind of enchantments went into it.” Hermione argued.

“He’s my friend.” Draco snarled.

“We’re your friends.” Hal said a little sadly. “Why didn’t you talk to us?”

“What, so you could go and punch someone in the face for me again?” Draco sneered.

“Well, Tom wasn’t exactly sorting that for you.” Hal pointed out, a little miffed at Draco’s tone.

“I don’t need you to be boy hero for me, Hal!” Draco snapped.

The silence that fell was deafening, for a long minute, the expression on Hal’s face indescribable. Then he got up, and left the room. Ron threw Draco a disappointed look, and went after him. Hermione sighed.

“I get that you’re stressed out.” She said. “But don’t lash out on us. Least of all Hal. All he wants to do is help.”

“He’s noticed, you know.” Neville added. “You’ve been distant, and a bit… off. Even after the whole thing with Flint. He worries.”

“We all worry.” Hermione put a hand over his. “Don’t shut us out.”

Draco looked down, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything – if he tried to speak, he suspected he would cry – Neville and Hermione left, leaving him with Anthony. He remained silent for a moment, before he spoke quietly.

“Hal’s been having a hard time, you know.” He said. “He puts on a brave face all the time, but… You know, there are the ones who think he’s the Heir, and there are the ones who call him a hero with superpowers. He hates both. So…”

“So I made it worse, yeah, thank you.” Draco interrupted, his voice cracking.

“Just.” Anthony sighed. “Apologise. It’ll be fine.”

* *

*

Apologising to Hal was a good plan in theory, if only Draco managed to get in Hal’s vicinity. By an unfortunate combination of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw schedules keeping them mostly apart, the heaps of homework teachers seemed intent to pile up on them before Christmas and probably Hal perfunctorily avoiding him, Draco just did not find an opportunity to speak to him for the next few days, and suddenly it was only a couple of days before the holidays and there was no way they were leaving for home on those terms.

So in the end, Draco – there really was no other word for it – ambushed him at the end of one of his Herbology classes. Ron eyed Draco a little warily, but Hermione dragged him off, and Neville pushed Hal back towards Draco as he tried to follow.

“No.” He whispered. “Talk to him, you daft sod.”

Hal heaved up his book bag and shoved his hands in his pockets, sulking, but did not try to run away from Draco at least. They let the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trickle out of the greenhouse, walking a few steps, tentatively at first, then naturally falling into one of the paths they’d trekked so many times the previous year, chatting away and practising spells, enjoying the outdoors. In that moment, Draco missed that so much it was physically painful.

It was Hal who broke the silence.

“Don’t you have class?”

“Potions.” Draco confirmed.

“You’ll get in trouble.” Hal said.

“A little.” Draco shrugged.

It seems to surprise Hal, and maybe softened his stance, just a bit, but enough to give Draco hope that he could accept his apology. Once again, Hal spoke before he could.

“That f*cking hurt.” He said a little vindictively. “What you said.”

“I’m really sorry.” Draco looked down.

“I thought you understood me.” He did really sound hurt, and Draco felt like his heart was breaking.

“I do.” He pleaded. “I didn’t mean it and I know… I know that’s not you, I’m so sorry that came out, I’ve…”

He stopped, not really knowing what to say, how to make it better.

“You’ve not been yourself.” Hal completed for him. “And Ron says it’s because you’ve been hanging out with Slytherins, and I don’t want to believe that, because I think it’s bullsh*t, but you think maybe… it’s that diary?”

He said this cautiously, like even just suggesting it might make Draco kick off again.

“Maybe.” Draco admitted quietly.

Because he wasn’t an idiot, and he could admit that it hadn’t been particularly sensible to start pouring his every thought into an artefact of unknown origin and dubious reliability. He’d known that from the beginning. He’d just gotten caught up in it.

“I saw you write it in a few times.” Hal confessed. “And I thought it was just a diary, or notes or something, but knowing that it’s sentient… I don’t know, I get that I’ve still got a lot to learn about the magical world, but that just makes me feel really uncomfortable.”

“I’m going to stop using it.” Draco pledged.

He’d made that decision a little while back, in fact he hadn’t opened the diary since his confession to his friends and his fallout with Hal. A big part of him had wanted to, he had felt the urge to turn to Tom and pour out his grief and his worries to him, but it had felt like he’d be letting Hal down even more.

Hal gave him a tentative smile, and a little nod. Then he let out a big sigh, like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders, and took out his wand.

“It’s bloody freezing.” He commented. “But I’ve just learnt a warming spell. Want to walk for a bit longer?”

And Draco knew he was forgiven, and they were friends again.

Chapter 7: January

Chapter Text

Having missed the chance to travel on the Hogwarts Express back in September, Hal was downright excited to meet up with his friends on the train after Christmas. The carriages were slightly less packed than at the start of the year, even if not many students stayed at school over the holidays, so they had no problem finding a compartment to huddle up.

Just the six of them – to everyone unspoken and slightly guilt-tinged relief, all the Slytherins were sticking to their own quarters. They were getting along better, truly, but they still weren’t exactly thick as thieves, and having Pan hang out with them, let alone Blaise and occasionally Daphne, Vince and Greg, still felt like a bit of an intrusion.

“Mate.” Anthony breathed emphatically when Ron turned around after stuffing his winter coat into the overhead rack. “What are you wearing?”

The tip of Ron’s ears went bright red, and he pulled self-consciously on his obviously hand-knit Christmas jumper, featuring what looked like a whole Quidditch team wearing cheerful seasonal red and green outfits, except that due to the lack of room of the garment, they looked a little bit like house-elves with growth impairments, possibly missing a limb here and there.

“My mom’s trying new things.” Ron muttered. “You should see Percy’s.”

“I didn’t think I’d say this, ever.” Draco commented lightly. “But I’m starting to miss the giant initial.”

“Oh my god.” Anthony was clearly trying to be a good friend and contain his glee. “Did she make some for us?”

“Yeah.” Ron confirmed, blushing even harder. “They’re not quite as… out there.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.” Anthony mused.

“Oh, stuff it.” Ron told him good-humouredly. “How was everyone’s Christmas anyway?”

They all started talking at the same time excitedly, and it took the best part of the next two hours to unravel everyone’s holiday stories.

Neville had had an interesting one; while most years were just him and his grandmother, and a depressing visit to St Mungo’s (something he’d told Hal, but not particularly shared with the rest of the group), this time they had gone to his great aunt and uncle, and his great uncle Algie had spiked the brandy with some potion of his own invention; the three old witches and wizard had been roaring drunk and a very entertaining spectacle for Nev, himself a little past tipsy having sneakily sipped from his elders’ glasses when they weren’t looking. The rest of his holiday had been spent tending to the garden with his grandmother, preparing it for some epic planting operation when spring came.

Draco had had a lovely time, his words, with his mother, going around the Manor and spelling each room a different winter decoration style, while the house elves left treats and little gifts everywhere for them to discover. It had been days of magical winter wonderland, and finally a time to reconnect, without the pressures of social events – not this year, Narcissa had decided, and she’d even declined the invitation to the Christmas ball, held at the Goyles – and without the stress Draco had been under these past few months. He’d left the diary in his dorm room at Hogwarts, and he’d felt so much better for it, granting some credibility to his friends’ assessment that Tom’s confidence hadn’t been all that good for him.

Ron’s Christmas had been as typically chaotic as usual, and he mostly talked about how much food he’d had, and all the amazing things his mom could make. She usually went all out this time of year, to her children’s great delight, and there was so much left over at the end of it, Ron had actually warned them all in advance not to take any food for the journey, and had brought each of them a complete lunch box with sandwiches, homemade lemonade and lots, lots of sweet treats.

Hermione had had what she deemed a perfectly normal and pleasant Christmas, and what Anthony deemed a very boring-sounding one. Every time she described something – the tree, the presents, the crackers, the pudding – he marvelled at how everything was so static and lacking well, magic, in the Muggle world. But Hermione just shook her head and assured him it was perfect, and not everything needed fireworks. She’d seen her cousins, as well as her friends from primary school, and she’d had a great time.

Hal had also had a fairly standard Muggle Christmas, with some little injections of magic – he’d gotten his Aunt bath bombs from Diagon Alley again, because she had absolutely loved them the year before, and a box of Chocolate frogs had entertained him and Ley for hours as they watched Little Silver try to catch them – and had to promptly run after him and take it away if he did trap one, because they had unknowingly let him eat one, and it had not been pretty. They’d since learnt, after an epic dressing down from the vet, that cats definitely should not eat chocolate.

And Anthony, after going through most of his holidays enjoying some family time and inventing crazy worlds and games playing with his little sister who, at four years old, missed him dearly and still couldn’t understand why he wasn’t there for most of the year, and needed to be reassured it was not in any way because he didn’t love her to bits, had spent Christmas with the Scamanders, which led them to their next topic of conversation.

“I asked Rolf’s grandad if he had any ideas about what kind of creature could be in the school.” Anthony related. “I can’t honestly think of someone who would know more about magical beasts, but even he was stumped.”

“Isn’t he like, a hundred years old?” Ron asked.

“Ninety-six.” Anthony shrugged. “Don’t let that fool you, he’s as sharp as a hippogriff’s beak. Anyway, we asked him what creature he thought could petrify people, animals and ghosts, but he’d never heard of anything like that. He thought maybe something related to a Gorgon, but he didn’t think it fit the profile. Then there’s animals with venoms with a paralytic effect, but he said they wouldn’t be rigid like that, nor, well, alive.” He winced. “If it was something like that, the heart muscles would have been reached eventually too, and they’d be dead. Unless it’s combined with a stasis spell or something like that, but then we’re back to why we ruled out curses and potions in the first place: Dumbledore or Snape would have found an antidote by now.”

“They did.” Hermione pointed out. “The mandrakes. They just have to wait for them to mature.

“A counter-spell or a potion antidote.” Anthony specified. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “So we’re no closer to figuring this out.”

Before anyone could mope over that fact – or maybe point out that it really shouldn’t be up to them to figure it out? – the door to their compartment opened, and a recognisable ginger head peered in.

“Can we sit with you?” Ginny asked.

Without waiting for an answer, she came in, pulling someone else after her – a blond girl, looking around dreamily, with something blue and gooey in her hair and dripping onto her shoulder and down her arm.

“Hello.” She said with a pleasant smile, as Ginny all but slammed the door behind them.

“Hi.” They echoed hesitantly.

“Everything alright, Gin?” Ron asked his sister.

“This is Luna.” Ginny introduced her companion. “She’s in your House.” She added, glaring at Anthony and Draco, as if somehow that made them responsible for this situation. “And she was being bullied by older Ravenclaws, so I pulled her out.”

“Oh, really.” Luna chipped in, still smiling. “They were just testing a new hair dye on me.”

“Luna, I swear to Merlin.” Ginny said between gritted teeth, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You can’t let people do that!”

Luna shrugged. “I’m used to people thinking I’m weird.”

“Here.” Hermione stepped forward, and waved a spell over the girl to remove the blue mess from her. “I’m Hermione, nice to meet you.” She added, holding out her hand.

“Oh, thank you.” Luna beamed, shaking her hand. “I’m Luna. Oh, Ginny already told you. You must be her brother.” She turned to Ron. “You have exactly the same aura.”

“Aura.” Ron repeated awkwardly. “Sure. Yeah, I’m Ron.”

The rest of them introduced themselves in turn, Luna nodding politely at each of them, only lingering a little longer on Hal. They went on to chatting about Christmas a little more – Ginny, as much as Ron tried to stop her, telling them all the story of how when he was six, Fred and George had enchanted the Christmas ornaments to chase him around the house every time he said cake or pudding and had left him terrified and looking for synonyms for years after that – until Luna spoke out of the blue.

“I don’t think you’re the Heir of Slytherin.” She suddenly told Hal.

Everyone fell silent, and looked between Luna and Hal, who almost heard Ley’s sing-song voice in his head say Awwkwaaard… as he no doubt would have said out loud, had he been there.

“Er. Thanks?” Hal hazarded.

“Some of my classmates are afraid of you.” She added. “But that’s silly.” She looked at him for a moment longer, her head tilted to the side, and pushed on. “Are snakes friendly?”

“Oh god.” Hal breathed. “Uh, I don’t know. I suppose some might be and some might not, I didn’t really have a long conversation with any of them.”

“That’s a shame.” She said easily. “I bet they would have some interesting things to say.”

“Well.” Hal tried to joke, wryly. “You’ll let me know if you meet one who’s up for a chat, yeah?”

“Okay.” Luna nodded seriously. “I will do.”

The rest of the trip carried on in a similar fashion. Luna and Ginny left with about half an hour to go, to join other first years before they arrived, and the rest of them exchanged looks as soon as they were gone.

“Wow.” Anthony was the first to speak. “She was… something.”

Ron snorted. “She certainly was ‘something’, yeah.”

“She seems nice.” Hermione said defensively. “Don’t join the ranks of the ones that bully and make fun of her just because she’s a little odd.”

“A little?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“A lot. But it’s cool!” Anthony defended. “She made me think of Rolf a bit, actually. They’d probably get along.”

“No glumbumble would be safe.” Hal said solemnly.

* *

*

After the feast – it wasn’t nearly as big as the start of year one, but still slightly more outrageous than then normal term-time dinners – they gathered in the Gryffindor common room to exchange presents. This year, they had decided on a Secret Santa, after Hermione and Hal had thoroughly explained the concept to the rest of them.

Anthony had drawn Hermione, and he got her a set of books that two seven-year Ravenclaw girls had created, called The Anti-Lockhart Collection. They had combed through his entire work and, using numerous other references, cross-checked (and crossed out) every detail to end up with accounts that had a lot less flourish, for sure, but were also infinitely more accurate, while being quite funny in the way they took him down. Hermione snorted at that, and rolled her eyes at the little dig to her previous and very much bygone admiration for Lockhart, but she was sure to admire the work that went into those.

Draco had Hal, and he got him a beautiful leather satchel that had a permanent feather-light charm integrated to it, unlike Hal’s current book bag, which he had to charm every time he wanted to spare his back, sometimes with limited success. His shrinking spells were a tad more successful, but somehow did not remove the weight, which was a little inconvenient when going for unfettered. Ron complained that it was definitely out of the budget they had set, but Draco argued they hadn’t actually set a budget this year, they’d only agreed to not be outrageous.

“It is a little outrageous.” Ron still mumbled.

“I love it.” Hal countered, beaming at Draco, who looked down with a tinge of a blush, unless Hal was imagining it in the way the firelight played on his pale skin.

Neville had gotten Anthony a miniature greenhouse containing four different plants, which he explained one by one: the leaves of one would glow in the dark if you blew on them, making it a convenient night light when Lumos was a bit too bright, or when outside of school and a permission spell; the roots of another would calm any itch when grounded with spring water; a third was just mean to be air-cleansing, so good to keep by your bedside, and also just, pretty; and the last, which had what seemed like millions of tiny spikes, could be used to season food – it was a bit like salt, with a bit of an earthy, smoky flavour.

“It’s about four times as salty as normal salt.” Neville warned. “Use it carefully.”

Ron had drawn Draco, and he’d found him a book of pro tips from Seekers around the world (he did disclose that it had belonged to Charlie, but it was in peak condition and Ron would have kept it for himself if he didn’t already know the contents by heart, and also thought his preferred position was probably rather that of Keeper) as well as a special wood varnish for his broom. Draco tried to argue that he was only the reserve Seeker, but Ron refused to hear it, telling him he’d be in the main team in no time if Davies – their Captain – knew what was good for them. Draco seemed inordinately pleased at Ron’s show of confidence in his abilities, and even more when Hal enthusiastically agreed.

Hermione presented Neville with a pocket watch, which he looked rather discomfited with until she turned it over for him, and it revealed itself to be essentially the wizard version of a Swiss army knife. Apart from genuinely telling the time on one of its faces, it had a compass, a magically “bigger on the inside” flask compartment that could contain up to 500 ml of water or potion, an emergency wand repair kit, a small knife and a shrinkable blanket. It seemed a little too adventurous for Neville, until your remembered his passion for Herbology had, several times before, seen him trek up into the forest behind his house at midnight to collect this or other plant that only grew under the moonlight in its ascending phase, or something. The only reason he didn’t do the same at Hogwarts was the rather terrifying nature of the forest, and the fact that sneaking out of the castle in the middle of the night was rather frowned upon.

Finally, Hal’s draw was Ron, and he was rather pleased with what he’d gotten him; he’d been inspired by Ley getting overly excited watching his favourite football team on the telly, and had wondered how much live or recorded Quidditch wizards were able to enjoy. After some digging, he’d found out that you could buy play-by-play picture books of each game – if you made the pages flip themselves quickly, it was like a film and you could watch the whole match, but you could otherwise linger on each action. The photographs were moving as was customary, and zooming in at all the interesting moments and details. Hal had found one for a recent Chudley Cannons game he knew Ron was gutted to have missed.

“I honestly don’t understand how you can support them.” Anthony commented. “They’re really not a great team.”

“Fair-weather fan.” Ron retorted. “That’s what being a true supporter is. You don’t ditch them at the first sign of trouble.”

“The first sign of trouble was like, a hundred years ago.” Anthony argued.

“They’ve had-” Ron started.

“Please, not this again.” Hermione interrupted. “Here, I brought you this.”

She threw bags of Haribo in the middle of their circle, which gathered much interest from the wizard-born among them. As an extra treat, they’d decided to also each gift to the group something edible they could share. Ron had done his part on the train already, but he nevertheless produced some homemade fudge. Neville had found some limited edition butterscotch-flavoured Sugar Quills, Draco a range of honeycomb pieces with or without various types of chocolate coating, and Anthony humbugs and sherbet lemons, very classic, but from a local shop near his home that according to him, made the best sweets ever. Hal had decided to bring Muggle treats as well, Smarties to be precise, because they were an all-time favourite and nothing would convince him otherwise, even Wizard sweets.

They went to bed with big happy grins and very, very full stomachs.

* *

*

The rest of January was… uneventful, compared to the first term. As the time since the last attack got longer, the pressure seemed to ease, people breathing a little more easily, walking a little less warily, eyeing Hal with a little less suspicion. Only Fred and George seemed to think that joke wasn’t getting old, and kept curtseying when they saw Hal and heralding him through the corridors if semi-hostile crowds still formed. It actually did wonders to defuse the tension, efficiently highlighting how ridiculous the whole idea was that little Hal, flanked by the goofy gangly twins, could in any way be a purveyor of great evil and petrification.

The most stink eye he got was from Marcus Flint, and Hal could guess it was for entirely different reasons. It was actually hard to tell, when the older boy glared at him from a distance, if he was planning some kind of revenge, or if he was somehow scared of him, either because he’d been taken down a peg by Hal’s promise that he would do worse to him than punch him in the face (and he would, too, if he threatened or approached Draco in any way again) or because he thought there was a chance Hal was either the Heir or some dark and powerful wizard regardless of that particular legend – while the whole ‘attacking students’ accusation was more or less fading, Hal had not shaken the fact that he did speak to a snake in front of half the school.

At any rate, Flint did not make any kind of attempts towards any of them, so that was something. But it didn’t make it particularly easier when other students with no personal history with him glared at him, or gave him a wide berth in the corridors.

“What if you were an Heir of Slytherin.” Hermione said one night after a group of Hufflepuffs had ran away from Hal throwing random accusations about his hidden powers.

Hal was too stunned to even glare at her, which Draco compensated for as he hissed – it wasn’t even words at this point, but Hal did appreciate the sentiment. It always made him smile when Draco jumped to his defence, especially after their little fallout the previous month. He never wanted to feel like Draco wasn’t on his side again.

“No, okay, I know how that sounds, hear me out.” Hermione raised her hands placatingly. “I don’t mean that in a you’ve opened the Chamber of Secrets and are attacking students kind of way.”

“Thanks.” Hal said dryly. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but carried on. “Do you remember what Blaise said, about You-Know-Who?”

After confronting Hagrid, they had talked to Pan and Blaise about what they knew from their parents’ about the Chamber of Secrets, first edition, and Blaise had confirmed that it was known, in Pureblood circles, that Hagrid had been deemed responsible at the time, and it was also thought to be utterly ridiculous. Notwithstanding the fact that, albeit after spending some time in Azkaban, no proof had really been found against Hagrid, and Dumbledore giving him a job in a school full of children seemed exoneration enough, it was unthinkable for a follower of the Dark Lord to imagine that a half-giant could be related to the great Slytherin.

Interestingly, actually, there were rumours that the Dark Lord himself had been boasting to some parentage with the Founder. It had never been verified, or even really questioned – the fact that he had concealed his real identity and created a new name for himself prevented any investigation into his lineage, beyond some wild theories that he was French (Draco had enlightened them about the fact Voldemort could pretty much translate to flight of death).

“Let’s assume for a moment that You-Know-Who is a descendent of Slytherin.” Hermione exposed. “And, let’s imagine, so are you.”

“Let’s imagine I’m related to the most evil wizard in recent history?” Hal picked out, horrified.

“Salazar Slytherin lived in the 10^th century.” Hermione tried to moderate, though she winced at Hal’s comment. “That’s plenty of time for a lot of branches. Very distant branches.”

“And why would I-” Hal started.

“That would explain the Parseltongue.” Anthony interrupted, coming to that conclusion quicker than him.

“Exactly.” Hermione nodded. “And, well, I was thinking…”

She bit her lip, hesitant.

“What?” Hal encouraged her.

“You’re past the point of being coy about this.” Draco added.

“Well, maybe it would explain this.” She finished with a slight blush creeping up her cheeks, pointing at Hal’s head.

He half-consciously raised a hand to rub the scar underneath his hair.

“Maybe.” Hermione explained, taking a breath. “If Slytherin was you ancestor, both yours and… You-Know-Who’s – and I know, those are two massively hypothetical ifs, but if you were… maybe somehow, when he tried to kill you, his magic recognised his kin and… refused?”

That was… a dreadful suggestion, but one that didn’t actually make zero amount of sense. It certainly was more likely than the idea that Hal had some sort of super-power and had single-handedly defeated the man by like, staring at him or something, at one year old.

“It’s not completely absurd.” Ron was the one to speak up and, more surprisingly, to point out the flaw in Hermione’s reasoning. “But if that was the case, then wouldn’t it have ‘refused’ to kill Hal’s dad too?”

“He’s right.” Draco agreed. “Your mom was Muggleborn.” He gave Hal a tight smile, before turning back to the rest of the group. “So if Hal had Slytherin blood, James Potter would have had it too.”

He didn’t add that there really were quite a lot of cases of Avada Kedavra being thrown around between family members, throughout history.

Hermione let out a heavy sigh. “Magic sometimes is just frustrating.” She asserted. “There’s a lack of logic about some things, honestly…”

“Sorry, Hermione, but I can’t say I’m disappointed that that particular logic was shot down.” Hal patted her arm.

“Yeah, I know.” Hermione smiled back at him. “It was just a thought.”

“No offense.” Neville said timidly. “But I’m not sure trying to figure out the mystery of The Boy Who Lived will help us figure out the current mystery. I don’t see why they would be linked.”

“Ugh.” Hal grimaced. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Are we trying to figure out the current mystery?” Anthony raised, more importantly.

“We’re certainly wondering.” Hermione shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

Anthony smirked at her. “You just can’t stand not knowing something, can you?”

“And you can?” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “I’m not one of the Ravenclaws in the room.”

“Crying shame, that.” Anthony sighed. “You would have done so well.”

“Maybe that will teach you not to judge a book by its cover.” Hermione retorted.

“Are you kidding.” Anthony deadpanned. “That’s the best part.”

Chapter 8: February

Chapter Text

Hal had thought, after three months of stomaching classes with Lockhart, and the man’s apparent obsession with dragging him into the limelight, that he knew and had fully experienced the meaning of the word excruciating.

He was wrong. He was so very, very wrong, and nothing could have prepared him for just how much worse things got in February. More specifically, by the end of the first week, when The Idiot – as they’d taken to referring to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher – decided the student body needed cheering up, and what better way to do this than a bit of Valentine’s Day spirit.

The horrendous vomit of pink and hearts that, following that idea, covered the Great Hall, classrooms and corridors was bad enough, but then came the dwarves. Lockhart, in a particularly bright moment, decided it would be lovely to have a troupe of dwarves – dressed as cupids, so with wings strapped to their backs and otherwise pretty much only wearing nappies, which was gross and in a lot of people’s opinions, highly inappropriate to unleash among minors – deliver valentines. Cards, notes, chocolates, flowers, bloody songs or what-have-you.

Hal discovered on that occasion that, just as the people who believed he was evil hadn’t disappeared even as the school grew calmer, his admirers hadn’t either. They had gone fairly quiet after, well, Colin, and apart from the occasional pledge that they didn’t believe he was the Heir, Hal hadn’t felt much attention from his “fan club”, as Ron distastefully called it. But Valentine’s day, apparently, called for them to show their love.

A week before Valentine’s day itself, Hal thought it would be alright, as something rather sweet happened. Two first-year Gryffindors, a boy and a girl, and a girl from Hufflepuff, all of whom Hal remembered seeing around Colin Creevey (so presumably, his friends), approached him timidly – bless them, not in the most public place possible where Colin had always seemed to have a tendency to spring, but at a rather late hour in the common room, where he was just sitting with Hermione, finishing an essay while she was reading, the others having gone to get ready for bed already.

“We wanted to give you this.” The boy said evenly, looking very much like he had practised this level of steadiness for a while.

He held out a plump square book, only slightly bigger than a box of eggs.

“Colin had been working on it before he…” One of the girls carried on, and looked a little too overwhelmed to continue, so the third one took over.

“We finished it for you.” She said. “Obviously he was going to add more, and we couldn’t get the last pictures, the film was ruined in the camera, but… Well, here.”

Hal took the book, and realised as soon as he held it that it was a photo album. He opened it to the first page, and his breath caught as he was confronted with twin portraits of his parents, beaming at the camera, in their Hogwarts uniforms. It looked to be their graduation pictures. Underneath, in great big letters, it said HEROES.

“What is this?” He asked, his throat tight.

“It’s mostly you.” The boy said. “Colin mentioned you wanted to show your family. But he thought he’d start with one of your parents, because… well, he wouldn’t exist without them, you know?”

“What?” Hal breathed, increasingly confused.

“Did Colin never tell you why he was such a fan of yours?” The Hufflepuff girl asked.

“No.” Hal answered somewhat drily. Colin’s interactions with him had mostly been limited to saying his name a lot, unintelligible shrieks of excitement, hyperventilation and shoving a camera in his face.

“His parents are Muggles, as you know.” The Gryffindor girl explained. “And during the first war, they got attacked by some Death Eaters. Well, at the time, they thought they were just about to get mugged. A young couple got them out of that sticky spot, they thanked them, just as normal, you know, and they didn’t think much of it after that.”

“When Colin got his letter.” The boy continued. “He was so excited, he wanted to know everything about this new world, so he obviously found out about you. And he was already pretty psyched, he thought you were amazing, but then he bought this book about the war, and when he showed it to his parents, they recognised the couple who’d helped them. Your parents.”

Hal felt entirely unable to speak, but thankfully the trio weren’t quite done with their story.

“And, well, reading about it all, it became obvious to them they weren’t going to just get mugged.” The Gryffindor girl added with a shiver. “They probably would had been killed. So as far as Colin is concerned, a lot of the Wizarding World owes you a lot, and he owes you to be allowed in Hogwarts, as a Muggleborn, but also his family owes your parents their lives.”

Hermione had been listening along quietly, but at that point she put a hand on Hal’s arm, almost startling him, and he realised he’d been staring at the photos in silence for long enough that the other kids had started fidgeting.

“Thank you.” He looked up to them. “This is… this is really kind of you.”

“We love you.” The Hufflepuff girl blurted out, then blushed an intense shade of red.

“But we did it for Colin, too.” The boy added.

“I know.” Hal nodded. “It’s kind.” He repeated.

The rest of the album was filled with pictures of him, and while it was all a little creepy and stalker-ish, there were some nice ones that gave a good idea of his life at Hogwarts, and he’d been looking forward to showing them to his aunt and Ley.

The gift left him in a good mood for days. On Valentine’s day, however, Hal revised his position about people being prompted to do nice things and random acts of kindness, and knew for sure this day was the most evil and twisted day ever invented to torture people under the cover of loving gestures. A very cunning one from the master of all evils, whoever they were.

After two dozens of cards – several of which chimed and sung upon opening, and one of which memorably squirted confetti at his face –, four bouquets of red roses, twenty notes saying variations of we believe in you Harry and you’re still my hero Harry, five boxes of chocolate, a bottle of… something sparkly, which may or may not have contained alcohol, which was just wrong regardless, all delivered by sulky dwarves, Hal had lost count, and was very much beyond fed up.

Which was understandably why he was trying to hide away from yet another of these stupid cupids who was trying to catch him, because he was actually starting to miss when people changed directions when they saw him, which was saying a lot, but the tenacious dwarf would not let him have it. Some might say Hal tripped over his feet in his haste to try and escape the madness, but Hal would maintain the creature pretty much ended up rugby-tackling him to the floor.

Then, then Hal actually felt the true meaning of excruciating as the dwarf sat on his legs and started singing what was essentially a love song, except a truly awful one, written by someone who was either determined to make his life miserable, or who really had an awful taste in rhymes and simile. Not to mention creepy, and the only reason Hal was deterred from screaming I AM TWELVE YOU PSYCHO was that, given the content of the song, he suspected someone even younger to have sent it.

It only got worse when Hermione whispered ‘Oh, Ginny…’, having more of a chance than Hal did to look at their surroundings and guessing who the most mortified of onlookers looked to be. Hal only turned his head – away from staring in frozen horror at the creature pinning him to the floor – in time to see her red hair bounce behind her as she fled the scene.

Once free, and trying to ignore a group of older Slytherins who were doing nothing to hide how funny they had found the whole thing, Hal grabbed Ron’s elbow and dragged him all the way to the Gryffindor common room, not paying any heed to his protests that it they should be going for lunch and none of this was his fault.

“What the f*ck was that!” Hal yelled at him once they were in the – thankfully empty, due to lunchtime – common room.

“That wasn’t me!” Ron protested.

“Well, it was your sister.” Hal retorted, and ignored Ron’s mumble that he didn’t know that for sure. “So can you have a word with her about this hero worship bullsh*t?”

“Mate…” Ron tried to placate him again.

“No!” Hal cried out, beyond fed up. “Exactly! We’re mates! So can she get over that? That was not okay. In what f*cking world did she think it was okay?”

Hermione came forward to pull Hal back slightly, who was right up in Ron’s face.

“Hal, calm down.” She told him. “That was upsetting, we all understand that, but it’s not Ron’s fault.”

Hal rubbed a hand over his face. He was so tired of dealing with sh*t like that. But Hermione had a point.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“It’s alright.” Ron kindly said. “I mean, if you want I can try to have a word with Gin, for sure. She’s a kid, though, I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.”

“Yeah.” Hal forced himself to smile.

And another will take her place, he didn’t say, because his friends were right, it wasn’t Ron’s fault. It was nobody’s fault, really, apart from Voldemort’s. And maybe Lockhart’s. Right now, definitely also Lockhart’s.

“If that can make anyone feel better…” Draco spoke up tentatively.

They’d all followed into the common room, though most of them had stayed back while Hal had an (unfair) go at Ron. Draco stepped forward now, and took a gigantic box of chocolates from his bag.

“That’s from my mother.” He specified with a slight blush. “Sort of a tradition between us.”

“That’s lovely.” Hermione beamed, probably more grateful for the diversion than for the chocolate itself.

“Homework and chocolate tonight?” Draco suggested.

Hal smiled at him, a real smile this time. While his foul mood had built up throughout the week, and culminated to the breaking point in the last hour, apparently it didn’t take much of an intervention from his friends to lift it. He needed to remember that, and focus on what mattered.

“Sounds like a plan.”

* *

*

The more things seemed to be going back to normal – nobody had been petrified in months now, and the mandrakes (teenagers now, to Professor Sprout’s delight) were coming along brilliantly, and everyone’s mood was the better for it – the more Draco felt, for some reason, uneasy. Like some impending doom was only waiting to reveal itself.

He itched for the diary. Despite what his friends had told him, he didn’t feel like he could go to them and start… what, exactly? Complaining about nothing? He had no words to express how he felt, he had no idea why it seemed like something was missing, that he couldn’t put his finger on. Like something was still draining him, in spite of the stress of the first term having abated with the absence of any further attacks.

Tom would understand. Or Tom wouldn’t need to understand. Draco could just pour his thoughts into the ink as they flowed, without having to order them. It helped, it was therapeutic, even if the pages did not have an answer for everything. He couldn’t go to Anthony, or Hal, and sprout that jumbled string of confused thoughts that made no sense even to him.

After the third time of almost reaching for the diary, and forcing himself to remember his promises, he grabbed a quill and parchment and started a letter to his mother.

Dear Mother,

Thank you for the chocolates. I know you sent a much larger box than last year so I could share it with my friends, which I have.

The school has been quiet, with no further attacks, which I am sure you will be pleased to hear though you have made it clear you were never worried about me personally, as a Pureblood. Nevertheless, I hope you share my relief that the friends I have who are not so protected by their blood status, assumedly, can feel safer.

Even if all the filthy Mudbloods undeserving of magic should die die serve us and die filthy worthless

Draco looked up from the page in a shock, like he’d dozed off and jerked awake again. He stared back at the last line he’d written. He did not remember writing that. He dropped the quill like it was going to change into a million crawling insects and start running up his arm if he held on to it. His hand was trembling, he felt like he was going to throw up.

That was not him. Those were not his thoughts. They were not. He might have thought like that once, years ago, years and years ago, when his father was still alive and shortly thereafter, but he had changed, he had opened his mind, he didn’t think that way, like most of his family, like all the families around them.

He felt the sudden urgent need to find Hermione and apologise, or give her a hug, or just check she was okay.

He Incendio’d the parchment, pressed his fists to his closed eyes and refrained from screaming. After a few steadying breaths, he thought maybe he should – find Hermione, that is.

It wasn’t just that he had made a promise to his friends – he still thought he could just start pouring his heart out and tell them everything that crossed his mind. But to be fair, it would do him well to remember he didn’t have to struggle with strong and confusing emotions alone. As helpful as Tom had been to him, he wasn’t his only option. Draco had friends.

He set out to find at least one of them, Hermione preferably since he still felt the urge to check on her, so he decided to start with the library – Hal was at Quidditch practice, which was presumably where Ron and Anthony would be as well, cheering him on. Neville would probably be in the greenhouse – Sprout had asked for volunteers to help her monitor (and Draco suspected, guard) the mandrakes round the clock, and Nev had been more than happy to take a shift. So, left to her own devices, Draco would have placed a large bet on Hermione having headed for the library.

Just outside the common room, however, he almost ran into Luna Lovegood, who seemed to have just started reading the riddle that would, if answered right, grant her access. Her lower face was covered in blood, clearly from a nosebleed that had been carelessly smudged across her cheeks.

“Oh, hello Draco.” She greeted him pleasantly, as if she hadn’t even noticed.

“What happened to you?” Draco blurted out in return.

She seemed to consider her answer before actually responding.

“I fell.” She said eventually.

Draco had spoken to her only a few times, since the train after Christmas, but that was enough times that he knew she didn’t like to talk about the bullying that was still going on at regular intervals, though she also didn’t like to lie about it either (unlike himself, Draco was always uncomfortably reminded. Whenever he thought about it, he always determined to tell someone immediately if Flint ever tried anything again). Her way around that was to outdo herself being particularly cryptic and evasive.

So Draco narrowed her eyes at her.

“And what caused you to fall?” He probed.

“I tripped.” She answered easily.

“On?” He pressed on.

She sighed. “On a foot.” She gave him a considering look. “I always end up telling you things when you care like this. Maybe that’s why people think we are siblings sometimes.”

“I- what?” Draco blinked.

“I believe it’s the hair.” Luna shrugged. “But it is silly. My father has the same hair as me, too. And I find it very rude of people to suggest my mother would have cheated on him with your father.”

“Wow. Okay.” Draco decided to shelf this disturbing new insight into the rumour mill, and refused to let himself be distracted from the more pressing matter. “Whose foot?”

“Millicent Bulstrode tripped me in the courtyard and I fell into a pillar.” Luna finally gave him the full account, with a resigned sigh. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“This does not in any way give her the right to do that.” Draco replied vehemently.

“I know.” Luna shrugged. “But she really is quite scary. I think she could be a wrestler.”

“I’ll have a word with her.” Draco determined.

He did not like to ‘pull rank’ as a matter of course, but he could still wield some serious Pureblood influence on someone from a wannabee family like the Bulstrodes, and he could certainly put the fear of Merlin into Millie, thank you very much.

“Do you need to see Pomfrey for this?” He added, waving at Luna’s face.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I have a kit, I’ll sort myself out. This does happen a lot, you know.”

“You don’t have to let it.” Draco said, though he immediately felt like the biggest hypocrite to ever have walked the earth. He’d let it happen to him for almost a year, for Merlin’s sake.

“I mean hurting myself.” She told him reassuringly. “Sometimes I honestly just fall. My father’s been teaching me about first aid since I was just a little girl. He always says you practically have to be a Healer before you can reasonably become a Magizoologist.”

“Wise.” Draco huffed a laugh. “Alright, then. Take care of yourself for me, okay?”

“Thank you.” She replied, before turning to the wall to answer the riddle. “A tiger.”

Draco watched her disappear into the common room before he started for the library again. He still thought he might as well find Hermione, though his spirits had been considerably lifted from talking to Luna – and, he suspected, worrying about someone else’s problems, focusing on someone who needed his help, potentially, rather than on someone who could help him. It felt good.

He did find his friend sat at a study table, three books open in front of her and a pile of another five by her right elbow. She didn’t look up until he sat down next to her and nudged her foot.

“Oh!” She startled, and then relaxed and smiled when she saw it was him. “Oh hey. Did you finish Snape’s essay about Boomslang skin?”

“Oh, ours is about silk from the Bombyx mori.” Draco answered.

“Makes sense.” Hermione nodded, looking back down at her parchment. “I wouldn’t want to read the same thing over and over again either. Might as well change it up across Houses.”

“But yeah, I’ve finished it.” Draco added.

It had been easy enough – he was rather familiar with the creatures, though not particularly from a potions point of view. The silk they produced was sought after, and weavers in the region of Lyon in France, where they had holidayed a few times, did absolute wonders with it, historically and still to this day. His mother was very partial to the products of that art.

Hermione sighed. “Honestly, I have spent so long this week trying to help Ron and Hal without actually writing the essay for them. It’s set me back.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Draco got back up.

He did feel better, after all, so he could leave Hermione to her studies, and he might as well find Millie. Hermione, to her credit, lifted her head from her book for a minute to look at him. She seemed satisfied with her visual inspection, but still asked.

“You’re okay, though, right?”

He smiled at her, genuinely. “I’m fine. I need to speak to a bully.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Flint?”

“No, Bulstrode. Not for me – for Luna.”

“Oh.” Her eyes lit up in understanding. “Good. Look at you, protecting others.”

“Well, I’m not going to punch her in the face.” Draco teased. “But I suppose I did get inspired.”

They said goodbye until dinner, and Draco set out towards the dungeons. He didn’t know the password to the common room – no Slytherin in their right mind would share it outside of their House, not that it was an attitude exclusive to them – but he was sure there would be enough comings and going that he could slip in, and most of the students recognised him (from hanging out with Pan and Blaise and the others, or in all likelihood just from being a Malfoy) and wouldn’t kick him out.

He only had to wait about ten minutes till he could slip in alongside a group of fifth years, and he luckily found a large group of the younger students studying (chatting) together on one of the large tables, Millicent among them. Perfect, in his opinion. He hadn’t come here to not make a scene of this.

“Draco!” Pan greeted him with a smile, spotting him first. “A pleasure as always.”

“Not a social call, I’m afraid.” He replied in the same overly polite fashion. They had both been raised with the same manners after all, and some of those were hard to shake.

“Such a pity.” Pan carried on in her poshest voice. “What does bring you here?”

“A word with Millicent, if I may.”

Millie startled at the mention of her name, and tried to act like she hadn’t. She opened her mouth like she was trying to find a way to answer in the same fashion as Pan and Draco had just been speaking, but she didn’t have the pedigree, if Draco could allow himself that titbit of snobbery.

“What?” She settled on, less than eloquently.

“You know Luna Lovegood?” Draco dropped a register or two, but maintained all the icy haughtiness he knew to muster in his voice.

“Weirdo first year in your House, yeah.” Millie snorted, clearly having not yet caught on to the mood.

“Exactly.” Draco said, sweet and threatening. “In my House. So I’m sure you will understand that I have taken an interest in her safety.”

“Look, if this is about earlier…”

“Oh good, you’re not denying it.” Draco interrupted sharply. “Saves us that hassle. I’m prepared to be generous and not hold it against you, I know it’s a family trait, I remember being on the other end of your oaf of a brother’s foot.”

He didn’t mind admitting it – it was one less thing she could potentially use against him if she found it in her to talk back.

“So I’m going to ask politely.” He carried on. “But a friend of mine gave me another example of how to deal with bullies like you or your brother, if you prefer a different approach?”

He didn’t have to spell it out – the entire school was still on occasion talking about Flint’s encounter with Hal’s fist and full-body bind. Draco, in fact, suspected it was also part of the reason why Flint hadn’t tried it on again. It wasn’t particularly, or only, that he was afraid of Hal’s retaliation – the idea of people laughing at him would be an additional and maybe even a stronger deterrent.

“You’re not the boss of me.” Millie lifted her chin, deciding to be defiant.

“Oh, no.” Draco smiled. “But I will be among the ones leading the matching season, in a few years, when we come to that. You know what the word of a Malfoy can do to debutantes trying to catch the eye of a good Pureblood son. And I know the pressure there is on families like yours for their daughters to marry well.”

He put a hand on the back of her chair, and leaned in casually, in a show of keeping this conversation private, though he was still speaking perfectly loudly and clearly enough for everyone around the table – who were hanging to his every word – to hear everything without strain.

“And when all the first choices are gone and the only ones left are people like you who are just not Pure enough to be a good match, I can definitely make sure to put in a good word. Who do you think the boys from still half-decent families will go for? Someone with a backbone, and some manners and integrity, or someone who’s so ugly inside they resort to being bullies and especially pick on the weaker, smaller, easier prey?”

He straightened again, having made his point, and turned a cordial smile to the rest of the Slytherins around the table. Most of their mouths were hanging open in stunned silence, except maybe Blaise and Pan who were pursing their lips to contain their glee.

“Enjoy the rest of your day.” He told the lot, and not sparing Millie another glance, left the room.

* *

*

That night after dinner, after telling his friends about Luna and his little showdown and feeling happier and stronger than he had in months, Draco picked up the diary. He wasn’t running away from his feelings, he wasn’t hiding things from his mates – he had accomplished something and for once, he could come to Tom with something positive.

Surely that didn’t break the promise he’d made, right?

Chapter 9: March

Chapter Text

It didn’t seem to deter Hal that on his last game, he had ended up bleeding half to death. Draco was sometimes a little worried at his apparent lack of self-preservation.

“Don’t you go tell him that.” Ron chastised him when Draco voiced his concern to the rest of them, sitting in the stands, waiting for the teams to come out. “It’s good. Flying with fear is the worst thing he could be doing. That is actually when you’re more likely to hurt yourself.”

Draco gave an unconvinced pout, but he knew better than to argue with Ron on matters of Quidditch.

The Hufflepuffs flew out first, to the cheers of the crowd, and most Gryffindors’ polite applause.

“Hey.” Blaise suddenly elbowed his way through the ranks, and proceeded to sitting pretty much on top of Draco. “Should you be here?” A jerk of his chin towards Draco and Anthony. “Not very supportive.”

“We’re wearing our colours.” Anthony pointed out. “And it’s not even a Ravenclaw game. Doesn’t matter where we sit.”

They were not particularly standing out either – lots of students were gathered in groups of mixed houses so they could be with their friends, Hufflepuff games tended to be the friendliest in terms of the crowds even if the team gave it as good as they got. On top of that, they were sitting right behind the Patil twins, identical except for the colours they were wearing, who could have been the poster girls for inter-house unity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony added.

“Lovely to see you too.” Blaise grins at him. “I’m taking bets. Five to one Hufflepuff gets the Snitch and wins.”

Draco arched an elegant eyebrow at him.

“You want us to a) gamble, and b) bet against our friend?” He asked, unimpressed.

“Oh, I’m not telling you how to bet.” Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. “Just saying, these are the odds.”

“No, thank you.” He replied – for all of them, going by their nods of approval.

“You guys are no fun.” Blaise commented.

He carried on making his way through the crowd.

“Is this allowed?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“It’s not encouraged, but it’s not forbidden.” Ron said, making a so-so gesture with his hand. “I think it’s because they figured they’d have a harder time keeping an eye on an underground betting network than on idiots like Blaise.”

Anthony snorted, Hermione looked generally disapproving, and Neville shook his head, amused, though Draco suspected he secretly rather admired Blaise for his brashness and Dementor-may-care attitude.

They all started clapping and cheering as the Hufflepuffs had done their laps and the Gryffindors joined them on the pitch, Hal immediately soaring above the other players, waving enthusiastically in what he probably suspected was their general direction (he was slightly off, to the left, but it was the thought that counted).

“Five to one.” Draco muttered. “As if. Hal’s caught the Snitch in all of his games so far.”

Anthony nodded enthusiastically, but then gave him a considering look.

“You know.” He said. “If you make the main team next year, you’ll have to fly against him.”

“I’m aware.” Draco snorted. “If you’re worried he wouldn’t get his arse handed to him, trust me, I won’t be the one doing him any favours.”

“Good.” Anthony beamed. “With all the love I owe Hal and you guys, of course.” He added, turning to the Gryffindors.

“We’ll crush you.” Ron replied mildly. “With all the love I owe Draco and you, of course.” He grinned.

They fell silent – apart from cheering and shouting encouragements – as the game started. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear the Hufflepuffs were dominating the game, and the Gryffindors couldn’t seem to do anything right. Hal almost got hit by a Bludger (not again! Draco thought) as he was going after the Snitch, causing him to lose sight of it.

To make it worse, a steady drizzle started after ten minutes, and the players were soon soaked to the bone, unable to benefit from the shielding spells placed on the stands for the spectators. After a painful three hours, though Gryffindor had put up as much of a fight as they could, the Hufflepuff Seeker ended the game.

“We can still win the cup.” Ron said immediately, and no doubt was he already preparing his pep-talk to Hal in his head. “If we win against Ravenclaw by more than a hundred and forty points, we’re in the lead. It’s so doable. No offence, guys.”

Draco caught a glimpse of Hal’s face just before he disappeared into the passage to the changing rooms, and thought he’d happily give up his own team and House’s victory if he never had to see that expression again.

* *

*

It took almost two weeks, and the conundrum of having to pick their subjects for third year, to finally take Hal’s mind off his defeat – as much as Ron and Draco, and after a while all of his friends, kept telling him it hadn’t been his defeat, that he’d played perfectly well, that he had almost got the Snitch way earlier in the game, that in the end it had been back luck.

It hadn’t been Oliver’s opinion, at all, and he’d been working them ragged in practice, which hadn’t helped, but Hal was regaining confidence that he was a good Seeker, and there wasn’t much else he could have done in this particular game.

And yeah, the classes provided a very good distraction. To say Hal was confused was putting it mildly. While Ley, when he’d last spoken to him, was tossing it up between Spanish (he thought it would make him sound cool), Media Studies, Computer Science and PE for his GCSEs, Hogwarts’ electives were… weird? Hal supposed Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies spoke for themselves, but he had no idea what Ancient Runes could possibly entail, and – Divination? Surely that was a joke. And what the heck was Arithmancy?

Hermione tried to explain all of it, which in Hal’s opinion only muddied the waters. It was Dean – who was as Muggle-born in education as Hal was, when it boiled down to it – who eventually intervened. They were sat together in the common room, during a time engineered by McGonagall so that older students would be available to answer questions about the new subjects that they had to chose. Hermione had gone around asking a lot of people and had made notes, so the rest of them had decided they probably didn’t need to.

“Think of Runes as a foreign language.” Dean summarised. “Arithmancy is a bit like maths, only instead of like, solving equations and calculating your taxes, the numbers are used to study spells or predict the future or stuff like that. It’s cool. I wouldn’t recommend Muggle studies, you might think it’d be easy for us, but I’ve asked around, and you basically have to unlearn everything you know and try to wrap your head around the weird way wizards see it, so it’s actually tougher to get good grades if you’re Muggle-raised. Care of Creatures is meant to be fun, if you’re not too jumpy around animals, but we don’t know who the teacher will be next year, Kettleburn’s retiring. Divination… well, I think if you’re a Seer, it’s got a lot more to do with your own inherited talent, and not much at all to do with the class. I hear it’s prime nap-time.”

“Jumpy around animals.” Seamus snorted. “Says he to the lad who fought a troll, went past a giant three-headed dog and can speak to snakes.” He slapped Dean’s back. “I think Harry’d be alright with that, mate.”

Not to mention a fairly close encounter with a baby dragon, Hal thought, but he’d respected Hagrid’s privacy on that (and his breaking the law and all that) and hadn’t mentioned it to their dorm mates – who had, on the other hand, made him tell them the full story of his adventures at the end of the previous year.

“In terms of jobs.” Ron took over – Hal suspected, coming from a family who often struggled to make ends meet, he’d been taught to think in terms of future financial stability a lot. “Runes isn’t very useful unless you want to be an Archivist or a Curse Breaker or something like that. Although they are used a lot by people who invent and improve magical objects, if that’s something you’re into. They used to be required to work at the Ministry, but not anymore, though they’re still an advantage. Muggle Studies is good if you want to live in both worlds later, but you won’t have that problem anyway. Arithmancy, my mom would tell you, is always useful. But the OWLs and NEWTs are a bitch for that. Also necessary if you want to be a Curse Breaker, though, Bill had to take it. Divination, if you want to be a Mind Healer, then you’ll need dream interpretation. Other than that…” He shrugged. “And Care, obviously Magizoology, but it’s also a good one to take if you want to be in the DMLE.”

“The Demel what?” Hal interrupted.

“Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” Ron spelt out.

Hal liked the sound of that. Ley and him had always wanted to be badass detectives or police officers, and the wizarding version just sounded that much cooler.

“Why do we have to pick two.” Ron moaned. “Nine different classes? We’ll be so busy.”

“You can drop one later.” Seamus pointed out.

Hermione also seemed to be wondering why they had to pick two, only in her case it was because she’d have liked to pick all of them. In fact, since Dean had taken over the explanations of each subject, she’d been sitting with her head in her hands, staring at the list and at the notes she’d gathered from older students about the classes and timetables.

Hal looked at his own list, and crossed out Muggle Studies, since from all accounts, he was quite sure he didn’t want to do that. He also knew Draco wouldn’t pick it, because while he’d expressed an interest (to better understand Hal’s family if he was invited over, he’d said, which had made Hal feel really happy), there were limits to what the higher Wizard society would accept, and a Malfoy taking Muggle Studies was not one of them. Draco would not ridicule his mother and drag down his family name like that. Hal had promised to tell him and teach him everything he wanted to know, though.

One down. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the rest. Care of Magical Creatures did appeal, because as much as he hadn’t chosen his encounters with deadly beasts so far, he hadn’t felt completely out of his depth, and he guessed that was a good start. Another one of the “what do you want to be when you grow up” answers he’d had as a younger child was working in a zoo. Fancy working in a Magical zoo!

Divination did not appeal, but Ron was leaning towards taking it (he’d liked the “prime nap-time” part of the description) and Hal thought it’d be nice to have their classes in common. They weren’t sure if they’d get to share classes with the Ravenclaws, it depended how many people signed up for each, and though Hal did still want to keep an eye on what Draco and Anthony were picking, sharing classes with Ron was a surer bet.

He wasn’t sure about Ancient Runes either, it sounded… dusty. Arithmancy seemed a lot cooler, but theoretical wasn’t his strong suit, he was much better at the practical applications of things… He wanted to believe he’d be able to keep up, but if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t so sure. He’d never been the most academic.

“You look relaxed.” Hal looked up from his list and noticed Neville. “Did you pick?”

“Muggle studies and Care of Creatures.” Neville nodded.

“I’ve got Care.” Hal decided for good, putting a tick next to it. “I’m not sure about the second one.”

“Come to Divination with me, mate.” Ron invited.

“Meh.” Hal made a face. “Sounds daft.”

“Well, yeah.” Ron said, looking at him like he didn’t see what the problem was.

Ron had also asked older students about the various subjects – his brothers. But his focus had rather been on amount of homework and how hard are the exams.

“You can ask McGonagall for advice.” Neville suggested. “I heard she’s talked some students out of certain subjects sometimes when she didn’t think they would be able to handle the workload requirements, or strongly recommended they took something they had ruled out, because she could see their potential, and it’s always turned out for the best. She’s got what, 30 years of experience?”

Hermione suddenly lifted her head up, looking like Neville had just had the most amazing idea.

“Yes.” She said fervently. “I should speak to McGonagall.”

“Wanna go together after class tomorrow?”

“She’ll want to speak to each of us privately.” Hermione anticipated. “But yeah, we can go ask.”

“Cool.” Hal smiled.

That settled it for now. It’d give him time to see what their Ravenclaw friends had in mind as well.

* *

*

“Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy.” Draco said when Hal asked him, without the shadow of a doubt.

He’d known this since he was eight. Arithmancy, because it had always called to him. It calmed him, the safety and reliability of the numbers, the logic of it. He couldn’t wait to go beyond the beginners book his mother had bought him a few years back, which he’d read cover to cover several times.

As for Care, it had begun when he had found Fire salamanders at the back of the rose garden one day, crawling all over the fire pit where the gardener had been burning autumn leaves, and he had been utterly fascinated. And quite distraught when they had all died once the fire had gone out, not that he had admitted that to anyone. He’d wanted to know more about the creatures – and any creatures – ever since.

He knew his father would probably have disapproved, because it evidently wasn’t a subject that led you to the Ministry. But eight years old was also when he’d realised, with all due respect to his memory, that he didn’t care any more what his father would have thought. He wanted to do what he liked.

He knew Hal was going to take Care as well, which made him happy, but he was still unsure about Arithmancy. Ron was campaigning for Divination, of course. Draco was confident he’d get Hermione and Anthony in the class though, so that was okay, even he was obviously secretly hoping to share as many classes with Hal as possible.

Draco had also asked Tom what he’d done in his time – Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and later on in seventh year, he’d added Alchemy and Advanced Arithmancy. He’d taken Potions, Transfiguration, Charms and DADA all the way to NEWTs as well. He seemed to have been quite the dedicated student. Draco had found it vaguely impressive in its own right, but when you lived surrounded by Ravenclaws and Hermione, you got used to the intensity people could put in pursuing their studies.

Tom seemed short with him, these days. Draco wondered if he resented him for the Floo-silence of several months – he hadn’t dared ask directly. He still didn’t go to him as a matter of reflex, true to his promise to his friends to bring his worries to them first. Instead, he shared positive or trivial things with him, every now and again. He felt like sometimes, Tom was trying to steer the conversation onto different topics, getting him to spill his deepest darkest thoughts again (and really, Draco had to agree with his friends that it wasn’t a healthy basis for a relationship, were it with a magical object) – but Draco didn’t want to get into heavy stuff again, and usually closed the diary if that started happening.

With the way he had to be sneaky about it, hiding the little book and pretending he’d been reading every time Anthony walked back into their dorm room, Draco had actually had a lot of aborted conversations with Tom, lately. Maybe it was no wonder if he was a little miffed. Sometimes Draco felt bad about it, but other times, probably most times, he thought he had better things to do than trying to cater to the feelings of a diary.

Keeping an eye on Luna was one of those things. There had been no sign that Millie had gotten anywhere near her since Draco had his words, but she seemed to generally be thought of as an easy target, and Draco couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility towards her, since he’d first stood up against one of her bullies. Maybe it said something about himself, too, but he’d rather not dwell on that.

It didn’t help matters when they made an alarming discovery one day at the dinner table. The Hogwarts elves had clearly decided to be a little creative, and amongst the usual offering or roasted meats and veg, were dishes of seafood risotto. Delighted, Luna revealed she’d never had seafood before, as her father absolutely abhorred anything fishy, and helped herself to a generous portion.

Two minutes later, she was covered in rashes and struggling to breathe. Thankfully her fellow Ravenclaws reacted quickly – although including, unhelpfully, a Muggle-born sat next to her who was shouting some nonsense about epic pens? Draco decided to ignore that completely as he urgently escorted her to the infirmary.

“You’ll be fine.” He told her reassuringly, and he saw her trying to smile through her puffed up face.

Anthony had ran ahead to give Madam Pomfrey the heads up, and she had an allergy remedy at the ready when they arrived.

“No more shellfish for you, young lady.” She told Luna sternly once the redness and swelling had gone down and she clearly looked well enough to get a telling off, as if she’d done it on purpose.

She nonetheless gave her a little vial of potion to carry with her at all times, should she come into contact the offending food again inadvertently.

“Well done, mister Goldstein, mister Malfoy.” She told the boys with more benevolence. “Quick action is key in those situations.”

“Thank you.” Luna beamed at them.

They both became something like her big brothers after that. She was still left to her own devices a lot, because she loved to go explore the outdoors and indoors alike looking for odd (and potentially non-existent) creatures, but she sat with them in the common room and in the Great Hall. Ginny joined them sometimes, the two girls becoming good friends, although the Weasley siblings did they best to pretend they only tolerated each other’s company.

Anthony was also more and more convinced Luna and Rolf would get along swimmingly and probably end up marrying each other, but they both had seemed completely oblivious of one another at the moment, the few times they’d crossed path.

“One day they’ll both look up from a Doxy’s nest and it’ll be love at first sight.” Anthony predicted. “Well, first-ish.”

“Leave them be.” Draco shook his head.

They were sitting in the common room, in those few not-quite-ready-for-bed moments where they’re already said goodnight to their Gryffindor friends, and Draco liked to curl up with a book by the fire – whenever Anthony would stop chatting and let him read, anyway.

“I’d be a brilliant matchmaker.” Anthony argued.

“Oh yeah?” Draco snorted. “I don’t think believing in a possible connection between the two weirdest people you’ve ever met, both strangely obsessed by peculiar little magical creatures, qualifies for brilliant matchmaking.”

“It’s a start.” Anthony pouted.

He then turned a rather intense gaze to Draco, scrutinizing his face like the answer to the theory of magic was hidden somewhere in his features.

“I hope you’re not trying to matchmake me right now.” Draco frowned, uncomfortable.

“You.” Anthony squinted. “Would need someone true.” He asserted with a determined nod of his chin.

Draco’s eyebrows went up.

“I would need someone true?” He repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“Someone real.” Anthony developed. “I don’t mean real as opposed to imaginary, of course, just… you know, real. Honest. Solid. I think you’re the kind of guy who’ll fall once, and hard, and for always.”

Draco forced himself to laugh, around the swirling flutter of panic in his belly because he suspected Anthony might have seen right through him, and was honestly probably right. Too close for comfort, at any rate, because he could help but think Hal’s true, and real, and honest and solid. And also, maybe more worryingly, for always.

“You’re mental.” He told his friend, hoping he would hear how hollow his laugh sounded to his own ears.

Anthony shrugged, and didn’t pursue it, but it left Draco feeling unsettled. He briefly considered talking to Tom about it, but his understanding of the whole painful issue of Draco’s crush was a bit underwhelming. He certainly couldn’t talk to Anthony or any of the Gryffindors about it. But maybe… maybe he could talk to Pan. One queer kid to another.

* *

*

Hal was leaning against the wall outside McGonagall’s office, waiting for Hermione to be done talking her options over with her, and wondered if he should just give up and go ahead without her. He’d thought it would take ten minutes, like his own consultation had, but she had already been in there double that time, and there was still no sign of the door opening.

His Head of House had been quite blunt with him: she did not think he had what it took for Arithmancy (she’d said she was “not sure he would thrive”, but he could read between the lines).

“Your practical application of magic is excellent, Mister Potter.” She had said so sternly it had sounded like a bad thing. “But the theoretical side of it is… not your strong suit.”

“I know.” Hal had sighed, looking down. “It’s like… some things come naturally, but I have trouble explaining how I got there.”

“It isn’t unusual.” She had told him, a little more kindly. “But the lack of an academic fibre, I’m afraid, means you would significantly struggle to keep up with the demands of Arithmancy. Unlike some other subjects, it doesn’t have a practical part to the exams that would balance the shortcomings of your performance in essay-writing.”

Altogether, Hal was now more or less decided, and thought it was probably wise to leave Arithmancy and focus on the other subjects. Which left, he supposed, nap-time Divination with Ron as a second elective. He could always drop that later.

“Young Harry!”

The trumpeting voice made him jump, and he couldn’t stop himself from wincing at the sight of his dear old Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

“I heard you were in search of some guidance.” Lockhart beamed at him.

“No.” Hal said immediately. “I mean, yes, but I’ve already spoken to Professor McGonagall, I’m just-” he tried, but naturally, Lockhart did not pay a single bit of attention to what he had to say.

“Worry not, I am here to assist!”

He proceeded to launch into a lengthy, flourished and overly detailed account of his tender years as a student, of the subjects he had picked, also talking about his dear friends and teachers at the time, and something about a dragon? None of which sounded particularly useful to Hal’s own choices, even if he hadn’t tuned out after twenty seconds, wishing he could put his hands over his ears and start singing loudly.

After another ten minutes of this, Hal was praying for Hermione to appear, or anyone really, as long as it was a good enough excuse to get out of there. He caught himself thinking he wouldn’t mind the attacks restarting right about now, and targeting Lockhart. He was even willing to be caught in the crossfire and get petrified for the cause. As long as he didn’t have to listen to him talk his head off anymore.

“Of course you, my dear Harry, were born for Defence Against the Dark Arts.” Lockhart’s hand suddenly fell on his shoulder so heavily his knees almost buckled. “And I am so looking forward to fostering this gift, I will be delighted of course to provide you with further material.”

“Thanks.” Hal forced himself to grit out between his teeth, hoping with all his might that something, anything would happen between now and the end of the year so that Lockhart wouldn’t be teaching the year after that.

Hell, he’d even accept it if the idiot got possessed by Voldemort and it meant going through the whole shebang again, if that’s what it took.

When Hermione finally came out, Lockhart hadn’t ever stopped talking. Hal grabbed her and made their excuses before all but running away. In his haste and frustration, he entirely forgot to ask her what had taken so long.

Chapter 10: April

Chapter Text

They had an agreement for the Easter holiday: no magic, no owls, no talk of wizardry, nothing else but the three of them as a family, like the good old days. Ley was the one who had suggested that, because he was worried about The Divide (as he always called it dramatically) that could be growing between them, but Hal was more than happy to comply. He loved his new life, but he missed his old one too. He missed Ley.

Also, it meant no studying, which suited him. He had some homework, but he’d done a bit of it already, and he’d be able to finish up on the train back to Hogwarts. They were going to the Lake District for a week, and the boys were beyond themselves with excitement. Hal was still allowed to write to his friends, though by Muggle means only, and he well intended to find the most atrocious postcards to send off.

In the meantime, it was a good five-hour drive without stopping, so they’d been on the road all day – which was also cause for great enthusiasm. They had stocked up on sweets, games and burned CDs for the journey, and Petunia really couldn’t fathom what seemed so entertaining about being stuck in a car on the motorway for several hours, but she supposed it was a bit different, being the driver. And if they were happy, she was happy.

They stopped at a service station for lunch, where they had sub-par sandwiches, compensated by ice-cream, and Petunia let Hal and Ley play in the small arcade for a bit (she had given them each a small allowance, and Hal had changed some of his wizard money for pounds as well, and after controlling it wasn’t a stupid amount, she had agree they could use it as they saw fit over the holiday) while she watched over them from the side of the room, enjoying her coffee.

Another woman sat down next to her, looking exhausted.

“Single mother?” She smiled at her.

“Yes, actually.” Petunia answered cautiously.

“Takes one to know one.” The woman winked. “Although your boys look quite tame.”

She pointed to two young boys closest to them, playing quietly together.

“Oh.” Petunia laughed. “No, mine are over there.”

She showed her Hal and Ley, making an enormous racket at the other side of the room, playfully shoving each other around the machine, sharing the commands and shouting really loudly every time (presumably) something happened in the game.

“I know the feeling.” The other lady winced.

“Wouldn’t change them for the world.” Petunia said honestly.

Her companion nodded knowingly. “How old are they?” She asked.

“Twelve.”

“Twins?” She asked.

“Oh, no.” Petunia answered, though she probably should have said yes, what did it matter, she needed to go in five minutes. But she went on and explained anyway. “The one with lighter hair is my son, the one with the darker hair is my nephew. But I’ve raised him since he was one.”

“As good as, then.” The other woman laughed. “I have twin girls. I know it can be a handful.”

“It certainly can.” Petunia smiled fondly.

As if to illustrate her point, there was a sudden commotion towards where the children were, and both mothers were on their feet faster than if the seat has been on fire.

They came to witness the tail end of an altercation that had Hal, hands balled up into fists, and Ley looking fierce beside him, standing between a girl on the verge of tears and an older, larger boy, with a little circle of other children around them.

“Oh, you gonna cry, mouth-breather?” The older kid was telling the little girl. “Are those tears behind your horrible glasses?”

“Stop it.” Hal said. It didn’t sound like it was the first time he’d asked.

“You the big brother?” The kid turned to him. “Is it a family thing to have disgusting hair and worst eyesight?”

He tried to nudge Hal’s glasses off his face, but Hal evaded him, and glared back undeterred.

“Why don’t you f*ck off?” Ley snapped.

“Yeah.” Hal added coldly. “Leave her alone.”

The other boy leaned into his space. “Or what?”

Or, apparently, Hal would shove him suddenly and with surprising force into the nearest pinball machine. Petunia rushed forward and held him back before his raised fist made contact with the boy’s face.

“Yeah, run to mommy.” The boy spat meaninglessly, rubbing his elbow where it had banged against the solid frame.

Petunia pointed an uncompromising finger at his face and ordered: “Scram.”

There must have been something threatening enough in her eyes, because he didn’t need telling twice. Petunia kept hold of Hal, grabbed Ley with her free hand, smiled at the little girl who wasn’t crying anymore but looking at them with adoration, and dragged both her wayward children outside.

Part of her was really proud of them for standing up to the bully, but she couldn’t commend Hal on his reaction.

“Hal.” She told him once they were out, seriously but not reproachfully. “It was very good of you to intervene for that girl, but this isn’t how you deal with a bully.”

“Isn’t it?” Hal retorted, ice cold, looking straight into her eyes.

She frowned with sudden suspicion.

“You’ve done this before.” She hazarded.

When Hal looked slightly sheepish, she knew she’d guessed right, but it was only fleeting before he looked furious again.

“Well he was harassing Draco.” He snarled, admitting it.

“So?” She raised an eyebrow to show she was not impressed.

Hal shrugged. “So I punched him in the face.”

She sighed, just as Ley, unhelpfully, whispered Legend.

“Hal, darling.” She insisted on her path. “Violence is not the answer.”

“Sometimes it is.” Hal reasoned. “Sometimes it is, because words alone would not get through the thick skull of someone like that baboon, and he’s not bothered Draco since. So.” His lips set in a determined pout, daring her to argue with that.

“I mean, he’s got a point.” Ley piped up.

Petunia gave him an unamused look, but faced with their united front, she could only sigh again.

“Maybe it seems like the best solution sometimes.” She conceded. In fact, the way Hal life was turning out, a little voice in the back of her head told her it was probably a good thing that he could fend for himself. “But promise me this will never be a habit, or your first solution.”

“Promise.” Hal answered quickly.

“You too.” She turned to Ley.

“Agreed.” He nodded.

“Alright.” She smiled at them both. “Let’s get back on the road then, shall we?”

* *

*

“It’s so fancy.” Pansy commented, feigning as much disinterest as she could while her eyes were shining with amazement.

She hadn’t come to Malfoy Manor in years, now that Draco thought about it, probably long enough that she was too young the last time she was to remember anything specific.

“You live in a giant mansion yourself.” Draco pointed out.

“Yeah.” She scoffed. “An ugly giant mansion. Yours is so… classy. Like you can see your family’s proper posh. Centuries-old posh. You people have taste.”

“It’s the French blood in us.” Draco deadpanned.

“See?” She sighed. “Fancy.”

“Being French isn’t fancy.”

“Eh, it totally is. Oui, oui, très fancy.” She waved her hand around, posturing.

Draco laughed.

“Do you speak French?” She asked.

“Oui.” He answered with a smirk.

“You are a catch.” She asserted. “You were right when you rained down on Millie, by the way. That troll has another thing coming if she thinks she’ll be able to bag an heir, acting like she is. No class whatsoever. Unlike you.”

“Stop it already with my class.” Draco rolled his eyes. “And aren’t you being contradictory calling her a troll while berating her for being unkind?”

Pan shrugged nonchalantly. “I do it behind her back. No harm done. That’s what she’s never understood. Pureblood politics, gotta be born into it.”

“I don’t like it, personally.” Draco sniffed.

She gave him a haughty look. “You think I do? Not particularly liking the part where I’m expected to act like the perfect lady , strangely enough.”

“What are you going to do about that?” Draco asked.

“Run away, probably. Are you?”

Draco frowned. “Going to run away?”

“Over being queer and unacceptable, therefore rejected and disowned by your family, yes.”

“You don’t know that.” Draco argued.

Pan snorted. “I have a fair guess as to how my father would react.”

“I don’t think my mother would disown me.” Draco said hopefully.

“No, I suppose not.” She mused, considering. “But then your problem is a huge crush on the Boy-Who-Lived. Very wise choice, as far as being gay goes.”

“It wasn’t a choice.” Draco muttered, annoyed at the reminder that yeah, kind of, he’d started out seeking Hal’s company as a strategic move. But that had very quickly changed!

“Aw.” She cooed. “You’re all in love.”

When Draco just pouted and looked down, she looked horrified.

“Wait, I was teasing.” She grabbed his arm. “You’re in love ?”

“I thought you’d reached that conclusion yourself already.” Draco said drily.

“I thought you had a crush .” Pan held up a hand, still bewildered. “ Like, I thought you’d grow out of it. That being starstruck by Harry Potter had been a trigger, but then you’d come to terms with liking boys at large and start looking around, and get over your first crush . Being in love in another kettle of Grindylows.”

“I’ve known I like boys since I was five.” Draco confessed. “Maybe not so consciously, but… I told my father I wanted to marry Felix Rosier when I was older and I got a belting for it.”

“Felix Rosier?” Pan repeated with distaste. “He’s old .”

“He’s only ten years or so older than us.” Draco noted. “At the time he was working an internship in a Fiery Creature Centre over the summer and he’d just received his letter for fifth year saying he’d made Prefect. It was cool. He was cool. I was – what was your word? Starstruck.”

“There’s no justice.” Pan sighed. “You should be the one people are starstruck over.”

“Why?” Draco frowned.

“You have a star name.” She grinned.

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was that a pun of some kind?”

“You love it.” She dismissed. “So, did you get over the lovely and impressive Felix?”

“Almost immediately.” Draco said. “My father was terrifying enough and I guess I felt silly after his intervention. And didn’t really think about all of that again for a long time, but… yeah, I guess I knew already.”

“Right.” Pansy looked at him thoughtfully. “So you’re in love with Harry Potter.”

“I… think so.” Draco resigned himself to admit.

“You’re twelve .” Pan threw her hands up in the air.

“Almost thirteen.” Draco sniffed.

“Oh, yeah.” She scoffed. “Huge difference.”

“You’re twelve and you know you want to transition.” He pointed out.

“It’s different.” She argued.

“How?” Draco challenged. “You know what will make you feel like you, and you know what will make you feel like you’re living a lie, you know you’ll be miserable if you stay a girl. Well, I know I’ll be miserable if I have to marry a girl.”

“That’s about being gay.” She noted. “Not about who you’re gay for.”

Draco took a deep breath, and told her the conclusion he’d reached himself only recently, if he was honest, through a few conversations with Tom and a lot of introspection.

“Every time I think about ‘getting over him’, about a possible future when I’m not close to him, I…” He put a hand over his chest. “It hurts.”

Pan looked at him for a long few minutes, a little frown on her face as if she was considering trying to talk him out of this nonsense. In the end, she shook her head slowly, and spoke almost kindly, almost sadly.

“Merlin help you.”

“Thanks, Pan, you’re a true friend.” He sneered.

But in truth, he was glad they could talk about these things. He couldn’t talk about it with anyone else, he’d even stopped talking to Tom about it, since he’d become clear they would never see eye to eye about these issues. Maybe it was because of the generational gap, after all, in Tom’s time it was very much likely even less of an acceptable thing to be queer, in any way shape or form. Draco wondered what he’d make of Pansy.

“So, do you plan on doing anything about it?” She asked.

“No.” Draco snorted. “Absolutely not. I do have some of my dignity left.”

“Is Harry gay?”

“I have no idea.” Draco said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t wondered that to the point of lying awake at night imagining what could be, sometimes. “I’m not going to come out and ask.”

“Well, people don’t necessarily know as early as you and me.” She shrugged. “I suppose you’ll find out when he starts showing interest in having any sex. Or in a lovely romance, whatever, don’t make that face.”

There was a pause, before she turned to face him, giving him a solemn look.

“I wanted to ask you if we could speak to Snape.” She blurted out.

“What?”

“He’s your godfather.” She exposed. “I thought you could… give me an in.”

“He’s your Head of House.” Draco reminded her. “You can talk to him at any point.”

“No, I can’t, not casually if it’s to ask for his opinions as a Potion Master about how to go about a sex change.”

“Oh.” Draco breathed.

“Yeah.” Pan looked at her (impeccably manicured) nails. “It’s not like I’m going to go to consult at St Mungo’s or go for any of the shady dealers in Knockturn or something, so… I thought maybe he could help. At least for information.”

“Sure.” Draco nodded. He had no idea if Severus knew anything at all about these things, but he certainly would be able to provide at least some moral support. He did feel very protective of his snakes. “Yeah, we can go talk to him when we’re back.”

“Unless you’ll think he’ll laugh at me.” Pan started to backtrack defensively.

“Of course he won’t.” Draco promised.

* *

*

After two days of steady, heavy rain – they had baked, played games, read books and watched TV, and it had been equally lovely – they finally woke up to glorious sunshine.

“We’re going to the lake!” Ley screamed, running up and down the cottage they had rented.

“Honey, it will be very cold.” His mother tried to temper his enthusiasm.

“I don’t care, I’m going in!” He pledged.

After much mayhem in preparing a picnic basket, they made their way to the shore and found a nice spot to sit down. Hal and Ley were out of their clothes and down to their swimsuits in seconds, running towards the lake like two young deer.

They both shrieked as soon as their toes touched the water.

“It’s so cold!” Ley shouted like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

She was about to say something sensible about hypothermia and going in slow, when Hal just went and shoved his cousin right in. Ley screamed and flailed and tried splashing him in retaliation, but Hal laughed and skipped out of reach.

“Harry James Potter!” Petunia called out sternly.

They didn’t know if there were sharp stones under the surface, that could have been dangerous, besides the coldness of the water – and Ley was coming out shivering and already slightly blue.

“Don’t you start behaving like that time in Cornwall.” She warned. Those holidays still gave her chills. The boys, then aged seven, had been unmanageable. “Because you know what happened then.” Hal had ended up grounded for a week. Ley for two.

Hal opened his mouth, presumably to attempt an answer, but he was interrupted by a high-pitched scream of “MOMMY!” that had all of them turn around in alarm. Nobody seemed to be injured or drowning, but a little girl of about eight looked like she was going to faint, staring with wide eyes and an open mouth in their direction.

A woman joined her, her mother in all likelihood, and the child started shaking her arm frenetically.

“It’s Harry Potter.” She whispered, though loud enough for them to hear from where they were. “It’s Harry Potter, it’s Harry Potter, it’s Harry Potter.”

“Oh Merlin.” The mother replied, equally eloquently. “Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin.”

“Hi.” Hal gave them an awkward wave.

They both looked about ready to combust. Under the pretence of walking over to wrap a towel around her son, Petunia came protectively closer to Hal, smiling politely at the two witches (they had to be). Although, the mother pulled a mobile phone out of her pocket, and turned around to have an excited conversation with whoever she called.

The little girl was still staring, but Hal and Ley went back to their games – essentially wading knee-high into the cold water and splashing each other. Actually probably splashing themselves more than each other in a bid to escape the other, which rendered the whole game all the more idiotic, but Petunia couldn’t help but smile as she watched them, holding the towel Ley had thrown back at her.

After fifteen minutes or so, their gawpers were joined by a man and a boy maybe a couple years younger than Hal and Ley were.

“Oh dear.” The man took his turn of staring at Hal. “It really is him.”

“Can I ask for an autograph?” The boy asked his mother, jumping up and down, probably in what he thought was a quiet voice. Petunia, and even Hal from the water, heard him loud and clear.

“Oh, dear, I’m not sure that-”

“It’s okay.” Hal stepped forward, saving them the agony.

Petunia handed Ley his towel back, and gave one to Hal, who ran it over his head – his hair was somehow dripping wet, even if an entire one of his arms was still completely dry. And he dragged it down, it pushed his hair to the side, half plastered across his forehead, leaving a rare and clear view of his scar.

The jaws of the entire family watching them dropped, a shine in their eyes like this was the best thing they had ever seen in their life to date. Self-conscious, Hal brushed his hair back over it, but he carried on walking up to them anyway.

“So, hum.” He stopped at a reasonable distance, as they all looked to varying degrees like their would very much reach out and touch him if they could. “What would you like me to…”

The mother pulled a Lake Windermere guide book out of her bag and handed it out to him, quickly followed by a pen.

“We’re the Lowes.” The father said. “Patrick, Sarah, and these rascals are Louise and Thomas.”

Hal diligently scribbled inside the cover, To the Lowe family – Best to Louise and Thomas, Patrick and Sarah from Harry Potter .

“Can we take a picture!” Louise screamed, louder than she had excepted going by how she then clasped both hands over her mouth.

Hal laughed at her enthusiasm. He was still finding the whole thing very weird, but it was also kind of nice that people were so happy to see him.

“Sure.” He said.

“Wait, no.” Petunia intervened. “Put your clothes back on.”

She wasn’t about to let strangers take some pictures with her half-naked pre-teen of a nephew. Especially not with the cult following he seemed to have in his world.

“Oh, yeah.” Hal complied, dashing back to their little camp. It only took him a minute so slip back into his jeans and t-shirt, and we skipped back still barefoot to where his admirers stood.

“This is so amazing.” Sarah whispered in awe. “We thought we might get to meet you in King’s Cross, when Thomas goes to Hogwarts, but… This is so amazing.” She repeated.

“I hope I’m in Gryffindor like you!” Thomas said enthusiastically.

“All the Houses are good.” Hal tried to temper. “I’ve got friends in all of them.”

It was a little of an exaggeration when it came to Hufflepuff, where he was friendly as best with a couple of them, and probably even more when it came to Slytherin although he could distantly count Pan and Blaise. He wasn’t sure what to make of either of them yet, if he was honest. But anyway, the kid didn’t need to know that.

“I’m not going to Hogwarts.” Louise piped up.

“You don’t know, sweetie.” Her father patted her head. “You might get a letter still. I’m a Muggle.” He turned to Hal to explain. “Sarah’s the magical one. But I am quite taken with it all too!” He laughed.

“Thomas manifested when he was five.” Sarah carried on. “But Louise hasn’t yet.”

“That’s because maybe I’m not a witch, like dad.” Louise said. It didn’t seem to bother her that much.

“No, I’m not a witch.” Patrick confirmed, tongue-in-cheek.

They all posed for the photo, big grins and thumbs up.

“We are so grateful to you.” Sarah squeezed Hal’s hand when they were done, and it was clear she didn’t just mean for the picture. “Things would have been so different if you hadn’t put an end to the war.”

Hal wanted to say he hadn’t done f*ck all, but it seemed a bit rude in the circ*mstances. He didn’t want to burst their bubble.

“She resisted me for a long time, you know.” Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “Said it was too dangerous to marry me.”

“It was!” Sarah cried, clearly an old argument. “Anyway.” She smiled back at Hal. “Thank you.”

“That’s alright.” He mumbled, slightly uncomfortable.

He was reminded of Colin. Did families like his, like this one in front of them, really only exist thanks to him? He hoped not. He hoped, if he hadn’t destroyed Voldemort in a fluke, that people like his parents and the resistance they were part of would have fought him back and won.

The Lowes eventually continued on what had been a family walk along the lake, turning about five times to wave back at Hal, until they were too far.

“You know, the worst part about all this?” Ley commented. “Is I can’t tell anyone about this. I can’t boast to my friends that my cousin is a celebrity .”

“Your life is so hard.” Hal teased drily.

“I know.” Ley sighed dramatically. “You’ll just have to do something worthwhile in this world too so I can get some of the glory.”

“Sure.” Hal nodded. “Just point me in the direction of the next psychopath you find.” He then spotted his aunt’s face. “I’m joking.” He assured her. “No dangerous situations, promise.”

“In your school, where people are currently getting petrified by an unidentified monster, that seems likely.” Ley scoffed.

Hal considered that for a moment. “No seeking out dangerous situations.” He amended.

“Let’s just have lunch.” Petunia sighed.

* *

*

Pan was so intense in trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous, she was stressing Draco out.

“Relax.” He told her for the fifth time, feeling his voice bordering on hysterical.

“I’m relaxed.” She retorted. “You relax.”

“He’s not going to laugh at you.” Draco reiterated. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He knocked on Sev’s office door before Pan could find another excuse to delay him. She did look like she wanted to grab his arm and run, but she schooled herself.

“Draco.” His godfather smiled pleasantly when he opened the door and saw him. “And Miss Parkinson, hello.”

“Pansy had something to ask you.” Draco dumped her right in it. “If you have a moment to talk?”

“Of course.” Severus stepped aside to let them in.

Pan dropped sullenly onto a chair, as if she had been the one to get called for a telling off.

“It’s a personal matter.” Draco continued preparing the grounds for her. “And a little… sensitive.”

“I always keep my students’ confidence unless they are a danger to themselves or others.” Severus pledged.

They both sat, and looked at Pansy, waiting for her to speak. After a couple of minutes she sighed, straightened up, and gestured at herself.

“I don’t think this is… me.” She said. “For a long time now, I’ve felt like… There’s been a mistake. I was given the wrong body. A girl body.” She added, almost in a whisper.

Understanding dawned, clear on the Professor’s features. But to his credit, beyond that, he didn’t display surprise, or as Pan had feared, either amusem*nt or disgust. He remained very serious, giving her his full attention.

“I thought of coming to you.” She continued. “Because… Because I’d like to change it. And I know there’s potions and I thought you might know something about that.”

“There are potions.” Severus confirmed carefully. “It’s a commitment. You’d have to start taking them, well, pretty soon, the ideal start for the therapy is at the time of…”

He stopped himself, discretely embarrassed.

“My first period.” Pan supplemented. “Yes, I’ve read that. I’ve not had that yet.”

Draco had the distinct feeling he shouldn’t be there for this conversation, but he Pan wanted him there, he would support her. She had a nervous laugh as she added.

“I’m terrified. I know it could happen any day. It’s such a f*cking travesty. Oh, sorry Professor.”

Severus kindly let that one slide, and he resumed his explanation.

“If this is something you want, then you are looking at perfect timing.” He commended. “But the potions need to be taken every week for at least five years, throughout puberty, for a smooth and safe transition.”

“I can be committed.” Pan said determinedly. “This isn’t… I’ve thought a lot about it already. I know I want it. I know I’m not a girl, even if I look like one.”

“Then, under proper supervision, which can be my own, it is a fairly straightforward process.” Sev concluded reassuringly. “You may have heard of more invasive approaches, there are spells as well, but these are usually only required for fully grown adults. There is no need to take the risk if starting at a young age.”

“Oh.” Pan let out a sigh of relief. “So it’s… as simple as that?”

“I wouldn’t say this is simple.” Severus moderated in a warning tone. “The potions are one thing, which has to be done right, rigorously, for the next several years. But there are more aspects than the purely chemical to any transition. You will have to think about how you change your behaviour, your social attitudes, you will have to deal with the perception others have of you. It can put a stress on your state of mind, on your relationship with others. This is a life-changing decision, which is often considered much too big to be made by a child your age. As far as I am concerned, you are the best placed to know, but I will ask you this. Are your parents aware of this? Whether your feelings about your gender identity or your decision to transition.”

Pan looked down. “No.” She admitted.

Sev nodded, like he’d never expected her to say yes. “I understand this can be difficult to talk about.” He said. “I know this is still considered taboo, especially in Pureblood circles.”

His gaze skipped to Draco, only fleetingly, but in that moment Draco had the clear impression his godfather just knew something similar was up with him. He did know about the Felix Rosier story. He’d probably put two and two together. And strangely, probably due to the fact he could see how Severus was handling this with Pan, he found that he didn’t mind. He felt like this was a safe zone, like he wouldn’t be judged for his orientation.

“I am willing to help you.” Sev was telling Pansy. “But I want you to come our first.”

“To…” She hesitated. “To my parents?”

“At the very least.” Severus confirmed. “They will be your best support if they accept this.”

“And if they don’t?” Pan scoffed, clearly expecting that was the most likely outcome.

“Then I will still help you.” Severus committed. “Potion-based transition has been proven to be the safest method, especially if started early, and because of that there are dispensations under which you can consent to it yourself from the age of thirteen, even without the approval of a parent or guardian. As an accredited Potion Master I can administer the treatment, but we do have to make an application to the Ministry so I can do this legally. You will need to provide two character-reference from people close to you – this can be friends or family – and have a guarantor for the supervision of the treatment – this can be me, if…”

“If my parents disinherit me and hate me for ever, got it.” Pan completed.

“I would advise coming our to your friends as well.” Sev added. “Obviously you have told Draco…”

“He’s the only who knows.” Pan quickly confirmed.

“Right.” He seemed to be making mental notes. “Telling people, before committing to starting the treatment, is a way to gauge their reactions. It will give you a better idea of the support network you can expect to count on during your transition, and if you find you cannot deal with it, it might make you reconsider.”

“I won’t change my mind.” Pan said fiercely. “Especially not in the event some tw- some idiots can’t be open-minded enough to accept this is who I am.”

Draco felt quite proud of her, in that moment.

“A good start.” Sev smiled at her. “Are you open to my conditions?”

“Yes.”She sighed. “I will speak to my parents. And friends. I’ll let you know.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, once again affecting a careless demeanour. Severus seemed to be satisfied enough, as he nodded solemnly.

“Then I will speak to you soon, Mister Parkinson.”

Pan’s moody air disappeared as quickly as smoke in a strong wind, and she stared at her Professor, mouth hanging open, like he’d just given her – him? Did Draco need to start thinking of her as him? – the best gift he could ever have given.

Chapter 11: May

Chapter Text

Ron had apparently appointed himself Hal’s breakfast coach on match days, and was lining up everything he thought he should be eating for maximum energy and flying performance, without weighing him down, while Had shook his head at him, amused. He complied and drank his kiwi juice, ate his brown toast with egg and beans, but Ron couldn’t stop him from snatching a few bites of blueberry pancake to top it up.

“This is not-” Ron started with a frown.

“Good talk.” Hal interrupted with a grin. “Let’s have it again when I’m a professional Quidditch player and you’re a professional nutritionist.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but he dropped it. Instead, he turned to Draco.

“You should do the same, you know.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m only reserve. It’s not like I’m going to play.”

He was still wearing his gear, because you never knew, and he had to sit on the bench anyway so he had to look the part, but it was extremely rare for something so drastic to happen that a player couldn’t continue and had to be swapped.

Hal patted his shoulder encouragingly – he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to play against Draco, or avoid it at all costs, but he was content with not having to find out for now – and sprung off the bench, colliding with two Hufflepuffs who were coming down the aisle between their tables.

“Oh, sorry.” Hal said immediately.

They both gave him a look of absolute terror, and ran off promptly, glancing behind them as if to check he wasn’t following or drawing his wand on them.

Hal’s face clouded over instantly, his previous happy mood clearly soured.

“For f*ck’s sake.” Anthony sighed on his behalf. “Really? Still? Can’t people drop this stupid Heir theory already?”

“I remember them from the Duelling Club.” Neville mused. “They were right behind to us.”

“What do they think I’m going to do?” Hal muttered angrily. “Set a snake on them or something?”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but then her mouth just hanged open, not a sound coming out, her eyes widening.

“A snake.” She breathed after a moment.

“Yeah?” Hal frowned.

“Is she having a stroke?” Draco asked.

“I need to check something!” She said as she started running.

Towards the library, no surprise there.

“Okay…” Hal raised a brow. “Well, she knows where to find us. I’m off, see you guys in a bit.”

“Break a leg.” Neville. “Well. Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Hal snorted, and dashed off. The rest of them finished their breakfast before joining the flow of students heading for the Quidditch pitch.

The atmosphere for Ravenclaw games always seemed to be less intense than it was when other teams were playing each other, like they were more interested in the theory of the game than in actually winning it. It reminded Hal from that sketch from the Monty Python he and Ley loved, with the philosophers playing football.

It didn’t seem to do anything to lessen Oliver’s intensity, but it did mean the rest of the team tended to look at each other and try not to laugh during his speech, rather than nod gravely and run through tactics in their heads. Not that the Ravenclaws weren’t a threat – but the style of play was always more relaxed, and less prone to injury than playing Slytherin or even Hufflepuff (who had a competitive streak a mile long rooted in not wanting to disappoint each other). It made Oliver’s Independence Day style sound even more over the top.

“Harry.” The Captain turned to him just before they got on. “Jatin Agarkar.”

“Yes?” Hal raised a brow.

He knew his opposite number’s name, how could he not, Ollie had made him study him, from a lot of little diagrams of moving stick figures he’d drawn for him.

“You’ve never played against him as he was injured last year when we played Ravenclaw.”

Hal winced. He’d had other things on his mind for that game too, even if Jatin had been playing. Namely, staying alive and not getting thrown off his cursed broom.

“But he’s good.” Oliver carried on, oblivious of Hal’s discomfort at the memory. “So you watch out, alright?”

“Don’t let the Seeker on the other team catch the Snitch.” Hal nodded, tongue-in-cheek. “Got it.”

Oliver gave him a look, and Hal was pretty sure Fred and George snorted behind them, but nothing else was said as Lee announced the team and they flew out to the pitch.

The weather was beautiful, for once, but that soon proved to be a disadvantage for Ollie, and whichever of the players faced the same direction, as they had to shield their eyes from the sun. Hal wasted a little time getting distracted by a lot of shiny things reflecting the sunlight, but he soon found himself registering the position of each of those glints in the crowd, and after a short time of adjusting, he saw a flash that broke the pattern.

He flew almost lazily towards it to explore what it was, not expecting to find the Snitch this early in the game but still not wanting to attract Agarkar’s attention. He thought it might be one of those birds that Luna was talking about the other day, a Golden Minla, which unlike their duller “Muggle” cousins had proper shiny gold feathers all over their bodies. Hal still wasn’t sure whether they existed or not (if they did, they more than likely had been magically-modified, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that). The species wasn’t exactly native to Britain, but according to Luna, they had been introduced to Ireland and Scotland by pirates. Yes, pirates.

And that was how he very randomly caught the Snitch before a single goal had even been attempted.

* *

*

The team hadn’t even bothered to get changed, for the amount of sweat that had been produced, and went straight to celebrating in the common room in full gear, carrying Hal on their shoulders and chanting the whole way back to the castle.

Draco volunteered to go and find Hermione, who hadn’t had a chance to join them at the stadium, but then she’d probably have expected them to be down there for a good few hours. He ran into her on his way to the library.

“There you are! You missed the whole game, it’s over already, Hal caught the Snitch in under fifteen minutes! It’s not a record in professional Quidditch, but I think it may be in Hogwarts history. Even Anthony can’t manage to be mad at him for losing us the Cup.”

She barely seemed to hear it – Draco did not expect her to be amazed by the feat, she didn’t seem to care enough about the rules and running of a Quidditch game for that, but he thought at least she’d be happy Gryffindor had won, if only for Hal. But she clearly had other things on her mind, and was practically vibrating with it.

“I know what’s in the Chamber of Secrets!” She told him excitedly. “And I may know where to find it too!”

“Are you serious?” Draco breathed out, his mind boggling.

“Get the others.” She injuncted. “Meet me back in library. I just need to check one last thing.”

And she ran off again, leaving Draco completely astonished. He shook himself, and set out to get the rest of their friends. He didn’t think it would be that hard to drag them away from celebrating their Quidditch win, once he’d told them what Hermione had found out.

He was right – they all reacted like they’d been hit by a stinging hex and left the common room like a dragon was after them, Hal still in his kit, which caused Pince to almost throw him out. She only let him in after confirming, upon a very close and uncomfortable inspection, that there was no mud to be found anywhere on his person.

They waited for Hermione at the table she usually favoured – right at the back, so it was often free, but beneath a big window so there was a lot of light, and with an empty shelf above it for piling on additional books.

After ten minutes, Draco (who looked like he had a wasp up his arse) left to look for her. When he didn’t come back after another ten, and Hermione hadn’t shown either, they started to worry. They waited another five minutes, before Neville went to see if he could find either of them.

He didn’t come back either. McGonagall appeared instead, looking distraught.

“Please come with me.” She told them.

They frowned at each other, but none of them wanted to be the first to ask what was going on, and they got up to follow. As they walked through the library, they saw Pince and two seven years (one of which Hal recognised as the Gryffindor Head Girl) gather students with whispered instructions.

“Thank you, Irma.” McGonagall told the librarian as they walked past. “I am taking these three to my office first and I’ll escort them back.”

Hal, Ron and Anthony exchanged another confused look, reflecting the one they could see on the other kids’ faces.

“Something’s happened.” Anthony whispered.

It was stating the obvious, and it made them feel exactly 0% better for someone to say it out loud. It fact, it seemed to solidify the dread Hal could feel in the pit of his stomach. Because if another attack had happened, in the span of time where three of their friends were away, and McGonagall was taking the rest of them personally to her office? He could put two and two together.

When they got to the Head of House’s office, and found Draco and Neville sitting there – Draco looking paler than a ghost, and Neville quietly crying – they all reached the same conclusion.

“There’s been another attack.” McGonagall confirmed as they sat down by their friends’ side.

“Hermione.” Hal breathed.

“I am afraid so, as Mister Potter has guessed.” McGonagall continued sombrely. “Miss Granger was found petrified a short while ago, as well as Miss Clearwater from Ravenclaw.”

She gave them half a minute to absorb the news, before she explained that they were putting new measures in place, whereby students would be escorted by members of the faculty between classes, and a curfew would be imposed.

“Can we see her?” Hal asked, interrupting her as she said she would take them back to their common rooms.

McGonagall seemed to hesitate, looking at the five of them, but in the end she sighed.

“Briefly. I will accompany you.”

She walked them to the infirmary, and while Madam Pomfrey frowned at seeing the group of them, she let them in for “five minutes, no more”. McGonagall stood back to speak to the matron, or maybe give them some privacy as they huddled up around Hermione’s bed.

She had a shocked look on her face, her hand stretched out as if she’d been holding something in front of her face. Anthony spotted a round pocket mirror on the bedside table, and when he tried, it fit perfectly between her frozen fingers.

“We need to find out what she found out.” Anthony whispered.

“Look where that got her.” Neville sniffed – he was crying again.

The rest of them weren’t faring better, Anthony clearly on the verge of it, Ron looking sick, Hal feeling like his head was spinning and Draco – well, if he got any paler, he would be transparent.

“I don’t see anyone else doing anything to figure this out or stop it.” Anthony insisted angrily, still in a hushed voice. He brushed furiously at his eyes, and his voice broke when he added: “She’s so cold.”

Ron grabbed him in an awkward one-arm hug. “She’ll be okay.” He said in a tone that clearly told he was also trying to convince himself. “She’ll be okay.”

They had to go as their five minutes were up, and Pomfrey gently showed them the door. McGonagall escorted them back to the Ravenclaw common room first, dropping off Anthony and Draco, then to Gryffindor. The mood in the common room was subdued, the few groups of scattered students who were still around having clearly heard the news. They shot Neville, Ron and Hal looks between pity and encouragement, and the three of them didn’t have to discuss it or even look at each other to decide they’d rather go upstairs.

After they’d gone back to the dormitory, Hal isolated himself in the bathroom and phoned his aunt.

“Hi, darling.” She picked up, sounding happy to hear him.

Hal hadn’t called in weeks, and now he felt like the worst son in the world, as he’d only called thinking of himself, because he needed to hear her voice and feel as close to a hug as he possibly could. He burst into tears.

“What’s up?” She immediately asked, now distressed.

She knew about the previous attacks – all parents and guardians had had to be informed by the school, and Hal had told her too, although downplaying it a bit – and that was probably the only reason she could make any sense of the hiccuped, drowned explanation Hal tried to give her for his current state.

Hal realised himself that maybe he himself hadn’t taken the events very seriously, until now, but the fact that it was Hermione...

“I’m scared.” He confessed in a sob. “What if she never wakes up?”

Petunia had been making the appropriate soft, comforting sounds as he spoke, but she paused at this.

“Oh, darling.” She sighed after a moment. “I wish I could promise you everything will be alright.”

“I know.” Hal sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, my Hal.” She told him. And after another pause: “Do you want to come home?”

“What?” Hal started.

He hadn’t been expecting that. The summer holidays weren’t for another two months almost, and it hadn’t even entered his mind to go home any sooner, if he was honest. Now he thought about it… would there be talk about closing the school again, like Blaise had said happened fifty years back?

“I can write to your headmaster.” His aunt added.

“I… No.” Hal answered after a moment’s hesitation. “I should stay. There’s my friends. Classes. Exams.” He added unconvincingly.

She seemed to understand anyway. “Okay.” She said softly. “You know if you change your mind, you can just call me, alright?”

“I know.” He nodded, though she wouldn’t see that.

“And, Hal, darling.” She added, in her best parenting voice. “You know it’s not your job to fix this, don’t you?”

“I know.” He repeated.

“Uh-uh.” She insisted. “Did you know that last year when your risked your life to catch the bad guy?”

She knew him too well. Hal realised he’d remained silent for too long when she sighed.

“Yes!” He hurried to answer. “I mean, maybe I misjudged things back then. But I know.”

“Promise me?” She asked.

“I promise I won’t try to fix this myself.” He promised.

He meant it. He liked a mystery and an adventure, sure, but these had become slightly more real in the magical world. He didn’t particularly fancy another near-death experience, and he certainly had no intention of endangering his friends again – looking back, he had no idea what he had been thinking the previous year.

Well, no, he knew. He had taken it personally after Quirrell had pushed him down the stairs and he’d gone after him in anger. But he realised it had been reckless, and he could have gotten someone (besides himself) seriously hurt, and he wasn’t going to do that again, especially after what had just happened to Hermione.

“Okay.” He could hear the smile in his aunt’s voice, and she sounded satisfied with his promise. “You stay safe, darling.”

“I will.” Hal said.

I’ll try, he meant. Trouble did have a tendency of finding him, and there wasn’t much he could do about that.

* *

*

They met up in Anthony and Draco’s room. For one, they were all sick to death of the pitying looks they got from the rest of the House when they gathered in the Gryffindor common room, always leaving a space where Hermione would have been sat, but they also thought discussions about some serious detective work, as Anthony had determined they should do, was better kept out of earshot of potential eavesdroppers. It was dinner time, but none of them really felt hungry, so they sat cross-legged on the boys’ beds, an assortment of snacks and sweets between them.

“Alright.” Anthony was clearly taking the lead for this. He had a parchment and quill and everything. “Draco – you said she told you she knew what was in the Chamber, and maybe where to find it.”

He wrote, in the middle of the page, WHAT – WHERE.

“Yeah.” Draco nodded. “They she ran off again, saying she needed to check one last thing.”

Anthony drew a downward arrow underneath WHERE.

“What direction?” He asked.

Second floor, he wrote at the end of the arrow when Draco said as much. That was all he had.

“Right, we’ll have to see if she was checking for the entrance somehow. Or clues.”

They were all aware the second floor was where the bloody inscription was, which all the school’s staff efforts (and some of the students’) hadn’t managed to get off the wall.

“Let’s retrace what we know of her epiphany before that.” Anthony carried on.

He drew an upward arrow above WHAT.

“She went to the library.” Neville said.

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.” Anthony said with a faint smile, though he wrote Library. “She’s always there.”

“We could look at the registry to see what books she checked out.” Ron suggested.

“I don’t think she would have checked them out, she was only there, what, twenty minutes?” Draco pointed out. “And she didn’t have books on her after the game.”

“Let’s go back further.” Anthony pressed on methodically. “What happened before she ran off?”

“We were just having breakfast.” Ron frowned, clearly racking his brain. “Then Hal left for the game…”

“Snake!” Hal cried out, jumping off the bed and startling everyone. “I bumped into those two Hufflepuffs and we talked about the Duelling club, and the snakes – she – it’s a snake!”

“What’s a snake?” Someone said, didn’t really matter who as they were all frowning at him like he’d lost it.

“The creature!” Hal could barely contain his excitement. “I said – ‘Do they think I’ll set a snake on them or something’ – it makes sense!”

“Sorry mate, but…” Ron started.

“No, wait.” Anthony was catching up. “A secret room only the Heir of Slytherin can open and a creature only he can control.”

“Parseltongue.” Draco realised as well.

“And I’ve heard it!” Hal added, almost hysterical by now.

He had heard it – the realisation then dropped heavily in his stomach. He had heard it back before Halloween. He’d known about the Parsletongue since December. What if we could have solved this months ago, prevented other attacks?

Draco noticed he’d paled considerably.

“Hal, no, don’t go there.” He understood immediately. “There was nothing obvious about this. You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s still not obvious to me.” Neville said shyly.

Ron was the one who jumped in to go over the pieces of the puzzle.

“Hermione reacted to the idea that Hal could set a snake on people, because of the Parseltongue. Slytherin famously was a Parselmouth, and presumably his descendants would be. If he designed the Chamber of Secrets so that only his Heir could open, with a beast inside it that only his Heir could control, it would be quite smart to make the key to the Chamber the language that is passed down within a bloodline and is super rare. Plus, the snake was like, his mascot, so that fits too. And the creepy whispers that Hal heard? He was the only one who could hear them, or at least understand them, because it was snake speech.”

“It did happen before an attack each time.” Hal said glumly.

“But…” Neville frowned. “A snake that petrifies people? I mean, I’m not a specialist, but I’ve never heard of a creature like that.”

“Well…” Ron started again, then stopped. “Yeah, no, I’ve got nothing actually.”

He turned back to Hal, who shrugged helplessly – he wasn’t going to be the reference in magical creatures, he’d only started finding out about this stuff a year and a half ago – and then to Anthony and Draco. The two exchanged a look.

“Library.” They said together.

Hal held Draco back by grabbing his arm as he got up.

“They won’t let us in at this time, with the new curfew.”

There was a selection of books in the Ravenclaw common room (and by selection, we mean all shelves on the walls were covered in them), but a lot of it was fiction or outdated schools books and the rest would be too random to find what they wanted.

“Alright, next best thing.” Anthony stood up as Draco sat back down. “I’ll get Rolf.”

He came back a few minutes later with his cousin, who looked at the lot of them and smiled and sighed at the same time.

“Alright, what kind of crazy did you uncover this time?” He enquired fondly.

“Have you ever heard of a snake, or snake-like creature, that can petrify people?” Hal asked without preamble.

Rolf immediately connected the dots, and his brow furrowed.

“You think the attacks could be from a snake?”

“It’s a theory.” Hal dismissed, though it probably wouldn’t be much of a leap for Rolf to assume it has something to do with the fact Hal could in fact speak to snakes. “So?”

Rolf took a moment to think, before he said. “Not really. I mean, of course some venoms can cause paralysis, but there were no signs of that on the petrified people, bite marks or otherwise, and they’ve already tried all the antidotes they could think of – I know, because they asked my grandad to consult. Also, it wouldn’t explain the ghost. A lot of magical snakes are good, actually, they are associated with fertility and water… Even when they’re venomous, they’re usually a precious resource for potions. Lindworms are said to enhance intellectual capacities. There’s Fiery Serpents who aren’t very nice, but those make you mad… I suppose there are monsters like the Basilisk, who can kill you when you look into their eyes, but that’s, well, death.”

He seemed to reflect upon what he’d just said.

“Although…” He mused, brows still knit together.

“What?” Anthony nudged him when he stayed silent, lost in thought.

“Well.” Rolf said carefully. “None of the victims may have met the creature’s eyes directly. Colin Creevey had his camera in front of his face. Justin would have seen it though the Gryffindor ghost, and he’s, well, already dead. Hermione and Penelope had a mirror.”

“What about the cat?” Anthony asked.

“Water on the floor.” Hal remembered.

“Oh my god.” Anthony breathed out. “It’s a Basilisk.”

They all looked at each other in shocked silence for a minute, before Rolf suggested they speak to a teacher.

“I agree.” Hal said, earning himself a slightly surprised look from Ron. “Though I’m not sure what they’re going to be able to do.”

“They might ask you to help them search for the Chamber.” Rolf said hesitantly.

“Me?” Hal frowned. “Why?”

“You can understand it?” Rolf stated like he was talking to a small child. “I assume that’s how you guys reached the conclusion it could be a snake.”

Their silence was enough of a confirmation.

“Who do we speak to?” Neville asked. “The logical teacher would be DADA, I suppose, but I think we can all agree that in this case it’ll be our very last choice.”

“I think we should go straight to Dumbledore.” Anthony said.

“I agree.” Hal said, though he didn’t particularly rate the man. But he was the headmaster, and this could hardly get more important.

“It’s too late today.” Anthony determined. “Let’s try him tomorrow at breakfast, he’s usually there.”

They all agreed, and the three Gryffindors went down to the common room, touching a plaque at the entrance that indicated they needed to be escorted through the corridors. Each member of staff in the school had a wristband charmed to receive and answer the calls – just like a paging system. Draco (who had just looked at Hal in confusion when he’d mentioned paging systems) had said it was a rather clever version of a Protean charm, which was really interesting magic in the first place, but had then fallen silent and not explained it further after stating Hermione probably would have loved it.

They only had to wait a few minutes for Professor Flitwitck to appear, and he took them – along with two Hufflepuff and a Slytherin that also had been visiting Ravenclaw friends – back to their respective common rooms. They went to bed almost straight away, though nobody could find sleep for quite a while.

* *

*

The next morning at breakfast, Dumbledore wasn’t there, but a quick survey around them revealed he’d gone down to Hagrid’s hut. The Minister of Magic was there, apparently.

“Fudge?” Ron frowned, and Hal had to stop himself from snorting out loud, because that was a ridiculous name if he’d ever heard one. “What’s he doing here?”

“They’re going to pin this on Hagrid again.” Hal guessed.

“Well, maybe we can still stop them.” Neville said. “Come on. There’s still time before our first class.”

As all the attacks had occurred in corridors and it was pretty certain whatever was responsible was inside the school, they didn’t have to be escorted outdoors as long as there was some daylight – not that they were allowed outside the castle after dark at all – so they all scrambled to get across the grounds to Hagrid’s cottage. From a distance, they could see Hagrid, Dumbledore and two other men standing outside the house – either they were about to go, or they’d found it too cramped inside.

Hal had never seen the Minister of Magic, but he had imagined him to be a magical version of Tony Blair, with what Draco called ‘formal robes’ rather than a suit and tie, maybe. When he saw him, he realised he looked just as impressive as his name sounded.

The robes bore some faraway resemblance to a suit, which probably would have been more obvious if they had been black or navy like a normal person, and if he was wearing a tie instead of what looked like a big silk ribbon tied in an intricate knot. His bowler hat in particular, a shocking shade of green to match the rest, made him look like he was trying to dress up as the Wizard of Oz.

The other wizard accompanying him, a mousy-looking fellow with a clipboard, apparently doubled as a bodyguard beside his secretarial duties, as he pointed his wand at them when they approached.

“Who goes here?” He demanded imperiously.

“We’re just kids.” Anthony stated, making a suitably unimpressed face.

“The Minister does not have time for kids.” The man said, stressing the words with adequate respect or disgust, respectively.

“Well, good.” Draco drawled, in his best and poshest I am the Malfoy Heir and you are dirt on my outrageously expensive dragon-hide shoes voice. “Because we are not here for him. We would like to talk to our Headmaster.”

To Draco’s credit, it wasn’t just show, as Secretary-Bodyguard seemed to recognise him – Hal had learnt that, in spite of Lucius Malfoy’s untimely demise, the Malfoy House still had a foot in the Ministry by way of regular and rather substantial sponsorship donations to strategic departments. Should Draco want it, his career in politics would be there waiting for him, it had pretty much been launched the minute he was born.

“He’s in a meeting.” Secretary-Bodyguard said more mildly.

“It’s important.” Hal intervened.

And the man recognised him, too. Faced with the double front of status and celebrity, he fidgeted from one foot to the next and finally decided to turn around and politely interrupt the three other wizards’ conversation.

“Minister, I do apologise.” The man almost bowed to Fudge. “Harry Potter and Lord Malfoy are seeking to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore.”

The others’ presence, let alone their names, was clearly too insignificant to even mention.

“Lord?” Anthony whispered to Draco. “Seriously?”

“Technically.” Draco shrugged. “Only imbeciles still use the titles, though. It’s very… Muggle-ish, nowadays, to insist on it. Any remaining statuses of nobility have nothing over blood status, that’s what matters most. Like, people won’t care that you’re a Count, if you married a Muggle.”

“I’m having a vision of the future.” Ron commented. “That this will be exactly Percy in a few years.”

“Harry Potter!” Fudge exclaimed jovially, turning away from Hagrid (who looked very upset) and Dumbledore (who was trying to comfort him). “What a pleasure to meet you, my boy.” He strode over to Hal and shook his hand, giving Draco a little nod and otherwise ignoring all the others. “Congratulations, of course. And how are you finding Hogwarts?”

“Bit murderous, at the moment, I have to say.” Hal did his best not to sound too snarky.

“Of course, of course.” Fudge nodded gravely. “This is why I am here on official business, you children will be quite safe. Nothing to worry about.”

“Unless you have the wrong culprit again, of course.” Hal noted, seemingly innocently.

“Just as I was saying, Cornelius.” Dumbledore spoke, having walked a few steps forward as well.

“I understand that this is not a single permanent solution.” Fudge sighed, clearly repeating something he’d already put forward in the conversation they’d been having. “Nor is it a conviction, Rubeus. But it is a necessary precaution, and one that will put the public minds at rest.”

“Where will Hagrid go, Sir?” Neville asked.

“Well.” Fudge looked uncomfortable. “We have to proceed with incarceration, but…”

“You’re sending him to Azkaban?!” Neville cried out, horrified.

“But that’s unfair!” Ron seconded.

“Now, now, children…”

“As I suggested, Cornelius.” Dumbledore took advantage, almost smiling. “I am more than happy to place Rubeus under house arrest, I can guarantee you my wards will be most secure.”

“With all due respect, Albus.” Fudge replied drily. “Your school is warded, and it hasn’t been most secure, of late. The governors have been writing me! The public!”

“The public, in this case, is akin to a mob with pitchforks looking for a scapegoat.” Dumbledore pointed out, calmly, though his voice had done a few notches colder.

“It’s also a little bit harder when the threat is already inside the wards.” Anthony piped up.

“There is no proof of that.” Secretary-Bodyguard said snottily. “This Chamber of Secrets is a ridiculous bedtime story, which…”

“Actually-” Hal started, but Draco stomped on his foot. They were here to talk to Dumbledore, not to the Minister and his goose of an aide.

“That’s quite enough.” Fudge intervened.

He cast an uncertain look towards Hal, as if the approval of Harry Potter was required to determine his next course of action.

“I can compromise by holding Mister Hagrid in the cells within the Ministry. We shall see if there are any further attacks – which I dearly hope there won’t be – before deciding on our next course of action. But Albus, you should know…”

He looked at the children again. They were busy looking innocent and pretending that ‘Mister Hagrid’ wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d every heard.

“I will owl you.” He concluded. “Rubeus, if you would please come with us. Albus guaranteed there was no need to involve the DMLA, I do hope you will not prove him wrong now.”

“Ay, I’ll come.” Hagrid said resignedly. “Thank yer, kids. Ye be safe, arite?”

They all nodded, and watched as he gathered a small bag, making comments about hoping someone would feed his dog (Neville almost raised his hand, Draco stopped him, muttering something about jinxing yourself in the foot and house elves). After a few minutes of getting ready, unable to postpone it any longer, he followed Fudge and his diligent assistant off the grounds.

“A timely intervention.” Dumbledore commented when they were gone. “My word alone wasn’t quite enough to sway dear Cornelius. I was very worried for Hagrid, so I will second his thanks. The cells at the Ministry are terribly deary, but at least they are sans Dementors. Don’t worry, we will get him back soon, he will be fine.”

“How?” Draco challenged. “You don’t know what’s in the Chamber, you don’t know where is the Chamber, you have no idea how to stop this.”

Hal elbowed him, even though he had a point, because surely antagonising the Headmaster of their school and most powerful and respected Wizard of their age was never a good idea regardless of circ*mstances.

“You are right, Mister Malfoy.” Dumbledore however responded. “I am failing you all, at the moment, and I can only apologise deeply.”

He turned a serious gaze to each of them, resting a little longer on Hal, who had the distinct impression that he already knew what they had come here to share. The man was no idiot. He did not necessarily know how to find and access the Chamber of Secrets (they didn’t either, whatever Hermione may have found, they hadn’t been able to trace it back without going to the second floor, which they’d not had a chance to do yet) and beat the creature inside it, but if a bunch of twelve year-olds could figure it out, he surely had a few ideas of his own.

Hal could only sincerely hope he really didn’t know how to stop it, and wasn’t just calmly waiting to test him against whatever threat they were facing this year, again, as if he had to be personally trained to face Voldemort, or something. His blood boiled at the idea that he could be manipulated like that again. He wasn’t some kind of toy soldier.

“Well, we have some thoughts.” Hal cut to the chase anyway.

“Yes.” Dumbledore said amenably.

They explained the voices Hal had heard all year, how their timing seemed to match the attacks and the connection Hermione had made with his being a Parselmouth, Rolf’s observations about the various obstacles to direct eye contact, and their final conclusions that the creature inside the Chamber was a Basilisk.

“We think there might be a clue to the location in the inscription on the wall.” Anthony added. “But we couldn’t check, what with the curfew and escorts.”

“These are there for your safety.” Dumbledore pointed out. “And not superfluous, may I remark, if you were about to go in search of a deadly serpent.”

The all started protesting at once, talking over each other.

“We weren’t-”

“We just wanted to look at it.”

“We just thought-”

“We came to you, didn’t we?”

“We know we’re just kids.” Draco finally said. “And we never thought we’d do this on our own. But we thought Hal may be able to help.”

Dumbledore looked at him and nodded, before turning to Hal.

“Mister Potter’s incredible ability, indeed, would be more than valuable if you are right, and we are dealing with a Basilisk.”

“Do you think we are right?” Ron probed.

“I do commend Miss Granger’s and your reasoning.” The headmaster assented thoughtfully.

Kindly, he probably didn’t add that he had envisaged that option as well, because Hal was quite sure he had. The fact that Hal had been hearing voice was just another notch contributing to that theory, and making it more likely over maybe some other alternatives.

“Very well.” Dumbledore said finally. “I will speak to my colleagues and to experts about this; your evidence, Mister Potter, does help the investigation. Once we have examined a possible plan of action, should we need your assistance in… tracking the snake, if you are willing of course, we shall gladly accept your help. I would of course ensure your safety in all and any proceedings.”

Of that, Hal had no doubt. He just wasn’t entirely sure what ensuring his safety exactly covered for the man who’d told him the previous year Quirrell was nothing to worry about.

* *

*

“This is sh*t.” Hal grunted for the 5^th time.

They were spending another fruitless study session in the library – Hermione’s absence really did take the life out of those. Somehow without her constant reminders to study properly and be serious and you should really work on that essay, goofing around and procrastinating didn’t hold the same appeal.

It had been a week since they’d reported their conclusions to Dumbledore, and absolutely nothing had happened since. Well, yes, one cosmetic adjustment: Filch had been asked to install mirrors at every corridor corner, as if for traffic safety (no better explanation was really given, though Hal and his friends knew this was to add a layer of protection against the risk of direct eye contact with the Basilisk). Other than that, things continued much as they were, everyone a little on edge, teachers escorting students, and not a word said about the progress (or lack thereof) into the investigation for a solution. They had even kept Hagrid’s arrest quiet, and the rest of the student body barely even seemed to notice he wasn’t around anymore.

Hal was driving himself mad listening out for every whisper, ever rustle, so determined to turn their deductions about the Basilisk and his ability to hear it into something useful, before another attack had a chance to happen, that he was probably a bad night away from starting to hallucinate.

“Your moping isn’t making it any better.” Pan pointed out.

She had joined them about an hour ago – they had shared their findings with her, although not before making her promise not to spread it around. Even if Dumbledore hadn’t explicitly asked them the same thing, they knew keeping this to themselves was the wisest course of action, beyond telling the grown ups. They had no intention of starting a panic, things were bad enough. Not to mention that confirming the creature attacking students was a giant evil snake, when most of the school hadn’t gotten over the fact Hal was a Parselmouth, was probably a rather sure way of getting himself murdered. Still, it meant that for all intents and purposes, nothing had changed.

“Why are they not doing anything?” Hal bemoaned.

“I’m sure they’re looking into it.” Neville said charitably.

Hal gave him a look that expressed all his confidence in the matter.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Pan slapped her hand on the surface of the table lightly. “I have something to say.”

Since she’d been there, she had kept exchanging looks with Draco, opening her mouth and them seemingly deciding otherwise. They all turned to her, and even Hal raised his head from within his folded arms and looked at her expectantly.

“It didn’t seem like the right time, with what happened to Hermione, but…” Pan shrugged. “Maybe you need the distraction right now.”

She took a deep breath, looking at each of them in turn as if to make sure she had their attention, and made her announcement.

“I’m transgender.”

She held out a hand to prevent any outward reaction, her eyes slightly downcast so she couldn’t see whatever their faces were doing.

“It isn’t something I’m saying because I’m looking for congratulations or commiseration.” She added. “It’s just who I am. And I’m telling you because…” She took another deep breath, as if that was somehow just as hard to say. “You’re my friends.”

There was a brief moment of silence, which Neville broke in a timid voice.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means.” Pan explained quietly. “I was born in this girl’s body. But I’m a boy. And instead of trying to change my core to fit the body, I’ve decided to change the body to fit the core.”

“Wow.” Anthony reacted. “That’s a big decision.”

She shrugged. “It’s the right decision.”

“And we’ll support it.” Draco added with determination.

They all nodded, assuring Pan that they were cool with it. Although he was rather distracted, and perhaps not giving the news full consideration, Hal genuinely thought it was nice to know exactly who you are, and what to do about it. He wasn’t sure what the magical community thought of transgender people, but he guessed it couldn’t be much easier than in the Muggle world – especially not for a Pureblood like Pansy, whose entire upbringing seemed to be based on bigotry. But, he thought, looking between her and Draco with a smile, maybe the next generation was changing that already, one free spirit at a time.

“I always thought my Great Aunt Muriel used to be a man.” Ron commented out of the blue.

Draco grimaced. “I think I’ve met her once.” He said. “So I really, really don’t want to know either way.”

As they all laughed, the atmosphere eased a little, both from the weight of Pan’s revelation and a welcome distraction from their previous moodiness. They asked Pan more questions – yes, Blaise knew, but the rest of the Slytherins didn’t, not yet at least. She wasn’t sure how, when, or even whether to tell them. No, she hadn’t told her parents either, she wasn’t going to do it in a letter, so it’d have to wait till the summer. Yes, she was definitely going through with it regardless, and Snape had agreed to help her. She, he, would obviously eventually prefer he as a pronoun, but could understand if they couldn’t get used to it right away, especially as long as the looks were still that of a girl. Still, Hal determinedly made the shift in his head – him. It wasn’t that hard, just something to get used to. He could do that for a friend.

“Will you change your name?”

That one from Anthony gave Pan pause.

“Well.” He said. “A boy named Pansy is a bit ridiculous. I could stick with Pan, but… I don’t know yet. I think I’d like to make a change.”

“We can help!” Anthony said excitedly. “I helped my parents with baby names when my mom was pregnant with my sister.”

Pan narrowed his eyes at him. “And what’s your sister’s name?”

Anthony laughed. “Esther. And I was the reasonable one there, trust me. My dad favoured Mariposa.”

Pan responded with the adequate wince.

“Well.” Ron said after they’d discussed names – to no serious result – for a while. “Thank you, Pan.”

“For what?” He frowned at him.

“Telling us, trusting us.” He shrugged. “And it does put things into perspective, doesn’t it. Hal speaks to snakes. You’re a bloke in a girl’s body. Meh.” He made a balancing movement with his hands, as if these were comparable.

But it achieved the intended effect, which was to make everyone laugh. When Pan spoke again, however, it was with dead seriousness.

“Wait until I tell Hermione.” He said with fierce determination.

Chapter 12: June (part 1)

Chapter Text

Their own strong belief that this whole mess would be sorted soon and Hermione would be okay, uplifted by Pan’s now open support of a Muggleborn as his acknowledged friend (Hal suspected it was his first step in the new I don’t give a rotting bat’s liver what you think crusade he was undertaking, paving the way to his transition), lasted them a week and a half before Hal felt ready to explode again.

He had been summoned once to look at the inscription on the second floor wall, flanked by Dumbledore and McGonagall – and thankfully, not Lockhart. His his two colleagues had craftfully avoided his overbearing and pointless presence by sending him to investigate a suspicious-looking stain on a wall in the dungeons, which McGonagall had convincingly sold as being a probable clue. Hal had had no idea she was such an excellent liar. Although, Luna was convinced the stain in question was Sentient Lichen, so who knew what Lockhart might actually find.

It had been to no avail. They had stared and stared, Hal also straining his ears for the faintest possible hiss – a lot of which he did hear, none of which sounded like anything more than the wind in the draughty corridor – and came up with absolutely nothing of use. Hal tried to put himself into an Hermione frame of mind, thinking hard about what connections she could have made in her brilliant brain to want to check this out, but he couldn’t for the life of him put things together in a way conductive to any progress whatsoever.

He did have a brief thought that maybe, the inscription wasn’t what Hermione had gone off to look at. But neither he nor the rest of their group could see what else there was on the second floor, or even in the wider direction Draco had reported she’d gone in, that could be useful to investigate further in this context. So they were stuck with staring at a wall, which clearly the teachers hadn’t thought was very useful either, because they hadn’t asked Hal to help again, at least, they’d said, until they found out something more substantial. How they intended to do that, Hal wasn’t sure. Apparently Ron’s suggestion of patrolling the corridors with Hal as a sort of snake divining rod was “unreasonable”.

Dumbledore was also dealing with pressures of his own, with some of the governors requesting his removal from the school on the basis of his incompetence, others the intervention of a full squad of Aurors, some both. The Headmaster was holding strong on both grounds so far, arguing that bringing in armed forces would achieve nothing but panic, and appealing to most of the governor’s Pureblood pride by asking them if they suggested he was expected to have bested the great Salazar Slytherin, divined his methods and secrets and undone his magic so quickly?

That was, in a bid to control the anxiety around the situation somewhat, the only thing that had been shared with the school and the public: the conviction that the events could not be an elaborate prank nor a heinous criminal let loose, but were in fact due to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. They had gone with the line that the legend was real, and that the curse, monster or magic inside it (they had remained vague on that one) was ancient and therefore that much harder to pinpoint and deal with. It had seemed to work to some extent, Pureblood families in general and Slytherins in particular reassured that their offspring would be quite safe. Measures had been tightened around the Muggleborns and even Half-Bloods in the school, but at least there was no serious talk of closing down Hogwarts for the time being.

It didn’t really help with the atmosphere, more rumours and wild theories than ever circulating in worried whispers throughout the corridors. Hal was still a contender for being the Heir, though it seemed less of a strong favourite now that one of his best friends had fallen victim to it – making a lot of people also realise that, oh yeah, he’d been friends with a Muggleborn all along. But even if people were maybe a little less scared of him personally, most were still just scared in general.

The only light on the horizon was that the mandrakes were very nearly ready, and for want of finding a permanent solution to the attacks, at least the current petrification victims could be revived soon. And, with Hermione back, if they hadn’t achieved anything on their own till then, at least they would have her lead on the possible location of the Chamber. Hal had no idea how to deal with a Basilisk even if they did know, but he was happy with leaving that to the experienced wizards in the castle, this time. Not that it filled him with confidence that the current state of affairs seemed to be that they needed a thirteen year-old girl to be un-petrified to give them some pointers.

Hal was just getting off the phone with Ley, one evening after dinner, when Draco found him. Hal had held back in the Great Hall, where small inter-Houses groups of students had taken to gathering in a sort of new study space and social area – visiting in common rooms had become that much trickier with the curfew, and Madam Pince had started to complain about the overcrowding of the library. There was always a teacher there watching over the students thus gathered in the Hall, who would later escort them back to each House.

“Come with me.” Draco said without preamble.

He looked dazed, his eyes unfocused, which immediately had Hal worried as he slipped his phone into his pocket. Draco had been moody for a while, even his birthday and the treats he’d received from his mother and his friends (they’d pooled together to get him a box of luxury salted caramel-filled chocolate broomsticks from a renowned Belgian chocolatier) hadn’t cheered him up.

“We can’t go off on our own.” Hal reminded him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Draco said blankly. “You have the Cloak. Come with me.”

It was true, Hal had gotten into the habit of keeping the Invisibility Cloak on him at all times, thinking that if he ever heard the Basilisk, he wouldn’t miss that chance to follow it just because he couldn’t be seen running after it without getting in trouble. The solution was just to not be seen. However, that did not mean Draco’s sudden request made any more sense. Something seemed off with him.

“Draco, what-”

“It’s important, Harry, come with me.” Draco repeated, just as tonelessly.

Now, Hal was sure something was wrong. Draco never called him Harry. None of his friends did, not since the second half of first year – apart from maybe Hermione sometimes, but that was when she wanted to make a point.

Draco looked about to turn around and walk away on his own regardless of if Hal was following, which wouldn't have been wise even if he'd been himself, so Hal grabbed his Cloak and swiftly swung it over their heads. The Hall was vast enough that nobody noticed, as Hal had been away in a far, quiet corner to make his call in the first place.

He made sure to hold in tight to his friend’s arm under the pretence of having to keep the Cloak in place over the two of them. As Draco led them out of the room, Hal was wracking his brain trying to think of what spell he could be under, but his knowledge wasn't extensive enough. It wasn't as if they had covered compulsion and possession charms in class.

To Hal’s surprise, it became clear after a moment Draco was taking them to the second floor. Had he uncovered a clue? Hal was about to ask, as they reached what he thought was their destination, but Draco did not stop in front of the blood inscription on the wall – and was there another below it? That was new. Hal didn’t have time to see properly as Draco carried on right past it, and walked them into the girls’ bathroom. Hal slipped the Cloak off them as the door closed behind them.

“What the hell.” He said softly. “Draco?”

The other boy had continued advancing, and only stopped in front of a sink, like a video game character who’s clearly not programmed to know they can’t walk through solid matter.

“WHAT!” A shriek prevented Draco from answering – if he even had been about to, in his state – and made Hal jump a foot in the air.

Moaning Myrtle ghosted through a cubicle door, looking incensed at the sight of them.

“Boys!” She cried. “Boys! What do you think you’re DOING HERE!?”

“I’m sorry.” Hal blurted out. “I was following him, I think he’s under a spell or something-”

Surprisingly, Myrtle’s stance softened when she saw Draco.

“Oh. He’s been here before.” She said.

“Has he?” Hal raised a brow.

“He’s not interested in girls, so he doesn’t count.” She shrugged. “What’s your excuse?” She snarled as she turned back to him.

Hal didn’t really have time to process what she had just said – there was something to compute there, he was sure of it, but his brain would deal with that later – or figure out how to answer her, because Draco suddenly spoke behind them.

Or rather, hissed. Hal recognised the low rustle of Parseltongue, and was shocked to be able to notice it was clunky, like someone speaking a foreign language with a strong accent, even in the single word Draco said. Open.

To Hal’s shock, the sink rearranged itself, a bit like the brick wall did in Diagon Alley, to eventually reveal a trapdoor, which similarly slid itself open, and large passage beyond it.

“Draco, what the hell.” Hal breathed.

Myrtle let out a sound behind him that could have been either a giggle or a distress signal. Either way, catering to her feelings wasn’t exactly high on Hal’s list of priorities right now.

“Is that the Chamber? Draco?” He called again as Draco did not answer. “DRACO!”

Draco had stepped right into the gaping whole and disappeared into the darkness below, wrenching the shout out of Hal. He felt physically ill, he couldn’t breathe, as if there was a rope tied between Draco and him, tugging on his ribcage, tightening around his lungs.

“Myrtle!” He spun around, facing the ghost, suspecting his face was just about the same hue as hers at this point. “Get someone – Dumbledore, anyone.”

She looked rather unimpressed, but he didn’t take the time to say please, or further stress the importance of her mission, or wait for acknowledgement – he didn’t have a second to spare. He cast a Lumos to shine into the passage, revealing a gentle slope rather than a lethal drop, thank Merlin, but he couldn’t see Draco anymore already.

Hal stepped cautiously into the pipe. It was smooth, the walls curved, with nothing to hang on, and after a few steps, Hal realised the floor was slippery, and the slope getting steeper. He lost his footing after a few more tentative steps, landing painfully on his rear, and barrelled down what was essentially the world’s gloomiest flume. He landed in something murky and smelly, banging his knee and elbow on the stone floor and almost losing his grip on his wand.

Draco was still nowhere to be seen, but Hal could hear echoing footsteps, so he quickly picked himself up and headed into the tunnel in front of him. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind, now, that this was the corridor to the Chamber of Secrets, although how the hell Draco had come across it remained to be determined. By now, Hal suspected possession, because that seemed to be the most likely explanation for his weird behaviour, for the Parseltongue mimicry and for the fact he had gone off leaving Hal to haphazardly follow through what was in all likelihood a giant snake’s home.

The tunnel certainly looked ideal for such a creature to slide through, and the crunch of small bones (rodents? Birds?) under his feet as he walked was only reassuring in that they weren’t anything bigger, or Merlin forbid, human. The location was further confirmed when Hal came across what he briefly thought was the snake itself – he ducked, closed his eyes and shouted whatever defensive spells he could think of before realising it was just shed skin. His relief was short-lived, because that thing was massive.

He heard a rumble ahead of him, like a very big stone being dragged against the floor, and picked up the pace as much as he could in the darkness – the erratic light from his wand not extremely helpful as he kept it trained on the middle of the passageway, should something jump in front of him, rather than on where he was putting his feet.

At least, to his relief, there were no forks in the tunnel. He did see a few secondary pipes, but they all clearly branched out from this main corridor, slightly less wide and usually a few feet above floor level and sloping up, so he wouldn’t have any trouble finding the way back. His current plan was to find Draco, stun him and throw him over his shoulder if he had to, and run the hell out back the way they came. He hoped, in the meantime, Myrtle would come back with some help.

The rumbling noise repeated, ending with a loud snap, seconds before Hal came in view of what it had been. Another door, ornated with entwined snake, carved in the stone wall. Behind it, no doubt, the actual Chamber. There was no way of knowing what would be awaiting him behind that door, if he was about to get eaten by a snake lying in ambush right on the other side. All he knew is that Draco had gone through, and there was no space for any other instinct but help him.

So he took a deep breath, raised his chin, squared his shoulders, and spoke to the door.

“Open.”

The language came easily, the glint of the gemstones that the carved snakes had for eyes making them lifelike enough, and the door compliantly engaged its mechanism again and opened to let him through.

Surprisingly, at least compared to the tunnel before it, the space behind the door was rather light, in the way those deep-sea rooms in an aquarium were, everything bathed in a greenish hue. In fact, Hal realised, the corridor had kept gently sloping down after the initial steep slide. They were probably well below the surface of the lake, by now, somewhere deep in the foundations of the castle.

The Chamber was vast and impressive, in spite of looking (and smelling) like it had partially flooded or at the very least suffered quite extensive water damage. Pillars shaped like intertwined snakes flanked each side of the damp stone floor – there was a definite monotonic theme in the choice of décor – and the imposing statue of a robed, long-bearded man stood at the far end – Slytherin, if Hal had one guess.

And at its foot, finally, the soft halo of Draco’s light hair. He had his back to him, and Hal arrived only in time to see him drop something onto the floor, and collapse.

“Draco!” He cried out again, jolted into action.

The floor was slippery, and he skidded to his knees next to Draco, keeping his eyes downcast and carefully away from the reflective surface of the water puddles, as his first thought was that Draco had been petrified. But his skin was soft and his hand limp when Hal grabbed his arm. But he was so cold, and for a terrifying second, Hal thought he might be dead, until he felt a pulse. It was slow, however, and his breathing shallow, and Hal couldn’t help but feel the pinprick of tears at the back of his eyes.

“No, no, no, no.” He whined, shaking his friend lightly. Whatever was happening to Draco, he might be running out of time. He had to get him out of here. “I’ll get you out of here.” He pledged to him.

“How touching.” Spoke a voice behind him.

Soft, but still enough to startle Hal – he was sure there had been nobody else in the room, there was no hiding place in there apart from the pillars several feet away. On the other hand, the high-ceilinged space echoed like mad, and he’d heard no footsteps.

He spun around, still holding Draco’s icy wrist, and was faced with a young man of maybe sixteen or seventeen, handsome and prim, in a Slytherin school uniform.

“Harry Potter.” The boy inclined his head with a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Are you doing this to him?” Hal snapped back.

He didn’t care right now who the boy was or how he knew his name. He wanted Draco to be alright and he wanted to hell out of here – in any order.

The other looked momentarily surprised at the direct verbal attack, but he carried on looking extremely unbothered by everything. Hal noticed he actually looked a little ghostly – not as silvery white and transparent as an actual ghost, but he was pretty sure he could faintly see the lines of cobblestones through his legs. At the moment, the fact he was potentially dead was, however, no reassurance, and on the contrary rather a menacing thought. Hal was still unsure how things worked for real in the magical world, but he’d seen enough horror flicks to know sentient dead things were no good news.

“Why, yes.” The apparition answered loftily. “Young Malfoy is transferring his life force to me – isn’t that a great act of loyalty?”

“Loyalty?” Hal repeated, finding it hard to focus when the beat of Draco’s pulse seemed to be slowing down under his fingers as they spoke.

“It’s practically in his blood.” The boy smirked. “Lucius Malfoy was such a proud supporter of the Dark Lord.”

“Lucius Malfoy is dead.” Hal spat.

“Then I guess that is also in his blood.” Was the cold, cruel reply.

“Bring him back.” Hal said fiercely.

He didn’t want to let go of Draco, the touch of each other’s skin their only lifeline, but he pointed his wand at the young man with his other hand. That only made him laugh, a cold, joyless laugh that echoed in the Chamber.

“Oh, no, he will die.” He replied. “He has poured so much of himself into my diary, we are connected now. He gets weaker as I get stronger, see?”

Hal didn’t let him finish speaking before he cast a jinx at him, but the red light of the spell went right through him.

“Not quite strong enough yet.” He said, gesturing at himself.

Tom Riddle, if Hal remembered the name of Draco’s diary friend correctly. He could see the cursed book now, down at the boy’s feet.

“Isn’t that a nice conundrum?” Riddle carried on. “By the time your spells can touch me, it’ll probably be too late for dear Draco.”

“What the f*ck do you want?” Hal asked.

He was trying not to panic. He had no idea what to do. Draco’s life was literally slipping through his fingers and he had no idea what to do, or even if he could do anything.

Riddle pretty much ignored him. “Don’t worry, you will die too.” He told him. “I only have to call my friend. It should be quite painless.”

Hal had no doubt who – what – this friend was.

“You’re the Heir.” He concluded. “Oh, of bloody course, you’d ‘catch’ Hagrid as the culprit. It was you 50 years ago, and it’s you again this time, only you used Draco through your stupid diary.”

“Very good.” Riddle said, altogether condescending. “But I excepted nothing less of the boy who defeated the Dark Lord.” He paused, considering Hal. “How?”

“It really wasn’t that much of a leap.” Hal rolled his eyes.

“Not how did you figure out I’m the Heir.” Riddle snarled, impatient. “How did you defeat the greatest wizard in the world?”

Hal frowned. He could almost her Hermione’s voice telling him to stop riling up dangerous murderous people who had already announced they wanted to kill him, but on the other hand, how could it possibly make it worse?

“I think you’ll find Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world.” He therefore replied.

He didn’t rate the man on a personal level, but he was mature enough to recognise that his skills – learnt by way of Chocolate Frog cards and Hermione’s summary of Hogwarts: A History and Great Wizards Through The Ages – were impressive. Also, maybe if he annoyed Riddle a lot, his control over Draco would slip, enough for Hal to do something?

“That old fool is nothing compared to me!” Riddle snarled. “Nothing!”

“To you?” Hal picked up, the pieces starting to fall into place in his mind.

The older boy confirmed his suspicion when he raised a wand – Draco’s wand, Hal suddenly realised – with a flourish and traced the letters Tom Marvolo Riddle in the air. Another swish of the wand, and the letters rearranged themselves.

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

The impact was lessened by the fact Hal had already reached this conclusion a few seconds before, and he was determined not to show any form of awe or surprise.

“Lovely.” He said drily. “How long did you work on it for that to work? Quite impressed you still managed to be so thoroughly unsubtle with the great villain name.”

Riddle’s jaw seemed to clench, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He opened his mouth, but a screech interrupted him. Thinking of the Basilisk, Hal immediately closed his eyes, but he opened them again when he heard the flapping of a wings, and a startled laugh from Young Voldemort.

“Is that the reward for showing loyalty to the great Dumbledore?” He sneered.

Hal looked up, and only recognised Fawkes because he was the one and only phoenix he’d ever seen in his life. He looked nothing like the baby bird, and even less like the tired-looking one at the end of his life that he’d seen back in Dumbledore’s office. His body and wings were full of health now, his plumage gorgeous and fiery. He was carrying something in his talons, which as he dropped it at Hal’s feet, Hal recognised as… the Sorting Hat. Admittedly, though he hated to even remotely agree with Riddle, it wasn’t very impressive. Especially as the phoenix went to perch on one of the hands of Slytherin’s great statue and simply waited there. Helpful.

“How did you do it?” Riddle asked again.

Hal’s gaze snapped back to him, and he was horrified to see he looked a little more substantial than he had earlier. He shifted his grip on Draco’s wrist, relieved to still find a pulse, faint as it was. He tried to throw another jinx, which only elicited a cold laugh from Riddle as it went through him again, but at least that meant there was still time for Draco. And Hal wasn’t giving up that easily, and without missing a beat, he pointed his wand at the diary.

“Incendio.” He tried.

It made Riddle jump, and for a moment he was engulfed in flames just like the little book, but the fire died down as quickly as it had started, the diary remaining unscathed and the memory still standing, looking down at Hal with the look of someone who is losing patience and entering the kill them all phase of their operation.

“Not that easy.” He spat. “Now for the last time – how-”

“Oh, f*ck off.” Hal interrupted him. “I don’t how you an explanation or my life story. This conversation is over.”

Thinking he had a very small chance of getting a very small headstart, Hal slipped an arm around Draco and started dragging him across the floor. He only managed a few steps before, predictably, Riddle who was looking positively enraged called out in Parseltongue.

“Come and help me get rid of this scum.”

It didn’t take long for the sound of a giant snake slithering into the Chamber to fill the space, and Hal knew he needed to take cover, and also somehow to keep his eyes closed, all of it while not getting eaten by a Basilisk and also keeping his rescue operation of Draco going. He had no idea how he was going to all of that, but then, just as Riddle was hissing Kill the one standing, Fawkes let out another piercing cry, and soon after him, the Basilisk did – a blood-curling sound of rage and pain.

Hal risked a look at the water, and though the surface was disturbed and blurred by the commotion, he could tell what had happened. With his sharp beak and talons, the phoenix had just gouged out both the snake’s eyes, effectively removing one of Hal’s problems, and not the least of them. Not so useless after all.

However, Hal was now faced with a very angry giant snake, who sure, could no longer kill him with a look, but still had very sharp, very venomous fangs, he’d read all about how deadly that poison was as well – or for that matter, could simply crush him like a pancake, if it wasn’t into finesse. When the Basilisk lunged in his direction, presumably remembering where it’d just seen him, Hal made the heartbreaking decision to let go of Draco and scramble to the side, noisily so the snake would follow him away from his friend at least.

It worked, and Hal ducked behind a pillar just as the Basilisk’s massive head rammed straight into it. With another hiss of pain and frustration, the beast snapped its jaw around the pillar, narrowly missing Hal as he ran to the next one for cover. Unfortunately, speed and silence did not go hand in hand, and the snake followed it his direction almost instantly. Hal tried firing a few spells, but they only seemed to ricochet right off the thick scaly skin, which wasn’t unexpected.

“Kill him!” Riddle ordered again from where he still stood on top of the diary.

“You don’t have to obey!” Hal found himself shouting back.

It came out in Parseltongue, and he had little hope he would actually turn the Basilisk against its established master, but it still seem to give the serpent pause and it briefly stopped in its attempt to either crush Hal with its head or catch him between its fangs. At the very least it gave Hal a brief moment of respite, enough to take a breath, and an opening to run back across the room, even as Riddle laughed coldly that the creature would only answer to him. If he only could get Draco out of the open space, and as close as possible to the door…

He tripped on the Hat and landed painfully on his side. He thought he was done for, but Fawkes intervened again, and started flying around the monster’s head, distracting it with its calls. Hal managed to roll and reach Draco, and he dragged him being a pillar on the opposite side. The Sorting Hat had been caught in his grip, and Hal shoved it onto his head. There must be a reason why Dumbledore’s bird had brought it.

If this is his idea of sending help, he thought furiously, then bloody help me.

The Hat’s response seemed to be to club him over the head, and Hal ripped it off to massage his skull. He was surprised when instead of landing with a soft thud, it clattered loudly. Looking down, he saw the hilt of a sword sticking out of the worn leather.

A sword. Brilliant. Because he, a twelve year-old who’d been growing up in a Muggle suburban area in Surrey, was obviously fully trained in the art of swordfighting.

He still grabbed it, because it was better than nothing. It was heavy and solid in his hand, and actually made him feel somewhat better armed. If spells couldn’t penetrate the Basilisk’s skin, maybe this could. And/or maybe he could try to slice the diary in two to get rid of Riddle – no pun intended – since his wand did not seem to be effective against it either. In all likelihood, whatever dark magic was threaded into it gave it some protection against simple spells.

The obvious flaw in that plan was that the diary was sitting in the middle of a very exposed space, where Hal would have nowhere to hide or protect himself from the snake. It couldn’t see him, but it could hear, and Riddle would surely not fail to attract its attention as to Hal’s whereabouts. At least, Hal thought, it didn’t seem like Riddle could do more with Draco’s wand than throw a few fancy sparks, or he was quite sure he would have attacked him by now – patience certainly did not seem to be his strong suit, and he’d clearly expected the Basilisk to make one quick bite of him, so that hadn’t quite gone to plan.

With Draco safely (as safe as things could be right now) tucked behind a pillar, Hal decided it was a chance he had to take. If he could get to the diary and make Riddle disappear, sever his connection with Draco, then maybe he could order the snake to go away as the only remaining Parselmouth in the room, and at the very least the megalomaniac arsehole would stop sucking the life out of his friend.

Everything went very fast from there, and Hal barely had time to know what was happening as he ran forward to get within reach of the diary – the Basilisk lunged for him – he slashed at the air with the sword, maybe nicked the skin – a hissing screech and the snake dived again as Riddle was spurring it on, jaw open wide – then the shock of impact, as the Basilisk made contact and tried to bite off Hal’s arm.

Unfortunately for the creature, it was the arm holding the sword, which went right through its skull. Unfortunately for Hal, it penetrated far enough that one of the snake’s fangs pierced the skin and flesh of his forearm.

The pain shot up immediately, and Hal cried out in agony, jerking his arm away from the collapsing beast. But it was too late, he realised upon seeing the broken off fang stick out of his forearm, the veins already blackening around the puncture wound. Though the Basilisk was slayed, it was only a matter of moments until Hal would be as dead as it was.

“Such a shame.” Riddle spoke quietly. “It was a great effort, Harry. But you’ll be dead in under a minute.”

His teeth clenched, Hal was almost in too much pain to retort with a barb of any kind, but he’d be damned if he let that smug bastard have the last word.

“You’ve been dead for twelve years.” He threw back, breathless and starting to feel dizzy. “Swings and roundabouts.”

“And your end will be my new beginning.” Riddle relished.

“Will it?” Hal challenged.

Looking up at the young man, he ripped out the fang out of his arm, doubling over from the pain but keeping his focus – he barely noticed Fawkes landing by his side and pressing against his side. There was only one more thing he could do, and that was trying to give Draco a chance to make it out. So he held out the fang, and with all the strength he had left, stabbed the diary.

The effect was immediate. Riddle looked like he’d been punched in the gut and the little book started exuding black smoke – that sh*t looked sentient, and Hal was reminded of Quirrell’s demise at the end of the previous year. Was this another manifestation of Voldemort’s soul? At any rate, within a moment, with a shout of rage, it was gone, and Riddle with it.

It was satisfying enough that the pain in Hal’s arm had seemed to fade, carried off by the reassurance that at least, Draco would be alright. God, he hoped so. There was nothing else he could do now – in fact, he still wasn’t feeling much pain around his stab wound at all, even now the distraction was gone and the adrenalin of having a final goal faded, which surely was not a good sign.

But he looked down, and saw the phoenix’s red and golden head resting on his arm, and where the puncture wound had been… nothing but a round scar. A last couple of silver drops fell onto it, before the bird raised his head off to look at Hal – the silver drops where his tears.

“Oh, Fawkes.” Hal breathed.

He tried to remember if he’d heard or read anything about phoenix tears – he vaguely though Snape might have mentioned it in relation to poison antidotes – but he was drained and unable to get his thoughts in order. It hardly seemed to matter, anyway. If he wasn’t dying anymore, then he needed to get himself and Draco out of here before something else happened. For all he knew, the Chamber was spelled to self-destruct or something.

He found himself barely able to stand, but he gathered Draco’s wand where it had clattered down on the floor, as well as the sword – it dragged out of the snake’s head with a disgusting squelch, and it almost felt to heavy to carry, but he couldn’t in his good conscience leave it there – and dragged himself to his feet. He left the diary, that cursed thing could rot in here for all he cared.

As he reached Draco, the relief of seeing a little bit of colour back in his cheeks almost knocked the breath out of him, and as he dropped to his knees again and found a much stronger pulse than earlier, he thought he might cry. He shoved the Sorting Hat into his pocket as he shook his friend, who, thank Merlin, started to stir.

“Hal?” He said when his eyes fluttered open, clearly confused and his voice barely higher than a whisper.

He looked very weak, but his eyes were back in focus, this was Draco again, no some freaky vacant possessed version, and Hal couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over his face.

“Hey.” He said dumbly.

Draco tried and struggled to sit up, and Hal rushed to help him out.

“I’ve got you.” He promised.

With combined efforts, they both rather pathetically got to their feet, and Draco took in their surroundings, growing paler again. He looked positively ghostly by the time his eyes landed on Hal, and the blood covering him.

“Full story later?” Hal suggested with a slight wince. “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco nodded feebly. Hal gave him back his wand and, gesturing at the heavy sword he was still carrying (shaking his head in a Don’t ask fashion when Draco’s gaze fell on it), gave him the duty of casting a Lumos to see them out. He was relieved when Draco managed the spell, though it did seem weak, he’d been worried about how depleted his magic might be. With their arms around each other – it was unclear really who was supporting and who was leaning – they made their way out of the Chamber, back through the dreary corridor, and up to the foot of a problem. The way out was that steep, slippery pipe, and their was no way they could make it back up the slope, especially in their state.

Before Hal could try to think of anything that might help, short of shouting upwards and hoping someone would hear them, Fawkes let out a gentle trill. Draco seemed to only just then notice the bird, who had been flying silently behind them, and his eyes widened.

“A phoenix?” He identified.

“Saved both our lives down there.” Hal commented succinctly. “What do you want?” He addressed Fawkes.

The bird had landed on his arm – the one not wrapped around Draco’s waist – and was gently tugging forward.

“Phoenixes can carry extraordinary weights.” Draco said, as if reciting something from a book.

“Oh.” Hal realised – he wanted to fly them up. “Alright then. Hang on tight.”

They tightened their hold around one another, and each grabbed one of the bird’s legs – Hal in a rather awkward grip as he was still balancing the sword – and were swooshed upwards. Hal could not see any light at the top of the pipe, so he pictured snakes in his head and repeated Open, Open, Open in Parseltongue until finally, an opening formed with a rumbling sound, and they flew out into the bathroom. The phoenix continued flying ahead of them and out of the bathroom, but they both collapsed to the floor, exhaustion fully gaining over now that they were back in a safe space.

“Aw.” Myrtle’s plaintive voice greeted them as she gave them a disappointed look. “You’re not dead, then.”

“Indeed, Mister Potter.” A much boomier voice sounded. “It is almost a shame.”

Chapter 13: June (part 2)

Chapter Text

Draco just wanted to sleep. He certainly did not want to sleep here, on the wet stone floor of the second floor girls bathroom, looked over by Moaning Myrtle and feet away from a tunnel leading to a Chamber were he and Hal had almost just both been killed and where the corpse of a giant snake laid. But altogether, he wanted this nightmare to be over, and sleep for at least three days.

He did not want to be confronted by idiot Gilderoy Lockhart pointing a wand at their heads even as he smiled his brightest smile down on them, where they were still sprawled on the floor. Hal had inched closer and his fingers were just a breath away from Draco’s, so Draco covered them. He didn’t think Hal would read anything into that, and if he did, Draco didn’t care. They both needed any warmth they could get right now, even if it meant leeching it off each other. Hal’s hand was covered in blood and grime, but Draco decided to focus on the way it leaned into his, rather than think about the no-doubt gruesome tale he’d hear about it later.

That was, if there was a later – Lockhart was babbling something about not being able to let them go now. Monologuing (about how he had grown to be an expert in memory charms from years of taking the credit for other people’s exploits) like one of those great villains in the plays Draco’s mother would take him to see as a kid. Didn’t usually end well for them, though.

Hal seemed to think he had had enough of hearing him talk as well, as he tried to throw an Expelliarmus, which missed the man easily – Hal was clearly exhausted. When Lockhart retaliated, however, both Hal’s and Draco’s wands flew out of their hands.

“Now, now.” He laughed airily, pocketing the wands. “Let’s not injure ourselves.” He looked them over before adding. “Well, any further. I have no wish to hurt you.” He gave them a contrite look. “But what a great story this will make! Me, rescuing you foolish children who had been taken by the beast! Saving the day! Slaying the monster! Saving your lives in extremis! This is exceptional.” He beamed. “Unfortunately of course, the shock and trauma caused you to be a little confused as to what happened. But I am sure you will be very grateful for my heroic actions even if you can’t fully remember them.”

He pointed his wand at them again. Hal shifted, his hand slipping from underneath Draco’s, only to turn and grip it better.

“Protego.” He whispered. “Say it with me, when he casts.”

Draco gave him a startled look. Hal’s plan was to attempt wandless magic? In their state, it seemed all the more ludicrous, but what was weirdest was is that Draco had every faith that if it could work for anyone, it would be Hal. He’d done it against the troll the previous year after all, and again when he hadn’t broken his neck when tumbling down a flight of stone stairs. Even if bursts of accidental magic such as these were supposed to fade with age, Hal clearly had a powerful magical core.

Also, it was their only shot. Draco held on to Hal’s hand like a lifeline, and when Lockhart swished and started saying Obliviate, they both shouted PROTEGO back at him.

He wasn’t sure if the spell itself had worked – but it had been enough to throw Lockhart off balance, and for his spell to miss.

“You little…” He started sounding a lot less affable. “Now look here, we don’t have to do this the hard way. Incarcerous.”

Unfortunately, unlike the previous one, this new spell hit its intended target, and ropes conjured out of thin air wormed their way up and around their bodies until they were bound and gagged on the floor. Hal let out a muffled cry of rage, but no magic burst out – Draco suspected he was as drained as he himself felt.

“Just stay still, will you?” Lockhart spat, angry now, like he wasn’t the one assaulting two young boys who’s already been through the Underworld for his own usurped self-promotion.

Hal obviously wouldn’t have it. He thrashed and kicked his feet at the professor’s legs, catching him painfully – or at least Draco hoped so – in the shin. Losing all composure, the man kicked him back, aiming for the chest but instead clipping his shoulder and sending the back of his head smashing into the sink behind. Draco screamed, which only came out as a muted sound.

Throughout all that, Myrtle had alternated between giggling and moaning, clearly invested into what happened but not interesting in taking sides. Maybe she still hoped one of them would die, and keep her company. If there was ever any motivation not to stick around as a ghost, Draco thought.

“This won’t hurt.” Lockhart said, pointing his wand at Hal’s forehead first.

“This will.” A voice behind them said.

Lockhart barely had time to spin around before he was flying across the room and crashing through a stall, landing half knocked-out on a toilet seat. Severus was standing in the bathroom doorway, looking livid. He wasted no time vanishing the constraints around Hal and Draco, and he went as far as dropping to his knees to see if they were okay.

Draco remained frozen, torn between the instinct to bury himself into his godfather’s arms and the urge to check on Hal, who wasn’t moving. Severus took the conflict out of his hands as he wrapped an arm around him – Draco realised he was shaking against the man and suddenly felt like his arm was the only thing holding him together – and, after casting a quick diagnosis spell on Hal, let out a sigh of relief.

“He’s only knocked out.” He said reassuringly, tightening his hold around Draco.

He cast a similar spell on him, and seemed to hug him even a little closer after reading the results.

“You’re exhausted. We need to get you both to the infirmary, but you’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” He repeated, as if he needed the reminder for himself, to shake the concern he must have been feeling.

McGonagall came into view, heralded by the phoenix sweeping back into the room – she had clearly been warned by the bird at the same time as Severus, but her years had prevented her from getting there as fast as he had. She took in the scene, Hal unconscious, Sev on his knees hugging Draco who felt a breath away from passing out, and Lockhart out cold in the stall. Myrtle had made herself scarce, or at least Draco could no longer hear or see her.

“Severe exhaustion and magic depletion for both of them.” Severus said, looking up to McGonagall.

He reported on his findings in a clinical tone that didn’t match the way his eyes still darted between the two boys with worry, and some impatience to get them out of here.

“That-” He stopped himself with a deep breath, and jerked his chin towards Lockhart. “He was attacking them. Abrasions from an Incarcerous on their wrists, ankles and throats. Possible concussion for Potter, healed stab wound on his arm and traces of poison in his blood, though no longer a threat.”

“Ò Mo chreach.” She muttered. “Alright, get them to Poppy – I will deal with Gilderoy and contact Albus.”

She actioned that immediately, casting her own Incarcerous to bind Lockhart and floating him out of the room.

“Can you stand?” Severus asked Draco kindly.

“I- Hal!” Draco immediately got distracted as Hal stirred.

He groaned, brought a hand to his skull and muttered something that may or may not have been bastard, then jerked up so suddenly he almost banged his head into the sink again. He seemed to breathe out when he saw Draco, safely tucked against someone who finally, didn’t want to harm them.

“Calm down, Potter.” Sev told him. “You may have a concussion. Can either of you stand?” He asked again.

They both made a valiant effort to get to their feet, dragging deep into whatever small reserves of energy they had left. Severus helped them up, even Hal who was clearly too tired to be proud about it and refuse his arm, in spite of the still rocky relationship between them (Sev had agreed to stop the barbs for Draco’s sake, but it didn’t mean he had to like the boy – and Hal certainly didn’t hide the fact that Snape wasn’t his favourite Professor).

Half-way to the infirmary in this strange, slow and wobbly formation, Hal passed out again, sliding silently almost to the floor before Severus caught him.

“He’s okay.” He told Draco, no doubt seeing the look of panic in his eyes.

His wand being tucked in his pocket, he physically carried Hal the rest of the way, on his hip like a toddler and one-armed so he could still support Draco on the other side. Hal may have still been lean, he was well into his growth spurt now and certainly not the size of a toddler; the weight must have been a real strain, but Severus just carefully heaved him back up whenever he started to slip down too low, and carried on.

Madam Pomfrey immediately came to his aid when they passed the doors to the infirmary, floating Hal to a bed as Sev helped Draco to another. He sat next to him when Draco refused to let go of his arm. Hal came back around when his head hit the pillow – Draco thought it was probably a blessing he’d missed the whole episode of being carried like a child half of the way.

“I can’t say I’m pleased to see you back here, Mister Potter.” Pomfrey told him, her tone not quite managing to be scolding. “But I am glad to see you awake. Can you tell me what happened, so I can give you the best possible treatment?”

“Got bitten.” Hal held out his arm, and Draco couldn’t hold back a gasp.

He hadn’t realised that. Wasn’t Basilisk venom deadly in a matter of minutes? The wound on Hal’s arm looked healed, which was explained a second later as Hal continued like it was no big deal.

“Fawkes cried on it.”

Madam Pomfrey rushed to his side to examine his arm, casting a few other charms over it – cleaning and diagnosis, Draco guessed – and turning it this way and other.

“Albeit in a certainly twisted way, Mister Potter.” She commented eventually, sounding bemused. “You are a very lucky boy.”

“So I’m okay?” Hal asked.

“You are not in mortal danger, but you are far from okay.” She replied sternly. “The phoenix tears have cleared the poison, but there is only so much the body and the magical core can take. The exhaustion and your other injuries alone would have earned you at least a day in here. You need rest, potions and monitoring if you don’t want to end up with serious nerve or brain damage.”

“Rest sounds good.” Hal confessed.

Draco couldn’t agree more, and when she said she would put them both into a magical coma for a day or two so their cores could fully replenish, neither of them found it in them to argue.

She still wanted to check what had happened to Draco in order to make the correct dosage decisions. Draco stiffened against Severus at the idea of telling the tale. He remembered Riddle taking over, his will and consciousness slipping and he all but watched himself walk Hal through the castle then into and below the bathroom, and his energy, his life slowly being leeched away from him, even though everything became darkness until he woke up again back in the Chamber, a bloodied Hal leaning over him and the enormous corpse of the snake behind them. It was terrifying if not humiliating.

“You need to tell us.” Pomfrey insisted carefully.

“I-” Draco tried, and immediately had to stop to take a shaky breath.

He was so tired. He could barely thing straight. He saw Hal give him a concerned look, and the last thing he wanted was to make them both relive the stress they’d just been through by talking about it.

“Do you want to show me?” Sev asked softly.

Draco looked up to him gratefully. He know what he meant – they had done it a few times when Draco was little, when he’d hurt himself or had a great scare and was so upset he was unable to utter a word about what had occurred. Severus was a great Legilimens, and he was always able to gently probe into his mind to see just what he needed to know. He nodded, letting the familiar feeling of his godfather’s magic sift through his memories and gather the information Pomfrey would need.

“Transference magic.” He told her – Draco knew he wasn’t going into full details, and he was grateful for that. “The possession was completely removed but his signature is fragile.” He added – he would have spotted that from his earlier diagnostic spells rather than the Legilimency.

“That confirms it.” Pomfrey nodded. “To sleep you both go.”

She waved her wand once more, muttering cleaning spells this time, making the blood and dirt disappear and transfiguring their uniforms into clean pyjamas, so they could sleep comfortably at least until they got a chance to properly shower and change. She carried on with the sedation and regeneration spells – Severus let go of Draco as that point and forced him to lie down – and they were both asleep before they knew it.

* *

*

Petunia wished she had half the grace of Narcissa Malfoy as the latter sat by her son’s bed, looking every bit the lady that she was in spite of her distress – which Petunia perceived, one mother to another, but she doubted a lot of people would. She had seen her show some visible emotion as she talked to a tall dark-haired teacher, faltering as he spoke to her softly and put a hand on her arm for comfort, but now she looked nothing but regal, only moving to occasionally brush one of Draco’s blond locks off his forehead with a tender smile. Petunia, on the other hand, looked like she had been startled awake by a magical silver cat the size of a lynx, dragged out of bed, rushed to drop Ley off at the neighbours, and flown through a chimney – which she had.

She had been crying too, as much in panic as in relief, both upon hearing that Hal had landed himself in the infirmary again but would be just fine, and on seeing him in his hospital bed, pale and bruised but safe. She had been given the gist of what had happened; was she meant to be getting used to having her kid attacked by one evil magical force or another on a yearly basis? The fact that he seemed to be getting away with a heroic deed every time so far did not really soften the blow, in her opinion.

The matron had explained she’d placed both boys under induced sleep to give their bodies and their “magical cores” time to heal and replenish. She had done her best to be reassuring, but in the meantime, all Petunia could see were two small boys lying there hurt and unconscious, and it was heartbreaking.

“You know.” Narcissa suddenly spoke, her voice soft, and Petunia realised she was looking at her. “I used to despise your kind.”

Set up in between the two beds, their chairs were almost back to back, and Petunia turned a bit in hers to better face the other woman.

“I used to think Wizards were so, so superior.” She continued, her eyes sad, but with something like unexpected warmth at the bottom of them. “But here you are. A Muggle woman, who raised her boy as a Muggle, and…”

She looked down, almost as if to make amends.

“He saved my Draco’s life.”

Hesitantly, Petunia reached out, and placed her hand on Narcissa’s where it was resting on her lap.

“Hal is many things.” She told her kindly. “And being raised as a… Muggle, is only one of them.”

Narcissa looked up again, giving her a small smile.

“I realise that now. I have started realising it when Draco started school, really.” She admitted. “My own son has taught me something I should have taught him. Kindness, and tolerance.”

“From what I know of Draco.” Petunia smiled. “You’ve taught him plenty of good things. He wouldn’t have grown into the boy he is without you.”

Narcissa’s smile grew a little more convincing, and she turned back to look fondly at her son.

“They’ll be okay, won’t they.” She said, not really a question.

“They are made of strong stuff.” Petunia replied with determination, giving Narcissa’s hand a little squeeze.

She went to then withdraw, but Narcissa put her other hand over hers.

“Thank you.” She said.

* *

*

When Draco came to, he thought he was still asleep for a moment, dreaming no doubt. His mother was sitting by his bedside, having a chat and laughing with Hal’s aunt like they were the best of friends. Like Narcissa Malfoy had never been of the opinion of her parents, sister and husband once, which was that Muggles were the scum of the earth and should at worst be ignored and despised, at best eradicated. He knew she had long moved past the hatred, but he thought the best he would ever be able to expect from her would be cold indifference towards Muggles.

“Oh, darling.” Hal’s aunt was actually the first one to notice he was awake.

His mother turned to him immediately.

“Draco.” She said reverently, joy still in her eyes, and so much love, more than she had shown in years, though Draco had always known it was there. “Mon trésor.”

“Mommy.”

It slipped through his lips. He had not called her that in years, but then neither had she called him trésor. Right now, he didn’t know why they had drifted like that.

She brushed the hair off his forehead with a tender smile.

“How are you feeling?”

Ashamed, was the honest answer. Weak. But Draco forced himself to smile back. “I’m okay.”

He tried to crane his neck to see Hal, but his body still felt like lead. It was hard to move.

“He’s still asleep.” His mother provided, with a knowing smile this time. “It will take a little longer for him, his physical injuries were more serious.”

“He can’t do things half-way, that boy.” Hal’s aunt added, sounding a little amused, though Draco could hear the strain of her voice.

They both must have been up all night watching over them, he realised. Or if they’d gotten any sleep, it wouldn’t have been much. It looked like it was mid-morning now, and they’d gone into the Chamber still fairly early in the evening. The whole ordeal couldn’t have taken more than a few hours, and Draco doubted that Snape would have allowed for his mother – and therefore Hal’s aunt – to be called any later than immediately.

“I’m sorry.” Draco whispered.

He suddenly wanted to be sick. It had all been his fault, he had taken Hal down there. He had almost gotten him killed, it had been so, so close. If not for Dumbledore’s phoenix – whatever the hell it was doing there – he would be dead. They would both be dead. His mother helped him sit up as he dry-heaved, having nothing in his stomach.

“Let me get the nurse.” He faintly heard Hal’s aunt say.

“You have nothing to apologise for, my precious boy.” Narcissa said softly, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You are safe, you are both safe, that is what matters now.”

Hal’s aunt came back with Madam Pomfrey, who cast a few spells over Draco to check his vitals. She only seemed half-satisfied.

“You should eat and drink something.” She advised. “And then more rest, natural rest would be best if you can manage to sleep.”

Draco wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep, or eat for that matter, but he was willing to give it a try, if only for his mother’s sake.

“Mister Potter.” Pomfrey suddenly added, sounding startled. “You should not be awake yet.”

Draco whipped around, seeing Hal of course already struggling to sit up even though he was clearly still groggy from just waking up – and earlier than the spell should allow. Pomfrey scuttled to his side and started casting spells, which only seemed to make Hal more frantic.

“Darling, darling. Shh, you’re fine, everything’s fine.” His aunt tried to appease him, taking her seat next to him again and making him stay still with a hand on his chest, another disappearing in his mop of dark hair.

She didn’t brush it off his forehead like Draco’s mother had done for him; Draco suspected that was a habit she’d had to force herself not to get into, in order not to expose Hal’s scar.

“Draco.” Hal simply said as he let himself fall back onto his pillow, closing his eyes under his aunt’s hand, looking exhausted.

“Draco’s fine, love.” She told him. “He woke up a little while ago, and he was just as worried about you. You brave, reckless boys. You took care of each other.”

Draco would have argued he didn’t do f*ck all, and if he’d done anything it was leading Hal to certain death. Even when they had made it out, facing Lockhart, Hal was the one who had tried something and his meagre contribution had only been to follow Hal’s lead and try with him. He had been useless, helpless.

“Stop it.” Hal said, and it took a second for Draco to realise he was talking to him. He gave him a little smile and added. “I know what you’re thinking. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Your magic is strong.” Pomfrey interrupted them, before Draco could do anything else but stare at his friend in disbelief. “You shouldn’t have any after-effects from the poison, but I would still recommend sparing your nerves in the next few weeks. No stress, no strenuous spells, and do try to avoid getting injured again.”

“I’ll do my best.” Hal nodded sheepishly.

“You don’t have a concussion, either.” She added. “You got off easy.”

She then walked away, muttering something about being strong-headed. While she was in her little office, there was some commotion at the door – sounded like someone trying to force their way in, and their could hear No, arguments, and then five minutes before Neville, Ron and Anthony spilled into the infirmary and all but ran to their beds.

“Let us get you both some food.” Draco’s mother suggested, and she and Hal’s aunt gracefully left the boys their spot between Hal and Draco’s beds.

Draco expected them to all start talking at the same time and demand explanations, but when they reached them, the boys went from excited to subdued. Ron was finally the one to exhale.

“Mates, you both look like sh*t.”

Hal had a weak laugh, and turning around to get a good look at him now their respective guardians weren’t in his line of sight, Draco realised he really did. He sat up for their friends, but he was pale, his eyes sunken and several bruises visible (Pomfrey always said magic wasn’t the best solution for bruises, the body did a perfectly nice job on its own, and it was better to leave them as an indicator of natural healing, which was just as important as spells and potions) and an angry red stripe along his neck from Lockhart’s rope.

Draco could only imagine that one would be even more visible on his own paler skin. The rest of Hal’s body was covered, but Draco knew there would only be more of the same, matching welts on his wrists and legs, the bite mark – already a scar – on his arm and Merlin knew what else.

Draco, on his part, still felt knackered even after sleeping what must have been over twelve hours, so he imagined he looked about as fresh as Hal indeed. His physical injuries weren’t as extensive, but apparently being sucked on by a dark soul throughout the year and almost drained of all energy did take its toll.

“I won’t lie, I’ve have better days.” He deadpanned, wanting to defuse the tension.

It worked, everyone at least chuckled, and it seemed to break the dam as questions started flowing. Hal gave them the short version like it was no big deal – evil diary was actually possessing Draco, they’d gone into the Chamber, freaking Tom Riddle was actually freaking Voldemort (he just casually said the name, too, oblivious to everyone else’s shiver)...

“We were right to have a bad feeling about that thing.” Anthony commented.

“Hermione had a bad feeling about that thing.” Neville pointed out. “You and Hal were just jealous Draco hadn’t come to talk to you first.”

Hal rolled his eyes and carried on – Tom calls the Basilisk, Hal slays the Basilisk, as you do…

“Wow, what?” Ron interrupted. “The snake was there?”

Hal had a little frown. “Yeah.” He confirmed like it was obvious. “We weren’t just down there having a cuppa.”

“No, I’d gotten that far.” Ron said. “But. I mean.”

“How did you make it out?” Neville helped out.

“I had a sword.” Hal dropped.

There was a moment of silence.

“You had a sword.” Anthony repeated.

“Honestly, guys, I don’t know.” Hal sighed. “Dumbledore’s phoenix showed up with the Sorting Hat, and he took the Basilisk’s eyes out so that helped, and at one point I put the Hat on and it gave me a sword.”

“So you killed a giant snake with a sword from a hat.” Anthony summarised. “Another day in the life of Harry Potter.”

Hal snorted. “Tell me about it. Anyway, then I destroyed the diary and it got us our Draco back.”

He turned to smile warmly at him, and Draco was almost distracted enough to notice he’d conveniently omitted the part where he’d gotten bitten by the Basilisk and had almost died.

“And we thought we were out of the woods, but when we got back up, Lockhart attacked us.”

“What?” The others all reacted.

“What was he doing there?” Anthony asked. “It’s not like he would actually know where to find the entrance to the Chamber.

Hal made an unhappy face. “I told Myrtle to get Dumbledore or anyone and apparently she got Lockhart.” He sighed. “Guess I should have specified.”

“We kind of already heard about that.” Ron admitted. “McGonagall was furious. Something about illegal memory spells and him being a sham and attacking students for his own glory being beyond reckoning.”

“That’s the gist.” Hal confirmed.

“I can’t believe he got away with that for so long.” Ron said, looking disgusted. “All those books.”

“I can’t believe you got attacked by another DADA teacher.” Neville commented.

“Can’t wait to see who they have next year.” Draco added drily.

“I’ll make sure to antagonise them immediately, get it out of the way.” Hal added in the same tone.

They all exchanged grins at the half-arsed jokes, simply happy to see their friends well enough to make them, then Pomfrey came to shoo them away.

“These boys need food and rest.” She said. “You can see them again this evening if they’re awake.”

They obviously told each other they’d see them later, though when they were gone, Draco caught Hal closing his eyes and breathing deeply for a moment, lying back for a minute before he had to sit up again to eat.

“You okay?” Draco asked, taking advantage of the few seconds they were alone as Pomfrey left again to find their parents, who presumably would come back with food.

“Yeah.” Hal smiled, opening his eyes again to look at him. They were very green, Draco through stupidly. “Just tired.”

“It’d be odd if you weren’t.” Draco attempted to smile back, but he still felt a bit sick to his stomach at the idea that Hal could have so easily died.

“You’re doing it again.” Hal saw right through him. “Stop it. It’s not your fault.”

“I was stupid.” Draco argued. “The diary…”

“Was evil beyond what you could have suspected.” Hal completed firmly. “And don’t you think there would have been many more attacks, even deaths, if you hadn’t been strong?”

Draco was saved from having to answer that as his mother and Hal’s aunt came back with trays of food.

* *

*

Hal felt a little better after eating, though he’d only stopped casting worried glances over towards Draco because Narcissa had shifted her chair a little, and he couldn’t see him anymore without making it really obvious. He’d looked so… small. Hal knew the possession would have taken its toll, it was only understandable, but he didn’t want him to spiral down into guilt.

His aunt had been quiet, watching him like he might vanish he she took her eyes off him. She’d told him Ley was with the neighbours, she’d phoned him earlier in the morning to give him some news. He’d wanted to come, of course, but she’d starkly refused – even if Hogwarts would allow it, he had school.

“But I’m glad you’re here.” Hal remarked. “Again.”

“I can’t say I like this new tradition.” She joked, though it fell a little flat.

“Are you missing work?” He asked, feeling guilty already.

She ruffled his hair, reading him perfectly. “Don’t you worry about it.” She smiled.

“Will you be back for Ley’s birthday?” Hal nevertheless kept worrying.

It was the next day. It seemed unfair that his aunt was here, taking care of him, while Ley had been left with the neighbours, so if that was still the case of his birthdays on all days...

“Yes.” Hal’s aunt confirmed, interrupting his train of thought. “Your headmaster has offered me and Narcissa rooms to stay over tonight, have some dinner with you guys and a good night’s sleep, and we’ll leave in the morning.”

Hal wondered when the shift from Mrs Malfoy, which was how his aunt had been referring to Draco’s mom last time they’d been in contact, to Narcissa had happened, but he was glad it had.

“I’ll get him a bigger cake to make up for it.” Petunia added with a smile. “Even though we’ll celebrate his birthday properly when you’re back, like we did last year.”

A small arrangement they had made, so that Hal wouldn’t miss his cousin’s birthday for the sake of a few days of school term. Ley had been unsure about postponing the actual celebration, arguing that it wasn’t the same if it wasn’t on the day, until it had been agreed he’d get two cakes out of it. He was happy with that. Hal still didn’t feel good for almost making him miss out on that one, too.

“I didn’t go looking for trouble.” He felt the need to say. “I just… Draco was being so weird and clearly something was wrong and I wanted- I needed to make sure he was safe.”

“Darling.” She said softly, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze. “He’s safe. You both are. You did so well.”

“I was so scared.” He admitted, looking down, his voice tiny. “I was so scared, I thought I was going to die-”

He choked, and his aunt immediately gathered him into her arms, where he broke down in exhausted sobs.

He didn’t know how long he cried, but he fell asleep in her arms.

Chapter 14: June (part 3)

Chapter Text

If Hal had had to describe the last few days of term, he’d have picked the word chaos. Everyone in the school was talking (making wild suppositions) about what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, and the frenzy around the scandal with Lockhart did nothing to help. In spite of that and all the crazy versions of the recent events going around, in-between healing and sleeping off the exhaustion, Hal and Draco had a chance to gather the missing pieces of what had happened.

Such as: Dumbledore had been away when they were down in the Chamber, called to the Ministry following complaints from the school governors, to reassess if he should remain in his position as Headmaster of the school in view of the disturbing events. The fact that Fawkes had come to Hal was… well, magical? The bird’s abilities remained undetermined. It seemed that Hal showing loyalty to Dumbledore (he didn’t attempt to correct people on the assumption, even if he’d been riling up Tom Riddle at the time more than pledging his faith in the old wizard) had been the trick.

Or: fancy that, the sword Hal had wielded was apparently the sword of Gryffindor himself – which actually did great things to dispel the remaining rumours that Hal might be the Heir of Slytherin. Some started speculating he might be the Heir of Gryffindor, and Hal decided to just ignore all of it. They also discovered that Riddle had used his compulsion on Draco to leave another message on the wall before getting him to drag Hal down to the Chamber: Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever. Charming.

That wasn’t the only unpleasant thing they had to deal with following their involvement in the recent events; they had to fend off a lot of attention and accept they would have to be telling their story to various people repeatedly – or debating rumours; no, Salazar Slytherin himself had not been in the Chamber, neither mummified nor because he was immortal (did people really think if he’d uncovered the secret to eternal life, he’d have been hiding away in a moldy underground chamber this whole time?). No, the snake did not grow back two heads when Hal cut one off. And no, Draco certaintly had not briefly turned into a ghost before coming back to life.

But there were good times as well – most of the school, even people who hadn’t been particularly friendly before or fans of Hal’s, either showed them support, recognising the potential trauma of what they had been through, and/or admired them for their courage and thanked them for “saving the school”. More importantly, the mandrakes had finally matured, and the potion had been brewed, and the petrified people were able to be revived. Hal and Draco ended up getting out of the infirmary at the same time as them, and the first thing they did, the two of them, Hermione and the other three of their friends, was spend a good ten minutes in a massive group hug.

The atmosphere in the school was that of exhilaration. The happiness of those closest to the victims, from getting their friends back, was nothing if not catching, and the entire school celebrated. It might also have had something to do with the fact all remaining exams were cancelled for everyone but OWL and NEWT years, which had caused a great generalised uproar of joy. Even Hermione had been willing to admit she was relieved, though in her case it was because she thought she hadn’t studied enough, losing the time she’d been petrified, and couldn’t possibly offer her best performance.

Some aspects were… neither good nor bad, maybe, just weird. Hal received a Special Award for Services to the School, that first night when he could get out of bed and the hospital wing – his aunt had already left, but Dumbledore personally came down to share the new with her and Hal that morning before she did (offering her to stay one more night to witness the ceremony, which she declined so she could get back to Ley for his birthday) and he could see the pride in her eyes. It was the only reason the whole thing hadn’t be 100% embarrassment. They had placed the new shiny plaque bearing his name in the Trophy room where Riddle’s one had stood, after destroying the latter – a particularly vicious spell from McGonagall that seemed to give her a lot of satisfaction.

There were a few pockets of discontent, namely among Slytherins, who theorised Hal had orchestrated the whole thing as a great ploy to make himself look good. Hal decided again not to rise to any of it – he didn’t feel like he had the energy anyway. Madam Pomfrey had warned him and Draco that it would still be a little while before they felt completely normal, and there was nothing but time that would allow their cores to fully heal and replenish. On top of that, Hal’s first night of sleeping without a spell or potion had been dreadful – he couldn’t go to sleep, then he couldn’t stay asleep, then he’d had nightmares and, all in all, had barely slept a wink.

Hermione and the others were also being monitored, but it seemed that apart from some loss of muscle tone and a voice cracked from disuse, they wouldn’t be feeling too many after effects. All of them came to personally thank Hal, offering congratulations (Nick), giving him hugs (Colin, Hermione of course, Penelope) or apologising for ever thinking of him as a bad person (Justin).

They also had a chance to properly get together before the end of year feast. Pan hugged Hermione something fierce, and decided they should “stop talking about that sh*t for a second already” so he could share his news instead. Hermione was immediately supportive and really happy for him, and of course excited about learning everything that could possibly be known about the views on gender identity and the process of transitioning in the magical world.

“I was counting on that.” Pan grinned. “I knew you’d study and tell me what exactly I’m getting myself into.”

“And there I thought you’d genuinely missed me, and not just my reading skills.” Hermione grinned back.

“Your reading skills saved the school, girl.” Pan retorted. “These idiots wouldn’t have put two and two together without you.” He jerked her chin towards the others who only made vague noises of protest. It was true after all. “They should have given you the stupid award.”

“Well, knowing didn’t help.” Hermione sighed. “Still got myself petrified. Hal was the one who saved the day, so it’s fair.”

“Hey, by the way.” Anthony intervened. “We figured out the Basilisk based on how you freaked out about snakes. But how did you guess the entrance was there? Was it the inscription? I thought that was a bit on the nose to leave it there, actually.”

“No.” Hermione frowned, like she’d not realised they hadn’t actually figured that one out. “Myrtle.”

“Myrtle?” Anthony repeated, echoing the look of confusion on everyone else’s faces.

“She’s the girl who died fifty years ago.” Hermione spelt out. “Did you never wonder how she died? She’s in her Hogwarts uniform – as soon as Blaise mentioned a girl had died, really, I thought of her. It just didn’t really connect, I guess I didn’t want to stop to think about it if I’m honest, but it was in the back of my mind, and when I realised the monster was probably a snake, I thought someone would have seen it, Basilisks tend to grow big, but then I thought of pipes, it must be travelling through the pipes, which fit with the way Hal had been hearing it along the corridors, and well, where do pipes lead? Bathrooms or kitchens, don’t they. Then I thought, actually, isn’t it odd that of all the places in the castle, Moaning Myrtle has decided to haunt a toilet? Which led me to think, maybe, that’s because it’s where she died. Maybe she found herself in the way of the Basilisk exiting or coming back to the Chamber, or at least she might have known something. I was on my way to ask her, when, well.”

She finally stopped for breath, while they all looked at her in slight disbelief.

“You are amazing.” Neville finally said.

“I’m going to go speak to McGonagall.” Hal nodded.

“What?” Hermione frowned. “Why?”

“You definitely deserve an award.”

* *

*

Gryffindor had won the House cup again, courtesy of the 200 points Dumbledore had awarded Hal for that little deed of besting Voldermort, again, saving Draco’s life and potentially countless others that would have been on the line if Tommy the Teenage Dark Lord hadn’t been stopped. After the award, Hal thought it was all a bit over the top to grant him that huge amount of points as well, but he wasn’t going to complain when everyone was so happy celebrating.

The celebration itself got a little overwhelming, though, and Hal found himself withdrawing to sit in a quieter corner of the common room when everyone got on to another loud round of Butterbeer-Quidditch. Hermione dropped on the other half of the love-seat a minute later.

“Tired?” She smiled at him.

“Still a bit.” Hal admitted.

It had only been three days, he didn’t see the point of acting tough and proud. He’d almost been poisoned to death by a mythical serpent and Obliviated by a teacher. He was allowed a bit of downtime.

“Going home tomorrow.” She sounded like she was looking forward to it, too. “You’ll get to rest during the holidays, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hal nodded. “I’m not allowed anything strenuous for a few weeks – magic won’t be a problem but my aunt said we’ll take it easy in July anyway.”

“I’m going to Cornwall with my parents.” Hermione said.

“Do they…” Hal hesitated. “Do they know what happened?

“Well.” Hermione winced. “They obviously know something happened to me, the school had to warn them. But they downplayed it, I think. They didn’t want all the parents rushing in, so they said it was temporary and they had an antidote coming and not to worry, basically. I think they might have said we had to be in a sort of quarantine, to justify why they couldn’t come and see us. I’m not sure what they would have done if the mandrakes hadn’t worked out, they must have been pretty confident, though I suppose maybe it was best not to alarm them before they tried. So yeah.” She sighed. “They basically think I had a bad bout of… chickenpox, or something. They’re relieved I’m okay now, but I don’t think they were ever overly worried.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Hal said thoughtfully.

“They’ve been telling me how busy things have been with the dental practice.” Hermione added. “It’s so… normal. But then I look around, and everyone’s doing magic, and that’s normal too, you know? Sometimes I feel like… my life is so different now. Like there’s a part of me they’ll never really see, never understand.”

Hal took her hand, because he didn’t have to say he felt the same, for her to know it. He did, and it pained him a little, too, that Ley and his aunt would always be slightly on the sidelines of this new world of his. He wouldn’t give up Hogwarts, his friends there, magic, the memory of his parents, for anything in the world – but a part of him resented to have to leave them behind for this.

Not wanting to let that sit heavily between them, he changed the subject.

“We’re going to France with the Malfoys.”

“Really?” Hermione raised a surprised brow. “The three of you? I mean, I knew your aunt and Draco’s mum spoke a few times, but holidays with Muggles doesn’t sound like a very Mafoy thing to do, no offence…”

“No, it doesn’t.” Hal laughed. “But it looks like my aunt and Draco’s mom bonded over our sorry arses in the infirmary and now they’re friends? Draco said his mom is coming around on the whole Muggle thing, apparently. She has a sister who married a Muggle, needless to say she hasn’t spoken to her since, but now she’s decided to reach out. Draco’s cousin goes to Uni in France, she’s twenty, so they suggested to meet there, and I think Narcissa is terrified to face them on her own, so she invited us along.”

“Well.” Hermione commented after a pause. “I guess weirder things have happened.”

Hal snorted. “Yeah, weirder things have happened in the past three days.”

She laughed, but then gave him a serious look.

“How are you holding up?”

Hal had a pout, and briefly thought about dismissing the question as he had with most people (“Much better now, thanks!”), but he felt like he could tell her the truth.

“I’m tired.” He admitted. “Not just physically, that’ll pass, but… I just wanted this year to be normal, and it’s been anything but. Everyone has an opinion on me, even more than before, it’s just annoying. I’m just a bloke weird sh*t happens to.” He shrugged. “I think I just want to be home, at this point. I’m not looking forward to Lockhart’s trial.”

“Oh yeah, there’s that.” Hermione made a grimace of disgust.

“A lot of the charges don’t concern us.” Hal expanded. “But they want me and Draco to testify regarding the attack. Obviously there aren’t really any other witnesses to his previous offences since he’s Obliviated them all.”

“When is it?” Hermione asked.

“It’s due to start sometime in August, I think probably towards the end of the month, so…” He shrugged. He didn’t want to think about it now, if he was honest. “Holidays first. But we thought we could maybe combine that with our shopping in Diagon, meet you guys that day?”

“That sounds good.” She smiled. “Less of a waste of a day.”

“That’s what Draco said.” He grinned back.

“He’s fine, you know.” She said suddenly.

“What?”

“Draco.” She continued. “Since this happened, you… well no offence, but you’ve been sticking to him like a mama duck to her duckling, like you’re afraid something terrible will happen to him if you let him out of your sight.”

Now that Hermione mentioned it, Hal realised he was constantly checking on where Draco was in a room. Not that it was a challenge – Draco seemed to be sticking to him more than before too, always picking the seat next to him or standing as close as casually possible. It wasn’t weird – but it was like their shared ordeal had created a bond between them, which felt more comfortable when it wasn’t taut, as if they were tied by an elastic string. The others didn’t seem to mind, in spite of Hermione’s comment – they’d noticed, but they didn’t mind. If anything, they seemed to understand. They knew there were elements of the story the two boys hadn’t told them, parts of what had happened that would be giving them nightmares for a while and that maybe they would never share. It was okay, they wouldn’t push – trauma was a delicate thing.

“I don’t do that.” Hal still denied it, grumbling defensively. “It’s brought us a bit closer, is all.”

“He’s fine.” Hermione repeated. “Riddle is gone, completely.”

“He was gone eleven years ago.” Hal spat back. “He was gone last year after Quirrell died. He keeps, coming, back.”

He pressed the heels of both palms against his eyes, only to resist the urge to start clawing at his scar, as if Voldemort’s next manifestation would come from there. It was as likely as anything, at this point. It had flared when he’d destroyed the diary, and maybe it had gone slightly unnoticed in the grand scheme of things, but it had felt sensitive since. Raw. Not painful exactly, but in a way that made it hard to just forget about it. Hal wanted it off his face, though he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“He’s not strong enough.” Hermione said softly, patting his back. “Hal, he was a force to be reckoned with during the war, but now he’s nothing. A ghost, a memory.”

“That memory could have killed Draco.” Hal pointed out, face still in his hands. “It doesn’t matter if he’s not strong enough on its own – he’s still strong enough to use other people or things for his purpose. Draco could have died. I could have died. You could have died.”

“But we didn’t.” She said firmly. “Nobody did.”

“Yeah, I saved the day, go me.” Hal said gloomily, sitting up and dropping his arms, dejected. “How is that fair? This shouldn’t be on me. I’m twelve, Hermione. I want to play Quidditch and be a dick with my cousin and my friends, I don’t want to be expected to save the world.”

“Nobody expects you to.” Hermione started.

“Oh, they do.” Hal scoffed bitterly. “There’s that stupid prophecy, people have been thanking me for a decade for saving them, while all I did was have parents who died for me. So of course they expect something of me now I’m older – and before you say anything, I know, I’ve not made it any better by getting myself in a situation where I’ve faced Voldemort again twice, though I could argue that’s also not really my fault. And did you notice how Dumbledore was again conveniently away? Sends me a bird and a f*cking sword? He’s training me, Hermione. I know you can see it too. You told me as much last year. Most brilliant wizard of his age and he wants to pretend he had no idea how to sort any of this mess? Come off it. Then I just happened to get dragged into it, again?”

“Yeah, alright, will you stop wallowing in self-pity now?”

He gave her a startled look, having not expected that response.

“Harry Potter.” She continued sternly. “You realise you’re whining because you’re special?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she didn’t let him.

“So you’ve been chosen. You don’t want it, well, tough. You’ve been dealt this lot, there’s nothing you can do about it but chose what to do with it. You’d rather be ordinary? You can’t. What does that leave you with? Do nothing, which is an option, sure. Or would you want to make the world a better place with whatever tools you have?”

Hal took a short, shaky breath. He wanted to keep arguing this wasn’t fair, really, but she had a point.

“I’d rather not be a child soldier in a war that either ended a decade ago or hasn’t started yet.” He admitted. “But I see what you’re saying.”

She broke into a smile again. “Good. And you know.” She patted his arm. “Just because you are Harry Potter and people have their expectations for that, just because you may have to do this, doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

“Totally, mate.” Ron was suddenly there, dropping almost on top of Hal in an attempt to squeeze onto the small sofa. “I don’t know what we’re talking about, but you’re totally not alone.”

“Are you drunk?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“What? I’m too young to drink.” Ron replied airily. “It would be entirely irresponsible.”

The giggle that followed didn’t help his case, but Hermione elected to simply sigh and roll her eyes.

“Thanks, guys.” Hal told them both.

“Anytime.” Ron yawned.

Neville appeared, looking a little disheveled as well.

“Time for bed?” He suggested.

Ron yawned again in agreement, dragging himself to his feet, and looking expectantly back at the others, like it was inconceivable to start climbing the stairs to their dorm rooms if they weren’t following. Hal smiled back at them, almost wondering suddenly what he was so strung up about a minute ago. It was something so casual, his friends looking out for each other for even the simple journey of going up to bed, but it warmed him all over. Hermione was right.

He’d never have to do this alone.