Chapter Text
“It sounds beautiful.” Hermione said, voice hushed as they whispered together in the Astronomy Tower. There was no real need to whisper, since it was late morning and there were no classes on Sunday to be missing, but something about the conversation invited whispering.
“It sounds terrifying.” Ron corrected, “I mean, alright, that tree and everything sounds nice, but the fire river and barmy gods?” He gave a theatrical shudder. “She – the flower lady – just showed you her poison garden and then started a picnic?”
Harry nodded. “Probably best not to call them ‘barmy’ though.” He said, though didn’t disagree with the sentiment. “Never know who’s listening, even if these should stop most of them.” He indicated his wrists, where the almost-black metal looped around them. The jewellery seemed much darker in the light of the Overworld, with only hints of warm bronze and the jewel tones of the petrified wood peeking through.
“Right useful that is.” Ron looked appreciatively at them. Harry knew that the idea of interacting with any gods unnerved him a lot more than it did Hermione. “How do you take them off though?”
“Er.” It hadn’t yet occurred to Harry to try. He was so used to wearing his warded bracelets that he’d never considered taking them off, only sent a quick waterproofing charm at them in the shower. “I don’t know.” He tugged uselessly at the coiled snake, trying to see if it joined or unwound somewhere. “Magic, I guess.”
“You said a lot of the Mist magic you learned was based on simply asking the Mist for what you wanted, yes?” Hermione checked, humming pensively when Harry nodded. “Well, have you considered that divine magic might be similar? You could try asking the cuffs to come off.” Her eyes were bright and curious, and Harry knew that there was no escaping without several rounds of experimentation.
“Ok, er, off?” Harry directed his attention at the coiled snake cuff. For a moment, he thought that nothing would happen, until the snake’s coils suddenly loosened, and it slid into his palm like a live snake – making Ron jump and skid backwards – before circling back into a solid bracelet in his hand. “On.” He tried, and it slithered in the reverse. “Huh. That’s useful.”
“Now show us an illusion!” Hermione demanded, almost bouncing in her seat with fascinated enthusiasm.
Harry grinned back at her, taking no offence, and clicked his fingers. An apple, his go to form, landed in his hand and he passed it over to her. Hermione held it, lifting it up to look closely, and performing a number of detection charms on it that Harry recognised, and a load of further ones that he didn’t.
“That’s so interesting!” She sliced the apple open with a flick of her wand. “Even on the inside, it’s returning all the correct results! If I hadn’t seen you make it, I wouldn’t have been able to tell at all that it’s not real.”
Ron, after shrugging to himself, stole one half from her hand and bit into it. “Tastes right too.”
“Ronald!” Hermione protested, rounding on him, “You don’t eat unknown magic!”
“It’s not unknown!” He argued back. “It’s Harry’s weird Mist thing.”
Harry snickered before they could digress further into their infamous bickering. “It’s fine. Shouldn’t do anything, it just won’t feed you.”
“Speaking of which,” the full force of Hermione’s attention was back on him again, “how did the food last in the Underworld? You didn’t mention.”
“Ah. Rotted immediately. Sort of.” Harry replied, nose scrunching as he thought back to the mess he’d found in the container in his trunk, “No mould or anything, it was just kind of… fossilised.”
“So, what did you eat?” Ron asked, aghast.
“Ambrosia and nectar. It’s actually pretty filling, and I didn’t have any of the, you know, burning up from the inside out with too much of it that apparently other demigods get.” Harry shrugged, “Tastes like your favourite food, so basically treacle tart every day.”
“You and treacle tart.” Ron shook his head, pretending to be disappointed. “Did you bring any back?”
“Er, no.” Harry realised. “Probably should have done. It was great for healing quickly after training.”
“Then what have you been eating?” Hermione asked, stern. “You weren’t at breakfast this morning or dinner last night, and Neville said he didn’t see you for breakfast or lunch yesterday.”
That… was a very good point. Harry hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding out until he was hungry again for a meal of ambrosia that he wouldn’t be getting.
“Harry James Potter!” Hermione read the answer in his expression, “The kitchens, now!”
He turned for help from Ron, but he was standing up even faster than Hermione, pulling on Harry’s arm. “Off we go. Can’t have you starving because you forgot that us mere mortals have to eat.”
Harry laughed as their scoldings got increasingly silly and light-hearted, but internally he couldn’t help but wonder how long he would have gone without remembering he needed to eat real food again. It made something in his stomach clench which certainly wasn’t hunger. The stew they got from the kitchens was good and filling, and a pleasant change from weeks of treacle tart, but oddly hollow without the rush of energy that came from divine foods. Harry resolved to ignore it and ate another roll.
-
“Welcome back, welcome back.” Slughorn clapped his hands together and looked around his NEWT Potions class with a beaming smile. “I marked your end of term assignments over the holidays, and I must say that I’m very pleased with how well you all performed.” He flicked his wand and parchments moved from a pile of his desk to each respective student. Harry looked curiously down at his and saw a big EE in Slughorn’s stylised calligraphy.
“Before we move on to our agenda for the term, there are a few – just a very few – common errors that I wish to go over.” Slughorn directed his chalk to write on the board, “Now then, if you see here on the alchemical chart, the properties of ingredients harvested in the half-moon in its waxing or waning cycle aren’t opposite but rather…”
Harry settled into his first class easier than he’d even imagined, Slughorn’s voice washing over him as the familiar sights and smells of the dungeons lulled him back into the mindset of notetaking.
-
The professors hadn’t been exaggerating when they’d said that they’d be stepping up the homework for the second term. The new Transfiguration professor, Professor Connelly, had assigned their first essay in the same breath that he introduced himself, announcing that he’d get to know them through their grasp of preserving charm effects throughout the transfiguration process. He seemed to be cut from the same no-nonsense cloth as McGonagall, which made for a surprisingly consistent classroom atmosphere. Likewise, Professor Sprout, who was usually the most laidback of their teachers, had announced that this term would be dedicated to quantity of plants and growing environments rather than a long project like last term. It was only the first day, and Harry could already see his free time dwindling.
Tuesday brought the biggest surprise. Professor Barnaby had started the class without any waffling and marched them through increasingly difficult detection charms like the headmistress was in the room with them waiting for a reason to sack him. When he knew what he was talking about – and he’d clearly done his reading – Barnaby was a surprisingly decent teacher, though Harry had no idea what urgency was prompting him to get his act together. The sudden intensity of the professor made Harry uneasy, wondering what threat he was missing that the professor wasn’t, but as the class drew to an end with no obvious explanation, he decided, only half-convincing himself, that perhaps they’d simply managed to hurt their professor’s pride with the DA.
“Ah, Mr Potter, a word if you would?” Professor Barnaby called, as Harry was packing up his things to leave.
“Er, sure.” Harry made eye contact with Ron and Hermione, before turning to the professor. The two were alert, and Harry knew they’d be waiting for him.
The rest of the class left normally, chatter picking up once they were in the hallway, though the DA members all looked at Ron and Hermione lingering before continuing on. Professor Barnaby glanced at Harry’s friends with what seemed to be a flash of discontent, but didn’t protest them staying. “I heard very odd rumours,” the professor began, “about the way you left Hogwarts this winter. Word among the students was that you rode a giant Grim away from the castle, and that afterwards, nobody could reach you.” He didn’t intone a question, but it was nonetheless clearly implied.
“Right, yes.” Somehow, this conversation wasn’t what Harry had been expecting, and he found himself oddly wrong-footed. “Well, something like that. I, uh, I was fine, just an odd species that can travel long distances.”
Professor Barnaby didn’t seem entirely convinced, which was fair considering that Harry wasn’t sure he’d even managed to convince himself with that one. “Without your friends?” He queried instead, “I was under the impression that they felt the need to follow you everywhere.” He gave a pointed look at where Ron and Hermione stood near him.
Both bristled. “I’m not sure that’s any of your concern, Professor.” Hermione said stiffly, hooking her arm into Harry’s. “Now, unless there is something about the Defence Against the Dark Arts class about which you need to speak to Harry, we need to be getting to Charms.”
The professor reddened slightly, his jaw clenching. “Just making sure that our Mr Potter was safe over the holidays. There are so many terrible people about these days. I heard what happened with that Bulstrode girl.”
“I was fine, Professor.” Harry replied, edging towards the door. “Thanks for asking. We really do need to get to Charms, though.”
“Very well. I’m happy to hear it.” Professor Barnaby said, though he certainly didn’t seem happy.
The three left quickly, and Harry almost sighed in relief as they got into the corridor. Something about that had been very odd.
“D’you reckon he’s still harping on about wanting to protect Harry better?” Ron asked, face still tense and upset. “Just because he’s finally worked out which end of his wand the spells come out doesn’t mean that he’s any better than the rest of us at looking after Harry! Like he could have done any of the things we’ve been through!”
Hermione cut off the rant that Ron was working himself up to by slipping her hand in his, which made Ron stutter on his complaints and turn red, fighting to keep the smile off his face.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ron said a moment later, a great deal calmer. “He can think he’s better than us all he likes – doesn’t make it true.”
“Maybe we might even get some decent Defence classes out of it.” Harry suggested, cautiously optimistic.
Hermione hummed her agreement, though otherwise stayed quiet, eyes fogged with thought.
-
“Harry!”
Harry turned at the shout, from where he’d been setting up targets in the Room of Requirement. These particular ones should move around once released, and he had to quickly catch the one he’d dropped in surprise.
Blaise came running up, followed at a more regular pace by Daphne and Tracey. “We’ve barely seen you since term started! How was your holiday?”
“Er, interesting.” Harry looked around, seeing others entering the Room in preparation for the first DA session of the year. “Tell you what – after the session, I’ll come to your common room. I reckon we have a lot to catch up on.”
“That’s an understatement if ever I heard one.” Daphne said, blond eyebrows raised in a perfectly sardonic look. “And we have some news of our own, regarding Millicent.”
Harry looked between their faces, but none of the three gave anything away about what this kind of information could be. Now he was curious enough that he wanted to postpone the DA meeting starting, but already some members of his group were approaching. “Later, then.”
For now, he had to corral his group of NEWT students into hitting mouse-sized moving targets with variable shields. Even though he was looking forward to the chaos of it, especially in the second half when the targets would suddenly flip into firing stunners back, part of his mind lingered on the promise of new information the whole way through.
-
“Things were interesting over the winter break.” Daphne started, voice hushed even though they were speaking under a muffling charm. “It was harder than normal getting news about what the auror department were up to, but something was definitely wrong with them. I heard, via some friends in the right places, that Headmistress McGonagall kept having to go in there to remind them that Millicent was part of a group, and that there are other members still in Hogwarts.”
“Wait, they weren’t investigating?” Harry asked, shocked.
“They convicted Millicent just fine.” Daphne replied, “But never seemed to get anywhere with looking into the rest. McGonagall reportedly brought that list that Granger made – the one during the quidditch match – to see if it was worth investigating, since Millicent had been one of them. Two days later, they’d forgotten it existed until she asked them about it.”
Harry frowned, “That’s definitely weird. Do you think there’s some kind of curse on the Auror Department?”
“That’s what we speculated.” Blaise jumped in, “I mean, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? If the Dark Lord’s people had left something to stop the aurors from catching them. Though, we couldn’t agree on why it wouldn’t have been taken down when they took over the Ministry.”
“I still say that it’s because they became the Ministry, so accidentally caught themselves in their own curse.” Tracey argued, face more animated than Harry had seen it before. “And then they were under the curse, so couldn’t put the pieces together to remove it.”
“And I say that curse terms don’t work like that!” This was obviously a long-debated subject between Tracey and Blaise. “They’re either too specific or-”
“Enough.” Daphne stopped them both. “You can continue your argument later. Preferably when neither Harry nor I are in the room. The point is, Harry, that we may not be able to rely on the Auror Department to investigate this properly.”
Harry laughed, though there was only dark humour in it. “Just like every other year then.”
“Mm.” Daphne nodded, though she didn’t look pleased about it. “But unlike every other year, you have us.”
“And we know Slytherin much better than any of the aurors do.” Blaise added. “Can’t speak for looking into the other Houses, but if there are more Slytherins involved in this, which seems unfortunately likely, we can be the ones to find them.”
Harry nodded, though wasn’t wholly comforted. It had been nice, for however little he really trusted it, to believe that the aurors might actually do their jobs and catch the people gunning for Harry’s head for once. “I’m guessing someone’s checked on Malfoy and Parkinson?”
“Naturally.” Blaise agreed. “Malfoy’s keeping his head down, which is a nice change. Apparently, the terms of his attendance are pretty strict, and it’s this or house arrest, so self-preservation won out over messing with you. And he was never one for killing anyway.”
Harry had to agree with that.
“Parkinson, on the other hand,” Blaise continued, “would like nothing more than your head stuffed and mounted on her wall, but she’s a coward, and not a particularly bright one at that.”
“She’s been ranting about how she wished they succeeded, but we don’t think she’s actually involved.” Tracey said. "We've been asking around about the others, though." She added, "The ones who were in that meeting. It's sort of hard, because everyone knows we're your friends, but we know they're from the dark families and the supporters. We just don't know what they're doing in that group."
"We only need one person to slip up though." Daphne said, a sharp smile settling on her face, "And we will be there when they do."
With that particularly ominous statement, and a spark of relief in Harry's heart that he was on their good side, they left behind that conversation for now, until they had more certain information.
-
Harry's eyes adjusted to the light after a few days, much to his relief. As expected, once they knew it wasn't something serious, his housemates hadn't let it slide, asking him about his new fashion statement or mocking him for his days-long hangover. After he made the mistake of showing the curious third years which spell he'd used, he was followed around the castle for half a day by a stream of Gryffindors who'd tinted their glasses dark or, after realising they already knew the spell, with the colour changing charm they'd used on the common room windows. Harry had put up with the giggling group behind him good-naturedly, even when, much to his exasperation, lower years from the other Houses caught on and joined in.
Flitwick, upon coming across them, had not helped matters by laughing heartily and awarding points for excellent charm work and interhouse cooperation. Still, Harry had to admit that he was pleased to see some first to third year Slytherins in the group, laughing along like the children they were. He was pleased, more than anything, that even knowing who he was and what he'd done, they considered him safe enough to tease.
-
By the end of the first week, Basilissa had mostly forgiven him. This had taken many petting sessions, the exile of Harry from his own pillow, and a few snacks begged from the elves, but she was finally letting him leave the dorm without winding so tightly around his legs that Harry was scared to trip with every step. Instead, Harry had the dubious honour of being treated to a cat scarf, who sniffed suspiciously at everything before he picked it up and violently objected to potions ingredients on principle.
Today, Basilissa had found a nice patch of sunlight to lounge in near Harry's table in the library, where Harry had been joined by both his sets of friends, plus Neville and Luna. They'd all wandered their way into the library separately, to make a start on Professor Barnaby's frankly egregious essay on detecting dark curses on areas vs objects, and found themselves all around the same table for the first time.
Daphne and Hermione, as expected, got on like a house on fire once they'd gotten over their initial differences. Ron was discussing the assignment with Tracey, who was shy in larger groups still but was seemingly being brought out of her shell through Ron's easy chatter. Blaise, in a way that shouldn't have surprised Harry as much as it did, seemed to be really enjoying a conversation with Luna about the creatures she and her father liked to search for, with Neville chiming in about the magical plants of each terrain they'd visited. Basilissa's purr echoed through her chest as the sunlight sank into her jet-black fur and Harry, looking around at his mixed group of friends, had to agree.
-
Aside from the mountains of homework being heaped upon them, there had been nothing dramatic yet that term, which made it a surprise when Harry was called to McGonagall's office.
"Mr Potter, good, take a seat." She said, watching him over her cat-eye glasses. "It's nothing bad, don't you worry."
Harry took the seat across from her with some trepidation, not completely assuaged by her words - he was never summoned to this office for nothing.
McGonagall clicked her fingers, and a house elf obliged, a steaming pot of tea appearing with two teacups and a plate of biscuits. "Tea, Potter?"
Harry agreed. After all, it was British custom either side of the Statute of Secrecy to fix any kind of situation with a cup of tea, it would be rude not to. And he could never have too many cups of tea.
"What's this about then, professor?" Harry asked, after they'd both taken a sip of their tea.
McGonagall set her cup down on its saucer. "As you are well aware, we have several new members of staff this term. Among these is our new deputy headmaster, Mr Andrew Morrow, who is coming in as an administrative role. You may not have come across him yet." Here she waited until Harry shook his head, "Yes, well, he's had little contact with the student body as yet. But that is likely to change in the next couple of weeks. Beginning with our final year students and working down, Andrew will be working with our Heads of Houses to deliver career counselling with our students."
McGonagall looked at him with a studying gaze, something which might be sympathy or could be pity seeping in through the edges. "I wished to know if this was something you might be interested in, or whether you wished to be excused, given your circumstances. I understood that it might be a sensitive subject."
Harry didn't know what to think, so clung to his teacup like a lifeline. "Um, I don't know." He tried to get his thoughts together, "I mean, it sounds like a good idea, but I don't know if… how useful it would be to me."
"How long do you have left?" McGonagall asked. She hadn't pried before, hadn't asked anything about his situation that he didn't volunteer himself.
Harry swallowed against the lump that was suddenly blocking his throat, pulse thumping in his ears. "Two years." He told her, voice coming out quieter than he'd meant, but loud enough that he could see when she heard, her lips tightening in something that might have been grief. "If that. They said I'm ascending faster than they thought."
McGonagall nodded, lacing her fingers around her cup. "And I suppose you will be unable to continue an ordinary life afterwards?"
Harry shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm trying to set things up right to maybe, but." His voice broke in a way it hadn't for a couple of years, "No, probably not." It felt awful to say, a black pit in his chest as he admitted something he liked to ignore.
"So, likely not looking for a career." McGonagall brought them ruthlessly and mercifully back on topic, "But should you wish to, that would be long enough to pursue a further course of study, perhaps a Mastery. You would do excellently as a Defence Master, if that is something you wish to pursue. Of course, I understand if you would prefer to spend that time with friends and family instead."
"I don't think I want a careers meeting." Harry said, instead of responding to that.
McGonagall took pity on him and simply made a note of that, before pushing the plate of biscuits towards him. He took one. The taste of ginger cut through some of the fog in his head and so he took another.
"Very well, you will not be on the schedule." McGonagall agreed. "Perhaps, Mr Potter, it might do well to talk to your friends about this." She said not unsympathetically, "Hogwarts will always welcome you, but it cannot be your home forever. The world awaits you, and whatever part of it receives you will be very lucky indeed."