On New Year's Eve, all those in Harry's trusted circle who weren't staying at the castle for the holidays made their way to Longbottom Manor, which was decorated as elegantly as one might expect from Augusta Longbottom.
Harry bowed to the elderly woman, then offered up the bottle of sherry he'd brought with him. "Happy holidays," he greeted. "Thank you for inviting us into your home."
"Your family is always welcome with mine, Heir Potter," she assured, a hint of a smile on her stern face. "Posy will show you to the parlour." At her word, a house elf appeared at her side, smiling bright up at Harry and his family.
"Guests be following Posy, please," she chirped, leading the way.
Harry was much less anxious on this visit to Longbottom Manor — unlike his birthday party, people weren't here specifically to see him. Also, he wasn't going to be psyching himself out about having sex with Draco this time. That ship had well and truly sailed, many times over.
So he was relaxed as he followed the house elf to the parlour, which was already full of people, a second house elf fluttering around with a tray of drinks.
"Harry!" Neville strode over, grinning. "Good to see you, mate." He glanced back at the rest of the group. "No Professor Lupin tonight?"
"Too close to the moon," Sirius explained. "But he sends his regards."
Harry rather thought it was less about the full moon the night before and more about wanting to ring in the new year with Snape, but he wasn't going to say anything.
Off to the side, Harry saw Amelia Bones stood with a glass of water in hand, and he waved to her, heading over. "I'm glad to see you back on your feet," he said by way of greeting.
"Thank you. I'm fully recovered, thanks to Augusta's friend. And, so I'm told, the efforts of Severus Snape." Her eyes narrowed expectantly, and Harry shrugged.
"There's little I can say without giving away what isn't mine to share," he told her. "But I trust Professor Snape with my life."
"Good to know," she replied. "Now, I won't take up your whole evening talking business; that would be far too rude of both of us." She chuckled. "Go, spend time with your friends."
Harry grinned at her, obligingly heading to greet the rest of his friends, wondering how many more would make it. To his surprise, Percy Weasley was there, chatting with Bill and Fleur. "Hi, Percy. Wasn't expecting to see you here."
"I've been helping Madam Bones," he explained, fiddling anxiously with his glasses. "Going through paperwork to make sure everything can be processed properly once the Ministry is accessible again. She, ah, invited me along."
"And then she told me so I could make sure he actually came," Bill joked, ruffling Harry's hair in greeting. "Wasn't going to let him spend New Year's alone in his flat."
Percy blushed.
"We've got all the Weasleys together again!" Fred declared, appearing out of nowhere on Harry's left, while George popped up on his right. "Well, all the good ones, anyway."
"Except Dad. Couldn't sneak him out," George added. "Mum's been on a bit of a warpath since Charlie dropped the bomb at Christmas."
Mr Weasley had written to Harry as promised, apologising endlessly for his wife's actions — and for Ron's, as evidently Bill and the twins had explained to the man that his son had been spying on Harry for Dumbledore. Harry didn't blame him; he was so busy working to support his family, it was easily missed.
He wasn't sure how Dumbledore was going to take it all, but quite frankly at this point that was fairly low on Harry's list of worries. Lately everything Dumbledore did to try and get back at Harry only made the headmaster look more senile in the eyes of the students — students who would write back to their parents about how odd the headmaster was acting these days.
The crowd for the party wasn't quite as large as it had been for Harry's birthday, nor as energetic; they were all just here to spend some time together outside of the castle's oppressive atmosphere, be with their loved ones all together before they were separated once more. George and Blaise were practically attached at the hip, commiserating with Cassius and Oliver about how much it sucked to have one of them stuck in school while the other was graduated.
It was nice, catching up with people he hadn't seen in a while. The bubble of Seren Du was wonderful, but it could feel a little isolated after a while, when he was hardly able to leave. The last few years of having Christmas at Hogwarts or Grimmauld, he was used to the holiday involving all sorts of people stopping in. And as much as he loved Draco, it was great to spend time with people his own age who weren't Draco.
And as midnight drew nearer, they moved out to the patio drenched in Warming charms, ready for the fireworks show the twins had put together. Harry bet they made a killing in fireworks this time of year.
He slipped his arm around Draco's waist, a glass of champagne in his other hand. "I've never had someone to kiss at midnight on New Year's before," he remarked, grinning — the one time they might have come close, in fourth year, there were far too many people around for them to sneak away and kiss as the clock struck twelve.
"Who says I'm going to kiss you?" Draco drawled, screwing up his nose.
"If you don't, I'm sure someone around here will," Harry retorted, making a show of surveying his options. Draco rolled his eyes, hand slipping into the back pocket of Harry's jeans.
"No they wouldn't. They know better than to throw their lot in with you," he said, lips brushing Harry's jaw. "I'm the only one foolish enough for that."
"Everyone ready?" Sirius called suddenly, and the room went hushed. The dog animagus waved his wand, and suddenly a timer floated overhead, glowing gold numbers ticking down closer to midnight. Harry's grip on Draco tightened.
"Ten! Nine! Eight!" They all shouted along with the countdown, which exploded into sparkles when it hit zero — Harry turned, sealing his mouth over Draco's, champagne bubbles still on their tongues. Overhead, fireworks whizzed and crackled and banged, but half the audience weren't even paying attention, too engrossed in each other. Harry let the kiss go on as long as he dared while still surrounded by his friends and family, then pulled back, green eyes meeting lust-hazed grey. "I love you," he whispered, watching Draco smile in response. His first words of a brand new year.
"I love you," came the reply, Draco's arm holding him close. They tilted their heads up to watch the rest of the fireworks, faces lighting up in blues and greens and reds with every flash of colour in the sky.
When the show ended, they all cheered, and the twins stepped forward with overdramatic bows. "Here's to 1997!" they cried, raising their glasses in unison. Everyone else copied the motion, toasting to a brand new year.
"And here's to having the people we love here to share it with us," Sirius added in a toast of his own, sending a fond smile Charlie's way. They were all more than happy to toast to that. Harry sipped his champagne, then raised his glass a third time, looking around his gathered friends. "Here's to the end of the war," he said, everyone falling silent. "It's going to happen this year. One way or another, things will be over by this time next year. That's a promise."
It was a sea of solemn faces that raised their glasses in return. "To the end of the war," they echoed, and they drank.
"Bold promise," Draco murmured, once they were all headed back inside. "Sure you can keep it?"
"Absolutely," Harry said confidently, grinning.
He turned seventeen in the summer, after all.
Voldemort wouldn't last much longer than that.
.-.-.-.
Even though reading the Prophet was often an exercise in extreme restraint of one's temper, a copy still arrived at Seren Du every morning. On the morning of January second, the front page declared that Riots Against Ministry In Rochester had occurred the night before.
Riots against the Ministry meaning that people had actually defended themselves against Death Eaters. Harry furrowed his brow at the paper, reading what he could while Snape held it. "What's all that about?" he asked, gesturing to the article. Snape lowered the paper to peer at him, smirking.
"It seems the Dark Lord's minions met their match in their attempted raid last night," he drawled. "The public are teaching themselves to fight back."
"Tonks was telling me about that, at the Longbottoms'," Sirius piped up. "Said something about a bunch of just-graduated Hufflepuffs running a sort of defence tuition business. A pay-what-you-can type deal, all hush-hush of course. But they're going around teaching people the basics — Disarming, Stunning, snapping wands. Tonks said they're telling people you taught them everything they know," he added, glancing to Harry. "I meant to ask you about it, but I forgot. You know anything about it?"
"Hufflepuffs, Tonks said?" he clarified, gaining a nod. A slow grin crossed Harry's lips. "That'll be Patrick and the guys, then. Cho said they'd gone into business together on something. They're Cedric's dorm mates," he explained, smile faltering at the memory of his Hufflepuff friend. "They were in the HA last year. I guess I made a bit of an impression." He shook his head, amazed. "That's brilliant!" It was perfect — he'd often despaired in the HA about how many average magic users had no idea how to defend themselves in a fight. Clearly, the Hufflepuff boys had been listening.
He hoped they reached more people. He hoped they kept themselves safe.
"Doesn't take much to undo fifty years of shoddy Defence education," Remus remarked ruefully, giving Harry a grin.
"Maybe the Death Eaters will think twice about going after magical families if this is what they get from it." Of course, that just meant more attacks on muggles, but those were harder — even Voldemort didn't want to expose the magical world, so he had to be careful where he chose. If his options were so limited, he would struggle to do much real damage at all.
"Between those lads and the twins' Defence Range, maybe he will indeed," Sirius agreed.
They could only hope.
.-.-.
The first few days of January flew by, and before Harry knew it they were facing their final day at Seren Du before heading back to Hogwarts. It was also the most horrendous weather outside, like nature itself understood Harry's feelings about returning to the castle.
There was another full family dinner planned for the evening as one last farewell, but until then the boys were mostly left to their own devices. And, with quidditch off the agenda, that left them with somewhat limited options. Not that they minded.
Harry lay flat on his back on the bed in Draco's room — a place they didn't often go, but if Sirius was going to be a pest he would likely check Harry's room first. So they'd set up decoy wards on that door and scurried away to Draco's, hands already tugging at clothes.
"What's the rush?" he drawled teasingly as Draco tugged at the zip of his trousers. "We should take the opportunity to go slow while we still have it." Once they were at Hogwarts, their only free time would be snatches in the evenings and the occasional weekend. There was little opportunity for lazy lovemaking in a castle full of three hundred people.
"The rush is I want you in me," Draco growled in retort, smirking as Harry's cock jumped beneath his hand. "We can do slow on the second round."
Now Harry liked the sound of that. "Well, in that case." He flipped them over, wriggling out of his trousers and boxers and flinging them aside. Draco's eyes darkened, and he arched up into Harry, kissing him hotly. "While I do love having you on top of me like this," Draco panted, cutting himself off with a gasp as Harry peeled down his underwear, "I had something else in mind, actually."
Harry cocked his head in confusion. "But— you said—" They had tried it both ways, and usually their preference was for Harry to be on top.
Draco smirked wickedly. The next thing Harry knew, he was flat on his back, Draco straddling his hips. The Slytherin reached over for the vial of lube, bracing himself with one hand planted just above Harry's shoulder, his other hand between his own legs. Harry could do nothing but watch with lust-blown eyes as Draco stretched himself, pushing against his own fingers. Then, he clasped a slick hand around Harry's straining cock, kneeling up higher, and suddenly Harry realised where this was going.
"Oh holy God," he breathed, watching Draco position himself, slowly sinking down onto Harry's length. He wasn't sure where to look; at the space between them, gradually growing smaller as he pressed deeper inside his partner, or at Draco's face, painted in rapturous ecstacy. "Fuck." His hands clenched at his sides with the effort of keeping his hips still — he didn't want to move, not when Draco was taking his time to adjust, didn't dare do anything that might upset this glorious vision. Every centimetre more sent sparks of white hot pleasure through him — every time Draco shifted, his breath hitched. Every moan he made went directly to Harry's core.
Eventually, Draco was fully seated, opening hazy grey eyes and shooting Harry a painfully attractive smirk. "Okay?" he checked, knees splaying a little wider. Harry gulped.
"Tell me I can move," he begged breathlessly. "Tell me I can touch you. I— Draco, please."
Draco adjusted his position, steadying himself, letting out another little half-moan as Harry's cock brushed his prostate. "You can move," he assured. "Just— slowly."
Harry wasn't sure he'd last long enough to do anything but. He propped his shoulders up on the pillows, just a little bit, so he didn't have to strain his neck to see. Then, with one hand gripping Draco's hip, he started to buck his hips ever so slightly. Each movement made Draco jerk and gasp, angling his body better until he was crying out in pleasure. He leant forward, bracing against Harry, pushing down with every thrust up to get deeper still. His own cock bobbed between them, dripping onto Harry's stomach, and as Draco leant forward a little more the pressure around Harry hit perfectly, wringing his pleasure from him with one final thrust, his whole body going tense as a bowstring as he spent inside his lover. Draco froze, watching him, and when the haze of orgasm began to fade Harry looked up; Draco was still impaled on his rapidly softening cock, his own still rock hard and flushed. "Hang on," Harry gasped, reaching down with both hands to ease Draco off his sensitive flesh, head buzzing. Before Draco could move away, Harry dragged the blond up his chest, forcing him to fling his arms out and grip the headboard to avoid falling face first.
"Harry, what the— ohhh." His words were lost to a moan as Harry took Draco's length in his mouth, the Slytherin straddling his shoulders. Harry gripped his thighs, taking as much as he could manage, begging for more. Draco's movement was tentative at first, but when Harry didn't choke or protest he grew bolder, fucking into Harry's mouth — he didn't last long, his fingers tugging at Harry's hair the only warning before he arched his back and came.
Harry did his best to swallow, but some still dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, and as Draco shuffled backward the blond let out a low moan, looking down at him. "Fucking hell," he groaned, pupils so wide there was hardly any grey visible. "You are… fuck."
Harry smirked, tongue darting out to catch the mess he'd made. "Like you can talk," he retorted, voice a little husky.
Draco leaned down and kissed him, uncaring of the taste in his mouth, and for a moment Harry wondered if their second round might not be just as fast as the first. But the heat between them soon simmered, Draco pulling back and settling down on his side, legs tangled with Harry's.
"So, that was new," Harry remarked breathlessly, lips quirking. "Been planning that for a while, or…?"
Draco flushed, the colour trickling down his chest. "I've been reading one of the books you picked up at Infinite in the summer," he admitted. "It sounded… intriguing."
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean the, ah romance books, or…?"
Draco grew even redder. "The instructional one," he confessed quietly. Harry's cock made a weak attempt at an early recovery.
"Oh." He hadn't thought Draco was interested in that one. Hell, it had taken him six months into their relationship to even be up for looking at the book Harry had been given by George, and that was tame compared to some of the stuff from Infinite. "You didn't do that just for me, did you?" he asked, stomach sinking in concern. Draco scoffed.
"Did I look like I wasn't enjoying it?" he retorted, one eyebrow arched. "Though I was not expecting… that." He bit his lip. "Did you… like it?"
"Sucking you off like that?" Being pinned down beneath Draco, having the blond fuck his face like that? "Yeah. Yeah, I liked it." He'd only ever imagined something like that in his more daring fantasies.
Most of the time when they were together, he and Draco stuck to what they knew. It wasn't boring, by any stretch of the imagination — even the familiar things were still relatively new enough to be exciting, so much of their bodies to still learn. But some of the books from Infinite just made Harry realise how much they didn't know, hadn't tried yet.
And that wasn't even touching on the books that talked about kinks.
"Well any more new things you want to try, you go right ahead," Harry assured him, mouthing a kiss against his jaw, his magic sliding over them in a lazy Cleaning charm. "If we don't like it, no big deal, we do something else. It doesn't have to be hard."
"Pretty sure it does, for most of the things in that book," Draco argued, giving a pointed glance downward that made Harry chuckle.
"You know what I mean." He slid a hand into Draco's silky hair, admiring the line of his boyfriend's high cheekbones. "Don't feel like you can't ask me for stuff like that. Worst I can do is say no." He grinned cheekily. "Maybe we could read the book together, note down things we both like."
"Are you trying to give me sex homework, you fucking nerd?" Draco asked flatly, and Harry cackled with laughter.
"I'm saying, that first idea of yours was ridiculously sexy, and I want to see what else looks good." He pounced, pinning the Slytherin playfully. "You're always telling me to expand my palate."
"I didn't mean like that," Draco argued, rolling his eyes. Then, his humour faltered, a guarded edge to his expression. "You're not… bored, with what we do, are you?"
"What? Merlin, no!" Kissing Draco softly, Harry stroked his hair. "Draco, love, I could just kiss you for hours and never get bored. Hell, I think you underestimate how much time I spend just looking at you. Neville says I have a problem," he added, smiling lopsidedly. "I love everything we do. But new things can be fun too." His smile softened, hand cupping Draco's cheek. "We're past the point where I'm worried you'll be freaked out by any part of me," he confessed — his scars, his body, the literal piece of the Dark Lord he'd had in his head. Draco hadn't batted an eyelash at any of those. "I feel like that extends to my dirty fantasies about you, too. I certainly want to hear your dirty fantasies." He leaned in for another kiss, loving the way Draco's lips parted for him so easily. "We've got our whole lives to figure out what we like and don't like," he said, thinking of the little velvet box that now lived in a hidden compartment in his desk drawer. "No need to be shy about asking for it now."
Draco's Adam's apple bobbed. "I— I suppose." His fingers trailed up the ridges of Harry's spine. "And— that whole kissing me for hours thing… is that an offer?" Pale blond brows rose. Harry smirked.
"It absolutely can be."
He hadn't been lying — he would never, ever get bored of kissing Draco. And they had hours before they were expected at dinner.
.-.-.-.
Taking the portkey back to school the next day felt like being forced from the most amazing dream by a bucket of cold water to the face. They arrived in Snape's private quarters, and Harry kissed Draco goodbye before heading up to Gryffindor Tower — now they were back, no one could know that Snape had been with them over Christmas. No one except McGonagall.
In the common room, everyone was staring.
"Is it true you're going out with Draco Malfoy?" Colin asked bravely. Harry chuckled.
"Yup," he confirmed, prompting a wave of whispers. "Since fourth year," he added, in case that rumour hadn't gained enough traction.
"Blimey," Colin breathed, his pale eyes as round as a house elf's.
"Is that all everyone's been talking about all break?" Harry asked in amusement. Flushing, Colin shrugged.
"Not the only thing. But — well, you weren't really around for us to ask about it."
That was fair. "Well, here I am," he said, spreading his arms demonstratively. "Very much in love with Draco Malfoy, who is absolutely not a Death Eater, neither is his mother. We were pretending to hate each other because his father would kill him if he knew the truth — and, quite frankly, any other questions any of you might have about our relationship are probably none of your damn business." He saw several people redden throughout the common room; no doubt people with the exact kind of questions Harry was never going to answer in public.
"I've got one more question," Colin said, and Harry raised an eyebrow. The usually shy boy gave a surprisingly bold grin. "Do you think Vicky Frobisher would go out with me if I asked her?"
A surprised laugh slipped from Harry's lips. Colin was definitely a Gryffindor at heart! "I think you should give it a try and see what happens," he retorted, winking. "But fair warning; if you break our keeper's heart, our beaters may break your face."
Colin paled a little, but his smile didn't falter.
.-.
Harry only really had enough time to chat with Colin and drop off his trunk before it was dinner time. He found Neville in the dorms already, having arrived with an earlier portkey. He was glad to have his friend to walk down to the Great Hall with — it was just the two of them, as Ginny's portkey wouldn't be until later.
As they reached the Entrance Hall, Harry spotted a familiar head of blond hair approaching from the corridor down to the dungeons. "Oi, Malfoy!" he called, and several heads turned, including Draco's.
Despite the rumours that had been flying, half the people in the vicinity seemed to be expecting a fight. Draco's eyes glittered, and Harry didn't miss the long-suffering expression Theo shot Neville — which Neville no doubt returned. "What do you want, Potter?" Draco sneered. Harry couldn't hold his hard-eyed expression for long, breaking out into a grin.
"Sit with me?" he asked sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Draco snorted.
"If you insist," he agreed, rolling his eyes.
"Is this how the two of you are going to be, now?" Neville complained half-heartedly, walking with them into the Great Hall.
"Until Harry gets bored of shocking people, most likely," Draco agreed — he seemed entirely resigned to the prospect, but not all that upset by it. Harry knew better; he was getting just as much joy out of shocking people as Harry himself was. He was a Black, he lived for drama.
Not all of the students had returned yet, but most of them had. Harry was just glad he'd get to avoid Ron and Hermione for a while longer.
As he and Draco made themselves comfortable at the Gryffindor table, Harry chanced a look up at Dumbledore. The old man looked even more worn than he had before Christmas — Harry wondered how badly the curse on his arm was hitting him, now he didn't have the castle wards to bolster him. Maybe he wouldn't even last until the end of the year.
But the lack of twinkle in his eye was not due to his clear exhaustion; it had died the moment Harry and Draco had walked in, their hands linked between them.
Harry smirked to himself. Let Dumbledore think of that what he would. Harry was done hiding parts of himself for his own safety. He was stronger than that, now — stronger than Dumbledore.
It was like any other dinner at Hogwarts, chatting with his friends about how things had been in the castle while he was gone, except for the fact that he didn't have to constantly fret about how close he was sitting to Draco and whether his comments could be taken as too flirty — and that half the hall was staring at them like they were aliens.
Harry didn't know what all the fuss was about. It wasn't like he and Draco had gone from hating each other to boyfriends in the blink of an eye; they'd given the school a few months of their friendship to get used to.
Ginny arrived partway through dinner, squeezing her way onto the bench beside Neville and greeting them all cheerfully. Several feet behind her, much less cheerful, were Ron and Hermione — they sat far up the other end of the long table, shooting the occasional glare Harry's way but mostly pretending he didn't exist.
Not for the first time, Harry thought Charlie's little outburst at the Burrow might have been a blessing in disguise; now everyone knew that he wasn't an oblivious little idiot, he might finally get some peace from their heavy-handed attempts at burying the hatchet.
As Harry reached for the water jug, a sudden hush descended over the students around him. "Mr Malfoy." Harry jumped — Snape had appeared, staring down his hooked nose at the pair of them, his cold gaze fixed pointedly on Draco's hand on Harry's back. "Ten points from Slytherin. For conduct unbecoming of your house."
He kept walking, robes billowing behind him. Even though they both knew it was coming, Harry still felt Draco flinch minutely.
Snape had to do it, had to publicly disapprove of them now they had drawn such a blatant line in the sand. His reputation depended on it.
But for him to take points from his own house, in front of the entire school… he'd as good as said Draco was no longer a Slytherin in his eyes. Harry's heart clenched in sympathy as his boyfriend's eyes dulled, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly. "You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a butterfly-light kiss across his cheek. Draco nodded, jaw clenched.
"Fine. It's fine."
Still, he hardly touched the remainder of their dinner.
Even when Draco and Harry had been publicly friends, there was still some kind of hope among the genuine Voldemort supporters that he could be swayed around. They treated him with respect, in case he did come back to their side. Snape was neutral with him. All that would change, now.
Draco would handle it. He was strong. But that didn't mean Harry had to like it.
They stuck around until the hall started to clear out, though all their friends could tell their hearts weren't really in the conversation anymore. On the way out, Harry paused in the Entrance Hall, tugging Draco into a firm kiss. He could feel eyes on him, but he didn't care — he didn't want Draco going to bed sad. "I'll see you in the morning," he murmured, trying desperately not to blush, knowing everyone could hear him. "I love you." He wasn't ashamed of it. He wasn't going to hide his feelings anymore.
That earned a flicker of a genuine smile. "Sap," Draco accused, squeezing his hand. "I love you. Don't forget to finish that Transfiguration essay tonight."
Harry snorted quietly. "And they say romance is dead." Reluctantly, he let Draco go, watching him head towards Slytherin for a few moments before Neville and Ginny nudged him towards the stairs.
Only six months left of term. They could handle it.
.-.-.-.
They were only a week into the new term, and already Severus was being summoned to the headmaster's office.
Wondering what the latest problem could be — privately, guiltily hoping it was the progression of the dark curse on the old man's arm — Severus swept up the revolving stairs, stepping inside the office. Albus didn't look in pain, more than usual anyway. He looked as weary as he always did, showing his age in a way he never had.
"Ah, Severus," he greeted, smiling. "Glad you could make it so promptly. Please, sit."
Severus did so, ignoring the usual offers of tea and lemon drops. "Did you have need of me for something, headmaster?" He couldn't help but notice Fawkes' perch was empty — when was the last time he'd seen the phoenix? It had certainly been a while…
"Of a sort," Albus replied, clasping his hands together on the desk. "It is in regards to Mr Potter."
Severus raised an uncaring eyebrow. "Indeed? What had the brat done now?" How much damage control was he about to have to undertake?
Albus chuckled, though his heart wasn't in it. "It is nothing he has done. More something that was done to him, many years ago, now." His gaze grew serious. "Have you ever heard of horcruxes, Severus?"
The Potions Master's blood turned to ice. "The term is familiar, though I'm not sure where from," he replied, keeping his voice even, trying not to react outwardly. Had Albus realised Harry had hunted down several horcruxes?
He put on an appropriately disgusted face as Albus explained horcruxes to him, eventually revealing that the Dark Lord had created a number of his own. "The ring I so hastily put on over the summer was one of them," Albus told him, shaking his head. "I admit, my foolishness got the better of me with that one."
Severus resisted the urge to snort — that was an understatement. "I appreciate this information, Albus, but I will admit I am not sure why you're sharing it with me. Should the Dark Lord learn that you know…"
"I have faith that you can continue to keep my secrets from Voldemort, Severus," Albus assured, smiling slightly. "This one in particular. There is, in fact, one horcrux even Voldemort himself is unaware of." His smile faded, his eyes meeting Severus'. "It resides within Mr Potter's curse scar, and has done since the night his parents died."
Severus tensed, letting the shock show on his face — not shock at the knowledge, but shock that Albus was sharing this with him. "I… how is that possible?"
"I believe that due to the number of horcruxes Voldemort created, his soul was unstable enough to splinter off a fragment when he was hit with the rebounded Killing curse. In search of a host, that fragment attached itself to the only living thing in the proximity — young Harry himself." Albus sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I became aware of the fragment as I was performing some medical scans on Mr Potter before I placed him with his relatives. That, too, is how I knew the Dark Lord was not as deceased as everyone had hoped. I took some precautions — I had hoped, as small as that fragment of soul was, it would dislodge itself as Harry grew older, and not be a problem in later life. Sadly, I fear that is not the case."
Severus bit back a sneer; took precautions indeed. The kind of precautions that involved binding the family magics of an infant, leaving him with people who would beat every ounce of self worth out of him.
"This fragment still resides within Potter, then?"
"It is stronger than ever, I believe," Albus confirmed, so much feigned dismay in his voice that Severus almost laughed. "I have watched Harry closely, over the years — at first, I thought he had overpowered the fragment. When he arrived here, so much like his father, and sorted into Gryffindor…"
Because of course, no one evil could ever go into the house of the lion.
"I am telling you this, Severus, because you are the only person who knows I am dying. And the only person I can trust with the absolute truth." Albus looked him dead in the eye, and Severus instinctively raised his Occlumency shields. "In order for Voldemort to truly be gone, Harry Potter must die."
A long, poignant silence. "I thought you liked the boy, Albus."
"I do. Despite our recent… differences, I care for him very much." It amazed Severus, then, how the headmaster could say that with such a straight face, like Harry hadn't been a pawn in his game since the moment the life left Lily Potter's body. "I wish there were an alternate solution. But I have come to the conclusion that all of my precautions were for naught, and the soul fragment within Harry is strong enough to influence him — perhaps, given time, strong enough to overtake him entirely. Turn him into a host for the Dark Lord's remaining soul. That cannot be allowed to happen; both for the sake of the world, and for Harry's own sake. The boy I knew would never be able to live with himself should his body be used for evil."
The boy Albus knew was a lie and always had been, but Severus schooled his face into a grave frown. "Must he die in any particular way?"
"I had once thought that his death must occur at Voldemort's hand, to truly destroy the soul fragment within him. A tragic event, but a necessary one. Now, however, I don't believe it matters as much. But he must die before anyone can attempt to destroy Voldemort's current mortal form. I am working on discovering the rest of his horcruxes — I am confident that by the time this curse gets the better of me, I will have destroyed all but the one in Harry's scar."
Severus sneered at him. "So you wish me to end your life, and the Potter boy's?" he presumed drolly. "Anyone else you would like to add to the list, while you're at it?" Any other acts to truly damn his soul in the eyes of the world.
"I would not ask this of you if I had any other choice, Severus," Albus insisted apologetically. "And I may not need you to end Harry's life. I feel a certain level of responsibility for him — if the time comes when the influence of the horcrux within him becomes too dangerous to ignore, I shall bear that burden myself, if I am still able. I only wanted you to know in case this curse strikes me down before that chance arises."
To hear Albus so casually talk about killing a student made Severus' gut churn. "If the boy is to die before the Dark Lord, who shall strike the final blow? The Prophecy…"
"Prophecies are tricky things, Severus," Albus replied. "Not always interpreted the way you might expect. I believe the power to defeat the Dark Lord spoken of within the Prophecy is, in a sense, the horcrux; Voldemort cannot be defeated until that is dealt with, so truly that power lies with Harry."
Severus doubted Albus honestly believed that — surely he hadn't convinced himself that the full Prophecy meant Harry needed to die in order for the Dark Lord to be killed?
"I understand," he confirmed solemnly. "So once the boy is gone, once these horcruxes are gone — then anyone can defeat the Dark Lord?"
Albus' eyes twinkled, a pale imitation of his usual brightness. "I daresay even you yourself could commit the act, so to speak."
A forced smirk, as if that was all he could ever ask for. As if he would welcome the death of a child just to get the final revenge on one of his hated masters. "Perhaps," he agreed.
"Thank you, Severus. You are the only one I trust with this knowledge." Albus leaned forward, eyeing him imploringly. "The only one I know who is strong enough to do what needs to be done."
More like the only one whose soul was already damned enough.
Nonetheless, Severus acted like he appreciated the headmaster's faith in him, and waited to be dismissed. On the walk back to his quarters, he mentally rearranged his evening plans to spend an hour or two back home — Remus and Sirius would need to hear of this.
If Albus decided he needed to make sure Harry was killed before he himself died, they would need to protect him.
.-.-.-.
If the first term of the school year had found Dumbledore hardly present in the castle at all, the second term found him everywhere.
The headmaster seemed to constantly pop up in the corner of Harry's vision; crossing him in corridors between classes, watching him during mealtimes — he'd even been caught strolling away from the quidditch pitch one evening, right after a practice that Harry had ended prematurely due to one of the bludgers acting particularly aggressive towards him.
Snape had warned him of Dumbledore's revelation that Harry needed to die, but Harry could hardly believe the headmaster was trying to kill him already.
"I think he's trying to put me in the Hospital Wing," Harry told his friends in the heir's meeting, his face grim. "He tried to trip me at the top of the sixth floor staircase earlier today." Only Harry's quick reflexes had saved him from plummeting several floors down.
The Patil twins gasped, horrified. Even Daphne looked ill.
"But why? What could he possibly gain from injuring you like that?" Anthony asked, brow furrowed.
"Maybe he wants to put the magic blocks back on me," Harry thought aloud, shrugging. "Or maybe there's some new ritual he wants to do to me. Fuck if I know — either way, he needs me alone and unconscious, I'd bet. The old man's plans are getting wilder and wilder the closer he gets to popping his clogs. Merlin only know what he's got up his sleeve these days."
"We won't let him get to you," Neville declared vehemently. Harry shot him a quick smile.
"I appreciate that. But I was thinking… if he's upping his game, so should we." A cluster of perplexed faces stared back at him. "I think we should let out the information that he put compulsions on me as a first year."
Susan sucked in a sharp breath. "Just the compulsions, or the magic blocks too?"
"Just the compulsions, for now. Telling people about the magic blocks might make it sound too unbelievable." The general trust in Dumbledore might be waning, but he wasn't sure it was that low yet. "We can even throw in that he got Ron and Hermione to pretend to be my friend, to keep an eye on me. They know that I know about that, now." If it meant the rest of the school hated them, even better.
"We can do that," Parvati assured him. "How much detail do you want to go into? Y'know, about the result of the compulsions."
"Don't say too much," Draco piped up. "If the rumours are too detailed, it'll look suspicious. Let it lie at having Harry hate all Slytherins, and trust the headmaster. The gossip mill will supply the rest."
Harry nodded in agreement — the ideas the rest of the school could come up with would likely be far more damaging than anything he could spread.
"That should be easy enough," Parvati said with a devious smile. "If there's one thing the people at this school love to talk about, it's Harry Potter."
Harry snorted; wasn't that the truth!
.-.
With a plan in place, the heirs began to disperse, wanting to get on with the rest of their afternoon. Draco had promised to study with Theo and Ernie, so Harry kissed him goodbye and headed towards Gryffindor with Neville.
"Hey, Harry," Neville began, and when Harry glanced at him he stopped in his tracks, seeing how anxious the taller boy looked. "Can we— can I talk to you about something?" A blush crept all the way up to Neville's ears. "It's… kind of private."
"I— yeah, sure." Harry frowned — he thought he heard footsteps, and when he turned his head he could've sworn he saw the tail of bright purple robes. "Come on." Heading for the nearest Parseltongue passage, Harry hissed to open it. "Doesn't get much more private than this," he joked, once they were safely inside. Neville chuckled half-heartedly. "So, what's up?"
"I… you and Draco have been together for a while now, yeah?" Neville started. Harry blinked at him.
"…Yes?" What did that have to do with anything?
"And you… you and him, have you… y'know…" Neville stuttered, helplessly flustered, and it took a few minutes before Harry got the gist of his insinuation.
"Are you asking if we've had sex?" he asked, raising a bewildered eyebrow. Neville's face grew impossibly redder.
"I— maybe?" The blond boy covered his face with his hands. "It's none of my business, I know, but…"
"Look, Nev," Harry said, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. "You're my best friend, and I love you, but… if you're having some sort of sexuality crisis, I don't think I'm the person to talk to about that." Ginny surely needed to know before Harry did.
Neville's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "What? No! I'm not— not that there's anything wrong with it! But I'm straight," he insisted. Harry's frown returned — if not that, then what?
Finally, Neville let out a long, unsteady breath. "I… I think Ginny wants to have sex. With me."
"Oh." Harry was the one blushing, now.
"I mean, we've done… stuff," Neville continued, and Harry desperately wished he didn't get the mental image of said stuff. "And it's great, really! But she keeps dropping all these hints, and I just— I think she wants to, y'know. Do it."
"Do you not?" Harry asked, wondering if he needed to have a conversation with his pseudo-sister about consent and pressure in a relationship. Surely Fred and George had covered that with her by now?
"I do! At least. I think I do?" Neville ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I know I want my first time to be with her. And it'll be hers, too, so we can figure it out together, but… I know she did some stuff with Michael, when they were together. Sometimes it just feels like she had this head-start and I'm still trying to catch up with her." He grimaced. "Am I making too big a deal out of it? I don't want to make her feel bad for being with Michael before me."
This was absolutely not how Harry had expected his afternoon to go, and he wished he had been given some kind of warning, some time to prepare an answer.
But Neville was his best friend, and he'd helped Harry with so much. And while most of the books about sex and relationships Harry had read — which was a surprising amount, these days — were about queer relationships, he figured most of the basics had to apply to straight ones too.
"Look, Nev, if you're really nervous about it, just talk to her," he said, shrugging. "Ginny won't want to do anything you're not completely on board with. Maybe she's dropping hints because she thinks you want it — you are sixteen now and everything. If you want to slow down, tell her you want to slow down. There's definitely something to be said for going slow." He grinned to himself, remembering all the fun he'd had with Draco before they'd even thought about penetrative sex. "It's not a competition, no matter what anyone tells you. As long as you're both having fun."
"I don't… I don't completely want her to slow down," Neville admitted hesitantly.
"Then I think that's a conversation you need to have with her, rather than me," said Harry diplomatically. "And, as usual, I have books if you need them."
That made Neville snicker. "You're practically a Ravenclaw," he teased, bumping his shoulder against Harry's. "I… thanks, Harry. That really helps."
Harry wasn't sure how, considering most of his advice had just been 'talk to your girlfriend', but he smiled all the same. "Anytime, mate."
"So… you two have, right?" Neville checked. "You've been together for ages, you must have."
"We have," Harry confirmed, his blush returning.
"What's it like?" Neville blurted the question before he could think better of it.
"Bit different for me than for you, I think," Harry teased, laughing when Neville's eyes bugged. "It's— I mean, it's brilliant. Best thing ever. But that's more because it's Draco, I think, than because it's sex." He didn't have any comparison, but he doubted anything could possibly feel even half as good with anyone else.
"Does… does it hurt?" The question was far more tentative. "Some of the things I've heard, from the other guys… I don't want to hurt her."
"Nev… I'm gonna be completely honest with you here. I don't know what happens with a woman's downstairs bits and I don't ever want to know," Harry told him bluntly, making a face. "I— you know about like, preparation and everything, right. What about lube? Do straight people use lube?" Neville looked like he might die if Harry continued that line of questioning, so he changed track. "Surely there's someone with more knowledge than me you could ask about this. Hell, I'll even let you borrow the mirror to talk to Sirius, if you want. He's slept with people with vaginas before." Not all of them had been women, Sirius was very clear on that, but from the stories Remus had told him about Sirius' wild youth, Harry was fairly certain his godfather would have more useful advice on the subject.
Neville shook his head vehemently. "I am absolutely not close enough with your godfather to even think about that."
Harry frowned in thought. "What about Susan?" His taller friend stared at him. "You two are close, right? Since her and Amelia have been living with you and all. And I'm like, ninety-five percent sure her and Theo have done it." He shrugged. "She can probably help you out. Hell, definitely more than I will." Not only was it discussing sex with only one penis involved, something he had zero experience of, but it was Neville and Ginny, his best friend and his little sister, and he honestly might be scarred for life if he had to get too in depth on the details there.
"What if she laughs at me?"
"It's Susan," Harry pointed out flatly. "She won't laugh at you." She'd probably be delighted to impart some knowledge, and embarrass the hell out of Neville in the process. "It's that or just ask Ginny herself."
"I can't do that!" Harry was about to set in on the whole 'if you can't talk about it you have no business doing it' speech, but then Neville continued, "I don't want her thinking it's like, her responsibility to make it not hurt. She may not know any more than I do! I just… I want it to be good, for her."
Harry's heart melted, just a little bit. "Then you're already ten steps ahead of most blokes, the way I've heard Lavender and Parvati talk about it," he said wryly. "And look on the bright side — Ginny's head over heels for you, mate. Even if you're crap at it, I'm sure she'd give you another go— hey!" He dodged the Jelly-Legs jinx Neville shot at him.
He glared, and Neville glared back, and the next thing they knew both boys were laughing, leaning into each other from the force of it.
Harry was glad, truly, that Neville felt comfortable enough to come to him about those things.
But if he ended up having a similar conversation with Ginny, he wouldn't need Dumbledore to kill him off — the force of his blush would manage that just fine.
.-.-.-.
As always, thanks to Parvati and Lavender, the rumours about Dumbledore using compulsion charms were flying around the school before the end of the week. And Dumbledore was furious.
Privately, Harry thought that was what fuelled the rumours so quickly — the only thing that would make Dumbledore so visibly mad was them being true, and everyone knew it.
Of course, there were attempts at retribution. Only days after the first rumours began, more began to crop up — rumours that Harry had gone Dark, that he'd spend his Christmas break with Voldemort himself, making plans to take out the headmaster and rule the wizarding world together.
Harry wasn't as bothered by those rumours as Dumbledore probably hoped he would be. Hell, similar things had been floating around for months already; the people who thought that were always going to think that, and he was done with trying to convince them otherwise.
They were in a minority that was getting smaller and smaller with every day that Dumbledore acted strangely.
Still, all of the whispers were starting a sort of civil war within the school — a stand-off between those on Dumbledore's side and those on Harry's, a clear divide amongst the students. Ron and Hermione were the guiding force behind the Dumbledore-supporting side, countering the accusations of false friendship with angry diatribes about how they'd tried their best to be friends with Harry but he'd started pulling away from them after Voldemort returned, leaning more and more towards Dark magic and pureblood ideals.
Had anyone been paying attention, they would have realised that half the stuff they used as evidence — the rift in their friendship, Harry's relationship with Draco — had all began before Voldemort's resurrection. But, well; details like that were rarely necessary in such juicy gossip.
The teachers, to their credit, were trying to stay out of things. Likely because they thought they'd be fired if they supported Harry publicly. He knew which ones were on his side, though — he could see it in their eyes, the ones who thought he was evil. Likewise, he could see the solidarity in those who stood by him.
He hadn't seen much of Hagrid, lately. Harry hoped that wasn't on purpose. They were both busy, after all.
Through all this, classes continued. The HA continued. Harry's training sessions with Snape continued.
And, to keep him sane, his late night rendezvous' with Draco continued. Perhaps a few more nights than they really should, considering how much work Harry had to do lately, but… school sucked, and the only real peace he could get these days was in his boyfriend's arms, as disgustingly cliché as that was. An hour or two with Draco before bed was sometimes the only thing stopping him from hexing every nosy little shit who muttered insults under their breath when he walked past them.
Harry was on his way back from one such encounter, crossing the fairly short distance between the Room of Requirement and Gryffindor Tower. His step was light, his head still hazy from the force of the orgasm Draco had wrung from him. They had almost fallen asleep together, there — only a pointed nudge from the castle itself had prompted him to drag himself out of Draco's arms and back towards his common room.
The castle was still nudging him, in the back of his mind, and he scowled at the sensation. "I'm going, I'm going," he muttered quietly, jaw cracking in a wide yawn.
As he did, he didn't notice the shadowed figure behind him, shrouded by magic. And he didn't notice the jet of spellfire headed towards him until it was too late.