"The house is full, but we've got some tents set up in the garden." Sirius flashed a grin through the mirror's surface. "Even had a couple more elves come along, which I think Tinker appreciates."
"Not Essie?" Harry asked, grinning. Sirius snorted.
"Not hardly. Thinks we're implying she isn't up to scratch."
It was late, and Harry was in bed chatting to Sirius, getting an update on life outside Hogwarts. He was glad the Pottery was helping so many people, even if it was a bit horrifying to imagine just how many families had been displaced by the Death Eaters.
How many hadn't made it as far as safety.
"And how are the kids at Grimmauld doing? Did you end up moving them over?" Harry knew his godfather was torn on whether to take the five children to the Pottery, too — Grimmauld was more of an emergency hospital than a true safehouse, and the healers there couldn't be expected to keep looking after the kids as well as their patients. Even though the kids insisted they could look after themselves just fine.
They would be better off at the Pottery, where there were others their own age there.
But Sirius was attached to them, now. He liked having them at Grimmauld.
Harry watched the dog animagus bite his lip. "Yeah, we took them over at the weekend, when Kevin's aunt showed up," Sirius sighed. "One of the other boys at the house is one of Frankie's dorm mates from Hogwarts, so they were pleased to see each other. I don't— I don't think Nashira was as happy about being there. I don't think any of them know how to cope with so many people around, after how long they spent by themselves." He ran a hand through his long hair. "Poor kids. It'll be good for them to have proper company, though."
"But you miss them," Harry finished knowingly.
"But we miss them," Sirius agreed. "Merlin, pup. I hope you get to meet these kids soon. You'll love them. Nash is a little sass-monster, just like you."
Harry laughed. "I hope so, too." He cocked his head, curious. "Have we figured out yet what the plan is for any other war orphans?" The ones at the Pottery weren't the only ones by far. Most were safe at Hogwarts, but that wouldn't help when summer came around. "It's not like there's an orphanage or anything for them."
"We'll keep them safe wherever we can, for now. If they can go to friends' houses, or stay at a safehouse. When the war is over… inheritance tests for the muggleborns, to see if they've any family connections that may take them in. And looking in the muggle world, of course — aunts, uncles, grandparents. We'd have to make sure it's safe to let them in on the secret, but that usually turns out alright. Same for the other kids; we'll look for family to take them in, or godparents."
"And if they have none?" Harry asked, well aware that a lot of children of Death Eaters had entire extended families in Voldemort's service.
"Then we find people willing to take care of them. The older kids will be easy enough to foster; they're at Hogwarts most of the year. But we're hoping to find enough people willing to adopt. Depends how many we end up with, when the dust settles. Amelia's suggested we contact squibs, or families of other muggleborns who know about magic. With stringent checks, of course," Sirius added, seeing the panic flicker across Harry's face. "We won't leave any of them alone, pup. We won't let what happened to you happen to another kid." His grey eyes turned soft. "Trust me, yeah? They'll be alright. Hell, I'd adopt every one of them myself before I let another Dursley situation happen."
Harry managed a smile. "From the sounds of things, you're already well on your way to doing that." He laughed when that drew a blush up Sirius' olive cheeks.
"Don't be a brat."
He laughed harder, the tension draining from him.
Privately, Harry cursed the timing of it all — he and Draco wanted a whole quidditch team full of kids, and couldn't count on finding women willing to surrogate for that many. But they weren't even seventeen yet; all these war orphans needed homes now, and there was no way two boys who hadn't even graduated school could provide that for them.
It was a shame. But he believed Sirius when he said they'd find places for all the kids.
Maybe having a whole bunch of new siblings would be a nice warm-up for when he and Draco decided to get started on that quidditch team.
"I've got to go, pup. Charlie's just got home," Sirius said, gaze looking at something beyond the mirror, out of Harry's view. "Looks like the baby dragons got the better of him a bit."
"Rude!" Harry heard faintly through the glass, and chuckled.
"I'll leave you to it, then. G'night, Pads."
"Night, kiddo."
The mirror turned to plain glass once more, and Harry tucked it in his nightstand with the Marauder's Map. It still made his chest ache, seeing those items without his invisibility cloak tucked in with them.
What was Dumbledore up to, with all three Hallows? Had he discovered whatever power they held once combined?
Harry sighed — everyone else in the dorm was asleep, but he still felt restless. Silently, he crept out of bed, sitting on the ledge of the curved window, staring out at the night sky. Somewhere out there was Dumbledore, plotting Merlin only knew what. Possibly with the power of Death itself at his disposal.
If only Harry had left his cloak behind that night. He hadn't even been wearing it!
Scowling to himself, he focused back on the stars — beating himself up wasn't going to help him sleep any.
He saw a pale blur in the sky, and smiled as he squinted at it — it was Hedwig, out for a late night hunt.
Then a second pale blur joined the owl. Another snowy owl. Harry raised an eyebrow.
Well, it seemed he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep, tonight.
Slowly, silently, Harry undid the latch on the window, hissing when the cool night air touched his skin. Then he whistled — not too loud, but enough to carry through the quiet.
An owl hooted in response.
The two pale forms changed direction, heading towards him. The one that wasn't Hedwig was showing off a little, flying graceful arcs and dives, making Harry grin. Hedwig landed on the window sill first, cooing softly at Harry. He scratched the back of her head where she liked it best. "Hello, sweetheart. You showing him how it's done?"
The second owl's landing was a little more unsteady, and he butted imperiously at Harry's hand. Harry chuckled, giving him a scratch, too.
Hedwig hooted softly at the pair of them, hopped up to gently nip Harry's ear, then took off in the direction of the Owlery. The second owl watched her go, then turned back to Harry, bright amber eyes studying him.
Harry shuffled backwards, opening the window a little further. "You coming in then, or what?"
The owl didn't need asking twice, hopping through the window and giving a graceful little glide over to Harry's bed. Harry shut the window, heartbeat picking up.
By the time he turned around again, Draco was fully human, draped attractively over Harry's crimson duvet, wearing grey silk pyjamas and a lazy smirk. "So this is the Gryffindor dorms, is it? Charming."
Harry hurried to join him, pulling the drapes and raising a Silencing charm, arousal already coursing through him. This was exactly what he needed to deal with his restless energy. He straddled Draco's hips, mischievously kissing his nose. "Do you have any idea how many times I've fantasised about having you up here?" he murmured, playing with the button at Draco's throat. Grey eyes turned the colour of a summer storm, hot with lust. "Splayed out on my Gryffindor sheets, no one else knowing you're in here." He kissed Draco's jaw, suckling at the tender spot just below his ear. "Do you know how many times I've jerked off in this bed thinking of you? How many dreams of you I've had in here? How many times I put my own fingers inside me imagining it was you, before I was brave enough to ask you for it?"
"Harry," Draco moaned, rocking up into him.
"I don't know what I want more," Harry confessed, biting at Draco's throat, kissing his way down his chest as he opened the shirt one button at a time. "To pound you into my mattress, or to have you do it to me. Something very sexy about the idea of my Slytherin boyfriend fucking me in the Gryffindor dorm."
"Do you have lube up here?" Draco rasped, and Harry smirked. He sat up, pulling off his t-shirt in one fluid motion, then reached over Draco's head to the hidden shelf behind the headboard, grabbing the vial he knew was in there. He watched Draco's eyes follow the flex of his shoulders at the movement.
"Do I have lube, he asks," Harry said, rolling his eyes, holding up the item in question. "As if I'd survive without it, all those lonely nights up here thinking of you."
"Tell me about it," Draco urged huskily. "These fantasies of yours."
Harry's eyes lit up. He finished undoing Draco's shirt the rest of the way, letting it fall open to reveal the blond's pale chest. Merlin, he looked good against the bold red duvet. "Well," he began, keeping his voice low. "There's quite a few of them. Sometimes I imagine we're the only ones in the dorm, and I bend you over the end of the bed and fuck you til all of Gryffindor can hear you begging for it." He let his fingertips trail down the soft trail of silver hair on Draco's stomach, tugging gently at the waistband of his trousers. They were tented obscenely, a wet spot soaking through already.
"Sometimes I imagine I'm up here getting myself off and you sneak in to surprise me and catch me right in the middle of it. Sit right at the end of my bed and watch me til I finish." He peeled the pyjamas down, baring Draco entirely, and sat back on his haunches to survey his boyfriend in satisfaction. Draco looked just as perfect in his bed as he'd always imagined. "I've thought of all sorts of dirty, dirty things up here involving me and you. Didn't even consider your new animagus form might make it easy to get you up here and actually do them." He winked — if only the same could be said for his form making it as easy to sneak into the Slytherin dorms. That was something for another night.
"But the very first fantasy I ever had, once I knew enough to start properly fantasising," he whispered, startling Draco when he reversed their positions, bringing the blond on top of him and then lifting his hips to take off his own trousers. "I imagined we were just like this, middle of the night, sneaking around behind my dorm mates' backs. And you were just like this, over me, all gorgeous and Slytherin silver against my red and gold drapes, and you fucked me like I was the most precious thing in the entire goddamn world." It was such a sweet fantasy, such a juxtaposition to the many other dirty thoughts he'd had of Draco in this bed. A fourteen year-old's ideal of the perfect first time, not hot and heavy and wild but slow, sensual, loving.
Draco's breath hitched, his hands on Harry's thighs. He looked exactly as Harry envisioned he might, beautiful and flawless and utterly in love, haloed in the gold brocade along the top of the drapes. He leaned down, lips pressing to Harry's, nose brushing Harry's cheek as he opened his mouth and kissed him like he was trying to devour Harry's entire being. "You are," he breathed once they parted, smoothing reverent hands over Harry's bare chest. "You are the most precious thing in the entire world to me, Harry James Potter. Don't ever think otherwise."
Harry couldn't breathe, his chest was so tight with love for this boy above him, his beautiful Slytherin, his shining light in the darkness. Draco knelt between his open thighs, and his kiss-swollen lips curled at the corners. "Look at you," he murmured. "Letting me think you're about to ask for something scandalous, and all you want me to do is love you."
"Please," Harry gasped, hands fisting in his sheets. He felt so exposed, lying there naked in the bed he'd spent most of the last six years in, with Draco just looking at him with his eyes so warm. "We can get to the scandalous stuff later, if you like. Just— please." He hadn't realised how much he wanted this, needed this. Needed Draco to fulfil this teenage wish of his, to prove that loving Harry like that wasn't just something that happened inside Harry's own head. Draco adjusted himself, hooking Harry's legs up over his shoulders, gently kissing the inside of his knee. Then he reached for the lube, abandoned on the bed beside Harry. "This good?" he checked, uncorking the vial. Harry keened quietly, heart beating so hard he was amazed Draco couldn't hear it, couldn't tell how it begged to leap right out of Harry's chest and into the blond's waiting hands, where it belonged.
"Perfect."
.-.-.
Harry wouldn't say that Draco sneaking up to Gryffindor Tower in owl form became a routine after that… but he learned to expect that quiet tap on his window on Wednesday nights. Always Wednesdays — they had a free period first thing Thursday morning, so it wouldn't matter as much if Draco stayed the night.
He was pretty sure Neville suspected something, even if the other Gryffindor wasn't sure what. He didn't know about Draco's animagus form, after all. But Harry's sudden shift to always staying in the Tower on Wednesday nights did not go uncommented on. Nor did the Slytherin tie that Draco accidentally left up there one week, having come up still in his uniform so Harry could get the proper effect of having his snake in the lion's den.
It made the week more bearable, that was for sure.
It wasn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, squeezing two teenage boys into a single bed, but it just gave Harry an excuse to hold Draco even closer while they slept, after they'd properly exhausted themselves. But Harry could definitely get used to having one guaranteed night with his boyfriend — even if they didn't get up to anything sexual, it was nice having him there, without having to worry about being intruded on in the Room of Requirement or sneaking back up to their dorms from the Chamber. Sure, Draco always had to leave before sunrise, but that was easy enough. With a bit of begging on Harry's part, Hogwarts was kind enough to squeeze a little owl-sized passage into the existing dungeon vent system, so Draco could come and go as he pleased.
Harry could hardly believe it had taken them so many weeks to figure out.
Plenty of people noticed the spring in Harry's step in the following weeks, but most of them seemed to attribute it to Gryffindor's success against Hufflepuff, leaving them in perfect position to take the quidditch cup unless Slytherin absolutely trounced the badgers in April. That was nice, too. As was the blowjob Draco gave him for an impressive snitch catch.
With the rest of the world falling to shit around them, Harry needed bright spots like that to keep him going. To keep all of them going — because if he looked like he was starting to falter, the entire castle's morale would plummet.
They were counting on him to lead them to victory against the Dark, and he needed to look like he had that well in hand. There was no room for him to be scared, or sad, or exhausted. Not in public, at any rate.
He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and he had a duty to uphold.
.-.-.
The Dark Lord was angry.
Severus was just glad it was aimed at someone other than him, for once. His last few summons, his master had not been impressed with the lack of information Severus had to offer — about the school, or Dumbledore's whereabouts, or Potter's progress in classes.
He didn't believe that no one had heard from Albus since the man's disappearance, even though that was perhaps the only genuine truth Severus gave him.
Last time, when he had been summoned after the attack on Hogsmeade to discover Bellatrix dead and Rodolphus mere moments from the same, Rabastan missing his casting arm from the mid-bicep down — the punishment Severus had received for not warning his lord how capable the students of Hogwarts were had been intense.
But tonight, the Dark Lord's ire was directed at Fenrir Greyback. Just looking at the man made Severus' blood boil — this was the monster that had turned Remus when he was just a child, revenge for a father's slight against wolves. Greyback was exactly the reason werewolves had such a bad reputation as bloodthirsty, savage beasts. The reason Remus struggled to get a job, to be served in shops, to be given a modicum of respect by the wizarding world at large.
This man was the reason that Remus had learned to hate himself, and Severus despised him for it.
"You have always prided yourself, Greyback, on being the alpha," Voldemort sneered at the hulking form kneeling at his feet. Even as a man, Greyback had more of the wolf to him than Severus had ever seen. There were rumours of experiments, done years ago — done to make him closer to his wolf form, able to transform at will, able to infect even in his human form. Severus had no idea how much of it was true, but if even half was… Fenrir Greyback could barely be called a man at all. "Yes, My Lord," Greyback agreed, bowing his head.
"And yet," Voldemort continued coldly, "you have failed to get the werewolf packs to follow you. To follow me. You told me you were an alpha, that none would dare go against your will, that any who would try would die at your claws. But you are weak!"
"I'm sorry, My Lord," Greyback said, daring to look up. Severus wondered how he could call himself an alpha of anything when he took to subservience so quickly at the Dark Lord's hand. "They have banded together — I am strong, but I cannot fight them all at once. The packs have formed an alliance with the Potter boy. He has promised them rights, and the choice to stay removed from the fighting. He has promised them freedom."
Oh, the Dark Lord did not like that, not one bit. Greyback screamed under the Cruciatus, but not a single Death Eater so much as twitched. No one wanted that fury directed their way. "Potter," Voldemort spat. "How can he promise them this? How can he offer them freedom and have them believe it? How can he offer them peace? I, Lord Voldemort, am the one who decides where blood is shed!"
"I believe it is Lupin's doing, My Lord," Greyback snarled. Severus' shoulders tightened. "That impudent little runt is close with the Potter boy, and I know he's visited the packs in the past. No doubt he has persuaded them that his relationship with Potter means the boy cares about what happens to them."
Another Cruciatus, this one shorter but no less agonising. "Of course. Lupin," he sneered, and Severus hated hearing his love's name in that filthy mouth. "He will die, in good time. And so will the wolves who believe Saint Potter can convince the world to care for beasts and creatures."
"Of course, My Lord," Greyback agreed, voice little more than a growl after his prolonged screams of pain. It amazed Severus, how a man so proud of his creature status could bow to a master they all knew would wipe werewolves off the face of the earth in a heartbeat if he had the power. "How may I assist you in your bloodshed?"
Thin, colourless lips twisted in a snarl. "You are mistaken if you believe you are worth anything to me, Greyback, now that you come with no pack at your call. If they will not support you, I have no need for a weak, useless pup. Avada Kedavra!" Greyback hit the wooden floor with a soft thud. No one dared move. Severus wasn't sure his heart was even beating anymore.
"Mulciber!" Voldemort snapped, and immediately the dark-robed figure was at his side. "Clean this up."
"Yes, My Lord." Mulciber pulled his wand, levitating the body away.
The Dark Lord paced in front of his loyal followers — a diminished group, now, thanks to Potter and his ilk. Severus felt a swell of pride in his chest whenever he thought about it. But this was not the place for such things.
"Severus," the steel-silk voice called, and Severus locked up that pride along with all his other positive emotions in a tight box in the deepest part of his mind, where the Dark Lord would never find it.
"How may I serve you, My Lord?" he asked, moving straight to kneel where Greyback once had. His heart pounded in his throat as he hoped he would not suffer the same fate.
"Tell me of the school," Voldemort urged. "What more is being done to put that Potter brat in his place?"
"I humiliate him in classes as much as I am able with the headmistress breathing down my neck," Severus reported. "There are whispers that Dumbledore tried to kill him because he is a threat to the Light. I believe your loyal few within the school are perpetuating their own work in the student rumour mill. He is getting cocky, My Lord — he is well guarded, but he believes himself to be above the need for it, now he has drawn blood in battle. He will slip, My Lord, and you will get him."
"You had best hope so, Severus," Voldemort warned. "And still no word of Dumbledore?"
"None, My Lord. It seems whatever his plan is, it does not involve others." And that was a whole other worry in itself.
The Dark Lord frowned, and Severus wondered if he was about to be screaming on the floor. Or worse. He braced himself, keeping his head bowed.
"Stay vigilant, Severus. You may not know who my loyal followers are within the student body, but they may call for your assistance soon. I shall task them with capturing the Potter boy; if he is as cocky as you say, they should not fail. You are dismissed, for now."
Severus got straight to his feet, offering one last bow. "You are gracious, My Lord. I will await their word." Why wouldn't his master tell him which students to look out for? Was it a matter of trust? Surely he would have killed Severus by now, as unhinged as he had become, if he believed him to be suspect. Or did he value a Potions Master more than he valued loyalty, these days?
It was difficult for Severus to tell, and he could not test his boundaries. Luckily, his allies in the Light had little need of information from him these days — they weren't like Albus, expecting him to recount every second of his summons in case something useful popped up. But they understood how precarious Severus' position was, and didn't ask him to reveal information that might cost him his life.
He would have to tell them about this, though. He would have to tell Harry to stay vigilant.
Instead of apparating back to the castle, Severus made for home, shrinking his mask as he strode across the lawn. Unsurprisingly, Remus was waiting in the kitchen. "How was it?" his partner asked, jumping to greet Severus. He hesitated, scant inches away. "May I…?"
Severus closed the distance between them, ducking his head down to press his nose to Remus' temple. "Fenrir Greyback is dead," he declared, quiet but strong. Remus tensed in his arms.
"What?"
"The Dark Lord decided he had no use for a werewolf who could not bring him an army," Severus relayed, meeting Remus' honey gaze. "The packs have sided with Potter. Greyback's punishment for failure was death."
A hitch of breath, a flash of eyes. "Oh."
"He blamed you for his failure," Severus warned, hating the panic that welled in him when he thought of the idea of the Dark Lord having a personal grudge against his wolf, against another person Severus loved. "Greyback told him you were the one who swayed the packs to Harry's side."
Remus nodded slowly. "He'll be after me, then." No fear. Gods, this man was a marvel.
"In due time, so he said. I believe he has other priorities, first." Like Dumbledore, and Potter. The loss of the werewolves was a blow, especially with how thin on the ground the Dark Lord's ranks were looking these days, but it was not the biggest blow his master had suffered lately. Not since losing two Lestranges and watching the third have to retrain himself to duel with his off hand.
Remus nuzzled his jaw. "Let's get you out of those robes. In the bath. Get the scent of that monster off you." Severus wasn't sure if he referred to Voldemort or Greyback, but he had no protests either way. There were no more words between them until they were both naked, Severus in the bath and Remus kneeling at its side, washing his hair. Severus cracked an eye open, looking up at his partner. "You are taking the news that the Dark Lord wants your blood remarkably better than anticipated."
Remus laughed, leaning down to kiss Severus, the angle awkward. "He wants the blood of anyone who stands against him. Anyone who stands with Harry. I am hardly in more danger than I was before." He smiled, sitting back on his heels. "I spent half my childhood imagining Greyback's death. Of course, most of those imaginings were at my hand, but the end result is the same." His hand went to the back of Severus' neck, squeezing gently, his smile turning soft. "It may be too late for me, but I have made a wonderful life for myself regardless of circumstances. But now, no more children will be turned on purpose for that beast's amusement, or his vengeance. There will always be werewolves — but he was the worst of them, and now he's gone, and the world is a better place for it." Remus paused, cocking his head. "Does that make me a bad person, to relish in his death?"
Severus reached out of the water, sliding a hand into greying hair and twisting, yanking Remus down into the most ravaging kiss he could manage without accidentally pulling him into the tub. He pressed up into the kiss, and Remus gave as good as he got, meeting him beat for beat as he always did.
"If it does, that makes two of us," he said eventually, breathless and dark-eyed. "Join me in the bath, wolf."
Remus smirked, clambering into the tub, settling against Severus' chest with a hand over the Slytherin's racing heart. "Turns you on when I get all bloodthirsty, doesn't it?" he drawled, knowing and fond and not at all judgemental, because somehow the universe had discovered all the weaknesses of Severus Snape and rolled them into one being, one cardigan-wearing chocoholic werewolf of a man.
Later they would talk about Potter, and how to keep him safe. But there was celebrating to do, first.
.-.-.
Training down in the Chamber was the only challenge that actually seemed worth Harry's time, these days. It was April now, three months until summer — four months until his birthday. Spending time doing Charms and Ancient Runes seemed… wasteful.
But everyone around him insisted he needed to keep as much normality to his life as possible, so Harry continued going to classes, playing quidditch and studying with his friends as if he was going to give even a single fuck about his end of year grades. And he mouthed off constantly in DADA, getting himself put in at least one detention a week, sometimes two.
His classmates clearly thought he had some kind of death wish, to act so brazenly against Snape. Some thought it was his own arrogance, his belief that he had nothing to learn from the man, that he could teach the class better. That always made Harry snort — if only they knew.
He'd heard a couple of Ravenclaw boys once discussing if Harry had some sort of masochism kink, if that was why he was dating someone like Draco Malfoy, if baiting Snape was some kind of a turn-on for him. There had even been a half-joking whisper of a threesome happening in Harry's detentions.
Harry had laughed himself hoarse at that one, then called Remus over the mirror just to tell his godfather the juicy gossip. Which had backfired slightly, as Remus had suggested that while Harry might not have a masochism kink, Severus was no stranger to such things, which was more information than necessary jesus fucking christ Remus.
Forget Snape playing double agent. The biggest deception in the wizarding world was Remus Lupin convincing everyone that he was mild and innocent and responsible.
So he got himself in detention as often as he could, as often as Snape would let him; the Potions Master had his own things to do, after all. Potions to brew for Voldemort, things to do for whatever they were calling the Order now that it had broken away from the actual Order.
And when Harry got down to the Chamber and was able to really put his back into duelling, he came alive.
Ever since the attack on Hogsmeade, he had pushed himself harder and harder. He had held his own, defended the village, and that was great — though he still saw the faces of those two students in his nightmares, sometimes — but he had also given away his skills. He had shown the Death Eaters that he wasn't just a silly little boy with an OWL-level defence education.
They knew he was good; that meant he had to be better.
Snape didn't seem thrilled with Harry's logic, but he also didn't argue with it. Especially not after the night he had shown up to their training session and told Harry that the loyal students within the school had been given the task of kidnapping him and bringing him to the Dark Lord. Harry had already known that thanks to Anthony, but it was nice to have confirmation. He would be vigilant. He wasn't going to let anyone else get the better of him, especially not in this castle. Salazar's castle. His castle.
"I'm worried, Severus," Harry said one night as they healed their wounds and cleaned up their debris. Snape cocked an eyebrow. "I don't know if I can hold the war off until I turn seventeen. If there's another attack — if Voldemort decides to stick with the tradition of messing with me before the school year ends… I can't exactly tell him to bugger off and come back when I'm of age, can I?"
Snape's lips pursed. "Right now, the Dark Lord seems to be focused on finding Albus. He will not admit it, but he is intrigued by the idea that Albus believed so wholeheartedly in this influence he supposedly has over you. Especially now the connection he used to manipulate for his own gain is now no longer there."
"Do you think he suspects?" Harry asked, heart in his throat. But Snape nodded.
"I doubt it. He is not as erratic as I would suspect him to become should he start to fear for his horcruxes. He thinks the connection died when he began to purposefully block it. That is what I told him, after all." The tall man smirked. "He wants to see for himself if Albus has gone senile — to gloat, most likely. With that occupying his time, that should give you a grace period. Just don't get yourself kidnapped — again."
Harry gave a flicker as a smile, even as his worry remained. He didn't like the idea of Voldemort finding Dumbledore any more than he liked the idea of Voldemort coming for him.
Senile or no, if Dumbledore was now the Master of Death… either he would kill Voldemort before the final horcrux could be destroyed, or Voldemort would overpower him and kill him and perhaps gain the Hallows for himself.
Then they would truly be fucked.
Snape's long-fingered hand clasped his shoulder. "If the time comes early, Harry, you will be ready for it. We will be ready for it. Having you at full maturity would help, but I have faith that should the situation call for it, you will rise to the challenge regardless."
Harry leaned back into the firm touch, just for a moment. "I hope you're right."
He wished he could have that kind of faith in himself.
.-.-.
The seventh of April brought the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin quidditch match — and also a notice in every common room, asking for all students fifth year and up to meet in the Great Hall for an assembly half an hour before dinner. Provided the quidditch match didn't run all day, at least.
Harry was curious, but too excited about quidditch to worry overmuch. If it was something dire, he would have heard about it by now.
Once again, he wore Draco's team hoodie, though it wasn't cold enough to need the scarf to match.
"I want you to win," he told Draco over breakfast, "but not by too much. Just a little bit. Then we don't have to get a massive lead over Ravenclaw."
Draco smirked amusedly. "I'm sorry, darling, but if you think I'm not going to do my damnedest to make your entire team work your arses off for that cup win, you've got another thing coming. If I can't get that cup myself, I'm sure as hell making sure you've really earned it."
Harry gave an overdramatic sigh. "Why do I love you more when you're an asshole," he despaired. Behind him, Ginny snorted so hard she choked on her pumpkin juice. "Go on, then. Go destroy some badgers." He leaned in for a kiss that was probably toeing the line for appropriate-at-the-breakfast-table, pushing Draco to his feet and smacking him lightly on the arse to shoo him off to join his teammates.
"If we lose the cup because you got lovesick, Harry, I swear to Merlin," Katie warned, and he laughed.
"We won't lose," he said confidently. "Even if Slytherin get a massive point lead. Our team is too good for that."
Katie couldn't argue with that.
With Gryffindor mostly decked out for Hufflepuff solidarity, Harry spent this match with friends from all houses in a corner of the Ravenclaw stands. Slytherin wasn't the fondest of him, since Gryffindor was still their main competition for the cup.
The match didn't last all day, but it stretched a decent way towards lunchtime. Hufflepuff were fierce competition, their keeper working his arse off to block the Slytherin chasers, their beaters surprisingly fearless against Crabbe and Goyle.
But it wasn't enough. Slytherin were as ruthless as always, skirting the edges of acceptable conduct and gaining a steady lead — a lead that only grew larger when Draco's hand clamped around the snitch, to thunderous applause from roughly half of the stadium. Harry cheered and whooped right with them, blowing a cheeky kiss to his boyfriend when he caught the Slytherin's eye on his way to landing. Draco held his gaze, tilting his head ever so slightly in the direction of the changing rooms, question in his eyes. Harry smirked, nodding just barely enough for the Slytherin to catch it. A quick smirk was his only answer, and then Draco was headed off the pitch with his team.
Harry wasn't going to dress up and pretend it was another Gryffindor match, but he would quite happily sneak into the changing rooms and drop to his knees for his boyfriend. There were only a few more chances for that, after all.
He did some mental math on the way down — as it stood, Gryffindor would have to beat Ravenclaw by at least 180 points in order to take the cup. That was going to be a tall order — but he could manage it. His team could manage it.
If only to wipe that smug look off Draco's pretty face.
.-.
Putting a somewhat premature end to Slytherin's quidditch celebrations — though Draco assured him that most of their post-match celebrations were much more refined than Gryffindor's, unless it was for an actual cup victory — all of the older students found their way to the Great Hall a half hour before dinner, eyeing their headmistress warily.
After the year they'd had, it could be anything.
They didn't sit like they were going to have a meal; with so few, it felt ridiculous to spread out over the tables. Instead they huddled in close to McGonagall, some perching on the edge of the platform the staff table sat on, others sat straddling the ends of benches or even on the floor. Harry sat on the end of the Gryffindor table, Draco sat on the bench leaning back against his legs, Susan at his side with an anxious hold on Theo's hand. "Any idea what this is about?" she asked under her breath, and Harry shook his head.
"Not a clue."
Once everyone had arrived, McGonagall cleared her throat. "Thank you all for coming. This won't take long, but it seemed like more information than would be fair to give you in a common room notice."
Harry leaned forward a little, concerned. Was it bad? Had someone else died?
Was the school closing?
"As I'm sure you are all aware, exam season is approaching. Ordinarily, I would be encouraging you all to put your best foot forward and begin your studying efforts — however, that is not the case this year, I'm afraid." Her lips pursed, her eyes trailing over her gathered students. "Considering the current political climate, we have come to the difficult decision that it is not safe to allow the examination board access to the school at this time. The usual examiners have been… replaced, and I refuse to lose any more of the students under my care. As such, I am sorry to say that OWL and NEWT examinations will not be possible this year."
"What?!" Sully yelped, alarm in their eyes.
"But what about graduation?" Katie exclaimed worriedly. "If the fifth years miss OWLs they can just take them next year. Will we have to come back to school?" None of the seventh years looked happy about that idea, grumbling quietly to each other.
"I will be completely honest with you, Miss Bell, I cannot say," McGonagall said frankly.
It was jarring, for Harry, to have the Transfiguration professor be so upfront with them. Dumbledore as headmaster had always been so mysterious and omnipotent — he had all the answers, and was just waiting for the world to slot neatly into place at his command. He was also condescending as anything, treating even the older students like small children.
McGonagall, on the other hand, spoke to them like the capable almost-adults she knew them to be after having watched them grow in her classes for several years. She didn't sugar-coat things, didn't bullshit them. Even when it meant admitting she couldn't fix everything.
"While I would like to say that it will be possible for the current seventh year students to take their exams over the summer, I cannot guarantee that will be the case."
Harry tried not to squirm as almost every head swivelled in his direction. McGonagall folded her arms over her chest. "However," she continued pointedly, "We will make sure that as soon as it is safe, we will arrange for examinations to be held, and for accommodations to be made for returning seventh years. Myself and the rest of the staff will do whatever we can to help you prepare for those exams, no matter how long it has been since you were last our student." She smiled tightly. "Hogwarts will not abandon you. Any of you. It just might take a while for things to catch up."
"What about the sixth years," Ernie asked, frowning. "This doesn't really affect us, does it? I mean," he chuckled nervously, "by the time our exams roll around, everything will be back to normal."
Again, everyone stared at Harry. He clenched his jaw.
"I am informing the sixth years because there may come a point next year where you are joined in your classes by the current seventh years, for a revision session, so to speak. I would hope that you would help your fellow students cover any content they may have gotten rusty on in the interim."
"Can we take our exams independently?" A seventh year Slytherin girl asked, sat with several of her housemates. She looked entirely bored by the whole thing. "Not all of us have to hide from our own Ministry, you know."
Harry wasn't the only one who glared at her. It was bold to be so open with her allegiances, but then everyone knew her family were Death Eaters. She wasn't subtle about it, regularly muttering death threats towards Harry in the halls.
McGonagall remained stone-faced. "Should you feel comfortable in applying to take your exams at the Ministry of Magic this summer, you are of course welcome to do so," she assented curtly. "Similarly, if you choose to go elsewhere — that is to say, to a foreign Ministry you may have access to — I wish you the very best of luck in your examinations. But for those of you who do not have those options, do not fear. We will figure something out. And, of course, if you have any concerns you wish to bring to me privately, you are more than welcome to do so. You all know when my office hours are."
That seemed to be the end of it all, especially when a few nervous fourth years peered through the doors of the hall to see if dinner was ready yet. The students hopped off the tables, leaving room for the elves to send dinner up, and already McGonagall was surrounded by seventh years asking her questions.
"Well, no pressure or anything, then," Harry muttered dryly, sharing a glance with Susan. "Just got to off a Dark Lord and reform the Ministry proper so that our friends can graduate."
She bumped her shoulder with his. "Piece of cake," she replied, grinning. Harry snorted.
"I hope the seventh years don't get too complacent," Theo drawled quietly. "You did say summer after all, Potter."
"I did, didn't I?" Harry agreed.
It was a huge blow to those who had exams to take, of course — they wouldn't be able to relax for the summer knowing they had done the hard work.
Then again, Harry doubted anyone would be relaxing this summer, what with the whole Dark Lord situation.