Winter had well and truly arrived, and with it, so had the Hogwarts quidditch season. To start things off with a bang, the first match of the year was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. A rivalry that seemed more tense than ever.
The whole Slytherin team were taking great pleasure in hexing the Gryffindor players in the hallways — or trying to, at least. After several weeks of HA meetings, the Gryffindors were light on their feet and quick on the draw; even Vicky Frobisher, their youngest member, had a speedy Shield charm these days.
Naturally, there were no repercussions to these attacks, even the ones that succeeded. Snape was practically encouraging them, and with Umbridge on the prowl no one else dared make much of a fuss. But the spells didn't bother Harry, nor did the whispered threats — he'd heard it all by this point.
Vicky seemed a little more wobbly at the constant taunts, but with the rest of the team at her back she soon learned to brush it off. "They're only doing this because they know we're better than them," Alicia told her one evening in the common room, when the team was gathered for a strategy meeting while a gale-force wind blew outside. "They can't beat us on skill, so they're trying to fake us out in the hopes we get sloppy."
"It's a bit sad, really," Angelina sighed, shaking her head. "Seventh years having to resort to threatening a third year girl just to try and win."
Vicky giggled, a little of the confidence returning to her eyes. Harry grinned at her.
Draco and Cassius, despite being the two actually decent human beings on the Slytherin team, had of course joined their teammates in the harassment like the good little future Death Eaters they were supposed to be. Harry probably wasn't supposed to find their attempts quite as funny as he did, though.
Especially as Draco seemed to have forgotten one tiny little detail.
The morning of the match was utterly freezing, but otherwise the weather was practically perfect quidditch conditions; still winds, no rain, and not too much glaring sunlight. Harry and the rest of the team headed down to the pitch after breakfast, in high spirits — it was going to be a good game, Harry could feel it.
Inside the changing rooms, they donned their robes and checked their broomsticks over, listening to the sounds of the steadily growing crowd in the stands outside. Harry glanced over at Vicky, who was getting a quiet pep talk from Angelina.
"How d'you think she'll do?" he asked Katie under his breath.
"I reckon she'll handle it," she replied, grinning. "It's hard, having our toughest match first, but she's done really well in training. She'll be fine." Then her grin faltered for the briefest second. "I hope she is, anyway; we're screwed if we have to replace her. The next best flier was Ron, and he was only good when no one was looking at him too closely."
Harry wrinkled his nose. Yes, he would rather not have Ron on the team; the redhead's attitude about quidditch since he hadn't made keeper had been appalling. He'd be absolutely insufferable if Angelina let him join now.
Vicky would be fine. He had faith in her.
If the points started looking rough, Harry would just make sure he caught the snitch quickly.
At last, it was time. Angelina gave a firm nod, and then they were striding out onto the pitch in single file. The Slytherins were already out there — which meant Harry got a perfect view of Draco's face when he saw Harry in his quidditch robes. And when he remembered the last time he'd seen him in his quidditch robes.
The blond's jaw tensed, his pale cheeks colouring as he tried valiantly not to react. Harry smirked at him, giving a fleeting wink. Draco's only response was a glare.
"What did you do to him?" George whispered in Harry's ear, amusement colouring his tone. The team captains shook hands, and Harry snickered.
"Tell you later."
As soon as the whistle blew, Draco was on his broom and speeding away from Harry. Harry took to the air, heart swooping in joy the way it always did when he flew. He did a quick lap, making sure to fly in front of Draco, bent low over the handle of his broom.
His boyfriend was going to kill him when the match was over.
Angelina might have belittled Slytherin's skill, but they had certainly brought their A game — both in ability, and in aggression. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be focusing all their efforts on disrupting Harry with bludgers, while the chasers were barely following the acceptable contact rules in their determination to keep the quaffle.
Alicia scored early, but it was followed all too soon by a goal from Montague. Harry let his eyes move to Vicky, concerned, but if anything the third-year was just more determined not to repeat her mistake.
Harry left her to it, returning to his hunt for the snitch.
The quaffle flew from one end of the pitch to the other dozens of times, goals being scored and saved from both teams. The occasional glance at Draco showed the blond had not yet seen the snitch, and also was resolutely not looking at Harry. Harry smirked to himself.
And then he saw it.
As promised, he was ahead of Draco in the dive, though not by far enough that the Slytherin was looking at his backside. His hand was only inches behind Harry's, but Harry was faster, his hand wrapping securely around the little gold ball. Pulling out of the dive and lifting his hand triumphantly, Harry turned to offer Draco a quip about following him — and his vision went white as a bludger hit him hard in the side.
He fell off his broom, luckily only about five feet off the ground anyway, and managed to keep one hand wrapped around the Firebolt on his way down. He landed sort-of on his feet, knees buckling immediately as pain throbbed through his side. "Harry!"
"Are you alright?"
He raised a placating hand to the girls as they surrounded him, looking past them to see Crabbe in the air with his beater's bat, looking smug and unrepentant — and the twins looking like they might kill him for it.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, and he wasn't even lying. It would bruise, but it didn't feel like there was any major damage. His body armour had caught the worst of it.
"He hit the bludger after the whistle went," Angelina accused, glaring at Crabbe, who was already receiving a stern talking to by Madam Hooch.
Harry looked back at Draco, who was white-faced with fury — not, Harry suspected, about losing the game, but about Crabbe's unsportsmanlike conduct. "I'm fine," Harry said again, directing his words at his teammates while his eyes were still on his boyfriend.
The Slytherins in the crowd were heckling and booing, but it didn't matter — Gryffindor had won. The rest of the team landed, Fred and George immediately crowding Vicky with praise, tweaking her ponytail and thumping her on the back proudly.
"That's the hardest match done," Katie declared happily. "We've got the cup in the bag this year!" They all whooped, and Harry did to, heading towards the changing room. He glanced over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Draco's eyes still on him — no longer angry, but hot and intent.
A shiver ran down Harry's spine, and he kept walking.
Angelina wasn't satisfied until Harry pulled off his shirt and armour to prove there was nothing more than a light bruise. "It'll be fine in a couple of days," he insisted. "I don't need to see Pomfrey." He had bruise balm in his room, courtesy of Snape, and that would clear it right up.
"Leave the man alone, love," Fred called jovially, "or I'll start worrying about how desperate you are to keep his top off."
Angelina rolled her eyes, throwing her wrist-guard at her boyfriend.
The twins, bless their devious hearts, seemed to notice that Harry was dragging his feet. They were in fine form, chattering away about the victory party, herding the girls out of the changing room and telling Harry not to take too long. George threw a salacious wink at him on his way out, and Harry felt himself go red.
Once he was sure he was the only one left in the changing rooms, he started to put his quidditch robes back on. He had a hunch.
And he was right — a few minutes later, he heard the door creak open. "That you, George?" Harry called loudly, a grin already on his face. The door shut, and a familiar voce muttered a Locking charm.
Draco rounded the corner, no longer wearing his own robe but still in the rest of his uniform, and he stalked across the room towards Harry. "You've got some nerve, Potter," he muttered, grabbing him by the front of the robes. He paused. "Crabbe didn't hurt you, did he?"
"Just a bruise," Harry assured; a bruise he couldn't even feel right now, considering the way all his blood was rushing to a very different part of his body. "Did you have a nice time watching my arse?" he asked cheekily.
Draco growled, pushing him back until Harry was up against the lockers, and the next thing he knew his mouth was being devoured.
Harry's fingers tangled in the soft wool of Draco's team jumper, pulling him close with a low moan. One of the blond's legs was firm between Harry's thighs, pressing up against his cock. He still smelled of sweat and leather, the intoxicating combination making Harry dizzy with lust.
"You look even fitter in these robes than you did last Christmas," Draco groaned. "God, you little shit, you knew exactly what you were doing when you walked out on that pitch. Exactly what I was remembering."
"This is better than outside the greenhouses," Harry shot back. "Less likely to get caught."
Draco's eyes darkened when he pulled away, fingers running down the laces of Harry's robe. "You'll be late to your own victory party," he said mock-sadly. Harry scoffed.
"This is a better victory party."
"Still," Draco said, undoing the laces slowly. "I should at least try and get you presentable. You're all sweaty, it's disgusting."
Harry blinked — as if Draco wasn't equally sweaty!
Then he saw where his boyfriend's gaze was directed; not at Harry, but at the shower cubicles just past his shoulder. "Oh." He swallowed, fire flooding his veins. "Yeah?"
They had never been naked together before. Trousers round their knees and shirts off, yes, but not actually, fully naked.
Draco pulled back, tugging his jumper over his head, leaving him in just his thin undershirt. "It'll save time," he drawled. "May as well get messy where it's easier to clean up."
Harry didn't need more encouragement than that; he fumbled with his robes, pulling them off and hurrying to shed the rest of his layers.
Despite Harry's fantasies, there was hardly anything sexy about scrambling to get quidditch boots undone and awkwardly peeling off the skin-tight trousers with a prominent erection, but it didn't matter that both of them looked ridiculous; not when they were both finally, gloriously, naked. Draco grabbed him by the hand and led him into the closest shower cubicle, turning on the shower head. Without his glasses, Harry's vision was blurred, but he hardly cared when he could get his hands on Draco's arse, water running down both of them, making their skin slick and their hair flatten into their eyes.
Next thing Harry knew he was pinned to the wall in a bruising kiss, Draco's body flush against him, and holy hell that was the best feeling in the world, all that bare skin on bare skin. Harry didn't even care that the lights in the showers were so bright Draco could probably see every one of his scars, not when the blond was kissing his way down Harry's neck, one hand between them gripping both their lengths.
Draco was rarely so… dominant, and Harry was a little amazed at how much of a turn-on it was, having his boyfriend so desperate for him. Neither of them lasted long, Harry barely having the sense to drag Draco's mouth back up to his, tongues twining together as pleasure shot through his every nerve. He felt Draco gasp and shudder against him, then relax into Harry's frame, both of them propped up by the wall and on shaky legs.
Harry breathed harshly, water running into his eyes as he tried to gain his equilibrium. "We should make that a regular thing," he gasped, running a hand down Draco's bare back, over his backside. "Every Gryffindor/Slytherin match."
"Deal," Draco agreed, chest heaving. "Next time we use the Slytherin changing rooms."
"Only if you win," Harry teased in response. Even without his glasses, he could see Draco pout.
"See, you're going to have to go professional after school," Draco decided. "International, even. It's the only way my ego will cope with being beaten by you every bloody time."
Harry laughed, pushing off the wall when he thought his knees could keep him standing, pushing his wet hair off his forehead. "Yes, dear."
He looked down at Draco's belly, at his cock now limp between his legs. The mess had already washed off them, and Harry cursed his poor vision. "Not fair," he groused. "I'm half-blind even before there's water in my eyes. You can see me properly."
"I can, and I'm very much enjoying it," Draco confirmed, patting Harry's bum playfully. "Now budge over, you're blocking the soap."
For some reason, Harry's mind had not processed the part of showering with Draco where they would actually get clean. All his fantasies had fizzled out after the orgasms happened. Before he would have thought it to be awkward, scrubbing himself down beside the blond after what they'd just done, but it felt surprisingly nice. Easy. Harry washed Draco's hair, amusing himself by making it stick out at ridiculous angles when it was all lathered up, and Draco tenderly scrubbed the rapidly growing bruise on Harry's side, muttering under his breath about all the awful things he was going to do to Crabbe.
Harry hadn't expect to feel so comfortable being naked in front of another person.
They were quick in the showers, and when they stepped out Harry hurried to grab his glasses, wanting to properly admire Draco's nude form before the boy put on clothes. The Slytherin gave a ridiculous pose, flexing his muscles, and really it was obscene how much Harry's heart swelled with affection for the preening blond.
"I feel like such a cliché right now," Draco remarked, buttoning his trousers.
"What, snake in the lion's den?" Harry teased, sitting down to put his socks on.
"That, and being two opposing seekers fucking in the changing rooms. It's like something out of a trashy romance novel."
His casual use of the word fucking made Harry's cheeks heat. "Lots of experience with those types of books, have you?" he drawled to hide his embarrassment. Draco snorted.
"Mother likes them. She leaves them lying around sometimes — I got curious." His tone was defensive, making Harry wonder if there wasn't a little more than curiosity involved.
Suddenly he knew what he was getting Draco for Christmas.
"At least no one will question you having gone off for a sulk by yourself," Harry pointed out, shoving his feet into his boots. "I'm gonna get mobbed when I finally get up to Gryffindor." It was at least half an hour since the rest of the team had left the changing rooms. They were going to think he'd slipped and died in the shower or something.
"Tell them you were having a celebration of your own."
Harry snickered, reaching out to reel Draco in by the front of his cloak, kissing him firmly. "Not great for keeping this secret, that," he pointed out.
"You don't have to say it was me. Let the rumour mill do some work; they've all forgotten about your love life since the Quibbler article last year."
"I thought that was a good thing, seeing how unbearably jealous you get at even the suggestion that I might be with someone else," Harry argued lightly, running a hand through his boyfriend's still-damp hair. A faint blush rose on Draco's cheeks.
"I can't help that I'm possessive," he muttered abashedly.
"Don't worry, it's hot," Harry assured, smirking. For the boy in the cupboard that nobody wanted, having Draco get possessive made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The blond gave a cocky smirk.
"They'll think what they want to think. But if you don't get up there soon, they'll think the Slytherin team have kidnapped you for revenge."
"Not far off the mark," Harry teased, going in for one last kiss. "Best revenge ever."
Still, Draco was right, and the two boys had to part ways; Harry up to the castle, and Draco doubling back to the Slytherin changing rooms to gather his things.
Harry should have expected to be accosted by two red-headed devils as soon as he walked through the portrait hole.
"There he is!" Fred shouted, thrusting a bottle of butterbeer into Harry's hand.
"Man of the hour!" George cried, offering a second bottle.
"Finishing his walk of shame—"
"Stride of pride!"
"Shut up, both of you," Harry groaned, obediently necking back the first bottle.
"About time you showed up!" Ginny exclaimed. "Everyone, Harry's back!"
A roar of celebration went up around the common room, and Harry was shoved into the centre of the fray. He couldn't even be mad about the looks the twins were sending him, or even the way Neville — shy little Neville! — kept making quiet innuendos about snakes, not when everyone around him was so happy. And occasionally transforming into canaries, thanks to snacks provided by the twins. Harry let himself be jostled over to where the rest of the team were celebrating, one of his butterbeers having been claimed by Lavender on his way through. He felt like he was walking on air; they had won the quidditch match, he had seen his boyfriend naked, and the whole house was happy for the first time since Umbridge had arrived.
As he turned to watch Fred and Lee juggling empty bottles, he caught sight of something out the window.
There was smoke drifting from the chimney of Hagrid's hut.
A face-splitting grin tugged at Harry's cheeks; Hagrid was back!
It was truly an excellent day.
.-.-.-
With the party going on in Gryffindor for most of Saturday evening, Harry decided to go down and see Hagrid in the morning. Wrapped up in several layers with his charmed cloak from Sirius and Remus shielding him from the snow, he trudged down to the hut, knocking on the door.
Hagrid opened the door, smiling widely at the sight of Harry. Harry, on the other hand, stared at his friend in horror. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Nice to see you, too, 'Arry," Hagrid said reproachfully. Harry scoffed, stepping into the hut and hanging up his cloak, edging closer to the blazing fire. Hagrid's face looked like he'd had a run-in with a meat grinder, one of his eyes puffy and swollen. The way he moved, ambling to fetch a mug while Fang bounded over to Harry, suggested he might have a broken rib or two.
Harry obligingly scratched the slobbery boarhound behind the ears. "You had an eventful trip, then?"
"Aye, it was certainly that," Hagrid agreed, pouring two cups of tea and reaching up in the cupboard for the biscuit tin, only wincing a little. "Surprised you're out here on your own. You still on the outs with Ron and Hermione?" He was frowning, which made the cuts on his face look even more gruesome.
"Yeah, that's a pretty permanent thing by this point. Rough summer."
If possible, Hagrid's face got more upset. "I 'eard what 'appened to Dudley." Harry's shoulders tensed. It had been months since anyone had brought that up. "Kid might've bin a brat, but with parents like his 'e didn't have much of a choice. There was still plenty o' growin' up to do. No one deserves what 'appened to him, least of all a boy his age." His huge hand came down gently on Harry's shoulder. "Still, lucky it weren't worse, I s'pose. Could'a bin the whole town, with how long Dumbledore said it took fer the Aurors to show up."
"Yeah." Harry shrugged, desperately wanting to move the conversation along. Somehow it was harder coming from Hagrid, who had actually met Dudley. "You've seen Dumbledore since you got back, then?"
"Aye, soon as I got in last night." Hagrid sipped his tea, frowning. "Had a visit from some Ministry lass, too. New Defence teacher, she called 'erself. Umbridge. Said summat about inspectin' teachers." He shook his head, shaggy hair getting even more haphazard. "Got awful nosy about where I'd been all term."
Harry's stomach turned. "I bet she did," he muttered. "You've got a lot to catch up on, Hagrid."
"I'll put some sausages on," Hagrid declared. At Harry's knee, Fang perked up at the word. "You can tell me all about it over breakfast."
He looked to be in some serious pain as he moved, and just looking at him made Harry wince. "Is there nothing Pomfrey can do for you?" He knew giants, and therefore half-giants, were resistant to a lot of forms of magic. He wasn't sure if that included healing spells, too.
"I'll swing by and pick up some Bruise Balm at lunch," Hagrid assured dismissively. "The rest'll heal in its own time. Now, tell me more about this Umbridge woman."
Harry explained what had happened since the beginning of the year; Umbridge's speech at the welcoming feast, her appointment as High Inquisitor, the inspections and Trelawney's probation. He carefully edged around the endless detentions, merely mentioning that she had it out for him and Dumbledore both. "She's a blood purist," Harry told him, "she made all these laws that made it impossible for Remus to get a job. And she's been needling Professor Flitwick about his heritage since she got here." Hagrid's face twisted in dislike. "So she decided to come and welcome back the 'alf-giant professor, then?" he said knowingly. He fished the sausages out of the grill pan, pulling a loaf of bread out from a different cupboard. In short order, there was a pile of sausage sandwiches slathered in ketchup; Harry's mouth watered.
"She's got an agenda," Harry agreed. "Hate to say, getting rid of you is probably on it."
"Dumbledore won't let that 'appen," Hagrid insisted faithfully.
"She might not give him a choice." Harry hated the idea of Hagrid becoming collateral damage in the battle for dominance between Dumbledore and the Ministry. "Just promise me you'll be careful. No dragon eggs; no dangerous creatures in lessons. Nothing that'll let her use all those awful stereotypes about giants against you."
"Don't worry about me, 'Arry," Hagrid said. He didn't seem remotely concerned by the whole affair. "It'll be alrigh'." He gave a savage grin. "In't the first time I've played the Ministry's game."
That was exactly what Harry was worried about.
"Anyways, I'm surprised; you 'aven't even asked me where I been all this time!"
Harry blinked — of course, he wasn't supposed to know that Hagrid had been seeking giants. "Well, now we've got all the boring stuff out of the way, you can tell me," he declared, reaching for another sandwich.
From the injuries Hagrid was sporting, it was bound to be an interesting story.
.-.-.
Between quidditch celebrations and his visit with Hagrid — which had ended, somewhat awkwardly, when Ron and Hermione appeared on Hagrid's doorstep, and Hagrid tried to get the three of them to sit and talk together — Harry was worryingly behind on his homework. Sunday night found him up in the common room long after the rest of the Tower had gone to bed, fast asleep with his face pressed against the pages of a book on goblin wars. Inside his head, he was travelling down a long, dark corridor.
He tried his best not to let the dream draw him in, but the corridor just kept stretching ahead of him, a tiny voice in his head whispering that he was so curious, that he needed to find out what was at the end. He reached for the door, and it sprung open, revealing a bright light and—
Harry gasped awake, wand jumping into his hand as something touched his shoulder. He blinked into the darkness of the common room, heart stopping for a moment when huge green eyes blinked back. "…Dobby?"
The elf was wearing a truly ludicrous amount of misshapen knitwear, a stack of lumpy hats piled atop his head. He looked wary; not his usual delight at seeing Harry.
"Harry Potter sir is shaking in his sleep," he said. "Having bad dreams." Then he paused, wringing his hands. "Dobby is still looking out for Harry Potter sir, even though he is having another elf doing that for him now."
Harry's sleep-fogged mind took a minute to catch up. "Another… oh. You mean Ceri?" A quick nod. "She isn't really my elf. She's my godfather's. She just… helps." He blinked again, watching the way Dobby seemed to shrink into himself. "Dobby, it doesn't mean I'm not happy to see you. You're still my friend." He realised guiltily that he hadn't seen the elf all term. "I'm sorry I haven't been down to visit; I've been really busy lately."
"Dobby knows," the elf said with another nod, looking a bit brighter. "Dobby is seeing Harry Potter spending lots of time in the Come and Go Room."
Confusion drifted through Harry's brain. "You mean the Room of Requirement?" Surely Dobby couldn't be referring to the Chamber, which was the only other place Harry had been frequenting.
"Another name for it, yes." Dobby's tennis-ball eyes stared up at him. "Harry Potter sir is truly not upset with Dobby?"
"What? No! Why would I be upset?"
Dobby wrung his hands anxiously. "Harry Potter sir is spending more time with Master Draco. Master Draco will tell Harry Potter sir that Dobby is a bad elf."
Harry choked, red in the face at the insinuation that Dobby had been watching him and Draco meet up.
"No, no, Dobby; Draco isn't like that at all! He— he isn't like his father, I promise. And he doesn't think you're a bad elf." Draco likely didn't think of Dobby at all. "You can't tell anyone that I talk to him, though. It's a secret. His father would get very angry with Draco if he found out."
Dobby's eyes became fearful; he knew what happened when Lucius Malfoy got angry. "Dobby is keeping Harry Potter's secrets. Dobby is a good elf."
"A good friend," Harry corrected, smiling when the small creature blushed. "And, look — I know Ceri is around. And she's great. But she doesn't look after me like you do. She hasn't saved my life like you have." Or endangered it like Dobby had, but the danger came from a place of caring. Suddenly, he was struck with a thought. "Listen, Dobby. You can say no if you want — I know you like working at Hogwarts, but… I'm too young for an elf of my own right now. I'm in school all the time, I don't really need anything. But maybe, after I graduate… if you wanted to come with me, I would like that."
The elf's jaw dropped. "Harry Potter sir is asking Dobby to be his personal elf?" he breathed, awed.
"Only if you want to. I can't promise you'd have much work to do. But I'll pay you whatever wages you want. You can still be a free elf." The idea of leaving Dobby at Hogwarts after everything he'd done for Harry, letting the elf think that Harry had just forgotten about him… it didn't sit right with him.
"Dobby… Dobby would like that, very much." He bit his lip. "But Dobby needs to think about Winky, too. She is still not happy being a Hogwarts elf."
"Of course." Well, there was only one real answer for that. "I don't think I'll have enough work for one elf, let alone two, but Winky can come if she wants, too."
Immediately, Harry had a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his legs. "Harry Potter sir is too kind!"
Harry Potter sir was very tired, and only vaguely aware of what he was doing, and would really like to finish his essay and go to bed. He patted the top of the tower of hats, gently disentangling the elf from his person. "It's two years away. Plenty of time to make a decision. But the offer is there."
Plenty of time for Harry to figure out what the hell he'd do with two house elves, too.
Draco would know what to do. He'd sort it out.
.-.-.-.
Despite — or perhaps because of — Hagrid's reassurance that he could handle Umbridge, Harry felt nothing but trepidation when that obnoxiously dainty little 'hem, hem' sounded while Hagrid was showing the class some thestrals.
The half-giant greeted her cheerfully; if Harry didn't know better, he'd say the man was entirely oblivious to what she clearly thought about him.
Then again, Harry supposed, Hagrid was probably used to people thinking certain things about him, and having to interact with them anyway.
His fists clenched at his sides as Umbridge spoke to Hagrid with slow, exaggerated words and near-comical hand gestures. Hagrid took it all on the chin, smile not even faltering. "Are you aware," Umbridge continued, "that the Ministry of Magic classifies thestrals as dangerous?"
"Aye," Hagrid said, nodding genially. "They can be. But Hogwarts has had a permit for the thestrals to pull the carriages since about nineteen-fifty-summat. Only domesticated herd in Britain!" he declared proudly. Umbridge did not look nearly as impressed.
Things quickly went downhill as she began to walk amongst the students — it was clear that even if Hagrid had been an exemplary teacher, she had made her mind up about him. It didn't help that the Slytherins — Draco looking apologetically at Harry when no one else was watching — were on fine form, regaling Umbridge with all the dangerous things Hagrid had made them study, and how difficult it was to understand him.
Harry knew they didn't mean it, knew they were only spouting the same crap their parents said, the crap they were expected to say, but it still hurt to see Hagrid's smile get more and more tense with every remark.
He let out a tiny sigh of relief when Umbridge finally made her way back towards the castle, but the damage had been done. Hagrid was anxious, fumbling his words for the remainder of the lesson, and none of the students were properly paying attention. Which was a shame, because Harry was actually quite keen to learn more about thestrals.
"That was the worst inspection yet," Neville muttered when they were on the path back to the castle at the end of the lesson. Harry had tried to hang back for Hagrid, but Hermione had swooped right in and started lecturing him about all the things he needed to do to make sure Umbridge didn't fire him, so Harry left them to it.
"He's doomed," Harry agreed morosely. The only saving grace would be Dumbledore stepping in before Umbridge could do anything permanent.
For once, Harry was desperately praying that the headmaster would ignore the rules for his own benefit. Hogwarts wasn't Hogwarts without Hagrid.
.-.-.-.-.
Remus' whole body ached as he apparated onto the lawn at Seren Du, the welcoming magic of the wards washing over him as he stepped through. "Ceri," he called, and the elf appeared at his side. "Would you please find Severus when he's next alone and tell him I'm back?"
All he wanted to do was take a nice long bath, and see his partner.
Thankfully, it wasn't long until he had both; Severus arrived at the manor while Remus was soaking in their obnoxiously large bathtub. He strode into the bathroom, still in his teaching robes, and something in Remus eased at the sight of him. "Hello, love. I've missed you."
With a wave of Severus' hand, all his buttons from collars to cuffs undid at the same time. "Are you injured?' the Slytherin asked, low voice flooded with concern. Remus shook his head, watching happily as the man stripped down to his skin.
"No, no; not unless being too damn old to spend a whole moon running through the woods counts as an injury," he joked. Severus rolled his eyes, stepping into the hot water. Remus made room for him, angling for a kiss.
"You're not old, you're thirty-five," Severus muttered. Remus laughed, resting his head on the man's bony shoulder, inhaling the lingering scent of potions' ingredients.
"I'm fine, honestly," he assured, letting his body curve against his partner's, muscles relaxing. "How are you? How are things at the school?" How's Harry, he wanted to ask, but from the look on Severus' face the question was implied regardless.
"Umbridge continues to terrorise the students and staff. Hagrid has returned, which has given her a new target." Remus winced, imagining how awful that woman was being to the poor man. "Potter led Gryffindor to victory at quidditch, and has only had four detentions with Umbridge since you left. And two detentions with me," Severus added, smirking faintly.
"Two detentions I'm sure he absolutely deserved," said Remus with a roll of his eyes.
"Naturally," Severus agreed without hesitation. He reached back for the bottle of shampoo, tipping Remus' head back and gently lathering his hair. Remus sighed, slowly going boneless at the ministrations. Merlin, Severus had such wonderful hands.
"Order done anything interesting?" he asked, though he cared less and less every passing second.
"Not even slightly. Were you successful?"
It took Remus a second to remember what Severus was talking about, lost in the sensation of the fingers massaging his scalp. "Hmm? Oh. Wolves. Well, they're much more receptive to Harry than Dumbledore. Especially when I told them the only thing Harry wants them to do is not join Voldemort." Albus, the idiot, was expecting the wolves to somehow fight for the light, put their lives on the line for wizards that would happily see them dead. "They like the idea of someone pack-adjacent being in power, promising them rights. I'll write to Harry in the morning, let him know how it all went." Remus tried valiantly not to drift into a complete puddle of goo, but it was hard now Severus' hands had moved to his neck and shoulders. "How's Harry's little club going?"
"I've not heard hide nor hair of it, so they're succeeding at secrecy," Severus replied. "I would imagine it's going well, however; Potter looks far too smug for it to be failing."
Remus chuckled softly, cracking one eye open to glance amusedly at his lover. "Don't front, you're proud of him." It was written in the lines of his face, for someone like Remus, who was an expert at reading that particular map.
"I am pleased that finally someone is taking the protection and defence of the students seriously, and treating them with at least the hope that they may become capable adults. Even if that someone is Potter."
That was Severus-talk for pride. He needn't try so hard with Remus. "It does sound ridiculous at times," he confessed. "I could hardly believe it myself when I began telling the werewolf elders that I would happily follow a fifteen year-old boy into both an all-out war and a political minefield."
"It's absurd," Severus said. "Trusting a single teenager to succeed in thwarting the two most powerful wizards in magical Europe."
"And yet," Remus murmured, looking knowingly at Severus.
"And yet," the man echoed, hand lingering at Remus' jaw.
Watching Harry now was the most hopeful either of them had been about winning the war in their entire lives.
For once, they could believe that there was someone out there who could truly create a world worth fighting for.
Worth living for.