The approach of exams ramped up the pressure on everyone. It was greatly entertaining to Harry to watch the different reactions of his friends in different Houses. Justin and Hannah just spent a little less time talking and buckled down to work with unrelenting determination. Neville was a wreck who more or less stayed functioning thanks to Justin and Harry tag teaming him, with Harry delivering hard truths in between Justin’s repeated assurances that he had absolute faith and Neville would do great. Hermione set to reviewing with a vengeance and tried to impose study schedules on everyone. Daphne coldly set her schedule on fire while maintaining eye contact with Hermione and then walked away once it was ash, which luckily made Hermione back off bossing everyone around. (She’d been doing better; Harry thought the stress was just getting to her.) They said the rest of the Gryffindors had been happily ignoring the approach of exams for months and were now running around in a panic. This made all the Slytherins laugh; they’d been reviewing for two months now so they didn’t have to cram it all in at the end. “That’s what happens when you value planning ahead,” Blaise said smugly.
The funniest part was the Ravenclaws. Harry didn’t think Anthony, Lisa, or Sue had to worry at all about their exams, but apparently almost everyone in Ravenclaw was running on very little sleep and way too much coffee. Harry resolved to get his hands on a large supply of Muggle energy drinks over the summer, and maybe bring the twins in on it, since they clearly had ways to sneak things on and off campus; they’d make a killing selling Red Bull to the Ravenclaws during exam season. He only questioned this decision when Lisa bounced into their corner of the library with a manic gleam in her eye and informed them that she hadn’t slept in three days and had just chugged four mugs of coffee. Harry smiled and edged away from her.
“I’m worried about Potions,” Neville confessed, looking terrified. “Snape knows I—fall apart when he’s looming and sneering…”
“I’ll loan you my essays to go over,” Harry said. “Just remember to stop and breathe if you make a mistake.”
“And if you’ve got a measuring cup, never put more in it than you need,” Tracy advised. After Harry, she was one of the best at Potions among them. “That way if your hand slips you don’t accidentally dump double the amount of lacewing flies you need into your cauldron.”
Neville nodded, still looking uncertain.
“He’s been leaving you alone for the last few months,” Harry pointed out. It was true—once Neville moved from causing explosions every other week to turning in mediocre but stable brews, and probably also thanks to his alliance with the first year Slytherins, Snape seemed to lose interest in bullying him and plant Neville right next to Harry in his blind spot. Neville’s improvement had increased slightly once Snape started ignoring him in class and Harry got to study his second favorite subject while watching Snape go after Jules, Weasley, Finnegan, and Thomas. It was really a win-win as far as Harry was concerned.
“Yeah, but—I’ll be brewing on my own! And it’s the exam, there’s loads more pressure—”
“If you keep thinking like that, it’ll only be harder,” Justin said kindly. “You’ve been studying really hard for ages, Nev, it’ll work out. And you’re a genius with Herbology and solid at Charms and History.”
Neville looked slightly more at ease.
Harry was mostly only worried about the Transfiguration written portion, the Charms practical, and the entire History of Magic exam. Transfiguration theory was nastily complicated and he could cast all the charms they’d covered in class but Flitwick said part of the test would be figuring out how to cast an unfamiliar one in a short time span. Practicing for that had at least drilled a number of small, useful spells into Harry’s memory as he flipped through his massive charms compendium and tried incantations at random. History of Magic was aggressively boring, and Harry had been reading history and politics and law books during Binns’ lectures all year, but he honestly couldn’t say whether his independent study overlapped with the lecture at all.
When he said as much, Pansy, who was easily the best at Charms, gave him a sweet smile. “I’ll trade you Charms tutoring for copies of those Potions essays you promised Longbottom.”
“Deal,” Harry said quickly.
“I want in on this,” Theo said. “I’ll trade my Transfiguration notes plus explanations, because frankly, none of you has any idea what you’re doing with the theory.”
“Excuse you,” Hermione said without looking up from her book.
“Except Hermione,” Theo amended.
“Probably because I’m the one who actually studies during study group,” Hermione said severely.
“Oh Merlin, she bites. It’s a miracle,” Daphne gasped delicately.
Harry grinned, Hannah laughed and promptly clapped a hand over her mouth, and Theo smirked.
“I will hex you,” Hermione said.
Daphne’s smile was predatory. “I’d love to see you try.”
Anthony chose that moment to shoot a Stinging Hex at Lisa for spilling water on his notes. She jumped to her feet and retaliated. Blaise had been sitting with them to work on Astronomy and somehow got roped into the fight. Madam Pince descended on them like the wrath of God and chased them all out of the library with their books whacking them on their heads.
Once outside, Justin, Tracy, and Harry separated the bickering Ravenclaws and Blaise. They reorganized their hastily gathered papers and books and set off for the common leisure spaces on the first floor. Hermione spent the whole trip scolding Blaise, Sue, Anthony, and Lisa. Harry counted it as a considerable success that Blaise took being harangued by a Muggle-born no differently than he would have if she’d been Pureblood—namely, rolling his eyes and ignoring her, but without any real hard feelings involved.
Smugness over their better study planning aside, even the Slytherins were feeling the pressure. Blaise complained the last Sunday before exam week that he’d appreciate it if the Dark Lord could make his move during the History of Magic portion. “Surely if we get attacked by an evil wizard during the test they’ll give us all E’s,” he said wistfully. Theo and Harry shared a glance and decided not to say anything. It wasn’t like either of them had a perfectly innocent and wholesome sense of humor, either. Then Noah Bole knocked on the first year dormitory and told them to go out to the common room and listen in on the debate about how to break the Anti-Cheating Charms on the exam quills, either for the academic value or the entertainment of watching stressed-out upper years have an argument. Harry, Theo, and Blaise packed up in a hurry to go see that show.
As expected, the Transfiguration written was tough. Harry walked out feeling like his brain was a wrung-out sponge but also like he’d done reasonably well. The practical was much easier and McGonagall favored him with a rare compliment when he turned a mouse into an ornate snuffbox without a trace of its origin as a rodent. In Charms, he demonstrated all the first-year spells perfectly well and managed three out of four of the unfamiliar ones on his first or second try, which was frustrating but as good as he could’ve hoped. Astronomy was rather boring, he got through Herbology with only a few nicks from the Barbary Ticklemoss, and he breezed right through the written and practical portions of Defense. It was Harry’s easiest subject and between his extracurricular studying and the constant magical sniping and impromptu duels of the Slytherin common room, Quirrell’s lessons had always been something of a letdown. Snape set them to brewing a Forgetfulness Potion for their final, which made Harry, Theo, and Blaise have to stifle laughter, and marched around with a sneer peering disdainfully into everyone’s cauldrons. Harry made a perfect potion and handed it in with a respectful nod. He didn’t much like his Head of House, or bullies in general, but Snape’s hostility had cooled and Harry would take a truce.
The last exam was History of Magic, and Harry was quite relieved to find that he’d covered most of the relevant material on his own. What he hadn’t he could bullshit his way through an answer that should at least net a few points. He left the stifling classroom feeling quite cheerful and headed down to the lake, where all of his friends had agreed to bring some food to celebrate.
Harry waved to the Weasley twins, who for some inexplicable reason were tickling the giant squid while it basked in the warm shallow water, and flopped down next to the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.
“—needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager,” Hermione was saying. “And on question thirty-two—”
“Can we please not go over all the exams again?” Neville said.
Hermione sighed. “Fine.” She paused. “I’m still going to recreate it tonight.”
“Have you done that for all of them?” Daphne asked, forgetting her usual disdain for Hermione. “From memory?”
“Yes,” Hermione said, looking startled and a bit pleased to have the Slytherin girl speaking to her. “It’s not that difficult—”
“I want copies,” Daphne declared.
Hermione opened her mouth.
Harry could see the yes forming on her lips and kicked her ankle. Hermione looked at him, and he glared.
She turned back to Daphne with a determined face. “If you leave off treating me as inferior for my blood status,” she said.
Harry settled back onto the grass with a smirk while Theo, Tracy, and Anthony tried unsuccessfully to pretend they wasn’t laughing.
“Fine,” Daphne said with a snarl. She saved a bit of her anger for Harry, who met her eyes with nothing more than a grin. He could handle whatever Daphne decided to throw at him as payback for this one.
“Don’t be so cocky, Potter,” Daphne said. “I’m passing these on to any of next year’s set who can trade me something for it and you won’t see a knut.”
“I don’t need to,” Harry said smugly, “I’ve already got copies. It helps that I’ve been nice to her all year long.”
Hermione looked slightly affronted to be dragged into their power plays, but Harry just grinned at Daphne until Daphne finally relented and offered a tiny, tiny smile of her own in return. It was cold and more an acknowledgement of a hand well played than anything else, but hey, progress.
“Harry!” Sue said, dropping onto the grass next to him. “I’ve been arguing with Justin for twenty minutes—he says not to encourage you, but I’ve got to know. What was that spell you used on Weasley this morning?”
Harry laughed, remembering how delightfully red the Gryffindor boy’s face had been before he went staggering back out of the Hall on gales of laughter. He’d been saving that one for a month, ever since he found the charm written on a bit of paper and tucked into a book in the Slytherin library. “Watch,” he said with a wink, and rolled over to look at Hannah, Lisa, and Justin, who’d kicked off their shoes and rolled up their trousers and waded out into the lake for a bit.
He pointed his wand at Justin. “Fundihosen.”
Within a second, Justin’s pants undid themselves and flew obligingly down around his ankles, leaving him in just his white boxers. He yelped, tried to pull his trousers up, and promptly toppled into the lake.
“Brilliant,” Sue said with a wink.
“Harry, that was mean,” Hermione said.
“Relax, just a bit of fun,” Theo said lazily.
Once Hannah and Lisa stopped laughing long enough to help fish Justin out of the lake, Harry cast a drying charm on the other boy, the same one he’d learned from Padma way back in the summer. Justin tried to be indignant but it only lasted until Harry offered to teach him the incantation. “Absolutely,” he said with a grin, “I can use this on Ernie next time he calls you a slimy git,” and Harry ended up sharing the incantation and wand movement with the whole group.
Pansy turned it on Parvati Patil not ten minutes later when she walked by with Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, and Sophie Roper. Parvati shrieked a few obscenities and stormed off in a huff. Then Blaise cast it on Pansy while she was laughing, and Sue took the opportunity to pants Anthony and Lisa almost at the same time.
“I think you may’ve started a war, mate,” Theo said.
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Like it wasn’t intentional.”
“We were getting boring,” Harry said, grinning.
“See. He doesn’t even deny it,” Blaise said.
Harry put on his best innocent face while both of them laughed.
***
They spent a very pleasant evening playing a Gobstones tournament among all the first years. Bulstrode won. Someone managed to spirit a load of food and drinks into the common room, half of the upper years got drunk, and everyone had a fantastic time, except for when two fifth years settled some kind of bet by spraying sparks out of their wands and setting half the House’s hair on fire. Harry went to bed far past midnight, sleepy enough that he thought he might actually dodge his nightmares for once…
He turned out to be completely correct. Harry slept nine straight hours for the first time he could remember. The pleasant feeling this gave him was entirely ruined by the fact that the following day was a nightmare of its own because according to the rumor mill Jules Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Seamus Finnegan had stopped an insane Quirrell from stealing Dumbledore’s family wealth. Or almost been killed by Quirrell before Dumbledore saved them. Or gotten into a duel that killed Quirrell when he tried to break it up and landed Jules Potter unconscious in the hospital wing. Or possibly stopped Quirrell from hurling the entire school seven hundred years into the past, though where exactly that last rumor came from Harry had no idea.
The Great Hall was in an uproar during breakfast. Students mingled freely between the House tables. Harry and Blaise drifted over to talk to their Ravenclaw friends, who spread the word to the Hufflepuffs and then the Gryffindors.
To Harry’s immense surprise, several of the middle year Slytherins came over to the end of the table. “Potter,” Alton Bole said. Fourth year Chaser. He was flanked by the third year Beaters, Peregrine Derrick and Adrian Pucey. Beyond him, Harry could see Noah Bole, Alton’s younger brother, and his friends Jody Harper, Anita Strickland, and Brendan Owens, all second years, paying close attention.
“Bole,” Harry said as neutrally as possible. All the rest of the firsties were quiet and watching closely. Malfoy looked about to pop with rage that Harry and not him was the first to get attention from anyone above first year.
Bole nodded to Blaise, Theo, Daphne, and Tracy. “I hear you all have a network with the other Houses,” he said.
Harry withheld a smirk as Malfoy’s face got even redder. Now he knew exactly what this was. Honestly, he should’ve seen it coming.
“Yeah,” Harry said, when it was clear his year mates were going to let him do the talking. Bole had rightly pegged him as the one to go to; Harry was one of the reasons the study group existed at all. “What about it?”
“Have you talked to your Gryffindor friends?” Bole said, a gleam in his eye. “No one seems to know what happened—”
“Plus it’s your brother in the hospital wing,” Pucey added.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly swapping friendship bracelets with the Other Potter,” Theo said.
“I’d hope not, he’s an idiot, but I’m betting you still have an idea of what’s going on. And also whether he’ll be awake in time for the Quidditch match,” Bole said.
Harry shrugged. “I know Dumbledore and a bunch of the teachers were hiding a single very powerful artifact in the school this year, that Quirrell wanted to steal it, and that Jules Potter stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and dragged a bunch of his friends along for the ride. I’ve no idea what’s wrong with him or whether he’ll wake up in time for the match.”
“Noted,” Bole said with a mean grin.
Pucey clapped Harry on the shoulder. Harry controlled his flinch; he still didn’t like people touching him, especially people he didn’t know very well, but he was figuring out how to handle it as long as he wasn’t taken by surprise. “I hear we’ll be seeing you at tryouts next fall,” Pucey said with a wink. “Don’t slack off over the summer, Potter, we need more people who’re decent on a broom.” He and Derrick followed Bole back up toward their section of the table.
“You’re trying out for Quidditch?” Malfoy demanded.
“I might,” Harry said, knowing that playing it casual would infuriate the other boy. Sure enough, Malfoy snarled something about “stupid blood traitors” to the beefcakes and Bulstrode, who followed when he left the table in disgust.
Theo leaned around Harry, pointed his wand at Malfoy’s back, and whispered “Fundihosen.” The next second, Malfoy’s blue silk underwear and his pale skinny legs were on display for all of the mid-year Slytherin and Ravenclaw students, who burst into gales of laughter. Harry tucked his wand away and went back to his food like nothing was happening.
Daphne eyed him. “Any particular reason he just got pantsed in front of half of next year’s Quidditch team?”
Harry looked at Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, and Pucey. They were sitting together and laughing uproariously.
“Complete coincidence,” Theo said innocently.
“Not bad,” Pansy said.
Harry glanced up at the High Table and saw Snape watching them with an unreadable expression. He nodded respectfully and went back to his food.
***
His friends converged in the same spot by the lake as the previous day. Hermione and Neville were the last to arrive.
“I heard Quirrell was trying to destroy Wizarding Britain with time paradoxes,” Hannah said eagerly, “and that Jules is in a coma because he saw seven hundred years of history at once and his brain couldn’t handle it—”
“That’s ridiculous,” Anthony cut in, “time travel’s ridiculously complicated and anyone who gets involved in a paradox doesn’t come back—”
“Well, no one’s ever survived the Killing Curse before either, this is Jules Potter we’re talking about—”
“I heard a rumor that Weasley went off the rails and killed Quirrell,” Sue Li said, examining her nails. “Also that Finnegan is secretly the grandson of Gellert Grindelwald and was here for revenge on Dumbledore and Dumbledore’s pet project Jules Potter.”
“There was the one where Quirrell and Snape were secretly in love all year and the Gryffindor boys filmed them as blackmail and Snape didn’t take it well,” Justin said, producing an immediate outcry of “Who’d want to date Snape?” and “How they think anyone could’ve filmed our teachers without barfing” and, from the Slytherins, a general sense of “that’s actually really good blackmail material”.
Hannah waved; Harry turned and saw Hermione and Neville approaching at last. Hermione looked exhausted. Her hair was even frizzier than usual. “Excellent, we can sort out whether this was a secret love affair or just your usual run-of-the-mill murder plot,” Blaise drawled.
The Gryffindors arrived in time to hear the tail end of that statement. “What?” Hermione said.
Neville looked confused. “Did I hear ‘secret love affair?’ Because I’d love some drama other than this…”
“Oh no, that’s part of this whole mess,” Theo assured him. “Some people are convinced Quirrell and Snape were… you know.”
“Blech. What the—Snape?” Neville choked.
“I think you traumatized him,” Tracy said, giving Theo a reproachful look and patting the grass next to her. Neville sat down gratefully. Harry was strongly reminded of a Muggle nursery rhyme: come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
“Okay, Hermione,” Lisa said. “The moment we’ve all been waiting for. What the bloody hell happened last night?”
Hermione took a deep breath and told them how she’d been hiding in the common room to watch for the Gryffindorks and only realized they’d sneaked out under the Invisibility Cloak, minus Dean Thomas, who was in the hospital wing with a bad case of the flu, when the portrait hole closed on their heels. She’d followed them, gotten waylaid by dodging Mrs. Norris, distracted Peeves, lost him, and finally arrived at the third floor corridor just in time to jump in after the boys and save their lives from the Devil’s Snare with conjured flame. Fluffy woke up as Hermione was running past it and sat on the trapdoor. She’d had no choice but to continue through the traps. Jules caught a flying key, Weasley played his way past a giant chess set and sacrificed himself to win, Finnegan started a fire that distracted a troll long enough for them to sneak by, and Hermione solved a complicated riddle that sounded like exactly the kind of nastily clever thing Snape would cook up. Jules had played the sacrificial idiot and gone in after You-Know-Who alone while Finnegan went back for help. Trapped, the bottles refilled after three minutes and Hermione found herself with a choice: go forward and help Jules, or backwards and find someone else to help Jules. Harry kept thoughts on what would’ve been the prudent decision to himself. Hermione, being a Gryffindor, went forward under a Notice-Me-Not charm just in time to watch the final showdown—Quirrell and Jules struggling, falling; Jules and Quirrell screaming, Quirrell flaking away to ash beneath Jules’ touch. And then Jules passed out cold.
She looked drained by the time she was finished.
Hannah leaned over and gave Hermione a one-armed hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said kindly.
Harry could tell Hermione was hiding something. Neville already knew whatever it was. Theo and Blaise could probably see it, and guess the subject of the secret, and like Harry they knew better than to say anything.
The Slytherin girls didn’t. “You’re not telling us everything,” Pansy said, watching Hermione closely. “What are you hiding?”
“Oi,” Justin said sharply.
Neville turned pale and Hermione blushed. “I’m not,” she said. “Hiding. Anything. I told you like—like it happened.”
“Parkinson’s right, there’s something off here,” Daphne said coolly. The rarity of her admitting Pansy was right about anything actually shut Pansy up for a second.
“Lay off,” Harry said. “She almost died at the hands of a madman, that’d rattle anybody. I still think you should’ve gone for McGonagall, but you all survived, so I suppose it worked out.”
“I was afraid she’d take more points,” Hermione admitted, “we’re so low anyway—we really can’t afford to lose any more…”
“On the other hand, if you did, you’re already so far behind it wouldn’t matter,” Theo said cheerfully.
Harry snorted. “The twins are definitely taking advantage of that state of affairs.”
“I can’t believe you lot are still thinking about House points,” Neville grumbled. “Bloody Slytherins.”
Tracy grinned at him. “We’re never too busy for a bit of friendly competition.”
Neville gulped.
***
They found out about Voldemort later.
“Vol- sorry, You-Know-Who was involved, wasn’t he?” Harry said. He, Theo, Blaise, Hermione, and Neville were walking back up to the Great Hall together.
Hermione flinched and looked not subtly at Theo and Blaise, then back at Harry.
“Give up the attempts at nonverbal communication,” Theo said. “It’s obvious enough to look painful. We already know.”
“I told them,” Harry added. “They’re my friends and they had a right to it.”
Hermione bit her lip. “Okay…”
“It’s fine, Hermione.” Neville sounded surprisingly confident. “Just tell them.”
She told them.
“Let me get this straight,” Blaise said. “The Dark Lord was riding around on the back of a teacher’s head all year under a turban, possessing him like a giant malevolent pimple, and no one noticed?”
“Pretty much,” Hermione said, sounding miserable.
“Merlin, Dumbledore is useless.”
“He’s a great wizard,” Hermione said sharply.
“Sure he is,” Theo agreed amiably. “He’s also terrible at running a school.”
“Agree to disagree,” Harry cut in, because he didn’t want to start a debate right before dinner. “Hermione… Congratulations on surviving the death gauntlet.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks, Harry.”
It was as close as he could bring himself to admitting he’d been worried. And that he’d miss her if she’d died.
***
It was the most subdued Harry had ever seen the Gryffindor table. He did his best not to enjoy it, but failed miserably. Even Malfoy’s obnoxious, boastful, tasteless bragging couldn’t spoil his mood.
“It’s thanks to you we’re in this position,” Daphne reminded him with a gleam in her eye. “Thirty points above Ravenclaw, and we crushed the Gryffindors—”
Harry was watching the staff table, and he didn’t like what he saw. Dumbledore kept looking at the subtly but extremely smug Snape with that damnable twinkle turned up full force. “Yeah,” Harry said. “About that.”
Dumbledore stood. “Another year gone! And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast.”
“Wheezing waffle? Seriously?” Theo snarled in a whisper, glaring at his plate. “Does he think we’re four? Making fun of himself isn’t nearly as funny as he thinks it is.”
“I think it’s supposed to make us like him,” Daphne said scornfully.
Blaise smirked faintly. “It fails. Miserably.”
Harry hushed them with a quick gesture; Dumbledore was finished reading off the House Points, putting Slytherin in the lead, and before they could begin to celebrate, the Headmaster held up a hand. “However, recent events must be taken into account. I have a few last-minute points to dish out.”
The Slytherins’ smiles faded slightly. Harry wanted to drop his head into his hands.
“How’d you know, Harry?” Pansy said, clearly also cottoning on.
Harry sighed as Dumbledore looked towards the Gryffindor and the twinkle brightened. “Lucky guess.”
“To Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in years, I award fifty points.”
Cheers sounded from the Gryffindor section. Harry could see people clapping a dazedly happy Ron Weasley on the back hard enough to nearly drive his face into the wood.
“To Mr. Seamus Finnegan, for clever use of magic under extreme duress, I award fifty points.”
More screaming. Harry could see where this was going. Resignation warred with disbelief.
“This isn’t happening,” Daphne hissed.
Tracy rolled her eyes and clapped for the sake of appearances. “I’m pretty sure it is. Even my nightmares didn’t call this one.”
“To Miss Hermione Granger, for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.”
“Bugger,” Bulstrode hissed, “they’re only seventy ahead now—”
Sixty-four, actually, but Harry wasn’t going to correct her.
“To Mr. Julian Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House seventy points.”
Harry stopped clapping while the Gryffindor table absolutely exploded. Then he caught Snape’s glare from the corner of his eye and sighed heavily and began politely tapping his hands together for the sake of appearances.
“Nerve and courage,” Theo griped. “Like any of us would get points for pure cunning or outstanding resourcefulness.”
“If the administration liked Gryffindor any more it’d be the only house,” Daphne said.
Harry glared across the hall at Jules’ back. “I’m pretty sure they only keep all four of us around for the sake of watching the drama.”
“I believe,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “that a change of decoration is in order.”
Harry groaned and finally gave in to the urge to drop his head onto the table. Jules and Weasley were going to be absolutely insufferable this summer.
***
“Jules.”
Jules stopped and turned, expression wary. “Yeah?”
Harry resisted the urge to cross his arms. “Look, I know—I know we haven’t been on the best of terms this year.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Jules muttered.
“I wrote our dad twice back in autumn,” Harry said, throttling the bitterness that threatened to choke him when he remembered writing twice and not getting an answer. From his father. “He never answered. I can make other arrangements if he—if you lot don’t want me at home this summer, but—well, I’d like to know for sure. If I have to.”
“Dad hasn’t written? At all?” Jules said, visibly shocked. Harry almost thought he was faking but Jules wasn’t that good a liar. “I thought—er. Never mind. So… you want me to talk to him?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “And let me know. Or tell him to write me.”
“Okay.”
They hesitated. Harry was somehow unsure of himself, and annoyed about it. They’d been at odds all year, but—his animosity was slipping through his fingers.
“Congratulations,” he said at last. “For—Quirrell. I’m… glad you didn’t die.”
Impossibly, James almost smiled. “Er—thanks, yeah, me too.”
Harry nodded sharply and decided this was enough brotherly almost-bonding for one day after a year of glaring at each other in the hallways. It was time to go, before one of them said something or one of their friends showed up and this all went down the toilet.
“Harry,” Jules said suddenly. Harry looked back. His brother seemed uncertain. “I, uh—Theo Nott. Hermione says he’s not… a blood purist. Is that true?”
“If you’re asking me, either you don’t trust Hermione’s judgment or you think she’s lying to you,” Harry said with a smirk. This was familiar ground—mocking the Gryffindors. “So which is it?”
“Shut up,” Jules said, scowling. “Why do you always—never mind. Forget I asked.”
“He’s not. We’re not all what our families might have wanted to make us. I mean.” Harry tapped the Slytherin crest on his robes, mouth twisted into a bitter smile that for once he didn’t try to hide.
“Okay,” Jules said. He looked slightly pained. “If you—if you want. We can… hang out… this summer. Nott can come.”
“Zabini?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “And if this happens at the Weasleys’, it’ll end badly.”
“Zabini’s a blood purist,” Jules said. “I know it for a fact.”
“Well, I also know that he enjoys the company of both Hermione and Justin, and respects both of their abilities as witch and wizard.” This was non-negotiable; Harry would be outnumbered by Jules’ entire circle of hostile Gryffindor friends, and Harry wanted backup.
“I’ll talk to Dad,” Jules said.
Harry nodded. “We can hang out. I guess… it’ll be fun.” He tried a smile. “And with the Trace, if we meet somewhere that’s not a wizarding home, we’ll be forced to not hex each other.”
“This is so weird,” Jules muttered.
“After the year we’ve had, this conversation shouldn’t even rank on your weird scale,” Harry informed him.
“Jules, wait up—oh. It’s you.”
“Well spotted, Weasley,” Harry said, giving the redhead a lazy smile. “Done stuffing your face?”
Weasley flushed. “I was hungry!”
“Trust me, we could all tell.” Harry was already determined to avoid sitting across from Weasley anytime they were eating a meal at the same table. His manners were atrocious. Granted, Harry’s had been too at the beginning of the year, but he’d watched the other Slytherins and learned quickly. Weasley still ate like a starving cave man.
“Lay off,” Jules said. He turned a pointed stare on Weasley. “Both of you.”
Harry pasted a sunny expression on his face. “Let’s start over. Weasley, so good to see you. Congratulations on surviving the traps; I hear you’re quite good at chess.”
Neither of them seemed to know quite what to do with this. Harry had to fight hard to keep from smirking. For his part, he’d meant the compliment, but delivering it in a fake pleasant tone made them both suspicious. Annoying Gryffindors was honestly hilarious.
“Thanks,” Weasley said stiffly. “Dumbledore’s looking for you, by the way. Go to Snape’s office.”
“I’ll head straight there. See you this summer,” Harry said with a cheery smile, and walked away, hands in his pockets and a bounce in his step that didn’t at all match his thoughts.
“Did that just happen?” he heard Weasley ask behind him.
As soon as he was out of their line of sight, Harry started jogging. Snape didn’t like to be kept waiting and he had no idea how long Weasley had taken to deliver that message.
He skidded to a halt outside his Head of House’s office, paused for a few seconds to get his breathing under control, and knocked.
“Enter.”
Harry pushed the door open and walked inside, straight-backed and blank-faced. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“I did,” Snape said, examining him. “I suppose we can attribute your improved attire to Miss Greengrass. I ought to thank her. You almost look a proper Slytherin.”
Harry was pretty sure Snape had just complimented him, if in the most convoluted and backhanded way possible. Or at least delivered the Snape version of a compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve called you here because I wished to speak with you before bringing you to the headmaster’s office,” Snape said. “He has… requested… your presence.”
Requested or ordered?
“It regards your plans of residence for this summer.”
Harry’s stomach went cold. He fought for composure. “What… what authority does the headmaster have to dictate where I go during the summer? Sir.”
“You will find that Albus Dumbledore’s reach extends far beyond this school,” Snape said with a hint of a sneer that only a Slytherin would’ve picked up. Harry’d gathered as much from his history and political readings and from the Slytherin conversations about the Ministry, but that it would extend to this—
“Mr. Potter.”
Something about Snape’s tone made Harry look up and focus.
“Slytherin House favors students who are cunning, resourceful, clever, sly, rational, self-disciplined, willing to break the rules in the pursuit of what they want,” Snape said, watching him closely. “I have been Head of Slytherin House for a decade now, Mr. Potter, and I have found that these traits are often fostered in… certain upbringings.”
Oh. Oh.
“Slytherin then plays host to students with less than ideal childhoods at a greater rate than our sibling Houses.” Snape’s voice was perfectly neutral, which was about the only thing keeping Harry still. He didn’t want—didn’t want this man thinking of him as weak, didn’t trust Snape enough to have this information about him, not when it could so easily be turned against him, not when it could be spread around and used to turn Harry into a thing to be pitied— “I have grown somewhat skilled at recognizing the signs. It is not always easy to tell when a situation permits or requires my interference, so I am asking you to tell me now, Mr. Potter. Do I need to interfere?”
Okay. Okay, he wasn’t asking Harry to talk about it, wasn’t going to bring anything up, wasn’t going to ask about his feelings, Harry could work with this—
“I have alternate plans for the summer, sir,” Harry said, keeping his voice as steady as he could. He would never know how impressed Snape was by his composure in that moment. For an eleven-year-old. “If James Potter won’t let me come to Potter Manor, I can stay with—with several friends so I don’t have to go… back.”
They both knew where back was.
“Very well. If that ever changes, as a member of my House, you are encouraged to contact me.” Snape slid a bit of parchment across his desk to Harry, who pocketed it without looking at it. “My address, if you do not have access to wizarding lines of communication.”
Harry didn’t want to be grateful to Snape for anything; the man had bullied Neville and was a cold, distant git—but damn if he didn’t have an uncomfortable tightness in his throat even as he raced through all the angles and looked for hidden motives. “Thank you, sir.”
Snape nodded. He looked about as comfortable as Harry felt. “Excellent. Now that’s settled—follow me.”
He stalked out of the room with a dramatic billow of his black robes. Harry had to jog to catch up with his Head’s longer strides, wondering if the robes were enchanted for maximum dramatic effect.
Snape led him up and out of the dungeons, then to a pair of gargoyle statues Harry vaguely remembered seeing before. “Cockroach clusters,” he sneered, and the gargoyles leaped side as a door appeared behind them.
Harry pushed it open and climbed the spiral staircase, acutely aware of Snape behind him, and of his wand in his holster.
“Harry! Come in, my boy. Severus, thank you for bringing him. Please, both of you, have a seat.” Dumbledore twinkled madly at him both. Harry had the distinct feeling that a stronger twinkle meant he was about to say something Harry wouldn’t want to hear.
The chairs were surprisingly comfortable. Harry sat directly across from the Headmaster and Snape perched to his right. He was aggressively blank-faced. Harry took that to mean he was extremely uncomfortable and hiding it, and tried to emulate him.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,” Dumbledore said.
“Yes, sir.” Harry didn’t know whether Snape had been allowed to tell him what was going on. Or if Snape was testing him for discretion. Either way, he wasn’t going to mention that he’d had a warning.
“I’m aware that your Muggle relatives do not take well to owl post—would I be correct to assume that you have not contacted them this school year?”
“You would, sir.” Harry felt a bit queasy.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Well, in that case—I’m sure you still need to make arrangements for them to pick you up from the station. I can arrange for a letter to arrive at their home by Muggle channels within an hour or two, if you—”
“Excuse me,” Harry said. “Sir. I can’t—you seem to have some incorrect information. I’m not—I’m not going back to the Dursleys this summer.”
The twinkle dimmed. “Harry…”
“I have other arrangements,” Harry said evenly. “I don’t know yet if James will let me come back to Potter Manor, but if he doesn’t my friend Neville Longbottom has offered his family home. I don’t need—”
“Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I must stop you there… You see, it is not a matter of you having other options, but of… other complications. You must return to the Dursleys this summer.”
“With all due respect, Headmaster, you don’t have a say in where I go or what I do outside of school,” Harry said as politely as he could manage. “I don’t see where you get the authority to force me back to—back to people who haven’t treated me very well.”
Understatement of the century.
“Mr. Potter,” Snape said quietly but firmly. A reprimand—no, a reminder to stop and think.
Harry set his jaw. Dumbledore was old, powerful both politically and magically, and Harry was just an eleven-year-old with authority issues. If push came to shove Dumbledore would crush him with hardly a thought. And it wouldn’t do their relationship, and therefore Harry’s ability to get things out of Dumbledore in the future, any favors if Harry forced Dumbledore to admit that he’d be pulling strings to send Harry back to a bad home. Since clearly the headmaster wasn’t about to change his mind.
“Can you tell me why?” he said instead.
Dumbledore looked relieved. “There are blood wards linked to the Dursley home, Harry, erected with old, powerful magic when your mother died in an effort to save both you and Jules from Voldemort. They are tied to her sister and to you. As long as either you or Jules calls that place home, the wards will stay, and the both of you will have a last resort safe house to retreat to in the event of an emergency.”
Harry pictured himself and Jules hiding in the house while the Dursleys went about their business and Death Eaters tried to break the wards, and winced. This was just seven kinds of stupid as far as he could tell. “I lived there for ten years, sir. Surely Jules could call the Dursleys’ house home for this summer and keep the wards up.”
He knew it wouldn’t work, but Dumbledore’s reaction would be telling.
“Ah, Harry, if only it were that simple. I’m afraid Jules needs to go to his training,” Dumbledore said. So bloody kind. “And the logistics alone of retrieving and returning him to Number 4, Privet Drive every day would be a nightmare, and nothing the Dursleys would appreciate. No, it’s far simpler for you to continue on as you have.”
Translation: Jules was still more important than Harry, he’d always be more important, his privileges trumped all of Harry’s needs, never mind Harry’s psychological welfare as long as Jules got to his bloody training—
“How long, sir?”
Dumbledore blinked. “I’m sorry, my boy?”
“How long do I have to stay with the Dursleys this summer to keep the wards active?”
“I must say I… am not entirely sure.” Dumbledore was examining him more closely now. Harry clearly wasn’t what he’d expected to be dealing with. He could go to hell. Harry had spent ten years being a slave to stupid people and he was done being what others expected him to be. “Three weeks, I believe would be… sufficient.”
“I will stay three,” Harry said. “After that I’ve done my part for the Boy Who Lived’s welfare, and I’m free to live where I want. With my father’s awareness, of course.”
“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed, still watching Harry. The twinkle was gone, replaced by a hard craftiness that reminded Harry this man was probably the greatest wizard alive. “That seems entirely reasonable. I should also inform you that I will have watchers assigned the house, to make sure you are safe.”
You mean to spy on me, since if these wards are so great it’s about the safest I can be from Death Eaters and you clearly don’t care about my aunt and uncle. Harry sent Dumbledore his best charming, polite, and sweet smile. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Was that all?”
“Indeed it was,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Have a pleasant summer, Harry.”
“I’ll do my best.” No thanks to you.
“Good afternoon, Albus,” Snape said, and then he and Harry left.
It took most of the walk back down to the dungeons for Harry to get his anger under control and not feel like hexing the next thing that annoyed him into pieces.
“Thank you, sir,” he said when they passed Snape’s office, expecting this was the last time he’d see the professor until the next term.
“Mr. Potter.”
Harry turned back. “Sir?”
Snape had paused outside his office, expression unreadable, as always. “I confess, when you were Sorted, I thought it… some kind of cosmic joke. However… it seems there is hope for you in Slytherin yet. Do not forget to owl me if you need.”
He jerked his head and billowed into his office. The door slammed. Harry stared at it, mouth open. Had Snape just approved of him? After a year of cold glares and refusing to compliment Harry’s near-perfect potions?
Feeling just a little bit lighter, Harry headed for the common room.
Blaise and Theo took the news about as well as he’d expected. Both were furious and spent a solid five minutes inventing creative insults for Dumbledore. This was somewhat therapeutic but didn’t actually solve anything. Harry let them blow it off and started planning. They agreed to write each other during the weeks Harry was at the Dursleys and once he moved to either Potter Manor or Longbottom Manor, they’d pick their summer spell practice up, and hopefully rope some of their other friends into it.
“Wait,” Theo said with sudden horror just when Harry thought they’d gotten it all settled. “If Dumbledore’s got watchers—you can’t use wandless magic. You don’t know how close attention they’re paying—if it’s a house-elf, it could shadow you day and night and never be seen!”
“Well that’s just all kinds of creepy,” Harry snarled, rubbing his forehead. He’d been counting on using wandless magic to evade the Trace and intimidate the Dursleys into treating him more like an actual human being. “Not to mention bloody frustrating.”
Blaise shook his head in disgust. “A school headmaster shouldn’t have this much influence.”
“He’d provide a better service to the students walking around and using his beard as a boot brush to shine our shoes than leading the school!” Theo said, and they were off again.
Even Hermione and Neville’s confidence in Dumbledore was shaken when Harry told them. He probably shouldn’t have felt vindicated by that, but he did. Hermione promised to write him and even hugged him when she found out, which Harry allowed even though it made him as tense as a board. Neville seemed to have a hard time processing the fact that Dumbledore was doing something that didn’t line up with the Paragon of Wisdom and Kindness that seemed to be the overwhelming Gryffindor view of him, but he insisted Harry could come to the Longbottom Manor at any point over the summer. “You got me through Potions this year, I’m pretty sure Snape would’ve given me a breakdown without your help,” he said. “Even if we weren’t friends, I’d owe you for that. And we are friends. So. You can come. I mean, if you want—I know you’d probably rather be with Theo or Blaise—”
Harry assured him that he did want to, and believed he’d have just as much fun with Neville as with one of the other boys, relieved that he and Neville both seemed a little anxious about this. Then Lisa and Pansy and Blaise dragged them into a game of Truth or Dare in a dusty disused fourth-floor corridor to celebrate the last night before they went home.
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