When Harry entered the kitchen the next morning, an awkward hush descended over the gathered occupants. He stifled a grimace, though a glimmer of satisfaction rose within him. Good; let them feel guilty after his outburst the night before. They deserved it.
He almost made a beeline towards Remus — at Seren Du, the morning often began with the werewolf handing him a cup of tea and ruffling his hair, telling him the training plan for that day while Harry let the caffeine drag him into wakefulness. But he couldn't do that here; not only would there be no training, but as far as most of the people in the room were concerned, Harry had barely interacted with Remus since the man had left his teaching post.
Luckily, Sirius was stood by the kettle, and offered up a steaming mug with a half-smile. "Morning, pup," he greeted.
"Sit down, Harry dear — eat up! You must be starving!" Mrs Weasley insisted, then froze at her choice of words. "Do you want bacon or sausages? Or both! I'll put both on; growing boys need their protein!" Her slightly-too-high voice made Harry wince.
She put the plate at the empty setting beside Ron, and once again Harry moved it over to sit by the twins instead. Mrs Weasley pursed her lips at that, but didn't say anything.
Harry wondered how long everyone was going to be walking on eggshells around him, after last night. Maybe if he was lucky, he could have them keeping their distance until school started up.
"Did you sleep alright, Harry?" Remus asked, a knowing glint in his eyes. Harry shrugged.
"Well enough." He gave the man a weighted look; no nightmares. Something in Remus' shoulders relaxed.
"Glad to hear my old posters didn't scare you off," Sirius joked. Harry snickered.
"I'm just glad they don't move," he replied dryly.
"There's still the other bed in my room, mate," Ron piped up around a mouthful of fried egg.
"No, thanks. I'm fine where I am," Harry assured evenly.
The awkward silence continued; no one really seemed to know what to say, whether to Harry or to anyone else. Eventually it was broken by Ron's eyebrows suddenly turning bright pink, growing out rapidly until they were two enormous bushy caterpillars on his face, taking up most of his forehead. The twins smirked and high-fived each other, and Harry burst out laughing.
"Oi!" Ron slapped a hand up to his face, feeling the overlarge brows with a wide-eyed look of panic. Mrs Weasley glared at the twins.
"Boys! Honestly, what have I told you about magic at the table?" She pulled her wand and tapped Ron's forehead, attempting to end the spell.
There was a beat, and then the eyebrows shuddered — before blooming into glittery pink flowers. Ginny screeched with laughter, and even Remus' neutral expression cracked. Ron's panic grew.
"What happened? What did they do?" He had both hands up now to cover his eyebrows, while Hermione tried to pull them away so she could get a closer look.
"Fred! George!" Mrs Weasley barked menacingly. The twins held their hands up.
"It'll go away on its own!" George promised.
"I think they're rather fetching," Fred agreed, yelping when the wooden spoon was brought out. "Ow, Mum! It's just a bit of fun!"
"You'd think being old enough to use magic outside of school would make you a bit more responsible with it!" Mrs Weasley scolded. Personally, Harry didn't see what the problem was; it wasn't hurting Ron, and the twins wouldn't use any magic they couldn't counter. It wasn't like they'd burned his eyebrows off or anything!
"Leave them be, Molly. It's a great bit of magic," Sirius complimented, giving the twins a thumbs up. That just seemed to increase Mrs Weasley's wrath.
"Don't you go encouraging them, Sirius Black — they'll get themselves in trouble if they carry on the way they're going. You of all people should know better!"
"I of all people?" Sirius repeated indignantly. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
Mrs Weasley's lips thinned, but she didn't say anything.
"Let's all just calm down," Remus soothed, resting a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Ronald, I'm sure your eyebrows will be back to normal in no time. If not, I'm sure the twins would be happy to correct it. Molly, the boys are just having a bit of harmless fun; with all the serious discussions going on lately, I can't really blame them."
"Hermione, leave it," Ron grumbled, batting her hands away from his face. "You can't do anything anyway."
"Speaking of serious discussions," Harry cut in loudly, figuring now was as good a time as any. "When's the next Order meeting? It sounds like I've got a lot of information to catch up on." He was done with being kept in the dark to 'allow time to grieve'. The Order didn't know how much he was aware of, but he refused to let them continue pushing him aside until it was time for him to face Voldemort again.
"See!" Sirius barked triumphantly. "I told you he'd want to be involved."
"Harry, dear, don't be silly; you're far too young to be in the Order," Mrs Weasley dismissed, ignoring Sirius entirely. "You don't need to be involved in all that."
"I think I'm already involved," Harry pointed out. "If someone's sending dementors after me, I want to know what else to expect!"
"You're safe here — this place is unplottable, and under Fidelius. No one will get to you here," Mrs Weasley assured him. "You just relax and enjoy the rest of your summer, dear."
"Yeah, okay, I'll relax here while someone might be sending another dementor after my aunt and uncle, or worse," Harry snapped back, unable to help himself. "And what about when I get to school? I won't be safe there!"
"That's ridiculous; Hogwarts is the safest place in the world."
"Cedric Diggory died last year!" Harry was up on his feet, hands slamming against the table. You could've heard a pin drop in the wake of his explosion. "Both of us were kidnapped by a Death Eater who had been teaching us the entire year without anyone noticing. The year before that, there were dementors crawling all over the castle. Before that, a massive basilisk! And before that, literal Voldemort possessing a teacher. Hogwarts has never been safe, and I want to know what's going on. I've gone all summer without a scrap of information — not so much as a bloody quidditch score!"
"You had your Wireless," Ron pointed out. Harry glared at him.
"You know damn well the Dursleys lock my trunk under the stairs the day they get me home from the station. I barely managed to smuggle my homework out — if they'd heard a radio in my room, I'd have been dead." Once again, everyone winced at the reminder of his life with his muggle relatives. Harry couldn't bring himself to feel remotely bad about brigning it up again.
"You don't need to go looking for trouble," Mrs Weasley tried to soothe. "You've got exams to focus on."
"Surely it's easier not to go looking for trouble if I know where the trouble is to begin with?" Harry pointed out. She didn't seem to have an answer for that one, face reddening as she stuttered objections.
"The Order is for adults, Harry," she said eventually, folding her arms over her chest.
"I think Harry's close enough, after everything he's been through," Sirius retorted. "Why shouldn't he be allowed to sit in? He deserves to know what Voldemort's up to, especially when it involves him!"
"He's just a boy!" Mrs Weasley argued, turning on Sirius now. "You're supposed to have his best interests at heart, not be sending him off to war before he's even taken his OWLs!"
"I'm not saying we start sending him out on missions, for Merlin's sake!" Sirius exclaimed. "I just think he deserves to hear what's going on!"
"If Harry gets to go to meetings, I want to go as well," Ron demanded. Mrs Weasley whirled around to glare at him.
"None of you children are attending Order meetings, and that's final!" she screeched. "If you don't like it, take it up with Dumbledore; I'm sure he'll agree with me."
Harry scowled — there was no way in hell Dumbledore would allow Harry to go to Order meetings. He needed his little pawn as oblivious as possible.
Sirius was scowling too, and even Remus looked unimpressed by the whole argument. Some of Harry's ire cooled — they would both tell him anything he needed to know.
It was just frustrating, to know that he was closer to the action than ever, and yet still expected to keep his head down and pretend to be an ordinary teenage boy without a care in the world. He couldn't even take his frustrations out on Snape in a duel, or on the quidditch pitch. God, he missed home already.
.-.-.
Apparently, while Harry and the other teenage members of the household were too young to be part of the Order, they weren't too young to be put to work in making the house habitable for said Order. After breakfast he was handed a rag and a spray bottle, and sent with Ron and Hermione up to the drawing room, where they were told to clear out the china cabinet and check for infestation.
"Infestation of what?" Harry asked with a grimace of disgust. Hermione pursed her lips.
"Doxies. We got most of them out of the curtains yesterday before you got here, but there might be more hiding elsewhere." She opened the china cabinet, coughing at the swirl of dust it sent up. "Watch your fingers, boys; some of this stuff might be cursed."
The shelves of the cabinet were full of all sorts of odds and ends; small weapons, tarnished silver boxes, several crystal potion vials with curious-looking contents, and even a coiled snakeskin.
Harry watched Hermione use her rag to pick up one of the boxes, tossing it into a rubbish bag. His brows furrowed — if they were potentially cursed, surely they shouldn't be touching them? At the very least, they should have wands ready. Neither Hermione nor Ron even had theirs with them.
Surely they didn't think their magic would be traced here? The house was unplottable!
But as he kept watching, neither of them used so much as a Shield charm. "If this stuff is dangerous, surely someone old enough to use magic should be dealing with it?" he said cautiously. Hermione glanced over at him.
"They're busy with the important things, Harry," she told him, voice dripping with condescension. "Besides, Mrs Weasley scanned it yesterday and said it's probably fine, we just have to be careful."
"We've dealt with worse," Ron agreed. Harry bit his tongue against the retort that they had dealt with worse with their wands. If anything truly tried to get at him, he could always use wandless magic. Still, as he got stuck in with removing items from the cabinet, he had to wonder what kind of scan Mrs Weasley had done; some of these things were dripping with dark magic. Ron yelped as a snuff box tried to bite his finger off, flinging it into the rubbish bag.
Harry pulled out a large silver serving tray embossed with the Black family crest, and looked around. "Is there somewhere Sirius wants us to put this stuff?"
"Mum said just chuck it all," Ron dismissed. "It's all dark — not like Sirius has any use for it anymore, is it?" He snorted.
At his sides, Harry's fists clenched. "Did she ask Sirius that?" These things were family heirlooms, centuries old. They were the Black family legacy — Harry's family legacy. It wasn't even cursed, it was just a serving tray!
"Sirius hates this house," Hermione told him. "He doesn't want anything to do with his family."
That didn't sound like something Sirius would say — since he'd learned Harry was his heir, he'd become determined to redeem the Black family name eventually, no matter what it took.
But Harry didn't want to cause yet another argument, so he reluctantly put the tray in the bin bag, and turned back to the cabinet.
He frowned, recoiling — in the corner of the cabinet, tucked away behind a vase Hermione had just removed, was a gold locket with the letter S embossed on the front. And it was full of dark magic — familiar dark magic.
It carried the same oily, disgusting feeling as the magic in Harry's scar.
His heart leapt into his throat. Carefully, with the rag covering his hand, Harry reached for the locket. It didn't seem to react when he picked it up, but he could feel the magic brushing up against his own like he'd had a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He shuddered, then glanced up at Ron and Hermione, who were bickering over a crystal bottle that Ron was insisting contained blood.
While they were distracted, Harry put the rag-wrapped locket into his trouser pocket, resolutely trying to ignore the magic rolling off it in waves.
He'd get a closer look at it later, in his room. But in the back of his mind, there was a sinking certainty that he already knew what it was.
The question was, how the hell had it ended up here?
.-.
Once they had the cabinet completely empty — something that took several hours, and more than a couple of close calls with cursed objects — Hermione insisted they move it to check for doxies nesting behind it. Just as they were getting ready to pick up the heavy piece of furniture, the drawing room door opened.
"Lunch is— whoa, whoa, what are you three doing?" It was Bill Weasley, whose eyes went wide in alarm at the sight of them.
"Clearing the cabinet, like Mum said," Ron replied with a shrug. "Thought we'd check it for doxies."
Bill's gaze flicked from the cabinet, to the bulging rubbish bag, to Harry — who gave a discreet nod and a pointed glance, expressing his own feelings on the matter. "I told Mum I'd deal with that!" Bill fussed, waving his wand and raising a shield over the rubbish bag. "Bloody hell, what was she thinking? You three could've been killed!"
"We were fine!" Ron argued.
"None of you should be touching anything in this damned house without an adult present! There's all manner of curses on all sorts of things! Tonks and I found a hairbrush that was enchanted to take a bite out of your skull the other day, just lying on a shelf!" Ron paled, and Hermione gasped.
"But— but Mrs Weasley said it was all safe, she'd checked it," she said, voice wobbling.
Again, Bill's eyes moved to Harry, who shook his head ever so slightly. The cabinet contents was not safe.
"It's not your fault," Bill assured. "I just need to have a word with Mum about the kind of jobs she's giving you lot. Bloody hell. Anyway, leave that thing where it is — lunch is ready. Also, hi, Harry; good to see you."
"Hi, Bill," Harry greeted, as if he hadn't already seen the redhead that summer. "The twins mentioned you were around." He paused for a moment — he didn't want to raise suspicions, but he really didn't want to go to lunch with that thing in his pocket. "Hey, can I borrow you for a second? There's a locked drawer in the desk in the room I'm staying in, Sirius says he can't remember being the one to lock it and he thought we should get you to take a look first. Just in case." Bill frowned, then caught the insistent look in Harry's eyes, and nodded. "Yeah, no problem; I'm sure it'll only take a second. You two go on ahead, tell Mum we'll catch up," he said to Ron and Hermione. Ron, not ever one to miss a meal, dragged a protesting Hermione down the stairs, while Harry led the way to his bedroom. When they were inside, he warded the door.
"There's not actually a locked drawer in the desk, is there?" Bill presumed, glancing at the desk in question. Harry grinned lopsidedly.
"There is, but Sirius knows exactly what's in there, and he says I won't open it if I know what's good for me," he replied dryly, chuckling at Bill's look of mild disgust. "No, I wanted to show you this — I found it in that cabinet we were clearing out." Carefully, he dug the locket out and set it on the desk, nudging the rag away so Bill could see it clearly. "It has the same magic as my scar, Bill. I think it's another horcrux."
"Another?" Bill asked, aghast. "You think he made more than just you?"
"I wouldn't put it past him." Voldemort had already more than proved he was willing to take an innocent life. "Even if it's not, it feels awful and needs destroying, but I really think it is, Bill."
Bill scanned it with several spells, his expression growing more and more grave. "I think you're right, mate." Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, Bill pulled out a dragonhide bag, and levitated the locket inside it. Immediately, Harry felt the pressure of the magic ease off. "There; that'll keep it protected until I can get it back to work, do some investigating. I'll take care of it, don't worry, Harry." He pocketed the bag again, then clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about your cousin, by the way. Awful stuff."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, heart clenching briefly. "S'pose you've heard it's all being swept under the rug."
"Merlin forbid the Ministry take responsibility for anything," Bill retorted wryly. "But they'll get theirs, eventually. Once the right people are in power." He squeezed Harry's shoulder, nudging him towards the door. "Come on; if we don't hurry up, Ron'll have eaten everything."
Harry snorted — even Ron might struggle with the amount of food Mrs Weasley cooked in this house, never sure how many people she'd be feeding. But he was hungry, so he let Bill lead the way down to the kitchen, both of them tip-toeing past Mrs Black's portrait.
While they ate, Bill tried as tactfully as possible to tell his mother the kids shouldn't be dealing with cursed objects unsupervised.
"Well there's only so much cleaning they can do without their wands," was her response, and Bill grimaced.
"Maybe they shouldn't be cleaning, either?" he suggested. Clearly he wasn't going to point out that they could definitely use magic without getting into trouble — Harry wondered if Mrs Weasley had forbidden everyone from revealing that fact to Ron, Ginny and Hermione. "It's the summer, Mum. Just let them relax."
"The kids have plenty of time to relax as well, Bill, don't worry," Mrs Weasley assured. "But if I didn't give them anything to do, Merlin only knows what sort of trouble they'd get into!" She laughed, shaking her head. "Though I do see what you mean about the cursed cabinets; they can stick to taking down wallpaper until they're back at school. There's certainly plenty of it that needs to go!"
Harry glanced over at Sirius — he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation, reading over a piece of parchment with Tonks.
After a month of sharing the house with the Weasleys, he'd probably just given up arguing. Harry would have, too.
He ducked out quickly after finishing his lunch, ignoring Hermione's call to go over their summer work together. He caught up to Sirius, who was headed up to his own room. "What's up, pup?" the animagus asked, offering a grin. Harry shrugged.
"Feel like I've hardly seen you since I got here." He didn't say much more — he was uncomfortably aware of the number of portraits on the walls, watching their progression up the stairs. Their painted gazes burned into the back of his head, and he wondered how many of them were loyal to the head of the Black family. Probably not enough to make it safe to talk.
"I know what you mean," Sirius agreed. "Why don't I help you get your room together? Move the last of my teenage crap out of there!"
Harry was glad his godfather seemed to get the hint, and the pair of them headed to Harry's room, immediately throwing up wards. "You alright, kid?" Sirius, asked, concerned. Harry sighed.
"Fine. Just… wishing I was back at Seren Du."
"Tell me about it," Sirius hummed sympathetically. "How was your morning? Were Ron and Hermione awful?"
"Honestly they barely talk to me most of the time. I don't think they're trying very hard to still be friends with me." Perhaps they'd gotten too used to not having him around.
While Sirius fired random spells at the scantily-clad women on the wall, hoping to unstick them, Harry told him all about the cabinet adventures from the morning, as well as the locket he'd given to Bill. Sirius' face went dark.
"Bet it was bloody Reggie," he muttered. Harry eyed him quizzically. "My little brother, Regulus; he was a Death Eater. Died when he was eighteen — either he fucked up something important, or he tried to run, we were never sure. There was never a body recovered; he just showed up as dead on the family tapestry one morning. Little idiot." His mouth was scowling, but his eyes were sad. Harry's heart ached — eighteen was far too young to be serving a Dark Lord, let alone dying from it.
"You think Voldemort gave him the horcrux? What, to look after?"
"This house is safer than most places," Sirius pointed out. "It'd be a good place for it. Y'know, if I hadn't come along," he added with a sharp grin. "Or maybe old Voldie hid it here himself — he certainly visited plenty, my mum thought he was brilliant. He could've tucked it away and left no one the wiser." He shook his head, like he was trying to shake off memories. "Lucky you found it, then. Bill'll take care of it. Just add it to the pile of shit from this house I'm paying for the goblins to destroy."
"I— Ron said Mrs Weasley told them to just chuck everything out. Even the stuff that isn't cursed."
Sirius' smile grew twisted. "Oh, I'm sure she did. Easy to be careless with things when they don't belong to you, isn't it?" He looked up at Harry, and his gaze softened. "Don't worry, pup. Molly thinks I'm disposing of all the rubbish bags as she sets them aside to be chucked. Really I'm going through them with Moony and Ceri — the cursed stuff needs properly managing, and anything worth keeping is going to the family heirloom vault, just in case you want it when you're older. Or your boyfriend does," he added with a wink. "Him and Cissa have as much of a right to it as we do, I think."
Harry's shoulders slumped in relief. "Good. I thought — I know you've got bad memories of your family," he said cautiously. "I didn't know if that would extend to the things they used to own."
"The Black family wasn't always awful," Sirius told him. "It's just in the last century or so — a bunch of them got mixed up with Grindelwald, and it all went downhill from there. But a few generations of shite shouldn't make the whole family a write-off. And I'll be damned if I let Mundungus bloody Fletcher make money from selling my family silverware," he added with a growl.
"Seriously? He tried that?" Harry asked incredulously, outrage brewing when Sirius nodded. "Why is this Fletcher bloke even in the Order? He sounds useless."
"He's Dumbledore's contact in the less reputable parts of the magical community," Sirius quoted with a roll of his eyes. "As if he's even good at that. Idiot's useless in a fight, has double-crossed half the dodgy dealers in the country, and can't be trusted as far as you can throw him. But Albus insists he's useful, so he stays. Merlin only knows what plans the old goat has for him."
Harry scowled. He'd like to be given five minutes alone with Fletcher.
He pushed the bloodthirsty urges away, grinning when a spell from Sirius had all the posters fluttering to the ground.
"There we go!" the animagus cheered, vanishing the posters with a flick of his wand. "Knew I'd get there eventually." He turned to Harry, winking. "You can put up pictures of sexy boys now, if you want."
"I think I'll pass, thanks," Harry said with a snort.
"Hmm, yeah; don't want Draco getting jealous," Sirius teased, yelping when Harry shot a Stinging hex at him. "Oi! You've gotten far too used to doing magic whenever you want."
"I haven't done any in front of the others, don't worry," Harry assured. "They still think they'll get in trouble. Has no one explained to them how the trace laws work?"
Sirius shrugged. "They're Molly's kids. If she doesn't want them doing magic, that's her problem. Don't see why she's so determined to lie to them, though; they'd be able to clean much faster with magic."
"Wouldn't we just," Harry groused. "It's like being back at the bloody Dursleys. I thought you said every Black property had a house elf?"
A dark look flickered across Sirius' face. "There is technically a house elf bound to this house. His name is Kreacher. But he's mad as a box of monkeys and dangerously obsessed with my mum and the darker side of the family — I didn't think it'd be safe to have him around with the Order needing secrecy and everything. So I sent him off to one of the unoccupied Black properties where he couldn't do any harm."
"Why didn't you bring Ceri here?"
"And give Dumbledore access to a good Black house elf?" Sirius retorted. "Worse, give Molly access to one of my elves? She'd be bossing poor Ceri around like she was the head of the damn family — she's certainly got no trouble doing so to me and every other bugger under this roof. Conveniently forgetting it's my roof and I allow her and her family to live under it. Besides," he smirked a Marauder-ish smirk, "cleaning the house by hand is giving everyone something to do. Made it easier for me to come see you at Seren Du if they were all occupied. Dumbledore and Molly are the ones who want it clean and empty of cursed objects — it certainly doesn't bother me any. I grew up surrounded by all this filth, and it's still cleaner than Azkaban." He winked at Harry. "I'm not gonna be here any more than I have to be, pup. But if they want to slave away with rags and such to make this place presentable, they can be my guests."
Harry snickered to himself. "So you do know how to be a bit Slytherin when it suits you," he accused playfully. Sirius' answering grin was devious.
"Don't know what you're talking about, pup," he replied drily. "I am the very epitome of a Gryffindor."
"Just as much as I am."
"Exactly," Sirius agreed, grinning. Harry couldn't help but grin back.
At least he had allies, in this awful house. He could survive the next few weeks.
.-.-.
That night, Harry made sure the house was quiet and his door was warded before he pulled a small silver mirror from his bedside drawer and propped it up on his knees. "Draco Malfoy," he murmured quietly. It took a few beats, but soon Draco was staring back at him through the glass. Just seeing him made Harry's heart stutter, warmth flooding to his fingertips.
"Where are you now?" Draco asked, eyeing him curiously. "That isn't the muggles' place."
"I can't tell you where," Harry told him. "Like, physically cannot tell you." Understanding dawned in Draco's silver gaze.
"You're with them, then? Dumbledore's lot?"
"Unfortunately," Harry sighed. "It's nice to see the twins and Ginny again, but…"
"But you're also stuck with Weasel and Granger," Draco finished knowingly. "Are they being awful?"
"Not actually as bad as I expected, honestly. It's mostly Ron's mum trying to push us together even when everyone else can see we're not friends anymore." Thanks to Mrs Weasley's meddling, he'd been forced to eat dinner sat between Ron and Hermione. He'd survived mostly by ignoring them entirely and talking to Ginny, who was sat opposite. To their credit, Ron and Hermione didn't seem keen to talk to him either. "I think they realised they went too far with ignoring me all summer. After I maybe yelled at them a bit."
One of Draco's pale eyebrows rose, and Harry filled him in on his little tantrum the other night. By the end of it, Draco was biting his lip to keep from laughing. "And you say I'm dramatic," he teased, shaking his head.
"You can't say they didn't deserve it," Harry argued, blushing.
"Oh, that and far more — I'd have hexed them all for leaving you alone like that." There was a protectiveness to his tone that made Harry blush harder, though for entirely different reasons. "Still, be careful; you don't want to alienate yourself from them entirely, not this early in the game. You don't know what the headmaster is expecting of you."
Harry scowled — Merlin, he wished he didn't still have to play Dumbledore's stupid game. "I know," he assured. "But it's fine if he thinks I'm naturally shedding the Compulsions; apparently that's normal during puberty, especially after traumatic events. Remus says so," he added with a fond roll of his eyes. "As long as I can get through the year with him thinking I still trust him — and thinking I don't know much more than he's allowed for me to find out — I should be alright."
It was a tricky line to walk, especially when all he wanted to do was hex the man into oblivion, but until Harry was in a better position to fight, he had to play it safe.
And with the discovery of a second horcrux — neither of which he'd told Draco about, just to be safe — he had no idea how long it would take to be ready to fight Voldemort. He just hoped he could hang on that long.
"You're putting a whole lot of faith in Dumbledore assuming you can't outwit him," Draco said, his expression showing just how unhappy that made him. Harry offered the blond a smile.
"Draco, Dumbledore assumes no one can outwit him. He's spent years believing himself to be infallible — he's not going to lose sleep over a fifteen year-old boy who just seems to be going through a bit of teenage angst. The worst he'll do is make Ron and Hermione stick to me like glue once we're back at school."
"They'd better not," Draco muttered with a scowl. "I'm not going a whole year with only our public facade. Even the study group don't know the truth."
"We'll figure something out," Harry promised. "I won't let that happen." He wouldn't survive the school year if he couldn't meet with Draco in private. He'd go mad before Christmas. "Besides, you're the one who should be careful. You're the one with a bloody Dark Lord in your house."
Draco made a face. "Don't remind me."
"How bad is it?" Draco opened his mouth, and Harry gave him a pointed look. "Honestly."
The Slytherin sighed. "It's… bearable. Obviously, I hate it," he added. "But I'll survive. I'm more worried about Mother — she's expected to be an active participant in whatever that madman requires. I just have to keep to myself, and agree with every word he says at mealtimes."
Harry bit his lip. "It's only a few more weeks."
"For me," Draco replied. "Not for Mother."
Heart aching, Harry wished he could reach through the mirror and hold his boyfriend close, kiss away the pained expression in his eyes. "She knows she has options," he said instead. "She's making her own choices, and she won't tackle more than she can handle. Your mum is strong, Draco."
"She shouldn't have to be!" Draco burst out angrily. "Not in her own damn house!"
"I know." God, he hated that it was three weeks before he'd see Draco again. Hated there was nothing he could do to help.
"If anything happens to her, Harry…" Draco trailed off, fear on his face.
"We won't let it," Harry assured softly.
They both knew he couldn't control that. But if it helped Draco, Harry would happily pretend.
.-.-.-.
The sight of Seren Du up ahead of him made Remus' shoulders relax, even as guilt wormed its way through him at the same time. He felt bad, being so happy to be home when Sirius and Harry were stuck at Grimmauld.
But in his defence, his happiness was less about the place and more about the person within.
He found Severus in the smaller living room; the more private one that they liked to use when they wanted to be alone somewhere that wasn't their bedroom. The Slytherin looked up, sympathy veiled in his dark gaze.
"You do not want to be in that house right now. Hell, I'm glad I'm not in that house right now," Remus declared, dropping onto the sofa beside his partner. He had only stopped in for a couple of hours — dinner, and a little time after — but that was enough for the tension to wrap its way around him, making his hackles rise and his mind itch in the corner where the wolf lived. It wasn't just about Harry, either; the way Molly was treating Sirius made him want to yell at the woman, and while some of that was the approaching full moon, a lot of it was just his own frustration. Did she not realise what she was doing to Sirius?? She was lucky he was in a much better mental state than he was pretending to be, or she'd be driving him right to do something reckless just to get away from the house; away from her.
Maybe that was the point, he thought with a scowl.
"I can imagine, after the things Potter let slip on his arrival," Severus said with a faint frown. He had left by that point, but Remus had told him everything that had happened over dinner and after. Everything they'd been able to fill in the gaps about, regarding Harry's home life.
"I swear," Remus growled, eyes flashing gold, "if I ever see Petunia again…"
"She is not worth your anger," Severus told him, lips quirking ruefully. "Believe me. I have known that woman since she was a girl, and quite frankly she is worth very little indeed. Her husband… he is worth even less, but deserves a lot more," he snarled dangerously. The murderous glint in his eyes might have frightened another, but Remus could only agree with it. To know those people had treated his cub like that.
"At least he's away from them. He has us, now." Remus scowled briefly, knee bouncing restlessly. "It would be better if we could get him away from Molly and Dumbledore, too, but… it's a step."
"Indeed. And while there may be some less than ideal company at Grimmauld, at least he will have the three redheaded demons he actually likes. And Black," Severus added, far less contempt in his tone than there might have been a year ago. Remus grinned.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and a heat flickered within him. There was a much more productive use for his restless energy, here.
"Meanwhile, the two of us get this place to ourselves," he drawled playfully, intentions clear. Severus' eyes darkened, his gaze trailing over Remus' form. Remus hadn't exactly been aiming for this when he'd come home, but it was a much better way of relieving his tension than punching or cursing something. And it seemed Severus wasn't too adverse, either.
"That is a benefit," the Slytherin agreed, setting his book aside. Remus pounced, sliding a hand into that fine dark hair and pulling Severus into a heated kiss. Severus didn't go easily, pushing back, dominating the kiss and swiftly moving both of them until Remus was pinned back against the arm of the sofa. "You're sure no one else is coming home?" Severus asked, and Remus smirked.
"Nope," he said, popping the p. "Just us, all night, I promise." The look in Severus' eyes made his blood race, and he reached up to undo his tie, tossing it to the floor. Severus' long, talented fingers were already working on the buttons of Remus' shirt.
Remus wasn't letting himself be the only naked person in the room, and he hurried to match Severus button for button, peeling the black shirt off his lover's pale skin. The firelight cast long shadows over them, highlighting the dips of Severus' collarbones and the flex of his arms. Remus bit his shoulder lightly, feeling the man's hips jerk against him.
"What are you after, wolf?" Severus growled, and Remus smirked; what an excellent question to be offered.
"Whatever you're willing to give me," he returned, relaxing back against the sofa. Severus wasn't often the more aggressive one of the two of them, but sometimes Remus needed to be taken out of his own head before the tension within him ate him alive, and his Slytherin was excellent at that.
Dark eyes brightened with arousal, and Severus reached for his wand. Within moments the pair of them were naked, and Remus' breath hitched as cool air hit his flushed arousal. Then Severus' body was over his, pressing hard against him, those amazing hands wrapping around his cock as lips hungrily devoured his own.
As the kiss deepened, they both realised it wasn't quite enough. Parting with a ragged gasp from Remus, Severus stood, and Remus had a split second to admire his naked form before he too was being pulled to his feet. He wondered if they were moving it to the bedroom — and then Severus firmly but gently manoeuvred them both down onto the plush rug, straddling Remus' hips. Remus smirked. "In front of the fire? Such a cliche," he teased, arching up as Severus grabbed his hands and raised them over his head, pinning them to the floor with one hand. Remus whined, arousal shooting sharp through him; with his werewolf strength he could easily break Severus' hold if he wanted to, flip them over and change the dynamic, but half the fun was letting Severus pin him down like this. Besides; Severus knew spells that would keep Remus in place, if he really didn't want him moving. This was more for show, but it was enough.
Severus was methodical as he kissed his way down Remus' body, avoiding the one place Remus wished he'd touch most. But then he summoned a vial seemingly out of nowhere, and Remus didn't mind at all, amber eyes glowing as a pillow was shoved unceremoniously under his hips.
There was no holding back between them; Severus knew exactly how to make him fall apart, driving into Remus with abandon, every thrust utterly perfect as stars burst behind Remus' eyelids. Remus couldn't remember what he'd been angry about, could barely remember his own name, all that mattered was Severus inside him, over him, holding him down and fucking him. He came with a loud shout, and Severus followed not long after with one last powerful thrust, his hand almost painfully tight around Remus' wrists as he rode out his orgasm. When he was finally ready to move, he pulled out and leaned down for a hard kiss. "Better?" he growled, and Remus chuckled breathlessly.
"Perfect," he sighed, whole body feeling sluggish. "Fuck. I needed that." They'd both been tense lately, with Severus now back at Death Eater meetings and both of them having to deal with Dumbledore and the Order. Remus realised belatedly that they'd hardly had any time alone together in weeks — no wonder he was so wound up.
Severus helped him to a sitting position, pulling Remus into his lap, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. He massaged Remus' shoulders, soothing any aches that might have come from having his arms up like that. Remus leaned into him, humming softly. "I'm not that old and fragile," he teased, though he didn't move to stop his partner's ministrations. "You used to have to do a whole lot more than pin me down to hurt me." Merlin, some of the things they used to get up to… not all of the injuries Remus blamed on the full moon were actually due to the wolf. "And I used to be able to fuck you on the floor without my knees aching," Severus drawled in response. "Things change." Remus eyed him worriedly, but Severus shook his head ever so slightly. "I'm fine," he assured, softening into another kiss.
"Good. I'd hate to break you when we've just got the house to ourselves," Remus teased, earning a harder kiss and a bite to the lip.
"I do not break, wolf," Severus muttered, and Remus' eyes flashed.
"That sounds like a challenge," he replied flirtatiously, knowing that he was the only person in the whole world Severus would even consider doing anything that could be considered breaking for. It was a heady feeling indeed.
"Need I remind you, we are not eighteen anymore," Severus pointed out, fingers digging into Remus' shoulders. "If you're trying to get me going again, it's going to take considerably more time to recover." Then he glanced down between them. "Though evidently werewolf stamina counts for something."
Remus smirked, though he wasn't actually looking for a round two. "Not right now," he dismissed. "I'm just thinking, for the rest of the summer… both of us are going to need a hell of a lot of stress relief, with everything we've got ahead. Maybe I should take a shopping trip next week." There was a weight to his voice suggesting exactly what kind of shopping he had in mind, and he felt Severus tense.
"That… would not be a bad idea," the Slytherin agreed, and Remus felt triumph flare within him.
"For now, though, I think we should run the bath," he suggested, leaning back to stretch out his back. He wasn't ready to make Severus put clothes on, yet; a bath sounded like a perfect idea.
As they stood, Remus looked down at the pair of them, naked and still sticky with come and lube, some of the mess staining the rug. He snorted, shaking his head. "And you say we're not eighteen anymore," he joked lightly, raising one eyebrow. "Merlin. Well, thank God for this house; we couldn't do that at Grimmauld, or Hogwarts." Bless Sirius' family for being so fucking rich and pretentious, that there were living rooms with fireplaces he could have sex in front of like something out of a trashy period romance novel.
Severus looked up at him, amused. "Perhaps if we did, Albus would finally have that long-overdue heart attack," he said with false consideration. "Molly, too, if we timed it right."
Remus laughed, imagining what might happen if any of the Order could see what had just happened in that room.
Sometimes, he wished he could spill their secret, just to see the looks on their faces.
One day, the time would come. And he couldn't wait.