Harry and Neville — and by association, Ginny — made sure to get down to breakfast early the next morning. Both to avoid the incessant gossip in the common room, and to make sure they gave Professor McGonagall plenty of time to sort out their schedules. The housemistress had to confirm with every sixth year that they had gained the necessary OWL grades to continue their chosen classes to NEWT level, and both boys had things they needed to confirm.
McGonagall looked a little stressed already by the time she reached them, the boys catching the tail end of a discussion with Lavender about the Divination NEWT and how Firenze would be taking the sixth years; it seemed Lavender wanted to learn from both Firenze and Trelawney this year. Or, rather, she wanted to learn from Trelawney and ogle Firenze. Harry smiled to himself at hearing her huff as she walked off to her first class.
"Ah, Mr Longbottom. Congratulations on your Herbology grade, I know Professor Sprout will be delighted to have you continue her class," she greeted, making Neville smile bashfully. "I did want to discuss some of your other choices, however — while I'm very impressed that you managed an Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration, I do have to ask if you're absolutely sure about wanting to continue the subject. The coursework is quite intense, and being perfectly honest with you, Longbottom, I think you might struggle as the year goes on. Have you considered continuing Charms instead? Professor Flitwick has always been impressed with your work, and from what he's told me you seem to enjoy the class far more than I can say you've ever enjoyed mine."
There was no judgement in her tone, but Neville flushed.
"Gran says Charms is a soft option," he mumbled, and McGonagall huffed.
"But you, Longbottom? What do you think?"
I— I like Charms. Um. Better than Transfiguration? Sorry, Professor."
McGonagall's lips twitched with faint amusement. "My class is not for everyone. Now, you could always continue both—" Neville shook his head in mild alarm, "I thought not. I suggest you continue Charms, and I will remind Augusta that just because she failed Charms, that does not make it a soft option." Her gaze turned pointed, and Neville gaped. Evidently, his gran had not shared that part of her opinion on the subject.
"Y-yeah, that sounds great. Thanks, Professor," he stuttered, shoulders slumping in relief. Harry grinned encouragingly at him; they both knew that only his determined studying with the heirs had brought his Transfiguration grade up from an A to a low E, and Neville had spent half the summer worrying about taking the NEWT and failing dismally. McGonagall tapped his schedule with her wand to rearrange it, and handed it over. Then she turned to Harry, who straightened up under her gaze. There was pride shining in those dark green eyes, and he fought back a grin. "Mr Potter. Your OWL grades were as I expected they might be, very well done."
"Thank you, Professor."
She looked down his schedule, frowning. "This is going to be quite the busy schedule for you, Potter. Are you sure you want to continue seven subjects?"
"I, ah, was actually thinking about dropping Herbology. Sorry, Nev," he added sheepishly, but his friend just waved him off.
"I'm ditching you in Potions, it's only fair," he joked.
McGonagall nodded in approval. "Sensible. Six is still a large course load, but considering your performance in recent years I can't see you having a problem with it. Professors Babbling and Vector have both seen your OWL papers, and are very much looking forward to having you in their class."
Across the table, Hermione Granger choked on her drink. "He what?" she spluttered, wide-eyed. "But— Professor, are you saying he's taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for NEWT? But he didn't even take the OWL classes!"
McGonagall narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. "Mr Potter self-studied for his OWLs in both subjects, which is a perfectly reasonable pathway. He has achieved the grade requirements for both classes."
"But he'll be so behind, he won't know any of the things we worked on last year!"
"As they were OWL level projects, I daresay he won't need to," McGonagall retorted primly.
Hermione turned to Harry, brown eyes imploring. "Harry, don't be ridiculous, really; you'll just fall behind, they're really difficult classes!"
"I got Os in both of my OWLs, Hermione, I'm sure I'll be fine," he replied evenly. That, if possible, made Hermione's eyes widen even more.
"You— you got Os? But… but that's not possible. I only got an E in Ancient Runes!" she screeched, and Harry had to pull on all of his Slytherin training to avoid smirking right in her face.
"Then I suggest you worry about your own class performance and leave me to mine." He turned back to Professor McGonagall, who once again was pointedly not reacting to the conversation. "Six subjects sounds great, Professor. I'm excited to start NEWT Transfiguration." He wished he could show her his animagus form. Perhaps later, once he knew she was truly trustworthy.
She adjusted his schedule and handed it over, a small smile crossing her features. "Glad to hear it, Potter. Oh, and by the way, I have a list of hopefuls for the Quidditch team, whenever you're ready to organise tryouts." She turned, facing the pair across the table. "Now, Mr Weasley — I thought you wanted to be an auror?"
Harry turned back to his breakfast, listening with half an ear as McGonagall gently harangued Ron into continuing Potions, since Slughorn accepted E students. The redhead didn't look thrilled by it, but obviously his desire to be an auror won out — and the hope that Slughorn might be less awful than Snape.
Harry looked down at his schedule; he had Ancient Runes first period. Annoyingly that meant dealing with Hermione all in a tizzy, but on the bright side he knew Draco would be in that class.
Bidding goodbye to Neville, who had a free period first thing, Harry set off. Unsurprisingly, Hermione hurried after him. "There's no way you got Os in both Runes and Arithmancy," she declared, and Harry kept walking, unfazed.
"Well, that's what my results said, so I guess I did," he replied.
"There must have been some sort of mix-up," Hermione insisted. Harry shrugged.
"If there was, we'll soon find out, won't we?" he said. "But again, I suggest you focus on your own classwork — it won't make any difference to you how well I'm doing, will it?"
Then he picked up his pace, grateful for his growth spurt giving him longer legs to get away from her nagging.
.-.-.-.
Runes was a much more enjoyable class than either Divination or CoMC had been, and Harry was excited to be able to study the subject properly rather than just working on summers and over the mirror with Sirius and Remus.
Draco was mostly just entertained by Hermione Granger glaring daggers at the pair of them through the entire thing. The homework load was a little daunting, but Harry set the stack of books inside his satchel, thankful for the Feather-Light charms. Hermione kept looking at him as if expecting him to burst into tears at the prospect of so much reading and a fifteen inch essay on the first day. Harry ignored her, pulling out his schedule to compare against Draco's. "Hey, look, we've both got free periods this afternoon," he said cheerfully. "Library?"
"Works for me. I'm sure this won't be the only homework we've picked up by then."
The crowd outside the DADA classroom was much larger than the one for Ancient Runes. Harry and Draco joined Neville and Susan, both of whom had expressions of mild dread on their faces. "How bad are we expecting?" Susan asked grimly. Harry shrugged.
He wasn't going to lie and say that Snape would be even remotely bearable. "I mean, hopefully fewer explosions than Potions class?" he said instead, making Neville choke on a laugh.
No one had a response — the classroom door opened, and the sixth years filed in.
Harry was glad to see that every member of the HA in his year was present in the class, as well as a few other students.
Snape began his class with an appropriately worshipful speech on the Dark Arts, complete with picture examples of what could befall those who did not treat them with the correct respect. The fear in the room was palpable — good, as far as Harry was concerned. They needed to be scared. They needed to take things seriously.
One thing was for sure; this year, they would not have a teacher who would coddle them, or hold their hand as they explored the darker parts of wizarding life. Snape would make damn sure all of them knew exactly what was waiting for them outside the castle — what life would become, should Voldemort win.
He would just be saying it in a way that made it sound like he was excited for the prospect.
"…you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of non-verbal spells," the man drawled, robes billowing as he paced around the classroom. As he mocked Hermione for her textbook-perfect answer, Harry felt the atmosphere shift, ever so slightly. Several of his classmates were hiding smiles, relief on their faces.
They were not quite the novices Snape expected them to be, thanks to Harry.
As tempting as it was to pair up with Draco, Harry turned to Neville instead; his friend had never quite got the hang of non-verbal casting. And no matter how much Snape glared and sneered at Harry and made disparaging remarks in his direction, they all knew Harry would have no problem with the kind of mental focus involved. So the class got to work, Snape catching out every instance of a quietly-muttered spell — unless of course it came from one of his Slytherins. Harry kept one eye on Neville while the blond boy tried to cast a non-verbal jinx, while his other surveyed the classroom, pride filling him at the sight of the HA members picking up the exercise quickly.
Suddenly a Jelly-Legs jinx came shooting towards him, and Harry silently raised a shield in an instant. He grinned at Neville, offering a thumbs up. That was much faster than usual, for him!
Snape didn't seem to know how to handle the majority of his class succeeding within the first fifteen minutes. He strode through the pairs, dark eyes narrowing with every silent jinx or shield performed. The only members of the class who were struggling were those Harry had not taught — including, to his amusement, Ron and Hermione. Ron was purple in the face with the effort of trying to raise a shield, and while Hermione had managed a non-verbal Stinging hex, it was so weak Ron hardly even noticed it.
The professor suddenly appeared looming over Neville's shoulder, and Harry saw Neville's hand begin to tremble. Snape sneered. "Pathetic, Longbottom. Here, let me show you—"
He raised his wand quickly, but Harry was just as fast; his non-verbal shield leapt into action against Snape's Burning hex, which was strong enough to push both casters back a little. Harry's eyes widened.
"That wasn't a jinx!" he protested indignantly. Snape's eyes flashed.
"That wasn't a jinx, sir," he corrected pointedly. Unable to help himself, Harry smirked.
"There's no need to call me sir, Professor."
Several people gasped quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught Neville's horrified gaze — and behind him, Draco biting his lip to contain his laughter.
Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry braced himself for the fallout. "Detention!" the tall man snapped. "Saturday night, my office." That had been easy enough. "Watch your mouth, Potter, or you will find yourself removed from my classroom. I'm sure the Prophet would have a field day," he added in that dangerously smooth drawl. Harry schooled his face into something vaguely resembling contrition. "Well," Snape said curtly, striding back to the front of the room. "It seems that for once in your lives, some of you have actually come prepared for your class. We shall see how long that lasts."
Harry glanced around, catching the eye of several pleased-looking HA members. It wasn't often anyone got one over on Professor Snape — with any luck, that would continue. If it meant Snape got the perfect excuse to push them all even harder, well, that was a bonus in Harry's eyes.
.-.-.
"Did you see the look on his face when we all started casting?"
"Bet he wasn't expecting that!"
"But did you see his face when Harry said that!"
The class barely waited for the door to shut on Snape's classroom before they were muttering eagerly to one another, grinning and snickering. It was a far cry from the despondent, angry faces Harry was used to seeing after a DADA class.
"Do you have a death wish?" Draco asked quietly, sidling up to him. Harry laughed. "I'm serious — talking back to him in front of the whole class like that, are you mad?"
"It just sort of happened," Harry confessed, unrepentant. "You know me — sometimes my mouth does things before my brain can tell it not to."
Draco's eyes dropped to Harry's lips for the barest of moments, and he scowled, glaring at Harry with a clear 'don't flirt with me in public' face.
Harry just laughed again.
He was interrupted by Jack Sloper, delivering a message from Dumbledore and asking Harry about quidditch trials. Harry grimaced — he'd have to arrange that soon, before Sloper and his friend got their hopes up about continuing on as Gryffindor's beaters.
"Ooh, perfect timing," he murmured to himself, reading Dumbledore's request to meet him that Saturday evening. Snape's detention was proving even more useful already!
Hermione was just as furious with Harry's presence in the Arithmancy classroom as she had been at Ancient Runes — more so, even, after Professor Vector gushed over his OWL result, playfully scolding him for keeping his talent hidden from her for so long.
Luckily, Daphne and Padma were also taking the class, so Harry had some friendly faces to sit with.
Harry was glad when his first free period arrived, he and Neville heading back to the common room. It was the time slot for Care of Magical Creatures, which Draco was taking because it would look good on his healer application, so the two Gryffindors went up to work on their homework for Snape together. "Here goes any hopes that there would be less homework than last year," Neville sighed, unrolling some parchment. Harry hummed in agreement.
"At least this year we've got free periods to work in."
Indeed, knowing there were breaks within his schedule was a relief to Harry, even though he was sure they wouldn't feel like breaks once the year fully got going.
At the very least, it would make meeting with the other heirs much easier to organise.
.-.-.
After lunch, Neville was far too smug about returning to the common room with Parvati and Lavender while Harry headed down to the dungeons for Potions. Unsurprisingly, it was a fairly small group; a dozen of them in all. Ron didn't look happy about being there, and his scowl deepened when Harry stood to wait with Draco, Blaise and Theo.
"Glad you can finally stop throwing shit in my cauldron, now?" he asked his boyfriend teasingly. Draco smirked.
"I don't know, I might do it anyway. Keep you on your toes."
Harry snorted, and Slughorn opened the door, happily welcoming them all in. To their surprise, there were already cauldrons bubbling away inside; four of them, each filled with something different. Harry sat with the three Slytherins, feeling bad for Pansy Parkinson as she was forced to sit with the three Ravenclaw boys — and feeling equally sorry for Padma and Ernie, who were left sharing a table with Ron and Hermione. Slughorn looked surprised by the arrangement, his gaze lingering on Harry for several seconds, a frown beneath his enormous moustache.
Did he think Harry's guiding hand needed to direct him away from Slytherin House?
When Slughorn directed everyone to get their books and potion kits out, Ron stuck his hand up hesitantly, explaining his dilemma. Slughorn just smiled. "Not to worry, not to worry! You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, I'll get you set up. And we've got a few spare copies of old books that will do you quite nicely until you can get your own. Ah, Harry, my boy, would you mind grabbing Mr Weasley a copy of Advanced Potion Making from that cupboard over there while I find some scales he can borrow?"
Harry was the closest to the cupboard, so he slid off his stool and headed over. There were only two copies of the book, and both of them looked fairly battered. Harry picked up the one on top, flicking it open to see what state it was in; Ron would whine eternally if he thought Harry had purposefully given him the worse copy.
To his surprise, the pages were absolutely covered in handwriting — the previous owner had taken issue with practically every potion in the book, crossing things out and adding their own instructions, or writing tips in the margins.
It was very familiar handwriting, to Harry — the same handwriting he'd seen scrawled all over the notes in the lab at Seren Du, and on the labels of all the bottles in their Potions cabinet. Similar, but more rushed, to the handwriting that had littered Harry's Potions homework for the last five years.
His eyebrows rose, and Harry quickly tucked the book into the inner pocket of his robe, grabbing the other book; a flick through it proved it to be slightly dog-eared but otherwise unmarked, so Harry was happy to hand that copy over to Ron.
With everyone prepared, Slughorn began the lesson, proudly showing off the potions he'd brewed as an example of a successful NEWT education.
Harry very much hoped Slughorn would be keeping a keen eye on these cauldrons — Veritaserum and Polyjuice Potion would cause absolute chaos if they were snuck into the school population.
Hermione was in fine form answering questions, preening with every smile and chuckle she drew from Slughorn at her prompt responses. Harry had to crane his neck to look at the third potion, the one he didn't immediately recognise — as he did, the steam rising from the cauldron drifted his way. At first, Harry didn't recognise much of a change in smell; there was an underlying aroma of treacle tart, but it wasn't all that strong. Then he realised that the combination of the woody scent of broomstick polish and the familiar spicy notes of Draco's aftershave were not actually coming from the boy sat beside him, but from the cauldron of what was definitely Amortentia — as confirmed by Slughorn, chuckling over Hermione's enthusiasm.
Harry inhaled a little deeper; indeed, the steam made him feel like he had his nose pressed into the curve of Draco's neck, as he often did when they were curled up together. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and glanced aside, meeting Draco's gaze and raising one eyebrow slightly.
Draco's pale face flushed pink, and he nodded, the movement hardly noticeable as he watched Slughorn, pretending to pay attention. Under the table, Draco's knee bumped against his, just for a moment.
Harry grinned to himself, attention turning back to the professor — he knew, of course, but having confirmation like that made his stomach flutter happily.
"Ugh," Blaise muttered under his breath, glaring at them both. Harry winked at him.
"I'm sorry, Blaise — I'm sure the smell of fireworks is going to make it really hard to tell whether your cauldron is burning today," he replied quietly, snickering as Blaise's glare intensified.
.-.-.-.
Potions class with Slughorn was far more relaxed than Potions with Snape — or perhaps it was that everyone in the room had chosen to be there.
Or maybe, it was because Harry was brewing using the altered instructions in Snape's book, and it made the Draught of Living Death an absolute breeze to brew. Even Draco kept looking over at his cauldron in amazement. "Tell you later," Harry promised quietly, stirring his cauldron — with the additional clockwise stir Snape recommended.
The result was a cauldron of flawless Draught of Living Death, which had Hermione — wild-haired and flustered after her frantic brewing process — glaring daggers at him across the classroom when Slughorn sung his praises, handing over the small vial of Felix Felicis.
"Inherited your mother's talent, to be sure!" the old professor declared excitedly. "My, my, well done indeed, Harry my boy!"
Harry slipped the book carefully into his bag on the way out, already mentally rearranging his evening.
"How did you do that?" Hermione cornered him as soon as they were outside the classroom. "You— your potion was perfect, that shouldn't have been possible in the time allotted!"
"I guess I just got lucky," he replied, utterly straight-faced. Hermione glared at him, huffed loudly, and stormed off, dragging Ron along with her. When she was gone, Draco chuckled.
"No, really, how did you do that?" he asked, bumping Harry's shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, I know you can brew. But that was something else."
Seeing Blaise and Theo looking equally curious, Harry beckoned them into an empty classroom and pulled out the book, showing it to them. "I found it in the cupboard when I grabbed a book for Ron. Whoever owned it last made some adjustments to the instructions," he explained. "I just followed them, and it worked out well."
"I'll say," Theo murmured, brows knitting together as he studied the spidery writing. "Well, that's much less interesting than you suddenly developing incredible potion-making abilities."
"Sorry to disappoint," Harry replied with a chuckle, putting the book away. "I'll share, if you like."
"It's fine," Blaise dismissed, waving him off. "Better instructions won't help when exams roll around. But if there are any other useful tips in there, let us know."
"Will do," Harry promised, glad his friends didn't seem to be jealous or annoyed. Of course, they were Slytherins; they were all for using whatever resources you had at your disposal.
Blaise and Theo bid them goodbye and headed back to Slytherin, while Harry and Draco made their way up to the library. "You know who that book belonged to, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Harry replied amusedly. "Lived with him long enough, haven't I? I can't believe he just left it in a cupboard somewhere."
"Thank Merlin Weasley didn't find it, he'd be insufferable," Draco agreed. Harry grimaced. Yes, Ron Weasley suddenly developing a talent for Potions was not something they needed.
.-.-.
That evening, Harry snuck down to Snape's quarters under the invisibility cloak just before curfew, earning raised eyebrows from the man. "If you have come to gloat about stealing my first lesson away from me in your little defence club, you needn't bother; I have plenty more to torture your classmates with."
Harry laughed, shedding the cloak. "No, no, I'm not here about that. Although you're welcome, by the way. And thanks for the detention — I got a note from Dumbledore asking me to meet him then, so now I've got a great excuse to skip."
Snape frowned at that. "You cannot avoid him forever."
"I can sure as hell try," Harry returned. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out the battered copy of Advanced Potion Making. "Half-Blood Prince sound familiar to you?" he drawled teasingly. Snape's eyebrows rose.
"Where did you get that?"
Harry explained the events of Slughorn's class to the man. "I can't believe you left this just lying around, but I'm glad you did; I won a bottle of Felix Felicis because of you."
"Horace always was fond of bribery to win friends," Snape muttered dryly. "I did not leave that lying around, I assure you. The last I saw of it, it was on my shelf, right here." He gestured to the very bottom corner of his bookshelf, where Harry could see a couple of other tattered-looking schoolbooks.
"Then how did it get into the classroom cupboard?" Harry blinked, perplexed. Snape's lips turned in a scowl.
"Who do we know with access to my personal quarters during the summer, and a vested interest in Ronald Weasley feeling superior to you?"
Harry stared at him. "You think Dumbledore left it there for Ron to find?" That seemed unnecessarily convoluted — and exactly the kind of plan Dumbledore might go for. Harry snorted. "Well, that backfired on him, didn't it?" He looked down at the book, flicking through the heavily-edited pages. Some of the recipes were so heavily altered Harry could hardly read them.
He held the book out to Snape. "I suppose you want it back, then?" He knew how much Snape valued the few things he had left from his teenage years; most of them had previously belonged to his mother.
"Keep it, for now," Snape insisted with a shake of his head. Then he smirked. "You could use all the advantages you can get, since I am no longer able to teach you. Besides — this is a sure way to get you right to the top of Horace's favourites list. My talent, and your fame? He won't be able to resist."
"He— he said I'd inherited my mother's talent for Potions," Harry said tentatively, watching Snape's face soften.
"Lily and I often adjusted recipes together. While the notes in that book may be my writing, some of them were her work." His smirk returned, much fonder this time. "She could never quite beat me where it mattered, however."
"Remus once told me she nearly did."
Snape snorted. "And had she, he never would have let me hear the end of it," he agreed. "Keep the book, Harry. But look after it. You do not want to know what I will do to you should that text become damaged."
Harry gulped, nodding seriously.
"There are more than just Potions notes in there, too," Snape added. "Some spells I created, you may recognise. If you do not recognise it, do not attempt them without asking me first. I was a ruthless little shite when I was your age — many of those spells are not safe for use."
"Yes, sir." Already, Harry was keen to give it a proper read through — even more so now he knew his mother had a hand in it, too.
.-.-.
For the rest of the week, Harry continued to be Slughorn's new favourite student; much to Hermione's outrage. One evening where he wasn't drowning in homework, Harry carefully copied out every one of Snape's notes into his own, newer copy of Advanced Potion Making — all the notes that were to do with Potions, at least. He wrote the spells in his own private notebook, sure that Snape's warning had not been an exaggeration.
It was easier to decipher, in his own handwriting, but it also meant he could give the original copy back to Snape in his detention on Saturday. "I didn't want to risk a cauldron exploding onto it or anything," he explained as he handed the battered book over. "Also your handwriting was even worse then than it is now."
Snape let out a quiet snort, though Harry could tell he was glad to have his book back, his long-fingered hands running fondly over the cover.
"Thank you," he murmured, pocketing the book. "Now, the matter of your… detention."
Harry grinned at the challenging smirk on the Slytherin's face. It was time to get to work.
.-.-.
Harry had almost forgotten about the meeting with Dumbledore he'd skipped, until the headmaster approached him at breakfast on Sunday morning with a disappointed frown. "Harry, my boy," he greeted, "I was expecting you in my office yesterday."
"Oh, sorry, sir. I had detention with Professor Snape," Harry returned blithely. Dumbledore's frown deepened.
"I asked Severus to rearrange that detention."
"Oh. Well no one told me anything, so I just went." All around them, Harry's friends were watching the exchange warily. Dumbledore's lips pursed.
"I suppose I can forgive the miscommunication, my boy. I really must speak with you, though — perhaps this afternoon?"
"Surely I haven't been back at classes long enough for you to have anything to talk to me about, Professor?" Harry played oblivious, trying not to smirk as the twinkle in those eyes disappeared.
"It's not about your classwork, which I'm sure is quite fine. Well done on your OWLs, by the way; I was very surprised to see your results."
Wasn't that just the most back-handed compliment Harry had heard? His smile tightened. "Sorry, sir, but my lawyer has advised me not to visit with you alone, after everything you've said in the Prophet. If you really need to speak to me, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would be happy to accompany me, as my head of house." The woman in question was already on her way over, no doubt curious about what Dumbledore was up to. "Won't you, Professor?"
Dumbledore straightened up, turning to offer a smile that didn't quite reach genuine. "Now, Harry; Professor McGonagall is incredibly busy; there's no need to add to her schedule just so the two of us can have a little chat."
"Busy? Nonsense, Albus; I'm perfectly capable of rearranging things if there is a problem with one of my students. What did you need to discuss with Potter? Surely he isn't in trouble already." She eyed Harry suspiciously, and he gave his best innocent face in response.
"No, no trouble at all. I merely had some things I wished to discuss — truly, Minerva, your involvement is not necessary."
"Mrs Frobisher has strongly recommended I not speak to you without another teacher present, sir," Harry said, feigning apology. "She's worried I might get misconstrued in the Prophet, again. And Sirius said if you had anything regarding the war to talk about, you should pass it on to him."
Over Dumbledore's shoulder, Harry saw McGonagall's lips purse. "Mr Potter is a minor, Albus; if his guardian — and his legal counsel — have instructed against him meeting with you, I'm afraid as his housemistress I must abide by that. If you must talk with Potter, let me know and I will clear my schedule. Otherwise, I suggest you send a letter to Lord Black."
There was nothing Dumbledore could say to that without causing a scene; even more of a scene, considering half the hall was watching at this point. Dumbledore smiled tightly, and bowed his head.
"If that is how you feel, Mr Potter, I can only oblige, though it saddens me to do so. If you change your mind, you know where to find me — I believe you will find what I have to say very enlightening indeed."
Then he continued up to the head table. Harry glanced to McGonagall with a thankful look, but she said nothing, merely nodding and carrying on with her day. Finally able to turn back to his breakfast, Harry sighed, looking at Susan.
"I didn't think he'd try something so blatant," he mused in an undertone. Opposite him, the Hufflepuff hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe he was hoping social pressure would get you. You wouldn't want to look like there's a rift between you in public."
Harry snorted. "If he didn't want that he shouldn't have spent half the summer slandering me in the paper."
"Well there's no worry of that now," Padma remarked, the morning's copy of the Prophet open in front of her. "It's even more of a Ministry mouthpiece than it used to be, these days."
Several of the heirs shared a grim look — a Ministry mouthpiece was a Voldemort mouthpiece, now.
"Is there anything useful in there, or…?" Neville trailed off, and Padma shook her head.
"More of the same. They've suspended Wizengamot meetings until further notice — probably because more than half the seats were absent for the last."
With Voldemort in charge of the Ministry, it would be as good as suicide for anyone who did not support him to walk into the building. Harry was suddenly very, very glad that Lucius Malfoy had died in the Department of Mysteries back in June; had the Malfoy seats still been under the control of the Dark, it would have been just enough to keep the Wizengamot open and able to pass laws, with a bit of threatening of a few neutral seats.
Narcissa placing the seats firmly out of Voldemort's reach was the only thing keeping the Dark from having true control of wizarding Britain. For now, the Death Eaters might have control of the Ministry buildings and its departments, but no new laws or regulations could be passed — it wasn't an ideal situation, but it could have been a whole lot worse.
"Oh, look, Harry," Sully piped up, pointing at a section of the open paper. "They've put a price on your head already."
Harry frowned, reaching for Susan's abandoned copy of the paper to take a look for himself. Sure enough, there was a small article declaring that a reward of five thousand galleons would be offered to anyone who could capture Harry Potter, on suspicion of 'conspiracy against the Ministry'. Harry snorted.
"Good to know how much I'm worth, I suppose."
"Can they even do that?" Parvati asked, wrinkling her nose. Harry shrugged.
"Probably not, but it's Voldemort; he's not exactly playing by the rules. Not like they can send aurors to the school for me." Or, rather, not like they would try; not with Dumbledore and a school full of students in their way. Harry would just have to be careful in Hogsmeade, and when wandering the school alone. But he doubted any of the students would try anything with him.
"I just hate that we don't have a single source of unbiased news in this country," Susan muttered, scowling. "It's alright for us; we've got people in the know, and we've got Harry — we know the truth. Everyone outside the school, however…"
It was like the year before, but much, much worse.
"Why don't you bring the Quibbler into the mix, hun?" Daphne asked Luna, but the blonde Ravenclaw shook her head.
"I would like to help, but something awful will happen to Daddy if he gets involved. The nargles have told me."
Several of them grimaced; they knew better than to go against Luna's creature warnings, especially ones that were quite so explicit.
"It'll be fine, for now," Harry assured, sounding far more confident than he felt. "They don't have enough manpower to kill everyone at the Ministry who doesn't actively support them, not without running the country to the ground. Let them try and convince people to their politics — we'll get them, when the time comes."
Just under a year, until Harry turned seventeen. They could handle things until then.
.-.-.-.
There was one more person at the school Harry had yet to greet properly now he was back — after breakfast, with a promise to spend time with Draco after lunch, Harry snuck down to the Chamber of Secrets, happily greeting Salazar's painting; and immediately launching into a summary of everything that had happened since he'd last been in the office.
"Well, you certainly have been busy," the man hissed amusedly. "And you said this is your sixth year, now? The year you and your friends will begin to turn seventeen?" He had an odd sense of urgency lighting his eyes, and Harry frowned at him.
"Yes. Why?"
Salazar shook his head. "The castle is keen," he said, as if that was an answer. "You are a particularly powerful group, this year; I believe it is eager to have such a surge of adult magic."
Harry continued to eye the painting suspiciously — that definitely wasn't the full story. But he knew trying to get secrets from Salazar was like trying to draw blood from a stone, so he let it slide; from the sounds of things, he'd find out sooner or later, regardless. "How is your search for my unworthy heir's horcruxes going?" the painting asked, and Harry frowned.
"Well, the ritual we found in here worked. The one in my scar is gone." He explained what had happened with the Ministry, and why they'd decided to get rid of it. Salazar looked pleased; at the end of the last school year, he had been one of the most firm advocates for removing the horcrux as soon as possible.
"The problem is, now we don't know how many others there are, or where to find them. If there even are any others." It could well be that Voldemort's snake was the only remaining horcrux.
Salazar frowned in thought, stroking the head of his pet snake. "I wish I could help, but I confess I'm in the dark as much as you are, lad. But do not fear — with how many of the rest have fallen into your path, it seems like the universe is on your side. I'm sure that luck will continue."
Harry wished he could have that sort of optimism.