Harry and Neville were in the library one cold December evening, working on their Transfiguration homework and quietly discussing the upcoming Christmas holidays.
"I've no idea if I'm staying or not, to be honest," Harry murmured. "I mean, obviously I want to spend it with Sirius. But I've not heard anything from anyone about it." Ginny had mentioned that Ron had been told to invite Harry to the Burrow, but even the thought of having her and the more tolerable Weasley brothers around wasn't quite enough for Harry to want to spend Christmas with Ron.
"Just get on the train when we all go to leave," Neville told him, shrugging. "You know where it is. What can they do, send you back?"
Harry didn't point out that it was entirely likely someone would force him to return to Hogwarts if it had been deemed safer for him to remain at the castle, but he didn't voice that to Neville.
He reached to turn the page of the textbook he was referencing, and a shadow caught the corner of his gaze — he looked up, immediately tensing.
Theodore Nott was stood at the end of the aisle, watching them both.
Harry elbowed Neville, nodding in the Slytherin's direction. Then he dropped their privacy ward, looking back at the boy as if daring him to make a move.
He hadn't really spoken much to Nott, despite being in several classes with him. He was one of the students Draco had immediately written off as Death Eater spawn, in far too deep thanks to his father. The hair on the back of Harry's neck prickled on end, his wand in his hand beneath the table. Pince would murder him if he started a duel in the library, but he wasn't going to risk being defenceless.
"Can we help you?" he asked calmly. Nott's response was a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.
"Fuck, I hope so."
That wasn't the response Harry had expected. He blinked, but allowed the boy to walk closer. Nott set his wand on the table, a clear sign of truce. "I need your help, Potter," he said, dark gaze as wary as a stray cat. "I— my father wants me Marked. This summer."
"…And that's not something you want?"
Nott's face turned incredulous. "Of course not. I've seen the way that lunatic treats his followers." Then he grew hesitant. "And— he's wrong. The Dark Lord. He's going to get us all killed."
That was a surprise. Neville looked equally shocked, his quill slowly dripping ink onto his half-written essay.
"So you don't want the Mark because you don't like to bow?" Harry asked sharply. "Or because you don't believe in torturing and killing muggleborns?"
"Both," Nott said with a twist of a grimace. "Magical blood shouldn't be spilt."
"What about muggles?"
Nott flinched under Harry's intense stare, looking like he might bolt. "Look, Potter, I'm trying here. I heard— I overheard Blaise talking to some other Slytherins, in the common room. He said there's a way to avoid him without having to debase ourselves to Dumbledore." His gaze turned cautious, hopeful. "He said you could offer sanctuary."
Harry would have to have a word with Blaise Zabini about what exactly he was promising people on Harry's behalf.
"I could," Harry agreed slowly.
"Name your price and I'll pay it," came Nott's immediate reply. "Money, connections, knowledge; whatever you want. If it's in my power, it's yours. Just please get me out of my father's house by this summer. He—"
Nott met Harry's gaze, and Harry's heart sank. He recognised that wild-eyed, frantic sort of look.
It was the same look he saw in the mirror when he lived at the Dursleys.
"He hits you?" Harry asked urgently, and Nott's lips turned down bitterly.
"Like a muggle? He'd never be so crass." He laughed, and the sound was haunted. "My father likes a good old-fashioned Cruciatus curse. Really makes the punishment memorable." He shook his head, dark hair falling carelessly into his eyes. "If I'm lucky, he'll hex me into such a gibbering mess that I'm no use to the Dark Lord." Then he froze, flinching, and looked at Neville. "I'm sorry, Longbottom. That was uncalled for."
Beside Harry, Neville had gone chalk-white. He swallowed hard. "If Harry can't offer you sanctuary, I will," he said, surprising them both. "No— no-one should suffer that fate. Not even you."
"I'll sort something out," Harry promised. Slowly, telegraphing his move quite obviously, he reached out to place a hand on Nott's shoulder. "You'll have a safe place to go by the summer. A place where your father and Voldemort can't get to you." Harry would have to write to the goblins and change around some of his plans, but it was doable. The relief that flooded the Slytherin boy was visible, as he slumped in his chair like a ragdoll. "Thank you," he rasped. "What do you ask in return?"
"Nothing," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I don't help people because I want something. I help people because they need it."
That seemed an utterly foreign concept to Nott. Harry didn't hold it against him; even Draco still struggled with the idea. Slytherins just did not think that way. "I will, however, ask for your silence, and your loyalty. Not like him," he hastened to add, seeing the way the Slytherin tensed. "But if you're going to be on my side — or, at the very least, not on Voldemort's side — you're going to learn some things that would be absolutely dire for anyone else to discover. How's your Occlumency?"
"Impeccable," Nott responded immediately. "My father likes to rip my mind apart for any signs of wavering loyalty. I wouldn't have survived this long without solid shields."
His matter-of-fact tone made Harry's stomach turn. "Good. And— you're the heir to two Wizengamot seats, correct? Nott and Avery?"
"Harry, are you sure?" Neville hissed in alarm. "That's an awful lot of trust to put in him."
Harry nodded; he knew that. But he had a gut feeling that Nott was worth that trust.
If only he could ask Snape to test the boy without revealing the Potions Master's loyalty.
"I'll be eligible for both when I turn seventeen, yes. But my father holds them right now." Nott's eyes were calculating, looking between the two. "If it's political clout you're after, I can help." He smiled viciously. "If it requires my father to have an unfortunate and lethal accident, even better."
Harry wasn't quite sure what to do with all that bloodthirsty energy, but that was good to know. "Talk to Daphne Greengrass," he said eventually, thinking that the female Slytherin would be devious enough to spot if Nott was trying to play him. "Tell her I said she should think about bringing you to study group."
Nott blinked, looking perplexed. "If I do that, you'll give me sanctuary?"
"I'll give you sanctuary regardless," Harry promised. "This will just… help with some other things."
If he could be trusted, it would be worth having him on board. Two more seats would be an enormous help.
"Thank you." Nott reached over, clasping Harry's hand in both of his own. "I am in your debt, Heir Potter. Should I betray this trust, let Magic punish me as it must."
His words were heavy with magic, and Neville gasped softly. Harry set down his wand, laying his free hand on top of Nott's. "I appreciate your vow, and will honour your debt." His own magic sealed the deal.
If Nott planned to betray him, he was going to have a bloody hard time of it.
"Talk to Daphne," he repeated, then offered a small smile. "I'll see you in class."
Recognising the dismissal for what it was, Nott nodded, pulling back and reaching for his wand. "Potter, Longbottom. Sorry for disturbing you," he said, as if he'd just asked about borrowing a book or something equally mundane. Then he was gone.
Harry looked at Neville, who was wide-eyed in shock. "I think I just made a new friend," he said, and grinned.
.-.-.
Through the whisper network, Harry heard enough to be prepared by the next heirs study group meeting. He wasn't as shocked as the others when Theodore Nott walked in beside Daphne and Blaise. The tall boy still looked like a cornered animal, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that Harry recognised painfully well.
He'd spoken to Snape, the same day Nott had come to him for help. The man had confirmed that Theodore Nott Sr was exactly the violent, odious piece of shit that Theodore Jr made him out to be. Snape had not been at all surprised to hear that his student was being threatened with the Cruciatus into joining Voldemort, only resigned. He had been earnest in his request for Harry to hold firm to his promise of sanctuary, even if Nott didn't get along so well with his other friends.
With that in mind, for this first meeting Harry had suggested that Cassius, Draco and the girls skip this one. If Nott got cold feet, they didn't want him to have the knowledge that four more children of Death Eaters were not loyal.
At least the other heirs seemed to have been similarly forewarned; they eyed Nott warily, but none looked shocked to see him there.
"Welcome," Harry greeted, beckoning him further into the room. "Can I call you Theodore? Or do you prefer something else?"
"Uh— Theo. Theo's fine," the boy stuttered, caught off-guard by Harry's lack of hesitation.
"Great. Call me Harry, Theo," he urged. "I don't know how much Blaise and Daphne have told you, but this is our study group."
"They said you're all planning on overthrowing both Fudge and Dumbledore, once Potter — Harry, sorry — once Harry kills the Dark Lord." Theo sounded deeply impressed, and also quite skeptical. "That you're going to completely rebuild the Ministry from the ground up, starting with the Wizengamot." Then he grinned, a predatory, gleaming-eyed thing. "I want in."
Across the table, Susan smirked. "Then well met, Heir Nott," she greeted, offering an open-palmed bow. "Sit down. We'll catch you up."
.-.-.
Harry spent more nights than he probably should down in the Chamber of Secrets. He knew it was inadvisable — when added to the nights he spent with Draco, he was coming back past curfew often enough to be incredibly suspect should any of his dorm-mates notice. He was lucky that Ron was such a sound sleeper, or Dumbledore would surely know by now that Harry was up to something.
He couldn't help himself; he was learning so much from Salazar. The founder was more than happy to teach him about the history of his life and the school, regaling Harry with stories of his travels from Persia to England in his early teens, and meeting the other three founders. While Harry browsed the office library looking for books on horcruxes, Salazar explained to him the truth behind the story of the 'tragic fight' between himself and the other three founders. Apparently, Salazar had left the school not because of his disgust at them allowing muggleborns, but because his cousin had become a Dark Lord back in Persia and he felt it his duty to go and bring him to heel. The other founders, and his own wife and children, had not wanted him to leave, and that was what they had fought over. Salazar had gone back to Persia, and died there in the fight against his cousin.
It was an awful tale, made all the worse by how Harry knew time had twisted it.
When Salazar wasn't telling him about the founding of Hogwarts, he was guiding Harry through his library, recommending books he thought the boy might be interested in. Harry didn't have the free time to get stuck in to any of them really, with his busy schedule, but one day when things were calmer he was going to devour those bookshelves.
And some nights, like this one, Salazar sat and watched Harry work on his magic, occasionally offering advice. Mostly he was silent on those nights, especially when Harry was working on his animagus form.
He was getting closer and closer to achieving the final transformation. The book Sirius had given him said that after the partial transformations there would be a sort of wall, where the body's magic was trying to figure out how to get the whole form to shift at once. Harry had hit that wall, and just knew he was close to pushing past it.
He sat on the sofa, deep in his magic, chasing down the sneaky little fox within him. It was getting more and more wily, like it was aware how close Harry was and wanted to make him really work for it. He raced through his own mindscape, focus entirely on the dark red creature, the white tail-tip bobbing along in front of him. Putting on an extra burst of energy, he lurched forward, and pounced.
And opened his eyes.
The world was different. He was much lower down, for one, but even without that everything was… sharper. The colours were muted, but somehow it all felt so much more.
He cocked his head, looking down at his paws. His tail twitched.
"Oho! You've done it, lad!" He looked up — he could understand the hissing language, but had no hope of speaking it back.
He stood on four wobbly legs, jumping down from the sofa and landing in a sprawled heap. Above him, he heard Salazar chuckle.
There was no mirror in the room, and Harry wished he'd known how successful he would be so he could have conjured one. All he could do was turn a tight circle trying to get a good look at himself; his tail waved in the corner of his vision, and he chased it for a few moments, before tripping over his own feet and rolling into the side of the desk.
He sat back on his haunches, pushing away all the curious smells and sounds around him. He had to change back. He couldn't be a fox forever.
It was almost as hard as the initial transformation. This time in his mind he was chasing down his own memories, trying to remember the feel of hands and feet and human skin, of a bipedal body, of wearing clothes. It seemed foolish that he should forget such a thing when he'd inhabited a human body for fifteen and a half years, but right now all he could think were fox thoughts, and all he could feel were fox feelings.
It took time. But eventually, Harry was himself again, sat on the floor of the office with his glasses askew.
"Well done, lad!" Salazar enthused, applauding politely from his portrait. Harry beamed at him.
It would take practice before he could switch between forms as effortlessly as Sirius did, but he'd done it.
He was an animagus, now.
He couldn't wait to show his godfathers.
.-.-.-.
Arriving to set up the Room for the last HA meeting before Christmas, Harry did not expect the place to be decorated. At first, he wondered if it was the castle getting cheeky with him — then he took a closer look at the baubles hanging from the ceiling, realised they all had his face on them, and knew it must have been a gesture from Dobby instead. A quick wave of his wand transfigured them into regular golden baubles, just in time for the first group of people to arrive.
"Putting up mistletoe, hmm?" Susan remarked, looking up at the white berries hung in the centre of the room. "Something you're trying to tell us?"
Harry blushed, and Susan cackled at him.
She wasn't the only one who spotted the mistletoe. The twins thought it was a grand idea to charm it to float around the room, and each time two people stood beneath it they couldn't move until they kissed.
"It's to practice being aware of your surroundings," Fred declared brightly, looking far too devious when his brother ended up stuck under the mistletoe with Blaise Zabini. George got him back for that one, still blushing from the soft peck Blaise had given him — Fred was abruptly rooted to the spot right beside Zacharias Smith, when he'd been creeping past the boy trying to slip some kind of rubber worm down the back of his robes.
No one seemed truly bothered by the antics, so Harry let it slide; it was only a review lesson, as he didn't want to start anything new right before a three week break.
It was amazing, seeing how far they had all come since the first session, just a couple of months ago. Everyone in the room was capable of stunning, disarming and blocking even while dodging spells, and they were racing through the OWL curriculum. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he had even the fourth years up to NEWT level by the time exams rolled around.
He hoped Umbridge had been exposed as a shit teacher by then, or people might think her methods had actually worked.
"I've got a bit of homework for you all," Harry declared as the session came to a close. A chorus of groans rang through the room. "Don't worry, it's nothing difficult." Merlin knew they all had enough actual homework to do over the break. "I want each of you over Christmas to think of one spell you don't know that you think would be handy to have in a fight. Doesn't have to be an offensive spell," he added, as they had learned over the weeks that with some creative usage, practically anything could be an offensive spell, "any spell, as long as you can give me a reason you think it'll be useful. Whether it's something you read in a book, or heard about from someone you know — first meeting after Christmas, you'll share the spells you found, and we'll all learn it." Unless they found some very obscure sources, the chances were either Harry would know the spell already, or either Snape or Remus would and could teach it to him. That seemed to be the kind of homework everyone could get on board with, so it was a cheerful group that dispersed when Harry called it a night, wishing Harry a Merry Christmas on their way out. As the group began to thin out, Harry noticed Cho stood alone off to one side. He frowned, and when Neville gestured for them to leave, Harry waved him on ahead.
"You alright, Cho?" he asked, approaching her once it was just the two of them left.
She was by the section of the mirror that had turned into the group's informal message board. It had started with a request for tutoring help in other subjects, stuck to the mirror by a stressed-out Parvati who was convinced she was going to fail all her exams. Since then it had evolved into other requests, as well as little notes of encouragement and support, even a few anonymous love notes among the mix. There were photos, too, thanks to Colin Creevey; pictures of members of the group casting spells, or laughing together, or suffering the hilarious results of a Weasley Twins prank.
And at the top, like a reminder of what it was all for, was a picture of Cedric Diggory. He was in his Triwizard uniform, but it wasn't the picture from the paper. It was of him before the third task, his friends crowding around him like he'd already won. The last picture taken before he'd died. And Harry knew Cho had taken it.
"He would've loved all this," Cho said, finally breaking the silence. She turned, gesturing to the room at large. "Everyone coming together like this. Last year, it made him so happy when people started studying outside of their house groups. And when you and Viktor and Fleur and him all worked together for the tasks." Her smile quivered, heartbreakingly sad.
"He was a Hufflepuff," Harry said, and a sharp laugh burst from her lips.
"Such a fucking Hufflepuff. Wanted everyone to be friends and stand together, stand up for each other." She shook her head, tears now trailing down her cheeks. "Like I said. He would've loved this."
Harry reached out an arm, tucking her into his side, and together they stood and watched the picture of Cedric laugh and smile and blow kisses at the camera. "I got a letter from Fleur the other day. She asked if I was going home over the holidays, wondered if I wanted to meet up. She… she said Cedric told her, last year, that Christmas was his favourite time of the year. That he loved the Yule Ball, because it felt like Hogwarts was finally having the celebration that Christmas deserved." She sniffled, and Harry squeezed her tighter. "Fleur thought I might want something to look forward to instead of just sitting at home and thinking about how much Cedric turned into a giant puppy at Christmas and how quiet it is without him,"
"Did you reply?" Harry asked, his heart constricting. He couldn't imagine being in Cho's position, being surrounded by people who had moved on when your heart still felt like it was torn apart.
"Yeah. We're going to get coffee on Boxing Day. Some muggle place in France; she's sending a portkey for me that may or may not be legal." Cho managed a weak grin, and Harry snorted. That sounded like Fleur. "She said there will be coffee and croissants and possibly snow, and an ice skating rink where we can both make fools of ourselves because neither of us knows how to skate. So then I can look back on this Christmas and know that I wasn't sad all the time. Because Cedric wouldn't want me to be sad."
"I'm sure you'll both have a wonderful time," Harry said sincerely. "She's right. He'd want you to be happy."
"I know." Cho sniffled again. "He'd be so proud of you, y'know." She turned to look at him, smiling through her tears. "Protecting everyone like this. Finding ways to keep everyone positive even when there's Umbridge and You-Know-Who and everything." Her smile widened. "He'd say you're being quite Hufflepuff yourself."
"From him, I'd take that as the highest compliment." He looked back at the picture, feeling a stab of pain in his chest, that gaping hole from the summer starting to feel raw around the edges again.
"Hey, Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you… are you still seeing whoever it is you were snogging at the Yule Ball last year?" The question was quiet, and made Harry tense. "You don't have to tell me who."
"Yeah, I am," he admitted, unable to stop his smile when he thought about Draco. Cho wiped at her eyes, nodding decisively.
"Good. I'm glad." She looked back to Cedric's picture, and took a deep breath. "You hold onto him, yeah? Because… because you never know how long you've got with the people you love."
Harry felt something wet slide down the side of his nose, and he realised that he was crying, too. "I will," he promised, pulling Cho into a tight hug, lips pressed to her forehead. "Cho, I'm so sorry."
Her whole body shook with a sob. "It's okay," she said. "It'll be okay. These spells you're teaching us all will keep us safe, and hopefully — hopefully no one else will end up like Cedric."
That wasn't a guarantee Harry could make, and they both knew it, but he nodded all the same, his tears dripping onto her hair.
He couldn't say how long they stood there, hugging and crying silently, both lost in their memories of a Hufflepuff boy with so much love in his heart and so much life left to live. Eventually, Cho pulled back with an awkward, wet chuckle. "I didn't mean to cry all over you," she admitted.
"We'll call it even," Harry replied, wiping at his own face.
"Alright. I'm gonna go back to Ravenclaw, I think. Have a good Christmas, Harry."
"Have a good Christmas, Cho. Give Fleur a hug from me."
Cho smiled, then stepped up to the mirror. She kissed her fingertips, reaching up to press them tenderly to Cedric's photographic cheek. Then, with one last attempt at a smile in Harry's direction, she disappeared through the Ravenclaw door.
Harry let out a long, shaky breath in the silence of the room. He looked at the photograph, the boy still beaming. "I'm trying, Cedric," he murmured. "I'm trying."
And then he too left the room. But not to go back to his common room.
There was still forty minutes or so until curfew — Harry had ended the session early, in the spirit of the season — and he ducked into an alcove to pull the Marauders' Map from his bag, his heart hammering in his chest. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Spidery lines spilled across the map's surface. Harry scanned them desperately, looking for one dot in particular. There. Draco Malfoy, in the library, with Theo and Pansy.
Harry set off at a brisk pace.
He donned his invisibility cloak before he reached the library, carefully sneaking through the doors when a Gryffindor second year sped through them. He dodged the students hard at work, not making even a whisper of sound, until he found the trio of Slytherins. They were all reading silently, and Harry crept up, placing an invisible hand on Draco's arm. He felt the blond tense.
"Come with me," he breathed, hardly louder than a whisper, his lips right next to Draco's ear. The Slytherin immediately relaxed, then leaned forward and shut his book.
"I'm going to head back. I'll see you two later."
Neither of his companions offered to go with him, which Harry was grateful for. He walked close behind the blond on the way out of the library, then reached out to grab the sleeve of his robe.
They didn't go far; there was a hidden room behind a tapestry that they had used for heirs meetings in the past, and Harry ducked into it, pulling Draco along and warding the entrance. Then he dropped the cloak. "Hey."
Draco, who had been wearing a sultry smile, immediately frowned in concern. "Harry? What's the matter?" He stepped forward, cupping Harry's face with both hands. "Have you been crying?"
"I love you," Harry blurted, watching the blond's face go slack. "I— I was just talking with Cho, about Cedric, and something she said— I love you," he repeated, slower this time, words full of emotion. His heart pounded hard against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears. "I need you to know that. In case— I just need you to know."
The words that had been filling his heart for so long still felt small when said aloud, like such a simple thing as love could not describe the depth of his feelings for this beautiful boy, but it would have to do for now.
"You daft Gryffindor," Draco said eventually, his face lighting up with the most incredibly fond look, his arms moving to wrap loosely around Harry. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I'll be right here in the castle all Christmas," he promised. "But I love you too, of course I do, surely you've guessed by now. I'm not exactly subtle."
Harry's rabbiting heart suddenly felt lighter than air and huge inside his chest, his thoughts all vanishing in favour of hearing those words in Draco's voice directed at him, echoing in every corner of his mind.
"I'd hoped," he admitted sheepishly, and Draco chuckled, kissing him, achingly tender.
"I love you, Harry Potter," he declared, grey eyes bright. "Merlin help me, but I love you."
Had every dementor in Azkaban appeared right then, Harry was sure he could have powered a patronus strong enough to send them all right back where they belonged.
Draco loved him.
.-.-.-.
His body was small; sleek, powerful. Was he a fox again?
No. That wasn't right. He was… lower. His belly sliding along stone, his eyes peering through darkness. He was in a corridor, alone.
Not alone.
A man sat ahead of him. Asleep, or at least most of the way there. Entirely unaware of Harry's approach. Harry continued forward, tongue flicking out to taste the scent of the man. His Master had warned him there might be someone there, had said only to bite if necessary.
What was necessary, when Harry felt the urge to hunt ?
He tried to resist it, hoping to move unnoticed past the man. But something startled him, and he jerked awake. Suddenly, his wand was out, and fear flooded Harry's system. He reared back, baring his fangs, and struck .
Hot, coppery blood spilled between his lips, his fangs sinking deeper into the man's flesh, aiming to crush, to destroy . The man cried out, then didn't cry at all, slumping to the cold floor. Harry looked at his face.
He knew that face.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
"HARRY!"
He woke with a gasp like a drowning man, lurching into an upright position, pain searing through his body. Neville was at his side, chalk-white with fear. Behind him, Harry's other three dorm-mates stood wary-eyed. Even Ron looked concerned, behind his scowl.
Suddenly, the dream — not a dream, his mind insisted — flashed behind his eyes, and he tensed. "Someone get McGonagall," he rasped, chest still heaving. Then he rolled to the side, and vomited over the edge of the bed.
He vaguely heard the thud of rapid footsteps, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried not to vomit again; he felt like his scar was trying to melt itself off his face, the pain radiating down his neck and spine, making every breath agony.
"Harry, you're shaking," Neville said worriedly. "What do I do? What happened?"
"Dream," Harry muttered, sweat cooling on his body. His legs were tangled in the sheets and it felt far too constricting, so he kicked them away the best he could. "Voldemort. Attack."
Vaguely, he heard a lilted murmuring that had to be Seamus — if the Irish boy hadn't thought Harry was insane before, he probably did now.
Harry's heart was pounding, and he reached out to grip Neville's forearm. "McGonagall," he insisted. He had to tell someone, he had to get help, fast, before it was too late.
"She's coming. Dean's gone to get her," Neville assured. "Harry, what do you mean, attack?"
He was saved having to answer by the sound of two sets of footsteps, and suddenly a tall figure in a tartan dressing gown was striding across the dorm. Neville pressed Harry's glasses onto his face, and when Harry looked up the Gryffindor housemistress' face was pinched, her eyes full of concern. "What's going on up here?" she asked, studying Harry's wrecked form. "What's the matter, Potter?"
"Mr Weasley was attacked," Harry blurted, seeing Ron freeze out of the corner of his eye. "Voldemort's snake. She got him. I— I need to see the headmaster. He has to help him." He never thought he'd be volunteering to go see Dumbledore, but needs must when the devil drives, and the devil had definitely been driving Harry right into that snake's body.
McGonagall's lips pursed. For a moment Harry worried she wouldn't believe him, would insist he was only dreaming. He hated himself for being so foolish, for not telling anyone but his guardians about the dreams — surely no one would take him seriously now!
But perhaps she knew something he didn't, because after a moment she gave one single, sharp nod.
"Yes, I believe you do. Come on, Potter, up you get."
A wave of her wand had the vomit on the floor vanishing, and Harry scrambled to shove his feet into his slippers.
"I'm coming too," Ron declared stubbornly, stepping forward. "It's my dad he's talking about."
There wasn't time to argue, and McGonagall seemed to know it, so she merely huffed and started walking. Harry squeezed Neville's hand in assurance, then followed the stern woman out of the dorm, hurrying down the stairs with Ron hot on his heels.
For an older woman, McGonagall could move quickly when she wanted to; they were at Dumbledore's office within minutes, the gargoyle moving aside. Harry's heart raced as he stood on the moving staircase, trying frantically to pull together enough brain cells to figure out what to say to the headmaster. He had to make him see how important this was, how much Mr Weasley was in danger, but he couldn't give away what he knew about his connection to Voldemort.
For the first time since the Triwizard Tournament, Harry stepped into Dumbledore's office.
It was past midnight, but Dumbledore had clearly been up for a while; wearing a truly lurid dressing gown, he sat at his desk while the portraits of previous heads of school chattered at him. They all fell silent at the intrusion.
"Oh my," Dumbledore greeted, frowning, leaning forward in his chair. "Whatever is the matter?"
"Potter's had a nightmare," McGonagall said, and had Harry been paying attention he would've seen the brief flash of triumph pass through Dumbledore's gaze. As it was he was trying his best not to look the man in the eye, sure his Occlumency shields would be scrambled to all hell.
"Not a nightmare," he insisted. "It was real. Sir, Mr Weasley's been attacked by a snake, he needs help." He's dying, he thought desperately, heart clenched.
"How did you see this?" Dumbledore asked, and for a second Harry thought the man was just outright asking Harry about his connection with Voldemort.
"In a dream, but it wasn't a dream, more like a- a vision?" He stuttered, only half faking his confusion.
"You misunderstand me," Dumbledore pressed. "Where were you, in the dream? Watching from above, perhaps?"
Oh, Harry thought, followed by, he knows.
He knew exactly what had caused Harry to travel outside his own mind that night.
"I was the snake," he admitted, and suddenly a horrifying thought occurred to him.
He had been within the snake's mind, just like he was sometimes inside Voldemort's. And it had felt comfortable. More comfortable than he anticipated an animal being possessed would feel.
The snake was a horcrux.
His lips pressed tightly together as he tried not to react to this realisation — thankfully, Dumbledore at least seemed to care about Mr Weasley's life more than his own academic curiosity; he was talking to a couple of the paintings, telling them to raise the alarm. The two disappeared from their framed immediately.
"But he could be anywhere!" Ron burst out in a panic, and Harry's jaw clenched.
Dumbledore knew exactly where Mr Weasley was, because he'd sent him there.
The Department of Mysteries. Guarding that fucking prophecy.
Did Voldemort really think his snake would be able to get to it? Or was he just using her to scope the place out?
"You're still shaking, Potter. Sit down," McGonagall urged softly, nudging Harry towards one of the chintz armchairs opposite the desk.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, was doing something daft and flashy with one of his silver instruments, clearly trying to make Harry curious as he muttered to himself and waved his wand through a puff of smoke shaped like a rearing snake's head. But Harry didn't care; he knew more than Dumbledore thought he did, more than perhaps Dumbledore himself, and he just wanted to make sure Mr Weasley was okay before he went and passed out again. He was exhausted, utterly drained of energy, head pounding.
After what felt like an age, the two painted ex-heads returned to their portraits. The man assured that Mr Weasley had been found, and soon after the woman relayed his arrival at St Mungo's — in quite an awful state, from the sounds of it. Ron shuddered violently, and Dumbledore pursed his lips.
"Right, then. Minerva, if you would please wake the rest of the Weasley children and bring them here…"
"Of course." With one last worried look at Harry, McGonagall hurried to the door. She paused in the threshold. "Headmaster, what about Molly?"
Ron let out a quiet moan, and Dumbledore's face drew tighter. "I will send Fawkes, once he has returned from keeping watch. Though she may already know, with that excellent clock of hers…"
McGonagall left, and Dumbledore began to rummage through a cupboard until he found an old tea kettle. That kettle became a portkey in short order, and Harry was vaguely aware of the headmaster shouting for Phineas Nigellus Black, his resident painted spy in Grimmauld Place. A weak smile twitched at his lips; was the man's portrait even still in the house, after Sirius' decorating spree?
His hands clenched over the arms of the chair like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Harry had done his bit, he'd raised the alarm, now he just wanted to sleep. But he didn't think Dumbledore was going to let him go back to Gryffindor Tower. At least it sounded like he would be seeing Sirius, soon.
McGonagall returned with Ginny and the twins, all dressed in pyjamas and pale with fear. Dumbledore explained what had happened in a very vague and unhelpful sort of way. Harry knew he'd be giving a proper explanation when they were alone, but they didn't seem to be able to focus on anything past the fact that their dad was hurt, regardless.
There would be time for explanations once Mr Weasley was okay.
Fawkes flashed in with a warning that was apparently about Umbridge, and McGonagall was off again. Dumbledore bid them all gather around the portkey, and Harry did so, his body aching with every movement.
Then the headmaster called his name, and instinctively Harry looked up. Green eyes met blue, dead on, and he only had a brief moment to panic — but instead of the prod of Legilimency, Harry merely felt a wave of hatred, and suddenly he had fangs once more and would very much like to sink them into Dumbledore's neck, and his scar was on fire—
And then the portkey pulsed with magic, and he was gone.