October had arrived by the time the contract was ready to be signed. Miraculously, Harry managed to stay entirely detention-free for the whole two weeks — Umbridge had seemingly gotten bored of trying to provoke him in class, instead letting them sit and mindlessly read a chapter at a time of Slinkhard's book. All of them wondered what she would do when they ran out of chapters.
Hedwig had made a full recovery, and Harry was now sending his letters to Grimmauld Place by Ceri, who would pass them on to Remus. The others seemed confused at first, but after a quick lie about Harry befriending a Hogwarts house elf — entirely believable, after the Dobby situation — they quickly accepted this new, more secure form of communication. Not that they had much of importance to talk about; Bill and his team were still working on the horcrux situation, and he and Charlie were quietly preparing to take over their family seats, but no one wanted to make any drastic moves with Umbridge so firmly ensconced in Hogwarts. They were wary of causing Fudge to have a complete breakdown and do something he couldn't take back.
Still, it was nice to hear about the more mundande things; Bill and Fleur's relationship, Charlie's dragons. He was getting to know Tonks better, too, through letters. She had a similar sort of humour to Sirius, though the Hufflepuff in her definitely shone through. She was dating someone as well, but Harry had yet to figure it out, and Tonks was taking far too much joy in keeping it secret.
His letter from Viktor returned, not on the school owl, but on the razor-clawed hunting falcon that was the Bulgarian's personal mail carrier. He mentioned having heard from Fleur that Harry had mail difficulties, and promised his falcon would not let anyone steal his burden. Looking at the bird's wickedly sharp beak, Harry almost hoped Umbridge would try.
Still, though school seemed to be business as usual — Umbridge's attempts at control aside — word spread very discreetly around certain people, and on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, Harry was up early and sneaking across the dew-soaked grass to a clearing just inside the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest, where Hagrid used to teach lessons that required a bit of tree coverage. He was under his invisibility cloak, with Neville pressed close behind him. Harry could have called everyone to gather at the Room of Requirement, but he didn't want to reveal the secret of the room until everyone had signed the contract. So, after a little brainstorming with his friends, the forest had been decided as their best bet for a meeting.
He hadn't expected there to be quite so many people.
He and Neville ditched the cloak once they were covered by the trees, circling round to approach from a different angle. A few people were already there, but more were appearing in drips and drabs — the heirs, of course; Ginny, with Michael Corner, Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst; the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team; Cho, with a couple of Ravenclaw friends, closely followed by Cedric's three Hufflepuff dorm-mates; the Creevey brothers; Luna, surprisingly accompanied by a couple of Slytherin fourth-years. More and more people began to arrive, and by the time the flow of students stopped, Harry counted nearly forty of them.
Merlin.
He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. Beside him, Neville gave a discreet thumbs-up. "Right, then. Thanks for coming, everyone; I promise I'll make it quick. You all know why we're here, I assume."
A crowd of faces grinned back at him. "To show Umbridge who's boss!" one person chirped, earning several whoops.
"To learn to fight You-Know-Who and his followers," Luna called out. A prominent silence followed.
"Yes, to both of those things," Harry said, heart hammering against his ribs. "I won't claim to be an expert, and I honestly don't care if you think I'm mad or not. If you're here for some war stories, you can bugger off."
"Why should we believe you if you won't tell us what happened?"
It took a second for Harry to locate the owner of that voice; one of the three Hufflepuff fifth year boys that Harry didn't really interact with, Zacharias Smith. The blond was sneering at Harry, looking skeptical.
"I never said I won't tell you, I said I'm not here to share stories right now," Harry retorted irritably. "Quite frankly, I don't fancy standing around in this forest any longer than I have to be. The acromantulas don't like me."
There were a few weak giggles from people who thought he was joking, and wary glances at the forest proper from the rest. "Voldemort is back. That's a fact; whether you believe it or not, it won't change. I don't know what he's up to right now, but just because he's been quiet for all of a few months doesn't mean he'll stay that way. War is coming, and we'll need all the capable wands we can get."
He noticed a few wary glances directed at the small cluster of Slytherins in the group, and it made him huff. "If you believe someone's house is an indicator of their moral alignment, leave now. The Slytherins are here on my invitation. I trust them — if that's not good enough for you, that's not my problem." Blaise flashed a smile his way. Harry felt a pang of regret in his chest, that Draco couldn't be stood with him.
"I can't guarantee anything. I've not even taken my OWLs yet, so I can't promise you'll pass them. But we can all agree that sitting around reading bloody Slinkhard books while Umbridge tells us to shut up and trust Fudge isn't going to get anyone very far."
"Hear, hear!" George crowed.
"I've faced Voldemort, in some form or another, four times, and lived to tell the tale. Which I will do, sometime when I'm not taking up valuable Hogsmeade time. I can't promise I can teach you to fight him, but I can teach you everything I do know. I can tell you what it's like to stare death in the face, but I can't show you how it feels. But, if you work hard, then you should know enough spells to hopefully come out the other side the first time you discover what it feels like for yourself."
His voice was hard, and every single person in the crowd was captivated. "This has to be secret. Umbridge can't hear about what we're doing here. None of the teachers can." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the roll of spelled parchment. "Everyone who wants to learn needs to sign this, before I tell you where we're going to meet. It'll help us keep the secret. You won't like what happens to you if you try and spill the beans, once you've signed."
That sent a wave of unease through the crowd. "I won't force you, but I also won't teach you if you don't. I'll be expelled if Umbridge knows I'm doing this, or worse. I refuse to put my neck out for anyone who doesn't trust me."
"I'll sign," Susan called out, stepping forward. Harry transfigured a branch into a short, somewhat stubby-looking table. As soon as he set the contract down on it, Susan pulled a quill from her bag. Naturally, she read the contract carefully, but by the end of it she was scrawling her name with a flourish. "Nicely worded, Harry," she complimented, making him grin.
Right behind her, Neville signed, not even bothering to read the contract — which made sense, since he'd helped Harry write it.
The twins were next, and they too didn't stop to read it. When Harry raised an eyebrow, they grinned at him. "We trust you!" they declared in unison, George passing his quill to Lee so he could sign too.
One by one, every single one of them signed their name on the contract — even Zacharias Smith, though he made a face as he did so. Once the last person had signed, Harry reached for it.
"Hang on, Potter; you didn't sign it," Zacharias called. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes — who had brought him??
"If we want to add any future members, I need to be able to tell them about it, don't I?" he pointed out patiently. "All the rest of you will be able to do is tell them to come talk to me. Besides, I'm the one with most to lose out of this; I'm not likely to go to Umbridge about it."
"Don't be a tosser, Smith," Fred complained. "We've got to have one person able to talk about the group, as a failsafe."
"In case someone hexes your scrawny arse to smithereens and we need to ask Pomfrey to put you back together again," George added, eyes alight. Smith paled, gulping.
"Right. Of course. Yeah."
No one else seemed to have a problem, so Harry pocketed the contract, planning on getting it somewhere safe as soon as possible. "Great. First meeting will be Thursday at seven. Meet on the seventh floor, the door opposite the tapestry of the trolls doing ballet."
Several people exchanged dubious glances. "Harry, there isn't a door opposite that tapestry," Cho pointed out in her quiet Scottish burr. Harry smirked.
"There will be."
.-.
The meeting ended without fanfare, everyone keen to get down to Hogsmeade and enjoy the remainder of their weekend. Harry walked along the forest's edge with Neville and Luna, headed in the direction of the village.
"That went well, I think," he said, once they were out of earshot of the rest.
"You were great, Harry," Neville enthused, clapping him on the back. "I can't wait to see this room of yours."
Harry hadn't taken Neville to the Room of Requirement yet, wanting his friend to be as surprised as everyone else. "It's brilliant, you'll love it." And that reminded him. "Thanks for the tip, by the way, Luna."
She smiled back dreamily, bobbing her head. "Glad I could help."
Neville looked at them both in confusion, but didn't question it. Perhaps he'd forgotten about that conversation, weeks ago now. Or perhaps he, too, knew what it was like to feel the castle's magic.
.-.-.
That evening after curfew, Harry was slipping into an empty classroom on the third floor — empty, that was, aside from a lone Slytherin.
Draco smiled at him, beckoning him over for a kiss. "How did your secret rebellion meeting go, then?" he asked, only a little mulish. Harry kissed him a second time.
"Don't be jealous," he teased. "It went well, actually. Everyone who showed up signed the contract." Draco was the only one who knew the truth of the contract; even Neville didn't know what it would do, just that it was enchanted.
"Good. With any luck, that'll keep Umbridge out of it. And Dumbledore." The headmaster would probably be a fan of going against the Ministry, but he wouldn't like the Slytherin inclusion — nor would he like that Harry was in charge. Another rebellion from his Golden Boy, after all.
"Dumbledore has hardly even looked at me all term," Harry remarked with a shrug. "Starting to wonder if he's actually feeling threatened by Umbridge." After the way Harry had acted in the summer, and his continued spurning of Ron and Hermione, Harry thought for sure the headmaster would try and lure him back onto the 'correct' path sometime soon. But, on the contrary, the old man was practically ignoring Harry!
"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Draco said, and Harry hummed in agreement. "So who showed up? How many Slytherins did you have?" He gently shoved Harry into a chair as he peppered him with questions, and Harry chuckled.
"Way more people than I expected. And again, more than expected. Blaise and Daphne were the only ones from our year, but there were some younger ones." None of the sixth or seventh year Slytherins were secure enough to do something as bold as support Harry Potter, even if they might have wanted to.
"What are you going to teach them first?"
"Disarming charms, and Shield charms. Start with the basics," Harry said. His first lesson curriculum was already mostly-planned in his head. He didn't want to start out with anything too intimidating or difficult, especially since there were third years in the mix. Besides, for all Umbridge's hateful poison, she was right about one thing; their DADA education had been inconsistent at best. Knowledge was likely to be patchy, and Harry wanted to see where everyone was at before he started delving into the more dangerous magic. "Oh. That's boring," Draco pouted. Harry couldn't resist kissing the pushed-out lip, nipping at it playfully.
"Sorry I'm not going straight into teaching them spell-chains," he teased. "Got to make sure they won't curse their own eyebrows off, first."
Draco hummed, shuffling his chair closer. "You'll let me know when you start on the more… interesting magic, of course?"
"Promise," Harry assured, squeezing his knee. "You might not be able to come to meetings, but I'll keep you in the loop." Green eyes darkened. "Just means I'll have to go over it with you, privately."
"Ooh, one-on-one lessons," Draco drawled, leaning forward with dancing eyes. "Will there be rewards for hard work, Professor?"
The breathy purr sent a pulse of want straight through Harry's core, and he swallowed as his throat suddenly became dry. "You're the prefect, of the two of us," he pointed out, a little hoarse. "You're the on who can give house points. I suppose I'll have to think up something else, instead."
Draco moved quickly, sliding off his chair and straddling Harry's lap. The chair groaned ominously under the weight of both of them, but held, and Harry let his hands fall to the blond's hips. "Careful you don't tip us back," Harry warned. "You'll have a hell of a time explaining to Pomfrey why you found me in a classroom with my skull split open at this time of night."
Draco scoffed, threading his fingers through Harry's hair, cradling the back of his skull gently. "Have a little faith, Scarhead," he murmured. "There's spells for that sort of thing."
Arching up for a kiss, Harry hummed, shoulders relaxing with the pleasure that flooded him. All the day's stress, the anxiety about the meeting; it all melted away when Draco kissed him.
His hands started to wander; first up the blond's firm chest, then down, settling on his thighs, fingers teasing at the inside seam of his trousers. Draco let out a strangled whimper when Harry's fingertips danced too close to the bulge pressing against his fly. "Don't tease, Potter," he gasped. Harry, suddenly feeling bold, looked up to meet lust-blown eyes.
"Not teasing," he assured, heart pounding. "Can I…?" He let his fingers move to the buckle of Draco's belt, his intentions clear.
The Slytherin sucked in a sharp breath, going tense.
"We don't have to," Harry hurried to say, moving his hands back. "No pressure. But if you want it, I'd—" He was cut off by lips pressing firmly to his. Then;
"Please."
He swallowed hard. Okay, then.
He unhooked the belt buckle, and slowly, with shaking hands, undid each button of the boy's fly. His trousers parted, revealing grey silk underwear, tented in a very obvious way, a growing wet spot on the front.
Harry could hardly breathe as he reached with reverent fingers, peeling down the waistband. Draco shifted to assist, until his underwear and trousers were pushed down to mid-thigh, his cock standing proudly at attention between their stomachs.
A quiet, keening noise wrenched from Harry's throat. He'd never seen an erection other than his own before, and the illustrations in the book George gave him. He hadn't expected to be so painfully aroused just by the sight of it. Slowly, he wrapped his hand around the hot length, giving it an experimental squeeze. Draco's breath hitched, his hands tightening on Harry's shoulders.
"Potter, I swear to fuck," he bit out, face absolutely wrecked, lips swollen from Harry's earlier attention. He was beautifully flushed, and not for the first time Harry was hit by how fucking lucky he was to call this boy his.
Using a handy bit of silent, wandless magic to lubricate his palm, Harry got to work, determined to bring Draco to pieces.
Harry's own hardness was pressing against the fly of his jeans, against the inner curve of Draco's thigh — but he didn't care about himself, not when Draco was right there, sat in his lap, giving tiny bucks of his hips in time with Harry's hand movements. His head was thrown back, quiet moans falling from his lips, one hand gripping Harry's shoulder for dear life while the other tangled in his hair, just the right side of painful.
"Ohh," Draco sighed, lurching forward for a fierce kiss. "Come on, Harry. Faster."
Harry did as bid, glancing down in fascination to watch the reddened head of Draco's cock beneath his fingers. It was so different to doing this to himself, in the privacy of his four-poster bed.
For a moment, he got a mental image of Draco splayed out on Gryffindor-red sheets, naked and flushed and Harry's, and he almost came in his own jeans. He moved his hand faster, trying to figure out what made Draco moan louder, loving the tiny sounds he made with every thrust into Harry's palm. "Fuck, close," was all the warning Harry got, before suddenly Draco's spine arched and he came with a shout, spurting hot over Harry's hand and both their laps. As he did, he pressed down hard in Harry's lap, and Harry was gone, sparks exploding behind his eyelids as he followed his boyfriend into orgasm.
And then the chair broke.
Only an instinctive wandless Cushioning charm saved Harry a very painful landing, as the legs of the old chair gave out, sending them both tipping backwards to the stone floor. Harry ended up on his back, Draco sprawled on top of him, his spent cock and the sticky mess pinned between them.
Harry looked up, meeting Draco's bewildered grey eyes, still hazy with lust. A beat, and they both burst out laughing. "Fucking Merlin," Draco groaned, shaking his head. "That's not how I wanted that to go."
"At least it happened after you came," Harry pointed out, blushing as he looked down at the mess of his hand, and both their shirts.
The pink flush rose on Draco's cheeks again. "Yeah. That was… thank you." He kissed Harry softly, suddenly shy. "Do you want me to…"
"No need," Harry assured. Draco frowned.
"Yeah, s'pose the chair was a bit of a mood killer."
Cheeks hot, Harry shook his head. "No — well, yes, but — I, uh, already. When you did. I." He stuttered helplessly, while Draco was wide-eyed.
"You… Just from me…?" Harry nodded. "Wow. Okay." The Gryffindor ducked his head, but Draco caught him by the chin, kissing him again. "I'll just have to do you next time, then." Those words sent a shiver down Harry's spine, his teenage libido making a valiant attempt at starting a second go already.
"Only if you want to," he insisted all the same. "I did that because I wanted it, not because I expected anything in return."
"Yes, but seeing as you enjoyed it so much," Draco drawled, gaze intent, "I'd quite like to see what all the fuss is about."
"Oh." Well. That was alright, then.
As sticky became unpleasant, Harry did a Cleaning charm on the pair of them, helping Draco right his clothing. They stayed where they were, sprawled on the floor, Harry gazing up adoringly at Draco. But the moment was gone, and both of them burst into giggles.
"Can't believe we broke the fucking chair," Harry spluttered, laughing into the curve of Draco's throat. The blond snorted in a very undignified manner that he'd never allow in front of anyone other than Harry.
"Thank Merlin for Silencing charms, is all I can say," he replied. "That crash would've woken half the castle."
Harry winced — yes, thank Merlin for Silencing charms, indeed.
.-.-.-.
Harry hated Mondays.
Not only because his class schedule on a Monday was positively soul destroying, but Umbridge always seemed to drop a new bombshell on a Monday morning. This was no exception; a new Educational Decree was posted on the notice board in every common room, declaring that all extra-curricular clubs, teams and societies required permission from the High Inquisitor to continue. Reading it made Harry's heart stop.
"She knows," he murmured, dread filling his voice. Ginny shook her head.
"She can't. It's too soon." Harry raised a pointed brow. "Maybe she overheard someone talking about the meeting in the forest; someone who didn't go. Not everyone who was told about the idea actually showed up."
Harry could hardly fathom there being more people who might have liked the idea, but he would take Ginny's word for it.
"We'll see." If someone who had signed the contract had talked, he would know soon.
A few people sent him worried looks at breakfast, their questions clear, but Harry just tilted his head in the barest of nods; they were still on. Umbridge might have banned them, but she couldn't catch them.
"This is awful!" Angelina moaned, head in her hands.
"We'll be fine, Angie. She won't find our practice room," Harry assured, surprised she was so wound up about the defence club. She looked up, gaze furious.
"I don't care about that! Quidditch, Harry! The notice said all teams needed permission."
Harry's jaw dropped. "What? But— that's ridiculous! She can't ban us from quidditch!"
"She can, and she will, so don't you dare do anything else to upset her, alright? No more detentions." The look in her eye was every bit as ferocious as Oliver Wood had been in his captaincy, and Harry nodded quickly.
"Yes, captain," he said obediently.
"Good boy." Then she was off, no doubt hunting down Fred and George to warn them of the same; they'd pulled a few pranks on Umbridge, and Harry knew they'd earned a detention each for it — he'd taught them the spells to heal their hands. First the house tables, now the clubs; Harry wasn't beginning to wonder if Dumbledore and the Ministry had more in common than any of them thought.
.-.-.
History of Magic went by Umbridge-free, which Harry was actually quite disappointed by. It would have been amusing, watching Umbridge try and interrogate the ghost professor, while Binns blithely continued lecturing, entirely unaware what year it was or that he was even deceased. Truthfully, if there was one professor he'd support Umbridge getting rid of, it was that one.
Things got interesting in Potions, though. When the Gryffindor contingent arrived at the classroom, Draco was outside, bragging about how easily the Slytherin team was given permission to continue playing. Several loud remarks about whether the Gryffindors would be so lucky made it easy for Harry to bare his teeth and snarl, continuing their public vendetta.
It was good that there were so many other things going on this year, or someone might have noticed that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy really weren't trying as hard to fight each other as they usually did.
Snape interrupted their posturing, docking Gryffindor points and urging them all into the classroom. He looked extra surly, and Harry realised why as soon as he sat at his bench.
Umbridge was in the corner, perched on a stool, ever-present clipboard balanced on her knees.
"Oh, blimey," Neville yelped under his breath.
"Why is she always in our classes? Doesn't she have her own to teach?" Harry remarked in a whisper. He'd only heard of two other occasions Umbridge had inspected a class that was not one of his. Was she really so desperate to see him fail, that she was stalking him around his lessons?
She was starting to replace Fake-Moody as 'creepiest DADA professor' in Harry's mental ranking.
"As you can see, we have a guest this morning," Snape drawled, and Harry was sure only he and Draco saw the well-hidden contempt in the man's gaze as he looked at Umbridge.
It was going to be one hell of a lesson.
Despite straining his ears to try and hear Umbridge questioning Snape, Harry did his best to try and brew his Strengthening Solution properly, as well as keep an eye on Neville. Admittedly, the other Gryffindor was getting better in Potions with Harry's quiet encouragement, but the nerves of having both Snape and Umbridge observing the lesson were clearly throwing him off.
Harry just hoped Snape wasn't feeling extra vindictive towards him. A few times, the Slytherin had vanished Harry's perfectly good potion for some perceived flaw, giving him a zero for the class — and, in private, offering a proper criticism and grade. It was necessary to keep up the public animosity, and as it wouldn't mess with Harry's OWL grade he didn't really care, but— he really hoped Snape didn't do that in front of Umbridge. If the man could offer no other support, he could at least do that.
Umbridge seemed very interested in what Snape did before teaching, as if he were going to respond to her prying with a blow-by-blow recount of his Death Eater days. All it did was give him the chance to quietly brag about being the youngest Potions Master in a century, sneer at her for questioning his curriculum, and offer for her to direct her complaints at the ICW if she wished to change what appeared on the OWL exam syllabus. Through it all, Harry was trying his best to hold in his laughter. Snape was having far too much fun tearing Umbridge to pieces.
Perhaps a pensieve memory of the class could be his Christmas present to Remus.
"Despite applying for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position every year, you have been refused the appointment repeatedly. Do you care to suggest why Professor Dumbledore will not allow you the position?"
Someone from the Slytherin side of the room sucked in a sharp breath; Harry wasn't the only one eavesdropping.
"I suggest you ask him yourself," Snape drawled, unperturbed. "Though I would imagine it has something to do with the lack of suitably qualified Potions Masters in Britain. Defence Against the Dark Arts is a much more… forgiving subject to teach."
Umbridge smiled, a little confused, like she wasn't sure if she'd just been complimented or insulted. Harry couldn't breathe, he was so close to laughing.
When it came time for Umbridge to speak to the students about the teacher under inspection, the pink-clad woman paused, eyeing the class, considering her dilemma.
Did she speak to the Slytherins, who would only sing the praises of their Housemaster? Or did she go to the Gryffindors, and risk further infuriating the one teacher in the school who seemed to hate Harry Potter as much as she did?
Harry was not surprised when she chose the Slytherin side of the room, quietly sidling up to Pansy.
Snape passed their desk, sneering at the bubbling tar-like substance in Neville's cauldron, before surveying the oily grey substance in Harry's; an entirely adequate Strengthening Solution, ready to cool. Harry looked up at him imploringly, mentally begging him not to vanish it.
A long moment passed, before Snape simply huffed. "You will have to do better than that, Mr Potter, if you want even a chance of a passing OWL grade. And five points from Gryffindor for interfering with Longbottom's work."
Harry just nodded; that was as much as he could hope for, under the circumstances.
.-.
With Gryffindor quidditch practice cancelled while Umbridge considered things, Harry found himself at a loose end for the evening. He had homework, of course, but the idea of going and sitting in the common room to try and do it made his head pound. Gryffindor territory was not exactly conducive to focus and learning.
Just as he was mentally debating between the library or an abandoned classroom, Hannah appeared, tugging on his sleeve. "Come study with us," she urged. He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled. "Actual studying. It's been a while."
She had a point, and when Harry entered their usual empty classroom — now warded to the gills, to keep Umbridge out — most of the heirs were gathered, their books spread out over the desks, clustered by subject. Neville was already there, getting Divination help from Parvati, who seemed to take Trelawney's probation as a personal call to make sure every one of them got as high a grade as possible.
It was nice, not having the conversation be about Umbridge, or the Wizengamot, or anything serious — just all of them studying together, like they had last year.
"Hey, does anyone mind if I put my Wireless on?" Harry asked, pulling the device from his bag. "Not too loud, I swear. But Puddlemere are playing." Their keeper had been injured in the last game, and while reports said he was fine to play, Harry was quietly hoping Oliver might get subbed on. His ex-captain hadn't taken to the field yet this season, but from the chatter going on, the Puddlemere main keeper wasn't quite up to scratch, and there was a chance Oliver could make his way to the main team for good, if he played well when he was able.
"Hey, set it up over here," Cassius urged, making room on his side of the table for Harry to join him. No one seemed to object, so Harry did, tuning the Wireless to the right station and pulling out his DADA homework. It was just the kind of mindless drivel he could complete while listening to quidditch. "It's Puddlemere United versus the Ballycastle Bats, and the snitch is off!"
The quiet commentary was soothing as he worked; much nicer than the chaos of Gryffindor Tower. Puddlemere were playing well, too. At least to start, they were.
"Perkins shoots, and — oh, that's a nasty hit! Puddlemere keeper Nicholas Hornby takes a bludger to the side right as Perkins scores another for the Bats. Puddlemere's captain has called for a time out; Hornby is not a pretty sight, ladies and gents, and — yes, that's it, with a round of quite spectacular projectile vomiting, Hornby is escorted from the pitch by the medics. On flies Oliver Wood, heading to goals, and play is resumed."
Harry straightened up, essay abandoned in favour of the quidditch. Beside him, Cassius' quill had gone still, the Slytherin's head cocked intently towards the Wireless.
"Bats are in fine form tonight, but Puddlemere are not taking it lying down. Puddlemere chasers have possession, heading it up the pitch — and Perkins steals the quaffle! She's headed for another goal, tearing down the pitch, passes to Gladwell, back to Perkins — what a spectacular block from reserve keeper Oliver Wood! Puddlemere back in possession."
"Yes, Ollie!" Cassius hissed quietly, the faintest grin tugging at his lips. Harry eyed him strangely.
"You and Oliver kept in touch?" he asked, keeping his voice pitched low so as not to disturb the others. Cassius' eyes widened, and the faintest blush touched his olive cheeks.
"Some," he dismissed evasively. "But I was a Puddlemere fan before he signed with them."
That didn't quite excuse Cassius' excitement at Oliver specifically — nor the tiny, pleased smile he got when the commentators talked about how well Oliver was performing for his first game of the season.
Harry continued to watch him, suspicion growing.
Interesting.
.-.-.
His evenings blessedly free of detention, and less-blessedly free of quidditch practice, Harry decided to undertake a little adventure that had been lingering in the back of his mind since before he'd discovered the Room of Requirement. Invisibility cloak and Marauder's Map in use, Harry left the Tower after curfew, and headed for the second floor.
If Myrtle was present in her bathroom, she didn't pop out to say hello, even when Harry removed his cloak. He wasn't sad about that — it meant there was no witnesses when he stared at the tiny snake engraved on the tap, and hissed. "Open."
The yawning entrance to the Chamber of Secrets revealed itself. The blast of stale, decaying air made Harry wrinkle his nose, directing a Cleaning charm at the pipe.
Without delay, he clambered over the edge, and slid down.
The first section of the Chamber was just as disgusting as Harry remembered, littered with small animal skeletons and scraps of snakeskin. Performing a Bubblehead charm on himself to keep out the smell, Harry forged onwards, pushing past the insistent press of memories from his second year.
The hole that he and Ron had dug for him and Ginny to escape through, in the pile of rubble caused by Lockhart's failed Obliviation, might have fit twelve year-old Harry but certainly would not fit fifteen year-old Harry. A flick of his wand and an astonishingly overpowered Repairing charm fixed that, the magic rushing eagerly through Harry, reminding him of how little opportunity he'd had to truly stretch his magical core.
That was why he was down here. Partly, anyway. He could have used the Room of Requirement, but… he wanted a place that was outside the student wards, where he could use as much magic as he wanted and not risk getting caught by the wrong person.
As he grew closer to adulthood, his magic grew stronger, his connection to his family magics much deeper. He was noticing it in classes; spells came easily, and if anything he was having to worry about them being overpowered rather than under. When conjuring in Charms, he'd almost conjured a dozen pillows instead of the requisite two. If Umbridge had allowed them to use spells in class, he likely would have had to worry about injuring one of his classmates.
And that's why he had to train. If he was going to be teaching his friends, he didn't want to hurt anyone. He wanted to grow his magical core, but he needed to control it.
His heart was beating hummingbird-quick when he stepped into the enormous main chamber, laying eyes on the basilisk for the first time in two and a half years.
It was… really quite large.
He hadn't had the chance to properly appreciate it back then, given the basilisk was trying to eat him, but it had to be at least sixty feet long. Harry edged closer, expecting the smell of rotting meat, frowning when it didn't hit his nostrils. The basilisk was astonishingly well preserved; he'd expected it to be little more than a pile of putrid flesh and sagging scales by now. Was it magic, keeping it in tact? Or something else? Something that clearly didn't work on all the rodents and other creatures that died in the bowels of the Chamber.
With a little cleaning and some proper lighting, the Chamber really could be very impressive. It was impressive already, but mostly in a creepy dungeon lair kind of way, with the pool of stagnant water in the corner, and the centuries of grime built up.
And the basilisk corpse. That wasn't great for the atmosphere.
Harry looked around the enormous room, at the huge statue of Salazar himself, still with his jaw wide open for the snake to pass through.
What was it all for?
Surely he hadn't built such a massive chamber just to house his pet snake and his own ego? Especially since the snake seemed to have a space of its own past the statue guardian.
It wasn't like he would be entertaining anyone down here; why make it the size of a grand ballroom?
Harry walked up to the walls, looking for any more markings, or signs. Mostly, he saw snakes. Snake-shaped torch holders on the walls, snakes carved into columns, snakes engraved on the walls. The man really, really liked snakes.
"Show me your secrets," he groaned — or he tried to, at least, but with his eyes on the snake carvings the words naturally came out in Parseltongue.
And the bricks in the wall began to move.
Rolling away from each other like the entrance to Diagon Alley, the wall soon revealed an arched entrance. Harry gaped, stepping inside.
It was an office. Clearly untouched for a very long time, though surprisingly dust-free. One wall was entirely bookshelves, while another held shelves of potions ingredients, jars of odd substances and labelled wooden boxes. An ornate wooden desk sat off to one side, while a small sitting area filled the other half of the office.
"Well, now," a voice hissed, making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. "It's been quite some time since I had a visitor. Who might you be, then?"
Slowly, Harry turned, until he was facing an enormous portrait on one wall.
A portrait of a man who looked an awful lot like Salzar Slytherin himself.