It was fun, taunting Umbridge.
Since the fireworks, Harry had gotten bolder, and so had the rest of the students. They seemed to be realising that she couldn't put everyone in detention at once, and by the end of the Easter holidays she had mostly stopped trying. Education Decrees were popping up out of nowhere, trying to ban anything that might give the students — especially Harry — any kind of joy. There had been a revolt from the entirety of Ravenclaw house when Umbridge had tried to limit library hours to between ten AM and eight PM, noticing how many students were spending time in there; particularly the HA members, not that she knew why. The Decree had been rescinded within three days, when Umbridge had taken so many points from Ravenclaw house there was nothing left in the hourglass, and the students were still refusing to leave the library.
She should have know better than to try and curb their study habits so close to exams.
But now they were back for the summer term, exams so close Harry could practically taste it, and once again students were falling mysteriously ill in Umbridge's classes, or just not bothering to show up altogether. The headmistress had vastly underestimated how much work it was to run a school — at least, when every other person in the school was determined to make it as difficult as possible.
Like all fifth years, Harry had a careers meeting with his head of house set up during the first week of the new term. He really shouldn't have been surprised by the sight of Umbridge perched in the back corner, holding her clipboard. Seriously, did the woman not ever teach classes outside of Harry's?
McGonagall looked distinctly unimpressed at the intrusion, her nostrils flaring. "Well, Potter, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have had, and help you decide which subjects to continue on through your sixth and seventh years," she said, once Harry was sat down.
Harry looked at his housemistress, then glanced back at Umbridge. When he turned back to McGonagall, a tiny smirk was playing at his lips. "Well, Professor," he began, "I'd thought I might become an auror."
McGonagall blinked. She knew full well he had plans to go into professional quidditch — and to avoid the Ministry as much as possible. Then she took in the look on his face, and her mouth twitched, ever so slightly.
"Indeed?" She reached for a leaflet out of the stack on her desk. "Well, it's no easy path — they ask a minimum of five NEWTS, all E or higher. Then there's a series of character and aptitude tests that are very rigorous; the auror department take only the best. I don't think we've had a successful applicant in the last three years."
That didn't surprise Harry even a little bit. Behind him, Umbridge made a small noise that might have been a cough, and was summarily ignored.
"Given your grades, especially this year, I can't see you having a problem with that part of the application."
Umbridge coughed again, a little louder. McGonagall's jaw clenched. "There are a few subjects that are mandatory — Defence Against the Dark Arts, naturally."
Another cough. And another, at each pause McGonagall made as she talked Harry through the subjects required, until finally she could ignore it no longer.
"May I offer you a cough drop, Dolores?" the Scottish woman bit out, and Harry pursed his lips tightly to avoid laughing.
"I was just concerned you may not have received my note on Mr Potter's most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts grades," Umbridge said sweetly.
"Oh, this thing?" McGonagall held up a piece of pink parchment between two fingers, like it was something particularly foul. "Yes I got it. Anyway, Potter, as I was saying; you've made generally high marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts — Professor Lupin in particular thought you had an aptitude for the subject—"
Umbridge's interruptions continued, her voice getting higher and higher until Harry worried she might strain something, her insistence that Harry would never become an auror so vehement.
Harry would have felt bad about faking his career interest just to wind her up, but he couldn't, not when McGonagall was so clearly enjoying the verbal sparring, and so clearly winning. Harry's recent grades spoke for themselves, in everything but Potions and DADA; and Harry knew he could ace both of those exams without breaking a sweat.
"If you cannot control your behaviour, Dolores, I will ask you to remove yourself from my office while I advise my students," McGonagall snapped eventually, cutting through Umbridge's rant about Harry's unsuitability for any Ministry profession.
"The Minister would never employ Harry Potter!"
"I'd suspect he's more worried about his own job than Potter's, at this point," came McGonagall's swift reply. Umbridge recoiled as if slapped.
"Yes, yes, that's what you want, isn't it! You want Albus Dumbledore to replace Cornelius Fudge — I'm sure you think you'll be where I am, then, hmm?"
McGonagall's deadpan stare was at odds with Umbridge's wide-eyed fanaticism. Harry sat in the middle, trying not to crack a rib from holding in his laughter.
"Dolores, you're starting to look a little… purple," McGonagall said, holding a remarkably straight face. "Perhaps a trip to the hospital wing is in order?" Earlier in the week, Ginny and Colin had slipped something into her dinner that made her head swell up like a giant blueberry every time she got particularly irate. It had all the muggle-raised students quietly singing Oompa-Loompa songs whenever Umbridge passed, which of course made it happen all over again.
Umbridge's hand flew to her face — which was its usual furious shade of magenta — and horror filled her eyes. "This discussion is not over," she hissed, before storming from the room. As soon as the door shut in her wake, Harry dissolved into helpless giggles.
"That was amazing," he croaked, watching a small but satisfied grin cross his housemistress' face.
"You're not actually thinking of becoming an auror, are you, Potter?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "Because I hate to disappoint you, but I feel they've far too many rules for your liking."
Harry snorted. "Oh, no, Professor. I want to play professional quidditch," he confirmed brightly. "I just wanted to see Umbridge's face." And it had been far better than anything he could have imagined.
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "You have been spending far too much time with your godfather, Potter."
"Thanks," Harry chirped.
She stared at him, then shook her head. "Regardless, I have no doubt that you'll be able to take any subjects you please at NEWT level — except perhaps Potions; Professor Snape only accepts O level students, and while I understand his judgement of your skill is… weighted, I'm not sure you're quite there yet."
"I'm studying hard," he promised, making her nod approvingly.
"Also, Potter," she added, flicking through his file, "it says in my notes that you have been enrolled in both the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes OWL exams."
"Yes, Professor," he confirmed. "Remus has been helping me self-study."
"A few weeks of summer may not be enough to get you up to OWL level," McGonagall warned. She studied him carefully, and clearly saw something in his gaze. "But if anyone could surprise me on that front, it would be you. I shall confirm the request."
Harry grinned at her. "Thank you, Professor." He wouldn't let her down.
"Just do me a favour, Potter," the Gryffindor housemistress requested, and Harry cocked an eyebrow curiously. "Make sure your little group gets the highest OWL scores this school has seen in years, will you?" There was a fire in her gaze that reminded Harry exactly why she was head of Gryffindor.
"I'll do my best," he promised. It was an easy one to make.
His students were going to blow their exams out of the water.
.-.-.
The tension in the school was reaching dangerous levels, between Umbridge and the rest of the school. The Inquisitorial Squad had grown bored of their point-docking privileges once all hourglasses but Slytherin's were empty, so many of them began prowling about, looking for a fight they knew they wouldn't be punished for. With so many students beginning to crack under the pressure of impending exams, the whole castle was a powder keg waiting to blow.
And blow, it did.
It started when Ginny was given a detention for 'too short a skirt' — a detention she returned from at two in the morning, dangerously pale and with blood dripping from her hand. Harry saw the hard look that passed between her twin brothers, and he knew deep down what was coming.
By breakfast, the school was chaos. Harry barely made it down to the Entrance Hall, having to use all his knowledge of the school's secret passageways to avoid getting stuck in some prank or another. One corridor had everyone who stepped in it turning upside down and walking on the ceiling. Another seemed to have turned to ice, sending people sliding around in all directions. There were large brightly coloured soap bubbles floating through the air that belched when you popped them and covered the victim in vibrant paint. And, rumour had it, there was a literal swamp somewhere in the east wing.
In the Entrance Hall he saw Umbridge, drenched head to toe in lurid green paint, hands on her hips as she glared at the Weasley twins. "You think this is funny, do you?" she accused, and the twins shared a look.
"Pretty funny, yeah," George replied nonchalantly. Filch, covered in yellow paint, came skidding around the corner, brandishing some parchment that was now slightly soggy. "I've got the forms, Headmistress!" he crowed in delight, and a dangerous smile slipped onto Umbridge's face.
"Excellent. You two," she stepped closer threateningly, "are about to learn what happens to delinquents like you in my school."
The twins were unmoved. "Nah," Fred said, shrugging.
"Don't think we are," George agreed.
Harry watched with his heart in his mouth as the pair of them sassed Umbridge, then summoned their brooms and took off into the air above the gathered crowd. The front doors were wide open, and Harry couldn't help but laugh as George swooped low, blowing a dramatic kiss to Blaise with his little group of Slytherins. Blaise rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
And then they were off, out of school in a blaze of glory, exactly as they deserved. Umbridge looked like she may have a heart attack on the spot, staring after them — until she realised how many students were staring at her, and yelled at them all to get on with their mornings.
For the whole day, the story of the Flight of Fred and George swept the school, the students who had witnessed it all regaling those who jealously wished they had. Much like with the fireworks, there was some kind of Anti-Vanishing spell on the paint, and Umbridge was forced to teach while looking like Slimer from Ghostbusters right up until lunchtime, when she could finally disappear for a shower.
The only dim moment of it all was the sight of Angelina and Lee, curled up on the twins' usual sofa in the common room late that evening, their faces tired from holding smiles even though their best friends were now gone. Harry approached them tentatively. "Did you know it was coming?"
"Yeah," Lee confirmed. "We said our goodbyes. And we'll see them in a few months." Still, his voice was sad.
"Listen," Harry leaned in closer, "I've got ways of getting letters in and out of the castle. And I know where the twins will be. If you want to write to them, let me know; I'll make it happen."
That made both of them brighten up, even as Angelina eyed him in consideration. "You're full of surprises, Potter," she remarked. "Fred and George always said you had more mischief in you than you let on, but I never really believed it until this year."
Harry grinned lopsidedly. "Been a bit busy, most other years," he pointed out wryly. "Besides, the twins always had mischief covered."
"You're not wrong, there," she agreed, shaking her head with fond exasperation. "Thanks for the offer, Harry. I'll probably have a letter for you in a week or so. Let them know what madness they've spawned in their wake."
"Sounds good." Harry bid them goodnight, heading up to his room, ensconcing himself in his bed curtains with the mirror and calling Sirius' name. "Hey, Padfoot. You get the package today?"
Sirius snorted. "If by package you mean those red-headed demons of yours, then yes, they showed up safe and sound just after lunchtime. Hell of a story with them, too."
"I'll pensieve the memory this summer," Harry promised. "I saw everything, it was brilliant."
The animagus grinned. "Good, good. Were you just calling to check they made it safely, or have you got time for a chat?"
"I've got time," Harry assured, getting more comfortable. "I actually wanted your advice on something."
"Boyfriend or exams?"
Harry laughed. "Neither. I've been thinking, today — now the twins are gone, I'm really the only bit of the Marauders' legacy in this school. Maybe I should take up the mantle a bit." So far, he'd really only stuck to little things to piss off Umbridge, and sneaking around the school in fox form at night when it was easy to be mistaken for a cat.
Umbridge would think she was safe, now the twins were gone.
He couldn't have that.
.-.-.
Harry didn't seem to be the only one who was determined to fill the void left by the Weasley twins; everyone was trying their hand at becoming the next Master Prankster, inspired by their boldness. It was now impossible to go anywhere without a Bubblehead charm thanks to the number of dungbombs being dropped everywhere — Harry was highly amused to see one of the Ravenclaw seventh year prefects herding a group of first and second years down to dinner on one of the worst days, all the kids' heads in one giant bubble like some sort of ridiculous aquarium. A niffler had been deposited in Umbridge's office, the suits of armour were liable to jump out and challenge you to anything from a duel to a dance-off, and amidst it all Peeves was taking the twins' parting shot to heart, causing more chaos within the school than all previous years of Harry's memory combined. Despite Filch's insistence that he would get permission to exorcise the poltergeist, that had yet to happen. And with so many troublemakers popping up, Filch couldn't keep track of them all, pacing the corridors and yelling at any student he happened to find but unable to punish any of them.
In between the times in which he was stationed at the edge of the swamp in the east wing, which Umbridge had been unable to remove despite many attempts, hauling over any students who were incapable of levitating themselves. Harry had spent one excellent lunch hour hidden as a fox, watching Filch punt first years across the foul-smelling miniature biome.
On top of all that, members of the Inquisitorial squad kept suffering strange and mysterious accidents, leaving them unable to help Umbridge put a lid on this wave of terror. Nothing particularly serious, but all very entertaining.
Harry didn't feel the need to join in until a few days after the twins' disappearance, when the initial wave of pranking began to die down. Then he prepared his supplies, and got to work as soon as curfew had passed.
He had asked Draco to join him, hoping to spend a little quality time with his boyfriend, but the blond had studying to do apparently. Still, Harry was surprised to see a different Slytherin waiting for him outside the Gryffindor common room.
"That you, Harry?" Blaise whispered, after seeing the portrait open for seemingly no one. Harry lowered the hood of the cloak.
"Everything alright?"
Blaise smirked. "Draco said you were up to something fun, needed a helping hand. I had nothing better to do tonight."
Harry stared at him, surprised, then nodded after a few moments. "Yeah, alright then." He wouldn't turn down an assistant. "Come on." To his credit, Blaise didn't blink at talking to a floating disembodied head as they made their way down to the Great Hall. Any time someone came nearby, Harry put his hood back up; while Blaise wasn't a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, Slytherins could practically do what they wanted these days. Even Slytherins who were dating Weasleys, apparently.
"So what's the plan?" the Italian boy asked eagerly, once they were in the Great Hall. It was eerily silent so late at night, the stars twinkling overhead. Harry shed the cloak properly, stuffing it in his bag. "First thing's first," he declared, striding up to the head table. Reaching the headmistress' chair, he quickly Vanished the seat, then put up a glamour to make it look like it was perfectly ordinary. Umbridge would fall right through when she sat down for her breakfast.
Blaise snorted at the sight of it. "Good, but a little… tame," he drawled. Harry straightened up, setting his bag on the table and pulling out several egg-shaped objects.
"This is the main plan. That was just for my own amusement," he admitted. "I need these eggs hidden up in the rafters; they're already enchanted. Whenever Umbridge says the word 'detention', one will fall down, splatter whatever it lands on with slime, and hatch an origami toad that'll follow her around and repeats everything she says back at her." Umbridge couldn't go five minutes without screaming for some person or another to be put in detention, so Harry was confident all the eggs would hatch before the end of breakfast. She'd be hearing her own voice echoed twenty times over all day. "Also I wanted to hex the table to dump her food in her lap." It was a classic, after all.
Blaise stared at him, reluctantly impressed. "You devious little bastard," he remarked. "I'm in. Where do you want me?"
Between the two of them, setting up the eggs went much faster than they would have with Harry alone. When they were finished, they stood at the doors and surveyed their work, all hidden under careful Disillusionment charms.
"Should make for an interesting morning," Harry declared in satisfaction.
"George will be sad to have missed this," Blaise mused wistfully. Harry glanced at him.
"Yeah, but you know he'll be crazy proud once he hears you were involved," he said, watching the boy blush through his smile. "Hey, I can sneak letters to him, if you want to write," he offered; Blaise would be missing the twins plenty, he deserved the same as Angelina and Lee.
The Slytherin's eyebrows rose. "Umbridge is monitoring every letter that crosses the wards."
"She certainly thinks she is," Harry agreed mischievously.
"…You can really get a letter to him? And he can write back?" Blaise's voice was so hopeful, it sent a pang through Harry's chest — oh, those boys were so smitten, it warmed his heart to see it. "Takes a couple days, but yeah." If Snape couldn't deliver him letters, Ceri was always down for the job, and no one had yet figured out they needed to ward against house elves. Harry was amazed he was the only one who seemed to have discovered such an obvious flaw in the school defences.
"Brilliant." Blaise ran a hand over his short hair. "I'll have a letter for you by the weekend. Thanks, Harry."
"Happy to help." He bumped Blaise's shoulder companionably with his own. "You two are good for each other." He hadn't been sure at first, but seeing the pair of them together made sense — even more so now he had discovered this mischievous side of Blaise.
"It won't be easy, my last two years now he's graduated," Blaise admitted. "But we'll make it work. And it'll be easier once Umbridge is gone." There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Umbridge would not last until September. She would not be the one to break the DADA curse.
"I hope so." There was a loud noise outside the hall, and both of them froze. "We should get to bed."
Blaise nodded, watching Harry disappear under his invisibility cloak. He shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe you have a cloak like that," he murmured enviously. Harry let out a soft laugh, and bid the Slytherin goodnight, heading back up to Gryffindor.
Maybe next time he'd let Blaise in on the secret of the Marauder's Map.
.-.-.-.
Harry's prank went off without a hitch, and with no clear signs of where Umbridge could place the blame. The frogs followed her around for the entire day, resistant to all attempts at Vanishing them — and burning, freezing, stunning, or just about anything else she could throw at it. Flitwick quietly offered thirty points to whoever had come up with such ingenious magic, but the rubies in the Gryffindor hourglass didn't give anything away — nor did they last long. But no one cared about the house points anymore; the only thing worth anything anymore was the quidditch cup. And no one wanted it more than Angelina Johnson.
Given the last-minute need for a replacement pair of Gryffindor beaters, no one was expecting miracles. Anyone in fifth or seventh year was far too stressed about exams to give up their precious free time, and the younger candidates were… not fantastic. After a rather haphazard try-out, they ended up with a pair of third years; Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper.
They weren't the worst beaters Harry had ever seen, but they were certainly close. "It's just one match," Angelina was muttering to herself at breakfast before the game. "We just need a sixty point lead to take the cup."
"You'll get it," Harry assured confidently, feeling incredibly strange being in jeans and a t-shirt while the rest of the team wore their quidditch gear. "You're all great at dodging bludgers. You'll be fine."
They would certainly need to be great, because Kirke and Sloper were more likely to hit themselves with their bats than a bludger. Harry couldn't believe there was so little talent in the younger years of Gryffindor; it did not bode well for next year's cup.
Harry went with Neville to get a good seat in the stands, his stomach still squirming anxiously. "I hate this," he muttered, and Neville clapped his shoulder.
"You'll be back out there next year," he said with confidence. Harry hoped he was right.
The match began, Lee Jordan's commentary not quite as lively as usual, and while the female members of the Gryffindor quidditch team were performing as excellently as always, it was clear the two boys were not up to scratch. At one point, Kirke was so afraid of the bludger coming towards him he screamed and fell off his broom.
Harry's hands were clenched in his lap, his eyes intently on the play. He'd already spotted the snitch thrice, and was desperately trying to will Ginny to notice it. But the Ravenclaw beaters were gunning for her, trying to give Cho the best chance, and with useless beaters Ginny could do little but dodge and hope for the best.
At one point, Harry noticed Hagrid further down in the stands — he was as bruised and bloodied as he had been all term, and was talking to Ron and Hermione. After a brief conversation, the trio left the stands. Harry was almost curious enough to go after them; he'd tried to talk to Hagrid about whatever it was that was causing all those injuries, especially after relaying a few cryptic warnings from Firenze, but Hagrid just kept gruffly insisting that Harry had enough on his plate.
With any luck, Ron and Hermione would be able to help the half-giant out with whatever he was doing.
Shaking it off, Harry turned back to the match, gaze flicking to the scoreboard at the commentator's box. Gryffindor was down sixty-thirty, their chasers hardly able to keep possession of the quaffle because of their useless beaters.
"Come on, Ginny," he urged, watching the redhead fly.
Another twenty minutes passed, the score becoming ninety-forty, when at last Ginny turned into a sharp dive, a bludger hot on her tail. Harry followed her line of sight, eye catching on the glint of gold, and he leaned forward in his seat. The bludger chasing her was actually doing her a favour; because of it, Cho couldn't get close, circling her dive awkwardly. "Yes, yes, go!" Neville muttered at Harry's side, practically on his feet.
Ginny's hand clenched around the tiny golden ball, and the Gryffindor stands exploded with noise.
Harry jumped to his feet, shouting and hugging Neville — he didn't mind this part of being in the crowd, getting to celebrate in the huddle of red and gold, watching the team fly a breathless victory lap. It hurt, not being with them, but there was always next year for him.
Angelina and Alicia took an extra lap, just the two of them, bidding goodbye to the pitch they had loved for the last seven years. More than just Gryffindors cheered for them, and Harry whistled loudly, whooping. They were joined by Roger Davies, who would also be graduating in a few weeks, and the three of them flew together before heading back down, tumbling to the grass in a tight embrace. Roger had a few words with Angelina, then shook her hand and went back to his team, who patted him on the back all the same.
It took a while to file out of the stands, and Harry and Neville headed up to the castle with Parvati and Lavender, all four of them beaming.
"Did you see Umbridge's face?" Lavender crowed in delight. The headmistress had looked outraged that even banning three players couldn't stop the Gryffindor team from winning. Harry thought he'd seen Colin take a picture of the expression, and he made a mental note to hunt the fourth year down and see about getting a copy to send to Fred and George.
Speaking of Fred and George… "You guys head up," Harry urged once they hit the Entrance Hall. "I've got to go sort something first."
Neville eyed him shrewdly, but let it lie, walking with the girls towards the stairs. Harry turned in the direction of the corridor to the kitchens.
The twins were usually responsible for the epic feasts present at Gryffindor victory parties, and Harry had to step up in their absence. Luckily, Dobby was more than happy to help.
"We is taking care of it!" the elf promised with an enthusiastic salute. Several other elves grinned up at Harry, hurrying to fill a picnic basket with enough food to feed an army. "Brilliant, thank you all so much. Can you just go ahead and send it up to the Tower?" Harry had another stop to make.
Hugging Dobby goodbye, Harry continued on his way, sneaking through the one-eyed witch and down to Hogsmeade. Madame Rosmerta only look half surprised to see him, raising one amused eyebrow. "Gryffindor won, then?" she presumed, and Harry nodded.
"I'll take as much as you're willing to give me," he declared, setting a stack of galleons down on the table. The barmaid laughed.
"It was getting far too quiet without those Weasley boys around," she declared, levitating a crate of butterbeer with her wand. "Glad you're picking up their legacy, Mr Potter."
Harry shrunk the crate and put it carefully in his pocket, then disappeared again, racing through Honeydukes' cellar and back to the castle.
By the time he reached the Tower, the party was well underway, though the quidditch team hadn't arrived. Someone had hung one of the 'Go Go Gryffindor' banners up on the wall, and the picnic basket had been unpacked onto a conjured table.
A round of cheers went up when Harry revealed his purchase, enlarging the butterbeer crate and setting it in the usual place, grabbing a finger sandwich off the table.
"I don't want to know how you managed that, do I?" Neville asked wryly, accepting a bottle. Harry beamed at him.
"Ask me no questions—"
"You'll tell me no lies, right, yeah," Neville finished, rolling his eyes.
The portrait hole opened, and a roar of cheering filled the room as the quidditch team entered, wearing Gryffindor house hoodies and beaming widely. Harry whooped, grinning when he met Angelina's eyes — he was so glad she could experience winning the cup one last time.
Ginny was striding towards them, a determined glint in her eye, and Harry was about to ask what the matter was when she stepped up to Neville, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him down into a kiss.
Neville froze only for a moment, before his arms wrapped tight around the redhead, butterbeer bottle still in his hand as he kissed back like there was no tomorrow. Harry laughed, wolf-whistling loudly, and another round of cheers filled the room along with several cat-calls and more whistling.
Across the room, Harry could see a red-faced Ron gearing up to head over, only for Hermione to grab him by the arm and begin yelling at him. Good. Ginny and Neville deserved this moment.
When they finally surfaced for air, both of them were grinning like loons, and Harry clapped them both on the shoulders like a proud parent. "About fucking time, I say!" he declared vehemently, making them both blush.
"I, uh— we're gonna go talk. Somewhere quieter," Neville told him, his cheeks as red as the Gryffindor banner, but his hand still firmly clasped in Ginny's.
"No worries. Here, take these with you." He handed Ginny a butterbeer, and Neville a napkin stacked with chocolate chip scones. "They might all be gone by the time you get back. Also, fantastic catch, Ginny," he complimented, making the girl beam wider.
"Thanks, Harry! I hope you're ready to have me at chaser try-outs next year!"
He pat her on the back, then ruffled her hair. "You're on. Now get out of here, lovebirds."
The only reason neither of them flipped him off was because their hands were full, but Ginny's glare did the work anyway. Harry watched them go fondly, then looked for the three chaser girls in the crowd, eager to hug the life out of them for their victory — and make Angelina and Alicia cry again, probably.
He might not have played this match, but he would always be part of their team.
.-.-.-.
Listening to his little cousin's increasingly worried report, Sirius frowned; it certainly sounded like things at the Ministry were going downhill fast.
'How long do we think before there's a vote of no confidence?" Bill asked, but Kingsley shook his head.
"There are too many people who are happy to let him keep blundering through," he pointed out. "Something big would have to happen first."
None of them said what they were all thinking; Voldemort would have to rear his ugly head.
It was even more worrying, in Sirius' opinion, that the Dark Lord hadn't made any obvious moves yet, not since the breakout from Azkaban. Either his ten Death Eaters were in worse shape than he'd thought, or he was taking advantage of being presumed dead to work under the radar and get something big in place. The flurry of belief caused by Harry's Quibbler article had been slowly worn down by the lack of activity and the Prophet's continued insistence that it was all lies.
"It's bloody frustrating," Tonks growled, running a hand through his bright orange hair. "There's nothing we can do but sit back and watch more and more departments get headed by obvious Death Eaters, or at least Death Eater sympathisers."
Kingsley squeezed his partner's shoulder. "We can keep the aurors legitimate for as long as possible. Scrimgeour may be a bastard, but he's an honest one."
Sirius remembered Scrimgeour; a senior auror back in the day, gruff and a little too rough with the suspects — a little too keen to accuse people of dark magic. Cut from the same cloth as Alastor Moody, which wasn't ideal, but it was better than a Voldemort lackey in charge.
Tonks sighed, and shook his head. "You're right. As always," he added with a mock annoyed look. Kingsley smirked.
"We should get going. I've got to be at work in an hour."
That seemed to be the cue for all four of them to make their leave, and Sirius started to clear the table from their impromptu lunch meeting. He smiled when a familiar scarred hand picked up one of the plates. "You don't have to be anywhere?" he asked, and Charlie shook his head, sending the dishes into the sink with his wand and reeling Sirius in by the hand.
"Not 'til five," he replied, kissing him slowly.
Sirius still felt giddy, even more than a month into their relationship. After all those months of that in-between stage where he'd been trying to deny things, it felt like he and Charlie had been together for much longer than they had. But this was so much better than the way they were before.
"That's good," he said, leaning into Charlie's embrace, relishing in how warm the dragon-tamer always was. Sirius hardly ever felt cold these days, thanks to him. "Want to come read in my room for a bit?"
"Read, or read?" Charlie asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Sirius snorted.
"Actually read," he clarified. "I'm… I could use some company, today."
"I'm all yours," Charlie promised, kissing his cheek, entirely unaware of the way that made Sirius' heart skip with joy.
They cleaned up the kitchen, then wandered up to Sirius' room, shedding their jeans and shirts before climbing into bed in just their underwear. There were two books on the nightstand, and Charlie's long arm reached for them, passing one to Sirius.
Sirius wasn't sure he'd ever get used to being freely allowed so much skin-on-skin contact. Charlie was happy to be naked, or close to it, even if they weren't going to be doing anything sexual. He would lie there and read with Sirius in his arms, one hand stroking the animagus' chest and belly gently, like he was petting Padfoot rather than the very human Sirius. It was the best feeling in the world.
"Hey, can I tell you a secret?" Charlie said, once they'd been reading in silence for a little while. Sirius hummed, setting his book down.
"What's up?"
Charlie nosed his temple, hand on Sirius' stomach pausing in its motions. "Bill wants to ask Fleur to marry him."
"Really?" Sirius grinned. "That's brilliant!" He had never met the French witch, but from everything he'd heard about her from both the Weasleys and Harry, she was a spitfire, and perfect for Bill. "That is brilliant, isn't it?'
"Yeah, no, she's great, I'd love to have her in the family," Charlie assured quickly. "But they want a longer engagement, since they've only been together a year or so. So he's thinking he's gonna ask her to marry him, and then if she says yes, she'll move in to his flat with him. Gringotts don't care about cohabiting before marriage or whatever."
Sirius now understood Charlie's dilemma. "And you don't want to third wheel your big brother and his future spouse?" he finished knowingly. Charlie nodded.
"He's said I can stay as long as I like, and it's not like Fleur would really mind. But… they should have their privacy, y'know. To figure out how to live together as a couple before they get married, without me being there." Charlie sighed. "I'm fine with moving into reserve housing, I suppose. It'll just be a pain in the arse to travel to and from because of the wards."
Sirius knew the wards on the dragon reserve were incredibly tight, with limited and designated access points, to make sure none of the dragons got out — and no one got in to the dragons who wasn't authorised.
"Why don't you move in here?" he suggested without really thinking. He felt Charlie tense. "I'm serious," Sirius continued, the idea sounding better and better the more it rattled around his head. "It's safe, you're right here for Order meetings, and you can come and go as you please. And, y'know, I'm here too." He felt a flutter in his belly at the idea of having Charlie warm and heavy in his bed every night.
He felt lips curve into a smile against his temple. "Six weeks ago you wouldn't even admit you liked me," the redhead pointed out.
"Six weeks ago I was an idiot," Sirius retorted. He turned, shuffling on Charlie's broad chest to look his boyfriend in the eye. "If you don't want to, forget I asked. Or if you want to move in to one of the guest rooms, that's totally fine. I'm not gonna tie you to my bed," he teased, watching blue eyes light up playfully.
"Shame," Charlie drawled.
"It just seems stupid for you to get a flat at the reserve when you're always either here or at Bill's when you're not at work," Sirius pointed out. "And I know you hate living alone."
He had different reasons than Sirius, but as one of seven children he had confided in Sirius that being in any empty house felt unnerving. He'd had two housemates back in Romania, the three of them living in a little two-bed cabin on the reserve.
Charlie let out a long breath. "Are you sure?" he asked worriedly. "I don't want to rush things. I don't want to overwhelm you."
"I'd love to have you around all the time." Sirius couldn't think of anything better, in all honesty, except perhaps having Harry home. Charlie was the perfect companion; he knew when to be quiet and read versus when Sirius needed conversation and laughter and music; he was happy to give Sirius his space when he wanted, but always seemed to know when the animagus was slipping into dark thoughts; and, Sirius thought with a blush, he was an incredible lover, which certainly didn't harm things.
He set his book properly aside and leaned up, cupping Charlie's face. "I know I took a while to come around to this," he said softly, "but it's not because I don't care about you." If anything it was because he cared too much, he wanted Charlie to have better than some fucked up ex-convict. "I don't think having you move in will overwhelm me. Except in the good ways," he said, winking. "Hell, it's a big enough house; if I need to avoid you, I can do so."
Charlie snickered, and then he was rolling them over, trapping Sirius tenderly against the mattress. "You're not wrong," he mused. Sirius hummed absently — it was always a little harder to think with Charlie's weight on top of him, his brain turning into a happy puddle of goo. Sometimes he thought Charlie did it just to get an honest answer out of him while he didn't have the brain cells to lie. "You really want me to move in here?"
"I really do," Sirius assured, eyes falling half-shut. "Want you here, all the time." He clenched his jaw shut before he said something foolish. Charlie kissed the corner of his mouth.
"Okay, then. When Bill proposes, and Fleur says yes, I'll move my stuff over here." There was no doubt in Charlie's voice that the French girl would accept the proposal. "You do know that me moving in here means my parents will probably find out eventually," the redhead added. Sirius groaned quietly. "I mean, we could try and fool them, but we'd probably slip up eventually…"
"Fuck it," Sirius murmured. "Let them find out. I don't care. Give Molly another reason to hate me."
"Mum doesn't hate you," Charlie said, and Sirius snorted.
"She does," he insisted. "Thinks I'm a reprobate. It'll be worse when she finds out I'm fucking her son." He grinned at the prospect.
"Okay, I need you clear-headed," Charlie declared, and with another quick kiss he rolled off of Sirius, leaving the older man pouting. "Do you mean it? Not about Mum hating you. About you not minding if her and Dad know."
Sirius did his best to look serious, sitting up. "They'll find out sooner or later. It's going to be an argument whether it's now or six months down the line. Might as well get it over with." He grinned ruefully. "You spent this long wearing me down, it's not like an argument with your parents will be enough to break us." He wouldn't have given in if he wasn't at least hoping for the long haul. "I just want to tell Harry first," he added, frowning. "I don't want him thinking I'm keeping secrets."
Charlie's eyes were bright, sparkling in the lamplight. "Of course, yeah," he agreed. The dimples were back, and this time Sirius didn't resist reaching for them, slotting his thumbs into the little divots. Charlie laughed, surging up for a kiss.
"I'm so happy you said yes," he sighed. "Sometimes I still can't believe it."
Guilt wormed its way through Sirius' gut. "I'm sorry I made you wait so long."
"Worth it," Charlie insisted without hesitation. Sirius stole another kiss, leaning over the redhead, wondering how he got so fucking lucky that someone like Charlie Weasley was willing to even give him the time of day.
"You need to leave for work soon," he said, looking at the clock on the wall. "Let me suck you off before you go?"
Charlie's eyes darkened with lust.
"An offer like that? How can I refuse."
Yes, Sirius would definitely like having Charlie in the house all the time.