If Harry hadn't known better, he would not have realised Hogwarts was supposed to be a school, in the days that followed. The wedding seemed to be the last grasp of lightheartedness in the face of war — once that was out of the way, giving everyone the Sunday to bask in their happiness, it was all business.
Harry felt like a military general, organising training groups depending on ability — intermixing the HA with the adults, letting them learn from each other, making sure everyone was aware of the others' skill level. Now was not the time for a grown adult to get embarrassed by a fifteen year-old casting a better Shield charm than them, only the time to improve it before it really mattered.
He had Sirius and Remus around to help, making sure he took time to eat and sleep and get some time away from it all when he could. Draco helped, too, but he had his own matters to deal with, splitting his time between duelling with the rest and helping Madam Pomfrey prepare the Hospital Wing for all eventualities.
Every day, more and more people showed up — either for safe refuge from the war, or to lend their wands to the fight, People Harry had never met, people he wasn't sure he could even trust, but luckily the adults around him usually knew enough to get a good measure of them. The teachers especially; between McGonagall and Slughorn, they had memories of just about every British wixen of a certain magical ability for the last sixty years.
Of course, as had been proven many times over, looks could be deceiving. But they just didn't have the capacity to properly vet every single person who came to Hogwarts.
The guilt from expelling those six teenagers still hung heavy in McGonagall's shoulders. They didn't want to risk condemning people to Voldemort's clutches. And, quite frankly, they needed every capable wand they could get.
The only place Harry could truly be alone anymore was the Chamber of Secrets. He still had his training sessions with Snape down there — often with Draco joining them these days, both boys pushing themselves ever harder — but Salazar's office was a quiet, solitary retreat that he desperately needed by the latter half of July.
"What if he doesn't come?" he asked plaintively, stretched out on the sofa and staring up at the portrait of the founder. "Snape says he's recovered from the attack on the wards, but what if he decides it's not worth the risk and decides to lure me out instead?" It was all well and good preparing for a fight at Hogwarts, but Voldemort may not want to meet them on their terms. "Then you beat him to it and lure him here," Salazar said immediately. "Honestly, lad; you're a Slytherin, now act like one. There's ways to get a man like that to dance to your tune — especially as mad as he is now."
"I suppose." Most of the new arrivals to the castle were those here for safety, so their numbers for the fight hadn't swelled that dramatically. Even with any spies in the castle reporting on their training progress — Harry wasn't so naive to think Snape was the only Death Eater still around — Voldemort would likely be arrogant enough to think his sheer numbers could win it for him. Especially if the rumours were true, and he had the dementors on his side.
If Harry could give him enough of a reason to come here, enough of a reason to think he'd win…
"I'll have to think on it, see how things go." If Snape didn't start hearing word of movement soon, Harry would have to take matters into his own hands.
His throat went dry at the thought of what came after. The battle itself. Him versus Voldemort — an entirely different animal to fighting Death Eaters. Most of Voldemort's Old Guard, his original best duellers, had died either of age or battle; his current army were younger and inexperienced, and not all as dedicated to the cause as their predecessors were. He could handle Death Eaters.
Voldemort, however, had fifty years on Harry and knew more magic than Harry could even dream of knowing. Had done all sorts of rituals to strengthen himself, to expand his power, to draw magic from his Marked followers in times of need.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough," he admitted in a rasping whisper; words he had not said out loud to another living being, not even Draco. Words that lingered in the back of his mind at all times, reared up in his darkest moments of doubt.
"Look at me, lad," Salazar said firmly. Harry did so. The founder was steel-eyed, his snake draped over his shoulders. "You are a Slytherin," he hissed in Parseltongue, repeating his earlier words. "You have the ancient blood of several strong families running through your veins, and when you are ready, the magic in that blood will rise to assist you. You are the most powerful young man I have seen in a very long time — you are dedicated, and talented, and you have far too much to live for. That filth is a stain on my lineage, with a shattered soul and magic so foul the family rejected him entirely. He is a shadow of a man, with false power and little sanity to speak of. You are already at an advantage." He didn't blink, and Harry didn't either, not daring to look away as the founder spoke so vehemently. "Trust your magic, Harry Potter. It will not fail you. And you will not fail your family." He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, drawing his shoulders up, feeling Salazar's faith settle something in his soul. "You know the spell I taught you. And you know damn well that he's going to be too busy gloating to see you as a legitimate threat. Don't let that ridiculous Gryffindor nobility make you wait to take him in a fair fight — find your opportunity, and take it," Salazar instructed, looking down his regal nose at the boy. "I finally have an heir I actually like, and you have promised me you will help restore my legacy. I expect you to keep that promise."
Slowly, a smile crept across Harry's features. "Yes, sir."
Find his opportunity, and take it. He could do that.
He hoped.
.-.-.
Technically, Luna wasn't supposed to be in the Ravenclaw dormitories. As an underage student, she was supposed to be down in Hufflepuff, safely tucked away in case of invasion.
But, much like Ginny, Luna wasn't going to listen to anyone telling her where she was supposed to be.
No one could keep Lady Ravenclaw out of her own damn tower.
She lay on her bed, in the dorm that she and Daphne shared with Susan, Hannah and the Patil twins, her eyes closed against the cloud of colours and shapes in her vision. Gentle hands massaged her temples, and while it felt very nice, it wasn't doing much to help the problem.
Nothing but time would help this particular headache. The future was so fraught, the paths ahead so numerous and so uncertain… Luna was usually pretty good at not getting overwhelmed by the wrackspurts, but right now she was drowning in them.
"Will a potion help?" Daphne fretted, kissing her brow. "Or, hell, a cup of tea? Burning some incense? What's all that stuff Trelawney uses to clear her inner eye?"
Luna giggled, letting her eyes flutter open to look at her girlfriend in the dim light of the room. Daphne had blacked out the windows for her, conjuring a ball of soft silver light overhead instead. Daphne was so sweet to her, so attentive. She didn't treat Luna's Seeing like it was some oddity or fun quirk. "I don't need any of that," she assured softly. "Though I could go for some ice cream. Pistachio sounds nice."
Daphne's lips turned up at the corners. "Luna, honey, I don't think that's going to help your Sight."
"No, but it'll make me feel better," Luna said brightly. With the castle so in tune to her, the elves always listening, she barely had to think it before a bowl of pistachio ice cream was on the nightstand. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling the wards brighten in response. Hogwarts was such a friendly thing, so welcoming to its students, so eager to please. Now the wards had been cleared, the whole castle felt like one big hug.
She sat up carefully, reaching for her ice cream, shuffling over so Daphne could squeeze in beside her in the narrow bed. Daphne's chin tucked against her shoulder, her body a warm line against Luna's.
"I'm worried about you. About how clouded things are for you. I… what does that mean?" Daphne asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. "Does it mean we won't win?"
"Even in the shadows, I don't see darkness looming that large." Of course, that could mean any number of things. But Luna liked to think it meant that Voldemort would fall, somehow, when the battle came. "What worries me more is who we might lose along the way." Every dream was the same, yet every dream was different. A thousand permutations of possible events, endless tiny actions that could sway things one way or another, knock little choices into bigger ones into even bigger ones that had the whole thing falling apart. She had seen all her friends die in a hundred ways, by now. Seen herself die more than a few times. At this point, she wasn't sure what was Seeing and what was her own nightmares. Her dreams were never trustworthy — it was the Seeing she did while awake that mattered most, but that Sight was frustratingly murky these days.
"Are…" Daphne's heavy sigh brushed Luna's neck. "Are there any futures where we all make it out alive? Everyone we care about?"
"Yes," Luna replied, eating a spoonful of ice cream. The cold helped clear things, a little bit, but mostly she just liked the flavour. "Not many, but some." She hadn't Seen a future in which nobody on their side died, but she had Seen ones in which the only deaths were people who weren't attached to her.
"Focus on those ones, then," Daphne urged softly, squeezing Luna's hand. "Try and See those ones. Maybe then, they'll come true."
That wasn't how that worked and they both knew it, and even to try felt enormously selfish — those deaths might not be her loved ones, but they were someone's loved ones, someone's family — but Luna closed her eyes and leaned against her girlfriend and tried not to let the weight of the future carry her away, and she imagined those futures. Imagined the warmth and light and laughter that came with all her friends, all her family, making it through these next few weeks.
She ate another spoonful of ice cream, and offered the next to Daphne. Felt her girlfriend's warmth, her heartbeat, her magic twining lazily with Luna's own. Felt her love, so clear, so strong Luna could hardly stand it.
It was hard, for a Seer, to live in the now. But it was much, much easier with Daphne by her side.
.-.-.
The HA was training, once again. Though Harry couldn't really call it a HA session anymore — it had expanded to include far more than just his group of rebellious Hogwarts students, now.
The whole Great Hall was full of people, spellfire flashing all over the room. Harry was glad he wasn't the only one roaming the groups to keep an eye on things; Kingsley and Tonks, as the only qualified aurors in their little group, were doing the same. It still baffled Harry that these people put him, a boy who wasn't even seventeen yet, on the same level of authority as someone like Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Harry was just considering calling an end to the mock-duels, when suddenly someone screamed. Immediately, everything stopped, and the problem became clear — Hannah Abbott was on the ground, screaming in pain, while her duelling partner stood chalk-faced and horrified. "What happened?" Harry asked, dropping to his knees at Hannah's side. "Draco!" He called for the blond, the only person in the room he knew had any kind of healing experience. Draco was at his side in a flash, wand already scanning Hannah's prone form.
"I don't know!" her duelling partner, a middle-aged man who Harry was pretty sure was the father of some Ravenclaw third year, exclaimed in fear. "It wasn't my spell — I used a Freezing hex on the floor, trying to slip her up. Something hit from the side and she just went down! I swear, I didn't hurt her!" He looked so terrified at the prospect, Harry shook his head in assurance.
"I believe you." He looked back to Draco, whose face was set in concentration.
"Bone-Melting curse," the Slytherin gritted out. "Get Pomfrey."
The blood drained from Harry's face. That was not a spell he expected to be used in a group like this.
He turned, raising his wand, but Kingsley's hand came down on his shoulder. "I already sent for her," he assured. As if in answer, the mediwitch appeared suddenly, an elf at her side. She took in the scene quickly, dropping down beside Draco to get to work, both of them muttering spells over Hannah as the blonde girl clenched her jaw in an attempt not to scream.
Harry tore his eyes away from her, looking back up at the rest of the group with fury burning in his eyes. "Did anyone see who did this?" he roared, gesturing to his friend on the stone floor. "Who used that curse in here, in training?"
No one moved. No one answered.
"I… it had to be an accident, right?" Lavender piped up hesitantly. "Otherwise the new wards would have reacted. Like you said they did with Fay and the others. They read intention."
"The wards are lax around here while we're training." It was Neville who answered, voice hollow. "There's too many people, too many offensive spells going on — it's almost impossible to tell what's self-defence and what's not. Making a mistake on that judgement and freezing someone mid-duel could lead to more harm than good."
Everyone looked around uneasily. Still, no one owned up to casting the curse.
"I can only assume," said Harry in a tight, harsh voice, "that this silence means this was an attack, not an accident." He stared at the group at large, eyes burning Avada Kedavra green. Several people flinched. "Whichever one of you did this, don't think you're safe. There are ways of finding out what happened." He took a steadying breath before his temper could get the better of him. "Go. We're done for today."
They didn't need telling twice. As the rush began to leave the hall, chatter rising, Harry turned back to the two healers. "How is she?" Fear churned in his stomach — the Bone-Melting curse could be fatal, if not reversed immediately.
Draco sat back on his heels, looking exhausted. "She'll live," he said. Behind him, Harry heard someone let out a sharp, relieved breath. "I… I don't know what state she'll be in. How well she'll recover. But she'll live."
"We'll move her up to the Hospital Wing, get some Skele-Gro in her," Pomfrey declared, conjuring a stretcher and carefully levitating Hannah onto it. The Hufflepuff was unconscious now, her face frighteningly pale. "Time will tell how she responds to it."
A whimper, and Harry glanced over his shoulder; it was Ernie, looking at his girlfriend with watery blue eyes. "I— what can I do?" he asked, taking a hesitant step forward.
"You may come with me, Mr Macmillan," Pomfrey told him gently. "I do not know when Miss Abbott will awaken, but I'm sure she'd appreciate a familiar face when she does."
Ernie nodded, falling into step behind Pomfrey and Draco with the stretcher, heading out of the hall.
It was only Harry, Neville and the two aurors remaining, now. Neville looked especially grim. "I don't think it's a coincidence that it was Hannah who got hit," he declared, voicing the words that were rattling in Harry's mind. "Seems a bit suspicious that out of everyone in this hall, that curse hit one of the four people connected to the castle wards."
"They always think Hufflepuffs are the weakest," Tonks muttered, scowling.
"I was facing that area, but I didn't see who the curse came from," Kingsley admitted.
"Could you pull a memory?" Harry asked, brain whirring. "I have a pensieve."
The auror perked up. "It's worth a shot."
The Potter family pensieve was down in Snape's quarters, where they'd been using it to go through his memories of Death Eater meetings in the hopes of identifying any potential spies within the castle. It was a good thing Neville had been let in on the secret when Harry had been kidnapped, or he would have been incredibly surprised when Harry stepped up to the statue guarding Snape's rooms and gave her the password.
"I heard about what happened," Snape said in greeting; he was sat on the sofa, with the pensieve already on the coffee table. "I thought you might be on your way."
Ignoring Neville's trepidation at being in his feared professor's personal rooms, Harry walked over to the stone bowl, raising an eyebrow at Kingsley. It was the work of only a few moments for the broad-shouldered man to raise his wand to his temple, extracting a strand of silver memory and dropping it into the pensieve. All five of them gathered around it, and in unison they put their hands in the liquid.
Immediately, Harry was right back in the Great Hall, stood beside the memory version of Kingsley and watching the training duels at work. "Spread out," Kingsley instructed. "The spell came from somewhere behind her."
Harry hurried over to memory-Hannah to get a better look, trying not to instinctively duck at spells that could not hurt him. It was weird, walking right into the middle of a battle like that, and it set him on edge.
He looked around, noting the faces of all the people within range to potentially hit Hannah from behind, annoyed by how many he barely recognised. What if it was one of the newcomers? What if they had let a Death Eater into the castle in their attempts to offer a safe haven?
What if that Death Eater cost Hannah her life?
"I saw it!" The shout came from Neville, and Harry whirled around, seeing the horror on his friend's face. "I saw the spell," Neville stuttered, aghast. "It— it came from Terry Boot."
"What?" Harry gasped, the word almost lost in the sound of Hannah's screaming. He hurried over to Neville. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," Neville insisted, stony-eyed. "Terry was duelling with Charlie, and he cast a flash-bang to distract him, then shot the Bone-Melting curse at Hannah. I saw it."
"Which one's Terry Boot?" Kingsley asked, "that's not a name I'm familiar with."
"This one," Snape answered, stood by memory-Terry in the crowd around Hannah, glaring disparagingly at the boy. Terry was remarkably blank-faced — someone else might excuse it as shock at what happened to his yearmate, but they knew better, now. He was trying not to give himself away.
"A student?" Tonks exclaimed in shock. "Are you serious?"
"It was him," Neville said again. "Watch the memory back again if you don't believe me."
They did, exiting the pensieve and re-entering at the beginning of the memory. All five of them went straight to Terry, studying him closely — sure enough, it happened exactly as Neville said. Terry half-blinded Charlie with a flash-bang, and while the redhead was blinking the spots from his vision he locked his eyes on Hannah, murmuring the curse under his breath. Harry couldn't help the shudder that racked him as the vibrant yellow spell hit Hannah right in the small of her back, her scream ringing in his ears for a third time now.
He was going to hear that sound in his sleep, he was sure of it.
"Well, then," Kingsley muttered, once they were back in Snape's living room. "What do we do with the boy?"
"I have a small supply of Veritaserum," Snape offered coolly. "You are welcome to it, should you need to confirm his guilt verbally. I recommend asking for the names of his accomplices — I was not aware of Boot's… connection to the Dark Lord, nor do I know of anyone else in the castle who may be suspect." His frown deepened. "At this point, I believe they're here to spy on me just as much as they are Potter. Making sure I'm doing my duty," he snarled. Harry scowled.
"Will it be a problem for you, if we kick them out?" he worried. The last thing he wanted was Boot and his allies going back to Voldemort and insisting that Snape was no longer loyal.
The Potions Master's face was drawn as he looked at Harry. "I cannot say for sure, but I doubt it. If they had the evidence to condemn me, they likely would have done it by now."
"We'll ask Horace for Veritaserum," Kingsley suggested. "If he doesn't have any, we'll tell him to pretend yours came from him. Save you having to explain why you didn't sabotage it so that Boot could cover his arse."
Snape gave a curt nod. "Thank you."
Kingsley turned to the two Gryffindor boys. "Can you find Amelia? She'll need to be involved in this."
Harry closed his eyes, reaching out to the wards in search of the familiar magical signature of Amelia Bones. It ached, connecting to Hogwarts' magic while it was aiding Hannah. A searing pain at the base of his spine — merely an echo of what his friend was feeling.
"She's in the Hospital Wing," Neville said, coming to the conclusion the same time as Harry. "I guess she heard what happened." Amelia hadn't been at the training session, as she was in a meeting with McGonagall elsewhere about things that weren't Harry's business to know.
"Right, then. Off we go," Tonks declared. "Then we can find this Boot kid."
Snape didn't come with them up to the Hospital Wing, but when they arrived they found a cluster of people around Hannah's bed. The girl was still unconscious, spelled rigid in the bed while Pomfrey's potions and spells did their best to repair the damage.
"What did you find?" Susan pressed, rushing over to Harry. "You know who did it, right? Who hurt Hannah?" She had puffy red eyes and tear-tracks down her cheeks, and Harry had to swallow the lump in his throat that formed.
"It was Terry, Sooz. Terry Boot."
There was a beat of silence. Then, Ernie swore. "That filthy little— we trusted him! He was Hannah's friend, he… we've known each other since we were eleven!" He looked absolutely wrecked, his hands clenched around the rail at the foot of Hannah's bed. Harry's heart twisted in sympathy.
"I know," he murmured. "But it was him." He looked back to Amelia. "We confirmed through pensieve memory. Kingsley's memory," he explained. "I… we don't know how to proceed."
There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and they all turned around to see Horace Slughorn tentatively approaching. There was a vial of clear fluid in his hand. "I— excuse me, but I was asked to bring this to you, Amelia, dear." He held the vial out to her. "I always keep some tucked away — for emergencies, you know. Especially in these difficult times." A quick, humourless smile flitted beneath his bristly moustache. "I understand the culprit has been identified. I… let me know if you need more, won't you?"
Slughorn folded the vial into her palm, patting her closed fingers gently. Then he cast sad eyes in Hannah's direction. "If there's anything I can do to help the poor girl — more Skele-Gro, or— I have contacts at St Mungo's. If it's safe to send her over. Just… whatever you need, don't hesitate to ask."
The ageing Potions Master gave a helpless little shrug, then quietly left the Hospital Wing.
Harry didn't argue when Amelia took Kingsley and Tonks to go find Terry for questioning. He may be somewhat of a leader in this rag-tag rebellion they had pulled together, but in any other circumstances this would be a Ministry matter, and he was still just a student.
More than that, Harry didn't want to watch Terry's questioning. He didn't want to sit there and listen to a boy he'd shared classes with for six years declare his allegiance to the man who was trying to destroy everything he held dear. He didn't want to hear who else was involved, or what Terry had been asked to do by Voldemort. He would find out the details sooner or later.
He already had so many burdens on his shoulders by the very nature of this war. He didn't want to add another.
A thin-fingered hand slipped into his, and he blinked away his dark thoughts, meeting concerned grey eyes. Draco led him over to a quiet corner, away from Susan and Ernie's quiet vigil at Hannah's side.
"How is she really?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low. Draco sighed.
"It's bad," he admitted. Harry's stomach sank. "I've only read about this curse — I knew the counter, but I'd never done it. And the time it took me to identify it… it hit her right in the spine. The curse got halfway to her shoulders and down through most of her pelvis before Pomfrey and I could stop it." He was stark white, hand clenching tight around Harry's. Bile rose in Harry's throat — that was a lot of bone to be damaged.
"But… it can be grown back, right? Once the dark magic is filtered out?" He only knew bits and pieces of healing theory from listening to Draco, but he knew that the thing that made dark curses so dangerous wasn't the effect itself, but the dark magic that lingered in the affected area and prevented healing. That had to be dealt with before anything could truly be fixed.
"We got her stabilised," Draco said. "Poppy's said we'll get Uncle Sev up here to help — he knows dark magic scrubbing far better than I do. The Skele-Gro won't set while it's still a cursed injury, but it'll grow enough to keep everything in place. We hope." He swallowed tightly. "She… Hannah probably won't be able to walk again. It's possible, of course, with time and therapy and the right course of potions. It would be more possible if we could get a specialist from St Mungo's out to see her, but… this is what we've got." The tense line of his shoulders crumpled, ever so slightly. "Harry, if I'd just been faster, if I'd—"
Harry cut him off, pulling the blond into a tight hug. "Don't even," he scolded. "You did everything you could, Draco. Fuck, you probably saved Hannah's life. Pomfrey was quick but even that short space of time…" The curse could have made it to Hannah's knees and shoulder blades by then. "You did amazingly, sweetheart. You're not a healer yet, you're not even in training for it! And yet you identified the curse and stopped it in under a minute!" He pulled back, cupping Draco's face. "That's incredible. You're incredible. And I won't have you blaming yourself for any of this. Pretty sure Hannah would kick your arse if she heard you trying."
That earned a flicker of a smile. After a beat, Harry ran his own words back in his mind. "Hell, is that what it's like for you when I get on my saving-people bullshit?" He made a face, and Draco chuckled.
"Pretty much, yeah," he confirmed.
"Oh. Well. Sorry." No wonder it annoyed everyone so much when Harry did it. He couldn't stand Draco putting himself down when he'd already done so much good!
He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend again, looking over at Hannah's bed, at Susan and Ernie clutching each other because Hannah's state was too delicate for either of them to hold her hand. Harry was so ready for this battle to be over.
.-.
There was a meeting, that evening. It couldn't really be called an Order meeting, since those who had once been part of the Order had since eschewed Dumbledore and all that he stood for — the existing Order were out there, somewhere, perhaps with the ex-headmaster but perhaps not. Either way, they hadn't shown up to fight, and that said it all.
But it was everyone who Harry associated with the Order, plus a few extras; himself and Neville and Luna, whom the adults had kicked up a fuss about but were promptly reminded of why the attack had targeted Hannah. Amelia and Narcissa, both women glaring fiercely at anyone who dared question their inclusion. Professors Flitwick and Sprout — and McGonagall of course — wan-faced at the two very diferent but awful fates of their charges.
"For anyone who is unaware, Terry Boot has been confirmed under Veritaserum as a supporter of Lord Voldemort, though he does not yet have the Dark Mark," Kingsley declared in the tense silence of McGonagall's office. "He admitted that he intentionally cast the Bone-Melting curse at Miss Abbott, with the intent to kill her. Apparently, he was under orders to weaken the new school wards however possible, and believed that killing one of the heirs — especially the only one who is currently of age — would sever the connection. The founders' lines are linked, after all."
"Cut down one of us, cut us all off," Neville murmured, grimacing.
"Who else?" Harry asked flatly. "Who else in this castle is working for him."
"Boot had only a few names to share," Amelia said. "Severus Snape was the first. But we knew that," she added, giving a pointed glare at several people who turned dark gazes on the Potions Master. Snape, to his credit, did not flinch under their accusations. "He named three more students — two seventh years and his dorm mate Kevin Entwhistle. Along with four of the adults supposedly seeking refuge here. They have all been apprehended, and are under guard in the Potions classroom."
Eight people. Out of the hundred and fifty odd staying in the castle — about half of whom were either underage students or non-combatant adults — it was more than Harry would have liked to hear, but honestly less than he had expected. "What if there are more he doesn't know about?" Bill piped up, brow furrowed. "We know from Severus' reports that You-Know-Who isn't sharing all his plans with all his followers. There could be even more."
"How much Veritaserum have we got?" Fred added. "We'll just question everyone, weed them out!"
Several people nodded in agreement around the table, but Kingsley shook his head.
"Something like that would need to be public, and we all know who everyone would want to be the first under questioning." His eyes landed on Severus, who again remained straight-backed and unflinching. "We cannot risk it."
"Why not?" Emmeline Vance pressed. She was one of the few Order members who had broken away from Dumbledore without hearing the truth of things from Harry. "If we question Snape under Veritaserum, all he'll do is admit to being a spy for the Light. It breaks his cover, but we can keep him protected here." Her face twisted in an ugly sneer. "Unless you think he'll say what we all suspect and admit he's only ever been the Dark Lord's man. Then good fucking riddance to him."
Harry wished he could jump to the man's defence, but they still had to maintain cover, even in this group of trusted individuals. There were Order members Harry didn't trust as far as he could throw them.
Luckily, McGonagall wasn't having any of it. "Severus Snape is not the one under suspicion here," she snapped. "He is a valued member of this group, and I daresay he's done more for the Light than you have lately, Miss Vance." Turning back to the rest of the group, she clasped her hands together. "Kingsley is right — we cannot afford to have Severus questioned in front of witnesses. They may misconstrue things."
"Surely the point is moot?" George said, looking askance at Snape. "Unless we plan on keeping Boot and his buddies locked in the castle until things are over — which I am entirely in favour of, by the way — they'll run back to their Master and tell him that they were forced to reveal Snape's supposed loyalty. He'll have to go back regardless, won't he?"
Fear gripped Harry's chest at the idea of Snape having to return to Voldemort's side so close to the end.
"The Dark Lord believes that I am a double-agent for him; he believes that I have fooled you into thinking I have repented my Dark ways and have offered myself as a spy, feeding you only the information he gives me," Snape declared curtly. Looking around the room, it was clear Voldemort wasn't the only one who believed such a thing. "If Boot goes back and admits he named me, the Dark Lord will just believe that I have convinced you of my innocence despite the accusations. However, if you question me in front of the entire population of Hogwarts and I am forced to reveal my true loyalties, you will be signing my death warrant."
"Yeah, because we'll kill you ourselves when you confess you're a loyal Death Eater," someone muttered, though Harry wasn't sure who. It might have been Sirius, keeping up appearances.
"No, because when word reaches the Dark Lord that I am not as loyal to him as he thought, he will drain the very magic and life from me through my Dark Mark," Snape retorted icily. "There is nowhere I can hide from him, not with this connection. Breaking my cover and keeping me in the castle will not protect me."
"Moreover," Amelia interrupted loudly, before a proper argument could brew. "It is completely unethical — not to mention illegal — to question that many people under Veritaserum without due cause. There's a reason it's such a tightly controlled substance."
"It's not like they're going to arrest you for it or anything, though, is it?" Fred reasoned with a shrug. Amelia looked distinctly unimpressed.
"Not at this moment, but if we have any hope of building a competent government once this is all over, the public need to know that we are not the kind of people who throw away our morals in times of conflict," she pointed out, steely-eyed as she surveyed the group. "The Ministry may be in tatters, but I will still uphold its values the best I can while we work to save it. We aren't questioning anyone else. The only decision that needs to be made tonight is what to do with those Boot named."
The conversation turned to that, and Harry thought he saw Snape relax, ever so slightly. Beside Harry, Remus ran a hand through his hair, and pressed his shoulder a little heavier against his pseudo-godson's.
Harry couldn't imagine being Snape, having to weather such accusations regularly, having to actively cultivate suspicion around himself. He would be glad when it was all over, and the masks could be dropped. Even if that kind of distrust wouldn't go away overnight.
Harry was fully prepared to defend Severus Snape to the death. The man was family, after all.
.-.-.
It was decided that keeping eight Death Eaters under guard in the castle was too risky; they didn't have the manpower to keep them watched carefully, and with Hannah Abbott in such a precarious state none of the three remaining heirs wanted to divert the wards into keeping them captive. The girl had awoken three days after the accident, but she still could not move.
However, it was also decided that they couldn't kill them in cold blood. Nor did they have anywhere to imprison them. So the only other option was to snap their wands and send them away from the castle.
It was a risk, the potential of facing them on the battlefield shortly, but it was all they could do. Not everyone was happy with the decision, but they didn't have time to keep arguing it out.
Kingsley wasn't entirely thrilled with the decision either, but it was the best one they had. There was no sending people to Azkaban, not these days.
Ever since the attack, the atmosphere had changed within the castle. No longer was there a sense of tentative camaraderie, of banding together in the same rebellion. Mealtimes in the Great Hall were no longer cheerful, good-humoured gatherings with everyone trying to make the best of things and reach out to their fellows.
People kept to themselves, to their families and close friends. Meals were quiet, groups sat around in clusters with their heads bowed, occasionally sending suspicious glances across the hall at someone or another. Usually at Severus, if he was around, but plenty of others were seemingly suspect to their peers as well. Old school grudges, or workplace arguments, petty squabbles rising to the surface as accusations of treachery. From talking to Harry, Kingsley knew the castle wards were regularly freezing people to break up fights. Almost like Hogwarts was trying to make up for what happened to one of its heirs.
They didn't have group training sessions in the hall, anymore. Not like before — duels were conducted one at a time, under heavy shields and tight surveillance. It was slower, but it was safer.
The HA, Harry's little militia group, were hit hardest of all. Both as friends of Hannah Abbott, and as ex-friends of Terry Boot. He and the other one, the Entwhistle boy, had been members from the beginning, Kingsley knew. He had been one of them, trusted and cared for. And he had still turned away.
That was the true power of the Dark Lord — not his magical strength, but his ability to twist peoples' minds and desires until they turned on their own friends under the firm belief that it was the best way forward. Kingsley did his best to keep things under control. Between strategy meetings and training supervision and all the minutiae that came with organising a rebellion, he tried to maintain structure and authority. Most of the adults listened to him, familiar with his long auror career.
Most of the students did not, but he left those brats to Harry. He was the only one they ever seemed to obey.
They were a week shy of Harry's seventeenth birthday, and something would need to change soon. Waiting would not serve them well for much longer.
When the commotion started, Kingsley was one of the first on his feet — it was lunch time, and he'd been sat with Sirius and Narcissa, reading over a letter from Andi sent by way of Ceri; the eldest Black sister was their only trustworthy connection to the outside world, these days.
Shouting echoed in from the Entrance Hall, and Kingsley mentally prepared himself to break up another fight. But there were no frozen forms when he arrived; instead just Emmeline Vance, her hair mussed and her eyes frantic. "The Dark Mark is over Hogsmeade," she told him urgently, just loud enough for eavesdroppers to hear and start spreading word around the hall. Great.
"Just now?" Kingsley asked, wondering if this was the beginning of the end. Emmeline shook her head.
"Don't think so. It's fuzzy round the edges, like it's been up a while," she reported. "I was just taking the little kids out for some fresh air when I saw it. We got them all back inside, but I think they saw it too."
Kingsley grimaced faintly, and he wasn't surprised to turn around and see Harry at his back. That boy seemed to be in five places at once, these days.
"Any sign of danger?" he questioned, vivid green gaze fixed on Vance.
"Hard to tell. I think there was smoke, but not much. Surely if there was a fight they would have sent word? Rosmerta can do a Patronus messenger, I know she can."
Kingsley wasn't reassured. "Only if she's well and able to cast it," he pointed out. "We need to go down there."
Harry nodded, though he didn't look any happier about it. "How many are you taking?"
Kingsley thought for a moment. "Myself and five others. If we need more, I'll send an elf." The Hogwarts house elves were taking quite happily to being messengers for the war effort, particularly the odd one that seemed to have attached itself to Harry.
"What do you need, Boss?"
He didn't let himself smile, even as he looked at Tonks, reporting with a serious face but twinkling violet eyes. He — for he was definitely a man today, even though he didn't show it, even though his body was feminine — stood at attention, ready for instruction, as if they were still aurors at the Ministry. As if Kingsley was still his superior.
One day, that wouldn't be the case anymore. But until then, Kingsley had to keep it professional.
"Auror Tonks, you're coming with me. I want Bill Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin and Apolline Delacour, at the gates as soon as possible." Four combatants he trusted and a healer, just in case.
Tonks nodded, and hurried out of the hall.
"Kingsley," Harry called, before Kingsley could get to work. The boy's face was solemn, an expression Kingsley was far too familiar with by this point. The face of someone expecting the worst. "Be safe."
He nodded, and turned on his heel, striding for the doors.
He couldn't make any promises.
The Dark Mark in the sky sent an instinctive shiver down his spine as he walked quickly across the Hogwarts grounds. He'd seen far too many of those in his time, and none of them meant anything good.
Kingsley pushed away the unease in his gut, and kept going.
Tonks was fast, Kingsley would give him that. Soon the younger auror was practically jogging towards him, Kingsley's requested team at his heel. At the gates, the edge of the wardline, Kingsley surveyed them all. "I'll be honest with you, I have no idea what we're walking into. Be on your guard."
Five determined faces nodded back again, and they set off.
There was definitely smoke coming from the village, Kingsley realised as they grew closer to Hogsmeade. Not much, not enough to have him truly fearing for his life, but definitely some.
It was either a good sign or a very, very bad one that no one from the village had come to the castle for aid.
As soon as they reached the main village itself, Kingsley saw the problem — down at the end of the road, far away from the more student-friendly side of the village, the Hog's Head was a smouldering pile of lumber.
"Auror Shacklebolt!" It was Rosmerta, hurrying over to him with a grim expression. "We weren't sure if you'd come. We didn't know if it was worth the risk."
Kingsley hated how bad things had gotten, that the people of Hogsmeade weren't even willing to ask for help from the castle barely a hundred feet away, just in case it was a trap.
"Of course we came, Ros," Tonks insisted, always the earnest foil to Kingsley's stony countenance. "What happened?"
"There were four of them," Rosmerta said, wringing her hands anxiously. "Didn't seem like they wanted to pick a fight. They threw some flaming potion into the Head and next thing we know it's up like a pile of matches." A sad smile twisted her lips. "Amount of booze old Ab had in there, can't say I'm surprised. They watched it burn for a bit, threatened anyone who came close, then shot that monstrosity in the sky and turned tail."
"Good Merlin," Arthur murmured. "Was anyone inside?"
Rosmerta's face said it all. "As far as we know, only Aberforth. He doesn't open 'til at least five most days, says there's no good business in the hours before dinner." She cast her eyes at the still-smoking wreckage. "We couldn't help him. It all happened so fast… they were in and out in less than ten minutes."
She choked on a sob, and Arthur put his arm around her soothingly. "It's not your fault," he soothed. "If it was that quick, there likely wasn't much you could do anyway."
As the Weasley patriarch comforted the pub owner, Kingsley took a few steps closer to the Hog's Head. It was a seedy hellhole to be sure, but there had been a certain charm to it. It was a good place to get a drink without judgement.
Aberforth Dumbledore had been a good man. He didn't deserve to go out like this.
"Why would they do this?" Kingsley didn't realise he'd been followed, but Tonks and Remus were barely a step behind him. "What good does it do them? Unless Ab pissed off the wrong person…" Tonks shook his head, scowling. "Why go for just the Hog's Head, of all the buildings in the village? Hell, why not burn down the whole village?"
"It's a message," Remus said, his nose wrinkled slightly as the acrid smell of smoke was blown their way by the wind. Had to be much worse to wolf senses. "He's still after Albus. He's trying to make him mad, draw him out."
It made perfect sense, but it still made Kingsley grimace. He had almost forgotten about that loose end, about Albus out there somewhere with his own grand plans. Was he coming, for the battle? Did he have some idea of swooping in to claim glory at the last minute?
Was he even still alive?
At his side, Tonks wrapped his arms around himself. Kingsley put a hand on his shoulder, wishing he could do more, offer a better kind of comfort. "I had my first ever alcoholic drink there," Tonks said quietly. "Fourth year, morphed myself into looking like one of the seventh years. Ab knew it was me — I had the nose all wrong, and I couldn't get my voice to change for the life of me — but he served me anyway." There was a flicker of a smile on his face. Kingsley squeezed his shoulder.
Back at the castle, he could hug him properly. Mourn for a man tainted by his brother's legacy. Find some quiet corner to decompress in together, and then step out into the world and pretend they were just colleagues, sleep in separate rooms barely feet from each other like they were students all over again. Worse — even the students were sharing rooms, sharing beds!
After the war, Kingsley would change that. He couldn't live like this anymore, couldn't keep pretending. Life was too short.
But they had to win, first.
.-.-.
Hogwarts had always been a home away from home for Sirius, but right now it felt like a prison. Another cage — bigger than the last, but no less chafing.
Sometimes it felt like Sirius' whole life had been a series of cages. His parents, Azkaban, Grimmauld, now this.
He could hardly stand to breathe, sometimes, feeling the iron bars of confinement wrap around his lungs, closing him in.
At least he wasn't alone in this cage. He glanced beside him, at Charlie lying in bed next to him, book open but not really reading it. Both of them were lost in their thoughts too often, these days.
The end was coming. Harry's birthday was only days away, and he'd seen the look in his pup's eye. That kid was working on a plan, had something up his sleeve.
This cage would be broken, one way or another. Sirius just wondered what kind of freedom he would find on the other side of it.
The ever-present knot of fear and worry tightened in his chest, the cold seeping in, the kind of feelings that always made his brain beg to be Padfoot, to not feel those feelings for just a little while. He didn't give in, not this time.
Instead, he shuffled closer to Charlie, tucking himself under the dragon tamer's muscular arm. Pillowed his head on that broad chest, let his fingers find the dog tattooed on Charlie's left pec. Just looking at it made his heart swell with affection. "Hello, sweetheart," Charlie murmured, putting his book down and shifting to hold Sirius better. "What's the matter, then? Or are you just bored?" he added, giving a wolfish grin. It would be too easy to go with it, to start teasing his fire-haired love and replace the knot of worry with the hot flood of arousal. But it wouldn't solve the problem, and Sirius had learned over the last few years not to let things fester.
"Just thinking," he replied quietly, throwing one leg over Charlie's, plastering himself against his side like an extra layer of blankets. Like a shield.
"Terrible stuff. I try not to if I can help it," Charlie said, giving a faint smile. Sirius snorted. The redhead grew a little more serious, tangling a hand in Sirius' long hair. "Anything I can help with?"
"Only if you can promise me we'll all come out of this alive," Sirius replied bitterly. He felt Charlie tense beneath him, and briefly regretted bringing it up.
"Would if I could, my love." Charlie's arm was warm around Sirius' bare shoulders, their room a little stuffy in the late-July heat. "All I can do is promise my best."
Sirius sighed, a long, slow release of air. He buried his face in Charlie's throat, squeezing his eyes shut. "I wish it was just you I was worried about," he confessed. "I mean, I wish I wasn't worried about any of it. But when I stand in that hall, when I look at everyone I know is going to be fighting…" Remus, Narcissa, Tonks, Severus. Harry. Draco, the kids, so many people who should not have to put their lives on the line before they'd even had the chance to live them. Just like James and Lily had done, the first time round. Just like countless others had done.
"I know what you mean," Charlie agreed. Of course he did — every member of his family, both blood and not, was going to be on that battlefield. Even Ron would be there, and he was a prick, but none of them wanted him to die for it.
"Sometimes I look at them, look at Harry, and I just think… I'd give my life for them, to make sure they're okay. They've got so much more to offer this world than I have. If I die defending the people I love… it'll be worth it."
Suddenly, Charlie was moving — his big arms manhandled Sirius to the centre of the bed, and that bulky form was covering him, cocooning him in Charlie's warmth and weight and the scent of leather. Sirius let out a quiet whimper, unable to help himself — he didn't quite turn to brainless jelly beneath Charlie, not anymore, but it was still a close thing.
"You'd better not," Charlie breathed, his lips brushing Sirius' jaw, his forearms bracketing the animagus' head. Sirius watched the flickering candlelight play over the bold black lines tattooed up Charlie's shoulders, and wondered how the hell he got so lucky. "I've got plans for you, Sirius Black. Plans that involve spending the rest of forever with you. So don't you go dying on me now, alright?"
Sirius let out a sound that wasn't quite a cry but wasn't a gasp either, bringing one hand up to stroke the Gryffindor lion tattooed on the right side of Charlie's ribcage. It preened under his touch, shaking out its enormous mane. "I don't want to," he assured. "Gods, Charlie — I have plans for you, too, yeah? Plans for us." Four years ago he never thought he'd have any plans at all past revenge on fucking Pettigrew, vengeance for Lily and James. "I don't want to die. But if it's me or Remus, me or Harry, me or you. Well. That's an easy choice."
Charlie growled lightly, the rumble vibrating through his chest straight into Sirius'. "Then I'll just have to stay right by your side and make sure that's not a choice you have to make," he vowed, kissing the corner of Sirius' mouth. He shuffled down a bit, resting his head on Sirius' chest, reversing their earlier position. Like Sirius, his hand found the ink over a quick-beating heart. But in this case, it was an old tattoo, over a decade sat on Sirius' skin — two canine paw prints beneath a proud nine-point rack of antlers, all set under a shining full moon.
Once upon a time, there had been a rat tail framing the whole thing, but now it was just a messy circle of scar tissue. In Azkaban, Sirius had dug the ink out with his own bare hands, hating the memory of that traitor on his skin.
"Tell me, about these plans," Charlie urged, his body still half-pinning Sirius to the mattress, the perfect anchor. "We've never talked about… after."
Neither of them had ever been brave enough.
"I want those kids," Sirius admitted, staring up at the ceiling while his fingers traced lines between the freckles on Charlie's upper back. "If we can. If they want us. I want to give those kids a home. I want us to have a home. And…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "It's stupid."
"Tell me anyway," Charlie pleaded, smiling against Sirius' skin.
Sirius hesitated only for a moment. Charlie had seen him at his worst, he wouldn't mock him for his fanciful dreams. "I want to open a wizarding primary school. A place for kids to go before Hogwarts. Bring the muggleborn kids earlier, but also… I was so lonely, back then. Just me and Reggie, and occasionally other kids my parents approved of. I never had a proper friend before I came to Hogwarts. And homeschooling in families like mine… well, let's just say the indoctrination starts young." He sneered at the memory, at all the dark curses he knew about before he'd even held his own wand — either through being taught about them, or being punished with them. "I just… I don't want there to be any more lonely little kids like I was. And I don't want kids with only their families to show them what the world is like."
Prejudice wasn't automatic. It was taught, even subconsciously. He'd been a prime example of that, even if it wasn't the traditional way — in rebelling against his awful family, he'd decided everything Slytherin was just as bad, everything pureblood should rot.
Magical kids grew up sheltered, and deep down Sirius thought that maybe he could fix that.
Silence followed his declaration, long enough that Sirius would have started squirming if Charlie didn't have him pinned so firmly.
"That's not stupid at all," Charlie said eventually, lifting up a little, folding his arm over Sirius' chest and propping his chin on it. He stared up at Sirius with those adoring blue eyes and Sirius' heart about stopped. "I think it's a brilliant idea."
"I— really?"
"Yeah! I mean, you and I had very different childhoods — I don't think I spent a second alone until I got to Hogwarts," Charlie admitted ruefully. "But we still only really played with the kids in the area. Mostly it was me and Bill and Percy playing together. A different kind of sheltered, but almost as bad, I think, sometimes. Same sorts of problems to it." He grinned, cheeks dimpling. "A school before Hogwarts would be great. Level the playing field a bit, let everyone make friends before they're split into houses."
"Exactly," Sirius agreed, enthusiasm growing like a tiny spark on a pile of kindling. "Basic lessons — how to hold a quill, how to prep different potions ingredients, basic magic theory and history and stuff. Kids' quidditch," he added, grinning fondly just at the idea of a bunch of little kids flying around at waist height, tossing squishy quaffles at each other and chasing a tennis-ball sized snitch.
"Well, then," Charlie murmured, moving his arm, kissing the centre of Sirius' sternum. "My plans mostly involved dragons and the kids, so I reckon that'll line up nicely." He winked, flashing white teeth and a boyish smile. "We'll go with yours, yeah?"
Sirius almost laughed — he made it sound so simple, like that. So easy. Win the war, adopt some kids, start a school. Insert dragons as applicable.
It was nice to imagine, though.
.-.-.-.
Harry had thought it over, and talked with Salazar, and he was fairly sure he had a plan. Or at the very least, the beginnings of one. And his plan involved one Severus Snape.
He was unsurprised when the castle directed him down to the dungeons in search of the man — Snape was brewing, and Harry hesitated at the threshold.
"What is it, Potter? Do cease your hovering." The harsh tone made Harry hide a smile.
"May I come in, sir?"
"If you must." The pair of them looked disgruntled at being in each others' presence, right up until the door was locked and warded. "What's the matter?"
"I know how to get Voldemort here when we need him," Harry blurted. Snape froze over his cauldron. "I— I need your help, though."
The man's lips thinned, and he Vanished the contents of his cauldron. Harry hoped it wasn't anything important. "Talk."
Harry perched on the edge of the empty workbench, meeting Snape's gaze. "Everyone knows by now that Dumbledore did something to my family magics, right?" he began. "The rumours got a bit warped, but it's common knowledge that he fiddled around with it."
Snape blanched briefly. "Please don't ever use the word 'fiddled' when discussing the headmaster's actions, especially towards you," he requested evenly, and Harry made a face.
"Ew, gross. Anyway, no one really knows the specifics. And we know now that Voldemort is pissed the Hogwarts wards held him out. So I thought, if you go to him and tell him that I'm trying to postpone the war until after I'm seventeen — tell him that whatever Dumbledore did to my magic means it's going to make my maturation difficult. Make me weaker. Tell him I've been keeping it secret til now but I finally let it slip, and I need everything to hold off until I can regain my strength." Harry smirked, eyes flashing at the look of intrigue slowly crossing Snape's features. "I'd bet my Firebolt he'll show up at the gates bang on time, thinking I'm ripe for the killing."
The Slytherin frowned, brows furrowed in thought. "It's risky," he said slowly. "He may show up early. And, for all we know, Albus' rituals will make your maturation difficult."
"The goblins said I'm fine," Harry dismissed easily, waving a hand. "And if he shows up early, we hold him off until it's time."
"Can Miss Abbott handle that?" Snape asked.
"She says she can." Harry had talked to Hannah before coming to Snape. She was able to sit up, now, but still couldn't leave her hospital bed. "If an elf moves her bed to the Wardstone, she can do it. There's nothing wrong with her magic." Just her spine, dissolving itself over and over again as the dark magic embedded itself in her body, fighting against their attempts to remove it.
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Face it, Severus. At this point, it's the best we've got." All his other plans had been far riskier. Far too Gryffindor, according to Salazar. "So will you do it? Will you go to him, convince him he needs to attack on my birthday?"
Slowly, Snape nodded. "I will try." His eyes darkened in something like concern. "Are you ready?"
Harry's answering smile was humourless. "I have to be."
He couldn't keep putting it off forever.
.-.-.
Somehow, word spread. Even though Harry only told his closest allies of his plan with Snape, it got around that the battle was coming, and fast. Letters were sent out, the hope of last-minute allies from far reaching places. Potions were brewed, protections were reinforced, the elves and even the ghosts more alert than ever. Children were kissed, lovers were held, promises were whispered into the night. Promises that, for some, were sure to be broken.
Harry couldn't leave his room without getting stared at like a specimen in a jar. No one asked him, but everyone wanted to know he had a plan. Everyone wanted to be sure that their saviour would come through.
This whole battle would be pointless if Harry couldn't kill Voldemort, once and for all.
The evening of the 29th. Harry didn't bother going down to dinner. He asked Dobby to bring him a plate, and he and Draco ate dinner on the sofa in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. And slowly, people joined them.
Neville and Ginny, tucking themselves away in the armchair. Remus, ruffling first Harry's hair and then Draco's. Narcissa, not touching any of them but looking at the boys like they might disappear if she turned away. Sirius and Charlie, settling on the floor, leaning back against Harry's shins. One by one, his friends, his family, gathered in the common room — even Snape, a shadow lurking in the corner, a dark guardian angel behind Remus Lupin's chair.
No one spoke, but they didn't have to. There were no words they could say to make it any easier. Not when everything sounded like a goodbye.
So they sat together, listening to the quiet breaths around them, the crackle of the fire, basking in the love that flooded the room, heavy with the knowledge that this may well be the last time all of them sat in a room together.
Harry leaned into Draco's embrace, breathing in his scent, until the sun had fully set outside.
"I think I'm going to bed," he said eventually, breaking the silence between them all. "Long day tomorrow."
Someone snorted. It might have been Fred.
"Goodnight, pup," Sirius murmured, reaching up to squeeze his knee. "Night, Draco."
"Goodnight." Harry looked around the room one last time — not memorising faces, not that he'd admit to, but just getting his fill of this moment, his family.
Then he took Draco by the hand, and led him upstairs.
Neville and Ginny followed soon after — evidently Harry's departure had been the catalyst for everyone else's — but they didn't say anything to each other, and by wordless agreement the partition was raised and warded as soon as all four were in the room.
With it, Harry could forget about anyone on the other side of the makeshift wall. His world narrowed down to just him and Draco, their gasps and sighs filling the still night as they made love, holding each other with an edge of desperation that neither had the strength to hide.
And when they were sated, curled together under a thin sheet in the summer heat, they still didn't speak. What could they say that hadn't been said? They kissed, and they closed their eyes, and they breathed.
A long night was coming. Best to rest while they could.