Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Until the end

See how it shines

Why did we never run

Before our chance was gone?

- Son of Nyx by Hozier

August 2, 1995

The sun was slowly lowering on the hottest day of the year. Harry Potter found himself surreptitiously listening to the sound of the Surrey Evening News coming from the telly inside while hidden under a rather droopy hydrangea bush beneath the Dursley’s window.

It had been an awful summer full of long, hot days that scorched him while he completed mind-numbing chores. Harry was responsible for everything from making breakfast for the family each morning, to maintaining his Aunt Petunia’s garden, made more difficult due to the drought that had plagued the area all season. He had been threatened with even fewer meals if he wasted water, but he would also be punished if her plants died. It was a paradox that made Harry’s head spin, and he ultimately decided to sparingly use water on the plants that could be seen by passersby in the front yard while he covertly pruned any other plants in the back garden that were drying to a crisp before Petunia could screech at him. Harry knew that keeping up appearances was most important, no matter what happened behind closed doors or six-foot high garden fences. He had been getting away with it so far, but it was exhausting work. 

He always made time to try to listen to the muggle evening news, though, for hints of something sinister leaking into the non magical world. He had found some relative peace by squirreling away under the window that had frequently been left open to encourage a breeze to blow in during the heat, out of sight of his aunt and uncle. Tonight, he listened intently for any strange or unusual happenings, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so Harry instead enjoyed a moment of being unobserved after another long day of playing house-elf to the Durselys. 

In truth, Harry would prefer to end his days bone-weary, for it was the best chance he would have to catch a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

His summer had been plagued with the most dreadful nightmares. If he wasn’t almost dead on his feet with tiredness from meeting the Dursley’s demands, he was guaranteed to relive the horror that was the third Triwizard task over and over again. In each iteration of the dream, no matter how hard he tried, Cedric’s fate would never change. Harry would always end up standing there uselessly, watching the green light fade away in the reflection of Cedric’s glassy, unseeing eyes.

Sometimes he would wake from the nightmare at that point, heart beating fast and silent tears streaming down his face, the deep guilt he felt over the events of that night leaving him unable to return to sleep. Other times, the dream would morph into being hunted through the maze, tall hedges turning to dark tiled halls, an unknown entity hissing and slithering and stalking him, but never within his sights. Those dreams would end with a shout, his bedsheets twisted around him. If he was lucky, he’d wake before making too much noise and disturbing the rest of the house, but not always.

After those extended dreams, he would be left unrested, with something oily coating his tongue and throat like he was unclean. His scar would prickle uncomfortably for a few hours, his magic roiling under his skin. On those days, he would have to watch his temper carefully, or the loose items around the house would shake ominously as he walked by them. 

Harry was extra cautious about setting off the Trace, having received one warning the summer before his second year already, even though it was Dobby that had been wielding the magic. Inexplicably, he had never received a warning about blowing up Aunt Marge the summer after that, but he assumed it had to do with concern over his safety after Sirius’ escape from Azkaban. Not that the ministry would care about Harry’s well-being now. 

So, he knew he had to be careful to control his accidental magic. He was trying, but so tired he felt out of control. Each quip from Petunia and gruff word from Vernon was at risk of setting him off. Dudley had turned his taunts up to maximum offense this summer, and only Dudley’s fists were in competition with how much they could hurt Harry on any given day. His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that he hadn’t received news of the wixen world from any of his friends all summer.

Oh, they had written to start, he supposed. But the letters were so vague that it was infuriating - and he was already angry about his lack of sleep due to nightmares. And he knew that Ron and Hermione were together, somehow, spending the summer somewhere that they couldn’t tell him about. Sirius had been just as vague about his plans, but he knew that none of them were coming to get him. He had given up writing back after the first two weeks of break. 

Without news on Voldemort’s or the Death Eaters’ movements, Harry had resorted to laying in the dirt under the hydrangea bushes, sifting through the muggle news in his mind while the shriveled petals slowly floated down around him. 

Harry had just decided to give up on the night’s reporting and find somewhere else to be when several strange things happened in very quick succession. 

A loud, echoing crack broke the peaceful evening like a gunshot, which caused a cat to streak out from under a parked car and fly out of sight. It was quickly followed by a shriek and a bellow from the Dursley’s living room. 

From some deep place inside of him that had been itching to act all summer, Harry leapt to his feet, drawing his magic to the surface with him, reaching for his wand… or at least he tried. Before he could bring himself to full height, the top of his head collided with the open window. The resultant crash made his aunt Petunia scream even louder. 

Harry’s head felt as though it had been split in two. He swayed, trying to get his balance, his magic was dangerously close to escaping from his skin like hot oil on a pan. His eyes watered, he couldn’t see, and just as he started to right himself, two large purple hands reached through the open window and closed tightly around his throat.

As though he was looking through a long tunnel, Harry could see Vernon’s pudgy face as it snarled something he couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears. The longer it took Harry to respond, the tighter the grip around his neck became. Harry tried to remove his uncle’s sausage-like fingers in vain, but his strength and focus was going into pulling back on his magic as hard as he could. 

Vernon was still trying to say something to him, Harry noticed in a detached-sort-of-way. His uncle was slowly lifting him up as if to pull him into the house by his neck alone. Harry tried to wheeze out a word to ask Vernon to stop, please, but he had no more air to push through his lips. 

Then, the pain in his head gave a particularly nasty throb, and Harry’s vision whited out. Vernon’s hands suddenly released him, which had the effect of dropping Harry half-in and half-out of the window. Harry’s ears were still ringing, and it was all he could do to draw in a couple of shaky breaths before dragging himself the rest of the way in the house, out of view of the neighbors. He dropped unceremoniously onto the floor, just missing Petunia's dainty buffet table filled with delicate trinkets. 

Slowly, Harry righted himself, sitting with his back against the wall breathing heavily. His throat felt tight, like skin stretched too thin. When his vision fully returned to him, he rather wished it hadn’t. 

Harry blinked, pushing his glasses firmly back up onto the bridge of his nose, and sucked in a startled breath. Vernon - who just seconds ago had been strangling the life out of Harry - was across the room in a heap on the floor. Petunia was hovering over her husband, looking at Harry with unbridled fear in her eyes. The living room itself was destroyed. The coffee table looked as if it had been crushed under a giant’s foot, the stuffing in the pillows exploded. Every knickknack on the buffet table that Harry had been momentarily glad to spare had already been smashed. Even the glass in the picture frames on the walls had been shattered. 

For a moment, Harry and his aunt stared at each other, for no words could encompass what had just happened. 

Then, his uncle stirred. Petunia whimpered and started chanting, “Oh Vernon, you’re awake, are you alright?”

A deep growl escaped the man’s chest. 

Vernon pushed himself up to a sitting position, his eyes immediately finding Harry. If Harry hadn’t already faced a monster with actual red eyes earlier this year, he would say that his own uncle’s flashed just the same.

“Boy.” Vernon uttered one word, and Harry knew in his bones that his time was up. 

Ignoring the pain in his head and his neck, Harry scrambled to his feet and started to move jerkily towards the hall. Petunia helped Vernon up, and the man stormed after him.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, BOY?”

Not answering, Harry made his way up the stairs as fast as he could, dragging a hand along the wall to keep his balance. His uncle would hurt him beyond repair if he caught him now, Harry was sure of it. His accidental magic had completely destroyed the living room. It was unforgivable.

That wasn’t the end of his problems, either. Accidental magic at a scale like that - especially at his age - would have surely set off the Trace. Someone from the Ministry was probably on the way to snap Harry’s wand now. He would have to pack and escape the house, somehow. 

Harry managed to get to his room in time to slam the door in Vernon’s face. He pressed his back against the door, trying to keep his uncle out. All of the locks were on the outside, of course, and he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“BOY! JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!”

The door rattled and Harry threw all of his weight against it, making his headache even worse, radiating down through his neck and shoulder blades where the door banged against his back. 

“YOU’RE OUT OF HERE - DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU. ARE. DONE! RUDDY FREAK!”

“Fine!” Harry yelled through the noise, “I’ll leave - just let me pack!”

“NOT A CHANCE! ALL OF THOSE FREAKY THINGS WILL BURN -”

And Harry, without taking too much time to consider it, his magic still dangerously close to the surface, willed it to stick the door closed. The door abruptly stopped shaking, as if frozen. And Harry moved. 

He had never been so glad to have his things with him and not locked away in the cupboard anymore, for he quickly started throwing his belongings into his trunk, not bothering to fold any clothes or stack any of his books. He lifted up the loose floorboard and snatched his most precious items, along with any food he had been able to stash away. He didn’t know when he would get a meal next. 

Harry didn’t have much. All of his packing took roughly two minutes, even as his vision blurred in and out through the pain. Moving to his already-open bedroom window, he looked out across the back garden and determined that the sun was still too high to risk being seen by muggles on his broom. But… maybe his invisibility cloak would cover him and his broom if he was able to shrink his trunk? 

Turning back to the room and ignoring the muffled screaming from the other side of the door, Harry spared a moment to consider his options. He had already performed two acts of magic tonight. What was a third, if it meant he could get out of here? Making a decision, Harry went to his trunk and grabbed the cloak. He then took his wand out of his pocket, pointed it at his trunk, and cast a shrinking charm. 

Well, if the Ministry hadn’t already been on their way, they definitely were now. But Harry had to go. 

Pocketing his trunk, Harry turned to Hedwig’s empty cage. She was already out hunting for the night. He shrunk her cage as well, placing it in his pocket after the trunk. All that was left was the Firebolt. 

Carefully crouching on the window sill, pushing through his rapidly worsening headache, Harry glanced over his room one last time. He swung his cloak over his shoulders, making sure the hood fully covered his head, and jumped out of the window, swinging himself over his broom with muscle memory he was thankful for in his diminished state. 

Harry rose up over the houses of Privet Drive, feeling strangely elated, despite his growing assurances that he was in some deep, deep trouble. 

He was finally free. 

Taking a moment to better arrange his cloak to fully cover the tail of his broom, Harry spared a thought to where he was actually going to go. The Burrow was the obvious choice. He knew roughly where it was, in Devon to the west, and there was a good chance that’s where Ron and Hermione were spending the summer. 

Maneuvering his broom to point at the sunset, Harry sped off to find his friends. 

Harry had vague recollections of the flight from Privet Drive to the Burrow the summer before his second year. 

Oh, he remembered the joy, laughing in the flying car with Ron, Fred, and George, cracking jokes and reliving the escape from his aunt and uncle, but he didn’t remember how long it took at all. 

This flight was much different. 

Harry was barely staying upright on his broom. His upper body was screaming at him - the hours on the Firebolt after not training for over a year were brutal. The sun had set hours ago, and his ability to see where he was going from the air had vanished with it. Harry was mentally thanking Hermione, despite his frustration with her, for getting him his broom compass last year for Christmas. He was able to follow a westward path even with the sun down, for he had no other way to navigate to Ottery St. Catchpole in the dark. 

After escaping from the Dursley’s, he didn’t dare risk any more magic, for the Ministry might track his movements in the air. He didn’t want to get this close to freedom just to have the aurors show up at the Burrow and snap his wand. So, as it got darker, Harry flew lower to better see the landscape below. He thought he might be getting closer - the fields were getting larger, the hills rounder. Harry was determined to find it without magic, even if he flew around all night. 

Not twenty minutes later, Harry was very thankful for his Potter-luck, because he recognized a small village just to the south of where he was flying. Turning sharply, he flew closer to the town and saw the very familiar sight of the single church in the town.

There. 

The little village of Ottery St. Catchpole came and went, and the Burrow rose like a lighthouse beacon just beyond, familiar and welcoming. As he flew closer he could see the little pond outside the Burrow reflecting the starlight. Harry swooped toward the ground, toes skimming the tall grass. The nighttime insects were buzzing their late summer song. Relief rushed through him like a glass of cool water.

A hundred yards from the Burrow, Harry promptly bounced off a ward that shimmered into existence as it threw him off of his broom. 

What?!

Sprawled in the grass, Harry shook his head and gazed up at the night sky. His body shuddered, not taking the impact well at all. His headache that had mostly reduced to background pain roared back to life. Carefully, he sat up and gazed at the structure in front of him. 

He hadn’t realized that the Weasley’s had wards around their home. He guessed it made sense for safety reasons. Dangerous times were upon them all. Would they notice he had tried to get through? 

Harry wasn’t sure how to get their attention. He could try shooting red sparks in the air, but if everyone was asleep, would they even see it? 

As Harry kept his eyes trained on the Burrow, something seemed… off. Typically, there were candles burning low in at least one window, no matter how late it was. But there were no signs of life coming from the house. In fact, there was something wrong with the front garden too. It was never neatly pruned, not like the obsessive tidiness of Peturnia’s garden, but the Weasley’s garden was absolutely wild right now. 

The Burrow looked abandoned. 

Had the Weasley’s not lived here all summer? Were they somewhere else and hadn’t told Harry? Or was this some kind of secrecy glamour to make it look like no one was home?

His stomach dropped. He felt almost ill. Laying back, he rested his aching head against the cool dirt, wishing that anything would be simple for him. Gingerly, he touched his neck where it was sore and swollen. He couldn’t see it, but it felt like it was badly bruised and he had nothing for it. Harry desperately needed some water to soothe his throat.

Sighing deeply, Harry considered his options. He had flown cross-country to escape his terrible relatives, only to find his best friend's home empty, or so well protected that he would never break through the enchantments. What was he to do now? 

He didn’t have Hedwig, so he couldn’t send an owl to ask anyone to come get him. It was the middle of the night, and any attempts to get the attention of someone inside the Burrow would surely alert the Ministry to his location. Suddenly feeling angry, he slammed his fists against the ground twice in frustration. He was alone, outside in the dark, with no way to let anyone know of his location without getting into even more trouble.

But, an insidious voice said in his head, did he want to be found?

His friends, and even his godfather, had ignored him all summer. They sent him placating notes about how “We’ve been told not to say much,” and he should “Keep his nose clean.” By who? Who decided that? Why is Harry being kept in the dark? Hadn’t he proved himself capable? He was the one that had been tied to a tombstone and witnessed Voldemort’s return! He was the one that saw Cedric murdered! 

No, don’t think about that, he sank his fingers into the dirt as he reprimanded himself. He needed to focus on what to do next. Pushing his swirling thoughts aside, Harry sat up again, taking a deep breath to clear his shaky vision.

Well, he couldn’t stay here out in this open field next to the wards around the Burrow. He needed to find some kind of shelter. 

Harry looked around. Mr Weasley’s work shed was well within the wards and wasn’t an option. There were no other structures that he could access. But, he knew that just beyond the Burrow was a small copse of trees that lined the stream that ran alongside the property. Harry supposed that it would be enough shelter until the sun rose. He could assess his predicament with the morning light. 

Grabbing his broom and cloak, he flew low around the reach of the wards towards where he could just make out the outlines of the trees in the dark. He didn’t dare use a lumos to light the way, instead taking it slow. Harry landed, much more gracefully this time, and walked just behind the first line of trees. 

Sitting against the trunk of a large oak hidden from view of the field, Harry decided that he was probably safe enough right where he was. He hid his broom in a tall fern within easy reach - in case someone came looking he would have an escape option. 

Securing the invisibility cloak, Harry arranged himself gently against the bark of the tree, stretching out his legs as much as he could while keeping covered. He didn’t plan to sleep, but the night was warm, and soon enough the softly singing nocturnal insects lulled him into slumber. 

—

The adult residents of Number 12 Grimmauld Place were gathered around the kitchen table, staring blankly at Albus Dumbledore. 

It had been a strange night, and there was an undercurrent of panic fizzing and popping through the people in the room. 

The evening had started something like this: Remus Lupin had been enjoying a book and an after-dinner cuppa in the library when he heard shouting somewhere downstairs. 

That in-and-of itself was not unusual at Grimmauld Place. Sirius was regularly raising his voice at the residents of the house, human and non-human alike. His most likely targets were Kreacher or his mother’s portrait in the entry hall. Although, at the start of the summer, Sirius had got into it with Molly frequently as well. Lately that had seemed to fizzle out as Sirius gave up trying to run his own household and acquiesced to Molly’s iron fist. 

Remus and Sirius had their own share of arguments too, but those tended to be hushed and located behind a privacy ward in a bedroom somewhere. Remus didn’t like to think about it. 

But no, the shouts filtering up from downstairs quickly had taken on a tone of fear that made the hair on the back of Remus’ neck stand on end. It had him sprinting down the stairs and into the kitchen before he could think much on it. 

Sirius was there of course, facing off with Molly and someone that had clearly just come through the floo. As Remus edged around the table to see, he was rather shocked to find that it was Arthur that was taking the full force of Sirius’ ire. 

“And isn’t it ultimately up to Dumbledore if Harry has been expelled?!” Sirius’ chest was heaving, eyes bright. 

Remus blinked, looking from one man to the other, trying to determine what had led to this topic of conversation. Before he could say or do anything, Arthur turned relieved eyes on him, “Ah, Remus. I’m glad you’re here. There have been some developments tonight at the Ministry. Regarding Harry.”

Sirius scoffed, throwing his hands in the air, “Developments? Developments?! Moony,” Sirius turned the full weight of his gaze on him, “They’ve expelled Harry for simple underage magic!”

At that moment, Severus opened the door leading to the cellar, where his lab was located. Remus met his eyes warily as Molly cleared her throat, “How did you hear about this Arthur?”

“The Improper Use of Magic Office is on my floor, it caused quite a stir when the Trace went off. Some interns were in the hallway talking - apparently Harry has been cited for underage magic in front of muggles before,” at this, Remus and Severus looked at each other with brows raised while Sirius started to pace, “And the standard procedure is expulsion… especially for the level of magic they are saying he performed.” 

Remus closed his eyes and took in a shuddering breath. This was not good. 

“And what magic are they accusing him of performing, exactly?” Severus drawled as he came to a stop beside Remus, arms folded in his cloak.

“The aurors won’t be sure until they get to the scene, but the concentration of magic was enough to get people scrambling. And, well, they sent Harry the automatic expulsion letter. They’ll be on their way to Little Whinging to apprehend Harry and…” Arthur gulps, “Snap his wand.” 

Molly covered her face with a sound of denial, while Sirius rushed to Remus, grabbing the front of his sweater, “Moony - Harry will run if he gets that letter. He is not safe! Someone needs to go get him before the Ministry gets there! Let’s go together, right now!” Severus was standing completely still next to them. Remus wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.

“Sirius…” Remus placed his hands over Sirius’ and squeezed. Severus flinched infinitesimally as if he wanted to intervene.

Arthur made a step toward the three men, as if to soothe Sirius, “I’ve sent a message to Dumbledore - he is already at the Ministry trying to smooth things over. That’s why I came here. I’ve faith that he’ll set this right in a jiffy.” 

Remus finally extracted Sirius from his shirt, “See? Everything will be fine. Let’s wait for the Headmaster before we make any rash decisions.”

Sirius released him with a small shove, “Rash? Of course. That’s all you think of me, isn’t it?”

“Black, now is not the time to make this about you. We will wait for the Headmaster to send word before acting, and that is final,” Severus sneered.

Sirius turned his full distaste upon the potions master, “Final, huh? Like you have any authority here Sniv-”

“Sirius - no.” Remus sighed, tiredly. He didn’t expect the two of them to ever see eye-to-eye, but he drew the line at the childish name-calling.

“Fine! Fine! You two are always on the same side, I just want to make sure my godson is okay!” Sirius threw his arms into the air and stomped out of the kitchen. 

When he was gone, Arthur let out a breath that drew the other two men’s attention, “Well, I should probably go back to the Ministry, and see if I can learn anything else useful. Sorry, Molly, it’s going to be a late night.” With a peck on his wife’s cheek, he was gone again. 

That had been hours ago. Now, he, Severus, Sirius, Arthur, and Molly were sitting around the kitchen table with Dumbledore, tea going cold in the cups in front of each of them. Dumbledore had come through the floo just minutes before with dire news - Harry was nowhere to be found. The aurors had gone to Privet Drive, intending to snap Harry’s wand, disregarding the Headmaster’s advice. They had found a smashed living room, three irate muggles, and a destroyed young man’s bedroom.

“His bedroom was destroyed? I don’t understand.” Molly shook her head, “Why would Harry do that?”

“Harry's guardians were not very forthcoming,” Dumbledore replied, “According to the aurors that went to the scene, they said something about Harry doing some magic outside that scared them, and when they tried to get Harry inside, he exploded the sitting room. Then he ran up the stairs to pack in order to leave the residence, and by the time they caught up with him, he was gone and his bedroom was in a state. Tonks was with the aurors that went to the house, she’ll be able to tell us more once she gets here. There was a spot of paperwork to fill out.”

Remus looked around at the adults. Molly looked sadly at the Headmaster, Arthur was looking at the table with a contemplative expression. Severus’ face was unreadable, as always. And Sirius… Sirius looked ready to explode, himself. 

“I may be in the minority here, but something about that explanation doesn’t feel right,” Remus ventured. Everyone turned their eyes to him, “I mean, why would Harry be messing around with magic outside? And for no reason? Did he see something that scared him? And where was his guard? We’ve been rotating shifts all summer.”

“Ah, yes, that is the other part of this unfortunate story,” Dumbledore folded one hand over the other before continuing, “I spoke to Arabella Figg just before I arrived here. Mundungus was on duty today, Arabella confirmed he came through her floo on time. But one of her kneazles alerted her to his sudden disappearance well before shift-change this evening. It would have been right around the timing of the events.”

Dumbedore looked over his half-moon spectacles at all of them, “I have been unable to get into contact with Mundungus, so we can’t rule out foul play just yet.”

Sirius finally lost his composure, “What do you mean, ‘You can’t rule out foul play just yet?!’ There is a chance Harry’s been taken by Death Eaters! We need to find him!” He jumped up and slammed his palms into the table, making the teacups rattle on the saucers. “It’s been hours, and we’ve just been waiting around, thumbs up our arses - we need to do something to get Harry back!”

“Sirius!” Molly admonished the vulgarity. 

Remus sucked in a breath. Privately, he agreed with Sirius - they needed to find Harry, now. But they needed to work together. 

“Headmaster, it is my assumption that Mr. Potter has not performed any other acts of magic since his disappearance?” Severus inquired smoothly.

“That is not quite correct, Severus. The Trace was set off three more times at his residence -”

It was at that moment that the kitchen hearth burned bright green, and a sprite witch tumbled out of it. Tonks, hair bright pink, dusted off her red Auror robes as she righted herself and looked around at the other gathered wixen, “Evening all! I’ve got more details about the situation, Headmaster.”

Tonks plopped into a seat next to a still standing Sirius, and Dumbledore nodded at her to continue. Tonks took a sip of Sirius’ now cold tea, and immediately spat it back out, “Ergh! Gross, cousin. That’s mostly firewhiskey!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but sat back down. Arthur cleared his throat pointedly, and Tonks took the hint to continue, “Well, I think we can tentatively rule out a kidnapping, thankfully. Evidence in the destroyed bedroom showed that a sticking charm was applied to Harry’s bedroom door as well as two shrinking spells cast on unidentified objects inside. Most of Harry’s clothes were gone, and none of his school supplies were left behind in the wreckage. His trunk and broom were gone, too. A Death Eater would hardly be concerned with packing his things for him, would they?”

The Headmaster gave Severus a long look, and Severus simply drummed his long fingers on the table a few times, meeting the older man’s eyes in return. Everyone watched the silent exchange. When Severus looked down and away, Remus caught Severus’ eyes as the Headmaster reassured the group, “I do not believe it would be Voldemort’s supporters behind Harry’s disappearance tonight. Molly, I know your youngest boys picked up Harry from his relatives’ three years ago - they don’t have anything to do with this, do they?”

“I have spoken with all of the children residing under this roof tonight, Albus, and they were distraught to learn of Harry’s disappearance. I’m sure they don’t know what’s going on.”

“Did they have any ideas of where he might be, Molly? Any other friends he might convince to pick him up?” Asked Remus.

“No, none. Ron and Hermione said they would think on it, of course. But they seemed pretty sure that if this had been planned, Harry would have informed one of them.”

“What about muggle friends? I’m sure Potter has a gang of hooligans he runs around with in the summers - could he have gone to one of their homes?” Severus asked as he looked to Molly.

Both Molly and Arthur frowned at this, while Tonks looked thoughtful. Sirius made a strange, jerky motion and Remus looked at him with a question on his lips, but before he could ask it, Sirius was shaking his head, “No, no I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem to have a good time there.”

Severus didn’t snark a reply and his brows furrowed slightly at Sirius’ conclusion. The whole table seemed to deflate. They truly had no leads.

“I believe,” Dumbledore began, “That it is time to turn to more arcane methods of finding a wayward young wizard. Severus? Remus? I’ll require your assistance. Everyone else, we’ll update as soon as we have a location on young Mr. Potter.”

At that, Molly waved her wand to send the cups and saucers to the sink to be washed and dried. Arthur stood and led Sirius out of the room with promises of a drink in the parlor upstairs and minimal fuss. Tonks gave the Headmaster a jaunty salute, and left via the floo. 

Both Remus and Severus turned to follow the Headmaster through the door to the cellar-turned-potions lab located one level below the kitchen. The stairs were stone and steep, most likely built long before the structure overhead that served as modern-day Grimmauld Place. The Black ancestral home was located in the heart of London, but the Black family had been residing upon the land long before the brick buildings that made up the residential area came into existence. 

The main room of the cellar ran the length of the building, and was an open area with surprisingly high ceilings for being so far underground. There were three long potion benches surrounded by shelves of ingredients and cauldrons. At the back of the room on the left was a heavy iron door with the Black family crest welded into it, complete with inlaid black rubies that sparkled menacingly in the low light. On the right was a tall but skinny barred door. Sirius had said the right door originally led to a dungeon room, but Remus now used it for his full moon transformations. It locked and unlocked with only a key that Severus now kept upon his person, much to Sirius’ annoyance. The door on the left, however, only Sirius could open. He wouldn’t talk about what was behind it. The whole underground area smelled of moist earth, astringent potions ingredients, and sweet, slightly rotten dark magic. When Remus had first come down here earlier in the summer, he had discovered the heady dark magic scent only got more oppressive the closer one got to the ornate door.

The three men made their way over to one of the unused benches, and Dumbledore pulled a large rolled up parchment from the depths of his robes, “The Invenire Ritual, Severus?” 

“Very well, Headmaster.”

Severus turned to the wall of ingredients and began waving his wand to summon several as the Headmaster unrolled the parchment upon the table. It was a map of the British Isles. He secured the edges to the table with a wave of his wand. Remus stepped up to look over the details of the map just as Severus turned, floating three jars and letting them land neatly next to the map. Next, he grabbed a standard cauldron from the table behind him and placed it over the nearest burner, igniting it and filling the basin with a silent aguamenti. 

As the cauldron began to heat, Severus prepped the ingredients. Remus could pick out squid ink sacs, bat wings, and some kind of small, dark, raw crystal pieces inside the jars. Before Remus could become too enraptured with Severus’ mastery over his chosen field, Dumbledore cleared his throat gently.

“Remus, I do believe you have some experience with the art of mapmaking? As well as crafting spells to make tracking possible upon a map?” Dumbledore was looking at Remus over his glasses, eyes twinkling.

“Yes - that I do.” Remus shifted guiltily from one foot to another. He just knew that Severus had told the Headmaster about the Marauder’s Map after that bewildering year he taught Defense at Hogwarts. Remus had never expected to come across it again, and had been floored when he’d found Harry with it. Severus, of course, had eventually sniffed out that Remus had taken it back into his possession one evening when Remus had left it out on his desk and they’d gotten… distracted in his chambers. Remus had given it back to Harry at the end of the year, much to Severus’ dismay. And now the Headmaster was in on the secret as well.

“Do you think you can alter the incantation to use in a finding ritual? To track the location of one letter flying with an owl?”

Remus hummed thoughtfully, “I’ll need to do some Arithmancy. And most likely anchor the ritual with a rune.” As he was speaking, he summoned some parchment, a quill, and ink over from the basket on one shelf and began to write. 

Severus brewed, Remus scratched out formulas, and Dumbledore conjured a chair and tea set. While the Headmaster made himself comfortable, the two younger men worked briskly on their separate tasks. 

Remus was done with his calculations first, confident that his incantation modifier would work with the ritual. He walked over to a supplies cabinet in the corner by the staircase, searching for a stone to inscribe a rune. 

Rune stones were finicky - and best chosen by hand, not summoning. One needed to feel the energy of the material to make an anchoring stone. Luckily, the Black family had an excess of non-perishable supplies for both the every day potions brewer as well as more in-depth and esoteric spellcasting. Remus surveyed the available stones and chose a small, flat river rock that had veins of red and green. His intuition told him it fit the subject. 

When he returned to the table, Severus was dousing the fire under the cauldron that now held a pitch-black brew. Dumbledore stood and vanished his chair as well as his tea. Remus set the stone on the table. 

“Thoughts on the rune we should use, Remus?” Asked Dumbledore.

“Well…” Remus swallowed and looked at Severus, “I think there’s only one we can use in a ritual to find Harry.”

Severus narrowed his eyes and Remus tried to convey his apology with a wince.

Dumbledore nodded his head, “Indeed.” He raised his long, ancient wand, and directed it at the rune stone. Sowilo ᛋ was carved upon it with a twitch of his wrist. “Remus, you should be the one to write the note to Harry. I daresay he’ll find your handwriting most familiar?”

Remus felt a lick of shame run down his spine. He really hadn’t written to Harry much since they’d reconnected two years ago. He’d left it to Sirius, mostly. But Remus nodded his head and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment anyway. Harry would know his hand from his feedback on his third-year DADA essays. It went without saying that it would be better received than a letter from Severus.

Remus scribbled a short note for Harry, then rolled it up. Dumbledore did the same to the map. Both were handed to Severus, who placed them next to the cauldron. Finally, the Headmaster handed over the rune stone.

“I’ll let you do the honors, Severus.”

Severus accepted the rune stone into his left palm with ceremony. With his right, he flicked his wand, and the sconces around the chamber dimmed to a smoulder. 

Remus shivered at the shifting of the air in the now silent room. He could smell Severus pulling his power to himself, like the sharp bite of a winter storm. Severus was a powerful wizard and the youngest potions master ever certified in Britain. He had exacting standards and precise magic to match. Remus always found himself in awe of his partner’s skill when he witnessed Severus use magic like this. 

Remus was drawn back to the present when Severus moved. With a sweep of his wand around his head, Severus pointed into the steaming cauldron and began chanting in Latin in a low intonation. 

The candles in their sconces shuddered and a disjointed breeze could be felt at the back of Remus’ neck. It gave him goosebumps. As the magic gathered in the air around Severus, the man carefully dropped the rune stone into the brew. The dark substance shifted then, momentarily flaring a brilliant gold, before swiftly changing to completely clear. So clear that Remus could see to the bottom of the cauldron. The stone was nowhere to be seen.  

Severus’ chanting changed slightly as he picked up the map, carefully levitating it into the cauldron, submerging it completely. He held it under for a moment, then levitated it out. The parchment looked completely dry. Severus did the same with the letter Remus had written.

At this point, magic was layered so thick upon the space that Remus could feel it seeping up from the stone floor. It felt like jolts of energy moving in waves through his body. When Severus laid the map upon the table, it unfurled with a snap. Immediately after, the letter to Harry was drawn over the top as if with a mind of its own. Severus chanted two more repetitive lines and then went quiet. As if drawn in by a compulsion, all three men placed the tips of their wands to the center of the letter. 

“Ibis venator inveniet,” Remus recited his modified incantation for the mapping spell. 

All three of the men’s wands glowed for a moment, and then it was done. 

The lights in the room resumed their original brightness, the oppressive feel of magic melted away from Remus’ body back into the floor. Severus let out a long, almost silent breath. Dumbledore looked pleased.

“Well, thank you, Severus, Remus, for your work tonight. I believe it is time to return to the surface to set this plan into motion.” The Headmaster picked up the map and letter and turned to head for the stairs, “Does this household possess an owl?”

Severus snorted and followed the Headmaster. Remus trailed behind with a sigh, “I’ll find Pigwidgeon.”

Chapter Text

August 3, 1995

Harry was having a very pleasant dream. In fact, it might be the nicest dream he’s had in months. 

He was lounging in the sun under an old oak tree, its green leaves filtering the soft sunlight. He could hear a stream babbling somewhere nearby and it was extremely calming. Above him, Hedwig was perched, her fluffy white feathers seeming to shimmer in a soft breeze. Harry felt his face break into a soft smile, because Hedwig was singing gently to him.

“...I danced through the river and danced on the plain, I danced through the forest and danced in the rain…”

This was nice, Harry thought. Hedwig had never sung to him before.

“...I danced through the sky and danced on the moon, but I always danced alone until I found you…”

Harry blinked. Wait.

His mind, with great effort, slowly started to clear. His head felt like it was full of rocks and a tyre was running over the gravel, crunching it over and over again. As he became more lucid, he realized that Hedwig was not a dream - she had found him in the night. He was awake and actually sitting at the bottom of a big tree. Well, he was slumped against the trunk, more like it. Hedwig wasn’t singing to him though. So the voice…

Harry jolted, fully alert now. The previous night’s escapade slamming back into his memory all at once. His upper body gave a shudder at the sudden movement, the pain in his head, neck, and shoulders causing him to spasm and fall back into his semi-reclined pose. 

He had exactly three seconds to panic about the disembodied voice before he heard soft footsteps approaching. 

“Oh! Hello there. Where is the rest of your body, then?” A softly melodic voice inquired from somewhere to his left. With great effort, Harry turned his torso, moving his head as little as possible.

A girl around his age was standing there. But to call her a girl was to severely diminish her, Harry thought. She was the most ethereal person he had ever laid his eyes on and was clearly wixen; there was just something inherently magical about her. She had long, bright blonde hair that hung in tangled waves to her waist. She was wearing a long white skirt and a yellow knit jumper with blue stars, even though the morning was warm. She wore all kinds of brightly colored pieces of jewelry, so much that Harry couldn’t wrap his sleep-addled brain around it all. In her hands was a wicker basket, filled to the brim with some kind of dark purple leafy stems. As she stepped closer to peer at him, Harry noticed she was barefoot, her toes covered in dirt. 

When she knelt down to be face-to-face with him, her head falling to one side, Harry finally noticed her eyes. 

They were clear blue, like the blue of a pool of crystal clear water in the sunlight. She had almost iridescent lashes, they were so pale. Harry noticed that she had a beauty mark just above her lip on her right cheek. 

For a long moment, neither of them did anything but take the other in. Finally, Harry remembered she had asked a question. 

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘where is the rest of my body?’” Harry rasped. 

“Only your head is here, silly. Wouldn’t you like to be reunited with the rest of yourself?”

As Harry was pretty sure he could feel the rest of his body, he did the sensible thing and finally looked down. Oh. 

He was still wearing the invisibility cloak, but the hood must have fallen down in his sleep. Harry looked back up to the girl and grinned sheepishly, wiggling out of the cloak to fully reveal himself. 

“Not to worry, erm, I’m all here.”

The girl’s head fell over to her other shoulder, letting her eyes wander over the material of the cloak that was now visible since he was no longer wearing it. Her eyes roved over him for a bit longer, stopping at a place just below his chin.

“You’re hurt.” Her voice wavered a little at the end.

Harry swallowed, then winced. Yeah, he was in pain.

“How did you come to be here, Harry Potter?”

So, she did know who he was then. Why didn’t he know her? Did she go to Hogwarts? Could she be trusted?

Harry found his voice, “It’s a long story. I’m sorry, but who are you?”

The girl gave him a small smile, “I’m Luna Lovegood. Ravenclaw, the year below you. I live near here.”

Harry took a deep breath. Okay, that was good then. Luna wasn’t a Slytherin, and he didn’t recognize the name Lovegood, so most likely not related to any Death Eaters. But still, he had to be careful.

“Do you know the Weasleys?”

“Oh yes! They’re our neighbors.” Luna was still giving him a pleasantly interested expression.

“Do you know how to contact them?” Harry decided that being as vague as possible was the best route right now. 

“I’m afraid not. I haven’t seen any of them all holiday! Ginny and I used to explore together, but she hasn’t come around much since the end of our first year. I don’t think they’ve been home for a while, though. I haven’t run into Mrs. Weasley or the twins in the village at all.”

Harry deflated. So, the Weasleys were truly gone then. Where was he going to go? What was he going to do for the rest of the summer?

“Is that your owl?” Harry was startled out of his spiral by Luna’s question. She was pointing above him at Hedwig.

“Yeah, that’s Hedwig. She must have followed me here.”

“She’s beautiful. I’ve always wanted to fly.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, but he knew he needed to get a move on. Feeling inspired, he said, “Er, yeah. Hey listen, Luna, I need to write a letter, but all of my stuff is shrunken in my trunk and I can’t risk doing magic right now. You said you lived near here? Could I get some parchment and ink?”

Luna stood up and offered him her hand to help him stand, “Of course! I just got done collecting the whispering leaves for the Plimpies. Perfect timing!”

Harry, not knowing what whispering leaves or Plimpies were, decided that he didn’t have energy for questions. He grabbed his Firebolt from behind the fern, and double-checked that his wand and cloak were in one pocket, his shrunken trunk and Hedwig’s cage in the other. He called Hedwig down from her perch, and she settled gently on one of his shoulders. Harry grimaced at the added weight on his already sore collarbone, but Hedwig was gentle and didn’t dig her talons in. With all of his most precious items accounted for, Harry set off through the small copse of trees after Luna.

It might be reckless to follow her home, Harry thought. But what did it matter if she or her family sold him out to Voldemort? Nobody had been protecting him anyway. It’s possible nobody had truly cared about him since the night his parents died, left to wither away at the Dursley’s. A pain shot through Harry’s head at the thought, different from his aching muscles and sore neck. He ignored it and continued walking.

It took less than five minutes to make their way through the little oasis, over a hill, and up to Luna’s house, even with Harry’s pain and stiff muscles. 

Luna’s home was just as strange and magical as the Burrow, although quite a bit smaller. It was the size of a cottage but shaped like a rook on a chess set, its exterior a dark brick. The house was surrounded by a lush garden, filled with ornamental trees, grasses, and magically swaying plants. They ambled through a wooden gate that had seen better days, up a little pebble walk way, and to the front door. 

Luna opened it with familiar ease, “Welcome to my home, Harry Potter!” The front door led right into the kitchen, a perfectly circular room, with stove, sinks, and cupboards all curved to fit the walls. The entire room was a riot of color, everything painted in bright primary colours with motifs of flowers, insects, and birds. In the centre of the floor was a spiral wrought-iron staircase, leading up to upper levels of the home. 

Harry stood on the threshold, absently stroking Hedwig’s feathers where he could reach without tweaking his shoulder or neck, taking it all in. If he didn’t feel so completely awful, he thought he might have better appreciated the effect of being in another magical household like the Burrow.

Luna was giving Harry a searching look while he got lost in his thoughts. When he met her eyes, she said, “I’m afraid I don’t have anything that could help with your injuries. But I do have tea.”

Harry nodded carefully, his hand coming up to feel the swelling around his neck, “Tea would be fine, Luna, thank you.”

She waved Harry over to an unoccupied area of the room that was taken up by a table cluttered with strange trinkets and specimens of plants. “Parchment and ink should be over there, I think.” 

As Harry moved in the direction of the table, he noticed how quiet the house was and croaked, “Luna, do you live with anyone else?”

“Yes, my father. But he is on assignment for the next few days, he’s the editor and owner of the Quibbler, you see.”

Harry didn’t know what that was, either, and resolved to ask once he’d written his letter. He  made a noncommittal noise, and turned to the parchment on the table. 

His mind went blank.

Who was he going to write to? He’d had a thought to write to Ron, or maybe Mr. Weasley, but why would he do that? None of them had offered to come and get him out of his hellscape of a living situation this summer. They hadn’t answered his questions or his letters. They had abandoned the Burrow and he’d had no idea. 

A now familiar spark of anger ignited low in his belly. 

He could write to Sirius, beg him to come and rescue him, but that would put Sirius at risk. He was still a fugitive, after all. There might not be any place for them to go, anyway. 

Just as he resolved to write to Hermione, to tell her that he was going to sneak into the Leaky Cauldron under his cloak to rent a room, Hedwig gave an annoyed hoot. There was a tapping on the window above the table.

Harry looked up. It was Pigwidgeon, Ron’s owl. 

Huh.

–

The adults at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been watching the map all night. 

It was late when Remus had returned to the kitchen with the Headmaster and Severus. They had pinned the magically enhanced map to the wall. Molly had volunteered to go upstairs to wake Ron briefly, to ask to borrow his excitable owl. The little bird was overjoyed to have such a special task. 

Severus couldn't help but snicker as Remus tiredly wrestled the minuscule thing in order to tie the letter to its leg. 

They watched the map as the owl took off through an open window and a little glowing dot appeared near Islington, London. 

It was slow going, and many cups of tea had been consumed. Light was fighting its way in through the dingy, high kitchen windows before Arthur commented, “Say, do you think it’s going to Ottery?”

Sirius, who’d been nodding off for an hour now, whipped his head up and stared at the map as if it held all the answers in the universe. Dumbledore placed a finger to his lips. 

Indeed, Remus agreed that the owl seemed to be headed right for the little village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Right where…

“Oh, poor dear! Do you think he tried to go to the Burrow?!” Molly exclaimed, jumping up from her seat, wringing her hands. “We have the blood wards up! He won’t be able to get in!”

Sirius looked straight at Remus. Remus held his stare. He could almost hear Sirius begging Remus to go, leave now, get my godson. He would, just as soon as they had a plan. Remus nodded. The tension in Sirius’ shoulders seemed to leech away. 

They watched the little dot approach the village, then veer slightly more to the south, right where the Burrow would be located. It hovered there for a minute, almost as if it was circling. Then, without a warning, the light went out. 

Now Sirius was on his feet, “What? What happened? Where did it go?”

Severus gave a minute jerk of his shoulders, as if he was surprised as well. 

Dumbledore’s hand left his face, “Well, I daresay someone received the letter. But if it reached its intended recipient, it is hard to say. Whoever it was has most likely destroyed it.”

Arthur stood up next to his wife, “We’ll go search the area, Albus, see if we can’t find him somewhere outside the wards.”

Dumbledore nodded, but looked at Remus, “You go as well, Remus. Although the odds are low, I’d like at least three of you there in case something goes awry.”

Remus nodded and stood, not wasting any more time. Severus reached up and gave his hand a squeeze, but didn’t say anything. Remus returned the gesture and moved towards the stairs that led up to the ground floor. 

He was closer to the stairs, and therefore called over his shoulder, “Arthur, Molly, ready? Will you be apparating?”

The two muttered an affirmative as they rushed to follow him up and out the front door; three cracks sounding out one after the other as they cleared the anti-apparation wards on the front stoop. 

—

Harry gaped at Pig in the window. He gets a letter now, after weeks of silence?

If possible, Harry’s mood sunk even lower. Ron, or Ron’s dad, more like it, probably heard about his prolific use of underage magic yesterday. The Weasley family was likely out of their minds wondering where he went. 

“Oh! What a cute little owl!” Luna gasped from where she was making tea at the hob, “Harry, do you know who that is? You can let it in!” 

“No,” Harry growled, “I don’t think I will.”

“Hmm,” Luna hummed in a sing-song voice, walking over to the window to peer at the owl, “I think you have the right idea. That letter feels strange.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Luna was very odd, even for a wix. And he had met some unique wixen personalities in his short foray into the magical world. 

“I’m going to let it in, is it ok if I take the letter?” Luna turned her large blue eyes upon Harry.

Harry just shrugged, and then jerked when the motion made his shoulders twinge in pain, “Sure, yeah.”

Luna let the little owl in, and Pig started trilling loudly, thoroughly flustering Hedwig, who left Harry’s shoulder for a quieter area across the room. Luna removed the letter tied to Pig’s leg, and gently sent him back out the window, “Go home, little man! Thank you!” 

Pig fluttered away into the morning light, just like that. 

Luna was looking intently at the envelope in her hand. She hadn’t opened it, but Harry didn’t care if she did. Luna flipped it over a couple of times, searching for something Harry couldn’t see. Finally she turned it back to the front, tracing the letters of Harry’s name with her pinky finger. 

“This message has a tracker on it. Do you want to be found, Harry?”

Harry startled at this, “A tracker? Like a homing device?”

“I’m not sure what that is, Harry, but I think it’s ritual based.”

Harry had so, so many questions. 

“I can destroy it for you, if you want me to?”

He had to think about it for only a moment. He knew that this letter came from someone in the Weasley family, who had left him to rot this summer. Well, they could wonder after his whereabouts for a little while longer. He’d send Hedwig by the end of the day.

“Yeah, Luna, you can destroy it.”

Luna gave him a bright smile that was just a little bit too sharp on her soft face, and the letter turned to ash in her hands, no wand in sight. Harry stared at the burnt flecks as they floated to the ground. Luna simply brushed off her hands, thinking no more of it. 

“Well, after you write your letter, would you like some tea?” Luna moved back over to the hob where she’d left her kettle.

“I’d love some.”

—

The three Order of the Phoenix members appeared just outside of the wards protecting the Burrow. 

Remus gaped a little at the disheveled state of the Weasley’s front garden. It was an overgrown mess.

“Molly, you go in the house, just to make sure everything is clear in there. Remus, can you take the area from the back of the wards to the treeline? I’ll walk down the lane toward the village,” Arthur said. 

“Of course dear,” Molly agreed. She stepped through the faintly glimmering ward line and began casting revealing spells.

Arthur nodded at him and turned to amble down the lane, a homenum revelio on his lips. Remus moved to walk around the wards towards the back of the property. 

The countryside was beautiful this time of year, all dark greens and overgrown grasses. Queen Anne’s lace and black eyed susans lifted their petals towards the sun. The quickly rising heat of the day made the air bend in the haze. 

Remus couldn’t see any disturbances, but that didn’t mean that there was nothing to be found. Magic left traces, even if they couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. He cast the human-revealing spell as well as some revealing spells meant for animals, searching the sky for any owls. 

Nothing.

Out here in the country, with the dirt under his shoes and the smell of dry grass upon his nose, it was much easier to tap into his wolf senses. 

Even after all these years, Remus still hesitated to utilize the few gifts being a dark creature had given him. He had spent so much time feeling shame and fear over his lycanthropy that it wasn’t until much later that he had acknowledged any of the other innate talents present in his psyche. 

Turning into a blood-thirsty, angry beast once a month was traumatizing. It was unforgivable. But, he could use his heightened sense of smell, his keen hearing, and his magically-augmented instincts to help people on the other days of the month. It was one way he could atone. 

As Remus made his way around, he felt a prickle roll over his skin. Not questioning it, he breathed deeply, allowing his senses to fully open. There wasn’t much of a breeze, if at all, but there was something deeply familiar upon the air.

He closed his eyes, absorbing what the world around him was telling him. The familiar scent disappeared for a moment, and Remus let his body take over as he turned to pick up the scent again.

Harry.

Harry had been here.

When Remus opened his eyes, he was looking straight at the little cluster of trees not far from the Burrow. He took off for them at a sprint, his wand ready.

Just inside the treeline, the scent of Harry hit him like a brick wall. Oh, he’d been here alright. Remus turned in a circle, hoping to find him just within reach. No such luck. 

Remus began searching methodically, looking around every tree trunk. He was pretty sure he found the source of the concentration of Harry’s scent against the base of one large oak tree. The ferns surrounding the base of the tree were flattened as if he’d sat there for a while. Remus put his hand on the bark, leaning against it, taking some time to reopen his senses. There was another human scent here too, he thought. It was hard to discern over the smell of the forest that was full of magical plants and fungi. 

Finally, Remus thought he picked up on Harry’s movements again near a shallow spot in the stream that ran through the trees. Did he cross here? On the other side of the copse of trees was a rise in the land. And who knew what was beyond that? 

Before walking further, he conjured his patronus, “Tell Arthur that I found traces of him in the treeline, he seems to have moved further away, I’m following. Backup appreciated.”

As the silvery wolf bounded away, Remus began walking towards the hill. He heard two cracks of apparition not long after he crested the rise. Arthur and Molly were right behind him. Once they reached him, they stared at the little tower in the distance together.

“That would be the Lovegood’s,” said Arthur, “Do you know them, Remus?”

“I had Luna Lovegood as a student.”

Molly nodded her head, “Sweet dear, but she is rather odd. Her father, Xenophilius, has never been all the way there, you know. I felt so bad for the family when his wife, Pandora, died. Luna’s mum.”

“Does Harry know her?” Asked Remus. The Weasleys looked at each other, then at him.

“I’m not sure. Ron has never mentioned her from school. Ginny used to be quite close, but not in the past couple of years,” said Molly. 

“Well, we should see if they’ve seen him, at least. They aren’t far from us. We should cover all our Quidditch hoops,” Arthur said. 

In no time they were approaching the Lovegood home. Remus admired the garden, and passively thought that Severus would kill to have such a well-stocked area for potions ingredients. 

Arthur knocked on the door. It was silent for half a minute, and then a young woman with long, messy blonde hair opened it. Remus recognized Luna Lovegood, even though she had grown in the years since he’d been her teacher. 

Standing behind in the shadows, looking resigned and incredibly ill, was Harry Potter. He was holding a teacup and saucer and took a sip from it as they all stood there, looking at each other.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Professor Lupin! You’ll be here for Harry?” Luna said in her soft, melodic voice. Harry didn’t move or say anything, just continued sipping tea. Remus breathed in deeply. That was Harry’s scent alright, still almost obscured by the woody and magical smell of the forest that was clinging to him.

“Oh, Harry,” said Molly, moving forward, “We’ve been so worried about you! We’re here to take you somewhere safe.”

That was when Harry moved into the light. 

Molly gasped and stepped back. Arthur exclaimed, “Oh, good Godric!”

But Remus surged forward, “Harry!”

He had to tamp down on his instincts to snarl with all the mental fortitude he was capable of. Here was his best friend’s godson, his dear friend’s actual son, with cheeks hollow, undereyes dark blue, neck swollen with purple finger marks covering his throat. 

Reeling in his desire to find whoever did this and rip them apart, he reached for Harry, to comfort, to protect, to do something. 

But Harry danced out of the way, just out of reach, and planted himself firmly behind Miss Lovegood again. 

Harry winced, as if even that much movement had been painful. The five of them froze there on the threshold, door still open, with the three adults staring down the two teenagers. 

“So,” Harry rasped, and Merlin, his voice sounded awful, “You found me, then. Luna was right - the letter was tracked?”

Remus wasn’t in a state to register his shock at their knowledge but still answered, not moving his eyes from the bruises marring Harry’s neck. “Yes, there’s been, well, there are many people looking for you since last night.”

If possible, Harry’s already wan face went even paler.  

Molly finally recovered herself and said, “Not to worry, Professor Dumbledore is going to sort it out. You just need to come with us, Harry, and we can better explain.”

Harry looked with narrowed eyes at first Molly, then Arthur, and finally turned his glare upon him. He’d never seen that look from Harry before, especially not directed at adults. There was something cold as ice behind it. 

Harry reached out and placed a hand on Luna’s shoulder in front of him, with a resigned sigh, he said, “Alright. Luna, thank you so much for the tea. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, yeah?”

The girl clasped his hand and turned, keeping a hold of it, “I’ll see you on the train, Harry,” she smiled softly at him. Harry’s face melted a fraction, and something unsaid seemed to pass between them. 

They let go, and Luna took Harry’s cup from him. Remus ushered him out of the house. “Are you okay with apparition, Harry?”

Harry gave him a calculating glare and mumbled, “I don’t even know what that means.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder where he was leading the way out of the garden in front of them, “It’s similar to a portkey, Harry, just quicker.” Arthur flicked his eyes to Remus, “It might be a bit uncomfortable in your… state, but it’s the quickest way to get you to Headquarters.”

“Headquarters?” Harry asked.

“When we get there,” Remus whispered. “I promise, we’ll explain.”

Green eyes assessed him from behind smudged glasses. “Fine.”

“How much pain are you in?”

“It’s manageable.”

“Remus,” Molly said, “We’ll go on ahead and prepare those at the house. Dumbledore will want to update concerned parties, that sort of thing.” With a nod, the two Weasleys disapparated.

“Alright,” Remus said, “Read this before we go.” He pulled out the slip of parchment with the address for 12 Grimmauld Place written in Dumbledore’s hand. He waited until Harry had folded it again and passed it back. Remus tapped his wand and incinerated it.

“Take my arm. Ready?”

Harry carefully nodded and Remus disapparated when the two of them stepped just beyond the Lovegood’s garden gate. 

—

Harry’s insides were being pushed through a straw as the pressure of apparition fully registered. As soon as it began, it was over, and his feet slammed into the ground so hard it jarred his bones. Then the nausea hit. He doubled over, hands on his knees, and retched. He only had tea in his stomach, but it didn’t seem to matter as his body violently rejected the new-to-him form of magical travel. Professor Lupin patted him on the back consolingly as he tried to get himself under control.

It was at that moment that the events of the past day caught up to him. His head pulsed with fire, his neck and shoulders cramped in exhaustion. His entire body gave a violent shudder, and his vision started to fill with black spots. He gagged one more time and lost his footing, falling painfully to all fours. Through the fog, he could hear Lupin’s voice, and the front door opened, more concerned voices joining the cacophony. Giving up on consciousness, Harry allowed the dark to consume him. 

The next time Harry opened his eyes, he was gazing at a blurry ceiling. 

He tried to get his thoughts in order, but everything felt muddled. He blinked a couple of times and then shifted his head to take in more of the room. He needed to find his glasses. It was at his fidgeting that a figure in his peripheral vision moved. 

“Oh pup, you’re awake! Here,” and someone handed him his glasses. Not just someone - Harry would know that voice anywhere. Sirius.

The room came into focus as he settled his glasses on his nose. Sirius was sitting on a chair next to the large bed that he was laying in. The entire room was dingy, with a feeling of long disuse. It wasn’t dirty, necessarily, but Harry could see the dust motes floating through the air in the light falling in shafts through the large window. Sirius was giving him a concerned look, wringing his hands, clearly putting in effort to keep himself from accosting Harry with the questions writing themselves across his godfather’s face. 

Harry took a deep breath and took stock of his body. He felt marginally better, his head was fuzzy but not spiking in pain any more. His neck and shoulders still felt sore and he imagined he still had prominent bruising. Everything else seemed in order. 

“Sirius,” Harry rasped, “Where am I?” That seemed like a good place to start.

Sirius was clearly relieved that Harry was lucid enough to ask questions. “You’re at Grimmauld Place - my family’s ancestral home. It’s in London. You’re safe - Dumbledore is utilizing it as Headquarters and has given it every protection imaginable,” Sirius smirked, “Well, even more than it had already, and the Blacks are notorious for being paranoid fuckers.”

Harry cracked a tired smile at the crass language. Sirius looked better than he had the last time he saw him, however briefly, after the third task of the tournament. He was still thin, but he was clean. His eyes still had a haunted look to them but a bit of humour shone through all the same. 

“Headquarters?” Harry prompted. Mr Weasley had mentioned something about that before the disastrous apparition. 

“The Order of the Phoenix - Dumbledore’s secret resistance against Voldemort. He started it during the last war and reinstated it after the events at Hogwarts this year,” Sirius began, but before he could go on, the door opened. Lupin poked his head in and jolted at the sight of Harry awake.

“Oh, Harry! I’m so glad you’re awake. Is it alright if we come in? Severus has some potions for you.”

Harry furrowed his brows. Severus? As in Severus Snape? 

“What?” Harry started to protest, but Lupin let himself in and Snape stepped into the room behind him.

“Potter,” Snape acknowledged as he made his way over to the bed with Lupin. A large tray with several bottles of potions floated behind him. 

Harry felt like he was several steps behind, not comprehending how he was here with this combination of people in the room with him.

Harry looked to Sirius, who was scowling darkly at his potions professor. Catching Harry’s dumbfounded expression, Sirius just shook his head resignedly. 

“Here,” Snape’s voice brought Harry’s attention back to the dour man. He was holding out a light blue potion. When Harry didn’t move to take it, Snape sighed deeply. “It’s a pain potion. That’s all.”

Hesitating, Harry reached out and plucked the vial from his outstretched hand. He uncorked it and quickly knocked it back. It tasted slightly woody, but a cooling sensation quickly enveloped his head and neck. Harry’s shoulders relaxed instinctively. 

Snape held out another potion, this time a creamy-yellow, “For any lingering nausea or upset stomach.”

This one tasted sharp, like ginger. It stung his nose and caused his eyes to water a little, but wasn’t too terrible. Harry passed back the empty bottle. Snape exchanged it for a third item, this time a little pot with a lid. Harry looked at his professor questioningly. 

“It’s a bruise paste. You, ah,” and Harry caught Snape’s side eye at Lupin before he went on, “Have extensive bruising on your neck.”

Harry sucked in air at the reminder of what had prompted his escape from his summer lodgings. He dropped his eyes to the quilt he was ensconced under and didn’t move to take the jar from the man. He could feel the weight of all three of the adults’ eyes on him. Harry pressed his lips together and said nothing. 

“Harry,” Sirius began, “What happened?”

What happened, indeed. Harry didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but the events leading up to his extraction from Luna’s house felt like a weird dream. A strange, frantic, impossible sequence of events. 

Harry clutched the blanket with his hands, rumpling the fabric. His anger and frustration with his situation came back to him then, because he remembered how helpless he had felt all summer. He’d felt used, abandoned, and then forgotten. Like a toy shoved in a corner, only to be considered when it was time to play again. Not a real boy or a person with feelings. Before Hogwarts, before the revelation that he was a wizard, Harry had felt like that constantly. The Dursleys had never given him a reason to believe differently. He had thought it would change once he’d learned of his heritage and birthright. But instead, as soon as things had turned for the worse, as soon as Voldemort had made a reappearance, he was reduced to an object again. Sent away to be ignored for the summer while everyone else made plans and arranged his life without any input from him. And why was that? Why was he so forgettable?

Choking back a whimper, Harry settled his heart rate. He would not break down in front of Snape, of all people. When he looked back up from his bed, his eyes first met Lupin, who was focused on him anxiously. Then he looked at Sirius, who leaned over the bed, as if he could better understand what Harry had gone through if he was as close as possible. Harry decided to ignore Sirius’ question for the moment, and instead finally looked at Snape’s still outstretched hand, which held the jar of bruise paste out to him. 

If, when looking back, Harry could pinpoint one moment, one decision, that truly altered the trajectory of the dynamics of the relationships among himself and the people around him, it would be the choice he made next. 

Meeting Snape’s eyes with as much confidence as he could muster, Harry said, “I won’t be accepting that jar, professor.”

Harry let his head fall back against his pillows and closed his eyes as the older men in the room started to protest, their voices blending in a quickly rising pitch. 

Let them see. Let them all see what their choices had cost him. 

Chapter Text

August 3, 1995 - Part 2

Severus really wasn’t inclined to withstand Potter’s dramatics. 

It had been a long night that bled into an even longer morning after Potter had fainted on the front steps of Grimmauld Place. 

The entire Order had been called back to the house, and the various do-gooders that had gathered had been loudly offering their insignificant opinions to the Headmaster in the kitchen while Black and Remus stood vigil over Potter’s bed. Severus had escaped to the cellar to brew an anti-nausea potion in the meantime. 

It was now late afternoon and Severus was glaring at the young man in question, who was currently blithely ignoring them all by laying back and keeping his eyes closed - like an infant.

“Harry,” Remus was pleading, “What do you mean you don’t want to heal your injuries?” 

Black’s voice cut in, “Pup - come on - talk to us. What happened? Why did you use magic?”

But nothing they said moved the boy to answer.  

Severus tuned out the noise for a moment to really observe Potter. He was obviously not well. Deep purple bruising marred his neck - someone had clearly tried to strangle him, and quite possibly almost succeeded. But, there were other details to be noted. The boy was thin, his cheeks were sunken and his collarbones jutted out worryingly from where the overlarge collar of his shirt exposed the skin. His undereyes were smudged grey-blue, like he hadn’t regularly been getting sleep. His skin was tan, so he’d spent time outside in the summer sun at least, but his lips were cracked, dry, and the tip of his nose was peeling as if healing from a recent sunburn.

Severus may dislike Potter, and even loathe the boy at times for his penchant for theatrics, but he could not ignore the blaring red flags in front of him. Severus caught Remus’ eyes and jerked his head toward the hallway. They needed to regroup. Something was not lining up with the information Severus was privy to, and he needed to rectify that before going forward. 

Remus nodded in understanding, but Black was still trying to coax Potter into accepting the bruise paste. 

“Black,” Severus drawled, causing the mutt to turn and glare at him, “If Potter does not wish to heal his injuries, I certainly will not force him.” He paused, debating his next words for a moment before continuing, “I’ve never known the boy to be rational, I certainly don’t expect him to start now.” 

And - yes - that caused the boy to finally pop his eyes open. Severus was ready when furious green eyes met his own. They held long enough for Severus to skim Potter’s surface thoughts for just a moment. 

If Severus was any less of an occlumens, the deep well of rage that he perceived would have knocked him a step back. It was sharp and cutting and strangely impersonal, as if the rage wasn’t directed at Severus, specifically, but at the larger situation in general. And that was enlightening, wasn’t it? As it were, Severus was quite accomplished in the mind arts, and he simply blinked to break the connection. 

During this exchange, Remus had succeeded at urging Black to give Potter some alone time, and Black was reluctantly allowing Remus to lead him from the room. Severus turned to follow.

When he reached back to close the door behind them, he observed the boy one more time. Potter was still laying there, unmoved, with an unreadable expression on his sallow face. Something twisted low in Severus’ gut that he didn’t quite have the courage to analyse.

Out in the hallway, Severus joined in on the whispered argument happening in front of him. 

“Moony, what is going on? He looks frightful.” Black gulped, eyes shining.

“Sirius,” Remus murmured, “Not out here.”

Remus turned and walked down the stairs, away from the room they had put Potter up in. Severus allowed Black to follow immediately. He never showed the mutt his back if he could help it. So, the three of them made their way down the stairwell, towards a first floor drawing room.

Even after a month of living here with Remus, Grimmauld Place felt oppressive. The ancient building seemed to hum with ambient magic - its peeling wallpaper and crumbling drywall making it feel like a slumbering old dragon hiding in its castle ruins, just waiting for some unsuspecting knight to stumble in and awaken it. 

Living in the Black family ancestral home had absolutely not been a part of the original plan. In fact, Severus would rather do anything else than live with Sirius bloody Black of all people. He still couldn’t quite believe that of the permanent to semi-permanent residents of the house, he was one of them, at least until the start of term. 

The decision had ultimately not been up to Severus, not after the events that unfolded as a result of the cursed Triwizard Tournament.

Dumbledore had asked politely, of course. The old man had a certain way about him that made it seem like it was Severus’ choice. But it had always been a part of Severus’ vow that he return to the Dark Lord’s side if he ever were to rise again. Dumbledore had given him mere hours before sending him on his way. 

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to him, “You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…”

Truthfully, it had probably saved his life that Severus had made an appearance in front of the newly-resurrected Dark Lord only a short while after the dark mark had burned again. The Dark Lord’s aura had been volatile, unstable, and black as pitch. It dripped like molasses around the decrepit dining room of Riddle Manor. When Severus had appeared there, it had only been the Dark Lord and a sniffling, groveling Pettigrew that remained. Apparently, the Dark Lord did not desire an audience for the initial interrogation of his wayward spy. 

If it could even be called an interrogation.

The Dark Lord had allowed Severus to fall at his feet, prostrate himself at the hem of his robes. He had given Severus a moment to explain his tardiness. Just a moment. 

Then the cruciatus had hit. 

Severus still wasn’t sure how long he had been held under the curse. Keeping a sense of time was impossible through the nerve-tearing pain. What Severus did remember, was coming to awareness on his back in a puddle of his own urine, blood dripping from his mouth where he had bitten through his tongue. The cruciatus was beyond painful, of course, but it was also debasing. No matter a person’s pain tolerance, everyone lost their faculties after a time. The cruciatus curse was degrading to one’s pride, and that was why the Dark Lord utilized it.

Severus had tried to clear his bleary eyes, but could just make out the form of the Dark Lord hovering over him, a sadistic smirk on his face. 

“Dear Severusss…” the Dark Lord had hissed, “You have been far, far too comfortable under Dumbledore’s cozy domain these past thirteen yearsss. You will redeem yourself, of course. The next time I call, you will have something useful to tell me, or I will begin to question your loyaltiesss.”

Severus had found strength deep within to pull himself to his feet, bow in deference, and disapparate on the spot. He’d landed just outside the Hogwarts wards, had enough wherewithal to send his patronus to Poppy, before passing out cold. 

When he had awoken for the first time he had been in his quarters in the dungeons, Dumbledore hovering over him. The headmaster had leaned over and whispered an address in his ear before Severus had fallen back into darkness.

The next time he was conscious, he was not in his quarters in the dungeons, nor in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He was in a bed in a gloomy room that he had quickly learned was located at 12 Grimmauld Place, the same location that had been revealed to him by the headmaster in his brief moment of lucidity. The only thing that had kept him from promptly escaping the house was his lover’s hand in his own. 

Of course, Remus had been there. Of course, he had explained without Severus needing to ask. Severus’ condition had been critical and the situation too tenuous to allow him to stay at Hogwarts. Once the Fidelius charm had been cast around Grimmauld, Severus had been moved there to recover. It had been over a decade since he had been subjected to prolonged torture, after all. 

Poppy and Remus had nursed him back to health, and the Dark Lord had given him a week before calling him back. 

The next time Severus had appeared in front of the Dark Lord, he was back in full death eater garb for the first time in almost fourteen years, mask and all, amongst the remains of the inner circle. 

The inner circle was much diminished compared to the height of the Dark Lord’s power at the end of the last war. But those that were left seemed eager to please; hungry. They all felt like they had much to atone for after leaving their master as a wraith on the continent. 

The Dark Lord was capitalizing on those feelings of guilt. As Severus stood at the first full meeting, he learned that the most wealthy death eaters were gathering funds to funnel into the cause. The Malfoys, Notts, and Averys - all were falling over themselves to hand over their gold. Macnair, as the Ministry of Magic’s executioner, was “interrogated” regarding his knowledge of ministry functions and depth of his contacts. Lucius Malfoy was afforded the same treatment. Severus didn’t have to wonder long at the Dark Lord’s particular interest in the ministry, beyond the obvious necessity to infiltrate it, when blood red eyes were turned upon the spy and potions master. 

“The prophecy, Severusss. You remember, surely, that night in early 1980? The fatesss foretold the birth of the one destined to defeat me, and you, the loyal herald, delivered partial information that led me to the Potter’s home on Samhain just over a year later.”

As if Severus could ever forget. 

“I need to hear the full prophecy, Severusss. Has Dumbledore not shared the full fortune with you after all these years?” 

Of course he had not. But, Severus had been granted permission to share “something useful” in spite of that.

“My Lord,” Severus had prostrated himself on his knees in front of the snake-like man, “Dumbledore has never fully trusted me, even after all of these years. He has never seen fit to divulge the contents of the prophecy in its entirety. However, I do know that he guards the information possessively, and intends to surreptitiously plant Order guards around the Department of Mysteries, and therefore the Hall of Prophecy, moving forward. He fears you learning the truth - that much is certain.”

The Dark Lord had looked contemplative at that and had quickly dismissed them all after Severus’ informing. Only his Lord’s reticence at being revealed to the wider public was keeping him from storming the ministry now. No, the Dark Lord would bide his time - remaining underground had its uses.

It wasn’t even much of a misdirection, really. Dumbledore had agreed that Severus should share his plans to guard the Department of Mysteries, on the hopes that it would distract the Dark Lord from making other, more insidious moves. The Order needed time to recruit and rebuild. This would ensure it.

Despite Dumbledore’s chess moves, the old man did fear that the Dark Lord would learn the full contents of Trelawney’s war-ending prophecy. Whatever it contained, it was dangerous. 

And if Severus’ two masters’ aims and plans happened to align for the time being? Well, it made his dangerous job much easier.

Severus had returned to Grimmauld Place after that second meeting, intending to move back to his quarters at Hogwarts now that he was relatively recovered from his cruciatus-induced injuries. He nearly always stayed there over the summer holidays anyway. However, Remus was going to be living at Grimmauld full time, with Black and the vast majority of Weasleys, for whatever Circe-forsaken reason. When Remus had explained that he was also expected to return to his previous war-time duties once term started up, he had turned his puppy-dog eyes upon Severus and asked that they share his rooms so they could spend what little downtime they had together. Severus had finally acquiesced when Remus showed him the cellar and full potions lab set up. That it was all funded by the Black fortune certainly helped.

Severus was brought back to the present when he finally entered the drawing room on the first floor. 

Black had already started up, so Severus cast a muffliato at the door to keep any unwanted ears from overhearing. 

“Moony, I’m telling you something is not right and has never been right with those Muggles he lives with! He agreed to live with me after knowing me for less than an hour -”

“Sirius, you know why he has to go back there every summer, Dumbledore has explained multiple times -”

“But you’ve met Lily’s sister! At James and Lily’s wedding! She was awful, and that husband of hers was a beast of a man…”

Severus’ brain ground to a halt. Tuney? Petunia Evans? 

“Excuse me,” Severus interjected silkily, “You mean to say that Potter has lived with his aunt all these years?” He was boring his gaze into Remus. “How?” he hissed, “How has this never come up?” In the two years since their reconnection, how had they never discussed Potter’s whereabouts for the decade he was hidden from the public eye? Severus is absolutely floored that this is the first time he is connecting the dots between Harry Potter and the muggle guardians he was raised by. It feels like a damnable oversight. He gets a deep sense that some people have tried very hard to deliberately keep this information from him.

“Tuney hates magic with her whole being. She would not have willingly raised a magical child.” Severus is sure of that. 

Remus paled, “Severus, you know why. Harry is a complicated subject. I never wanted to put you in a compromised position…”

Black scoffed, “Harry is complicated?! Puh-lease. Snape here holds a multi-generational grudge! He doesn’t see anything in Harry other than his hatred of James!”

“And you are so different, Black?” Severus seethed, “Don’t tell me that you see the boy as anything more than a replacement for your long-lost school friend?”

The mutt whipped out his wand and stalked towards Severus, “Don’t. You. Dare.” 

Severus returned the gesture, readying his wand to defend. If Black wanted to start it, he was more than happy to finish it.

Remus quickly stepped in, holding both hands out as if to physically prevent them from casting, “Stop it! Stop it, you two. Now is not the time. Harry is hurt, he is upset, and we need to figure out how we are going to help him!”

Black did stop and put his wand away, but his face was furious. Severus returned his wand to its holster with as much cool indifference as he could muster, but inside, his mind was reeling. 

It would take considerable effort to assimilate all the implications of the knowledge that had just been imparted. Who really was the Boy-Who-Lived that was raised by muggles? And certainly awful ones at that. Severus was going to have to spend several hours inside his mindscape tonight, rearranging all of this information. He already had a migraine just thinking about the time it would take. 

“Thank you,” said Remus with an exasperated exhale. “Now, we know that Harry has been cited by the ministry for four acts of underage magic. There is evidence that shows that it was deliberate, and at least one instance of it being used was against his muggle relatives. That is not a good place to begin with, but we have to consider that the ministry is also looking for an excuse to paint Harry in a negative light in any way they can. We have Harry here with us now, clearly injured, angry, and unwilling to talk, at least for the moment.” Remus gave both of them stern looks. “I think we give him some space for the rest of the day, and hope that with a full night’s sleep he will be more willing to share in the morning. Unfortunately, based on the state of him,” and here, Remus swallowed heavily, “I think we can assume that his physical injuries were caused by someone inside the house.”

At this, Black let out a defeated whine and started pulling at his hair. Severus had to close his own eyes for a moment. Yes, all of this evidence, combined with Potter’s unwillingness to talk, pointed to some kind of abuse. Whether prolonged or just a single incident was yet to be revealed. But Severus was no stranger to monsters inside one’s home. He had just never imagined that the golden Saviour of the Wixen World would also be in the same category. Never in his wildest dreams.

“Sirius,” Remus continued once he saw that neither of them had anything else to add, “I think Harry is most comfortable with you. As long as you can promise to ease up on the questioning, at least for today, I think you should bring him some dinner and sit with him for a bit, as long as that’s alright with him. If he wants to talk, keep it light, otherwise just be there with him for an hour or two. I’ll let Molly know what the plan is, and we’ll keep the kids out of the way. I want Harry to rest, without feeling like he has to perform for his friends.” Remus finally turned to his partner, “Sev - thank you for brewing the potions. Do you have more pain relievers in stock?”

Severus pulled his robes around himself, “I’ve been keeping basic first aid stocked in the house all summer.”

“Good, good. Okay,” Remus seemed to gather himself. “Sirius, go get a tray for Harry. I’ll go with Severus down to the lab and grab some things just in case Harry needs any overnight.”

With their marching orders, Severus cancelled the anti-eavesdropping spell and they left the drawing room. When they entered the kitchen it was mercifully quiet, with only Molly, Arthur, and Dumbledore remaining, seated at the long table around a tea service.

“Gentlemen,” said the Headmaster, “Has Harry awoken?”

“Yes,” growled Black, “And he refused to heal his bruising.”

“Whatever do you mean, Sirius?” Inquired Molly.

“He won’t talk, won’t explain at all…” lamented Black, but before he could go on, someone started shouting in the house above them.

“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSELY'S FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO’VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT!”

This outburst was followed by a resounding crash that got all of the adults in the kitchen moving for the door. 

In hindsight, the house had been entirely too devoid of children. The peaceful walk on their way from the drawing room to the kitchen should have been suspicious. Severus had barely been able to take two steps into the hallway all summer without running into a redhead. Not to mention, he was constantly chasing the twin terrors out of the cellar and away from volatile potions ingredients. He should have known that trouble was going to follow the silence.

As they ran from the kitchen and up the stairs for Potter’s third floor bedroom, the shouting continued, “WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!”

There was another crack, like a splintering of wood, followed by some softer pleading that Severus couldn’t make out. Somehow, although he wasn’t the first out of the kitchen, the headmaster was leading the charge of adults up the stairs, Severus right behind with Remus on his heels.

“I HAD TO BRING CEDRIC’S BODY BACK! I HAD TO BE THE ONE TO WITNESS HIS DEATH! BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME-” And here it was obvious that Potter’s voice broke, a sob reverberating down the stairwell. “FOUR WEEKS I’VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT’S BEEN GOING ON-”

This time, as they rounded the last corner of stairs and made it to the third floor landing, Severus could hear glass shatter with crystal clarity.

“AND NOT ONE OF YOU CARED TO EVEN WRITE!”

The Headmaster made it through the open door but the rest of the adults came to a stop on the threshold. Belatedly, Severus realized the door was open because it was shattered on the ground. Bewildered, he took in the scene in front of him. Four Weasley children were spread around the room, Granger in the mix. There were variations of backs pressed against the wall or cowering down, covering their heads - and for good reason. The bed frame was cracked, one corner now resting on the floor, furniture legs buckled. Heavy curtains were blowing in the pathetic breeze from the window, where the pane had been shattered, glass all over the carpet. 

Potter was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, aura positively pulsing with magic. At their intrusion, Potter whipped his head to the adults now crowded in the doorway. 

Potter met the Headmaster’s gaze, and Severus could have sworn he saw those emerald eyes flash dangerously, but it might have been the glint of the red sunset on his glasses. 

“You -” Potter snarled in a hoarse voice that sounded nothing like him.

In response, Dumbledore shocked Severus by taking a step back away from the boy. He could hear Black gasp from somewhere behind. Severus couldn’t see the Headmaster’s face to gauge his reaction to this hostile greeting.

“Harry,” Dumbledore started, “You’ve been through an ordeal, and we’d all like to understand-”

A sconce on the wall next to them shattered over their heads.

“An ‘ordeal’ you say?” Potter laughed coldly, “Just another regular day then isn’t it? What part of my life isn’t an absolutely insane sequence of terrifying events?!” He advanced two steps forward and pointed at the Headmaster, “And all you’ve ever cared about is what Voldemort is doing, but NEVER ABOUT ME!” 

Potter’s body jerked in an unnatural way, something like a shudder and a roll of his neck that exposed his bruising for all to see. Remus was gripping Severus’ hand tight enough to break bones, but they dared not make a move. This kind of accidental magic was beyond dangerous for everyone in this room, but especially for Potter. 

“Harry,” the Headmaster tried again, “We need you to take some deep breaths, you’re pushing yourself too far.”

This did not seem to help at all. Potter’s body convulsed again and another sconce in the room broke to pieces, this time over Granger and the Weasley girl’s head, both of them holding each other, crying silent tears.

Potter dismissed the headmaster’s directive, “Oh, pushing myself too far am I?” And the boy leaned forward, a peculiar look on his face, as if he was letting them in on a dark, humorous secret. He continued with a growl, “Since when has that ever mattered?” 

Severus could feel it before anything happened. The magic that had been gathering around the room like a heavy blanket sucked in, similar to the feeling of disapparation. Before the surely incoming explosion could manifest, Dumbledore had drawn his wand and cast a silent spell at the overwrought boy. Potter collapsed instantly, unconscious. 

The pressure in the room dissipated. Black fought his way through the mass of people at the door and ran to his godson. He fell to the floor and pulled the boy’s head into his lap, promptly bursting into hysterics. Granger and Ronald were not far behind, babbling to Dumbledore about what had occurred before the adults had entered. 

Arthur and Molly edged their way around the room to their daughter, drawing the twins with them. Severus and Remus stood rooted at the doorway, still clasping hands. Severus himself felt frozen, not quite sure what to make of the scene that had just played out before him. 

He was finally drawn out of his daze when he felt Remus turn into him, pressing his body close.

“Come on,” his partner said, “They’ll handle the clean up.” And he pulled him from the room by his hand. 

Remus was so quickly making his way back down the stairs, Severus almost had to run to keep up. “Why the quick escape, Rem? What are you thinking?”

At the next landing, Remus looked over his shoulder, eyes flashing gold before he continued descending, “I said last night that all of this didn’t feel right. And now there’s clearly something deeply wrong. More wrong than just a terrible summer, I fear. I need some room to bloody think!” He pounded his free fist on the wall once in frustration, but kept winding down the stairs, “This house is too fucking full right now.” Severus worried briefly that he was included in the list of people clogging up his lover’s space, but Remus still had a hold of his hand, so he allowed himself to be led.

When they finally made it to the kitchen and Remus opened the door to the potions lab in the cellar, he clarified, “I need space to think, and I need you. Your expertise. I’m afraid whatever answers we go looking for won’t be pleasant.”

Severus took a deep breath in and let out a sigh. “I agree. There’s much we don’t know,” Severus raised a scolding eyebrow, “And much you’ve not shared with me.”

Remus’ shoulders slumped as he finally released Severus’ numb hand, but gestured for them to take the stone stairs down, “I know, and I’m sorry. I just…” he waved his wand to light the sconces in the dank cellar, “I know how delicate your situation is and your position. I thought it would be easier on you to not open those old wounds if we could avoid it. Obviously, my year teaching DADA was a moot point, with Sirius’ return and all of the drama we endured. After that I felt like we had finally found our stride as partners and didn’t want to bring any baggage that wasn’t absolutely needed.”

“But,” Severus continued for him, “Now the Dark Lord is back, brought to full power with Potter’s own blood, and it is inevitable that he will be central to the coming conflict. A certainty.”

Remus leaned his elbows against a table and dropped his head, “Yes. It is.”

Severus went to him and wrapped an arm around Remus’ back, offering comfort where he could. “So tell me then - what do you make of all of this? What is it that you think is so misplaced?”

Remus stood and fully embraced Severus for a moment. Severus breathed him in, giving him time to settle his thoughts. When Remus pulled away, he didn’t do so completely, allowing their arms to stay clasped around each other. 

“Alright, so, you know that night we hate to speak of, the night Sirius came back? Well, before the full moon rose, Sirius offered Harry a place to stay. And Harry accepted right away. To hear Sirius tell it, he did it without any reservations. Harry seemed overjoyed, actually - relieved.”

Severus nodded his head in understanding and Remus continued, “And the summer before, Sirius spent time tracking down Harry in the muggle suburb where his relatives live. When he voiced his concerns about Harry’s living arrangements, he mentioned that he rarely saw Harry out and about in the time he was there, hiding in his animagus form. Harry was only in sight when he was tending the front garden. Always in baggy, torn, or dirty clothing. Always thin and tired looking. Never saw him not working until the night he left because he blew up his aunt.” At Severus’ bemused look he clarified, “Not Petunia. Her husband’s sister or something? Anyway, I can’t confirm or deny any of that, because I didn’t know him when we started term that year, so I didn’t know what to look for, or what to ask. Of course, I didn’t see him last year, either…” At that, Remus shrugged helplessly, “So all I have to go on is what Sirius has told me. And he’s sensitive about home life. You know from Regulus what it meant to grow up here in this house.”

Severus gave a noncommittal hum, urging Remus to continue to process his thoughts this way. 

“So, with Sirius’ extensive trauma, I’m never sure how to take his conclusions about Harry. He gets very fixated on what he feels like is his failure to be there to raise him. But then, when I went to Ottery to find Harry and bring him here, my first thought when I saw him at the Lovegood’s was that he looked ill, Severus. That he looked like me after a full moon, maybe, I don’t know. And when he finally looked me in the eyes it was ice cold. I have never seen him look at me like that. Even when he was learning the patronus charm and battling boggarts all evening, he always had this warmth, like Lily…” Severus had to tear his gaze away then. Oh, Lily.

They stood there in silence for a moment, and Severus didn’t look at Remus again until he felt warm hands cup his face, “Sev, my love. Yes, like Lily.” Severus tipped his chin up and accepted a gentle kiss. 

“I know,” Remus soothed, “This is why I waited for the right time to bring this up. We can’t ignore it any more. He’s Harry Potter, the product of James Potter and Lily Evans. The people they left behind feel their absence every day. But we can’t forget that Harry is most affected by it all… I know I haven’t always remembered that. And he clearly needs some people in his life that care about him for himself, and this moment is crucial.”

“It is dangerous for me to be close to the boy,” Severus choked out, “I have too many vows and a knife’s edge to walk.”

Remus wrapped him up into his arms tightly, “I know. I’d like to make amends with Harry. Explain myself and explain our relationship, if you’ll consent.”

“He is unstable, if he knows our secrets -”

“I’ll start slow. He’s hurting and won’t be ready for everything right away. But don’t you think it could help bridge your animosity, if he understands you outside of the classroom?”

“It’s possible.” Severus relented after a few breaths of contemplation.

“I won’t force anything between you two, but you never know. If he has more information, he might come to you.”

Severus scoffed but buried his face into Remus’ cardigan-clad chest, “You always were a hopeless optimist, wolf. But no son of James Potter would ever come to me in friendship.”

He could feel Remus soft chuckle through the vibrations in his chest, “Ah, but a son of Lily Evans?”

Severus had nothing to say to that. 

They stood there together for a while longer before Severus spoke again, the sound slightly muffled from his position, “Potter’s accidental magic - I have never felt power like that from the boy.”

“Harry is quite powerful, for only an exceptional wizard could master a corporeal patronus at thirteen.” Remus gently disentangled himself and began pacing. “But I agree, there was something different going on tonight. Patroni are fueled by emotions; strong positive ones at that. But what fueled tonight’s episode was rage. I have never seen him that angry. And when he pointed it towards the headmaster…?” Severus could see Remus visibly shudder.

“Yes,” Severus agreed, watching Remus walk back and forth, “That was most unexpected. And shouting at his friends, breaking the furniture, causing a scene - while not unheard of,” and Remus rolled his eyes at that dig, “Still rare enough to be exceptional.”

“He is traumatized. He saw a fellow student die and suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord after being forced to participate in his resurrection. And he wasn’t exactly wrong -” Remus pointed out, “- he was left uninformed and alone right after that harrowing night. I just can’t believe it was handled this way. That I allowed it to be handled this way.” Remus turned once more and stopped suddenly, looking at Severus where he was propped against the work bench, “What can we do now?”

Severus drew one finger down the wood grain of the lab table, tracing the random whorls and patterns, “I think,” he said slowly, “That we can only make better, more informed choices from now on.”

And that seemed to be a satisfactory answer, for Remus made his way back to where Severus was standing, and covered Severus’ hand on the table with his own. 

“I completely agree.”

Chapter Text

August 4, 1995

Harry awoke, once again, to a vision of Hedwig. 

This time, he knew where he was. The bedroom he’d been confined to at Grimmauld Place came into focus as soon as he found his glasses and slipped them on his face. Everything that he had destroyed last night with his accidental magic had been put to rights, as if his complete and utter breakdown had never happened. 

He snorted to himself, typical. 

Harry pushed thoughts of the previous day away for the time being and went over to open the newly-restored window to let in his owl. Hedwig fluttered in, a hefty letter tied to her leg. With a pang, Harry realised he had left her to her own devices at Luna Lovegood’s. He felt a twinge of guilt at his carelessness, but Hedwig didn’t seem too put out. She just perched on the footboard of his bed and held out her leg, giving a soft trill as if to encourage him to take the letter. 

“Hey girl,” he said, stroking her feathers twice before untying the twine around her leg, “Thanks for finding me again. Sorry about leading you on a chase all over the country.”

Hedwig gave him an affectionate nip and settled down, closing her yellow eyes to rest. 

Harry unrolled the parchment to find a letter and some kind of strange, brightly colored magazine inside. He set the peculiar thing on the bed before opening the letter addressed to him. It was rather short, and written in an unfamiliar, dainty script.

Dear Harry,

I hope you don’t mind, but I spent some time with Hedwig before sending her after you. She is a very smart owl and we got along like old friends. I fed her some lunch and we had a nice discussion about where to find the best moon frogs in the tall grasses near stagnant pools. As long as the water is still enough to reflect the light of the waning moon at midnight, you might find a moon frog nearby, you know. 

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to assist more with healing your injuries, but I think the Weasleys and Professor Lupin were probably better qualified. I included the June/July issue of my father’s magazine, The Quibbler, in case you needed any reading materials while you rest.

It was very nice to officially meet you and we’ll see each other on the train!

Luna

Harry shook his head a little at the quirky letter, but at least now he had an answer as to what the Quibbler was. He looked over at the magazine on the bed with its glossy front cover. It was titled in bright red letters; a byline claiming to be “The Wixen World’s Alternative Voice.” The lead article seemed to be about using hag stones to ward one’s chicken coops. 

Just as Harry picked up the magazine to flip through it, the door to his bedroom softly opened. 

Sirius stuck his head in, eyes darting around when he saw that Harry was no longer asleep. They lit up when Sirius spotted Harry at the end of the bed with Hedwig. 

“Oh, Harry! You’re awake. Good. Would you like some breakfast? I’ve got a tray with me now.”

Harry shrugged, “Sure.” He let the odd magazine fall back onto the bed.

Sirius bustled in, floating a tray laden with breakfast fixings behind him. He made his way to the large dark wooden desk in the corner of the room and deposited the tray there. With a wave of his wand, he conjured two chairs and turned to wave Harry over. 

The food smelled amazing. Harry’s stomach growled as he made his way over to the desk, sitting next to Sirius. 

“How do you take your tea?” Sirius asked as he piled a plate high with toast and bacon.

“Er, cream and two sugars, please.” Harry had become accustomed to filling his tea with as many calories as possible over the years to make up for his lack of access to regular meals at the Dursleys. 

Sirius nodded absently as he set the plate in front of Harry, and then waved his wand to direct the tea to pour itself. 

When they both had a plate and their tea in front of them, Sirius seemed to settle in his chair, and they busied themselves with their meal for several silent minutes. Harry knew that there would be a hard conversation coming. But, it was just Sirius. Even if he hadn’t responded to Harry’s letters this summer, at least he wasn’t facing an inquest with a bunch of adults at once. Unlike how Ron and Hermione had accosted him last night with Ginny, Fred, and George tagging along. That had not gone well, and Harry didn’t feel particularly bad about the sequence of events that followed at the moment. 

Ron and Hermione had just barged into his room, not long after Sirius, Lupin, and Snape had left, and started demanding answers as to what he had done. As if he was the one that had done something wrong. Like he was the one acting irrationally! They wanted answers? What about him, and all of the questions he had asked in his letters? They had provided him with nothing - not a scrap of news, not a word on Voldemort’s movements. And they thought they deserved to know everything that had happened to Harry? And with an audience of Ron’s brothers and sister in tow? No. 

Harry was angrily crunching on a piece of bacon when Sirius cleared his throat. 

“So, Harry,” Sirius was looking at him warily over the rim of his teacup, “I know you’re hurt, and I know you’ve had a rough summer. Can we talk about what happened?”

Harry felt his shoulders go to his ears as he swallowed his last bite, “If I’d had any communication from any of you, none of this would have happened, I don’t think.”

Sirius seemed to deflate before continuing, “Ok, that’s fair. I didn’t lie in my letters - it really wasn’t safe to share information via owl post. I wanted to keep you in the loop. No, even more than that, I wanted to bring you here as soon as the fidelius charm was cast. It was safe after that, but Dumbledore overruled. Said you had to stay at your relatives’ for as long as possible. The original plan was to come and get you next week so you’d have three weeks here.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He grabbed his teacup and took a sip, mulling all that over. “The fidelius charm? The same thing used to hide my parents and me, right?”

Sirius looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing, a pained expression in his eyes, “Yes, the very same. Dumbledore is the secret keeper, since he is using this house as Headquarters for the Order.”

“I remember you mentioned the Order of the Phoenix yesterday. And that this is the place where you grew up?”

Sirius still hadn’t met his eyes again, “The very same. I know you haven’t seen much outside of this room yet, but, well, this wasn’t exactly a happy place to be a kid. But it is very old, and I ultimately inherited the Black fortune and property. I thought my dear mother would have hated the idea of me using this place as the secret stronghold of the Light side. Turns out, she does,” Sirius snorted ruefully.

At Harry’s inquisitive look, he elaborated, “Her portrait hangs in the front hall. So you’ll get to meet Walburga, or at least a very, very, good impression of her. She’s a delight, let me tell you.”   

Harry, sensing the deep sarcasm, nodded his head noncommittally, picked up a piece of toast, and began tearing it to shreds on his plate. More than anything, he wanted answers. “I subscribed to the Daily Prophet, but didn’t read anything worthwhile. So, I had been listening to the muggle news every night, trying to determine if any headlines were caused by Voldemort or his Death Eaters. But I didn’t hear anything there either.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Everything has been quiet this summer. Latest intelligence says that Voldemort is biding his time - the wixen world at large doesn’t believe that he has been resurrected, you see. And that plays right into his hand - he can recruit in the shadows and build up his forces in secret just as well.” 

Sirius noticed Harry’s demolition of the toast and continued, “So, why did you run, pup? I know the Dursleys aren’t pleasant. Did you get the letter from the ministry and it scared you?”

Harry looked up with a jerk, “What? What letter?”

“Harry they -” Sirius sighed and put his head in his hands. Speaking through his fingers he said, “They sent a letter after the Trace went off in your relatives’ home. It said that you were expelled and aurors were on the way to snap your wand. We thought that’s why you left.”

Harry jumped up, feeling lightheaded “No! I’m expelled from Hogwarts?! Sirius, what am I going to-”

“Hey, hey,” Sirius stood up too and placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, “Dumbledore convinced the DMLE to rescind their expulsion letter. They don’t technically have the right to do that, anyway. But, well, you do have a hearing scheduled. The aurors detected four different instances of magic in the house. We can’t get around that, pup.”

Harry tried to get his breathing under control. How was he going to defend himself? The entire episode had been set off because something strange had happened outside, and then Vernon’s hands were reaching out to him, crushing his windpipe…

Unbidden, Harry’s hands found his throat. He felt marginally better, mostly just exhausted. He wondered if the bruising was still there. He hadn’t seen a mirror in days.

Sirius eyed where his hands had gone, “I’m so sorry, but we’ve got to talk about it. You’ll be going in for an underage magic hearing in a week, and you aren’t the most popular figure right now. They’ll be looking to make an example of you. And we can’t help you unless you explain what happened. The Dursleys weren’t very forthcoming to the aurors when they arrived, according to our sources.”

Needing some space, Harry maneuvered out from Sirius’ grasp and made his way over to the bed with a deep sigh. He collapsed down on the edge facing his godfather. Keeping his head down, staring at the dusty floorboards, he mumbled, “I don’t know where to start.”

Sirius sat and turned in his chair to face him, “Well, let’s start with where you got those bruises from.”

Harry steeled himself. He was the one that had refused the bruise treatment, so he needed to be prepared to explain, even though he had always refused to talk about his life with the Dursleys before now. “You said - you said it wasn’t nice to grow up here. Did… did you ever get hurt? Like… punishments?”

Sirius fixed Harry with a look so severe it scared him a little. “Yes, corporal punishment was quite commonplace in my time, particularly in pureblood circles.”

“Okay, well my aunt and uncle still very much believe in it. Especially in my case.”

“Did your aunt or uncle do this to you, Harry?”

Harry avoided Sirius’ eyes as he answered. It was now or never. Maybe he would never have to go back to the Dursleys if he finally explained what it was like there. “Vernon. There was some kind of suspicious noise outside, and I happened to be listening to the news out there. They didn't let me hang out in the room with the telly, see.” Harry twisted his mouth, “So the only way I could keep tabs on Voldemort was by creeping outside and listening through the open window. The noise startled us all, but Vernon thought it was me doing some kind of magic. He pulled me in through the window…” And here Harry watched for Sirius’ reaction warily, “... by my neck. He wouldn’t let go. My magic has been unstable all summer, and I think it reacted to protect me or something. When I opened my eyes I was inside the house and the whole room was in shambles.”

Sirius was gripping the arms of his chair, knuckles bone white, “Let me get this straight. Your uncle heard a noise, thought it was you, and proceeded to strangle you because of that?”

Harry hunched over himself on the bed, “Erm, yeah.”

“The aurors detected four instances of underage magic.” Sirius was practically growling at this point, “So what happened next?”

“Well, he was quite angry after my magic went crazy. It threw him across the room.” Harry was trying to remember his thought process at the time, “I just decided that it was better that I left instead of sticking around to see how they would punish me further. And I figured the Trace had gone off, so it didn’t seem to matter much any more. Like the summer before my third year, after I blew up Marge. So, I ran up to my room. Vernon followed me, yelling, and I used some kind of sticking charm on the door so they couldn’t get in. Then I needed two shrinking charms on my trunk and Hedwig’s cage so I could stash them in my pockets. My window was big enough for me to jump off on my broom.” Sirius was staring at him now, mouth slightly open, “I wore my cloak, and I knew the general direction of Ron’s house, so that’s the way I flew. And, yeah, that’s it, I think.”

“Oh, Merlin, pup. I am so sorry.” Sirius sniffed and shook himself all over, “I just wish things had been different, you know? I promised I’d give you a real home, and I haven’t been able to deliver on that.”   

Harry shifted a little on the bed, “I really wanted that too, Sirius.”

Sirius stood up and made his way over to the bed, holding out a hand for Harry to take, “Next summer, I promise it will be different. This house is set up to be impenetrable. You won’t have to go back there if I have anything to say about it.” Harry reached out for Sirius and allowed him to pull Harry to his feet. “Now, there are a few people downstairs that want to talk to you. We’ve got to plan for your hearing. It’s a week from now, so we don’t have much time. I know it’s hard to talk about family stuff, believe me. But everyone downstairs needs to know about what happened two days ago, so we can help. Your biggest hurdle to overcome is the magic you used against your uncle. I know it was justified, but, well, we’ll talk about it more downstairs.”

Sirius flicked his wand at the breakfast tray and it vanished, “Get dressed and I’ll see you in the kitchen in fifteen minutes? Just take the stairs all the way down, this is the third floor. The stairs to the kitchen will be on your left through the door at the end of the hall.”

Harry nodded his head, and Sirius exited the room so he could clean up.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry left his room for the first time since he had passed out on the front stoop of Grimmauld place. 

The hallway he found himself in was gloomy and oppressive, something dark hung in the air. The lanterns that lined the stairwell barely gave off enough light to pierce the darkness. Harry descended the stairs warily, jolting a little when he came across a line of severed house elf heads mounted on the wall. 

What. The actual. Fuck. 

He pressed his back against the bannister and skirted around the macabre display until he finally reached the entryway and turned towards where Sirius said the door to the kitchen would be. He paused briefly at a set of moth-eaten curtains that rippled slightly in the stale air. Everything in this house was so creepy. 

Harry pushed open the doors that led down another dark staircase towards the kitchen. He moved quickly now, ready to meet his fate.

When he opened the door at the bottom, he paused. It was full of people, their murmurs quickly came to silence as they all turned to look at him.

In the quiet, he took in the kitchen. It was long, with an overlarge table surrounded by mismatched chairs. Old copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling. The room was mostly lit by a large fireplace at one end, although there were some grimy windows that let the watery London light shine into the basement room. An ancient oven surrounded by old wooden cabinets stood at the opposite end of the fireplace. Sitting at the table were several familiar faces - Sirius, Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley, Lupin, the real Mad-Eye Moody, and Snape. Dumbledore was noticeably absent. Harry had no time to contemplate the unfamiliar people that also joined them all at the table, before Moody began to speak. 

“Potter, good. You’re here. We’ve got lots to cover and not much time. Take a seat.”

Harry snagged the last seat next to Sirius. He ruffled Harry’s hair, and Mrs Weasley passed him a cup of tea. 

Moody nodded at two people sitting at the end of the table, “We’ve got two Order members here this morning that are active-duty aurors and have essential information regarding your upcoming hearing. We only have a week to decide how we want to play it. It is important that everyone -” and at this Moody’s magical eye spun and pinned a look at Sirius, “- be focused and on task while we have them with us. Kingsley - report.”

A tall man, built like a tree, bald, wearing his red auror robes and a single gold hoop earring in one ear, stood. In a slow, deep voice, he said, “Potter’s hearing for underage magic has been set for next Friday, August 11th at 9 am. Fudge intends to make an example of him and is exploring avenues for expulsion and wand snapping. He wants to go further than the Prophet articles, as those seem to have had dubious effect so far. He can’t get directly at Dumbledore for proclaiming You-Know-Who is back, at least not beyond stripping him of his titles, and Potter is the next best thing.”

Harry butted in, “Wait - I don’t understand. The Prophet hasn’t said anything about me, Dumbledore, and especially not Voldemort, all summer.”

“Well, Harry, that’s not quite true.” Sirius said apologetically.

“I had been getting the papers, even though they’re hardly worth it! All of the headlines seem business-as-usual.”

Snape rolled his eyes and replied with a sneer, “You have got to read further than the front page, Potter, to see the insidious smear campaign that Fudge has been building. They have been likening you and the headmaster to two deranged, unhinged madmen, anytime it remotely makes sense in context. Discrediting you before the truth can spread. The Ministry has the Prophet wrapped around their finger. It is a biased source of news, printing whatever our glorious minister deems important or aligns with his beliefs, factual or not.”

Sitting back, Harry scowled at his professor’s condescending tone. How was he supposed to know that? Sirius opened his mouth like he was about to retort when he was cut off.

“If you’re all quite done?” Moody barked, “Kingsley, do you know what angle the DMLE will take in their interrogation?”

Kingsley hummed before responding, “The typical procedure for handling a case of underage magic, even when it is used against muggles, would be a closed session with the head of the DMLE and one or two aurors that were on the scene. But Fudge wants to make this a spectacle. There are rumors that he wants to call in the full Wizengamot. But Bones is protesting, of course.”

“Of course. She actually has two knuts to rub together inside that brain of hers,” spat Moody.

“A full session, Kingsley, really?” said Mr Weasley, aghast. Harry got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“It’s not unheard of, exactly, just overkill. Especially since none of the muggles were hurt.”

A witch with bright pink hair, sitting next to Kingsley, spoke up then, “So, Harry, I was one of the aurors that went to your relatives’ house. What happened, exactly? The sitting room and your bedroom were in a right state.”

Harry jumped a little at being addressed by the stranger. His bedroom was a mess? Harry distinctly remembered leaving it pristine, if devoid of all of his belongings. He looked at Sirius, who gave him an encouraging nod before beginning, “Er - my uncle got mad, he thought I had done some magic outside.” And he told the rest of the tale from his point of view. 

“Harry,” Mrs Weasley began, “You’re saying… your uncle strangled you for perceived magic?”

Harry scratched the back of his head self-consciously, “Well, yeah. I’ve always dealt with that though.” 

Sirius stiffened beside him. Lupin was across the table and breathed in sharply. 

The pink-haired witch asked another question, “Alright, Harry, that’s good to know. What about your room? We could determine three spells from there. A sticking charm on the door and two shrinking charms. But that doesn’t explain the mess. The desk chair was in splinters, and the mattress was destroyed to the point that the springs were sticking out.”

“I honestly don’t know how that happened. I sealed the door because my uncle was after me and…” Harry looked around at all the people seated around the table, each was giving him their undivided attention. This was what he had craved all summer, so why was it so hard to speak up now? “... I thought he was going to hurt me. Badly. My magic has never lashed out like that before. Well, except before third year when I blew up my aunt. But I didn’t even get a letter then! I ran away that time too. So, I used two shrinking charms - one for my trunk and the other on Hedwig’s owl cage so I could put them in my pockets. I jumped out the window on my broom. The bedroom was completely intact when I left.”

The Order members in the room looked away from him and around at each other. Moody crossed his arms. Kingsley retook his seat, a thoughtful look on his face. The pink-haired witch was frowning. Mr and Mrs Weasley were looking at each other, a silent conversation seeming to happen in seconds. Snape had one finger on his lips. Lupin was looking at Harry with misty eyes. Sirius had placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, gripping it hard.

It was Mrs Weasley that finally spoke, “Thank you for sharing, Harry. It is very brave of you to be so honest. We want to include you on the plans for your hearing - but I think now the adults need to make some decisions first. Is that alright with you?”

Harry felt his ears go red with embarrassment at the praise. It wasn’t alright, not really. But he got the feeling that this was one of those questions meant to make him feel better, not truly give him a choice. So, he nodded and moved to stand.

“Harry - the rest of the kids are on the first floor clearing out the drawing room. Why don’t you go up there to help?” Mrs Weasley smiled at him. It was a little more wobbly than usual. 

“Sure, Mrs Weasley.” Harry quickly made his exit. He was ready to be out of sight, away from the prying eyes of the adults. 

—

August 10, 1995

Harry’s hearing was tomorrow, and Remus still hadn’t sat Harry down to talk to him one-on-one like he wanted.

Not just wanted - he felt like Harry deserved it. A full explanation, even if it was late. Even if they had known each other for two years now. Remus felt he owed the son of his best friend more than what he’d given so far.

Remus just couldn’t find the right time. Molly had been keeping the kids busy with cleaning out the various rooms and closets in the house, of which there were many. The dust was thick and the kids hated it but it kept them occupied. There were plenty of magical pests and dark objects lying around that kept Remus diverted as well. 

It wasn’t until the afternoon, the day before the hearing, that Remus got his chance. He’d had no other choice, really. 

Remus and Severus’ room was on the second floor. It was the closest guest suite to the potions lab in the cellar, so that’s where they’d decided to land. Most of the other occupants of the house slept on the third or fourth floors. Their relationship wasn’t exactly secret, but it wasn’t completely open, either. He and Severus just didn’t want to answer any awkward questions. Living in Sirius’ house already put Sev on edge, and Remus didn’t want to make it worse. Of course he wished that he could kiss his lover any time he wanted, but with the Weasleys in residence, Severus really didn’t desire showing any weaknesses around his students (Remus would always scoff at Sev’s idea of a loving partnership as a weakness, but he knew his Slytherin). 

The only problem, lately, was the continuous cleaning projects that made all of the children a constant presence on their floor. They’d recently cleared the first floor, which consisted of a drawing room, dining room, and office. But now they were focused on the library, which made up the vast majority of the second floor, other than their rooms. Remus considered himself and Severus very discrete. He was pretty sure the twins had figured it out already, the sly terrors, but he didn’t think the younger kids really understood that he and Severus were partners like that. 

Well, the kids didn’t know until that afternoon, when both Remus and Severus had exited their bedroom together, looking rather rumpled. If someone had accused them of an afternoon delight, well, they wouldn’t be wrong. But they had gotten started so late because Severus had been called by the Dark Lord the night before. Remus had stayed up to wait for him, as he always did. Then they’d slept in; Severus exhausted from his meeting, Remus exhausted because the full moon was coming up. One thing had led to another, and Remus had Severus bare and laid out underneath him before either of them could really think clearly enough to check the time. The day before the full moon was always a whirlwind of emotions, and physical release helped calm the storm. Severus was a delectable and willing outlet.  

So it was a shock, to everyone, when they’d stepped out of their bedroom to find Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny standing on the landing, cleaning supplies in hand, looking completely bewildered. 

“Well…” Remus began, unceremoniously. He was too tired for this. 

Severus just gave the children his best, most intimidating professor look, and swept down the stairs towards the lab, leaving Remus to explain on his own. The bastard.

It was Ginny that broke the tension with a snort, “Huh, Fred and George were right.” She cackled as she walked towards the library. Ron and Hermione followed, with similar nonplussed expressions. Harry was last to move, but Remus caught him before he could disappear into the library, figuring this was as good of time as any, even if the moon was pulling at his skin and he wasn’t in perfect form.

“Harry - can we talk, just you and me?” 

Harry turned around and gave a reluctant shrug, “Sure, I guess.”

“Fantastic - how about in the drawing room?” 

“Lead the way.”

So Remus did. They made their way down one flight of stairs and into the freshly cleaned room, which smelled much better than it had two weeks ago but still contained the old and stained furniture. It was serviceable enough, and Remus sat down in one of a pair of arm chairs near the fireplace. He pointed his wand and lit it, for the ambiance more than the warmth. 

“Harry, how are you feeling about tomorrow? Prepared?” Remus began. Harry had attended one more discussion regarding his hearing since last week. He seemed stoic in the meeting, like he was repressing his true thoughts, but listened carefully to the Order’s advice. Remus was actually rather impressed at how seriously he was taking it all. James had always been irreverent with this sort of thing. 

Harry bit his lip, looking into the fire before responding, “I’m feeling ready enough, I suppose.”

“I know we got confirmation that Fudge is calling in the full Wizengamot, and that’s meant to intimidate you. But we have a strategy, and Dumbledore will be there to represent you.”

“But he’s been stripped of his title as Chief Warlock, right? I mean, how much can he help me now?”

Remus sighed, this whole thing really was a mess. “Dumbledore is still a respected wizard - a couple of months of bad press can’t completely take that away. But you’re both on the outs with the British wixen world at large, it's true. There are members of the court that will be on your side, though. Play to your strengths - all you have to do is tell the truth. Don’t let anyone get under your skin.”

Harry nodded, still not looking him in the eyes. 

“Harry, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. I really want to apologise, directly to you.”

Green eyes met his, “What? Why?”

Remus sat up, forearms on his knees, “Well, honestly, there are a couple of decisions I could apologise for. But first, I’m deeply sorry we did not know each other until your third year.”

Harry gave him an inquisitive look, but didn’t say anything in response, so he continued, “It was not by my choice, exactly, that kept me away from you. But truthfully I didn’t push the issue, either. You see, when Lily and James were… were murdered, it was at the height of war. My role in the Order was not as a soldier - it was as a spy. I was amongst the werewolf packs at the time it happened. The packs in Britain were almost all aligned with Voldemort by then. It made even my closest friends wary of me, and I wasn’t fully trusted, you see.”

“Was this all on Dumbledore’s orders?”

“Yes, of course.”

Harry’s face got darker, but he crossed his arms and continued giving Remus his undivided attention, so he moved on. “When Sirius was captured and imprisoned, I didn’t have much left. I had no job and no savings. I didn’t even have a home, honestly. I lived with Sirius when I wasn’t with the packs, and his flat was abandoned and leased out when he didn’t return. I had no place to raise a child, and with my status as werewolf, even though it wasn’t public knowledge at the time, I never had a hope of taking you in.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly, “None of that is your fault, not really.”  

It was time for Remus to shrug helplessly, “It’s something that’s been on my mind though. Because I didn’t stay in Britain after the war, and I didn’t check in on you. The only thing I felt like I had left was an invitation to do a Defense Against the Dark Arts mastery in France, a standing offer left over from my NEWT scores from Hogwarts. I was able to follow up on that and was more than happy to escape the Isles and all of the terrible memories. They are much kinder to creatures on the continent, so my lycanthropy wasn’t an issue for completing my studies.”

Harry perked up, “There’s such a thing as a Defense mastery? I didn’t know that!”

Remus smiled, “Yes, of course. It’s hard work, but very interesting. You probably won’t be surprised, but my specialty was dark creatures.”

Harry gave him a toothy grin, “You were the best DADA professor we’ve had by a long shot, Lupin.”

“Thank you, Harry, please call me Remus.” Remus smiled back, “I wish I had known you as a child, and I wish I had understood your situation better before this summer. But I want you to know that you can always come to me, and that I have your best interests at heart. Your interests - what you, Harry, want. But I know that takes trust, and I hope that someday you come to feel like you can ask me questions and I’ll answer honestly. Nothing will ever be too silly and there won’t even be many things that are too personal, within reason of course.” 

Harry gave him a wide-eyed look that he couldn’t quite interpret. They were silent for a few moments, Remus giving him a chance to take all of that in. Finally Harry spoke.

“Okay Remus,” Harry’s expression turned devious, “Are you, er, dating Professor Snape then?”

Remus couldn’t help but chuckle at the directness. He might not have James’ propensity for outright cheek, but he did have Lily’s unflinching ability to cut to the chase. “Yes, Harry. Severus and I are together - romantically, as partners, so there’s nothing to be mistaken.”

Harry made a face that was something between disbelieving and polite disgust. Oh to be young.

“Are you happy then?” Harry finally said, “And how long has this been going on?”

Remus deferred for a moment before responding, “Yes, we are very happy now. To be honest, our story is a little convoluted and it has been a long road to get to where we are today. You know that your father, Sirius, and I were not on the best of terms with Severus for most of our school days.”

Harry sat up straighter and nodded earnestly. So, Remus gave him a very brief summary of their whole sordid affair. He spoke of the event that really turned everything on its head - the full moon night Sirius convinced Severus to find the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Remus had been so distraught over what had almost happened that he hadn’t spoken to Sirius for two months. In that time he had attempted to apologise to Severus, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. By then, it was time to buckle down and study for their OWLs, and Remus and Sirius made amends. Once they’d taken their assessments, there was another face-off between the marauders and Severus, with Lily getting in the middle of it.

“I’m afraid I can’t speak more on that day after our OWLs… It is quite personal to Severus. It’s his story to tell.”

“But what happened then?” 

“Well, we really didn’t see much of Severus after that. He got into Slytherin politics, you understand - you know he has the dark mark. He stayed as far away from us Gryffindors as possible those last two years. We didn’t see each other again until the end of the war. Dumbledore had to reintroduce us to each other as the spies we were in a private, covert meeting. In case we ever ran into each other at a larger gathering of those aligned with Voldemort.”

“So it’s been going on since then?!” Harry gasped.

“What? No. Absolutely not. The animosity was still very much there. But, I think it helped us, understanding the roles we played, when we ran into each other in France one summer, just two years after the war was over.” 

Remus could feel his face go hot at the memory. He was half-way through his mastery at the time. Severus was on campus for a Potions guild. That day, with distance from their childhoods and all of their losses in the war brought to the surface by their meeting, Severus was finally able to hear Remus’ apology. They’d spent every night of that week together. 

“Okay…” Harry said, noticing Remus’ reluctance to elaborate. “But he hated you when you were a teacher at Hogwarts.”

“Hate is a strong word.” Remus hums, tilting his head, “He was wary, definitely. He takes student safety very seriously. The wolfsbane potion is incredibly difficult to brew, and even then it doesn’t work correctly if not taken exactly to specification. Though we had made amends, somewhat, in France, being at Hogwarts together brought back all of those awful memories for both of us. And the situation with Sirius added fuel to the fire - he didn’t trust my motivations fully. By the end of the school year we had that all settled, thankfully. We’ve been together ever since.”

“Didn’t Snape tell the Slytherins about your condition, though? That’s why you had to leave!”

Remus sighed. He still didn’t agree with Severus’ decision in this. “He didn’t, technically. Some of the seventh year Slytherins figured it out and went to him to complain. They were wealthy purebloods, and Severus had to maintain his cover with that crowd. He felt like he had to bring it to the school governors. And that, of course, opened the door for those students to tell the rest of their house.” 

Harry scrunched up his face, “That all sounds very complicated.”

Remus laughed and leaned over the space between them to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Oh Harry, love is simple, but relationships rarely are.”

Chapter Text

August 11, 1995

Harry was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen early on the morning of his hearing when a shaggy dog patronus scampered by and up the stairs. Harry, who was still not quite fully awake, startled at the sudden apparition, and worried that there was some kind of emergency. Picking up his pace, he hurried through the door into the room, which was filled with delicious smells of breakfast, but only contained a very calm Mr and Mrs Weasley. 

“Morning, dear. Breakfast?” greeted Mrs Weasley.

“Just toast, thanks,” replied Harry, taking a seat at the table. He was too nervous about the day’s events to bother eating more than that. “Er - Mrs Weasley - did I just see Sirius’ patronus go by?”

Mrs Weasley floated over a plate of buttered toast from where she stood by the hob, “Oh, yes. Remus has probably transitioned back into his human form. Severus has to come down to unlock the dungeon for them. Sirius spends the full moon in his animagus form with Remus down there, but only Severus has the key to let them out once it's safe.”

Harry picked up a slice of toast and set it on his plate but left it untouched for now. Frowning, he considered the information Mrs Weasley shared. “Wait, this place has a dungeon?”

Mr Weasley grimaced, “Technically, yes. It is down on the same level with the potions lab. Grimmauld Place is quite old - but the land it sits on has been in the Black family for even longer. When that cellar was built, well, the world was a very different place.”

Harry made a face, but before he could inquire further, Snape walked into the room. Without a word, he crossed to the doors that led even deeper underground to the cellar and descended with a swirl of his black cloak. The three kitchen occupants stared after him for a moment. 

“Tea, Harry? Arthur?” said Mrs Weasley, breaking them all out of their trance. 

“Yes please, Molly dear.” Mr Weasley happily made his tea once a tray was on the table. 

Harry followed suit and then finally tucked into his toast. 

A few minutes later, Sirius made an appearance from the same door Severus had disappeared down. He looked rather worse for wear, his hair was mussed and he had dark circles under his eyes. He simply nodded at the Weasleys, but when he spotted Harry, his godfather brightened and tiredly made his way over, reaching out to grasp his shoulder when he was close. 

“Harry, ready for today?” asked Sirius.

Harry shrugged, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sirius nodded slowly, “It’ll be alright. Just follow Dumbledore’s lead.”

If Harry were to be honest about it, that was the part of the plan that was giving him the most anxiety. He was supposed to rely on Dumbledore to handle the maneuvering and politics today, even though he hadn’t seen the man since he’d nearly exploded the third floor of Grimmauld Place. Harry had been doing his absolute best to keep his anger and magic under control while under the supervision of the adults that stayed at headquarters, especially since so many of them were spending significant time prepping him for his hearing. There had been two entire order meetings to discuss his hearing since he’d lost his cool in front of Dumbledore, but the headmaster hadn’t attended any of them, even though the man was to be his representative and advocate today. It had been giving Harry an uneasy feeling all week. 

Sirius continued despite Harry’s inattentiveness, “I wish I could be there with you.”

“It’s alright, Sirius, really. I’ll be fine.” Harry tried to give his godfather a reassuring smile. Based on the concerned look he gave Harry in return, he didn’t think he was successful. 

Sirius patted Harry’s shoulder twice before finally taking his own seat. Mrs Weasley set the table with another teacup and even more hearty breakfast fare. Sirius had no problem loading his plate with bacon, toast, and eggs. 

It wasn’t long until Snape emerged from the cellar. “Could I have a tray made up, Molly? I think he’s feeling well enough to eat.”

“Of course, here you are.” With a wave of her wand, Mrs Weasley had a tray full for Snape to levitate downstairs. 

Before Snape could leave, however, his eyes snagged on Harry. “Mr Potter - surely that is not what you plan to wear for a hearing in front of the entire Wizengamot?”

Harry flinched at being addressed so severely, “Erm…”

But Sirius jumped in before he could go on, “And what’s wrong with what Harry is wearing, Snape? He doesn’t need to look like a pureblood ponce!”

Harry looked down at himself. He was wearing an old striped button up of Fred’s and his best pair of dark blue jeans. His trainers were a little worse for wear, but his school oxfords no longer fit. He thought he’d looked just fine when he’d left the bathroom this morning - he’d even managed to tame his hair somewhat. When he looked back up, Snape was rolling his eyes deeply.

“I know you have never cared for propriety, Black, and have never endured a governmental procedure with any sense of diplomacy, but it would surely do the Boy Who Lived some good to at least look the part.”

Harry and Sirius gave Snape matching scowls. Although, outwardly, it annoyed Harry to no end to be criticized on his appearance by someone like Snape, of all people, he couldn’t help but wonder if the man had a point. 

Harry got ahead of Sirius, before he would surely butt in with something scathing regarding the potions master’s preferred daily attire. He said tentatively, “The only robes I have are my school robes.”

All four adults in the room, including the Weasleys, looked at Harry. The kitchen fell silent. 

Mr Weasley looked at his watch, “You might have a point, Severus, but we don’t have time to stop at Diagon. The shops won’t be open yet, and the hearing is right at the start of business at nine.”

Sirius shifted uneasily, “I’m afraid the only robes left in this house are decades out of date and moth-eaten. Not even the best transfiguration could help them now.”

Snape sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “One moment.”

He left the room for the cellar again, this time with the breakfast fray floating behind him. In no time, Snape was in the doorway once again. “Come on, Potter. Quickly now, we don’t have much time.”

Reluctantly, Harry finished the last of his now-cold tea and followed the man up three flights of stairs to the second floor. They paused for just a moment at the threshold before Snape opened the door to the rooms that he shared with Remus. Harry had a feeling he knew where this excursion was going.

Snape jerked his head in invitation and Harry made his way tentatively inside. Snape made his way around Harry to the wardrobe that stood in the corner. He flung the doors open and studied the obscured contents before flicking his dark eyes over at Harry. Snape took just two seconds to appraise his appearance before removing a moss-green set of robes from their hanger. Snape waved his wand and the robes floated over next to Harry. His potions professor stood back, as if to measure their length against Harry’s height, before moving his wand in a complicated pattern. Harry saw the hem move up at least eight inches and several inches of fabric seemed to disappear from the waist. 

“Go on, Potter, give that a try.”

Harry grabbed the robes from the air and put them on. The first thing he noticed was that they smelled like Remus - ink and woodsmoke. The robes were well-worn and wool, a little too heavy for summer, but they fit thanks to Snape’s alterations. Harry looked down at himself, patting down the lapel, before looking at Snape.

“Passable,” said Snape, “In front of the Wizengamot, it is always a good idea to conform to typical British Wixen standards. Do you not have any other footwear?”

Harry shook his head in the negative. 

Snape let out an aggravated breath, but reached into the wardrobe one more time, removing a pair of brown loafers, “Give me one of those bedraggled trainers, and I’ll make sure these are resized as well.”

Harry bent down and removed a shoe, shuffling over to hand it to Snape. With a tap of his wand, the loafers were shrunk to size. The man held them out for Harry to take.

At his hesitation, Snape said, “Those aren't mine, Potter. Remus gave me blanket permission to loan out anything of his to properly outfit you today. I asked when I dropped off breakfast.”

Feeling strangely reassured, Harry sat on the edge of the bed to put the new-to-him shoes on. When he stood up, Snape simply waved his hand toward the open bedroom door, “Off with you. I’m sure it is almost time for you to depart for the Ministry.”

Harry was more than happy to exit swiftly.

When Harry entered the Ministry of Magic for the first time through a floating telephone box, he was overwhelmed.

The entire commute had been stressful and confusing, due to Mr Weasley’s insistence on taking the Underground to the stop closest to the visitors’ entrance. Harry didn’t understand why they couldn’t have taken any of the many magical means of transportation. Mr Weasley had tried to explain something about ‘making a good impression,’ but Harry wasn’t sure if he agreed. Mr Weasley seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the experience of taking the muggle Tube, anyway.

The Ministry of Magic was anything but mundane. They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished dark wood floor. The bright blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing. The walls on each side had many gilded fireplaces set into them. The place was packed with wixen, and Harry could feel the ambient magic humming under the hustle and bustle. 

Halfway down the hall was a group of golden statues that formed a fountain. Tallest of them all was an arrogant-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful but plain witch, a muscular centaur, a goblin with its teeth bared, and a  house-elf with its face carved in elation. Jets of water were flying from the ends of the wands, the point of the centaur’s arrow, the tip of the goblin’s hat, and each of the house-elves' ears. 

They followed the crowd, winding their way to a security desk just before the queue began for the lifts. A scruffy wizard in peacock blue robes glanced up as they approached. 

“I’m escorting a visitor,” said Mr Weasley.

“Wand,” grunted the man, boredly. 

Harry handed over his wand, and the wizard dropped it onto a brass instrument, which looked something like a set of singular scales. After a minute, the contraption shuddered and a piece of parchment came speeding out of the base. The wizard tore it off and read the writing on it. 

“Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?”

“Yes,” said Harry nervously. 

The man causally handed back his wand and shoved the parchment scrap onto a small brass spike. Before Harry could turn away, he saw the security wizard’s eyes graze his visitor’s badge, read over the name, and quickly dart to Harry’s forehead, where his fringe covered his scar.

“Hang on…” the wizard said, but Mr Weasley grabbed Harry’s shoulder and moved him along before the security wizard could pry further.

In no time they were jostled onto a lift, although this one wasn’t nearly as packed as the others Harry had observed. When he looked at Mr Weasley questioningly, he said, “Not many will be going down, Harry. It’s just the Department of Mysteries and old courtrooms this way."

Harry only half listened to the cool female voice call out Level Nine before Mr Weasley was maneuvering him out of the lift again. They exited into a corridor that was very different from the atmosphere of the atrium above. The walls were bare, there were no windows, and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the end of the hall. Harry expected them to go through it, but instead Mr Weasley led him to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of old stone steps, similar to those that led to the cellar at Grimmauld place. 

Mr Weasley was murmuring to himself as they descended, “I still can’t believe they are using these old courtrooms for a case of underage magic…” 

They reached the bottom of the steps and walked along yet another corridor, which was somehow even darker and gloomier than the one above. 

“Courtoom ten… I think we’re here.”

Mr Weasley came to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an ominous iron lock. Harry glanced at the large gold clock set into the wall above. The time read five til nine. Mr Weasley turned Harry to face him, both hands on Harry’s shoulders.

“I can’t go in with you Harry - it’s closed to all but the Wizengamot, essential secretaries, the accused and their representative. That’s you and Dumbledore. You’ll just walk in and take a seat at the center and wait for the session to be called to order, got it?”

Harry couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat. He nodded jerkily.

“Alright, be on your best behavior now. Good luck.”

Harry swallowed hard, turned the heavy iron door handle, and stepped inside the courtroom. 

The large dungeon immediately felt foreboding. It took just a breath for Harry to realise that this was the place he had visited inside Dumbledore’s pensieve. He’d watched the Lestranges be sentenced to Azkaban here. The room was dark and oppressive with old magic. Ahead of him, there was a singular chair set in the middle of the room, and further, behind a railing, rose many benches occupied by shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry, silence fell completely. 

As Harry made his way to the center, his footsteps echoed loudly. He walked carefully around the high-backed chair, blanching a bit at the sight of the chains wrapped around the arms. He hesitated to sit, remembering how they had sprung to life in the trial he had seen. 

It was at that moment that a familiar voice called out, “Have a seat, Harry.” Dumbledore stepped out of the gloom, making his way level with the chair Harry was standing beside. 

Before Harry could catch his eye, Dumbledore twirled in his midnight-blue robes to face back towards the people sitting in the stands. Harry slowly sunk onto the edge of the seat and breathed a sigh of relief when the chains stayed motionless. Harry took a moment to take in the figures above him. There were about fifty wixen wearing plum-colored robes with an elaborately worked silver ‘W’ on the left-hand side of the chest. Every single face, other than the headmaster’s, was staring down their noses at him. 

In the very middle of the front row sat Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, who must have left his lime-green bowler at home today. A broad, square-jawed witch with very short grey hair sat on Fudge’s left; she wore a monocle and looked forbidding. On Fudge’s right was another witch, so short that her head was barely visible over the railing. She was heavy-set and wore a twee pink bow on top of her head of curly mouse-brown hair. 

Puffing out his chest, Fudge began to speak, “The accused being present, let us begin. Court scribe, are you ready?” 

Fudge looked down the bench to a young man hunched over a large roll of parchment with a wispy white feather quill. Harry was surprised to find that it was Percy. “Yes, sir.” said Ron’s brother. If Harry was expecting to see some sign of recognition from Percy, he was sadly mistaken. Percy didn’t even look up from his parchment. 

“Very well,” said Fudge, “I now call the disciplinary hearing of Harry James Potter to order. It is the eleventh of August, in the year nineteen ninety-five. Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic, standing in for Chief Warlock; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. Representative for the Defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Mr Potter has been accused of the following offenses committed under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 and 15 of the International Confederation of Wixen’s Statute of Secrecy: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, commit four intentional acts of magic in a muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of muggles, with one of those acts directly and intentionally harming an adult muggle. These acts occurred on the second of August in the year nineteen ninety-five at approximately thirty-six minutes past seven in the evening.”

Fudge shuffled some papers on the desk in front of him before continuing, “The interrogation will begin presently. You are Harry James Potter of Surrey, England?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“You received an official warning form the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”

“I did, but-”

“And yet you utilized offensive magic against a muggle on the second of August?”

Harry was annoyed that he had gotten cut off. This line of questioning was seriously lacking some important points. He conceded, “I did, yes, but-”

“And continued to utilize magic in three more instances inside a muggle house?”

Harry tried again, “Apparently-”

“Mr. Potter,” interrupted the witch with the monocle, Madam Bones, “What circumstances led to your use of magic on that evening?”

Harry’s skin was prickling. He just wanted to explain his side of things and get out of here. It felt so unfair to be paraded in front of all of these adult wixen. He quickly explained the strange noises outside that had startled the Dursley household.

“And why, Mr. Potter, was an undermined, explosive repelling charm used inside the home?” asked Madam Bones.

Harry took a deep breath, calming his magic that was quickly surfacing. He had made it a week without an accident, and he was not about to lose control now. This question was a sticking point for him. He did not want the entire wixen world to know about his life with the Dursleys. But the adults in the Order - especially Sirius, Remus, and Mr and Mrs Weasley, thought he should talk about his near-strangling. As if it was easy to explain. Especially now that his bruises had faded to almost nothing. There was no evidence. 

“My uncle grabbed me and it scared me,” Harry said badly. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, but he couldn’t bring himself to give any further details.

The plump witch, Madam Umbridge, on the other side of Fudge spoke up now in a syrupy sweet voice, “I’m sorry, Mr Potter, but it sounds as if you think the muggle deserved to have violent magic used against him? Even when this muggle could not defend himself? Is that not the very ideology that you claim to oppose?”

“I…” Harry was bewildered by this line of questioning, “... what? What ideology?”

Madam Umbridge smiled saccharinely, “My, my, Mr Potter. We thought you were an advocate for Muggle rights and the side of the so-called ‘Light.’ Especially after the claims you made earlier this summer… it seems that is not the case, is it?”

Harry’s heart sank to his stomach. “No! Of course - I don’t think muggles deserve to be hurt or anything! My uncle is the one that hurt me!”

Fudge seemed to dismiss this as he scoffed and moved on, “And what of the other feats of magic inside the home? It seems you used magic to run away from your relatives, overpowering their wishes to keep you safe with them.”

“I truly didn’t feel safe there any more,” Harry searched wildly for something that would get through to these people, “It was like before my third year, Minister! When I ran away after I blew up my aunt…” And the entire room broke out into heated murmurs. Harry, realizing now how that would sound, backpedaled wildly, “No! Not like that - it was accidental! I didn’t even get a letter for it, and Minister - you are the one that met me at Diagon Alley and excused it all!” 

Fudge’s face turned an interesting shade of purple at this reminder, but Madam Umbridge spoke up sharply, “Is that what you think should be happening every time you use dangerous magic, Mr Potter? That your elevated status in wixen society should allow you to escape any repercussions for your actions? Frankly, this seems like a pattern of wild, unprovoked, and violent magic against muggles!” 

“No,” Harry said weakly, face breaking out into a cold sweat, his magic zinging just under his fingertips. He looked around to Dumbledore for the first time for help, “Professor? Please tell them.”

Without looking at him, Dumbledore tilted his head toward Harry and said to the Wizengamot at large, “If you are finished with this line of questioning, I have some observations of my own.” 

Fudge sat back in his chair with a huff but said, “Very well, Dumbledore, the floor is yours.”

Dumbledore strode forward and began a slow pace back and forth between where Harry sat and the Wizengamot presided over both of them. Finally, he spoke, “I would like to make a motion to dismiss the charge under Section 13 of the Statute of Secrecy. The muggles that were present at the scene are already quite well-informed of magic and the magical world. As Mr Potter’s guardians and closest family, there was no breach of Section 13. In fact, it is law that any muggle guardian of an underage wixen be informed of our world before such a child can attend Hogwarts.”

The room started buzzing again with barely contained whispers. This was a part of the plan that Harry had been informed of during one of the Order meetings he attended. Fudge looked slightly pained at this, but Madam Bones was nodding her head.

“All in favor of dismissing the charge against the accused under Section 13?” called Madam Bones.

Well over half of the room raised their wands, ends lit like a soft lumos. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“Charge dismissed,” grumbled Fudge.

“I would also like to make a motion to dismiss the charge under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. That paragraph specifically details consequences for using intentional wand-directed magic, and the limitations of the Trace therein. Mr Potter did not use his wand for the repelling charm against his uncle nor for the sticking charm on his bedroom door. In fact, you’ll find that the only two traceable charms Mr Potter used that evening were two shrinking charms on his belongings. Furthermore, it was not wand-directed magic that caused Mr Potter to get a warning letter three years ago. It was not even wixen magic that caused the event.”

Fudge snapped his fingers, and Percy rifled through a large stack of parchment sitting on the bench next to him. Finding one about halfway through the pile, he levitated it over to the Minister, who held it up to the light to read, “We have a record of sending Mr Potter the warning letter, but no appeal was received in response. It therefore went on his permanent record thirty days after the event.”

Harry furrowed his brows. He remembered receiving the letter after Dobby levitated the pudding and smashed it, but nothing about sending something back to the Ministry to contest the charge. He did, however, recall being locked in his room after that night. Hedwig was locked up as well, bars on his windows… he wouldn’t have been able to respond even if he’d known what to do. Harry closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing even.

He came back to the present while Dumbledore was talking, “... produce a witness to that event three years ago for questioning if it pleases the Wizengamot.” 

Madam Umbridge spoke up with a girlish giggle, “I’m afraid, Headmaster, that the warning is on Mr Potter’s permanent record, circumstances notwithstanding. He did not follow proper protocol to have the warning removed!”

Harry saw red. This was all bollocks. All. Of. It. 

“Very well, Madam, I merely point out to the esteemed wixen of the Wizengamot that if we are to pursue charges against Paragraph C, we in truth only have two shrinking charms to examine, as they are the only instances of wand-directed magic at Mr Potter’s residence since he received a Trace-registered wand four years ago.”

“On his official record that is not the case!” exclaimed Fudge.

Dumbledore finally stopped his slow pacing and faced Fudge directly, “As Mr Potter is underage, and is under the guardianship of muggles, I hope we can utilise a little compassion for their misunderstanding of proper Ministry protocols.”

Several members of the court behind Fudge shifted a little uneasily. 

Madam Bones spoke up, “I would like to suggest an amendment to the motion, Headmaster, if you’ll allow it.”

Dumbledore gave a magnanimous nod of his head, allowing Madam Bones to continue, “I propose a motion for the charges regarding Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery to stand for only the two shrinking charms performed with a wand. Conviction still undecided.” 

This time, fewer members raised their wands. Harry couldn’t tell if it was over half that was required to pass the motion or not. 

After a prolonged silence, Fuge spat, “Motion passed.”

“Thank you, Minister,” said Dumbledore agreeably, “With the charges regarding underage magic being two shrinking charms directed at Mr Potter’s own belongings, I hope we can agree that the circumstances made it very much justified.”

“And what,” cooed Madam Umbridge, “Are the circumstances exactly, Headmaster? From the evidence provided by aurors on the scene, after Mr Potter attacked his uncle, he got spooked and fled from the residence. Surely you’re not suggesting that Mr Potter should be excused from any punishments with such glaring wrong-doing?”

“Not at all, Madam, and I’m sure we’ll all come to an agreement that takes into account the very unique extenuating circumstances at play today.”

Harry was a little taken aback by this. Did Dumbledore mean - did he mean to not try to get all of the charges dropped? Was he going to allow them to expel him after all? Snap his wand? He felt a cold drop of fear down his spine.

“And what do you mean by extenuating circumstances, Albus?" said the Minister, "Please speak plainly. You are no longer the Chief Warlock and therefore we do not have to acquiesce to your incessant ramblings!”

“Oh, certainly, Cornelius, I do not mean to drag this hearing down. I only wish to recognise that Mr Potter is in extreme danger with the Dark Lord Voldemort having returned-”

There was an uproar amongst the wixen clad in plum robes. Someone, a short witch in the back, stood and started shaking her fist at Dumbledore. Two others further down the row began shouting at her in retaliation. The din rose until the entire place was thrumming, Harry’s magic going wild with it. He grit his teeth and tamped down on it with all of his might. 

Fudge eventually called the room to order. Breathless and shaking, he shouted, “I will not hear of this, Albus! That is enough! You have already been removed from your Ministry and diplomatic positions due to your fear-mongering! I am not afraid to take it a step further if this continues! Now, you have somehow dragged the boy into your delusions-”

“Delusions?!” Harry stood and shouted. Dumbledore quickly made a sit down motion with his hands, still keeping his gaze on the Minister. Harry complied miserably. This was going horribly wrong.

“Yes!” Crowed Fudge, “Delusions! I’ll not have you drag down the entire British wixen population with your lies, Albus! And they will certainly not be enough to save your favorite boy-wonder!”

After this tirade, the entire chamber was finally silent. Harry noticed that even Dumbledore needed to take several deep breaths. Harry felt like he had run several miles.

“So, you’ll not see reason, Cornelius? You’ll remain ignorant of the coming storm?”

“My vision is perfectly clear, Albus. And now I believe it is time for the Wizengamot to vote on the remaining charges.”

“Wait…” Harry breathed, but it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to acknowledge his plight. They were going to decide now? Right now? 

“As it stands,” Fudge continued, “Mr Harry James Potter is accused of the following offenses committed under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 15 of the International Confederation of Wixen’s Statute of Secrecy: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, commit two intentional acts of wand-directed underage magic, and one separate act of offensive magic directly and intentionally harming an adult muggle.”

Harry looked at his feet. His heart was thumping wildly, his fingers were now sparking slightly, and he kept them twisted in his robes to hide the unnatural magic. 

“Those in favor of conviction?” asked Madam Bones.

“Wait,” said Harry more forcefully, looking up, “You need to know something.”

“The time for a decision has already come, boy! You’re too late!” growled Fudge, clearly eager to get his conviction and move on.

“Just, I have something you need to know, before you make your decision. Please.” Harry looked right at Madam Bones as he said this, hoping his face was adequately contrite. 

“I’ll allow it, Minister,” said Madam Bones. 

Harry couldn’t help but slump in relief. He glanced at Dumbledore, who hadn’t moved from where he was standing a little in front and to his right. All Harry could see was the back of his splendid robes. He couldn’t get a read on if the Headmaster agreed with what he was about to do or not. 

Here’s the thing - deep down, Harry didn’t care. Dumbledore had tried his best, but they were both at a disadvantage with the Minister’s clear anti-truth agenda. If he was going to get out this unscathed, still a student at Hogwarts with full access to his wand, he was going to have to give something up. It was unfair, but he had to return to Hogwarts. He was about to publicly share something that he had guarded with his entire being until just a week ago, when he had decided to forego magically healing the bruises around his neck. As far as Harry was concerned, this was just like that. 

Let them all see what their choices had cost him, thought Harry.

Harry took a deep breath to steady his racing thoughts and sparking magic and said, “My uncle did more than grab me that evening, Madam. The noise that startled us caused me to pop up where I had been relaxing outside, under the front window. My uncle thought the noise had come from me wielding my magic, but it did not. When I tried to tell him this, he grabbed me by the neck and pulled me into the house through the open window. He held on so long that I all but passed out and my magic reacted to save me. It did throw him across the room, yes, but it was accidental magic, not intentional. I do not believe I would have survived if he had been allowed to hang on much longer. I had bruises for days after. They have only just healed to the point that they are not visible to the eye.”

Madam Bones and several other Wizengamot members looked severely disturbed by this.

“Is this true, Headmaster?” Questioned Madam Bones. Dumbledore nodded his head once, silently.

A tall, thin wizard a few rows behind her spoke up, “Is this kind of… treatment… common with the muggles you live with, Mr Potter?”

It was now or never, “Yes. I have experienced handling of this nature many times as I have grown up there, and, erm, the fear of it was what drove me to run away before my third year, when the Minister met me at the Leaky Cauldron. I ran away again, this time because I was severely hurt, and my uncle continued to come after me.” Harry fidgeted but said in a soft voice, “I was really afraid he wouldn’t stop if he got his hands on me again. I was weak - the accidental magic really took a lot out of me. I wasn’t thinking completely straight and I used my wand to help me pack quickly so I could leave.”

Harry looked around. The mood had shifted drastically in the courtroom. Only Madam Umbridge seemed unmoved. Even the Minister looked pensive, seeming to remember the state he had received Harry in two years ago, young and breathless and unaware that an ‘escaped mass-murderer’ was out to get him.

“Where did you run to, Mr Potter? The Leaky Cauldron again?” Madam Bones asked quietly.

“No, mam. I attempted to fly my broom to the Weasley’s, but they weren’t home. I spent the night in the countryside, and was found by Luna Lovegood the next morning.”

“Lovegood?” Asked an unfamiliar wizard with a long salt-and-pepper beard near the back, “As in the Quibbler Lovegoods?”

“Er - yeah. Luna is Mr Lovegood’s daughter. She’s a year below me. She could testify to my injuries, probably?”

Madam Bones was nodding as she said, “Well, Mr Potter. That does certainly change things.” At Fudge’s scoff, she admonished, “Come now, Minister, you know as well as I do that Clause Seven of the Decree states that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and those circumstances include situations in which threaten the life of the wixen themself. Clearly we need to gather some more information regarding Mr Potter’s home and upbringing, but based on the available evidence, he was fighting for his life.”

“It’s frankly, astounding, that his muggle uncle suffered no more than a bruise or two in light of his actions that evening!” called a witch with shiny black hair.

“Thank you, Mrs Parkinson, that will be all,” snapped Fudge. 

“Mr Potter,” Madam Bones said kindly, “Do you have anything else you’d like us to know before we move on?”

Harry shook his head and went back to looking at his shoes, wondering if he had done enough.

“Once again, those in favor of conviction?” asked Madam Bones.

Harry waited one beat, and then another, before peering up through his fringe. Only a handful of wands were raised. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Those in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?” said Madam Bones in a booming voice.

This time, almost every wand went into the air. The Minister and Madam Umbridge were noticeably abstaining.

“Very well, very well,” said Fudge with barely suppressed rage, “Cleared of all charges.”

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore briskly, “Well I must be getting along. Good day to you all.”

Without looking once at Harry, he swept from the courtroom. And Harry felt fury in his bones.

It took Harry a minute or two to get himself under control and finally rise from the chair. By the time that he did, the courtroom was mostly cleared, but Madam Bones was watching him from the doorway. Harry had to leave that way, so he couldn’t avoid the conversation she clearly wanted to have.

“Mr Potter,” said the head of the DMLE, “I’m Amelia Bones. We haven’t officially met, but I believe you know my niece, Susan, in your year. Hufflepuff.”

Harry forced a smile, “Oh yeah! I know Susan.”

“Listen, Mr Potter. I know today must have been harrowing for you. Firstly, I want to commend you for your honesty. It can’t have been easy to share your experience with the entire Wizengamot.”

She paused and Harry gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Secondly, if I have your permission, I’d like to look into your relatives. If you truly have been experiencing that level of hostility with them, well, I feel it is my duty to investigate. We might even be able to place you with more suitable guardians. Is that something you would want?”

Harry was forcibly reminded of Sirius and his promise of a place to live. Of course, Sirius couldn’t officially be his guardian unless he was exonerated. Harry wondered what other options he even had. Maybe the Weasleys?

“Madam, that is very kind, but you don’t have to do that. I don’t even know where I would go…”

Madam Bones sighed, “That is several steps ahead, at the moment. As long as it is alright with you that I start gathering evidence, I can owl you with next steps and you can decide if it's something you want. How does that sound?”

Grateful for the choice, Harry said, “Okay, yeah, I can agree to that.”

“Wonderful. Well, I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here. Who brought you to the Ministry today?”

“Mr Weasley did, mam.”

“Ah, of course. Well his office is located on my floor. Do you mind walking together?”

“Not at all.”

That’s how Harry found himself following the head of the DMLE through the lower level courtrooms, up to the Department of Mysteries, and onto a lift to level two.

August 12, 1995

The next morning at breakfast, a brown barn owl brought a special weekend edition of the Daily Prophet directly to the kitchen through one of the dusty high windows. 

Harry was exhausted from the day before. After he’d returned from the Ministry, he’d been accosted by the residents in the house, old and young alike, to relay the good news - he was free! And was then made to relive the hearing twice, once for the adults and once again for Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George after he finally escaped to the privacy of Ron’s bedroom. There were all kinds of questions, of course, and not many that Harry could answer. 

Questions like: “So the Minister is really refusing to hear the evidence that the Dark Lord is back?” from Remus.

And: “Why didn’t Dumbledore fight harder to get your charges dropped, do you think?” from Ron.

Harry had finally extracted himself from all company and made his way to his room, flopping on the bed completely drained. He hadn’t slept well either, dreams of the courtroom, dark corridors, and snapping wands plagued him all night.  

So when the owl dropped the paper in front of Sirius, Harry didn’t even look up. It wasn’t until he heard his godfather gasp that he glanced over.

Sirius was sitting at the kitchen table, next to Harry as always, in a burgundy and navy striped dressing gown. He was gazing wide-eyed at the front page, eyes moving rapidly over the print. Remus, from across the table, stopped eating and looked Sirius’ way with a hint of trepidation.

“Sirius?” Remus inquired.

Sirius said nothing and just flipped to the middle section, baring the front page headline for the rest of the room to read.

Right there in bold, black letters, the main article declared:

HARRY POTTER, WIXEN WORLD SAVIOR OR NEXT DARK LORD? 

LEARN ABOUT HIS DANGEROUS WANDLESS MAGIC AND DISDAIN FOR MUGGLE RELATIVES IN THIS EXCLUSIVE INSIGHT INTO AUGUST 11 HEARING!

Oh, fuck.

Chapter Text

August 31, 1995

Severus was thankful for room-silencing charms as he groaned audibly. He was rolled over onto his back, Remus distributing steady kisses lower and lower over his torso as he pressed Severus into the mattress. 

Remus had Severus all keyed up, practically writhing, with Remus’ hand on Severus’ cock stroking languidly. He was, apparently, in no hurry at all. Just when Severus thought he might get some relief, Remus slowly made his way back up his torso, stopping to suck a bruise under his collarbone like a hormonal teenager.

Well, as long as it didn’t break skin…

That was the baffling thing about this arrangement, even after all this time. Severus had been terrified of werewolves, and especially werewolf bites. Bites that could contaminate to varying degrees even outside of a full moon. If saliva met the circulatory system, he was done for. But Remus was careful, Severus even more so, and even though he should rightly be afraid of Remus’ mouth anywhere near him, nothing mattered as soon as Remus was touching him. Severus wanted it all, everything he could have. And if the danger made the pleasure even more earth-shattering? Severus would leave the psychoanalysing to the mind healers.

Remus finally gave up on his mission to leave a ring of bruises on his chest and came back up to kiss him soundly. They tangled for a minute before Severus made his wishes very well known, pressing his hands to Remus’ chest and bending a knee to place his foot on the bed, opening his hips even wider for Remus to settle into. Remus huffed a laugh into Severus’ mouth, clearly understanding his intentions, and broke the kiss to sit back on his heels. 

They stared at each other for a heartbeat, Severus taking in his lover’s form in the morning light. Remus was thin, though not as thin as Severus, his torso covered in scars. Most were old and silvery, some were newer and pink. Severus was very proud that few deep scars were any newer than a year old - he had kept Remus on a strict Wolfsbane regimen since the disastrous Shrieking Shack incident fourteen months ago. Remus’ full moon injuries had been practically non-existent since. Severus briefly noted the bite mark that had turned Remus, which was the oldest of all, of course. A monstrosity that sat just above Remus’ right hip, so deep that it puckered the skin in places. Severus quickly moved on and stopped his perusal at Remus’ very hard, weeping cock standing at attention, just waiting for Severus to do something about it. 

“Get a move on, Remus.” Severus tried to growl. It came out breathless.

Remus gave him a knowing smile, and just reached out to stoke Severus once, twice, three times. And did nothing more. Losing his patience, Severus took his other foot and wrapped it around Remus’ back, digging his heel in to bring him down. 

“Alright,” Remus laughed lightly, placing one hand on Severus’ waist and the other grabbing his own cock this time, "Impatient are we?”

Severus let it go, because at that moment Remus lined himself up with Severus’ puckered hole, already prepared and relaxed due to earlier activities. Remus pressed Severus’ knee up a little more, giving him a comfortable angle, and then finally, finally, pushed in.

They both groaned and sighed, Severus luxuriating in the stretch. Remus, ever careful, took his time fully seating himself inside Severus. But the moment he was completely ensconced, he pulled out again and set a quick rhythm that would have both of them coming in minutes.

Severus reached up to grab the hair at the nape of Remus’ neck and pulled hard. Remus adjusted, hitting that spot deep within, and used his free hand to continue jerking Severus off in time with his thrusts. 

They had their pacing; they knew each other’s bodies inside and out, and when Severus could feel himself just moments away from climax, Remus pushed even harder.

Severus’ entire body shuddered in pleasure, and when Remus followed him over not seconds later, he pressed their bodies together and they held on, basking in the feeling of being together before facing the day.

It was the day before the start of term, and it was time to say goodbye to Remus.

They entered the kitchen together, breakfast waiting for them under a stasis charm. The rest of the household was blessedly absent, as Hogwarts letters had been sent extraordinarily late and supplies shopping had to happen today or it wouldn’t happen at all. Black was most likely still asleep somewhere in the house above.

As Remus made up their tea, Severus sat at the table and grabbed the day’s Prophet, which was lying next to the sausages. In the almost three weeks since Potter’s hearing, the paper had been filled with even more sensationalised articles regarding the boy. The rag had spent a week detailing ‘exclusive anonymous information regarding the Boy-Who-Lived’s explosive Wizengamot trial’ and then proceeded to track down almost any adult member of society that Potter had ever happened across in his four years since entering the wixen world. The speculation was slanderous, the accusations preposterous, and the Dark Lord was, unfortunately, delighted, as Severus had learned during the last Death Eater meeting. 

Today’s main story was dedicated to dissecting Potter’s performance in the Triwizard Tournament ‘in light of new allegations,' as if there was anything suspicious about someone using accio to summon a Merlin-forsaken broomstick.

Severus set the offending publication down after reading the headline and turned to Remus, who was reading over his shoulder. 

“They’re at it again,” his partner said with a sad sigh.

“Oh yes, I do not imagine they will let up anytime soon. This is exactly what Fudge thinks he wants, and it is absolutely making the Dark Lord’s job easier.”

Remus just slumped into the seat next to him. The entire situation had Remus in knots, constantly worried about Potter and Severus in turns. They’d had multiple discussions between them about what could reasonably be done, but the entire Order was currently stuck between a rock and a hard place. They didn’t have any contacts in the media that they could trust to push back on the narrative. The Order was effectively a vigilante organisation, without any recognised standing in the Ministry. Remus was a known werewolf and Severus was a spy for the Dark Lord. Unless something changed, they had to weather this storm by keeping their heads down. 

It was easier said than done, especially when it came to dealing with Potter. The boy was obviously on edge, vacillating between hot anger and cool indifference at the drop of a sickle. Remus had taken to spending some evenings with the boy, but wouldn’t tell Severus what they discussed. If it was helping, Severus wouldn’t know. 

“When do you have to leave for Hogwarts?” Remus asked as he served himself breakfast.

Severus glanced at the clock in the room, “Start-of-term staff meeting is in an hour. I will floo to my chambers from here.”

Remus nodded as he took a bite of eggs, “All packed?”

“Yes.”

“When will I see you again?”

Severus glanced at Remus out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his tea, “I’ll come here to Grimmauld the morning after the next full moon. You’re to check in no later than eight so I can ensure you’re alright.”

“Of course, Severus, thank you.”

Severus turned to face him fully, placing a hand on Remus’ thigh, “No thanks needed, you know that.”

Remus shrugged, “I’ll say it anyway.”

Remus was to begin recruiting in the werewolf packs again this week, just like he did in the first war. He was tasked with finding and joining one pack before the full moon on September 8th. He would run with the pack on the full to form bonds, but Severus had insisted that Remus be allowed to check in with him to receive medical treatment once the curse released him in the morning. 

No, it wasn’t Remus that he’d had to convince of this stipulation - it had been Dumbledore that needed persuading. The headmaster wanted Remus completely isolated with the packs, without contact with anyone in the Order but himself, again, just like in the first war. Severus had refused over a very tense meeting earlier in August. They’d come to an agreement; with the headmaster allowing Remus to apparate to Grimmauld early the morning after a full moon so Severus could ensure that he was alive, safe, and healed of any injuries. This was more crucial than it had been in over a year, for Remus could not take Wolfsbane and safely run with a pack without being discovered as an insurgent. Truthfully, Severus thought the whole endeavor was futile - the werewolf population in Britain was jaded and had been angry for too long for one man to make a difference, but the headmaster was eternally optimistic. Remus thought he owed Dumbledore unflinching loyalty, so he never questioned the directive. That’s what Severus was for.

They enjoyed each other’s company in silence while Remus finished his meal and Severus finished his tea. Only once Remus’ plate was clean did Severus stand to summon his trunk from upstairs. Neither of them moved as it sailed into the kitchen to land gracefully at Severus’ feet. They were both stalling, to be sure. Even though Severus had initially loathed the idea of living in the Black Family home for the summer, he had come to appreciate the uninterrupted hours with his lover and the very well-stocked ancient potions lab in the cellar. He would miss both of them when he returned to Hogwarts. 

“I had best be off, so I have time to walk to the staff lounge.”

Remus stood as well, coming over to wrap Severus in his arms, “I’ll miss you, you know.”

“And I, as well.”

“War sucks,” breathed Remus.

“We all have our parts to play.” Severus turned his head to tuck it into the curve between Remus’ neck and shoulder. 

He felt Remus breathe deeply into his hair as they embraced. When Severus finally looked up, Remus kissed him fully, deeply. When they broke apart, it was time to go. 

“I’ll see you next week, love,” said Remus as Severus grabbed the floo powder on the mantle of the kitchen fireplace.

“Until next week,” Severus agreed, throwing the powder in the hearth. 

As he stepped in, he called, “Severus Snape’s quarters, Hogwarts!” And was whisked away from the one bright spot in the gloom of Grimmauld Place.

Severus arrived at the door of the staff lounge exactly on time. He didn’t care for small talk, and always planned his arrivals to staff functions to allow for minimal interaction as possible. He had been the youngest tenured professor at Hogwarts for fifteen years, essentially growing up in front of most of the other educators, and that experience didn’t particularly lend itself to feeling like he had much in common with any of the other staff. 

He had only been granted the post of Potions professor so Dumbledore could keep him close, anyway. If he thrived or not, it didn’t matter.

He pushed open the door without fanfare, and found his usual seat between Filius and Minerva. He cataloged the other people around the table. It was one of three mandatory full-staff meetings of the school year, so it was a rare occasion that they were all forced into each other’s presence like this. All the usual suspects were in place, with the notable absence of Hagrid. The new DADA professor was also not present, if one could even call a ministry plant a proper educator.

It had been a shock to both Severus and Remus yesterday afternoon, when Dumbledore had sent him a brief note, alerting him to the ‘new hire’ as if the headmaster had any choice in the matter. The ministry had passed Educational Decree Number 22, to ensure that, in the event the current Headmaster had been unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry would select an appropriate person instead. It was a clear last-minute grab for power within Hogwarts, and was a sign of more nefarious things to come.

That the person chosen for the post was Dolores Umbridge… it was a smack in the face to Remus. She was notorious for her hatred of werewolves, and had been pushing legislation to make his life harder for years. She hated all sentient magical creatures, it seemed, but had a special place in her black heart for the werewolf community.  

As if Severus’ thoughts had summoned the hag herself, Umbridge opened the door to the staff room, immediately followed by the headmaster. The minuscule witch took the last open seat near the head of the table, where Dumbledore sat. The headmaster folded his hands on the wood surface, and gazed at them all over his half-moon spectacles, eyes twinkling. 

“Good morning, all, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Term starts tomorrow, with the Sorting and Welcome Feast as always. Classes will start on Monday, with timetables being distributed at breakfast that morning. The Heads of House are as they were last year, with Minerva the Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress, Pomona, Head of Hufflepuff, Filius, Head of Ravenclaw, and Severus, Head of Slytherin.” The headmaster waved his wand, and each staff member had a parchment appear in front of them, “Here you’ll find the complete list of prefects for this year, as well as head boy and girl. You’ll also find your individual class schedules at the bottom.” 

Severus glanced over the list. Roger Davies from Ravenclaw and Gladys Prescott from Hufflepuff were Head Boy and Girl this year, a strategic move on the headmaster’s part, surely. The two most neutral houses, two inoffensive but successful students. They would hopefully be up for the task. As he looked over the rest of the list, he had to hold back a snort at the fifth-year prefects. If the choice for Head Boy and Girl was neutral, the new prefects were anything but. Severus had chosen Malfoy and Parkinson. Minerva had chosen Weasley and Granger. They would clash with each other all year. It would be madness. 

The headmaster continued the meeting after everyone had a chance to glance over the proffered parchments, “We have a few staffing announcements as well. Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank will be returning to temporarily fill in for Hagrid as he is away on personal business. There is just one new staff appointment this year; Madam Dolores Umbridge will be joining us as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I’m sure you will welcome her warmly as you have all others. Show her the ropes, if you will.”

The woman preened. Severus was disgusted. He would be avoiding contact at all costs. 

Before Dumbledore could go on, he was interrupted by a truly nauseating “hem, hem.”

It was Umbridge making that noise. She began to speak in a high-pitched, girlish voice that absolutely did not suit her, “Thank you for that introduction, Albus. I just wanted to say how overjoyed I am to be joining your prestigious staff this year. I can only hope that we will work together to thoughtfully educate our young minds. We are all on the same team, after all.” 

Umbridge looked around at all of them with a sickly-sweet smile. It seemed more like a threat.

Dumbledore allowed the following silence to go on for several moments too long before picking up the frayed thread of meeting, “Thank you, Dolores.” He cleared his throat, “Now, I believe that is all the announcements I have for the moment. Does anyone have any questions or concerns they’d like to bring in front of the full staff before we depart to prepare for the year?”

Severus tuned out the rest of the meeting as Sybil started to complain about the draftiness of her classroom. He mentally organised his thoughts regarding the beginning-of-year speech he would have to give to the Slytherins. It was especially significant given the current political climate. 

When Charity Burbage asked about bringing in some new-fangled muggle technology, Severus internally planned for his first day lessons.

Finally, all concerns had been given more than their due by their ever-patient headmaster, and they were dismissed. Severus swooped out of the room to take cover in the dungeons. The house-elves would have maintained the cleanliness of the labs over the summer, but Severus was nothing if not diligent. Ingredients would need to be cataloged and cauldrons would need a final scrub before he was ready to admit any student into his domain.

Severus breathed in a sigh of relief as he entered his potions storage closet. He was home.

Chapter Text

September 1, 1995

Luna Lovegood always arrived at Platform 9¾ and the Hogwarts Express extremely early.

Her first year, she was an hour early because her dad apparated her to the platform just after a sunrise breakfast. He had wanted to see her off, but also had an urgent appointment with a contact in Germany regarding the illegal breeding and sale of puffskeins. She’d said goodbye and found a comfortable compartment near the middle of the train. Other first-years had joined her eventually, and in the spirit of making new friends, Luna had done her best to get to know them.  Luna had been overjoyed to make some friends that weren’t the Weasleys from the Burrow over the hill.

However, by second year, Luna knew that she would have to arrive early or risk being shut out of every compartment. All the friends she’d thought she’d made the first train ride had been sorted into other houses and then studiously avoided her from there after. She thought she would find like-minded people in Ravenclaw - they were supposed to be the house of wisdom and learning, after all. Luna had quickly realised that ‘wisdom and learning’ didn’t necessarily translate to ‘open-minded,’ and she had a terrible time making friends for the rest of the year. Luna valued people who could think for themselves and those who sought answers from within. Her dad always stressed the mind-body connection in all things, and especially when working with magic. But Luna had quickly learned that was not the common way of thinking among British wixen, and she’d been cast as an outsider. 

Regardless, second year she’d welcomed some new first-years into her compartment when the rest were almost full. Luna didn’t mind having friends younger than herself, so she’d tried to get to know them as well. The three firsties that had joined her were already acquainted though, and shut her out of every conversation and game of exploding snap. Then, the dementors had come, and nobody had felt like talking after that anyway. The first-years all sorted Slytherin together.

Third year had started very much the same. This time, Luna had brought the newest edition of the Quibbler and hidden herself behind it. She didn’t look up to see who had deigned to join her. They didn’t even introduce themselves, and Luna didn’t say anything to them either.

It was her fourth year now, and Luna’s plan was once again to read the Quibbler and try to avoid any rude jokes made at her expense. Generally, if she didn’t try to start any conversations, the other kids would leave her alone. Her dad had apparated her early again at her request; he was home for a couple of days and had tried to make her sit down for a proper going-away breakfast, but Luna had insisted on toast and just one cup of tea to ensure she had time to find an empty compartment. 

Luna loved her dad, and she knew that he loved her, but he didn’t inquire much about her personal life. Her dad loved peculiar magic, exploring the natural world, and asking hard questions that no one else would. Those questions just didn't extend to Luna's friendships or lack thereof. He was great at many things, but Luna didn’t think he understood much about all the trials teenage girls went through. She would like to find someone else to trust with all of those things, she just didn’t know who that would be quite yet. 

This year, Luna found a compartment in the very last carriage that just felt right. The wrackspurts weren’t present, so she was clearheaded when she lifted her trunk onto the luggage rack and took a seat. She kept her purple backpack with her and opened it to find the newest issue of the Quibbler. As she removed the magazine from her pack, she contemplated the second copy she’d decided to stow away at the last minute. It was an act of hope, an act of faith; but Luna was very good at trusting in the whispers of destiny.

When she had found Harry Potter in the little woods near her home, it hadn’t felt like an accident. It had been a little late in the season to be collecting whispering leaves, but she’d noticed a pull to the oasis with the creek since she had awoken early that morning. The first time she spoke to Harry was like magic crackling between the realms. When she had brought him home and made him tea, she could see the threads of fate quivering like spun gold around the kitchen. She was certain that they were meant to talk again, and mentioned that they would see each other on the Hogwarts Express before he left, if only to remind him that she would be there. 

When she’d sent his beautiful owl, Hedwig, on her way, she’d written a short note to assure him again. She didn’t really know how to have friends, but she thought that the boy with the bruises and gaunt face might need somewhere peaceful to sit. And Luna was never one to pry.

That was why, this morning, she had added that additional copy of her dad’s magazine to her backpack, just in case Harry wanted to read it too. The golden threads had stopped quivering and moved to stillness when she did, so she was assured she was following the right path.

Luna sat in that last compartment by herself even as the rest of the train started to fill. When the train left the station, the door to the compartment finally slid open. Luna looked up, but she knew who was there. Harry was standing in the open doorway, holding his trunk and his owl, with Ginny Weasley and another boy she didn’t know behind him. 

Harry looked much better than he had a month ago - his bruises were gone and his face wasn’t sunken anymore. He still had that golden tan that didn’t quite hide the darkness under his eyes, like he wasn’t getting enough sleep. But he was there - in her compartment! And his eyes were alight, like he might be glad to see her. 

“Hey Luna,” said Ginny from behind him, “Is it ok if we sit here?”

“Sure,” she said and smiled, “Hi Harry. I told you we’d see each other on the train.”

Harry smiled back, “So you did. Thanks for saving us a seat.”

Luna thought that was exceedingly kind - with the train already moving there probably wasn’t anywhere else to sit. 

Ginny gave them both inscrutable looks, “Do you know each other?”

“Yep,” Harry said flippantly, putting his trunk in the rack across from Luna and taking the seat below. Ginny sat next to Luna, and the boy sat next to Harry. 

“Luna, this is Neville Longbottom. He’s in my year in Gryffindor too. Neville, meet Luna Lovegood.”

The boy, Neville, waved shyly. Luna waved back happily. The boy was holding a fascinating toad. Maybe it was one of the toads whose warts had healing properties. 

Before Luna could ask, though, Harry pointed to the magazine on her lap. 

“Is that the newest edition of the Quibbler, Luna?” he asked.

Luna nodded enthusiastically.

“I read the one you sent me. It was… interesting. I don’t know if I understood it all.”

Ginny was looking between the two of them with her brows furrowed. Neville was watching with polite interest. 

“Oh, I think that’s pretty common. Some of the magic in the Quibbler is very obscure. My father spends most of his time traveling and researching the topics no one else will write about.”

“The article on using hag stones to ward chicken coops was a little above my head, yeah,” said Harry. Ginny barely disguised a snort from behind her hand.

Here’s the thing: Luna was used to people making fun of her for almost everything. From her hair to her clothes to her father’s publication, it sometimes seemed like everything about her was subject to humiliation. When Luna’s mom was alive, she had always stressed that being different wasn’t a bad thing, and the people who didn’t understand her didn’t deserve to know her heart. So, Luna guarded her heart ruthlessly. She continued learning magic the way she knew best and interacted with the world in a way that made her happy. She listened to the stirrings of fate and when she didn’t know what to do, she got quiet and relied on her inner compass. It hadn’t led her astray yet… but it was lonely. 

While Ginny may think that warding chicken coops using hag stones was amusing, Luna studied Harry’s face to see if it carried any condescension. It didn’t. 

So, Luna said, “Hag stones are actually a slowly dying tradition from before the time that the study of ancient runes made its way to the isles. The Nordic peoples brought their runes here in the eighth century, and the method of forcefully channeling ambient magic to a desired vessel was much preferred over hunting for a suitable hag stone. They naturally carry ambient magic, its power depends on the number of holes through the center. One is common, but two or more are extraordinarily rare and have the power to protect any land within a boundary.” 

When Luna finished speaking, Ginny looked slightly annoyed, but Harry looked intrigued. 

“You mentioned ambient magic - what’s that?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side a little.

Luna rocked back and forth in her seat, humming. She often forgot that the modern English people were entirely unaware of the triptych that made up a magical inheritance. It wasn’t something that was touched upon at Hogwarts until the upper years, although Luna had been learning about the three prongs of magic since she could talk.

“Well, ambient magic is like natural magic, Harry. It’s magic that can be harnessed from one’s immediate surroundings. It is magic that is stored within the Earth and can be accessed almost anywhere, although there are some places that have higher concentrations of ambient magic than others.”

“Huh,” sighed Harry, “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s a rather outdated outlook on magic, isn’t it though?” said Ginny, “I mean, we don’t usually think of magic that way anymore, especially since we have wands.”

“Wands are just a tool,” said Luna softly. She didn’t really want to argue about magic theory right now, especially since she was raised differently than most other wixen with magic-weidling families.  

Neville spoke up, “I’ve actually heard of hag stones. My gran has several in the old shed behind our greenhouses. I don’t think their protective powers have been charged in years though.”

Luna smiled at the change of subject, “A rinse under flowing water and a charge under a full moon should do the trick.”

Neville nodded. Sensing the end of a conversation, Luna went back to reading the article she had been part way through, a puzzle written in the language of the Dabberblimps, which could only be read upside down. 

But it wasn’t long before she heard Harry’s voice again, “Erm, Luna, could I see that?”

Luna peered over the top of the Quibbler to see Harry with his head turned to read the front cover. Feeling like a warm sunrise on a crisp morning, Luna put her copy down and reached into her pack for the other one, “I brought another, Harry! You can have this one!”

Harry jolted in surprise when Luna handed him his own copy of the Quibbler, but quickly opened it to the table of contents, then flipped to the middle. Curious, Luna saw it was the article about Sirius Black/Stubby Boardman. Harry disappeared behind the glossy pages, so Luna returned to deciphering the Dabberblimp puzzle. 

A minute later, she heard Ginny and Neville exchange a few words. Then without warning, the compartment was filled with some kind of stinky, sticky, puss. Luna peered carefully over her magazine to see Neville covered in the goo, holding some kind of pulsing plant. Ginny had managed to cover her face, so most of it landed in her hair. Only Luna and Harry had avoided the worst of it, their Quibblers forming an unwitting shield.

“Eurgh, Neville, what is that?!” cried Harry.

“S - sorry! Sorry! I didn’t realise… It’s a Mimbulus mimbletonia, the Skinsap’s not poisonous, I swear!” 

Harry flicked a bit of sap off of his magazine and hid behind his reading. Ginny berated Neville about the mess. Through the noise and general avoidance of Ginny’s temper, nobody noticed a certain sixth-year, dark-haired, Ravenclaw girl tentatively crack open the compartment door. The girl looked around, but quickly closed the door again when nobody immediately noticed her arrival. By that time, Ginny had vanished the mess, and they all seemed to settle in quietly until the trolley witch arrived. 

Harry bought the four of them chocolate frogs, and they all compared (and complained) about the cards inside. Nobody had gotten anybody rare or interesting. Luna was just grateful to be included. She’d never traded cards with anyone before. 

It was about an hour later when the door opened again, this time Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger entered and deposited their luggage on the rack without ceremony.

By the time they found their seats, Ron Weasley was complaining loudly to Harry, “...And guess who’s a Slytherin prefect? Malfoy!”

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione Granger. It was then that Luna noticed they were both wearing Gryffindor prefect badges. 

“Who are the Hufflepuffs?” Harry asked.

“Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott,” said Ron through a mouthful of leftover chocolate frog.

“And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione.

Luna distinctly remembered that Ron had gone to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil last year. Luna hadn’t been invited, but had stayed at Hogwarts over the break because her father was tracking yetis in northern Tibet. She had stayed up late in the common room to see the ball-goers returning and listen to them telling stories to their friends as they walked by. Luna remembered that Padma had returned from the ball in a daze. Padma had said something to another one of her year-mates about finding a Durmstrang man to dance with most of the night after Ron had been cold towards her.

Luna almost opened her mouth to say as much to the people in her compartment, but closed it when she looked at Harry. He was slouched into his seat, hunched over the open pages of the Quibbler, looking forlornly at his shoes.   

Maybe he didn’t want to talk about Yule Balls or Prefects right now. So, Luna asked him about the article he was reading instead. 

“Harry, have you ever seen Stubby Boardman of The Hogoblins? He’s a great singer. He looks just like Sirius Black! Don’t you think they could be the same person?”

The entire compartment went silent. Then, Harry let out a snort, causing Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to jump. Neville looked perplexed. 

“You know, Luna, I think if Sirius Black read this article, he’d find it hilarious,” Harry said through his snickering. 

Well, that wasn’t the reaction Luna was expecting, but others in the compartment seemed to settle down at Harry’s proclamation. Luna congratulated herself on making a friend laugh. 

Not long after, there was yet another visitor to the compartment, but this time, there was no way they wouldn’t go unacknowledged. Luna wasn’t overly familiar with the boys in the year above hers, but she knew these three - they often threw dungbombs at her in the corridors or stuck Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum in her hair while she was studying in the library. In fact, Luna had to devise her own potion for getting the gum out of her hair because it had happened so much. 

When Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle opened the door, Luna subconsciously shrank into the corner closer to the window. 

Harry noticed them right away too, and was the first to snarl, “What?” at the unwelcome guests.

“Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention,” drawled Draco. “You see, I unlink you, have made prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.”

Luna was speechless - she had never seen someone stand up to Draco or his Slytherin friends like that. All of the girls in her year and younger avoided them like Dragon Pox. While Harry went back and forth with Malfoy for a while longer, Luna wondered if she’d ever be so brave.

At last, the train began to slow down and Luna heard the usual noises of students preparing to disembark. She had changed into her school robes some time ago, and found herself staring at Harry, who was looking out the window, despondent. 

Ron and Hermione had gotten up to attend to their prefect duties - Luna already thought the gig required way too much scheduling and being at places in a timely manner - leaving the four of them with their owl and cat. Luna offered to carry the little owl in his cage. Harry looked thankful.

When they disembarked from the train, Luna was relieved to smell the pine and old magic in the air. The night was crisp but not cold - autumn always arrived quickly to the Scottish highlands. She followed behind as Harry led their little group to a carriage, but he seemed distracted; looking around towards the end of the platform and swinging his head in the other direction rapidly. 

Finally, Luna placed her hand on his arm and said loud enough to be heard over the noise, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said distractedly, “Er - do you see Hagrid?”

Luna drew her eyes to where the first years would gather, but only saw Professor Grubbly-Plank holding a lantern. “No… Professor Grubbly-Plank was his substitute last year, do you think he’s sick again?”

Harry shook his head a little, but didn’t elaborate on his thoughts. They were both moved along when Ginny said, “Come on, we’d better get a move on.”

As they approached the carriages, Luna took a moment to admire the thestrals. She’d been able to see them since first year, of course, even though she hadn’t met one until the fall equinox ritual she’d set up in the forest. They were peaceful creatures and beautiful in their own skeletal way. They walked between realms, just like Luna’s ancestors. She felt at home when they were near. 

As Neville opened the door to the carriage, Luna walked over and, shifting her grip on the owl cage she was carrying, pet the snout of the thestral that would be pulling their transport. Harry followed her closely and looked at her strangely when she didn’t hesitate to reach out to touch the velvety skin of the creature. 

“Erm, Luna, what are those things?” said Harry.

“Thestrals,” said Luna, turning to face Harry. She stalled a bit before saying more, because suddenly the elusive golden threads fanned out around the two of them like a sunburst. Luna could only see them sometimes, but whenever they appeared, she knew an important choice was near. The threads were quivering in anticipation. What Luna said next mattered. 

She took a steadying breath and spoke from her heart, “Not everyone can see them, just those that have seen death. People think they’re scary because of that. I think they’re peaceful.” Luna looked down, not wanting Harry to think he needed to explain himself. Luna was pretty sure she knew what had caused Harry to be able to see the thestrals this year, and continued stroking the soft snout of the winged beast in the silence.

“Oh,” Harry said, faintly, “that’s…” and he shrugged, turning to get into the carriage without finishing his sentence. To Luna’s eye, the gilded threads went taught and then melted away like rain sprinkles in the sun. She was a little perturbed - Harry was very hot and cold. One moment he seemed eager to ask questions, and the next he seemed surly and unfriendly. But, he had never been outright rude to her, so Luna thought that something else must be going on.

Luna followed after, settling in the cozy carriage next to Neville. She smiled at him as she set the owl cage down, and inquired after his toad. She was delighted to learn his name was Trevor, and he liked to visit the greenhouses. Trevor didn’t have any magical properties that Neville knew of, but he always seemed to escape out of his enclosure and get lost in the castle, or on the train, or at his gran's house…

It wasn’t long before they had reached the castle. Luna liked Hogwarts very much. It was a thousand-year-old magical building, whose wards had been fed by the magic of thousands of students and staff over the years. It was one of the places where ambient magic was at its most fruitful, making the study of natural magics like magical plants and creatures especially worthwhile. 

She followed the crowd into the torch-lit entrance hall, dropping Ron’s owl off next to where Harry had set Hedwig’s cage. They quickly made their way into the Great Hall, and Luna waved to the group of Gryffindors as she separated to go sit at the Ravenclaw table. 

Luna sat near her year mates, although no one acknowledged her. The table was too full on a feast night like this to allow for any space between them. She looked up at the enchanted starry ceiling as she listened to the fourth and fifth years around her talk about their summers and the latest gossip. 

“I can’t believe the Quidditch finals this year,” Jonathan Hall was saying to Patrick Fincher, both fourth-years sitting on the bench across from her. 

Further down, Padma Patil was talking loudly to Sue Li, “Did you read the Prophet this summer? I can’t believe that Harry had a full-Wizengamot trial! For dangerous magic against muggles no less! I thought he was against that sort of thing.”

Michael Corner leaned over the table to butt in, “Oh, my dad works at the Ministry and heard all about it. Apparently, Potter went mental this summer and unleashed all kinds of accidental wandless magic against his muggle relatives, and then escaped out his bedroom window!” 

Everyone sitting within earshot had gone silent to listen to Michael’s story. Michael noticed the attention, and threw his long hair out of his eyes before continuing, “And to think that someone our age is still experiencing accidental magic? Only crazy, unstable people have that issue. Once you’ve got a wand it’s supposed to be under control!”

Some other fifth-year boys laughed behind their hands at this, and almost everyone listening chose that moment to turn and look for the boy in question, who was doing his best to make himself as small as possible at the Gryffindor table. The Ravenclaws weren’t the only ones around the room that were trying to sneak looks at Harry; heads were conspicuously popping up at every table. 

All at once, Luna felt a sort of heartbreaking kinship with Harry Potter. She knew what it meant to be ostracised and misunderstood. 

Before gossip could reach a truly outlandish threshold, Professor McGonagall entered the hall with the Sorting Hat, followed by the new first-years. She walked to the front and set the hat on its stool on the dais. 

Luna always liked the Sorting Hat’s song - it was the only part of the Welcoming Ceremony that she bothered to pay attention to.

It was by far the longest song she’d heard yet, and the end in particular caught Luna’s attention. 

“...And now the Sorting Hat is here
and you all know the score:
I sort you into Houses
because that is what I’m for.
But this year I’ll go further,
listen closely to my song:
though condemned I am to split you
still I worry that it’s wrong,
though I must fulfill my duty
and must quarter every year
still I wonder whether sorting
may not bring the end I fear.
Oh, know the perils, read the signs,
the warning history shows,
for our Hogwarts is in danger
from external, deadly foes
and we must unite inside her
or we’ll crumble from within
I have told you, I have warned you…
let the Sorting now begin.”

As the hat sang the ending lines, golden threads of fate gently unfurled around the hall. They weren’t particularly bright, almost translucent, but they hovered as if vibrating from the hat’s song itself. 

The threads didn’t fade back into the ether until the sorting began.

Luna tuned out the proceedings, instead pondering the Sorting Hat’s parting words. Harmony, unite: a warning. 

Unbidden, Luna’s eyes drifted back over to the Gryffindor table. Although the Lovegoods didn’t subscribe to the Daily Prophet, her dad often condemned their biased reporting. She didn’t take much stock in mainstream media, and she had a hard time believing what her fellow Ravenclaws said was true. What she did know was that she had found a lost and abused boy in the woods this summer and offered him tea. When the adults came to collect him, he seemed very angry; almost reluctant.

Then, there was Harry's up and down mood while on the train. He had been short with his friends but patient with her until she had introduced him to the thestrals. Then he’d been distant and hadn’t spoken to her again. 

If the Dark Lord was truly back - and her father believed he was - then Harry most likely saw him return. If nobody believed Harry, well, that would be terrible. Luna was very familiar with being called a liar. Not many people accepted the theory behind the type of magics she studied. Was this not a similar situation as Harry found himself in?

Was this the divide the Hat was signing about? Would denying the Dark Lord’s return cause discord and inevitable collapse?

Luna was distracted from this line of thinking when the Headmaster stood and the feast was served. 

She allowed her imagination to take over throughout the rest of dinner and continued exploring her internal world for the opening statement from Headmaster Dumbledore. Luna was mildly surprised when the headmaster was interrupted by a witch in a fluffy pink cardigan. She paid attention long enough to determine that this witch was absolutely stuffed with wrackspurts before turning her face up to inspect the ceiling again. There was no use listening to someone whose mind was so befuddled.   

Finally, they were dismissed to their common rooms. Luna was tired; she’d been up early after all. 

It was a long haul up to the Ravenclaw Tower, but Luna relished the journey. A group of third-years were first to the door and answered the riddle, allowing the rest of them to enter as a continuous stream through the unlocked door. 

Ravenclaw’s common room was airy and bright, with light stone walls and floors and a ceiling painted with constellations and celestial bodies. Thick, dark blue velvet curtains dressed the tall windows, and a circular firepit was lit in the center of the grand room. Several loveseats and singular arm chairs surrounded it, some students were already taking up their spots and chatting amicably. 

Luna didn’t linger and preferred to be the first back to her dorm. Although her roommates generally ignored her at this point, they took forever with their evening beauty routines. Luna had been nine when her mother died, and while that wasn’t too young to start learning some self-care and other womanly-maintance, her mom had never prioritised that kind of thing. Luna’s mom, Pandora, would rather invent spells and play with potions than braid her hair or apply makeup. Luna felt the same way, and so her nighttime routine was simple and allowed her to crawl into her bed in under fifteen minutes. 

The next day was Saturday, so there was no need to set an alarm. Luna happily closed the silvery-blue curtains around her four-poster and laid down on her pillow. As she closed her eyes, she had the distinct feeling that this year was going force her to face the unknown, even more than she usually did. 

Chapter Text

September 4, 1995

By the time Harry dragged himself to breakfast on the first day of classes, he thought he might have had the worst weekend at Hogwarts to date, and that was saying something. Between accusations of being the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ in his second year and the Triwizard Tournament fiasco last year, Harry had plenty of unpleasant and lonely weekends thus far. 

But this one might have taken the snitch. With the Welcome Feast on a Friday, students at Hogwarts had an entire weekend free to reacquaint themselves with the castle before classes started on Monday. Typically, being back at Hogwarts brought immense joy to Harry - he was always relieved to be back in the place he considered his first real home. 

As soon as Harry had walked onto the Hogwarts Express, however, he’d known this year would be worse than any of the ones before. Children plastered their faces to the compartment doors to get a good look at him: some with expressions of curiosity, but many others with expressions of fear or loathing. The Prophet had been doing its job well, then. The coverage of his hearing and subsequent fall-out had been near-hysterical. It didn’t matter that he was a minor, clearly, because they’d aired out all of his dirty laundry like it was juicy forbidden fruit. They called him ‘The Next Dark Lord,’ as if every second of his existence since he learned he was a wizard hadn’t been aimed toward defeating the Dark Lord that had killed his parents. 

“Hey mate,” said Ron as he sat down next to Harry, “What classes do you think we’ll have first?”

Harry grunted, and stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth to avoid responding.

Ginny sat down on the other side of the table, “I just hope fourth-years don’t get History of Magic first. That class is the worst.”

Harry let the conversation flow around him while he tried to get his anger under control. All through the Welcome Feast and subsequent meals, Harry had kept his head down, speaking only to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Neville too, sometimes. Well, he spoke to them when they weren’t annoying him, that is. He still had a rather frosty relationship with his friends that had lived in Grimmauld Place with him; he hadn’t quite forgiven them for giving up on him this summer before his arrival at his godfather’s ancestral home. Then, after they bombarded him with questions while he was still injured and recovering… they still hadn’t really talked about the episode of the exploding bedroom. 

Oh, they’d tried to ask him more questions, sure. But for some reason, Harry wasn’t as inclined to divulge all of the gristly details as he had been before. For one thing, they wouldn’t get it. They came from loving homes with intact families that adored them. Harry was unwanted, unneeded, until Voldemort stuck his head out of the ground. He could tell them, but they couldn’t do anything about it. Sometimes it felt like they had some morbid curiosity about his shitty life. That didn’t feel good. Spending more time with Neville helped, because the rest couldn’t talk about the Order of the Phoenix with him around. Harry got some peace and quiet that way.

Peace was another thing that was hard to come by since his return to Hogwarts. Even in Gryffindor tower, Harry couldn’t escape the glares. He’d had a full-on row with Seamus the first night, and several older students were hissing behind him whenever his back was turned. Clearly, even his housemates believed at least some of what the papers were saying about him. 

It was miserable. He was tired of it already. 

The morning owl post flew in, and Harry was surprised to see a pretty grey owl land in front of him, a neat letter tied to its leg. Harry fed it a piece of bacon as he relieved the creature of its burden. The owl didn’t wait around, and it flew off as soon as it finished its treat. 

Harry opened the letter, noticing the seal for the DMLE in the wax as he did. 

Inside, he found a message from Madam Bones:

Mr. Potter,

I promised I’d write when I had a chance to look into your situation, and this is me keeping that promise. 

I can’t say the process for finding you new guardians will be easy, but there are certainly some steps we can take. First, I found that you had no official adoption with the Dursleys, nor any guardianship papers signed by them, magical or muggle. Secondly, and forgive me if you are not already aware of this, but I feel you should have all of the information: Sirius Black is, as of this moment, your legal named guardian, despite his incarceration and subsequent escape. I am well aware of the happenings at Hogwarts two years ago after his initial escape, but don’t really understand how or why there has been no additional guard for you since the dementors were removed from school grounds. We still have a special task force assigned to the goal of catching him, but there has been little progress in the almost 15 months since he was last spotted at Hogwarts. 

Lastly: next steps. To place you with new guardians, we would need to remove Sirius Black as your legal guardian and establish that staying with the Dursleys during school holidays is not suitable. This would take barristers and a court case, and it would most likely cause much public speculation, similar to the kind you’ve experienced since your hearing in August. 

I completely understand if you are not ready or willing to undergo a process such as this. It is your OWL year, after all, and you will have many other things to focus on. I simply wanted you to be fully informed of what it would take if you would ask me to move forward and open a case for you, even on a preliminary basis. 

Take your time in making a decision, but do know that a resolution will take months, if you do not desire to return to your relatives next summer. 

All the best,

Madam Amelia Susan Bones 

Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Harry set the letter down and massaged his forehead with one hand. With everything else that had gone on at Grimmauld between the hearing and leaving for Hogwarts, Harry had almost forgotten Madam Bones’ offer. 

But, she had kept her promise, and that was something. She must not believe what the papers were printing about him. 

Harry looked over the letter again, his eyes snagging on ‘We would need to remove Sirius Black as your legal guardian.’ That was the last thing he wanted. But what options did he have? If there was any way to get Sirius cleared and his sentence dropped, then it seemed like his path to leaving the Dursleys was an easy one. 

Folding up the letter, Harry mulled those thoughts over as Professor McGonagall appeared with the new timetables in hand. Ron grabbed his, quickly scanning over the list, “Aw, bollocks! We’re the ones with History of Magic first!”

“Mr Weasley, language!” McGonagall admonished, glaring over her glasses at him.

“Sorry professor,” Ron said sheepishly. Their professor moved on further down the table after handing them all their timetables. 

Harry looked over his schedule. Mondays were rough - History of Magic, then double Potions, followed by Divination, and finally Defense Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge, who had been at Harry’s hearing. Harry's shoulders slumped. 

Ron leaned over, following Harry’s line of sight, “Yeah, Mondays are shite. And fifth year is going to be really tough too, with OWLs and all. They’re supposed to be really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year.”

“Do you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?” Harry asked Ron and Hermione, as they got up to leave the Great Hall. 

“Not really,” said Ron, “Except, it’d be cool to be an auror.”

“Like Kingsley and Tonks?” said Harry, “Yeah, I guess.”

“But they’re like, the elite. You’ve got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?” Ron asked.

Hermione tapped a finger to her chin, “I don’t know, I think I’d like to do something really worthwhile. Maybe take SPEW to the next level.”

Ron snorted, Hermione glared at him, but before they could go on a tangent, Harry said, “Remus did a Defense Mastery. I didn’t even know that was an option.”

“Oh sure, Harry,” said Hermione, “All the professors at Hogwarts are masters in their fields. Well… most of them. All of the core subjects, at least.”

Ron laughed unkindly, “Yeah, I don’t think Trelawney is a master at anything, except drinking sherry.”

“Most certainly not,” sniffed Hermione, “Anyway, is that something you’d like to do?”

Harry shrugged, “Maybe. I’m good at defense, and, well, if Voldemort hasn’t been defeated by the time we graduate, I’ll have to continue my training somehow. I could do that as an auror too, I guess.”

Ron and Hermione gave him matching pitying looks. It was enough to turn Harry’s mood even more sour. He didn’t talk through the entirety of History of Magic and even managed to hold his tongue during a disastrous Potions lesson, giving Snape only the shortest of replies when the surly professor vanished his potion out of spite. Harry’s hands had been shaking by the end of the lesson, his magic buzzing in his throat like trapped bees. 

He was first out of the dungeons and quickly made his way to the Great Hall for lunch, only stopping to grab a sandwich from the table. He turned around just as fast and stalked off for the grounds, needing some fresh air. Snape had been after him during their lesson, per usual, seeming to ignore the fact that Harry, Ron, and Hermione now knew he was in a long-term relationship with Remus. They didn’t dare let that bit of gossip slip, however, for Snape’s full wrath was something none of them desired to bring down upon themselves. They shouldn’t have expected Snape’s behavior to change at all, really.

Luckily, Ron and Hermione had left him to brood on his own. They didn’t follow after him, so Harry found a sunny spot near the shore of the Black Lake and lay down, taking violent bites of his sandwich, trying to calm down. It helped a little, and the sun had almost lulled him into a nap before the bell rang to signal the end of break. 

Classes didn’t get better that afternoon. It was a dull and sleepy Divination lesson after lunch, immediately followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts. As Harry walked to the third-floor classroom, he thought he might take cleaning a dusty and grimy Grimmauld Place every day for the rest of his life over the mind-numbing frustration he was experiencing to start his fifth year at Hogwarts. He could be with Sirius, and Remus too, whenever he wasn’t off trying to find the werewolf packs. They would understand why he was so angry all of the time. 

Between Sirius and Remus, they had been the only two people who had seemed to grasp Harry’s need to have his questions answered this summer. At first, he’d been reluctant to voice his worries and frustrations, but neither of them had judged him for what he didn’t know. Sure, Sirius’ experiences were coloured with grief and trauma that was nearly unutterable. It made Harry feel a little bad sometimes to burden his godfather with even more worries, but Sirius had never made him feel stupid. 

By the end of summer, Remus had been even easier to go to, and they had spent many evenings in one of the empty parlors in armchairs by the fire reading, talking, or playing chess, which Harry always lost badly. 

It had been almost like having a family. 

These maudlin thoughts were swirling around Harry’s head as he entered the DADA classroom and sat down. Professor Umbridge was already seated at the teacher’s desk, wearing a horrible fluffy pink cardigan and black velvet bow on top of her head. She looked like a toad.

When she welcomed the class and made them repeat a response as one, Harry knew that this would be his least favorite class of the year. 

Not twenty minutes later, he exited the classroom in a fury, a small roll of pink parchment in hand. Harry knew his hunch had been correct. He stomped off towards Professor McGonagall’s office, dreading what was to come.

—

September 5, 1995

On the second day of term, Luna happily entered the Charms classroom and found her usual seat near the front at one of the long tables. It was her last class of the day, but that was good news. She looked forward to Professor Flitwick’s seminars, not only because he was her Head of House, but because the Ravenclaws did not share Charms with any of the other houses. This meant that they got their Head to themselves, and he indulged their inquisitive nature quite frequently. Any class between the Ravenclaws and Flitwick tended to go over on time, especially in the older years, so they were scheduled at the end of the day whenever possible. 

Luna removed her purple backpack from her shoulders and dug out her supplies for class. She had a new pink Fwooper feather quill that her dad had brought back from his last excursion to Tanzania. She was very proud that they were ethically harvested from already molted feathers. She liked the pink and orange ones the best. There was always note-taking to be done in Charms class, so Luna got out fresh parchment and her favorite pot of mood-changing ink as well. Flitwick was the only one of her professors that allowed her to use it. In fact, he had seemed delighted by the unique ink the first time she had handed in an assignment way back in her first year, so now she always made sure to complete his assignments with it. As she found her textbook, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 and placed it on the desk next to her other supplies, the last of the students wandered in and took their seats. 

Once everyone was settled, Flitwick called them to order and took roll. When that was complete, he stood on a stool at the center of the room and began his lecture, “Alright fourth-years! Welcome to another year of Charms class. This year our curriculum will focus on the movement of objects through space! We’ll begin with summoning and banishing, while eventually moving on to more intricate object movements, like scouring, severing, and more advanced locking charms. This is all preparing you for your fifth-year coursework, and of course, your OWLs.”

Any mention of OWLs in front of a group of Ravenclaws got an intense reaction, and the fourth-years were no different. Pamela Alton and Daisy Corran let out little nervous titters and Omar Shaw broke his quill, leading him to almost dump his bag on the floor as he frantically searched for a new one. 

Flitwick addressed their clear concern, “Of course, my Ravenclaws always take OWLs very seriously - as you should! But that is still over a year away! For now just focus on your comprehension of the current material and you’ll be golden as a galleon!” The professor waved his wand, and several piles of floor cushions appeared around the classroom.

“Now! Today we’ll begin with summoning charms. You’ll have read the corresponding chapter for your summer assignment, yes?” At their silent nods, he continued, “Good! The incantation is accio, followed by the name of the item you are summoning. You simply flick your wand like so,” and he demonstrated the short movement, “Accio cushion!”

The top pillow from a pile across the room flew towards the professor. Before it could hit him and knock him off of his perch, he expertly stopped it in mid-air and allowed it to float next to him while he continued to address the class, “We’ll have a mostly practical lesson today, and no partners needed! Let’s get started, pip-pip!”

The rest of the class period was filled with the steady, strong voices of the fourth-year Ravenclaws attempting to summon their cushions. Helen Dawlish was first to summon one part-way across the room, although it lost momentum when it passed over Jonathan Hall’s head and crashed down upon him. It caused a momentary disruption as he and Patrick Fincher teased Helen for her mistake. 

Towards the end of classtime, Omar Shaw was consistently summoning cushions from every location in the classroom. Luna was reliably summoning them from her right side, but for some reason any cushion from the left pile refused to budge. Finally, Professor Flitwick called out to them to have them stop for the day.

“That’s quite enough, thank you class!” With a wave of his wand, the scattered cushions reorganised themselves into neat piles. “The assignment will be to read the chapter on banishing spells and write eight inches on the similarities and differences between summoning and banishment. Are there any questions before you leave today?” 

Nikhi Malik raised her hand, “Sir, how does our fourth-year Charms curriculum align with the magical trinity?”

Flitwick clapped his hands. “Ah-ha! Have you been doing some extra-curricular studying this summer, Miss Malik?”

Nikhi Malik nodded her head, “Yes, Professor, and I was researching about the different magic sources and how they fit into our studies at Hogwarts.”

“Well,” began Flitwick, and this was a cue for every Ravenclaw in the room to pick up their abandoned quills, “the magical trinity is seen by many, especially in Britain, as an old-fashioned way of describing the three main wells of magical power. To your specific question, fourth-year Charms, and in fact, almost the entire study of Charms and other enchantments, is the study of Core Magic. Raise your hand if you are familiar with the term?”

Luna looked around. She had her hand raised, along with Nikhi, Omar, and Helen. She wasn’t surprised; Nikhi and Omar had extended families outside of Britain, and Helen’s father was a respected auror. The others in her year looked curiously around at the four of them before turning back when Flitwick spoke again.

“Very interesting! Yes, we often speak of magic in general terms - but it can be classified into the ‘Magical Trinity’ of Ambient Magic, Core Magic, and Soul Magic! This is often discussed at length in more advanced classes, but I don’t mind giving my Ravenclaws a little preview.” Professor Flitwick beamed at them all as he sat on his stool and seemed to get comfortable. 

“The magical trinity is simply a way to discuss the magical sources that we have access to as sentient beings. A magical being has to have consciousness in order to channel their magical power, and ancient scholars discovered that the sources we draw from can be classified into those three categories. Charms is the study of Core Magic. Does anyone familiar with the term want to share their ideas of Core Magic?”

Omar raised his hand and Flickwick encouraged him to speak, “Core Magic is the magical power that is inside us. Like a muscle, it has to be strengthened with practice.”

“Excellent, Mr Shaw! Five points to Ravenclaw. Yes, Core magic must be channeled through a living, breathing, magical being. Our wands make this much easier for wix, in particular. What about the other two sources? Anyone?”

Nikhi raised her hand again, “I read a lot about Ambient Magic this summer - it is the magic in the natural world. Like magical plants and animals. Or the magic at ritual sites from ancient times.”

“Very good Miss Malik, five points to Ravenclaw for you as well! While we wix utilise Core Magic to its extent, other sentient magical beings like centaurs, and yes, the goblins, are masters of channeling the natural magic of the earth. Their cultures, rituals, and millenia of forming connections with the earth’s natural wells of magic have made them very adept at harnessing Ambient Magic. I am part-goblin, as some of you may be aware, and through my mother’s heritage I have been able to witness some of this ritual work. It is truly breathtaking. I simply find myself more inclined to the wixen half of my birthright, so that is why I am here teaching Charms to you today!” 

The Professor took a moment to gently gaze at them all, meeting their eyes with a friendly soft smile before continuing, “And what of the final piece of the trinity? What do any of you know about soul magic?”

Nobody in the room moved for a moment. Luna looked around, and none of her peers seemed to be able or willing to answer. So, she put her hand in the air.

“Of course, Miss Lovegood. Please share.”

Luna swallowed once before answering, “Soul magic is the channeling of the soul, or the part of us that lives on past the life of our physical body. It is also referred to as realm magic, for the soul is our connection to source. It is not tethered to this plane of existence.” 

Professor Flitwick looked thoughtful, “Now… the term realm magic is not something I’ve heard in quite some time… but yes, five points to Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood. Soul magic was often a closely guarded secret when we wix still operated in small, localised covens before the Statute of Secrecy. You will not have come upon much of this type of magic yet in your studies, but you may be familiar with some of the most common practices - patroni and animagi are two. Both of these feats of magic prowess involve knowing oneself so well that you can channel your soul’s magic. For example, you might have it form a guardian in the shape of your soul’s protector, in the case of the patronus charm, or change your physical form to reflect the soul’s purpose, in the case of an animagus.”

The entire class was frantically scribbling notes, all except Luna. Her Fwooper quill and mood-changing ink was practically untouched. This wasn’t particularly unique, for Luna only took notes on interesting new information, no matter the class, and she was intimately acquainted with the magical trinity. The knowledge was singing in her blood.  

The Charms professor watched as the fourth-years began to slow their quill-scratching, before glancing at his pocket watch, “Oh dear! I’ve already kept you fifteen minutes past the end of the period. You all are free to go! Don’t forget the assignment, and excellent work today! Stay curious and ask questions! Off you go!”

When dinner was done and Luna had made her way back to the common room, she found a spot next to one of the big tower windows to watch the sun set. It was a cozy window seat with a swiveling desk top, allowing one to swing it out of the way for relaxing, or to pull it over one’s lap for studying while enjoying the view. Luna did just that, and got out her homework from the day’s lessons. It was often chilly in their tower, with its overlarge windows and tall ceilings, so as the sun got lower, Luna ran up to her dorm room to exchange her uniform robes for a warm knit jumper with rainbow bobbles. She also pulled on a pair of purple wool socks that had been her mum’s. When she went looking for her slippers, though, her heart sunk to her stomach. Her shoes were gone. Already. Even her slippers.

Luna looked around and under her bed, and even glanced around to her roommate’s beds to see if any of her things were lying about. But of course, every bed was empty and she didn’t see any shoes that belonged to her. Not even a stray shoelace. 

Luna sighed and stood up, deciding to forgo the slippers entirely. The thick socks would have to do. Her belongings would eventually make their way back. She had learned early in first year that making a scene over disappearing possessions never amounted to anything other than them being gone for longer. And everyone always seemed to get a kick out of her blaming the nargles, as if a nargle would ever deign to leave its nest of mistletoe for anything other than mating. 

As long as she still had her uniform oxfords, which she had just discarded along with her school robe, then she would be fine for now. Carefully, Luna hid her remaining pair of shoes behind her headboard and walked back down to her study corner. 

By the time she sat back at the window seat the sun had set, and Luna continued to work on her Charms essay. The common room was starting to clear out, with students returning from the school library and heading up to their rooms. Luna finished her Charms essay and decided to get a good start on the Transfiguration essay that wasn’t due until next week. She didn’t want to go back to her dorm until the girls were in their beds, not desiring to look at any of them until her shoes were back where they belonged. 

After an hour of working through her Transfiguration, Luna went to peruse the private Ravenclaw library for materials on switching spells, finding some good guidebooks on how they could be used practically. Luna skimmed through them, trying to think of clever and unique spins on traditional switching transfigurations. To make a true switch, one had to know the exact location of both items being switched, like changing work robes one was wearing to dress robes from a particular place in one’s closet. Luna thought she would very much like to switch her school uniform for her dungarees that she wore to go on adventures with her father. 

Those thoughts had her gaze drifting to the window, eyes unseeing as the stars began to come out. The lights in the common room were low now, although every desk had its own lamp for the late-night studiers. 

She wasn’t pulled from her musings until a golden thread tugged at her navel. Blinking, she looked down, a little startled. It was not often that one singular thread came into her sightline. Usually, when the strings of fate made their presence known it was a multitude - many choices for infinite outcomes. Whenever there was one, well, it couldn’t be ignored. 

Nobody else could see the threads, of course. Her father knew about them, her mother had known about them when she’d been alive, but she had told nobody else about her strange magic. With her eyes, Luna followed the line to where it led out of the common room completely. Strange. It was well after curfew now. Maybe the fates were finally going to show her where her shoes always disappeared to? 

Standing, Luna put her things in a neat pile on the swivel desk, intending to pick it up on her way back through when she got back from… wherever the magic was going to lead her. Quietly, she made her way to the door that led to the staircases and looked around before opening it. Only a few people were left in the common room, on the far side close to the library. Luna was partially obscured by the large fireplace in the middle of the room. They wouldn’t notice when she left. 

So, opening the door just far enough to slip through, Luna went on an adventure.

Whenever she physically followed the fates like this, it was never in a straight path. The golden thread wound through the tall staircases of Ravenclaw tower, meandered through the dark halls, and snuck along passages hidden by dusty tapestries. Luna found herself skipping down a long corridor at one point, watching as the light on the flagstones shifted from midnight black to the dusky blue of the night whispering in from the windows. 

Finally, after a long time of wandering through the halls of Hogwarts, the thread simply vanished. It ended, like a cliff jutting out into the sea, without warning. When Luna looked up and around to gather her bearings, she found that she was in the third-floor corridor next to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

Curious! Luna turned in a circle a couple of times, looking at the floor, the walls, and rafters for any sign of her shoes. Nothing. Shrugging to herself, she was about to continue down the hall when the door to the classroom creaked open. 

Luna froze. The fates had never led her to trouble when they’d taken her on nighttime wanderings before. She’d yet to have a run-in with any professors, Peeves, or Filch! Why now? And why lead her to that angry new professor? Luna hadn’t had DADA yet, but she’d heard some unkind things from upper-years talking at dinner. 

To her astonishment, it wasn’t a teacher leaving the classroom. It was Harry Potter. She stood there, blinking at him, trying to discern what he was doing there so very late at night. It didn’t take long for Harry to spot her, either. He startled a little, but continued moving out of the classroom and quickly shutting the door.

“Luna?!” Harry whisper-yelled, incredulous, “What are you doing here?”

“It seemed like a nice night for a walk,” she whispered back.

They stood there in the corridor for a few moments longer, just looking at each other.

“Er, right. Well, I had better head back to my common room…” Harry looked at her sideways as he turned his body to walk down the hall. As he did, Luna noticed that he was clutching his hand awkwardly to his chest, a grimace of pain on his face.

“Harry Potter,” Luna blurted, “Are you hurt?”

The boy’s steps faltered. He turned back around to her, “It’s not so bad, really.”

Luna went to him and tapped the arm he was holding stiffly at his side. Without a word, he held the back side of his hand up to her, the faint light from the waxing moon shining just enough in through the corridor windows for her to see.

The back of his hand was a bloody mess. Due to Luna's surprise, she didn’t notice when she took Harry’s raised hand gently in both of hers, bringing it closer to her face, trying hard not to cause any more pain. It was red and raw, with what looked like little scratches covering a portion of it. Luna didn’t know what to make of it. She peered at Harry thoughtfully and noticed that his green eyes glimmered from behind his glasses; even in the dark.  

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey, you know.”

Harry shook his head forcefully, “No. No, I think that will just make things worse.”

Luna looked from him to the door of the DADA classroom and back again. She could see the resignation in Harry’s face the moment he realised she had put it together.

“Professor Umbridge did this.” As she said it, her voice was a bit shaky, but it wasn’t a question.

Harry huffed a sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, detention.”

“You won’t go to McGonagall either? Or the Headmaster?”

“Absolutely not.”

Luna released his injured hand, but picked up the other one in its stead, “At least come with me back to Ravenclaw tower then, we can find something to help there.”

Harry sputtered a little, but didn’t resist as she started to pull him down the hall toward her house. 

It wasn’t until they’d made their way onto the Grand Staircase before he spoke again, “Aren’t you worried about a teacher catching us? Filch?”

Luna looked down at him to where he was following her on the staircase. She hummed a little, looking around at the silent castle, “It is very late. But we do have several floors to go before we get to the stairs of the tower. Do you have your invisibility cloak on you?”

Harry paused, “Yeah, actually I do. I forgot you knew about that.”

He swung the silvery material out of his pocket, walking the two steps between them to get on her level. It looked just like Luna remembered from when she had found Harry half covered by it in the forest. The fabric was almost like water, the hem embroidered with runes that seemed to glimmer in the dim light of the sconces. 

“Here,” Harry said, and he flung the cloak over both of them. 

They had to walk very close together to keep the cloak covering both of them. Luckily, Harry wasn’t much taller than her, and he didn’t seem to find the proximity strange, as if he did this with a friend all of the time. Luna had let go of his hand long ago, but for some reason she really wanted to pick it up again. Her fingers twitched at her side, but she held back. 

At long last, they made it to the tower staircase, winding up and up until they reached the grand doors of Ravenclaw’s common room. The bronze eagle knocker was there, a silent sentinel. Before Luna could reach up to knock, Harry paused.

“So, Luna, isn’t it like, not allowed for students from other houses to enter?”

“Well, it might be frowned upon, but we have our own private library, as well as several fully-stocked practice rooms for different courses of study. If a student from another house can answer the riddle, as long as it's before curfew, we generally don’t mind sharing.”

“Huh.”

Luna had never before had the chance to show a friend how the entrance to the common room worked, her excitement mounted as she knocked on the door once. 

The eagle came to life, speaking clearly, “I have hands but I can't reach out to touch you, I have a face but cannot see you, what am I?”

Luna rocked back on her heels, taking a peek at Harry’s face to see if she could gauge his thoughts. Harry looked absolutely perplexed, even in the gloom under the cloak.

“A clock,” Luna stated clearly.

“Well-reasoned.” Stated the eagle. The door popped open, allowing them entry.

Still under the cloak together, they made their way through the common room, now completely devoid of others. The fire was low, casting long shadows. They didn’t make much noise - Luna’s sock feet were muffled, and Harry seemed to have a naturally silent step. Luna led him towards the back of the large room, where the entrance to the library beckoned. 

The Ravenclaw library was only a tenth of the size of the Hogwarts library, but it was packed, floor-to-ceiling, with the contributions that students had made to its riches throughout a millenia. They didn’t explore, however, because Luna was aiming for the practice rooms at the other end of the main path. At the back of the library, there were several classroom-sized rooms that served as permanent practice spaces for various courses. There was a room for practice duels, a room for potions, a general room with large blackboards that many students used for arithmancy and runes study, and even a little greenhouse set with artificial sunlight. 

It was towards the potions practice room where Luna was heading. The sixth and seventh years always left minor first-aid potions in the cupboard for anyone to use if needed. When they entered, Luna slipped from the cloak and waved her wand at a nearby candelabra. She went to the nearest cupboard and opened it, rifling through the little jars and bottles there. 

She found expertly brewed headache potions, bruise salve, pepper-up… and finally Murtlap essence. It wasn’t so much of a potion as it was simply an ingredient extraction, but Murtlap tentacles were tricky to pickle. Herbology enthusiasts relied on it after working with particularly prickly plants. Luna grabbed the bottle and found a bowl and flannel in the next cupboard over. 

She went to the nearest table and sat down, pouring the essence into a bowl and soaking the flannel before motioning Harry over, who had removed the cloak while she had been rummaging around the storage area. 

“Put your hand in here, and I’ll cover it with the flannel. It shouldn’t sting, I don’t think. The cuts aren’t too deep.” Harry walked over and sat down next to her, rolling up his sleeve and placing his hand in the bowl. Luna gently covered the top of his hand with the flannel, “It needs to soak for at least five minutes.”

Harry nodded, and Luna set a timer on her wand. They sat in silence, Luna picking at the lint on her jumper. It was very late, and she was very tired, but she was glad that she had found Harry. She didn’t think he would have gotten any help otherwise. 

This situation was reminding her very much of this summer, when she had found him bruised and starving in the woods. Harry seemed to always be getting hurt. Luna didn’t know what to do about it, besides offer what little help she could, whether it was tea or Murtlap. 

The five minutes passed quickly, her wand chiming softly when the time was up. Luna removed the flannel from Harry’s hand, inspecting the irritated skin there. It was a little less swollen and the blood was gone. 

“Good,” she said, “I think this will heal very nicely. Those scratches weren’t too deep, I don’t think it will scar.”

Harry wasn’t looking at his hand when she looked up. He was looking at her. “Luna, I have detention with Umbridge for the rest of the week.”

Luna searched his face for a moment. His expression was surprisingly open, if a little sad. She didn’t think he would ask for more help, but he might accept an offer.

“I’ll bring these supplies to the third floor every evening this week, if that’s okay. We can find an empty classroom nearby instead of walking all the way up here. I don’t know what repeated exposure to whatever she’s using on you will do, but the essence should continue to help with pain, at the very least.”

Harry broke their eye contact as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Okay, that - that would be great Luna, thank you.”

Luna smiled softly as she stood. Harry followed her out of the room as she said, “Of course. What are friends for?”

Silent again, Luna walked him to the doors that led back to the tower staircase. She pushed the door open, and before Harry made his exit, he paused at the threshold, meeting her eyes one last time for the evening. 

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Luna responded.

It was just a moment - just a look - but something passed between them then. An acknowledgement, maybe. It was the second time Luna had helped him and it wouldn’t be the last. And Harry Potter wasn’t going to forget that. Something warm bloomed in her chest at the thought.

Luna watched solemnly as he exited the common room, swinging the cloak over his shoulders and disappearing completely as he descended the stairs. 

Chapter Text

September 8, 1995

The first week of term had finally come to an end for the students at Hogwarts, but Severus still had rounds on Friday evening. During a typical school year, Severus could be found in the teacher’s lounge after dinner on Friday, indulging in a draught of firewhiskey with the other heads of house before the rest retired to their quarters and he departed for his typical supervisory route. Severus knew that ritual would not be the norm this year, for everyone was avoiding any common space where the indomitable Dolores Umbridge could accost them with more ministry propaganda. 

It had only been a week, and already he was avoiding the hag. He had extreme distaste for her political beliefs. That she simpered around the pathetic puddle that was Minister Fudge added even more insult to injury. 

It had been sometime on Wednesday afternoon that the distasteful woman had cornered him between classes in the corridor outside his potions lab. 

“Severus! Just the Potions Master I was looking for.” She gave him a gruesome smile that wrinkled her face in disturbing places.

“Madam Umbridge, how can I help you?” Severus drawled, only looking at her from the corner of his eye while he monitored the rest of the students passing in the hallway. 

Umbridge giggled in her girlish way, “Oh Severus! It is not how you can help me, it is how I can help you!”

This made his eyebrow rise, “Indeed? I do not recall putting out a help-wanted ad in the Prophet.”

“Of course not! This is simply an offer of an alliance, if you will, between two like-minded individuals. I have certain… sources… that have divulged your frequent complaints to the school governors about curriculum and instruction at Hogwarts. Would you say you have largely been unsatisfied with the rigour at Great Britain's premier wixen educational institution?”

Severus’ other eyebrow joined the first, “I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh Severus, no need to be coy! It is right to be concerned about the way Hogwarts has been run, especially with an unhinged headmaster at the helm. It is the Ministry’s top focus over the next months to take an in-depth look at what our brightest young minds are learning.” Umbridge had taken several steps closer to him during her impassioned speech and was now veering on impropriety. 

He deftly side-stepped her advance to make more space between them. While it was true that Severus had made several overtures to the school board over the fifteen years that he had been teaching, his complaints were not so much about the curriculum itself. He and the other professors were left to their own devices to formulate a learning path for the students and he preferred it that way. 

“My complaints have always been of a more singular nature,” he said, “In fact, the staffing of the Defense Against the Dark Arts position has been a particular concern of mine.”

Let it be said that while Umbridge was currently wielding considerable power in the ministry and making inconvenient waves at Hogwarts, she did not have a sufficient poker face. 

Visibility taken aback, the squat woman finally gave Severus his personal space by taking a surprised step away, “Oh! Well, I never considered - that is - I supposed my source did not share in detail the exact nature of your complaints.”

“Yes,” and Severus finally turned his full attention to the woman as he went in for the kill, “It is not surprising, as those official filings are supposed to be confidential between myself, the board of governors, and the headmaster. You see,” he would not allow this woman to collect him for the coalition against Dumbledore she was so obviously attempting to build, “it takes a certain disposition to become a Master of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and with the revolving door of individuals we have had at the post over the years, competency is a feature that many of them… lack.” He paused here, giving Umbridge an ice-cold once over, “But I am sure that will not be a concern this year?”

“Ab-absolutely! To even question -” Umbridge stuttered.

“Not to worry, Madam Umbridge. I would not dare question the Minister’s personal placement of a professor at Hogwarts. Now, if you don’t mind, my next class is waiting.”

Umbridge visibly pulled herself together under his final dismissive glance, “Thank you for your time, Severus. This has been most enlightening.”

Severus did not wait for her to depart before entering his classroom and slamming the door in her face.

So now, it was Friday night, and instead of winding down in the company of the few adults in the castle he could withstand for more than a few minutes, he was alone in his office, working at his desk. Severus wrapped up some correspondence and set down his quill.

As fourth years and under hit their curfew at nine, he impatiently waved his wand and directed the papers haphazardly strewn about the desk to organise themselves into neat piles in drawers, then muttered a locking and anti-theft charm over the whole thing. He grabbed the completed letter, a regular communication with the editor of a potions quarterly magazine, determined to stop by the owlery while monitoring the halls this evening. 

He frequently wrote the editor of The Practical Potioneer about any number of current potions studies and discoveries, and sometimes published his own findings under a pseudonym. The editor, Elke Sharpsburg, was a renowned potions mistress on the continent, and Severus always appreciated her willingness to be discreet with his contributions. 

Letter in his pocket, he headed out the door to his office and activated the rune stone on the wall to ward it from any nefarious intruders. Fifth years and up still had an hour to meander back to their common rooms, so a few students could be found in the hallways as he made his way up to the ground level of the vast school.

As a general rule, Severus disdained all the additional duties and responsibilities heaped upon professors at Hogwarts. Monitoring study halls, chaperoning Hogsmeade weekends, attending school extra-curriculars, and managing detention schedules were all tedious; not to mention the never-ending paperwork and consistent office hours that being head of Slytherin house demanded of him. After-curfew rounds were the one tolerable exception, however. 

Severus had always liked Hogwarts at night. When the halls were quiet and the corridors whispered of ancient magic, he felt like he truly belonged to the place. So, it was no trouble to devote a few hours every Friday evening to patrolling the hallways for any hooligans attempting to break school rules. 

His rounds took him first to the Great Hall, where many students liked to play little inter-house chess matches. Only a very suspicious looking group of Gryffindor third-years were to be found at the end of their house table, and Severus shooed them away, deducting five points each for failing to watch the time. He followed them out of the hall, and told a nearby portrait of a wailing monk to alert him if the Gryffindors hadn’t made it to their common room in ten minutes. 

After that, his well-traveled path took him out through the courtyard to determine if any stragglers were loitering on the grounds, and then he headed over the bridge towards the library, where the most studious would soon be departing. He watched the library entrance as the time passed the half hour and librarian Madam Pince closed up for the night. Satisfied that the students were on their way to their dorms, he continued on his march. 

From the library he walked to the greenhouses. They were usually deserted well before curfew, although it was a favorite haunt for the more advanced troublemakers. 

Friday night was a popular time for mischief making and Severus was rather adept at anticipating where the delinquents would appear. He knew he earned his ‘dungeon bat’ sobriquet in the moments that he swooped upon unsuspecting students in dark alcoves or abandoned classrooms. Their fearful faces were like the finest wine in those moments, and made all of the other tedium he had to deal with as a teacher worth it. 

As the first official Friday of term, Severus was anticipating more than the usual amount of students out of bounds after hours. They were restless after a full week of classes and no doubt looking to blow off some steam. The older years were more adept at evading any patrolling teachers and perfects, but not always, especially as the night went on. The younger students made more noise and were much easier to catch, although their late night wanderings often consisted of more innocent endeavors like playing gobstones in one of the old alchemy classrooms on the first floor. Severus dreaded hearing suspicious noises coming from a broom closet past midnight, for it was almost always a pair of fifth years or above in a compromising position. In those moments Severus wished to be anywhere but standing in a cold corridor waiting for shirts to be tucked in and ties to be rearranged. But then, he could assign those detentions to Filch, and that threat was more than enough to make the young couple think twice about having a late-night tryst when Severus was on patrol. 

By the time Severus made it to the owlery to mail his letter, it was well past the ten o’clock curfew, and he was satisfied to have not needed to break his musings to discipline any students so far. The night was balmy for September and the stars were out in force through the empty windows of the old free-standing tower that made up the owls’ roost at Hogwarts. Severus was in no hurry to re-enter the castle proper, and dithered on the lawn near the Care of Magical Creatures enclosures for a moment, breathing deeply in the soft night air. 

He looked up to the full moon and sighed. It was just as well he had a late night of stalking the castle this evening, for he wouldn’t be getting any sleep anyway. This was the first full moon Remus would be spending without Wolfsbane since he had come to teach two years ago. It was the first full moon he would be with a strange pack in the British wilderness since the first war. 

Severus wished that the morning light would come swiftly. He would utilise the headmaster’s private floo to travel to Grimmauld, where Remus would hopefully appear at eight like they had planned. There was a chance he would be too injured to apparate. A chance he would be too exhausted to monitor the time. But if the pack was relatively organised and friendly, he should not have any issues. 

Giving the moon one last baleful glare, he returned to the castle via the West Tower and began haunting the various floors and wings that housed the majority of the classrooms. This part of Hogwarts was particularly eerie at night, for there were an untold number of rooms that had been long in disuse. Their dusty floors and cloth-covered furniture made for great hiding spaces. 

As he wound his way up the staircases towards the third floor around midnight, he mused on the relative silence of the evening so far. It seemed as if the typical first-week daring was not the case this year, although he had yet to make his way to the top of the astronomy tower, which was a popular meeting spot for all manner of late-night activities. That would be next, just as soon as he cleared this floor. 

The third floor contained the DADA classrooms along with the professor’s office and several unused classrooms, including one that use to host the dueling club.

Severus avoided the DADA classroom completely, opting instead to open the doors to the unoccupied rooms and take a look around to ensure they were empty. Although why anyone would congregate close to Umbridge’s domain was a mystery to him. 

Every classroom was clear, and Severus was ready to leave the vicinity as he came upon the end of the hall and the old dueling room. He almost skipped it, but if Severus was anything, he was thorough, and opened the door a crack to peek inside. 

The door moved on silent hinges as Severus stuck his head through the space to glance around the room. To his surprise, there were two students inside. 

At first, he wildly thought that there had been some kind of midnight duel gone wrong. One of the students was laying face up on the dueling platform, one arm splayed wide and one leg thrown over the edge. But the leg was swinging to a silent rhythm, and there were no sounds of duel-induced injury. In fact, the room was almost silent except for a quiet, close murmur between the two. The other student was lit up by the bright moonlight shining in through the high windows, her long blonde hair like threads of spun silver lighting up the dark. 

He knew that head of hair. Luna Lovegood. 

Severus could not see the other student’s face, but Lovegood was wringing out a flannel in a bowl, carefully dabbing at the hand of the other. She was sitting cross-legged next to whoever it was, face angled down and a soft smile playing across her features. Lovegood was an odd duck, but an acceptable potions student. While many of her brews were not exactly to standard, they were always meticulously crafted, even with her own unique spin on traditional recipes. Her essays often meandered into fantastical territory, but they were carefully annotated with obscure references that Severus couldn’t always verify himself. She seemed harmless, if a little strange and isolated from her peers. Whatever was going on here appeared to be friendly in nature, and Severus was not sure she had many of those types of interactions with her schoolmates. 

Finding himself rather reluctant to interrupt for some reason, but unwilling to lower his high standards, he stepped further into the room and made his presence known.

“And what is going on here?” His deep voice split the calm night like a whip crack. Lovegood simply looked up at him like she had already known he was there, but the other student startled so bad they jerked and tipped over the bowl, spilling whatever substance it contained all over the two of them. When the second student sat up with a familiar scowl on their face, Severus was suddenly very, very glad he had not disregarded the rules for the peaceful scene. 

“Ah, Potter. Breaking the rules again, I see?” Severus met the boy’s scowl with a sneer of his own. 

Before Potter could utter what would most likely be a disrespectful retort, Lovegood spoke with her usual airy cadence, “Professor Snape! We were just discussing the types of magical herbs and fungi that can be harvested on the full moon. Do you know about the singing mushrooms?”

Severus looked at her in bewilderment, cursing his ability to be caught so off guard by a fourth-year. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure of studying that particular species, Miss Lovegood. However, I am much more concerned about your presence here, in this room, so long after curfew. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

He was slowly stepping closer to the two, trying to determine what had been in the bowl and why Potter’s hand had needed tending like an invalid. Potter and Lovegood looked at each other askance, a silent communication seeming to flow between them. When did Potter become friends with the Ravenclaw, anyway? 

Just as he asked himself the question, he remembered: Early August. An escape from abusive relatives. A night in the countryside. Remus had described what it was like to find Potter at the Lovegood’s in a state of such malnourishment he looked skeletal, not to mention the ring of deep purple bruises that had marred his neck. Their acquaintance had surely blossomed from that episode.

The two students had apparently come to an agreement because Miss Lovegood spoke again, “We were just talking, sir.”

“Just… talking?” He was now close enough to smell whatever concoction had been in the bowl. It was briny, like salt with some kind of fishy undertone. What was left of the liquid was pooled in the cracks of the dueling platform. It appeared clear or at least translucent, the exact colour hard to discern in the gloom. 

The boy was now sitting up, the hand that had been in the bowl almost completely concealed by the sleeve of his school robe. This poor attempt at hiding whatever had been going on was wearing on his patience. 

“Potter - show me your hand.” The impertinent brat held out his left hand for inspection. Severus rolled his eyes and growled, “The other one, you insolent Gryffindor.”

For a moment, Severus thought that Potter would put up a fight. There was plenty of anger in those familiar green eyes that reflected through the moonlight. Severus did not want to argue with a fifteen-year-old, but if Potter had somehow gone and hurt himself, Remus would never forgive him if he simply left Potter to his own devices. 

Before Potter could decide on whether to comply or not, Lovegood leaned over and whispered something that was too soft for Severus to catch. Potter gave her a grave look, but nodded his head once. Truly, the theatrics at play in this room tonight turned the dueling platform into a stage worthy of Shakespeare. 

Finally, the boy’s right hand slowly, and with much reluctance, raised up towards Severus, palm facing down. Severus furrowed his brows, not understanding what he was looking at. With more gentleness than Potter deserved, he carefully grasped the proffered hand with his own and tilted it into the light. 

I must not tell lies.

The vaguely threatening sentence was raw and red, like it had been cut into his very skin over and over again. Severus blinked once, and like a dam bursting, a cascade of information started to rush through his brain. 

That smell from the liquid - it was Murtlap Essence, for sure. Lovegood was competent, like all Ravenclaws were, and had certainly been the one to track down the extraction to help with whatever in the bloody hell was going on here. 

Another blink, and Severus remembered overhearing a hissed discussion between McGonagall and the headmaster at the staff table Monday night, regarding Potter and his antics. By the end of the day it had been well-known to all staff that Potter had earned a week’s worth of detention from Umbridge after only one class with her Monday. The exact circumstances had not been divulged to Severus, but he understood that Potter had thrown a royal fit. 

So if Potter is here, with a sinister injury after what would have been his last detention with the incompetent toad, then Severus could only deduce one thing.

He felt a deep well of anger rise up in him. That woman would dare - that she would presume to utilise such a punishment - Severus had to take a deep breath to calm his surprisingly raging heartbeat before he spoke. 

“I assume,” he said in a softly authoritative tone, “that this was not self-inflicted.”

Both students shook their heads in tandem like two weirdly synced dolls. 

Severus whipped out his wand and waved it over the gruesome hand, ignoring the unnecessary flinch from Potter. He whispered a detection spell, one for discovering specific types of magical traces, and Potter’s hand lit up a sickly purple-red, not unlike the skin of his hand. Severus was fairly certain this indicated the illegal use of a fucking blood quill. 

He glowered at Potter while the boy seemed enraptured by the light show hovering above his hand. “A blood quill, Potter? To have this level of scarring on your hand, she must have used it on you every night this week! And why, in Merlin’s name, have you not gone to the headmaster about this yet?”

At this line of inquiry, Potter snatched his hand away from his grip, folded his arms, stuck out his chin, and sulked like a toddler, avoiding meeting Severus’ eyes. It was too late to deal with this. He would see to Potter’s injury now and talk to the headmaster later. 

Sighing internally, Severus made his choice, “Come on, you two. I’ve got a salve that will minimize fresh curse scarring in my office.” 

Lovegood and Potter followed Severus all the way down to the dungeons like two silent ducklings. When he pushed open the door to his office, canceling the ward around it, he turned and gestured for the two of them to enter. Wordlessly, he summoned the salve and a roll of gauze from the closet and handed it over to Potter. 

“Apply this nightly for a week, wrap loosely but tight enough to stay on while you sleep. I can’t guarantee it will completely fade at this point, but it should help a sight more than the Murtlap. Although,” and now Severus turned to the Ravenclaw, “Miss Lovegood, it was quick thinking to use such a concoction to help with swelling and infection. Good work.”  

Lovegood nodded her head thoughtfully, and Potter looked stunned to hear any words of praise come out of his mouth. Well, it was a rarity. 

“However, I will take ten points from each of you for being out of bounds so late in the evening, but that is all. Good night, and go. Directly. Back. To. Your. Common. Rooms.” Severus clipped the end of his sentence to make a point. He watched as the students quickly turned and left the office. As they rounded a corner to walk down the next corridor, he caught sight of Potter slipping his unharmed hand into Lovegood’s. Normally Severus wouldn’t care one whit to make a note of it. However, Remus would be delighted, the romantic sap. 

With the thought of seeing his partner in a few short hours, Severus decided his rounds were well past done for the evening. He settled in to grade some first-week assignments and wait for the sun to rise. 

—

Earlier that same evening:

Remus had found what he believed to be the closest werewolf pack to London proper. It hadn’t taken long, for there were always werewolves that lived in the city, and they were easy to pick out in a crowd due to their distinct scent. He had his over-powered werewolf senses to thank for that. 

Additionally, werewolves tended to congregate where they would not have to travel far to transform safely. Typically it was in the nearest forest outside of a high-population area. Interestingly enough, Remus had traced this pack to the hills not far from Surrey. It wasn’t a large wilderness, for it wasn’t a particularly large pack, but it seemed serviceable. 

When Remus approached them on the afternoon of the full moon, he did so with great care. 

The young man that he had followed into the hills had to be just north of twenty years of age and newly turned in the last few months or so. He didn’t have the gaunt look of a werewolf nearly starved for lack of employment options, nor the characteristic scaring on his face or hands. Remus had followed discreetly at a distance, and when he’d spotted the rudimentary camp set up from afar, he’d taken shelter in the brush, waiting a solid fifteen minutes before approaching the group. 

Remus learned quite a bit in that quarter hour. 

First, the man that he had followed was quite possibly the oldest of the group. To Remus' shock and surprise, there were eight of them, five males and three females, the youngest looking to be in his early teens. Most of them were smoking around a pitiful fire, cigarettes and joints passed around without a care.

Second, the leader of the group appeared to be a gruff looking girl, possibly about the same age as the oldest boy, for they really were all practically children. As she accepted a joint from one of the other girls, she got up and moved to the dingy-looking tent not far from the fire and slipped inside. 

Finally, Remus discovered that there were actually nine werewolves at the campsite, for when the oldest girl appeared again at the mouth of the tent, she was holding a very scared looking female child, maybe six or seven in age, who rubbed her eyes as if she had just woken from a nap.   

Fuck. So young. Almost as young as Remus had been when he was turned. There was only one werewolf who went after children as young as that. Remus would bet all the money in his very limited vault that every person at the camp had been turned by the same mad wolf. 

The sun was close to setting and the moon was soon to rise when he cautiously stepped into their little clearing, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. 

He was not surprised when the entire camp froze in hostility. 

“Hello,” said Remus, “I mean no harm, just looking for a safe place to change.”

The oldest boy moved then, quickly standing from the ground he had been sitting upon. He flicked open a wicked-looking pocket knife and adopted a stiff stance in front of the rest.

“Wot yew doin ‘ere, ol’ man? Yer not welcome!”

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion, it’s just - I’m back from the continent after an extended stay, and I heard about this pack close to London and I tracked you down. There’s safety in numbers, you know.”

The oldest girl handed the child and the joint over to another teen girl and made her way to stand next to the boy with the knife. As she approached, she said, “Jensen, put that blasted knife ‘way. A posh softie like that ain’t lookin’ to hurt a bunch’a kids like us,” and she turned her piercing stare upon Remus, “Are ya?”

Remus tried for his best sheepish smile, "Absolutely not.” Jensen did put his knife away, after that.

The girl folded her arms and looked him up and down, eyeing the prominent scars across his face, "Ye're one of the ol’est werewolves we’ve met,” at that comment, several of the teens behind her shifted uneasily, “Wot do yew want, truly?”

“Honestly, I’m just looking for the safety of a pack to run with tonight. Like I said, I’m fresh back to the Isles, I’ve just completed some research for my Runes Mastery, and it will take a while for me to find my old connections. That’s all.” Remus shrugged. That had always been his cover in the first war, for most werewolves were supremely unconcerned about ancient runes and were immediately disinterested.

“Are yew a wizard, then? D’ya wield a wand?” said the girl. 

This line of questioning was unsurprising. Not all werewolves were wix, but if they were muggles, their first transformations were infinitely more dangerous. If they survived, they eventually got introduced to magic via a wixen werewolf or incidentally through their new ability to see and access various enchanted magical areas, like Diagon Alley.

“Yes, I am,” said Remus as he pulled out his wand and held it out, flat on his palm in an unthreatening manner, “and if anyone needs healing, I am happy to help in the time we have left now, or tomorrow morning.”

The girl tapped her foot on the ground as she thought, lips twisting in a displeased gesture. But finally, she spoke, “Fine, ol’ man, yew can run with us tonight. M’ name’s Abby and I’m the leader of this pack ‘ere. This is Jensen, my second.” 

“Thank you. I’m Remus.”

Jensen, apparently deciding that Remus was no longer a threat, turned and walked back to the fire, snatching a fag from a younger boy and popping it in his mouth before sitting in the dirt again. Abby was still giving Remus a thoughtful look before she said, “The youngin’ is Lizzie. It’ll be only her second transformation tonigh’. We don’ know if she’s magic like yew or not, but ‘er first was awful. We didn't know if she’d make it, an’ her bite mark ‘asn’t healed yet.”

Eyeing the quickly darkening sky, Remus said, “Well, we don’t have much time now, but I can certainly take a look before the moon rises.”

Abby nodded and turned, gesturing for him to follow. Remus carefully made his way around the rag-tag group, stopping next to the little girl, who was leaning against an older teen.

Remus knelt down to be eye level with her, “Hello, I’m Remus. And you must be Lizzie.”

The little girl nodded after a moment of hesitation.

“I’m told your mark is still hurting. Can you point to where it is?”

Lizzie took a chubby finger and pointed it at her left bicep, which was covered by a dark long-sleeve t-shirt. Thankful that it was in an easily accessible place, Remus asked, “Do you mind if I take a look? I might be able to help.”

With the assistance of the teen girl, Lizzie’s shirt sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder. There were some grubby bandages wrapped around her upper arm. Remus carefully took out his wand and showed it to the little girl, “This is a wand, for using magic. I won’t hurt you, but you might see some lights and feel some tingles as I work. Is that okay?”

Lizzie nodded again, this time raising her other hand to stick a thumb into her mouth. The whole campsite seemed to inch closer to their space as Remus vanished the dirty bandage and started muttering some basic diagnostics over the girl. 

The wound was definitely not fully healed; it was a little swollen and red like there might be some infection, but it wasn’t oozing, luckily. The diagnostic charm agreed with him, and Remus canceled the spell which had lit up small floating runes around her arm. 

“There is some infection, but it isn’t dangerous. It should heal in a jiffy after we get some salve on it." Looking at Abby he continued, "There are some wild herbs around these parts that can help with our type of injuries. I’ll collect some in the morning and show you how to make a poultice, if that is satisfactory.”

“‘Tis good with me.” she shrugged. Then, turning to the camp at large, she announced, “Alright, all. Time ta find yer spot to transform. Yew know what ta do.” Abby held out her hand to Lizzie, “Yer wit me, Lizzie girl.” 

Before following the rest of the pack into the trees, Abby looked at Remus one more time, “Yew find yerself a tree to hide be’ind, strip out’a yer clothes, and wait fer the moon. Got it?”

Remus nodded, “Understood.” He waited for the rest to disappear before finding a tree far in the opposite direction, so as not to disturb any of the young people. 

Five minutes later, just as the moon fully breached the horizon, he heard the first whimpers of the transformation from one of the trees on the other side of the clearing. 

When Remus came to again, he was in an unfamiliar place. He was on his back, looking up into a canopy of trees, morning sunlight streaming in through the leaves. Gingerly, he sat up, looking around to get his bearings. He was alone. 

Taking stock of his body, he seemed to be in pretty good shape, only a few shallow cuts, no broken bones. The night must have gone smoothly, then. Given how young the pack was and how much experience Remus had on them, he hoped they had mostly left each other alone. 

Needing to quickly find his clothes and wand so he could apparate to meet Severus, Remus stood, swaying a little when his vision blacked out for a moment. He turned his head one way, and then the other, attempting to determine which direction the campsite lay. He could smell the ash from an hours-old fire to his right and took off in that direction.

He didn’t come across any of the youngsters on his way, and for that he was grateful, because he was starkers at the moment. There was nothing for it, and all wolves that lived in packs got used to the nudity eventually. But Remus was significantly older than the rest and the thought of stumbling upon one of them in such a state was not pleasant. 

Thankfully, it only took a minute to find the blessedly-empty clearing and make his way around to locate the tree he had transformed behind. His belongings were still in a neat little pile, right where he left them. First order of business: Pants, trousers, shirt, and socks. He dug his watch out of his cardigan and put it on - it was just now nearing eight in the morning. The rest of the pack must still be sleeping or passed out. It was early for new wolves to be up and moving, anyway. 

Remus finished dressing and held his wand in his hand. He would have to be quick with Severus, because he had promised to help teach the pack how to hunt for healing herbs. 

With a sharp twist and a crack, he apparated to the front stoop of Grimmauld Place. 

The door opened immediately. Severus was standing there. If you didn’t know the man well, you would say that his face was impassive. But Remus knew Severus as well as he knew himself, and he could spot Severus’ worry in the slight pinch between his brows and the barely-there downward tilt on the right side of his lips.

“Hello, love,” Remus croaked, reaching out for his partner.

Severus grasped his hand in response and gently led him inside. 

They found the nearest parlour, recently cleaned out by the young people that had spent their summer at Grimmauld. Severus pulled him over to a couch.

“Lay down, you look exhausted,” he said in his softest voice. Remus loved that voice.

“Will do, Sev.” Remus was always in an agreeable mood when Severus was the one taking care of him. He flopped down upon the ancient furniture, which Severus had definitely added a cushioning charm to, and closed his eyes. 

He could feel Severus’ magic wash over him as he cast a diagnostic charm. The dour man hummed as he watched the runes appear over Remus’ body.

“You do not seem to be in much pain. The pack you found was relatively civilised?”

“Something like that,” Remus sighed as he felt a cooling charm hit his over-warm skin, and Severus carefully lifted his head for him as a vial met his lips. He dutifully opened his mouth and accepted whatever Severus wanted to give him. It was a pain-reducer. He really loved that man.

Remus continued talking as Severus gently set his head back down. “The pack was extremely young. Nine of them, the oldest couldn’t have been more than twenty. The youngest is probably six or seven.”

“That is quite unusual, is it not?” Remus felt Severus lift his feet this time. The cushions on the couch shifted as Severus sat at the end. The man removed Remus’ shoes and socks and began deftly massaging one foot. 

Remus bit his lip, trying not to groan in pleasure, “It is not often seen, but they are city kids, most likely out on their own. They’ve banded together. I wouldn’t be surprised if each one had been turned by Greyback. The youngest, for sure. He’s the only one that deliberately turns them that young and leaves them to fend for themselves. He likes them to come to him once they are desperate for a home, after a year or two.”

“You know I don’t say this lightly, but Greyback is truly an animal. A degenerate of the worst kind.”

Remus understood the sentiment, “You’re certainly not wrong.” At that moment, Severus pressed both thumbs into the arch of his foot. Remus couldn’t hold back an indecent groan at that. “I can’t stay long, the littlest one - her name is Lizzie - last night was only her second transformation. I promised to return to their camp to help.”

Severus sighed and moved to the other foot, “Of course you did. Let me finish this, and then you’re free to go.”

For the next few minutes they sat in silence, Remus basking in the care that his lover was showing him. When Severus was done, he returned Remus’ socks and shoes to his feet, and patted his leg. Remus opened his eyes and looked down at where Sev was sitting while he moved to sit up, “Thank you.”

Severus inclined his head, “Always, for you.”

“Have you seen Sirius this morning?” 

“He met me in the kitchen when I flooed in. I promised to wake him if you were in a state, but he was quite drunk when I arrived and I sent him to bed. He did have a letter for you, however.” Severus removed a letter from his pocket, addressed to Remus in Sirius’ looping writing. “I have some other news, if you have time. It is about Potter.”

Damn it. Remus needed to know, but he was losing the morning and potentially his cover. They both moved to stand as Remus said, “Okay, I have time for this. What’s happened?”

“The boy has caught the eye of our illustrious Defense instructor. She is out for blood… literally.”

Remus could feel every instinct in his body go on alert at the ominous statement, “What do you mean, Severus?”

And Severus told him about his night and how he had found Potter bleeding in the old dueling room, aided by Luna Lovegood. By the end of the tale, Remus was shaking, “Severus, you have to be there for him. Please? For me?” With a frustrated growl he added, “I should have written him a letter. I’ll have one for you to pass to him after the next moon. Do you think he is safe?”

Severus seemed to consider this deeply. It worried Remus. “As safe as Potter ever is these days. He is under considerable stress and scrutiny, and it is only the first week of term. I will… keep my eye on the boy. His reluctance to rely on Dumbledore is concerning.”

Remus snorted at that. With Sev’s questioning eyebrow, he elaborated, “After our talks this summer, I understand Harry much better, although he still tends to keep things close to his chest. He is not overly fond of the headmaster at the moment.”

In his quiet way, Severus seemed to take this piece of information in and file it away into the vast knowledge base inside his mind. 

Remus checked the time again, “I really need to go back. I want to keep in contact with this pack and I need to hold up my end of the bargain.”

“Certainly,” said Severus, “Before you go, there is one piece of news I’m sure you’ll find amusing regarding Potter. He seems to have found himself a little girlfriend. Lovegood. I spotted them holding hands as they left my office this evening.”

Well, that did brighten Remus’ morning considerably, “I’ll be sure to mention it in my letter.”

They both smirked, and Severus walked him back to the door. Before Remus could step out into the morning light, Sev pulled him in for a deep, searing kiss.

“I miss you,” Severus breathed.

“And I, you.” Remus kissed him back once, twice. It was time to go. 

With a reluctant smile, Remus stepped just beyond the wards and apparated back to the hills beyond Surrey, leaving Severus standing like a shadow in the open front door.

Chapter Text

September 10, 1995

Severus didn’t have a chance to deliver an update to Dumbledore until late Sunday evening. 

He was expecting to be called at some point over the weekend, for he knew the headmaster would want to hear about Remus’ first full moon with a new pack. Since the old man insisted that Remus remain isolated from the Order to fully maintain his cover while he searched for the wayward packs around the Isles, Severus was the only one to have face-to-face contact with Remus once he was “allowed” to seek medical attention after the transformation. Even Black had been discouraged from reaching out, despite the fact that their meeting place was his family home. The whole arrangement grated against Severus’ nerves, but Remus seemed resigned to his fate no matter what protestations Severus lodged against the plan. 

When a silvery phoenix patronus materialized in Severus’ office after dinner Sunday night, he knew the headmaster was ready to talk. 

Severus set his notes aside and made his way up the winding staircases towards the headmaster’s office. It was a familiar path, and one that he had made with ever-increasing frequency since the Dark Lord had returned this summer. When he reached the heavy wooden door just outside the office, Severus allowed himself just a moment to clear his thoughts. Then he knocked twice, just like always. 

“Enter,” Dumbledore could be heard clearly through the door. 

Severus let himself in and shut the door behind him. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, per usual, and he expected Severus to sit in the chair in front as if he were a student once more. It never failed to make Severus’ irritation grow, and he wondered if the headmaster met with the other professors at Hogwarts in a similarly demeaning fashion, or if this was an arrangement specifically designed to remind Severus where he belonged. 

As Severus sat down, Dumbledore waved a tea service over and magically served them both a cuppa to their preferences. Neither man made a move to start the conversation until they were cradling a warm beverage between them. 

Severus was allowing his tea to cool while he watched the headmaster take a sip. Then, finally, Dumbledore began.

“Do you have a report, Severus?”

Severus sat his cup on the side table next to him, untouched, and folded his hands in his lap. “Yes. Remus found a pack close to London and followed them to a site in the woodlands just to the south of the city. It was a small pack, but also very young. He offered healing and knowledge of their condition - he did not think any of them had been turned for long.”

“Greyback?”

“Most likely.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore took another sip of his tea, “And were they receptive to his offer?” 

“There was a child with them that needed medical attention. It was only her second transformation. Remus helped. The pack as a whole was wary but not hostile. I think Remus wants to keep in contact.”

“A pack that young will not be a likely target for the Dark until much later. They will be inconsistent and untrustworthy for a while. Voldemort will look to the established packs for power and intimidation purposes. I will send a message to Remus to move on for now.”

Severus understood; the headmaster alone could use phoenix fire to deliver covert notes directly to an undercover agent without risking an untimely owl or the even more obvious patronus message. He had received several of those notes during his time, and they had never ceased to surprise him. The notes would appear on slightly singed parchment in a pocket and burn for a few seconds to alert him of their presence. Once read, they would disintegrate to ash within the minute. Severus had no hope of understanding how such magic existed between a wizard and his phoenix familiar, but it was there.

Not knowing how to respond to such a cold dismissal, Severus picked up his tea again and took a tentative sip. If nothing else could be said about the headmaster, it was that his magic was precise and the tea was made exactly to his liking. Severus knew that Remus would hate leaving those young people to their own devices. But neither Remus nor Severus were in a position to subvert Dumbledore’s wishes. They were stuck. Instead of pushing back against that directive, Severus switched topics to something that was equally as pressing.

“I have something else to discuss with you, if it is acceptable that we move on.”

The headmaster gave a supercilious nod of his head, allowing Severus to continue, “I caught Potter out of bounds this past Friday evening. He and the Lovegood girl were hidden in an old classroom, tending to an injury upon Potter’s person. They were very reluctant to share many details, but I did ascertain that he was given a blood quill to complete lines during his detentions with Dolores Umbridge for the entire week.”

Severus thought he had delivered this news with as much neutrality as he could muster, although he faltered on the last words, allowing his anger to seep through.

There was complete silence in the office for a few moments, even the whirling magical instruments that provided constant background noise in the grand office seemed to quiet. Severus had time to drink half of his tea before the headmaster pulled himself together to offer a response. 

“You’re sure of this, my boy?”

Severus looked down into what was left of his tea, contemplating how much he wanted to push. He had already backed down once this evening. It was Potter, after all, and the boy was prone to getting himself into impossible situations that were a result of his hot head. But torture from a fellow professor? Severus could not let that slide. 

“Yes, I am very sure. No other instrument could have produced such an injury. It was consistent with all blood quills - the writing was on the back of his dominant hand. I find myself very concerned. If Dolores Umbridge decides that she can ‘punish’ Potter in this way, other students are fair game as well. Something must be done.”

Dumbledore looked at Severus over his half-moon spectacles; his bright blue eyes were flat. “Very well, I will look into it. However, these are precarious times. Any misstep could be our doom.” Standing, Dumbledore continued, “If that is all, Severus…”

Understanding the dismissal for what it was, Severus sat his tea down and stood as well, “Good night, Headmaster.” He turned with a dramatic sweep of his robes and headed for the door. 

As he made his way down the moving spiral staircase and out into the corridor, he wondered if sharing Potter’s woes with Dumbledore would yield any results at all.

—

September 11, 1995

The second week of classes began with a sense of bleak anticipation.

Harry was seated in the Great Hall for breakfast, tiredly picking at some scrambled eggs. He was anxiously awaiting the morning post to arrive and reflecting on all that had transpired over the past three days.

Harry’s weekend had been rather distraught in general. On Friday night, Snape had caught him and Luna out of bounds after his final detention with Umbridge. Snape had been his usual curt self, although he seemed to be more angry at the situation than at Harry himself. 

Snape had even brought them down to his office to offer Harry a healing balm for his hand, which was surprising to Harry, although Luna seemed to think it was perfectly in character. 

Harry and Luna had gotten particularly close over his week of awful detentions. Luna had followed through on her promise to meet him on the third-floor corridor with the Murtlap Essence every evening from Tuesday through Friday. They had ended up spending an hour or two in the old dueling room every time, just talking about anything and everything while Harry soaked his hand in the briny essence. Harry hadn’t divulged all of his secrets of course, but Luna seemed content to talk about completely normal things like classes, magical creatures, and the places she and her father had traveled. It made Harry feel like any other teenager, even though he was recovering from a cruel and unusual punishment as they spent time together.

While he soaked his hand, Luna often picked up the flannel and held Harry’s hand close, carefully wiping the blood from his deeper scars. By the time Friday had come along, it felt natural to just hold hands at any time, even if she wasn’t tending to his raw skin. They would hold hands while they walked under the invisibility cloak from the third floor to the bottom of Ravenclaw tower, walking so close together their shoulders brushed up against each other. Luna’s presence was comforting to Harry, and their closeness brought him a bit of peace that he hadn’t felt in months, if not years. 

When they made it to Ravenclaw tower after being caught by Snape, Harry had felt a sense of loss that he wouldn’t see her regularly anymore. He was relieved to be done with detention, but as he watched Luna ascend the steps to her common room, Harry had silently vowed to seek her out once his schedule was back to normal - no matter what. 

Saturday had been packed full of studying to make up for all of the missed time in the evenings while he had detention. Although Harry was still feeling distant from his two best friends, they had worked together in the library anyway, conversation stilted by Hermione’s regimented study plan and all the things said and unsaid between them. Harry was thankful that Ron and Hermione hadn’t abandoned him like some others in Gryffindor, but he still felt incredibly lonely and misunderstood.

But then, Sunday evening took a surprising turn. 

It was late when Ron received a scathing letter from Percy. His older brother had written a missive so filled with Ministry propaganda that Harry had seen red. That one of the Weasleys would take such a stance… It felt a little like betrayal. Percy had gone so far as to try to convince Ron to drop Harry as a friend and place all of his trust in Umbridge. The letter had ended with a vague reference to the coming morning’s Prophet headline. 

Ron had seemed angry on Harry’s behalf, but before the trio could fully dissect the letter, the head of Harry’s godfather had made an alarming appearance in the Gryffindor common room fireplace. 

Luckily, it was so late in the evening at that point that they had been alone, but there was a moment of scrambling around before they could talk to Sirius properly. Sirius claimed he was simply answering Harry’s letter - the one he had sent in a panic after he’d felt his scar burn during a detention with Umbridge. But it seemed like an extreme measure for something so small. Risk or no, Sirius had shared some interesting information about Umbridge’s politics against creatures like werewolves. It fit her nasty, prejudiced personality perfectly. They’d also learned that Umbridge was purposefully keeping them from learning anything useful in class due to Fudge’s fear of the students at Hogwarts being “trained in combat” - whatever that could mean.

Between Hermione berating Sirius for taking such unnecessary steps to contact Harry and his godfather offering to meet them in Hogsmeade (Harry had refused), Sirius quickly ended the call. Sirius seemed restless to Harry, and maybe even a little unhinged. 

Later that night, when Harry had finally climbed into bed, he pondered Sirius’ actions and compared them to the relatively level-headed man he had gotten to know during the summer. Was the isolation getting to him? Harry knew a little something of feeling cooped up in a house one hated due to every moment he had ever spent with the Dursleys. He worried for this godfather, and hoped he would find something to occupy himself soon. 

Harry was brought out of his miserable musing by the arrival of the owls and the morning post. He watched with a feeling of trepidation as Hermione paid for her copy of the Daily Prophet and scanned the headlines. With a huge gasp, she flattered the newspaper to reveal the damage for all surrounding her to see.

Ministry Seeks Educational Reform

Dolores Umbridge Appointed First ever High Inquisitor

“What does that mean?” Harry said darkly.

Harry and Ron read the article following the headline over Hermione’s shoulder. Phrases like ‘Umbridge… immediate success,’ ‘revolutionising the teaching of Defence Against the Dark Arts,’ and ‘exciting new phase in the Minister’s plan,’ all jumped out at Harry. 

When they were finished, Hermione’s eyes were bright, “I can’t believe this! It’s outrageous!” 

Harry looked down at his right hand, clenching it hard on the tabletop, his vision turning blurry as he tried hard to block it all out. He stopped listening as Ron and Hermione started to ponder what the teacher inspections would mean and debated who Umbridge might target first. 

All of this - from the detentions, Percy’s letter, to Sirius’ strange behavior, and now this High Inquisitor nonsense - it was just getting to be too much. He could feel his magic prickling under his skin again. He needed to get out. He needed to breathe. Pushing his plate away, Harry stood from the Gryffindor table, grabbed his bag, and hurried out through the Entrance Hall and into the courtyard. He didn’t stop until he was at the railing overlooking the Black Lake. 

Harry dropped his bag to the ground, took one shaky breath in, and let it out too quickly. Then, he tried another. It was a little easier that time. 

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there for, just that the bell hadn’t yet chimed for classes. Harry hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes until he heard tentative footsteps approach behind him.

He turned, hand reaching for his wand just in case. But, to his surprise, it was neither friend nor foe.

“Cho?” Harry said incredulously, “Er - did you need something?”

The sixth-year Ravenclaw was standing before him, her facial expression an interesting mix of something sad and hopeful. “Harry, I-I’m sorry to bother, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry shrugged, “How have you been?”

When Cho’s face crumpled, Harry was forcibly reminded of his disastrous attempt to ask Cho to the Yule Ball last year. She had gone with Cedric, and had been Cedric’s girlfriend… of course, she was coming to Harry to talk about Cedric. 

He was not wrong. Cho sniffed, a tear gathering in her long lashes as she said wetly, “It’s just, it has been so hard, since Cedric died, and I don’t know who else to talk to. You were there, you brought his body back,” the tear in her lashes fell. More followed. “And I just keep thinking about him. You think about him too, don’t you Harry?” She choked up a little bit, her chin wobbling. 

Harry didn’t know what to do. The thing was, he tried everything within his power to not think about Cedric and the final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Sure, he’d survived, but he felt like he’d lost something too that night. Not just Cedric, but an essential a part of him he could never get back. 

Cho had taken a step closer to Harry as if to hug him. If circumstances had been different, Harry might have welcomed the chance to get closer to Cho. But his fourth-year crush had decidedly waned. So now, Harry was frozen in indecision, not wanting to offend Cho when she was clearly in distress, but also not desiring for her to come any closer. It had already been a trying morning. He was emotionally spent and it wasn’t even first period yet. 

Just as Cho got within arm’s reach, a group of three other Ravenclaw girls rounded the arched columns of the courtyard and spied Cho there with Harry on the balcony. 

“Oh Cho!” One of the girls said, coming over to wrap the now weeping girl in her arms, “It’s okay, come here…” 

Making shushing noises, the girl led Cho away and back toward the group. The other two girls were giving Harry death glares, as if her crying was his fault. Harry raised his hands up and waved them helplessly, trying to convey that he didn’t have anything to do with it, but if anything they just gave him a darker look. Giving up, Harry decided to slide along the railing away from the group, hoping they would take Cho without noticing him further. 

The girls quickly encircled Cho and moved off back toward the Entrance Hall. He breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight, but startled a bit when the bell rang and pulled him out of his reprieve. 

Harry moved to pick up his school things from where he had dropped them against the railing and headed back into the castle as well. As he got inside the large front doors, movement just to the left drew his eye.

Luna was standing there, a little hidden behind an alcove. She saw him and waved. Not needing any more encouragement than that, Harry quickly jogged over. It wouldn’t matter if he was late to History of Magic, after all.

“Luna, hey,” Harry said, a little breathless, “It’s good to see you.”

“Hi Harry,” Luna gave him a soft smile, “I saw Cho go after you at breakfast, did she cry again?”

Harry scratched his head, “Er - yeah, she did. How did you know?”

“Oh, Cho has been crying since she got here. Her friends have been trying to keep her afloat, but all she wants to do is talk about Cedric. It makes everyone in Ravenclaw quite uncomfortable.”

“Yeah…” Harry breathed. He understood Cho’s sorrow on some level, but he couldn’t imagine being so open with his emotions. 

Almost without thinking, Harry reached out for Luna’s hands with both of his. They linked fingers, the feeling familiar after their week of meeting up after his detentions. Harry leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, appreciative of the easy company that Luna always seemed to provide.

“When I saw her follow you out of the Great Hall, I might have suggested loudly that she was going to find a place to cry again. Her friends overheard and went to find her. They try not to leave her alone for too long. At this point, I don’t know if it helps.” Harry opened his eyes to see Luna shrug. 

“Well, it helped me. They came and got her.”

Luna looked to the side then, a smirk on her lips, “Good. I didn’t think you’d enjoy being surprised like that.”

Realizing what Luna had done for him, Harry felt a surge of gratefulness through his tired body. It had been a trying morning, but knowing that at least one person was completely on his side was enough to settle his frayed nerves.

Green eyes met crystal blue, “Thank you,” Harry said simply. 

Luna squeezed his hands once, “Of course.” She stepped away, releasing their hands, “Now, I’d better get to Herbology. Bye, Harry!”

Harry could feel the smile on his face as he watched Luna skip away. If he was quite a bit slower making his way to History of Magic, well, Professor Binns wouldn’t notice his tardiness anyway.

The rest of Harry’s Monday morning went surprisingly smoothly. Even Potions wasn’t terrible, although he had received a Dreadful on his first essay of the year. 

After lunch, though, recent events started to catch up to him. They witnessed their first Umbridge classroom inspection during Divination, and one didn’t need the sight to know that it would go terribly. Most everyone knew that Trelawney was a fraud and many only took Divination because it was an “easy” class. However, Umbridge had demanded that Trelawney make a prediction for her on the spot. The class had devolved from there. Harry had never seen Trelawney so angry before. 

Then, Harry had to deal with Umbridge’s presence again in DADA right after Divination. His Monday schedule really was the worst. 

While they were silently reading the textbook in her class, Umbridge had tried to goad Hermione into an argument about the text. Then, she’d tried to make the claim that Professor Quirrell had been the only suitable DADA professor they’d had so far. 

In another life, Harry might have fallen for the bait and earned himself another week’s worth of detentions. But instead, he sat on his hands and clamped down on his jaw so hard he gave himself a headache. 

It wasn’t for his own sake. He knew Luna wouldn’t stand for him to suffer his punishments alone, and he didn’t want to keep her up late and out of bounds every night for another week. It wasn’t fair to her, and now that Snape knew what they had been up to, there was a much higher risk of him tracking the two of them down no matter where they tried to hide. 

After the tense and completely worthless DADA class was over, the Gryffindors spilled into the corridor, relieved to be free. 

Harry wasn’t particularly hungry, and truthfully complained about his headache as a way to get out of going to dinner with the rest. Ron and Hermione looked at him worriedly, but didn’t push. He made his way alone back to Gryffindor tower, and sighed in relief when the common room was empty. Harry found his favorite chair in front of the fire, setting his bag down and resting his head against the back of the squishy armchair. He told himself he would start on some homework soon, but for now he stared at the flames, contemplating everything that had happened today. 

He gave himself roughly fifteen minutes to truly sulk over the extraordinarily complicated circumstances he found himself in this year. But the alone time and quiet common room had remarkably helped his lingering headache, and it wasn’t long before he felt well enough to turn his attention to his mountain of work. 

He had got a good start on his next Potions assignment by the time the other Gryffindors started to trickle back in from dinner. Packing up his things, Harry retreated to his dorm room, seeking to be alone for the evening. 

His dorm was thankfully deserted when he arrived, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Not five minutes after he got comfortable on his bed, now reading over his Charms textbook, Ron entered the room, followed by Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George. 

Harry looked up and blinked dumbly a few times, not understanding why this group of people were invading his dorm room at this time. 

Ron looked wary. Hermione, determined. Ginny was reserved, while Fred and George were completely unbothered and went right to rifling through Ron’s drawers, which were immediately recognisable by the Chudley Canons poster hanging on the wall above them. 

“Oi! Knock it off!” Ron said hotly to the twins.

“Oh Ronnikins, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” said Fred, giving up and plopping himself onto Ron’s bed.

“Yeah, we aren’t going through your unmentionables!” George chimed in, sitting next to Fred. Ginny sat on Ron’s trunk, and Hermione waved her hands at them to quiet them down as she sat right next to Harry. Ron simply leaned against one of the bedposts of his four-poster.

“Right…” Harry said warily, “What’s up?”

“Harry,” Hermione began, patting his knee, “We just want to talk.”

Immediately Harry’s hackles were raised. He looked around the room and the people in it. Hermione continued, “We’ve been back at school for over a week now, and we feel like you’re avoiding us. Coming back to the common room late, not talking about your detentions… and then there’s all the things we witnessed this summer at headquarters.”

“So, what? Is this some kind of intervention then?” Harry put his book down and crossed his arms protectively. It had already been a long day. To add this on top of it all was almost too much. 

“Nah, mate,” Ron said quickly, “We just want to check in, yeah?” The twins and Ginny nodded in agreement. 

“I don’t need some kind of minder, if that’s what you’re thinking!” Harry gasped, “I’m not a child!”

“But Harry, you won’t talk to us!” Hermione said sadly, “We don’t know how you’re feeling about anything. It was just that night after you’d arrived at Headquarters, and then silence!”

“Well, you all accosted me after I’d just barely survived my relatives!” Harry exploded, “You all came in, just like you did tonight, asking all kinds of questions but not understanding!”

“How can we understand if you don’t tell us?” Ginny chimed in. 

“It’s not - it’s… look.” Harry tried to take a deep breath in, but wasn’t very successful. Much like this morning, his magic wasn’t listening. He could feel it running down his arms to his fingertips, just looking for a way out. “What I went through - I can’t talk about it. It’s too much.”

“You talked to Sirius and Professor Lupin almost every night this summer,” Hermione pointed out, “You’re telling me they didn’t ask about what happened at all?”

“It’s not the same. Sirius and Remus have been through a war already. They’ve seen things. They don’t need every detail for shock value.” Harry tried to explain, “They are the closest thing I have to family and I’m not some kind of side show to them.”

“That’s not how you feel with us, is it?” asked Ron.

Harry shrugged guiltily, “I don’t know… sometimes? I used to tell you guys everything, but now it just feels different. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed, “What can we do to make this better? All of us here care about you.”

Harry leaned back in his bed with a groan and covered his eyes with his arm. He did not have the mental capacity to deal with this right now, “I don’t know, Hermione,” he said, “I barely know my own mind most days. I’m just trying to get by.”

“Fifth year is no bed of galleons, that’s for sure,” said George, “but you won’t make it through alone. Fred and I only aimed to get three OWLs a piece and we still had a rough go of it.”

“Yeah and we didn’t have that great toad of a DADA teacher either,” said Fred. “How were her detentions, anyway? We’re in her seventh year NEWT class, but haven’t earned the honor yet.”

Harry groaned again but removed his arm from where it covered his eyes and stared angrily at his bed curtains. His magic was still tingly in his fingertips. “You don’t want to antagonise her, trust me.” 

“What exactly happened in those detentions?” Hermione tried again.

Well, Harry had to give them something. They seemed desperate to know what was going on, although Harry himself didn’t understand it all either. This was something he could talk about - it was over now anyway. 

In response to Hermione’s inquiry, he simply held up his hand so the back of it was visible for the room to see.

“What?!” Hermione cried.

“Harry! Are you okay?” said Ron.

“Yeah, fine now.” Harry moved to sit up again so he could look them all in the eye. “Don’t get detention with Umbridge. She has this quill that uses your own blood as the ink. She made me write lines. Over and over again.”

Hermione, who was the only one close enough to touch Harry, grabbed his hand and held it close to her face, “I must not tell lies… Harry… she tortured you!”

He looked around at all of their shocked faces, “Torture? I don’t know about that. But it was sadistic. She seemed to enjoy it.” Feeling a little sick at the memory of Umbridge taking his hand in hers, he pulled his hand from Hermione’s and folded them in his lap so the scar was hidden. 

Trying to move on, Harry said, “I had help after though, Luna met me after every detention and healed it.”

Ginny furrowed her brows at that, “Luna Lovegood? Why did you go to Luna for help with Umbridge? You don’t really even know her!”

Harry looked at her blankly for a few moments, uncomprehending. Finally, he found his voice, “She rescued me when I tried to fly to the Burrow this summer to ask your family for help, remember? And you lot weren’t even there! I had no idea where you’d all gone and I slept in the woods that night! I would’ve been lost until she found me, and it was the same way after the first detention!”

The Weasleys and Hermione were silent at this outburst. Harry was barely hanging on to his accidental magic at this point. One more emotionally-charged question and he was sure to break a bed frame or a window or something.

Taking advantage of their silence, Harry said, “I’m handling things, alright? I’m doing my best. I don’t have all the answers but I can’t have the answers until Dumbledore deigns to trust me with whatever information he’s keeping from me. Have no doubt about it - he and the Order have a mission that involves taking down Voldemort and they are doing everything they can to keep it from me.” Harry shook his head in resignation, “I know it was a mistake to antagonize Umbridge that first day of classes, and I almost fell for it again today, but I learned my lesson! I kept my head down. There’s nothing to worry about there.”

“But,” began Hermione, but Harry cut her off.

“No.” He said finally, “That’s all I’m comfortable sharing right now, okay? It’s been a long day.”

Hoping they would take the hint, he waited for an awkward moment while the rest of them looked around at each other with varying expressions of resignation. Finally, Fred stood up, “Heard loud and clear, oh young, future Dark Lord.” He grinned in that incorrigible Weasley-twin way, but walked over to the door all the same, “Come on you all, let’s give Harry his space.”

“But I sleep here too!” Ron pouted.

Harry sighed exasperatedly, “Ron can stay.”

With a smug look at his siblings, Ron flopped down on his own bed, taking up the space fully. Fred left first, quickly followed by George and Ginny. Only Hermione lingered.

Harry headed her off before she could start again, “Hermione, when I’m ready to talk, you and Ron will be the first people I come to, okay? Sirius and Remus are unreachable right now, writing anything important in a letter is too dangerous. Just give me some time, please.”

Hermione nodded and gave one last look to Ron, who nodded too, before she left, closing the door softly behind her. 

Ron and Harry silently worked on homework the rest of the night, and Harry was reminded why Ron was his first friend. Just Ron’s constant reassuring presence was enough to settle Harry’s nerves and magic, so by the time he was ready for bed, sleep came swiftly.

Chapter Text

September 13, 1995

On Wednesdays, Luna had Care of Magical Creatures right after lunch. 

It was one of Luna’s favorite classes, even though Professor Hagrid didn’t always have obvious lesson plans or objectives. Since the start of the year, however, Professor Hagrid had been mysteriously absent and Professor Grubbly-Plank had taken his place. Professor Grubbly-Plank always had a clear goal for the class, and Luna found it much easier to stay present and focused with her leading the lesson. The older witch was stern, but fair, and made sure they knew how to properly and safely handle the creatures. 

Today’s lesson had been on the magical amphibious water creatures that lived near the Black Lake. It was one of the last chances they would get to observe the various frogs and salamanders before the weather turned cold and they went into hibernation. The professor had transfigured them all a pair of wellies in order to keep their feet dry while they walked near the shoreline, and Luna had quite enjoyed clomping around in the shallows to try to catch sight of the tiny creatures. 

By the time the bell rang for the end of the period, she was thoroughly soggy. Her long hair had accidentally dipped into the water a couple of times, and it had snagged in a clump of brambles near the water’s edge at one point as well. The hem of her robe was soaked, and the sleeves of her jumper were crusty with mud. Luna was used to the dirty work of seeking magical creatures from her travels with her father and didn’t notice her slowly devolving state until she looked around at the rest of her classmates and realised she had taken the lesson far more seriously than the others. 

While Professor Grubbly-Plank retransfigured their wellies back to their original school shoes, Luna sighed internally as she compared her appearance to the others. She didn’t regret applying herself to the lesson in the fullest and she never would, but she was sure to experience teasing from her other classmates. Thankfully, they were done with classes for the rest of the day. It was just the walk back to the castle that she would have to endure. 

As the combined class of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs started to head back over the grounds to the castle doors, she did her best to dry her robes with a quick spell. There wasn’t much she could do for her hair and the mud on her robes until she got back to the dorm though. 

They crested the hill coming back from the lake, they passed the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins headed to their Care of Magical Creatures class, which was right after hers. She immediately sought out Harry, and she gave a little wave when bright green eyes met hers. 

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something in response, but he was cut off before he could utter one word. 

“Oh look! It’s Loony Lovegood. Did you fall in the lake Looooonyyyyy?”

There was a high-pitched cackle, followed by additional laughter from others. Luna tried to keep going, ignoring the Slytherin fifth-year girl that had spoken. 

But Harry stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to face the perpetrator, his brows furrowing deeply, “What did you say, Parkinson?”

“What do you care, Potter? Is that your girlfriend?” Pansy Parkinson put her hands on her hips and squared up. It seemed that both groups of students had come to a standstill. The fourth years gathered nervously to the side, leaving Luna standing alone, with the fifth year Slytherins surrounding Harry. 

“Potter! You have a girlfriend? Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Crazy Potty and Loony!” That was the Malfoy boy, his silver-blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. Luna had never been able to tame her own light blond hair to look so healthy and shiny. 

“Shut up, Malfoy. What has Luna ever done to you?” Harry inched his way closer to her, leaving the safety of the group of Gryffindors that had come to a stop with him. 

Malfoy continued to taunt, the other Slytherins snickering in the background, “Don’t you know? Loony Lovegood comes from a whole line of crazies! Her father is even more of a nutter! Going on and on with that ill-mannered rag of his - I guess you’d be right at home!” 

Luna felt her mind go to the buzzy place - the place that felt like spell-fire, strange lights, and dust. In the corner of her eye she could see the golden threads of fate start to unspool, many options in many directions. Too many to make a clear decision. Instead of studying them, she kept her eyes on the castle instead, attempting to keep her face impassive, letting her mind wander off. It would be over soon. 

Harry was fully next to her now, the two of them their own island between their classmates. He placed his body slightly in front of hers as if to shield her from the hurtful words. She’d heard it all before, but somehow, she felt safer with Harry here. Like they were in it together.

“Oooooh!” Parkinson clapped her hands and jumped up and down twice, “Maybe if Potty and Loony get married, they can have that inane magazine print the wedding photos! Draco - do you think either of them will bother to comb their hair for the big day?”

Luna brought her hand up to brush against the ends of her muddy hair before she could stop herself. Parkinson caught the motion and her eyes lit up with glee.

Malfoy picked up the thread, “Potty might, if he can see himself in the mirror through those thick glasses! But we all know Loony was raised in the wild-”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Harry’s wand was out and a hex was flying before the Slytherin could finish his sentence. Malfoy was slammed against the ground, Parkinson shrieking with indignation. Before a teacher could find them, Harry grabbed her hand, and as one, they ran to the castle. 

They didn’t stop running until they were at the foot of the Ravenclaw tower. 

Luna sat heavily on the bottom step to catch her breath. It wasn’t but a moment before Harry sat next to her, breathing heavily as well. 

They sat there like that for a few minutes in silence before Harry spoke, “Luna, I - I am so, so sorry.”

She turned to him then, meeting his eyes fully. Harry’s face was set in an emotion somewhere between rage and worry. Without thinking, Luna reached for him with one hand and slowly brushed her fingers from his temple, over his cheek, to his chin. If she could catch her breath, she might even be able to concentrate enough to feel his magic sparking under her touch. 

Harry’s eyes closed as she traced the path of his face. He didn’t seem to mind at all that her fingernails were crusted with lake mud. She let her hand fall, and without opening his eyes, Harry picked it up and took it in both of his. 

“It’s been a long time since any words like that have bothered me.” Luna tried to say it strongly; matter-of-fact. But her voice was just a whisper, fading into the never ending stone walls that surrounded them. She thought back to first year, when the teasing had been the worst, or maybe it had just bothered her the most, back then. First year had been when Professor Flitwick had taken her aside and asked if she was faring alright in her dorm. Another time, he asked her where her shoes had gone. But Luna had spent much of her first year in the buzzy place that kept her safe, and eventually he had stopped asking.

Harry opened his eyes then and squeezed her hand once, “I hate that you’ve had to get used to it. You don’t deserve that.” His eyes were fire, like molten emeralds. 

Luna shrugged. She’d always been the odd one. Even for a witch. But Harry didn’t let it go.

“What else? What else have you had to get used to? Let me - let me help. You’ve done so much for me…” Harry let the rest of his thought go unsaid.

Luna tilted her head, letting the warmth of his offer seep into her bones. What to say to such an earnest question? It wasn’t until the golden threads that had been unraveling with her choices coalesced into one strong vibrating cord that she decided to answer.

“Well, my things keep disappearing out of my dorm. I’ve been wanting to read up on warding, like personal wards and such. It’s typically NEWT Charms material but…”

“Ok - yeah. I can help. You need your things, Luna. We can figure it out together.”

That single golden thread was connecting Luna to Harry, chest to chest, growing stronger each moment. 

“We can start with the main library? Although the Ravenclaw collection always has interesting titles…” Luna dithered, pressing a finger to her bottom lip in thought.

“Do you want to start today?” Harry had a determined look about him, as if this was an enemy he was going to hunt down and slay.

It was then that Luna remembered, “Don’t you have class right now?” 

“Nah, I’m skiving.” Harry gave her a sheepish grin that made her insides flutter.

“Well,” and Luna looked down at her mud-caked hair and robes, “I really do need to change. Meet in the main library after dinner?”

Harry stood then, pulling Luna up with him. He touched the ends of her hair with reverence as he said, “Main library. After dinner. See you then.”

With another kind smile, he was off, and Luna felt as if what had happened out on the grounds was miles away. There was only something soft and golden inside, like drinking hot chocolate, or eating the most decadent pudding on a cold winter’s day. She was warm, and that feeling carried her all through a long shower in the dorms, all through dinner, all the way until she was opening the doors to the library to find her favorite table near the fireplace. It was never clogged with wrackspurts. Everything was clear tonight.

–

Harry was sprawled across a plush red couch in the Gryffindor common room when Ron and Hermione returned from Care of Magical Creatures. 

“Blimey, mate! That hex was brilliant!” Ron exclaimed as he moved Harry’s legs out of the way and flopped on the couch beside him, “It’s a good thing you ran off when you did - Umbridge observed our class today.” 

Ron gave his shin a congratulatory pat, but Hermione was still standing, arms crossed, “Oh Harry, you’re lucky Malfoy was too embarrassed to say anything - you could have gotten in real trouble. Again!”

Harry sighed deeply, “Didn’t you hear what they were saying about Luna? And that name they called her!” Harry threw his hands up with indignation, “I couldn’t just leave it, Hermione.”

Suddenly, Hermione looked uncomfortable. Harry sat up, giving her a wary look, “What’s wrong?”

Hermione wrung her hands, “Well, it’s just… everyone calls Luna that, Harry. Even Ginny, sometimes, and they grew up together.” Ron nodded in agreement. At Harry’s hard look, she backtracked, “It’s not that I think it’s alright! I was just surprised at your reaction. I thought you knew.”

Harry felt his anger rise sharply, his magic like little shocks to his skin, “No. I didn’t.” He stood, and paced in front of the fire, “I’m going to the library with her tonight. After dinner.” When Hermione looked like she was going to interject he added, “Alone. Please.”

Ron asked bluntly, “So are you and Luna, like, together then?” 

“What?” Harry whipped his head around, “No. We’re just friends…” But as he was talking, a vision of Luna holding his hand while they snuck around the castle under his Invisibility cloak flashed through his mind. It was quickly followed by another, more recent. Her hands tracing his face with such tenderness. Luna's hands were always so warm and soft. “Well - I reckon I don’t know, actually.” 

Ron looked at him from where he sat on the couch, his face showing absolute confusion, “How can you not know?”

Harry shrugged, feeling his face flush. It was hard to explain how he felt about Luna. And would Luna be the kind of person to date? He supposed every girl wanted something like that, but Luna wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met.

Hermione saw his reluctance to explain and with a moment of hesitation, changed the subject, “Harry, I want you to know - I’m sorry for the intervention the other night. I didn’t mean to make you feel cornered. We just wanted to talk.”

He felt the whiplash of the shift in topic, but decided to go with it, happy to move on from the events of the afternoon for the time being, “Erm, it’s alright.”

“We just didn’t want you to feel like you’re all alone. We want to know what’s going on. To be there for you.” Hermione took a step closer and Ron stood now too, nodding vigorously. 

“Yeah, well I’m glad we’re back to normal again too, you know.” Harry said, a little petulantly. It’s not like he meant for them to be on the outs. There was just… so much going on right now. 

“So,” Hermione paused for a second before continuing, “I have this idea, can we all sit down for a moment and talk it through before we go down for dinner?” When Harry didn’t object, she led them to a quieter corner over by the window. 

After they got settled, Hermione leaned in and began in a low voice so that no others could overhear. She detailed her idea for a defense group, something where they and a ‘few other friends could meet and learn all the things Umbridge wouldn’t teach them.’ 

At first, Harry was skeptical. He didn’t think he was the right one to lead any kind of group, let alone teach. He brought up lots of objections - mainly that everything he had survived had been pure luck, and none of it was fun and games but actual life-or-death, fight or die situations. But as they sat down to dinner, Harry mulled it over. He did want to practice the skills he’d honed over his fourth year and subsequent participation in the Triwizard Tournament, and he needed his friends to be prepared to fight. Voldemort had returned, the war was coming, and he didn’t want those he cared about to be left defenseless. 

Maybe he could even get a message to Remus and ask for advice about the best way to teach some DADA topics. Letters by owl weren’t safe at the moment, but was there another way? 

Harry put those thoughts to the side when he entered the library after dinner. After a bit of searching, he eventually found Luna at a rather cozy table near a fireplace. She had a few books stacked on the table already, and Harry felt himself smile at the sight of her taking notes on a roll of parchment with a very large and very pink feather quill. 

“Hey,” he said, sliding into a seat beside her. He waited until she finished her sentence and looked up at him.

“Hi Harry,” Luna greeted him with a soft smile, “What do you know about warding?”

Harry huffed a sheepish laugh, "Absolutely nothing.”

“Great!” said Luna, “That’s the best place to start. You don’t have any preconceived notions about how things should be. It leaves room for something new to happen.” She pulled one of the books closer to them and opened it to the table of contents, tracing her finger over the chapter titles. 

“So,” she continued as she looked, “Most personal wards are based on Core magic, although the strongest wards are anchored by Ambient magic through a ritual. Then, there’s also certain wards that are anchored to the soul… but that’s really advanced. I don’t think the main library will have any references to soul wards.” Luna looked at Harry then. He wasn’t sure exactly what was on his face, but he assumed that it matched his internal state of utter confusion.

“Oh!” said Luna, “I forget - you were raised by muggles. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but have you studied any of the properties of the magical trinity?”

Harry shook his head silently, wondering if he could actually be any help at all. What had he been thinking? Warding would be something Hermione would be good at, not him. 

Luna found the chapter she was looking for and flipped the book to the correct page. She pushed it closer to him, and pointed to the diagram on the parchment. It was titled Magicis Trinitatis in an ancient intricate script, with three illustrations in a triptych representing the three sources of magic channeling: Ambient, Core, and Soul. 

The illustration representing Ambient magic depicted a forest scene, with a herd of centaurs surrounding a bonfire lighting up the full moon. The centaurs were dancing gracefully around the fire, playing flutes and beating drums. The image for Core magic was of an androgynous yet strong-looking wix holding a wand up to the sun, their cloak and hair billowing in the non-existent wind, the stream of magic from the wand flowing into the sun like molten gold. The final drawing was of two disembodied hands, one at the top of the image and one at the bottom. The palms were facing each other, a swirling mass of silvery vapor between them. Behind, a sky full of stars that twinkled. Soul magic. 

“Core magic is what we use most often, as wix,” began Luna, pointing to the middle image, “It’s the power we have inside us. Personal wards mostly rely on this power to keep belongings safe or to keep prying ears and eyes from hearing or seeing something they shouldn’t. Most personal wards don’t take much power and therefore can be maintained over long periods of time.”

Luna then tapped the first image, with the centaurs, “But for really strong wards, for wards to keep an entire building safe, for example, it is best to anchor them to the earth or to a significant natural magical object, like a crystal or precious stone. That is Ambient magic, and it is accessed through a ritual. The centaurs are renowned for this.” 

Harry nodded his head, following along just fine surprisingly, so Luna continued, “Soul magic is tricky. It is magic that can be harnessed only if a magic-wielder has the power to access their soul. Not many wix practice soul magic on a regular basis because of how much raw magical power it takes. There are certain wards that are almost unbreakable because they are anchored to a soul.” 

For some reason, Harry was entranced by that third image, with the swirling mist between the hands. It reminded him of something…

Harry snapped back to the present when Luna tapped his hand gently, “But I’ve heard you already practice soul magic, Harry Potter. A patronus is one of the best examples of soul magic.” 

Harry was startled a bit at this declaration, and searched Luna’s face for any sign of deception. But of course, there was only truth. And trust. 

“Alright,” said Harry, “I think I follow. So we should start with personal wards that only use Core magic?”

Luna agreed, reaching for another book on the table, “There’s plenty of examples in here, although if someone else has done any reading up on wards they’ll be easy to break. But I don’t believe any of Professor Fliwick’s NEWT Charms students are snooping in my dorm.” She said it with a self-depricating tilt to her lips, eyes down on the cover of the book.

Her resignation hurt something in him, but it was hard to identify. He scooted his chair closer to her as she opened the book, and they spent the next hour browsing through the list of personal wards, making a list of all the ones they wanted to try to learn. At first, Harry was singularly focused on finding examples of wards that could be used to protect personal belongings, but when they came across silencing wards he couldn’t help but pause and read a little closer. He’d had awful nightmares since that terrible night in June. He hated the idea of waking up his dorm mates with his whimpering and crying. When Luna noticed what had caught his attention, she nudged his shoulder with her own and said, “If there’s something you want to learn, write it down too.”

So he did. 

The night passed in easy collaboration. Eventually Luna went off to grab more books on personal wards, and Harry took up the task of taking detailed notes, using what he learned was Luna's fwooper feather quill. By the end of their study session, they each had four of five possibilities to try. 

When Madam Pince stuck her head around the nearest bookshelf, her stern voice alerting them to the fact that the library was soon to close for the evening, they gathered their things and stood, both of them not moving away from the table just yet. 

“Maybe,” said Luna, “We can find an old classroom to practice in sometime?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry responded. He was actually looking forward to giving some of these warding spells a try. “I’ll have to catch up on homework tomorrow night. But how about Friday? Meet outside the Great Hall after dinner?”

Luna gave him a brilliant smile and a squeeze of his hand. “Yes.”

—

September 15, 1995 

Another week had passed, and Severus was beginning to suspect that this would be the most tedious, loathsome, complete waste of a school year thus far. 

It had been five days with their official High Inquisitor, and while Severus had avoided having his classes inspected up to this point, he knew that several of his colleagues had not been so lucky. He’d overheard Minerva at lunch on Tuesday ranting to Pomona in hushed tones about her own classroom observation, and to no one’s surprise, it was a complete waste of time. Their High Inquisitor had no formal mastery in any subject, no pedagogy training, but yet was strutting around the castle as if she had invented the chalk board herself. 

Apparently Filius had also been subjected to the aforementioned classroom observation, and the man had invited all the Heads of House to an informal meeting in his office immediately following the conclusion of dinner on Friday night. 

Severus made his way through the throng of students wandering the halls and up to Filius’ office near Ravenclaw tower, stopping to knock on the door twice before letting himself in. He was the last one to arrive, by design, and accepted a large glass of firewhisky from Minerva before taking a seat in one of the armchairs surrounding the fire. All four of them were sitting in a semi-circle, and Filius nodded his head to Severus as he got comfortable.

“Thanks for coming, Severus. I know you have rounds tonight as well.”

“It is no trouble,” Severus crossed one ankle over his other knee and settled back into the chair. The first sip of Ogden’s Finest was like a balm to a weary soul. And he was a weary soul indeed. 

“Well,” Filius’ voice changed to something a little more serious, “I think you all know why I asked you to gather here tonight.”

Minerva huffed, “This High Inquisitor nonsense has to stop! It’s going nowhere good.”

“I agree,” said Pomona, “I heard from Grubbly-Plank that she was quite invasive with her questioning, and in front of students as well!” 

“I was lucky, I think,” said Filius, “She saved her most insulting comments for once the students had gone. She did not have much room during class to interfere, but she did not hold back once they had gone. She asked about my parentage, of all things! That has no bearing on my expertise or experience.”

“Hear-hear,” said Minerva, “She wanted my complete teaching record, as if I haven’t been teaching for almost forty years! And she should know - I had her for her fifth year here at Hogwarts before she got a Poor on her OWLs and was unable to continue with her NEWTs!” The Head of Gryffindor took a deep drink from her crystal tumbler, “Well, Severus, Pomona, I’m sure your observations will be coming soon.”

“I cannot wait,” Severus deadpanned.

“Oh, I hope she chooses one of my NEWT classes!” Pomona exclaimed, “We start off the module with carnivorous plants.”

Filius snorted at that, Minerva giggled a little, and Severus hummed in full support. 

“I can’t help but worry about some of our more spontaneous colleagues,” Filius began, “Has anyone heard from Sybill?”

“I saw her stumbling her way to Albus’ office the other night,” said Minerva, “She was obviously deep in the cups already, and I can’t imagine any observation from dear Dolores went her way.”

At the mention of Dumbledore, Severus’ mind wandered. He let the others muse on Trelawney’s dreadful teaching methods and the consequences Umbridge might attempt to enforce. He, however, was reminded that he had heard nothing from the Headmaster since Sunday. No updates on the insane, sadistic punishment the hag had forced Potter to endure. He was sure that Potter was the test subject, not simply a singular example. If the woman was not stopped, more students would begin showing scars on their hands too. He hoped the headmaster would take the issue seriously, although he did seem to have a large blind spot when issues with Potter were involved. 

He didn’t understand it: The man was happy to allow the boy to cause all kinds of trouble and havoc up to a very specific point - Dumbledore never stepped in until the Dark Lord was somehow involved. Severus thought of the nonsense with the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, and even the disastrous Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore never made to interfere in Potter’s many antics until the Dark Lord showed his face. 

And why was that? If the boy was truly central to ending the quickly coming war, shouldn’t Albus “The Only Wizard the Dark Lord Ever Feared” Dumbledore take a central role in the boy’s training? As far as Severus knew, the most Dumbledore had done for the boy was offer a few platitudes after Potter returned from whatever death-defying ordeal was most recent. It was puzzles within puzzles, and Ablus Dumbledore knew how to do those best.

He made a mental note to track down Dumbledore before the weekend was up, to force an update on the Blood Quill situation if nothing else, and was brought back to the conversation when Minerva said his name.

“Severus, have any of your students received detention from Dolores? Potter had an entire week at the start of term.”

He answered truthfully, “No. My Snakes are well-versed in subtlety, even in the face of dismally dull Defense lessons. Potter has no such restraint.” 

Minerva pursed her lips, but didn’t retort. It wasn’t even a stretch to say as he did. Potter had behaved recklessly. There was no other way around it.

It was then that he got an idea. Could it be that Minerva was unaware of the extent of those detentions Potter had suffered? 

Severus looked Minerva fully in the eye, “Did you talk to Potter, after those detentions?” 

“No I did not. Why? Should I have?”

“Hmm. I caught him out well after curfew after his last detention with her. While that is not out of character, he claimed to have just left her office. It was almost midnight.”

He decided to leave Lovegood’s involvement out, for now. But he would mention it to Filius if needed.

Minerva’s eyes took on a gleam like a cat stalking its prey. She would certainly talk to Potter, and would hopefully discover that awful scar on his hand. Then there would be one more person at Dumbledore’s door, demanding he do something. 

At that, Severus decided his job was done. And just in time, for the first curfew bell rang at that moment. He finished his drink in one swig and vanished the glass to the kitchens, “Well, it’s time for rounds. Good night, all.”

He left Filius’ office to a chorus of “Good nights,” feeling somewhat smug at his maneuvering, and much more relaxed. Thanks to the firewhisky, of course.