No one at Seren Du was particularly thrilled about taking the trip to King's Cross the next morning. Snape left before anyone else, as he would be heading to the castle directly; he dropped the Prophet in disgust and stalked from the kitchen, Remus following hot on his heel, and when the werewolf returned ten minutes later the Potions Master did not come with him.
Harry didn't blame Snape for being too angry to continue reading the newspaper; he himself almost set it on fire accidentally. The front page, naturally, declared that Minister Scrimgeour was dead. However, it also talked about Voldemort's take-over of the Ministry as if it were a mere staffing change; it was clear the Death Eaters had control over the newspaper, too.
There went any form of reputable national news — though the Prophet had been barely reputable to begin with.
With little information to go on, Harry was half expecting the aurors to come for him at Platform 9&3/4, to drag him kicking and screaming to Voldemort himself under some bullshit arrest warrant. On the contrary, the platform was quiet — far quieter than it should have been. It seemed like there were a fair number of students who had chosen not to return — or, Harry realised with sickening clarity, had not survived the summer.
Only Sirius and Narcissa came with them to the platform, Remus and Charlie saying their goodbyes at the house. The two boys garnered some looks, arriving together, but Harry ignored them; people would soon find out that he and Draco had been friends all along.
"Stay safe," Sirius murmured, pulling Harry into a tight hug. Harry hugged him back, desperately wishing that Sirius' first time seeing him off to school was under better circumstances.
Next year.
"You, too," Harry replied, giving his godfather a warning look. "Keep me updated on anything important."
"Will do, kiddo." Sirius reluctantly let go, kissing him on the forehead. "Love you."
"Love you, too."
Harry let Narcissa kiss him on the cheek, the Malfoy matriarch warning him to be careful and take good care of her son. That got a small smile out of him, and a sincere nod.
Harry saw a cluster of redheads approaching — much smaller than usual, just Mrs Weasley, Ron and Ginny, with Hermione walking alongside them. Harry wondered how Mr Weasley was taking the whole Ministry situation. At least thanks to Bill, they knew he'd made it out unscathed. Mrs Weasley caught sight of them and sent a glare to Sirius, and the dog animagus rolled his eyes. "I think we're gonna get going. Call me soon," he added to Harry, squeezing Draco's shoulder. "See you both at Yule, if not sooner."
The two boys headed to find a compartment, and Harry smiled when they found Luna, Daphne and Blaise waiting for them in their usual spot. "Morning, gentlemen," Blaise drawled in greeting. "Finally going public, are we?"
"Just as friends," Harry explained, hoisting his trunk up into the rack. Daphne snorted.
"For now, at least," she remarked. Harry didn't have it in him to argue; she wasn't wrong.
They didn't have to wait long for Ginny and Neville to find them, Ginny letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief as she dropped into a seat. "Thank Merlin I can finally spend several months with people who are not Ron," she announced, making Harry laugh.
"I'm sorry I left you to the wolves this summer," he joked, "but at least you had Neville. And Susan."
Ginny glanced at her boyfriend, who blushed faintly. "Yeah, and the twins were always willing to let me hang around, even if Mum went mental at the idea of me being in Diagon with things as they are."
The train started to move, jolting Harry against Draco's side.
"How's Amelia doing anyway, Nev?" he asked, and the other Gryffindor's smile faltered.
"She was awake long enough to say goodbye before we left, but she wasn't up for coming to the station," he relayed. "Gran's called a healer friend of hers to come check on her, though."
That was good; Snape might know a hell of a lot about both Dark Arts and Potions, but he was not a trained professional, and they didn't want to risk missing something.
The questions prompted an explanation to the others about what had happened the night before; they only knew what they'd heard from the Prophet.
As with last year, the journey to Hogwarts was interspersed with visitors, several of whom looked taken-aback to see Draco sat so companionably beside Harry. Though truthfully, there weren't many of their friends who didn't know the truth by this point — far too many of them just looked smug at the sight of the pair. Susan and Theo were some of their first visitors, Susan's face a little drawn. Harry shuffled over, making room for them to sit. "Neville said your aunt woke up?"
Susan nodded. "I hated leaving her like that, but she said she feels okay, just tired. I suppose I have Professor Snape to thank for that."
"I think he'd rather you never mention it again, in all honesty," Draco drawled, making Susan giggle.
"We have some other news," Theo said, his hand in Susan's and his hazel eyes bright. "I got a letter from my family solicitor this morning. My father was one of the people killed in the Ministry yesterday."
Harry tensed. What could he say to that? Theo seemed to sense his dilemma, as he gave a sharklike grin. "Don't apologise; he was a piece of shit and he deserves to be dead. But the better news is, once I turn seventeen in January, I'll be free. And, like most idiot Death Eaters, his will handed both my guardianship and the house proxy over to Lord Malfoy — which in his absence goes to Lady Malfoy." He turned his grin on Draco. "Looks like we're foster-brothers until January."
Draco laughed. "Congratulations. Welcome to the family, I suppose."
"I can go back home, when this is over." The awe in Theo's voice was palpable.
"I'm happy for you," Harry said sincerely. Theo nodded to him.
"I wouldn't have lasted this far without your protection, Harry," he said solemnly. "I'm in your debt."
"There are no debts between friends," Harry corrected, smiling. Theo blinked. Then, slowly, he smiled too.
"Okay, then."
"Have you heard from the girls?" Blaise cut in, frowning. Theo shook his head.
"Got a letter from Millie a week into summer, nothing since. Ever since Draco and I defected, I think her dad is reading her letters."
Harry felt Draco's shoulders tighten at his side. "I hate that we've left them to put up with Crabbe and Goyle, and Tracey Davis."
"You and me, both," Theo agreed. "But they're safer that way. We all are. The Dark Lord needs to feel like he's got some kind of foothold in the school."
"Did Susan tell you about…?" Harry trailed off, and Theo nodded.
"Doesn't surprise me the Ravenclaws got turned first. They've always been closest to Slytherin."
"We'll have to keep an eye out." There were bound to be more students in all houses with parents who had turned, and possibly even some students who had turned entirely independently of their families. Harry wasn't so naive to think that Voldemort's rhetoric wasn't appealing to certain types of people.
Namely, people who were sick of Albus Dumbledore's bullshit.
This year, Harry would change that. He would offer an alternate option to both, and perhaps he could save a few souls from being Marked.
Susan and Theo left when the trolley came around, promising to pass everyone's regards on to the Hufflepuff contingency. Harry didn't miss the way both of them had their wands out when they returned to the corridor.
It was a sad day when even the train to school felt like a potential battleground.
Most other visitors didn't stay long, just sticking their heads in to say hello — there were no questions about peoples' summers, or joking complaints about resuming classes. Everyone knew that their summers had been grim, and after what had happened at the Ministry they all had bigger problems than classes. Harry hated how many of his friends had hardened gazes these days, tight smiles and slightly hunched shoulders.
Lavender was the most cheerful of the bunch, thanking Harry for the flowers he'd sent her and congratulating him on his OWL results. Harry had almost forgotten about the whole thing, it felt like so much had happened since then.
A few people stopped long enough to ask Harry about the HA, but he had very little to offer them — he wasn't supposed to know about Snape being the new DADA teacher, and he wasn't sure what his schedule was going to look like, so all he could say was 'we'll see'. He was starting to get a little sick of it all, and was just considering putting a privacy ward on the door when there was a knock and Sully stuck his head in. "Hi, guys," he greeted, smile flitting across his face. "I, uh, how is everyone?"
"You look like you have something you want to say, Sullivan," Luna said airily, ignoring the question, and Sully laughed.
"Never could get one past you," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But yes. I, uh — I've been talking to Tonks a lot this summer. About some stuff. And I think… I'm not a boy." Sully bit his lip, looking anxious. "Or a girl. I… I'm somewhere in the middle."
"…Okay," Harry said slowly, eyeing the fidgeting Ravenclaw. "So… do you want to switch pronouns sometimes, like Tonks? Or are you okay with he but just wanted us to know?" The books he'd bought from Infinite had a lot of information on the subject of gender, and Harry was amazed at how varied things could be, at how little he'd really considered it himself. "I— I want to use they/them pronouns. So you say they and theirs instead of he or his," they added at Neville and Ginny's confused looks.
"Sounds good," Draco agreed, turning back to his book. Sully blinked, startled.
"I— that's okay?"
"Of course!" Luna beamed at them. "We just want you to be happy."
"I've never really heard of that before, but I'll try my best to remember," Ginny added. "And if anyone gives you shit for it, send them my way, yeah?"
Sully's frame visibly relaxed, a wide smile crossing their features. "Thanks. I—just… thanks."
"I've got some books back home you might like, if you want to borrow them," Harry volunteered, then glanced at the rest of the compartment. "Or if any of you want to take a look. To understand things a bit better."
"That would be great, Harry," Neville said, quietly relieved. He looked up at Sully. "Like Ginny said, I don't really know what that means, but I'll do what I can to make you happy. And I'll apologise now if I slip up or say something I shouldn't."
"Oh, no, it's fine," Sully assured quickly, going wide-eyed. "It's unusual, I know, it'll take some getting used to. But… I've never felt comfortable, being a boy. I didn't really know why until I met Tonks. And I'd like to see if this feels better." They laughed. "I still slip up sometimes, I'm not expecting you all to be perfect!"
"Then I'm glad you and Tonks met," Harry said with a grin.
"Me, too," Sully said softly. "And… thanks for getting me out of my parents' house. I… they sent a howler, once they realised I was gone. It was pretty brutal."
All of them frowned, and Ginny, as the closest to Sully, reached out to squeeze their arm. "That's rough, I'm sorry," she murmured. Sully shrugged.
"It's about what I expected — how I've let the family down, I should be smart enough to recognise what the winning side is, all that."
"You are smart enough," Daphne remarked, smirking. "That's why you're here with us."
Sully grinned back. "That's exactly what Theo said."
All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door, and a timid third-year Hufflepuff girl peeked in. "Hi. Sorry. I'm uh, supposed to give these to Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom," she said breathlessly, awe in her eyes as she handed parchment to Harry. Then she glanced at Draco, and squeaked. "Oh." Her wide brown eyes trailed the whole compartment. "Wait. Are you Blaise Zabini?" Blaise nodded, looking baffled. "There's one for you, too." She handed over the scroll, then disappeared. "Well," Sully murmured. "On that note, I'm out before I get dragged into any of your weird shenanigans. See you later!" They left before any of the crowd could protest the shenanigans comment.
Harry frowned down at the scroll, opening it. As he read, his heart sank.
"So it begins," Draco murmured amusedly, kissing his cheek.
"Who's Professor Slughorn?" Neville asked, staring at his own scroll in confusion. "What does he want?"
"New Defence professor?" Blaise presumed, and Harry grimaced.
"Not quite. Potions."
The dark-skinned Slytherin's head snapped up. "Does that mean…?"
"Yup."
Neville groaned quietly. "Just when I thought I was rid of him," he said in despair. Harry chuckled.
"He's not all bad."
"You have to say that, you're dating his godson," Ginny retorted mutinously. "Well, have fun at your lunch date, boys." She kissed Neville, then shoved him to his feet.
Harry very much did not want to go, but he had promised Snape he would try and get on Slughorn's good side. So he pecked Draco on the lips, and the three of them left the safety and peace of their compartment, heading into the train corridor.
Harry had expected the staring. The whispering, the not-quiet-enough comments about his sanity or him going Dark or his supposed feud with Dumbledore.
He had not expected the giggles.
"Looks like you've still got fangirls, mate," Neville teased as a group of fourth year Gryffindor girls giggled and fluttered their lashes at him.
"Hello, Harry," one girl said boldly, her friends giggling even harder. "I'm Romilda Vane. You should come sit with us."
"Sorry, places to be," Harry replied breezily, hurrying past the compartment. He glared at Blaise and Neville when they snickered.
They weren't the only ones in Slughorn's compartment when they reached it; Marcus Belby from the Slytherin quidditch team was also there, as well as — much to Harry's dismay — Cormac McLaggen. Perhaps he was about to hear some of the bragging about Tiberius Ogden that Vicky had complained about.
"Ah, Harry, my boy!" Slughorn greeted jovially, as if they were old friends. He was a portly man, mostly bald and flushed in the cheeks, though surprisingly sprightly considering how old he must be to have taught Tom Riddle. But wizards aged differently, Harry supposed. "Delighted to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you!" He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Come in, come in. Ah, and you must be Mr Zabini — you look just like your mother — and Mr Longbottom, of course! Glad you could all make it to my little party!"
The only one who looked even remotely happy to be there was McLaggen, which did not bode well. Harry shuffled in, taking a seat between Blaise and Neville. It seemed Slughorn had come prepared; there was a small buffet lunch laid out, and the new professor urged them all to take plates and napkins. "Please, help yourselves! I don't know if you know these fine gentlemen joining us—" Slughorn introduced Belby and McLaggen, neither of whom was particularly impressed by Harry or his friends.
Harry picked at the food while Slughorn continued his conversation with Belby; though it ended quite abruptly when Belby confessed he didn't have much contact with his apparently famous uncle. There was one person who likely wouldn't be getting an invite to the next gathering.
If only Harry could be so lucky.
McLaggen was happy to brag about some hunting trip he'd taken with his Uncle Tiberius, though it went south soon after he mentioned that Rufus Scrimgeour had also been on the trip. An awkward silence followed, until Slughorn cleared his throat.
"Well, then. You, my lad, need no introduction!" he announced as he turned to Harry, chuckling to himself. "The Chosen One, they're calling you now. Well, some of the time, at least. Seems the Prophet can't quite make their minds up about you!"
Harry gave a false smile, stabbing a little too hard at a piece of pheasant. "Of course, the Prophet has been known to print mistakes in the past," Slughorn continued. "But after what you and your little friends got up to at the Ministry, well— you just have to see how quiet they kept that to know there's a real story behind it!" He looked hopeful, like Harry might tell him that story. Harry cleared his throat.
"We stopped the Ministry getting taken. It's just a shame they tried again," he said, watching Slughorn's smile faltered.
"Yes, yes. Terrible business, truly terrible. But the rest of the stories about you; so sensationalised! Truly, I do wonder about them sometimes. But I asked Albus about you, of course, when I realised I'd be teaching you! Very fond of you, the headmaster — he believes with the right guiding hand you'll go very far indeed!"
Harry gritted his teeth, still smiling. Dumbledore had said that, had he? Well, he was mistaken if he thought Harry would ever let him or Slughorn be that guiding hand.
Luckily, Slughorn seemed to realise he wasn't going to get much out of Harry, then; he moved on to Blaise, asking about the Italian boy's mother with keen eyes.
It was an excruciating way to spend an afternoon, made only slightly better by Blaise's quiet snarky commentary whenever Slughorn wasn't paying attention. Harry had almost cursed the man when he'd started pestering Neville about his parents, despite how clearly uncomfortable the blond boy was with the subject. At last, when the setting sun began to stream through the train windows, Slughorn blinked owlishly.
"Goodness me, look at the time! You had all better go change into your robes!" He ushered them out with a genial smile, promising to lend McLaggen a book and assuring Harry and Blaise that his office door was open to them any time. It seemed Harry had passed the first test — and Neville had not, which seemed just fine by him if the look of relief on his face was anything to go by.
"Thank Merlin I'm not doing Potions anymore," Neville remarked, and Harry groaned quietly.
"Lucky bastard."
The rest of their friends had already changed into their robes by the time the three boys returned, and they rummaged through their trunks for their own robes. "How was it?" Draco asked, shifting over so Harry could sit down once he had changed. Harry huffed.
"About as awful as expected. Apparently Dumbledore's told him I need 'the right guiding hand'," he added, making a face. Draco sneered.
"Charming."
"Isn't he just." Still, Snape thought it was important to be nice to Slughorn, so Harry would hold his temper.
They didn't get any other visitors for the rest of the journey, and soon the train was pulling into Hogsmeade station. Before they opened the compartment door, Harry slid an arm around Draco's waist, kissing him firmly. "Merlin, give it a rest, you two!" Ginny exclaimed, poking him in the shoulder. "Godric only knows how the pair of you managed to keep this secret for so long."
Harry grinned, unrepentant. "Some of us can't snog our boyfriends in the middle of the common room," he retorted pointedly. "It's my last chance for a while, give me a break."
But all the same, he reluctantly let go of Draco, and followed Neville out of the compartment.
Already, people were whispering about the pair of them sitting together for the train ride. As they headed to the thestral-drawn carriages, Harry spotted Ron and Hermione glaring daggers in his direction.
Seeing the castle looming on the horizon made something tighten in Harry's chest — he hated feeling that way, when before the castle had been the one place he could truly relax.
He hated Dumbledore, for making him feel that way.
Discreetly, Draco squeezed his knee, gaze knowing.
The pair of them walked shoulder to shoulder into the castle, only stopping when they got to the door of the Great Hall. While Harry wished he could take a leaf out of Luna and Daphne's book and kiss his partner goodbye, he had to settle for squeezing Draco's shoulder before they parted for their house tables — and that was enough to set off a wave of whispers through the hall. Harry sat between Ginny and Neville, keeping his head down. He really didn't want to know what people thought of him, these days.
Further up the table, Katie was sat with a few of her year mates, and she gave him a discreet thumbs up, tapping her chest where on Harry the Quidditch Captain badge was pinned proudly. Harry grinned back at her; Merlin, he was looking forward to playing quidditch again.
He looked up at the head table, trailing his gaze over the gathered staff. Snape looked as dour as always, back in full Hated Professor mode. Hagrid hurried in just as Harry was frowning at the half-giant's empty seat — he caught Harry's eye and offered a cheerful wink. A few other professors were staring back at him, too, he noticed, though none of them reacted.
He wondered what they thought of Dumbledore's insinuations in the Prophet.
The headmaster himself looked as delighted as ever at the start of a new school year, twinkling blue eyes surveying the gathering students. He didn't look Harry's way — did he still think Harry had Voldemort lurking inside his mind? Harry smirked to himself; if only he knew. Once everyone was settled — a much smaller crowd than usual; there were definitely a high number of students absent this year — McGonagall led in the latest batch of first years ready for Sorting. They looked like a smaller crowd, too. Harry felt a pang in his chest; it couldn't be easy, starting Hogwarts at such a fraught political time.
He would do his best to keep them safe, however he possibly could.
The heartbreak cut a little deeper each time the Sorting Hat called Slytherin and a look of abject fear crossed the face of whichever child sat beneath it. Even those with names Harry recognised from historically Slytherin families looked uneasy at joining the silver and green table. Harry glanced across at Draco and Blaise, who both nodded fractionally.
Slytherin House would not fall prey to prejudice, not again. Not this year.
With so few first years, the Sorting didn't take long at all, and Dumbledore stood to welcome them for another year.
Harry's eyes went straight to the man's left hand, and he knew he wasn't the only one. Snape had vastly understated the condition of the headmaster's arm — the whole hand looked like it had withered and died, the fingers withered and black. It went right up beneath the sleeve of his voluminous purple robe; all the way to his elbow, Snape had told them. It had reached that far before the Potions Master had managed to dispel the curse magic.
What on Earth had possessed Dumbledore to put on that ring??
Dumbledore acted like he didn't notice half the school staring at his hand, sitting down again just as the tables filled with food.
"What happened to him?" Ginny asked, horrified. Harry pursed his lips.
"Looks like some kind of dark curse, I'd wager," he said evenly. The redhead narrowed her gaze at him, but wisely didn't ask anything more.
As they ate, it seemed everyone had an opinion on Dumbledore's gnarled hand; Harry heard everything from a duel against Voldemort himself to some sort of ritual gone wrong, to Harry himself having cursed the headmaster in retaliation for his words in the Prophet.
That last one made Harry snicker. "Should I be flattered that people think I know that kind of magic?" he asked Neville in an undertone. "I don't know, Mr Eight Os, would it really be such a surprise?" came Neville's amused retort.
"Hey, Potter!" The call came from behind him; it was Zacharias Smith, at the Hufflepuff table. "So what's the plan with the HA this year?" He dropped his voice a little, but Harry still saw several heads swivel in their direction. Harry bit back a sigh.
"Don't know yet," he replied, as he had done to everyone else. "Give me a few days to get my bearings, yeah? I don't even know what my schedule is yet. But don't spread it around, yeah? I don't want things getting out of hand." He didn't want the entire school hearing about the HA and deciding it sounded like fun.
Zacharias didn't look impressed, but merely sniffed, turning back to his food.
"You're going to have to do something," Ginny told Harry quietly, reaching past him as dinner vanished and was replaced by dessert, her gaze set on a decadent looking chocolate trifle. "People got way too much out of the HA to want to stop now, especially with the Ministry the way it is."
"I know," Harry agreed, grimacing. "I'll figure something out." He wanted to continue the meetings — Snape wasn't going to be able to properly prepare everyone while still playing his role — but it was more difficult this year, with things the way they were. Many of the HA members would likely think that with Umbridge gone they could be open about the club, like it was as harmless as the Gobstones Club or Debate Society.
Harry doubted Dumbledore would let it continue that way, not if he thought Harry was turning Dark.
Then again, he might be delighted with the idea of his prize pawn training all his other pawns up, ready to die for the cause.
He shuddered, suddenly no longer as eager to eat his treacle tart as he had been a moment ago.
When dessert ended, Harry sat back to listen to Dumbledore give his usual welcome speech — and tried to act as surprised as the rest when it was announced Slughorn was taking over Potions, rather than DADA. The hall filled with the buzz of conversation, and Dumbledore let it go on for a few moments before clearing his throat pointedly.
"Now, as you all know," he said, face turning grave, "the Ministry of Magic is now under the control of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters." There were several gasps throughout the hall, and more than a few flinches. "These are difficult and dangerous times we live in, and I cannot emphasise enough how important it is to remain vigilant here at school. We may be safe from outside forces within these wards, but there is always darkness lingering within, and we must be careful."
Several sets of eyes turned to Harry, who resolutely did not react.
"Luckily, the rather… independent nature of the school means we can continue as normal despite the interference at the Ministry, though I will ask that you all please do not fight any restrictions your professors or prefects may impose on you — we are doing it for your benefit, even if it may seem unfair at the time. And please, if you notice anything suspicious or unusual, do not hesitate to notify a member of staff as soon as possible." He smiled warmly. "The staff and I will endeavour to keep you all as safe as possible, but that requires your cooperation. I trust you will all conduct yourselves appropriately, as I know you are all capable of."
Harry grit his teeth — it was utterly galling, that the man could stand there and smile and assure the students he'd keep them safe, and not even offer for students who were in danger of falling under Voldemort's thumb to speak to a teacher if they felt threatened or worried. Was he expecting the heads of houses to cover that? Or did he just truly not care which students he lost, as long as the right students did what he expected of them?
How many students would not have been sat in this hall if not for Harry or Narcissa offering sanctuary?
That seemed to be all Dumbledore had to say; he bid them a cheerful goodnight and stepped back from his podium, the cue for the prefects to begin herding first years. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Draco and Pansy were directing the new fifth year prefects to do their duties.
Ginny hooked an arm through his, dragging his gaze away. "Come on, loverboy," she murmured under her breath, smirking. "Let's get upstairs."
Harry sighed, but did as bid. His bed in Gryffindor Tower was going to feel even colder than usual, tonight.
They went up to the tower within a larger huddle of Gryffindors, all sleepy and full of food and most of them too tired to care about whether Harry was secretly evil or not. In the common room, Harry smiled to himself; despite everything, it was good to be back. It felt weird, though, with all his older friends except Katie gone.
Even weirder, to look around and see how small the younger years seemed, how many there were that Harry hardly recognised. He was a sixth year, now; almost top of the pecking order. It made him feel ancient, looking at all those wide-eyed first and second years staring at him. Stifling a yawn, he turned to head up to the dorm and get an early night — and almost walked right into Ron Weasley.
"You've got some nerve, y'know," the redhead declared. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Do I?"
Ron scowled at him. "Coming back to school, after hiding all summer like a coward."
"I wasn't hiding, I was at home," Harry retorted waspishly. "Where were you all summer, then? Out fighting Death Eaters?"
Ron's ears reddened. "I'm not the one they're after!" he countered. "How many people died because You-Know-Who was looking for you, hmm?"
"What do you want me to do, walk up to Voldemort and hand myself over?"
Ron flinched at the name. "You could at least listen to Dumbledore, rather than just abandoning the war! He spent all summer trying to talk to you, Mum said, and you never left your bloody house!"
"I am doing more for this war effort than Albus Bloody Dumbledore," Harry roared, temper snapping. "I'm not abandoning anything — I'm sixteen, Ron; I'm letting the adults handle things because I'm not even fucking old enough to use magic outside school! And I know exactly what Dumbledore wants to say to me, and quite frankly I don't want to hear it."
To Harry's surprise, Ron's gaze lifted up, just for a few moments, fixing intently on Harry's scar. "Maybe he's right about you, after all," the redhead spat, "maybe you have got You-Know-Who inside your head."
"If I did, we'd all be screwed," Harry retorted hollowly. Then he pushed past Ron, sidestepped an indignant-looking Hermione, and stalked up the stairs to the dormitory, ignoring the eyes that followed.
He couldn't shake the way Ron had looked at his scar — it wasn't fearful, not like it was when he thought Harry was possessed after the incident with his dad and the snake.
It was knowing. Disgusted.
Exactly what had Dumbledore told Ron and Hermione, over the summer?