Albus Dumbledore was a very intelligent man, but he had been underestimating Harry Potter for most of the boy's life, and that didn't seem to have changed.
Harry lay on the bed, ropes still holding him down, his eyes closed as he sank through the thick, crushing barrier between himself and his magical core.
Or, rather, between his magical core and the outside world, the ability to actually use that magic.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, after Dumbledore had left. There was no window, no way for him to tell the time. It could have been days, for all he knew. His stomach didn't ache yet, but he'd faced starvation before — he knew he could go at least a couple of days before he'd really start to feel it.
He'd woken with a strong, unquestioning faith in Albus Dumbledore, and a burning desire to do whatever the man bid. Even through the thick blanket keeping his magic locked up tight, he knew that sensation wasn't right, squirmed at the constriction of the brand new compulsions, stronger than anything he'd felt before. So strong it took a long, long time for him to even notice there was something wrong.
Harry dreaded to think what might have happened had Dumbledore returned while he was in that state, pliant and trusting with every truth he knew about the headmaster turned to insignificant chatter in the back of his mind.
But his magic was strong, now. His awareness of himself even stronger. He recognised the compulsions for what they were, spent what felt like hours trying to slough them off his magic. Had to use all his strength of will to dive deep within himself despite the barriers in place — whatever blockers Dumbledore had put on him, it stopped him using magic externally, stopped him blasting his way to freedom. But the magic within him, the magic trying to dig tendrils into his mind and whispering for him to trust his headmaster — that was a whole different matter. That was something Harry could work with.
And once those were out of the way, he could work on the rest.
He was sweating with exhaustion, straining everything he had within him. His muscles ached, his head pounded, but none of it mattered. His only awareness was his own magic, pushing as hard as he could against Dumbledore's vice grip. Harry had no idea how much time he had before his captor returned; every second was vital. Sure, if Dumbledore returned soon Harry could pretend to be under the compulsions, hope the old man let his guard down long enough for Harry to make a move. But that was relying on far too many chances.
Namely, the chance that Dumbledore wouldn't immediately kill him, determined to rid Harry of the evil within.
He could do this. He was far more powerful than Dumbledore realised, with the Slytherin family magic within him — the full family magic, awakened by the connection between the heirs.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, was old and dying and not nearly as strong as he once had been.
Harry could do this.
He pushed even harder, feeling things start to shift, like water pressing against a dam with a single crack in it. All that pressure, focused on the weakest spot, and eventually… it breaks.
The candles on the walls streamed with fire as Harry's magic surged out of him. At the same moment, the door slammed open — Dumbledore stood there with a thunderous expression, his wand raised. "How?" he gasped, gaping at Harry. Harry just smirked.
In an instant, his form twisted, shrinking down and sprouting fur — the ropes around him might be magical, but they still fell loose to the mattress when his skinny fox limbs slipped through them. He jumped off the bed, becoming human once more; his animagus form was good for subterfuge, but right now he needed to fight.
His wand was still in its holster, invisible to all but Harry, and it shot out at the twist of his wrist, smacking into his palm.
"Impossible," Dumbledore murmured, making Harry laugh.
"Not hardly," he retorted, ducking the spell sent his way and shooting one back in return. "You're not as strong as you think, old man."
He danced to the side, trying to draw Dumbledore in closer. He had to get out of there. He'd used up so much magic just breaking the spells on him, he didn't have much left for a proper duel.
As soon as Dumbledore stepped further into the room, Harry barrelled past him, putting up a shield at his back — stronger than anything they were taught in schools, enough to block even the dark hexes that Dumbledore was sending his way. The headmaster was not holding back; he wanted Harry under his control, or dead in the process.
Harry wasn't a fan of either of those options.
They seemed to be in a small cottage; at the end of the hallway was a cosy living room, and Harry's eyes widened at the sight of the front door. Then a spell seared past his temple, and he cursed, whipping around and firing a sickly yellow Compression curse in return. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.
"And you say you haven't fallen to his influence," he said. Harry scoffed.
"It's no worse than what you've tried to hit me with," he taunted, gaze flicking between Dumbledore and his way out.
"You're making a mistake, Harry," the headmaster insisted, charming the curtain ties to try and wrap around Harry's wrists. Harry burnt them to cinders, snarling. "You must accept the sacrifice you're destined to make. For the sake of your loved ones, if nothing else. Whatever Tom has promised you, he's lying."
Harry couldn't believe Dumbledore was still so stuck on the idea of Harry being warped by the horcrux in his head, having some sort of alliance with Voldemort because of it. Was he so arrogant, so blinded by his own actions, that he truly thought the only way Harry would turn against him was if he'd gone Dark? Not just because he was pissed the man had been controlling him since he was a baby? Had left him with the Dursleys, tried to separate him from the few people who genuinely loved him?
Dumbledore might have been a great man, once, back when he'd first fought Grindelwald. But he'd lost that long ago, in his search for more.
"He hasn't promised me anything," Harry spat, edging closer to the door. The Marauder's Map, entirely blank, was on a table nearby, and he whipped out a hand to grab it. "But I've promised him death, and I can't do that if you kill me for nothing. The horcrux is gone — all the horcruxes are gone. Barring one or two." He didn't need Dumbledore knowing the specifics, lest he do something foolish. "I've done more for this war in the last year than you've done in the last decade, and I will end this. And then I'll end you, too. Everyone will know the truth of what a manipulative, selfish, dangerous person you really are. Your legacy will be nothing but ashes and spite."
He grinned at the rage in the headmaster's blue eyes, dodging the spell fired his way — straight towards the door, which opened under another strong blast of his magic, so strong it almost made his head spin.
Severus always told him that fury was a person's worst enemy. It made them sloppy, impulsive. It seemed even the glorious Albus Dumbledore was not immune to such flaws. Harry ran through the open door, stumbling on weak legs, clumsy as the adrenaline burning through him finally began to run out. His magic was barely a sputtering flame within him. But as he crossed the line of the wards around the property, felt them tingle on his skin, he hoped it was enough. He thought of home, turning on his heel, and with a sensation like being turned inside out and a crack as loud as a gunshot he was gone.
He hit grass, and fell to his knees. It was dark, but a faint sliver of sunshine brushed the trees around him — sunrise. He'd been gone more than twenty-four hours.
There was a shout, his name maybe, and footsteps. A hand on his shoulder, amber eyes glowing in the low light. Harry smiled. "Remus," he rasped, reaching up to grasp the man's cardigan. His shoulder burned with the effort. "Was Dumbledore. Got me. Wants me dead."
"Harry, what happened? Are you hurt?" Remus kneeled in front of him, but Harry's brain finally decided it had had enough.
The world turned sideways, and Harry was out before his head hit the ground.
.-.-.
Remus stared at the boy in the bed before him. Sleeping — or unconscious — the blanket pulled up over his bare chest, several thin pink lines tracing across his dusky brown flesh.
Harry was lucky. Whatever he'd done, wherever he'd apparated in from, he'd been so close to magical exhaustion he'd splinched himself to high hell. Chunks missing from his arms, his legs, his sides — only that damned Potter luck had kept him from losing anything important.
He'd been lucky, too, that Severus had been at the house for the night, the pair of them headed back out for another day of searching — Severus to the school, Remus to talk to Aberforth Dumbledore and see if he knew where his brother might be hiding away. Any later and Harry would have laid there all morning and bled to death. Much earlier and he'd have done the same all night.
So many things could have gone wrong; so many ways he could have lost his cub. Remus swallowed back a sob, squeezing the bony hand wrapped securely within his own.
The door creaked. He looked up, something in his chest easing at the sight of Severus sweeping in, black teaching robes billowing out behind him, The Slytherin's dark eyes trailed over the unconscious boy, lips pursing in a worried frown. Then he turned to Remus, gaze softening. "No change, then?"
"Not so much as a twitch," Remus reported. Two long strides had Severus across the room, standing at Remus' side. The werewolf leaned his head against Severus' hip, shoulders slumping. "I just want him to be okay, Severus."
"You and I both," Severus agreed quietly, his hand settling on Remus' shoulder. "Word has reached the school — of Harry's return, and Albus' betrayal. The headmaster's office has been emptied; he's fled, it seems. In and out before anyone even knew to look for him."
Remus scowled. "Fucking coward."
"Quite." Severus' long fingers squeezed his shoulder, sliding up to stroke the back of his neck. "But at least we no longer have to put up with him. He will never set foot on Hogwarts grounds again — Longbottom and his compatriots have promised that much."
That cheered Remus up a bit — Severus had told him all about Neville standing up to the headmaster at lunch the day before, even going so far as to trying to hex him. Harry would be proud of his friend, when he woke up.
If he woke up.
He shook the thought off — Harry was stable, they'd healed his injuries. He only had the magical exhaustion to recover from, and that would come with time. He would wake up.
He leaned further into Severus' side, burying his face in the soft wool of the man's robe, inhaling the scent of potions ingredients that always lingered on his partner. Severus stood as strong as always, holding Remus up, never faltering. He had to be just as exhausted — more so, even, after the magic he'd expended keeping Harry alive.
"Where's Sirius?" he asked absently, arm winding around Severus' leg.
"Spreading the word amongst the Weasleys," Severus replied. "He promised he would not go off on his own in search of revenge. Let's hope he has not persuaded one of those red-headed idiots to do so on his behalf."
Remus snorted weakly. He opened his mouth to reply, but his breath caught in his throat.
Harry's hand had tightened around his, just a bit.
He sat up, eyes intently on his cub, looking for signs of wakefullness or distress or anything. "Harry? Harry, love, can you hear me?" Beside him, Severus tensed. The pair of them waited — Harry shifted ever so slightly, his lips curling in a faintly pained expression. Remus ignored his partner casting diagnostic spells, gaze fixed hopefully on the closed eyelids behind wire-framed glasses, watching them twitch until they eventually fluttered open, revealing confused green eyes. He saw the moment of panic, felt Harry's hand clench around his. "It's okay," he soothed. "You're safe. You're home. We've got you, cub."
Harry's gaze flicked towards him, tension draining from his shoulders. "Hurts," he said, grimacing.
"Yes, I'd imagine it does. Drink this," Severus instructed, pulling a vial from his pocket and holding it to Harry's lips. The Gryffindor boy drank without hesitation, the pain potion flooding his system and bringing a relieved smile to his lips.
"Thanks, Sev," he murmured, and Remus hid a smile at the faintly taken-aback look on his lover's face — hardly anyone dared call him Sev, these days. "What happened?"
"We were rather hoping you'd tell us, actually," Remus said, thumb stroking the back of Harry's hand. "Neville called Sirius on the mirror yesterday morning — he said no one had seen you since the night before, and they were worried. He knew you weren't in the castle, so we searched everywhere; every known residence of Dumbledore's, every connection we could think of, every lead we dared follow with the Ministry under Voldemort's control."
"You apparated in to the wardline just before eight this morning, told us that Dumbledore wanted you dead, and passed out," Severus revealed. "You'd splinched yourself in eight different places, you foolish boy."
Harry grimaced again. "Explains why I feel like I've been sent through a wood chipper." He craned his neck, looking down at himself. "I was only gone a day, then? Good. That's— that's good."
Remus' stomach clenched; how long had he thought it had been. "Cub," he started softly. "Can you… will you tell us what happened? What he did to you?" The longer he sat there imagining it, the worse it got in his mind.
Pain flickered across Harry's face. "Help me sit up," he requested. Eagerly, Remus did so, piling up the pillows and bracing Harry as he shuffled up the bed. "I… I was out of it for most of the day, I'll be honest. But I'll tell you what I remember. And— and then I need to go back to school."
"Harry, you need to rest—"
"I need to see my friends," Harry insisted stubbornly. "I need them to know I'm okay. I'm fine, I'm just tired and a bit sore. I can rest at school." He reached up a hand to rub at his face. "I need to go back, Moony. I— I can't let him win."
His heart clenched fiercely in his chest. This boy… he'd already dealt with so much, and he still got up fighting.
Lily and James would be so very proud of their son.
"Once you have told us everything," Severus drawled, "then we shall see if you can remain awake long enough to get dressed. Then we will consider returning you to school."
Harry grinned at them both, and Remus knew then that he would absolutely be escorting the determined little idiot back to school before the day was up.
God, what he wouldn't give for his cub to just get a break, for five minutes.
.-.-.-.
As soon as Harry let go of Ceri's hand when they arrived in Snape's office, he was crushed in a tight hug, the scent of Draco's aftershave tickling his nose and turning him to jelly in his boyfriend's arms. "Don't you dare scare me like that again, Scarhead," Draco growled, lips pressed to his temple. "Fuck. I thought you were dead!"
Harry swallowed tightly — he'd thought the same, for a while there. "I'm okay," he promised instead, pulling back to give Draco a soft, tender kiss. "I'm back. It's fine."
"It's not fine." Harry's head snapped up in surprise — Neville was there too, glaring at him. "Do you have any idea how worried we all were?" The tall Gryffindor squeezed his way past Draco, giving Harry a brief hug of his own. "Swear to Merlin, you're not allowed to go anywhere on your own anymore." The relief in his hazel eyes was clear, and Harry chuckled lightly.
"If you want to wait outside the Room of Requirement while I'm with Draco, by all means, be my guest," he drawled teasingly. "But people will talk."
Neville snorted. "Git." He squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Are you okay? Are we taking you to the Hospital Wing?"
A look of disgust flashed across Harry's features. "Merlin no. Dinner's still going, right?" It had taken him long enough to convince the two overbearing fusspots he called his godfathers that he was fine to go back to school. Only Snape's assurance that he would keep a stern eye on Harry and make sure he didn't get up to any shenanigans kept them from coming to Hogwarts with him!
Harry was fairly sure that between Snape, Draco and his friends, he wasn't likely to be able to so much as take a piss by himself without someone trying to help. He knew it came from a place of love, but it was going to get old very quickly if they kept it up.
After a nod of approval from the Slytherin professor, the three boys left the office, taking a castle-provided passage to make it look like they were coming to the Great Hall from upstairs; there would be far too many questions if Harry arrived from the dungeons. Snape was still keeping cover as a Death Eater, after all.
"Harry's back!"
"Look, it's Potter!"
"He's alive!"
All through the hall, shouts of Harry's name went up, all in varying levels of surprise and awe. Harry grimaced to himself; the rumours that were likely to come from this little escapade were going to be ridiculous. Already people thought him some sort of super-human; now he'd have to admit he sort-of duelled Albus Dumbledore and lived.
He barely made it ten feet in before he was surrounded by his friends, all of them skidding to a halt just shy of actually hugging him, curtailed by Draco's glare. "Give him space," the blond muttered, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm fine," he said, kissing the boy's cheek. Then he raised his eyes to the rest of the group. "I'm fine," he repeated, louder. "Not allowed to use magic for a day or so, but fine." His core was recovering nicely, Snape had assured him. By Monday he'd be totally back to normal — he wouldn't even have any scars from his splinching.
"Are you actually fine or just pretending because Merlin forbid Harry Potter show weakness ever," Ginny cut in sharply, rolling her eyes.
"You can come with me to get checked out by Pomfrey in the morning if you want?" Harry offered, shrugging.
"I think I will." Only then did the redhead's stern expression crack, and she darted forward for a quick hug. "Good to have you back, Harry."
"Thanks, Gin."
"What happened?" Parvati asked, then blushed brightly as all eyes turned to her. "Sorry. You don't have to tell us."
"No, it's fine. I was going to," Harry assured. "Just — let me sit down, first?"
He was all too aware of the entire school watching him; he only wanted to have to tell this story once. Relaying it to Remus and Snape had been bad enough. So, with that in mind, he sat on top of the Ravenclaw table, his feet on the bench, his body half propped up by Draco at his side. The blond thrust a plate of shepherd's pie in his lap, giving him a pointed look. Harry could eat and talk, he supposed.
"I was walking back to Gryffindor late on Wednesday night. After curfew, sorry professors," he added with a wink towards the blatantly eavesdropping staff table. A few people giggled. "I was tired, so I wasn't really paying attention. Next thing I know I'm getting a high-powered Stunner to the back."
He told the enraptured crowd everything he remembered — glossing over the specifics of horcruxes and the weird Master of Death thing, just saying that Dumbledore kept insisting there was evil in his scar and he needed to die to get it out. He made it clear that the headmaster had admitted to the compulsions, with his reasoning that it was a 'precaution' to stop Harry going evil. He also, finally, confessed about the blocks on his magic. That revelation caused more than a few horrified faces in the crowd; those who understood exactly what it would mean to block the family magics of someone like Harry.
"His original plan was to keep the blocks up and then release them while I was fighting Voldemort — kill me, kill the Dark Lord, end it all. Probably kill everyone in a thirty-foot radius, too, but… I don't think Dumbledore really cared about those kinds of consequences, anymore," Harry said with a shrug. "When he realised I'd broken the blocks, I guess he decided he had to kill me himself."
"That's barbaric," someone whispered, their voice carrying over the shocked silence in the hall. Harry's lips twisted wryly.
"So now everyone understands why I've been ignoring the headmaster all year, yeah?" he joked, earning a few weak chuckles.
"Why didn't you say something sooner?" came a bold call from the Gryffindor section of the hall. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Would anyone have believed me?" he retorted. "Half of you thought I was mad anyway." A lot of people ducked their heads abashedly. "It doesn't matter, now. Dumbledore's out of Hogwarts, and he's going to stay that way." There was no way the headmaster would recover from this. Harry wasn't going to let him.
"What happens now?" someone asked loudly. "Dumbledore was the only reason You-Know-Who stayed away from the school!"
That sparked a flurry of worried mutters, but Harry didn't falter. "If Voldemort thinks the school is vulnerable now that Dumbledore's gone, he should remember that I just duelled Dumbledore and won," he said plainly. "We don't need Albus Dumbledore to protect us. We can protect ourselves."
He looked down at his left, where Luna sat on the bench, her pale eyes intent. She nodded, ever so slightly. Harry smiled. "More than that, Hogwarts can protect itself," he added. "The castle has woken the heirs for the first time in centuries." He smirked, eyes flashing. "And for all Lord Voldemort calls himself the heir of Slytherin, only one of us has the family magic running through our blood."
He flicked his fingers, and — much like at the end of year feast — all the drapes in the Great Hall turned green and silver, replacing the school crest with the Slytherin crest. Gasps rang through the room.
Then, Hannah scoffed. "Stop showing off, Potter," she scolded, getting to her feet. With a flourish of her hand, half of those drapes were black and yellow, flying the badger rampant.
"Both of you are ridiculous." Neville waved his arm, bringing the Gryffindor banners into the mix. Amused, all three of them stared expectantly at Luna. She giggled, clapping her hands together, completing the set — all four houses were represented equally, as they should be.
"This is fun!" she enthused.
You could have heard a pin drop. Harry looked to his fellow heirs, chin tilting in a slight nod; they knew what they had to do. He got off the table, taking Luna's hand, Neville and Hannah joining them as they walked towards the staff table.
"Minerva McGonagall," Harry called, and the woman sat up straighter in her chair. "You stand as deputy headmistress of Hogwarts school. Due to the unsuitable nature of Albus Dumbledore to continue his position; we, the heirs of Hogwarts, entrust our school into your protection. You have served the castle well for many years, and we know you will continue to do so for many more. For the benefit of your students, not for yourself." He grinned at his housemistress. "Do you accept, Headmistress McGonagall?"
McGonagall sat there for a moment, speechless - a first for the Scottish witch. When she regained her senses, she stood, bowing to them. "I am honoured to accept, and vow to do everything within my power to protect the inhabitants of Hogwarts school, to see them safely through their education and prepare them for life to follow."
A spark of magic shuddered through Harry, through all four of them, into McGonagall — connecting her to the wards of the school. And, more importantly, disconnected Dumbledore for good. At once, the drapes all furled up again, and when they unrolled they were back to their usual black, proudly displaying the Hogwarts crest. A school united once more. Hogwarts had accepted the appointment. Minerva McGonagall was the new headmistress.
As a cheer went up around the hall, particularly loud from those dressed in red and gold, Harry watched McGonagall blink, no doubt startled by how intimate the connection to the castle truly could be. "It takes a bit of getting used to," he told her, and her eyes narrowed in his direction.
"And how long exactly have you been getting used to it?"
He laughed, winking. "Only since Hannah turned seventeen," he assured. "As far as the castle is concerned, one of us of age is as good as all of us of age."
She shook her head in faint amazement. "Just when I think you've run out of ways to surprise me, Potter."
He laughed again, louder this time — and swayed, his shoulder bumping Neville's. His taller friend steadied him with an arm around his waist. "That's enough for you for one day, then," he declared, voice lightly chiding. "Pretty sure even castle-magic counts as magic that you're not supposed to be doing."
Harry wanted to argue, but his vision was starting to swim, his blood feeling sluggish in his veins. Maybe he had overdone it a little bit.
"You disaster of a wizard." That was Draco, as affectionate as he was deeply unimpressed, and Harry smiled when he half leaned, half fell into his boyfriend's embrace. "Come on, up to bed with you."
"Mm, as long as you'll be there too." This whole damn problem had started because Harry couldn't stay the night in the same bed as Draco; to hell with that, now.
He gave a vague wave to the people who called out to wish him goodnight, letting Draco lead the way out of the hall. The blond poked him gently in the side. "Go on, then, give us a shortcut."
Harry grinned, nudging the castle in the back of his mind. Hogwarts was more than happy to oblige — he thought it still felt bad for not doing more to warn him about Dumbledore lurking in the dark. He tried to send reassuring thoughts in its direction; the castle couldn't be blamed for that. Dumbledore was a tricky little bastard at the best of times.
One staircase behind a tapestry magically took them up seven whole flights, spitting them out behind the tapestry of the trolls doing ballet. The Room of Requirement was already waiting for them, looking exactly like Harry's room back at Seren Du. Harry let out a long sigh as he collapsed onto the bed, the strain finally starting to catch up with him, pounding at his temples. "I'm going to feel like shit in the morning," he announced.
"Good thing you promised Ginny you'd go to Pomfrey, then, isn't it?" Draco replied, unsympathetic, even as he pulled Harry's shoes off his feet. Harry undid his Gryffindor tie with clumsy fingers, feeling almost drunk as he tried to help Draco undress him, the blond patient and gentle even as the worry returned to his grey eyes. Draco stripped himself quickly, tugging back the duvet and crawling into bed in just his underwear. Harry rolled over, claiming the blond like his own personal teddy bear, burying his face in the curve of Draco's neck.
"For a while I thought I'd never have this again," he admitted in a heartbroken whisper. "Never hold you again."
Draco's arms wound around him, pulling him impossibly closer, like the two of them were trying their best to merge into one being. "You're stuck with me, Potter," Draco reminded fiercely. His voice was thick — was he crying? Harry couldn't tell. "You promised me that."
The lights dimmed of their own accord, and the only sound was the steady breathing of the two boys, entwined together like they would never again let go, slowly drifting off to sleep.
.-.-.-.
McGonagall's first act as headmistress was to cancel all of Friday's classes, so everyone could adjust to the events of the week. None of them were going to argue with that. At breakfast — after a brief detour to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey confirmed Snape's findings on Harry's health — Harry sidled up to the staff table, where the new headmistress was reading a scroll with one hand and eating toast with another. "Is there anything myself or the other heirs can do to make things easier for you?" he asked, earning a keen-eyed look from the woman.
"I daresay you've enough on your plates as it is," she returned. "Not to worry, Mr Potter — there has been enough disruption to this school year that I feel a little more cannot make things much worse." Her lips quirked ruefully. "Though for future disruption, a warning would be appreciated."
Harry laughed. "I'll do my best, but no promises." In response, McGonagall just clicked her tongue and shooed him away, back to where Draco sat with their friends. The mood in the hall was somber, almost shell-shocked. Even those who knew the truth of Dumbledore had not expected him to fall so far so fast.
"I wonder how long it'll take for word to spread," he mused, glancing around as the morning post arrived. It was barely a handful of owls these days, most of which were Prophet delivery birds. Since returning after Christmas, the whole population of the school seemed to have agreed that they were buckled down for the long haul, a small pocket of sanctuary away from the disruption of the rest of the world. Letters to loved ones were risky, now.
The news that Albus Dumbledore had kidnapped and tried to murder Harry Potter would likely make it out of the castle sooner rather than later, but with practically everyone outside of Hogwarts either in hiding or under Voldemort's thumb, it may not make it much further than that.
"Likely just rumours, until after the war," Draco pointed out. "Even if the Prophet did write anything, no one would believe it these days." He sent a disparaging glance at Susan's copy of the paper; she was the only one of their group who bothered, insisting that someone needed to be aware of the enemy's propaganda.
"It's a shame we can't spread word some other way," Harry sighed. "I can't— I don't want this getting swept under the rug as just more war bullshit." A lot of questionable actions would be forgiven in the name of wartime, and he worried most of Dumbledore's crimes would end up under the same umbrella. Even with the old man dying from a dark curse, the idea of people heralding his name and idolising him long after he was dead made him sick to his stomach.
Albus Dumbledore deserved to be thought of with disdain, posthumously.
Better yet, he deserved to be forgotten. A footnote in the passage of history. At best, a tale of warning about how power could corrupt even those who seemed the most trustworthy of souls.
"Over Christmas, Fred and George were talking about setting up a secret Wireless station," Ginny volunteered. "But I don't know if they've managed. Whether they could do it safely."
That was an interesting idea. Harry had mostly given up listening to the Wireless these days — all of the stations were either pretending everything was fine, or broadcasting from mainland Europe with very little understanding of just how dire things were in the UK. "Daddy will have to go into hiding soon anyway," Luna piped up, in her usual dreamy voice. "The time is coming. He won't mind one last rebellion in the Quibbler."
Harry's eyes widened. "Are you sure? I don't want to put him in danger." He'd never met Luna's dad, but she spoke so fondly of him, and he was the only family Luna had left these days.
She smiled and nodded. "It will be worth it."
"If he needs somewhere to go," Harry said, meeting Luna's gaze seriously, "I can get him in and out in less than an hour." It would only take a quick message to Sirius and Mr Lovegood would be safe at the Pottery.
"Thank you, Harry. But I think Daddy is going to take a nice long trip to Finland. He's been wanting to get a close look at the Peikko for a while now anyway." She smiled sweetly — a smile that brightened when Daphne strolled over, dropping a kiss on her girlfriend's lips.
"I'm going to get some air, since we don't have classes. Care to join me, hun?"
"Bring me whatever you write before dinner, and I'll make sure it gets to Daddy safely," Luna said to Harry, before slipping her hand into Daphne's and skipping from the hall.
Harry turned back to Susan, who already had a quill and parchment out, an eager light in her eyes. "Guess I know what we're doing today, then," he mused. Turning to Draco, he gave an apologetic half-smile. "You're welcome to go find something else to do, love. This is probably going to take most of the day."
"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight for even a second, you're more of an idiot than I thought you were," Draco replied without hesitation. Susan wasn't quick enough to mask her giggles. Harry just sighed, swiping a quick kiss across Draco's cheek.
"Your loss. Let's find somewhere more private, then, shall we?"
There was a lot of work to do in a very short time.
.-.-.-.
Despite Draco's insinuation that he was just there to make sure Harry didn't get into trouble again, he ended up being a huge asset to the process — as Lucius Malfoy's son and heir, he knew a lot more than either of them about political machinations and how best to uncover them.
Between the three of them, they managed to write out a fairly large exposé of Albus Dumbledore's true crimes, as they pertained to one Harry James Potter — with the note that a full legal case against the ex-headmaster, including other crimes, was being assembled by Harry's lawyer and Amelia Bones.
"Will your aunt appreciate us naming her like this?" Harry asked warily. Susan gave a sharklike grin in response.
"Oh, she'd kill me if we didn't," came her cheerful reply. "She's safe as houses at the Longbottom's, and it'll be one hell of a feather in her cap once we're back to having a Ministry that actually cares about these sorts of things. She'll want to be at the head of the whole affair." She reached in with her quill, correcting a sentence regarding Dumbledore's belief that Harry had evil in him due to his brush with the Dark Lord. Harry was most wary of including that part — he didn't want Voldemort to catch wind of it and start making assumptions. Even though there was no longer a horcrux in Harry's scar, if Voldemort grew concerned… he might decide to go and check on the rest of his precious treasures.
Much better to paint it as the ramblings of an old man who decided to condemn a toddler to death before he reached maturity, just because he'd decided that was the way the world must be.
"Your lawyer is already in hiding, isn't she?" Draco checked, a small frown worrying at his lips. Harry nodded.
"Called Sirius about it just before Yule." It was the reason Vicky had stayed at school over Christmas — not that she seemed to have minded, considering how close her and Colin had grown over the break. Mr and Mrs Frobisher were safely at one of the smaller Black properties, a cottage off the coast of Devon. There were one or two others hiding out there with them, as far as he knew. With their known connection to Harry from the Rita Skeeter debacle, no one had wanted to risk them.
"Good. Then go ahead and name them, it'll give it more clout."
Harry's eyes were drawn to the cobalt blue tail of Draco's quill, resting lightly against the swell of his lower lip. It would be so tempting to knock it out of the way, replace that touch with his own mouth. As Draco leaned in to write something else, Harry's gaze trailed lower, down to where the sleeves of his green silk shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing porcelain-pale forearms dusted lightly with fine blond hair. His right hand held his quill, his left splayed on the table beside it, and for a while Harry fantasised about the ring in his room back home, how it might look sat on that fine-boned hand. "—rry. Harry?" He snapped back to attention, blushing slightly under Susan's knowing gaze. "Come on, Harry. We just need to finish this up, then you can ogle your boyfriend all you like."
That made Draco whip his head around to look at Harry, almost— surprised? Harry just shrugged unrepentantly at both of them.
"Why are you ogling me, I'm not even doing anything," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. Harry winked.
"You're pretty, I can't help myself. And you've got your sleeves rolled up. You know how I feel about that."
"His sleeves?" Susan snorted. "What are you, a Victorian maiden, going faint at the sight of bare skin?"
"Look, I can appreciate a man with great forearms, alright?" Harry defended. "Let me stare at my boyfriend in peace, honestly. Give that over." He held out a hand for the parchment they'd been using, brow furrowing as he read through what they'd written so far.
"I think this ought to do it." Any more detail and they risked exposing one of the many things Harry would prefer to keep hidden. "God, this is weird. We spent so long trying to hide this stuff…"
"Feels strange to just put it all in the open like that," Susan agreed. "But Dumbledore kind of forced your hand."
"Understatement," Draco muttered derisively. "You're happy with it, though, Harry?" His face was earnest, concerned. "None of that has to go public if you don't want it to. I'm sure Amelia has plenty of other things to pin on him once the Wizengamot can safely reconvene." He placed a hand — the hand Harry had just been daydreaming about — on Harry's knee, squeezing gently.
Much like his previous articles for the Quibbler, Harry knew he just had to say the word and the whole idea would be scrapped. No one was going to force him to air his personal trauma for public consumption.
He shook his head. "Dumbledore might have targeted me, but his actions impacted all of us. I don't want to risk even the chance that he might worm his way out of this one — and that means piling as much shit on him as possible." Amelia might be able to find plenty more to bury Dumbledore with, but Harry doubted much of it would be quite so cut and dry as what had been done to him, nor half as impactful. Especially once he killed Voldemort and became the darling of the wizarding world once more.
Giving the statement one last scan over, he set it back on the table. "I'm happy with it if you two are." He paused, smirking. "And I'm not just saying that so I can go back to ogling my boyfriend." As he spoke he twined his fingers with Draco's, bringing the blond's hand to his lips. Susan just huffed.
"One day the two of you will get over this honeymoon phase thing you've got going, and the rest of us will be able to spend time with you without wanting to vomit," she declared bluntly, making Harry laugh.
"I dunno, Sooz — it's been over two years. I think this might just be us forever," he said, only half-joking. The Hufflepuff's only response was a despairing groan, and her chair scraping stone as she got to her feet.
"If we're done with the article, I'm out," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "Don't forget to take that to Luna, alright?"
Harry murmured an affirmation, gaze fixed on Draco's — only once the redhead was out of the room did the two boys start laughing.
"We're not that bad, are we?" Harry asked. Draco's answering look was fond.
"Darling, we're exactly that bad," he informed his boyfriend.
"Oh. Well, I'm not sorry. You're gorgeous and I like looking at you."
The blond boy preened, smirking in satisfaction. "You're not so bad yourself," he returned magnanimously, leaning in for a languid kiss. "Besides, Susan's just jealous. The only kind of PDA Theo understands is offering to murder her enemies for her."
Harry snickered — the quiet Slytherin wasn't that reserved, just a bit… aggressively bloodthirsty, sometimes.
Theo and Susan were alike in many ways, except she preferred to go for the metaphorical jugular while he went right for the literal one. Harry felt very sorry for any politician that dared attempt to stand in their way.
And very sorry for any of his friends that were hoping he and Draco were going to get less sappy in future — Harry had zero intentions of reeling that in, and with a role model like Sirius Black, he was fairly certain he couldn't even if he tried.
.-.-.-.
Since he'd promised his friends and family that he would take it easy in the wake of his kidnapping and near-death, Harry declined the afternoon invitation from some of the quidditch team to go flying with them, instead lying on the sofa in Snape's private quarters, working on plans for the HA while Snape and Draco brewed together. Then, an hour before dinner, he promised both of them he would do his level best to not get kidnapped again, and set off to find Luna. With the castle pointing the way — the heirs were always the easiest to find — Harry discovered the blonde girl out by the edge of the lake, her bare feet dug in the muddy bank despite the fact that it was still January and there was snow on the ground. "If you get frostbite, Daphne is going to kill me before Voldemort can," he said, and Luna giggled.
"I put on a Warming charm," she assured. "Sometimes I just like to feel the earth between my toes."
"If you like." Harry shrugged, then held out an envelope containing the article he and Susan and Draco had spent all morning working on. "It's all in there. Your dad can tweak it a bit if he wants, but… that's all the important facts."
"I doubt Daddy will need to edit anything. You've always been a very compelling writer." Luna tucked the envelope safely in her cardigan pocket.
"Thanks, Luna. I hope everyone who reads it thinks the same." There was still a very stubborn, very real part of Harry that was convinced everyone who read it would think he was a lying, attention seeking little brat.
That part of him usually spoke in Dolores Umbridge's voice.
"Your voice is going to change the way that thousands of people view the world," Luna told him, a confident Otherness to her voice. "Not just in this article, but in many things."
Something uneasy squirmed in Harry's stomach. He leant back on his hands, the wet dirt cold under his palms. "I just want to kill a Dark Lord and play quidditch," he sighed forlornly. "I don't want to change the world. That's for people like Susan. All I want is to have a world I'm happy to live in."
"And that's why you're the best person to help change it," Luna insisted with a secretive curl of a smile. "You're not like him, Harry. You're not like either of them." Her eyes fairly glowed in the evening light. "Don't let his poison stop you from doing the right thing. Trust your instincts."
It was like a hand reached in between his ribs, gripping his heart tight. Harry coughed out a startled laugh. "Can never get anything past you, can I, Lu?" There was no use hiding from a Seer. "You're sure, this isn't too much?" The last thing in the world he wanted was to get into the habit of using his influence as the Boy-Who-Lived to sway public opinion around to his way of thinking. He didn't want to become like Dumbledore. Or worse, like Tom Riddle.
"Presenting people with the truth and allowing them to make up their own minds is never too much," Luna assured. "It's not your fault the truth leads to only one sensible way of thinking." She smiled, covering Harry's hand with her own. "If you can't trust yourself, trust that none of us who love you will let you turn into the thing you'd hate."
Her words echoed through Harry's mind, quashing the cruel, Umbridge-like voice into silence. The tension in his shoulders eased, a long breath escaping him.
She was right. He had plenty of people to keep him grounded. He would be alright.
He was only sixteen, after all. Even if most days he felt three times that age. He still had plenty of growing to do.