The first week of October was a fairly ordinary one, as far as Hogwarts went.
At least, it started out that way.
Harry went to bed fairly late on the Friday night, after a HA meeting that culminated in him and Draco staying back in the Room for some alone time. He was exhausted when he finally collapsed on his mattress, looking forward to a nice long rest before he had to spend his weekend writing essays.
He was not expecting to be woken up at four in the morning by a strange, persistent sort of magic.
His hand went reflexively to his scar, alarmed, before he remembered it was entirely inert these days. And this magic felt… different. It didn't set him on edge — if anything, it was welcoming. But it was impatient. It needed him for something.
Trepidation brewing in his stomach, Harry pulled back his curtains, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed — and froze. Neville stood in the middle of the darkened room, pulling a dressing gown over his pyjamas.
Both boys stared at each other, wide eyed.
"I… do you feel it, too?" Harry asked tentatively. Neville blinked, then nodded.
"What is it?" he asked. Harry shook his head, shoving his feet into slippers.
"No idea." The rest of their dorm mates seemed utterly oblivious, Ron's snores drifting through his poor attempt at a Silencing charm.
Utterly bewildered, wands in hand, Harry and Neville crept down the stairs. The common room was empty — the boys' frowns deepened. The magic continued to push, like a guiding hand on Harry's shoulder, urging him to leave Gryffindor Tower. He followed, though his gaze was wary.
Once out in the corridor, the magic directed him to turn right. The feeling of intent grew — it was almost… excited. Eager.
Absently, a memory flashed through his mind. Speaking to Salazar at the beginning of the year — the castle is keen.
Was that what was happening? But what was the castle keen for? And what did he and Neville have to do with it?
His shoulders relaxed a little at the realisation that the magic was Hogwarts itself; it wouldn't hurt him. But where was it taking them?
They both halted immediately at the sound of footsteps, whirling around to see Hannah Abbott creeping towards them. She was in pyjamas, too, and an oversized black jumper with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, wand held aloft. She tensed as she spotted them, then relaxed, eyeing them suspiciously. "What's happening?"
"No idea. Did the magic bring you up here?" Neville asked. Hannah nodded, cheeks flushing slightly.
"It sounds weird, doesn't it? But I just felt like — like something needed me to be up here."
"Not weird at all," Harry assured. The two boys flanked her, and the trio continued.
Harry realised they were headed to the Room of Requirement only a turn before they got there. His exhausted brain whirred frantically to try and figure out what was happening — then he saw Luna, waiting outside the door to the Room, and a suspicion began to grow.
"Luna?" Neville greeted, perplexed. "Are you the one who summoned us here?"
The blonde girl smiled, shaking her head. Her eyes seemed to almost glow in the dim moonlight. "No, it wasn't me."
"But you know why we're here," Harry presumed. He could feel it, now, with the four of them stood together. That pressure in his chest, the flood of magic in his veins. Family magic.
Slytherin magic.
Luna's smile turned knowing. "So do you."
"Well, I don't," Hannah cut in impatiently. "So if you'd care to share…"
Harry turned to her and Neville, quietly surprised. Luna, he half-expected; she was appropriately mysterious and ethereal to be hiding a secret Ravenclaw bloodline connection. Neville too, to an extent; the Longbottoms had been rumoured to be connected to Gryffindor's line for centuries now. But Hannah was unexpected.
"It's your birthday today, isn't it, Hannah?" he asked, making her blink.
"I— yes? I got my magic surge about an hour ago."
Harry smiled slightly. "Looks like the castle is eager for a shake-up," he mused. It was growing impatient, too; practically screaming in his head for him to open the door to the Room. He reached for the handle, pushing it open, then stepped back. "After you, Lady Hufflepuff," he said softly, gaze fixed on Hannah. She gasped, and so did Neville.
"How did you…?" She trailed off, stepping through the door. As Harry walked in behind her, making sure Neville and Luna were following, his breath caught in his throat.
The castle had led them to the Wardstone.
It was nothing like any Wardstone he'd seen before. Not that he'd seen many — just the Pottery, and Grimmauld. But the Hogwarts wardstone was easily twice the size of either of those, a perfect crystal sphere sat on a stone pedestal, shining with internal lights; blue and red and green and yellow, all dancing around each other, pulsing with the faint rhythm of the castle's magic. The heartbeat of Hogwarts.
"This shouldn't be possible," Neville murmured, astonished. "Hannah's the only one of us who's of age!"
"When things become necessary, the castle has ways of speeding up the inheritance process," Luna declared, that strange Other tone to her voice. Harry looked up, hopeful, and she shook her head at him. "Not for the rest of your family magics. Only Slytherin." She was apologetic — she knew how important it was for Harry to reach his full potential quickly.
"Slytherin?" Hannah repeated, staring at Harry incredulously. Harry nodded.
"Conquering heir," he confirmed. He turned to the Wardstone, the magic washing over him like a tidal wave. "Looks like it's time for us to take up our duties." The first time in centuries the Hogwarts heirs had been needed.
Of course it was him. Of course it was now.
As if he needed anything else to make him special.
"What… what do we do?" Neville took a half-step closer. Harry wondered if he was feeling the call, too — the urge to press his hands to the Wardstone and just sink into it.
"We answer the call," Luna replied, as if it were obvious. "But we must do it all together."
No one argued, and within moments the four of them were stood around the Wardstone — stood at the four cardinal points, the points that felt right, had the castle humming with satisfaction. Harry had a strong feeling of deja-vu — only it wasn't him he was remembering, but Salazar himself, and all the Hogwarts heirs that had come since. All the Slytherin-blooded wixen who had once stood in this exact spot, who had lent their magic to the castle, drawn magic in return.
Each of them raised their dominant hand, and in unison, pressed it to the surprisingly warm surface of the Wardstone.
Immediately, Harry's spine stiffened with the force of the power that rushed through him. It was jumbled at first, a discordant clash of magics and wards and sensation that made him dizzy — then, as it began to twine with his own, the sensation calmed down.
It was at that point that he realised just how desperate the wards were.
It made his heart hurt, to feel such incredible wards so clearly languishing. Huge holes ripped in the tight weave, patched clumsily by a somewhat recent-feeling magic, certain aspects flooded with power while others were utterly ignored.
Dumbledore had been manipulating the school wards for his own gains for decades.
The castle knew what it wanted — Harry was just a vessel, his magic reaching for the threads of emerald green magic within the stone, the colour pooling under his fingertips inside the crystal. In his mind's eye, he could see the wards start to rebuild themselves; the wards keeping dangerous creatures out of the school reforming; the wards to alert the staff of students in danger filling with magic once more. So many aspects of the school that had been ignored for so long, to the point where most people alive had likely forgotten they even existed to begin with.
None of the trials Dumbledore had put him through in his years at Hogwarts would have been possible under the wards at full strength.
Now he was much deeper within them, he realised they had not begun to fade just when Dumbledore had become headmaster — some time before that, likely during Grindelwald's rise to power. When Dumbledore was just a Transfiguration teacher.
Had he done something then, to disrupt the wards' connection with the actual headmaster? Started seeking his power even at such an early point?
Started supplementing his own power with that of the Hogwarts wards?
For it was inordinately clear that was what Dumbledore had been doing, at least for the last few decades — with the amount of ambient magic around the students, not to mention the magic naturally within the land Hogwarts was built on, it shouldn't have been possible for the wards to get so weak without the magic being directed elsewhere. That was why the founders had built Hogwarts on this spot — that was why their family magics were so strange, so deeply intertwined with the castle. After everything the founders put of themselves into it, and all those decades of them living within the castle while the magic was so new and volatile, it had changed the family magics so they were unlike anything seen elsewhere; so they were all interlocked, and far more sentient than any other magics had been discovered to be. The magic tangled through the four of them, pulling the wards away from Dumbledore and linking them to those of founders' blood. Harry wondered with a panic if Dumbledore might notice, but the castle soothed him in his mind, a flicker of mischief dancing across his skin. Things would be fine.
With their power imbued in the castle, with the wards finally allowed to flourish once more, Hogwarts would handle everything. The heirs just had to protect themselves, and protect the school from Dumbledore and others like him.
They could have been in there for hours. Days, even. Time lost all meaning as Harry descended into the castle's magic, his brain filling with an awareness unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The kind of awareness the head of school was supposed to have — awareness of the students and their safety, of the ghosts and the elves and the lake and the forest.
The kind of awareness that kept students safe. The awareness that had been lacking for the entirety of Dumbledore's Hogwarts career.
At last, the magic melted back into the Wardstone, and Harry was able to remove his hand. But the awareness was still there, in the back of his mind, waiting for him to need it. Hogwarts was there, waiting.
It didn't feel like the oily, suffocating press of foreign magic, not like he'd experienced before. It wasn't his own, that much was clear, but it nestled in beside his without issue. It felt like an extension of his Slytherin family magics, almost — magics that were now fully functional and coursing through him, as if he were of-age, though his other family magics remained dormant.
"Wow," Hannah breathed, reminding him of his company. Harry surveyed his three friends, noting the way they stood that little bit straighter, their eyes bright and their faces flushed. They felt more powerful, too. They felt like family.
"The wards were so broken," Neville breathed, horrified. "He let them get that way. He made them that way."
Harry understood his disgust — now, aware of all the things the Hogwarts wards were supposed to do, he couldn't believe Dumbledore had taken all that away. Not just sneaking dangerous artefacts and creatures into the school — the wards were old enough not to have the same ideals of Light and Dark as modern day — but even as far as making sure students couldn't seriously harm one another, or themselves. How many student injuries could have been prevented with the wards at full capacity? How many sexual assaults? He wasn't so naive to think it didn't happen.
How many suicides had there been in the last seventy-odd years, that could have been avoided?
Harry felt sick at the thought of it.
"His reign is over," Luna declared quietly. "The school is ours, now."
Harry reached out, placing one hand on Luna's shoulder and the other on Hannah's. Opposite him, Neville did the same, and the girls reached out too until all four of them were huddled together around the glowing Wardstone.
"This is going to turn the whole world upside-down, once word gets out," Hannah mused. Then she smirked, laughing quietly. "Susan is going to flip."
Harry snorted; yes, the future Chief Warlock was certainly going to have plenty to say about the Founders' seats being active for the first time since the eighteenth century. Once it was safe to go to the Ministry and claim them, after all.
"We should keep it secret, for now," he suggested. "No one will know what's happened. Even Dumbledore won't know the truth." He would feel his connection to the wards had changed, but he wouldn't understand why. The castle would protect them. "It's an advantage we can't afford to give away."
"You're right," Neville agreed. "But… blimey. I never expected this."
Harry hadn't, either — he should have, though, with his track record.
When they reluctantly pulled themselves away from the Wardstone, they headed to the door — and all four of them stopped as they were hit with such a strong surge of gratitude it left them breathless. Hogwarts was so very glad to have heirs again.
The school was ready to fight. And now, with them at the wards, they might actually win.
.-.-.
Breakfast should have been unbearable, on so little sleep — when Harry and Neville had returned to their dorms after bidding goodbye to the girls, they were so wired from the influx of magic the sun had been creeping over the horizon by the time they'd finally nodded off.
But nonetheless, Harry had woken at the usual time feeling refreshed and invigorated; more so than he had in weeks, quite honestly. Neville, too, seemed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, greeting Ginny with a hug so tight it lifted her off her feet for a moment. She squealed and laughed, eyeing her boyfriend in confusion.
"Someone's in a good mood," she commented, looking at Harry for an explanation, but he just grinned at her.
Down in the Great Hall, Harry laughed at seeing Hannah sat at the Hufflepuff table wearing a ridiculous hat shaped like a birthday cake, complete with charmed candles flickering on top. She glanced up when they entered, and beamed widely, her brown eyes knowing.
Over at the Ravenclaw table, chatting happily to Sully, Luna was practically glowing with energy — but that wasn't unusual for the odd girl, so no one seemed to take note of it.
Feeling a little smug, Harry looked up at the head table; Dumbledore was present for once, and he looked a little grey in the face, nursing a cup of tea with a half-eaten slice of toast going neglected on his plate.
It had to hurt, being cut off from a source of magic you'd been shamelessly abusing for decades.
As Harry sat down, he caught the headmaster's gaze, and automatically raised his Occlumency shields against intrusion, shifting his eyes away. Dumbledore scowled slightly behind his beard. Harry ignored him, reaching for a plate of sausages — the headmaster could glare suspiciously as much as he wanted, he wouldn't discover the truth of the night before. It wasn't surprising that he was just assuming Harry had something to do with it.
Harry smiled to himself, wondering what the old man might do if he discovered who else had been involved in cutting him out of the Hogwarts wards. Wondering how long it might take him to figure out that was what happened — with the castle itself shrouding the truth, Dumbledore likely thought it was just more side effects from the curse slowly ravaging his body. He may never know; not until he tried to draw even more magic, or manipulate the wards further, only to find them out of his reach.
In the back of his mind, Hogwarts was laughing.
.-.-.-.
Naturally, the first person Harry went to after breakfast — for a generous stretch of the definition of person — was Salazar, who took one look at him and smiled wider than Harry had ever seen from him before.
"You knew this was going to happen," Harry accused, and Salazar laughed.
"I did not know when," he confessed, "but I could feel the change coming. Even as a portrait, my magic is connected to the castle." His dark eyes fixed knowingly on Harry. "It feels good, doesn't it?"
Harry flopped down on the sofa, letting out a long breath. "It feels amazing," he said honestly, running a hand through his hair. "I— is this what my full adult power will feel like?" He couldn't imagine it, having that much magic running through his veins. Killing Voldemort would feel as easy as swatting a fly.
"Not quite. Your Slytherin magic is strengthened by the connection to the castle; your other family magics won't have that. But the boost is quite similar — always elevated for the first forty-eight hours. It's a good thing it's a weekend, or you'd have a lot of explaining to do when you cast spells in class."
Harry grimaced slightly; yes, he'd have to make sure he had his power properly contained before Monday's classes began.
"Can I pour that extra magic back into the wards?" he asked. "I don't need it, not now — and the wards have been lacking for so long." His despair was audible; the whole concept of Dumbledore binding and warping the castle's magic like that hit a little too close to home for Harry's comfort.
Salazar's eyes were sympathetic, and he stroked his pet snake's head, leaning back in his chair. "Of all the heirs I have met in recent centuries, I am most glad this power has found you, Harry," he said solemnly. "Often the ambition of a Slytherin can become warped, surpassing their own good sense — it gladdens me to see you care more for this school's wellbeing than your own magical ability." He smiled; a sad, wistful thing. "Dear Hogwarts does so much for the magical youth of this country, it deserves to have such a steadfast champion."
Harry blushed, even as something warm and happy swelled in his chest. "Hogwarts was the first place I ever truly called home," he replied softly. "It deserves better than what it has become under Dumbledore's thumb." He would see it become better, if it killed him.
"It certainly does," Salazar agreed, smile turning into one of pride as he looked down at his heir. "Come; tell me about the other heirs — I can only assume they share your same devotion to this school, if Hogwarts has decided to awaken you all. And I am curious which families have ended up carrying my friends' lines with them." Then he smirked, that Slytherin deviousness returning. "Then, if you have no pressing engagements, I shall teach you how to properly utilise your new connection to the wards — for the castle's benefit, and your own."
Harry grinned, making himself more comfortable. His homework could wait.
.-.-.
Carrying even a fraction of the wards of Hogwarts took a little time to get used to, for all four of the heirs. Even with the tips from Salazar, Harry had to work hard not to accidentally pull from the wards, or focus too hard on trying to feel them. It was exhausting, having a low-level awareness of the entire school in the back of his mind.
But already, the castle felt better — stronger, happier. The students seemed to feel it, too, even if they didn't know why. And Dumbledore certainly felt it, if the thinly veiled confusion on his face was anything to go by.
The Hogwarts heirs were getting used to it. It would be easier, Salazar assured, when all of them were seventeen and fully developed; right now it was a bit of a strain on their adolescent magical cores, but the castle would do its best to ease that strain. Either way, it was just another oddity on the list for Harry to get used to.
By the first Hogsmeade weekend near the end of October, Harry was both desperate to leave the castle and terrified of doing so. He wasn't sure how the connection would stretch, even though Salazar assured him it would be fine. The wards hadn't been designed to keep them trapped within the castle, after all.
"It'll be fine," Neville assured optimistically as the pair of them headed down to breakfast, dressed for a day in the village. "Come on, Harry; you've been looking forward to this for ages. Hannah and I are both staying here, it'll be fine."
He was right, and Harry knew it. Forcing his anxiety away, he managed a smile, nodding tightly. Neville grinned, gently bumping his shoulder. "Stop being such a control freak," he teased, making Harry stick his tongue out. He wasn't a control freak! He was just… usually the epicentre of trouble, and liked to be on top of things when it occurred.
Still, he kept silent, not sure Neville would see it his way.
Reaching the Entrance Hall, Harry had more of a spring in his step, remembering the reason he'd been looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend for so long. Draco stood near the doors, two wrapped sandwiches in his hands, his Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck to ward off the late October chill. His grey eyes looked even more vivid against the dark green wool, and Harry felt a tingle travel down his spine. "I'll see you later, then," Neville drawled, amused. Harry snapped back to attention, feeling heat rise on his cheeks. Neville just laughed. "Be careful out there. Remember, you're just friends, yeah?"
Harry scowled lightly at him. "We'll be fine," he insisted. "See you at dinner."
They parted ways, and Harry strode over to Draco's side, offering the blond a grin. "Morning," he greeted, taking one of the sandwiches from his boyfriend. It was still warm, carefully wrapped so the bacon and eggs wouldn't fall out. "Thanks. Didn't feel like eating breakfast in the hall this morning?"
Draco shrugged, falling into step beside Harry as they headed out onto the grounds, huddled close against the freezing wind sweeping across the landscape. "I'll take any excuse to skip sitting in that damned hall these days," he replied, eyes darkening. Harry hummed in sympathy; he understood the feeling. Between everyone staring at him like he was about to crack, Dumbledore's suspicious gaze, and the potential delivery of black envelopes, Harry was getting sick of mealtimes at Hogwarts too.
The boys ate as they walked, falling into the steady stream of students heading down to the village. Even now, nearly two months into term, they got strange looks just for being together, being friendly. Harry tried his best to ignore the eyes on him, focusing on enjoying his time with Draco.
Hogsmeade, when they reached it, was quieter than usual — not only because many students had seen the temperature outside and decided to give the weekend a miss. Zonko's Joke Shop was boarded up, and they weren't the only ones; it seemed even the village's proximity to the school wasn't enough to leave people feeling safe.
"Or Zonko's has gone under because the twins are putting them out of business," Draco remarked when Harry said as much, making him blink.
"That quickly? You think so?"
"From what Blaise has told me about how business was going over the summer, it wouldn't surprise me," Draco mused, shrugging. "Of course, Zonko's has — or had, rather — the upper hand with a physical presence so close to the school, but the twins got so good at sneaking owl-orders under Umbridge's nose last year, their customers don't have to worry about deliveries getting caught."
Harry knew the twins were still paying Dobby a small fee to deliver within the castle, and he smirked to himself. "Maybe they can buy out Zonko's, have a second shop here."
"Blaise would certainly like that," Draco agreed, matching his expression. Harry laughed.
"As if George living in Diagon is stopping those two from meeting up," he said, shaking his head. He knew the redhead was somewhere around the village — or perhaps had already snuck into the school to visit his beau, given the terrible weather.
A particularly strong gust of icy wind made him shiver, leaning in a little closer to Draco. He had to stop himself from sliding an arm around the blond's waist to properly cuddle up for warmth — he couldn't do that in public. They were just friends, as far as the rest of the school was concerned. Though, truthfully, Harry was caring less and less about keeping that secret with every day that passed. People gossiped enough about him as it was; why not add one more thing to the list?
Luckily, while Zonko's was closed, Honeyduke's was open; the pair hurried over to take refuge from the cold, as even Warming charms couldn't do much about the wind. Harry let out a quiet sigh as they squeezed into the already crowded shop, getting hit with an immediate blast of warmth. Beside him, he felt Draco relax ever so slightly.
"Maybe we should've stayed in the castle," Harry joked under his breath — it seemed that half the students who were visiting the village had sequestered away inside the warm, delicious-smelling shop. There was hardly room to move, let alone browse the shelves for treats.
"Harry, my boy!" The jovial call made his heart sink; it was Slughorn, wrapped up tight in a furry hat and coat, clutching a box of crystallised pineapple. "Good to see you out and about! I was starting to think you spent all your time on the quidditch pitch, these days. Or in detention!" Slughorn chuckled at his own joke. "You keep missing my little suppers; I'll have to have a word with Severus if he keeps it up. I'm sure you don't deserve half the detentions he gives you. Or do you only behave in my classes?" he chuckled again, and Harry echoed the sound, forcing a smile.
"Some classes are easier to behave in than others," he joked, and Slughorn winked at him.
"Quite right, quite right. Not to worry, I'll get you eventually — how about Monday night? You can't possibly be out playing quidditch in this weather!"
Harry, who had mostly been scheduling quidditch practices specifically to clash with Slughorn's little parties, knew he wouldn't be able to get out of this one. He couldn't even use the HA as an excuse, as Slughorn didn't know it existed and he'd rather like to keep it that way. "Monday night it is, sir," he confirmed, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he felt. "Excellent!" Slughorn beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good to hear it, lad. Now, I suppose I'd best let you get on with your day, I'm sure you'd rather chat to your friends than your old Potions Professor!" He peered around, as if expecting Harry to be hiding a gaggle of adoring fans behind a shelf somewhere, and blinked at Draco as if he'd only just noticed him. "Mr Malfoy! My, I had no idea the two of you were, ah, friends outside the classroom!"
Harry stifled a snicker; if only he knew. "Draco and I have been friends for ages, sir," he replied, smiling. "Slytherins and Gryffindors do get along on occasion. I'm sure you'll agree that their reputation isn't always deserved — you were a Slytherin, weren't you, sir?" He remembered Snape mentioning Slughorn had been his head of house, back in the day. "Indeed I was," Slughorn confirmed with a slightly awkward chuckle. "Many years ago, mind. The inter-house rivalry wasn't quite what it is now, back in my day. Still, a little friendly competition never hurt anyone, eh?"
Harry would argue that the current view of Slytherin house was more than 'friendly competition', but he was still trying to get on Slughorn's good side, so he just laughed. "As long as we don't start talking about quidditch, we'll be fine," he remarked, slinging a companionable arm around Draco's shoulders. Slughorn's gaze followed the movement, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. Did he see this as a sign of Harry sinking further into the Dark, or of him playing the saviour and redeeming the previously irredeemable?
Slughorn stuttered out a few more platitudes, then squeezed past them and left the shop. Once he was gone, Draco let out a quiet noise of disgust. "I'm so glad I don't have to deal with those suppers of his," he muttered derisively.
"You should be," Harry agreed, reluctantly dropping his arm from the blond's shoulders when a pair of Hufflepuff girls eyed them strangely. He was still probably being too obvious, practically pressed against Draco's back as the pair of them surveyed a display of fudge, but he didn't care. He was hanging out with his boyfriend in public, even if they were pretending to be just friends. It was more than he could have hoped for last year, for sure!
"Has he told you anything useful, yet?" Draco reached for some dark chocolate and cherry fudge, then grabbed a packet of the chocolate-orange flavour with a quick grin to Harry, tucking it in with his own purchases even though they both knew it was for the Gryffindor. Harry smiled back, forgetting the question for a moment.
"What? Oh. Uh, not really?" Snape was so sure that Slughorn had to know something important, that there was a reason Dumbledore had brought him back to the castle, but if there was he was keeping it close to his chest.
Then again, Harry was struggling to find a non-suspicious way of asking for information about Tom Riddle, so perhaps he just hadn't found the right questions yet. It was hard, when he was fully aware of what lies Dumbledore may have filled the man's head with.
"Maybe if I stop skiving off his suppers he'll warm up to me a bit," he admitted, making Draco snort.
"Yes, that would help."
With all their layers of clothing, it was starting to get a little too warm in the shop, and with the crowd pushing them so close together Harry was finding it increasingly difficult not to settle a hand on Draco's hip or brush a kiss across his temple. So they wrestled their way to the till, had a brief but silent argument about Draco paying for all of Harry's sweets — which, naturally, Draco won — and braced themselves with more Warming charms before heading back out into the street.
It was jarringly quiet, compared to what both of them were used to in Hogsmeade. The street was practically empty — no one lingered, keeping their heads down and heading straight for their next shop. Harry doubted the weather was entirely to blame.
The only people who weren't hurrying to get out of the open were the guards patrolling the village. Harry grinned to himself at the sight of Kingsley leaning up against a lamp-post, wrapped up tight in heavy robes and a wool hat covering his bald head. "Hey, Kings," he greeted cheerfully, heading towards the man. Kingsley straightened up, nodding towards him.
"Harry. Mr Malfoy." He had to pretend he hadn't seen Draco dozens of times over the summer; people weren't to know just how involved he was with Harry's true family. "Enjoying the weather?" he asked wryly. Harry snorted.
"Hardly. How long have you been out here?" The man had to be absolutely freezing.
"Since eight," the auror — or was it ex-auror, technically, since he couldn't go to the Ministry without being killed? — replied, shrugging. "I'll switch with Vance in an hour or so. Can't see the students staying long today."
"You're only here for the Hogsmeade weekend, then?" Draco asked, but Kingsley shook his head.
"Oh, no; Albus has a constant guard in the village, just to keep an eye on things. But we've doubled up protection while the students are about. Tonks is around here somewhere. Fletcher's supposed to be on guard, too, but I'm pretty sure he buggered off a while ago. He was bitching about frostbite." Kingsley rolled his eyes, and Harry scowled. He still had not met Mundungus Fletcher in person, and hoped it stayed that way.
"Typical," he muttered derisively.
"What are you boys up to, then?" Kingsley's dark eyes travelled pointedly between them, and both boys flushed beneath their scarves.
"Just out and about. Getting a break from the castle. Not that this is much better," Harry added, turning to glare at a pair of fourth years whispering a bit too loudly about him on their way past. Kingsley frowned.
"Yes, Sirius mentioned you'd been having some trouble," he murmured.
"It's nothing I can't handle," Harry assured. "Just gossip. The usual."
"But the headmaster isn't helping," Draco cut in with a dark look. "Watching you like you're about to start throwing Unforgivables around the Great Hall."
"I can handle it," Harry insisted stubbornly.
"Wish you didn't have to, kid," Kingsley sighed, shaking his head slightly. "But you're doing alright, otherwise? All things considered?" His gaze was pointed — there were so many things Harry didn't dare write in letters, and he wasn't sure how much Sirius shared.
But those same things were far too sensitive to be talked about in the middle of Hogsmeade, and they both knew it.
"Doing fine," he assured. "Keeping my head down, my grades up, all that jazz." He flashed a cheeky grin, and Kingsley chuckled.
"Glad to hear it. Look after yourselves, both of you. Now get out of this bloody cold — just because I have to stand here freezing to death doesn't mean you need to join me." His voice was jovial, but he was looking around at the street — at the students who were staring curiously at Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood talking to this strange adult.
He was right; they should get inside, try and pretend to be normal students for a while longer.
"Give the rest our love," Harry said quietly, and Kingsley nodded, bidding them goodbye. The two boys turned away, wincing at the bitter sting of wind on their cheeks.
"Three Broomsticks?" Draco suggested, already headed for the pub. Harry smirked.
"Not Puddifoot's?" he teased, earning a scowl.
"You couldn't pay me enough to go in there."
Harry laughed, the sound ringing through the quiet street, earning them even more strange looks. People seemed surprised that Draco could draw such a bright sound from him.
They didn't know Draco like Harry did.
The Three Broomsticks was just as busy as they expected it to be, but there was enough space for them to squeeze in at the bar and order a couple of butterbeers. Harry ended up pressed to Draco from hip to ankle, trying not to get jostled by the crowd, stopping himself a dozen times over from putting his hands somewhere inappropriate for mere friendship.
Merlin, pretending to be friends was even more exhausting than pretending to hate each other, sometimes.
.-.-.-.
Honestly, Remus was quite surprised he and Sirius were still invited to Order meetings.
The atmosphere in the Burrow was tense — Albus had moved meeting to the Weasley house when it became clear Sirius was not going to rescind his ban against Molly in the Grimmauld wards. Molly seemed equally displeased about having to let Sirius into her house; especially since he and Charlie made no moves to hide their relationship in front of her.
He wondered how Albus couldn't see the divide within his own people; was he truly that blind, or had he stopped caring? Decided he was so close to defeating Voldemort by himself that the rest of them no longer mattered? The old man seemed more evasive than ever, these days. Severus was right to worry about what he was planning — whatever it was, he wasn't sharing with the Order, and that was not a good sign.
"Now, I trust everything in Hogsmeade went as planned?" the headmaster asked, once Joseph Hawthorne had finished giving his report on the Ministry. That was another thing; over the last few months Albus had inducted more people into the Order, people the rest of them hardly knew. He claimed it was because all his previous Ministry informants were now out of the job, which was true, but Remus wasn't sure he trusted these new ones entirely. "Quiet as a mouse," Kingsley confirmed. "Clearly the Death Eaters didn't want to be out in that cold any more than we did."
There were a few chuckles around the table, but Albus' lips only twitched briefly. "Glad to hear it. Although — I heard several of the students mention that Harry had been talking to strangers in the village."
"He stopped to chat a moment," Kingsley assented, face as impassive as always. "Him and the Malfoy lad."
"What did he ask about?" Albus pressed.
"Nothing in particular. Just wanted to say hello, ask how everyone was doing outside the castle. Like I said, he only stopped for a moment."
"He said hi to me in the Three Broomsticks," Tonks volunteered. "But there weren't any free seats, so they left after one drink."
"Just him and the Malfoy boy?" Moody asked suspiciously, bright blue eye fixed on Tonks. "Didn't meet any of his other friends there?"
"Not that I saw."
Moody's lips thinned. "Boy's headed down a dangerous path."
"The Malfoys are on our side," Sirius cut in, irritation clear in his voice. "Narcissa has more than made amends for what she was forced to do while her husband was alive. There's no reason Harry and Draco shouldn't be friends."
Moody scowled, but before he could say anything Albus cleared his throat. "Harry's friendships aside," he cut in, "you must not draw such attention to yourselves. And you must be careful what you say to him. All of you," he added, surveying the group with that condescending, disappointed-grandfather face that made Remus' hackles rise. "I understand that Harry is used to seeking out information for himself — and indeed, seems to have decided he no longer wants the information I am willing to give him — but you must be careful what you say in front of him. We cannot be certain he can be trusted."
"Oh, not this again," Sirius groaned loudly. "Give it a rest, Albus. He doesn't have Voldemort in his head!"
"The nature of Harry's connection with Voldemort is strange and mysterious magic, Sirius," Albus insisted. "With the recent changes in his behaviours, it is not something we can rule out entirely. Even if Harry himself is not aware of the influence, it could be affecting him.
"That poor boy," Molly fretted. "Ron and Hermione are so worried about him — he won't even talk to them anymore!"
Remus stifled a snort; worried, sure. So worried they were calling him a blood supremacist to anyone who might listen. But they wouldn't have told Molly about that.
It wasn't the first time the argument had come up in an Order meeting — indeed, as the same old points were hashed over for the dozenth time, Sirius getting increasingly furious in defence of his godson. Remus wondered how much longer the Order could last. He could see it in peoples' eyes — those who knew the truth about Dumbledore, those who were on Harry's side, all of them sat with varying degrees of veiled rage as Albus and Moody and Molly insisted that Harry was under Dark influences and needed to be managed carefully.
It would be so easy to just get up and leave. All of them, make their stand, make Albus realise how many of them were no longer working for him. Leave the man and his sycophants to their slow-brewing disaster, turn away and get some real work done. Already they were having meetings of their own, gathering at Seren Du or Grimmauld whenever they could manage, discussing their continued efforts to get at-risk people to safety. The Order knew nothing about those in hiding at the Pottery, or Malfoy Manor, or the handful of other properties they had begun using all over the country. They certainly didn't know about their contact with Mrs Zabini, with Mr and Mrs Delacour, with some of Charlie's friends in Romania and some of Viktor Krum's teammates in Bulgaria — all working to help smuggle people out of the country, if there was truly too much danger for them to stay.
They would get so much more work done if they could leave the Order to crumble, and it was tempting. But Remus knew they couldn't. They all knew they couldn't.
As long as Harry was outwardly taking a stand against Dumbledore, even if he had not yet started to dismantle the man's reputation, he would need as many of them as possible on the headmaster's good side to stay in the loop, in case Albus' plans took a drastic turn. Right now, he just wanted to keep Harry out of the way, oblivious — hardly much different than previous years, in all honesty, except for his insistence that Harry was dangerous.
But the moment that changed, the moment he decided Harry was too dangerous, they needed to know. They needed to be ready.
Harry's life could depend on it.
.-.-.
Slughorn's Monday night supper was just as dreadfully boring as Harry anticipated it would be. This one was a more formal sit-down affair, and much to his dismay Harry had been seated between Hermione Granger and Cormac McLaggen. Cormac had no desire to talk to Harry after being denied a place on the quidditch team, so Harry was stuck trying to ignore Hermione's attempts at befriending him — clearly someone had told her she needed to be nice to him again, because it was a drastic turn from her previous behaviour. How stupid did Dumbledore think Harry was?
Annoyingly, with Hermione nattering away at him, Harry didn't even get much of a chance to talk to Slughorn. Not that he knew what he might say. He had no idea how he was supposed to get information from the man, especially when he barely knew what information he was looking for to begin with.
If he outright asked Slughorn about horcruxes, he'd go straight to Dumbledore, and Harry would be screwed.
He hurried from the man's office as soon as Slughorn started making noises about dismissing them all for the night. Hermione tried to follow him, but Harry ducked into a side passage that conveniently made itself available for him — an unexpected perk of holding the Hogwarts wards was the castle's willingness to accommodate him, however it could. Harry had been sneaking around using Salazar's passages since he'd discovered them, but it was nice to have the other secret hide-aways available too. The other heirs certainly enjoyed it. The other day Hannah had delightedly told them she could get an extra twenty minutes of studying done after lunch most days thanks to passages to take her quickly from the Hufflepuff dorms to the upper levels of the school.
Speaking of the wards, as he walked through the passage, Harry began to feel an insistent sort of tugging in the corner of his mind the castle now occupied. It didn't feel urgent — it wasn't a student in trouble. More… the castle had something to show him.
Well, Hogwarts hadn't led him wrong yet. He followed the tug obediently, eyebrows rising when, once again, he was being led to the Room of Requirement. He was alone — the other heirs hadn't been called along too. It wasn't a problem with the Wardstone, then.
When Harry opened the door, his jaw dropped. He was staring at a seemingly endless room, full of piles of assorted stuff. Books and clothes and furniture and Merlin only knew what else; prank items and strange potions and sinister-looking weapons. Most of it was junk, and a lot of it looked older than even Dumbledore. The room of Hidden Things, a voice supplied in his head. Harry looked around, and snorted.
"Hogwarts Lost and Found, more like," he muttered — everything the castle occupants had ever forgotten about, or tried to hide from teachers. Everything abandoned and unused and probably some stolen things in there, too; it seemed to have all wormed its way into this room. He peered closer at a stack of books, letting out an impressed whistle. He recognised many of the titles from the Seren Du library — they were rare books, old books.
"When was the last time someone sorted this place out?" he asked, feeling a vague negative sensation from the castle. A long time, then.
Another thing on the list of things to do once the war was over.
But there had to be a reason he'd been brought here, past just being shown to this treasure trove of odds and ends. He opened his magic up to the castle, waiting for more guidance. Slowly, Hogwarts began to nudge him down the aisles of junk, a clear destination in mind.
When Harry turned a corner, he knew immediately what the problem was. Thick, oily magic sidled up against his own. Familiar darkness — even without the matching darkness residing in his scar, Harry could tell immediately what it was.
"Another one? Here?" He stepped up to the bust of an ugly old man, beside which lay a tarnished silver tiara.
A tiara that was leaking with dark magic. Horcrux magic. Harry stared at it, wide-eyed. How long had this been within the school? Room of Hidden Things indeed — clearly Tom Ridde had thought he was the only person to find such a place, despite clear evidence of how many students over the years had done the same thing.
He wondered how long the castle had been aware of this foul magic within its walls, crying out for someone to do something about it, but too weak to be heard.
Looking around, Harry saw a slightly moth-eaten silk scarf, and quickly wrapped the tiara up in it. Sending a mental thanks to Hogwarts for the tip-off, he hurried out of the room, only one destination in mind. He only paused once — to check the person he was after was actually present. Then he made a slight detour; not to Snape's quarters, but to his personal lab a few doors down. He knocked, stepping back to wait, not caring that he didn't have his invisibility cloak with him. He hardly needed it these days; the castle would warn him if he needed to hide.
Snape answered the door with a scowl, which deepened at the sight of Harry. "Potter," he spat, then narrowed his gaze, no doubt catching the feel of the dark magic Harry carried with him. "Get in here."
He ushered Harry inside, warded the door, and turned to him. "What's the matter?"
Harry set his wrapped bundle on the nearest workbench, carefully dislodging the scarf until the tiara was visible. "Found it just now. Or rather, the castle showed it to me." He hadn't kept his new status as true Lord Slytherin secret from his family, or Draco. Snape knew about Harry's new connection with Hogwarts' magic. "How many more of these damned things can there be?"
"This may well be the last," Snape murmured, scanning it with his wand. "Other than the snake, of course. But you remember what Bill said — any more than eight or nine splittings and the soul becomes too unstable to exist."
Harry did a mental count — his scar, the locket, the diary, the cup, the ring, the snake, and now this. Seven horcruxes. Only six made intentionally. The number clicked in his brain, a trickle of cold running down his spine. "I think there's one more."
Snape raised one dark eyebrow at him. "What makes you say that?"
"Voldemort knows Arithmancy, right? Think about the numbers of magical power; three, seven, nine. He's definitely made more than three, we know that. And nine would be too many — also if he was going for three threes, the objects would probably come in threes, but they don't. But seven… it's more powerful than the other two, and it makes sense. Seven horcruxes — seven anchors to the mortal world. And if mine was an accident, that makes it an extra — so that gives him eight."
The Potions Master's lips thinned in thought, his brow furrowed. "You're forgetting, of course, that there is another anchor. The original soul piece, within him. Seven horcruxes would make eight soul pieces in total. And eight is a terrible number for such things. It is far more likely that he intended for six horcruxes — totalling seven pieces of soul — and, as you say, the fragment within you was an unintended extra, shaken loose from his already fractured soul when the Killing curse rebounded on him."
He was right, of course. Voldemort might have lost his sanity in the process of splitting his soul, but if the numbers were important to him, he wouldn't have upset that balance. And the numbers likely were important to him — someone as obsessed with magical strength would not ignore such a basic tenet of magical power, a fundamental law of their existence. "So… you think this is the last one, then? Truly? Other than the snake." Harry bit his lip. "That's a big assumption to make about something so important."
"Indeed," Snape assented. "But it is not unreasonable. And we have precious few other ways of determining the number otherwise."
Harry snorted to himself. "Yeah, can't exactly just stroll up and ask him." He glanced back at the tiara, shuddering at the magic bleeding from it. "What's so special about this thing, anyway? Everything else has had meaning." Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup. A family ring, and his childhood diary.
"If I am not mistaken, this is the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw." Snape's lips twisted in a sneer. "Another priceless artefact we will have to destroy to end the Dark Lord's reign."
Harry frowned — he'd heard of Ravenclaw's diadem. Read about it, somewhere, perhaps. Or maybe heard his Ravenclaw friends talk about it. "That's the one that's supposed to give you infinite knowledge if you wear it, right?" Snape nodded. "Blimey. You'd think he might have bothered to put it on before he cursed it, maybe realised this whole thing was a bad idea."
A reluctant twitch of amusement flickered across Snape's face. "Quite. Nevertheless, we must deal with the matter quickly." The tall man straightened up, striding across his lab past the gently simmering potion, waving his wand to reveal a hidden niche in one of his shelves. From that niche he pulled a wooden box, and from that box came a crystal vial filled with vivid yellow liquid.
Basilisk venom.
Snape's hands were perfectly steady as he brought the vial over. "Harry, get the crystal slab out, would you? It's beside the gold cauldron."
Harry turned, peering at the rack of cauldrons until he saw the shimmering piece of crystal tucked away between them. The size of a regular chopping board, Harry knew the slab was the strongest, most magically resistant material available, used for working with volatile ingredients.
He set the slab up on the worktop, then carefully shifted the diadem atop it, making sure not to touch it with his bare skin.
"Stand back," Snape warned. Harry didn't need telling twice. Wand raised in case the horcrux tried to put up a fight, Harry took a large step backwards, watching as Snape uncorked the vial and poured its contents over the diadem. Immediately, it began to hiss and bubble — and then scream, a black cloud of smoke seeping from the twisted metal, the same scream the diary had given, and his scar, and all the other horcruxes as they died. Harry tried not to flinch, didn't dare look away until the smoke had dissipated, even as the wards went haywire in his mind at such a strong concentration of danger. He hoped the other heirs didn't get alerted, hoped the castle knew he had this handled.
Then there was silence, but for the slow hiss and sputter of the silver and jewels melting to nothing under the power of the basilisk venom, creating a disgusting puddle on the crystal slab. After a few moments, Snape flicked his wand, vanishing the mess. Both of them stared at each other grimly.
"Well, then," Harry murmured eventually. "Just the snake left, you think?" He wanted to believe Snape's logic, wanted so much to know that they were almost done.
"We shall do what research we can to confirm," Snape replied. "But I truly do think so."
It would be a disaster, if they were wrong.
But if they were right.
If they were right, it changed everything.